Spanking Blog: Adult Erotic Spanking At Its Best

From my long history of reading spanking blogs, I think the evolution described by Abby from The Little Red Schoolhouse in How I Stopped Worrying and Learned to Love the Cane is actually pretty common:

The cane was once my ultimate squick. As a college girl, encountering my first spanking films and stories online, it was “the thing to be avoided.” Most of my time was spent on Laura’s Spanking Corner, and if a story, even my beloved schoolgirl stories by Mary Catherine and Daria Little, started to become a caning scene, it was the back button for me. My terror was not decreased in my search for free videos and encountering snippets of what was then Rigid East. I remember watching in utter horror as Pavel Šťastný caned a Czech girl strapped to her desk. (I just looked this film up on RGE Films and the girl was Drahuše Brdečková in “From the Headmaster’s Study: A Note for Absence.”) The clip was only 30 seconds and it was far too much for me.

I maintained this squirmishness until my mid-twenties, when I met the man who would become my husband. Flirting in the bookstore in which we both worked, our jokes and teasing comments made it more and more obvious that we were of like minds with the exception that, as we are in most things, we were opposite sides of the same coin. We quickly learned that he was a top and I was a bottom. Then came the terrifying news. I was still afraid of the cane. It was his favorite implement.

He called it the whippy stick. I called it the “No, no, no way in hell am I getting beaten with that stick” stick. He took advantage of our place of employment and special ordered me an early favorite of his, a Blue Moon novel by Richard Manton called Fancy Girl. Rife with delicious punishments, it also included the first caning scene I read in its entirety. I’m still not sure which made me so wet upon reading it–the scene itself, or the knowledge that it was something he wanted to do to me.

So it came to be that he caned me two years before he kissed me. We went on the first of our now many implement shopping trips. At Target, we found a perfectly flat-backed square wooden hairbrush, an item that maintains a place near the bed or the schoolbench to this day. At Home Depot, in the outdoor gardening area, we found a bundle of dried bamboo. Red-faced, I was made to carry it to the cash register. No one could have known that the bamboo canes were to be applied to my bottom rather than a gardening purpose, but one look at my face and I’m sure my excited shame showed through.

The events that transpired back at his house are now a blur of exhaltation and agony. I know he cut the bamboo down to cane-lengths, about a yard long each. I remember the swish as he tested them against the air. I believe that he warmed my bottom with hand and brush before the caning, but what I remember clearly, so clearly, is being told to bend down and touch my ankles–a new position for my limited spanking repertoire. I remember trembling.

He told me to count, and I tried. Each stroke brought a pain so quick and sharp, unlike anything I’d ever felt, that with each stroke, I thought that I would die. Three sets of six. I lost count on the way to six at least once. I’m sure I cried, but the only wetness I now remember is the one between my legs, juices webbing across my thighs…

Bethie and I don’t often get too deep into non-spanking BDSM stuff — we like a little bondage, and as she’s posted recently, we’re finding that she responds extremely well indeed to various misreatments of her nipples — but that doesn’t mean we don’t have and play with quite a few toys. (On the contrary, we have so many that we had to buy a special BDSM toybag just to stow them in.) One of my favorite threats — favorite because she’s highly motivated to persuade me not to follow through — is to put aligator clips on her various tender bits. Behold the innocuous alligator clip, otherwise known as the Great White Shark of the nipple clip ecosystem:

They bother Bethie — things with teeth, doncha know — so we haven’t played with them…yet. (She loves that word “yet”.)

I first came across the erotic purposing of these delightful little beasts in a Blue Moon spanking novel, perhaps by Richard Manton. It was some manor-full-of-slavegirls scenario, in which one young miss had been insufficiently willing; she found herself tied in a vulnerable and exposed position with large alligator clips on all her tenderest bits, and told to call through the house for her master when she was ready to be pleasing. So of course for some hours servants and all were treated to her voluable pleas and assurances that she’d do anything — anything! — if only her master would come and remove the clips.

Back here in the real world, we encounter Anissa forced to find her best professional voice while in a similar, if rather less contrived, predicament:

My day went on much like usual in some aspects. I spent a full day working on office work… payroll, other accounting work… dealing with business calls. But I also spent my day in high heels and nylons and nothing else as far as clothing goes. I wore the posture collar while I made His lunch. I was hobbled with ankle cuffs and chain between them that wasn’t even a foot long. I spoke on the phone with clients while my clit was clamped with one of those nasty little alligator clamps. Every time He found need to make a correction in my work… I was reminded to perform to perfection with a trip bent over His desk for a taste of His cane. Either He was even more exacting that usual or I was making a lot of mistakes because I was seemed to spend a lot of time today with my nose pressed to wood. The harder I seemed to try… the more mistakes He would find. The more time I spent over His desk. Tonight my ass is well marked, welted and feeling oh-so tender.

And it makes me so fucking excited.