Spanking Blog: Adult Erotic Spanking At Its Best

In which slave Kara enjoys a caning far more than she expected:

There are three canes that have collected dust, now all three would be used I had no doubt about that so now my job was to accept whatever the Master gave me and try to get my mind to accept what was happening whilst at the same time try to tell my body to absorb the blows.

As I was talking to myself in my mind the first stroke landed….arghhh! Damn that hurt, and I yelled several more times, the thin whippy cane is a ‘b…..d’ and I was so glad when the Master had finished with that one. The medium one then landed and I still yelled but that just seemed to drive the Master on. Six of these landed just like the others. Then the Master took the larger one, and when that landed I knew about it, it landed with a thump and the pain was excruciating and I remember yelling at the first one, I made my mind up that I wasn’t going to satisfy the Master’s streak by yelling so when the next five landed I remained quiet, I screamed inside, but somehow I managed to absorb each landing in silence. The Master found it quite amusing that I was remaining silent and I am sure He landed them harder because of it.

The session finished, the Master put my skirt back down, stood me up and then cuddled me asking me if I was alright. My reply was that I was fine although I did notice I was a bit spacey but dismissed this thinking that that just couldn’t happen with something I hated so much.

…

W/we sat and talked about the session, the Master being very pleased how I had taken this very first full session of caning and once again I was trying to come to terms with the slight high I was on, the time had come for me to try and understand myself on how I could possibly get into space with bondage and now caning!

As W/we sat talking I suddenly could hear myself asking for another six with the large cane, my mouth spilled the words out as if it was a normal occurrence. The Master looked at me surprised and asked if I was quite sure, I said that I was, my mind was yelling at me asking me what on earth I was doing, was I stupid, what was I trying to prove and to whom? I think I was trying to prove to myself that my silence was a fluke and that perhaps this time I would do what any other first time cane recipient would do and that is to yell as loud as possible!

So once again I was bent over the end of the bed, my skirt lifted, the two smaller canes teased on my backside. Then I felt the large cane being smoothed across my flesh and for an instant I tensed and held my breath anticipating a landing. The Master may well have seen me do this as the landing never arrived, realising I was doing the wrong thing by tensing I let go of my breath and relaxed myself and a split second later the cane landed, boy did that go through me like a shockwave after an earthquake! I moved slightly forwards to absorb the pain which was excruciating but nevertheless I was silent, five more heavy landings which shot through me like fire, I think on the third one I made a noise but the rest were in silence. The last landing seemed twice as hard and I had to work hard to remain silent, the overwhelming urge to scream was more difficult to hold back than trying to absorb the landings! The administration of these six was over, this time a couple of welts did come up quite nicely but didn’t last very long…

Don’t you love it when they ask for more?

I’ve heard of a lot of good excuses for a spanking, but I’ll confess that “to help concentrate more during church” is new to me. The spanked-for-gossiping business, however, is a fair bit more traditional:

Yesterday was Sunday and when I am getting daily spankings then I also get two on Sundays, it is to help me concentrate more during church. I woke up and started breakfast then went to get a quick shower. As my husband showered I finished up breakfast and then we sat down and ate, I wearing nothing but panties as I was soon to be spanked.

After breakfast I was sent to the corner while my husband did the breakfast dishes, yes sometimes he does the dishes. While he was washing them he would from time to time scold me for my gossiping behavior, warning me that I had better not do any today at church. Then he finished up the dishes he came in the room with the hairbrush and the paddle.

He called me out of the corner and had me strip and I stood before him totally naked as he scolded me, the shame was great and I was crying even before I went over his lap. He then ordered me over his lap and started spanking me with the hair brush, lightly but then getting stronger and stronger until I was crying very repentively. He then had me stand up and grab the seat of the chair and gave me 10 strong swats with the paddle. After corner time I was sent to wash my face and then get ready for church, I sat on a very sore bottom that morning.

…

After dinner I was put over my husbands lap for a spanking and was once again crying very repentively, or if you will, sobbing like a very sorry little girl. I was agin told to grab the seat of the chair and this time I got 20 swats with the paddle, and then back to the corner. The I got dressed and we went to evening services.

I love the expresson on this young lady’s face; she’s in position for her spanking, but she’s so not happy about it:

In fact, here’s a closeup on that wonderful facial expression:

From Girls Boarding School.

It’s probably a bad idea for a woman who calls herself “Daddy’s baby” to smart off to “Daddy”:

…then I got kinda sassy and yelled a little bit and got sarcastic. That’s when he took me upstairs and gave me a paddling.

The paddling was bad, bare bottom with the wooden paddle with the holes in it. I screamed my head off and bawled. After he was done he made me go in the corner with my panties down which is SOOO embarrassing, and then he made me go to bed and it wasn’t even eight o’clock yet. I felt really sulky but not enough to open my mouth and say anything else to get me spanked again.

Then he went into the office and did some work with his office door open and left the bedroom door open too while I was in bed. I think he was doing that so he could peek and make sure I wans’t touching myself in bed which I really really really REALLY wanted to do but I never really do that without his permission because when he caught me doing it one time he gave me a pussy strapping and I never EVER want to have that again.

It’s not easy finding an effective deterrant for a woman who enjoys spankings, but I suppose for some, a pussy strapping does the trick!

There’s nothing sadder than a spanko girl who doesn’t get the spanking she’s expecting. From A Life Restarted:

One of the things that makes me happy is a daily spanking (at my request most often). TND seems to enjoy my request and has no problem giving them. This morning, we had an early wake-up call, with no time for said spanking. So, tonight after dinner, we were in our bedroom chatting as we gathered things to head to the studio for some work TND had to finish.

TND: (as he fingers the paddle by the bed) Honey, could you bring me my hairbrush please?

Me: Sure!

And I pad into the bathroom for His brush, assuming i’m going to get my spanking. grabbing the brush I return to TND, who’s sitting on the bed. Handing Him the brush, I turn my ass to Him.

TND: Thanks.

And He begins to brush his hair. Then He looks up at my disappointed and startled face and laughs.

Me: Hey! I thought…

As He laughs, He turns me sideways and delivers several sound swats to my ass.

We left our home for the studio, laughing and me with a stingy, warm ass.

From an old comments thread at Spanking Writers comes this (fanciful?) tale of a family spanking tradition dating back 200 years:

Did you know that there is quite a tradition of “The Family Strap”? My wife’s family has had one for nearly 200 years. It is made of fine leather and oiled with neeps foot oil. And it is just like new. How do I know? Because the daughter of the family who needs it the most, by common consent, is given the strap as a bequest when she marries. It is hers to keep, but her husband’s to use. Well that “daughter” is my wife, and I am the husband who uses it, quite regularly.

We call Meddy, for Medicinal Strap. So that means I can say in public, Oh I think Meddy might be coming over the weekend, and watch my lovely but overstrung better half wince quietly. When it is time to administer “Meddy’s favour”, Sandy (not her real name)has to strip naked from the navel down - bare feet, legs, and bottom. And then fetch Meddy from her secret compartment. Sandy is hand-spanked first and then Meddy has her turn. The tears and shrieks are real, as is the bouncing red bum. The punishment is noted on a piece of parchment that goes in the mahogany container where Meddy lives. I promised that I would never touch or move Meddy unless it was to use her on Sandy’s arse.

So when we moved, Sandy had to pack Meddy up and move her to the car. But the rules also state that Sandy cannot touch or move Meddy unless she is naked from the waist down. We did not have to discuss anything on moving day. That night, while I was working on something else, I looked up and saw a butt-naked Sandy carrying a mahogany case to the car and trailer. It was dark, so most probably nobody saw her, but if they had, what would they have made of it.

Feet are fun to tickle and play with (especially when they are all tied up securely as in this photo) but for me personally, the bastinado fantasy never did a whole lot. Caning the soles of her feet? You’d need to be more of a foot fetishist than I am. But you have to admit, the aft end of Hogtied.com bondage model Annie Cruz is awfully cute, and the temptation to at least menace those pretty feet with a few light swishes would be hard to avoid:

See Also:

• Bastinado Girl
• Bastinado Artwork
• A Touch Of Bastinado

If this were a shaggy dog story, it would start: “So these two SCAdians walk into a leather merchant’s shop…”

Well, they do. And they buy a pair of cheap riding crops. Marital hilarity ensues.

Anyway, we got them for a buck each, and were happy they had been so cheap. Maddie was *so* excited, she began slapping almost anything within reach with hers. I, being a model of virtue and temperance, did no such thing, and saved it for later use in the list.

On the way home, however, things took an unforseen turn (although it shouldn’t have been unforseen….).

Maddie readily admits that she is the likely culprit for the role of instigator (any memories I had of conversations to the contrary, closer to these events, are surely mistaken…). She began slapping me in the arm and leg as I was driving. Of course, both of us were still in garb, and had our crops in our belts, so the weapons were still close at hand. I defended myself as best I could.

I need to explain that Maddie has two simple rules for these fights, should you take a shot that hurts: You’re a pu$$y if you look at it, and you’re a pu$$y if you rub it. Only the head was off-target.

There was NO holding back. These blows were *whistling*. They were little riding crops, and we could generate some serious velocity, even in the close quarters of a van’s front passenger cabin. They were going, ‘whoo - THWACK’! with each blow. Especially if you snapped it a little at the end. We even found we could get little combos going - bicep/thigh, hand/forearm, etc. And of course, were laughing like a couple of loons the entire time.

So there we were, going 70 down the highway, flailing away at each other. Both of us were too stubborn to admit that any of the blows *might* have hurt, and to either look at it or rub it was to concede defeat. So we kept upping the calibration. Two stubborn, competitive people with riding crops make a bad combination.

We finally ‘negotiated’ a cease-fire, and of course neither side was willing to admit defeat, so we both could claim victory, or at least a tie.

After we got home. we found we were *covered* in welts.

It doesn’t matter how you do it, as long as you and your spouse spend quality time together. Ahh, mawwige….

70 MPH? Ulp! Kiddies, don’t try this at home! Closed track, professional drivers only.

For a first OTK spanking, this tale of latex gloves, spanking, baby oil, and “whatnot” is amazingly adventurous and hot:

So I came downstairs after J and he was sitting on the sofa, there was a bottle of baby oil on the table. Oh a massage I thought- nice. He was sitting on his hands and told me to come and stand in front of him. I did and he pulled out his hands to reveal latex gloves :-). He then patted his knee and told me to lay over them. So I did thinking he was going to massage my hip as it had been very painful all day.

The next thing I yelp out loud as his hand comes down hard on my arse! He gives me a really hard thorough spanking! I cry out again and again but he doesn’t stop. He continues smacking the same spot over and over. My feet and fingers can only just touch the floor. This is the first over the knee spanking I have ever had. I haven’t even been naughty!

After a while I start to feel a change in myself, as my tension is released and I sink into the spanking. It hurts, really hurts and i can feel the burn. Jeremy tells me my bottom is very red and asks me if I’m enjoying it. i tell him yes I am but that it really hurts. ‘Good’, he says!

He seems to know to keep going, to attend to my bottom with the required amount of spanks and with enough pain to take me to where I need to be. After a long while he stops and I feel the cool softness of the oil being poured onto my bottom. It stings! he rubs it in, round and around my buttocks, gradually getting firmer. It hurts where he pinches and probes on the very sore spot but this only adds to my now great need!

His fingers dip down and find my pussy, he grabs it whole in his hands and rubs it hard and fast. He is rough then gentle. His fingers covered in gloves and oil slide into my very wet cunt. It is so good. I moan and lift my arse as best I can towards him. He takes a buttock in each hand and spreads me wide. In thie position i am embarrased. Being over his knee and then having him spank me was embarrasing no matter how much I wanted it or enjoyed it and now having him open my arse like this causes me to blush deepply. I feel very much controlled. His fingers go back inside me and I explode on them.

From Getting Wet.

I’m not really much of a Madonna fan, and in any case Madonna-in-fetish-gear is hardly breaking news in this millenium. But I like this photo of Madonna with riding crop, from a recent (?) concert in Montreal:

Bethie and I don’t often get too deep into non-spanking BDSM stuff — we like a little bondage, and as she’s posted recently, we’re finding that she responds extremely well indeed to various misreatments of her nipples — but that doesn’t mean we don’t have and play with quite a few toys. (On the contrary, we have so many that we had to buy a special BDSM toybag just to stow them in.) One of my favorite threats — favorite because she’s highly motivated to persuade me not to follow through — is to put aligator clips on her various tender bits. Behold the innocuous alligator clip, otherwise known as the Great White Shark of the nipple clip ecosystem:

They bother Bethie — things with teeth, doncha know — so we haven’t played with them…yet. (She loves that word “yet”.)

I first came across the erotic purposing of these delightful little beasts in a Blue Moon spanking novel, perhaps by Richard Manton. It was some manor-full-of-slavegirls scenario, in which one young miss had been insufficiently willing; she found herself tied in a vulnerable and exposed position with large alligator clips on all her tenderest bits, and told to call through the house for her master when she was ready to be pleasing. So of course for some hours servants and all were treated to her voluable pleas and assurances that she’d do anything — anything! — if only her master would come and remove the clips.

Back here in the real world, we encounter Anissa forced to find her best professional voice while in a similar, if rather less contrived, predicament:

My day went on much like usual in some aspects. I spent a full day working on office work… payroll, other accounting work… dealing with business calls. But I also spent my day in high heels and nylons and nothing else as far as clothing goes. I wore the posture collar while I made His lunch. I was hobbled with ankle cuffs and chain between them that wasn’t even a foot long. I spoke on the phone with clients while my clit was clamped with one of those nasty little alligator clamps. Every time He found need to make a correction in my work… I was reminded to perform to perfection with a trip bent over His desk for a taste of His cane. Either He was even more exacting that usual or I was making a lot of mistakes because I was seemed to spend a lot of time today with my nose pressed to wood. The harder I seemed to try… the more mistakes He would find. The more time I spent over His desk. Tonight my ass is well marked, welted and feeling oh-so tender.

And it makes me so fucking excited.

No need to clean your glasses; I did indeed write “Bethany”, not “Bethie”. It’s my great pleasure to report that Bethany (longtime Spanking Blog advertiser and the driving force behind the acclaimed Bethany’s Woodshed family of spanking sites) and her man Jim have resolved to make better use of their Woodshed Spanking Blog. Jim wrote:

The blog had become just another ad vehicle, and that’s not what blogs are for. That has stopped.

As the Internet has become fiercely competitive, we have maintained a tremendously loyal following, I believe because we are the real article—a couple that lives DD every day and makes it work to give us a satisfying marriage. We want our blog to reflect that, and to help us connect with our customers—no, not customers—friends—who have made Bethany’s and our many other Websites so wildly successful.

Which I find inspirational myself, and it’s a sentiment I hope you’ll soon see reflected (to an extent) here on Spanking Blog. I love my advertisers and I’m not ashamed of them, nor am I getting rid of them; indeed, without them, we wouldn’t have most of the yummy spanking pictures that get posted here, nor would I have the time and energy to keep up the blog. But I freely admit that I post too many pictures, because pictures are easy, while writing a good blog post isn’t. I’ve been doing this spanking blog thing for years, and it’s not always easy to stay inspired. Jim’s post has helped.

But hey, this is a song about Alice… or, rather, this is a blog post about Jim and Bethany, who announced their good intentions on July 26, and then — for three weeks as Jim reckons — it was pretty much the sound of crickets. Bethany picks up the tale (or should I say tail?):

Last night as I drove home, the phone rang. Jim got right to the point. “Why haven’t you posted anything new to the blog? I just looked at it. We said we were going to change the direction three weeks ago.”

OK, Jim and I have been together six years now. You’d think I’d have learned a few things in that time – but unfortunately, there are moments – like that one – when I am most definitely NOT the brightest bulb on the Christmas tree. A wise woman would have admitted her mistake and gone on. Or at least “pretended” to not have “realized” just how long it had been. I didn’t take either of these paths. Oh no. I argued with him. “It hasn’t been three weeks,” I asserted. “It’s only been two weeks and umm… four days.”

Bethie does this too — when she’s guilty, she’ll try to argue an insignificant detail as if it were the charge-in-chief. “I did not stick my tongue out at you six times last week, I’m sure it was no more than four!” Always makes me laugh, especially when there’s a full and adequate confession wrapped up in her argumentative denial. But back to Bethany and Jim, picking up after she’s gotten home:

“Now, you and I are going to have a little talk.” He yanks my pants down – a really bad sign, because if we’re even semi “playing” he’ll make me do it. Not tonight. Just get at the butt in question (mine) as quickly as possible. His hand in the middle of my back, the cool wood of the brush on my skin. Every time I’m in this position for real, I wonder WHY IN GOD’S NAME did I ever think this was in good idea. No answer is forthcoming.

“Didn’t we say three weeks ago that we were going to change the direction of the blog and start posting DD material regularly?”

SMACK

No warm up, nothing. Just that unbelievably “traditional” (that’s a synonym for horrible, by the way) hairbrush cracking against my skin, which was NOT as numb as I had thought, by the way.

I howled, and in that instant, gained at least a bit of wisdom – I would refrain from pointing out again that it had only been two weeks and four days.

“Yes.”

“And why hasn’t it been done?”

SMACK

I’ve never understood why he asks a question and then smacks me. Does he want an answer or not? A few times when we were first together, I had the temerity to point out this inconsistency to him. No more. Low percentage game.

As soon as I can catch my breath: “I don’t know. No excuses. I just kept putting it off. I just didn’t know… how to start.”

As soon as I said THAT, I regretted it because I knew what his answer would be – and he did not disappoint. “So consider this my contribution to the blog THIS is how you’re going to start.”

…

So spank he did. I don’ t know how many I got - probably not all that many – because he’s well aware the hairbrush is nothing to fool around with. But it was enough… A lot of women say that they can’t cry when they’re spanked – or do so only rarely. Not me. I’m boo-hooing before ten whacks – and sobbing by twenty. He probably stopped after about twenty five moderately hard cracks, which is quite a spanking with a wooden hairbrush. My ass was on fire.

He stood me up and looked me right in the eye. “So, first thing in the morning you’re going to write about this. Exactly this. About how you came home, and got turned over the sofa, and got your ass busted. And why.”

And she did, and they all lived happily ever after. What a good start on the new direction for their blog!

See what happens when you give a spanko girl a fancy digital camera? She sets up a spanking Yoda:

If I were a paranoid man, I’d worry I was being mocked. Perhaps I shouldn’t have croaked “Catch you, I shall. A spanking you will get….”

I love the demure attire of the flapper lady with her spanking hand in the air:

And don’t miss the luxurious fur the spankee is kneeling on. PETA would not approve!

From Vintage Spanking Photos.

I’ve posted before about the new spanking-video-on-demand site from Russia called Discipline In Russia. One thing I like about their videos are the authentic-looking facial reaction shots. Gasps of pain, or a tearful face, can add a lot of authenticity to a spanking movie:

Pictures are from these free galleries of sample stills: (Gallery One) (Gallery Two).

It never pays to be late for your doctor appointments, especially not when they are to be drawn by legendary comic artist Bill Ward:

Found in the anime newsgroup on Usenet.

Not sure what’s going on here — is she trying to entice a little spanking action out of the bystanders?

I could sure use a big solid spanking bench (really, more of a spanking ledge) like this one that keeps turning up in photoshoots from Whipped Women:

OK, we’re not sure how this guy got across the laps of these two cuties, and they aren’t sure they want him there:

One way or another, though, I’m sure alcohol was involved!

The folks from Sex And Submission have been having a lot of fun with their stainless steel prison cell lately. It looks very authentic, except for one little detail. Since when do prison guards get issued such high quality bondage gear?

Or canes?

Or, for that matter, inmates as pretty as model Lorena Sanchez?

Lots more here (pictures) and here (movies).

Being an internet vandal is bad, mmmkay? Not only is it pointlessly destructive , but it can also hurt the ones you love.

It never fails to amuse me when I read of a spanko woman being “punished” by non-spanking means, because a spanking would be enjoyed too much. Not that I have a punishment relationship with Bethie, but when I do want to make a threat she’ll take seriously, I generally manage to come up with an implement she doesn’t enjoy so much, or to convince her I’ll use it more vigorously than she’d enjoy. Other guys do it differently, and some of them are very creative:

The Punishment:

*sighs* then Sirius says, “well, let’s get moving. we have a punishment to deal with…” see, the Roomie has given Sirius a little nickname. now, not being Sirius’s sub, the roomie can get away with it. i can’t. it’s not a very respectful nickname, for one, and when k and i first used it, we were immediately told not to. okay…

later this week, when sirius was on the phone, i felt like maybe he wasn’t paying attention to me (to be fair driving with one’s family isn’t really the least distracting of circumstances… so i did something very unwise. i called him the nickname, thinking he most likely wouldn’t hear me. i was wrong. “i heard that…” he said, and immediately i knew it was a BAD idea. i was informed that i was in REAL trouble.

did he spank me? oh no… i would like that too much, he says. he did something more appropriate, he said. and i’ll say i think it was awful. see, while Sirius and theRoomie sat inside and caught up with each other and played Munchkin (a magic-type card game that parodies D&D that i really would have liked to have played WITH them), i got to make the Cruiser all sparkly, inside and out. in the dark. by myself.

it is very doubtful that i’ll ever let THAT name escape my mouth, whether he’s around or not!

And that’s how Subbie_bunny got punished.

Here’s a nice vintage photograph from the vintage erotica newsgroups on Usenet, showing a woman being “encouraged” in her oral attentions:

Trouble is, knowing spanko women the way we do, the question arises: Is the belt supposed to be a threat, or a reward for good behavior?

I’ve never been much into the martial arts, but I might have been more inclined to attend some classes — purely as an observer, mind you — if I had known they had this sort of discipline in the dojo:

Here’s a yardstick spanking, New York style, from photographer Dafydd Jones:

Those naughty tutors and their canes! Here’s a fun account of the caning predelictions of one such, from the novel “In A Mist” as quoted at A Taste Of The Birch:

The demand for live-in tutors had declined of late. Nevertheless, Lennox managed to make quite a tolerable living from it. He had a drawer full of peerless testimonials and had absolutely no need to advertise his services. His fame was spread by word of mouth from one wealthy family to the next.

His liberal use of the cane was often in itself sufficient recommendation for many parents. “Cane them, do you, Lennox? Glad to hear it! A sound thrashing never did me any harm!” the fathers declared enthusiastically; while the plum-voiced blue blooded mothers, possessing that curious streak of inherent cruelty which characterises the English upper classes, were equally insistent that Lennox should beat some sense into the recalcitrant behinds of their daughters.

The scholastic whipping of the daughters of gentility was a time-honoured tradition, stretching back hundreds of years. Hadn’t the tutor of young Effie Grey, Ruskin’s future wife, been solemnly authorised by her parents to birch the girl across the seat of her drawers whenever necessary?

Although he found beating boys to be rather repugnant, Lennox over the years had developed quite a taste for caning girls. The maleness in him thrilled to their agonised yelps as the rod bit into their plump, delightfully rounded bottoms. Yet he would have been outraged had anyone suggested that he derived the slightest degree of erotic pleasure from whipping his girl pupils. For this was still an age of sexual innocence, and no one gave it a second thought when he took his cane to some cheeky young madam’s backside, or else let her off lightly with a spanking over his knee.

After all, everyone knew that girls were infinitely more troublesome than boys. Unless kept firmly in check they would exploit their sex to unfair advantage and be twice as ill behaved as any boy…

I always enjoy the big, campy, all-grown-up “schoolgirls” chosen for the California Star spanking movies featured at Cal-Star Spanking. They capture all the trashy fetish goodness of the naughty schoolgirl fantasy without ever letting us forget that we’re looking at pictures of yummy starlet women in the best Porn Valley tradition:

“What? I’m like, totally, talking to my girl here!”

Then it’s over “teacher’s” knee. But what a nice big lapful!

More, delicious more, in this gallery of photos.

Here’s another innocent spanking picture sent in by a reader — it looks to be an example of the “college dorm room halloween costume hijinks” species. Here we have a priest (yeah, right) spanking a fetchingly-bent-over young lady in latex nun gear:

T-Ball was never like this when I saw it played:

Ever feel the need to play tic-tac-toe, but not have a handy sheet of paper? Here’s a fetchingly-presented bottom (belonging to the lovely Ariel X from Water Bondage) that’s already been “equipped” with faint welts to make the prettiest tic-tac-toe board you’ve ever seen:

Now, who is up for a game?

So it seems Natty was getting a perfectly good multi-implement spanking, when she saw something so distracting it totally took her mind off the cane whipping into her bottom:

He started out with some good hand spanks to warm up. Then moved to the strap. After one cheek got a disproportionate number of smacks, he’d move to the other side of the bed and make sure the other cheek got its fair share. The whacks hurt, but didn’t quite feel as overwhelming as before.

But it was during the caning that I realized my pain threshold had come back up. He was slicing away and at one point I realized there was something black on my clean, white sheet. For a moment I became totally transfixed by what turned out to be some sort of lint, oblivious to the fact that a stingy, whippy rattan cane was searing my ass.

What is it with women and lint? I’ve never caught Bethie obsessing over lint during a spanking (and a good thing too, for her bottom — “What, I don’t have your full attention? I can work on that”) but she can and will zero in on a speck of lint from thirty feet away during what was otherwise a perfectly good conversation, and run away to capture and exterminate it. Me, I’m a typical man, I generally don’t even see minor household debris unless it’s big enough to trip over, and even then there’s a subconscious assessment of “do I need to pick it up or is it sufficiently out of the way?” (This is why socks get left scattered around — it’s not because we can’t see them as some women hypothesize, it’s just that we don’t understand why they are a problem. When we need ‘em, they’ll be right there, handy.) Anyway, when Bethie cries “Lint!” as if she were yelling “Tarantula in the toilet!” it never fails to leave me bemused.

Over at The Punishment Book, where (at least in theory) the spankings are for punishment and not (so much) for fun, Angie writes about how she earned herself a serious spanking (for neglecting her health) and then (compounding her trouble) stopped taking her potentially-lifesaving medicine because it tasted bad.

Because it tasted bad.

Needless to say, her disciplinarian decided that spanking alone wasn’t going to do the trick, so he gave her a taste of something worse than a bitter pill:

So, I told him. I told him how the prednisone tasted AWFUL, and made me gag, and that was why I stopped taking it, but now I was kind of getting sick again so I knew it was bad that I stopped taking it.

“You didn’t like the taste of the medicine your doctor gave you to get your lungs functioning right again, so you STOPPED TAKING IT? Because you DIDN’T LIKE THE TASTE?” I nodded. He got up, left the room. I heard him in the kitchen. He came back to his room, and went into his master bathroom. I saw him rooting around in drawers in there. I knew what was coming. It’s only ever happened to me once before, really. Once on the phone - but the truth is, I had a towel wrapped around it then, so that doesn’t count. And the only other time Dave did it to me, it was so quick, and I didn’t really remember it, and it was two years ago. Oh my gosh … not this, please. I mean, for what I did, and the reason I did it, this obviously was PERFECT, but nooooooooooo.

“Angela, take off your shirt and come here.” Take off my shirt? Oh, yeah, dripping … yeah, that might ruin my shirt. Damn it. I was hoping I was wrong. Fuck. “Open.” That’s when I started pleading.

“Dave, you can’t soap my mouth when I have bronchitis! I read somewhere that if I’m crying and stuff I could aspirate it! I already have lung issues. You want me to get PNEUMONIA! You can’t do this.”

He just said, “Well, then don’t cry and don’t aspirate it. You want to know what disgusting tastes like? You want to not take your medicine because it TASTES BAD? You’re going to spend some time tasting something bad. OPEN YOUR MOUTH ANGELA. NOW.” I obeyed, and he stuck the bar of Ivory in my mouth. “Bite down.” I did, careful to keep my tongue away, but aware that nothing would keep me from tasting it. I was also careful not to cry, and if you know me, you know this is a feat in and of itself. He marched me to the corner, turned me to face it, and reached around to undo my shorts and pull them, along with my panties, to my knees. “Hands behind your head.”

I don’t know how long I stood there, trying not to taste the soap, but tasting it anyway; trying not to cry, but losing a couple tears here and there anyway. It wasn’t too long, but it was certainly awhile. I knew that when he called me out of the corner there was going to be more pain to come and I was feeling sad for my already-sore bottom, but God I wanted that soap out of my mouth. And I was also thinking, “Geez, I had no idea this is what a mouth-soaping was like. And I bet it gets worse than this. If this is how awful it is, we could use this as a deterrent on the fast-food I’ve been eating way too much of and I swear, it would work where spanking hasn’t.”

When he called me out of the corner, he let me rinse, but only a little. Then he made me bend over and he paddled me with this semi-heavy, school-like paddle (but no holes) over my panties…

It’s a hard life for a poor little fairy girl. This looks like a drawing by Zimmerman, lightly animated by persons unknown: