A Recent Caning (F/M)

♥ Site recommended story ♥

 

Erotica by guest author Fred Spankmanbare

Having described how I became a spanked husband, and how my wife Pat grades my punishments to suit different degrees of badness on my part, I was going to use this post to tell you about some memorable spankings and canings from the past. But then I thought you might prefer to read about a recent event, so instead I’m going to tell you about the really severe caning she gave me a couple of weeks ago.

This is how it all happened. We had had a strong argument  on the Wednesday, and neither of us would give in. The simmering continued through Thursday, with outbursts of ill temper from me and stony silences from Pat, but through Thursday evening the realisation dawned on me that it had actually been me who had been unreasonable from the outset. Furthermore, my temper outbursts throughout Thursday had been particularly childish and hurtful.

Friday morning dawned and as I lay awake, with Pat still asleep beside me, I resolved that I would apologise and make a full confession of the error of my ways. I knew what the consequences were likely to be, but I reckoned that they would be worth while and likely to be the only way to make a fresh start. I lay in bed thinking about how to say the things that needed to be said, and after a while Pat began to stir. When she was fully awake I said I was very sorry for what had happened, that it had all been my fault and that I had been very boorish, and I hoped we could make a fresh start.

“Hmph”, said Pat, “your behaviour was terrible, and you caused me a lot of hurt with the things you said”.

“I know”, I replied, “and I’m truly sorry. Can we start afresh today?”

“It’s  not going to be that easy. I’m still all wound up and I’ve had hardly any sleep because of all the tension you’ve caused. I feel hurt and angry with you.”

There was a pregnant silence before Pat made the expected announcement.

“You’ll have to get . . . . a sound spanking”, she said quietly, “and I’ll be giving it to you hard, because that’s the least you deserve. And it’s the only way I’ll be able to unwind.”

“You obviously need to work off a lot of tension”, I replied, “and I agree that I need to be strictly punished. So I agree to give you my bottom to be spanked, to clear the air”.

There was another silence before I asked how she wanted to spank me, and how many I would be getting.

“It will be The Cane, of course, and you deserve lots of hard spanks – much more than I usually let you away with. Can you accept that?”

“Yes”, I said. “I agree that it needs to be done, and it’s what I deserve. Do you want me to wear my Punishment Panties for the first part of it?” [I described our Punishment Panties routine in my last post, remember?]

Pat thought about that for only a moment. “No”, she said firmly, “no panties. I want to give you the whole thing on your bare bottom. No protection at all, not even from Punishment Panties. OK?”.

I gulped at the prospect but I had no option but to agree. “Let’s get started then”, she said grimly, as she got out of bed. She strode across the room and opened the drawer where she keeps her canes. Selecting her favourite one, she returned to the foot of the bed and pulled off the quilt. “What are you waiting for?” she demanded, “bare your bottom quickly, and turn over”. I undid my pyjama bottoms and pulled them well down below my knees and turned over obediently for her. I also thrust my pillow under my groin to create a good profile for caning, and offered my soft, pale, unprotected bottom to receive the strict wifely discipline that was coming.

Pat put one knee on the bed and positioned her cane across both my buttocks. Then it started. Wow! She certainly applied it very hard, stroke after stroke (although Pat always refers to “spanks” of the cane rather than “strokes”; she likes the word!). I started to moan and squirm, trying to keep count of the strokes as my caning progressed. Somewhere around number 17 or 18 Pat paused and ran her fingers lightly over my burning cheeks, before resuming her therapy. I started to yelp loudly as she reached the mid 20s, and after about stroke number 30 she paused again. I was panting and gasping as she examined the state of my bottom, but I managed to get enough breath to say “Please. Can you. Move to the other side. Of the bed. To give me the rest. Of my caning.”

“Certainly”, she said, and I got a couple of moments respite while she got into position on the far side of the bed before resuming my punishment. This time I could see better in the big mirror how high she was raising her caning arm before bringing the whippy whispering rattan down hard onto my poor naughty bottom.

Pat must have given  me between 50 and 60 strokes of the cane before she decided I had been adequately disciplined in the traditional way. I have never had a session like it before. When she had finished, she said – happily, judging by the new tone in her voice – “There. Let that be a lesson to you. Your bottom cheeks are in a fine state, just as you deserve, and I got wonderful gratification from administering every single one of those cane spanks.”

She got off the bed and returned her cane to its drawer, before going into the bathroom to shower. I continued to lie face down on the bed, gasping and squirming, my bottom searing and burning after Pat’s skilful attention. Several minutes seemed to pass before the raging sting had died down enough for me to carefully feel the marks of my caning, but they were magnificent. Succulent thick ridges covered both my cheeks, and were beautiful to stroke with my tenderly exploring finger tips. After a little while I was able to get up and walk across to the mirror to see the damage – my whole bottom was covered in delicious cane marks, bright red and dark red stripes, accompanied by the most gorgeous thick white weals. The bottom in the photo below looks much like mine did, but my marks were deeper red and more numerous.

My bottom was a magnificent sight, and as I gingerly stroked my hotly glowing buttocks my stirring penis rose in appreciation. I must admit that I couldn’t resist giving it a bit of manual encouragement, in order to be able to admire the erotic scene in the mirror – a glorious erection standing proud, its sleek pinkness and throbbing head complementing the hot throbbing bottom on which Pat had so strictly administered such a thorough and well-deserved spanking.

It had been a truly awesome experience, but ultimately sooo satisfying for all concerned!

______________)

Story © Fred Spankmanbare, 2011 – used by kind permission of the author.

Crofter’s Nephew (M/M)

♥ Site recommended story ♥

Erotic fiction by guest author sukemnsee

Raymond was a frustrated young man. He had worked hard and received acclaim during his university degree.  He had excelled in the theatre and production studies.  Now like so many younger folk, he was unemployed.  This really frustrated him as it was disrupting his career plans.  When he had left his studies, the plan was to get some work for up to two years and save as much as possible.  Then he could set up in a flat in the north of England with some friends in a place known for regional theatre and they could spend time in a writers workshop hoping for that elusive big break.  The work had not come, he applied for everything and anything but the reality of not living in a bigger town meant that jobs were scarce.  To add to his woes, his intelligent girlfriend was off in Europe doing some PhD studies for a couple of years.

Then one day, his mother mentioned she had been in correspondence with a distant cousin, Lachlan.  This cousin had been found when another Uncle had got into genealogy studies and mother and Lachlan shared the same great, great grandparents.  Mother since childhood had always been into penfriends and so they had struck up a correspondence and having told something of Raymond’s efforts, a job offer was made.

Lachlan was a crofter in the far north of Scotland, the other side of the mountains and in an area as remote as some of the offshore islands.  He had said that having lost his most recent hired hand, he could provide a little work but more importantly food and lodging to Raymond and the peace and quiet he wanted to get earlier into his writing career.

Now after several train journeys and a long trip in a Land Rover, Raymond was at his new home in the late autumn.  It was colder here and so bleak but in time he would appreciate the rugged beauty of unspoilt land.  The house was mainly unheated with thick stone walls and although he had a simple bedroom, it was a place just for sleeping under several covers.  The main heated part of the house was a large living room with a kitchen area at the far end.  In that kitchen area was a range which was constantly on and this provided background heat and in some evenings a small fire would be lit as well.

There was no fixed telephone and no quality of mobile telephone signal.  The nearest place a little reception could be found was three fields away over the burn.  The burn being the name Lachlan called a stream.  Electricity was mainly provided by a wind generator but was not guaranteed to be constant and straightaway, he had been advised to work off batteries on his laptop and then charge it back up rather than risk any surges while he was  working.  The only thing not to make this feel totally inhumane for a younger man was that once Lachlan had been in the big city and had seen plays at a theatre and had been captivated by it.  He had several bookshelves featuring all manner of plays which he had read and understood and in weeks to come would provide a great resource of conversation about each play.  No television of course but a radio that was constantly tuned to the long wave service of Radio 4, shipping forecasts and World Service.

Hot water was not ‘on demand’ and for a modern young man it was a shock that he could not just jump into a shower anytime.  He was told that bath night was Saturday night, so that you were clean for the kirk the next day.  Kirk of course was the name Lachlan used for the church.  For the rest of the week, you made do with a flannel wash down having had a metal basin of water provided.

Raymond decided he would have to make use of this spartan experience and maybe it would inspire brilliant output.  He was a swift learner and was soon doing repairs to dry walls.  After due safety warnings, he was soon also chopping and sawing logs.  He was learning a little about sheep although he did not think he liked animals yet.

After nearly two weeks, where he had plenty of time to do writing and to engage in conversations of interest with Lachlan, he felt like this was not such a bad idea after all.  He had hated the Saturday bath night where a big metal round bath with two handles had been brought in and filled with a few kettles and some other lukewarm water in the primitive water system.  He hated it more as he was expected to bathe there in front of the man he was now calling uncle.  He would have loved to avoid it, but being a clean lad he really wanted to feel fully cleansed.  He sat in the bath which was not deep enough to make the water cover his privates and he felt like he was being stared at.  When he got out he twisted around and wrapped the towel around himself quickly.  Then to his amazement, Lachlan took his own clothes off and got into the same bath of water he had just left.  Lachlan acted like nobody was around and happily soaped himself all over and although Raymond was trying not to look, he saw Lachlan working his soap fully around his privates with no shame.  He was certain that Lachlan was getting excited and there was plenty there to look at if he had any interest. He would love to have gone to his room to dry off leisurely but it was not heated and so he squirmed in his towel while Lachlan finished. When Lachlan was done, he just stood up and picked up the whole bath which was surely heavy and took it to the door, opening it and then tipping away the contents before walking back and then grabbing a towel.

It was now a Thursday. He had worked hard that day and was curled up under a blanket reading when Lachlan stormed in.

“Laddie you have left the gate open and now two sheep are missing. Come awa‘ wi me and we’ll scour the ghylls till we find”

They found the first sheep quite soon and led it back to the pen but the second one was a more difficult search. Eventually they located it at the edge of a small peak and it was on a ledge just below and bleating in a distressed state.  Lachlan told Raymond to work his way down to another ledge just below it.  He was then to physically lift the sheep by the body up to the top where it would feel safe using the power of his body and his shoulders.

Raymond did this task hating every second of it. He loathed the scent and smell of the animal so close to his head but he knew it had to be done. With the task complete and the sheep guided back to the pen, they headed back to the croft. Immediately Raymond boiled up a kettle and headed up to his room so he could get a good wash down using a basin. He threw off all his clothes wondering if the smell of the sheep would ever go away. He was furiously soaping himself when in walked Lachlan to his room.

“Lachlan, sorry but I am naked here having a wash down, can it wait?”

“Nae laddie, I need you here and now to draw me a picture of a wooden gate on this slate”

He handed a little school type blackboard slate and a piece of chalk and waited for Raymond to respond.  Raymond was miffed, he had no towel in reach and felt exposed and here he was expected to draw a picture.  He quickly grabbed the slate and chalk and with wet fingers draw four horizontal lines and then one diagonal that went across all four from top corner down to bottom corner. He hoped that would now satisfy Lachlan and he would go away.

“ So laddie, you ken full well a gate but dinna ken how to fasten or worse you couldna be mithered with it.  I shall have to make you feel what a gate is. Here awa‘ frae that pot and bend over this chair back next to your bed for a wee lesson”

Lachlan now had what looked like a long twig in his hand but it looked like it had been stripped in parts where buds would be growing.  It was moreorless straight and about the thickness of a small finger.

“Lachlan, I cannot be parading about like this, let me get dried and dressed and we can talk”

“Laddie, if you canna do as I say right this minute, there is no place here for you in my home”

Raymond thought quickly, was it worth throwing all away that he had just set up. Would it hurt so much  just for a few minutes of this cousin he called Uncle wanting to stand and stare at his body for a moment. They would have to talk this through rationally but now was not the time. Reluctantly he followed the instruction to bend over leant forward with legs apart for stability. He could fell his testicles hanging loose and hoped he was not to be groped.

Lachlan liked what he saw, the boy was a natural in this position with lovely shapely bottom of almost alabaster white. He raised his arm well back and then brought the switch forward to connect dead centre of the bottom.

THWIP

“Aieee.  Hey hey hey stop”

“Nae laddie, we need a gate and that is only the top spar”

THWIP

“Ow Ow what are you doing to me with that twig, this is murder”

“Nae laddie, this is nae twig but a switch fresh cut for you, We hae mair to go”

THWIP

THWIP

The pain was now radiating through Raymond as he felt inclined to stand up and protest but if he turned around, he was naked and he would be showing Lachlan his privates and his penis as ever was feeling quite meaty.

THWIP

This last stroke had in the eyes of Lachlan been a perfect stroke as he aimed the switch in an angle to cross those other four red marks.

“Highee yaw ow, stop I can’t take this, you must be ripping me to shreds. Oh the pain! Are you a monster? Ooh.”

Raymond was effectively shuffling from foot to foot as the burning pain registered.

“Stay still laddie, I’ll fetch the glass so you can see what a gate is”

Lachlan left the room for a moment but Raymond was in no mood to move, he did not know what to do to ease his pain.  Lachlan returned with a portable mirror which he held behind the bent Raymond and told him to look under his arm to catch the image.

Raymond looked and tried to focus though his eyes were moist. He had been so close to crying tears. He looked and saw his own white bottom with a vivid red gate pattern on it in a coloured version of what he had drawn on the slate.

“Well done laddie, there’s hope for you yet. I’ll be away now and give you peace to compose yourself and you come down soon and have a bowl of broth with me. You will soon know that working here in the Highlands means that mistakes can cost lives and if you dinna take care, I will have to teach you to save you from yourself”

Lachlan left the room and when Raymond was sure he had quite gone, he tried to move and felt the pain some more.  He traced his fingers on his bottom and could feel where that  switch as it had been called had marked his bottom.  He took the still damp flannel and tried to see if it would ease the burning but at first if felt like it was joining every stroke together. Eventually he felt able to dress as he was getting quite cold and hobbled his way down to the kitchen area, lured indeed by the smell of a wholesome soup.  He did not know what he would say this night, nor how things would change between him and Lachlan as a result of this punishment,  as punishment was now the term he had decided it was, but he knew he would take a lot more care in closing gates in future.

____________________)

Story © 2011 by sukemnsee

Grading The Punishment (F/M)

♥ Site recommended story ♥

 

Erotica by guest author Fred Spankmanbare

So if my wife uses her canes more often than her hairbrush, and always on my bare bottom, what other ways do we use to deal with the question of grading my punishment to suit different offences? As I said in my previous post (“How I Became a Spanked Husband”) we don’t use corner time, cross-dressing or any sort of humiliation; none of those things is a turn-on for either of us and adds nothing to the simple effectiveness and mutual satisfaction of straightforward adult domestic spanking. Nor do we agree with spanking or caning on underpants or pyjamas, even for milder infringements, since any garment tends to defeat the whole purpose of the exercise. Instead, my wife varies the number of spanks, their severity, and the position in which I have to present myself to be disciplined. In terms of the number of cane strokes, an “ordinary” offence usually gets 15-20. From time to time, however, I have to stay in position while she applies 24 strokes or even more.

For special offences, a more lengthy session takes place. On first presenting my bottom, and despite what I said earlier about always on the bare (this is for special sessions, remember) I am allowed to wear what we call my Punishment Panties. These are tight-fitting, male, cotton underpants of the jockey type, and when I have pulled them on taut and smooth she makes me bend over and gives me 24 hard strokes of the cane. Then there is a pause. I have to get up, still gasping, take down the Punishment Panties and bend over once more, presenting my sore, striped and now completely exposed, unprotected, bare bottom for the second part of my punishment – another 24 hard strokes. These are events to remember, I can assure you. During a severe punishment such as this, and especially when she has finished, my wife likes to see (and feel) the weals raised by her cane.

Severity can also be varied to match the offence by choosing the appropriate instrument. My wife’s increasing order of severity for disciplining me is hairbrush – cane – leather riding whip, or even a mixture of two or more of these. Variety is the spice of life, after all! The black leather riding whip is very effective. My wife uses it like a cane, and the little tab on the end makes a nice ‘whap’ sound on bare buttocks as she lashes it across my bottom (she doesn’t just flick me with the end-tab). Before the session, she tells me why and how I am to be punished, for example: “Your behaviour has been absolutely terrible. You simply have to improve, and you know you deserve some really strict discipline. Go up to the bedroom now. I’m going to give you the cane.” My stomach churns, and after a moment I reply “yes, very well. How many strokes do you want to give me?” “You need lots”, she says, “but 24 should be enough if I cane you hard.”

On other occasions, the tension may build up to very high levels before such a discussion, and at those times I frequently ask her directly if she would like to use her cane or hairbrush on me. I tell her that we both need her to do it – a tension reliever for her, retribution for me. She usually agrees, and we make an appointment for later. Sometimes, instead of asking directly (particularly if things are really bad) I get ready for bed before her (without my pyjama bottoms), take out her favourite cane or her whip and lay it on her pillow. I wait under the blankets, heart thumping in anticipation. Her usual reaction is along the following lines. “Ah! Good!” she would exclaim when she comes in and sees the punishment instrument laid out ready for her to use, “I’m glad you understand that you deserve some strict attention. I want to spank you really thoroughly because I have a lot of steam to work off, so I’m going to cane you very slowly as well as hard. I want to use my whip on you as well, for the final strokes”. She peels off the blankets completely. “I’m glad to see you’ve already bared your naughty bottom. Now – turn over and present it for caning. Put your pillows under you. You know the position I like to have you in for discipline. How many strokes do you think I need to give you?” I think about this for a moment; better not choose a number that’s too low or she may well double it,  so I clear my throat and murmur “at least two dozen, please”. She agrees, so the required and mutually welcome disciplinary session gets under way. By the time she has finished (the two dozen may have been increased to 30, the final six being with her riding whip) her mood is much lighter and more relaxed, as it always is after she has administered discipline. When my bottom stops quivering I too have a great feeling of release.

My wife also grades the punishment severity by varying the way in which she makes me bend over. For hairbrush spanking it’s OTK, of course, with her sitting on the edge of the bed. Her preferred position for a caning or whipping, however, is to have me lie flat on our double bed with a pillow or two under me to raise my bottom into a more rounded presentation. She kneels on the bed and briskly administers the agreed discipline. I am allowed to wriggle and squirm, as long as I keep my bottom up. For a more serious session (like with my Punishment Panties on) I have to kneel on the bed on elbows and knees, bottom right up in the air, skin taut (and panties taut too, when they’re being used). Sometimes I get whipped downstairs in the dining room or kitchen, using a chair reversed against the table. I fetch her cane from the bedroom as instructed, or her riding whip if she has chosen to use that, and return downstairs. I have to bare my bottom as usual, and kneel on the chair with my head and shoulders on the table. The agreed number of strokes is then administered deliberately and thoroughly. I find that these positions, where I have to bend right over so that my buttocks are stretched, result in a more severe punishment than being whipped lying on the bed when my bottom is soft and relaxed.

______________)

Story © Fred Spankmanbare, 2011 – used by kind permission of the author.

Hot Dominatrix Paddle Spanking (F/F)

While we’re talking paddles instead of canes for a change, just look at these pictures!  They are by David Shankbone.  As well being a talented photographer he is also an interviewer.  Check out his article at:

http://en.wikinews.org/wiki/BDSM_as_business:_Interviews_with_Dominatrixes

Perhaps I should just add here that I like to watch!

__________________)

Posted by Rod Cayenne

Souvenir Spanking Paddles

Souvenir spanking paddles are popular in the USA, but rather hard to find over here in England.  I like the sort with jokey messages on:

Fanny Whacker

The text says:

FANNY-WHACKER
A SPANKING GOOD IDEA
BOTTOMS UP!!

For Nervy Guys
And Folks That Swear
For Swatting Flies
And Bottoms Bare
For Training Brides
And Children Too
For Taking Sides
And Mixing Stew
For Naughty Brats
That Scream and Howl
For Wailing Cats
And Men That Growl
For Stirrin Paint
And Help in Battle
For Ladies That Faint
And Gossips Who Tattle
For Pups That Tussle
And Mosquitos That Bite
For Husbands That Guzzle
And Stay out all Nite!
USE BRISKLY
UNTIL OBJECT IS BLUSHING
PINK!!

Another popular theme is the “Board Of Education” type:

Of course, The Canery does not condone the use of such implements on minors or non-consenting adults.  Here is another variation:

I guess these are what are known as “Marital Aids”!

_____________)

Posted by Rod Cayenne

How I Became A Spanked Husband (F/M)

♥ Site recommended story ♥

 

Erotica by guest author Fred Spankmanbare

As a disciplined husband I am regularly spanked on my bare bottom by my wife, who sometimes uses her hairbrush but her favourite is a thin whippy cane. Let me tell you how it all started.

Many years ago my wife and I started spanking for sex play. During that phase she got spanked as well as me, of course, but gradually things developed so that it was me who was given a warm bottom much more frequently than her. We also introduced the cane. I had to teach her how to use it properly, because although she had been spanked as a child and was therefore pretty good with the hairbrush, her only experience of the cane had been on the hand at school, when such things were still permitted. She had no experience of bottom caning, but I was glad to find that she was a willing pupil and a quick learner. When she was on the receiving end she preferred to get the hairbrush rather than the cane, but she was perfectly happy to use both on me.

During our more adventurous sex sessions we would sometimes use a sag bag (bean bag) on the living room floor – they are very good for support in a variety of positions, including spanking. During the spanking intervals my wife would get into position first. She would lie across the top of the sag bag and cheekily display her pert buttocks for me to use her own hairbrush on her, which I would do briskly and noisily until her bottom was rosy pink. We would then resume sex very excitedly, only to break off again later (before climaxing) so she could take her turn at administering the spanking.

Over quite a long period the spanking and caning sessions moved almost imperceptibly, but steadily, from sex play to something more serious and even more gratifying for both of us. For some time now she has been the one who administers the discipline, very thoroughly, strictly, and to our mutual benefit.  We both find that the best way of dealing with problems is for her to give me a good spanking or caning on my bare bottom. We both find this very satisfying, and much better than arguments and days of angry silence. It clears the air wonderfully.

She has insisted from the outset that I am always punished “on the bare”, and although she still uses her hairbrush from time to time, her preferred instrument is the cane. Her favourite cane is a thin, whippy crook-handled one about 27 inches long and no thicker than 1/4 inch. I fully agree with her bare-bottom approach – it’s the only way to properly apply the hairbrush or the cane, or anything else that she may use for the purpose. So whenever I need to be punished, I take down my trousers and underpants, or my pyjamas, and bend over obediently for her. I know it is for my own good, and that my wife also has a need to administer her discipline in this way in order to relieve her tension, anger, disappointment or whatever else has made the discipline necessary.

A hairbrush spanking is always very effective, but sometimes it is too noisy. Perhaps some disciplinary wives/girlfriends regard the possibility of other people overhearing the spanking as part of their man’s punishment, but my wife prefers discretion (she always closes any open windows before dealing with me). So unless we have the house to ourselves, we find the cane a better alternative. The menacing whisper of the cane doing its work, and its mean whap on contact, while more severe on my bottom, make much less noise than the loud smack of the hairbrush on bare buttocks, especially when my oohs and aahs are added! For the same reason, my wife has a shorter straight cane, the same thinness as the crook-handled one, which she brings with us on holidays for the occasions on which she needs to make me “bare and bend” in a hotel room or in the bedroom of a friend’s house. She has three canes altogether – the third one is a straight cane 25 inches long and thicker than the other two; she sometimes uses this one when she feels I need more strict attention. Her favourite is the crook handled one, however.

I get the impression that in America the paddle is the usual instrument of choice, but in Britain most couples seem to prefer the cane. I have heard the cane described as a totally feminine instrument, not just in the sense that it is a very effective way for a wife to administer discipline, but also in the sense that the cane itself is essentially feminine. It is lightly built, very efficient, gets on with its work without fuss, and leaves a lasting impression! True, don’t you think?

Another nice approach I heard about is the one used by a disciplinary wife in Australia, writing in ITC spanking magazine. She has names for her punishment instruments, and makes appointments for her husband with Harriet or Caroline. Harriet Hairbrush, and Caroline Cane! Neat.

In conclusion I can say that although my wife’s discipline is painful while she is dealing with me, the after-effects are well worth it. Anger dispersed, friends again, air cleared completely, a great sense of release and a well-marked, glowing, tingling bottom to remind me of the experience for some considerable time afterwards. Its like coming down from a sort of a high.

We don’t use corner time, cross-dressing or any sort of humiliation; those things may be OK for other people, but not for us. In my next post I’ll tell you how my wife grades my punishments to suit different offences.

______________)

Story © Fred Spankmanbare, 2011 and used here by kind permission

Piercings

Piercings – I really don’t like them.  Heaven knows, I’ve tried to see their appeal.  What about you?  Do you like them?  Do they get in the way of sexual activities? Or do they enhance rumpypumpy?  

Love Our Lurkers Day

Today, Thursday 10th November, is Love Our Lurkers Day!  Over 100 spanking blogs are expected to participate.  The idea is for readers who have never posted a comment to take the plunge.  Just say Hi or leave some feedback about the blog, spanking in general,  or whatever.  Come on you virgins!

Special thanks to Bonnie at excellent spanking blog  My Bottom Smarts for organising this terrific event.  It is the 6th annual Love Our Lurkers Day event, and 6 is such a special number to us spankos, isn’t it readers? 😉

Lordosis behaviour

Lordosis behaviour, or mammalian lordosis, is a sexual response in mammals, such as humans, that consists of a ventral arching of the spine. During lordosis, the spine curves so that the apex points in the ventral direction. That is, the spine arches inward toward the abdomen. 

Lordosis aids in copulation, as it elevates the hips to allow for intercourse. It is commonly seen in females during estrus. It changes the pelvic tilt in an anterior way, with the posterior pelvis rising up, the bottom angling backward and the front angling downward.

The anthropologist Helen Fisher speculates that women wearing high heels demonstrate lordosis behavior.

“High heels thrust out the buttocks and arch the back into a natural mammalian courting — actually, copulatory — pose called ‘lordosis,’ ” Fisher said. “Rats do it, sheep do it … lions do it, dogs do it. … It is a naturally sexy posture that men immediately see as sexual readiness. [Heels] are a ‘come hither’ signal. …

Comment from Rod Cayenne, host of  The Canery:

I would say it’s also an ideal position for spanking and caning!  But copulating is good too…

Source:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lordosis_behavior

See also:

http://today.msnbc.msn.com/id/32970817/ns/today-today_fashion_and_beauty/#.TrhK-XJnNA8

__________________)

Pictures © by jess&r ♥ sharing and used by very kind permission

Misty Morning – Part 4 (F/M)

Erotic fiction by Rod Cayenne.

Having my arse tongued after the thrashing was quite a turn-on, and it did ease the pain a little.  I won the competition to lick the lady’s arse too.

“You may call me Mistress,” she said.  “Although my real name is Lauren.  Now get upstairs!  Paul you can sleep on the sofa tonight.  And no wanking!”

I headed for the master bedroom.  Although it was now dark, I could see that the view of the bay from the window was magnificent.  I switched the bedside lights on.  I mentioned the wonderful view to her as I stared out of the window.

“Yes, and so is the view of your arse!  I’ve done a good job there.”

“You certainly have, Mistress.”

To my immense relief, she removed the strap-on cock, and let it fall to the ground.  Knickers and bra followed.  She got on the bed and on all fours, pointed to her bottom and said, “Service me!”

I was happy to oblige.  My tongue wandered over the fleshy contours, darting in and out of the crack to service her arsehole.  Although gamey, it tasted sweeter than the one I had serviced earlier.  My hands massaged her pussy and clit.  It was hard not to slobber over her arse.  It was just so heavenly.  The sex that followed was curiously unsatisfying.  I had rediscovered my submissive side and somehow fucking her just didn’t feel right.

After we had both come, I started to fall asleep.  Suddenly she elbowed me in the ribs.

“Don’t you dare fall asleep on me!  Fetch the cane from the wardrobe!”

Gingerly, I opened the mirrored doors of the wardrobe.  There were a variety of outfits – fetishy rubber ones, a nurse’s top, furs, policewoman, traffic warden, and air hostess uniforms.  Perhaps she was a hooker after all, as I had previously surmised.  Thank goodness I had worn a condom!  And why was I getting a freebie?’

Hanging on the end of the wardrobe’s rail was a knobbly looking cane.   I took it down, and couldn’t resist swishing it around as I returned to her.

“That’s for me to play with, not you!” she admonished me.  “I was going to give you six, but we’ll make it twelve now, I think.”

“Yes Mistress,” I replied obediently.

That knobbly cane – possibly a malacca – hurt like hell.  She cackled as it whipped my naked cheeks, time after time.

She was counting the strokes out loudly.

“Nine!”

“AAAARGH!”

“Ten!”

“AAAAAGH”

“Eleven!”

“Yeowww!”

“Twelve!”

I managed to stay silent for the last stroke.  Goodness knows how, and heaven knows what Paul thought!  He must have heard a lot of our nocturnal activities.

That was the worst cane I’d ever been disciplined with, and I’ve known a few in my time.  She gave it back to me, and I returned it to the wardrobe.  As I returned to the bed, she pinched the cane marks several times, adding to my pain and humiliation.  Eventually we fell asleep.

As dawn broke, I slipped downstairs discreetly.  Paul was nowhere to be seen.  My arse hurt like never before.  I opened the front door, only to find it was another misty morning.

_________________)

Story © Rod Cayenne, 2011

Gym (M/M)

♥ Site recommended story ♥

 

Explicit erotic fiction by special guest author cpman

WARNING ADULTS ONLY

At the ripe old age of 46 I decided to start working out, so I joined a Gym.  I started gently, with a one hour session on Monday and Friday evenings.  All went well, and I rather enjoyed it, so after a few weeks I decided to add Wednesdays to my schedule.

Wednesday arrived, and I went to the Gym after work.  I was surprised how quiet it was, compared to my usual days.  There were no more than a dozen men there.  The Gym closed at 9pm on weekdays, but by 8pm I seemed to be the last customer.  I had finished my routine, so I headed to the showers.

I stripped off and got under the soothing warm water.  I soaped myself all over, and started thinking about one or two of the men who’d been exercising earlier.  I was all alone in the showers.  I was pleasantly tired, naked in a warm shower, and thinking about a sexy young guy.  I realised that I now had a stiffy, but so what?  The place was deserted.

My eyes closed as I luxuriated in the warmth and the erotic thoughts as I gently soaped my groin and around my stiff cock.

“That would’ve got you 6 of the best at my old school,” I heard a voice say quietly.

I was startled back to the real world…it was the manager, standing just a few feet away.

“I was just checking that the place was empty before closing.”  He was about 40, fit looking.  Stocky build, dressed in a loose tracksuit.  Short hair.

“Definitely 6 of the best,” he said, as he glanced towards my groin…and smiled.  He was amused!

“But you’re too young to have got the cane at school,” I said, puzzled.

”It was banned years ago.”

“Not in Singapore,” he replied.  I rinsed the soap off myself, and reached for my towel.

“My father was posted there when I was 16.  We lived there for 2 years and I finished school there.  And the Headmaster never missed a chance to give a whacking.”

“Oh,” was all I could think to say.

“They shouldn’t have banned it, I’ve always thought,” he said quietly.

“Apart from the punishment aspect, it was a damned good thing for a young man.  Gave him some backbone.  I doubt that many men could take a good whacking nowadays.”

He glanced again at my groin, and grinned.

”What do you think?”

I tried to put the towel around my waist, but I was still stiff.

“About what?” I muttered.

“Men taking whackings…  Could you?”

“Probably,” I replied.

He looked me steadily in the eyes, then glanced down again at my erection and smiled again.  He looked pleased.

“There’s only one way to find out,” he said softly.

It dawned on me that I’d half-accepted a challenge by saying “Probably.”

“I’ve got a cane in the office.  Reckon you could take 6 good ones?”

I still didn’t say anything.

“Tell you what…if you take 6 I’ll let you give me 6.  Just to make it fair.”

I had to say something.

“Alright,” I said, eventually.  What else could I say?

“A deal,” he said, and put out his hand to shake mine.  We shook hands.  He kept hold of mine and pulled me a little toward him, and whispered “And if you take 12, I’ll take 24” and then he released my hand.

I felt myself smile a little and I nodded my agreement.

“You’ve never been caned before?”

“No,” I replied.

“Or used one?”

“No.”

“I’ll show you how to use the cane before we get started.  Back in a second,” he said as he turned and disappeared into the locker room.

I walked out of the shower area and followed him into the locker room, with the towel around my waist, the stiffy having subsided a little.

He was back in no time, carrying a couple of canes in one hand and an office chair in the other.

“I’m just going to have a quick shower…you won’t run away, will you?” he said with a big smile.

“No,” I replied.

He left, and I soon heard the shower running.  After a couple of minutes it stopped, and a minute or two after that he returned, quite naked.

I took in the hairy chest and belly, and the hairy legs and arms.  Strong looking legs and arms.

And a big stiff cock.

“I’m looking forward to this,” he said with a grin.

“It shows,” I replied, chuckling a little.

I realised that I was feeling a lot more relaxed.  Probably the sight of him, naked, had helped.  We were more equal now.  Especially since I was fully stiff again!

He put the office chair in front of a full-length mirror at the end of the locker room.

He then came over to me and took the towel from around my waist.

“Lesson time,” he said.  We went and stood in front of the mirror.

He then explained how to give a caning; showed me which part of the arse to aim for and where to avoid, using the reflection of my own arse as a guide.  He told me about wrap-around and how to avoid it.

I suddenly felt hot all over.  I hadn’t felt so aroused in ages.  This naked stranger was showing me how to cane his arse.  He was also showing me what I’d be getting soon.

“Let’s get started,” he said.  He put the chair in front of the mirror.

“Bend over the back and put your hands on he seat.”

I did so.

“Can you see your arse in the mirror?”

“Yes” I replied.  I could also see my hard-on, and my thighs and the lower part of my back, and the tuft of hair escaping from my arse-crack.

“Spread your legs.”  I did so.

He picked up the cane and swished it through the air.  Then he explained that he would cane me until I said, ”Enough, Sir.”  Then he would give me one more stroke.  If I reached 6 then I would have earned the right to give him that same number.  If I reached 12 then I would have earned the right to give him double, 24.

“Ready?” he asked.

“Yes.”

He moved into position.  I could see the upper part of his body in the mirror.  By turning my head away from the mirror and looking under my left arm I could see all of him.

“Somebody’s cock has gone down,” he remarked softly.  I had indeed suddenly gone soft.  I did not feel quite so relaxed as I had before.

I was watching him in the mirror.  He caught my eye.

“You’ll be alright,” he said.

Then I saw him lift the cane and he swung it down onto my bare arse.  Hard.

I gasped at the force of it.  Then the stinging pain spread across my cheeks.

“One,” he said.

He raised the cane again and gave me another stroke.

This time I yelped and dropped to my knees.  I was stunned by the burning sensation in my arse.  After just two strokes!

“Get your arse back up!” he snapped, with considerable authority in his voice.

Without thinking I said “Yes Sir…Sorry.”   And as I got back over the chair I realised that I was getting stiff again.

“Higher!” he snapped.  And I pushed it as high into the air as I could.

The cane rose again and I watched it in the mirror as it fell for my third stroke.  I stiffened my knees and stayed still as the burning spread through my arse.

The cane rose again and I got my fourth stroke.  I stayed still again.

“Good man,” he murmured.  Suddenly a sense of confidence flooded through me, and I felt and saw my cock stiffen fully.  All sensation seemed to be concentrated into my arse and my cock.

I heard a swish as the fifth stroke arrived.  I stayed still; but I moaned gently.

I caught his eye in the mirror as he raised the cane for the sixth.  He smiled and swiftly gave me the next one.

“Six,” he said.

And then he gave me the seventh.  Hard.  I moaned.

And the eighth.  Just as hard.

“Good man,” he said again.  And I heard myself say softly, “Oh cane me…cane my bare arse…give it to me.”

And he did.

He gave me three hard strokes without a pause between strokes.  I moaned through the three strokes.

“Twelve,” he said.

I looked under my left arm as he raised the cane again.  I watched as the cane fell again.  I moaned again as the delicious pain swept through me.

“You’ve needed this for a long time.”

“Give me more…please…more.”

He gave me one stroke every nine or ten seconds.

I was now panting hard after each stroke.  I was standing on tip-toe.  My arse was on fire.  And I was in lust heaven.  And my cock was still as stiff as a rod.

He was murmuring things like “That’s it…take it,” after each stroke.

Eventually I dropped to my knees, and remembered to say “Enough Sir.”

“One last stroke, remember?” he said.  “Can you manage one more?”

“Yes.”

As I got back into position he saw that I was still stiff and shook his head with delight.

“Stand up and put your hands on your head.”

“Look at the mirror.”

I did.  I saw myself in profile with my cock making a V with my belly.

He swung the cane horizontally for the last stroke of the cane…of my first caning.

It wasn’t as hard as the others, but I savoured its sting by slowly stroking my balls with my left hand, and feeling the heat and the ridges on my arse with the right.

He suggested that I should look at my arse in the mirror.  It was a maze of red stripes.  Beautiful red stripes.

He dropped to his knees in front of me, and gently took my balls into his mouth, and looked up at me as his hands wandered over my cheeks, feeling the results of his work.

I looked down his back and into his hairy arse-crack for a minute or two as he sucked and licked my balls.

“Your turn,” I whispered.

“And what’s your name?”

________________)

Story © 2011 by cpman, used by very kind permission

Self-portrait photo © 2011 by Rod Cayenne