Victorian schoolroom

Remember the vintage spanking pics I posted last year? In transferring data to my new PC I've just discovered all the others I scanned in from the same book of erotic photography and never got round to posting.





The Victorian schoolroom is one of my earliest fantasies. When I was eight years old I remember going on a residential school trip to a manor house which had been preserved as a museum. The place was beautiful, and we had a great time climbing the vast yew trees in the grounds and exploring the old Victorian cellars. As a class we spent an afternoon in a Victorian schoolroom which attached to the house. Our usual teacher led the class, which was slightly surreal - he was a good-natured, burly, sporty man but he warmed to the roleplay, and we all dressed up in old-fashioned clothing that was provided by the museum. We had to practise writing copperplate with dip pens, all of us using our right hands to write with, and after the lesson the teacher walked up and down the rows of desk inspecting our work for neatness and our hands for inkstains. Everyone who had inky hands or messy work was hauled up to the front of the glass to be caned. Not a real caning, of course - we put our hands out and the teacher waved a dramatic flourish over each outstretched palm. The boys who giggled and thought the whole thing was hilarious were sent to the corner in a dunce cap.

My interest in spanking had arisen long before then, and I spent the entire afternoon moving as if through a dream. Even now, I can't quite believe this was a genuine school trip. Surely I imagined it? Through the lesson I took the roleplay very seriously and when I was called up to be punished I was as solemn as if everything was real. The faux-punishment was embarrassing, a relief and a disappointment. I was glad that not all of my secret inner daydreams were being dragged out of my head and paraded in front of my classmates - because that was how the rest of it felt. I don't know if the episode cemented certain embryonic desires which might otherwise have focussed elsewhere, or if my kink was well and truly formed by then and this was just a strange coincidence. It was squirmy and shocking and I had the time of my life.

The national obsession with the clichéd Victorian schoolroom seems to date back some time. These photos were produced in 1925, when no-one had worn bloomers for decades - but the images of the sloping school desk, the prim schoolmistress and the graffitied blackboard are already essential parts of the fantasy. (Have I gushed about bloomers recently? I love bloomers. I feel more naked wearing bloomers that open at the back than I do wearing a thong, or nothing at all. I love being punished through bloomers: the sharp contrast between decorum and exposure makes the whole experience more piquant. And they frame the buttocks beautifully - no bottom is unflattered by the soft curve revealed through bloomers.) And it goes without saying, but that schoolma'am is hot.

I'm not sure what's going on with the fake ruler-welts on the schoolgirl's bum, though. But I suppose you can't have everything.