Erotic Spanking
By
Robyn
For me, spanking has always been a very erotic/sexual experience whether I am delivering or receiving one. Usually, I see spanking as a prelude to subsequent sex, but sometimes the two can be combined simultaneously if you have a patient and willing partner! There are, of course, some lucky women who are able to have orgasms purely from the stimulus of having their bottoms spanked hard. Unfortunately, I am not one of them and require additional stimulation to cum. I have been spanked and ‘finger-fucked’ on a number of occasions, and each time the combination of the two has produced wonderful orgasms. The finger can, of course, be used to stimulate both the vagina as well as the anus if the latter floats your boat!
I recently came across a lovely short video starring Zille Defeu in which she pays a visit to a ‘Mr Spanky’ to get her bottom spanked whilst he finger fucks her. It is an incredibly erotic scene, shot in semi-darkness. It takes him just over 7 minutes to make her come. Here are two collages of screenshots from the movie which is available somewhere on the internet if you care to search for it.
This scene reminded me of the first chapter of a classic Victorian erotic novel called ‘Miriam’ written by ‘Anonymous’, although Blue Moon books published it in 2004, written supposedly by an author called Patrick Henden. The novel concerns the sexual education of a 17-year old girl called Miriam by her young French teacher, ‘Mademoiselle Aline d’Arville’. She is subject to fairly mild spankings, strappings and canings designed to excite and ‘warm her up’ for subsequent sexual activities rather than to punish her. The author writes in a very erotic fashion, so I thought I would quote most of the first chapter to wet your appetite! The ebook version is now available on ‘Kobo.com’.
The first chapter is probably the most erotic as far as spanking officiandos are concerned. In this chapter Miriam first becomes acquainted with the pleasures of having her bottom spanked. After a visit to the headmistress of her school, where she is fairly lightly birched over her open drawers, she then has to report to her French mistress who spanks her bare bottom with one hand whilst she ‘twiddles’ her, with the other, ultimately bringing her to orgasm. The photographs used to illustrate the text are not in the original book.
“YOU ARE TO see Miss Collet in her study at five, Miriam.”
These fateful words being uttered to me were to change my entire life, though I knew it not. I was then approaching my seventeenth birthday—a boarding school “Miss” who often yearned for the greater comforts of home than “Grangemoor” afforded. I was a quiet girl and not given to mischief. The reasons for my having to see the Principal were therefore rather mysterious to me. I could only, however, accept with a demure nod the dictate of my French Mistress, Mademoiselle Aline d’Arville.
The glances that were cast upon me by the other girls surrounding me at that moment in the classroom filled me with a certain apprehension. One was rarely if ever sent to Miss Collet to be praised. Perhaps she had some news of home to give me? Such thoughts increased my perturbation. Apprehending this from the expression on my face, Mademoiselle d’Arville approached me again and bent over me to whisper, “There is nothing wrong. You are merely to have a lesson.”
My astonishment at this was great, for the Principal never descended to teaching herself, except very occasionally to condescend to a group of the most senior girls. I felt flattered and yet remained uneasy. In the latter respect my instincts worked well, as shall be seen.
Long did the two hours drag until the hour approached for me to present myself. Having knocked upon the door of Miss Collet’s study, I was held in waiting for several moments before it was opened by Cynthia Martin, the head girl. She was devilishly attractive, though putting on many airs and being whispered to be a distinct favourite of several of the younger teachers. She appeared slightly flushed of face and her hair awry, though at the time I put this down to my imagination. I could not help but take note, however, that two of the buttons of her dress were undone close to her bosom, and such untidiness struck me as exceedingly odd.
“You may enter. The Principal is ready to see you,” she said. Catching then my perhaps over-searching glance, she fiddled with the loose buttons and went out past me. I thereupon made my entrance very nervously and with uncertain steps, being told by Miss Collet— who was seated at her desk—to enter sharply and close the door. Upon doing so and approaching her, I noticed with surprise that a small birch lay upon the polished surface of her small writing desk, which stood to one side of the main one.
I was then put to questions about the progress of my education during the past six months of my tenure, which I thought I answered well enough. All the time, however, I had a strange feeling that Miss Collet was regarding me with a faint admixture of amusement and sadness, which quite put me out for I lost track of what I was saying.
“You appear to have made reasonable progress, Miriam, in English literature, in geography and history. Your knowledge of French, however, is sadly lacking,” Miss Collet opined to my bemusement, for I thought I had got on reasonably well with all the horrid verbs and strange words.
“Oh, but I have tried,” I stammered.
“Not enough, I fear, Miriam. I mean to give you a little lesson in applying yourself. Go to the couch there, raise your skirt to your hips and kneel upon it.”
Her words struck me like a thunderclap. I had never so much as been spanked until that moment and could not believe what I was hearing. My expression made this evident, as did the stumbling but incomprehensible words that tumbled from my lips. I believe indeed that I moved a step back from her desk, though not making to turn in the direction of the couch, which was covered in black velvet. At this her eyes narrowed and she rose.
“You will not disobey me, Miriam?”
“Oh, Madam, no, but…
“There are no ‘buts,’ my dear, when it comes to attending to a young girl’s bottom,” was the response, at which she came round her desk and took my elbow. Being thus guided to the couch, I all but fell upon it, which caused her to tut loudly.
“Position yourself properly! Full up on hands and knees with your hips and posterior bared. What pretty drawers you are wearing! They may remain on for this occasion, though I vow this will be the first and last birching you will receive through them.”
I misunderstood her words, taking it to be that I was to receive only this one admonition for sins and omissions that I felt sure I had not committed. Shamefully wreathing up my dress as she bid me to, I waited while Miss Collet walked back to the escritoire and picked up the birch. Approaching me again from the rear, she then twitched it across the backs of my thighs, which made me jerk and utter a small cry, though the twigs were softened.
“There are two lessons I have to teach you, Miriam. The first is that French verbs will be learned in all their conjugations. The second is that a well-brought-up young lady makes the least noise under the birch. It disconcerts others and merely leads to further application of the twigs. Do you understand?”
“Y… y… yes, Madam.”
“Your posture, Miriam, is appalling. You dismay me. Dip your back, girl, and make your bottom more prominent. Good heavens, has your papa never spanked or birched you?”
“Oh, no, Madam!” I ejaculated while uneasily endeavouring to obey her wishes. My body being supple, I was able to globe my bottom up to her while praying that she would accord me only the lightest strokes.
Such wishfulness was soon to be dispersed. A swishing sound, caused by the twigs passing rapidly through the air, came to my ears and then almost simultaneously I felt their burning sweep across my half-moons. So burning indeed was it that a racking cry of alarm broke from me, which I instantly attempted to muffle. My hips twitched and my bottom cheeks squeezed beneath the stretched white cotton of my drawers.
“This, my dear, is then your bottom’s christening,” said Miss Collet with what I miserably thought was a trickle of laughter in her voice, though this too I put down to my imagination. Humped over as I was, I could see naught but the inky blackness of the velvet under my eyes. It being warm to the touch, I realised with astonishment that Cynthia must have also knelt upon it. Her face had not looked distraught, however, as I felt mine did at the second sweeping of the twigs, which again caught me full across my bulge and caused me to swallow down a cry as best I could.
“AAAARGH!” The cry burst from me unwittingly, for there was no pause between the second and the third, which, if anything, basted my poor nether cheeks more fiercely and caused my hips to squirm fiercely. Already I felt as if my bottom were on fire.
“You must try to be quiet, Miriam! This is only the beginning of your teaching,” Miss Collet admonished me and thus upsetting—to my mind—what she had said before about the first and last time. Naive as I was, I did not appreciate that on all future occasions my bottom would be bared for it. It was truly my one and only with my drawers on. Such conjectures were not then, however, in my mind. I heard the outpourings of my own breath, which came in would-be muffled gasps and cries as now the birch assailed my left cheek and my right and vice versa until I was wriggling all about. Miss Collet did not, however, seem put out by this and by devious movements of her arm and wrist was able to follow my contortions so that at no time did my bottom escape the twigs but rather suffered all the more.
I sobbed, I covered my eyes, I strove to contain the urging heat and the stinging, yet I felt I could not. So insistently did the birch assail me that I thought it would never end. Only afterwards did I learn with great astonishment that I had received but a round dozen. It seemed like hundreds. Every inch of my globes sparkled with fire, while my cheeks were perfectly wet with my tears.
“Up with you now, girl, and stand!” I heard of a sudden, and even though I felt I could not move, I was minded at least to escape that awful swishing and so somehow scrambled to my feet with my skirt all awry about my waist. I made indeed to tug at it, but a sharp sally of the birch across my right wrist caused me to cry out and desist.
“When you are told to stand, you stand!” Miss Collet admonished me. I could see her but through a veil of tears. My hips wriggled. I could not help myself. Standing before me, she appeared to drink in all that she saw, from the tips of my boots to my white stocking tops and the lightly swelling columns of flesh that rose up from them.
“You will continue to stand so for a few moments while I attend to some papers,” I was told. I found it difficult to do so. Above all I wanted to clutch at my hot bottom and squeeze the cheeks gently to try and rid them of the awful stinging. Afraid that I might get another swishing, however, I stood as still as I could, being very conscious of my skirt all drawn up and my legs showing.
For long, long moments I was ignored while the Principal, seated again at her desk, perused I know not what accounts or reports, though she appeared to do so with eagle eye, her pen now and again twitching across a sheet of paper as though to correct what was written.
After a seeming eternity, she raised her eyes to me again. My tears had dried. A warm glowing was slowly announcing itself in my bottom cheeks as the stinging sensation receded. Again she appeared to weigh me up. Then, appearing satisfied, she nodded.
“Restore yourself neatly, Miriam, and report now to Mademoiselle d’Arville,” she said.
Only too glad to escape her presence, I made such a half-bow, half-curtsey as she ever expected of us, covered myself, and blundered to the door. Was I now to be chastised again, or admonished, by Mademoiselle? I could not understand it. She had always been most proper and friendly with me and had rarely chided me herself for my shortcomings in trying to learn her language.
The corridors were by then deserted, for most of the pupils were resting just before the evening meal. Happy not to be seen in my present state, I made my way upstairs to Mademoiselle’s quarters where—seemingly listening for my approach—she immediately opened the door and waved me within. It was not a room I had entered before, being a small but rather prettily furnished one with a bedroom adjacent.
“You have been attended to, then?” she asked me, seating herself. I nodded, but then remembering myself said as quietly as I could that indeed I had been.
“Come here, then. Stand sideways before me.”
This curious injunction being obeyed, I found the side of my knees touching her own.
“Is your bottom still warm?” she asked, the question throwing me so off balance that I knew not what to reply.
“You are shy?” She laughed. “Come now, we must have no shyness. You have been initiated—that is all. It happens to many of the girls here. Let me see, Miriam. Draw your skirt up and loosen the ties of your drawers.”
I was aghast at her request to thus exhibit my shame. The glowing in my cheeks reached deep into me and there was a tingling, too, which caused me still to stir my hips. I wanted least of all to be looked at then.
“Miriam—obey me!” she snapped, though in a voice that was always exceedingly attractive and a trifle “throaty” by reason of her accent.
I gulped, I swallowed. My skirt being drawn up once more, my fingers trembled about the ties of my drawers, which, being loosened slowly, made a tremulous descent down my thighs. Creasing about first at my knees, they appeared to hesitate and then as with a silent sigh cascaded to my ankles. My bottom was now bared to her, in profile.
Biting my lip I felt the lightest of butterfly touches as her fingertips assailed the pert mound.
“Yes, it is warm indeed,” she murmured. “You were told to stand still afterwards?”
“Yes, Mademoiselle.”
“It is the simplest and yet the best of lessons. You must not forget it, though you may not always be required to get up. The same injunction to be still will obtain if you are kneeling or bending over. You must never spring up. Do you understand? Tu comprends?”
“Yes—oui—Mademoiselle.” I quivered, however, as I said it, for her palm had now cupped my bottom as much as it was able to and pressed gently upwards into the quivering, warm flesh. Extending itself, her thumb brushed suavely into my groove, making me start as it expanded the cleft.
“Still—always be still, until you are taught otherwise. Look straight to your front—neither up nor down. It is I who will progress you now.”
These words being said to me filled me with utter astonishment. I was minded for a minute to turn my face to hers, but remembered myself in time. Receiving a nudge then from her knees, I was forced to move a little sideways while she rose from her chair and stood close to my hip. Her hand encompassed the lower bulge of my bottom still.
“It throbs a little, Miriam, does it not, and yet the heat pervades you rather more pleasantly now than it did hitherto when you were under the twigs. That is in part their purpose. It is I who must bring you up more, for that is my duty. You are already past an age at which many pretty young girls have been birched, strapped, caned, or spanked, and then twiddled. Keep your dress well up in front, Miriam. Higher!”
“Oh!” I exclaimed softly, receiving a distinct pinch at my posterior from her thumb and forefinger. Inching up my dress, I exposed myself to my navel while wondering why I must do so.
“That is good. You are displayed now, my dear, as you often must be after a bottom tanning, light as I suspect it was, for your sweet cheeks are scarcely bleared now with red. Keep your chin up and move your ankles further apart.”
So saying, and while I shuffled my feet uneasily in obeying, she placed her free hand under my chin. I indeed felt then “on display.” Tears glittered in my eyes. I had never so parted my legs before, even before my mirror. My drawers were stretched by my ankles to bursting point.
“I am going to ask you several questions now, Miriam. At each I will give you a sharp smack. Whether you receive a second immediately after will be dependent on the speed and truthfulness of your responses. Now, girl—did Miss Collet hurt you?”
SMACK!
“AAAAH!” I gasped, for even though she had warned me, the quick slapping of her palm into my resilient cheeks stung me bitterly. “Y… y… yes!” I blathered and then SMACK! again, and still my chin was held and I was forced to gaze frontwards, away from her.
How rapidly the mind works in such circumstances! It is said that one’s whole life flashes before one while drowning. I can quite believe it, for in but a fraction of a second—-indeed the time between two smacks, as it were—I knew my errors. I had been untruthful. Miss Collet had stung me dreadfully with the birch, but she had not actually hurt me.
“No-woh!” I sobbed, this appearing to satisfy Mademoiselle, who then asked me, “When you entered my room, was your bottom still stinging?”—“Yes! no!” I choked, and just quickly enough to avert another smack. “Did you not feel pleasure, Miriam—a little at least—in the aftermath?”
“Oh, I…” I began and SMACK! How her palm did sting! My bottom cheeks wobbled and burned. My legs being apart, I could do no other than jerk my hips forward in receding from the smack. “Yes, yes!” I sobbed and—lo—then only did the truth burst upon me, for in making my way along the corridors all pain had receded and I recalled feeling a pleasurable though faintly stinging glow…
Once more now Mademoiselle cupped my bottom tightly. So much so that my heels rose a little off the carpet and I teetered, though held in front still ‘neath my chin.
“What a pretty filly you are,” she chuckled and so reminded me that I was all but being held like one. “Now I shall ask you a further question, Miriam, and you will again answer it upon the instant. When your bottom has been heated, do you not wish to press it into something, as for instance my hand?” So saying her left hand moved down swiftly from my face and laid its fingers delicately spread beneath my Venus mount where the springy curls impressed themselves upon her touch. “Y… y… yes!” I gritted, for I recalled also my desire to hold myself after Miss Collet had birched me. Now I was even of a greater tremble, for Mademoiselle’s forefinger at the front had laid itself slyly upwards until it nudged the lips of my cunny.
“You are moist. That is to the good. What a delightful girl you will be to play with,” she murmured. I had not recovered from the remark, nor my conflicting emotions and sensations, when both her hands dropped away from me, leaving me feeling utterly bereft. Remembering myself, I took care not to lower my dress at front or back, though I feared a little any further attentions to my bottom.
Circling me slowly, Mademoiselle drank in the shamelessness of my revealment.
“You are a little above average height, which is pleasing. Your legs are long and support your bottom nobly. Take care of your figure well so that your waist remains slender for by doing so you will give greater allure to the curving of your hips. Your bottom is deeply cleft and your cunny nicely furred. In all you are a perfect treasure. What a shame that you have not been spanked and twiddled before this, but your pleasures are all to come. You understand what I am saying?”
“Tw… tw… twiddled, Mademoiselle?” I stammered, for the term was new to me.
“By heating the bottom, Miriam, the hips are made to jerk, back and forth. The tummy ripples with pleasure. The legs being kept apart, as I have instructed you now, you are perfectly displayed. It is at such moments that your cunt may be teased a little with the finger while your bottom is rebounding from the smacks. Thus you will be brought to pleasure.”
“Oh, Mademoiselle!” I could not help ejaculating, for I had never dreamed to hear the like of this.
A soft, husky laugh then came from her. Approaching me once more while still I held my posture, she cupped her palm more frankly beneath my cunt, pressing up to it gently while the heel of her hand moved back and forth, so causing me strange and sickly-sweet sensations such as I could never hope to describe.
“Like this, you little darling,” she murmured and therewith, rubbing her thumb all about my spot, began smacking my bumptious cheeks lightly. At every one I uttered an “OOOOH!” for I was now subject to two sensations back and front. “Lean your head back and kiss me,” she purred, “or I will smack you the harder.”
I did so. I could not help myself. How soft and liquid was her lovely mouth, for she was no more than ten years senior to me. Her smacks increased, not in ferocity but in speed, as did the movements of the ball of her thumb, which made my clitoris swell and distend. I could scarce catch my breath. The tip of her tongue touched my own. I all but swooned, SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! her palm sounded on my hot cheeks.
“Ah, it is lovely. Wriggle your bottom, my sweet, for soon you will be taught to do so to even greater pleasures. Bend your knees a little. Give me your tongue!”
My bottom was now so hot that I scarce knew what I was at save that a certain delirium seized me. Our tongues flicked, my hips jerked. I felt that I was melting. Twisting the upper part of my body about I clung to her. I quivered, I sobbed, SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! Then I erupted, I came. The salty liquid of my treasure pot leapt in trembling streams over her fingers.
I was converted.
In the absence of a ambidexterous spanker, there are a range of other possible way of combining spanking with sexual stimulation. A while ago, I posted a piece entitled ‘Birching and Orgasms’ in which a spankee sitting astride a narrow spanking horse can grind her pussy against the ‘saddle’ as she bucks, wriggles and writhes in response to the stinging stokes of a birch. Recently I came across an image of a rather ingenious looking spanking horse equipped with a conveniently positioned rubber ‘knob’ for the spankee to rub herself on, I believe it to be a vibrator, called a ‘magic wand’, although a suction dildo attached to the seat of the horse might be even better. It would be nice to have one of these, but it’s a bit big and cumbersome to have in your house and clearly not easy to disguise from the wandering eyes of uninitiated vanilla visitors.
To finish off, here is a collage from the work of Red Charls (the photographer featured in my story post ‘Suspended and whipped’) showing a woman spanked firmly bent astride a man’s hard, hairy knee. Clearly such a position would provide ample opportunity for the woman to stimulate herself, enabling the spanker to concentrate on spanking her rather lovely petite French derriere! The bottom image clearly shows the woman very relaxed, loving the treatment she is receiving!
