FIFTY-FOUR SPANKING EXCERPTS FROM MAINSTREAM NOVELS
(MF MM FF hist md span spank ped nc sad)
Collected by Akabax
PREFACE
I have collected this fine collection of spanking excerpts. Some of
them are digitized from libratry books, others are taken from book
collections on the internet, such as Google Books and Gutenberg.org
Other naughty extracts from mainstream novels would also be pretty
nice. Sex scenes, rape scenes, etc. However, I don't have the time
for that.
I would like to point out that some of following excerpts contains
pedophile elements. They are, of course, all fictive. I strongly
condemn any kind of sexual relations between children and adults. It
is the worst kind of child abuse.
- Akabax
Contact
If you have found any extracts of your own that you want to share, or
just want to drop me a comment, send it to me at akabax@gmail.com
TABLE OF CONTENT
Women spanked by Men
The Spring Madness of Mr. Sermon - R.F. Delderfield
Tai-Pan - Jame Clavell
The dreaming Suburb - R.F. Delderfield
Theirs was the Kingdom - R.F. Delderfield
The Other Hand - George Langelaan
molly - a play - Simon Gray
The Movie maker - Herbert Kastle
No Orchids for Miss Blandish - James Hadley Chase
I will Fear No Evil - Robert A. Heinlein
Run, Annie, Run - Lucia C Pollock
The Yellow Daffodil: A Provocative Love Story - Cekimber Hobson
Transformation of Tammi - Albert W Robinson
Erotica - My Dirty Thirties: Romantic Hedonism - Kelly Carr
Two Moons: Worthy of a Master: Book One - Chelsea Shepard
Europa: The Days of Ignorance - Robert Briffault (1935)
Conquest - Jaid Black
Looking for Leo: A Novel - Gloria Nagy
Women spanked by Women
The Book of the Thousand Nights and One Night
Men spanked by Men
Spango - Shelby Jones
Screams beneath Pandora - Lara Elf Princess Prendville
Men spanked by Women
Venus in Furs - Leopold von Sacher-Masoch
Fanny Hill - Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure - John Cleland, 1749
Girls spanked by Men
Devil by the Sea - Nina Bawden
The Battle of the Villa Fiorita - Rumer Godden
Deadly Behavior - Dee Sullivan
The Reverend's Revenge - Joe Schrantz
When the Jonquils Bloom Again - Sister Sharon
Europa: The Days of Ignorance - Robert Briffault (1935)
Girls spanked by Women
Sidonia the Sorceress 1894 - William Meinhold
Fame Is the Spur - Howard Spring
Destinies - Adrian Vance
The Veteran Patient - Arnold Schildkret
Intents of the Heart: Volume III - Lezlie A Word
Best Lesbian Love Stories 2003
Girls spanked by Boys
(None)
Girls spanked by Girls
(None)
Boys spanked by Men
Dead Poets Society - N. H. Kleinbaum
Aunt Jane's Nieces - Edith Van Dyne
Martin Eden - Jack London
Peck's Uncle Ike and the Red Headed Boy - George W Peck
Europa: The Days of Ignorance - Robert Briffault (1935)
The Court of Boyville - William Allen White
Boys spanked by Women
My son, my son - Howard Spring
Toaster's Handbook
The 120 Days of Sodom - The Marquis de Sade (1784)
Hello to Springtime - Robert Louis Fontaine
A Painted House - John Grisham
In a German Pension - Katherine Mansfield
A Tree Grows in Brooklyn - Betty Smith
Boys spanked by Boys
Pelle the Conqueror - Martin Anderson Nexo
The Adventures of Mr. Verdant Green - Cuthbert Bede
Boys spanked by Girls
(None)
Miscellanceous
Kama Sutra - Vatsyayana (1st to 6th centuries A.D)
The Decameron - Giovanni Boccaccio (1353)
The Bible - Misc. authors
Publications By Folklore Society (Great Britain)
Europa: The Days of Ignorance - Robert Briffault (1935)
Survey of English Dialects: the dictionary and grammar - Clive Upton,
David Parry
WOMEN SPANKED BY MEN
The Spring Madness of Mr. Sermon
R.F. Delderfield
Page 448
"What did you quarrel about?" He asked curiously.
"The usual things, putting all that stuff on her face too soon,
staying out, answering back, the usual. The first couple o' times I
did clout and send her upstairs but after that I showed more sense. I
took a stick to her and made sure I caught her in the bathroom when
she had nothing between her and the stick. Twice I did it and the
second time she had her breakfast standing! We didn't have no more
hanky-panky after that, not until her father come home for good and
set about ruining her. Came close to doing it properly that one time,
he did, he could never get over her being so pretty an' popular with
the boys."
page 470-473
As he faced her, detaining her by the shoulder, he yearned to be done
with pleading and persuasion and break the deadlock between them by
an embrace, by touching her lips and her hair. Suddenly he felt so
much older and wiser than her, old enough and wise enough to lose
face or appear to lose it. Because she made no attempt to break free
he sensed the same will to compromise and extended his hold by
dropping his right hand to her waist and throwing his left arm round
her neck. Then, as he was on the point of kissing her, he felt a stab
of acute pain in his right hand and leaped back with a yell, whipping
his hand to his mouth then lowering it and staring at a puncture that
was already welling blood.
"Good God!" he shouted, looking from the wound to the point of the
nail scissors that she now held like an offered dagger, "why did you
have to do that?" and when she continued to stare at him he threw
aside reason and patience, surrendering to rage and frustration
generated not only by pain but by all the disappointments that had
emanated from this woman over twenty years, hurts that seemed now to
find their vent through the bleeding stab in his hand, With a yell of
wrath he swept her up and dragged her away from the window,
collapsing on the littered bed with Sybil thrust sideways on top of
him. In his fury he did not notice that she made almost no
resistance, that immediately after seizing the scissors and striking
them downward into his hand she had remained rigid, staring not at
him but at the trickle of blood on his knuckles. He shouted:
"You act like at child and by God I'll treat you as one!" and holding
her firmly with his bleeding hand he used the other to jerk at the
waist-band of her skirt, ripping it almost free of her with a single
tug and proceeding straight away to follow her mother's advice.
"Stop it, Sebastian . . . I'm sorry ... sorry!" she cried, becoming a
child again in the shrillness of her plea and a wild flailing of the
legs, but he was resolved to trade smart for smart and in another
second the black silk petticoat had followed the skirt, both garments
becoming entangled in her high heels and reducing her cover to a pair
of nylon briefs. For a fraction of a second he thought of following
the old lady's example literally but with his injured hand he was
finding it difficult to maintain his grip and in any case the briefs
were totally inadequate protection as her yell testified the moment
his hand descended. She gave a series of ineffectual heaves and her
initial shout must have carried down the long garden and across to
the tennis-courts in Cedarwood Close but, far from deterring him, her
shout and struggles gave him the greatest satisfaction and five more
times his hand came down before it brushed against a heaven-sent
instrument of correction, a substantial rose-wood hairbrush that was
among the accessories she had thrown on the bed. He seized this with
a fierce joy, renewing his grip and shifting his target and whacking
away at her squirming bottom as though it had been a carpet on a
line. At the fourth blow the brush snapped in two parts so he hurled
the handle to the floor, intending to resume the work by hand and
seemingly bent on continuing indefinitely, but suddenly he realised
that her struggles and outcry had almost ceased and with a sharp
sense of revulsion he loosed his hold so that she slid forward and
rolled clear, finishing half-kneeling with her face pressed to the
bed, one hand thrown forward, the other spread protectively behind
her. Crouched there it was impossible to see her as a woman of almost
forty, her hair and clothes disordered, her kneeling pose that of a
scared adolescent caught out in some lie or piece of naughtiness. The
illusion was so striking that he reached out and touched her hair,
saying, "I'm sorry, but honestly . . . honestly . . . Sybil, you
asked for it, you really asked for it," and he fumbled in his breast
pocket, taking out a handkerchief and wrapping it round his hand
which was now bleeding freely, soiling his new suit, the bedspread
and the carpet.
"You hurt me, Sebastian," She said, slowly, "you hurt me
dreadfully!"
He did not recognise a subtle change in her voice, its sharpness
blunted, all its petulance and condescension drained away. There was
no element of complaint in it. The word were said almost wonderingly,
as through by someone who had been considerably astonished. He did
not notice this because he was bowed under the weight of defeat.
Tai-Pan
Jame Clavell
Page 141-142
Struan was wonder-struck. "How do you know about Jin-qua?"
"I went to Kowtow and pay my respects to his Supreme Lady. She told
me he just returned and sent for you."
Struan had been unaware that May-may knew Jin-qua's first wife, but
he was so furious that he dismissed this from his mind. "Why the
devil did you na tell me where you were going?"
"Because then you would have forbid me," May-may snapped. "I want to
see her. Also to have my hair done and to consult the astrologer."
"What?"
"There's a terrifical good hairdresser that Jin-qua's ladies use.
Terrifical good for hair. This woman is famous in all Kwangtung. Very
expensive. The astrologer said joss was good. Very good. But to watch
building of houses."
"You'd risk your life to talk to soothsayers and get your hair
treated?" he erupted. "What the hell's the matter with your hair?
It's fine as it is!"
"You dinna ken these things, Tai-Pan," she said coldly. "That's where
I hear rumors. At hairdresser's." She took his hand and made him
touch her hair. "There, you see. It is much softer, no?"
"No! It is na! God's death, if you ever leave without first telling
me where you're going, I'll whack you so hard you will na sit for a
week."
"Just try, Tai-Pan, by God," she said and glared back at him.
He grabbed her swiftly and carried her, struggling, to the bed and
flung up her rope and petticoats and gave her a smack on her buttocks
that stung his hand and tossed her on the bed. He had never struck
her before. May-may flew off the bed at him and viciously raked at
his face with her long nails. A lantern crashed to the floor as Stuan
upended her again and resumed the spanking. She fought out of his
grip, and his long nails slashed at his eyes, missing by a fraction
of an inch, and scoring his face. He caught her wrists and turned her
over and tore off her rope and underclothes and smashed her bare
buttocks with the flat of his hand. She fought back fiercely, showing
and elbow in his groin and clawing at his face again. Mustering all
his strength, he pinned her to the bed, but she slipped her head free
and sank her teeth into his forearm. He gasped at the pain and
slashed her buttocks again with the flat of his free hand. She bit
harder.
"By Good, you'll never bite me again," he said through clenched
teeth. Her teeth sank deeper but he deliberately did not pull his arm
away. The pain made his eyes water, but he smashed May-may harder and
harder and harder, always on the buttocks, until his hand hurt. At
last she released her teeth.
"Don't — no more — please — please," she whimpered, and wept into the
pillow, defenceless.
Struan caught his breath. "Now say you're sorry for going out without
permission."
Her mottled, inflamed buttocks tightened and she flinched against the
expected blow, but he had not raised his hand. He knew that the
spirit of a thoroughbred must only be tamed, never broken. "I'll give
you three seconds."
"I'm sorry — sorry. You hurt me, you hurt me," she sobbed.
Page 420-422
Struan realized that it was useless to argue or reason with May-may.
You canna treat her as a European, he told himself.. Deal with her as
through you're Chinese. But how's that! I dinna ken. Treat her as a
woman, he ordered himself, deciding on a tactic.
He exploded with pretended rage. "You are a miserable slave, by God!
And I've a mind to sell you into the Street of the Blue Lanterns," he
shouted, naming the worst of the seamen's streets in Macao, "though
who'd want to buy a dirty baggage slave like you I dinna ken. You're
nothing but trouble and I've a mind to give you to the lepers. Aye,
by God! I paid eight thousand taels of good silver for you, and how
dare you make me angry? I was cheated, by God! You're worthless!
Dirty slave — how I've put up with you these years I dinna ken!" He
shook his fist in her face, and she recoiled. "Am I na good to you?
Eh? Generous? Eh? Eh?" he roared, and was pleased to detect fear in
her yes. "Well?"
"Yes lord," she whispered, biting her lips.
"You dare to get clothes made behind my back and dare to wear them
wi'out my approval, by God? Well, do you?"
"Yes, lord."
"I'll sell you tomorrow. I've a mind to throw you out now, you
miserable motherless whore! Kowtow! Go on, kowtow, by God!"
She blanched at his fury and kowtowed quickly.
"Now keep kowtowing until I come back!"
He stormed out of the room, and went back into the garden. He jerked
out his knife and selected a thin bamboo from a newly planted grove.
He cut it and slashed the air and rushed back into the living room.
"Take your clothes off, you miserable slave! I'm going to flog you
till my arm hurts!"
Trembling, she stripped. He seized the dress from her hand and threw
it aside.
"Lie down there." He pointed at the ottoman.
She did as he ordered. "Please no to whip me too hard — I'm two
months with child." She buried her head in the ottoman.
Struan wanted to take her in his arms, but he knew that this would
make him lose face in front of her. And a whipping was the only way
to give her back her dignity.
So he slashed her buttocks with the bamboo. Hard enough to hurt, but
not to damage. Soon she was crying out and weeping and squirming, but
he kept on. Twice he deliberately missed her and slashed the leather
violently, so that the noise was terrifying, for the benefit of Lim
Din and Ah Sam who he knew would be listening.
After ten blows he paused and told her to stay where she was, and
went over to the brandy bottle. He drank deeply, hurled the bottle
against the wall, and resumed the whipping. But always with great
care.
Finally he stopped and dragged her up by the hair. "Put on your
clothes, your miserable slave!" When she was dressed, he bellowed,
"Lim din! Ah Sam!"
They were trembling at the door in an instant.
"Wat for nae tea nae food, you miserable slaves! Get food!"
He hurled the bamboo at the side of the door and turned back to
May-may.
"Kowtow, your motherless wreck!"
Aghast at the limitlessness of his fury, she hastily complied.
"Clean yoursel' and come back here. Thirty seconds or I'll start all
over again!"
Lim Din served the tea and though it was just right, Struan said it
was too cold and threw the teapot against the wall. May-may and Lim
Din and Ah Sam rushed away and hurried back with more.
The food came with incredible speed also, and Struan allowed himself
to be served by May-may. She whimpered with pain and he shouted,
"Shut up or I'll whip you forever!"
Then he fell silent, ominously, and ate, letting the quiet torture
them.
"Pick the bamboo up!" He screamed as he finished.
May-may fetched the bamboo and handed it to him. He prodded her in
the stomach. "Bed!" he ordered harshly, and Lim Din and Ah Sam fled,
secure in the knowledge that the Tai-Pan had forgiven his Tai-tai,
who had gained limitless face by enduring his righteous fury.
May-may turned around tearfully and went along the corridor towards
her quarters, but he snarled, "My bed, by God!"
She ran into his room. He followed and crashed the door shut, and
bolted it.
"So, you're with child. Whose child?"
"Yours, lord," she whimpered.
He sat down and extended a booted foot. "Come on, hurry up."
She fell to her knees and pulled off the boots and then stood beside
the bed.
"How dare you think I'd want you to meet my friends? When I want to
take you out of the house, I'll tell you, by God."
"Yes, lord."
"A woman's place is in the home. Here!"
"Yes, lord."
He allowed his face to soften a trace. "That's better, by God."
"I did na want to go to ball," she said in a tiny whisper. "Only to
dress like . . . I never want ball. How for go ball — never never
want. Only to please. Sorry. Very sorry."
"Why should I forgive you , eh?" He began to undress. "Eh?"
"No reason — none." Now she was crying piteously, silently. But he
knew that now was too soon to relent completely.
"Perhaps, as your with child, I may give you another chance. But it
better be a son, not a worthless girl."
"Oh yes — please, please. Please forgive." She kowtowed and knocked
her head on the floor.
Her crying was tearing at him, but he continued to undress sullenly.
The he blew the lantern out and got into bed.
He left her standing.
After a minute or two he said curtly, "Get into bed. I'm cold."
Later, when he could stand her weeping no more, he put his arms
around her tenderly and kissed her. "You're forgiven, lass."
She cried herself to sleep in his arms.
The dreaming Suburb
R.F. Delderfield
page 380
So it came about, the following evening, that Tom and Elaine
installed themselves as Mr. and Mrs. T. Smith (Tom was not a very
original man) in a blameless little hotel, situated in the main
street of a small country town, about a dozen miles west of the site.
And it was here, at the unlikely hour of two in the morning, that
their bedroom door flew open, and the lights were switched on,
revealing to the tousled Elaine and her still sleeping partner, the
awful reality of a professional strong woman in the role of outraged
wife.
Elaine had no time to do more than blink, rub her eyes, and sit up in
bed, before Audrey the Amazon, not even bothering to shut the door
behind her, plucked her from bed, and tucked her under her massive
arm as though she were a runaway puppy.
Then Elaine knew real fear, and cried aloud, her protests rousing
Tom, who sat up very suddenly, looking more like the Kaiser than
ever, with his true stature concealed by the bedclothes. Neither was
he given any time to exclaim, for his wife, moving with incredible
speed for one so huge, whipped round the end of the bed, threw Elaine
heavily to the floor, picked up her husband with even less effort
than she had lifted Elaine, and tossed him casually into a shallow
closet, smartly slamming the door, and blocking it with the end of
the bed, which she hooked sideways with her foot.
Although Audrey's disposal of Tom occupied but a few seconds it
presented Elaine with her sole chance to escape, and she took it.
Breathlessly she scrambled to her knees, and dived over the bed
towards the door. She had stopped shouting, but her cries were now
taken up by Tom from the closet, and by other people, presumably
guests, or the proprietor and his wife, who had gathered in the
passage, and were now adding their protests to the general uproar.
Elaine did not get very far in her scramble towards this group.
Audrey the Amazon turned, seized her by the hair, pressed her face
into the pillow, jumped on to the disordered bed, and pinned her down
with one knee.
Then, releasing Elaine's hair so that she could turn her head just
enough to breath, she tore down her new pyjama trousers, and
commenced to administer a spanking that could be heard very clearly
in the lobby downstairs.
Mrs. Tappertitt had huge, meaty hands, that were able to cover quite
an area, and they were hands that were accustomed daily to tying reef
knots in iron bars, and tearing encyclopædias in two. The wild cries
of Elaine, squirming on the bed, were soon far louder than those of
Tom, folded into the closet, and were certainly penetrating enough to
drown the scattered protest of the group standing in the passage, and
looking in upon the curious scene.
It was perhaps a full minute before Audrey the Amazon paused and,
with a final flip of the wrist, again deposited Elaine on the floor,
this time on her side nearest the door. "That," said Audrey, wheezing
a little, "is what your mother ought to have done more often! Now get
dressed, get your things together, and clear out of here, but don't
take nothing he gave you, or I'll start on you again the minute I get
me breath back!"
She then seemed to dismiss Elaine, and turned to the closet, kicking
back the bed, and pulling open the door, so that poor Tom fell out
face foremost, and landed abjectly at her feet.
"You get dressed too, Tom," she said, "and I'll give you your rations
the minute we get home!"
Theirs was the Kingdom
R.F. Delderfield
Page 607
Adam, watching them kneeling together at the altar of the garrison
church in Deal, did not share his son's sentiments. He had always
favoured chubby, well-rounded women, and had often told Henrietta
that he married her on the strength of her shapely bottom, the first
part of her anatomy he had seen as he rode over the skyline of Seddon
Moor and surprised her washing herself in a puddle.
Page 618
"You damned little fool!" he shouted. "That water was deep and you
can't swim a stroke! Don't you ever use your head, except as a post
for silly hats?"
She was half-lying in the two or three inches of water they had
shipped and her expression, as she raised her head and stared up at
him, with her mouth open and her three-storey-and-basement hat half
toppled, would have struck him as comical had he not realised how
near she had come to over-setting them in a deep and turbulent patch
of water. She said, rising to her knees, "How dare you swear at me!
Nobody swore at me before!" And to his extreme indication, she
slapped him across the face with her wet glove.
It was not really a case of consciously following Sir Clive's hint.
The exasperation of months went into his reflex action he threw
himself forward grabbed her by the waist, threw her half across his
knee, and began to spank her so soundly that her struggles rolled
them half out of the boat. Then he loosed his hold of her, so that
she pitched half in and half out of shallows where, despite the dry
spell, there was still mud in hoof sockets left by the cattle.
Page 621
"Who is Gilpin?"
"Gilpin?" Her eyes became vague for a moment but then cleared. "Oh,
no one special. A groom at a place we had in Hampshire, years ago. He
was the only man who hit me but he did it with a riding crop and I
had bruises on my behind for nearly a month."
The Other Hand
George Langelaan
SUMMARY: The narrator's right hand has been possessed. In this part,
he is walking down Champs Elysées with his wife and Ludo, his
brother-in-law.
Suzon was walking between us, and so that she could hold my arm, she
had given me her fashion magazine which I had rolled up in my right
hand. Walking ahead of us were two girls, the type of girls which,
for some mysterious reason, tourists consider as so typically
Parisian and who, of course, are not — you know, the sort of girls
that are just a little too well dressed, with heels two centimeters
too high, skirts two centimeters too short, a little too tight around
hips that swing just a little too much. Ludo grinned at me and
winked, and I grinned back and Suzon shrugged her shoulders as we
swung out to pass them. As we did so, I raised the rolled up magazine
in my hand and brought it down with a resounding smack on the girl
nearest me! I was far more dumbfounded and shocked than the girl who
turned, white with rage, and was evidently going to slap my face when
her companion dragged her away, saying: "Can't you see he is drunk!"
Suzon did not speak to me for two whole days.
Molly - A play
Simon Gray
Act I, Scene 1
Molly (wearily) Omigod! (Lights her cigarette)
Teddy watches her. There is a pause
Teddy Hey you, come here! (Pause) Come on, come here, I said.
Concealing her irritation, clearly knowing what is going to to
happen, Molly goes over to Teddy
Molly Sir? Teddy Now my girl, how many's that since lunch? Molly Only
one sir. Teddy Come on, Moll, the truth now. All the time you were
gadding about out there. Molly Well, three. (Pause) Four. (Pause. She
holds up five fingers) Ten. Twenty. Teddy (not hearing) Five, eh?
Well, add on another four and one on top of that, makes-
He motions to Molly. She lays herself over his knees. He spanks her
while counting, laughing
one-two-three-four-five-six-seven-eight-nine. Now get us another
drink, girl.
Molly takes his glass with a curtsy
Molly My lord. (She pours himself another drink)
Act II Scene 2
Molly puts her bag in the trolley, takes out a cigarette and lights
it
Teddy That's how we knew he was a Catholic. (He laughts) Wish we'd
had you around, boy, to beat him to death with a stick. (He sits on
the sofa) Hey, girl, come over here. Come on.
Molly makes a unbelieving gesture
Come on, girl. Here, I say.
Molly goes to Teddy
How many's it been, eh? How many seen her smoke, boy? Two hundred
three hundred since I was laid up - say five. Let you off with five,
Molly, eh?
Molly lies over Teddy's knees. He smacks her five times
One-two-three-four-five. (He helps her off his knees) There, letting
you off lightly, eh, girl?
Oliver's face is set
Molly (seeing Oliver's face) Evie, is there some tea for Oliver. Eve
Come with me, Oliver.
Eve exits to the corridor
The Movie maker
Herbert Kastle
Page 208-9
'Sleep tight,' Lars said. 'Don't let the bedbugs bite.'
Terry was gone. Mona murmured, 'bedbugs. It's been a long time since
I even heard the word. You ever see bedbugs?'
Lars put his hand behind her head and drew her toward him. They
touched lips. He thought of Terry and how ridiculous it was to prefer
anyone to this gorgeous acre of femininity. 'No.' He said. 'You got
any to show me?'
She laughed. 'You break me up.' She pressed her lips to his. 'You
tough little bastard.'
It didn't bother him. It was a kick for her and a kick for him. The
mismatch of the century. He took her i his arms, bending over her as
she stuck her legs straight out and slouched lower. He kissed her
hard, slid his lips down her neck to her breasts. She wiggled her
legs and said 'Ummm, baby.' He found a zipper near her armpit and
worked it. The dress loosened, and he drew it down from her
shoulders. He found the hook in back. 'Introducing,' he murmured, and
took off her brassiere. Big, all right. A feast, and not only for the
eyes. He feasted.
After a while she led him to her bedroom and stripped, turning and
posing for his pleasure. She stopped him from undressing. She wanted
to do it herself. She undressed him as if he were a baby, cooing over
him and doing everything but carry him to the bed. She even tried
that, but couldn't make it. He laughed and it was still a kick and he
was ready. But she wasn't. She kept stalling, kept playing. An hour
passed, a full hour, and he grew tired and testy. 'Be a big girl,' he
said, and pushed her down and pulled at her legs. She rolled over
onto her stomach, but her backward glance was melting. He realized
this was what she wanted. She wouldn't ask for it because asking
adulterated true toughness, but she wanted a hard man, a mean man,
the man who had kicked Sommy in the nuts. He smacked her big rear
end. She said, 'No, I won't!' He smacked it again, the sound ringing
out in the silent house. He thought of Terry. Was she next door,
listening to them, jealous and sexually excited?
He smacked Mona's rear five times, his hand stinging from the force
of the blows, the sound loud enough to waken anyone in the house.
Mona whimpered and rolled onto her side. 'You hurt me.' Her eyes
blinked back tears. He grabbed her shoulders and shoved her flat on
her back. She tried to draw up her legs. He slapped her face. She
said, 'Not that.' He slapped her again and jammed his knee between
her thighs. 'Not that,' he mocked. 'You want me to pat the famous
fanny all night. Not that. You want Lars to perform by the script.'
She wept, pressing her legs together. 'I've changed my mind. Go away.
You're not-'
He grabbed a breast. 'If you don't open-'
She cried out. Her legs opened. He stroked her face and kissed her.
He told her how beautiful, how desirable she was, and she wept softly
and called him a rat and rapist and hugged him and bit his shoulder.
It went very well. As soon as it ended her eyes closed and she began
to doze, mumbling that she hadn't slept well all week and please
phone her soon.
No Orchids for Miss Blandish
James Hadley Chase
Page 91-2
Anna came in.
"How much longer are you going to tag along with the Grisson mob?"
she demanded. "How much longer are you going to lick that old bitch's
boots."
"And don't start that again," Eddie yelled, struggling into his coat.
"I'm getting out of here. I had all I want from you for one day."
Anna sneered.
"Small-time. What I ever saw in you! Run along, gigolo. Start your
boot licking."
"Don't say you didn't ask for this," Eddie bellowed. "I've had enough
of your big mouth. I'm going to teach you who's boss around here."
He pounced on her. Scooping her up, he slammed her face down across
the bed. Holding her securely under the angle of his arm, he whisked
up her clothes and began to spank her long and hard.
Kicking and struggling, Anna screamed like a train whistle. Eddie
continued to slap her until his hand was burning and sore and the
neighbours either side of the apartment began hammering on the
walls.
Then leaving her wriggling and screaming on the bed, Eddie left the
apartment, slamming the door behind him.
I Will Fear No Evil
Robert A. Heinlein
Page 196-7
Joan bawled and shook her head. He spoke loudly: 'Rockford!'
'Yes, sir?'
'We'll be out in a moment or two. Keep the reactor warm.'
He stepped to the wall and squeezed down the intercom to zero, then
said gently, 'Get dressed, dear.'
'I won't! If we leave now, you'll have to stuff me into the car bare
naked.'
He sighed and picked her up; she stopped crying and looked suddenly
happy.
The expression did not last. He turned her in his arms as he sat down
on a straight chair, got a firm grip on her, and walloped her right
buttock. She yelped. And struggled.
He got her more firmly, placing his right leg over both of hers, and
applied his hand smartly to her left cheek. Then he alternated sides,
stopping with ten. He set her on her feet and said, 'Get dressed,
dear. Quickly.'
She stopped and rubbed the punished area. 'Yes, Jake.'
Neither said another word until he had handed her into the car,
climbed in after her, and they had been locked in. Then she said
timidly, 'Jake? Will you hold me?'
'Certainly, darling.'
'May I take my robe off, please? Will you take it off me?'
With the robe out of the way she sighed and snuggled in. After a bit
she whispered, 'Jake darling? Why did you spank me?'
It was his turn to sight. 'You were being difficult ... and it is the
only thing I know of which will do a woman any good when a man can't
do for her what she needs. And right then - I couldn't.'
'I see. I think I do.'
She remained quiet a while, enjoying his arms around her and
breathing against his chest. Then she said, 'Dear? Did you ever spank
Eunice?'
'Once.'
'For the same reason?'
'Not quite. Well, somewhat. She teased me into it.' (I tickled him,
dear. And got the surprise of my life.)
'Then I'm glad you spanked me, too. But I'll try not to tease you —
though I'll never be the angel she was.' (Fallen angel, Boss. And
enjoyed it all, clear down to the Pit.)
'Jake?'
'Yes, Eunice?'
'I didn't really mind being spanked by you. Even when I was crying.
But — Well, I'm paddled now — Built to take an spanking. And when you
are spanking me, you aren't ignoring me — and any attention is better
than none. And besides —' She hesitated.
'Besides what, Eunice?'
'Well, I don't know — but I think it happened.'
'What happened?'
'Female orgasm. Well, maybe. I don't know what one is supposed to
feel like. But while I was crying — and hurting; you have a heavy
hand, sir — suddenly I felt very warm inside and something seemed to
grow and explode — that's the best I can describe it. And I was
ecstatically happy an didn't mind the last few wallops, hardly
noticed them. Was that a female orgasm?'
Run, Annie, Run
Lucia C Pollock
Page 139
One day, she jerked open the door and walked in, Deal and the teacher
were kissing passionately.
Lorna ran over. She kicked Miss Popeson on the chin and was raising
her arm to strike her when Deal grapped her and jerked out outside.
Miss Popeson, not knowing what to do, retreated.
Deal yanked Lorna back and forth by the hair, slapping her repeatedly
across the face.
"You ain't never gonna meddle in my business," he hissed, "I'm goin'
to give you a whupin' you won't forgit — ever."
As he passed the stack of green shingles, waiting to be nailed into
the hole in the roof, he grabbed one.
"Here we go, little girl"
He started dragging Lorna toward the boy's outhouse. Without
screaming, Lorna fought him, biting, scratching, and kicking for his
groin. Inside the dark enclosure, he twisted the string latch on the
door and closed them in. He shifted his hold on Lorna, pinioned her
hands behind her back, and threw her across his lap. She hunched,
jerked, and twisted her body to free herself, but she was helpless.
Flipping her dress upward, he jerked her bloomers off and brought the
green shingle down on her exposed buttocks again and again. Lorna did
not cry; and when the shingle splintered, Deal started pounding her
with his palm. Fifteen minutes later, his anger satisfied, he
released her and opened the door. Lorna stood for a moment staring at
him, and then she walked away.
The Yellow Daffodil: A Provocative Love Story
Cekimber Hobson
Page 184
Deke released her.
She flew at him again cursing and flailing him with her tiny fist,
she was furious, she began to cry.
Deke grabbed her arms and jerked her across his lap with her derriere
pointing skywards. He spanked her little ass good.
She screamed, spit and cursed. One would have through he was killing
her, but the employees knew better than to interfere in the bosses
squabbles, and they also knew it was over the beautiful blonde who
had been in his office earlier. However, in the minds of his blonde
assistants she was getting exactly what she deserved, busting in like
this, acting like they didn't even exist!
Deke asked sternly, "are you ready to be reasonable about this."
She screamed, "Wife beater!"
He popped her another resounding slap on her ass and said, "that's
for the profanity, now will you quit?"
She said, "O.K. dammit, I quit, now let me up."
He slowly released her. She got from his lap rubbing her fanny, "that
hurt."
Deke said, "That'll teach you to come bursting into my office like an
angered pea fowl and falsely accuse me."
She walked to the couch yet rubbing her fanny, then plopped down and
said, "well, I'm waiting!"
The Transformation of Tammi
Albert W Robinson
Page 20-21
Tammi looked at Steve with a tearful gaze. "I deserve to be spanked."
she said firmly. "I deserve to be put across your knee and given
a...a walloping."
Steve couldn't believe his ears. "You're not serious?" he asked in
amazement. "You really want me to..."
Tammi shook back her honey brown hair once more, hung her head and
nodded. She was determined to pay for her mistake.
Steve took his arms from around her and led her reluctantly toward
the bed. He sat down and looked up at her. As her started to pull her
over his outstretched knee, Tammy pulled her hand away.
"Wait." she said softly. Tammy undid the button of her jeans and
pulled down the zipper. She turned away from him, and slowly lowered
her jeans and her thin, white, nylon panties to mid-thight. She
pulled her blouse up around her waist and her it there as she turned
back to face him. She held out her hand again.
"I really don't want to do this." Steve said doubtfully. "Are you
sure....."
"Shhhhhhh, darling." Tammi said softly putting a finger to his lips.
"I deserve it....now lets get it over with."
Steve placed his hands on her waist just above the swell of her hips,
and lowered her gently over his knee, her toes brushing the floor.
"Tammi, I...," he began.
Tammi sniffled. "A good walloping." she said, looking back at him
with conviction. She put her face in a pillow, her eyes shut tight.
As Steve put his arm around her waist, Tammi reached back and put her
hand hin his and held it tightly. Steve stroked the soft, smooth,
cheeks of her incomparable behind for a moment, then raised his arm
and brought his hand down smartly on the center of her bottom. Tammi
gave a little whimper and crossed her ankles. Steve raised his hand
again a brought it down harder, a sharp crack echoing throughout the
room. Trammi yelped and buried her face deeper in her pillow.
Steve began alternating cheeks, smacking firmly. When the when the
count reached twenty, Tammi began to cry loudly, and Steve expected a
cry for mercy, and would have gladly given it. But Tammi only
thightened her fingers around his hand. Ant twenty five, Tammi had
begun to wriggle her backside about on his knee, and steve decided
that she had had enough, and with three more stinging smacks, ended
the spanking.
Tammi quieted a bit after a few moments, and stopped he wiggling,
lying still across his knee. She continued to cry softly as Steve
stroked her now hot pink bottom with a tender touch. "Hush little
one," he said gently. "It's over with now."
After a minute, Tammi pushed herself off of the bed, still snuffling.
She moved her hands to her stinging cheeks, and rubbed them briskly,
surprised at the warm, itchy sensation spreading quickly throughout
her loins and belly. She leaned down, and took her lips to steve's
and gave him a soft, shy, kiss. Steve stood and took her in his arms,
pressing her face to his shoulder. Tammi pulled back a little so she
could look up at him.
Continues at page 37
Erotica - My Dirty Thirties: Romantic Hedonism
Kelly Carr
Page 60
I slapped his arm again.
"You are going to have to stop doing that," he said and pointed his
finger at me.
"I sat there all night with my 'friend' and looked like an ass! I
can't even believe Kevin bought it! And she's a hooker!"
"She's an escort," he corrected. "I called the best agency in town.
She's one of their most popular girls."
"How would you know?"
He stared at me and sighed. "No, I don't hire them." I might know
some people who do, but I don't. So don't think that."
I slapped him again.
"This is your last warning, young lady."
I reached out to slap again, but he grabbed my arm and pulled me into
the living room. I fought and slapped at him the whole way but he was
stronger than I was. Then he sat down and pulled me across his lap.
Then he proceeded to spank me! I could have killed him!
"Stop it, you asshole!" I screamed.
He kept at it, then he slowed down. I think you like it."
"You bastard!" I yelled and tried to get off his lap. He wouldn't let
me. He was strong, that was for sure, but as soon as I was up, he
would regret this. But then...
"I love your ass," he said and began to squeeze it.
Two Moons: Worthy of a Master: Book One
Chelsea Shepard
Page 111-2
I attempted a smile and I cuddled close to him so he could fondle me
as he pleased. In the meantime, my brain was already searching for a
new potential partner.
"Why don't you come to my bedroom tonight?" Naari offered, unaware of
my thoughts. "I'll show you what a hand can do on a nice bottom like
yours."
I agreed. At least that would give me a taste of what I could
expect.
When we reached Naari's bedroom, I wasn't particularly in a play
mood. I saw the spanking as an experiment that would serve a higher
purpose, and while I was prepared to analyze it in details, I wasn't
ready to like it.
Naari removed my T-shirt, leggings and cotton underwear, which he
gently mocked. Once I was naked, he sat on the chair by his desk and
motioned me to kneel over his legs. I fidgered nervously as he
readjusted my position so that my ass was as high as possible.
Satisfied, he opened a drawer and shuffled something out of it. A few
seconds later, he had formed a big knot in the middle of a scarf,
pushed it inside my mouth, and wrapped the fabric firmly around my
head. There was no more time for second thoughts.
Naari then used rope to lash my wrist behind my back. To immobilize
my legs, he looped belts around my thighs, my knees, and my ankles.
In a pernicious effect, the first strap of leather also compromised
my ass and pushed its bulging globes upwards, ready for his hand.
Why had I ever thought this would help me?
"Now, let's see how far we can go. One."
His palm impacted my right cheek. Damn, it hurt.
"Two."
The slap against the left cheek hurt, too.
After ten, I became agitated. After twenty, I begged him to stop
through my gag. After thirty, the first tears came out. My ass was on
fire.
When Naari paused, I thought we were through. As I caught my breath
and relaxed, he inserted his fingers under my bottom and brushed my
sex.
"Very wet. Good."
I was pleased he approved, and expected a reward. But instead of
releasing me and carrying me over to the bed to have sex, he hit me
again, harder than before.
I choked both from shock and the renewed pain. As the tears returned,
I lose the will to resist. It was stupid of me to try to control a
scene as if it was mine to dictate. I had surrendered my poser to
Naari the moment I had agreed to the spanking; he was the only one
who could decide on when and how to end it.
As his hand continued to hit my increasingly sensitive flesh, new
sensations reached me. It was like bubbles of booze exploding in my
brain and leaving me elated, each blow on my cheeks sending more of
them. I became addicted to the flow and anticipated Naari's smacks
with delight. I squirmed and moaned, and he hit harder and quicker.
I yelled louder, my voice now breaking through the wet and now
useless scarf, and requested more and more and more. Naari's tempo
accelerated and I got into a trance, oblivious to anything but the
heat spreading from my buttocks to every other body part, and one in
particular.
My sex reacted to every blow with a spasm of its own. Naari's penis,
so close and yes unavailable, was pressing against my pelvis, its
rigid thickness tempting me. I was aching to climax, but still needed
a little help. I begged, and Naari pushed two fingers under my ass,
exactly where I wanted them to be.
I came violently, riding Naari's knees like a wild horse and
screaming all the tension out.
Europa: The Days of Ignorance
Robert Briffault
Page 299-303
"This," said the prince, "was apparently used as an oratory. It is
said to communicate with the convent near by. You see, there are
still the old wooden altar and some devotional pictures." Over the
altar was a large painted wooden crucifix, horribly naturalistic. It
reminded Cornès of the crucified Christ of Mathias Grünewald. The
maciated form, with stretched muscles and dislocated joints, was
spattered with blood and covered with greenish contusions and gaping
wounds. On one of the walls hung a replica of the martyrdom of Saint
Agatha, by Sebastian del Piombo. Two men were approaching the saint,
who was stripped to the waist and tied to a post, and with enormous
pincers were about to seize the erect nipples of her superb breasts.
In another picture, representing the martyrdom of Saint Supina, the
sainted virgin was hanging head downwards, suspended by one foot.
Still another picture showed Saint Gunemanda being held, with her
nun's clothing untrussed, over a glowing brazier. There were other
pictures exhibiting the penances of holy women submitting to the
discipline applied by saintly confessors.
While the others examined the pictures with curiosity, Baroness
Rubenstein looked away, refraining from comment.
Leaving the oratory, the prince led the way further down the
passage.
"Take care of the steps," he warned the baroness. "You had better
hold up your train to avoid any risk of tripping."
The last flight led into a fairly spacious hall. The low vault was
supported by squat romanesque pillars. The brick-tiled floor rose in
the centre of the hall, forming a sort of elevated platform. There
were iron rings in the floor, ceiling, and pillars, from some of
which hung ropes. Along the walls, in the side aisles stood uncouth
contrivances. "Those," Prince Nevidof said carelessly, "are old
engines that were used in the Middle Ages to apply the question. Some
were found here; others were sold to me by dealers. Many people
collect these things. I have never gone in for it much, myself. One
of the best collections is, I believe, that of Archduke Francis
Ferdinand of Austria. That, you see, is the iron boot, and this is
the 'Maiden,' here is the wheel, and the rack. Those are various
pincers, claws, hooks, spiked stools, cauteries, gouges, flaying
knives, raspatories, clamps, screws, wedges. This, which looks like a
pillory, is merely a whipping post, with apertures, as you see, for
the head and wrists of the victim."
"How perfectly horrible! I shall have nightmare, prince," said
Baroness Rubinstein, glancing at the grim appliances. "Have those
hideous things been actually used?"
"Undoubtedly; the old barons used to exercise their own judicial
powers, and enjoyed full discretion," said Prince Nevidof. After all,
it was much more satisfactory than the clumsy and long-drawn
procedures of modern law and of the police. I doubt whether there was
less justice. We, in Russia, have always done the same. We hold
ourselves responsible, to the extent of the means at our disposal,
for order on our estates. I do the same myself, even here. Do you
suppose, for instance, that I would apply to the Italian government
to protect me from any petty theft or robbery that might be committed
on my estate?" He shrugged his shoulders with a smile at such a
notion. "Now, for instance, baroness," the prince went on after a
pause, "I have suffered from a petty pilfering this very evening, one
which, moreover, casts a particularly offensive stain upon my
honor."
There was a tense silence. The prince spoke with slow deliberation,
looking at Baroness Rubinstein. There was an ugly glitter in his
eyes. The baroness raised her brow interrogatively with studied
unconcern.
"One of my guests has grossly abused my confidence by cheating at
cards, tricking my other guests out of sundry considerable sums." The
prince paused again, while the baroness, looking stolidly at him,
uttered a nonchalant interrogative exclamation. "And the culprit,
Baroness Rubinstein, is yourself," the prince said, in the midst of a
silence in which the dropping of a pin could have been heard.
Starting, and drawing herself up, flashing with indignation, the
baroness said: "Sir! You have no right to insult me. You have no
proof of your outrageous suggestion." "I have ten witnesses. Is it
not so?" Prince Nevidof said, turning to the company.
Several signified their assent. Count Osio, very flustered, consulted
below his breath with his wife.
"You have no proof," the baroness repeated. "But since it is your
desire to insult me, here are the preceeds which I much regret having
derived from your disreputable gaming hell." Drawing the bundle of
notes from her handbag, she threw it on the ground.
With a smile, the prince slowly picked it up.
"Do not be alarmed, baroness," he said. "I will have no scandal. I
ask you, ladies and gentlemen, to give your solemn assurance that
nothing that may have occurred during your stay under my roof shall
be mentioned outside these walls. I shall ask you to be so good as to
sign a written assurance, which I shall have prepared, to that
effect. The secret will be buried as deep as is this old dungeon."
Baroness Rubinstein, alternately flushed and blanched, retained her
defiant countenance. She shrugged her shoulders, with a scornful
snort. Only a slight twitch of her full lower lip betrayed her
feelings. Drawing her furs about her, she stepped towards the door by
which the company had entered.
"That door, Baroness, is locked," said the prince.
Baroness Rubinstein turned round sharply, with her back to the door.
For the first time a look of alarm disturbed the assurance of her
aspect. But in an instant she recovered herself, and looked with
haughty assurance at the prince. She was rather magnificent in her
defiance. Her eyes flashed as brilliantly as the diamonds on her
white neck and coal-black hair. In the opulent glitter of her rich
attire, with her back to door, her jewelled hands stretched out form
her side, her cloak of white ermine drooping from her superb
shoulders, she looked like some eastern queen at bay.
The prince spoke with quiet nonchalance:
"As I was telling you just now, I am in the habit of dispensing my
own justice. If you are spared the humiliation of a public scandal
which would close against you the doors of every decent society in
Europe, that is not to say that you are to get off without penalty."
"What do you mean?" she said.
"I mean, Baroness Rubinstein," the prince said calmly, "that I am
going to have you whipped."
She stared aghast for an instant. Then, with a sardonic smile that
showed her white eye-teeth, she said scornfully: "Don't make empty,
indecent threats, Prince Nevidof. If you dared to offer me the
slightest violence, I should have you dragged to justice like a
common criminal, if I had to set every chancellery in Europe at
work."
"You prefer being exposed as a card-cheat? I am afraid that you would
be the chief sufferer form an appeal to common courts. And you
forget, Baroness Rubinstein, That I have at least as much influence
with European chancelleries as you have," the prince said.
"Kindly order your servants to open the door," said Baroness
Rubinstein, "and to have my car ready."
The prince did not reply, looking at her with a flickering smile. The
company stood round breathless. Count Osio made a movement as if
about to speak, but the countess stopped him with a gesture of her
hand. His mouth closed with a snap.
Julian spoke to Simpson:
"Don't you think," he said, "that this has gone too far? We can't
surely . . ."
"Yes, yes," Simpson said. Then aloud to the prince: "Sir, so far as
we are concerned, we are satisfied that sufficent amend has been made
for the . . . irregularity that has taken place." "I am sole judge of
that," said Prince Nevidof sharply. He clapped his hands.
The two russian giants, who had been standing impassive at the
further end of the hall, came forward. At a sign from the prince they
advanced toward Baroness Rubinstein. They seized her by the arms. The
Jewess, who to the last had not believed that the prince would dare
to carry out his threat, and supposed that the men were about to open
the door for her, uttered a piercing shriek. Her frantic struggles
availed nothing against the two big Russians. They dragged the
baroness, screaming, tripping over her train, to the centre of the
room, on to the raised platform. While one man held her, the other
undid the bodice of her gown and disengaged her arms and shoulders.
They made fast her wrists to the ends of ropes which hung from rings
in the ceiling. Baroness Rubinstein, with her hands hitched above her
head, showing black armpits, gasped and choked, her eyes starting out
of her head, her Assyrian features accentuated by her drooping lower
lip.
Accustomed to their tasks, Gheorghii and his assistant handled with
stolid unconcern the billowing satin and silk, the cascading lace and
lawn, detaching the creaking brocade, the hems of pearl-colored hose.
They flattered their master's eye with the spectacle of the luxurious
disorder, heedless of the futile struggles of the raving Jewess,
frenzied with outraged pudicity. Expertly they uncorseted her. She
writhed, her dark-circled breasts staring like bulging eyes from the
collapsing folds, as the men disrobed her. They stripped her
completely.
While they cleared aside the heap of draperies, Baroness Rubinstein
remained tethered under the intolerable gaze of avid eyes. On the
white sleekness of her full-fleshed oriental nudity, stained with
orbs of swarth and black contrasts, diamonds sparkled in the glare of
the lights, and ropes of pearl dangled. "Moreau's Salome," Cornes
murmured.
The women glanced sidelong with derisive expression at the men.
"Ti piacciono le poppe nere?" Tea whispered to Julian.
Gheorgii returned bearing a short-handled whip. The baroness watched
him over her shoulder with terrified eyes. The Cossack raised his arm
and, with a sharp crack, the lash came down across her buttocks. She
gave a strident yell. Her flesh quivered from head to foot. Again and
again the lash fell on the full flesh, the big thighs. Grotesquely,
the Jewess sprang from one foot to the other, her belly panting, her
breasts dancing.
Julian closed his eyes. The screams of the victim echoed under the
low vault.
"Look!" he heard Tëa whisper at his side.
A horrible fascination compelled him. He gazed, spellbound, as in a
dream. The woman was throwing her body, her limbs about from one side
of the platform to the other, straining at the tethering ropes in
desperate efforts to draw away. Gheorghii followed round the
screaming, writhing, kicking Jewess, whipping her.
Beads of blood began to appear on the striped, reddened flesh. The
prince, who had been watching with gloating eyes the contortions of
the victim, signed to the man to stop. The ropes were loosened from
her wrists, and the men carried her, collapsed, to a couch. Gheorghii
opened a door at the further end of the hall. Two nuns appeared, with
downcast eyes, bearing salves and restoratives. They tended the
baroness till she could be assisted to her room.
The company retired, stirred with varying emotions. They dispersed in
small groups, whispering. Julian found himself in one of the
corridors of the guests' apartments with the Duchess of Anticatro.
"Was it not exciting?" Tëa was saying.
Julian hardly heard her. Was it an opium dream in which he was
reeling? Scarcely did he notice Sandro entering a bedroom with Renata
and Germana.
"This is my room," Tëa said, opening the door and holding it ajar.
Julian said: "Good night." Down the long corridors he sought his way
to his room.
Conquest
Jaid Black
Page 74-5
"Nay!" she gasped, unable to believe he was going to punish her this
way. "Cam I beseech you -"
"'Tis best," he ground out, "that you accept your token punishment
with the grace befitting a Queen." He waited until ten warrior
guardsmen had filed into the chamber before he hiked up the back of
her qi'ka skirt and exposed her bare buttocks to the men of his
command.
"You knew the price you would have to pay when you disobeyed me," he
gritted. "Verily, I have twice bore witness to the Empress being
punished thusly o'er the years. 'Tis the way of it when a wench
disobeys her Master and well you know it."
Kara closed her eyes, blushing at the impending humiliation. Cam
believed her to be aware of her mani's public spankings at her sire's
hand when in fact she had been kept in the dark. She had heard the
rumors. She hadn't believed them-until now.
"Please," Kara said quietly. "I do not wish to be spanked before your
men." She bit down onto her lower lip, heat suffusing her face at the
mere thought.
"You would have me look the fool after all that you have done?" he
asked softly. Too softly, she thought warily.
"Nay but - ouch!"
Kara grimaced at the impact of the first sharp spank he awarded her
backside. She steeled herself for the one, her buttocks clenching
together, intuitively figuring as she did that there were four more
to come - one for each Yessat year she had spent in hiding.
And inevitably, she was right. Four more sharp spanks crashed down
upon the flesh of her buttoks, each one harder and more painful than
the previous one.
Throughout the whole of it she managed to retain her quiet dignity in
front of Cam and his men, but by the time the last of the five
stinging spanks had been awarded to her, her buttocks were fierce
sore and she was unable to avoid the release of a small whimper.
His large hand stilled upon the cheek of one red buttock. "Will you
disobey me again, wench?" he asked loudly, making certain all in the
chamber could hear his words.
Kara felt her teeth grind together at the cool command of his tone.
It was no wonder wenches rarely disobeyed their Sacred Mates, she
thought acidly, for to be splayed out like this and publicly spanked
was embarrassing in the extreme. She wanted to curse Cam, to tell him
exactly what was on her mind, but she knew that to do so in front of
his warriors would only further shame him, which in turn would garner
her naught but a fiercer spanking.
"Nay," she hissed.
He gave her a small, stinging whack to her backside, letting her know
that naught but a properly chastised tone of voice was acceptable. "I
did not hear you, nee'ka. Answer me again."
Her nostrils flared, but she gave him the bedamned word he sought and
spoke it this time in a neutral tone of voice. "Nay," she repeated.
It was her guilt and naught else that induced her to say it, she
decided. And then she added for clarity, "I shan't shame you again."
He ran a soothing hand over her buttocks, inducing her to whimper.
She gritted her teeth at the submissive sound, chastising herself.
"'Tis a good wench," Cam murmured whilst he stroked her buttocks.
"Now show these warriors proper respect unto me."
Looking for Leo: A Novel
Gloria Nagy
Page 41-2
"Never!"
Lucinda appeared in the doorway, interrupting this poignant scene and
causing Lady Macbeth to drop her martini into her pure silk-covered
lap.
"Look at her!" she shrieked, losing the last thread of control.
"She's trying to kill me! How could she do this to me! All those
beautiful clothes! Look at her! A filthy beatnik!"
Lord Byron ran to his hysterical wife's aid. Somehow he managed to
remove her, soggy and sobbing from her leather swivel and half
carried, half pushed her upstairs to bed. She had waited out the
scene sitting in her mother's chair, finishing off the remains of her
father's drink. She waited passively, most likely not really
understanding why she had chosen to act out her hostility in such a
self-defeating and desultory way any more than anyone else did. Or
maybe, simply what happened next was exactly what she wanted. Her
tiny, pot-bellied father stood in the doorway, his face stern, giving
him an eagle like appearance. "Get up to your room and lie down on
your stomach on your bed."
Lucinda rose immediately and followed him up, the sounds of her
mother's sobbing echoing under the door. Byron Segal, for the first
time in his or his daughter's life, was angry.
"Take down your pants!"
"Why?"
"Do 'what I say!"
She did. Off came his gold-buckled alligator belt. Slap. Slap. Slap.
Her buttocks turned red. Her eyes stung with the pain, but she did
not cry. In fact, she rather enjoyed it and was in no real hurry for
it to end. Slap, slap. Byron continued his mouth tight, his small
hand, white on the buckle, tears in his eyes. It was her first
spanking. It was also the first time in her entire life that she had
been alone in a room with her father or had his full attention. When
it was over, he left without a word. She got up and opened her
bulging closet, studying her bottom in the full-length mirror. Fiery
red stripes lined her backside and the tops of her thighs. She
stripped off her Filthy Beatnik outfit, put it in a plastic bag, and
threw it in the trash. This particular game was over.
WOMEN SPANKED BY WOMEN
The Book of the Thousand Nights and One Night
Then they addressed themselves to carousel, till the wine began to
work upon them, when the eldest lady rose and making an obeisance to
her guests, took the cateress by the hand and said, 'Come, sisters,
let us do our duty.' And they answered, 'It is well.' So the portress
rose and cleared the middle of the saloon, after she had removed the
table service and thrown away the remains of the banquet.
Then she renewed the perfumes in the censers and made the Calenders
sit down on a sofa by the dais and the Khalif and his companions on a
sofa at the other end; after which she called to the porter, saying,
'How dull and slothful thou art! Come and help us: thou art no
stranger, but one of the household!' So he rose and girt his middle
and said, 'What would you have me do?' And she answered, 'Stay where
thou art.'
Then the cateress rose and setting a chair in the middle of the room,
went to a closet, which she opened, saying to the porter, 'Come and
help me.'
So he went to her and she brought out two black bitches, with chains
round their necks, and gave them to him, saying, 'Take them.'
So he took them and carried them to the middle of the saloon;
whereupon the mistress of the house tucked up her sleeves and taking
a whip, said to the porter, 'Bring me one of the bitches.'
So he brought it to her by the chain; and the bitch wept and shook
its head at the damsel, who brought the whip down on it, whilst the
porter held it by the chain.
The bitch howled and whined, but the lady ceased not to beat it till
her arm was tired; when she threw away the whip and pressing the
bitch to her bosom, kissed it on the head and wiped away its tears.
Then she said to the porter, 'Take it back and bring the other.'
He did as she bade him, and she did with the second bitch as she had
done with the first.
MEN SPANKED BY MEN
Spango
Shelby Jones
Page 16
Morgan bent over the boy and grapped him by his pistol belt. He
unbuckled it and pulled hard. The boy flipped over on the floor as
the belt was torn from his body.
"Get up!" Morgan's voice carried across the room. He pitched the gun
belt and gun to the saloon owner. "Keep this, and don't give it back
until he shows respect for it."
The boy scrambled to his feet, looking about the room for someone to
help him. No one moved.
"Now, get yourself over to each man and appologize for your behavior
before you make me mad." Morgan followed the boy as he stepped up to
the front of each man and told him he was sorry. After he apologized
to the saloon owner, Morgan grabbed him by his shoulder and spun him
around. "Give me that belt."
"My belt?" The boy had a puzzled look on his face.
"Give me the belt," Morgan hissed.
The boy's eyes widened again as he fumbled wildly to undo his belt.
He finally removed it and slowly handed it to Morgan.
The belt was of heavy, wide leather and brown in color. Morgan pulled
back a chair. "Step over here," he commanded.
The boy came to where Morgan was standing. Morgan sat down, grabbed
the boy, and pulled him across his lap. He gave the boy twenty good,
hard lashes across his buttocks.
When he finished, Morgan pushed the boy back to his feet. "My daddy
always told me the fastest way to a boy's brain was through his butt.
Now you know what my daddy meant." He handed the belt back to the
boy, who stood, tears running down his face, as he rubbed his
stinging flesh.
"Now, you can apologize to me for doing what your own Pa should have
done a long time ago." Morgan's eyes locked into the boy's eyes as
the boy dropped his head down, staring at the floor. "Son, I'm not
going to wait much longer. We can do all this over again."
The boy shuffled his feet, looking up at Morgan, then back to the
floor. "I...I don't know your name." His voice was but a whisper.
"John Morgan."
"Well, Mister Morgan, I'm sorry for making a fool of myself. And I'm
sorry for causing you...to show me the error of my ways." He kept his
eyes cast downward to the floor. "I ain't ever been this scared
before. I through you was gonna kill me."
Screams beneath Pandora
Lara Elf Princess Prendville
Page 152-6
"Come on," Commander Barett cajoled. "Lower your short a little and
bend over the table."
"Absolutely not!" Care folded his arms. "Do you have the time?" Was
it Mark 9 yet?
One of Barett's Team snorted a laugh.
Commander barett grabbed for a rod that had been hidden in a dark
corner of the room.
Care backed a step it was not a standard Disciplinarian issue
implement, he'd never seen a rod like it before.
"It's only resin, hardly a torture instrument," Commander Barett was
talking in mild conversational tones.
"You tried to set me up, using the Medusan to lure me here!"
"Yes, but it didn't work, remember? Or did you come here to follow
me?" The Commander seemed to find this very interesting.
"Why me?" Care stayed on the offensive side of the questions.
"You need to choose your friends more wisely."
"Who?" Care said, obtusely by the expression on the Commander's
face.
"Your new buddy Garren Waysixth"
"Garren?" Care said astonished. "Aren't you from the same planet?
Shouldn't you be allies or something?"
Commander Barett didn't answer this. "Lean over the table, come on."
"Absolutely NO WAY!"
"You like this. We promise to do a good job."
"I don't like YOU and I'm not into rods."
"Come on, what, you want hand spanking? A little lame, eh?" the
Commander paced a perimeter, his Guard Team standing in a semicircle
herded Care towards the table.
"Lower your shorts, trot out your little package for us!" A couple of
the Guards started breathing hard. They were becoming anticipatory.
"I am not trotting anything out," Care's patience for the patter was
nearing nil. Something moved and he startled. Was that plant moving?
In distaste, he dodged away from the table, reaching for his boot.
He'd almost got the hand-cannon out, when vines closed around his
wrists and ankles, dragging him gracelessly over the table to his
stomach.
"You're a Mage?" Care said, though he hadn't heard any Mage tongue.
"No," the Commander explained. "I'm a Cleric."
Care struggled against the vegetation. This sucks. He was flat out on
top of the altar table, his wrists and ankles stretched to the 4
corners.
Commander Barett did the honours himself. He pushed Care's shirt up
to his shoulder and tugged down Care's shorts to his knees.
"You're going to lose your Commission for this," Care spat at them.
They laughed, then paused to admire the sights.
The candle light glowed off Care's medium brown skin and gleamed in
his glossy brown hair. Locks of Care's hair covered his face, his
yellow irises peeked out, looking very animalistic in the flame
light. It was carnal and exciting to the Quinterran born Guards. Care
was not excited at all.
"Here, we don't want your face to get dusty," one of the Guard slid a
clean scrap of cloth under where Care's face was raised.
The resin was sliding along the skin of his back. Care's breath
caught, "I DEMAND you RELEASE me."
"And we can't see your package; you should be comfortable with that?"
The Commander leaned his face close to Care. He pulled his face away
before Care could finish gathering spit.
A rough hand moved on the back of his thigh, petting up and down,
getting higher up his body with each pet. Care kicked, the vine
didn't give him enough slack to raise his booted feet.
"What kind of Cleric are you? Whom do you serve? "Where's your
loyalty to Emperor Methusem?"
"I honour my loyalty to Emperor Methusem. Please don't mistake this
harmless fun to mean otherwise. My power comes from the Goddess
Astra." Commander Barett rubbed both hands down the skin of Care's
back in a soothing rhythm like a spa masseuse. Care was not
relaxing.
"Astra of the Astra Vale?" Care said, curious despite his anger. The
Commander's hands felt very large. "We're in a Shrine of Aphrodite."
"The Divine Goddess Aphrodite doesn't seem to mind, SHE has never
manifested." Commander Barett moved his hands to Care's ass cheeks.
"I must complement your skin care regime, you are as fine and smooth
as a girl."
Care stayed absolutely still, assuming the psychology that if he
didn't react, they would get bored.
"I was offered a very attractive bribe to do serious damage to your
person," the Commander said with some reluctance. "It isn't in my
nature to do such a thing; in fact, I'll probably be made to suffer
consequences for not delivering. I'm telling you this to warn you."
"I don't care how much you warn me, you're still going to lose you
commission for this," Care's voice rose in anger.
"You know what .," Barett bent to lay soft kisses on Care's skin.
"Ew, yuck, stop kissing me, ugh, disgusting," Care squirmed.
The whole Guard team now had their hand on Care.
Commander Barett continued to speak as he put his hands between
Care's thighs to cup his balls, he squeezed Care's tender instrument
together to the point of extreme discomfort. "I don't really mind
losing my commission. Guard service is pretty boring, except for
times like these."
"Please let me up, " Care's whisper became pleading. This was awful.
Someone else was licking his skin, he twisted around as far as he
could go to shake him off. "Aphrodite help me." Where was divine
intervention hen you needed it? This mess was going to put him of the
mood to meet Starra later.
Fingers tickled the backs of his knees. Care did not laugh. "STOP
IT!"
"I think our friend is ready for the rod!"
The hands and kisses and licks stopped touching him, for which Care
was grateful. "I don't want the rod!"
"We tried to obtain the new tawse for you, alas, it's too tough to
acquire, none of that sensual feast for you today." Commander Barett
sighed as if sorely disappointed.
Care sent a prayer of thanks for the small miracle. No matter how
hard he pulled, he could not pull free. He started bracing himself or
the resin rod. He lay his cheek down on the cloth scrap, groaning his
anger and misery.
"There we are, you embrace it," Commander Barett said with so much
satisfaction that Care swore he was going to punch the guy's lights
out.
"No, you can crack my spine or chips my bone with that thing!" Care
panted with the beginnings of panic.
"Relax, I said I don't intend to damage you, I meant it," Commander
Barett rested the rod across Care's ass cheeks, ready for the first
blow.
"No, you'll chip my tail bone," Care freaked.
"I know how to use this," and he struck the first blown. Smack!
Care jumped like a spring board. "Yikes! Please use something safer,
please."
One of the Guard team members spoke up, "maybe he's right? I'd be
more comfortable with something standard issue."
Care cringed, tightened his hands into fists and shut his eyes tight
enough to see lights.
A small argument ensued among his captors, until Commander Barett
capitulated. One of the Guards brought out something; he held it for
Care to inspect. It was a heavy three fingered tawse. It was an
implement much heavier than he would normally play with and he hated
it. But he wouldn't fear for his bones from it.
Care turned his face away from it, choking on his own saliva. He
nearly hyperventilated when he felt it brush against his ass on top
of the welt from the rod. I brushed him softly three times, then came
whipping down on him. "Yoww!" Laying flat meant his skin over his ass
was loose, increasing the stinging sensation, if he'd been bent over,
his skin would have been tighter and not as hurtful. Again the tawse
struck. Oww, it stung. The impact hit the meat of his buttocks.
Thud.
Three! Four! Five! On exactly the same spot on his right cheek. He
screamed in outrage at the tenth strike on the same spot. The fingers
of the tawse moved to his left cheek, repeating the 3 soft ones, then
came whipping down. Care arched his back trying to line up a
different stop for the next blow, but Barett had perfect aim. The
tawse moved up his ass a little, careful not to hit his tail bone and
care forced himself to relax. He was going to have to surrender to
the tawse or it would overwhelm him. Smack, ten times on each ass
check. The sting was immense.
The tawse moved down to exactly the area where he would sit, and
whipped down on his sit spot for ten more. Moving upward again,
Commander Barett skipped over Care's kidney area and went for the
meat on his back under his shoulder.
Care lost track of the beating. Hot silent tears he couldn't hold
back poured down his face. He thought he would pass out soon.
Barett seemed to sense this for he finally put the tawse down.
"Wasn't that great?" He was very breathy with excitement. He started
to kindle a lust for Care. "Have you ever had it so wonderful? We can
do it any time you want."
Care shuttered. The guy was insane. Care tugged his hands, but the
vines still held him tight. "Can you let me go, now?" Care managed to
speak between gasping breaths. His back and ass felt like one big raw
bruise, it hurt terribly. He'd never taken such a thrashing. Playing
at spanking wasn't like this.
"Do you want that hand spanking now?" A guard said. They crowded
around and started smacking his ass, legs, and back randomly.
Care tried hard not to, but he started wailing his anger and pain.
MEN SPANKED BY WOMEN
Venus in Furs
Leopold von Sacher-Masoch
"One day my parents drove to the capital of the district. My aunt
determined to take advantage of their absence, and to exercise
judgment over me. She entered unexpectedly in her fur-lined
kazabaika,[2] followed by the cook, kitchen-maid, and the cat of a
chamber-maid whom I had scorned. Without asking any questions, they
seized me and bound me hand and foot, in spite of my violent
resistance. Then my aunt, with an evil smile, rolled up her sleeve
and began to whip me with a stout switch. She whipped so hard that
the blood flowed, and that, at last, notwithstanding my heroic
spirit, I cried and wept and begged for mercy. She then had me
untied, but I had to get down on my knees and thank her for the
punishment and kiss her hand.
(...)
I looked at the agreement. Her name was written there in bold
letters. I peered once more into her eyes with their potent magic,
then I took the pen and quickly signed the agreement.
"You are trembling," said Wanda calmly, "shall I help you?"
She gently took hold of my hand, and my name appeared at the bottom
of the second paper. Wanda looked once more at the two documents, and
then locked them in the desk which stood at the head of the ottoman.
"Now then, give me your passport and money."
I took out my wallet and handed it to her. She inspected it, nodded,
and put it with other things while in a sweet drunkenness I kneeled
before her leaning my head against her breast.
Suddenly she thrusts me away with her foot, leaps up, and pulls the
bell-rope. In answer to its sound three young, slender negresses
enter; they are as if carved of ebony, and are dressed from head to
foot in red satin; each one has a rope in her hand.
Suddenly I realize my position, and am about to rise. Wanda stands
proudly erect, her cold beautiful face with its sombre brows and
contemptous eyes is turned toward me. She stands before me as
mistress, commanding, gives a sign with her hand, and before I really
know what has happened to me the negresses have dragged me to the
ground, and have tied me hand and foot. As in the case of one about
to be executed my arms are bound behind my back, so that I can
scarcely move.
"Give me the whip, Haydee," commands Wanda, with unearthly calm.
The negress hands it to her mistress, kneeling.
"And now take off my heavy furs," she continues, "they impede me."
The negress obeyed.
"The jacket there!" Wanda commanded.
Haydee quickly brought her the kazabaika, set with ermine, which lay
on the bed, and Wanda slipped into it with two inimitably graceful
movements.
"Now tie him to the pillar here!"
The negresses lifted me up, and twisting a heavy rope around my body,
tied me standing against one of the massive pillars which supported
the top of the wide Italian bed.
Then they suddenly disappeared, as if the earth had swallowed them.
Wanda swiftly approached me. Her white satin dress flowed behind her
in a long train, like silver, like moonlight; her hair flared like
flames against the white fur of her jacket. Now she stood in front of
me with her left hand firmly planted on her hips, in her right hand
she held the whip. She uttered an abrupt laugh.
"Now play has come to an end between us," she said with heartless
coldness. "Now we will begin in dead earnest. You fool, I laugh at
you and despise you; you who in your insane infatuation have given
yourself as a plaything to me, the frivolous and capricious woman.
You are no longer the man I love, but my slave, at my mercy even unto
life and death.
"You shall know me!
"First of all you shall have a taste of the whip in all seriousness,
without having done anything to deserve it, so that you may
understand what to expect, if you are awkward, disobedient, or
refractory."
With a wild grace she rolled back her fur-lined sleeve, and struck me
across the back.
I winced, for the whip cut like a knife into my flesh.
"Well, how do you like that?" she exclaimed.
I was silent.
"Just wait, you will yet whine like a dog beneath my whip," she
threatened, and simultaneously began to strike me again.
The blows fell quickly, in rapid succession, with terrific force upon
my back, arms, and neck; I had to grit my teeth not to scream aloud.
Now she struck me in the face, warm blood ran down, but she laughed,
and continued her blows.
"It is only now I understand you," she exclaimed. "It really is a joy
to have some one so completely in one's power, and a man at that, who
loves you-you do love me?-No-Oh! I'll tear you to shreds yet, and
with each blow my pleasure will grow. Now, twist like a worm, scream,
whine! You will find no mercy in me!"
Finally she seemed tired.
She tossed the whip aside, stretched out on the ottoman, and rang.
The negresses entered.
"Untie him!"
As they loosened the rope, I fell to the floor like a lump of wood.
The black women grinned, showing their white teeth.
(...)
She laughed aloud. It was an evil, shrill laugh which made cold
shivers run down by back.
"You used to dream of being the slave, the plaything of a beautiful
woman, and now you imagine you are a free human being, a man, my
lover-you fool! A sign from me, and you are a slave again. Down on
your knees!"
I sank down from the ottoman to her feet, but my eye still clung
doubtingly on hers.
"You can't believe it," she said, looking at me with her arms folded
across her breast. "I am bored, and you will just do to while away a
couple of hours of time. Don't look at me that way-"
She kicked me with her foot.
"You are just what I want, a human being, a thing, an animal-"
She rang. The three negresses entered.
"Tie his hands behind his back."
I remained kneeling and unresistingly let them do this. They led me
into the garden, down to the little vineyard, which forms the
southern boundary. Corn had been planted between the espaliers, and
here and there a few dead stalks still stood. To one side was a
plough.
The negresses tied me to a post, and amused themselves sticking me
with their golden hair-needles. But this did not last long, before
Wanda appeared with her ermine cap on her head, and with her hands in
the pockets of her jacket. She had me untied, and then my hands were
fastened together on my back. She finally had a yoke put around my
neck, and harnessed me to the plough.
Then her black demons drove me out into the field. One of them held
the plough, the other one led me by a line, the third applied the
whip, and Venus in Furs stood to one side and looked on.
(...)
Yes, tie me," the painter replied dully. Wanda tied his hands on his
back and drew a rope through his arms and a second one around his
body, and fettered him to the cross-bars of the window. Then she
rolled back the fur, seized the whip, and stepped in front of him.
The scene had a grim attraction for me, which I cannot describe. I
felt my heart beat, when, with a smile, she drew back her arm for the
first blow, and the whip hissed through the air. He winced slightly
under the blow. Then she let blow after blow rain upon him, with her
mouth half-opened and her teeth flashing between her red lips, until
he finally seemed to ask for mercy with his piteous, blue eyes. It
was indescribable.
Fanny Hill - Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure
John Cleland, 1749
Next we took from the side of the room a long broad bench, made easy
to lie at length on by a soft cushion in a callico-cover; and every
thing being now ready, he took his coat and waistcoat off; and at his
motion and desire, I unbutton'd his breeches, and rolling up his
shirt rather above his waist, tuck'd it in securely there: when
directing naturally my eyes to that humoursome master-movement, in
whose favour all these dispositions were making, it seemed almost
shrunk into his body, scarce shewing its tip above the sprout of
hairy curls that cloathed those parts, as you may have seen a wren
peep its head out of the grass.
Stooping then to untie his garters, he gave them me for the use of
tying him down to the legs of the bench: a circumstance no farther
necessary than, as I suppose, it made part of the humour of the
thing, since he prescribed it to himself, amongst the rest of the
ceremonial.
I led him then to the bench, and according to my cue, play'd at
forcing him to lie down: which, after some little shew of reluctance,
for form-sake, he submitted to; he was straightway extended flat upon
his belly, on the bench, with a pillow under his face; and as he thus
tamely lay, I tied him slightly hand and foot, to the legs of it;
which done, his shirt remaining truss'd up over the small of his
back, I drew his breeches quite down to his knees; and now he lay, in
all the fairest, broadest display of that part of the back-view; in
which a pair of chubby, smooth-cheek'd and passing white posteriours
rose cushioning upwards from two stout, fleshful thighs, and ending
their cleft, or separation by an union at the small of the back,
presented a bold mark, that swell'd, as it were, to meet the
scourge.
Seizing now one of the rods, I stood over him, and according to his
direction, gave him in one breath, ten lashes with much good-will,
and the utmost nerve and vigour of arm that I could put to them, so
as to make those fleshy orbs quiver again under them; whilst he
himself seem'd no more concern'd, or to mind them, than a lobster
would a fleabite. In the mean time, I viewed intently the effects of
them, which to me at least appear'd surprisingly cruel: every lash
had skimmed the surface of those white cliffs, which they deeply
reddened, and lapping round the side of the furthermost from me, cut
specially, into the dimple of it such livid weals, as the blood
either spun out from, or stood in large drops on; and, from some of
the cuts, I picked out even the splinters of the rod that had stuck
in the skin. Nor was this raw work to be wonder'd at, considering the
greenness of the twigs and the severity of the infliction, whilst the
whole surface of his skin was so smooth-stretched over the hard and
firm pulp of flesh that fill'd it, as to yield no play, or elusive
swagging under the stroke: which thereby took place the more plum,
and cut into the quick.
I was however already so mov'd at the piteous sight, that I from my
heart repented the undertaking, and would willingly have given over,
thinking he had full enough; but, he encouraging and beseeching me
earnestly to proceed, I gave him ten more lashes; and then resting,
survey'd the increase of bloody appearances. And at length, steel'd
to the sight by his stoutness in suffering, I continued the
discipline, by intervals, till I observ'd him wreathing and twisting
his body, in a way that I could plainly perceive was not the effect
of pain, but of some new and powerful sensation: curious to dive into
the meaning of which, in one of my pauses of intermission, I
approached, as he still kept working, and grinding his belly against
the cushion under him; and, first stroking the untouched and unhurt
side of the flesh-mount next me, then softly insinuating my hand
under his thigh, felt the posture things were in forwards, which was
indeed surprizing: for that machine of his, which I had, by its
appearance, taken for an impalpable, or at best a very diminutive
subject, was now, in virtue of all that smart and havoc of his skin
behind, grown not only to a prodigious stiffness of erection, but to
a size that frighted even me: a nonpareil thickness indeed! the head
of it alone fill'd the utmost capacity of my grasp. And when, as he
heav'd and wriggled to and fro, in the agitation of his strange
pleasure, it came into view, it had something of the air of a round
fillet of the whitest veal, and like its owner, squab, and short in
proportion to its breadth; but when he felt my hand there, he begg'd
I would go on briskly with my jerking, or he should never arrive at
the last stage of pleasure.
Resuming then the rod and the exercise of it, I had fairly worn out
three bundles, when, after an increase of struggles and motion, and a
deep sigh or two, I saw him lie still and motionless; and now he
desir'd me to desist, which I instantly did; and proceeding to untie
him, I could not but be amazed at his passive fortitude, on viewing
the skin of his butcher'd, mangled posteriours, late so white, smooth
and polish'd, now all one side of them a confused cut-work of weals,
livid flesh, gashes and gore, insomuch that when he stood up, he
could scarce walk; in short, he was in sweetbriars.
Then I plainly perceived, on the cushion, the marks of a plenteous
effusion, and already had his sluggard member run up to its old
nestling-place, and enforced itself again, as if ashamed to shew its
head; which nothing, it seems, could raise but stripes inflicted on
its opposite neighbours, who were thus constantly obliged to suffer
for his caprice.
Part 9
My gentleman had now put on his clothes and recomposed himself, when
giving me a kiss, and placing me by him, he sat himself down as
gingerly as possible, with one side off the cushion, which was too
sore for him to bear resting any part of his weight on.
Here he thank'd me for the extreme pleasure I had procured him, and
seeing, perhaps, some marks in my countenance of terror and
apprehension of retaliation on my own skin, for what I had been the
instrument of his suffering in his, he assured me, that he was ready
to give up to me any engagement I might deem myself under to stand
him, as he had done me, but if that proceeded in my consent to it, he
would consider the difference of my sex, its greater delicacy and
incapacity to undergo pain. Rehearten'd at which, and piqu'd in
honour, as I thought, not to flinch so near the trial, especially as
I well knew Mrs. Cole was an eye-witness, from her stand of espial,
to the whole of our transactions, I was now less afraid of my skin
than of his not furnishing me with an opportunity of signalizing my
resolution.
Consonant to this disposition was my answer, but my courage was still
more in my head, than in my heart; and as cowards rush into the
danger they fear, in order to be the sooner rid of the pain of that
sensation, I was entirely pleas'd with his hastening matters into
execution.
He had then little to do, but to unloose the strings of my
petticoats, and lift them, together with my shift, navelhigh, where
he just tuck'd them up loosely girt, and might be slipt up higher at
pleasure. Then viewing me round with great seeming delight, he laid
me at length on my face upon the bench, and when I expected he would
tie me, as I had done him, and held out my hands, not without fear
and a little trembling, he told me he would by no means terrify me
unnecessarily with such a confinement; for that though he meant to
put my constancy to some trial, the standing it was to be completely
voluntary on my side, and therefore I might be at full liberty to get
up whenever I found the pain too much for me. You cannot imagine how
much I thought myself bound, by being thus allow'd to remain loose,
and how much spirit this confidence in me gave me, so that I was even
from my heart careless how much my flesh might suffer in honour of
it.
All by back parts, naked half way up, were now fully at his mercy:
and first, he stood at a convenient distance, delighting himself with
a gloating survey of the attitude I lay in, and of all the secret
stores I thus expos'd to him in fair display.
Then, springing eagerly towards me, he cover'd all those naked parts
with a fond profusion of kisses; and now, taking hold of the rod,
rather wanton'd with me, in gentle inflictions on those tender
trembling masses of my flesh behind, than in any way hurt them, till
by degrees, he began to tingle them with smarter lashes, so as to
provoke a red colour into them, which I knew, as well by the flagrant
glow I felt there, as by his telling me, they now emulated the native
roses of my other cheeks. When he had thus amus'd himself with
admiring and toying with them, he went on to strike harder, and more
hard; so that I needed all my patience not to cry out, or complain at
least. At last, he twigg'd me so smartly as to fetch blood in more
than one lash: at sight of which he flung down the rod, flew to me,
kissed away the starting drops, and sucking the wounds eased a good
deal of my pain. But now raising me on my knees, and making me kneel
with them straddling wide, that tender part of me, naturally the
province of pleasure, not of pain, came in for its share of
suffering: for now, eyeing it wistfully, he directed the rod so that
the sharp ends of the twigs lighted there, so sensibly, that I could
not help wincing, and writhing my limbs with smart; so that my
contortions of body must necessarily throw it into infinite variety
of postures and points of view, fit to feast the luxury of the eye.
But still I bore every thing without crying out: when presently
giving me another pause, he rush'd, as it were, on that part whose
lips, and round-about, had felt this cruelty, and by way of
reparation, glews his own to them; then he opened, shut, squeez'd
them, pluck'd softly the overgrowing moss, and all this in a style of
wild passionate rapture and enthusiasm, that express'd excess of
pleasure; till betaking himself to the rod again, encourag'd by my
passiveness, and infuriated with this strange taste of delight, he
made my poor posteriours pay for the ungovernableness of it; for now
shewing them no quarter the traitor cut me so, that I wanted but
little of fainting away, when he gave over. And yet I did not utter
one groan, or angry expostulation; but in heart I resolv'd nothing so
seriously, as never to expose myself again to the like serverities.
You may guess then in what a curious pickle those soft flesh-cushions
of mine were, all sore, raw, and in fine, terribly clawed off; but so
far from feeling any pleasure in it, that the recent smart made me
pout a little, and not with the greatest air of satisfaction receive
the compliments, and after-caresses of the author of my pain.
GIRLS SPANKED BY MEN
Devil by the Sea
Nina Bawden
page 126-128
SUMMARY: Hillary, a ten year old girl, has a talk with her father
...
He felt a complete revulsion from her. She was trying to distract his
attention from the main issue by a pack of blasphemous lies. He said,
wrathfully, "Hillary, did you, or did you not, throw a stone at that
poor old man?"
She gazed at him wonderingly. "Yes, I did. But I've told you why."
Charles gave way to his righteous anger, His blue eyes grew hot with
disgust, his lips trebled. To think that his child should have so
little feeling for the weak and helpless! Heroically, he took some of
the blame upon himself. His neglect of her must have been fearful to
have led to this!
"That's all I wanted to know," he said in a ominous voice and, taking
her arm, led her to a convenient tree stump at the side of the field.
He sat down and, clasping her wrists, held her prisoner in front of
him.
Listen to me," he said. "That man you read about in the newspaper is
in prison. So you lied to me. That is quite bad enough. But you did
something much, much worse. You threw at stone at a cripple, at a
poor sick man who had never done you any harm. And then tried to make
me forget about it by telling me a lot of wicked lies." His voice
shook with emotion. "Don't you see that this was a dreadful thing to
do?"
"But he is the man," she cried, confused, "and he is the Devil."
"That's blasphemy. But I'm not going to punish you for that. Not for
lying to me. I'm going to punish you for wanting to hurt someone who
was poor and old and frightened." He remembered Peregrine's burnt
lips and his resolve was strengthened. "I hope this will be a lesson
to you will remember all your life."
She saw his intention and her eyes dilated. "No," she screamed, and
tried to pull away from him.
He flung her, face downwards, across his lap. Fighting against him,
arching her back, she saw, with terrible clarity, Cooper, standing at
the gate and looking in their direction. With a anguished cry she
clutched at the skirt. Charles did not notice Cooper. He was full of
distaste for what he was about to do but he was sternly intent on
justice and preventive punishment. Knowing that humiliation would
make her remember the occasion more than any pain he would be willing
to inflict, he deliberately raised her skirt and ripped off her
knickers. He caught her flailing arms and gripped them between his
knees. He beat her, with sharp, ringing slaps, until her plump behind
was rosy. The sight of the red weals on her bare flesh roused in him
a painful sympathy. Afraid that he might be diverted from his purpose
by soft-heartedness, he continued to spank her with a heavier hand
than he had intended. She hung, limp and screaming, across his knees.
The birds, alarmed by her cries, rose from the trees and wheeled and
called above them. When he had finished, he released her hands and
pushed her of his lap. He rubbed his stinging hands against his
trousers. She grovelled on the ground, choking, the saliva running
out of her mouth. He was bitterly ashamed. Violence accomplished
nothing and was always wrong. There was no excuse.
"Get up," He said. "Put your knickers on."
She obeyed him, fumbling with her underclothing. He averted his eyes.
When she was tidy, he said wretchedly. "I've never done that before,
have I?" I hope you will never forget it. I hope I never have to do
it again."
"I've hate you," she said, between sobs, burning with shame and
injustice. "I hope God will strike you dead."
"Get in the car," he said, and pointed to the gate. She turned and
ran, yellow skirt blowing like a flower under the blue arch of the
sky. She ran straight into Cooper, her head striking him hard in the
softness of his ageing belly. He grunted and held her away from him,
an amused grin on his face.
"Been a naughty girl, have you?" he said cheerily. "A bit big to have
your bottom smacked, aren't you?"
He was a horrible, hateful, vulgar man. Hilary longed to die: life,
in face of this disaster, was insupportable. She covered her face
with her hands and wept.
The Battle of the Villa Fiorita
Rumer Godden
Lunch began with tagliatella alla Bolognese, fine strings of pasta in
tomato sauce, with minced meat. Giulietta, as usual, handed it as
they sat round the table. Fanny took some; Hugh, sitting next to her,
helped himself, keeping his eyes down. Caddie shook her head. Rob
took his and guilietta came to Pia. Pia, her hair brushed, her hands
and face washed, her napkin unfolded on her knee, sat quietly though
she was breathing in strange little snorts down her nose. Caddie felt
cold with apprehension. Giulietta held the dish. Pia shook her head.
Giulietta was taking it away when, "Un momento, Giulietta," said Rob.
He reched across Pia and helped her himself. "Give some to Signorina
Caddie."
"Servo la signorina?" asked Guilietta startled.
"Si."
"Permesso," said Giulietta to Caddie and put some on her plate. Rob
sprinkled cheese for them both and, "Eat it," he said.
Nobody moved. Pia and Caddie looked straight in front of them.
"I said eat it," said Rob. He took a spoon, chopped some of the
tagliatll and held it to Pia's mouth. Pia kept her lips shut and
breathed through her nose. "Eat it." With his other hand Rob gave Pia
a sharp slap on the back of her head. It sent her forward against the
spoon with such a jerk that she opened her mouth. The spoon went in.
As Rob took it away, he too was breathing hard. "Now swallow."
Pia looked at him with her small black eyes and spat out the
tagliatelle. As with everything she did, the spit was direct and it
landed on the tablecloth in the stain of tomato and gravy. Caddie
gave a little hiss of terror, and Rob lost his temper.
He jerked Pia out of her chair and, in a second, she was face
downwards across his knee. He turned up her skirt, showing her little
rump outlined in snowy-white briefs edged with lace. "You asked for
it; now you shall have it," said Rob and, before all their eyes, he
gave her a good spanking.
Hugh and Caddie sat too shocked to speak; Fanny was white to the
lips, only Giulietta watched with amusement in her eyes as if this
were entirely natural. At last the sound of slaps ceased and Rob
lifted Pia off that powerful knee.
Deadly Behavior
Dee Sullivan
Page 39-40
"Katie, I said 'No', and no it is. Now you are rufflin' my feathers
with this arguing." The conversation was over.
"Come on. Be fair," pleaded Kate. "Ester!"
Ester stood at the kitchen entrance. "Kate, Harv knows what is the
best. You're to stay here with me."
"This is bullshit!" she shouted.
That did it. Harv grapped the ill-mannered young lady and pulled her
across his lap. Those hands of leather administered three stinging
swats to her bottom before he released her.
"Don't you say one word, child. Just go to your room and stay
there."
Crying unrestrained, Kate flew up the stairs, slamming her bedroom
door.
The Reverend's Revenge
Joe Schrantz
Page 137
"Who said you could go up on that porch and speak to that catholic
priest? Don't you know that those Catholics are bad?"
"No, Daddy."
"They're nothing but statue worshippers and Pope lovers. And don't
you know that Catholic priests kidnap little girls?"
"No, Daddy," Ruth replied tearfully. She wondered how that kind
Father Coyle could possibly kidnap little girls. Surely her father
must be mistaken.
Minutes later Stephenson led Ruth up the steps of their porch and
into their house. He jerked her angrily toward a living room chair.
He sat down and pulled her across his lap. He held her down with his
left hand and pulled up her dress with his right, exposing her
panties. He slapped her buttocks as hard as he could. After a dozen
or more whacks, he stopped. His face was livid with anger. He
released her, pushing her off his lap.
When the Jonquils Bloom Again
Sister Sharon
Page 121
As I made my way up to the porch, Olivia, came racing around the
house. She almost knocked me over. Her dad was chasing her! "Grab
her!!" he yelled. I was too slow. I had no idea I was supposed to
catch her! Then Noble's younger brothers came at her from the other
way. Cut off, she tried to hide behind me.
"Please Sharon, help me!!" she blurted out.
Her dad was short of breath. She had given him a good run. He stopped
putting his hands on his knees and she darted around him and back
around the house - to no avail! A few seconds later Noble appeared
with his sister bottom up over his shoulder as he strolled into the
front yard. We all went inside. I put the picnic basket down
wondering what was going on. Olivia's head was bobbling up and down
from her inverted perch on Noble´s shoulder. There was no way for her
to get away. Noble handed her to her father.
"Dad!" she protested, "Not in front of Sharon!!" It didn't work! They
plopped onto the couch. Her father seated comfortably and Olivia
bottom up over his knee. It stated. I felt sorry for her. I had been
in that position all too often myself at her age! But somehow this
was different. There didn't seem to be any anger, and no one said
anything about her having done anything wrong! Still she was going to
be spanked!
He counted them out, "One, two — eight, nine ten — Is Olivia eleven
or twelve boys?" He stopped to ask. "Twelve!" they all agreed. She
screamed, "Ten, you idiots!! I am ten!"
"Ten? Are you sure you are only ten, Olivia. I through you were
twelve!" her dad popped her on the bottom one more time, this time
harder, "All right then, ten-and one to grow on!" as he let her up.
She brushed her dress down and looked at me with that embarrassed,
just got a spanking, little girl look!
Europa: The Days of Ignorance
Robert Briffault
Page 209
"There's another place, a branch establishment of Lady Cressiden's,
where they have little girls' school. All quite in order, with
certified teachers. Fellows go there to spank the little girls and to
stick pins into their bottoms."
GIRLS SPANKED BY WOMEN
Sidonia the Sorceress 1894
William Meinhold;
Page 89
It is probable that her Grace and the doctor had devised this plan in
order to shame Sidonia, by showing her how even a little child could
repeat it; but she took it angrily, and, calling him over, said,
"Yes; come — I will hear you your catechism." And as the little boy
came up close beside her, she slung him across her knee, pulled down
his hose, and - oh, shame! - whipped his Serene Highness upon his
princely podex, that it would have melted the heart of a stone. How
this shows her cruel and evil disposition - to revenge on the child
what she had to bear from the mother. Fie on the maiden!
Fame Is the Spur
Howard Spring
Page 110-1
"Well, I don't think it was wrong. I think you are wrong and Father
is wrong and Uncle Birley is right and I am right. And I should do it
again."
Lillian could not believe her ears. Never before had Ann spoken to
her like that. All that was primitive under her veneer suddenly
flamed to life. "Now, my girl," she said, "this is something your
father can't do to you, so I'll do it for him."
She swept out an arm, taking Ann completely by surprise, and bent the
girl face down across her knee. She pushed back dressing gown and
nightdress, exposing the bare flesh, and slapped till she was herself
breathless with exertion and excitement. Then she thrust Ann away,
and the girl rolled to the floor at her feet. Rising, with her knees
trembling, Lillian looked down at the small hair spread along the
bedside rug and at the still exposed and smarting flesh. Hardly able
to articulate in her excitement, she said: "I was older than you the
last time that happened to me, and, what's more, my father did it. It
cured my tantrums. Now get up. Get up! Do you hear?"
She was shouting now. Ann lay still for a moment. Then she got slowly
to her feet. She was not crying. Her face was bloodless and her eyes
burned. She shook down her clothes, pulled her dressing gown about
her, and said: "You beast! You filthy beast! I've finished with you."
She walked to the window and stood there with her back to the room
till she heard her mother go. Then she got into bed and stared
stonily at the ceiling. She knew that the door was unlocked, but she
remained in her room all day, hungry and rebellious.
Destinies
Adrian Vance
Page 130-1
When they were little Becky always wanted to play "doctor" and she
would be the nurse, but somehow she gave all the "examinations" which
meant David's pants came down and she inspected his genitalia. And,
she would say, "I'm going to get a penis when I'm six," as David was
six, she was five and logical. However, on the day in question Rachel
had brought David over to play and as she shared a cup of coffee with
Ashley the two women became concerned with every mother's greatest
fear:
"It's too quiet," said both as if on cue. So, they tip-toed to
Becky's room threw open the door and there was David pants down with
Becky looking at his "privates".
"David!" shrieked Rachel as she grabbed her son, sat on the bed and
put him over her knee swatting him rapidly with her hand as Ashley
watched and Becky stood pigeon-toed with her forefinger in her mouth.
Ashley was too shocked to react and could only come with a string of
"Goodness gracious!" exclamations as she clutched her daughter to her
dress. Rachel took David home in shame, but as they were returning to
the Atmel house David made protest for the fact that Becky had pulled
his pants down.
The Veteran Patient
Arnold Schildkret
Page 187
"What do you think of the White People in Atlanta where you grew up
and went to school?"
"They're bad . . . bad shit ass folks . . . They don't care 'bout
anyone."
"Did they ever do anything bad to you?"
"You know they did. Like when my white eighth grade teacher, Mrs.
Ryan, beat me."
"For doing what," asked Mrs. Red.
"For being black," said Jane.
"What did Mrs. Ryan do?"
"She pulled down my panties exposing my black ass in front of
everyone. Then she bent me over her knee and beat me with a sharp
metal rod . . . until I began bleeding all over her dress and the
floor . . . all the time calling me a nigger . . . a slut . . . bred
only to have a tribe of Picanninies . . . and live off welfare . . .
only good enough to clean up the shit of White People. And she said,
if you or anyone here talks about this, I'll get the Klan to lynch
you."
Intents of the Heart: Volume III
Lezlie A Word
Page 29
"I'll not allow you to talk to me like you've been doing, and I
certainly will not stand for you slapping me. That will not be
tolerated. Do you understand me?"
Silence.
"Joyce, do you hear me?" She glared down into the angry face of her
daughter. "I said, do you hear me?!"
"I'm going to get my daddy," she declared with a smirk and took a
step toward the door.
Kathy, moving quick as lightening, forced he daughter toward the twin
bed. At the child's squeal of anger, the mother spoke surprisingly
calm. "I'm sorry, Joyce, but this is one time Daddy is not going to
save you." Unbuckling the belt form her blue jeans with one hand, she
pushed her daughter across the thick comforter with the other. "You
deserve a whipping, young lady, and this time you're going to get
one!"
"Daddy! Daddy, help me!" Joyce cried with a shrill voice as her
mother's belt struck. "Stop! No-o-o-o! Daddy, Da-a-adddy!" Kathy was
silent as she swung. With one hand, she held her squirming daughter
while she carefully aimed with the other. A series of biting blows
met the tender backside of the surly and disrespectful child.
Outside the bedroom door stood Joseph Smithers. The piercing scream
had brought him running up the stairs and pounding on the heavy
wooden door which separated him from his wife and daughter. "Open the
door, Kathy. Let me in!" His wife ignored the request. She knew he
disapproved of her action, though it was well-deserved; but nothing
could stop her, now. For once, Joyce was going to feel her upper
hand.
Best Lesbian Love Stories 2003
Edited by Angela Brown
Page 108-9
The little girl is getting ready for bed. Her hair is blond or it is
not. But her nightgown, undoubtedly, is pink, and it has a ruffle
near the neck that scratches her when she sleeps. With one hand, she
tugs on her collar.
With the other, she moves her nightgown away from her thighs.
She pulls her fingers through the river of herself. Wet and slippery,
her fingers slide while the heat outside her body seems to cool, then
fade. Her fingers are like vividly complected tropical fish, flashing
through the stream, then turning and diving deep into the caverns,
leaving tingling sensation that must be the traces of their lights.
Drinking in the water from which the derived their oxygen, as she'd
recently learned in school, with bubbles coming from their bodies,
tickling her so that she wanted to laugh.
And maybe she did laugh, standing there at the bottom of her bed,
with her hand up her pink nightgown, when her mother found her.
Her mother shouting that she was a bad girl, a disgusting creature,
who will destroy herself for marriage.
Her mother slapping her hand, then spanking her rear end, then
pushing her into bed with a shove and a open-handed slap across the
face so that her ring catches the girl's nose and make it bleed.
Later, the mother would have come into her daughter's bedroom to make
sure she hadn't left a bruise. She would have said: Gretchen, Becca,
Jayne, Rose, I only to these things because I love you.
Later, the girl will snuggle in bed and suck the fingers of her
naughty hand, a taste like nothing she could recall swirling into her
mouth, acrid and sweet at the same time, maybe like the ocean, but a
night with some of the moon spilled into it.
GIRLS SPANKED BY BOYS
(None)
GIRLS SPANKED BY GIRLS
(None)
BOYS SPANKED BY MEN
Dead Poets Society
N. H. Kleinbaum
Page 106
The dean did not hestitate to react to the stunt. Before he knew it,
Charlie found himself standing in the middle of Nolan's office an the
dean himself paced friously. "Wipe that smirf off your face," Nolan
hissed. "Who else was involved in this?"
"No one, sir," Charlie said. "It was just me. I do the proofing for
the paper, so I inserted my article instead of Rob Crane's."
"Mr. Dalton," Nolan said, "if you think you're the first one to try
to get thrown out of this school, think again. Others have had
similar notions and the have failed just as surely as you will fail.
Assume the position."
Charlie obeyed, and Nolan pulled out a huge, old paddle. The paddle
had holes drilled in it to speed its progress. Nolan took off his
jacket and moved behind Charlie.
"Count aloud, Mr. Dalton," Nolan instruckted as he slammed the paddle
into Charlies's buttocks.
"One." Nolan swung the paddle again, this time putting more power
into it. Charlie winched. "Two."
Nolan dilivered, and Charlie counted. By the fourth lick, Charlies
voice was barely audible and his face was contorted with pain.
Mrs. Nolan, the dean's wife and secretary, sat in the outer office
trying not to listen as the punishment proceeded. In hte adjacent
honor room, three students, including Cameron, worked at easels,
sketching the moose heads on the wall. They heard the paddle hitting
Charlie and were filled with fear and awe. Cameron couldn't draw the
moose.
By the seventh lick, tears flowed freely down Charlie's cheeks.
"Count!" Nylan shouted.
By the ninth and thenth licks, Charlie choked on the words. Nolan
stopped after the tenth lick and walked around to face the boy. "Do
you still insist that this was your idea and your idea alone?" He
asked.
Charlie choked back the pain. "Yes . . . sir."
"What is this 'Dead Poets Society?' I want names," Nolan shouted.
Feeling faint, charlie hoarsely replied, "It's only me, Mr. Nolan. I
swear. I made it up."
"If I find that there are others, Mr. Dalton, they will be expelled,
and you will remain enrolled. Do you understand? Now stand up."
Charlie obeyed. His face was blood-red as he fought back tears of
pain and humilitiation.
"Welton can forgive, Mr. Dalton, provided you have the courage to
admit your mistakes. You will make your apology to the entire
school."
Aunt Jane's Nieces
Edith Van Dyne
The boy and a little stout man were playing chess at a table, and
both were in a deep study of the game. The boy's back was toward him,
but the man observed the newcomer and gave a nod. Then he dropped his
eyes again to the table.
Kenneth was frowning sullenly.
"You're bound to lose the pawn, whichever way you play," said the
little man quietly.
The boy gave an angry cry, and thrust the table from him, sending the
chess-men clattering into a corner. Instantly the little man leaned
over and grasped the boy by the collar, and with a sudden jerk landed
him across his own fat knees. Then, while the prisoner screamed and
struggled, the man brought his hand down with a slap that echoed
throughout the room, and continued the operation until Master Kenneth
had received a sound spanking.
Then he let the boy slip to the floor, from whence he arose slowly
and backed toward the door, scowling and muttering angrily.
Martin Eden
Jack London
"How will a spanking do?" Martin asked.
Brissenden considered judicially, and nodded his head.
The next instant Martin was seated on the edge of the bed with the
cub face downward across his knees.
"Now don't bite," Martin warned, "or else I'll have to punch your
face. It would be a pity, for it is such a pretty face."
His uplifted hand descended, and thereafter rose and fell in a swift
and steady rhythm. The cub struggled and cursed and squirmed, but did
not offer to bite. Brissenden looked on gravely, though once he grew
excited and gripped the whiskey bottle, pleading, "Here, just let me
swat him once."
"Sorry my hand played out," Martin said, when at last he desisted.
"It is quite numb."
He uprighted the cub and perched him on the bed.
"I'll have you arrested for this," he snarled, tears of boyish
indignation running down his flushed cheeks. "I'll make you sweat for
this. You'll see."
Peck's Uncle Ike and the Red Headed Boy
George W Peck
Page 44
"Here, what you up to, you young heathen?" said Uncle Ike, as a pair
of small boxing gloves, about as big as goslings, struck him in the
solar plexus and all the way down his stomach, and he noticed a red
streak rushing about the room, side-stepping and ducking. "You are a
nice looking sunday-school scholar, you are, dancing around as
through you were in the prize ring. Who taught you that foolishness,
and what are you trying to do?" and the old man cornered the
red-headed boy between the bookcase and the center-table, and took
him across his knee, and fanned his trousers with a hand as big as a
canvas ham, until he said he threw the sponge.
Europa: The Days of Ignorance
Robert Briffault
Page 59
"Who started this row?" asked Drayton, who was proctor.
"I did," said Julian.
But Drayton seemed to take no notice. He just smiled at Julian and
looked at Tonks. Had Tonks gone to Julian's room and put whiskers on
the picture?
"Yes." Tonks admitted that he had.
"Ten strokes," Drayton said.
"But I started it," said Julian. "I punched Tonks in the nose."
But Drayton and the other boys took no notice. Tonks took a cane from
the mantelpiece.
"Get ready, Tonks," Drayton said.
Tonks knelt on a chair, gripping the back. Drayton flourished the
cane which came down with a resounding whack across Tonk's behind.
Another whack, and then another, and another. Tonks squirmed but made
no sound. Julian looked on amazed, horrified. He wanted to start
whacking Drayton. The brutes, the savages, the barbarians!
Afterwards Tonks apologized to Julian, and was very decent. He
offered to help him remove the ink from the picture. They became
rather friendly, though Julian could never like Tonks very much.
The Court of Boyville
William Allen White
But a moment later, in a frenzy wherein anger furnished only a
sub-conscious motor, and joy pumped wildly at the expanding valves of
his blissful heart, Henry Sears took his thirteen-year-old son across
his knee, and spanked him in a delirium of ecstasy; spanked him
merrily, while a heavenly peace glorified his paternal soul; spanked
him, caring not how many times the little body wriggled, and the
little voice howled, and the dirty little fingers foiled his big,
bony hand as it fell.
BOYS SPANKED BY WOMEN
My son, my son
Howard Spring
Page 135-6
SUMMARY: The narrators son Oliver is caught tracing a illustration
from Punch, in order to win a prize at school for the best freehand
drawing. The narrators religious wife want him to punish the boy.
I got up. "Quarrelling will get us nowhere," I said. "What do you
think should be done about Oliver?"
"I think he should be thrashed."
"I don't."
"You haven't got the strength to do your duty."
"Put it that way if you like. If you have no other suggestion, I may
as well go."
I went. In my room I drew the curtains but did not light my lamp. I
sat in the dark, in no mood to read or to write. I heard Nellie's
step pass the door, and assumed that she was going to bed. A moment
later Oliver's voice could be heard, murmuring uncertainly, as though
he had been awakened from sleep. Then the voice sharpened to a cry of
protest: "No! Don't!"
I leapt from the chair, and as I hurried across the landing that
divided my room from his, he gave a howl of pain. The door was open.
Nellie had placed a lighted candle on the table. She had pulled back
the bedclothes and stripped off his pyjama jacket. With her left hand
she was holding Oliver faced-downward on the bed. With her right hand
she was lashing his back with a cane. "Cheat! Liar! Thief!" she
cried. Her face was inhuman with cold fury. The child's cries was
terrible They tore my heart, and every blow seemed to bite into my
own shrinking flesh.
I was across the room in a stride, and seized her wrist as her hand
was aloft for another blow. "Stop!" I shouted. "Are you mad?"
She turned towards me, panting. "I am doing your work," she gasped.
Oliver had stopped shrieking when the blows ceased. He lay with his
head buried in his arms, his body shaking with sobs. In the dim light
I could see the weals livid on his skin.
Toaster's Handbook
Among the new class which came to the second-grade teacher, a young
timid girl, was one Tommy, who for naughty deeds had been many times
spanked by his first-grade teacher. "Send him to me any time when you
want him spanked," suggested the latter; "I can manage him."
One morning, about a week after this conversation, Tommy appeared at
the first-grade teacher's door. She dropped her work, seized him by
the arm, dragged him to the dressing-room, turned him over her knee
and did her duty.
When she had finished she said: "Well, Tommy, what have you to say?"
"Please, Miss, my teacher wants the scissors."
The 120 Days of Sodom
The Marquis de Sade, 1784
I knew a man, said she, whose passion consisted in hearing children
wail and cry; he had to have a mother with a child of no more than
three or four. He required this mother to give her offspring a sound
thrashing; it had to be done before him, and when the little
creature, aroused by this treatment, began to bawl, the mother had
next to catch hold of the rogue's prick and frig it industriously,
directing the glans at the child, in whose face he would discharge
when the little one was singing his loudest.
Hello to Springtime
Robert Louis Fontaine
Page 108
My mother went and got a hairbrush and although I was getting rather
old for it, took me across her knee and beat the devil out of me
until I hollered and cried. Then she cried. We would both cry and
sympathize with each other and agree that the whole thing was
slightly ridiculous. Just the same my backside hurt and hers did
not.
A Painted House
John Grisham
Page 243-4
I heard the women yell from the porch. It's about time! I though.
Mrs. Latcher arrived first and began pulling boys from the heap,
scolding them loudly as she flung them around. Since I was on the
bottom, I got up last. My mother looked at me in horror. My clean
clothes were covered with dirt. My nose was oozing warm blood. "Luke,
are you all right? she said, grabbing my shoulders.
My eyes were watery, and I was beginning to ache. I nodded my head
yes, no problem.
"Cut me a switch! Mrs. Latcher yelled at Percy. She was growling and
still flinging the two smaller ones around. "Whatta you mean beatin'
up that little boy like that? He ain't done nothin'."
The blood was really flowing now, dripping off my chin and staining
my shirt. My mother made me lie down and tilt my head back to stop
the bleeding, and while we were doing this, Percy produced a stick.
"I want you to watch this," Mrs. Latcher said In my direction.
"No, Darla," my mother said. "We're leaving."
"No, I want your boy to see this, she said. Now bend over, Percy."
"I ain't gonna do it, Ma," Percy said, obviously scared.
"Bend over, or I'll get your father. I'll teach you some manners.
Beatin' up that little boy, a visitor to our place."
"No," Percy said, and she hit him in the head with the stick. He
screamed, and she whacked him across the ear.
She made him bend over and grab his ankles. "You let go and I'll beat
you for a week," she threatened him. He was already crying when she
started flogging away. Both my mother and I were stunned by her anger
and brutality. After eight or ten very hard licks, Percy started
yelping. "Shut up!" she shouted.
Her arms and legs were as thin as the stick, but what she lacked in
size she made up for in quickness. Her blows landed like machine-gun
fire, fast and crisp, popping like a bullwhip. Ten, twenty, thirty
shots, and Percy .was bawling, "Please stop it, Ma! I'm sorry!"
The beating went on and on, far past the point of punishment. When
her arm was tired, she shoved him to the ground, and Percy curled
into a tight ball and wept. By then the other two were already in
tears. She grabbed the middle one by the hair. She called him Rayford
and said, "Bend over. Rayford slowly clutched his ankles and somehow
withstood the assault that followed.
"Let's go," my mother whispered to me. "You can lie down in the
back."
She helped me up to the bed of the truck, and by then Mrs. Latcher
was pulling on the other boy, yanking him by the hair. Percy and
Rayford were lying in the dirt, victims of the battle they'd started.
My mother turned the truck around, and as we drove off, Mrs. Latcher
was battering the youngest one. There were loud voices, and I sat up
just enough to see Mr. Latcher running around the house with a trail
of children behind him. He yelled at his wife; she ignored him and
kept hammering away. When he reached her, he grabbed her. Kids were
swarming everywhere; everyone seemed to be either screaming or
crying.
The dust boiled behind us, and I lost sight of them. As I lay down
again and tried to get comfortable, I prayed that I would never again
set foot on their farm. I never wanted to see any of those people for
the rest of my life. And I prayed long and hard that no one would
ever hear the rumor that the Chandlers and the Latchers were
related.
In a German Pension
Katherine Mansfield
Anton awoke sufficiently to turn over and kick Hans on a tender part,
whereupon Hans pulled Lena's pigtail until she shrieked for her
mother.
"Oh, do be quiet," whispered the Child. "Oh, do get up and dress. You
know what will happen. There--I'll help you."
But the warning came too late. The Frau got out of bed, walked in a
determined fashion into the kitchen, returning with a bundle of twigs
in her hand fastened together with a strong cord. One by one she laid
the children across her knee and severely beat them, expending a
final burst of energy on the Child-Who-Was-Tired, then returned to
bed, with a comfortable sense of her maternal duties in good working
order for the day.
A Tree Grows in Brooklyn
by Betty Smith
Page 134
Another, passed around by little boys who had been victims, was that
the lady principal, a hardbitten, heavy cruel woman of middle years
who wore sequin-decorated dresses and smelled always of raw gin, got
recalcitrant boys into her office and made them take down their pants
so that she could flay their naked buttocks with a rattan cane. (She
whipped the little girls through their dresses.)
BOYS SPANKED BY BOYS
Pelle the Conqueror
Martin Anderson Nexo
The pupil drew him inside the door, which he shut. It was dark, and
the boy, coming in out of the bright daylight, could distinguish
nothing; what he made out little by little assumed shapeless outlines
to his frightened imagination. Voices laughed and growled confusedly
in his ears, and hands that seemed to him enormous pulled him about.
Terror seized him, and with it came crazy, disconnected recollections
of stories of robbery and murder, and he began to scream with fright.
A big hand covered the whole of his face, and in the silence that
followed his stifled scream, he heard a voice out in the yard,
calling to the maids to come and see something funny.
He was too paralyzed with terror to know what was being done with
him, and only wondered faintly what there was funny out there in the
sunshine. Would he ever see the sun again, he wondered?
As if in answer to his thought, the door was at that moment thrown
open. The light poured in and he recognized the faces about him, and
found himself standing half naked in the full daylight, his trousers
down about his heels and his shirt tucked up under his waistcoat. The
pupil stood at one side with a carriage-whip, with which he flicked
at the boy's naked body, crying in a tone of command: "Run!" Pelle,
wild with terror and confusion, dashed into the yard, but there stood
the maids, and at sight of him they screamed with laughter, and he
turned to fly back into the coach-house. But he was met by the whip,
and forced to return into the daylight, leaping like a kangaroo and
calling forth renewed shouts of laughter. Then he stood still, crying
helplessly, under a shower of coarse remarks, especially from the
maids. He no longer noticed the whip, but only crouched down, trying
to hide himself, until at last he sank in a heap upon the stone
paving, sobbing convulsively.
(...)
They took the sun's measure. Rud declared that if you could see it
when you bent down and looked between your legs, then it was five
o'clock. Pelle began to put on his clothes.
Rud was circling about him. "I say!" he said suddenly. "If I may have
it, I'll let you whip me with nettles."
"On your bare body?" asked Pelle.
Rud nodded.
In a second Pelle was out of his trousers again, and running to a
patch of nettles. He pulled them up with the assistance of a
dock-leak, as many as he could hold, and came back again. Rud lay
down, face downwards, on a little mound, and the whipping began.
The agreement was a hundred strokes, but when Rud had received ten,
he got up and refused to have any more.
"Then you won't get the money," said Pelle. "Will you or won't you?"
He was red with excitement and the exertion, and the perspiration
already stood in beads down his slender back, for he had worked with
a will. "Will you or won't you? Seventy-five strokes then!" Pelle's
voice quivered with eagerness, and he had to dilate his nostrils to
get air enough; his limbs began to tremble.
"No — only sixty — you hit so hard! And I must have the money first,
or you may cheat me."
"I don't cheat," said Pelle gloomily. But Rud held to his point.
Pelle's body writhed; he was like a ferret that has tasted blood.
With a jerk he threw the coin at Rud, and grumbling, pushed him down.
He wept inwardly because he had let him off forty strokes; but he
made up his mind to lay into him all the harder for it.
Then he beat, slowly and with all his might, while Rud burrowed with
his head in the grass and clasped the money tightly to keep up his
strength. There was hatred in every stroke that Pelle struck, and
they went like shocks through his playmate's body, but he never
uttered a cry. No, there was no point in his crying, for the coin he
held in his hand took away the pain. But about Pelle's body the air
burnt like fire, his arms began to give way with fatigue, and his
inclination diminished with every stroke. It was toil, nothing but
hard toil. And the money — the beautiful half-krone — was slipping
farther and farther away, and he would be poor once more; and Rud was
not even crying! At the forty-sixth stroke he turned his face and put
out his tongue, whereat Pelle burst into a roar, threw down the
frayed nettle-stalks, and ran away to the fir-plantation.
There he sat for the rest of the day under a dune, grieving over his
loss, while Rud lay under the bank of the stream, bathing his
blistered body with wet earth.
The Adventures of Mr. Verdant Green
Cuthbert Bede
And then Master Charley would take a malicious pleasure in consoling
him, by saying, "Of course, you know, you'll only have to fag for the
first two or three years; then - if you get into the fourth form -
you'll be able to have a fag for yourself. And it's awful fun, I can
tell you, to see the way some of the fags get riled at cricket! You
get a feller to give you a few balls, just for practice, and you hit
the ball into another feller's ground; and then you tell your fag to
go and pick it up. So he goes to do it, when the other feller sings
out, 'Don't touch that ball, or I'll lick you!' So you tell the fag
to come to you, and you say, 'Why don't you do as I tell you?' And he
says, 'Please, sir!' and then the little beggar blubbers. So you say
to him, 'None of that, sir! Touch your toes!' We always make 'em wear
straps on purpose. And then his trousers go tight and beautiful, and
you take out your strap and warm him! And then he goes to get the
ball, and the other feller sings out, 'I told you to let that ball
alone! Come here, sir! Touch your toes!' So he warms him too; and
then we go on all jolly. It's awful fun, I can tell you!"
BOYS SPANKED BY GIRLS
(None)
Miscellaneous
Kama Sutra
Vatsyayana, 1st to 6th centuries A.D
CHAPTER VII: Of The Various Modes of Striking, and of the Sounds
Appropriate to Them
SEXUAL intercourse can be compared to a quarrel, on account of the
contrarieties of love and its tendency to dispute. The place of
striking with passion is the body, and on the body the special places
are:
The shoulders
The head
The space between the breasts
The back
The jaghana, or middle part of the body
The sides
Striking is of four kinds:
Striking with the back of the hand
Striking with the fingers a little contracted
Striking with the fist
Striking with the open palm of the hand
On account of its causing pain, striking gives rise to the hissing
sound, which is of various kinds, and to the eight kinds of crying:
The sound Hin
The thundering sound
The cooing sound
The weeping sound
The sound Phut
The sound Phât
The sound Sût
The sound Plât
Besides these, there are also words having a meaning, such as
`mother', and those that are expressive of prohibition, sufficiency,
desire of liberation, pain or praise, and to which may be added
sounds like those of the dove, the cuckoo, the green pigeon, the
parrot, the bee, the sparrow, the flamingo, the duck, and the quail,
which are all occasionally made use of.
Blows with the fist should be given on the back of the woman while
she is sitting on the lap of the man, and she should give blows in
return, abusing the man as if she were angry, and making the cooing
and the weeping sounds. While the woman is engaged in congress the
space between the breasts should be struck with the back of the hand,
slowly at first, and then proportionately to the increasing
excitement, until the end.
At this time the sounds Hin and others may be made, alternately or
optionally, according to habit. When the man, making the sound Phât,
strikes the woman on the head, with the fingers of his hand a little
contracted, it is called Prasritaka, which means striking with the
fingers of the hand a little contracted. In this case the appropriate
sounds are the cooing sound, the sound Phât and the sound Phut in the
interior of the mouth, and at the end of congress the sighing and
weeping sounds. The sound Phât is an imitation of the sound of a
bamboo being split, while the sound Phut is like the sound made by
something falling into water. At all times when kissing and such like
things are begun, the woman should give a reply with a hissing sound.
During the excitement when the woman is not accustomed to striking,
she continually utters words expressive of prohibition, sufficiently,
or desire of liberation, as well as the words `father', `mother',
intermingled with the sighing, weeping and thundering sounds.1
Towards the conclusion of the congress, the breasts, the jaghana, and
the sides of the woman should be pressed with the open palms of the
hand, with some force, until the end of it, and then sounds like
those of the quail or the goose should be made.
There are two verses on the subject as follows:
The characteristics of manhood are said to consist of roughness and
impetuosity, while weakness, tenderness, sensibility, and an
inclination to turn away from unpleasant things are the
distinguishing marks of womanhood. The excitement of passion, and
peculiarities of habit may sometimes cause contrary results to
appear, but these do not last long, and in the end the natural state
is resumed.'
The wedge on the bosom, the scissors on the head, the piercing
instrument on the cheeks, and the pinchers on the breasts and sides,
may also be taken into consideration with the other four modes of
striking, and thus give eight ways altogether. But these four ways of
striking with instruments are peculiar to the people of the southern
countries, and the marks caused by them are seen on the breasts of
their women. They are local peculiarities, but Vatsyayana is of
opinion that the practice of them is painful, barbarous, and base,
and quite unworthy of imitation.
In the same way anything that is a local peculiarity should not
always be adopted elsewhere, and even in the place where the practice
is prevalent, excess of it should always be avoided. Instances of the
dangerous use of them may be given as follows. The king of the
Panchalas killed the courtesan Madhavasena by means of the wedge
during congress. King Satakarni Satavahana of the Kuntalas deprived
his great Queen Malayavati of her life by a pair of scissors, and
Naradeva, whose hand was deformed, blinded a dancing girl by
directing a piercing instrument in a wrong way.
There are also two verses on the subject as follows:
About these things there cannot be either enumeration or any definite
rule. Congress having once commenced, passion alone gives birth to
all the acts of the parties.'
Such passionate actions and amorous gesticulations or movements,
which arise on the spur of the moment, and during sexual intercourse,
cannot be defined, and are as irregular as dreams. A horse having
once attained the fifth degree of motion goes on with blind speed,
regardless of pits, ditches, and posts in his way; and in the same
manner a loving pair become blind with passion in the heat of
congress, and go on with great impetuosity, paying not the least
regard to excess. For this reason one who is well acquainted with the
science of love, and knowing his own strength, as also the
tenderness, impetuosity, and strength of the young women, should act
accordingly. The various modes of enjoyment are not for all times or
for all persons, but they should only be used at the proper time. and
in the proper countries and places.'
The Decameron
Giovanni Boccaccio, 1353
Ninth day, novel IX
Good steed, bad steed, alike need the rowel's prick, Good wife, bad
wife, alike demand the stick.
The Bible
misc. authors
Proverbs 13:24He that spareth his rod hateth his son: but he that
loveth him chasteneth him betimes (diligently).
Proverbs 19:18Chasten thy son while there is hope, and let not thy
soul spare for his crying.
Proverbs 22:15Foolishness is bound in the heart of a child; but the
rod of correction shall drive it far from him.
Proverbs 23:13Withhold not correction from the child: for if thou
beatest him with the rod, he shall not die.
Proverbs 23:14Thou shalt beat him with the rod, and shalt deliver his
soul from hell (Sheol).
Proverbs 29:15The rod and reproof give wisdom: but a child left to
himself bringeth his mother to shame.
Publications By Folklore Society (Great Britain)
Page 17
Then Mary mild called home her Child
And laid Him across her knee,
And with a handful of bitter withy
She gave Him slashes three.
Europa: The Days of Ignorance
Robert Briffault
Page 111-2
The peasants, who met all sorts of people at the Kursk fair, which
was frequented by Jews, Poles, workers from the new factories, had
been infected with seditious ideas. One evening some twenty peasants
had come up to the manor house with torches and resin and had set
fire to the out-houses. They set one of the wings of the house
ablaze. There had been an exciting night. The starosta and the
servants, armed with shotguns, sustained a siege. Two of the peasants
had been shot and two more seriously wounded. The rest took flight.
In the morning the gendarmes, who had been sent for, arrived. They
set about discovering the authors of the outrage. The ringleader,
they found, was a young man named Kostia Chevarek. Not long before,
when the prince and his nieces had come down to the estate, they had
attended the wedding of this young man, the girls being curious to
see a peasant wedding in Little Russia. They had enjoyed the
picturesque sight, the bright costumes and the dances. The bride, in
her elaborately embroidered chemise reaching below her skirt, and
with a kokoshnik of tinsel lace over the bright cloth that covered
her hair like a nun's wimple, had knelt with the bridegroom,
according to old Russian custom, three times before the prince.
Kostia had, however, imbibed socialist doctrines from the orators who
held meetings at Kursk and distributed pamphlets and propaganda.
Unfortunately his sister, a very pretty girl, had been seduced by the
son of the starosta.
Kostia Chevarek was seized and brought to the manor, together with
his wife and his sister. He refused to give the names of the other
culprits. The Cossacks stripped him and after tying him by the hands
to a rafter, whipped him severely. The prince himself, who was
present at the execution, tried to induce him to reveal his
associates. But the man maintained, under the lash, a complete
silence. His wife, and his sister, two strapping young women, were
then brought into the cellar where the scene was taking place. When
Kostia was told that, unless he supplied the information asked for,
the women would be whipped, he hesitated and writhed. "Hold your
tongue, Kostia" his sister cried. He remained silent. Then the
Cossacks stripped the two women naked. They tethered their arms to
the rafter. Two men plied the quivering flesh of the screaming women
with their nagaikas. Kostia at last called to them to stop, and said
he would give the names.
Each of the men who had taken part in the attack on the manor
received one hundred lashes. Then all the rest of the peasants, who
had been rounded up by the Cossacks, were gathered in the ruins of
their village. They were made to drive six stout posts into the
ground. The men were then tied, six at a time, with their clothes let
down, and each received twenty strokes. When all the men had been
whipped, the women, old and young, were treated in the same manner.
While they stood roped to the posts with their skirts tied over their
shoulders, a Cossack went along the line of rumps, administering
twenty lashes of the whip to each.
The prince referred briefly to the punishment the peasants had
received. "It is the only sort of argument which they understand," he
said, "and they are used to it. They much prefer it to a lot of
palaver in the courts. They hate the lawyers and the volokita of the
courts, and appreciate being treated in the good old-fashioned
manner. It was a great mistake on the poor old Tzar Alexander II to
introduce those innovations of his. And there are people who actually
talks about parliamentary institutions, a Duma! They don't know the
Russian peasant."
Page 119
They would stroll in the Pineta. Zena liked the scented paths strewn
with needles and cones under the umbrella pines. There was a little
camp of soldiers at manæuvres on the dunes skirting the wood. Once as
Julian and Zena passed, some of the soldiers, with spades in their
hands, were standing round an enormous black toad, swollen and
slavering. The soldiers tormented the creature, laughing, hitting it
with their spades. The sight made Julian feel a little sick. He
wanted Zena to come away. But she stayed watching, fascinated, as the
men squashed the creature.
It was then she had told him about the peasants at her uncle's place,
at Kursk. She had been there while the man and the two women,
stripped naked, had been whipped by the Cossacks.
"I was sorry for the poor people, yet the sight excited me, just like
seeing the toad being killed. I know it's wrong of me, but I can't
help it."
Survey of English Dialects: the dictionary and grammar
By Clive Upton, David Parry
Page 30
Beat 1. vt. When a boy had been very naughty indeed, his father might
put him across his knee and ... him on the buttocks. Beat him across
his arse, bash baste beat him beat him across his arse, bensil, bray,
crane, clout, dad, dust him fettle, flop, give him a crack, give him
a good bannicking, give him a good celting, give him a good hiding,
give him a good lacing, give him a good leathering, give him a good
licking, give him a good smack, give him a good smacking, give him a
good spanking, give him a good tanning, give him a good thraping,
give him a good thrashing, give him a good whacking, give him a good
winding, give him a hiding,give him a licking,give him a smack,give
him a tanning, give him a thrashing, give him some strap,give him the
stick,give him the strap ,give him the stick, give him the strap,
give him a good bensilling, hazel, hide, hit, hole, jart, lace,
larrup, leather, lick, lowk, mark, pay, pelt, punch, put the strap
across his ass, put the strap athwart his arse, quilt, rattle his
arse, rip, scutch, skelp, slap, slap him on his behind, slap his
arse, slap his backside, slap his behind, slap his bottom, slash,
smack, smack him, smack his backside, sole, sole his arse, sole his
backside, spank, spank him, spank his arse, strap, strap him, stripe,
swap, tan, tan him, tan his arse, tan his arse for him, tan his seat,
tank, thrape, thrash, thrash him, threap thrape, touse, trouse him,
trouse his arse, twank, waled, wallop, wallop him, warm, warm his
backside, whack, whack his arse, whip, whip his backside,yark, yuck.