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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.
I thought the funny look on Delilah Strong’s face during her breast whipping in this shoot just cried out for the LOLcatz treatment:
Not very fair to Delilah, who presumably has better spelling and grammar than your average LOLcat, but consider it an artistic license taken while chasing the funny.
Picture credit is of course to The Training Of O.
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Although I still haven’t managed to get my hands on any nettles — much to Bethie’s relief — I continue to think that the combination of quite fearsome pain (to judge by various accounts I’ve read) and utter harmlessness make stinging nettles a promising sort of spanking toy. Here’s a comic book panel that features a nettle whipping:
Via Urtication.com.
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This is proof that economists and utilitarians have kinky fantasies also. Here is Jeremy Bentham’s justification and idea for mass public mechanized whippings, courtesy of the industrial revolution, as described in his The Rationale Of Punishment:
Of all these different modes of punishment, whipping is the most frequently in use; but in whipping not even the qualities of the instrument are ascertained by written law: while the quantity of force to be employed in its application is altogether intrusted to the caprice of the executioner. He may make the punishment as trifling or as severe as he pleases.
…
The following contrivance would, in a measure, obviate this inconvenience:—A machine might be made, which should put in motion certain elastic rods of cane or whalebone, the number and size of which might be determined by the law: the body of the delinquent might be subjected to the strokes of these rods, and the force and rapidity with which they should be applied, might be prescribed by the Judge: thus everything which is arbitrary might be removed.
A public officer, of more responsible character than the common executioner, might preside over the infliction of the punishment; and when there were many delinquents to be punished, his time might be saved, and the terror of the scene heightened, without increasing the actual suffering, by increasing the number of the machines, and subjecting all the offenders to punishment at the same time .
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A cuter-than-usual “schoolgirl” gets one heck of a paddling in this gallery from Bi-Spanking:
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Dr. Ken writes about a spanking dream:
I was standing in a room with a lady I can only assume was my girlfriend. She looked young–real young, almost like she was barely legal age. She had long straight blond hair, a hint of freckles on her face, and she was wearing a red-and-white vertically striped nightgown. She stepped up to me and put her arms around my neck. I hugged her, and then we kissed. I started to use my fingers to slowly pull up her nightgown, bunching the material at her waist. She could feel what I was doing, and grinned at me.
Once I had the nightgown raised, I moved towards a bed that was nearby. I sat down and pulled her over my knee. She was naked from the waist down, and her bottom was in the well-known and perfect OTK position. She realized what was about to happen and started asking, “Why? Why?”
“It’s your birthday, silly, ” I replied. “How old are you again?”
“32,” she said. (Imagine my relief…..legal age and then some!)
I rubbed her bottom lightly, raised my hand….and then there was some sort of interruption, which I can’t recall…..and then I woke up.
Say it with me, fellows, in your best Homer Simpson voice: “Doh!”