Spanking Blog: Adult Erotic Spanking At Its Best

I don’t believe in invidious comparisons as a rule; I like the look of bottoms and they are all attractive. But if they had a “prettiest bottom about to be caned” competition, you’d have to admit this would be a worthy entrant:

You can click here to see that same pretty bottom with a breathtaking set of ruler-straight red cane welts. (I particularly like the shot where she’s clutching her sore cheeks with such vigor that she’s parted them, exposing her anal rosebud as if to offer it to the viewer.)

Picture is from Spanking Online, which is part of the excellent SpankPass network.

This is never a good idea, but it’s often fun:

Up a tree or in the Rott kennel? Which is safer?

I go for the tree and am almost high enough to be out of his reach when he yanks on the bottom of my pajamas! DIRTY POOL!

My jammies come down! He laughs. I am mortified and I tell him he’d better eat out for the rest of the week.

“How dare you!” I yell.

“Easily,” he laughs.

“There are laws against this,” I tell him.

“Not in my house,” the giant squid retorts and a couple of hard swats later, covers my bare bottom with his excessively large paw… er, hand… and we go back into the house.

Unfortunately, I still have the sniffles.

“Where were we?” he asks as he gives me one of those smug male grins.

Bonnie has the best adventures:

Randy began to applaud. He was clearly delighted by my striptease. Finally, I had for once turned the tables, or so I thought.

“That was excellent, Bon! Now let’s see you bend over this stool.”

Nearly breathless and fresh out of better ideas, I did as he asked. I placed my belly on the cold vinyl that coated the top step. Once I was in position, Randy produced my leather cuffs and slipped them onto my two wrists and two ankles. Designed as they are for restraint, each cuff has a small ring to allow attachment of a cord. Randy, of course, had other ideas. He grabbed a roll of grey duct tape from the top of his dresser (now, is that the sign of a real man or what?). He proceeded to fasten each cuff to a leg of the step stool by winding the tape around both cuff and leg. This had to have been the hard way, but it was effective enough. I was bound in place, fully exposed, and unable to move.

I mentally prepared myself for my spanking. It would hurt without a doubt, but it would be wonderful at the same time. At least I hoped it would. I was completely unready for the next sensation. Rather than a hot smack, I felt a cold finger, coated with lubricant, probing my rear orifice. In and out, around and around, he spread the viscous goo. Next, my Prince Charming began to insert a rubber plug. Slowly at first, he pushed, twisted, and pumped until it was in place. I can’t say it was particularly comfortable, but I sufficiently aroused by now to care only slightly.

As I was settling in with the idea of my most private place being thoroughly violated, the spanking began. Randy used a short leather strap to warm up my cheeks. It left a burning sensation with every stroke. When he decided I had enough of that, he switched to a wooden hairbrush. When vigorously applied to flesh of my posterior, it burned too, but in a deeper, more intense, longer lasting fashion. At one point, I recall Randy holding the brush in one hand and the end of the butt plug in the other. The sensations associated with being spanked and penetrated at the same time were so overwhelming that he had to steady the step stool to prevent it from tipping over from my rocking gyrations.

After many hard swats, my man finally decided I had been adequately spanked. He dropped the brush and walked around in front of me. He knelt down and gently kissed me. When he stood again, he lowered his pants and pulled out his weapon. “Open up,” he directed. I leaned my head back to accept his gift. I kissed, licked, and sucked his rod…

How did it go in the Rubaiyat? “A skein of rope, a leather strap, and thou…” Yeah, that’s it:

“Paradise enow”, indeed. From Sex And Submission.

It’s not nice to lie to your children, but I suppose it’s often expedient. Case in point from The Spanking Writers:

Said parents were away when we first visited their house. Son sits us down, disappears to fetch drinks. And our eyes simultaneously come to rest on the huge plant pot in the corner of the living room.

We wandered over, as if in shock: yes, it was stashed with the most impressive collection of crook-handled school canes that I have ever seen: junior, senior, in every conceivable degree of whippiness.

Our friend came back in. “Camel whips,” he explained. “Dad collected them when he lived in the Middle East.”

We - just - managed to surpress our giggles.

There’s one thing Aunty Agony does better than any other spanking blog, and that thing is trawling the internet for amateur, non-commercial, more-or-less-fully-clothed, just-folks-having-fun, mostly-innocent spanking photographs. Like this one, of a pretty girl spanking herself with a ping pong paddle:

Good stuff!

You’ve all seen punishment “horses” in spanking drawings, if nowhere else. Here’s a detailed description of one being put to good use:

Rosemary, in a frightened daze, took in the room which , she realised, had once been a boudoir. Now it was bare with a few chairs and, in the centre, a wooden construction like a saw horse but on longer legs. Its top came to an edge which was minimally padded by old, well stained leather. Each leg was linked to leather straps. Upon one wall, she noticed, there hung an array of flagellatory instruments. Small whips, leather straps and a number of long canes.

‘Now girl,’ said Weeks ‘Best if you go along with this and get it over with. Just do as I tell you and all will be fine. Slip off your pinafore and dress and be smart about it.’

Rosemary did as she was told, folding the clothes with deliberate neatness onto a chair. She now stood before the two women in her undergarments.

‘Have the girl strip to the waist, Weeks, if you please. Don’t want her sweating into the good underwear my money provides’ said Lady Elizabeth.

‘Off with your top,’ said the Housekeeper and Rosemary obeyed, slipping off the simple white chemise to expose her young breasts.

‘Have her mount the horse!’ said the mistress.

Weeks pulled forward a small wooden box and placed it underneath the horse.

‘Climb astride the horse, girl, and use the box,’ she ordered.

Rosemary stood up on the box and swung her leg over the ridge to stand with her legs apart across its edge.

‘Come down a little towards the end, then part your drawers and sit down with your bare cunny touching the top. I will do the rest,’ said Weeks.

Rosemary did as she was told and parted the material of her drawers then placed her ’sweet spot’ in its brown curls upon the leather which was marked by the juices of so many girls before her.

Satisfied that the girl was correctly positioned, her bare cunt pressing down against the hard leather of the saw horse, Weeks quickly pulled the box away and Rosemary now felt the painful and instant discomfort of the leather forcing open her labia. Quickly, Weeks swept up each booted ankle and strapped it high up on the rear legs of the horse so that Rosemary was now seated like a jockey. She then pulled the girl down at the front until her nipples caressed the top of the horse. Each of the girl’s wrists was now strapped low down on the front legs.

Rosemary was now perfectly placed, bottom thrust up and ready, the edge of the horse pressing cruelly against the base of her mound and her clitoris. She now realised the cunning of this sadistic device to add additional suffering and pain.

Weeks proceeded to completely bare the girl’s bottom. She pulled open the division of the drawers and worked the material back, tucking it under so that each neat tightened cheek was clearly on show and gleaming pink in the candlelight.

‘Now there, Weeks, is a good sight! What a suitable bottom this young miss has. Well rounded, pert, just ripe for a brisking. Such fresh young skin, neglected for so long. We must make her do her duties without carelessness. A good cane, Weeks. is best for a tight little bottom. That one, the third from the end. That will get her working on the horse and give her a good ride!’

From the story “Maids” as excerpted at A Taste Of The Birch.

This must be dungeon week. I’ve been enjoying the offerings from Pain Gate of late, because they’ve taken to putting together some excellent historical punishment tableaus, complete with dungeons, whips, nettles, switches, and cute girls:

Yummy!

Here’s an excerpt from a nifty spanking story called “Cards” by ContinentalOP. It’s a sort of “gangster’s moll suffers ennui, gets passion spanked back into her” sort of thing:

He bent down enough to take the hem of her dress in his fingertips and drew it upward, exposing her shapely bare calves, then her sculpted thighs, and finally the perfectly rounded bulb of her ass, a pair of white cotton panties clinging to those curves. He draped the fabric of her dress neatly at the small of her back, the material rustling like a muted echo of shuffling cards. Without pause, he hooked his two thick forefingers into the elastic waistband of her underwear and pulled downward with a sharp, sure tug, peeling them away and letting them catch at her knees. He heard a high keening sound, and thought he could make out the words “omygodomygod” in a sotto voce from high in her throat.

Her womanly scent hit his nostrils and he got another electric jolt, felt from the top of his spine to his balls. The old, nearly forgotten part of his mind was surprised at the smile spreading across his face. After straightening up, he walked across the room to the radio console in the corner.

“About time we had some music in this house again.” He turned the dial and tuned in a music program. The tubes warmed up and strains of the Ellington band’s “Caravan” permeated the room, the sinuous melody somehow echoed and amplified Maude’s drawn-out whimpers, and Will felt the rolling syncopated beat pound in time with his heart. His smile widened and he turned the volume knob higher.

He walked back across the the table slowly and deliberately, and took up his former position standing behind her and to one side. Finding her quivering back starting to bunch up again, he firmly touched her spine with his hand and clucked a disapproving “tsk.” It was enough to make her flatten her back again.

When a growling trombone solo started, he said darkly, “The four of diamonds… You know how to count to four, don’t you dear?” and pressed the palm of his hand casually against her left ass-cheek, holding it there warmly, molded to the curve.

There was a real choking sob then, and he felt the muscles in her butt clench, her body go rigid. He waited to the end of the trombone solo.

“I asked you a question.” His voice all gravel and mud.

“Y - yes,” she squeaked out, then hissed in a breath.

“Then count with me, Maude.” The distant and still receding part of his mind marvelled at his new mind’s easy composure and self-assured mastery as he raised his hand and flashed it down onto her left cheek sharply, the crack of flesh of flesh pinging off the room’s clapboard walls.

Thanks to Pirate for sending in the link.

For some young ladies on certain days, it genuinely doesn’t pay to gnaw through the leather straps in order to get out of bed in the morning. We find three such lovely unfortunates huddled in chains on prickly straw in some sort of makeshift dungeon:

Alas for them, their day is only going to get worse. Masked dungeon-keepers shouting “Get up, you indolent sluts!” have chivied them to their feet, chained their hands above their heads, and started soaking ominous-looking birch bundles in brine:

After far too long in that strenuous and vulnerable position, the first young miscreant is brought to the whipping post and solidly tied there. With a viscious swish and crack the birch lands, more painful than she had ever imagined it would be:

You can view the rest of this severe birching tableaux here, courtesty of Lupus Spanking.

You’ve got to love a good old fashioned “historical” novel featuring slavegirls of antiquity and their so-called punishments:

He ran the tip of the cane around her buttocks, circling their pert beauty before again lifting the hem of the smock, pulling it up along her well-defined spine then dropping it down over her shoulders. As it fell, covering her head, she lowered her shoulders further and raised her buttocks higher. The dark crack between them opened and from the tantalising shadow the fleshy pink of her cunt was revealed — narrow and smooth and mounded up at the sides.

Magnus ran the point of the cane along the delectable valley, prodding at her labia, testing their delicacy and, under the pressure of the cane, they opened slightly and the slit at their centre glistened with her fragrant moisture. She sighed, a muffled heavy sigh of compliance and let the side of her face rest submissively on the ground. She lay there, bent before him like a sacrifice.

Magnus lifted the cane above his head and paused. Caristia panted heavily, waiting for the cane to fall, knowing how much it would sting, how much it would burn and how much she would suffer until, finally, when he decided she had endured enough, it would end. She bit her lips and, warned by only the faintest swish of air, he brought it down fully across her waiting naked bottom.

She gasped as the stinging pain burned into her and she held her breath in an effort to stop herself from yelling too soon and as a way of bracing herself for the next. Her blue eyes widened when it fell, and she screwed up her face as the second lashing pain penetrated her but, as he raised the cane for the third time, she lifted her bottom still higher, opening the crack of her cunt and exposing her swelling flesh as much as she could for more.

He brought the cane down relentlessly but still she pushed her bottom up to meet it. No matter how hard it fell, how penetrating the pain, she still pushed herself at it, still lifted her buttocks, still exposed her cunt until she felt on fire, until she was burning with its heat. It scorched through her skin, up her neck and into her face. Then she sucked it in with gasping breaths and it entered her very soul, filling her mind with images and driving her into a reverie of uncontrollable delight. She met each stroke with increasing ecstasy and when, finally, she sensed that he would stop, she opened her buttocks wide, exposing the inner petals of her now soaking cunt and letting the stinging cane fall against its tender edges. His strokes built to a crescendo, lacing her tender flesh and, as if she had been unplugged, she felt the scream she had held in coursing up her throat. It broke free in a long penetrating screech and she collapsed, dropping fully to the floor, drenched by the flood of her own pent up, explosive orgasm, soaked by the bliss of pain.

As she panted and jerked under the shroud of her smock she felt Magnus running the tip of the cane along the red stripes that now covered her pale-skinned bottom. Her skin was so sensitised she squirmed at the slightest touch. She did not know whether he would start again, whether she had been punished enough, and she waited in case she must bear more — in case she must prepare herself for more ecstasy. But, as she heard him step back, she realised it was over and, still with her face covered, she sighed, rolled over and dropped her legs wide apart.

Magnus knelt down between them and turned to the other women.

‘And now little ones, you can see her true reward. Here! You two! Come and hold her wrists. And you two! Hold her ankles.’

From “The Roman Slave Girl” by Syra Bond.

Whoops! I almost forgot to mention this. Bethie has announced a contest to celebrate the anniversary of her thriving Spanking Den spanking discussion forum. Prizes include a nifty miniature canoe paddle that’s perfect for spanking, along with a fuzzy “Time-Out Pony” with a tummy timer that seems to have all the little big girls in a twitter.

You do have to register at the Den in order to post in the contest threads (necessary to win, no prizes for lurkers!), but Bethie is incredibly careful about not requiring sensitive personal information so it’s an easy register. Her goal is to provide a safe place to talk about spanking, and (in my opinion) she’s doing a great job at it.

In case your feet weren’t tingling today, here’s your Saturday morning dose of bastinado to make your toes curl in sympathy:

From Hogtied.com.

See Also:

• Caning Her Toes, Caning Her Tender Bits
• Bastinado Girl
• A Touch Of Bastinado

OK, so this is probably the first time you’ve seen the word “whore” on Spanking Blog. Not my favorite word, but “two-dollar whore” is a figure in the American vernacular that came to mind when I saw this picture forwarded by an anonymous benefactor:

Of course this sweet young lady is no such thing despite her willingness to be spanked for pocket change. But she sure does have cute panties!

See Also:

• Taking Down Her Panties
• Panty Whipping
• Nettles In Their Panties
• Caning Panties
• Panties, Who Needs 'Em?

A friend once told me she knew someone who believed that all BDSM porn involves “Nazi scenarios”. Well, no. But the man with a swastica and a whip was not unheard of in those old “adventure” magazines for men, which were often illustrated in this style:

Me, I’m thinking “Hey, I want a whip like that.”

After several recent questions in the comments about a good place to buy canes, I thought it would be appropriate to share my own favorite place to buy canes as well as BDSM gear of all kinds: JT’s Stockroom. Their cane section features classic crooked rattan canes as well as straight rattan canes with a wrapped suede handle (pictured above, and my favorite because I find them easier to hold and steer). They also do exotic materials from Lexan to Delrin to stainless steel (which I still want to try out on Bethie).

The reason I can recommend JT’s Stockroom so highly, though, is that on top of their great selection, they have a well-deserved reputation for both quality and service. Their stuff is top-notch and I’ve frequently been amazed at how fast they got it to me.

You’d have to be careful, I think, not to try this game with a woman whose suprise reflex involves biting:

Donny returned to the bed and stood by its side in front of my mouth. “Open your mouth,” he said, and I did.

He pushed the head of his cock not unforcefully into my mouth. Wrapping one of his hands in my hair, he cranked my head back and up so that our eyes met even as his cock continued to slowly fuck my mouth. With my head pulled so far back I found it more difficult to deep-throat him. I gagged slightly and when he pulled out of my mouth long pearly strands of my spit connected us like wet spider webs.

“You didn’t follow my directions,” Donny said. “I told you that except for asking permission to come, you couldn’t speak. You told me to fuck you harder. Now,” he said and shifted his body to fuck my throat more fully, “you will suck my cock until I come and as you do, I’m going to flog you. With each stroke, it will get harder and hurt you more, so you’d do best to make me come quickly.”

He released my head down and shifted his weight. I could hear it before I felt it: the soft thudding rain of the flogger’s leather tips on my ass. I continued to suck his cock, his hips moving with their own rhythm, guiding his cock into my mouth at his pace. I could do little but try to make it interesting—swirl my tongue surprisingly around his cock’s tip when he pulled out, bite gently behind its head for a brief moment when it entered, swallow around its heavy presence in the back of my throat when it had fully penetrated my mouth and throat.

Every passing moment the flogger rained down harder. Soon it had progressed from the gentle heavy drops of the beginning of an August afternoon thundercloud to the sweet stinging pitter-patter of an April shower and then to the driving discomfort of a cold February storm.

As Donny’s strokes became harder, fiercer and more punishing, his excitement grew. His cock was now piston-fucking my mouth, this hard and inexhaustible machine fucking my mouth with internal combustion power. His concentration on his cock, Donny’s aim with the flogger became less and less precise. He hit my ass and my thighs, but also the tender flesh of my inner thighs, my belly and my pussy.

Switch-flashy bits of pain flickered when errant strands of the flogger caught my clit, my labia, my anus. The pain lit on and off the bright white of warning lights. Pop! pop! the snaps of pain on my girl bits snapped like the obsolescent flashbulbs of 1940’s paparazzo’s cameras…

From Pretty Dumb Things.