Spanking Blog: Adult Erotic Spanking At Its Best

There is no spanking in this tale of shameless freedom from panties, but arguably, there ought to be. Those “my subconscious mind went and did what I wanted to all along, honest, I never meant to” moments are what spankings were invented to cure, no?

“You know, it’s actually a common practice to make your submissive go without panties in public.”

“WEAR PANTIES!”

“No one would know, just me and you. Can feel the breeze. I’ve done this back home when I was a teenager. When I didn’t have any clean ones. Even when it was colder outside.”

“I AM TELLING YOU TO WEAR THE FUCKING PANTIES!” (Or something almost like that).

“It’d be under the skirt, anyway.”

“Don’t the panties prevent you from getting stinky?”

“I suppose they do.”

“So you wanna go around stinky?”

“I mean…”

“YOU ARE GOING TO WEAR PANTIES. The idea of public embarrassment does not turn me on at all!”

“But it wouldn’t be public embarrassment, it would be private embarrassment.”

Tail between my legs, I put on the swimming suit and the indicated skirt over it, and brought a pair of panties with me to change into after the swim.

“WHAT? YOU WERE GOING TO GO WITHOUT PANTIES IN T H I S SKIRT? WITH THE SLIT ALL THE WAY TO THE TOP????”

“No, no, I am bringing them, see, they are right here,” I exclaimed defensively, waiving a pair of pink panties like a white flag.

“Pull up your skirt. Show me.”

I showed him the suit covering safely my private parts.

“Good.”

As fate would have it, when we were done splashing in the pool and it was time for me to take off my wet suit and change into my clothes, I realized that… the panties I thought I’d brought with simply weren’t there. Everyone’s familiar with the idea of a Freudian slip here, right?

Uh oh, it looks like Olive was a whiny annoying passive-aggressive disloyal bitch wench one too many times. Popeye has eaten his spinach, the arm muscles are IN the house, and Olive is well on her way to learning that it wouldn’t kill her to be nice once in a while to the most loyal and accommodating superhero a cartoon gal could hope for:

From alt.binaries.pictures.erotica.cartoons.

I take one good look at this photo from Hogtied.com:

And all I can think is “Cane! Bring me my cane! Where is my cane?”

All those smooth curves and that glowing skin just crying out to be striped and marked! I am reminded of another favorite hogtied photo featuring vulnerable curves.

But it’s not a damned hall monitor.

People have asked me fairly often why I rarely mention spanking or other BDSM safety tips here. Or, more notoriously, why I often delete well-meaning comments that try to interject safety-ish warnings into my posts. I’ve given various answers, all true: The web is awash in BDSM safety info, it tends to be boring to more experienced players who’ve seen variations on the same warnings a zillion times, a lot of the safety info other people try to post on my blog strikes me as wrong, or too simplistic — that sort of thing.

All true, but incomplete. Another reason, one I’ve tended not to discuss much, is that too often people use faux safety concerns to mask and delimit their own kinkiness, or to condemn the kinks of others. “We just do spanking, I’d never want to play with a bullwhip, that’s dangerous, can’t it cut the skin?” can be a convenient way of not facing up to your own darker impulses, especially if you do have moments when you think it would be most excellent to whip the hell out of your wife and leave her sobbing on the basement floor covered in livid red stripes and oozing the odd drop of blood. (Perhaps even more so if she’s hinted that she’d enjoy that sort of thing on special occasions, as an alternative to boring old birthday sex.)

Worse yet, I find that a statement like “But don’t forget, if you tie someone up you must never leave the room because rabid weasels might come out of the woodwork and devour their genitals if you don’t monitor them constantly” is code for “I don’t approve of the sort of roleplaying where you tie someone up and make them think you’ve gone off to get a lapdance without them.” “Remember, whip marks can be difficult to heal, and there’s a risk of cutting the skin” sometimes stands in for the speaker’s true agenda: “Ewww, whips are too kinky, we don’t approve of playing that hard, anything with a chance of blood is something nobody should do. You filthy pervert.”

Thus, I tend to think that BDSM safety info is mostly common sense, it’s easily available to newish or concerned players, and so I avoid it here so as not to risk encoding my own prejudices and internal squick-factors into nice safe deniable crypto-condemnation.

Imagine my delight to discover that Bitchy Jones has some similar viewpoints:

What sort of safety advice do vanilla get? Use condoms, don’t leave your drink unattended. That’s it.

Not us though – we have books of the stuff.

And I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking, but Bitchy, we do far more dangerous things than vanillas. And I’m thinking, oh yeah? Do we really? Or do we just like to think so?

‘Cause hour for hour, mile for mile, pound for pound is basic domestic kinky sex really anymore dangerous than crossing the road or making a cup of tea?

Okay, some people hang themselves off of hooks. But not everyone is so goddamn the huh?. Me, personally? My crappy playtime – the most dangerous thing I probably do is run with scissors. And I think a lot of people are the same. Asking a man to get on his knees carries very few risks that I’m aware of. Power exchange itself isn’t - a priori - a risky business.

Most of the time I don’t really even have proper safe words. I’m never really so away in The Valley of the Bitches that if he looked at me and just said, Sorry, I can’t do this anymore or I need to stop a sec, I wouldn’t understand the difference between that and Oh, god, please, please, don’t.

I do *have* safe words. I think Pan technically has one. I don’t actually remember what it is.

I want a divorce, maybe.

And:

Back to the point: this kind of thing, I find, does not require a formal risk assessment.

But okay. Some nights… some days… Well, you know – I stumble through some trademark moves. And do I get that you have to be safe. And I realise there are a few issues you need to know about to be sure you don’t break him. But most of that is pretty fucking obvious, frankly.

I do think I honestly *knew* you couldn’t just dangle men from the ceiling by their wrists without having to get some self-appointed expert to tell me.

Most BDSM safety advice is the most fucking obvious bollocks – delivered by some po-faced bloke with a beard for extra Bitchy-tetchy-making.

The repetitive check list of the bleeding obvious. Yes, I *know* knives can kill people. I live in a country where we don’t have guns. What do you think we *use* to kill people over here?

I understand there is a risk at least to the point that if something *does* go wrong my main problem won’t be being unable to deal with it because I am so fucking paralysed ‘n’ shocked knives can hurt people.

If you are doing bondage with rope have some scissors ready. In fact, not scissors, special bent safety scissors in case in your frantic emergency you snip your submissive’s head off by mistake.

And, ZOMG, what if he has a heart attack while he’s strapped to that rack? Yeah, but what if he has a heart attack on an aeroplane? And he’s the pilot? What if he has a heart attack driving his car past a primary school? Yes, that would be awful. But, you know, living our lives as if we are about to have heart attacks really isn’t healthy. (In so many ways.)

Then of course, there’s, a real favourite - what if the house catches on fire? Well, yeah, but what if the house catches on fire when I *haven’t* got a man tied to my bed? What if the house catches fire when I’m asleep? Or in the bath. What if I go to the loo, lock the door, the lock jams and then my house explodes and I’m shot fifty trillion feet into the air and my charred remains end up spread over several counties?

Yeah, well that’s quite unlikely. Well, yes. Quite. That’s why I tend not to worry about it.

So why must I run every kinky encounter as if my house if made of tinder soaked in vermouth?

I mean, calculated risk. I’m 34 and I have never been in a house that has caught on fire. I’m a non-smoker and my electrics are fine.

He’s more likely to get killed on the drive to my house than during an abandonment scene in which I leave him in chains for twenty minutes and he spontaneously combusts. Fuck’s sake.

What she said. Plus what I said, which boils down to this: If somebody strikes you as being too preachy about BDSM safety, look for the hidden agenda.

See Also:

• What's Too High To Spank?
• Very Electric Spanking
• More Kinky Censorious Prudes

I can confidently assert that Bethie will not be getting one of these. What? And undo all my hard work?

What’s a hard-working teacher to do when he has a whole classroom full of students who need a good ass-whupping?

Why, get a spanking machine of course:

From alt. binaries. pictures. erotica. vintage.

It’s a comfy chair. (Say it with me: “Oh, no, not the comfy chair!”)

But perhaps not so comfy for her:

Lots more chair spanking here. From Girls Boarding School.

Every spanko on the internet has seen the Spencer Spanking Plan, which has been circulating as a net.file for as long as there has been an internet. It’s invariably referenced as a “book” although the actual text wouldn’t fill much more than a pamphlet. The author is invariably given as “Dorothy Spencer” but copyright or publication dates vary from the late teens through 1936.

My question to all you smart collectors of spanking literature is this: Does anybody have accurate (heck, any) bibliographic info for the so-called book? Date of publication, publisher, city of publication, anything? Scans of the cover? Heck, scans of the whole thing? An actual original copy in your collection? Anything at all except web pages that repackage an old text file that used to circulate on UseNet?

All I’ve done so far is a quick, but not a thorough, Google search.

Just this once, links in the comments are welcome, if you’ve got any good info about The Plan. Or email me, I’m not fussy.

Thanks!

She knows she’s getting a spanking, but I don’t think she’s too happy about it:

Shamelessly “borrowed” from Vintage Spanking Photos.

Ahh, Paris Hilton, that fine blonde picture of privileged American youth. Is she in jail this week, or has she sniveled her way out again? I get so confused, even when I try to keep track, which is … never.

However, I can feel a MasterCard commercial coming on.

Picture Of Paris Hilton’s Ass: Free
(via Google Image Search)
Big Black Wooden Paddle: $49.00
(via JT’s Stockroom)
Paris Hilton Getting Spanked: Priceless!

[Disclaimer: This post is for humor purposes only. Judicial spankings as featured on Spanking Blog should be understood as pure fantasy fodder. Spanking people without consent — even spoiled brat heiresses, no matter how richly they may deserve it — is not something Spanking Blog would ever seriously advocate.]

Slavish writes:

After kneeling and kissing his hand in greeting and then putting the kettle on i ran into the bedroom, got naked quickly, rushed into the bathroom, quick wash and then i was ready for my Masters pleasure.

While i was rushing about Master had popped out to get some nettles from a piece of grass at the top of the road!!!

Master drank his brew and we had a cuddle before he stood me in the doorway to the kitchen and tortured my nipples and ass hole with the stinging nettles… ouchy yummy stuff. I didnt half jump when my clit was brushed with the nettles….major ouchy stuff without the yummy!

I was allowed to cum but forgot to count…whoops, so Master put me over his knee and spanked my bare ass hard….mmmmmmm nice ;)

my nipples feel wonderful now…itchy and tingly sore and my ass hole n clit are still burning…and im still a very horny slave ish…groan.

Kaya’s master has figured out how to make boring old fishing fun for both of them:

Master’s Fishing Game

Lose a lure/river rig = ten switches

Lose a sinker/hook = five switches

Caught in a tree = fifteen switches

caught in a tree that results in a lost lure = twenty-five

Master catches a fish = five switches

I catch a fish = subtract five switches

Non-accumulating. Meaning each fishing trip starts with a clean slate, which also means that if He slacks off on delivering those switches, He loses the chance to do so. (I’m completely ignoring the fact that He never *loses* the chance. He’ll switch me anyway “because I want to, cunt”, nevermind about fishing totals. And yes, I will scream “Unfair!” and He’ll ask me where the ferris wheel is, and I’ll grump and pout, until it’s over and my butt is all red and stripey and stingy and I’m a happy little masochist. *beams*)

There are some nice spankings before the bondage sex in the movies and free pictures from the recent Sex And Submission shoot (starring Sarah Jane Ceylon getting the rough treatment from Mark Davis). Sarah gets her breasts cropped and her cute ass well caned, leaving it hot and crossed with perpendicular cane welts. Here we see her tied to an iron bedstead for a nice warm-up flogging:

As usual, the Sex And Submission shoots include some very explicit bondage sex. If you think sex looks hotter when the woman is displaying a well-thrashed bottom, you’ll love this photo.

See Also:

• A Spanking From A Naked Man
• Spanking The Cleaning Lady
• Sex And Submisssion And Spanking

There are lots of ways to ask for a spanking. Most are effective. Some are very effective.

Going to a spanking party, offering to give a fellow a head massage, and then getting out your Sharpie for some scalp graffiti?

That’s gotta be “way up there” on the effectiveness scale.

Picture from Zed and Ginger, where there are more pictures to show you just how well it worked.

See Also:

• Ask And Ye Shall Receive
• How To Get A Spanking
• Asking Her About Spanking
• How To Ask For A Spanking
• How To Tell Him

Chelsea Girl had some downtime on Memorial Day. So what did she do?

Why, she got a spanking, of course!

Yesterday, Memorial Day, I went to Donny’s apartment late in the afternoon. I had taken the dog to the dog run, I had washed my floors and cleaned the cat’s box. I had showered and eaten and brushed my teeth, I had sent a few emails. I had done a bit of duty to others and to self, and then it was time for me to do my duty to my country and to my cunt. It was time to fuck my boyfriend.

“What would you like?” Donny asks, naked in the orange light of the sun setting.

I want you to spank me, I say.

“What would you like me to spank you with?” He asks. “The new spanker? My hand? The flogger?”

It’s up to you, I say, and I lay prone on his bed, my bare ass raised on a dais of pillows; I imagine its good-natured spread like twin generous helpings of ice cream pooling on the bed.

“Good answer,” Donny says and retrieves the new spanker from his drawer. The new spanker has been sitting in his drawer, unused, bereft and lonely, quiet as an unread Trollope novel, since I bought it for him in April. Made of braided leather cording, it’s a sweet, stingy little whippy thing, just about 10” in length and shaped like an old-fashioned carpet beater. I bought it because I thought that Donny wouldn’t be able to resist its Celtic knotted charm and because I thought it would leave interesting whorls and lines on my vanilla cupcake ass.

Donny kneels on the bed beside me and slowly draws the edge of the spanker down my spine, across the dale of my lower back, up and around the swelling hills of my ass. He curves and swirls the toy across my skin, like he is writing on me in invisible ink, like he is skating across the landscape of my body, like he is authoring my anticipation, which unlike the previous phrases is no simile.

And then, predictably, he strikes me unpredictably,only to return once more to the leather-weight precise pleasure of the spanker’s edge on my skin, drawing lazily, sketching his whim and my desire in freehand on my flesh. He punctuates his work: Smack! Smack! Smack!

“Too hard?” he asks.

No, I said. It isn’t. And it is. It feels like the quintessence of a study in contrasts, this hurtful act of love that gave pleasured pain, this tension between waiting and dread, this starry smack that pops a melting white flash in my brain, this invisible heat that builds with each wanted and feared strike. He tells me that the spanker left whorled red lines, like firecrackers have been caught exploding and held still in time on the white vista of my ass.

Smack! smack!-smack!-smack!-Smack! Donny strikes a series of blows on a small parcel of outer assflesh, each one more stinging than the last. My breath hisses like a punctured tire. He puts the spanker down and tells me to turn over; he pulls me to the side of the bed, props one of my feet on a chair and the other on a chest, and buries his pervert’s mouth and pointy tongue in my pussy. He presses one finger and then two into my pussy, licking each one with a loud ssschluck before each insertion. I ride his mouth and his fingers, willing him to suck my clit like a lemon drop and giving silent gratitude when he does so.

See Also:

• Unique Punishment Flogging
• Marathon Spanking