Why Whip Her?

Some candor on whipping, from a woman who wants a whipping now and again:

I have a strong mind and an even stronger will. While I’d been waiting for years for someone who could subdue me, sometimes I wasn’t all that easy to subdue. Even if I wanted to be. Even if I wanted to reach that place of softness, of opening, of letting someone in, I couldn’t necessarily command it into being.

So he’d whip me.

There was an element of ritual to these whippings. A footstool was placed in the middle of his living room that he’d bend me over. I’d be on all fours, with my ass in the air, expectant. Scared. Sometimes the sweat would drip from my armpits, as I knelt poised on the edge of anything-could-happen. I could not move away or flinch or he’d whip me harder. The only recourse I had was acceptance. I could hear the whoosh of the crop through the air and its subsequent sting, slicing my ass, or my upper thighs, would reverberate through my entire body.

There is a gift in someone who dares to be so rough with me. Most men would never dare. I need to know that a man will be so bold, that at least he is capable of this sort of wielding. Then I can trust him. The flimsy men, the ones who would never dare to hurt me, to see me flinch, to bend me over and take me anywhere, anytime; I have no use for. Their trepidation is suffocating to me. And reflective of their behavior outside the bedroom. It always is. You can tell a lot about someone by how they fuck: Timid or decisive. Experimental or staid. Hard-driving and fierce or languid and droopy. My selection criteria is all about this crucial element: Can this man take charge? Does he dare?

Spanking And Cleansing

Here’s a sample from Cal Star:

her bottom gets strapped and paddled and bruised

If memory servers, her very bruised bottom receives an enormous enema nozzle in the next scene.

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Wench Whipping

They say it’s good to be king, or baron, or whatever flavor of nobility you need to be in order to have a fine tunic, a good sword, and a dungeon with fancy whipping ladder. And it’s probably so. But in the days when such things were possible, the after-dark entertainments were sharply limited. What are you gonna do after the candles are lit? Log in to your Myspace and update your profile with the latest list of taxes squeezed out of your peasants? I don’t think so.

Which may explain how yet another bored duke finds himself in the dungeon on yet another Thursday night, horse-whipping the bejabbers out of yet another overworked and underpaid kitchen wench:

wench tied upside down and whipped

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Spanking The Tattooed Lady

Here’s a man in a scary mask giving a spanking to Device Bondage model Sarah Jane Ceylon:

girl with tatoos gets over-the-knee spanking from masked man

Nice tattoos.

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Susan Gets Her Bottom Strapped

More punishment for a “schoolgirl” who is old enough to know better, but doesn’t act like it:

Mrs Carter opened a drawer and took out a thick leather strap. She unwound it slowly and placed it on her desk. Susan stared at it, petrified. It was dark brown, almost black, in colour, and was about two feet long and two inches broad. Despite its thickness — it was about a half an inch thick — it slithered across the desk like a snake. Its business end was split into two tails about 9″ or 10″ long. Susan shivered as she looked at it. She felt her regulation navy blue panties sticking to her bottom.

“Move that stool into the middle of the room,” Mrs Carter ordered the trembling girl. Susan obeyed, wondering as she did so how many other girls had bent over that stool through the years.

“Now remove your blazer and skirt, and bend over the stool!”

Susan turned one last pleading look to the headmistress and then took off her blazer and placed it on the desk. She slipped off her shoes before removing her skirt and stood still for a few seconds before stooping over the stool. It was so deeply humiliating to have to bend over in her navy blue school panties and white knee-length socks.

“Twelve strokes, girl!” said Mrs Carter grimly.

Susan gulped. She hadn’t expected anything like so many. Gail had only got six strokes and anything more than eight was quite rare. But Mrs Carter intended to make an example of her. Susan wanted to protest but she felt that if she opened her mouth she would be sick.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Mrs Carter raise the strap. She screwed her eyes closed and gripped the crossbar of the stool tightly. The strap slashed down, its two tails separating as it fell, to cover nearly the whole of Susan’s blue-pantied bottom.

CRACK!!

The force of the blow almost unbalanced Susan. Then the pain hit her. It hurt horribly. Gail had been right. That one stroke hurt as much as her entire slippering of the day before. And she still had eleven to come! She would never be able to take it. She felt tears come to her eyes.

As she raised the strap again Mrs Carter noted that areas of the girl’s bottom-flesh unprotected by her school panties were already beginning to redden.

CRACK!!

This time Susan let her feelings go and squealed loudly with pain. Her legs kicked out and she desperately tried to think of anything other than the unbelievable pain in her nether regions. Mrs Carter smiled faintly and raised the strap.

CRACK!!

The strap splatted across Susan’s blue panties, denting them deeply into her tender flesh. Again Susan yelled. Her knuckles whitened as she gripped the bar even tighter in a vain attempt to ease the pain.

CRACK!!

The fourth stroke seemed to hurt even more than the first three. Pain surged through her body. She no longer felt sick; the pain was beyond that. Now it didn’t die down at all after each stroke but continued to burn and pulsate through her. She cried out in deep, panting breaths.

CRACK!!

“N-n-n-n-nooooooo!” hissed Susan, shaking her head wildly.

“Stay still, girl!” warned Mrs Carter. Susan’s legs were now moving constantly.

CRACK!!!

It was too much. Susan howled in pain and lost her grip on the bar. Her hands went to her outraged bottom and she half straightened. She could feel wide swelling weals through the thin cotton of her panties. Mrs Carter waited patiently, flicking the strap against her own legs. When the sobbing girl made no effort to resume her position, Mrs Carter addressed her.

“Come on Susan. Back over the stool. If I have to call Miss Atkinson in to hold you it will mean extra strokes.”

“No! Please!”

“Bend over!” the headmistress ordered inexorably.

From Susan’s Strapping, author unknown.

Punished In Plaid Skirts

They’ve got a whole schoolroom set up for naughty “girls” at Bi-Spanking, complete with cute little desks and plenty of plaid schoolgirl skirts to go around:

schoolgirls paddled in classroom

schoolgirl astonished at how much her spanking hurts

From this gallery.

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Colin Spanks Wendy

Chross found a nice wedding spanking photo on Flikr. You’ll have to view it there (or in the Internet Archive once Flikr dies) out of respect for the photographer’s wishes, but I love the presentation, which goes something like this:

Colin And Wendy

{photo of groom spanking unconcerned bride, she has drink in her hand}

Caption: My brother and his new bride getting their marriage off to a punitive start

First comment on photo: Grandma BJ says: “Best wishes to the newlyweds.”

Thank you Grandma BJ!