Despite the bold claim of the title this is no more than a few observations about spanking erotica since the advent of the camera. Most weeks I run a feature called Vintage Sunday in which features old photographs that have some obvious appeal for a spanko readership.

Whilst actual spanking pictures are not rare as such, they are often not the most appealing. This is because the photographer often had no feel for the subject matter and was merely doing a job to order; ‘a bit of flage,’ as it is known in the trade.

I rarely explain or even know the background or context of the images, which is a shame. The ones above I stumbled upon on a short-lived Tumblr recently and I had never seen them before anywhere. They have the look of ‘flage’ about them and yet these Edwardian ladies maybe have something about them that maybe the photographer captured by accident.

I remember years ago watching a documentary about erotica (and porn) and several naked young women had to go through the motions of having sex for the camera. Once the shoot ended the impassioned women all went cool and business-like; all except one girl who was clearly lost in the experience. In the post production interview the previous self-confessed heterosexual woman admitted that she had enjoyed the experience and effectively came out as bi-sexual on camera. One wonders how often this has happened for spanking and BDSM related projects.

For me the difference between pornography and erotica is in the intent. Erotica is an art. It is a genuine attempt to explore sexuality and project either a genuine fantasy or reveal the truth of one. This is as opposed the ‘industrial’ exploitative ‘see what sells’ approach that is sadly in the majority.

The best picture not only reveal the heart and soul of what is arousing to the photographer, but carry on through to the model and is in her eyes: in short she too is touched by the scenario and lets it show.

I have included some racier BDSM images below, one of them is really quite graphic so don’t scroll down of you are of certain disposition. I do not know the artists but it is clear that no ‘flage’ exploiter could have easily faked this, the scenario’s are too specific. Also note the eyes of the woman below and those of the ‘tormentor’ in the next picture.

Maybe some of these are early amateur to or even documentary subjects, but that is the point, the artists cannot fake it, which is while they hold genuine appeal to us sometimes more than 100 years after they were taken.

Most of the artist here are unknown to me at least, but show a true feel for spanking and BDSM art right up to modern. The 1930s images above are by Carl Breuer-Corth I believe and the last image below is by Martin Zurmühle, who very much pursues this tradition.

I think it is interesting that these images all feature only women. One supposes that historically professional productions had only one audience in mind. But it is worth pointing out that there are many F/M BDSM that capture something real as far back as the 1920s and are excluded here as they are off-topic. The real shame is that M/F art before recent times was so very rare and usually have an exploitative feel.

Nevertheless, we will return to this subject and focus on M/F at a future date.

Not sure if this is going to be a regular feature but that is the hope. On Monday’s there used to be a Weekly Round-up of the best blog posts but so many blogs have gone or have failed to update that it is hard to sustain that for now. Also it is hard to know if all bloggers have the rights to pictures they publish and this blog along with others is getting more careful about that.

For our purposes I include the commercial blogs as part of the community and so we might foster connections there and perhaps in time point some of you at the best professional sites.

For now above is a selection of old reliable’s from the ever posting Devlin O’Neil to Asa Jones at the Spanking Emporium. As ever Vanilla Spanking is worth a look if you want mainstream movie or pop culture, Spanking Toons likes to put its heroines in her place and of course for the eclectic you can always rely on the Spanking Blog. Also I am pleased to see Ronnie Soul is still going strong.

I have also included images from industry champion the Spanking Blogg and AAA Spanking.

During the 20^th century in Europe and America there was a huge growth in spanking literature, artists, underground movies and even barely disguised spanking pursuits in mainstream books, movies, theatre and even night clubs.

Hardly anywhere in the so-called developed world seemed immune from the interest, although different cultures explored it differently. The now-liberal countries like the Netherlands and Scandinavia, for instance, were then more right-wing and inclined towards anti-decadence. The interests in these countries came in the form of punishment manuals with titles centred on spanking or whipping your wife or student manuals for young blue-stocking women being spanked, birched, paddled or caned even into their 20s.

In Britain there were risqué photographers and racy novellas, but often, like the Nordic countries they focussed on discipline and the return to traditional values. There is still a shop in London that sells umbrellas and riding crops for conventional uses. But their old signage is still extant and advertises canes, whips and other correctional paraphernalia. It is rumoured that it wasn’t only public schools that utilised their services.

Elsewhere the craze was more brazen.

The French had a whole host of artists and writers such as René-Michel , Pierre Dumarchey, Pierre de Jusange, Liane Lauré to name a few. Artists like Louis Malteste, Édouard Bernard, Carlõ, Chéri Herouard (Herric) were so prolific that their art can still be seen today in the not so dark corners of the Internet.

Not all these writers were French, many Italians, Germans, British and American writers and artist entered the fray.

One of the more interesting crazes in this vein was the ‘Slapper At’ or ‘Spanker At’ trend. Young women would dress or act in a juvenile manner to either court or at least pretend to court a spanking from an eligible young man (or sometimes woman).

I quote from my own article from 2011:

Originally a spanker-at was a term applied to a prostitute who would offer to take a spanking as one of her services. But in the hedonistic 1920s of the jazz age the term took on a wider meaning and by 1929 a spanker-at was a woman who would either take a spanking for fun or in modern parlance was spankable.

As the Depression hit it was even immortalised in song.

“No more money in the bank,
no more pretty babies to spank.”

It might help to put some of the movies of that era in context to know that ordinary girl-next-door types sometimes imagined themselves a real femme fatal, if they flirted with a spanking.

There were even clubs in New York and later London, called spanker-at clubs which lasted into the 1940s.

In Berlin the cabaret circuit was often openly gay-friendly for instance and would think nothing of exploring BDSM and the Spanker-At craze sat quite literally cheek-by-jowl with this world.

Newspapers would seize on any opportunity to report a spanking and the tone even in a serious article was schadenfreude and fun such in the illustration below, which is from an article purporting to be about juvenile delinquency.

perhaps the reason for this so-called Golden Age is probably down to two concurrent developments. Firstly the growth of popular culture in general, the movies, the huge reduction in cost of publishing and the growth of a post-industrial class to take advantage.

But more than that, it was an age like no other when not only were traditional values being increasingly challenged (the permissive society did not begin with the 1960s) but unlike later the social revelations of the 1950s, 60s and 70s, people were far more innocent. So when Clark Gabel spanks Joan Crawford, she can tolerate it or even seek it out for her own good without the moral conservatives getting upset.

The fun ended in Europe during the 1930s when the Nazis occupied France and Germany and the British suddenly found they had more serious things to attend to. By the beginning of the 1940 the USA had followed.

Of course the real Golden Age of spanking is probably now, but that is a topic for another day.

Part I here

“Get off me,” Alice gasped suddenly pushing John away.

“Wh-what?” John was still reeling from the kiss and now she was mad at him again.

“I didn’t mean to… I mean,” Alice downcast her eyes and scanned the carpet for salvation. What was she doing?

“You’re right,” John said thickly and looked skyward to silently curse the ceiling.

Alice knew she had been as much to blame for the kiss as he was, but then her anger went in a new direction… “Why did you let him trick me?” she suddenly raged.

“I…” Why had he? John could not think of a reason now.

Alice lunged at him, impotently slapping at him until he flinched and took a step back.

“I know you’re mad at me, I’m mad at me, but… he promised he wouldn’t… I mean you knew it was him didn’t you?” John felt he might cry and the feeling shocked him.

Alice froze with her arms still raised and her hands balled into a fist. She looked down again. “Yes,” she whispered.

“Then this has nothing to do with me does it?” his sigh was close to a sob.

“You bastard, this has everything to do with you,” she spat and began punching him again repeating, “Bastard.”

“Will you stop?” he snarled.

“No, make me,” she spat and slugged at him again.

John grunted and held his arm. “Hey, that hurt, if you don’t stop…”

“You’ll what?” Alice sneered. She had no idea what she as doing now; she was all emotion and raw need.

“I will spank you,” he said still fending her off.

“You wouldn’t dare,” she said scornfully.

He gave her a look and she paused in her assault.

“You wouldn’t…” she said again with less certainty.

John pursed his lips and regarded her carefully. Then without a word he began rolling up his sleeve.

“If you think…” Alice began.

John sighed and finished rolling up his right sleeve. “I am beyond thinking, my head hurts. I have never met a woman like you before. Why are you so damn complicated?” he said.

Alice glared at him defiantly wishing the anger would go, the confusion even, she wanted the complications he spoke of out of her life.

John snorted derisively and then without the least strain he seized Alice by the arm and turned her about. She was still mouthing protests when he sat down on her bed and dragged her across his lap. Somewhere in the manoeuver her towel fell to the floor leaving her naked and exposed belly-down over his knee.

The sight of her was stomach-tightening and his cock stirred in his trousers. It did not escape his notice that Alice had been very soundly spanked. The stark dark red markings spoke of an epic punishment so either Adam had been totally pissed at her or they were both crazy, John decided.

“J-John don’t you dare, John…” Alice spluttered.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he muttered, “Listen up you little brat I have had just about enough of this. I am going to spank you until you think Adams’s efforts were love pats. Hey, maybe you’ll even enjoy it.”

“John no, I…” she began.

John spanked her hard and she yelped. The follow up slap was harder and then he let rip.

“Yeesh,” Alice squealed, her eyes starting in her head.

Ignoring her John allowed his arm to become a blur so that in less than a minute he must have spanked her near on a 100 times. Alice could only buck and squirm under the onslaught and she was panting like a wolf way too hard to give voice to protests. The first John even knew she was in distress was when she suddenly started crying.

He stopped the spanking and scratched his head. He never wanted to spank anyone more in his life, but seriously, this was more Adam’s line. “You asked for this,” he told her.

“I know,” she sobbed.

“I never wanted this,” he sighed.

“No, but I guess I needed it,” she sniffed, “I probably deserve this spanking more than the one Adam gave me.” She managed a smile.

“I meant everything before that,” John groaned.

“I know, but with you Stone brothers I guess it all comes with the package.” Alice was still rolling with the burn and wondered if she would ever sit down again.

“I guess it does,” John laughed mirthlessly and gave her bottom a squeeze so that she squealed. “Now I guess I had better get this done.”

Alice’s eyes flew open in surprise. She thought they were done.

“John please, I know I deserve it, but can’t I at least take a rain check?” Alice wailed.

“I guess not, as my step mom Augusta always says, ‘when a spanking is due, a spanking is due and no sense putting it off.’” John chuckled. “I don’t suppose you’re going to sit down for a week.”

“Try a month you bastard,” she snapped and then gave out a bug-eyed yell as he spanked her.

“I don’t think we can really get this spanking started until we address this little attitude problem of yours,” he said and resumed the volley spanking.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” she wailed.

“No you’re not, sorry is what you are going to be,” he growled.

“John please, this is crazy, I…” Alice struggled to take a breath, John was spanking her far harder than Adam, or so it felt, maybe it was because she was still tender down there. She grunted and tried to buck free, John held her fast as he spanked on.

Before Pulver spanking was not her world, just something to joke about or maybe check out in a porno; not that she ever had. Now she was taking it good and although every fibre of modern woman in her screamed abuse and injustice all she could think about was that John spanked harder than Adam. Nor had it missed her attention that while one end bawled like a teenaged brat the other wept in perverse approval.

“I am sorry, I’m sorry,” she sobbed, thrilling at the surrender, more so knowing her pleas were in vain. John had decided she was going to get spanked and there was nothing she could do about it.

“Is this what you want?” John growled, “See I can be Adam every bit as well as he can be me.”

John spanked down hard letting his fingers act like little whips feeling her flesh yield and burn as she squirmed across his lap. Alice gave up all resistance and let her self just cry. Never had she been so aware of her bottom; two spheres of heat that met where it really counted until she at once wanted it to stop and prayed that it didn’t. The minutes and the spanks came without number and she totally surrendered to it all.

Then the spanking stopped and she flopped across his lap for a good cry. Indeed until that moment she didn’t know that crying could be so good.

John for his part felt vented and was enjoying the weight of her across his lap and the pressure of his erection in his trousers.

He was not the only one, Alice felt it too and just then she was like a cat on heat. Hauling herself up she squirmed around and threw her arms around him, ignoring the burn of her bare bottom on his trousers as her mouth found his.

“What about Adam?” he panted.

“What about him? You have as much claim as he does,” she rasped, kissing him hard, “More,” she lied. Was it a lie? Just then she didn’t know and didn’t care.

John pulled her close and kissed her back hard. “I don’t have…” she gasped.

“You too,” she rolled her eyes. “I don’t fucking care,” she snarled.

John was so shocked at this he almost stopped to spank her again, but Alice fell to her knees before him and began clawing at his zipper kissing him where he was hardest.

“You don’t have to…” he panted, shocked by her brazenness.

“Maybe,” she said eagerly, “But your brother is partial to the back door and as much as I would like to oblige, that premises is sadly closed for repairs, she quipped.”

John was reeling and wonder if he was about to be swallowed whole by some city slicker man eater. Then he was.

*

“Now I am confused,” John drawled, his hands finding her body and pulling her close. “Am I cheating on Adam or did he cheat on me?” He gave her a lopsided grin.

They lay in her bed together both sated now. Despite the sore throbbing ache of her bottom Alice felt like purring. She could still feel the effects of him at both ends and not only from the spanking. Sex had never been so good. Not unless she counted Adam and the good girl in her wanted to believe that they were literally the same coin. The bad girl grinned inwardly: I had twins.

“You’re confused,” she snorted, “I am seeing double.” She poked her tongue out at him.

“You want another spanking?” he teased.

“Probably,” she sighed happily, “But if you spank me again anytime soon I may never sit down again.”

“If that’s what it takes to keep you here,” he said.

“You don’t have to use force,” she chided him, frowning now, trying hard to be mad.

“No I meant… you won’t be able to sit down to drive your car…” his jokes rarely found their mark with girls, and was it even a joke? His mind was fogged with sex.

“My car?” she was only half listening and wondered what he was talking about.

John wanted to babble about how she could stay at the ranch and then he remembered. Adam was not the only complication. Pack politics forbade outside relationships beyond a little weekend fun.

“Do you think Adam will be mad?” Alice asked him seriously as if reading his thoughts.

John shrugged. “You tell me. I thought he didn’t like you, but now maybe…” he shrugged again.

“Who knows?” Alice wondered if she should feel like a slut, but couldn’t wrestle up the enthusiasm for it. Then there was whatever Stacy thought was happening. In her heart she knew it was true, but the facts were like an unread letter left for another day. It was a puzzle she had only glimpsed but had yet to put together.

“You know those supplies will be loaded by now…” he drew his mouth into a line, “I had better be going.”

“Will I see you again?” Alice felt like an abandoned teen.

“Unless Adam kills me, then you can count on it,” he grinned.

“And Adam? What if he wants…?” Alice how no idea how she felt about that or what her feelings were.

John sighed and rubbed at his nose. He didn’t want to think about that. “That’s for you to decide I guess.” It was true and he hated it. He was on his feet now and dressed without showering.

Alice watched him and felt a little sad.

“I will be back, I’ll find away,” he said reassuringly, more for his own benefit than hers, “A supply run probably.”

“Oh goody and maybe we can try condoms next time instead of just spanking me,” she teased.

“Oh we don’t need condoms for what I have in mind,” he grinned.

“Oh so you are going to spank me,” she smiled back.

“Maybe, but I was thinking about the back door,” he winked and she threw a pillow at him. “See I was listening.”

Alice blushed furiously. Sometimes men didn’t know what is said in the moment should stay in the moment.

To be continued…

Sandi Pope stood open-mouthed in the bushes staring in almost disbelief.

“I knew it,” she whispered to herself. Not such a dumb blonde after all, she grinned. Her oval face was elfin like with full lips that gave her an almost permanent pout. Her big blue eyes were framed by heavy natural lashes which blinked rapidly as she watched the scene unfolding before her.

The moon was full, giving a silver glow to the glade by the crossroads. Crossroads, Sandi snorted, it was little more than a place where two muddy tracks crossed. But she knew that in days past the coaches from London had travelled here and her grandfather had told her that the roads were even older than that.

The group of dark-cloaked figures were gathering around a small fire and although Sandi could not see their faces she was certain now that the tall woman at their heart was Rachel Stanmore, head of the local primary school.

“Just you wait,” Sandi said breathily and fumbled for her phone ready to take a picture.

Just then the hitherto respectable Ms Stanmore called out and in a moment the small group around her doffed their cloaks and stood naked in the moonlight. Sandi giggled.

It was odd to see the 40-year-old Rachel Stanmore naked in the middle of the woods and it struck Sandi that shorn of her usual dowdy tweed she wasn’t a bad looker either. In fact most of the naked villagers looked quite good and Sandi found herself leering at the village constable. “Now you’re a big boy,” she whispered.

As she watched the group began chanting and moving in a circle around the fire while Ms Stanmore and a man she did not recognise led the ceremony. The man was old, like her grandfather, although sporty in build. He too was well endowed and she wondered how the three or four men in the group did not respond to the naked women dancing.

Tracy Jones, the girl who worked the post office counter at the village store and Geri Hall, the landlord’s daughter at the pub had super model looks and even Sandi couldn’t help be moved by their nudity.

Then Stanmore began to say something.

“We gather, we dance, we turn and we prance,” she intoned, “To our mother and giver…”

Sandi caught her breath.

“To he who brings light on this bond breaking night…” Stanmore called along with other words Sandi did not hear.

The men and women in the circle moved faster and dipped in unison before rising and extending their arms.

“The bringer of light,” they sang together in response to something Stanmore said.

Sandi moved forward to get a better look and her foot found a fallen branch. The crack at her heel sang out and the group froze.

“Shit,” Sandi cursed and winced.

Within a moment the constable had kicked the fire out and then like the others re-donned his robes. Within a few seconds all had vanished into the dark.

“Devil worshippers,” Sandi hissed gleefully and giving up her hiding place went over the dying embers. “Bloody hell, wait until I tell…” then she rolled her eyes. Who could she tell? Aunt Mary would scold her for sneaking out on a school night like she was some errant teen. Who would believe her? If only she had taken some pictures.

With one last look around she turned to walk back to the village.

Behind the old man and Rachel Stanmore stood in the dark shade of an old oak and watched Sandi go.

“Who is she?” the man asked.

“One of our local brats, I used to teach her,” Rachel sighed.

“Trouble?” the man said.

Rachel pursed her lips and shrugged. “Maybe,” she said.

*

Sandi watched the coven for days. Not that anything happened. She noted who talked to whom though and little by little she worked out who had been present that night. She even identified the mystery man as an antiques dealer temporarily staying with Rachel Stanmore while he scouted out local shops and auctions.

On Thursday it rained and she dropped into the village store and the post office to pick up some milk for Aunt Mary. Convinced that no one had seen her come in she hid behind the canned goods shelf and peeked in on Geri Hall. To her surprise Tracy Jones was already at the counter and the two women were talking in a low whisper.

“Tonight then,” Tracy said.

“Gods, I hope the rain stops, who is the sacrifice?” Geri whispered.

“I guess we will find out,” Tracy answered with a shrug, “See ya.”

A sacrifice, Sandi gaped, oh my God. She made herself as small as possible as Geri left and prayed that she wouldn’t be seen. She had to hide for several minutes until old Mrs Turner came in and she could slip out unnoticed.

All the way home her head was buzzing. I have to stop this I have to… she ran. Aunt Mary would know what to do. But by the time she got there Sandi lost her nerve. What could she say? No the only thing to do was go out the crossroads and get a picture and then phone the police. She would be a freaking hero.

*

The moon had waned to a half and in any case there were grey clouds racing across the sky. At least the rain had held off and this time the fire burned more brightly. I have you, Sandi thought as she closed in on the gathering group at the fire. She ran off a few pictures, but realising that they probably proved nothing she edged closer. This time she watched her feet as best she could lest she step on a branch or twig again.

This time the group were further back from the fire and had not yet disrobed. They appeared to be sheltering under a huge oak waiting for something.

Sandi dropped to one knee behind a shrub and let the phone silently film. No sign of this sacrifice, she thought. Maybe it would turn out to be just a chicken or something.

“Is everybody here?” Rachel Stanmore asked.

The group looked around and some of them nodded.

“Did you bring the necessary?” the old man asked.

“Made it myself,” the constable said and indicated something Sandi could not see.

“It will serve,” the older man said.

“I serve your will,” the constable said reverently.

“Blessed be,” some of the women muttered.

Sandi was torn up by curiosity and crept forward. The moon was gone again and somewhere an owl hooted. What had they brought?

“The rain seems to holding off,” one of the other men said looking up, “Although it’s not a proper sabat so I suppose it doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, pity we were interrupted the other night,” a woman said.

“That is why we are here,” Geri said excitedly.

There were mutters at this and Sandi didn’t notice that some of them came from behind her.

“Yes,” the senior man growled.

“When does she arrive?” Tracy blurted.

“She is already here,” Rachel Stanmore intoned.

At that group spread out and formed a much larger circle. Before Sandi realised it she was surrounded.

“Good evening Sandi,” Rachel said pleasantly and turned to confront her former student.

The constable moved up next to the stunned young woman and gently took her phone.

Sandi could scarce draw a breath and made to run.

“Don’t leave, after all you came here freely. You are curious are you not?” Rachel’s voice was commanding like back in school.

“Y-you’re, you’re d-devil cultists,” Sandi accused, not sure now where she could run, although no one sought to hold her.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Rachel laughed.

“Ridiculous am I? I am not the one out here playing dress-up,” Sandi said sharply.

“But we are minding our own business,” Rachel countered.

“I… I came to save the sacrifice,” Sandi shot back.

“Save her from what?” the antique dealer asked in amusement.

“So you don’t deny it,” Sandi was gleeful. I have them, she thought.

“You are here are you not?” the man responded.

“Me?” Sandi gulped. She had trouble breathing again and looked about to escape.

“Our guest seems over dressed to me,” Rachel said in a severe voice. Sandi remembered it from school. “Help her with that will you girls?”

Several women stepped forward and hands grabbed at the interloper. Sandi felt her heart stop and imagined a knife. Was that what the constable had brought? She felt her cardigan pulled off her shoulders while another woman knelt at her feet and deftly unbuttoned her skirt. Sandi was down to her bra and pants before she knew it.

“What are you going to do?” a worried Sandi asked.

“Why sacrifice you of course, come now Pan awaits,” Rachel teased.

“Please, let me go,” Sandi pleaded and hugged herself defensively.

“Not quite yet,” the elder man said sternly.

There was a promise in his words and Sandi was more curious than afraid again.

“You rather ruined our ceremony the other night. I also think you would benefit from an introduction to our little… group,” Rachel explained. “Please finish getting undressed.”

Sandi gaped and hugged herself more tightly.

“You don’t want the men to do it for you do you?” Rachel asked politely as if making a genuine offer.

Sandi swallowed and taking a deep breath she unhooked her bra and then with a hot face stepped out of her knickers. “There,” she said defiantly, “Do your worst.”

“Prepare the initiate,” Rachel said solemnly.

Still expecting a knife Sandi braced herself. Instead gentle arms led her forward and towards a fallen tree trunk. The constable ‘cuffed’ her wrists with his hands and pulled her to him so that she fell forward across the log and face down. Then the village bobby sat down and held her firmly bent over the fallen tree.

“Thank you for your efforts Peter,” the elder said as he picked up what looked like an old fashioned broom.

“Now you little know-it-all you are going to get a good sound birching on your bare bottom,” Rachel said sharply. “If you are good sport about it we might let you join us.”

“I will never serve the devil,” Sandi wailed, not at all sure she wouldn’t, not given the alternative.

“The Devil is a Christian concept silly girl, we are Pagans,” Rachel rolled her eyes.

“Oh,” Sandi said now deflated. She had read something about that.

Then the elder took up a stance behind the naked girl she could not quite see and lashed down hard across her exposed bottom.

“Ah,” Sandi yelped, “That hurt.”

“No surely, what about this?” the man said in a tone of sarcasm and birched her again.

To Sandi it felt like a thousand needles across her bottom and her eyes flew open wide.

“That too,” she panted, realising that she was helpless now. “Constable… Peter… are you going to let them do this?” she wailed.

“Oh yes,” Peter grinned.

Sandi screamed as another lash burned her bare bottom. Magic fire bees tore into her exposed flesh, or so it seemed and she ground her sex into the rough bark as if that might help.

The Elder lashed her half a dozen times grazing her bottom and making her wail and screech.

“I’m sorry, please, I’m sorry,” she sobbed.

“Are you going to be a sport?” Rachel asked.

“Yes Miss Stanmore,” Sandi snivelled, reverting to her childhood.

“Good girl,” Rachel beamed. “We decided on three dozen as soon as you decided to be reasonable, alright?”

“That’s killing,” Sandi wailed in dismay.

“Not quite, but you won’t sit down for a few days,” her old teacher reassured Sandi.

“I won’t come back, really I won’t,” Sandi began to cry.

“Oh, we really hope you will,” Rachel said quietly and then she nodded.

The antique dealer in his capacity as high priest slashed the birch rod down again and again while the newbie danced in pain across the fallen log, her bare bottom upturned to the wind.

“I’ll count,” Geri whispered her eyes shining.

“Do try and be accurate,” Rachel chided.

“I’ll try,” the barmaid said unconvincingly.

All across the wood and for some time a strange creature could be heard serenading the night. A screech owl perhaps or some fabled banshee. Geri Hall was lousy at counting.

End

A few years ago it was reported that an entire women’s soccer team were spanked by their (female) coach following a bet that they would not lose. Nor it seems are they alone in the sporting world.

The spanking here may be seen as a bit of fun but famously according  to her autobiography, Romanian gymnast Corina Ungureanu spanked by her coach Octavian Belu.

She said “I received many spankings from Mr Belu, but I believe competitive sports require a Spartan education. His spankings helped me a lot. It was like an impulse to snap out of my tired and exhausted state.”

Daniela Silivas though, another Romanian gymnast from the 1980’s agreed that the “correction” spankings she received from various coaches from that time were no big deal.

“Spanking was very much part of the Romanian methodology,” she explained.

Was she and other gymnasts spanked on the bare bottom?

Ms Ungureanu is reporting as saying, “So what?”

Ms Silivas was more evasive, but did say, “It was whatever was appropriate to my failings and the situation.”

Another unnamed colleague said “spanking is a great leveller sometimes. I mean you have young woman getting all this attention and it can go to their heads. Maybe a good spanking on the bare bottom reminds them that it is all about the sport.”

Trawling some of the vanilla and not-so-vanilla forums threw up some interesting stories. While most of these cannot be verified and may seem incredible here are two brief snippets.

“Yeowch, spanking, not always that much fun, but what can you do? I was spanked by my tennis coach. Big hands leave big red marks on my bottom, but not all bad. I later married him.” Kelly J said in a comment on Women Matters.

Davina T writing at Spanking Life asked about spanking by sports coaches. She may have had a fantasy in this area, but claims she was spanked by a fitness coach in college.

Evidentially she agreed to it in advance if she didn’t meet certain targets, assuming it would never happen.

“Boy did it hurt. I was as shocked as hell when he spanked my bare bottom and I was kind of wierded out by it. But later it was all I could think about. I guess my spanking fetish kind of grew from there,” she said in a comment.

Part I here

As soon as John left the cabin he knew he was being watched. Damn, he thought, now they have seen me. For a moment he considered going back inside and telling Alice to pack. But there was no way he could ensure her safety even then and that would certainly tip the hunters off to the fact that Alice was important.

He took a deep breath and let the beast rouse within him. He could smell them close and sense their eyes on him, almost as if their gaze was sweeping over him like radar. His muscles bunched up and the adrenaline surged within him. Easy tiger, he told himself, let’s not get carried away and give them any more ammunition. He compared himself to Adam, not for the first time, and wondered if his restraint made him better or worse than his brother.

John took a deep breath and walked openly across the parking lot towards town. The truck would be loaded up by now and he had a job to do.

“Hey,” said a voice as he reached the tree-lined verge demarking the car park. “You one of those Stone brothers?”

John stopped and scanned the vicinity without turning. There three of them, although one was a ways off, probably watching the front.

“Sure you are,” the man continued in a dry faux friendly voice.

“What of it?” John threw back over his shoulder, still without turning.

“My friends would like to talk to you is all,” the man replied.

John turned slowly and weighed the large man up. He was pushing 40 and big like a football star. His curly hair was in a losing battle between blond and grey and already thinning. He looked capable enough and mean.

“And just who are your friends?” John countered as matter-of-factly as he could manage.

“Come see,” the man grinned.

“I’ll pass,” John shrugged and turned to go.

Another man, much smaller and like an eager ferret, stepped out to block John’s way. This one was younger and dark haired with sharp features and a smug grin.

“Oh I insist,” the dry-voiced man behind John said.

“You have the wrong man,” John ventured; he could take the small man easy, even allowing for the concealed gun. But the big man would need the beast to subdue him.

“Adam, Adam Stone, right?” the big man said.

John felt his jaw tense and he nearly lost it. Always it was Adam. Instead he shrugged and said, “See, wrong man.”

“My apologies, you’re John aren’t you?” the larger man laughed and again John turned to face him.

“You have the advantage of me friend,” John smiled. It was an easy smile that hinted at friendship but allowed a measure of steel to touch his eyes.

“Makin, Art Makin,” the man’s smile was lazy now, almost as if the fake friendly game was getting boring. “I am a friend of Coleridge.”

“Of course you are,” John sighed.

The big man blinked. He was hardly aware of it but with his eyes open Stone looked cornered but when he reopened them from his blink John was in his face and mid-air.

The ferret gaped as John Stone cannoned into his friend and knocked him clear across the parking lot. “Sheeet,” he drawled, before remembering his gun. His fingers chewed fabric for the 9mm and he had to look down to untangle it.

John dropped to a crouch and weighed up the threat from the groaning man on the ground. He would be slow for a moment or two, he judged. Ferret was next. By the time Ferret drew his gun John was up close and stood relaxed in front of him an arm’s length away.

“Really,” John said incredulously and looked dismissively at the pistol in the man hands. Then one classic jaw punch put the man out for the count.

By the time Makin got to his feet John Stone was gone.

A moment later a woman ran up and looked aghast. “He took you?” she gasped.

“Oh yeah,” Makin growled.

“What about the girl then?” the woman, a petite fierce-eyed Latina, asked.

“As far as we know she is a civilian,” Makin said, “Probably just skirt. We will let Coleridge call it.” The whole time his eyes glared towards town where John must have fled to.

“What about that truck? We could…” the woman began.

Makin shook his head. “Coleridge said to just watch for now.”

“Then what was this all about?” the woman asked looking at the still stunned ferret-faced man on the ground.

“I thought it was an opportunity, but news flash: we fucked up,” Makin snarled turning on the woman.

“We did,” she sighed, but it had been Makin’s call, she hoped Coleridge would see that.

John made the store in five minutes flat. Sensing no immediate danger around the truck he made his thanks and swung himself up into the cab. Margaret Dangerfield came out to see him off.

“You want to check the…” she began.

John waved her away with a polite smile. “I’m good thanks, I am sure you did a great job,” he said.

Margaret nodded. “My respects to Augusta,” she smiled back.

John nodded and then the truck roared into life. Damn fool letting yourself get distracted, he chided himself. But the street was clear and in a moment he was tearing up Main Street and away home.

*

Stacy Dane finally finished her last coffee and gathered up her papers. Nancy was polite as she saw the writer to the door, but she could help shooting a harassed glance at the clock. They should be closed by now.

Outside Garrick watched the lights in the diner go out before Stacy had even cleared the door.

“All freaking day,” Adam groaned, “How much coffee can this girl drink?”

“Maybe she was waiting for someone,” Jared said dismissively, his dark gravel voice having none of the impatience of his young brother.

“Maybe,” Garrick mumbled, his eyes now fixed on the prey. This was the first time he had really seen Stacy Dane and there was something about her that made him uneasy.

“What’s wrong? You think she is in with the hunters?” Adam asked his father.

Garrick shrugged off the question.

“That’s what we are going to find out neh?” Jared rasped already making a move. “Bring the car,” he told his brother.

Adam shot a quizzical look at his father, but Garrick sat back in his seat, all his attention now on Stacy. I guess Jared is running the show, Adam decided and reached for the ignition key.

“Make sure no one is about,” Garrick said, but Jared was already out of the car and striding along the shadow side of the street matching Stacy’s pace step for step.

At the last house Stacy suddenly swung off the sidewalk and began crossing the road towards her stalker. Like a ghost Jared stopped and slunk back into the shadow of a porch. Meanwhile Adam slowly brought the car around behind him willing the car not to be noticed until Stacy had finished crossing the street and ducked down the side alley towards the motel. He did not relax even when she passed from sight and Jared followed her. Instead he sped up and made the turn to follow them.

At the sound of a car behind her Stacy half turned, but as she did so something swept her up and carried her effortlessly into the shadows. There was no time for panic and whoever had her, stopped her mouth with a large hard hand. Coleridge, you bastard, she thought, curiously unafraid. The hunter’s strong arm tactics probably posed no danger to her and he was just grandstanding.

Still she was angry and wriggled desperately against the leather vice that held her. She could smell the stale cowhide and something else: tobacco, whisky, the deeply masculine scent somehow disturbed her. Suddenly she wasn’t sure it was a regular hunter.

It took a moment more to sense that the man who held her was familiar somehow and then she was bundled into the trunk of a car.

“Damn you,” she cursed in a muffled voice once the trunk was closed.

Then she felt the car speeding away and for the first time she was afraid.

*

By the time Garrick and his sons reached the ranch with Stacy, John was already back with the truck-load of supplies. John Stone had wasted no time in telling Sundance about his encounter with Art Makin and Ferret Boy, as he styled him.

“They have had eyes on us since you all left,” the Navajo told him, “I have put every available gun at the perimeter and Augusta has been reorganising the place for a siege. It is good you have those supplies. Once your father gets here I doubt if anyone is leaving for a while.”

John had thought about the next full moon and the hunt. Hopefully this would all blow over by then or things could get complicated.

The men were still talking when Garrick’s party drove in. Garrick got out at once and crossed the asphalt to where the two men were standing. Seeing Sundance’s body stance and the concern etched on his face the old man said, “Yes, I smelled them.” The hunters were way too obvious for his liking. They were either supremely confident or amateurs and neither boded very well for the pack. Then to Jared and Adam he said, “Take the girl to Augusta… and Jared, make her feel welcome. She is going to be scared about now.”

Jared snorted and his face suggested that soothing the foolish woman was not high on his agenda. But Adam nodded emphatically and even gave his father a reassuring half-smile.

Stacy was blinking and confused as Adam helped her from the trunk, but before she could even speak Jared took her arm and half led and half carried her towards the house with Adam striding after them.

Garrick and Sundance watched them go before saying any more.

“So we have a siege, boss,” Sundance sighed.

“Looks that way old friend,” Garrick agreed. Then he smiled at John. “Saying some fond farewells while you in town?” The old man winked.

John frowned and wondered how his father could possibly know about him and Alice.

“Didn’t that motel have a shower boy?” Sundance chuckled.

The two older men exchanged knowing looks and grinned. John blushed. He realised they could smell Alice on him. He decided he would definitely shower before he confronted Adam; if only to be tactful.

“Dad, I had a run in with some guy called Makin. He and two others were waiting for me outside the motel,” John changed the subject.

Garrick glared, his eyes flickering in his head as if a thousand thoughts were running through his mind. “They openly attacked you?” he asked with some urgency.

“I didn’t exactly give them the chance. But I think they were about to take me to their leader,” John explained in a grim voice.

“Shit,” his father sighed and then waving his son away, “This is escalating too fast.” Then he took Sundance by the arm and began leading him to one side. You had better fill me in as to what has happened while I was in town,” he said as they walked away leaving John to wonder what he was going to tell Adam.

*

Stacy was bundled into a room without ceremony cursing and fighting all the way.

“Who the hell are you?” she raged slapping at a grinning Jared who marched her just ahead of him.

“I think you know who we are, I think you know far too much,” his voice steel cold.

“Jared,” Adam cut in, “Back off a bit will you?” the younger man was concerned that this was overkill.

“Yes Jared, please leave her to me,” came a woman’s voice.

Looking around and expecting to see a dungeon, Stacy was surprised to be confronted with a large ranch kitchen and a rather stern but gently smiling woman who appeared to be in her 40s. She knew at once she was looking at Augusta Stone, the matriarch of this strange clan and Garrick Stone’s wife.

“Who the hell are you?” Stacy decided to play dumb.

“I’m Augusta, and I will thank you to moderate your language young lady,” Augusta said in a frim maternal voice.

“My language, are you kidding, what the hell lady? I just got jacked off the street and…” Stacy snarled.

Augusta held up a hand and glared at the girl. “I know that this is all very unfortunate, my husband seems to think you are friends with Mr Coleridge, but please moderate your language, I won’t tell you again.” Then to Jared and Adam she said, “You can go now gentlemen.”

“Okay mom,” Jared said, looking like he was free of a tiger.

Adam snorted in amusement and both men left.

Once they had gone Stacy relaxed and turned to confront her new captor. She was in. After all these months she had hit the god-loving mother load. Now maybe she could use this to her advantage. “So what the hell is this all about?” she snarled and squared up to Augusta.

Augusta sighed and shook her head in disappointment. Then she reached out to steady the excited young woman with both hands on the girl’s shoulders. “Listen, I think you know who we are. I think you have been interfering in our family business for some time now. You, my dear young woman, are somewhat out of your depth. For that reason I will cut you a tiny bit of slack. But I warn you if you were my daughter and used language like that, then I would turn you over my knee and bare your little bottom for a good sound spanking. Believe me young lady, you are not too old.”

Seeing hard cold honesty written in the older woman’s face Stacy quietened down and visibly gulped. I am not your daughter, she thought, nor am I about to let you spank me like I am a kid, but she said none of this. She opted instead for, “Yes Ma’am.” Yes ma’am, are you going lame?

“Better,” August smiled and lifted her firm hands from the woman. “Now let me explain. You are to be our guest for a week or two. Here there are rules and you will obey them. I know this is a huge inconvenience and I won’t embarrass us both by inviting you to lie by asking too many questions of you now. I have a good stout hairbrush and some soap for liars as well as cursing and you don’t want to find that out.”

Stacy glowered at the woman, unsure if her blushing was from anger or something else. In any case, she felt an odd gooey feeling in her tummy that reminded her for some reason of her grandmother.

“You are either in league with our enemies or you are unwittingly in danger from them. Either way you are safer here. Do you understand?” Augusta continued.

“Not really,” Stacy sighed. “But what the h-heck, I guess for now I have no choice.”

“Good girl,” Augusta said warmly. “Now you must be hungry.”

To be continued…

It has been a few days since the last post, my apologies for that. Castle Black has been in chaos after some work complications collided with a fire alarm related power outage and the PC/Internet set-up imploded. Due in part to me forgetting to shut the damn machine and modem down before shutting off the mains to repair and reset the fire alarms.

This has also affected my ability to email, which is why I haven’t replied to some of you. Sorry again.

There are many projects ongoing – if only I could find time. Series left hanging since our sabbatical include Ad Astra and the Sinclair Method; sorry about that. Thanks for your inquiries.

The publisher is absolutely screaming for the latter. (Well OK they just made a polite inquiry – their fourth I think). This will resume soon as will selected episodes of Abraham Heights.

Ad Astra will have to wait until our current series: In the Service of the Wolf and the aforementioned Sinclair Method are completed as they are at least planned out and are much shorter.

I know there are several other projects like Raw, which I would like to return to and many projects that started and did not go anywhere. That is the nature of this blog I am afraid, it is always a work in progress. But as the girl said, hey-ho, one day I will make this my day job. And pigs will fly…

Still playing catch up here. Vintage Sunday tomorrow.

Not sure where this picture is from or who took it or why? But I thought it might brighten your day.

Hi all. This is the third week in a row we have run this feature. Maybe it is the way to go.

It all seems very quite to me across the blogosphere, but the professionals have been busy. I have included two cuts from Firm Hand Spanking this week, both from the same scene with Amelia Jane Rutherford if you want to check it out and one from Dallas.

Pandora has explained the new censorship legislation on her blog and include her in action above from a still taken from AAA.

Devlin has a nice still as does the Spanking Blog and it is great top see that Hermione, Bonnie and Ronnie Soul are still going strong. The latter had this nice blast from the past featuring the Roger Moore as the Saint. There is also a nice little image from Spanking Toons.

Real Spankings and Cutiepie seem to have both been down for a while.

More next week.

Part I here

Stacy hadn’t eaten a home cooked meal since she couldn’t remember, although she could have done without the audience. Not that Augusta was unsubtle, but after sitting the writer at the kitchen table with a chicken stew she called a young girl just to watch Stacy while the older woman came and went about her duties.

“You like it here?” Stacy asked the girl.

The young woman just blinked and said nothing.

Kind of creepy, Stacy thought and returned her meal. “Are you one of the family or…?” she continued, looking to her minder for some glimmer of eye contact.

The diminutive blonde across the table chewed at her lip and looked as if she wanted to talk. The pony tail made her look like a high school kid, but Stacy reckoned she must be a little older.

“Were you told not to speak to me?” Stacy asked her.

“No but…” the girl winced and quickly shut up. She looked back at the door in case Augusta was there. “Mr Stone doesn’t like us talking to outsiders. Not usually anyway.” The girl added in a whisper.

“My name is Stacy, you are…?” Stacy tried again.

The girl suddenly looked anxious and was about to complain about Stacy not listening to her when Augusta came back.

“Thank you Keri, you can go,” Augusta told the girl.

It seemed to Stacy that the younger woman could not leave quick enough.

“Good bye Keri,” the writer called after her.

Keri gaped in horror at the implication they had been chatting and then fled.

“One of yours?” Stacy asked Augusta.

“It feels that way sometimes,” the older woman sighed and then added, “You finished?”

Stacy pushed her empty plate away and shrugged an acknowledgement.

“I’ll show you to your room,” Augusta told her. “It’s nice enough, but I have to lock you in.”

“Figures,” Stacy said sullenly.

“Don’t worry, it has its own bathroom,” the matriarch reassured her.

“Thanks for the stew,” Stacy said by way answer, not knowing what else to say. Instead she rolled her eyes and made a popping sound with her lips.

“This way,” the older woman said.

The room was just off the kitchen and looked like it might have been an office once or even a store room. The skylight was tiny and there was no window. The toilet and shower stall was barely a cupboard.

“There are some clothes and toiletries on the bed,” Augusta said, “We will talk more tomorrow.” With that she shut the door and locked it leaving Stacy alone.

“What do you think?” Garrick said from the other end of the hall.

Augusta hadn’t known he was there and startled. Her hands went to her throat but she smiled.

“Sorry,” Garrick laughed. The he frowned and nodded at the door.

“Interesting,” Augusta said, “What does Sundance think?”

“We haven’t really talked yet. Not about this one,” her husband told her.

“This is going to get messy before it gets clean,” Augusta grimaced.

Garrick chuckled at that. “My love, as always, your sangfroid amazes me.”

Augusta closed on him and they hugged. The old man kissed the top of her head.

*

Adam was in his room slumped in a tattered easy chair that had once been their grandmother’s. As boys John had always envied his brother the old thing. To him it seemed like another example of favouritism and Adam’s elder status.

“Mission accomplished,” Adam said as John entered.

“Yeah,” John agreed, but his demeanour suggested he had something else on his mind.

“You don’t think we should have taken her do you?” Adam asked him.

“Do you?” John shot back.

Adam shrugged.

“What about Alice?” his brother continued.

“What about her?”

“She may be in danger,” John let the words hang and watched Adam’s face.

Although nothing was written there, Adam licked his lips and appeared to consider something.

“You had already thought of that?” John accused.

Adam nodded.

“You care then?”

The two brothers locked eyes and only they knew what was written there.

“I saw her,” John said He waited and when his brother didn’t reply he added, “We…”

Adam’s lip curled.

“Man that girl can take a spanking,” John blurted.

Adam almost smiled as he nodded. “So are you fucking my girl or did I fuck yours?” he said.

John flopped backwards onto Adam’s bed with both hands set behind his head and groaned. “Fuck knows.”

*

Meanwhile back in town Alice was still confused. Before Pulver if she had thought about red necks at all she would have looked down on them. Now she had not only had sex with two such men, but both of them had spanked her. Spanked her into total submission and she had… Alice swallowed, what, liked it? Her bottom still ached and her face felt molten as she remembered being sent to the corner; nor was that the only place heat touched her.

No not liked. Liked was a nice thing, such as a cup cake or a Yankee candle. Her experience with the Stone twins was more primeval. She thought about an experience with drugs in college. In those heady days she had glimpsed how people got addicted. Reaching down she grabbed at her bottom and firmly cupped both rounds until it hurt. The faint pain thrilled her and she held on to it for a moment. It wasn’t just masochism though, if indeed that figured at all in her feelings.

She thought about the humiliation of being sent to the corner as naughty girl. She should be angry, but she had no choice, after years of bad choices that had been true freedom.

Over and over she reran the events in her mind as her libido ran rampant. Did she love him? Love who? In her mind John-Adam were one and she could scarce remember who did what to her and when.

Alice walked to the mirror and looked at the wild dishevelled creature looking back at her. She was a woman she didn’t recognise in a world that was not as she had imagined. What had Stacy being trying to tell her? Garrick was older than he looked. It was all crazy, but at the back of her mind, something would not let go.

Alice turned back to the mirror and let her rob fall to the floor so that she was naked. Then slowly she turned to inspect the purple-red marks on her bottom. She even leaned forward so that her buttocks thrust backwards and rolled her hips. The bruises were a badge of honour, like she had achieved something and she grinned.

“Crazy,” she sighed, “Everything is crazy. Twins, you screwed two twins girl. Just go with it.”

*

Stacy awoke with a start and found herself looking at a wooden ceiling. For a moment she traced the grain pattern in the planks with her eyes as if they would lead her to an answer. The room smelt of cotton and pinewood, while somewhere beyond her room she could hear the clattering of dishes.

Then she remembered and sat up. The room was nice enough and she even had her own bathroom. This had to be good. She made frog lips and let them go with a pop. Then she swung her legs out of the bed and satisfied her sudden need to pee.

The next order of business was a long shower while she thought how she could turn the situation to her advantage.

“Okay, so you got in girl, but now what?” she muttered under her breath. She ran her professional check list through her head. One, no immediate danger; if they intended her harm she would either be dead or in chains. Two, eyes and ears; look for evidence. Three, look for a way out.

She barely heard the knock at the door over the running water and whoever it was had to keep knocking several times.

“Miss Dane,” a girl’s voice called, “Breakfast.”

Stacy heard the door lock click and guessed she was free. She hastily dried and pulled on last night’s underwear and clothes. The bra was good enough, but she felt kind of grungy in panties. Maybe one of her new protectors could… then she saw the fresh clothes in a pile on a chair in the corner. Leaving the bra and sweater she stepped out of the panties and pulled on the fresh ones just in time for another knock at the door.

“Miss Dane, please come to breakfast.” It was Augusta and she sounded mad.

“Coming,” Stacy called out. Then with a look around she tried the door handle.

The quiet peace of the previous evening’s kitchen was broken by two dozen faces all turned to her. Ignoring the mute interest she sniffed. The smell was fantastic and suddenly she was hungry.

Half the people seated were men, but only women were serving.

“Sit there Miss Dane,” Augusta pointed to an empty chair.

“Thank you, this looks good,” Stacy smiled politely and nodded at the food.

One of the seated men offered her basket of bread rolls without even looking at her.

“So you all live here?” she asked him.

He swivelled his gaze and then away again without answering. For a long moment she was afraid that everyone was going to sit in silence, but after a few seconds the babble resumed and she was almost forgotten.

*

Breakfast ended quickly. One minute there was an army scraping plates and exchanging banter then as if a factory whistle had gone off somewhere all the men departed and the women descended like locusts to clear the table.

“That was good thanks,” Stacy said once everyone but Augusta had gone.

The older woman smiled in acknowledgement. “More coffee?” she offered.

Stacy, who could never say no still had a full cup. She held it up in salute and shook her head. “I’m good thanks.”

Augusta drew up a chair and sat across the table from her guest.

“I won’t ask you what you are doing here. In Pulver I mean. Garrick will get around to that. But where did you come from?” Augusta asked.

“All over,” Stacy said simply. “I was born in New Orleans would you believe. After that we moved to Arizona and then New Mexico. I just about remember that. As soon as I was old enough I skipped out and went to New York. I have lived there ever since. Well mostly.” She spoke as if reading the back of a cereal packet as if her story had nothing to do with her.

“New Orleans,” Augusta sounded interest. “You’re family are from there?”

“My mom? No,” Stacy shrugged. “She was just there working as a waitress when I came along. I never knew who my father was.”

“You and your mother still in touch?”

It was an odd question and Stacy wondered why she wouldn’t be. She maybe saw her once every other Thanksgiving and then there were birthday and Christmas cards. “Sure,” Stacy said, “She lives in California now.”

“And you never married?” Augusta asked casually.

“What and break a family tradition? Besides I roll with whoever takes my interest, if you know what I mean,” Stacy arched her eyebrows as if she expected Augusta to be shocked.

“I suppose you have time yet,” the matriarch said pleasantly, “And you have achieved so much in such a short space of time.”

“I have?” Stacy looked puzzled.

“You have written books I hear,” Augusta tried to sound impressed.

“Yeah well…” Stacy wished they had sold better.

“How old are you?” Augusta guessed at early 20s, but there was something about the eyes.

“This old gal is pushing 30,” Stacy said sadly, “Well 27 anyway; next birthday.”

Augusta nodded without surprise.

“You thought I was younger,” Stacy yawned. It wasn’t a question.

“You act like it,” Augusta said sharply.

“Yah,” the woman drawled, “I get that a lot. Is that why you threatened to spank me?”

Without answering Augusta weighed the young woman up and tried to see something in her face.

“You remind me of my Mom,” Stacy snorted. “She was a spanker and how. My house my rules, she would say.”

“That why you left?” Augusta.

“I guess not. I got tired of running from everything and decided to run to something,” Stacy told her.

“Your mother was on the run?” Augusta asked.

Stacy shrugged. “Not exactly, I mean not from anything real. She just couldn’t settle, you know?”

Augusta stood up and gathered the coffee things. “Did you sleep alright? A big change from New York?”

“I did thanks, I don’t always,” Stacy confided in.

“Insomnia?” Augusta stopped what she was doing and watched the woman carefully.

“Na,” Stacy shook her head and crinkled up her nose, “Bad dreams sometimes.”

Augusta made a sympathetic face and changed the subject. “You haven’t asked about the rules?” The older woman said as she put the coffee down on the side and slid the cups on top of the dishwasher.

“Should I?” Stacy yawned again and made a frog face.

“You stay in the house and after today you do your share of the chores,” Augusta told her.

“I’m your prisoner,” Stacy shrugged.

“No, you are Garrick’s prisoner. To me you are just another mouth to feed. No offence. Oh and I meant what I said. You may be older than most of the other girls, but I don’t want any cussing.” Augusta gave the girl one last hard look and then moved away.

“What chores do I…?” Stacy called after the woman, but she was gone.

To be continued…

I was hoping for a longer and more expansive exploration of spanking art styles both over time and place. Here is a taster for a future date of varying styles from diverse cultures, including the US, France, Czech Republic and possibly Britain.

It has been a busy week and I have got a bit behind. Thanks to all for comments and for your patience when I didn’t (or some cases haven’t) got back to you. There are a couple of interesting activities out there with people doing things and posting things. I will unscramble these contacts and suggestions in due course.

I did a quick look at who was linking to us.

There are several history blogs and semi-serious sites linking in for my potted histories. Initially I was surprised, but looking at the subjects it seems we have covered, Lady Jane Grey, the Royal Navy, William the Conqueror, pirates, Roman Pagan flagellation, Egyptian marriage, Russian marriage and many others.

Since some of these articles are years old they may be worth a revisit when there is time.

I recently came across some material on the Prussians. There seems no end of nubile young women getting spanked, caned and birched in Northern Germany from the 16th century right through to the 20th.

I did plan a quick history, but I rather think I could get six out of the material.

For instance Elisabeth Foy, a young English woman who served as an assistant governess to a Junker family in the 19th century, was shocked and surprised to be required to ‘flog grown girls on their naked behinds’ for what she regarded as quite minor breaches of rules. Imagine how much more shocked she was when she was required to turn up her own skirts for a sound birching of her own.

It is not only foreign governesses and servant girls who were in for a culture shock. Several wives from France, England and Ireland found out that Prussian husbands could be very strict.

One noble French wife was birched for refusing to learn German.

Then there are the Prussian nuns…

More on all of this soon.

LSF has just published the next book in this series. The details of this collection as per the publishers blurb below.

Tails from the Riverbank: When pretty divorcee, Helen, and her eighteen-year-old daughter, Emma, go on a boating holiday, they encounter a man living in his boat as he carries out repairs. ‘Doc’ is friendly and good looking, and the two women get along well with him… until Emma repeatedly misbehaves. Doc carries out his threat and gives her her first ever spanking – on her bare bottom. And a little later, it’s Helen’s turn… followed by great sex. So Doc has a different way of doing things, but Helen reckons his discipline is exactly what she and Emma need.

Naughty Clare: Clare admits to scratching the paint on Jackson’s car, but unfortunately she fails to tell the whole truth. However, a phone call from the owner of the car she reversed in to reveals the extent of Clare’s carelessness.

Taking One’s Due: Divorcee Paula has a spanking fantasy, and when she discovers the famous socialite Paul Sparrow appears to share the same kink, she makes it her business to meet him at an event. To her dismay he is monopolised by an attractive brunette called Kimberley, who begs him to spank her. But things take an interesting turn when Paul includes Paula in the conversation. One thing leads to another, with both women boasting that they can take 100 strokes of the cane. A wager is made, and two very sore bottoms ensue… but which woman has won the wager…?

In the Red Corner: A naughty girl is spanked on her bare bottom with a hairbrush, and to make matters worse, she is put into the corner and made to stand with her freshly spanked bottom on display. But visitors are expected! She hopes they won’t turn up… but they do.

The Last of the Troll Hunters: Aerin the elf maid and Lady Jane, a human girl, share the same aspirations and the same type of punishments for their plentiful mistakes. They are both obsessed with troll hunting and are determined to prove themselves by hunting one down. As Jane bathes naked in a forest pool, a troll appears unexpectedly and she shoots it with an arrow. But the troll appears to be a friendly giant who grabs her and carries her off – only to spank her bare bottom for shooting at him. Later, Aerin receives similar treatment; a deal is struck and there is a parting of the ways, with Aerin remaining to serve Bran, the troll, and Jane going back to the forest to be with the elves for a year. Both girls have another thing in common – a sore bottom.

The Girl: When Samantha goes to Aunt Mary’s house, she follows a strange girl upstairs and along a corridor, and listens behind the door as the girl enters a room. To Samantha’s surprise, she can hear the sound of bare flesh being spanked. Unable to curb her curiosity, she opens the door and steps into the room to find the girl bare bottomed over the man’s lap. What happens next is even more surprising: the red-bottomed girl is sent to the corner while Samantha is spanked for being a peeping tom!

You can get it here.

I had hoped to publish a more fulsome Community post, but my connection is running like cold treacle and I just had a work call that means that my morning has just evapourated.

Thanks to Eris Martinet who made contact about this very page last week. he has a great FemDom site, which although not entirely up my street and presumably some of yours, there are some good F/F scenes you may want to check out. One pictured above.

Also Pandora has had a bit of success with her anti-censorship campaign.

Other featured items a very good scene from Punished Brats, as covered by Cutiepie. Chicago Spanking Review has some Halloween cartoons, others include Devlin O’Neil, Dallas (his below) and a feature by Stan on BlissTonic.