Caned And Paddled For Real
I know this punishment aftermath photo is from the Real Spankings archives, but I don’t have shoot or scenario information. Does anybody recognize this thoroughly-punished bottom?
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I know this punishment aftermath photo is from the Real Spankings archives, but I don’t have shoot or scenario information. Does anybody recognize this thoroughly-punished bottom?
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For the last 24 hours my social media has been alive with celebratory news of James Dobson’s death. His crimes were many and his victims innumerable, but in particular he wrote and sold millions of books advocating that very young children (and older ones too) be routinely and harshly subjected to corporal punishments by their Christian parents, to break their “strong wills” and prevent them from growing up rebellious. Starting in the 1970s, these books were insanely popular with large evangelical families, resulting in abuse affecting perhaps dozens of millions of American children. So, yeah: if there is a hell, which I doubt, I hope he rots in it.
Did I say “abuse” in connection with Dobson’s prescription for spanking children? Indeed I did, with my full chest. Spanking is a sex act, and should have nothing to do with children. In my view that puts Dobson at the head of a child abuse cult of enormous size.
Moving on. There’s a reason the Spanking Blog subtitle is “adult erotic spanking at its best”. Not all kink is a response to abuse or trauma, but some of it inevitably is. Many people who enjoy spankings as adults have childhood trauma around spanking abuse. (Others were never once touched that way, we can’t generalize.) I’m an elder member of Generation X. There are an awful lot of people in my generation with childhood trauma from being hit way too much by family members who were supposed to love and protect them. A big subset of those were Dobson cult victims. (Not me, actually. My folks were atheist ass-whackers. But some of my close good friends were Dobsonite whackees who weren’t allowed to play Dungeons & Dragons, again thanks to Dobson. Growing up in the ’70s and ’80s was wild, I tell you.)
One influential parenting book inspired by Dobsons’ approach advocated so-called “blanket training”: spanking very young toddlers every time they would crawl off a blanket, and then putting them back on it. Over and over and over. Yup, to break their “strong will” again. This caused one TikTok commenter I saw to fondly imagine Dobson spending his eternity on a blanket in hell, wearing a diaper, getting spanked every time he leaves his blanket, until hell freezes over. There is no justice in this universe, but if there were, I imagine that would serve.
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Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying this young wife hasn’t received a significant correction. I count six or eight notable cane welts on her bottom and enough additional marks to suggest that her domestic discipline has so far involved multiple sets, or additional implements, or both.
There’s just something in her body language, a tension, perhaps the arch of her spine? It tells me that she’s still angry. Her punishment hasn’t genuinely reached her yet, I don’t think.
The photo is from a long-ago tumblr that had domestic discipline metadata.
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Everybody knows that naughty little puppies of the naked human variety get spanked with (for starters) a rolled up newspaper or magazine, right? I mean, the punishments escalate for slow learners, but traditions must be observed:
This naughty blonde is from an older Whipped Ass shoot somewhere deep in the archives at Kink.com.
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When he asks his wife “Would you rather one bambooing, or double it and give it to the next girl?” she answers him without hesitation. “One, please. Fuck you and the next girl. Aaaah!” Apparently he made it a good one:
You can’t tell me that’s not love!
Backup video link here, because original TikTok links like this vanish in days or less.
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There are a variety of anal-focused punishments, usually mild, that often accompany a spanking. Sometimes before, sometimes during, sometimes after, these usually combine elements of humiliation and discomfort with the pain of the spanking. Perhaps an enema, perhaps a butt plug, perhaps a bit of ginger? For these reasons and many more, plenty of ill-behaved women who maybe enjoy their spankings a tiny bit too much have become familiar with the command to reach behind themselves, grab their own ass cheeks, spread ’em, and hold on tight.
Failure to comply, as always, means a spanking now to achieve compliance and then, after compliance has been obtained, the spanking you were gonna get in the first place. Not a good time for defiance, honeybunch, and never a good plan.
I have an image credit for this photo but I’m not going to share it because of petrified pettiness. It comes from a spanking porn producer who stiffed me for about five thousand dollars worth of affiliate fees they owed me almost twenty years ago, so fuck them.
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Rooted In Sin is a semi-dark Mafia romance by Alta Hensley and Renee Rose. There’s a quickie sex scene with a belt spanking that’s pure foreplay:
He drags his open mouth along my neck and bites me. “You gonna let me fuck you in your shop again?” His voice is rough, a low growl. “Let off steam, so I can make it through dinner?”
Like he would have blue balls if we don’t have sex first. Like he needs me that badly. It’s a powerful feeling to be that wanted—I’ve never experienced it before.
“What do you think?” I want more words out of this guy. Find out if his thoughts match the feelings I absorb from him.
“I think you are.” He steps back and unbuckles his belt.
My eyes track the movement, finding it slightly threatening and extremely hot.
“Oh, you want the belt?”
Shit! Do I? Definitely not. Only… heat floods between my legs.
He loops the belt around my waist and uses it to pull my hips against his body. “Tell me, bella, how do you want my belt?”
A shiver runs through my body at the thought of him using it to spank me. Do I want that? I don’t think so, but my body disagrees, my excitement level ratcheting even higher.
He continues talking as he backs me toward the door and locks it, turning my Open sign to Closed. “You want it around your throat while I fuck you from behind? Hmm?” His breath is hot on my ear. “Or should I use it to bind your wrists behind your back?”
Oh, damn. I hadn’t considered either of those possibilities. And they both freak me out and turn me on in equal measures.
“Or did you just want to feel it across your ass?”
This time the shiver that runs through me is big enough for him to sense.
“Don’t worry, Flowers. I’ll make sure you like it.”
He shifts the belt to loop under my ass and pulls up to pin our bodies together. My core is molten right now. We’ve barely gotten started, and I’m already losing my sanity. Close to orgasm.
This is what this man does to me.
It’s crazy.
He spins me around and backs me into the break room. “I wanted you on your bed. On your forearms and knees with those thighs spread wide. Will you do that for me later, beautiful?”
“Yes,” I swear. I’d promise him just about anything right now. I’m drunk with lust. Drunk on him.
He turns me around and pulls up the hem of my short cotton dress. “You always wear these short fucking dresses. They make me crazy, Flowers. Make it so easy for me to bare your ass and spank this pretty skin purple.” The most this guy talks is when we’re having sex. No wonder that’s the place I feel like we connect best. He yanks my panties down and delivers four slaps to my ass, then rubs out the sting. “You’re so hot. So beautiful.”
Keep talking, boss man. His words are a balm to my ears. Maybe I am needy. Clingy. Whatever. Because I drink his praise right now like it’s an elixir. But this guy doesn’t talk much, so when he does, it feels significant.
“Spread,” he commands, shoving my panties down until they drop to the floor. His voice is so deep and sure. I can’t imagine anyone ever argues with him.
I widen my stance and hollow my back, emboldened by all his praise. He slides his belt between my legs and brings the leather over my core.
“Mmm,” I moan.
He pulls it back out and flicks just the end of it between my legs, spanking my pussy.
I gasp. It stings, but he went lightly. It’s not painful. Just a little hurty.
“You like getting your pussy spanked, little girl?”
Oh damn. Now he’s calling me little girl. Why do I love that so much?
“N-no,” I lie.
He replaces the belt with his fingers and rubs over my slit. I’m sopping wet. “I think you do. You want me to spank your ass with it?”
My breath is audible. Not quite a gasp, but a rasping between us. I don’t answer.
“Hmm? I think you want to try it, don’t you? Are you scared, Flowers?”
I nod my head up and down. I’m facing the Formica table, the grey speckled surface swimming in front of my eyes.
He steps right up to me, kicks my legs wider, and cages my throat, pulling my torso up until my back meets his front. His hardened cock presses against my ass through his pants. “You like a little pain with your pleasure, don’t you, Hannah? Or is it fear?”
Hot prickles skitter across my skin. I can already tell I’m going to bawl when this is over because there’s pressure in my face, tears in my throat. His hand there amplifies the feeling. He’s not squeezing, but he easily could. If those fingers tightened, he could end my life, just like that.
He’s done it before, I’ll bet.
Yeah, it’s the danger. “Fear,” I whisper. I feel things so intensely. When sex combines with danger, it amplifies everything.
He bites my ear. Not a nip, but a punishing bite that’s almost too hard. “Are you afraid of what I’m going to do to you now?” He’s wicked, taunting me like the devil teases his prey.
“Yeah.”
“Three strokes,” he murmurs and pushes my torso back down to the table.
I let out a whimper. I am scared. Scared it will hurt. Scared I’ll embarrass myself with my reaction. Scared of being so vulnerable with this man who is quickly becoming so much to me.
“Then I’m going to fuck you good. And after I’m gonna treat you like a princess. Capiche?”
Do I understand? Not even remotely.
But I am totally on board. A rush of adrenaline floods my veins as he steps back and winds one end of his belt around his fist.
Oh God. What am I getting myself into? This is crazy. Crazier than kissing a killer.
He whips the belt through the air. It lands across the lower portion of my buttocks leaving a line of fire. I gasp, clenching my cheeks together.
“Oh God.” I try to straighten, but he holds me down.
“More?” He’s letting me know I can stop this even though he’s holding me down. I can’t bring myself to ask for more. I’m not sure I want it. But I don’t tell him to stop, either.
I leave it up to him.
And of course, he understands that. Despite how emotionally unavailable Armando may seem, he’s pretty perceptive when it comes to my emotions. He does pay attention.
He whips me again, and I jump and let out a cry this time. He rubs over the two stripes, kneading the pain into a more generalized burning.
I moan softly.
“I said three. You gonna take the last one like a good girl?”
Checking in again.
“Yes.” I bob my head, like promising to be good will make it any easier.
He slides his hand down and strokes between my legs. “Yes, you are a good girl, aren’t you? Always so good.”
I’m trembling all over. Feverish.
He plays with my clit, and I arch back, moaning. He grips my hips and leans over to kiss one of my burning buttcheeks. “One more,” he says firmly as he rises.
Damn.
He swings, and I gasp, and then it’s over. Armando’s clothing rustles, and I hear the crackle of the condom wrapper. He drags the head of his cock through my juices. Finding me so ready, he feeds himself in.
I’m not sure penetration has ever been so satisfying as it is right now. The rightness of him filling me couldn’t be more plain. Like my body was made to accept his. Like this is its purpose.
Armando groans. “You’re perfect, Hannah. So perfect.” He eases in, inch by inch, then slowly backs out, teasing me with his length.
He may require the warm-up, but I don’t. I’m ready for him to pound hard. Bruise my hips again or pull my hair. Instead, he slides his hands up my sides, inside my dress and dips his fingers into my bra to pinch one nipple.
I press my hands flat on the table and arch up, lifting my head. “Don’t tease me,” I tell him. Need’s made me cranky now. “I need to finish.”
He answers with a hard slam home. “That what you want, beautiful? Nice hard fuck? ‘Cause that always suits me.”
He bands an arm around my waist, careful to protect my hips from the table this time, and starts jackhammering into me.
“Yes,” I moan, satisfaction looming close.
He plants one hand beside mine for leverage and plows into me, his loins slapping my ass, grinding in the burn from his belt, smoothing it out, satisfying it.
“I love you.”
Oh shit. Why the fuck did I say that? I definitely didn’t mean to. These things always come out of my mouth! I mean, it’s true. In this moment, the love is flowing, but Jesus!
Why did I have to say it?
He falters, breaking rhythm, and I’m sure this is going to end badly.
Like maybe the worst of all endings because this time I’m freaking head over heels for this guy.
But instead of getting awkward and weird, he gets more aggressive. He fists my hair and pulls my head back sharply, sending a thousand tiny prickles of pain across my scalp.
“You love it when I fuck you hard, don’t you, bella?” he growls, like he’s mad at me. Like he’s saying the words between clenched teeth.
“Yes!” I cry out, relieved at how he twisted my words. How he ran with it.
“You’re going to like it when I fuck this ass, too.”
Oh God. I almost laugh out loud. Maybe that’s what love means to him. Anal.
“Harder,” I urge him on, wanting to get to my finish, but maybe also trying to rush past my mistake.
He keeps pounding into me, giving it the way I like. Loving me back with that big cock of his.
“I need you.”
Oh my God, my mouth won’t stop.
He pulls tighter on my hair. “I’ll give it to you,” he growls. And he does. Even harder. Hard enough I’m getting sore. Wonderfully brutal. Like a beast released from his cage.
And then I scream. I come hard as he gets rougher and rougher with me.
He comes, and when he’s done, reaches around to rub my clit and gets a second orgasm out of me.
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