Spanking Blog: Adult Erotic Spanking At Its Best

Michelle talks about her morning spanking:

This morning, before work, I was running around the house searching for my shoe when Mike reminded me that it was time for my morning spanking. We do it each morning, more often than not, and it’s gotten to be, I guess, sort of a routine. When we started we said it would be 10 swats. We very rarely stop there though, and I will ask for more if he does for some reason stop at 10.

It’s usually done in the bedroom, before we even get out of bed, but this morning we’d woken late and were preoccupied. I bent over in the living room, over the arm of the couch. He swatted me once, with his hand. Twice. I started feeling the familiar tingly warmth, the centering of my thoughts. Then: oh holy God! Suddenly I was smacked very hard with SOMETHING that was NOT his hand. I jumped up and yelled “What the hell was that?!” I turned to look at him and he was standing there, smirking, with my hairbrush in his hand. “Bend back over, sweetie”, he said. “NO WAY!” I hollered, and ran into the bathroom, locking the door behind me. Once I was safe in there, I did a little dance where I held onto my bum and kind of spun in circles, feeling the pain. What in the world was he thinking??? Mike was on the other side of the door, laughing and entreating me to come out: “Get out here, woman!” “NO! YOU GO AWAY!” “Fine then.” I heard him walk away, and when I emerged he was sitting, sulking, on the sofa (yep, alliteration. Can’t beat it). Okay, he wasn’t sulking, he was getting ready for work. I’m trying to make him look bad here.

I felt badly. I mean, I’ve taken the cane, I’ve taken the belt and the flogger. What was going on with this? Why was it so hard to take a spanking with a hairbrush? I kissed him, apologized, and bent back over, promising I wouldn’t get up until we were finished. I even told him that I would take at least 30 swats with it, even though it hurt me.

He gave me ten, and sent me to work (he’d found my shoe while I was in the washroom), promising that I’d get the rest when I got home.

Usually, by the time I’ve finished my commute into work, the morning spanking is nothing but a pleasant memory. Today I had tangible proof of my spanking for most of the morning, in the form of a very warm, red bum and a couple of little raised welts. I tell you, the meeting I had to sit through was interminable, and only by imagining sitting on nice, cool icebergs did I make it through without jumping up and sitting in the fridge.

And when she got home, they broke a couch….

Belle De Jour got some fancy new sofa cushion covers. Plus a bonus:

The new covers were brought up just after lunch along with detailed instructions on how to put them on and a tool to aid in application.

This tool, it must be said, looks exactly like a paddle.

A very class paddle indeed. Of the same glowing hardwood as the frame of the sofa itself, with a smooth rounded handle mimicking the turned legs of the furniture. A tapering, broad, flat side, apparently for stuffing the cushions in their new skins.

But it doesn’t look anything like an upholstery aid to me. It is, quite frankly, a well-made and extremely horny paddle. It has a leather thong threaded through the handle, for goodness’ sake. And it matches the furniture.

I looked at the paddle, then at the deliveryman. “Do you want this returned when I’m done?”

“What? No, just keep it or chuck it away. We don’t need it back.”

“Thank you.” A more welcome and unexpected gift I haven’t had in ages. It’s as if Valentine’s Day has come early.

I forgot to mention. A little while ago Vikki wrote: “I’ve finally received the spanking that was so long overdue.”

Couldn’t happen to a more deserving girl!

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Update, many years later. Since her blog is now gone, here’s the whole delightful post, rescued via the Internet Archives:

I’m a naughty, naughty girl.

But I’ve finally received the spanking that was so long overdue. It hasn’t whipped me into obedience, quite yet – but I will say that oh, how I have missed the feel of a big, strong hand connecting with my tender bottom.

The boy knows how to spank. Damn. Shudder.

Perhaps, with due diligence and earnest application of discipline, I will in time become more obedient.

Or not. ;)

Here’s a publicity still of W.C. Fields spanking Gracie Allen with his cane. I don’t know what movie this is from, but it looks entertaining!

Update: Vanilla Spanking resolves a slow dispute in my comments: this is from International House. In a larger version of the photo, you can even see the hand-written label:

So Amber from DDWife got herself spanked yesterday. Twice. For running herself down – and I’m here to tell you, that’s a righteous beef her husband has about that. Nobody ever felt better for repeating a litany of their own perceived faults. And it’s not fun to hear, either. Best nipped (sharply!) in the bud, as it were.

The other amusing part of her tale? Her pang at realizing “that I hadn’t even given Dan his annual Super Bowl Blowjob. My yearly ‘Up Yours’ to all the wives I’ve known who can be so gawd-awful about their men watching the game.”

I’m no sports fan, but that’s stylish!

It’s been awhile since I pointed to any stories here. But I just stumbled across a long story called The Black Pearl of Pharazion by Cobalt Jade. I haven’t read the whole thing, but when I dipped into Chapter 7: The Making of a Slave I found it entertaining:

Shezrine tugged sharply on the leash. Marnessa was forced to squirm after her like a caterpillar, moving at the slowest of paces because of how she had been bound. Shezrine continued to whip her as she struggled. Not raw, for one did not risk scarring one’s pleasure slaves, but the welts were large and very red.

I squirmed in my seat. Yes, I was very wet, the demonstration stimulating me against my better judgment. I prayed J’Wabra would not sense my agitation, but he was in a world of his own. What did a eunuch think of such things?

Marnessa’s pace picked up under the whip. Her expression slackened, the fearful tears giving way to a frantic desire to obey, the phallus no doubt contributing a degrading pleasure as she crawled.

Shezrine let her rest in the middle of the floor. Her strapped buttocks bulged, now red and smartly welted. They were so deeply cleft by the leather straps they looked like a pair of ripe, rosy apricots. She moaned, in relief, I thought.

“That’s it. Moan louder.” Shezrine snapped her whip. It hit the floor only inches beyond Marnessa’s shaved head. She moaned louder. “Good. Let me know with the sound how much you suffer, how much you deserve it, how much you enjoy it. You do enjoy it, don’t you?” Another crack. “Look at you, crawling on the floor like an animal, every inch of you exposed.”

Gary Switch, observing the recent report of my novice caning experiments, very kindly sent along a link to his excellent caning how-to article: “The Rod of Rods“.

I was particularly entertained by the way in which he updated the traditional advice that one practice one’s caning technique by caning a pillow. He recommends using: a teddy bear. Bethie has lots of teddy bears. And the fun thing? I’m not sure she could stand to watch me cane one. I wonder what she’ll offer up as a substitute?

I also liked Gary’s poetic explanation of the point of it all:

Spanking is a thud. Caning is sting and burn, a sharply focused sensation, a compelling excursion into the entertainment potential of your central nervous system. It’s ecstasy for endorphin junkies, heaven for heavy players, paradise for bottoms who’ve learned to process pain into pleasure. Pain is when I stub my toe. Pleasure is when I’m tingling in anticipation of the next stroke. Caning can be severe or sensuous, decadent or decorous, spontaneous or scripted. Incorporating a single implement into your play can add oodles of atmosphere.

Thanks, Gary!