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Poor thing, I believe her running-away feets have been whipped or caned:
I recognize the art style as Bob Bishop’s; this was originally cover art for a House of Milan (HOM) BDSM novel or I miss my guess.
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There’s a neat little gem of a spanking movie called Poachers’ Punishment. I don’t have the movie in a format I can share/stream, but I’ve got some nice stills, which I think we also may have seen in one of the English magazines at some point.
In England as you may know, the streams, or at least the fish in them, or perhaps merely the rights to catch said fish (property law is complicated and best left to professionals) are privately owned; you can’t just drop a hook where you feel like it. This is called poaching, and they used to hang you on the spot for it. Attitudes have subsequently relaxed, but a scene like this is nonetheless still sure to lead to trouble:
Yup, the best kind of trouble, too:
“Breezy out here, eh what? Let’s take it indoors where we can make this spanking more personal…
“…and see about punishing your naughty little friend, too.”
“Just to drive the lesson home — and repay me in pleasure (mine) and humiliation (yours) for those notional fish you might have caught — why don’t you get naked for the paddling part of our program?”
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So I was browsing at Finding Sarah when I came across her lengthy account of running her car down to the fumes and why it seemed like a good idea at the time, and how she thought she’d wriggle out of getting caught at it, but in fact got most righteously busted.
I think I left you all hanging with the fact that I (almost) ran out of gas and got caught by my ever vigilant and none too pleased husband. I want to stop to emphasize the “almost” part here. Almost is a very important word. I almost won the race. I almost got the job. I almost ran out of gas. Almost is the difference between what might have been and what is. Now if I almost did what he told me to do I might make a case for “almost” being right next to “done”, but as the reverse is true and I almost ran out of gas, but did not, I am going to present my case insisting that the facts will show that I made it to the gas station, filled up, and in fact no damage was incurred, except perhaps to a certain part of my anatomy, after the fact…but the car was fine! Let the facts show there was no actual running out of gas!
But Grant is funny that way. He gets all caught up in the technicalities. Technically, I am not supposed to let the tank go below ¼ tank. He’s said it multiple times; I know it… but I was busy, distracted, running late, and doing things for him! Isn’t it amazing the excuses we can find!
However, I need to start at the beginning…
This brought back fond memories for me. A long time ago when Bethie and I had not been together all that long, she “almost” blew up a planned day excursion by running our van completely dry; we coasted into a gas station on fumes while trying to make a ferry sailing that we’d have missed if the gas station had been a hundred yards further away.
But was I grumpy? Not really — It’s more like I was cheerful, much to Bethie’s chagrin. (In fact, she says I was “almost gleeful.”) I was cheerful because I immediately knew I was going to cane her, one stroke for every gallon that I could fit in the tank of that van. And she knew it too, if only because I made sure she did:
I was cheerful because of the sheer justice of my cause. Not filling the gas tank whenever it drops near a quarter tank is one of those petty domestic offenses that’s baffling to your average man, and certainly to me. It’s pointlessly dangerous, creating too much risk of harm or serious inconvenience, for no benefit at all. I’d been nattering at Bethie for a year about this, and I purely hate the sound of my own nattering. But caning her for letting the gauge dip low seemed a bit petty. So when the tank ran dry as we were hurrying to catch a ferry for a fun excursion day? Nothing petty about that! I was cheerful because I finally had an inarguable excuse to redress a persistent problem.
Funny thing, though. I’ve caned Bethie a lot harder since then on much flimsier excuses, or even at her request, or just for fun, but she’s never since that day let me catch her with the gas gauge below a quarter of a tank.
He’s an earl, this is a surprise?
From a book called World Without End by Ken Follett:
She saw him staring. “Don’t look at me,” she said. “Go to bed.” She threw the soiled garment in the laundry hamper. She went to the clothes press and lifted its lid. She found another nightdress. Ralph raked her with his eyes as she lifted it out. He stared at her uplifted breasts, and the mound of her sex with its dark hair, and his mouth went dry.
She caught his look. “Don’t you touch me,” she said.
If she had not said that, he would have probably lain down and gone to sleep. But her swift rejection stung him. “I’m the Earl of Shiring, and you’re my wife,” he said. “I’ll touch you any time I like.”
“You wouldn’t dare” she said, and she turned away to put on the gown.
That angered him. As she lifted the garment to put it on over her head, he slapped her bottom. It was a hard slap on bare skin, and he could tell that it hurt her. She jumped and cried out. “So much for not daring” he said.
Found on the Chross forums.
I’m pretty sure Dana Fox isn’t yelling in this photograph because of the leather paddle spanking she’s getting … or at least, she’s not yelling about that, alone. No, the butt hook tied to her pony tail (converting all her struggles into intimate and perilous internal sensations) probably has more to do with it:
Rotating around for another view, I’d say, yup, definitely the butt hook. And it’s worth looking at the the rest of the shoot, too, because there’s also the little matter of the ordeal of the four canes she has to go through…
Image credit goes to Whipped Ass.
I have this problem all the time. The man says “I don’t know whether to lick it or whip it.”
Fortunately, one can generally do both.
I went dipping again into the treasure trove I mentioned a few weeks ago of production stills from Lupus movies, and was rewarded with this set, of a schoolgirl very reluctantly stripping for her caning punishment:
Don’t forget to click that last picture to see a larger version.
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