This is an article from Bizarre magazine (2001), written by John Moore. The full headline was ‘smack addicts.’
At a secret London location, upper-class city gents and local girls meet to spank, cane and ritually humiliate each other. Bizarre attends an underground corporal punishment party.
I arrive at the secret location not knowing what to expect. I’ve been told it’s a lunch where the diners get to spank the staff. If, like me, you have often felt the urge to whack a waitress, this was an opportunity too good to miss.
I’ve arranged to meet Julie, Bizarre’s photographer, in the lobby prior to going in. As I wait nervously and watch the procession of casually dressed men negotiating the staircase, it occurs to me that perhaps I’m in the wrong place. Surely sexual deviants didn’t wear paper name-badges stuck to their jumpers? It’s only the arrival of a corpulent, Savile Row-suited Rumpole of the Bailey type that satisfies my mental picture. He shakes the hand of a young woman who has wandered out. “I hope you’ve got a high pain threshold today, my dear, he growls, his voice a thick syrup of privilege and depravity. Next comes a man who looks so much like Norman Mailer that I’m tempted to ask if he’s researching the great American novel or the English spanking scene.
He pays the £150 entrance fee and goes inside.
Presently, photographer Julie arrives, and we prepare to get to work on some serious pant-dropping.
Josie Harrison Marks is an attractive, 30something, Jewish cockney, and daughter of the legendary George Harrison Marks. She’s also the publisher of top UK spanking mag Kane and the reason I’m here. Josie comes out to fetch us, telling the doorman we’re “kosher” and introduces us to her partners.
Mr X and Mr XX seem rather nervous about letting journalists witness their event, possibly mistaking Bizarre for the News of the World, and me for somebody of high morals. Josie explains to them it’s not illegal and besides, they’re intending to expand their business and make a legitimate fortune, just like lapdancing bars. Nonetheless, Mr XX can’t resist hinting at the possibility of a bit of good old-fashioned brutality if we stich them up.
At the far end of the room a circle of chairs has been laid out. Thirty-four ‘businessmen’ stand chatting and helping themselves to drinks and nibbles, just like any other business meeting. Among them are several girls wearing not much. I am chatting amiably with Josie, who is mid-conversation when suddenly I hear what I assume is a round of applause. I spin round to look and see the men now seated, busily spanking the girl’s bottoms. It’s on.
The event is refereed by Mr XX with a policeman’s whistle. After a minute, he blows his whistle. The girls say, “Thank you, sir” and move to the next man. This goes on until each man has spanked each girl. It looks like a group activity session in an old people’s home and sounds like a fireworks display.
Round two is similar, except this time the men use paddles to beat the girls’ reddening buttocks. Casting a quick glance around the room, there are no obvious erections. But then, perhaps this is unsurprising considering the age of most of the spankers. One man, looking like Godfrey from Dad’s Army, is barely able to control his shaking hand as he tries to make contact with a pert young derriere. It’s a revelation to see such an old dog up to new tricks.
After round two we stop for lunch. Again, everything is perfectly regimented. The men stand in line patiently awaiting their food.
This morning, I had suspected my theory that CP only appeals to public schoolboys was an oversimplification, but now I am starting to think I was right. Each man I speak to has been to public school. They explain that as younger boys they were regularly beaten by older boys and masters. As they got older, it was they who did the beating. Only one of them appears in the slightest bit sadistic – a newcomer who after a quiet word from Mr XX, looks worried. Everyone is at great pains to point out that nobody gets hurt. The girls enjoy it and are well paid. They lead conventional lives. They don’t spank their children. It is all very British.
After lunch, round three begins. This is more serious. Three chairs are placed in a circle – ‘A’, ‘B’ and ‘C’. The girls bend over the chairs and receive one stroke of the cane from each man at each chair. In no time, I’ve had a little to drink and am quite blase. So what if I’m sitting in a room staring at pretty girl’s bottoms being spanked.
I need to interview them. What can I ask? “How does your bottom feel?” “Do you enjoy it? “Did your father beat you?” “How do you get rid of the marks?” “Will you cane me?” So that’s exactly what I do ask.
The girls I spoke to either enjoy it or don’t mind it. Unlike the public schoolboys, none were the victim of a brutal regime. Most had started as glamour models. Some had actively sought the spanking scene out. Their bums do feel sore but it only lasts a few hours, and arnica cream gets rid of the marks. I had half expected the girls would be junkies and crackheads, and the whole event would be depressing. Nothing could be further from the truth. The girls ran from pretty to gorgeous, and the only drug they are addicted to is the kind that gets you spanked.
They are funny. “You should feel the heat coming off my bum. You could power the national grid off it,” giggles one.
“I feel great on the train back to Hastings surrounded by businessmen who don’t know what I’ve been up to. I read my book and wonder if it’s hot in here or if it’s just me,” smiles another.
As the afternoon wears on, things degenerate slightly. Our photographer Julie gets a stroke of the cane from Mr XX so she knows how it feels, but he does it too hard and annoys her.
For the grand finale, the girls decide that “the journalist must be punished”. It would seem churlish to chicken out and, not having been to public school, I’m curious to find out how it feels. Not having time to stuff the Beano annual down my trousers, I take seven of the best from seven almost naked ladies. One, three, five and seven are pleasurable. Two, four and six make my eyes water, but I’m determined to finish – an attack of bulldog spirit. Plus, of course, the film If… has been on TV recently.
I’ve been trying to sell my arse for rock ‘n’ roll for years, but I never thought I’d sell it for journalism. As they say in the News of the World, “I make my excuses and leave.”
Quite a fair and balanced report on the whole I think you will agree. The bit that intrigued me though was the reference to photographer Julie getting a stroke of the cane that was too hard.
I’ve done a bit of research and discovered that the photographer in question was Julie Cook who has taken many of Bizarre’s cover shots in addition to having her own exhibitions etc. She has a website on which I found this picture of her :
Wanna see a picture of Julie’s caning?
Read The Spank Statement tomorrow.