Spanking Blog: Adult Erotic Spanking At Its Best

Here’s a classic tale of schoolgirl punishment:

The crack of the cane — right on top of the previous line. Again, she straightened, up, dancing round the room, trying to calm the burning weals.

“You are not helping yourself, Beth. You are still on three strokes, and I fully intend to keep you here until you have had all eight. Now stop wasting my time, and get over the chair.”

The tears were running down her face as she leant forward again.

“Hands down the chair legs. Thank you.”

She could feel Jenkins close behind her this time: the cane gently rested across her buttocks. He drew it back, high into the air, then cracked it down again. Beth clutched the chair with all her strength, desperate not to stand up as the red hot pain swelled across her behind.

“Four sir.”

From Girls Get The Cane Too by Abel Jenkins.

See Also:

• Schoolgirl, Cane, Pussy
• Three Caned Pussies
• Bribing Her Way Out Of A Caning?
• Spanking And Sex For A Cheating Schoolgirl
• Schoolgirl Punishments

Delia Day, a self-described sex slave who most assuredly does participate in some painful stuff, has this to say about spanking:

I don’t get spanked when I’m bad. I’m never bad. I’m obsessively driven to be perfect, and I assure you I can beat and berate myself in my head for any perceived failing ten thousand times worse than anyone could do with a crop to me. This is not a fantasy scenario to me. It’s not kinky play. I suspect for most people it is mostly kinky play, entertained to various degrees for various lengths of time, and that’s fine. That’s individual. However, if i had to pick an acronym to tattoo on my head, it would be M/s, and not any of the other choices. I serve. I don’t play. That’s me. I’m June Cleaver with a brand on my ass.

She also has this to say about male dominance, which is apropos to some of the previous posts here about D/s issues and lifestyles:

Pay attention guys. It is a tantamount fallacy to think that there are any significant differences between those that fuck kinky and those that simply haven’t realized their potential for kinky fucking, yet. I’m not special, you’re not special. We’re just people. People for all their many differences are also all mostly the same, too. All women think it’s a turn off to be a pompous jackass proclaiming one’s own importance and entitlement to be blindly respected and obeyed by virtue of their self said importance in the galactic scheme of things, for example. All women think it’s a turn on to be casually confident and charmingly witty, for example.

We both know you long for power, control, and fellatio. That’s OK. I think it’s an admirable goal to be perused with vim and vigor. If you are going to succeed at that, you already have, or you need to listen when I tell you to forget all the silly “submission is a gift” shit. It’s a spoil of war. It’s plunder and booty. You have to fight hard. You will be wounded and bleed. It’ll hurt.

My friends, she said it herself: this woman is not here to play.

Here’s a cute spanking panel from an old Teen Comics (#25):

See Also:

• Veronica Spanking Betty
• Batman Gives A Spanking
• Spanked By Superman's Robot
• Lois Lane's Robot Spanking
• Betty Getting Spanked

AccordianGuy tells a long tale of the worst date ever, and yah it was pretty bad. But I was amused by this snippet of first-date conversation:

I suggested that we go next door to Taro Grill, where they placed us in a quiet, out-of-the-way booth. We ordered Amaretto Sours and started trading stories about ourselves. I told her about how I got kicked out of the Yamaha Organ School. In return, she told me about some strange game she and her friends played at the age of thirteen in boarding school: she was the Faerie Queene, but since she was a bad Faerie Queene, she had to submit to many spankings.

“Clearly all the porn flicks that take place in a boarding school have an element of truth to them,” I observed.

Me, I think I would have tried to draw out that bit of conversation, without using phrases that are candidates for “the list” of Fifty Words And Phrases Not To Use On A First Date. Who knows, the whole date might have taken a better turn!

Now here’s a fine piece of cheesy seventies splendor in the grass:

Sing it with me, people: “And that’s the way the teddy bears have their picnic!”

Over on the Spanking Classics story board, which I have linked to before and which has a variety of spanking forums on various topics, a post caught my eye. Seems a lady earned herself a well-deserved spanking with a plastic spoon, which was properly enjoyed by all. And then came bedtime:

When we finally got into bed he was smiling at me, and asked if I’d like him to rub in some cream, which I thought was nice of him, and so he did.

Only it wasn’t the arnica cream it was deep heat balsam rub!!! God that brings up the fire its like you can feel every smack individually! After two minutes I wanted to run to the bathroom to wash it off but I wasn’t allowed!

He put sleep pants on and spooned up to me (so it wouldn’t rub off on him, he got caught like that once before)and hung on so I couldn’t get out — I even tried the “I need to pee” routine and he said fine we’d both go but if I didn’t then maybe we needed to discuss honesty and I didn’t go there. I spent a very uncomfortable night believe me.

Is that evil, or what? “Dear, would you like me to rub some cream in to make it all better?”

Or, at least, that’s what the kinky French call it:

WHAT A GOOD SPANKING WON’T DO
Lavender ice cream only just made up for the bottom-pummelling that is a Cannes spa’s speciality

It was last weekend, as I lay naked and wincing while my bottom was being slapped rather hard by a French therapist, that I began to wonder if I was losing my grip on reality.

It had sounded like such a good idea at the time: not the bottom-slapping, which was a bit of a surprise, but the quick, pre-birthday trip to a new Givenchy spa in Cannes.

I’d been lured there by a friend, Ann, a spa aficionado who claims that the reason French women stay so thin and chic and elegant, despite eating large lunches and three-course dinners most days, is their regular bouts of detoxifying massage therapy.

“That’s why they never have to go to the gym,” she said. “French women don’t sweat, they simply glide about on Chanel high heels, possibly with a small dog in tow, but nothing more onerous than that. Don’t you see?”

And who was I to argue? Croissants, chocolate and no gym: it sounded fab. So off we went to the Hotel Martinez, an Art Deco palace owned by the Taittinger champagne dynasty – where all the stars stay during the Cannes Film Festival.

The food was indeed wonderful – and the spa was, well, where do I begin? The French are far stricter than the English when it comes to health and beauty therapy. Contrary to Ann’s accolades, “no pain, no gain” seems to be the philosophy, combined with a firm emphasis on drainage lymphatique, which sounds like a French plumbing company but is, in fact, their principle tenet of body detoxification/ mortification.

Hence the slapping – not just on the bottom, but around the thighs and stomach; though before the actual smacking commenced, I had to lie on a waterbed, jiggled by jets from beneath (quite nice, actually), followed by the initial lymphatic drainage massage. This was less fierce than the full-blown slapping (more of a sort of pummelling), but vital, according to my Givenchy information brochure, because it “provokes cellular regeneration throughout the body and helps to eliminate toxins, while acting favourably against cellulite, various edemata and the feeling of heaviness in the legs”.

Call me a skeptic, but I think it’s just a fancy excuse to run a kinkster spa. Why not just open up a Russian banya and start flailing away with the birches while you are at it?