Spanking Blog: Adult Erotic Spanking At Its Best

The folks from Mood Pictures (the Hungarian severe caning movie house whose other movies I reviewed back in March) recently sent along their newest DVD release, called Martial Law. It’s their best effort yet, and I recommend it highly to folks who like authentic, severe caning videos. This screencap will give you the flavor:

The plot is simple enough that the Hungarian language with English subtitles was not a problem. A blonde female sergeant “tortures” a cute prisoner (by caning her lightly, shown in flashback) who turns out to be a secret agent who should not have been so abused. That part of the movie is swiftly done. Although the prisoner/spy does not get caned very hard, she’s posed very prettily on a chair and in bondage, so it’s visually quite fun.

Our blonde sergeant is of course tried (in the best police state one-minute fashion) and, after she confesses, is sentenced to an immediate 100 strokes with a cane.

She’s forced to strip and kneel in an imposing steel caning frame that forces her to lean forward over a padded bar. She’s tied by her wrists, as well as at her knees in a way that holds her legs spread far apart. She’s pretty enough and this very revealing and vulnerable pose will appeal to every bondage fetishist.

Then the caning starts. What can I say? The rest of the movie consists of her getting a hundred strokes. And they are mostly hard strokes. The female “executioner” starts off very strong — I remember thinking “If she goes on like that, she’ll make mincemeat of that poor girl before she gets to 100.” She eventually calms down a bit, but not before our blonde sergeant is gasping and shaking and crying.

The best part of the movie is its focus on the face of the girl getting caned. She’s no actress, and her reactions made it clear that she felt every stroke most keenly.

However, folks who want marks won’t be disappointed. The executioner is all over the place with that cane, from low on the thighs to the middle of victim’s back. A few bright red welts appear right away and by about the middle of the caning, her bottom and thighs are puffy and swollen from slightly-less-severe raised (but not too red) welts.

There were also a few pauses for a female “doctor” to examine the girl being caned. This doctor’s contribution to the movie: She did not appear to be wearing any pants or panties (or anything else) under her white doctor coat.

All in all, I was very entertained by the whole thing. Bethie also liked it, although she kept exclaiming in sympathy and putting her hands over her face (and then peeking through the fingers). A simple film, but with authentic caning and nice posing.

Thanks again to the folks from Mood Pictures for the review copy.

When I was twelve or thirteen, one of those pulpy trash “Girl Gang” novels fell into my hands. You know the type, with lurid covers promising sex that’s not actually in the book, plus a tall tale about implausible juvenile delinquent girls doing all manner of non-sexual criminality. I remember quite vividly a scene in which a girl was (as the kids put it these days) “jumped in” to the gang by being viciously whipped with a wet leather belt. Several girls pulled her clothes off and held her down while the gang leader soaked her belt in a bucket of water, and then beat her quite a lot.

Of course I haven’t thought of that book in a couple of decades, until this police blotter entry came to my attention:

Two 16-year-old Urbana boys were arrested on charges of aggravated battery and mob action midday Monday. According to an Urbana police report, the two boys beat a 14-year-old girl with a belt, while a 17-year-old Urbana boy spanked a 15-year-old Urbana girl in Carle Park.

Mob action? Sounds like copspeak for gang activity in a jurisdiction that hasn’t updated its lingo since Prohibition. But it’s a rare thing to hear about a spanking incident, consensual or not, involving nobody but teens. I wonder what the full story is?

The story is sourced to the February 21/2001 Daily Illini in Champaign, IL. (I’m not, however, including a link to the site where Google turned up the reference. The reference comes from the archives of one of those virulent anti-spanking outfits, and they’d doubtless get all up in arms about “perpetuating the cycle of violence” or some such nonsense if they started getting hits from a site that fails to condemn adult spankings for pleasure.)

I found that rare creature, a decent spanking poem. Since it’s impossible to fairly excerpt a short poem, I’ll just link to it: Spankings I’ve Known by Laurel Ann Bogen.

OK, this isn’t a spanking picture. So sue me. Or use your imagination already:

I do love those naughty old French postcards. This one is from Bondage Blog.

See Also:

• Serving Girls Chained And Caned
• A Rough Time At The Whipping Post
• Pretty Girls And The Birch
• The Contrary Slave Girl: A Nursery Rhyme
• A Well-Switched Slave Girl

Mistress Matisse has some strong opinions about kinky words. Some I agree with, some I don’t:

And another thing: a “sub” is either an underwater boat or a sandwich. Using the word “sub” – as either a noun or a verb – to refer to either a person or activity in BDSM is extremely gauche. And I really feel that there is no punishment too strong for people who say or write “subbie” as a pseudo-cutesy way of saying “submissive”.

Hey, lady, BDSM is a pretty big tent. Over here in the spanking corner, “sub” makes a pretty good shorthand word for a person who is submissive. It’s not just a lazy shorthand, because has useful and distinctive connotations of informality (and possibly a lesser degree of submission) than the full “submissive.” Gauche? Maybe in Seattle, but I don’t go there much, so I can live with that.

As for “subbie”, it’s not “pseudo-cutesy” so much as it is actually cute (like many of the subbies it gets applied to) and usefully diminutive. I can see why a dominant woman might not get a warm fuzzy about a diminutive that’s most frequently applied to women, but on the other hand all the subbies I know are submissive and enjoy the affectionate connotations of the word.

Now to shift gears to the lesson that made me stand up and cheer:

One last word rant: Dom-i-nant is a noun. If you are a person who likes to be in control, you’re a d-o-m-i-n-a-n-t. When you are playing with your partner, you dom-i-nate them. That’s a verb. As you can see, they’re spelled differently, and that’s because they’re two different fucking words. If I see one more personal ad or profile saying “I’m a dominate Master..” I’m going to give someone an enema with a pureed Webster’s dictionary.

Preach it, sister! Only, why puree the thing? Just cube it into neat half-inch cubes. I’m sure if we put our heads together we could find one of those huge old antique brass clysters with a big enough cold brass nozzle to get the job done. And that way, the lesson will be more memorable to the miscreant.

I’ll give the Mistress the last word:

Language is a beautiful thing. Words are very important. So don’t fuck with them or the Mistress will kick your ass.

I mean no disrespect to anyone’s choice of lifestyle when I say that an awful lot of spankos and lifestyle people seem to take their D/s very seriously. That’s fine for them, but what I treasure as much as anything is the laughter. Baltazar’s anecdote is closer to the way things work around here:

I did take her new wooden handled hairbrush to her backside first thing this morning because she was being a little bratty in a burst of having some energy. It’s a VERY effective little brush – turned her backside nicely red in short order, so I continued applying it with rapid “whacks” until she’d had enough. Well, she was laughing in between yelps of “ow, stoppit you swine!”, so what’s a guy to do? It can’t be that sore if she’s giggling her head off…

Of course, the other clue that she hasn’t had enough is that she’s still calling you a swine and telling you to stop instead of asking….

The 5.19.04 post on The Collar Purple puts me in mind of my morning today. Apparently there’s something in the spring air that makes the women-folk need some firm physical reassurance.

Bethie woke up this morning with enough time before work for a snuggle on the bed. I was already up and awake, but I cheerfully jumped on the bed and we were snuggling and planning the weekend. But somehow, she was just in a contrary mood. All in the most light-hearted way, she kept managing to contradict me for no good reason and brat me in other minor ways. Finally it came down to my smiling “Gee, you’re being difficult this morning” and her sassy “No I’m not!” with the invisible tounge-stuck-out-at-me. You know the one, where you can’t see it but you know she’s thinking it.

So I gave her a few hand swats and told her I’d deal with her this weekend, watching her reaction closely. There was time to give her a good spanking, but really, only just enough time — no extra. She seemed happy for me to let it slide, so I let it slide.

Someday, I’ll learn better.

Fast forward: She comes out of the bathroom all warm and moist and wrapped in a soggy towel. Me, in helpful mode: “Do you want me to give you a few nice red ovals with the bath brush to help you remember me at work today?” That got me some nice distracting kisses during which she artfully managed to drop her towel.
And it got her a few friendly slaps on her newly bared bottom, which she didn’t even pretend to mind. But I was not so distracted that I could not manage a teasing reminder. “You know you will still have to pay for being difficult this morning.” Mock outrage from her: “I wasn’t difficult!”

Ok, boys, it’s like this. They hate to ask, but after they swing the clue-by-four enough times, you really are supposed to step up to the plate and deliver the desired goods. So I bent her over the corner of the bed. “Don’t move!” And stepped into the bathroom to grab the pretty decorative bath brush that hangs on the wall in there — the one with the pretty bumble bee “stinger” artwork on it.

Came back, she’s still there. Two measured swings gave her a nice bright red oval on each cheek. She yipes and grabs. So very cute. It’s really quite impressive, the mark a well-swung bath brush makes on a bottom that’s still damp from the shower, skin still warm from the hot water and all the pores open.

I let her stand up, still clutching herself. Me: “That’s what happens when you get difficult.” Her: “I’m not being difficult!”

Sigh. Sometimes I’m just too easy to get along with. Bend her over again, two more swats. This time I try to see just how fast that old bath brush will move. Then I keep her bent over, while I ask: “Were you being difficult?”

Pause, small voice: “I guess I was being a little bit difficult.”

Peace at last, brothers, peace at last. And off she went to work, happy as a clam.