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From the way this old Bob Bishop illustration is posed, it’s a little hard to say what this poor girl has in store for her. Obviously the cane – but is he going for the helpless soles of her feet, or the more traditional (not to mention well-displayed) target?
I’m guessing this is the full meal deal slavegirl fantasy: bastinado in a tropical dungeon, followed by much limping about and eagerness-to-please.
Thanks to Bondage Blog for the artwork.
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Here’s an excerpt from a fun little spanking story that’s also got some stern lecturing in it, for those of you who enjoy that sort of thing:
The Duke spanked her with his hand until she was sobbing aloud, and then seized a leather strap, both wider and thicker than his belt. Its blazing kiss across her reddened buttocks made her sing her agony loudly into the covers of the bed, grateful to be able to muffle her cries somewhat.
The strap fell again and again on her defenseless bottom, its impact loud in her ears, the pain of each stroke like a burning brand to her flesh. The Duke strapped her long and very soundly, while she sobbed and cried and screamed and wailed in despair. She was breathless with sobbing, disbelieving how much her bottom hurt, her thighs quivering with strain.
And then he punished her thighs too! She shrieked at this horrible new sensation, begging desperately in her mind for it to stop. But she did not beg aloud. She had asked for this with her own words, and she would not ask for its ending. She held her position over the foot of the bed valiantly, though her body trembles and she could not help the way her hips wriggled as if to ward off the blows, and her feet stamped the floor a little as though to try to shake of the burning pain.
The strap paused in its ministrations until the Duke spread her legs a bit further, and then Felicity let out a bloodcurdling shriek as she felt its stinging kiss on her sex. The strap smacked the pouting lips of her vagina over and over, not as hard as it had struck her buttocks and thighs,but hard enough so that it stung terribly, and she longed to close her legs.
From the story Felicity by Heather.
Here’s another one of those spanking publicity photos from the old movies. The actress is Rita Moreno, from the 1956 Paramount film “The Vagabond King.”
How come nobody makes movies like this these days?
I’m starting to think this spanking blog idea of mine doesn’t suck. The more new ones spring up, the better I like it. A big welcome please to No Longer Mine. Danevah has some hot spanking experiences to share:
“Now all you have to do,” He growled, almost gently, “is maintain form. Be a good girl.”
I like — no, I am more comfortable with — slow, gradual warm-ups. Jack likes to keep my off balance and deep in subspace by starting hard and fast, bringing me to the verge of tears then slowing, taking his time once I’m already sore and ready to beg. He brought the crop down again and again across my ass and thighs, making me yelp and buck. He had covered my ass with red triangular welts by the time tears welled up and I choked out a ‘please.’
He paused, rubbed his hands gently over my sore flesh, kissed my back. He told me to crawl forward on the bed, so I was kneeling on all fours. He brought down the crop again, this time with stroked still sharp but a little less forceful, and little more sensual, paying particular attention to my inner thighs and the most sensitive spot on my bottom, the crease where I sit. I was sobbing, tears dripping into my hair, but also getting more wet than I thought possible.
Here’s a parody of a cartoon strip that was never this interesting:
No, this has nothing to do with the last post. Here’s a kinky porn shoot featuring clothespins, cute girls, and red spanked bottoms. Enjoy!
So I’m on the phone tonight with the new light of my life and we’re sharing our frustration at how long it’s going to be until we can get together. And you all know that a frustrated brat is trouble looking for a paddle. What’s a man to do, when she’s out of reach?
I don’t know what you would do, but I’m keeping a book. With dates and times and descriptions of her impertinences, each accompanied by a (usually low) number of strokes to be applied for same. (Strokes with what, you may ask? You may. She certainly has. I’m not telling. Women love a little mystery, especially in connection with the fate of their lovely bottoms.)
There will come a day (or days, at the rate she’s going) of reckoning. And she knows it. So when I tell her I’m writing another entry in the book, she wheedles and argues and attempts to bargain, most entertainingly.
Tonight was especially fun.
She’d been playing with a clothespin as we talked, bending the spring in an attempt to reduce its grip, and teasing me by giving little yelps from time to time to express her unhappiness with test applications to various soft parts of herself. I was teasing her right back, about the brevity of these tests. After a bit of this I convinced her to put the clothespin on her nipple while I counted the seconds. She managed fourteen seconds, and almost as many extremely cute whimpers, before she took it off.
So then a little later I said something outrageous and she playfully blew a raspberry into the phone. This is a common impertinence of hers with an established two-stroke penalty. Of which fact I reminded her.
She starts to bargain. I stand firm. Discipline must be kept in the tent, and all that. Finally she goes “Will you not write it down if I put the clothespin on my nipple for a minute?” From her lack of emphasis on the word “minute”, it’s clear she means “a small unit of time” but I run with it. “A whole minute? OK, but if you take it off sooner, it doesn’t count and I write it down.”
There follows a period of cuteness and backtalk, but she’s a brave and honest girl who does what she says she’ll do. During the minute, she made the most entertaining noises, which only got more heartfelt after the minute was up and the clothespin came off and the blood started rushing back.
Funny thing, though – she didn’t blow any more raspberries after that.
