Spanking Blog: Adult Erotic Spanking At Its Best

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:

I found this suggestive picture on one of those otherwise boring pages of dormitory hijinks that college students are so fond of posting by the millions. This picture was labled with the French for “In College”: