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Here’s a fun photograph, more fashion portrait than spanking porn, but it nonetheless features Serge Gainsbourg posing as if to spank the lovely and somewhat notorious actress Jane Birkin, in the December 1974 issue of Lui magazine:
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Controlling your sub during an OTK spanking by getting a good firm grip on a whole fistful of her hair is one of those micro-fetishes that isn’t precisely rare, but when you’re an aficionado, this kind of hair pulling doesn’t pop up in your spanking porn as often as you’d like. Extra points to the top for wearing an “I Like To Swallow” tee shirt.
The photo comes from the long-defunct Spankmaster General site.
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In Never Submit by Korey Mae Johnson, our heroine has been alien-abducted and now finds herself trapped in a lizard-man’s very large harem. Because the alien lizard has no cock, all his harem girls are technical virgins, much to their frustration. The chief harem keeper is a human man named Peyton. He’s not a particularly bad man, nor a cruel one, but his balls are very much on the line: if any of the virgins under his care lose that unhappy status on his watch, he’ll be a nutless eunuch before he can say “horny little slut” three times fast. So he’s always nervous. Then, one fine day, some plot stuff happens, and Ellie finds herself about to be joyously devirginized by one of the lizard-man’s reluctant guests, which is a polite way of referencing the prisoners in Lord Slithery’s dungeons. Luckily for our man Peyton, he interrupts Ellie’s prospective tryst just in time, and now she’s in super-big double trouble:
It wasn’t much of a discussion. It was more like a begging ceremony, where Ellie tried her best to keep Peyton from taking the skin off her after he dragged her by the scruff of the neck of the coat he’d lent her to the gardens to snap a fresh switch. She’d never been switched before, but she still had bruises from earlier, and thus, she didn’t really want to find out what the combination would be like.
“Now, Peyton, if you just hear me out—” she said, her eyes following the switch’s every movement as he quickly tested his choice on his thigh.
Peyton didn’t hear her out. In another moment, he had grabbed her upper arm and wheeled her down to her bedroom.
“I know what I saw,” he retorted. “And what I saw was you lose your mind. I’m gonna tan the brains back into you, girl!”
She tried to grab at the door frame of her room as he tried to yank her in, knowing as soon as the door closed behind them, she was in for a world of hurt. “Well, I can kind of explain that if you—Ack!” She forgot how strong Peyton could be if he wanted to—she was surprised she didn’t take a chunk of the door with her when he pulled her in and shut the door behind them.
He started stripping the bark off the switch he’d found as Ellie regained her footing. “Alright, before you go nuts—I told you that the whole thing downstairs was weird. Maybe I did lose my mind! I don’t know. I couldn’t help it, though, Peyton. I mean, Graham’s actually kind of an ass, but I was still…”
“Lettin’ him in between your legs like a lil’ hussy? Yeah. I saw,” Peyton assured grimly.
She blushed profusely before she opened and closed her mouth a couple of times. “I’m not a hussy, Peyton,” she finally said, feeling small. “I know I put you at risk, though, and I AM super-sorry.”
“Risk? Risk? You were about to screw me—and not in the good way!” he blared. “May I remind you of what would happen if you…”
“I wasn’t thinking about you…” she admitted. “I just… forgot.”
Peyton looked at her with a very intimidating, very offended expression. “Yeah? Well, consider this your reminder, kiddo. Pants off.”
She, instead, put her hands on her pants like she was determined to hold them onto her hips at all costs. “I have something important to talk to you about!”
“Alright,” he said, tapping the switch impatiently against the side of his leg. “Talk. It better be REAL educational.”
She shifted her weight foot to foot, staring at the switch. “I can’t talk when you have that… thing in your hand,” she told him.
“Talk,” he ordered.
“Okay…” She bit her lip for a moment, and then unleashed everything. She basically recited everything word-for-word, but in the end, Peyton just looked more pissed than he was. He didn’t say anything, though, just locked his jaw and stared at her.
She got goose bumps over her arms as she realized that the reason he didn’t say anything, or move, is because if he did, he was afraid of hurting her.
“Can I change my shirt, at least?” she said, her posture an illustration of capitulation.
“Strip,” he ordered, but it was a short, controlled word.
“Peyton…” Peyton hadn’t seen her completely naked since her first day at the palace, when he ripped about a thousand towels off her body so that he would be able to leather her bottom, resulting in a lesson that she thought she wouldn’t have to learn twice: Never blatantly disobey Peyton. She couldn’t believe that she would be forced to be naked now. Now they knew each other.
Peyton wasn’t in the mood to be whined at, or to wait as she pretended to still have shame left. He stepped toward her, and she covered her body as if she was already nude. He made short work of undressing her against her will—although Ellie was strong in spirit, she wasn’t particularly strong in any other way. Especially up against a powerhouse-type like Peyton.
And she didn’t try that hard, anyway. By the time he took his own jacket from her, her eyes welled up with tears.
She was wailing by the time he ripped her pants down to her ankles.
“Stop your bellyachin’,” he snapped. “We haven’t even begun yet, Princess.”
Somehow, that wasn’t reassuring enough to get her to stop wailing and begging him until he grabbed her arm and pulled her to her bed, forcing her down on it. She was helpless—pinned by the small of her back.
And then he began to switch her.
It certainly didn’t feel like how she feared. No, no—it felt a million times worse. It turned out that she wasn’t very creative. Her mind hadn’t even begun to FATHOM the type of pain that went along with a switching. Mostly because she had never equated itching with pain—or was it itching? The way her skin seemed to quiver after a switching was uncomfortable enough to make her want to soothe the hot, inflamed welts it left behind, but it was a pain that couldn’t be scratched away.
It was surely possible that the entire palace could hear her caterwauling; it was as if she was trying to get her vengeance on Peyton by making his ears bleed. But he didn’t stop—he bit the switch into her flanks with such skill, you’d think he was a professional.
He even was able to lecture her, audible around her sobs. “Oh, this could get SO much worse,” he promised. “I told you NOT to talk to them, and then what do you do? Blatantly disobey me and WORSE. Do you know—do you have any idea—what could happen to you if you allowed that to happen? If I didn’t come in just in that second? How could you be so thoughtless? So selfish? So goldarn stupid? After all we’ve been through, you go behind my back and do that… There’s no excuse! None whatsoever!”
He wasn’t interested in just scorching her bottom for her, either. He switched her all the way down to the bend of her knees, until she brought up her feet protectively, and then he grabbed them both in turn until each pad of her foot had a couple of stripes across each of them.
“Spread your legs wider,” he ordered above her sobs.
She wanted to call out, ‘Are you crazy?’ but she wouldn’t dare. Still, she knew if she spread her legs wide, which she had taken great care to keep from doing thus far in the punishment it would only give him new, tender targets.
Still, it didn’t look like the switching would end until she did it, so, slowly, she began to edge of her feet carefully away from each other. Peyton grabbed her inner thigh with his large hand and forced them wider before he leaned over and issued blows to that area and then—
SWISH-SWICK! He hit the tender, swollen lips of her labia with the flexible wand.
She thought she was going to die.
To keep this short; she began to make promises and apologies. All sorts! She promised eternal obedience, she apologized for talking to the Swarii, she apologized for looking at them, she apologized for being born, and she promised that she would stay a virgin for the rest of her life.
She would have promised to turn into a pink elephant, too, if she thought that would make any difference.
Finally, it stopped. She continued to cry, but her throat hurt too much to even speak, after all her yelping. There wasn’t much to say on her behalf—she had been thoroughly punished; she had gone against Peyton’s wishes and his trust and risked his life, and probably her own. She did feel stupid.
She didn’t move. Peyton dropped the switch to her side and announced that she would stay in her room all night, and would go without dinner. She didn’t want it, anyway. How could she eat, or move around the palace, after that? All she wanted to do when Peyton left the room and locked the door behind him as if she was a naughty little girl, was to crawl up to her bed and cry into her pillow until she went to sleep, and that’s exactly what she did.
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Question: What does a lingerie store running a big sale have in common with a woman who is about to get a spanking?
Answer: Both of them have panties that are half-off!
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Long ago, when this blog was new, there used to be forums where erotic spanking enthusiasts would discuss their experiences and fantasies. A common theme would be forum members, usually but not always women, who were intrigued by the idea of spanking but were still trying to find a safe and friendly person to give them a proper spanking experience. Some of these impatient fantasizers would inevitably work themselves into an erotic frenzy so comprehensive, they would attempt to spank themselves.
Their self-reports about the success of this enterprise tended to fall into two categories. A few of these impact-play entrepreneurs found their self-inflicted whackings quite satisfying. Sometimes, for some, raw sensation is king and queen and lord of the dance, all in one. More often, for many others, it was a disappointment. “It doesn’t feel right when I can just stop — I need someone else in charge of my punishment!”
All of this was going on when interactive camming was just being invented. Passive one way “voyeur” webcams had been around for quite awhile, but the technology to see and be seen, one on one, with two-way text or voice chat, was just becoming mainstream. Those were the dawning days of the erotic webcam industry.
However, it took quite a few years for BDSM cams performers to develop and specialize. Dominatrixes were the early pioneers, I think, but professional camming submissives weren’t far behind. Performers with niche specialties, like spank cams or jerk off instruction (JOI) or foot worship (among many others) took longer to develop, but all of these exist today.
Everybody’s wired differently, but as our pioneering self-spankers discovered decades ago, sometimes the vital component is not so much the physicality of the spanking but rather the presence of another person, seeing you and hearing you and sternly instructing you on how you’ve misbehaved and what you’ll have to do before absolution is yours. Indeed, for many, it’s the disciplinary relationship that’s erotic, much more so than the actual pain of the punishment.
Image credits, top to bottom: The blonde spanking herself with her own hairbrush is by February Leaf. The lonely submissive whipping herself into an erotic frenzy with a doubled-over electrical cable is by Mongoringo. The bunny girl spanking herself in a library is by Wazu. The animation in several frames of a woman happily spanking her own panties-covered bottom is from the anime series Ikki Tousen. The beauty who just finished spanking herself with a heart-decorated paddle is by Albyeee. Tinker Bell spanking herself with both hands while standing on a mirror is by Art-2U.
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How do you make a woman forget that she has vacuum suction tubes on her nipples? By flogging her pussy, of course!
From Device Bondage at Kink.com.
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I believe this is one of the many lightly-spanked wives of Tumblr-that-was:
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