Spanking Blog: Adult Erotic Spanking At Its Best

Since this is not a spanking advice column, I’m not always as nice as I should be when people write in. Especially when the letter reads like this:

I’ve always had a little bit of a spanking fetish and i’ve always wanted to spank some sexy hot chick, but i’ve never been able to. how do i convince a girl to let me do that

ShAdOwKnIgHt

Some necessary but not sufficient tips:

1) Stop capitalizing your online handle like a gE3k.
2) Better yet, don’t use your online gaming handle at all.
3) Don’t try to “convince” a girl; try instead to find a girl (better yet, a woman) who wants a spanking.
4) Use the internet to find her. It’s what you’re good at. And it’s where she is.
5) When using the internet to find a woman, spelling and punctuation are not optional.
6) All women are sexy. Most are hot. And few are “chicks”. Don’t limit yourself.

Any spanking Cupid gets is well-deserved — he’s a meddling little wretch with atrocious marksmanship, even if we couldn’t live without him. Hence this cute old postcard image:

Thanks to Invidia at The Collar Purple for finding and posting this!

The folks at Mood Pictures released Martial Law II in December, but it took a few weeks for the review copy to reach me, and much longer for Bethie and I to find time to sit down and watch the movie. We finally managed it two nights ago, and found ourselves watching another solid production from these Eastern European (yes, that means subtitles) caning movie producers.

If you’ve read my reviews of their other productions, you’ll know they mostly do severe caning work. You won’t be disappointed if that’s what you are looking for, but this movie has a little bit more. It opens with four female prisoners (or are they reluctant draftees?) being disciplined by two severe female guards toting plastic submachine guns. One by one, the girls are made to strip and stand against the bars of their cell for 25 strokes each with a leather strap.

The strapping scenes were a little disappointing to me, as the strap seemed to land all over the girls. The girls were fairly stoic and surly-looking (only one of them showed much sense of feeling the strap) and their bottoms didn’t show as much marking as one would expect from 25 hard honest strap blows. Still, it was a refreshing addition; some other Mood Pictures titles have been caning-only.

Then one of the girls was taken before the camp commandant for a little display of nudity and amateur lesbianism on his desk. He noticed (supposedly) the marks on her bottom, and demanded an explanation from the guards. He learned that the girls had been disciplined without his orders, and he was shocked (simply shocked!) to find that sort of activity going on in his establishment. He immediately ordered the female guard responsible to be arrested and given 100 hard caning strokes.

The camera finds the soon-to-be-arrested guard hosing down three of her prisoners with a power washer. Although very brief, this is actually my favorite scene in the movie; the girls are cowering and shivering as the water is whipping at them. It’s authentic-looking and cheesy at the same time, and I’ve never seen anything exactly like it. Call it the the low-budget, high-velocity modern version of the old brutal-prison-guard-with-a-firehose cliche. Plus, these are the cleanest girls you’ll ever see in a caning movie:

Then it’s on to the hundred strokes of the cane, sternly delivered. This is authentic hard caning and no mistake. A minor grumble I had: the victim is so skinny, her ribs and vertebrae stuck out horribly in all directions when they put her on the frame. It’s hard for me to enjoy a caning when all I want to do is take the girl down off her bench and feed her a milkshake. Don’t they have cheeseburgers in Hungary?

There were also some lighting flaws, resulting in harsh shadows that made it difficult to see her facial reactions. Also, the female guard doing the caning seemed uninterested in style; the result was wraparound with every stroke, so that the girl’s right thigh wound up welted far worse than any part of her bottom. That’s fine if you love severity, but off-putting if you like precision and love bottom welts.

On the plus side, the metal caning bench with wrist cuffs looks deliciously severe and very handy. The caning was vigorous, with breaks every 25 strokes for the half-naked-doctor-girl (the cutest woman in the movie, a squeezable brunette who appears to be wearing nothing but a white lab coat) to examine the canee and pronounce her fit for more caning. And there was no way for this girl to avoid showing her pained reactions. In a nice touch, they showed her getting “medical attention” (some lotion and a cigarette) after the caning, and she was visibly twitching and shaking a little bit. Authenticity that will surely delight, if you really like seeing hard canings and their aftermath.

As usual with Mood Pictures, there is a comforting series of bloopers among the DVD extras showing the actors clowning around with each other and laughing together over their mistakes. When a production is severe, it’s always nice to see some evidence that the girls are happy to be there and are enjoying themselves.

As Bethie has noted on her blog, it’s been a while since we had the time and energy and privacy to see she got a proper spanking. When she goes too long without a spanking, she gets…well, I call it “fractious.” Not deliberately bratty, not hard to get along with, just fractious. She’s more inclined to contradict me for no good reason, order me around in tiny ways (like saying “Stop that!” instead of “Please stop”, or “Get me that thing” instead of “Please hand me that”), whimper without cause, or fret and fuss. Don’t let me overstate: she’s still sweet and easy to get along with by any objective measure. Just not her usual serene sweetest self.

Of course, a good spanking is the sovereign cure for this fractious condition. As I like to say: “It keeps you sweet.” Bethie always rejoins: “But I am sweet already.” To which the inevitable response is: “Yes, dear, but you can always be sweeter….”

Anyway, last night it was finally a good time to take care of fractiousness. Bethie had a few beers, we watched some standup comedy on TV, then I put in the latest caning video from Mood Pictures. (You’ll see a review tomorrow if all goes well.) By the time that was over, it was definitely time for her de-fractious-inating spanking.

The spanking itself went rather less well than usual. Bethie’s got quite a backlog of earned spankings built up (starting with her Valentine’s Day fun-flogging tonight) so I wanted to soften her up a bit and leave her tender. (Call it lazy top syndrome if you will.) Thus, after less hand-spanking-warmup than usual, I started in with the Cracker Barrel paddle she loves so much.

Only this time, perhaps not so much.

The fractiousness was on full display after the first few gentle swats (which I was doing lightly to warm her up.) “Not the paddle! Use your hand!” Note the peremptory phrasing, and believe me when I say the tone was equally peremptory.

Needless to say, the paddling quickly grew more vigorous. This was longer and harder than I had used that paddle before, and Bethie was not a happy camper. The complaints continued (although they grew more polite) and she was quickly snuffling and whuffling and half-crying and demanding tissues to blow her nose. Even though I slacked off with the paddle, alternated it with some hand spanking, and gave her a few kisses and lots of rubbing between spanks, she simply wasn’t enjoying the process the way she usually does. (However, a certain unmistakable physiological reaction confirmed that she was, in one sense, enjoying herself.)

I persevered in the face of adversity, and eventually grew pleased at the way sustained application of the Cracker Barrel paddle brought up a general puffy redness on Bethie’s bottom in the experienced spanking places where she usually cannot be marked by any reasonable spanking implement short of a fast-moving cane. She, however, was not as pleased, and began begging for me to use something leather. So I eventually switched to the tenderizing strap.

For some reason knowable only to those possessing feminine logic circuits, this did not improve Bethie’s mood. She continued snuffling and whuffling and generally managing to not enjoy herself — which is quite out of character. I suppose if I were a more committed domly type, that would have been the time to start whaling away, blistering her bottom until she broke down in full-scale blubbering and all grumpy resistance was gone. And perhaps that’s what I’ll do next time. But this time, I was merciful, and after perhaps a dozen good blows with the strap, we moved on to more mutually pleasant pursuits.

So why did I title this post “A Blistering Spanking”? Not because of the state of Bethie’s bottom; this morning it’s completely unmarked, although she complains of tender spots (yay!) where the rolled end of the tenderizing strap landed. Unfortunately for me, I woke up this morning with a small white puffy blister where my right index finger wraps around the edge of the handle of the Cracker Barrel paddle. Must be a rough spot on that sanded birch plywood edge somewhere.

Poor me.

And how about that fractiousness? Bethie woke grumpy this morning, having not slept too well, and managed three episodes of minor fractiousness during the first seven minutes she was awake. I will say, however, that as soon as I pointed this out, she became the very paragon of sweetness, and hasn’t had a fractious moment since. I’m thinking she doesn’t want a repeat session with the Cracker Barrel paddle tonight….

When I first saw the movie “The Secretary”, I remember being annoyed that they’d portrayed the main female character as essentially crazy, and given her a self-destructive cutting habit to show it.

Little did I know.

Since then, I’ve read a lot of BDSM blogs, and discovered that a remarkable percentage of girls who like spanking or more serious BDSM games used to cut themselves. This next quote is from one such. I’m quoting her because I am always interested in what women get from their spankings. Desiree writes:

I think about my ass. It’s warm. It’s soft. It’s unmarked. It’s not sore. It hasn’t been sore for many months. I think of an equation. A spanking is better than anything I’ve ever tried. A pleasure unlike any other. It’s way better than cutting. I get the relaxation. The repose. The floaty feeling, without the scars I have to hide, the guilt, and the shame. It’s so much nicer than muscle relaxants. Everything on me relaxes after a spanking, and stays relaxed for days afterwards. I sleep better. It’s warmer too. Nothing heats things up like a nice spanking. Pills don’t do that. Canings work on frustration and anger too. They make you feel good afterwards, way better than a triple dose of Paxil or Celexa.

…

By the time I got to my third spanking that first night, I was practically begging with huge puppy dog eyes to be caned.

For the first time in ages, I could relax. I woke up the next morning happy. I’d drifted off to sleep that night feeling delicious. I felt decadent and disgustingly gorgeous for three days. That was how long it took for the welts from the caning to go down.

…

There is pleasure in the kiss of the cane. No pain. It hurts, but it’s not pain. It’s delicious. It’s magical. I can cum in shudders from having my nipples slapped over and over with the top of a riding crop or the tongue of a belt.

I can remember one late Friday night at a fetish club in the city. It was my first experience with a single tail. I could feel it flicker and lick along the expanse of my ass. After a while N—- came around to me and lifted my chin, telling me to open my eyes. He was doing the standard safety check to make sure I was still with him. I was, but I was also riding each and every wave. I was lost in a haze of sheer pleasure. It had long since stopped being pain. He nodded and stroked my hair, telling me to let myself go and just float with him. He didn’t have to tell me twice.

The razor blade may have made me float after it was all said and done, but this was so very different. So very beautiful. This was the difference between masturbating and having awesome sex with someone who knew my body better than I did.

There’s more — much more — because when Desiree writes, she writes at length.

I wish I knew what the scenario for this spanking was. It’s taking place outdoors, in a crowd. Did someone lose a bet at a street festival, or a volleyball picnic? Whatever is going on, it looks like fun:

From Usenet.

The old “When do I tell this girl I want to spank her?” problem usually has no easy answers, unless she brats you up and then says “What are you going to do, spank me?” when you laughingly tell her to cut it out. Telling her on the first date can be less than ideal; but waiting until things get serious could be rough and unfair to both of you, if it turns out spanking is a deal-breaker.

Just because a problem has no easy solutions, however, doesn’t mean there aren’t a bunch of dead wrong answers that, frankly, should never have crossed your mind in the first place. Example:

I went out with this one fella who had a thing for spanking. I didn’t realize this. So we had gone out a little, meeting in town at bars and whatnot, but nothing serious. No nekkidness, nothing more than sweet little innocent kisses. So one night we’re at a fairly good sized bar, and he’s been drinking pretty heavily. COMPLETELY OUT OF NOWHERE, he grabs me roughly and bends me over and starts spanking the hell out of me, in front of all these folks who looked suddenly uncomfortable. I mean, he left welts. In public. I hadn’t given him any indication this was a) acceptable or b) desired, so I was clueless. Couldn’t sit down properly for days after that. Dealbreaker.

How drunk would you have to be, to think this was a good idea?