Spanking Blog: Adult Erotic Spanking At Its Best

No spanking here — boring stuff to follow.

In the last couple of days, I’ve had a rash of people trying (with varying degrees of surface politeness) to influence the editorial policy of this spanking blog. I thought it might be time to say a few words in regard to what I’m all about and what I’m doing here.

To begin: I’m utterly horrified by narrow-minded, prudish, uptight, or censorious kinksters (when I can stop laughing at them). There’s an inherent contradiction in saying “I’m perfectly OK with my own kink, but those people should stop what they are doing at once — no self-respecting kinky person should have anything to do with people who have that fantasy or do that activity.” (Sometimes this comes out as “people like that aren’t really members of our community/shouldn’t be allowed in our community/shouldn’t be respected/shouldn’t be discussed.”) Such narrow-minded and exclusionary kinksters remind me of the cat in that shaved cat picture that floats around in email. When you see the picture, you’re horrified that anybody would shave a cat — but you can’t help laughing at how silly the offended cat looks. That’s how I respond whenever a kinky person denounces somebody else’s fantasy — it’s both horrifying and hilarious to watch.

Thus, whenever I encounter a censorious kinkster, I can’t decide whether to laugh or get mad. But I do know that I don’t believe in shunning kinky people whose kinks squick me. That’s why I won’t participate in delinking campaigns, or change my editorial behavior when one is aimed at me.

Know ye also: I don’t do this for the blog traffic. It’s true that I value all my readers, and I’ll miss anybody who decides they don’t like my content and won’t be back to read it. That said, traffic from blogs makes up a miniscule percentage of my total traffic — well under one percent of the total. That’s why I literally laughed out loud the other day when someone accused me in my comments of trying to stir up controversy in order “to keep the circulation up.” Nothing could be further from the truth. I value your links, folks, but I’m not going to change what I do in order to keep ’em.

Furthermore, I’m an absolutist about free speech. Among other things, that means I have a knee-jerk reaction to pressure. Tell me not to link to something, and I’ll be more inclined to link to it. Criticize my decision to link to or discuss something, and I may choose not to be polite. Why should I be? My blog stories and links are my business. Read or don’t, click or don’t. No skin off my nose. No skin off yours, either. And if you do decide to try and influence my editorial choices, I probably won’t see your busybody input as anything but a rudeness. I may forgive you, if you’re also charming and witty or a friend; but I might also (or instead) choose to mock you. If you can’t take it, don’t dish it out.

Let me amplify that. I believe that telling someone what they “should” blog about is horribly rude in function, no matter how polite you are when you share your unsolicited opinion. It’s like a nephew I have, who thinks he can say the most horrid things with impunity as long as he uses polite words. He can’t understand why people think it’s rude when he says something like “No offense, but why does your breath smell like garbage?” Sorry, but superficial politeness cannot rescue fundamentally rude behavior.

Moving on: I do have my own editorial standards. Generally speaking, I don’t usually blog about the spanking of children, even in fantasy or ageplay; I don’t usually blog about spankings where there is a strong and explicit lack of consent, unless the fantasy context is very obvious; I don’t usually blog about spankings that result in open wounds or flowing blood; I don’t usually blog about men getting spanked; and I don’t usually blog about spankings accompanied by substantial verbal abuse or deliberate and extreme humiliation. The reasons for these policies (mostly having to do with my own tastes) seem good to me, although I sometimes make exceptions. Sometimes, too, I get flak for my inconsistencies — as in the infamous case of the flash game (a freakin’ interactive cartoon) that featured either cartoon welts or cartoon cuts, depending on your interpretation. (Yeah, go figure. I’m still scratching my head about that one.) Nonetheless, at the end of the day, I get to decide whether something is beneath my standards. My bandwidth, my sandbox, my toys, my rules.

I truly don’t understand kinky people who think their tastes should be universal, and who try to enforce those tastes on others. For example, age play by consenting adults happens to squick me out, so I don’t much write about it. But I’m not horrified when other people do it or write about it. It would strike me as unutterably bizarre to email such a blogger and castigate them for their preferences. My distaste is my own, and I try very hard not to inflict it on anybody else. Same with blood play or verbal abuse. I figure I’m free to ignore these things without stepping on any toes. But I can’t imagine writing to another blogger and telling them they shouldn’t fantasize or play that way, or that they shouldn’t write about what they do. And when I get a letter like that (about once a week), I can never decide whether to laugh or to respond with a hearty “Fuck you.”

Often, I do both.

That’s more than enough for now. I’ll be happy to carry this conversation forward in the comments, but I won’t pull any punches when it comes to folks who want to tell me what I should blog.

If you ever frequent any of the spanking discussion boards where toys get discussed, you’ll find frequent references to the paddle-ball paddle available for $4.99 at a Cracker Barrel store near you. Love it or hate it, just about every spanko girl in the world has a strong opinion.

The trouble is, I don’t live near a Cracker Barrel, and had never visited one. Until today, when Bethie and I passed one at lunchtime while out-and-about doing errands.

First funny thing: someone in the store had hidden the paddle ball sets, by putting them on the backside of a display. You had to put your eye up to a crack and peer in, just to find them.

Second funny thing: the girl who rang me up (I bought two — in case someone needs a Christmas present) knew exactly what the paddles were for. She asked “Is that everything?” and so I called Bethie over to see if she needed anything else. The sales girl immediately started telling Bethie about all the sale stuff, and pointing to various corners of the store where there were candles and stuffed animals and other girlie stuff that was supposedly on sale. The sales girl kept a very straight face, but she had that gleam in her eye. You know the look that every brat gets when she’s trying to get another brat in trouble? Yeah, that’s the one.

So eventually we get out of the store, and home with my brand new “BC Tournament Paddleball”. It’s really nothing but a short, well-shaped piece of 3/8″ hardwood (Birch) plywood, lightly sanded at the edges. It’s a bit short for my large hand, and seems lacking in both weight and length.

As it happens, on the way home Bethie and I had one of those conversations. We’d been trying to get something done, and it wasn’t happening. Bethie asked for my advice. (Actually, this was a Mars/Venus moment. What she did was say “I don’t know what I can do differently in order to get this done.” If you think that’s not a request for advice, it’s possible you are a woman.) Anyway, she didn’t like the advice I gave her — consisting of the man-style things I would do in her shoes. So her response was a slightly heated suggestion that I do it, if I was so full of good ideas on how to do it. Since (view from Mars) she’d asked me for advice, and then been ungracious when I gave it, I was a smidge disgruntled.

Only a smidge, though, because I remembered my Mars-n-Venus — and my new paddle. Once we got home, I lured Bethie into the bedroom with a Cracker Barrel chocolate covered cherry. Then I pulled out the paddle ball paddle, removed the ball, and bent Bethie over the bed for a few quick swats.

Imagine my surprise when she began squealing and leaping forward and twisting around! Through two layers of clothing, no less — and she was more animated than she’s ever been when getting a few quick ones. To be fair, she might still be a little sore from her big spanking — but this was still a remarkable reaction.

It gets better. While I’m standing there admiring the paddle, she took down her pants and panties to rub her newly-sore bottom better. Yes, that’s every bit the invitation it seems.

So I start spanking her bare bottom. Light swats, no particular vigor. WOW! She’s all over the bed, twisting and squealing and complaining. Before long, she’s got a faint rosy glow to compliment the few remaining fading marks from Friday. When I let up, she’s feeling her bottom with both hands and complaining bitterly that it’s on fire. She hates the new paddle — or so she says.

Me, I think I’m rather fond of it. My new theory: if every man in America had one of these, it would do wonders for the gross domestic tranquility.

Clean Sheets has a fun interview with Ashley Lister, better known as kinky novel writer Lisette Ashton. Her views on why spanking is so hot:

You can’t beat a good spanking, can you?

Personally, I think the appeal of spanking, caning, and humiliation is the inherent naughtiness. There’s an allure to doing anything that seems rebellious to society’s usual norms. I suppose it’s the secret pleasure that comes from breaking rules or going against conformity. I’d compare it to the same guilty pleasures that we associate with cream cakes, alcohol, or chocolate. Spanking has the added benefit that it can be very pleasurable and doesn’t come with so many calories.

I finally found a citation for the persistent rumor that Jack Nicholson is a spanko. According to this article, British actress Karen Mayo-Chandler wrote (in the October 1989 Playboy) that Nicholson is “into fun and games in bed, all the really horny things I get off on, like spankings, handcuffs, whips and Polaroid pictures. His idea of being sexy is dressing in blue-satin boxer shorts and fluorescent orange socks and chasing me around the room with a Ping-Pong paddle.”

Don’t try and visualize that. It will hurt your brain.

Bethie has some very noticeable bruises on her pretty bottom this morning. I caught her in the spare room admiring them in the free-standing tilting floor mirror. Although she sat without unease on a wooden chair at the breakfast table.

It was like this. Due to various complexities in our schedules, and some visiting of various sorts, we haven’t had the together time and privacy for her to get a proper spanking in far too long. Couple of weeks, more or less. And with us so busy, there was more stress than usual. Nothing serious, really. She would get caught up in our activities and change the plans without mentioning the change to me. Or commit our schedule and just assume I was good with the change. I was not perfect either — I made her feel bad once or twice by asking vigorous questions that she thought were sharp or sarcastic or critical. We never had a fight — far from it — but it’s fair to say that once or twice she grew fractious, and perhaps I was grumpy on occasion. But the bottom line was, she was growing less mindful of me the longer she went without a spanking. And neither one of us liked it.

Of course once I figured out what was going on, I began promising her I’d remedy the situation at the first good opportunity. Indeed, I promised her a very sound spanking, and guaranteed her that she’d have a hard time forgetting to consult me for a few days after. The promise alone did a world of good. But last night, it was time to deliver.

I warmed her up with some friendly hand spanking during the commercial breaks in the TV show she was watching. Once that was over, I got out the necessary tools.

First I softened up her bottom a little bit with my favorite bath brush. Not full agonizing strokes, just little swats with my hand choked up on the handle. But a lot of them, and fairly fast.

That got her dancing around and complaining a fair bit. So I pulled out her favorite pine paddle, the one with the bunny fur on the back. Oddly enough, she said it stung too much. I was swinging it pretty hard, since it’s so broad and light that it can’t do any damage. By now her body was starting to respond, and it was clear that whatever her complaints, she was enjoying the spanking.

But enjoying it or not, she was protesting more than usual. Fair enough; I was spanking her more than usual, and harder, too.

And then, if you can believe her temerity, she said she had to go to the bathroom. Well, I had to allow that, but I promised her a ten-stroke penalty (can’t have that excuse invoked lightly). By the time she came back, I had found my riding crop, and gave her ten fast hard strokes in an unpredictable pattern.

I picked up the paddle again, but she was whimpering about it. I asked what implement she would prefer, and she reluctantly named the heavy strap I bought her in July. That was fine with me, and so I began to give her some hard, fast strokes with it. By now her bottom was really red. I used the strap for quite a while, and did not stint.

Although this was not a punishment spanking per se, I had promised Bethie the hardest longest spanking she’s ever gotten from me. And I did remind her during the spanking of some of her misbehavior, while inviting her to promise not to repeat it. So, when I picked up the bath brush again and began to give her some harder swats with it, I was not surprised to hear her snuffling and beginning to cry.

The crying was not unexpected, although it’s the first time I’ve made her cry during a spanking. She’s always saying “But you’ll make me cry!” as if it were an argument against whatever I’ve proposed — but generally I don’t take her that far. This time, I did. She needed it. Anyway, when I heard her crying, I paused and cuddled her a bit, made sure she was OK, and cheered her up by promising to move on to the flogger she got for her birthday. She does love that thing! But this was supposed to be a most memorable spanking for her, so I think I used it a little harder than she expected.

By the time I was done with the flogger, her bottom was blazing red and radiating heat. She had lots of little red marks and was assuring me most fervently that she would never again be fractious or unmindful of me.

However, there needed to be a finale, so she’d have a couple of dramatic marks to enjoy in her mirror. I got the bath brush and gave her four full-strength swats, which made her jump in a very dramatic fashion. The result was two perfect oval bruises on her right cheek, and a broad swath of little red spots on her left cheek.

After a spanking like that, of course, she needed “skin cooling Aloe Vera lotion” and lots of snuggles. And, as it usually does, one thing led to another, and to a most satisfactory evening.

Today, as expected, she’s very tender. Also snuggly and sweet in that special way that she has when she’s freshly spanked. Mission accomplished!

Here’s a publicity photo from what looks like a recent production of Kiss Me Kate. Petruchio, that old dog, is doing what he does best:

Picture found on Usenet.

Baltazar raises in passing a question that is, as he puts it, both entertaining and diverting. Indeed, what is the proper “exchange rate of cream cakes and chocolate to strokes of the cane upon a dieting submissive’s derriere“?