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Here’s a couple of lines from the April 2006 Atlantic magazine, about author Ian Fleming, who wrote all the books on which the James Bond movies are based:
As he wrote to his complaisant future wife, who seems to have shared some of his tastes, “I am the chosen instrument of the Holy Man to whip some of the devil out of you, and I must do my duty however much pain it causes me. So be prepared to drink your cocktails standing for a few days.”
A while back I published a cute spanking graphic that appeared to link the Marquis de Sade to the consumption of cocoa:
At that time I speculated: “Apparently the Marquis enjoyed a little pick-me-up with his flagellation?”
Apparently, indeed. Thanks are due to an alert reader, who wrote in with this excerpt from Maurice Lever’s biography of the Marquis:
The marquis de Sade’s palate was most keenly excited by pastry and sweets. [. . .] Chocolate inspired an irresistible passion. He loved it in all its forms: in cream, in cakes, in ice cream, in bars: “I asked… for a cake with icing,” he wrote his wife, “but I want it to be chocolate and black inside from chocolate as the devil’s ass is black from smoke. And the icing is to be the same.”
[Lever, Maurice. Sade: A Biography. English translation by
Arthur Goldhammer. New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux,
1993.]
About a month ago Bethie and I were on a road trip when we saw a sign for “The Amish Country Store.” Since we were in Amish country at the time, the sign made sense. I proposed we stop in briefly to see if they had any nice handmade riding crops or buggy whips, but Bethie (who was driving) dropped foot onto accelerator and sped right past.
On the return trip, I was napping when we went through Amish country. Bethie was careful not to wake me up.
Now I know why. She was scared of the Amish wooden spoons like the ones found by the pink bottomed girls:
I snuggled into her chest and she whispered into my ear, “go get the Amish spoon.” Now the Amish spoon is this monster of a wooden spoon we purchased at a specialty kitchen store when we found in an adorable little town on one of our “lets drive this way for a few hours and see what we find” road trips.
…
This wooden spoon is huge and made of really hardwood. It was apparently hand-carved by the Amish. The handle is about an inch in diameter. The business end is large, maybe 3 inches? And it is thick, at least an inch thick at the largest spot, but I don’t think there is any spot thinner than a half inch. This thing is wicked.
No worries, we’ll stop next time.
No, no, I say hastily, I’m not announcing some narrow-minded new exclusionary policy for Spanking Blog. Nope, it’s a sign I found on Flickr, found by the photographer in a restroom in a restaurant in Israel:
I thought the pony tail was a nice touch.
One of the things that makes Pain Toy stand out as a spanking and BDSM site is that they aren’t bound by the tired conventions of spanking porn. Here we see one of their lovely victims models being menaced with the whippiest of thin canes being applied to the fronts of her thighs:
I’m thinking that’s gonna smart….
See Also:
Here’s a single still from an unknown anime movie, featuring that old classic, a maid spanking:
From Usenet.
More fun with the electric fly swatter (aka the Zapper Paddle), from My Not-So-Secret Self. This time it’s the inner thighs that get zapped:
The wires hot with electricity touch the tender flesh of my inner thigh and I feel it surge along my body; unlike the cattle prod it doesn’t echo deep into my body but rather seems to travel along my skin, like waves in the ocean slipping away into calm nothingness.
She pauses, waiting for my response; it really doesn’t hurt all that much, and I tell her so, giggling quietly. As she agrees with me, I jerk involuntarily at the unexpected touch of the fly swatter on my other thigh.
This time, I give in to the electricity – letting the incredible feelings wash over me. I feel zippy light pain, almost indistinguishable from the floaty mindless pleasure that overwhelms me. But before the sensations have a chance to dissipate, I feel it starting all over again as she touches the fly swatter to the first thigh, yet again.
The intensity of the electricity becomes harder to control as she gently touches the fly swatter back and forth between my inner thighs. I lose control quickly and she coos at me calmly that I need to stay still. Despite my best efforts, my legs are thrashing and my body won’t stop moving – I can no longer defeat the current.
See Also: