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How do you know this punished woman is a true lady? Because even while shackled to a post and getting whipped, she still has her heels on!
From Punished #1 (CalStar 1985).
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What happens when four young ladies on a chaperoned road trip get caught shoplifting? A paddling for the whole group!
From a Real Spankings shoot called “Road Trip” that dates all the way back to 2002.
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I never heard of whangee before Blake posted these photos:
Blake writes:
I’ve recently come into possession of a new cane. Made of whangee, it’s thick, dense, & knotted at intervals along its length. It’s an antique — they’re pretty pricey, and it’s a bit of a trick to find one without a rubber walking stick foot on the bottom.
After giving one naughty boy a sound thrashing with it, I said it was strange using an implement when I didn’t know what it felt like. Well. 12 strokes later, I can confirm it has a serious bite!
It turns out that whangee is a colonial Britishism for bamboo, and derives etymologically from a Chinese word (huáng) that means bamboo. However, cheap splintery bamboo canes have been a plague upon the spanking kink since forever. So I’m assuming there must be nuances of craftsmanship that distinguish a pricy whangee antique cane from your typical randomly-selected-by-pornographers-who-don’t-care unshaped and barely-finished stick of bamboo.
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Cussing your husband again? How’s that working out for you? It’s almost as if you enjoy a mouthsoaping!
I’m pretty sure this is Amber “Pixie” Wells at Punished Brats. (The site is defunct so I’m linking you instead to a HotMovies page where you can buy Punished Brats videos.)
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Billie Tyler was a softcore pinup model in the 1960s. Here we see her outdoors in a nice sweater and fancy lingerie with her black lace panties pulled halfway down, on her knees and elbows like she’s about to get a spanking:
Sadly, there’s no actual spanking photo in the shoot as it appeared in the April 1966 issue of Mistress magazine.
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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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