Spanking Blog: Adult Erotic Spanking At Its Best

I’ve been teasing Bethie for some months now by suggesting that we need a small single-tail whip. I’m in no hurry to actually get one — I’m sure to lash myself on the backstroke while learning the thing, and I’m not one of those “test the implements on myself first” boys — but it’s fun to have Bethie trying to distract me from my brainstorm and I really do think she’d learn to like it.

Patty’s latest tale is pretty much how I think it would go. Even though this is long, it’s actually an excerpt from a more detailed account:

We got back to the condo a little after 10AM, and we were both refreshed and feeling frisky.

Fred had a major surprise in store for me, but he waited until my wrists were cuffed and tied to the convenient latticework of the headboard in our room before showing it to me.

He bought a three foot whip!

“Oh Gawd! Honey!”

My whole body cringed with terror and surged with excitement at the same time.

Fred laughed at my horror and then set about to play with my spankee brain. He coiled the sinewy snake like leather toy just a few feet away from my face. I could smell the enticing freshly oiled new leather and appreciate the tight weave of the sturdy yet supple hide. It really was well made nice to look at. He left it there for me to contemplate while he started spanking my pillow perched bare backside with ouchie firm smacks of his hand.

I squirmed and tried to struggle against the warm up. “No way are you going to make me let you use that on me! No way! No way! No way!”

He just chuckled. “You sure about that brat? Who’s the boss of spanking in this house, you or me?”

“ME!”

Of course I was properly corrected for that bold and senseless comment.

…

I fixed on the whip, distracted and progressively aroused enough by the sensuality of the spanking I was getting, and the progressive build up of intensity produced by Fred’s hand, the tawse and then the bath brush that I actually began to question my fear. I did lose interest in the fascinating allure of the terrifying toy briefly when Fred pressed his arm and hand between me and the pillows and used his fingers to take me over the edge while he pummeled my needy bum with the bath brush.

When he stood up and lifted it into his hand, fondling its supple length, sniffing the alluring scent of fresh leather and oil with me my heart raced out of control.

“No honey!” came out of my mouth, and then a silent and desperate, ‘YES PLEASE! Don’t listen to my words!’ almost came out. The whole thing was a muddle rush. I had no idea which was audible and which was not.

“You’re curious though aren’t you brat?” Fred teased. “You want to know don’t you?”

“Nooooooo,” I lied and tried to burry my face in the sheets and blanket.

“Lying is going to get you some serious retribution now …”

“I’m not lying!” I lied. “I’m scared!” I told the truth. But the ‘Please try it on me, I’m desperate to know how it feels!’ never did come out.

“It’s the same weight as the school master strap. Remember how scared you were of it and now you like it?”

‘OK, that’s good. Tell me more, just like that.’ I shook my head no, and ground my face deeper into the sheets.

He whipped the mattress with a solid lash that didn’t just cut the air with a musical whirl, it tore away my façade of resistance.

’Oh FUCK!’ I lifted my head and looked up into his eyes. “Not like that though OK?”

He’d broken me, and we both knew he would do at least one like that, but first he would introduce me to it with as much care as was possible with a toy that has a mind of its own and a mastery curve that takes time and experience.

The first lash was not so bad at all, and neither were the next ten or twenty while Fred played with his aim and got the feel of his new toy. It stung a lot, some licks were harder than others to take, but mainly it was OK. It wrapped though, and a few times my right thigh or hip really took a hard thwap making me yelp and rear up in complaint.

Fred found a rhythm and his aim, and as he did, it began to really hurt. Thankfully his aim got better and the end mainly lashed the pillows. He’d discovered the range that exactly delivers the maximal searing burn of the impact of the last foot or so of leather while the agonizing ripping impact of the wrap around found the pillows. Amazingly, I easily slipped into head space where the rhythm of the searing burn started floating me off the bed.

Fred changed sides so my left cheek and the part of my brain connected to it was allowed to experience the same pain – agony – pleasure transformation that my right cheek had.

I reveled in transition as much as the initiation. It was amazing. Scary, flinchingly worrisome, and then eventually seductive. The cane has its searing deep tissue burning feel, the school master strap has it’s slightly more intense scald, but more superficial explosion of sensation. This whip was both in one. The wrap & tip scald with an intensity almost like, but 1,000 times more ouchie than the strap, while the thicker last foot or so sears and impacts with even more flying weight than the cane. White hot and ice cold is descriptive, but no where close. Mind numbing is tempting as a metaphoric level descriptor, but it’s just so wrong…. There’s nothing numbing about how this thing feels… The most punitively placed whip stroke cuts into you in a thin white hot line, and then a sudden explosive spread of sensation takes over your whole being with much more intensely than the narrow thick strap or the cane are able to illicit, which says a lot, since both are capable of delivering severe, intense and extreme experiences.

Fred placed the last two lashes carefully. Making each full force cuts, one from the right the other from the left, each placed so that the most intense wrap effect landed full on each cheek.

“OH! MY GAWD!”

I’d just had my first whipping with a whip! Some day, I will have to have a real one. Suspended, no pillows, all the wrap and whip….

Hmmm, she doesn’t seem too traumatized by the whole thing. Bethie, you want to help me pick out a whip?

I’m told this is a production still from the 1975 Jesse Franco women-in-prison production “Barbed Wire Dolls.” It sure looks slick:

See Also:

• Prison Cell Spankings
• The Elvis Prison Whipping
• Women In Prison

So the other day Bethie wrote:

Dan started out my day with a few good spanks with the wooden kitchen spoon I just bought. We’ve been so busy lately that I haven’t been getting spanked as much and my bottom was surprisingly tender after just a few spanks. Either that or he was really swinging it!

It was definitely ouchie. I may have to buy a couple more of those spoons though. I can’t stand cooking with any utensil I get spanked with. There’s just something wrong about it but I can’t put it into words. It just feels wrong somehow! LOL

So last night the subject of the wooden spoon came up — I think I threatened to leave the bedroom and go get it, in response to some minor brattishness — and Bethie again bemoaned the fact that I had despoiled her cooking spoon and she’d never be able to use it now. I laughed and made light of the problem, thinking (as I have all along) that she was kidding. But it quickly became clear that she was serious. Incredulous, I explored her objections, which were (and I am not making this up):

1) She was concerned that during the course of a few high-velocity taps, the wooden spoon would have become contaminated with “butt oil” from her skin.

2) She was concerned that because wood is porous, the “butt oil” would have permeated the wood and will in future resist all cleansing action by detergents during the normal dishwashing process, remaining available to contaminate subsequent cooking projects.

3) Upon being pressed to define the health hazards of a few molecules of human skin oils that might survive into a future batch of food, she abandoned (grudgingly and without concessions) the “butt oil” objections and moved briskly on to Plan B. To wit, she claimed concern about bacteria, arguing that her butt area is likely rich in harmful bacteria due to its proximity to various organs of elimination.

4) When I pointed out that her standards of personal hygiene are very high, so high as to make broad-region butt bacteria an insignificant risk, she denied this. Rubbing my fingers all over her butt and then licking them, oddly enough, did not seem to reassure her. Indeed, she covered her face in her hands. Informing her that her butt oil is very tasty did not help. Really, it didn’t. For some unknown reason, she began to whimper at this point.

5) When I pointed out that we wash dishes in hot soapy water precisely because bacteria do not survive this treatment, she again raised the special porosity of wood as a risk factor. When I pointed out that wooden cooking spoons commonly languish in sinks full of dirty dishes, where bacterial counts are likely considerably higher than they are on her well-washed and lotion-reinforced butt, and yet she has no qualms about washing such spoons and re-using them in the cooking process, she was unmoved. Her unassailable counter-argument? Wait for it: “That’s different.”

What do you think, folks? Do you keep one set of kosher spoons at your house for spanking, and another for cooking? Or is it “Be damned to the butt oils, full speed ahead!” in your kitchen?

La, la, la-la-la lah, see the happy schoolgirls go smurfing down the country road:

Uh-0h, what’s this? Papa Smurf, Papa Smurf, those shameles hussies are piddling on the side of the road, in front of God and everybody! The nerve of those tarts!

This can only end in tears. Sure enough, here’s Papa Smurf his own self. You girls are in for it!

And oh, are they ever in for it. Spanking, caning, and tears galore, plus big vivid welts in the grandest Lupus Pictures tradition. (For pictures of the spankings, go here — I don’t want any succulant-but-mortified flesh distracting you from my little pastoral morality play. At least, not yet.)

It’s the after the spanking treatment that catches our eye this time. No, not oral sex you loony! Rather, our miscreants are taken out to the garden and made to pick some nice fresh stinging nettles:

You know where this is going. Our wayward schoolgirls are made to stuff their panties full of fiery nettles, which they do with great reluctance and much shifting from foot to foot:

And off they are sent, traipsing (properly chastened) back to school.

See Also:

• Spanked With Many Nettles
• Nettles For A Witch
• Growing And Playing With Stinging Nettles
• Nettles, The Awful Truth
• Whipped With Nettles

Here’s a woman who got what sounds like a pretty good foreplay switching:

He took my hair and spun me around, catching me with his kiss. He led me to the table, set up in the middle of the room.

“Bend over. Spread your legs. Oh, that’s good.” He moved my legs apart and walked around the table to his bag. I watched him slowly walk back, holding a long, thin switch. I smiled.

He bent down, getting a close view of my raised ass and chose a spot, holding the switch against the backs of my legs where ass and thigh meet.

patpatpatpatpatpatpatpatWHAP!

“Ohhhh!”

I closed my eyes and let the warmth spread.

“You like that, don’t you?”

“Yes…sir.”

He crossed my bottom with the switch as I squirmed, grabbing the sheet and moaning.

From Madeline In The Mirror; found via Bondage Blog.

Despite the lack of a specific spanking or BDSM theme on most Usenet cartoon groups, there’s a suprising amount of spanking art that goes by there. I love this gem from one of the 1960s men’s magazine, featuring Fidel Castro in his dungeon torturing blonde lovelies with a huge leather strap:

See Also:

• Spanking Hitler
• Leon Trotsky Whipping Two Nude Girls

So DirtyTalkinGirl writes:

For those odd times when M has a little, um, difficulty getting hard, he’s discovered a sure-fire, side-effect-free cure that doesn’t come in a pill-bottle.

He spanks me.

No kidding. In the time it takes him to deliver a dozen to fifteen stinging slaps to my arse, he goes from doughy to doughty, without my having to lift a finger or curl a tongue.

And I’m thinking: “Well, duh….”

Usually in my case, I’ve been hard and she’s already been spanked, but what with one thing and another, a fellow can sometimes flag by the time docking maneuvers commence. I like spanking her inner thighs (they’re handy) when that happens. She squeals and protests most prettily, and my inner cad usually pops right back up on deck.

No, she really doesn’t like being spanked there — well, not as much as she likes getting spanked on her bottom anyway.

I think that’s part of why it works so well.

The short riding crop also works very well for this purpose, if it happens to be handy.