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Here’s another one of those turn-of-the-century French salon postcards (perhaps from Biederer/Ostra?) with artfully posed nude models pretending to prepare for a birching:
Don’t you love the fierce expression on the lady with the birch?
Here’s a spectacular set of spanking photographs taken with a sound-activated camera to capture the moment of impact. Very interesting impact shots!
Thanks to the reader who sent the link!
Cecille’s new blog looks very promising. I love all these tales of submissives having fun, although one might wish there were more dominants writing about these sorts of scenes from their point of view. Is it just me, or are there WAY more female voices in the BDSM blogging scene than there are male ones? Anyway, here’s Cecille’s night with a friend:
“You look good with my cum on you. You did well in waiting for me like a good little slut. You even kept your bra on like I prefer. But you made a mistake didn’t you?”
I nodded and looked down.“Yes you did. Touching me without permission. Now you have to be punished. Over the chest.”
I laid over the big chest at the foot of his bed, my tits hanging over one end, my ass and pussy over the over.
I felt his hand undo my bra and let him take it off me. Now I knew part of the punishment would be on my tits. He walked in front of me and put two tight, sharp clamps on my nipples. He pulled wires attached to the clips, and tied them to hooks on the edge of the chest. He pulled them tight, stretching my tis to their limit.
A few minutes later I felt cold gel being spread on my asshole. He worked a finger in my ass, and quickly replaced it with a large butt plug.
Suddenly the whipping began. When I jumped, I pulled on the clamp biting on my tits. The whipping came down fast and hard. I tried hard not to cry out, but between the blows on my ass and my tits being pulled, I let out a few screams. Some of the lashings landed on the butt plug, sending shocks through my ass. My pussy was soaked even though it hadn’t been touched. After a few minutes my mind was lost in a mix of pleasure and pain….
A dungeon whipping machine, possibly art by Bill Ward:
Here’s a very harsh story of a special women’s prison. Two inmates are punished for a lesbian dalliance, one with an extremely severe caning and the other by a brutal birching. An excerpt:
She straightened and hopped up and down on the training room
floor, her hands covering her bottom. It was an involuntary
act. She knew there was no way that she would be let off the
rest of her punishment, but she just couldn’t stay in place
any more as the already unbearable pain in her rear continued
to get worse and worse.Angrily the sergeant grabbed her hands and forced her back
down over the desk. He called one of the male warders to hold
her down and looked towards Mrs Chambers for directions. “Two
penalty strokes, officer,” she ordered.Sergeant Marlowe removed his uniform jacket and rolled his
right shirt sleeve up to his elbow. Then he took the cane
from Sharon and told her to stand back. He spat on his hands
and laid on the two hardest strokes Melissa had received that
day, aiming them expertly to land one on top of the other just
above the girl’s thighs. The effect on Melissa was
devastating. Her screams were heartbreaking and the warder
needed all his strength to hold her in place. The sergeant
handed the cane back to Sharon with another bow.
From “Norton Parva“.
Here’s a fellow whose writing style seems informed by a few too many John Norman books, but he manages a wry humor that was never seen on Gor:
We wound through several corridors to a small room in the far side of the palace. There, as I had requested, the twins awaited me. My escort apologized for the small size and lack of comforts in the room, but allowed it was the only one with the pillar I had requested.
It was of no moment to me. The pillar in question was admirably decorated at the moment, and other comforts were not required. Surrounding the stone support were the naked bodies of Roxanne and Ariadne.
Their tied hands were raised overhead, and since no hook could be let into the stone, held there by the simple expedient of a rope from one pair of wrists, over a ceiling beam, to the other pair. Around their waists, in a clever addition to the Khitan procedure, was a wide leather belt, holding them both closely to the pillar, and making even more pronounced the thrust of their buttocks where the pillow fit under their bellies.…
At my explorations, their complaints had been redoubled. They insisted that their father would avenge them horribly if I did not immediately release them and apologize abjectly for my abuses. There was only one answer for that, and I retrieved the quirt. The one who could see this raised an indignant and somewhat nervous objection, and the other, catching the tone of the complaint, added her voice. Ignoring them, I stepped up to the pillar and lashed the closest girl a hand of times across her inviting buttocks. She had screamed and struggled mightily, but was quite helpless to avoid my effort.
The second girl was rightly apprehensive when I walked around the pillar, and when her bottom also felt the lash, she added to the choir of pained response.
It required four hands apiece before the twins were quelled into sobbing quiet. Both bottoms were well decorated with angry weals, and squirming enthusiastically over the rising agony.
Into this quieter atmosphere, I began to interject some wisdom about the new state of affairs.
…
For the moment, I should perhaps add that their immediate choice was between my organ up their rump or four hands of vigorous strokes with the quirt. The one who promised most sincerely to please me would receive the first, while the other would have the second.
Again, they protested, but not so loudly.
I suggested that perhaps they were unfamiliar with the sensations between which they were required to choose. To rectify this, I approached one girl and intruded into her bowel with the long middle finger of my left hand. At the same time, I lashed the quirt across her upper thighs a hand of times.
Changing to the other twin, I repeated the procedure. Both girls were crying then, as much with indignation over their helplessness as with distress over the rising pain.
I asked then for a volunteer, and receiving none, resumed their chastisement, walking around the pillar and lashing indiscriminately at their identical bottoms….
And so forth, at entertaining length. If nothing else, this fellow amuses me by being almost as verbose as I am.
From “The Parthian Twins” by Hawkwood.
Here’s a fun story that starts out with two teenaged girls getting thoroughly paddled for poor academic performance. And then their father determines that it’s time to settle accounts with their tutor, who had promised him better results:
“Mr. Gentry, I’m really sorry about these grades,” Paula finally blurted out. “I’m sure with a little hard work we can bring them up by the end of the semester. It won’t happen again.”
“I’m sure it won’t,” the man said as he moved back to the chair behind the desk. “I’ve made sure of that with two-thirds of the parties involved and I’m just about ready to show the third party.”
“Oh Mr. Gentry, you can’t be serious,” Paula stammered out as a forced smile tried to mask her woes. “You really can’t be serious about that little wager we had for fun.”
“I’m perfectly serious,” the man said calmly. “Even if we didn’t have the wager, I would be looking for some kind of punishment for the teacher. This will just be a good opportunity to teach you that there is more than one way to get a message across to young minds.”
…
“Since you say that you have never been spanked before, I won’t use the paddle for this first time,” the man said as he made eye contact with the tutor. “Still, don’t think you are getting off easily. I plan to touch that seat of yours up pretty good before we go talk to my daughters about you punishing them with the paddle from now on.”
From “A Teacher Learns A Lesson” by Mike Burke.