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Here’s a spanking magazine cover from 1949:
You have to like the lurid sales copy:
Experiences of corporal punishment — curious tales of ladies and others fond of administering birch discipline and physical pain. For lovers of the unusual.
Another gem from vintage, although I expect it was originally snagged from an eBay auction back before they started hassling erotica sellers.
Alternative post TITLE: “And That is How Pancho Villa Master And I Had Lunch Together.”
Moving rapidly along:
Master came home from work for a late lunch. And to spank me. He had a dentist’s appointment […], wanted a sandwich, and then apparently decided my ass needed to burn. It wasn’t punishment, just a beating because He wanted to smack my ass for a while.
…
I made Him a pastrami and swiss, while naked because it’s a hot July day and nakedness just isn’t sane here in January. A wise Master appreciates opportunity.
…
Then, i laid myself over His lap and He walloped my ass while i struggled to be pliant and good. He was rough but very sensual this time, caressing for long moments over the curve of my ass and down my thigh to the ticklish back of my knee, then slapping me hard where the thigh meets the buttock just as i was sighing with enjoyment at the caress.
He alternately pulled at my hair and then forced my head back down low by pushing me down with a hand at my back. He manhandled, and He didn’t say a word for most of this time. It was half of a normal spanking. He started to let the smacks fall more quickly, but never to the level of intensity it usually becomes.
“Fuckable,” He said, and slid His hand between my thighs to sop at the wetness there. Then He told me He was done and had to get back to work.
Pastrami kisses, because He’s a romantic despite the rough hands.
This has not so much to do with spanking, but it does remind me of the infamous duckie training post. As I was browsing about on a sex toys website, I came upon the Pig Tail Butt Plug:
Isn’t that just the cutest thing you ever saw? The sales copy reads:
Make ’em squeal loud and hard with their new pink pig tail butt plug! It doesn’t get much more humiliating than this.
Now, where did I put my credit card?
See Also:
Well, that’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.
I’ve been having a little bit of extra fun with Bethie lately. You see, the other night Bethie was reading Lessons Learned and I looked over and noticed her staring for quite some time at this picture. (Yup, the one with the crossed needles through Lisa’s nipples.) Ouch.
So anyway, I was surprised to see Bethie lingering on that picture, since she usually hides her eyes when stuff like that appears on a monitor near her. (Sometimes she does peek between her fingers, though — it’s really cute.) She’s got something of a needle phobia, and neither one of us are much into anything that involves broken skin or the potential for blood. Still, she was looking. I guess it’s because Frank is such an artistic sadist.
Now for my fun. “You know how you are always calling me mean? Look closely at that picture. That is mean. Compared to that, I’m barely even mischievous.” Which is true, more or less (although I do love me my new tenderizing strap).
Call it laying the groundwork. Now, whenever she calls me mean (several times a day, invariably playfully) I say “I’m not mean. Who’s mean?” And I won’t be dissuaded from the line of conversation until she says “Frank.” And then I say “And what does he do that makes him mean?” By this time she’s always trying to change the subject, but I won’t have it; she has to say (usually she chooses a tiny tremulous voice) “He puts needles in Lisa’s nipples.”
For some reason she is amazingly reluctant to play this game, and I usually have to at least threaten to encourage her before she’ll say it. Vide supra “tenderizing strap”.
My plan (which seems to be working) is to associate that vivid mental image with the word “mean” in her mind, so that she can’t call me mean without thinking of those two sharp little needles. Now, when she calls me mean, I can see a little “uh-oh” look cross her face. So I think it’s working.
Thanks, Frank, for serving as a bad example! {grin}
Every male spanko, I’m sure, has a regret about the woman he should have spanked, but didn’t. J at The Orgy certainly does.
Seems that when he was a senior in high school, there was this hot sophomore girlfriend who cheated on him, and confessed. At that moment he held all the power cards in the relationship, and so he guilted her into giving him head to “punish” her.
But what he wishes he’d done is spanked her properly:
It was 1:00 in the morning when she finally finished telling me she’d cheated on me. Instead of both of us getting naked, though, and having oral sex, I now wish I’d done something different.
I wish I’d told her there was something I couldn’t do to repay her while we were in the house – during sex, she was good at keeping quiet, so even when she came, she didn’t wake anyone up. I wish I’d brought her out to my car and hidden us underneath the car cover.
…
I would have brought something with me. While cleaning out my parents’ garage a few months prior to my relationship, I found a couple of huge wooden paddles that went with a swimming-pool game I’d completely forgotten about. I purloined all four of them. I’ve spanked with them, and I’ve tested them on myself.
I would have brought one with me. Jennifer would’ve known what was going on, but she was so desperate to keep the relationship alive and well that she would’ve come with me. Trust me on this.
I would’ve had her take all her clothes off. I could never get enough of the fact that this beautiful woman wanted to be my girlfriend, and I loved seeing her naked. Then I would’ve had her lay across my lap as I sat in the middle of my backseat. I would’ve told her how upset I was. I would’ve chastised her for a few minutes.
Then I would’ve laid into her with the paddle. I would’ve smacked it into her ass over and over. The paddle itself is big enough to cover almost her entire ass, but I would’ve alternated cheeks. I would’ve told her this is what happens when she misbehaves. I would’ve told her I was upset, that cheating is wrong, and that I never would’ve cheated on her. (I didn’t, by the way. Ever.) I would’ve watched under the weak dome light as her ass grew pink, then bright red.
And I would’ve listened to her yelling that she was sorry, that she wouldn’t do it again. I would’ve held her in place with one hand, maybe wrapping my arm around her waist as I whacked her ass over and over.
…
I eventually would’ve stopped when I thought Jennifer had had enough. I would’ve gathered her up into my lap and held her and felt the heat of her ass even through the shorts I was wearing. I would’ve consoled her and comforted her and told her never to cheat on me again, and that I didn’t like to punish her.
Of course, that would’ve been a lie. I love giving spankings. Even when I’m punishing someone, I still enjoy doing it.
After Jennifer had calmed down, I think I would’ve tried to have sex with her. And I’m pretty sure she would’ve assented.
And I would’ve probably come quickly, feeling her scalded ass cheeks against my thighs.
Live and learn, J, live and learn….
There’s a new spanking site out there called Spanked Cutie, featuring (what else?) really cute young women getting spanked really hard. This is authentic looking stuff that reminds me in its severity of some of the harder paddling photo sets from the Real Spankings people. Here’s a very sore spanked cutie on her bed:
Picture taken from this gallery on Spankslaves Spanking TGP.
“P” from Sexual Anarchism writes about a real wild weekend with “M”, including one heck of a hand spanking:
As I fucked her and forced her down, I spanked her ass hard enough to make my hand sting; to provide some level of context, I used a belt on her ass some months ago; the marks were gone within a day. While my hand had returned to normal after little more than a few minutes, the welts on her ass from this spanking lasted for most of the week. There really was no reason for this force – it was simple domination. It was simple animalism. It was simply reinforcing our roles.
My hand aches in sympathy.