fifty-four Spanking Excerpts
from Mainstream Novels
Collected by Akabax


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

An ePub version can be downloaded from the The Adult ePub Library.

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


If you have found any extracts of your own that you want to share, or just want to drop me a comment, then mail me at [email protected] or use this form:

Name:       E-mail:      

Table of Content

Women spanked by Men

Women spanked by Women

Men spanked by Men

Men spanked by Women

Girls spanked by Men

Girls spanked by Women

Girls spanked by Boys

Girls spanked by Girls

Boys spanked by Men

Boys spanked by Women

Boys spanked by Boys

Boys spanked by Girls


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.


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."


"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 Elyses 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?'


'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.)


'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 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.


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 Corns of the crucified Christ of Mathias Grnewald. 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 Ta 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?" Ta 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," Ta said, opening the door and holding it ajar.

Julian said: "Good night." Down the long corridors he sought his way to his room.


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


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!"


"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


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 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.


"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 Nobles 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.


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?"


"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


Girls Spanked by Girls


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.


Stephen R. Lawhead

Page 243

When no one answered, he called to the bishop.

"Make them tell me!"

"They do not speak Latin," replied the churchman coolly. "They only speak Cymry and a little Saxon."

"Then you ask for me, priest!" said the count. "And be quick about it. I want an an answer."

The bishop addressed the group, and there was a brief discussion.

"It seems that no one saw anything, count," the cleric reported. "But they all vow to keep a close watch for such disgraceful behaviour in the future."

"Do they indeed? Well, for one, at least, there will be no future."

Indicating a smirking lad to one side, the count spoke a command in Ffreinc to his soldiers, and instantly two of the marchogi dismounted and rounded on the panic-stricken youth. The elder Britons leapt forward to intervene but were prevented by the swiftly drawn swords of the remaining soldiers. After a momentary scuffle and the offending youngster was marched to the centre of the yard, where he was made to stand while the count, drawing his sword, approached his quivering, bawling prisoner.

"Wait! Stop!" cried the bishop. "No, please! Don't kill him!"

Asaph rushed forward to place himself between the count and his victim, but two of the soldiers caught him and dragged him back.

"Please, spare the child. He will work for you all summer if you spare him. Do not kill him, I beg you."

Count de Braose tested the blade and then raised his arm and, with a fury born of frustration, yanked down the boy's trousers and struck the boy's exposed backside with the flat of his swordonce, twice, and again. Thin red welts appeared on the pale white skin, and the boy began to wail with impotent fury.

Satisfied with the punishment, the count sheathed his sword, then raised his foot and placed his boot against the crying lad's wounded rump and gave him a hard shove. The boy, his legs tangled in his trousers, stumbled and fell on his chin in the dirt, where he lay, weeping hot tears of pain and humiliation.

The count turned from his victim, strode to his horse, and mounted the saddle once more. "Tomorrow I want fifty men here, ready to work," he announced. "Fifty, do you hear?" He paused as the bishop translated his words. "Fifty workmen or, by heaven, a farm will burn."

His words were still ringing in the yard as he and his soldiers rode out.

Verden Venter

Knuth Becker

Side 228-229

Da Viktor og Bror Abel kommer ned paa B-Hjemmet for ogsaa at se, hvorledes de bor dernede - ,og du - det ka' være, ham Store- Karl gaar hen paa den anden Side af Træerne ved Dammen, saa kan du mule ham der, uden at de kan se det heroppe fra [email protected]” men Støre-Karl er gaaet, og inde i Hjemmets Spisestue staar Magnus og Niels i Skammekrogen.
   Ane forklarer Hr. Pedersen fra København, det er Drenge, som ikke har været artige - de har røget.
   „Ja, uha, da,” siger Abel og ser til Bror Viktor, der lige er blevet færdig med en af hans egne Cigaretter omme bag Brændestableme.
   Frk. Clausen er oppe paa Kontoret og aflægge Beretning til Mon-
   rad. Indicierne, to halve Cigarer, ligger hjemme paa hendes Værelse.
   Frk. Glausen ønsker ikke selv at straffe de to store Drenge. Forstanderen husker nok
   jo, Monrad husker - for et Par Aar tilbage, da Niels tog Spanskrøret fra Frk. Clausen, det kunde have gaaet galt - for Frk. Clausen. Naa - Niels blev da helært om i hvis Haand Spanskrøret hørte hjemme.
   „Ja - men lad dem komme - æh @ nej -.” Monrad betænker sig et Øjeblik. I Stuen ved Siden af sidder Gæsterne, og Kandidat Wil- lumsen og Pastor Sørensen er inde i en længere Diskussion om Naa- den som etisk Begreb. Det vilde være pinligt.
   Monrad følger selv med Frk. Clausen, men hernede gaar saa denne Pedersen fra København.
   Niels og Magnus blir kaldt ind til Monrad paa Frk. Clausens Værelse.
   „Da I saa gerne vil smage Tobak,” siger Monrad, ,saa værs'god - æd hver jeres halve Cigar.”
   De tøver begge med Cigarstumperne i Hænderne.
   „Nu lidt villig, ellers maa jeg have fat i Frk. Clausens Spanskrør.” Frk. Clausen leder allerede oppe paa Skabet.
   Saa putter Niels resolut Cigaren i Munden og tygger og Magnus følger ham som han plejer. De skærer Ansigter, den brune Saft løber dem ud af Mundvigene og ned paa Hagen.
   Saa begynder først Magnus og saa Niels at gylpe.
   „Ud med jer - og saa i Skammekrogen bagefter.”
   Ude paa Retiraderne sætter baade Niels og Magnus Panderne in-iod Væggene og kalder med livsopgivende Lyde alle B-Hjernrnets Drenge til.
   „Skrub væk,” siger Niels med blegt Ansigt og ser truende, men ogsaa meget lidende paa Opløbet.
   Saa vakler han og Magnus blege ind til Skammekrogenes Mørke igen, men ude i Solhjørnet breder Kai og Eugén sig trygt paa Bæn- kene, og Gorm og flere af de smaa er der ogsaa, og det hjælper ikke, Emil gaar ind i Samlingsstuen og siger til Vinduerne: „Jæ ved nok, hvem der er i Solhjømet nu - Kai og Eugén - Verner og Viggo og Abraham.” To Nakker vender magtesløse bagud mød Emils opladte Røst.

Side 276-283

   „Naa - saa er I hjemme igen.” Monrad slaar med højre Haand i Skr.ivebordspladen og ser paa dem, saa Benene synker i dem.
   „Ja,” hvisker haade Kai og Tøsen paa een Gang. Det kan aldrig falde dem ind i det her Øjeblik at modsige denne smertelige men uafvendelige Kendsgerning. De staar bare og ryster sammen.
   „Ja, i min Sorg - æh - over jeres Flugt - æh - er jeg dog glad over, at I lykkeligt har undgaaet Konflikt med Politimyndighedeme.”
   Det lyser lidt, meget lidt op i Kais og Viktørs forskrækkede An- sigter. De har alligevel lavet noget eller ikke noget„ som Forstan- deren sidder og er glad ved.
   ”Kender du det her, Kai.”
   Kai blir rød som Blod over det Brev, Monrad rækker ham, mens han stirrer ned paa sine egne forvredne Kragetæer - aah - den her Fattiggaard, de har slet ikke sendt det, saa - til hans Far, men givet jens Hansen det. Det var derfor de her Frimærker, de kostede ikke noget.
   „Ja, du har en kristen og fornuftig Far - der forstaar, hvad der .tjener dig og dit Vel, og jeg kan ogsaa sige dig, at din Far, ja, dine Forældre er meget bedrøvet over den Maade, hvorpaa du har opført dig, og din Far skriver, at skulde du sende - altsaa smugle lignende Skrivelser hjem igen - saa blir de omgaaende sendt til mig - men maaske ogsaa jeg kan kurere dig.”
   - Aah, hans Far - hans Far, aah, det er - passer ikke
   „Værs'god du kan selv læse, hvor du har saaret og foruroliger dine Foraeldre.” Monrad rækker Kai det andet Brev, og han kender straks Farens Skrift - „til min støre Forbavselse har jeg i Dag fra min Søn, som vi troede i saa god Behold hos Dem, modtaget et Brev afsendt fra en Fattiggaard paa Sjælland og kan da forstaa, at han ej er hos Dem.” - Kai staar med Brevet, hans Øjne blir blindet af Taarer, og Bogstaverne danser for ham.
   „Har du ogsaa skrevet Brev, Viktor.”
   Viktor ser med flakkende Øjne fra Kai til Skrivebordet, men naar der ingen ligger der - saa har han vel ikke - det vild' Abel heller aldrig gøre. „Brev, nej,” siger saa Viktor.
   ,Har han,” spør Monrad og ser undersøgende paa Kai.
   „Nej,” lyver ogsaa Kai, der staar med Farens Brev, og synes hele Kontoret er en Karrusel, der kører med Faren, Moren og Bedstemoren udenom ham. De har læst Brevet, hans Brev, hvor glad han var for dem, og saa har de bare sendt Brevet herover - de er ikke Spor af glade for ham - aldrig en af dem - de er saa ligeglade, om han skal ha' mange Klø og blive ved og gaa her - og Gu' som han har snakket saa meget med, han er osse saa ligeglad, saa ligeglad, men de andre de ber jo osse til ham hele Tiden - han holder hare med dem - men der er ingen, der holder med ham andre end Tøsen der - men han ryster saadan.
   „Ja,” Monrad rejser sig, „saadan en Udtur far sin Belønning.” Han tar Brevet fra Kai. „Det er I vel ogsaa belavet paa - der har jo været Eksempler før for den Slags - ogsaa i jeres Tid.” Forstander Monrad aabner Døren ind til Skabvaerelset og gaar foran, Viktor følger bleg, spinkel og rystende, men Kai gaar som allerede bedøvet bagefter med Munden sammenbidt i Trods. Naar han slaar en ihjel - saa ka' han vel heller ikke mer - det er osse lige godt altsammen - de vil ikke ha' ham hjem - de holder m ed Monrad, og Gu' han holder osse med Monrad.
   Forstanderen aabner et Par af de øverste Vinduer ud til Haven og Gaarden, sætter sine løse hvide Manchetter i Vindueskannen, saa trækker han jakken af, og hænger den over en Stoleryg.
   Paa en Pæregren, der rager hen for Vinduet, sidder en Graaspurv og nysker sig med jag af Næbbet ned i det lille fjerede Bryst - „hvis man bare var den,” ønsker Kai.
   „Ja, træk Skjorten af og smid Bukserne - og nu lidt villigt,” siger Monrad, der er den første af Trekløveret, der er parat, og rækker en stor Arm op efter Spanskrøret paa Skabet.
   Monrad laaser Døren og staar med Spanskrøret i Haanden og ser utaalmodig ud, mens Viktor og Kai klaeder sig af.
   Drengene staar rystende i de korte Uldtrøjer, der stumper ved Maverne.
   „Naa - Viktor kom saa her - smid Uldtrøjen.” Monrad griber i Armen af Viktor, der staar nærinest, og hjælper ham Uldtrøjen over Hadet. Viktor græder, de nøgne Ynæ gaar sitrende under ham.
   „Ikke haardt, ikke haardt, vel.” Viktor drejer et af Angst og Skræk forvredent Drengeansigt op mod Forstanderen.
   „Staa stille - saa er det hurtigst overstaaet.” Monrad klemmer med fem store, hvide Fingre ind i Viktors Arm, saa hæver han Armen højt, saa Spanskrøret rører Gipsloftet - et syngende Sus, og et hvinende Skrig.
   Viktor gaar i Gulvet og glider paa alle fire hen ad det glatte Linoleum, han kaster den spinkle Drengenakke tilbage og skriger tudende som en Hund mod Loftet ~ en tyk, blodrød Stribe gaar tvaers over hans Ryg og ned paa Laaret..
   Kai staar frysende i Uldtrøjen og ser fra Viktoi3 Ryg til de to Døre, der er laasede, laasede -.
   Monrad griber Viktor ved Armen og trsekker ham op fra Gulvet, Viktor damer grædende med Armen klemt inde i Monrads store Haand. „Staa stille.”
   „Ja, ja, j„ ja, ja, ja,” lover Viktor grædende og tripper videre. Kai staar bleg og ser efter, om han nu ogsaa vil holde Spansk-
   røret lige saa højt som sidst. Det rører igen Loftet, og Kai lukker Øjnene.
   Saa falder Spanskrøret igen rapt og bidende i Viktors hvide Krop, Viktor gaar ned paa fire igen, ryster over hele Kroppen og skriger -.
   Monrad slaar igen, før Viktor er oppe, med et gurglende Brøl drejer Viktor sig om med Ryggen mod Gulvet, hans spinkle Krop trækkes i Vridninger, mens han hylende og blindet raaber op i brunt Fuldskæg, hvide Øjne og hævet Spanskrør: „De maa ikke - aah - De maa ikke.”
   De næste fire Slag rammer Viktor, som han ligger foran paa Laarene - skrigende trackker han Benene op under sig. „Aah - De maa ikke.”
   „Rejs dig.”
   Viktor folder Hænderne og vrider sin nøgne Krop nede foran Monrads sorte Støvler. „Aah - Forstander Monrad - aah - De maa ikke.”
   Kai ser igen til de laasede Døre og Vinduet mod Gaarden, som han har Uldtrøjeryggen imod. Drengene paa Brændepladsen kigger, jeus Hansen ogsaa, de vil fange ham med det samme.
   Med et kraftigt Tag i Viktors Arm løfter Forstanderen ham op fra Gulvet, et nyt Slag, og Viktor ryger ned igen - skrigende om- klamrer han her nede Forstanderens Bukseben - river i dem, tigger - ber - skriger -.
   Monrad frigør sig lidt utaalmodigt for den levende og højrøstede Slyngplante, mens Kai sørgmodigt ludende ser ned paa den sprællende Viktor. Der siler rødt Blod i Strimer ned over Viktors Laar og Ben.
   Igen løfter Monrad Viktor med et rask Tag i Armen. Han danser grædende omkring Forstanderen. „Aah ~ aah - aah - hvor mange - aah hvor mange -.”
   @9 Tyve, hvis du staar stille, ellers flere.”
   „Aah, nej - aah, nej - Abel, Abel.” Viktor gaar i Gulvet bare ved Udsigte% (>g Kai henne Vinduet ryster over hele Kroppen.
   „Naa, naa vil du op.” Monrad rykker ham op igen.
   „Tyve - aah tyve,” jamrer Viktor paa Benene igen og klager mod Gipsloftet, „tyve, tyve, aah, De maa ikke - De maa ikke.”
   Monrad sender med et nyt kraftigt Slag Viktor i Gulvet. Han skriger og fægter med Arme og Ben og raaber „Blod, aah, se Blod.” Han holder Hænderne manende op mod Monrad og skriger „Blod, Blod.”
   ,Kom saa du - naar han ikke vil, saa kan han vente til bagefter.” Monrad nikker til Kai, der nølende rystende hykker til og trækker Uldtrøjen af - Hans Far - og Gu' - de er væk -.
   Han mærker Forstanderens faste Greb i Armen og ryster i Knæene.
   Viktor sidder paa Hug foran ham paa Gulvet og hulker med Blod smurt i Ansigtet.
   Kai bøjer Nakken som ind under en tung, men uundgaaelig Byr- de, mens han presser Munden haardt sammen. Han vil taelle - blive færdig - ikke vente som Viktor.
   Han hopper højt for det første susende Slag og udstøder et Brøl - men mærker, han har Fødderne mod Gulvet igen, Haanden i Armen holder fast, og han presser Munden tæt i, mens han krøger Ryggen for det ventede nye Slag. To, tre, fire, fem - hver Gang brøler han ud - hopper i Været, men staar saa igen raabende og svinglende i Monrads faste Haand, og med bøjet Nakke og sammenbidte Tæn- der gaar han ind under næste Slag og har Tallene i Hodet. Seks, syv, otte, ni - ved det sidste Slag gaar Kai i Gulvet og ligger et Øjeblik og raaber med Læbeme presset mod Linoleumet. Tøsen sidder lige ved hans Hode og klynker, og han kravler hurtig op, angst for Mon- rad skal skyde ham til Side nu og ta' Viktor igen. Ni - ni - ni - ni - siger det grædende indeni ham, da han stejler op. Monrad støtter ham, Kai gaar i Gulvet igen et Par Gange og kommer op igen, sta- dig ved Monrads hjælpende Arm. Hans Raab er gaaet over i stak- aandet, grædende Støn, og Tallet - Tallet er blevet væk for ham, men engang han ligger stønnende nede paa Gulvet, kommer Armen ikke.
   Han vil selv rejse sig, løfter Overkroppen, kan ikke, den skvatter haardt mod Gulvet igen. Han synes, Monrad siger, saa dig Viktor - er han selv færdig aah - er - er -. Viktor skriger igen her paa Gul- vet ved hans Hode, og Monrad siger noget til ham. Han skal vel op igen saa - Tallet - Tallet er væk. Han griber nede fra Gulvet fat i en Stol og kravler ved Hjælp af den op og staar svajende foran Mon- rad.
   „Væk, det er Viktor.”
   Kai dingler et Par Skridt til Siden, saa falder han henne ved Vin- duet, Aandedraget i hans nøgne Bryst gaar som paa en lungesyg.
   Viktor skriger og holder sig for Øjnene med de blodsmurte Hæn- der. Monrad trækker ham op fra Gulvet. „De har slaaet ham ihjel, og nu slaar De mig ihjel, aah - De slaar mig ihjel
   Et susende Slag slaar Viktor i Gulvet, hvor han blir liggende paa Maven. Spanskrøret vulker tre, fire Gange oppe fra Loftet og ned i Viktors Ryg. Viktor har grebet fat om Stolen og knuger det ene Ben ind mod sit nøgne Bryst. Hans Skrig er gaaet ned til gurglende Kvælningslyde, et Slag til. suser ned over hans Ryg, hans Legeme gennemrystes af et kort Spjæt, med et Klynk falder hans Hode som livløst til Siden og han tier.
   Monrad har paany hævet Spanskrøret, men standser saa og kaster Tugteredskabet fra sig.
   Kai vaagner henne under Vinduet ved den pludselige Stilhed og ser mat og fortumlet ud. Saa husker han, hvor han er, føler til Ryggen, Haanden blir rød og vaad.
   Monrad laaser op ind til Kontoret og siger bagud, klæd dig paa. Fortumlet ser Kai efter sin Uldtrøje og er ved at falde igen, da han bukker sig efter den. Viktor ligger saa stille nede paa Gulvet. Ham har han slaaet ihjel ~ dinglende lemper Kai Uldtrøjen og Skjorten ned over den nu følelse-sløse og blodige Krop, og som i Feber, som med kraftløse Fuldemandsbevackelser, faar han efterhaanden Resten af Tøjet paa. Aah, hans Hode er saa tungt, det vil falde fra ham og forover hele Tiden.
   ,Ja - gaa - Brumme, Ensomhed -.” Monrads Stemme lyder som langt borte fra, og Kai fatter kun Brudstykkeord og svingler bedøvet ud af Kontoret.
   Han dingler ned over Gaardspladsen, ser ingenting - hører ingenting, ikke Saverne, der kigger efter ham. Aah, det Hode, der vil falde fra ham.
   jens Hansen skænder, Savene gaar, Kai svingler forbi, standser og svingler frem igen.
   Oppe aabner Monrad Vinduet og kalder paa Gartneren. Sammen bærer de Viktor gennem Stuerne og ud fra Køknet langs Muren af C-Fløjen, hvor de er skjult for Drengene paa Savepladsen. Sundt advarende Brøl og Skrig har igen staaet ud fra Skabværelsets Vinduer, men ogsaa Advarsler kan overdrives.
   Ved den første Opgang vil Gartneren, der har i de nøgne Skuldre af Viktor, dreje ind.
   „Nej, Brummen, Gartner Larsen.” Monrad, der har ved Benene af Viktor, nikker mod næste Opgang. „Vil De blive hos ham og sørge for, han faar Tøjet paa, naar han vaagner.” Saa svinger de ind ad Opgang to. Viktor hænger ned imellem dem som en død Kalv.
   Monrad kommer alene tilbage fra C-Brummen og gaar langsomt eftertænkende over Gaardspladsen. Ved Stendyssen smelder aget oven over ham. Han ser ligesom vaagnende derop - har ikke set det før i Dag - det var vist heller ikke hejst, da han kom hjem, det maa være Sørensen, hvad - aah - Pedersen - gamle Pedersens Fød- selsdag - ja, ja, Lærer Sørensen husker'alt. Gamle Pedersen - han var en god Mand - selv om hans Begreber om Tro og Opdragelse -, naa, ja, ja, - de døde -. Flaget for den første Forstander slaar et frisk Smeld i Blæsten bag Monrad, der gaar ind.
   „Ikke dovne,” skænder Hansen paa Brændepladsen.
   Nede i Haven, langt nede tæller Inger ved Oskars Haand Efter- aarets sidste Røser og er kommet til otte og tyve, ni og tyve og ti og tyve, og Ole har gravet en trebenet Hest ned ved en Ribsbusk og synger over den - men han har sat en Pind ved den - for, det kan godt være, den skal bruges til Hest i Mom igerl Lille Basse i Vognen vinker fornøjet med Ranglen og pludrer og ler og har for laenge si- den skubbet begge Vanterne af.
   Ane paa B-Hjemmet kommer over Kai. Han staar udenfor med Armen lagt mellem Panden, det tunge Hode og Muren. jo hun syntes nok, Ane, der var noget ude, men saa ku' hun ikke rigtig se for Stifterens Træ.
   „Kom saa Kai,” hun støtter ham med en Haand bagom Skulderen og leder ham gennem Gaarden og op over den knirkende Bryggers- trappe.
   „Nu sku' du bede Vorherre hjælpe dig, Kai,” siger Ane, da hun laaser Brummedøren efter ham,
   Kai svarer ikke. Han prøver at slaa trodsigt med Nakken, kan ikke - „blæs med det, Gu”
   Han sætter sig svimlende paa Madrassen, inde i hans Hode piner og hanker det, alt kører omkring. Bukserne og Strømperne klisker vaade af Blod. „Gu' kom ikke før - nu ka' han pas' sig sæl'.”
   Et Øjeblik efter falder Kai forover paa Maven paa Madrassen.
   Oppe paa Kontoret er Forstander Monrad i Gang med nogle Breve, i Eftermiddag, naar Karls Husbud kommer, blir der jo ikke Tid, og han er midt i et Brev til en bekymret Far i Lemvig. „Anstalten her er jo en af de mere milde,” skriver Monrad, men vi maa haabe ved Guds Hjælp, selv om Deres Sofus er vanartet, at -.”
   Med Saarfeberen brændende i Kroppen, døser Kai hele Dagen og ser ikke den Mad, Ane sætter ind til ham, og henter hos ham igen. I Mørket blæser det op til Storm, og Bjælkeme knager og klager over hans febertunge Hode, men han er bedøvet, ogsaa mod Rotter og Genfærd.
   Ane har til Natten lagt Tæppet over Kai og sætter en Kande koldt Vand ved Siden af Madrassen. Drengene drikker altid saa meget efter saadan en Omgang, ved hun. Hun har ogsaa bedt Gud om, at det her maa afholde Kai fra alt det onde. Nærmere kan hun ikke komme ham for Instruksen, og hun laaser og gaar sukkende ned ad Bryggerstrappen, mens hun skutter sig og trackker det graa Sjal tættere om -„der er nemlig koldt heroppe - det er der - men -- ”Ane sukker igen.
   Hun gaar gennem Sovesalene, hvor Stormen rusker i Ruderne, og ser til de sovende Drenge. Saa banker hun paa ind til Frk. Glausen, hænger Brummenøglen paa Nøglebrædtet. Om Frk. Clausen syntes, det ku' gøre noget imorn og spørre Forstanderen, om Kai ikke maat- te faa rigtig Sengetøj op, der er alligevel koldt deroppe. Ane skutter sig.
   Frk. Clausen ser op fra den Bog, hun laeser i. „Næh, Ane kan jo gerne spørre.”
   „Ja, for De vil ikke, Frk. Glausen,” spør Ane.
   jo Frk, Clausen kan godt spørre. Ane skutter sig igen, siger god Nat og gaar ind til sig selv.
   Paa kulderystende bare Knæ foran den opslaaede Seng ber hun endnu en Gang for Kai, for hele Anstalten, for dem hjemme i Hurup, for hele Jorden, de stakkels Hedninger, de onde og vantro, frels dem kære, gode jesus, de har din Frelse behov, som osse Ane har det. Amen. Ane blæser Lampen ud og trækker kulderystende Dynen om sig.
   Frk. Clausen lægger, som efter en rask Beslutning, Bøgen og tar Nøglen til Brummen. Inde paa Sovesalen runder hun Kais Dyne sammen i en bærelig Bylt og gaar op og breder Dynen over en Dreng, der i Febersøvne og Mørke snakker staccato om Høkerbakken - Nikkelev og Vendelby.
   Gud fik ikke helt Lov at passe sig selv for Kai i Brurnmens Ensomhed. De første Par Dage og Nætter med Saarfeberen endnu varmende i Kroppen og sløvenele alle Følelser gik det saa godt, men saa faldt Feberen, Appetitten vaagnede, med den Livslyst, Angst og Glæde, og Kai opdagede samtidig under stor Smerte, at det passede, hvad Niels og Magnus engang sagde - de første Dage - dem mærker man ikke, men saa - saa ka' man slet ikke ligg' paa Ryggen, men bare paa Maven, men saa de sidste Dage af de fjorten saa ka' man godt begynde noget med Ryggen osse.

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.)

De Coeur-Brulant

Kusinernes elskere

Side 103-110

   Madame de Corriero betragtede barnet; det var en dejlig lille dreng med et stolt blik og stor af sin alder, og han så ud til at ville udvikle sig til et smukt eksemplar af den type, som den brændende andalusiske sol udklækker.
   Dorothée kom, og de fortalte hende, hvad der var sket, hvorpå de besluttede, at Pédro skulle blive på La Bidouze nogle dage.
   Dorothée sørgede for, at han kom i bad, hvad der var højst tiltrængt, og derpå lavede man et spansk kostume til ham, som klædte ham særdeles godt, og Claire og han blev de bedste venner af verden.
   Hvis Michel vil, tænkte Julia, kan han gøre det samme for Pédro, som jeg gør for Claire, og senere, når vi bliver gamle, kan vi gifte børnene med hinanden.
   Derfor måtte Pédro vente på monsieur Lampret, så hans skæbne kunne blive afgjort.
   Uheldigvis gik dagene, og nok bragte de lidenskabelige breve fra Nimes, men de meddelte hver gang, at tanten hverken kunne beslutte sig til at komme sig eller at forlade dette liv til fordel for det hinsides. Og Julia tog sin rolle som mor for den lille Claire mere og mere alvorligt. Hun underviste hende og lærte hende gode manerer, og man forstår hendes harme, da hun en eftermiddag, da hun kom fra drivhuset sammen med Dorothée, så sin elev ligge på en afsides bænk med benene i vejret, og på knæ foran hende lå monsieur Pédro, som hengav sig til fysiologiske studier in anima vili med en sådan alvor, som var han en gammel læge under udøvelsen af sine embedspligter.
   Man må tro, at emnet interesserede ham, for han hørte slet ikke, at der kom nogen.
   Madame de Corriero gjorde tegn til Dorothée og blev stående et øjeblik uden at røre sig, så nærmede hun sig hurtigt børnene og rejste Claire op i en mere passende stilling, mens Pédro helt forvirret skulle til at flygte.
   - Bliv her, min herre, sagde hun bydende; og De, lille frøken, svar mig: hvad laver De der, De skamløse? I skal øjeblikkelig få jeres straf, og det på en måde, som I ikke så let glemmer!
   - Det var Pédro, der ville, klynkede den lille pige.
   - Det er muligt, men det betyder ikke, at du behøver at adlyde ham. Dorothée vil på stedet give en afstraffelse, som måske kan lære dig at være mindre eftergivende over for drenge og deres ordrer.
   Julia brækkede nogle stærke kviste af den nærmeste husk og rakte dem til kammerpigen:
   - Løft denne lille vildkats skørter op og giv hende en ordentlig revselse.
   Dorothée tøvede ikke et sekund, men greb Claire om livet, trak hendes skørt og den lille chemise op og holdt hende fast på bænken, der havde været vidne til det skete, mens hun med den anden hånd samvittighedsfuldt tildelte hende den beordrede tugtelse.
   - Og nu, sagde Julia, da barnet helt opløst i tårer atter stod på benene, vil jeg ikke gribe dig i den slags igen.
   Claire listede lige så stille af mod huset.
   Pédro havde stået stum og betuttet på det sted, hvor Julia havde stoppet ham.
   - Hvad dig angår, så skal du ikke tro, at du slipper så let, og at du ikke kommer til at stå til regnskab. Claire gjorde forkert i at efterkomme dine ønsker, men du har så meget større skyld, fordi du har tilskyndet hende til det. Du skal få din straf. Dorothée, gå hen og hent gartneren.
   Dorothée samlede blomsterne sammen, som hun havde plukket i drivhuset, og fjernede sig.
   - Hvorfor lader du Pierre hente? spurgte Pédro med dyster mine.
   - For at han skal tugte dig.
   - jeg kvæler Pierre, hvis han rører mig! - jaså, virkelig! Det får vi se.
   - Hvis jeg skal straffes, sagde barnet med en undertrykt hulken, så skal det ikke være af ham, som ikke er min far, men hare et tyende.
   - Det er muligt, men da du ingen far har, så vil han gøre det i hans sted.
   - Aldrig skal den mand komme til at røre mig. Da De har taget mig til Dem, så er jeg på en måde Deres ham, og De har ret til at straffe mig, og af Deres hånd modtager jeg gerne min straf, men ikke af hans.
   - Åh, det hjælper ikke, min dreng, og du tager ingen skade af, at det bliver ham. Af sted! ikke mere snak her. Og Julia gik hen mod delinkventen; så kom hun til at tænke på, at det ville give genlyd over hele parken, når han fik den grundige afstraffelse, som hun havde tiltænkt ham, og at det ville være bedre, hvis det foregik for lukkede døre. .»Gå foran mig,« sagde hun kort. Pédro adlød langsomt, og de begav sig hen til madame de Corrieros toiletværelse.
   Skønt han ikke havde megen lyst til det, måtte han gå over tærsklen til dette henrivende lille kammer, hvorpå Julia lukkede døren og skød slåen for.
   Kabinettet lå for enden af en korridor, der lå øde hen på dette tidspunkt. Der kunne ingen høre de protester, som hun forudså ville komme.
   Da de havde været på vej hen for at fuldbyrde straffen, havde Pédro været rolig nok og græd kun uden en lyd. Men da han så sin beskytterinde tage sin hat af, smøge ærmerne op og trække en stor puf ud midt i værelset, forstod han, at det kritiske øjeblik nærmede sig og kastede sig på knæ, mens han med høje skrig bad om nåde.
   Julia var ubøjelig; det ville have været aldeles uretfærdigt, hvis kun Claire skulle have betalt sin gæld til moralen.
   - Hvis du ikke frivilligt underkaster dig, sender jeg bud efter Pierre, sagde hun i en tone, der ikke tålte flere ind- vendinger. Kom så, knap dine bukser ned i en fart.
   Og da Pédro ingen hast havde med at adlyde, fik madame de Gorriero med behændig hånd knapperne knappet op på de små bukser, som gled ned om drengens hæle trods hans forgæves anstrengelser for at holde dem oppe.
   Så greb hun hurtigt mester Pédro med venstre arm og lagde ham«på puffen, trak hans skjorte op, som beskyttede de kødfulde dele, og gav ham med sin hvide og bløde, men faste hånd tyve gode klaps på den nederste del af ryggen, som antog en livlig rød farve, alt imens den lille forbryder hulkede, som hans hjerte skulle briste.
   Madame de Corriero, der var helt forpustet efter anstrengelsen, satte sig på puffen og betragtede Pédro, og hun var meget forbavset over at se, at'han ikke tænkte på at trække tøjet på igen, men kun hulkede.
   Han holdt sig med begge hænder om sine små endehalier, der sved efter den revselse, han lige havde fået, men han rørte sig ikke.
   Men hendes overraskelse blev endnu større, da hun kon- staterede en helt uventet ting. Pédro, som utvivlsomt var meget fremmelig for sin alder eller var meget ældre, end han havde fortalt, struttede som en lillake mer hhhh han havde fortalt, struttede som en lille karmelitermunk, som en af de fromme nonner ville have udtrykt det.
   »Nå, nå, det var sjov nok,,« tænkte Julia.
   - Klæd dig på, kommanderede hun og trak hans skjorte ned; og sørg for, at jeg ikke får grund'til at straffe dig igen.
   Denne lille scene stod prentet i Julias hukommelse, blan- det med lidt nysgerrighed. Og knap otte dage efter fik Pédro igen ordre om at begive sig ind til madame i dette frygtelige toiletværelse.
   Pédro havde sjålet en krukke syltetøj og benægtede det energisk, selv om han var blevet grebet på fersk gerning af Pierre.
   - Det er godt, havde madame de Corriero svaret, da man
   beklagede sig til hende, send ham ind til mig ved et-tiden. På dette tidspunkt holdt tjenestefolkene deres siesta, mens Dorothée spiste frokost.
   Julia, der væbnede sig med streng mine, ventede på ham med en meget værdig holdning og holdt en moralprædiken om hans dobbelte forbrydelse: tyveri, kompliceret med en løgn! Hvorefter hun betydede ham, at han skulle gøre sig klar til at blive afstraffet.
   Drengen blev meget rød, men adlød ikke.
   - Hørte du, hvad jeg sagde? trængte Julia ind på ham. - jeg tør ikke; jeg skammer mig.
   - Når man ikke har skammet sig over at begå et fejltrin, så man man også have mod til at tage straffen for det.
   Pédro var blevet kaldt ind for sin dømmer og beskytter ganske pludseligt. Han havde ikke fået tid til at tænke sig om, og han var stadig klædt i sit lette havetøj. Det var ikke nogen vanskelig sag at tage de lette klædningsstykker af ham, så Julia fik hurtigt blottet fyrens bagdel. Hans skjorteflig og den lille drejlsbluse blev rullet op og sat fast i hans læderhælte, hvorpå Julia greb det ris, som hun på forhånd havde forsynet sig med og beordrede Pédro, som hårdnakket vægrede sig, til at indtage den stilling, som er almindelig i den slags tilfælde.
   - Er det den, De vil tugte mig med? spurgte han med et ophidset udtryk i ansigtet og pegede på hasselkvistene i Julias hånd.
   - ja.
   - Det vil jeg ikke have.
   - Det er mig ganske ligegyldigt; læg dig så ned i en fart. - Nej, De kan slå mig med hånden, og det finder jeg mig i, men ikke med et ris, som om jeg var en hund.
   Men denne gang skulle Pédro komme til at smage de brutale kærtegn af et ris.
   Med kraftig hånd blev han trods sin modstand anbragt med bagsiden opad.
   Han skiftevis rødmede og blegnede af raseri. Men det nyttede ham ikke, Julia holdt ham om lænden og pressede ham med venstre hånd ned på den stol, hvor hun havde anbragt ham, og skønt han vrikkede med bagdelen og spar- kede som en vild med fødderne - men kun ramte væggen - fik han uden videre den dragt prygl, der var tiltænkt ham. Hun hævede og sænkede armen tennnelig længe, men man må næsten tro, at den hånd, der førte riset, blev svagere, for Pédros to høje havde knap nok en rød stribe efter afstraf- felsen.
   Da strafferedskabet var blevet anbragt ned i en dyb skuffe, vendte Julia sig om så den lille dreng på knæ ved siden af sig, mens hede tårer strømmede ned ad hans kinder.
   Det ville have været naivt at spørge om grunden til hans sorg.
   - Du angrer altså dine fejl, ikke sandt? spurgte hun ham; og du vil være artig for fremtiden?
   - jeg vil ikke mere ... jeg vil ikke mere ...
   - Du vil ikke mere gøre noget forkert? ... Du ved nu, at følgerne af dine gale streger er ubehagelige, og du tager en god beslutning.   Godt, hvis du holder den, så vil jeg ikke mere give dig -   det som du lige har fortjent.
   - jeg vil ikke mere tugtes med et ris.
   - Aha! Hvorfor foretrækker du da at blive slået med hånden?
   -Pauline slog mig altid med hånden, og så ...
   -Hvem er Pauline?
   -Min storesøster, der er gift.
   -Og hvad gjorde hun så bagefter?
   -jeg ved ikke, hvordan jeg skal sige det.
   -Slå mig med hånden lige som forleden dag, så skal jeg vise Dem det.
   Julia bøjede sig ned over den lille fyr og tildelte ham et par lette klaps på halen.
   Så greb Pédro hendes hånd og førte den ned til det lem, der sad på den modsatte side af stedet, hvor han lige var blevet straffet.
   Der lod han med en vis skamløs naivitet hende kærtegne
   sit lille kåde organ, der rejste sig og sitrede ved berøringen.
   Madame de Corriero, der var ganske forbløffet, men sam- tidig morede sig, lod ham gøre det.
   - Synes du, det er rart? spurgte hun.
   - Ih, ja! Og hvis De altid vil lade mig gøre det bagefter, så skal jeg også gerne lade mig tugte, så tit De vil.
   Julia fandt sig så villigt i denne beskæftigelse, at den lille skælm blev dristigere og prøvede at lade sin lille hånd smutte ind mellem båndene på madame de Corrieros pignoir, og det lykkedes ham at få bundet en af sløjferne op, så et af hendes bryster korn til syne.
   - Kan du så holde din hånd i ro, din lille slyngel! sagde hun.
   Pédro, hvis øjne skinnede som karfunkler, gav sig til at suge på det smukke, hvide bryst, der stak frem imod ham.
   - Og hvem har dog givet dig så god undervisning? spurgte madame de Corriero.
   - Pauline har gjort det lidt. jeg har set hendes mand kærtegne hende; men der var så mange ting, jeg ikke forstod, og det var for at lære det, at jeg så efter, hvordan Claire var lavet, De ved, dernede på hænken?
   - jovist, og hvis der ikke var kommet nogen, hvad ville du så være endt med?
   - Det ved jeg ikke, men jeg havde nok gjort, ligesom jeg gjorde med Pauline, når Manuel ikke var hjemme.
   - Og hvad var da det?
   - Stå stille, så ...
   Og Pédro lod sig glide ned på gulvet.
   - Rør Dem ikke, sagde han, så skal De se, hvor godt det er, De vil skrige og blive helt bleg; men lad mig gøre det. Og lømlen knælede ned, stak sit lille krøllede hoved ind under Julias lette peignoir og meget hurtigt og dygtigt fik han hende til at udstøde et sandt frydesskrig,
   - Din slemme knægt, sagde hun endelig, men først efter at hun havde nået vellystens højdepunkt.
   Så dukkede Pédro atter frem fra sit skjul, og Julia var ikke så grusom, at hun kunne nægte ham det takkekys, som hans blik krævede.
   - Er det ikke sandt, at det gør kvinderne lykkelige? spurgte han triumferende.
   - Det er muligt, du lille spilopmager! Men hvis du kommer for skade at sige et ord om dette til nogen som helst, så bliver det Pierre, der skal tage sig af din opdragelse.
   - Ih, De skal få at se, hvor lydig jeg kan være, men De lader mig alligevel komme herind en gang imellem ... ikke?
   - Åh, nej, ikke alene for det.
   - Vi får se. Se nu at få dine bukser op og forsvind.

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



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 Pht
  • The sound St
  • The sound Plt

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 Pht, 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 Pht and the sound Phut in the interior of the mouth, and at the end of congress the sighing and weeping sounds. The sound Pht 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 manuvres 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.




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