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The sharp *CRACK* of leather on palm in the Girls Boarding School video this screencap is from is enough to make me wince, and my empathy for punished girls is usually — shall we say — minimal. Perhaps it’s because hand punishment isn’t my kink, but this would sure get my attention:
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I could swear I’d blogged this picture before, but I can’t find it, so perhaps not. It’s a still from The Fuller Brush Man featuring Red Skelton spanking Janet Blair:
I’m looking at that exaggerated oversized hairbrush thinking “Where can I get one?”
Sadly, I imagine that’s actually a Hollywood prop and not authentic Fuller Brush product anyway.
That did lead to a related musing, however. Those door-to-door brush salesmen were legendary for their willingness to say anything that would make a sale. I wonder whether, in the odd event that they encountered the man of the house, they ever made any sales by hinting, implying, or outright suggesting that a Fuller brush would be ideal for administering much-needed spankings?
Taking it up a level for all you kinky women who look both ways in the health-and-beauty-aids aisle before smacking a hairbrush into the palm of your hand to test it: Do you suppose there were Fuller Brush men who managed — knowingly — to sell brushes to women who were hoping and imagining that the brushes would be used on their bottoms?
The vintage spanking erotica never fails to amuse. I like the big smile on the face of the woman with the hairbrush, who is clearly enjoying her work:
Just a friendly little bondage and cropping, right? Right:
But I purely love the tension between those sweet innocent white cotton panties and the rigorous spreader-bars and hoisted-arms tie. We know, because this is a shoot from of Sex And Submission, that in the very next picture her panties will be down on the spreader bar and some guy will be balls-deep inside her. There’s just something special about plain white panties on a girl who’s about to be giving a bondage blowjob.
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I’ve recently been forced (by regular internet outages, bad winter weather, and family obligations that have kept me too much away from Bethie) to stock up on cheap novels that I wouldn’t normally have time for. That’s meant buying “something to read” off of Wal-Mart racks, rather than getting to a real book store and buying stuff more to my tastes. But there’s a silver lining in any cloud. In this case, it’s the following exchange from a cheesy 1980s western called “The Last Mountain Man” by William Johnstone:
In a general store, Preacher sized up the shopkeeper as one of those pinched-mouth Eastern types. Looked like he might be henpecked, too.
…
“Walter!” A shrill voice cut the hot air of the store. “You hurry up now and bring me my tea. Stop loafing about, gossiping like a fisherwoman. Hurry up!
Preacher cringed at the thought of being married to someone who sounded like an angry puma with a thorn in its paw. God! he thought, her voice would chip ice!
“Walter!” the voice squalled from the rear of the store, causing the hair on the back of Preacher’s neck to quiver.
Black hatred flashed across the shopkeeper’s face.
“Git you a strap,” Preacher suggested. “Wear ‘er out a time or two.”
The man sighed. “I have given that some thought, sir. Believe me, I have.”
So, it turns out that bathroom spankings are still popular:
A few years ago he spanked my wet bum. I remember when I was small my Mom was obsessed with me not staying forever in the bath tub – where I would gather all my ships and action figures and small soldiers. Now, my hubby is obsessed with it. I guess they were – and are – scared that I might faint in there or something. Anyway, I got spanked for long baths as an adult. It might have been also my fault, since I insisted on splashing water on his suit… hehe
He counted first. 1…2….3….4….5… Nothing. His wife had no intention in leaving her nice and warm foamy bath. Then he reached out, scooped the wife out, and spanker her wet bum nice and good. That is not the way a bath should end. He could have dried me with a nice fuzzy towel and carried me to bed. That’s the right approach, you see. Instead, he spanked me and asked me to dry myself and go to bed.
From Brat Under Control.
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It’s a story as old as the spanking fetish: a well-caned girl clutching at the welts on her bottom:
