Spanking Blog: Adult Erotic Spanking At Its Best

A few days ago there was a quick dustup in my comments as Spanking Blog visitors briefly began to fight the ancient “spanking is all about sex / oh no it isn’t!” wars. As several commenters pointed out, spankings aren’t always about pleasure. Or, at least, not exclusively so.

Case in point: Here’s Mistress Sky, describing a caning she took in the spirit of religious sacrifice, one she wouldn’t have taken for pleasure, though indeed she seems to have found pleasure enough before and after:

I have an almost pathological dislike of the cane – when used on me. That’s probably why I don’t use it to its full potential in play. I’ll have to pursue that thought at some time!

At the celebration of Samhain and for the transition from Old year to the New one, we had to make a personal sacrifice. Being the creature with a multitude of fetish-likes that I am, I find it hard to come up with something that I will literally suffer, in order to make that sacrifice meaningful. Apart, that is, from taking a caning.

…

To set the scene – the circle is open, the candles are lit, the massage table is in position, the incense is burning and assails the senses.

We are wearing very little – just enough to heighten the experience and add more energy to the Ritual. He puts on the blindfold and the soft darkness is all I see. Instantly, all my other sense are sharper, I’m more aware of noise, touch and sounds.

He leads me to the table, bends me over it and proceeds to warm up his “sacrificial lamb”…

…

The Master of my heart continues with the paddle – teasing me first with the furry-sided one and then the pink, slappy paddle comes into play. I’m feeling intense warmth and pleasure-pain, but, at the same time, in the back of my mind, I know that the cane will soon make its presence felt and I can’t help it. I begin to tremble, in anxious anticipation.

I know there will be pain, bad pain, pain I dislike, but I must bear it – this is the sacrifice I am making.

While these thoughts are chasing across my mind and interrupting the pleasurable sensations, the first stroke lands. I cry out and rear up in shock. I shake my head and moan. He holds me and murmurs to me, but I don’t hear words, I just feel that blow. Knowing that He loves me so much and that He doesn’t want to cause me more pain than pleasure, I get back into position, awaiting the next stroke, determined to continue.

“Ready?” he asks, quietly. I nod and although I shouldn’t, I tense. I can’t help it.

You see, I asked for this caning, it’s important to us that I take it. Each stroke is agony, although the tiny strokes in between the ‘real’ ones could become pleasant – something to explore in the future. My boundaries could be extended…

He stops at the required number – designated by me – and we embrace. He removes the gag and gently wipes the dribble from my cheek. (I forgot to mention the gag. Well we wouldn’t want the neighbours complaining, now, would we?) But the blindfold remains. The resentment is compartmentalised (to be released later – but it’s not
directed at my love, only at the bloody cane) and there is Staff Worship to enjoy. I enjoy the taste and the feel of His staff in my mouth and adoring it is no hard task.