The Bottom: Her Body’s Gateway to Excruciating Pain

I found the judicial caning story from which this excerpt comes here, where it had neither a title nor an author credit. I enjoy the way our heroine immediately sexualizes her helpless posture on the caning bench:

She didn’t know what to do next. The sergeant pointed to the near side of the caning bench and one of the wardens moved around the bench to the same side. She found herself standing beside it, bewildered. “Go on! Don’t just stand there! Get up on it!” ordered the sergeant. She didn’t know how to get up. She knew, without thinking, that her bottom had to go at the higher end, but the back legs sloping outwards made it very awkward to mount it.

The warden still standing at the other side, rather more helpful, said, “Put your hands on the bench and lie down on it with your hips at the end.” She bent forward, placed her hands halfway down the padding and tried to swivel upon to it. As she did so, she suddenly felt her hips lifted by strong hands and found herself moved bodily onto the bench with the two wardens hoisting her. Then she was lying down on it, head it, head near the lower end. She felt each knee grabbed and her legs forced apart as straps were quickly fastened around her thighs.

Part of her wanted to scream in furious protest, but she was rapidly being overwhelmed by an urge simply to submit. The wardens had now moved level with her shoulders, pulling her arms down and strapping her wrists to the front supports of the bench. The face of the warden on her right was just inches from her own and she heard her whisper, “It’ll be over in about 5 minutes.”

Gabrielle realized that the warden was actually trying to be kind, but it didn’t work. What was “it”? She knew that “it” was the sergeant and her cane, but beyond that she knew only fear. The warden reached down under the bench and Gabrielle felt the wide straps flipped across the small of her back and tightened. This pulled her down against the bench, forcing the hump at the rear end of the bench hard into her belly, tilting up her hips.

She suddenly recognized an utterly unexpected and highly discomforting sense of familiarity. She had thoroughly enjoyed having sex with Peter, her steady boyfriend, who liked best to enter her from behind. When she had got used to this doggy-style sex, she always looked forward to kneeling down on her elbows, with spread her legs and her bottom tilted up towards him when he was kneeling ready and rampant behind her, for she knew that offering him such an inviting view between her thighs and buttocks drove him almost crazy with the desire to thrust hard and deep into her. This sense of familiarity in her exposed punishment position, now forcibly restrained on the caning bench, almost choked her with disgust and fear, but she neverthelss suddenly became aware of her clitoris and a wetness between her legs.

The wardens had stepped back and Gabrielle saw the one on her left nod towards the sergeant. Gabrielle couldn’t help herself staring back, to where she could see the sergeant carefully adjusting her stance. She suddenly felt a thin line of firm pressure across the center of her bottom. The sergeant’s gaze was focused on it. Then she turned briefly and her eyes met Gabrielle’s. For a moment, life seemed to stand still, and then WHAP!

Gabrielle actually saw the sergeant’s arm and the cane suddenly lift high over her shoulder and start to sweep down. In the same instant her senses fused in a shockwave of pain exploding in her bottom and surging through her body. For a few seconds the unbelievable pain seemed unbelievably to grow even worse and then slowly recede into a furious burning across her cheeks.

Gabrielle didn’t hear her own shriek and she wasn’t aware of her body’s frantic jerk against the straps. But she slowly became aware of herself gasping in horrified surprise, of the shocking pain in her bottom, and her body pressing down on the bench. With mind still swirling, she heard the warden to her left call out, “One!” And then, a few seconds later, felt pressure across her cheeks again. Her mind just clear enough to tell herself, “Omigod! Another stroke!” When WHAP! again. Her brain just registered the hiss and crack of the cane a split second before another explosion of pain jerked her body along the bench and brought another shriek to her throat. “Two!” she heard the warden call as she desperately gasped for breath a second time, and then sshhwishhTHWATT! Again, once more sending her senses whirling in agony. Her mind was spinning off into chaos as her bottom exploded in continuing bursts of unbearable fire. Three! Four! Five! Six! Seven! Eight! Nine! Ten times the warden called out, as the sergeant whipped her cane down across Gabrielle’s helpless bottom in a series of ferocious strokes.

The spinning of Gabrielle’s mind seemed to slow and she became aware once again of the warden standing silently beside her, eyes shifting between Gabrielle’s bottom and her face, as Gabrielle’s recovering brain and the ghastly pain in her bottom told her that, yes, here she really was, helpless as the beating to which she had heard the judge sentence her, had actually begun. Now she was breathing deeply, trying to regain her self-control, when she saw the warden exchange glances with the sergeant, and felt the cane pressing across her bottom again. She couldn’t do anything but wait, helpless and hopeless, for the next stroke.

THWATT! It came almost immediately, then, before she could recover, it came again, slamming her into another helpless spasm of jerks and squeals and gasps. With the rapidly building pain in her bottom, a cycle of fiery explosions and throbbing, agonizing aching, this second set of ten strokes seemed worse than the first, sending her mind spinning into confusion and leaving her screaming and twisting against the straps.

Gasping for breath, she began to recover slightly in the next interval. She was normally considered the opposite of a cry-baby and her skill and enthusiasm for several sports made her seem usually tough and disciplined. But this punishment was turning her world completely upside down. Since at least the eleventh grade she had been very proud of well-shaped prominence of her bottom, and of its rounded firmness. Other girls admired it and she liked it when boys ogled. But she had never, for a single instant, thought of her bottom as her body’s gateway to excruciating pain…

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Cassidy Klein Paddled

When you go shopping at a kinky corset shop with your best friend, sometimes things get a little hotter than you were expecting:

paddled in a corset shop

From a recent shoot at Whipped Ass.

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A Bamboo Caning

bamboo caning

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Paddles On Sale


I wasn’t going to weary you all with news of the Thanksgiving sale from the Stockroom, but then I noticed that several favorite paddles previously featured here on Spanking Blog were being heavily discounted in the BDSM section of the sale lists. I am especially fond of the silicone paddles from Tantus, which are unique products that don’t feel like any other paddles you may own:

tantus wham bam silicone spanking paddle

tantus pelt silicone spanking paddle

tantus snap strap silicone spanking paddle

tantus thwack silicone spanking paddles

Also on sale is this handy little Rattan Rug Beater, previously featured here:

otk spanking rug beater for bottoms

Finally, do you remember when I posted about the imprint paddle that leaves the word “slut” as a spanking mark? Both that one and one I like rather better that says “ouch” are included in the sale:

Imprint paddle: SLUT
Imprint paddle: OUCH


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Birching Penny Spender

This is a small excerpt from the tale of Penny Spender’s judicial birching, as recounted in the story In The Approved Manner by Lupercal:

After a fourth stroke had been given without eliciting the desired level of remorse, he turned and looked impatiently at the sergeant, folding his arms over his chest, and saying, “She resists correction, Sir.”

Sergeant Thorne nodded sagaciously. “Give her two at the top of the thighs,” he said. “That should make her see sense.” Clark wheeled about and strode across to continue the punishment on the relatively unscathed surface of her opposite flank, laying the birch squarely across that part which the sergeant had indicated. The effect of the man’s impressive demonstration of strength and accuracy was immediate and spectacular.

Penny let out a tremendous yelp of pain and her hips jerked forward violently. Then, as the terrible sting continued to rage and swell the woman screamed incoherently and her trembling, whip-marked bottom rose sharply in the air, bucking and writhing uncontrollably.

Clark stood by impassively while his howling victim performed her mad tarantella of pain and penitence, then, without warning, swung again with all his might, coming on at that same sensitive place where the birch had previously struck. Penelope shrieked and commenced another astonishing volley of jerks and gyrations. Her hips arched up lewdly and, seizing the moment, Clark brought the birch down for a seventh time across the taut, apple-hard globes of Penelope’s writhing, upthrust derriere, and once more her frightful ululations rent the still morning calm of the near-empty gaolhouse. Her lithe body twisted painfully as she strained to break free of her restraints, and, begging for mercy, she flung her hips from side to side in a vain, frantic effort to avoid, or perhaps simply delay, the next agonising stroke. “One to come!” the sergeant shouted over the raucous din.

Penny tossed her head back, sobbing hoarsely. Her eyes were wild and her face contorted with pain. “NO!!” she shrieked. “No! No! Nooo…!!!”

Clark waited till the convulsion had subsided then slowly raised the birch. The jiggling buttocks tensed. The tender globes appeared raw and ruddy under the harsh electric light of the drill hall. Indeed, the whole of her shapely posterior was ridged and scored with long, ragged weals where the slim, whippy birch had coiled itself about her bottom and upper thighs.

With a dramatic, ostentatious show of ceremony, the senior constable then swung the birch around in a wide arc and brought it slicing down. There followed another great howl of pain as the final stroke lashed across the burning, plum-red tapestry already emblazoned on Penelope’s churning rear. A great spasm of pain coursed through her body and her desperate struggles commenced anew.

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A Pain-Induced Sex Craze

“If he likes you, he strings you up and whips you for a couple hours…”

strung up and whipped into a sex craze

The next panel says “Soon she’ll be begging for his cock… swollen with desire and gushing with juice.”

From The Bottom, which is a Dofantasy comic by Erenisch.

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Caning Keisha

Keisha Grey caned

This is model Keisha Grey, photographed by Dave Naz in the September/October 2015 issue of Hustler’s Taboo, available at an adult news stand near you (if you’re lucky) or online via the Hustler’s Taboo website.

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Erotic Caning And Enema Punishment

This was sent to me by a reader, who says it was transcribed from an old spanking magazine they acquired many decades ago. I am reading it as fiction, as most such “reader letters” were; in particular, I’m skeptical that a “sticking plaster” would satisfactorily serve the function usually carried out by a sufficiently large butt plug. But the “letter” is plenty of fun even so:

Martha, my wife, used to be worried about her figure and I caught her taking dangerous slimming pills which were really an irritant to open her bowels. She had been caned before for various misdeeds but this time I gave her a good lesson. I told her to prepare herself for an enema of three pints, and I injected the soapy suds none too gently. That accomplished, I told her to keep the liquid inside her for fifteen minutes at least and meantime proceeded to give her twelve cuts of the cane which she does not mind all that much, having got used to it over the years.

Only after our swishy cane was laid across her butt twelve times was she to leave for the toilet; at least that was my plan. However, after the fifth stroke, given at intervals of one minute, she jumped up to run away. I was so flabbergasted; she can take a half a dozen without too many contortions. I rushed after her brandishing the cane. She reached the toilet before me but could not shut herself in, so great was her hurry and her internal pressure.

Since she did not get the full benefit of the treatment I had prescribed for her, I decided to repeat the treatment and make it really effective this time. I used her vaginal douche so we could be sure of the quantity of fluid injected using a more efficient solution. We settled for a Giant Douche full of 40% glycerin, 10% of caster oil and 50% of lukewarm water. Martha had second thoughts about the size of the douche and followed the procedure wide-eyed and begged me to stop.

I just grabbed her arms, pulled her onto our bed, placed her on her back, pulled her struggling legs over her head and tied them as well as her hands to the headboard. I then placed a small cushion under the small of her back so that she could bend her knees and move her thighs. In this way she could not interfere with my delicate operation.

The stem of her douche is about one inch thick and five inches long. I put Vaseline on the outside and gently brought its tip onto her rather small anus, but now well stretched. Her big pink bum cheeks should not have offered her any protection, but Martha nevertheless squeezed them fearfully together.

The attempted “squeezing out” of the nozzle was rewarded with two very juicy cuts of the cane which really made her scream in earnest as she wobbled her twin globes now decorated with sets of criss-crossing tramlines, the earlier strokes already forming dark wealed ridges. Again I brought the nozzle to her tight hole and with a deft movement pushed the stem in.

After the first shock my wife smiled bravely at me and suggested I take my time as she was in no position to do much about it. I gradually immersed the douche into her bottom as far as it would go and squeezed the lukewarm contents into her bowels. I worked the huge rubber ball several times to make sure that all the fluid was expelled from it, then withdrew the syringe. Not wishing her to lose any of the excellent mixture prematurely, I wiped her slippery cleft clean with some paper tissues and fixed a three inch sticking plaster to her backside smoothing it down into the crease with both hands to ensure complete adhesion.

I told Martha that she was to receive her original punishment for the slimming pills now because the earlier half measures had been to no avail and I wanted to be sure that the enema this time would be really efficient. Lustily I laid on the cane, and lustily she responded, her thighs going like connecting rods, her bottom jerking wildly in all directions, her tummy gyrating and in this way working the injection well in, judging by her crying, tears and entreaties for me to take the plaster off.

I can be most determined when I want to be, and I wanted to be. Twelve cutting minutes later I untied Martha. She rolled over to her side, her legs still thrashing the air. Her hands flew to her very painful behind, now striped in a random pattern. Martha vigorously rubbed her inflamed posterior the redness of which was now accentuated by her slender white hands. She sobbed and pleaded for me to remove her “bottom gag”. I told her it was for her own good to keep the enema as long as possible, that I would be the judge, and that I was very pleased with her to find her so cooperative, slithering about on the bed, massaging her burning sit-upon, as all this would further add to the medicinal action of the douching.

Half an hour later, I told Martha, who by now had quieted down and indeed was squeezing my hands tenderly and kissing me in appreciation of the nursing care I gave so freely and willingly, “Let us see how you evacuate your enema. I want to see whether it was worth the trouble.” We went to the toilet, poor Martha really hobbled, and I tried to remove the plaster. But Martha was so sensitive after the beating that whenever I touched her weals she winced. I had no option but to ruthlessly tear the plaster off. Fortunately her cleft is hairless but the suddenness made her scream and wriggle on the toilet where I had placed her in anticipation of her “decompression”. All control was now gone and with accompanying noises of relief the efficiency of the treatment became obvious, leaving on Martha’s face an expression of relief and bliss.

She washed herself thoroughly agreeing that “inner cleanliness” comes first. My wife confided that the actual insertion of the syringe was such a delight that she begged me to modify my lovemaking to simulate the experience there and then. Oh, this was indeed a wonderful experience for both of us. Back in the bedroom she knelt down and offered her now nicely perfumed body to me. I had no difficulty entering her from behind since her sphincter muscle had now been suitably exercised.

Her striped bottom simply invited me to squeeze a handful of the wealed skin which made her yell out loudly. Her bottom was really sore and I grabbed the part where there were several welts crossing each other. Believe me I did not have to pinch hard for her rear to buck wildly. Oh, yes, Martha’s big rear gyrated madly! I saw to that until I ejaculated. She blushingly told me that this was the most exciting sex she had ever experienced: impaled, her cheeks smarting, a love juice injection just like from the powerful douche. We are now educated in the art of erotic douching which requires much less effort than the sex act, for a possibly greater thrill.

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