Spanking Blog: Adult Erotic Spanking At Its Best

This is a spanking detail I found on the cover of the ambitiously-titled stroke book Violent Stories of Terrified Virgins:

Since this is supposed to be the busiest shopping day of 2008, I went online to see what looked good.

I was delighted to see the wide-ended basic black riding crop — it’s the best crop I’ve ever had in my hands, because it goes from gentle tapping to serious thwacking based on a minor and easily controlled variations in how much swing I put into it. Plus, it lands right where I want it to go.

(This is the crop we had to get another one of, after this.)

To be honest, I get even more use out of the short version, because it fits in a travel bag and is controllable enough to use on Bethie’s breasts and nipples when we’re gettin’ busy and she needs a quick reminder about who’s in charge. But the long version is essential if you want a crop that can give punishment or pleasure, variably, at your whim.

Here’s Bethie writing about the short crop:

Last night while he was working on the computer, I laid down next to him and made a big show of taking off my bra and massaging the areas where the underwire cut into me.

Of course, Dan took the bait and rewarded my efforts with several hard nipple pinches before reaching in his desk drawer for the small riding crop. I like that he keeps that thing handy. He spanked my tits with the crop and I loved every second of it.

Dan finished off by giving me a couple of hard ones right on my nipples and I laughed out loud. I don’t know why I do that. Intense play which should make me yelp makes me laugh sometimes. I don’t care though and Dan likes it.

It was short and sweet but my nipples stung nicely for quite a while. Gotta love that!

Other enticements were old favorites in the category I like to call “serious bondage for bondage idiots” (which would be me). I am referring to the simple spandex hoods with built-in blindfolds (one with a mouth hole for when you might need a blowjob, one without).

They just slip on like a ski mask, no messing with buckles and straps and no worries about collar tightness at the neck, and you can breath through them just fine, so no worries there; plus they come off instantly if the hoodee panics when you aren’t wanting that. They look nifty, especially if your girl has been trying to control you with pouting and remonstrative looks. But, best of all from my spanker perspective, they are utterly effective as blindfolds, with no peeking possible. No more will she get away with cheating at your game of “guess the instrument”! I love these things, end of story.

See Also:

• Kink Is For The Young
• Spanking Paris Hilton's Ass
• Buying Canes

You hear “trussed up like a turkey” sometimes, but I’m not sure I’ve ever seen it so clearly as this. I think it’s the fingers-as-tail-feathers:

From Vintage Spanking Photos.

Happy Thanksgiving!

See Also:

• Spanking The Turkey
• Thanksgiving Spankings

There’s nice panty management in this photoseries of an OTK spanking from Spanking And Shame. And perhaps it’s just me, but I think the model has a really pretty butt:

When I found this 1765 poem about a man who spanks his wife every day, and makes it up to her every night, I was struck by the seeming modernity of the business. It’s not that dissimilar a relationship, really, than a lot of BDSM arrangements today that make and keep people very happy:

The Unreasonable Complaint
By John Hall

A brute, a Peasant, dwelt near Nantz,
For they’re synonymous in France,
Who every day of his vile life,
When he had nothing else to do,
Thrash’d or apply’d his wooden shoe
To the posteriors of his wife.

But, as all good and evil’s equal,
All was balanc’d in the sequel;
Every night he had that pride,
His debit, on the whole amount
Of the posterior account,
Was balanc’d by the other side.
Like debts of honour lost at play,
Before he slept, he was sure to pay.
And every morn before he rose,
He left her, over and above,
A token of his constant love,
Steady and constant as his blows.

One morning, at his Spouse’s levee,
The blows and curses fell so heavy,
Before the Lady of the place,
Poor Jaquette ran with her complaint,
With all the red and purple paint
Bestow’d upon her nose and face.

The Lady pity’d her just grief,
And took a course for her relief;
Pierre was summon’d to appear,
And must have rotted in a jail,
Had he not found sufficient bail,
For his behaviour for a year.
The dread of fines, a jail, and whipping,
Like other folks, kept him from tripping.

About a month after this pass’d,
For Jaquette the good Lady sent,
And ask’d her if she was content,
And Pierre peaceable at last.

Truly, says she, I must confess,
That mine’s a singular distress;
For though he beat me black and blue,
At night he always made it up,
In bed, over a chearful cup,
Where I was as content as you.
But now, he says, he’s off his mettle,
Because we’ve no accounts to settle.

Let him indulge his appetite,
This very day let him begin
A fresh account, upon my skin,
And settle it this very night.
After such plenty of good fare,
To be reduc’d is hard to bear.
What then, my Lady, must I feel,
Depriv’d entirely of my meat,
Without a morsel left to eat,
Except what I can beg or steal?

The Lady cry’d, You’d make one think,
That you did nought but eat and drink.
Did you live always at this pass,
Or now and then, and then it ceas’d,
Like Shrovetide, or a village feast,
Or like a Bishop’s saying Mass?

A tear stood trembling in her eye,
Whilst Jaquette made her this reply:
He was as sure as the Church Chimes!
And I can say, what few can say,
He allow’d me three warm meals a day,
And afternoonings too sometimes.
‘Twas not from indigestion,
That never was the question;
If now and then my fare was worse,
It was because, the day before,
He happen’d to allow me more
Than was convenient for his purse.

The Lady cry’d, Submit in quiet;
My Spouse all day shall thrash his fill,
I’ll never say that I’m us’d ill,
If he’ll allow me such a diet.

I was looking at the bondage girls over at Bondage Blog when I came across this bondage gallery featuring fetish girl Emily Marilyn. There’s not a paddle or a hint of a spanking anywhere to be seen, except that in a couple of the photos, it can be clearly seen that her bottom has been lightly spanked. Maybe just four or five swats with a riding crop, something like that:

And why not, I ask you? She was all tied up, and it was there!

This is an excerpt from The Bagnio Miscellany published in 1830, featuring “the Adventures of Miss Lais Lovecock, written by herself, and what happened at Miss Twigs Academy and Afterwards.”

This scene opens with the lustful Miss Lais putting together a hot little birching party, penning a note of invitation:

My dear Tom,

I was glad to hear by your letter that you were so much gratified with my cool retreat. My dear fellow, I assure you the sweet turn or two we spent together in it has endeared it not a little to me and I had sights to me equally ravishing with those you have so elegantly described. Did I not view with rapture, dear Tom, your machine, first gently rise from its pendant state, then swelling to a prodigious size, gradually uncap itself and show its purple head, while its hairy appendages swaggered below, proud of their formidable size. Did I not feel its velvet tip insinuating itself between my close-pressed thighs and longing to be blest?

But I have other pleasures in store. A green birch, in all its verdant beauties, will wait for your noble posterior on the morrow in our pleasure glade. Or, if perchance that target does not totally strike your fancy, I can but offer my own pillows that you so gallantly enjoyed before for whatever rod, birch or otherwise, you might see fit to lay thereupon.

I repeat, my dear Tom, on the morrow, and do beseech you to arrange your very long Longstaff presence, if you will forgive me the humour for this once.

Yours again and again,

L. Lovecock.

After this transcribing, I was again so completely pleased that I did hastily enscribe others, to assemble unto the Love-inspiring bath-place for multiple amours all the pleasingly set-up personages who had formed the cast for the devirginizing of the mixed-sexes pool.

Naturally the first note was for my dear sweet gentle Sophy, pleading that the dear Miss Frigger would indeed arrange for their own accompaniment. “Perhaps that remarkably endowed Mr. Rogerwell…?” I did suggest to her.

Then, after but a moment’s rest to find a replenishment for my now empty saucer of champagne, I took pen in hand to contact the delightful if naturally daring, Miss Lucy Rosecunt. I knew, naturally, that the incredibly vigorous Mr. Bullstones would equally naturally happen to appear on the scene in time for our continued dalliance amidst the soothing waters of the passion bath and the so provocative Birch teasers.

So finishing my writing, I did then indeed see to it that the fresh Birch-feathers would be ready for the morrow’s ecstatic rendezvous.

My Tom did arrive first, though he had but grasped me tightly in his arms and the lengthening rigidness begun pushing from his magnificent crotch against my dear trembling thighs when, interrupting what would have undoubtedly been the merging of my entire young lifetime, did Miss Rosecunt intrude upon us.

She giggled as she fluttered through the door, followed in close pursuit by Mr. Bullstones who was trying to adjust the front of his breeches to hide some — no doubt to him unsightly — bulge.

In short order Miss Frigger and the remarkably endowed Mr. Rogerwell joined our happy group and we moved without further delay to the passion bath and the waiting birches.

We were so passionately inclined by this time that we paired off without ado and sought our separate but together passions without regard for the others present. Fortunately, my own dear Tom Longstaff’s insinuating member had not totally receded from the point of Miss Rosecunt’s intrusion, so he claimed me all to his own without hardly a moment’s pause, pouring into my waiting slit the sauces of paradise in such quantities as to almost make me swoon from delight.

After the first encounter, Lucy pulled from off the shelf one of the birches, neatly tied with a light blue ribbon, saying, “Why, my dear Lais, what is this here for?”

“Oh,” I replied, “I shall presently show you. I and Longstaff mean to whip yours and Sophy’s little bottom till we take all the wriggle out of them and I think the sooner we begin the better, so, Mr. Rogerwell, you just fix her on your ten-penny; and you, Mr. Bull-stones, pin Sophy in the same way.”

They followed my directions, and I and Longstaff each took a rod in hand, ready to operate on their polished arses. At each renewed twitch of the birch they renewed their wanton struggles, both embraced by the arms and fixed on the pricks of their heroes, they could not release themselves, but each effort fixed them more firmly on their neddies, till by the exertion the luxurious moment came, and streams of spunk were running from their bumping cunts. Longstaff then threw down the birch and attacked me in the same way, at each thrust smacking (as he termed it,) the soft cheeks of my round little bum.