Category Archives: Past Times

Harlots Trailer

Harlots is set in an 18th century brothel or “boarding house for young ladies” and follows the lives of the sex workers and their patron. Featuring Jessica Brown Findlay, formerly Lady Sybil in Downton Abbey and a former Brit Bot of the Week, the show follows Charlotte Wells as she works as one of London’s high-end courtesans. The trailer has just dropped and there’s a birching scene but it’s not too clear about the orientation (F/M or M/F?). I’m looking forward to watching this upcoming series anyway.

This earlier Spank Statement about Georgian London gives more background on this rich period for our kink.

Philippa Gregory’s The Taming of the Queen


You could hardly go wrong with this tale about the last wife of Henry VIII, Katheryn Parr, first published one year ago. As if the title weren’t enough of a clue, the author has previous form too.

There’s more than a touch of ’50 Shades’ about it, but I’m guessing only historical purists will complain about that. Unusually, the scene comes near the end of the book and represents the climax of the relationship between King and Queen. A few pages later Henry dies. This popular author has had a number of her books turned into films and if this one makes it to the screen it seems impossible that they could leave the scene out.

There’s even a walk on part for Lady Jane Grey at the end who was also used to gingerly lowering herself on to seats!


I straighten my beautifully embroidered night robe of dark silk, and take a seat at the fireside until he invites me to approach his enourmous bed. I think, nervously, that it is like my wedding night when I was so dreading his touch. Now I have become accustomed, he can do nothing that would shock me. I will have to accept his damp caresses; I know I wil have to kiss him and not flinch from his fetid saliva. I think that he is in too much pain from his leg and too drugged to expect me to mount him so I will have to do nothing worse than smile and seem ardent. I can do that. I can do that for my own safety and for the safety of all who depend on this tyrant for their freedom. I can rack my pride. I can dislocate my shame.
‘So we are friends,’ he says, putting his head on one side to admire my dark blue silk robe and the glimmer of white linen beneath it. ‘But I think you have been a naughty girl. I think that you have been reading books that were banned and listening to sermons that were not allowed.’
Being addressed as a child for my work as a scholar – this too I can endure. I bow my head. ‘I am sorry if I have done anything wrong.’
‘Do you know what I do with naughty girls?’ he asks, roguishly.
I can feel my thoughts whirling. I have never heard him speak like this before, diminishing me, and being a fool himself. But I must not challenge him.’I don’t think I have been naughty, my lord.’
‘Very naughty indeed! And do you know what I do to naughty girls?’ he asks again.
I shake my head. I thnk he has slipped into his dotage. I have to endure this too.
He beckons me to the side of the bed. “Come a little closer.”
I rise from the chair and go to the bed.I move grtacefully, like a woman. I take the few steps with my head held high, like the queen that I am. I think, surely he cannot maintain this game that I am a child for scolding, but then it seems that he can. He takes my hand and pulls me a little closer to the bed, ‘I think that you have read books that Stephen Gardiner would say are heretical, you bad child.’
I open my eyes wide as if to assure him of my innocence. ‘I would never go against Your Majesty’s wishes. Stephen Gardiner has never accused me, and has no evidence.’
‘Oh, he has accused you,’ he says, chuckling as if this is funny. ‘Be sure of that!’ And he accused your friends, and the girl preacher, and indeed he had all the evidence that he needed to prove to me – or even to a jury, a jury, Kate! – that you are, alas, a very naughty little girl.’
I try to smile. ‘But I have explained…’
I see the gleam of his irritation. ‘Never mind all that. I say you are a naughty girl and I think you have to be punished!’
At once I think of the Tower and the scaffold that they can build on the green. I think of my ladies and the preachers who have spoken before me. I think of Anne, waiting in the Tower for release from her agony. ‘Punished?’
He reaches across his huge barrel of a body and extends his left hand to me. I take it and he tugs me roughly, as if he would pull me across the bed.
I yield. ‘ Your Majesty?’
‘Kneel on the bed,’ he says. ‘This is your punishment.’ He sees my aghast face and he laughs so much that he coughs, and tears come in to his piggy little eyes. ‘Oh! Were you thinking that I would behead you? Oh LOrd! Oh Lord! What fools women are! But kneel to me.’
I gather the skirts of my gown in my free hand and kneel up on the bed beside him. He lets go of my hand now I am positioned where he wants me, kneeling beside him, the stench from his woumded leg wafting up into my face. I put my hands together as if to swear fealty.
‘No, not that,’ he says impatiently. ‘I don’t want you to beg for pardon. Go on your hands and knees. Like a dog.
I shoot one disbelieving look into his face and I see that he is flushed and intent. He means it. As I hesitate I see that his eyes harden. ‘I’ve told you once, he says quietly. ‘There are guards outside and my barge will take you to the Tower tonight if I say just one word.’
‘I know…’ I say quickly. ‘It’s just that I don’t know what you want me to do, my lord husband. I would do anything for you, you know that. I have promised love…’
‘I’ve told you what to do,’ he points out, reasonably enough. ‘Go on your hands and knees like a dog.
My face is burning witht the heat of my shame. I go on my hands and knees on the bed and I drop my head down so that I don’t have to see the bright triumph in his face.
‘Lift your gown.’
This is too much. ‘I can’t,’ I say; but he is smiling.
‘Up over your buttocks,’ he says. ‘Lift your gown right up, your linen too, so your arse is as bare as a Smithfield whore.’
‘Your Majesty…’
He raises his right hand as if to warn me to be completely silent. I look back at him, I wonder if I dare to defy him.
‘My barge…’ he whispers. ‘It is waiting for you.’
Slowly, I pull my gown up to my waist, the silk cool in my fingers. It folds around my waist, leaving me naked from the waist down, on my hands and knees on the king’s bed.
He fumbles in the bedclothes and for a horrible moment I thnk that he is fondling himself, aroused by my nakedness, and that there will be worse for me to do. But he brings out a whip, a short horse’s whip, and shows it to me, bringing it to my burning face.
‘D’you see?’ he asks quietly. ‘it is no thicker than my little finger. The laws of the land, my laws, say that a husband may beat his wife if the stick is no thicker than his finger. D’you see that this is a thin little whip that I may legally use on you? Are we agreed?’
‘Your Majesty would not –‘
‘It is the law, Kateryn. Like the law of heresy, like the law of treason. do you understand that I am the law giver and the law enforcer and that nothing happens in England without my will?’
My legs and buttocks are cold. I bend my head to the stinking covers of the bed. ‘I understand,’ I say, though I can hardly speak.
He brings the whip closer, then thrusts it in my face. ‘Look!’ he says.
I raise my head and look at it.
‘Kiss it,’ he says.
I cant’t stop myself from fliching. ‘What?’
‘Kiss the rod. As a sign that you accept your punishment. Like a good child. Kiss the rod.’
I look at him blankly for a moment as if I wonder if I can disobey him. He returns my gaze, completely calm. Only his scarlet colour and his rapid breathing reveal that he is aroused. He holds the whip a little closer to my lips. ‘Go on,’ he says.
I purse my lips. He puts the leather plaited thong to my mouth. I kiss it. He puts the thicker leather stem to my face. I kiss it. He puts his clenched hand holding the handle before my mouth, and I kiss his fat fingers too. Then without changing his expression he raises the whip behind me, and brings it down hard on my buttocks.
I cry out and flinch away, but he has tight hold of my upper arm and he strikes me again. Three times I hear the whistle and then feel the blow as it comes down and the pain is quite terrible. There are burning tears in my eyes as he brings the whip to my face againn and whispers: ‘Kiss it, Kateryn, and say that you have learned wifely obedience.’
There is blood in my mouth from where I have bitten my lip. It tastes like poison. I can feel the hot tears pouring down my cheeks and I cannot choke down a little sob. He waggles the stick in front of me and I kiss it, as he orders. ‘Say it,’ he reminds me.
‘I have learned wifely obedience,’ I repeat.
‘Say thank you, my lord husband.’
‘Thank you, my lord husband.’
He is quiet. I take a choking breath. I can feel my chest heave with my sobs. I assume my punishment is finished and I pull down my gown. My buttocks are stinging raw and I am afraid they are bleeding, and my white linen shift will be stained.
‘One other thing,’he says silkily, still holding me on my hands and knees. I wait.
He pushes back the covers of his bed and I see, like a monstrous erection, he is wearing the ivory silk codpiece from the portrait strapped on his fat naked belly. It is a grotesque sight, huge on his rolling belly, pointing upwards out of the sheets, embroidered with silver thread and stiched with pearls.
‘Kiss this too,’ he says.
My will is broken indeed. I rub my tears from my eyes with the back of my hand and I feel the snot from my nose spread over my face. This, too, I will do for my own safety.
He puts his hand on it and he caresses it as if it can give him pleasure. He giggles. ‘You have to,’ he says simply.
I nod. I know I have to. I put my head down and I put my lips against the encrusted tip. With a single cruel gesture he takes a handful of my hair and thumps the back of my head, so my face is smacked by it and it bangs against my teeth and the pearls scrape my lips. I don’t pull back from the pain. I hold my face still as he works it in a parody of abuse against my mouth over and over again till my mouth is bruised by the jewels and the embroidery and my lips are bleeding.
He is exhausted, his face flushed and sweating. The ivory cod-piece is smeared with my blood as if he had deflowered a virgin with it. He drops back on his pillows and sighs as if he is deeply satisfied.
‘You can go.’


Later there is a short can’t-sit-down scene…

Shaming me has cheered the king back to health. Suddenly he is well enough to dine with the court and this afternoon he is wheeled into the garden with me at his side. Nan, Lady Tyrwhit and little Lady Jane Grey walk with me, the rest of my ladies stroll behind us, and the king holds my hand as I walk beside the chair. There is a spreading beech tree in the centre of the king’s privy garden and he stops the chair in the shade and someone fetches a stool for me to sit beside him. Gingerly I lower myself to the seat. He smiles as he sees I cannot sit without pain.
‘You are amused, my lord husband?’
‘Now we’re going to see a play.’
‘A play? Here?
‘Indeed yes. And when it is over you can tell me the title.’


The title of the play turns out to be “The Taming of the Queen” presumably without any credits to Shakespeare who hasn’t been born yet!

 Another apparent anachronism is the law about being beaten with a stick that is no thicker than a finger. Such a law did exist but I believe it was brought in during the reign of Queen Elizabeth, Henry’s daughter.

The Rise and Fall of the Bobby Soxers


In the early 1940s, Hitler was busy trampling Europe underfoot but over in America there was a different kind of terror that was threatening the nation. A moral panic that moved quickly from state to state spread, not by the march of the jackboot, but the pitter-patter of the bowling shoe!

The rebellious teen tribe known as the bobby-soxers was on the rise. Their crimes were too numerous to mention but close analysis of the films of the period reveal that some of the most common included:

  • Using slang
  • Laziness
  • Over the top emotions
  • Careless use of the telephone
  • Dancing to swing and big band music


America had invented the teenager and the guardians of traditional family values promptly came up with an invention of their own:

The Teen Spanking!


Educational insititutions were taking no chances either. In Utah, a brand new intake of college freshers turned up wearing the bobby soxer uniform of sweaters, skirts and ankle socks with bowling shoes. They were lined up and paddled in public as a deterrent. Better to be safe than sorry.


The power of the press was employed to try and suppress bobby soxer rebellions wherever they broke out. The dreaded saddle shoe is clearly visible in this still of Betty Lynn being spanked with a newspaper from the film June Bride (1948).  In the same year,  Betty played another bratty bobby soxer in Sitting Pretty and was threatened with a bottom-warming in that too.


I spotted a very similar scene in Harry’s post on the popular high school stage play Men are Like Streetcars. It tells the story of naughty Maudie Mason a character whose roots lie in the bobbysoxer era even though the play was still being performed into the 1970s.


Soon even rural areas of the country were being defended with necessary force. This is one backwoods bobby soxer who won’t be commiting any of those top 5 sins again in a hurry!


Shockingly, even the all American sweetheart and child star Shirley Temple grew up to be a bobby soxer. See her threatened with a spanking here.

Bobby soxer demigogues included the likes of Frank Sinatra and the less well known, but equally dangerous, Van Johnson. How many teenage girls fantasised about being in the position of June Allyson in the film Too Young to Kiss? Draped across Johnson’s knee, she is undergoing some much needed correction from her leader.


Unfortunately for the bobbysoxers, the authorities were able to exploit a vulnerability in their fashionable attire. Those “poodle” style skirts were just asking to be hoiked up!


While there is little authentic picture evidence of this tactic being employed, an excellent approximation from the early 21st Century shows what it might have looked like.


The raised skirt panty spanking must have proved a very effective weapon as by the end of the decade the bobby soxers were in retreat. At the top of this post we see a student with a comb stuffed down her sock but it was a different kind of hair grooming device which proved their final undoing.The ultimate deterrent was reluctantly put into use against the remaining rebels.



Hairbrush-ima soon had the bobby soxers begging to surrender and behave!

Credits: [Bobbysoxer6] This picture is from Harry’s collection and it’s never been on the internet before.

[utah] JS 666 sent me this version of the famous student paddling picture which is better quality than the one seen on most sites.

{Bobbysoxer5] I found this on Richard Windsor’s blog.

[Bobbysoxer3] I think this is from the website Punished Brats.

Rococo to Revolution

Inspired by the previous post, I’ve dug out all the French art that I have. I’ve been interested in French painting of the 18th Century long before I got on to the internet. Much of it is playfully erotic and you always get the sense that a spanking might be just around the corner when you’re walking around a gallery filled with the work of Boucher or Fragonard.

Hot Cockles by Fragonard Hot Cockles

To begin with two paintings that both have the same title: Hot Cockles. At the top is the Fragonard picture that featured in the BBC documentary, but you might prefer the other which shows a teenage girl as the ‘penitent’.  The girl is pointing at a handsome young lad who is being restrained by another girl. The boy has a guilty smirk on his face but personally I think it was the old priest wot done it! This one is by Madame Lescot.

Woman whipped by Cupid - Fragonard Woman Whipped by Cupid - Unknown

Moving towards the realms of erotica, The Woman Whipped by Love is also by Fragonard. A satyr holds the writhing woman across his knee and presents her bare bottom to Cupid who is whipping it with a bunch of roses.

The pen and ink drawing depicts exactly the same subject but in a more restrained and classical style. I couldn’t find any details about this at all, but I’m calling it French school of the 18th Century.


This fine engraving would surely be classed as erotica today. But in an era when bare bottom punishments were an accepted part of everyday life who’s to say that there’s anything untoward about it? Bawdy and irreverent but not causing real offence to anyone, I look at it as the 18th Century equivalent of the 1970s National Lampoon cover (which has the same detail of one shoe lying on the floor).

I don’t know the artist but I’m assuming he’s French because of the note that the tutor has left on the desk, “Je ne pardonne a persone” – I don’t forgive anyone.

The latter part of the 18th Century was a time of great political unrest, upheaval and revolution. And what better way to quell female rebels than with a good spanking!?

nunbirched palaisroyale

JS666 sent me his own scans of these two drawings. A posh lady whipped for defacing a portrait of M. Necker at the Palais Royal shows an event that probably really happened, as did the public birching of nuns through the streets of Paris.


Finally, JS sent me this too. Dated 1774, this one really is good old vintage porn!

Philippa Gregory’s The Boleyn Inheritance

250px-The Boleyn Inheritance

Divorced, beheaded, died, birched!

Published in 2006 this best selling historical novel tells the story of two of the wives of Henry VIII from the women’s own point of view. In an early chapter the 24 year old Anne, Henry’s fourth wife-to-be, is beaten bare bottom with a rod  for displeasing her brother William, the all powerful Duke of Cleves, who spies on the scene from an adjacent room.


I go through quickly to our privy chamber and fling my clothes into the chest at the foot of the bed and jump into bed in my shift, drawing the curtains around the bed, pulling the covers up. I shiver in the coldness of the linen, and wait for the order that I know will come.

In only a few moments, Amelia opens the door. “You’re to go to Mother’s rooms,” she says triumphantly.

“Tell her I’m ill. You should have said I’ve gone to bed.”

“I told her. She said you have to get up and put on a cloak and go. What have you done now?”

I scowl at her bright face. “Nothing.” I rise unwillingly from the bed. “Nothing. As always, I have done nothing.” I pull my cloak from the hook behind the door and tie the ribbons from chin to knee.

“Did you answer him back?” Amanda demands gleefully. “Why do you always argue with him?”

I go out without replying, through the silence chamber and down the steps to my mother’s rooms in the same tower on the floor below us.

At first it looks as if she is alone, but then I see the half-closed door to her privy chamber and I don’t need to hear him, and I don’t need to see him. I just know that he is there, watching.

She has her back to me at first, and when she turns I see she has the birch stick in her hand and her face is stern.

“I have done nothing.” I say at once.

She sighs irritably. “Child, is that any way to come into a room?”

I lower my head. “My lady mother,” I say quietly.

“I am displeased with you” she says

I look up. “I am sorry for that. How have I offended?”

“You have been called to a holy duty; you must lead your husband to the reformed church.”

I nod.

“You have been called to a position of great honour and great dignity, and you must forge your behaviour to deserve it”

Inarguable. I lower my head again.

“You have an unruly spirit,” she goes on.

True indeed.

“You lack the proper traits of a woman: submission, obedience, love of duty.”

True again.

“And I fear that you have a wanton streak in you,” she says, very low.

“Mother, that I have not.” I say as quietly as her. “That is not true.”

“You do. The King of England will not tolerate a wanton wife. The Queen of England must be a woman without a stain on her character. She must be above reproach.”

“My lady mother, I…”

“Anne, think of this!” she says, and for once I hear a real ring of earnestness in her voice. “Think of this! He had the Lady Anne Boleyn executed for infidelity, accusing her of sin with half the court, her own brother among her lovers. He made her queen and then he unmade her again with no cause or evidence but his own will. He accused her of incest, witchcraft, crimes most foul. He is a man most anxious for his reputation, madly anxious. The next Queen of England must never be doubted. We cannot guarantee your safety if there is one word said against you!”

“My lady…”

“Kiss the rod,” she says before I can argue.

I touch my lips to the stick as she holds it out to me. Behind her privy chamber door I can hear him slightly, very slightly, sigh.

“Hold the seat of the chair,” she orders.

I bend over and grip both sides of the chair. Delicately, like a lady lifting a handkerchief, she takes the hem of my cloak and raises it over my hips and then my night shift. My buttocks are naked, if my brother chooses to look through the half-open door he can see me, displayed like a girl in a bawdy house. There is a whistle of the rod through the air and the sudden whiplash of pain across my thigh. I cry out, and then bite my lip. I am desperate to know how many cuts I will have to take. I grit my teeth together and wait for the next. The hiss through the air and then the slice of pain, like a sword-cut in a dishonourable duel. The sound of the next comes too fast for me to make ready, and I cry out again, my tears suddenly coming hot and fast like blood.

“Stand up, Anne,” she says coolly, and pulls down my shift and cloak.

The tears are pouring down my face, I can hear myself sobbing like a child.

“Go to your room and read the Bible,” she says. “Think especially of your royal calling. Caesar’s wife, Anne. Caesar’s wife.”

I have to curtsey to her. The awkward movement causes a wave of new pain and I whimper like a whipped puppy. I go to the door and open it. The wind blows the door from my hand and, in the gust, the inner door to her privy chamber flies open without warning.

In the shadow stands my brother, his face strained as if it were him beneath the whip of the birch, his lips pressed tightly together as if to stop himself from calling out. For one awful moment our eyes meet and he looks at me, his face filled with a desperate need. I drop my eyes, I turn from him as if I have not seen him, as if I am blind to him. Whatever he wants of me, I know that I don’t want to hear it. I stumble from the room, my shift sticking to the blood on the backs of my thighs. I am desperate to get away from them both.



I knew that Adelaide Clemens would be seen nude in episode 3 of Parade’s End, with hopefully a glimpse of the bare bottom that was threatened with a smacking in episode 2, but I certainly wasn’t expecting that she would pose as Venus in the famous painting by Velasquez!

As most of you will know by now, the reclining nude has been the inspiration behind many of the Spank Statement headers, and this beautifully lit image, complete with the reflection in the mirror, is easily the best recreation of it that I’ve seen so far.

With hindsight, some clues did appear in the previous episode when Adelaide’s character witnessed the slashing of the painting by a suffragette in London’s National Gallery. According to a review:

The impact of her witnessing the slashing of the Rokeby Venus by Mary Richardson at the National Gallery is portrayed with a striking and impactful visual moment that reveals Valentine’s true appreciation of beauty, coupled with the burgeoning desire and sensuality that lie in her heart.

Quite. And more to the point…I’ve got my next header for 2013. 🙂


Inspired by Parade’s End, I thought I’d take a look at what I’ve got on my hard disk related to suffragette spanking. It turned out to be mainly contemporary accounts from old newspapers.

I’ve had this report for a few years now, I can’t remember where I found it but I think it was on one of the spanking blogs.

suffragettes 002

Martyn sent me these two reports a few months ago after he had spent an afternoon browsing an Australian government website.



In the first episode of Parade’s End, there’s a great scene where Valentine and a companion stage a protest at a golf course. It’s an ‘event’ that the modern day women’s group FEMEN would be proud of as they interrupt the game of a group of old Tory buffers and throw water at them. It would have been perfect if it had ended with a spanking, but unfortunately, they make a narrow escape after being chased across the links by the furious golfers.

parade's end

That’s why the man threatens to smack Valentine’s bare bottom in the clip that I posted last week. The scene takes place at an Eton cricket match and he thinks that she might be planning a similar stunt.

But he probably needn’t have worried. Considering the newspaper reports above, the ready availability of flogging apparatus nearby, and the public school masters no doubt present amongst the spectators, it would have taken a very brave suffragette indeed to disrupt a cricket match at Eton during that period!

Parade’s End


Parade’s End is a new drama set in the years leading up to, and including, the First World War. Comparisons with Downton Abbey are being made but all you really need to know is that the BBC/HBO series, based on the novels of Ford Madox Ford, is much better and writer Tom Stoppard has laced his script with very entertaining spanking references!

In episode 2 Valentine Wannop, a campaigner for women’s rights played by Kirsten Dunst lookalike Adelaide Clemens, is threatened by Sandbach (Malcom Sinclair) a traditionalist Member of Parliament. My clip includes a second amusing little scene.

In the first episode, we also had a woman saying suffragettes should be whipped and a man saying they should be spanked. And there are still two more episodes to come. Can Valentine’s posterior survive unscathed?

Update: In episode 3 Adelaide Clemens showed her bare bottom in an awesome nude scene which I’ve posted here