Spanking Blog: Adult Erotic Spanking At Its Best

Here’s a spanking story that reads like it was written by a fan of the Marquis de Sade. Not in the specifics so much, but in the fascination for large round numbers and mass spectacles. For the Marquis, one woman wasn’t good literature. Every scene need six prostitutes, eight schoolgirls, fourteen carefully planned humiliations, sixty round strokes with the bundle of seven rods. You get the idea.

This story is like that. A school caning goes badly wrong, and the lawyers get involved, and before you know it half the school is lined up in the auditorium getting caned by the other half, forty rousing strokes each. Wow, the sheer effort of it all!

Mrs. Wicker pulled out a list from her pocket. Mrs. Sinclair had typed it up last night. On it were the names of all involved arranged in an alphabetical order. Mrs. Wicker felt a pang of sorrow for poor Mrs. Sinclair. Her name was fifth from the bottom, so that meant that she would have to stand with hands on head through four canings with her blistered bottom on display to the entire assembly. Mrs. Wicker began as Mrs. Sinclair had dictated. She lectured for twenty long minutes on the importance of honesty in both school and out in the “real world.” She then read off the entire list of names and announced the sentences for each person. All throughout the speech and the calling out, the twelve prefects and the three older women had to stand still with their hands on their heads and display their naked and unpunished bottoms to the entire assembly.

Mrs. Wicker than began the punishments. Three prefects were called before Mrs. Wicker read off the name, Jessica Fielding. The three previous girls were still hopping from one foot to the next in a vain attempt to cool their chastised bare bottoms. Mrs. Wicker took the phrase, “applied without mercy,” to heart. She had delivered vicious strokes to the bared bums of the prefects. Even with only twelve strokes, there were weals that had broken open and were bleeding slightly. Since the girls had to keep their hands on their heads, there was no opportunity to soothe their fiery backsides. That was, of course, the point of remaining in that position. All of them had been sternly warned by Mrs. Wicker that if their hands left the tops of their heads, they would be forced back into position and given their original sentence all over again.

Mrs. Fielding fared much worse than the prefects. The cane was applied with even more force. Mrs. Wicker actually stepped back after every strike so she could step into the next stroke and deliver much more force to the blow. It was obvious by this time to the assembly that classes for the entire day would be canceled because of both the large number being caned and because of the fifteen second wait between each stroke of the cane. It was certainly going to take most of the day to deliver all of the canings.

When Mrs. Wicker applied the fortieth and final stroke to Mrs. Fielding, she had the enormous satisfaction of seeing the bawling woman jump up and down for two minutes before she had calmed sufficiently to take her place in the line of shame….

From A Fair and Just Response by Anne.

See Also:

• Two Canings And A Cropping
• Assume The Position!
• Punished Girls Holding Canes
• Caning Of British Military Women
• Three Bad Girls

Here’s a cute little story about a couple of fairies (the miniature kind, with wings) who have a minor unresolved interpersonal issue. It’s too short to excerpt, so just go read it: “Buttercup” by Dice.

Here’s a sobering reminder of the fact that the memes we play with in the BDSM world are vestigial artifacts of a brutal era when whips and bondage had no connection to anything safe, sane, and consensual:

Caption reads: “Flagellation of a Female Samboe Slave”.

As a news story this is old, but the linked article is told in humorous fashion. It seems this lawyer had a penchant for spanking his clients….

OK, so after posting yesterday about the joys of a fun quality spanking story where the participants held each other in high regard, now I’m posting an excerpt from a spanking story where the spanking is disciplinary, institutional, and motivated pretty much by plain old meanness leavened with religious zealotry. But if you like descriptions of very harsh spankings, you’ll love this:

[Excerpt removed by request of the author.]

From “The Valley Reform School For Girls” by Barrister.

Here’s an essay arguing that the happy symmetry between hand and bottom is proof of the existence of God:

Admit it or not, we all would like to find some evidence of the existence of a caring deity, a God force in our world.

…

Proof, you say. You need more proof. But that is so easy. Look at the shape of the human hand, how the palm effortlessly forms a gentle curve. Hold your hand board flat and stiff, and it is a strain; the whole hand soon starts to shake. But allow it to form to that natural curve of someone’s butt, and immediately all is right once again in the universe.

In sum, the hand was meant for spanking, just as the butt was meant to be spanked. The circle is closed, all is as it should be. The universe is good. Drop your pants and bend over.

Perhaps not philosophically rigorous, but I’m not inclined to argue.

Although I link to a lot of spanking stories, I think this one is “a cut above” (heh) most. Why? Because it has characters with appealing personalities, those characters actually seem to care about each other, the spankings have more-or-less reasonable reasons, and yet when it’s time for a spanking, the job gets done with all due vigor. This excerpt is from Ailsa Learns To Drive, author unknown.

We had barely completed our tale of woe when the telephone rang. Uncle Hugh answered it out in the front hall. He returned five minutes later with a broad grin on his face.

“That was Constable Hawkins,” he announced. “I had to assure him that two young ladies would find sitting uncomfortable for the rest of the day. Particularly the one with the dark hair.”

“Ailsa can’t sit down in comfort as it is,” said the irrepressible Janet. “It was all my fault. I told Ailsa that I couldn’t drive because I had twisted my ankle. So I suggest you cane me just the way you did Ailsa the other day. But you mustn’t beat Ailsa again. She’s far too sore already!”

Uncle Hugh considered this proposal. Then he chuckled.

“Alright, Janet, I’ll fix you up with six of the best if that’s the way you really want it,” he said. “But Ailsa was a party to these misdeeds and Constable Hawkins won’t be happy if she escapes completely. I doubt if I could lay a fresh set of stripes between the present ones, but six with a hairbrush should make sitting distinctly uncomfortable. Meet me in the library at two o’clock.”

…

Uncle Hugh touched the crown of Janet’s bottom with the cane, and I saw her knuckles turn white as she tightened her hold on the handgrips. Then he swung the cane over his right shoulder and brought it down hard and fast. My own bottom clenched involuntarily.

“Whirrr!” “Swick!” “Aooooh!” “Aoooh!” Completely unprepared by any prior experience, Janet screamed and gasped in response to the fiery stinging pain that flooded through her rump. Her head and legs swung up wildly, her buttocks clenched tight in agony. But she clung fiercely to the handgrips and gradually relaxed with her bottom still quivering. I watched in horror as the initially white stripe turned to a flaming red along its edges.

Uncle Hugh raised that dreadful cane again.

“Whirrr!” “Swick!” “Aoouuuh!” Janet’s response was part gasp and part suppressed scream, but her legs only kicked slightly. I saw the second stripe, an inch below the first, change to a matching fiery red. Janet crossed her legs at the ankles as she anticipated the next stroke.

“Whirrr!” “Swick!” “Aoouuuh!” “Whirrr!” “Swick!” “Aoouuuh!”

The next two strokes, delivered at intervals of twenty seconds, brought strangled screams and spasmodically clenching buttocks. I added a churning stomach and trembling limbs to my earlier sympathetic reactions.

Uncle Hugh swung the cane back for the fifth stroke and brought it down really hard and fast to land low down near the crease in Janet’s bottom.

“Whiirrrr!” “Swiiick!” “Aaaooooh!” Janet screamed in agony. Her legs kicked high and her right hand swooped back to briefly claw hard at the fiery pain in her rear. Then she gasped and resumed her clutch on the handgrips, sobbing quietly and continuously. I cringed internally. Watching seemed almost worse than actually being caned.

“Last one!” said Uncle Hugh sweeping the cane up once more.

“Whiirrrr!” “Swiiick!” “Aaaoooooh!” “Ooh! Ooh! Ooh! Ooh!” The cane had landed just below the last stroke, right on the most sensitive skin near the crease. Janet’s full-throated scream gave way to loud sobs of sheer agony. Her legs came up, her head and shoulders rose until her body formed an arch resting on her stomach. She pressed both hands hard against her bottom as if she were trying to squeeze it out of existence.

Uncle Hugh waited until this paroxysm subsided. Then he gently helped Janet down from her perch, supporting her in his arms. She continued to clutch desperately at her rump, shifting her weight from foot to foot, and scrubbing her belly hard against Uncle Hugh’s thighs. I felt a brief stab of jealousy when I remembered his reaction when I performed a similar dance.

Uncle Hugh dried Janet’s tears and kissed her firmly. Then he turned her round and sent her back to me. Janet returned in a crouching stumble, hands still clutching her well-caned bottom. The former gay skirt-swinging young lady was entirely missing at that moment. I folded my arms around her in sympathy and comfort.

See Also:

• The Spanking Breakfast
• Spanking Paris Hilton's Ass
• Religious School Canings
• Brutal Judicial Caning
• A Nice Friendly Switching