A Hug After A Spanking
Remember Zille Defeu? I do! Her site and blog are long gone, but I found this photo of her getting a hug after a serious spanking, and it’s too good not to share:
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Spanking Blog: Adult Erotic Spanking At Its Best
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A Spanko Goes To Folsom
Zille Defeu writes about going to this year’s Folsom Street Fair in San Francisco. I’m quoting this bit because I strongly agree with her perspective on spanking’s place in the broader BDSM community:
You might say to yourself, “If Zille is as much out-of-the-dungeon-and-into-the-schoolroom as she claims, why does she keep going to these BDSM events?” It’s a fair question.
To me, BDSM includes spanking. I know some spankos don’t much like that idea, but the whole point of BDSM is to be an overarching umbrella of all things non-vanilla. And you really do have to admit that spanking is simply not “vanilla sex” – although more power to the people who are vanilla, but like the occasional slap on the bottom to spice things up.
Some spankos would like to say that their world is totally different from the BDSM one. And it’s true, that many spankos would not feel comfy in a dungeon. But “BDSM” is not just a bunch of people chaining each other up in a dungeon – it’s a community, and it’s a community that welcomes spankos as part of the kinky rainbow of tastes and preferences. (Before someone brings it up: any snotty BDSMer who sneers that spankos are not serious about their kink should get a dozen “of the best” from the cane before they are allowed to finish their sentence. Or just six, if they can’t take it!)
Anyway, the place to really prove that BDSM is inclusive beyond all doubt is the Folsom Street Fair. You get bear-like leathermen wearing nothing but harnesses and boots, finding a corner to make their “boys” kneel down and get pissed upon. You find human “ponies” with butt-plug tails, pulling their latex-clad Mistresses in carts down the street. (This year there was a full human dog-sled team. It was awesome!) You find gorgeous drag-queens of any sexuality and preference. You find leather-dykes with their tattooed breasts proudly bared, strutting dangerously down the street. You find adorable little twinks in glittery jock-straps. You even find naked vanilla people who might be nudists or swingers or some combination thereof, just running around enjoying the freedom and energy.
And you find spankos. You might have to look a bit harder to see them: with all the dark sheen of leather, high-gloss of latex, and shimmer of glitter getting in your eyes (often literally), it’s harder to see the classic schoolgirl and schoolboy uniforms. With all that flesh jingling around, the ones who are demurely covered up don’t catch the eye as easily – unless you are really into that sort of thing, in which case you might not notice the naked frolickers at all, but not miss the slightest glimpse of tartan or grey pleat.
However, as my grandma once quavered at me (this is totally a lie): “Sonny Boy, they may come to your blog for the BDSM identity politics, but they stay for the caning and the kinky anal sex.” Here’s Zille on what she did after the fair:
I was told I could try and get out of it with a blowjob, but of course the blowjob wasn’t good enough to suit him, and I had to try and breathe my way through 18 strokes of the cane. (I had thought he was just going to do 12. When he started in on the 13th one, my thoughts when like this: “Oh SHIT, another six?! Oh noooo–!”)
Then, the anal sex. (I love typing that!) Because, you know, girls who dress in that much blinding pink really do deserve anything they get! It had been a long time, and it really hurt. There was a point when he was first pushing inside me when I thought I might have to beg him to stop, tell him I just couldn’t take it. I made it though, and my reward came later, as he was pounding hard into me and I lost control and screamed out, “Oh my god, it hurts so much and I’m coming so hard!” (And, of course, being me, it’s that first bit, the part that hurt more than anything, which I will be masturbating about for a long time to come!)
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“Schoolgirls” And Their Skirts
Since we in the spanking fetish may often be found eroticising adult women play-acting as schoolgirls, I thought Maggie Mayhem’s long article on (among many other things) schoolgirl skirts was very interesting:
Why I Hated My School Girl Skirt Then And Why I’ll Fuck In It Now:
My school uniform was a hazard as far as my walk was concerned. It isn’t pornographic images of adult women wearing micro-school girl skirts and having sex in a roleplay that makes the uniform dangerous to the students who wear them authentically. What makes them dangerous are what they are in and of themselves: a clear marker for your age and how much control you have over your own life. People don’t attack children in school uniforms because they saw porn featuring adults or even adult women in pigtails. Between the ages of 9-15 I didn’t look at all like a grown women and there wasn’t anyone with a reasonable mind making an understandable mental switch.
…
The times when joggers or dog walkers would impose themselves onto my walks as if they were entitled to stroll with me until I arrived at school. At first I was worried that they were doing this to figure out where I went to school until I realized that it didn’t matter if they followed me there or not: every school has their own set of colors clearly identifying “their” students. Everyone already knew where I was going at 6:30AM and they knew exactly what time the bell was going to ring. In order to be a young girl walking to school in a uniform, you have to start thinking like James Bond. You have to vary your routes, fuck with your schedule, avoid routine, and constantly scan the terrain and look for exits.
No one really talks to you clearly about this because no one wants to talk about why you really need to know any of it. When I got into early feminist reading, I did consider the notion that we “sexualize” the school girl uniform through porn but the truth is so much uglier than that. It isn’t porn that makes the uniform dangerous: it’s the fact that a child is a perfect victim in our society. It isn’t the adult sexual use of a uniform that puts these ideas into someone’s head, it’s the advertisement that you are so very young and have been well-trained to be polite and to comply with what adults say.
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The pope knows for a fact that the streets are not equally safe for everyone to walk around. He gets carted around in a cart with bulletproof glass, so I think he’s a fucking asshole for sending me off to my education wearing pleats in the streets. The dangers of being a girl on the streets don’t come from porn. You could evaporate every single last image of someone getting fucked in a school girl skirt and it won’t change one damn thing about the fact that I was still a girl and girls aren’t afforded voices or autonomy in our culture.
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Most people watching adults getting fucked in school girl skirts are doing so because they enjoy watching and knowing that the people involved are adults getting fucked in school girl skirts. What made my skirt different at 13 than 27 is decision making power. At 13 I had no choice regarding any detail of the skirt. Not the shape, model, size, or accessorizing. It advertised where I was going or coming from and the school would actually punish you for things you were spotted or reported to be doing in your uniform outside of school hours which was a known tool for all of the adults in the city. If you wanted to jack any of us up, you could have said that you saw us smoking cigarettes by the canyon in our skirts and be pretty confident we would be stuck after school in detention for it. Denying it wouldn’t get you anywhere unless you had a parent who would advocate for you in the office.
…
Porn isn’t in the wrong for using the school girl uniform, schools are already forcing and establishing the dominance pecking order by establishing a school girl uniform. That’s some non-consensual D/s shit and it’s much more appropriate to do between two consenting adults.
Thanks to Zille Defeu for the link.
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“Enjoyed” Versus “Liked”
This post by Zille on a recent series of spankings contains an interesting dichotomy that is not at all uncommon. There are — by all accounts — spankings that are pleasurable to receive, but lots of spanko girls like the other kind even better. Confusing? It can be, but it usually works itself out:
I admitted, finally, that I was well overdue some discipline. He gave me a hug while I composed myself … but I could tell that his main focus was looking at my regulation-knicker-clad-bottom in the mirror on the wall.
Finally he said, “Well, I think it’s time you got over my knee, girl,” and he pushed me over and started in for a long and very hard spanking. I was shocked at how much it hurt — this was not a spanking I mostly enjoyed, with a few sharp swats giving it piquancy. No, this was one where I honestly yelped, squirmed, and couldn’t catch my breath and get on top of the sensations.
And, to be honest, when it’s all said and done, those are really the spankings I like best.
Not A Safeword
Spanking Is Magic
It is! Don’t believe me? Ask Zille; she proves it.
“California Style” And “English Style” Caning
I haven’t heard these names before, but I definitely recognize the distinction Pandora is talking about here:
Our friend Zille recently referred to “California style” caning in her blog, by contrast with the English style. I’d found the distinction fascinating, and mentioned it to Tom. If the English style is a small number of very hard strokes, with pauses in between, then the Californian style is a rhythmic sequence of rapid strokes, starting tantalisingly light but building to a burning intensity.
We’ve played like this before, but never in a deliberate, extended way. Those initial bouncing taps are more or less the recommended way of introducing a new player to the pleasure of the cane, and I leaned back into them, hungry for more impact. The regular rhythm made it easy to relax, knowing what was coming next. As the sensation accumulated, my breathing slowed. My reactions seemed to ebb and flow; beginning with soft moans, slipping into sharper yelps and hisses as the impact increased, then relaxing again as I adjusted to the new intensity and my body accepted it. I slipped into a meditative state, the sensations shifting between pain and pleasure and back again.
This trance state is, in some ways, the holy grail of play for me: the calm space where new and harder impact only makes me sigh quietly, absorbing the energy, delighting in it.
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