Spanking Blog: Adult Erotic Spanking At Its Best

I always enjoy these bondage poses (this one is from Wired Pussy) where there’s a menacing cane (this one looks more like a biblical “rod” to me) looming over the helpless bondage model:

Let the caning continue!

Some candid spanking-and-sex writing from Pleasure of Being A Spanked Wife:

Yes, I have had some wonderful spanking experience just recently.

It started Friday night when I got a bit mouthing and just stated OH SPANK ME WHY DON’T YA. He took my word for it and bent me over pulled down my sweats and spanked me for two minutes solid. I think the only reason he stop was because his hand got sore. THANK HEAVENS FOR THAT. My poor bottom was a cherry red and I was in seventh heaven. I was also a little bit shocked at his reaction to my statement. I didn’t expect for him to react so quickly.

Later that night as he was working on the computer, I decided to thank him for his prompt reaction to my statement. I turn him around in his chair and pulled down his pants and started to give him a BJ. He could see my excitement over his ever growing penis and proceeded to turn me over my favorite recliner and finish the job in my pussy. Which when done I happily clean him up with my tongue….

It would appear that this pretty lady has been sent outside in her dainty underthings to find her own switch:

Found at the Vintage Spanking Photos blog.

This was supposed to be a bad girl spanking. Funny how these things don’t always work out:

I set to work making my brat squeak and sqirm, bringing the brush down repeatedly on her reddening bottom. Every time she sqirmed out of position I gave her a swift paddle on the top of her legs to remind her to stay still and take her punishment like a good girl.

I stopped after a while, a little out of breath, my wrist starting to hurt. My brat crumpled into my arms, her breathing began to slow, as she rubbed her sore bottom. She looked up at me with her big eyes. “More?” she asked.

Who could refuse that? So the brat went over my lap for a bit more naughty girl time… followed by lots of snuggling and lotioning of her bad little bum.

An amazing set of cane marks from Pain Toy. Dramatic marks, yet even, and without a hint of the broken skin you so often see after a hard caning by someone who is less than an artiste with the rattan:

The thigh welts have gotta smart!

I get the most amazing emails from my readers. Today’s scholarly missive comes from Stingingpleasur, who’s found an ancient reference to spanking play. Stingingpleasur writes:

Hello. Since you like finding spanking trivia, here’s the oldest clear reference to spanking play that I’ve ever come across. (Especially old since the word “spank” is only from the early 18th century.)

The poem is “The Land of Cokaygne” from Anglo-Irish poems of the Middle Ages: The Kildare Poems. (Author: [unknown]). This poem survives in only one manuscript, London, British Library, Harley MS 913. It was probably compiled in Ireland in the early 1330s.

The original middle English runs:

Whan the abbot seeth ham flee,
That he holt for moch glee.
Ak natheles al ther amang,
He biddeth ham light to euesang.
The monkes lightith noght adun
Ak furre fleeth in o randun.
Whan the abbot him iseeth
That is monkes fram him fleeth,
He taketh maidin of the route
And turnith vp hir white toute,
And betith the taburs with is hond
To make is monkes light to lond.
Whan is monkes that iseeth,
To the maid dun hi fleeth
And geth the wench al abute,
And thakketh al hir white toute.
And sith aftir her swinke
Wendith meklich hom to drink,
And geth to har collacione,
A wel fair processione.

A translation:

When the abbot sees them fly,
Their antics make his spirits high;
But still he calls the busy throng
Down from the sky for Evensong.

The monks, reluctant to obey,
In headlong flight swoop far away.
When the abbot sees this sight,
His monks refusing to alight,
He takes a maiden standing near,
And upon her snow-white rear
Beats a tattoo with open hand
To make his monks come down to land.

When his young monks see that sight,
By the maiden they alight,
Round about her they career,
And each one pats her snow-white rear,
And then, with all their labour done,
Soberly they walk, each one,
Home for a drink at their collation,
In file according to their station.

It’s worth studying the Middle English, which despite some unfamiliar words is not that obscure when you’ve got a modern translation to hand. I especially like the way our spanked heroine goes from “maidin” to “wench” in one short stanza, courtesy of a good hand spanking.

Hmm, I think I know someone who can do that.

This week’s update over at Sex And Submission features a good bondage hand spanking and a nice red bottom:

Here’s a spanking snipped from “Ellen’s Story”, a Blue Moon book excerpted over at A Taste Of The Birch. Seems our heroines tried a bit of tree sitting to save some elm trees from the axe:

All the men’s attention was directed at Rachel who, to her utter distress, found herself slung unceremoniously over Clem’s broad lap, he having seated himself on a fallen bough. She shrieked and kicked her legs in terror and indignation as he hoisted up her skirts and petticoats, disclosing a beautifully plump round bottom decorously clad in white cotton knickers- but not for long! Rachel squealed in horror as, tugging impatiently at the waistband, Clem dragged her knickers down to her knees.

I felt consumed with pity for the poor mortified 18 year old girl as the bare white cheeks of her bottom were closely inspected and admiringly praised by the three men. From where I was perched I had a birds-eye view of Rachel’s private parts and it was apparent from his expression that Clem was feasting his eyes greedily on the same area. I grew sick at the thought of a similar fate befalling me, yet at the same time that peculiar prickly excitement which I had experienced on similar occasions began to irresistibly invade my loins.

‘Ooooh ow! Oh please stop!’ Rachel howled in shame and misery as Clem’s great slab-like palm descended speedily again and again in a blur of motion upon her quivering, blushing buttocks. The other two watched in gloating delight, clearly wallowing in vicarious pleasure, and I saw the lad rubbing the front of his trousers in vulgar abandonment- his eyes glued to Rachel’s frantically weaving, ever more rosy red bottom cheeks.

For what seemed like ten minutes, Clem delivered the soundest spanking that the luckless Rachel had ever, I am certain, suffered in her life. Later she told me, when we were up in her bedroom licking our wounds, that it had been far worse than any of her dad’s beltings. Indeed an old fashioned hand spanking can, if applied for long enough, hurt one’s bottom, as well as one’s pride, dreadfully!

To make matters worse for Rachel, towards the end of the painful and lengthy chastisement, Clem ceased to belabour her scarlet bottom and turned his attentions to the soft delicate area of her naked thighs above the tops of her stockings. ‘Oh no! Please, I beg you, not there! It hurts!’ she yelled at the top of her voice, kicking and scissoring her dainty legs indecorously - her black stockings alternately stretching and slackening in time to the frenzied jerking of her limbs.

I even had to stick my fingers in my ears to blot out the awful rhythmic slapping and the shrill cries of the weeping Rachel echoing among the tall swaying elms. The boy looked up at me with a malevolent grin on his face and shouted ‘Your turn next, my girl!’. I blushed brightly and hid my face in the rustling leaves.

When at last Clem decreed that Rachel had had enough, he allowed her to struggle up from his lap, weeping profusely. Shamefacedly replacing her undergarments she tottered off home amid hoots of derision from the men, and with never a backward glance in my direction.

Most of the Eric Stanton art I’ve seen has had a strong-women femdom-ish theme, so this panel showing a man whipping a girl is something of a rarity for this artist:

Always a lot of energy in a Stanton illustration.

Once or twice before I’ve posted excerpts from spanking books (you know, the old fashioned kind, printed on paper with some sort of lurid illustration on the cover?) by Silver Moon Books. They’ve long been my favorite spanking books publisher; it’s not great literature but their spanking and BDSM scenes are well imagined, typically very severe, and usually quite hot. Thus, I was delighted to discover recently that they’ve got a full online-catalog and will also (if you don’t like to wait) sell you many titles in e-book formats. Their catalog makes for a fun browse!

Here’s an excerpt from Controlling Catherine by Elena Gregory:

I knew without being able to see, that my clitoris was swollen and throbbing desperately. Knowing my own anatomy I was convinced that it was standing out overconfident and begging for attention. Nick avoided it; I am sure, knowing that if he so much as touched it I would explode.

The crack of leather through the air brought me back to my senses and shot the fear of God through me. I tried to get my hands in a position to protect myself but they just waggled about pathetically. That encouraged him further and I made a mental note to try not to flap about because it only encouraged him.

Just as the first blow of the slapper landed across the stretched cheeks of my bum Nick touched my clit. He didn’t stroke it or massage it but just held it in place to diffuse the pain from the leather on my bottom. It nearly did.

I stopped begging Nick not to hit me at that stage but it was a while before I realised it. I wanted him to continue with his other ministrations and he knew exactly how to balance it. Each time he whacked me he would do just enough to take my mind off it a little. Gradually though the weight behind the spanking intensified and the manipulation of my clitoris stayed the same.

It was so frustrating being unable to move. The pain sizzled through my thighs as he slapped them, and my bum flinched helplessly as he moved his blows about. I was so completely vulnerable. I actually felt my flesh jiggle with each blow and the fierce tight heat spread from the back of my knees to my sex. Sometimes a blow would land, catching the edge of one of my clamped lips making me scream but when it did Nick would soften it with his clever caressing of my aching clit.

Just when I really felt I could take no more, when my tears had soaked into my hair and I was sobbing continuously, I perceived he was slowing down. He must have spanked me at least one hundred times. To begin with I had counted in my head, striving to reach that illusive forty, but we had left that long behind.

I heard Nick grunt in exasperation and throw away whatever he had been spanking me with and his hand took over. There was something much more intimate about being manually spanked; the warmth of his hand and the way it cupped over my flesh excited me and had the effect of dulling the pain quite a bit. Well, perhaps dulling it isn’t the right description. It transferred it into something more pleasurable and infinitely more bearable.

He co-ordinated his spanking hand with his other hand. And even though he did it as hard as he could, the pleasure-giving hand wormed its way inside me and pumped in and out in time to the sharp slaps, increasing my excitement to fever pitch. I as a person ceased to exist. I was reduced to just a bottom and a cunt. The clips bit into me just enough to distract and the spanking took every ounce of my control to bear but the exquisite feeling as Nick stroked around my fat clitoris and then dipped his fingers inside me grew and grew.

Note:I’ve been busy, so you’re getting another one of these lost-but-now-found Pain Gate posts, along with more commentary about whipping that’s getting a little stale because I’ve said the same thing several times lately, but hadn’t when I first wrote this.

Although I like to tease Bethie by musing about buying a whip, and I might actually buy one someday to advance the game a notch, I don’t otherwise post a lot of whipping content here. Mostly, that’s because serious whipping tends to be part of a set of BDSM games that use different symbols and stroke different fetishes from the spanking and domestic discipline memes that energize my core readership. But that’s only true up to a point; many of us are polymorphously perverse, and find at least some enjoyment in scenes and accounts of kinky behavior that’s diverse from what we actually do. (Yes, I know that some spankos are strict one-fetishers and grow uncomfortable when I mix it up with other fetishes or — horrors! — refer to spanking as kinky or perverted. Putting this as nicely as I can: learn to deal.)

Anyway, one reason I like these severe whipping scenes from Pain Gate is because I’m mildly jealous of their freedom to play outdoors under the open sunshine. Wherever they are located, they’ve got climate and privacy both working for them, enough to lead this bondage cutie on a forced march down her very own personal trail of tears:

It’s not explicit, but this old photo (dating to 1890 according to the Hungarian page I found it on) sure looks like a punishment scene:

Link via Sexoteric.

Here’s four paragraphs of prefatory material supposedly leading up to a birching in front of the Queen of England. Mind you, these four paragraphs are just a sample, the poor girl’s been up on the scaffold for twenty-two paragraphs already when our curtain rises:

He put his hand on the waistband of Gloria’s drawers and with a violent ripping, accompanied by a shriek of despair from the girl, the last veil of modesty was torn from her body. In a desperate gesture of modesty, she tried to hug herself against the whipping post. Gloria was naked except for her hose and garters, her bare buttocks made more delectably vulnerable by the cool breeze in this early hour of the morning. The cold air made her flesh shrink, and her lovely bottom cheeks tensed and contracted violently as the unfortunate young woman strove to hide her most intimate parts from the prying eyes all around her.

Fighting her terror, her eyes tightly closed, her body pressed fiercely against the heavy whipping post, Gloria Talmadge awaited her birching. The cool air tickled her skin, sensitised her nerves and made this tension filled moment before the first stroke interminable frightful agony. With all her might she pressed her loins against the rough wood of the post to hide the thick black curls which garlanded the entrance to her virgin cunt. The crowd could see the rippling spasms up and down her thighs and along her stockinged supple calves as she prepared for her first taste of the rod.

The whipper took his place behind the shuddering girl, standing at her left and brandishing the rod. He gave it one or two preliminary swishes just to test its efficacy, but the whistling hiss made poor Gloria gasp in fear and shrink with convulsive anguish against the whipping post. Arching up on tiptoe, her arms dragged out wide, the magnificence of her young pale body stark against the leaden sky, Gloria was like a beautiful frightened animal and the crowd was absorbed in the unfolding spectacle.

The whipper lowered the birch to the floor of the scaffold, measuring his distance, appraising the firm ample ovals of that delightful naked bottom given up to his flagellatory skills. Aware that the Queen herself was watching, he determined to acquit himself with valour. He watched the young woman’s buttocks tighten and shudder as all her muscles came to her defence, and he bided his time, proving he was a master of his craft.

At the rate this whipping is going, he might be able to bide his time all the way to the end of the book. (Which, by the way, is “The Passions of Lady Meg” by Paul Little, as excerpted at A Taste Of The Birch.

As every spanko knows, hardware stores are dangerous:

A couple of years ago Hubby and I went to a home center to buy some paint and there was a couple ahead of us and they bought paint in a 5 gallon container, the clerk gave then a nice 5 gallon size paint paddle and the husband asked if he could have another one, he turned to his wife and told her the second paddle was for her bottom, her face got red and she turned her face the other way as they left the store. The clerk just smiled and shook her head, and I was so thankful Hubby never said a word.

That’s Pillow_Girl posting on the Spanking Den forum.

I think it’s hard to be a male spanko without having something of a fetish for sweetly curved bottoms, and sometimes the composition of a spanking shot gets everything just exactly right:

The well-tied sweet curves being caned above belong to model Pinky Lee and the photo is from Hogtied.com. (See full sized.)

I don’t include many historical punishment scenes on Spanking Blog, because I’ve got no particular desire to celebrate real, actual, nonconsensual whippings et cetera. The fantasy of nonconsensuality (often in historical contexts) can be hot as hell, but the reality presumably wasn’t, not for the unlucky victims anyway. However, I’m sometimes inclined to make an exception for lurid old postcards, because the scenes depicted on them are almost always staged for the photographer, and/or heavily edited by the card publisher or hand colorist. Cognizant that lots of spankos enjoy a good “whipped in the public square” fantasy, I’ve got no problem sharing this detail from an old postcard that purports to show an Indonesian judicial whipping, but which (in all likelihood, though we can’t know for sure) shows a scene ginned up for the photographer who wanted to sell postcards:

I found this suggestive picture on one of those otherwise boring pages of dormitory hijinks that college students are so fond of posting by the millions. This picture was labled with the French for “In College”:

For those of you whose fantasies run to the harsh punishment end of the spectrum, here’s an excerpt from a judicial caning story called The Young Offender by Lupercal:

The Sergeant then took a brisk step backward and, laying the cane gently across the middle of the girl’s magnificent bum, measured his distance. Then, satisfied with his aim, he moved back even further till he stood eight or nine feet to the side of his intended target.

With a dramatic flourish he raised the long swishy cane high up over his shoulder and, looking round at the Superintendent, signalled his readiness with a curt tilt of his head.

“Stand clear,” Oliseh said to the doctor and to the two constables who stood nearby, then, consulting a printed paper he’d taken from his pocket, rounded on the Sergeant, telling him, “The Warrant is for twenty-five. Proceed!”

Without a word, Sergeant M’wapa launched himself forward - one huge stride, then another - and then, pivoting round on the ball of one foot, brought the cane thrumming down across the pretty young convict’s squirming upthrust rear, wringing from her a tremendous, ear-splitting shriek that made me fairly jump in my seat. “Oh my God!” a woman behind me exclaimed. “My baby! My baby!”

“Hush now, Ayoka!” her male companion admonished. “The Court has spoken.”

“Yes. Of course,” the woman said shakily, then fell silent.

I shall never forget Bobbie’s baleful, heart-rending cries, the sharp, meaty ‘thwack’ of the cane against her naked flesh, and the way her big black bottom danced and writhed under that fearsome court-ordered thrashing. The Sergeant, as you would expect, was utterly merciless, punishing her with such ferocity that, at the fifth stroke, the Superintendent called a halt so that the doctor might assess the girl’s condition and determine her fitness to receive more of the same. But this examination, though competent, was merely a formality dictated by procedure. Sergeant M’wapa was an expert and everyone present could see that, despite the severity of her chastisement, the errant miss would suffer no lasting harm as a result of it’s execution. Indeed, it is a testament to the Sergeant’s proficiency with the rod, and, no doubt, to the many extra-judicial whippings he had meted out before the Act came into force, that, in the course of her punishment, the unfortunate young woman’s tortured hide remained completely intact, and not a drop of her blood was drawn.

Nonetheless, even at this point, with just one fifth of her sentence administered, it was clear that Bobbie Obasanjo would not sit comfortably for many days to come. Five huge ugly welts stood out like thick braided ropes snaking from hip to hip across her big bare bottom, each as fat as a man’s middle finger, and each a searing line of unbearable anguish, painful beyond anything the bawling teenager could possibly have imagined. These the doctor examined closely then turned to the Superintendent and said, “The injury is acceptable. You may continue.”

“Ohh! No! No! Nooooo…!” Bobbie wailed, he face a tragic mask of brimming, imploring eyes, bared teeth and wide, distended mouth. “No! No! Pleeeeeeease!!” she screamed, her broad hips arching up and jiggling frantically in a futile effort to forestall the resumption of her suffering. But Oliseh took no notice whatever. “Another ten,” he ordered and immediately the Sergeant sprung forward and struck again….

Here is an amazingly pastoral scene from the usually-gritty-and-severe whipping folks at Pain Gate. A sunny day suitable for a picnic, lovely scenery, two mostly-bare pretty maids, a whipping post, some sort of snake whip:

Really, it looks like a prescription for fun to me!

From Tangy Sweet, this description of how she likes it rough:

When he’s had enough kissing and fondling, he forces me up and guides me to lay face down, pillows supporting my hips, and my arms straight out in front of me. He forces my knees apart, exposing my cunt for his pleasure. He’s feeling rough tonight, I can tell.

I really don’t mind.

At the crack of his open hand against my ass, I jerk in surprise. The first one is always that way. The next makes me wiggle and complain a bit. The one after that warms my ass, makes it tingle, radiates into my pussy. After that the feel of his palm against my ass makes me gasp, makes me moan, and makes me wet. He never spanks me hard enough to cause the kind of pain I want to scramble away from, only enough to make me squirm and redden my skin. It’s an oddly “clearing” kind of feeling, being at his mercy this way and trusting him with everything I am. It’s enough to sweep my mind of everything but him.

The flat of his palm on my ass gets my attention, you might say.

My ass sufficiently pinkened and aching sweetly, he sinks his fingers deep inside my cunt and thrusts until I’m pushing my hips back toward him, wanting it harder and faster. He gives it to me.

I’m showing you these pictures from another Lupus Spanking caned girls gallery because the caning pictures feature an amusing conceit I’ve not seen before. Notice how the miscreants against the wall are holding their canes between their clenched bottom cheeks until it’s their turn?

I especially like this one, in which the girl on the right hastily readjusts her cane when nobody’s looking at her:

From the most recent batch of Post Secrets, a spanking postcard:

Thanks to the reader who alerted me to this.

Here’s a couple of lines from the April 2006 Atlantic magazine, about author Ian Fleming, who wrote all the books on which the James Bond movies are based:

As he wrote to his complaisant future wife, who seems to have shared some of his tastes, “I am the chosen instrument of the Holy Man to whip some of the devil out of you, and I must do my duty however much pain it causes me. So be prepared to drink your cocktails standing for a few days.”

A while back I published a cute spanking graphic that appeared to link the Marquis de Sade to the consumption of cocoa:

At that time I speculated: “Apparently the Marquis enjoyed a little pick-me-up with his flagellation?”

Apparently, indeed. Thanks are due to an alert reader, who wrote in with this excerpt from Maurice Lever’s biography of the Marquis:

The marquis de Sade’s palate was most keenly excited by pastry and sweets. [. . .] Chocolate inspired an irresistible passion. He loved it in all its forms: in cream, in cakes, in ice cream, in bars: “I asked… for a cake with icing,” he wrote his wife, “but I want it to be chocolate and black inside from chocolate as the devil’s ass is black from smoke. And the icing is to be the same.”

[Lever, Maurice. Sade: A Biography. English translation by
Arthur Goldhammer. New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux,
1993.]

About a month ago Bethie and I were on a road trip when we saw a sign for “The Amish Country Store.” Since we were in Amish country at the time, the sign made sense. I proposed we stop in briefly to see if they had any nice handmade riding crops or buggy whips, but Bethie (who was driving) dropped foot onto accelerator and sped right past.

On the return trip, I was napping when we went through Amish country. Bethie was careful not to wake me up.

Now I know why. She was scared of the Amish wooden spoons like the ones found by the pink bottomed girls:

I snuggled into her chest and she whispered into my ear, “go get the Amish spoon.” Now the Amish spoon is this monster of a wooden spoon we purchased at a specialty kitchen store when we found in an adorable little town on one of our “lets drive this way for a few hours and see what we find” road trips.

…

This wooden spoon is huge and made of really hardwood. It was apparently hand-carved by the Amish. The handle is about an inch in diameter. The business end is large, maybe 3 inches? And it is thick, at least an inch thick at the largest spot, but I don’t think there is any spot thinner than a half inch. This thing is wicked.

No worries, we’ll stop next time.

No, no, I say hastily, I’m not announcing some narrow-minded new exclusionary policy for Spanking Blog. Nope, it’s a sign I found on Flickr, found by the photographer in a restroom in a restaurant in Israel:

I thought the pony tail was a nice touch.

Another restored Pain Toy post:

One of the things that makes Pain Toy stand out as a spanking and BDSM site is that they aren’t bound by the tired conventions of spanking porn. Here we see one of their lovely victims models being menaced with the whippiest of thin canes being applied to the fronts of her thighs:

I’m thinking that’s gonna smart….

Here’s a single still from an unknown anime movie, featuring that old classic, a maid spanking:

From alt. binaries. pictures. erotica. anime.

More fun with the electric fly swatter (aka the Zapper Paddle), from My Not-So-Secret Self. This time it’s the inner thighs that get zapped:

The wires hot with electricity touch the tender flesh of my inner thigh and I feel it surge along my body; unlike the cattle prod it doesn’t echo deep into my body but rather seems to travel along my skin, like waves in the ocean slipping away into calm nothingness.

She pauses, waiting for my response; it really doesn’t hurt all that much, and I tell her so, giggling quietly. As she agrees with me, I jerk involuntarily at the unexpected touch of the fly swatter on my other thigh.

This time, I give in to the electricity - letting the incredible feelings wash over me. I feel zippy light pain, almost indistinguishable from the floaty mindless pleasure that overwhelms me. But before the sensations have a chance to dissipate, I feel it starting all over again as she touches the fly swatter to the first thigh, yet again.

The intensity of the electricity becomes harder to control as she gently touches the fly swatter back and forth between my inner thighs. I lose control quickly and she coos at me calmly that I need to stay still. Despite my best efforts, my legs are thrashing and my body won’t stop moving - I can no longer defeat the current.