DevilsSandi 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.


wolf15Part 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

Woman_Spanked_Underarm_Erotic_Spanking_Novel_Book_Cover_IllustrationGAS louis-malteste-french-spanking-drawing- anGAS ForsakingAllOtherGAS Jean ArthurGAS Joan Crawford2During the 20th 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.

GAS newspaper toon

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.


wr taming-the-brat-1958wr spanking autumn red (1)wr -pin-up-art-pinup-girlswr image (1)wr debate-spanking-800wr _spoiled_princess_spanked_gal-008-630x420wr _p9ru1soYw81tw3dolo1_1280WR _ozc38yjmFn1wz6mmjo1_1280

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.

Vintage Sunday


1vin 1920s1vin 1920s21vin 1930s1vin 1950s1vin poster

1art0 unknown1art0 unknown2Despite 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.
1art5 BDSM1art4 BDSM

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.1art3 Carl Breuer-Corth1art2 Carl Breuer-Corth1art1 Carl Breuer-Corth

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.

1art7 Martin Zurmühle

Godless switch06Godless switch05Godless switch04Godless switch02Godless switch01While we were on sabbatical I watched a great western mini-series on Netflix called Godless. I won’t go into the ins and out of the story here, it is essentially about a mining town populated by widows who are at the mercy of unscrupulous business men and a gang of bandits out for revenge.

Michele Dockerty (Downtown Abbey) plays a strong lead as another widow who owns a nearby ranch and Jeff Daniels is the chief villain.

One of the sub-plots involves a romance between the town’s deputy played by Thomas Sangster (Love Actually and Game of Thrones) and the young adult daughter of a Buffalo Soldier played by Jessica Sula, a young black Welsh actress previously known from the UK TV series Skins.

When her father finds out she has not only kissed the white gun-slinging deputy, but offers to bath him he sees the danger to her reputation and her life given the redneck nature of many of the characters. He forbids them to see one another and in the subsequent scene her gives her a bare bottom switching on the front porch.

It is quite a long scene and seen from the point of view of Sangster who contemplates some violent intervention and handled realistically.

wolf14Part I here

Stacy tensed up. Almost like a sixth sense something screamed in her head and she scanned the diner. One or two of Coleridge’s people were by the window, but as far as she knew, no one was looking at her. Why was she so jumpy all of a sudden? She was beginning to regret ever coming to this town. What had she been trying to prove anyway? She looked around again and then at her watch. Her lips formed into a pout and she let them pop.

The door opening made her jump and she shot a glance over at it hoping to see Alice. Instead Jared Stone strode into the diner owning the floor with every step. His dark grizzled presence casting a pall over the room as it fell to silence.

Only Coleridge’s people dared look at him and for a moment Stacy feared some sort of confrontation. She felt sick. This was all her fault.

Behind Jared walked Adam, only a spit smaller and almost as mean looking. Both men scanned the room as if reading every face there, every face but hers, or so it seemed to Stacy. She half expected a nod from Adam but today he looked right through her. No doubt the presence of his elder brother deterred him from any hint of fraternisation.

After a moment Nancy plucked up courage to walk over and with a forced smile she offered them coffee. Jared only snarled at this and without a word both men swung around and left.

Only then did Stacey realise that she had stopped breathing. Something was going down and she had a hunch it was Coleridge himself the Stone brothers were looking for.

“Oh crap,” Stacy muttered under her breath, “What have I done?”

Outside Jared and Adam crossed the street to a parked Land Rover under a tree. No one had noticed Garrick Stone sitting in back and when the two men opened up the doors and got in anyone watching might assume they were heading out again and quickly pushed the men from their thoughts.

“Well?” Garrick asked from the back cross seat.

“She’s there,” Adam rasped.

“Then we wait,” Garrick said thoughtfully.

“Diner doesn’t close for almost four hours,” Adam told his father.

“Then we wait,” Garrick said with a shrug.

Jared grinned. He had all the patience of a hunter. They all did.


John was furious. Mad at Alice and Adam in equal measure, he wrestled with a deep sense of betrayal and the certain knowledge that he hadn’t been. After all, what was Alice to him really? She preferred Adam and even for him she could never be more than a dalliance. But he was angry all the same. He was even mad with his father for making him the errand boy.

Augusta saw the conflict in the young man and smiled indulgently. “I really do need you to get those supplies and I don’t think your father trusts anyone but you off the ranch right now,” she said in a kindly voice.

John nodded.  He knew she was right and anyway what were the alternatives? He really didn’t want any part of kidnapping the meddling Stacy, he was sure she was just out of her depth in all this. Nor did he really want to stay waiting at the ranch.

“I have a list,” Augusta said extending to him a piece of paper culled from an exercise book that usually contained her more experimental recipes.

“Sure, I’m on it,” he sighed.

“And while you are there maybe you can see that girl of yours before she skips town,” Augusta threw out casually.

John blushed and eyed his stepmother fiercely. “She’s Adam’s girl, not mine,” he snapped.

“Is that a fact?” Augusta asked with a knowing smile.

John hated that Augusta knew what had happened, but then she didn’t miss much. He wondered if his mother knew too and decided not to ask. But all the way to town he tossed around what Adam had said about how that evening had panned out. To begin with Alice had thought Adam was John. It was as John that Adam had opened her up…maybe? He quashed the thought and forced his attention back to the road, only to let his mind stray to Alice once again a minute later.


Alice Eden sat up with a start and immediately regretted it. Her bottom felt like she had been spanked by a bear and then dragged along gravel on her butt. She rolled over with a wince and eyed her hind end over her shoulder. Both her bottom cheeks were painted extensively with a dark red bruise, mottled here and there with purple and burgundy splotches. Nor was it only the outer circles of her behind that ached. Deep between her bottom cheeks the tight sore bud there felt also inflamed.

The mirror gave her a closer look at all the damage but instead of dismay she was aroused again and even considered slipping back into bed to relive her recent experience. A cold shower soon scotched that notion and the chilled water felt good on her behind as she stuck it out into the needles of icy water.

“The man is a beast,” she groaned aloud and then wished she hadn’t used that word.

After everything that Stacy had told her she was beginning to wonder what she believed. Nothing the rational mind could contain at any rate. Taking any of it seriously was a rabbit hole she did not want to enter.

She thought about Adam and thought how much fun he had been before the animal had overwhelmed both of them. Her kind of guy, she thought, but her tummy tightened. In her mind he had been John and it was thoughts of John that made her gooey inside. Gooey in a way she could tell her mother about. Adam made her go gooey in a way she did not want to think about and again a hand strayed to her sore bottom.

Once out of the shower she again checked out the damage behind and winced as her fingers prodded at the reddened curves. There was some masochistic pleasure at the end of her fingertips and she chewed forlornly on her lower lip. Turning her backside from the mirror she confronted her dishevelled visage full in the face and sighed. Who was she? Did she even know anymore? Why was she even still here? Mr Stone hadn’t wanted to sign; she should have just called that in by now and already have long put this town in her rear view mirror.

At that moment John was barely a mile from the outer gate when he saw a man cut across the road behind him in his truck’s rear view mirror. He was only seen for an instant but he had definitely been there and he had had a gun.

John frowned. So Coleridge meant business did he? It looked like his father was right. For a second he considered turning around to warn Sundance and the others, but he was sure the old Navajo would be on the scent soon enough and anyway, it was better that the man not know he had been spotted.

The road took him past Alice’s motel and his guts tightened. He strained his eyes to see if she happened to be there, slowing down to almost a stop as he did so. He remembered high school and all the chance meetings he had try to engineer by walking a dozen times up this or that girl’s street, all in the hopes of bumping into her.

The truck growled as it laboured in gear and John kicked up the pace. He had a job to do. If there was time he might call in on Alice, he thought. After all hadn’t he promised her to help her with his father? First he had some supplies to gather and turned towards down town and the store.

Margaret Dangerfield was the owner of the small mom and pop store Augusta preferred. She didn’t ask questions and stocked some of those rare items better suited to a former age. It was she who was waiting for John’s arrival at the store. She was short woman pushing 70 and wore sensible shoes that failed to match her loose floral dress. The bun of her greying hair was pulled so tight her skin stretched on her face and emphasised her smile.

“Hello John, I’ll have the boy load the truck, why don’t you get a coffee?” Margaret said after he had handed her the paper. “Augusta called ahead, I gather you folks…” she began and the stopped, “Anyway, I’ll get the boy,” she tailed off. She had known John since he was a boy and what she knew or didn’t know about the Stone family was nobody’s business.

John was about to say he would wait when he remembered Alice. This could take some time, he decided; why not drop in on her? He shrugged, hating himself for his weakness.


He approached the motel on foot, which was probably why the woman didn’t see him. John knew at once she was an outsider and from her grey-black-white camouflage fatigues, he guessed she was one of Coleridge’s hunters.

John sniffed the air and listened for the longest minute. The woman was alone, which suggested that for now she was just watching. But watching who? His stomach knotted. It had to be Alice; no one else could possibly be of interest to them. For a moment he considered turning back lest he put Alice into more danger, but if they had been watching since yesterday they would have seen Adam anyway. John frowned. From where the woman was secreted she could see the parking lot, the road, and the front door to Alice’s cabin. It was a simple matter therefore to slip around the back and find a window to climb in.

It took a moment to identify the correct cabin from the rear and another to do a double scan for any further surveillance. Then he made for the window.

Alice startled when she saw him step over the sill. “Adam,” she gasped and hugged her towel to her chest.

John adopted a sour expression and drew himself upright to regard her. Alice frowned. “J-John?” she ventured.

“Got it in two,” he said crisply.

“Why… John what is going on?” Alice demanded.

“I could ask you the same question. I hear you and Adam had a…” he accused.

“That was not my idea,” she barked, cutting him off, “You had a hand in that too I think.”

“So you sent him packing once you guessed?” John indolently dropped into the room’s only easy chair. He couldn’t help running an eye over her body, dressed as it was only in a towel. His gaze stopped at her thighs for a beat too long.

Alice was blushing and not just because he was studying her. She already felt badly enough about the previous night and now the way he was looking at her made her feel like the worst kind of trash. Face it you whore-bitch, if the cap fits.

John read the distress in her face and sensed her confusion. His face softened. “I am sorry about last night. You are right, it wasn’t your fault.”

“Nor yours either I am guessing?” Alice sighed and went to sit on the bed before she remembered and patted her bottom instead.

John couldn’t help a smirk. “Adam plays rough doesn’t he?”

“That’s none of your business,” she said angrily, “John what are you doing here?”

John sagged. “I know, I’m sorry, about everything I mean… I thought if Adam… he thought you and Stacy were in league with Coleridge… Coleridge,” he exclaimed suddenly, “I forgot, you seem to have someone watching you. Eh… the window, that’s why…” he added lamely.

Alice dropped to sit on the bed and grimaced as she shot to her feet again. She blushed furiously as he laughed.

“You should get out of town,” John said as she rubbed at her bottom.

“You think Coleridge is watching me? Why? John what is going on? What is with this crumby town?” Alice almost yelled.

“My family has enemies and I think our friendship, your… you know, with Adam, has put you in the firing line,” John groaned.

“Adam had nothing to do with anyone, least of all you, you bastard I have had enough…” Alice was close to hysterical now. Suddenly everything was too much.

“Alice, calm down,” John stood up, “Please don’t shout.” He glanced over his shoulder as if looking at their spy.

“Calm down, calm down, what are you people? Why do you have enemies? Why… why are you here?” she was raging now.

“Alice, stop,” John urged.

She punched his chest and when that met hard muscle she slapped him. Then they were kissing.

To be continued

End Games


end gamesYou slip from the bed naked and scamper like a nymph to the bathroom. For a teasing second he sees a glimpse of round bottom and then you are gone.

Draped in towels and head-wrapped you mundanely attended to your face mask or toenails before remembering a night-discarded garment and bending to retrieve it from the floor.

Again the full moon rises to tease your lord before scattering his sensibilities under a cloud of towels.

Make-up is donned with bottom safely ensconced in a chair and hidden from view until he gathers the tea tray and retreats to the kitchen to make preparations for the day.

“How do I look?” you say once you emerge. Pencil skirt hugs your bottom and his eyes are drawn south in wonder. “No my make-up,” you say.

He regards the blue-mustard hazel adoring him beneath crafted pint works and marvels at the true green that glows there.

“Beautiful,” he says.

You depart with a roll of hips and nary a backward glance. Perhaps oblivious to the game as he follows you with his gaze.

weather02weather01weather03weather04weather05For some of us the summer is already slipping out of sight, but some are still desperately clinging on to that last time on the beach, even if it is raining. As the weather worsens adequate clothing is essential at all times and be mindful that the nights are drawing in so don’t be without plenty of extra light.

There might be dire consequences for those not heeding this advice.

Seriously though I have a bit of a rush job on at the moment so posting might be spotty for the next few days. Rather like the rain I fear.