Spanking Blog: Adult Erotic Spanking At Its Best

If you have ever enjoyed the severe noncon corporal punishment scenes in the erotic books written by pseudonymous author Richard Manton, you’re sure to find something useful in this comprehensive bibliography of his work, along with all that is known about the likely person behind the pseudonym:

There is good reason to believe that the author of the Richard Manton is the English writer, historian, poet and novelist Donald Serrell Thomas.

Donald Thomas’s extensive output includes works of social history, criticism, poetry and translation. He is an acknowledged expert on Victorian England with The Victorian Underworld amongst his history books. As a novelist he has written three series of about fictional detectives in Victorian times as well as pastiches of Sherlock Holmes adventures.

As a biographer he has written, significantly with regard to the Manton persona, a biography of the poet Swinburne, a noted Victorian flagellant. In 1968 Odyssey Press published Summer in the Country his translation of a 19th century French epistolary novel between two lesbian lovers.

In the middle seventies he published a series of crime novels, under the pseudonym of Francis Selwyn, about the cases of a Sergeant Verity set in the 1850’s and 1860’s. These are well written and entertaining stories in the historical crime genre and show his considerable knowledge of the Victorian milieu, particularly concerning the criminal undergrowth. While these novels are not erotica, some of Richard Manton’s characters appear in the Verity stories with the exact names and characteristics as in the erotic works.

See Also:

• Running From Whipper Nate
• A Peppermint Whipping And Blowjob

In the faux-Victorian and badly over-written erotica novel The Blue Train by Richard Manton, there’s a totally noncon account of an afternoon’s cruel enjoyment of a young woman on her way to a old-fashioned penal institution. Under the most amazingly-contrived circumstances, our viewpoint villain arranges to impersonate a guard and isolate his helpless victim in a shared toilet compartment on a train:

In the toilet itself, one of the guards had left his peaked cap and his jacket on the hook, an official-looking leather despatch-case beside them. Quietly I opened the case. Inside it I saw a collection of leather restraining straps, a tailed spanking-strap, and a file of documents. I stared at these and with a half-formed plan lifted down the prison guard’s cap and jacket. Indeed, I carried them off to my own cabin.

The toilet itself had two doors and each could be bolted from within, so that the occupant was secure from intrusion by a neighbour. I studied the bolt on my side and saw how, by loosening the screws a little, it could be moved out of line and prevented from sliding across.

Then I waited. Presently my heart jumped as if with shock or a fright of anticipation. The far door of the wash-room and toilet opened and closed. I heard the slither of cloth on skin. The bolt on my side had not even been closed as I entered, clad in the jacket and cap of officialdom.

There are stories I look back upon with excitement and some with longing but few with such amusement as this. I felt like a character in a stage farce. Ragnhild had shed her tartan blouse and blue shorts. She was now undressed charmingly in her white bra and tight black bikini pants.

We stared at one another. I had no idea what to do if she resisted now. I suppose I should have stripped off the cap and jacket, fled from my cabin to the far end of the train, and got off quickly at the next stop. But I had calculated that the noise of the engine would make it impossible for those in the corridor to hear anything in this place. In that I was right. Nor would there be any interruptions. They might enter the other cabin but the door to it from the toilet was bolted. They would know she was in here but would not care.

As I say, Ragnhild would still have had no escape except through my cabin and they would catch her in the corridor when she emerged. She certainly had no way off a train travelling at this speed.

All the same, she backed away and when I was close she seemed prepared to struggle.

But they had prevented her escape another way, by cuffing her wrists in front of her with soft straps. Of course, I was surprised that she did not begin to scream or shout. Then I realised. She had seen the uniform and thought I was another one of the escort.

Stand still, Ragnhild! I said sharply, playing the part. She stood still, though with a surly look. Kneel down. There! At once!

She offered a little resistance but not much, knowing that one guard could always call assistance from the others. Under these circumstances, I was a match for her. There was gasping, writhing and cursing but we descended to the floor, at least until Ragnhild was kneeling. Then I drew a stout strap from the case, ran it round her wrist-cuff chain and round the base of the toilet pedestal. Struggle as she might, Ragnhild was now face-down on the floor and could not get up. She looked extremely sexy, even in such a place. She had the sun-tanned thighs of a young Amazon. The full cheek-swell of Ragnhild’s bottom in the filmy black nylon of her hip panties looked very sexy. There was also something perversely exciting in the prospect of being alone with her behind a locked washroom door in this situation.

I had bolted the door leading to her cabin, so that we should not be interrupted. Then I used a leather bolster from my own cabin and wedged it under her belly on the tiled floor.

Lie on your belly over the bolster, Ragnhild. Lie quietly. At the first sound of crying out or screaming, I shall gag you. Very tightly.

The threat of a gag seemed to strike her like a blow. She lay startled but quiet. I was seduced by the warmly suntanned figure of a healthy young Nordic woman, the lank honey-blonde hair plainly cut with its fringe and its collar-length framing her firm features. The law forbids whipping and even spanking for girls in the country she comes from, so I think Ragnhild still was not certain of what was going to be done to her. She lay there, her handsome tits filling the white bra quite nicely at the front. She lay forward with the leather bolster under her belly, her suntanned arms pulled in front of her and her robust legs apart a little.

She looked up, wide blue eyes frightened, as I knelt down and made her more secure with several more prison straps. I strapped her wrists more firmly to the porcelain pedestal, pinioning her waist as well to a strong leather loop in the bolster, just under her belly. Ragnhild was now positioned as I wanted her.

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See Also:

• Whipped And Caned For Infidelity
• All About Richard Manton
• Running From Whipper Nate
• Anal Under The Crop
• Who Invited The Sadist With The Cane?
• A Peppermint Whipping And Blowjob
• Becky's Punishments
• Joey's Anal Punishment

This is one of the somewhat-contrived severe punishment scenes for which faux-Victorian-erotica writer Richard Manton is justly famous, or perhaps infamous. From the book Beauty In The Birch, also sometimes titled as Birch In The Boudoir:

Like a conjurer, Dr. Jacobus stood before us with a china egg between finger and thumb. It was not quite large enough to tightly fit the necessary place, but it would not be easily dislodged. Lesley twisted her head ‘round urgently to watch him, the light catching the fair, straight cut of her crop from its high crown to the severe cutting of it level with her jaw. Dr. Jacobus slid a hand under her, supporting her bare belly. He pressed the oval china egg between her buttocks, the narrower end foremost. There was a tensing of seat-cheeks, and a keening through wadded cotton, while the scholar’s mouth set firm and the veins in his forehead stood out more prominently. Lesley’s tight inward dimple yielded and closed again over the china oval as it passed up into her behind.

“Observe, gentlemen!” Dr. Jacobus stood back with a flourish. “See how hard and rapid the pulse beat in her throat is. Can it be sexual arousal at the thought of being chastised? Or is it no more than a young woman’s desperate fright? It matters not at all. Either emotion will generate a pitch of excitement. Lesley feels butterflies in her tummy, as the saying goes, and the flutter of panic in her bowels. The cheeks of her arse are no doubt crawling with such apprehension that they almost itch with it!”

Lesley gave a shake of her hair in order to look back at him over her shoulder. It seemed as if the once-disdainful blue eyes were trying to ask a question she could not utter. Her clear, pale features were a study in the most fearful anticipation.

“Ah!” Dr. Jacobus smiled knowingly at her. “Lesley is tormented by a last doubt! Will there be any restriction on the instrument of punishment? Any limit to the number of strokes? I think she can already guess that the answer is in the negative!”

How Lesley tugged at her straps– and all in vain! How she turned her blue eyes and fringe urgently to the audience! Whatever disapproval one may feel for Dr. Jacobus, he had a good deal of reason on his side. Lesley is a mature young woman. Her hips and seat have that slight firming-out which enables her to undergo chastisements that would be unthinkable for a schoolgirl. She has endured regular penis exercise in the marriage bed, the labour of child-bearing, the demands of her lovers. Having willingly incurred such extremes of pleasure and pain, she was scarcely able to object to a whipped bottom as punishment for her infidelities.

“Presently you will be caned, Lesley,” said Dr. Jacobus quietly, “but first I shall mark my personal disapproval of your marital treason by twelve strokes with a snakeskin pony-lash.”

Lesley was truly frantic at this. She twisted her head and scanned about her, with blue eyes wide and desperate. In vain, she jerked at the restraining straps. The gag reduced her protests to the same shrill keening, but her pale seat-cheeks were tensing urgently.

Dr. Jacobus took the whip, which consisted of a handle and slim woven lash about eighteen inches long. He ran his hand briefly over the full moons of Lesley’s bottom, smiling at the peeping vaginal pouch between the rear of her thighs.

“You had your fun with your lovers, Lesley,” he said gently. “Was it nice? Was it? Did you wriggle on the adulterer’s penis until you almost swooned with the joy of it? Now you shall pay a cruel price for it, you young whore!”

His right arm went back and his lips tightened. The cheeks of Lesley’s bottom shifted and squirmed uncontrollably. With an ear-stunning crack, the slim black lash snaked down, curling and clinging to the bare cheeks of Lesley’s backside. A split second’s pause was followed by wild mewing and buttocks contorting urgently to contain the naked smart of the leather whip. A scarlet stripe appeared, an S-shaped curve across Lesley’s bum-cheeks, dotted by two ruby droplets. Lesley had the firm, young seat-swell of a Spartan soldier-girl. Perhaps it was this which caused such breathless excitement among the audience as she was whipped. Or perhaps it was merely the satisfaction of seeing the young wife punished for her promiscuity and for being an arrogant young bitch. Who can say?

Dr. Jacobus made the whip ring out repeatedly with a savage accuracy across Lesley’s bottom-cheeks. Soon her pale buttocks were embroidered by plum-red loops and curlicues. Two! Three! Four! The strokes sang out like pistol shots, each stinging Lesley’s arse with a scorpion viciousness. Even the fiery kiss of the leather whip was but a prelude to the swelling torment as the impact of the stroke searched her lingeringly for several seconds afterwards. Vainly she tried to take the strokes on her flanks to spare her bottom. But her hips were too well pinned down for that. She tried to turn each buttock uppermost in turn, but neither of them could elude the lash. She tightened them desperately, until her arse-crack was a thin, compressed line.

Dr. Jacobus put a stop to this by an upward stroke of the woven lash, catching the fatter under curve of Lesley’s seat-cheeks just above her thighs. Frantic to writhe away the anguish, the promiscuous young wife thrust her rump out in a complete display of her rear anatomy. It was at this point that the eyes of Dr. Jacobus gleamed. He aimed the lash with vindictive precision between the cheeks of Lesley’s bottom. No refuge was left to her as the whip cracked out again. Eight! Nine! Ten! All the self-possessed sophistication taught her at school and college was stripped from Lesley now. Twice the whip’s command was printed between the cheeks of her arse. Neither this, nor the flooding tears in the blue eyes, moved the onlookers to intercede.

One must concede, of course, that Lesley was being punished for the great harm done to others by her conduct. To desert marital duty for illicit pleasures is a crime which law and custom has always punished in this manner. Almost every man– and perhaps most women– would have been pitiless with Lesley now. Under the long, fair parting of her hair, Lesley’s eyes– once so aloof and dismissive– implored her master vainly.

Smack! Whip-smack! Crack-smack! As the lash caught the inward curve of Lesley’s bottom-moons again, every muscle in her thighs went taut and her toes curled with the intensity of the discipline. “The justice of chastisement is absolute,” said Dr. Jacobus, as he finished. “Lesley has made others suffer in order that she might enjoy her lecheries. What she endures now is a modest retribution.”

Lesley twisted her head wild-eyed in dismay, for now the Schoolmaster appeared, cane in hand. Already Lesley’s bottom-cheeks blushed deeply, the whip prints raised in slight contours across her backside and the rear of her upper thighs. The young wife sprawled in her straps like an overgrown schoolgirl or page boy over the cushions of the teacher’s sofa.

The Schoolmaster removed the gag, allowing her to lie flatter as well. “I shall not need such expedients,” he said. “Besides which, when I cane a bottom, I like to see it writhe! How many canings your parents and teachers neglected, Lesley! How many punishment lessons to make up for before we have trained you to loyalty and submission!”

Lesley emitted a shrill protest, but the Schoolmaster dismissed it. “Come now, Lesley! You have tasted the pony-whip! What greater objection can there be to a reformatory cane?

There was a good deal of general amusement at this. When the murmurs of laughter died away, the supple bamboo rang out across Lesley’s bottom, the weals rising straight across the curving prints of the lash. You may imagine the frenzy of Lesley’s screams, deeply gratifying to the moralists who watched her thrashed for adultery. He caned her across the backs of her thighs half a dozen times and then returned to the cheeks of her statuesque young seat.

The Schoolmaster was worthy of the great tradition of pedagogues. Each lash of the cane was given with stern vindictiveness. Lesley’s backside writhed over the leather bolster in a manner which was positively lewd. You might have thought, from its sinuous squirmings, that her behind was trying to seduce the chastiser into other pleasures.

In the warm night, the young wife’s proud bare belly slithered on the leather bolster as she squirmed. There was a faint dry squeak of the restraining straps as she pulled vainly at her bonds. Under the caning, the firm, mature cheeks of Lesley’s bottom met and parted in their writhing.

How would it end? How could it end? The Schoolmaster’s disciplinary zeal seemed unabated, and it was impossible to imagine what would satisfy his punitive skill. His resolve stood out stiffly as ever for all to see. Yet now Lesley twisted her head round. She seemed to be trying to look down the length of her spine at her own bottom. In truth, she was directing the Schoolmaster’s gaze to that place! The reply was an expertly aimed lash of bamboo, drawing blood in pinpricks across several of her earlier weals. Such frenzy was provoked by it! The atrocious smart of the bamboo caused the rounded end of the china egg to peep out between Lesley’s bottom-cheeks!

The Schoolmaster, admirable moralist that he is, was not to be deflected from his duty by the reappearance of the china egg, which Dr. Jacobus had inserted in the young wife’s behind. Again and again and supple bamboo lashed across Lesley’s buttocks. The egg grew rounder and larger as it emerged, until it rolled free from Lesley’s anus, down her bare legs, and across the demonstration table. An ear-splitting smack of the cane across her statuesque backside brought a frantic pleading to her face again. The Schoolmaster’s lips parted in a grin of delight as he gave two more strokes of the cane across Lesley’s backside with all his skill.

Then the cane dropped from his hand, for he was now obliged to clutch his own stiffness. Lesley turned her brimming eyes and woebegone mouth — a vision in itself enough to cause his orgasm. She was in time to see the Schoolmaster’s weapon explode in mid-air, uncontrollably. Thick lusty jets spat forward and liberally bespangled Lesley’s backside with arcs of spawn. Who knows? Perhaps the slippery balm soothed her at last.

See Also:

• Running From Whipper Nate
• A Peppermint Whipping And Blowjob
• Adultery, Punished
• Panties, Who Needs 'Em?
• A Medieval Public Birching

There’s a chapter in The Captive’s Journey by Richard Manton detailing a variety of kinky entertainments in the British countryside, not the least of which is a girl hunt. But why does the human fox run? For fear of Whipper Nate, it turns out:

I awakened Saturday morning just as the first light of day became visible over the horizon. It was a cool, grey morning with a damp, heavy, mist in the air — perfect weather for “The Hunt.”

Dressed in our red and buff outfits, the twenty guests assembled in the dining-room for our lavish breakfast. As we were sitting down to eat, a brass horn sounded. Sir Andrew Sternwell entered the dining hall with a statuesque red-headed woman in tow. With her wrists tied in front of her, she was strikingly beautiful and completely nude. Sir Andrew introduced the woman as Jessica Gray. She looked, understandably, very frightened. He informed us that she would be the object of our quest — our ‘fox’ for the day. He then explained the rules of the Hunt to us.

On leaving the dining hall, the naked Jessica Gray would be taken deep into the forest that surrounded the estate. She would be given an hour’s head start, while the hunting party finished their breakfast and readied their mounts. Jessica’s task was quite simple: she was to try to avoid recapture by the hunting party for as long as possible. Sir Andrew informed the girl that she would be expected to avoid capture for a minimum of two hours or else face the consequences.

As she was being led out of the room, I remarked to Lady Fiona that I was uncertain as to what would motivate the girl to play the odious role assigned her and attempt to evade the pursuing hunting party. Fiona replied that the girl had been informed that, if she did not avoid being recaptured with in the mandated period of time, she would earn a week’s stay with ‘Whipper Nate’.

“Whipper Nate?” I asked.

She then told me the story of ‘Whipper Nate Cobb’….

It seems that on the grounds of Sternwell Manor was an old grist mill dating from the 1700’s. The mill was somewhat unusual in that, instead of being water-powered, this mill was man-driven. In those less enlightened days, convicted prisoners were required to work off their sentences by driving the heavy mill shaft under the watchful eye of the jailer, a rather sadistic gentleman named, Nate Cobb.

When Rio 9 took over ownership of the estate, the old mill was still there, although it had fallen into a state of disrepair. Sensing such a facility might be of value to the organization, the mill was repaired. Ironically, old Nate’s great grandson still lived in the area. Also named ‘Nate’, he was most anxious to carry on the family tradition.

If a member of the organization felt that one of their female charges was in need of prolonged corrective action, she would be delivered to Whipper Nate. The girl would be summarily stripped naked and her head and hands would be placed in a wooden yoke mounted on a horizontal shaft that was affixed perpendicular to the main vertical drive shaft. Bent over at the waist, the girl’s naked ass would be most prominently displayed.

Whipper Nate, with a brine-soaked leather cat in hand, would stand behind his unfortunate victim and order the girl to start turning the shaft.

It was not an easy task — the shaft was quite heavy and the position is which she was tied was most uncomfortable, but Whipper Nate made sure she complied. If she stopped or slowed down at anytime, she soon felt Nate’s cruel whip on her exposed bottom. Nate, although not the brightest of individuals, loved his work and would keep the girl driving the heavy shaft until she reached the point of total exhaustion.

As Jessica Gray had painfully learned at a previous session, an hour of such treatment was almost unendurable — an afternoon of it seemed like a lifetime. Facing the unpleasant prospect of a full week at the hands of Whipper Nate if she failed, Jessica would do everything she could to avoid that fate. She’d run as fast and as far as was humanly possible to elude us.

See Also:

• Loading Coal Under The Whip
• Enforced Exercise, And It's Cute!
• Whipped In The Girl Mines
• A Peppermint Whipping And Blowjob
• Becky's Punishments
• Faster, Pony Girls, Faster!

If you’ve ever read any of the numerous spanking and BDSM novels by Richard Manton, you may remember that one of the more intense (and squicky for me, though your mileage may vary) recurring themes involves light touches in vulnerable places with the business end of a cigar. Not my kink at all. However, I do enjoy this photo starring a well-caned girl who is clearly very concerned that her punishment isn’t over. Is she worried about more caning, or is it her master’s cigar that has her so worried? I guess I don’t mind a bit of ambiguous menace:

The photo circulated a lot on Tumblr-that-was, without attribution. Based on style, I would guess that it’s a turn-of-the-century photo from the original Insex, but I don’t know for sure.

See Also:

• Raquel Welch Whipping Ringo Starr
• Nobody Is Rooting For Him To Hit The Smoke
• The Kiss of His Cigar
• A Whipping By Candle Light

Here’s a festive peppermint-flavored whipping and blowjob for your Christmas Eve pleasure. It comes from the Blue Moon erotic novel Jeremy by Richard Manton. The villain of the piece confronts that eternal problem: the reluctant heroine who needs more whipping before she will suck him properly, which is difficult to deliver while he’s entangled up front. So he resorts to “enhancing” her whipped bottom with a bottle of stinging peppermint extract:

The tumble of her ringlets stirred as she as she made a pleading, wanting sound, and shaped a kiss to the fly-vent of his trousers. It almost startled him. But this was clearly a girl who knew what life was all about and what she wanted from it. She kissed the cloth again, her lips finding and feeling the shrouded bulge.

Jeremy smiled to himself. There was usually a point where the girl whom he was tanning did something like this, either in passion or desperation. He looked down, grinning, and watched her do it again. Sometimes girls had done this sort of thing because they were too sore to take more discipline. Sometimes they tried to persuade him by these little sounds of sexual hunger, pretending that the naked agony of the whipping had made them feel randy and submissive at the same time. But, almost without fail, for whatever reason, they were ready to give him a memorably good time. Because they really were randy or because they knew what they would get otherwise, did it really matter? When you came to think of it, Jeremy decided, the world was a remarkably simple place.

He unzipped his trousers. Theresa needed no lessons. She rounded her lips and slid them down the length of the shaft without the least fuss or protest. He reached to one side and drew towards him a tall stool on which he could sit while she performed. Interesting that she had not asked him to unstrap her before she began. Perhaps she really did get a thrill from being strapped down while she sucked. One never knew, these days. He put it down to the way that women’s magazines were full of sex, instead of knitting and cookery.

Theresa moved her mouth up and down the shaft a little faster than he wanted. Best not let her finish too quickly. He took her head between his hands and moved her commandingly, teaching her the speed he wanted. She learnt at once and obeyed. Then her tongue began to flicker and Jeremy’s toes curled in appreciation. After ten minutes or so, however, he thought she was getting sluggish. Needed smartening up a bit. Very difficult really to whip a girl while she sucked one. Problem of being in two places at the same time. Still, a little bit of ingenuity might do the trick.

He drew himself from her mouth and padded out to the kitchen, whistling softly. There was a little bottle of peppermint essence which Aunt Em must have used to cure her after-dinner indigestion. Absolute bloody fire-water, these old birds used on themselves. Humming a contented little tune to himself, he returned to the front room. Theresa’s ringlets brushed her bare shoulders as she tried to twist her head round to see what he was going to do to her.

Jeremy stopped humming. Before he opened the little bottle, he had to ask himself whether those handsome showgirl bottom-cheeks had been whipped quite raw. Well, almost but not quite. I want to be happy…. Where the hell was that sash-cord? There it was. …. till I’ve made you happy too…. Whip!… Whip!… Whip!… That last one was a beauty, right across the lower fatter cheek swell of Theresa’s handsome backside. No wonder it made her yell!

Schoolgirl or showgirl, they all yelled at about the same point and in much the same way. But only a bastard would do a thing like that last stroke to her…. Whip!… Whip!…. And there was a coincidence, she was actually calling him a bastard, as she screamed. What that old boy Jung had called synchronicity. Best make it a dozen. Whip!… Whip!… Whip!…. The way those Amazon bum-cheeks compressed and contracted in torment! Whip!… Whip!… Whip!…. And now how she stuck her backside right out at him, trying to writhe away the torture that lingered so long after each stroke…. But really seeming to ask for it too! And about to get it! Whip!… Whip!…. Whip!… Whip!…. Wait a minute. He had lost count. Must have gone way past the intended dozen.

Ah, well. No point crying over spilt…. Talking of which, where was that little bottle? Ah, there it was. Several times he filled his palm and smoothed the scorching peppermint essence wetly over the blaze of Theresa’s bottom-cheeks. She was yelling more in panic than in anything now, realising that it would sink into the whipped flesh like white fire. And Aunt Em’s sitting-room was stinking like a candy-factory. C’est la vie. The little bottle was almost empty, alas. But there was just a capful to be administered between her rear cheeks, finger-tip dabs right on her backside’s tightest and most intimate little…. And the scorch of that in so sensitive a rear dimple almost made her hair stand on end, he thought. And just look at the beetroot-crimson blaze of her bottom cheeks themselves…. Theresa must feel as if she was sitting bare-bottomed on a red-hot stove.

He stood before her again. I’d say you’d be really in the mood for a gallop now, he remarked pleasantly…

See Also:

• Becky's Punishments
• Belt Spanking Plus Blowjobs For Everybody
• The Cane Grows On Her
• The Alligator Clip Threat
• Two Blowjobs And A Belt
• Spanking For The Blowjobs

From clues in this story fragment, it appears that poor Becky is in the clutches of an unspecified villain who (a) plans to sell her onward into sexual slavery and (b) is offended by some sort of prior sexual rejection on her part. Now she’s being punished:

I pick up the birch rod and step back a few paces, moving the chair to the side and watching Becky start to compress her bottom cheeks, her arms pulling against the restraints tied tightly around each wrist. I smile as I hear Becky in the background start to plead, no doubt asking for another chance, but my mind was fully occupied with the plump full ass now contorting in a lewd dance over the table top.

I fish her panties out of my coat pocket, with one hand, swishing the whippy birch rod through the air with my other and relishing the sound the fine instrument made.. “You’ll do anything, anyway, my dear Becky. You know what’ll happen if you don’t…”

I smile at her in the mirror and wad up the panties and push them into her mouth. “If those panties leave your mouth at any point, your punishment will be increased ten-fold. Do you understand me Becky ?” Becky silently nods her head, her eyes wide with fear.

I take a few steps back, standing to her right, and bring the whippy-ended birchrod up sharply and step forward, bring the rod through the air sideways with a backhanded motion, and deliver a fine cut low down across Becky’s straining asscheeks. WHIP!!!!!

The rod blazed a bright red strip across the girl’s bottom cheeks, low, where her upper legs swell into her bottom. Becky pulls hard against her restraints, her curly blond hair flying in to the air with the smarting impact of the blow, her legs tensed and her bottom cheeks compressing hard, and then bounding up. I step forward again, my eyes glued to the bare trim rounded pallor of Becky’s bottom cheeks, tensing and shifting, her hips contorting over the top of the fat pillow cushion.

“Keep your chubby backside quite still for it, Becky. Push those hips back up over that pillow you young tramp!”

WHIP! WHIP! WHIP!

I delivered three quick hard cuts right through the middle of Becky’s tender bottom flesh, the rod singing through the air, the impacts sounding like pistol shots as they meet Becky’s churning white bottom flesh.

WHIP!

Another cut delivered with vicious accuracy across Becky’s ass, aimed low, and at an angle, stripping Becky low down across the top of her bound legs, and letting the tip of the whippy-ended birch rod ride up, just catching her across the puppy fat fuller cheeks well low down on her bottom. Becky was frantic, she let out a long low gasp of agony, then a series of fast paced loud objections, her pretty blond head turning from side to side rapidly, her mane sweeping across the polished oak table top, her knees trying to draw up and rubbing against each other under the leather binding strap.

I tapped the rod on the top of her now-quivering pert bottom, enjoying the sight of the angry red lines now starting to grow against the white background of her plump bottom cheeks. Becky was tensing and releasing her plump bottom halves, squirming across the top of the pillow booster in lewd and seductive fat-assed quiverings. Her strong bottom would drive out, hips raised, and then buck back as far as the straps would allow, giving her a wanton and whorish look, like a bride inviting her lover to take her bottom in a fit of honeymoon passion. “I’m going to break you this afternoon Becky, just like a young filly is broken to the bridle…”

WHIP! WHIP! I gave her two hard brisk strokes across the plump center of her shaking ass cheeks. “I’ll have obedience from you!”

WHIP! ” Bend tighter, I want a full-bottomed cheek swell.”

WHIP! WHIP! Two more stinging reminders, delivered down low, across the fatter cheek swell of Becky’s bottom lobes. “We have all afternoon Becky, no interruptions. WHIP! “When I am finished with you, we’ll have an obedience test.”

Again and again I whipped her plump backside, my mind lost in a haze of erotic discipline. My cock was straining against the rough fabric of my wool trousers, and my breathing was coming in large gulps, sucking giant mouthfuls of air in to my lungs as I let the rod fall across the middle of Becky’s girlish white cheek-swell. “Better get use to this, Becky. When you leave here, you’ll have masters who enjoy whipping tramps like you. They’ll enjoy whipping your bottom and you’ll learn to enjoy slavegirl sex up that tight little bottom passage of yours!”

I look at Becky’s face, turned sideways, her damp, tear filled eyes clear to me in the the mirror. She has a questioning look, wondering if I am done punishing her.

I smile.

“You didn’t think a little schoolgirl-style discipline would completely satisfy me did you?”

I laugh, drunk on desire.

“Oh, no Becky. I haven’t forgotten what you refused me this morning!”

Becky lets out a loud muffled protest, pleading with her eyes. She is making small mewing sounds from behind the panty gag, trying to beg.

I undo the top button on my trousers and let them drop to the floor, my cock now standing straight and hard and angry.

I pull a small tube of lubricant from my coat pocket, and smear a light sheen of the lubricant up and down my penis head, watching Becky’s eyes follow the movement of my hands across my fully erect cock in the mirror reflection.

I coat the end of my finger and push them between Becky’s parted asscheeks, running my goo-coated finger up and down between her clenching warm chubby bottom halves.

Becky’s rear mounds clench hard as I find her anus and lightly trace small soft circles all around the little ridges that lined her anal bud. She gasps as I slowly insert my finger into her bottom, first just the tip, crossing her tight opening, then slowly making her take more and more of my warm finger up her backside.

I start to slowly frig her backside with my finger, pushing my finger in slowly, feeling the tight anal ring expand over the thicker part of my finger, then letting it slide back out, till just the tip was inside her bottom. I’d gently push an inch of my finger in to her, then let it slide back out, then two inches, and let it slide back out, watching Becky tense her legs, her white bottom cheeks swishing a little from side to side, and her knees rubbing together. I would slowly push my finger in her and gently turn and twist it, small half-circles while fully up her backside, my finger worrying her little tight ring, and then slowly start working my finger in and out of her tensing bottom, pushing now till it was all the way in, up so snug and full in her.

I started to more quickly frig Becky’s tight little bottom hole, pushing more of my index finger into her anus, pumping my finger in and out in a slow deliberate motion, working her tight bottom ring with small twists as I pushed in, then pulling out at a faster pace, feeling Becky jerk a little as I turned my hand over, this way and that, twisting my finger in a small rotation while I held it deeply embedded in her bottom. I could hear small urgent moans coming from this captured girl’s panty filled mouth, caught between the humiliation of having her bottom so openly and unabashly played with, an object of simple lust openly frigged with a man’s large rough finger, and the arousal now starting to overtake her outrage. I pull my finger all the way out, watching Becky’s opening go suddenly small.

I stand up and push myself forward, my erect cock laying in the warmth of Becky bottom divide, letting the head of my penis loll in between the globes of her ass, savoring the moment; knowing how tight it’s going to be and reveling in her resistance and her humiliation.

I start to slowly push the head of my penis past her small tight anal ring, holding my breath, the veins on my forehead showing with the staring of my effort. Becky’s muffled cries are becoming louder as the pressure builds…

This was uncredited where I found it, but from the style I think it may have been originally written by Richard Manton, with possible subsequent edits by parties unknown. Many years ago Manton authored a plethora of overwrought BDSM novels for the Blue Moon erotic publishing imprint.

See Also:

• Riding Crop Spanked During Anal Sex
• A Spanked Shopgirl
• Sliding Into A Sore Bottom
• The Cane Grows On Her
• The Alligator Clip Threat
• Spanked For Tree Sitting
• After the Whipping