Spanking Blog: Adult Erotic Spanking At Its Best

Mistress Matisse reveals an intriguing standard of good behavior when enjoying holiday champagne:

“I was very good this year. I did not forcibly disrobe and spank my attorney….”

One of the bits of clandestine literature that made a strong impression on me in my lustful adolescence was the classic The Way Of A Man With A Maid. Here’s an excerpt from Part II (courtesy of A Taste Of The Birch):

At last I brought the whip down smartly across the top of her hips. It made a soft smacking sound but left no mark, although Marion sucked in her breath and jerked nervously, perhaps more from the torturing suspense than from the stroke itself. ‘That is one!’ I counted aloud.

She bent her head, closed her eyes, while I stared over her shoulder at the mirror, feasting my appetites to the utmost. You can have no idea how really mouthwatering Alice’s sister was, standing there stark naked except for her black stockings and the flouncy rosette garters, her legs slightly spread, her arms drawn up so high that her pectoral muscles were in bold relief, and the uptilting insolent pears of her breasts surged out in dazzling elegance as if in a contest of love goddesses!!

I dealt the second cut a little lower down , just over the top of her prominent and firm bottom ovals, and I enjoyed the sight of the lash clinging to those tender hemispheres and the tip flicking round towards the area of her tender groin. Marion gasped a little more loudly this time, nervously tried to shift from foot to foot, and dragged on her wrists. From the way her sides were trembling, for I could see her ribcage plainly outlined against the taut olive skin, I knew that she must be fatigued from the long duration of her atonement. As this would increase the overall stress on her nerves and psyche to bring me the most voluptuous gratification I hardened my heart and directed the third cut about an inch below the place where the second had landed.

Her hips gave an involuntary swerve to this side and that, her head tilted back a little and her eyes opened wide. Intently following her reflection, I perceived that her eyes were full of tears and that her nostrils were beginning to dilate rapidly….

Here’s a vintage spanking photo from one of those 1970s spanking magazines; doesn’t she look sore?

From Usenet.

Sometimes Bethie is so funny I can’t stop laughing. Ever since Christmas, I’ve been giggling (and I’m a large man, so it’s creepy when I giggle, but I just can’t help myself) about her reaction to the nice aluminum-handled lexan cane Santa Claus left in her stocking.

I swear, it had to be Santa Claus. How do I know? Because Bethie and I take turns filling each other’s stocking. I went first, so she knows it wasn’t me; the handle of the cane would have been sticking out when I was done. Still, in the morning, there it was. I figure that Santa’s updating the “switches for bad girls” idea with modern space age materials, and the cane (mixed in with all the chocolate Bethie got) is a reminder that she was just a little bit naughty last year.

So anyway, her reaction:

The only flaw was some weird thing I found in my stocking. It looks like a miniature light saber. It has a pretty silver handle with a long, round clear rod coming out of it. I looked for a switch to see if it had a light in it, but it doesn’t. I’m not sure why he’d give me a defective light saber, but since everything else is so great, I decided to ignore it and just settled for swishing it around making a “chooom-chooom” sound for effect.

Now, mind you well, I’ve demonstrated the proper use of this cane several times now, but give her half a chance and she’s back to waving it around, making chooom-chooom noises, and looking puzzled. Sigh, I guess I’ll just have to keep demonstrating what it’s really for….

Tip for young ladies: If you find yourself stuck in a Lupus Pictures movie, where it turns out you reside with an angry admiral, you should try not to piss him off. Else it’s the paddle for you:

And then the oiled leather strap:

Ouchies!

See Also:

• Grumpy Spanking People
• School Room Paddlings
• Lupus Pictures (Rigid East) Spanking Website

We’ve all had these retail moments, but Poiesia describes one of them especially well:

A couple nights ago, I was at Whole Foods Market near me. The lovely philosophy of organic produce, sustainable agriculture, community citizenship aside, they have these natural wooden hairbrushes that are the “classic” timeless hairbrushes of yesteryear. As I’m meandering through the store, I happen to walk into the bodycare section — and like a beacon calling out to me, I espied these gorgeous wooden hairbrushes in both oval and rectangular shapes.

I swear, I got tunnel vision.

Had the store cameras closed in on me they’d seen my dilated, dazed eyeballs, and a musing smile playing about my can’t-stop-grinning face….a tiny spankified moment, while the earth stopped rotating on its axis. Heart stealthily thumping, I cast my eyes about furtively, while discreetly trying to judge the nice heft of the lovely piece. I casually pretended to examine the bristles while making slight swipes at the air, vacuously looking around me, noting the comfy handle, how it fit in my palm, holding it. Only $20 for this lovely find — who cares that it had some natural bristles and was all handmade? I couldn’t be bothered with trite details.

My glazed eyed and greedy brain clearly said “MUST. HAVE. THIS.”

My food list forgotten (I’ll forego food for spanking. Hell, I’ll forego sex for spanking…) and tossed to the winds, I had to have these hairbrushes. As I’m juggling and concentrating on the spanko-quality of my soon to be new toys, I look up to find my husband, Argos, standing a few feet away from me, openly grinning from ear to ear, watching me indulge in my spanko-gluttony. Blushing only slightly, I casually tossed the brushes into his basket amidst his guffaws. Feeling very perky and self-satisfied, I floated through the rest of the store. I can’t remember if we got all the stuff we were supposed to get — but who cares, really? In the nightly prowl of fooding, our hunting and gathering….I scored. :)

Apparently Claire was inspired to post about birching by Orchidea, writing thusly about a bundle of hazel twigs:

The Ace of Wands – the base energy of the wands – is of unequivocally phallic depiction in my deck, which probably reveals the root of my entrancement with an innocuous bundle of hazel twigs awaiting its destiny in a pail of water.

As I sit cross-legged on the bed, eyes covered and giggling helplessly to appease while he cuts menacing practice swishes through the air, I’m inclined to cry off. Up to this point, I don’t think I really believe he is actually going to use this fearful weapon, bound prettily with two wide lengths of black ribbon, on me. (Oh, be very careful what you wish for!) We are confined to the bedroom this time – I must be quiet! – and again atmosphere is crucial, so we have candles; dark red ones and strictly for illumination tonight, in a matching pair of iron candlesticks.

I’m now naked; upended over two pillows on the middle of the bed, wrists unbound, face buried in the duvet. The first strokes tease, tickle, caress, outline and enhance the sensitivity of my so sweetly exposed flesh. I wriggle my bottom. I want more and more of this tantalising, seductive stimulation. And I want it harder. The near-faintness, the vertigo-inducing arousal stems not from anticipation or the sensation itself; not from the heady but subtle accumulation of layered sting over warmth and warmth over sting on my blushing cheeks, but from my utter vulnerability and spiralling thoughts….

Have I mentioned that this sort of writing simplifies my life enormously? The more such accounts Bethie sees in connection with a new-to-her implement, the more her fear morphs into dreadful fascination, and the fewer objections I get when I finally pull the formerly-scary new toy out of hiding. Keep writing, ladies!