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In this old shoot from Kink.com, the lovely faux-schoolgirl Madison Young discovers too late that being the teacher’s pet when the teacher is Daphne Rosen is an experience in cruelty and hard paddling:
Note: a much smaller version of this image appeared on Spanking Blog long ago.
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This so-called holy man is very rigorous about penitence and forgiveness:
Artwork is by Ian Hamilton.
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In her first shoot for Kink.com, Lilly Jade looks very fetching at the whipping post:
From Fresh And Tender.
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Remember the Czech easter whipping tradition? Or, how about this vintage birching photo that has circulated on the internet for decades? I just found a Czech “Happy Easter” postcard version of the birching photo. It might be the original publication, or the postcard publisher may have yoinked it from the Eastern European version of the public domain, I can’t tell. Either way, I’ve always seen this as a deliciously fat-bottomed wife getting disciplined by her no-nonsense husband:
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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.
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What do I know about this vintage whipping photograph? Almost nothing. However, I can infer quite a bit. The clothing says 1920s to me, and the martinet screams “from France” because the martinet might as well be the French national implement for domestic discipline of all kinds. Put those together and this photo may well be part of the vast fetish output that survives from the Biederer (Ostra) Studio in Paris:
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You know it’s going to be a long day on the spanking porn set when the director spanks you in the dressing room before you ever get your first outfit on. It’s what you get for showing up late!
From Real Spankings.
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