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Here’s another innocent spanking picture sent in by a reader — it looks to be an example of the “college dorm room halloween costume hijinks” species. Here we have a priest (yeah, right) spanking a fetchingly-bent-over young lady in latex nun gear:
T-Ball was never like this when I saw it played:
Ever feel the need to play tic-tac-toe, but not have a handy sheet of paper? Here’s a fetchingly-presented bottom (belonging to the lovely Ariel X from Water Bondage) that’s already been “equipped” with faint welts to make the prettiest tic-tac-toe board you’ve ever seen:
Now, who is up for a game?
So it seems Natty was getting a perfectly good multi-implement spanking, when she saw something so distracting it totally took her mind off the cane whipping into her bottom:
He started out with some good hand spanks to warm up. Then moved to the strap. After one cheek got a disproportionate number of smacks, he’d move to the other side of the bed and make sure the other cheek got its fair share. The whacks hurt, but didn’t quite feel as overwhelming as before.
But it was during the caning that I realized my pain threshold had come back up. He was slicing away and at one point I realized there was something black on my clean, white sheet. For a moment I became totally transfixed by what turned out to be some sort of lint, oblivious to the fact that a stingy, whippy rattan cane was searing my ass.
What is it with women and lint? I’ve never caught Bethie obsessing over lint during a spanking (and a good thing too, for her bottom — “What, I don’t have your full attention? I can work on that”) but she can and will zero in on a speck of lint from thirty feet away during what was otherwise a perfectly good conversation, and run away to capture and exterminate it. Me, I’m a typical man, I generally don’t even see minor household debris unless it’s big enough to trip over, and even then there’s a subconscious assessment of “do I need to pick it up or is it sufficiently out of the way?” (This is why socks get left scattered around — it’s not because we can’t see them as some women hypothesize, it’s just that we don’t understand why they are a problem. When we need ’em, they’ll be right there, handy.) Anyway, when Bethie cries “Lint!” as if she were yelling “Tarantula in the toilet!” it never fails to leave me bemused.
Over at The Punishment Book, where (at least in theory) the spankings are for punishment and not (so much) for fun, Angie writes about how she earned herself a serious spanking (for neglecting her health) and then (compounding her trouble) stopped taking her potentially-lifesaving medicine because it tasted bad.
Because it tasted bad.
Needless to say, her disciplinarian decided that spanking alone wasn’t going to do the trick, so he gave her a taste of something worse than a bitter pill:
So, I told him. I told him how the prednisone tasted AWFUL, and made me gag, and that was why I stopped taking it, but now I was kind of getting sick again so I knew it was bad that I stopped taking it.
“You didn’t like the taste of the medicine your doctor gave you to get your lungs functioning right again, so you STOPPED TAKING IT? Because you DIDN’T LIKE THE TASTE?” I nodded. He got up, left the room. I heard him in the kitchen. He came back to his room, and went into his master bathroom. I saw him rooting around in drawers in there. I knew what was coming. It’s only ever happened to me once before, really. Once on the phone – but the truth is, I had a towel wrapped around it then, so that doesn’t count. And the only other time Dave did it to me, it was so quick, and I didn’t really remember it, and it was two years ago. Oh my gosh … not this, please. I mean, for what I did, and the reason I did it, this obviously was PERFECT, but nooooooooooo.
“Angela, take off your shirt and come here.” Take off my shirt? Oh, yeah, dripping … yeah, that might ruin my shirt. Damn it. I was hoping I was wrong. Fuck. “Open.” That’s when I started pleading.
“Dave, you can’t soap my mouth when I have bronchitis! I read somewhere that if I’m crying and stuff I could aspirate it! I already have lung issues. You want me to get PNEUMONIA! You can’t do this.”
He just said, “Well, then don’t cry and don’t aspirate it. You want to know what disgusting tastes like? You want to not take your medicine because it TASTES BAD? You’re going to spend some time tasting something bad. OPEN YOUR MOUTH ANGELA. NOW.” I obeyed, and he stuck the bar of Ivory in my mouth. “Bite down.” I did, careful to keep my tongue away, but aware that nothing would keep me from tasting it. I was also careful not to cry, and if you know me, you know this is a feat in and of itself. He marched me to the corner, turned me to face it, and reached around to undo my shorts and pull them, along with my panties, to my knees. “Hands behind your head.”
I don’t know how long I stood there, trying not to taste the soap, but tasting it anyway; trying not to cry, but losing a couple tears here and there anyway. It wasn’t too long, but it was certainly awhile. I knew that when he called me out of the corner there was going to be more pain to come and I was feeling sad for my already-sore bottom, but God I wanted that soap out of my mouth. And I was also thinking, “Geez, I had no idea this is what a mouth-soaping was like. And I bet it gets worse than this. If this is how awful it is, we could use this as a deterrent on the fast-food I’ve been eating way too much of and I swear, it would work where spanking hasn’t.”
When he called me out of the corner, he let me rinse, but only a little. Then he made me bend over and he paddled me with this semi-heavy, school-like paddle (but no holes) over my panties…
It’s a hard life for a poor little fairy girl. This looks like a drawing by Zimmerman, lightly animated by persons unknown:
Y’all know how I like facial reaction shots. Here’s a Girls Boarding School girl “enjoying” her punishment:
