Spanking Blog: Adult Erotic Spanking At Its Best

Ah, Puritans. First persecuted, then become the persecutors, for a time they had an ugly habit of whipping Quakers. And for all their legendary prudishness, they didn’t mind parading naked ladies through the streets as long as there was whipping involved. One Margaret Brewster, on trial for having crashed a Puritan sermon, had the temerity to criticize the Quaker-whipping laws, only to be admonished:

“Margaret Brewster, you are to have your clothes stript off to the middle, and to be tied to a cart’s tail at the South Meeting House, and to be drawn through the town, and to receive twenty stripes upon your naked body.”

Thanks to The Spanking Writers for the link.

I really like this vintage hairbrush spanking photo from Vintage Spank. As always, I’m a sucker for expressive faces:

So, the job interview was promising. But it turned out that pretty “Seven” couldn’t type 70 words a minute the way she claimed she could (or even seven words a minute). And she snotted off when the boss asked for a cup of coffee:

Big mistake.

Fired? Oh, no. More like, indentured.

“Listen to me, you little tramp! From now on, you do what you’re told, when you’re told to do it! And no backtalk!”

And then the floggers came out, just to reinforce the lesson:

From this shoot at Whipped Ass.

See Also:

• Basement Office Desk Spanking
• Summertime At The Doctor's Office
• Too Cute To Spank?
• Secretary Spanked By Vindictive Wife
• Spank the Secretary

More prison spanking, this time from the comfortable realm of fiction, down on The Prison Farm:

“This is what we use for discipline.” Sam, the warden, spoke, as she jumped down from her desk, and walked up and down the line, with a long wooden paddle in her hand. “This is what you can expect if you step out of line.”

“Turn around, Margie, bend over and grab your ankles,” Sam said, tapping the paddle on the palm of her own hand.

Marge looked at her with pleading eyes, then turned and assumed the lewd position. She had to spread her legs in order to grab her ankles, and knew her privates were well exposed from behind.

“This is just an example,” Sam again directed the group. “Now, Margie, you are going to get five swats. I want you to count aloud so we all can hear. If you release the hold on your ankles, we will start over. Is that clear?” Sam asked, while tapping the paddle on the bare bottom.

“Yes. I understand,” Marge answered, breathing heavily. Sam took a few steps back.

“Oh, Margie! We can see EVERYTHING from back here!” Sam chided.

“You know, conjugal visits are not allowed. You sure you can go 18 months without a cock?” Sam mused. “Your pussy looks hungry already!”

The words cut through Marge like a razor. She screwed her eyes shut, knowing of how open she was to all the eyes in the room.

“Hold tight now. You are about to get your first of many prison spankings!” Sam spat, her lips curling in cruelty.

Sam stood back and adjusted her range, then raised the paddle high. With a splat that echoed against the hard painted walls, the paddle cracked into the bare bottom.

“OHHHHHHNE!” Marge gasped, as the horrible sting registered. Jesus! it hurt. She could almost feel it ringing like the echo. Sam smiled.

SPLAT! again in the same place, across both cheeks at the very center. “TWOOOOOOOoooo!” Marge managed to stammer out, as the itchy sting made her knuckles white as she tightly held her ankles.

Sam walked up and down the line of women, watching the looks of terrified horror on their faces. She turned again to Marge. SPLAT! lower down at the tender under curve.

“AAAIIIEEE! THREEEEE!” Marge rhymed and lunged forward some what.

Sam tapped Marge on the ass with her bare hand, kneading one cheek at the center.

“The next one’s going right here,” she pinched the place on the right cheek.

Marge cringed with anticipation. She felt like she was going to throw up.

SPLAT! The paddle hit the mark with deadly accuracy and force. Being so concentrated, the sting felt much worse.

“And the next, right here,” as Sam pinched the left cheek.

SPLAT! Again, the paddle hit its mark and sent a searing message to her brain.

“Margie, you just stay like that now,” Sam tapped her bottom again, “And the rest of you get undressed!”

Some interesting social attitudes on display in this historical account of the 1950s Canadian committee that recommended the abolition of judicial corporal punishment (prison whipping and the use of the infamous Canadian prison strap) in Canada:

Virtually everyone agreed that corporal punishment, if used at all, had to be restricted to cocky young men and male prisoners who became violent or mutinous. No one took seriously the prospect of whipping females, and most found explicit talk about bodies of either gender and punishment vaguely embarrassing. Wardens provided committee members with exhaustive details about the placement of prisoners on strapping tables, their immobilization, and the exposure of their bare flesh. Had sexologists or psychiatrists been called as witnesses, they might have pointed out the voyeuristic and sado-masochistic subtext of such acts. This was precisely the Pandora’s box of barbarous impulses that Joint Committee members preferred to keep tightly lidded.

Titillating notions popped out at several points, but teasing and jokes nervously sublimated them. When the presiding chairman asked William Common why youth gang “molls” were not “spanked” along with their male compatriots, he rattled the prosecutor, provoking him to assert that “assaulting females” was “more or less revolting to the average man.” The Joint Committee’s unofficial gadfly, Harold Winch, punched holes in Common’s chivalrous armor. As he reminded the prosecutor, the “average” man might very well spank his errant daughter when she was naughty. And if legislators were so chivalrous, Winch added, why did they not exempt women from the death penalty? As pointed as this heckling was, it still delicately sidestepped the scandalous prospect of “burly” male guards strapping or paddling women’s bare buttocks.

The Joint Committee members confronted the pornographic qualities of physical punishment again when members debated the prospect of observing an actual whipping. MP Ann Shipley, one of three women on the committee, shocked her fellow members when she argued that watching lashes and whips in action would be more instructive than merely gazing at them and listening to prison officials describe them. The warden of the Kingston penitentiary politely declined her request, protesting that the prospect would be “very embarrassing” (to whom, he did not specify).

See Also:

• Melodramatic About Getting Strapped
• Brutal Judicial Caning
• College Girls Get the Tawse

So, your kinky girlfriend wants to play at master-and-slave. She promises to do anything, you laugh and tell her she’ll have no choice. She smiles while she says “Yes, Master” in her best I Dream Of Jeanie voice, because she knows you’re just a big old softy who likes to talk mean.

Then, before she knows it, she’s all tied up, on the floor, and scrubbing the world’s dirtiest urinals:

You say WHAT?

Because you know your girlfriend. It’s all fun until somebody says “clean the toilet”, and then it doesn’t matter that she’s wearing a ball gag, she’s just gonna give you this look:

So how do you get from that look, to her on her knees, scrubbing and fuming, smelling like Clorox, and starting to get the idea that being a slavegirl isn’t all silk scarves and “forced” orgasms and colored suede floggers scented with rosewater and attar of lavender?

Dude. You’re reading Spanking Blog. Which is, or ought to be, a clue:

The beatings will continue until morale improves!

Today’s inspirational illustrations are courtesy of The Training Of O, and are, in particular, from this shoot, which features the multi-day slave training of the lovely (and talented with a scrub brush!) Tawni Ryden.

The laughing sounds like something I would say / do:

Puzzled, I watched the boy strapping up our mattress. In twelve months of creative fornication, he had never tied me up, except to cook the occasional dinner in handcuffs. It seemed a matter of both principle and no minor disinclination.

This rig was a recent gift, nothing more than four nylon straps with rings. If our mattress were more rigid I would’ve felt good about my chances of breaking the hardware right off. He insisted on the included Velcro cuffs, which really completed the picture. Barbie’s First Bondage!

(If you find anyone with a Velcro fetish, do let me know.)

I settled on my stomach, spreadeagled, as he cinched down arms and legs. Aww… how honeymoon! But this was not Barbie’s first caning, and behind my heckling I was getting seriously worried.

“Do we have a safeword?”

He laughed, which was what I should’ve expected.

“Don’t laugh!”

He started to cane me instead.

Not being able to move scared me severely. Perhaps it was the unfamiliarity of it; I’d become accustomed to the right to run away. And much of the time, the boy tops like a little fourteen-year-old shit. I like laughter, but practical jokes are unwelcome when I’m tied up.

At least he was calm. He didn’t seem like he was trying to upset me.

I burst out crying in minutes, which I did not expect. He waited as I blinked mascara out of my eyes. I realized I had never cried during a scene with him — at least not one that didn’t end in a hurry. (If you believe that only bottoms have limits, ask your top what they think about tears. Or puke.)

“Is crying a safeword?” Unbelievably he was still calm, still at cane’s length. Still with me.

I shook my head. No, please.

He broke the cane.

I put my face in the pillow — something else I never do, because he feeds off my reactions — to cry. I wasn’t upset at all. It felt self-indulgent to cry, and cry, and be encouraged by more pain to cry, and have no one telling me to pull it together.

When he was done, he pressed my smudged face into the sheets and fucked me soundly. I came until I sobbed. Afterwards I felt strangely docile, as if a storm had left me, if the worse for wear, clean in its wake. The world was peaceful and I could sleep.

From Dominatrix Next Door.