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Can you even have a kinky lesbian hookup without a proper spanking and caning session? I suppose that theoretically you can, but I’m glad that in this case, Mona Wales and Pepper Hart did not:
Photos are from Whipped Ass, a Kink Unlimited channel.
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When you have a certain sort of spanking fetish, this kind of strictness in the young Frenchwoman who is supposed to be teaching you languages during your year abroad can be very appealing. She “makes you do it” five times in a row! And if you are too reluctant, no doubt she keeps a ruler handy, or perhaps a yardstick for the hardest cases. Or, this being France, perhaps a genuine martinet whip:
Obviously it would not be entirely precise to call this sort of sex education “painless” but the young man in the cartoon does not seem to mind overmuch.
All the artwork in this post, by the way, is by a cartoonist named Di Sano. He is not, I think, a spanking fetishist nor even a fetish artist. But I won’t hold that against him! He still knows how to draw a young lady who needs a spanking, and knows it. This pretty blonde thing is just daring us to put her over our knees, and she’s the kind of minx who thinks she can distract us (somehow) before her bottom ever gets hot enough to hurt. Half the fun, as every good spanko knows, is being getting those panties the rest of the way off her and then becoming her strict tutor while teaching her how very wrong she is:
Which leads me to our next inappropriate blonde. She’s rinsing her panties in a babbling brook and giving Old Man Tree an eyeful in the process, not to mention giving him “spring wood” like he has not had in many long years! Obviously this setup was all a deliberate tease; just look at her shoes. You don’t wear those into the woods unless you have seduction in mind!
I know my Spanking Blog audience and after all these years I feel I know it well. We may indeed have some sympathy for a girl so desperate that she’s willing to seduce and hump a tree, even one that’s admittedly a bit livelier than most. Some days the dating scene can be rough, we get it! But even so, there are standards of propriety to be observed in civilized society. One does not simply stick one’s bare fanny in the air and expect not to be rump-roasted. It is simply not done!
Thus, I can confidently predict, if we were to take a poll of the readership, the sentiment would be broadly in agreement: Old Man Tree should sprout one more lithe and supple limb. It should be a smooth, straight switch, to be applied briskly and serenely to her bottom until all visible surfaces are nicely reddened…
It turns out that previous Robert E. Howard spanking reference in his letters was not a fluke! Risque Stories #4 contains a short story (or something like it) in the form of a fictional letter from “Helen” about an observed spanking, along with an editorial note about Howard’s considerable interest in flagellation porn:
His fiction frequently featured what looked like lesbian flagellation scenes, e.g., in the Conan tales “Xuthal of the Dusk” (published as “The Slithering Shadow”), “Red Nails” and “A Witch Shall Be Born”. The first of these was the cover story for the September 1933 Weird Tales which, thanks to the Brundage whipping scenes, sold unusually well. Not too surprisingly, the recently published list of Howard’s personal library contained several flagellation titles like A History of the Rod, Experiences of Flagellation, and Curiosa of Flagellants and History of Flagellation.
Here’s the Robert E. Howard spanking story:
Miss High-Hat
by Robert E. Howard
Dear Editor:
At the college which I attended a few years ago, there was a girl who can only be described by the term “high hat.” She patronized the rest of us and always had some sneering or belittling remark to make. When anything came up, she always took her share of the pleasure, but always scornfully refused to do her share of the work.
This went on until one day one of the dormitory matrons took a bunch of us girls on an outing into the country a short distance. We all took along food, and when we stopped for lunch, we all helped build a fire and prepare the food. All except Miss High-hat.
The matron was a good woman, but she did insist on obedience. She didn’t like the way the girl was acting, but she didn’t say anything until after the lunch was over and we were all sitting around talking. Then she asked her to do some little task, very politely, and the girl merely curled her lip. The matron repeated the command, sharply, and the girl became extremely impudent. Then the matron broke loose.
“Miss Sauciness,” said she grimly, “what you need is a good bottom-warming and here’s where you get it!”
And she snatched that insolent flapper up, in spite of her protests and struggles, and turned her across her lap. And right there before us all, she jerked up the girl’s dress and took off her drawers. How that flapper screamed and wiggled and kicked! And the matron’s open hand going smack-smack-smack-smack! on her bare seat. And before she stopped Miss Sauciness was crying and begging for mercy and her behind was red at a rose. She apologized to the matron and you never saw such a change in a girl! One of the girls had brought a Kodak along and while the spanking was going on, she took a picture of the whole scene, unbeknownst to the matron.
After that, whenever the girl would start getting high hat, someone would bring out that picture and hold it up where she could see it.
Somehow there is nothing so humiliating and ridiculous as to be spanked before a crowd of the other girls and when she remembered how she looked lying across the matron’s lap exposed so immodestly, while her bare sitting place was being spanked, she realized that she wasn’t so much after all.
She got to be a real nice girl and a good chum, and everybody liked her. That wasn’t the only girl the matron spanked — she was a believer in old time discipline and she took down several pairs of bloomers before the year was over — but the spanking she gave to that girl did more real good than any of them.
Helen
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Did you know there was a spanked wives club in Sioux City, Iowa, in 1936? So says a letter to an issue from that year of Liberty Magazine:
SPANKED WIVES FORM CLUB
Sioux City, Ia. — I am going to ask a favor for our club, and hope that you will grant it. I am a young married woman and I organized a club of twelve other married women between the ages of nineteen and forty. We call our club the W. O. S. H. Club — meaning wives of spanking husbands. Our husbands always spank us when we need it, and we admire them for it, and we know that clubs like ours will prevent many divorces.
Most all wives need to be spanked about every so often, and it really makes them like their husbands
more and brings couples closer together and also makes home life something to be proud of. We expect to have thirty members by a month from now.
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Here’s a fun literary spanking gem! It’s in a letter by the father of the sword-and-sorcery fantasy genre, the great Robert E. Howard, who created Conan the Barbarian. Writing to, apparently, a friend, in 1928, he says:
Today at town I saw the hang-over of some old and lascivious custom – a girl had a birthday and her girl and boy friends pounced upon her and indulged in a spanking debauch. I have never been able to find just how that custom originated, but have an idea its roots lie in the old superstition that spanking a woman or whipping her with a switch makes her bear children oftener and easier.
Three cheers for a good spanking debauch!
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These two letters appeared in 1910 in Photo Bits magazine. It’s hard to know entirely what to make of them, but the most likely interpretation I can put on this first letter is that it tells us about a spanko couple that didn’t have a vocabulary for the game they were playing:
I quite agree with your correspondent that it is hard that a girl should be called immodest because she happens to reveal her lingerie accidentally.
Unfortunately, however, my husband does not share my views, and if he detects the slightest glimpse of lace displayed, he administers a severe spanking. What makes it all the harder is that my husband is very particular about my lingerie, which he always selects himself, and insists that I wear knickers and petticoats trimmed with daintiest lace. As he also insists that I wear the shortest possible skirts, it is sometimes very difficult to avoid the forbidden display.
— “SMACKED WIFE” (Photo Bits, 10th November, 1910)
This next letter, I think, hints at a correspondent who has a much better understanding of the game that’s being played:
I was much interested in the husband who spanks his wife for any provocative display of her lingerie. This seems a highly approppiate punishment, yet I guarantee that his severity does not have much effect in preventing the lacy exhibition. Are these displays made in the husband’s absence, or are they made to provoke him?
Is this the only reason for which she is spanked, or is it her husband’s regular discipline? Are the short skirts to facilitate her spanking?
— J. B. (Photo Bits, 21st December, 1910).
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Miss Mary Allen is an American instructor in a continental seminary for young ladies. She doesn’t quite understand the workings of aristocratic power, and she may pay a price for that, someday. But today is not that day:
“But Miss Allen, I beg you to be careful. Marie is no ordinary pupil. Her uncle is the Duke of Gratzelm — we cannot punish her with impunity!”
Frau Anna Schmidt, assistant mistress at the Potzorf Academy for Ladies, looked anxiously across the study at her colleague, the new English lessons mistress. Mary Allen met her gaze steadily. A tall brunette of 30, beautiful in a cold, imperious way, she had not long arrived from America. She was determined to make a success of her post and to maintain discipline without fear or favour. It did not matter to her that Marie Jedzburg was the niece of a duke — it only mattered that she had incurred punishment, and that she, Miss Allen, must administer it. Her voice was calm and commanding as she answered Frau Schmidt
“Marie has been cheating in class. I should be neglecting my duty if I failed to punish her. Kindly send her to me at once, and in the meantime ask the housekeeper to prepare a rod!”
“But you’re not going to whip her?
Why, think of her age — she’s over sixteen. Think of her uncle — he’s not a duke for nothing, you know. Really, Miss Allen, if you’ll take my advice…
But Mary Allen took no one’s advice. Frau Schmidt went out of the room shaking her head forebodingly, whispered to the housekeeper that a new birch was required, and then went in search of Marie. She told the Duke’s niece that Miss Allen wanted her, but gave no clue to the reason. Five minutes later Marie confronted the English mistress in her study without the least appearance of guilt or anxiety.
A lovely girl, this Marie, carrying herself with natural poise and having all the radiant freshness of a schoolgirl, she was used only to admiration and deference from those around her. Golden-haired, blue-eyed, prettily plump in the right places, she had the supreme gift of lovely skin. Her blue satin gown was lowly cut and the whitest of alabaster breasts were visible above her bodice. The curve of her hips was already that of a woman, but she retained a girlish slim waist and a sort of wild rose freshness which showed her to be still a schoolgirl.
She faced Miss Allen with a slightly superior smile and an arrogant self-assurance which incensed the English mistress greatly. Miss Allen assumed her sternest expression, and came straight to the point.
“Marie Jedzburg, I have just discovered that you cheated in class yesterday. That you copied your exercise direct from another girl. I need hardly remind you that this is one of the most serious offences a girl can commit. What is your excuse? What have you to say before I punish you as you deserve?”
Before Miss Allen’s compelling gaze Marie’s complacent manner vanished rapidly. She hung her head, fidgeted with her hands and for once in her life felt thoroughly uncomfortable.
“I— I suppose I’ll do the beastly exercise again, if that’s what you mean,” she said with a sort of nervous sulkiness.
Miss Allen rose decisively to her feet and rang the bell. “Certainly you’ll do the exercise again Marie. You’ll do it three times over. But that won’t save you from punishment. Your whole attitude reeks of insolence, and there is only one cure for that. I warn you, Marie that I am going to whip you — and whip you severely. We’ll see what the birch rod can teach you. It’s high time you had a taste of real discipline!”
“The birch rod! You — you mean you’re going to whip me?” Marie’s big eyes widened, her ruby lips opened in amazement. With an adorable, unconscious movement she stepped back a pace and clasped her hands to her bottom. The colour mounted in a crimson flush from neck to ears. She could scarcely credit her senses. This was incredible — unthinkable — impossible.
No one would dare to do such a thing. Why, even when she was a child, her nurses had not been allowed to spank her. This mistress must just be trying to scare her.
The door opened and in came Freda, a sturdy servant of peasant stock, who often assisted at whippings. She carried a silver tray on which was laid a sinewy birch. Behind her followed Martha, another maidservant of muscular, almost masculine build. Both servants gasped when they saw who the birch was for, but they said not a word. Meanwhile Marie recovered from her first shock and poured forth a perfect torrent of scorn and defiance at the English mistress.
“So you think you can whip me, do you? Me, Marie Jedzburg. Why you must be crazy. Do you know my uncle’s a duke? Do you know he rules all this district? Why, if anyone laid a finger on me he’d have them sent to a house of correction and flogged. Do you hear that — flogged ! I warn you, Miss Allen, that you’re not in America now. My uncle…
She broke off as Miss Allen calmly took the birch rod from the tray, swished it through the air and tested its flexibility. There was iron determination in every movement of the mistress. When she spoke again her words sent cold shivers down Marie’s spine.
“Very well, Marie Jedzburg, that settles it. Now you shall be well whipped. Since you are a big girl and this is your first punishment I had intended to whip you over your drawers. In view of your gross impertinence, however, I withdraw that privilege. Your drawers will be taken down and you will receive your punishment on the bare flesh. I have noticed you smiling when your classmates have been whipped. Now I am going to show you that a birching on the posterior is not a matter for amusement. Freda, prepare Miss Marie for punishment. Martha bring forward the whipping stool and place her in position!”
Something in Miss Allen’s tone quenched all the spirit in Marie. She tried to speak but the words choked in her throat. She looked imploringly at the servants but there was no help from that quarter. Inwardly, both Freda and Martha were delighted. This proud, aristocratic schoolgirl had always treated them like dirt. It would be grand to see her writhing and reddening under the birch like one of the ordinary pupils. Usually they heard her voice only when she gave orders. Now they would hear it begging for mercy. That would be music indeed. The two servants set about their task with a relish which showed in their hastening eyes and quick breathing.
She shuddered with humiliation, but she dared not disobey. Slowly her hands went behind her. Gingerly she grasped her chemise. With a little gasp of anguish she pulled it up. Up over her silky thighs, over her swelling buttocks till it reached her waist, and Marie was showing that which she had never shown before in her life. Her bottom was bare! Plump, white and satiny, it spread over the whipping stool. A perfect poem of a bottom, fully developed in size and contours but plainly a schoolgirl’s in smoothness and delicacy. The white flesh quivered nervously and the twin cheeks clung coyly together as three pairs of eyes burned into it.
Freda and Martha stared fascinated. They had helped to whip scores of schoolgirls. Dozens of dazzling bottoms had been bared before them. But never had they seen a croup like this. The magnificent moon of Marie’s was almost awe-inspiring in its pearl-white perfection. Strange thrills ran through the servants at the sight of it. Freda approached closer, and, under guise of arranging the chemise, passed her hands feverishly over the rounded flesh. Marie winced at the touch and tried to withdraw her bottom. Martha was kneeling at the other side of the stool to hold the culprit’s wrists. She released them for a moment while she slipped Marie’s chemise down to expose her breasts. Her hands explored the soft globes and she felt the nipples harden at her touch. Marie started to whimper quietly and Miss Allen tapped her foot impatiently.
“You will now ask my pardon and beg me to whip you. Properly now, or I shall thrash you the harder!”
The voice was cold and relentless, but Mary Allen was far from feeling calm herself. This lovely mountain of flesh at her mercy excited strange instincts in her. She grasped the birch more tightly, her eyes shone and she gritted her beautiful teeth as she waited. She would teach this schoolgirl to threaten her teacher. So her uncle could order floggings, could he? He could send her to a House of Correction, eh? Well, one thing he couldn’t do was to save Marie. Duke’s niece or not she was going to be birched, and birched in a way she would never forget. As for the Duke, he could do nothing against a teacher who was only doing her duty in whipping an unruly pupil, and in any case her American citizenship would protect her from any interference.
Miss Allen smiled grimly as she raised the birch and waited for Marie’s apology. Never had she so looked forward to administering the rod. Never had she seen so ideal a target for the birch.
Marie’s apology came at last. Half sobbing and hating herself for cowardice, she repeated the humiliating formula. Every word cost her untold anguish, but she knew the painful consequences if she faltered. She drew her breath, clenched her little hands and in broken tones jerked out the formula. The words which had amused her so much when other girls were forced to say them.
“I… I… humbly b-beg your pardon for my faults, and I… oh, dear… I b-beg you to give me a severe whipping!”
Miss Allen smiled ironically. “Splendid,” she said slowly. “It’s nice to see such real humility. Certainly I shall whip you soundly, Marie. This birch has been well soaked and it seems really supple and cutting. Perhaps, Freda, you wouldn’t mind examining this girl’s posterior which she has so kindly exposed. Just feel her bottom and let me know what sort of condition the flesh is in. Whether it can stand a really first-class flogging with the birch.
Freda smiled cruelly. She knelt beside the stool and her hands roamed over the luscious bottom. She pinched and prodded each cheek separately, grasping the fleshiest parts of the buttocks and squeezing them indecently till Marie groaned with shame. She pinched the tender skin inside the thighs and the schoolgirl squealed. Then she raised her roughened palm and brought it down with a resounding smack on each cheek in turn. Immediately a light pink flush appeared on the skin, whilst the bottom quivered tremulously. The servant looked up. “If I may say so, Miss Allen, this is a seat which can stand a lot of birching. The flesh is tender but the buttocks are well covered and my experience is that young ladies of this build can well support a flogging. The skin heals quickly after the soundest whipping.”
Miss Allen smiled and stepped back a pace. “Thank you, Freda. You confirm my own opinion. We are not dealing with a little girl whose buttocks are not developed, but with a mature bottom, firm, fleshy and, if anything, a trifle oversized. Such a rump can stand some punishment. Very well then, it shall have it. Now Martha, you hold her wrist and pull her well over the stool. Hold her how you like but keep her head down and her bottom well stretched out. There, that’s splendid! Now for a little music!”
“One…two…three — Swish.
Eeeeeeeh!
Hardly had the birch swung through the air than the screams left Marie’s throat. The supple twigs splayed right across her buttocks, biting the tender flesh like so many spiteful teeth. Up from the stool bounded Marie’s bottom. The thighs opened and closed convulsively. The whipping had commenced with vengeance.
From Miss Allen Meets Her Match by Maude Cameron.
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