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This vintage movie spanking comes from an old MGM picture called “Don’t” starring Sally O’Neil:
The caption on the lobby card (click through if you like, but it’s hard to read) says:
Mother — “Now, I hope you’ll profit by this experience and never let a young man kiss you unless you are engaged to him.”
Sally– “No, Mamma, I never do.”
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The blue rubber is manifestly unfit for use as human clothing, but the visual effect is remarkable, so there it is anyway:
Found on a Japanese Tumblr.
Since the last time I tinkered with the 3D SexVilla software, they’ve added a ton of features and play locations. But as soon as I noticed they had added a large locker room, my thoughts went right to spanked and paddled cheerleaders (as they so often do). Before you know it, things were all rope bondage and white cotton undies:
Mmmm, of course you know this demands a spot of 3D rotation:
Right click, {undress} menu please! {Panties off}, yes, very nice. And now for the paddle tool, we need to put a spot of color on those cheeks:
Simple foolish high tech pleasures.
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There’s nothing like rural “justice”, especially when you try to run away from a small town jail and the pervert local sheriff:
She was trying to convince herself that they were going to forget her attempt to flee. Cyrus had a smile that made her hope for good news. It turned out to only be good for him.
“Sometimes you got to get to the seat of a problem afore you can drive a point home,” he said as he reached around her to unbutton the towel around her waist.
She was already handcuffed to the bars of her cell above the cross bar over her head. It didn’t pull her up, but it did insure she couldn’t move far away. Now she was naked from the undershirt down and Amy knew something horrible was coming.
Her guesses had not wandered far enough to encompass the stinging crack of a wide leather strap across her buttocks. She jumped forward against the bars hard enough to bruise herself.
“You better hold on to them bars or you’ll beat yourself to death afore I’m through,” Cyrus advised.
He wanted that pleasure for himself, Amy thought as the belt landed again after a short pause. Then there was no pause between the blistering slaps of pain and Amy held the bars tight to help herself bear the blows.
She was screaming before Cyrus stopped. Hot tears streamed down her cheeks and she begged him not to hit her any more. She was still anticipating a late blow when she felt a hand rub over her burning butt.
“You strapped her good,” she heard Billy Bob say. “Feel how hot her rear end is. I betcha that’s going to be real sore for a time.”
“It should be, after she tried to run off.” Cyrus said…
From Law and Orders by W R Jenkins.
This looks awfully cruel — that’s a big cane to be menacing breasts with:
The girl is Star, from TopGrl.com.
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It’s hard to say. Of course it is. And tools to help you? Maybe they aren’t as helpful as they seem, to the numbers-oriented male nerd who dreamed them up.
Not an Odalisque wrote a fun and thoughtful essay about her difficulties filling out one of the “check the boxes, scale of 1 to 5” list-your-limits BDSM sheets. I’ve seen them; they seem useful as stimulants for discussion, maybe, but not really much more useful than the “purity tests” that circulated in photocopy when I was in college. Anyway, she tried to fill one out, didn’t get very far, and then:
As a compromise, I proposed a conversational approach, with more nuance and less quantification. That fell through when HH printed himself a copy of the list and got out a pencil. I tried my best to answer his questions; I definitely communicated my aversion to feet, incomprehension of rubber and physical factors preventing me passing for a Japanese schoolgirl. Other areas were harder to address. By the end, HH was interpreting my silences; apparently my most eloquent communications take the form of blushing and looking away.
My most insoluble silences, though, are rooted in the central paradox of a desire for pain. The things I like best, I don’t like at all. They hurt. That doesn’t diminish the high or the delicious feeling of being in someone’s power, but that power would be demonstrably false if it was only used to do things I like. I want to hate it. Then I want a hug. I’m pretty sure that’s a sound, if ill-expressed, position. When people ask what I’m into, though, “whatever you like that I really don’t, except feet and some other stuff I probably haven’t heard of yet,” doesn’t feel like a useful answer.
I think Kiera King does a good job of looking properly oppressed in this spanking shoot from Whipped Ass:
And I especially like this picture. “Here, hold my spare cane, I can tell I’m going to need it soon…”
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