Spanking Blog: Adult Erotic Spanking At Its Best

It would appear that this pretty lady has been sent outside in her dainty underthings to find her own switch:

Found at the Vintage Spanking Photos blog.

This was supposed to be a bad girl spanking. Funny how these things don’t always work out:

I set to work making my brat squeak and sqirm, bringing the brush down repeatedly on her reddening bottom. Every time she sqirmed out of position I gave her a swift paddle on the top of her legs to remind her to stay still and take her punishment like a good girl.

I stopped after a while, a little out of breath, my wrist starting to hurt. My brat crumpled into my arms, her breathing began to slow, as she rubbed her sore bottom. She looked up at me with her big eyes. “More?” she asked.

Who could refuse that? So the brat went over my lap for a bit more naughty girl time… followed by lots of snuggling and lotioning of her bad little bum.

An amazing set of cane marks from Pain Toy. Dramatic marks, yet even, and without a hint of the broken skin you so often see after a hard caning by someone who is less than an artiste with the rattan:

The thigh welts have gotta smart!

See Also:

• Whippy Thigh Caning
• Pretty Spanking Welts
• Pain Toy Whipping
• Introducing Pain Toy

I get the most amazing emails from my readers. Today’s scholarly missive comes from Stingingpleasur, who’s found an ancient reference to spanking play. Stingingpleasur writes:

Hello. Since you like finding spanking trivia, here’s the oldest clear reference to spanking play that I’ve ever come across. (Especially old since the word “spank” is only from the early 18th century.)

The poem is “The Land of Cokaygne” from Anglo-Irish poems of the Middle Ages: The Kildare Poems. (Author: [unknown]). This poem survives in only one manuscript, London, British Library, Harley MS 913. It was probably compiled in Ireland in the early 1330s.

The original middle English runs:

Whan the abbot seeth ham flee,
That he holt for moch glee.
Ak natheles al ther amang,
He biddeth ham light to euesang.
The monkes lightith noght adun
Ak furre fleeth in o randun.
Whan the abbot him iseeth
That is monkes fram him fleeth,
He taketh maidin of the route
And turnith vp hir white toute,
And betith the taburs with is hond
To make is monkes light to lond.
Whan is monkes that iseeth,
To the maid dun hi fleeth
And geth the wench al abute,
And thakketh al hir white toute.
And sith aftir her swinke
Wendith meklich hom to drink,
And geth to har collacione,
A wel fair processione.

A translation:

When the abbot sees them fly,
Their antics make his spirits high;
But still he calls the busy throng
Down from the sky for Evensong.

The monks, reluctant to obey,
In headlong flight swoop far away.
When the abbot sees this sight,
His monks refusing to alight,
He takes a maiden standing near,
And upon her snow-white rear
Beats a tattoo with open hand
To make his monks come down to land.

When his young monks see that sight,
By the maiden they alight,
Round about her they career,
And each one pats her snow-white rear,
And then, with all their labour done,
Soberly they walk, each one,
Home for a drink at their collation,
In file according to their station.

It’s worth studying the Middle English, which despite some unfamiliar words is not that obscure when you’ve got a modern translation to hand. I especially like the way our spanked heroine goes from “maidin” to “wench” in one short stanza, courtesy of a good hand spanking.

Hmm, I think I know someone who can do that.

This week’s update over at Sex And Submission features a good bondage hand spanking and a nice red bottom:

Here’s a spanking snipped from “Ellen’s Story”, a Blue Moon book excerpted over at A Taste Of The Birch. Seems our heroines tried a bit of tree sitting to save some elm trees from the axe:

All the men’s attention was directed at Rachel who, to her utter distress, found herself slung unceremoniously over Clem’s broad lap, he having seated himself on a fallen bough. She shrieked and kicked her legs in terror and indignation as he hoisted up her skirts and petticoats, disclosing a beautifully plump round bottom decorously clad in white cotton knickers- but not for long! Rachel squealed in horror as, tugging impatiently at the waistband, Clem dragged her knickers down to her knees.

I felt consumed with pity for the poor mortified 18 year old girl as the bare white cheeks of her bottom were closely inspected and admiringly praised by the three men. From where I was perched I had a birds-eye view of Rachel’s private parts and it was apparent from his expression that Clem was feasting his eyes greedily on the same area. I grew sick at the thought of a similar fate befalling me, yet at the same time that peculiar prickly excitement which I had experienced on similar occasions began to irresistibly invade my loins.

‘Ooooh ow! Oh please stop!’ Rachel howled in shame and misery as Clem’s great slab-like palm descended speedily again and again in a blur of motion upon her quivering, blushing buttocks. The other two watched in gloating delight, clearly wallowing in vicarious pleasure, and I saw the lad rubbing the front of his trousers in vulgar abandonment- his eyes glued to Rachel’s frantically weaving, ever more rosy red bottom cheeks.

For what seemed like ten minutes, Clem delivered the soundest spanking that the luckless Rachel had ever, I am certain, suffered in her life. Later she told me, when we were up in her bedroom licking our wounds, that it had been far worse than any of her dad’s beltings. Indeed an old fashioned hand spanking can, if applied for long enough, hurt one’s bottom, as well as one’s pride, dreadfully!

To make matters worse for Rachel, towards the end of the painful and lengthy chastisement, Clem ceased to belabour her scarlet bottom and turned his attentions to the soft delicate area of her naked thighs above the tops of her stockings. ‘Oh no! Please, I beg you, not there! It hurts!’ she yelled at the top of her voice, kicking and scissoring her dainty legs indecorously – her black stockings alternately stretching and slackening in time to the frenzied jerking of her limbs.

I even had to stick my fingers in my ears to blot out the awful rhythmic slapping and the shrill cries of the weeping Rachel echoing among the tall swaying elms. The boy looked up at me with a malevolent grin on his face and shouted ‘Your turn next, my girl!’. I blushed brightly and hid my face in the rustling leaves.

When at last Clem decreed that Rachel had had enough, he allowed her to struggle up from his lap, weeping profusely. Shamefacedly replacing her undergarments she tottered off home amid hoots of derision from the men, and with never a backward glance in my direction.

Most of the Eric Stanton art I’ve seen has had a strong-women femdom-ish theme, so this panel showing a man whipping a girl is something of a rarity for this artist:

Always a lot of energy in a Stanton illustration.