Spanking Blog: Adult Erotic Spanking At Its Best

Considering that Bethie and I met online and conducted our preliminary courtship “there”, I’m not quite as down on the whole idea as I once was. However, skimming as many BDSM-themed blogs as I do, I see an enormous numbers of blogs talking about online relationships with a BDSM theme. And some of those (just a subset, mind, but it’s not a small subset) leave me wondering “Where is this going? And what’s the point, exactly?”

Orchidea has something to say about that. It’s a micro-rant, but quite funny:

I’ve noticed that there are increasing numbers of blogs of what I call the “let’s pretend we have a dom” genre popping up that are based on an entirely or mainly online power-exchange relationship. As I have had one such – now fortunately defunct – relationship in which I was a not very obedient online submissive, here’s my highly subjective view on and definitive guide to online D/s. Let’s jump straight in at the deep end, shall we?

The online lord muck/master/dom will expect you to surrender your body and soul (megalomaniacal control freak?) to him whilst offering little or no physical or emotional security in return. Don’t underestimate the potential for soul-destructiveness; unless you’re an accomplished dissembler (and therapy has ensured that I’m not), it puts a terrible strain on your relationship/marriage. The emotional connection and sexuality in the [primary] relationship can quickly become unrecognisably diluted, and you’ll vacillate uncontrollably between the sobering weight of accruing guilt and the feather-light vertiginous empowerment and exhilaration of finally enacting some of your clandestine sexual fantasies. Letting the greater part of your sexual energy flow into the online D/s interaction leaves a poor quality of intimacy to share with the flesh-and-blood partner who may not share your kink, but shares your bed and your life, looks out for you and loves you.

The online master may at some stage profess his love for you, but what he really means is that he loves what you do for him, i.e. give him the kind of hard-on he’d find difficult or impossible to achieve and sustain through vanilla sex, and what you allow him to do to you. He might insinuate that he no longer has sex with/is separated from/in the process of divorcing his wife etc. etc. He might even brazenly claim that you are the “love of his life” and promise you the solar system. That’s bollocks, or, in other words, he’s thinking with them. He might think with them for a few seconds at a time or for the duration of each interaction with you. You aren’t immune to thinking with your bits, proclaiming eternal adoration and entertaining wonderfully impossible and insane fantasies either; especially when you’re on your knees with a plug of ginger up your arse and your hot, sticky fingers working frantically away at your clit until he solemnly commands your release with the words: “come little girl, come for your master”. (Oh, and never forget that all your orgasms are his property, not yours.) The initial thrill and undercurrent of perpetual arousal are intoxicating and hard to resist, and you might be wanking yourself senseless so frequently you succumb to chronic thrush (particularly in a warm, humid summer). After two or three weeks, the honeymoon phase is over, the novelty wears off, coming on demand becomes rather like hard work and boring to boot, and you discover that the five minutes during which you’re supposed to be bringing yourself to the brink of orgasm (and I mean the brink; coming without permission is a cardinal sin in the world of online D/s – if you’re into severe, humiliating, excruciating punishment, it’s perfectly OK, of course) are a great opportunity for getting yourself a cup of tea or a double espresso. Much more satisfying than losing your eyesight, too. Providing you aren’t chained to a webcam, he’ll be none the wiser. He’s busy too, remember; watering his cactus or something.

When you’re looking for the perfect bondage spanking, it’s hard to beat a big muscular man, a stout bit of rope, and a handy hardpoint overhead:

From Sex And Submission.

Here’s a blog post entitled The Cat, That Bastard Beast. Sample paragraph:

It flies at me, cuts into me. Wraps lovingly over my body, following every curve, marking me instantly. Skin flushes and heat builds, faster than believable. It bites me, claws me, runs its talons deep into my skin. Pain pure agony, I can’t stay still beneath it. I can’t breathe. I can’t think. I can’t bear it. Damn it. It builds, my skin warms, more sensitive and yet more greedy. Oh stop, don’t stop. Oh more, no, no more. I say nothing. Someone whimpers. Can’t be me, not me. Bastard.

Here’s a fun bit of vintage lesbian spanking art — I suppose if her tongue gets tired, a bit of pussy switching is just the thing to reinvigorate it:

Full sized artwork is here.

See Also:

• Vintage Lesbian Spanking
• Bucolic Lesbian Whipping
• Lesbian Flogging

Although it’s been my experience in real life that a spanko girl can squeeze out a few tears pretty much on demand (waves at Bethie), it’s nonetheless rare in spanking porn to find tears in the photoset. I suppose spanking studio sessions often aren’t that intense, or perhaps producers are fearful that tears would be misinterpreted as a sign that the model got more than she bargained for. Whatever the reason, the nice OTK spanking session in this gallery got my attention, because it ends with a very pretty tearful face.

From VIP Spanking Pass.

Although I know a lot of folks have to get their spankings one place and their sex another, for various reasons, it’s always seemed an unnatural division to me. I know some folks are adamant that spanking isn’t about sex, for them; but it always has been for me. Here’s an account in harmony with my approach, from a new male-dominant spanking blog called A Spanker’s View:

Pretty soon, she was wiggling around, trying to cover her butt, although she was not trying to get away. At one point I had both of her wrists in my hand while the other was spanking. But, I wasn’t punishing. So it was not to far in when her bottom started getting rubbed too. Between swats, I’d rub her cheeks for her until she was cooing, and getting breathless. And I started to rub her through the crotch of her panties (which for some reason were soaked).

Finally, I asked her if I could remove her panties to finish her spanking. I don’t think she even knew she had said yes. But she raised her hips as I lowered her panties, the crotch sticking to her at first, but finally, her bottom was bare. She was not naked, but I’ve always liked a woman partially dressed during a spanking.

This time, when I spanked, my finger entered Jen between swats. By the time we were done with her spanking, Jen had cum and was spent, and I was a very happy, albeit hard, boy. Jen was happy to help me deal with that, lying on her back and letting me impale her to my heart’s content (well, maybe not my heart, but some organ).

Sounds like one of those moments ideal for a bondage blowjob (where the bondage is purely gratuitous and for aesthetic enjoyment only).

A Taste Of The Birch has quoted in full several letters published recently in Britain’s Daily Telegraph, from British women recounting canings they received during military training. Thus:

Errant Wrens

If Douglas Dickins (letter, January 22) is interested, I attended a Wrens’ Naval Cadets training school in London, in the early 1950s. We were subjected to similar discipline, which did sometimes include being caned on the behind, though it wasn’t bare but over our knickers. I don’t think it did me any harm, but I don’t think it did me any good either. What I do know is, bullying still went on, but we did tend to show more respect to authority and we were certainly not as rude as our modern-day counterparts, male and female.

(Mrs) Gwen Lawes, Cobham, Kent

And:

Bare bottom caning

Your correspondent who as a Wren was caned over her knickers had it easy
(Letters, January 29). In the 1940s, it was a daily routine for cadets at
the Royal Naval School in Portsmouth to be beaten on their bare buttocks.

Once, for carelessly discharging a clip of live ammunition, the commanding
officer gave me 30 of the very best and I could not sit down for five days.

Mavis Parker, Quorn, Leicestershire

For a negligent discharge on that scale, I must say 30 strokes actually sounds pretty lenient to me.