Another spanking (and bondage) artist, (although he did have a bit of a thing for bestiality!) Born in Zagreb, 1866 and died in Vienna 1924. A good quality artist, and we have a picture of him and his grave…
What a subject to tackle, how long would someone read it? I think it best not to ramble in this one, so…
In my early years it was all about watching. I have no idea when I became so endeared to the female bottom, but it must have been very early, and spanking soon followed. The chance to see a bare female bottom. From the films and the number of spankings I saw for real, soon helped it all become a major part of me, and my psyche. By the age of my first masturbations it was my favourite fantasy to close my eyes to.
I have already told you of my young schoolgirl girlfriend and my first experiences. I have told you of my journey through my spanking services to needy naughty young women, to where I am now, with my own studio and various other spanking places, and most of all, my girls. My three beautiful friends who love spanking, each blessed with God’s finest creation…a very spankable bottom. How many spankings have I given?……Hmmm…definitely in the high hundreds, and if someone told me it had passed a thousand, it would not surprise me.
What I do know is, I want to do it more. My love of the female bottom, and smacking it, knows no boundary. It stretches off in every possible direction to infinity. I could wax lyrical about all my plans, which alas will never be completed. What I do want to say is…why?
The bottom, it has to start with the bottom.
Especially a freshly spanked one like Kate’s here. Aren’t they fucking beautiful? Not just to look at, or smack, but to feel.
There is something about meeting a woman fully dressed and looking pretty, and knowing that very soon you are going to spank her. As a gentleman I show her through the door first, politely, holding it open. Which in part is true, but also, it gives a chance to stare, and appraise.
This could be any situation, a head teacher watching a naughty girl walk by him to the centre of the room. A client coming for a spanking. A model coming for a spanking shoot. Wether in a skirt, a suit, a uniform or jeans, that first glance, knowing what is to happen, is fantastic.
Talking about it, and why they need one, comes next.
Over the years I have spent hours and hours talking to a pretty face about spanking. A client telling me how they bullied someone, or just that they have a need to feel pain in their bottom. Or telling my girls and the many other willing girls on the journey, what is going to happen.
To see a girl, (wether in school uniform, or like one lady who visits me in a bright red business suit, or anything between), accept what is to happen and agree, is fantastic. The look down maybe. The blush. The biting of the lip. The tremble. The gasp…basically, the reaction.
Like Samantha here, she has just spoken to Charlotte, telling her why and what. And Charlotte has accepted.
The roles are confirmed, one is to punish, the other to be punished.
For me, in the first category, seeing a girl in that situation, is so, sooo, sooooo sexy.
To see a girl bare her bottom or bare it for her and put her in position.
Samantha demonstrates again, no matter what the position, no matter where, it is like settling into a plush seat in a theatre, and watching the curtains open.
God yes! The baring of the bottom……mmmmmmm!
The first smack from cold, no matter what with, either hand or implement.
Over my knee, bent over a desk, bent over as they stand… Any position at all, it does not matter.
Those first smacks. Seeing the bottom bounce, listening to the squeals, watching the movements and….and…
Claudia here is experiencing it as Charlotte feels the first smacks!
Fuck me! When in the zone, with the girl gripped or restrained, or keeping her position. Nothing is finer!
Whack, whack, whack, whack….and on and on!
The wriggling, the begging, the screams and squeals!
The world fades.
You both go on a journey of pleasure and inflicted pain, or pleasure and inflicting pain.
Something tells you, breathless and satisfied. It is time to stop.
You look at your work…
The intensity does not matter, I have caned to blood, and spanked to pale blushing pink, and everything in between.
It is over, the reasons, whys, and wherefore are done.
Satisfaction is reached. Chastisements are over.
Time for the sore bottomed girl like Stephanie here, to reflect, and for me to relax and drink it in.
Then for me, after the girls have gone, I masturbate…re-living every second.
You would think the idea of a life size doll to spank and 'use' would be modern sci-fi...but
Hans was best known for the life-sized pubescent female dolls he produced in the mid-1930s.
In his works, Bellmer explicitly sexualized the doll as a young girl.
He visited Paris in 1935 and made contacts there, such as Paul Éluard, but returned to Berlin because his wife Margarete was dying of tuberculosis.
Bellmer’s work was eventually declared “degenerate” by the Nazi Party, and he was forced to flee Germany to France in 1938, where Bellmer’s work was welcomed by the Surrealists around André Breton.
Quite sexually haunting images aren’t they? Not my usual spanking artist I know. But too strange and fascinating not to put in my blog. They would be good in my studio in school uniform sat at desks, to make it seem a class of girls are watching a spanking!
Lots more ‘real spanking artists to come, and many already added here…
Do I annoy you by having so many stories on the go? I hope not, I love it! My next shoot with my girls is covering about five! It makes our work….well, cups of tea and buns, interspersed with a bit of work….more enjoyable!
We start this one with Mrs Smith and Sister Samantha in the front room of Mrs Smith’s house. Two girls have come with their teacher from ‘The Sacred Hearts Convent School’, to tell her that her daughter is a bully. The girls were caught stealing in a shop, the police were called and on investigation, they found out that the ringleader Hermione Smith had made them do it, and had been making them do it for months.
The girls agree that they should not steal, but make heartfelt pleas to Mrs Smith, who is actually a school governess, and Sister Samantha.
“Honestly, I swear on Jesus, that it was Hermione who made us, she is cruel, and does horrid things to us if we don’t.”
Sister Samantha backed the girls up by saying she has no doubt that Mrs Smith’s daughter is a cruel, spiteful vindictive child.
Mrs Smith’s rage is apparent for all to see. However, the girls stole, and should not have, so both were told they were to get a bare bottom spanking. Hermione was sent to the hallway in disgrace. She would not be allowed to witness the spankings.
Their spankings did not last long. Soon they were put in corner time, before the mantelpiece.
For Hermione however, the next hour was going to be the worst of her life!
The two girls listened as first Sister Samantha calmed Mrs Smith down, and then they planned her punishment. Key words were picked up…cane, bare bottom, before the girls, thrashing, no mercy…
Then the girls looked at each other in excitement when Sister Samantha shouted. “Hermione Smith, get yourself in here…NOW!”
Charlotte was rather good at hockey, and practised after school on a Friday. Earlier on one particular Friday, Miss Kenworthy asked Charlotte to come and see her after the practice, and to keep her hockey skirt on.
Charlotte, now quite besotted with Miss Kenworthy, did not even think of the reason why she needed to keep her hockey skirt on. She was just happy to go and see her.
And so it was that in the evening sunshine streaming through the glass into the classroom, Miss Kenworthy and Charlotte were sat talking.
Both expressed their feelings, feelings of love and desire for each other. A teacher and a schoolgirl in love? Surely this was taboo, you might well ask, but their feelings were strong and true. Miss Kenworthy told her that eventually she would like Charlotte to become her maid, her pet maid, her live-in sub, together with Kate, her other submissive maid.
Charlotte readily agreed, although a pang of jealousy swept through her. She did not want to share Miss Kenworthy. But for now, almost all her dreams had been answered. She thanked Miss Kenworthy, and, on leaning in for a kiss, she was dizzy by the way she was welcomed.
She kissed Miss Kenworthy, and Miss Kenworthy had kissed her back….passionately.
They talked of pleasure in pain and bondage, of things they would like to do with each other and Kate. ”Trust me, you will grow to love her too,” said Miss Kenworthy.
Miss Kenworthy said she had longed to cane her, especially in her hockey skirt. Charlotte eagerly begged her to do so. She really wanted to please her.
“Oh please Mistress, please thrash my naughty bottom now very hard with your cane. I need to feel it’s biting sting,” pleaded Charlotte.
Smiling, Miss Kenworthy responded adopting a sterner voice, “ Right Charlotte, I’d be more than happy to oblige you.” Tapping a high stool next to her with her cane, she then said, “Bend over this stool.”
Charlotte readily complied, her white school knickers visible as she bent over the stool in her short hockey skirt.
Tamara admired Charlotte’s gorgeous pristine buttocks that were beautifully presented, bent over the stool in front of her.
Miss Tamara Kenworthy took down the white tight school knickers of her school girl lover, then stood to her side to take aim with the flexible rattan cane.
She thrashed her bare bottom. Cracks of rattan on soft creamy buttocks filled the air like pistol shots. Charlotte’s bottom bucked and wriggled, her screams echoed.
The black open topped Audi swept into the driveway of the large Victorian house, the attractive driver’s hair blowing in the wind. It was the hair that people first noticed -long, well groomed, and a light blonde with subtle streaks of pastel pink and lilac. It caught the eye, but the face -well, that’s what hooked you, the beautiful face. The woman had a powerful presence.
The wheels crunched on the gravel as the driver gently slowed to a halt before the magnificent gates. Made to measure for free by a grateful customer, those gates could have graced any mansion in Beverley Hills. The metals posts were curved like the canes she used on any male or female bottom willing to submit to her. The house was No. 6, and the local blacksmith had deftly secured a black metal number, inside a twisted metal circle, to the stone gatepost to the right of the driveway. Around the circle’s edge, in Latin were the words “of the best”. To those unaware of the signs meaning, it looked like a family motto, yet those familiar with corporal punishment caught the meaning of the sign right away: Six – Of The Best. She pressed her remote control and what at first looked like two separate gates moved slowly in unison to the left. With a shake of her hair, she removed the black rimmed sunglasses and drove through the opening, the gate slid silently back behind her.
A quiet, modest young man approached the car as it encircled the raised flowerbed before the double mahogany doors. He opened the driver’s door and held it open. He could not resist the temptation to stare at the driver’s perfectly proportioned body as she exited the red leather seat.
Her voice could be whatever she wanted it to be. On a first meeting it was usually correct, softly spoken English. When she was alone with her friends and staff, she reverted back slightly to her Derbyshire roots. It was the latter she used now as she addressed the young man holding her car door. “Your appearance is lovely Quin. Well done, impeccable. However my car had streaks on it this morning, and that is not acceptable. Report to room twelve at six o’clock this evening. Put your little black shorts on, nothing else. I am going to punish you for failing in your duties. I saw you look up my skirt too. You’ll get six for that. Oh, and when I answer the door, I expect you to be on all fours.” Quintin shuddered and felt his excitement mount. “Thank you Mistress.” It was, she knew, exactly what her young submissive male wanted to hear.
Her hips swayed seductively as she walked to through the mahogany doors and into the circular hallway. She stretched, and looked with satisfaction upon all that she achieved. Time for a swim, she thought, walking slowly down the glass corridor that led to her luxurious swimming pool. The gardeners watched through the windows as she shed her clothes with each step. By the time she reached the pool room she was naked, her bottom swaying ever more with each feline step she took. The delicate tattoo of a bow just above her bottom was caught in a shaft of sunlight as she bent over to dive effortlessly into the cool water. The bow was her trademark. Even her notepaper, specially made to match her hair colour, had the emblem embossed at the top centre, in rose pink.
One of her four maids tending the plants by the pool cast longing glances at the lady of the house as her lithe body traversed the length of the pool. Like all the people who worked for the woman, she was in love. “Please Mistress, may I have permission to masturbate as I watch you swim?” Such was the charm, and control, exuded by the woman in the pool. She was almost irresistible, especially to her specifically chosen submissive staff. She swam to the side silently, and with little effort. She looked into the maid’s eyes, and in a low seductive tone, replied, “Yes, you may.”
The maid lifted her crisp white apron and slid the midnight blue Edwardian dress of her uniform up to her waist. With very little dignity the maid sat at the edge of the pool, with her legs open, and let her knickers fall into the water, which amused her mistress. The lady gathered them in her teeth and pulled up to her to watch at close quarters. This excited the maid, who began to rub faster and faster.
“You are a very naughty girl.” “Oh Mistress, I’ll be naughty for you any time you want. You know that,” she said as she approached a quick intense orgasm. “Yes, I do,” was the warm reply from ruby red lips. She swam to the other side of the pool and climbed up the steps. She walked seductively, knowing the gaze of the love-struck maid was fixed to the sway of a perfect bottom.
Even the most ardent fan of the spanking scene would fail, should he or she attempt to do that bottom justice with words alone. This was a bottom that begged to be spanked, that needed to be spanked. It was a spanker’s dream. The way it responded to the slightest or harshest touch was perfect, and its owner could switch from the submissive role to the dominant role with consummate ease, and used her skills in both areas to enhance the two characters she loved to play. That bottom was her trademark asset. That bottom had earned everything she had. It belonged to the woman now strolling naked past the adoring gazes of her staff. The woman’s name? Charlotte. She had not always been this rich, or this famous. Let me tell you how it all began. This is the story of Charlotte, one of the most popular spankees in the U.K., and also a sought-after top whose legions follow her Twitter each day.
Charlotte is an intelligent woman, blessed with a warm heart and a huge amount of common sense. In her childhood this intelligence was rewarded with a scholarship. She didn’t come from a rich background -far from it -just an ordinary house on a typical estate. Born to a respectable hard working family, she knew the values of hard work and effort from an early age. Like many families, hers had problems brought about by lack of money and the stresses of daily living. But she was a bright girl, and when school offered her a chance at a better life she grasped that opportunity with both hands. Doctor? Lawyer? These were the careers her proud parents and teachers envisioned for her. So at sixteen, off she went to an expensive well-run finishing academy for young ladies. It was similar to a college or university, but with an emphasis on etiquette and refined social interaction.
She attended the school until nineteen, at which times she began to have other ideas for her future –ideas that departed from those of her teachers and parents. She knew she was smart –brilliant even. But she had a feeling that her greatest asset was her extraordinary beauty and perfect body. As she matured, she only became more exquisite. And no feature on her person matched the perfection of her bottom, which fascinated everyone –herself included. It became something of an obsession, in fact, and influenced her budding sexuality. She studied its development; even her own masturbation technique involved bobbing up and down as she lay on her hand watching her bottom move in the mirror. Then one day, she smacked it. It was like a light switch being thrown on, in her soul, and it became a regular experiment. The wobble of her cheeks, the sting, the change of colour, especially the finger marks, enthralled and excited her. She found the word spanking a lovely word. Even looking the word up in a dictionary excited her.
The Internet was younger then, but search engines soon made her realise she was not alone. Millions of others shared her interest. What a relief! She was a normal girl, with an interest in spanking. She was not yet interested in giving a spanking –dominating others would come years later -but in receiving. Her early development was that of a submissive female, and she now had a goal in life -she wanted to experience a spanking. The usual sexual fantasies were there, but this other fantasy came through almost every day, and soon began to fill every hour. She looked at bottoms, especially those of other females and tried to decide who might be a spanker, and who might be a spankee. It was a delightful pastime as she blossomed into a young woman.
Much more to come, keep an eye on my Twitter feed for updates.