Balanced For A Spanking

This is one of those magazine spanking cartoons where it feels like the magazine layup and copywriter people didn’t do the material any favors. I’m pretty sure the image was drawn in reverse (with a right-handed spanker) from how it’s presented here, and the caption, which reads “On second thought, Miss Clodd, books out of balance is better than no balance at all” makes little or no comedic sense:

awkward office spanking scene magazine spanking comic

Artwork is by Gregory. I found it in the February 1979 issue of Fun House magazine. Chicago Spanking Review has a much earlier appearance in Humorama with the same awkward pose and caption, only the earlier caption omitted the word “books”, which may or may not help any.

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How To Melt A Whip Mistress

Leah Orleans aka Stahr Power was performing her “Tiny Girl, Big Show” comedy whip-cracking routine at a renaissance fair when she invited some audience participation from a bearded man in a kilt and he, with perfect comedic timing… didn’t take direction well. (Backup link). End result, she blushed, melted, and had to be rebooted before she could continue the bit. As she told her lovely assistant, “Pack my bags, I’m going home with him!”

comedy performer in total meltdown after sassy comment from the audience

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Testing Her New Daddy

In Demolition Daddy by Kelly Dawson, barista Ash has been flirting with a construction foreman working at a site across from her coffee shop. On their first date she decides to brat him up a bit, to see if he means his growly spanking threats. The result is a super-cute bratting scene:

Zac pulls out a crumpled packet of cigarettes from the back of his jeans pocket. I should have guessed he was a smoker. He doesn’t smell like one, but I’ve never met anyone yet who works on any kind of construction site who isn’t. Bringing a cigarette to his lips, he lights it, puffs, and blows the smoke in the other direction from me. I nod appreciatively. He’s considerate.

Although I know it’s unhealthy and bad, and we’re not supposed to think it sexy these days, there’s something about a man who smokes that turns me on. Memories of my granny talking about the Marlboro Man, maybe? But I can’t help myself. This is the perfect opportunity to brat, to test him a little bit, see if he’s a man of his word. Trustworthy.

“Those are bad for you, you know,” I tell him helpfully. At least, I think it sounds helpful. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe it just sounds sassy.

He turns to me, one eyebrow raised. “What?”

“Cigarettes,” I clarify. “They’re bad for you. Demolish your lungs, they will.” I walk towards him, stopping so close, the lit end of his cigarette nearly goes up my nose. I rip it from his lips, throw it on the ground, and crush it beneath my heel.

I think he’s too shocked to respond because he just stands there and lets me do it, not making any attempt to stop me or rescue his now-destroyed smoke. It’s easy to reach behind him and pull the entire packet out of his back pocket. I deftly extract one, then tuck the remainder of the pocket down the front of my shirt, inside my bra. Boldly meeting his gaze, I hold the cigarette up in front of his face and snap it in half, silently daring him to stop me.

“I’ll demolish your ass if you keep that up, little girl,” he threatens, but I wave him away.

“Pfft. I’d like to see you try.”

There goes that eyebrow, shooting upwards. Any higher and it would get lost in his hair. My insides squirm, and my pussy clenches with need.

“You don’t think I can?”

“Oh, I think you can, but I don’t think you will.”

“Try me.”

My heart pounds as he fixes me with a challenging stare, just daring me to test him.

So I do.

Reaching inside my shirt, without pulling out the whole box, I grab another cigarette between my fingers and wave it in his face for a fraction of a second before I snap it into three pieces. I stare into his eyes the whole time, and what I see there gives me the courage to continue. He’s not angry. Not even a little bit. His eyes are dancing, not with outrage but amusement. Laughter. He’s enjoying this as much as I am, but he’s clearly not ready to spank me yet, so my work isn’t quite finished.

“Are you done now, little girl?” he asks in that deep, growly voice.

“Nope, don’t think I am yet.” Without breaking our gaze, I reach back inside my shirt again and pull out a third cigarette, wave it in front of him, and snap it, then giggle.

“You, little girl, are a brat.”

I grin up at him.

“What do brats get, little girl?”

“Not ice cream.” I pout sadly, really getting into my role of a bratty little girl. I’m totally enjoying myself and can’t wait to see where this goes.

“Definitely not ice cream, little girl.” Zac shakes his head, his faux-sad expression mirroring my own. He puts a finger under my chin, lifting my gaze higher. “I think you know what brats get, don’t you, little girl?”

I nod solemnly as best I can, with his finger under my chin.

“Yes, Daddy,” I whisper.

“What do they get, little girl?”

I suck in a breath, not even sure I can say the words. Not with my racing pulse racing, my clammy hands, my clenching pussy, and my tummy turning flips.

“I’m waiting, little girl,” he tells me sternly.

“They get spanked, Daddy.”

“Yes, little girl, brats get spanked.” Zac’s finger brushes over my mouth, making my lips tingle. “Is that what you want? A spanking? Do you want Daddy to set your bottom on fire?”

“Maybe,” I breathe.

“You deserve a spanking, don’t you?” he scolds. “You ruined four of my cigarettes. That deserves a big spanking, I think.”

“Just a little one, Daddy.” I shake my head, nerves ripping through me. “Not a big one.” This is getting real. Exciting. Scary.

“You don’t decide the terms of your punishment, little girl.”

My body tenses up. I don’t know why because there’s nothing even remotely threatening about Zac right now, his sternness is all an act, but the scars run deep.

He’s not Ian.

Willing my body to relax, I inhale deeply.

He’s not Ian. He’s safe.

Everything in me knows he is.

I’m okay now, but the spell is broken. Zac lets me go and takes a step back. Not too far, but enough, so he’s not crowding me, giving me space.

“We’re not going to do this if it’s not what you want,” he assures me softly.

I shake my head. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. You’re allowed to not want it.” He sounds disappointed but accepting. He was obviously enjoying our playful little scene as much as I was.

Then you had to go and ruin it!

“I did, though.” I shake my head again, frustrated he doesn’t understand me. “I do. I do want it, but I’ve just come out of a really bad relationship, and I freaked out for a moment. I’m okay now.”

If Zac’s smile could be any more tender, I’d melt. He strokes my hair, and his gentle touch is electrifying.

“It’s okay. You’re allowed to change your mind.”

“I haven’t changed my mind. That was just a bump in the road, but I’m over it now. I promise. I’m ready for my punishment now, Daddy.” To prove my point, I reach back into my pocket again and fish out one more cigarette. There can’t be too many more left in the packet. I’ll have to buy him a new pack tomorrow to make up for my vandalism.

Before I can snap it, he grabs my wrist, takes the cigarette from me, and smacks the back of my hand crisply, leaving behind a slight sting.

“Good girls don’t destroy other people’s things,” he scolds. “Only naughty girls do that, and naughty girls get punished. How do brats get punished, little girl?”

“They get spanked, Daddy. They get spanked hard.”

“That’s right. Daddy makes their bottoms red and sore. Is that what you want, little girl?”

I hesitate for just a moment. Close my eyes. Swallow hard. Then I open my eyes and trail my fingers up his torso, feeling the hard muscles beneath his shirt. My gaze follows my fingers, then continues upward to meet his dark eyes. There is no doubt in my mind that I want this.

“Yes, Daddy.”

He leads me over to the truck and pats the back. “Bend over here,” he commands.

I do as he bids, stretching my torso over the tailgate.

“Take down your jeans.” His voice is husky with arousal. “Underwear, too. I want that bottom bare.”

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One Good Swat For Charity

This is one of those “public swats for charity” spankings where the setup is a lot better than the delivery. It’s some sort of biker fund-raising situation. The lady is 100% game; she bends right over nice and tight and presents herself well. Our burly spanking man is obviously protective of her, and isn’t happy with the paddle, which has crap for a handle and honestly looks more like a charcuterie board. He winds up to make it look good for the camera, but pulls his stroke, as he pretty much has to given the paddle’s manifest unfitness for purpose, in a long drawing stroke across her bottom that carries most of its energy through its arc and into the sky beyond her.

To make this spanking fundraiser fun for everybody, they really needed a thinner lighter paddle with even more surface area, one that they could deliver solid noisy swats with, swats that would sting nicely without any risk of bruising, or ruining anybody’s day.

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A Surprise For Daddy

Nia got a slutty tattoo (her words) on her man’s birthday:

yes daddy tattoo

“Yes, Daddy!”

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Whipped In Coffle

Cruel slavers always react badly when the coffle of weary slave girls doesn’t move fast enough toward the auction block:

cruel slaver whipping a chain coffle of slave girls

Artwork is from this series by Noone102000.

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Dungeon Whippings

Six weeks in the king’s dungeons for slapping his sleazy minister of finance was a miserable and unjust sentence, but alone, it would have been an endurable one. After scandals under King Eli The Foul, the king’s guard was reformed, and is now a fairly upright crew, with their captain even a priest, of surprising probity. There would be no abuse from those men. But the minister demanded corporal justice, and the king said “Whip the wench, then, if you must, while she’s in the cells. As much as you like, so long as she does not bleed under your whip.” The minister is a nightly visitor:

dungeon whipping art

Artwork is by ShyTimide.

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