Spanking Blog: Adult Erotic Spanking At Its Best

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!

Here are three vintage lovelies waiting for their canings:

That’s right dears, and after the canings you just hold the position and wait right there….

For folks who weren’t here when I posted this last year:

Here’s a fun Christmas morality play, in the form of a video capture sequence from Girls Boarding School. On a cold Christmas Eve, these two bored young ladies were sitting around in their sterile dormitory, playing with a plastic Santa doll:

Things warm up quickly when the contraband bottle of vodka comes out:

Next thing you know, the Santa hats come out:

And then the fun starts! One of the girls quickly winds up over the other’s knee for a “punishment”:

Uh, oh, now the fun is over. Busted! “I’m sorry sir, we weren’t planning to drink the vodka. Actually, we bought it as a gift for you?”

Nice try.

The lecture goes on for some time:

But, of course, the inevitable spanking follows.

Then it’s time to stand up and bend over for the caning. By this point, Drunken Elf Girl #2 is looking distinctly nervous:

She’s got that sinking feeling now:

She can’t bear to watch:

Finally they are both getting it:

And feeling it, looks like? Or are they just singing a joyous Christmas carol?

Any way you cut it, a very Merry Christmas!

See Also:

• Girls School Lesbians, Punished
• More Carpet Beater Spanking
• A School Girl Caning
• A Hard Ruler Spanking

Here’s the perfect bit of Christmas Eve spanking poetry for you. Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!

‘Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the town
Her pleas could be heard as her panties came down.

“Oh Santa, dear Santa, don’t spank me, I pray!
I’ll be ever so good, starting right from today!”

But Santa just chuckled, “I’ve heard that before
From many a bad girl with bottom so sore

As she wriggles and squirms ‘neath his hand’s hearty sting.
But a promise like that – why, it means not a thing.

What matters, dear One, as you’ll very soon see
Is that you should be spanked across Santa’s broad knee

Till your sassy bare bottom is burning bright red!”
And with that, the old fellow did just as he’d said,

And proceeded to spank her with all of his might
Till her yelps echoed loud in the cold frosty night,

And each swat, ringing out like a loud pistol shot,
Turned her soft, round bottom increasingly hot.

Then, when she’d been hand-spanked with many a smack,
The jolly old fellow reached into his sack

He produced a fine paddle of well-seasoned wood.
“Now, this is the thing that makes naughty girls good.”

He remarked with a grin. “And I think you’ll soon find
How effective it feels on a soft, tender behind!”

“Oh please, Santa! No more!” she cried in dismay,
But the paddle cracked down without further delay,

And despite all her protests and wailings and shrieks
It soon deepened the blush on her squirming, rear cheeks.

Poor Dear how she wriggled but all was vain,
For the paddle descended again and again

Till her bouncing bare bottom was sizzling and sore
And as red as the costume that Santa Claus wore.

But at last he relented allowing her to rise,
Hugged her warmly while wiping the tears from her eyes,

And murmuring, “There, it’s all over, my dear!”
Rubbing soothing cool cream on her blazing, hot rear.

Then he exclaimed, “Well Miss, your sweet bottom so curved
Has had the sound spanking it so richly deserved.

From now on, I’m sure, I don’t need to explain,
If you’re good then I shan’t have to spank you again.

But if you are naughty – remember, my dear,
That Santa keeps watch for the whole of the year!”

Then smiling, he shouldered his bulging big sack,
And sent her away with a crisp farewell smack.

So she hurried to bed with satisfaction you know,
With a song in her heart and her bottom aglow

And a sense that all manner of things were all right.
But she slept facing down on her tummy that night.

(Author unknown.)