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Here’s an entertaining couple of photographs from a shoot at Whipped Ass. Looks like some sort of lesbian dominatrix playing tennis with her slave girl. Not shown here are the ear grabbing and biting, the tennis ball in the mouth (although you can just see it if you look) and the, uh, after-spanking shenanigans making an alternative use of the tennis racket handle. Whew, is it just me or is it warm in here?
Hmmm, it seems Baltazar has discovered the joys of the bath brush:
When we got home I put the bath brush to the test with the spanking that she was owed. I have to say that I am very highly impressed with it’s effectiveness, especially with just how little effort is required! Here’s how it went…
I sat on the edge of the bed and told C that I was going to give her the spanking that I owed her, and she obligingly stretched out across my lap. I put my left hand on the small of her back and rested my left arm along her back to hold her steady, then taking the bath brush in my right hand I started off with the first stroke, noting that the brush seemed perfectly balanced and had just the right heft to it.
*pop* said the back of the brush to her bottom.
For the record, it was a quite gentle stroke in order to see the effect and to warm her bottom up a little. I wasn’t quite prepared for the loud yelp and immediate “I want to get away” wiggle that it elicited, and I wasn’t expecting the immediate pink oval that appeared on her bottom.
*POP* went the brush on her other buttock
*Yelp! Squeal! Wiggle!* “Ow! That’s evil!” went C.
I pinned her down more firmly. “You are owed this spanking, and this is how you are going to be given it”
*POP* went the brush again. Another loud yelp and another wiggle.
“Just think of it this way little one, with all your yelping, wiggling and wanting to get away, this is good practice for me for ‘taking you in hand’ at the start of a row”
“Yeah, but even so..”
*POP* went the brush again. More firmly this time.
“YOW!” yelped C.
*POP* *POP* went the brush, quickly and firmly once on each buttock, completing the six spanks she was owed.
C stood up, ruefully rubbing her bright red bottom.
Of course there’s more after that, because C called the innocent tool “the sodding thing”.
A reader wrote in with a request, illustrated by a picture from
Spanking Teen Jessica:
Hello. I’ve been reading your site for almost a year now, as soon as we got on line, actually. I find your site quite informative and very entertaining. I was hoping you could help me. In the picture I’ve sent, there is a curly kind of cane hanging on the wall. I’ve seen it demonstrated on a Real Spankings video. Would you know where I could purchase one? I’ve looked for hours on the web, with no luck. Keep up the good work and your sense of humor.
As it happens, I was able to direct her to the Red Crescent by School Canes, and she’s promised a report after the one she ordered arrives. Doesn’t that look like a fun toy?
Getting this kind of mail is part of what makes this blog fun. Annie writes:
Hi SpankBoss,
My dear husband has asked… ok, ordered… me to write to you and thank you for your wonderful blog site. He has learned new tricks from your site, specifically, the art of figging. I am also instructed to sincerely apologize to you. He will be reading this before I hit “send” to make sure I have completed my assignment.
I sit here now freshly paddled with a large ginger root firmly placed up my bum. This email to you is part of my lesson since I took your name in vain when he inserted the dreaded root to further amplify my punishment for having, once again, failed to get my overdue car inspection. The punishment paddling was deserved, I acknowledge, and I will certainly attend to the car inspection tomorrow or suffer the same fate tomorrow evening.
He first used the ginger root about a month ago after learning about it from your blog. I had never heard of such a thing so I had no warning as to what I might expect. He had me bound over the large ottoman for an evening play session during which I knew I would experience a sore bottom, but this I could never have anticipated! After a rather lovely warming up with a flogger, he told me he had a surprise for me. (I remember it with particular vividness at this moment since my bum is, at this moment, in flames as it was that evening after he poked his surprise into my bottom then sat back to watch.) After its insertion and his delight at its effectiveness, he spanked me quite thoroughly with a variety of dastardly implements including the cane, but I had little thought, or feeling, of anything besides the agony of my bumhole. He found it quite amusing all in all but due to the level of my distress decided to reserve future figging for punishment, as it is being used now to my great regret.
It was the appearance of the prepared root this evening that caused me to refer to you in a disparaging manner, since it was your blog that started the practice. I do apologize, Sir, and assure you it was nothing personal!
Sincerely,
AnnieNote from Annie’s husband:
As my wife said, I read her email and I approve the contents. Except for the sarcastic tone in her opening sentence for which she will be paddled one more time tonight. I’m tempted to send her to bed afterwards with a new ginger root in her ass. She has earned it.
Your blog is great!
“The dreaded root….” (Snicker)
Having grown weary of philosphic disputation, I think that chasing some bondage beauties around the yard with a hickory switch sounds like a nice diversion:
Anybody up for a little enforced girl wrestling?
The lovely models are Jenni Lee and Mallory Knots from Hogtied.
See Also:
No spanking here — boring stuff to follow.
In the last couple of days, I’ve had a rash of people trying (with varying degrees of surface politeness) to influence the editorial policy of this spanking blog. I thought it might be time to say a few words in regard to what I’m all about and what I’m doing here.
To begin: I’m utterly horrified by narrow-minded, prudish, uptight, or censorious kinksters (when I can stop laughing at them). There’s an inherent contradiction in saying “I’m perfectly OK with my own kink, but those people should stop what they are doing at once — no self-respecting kinky person should have anything to do with people who have that fantasy or do that activity.” (Sometimes this comes out as “people like that aren’t really members of our community/shouldn’t be allowed in our community/shouldn’t be respected/shouldn’t be discussed.”) Such narrow-minded and exclusionary kinksters remind me of the cat in that shaved cat picture that floats around in email. When you see the picture, you’re horrified that anybody would shave a cat — but you can’t help laughing at how silly the offended cat looks. That’s how I respond whenever a kinky person denounces somebody else’s fantasy — it’s both horrifying and hilarious to watch.
Thus, whenever I encounter a censorious kinkster, I can’t decide whether to laugh or get mad. But I do know that I don’t believe in shunning kinky people whose kinks squick me. That’s why I won’t participate in delinking campaigns, or change my editorial behavior when one is aimed at me.
Know ye also: I don’t do this for the blog traffic. It’s true that I value all my readers, and I’ll miss anybody who decides they don’t like my content and won’t be back to read it. That said, traffic from blogs makes up a miniscule percentage of my total traffic — well under one percent of the total. That’s why I literally laughed out loud the other day when someone accused me in my comments of trying to stir up controversy in order “to keep the circulation up.” Nothing could be further from the truth. I value your links, folks, but I’m not going to change what I do in order to keep ’em.
Furthermore, I’m an absolutist about free speech. Among other things, that means I have a knee-jerk reaction to pressure. Tell me not to link to something, and I’ll be more inclined to link to it. Criticize my decision to link to or discuss something, and I may choose not to be polite. Why should I be? My blog stories and links are my business. Read or don’t, click or don’t. No skin off my nose. No skin off yours, either. And if you do decide to try and influence my editorial choices, I probably won’t see your busybody input as anything but a rudeness. I may forgive you, if you’re also charming and witty or a friend; but I might also (or instead) choose to mock you. If you can’t take it, don’t dish it out.
Let me amplify that. I believe that telling someone what they “should” blog about is horribly rude in function, no matter how polite you are when you share your unsolicited opinion. It’s like a nephew I have, who thinks he can say the most horrid things with impunity as long as he uses polite words. He can’t understand why people think it’s rude when he says something like “No offense, but why does your breath smell like garbage?” Sorry, but superficial politeness cannot rescue fundamentally rude behavior.
Moving on: I do have my own editorial standards. Generally speaking, I don’t usually blog about the spanking of children, even in fantasy or ageplay; I don’t usually blog about spankings where there is a strong and explicit lack of consent, unless the fantasy context is very obvious; I don’t usually blog about spankings that result in open wounds or flowing blood; I don’t usually blog about men getting spanked; and I don’t usually blog about spankings accompanied by substantial verbal abuse or deliberate and extreme humiliation. The reasons for these policies (mostly having to do with my own tastes) seem good to me, although I sometimes make exceptions. Sometimes, too, I get flak for my inconsistencies — as in the infamous case of the flash game (a freakin’ interactive cartoon) that featured either cartoon welts or cartoon cuts, depending on your interpretation. (Yeah, go figure. I’m still scratching my head about that one.) Nonetheless, at the end of the day, I get to decide whether something is beneath my standards. My bandwidth, my sandbox, my toys, my rules.
I truly don’t understand kinky people who think their tastes should be universal, and who try to enforce those tastes on others. For example, age play by consenting adults happens to squick me out, so I don’t much write about it. But I’m not horrified when other people do it or write about it. It would strike me as unutterably bizarre to email such a blogger and castigate them for their preferences. My distaste is my own, and I try very hard not to inflict it on anybody else. Same with blood play or verbal abuse. I figure I’m free to ignore these things without stepping on any toes. But I can’t imagine writing to another blogger and telling them they shouldn’t fantasize or play that way, or that they shouldn’t write about what they do. And when I get a letter like that (about once a week), I can never decide whether to laugh or to respond with a hearty “Fuck you.”
Often, I do both.
That’s more than enough for now. I’ll be happy to carry this conversation forward in the comments, but I won’t pull any punches when it comes to folks who want to tell me what I should blog.
Clean Sheets has a fun interview with Ashley Lister, better known as kinky novel writer Lisette Ashton. Her views on why spanking is so hot:
You can’t beat a good spanking, can you?
Personally, I think the appeal of spanking, caning, and humiliation is the inherent naughtiness. There’s an allure to doing anything that seems rebellious to society’s usual norms. I suppose it’s the secret pleasure that comes from breaking rules or going against conformity. I’d compare it to the same guilty pleasures that we associate with cream cakes, alcohol, or chocolate. Spanking has the added benefit that it can be very pleasurable and doesn’t come with so many calories.
If you ever frequent any of the spanking discussion boards where toys get discussed, you’ll find frequent references to the paddle-ball paddle available for $4.99 at a Cracker Barrel store near you. Love it or hate it, just about every spanko girl in the world has a strong opinion.
The trouble is, I don’t live near a Cracker Barrel, and had never visited one. Until today, when Bethie and I passed one at lunchtime while out-and-about doing errands.
First funny thing: someone in the store had hidden the paddle ball sets, by putting them on the backside of a display. You had to put your eye up to a crack and peer in, just to find them.
Second funny thing: the girl who rang me up (I bought two — in case someone needs a Christmas present) knew exactly what the paddles were for. She asked “Is that everything?” and so I called Bethie over to see if she needed anything else. The sales girl immediately started telling Bethie about all the sale stuff, and pointing to various corners of the store where there were candles and stuffed animals and other girlie stuff that was supposedly on sale. The sales girl kept a very straight face, but she had that gleam in her eye. You know the look that every brat gets when she’s trying to get another brat in trouble? Yeah, that’s the one.
So eventually we get out of the store, and home with my brand new “BC Tournament Paddleball”. It’s really nothing but a short, well-shaped piece of 3/8″ hardwood (Birch) plywood, lightly sanded at the edges. It’s a bit short for my large hand, and seems lacking in both weight and length.
As it happens, on the way home Bethie and I had one of those conversations. We’d been trying to get something done, and it wasn’t happening. Bethie asked for my advice. (Actually, this was a Mars/Venus moment. What she did was say “I don’t know what I can do differently in order to get this done.” If you think that’s not a request for advice, it’s possible you are a woman.) Anyway, she didn’t like the advice I gave her — consisting of the man-style things I would do in her shoes. So her response was a slightly heated suggestion that I do it, if I was so full of good ideas on how to do it. Since (view from Mars) she’d asked me for advice, and then been ungracious when I gave it, I was a smidge disgruntled.
Only a smidge, though, because I remembered my Mars-n-Venus — and my new paddle. Once we got home, I lured Bethie into the bedroom with a Cracker Barrel chocolate covered cherry. Then I pulled out the paddle ball paddle, removed the ball, and bent Bethie over the bed for a few quick swats.
Imagine my surprise when she began squealing and leaping forward and twisting around! Through two layers of clothing, no less — and she was more animated than she’s ever been when getting a few quick ones. To be fair, she might still be a little sore from her big spanking — but this was still a remarkable reaction.
It gets better. While I’m standing there admiring the paddle, she took down her pants and panties to rub her newly-sore bottom better. Yes, that’s every bit the invitation it seems.
So I start spanking her bare bottom. Light swats, no particular vigor. WOW! She’s all over the bed, twisting and squealing and complaining. Before long, she’s got a faint rosy glow to compliment the few remaining fading marks from Friday. When I let up, she’s feeling her bottom with both hands and complaining bitterly that it’s on fire. She hates the new paddle — or so she says.
Me, I think I’m rather fond of it. My new theory: if every man in America had one of these, it would do wonders for the gross domestic tranquility.
I finally found a citation for the persistent rumor that Jack Nicholson is a spanko. According to this article, British actress Karen Mayo-Chandler wrote (in the October 1989 Playboy) that Nicholson is “into fun and games in bed, all the really horny things I get off on, like spankings, handcuffs, whips and Polaroid pictures. His idea of being sexy is dressing in blue-satin boxer shorts and fluorescent orange socks and chasing me around the room with a Ping-Pong paddle.”
Don’t try and visualize that. It will hurt your brain.
Bethie has some very noticeable bruises on her pretty bottom this morning. I caught her in the spare room admiring them in the free-standing tilting floor mirror. Although she sat without unease on a wooden chair at the breakfast table.
It was like this. Due to various complexities in our schedules, and some visiting of various sorts, we haven’t had the together time and privacy for her to get a proper spanking in far too long. Couple of weeks, more or less. And with us so busy, there was more stress than usual. Nothing serious, really. She would get caught up in our activities and change the plans without mentioning the change to me. Or commit our schedule and just assume I was good with the change. I was not perfect either — I made her feel bad once or twice by asking vigorous questions that she thought were sharp or sarcastic or critical. We never had a fight — far from it — but it’s fair to say that once or twice she grew fractious, and perhaps I was grumpy on occasion. But the bottom line was, she was growing less mindful of me the longer she went without a spanking. And neither one of us liked it.
Of course once I figured out what was going on, I began promising her I’d remedy the situation at the first good opportunity. Indeed, I promised her a very sound spanking, and guaranteed her that she’d have a hard time forgetting to consult me for a few days after. The promise alone did a world of good. But last night, it was time to deliver.
I warmed her up with some friendly hand spanking during the commercial breaks in the TV show she was watching. Once that was over, I got out the necessary tools.
First I softened up her bottom a little bit with my favorite bath brush. Not full agonizing strokes, just little swats with my hand choked up on the handle. But a lot of them, and fairly fast.
That got her dancing around and complaining a fair bit. So I pulled out her favorite pine paddle, the one with the bunny fur on the back. Oddly enough, she said it stung too much. I was swinging it pretty hard, since it’s so broad and light that it can’t do any damage. By now her body was starting to respond, and it was clear that whatever her complaints, she was enjoying the spanking.
But enjoying it or not, she was protesting more than usual. Fair enough; I was spanking her more than usual, and harder, too.
And then, if you can believe her temerity, she said she had to go to the bathroom. Well, I had to allow that, but I promised her a ten-stroke penalty (can’t have that excuse invoked lightly). By the time she came back, I had found my riding crop, and gave her ten fast hard strokes in an unpredictable pattern.
I picked up the paddle again, but she was whimpering about it. I asked what implement she would prefer, and she reluctantly named the heavy strap I bought her in July. That was fine with me, and so I began to give her some hard, fast strokes with it. By now her bottom was really red. I used the strap for quite a while, and did not stint.
Although this was not a punishment spanking per se, I had promised Bethie the hardest longest spanking she’s ever gotten from me. And I did remind her during the spanking of some of her misbehavior, while inviting her to promise not to repeat it. So, when I picked up the bath brush again and began to give her some harder swats with it, I was not surprised to hear her snuffling and beginning to cry.
The crying was not unexpected, although it’s the first time I’ve made her cry during a spanking. She’s always saying “But you’ll make me cry!” as if it were an argument against whatever I’ve proposed — but generally I don’t take her that far. This time, I did. She needed it. Anyway, when I heard her crying, I paused and cuddled her a bit, made sure she was OK, and cheered her up by promising to move on to the flogger she got for her birthday. She does love that thing! But this was supposed to be a most memorable spanking for her, so I think I used it a little harder than she expected.
By the time I was done with the flogger, her bottom was blazing red and radiating heat. She had lots of little red marks and was assuring me most fervently that she would never again be fractious or unmindful of me.
However, there needed to be a finale, so she’d have a couple of dramatic marks to enjoy in her mirror. I got the bath brush and gave her four full-strength swats, which made her jump in a very dramatic fashion. The result was two perfect oval bruises on her right cheek, and a broad swath of little red spots on her left cheek.
After a spanking like that, of course, she needed “skin cooling Aloe Vera lotion” and lots of snuggles. And, as it usually does, one thing led to another, and to a most satisfactory evening.
Today, as expected, she’s very tender. Also snuggly and sweet in that special way that she has when she’s freshly spanked. Mission accomplished!
Here’s a publicity photo from what looks like a recent production of Kiss Me Kate. Petruchio, that old dog, is doing what he does best:
Picture found on Usenet.
Baltazar raises in passing a question that is, as he puts it, both entertaining and diverting. Indeed, what is the proper “exchange rate of cream cakes and chocolate to strokes of the cane upon a dieting submissive’s derriere“?
I’m posting this news item because it’s a real-world template for many a fantasy spanking story:
Business Owner Arrested After Allegedly Spanking Two Employees
RED BANK, Tenn. — The owner of a shaved ice business was arrested after two employees claimed he spanked them for making mistakes at work.
Paul Eugene Levengood, 57, was charged with two counts of sexual battery after the 19-year-old women complained.
One of the women told police that on her first day at the Tasty Flavors Sno Biz, Levengood made her sign a statement that said: “I give Gene permission to bust my behind any way he sees fit.”
Police Sgt. Jay LaMance said the women likely accepted the spankings instead of leaving immediately because they were “brought up to respect anybody who is an authority figure.”
One of the women told police Nov. 1 that she “was shocked at the incident but could not leave because she had no transportation.” The other woman said she continued to work for Levengood for more than a year after she was spanked and that he told her “either she could be spanked or be fired.”
Police say one of the women reported that on Oct. 30, her fourth day on the job, Levengood called her “into the back room of the store” after she forgot to put a banana in a smoothie drink.
She said that as punishment Levengood “bent her over his knee and spanked her behind 20 times.” She said that a day earlier he “snapped a photograph of her behind” as she reached for a bottle on a shelf.
I overheard a fun snippet of conversation a few weeks ago. I was at a retail counter being served by the counterman, and his female co-worker was helping a crusty old gentleman at the next register over. The old guy was giving the lady quite a bit of jovial hell, and they were having a good time. As he finished his business, she made some bratty remark I didn’t hear. To which he responded: “You know, you really need a spanking!” Her answer, accompanied by a flirty blush and a quick glance to either side: “I do, but please don’t tell anyone, OK?”
Because I’m always whining about the odd email I get (don’t ask about the guy who wrote in inviting me to belt his ass, but only if I emailed him back before his very short deadline) I thought it would be good to share one of the nice ones, too. Heather writes:
I’ve always had a really hungry spark for spanking. For a while, I’d been hinting about it to my beautiful caring partner (of 4 years) but when he occasionally did it, it was in jest and never what I really expected. I’ve also tried watching a spanking porn movie but it was so vicious and targeted towards the fantasies of men, it was a real turn off.
In a moment of self (very out of character!) I searched on the web and came across your site. Its been such an amazing journey of discovery. I’ve read through the entire archive and it feels so liberating to know I’m not alone. The articles on how to ask for a spanking (while continuing to be a feminist gal and respected in a relationship) gave me confidence to approach my partner.
It started off a little awkward, the first few times he was simply doing it for my pleasure. (He’s so caring, bless him!). But now its starting to turn, he’s enjoying it more than I could have imagined! Getting creative with piece of household equipment, and ignoring my very half-hearted “oh thank you, that’s enough”. He’s even started reading this website with me. Yum.
Our relationship has taken a giant step forward and it feels like I’ve let a giant skeleton out of my closest. Something I have always been ashamed of is now something we celebrate!
Now isn’t that fun? Thanks, Heather!
Bah. Usual tale of tech woes here. Hard drive melt-down, spotty backups, backup media not compatible with available drives on replacement production computer, unexpected difficulties installing updated drive — there’s more, but it’s DULL. Fortunately, life has been fun in the interim.
Still, it’s good to be back.
I’ve got this nice leather belt. Picked it up at the thrift store for a quarter. It’s woven leather, three strands about a centimeter wide each, nice and soft and flexible. When I got it, the leather was dry and rough on the finished side and very dry and rough on the unfinished side. But it had potential — one of those quality leather belts that just leaps out at your fingertips when you run your hand through that huge rack of vinyl-and-pleather junk they always have in thrift stores.
What? You mean everybody doesn’t find quality leather by feel at the thrift store? *blink* But I digress.
Anyway, I soaked this belt with several coats of Hubbard’s Shoe Grease, which is a deliciously dirty concoction of beeswax and pine tar. By the time I was done, the belt was shiny and supple and felt almost wet from the conditioning goo. And so I hung it in my closet to let the conditioner soak all the way in.
Fast forward some months. I was rummaging through my closet when Bethie stepped out of the bathroom, naked as a jaybird and giving me some sort of jovially bratty lip. My eyes fell on the belt. Aha!
I stepped out of the closet just as she was turning away. The angle wasn’t perfect but the swing was good. CRACK! Square across both damp-from-the-shower bottom cheeks, and suddenly she’s dancing in the middle of the room with both hands on her bottom. Priceless, I tell you.
Pouting and whimpering transpired; it seems she didn’t like the belt. And she had the cutest puffy welt, complete with braided pattern.
Mostly I’ve just menaced her with the belt, since; usually I stick with the implements she likes. But I did give her one good spanking recently that included about a dozen good whacks with the belt. It makes a very impressive noise, but on her warmed-up bottom it leaves no marks.
However, keeping it on her warmed-up bottom is non-trivial, because it makes her squirm in a most uncharacteristic fashion. During her spanking, she rolled up on one side at one point…while the belt was in the air. Oopsie. That stroke landed on her hip, causing great squealing and a very interesting welt that turned into an equally-interesting bruise. I tell her and tell her that struggling always makes things worse, but does she listen?
The Twisted Monk has the most entertaining conversations:
“Yeah, so there we were in what had to be the skankiest hotel room ever. The place reeked of stale cigarette smoke and mothballs. This place was so low rent; the Gideons would not leave a bible in the room.”
“How do you know that?”
“I looked for one.”
“Um and why would you do that?”
“I wanted to spank her with it.”
“Ok that is just wrong.”
“Nah, just par for the evening.”
