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They removed every article of her clothing for this suspended strap whipping… except they left on her high heels! Methinks somebody has a fetish.
Art is from Kitan Club.
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I think perhaps the punishment supervisor has not heard enough bell ringing coming from this punishment chamber, and he has dropped in to remonstrate with the apprentice punishment technician:
Whipping art is by Brian Tarsis.
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This young wife has just made an important discovery about the limits of her husband’s patience! Shenanigans, he will tolerate. Utter nonsense? Not so much! The price of her newfound knowledge is an OTK paddling, a blazing red bottom, and a lot of tears on the floor:
Artwork is by the inimitable Kami Tora.
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She’s trussed up tightly in a shiny rubber ball, in the classic Benson fashion. But there’s plenty enough of her bottom showing to make this belt spanking effective:
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Kiki slept through her alarm clock. So this is her spanking wake-up call. There’s no way she’s going to sleep through this!
From Realspankings.com.
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There’s a scene in Speak Softly To The Dead by Dale Bogard, as appearing in the January 1952 issue of Popular Detective. It’s the classic stuff; she slaps him, he threatens her with a spanking, and then she tries to seduce him:
Suddenly, she jumped off the chair. The noise her hand made when it slapped me across the left cheek was loud enough for the French maid to hear if she was listening and she would be doing that if she was as smart as she looked.
I sent both my hands out and got hold of Miss Lola Broekman’s shoulders. I used enough pressure to hurt, letting my grip slide down her forearms a little so that she couldn’t use her hands again. She stood quite still, her lips parted slightly against her shining teeth and her eyes snapping at me. Then they stopped snapping.
“What are you going to do?” She asked it in a quick throbbing tone.
“I ought to put you over my knee and give you a good old-fashioned spanking,” I told her. Instead, I let my hands drop.
She swayed off from me for a second, then moved close in until her body was against me. I could hear her breathing. It was a little faster than normal.
“I might like that — Dale,” she whispered.
Then her arms were sliding under my jacket and round my back.
“You feel nice under your shirt,” she said.
“I’ll bet you do, too,” I said. I thought my voice sounded a little thick and I hadn’t been drinking.
She tilted her head back fractionally, keeping her eyes wide open. I could feel the rise and fall of her breasts. I couldn’t feel my legs on account of they had gone off somewhere and I didn’t know how to get them back.
“Want to… find out?” She only just said the words.
I let one hand go in under her jacket and stay against the small of her back. I could tell that it would be a beautiful back.
“You can kiss me now,” she breathed, “and then we can forget all about this silly old case…”
I bent and kissed her on the mouth. Only once. It lasted about three and a half minutes. Her mouth was large and warm and melting. There were also other interesting things about it. Then I got my hands back on her shoulders and stood her off me.
“That’s for the slap,” I said. “For that and not for anything else.”
She twisted herself free, walked backward a few steps.
“You — you…”
I grinned wickedly.
“I mean you can’t get me off this case by waving a few curves at me,” I said.
She went on standing there, her hands clenching and unclenching and a lot of emotions criss-crossing her face. I didn’t identify any nice ones.
“Get out!”
In the June 1958 issue of Science Fiction Stories there’s a story called Constabulary Duty by Calvin M. Knox, the entire point of which is to set up a spanking scene as the plot resolution. The hero is a old space cop, and the spankee is the daughter of a rich industrialist who makes sporty spacecraft. Of course the daughter is a joy-riding hellion, and he has to arrest her and take away her space-pilot’s license. She complains, naturally, to Daddy, who owns everything:
O’Reilly went through the sumptuous door into a sumptuous office. D. F. Collins of Collins Spacecraft sat behind a broad mahogany desk. He was a tall, sturdy-looking man in his fifties. He seemed to be scowling.
He said, “Are you Sergeant O’Reilly?”
“T-that’s right.”
“Sit down, Sergeant. I understand you and my daughter had some difficulty earlier today.”
O’Reilly nodded.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Collins said. His voice was an authoritative and commanding one. “She’s always been a headstrong girl, you know. She took private lessons in space-piloting — cost me a fortune — and then demanded her own ship. It had to be a high-acceleration sports model, too. Nothing else would satisfy her.”
“I saw the ship,” O’Reilly said. “It’s really a beauty.” “You took her ticket away, I understand?”
O’Reilly nodded. “You’ll get the full explanation tomorrow, I think. I filed a charge downstairs. Seven major violations and four minor ones, including resisting arrest. But…”
“But what, Sergeant?”
O’Reilly felt driblets of sweat pouring down his beefy face. “Look here, Mr. Collins. I used to be a space pilot, and it isn’t my fault I’m a traffic cop now. I’m too old for space, according to the medics. But I know what my job is and my job was to bring your daughter down from space fast before she did some serious damage. So I did it. Okay, I know you can pull strings to get her ticket cleared, and I know you can get me booted out of here for arresting her. Why don’t you just say it, then, instead of letting me squirm? Why…”
He stopped. Collins was smiling.
“There seems to be some mistake, Sergeant. I’m not going to pull any strings. You don’t know how happy I am that Melva’s going to be suspended; I only hope it’s a life suspension and not merely a few years. I called you over to congratulate you, that’s all. And to thank you. It’s the first time in twenty- three years that anybody has been able to discipline that girl. And…”
The door flew open.
O’Reilly turned and saw Melva Collins stalk in. She was still dripping wet, and her clothes and hair were soggy. Her long eyelashes were plastered together by water. She looked angry.
“Father!”
Collins looked at her. “You’re supposed to knock before entering, my dear.”
“To the deuce with that. I’ve lost my license! They say they won’t let me space again! And it’s all because of this — this…
“I was just doing my job, Miss,” O’Reilly said.
“You should have heard the things he said to me! And then he refused to let me land my ship, and — oh, I wish I could scratch his eyes out! You’ll have him fired for me, won’t you?”
“No,” Collins said. “I won’t.”
O ’REILLY began to grin.
Somehow, seeing the magnate bearded by his daughter was worth all the boredom of nine months as a traffic cop. He watched the frustrated rage animate the girl’s face as she worked herself up into a tantrum which Collins seemed powerless to control.
The yelling went on for about sixty seconds, at the end of which time O’Reilly turned to Collins and said, “Mr. Collins? May I make an impertinent suggestion?”
“What is it, Sergeant?”
“I think I know what your daughter needs. And it isn’t a pilot’s license.”
“It’s a good sound spanking,” Collins said. “I’ve known that for years.”
“Father! How could you! I…”
“Quiet, Melva.” Collins smiled. “Sergeant, I know it isn’t quite in the vein of a traffic officer’s duties — but perhaps you’d be willing to oblige me? I think she needs it.”
O’Reilly grinned and gave a spaceman’s salute. “Call it corrective discipline, sir. It’s part of a traffic officer’s duties, and I’m willing to oblige.”
“Keep your hands off me, O’Reilly. Don’t come near me! Don’t…”
O’Reilly advanced relentlessly, cornered the kicking girl without much trouble, and bent her over his knee. He paused and looked doubtfully at Collins. The old man was beaming in unmistakable approval.
It’s been a long, tough day, O’Reilly thought. But here’s where I even the score. His arm rose and fell rhythmically.
For once, duty was pleasure for O’Reilly.
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