Spanking Blog: Adult Erotic Spanking At Its Best

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

Such rosy glowing cheeks!

Now that I’ve commented repeatedly on this genre of how-to essays, I keep stumbling across more of them. Here’s an excerpt from “Telling Him: Broaching the Subject of Domestic Discipline to Your Partner” by Vicki Blue:

If you can talk to him, tell him that you have a deep, unmet need for limits and guidelines. Tell him that you feel secure living under the rules of loving authority. Reassure him that you aren’t looking for a daddy but more of a mentor figure who will shepherd you within a loving framework.

Give him time to absorb this. Remember that in our politically correct culture, a male-dominated home may seem almost like an alien concept. In the initial conversation you may not even want to bring up the subject of rules or consequences. Just let him know about your needs. Answer any questions he has as honestly as you can.

If he does understand and – best case scenario – this appeals to him then you will want to start brainstorming together about a possible rules and consequences. At this point you could bring up spanking. He may embrace the idea or he may really shy away from it because men are told they shouldn’t hit women. It’s a good idea at this point to let him in on what you already know, which is that quite a few principled men and women are living in arrangements where spanking and other consequences are used quite effectively. Again, give him time to absorb what you have said….

The rest of Vicki Blue’s website is also well worth checking out.

Although I don’t use a lot of female-dominant themes here on Spanking Blog, this 1920s femdom art by Montorgueil is just too much fun not to share. The following image comes from this gallery I found on the Spank Slaves Spanking TGP:

Brutal stuff to be sure, but “evidence” of the gentlemens’ pleasure is readily visible, so you can’t say they aren’t enjoying themselves. Nice stuff if you like this sort of thing.

Here’s an excerpt from an F.E. Campbell novel called “Bound Ankles”, with cover art by the famous Bob Bishop. Campbell didn’t go in for spanking per se so much, but boy howdy if he didn’t have a dozen whippings in every book:

The crack of a riding crop against bare female flesh resounded throughout the big dungeon, followed immediately by a squeal of pain. “I just love the way she jerks and cries out when the riding crop hits,” said Pip with considerable sincerity. “It is rather nice,” agreed Patsy.

Both girls were holding riding crops, standing on either side of the hanging Donna, and taking turns applying their instruments of pain across the bare flesh of her nicely rounded bottom. Donna, completely naked as usual, was hanging by her wrists which were strapped tightly with leather bands. Her toes were perhaps an inch off the floor, close enough to be frustrating but far enough so she couldn’t touch the floor.

With each impact of the riding crop, her body jerked and she danced a few steps in mid-air before she calmed down. Then her body would slowly sway back and forth while awaiting the next blow from the giggling teenagers.

“You really shouldn’t have refused to crawl back to the house,” offered Pip. ”Mommy says we can whip you for disobedience. You were disobedient.” “Yes, you were so bad,” chipped in Patsy. Both girls were in high spirits. They didn’t often get a chance to whip Donna and they did love it so.