Spanking Blog: Adult Erotic Spanking At Its Best

But of course sometimes it’s Santa Claus who gets the spanking, especially when she’s cute. I found this picture on Flikr:

Here’s another gem from one of the classic spanking magazines. What a paddle!

There’s a nice authentic look of anguish on the face of the recipient of this vintage OTK hairbrush spanking:

Found in the vintage erotica newsgroup on Usenet.

See Also:

• Four Spanking Hairbrushes
• Bettie Page Gets A Hairbrush Spanking
• Hairbrush Spanking

OK, OK, so everybody knows that lumps of coal are not a clear enough message for the determined bad girl. Indeed, I’ve been somewhat dismayed to find that even a stocking full of switches doesn’t always lead to a year’s good behavior. Nope, sometimes Santa has to abandon mere hints and get right into the business of delivering a nice clear message to naughty girls:

That oughta do it!

This vintage photo of a good brisk whipping with a martinet has the look of the 1980s spanking magazines:

Update: Yup, here’s the rest of the sequence.

See Also:

• The Martinet Stand
• The Martinet For The Maid
• Welts, And A Martinet
• Girl/Girl Martinet Whipping
• A Tabletop Martinet Spanking

I’m very much enjoying reading A Farmwife With A Twist. Here’s a sample:

I wasn’t being punished last night. J. came back from Michigan and he came to a clean, warm, home, he was happy to be with his wife and daughter, some winterizing I did this past weekend had already made a couple degrees difference in the house, and there was nothing to rebuke me for. Nor was there a need. We were just so happy to be together.

After putting the baby down to sleep, I came downstairs carrying, well, a cane. He smiled mischievously. “What are the rules?” he asked. – “No rules.” – “No rules? Well, then bend over.” He directed me how to bend over with my hands on the coffee table in front of the sofa he was sitting on to provide him with the most comfortable angle.

He began caning me over my blue jeans. It didn’t start out very hard, but the strength increased and so did the pain. I was soon crying out in great discomfort, even though it only landed over my pants. I turned my head and looked at him with the pained expression on my face. I asked him how long he was going to be doing this. “There are no rules,” he said. “Look straight ahead.” He continued in the same fashion. I leaped up to my feet after an especially hard stroke. “Get back into the position,” he commanded, and I submitted, reluctantly. Some more caning followed. Finally, I begged him to stop. “OK”, he said, “5 more. I want you to count.”

It is almost scarier to be caned while counting off every stroke, since I keep thinking about how many more are to come and that the last one is surely going to be excruciating. Somehow, not without some effort, I got to 5.

Next, he instructed me to kneel in front of the sofa and hold my hands out. Now, the thing is, as much as I find the idea of hand caning erotic, I am very afraid of it because it really HURTS….

Cozy!

From the “advice to young ladies” file: If two of you go picnicking with a feller, and you tease him mercilessly because you think “hey, we’re in public, what can he do?”, it’s worth remembering that the woods aren’t really all that public:

Besides which, he may not care.