Spanking Blog: Adult Erotic Spanking At Its Best

Here’s a yardstick spanking, New York style, from photographer Dafydd Jones:

Those naughty tutors and their canes! Here’s a fun account of the caning predelictions of one such, from the novel “In A Mist” as quoted at A Taste Of The Birch:

The demand for live-in tutors had declined of late. Nevertheless, Lennox managed to make quite a tolerable living from it. He had a drawer full of peerless testimonials and had absolutely no need to advertise his services. His fame was spread by word of mouth from one wealthy family to the next.

His liberal use of the cane was often in itself sufficient recommendation for many parents. “Cane them, do you, Lennox? Glad to hear it! A sound thrashing never did me any harm!” the fathers declared enthusiastically; while the plum-voiced blue blooded mothers, possessing that curious streak of inherent cruelty which characterises the English upper classes, were equally insistent that Lennox should beat some sense into the recalcitrant behinds of their daughters.

The scholastic whipping of the daughters of gentility was a time-honoured tradition, stretching back hundreds of years. Hadn’t the tutor of young Effie Grey, Ruskin’s future wife, been solemnly authorised by her parents to birch the girl across the seat of her drawers whenever necessary?

Although he found beating boys to be rather repugnant, Lennox over the years had developed quite a taste for caning girls. The maleness in him thrilled to their agonised yelps as the rod bit into their plump, delightfully rounded bottoms. Yet he would have been outraged had anyone suggested that he derived the slightest degree of erotic pleasure from whipping his girl pupils. For this was still an age of sexual innocence, and no one gave it a second thought when he took his cane to some cheeky young madam’s backside, or else let her off lightly with a spanking over his knee.

After all, everyone knew that girls were infinitely more troublesome than boys. Unless kept firmly in check they would exploit their sex to unfair advantage and be twice as ill behaved as any boy…

I always enjoy the big, campy, all-grown-up “schoolgirls” chosen for the spanking movies featured at California Star. They capture all the trashy fetish goodness of the naughty schoolgirl fantasy without ever letting us forget that we’re looking at pictures of yummy starlet women in the best Porn Valley tradition:

“What? I’m like, totally, talking to my girl here!”

Then it’s over “teacher’s” knee. But what a nice big lapful!

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.