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This is from Grigbertz.com, which is full of all sorts of fun and erotic fantasy art. Apparently this is what happened when “Arna and Dea, posing as slave traders, ran afoul of local customs…”
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Is it just me, or is those some awfully cute panties to be wearing to a formal police interrogation whipping?
From Spanking Server.
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Such a set of stripes on her, you never did see…
In which Kaya goes to kinky camp, describes for us what it’s like to have her nipples whipped a lot:
So it was, sometime mid-day on Thursday, he was walking me down the road, with nothing but a singletail looped over his shoulder.
It’s surreal actually. You’re walking past people who see you, cuffed, blindfolded, being led on a rope by a big guy carrying a whip, and they’re casually carrying on everyday conversations as you pass. Not a single hiccup in their goings on. As if it’s perfectly normal to be discussing what’s for dinner while your neighbor is about to get whipped.
Anyway. To the bondage frames we marched. To the bondage frames I was attached.
He didn’t start light. He never does. The concept of warm up is lost on him, honestly. I suspect that he *thinks* he’s doing warm up. But… no. Not so much. At least not from my perspective, which is the only one that matters since I’m on the receiving end of the non-warm-up warm-up.
He likes to target the nipples with the singletail. It amuses him I think. Actually I think he takes pride in being able to concentrate on such a small target with such accuracy.
I? Am not amused.
On the rest of the body I don’t think he even tries to aim. He has no reason to. It’s an open and large canvas and he can randomly and messily throw the whip, letting it land where it may. No part is really off limits, except for the face, and even then if a snap catches me on the lip (which it did) then it’s likely because I made the mistake of dropping my head in a futile attempt to shield my nipples with my tongue or something (which I did).
There’s no apology for a misplaced stroke because there ARE no misplaced strokes. That’s the beauty of nothing being off-limits, see.
The thing that gets me about how he uses the singletail is the speed and the circling. I’d bet he gets a stroke in at least one per second. Maybe more. It’s FAST. Or feels that way on my end anyway. And he circles me. Snapping. Over and over and over. Until I think I’m going to die.
At least until I scream. And beg. And kick.
I pulled out of one of the cuffs in a desperate attempt to cover my nipples after several minutes of targeting them.
I really just think I’m going to go crazy, you know? It’s not even that each stroke by itself is so painful that I can’t stand it. It’s the repetitive, fast barrage of them that drives me over the edge. I think I must cry out to “Slow down!” a million times during a whipping scene.
Which he finds amusing.
In fact, he’ll go faster if he can.
Fucker.
Sir.
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…for Catholic schoolgirls in Japan?
A vicious prune-faced nun. (Well, she looks mean, what you can see of her after the spurious privacy box got stamped over her face.) Two bare-bottomed schoolgirls standing on a bench in the moist outdoor air, waiting for their punishment with asses high in the air. More girls, standing by to witness the scene, possibly waiting their turn.
What’s not to like?
I don’t have much source on this picture. If you click through there’s a defunct Japanese URL on the larger version. It came to me via Usenet so not much help there.
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I hate to think how many years ago they published Janus #16 (what are they up to now, #167?) but to me, photo stories like The Wedding exemplify the best attributes of the British spanking magazine genre. The story itself is simple, almost spare; the photography is neither explicit nor particularly brutal. But together, the result is (in my opinion, although I know I’m turning into one of those old fogies who is rapidly being left behind in an age when all the cool young people are wanking to tubes full of free movies of people whipping to the blood, spitting on each other, and gagging on cocks) highly erotic.
It starts out so simply:
‘I’m sure it will be much better for waiting for it – and far purer,’ Louise had frequently prattled, bless her, referring to what she saw as his obsession with getting into her knickers. But now, at last, he was about to collect.
‘Now, you did promise to love, honour and obey me,’ he said.
‘Yes, John, of course I did,’ she answered in a minute voice.
‘And were you telling the truth?’
‘Of course I was, darling. You simply don’t know how much I love you.’
He might have said, ‘I’m about to find out,’ but he confined himself to: ‘Good. Now I’m going to test your obedience. And prove to you that in our marriage I am the boss.’
He reinforced this theme with a much harder slap covering both her slender posteriors. Louise jerked, but not as much as she did the next five or six times his hard palm fell. Another thing John didn’t tell her was that he intended to punish her for frustrating him through the long months of their courtship and engagement.
…
He ordered her to remove her shoes and bridal veil beside the opulent double bed, and while her back was turned he took out a thin, crook-handled notched bamboo cane from a suitcase. Louise’s pleading when she saw it was pointless. John commanded her to lie prone on the bed. As she obeyed him the fear in her face was unmistakable. And totally arousing to see.
‘Now darling, brace yourself,’ her master said. ‘The cane isn’t like that little toy strap. It really hurts.’
And with that, he whipped the cane down viciously across her utterly charming derriere. As the rod bit into her flesh a flame of agony lit up her senses and she moaned. A second stroke slashed across her bottom, applied with a cruelty that promised an interesting little punishment to come.
She was sobbing, crying and pleading by the time the next stroke fell, and her buttocks were churning and her body writhing like a girl having sex. In protest she raised one hand to stop him and half slithered off one side of the bed.
‘Oh, I feel so immodest!” she said. ‘And it stings so much!‘
So John allowed her to put on her bridal veil, but that was all…
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