Exposed Pussy Strapping
How did it go in the Rubaiyat? “A skein of rope, a leather strap, and thou…” Yeah, that’s it:
“Paradise enow”, indeed. From Sex And Submission.
Spanking Blog: Adult Erotic Spanking At Its Best
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Lying To Your Children
It’s not nice to lie to your children, but I suppose it’s often expedient. Case in point from The Spanking Writers:
Said parents were away when we first visited their house. Son sits us down, disappears to fetch drinks. And our eyes simultaneously come to rest on the huge plant pot in the corner of the living room.
We wandered over, as if in shock: yes, it was stashed with the most impressive collection of crook-handled school canes that I have ever seen: junior, senior, in every conceivable degree of whippiness.
Our friend came back in. “Camel whips,” he explained. “Dad collected them when he lived in the Middle East.”
We – just – managed to surpress our giggles.
Ping Pong Self Spanking
There’s one thing Aunty Agony does better than any other spanking blog, and that thing is trawling the internet for amateur, non-commercial, more-or-less-fully-clothed, just-folks-having-fun, mostly-innocent spanking photographs. Like this one, of a pretty girl spanking herself with a ping pong paddle:
Good stuff!
Over The Caning Horse
You’ve all seen punishment “horses” in spanking drawings, if nowhere else. Here’s a detailed description of one being put to good use:
Rosemary, in a frightened daze, took in the room which , she realised, had once been a boudoir. Now it was bare with a few chairs and, in the centre, a wooden construction like a saw horse but on longer legs. Its top came to an edge which was minimally padded by old, well stained leather. Each leg was linked to leather straps. Upon one wall, she noticed, there hung an array of flagellatory instruments. Small whips, leather straps and a number of long canes.
‘Now girl,’ said Weeks ‘Best if you go along with this and get it over with. Just do as I tell you and all will be fine. Slip off your pinafore and dress and be smart about it.’
Rosemary did as she was told, folding the clothes with deliberate neatness onto a chair. She now stood before the two women in her undergarments.
‘Have the girl strip to the waist, Weeks, if you please. Don’t want her sweating into the good underwear my money provides’ said Lady Elizabeth.
‘Off with your top,’ said the Housekeeper and Rosemary obeyed, slipping off the simple white chemise to expose her young breasts.
‘Have her mount the horse!’ said the mistress.
Weeks pulled forward a small wooden box and placed it underneath the horse.
‘Climb astride the horse, girl, and use the box,’ she ordered.
Rosemary stood up on the box and swung her leg over the ridge to stand with her legs apart across its edge.
‘Come down a little towards the end, then part your drawers and sit down with your bare cunny touching the top. I will do the rest,’ said Weeks.
Rosemary did as she was told and parted the material of her drawers then placed her ‘sweet spot’ in its brown curls upon the leather which was marked by the juices of so many girls before her.
Satisfied that the girl was correctly positioned, her bare cunt pressing down against the hard leather of the saw horse, Weeks quickly pulled the box away and Rosemary now felt the painful and instant discomfort of the leather forcing open her labia. Quickly, Weeks swept up each booted ankle and strapped it high up on the rear legs of the horse so that Rosemary was now seated like a jockey. She then pulled the girl down at the front until her nipples caressed the top of the horse. Each of the girl’s wrists was now strapped low down on the front legs.
Rosemary was now perfectly placed, bottom thrust up and ready, the edge of the horse pressing cruelly against the base of her mound and her clitoris. She now realised the cunning of this sadistic device to add additional suffering and pain.
Weeks proceeded to completely bare the girl’s bottom. She pulled open the division of the drawers and worked the material back, tucking it under so that each neat tightened cheek was clearly on show and gleaming pink in the candlelight.
‘Now there, Weeks, is a good sight! What a suitable bottom this young miss has. Well rounded, pert, just ripe for a brisking. Such fresh young skin, neglected for so long. We must make her do her duties without carelessness. A good cane, Weeks. is best for a tight little bottom. That one, the third from the end. That will get her working on the horse and give her a good ride!’
From the story “Maids” as excerpted at A Taste Of The Birch.
More Dungeon Punishments
This must be dungeon week. I’ve been enjoying the offerings from Pain Gate of late, because they’ve taken to putting together some excellent historical punishment tableaus, complete with dungeons, whips, nettles, switches, and cute girls:
Yummy!
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Spanking The Moll
Here’s an excerpt from a nifty spanking story called “Cards” by ContinentalOP. It’s a sort of “gangster’s moll suffers ennui, gets passion spanked back into her” sort of thing:
He bent down enough to take the hem of her dress in his fingertips and drew it upward, exposing her shapely bare calves, then her sculpted thighs, and finally the perfectly rounded bulb of her ass, a pair of white cotton panties clinging to those curves. He draped the fabric of her dress neatly at the small of her back, the material rustling like a muted echo of shuffling cards. Without pause, he hooked his two thick forefingers into the elastic waistband of her underwear and pulled downward with a sharp, sure tug, peeling them away and letting them catch at her knees. He heard a high keening sound, and thought he could make out the words “omygodomygod” in a sotto voce from high in her throat.
Her womanly scent hit his nostrils and he got another electric jolt, felt from the top of his spine to his balls. The old, nearly forgotten part of his mind was surprised at the smile spreading across his face. After straightening up, he walked across the room to the radio console in the corner.
“About time we had some music in this house again.” He turned the dial and tuned in a music program. The tubes warmed up and strains of the Ellington band’s “Caravan” permeated the room, the sinuous melody somehow echoed and amplified Maude’s drawn-out whimpers, and Will felt the rolling syncopated beat pound in time with his heart. His smile widened and he turned the volume knob higher.
He walked back across the the table slowly and deliberately, and took up his former position standing behind her and to one side. Finding her quivering back starting to bunch up again, he firmly touched her spine with his hand and clucked a disapproving “tsk.” It was enough to make her flatten her back again.
When a growling trombone solo started, he said darkly, “The four of diamonds… You know how to count to four, don’t you dear?” and pressed the palm of his hand casually against her left ass-cheek, holding it there warmly, molded to the curve.
There was a real choking sob then, and he felt the muscles in her butt clench, her body go rigid. He waited to the end of the trombone solo.
“I asked you a question.” His voice all gravel and mud.
“Y – yes,” she squeaked out, then hissed in a breath.
“Then count with me, Maude.” The distant and still receding part of his mind marvelled at his new mind’s easy composure and self-assured mastery as he raised his hand and flashed it down onto her left cheek sharply, the crack of flesh of flesh pinging off the room’s clapboard walls.
Thanks to Pirate for sending in the link.
Severe Dungeon Birchings
For some young ladies on certain days, it genuinely doesn’t pay to gnaw through the leather straps in order to get out of bed in the morning. We find three such lovely unfortunates huddled in chains on prickly straw in some sort of makeshift dungeon:
Alas for them, their day is only going to get worse. Masked dungeon-keepers shouting “Get up, you indolent sluts!” have chivvied them to their feet, chained their hands above their heads, and started soaking ominous-looking birch bundles in what we hope is brine:
After far too long in that strenuous and vulnerable position, the first young miscreant is brought to the whipping post and solidly tied there. With a viscious swish and crack the birch lands, more painful than she had ever imagined it would be:
This severe birching tableaux is courtesy of Lupus Spanking.
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