Spanking Blog: Adult Erotic Spanking At Its Best

Once or twice before I’ve posted excerpts from spanking books (you know, the old fashioned kind, printed on paper with some sort of lurid illustration on the cover?) by Silver Moon Books. They’ve long been my favorite spanking books publisher; it’s not great literature but their spanking and BDSM scenes are well imagined, typically very severe, and usually quite hot. Thus, I was delighted to discover recently that they’ve got a full online-catalog and will also (if you don’t like to wait) sell you many titles in e-book formats. Their catalog makes for a fun browse!

Here’s an excerpt from Controlling Catherine by Elena Gregory:

I knew without being able to see, that my clitoris was swollen and throbbing desperately. Knowing my own anatomy I was convinced that it was standing out overconfident and begging for attention. Nick avoided it; I am sure, knowing that if he so much as touched it I would explode.

The crack of leather through the air brought me back to my senses and shot the fear of God through me. I tried to get my hands in a position to protect myself but they just waggled about pathetically. That encouraged him further and I made a mental note to try not to flap about because it only encouraged him.

Just as the first blow of the slapper landed across the stretched cheeks of my bum Nick touched my clit. He didn’t stroke it or massage it but just held it in place to diffuse the pain from the leather on my bottom. It nearly did.

I stopped begging Nick not to hit me at that stage but it was a while before I realised it. I wanted him to continue with his other ministrations and he knew exactly how to balance it. Each time he whacked me he would do just enough to take my mind off it a little. Gradually though the weight behind the spanking intensified and the manipulation of my clitoris stayed the same.

It was so frustrating being unable to move. The pain sizzled through my thighs as he slapped them, and my bum flinched helplessly as he moved his blows about. I was so completely vulnerable. I actually felt my flesh jiggle with each blow and the fierce tight heat spread from the back of my knees to my sex. Sometimes a blow would land, catching the edge of one of my clamped lips making me scream but when it did Nick would soften it with his clever caressing of my aching clit.

Just when I really felt I could take no more, when my tears had soaked into my hair and I was sobbing continuously, I perceived he was slowing down. He must have spanked me at least one hundred times. To begin with I had counted in my head, striving to reach that illusive forty, but we had left that long behind.

I heard Nick grunt in exasperation and throw away whatever he had been spanking me with and his hand took over. There was something much more intimate about being manually spanked; the warmth of his hand and the way it cupped over my flesh excited me and had the effect of dulling the pain quite a bit. Well, perhaps dulling it isn’t the right description. It transferred it into something more pleasurable and infinitely more bearable.

He co-ordinated his spanking hand with his other hand. And even though he did it as hard as he could, the pleasure-giving hand wormed its way inside me and pumped in and out in time to the sharp slaps, increasing my excitement to fever pitch. I as a person ceased to exist. I was reduced to just a bottom and a cunt. The clips bit into me just enough to distract and the spanking took every ounce of my control to bear but the exquisite feeling as Nick stroked around my fat clitoris and then dipped his fingers inside me grew and grew.

Note:I’ve been busy, so you’re getting another one of these lost-but-now-found Pain Gate posts, along with more commentary about whipping that’s getting a little stale because I’ve said the same thing several times lately, but hadn’t when I first wrote this.

Although I like to tease Bethie by musing about buying a whip, and I might actually buy one someday to advance the game a notch, I don’t otherwise post a lot of whipping content here. Mostly, that’s because serious whipping tends to be part of a set of BDSM games that use different symbols and stroke different fetishes from the spanking and domestic discipline memes that energize my core readership. But that’s only true up to a point; many of us are polymorphously perverse, and find at least some enjoyment in scenes and accounts of kinky behavior that’s diverse from what we actually do. (Yes, I know that some spankos are strict one-fetishers and grow uncomfortable when I mix it up with other fetishes or — horrors! — refer to spanking as kinky or perverted. Putting this as nicely as I can: learn to deal.)

Anyway, one reason I like these severe whipping scenes from Pain Gate is because I’m mildly jealous of their freedom to play outdoors under the open sunshine. Wherever they are located, they’ve got climate and privacy both working for them, enough to lead this bondage cutie on a forced march down her very own personal trail of tears:

See Also:

• Whipped In The Sunshine
• Before And After The Whip
• A Switching For The Farm Slave
• Wife Whipping For Debt Collection
• Whipping Post Picnic

It’s not explicit, but this old photo (dating to 1890 according to the Hungarian page I found it on) sure looks like a punishment scene:

Here’s four paragraphs of prefatory material supposedly leading up to a birching in front of the Queen of England. Mind you, these four paragraphs are just a sample, the poor girl’s been up on the scaffold for twenty-two paragraphs already when our curtain rises:

He put his hand on the waistband of Gloria’s drawers and with a violent ripping, accompanied by a shriek of despair from the girl, the last veil of modesty was torn from her body. In a desperate gesture of modesty, she tried to hug herself against the whipping post. Gloria was naked except for her hose and garters, her bare buttocks made more delectably vulnerable by the cool breeze in this early hour of the morning. The cold air made her flesh shrink, and her lovely bottom cheeks tensed and contracted violently as the unfortunate young woman strove to hide her most intimate parts from the prying eyes all around her.

Fighting her terror, her eyes tightly closed, her body pressed fiercely against the heavy whipping post, Gloria Talmadge awaited her birching. The cool air tickled her skin, sensitised her nerves and made this tension filled moment before the first stroke interminable frightful agony. With all her might she pressed her loins against the rough wood of the post to hide the thick black curls which garlanded the entrance to her virgin cunt. The crowd could see the rippling spasms up and down her thighs and along her stockinged supple calves as she prepared for her first taste of the rod.

The whipper took his place behind the shuddering girl, standing at her left and brandishing the rod. He gave it one or two preliminary swishes just to test its efficacy, but the whistling hiss made poor Gloria gasp in fear and shrink with convulsive anguish against the whipping post. Arching up on tiptoe, her arms dragged out wide, the magnificence of her young pale body stark against the leaden sky, Gloria was like a beautiful frightened animal and the crowd was absorbed in the unfolding spectacle.

The whipper lowered the birch to the floor of the scaffold, measuring his distance, appraising the firm ample ovals of that delightful naked bottom given up to his flagellatory skills. Aware that the Queen herself was watching, he determined to acquit himself with valour. He watched the young woman’s buttocks tighten and shudder as all her muscles came to her defence, and he bided his time, proving he was a master of his craft.

At the rate this whipping is going, he might be able to bide his time all the way to the end of the book. (Which, by the way, is “The Passions of Lady Meg” by Paul Little, as excerpted at A Taste Of The Birch.

As every spanko knows, hardware stores are dangerous:

A couple of years ago Hubby and I went to a home center to buy some paint and there was a couple ahead of us and they bought paint in a 5 gallon container, the clerk gave then a nice 5 gallon size paint paddle and the husband asked if he could have another one, he turned to his wife and told her the second paddle was for her bottom, her face got red and she turned her face the other way as they left the store. The clerk just smiled and shook her head, and I was so thankful Hubby never said a word.

That’s Pillow_Girl posting on the Spanking Den forum.

I think it’s hard to be a male spanko without having something of a fetish for sweetly curved bottoms, and sometimes the composition of a spanking shot gets everything just exactly right:

The well-tied sweet curves being caned above belong to model Pinky Lee and the photo is from Hogtied.com. (See full sized.)

I don’t include many historical punishment scenes on Spanking Blog, because I’ve got no particular desire to celebrate real, actual, nonconsensual whippings et cetera. The fantasy of nonconsensuality (often in historical contexts) can be hot as hell, but the reality presumably wasn’t, not for the unlucky victims anyway. However, I’m sometimes inclined to make an exception for lurid old postcards, because the scenes depicted on them are almost always staged for the photographer, and/or heavily edited by the card publisher or hand colorist. Cognizant that lots of spankos enjoy a good “whipped in the public square” fantasy, I’ve got no problem sharing this detail from an old postcard that purports to show an Indonesian judicial whipping, but which (in all likelihood, though we can’t know for sure) shows a scene ginned up for the photographer who wanted to sell postcards: