“The More You Beat ‘Em…”

Here’s a quaint rural versification for you all:

“A dog, a woman, and a walnut tree…
the more you beat ’em, the better they be.”

If this strikes you as an old-fashioned sentiment, that’s because it totally is:

Aesop’s fable [of the walnut tree] had served as basis for an independent version by Laurentius Abstemius in his Hecatomythium, published in the 1490s. Numbered 65, De nuce, asino et muliere describes how a woman asked the abused tree ‘why it was so foolish as to give more and better nuts when struck by more and stronger blows? The tree replied: Have you forgotten about the proverb that goes: Nut tree, donkey and woman are bound by a similar law; these three things do nothing right if you stop beating them.’ The moral that Abstemius draws from it is that people talk too much for their own good.

The Italian proverb based on this lore was perpetuated in Britain for the next two centuries. George Pettie’s translation of the Civil Conversations of Stefano Guazzo (1530–93), a book first published in Italy in 1574, records that he had once come across the proverb ‘A woman, an ass and a walnut tree, Bring more fruit, the more beaten they be’. What is now the better known English version appears shortly after in the works of John Taylor,

A woman, a spaniel and a walnut tree,
The more they’re beaten the better still they be.

Roger L’Estrange includes Abstemius’ story in his Fables of Aesop and Other Eminent Mythologists a century later. His shortened version runs: ‘A Good Woman happen’d to pass by, as a Company of Young Fellows were Cudgelling a Wallnut-Tree, and ask’d them what they did that for? This is only by the Way of Discipline, says one of the Lads, for ’tis natural for Asses, Women, and Wallnut-Trees to Mend upon Beating.’

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Present Your Bottom!

“This caning is not even close to being over, girl…”

bottom presented for harsh caning

I think I recognize the style of this art as being from one of the regular contributors to the spanking magazines, but I don’t know who all of them were and so I’m not sure who the artist was here. Anybody help me out?

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After Erika’s Spanking

Erika’s one of the people who doesn’t mix sex with her spankings, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t aroused by them. No it does not:

It used to be that I’d wait for my tops to leave (sometimes just barely). I joked with one of them that if he walked outside of my apartment and then listened carefully, he could probably hear me screaming. (Yes, I’m loud.) I never masturbated in front of any man — sounds strange to some of you, I’m sure! But I was intensely private that way. A dichotomy, to be sure. Wanna spank me? Gather the audience, the bigger the better. But sex is between me and my partner, and no one else. Or between me and me, if it’s self-pleasuring.

Until now.

Steve didn’t want me to do it after he left. He wanted to watch me.

At first, I felt squirmy and vulnerable. I didn’t think I could do it; I thought I’d be too distracted. But he simply sat off to the side, not speaking, not touching, letting me concentrate. I shut my eyes tight and disappeared into the sensations, and then there it was.

He watched. And afterward, when I was shaking and recapturing my breath, he commanded me to lie still, don’t move, rest. He then wrapped me in the comforter and held me, just as he had after the spanking. Told me how beautiful I was.

There is even a lovely photo to accompany the post.

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Sabre Spanking

Via ErosBlog we get this happy flat-of-his-sword spanking photo. This was promo for a 1966 TV show called F-Troop, and apparently the characters were married in real life:

man spanks his wife with a sabre

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Caned In A Yellow Dress

I dig the yellow dress and the fierce gleam in her eye:

lecture for a black secretary about to be punished

statuesque amazon black girl in amazing yellow dress gets caned as her little blonde co-worker kneels naked and watches

From CalStar Spanking.

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Coming Out About Spanking

There’s a nice column in Salon by a serious spanko who learned, pretty much the hard way, that he had to come out to his new girlfriend about spanking. Here’s how it went for him:

Six weeks after we started dating, I told Emily my secret.

We were in bed, still in those heady, lust-filled days of a new relationship. I really liked her, suspected that I might even love her, which meant I had to tell her the truth about myself. She sat up to listen, and I trailed my fingers over her thigh, eyes down, nervous as a teenager. I was 30 years old and for the first time in my life I was going to tell a girlfriend that I wanted to spank her. No, not wanted to, needed to. And I knew that telling her might mean the immediate death of our relationship, but I also knew we’d never be perfect together unless I looked into her pretty blue eyes and told this sweet, innocent, beautiful woman that I had a spanking fetish.

Let me clarify something: I’m not “into” spanking the way you might be “into” Celine Dion or “The Bourne Identity.” Spanking is a part of my psyche, an essential element of my sexuality. It’s not like slavering over cheerleaders, or fantasizing about sex on the beach at sunset. When I was a kid I used to look up the word “spanking” in the dictionary, and I got a visceral thrill when I saw a spanking scene on “Little House on the Prairie” or “I Love Lucy.”

I [had] never told any of my girlfriends about my fetish, although I often made clumsy attempts to engage in spanking play. If they let me, I landed a few gentle slaps to the bottom until I got a curled lip and, “That’s just weird. You don’t really want to hurt me, do you?”

I didn’t, no. Not really, not unless she wanted it, too, and none of them did. The closest I came to telling anyone was Jennifer, the girl I dated right before Emily. She told me it was sick and made me see a psychotherapist who, I found out later, labeled me in her notes as a sexual sadist. Another heaping of shame from my girlfriend, and a horrifying diagnosis from a professional. You can see why I kept this to myself.

As time went by, I did find comfort in knowing there were others like me, but as I sat on Emily’s bed, they all seemed irrelevant because she wasn’t a spanko. I knew that for sure. As with every girl I met, I’d dropped hints, used the word “spanking” to get a reaction. I’d gotten none from her. The only question now was whether she’d call me a freak and kick me out.

I took a deep breath and told her.

I spoke for a while, explaining that I didn’t understand why, that the why didn’t even matter anymore. Spanking was a massive part of my sexuality, and that was something she needed to know. When I finished, she furrowed her brow.

“Spanking is a thing? A sexy thing?” she asked. When I nodded, she paused for a moment. “OK, I’ll give it a try.”

That was 14 years ago. We married a year later, and our sex life today would shock the neighbors. Once or twice, when we’ve forgotten to close the bedroom window, I suspect it has. It’s not been plain sailing, though, and this isn’t the end of the story because a kink is a powerful beast. The hardest thing has not been the play; when turned on, Emily can take an almighty spanking, and a caning that would make an English schoolboy squeal. She likes it so much that we now call her “vanilla, with sprinkles.”

Nice to see one of these accounts that has a happy ending!

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The Pain Of A Caned Red-Head

I don’t have any trouble suspending my disbelief that in these photos from Her First Punishment, the caning really is a novel and unwelcome experience for our red-headed cutie:

caned redhead over a leather couch

ginger cutie in shock of discovering that a real caning really hurts

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