N Affectueuse_fessée_ecclésiastiqueN AHS nun whippedN bavarian enemaN bavarian monkN collecting the rodN Monk-Nun-Spank-GirlN nun whipped movieN Penitence
The prurient interest in flagellation and the cloistered nuns goes back as far as the Sisters of Vespa in pagan Rome. Medieval engravings depict myriad floggings of nuns, by nuns and not always in the context of suppressed erotica. If the images above are anything to go then nothing much has changed.

Flagellation was thought to be good for the soul and the daughters of Eve particularly susceptible to sin and requiring severe chastisement to drive out the devil.

Whilst the Christian brothers favoured the scourge on the back, the good sisters often resorted to the ‘lesser chastisement’ by application to the ‘naked buttocks,’ as the 19th century Abbess de Chartres of Lyon explained.

It was one of her predecessors who cleaned the mother house by sending the old guard away and inviting the local Father to whip the sinning sisters on their bare bottoms for their sins. A task he felt needed to be repeated after many a confession time and again lest the devil return.

Rumour had it that the zealous young Abbess too asked to be also ‘cleansed’ in private sessions in her chambers, the stuff of fantasies surely, but many stranger things occurred among the cloistered of both sexes.

Anecdotally there is much evidence.

N bavarian Monk2In 1676 French woman, Juliette des Court, was unsuccessfully prosecuted for attempting to corrupt a priest. It seems her confessions were so scandalous, or so the priest said, that he was forced to chastise her. Guided by her confessor she was frequently stripped naked on her knees and made to offer her naked hind end to his rod. She was thrashed vigorously ‘until her flesh was razed and she screamed out for forgiveness.’

The repentant girl returned over and over in attempt to save her soul. It wasn’t until another priest discovered the punishments that the priest was accused of being overzealous and he in turned claimed the girl had seduced ‘him with sin.’

The charges don’t seem to be taken too seriously but Juliette herself ended up in a nunnery, eventually rising to be Abbess.

Whether because of her experience, or despite it, in later life she gained a reputation as a flagellant. It seems she had a penchant for guiding young novices in her order. She defended her actions by stressing that she only permitted ‘scourging of the inferior kind,’ that is whipping the bare bottom, as opposed to on the back as was the wont of monks.

In Prussia and elsewhere it became the custom during the 18th century to employ nuns as governesses. It was thought that ‘high discipline’ and strong religious guidance by means of the rod was good for young women. After all who could accuse a nun of being other than kind and forgiving? Some art from the period perhaps suggests otherwise.

N bavarian nun governess

Even in the 20th century some orders employed the scourge and other means. Certainly many have testified to the terror of the penguins and ‘horror stories’ have emerged as far afield as Ireland and the US.

Candace Truman, later known as Sister Mary, had a strict catholic upbringing in New York.

She later recalled her senior class years. “Some days the good sisters would tackle my bare bottom so enthusiastically with a strap that I could scarce sit down for days. Nor was I alone in my misery. Many a time did a class full of my fellow students line up to feel the same. The shower room usually displayed more bruises than not and right where they would do the most good.”

In England as late as the 1970s Barbara found love and discipline were often conjoined. Encourage to scourge herself she was troubled that it was ineffective and consulted an older woman of the order.

Her friend offered to aid her and twice weekly she was laid face down on her bed naked and ‘lashed on the bottom until I cried lustily.’

“Afterwards I always felt so good,” she wrote.

An affair ensued but after Barbara came out as a lesbian she left both the order and the church. “It turns out that a thoroughly good spanking was all I really needed. As a girl I was so drawn to rules and more so to the dreaded consequences of not obeying them.”


Part I here

The knock at the door did not so much wake Alice as send her six feet in the air. She had been lying there for hours now, starting at every car in the lot and every footfall expecting the door to burst open any moment. But when they came calling she wasn’t ready.

“Who is it?” she called.

The answer was another even heavier knocking and Alice swallowed hard and swung her legs out of bed.

“Who is it?” she said more impatiently and hauled on her robe. She glanced nervously at the small rear window and wondered if she might get out, but a shadow moved against it and she guessed someone was already waiting.

“You Eden?” the voice at the door said, more growl than words.

“What do you want?” Alice tried to sound calm and righteous.

“Open the door,” the heavy male voice demanded.

“I am not dressed,” she protested.

“Oh fuck this,” another man muttered from outside and with a lurch the door screamed open.

The two men were large and leather-clad. They were both clean-cut and clean shaven and carried themselves with an almost military bearing.

“What the hell do you think you are…?” Alice screamed. She made for the house phone but the larger of the two men, black and handsome she couldn’t help noticing, lifted her from the floor and sealed her mouth with his hand.

“Should have come quiet,” said the other man who ignoring the struggle began gathering up Alice’s clothes and other belongings.

Alice was suddenly more mad than afraid and kicked vigorously hoping to catch something vulnerable with her heel. The struggle that followed was futile.

By the time the twins’ jeep pulled up in the motel parking lot Alice was already being bundled across the forecourt in her night clothes and hauled to a waiting car.

Adam felt sick at the scene. He had deliberated like he was John while his enemies had acted.

“No gun,” his brother said from the passenger seat. They had agreed that gunplay would be unnecessary if they were quick, another John idea and now they both regretted it.

Adam drew on the beast and hit the gas pedal. The jeep surged forward as if to run both Alice and her abductors down but at the last it swung and rammed the waiting car driving it 10 feet backwards.

Meanwhile John didn’t hesitate. Opening the jeep door he leapt out as he dragged off his coat and then legs akimbo he let forth an unearthly scream. If the birds had sung at night they would have fallen still. As it was the two men and two more that had been running forward stopped dead and gaped.

John Stone stood bare-chested and somehow larger than he had been, but it was his eyes that transfixed Alice, they seemed to glow with a primeval with an inhuman light.

Daniel Brady, the large black man leading the group saw it too, but unlike his captive he was unmoved. Not that he was unafraid. This was supposed to be a quick snatch job not a confrontation with the demons, and he hadn’t come prepared.

“Let her go,” John growled, but it wasn’t his voice, it was scarcely a voice at all.

Alice could scarce draw breath, her abductors were nothing now, all she wanted to do was run.

Obliging Daniel stayed calm. He relinquished his hold on the lawyer’s arm and in one deliberate move he drew a .50 Desert Eagle from his should holster. Loaded with dum-dum bullets, the cartridges of his chosen weapon each held a small sphere of silver contained in the heads. Still he felt naked. He could only hope that one of his people had loaded silver into a 12-bore, but most he knew weren’t seriously packing.

The large hunter levelled his gun at John and clicked off the safety. At less than 20 feet he could not miss. Then two men jumped on John and tried to bring him down as they robbed Daniel Brady of a clear shot.

Alice stood in horror while her brain tried to make rational sense of what she was seeing. John swung one of his attackers as if he was nothing more than a paper doll and hurled him over the tops of some parked cars. The other he slammed to the ground so hard something went nauseously crunch and she knew the man wouldn’t get up again that night. Then for a second she locked eyes with the man she thought she knew and saw some recognition. Finally she could breathe.

Somewhere someone fired a shot gun and the windshield of the Stone brother’s jeep shattered, a wide shot missing the still raging John. But amid this mayhem Daniel stood calm and levelled his Desert Eagle with a professional eye.

Alice saw all this in slow motion and her mouth went dry and she froze. Then she watched as someone lashed out with treacle-like moves to deflect the big man’s aim even before she knew it was herself.

The pistol roared and Alice screamed but the two heavy shots were deflected.

Alice herself was sitting on the ground while more shouts and shooting railed around her, by the time she looked back at Daniel Brady he was hanging inches from the floor while John held him aloft by the throat.

“John,” she screamed, and the man she loved was himself again and let go of his prey.

Daniel staggered back and realised he had dropped his gun. Amid the chaos he was still scanning the ground for it when a huge wolf jumped on the hood of the jeep.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” someone screamed and finally the hunters began to scatter.

Daniel felt dizzy but he kept his nerve. He had heard the stories and seen the photographs but never in his life had he thought he would see anything this close. He was a dead man but he didn’t care, he had seen it with his own eyes; the world was not as he was raised to believe it was.

“There is a God,” he rasped in wonder.

Alice might have sat babbling but the sight of an overlarge wolf with preternatural eyes was too surreal for her to take in. Instead she turned to John who had only stopped to kick the Desert Eagle across the parking lot and who was now stooping to help her up.

“Time to go,” he said.

The wolf dropped from the car hood to the asphalt in a parody of canine playfulness and then padded across to Daniel until its great head was just inches from his chest.

“Do your worst… oh hell… oh fuck,” Daniel spat, at last his nerve failing.

Scooped over John’s shoulder, Alice looked back expecting to see the large hunter torn limb from limb. Instead the great beast circled his prey like a cat might a mouse.

John didn’t wait. Unceremoniously he dropped Alice into the back seat of the jeep and then from the passenger side slid into the driver seat. For a sickening moment the dented vehicle coughed stubbornly as he engaged the ignition and then it came to life. Then leaving the wolf to his supposed meal the jeep reversed hard and screeched around to face the road. Then it was gone.


By the time John and Alice returned to the compound Garrick, Sundance and Jared were already at the gates. It seemed whilst the outer guard had past John and Adam out, he had not been as gullible as Marsha and had called it in.

Garrick’s eyes of steel regarded his youngest son as he helped Alice from the jeep. “Where is Adam?” he asked. A simple question, but for a moment the universe hung on John’s answer.

“He will be along,” John replied confidently, “He was hunting hunters last I saw him and not…” he glanced at Alice wondering what she now knew, “…in a mood for discussion.”

Sundance sniffed and gently placed the back of his hand onto John’s naked chest. “Not the only one who shifted his… mood tonight,” he said in a tone of ancient sagacity.

“Did the hunters see…?” Garrick began.

“Oh yes, they are in no doubt now,” John shrugged and took a stance that said he was ready to take whatever was coming to him.

Just then far out in the woods there came a howl and all eyes shifted to the forest. Jared was grinning.

“Good,” he said with a leer.

“So be it,” Garrick sighed, “Was it worth it?”

John met his father’s gaze and said emphatically, “Yes.”

To be continued…

art fontana 2art fontanaart Jack Vastart JPCart rakart unknownWhen I was a student my then girlfriend went to France to study for part of her course. Whilst there she chose as a component of her dissertation to study the role in French culture of adult magazines and when she returned she brought back some bande dessinee (BD). These are French adult comics often dealing in extreme sexual fantasies including spanking.

One of these was a Milo Minara book, the Art of Spanking, not then translated into English.

BD may be worth a post in their own right but I thought it was worth just contrasting and comparing how varied spanking is depicted and how widespread such art is in both culture and styles.

I will return to this theme in a longer article but meanwhile above is a taste of what I am talking about. Artist range from the unknown to Fontana and Rak to JPC, previously discussed here.



2C 003-2skylar1dallas sinful_mainC2 menage_a_3_2012-06-142C 003-22C Stan school vintage2C b4b31f3e0e06ff2005f9a31c9d180885This morning I tried to broaden the search of spanking sites I look at to see what is going on only to find a few Tumblr’s closed and many old favourites haven’t updated for quite a while.

Tumblr doesn’t surprise me, I have had two Tumblr blogs and both were closed without warning, no reason given. The first, Crimson and Black, was very tame in content compared to the many such blogs and their sexual content which seems to miss the cull for year after year. The other was a Vintage image site, showing rarely more than a bare bottom and nothing still in copyright, in case the latter had been the issue for the previous blog. I console myself with the thought that both drew quite a lot of traffic and maybe they just got noticed.

I mention this because I notice too that some blogs have closed due fears of harassment and prosecution, sometimes by the ‘authorities’ and other times by commercial players, who understandably fear image theft.

Sadly I know of at least two ‘professional’ erotica photographers who have made false and systematic allegations against blogs and the hosting companies just take the easy road and close them without checking.

The problem with this, admittedly atypical, tactic is that if the ocean of amateur blogs is drained the few dozen decent professional sites will be easy pickings for the censors.

If you are a visitor here I do urge you to support and patronise the professional spanking sites, many of which are listed on the right.

On that note one I have always liked is Scarlet Hill, I used to buy many of their books before the Internet, but strangely their site is not well designed and looks like it hasn’t been updated in years. It has and its content is good (if you can find it) it is just an impression they give.

In better news Christmas is coming and if you are looking for that special gift and live in the UK the last London Alternative Market (LAM) is happening this Sunday together with the after market party where it really does all happen.

The round-up of images come from sites that include: AAA, Dallas, Devlin O’Neill, CutiePie, Chicago Spanking Review and Au Fil des Jours.

Vintage Sunday


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wolf18Part I here

Stacy decided her room would be the best place to hang until the day settled in and she got forgotten and then she would see what she could see. She figured that anywhere that wasn’t locked in the house was fair game, after all Augusta hadn’t put anywhere in particular off limits. Only that she was not to leave the main house. Maybe she could find some family memorabilia or something to provide evidence that the family Stone were not all they seemed.

In the end she waited an hour flat on her back tracing the wood grain in the ceiling with her eyes. Then she tried the door. It wasn’t locked and squinting-a-peek down the hall revealed no one. Stacy made with the frog lips and released them with a pop. Good to go girl, she thought.

The passage leading to the kitchen had two doors, one that led out to the yard and another deeper into the house. Still encountering no one, Stacy half crept and half strolled through the latter into a lined with pictures and old china plates. There was even a grandfather clock with a brass face, painted above which were a couple in colonial clothing: a man in a blue coat doffing a tricorn hat to a simpering girl in white. The plate beneath the Roman numeral clock face announced ‘Earnshaw, London,’ and in smaller writing, ‘1786.’

Stacy pretended to look impressed even though no one was watching. There wasn’t much else in the way of antiques; a stout shaker chair, two coffers and chest of draws that looked expensive.

The pictures were mostly family, some of who she recognised, but none suggesting anything other than ordinary Montana ranchers. The top draw of the chest had napkins and what looked like a wooden case of decent silverware. The second draw had stationary, unused greetings cards and old biscuit tins with ordinary domestic bric-a-brac that she might find anywhere.

For an awkward moment she couldn’t close the second draw and glanced up the hall in case someone was coming. Then it gave. She was quick with the last two, deciding that table cloths and flashlights were not going to be all that illuminating.

Stacy guessed that anything to ‘incriminating’ wasn’t going to be this close to the common areas of the house. All the same she opened the coffers and looked over blankets, some old books and a shotgun that looked like it was broken.

At the end of the hall there was a wooden staircase that led up to the next storey and two more doors. That end was dark and smelled of old wood and varnish. Stacy took a deep breath and opened the left hand door ready to tell occupants that she was looking for a bathroom.

There was a boardroom table and some bookshelves.

“Looks like I found the clubhouse,” Stacy whispered and closed the door. The books could be checked out later, first she wanted to see the other room.

The smaller room facing down the passage to the kitchen was a study of the home-office variety. It was small but there was a computer and some box files on shelves. The desk draws were locked but the box files might be interesting.

Stacy had just got as far as putting her knee on the desk to reach up when there was a sound behind her.

“Can I help you?” Stacy froze and put on a false grin.

“Hi Mrs Stone,” she said breezily, “I was…”

Augusta stood glaring with her arms folded.

“This is my office, bills and groceries mostly… Garrick’s study is locked and on the other side of the house. Anything valuable will be there,” she said.

“I wasn’t stealing I was…” Stacy protested.

“Snooping, or investigating perhaps?” Augusta said sharply.

“Yah… kind of,” Stacy blushed and stood back to dust herself off from phantom grime.

“To be expected I suppose, but don’t do it again… ever,” Augusta warned. “There are some books next door you can borrow. Make the most of them. Tomorrow you can work in the laundry, and you can help in the kitchen too.”

“Sure…” Stacy replied, not really knowing what else to say and wondered if Augusta expected a protest. She could do chores. Why not?

“Books you say?” Stacy made a teeth-point smile and half pointed to the other room.

“Knock yourself out,” Augusta shrugged and turned to go.


Adam and John studied each other for any sign of weakness. It was John who usually blinked when they were kids. He was always the one who would try and chicken out of any planned mischief.

“You sure about this?” Adam said at last.

“No, but I think you are right, we should do it,” John sighed.

Adam like to look sage as if he was still contemplating his next move, but in truth the decision was made. “Dad will be pissed,” he said.

“Dad started this,” John said angrily, “What if he is wrong about Stacy? If she is one of Coleridge’s people they may retaliate and take Alice, we have got to go get her. Anyway, it was your idea.”

“You are not going to put this on me when Dad finds out are you?” Adam laughed.

John grinned and extended his arm as he had done when they were boys, “All for one…” he said.

“And one for all,” Adam completed for him. The Two Musketeers were about to ride again.

“How do we get out of the compound?” John said as if that small detail was unimportant.

“Through the gate of course, I don’t know… more supplies maybe. Who will stop us?” Adam shrugged.

“We’ll go after midnight, whoever is gate duty will have to risk challenging us or getting Dad or Sundance out of bed…” John suggested.

“…And why they are thinking about it we are out of here.” Adam liked his brother’s thinking.

“And we have a plan,” John said in eager boyhood tones.


Alice couldn’t sleep. John and Adam rolled around in her mind until her head hurt. At first it had been fun and she had switched on a light to examine her bruises again before slipping back into bed for further explorations. Usually that was enough to take the edge off and let her sleep, usually.

This time she tried it twice before considering a pill. This time when she was up she noticed the car outside across the parking lot. Its lights glared at her cabin for a moment before dimming and she saw someone come out the bushes and gesticulate wildly at the driver.

Alice switched out her light and pulled back the drapes. All was quiet but no one stirred in the car and she wondered why whoever was there didn’t get out or at least turn on an interior light. Also there was no sign of whoever had reacted to the headlights either. Then she noticed a man smoking by the vending machines outside motel reception. He looked like he was trying not to be seen in the shadow of the Coca-Cola machine, but the glowing end of his cigarette gave him away.

She had an uneasy feeling about this and for the first time in days thought about packing up and leaving town. You are just being silly she chided herself. Then straight ahead the dark undergrown exploded into light to reveal a man lighting his own cigarette. For a single moment he was looking right at her and then the black swallowed him. The man had been large and certainly wasn’t whoever she had seen before, that made at least three of them and whoever was in the car. She shot a glance at the man by the vending machine. He hadn’t moved, but although she couldn’t see his face, she knew he was watching her too.


Marsha MacLeod kicked at the dust and then fell back to leaning in the gate post. Rachel Hemmings and Danson had headed off for a sweep of the perimeter, leaving the 30-year-old to watch the gate. God she hated guard duty, especially when she had to work with oh-so-popular Rachel and that weasel Danson. Still the stars were incredible and at least she was excused duty the next morning and could sleep in.

Many thought of Marsha as the dumb blonde, an image she tried to shake off by having an opinion on everything. Not that she saw it that way; it was just that she hated being ignored. She hated too not being in the loop and being ordered around by that also-ran Danson. She hated too that if he hadn’t been the lead guard tonight then they would have given that job to Rachel over her.

There were a lot of things Marsha hated and most nights alone or when on guard duty she liked to rehearse them over and over in her head.

The jeep that appeared at the gate took her by surprise and it wasn’t until its lights went on that she even saw it. Her heart still pumped as she thanked her stars that it was inside the perimeter and hadn’t snuck up on from outside.

“Open up Marsha we have to make a run,” Adam said in sharp voice from the driver seat.

Marsha swung her flashlight beam into the car and saw the other occupant was John and she relaxed. “No one is supposed to leave,” she said.

“Damn right, keep it that way,” Adam ordered, “But we have to make a sweep of the outer roads.”

“No one told me, Jared told me himself to keep it tight. Garrick’s orders,” she replied.

“So no one told you, maybe they did and you didn’t listen,” Adam said in an annoyed voice, “Come on open up, you think we want to be out here. One sweep and back to bed, that is if you don’t mind.”

“B-but… I am not supposed to…” she looked around to see if Danson was coming back with Rachel yet. Maybe someone told him and he didn’t bother to share. She bet he told Rachel though.

“Look, I don’t know who has screwed up here, if you have got to call the house then do it, but get on with it,” Adam snarled.

Marsha glowered at him, it was hard to face down Adam Stone and it was a cinch that he had permission and no one had told her. “I guess I did hear something…” she took one last look for Danson and then unhitched the gate. You got a walkie in case…?”

Adam waved her away and the jeep pulled moved forward. “Yeah, yeah, but alert the outer guard that we are coming through. I don’t want any more screw-ups tonight”

Marsha felt an idiot and wished to hell Danson had come back. Then she shrugged and reached for the walkie to alert the outer perimeter.

To be continued

crowdAs forewarned I have been a little busy this week and I haven’t had chance to finish the next installment of the Wolf. Fear not there is some progress there and elsewhere. Meanwhile I thought I would take this opportunity to thank everyone who ‘likes’ and ‘follows’ this blog.

I saw on an unrelated forum that people were arguing that they had unfollowed someone because they had been so rude as to not follow back.

This got me thinking about one of the messages I got about that invited me to follow the person who just followed me and out of curiosity I clicked the link to look at their blog only to find a profile and no blog. No worries, I get it, he had an account to use other functions. However I am not sure I would have followed back if he had had a site.

I know these are the new values of the 21st century and etiquette increasingly promotes the idea that if you follow some they will follow you, so apologies if I sound like old-fashioned git here or a grumpy old man. But I get enough email and notifications, I don’t find this useful. As for likes, I really appreciate it too, but I don’t judge this blogs success by likes and I don’t judge other people by the number of likes they get.

I do often look at the people who like and follow if they have a blog and that is useful, but ultimately random and obviously many people will get missed.

Around 5,000 people look at A Voice in the Corner every day and I do notice and appreciate that. Thank you one and all, that is incredible given that we only came back in August, that is halfway to the heyday of two years ago.

If you are trying to build traffic to collect likes and followers for your own project then why not comment and include your url in the form. You can bet your life that I will click on that and if your site is on topic and regularly updated then you may even get a permanent link.

I hope I didn’t offend anyone (I am excellent at that apparently) and once again thank you for all your comments, likes and following, but above coming here in the first place.




C1 Pandora redroom_illustration_libertyantoniasadler_metroC1 out and about1C window1C trioFirst of all a big thank you to all of those who commented for Love Our Lurker’s Day on Friday. I know many of you commented for the first time and that took a lot of brave.

I have a tough week so posts here are going to be patchy. In the Service of the Wolf is pending and we will have more Prussians and perhaps a return to Abraham Heights.

Pandora has drawn our attention to a great article that she contributed to entitled ‘What the BDSM Community can teach us about Consent.’ Pandora is quoted in the article as saying ‘This idea that consent is a contract is really pernicious,’ Blake says. ‘Consent is revocable and ongoing, and being encouraged to change your mind is necessary for consent. By saying you’ve changed your mind, you’re helping your partner respect your boundaries.’ You can read more here.

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There are a couple of contributions from Dallas, if you want to check out his latest offerings, a nice picture found on Ronnie Soul , the cartoon was on Stan’s blog.

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C1 Ronnie spankBW_by the book

A few others I found knocking around.


Vintage Sunday


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lurkers01Today is the 13th Love Our Lurkers Day, an initiative that has been running longer than this blog. What is it exactly?

Lurkers, anonymous readers, call them what you will. They are the people who read this blog on a regular or occasional basis, but never leave a comment. On LOL days, we encourage those people to be brave and leave a comment.

All comments on this blog are anonymous, you don’t have to give your real name (or indeed email address) please drop us a line to say hello.