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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Five Punished Schoolgirls

This photo is from the now-defunct Sternwood Academy site:

five spanked schoolgirls

In case your bottom-identification skills aren’t quite up to the job, Alex Reynolds has helpfully captioned the photo for us on Tumblr:

Cali Cutie, Ela Darling, Alex Reynolds (ME), Cheyenne Jewel and Heather Michaels after being spanked by Dana Kane at Sternwood Academy!

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Punishment For Darling

Cherry Torn is giving Darling a serious set of whipping, spanking, and caning punishments in these photos from the most recent update at

cherry torn hand spanks a bound Darling

Cherry Torn canes Darling

Cherry Torn caning Darling on her calves

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Don’t Cuss At Grandma’s House

Even if you’re eighteen years old, it may not be smart to say “You fucking bastard!” on your mobile when your stern grandmother can hear you. Especially not when you’re living in her house:

A couple of minutes later she came back with a large towel and, to my horror, an around fifty centimetre length of thick leather: The strap.

I was no doubt viewing for the first time the same strap which my mother had alluded to on occasion when cross and telling me off in statements such as: ‘be thankful I am only grounding you for a week, why when I was your age your grandmother would have strapped my bare bottom black and blue over the kitchen table until I was sobbing apologies; now go to your room and stay there till your tea is ready.’

Grandma also had an old toothbrush and face cloth with her. However, I had no idea what they, or for that matter the towel, were for.

Perhaps after my expletive ridden diatribe I should have realised.

“Right young lady, before I deal with your behaviour I am first going to wash that filth thoroughly out of your mouth, and you had better do exactly what you are told if your bottom knows what’s good for it!”

As she said this the towel was tied around my neck and I realised what was going to happen.
“Please, grandma…”

One look at my grandmother’s face told me not to go any further. Any plea was going to only make things worse.

“… I am very sorry.” I finished lamely, feeling very much like an eight year old little girl.

I watched as she brought over a small basin of warm water, rinsed out the face cloth and wrung most of the wetness out. She then seemed to lather a good chunk of the bar of soap into the damp cloth, turning the pale blue fabric almost white. I just watched in a shocked, sick horror as she prepared.

She caught me by surprise as she started, as she firmly, but still quite gently, pinched my nostrils together.

Suddenly I found my face tilted back to look up at the ceiling and the cloth inside my mouth. I started to gag and rebel as the soap assaulted my taste buds. That just led to another warning to keep still with my hands down by the chair seat if I wanted to get it over with.

To say my grandmother cleaned my mouth ‘thoroughly’ would be an understatement; for the next five minutes the soapy cloth was worked with a couple of her fingers repeatedly right around the insides of my cheeks, around my teeth, over and under my tongue and across the roof of my mouth. It was awful, and made worse by the lecture on how she was appalled that such dirty language could have been produced from a grandchild of her’s. It took quite some effort to keep my hands gripping the sides of the kitchen chair rather than trying to prevent the onslaught of that soapy cloth.
Indeed, I had begun to cry by the time the facecloth was finally withdrawn from my mouth. However, that did not cut any ice with my grandmother; she was not finished cleaning!

“Keep your mouth open young lady!” She demanded, effectively preventing me from trying to reduce the awful taste with a good dose of saliva. Then, as she made the toothbrush wet and rubbed the bristles vigorously on the surface of the soap bar, she continued. “I need to make sure there is none of that dirt left around your teeth.”

I was too scared to close my mouth, given her mood, and confined myself to some incoherent noises that were meant to be pleas.

Soon my nose was pinched again and the brush gave my teeth a far more thorough cleaning than I ever usually did with toothpaste. The taste of the soap now seemed to be permanently etched into my mouth.

As she finished I tried to sob out that I was sorry, and believe me I was already very sorry, but I got about one word out before the bar itself was placed in my mouth.

“Right, go and stand in that corner and think about how you will control your language to be more ladylike in future, and how you will not be rude to me in my house. You can also ponder, now that your mouth is clean, on the strapping you will soon be getting as punishment. You may say you are sorry, but I assure you, young lady, that you will really be sorry shortly…

From Return to A Time Gone By, by Joanna Jones.

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