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Only a fool relies too heavily on wisdom from the fantasy world of John Norman’s Gor, but some little tidbits match my experience. Such as these two:
“A Gorean saying has it, that a lashed slave is a hot slave.” — from Fighting Slave of Gor
“She who writhes best under the lash, so say the Goreans, writhes best in the furs.” — from Savages of Gor
If you enjoy the idea of spanking someone while they have a butt plug inserted, you’ll like these two galleries from Bi-Spanking:
Butt Plug, Cropped Pussy, Paddled Ass
Two Girls, Two Anal Plugs, One Heavy Oak Paddle
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This kinky medical spanking comes from Taboo Magazine, the March ’04 edition. The photographer is Jo Hamar, and sadly, this reduced crop doesn’t do justice to the gaudy splendor of the fetish latex outfits and equipment in use:
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Oh, dear. Somebody’s bottom is in big trouble:
Alert reader JC was kind enough to send in this link, about a dance craze in the Ivory Coast that’s inspired a national appreciation of bigger-bottomed girls, so much so that there’s now a brisk trade in bogus bottom-enlarging creams:
A national dance craze in Ivory Coast has spawned a black market in treatments claiming to increase one’s bottom size.
The dance in question has been inspired by DJ Mix and DJ Eloh’s hit song Bobaraba, which means “big bottom” in the local Djoula language.
When it plays you can be guaranteed that the dance floor will be packed with people shaking their derrieres.
…
While the dance has been embraced by both sexes, DJ Mix says it was inspired by women.
“We made it as a tribute to women, because African women are defined by the shape of their bottoms,” he says.
“Move your bottom, jump, you see, it’s alive.”
Kady Meite, one of his dancers, says the song is a message for women.
“There are women today with large bottoms who are embarrassed, so it’s to say don’t be ashamed – be comfortable,” she says.
JC embellishes:
I couldn’t stop myself extrapolating the possibilities… I imagine a “spanking stall” down the street from the happening night clubs that promised a little sensuous swelling to passersby would do quite a lot of business.
The riding crop, the shiny boots, the abject kneeling — if it looks to you like something out of a bad WWII novel with Nazi villains, it’s because it is.
Or, at least, that was the marketing hook — apparently the book for which this was the cover (something called Blood on the Rhine) did not fully live up to the lurid character of the cover art.
Link via Erosblog: The Sex Blog.
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Teppycat, the switch who is not a myth, writes about a spanking she got with a paddle I’m betting was a Jokari paddle, and how much she enjoyed it:
I realized the other day that I was just tense as hell and wishing firey death on the other drivers on the highway (while I occasionally swear at the other drivers, I don’t wish that they would burn in hell, and that’s what I was doing the other day, when they weren’t doing anything other than trying to merge). When I’m tense and snappish like that, what often makes me feel much, MUCH better is getting my ass beaten well and thoroughly. When T. came home from work, I told him, “I think I need to be beaten…are you up for that?” He was, let me say, MORE than up for that.
He had me lie on my stomach across the bed, tied my wrists together over my head (but didn’t tie them TO anything, since I’m still dealing with some intermittent pins and needles from my wrist tendinitis), and beat my ass, legs, and upper back/shoulders with a variety of things, including a couple of different floggers (I love love LOVE the soft deerskin flogger, because I don’t like it when a flogging stings, but I do love hard, thuddy impact), a yardstick (ow ow OWIE), and a big huge paddle (the kind that’s intended for some sort of game — not ping-pong, because the paddle is even bigger than a ping-pong paddle, and all wood).
The last time that T. used that paddle on me was probably a year ago, and it hurt so badly that I almost stopped the scene (instead, I just asked him to not use the paddle, which he readily complied with). So when T. pulled out the paddle this time, I muttered about not liking it and it hurt too much (I’m so very NOT a pain slut), but I didn’t ask him not to use it.
He was kneeling on the bed next to me, and he swatted my ass with the paddle, not hard but not lightly (medium, I suppose), and I yelped, and so he kneeled up and whacked his own ass, HARD, with the paddle. He looked at me and said, “That’s not bad,” and swatted me again — but still only medium.
After a while, he told me to roll over onto my back, and then he tied my wrists to the bedframe so that I wouldn’t use them to protect my boobs. He flogged my boobs, belly, and my legs and whacked them lightly with the yardstick. I don’t remember him using the paddle on any part of my front, and I told him later that he could have used the paddle on my boobs (because they can take a lot of rough treatment).
Eventually we were finished, and I was all endorphin-addled and delightfully sore. There was sex (yay, sex!), and we fell asleep, waking up in a panic two hours later, because it was 10:30 p.m. and we hadn’t intended to sleep that long (or at all). Dinner was had, and I shuffled back to bed while T. stayed up later, doing his night-owl activities.
I slept SO well that night, and was in a great mood the next day. Ah, the wondrous powers of a good beating.