Dana Kane Spanks
Showing 61 to 80 of 13329 blog articles.
155 views · 6 days ago

Hey so I am up front about things when you message and wanna talk.... But don't ask for pictures and then run away lol..... But when you send pics like

And you actually look this

Lol life is always great!

99 views · 6 days ago

Your biker boots make thunder on the stairs as you ascend.
My rowdy tear-free summer timeline rushes to an end.
A black unbuckled beauty now lies doubled in your fist,
Like shiny lips in frenzy for some flesh to hotly kiss.
Summer's splendor sizzles with temptation,
Luring butts to red retaliation.

92 views · 6 days ago

So today was very bad day . IAM drained and mentally messed up. But it's ok wanting some company .. but IAM sitting here alone

Fucked and Bound
473 views · 6 days ago

Awwww, the quietness in Spankocity, and lonely in my cage. Can someone tell Missy I need more water in my bowl please???

130 views · 6 days ago

I saw on here once a video of 1 girl otk over 2 guys laps. I got a phone call before i could watch it and haven't been able to find the video since...any one know the one I mean? Can you send me the link? Is sorta a fantasy of mine. Thanks!!

87 views · 6 days ago

In my younger years I lived in abject fear of "getting it", as getting-it was a North Jersey euphemism for getting hit. And "getting hit" did not mean a simple smack on the seat of your pants, but rather having your pants taken down and the belt holding them up lashed across your bare bottom until the room was filled with cries, and your ass on fire and covered in welts.

Back in that day, back in my Euro Catholic immigrant hood, corporal punishment was the rule rather than the exception for all great and small, real or imagined. As you might imagine with a face that blushed guilty regardless of whether or not I was actually involved in the caper, my angel with dirty face was often smeared in tears and my backside hued in black and blue. Now they would call that child abuse, back then it was child rearing.

At the end of my Junior year in HS, the Disciplinarian not so casually informed me that I would not be allowed to return in the Fall for my Senior year, and that a letter had been mailed to my folks stating as much. While almost all of my classmates were regaling in visions of summer off, I was having visions of belts coming off.

At 16 hovering on 17, and far too smart by half, I saw that the only course of action to avoid having my bottom pounded and beaten into hamburger meat was to stop off at the recruiter's office. In would join the Navy and see the world to escape anymore close encounters with the belt.

My folks gladly signed on the dotted line, and as soon as I turned 17 and said "I do" to Uncle Sam, my hair was shorn - and they put me right back in school, but soon after out to sea. I loved going to sea and life at sea, but ironically enough I began to miss sitting uncomfortably from a spanking, the expiation and brand-new shiney-soul feeling following a good thrashing.

I was reminded of that one day on liberty call in Hong Kong. On the way to Pinki Lo's tattoo parlor with my running mates, we passed this plate glass window of a store plastered with disciplinary women with whips, paddles and canes. My half drunk shipmates laughed and jeered - but I was transfixed by what was before me, and so began my journey back across the knee, in hopes of crossing 'the real tears threshold."

To be continued....

Fucked and Bound
48 views · 6 days ago

I want to be on holidays again,swimming in the sea. No luck getting out of my contract at work,I was told that there would be 'consequences'...jeeeezz it's like working for the Mafia.I wonder would they let me go if I ran naked down the corridors screaming 'we are all going to die'? Note to self,this is a Plan E.

48 views · 6 days ago
158 views · 6 days ago

Well i got into the forge nice and early because im short staffed at the moment and all your chains are made up, sprayed silver and ready for pick up. Now time to kick back and have a smoke methinks. When i was making the i was singing Battleship Chains by Georgia Satellites, not many know that song but its so catchy and cant get it out of my head. Well it looks like its down to me to feed the horses, ho hum.

Fucked and Bound
147 views · 6 days ago


In this lifestyle, we all know it’s about powerplay, right?

The Dom/me has the “power” over the sub and the sub has to obey and comply no matter what. … Mmh… question:

“Does that give me (the Dom) the right to do whatever I like?
Can I demand whatever I like?”

The line between “having power over someone” and “overpowering someone” is very thin! Sometimes, when I watch videos on here or read blogs, I’m flabbergasted by what some Doms demand from their subs.

I have a feeling some subs don’t know that they are entitled to say no to what goes too far. Some don’t have the courage to stand up against their Dom/me. Some people are so devoted and submissive that they just don’t think they are entitled to have an opinion. Then they take whatever the Dom/me demands or dishes out.

As a Domme I feel a heavy weight on my shoulders NOT to overpower my subs, NOT to demand things from them which

a) make no sense
b) would only suit my needs
c) would cross their lines just because it’s not a limit for myself.

Too abstract? Let me give you a simple example:

The Dom gets a turn on by having his feet kissed. But the sub’s grossed out because those feet are hairy, ugly and look like Hobbit feet. – Does he/she have to kiss those?
Would you?

(I know it sounds funny, but think about it!)

I’m not here to judge, I want to help if I can. This is why I’m writing blogs like this one. DD is not meant to hand the power over completely to the Dom/me only.

Okay, it’s not a democracy either, but
the sub’s trust is never to be betrayed!

65 views · 6 days ago

I have always had a strong need to lead, to teach and to discipline. My hubby has a strong need to serve. As @justjanie commented in a previous blog of mine, there's a lid for every pot, we were made for each other. Thanks Janie!

We've been married more than 20 years and I cannot honestly think of one time (when I was healthy), where I wasn't making the decisions. Now, this is not to suggest that he isn't capable or doesnt want to; it's just that, I need to.

When you look at our lives now - as I have been doing a lot lately, analyzing, evaluating, smiling - I am aware that I have stepped up the teaching and expectations and definitely the discipline, and we have not been more successful and happy.

If you ask him - as I have - if he likes being spanked, he will tell you "no." If you ask him why he tolerates it, he will tell you that it's because, as much as I have a need to do it, he has an even greater need to make me happy regardless of what I want. And together, we are building a stronger relationship, albeit he's often sore.

I've been asked here by several, "what's your favorite position and what's your favorite implement?" My favorite position is the only position I have ever used: him over my lap, starting off with him wearing panties and then me slipping them off him gently, never rough. I love,love, love the feel of his sexy body touching mine in this way. I love caressing his hard buns, I love stopping to inspect my work, finding areas that are still white or not quite warm enough, perhaps pulling his cheeks apart, slipping a finger in him and making him moan, playing with his mind; I love making those hard cheeks red, in fact, when they get red, I'm inspired to make them crimson, and on and on :)

My favorite implement is also the only one I have used once I stopped using my hand. It's a wooden hairbrush. It's my favorite because he bought it for me. It looks lovely on my nightstand, feels just right in my hand, it's actually quite good in doing what it is intended, but it is fabulous at helping me teach and discipline.

It's wonderful to deliver a strong maintenance spanking just before going out with friends, and while out, knowing that under his pants, he is wearing really feminine panties and has a red ass - because of me!

Why? It's so difficult to put into words because it is so within me, but the bottom line is, it turns me on, and that's what he wants :)

64 views · 7 days ago

It was after dark when my shift was over, the last punishment for the day administered and the prisoner escorted back to his cell. But I decided not to leave. I was driven by an urge I'd never experienced before. I got out the cell roster, and looked up S. Phillips's cell number. His name, I saw, was Stephen. I got my electronic key, and went onto the second floor of the prison to find him.

When I got there, I peered through the bars across the little window in the door. He was lying prone on his belly—no surprise there—muscular arms folded beneath his head. His eyes were closed, but they opened when the lock clicked open.

When he saw it was me, the terror returned to his face. "No…" he stammered. "I… you don't… I'm not getting paddled again, am I?"

I shook my head. "No. Relax. You're not going back to the punishment cell. Hopefully not ever."

He gave a deep breath, and lay his head back down. In the dim light I could see how fiery red his ass still was—I remembered the pain the night after I was paddled, so I knew what he was going through.

I went and sat next to him on the bed. "I wanted to see if I could make you feel better. It was hard to watch you get punished today."

"Don't you see lots of guys getting paddled or whipped? Isn't that your job?"

"Yes. But none of them have affected me the way you did."


"Because… I have to be honest. Something about you just connected with me. Plus, you have an amazing body."

He looked up at me. "I work out a lot. But why does that make you want to come here?"

I rested one hand on the warm skin of his back. "Because I thought I could comfort you. I couldn't have prevented you from being paddled, and I can't let you out. But I can make you feel better now." I ran my hand softly across his ass—it was hot to the touch—and slipped it between his legs, gently caressing his balls.

He moaned.

"If you don't want me to touch you, tell me, and I'll leave you alone."

He swallowed and shook his head. "No. Please, stay."

"Are you in much pain?"

He shrugged. "It's sore. But it's supposed to be, you know? That's the point."

I slipped my hand upward, and let my finger trail down the dark slot between his ass cheeks. I was rewarded with another moan, and he lifted into my caress. "Would you be comfortable lying on your back?"

He didn't respond, but raised onto his elbows, and turned over.

Now I didn't have to pretend I wasn't looking. I let my eyes wander over his smooth, well-toned body, flat stomach, golden pubes from which hung his penis, already a little thicker with arousal. I put one hand on the side of his face, ran my finger along his rough jawline, down his throat and onto his chest.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" he asked. His voice was a little breathless.

"I've never wanted anything more." My fingertips caressed his nipples, and he gave a gasp and a shudder. His cock twitched, and I reached down and lifted it. It was heavy and warm in my palm, and I could feel it swelling and stiffening.

I wrapped my fingers around it as it became erect, gave a gentle touch to the sensitive area beneath the head, already dark with excitement. He moaned again, his back arching, pushing into my touch with desperate need.

"Maybe another time we can go slower," I said. "For now, you need comfort and release."

I lowered my mouth onto his penis, letting its warm hardness move across my tongue, sucking it, stroking it. He spread his legs and his moans became deep-throated grunts of pleasure.

I took my mouth away long enough to say, "Don't hold back. Let it happen. Let go." Then I started sucking him again, tasting the salt of his precum as his orgasm neared.

He began to buck his hips, his head thrown back, his grunts mixed with throaty words, strangely similar to the ones he'd shouted while he was spreadeagled on the whipping frame, the paddle leaving burning marks on his bare ass—"Oh, god!" "Oh, fuck…" But then there was "Don't stop," and "God yes, suck me harder," and "Fuck, that feels so good…" Then his whole body began to shake, and he said, urgently, "Fuck, I'm going to come… I'm going to come…"

His cock stiffened and swelled in my mouth, and the throbbing started. Spurts of his hot semen jetted across my tongue. I continued to stroke his head and shaft with my tongue, and the pumping continued, as did his desperate cries of pleasure.

Finally, it seemed to be over. I took my mouth away from his cock, and stroked his stomach. "You had a lot of come," I said with a grin.

"I haven't been in the mood to get off in the last few days."

"I'd imagine not. Do you usually come frequently?"

He nodded, swallowed. "I don't have a partner. But I jack off twice, sometimes three times a day."

"So you really needed this."

Another nod. His penis throbbed once more, and a pearly drop of liquid dripped down the head. I slipped my mouth over it, and he pretty much had a second orgasm—his cock began to pulse again, and three more spurts of semen shot from it, and he gave more ecstatic grunts of pleasure.

"Fuck, man," he said, once it was over, for good this time. "I don't think I've ever come that hard."

"Like I said. You needed it. And if you want, I can give it to you every day."

He looked down at me. "Really?"

I slipped one finger up the shaft of his cock, still stiff and wet. "I'd suck that every day if I could."

"You won't get in trouble?"

"No one will know unless you tell them. You can have thirty days of suck-offs, if you want."

"Someone probably overheard. I wasn't exactly quiet tonight."

I laughed. "Look, you've got three floors of cells with guys in short-term solitary, almost all of whom are either awaiting corporal punishment or else recovering from it. All of them are naked. You think they won't masturbate to give themselves some comfort? And do you think they feel any need to be quiet about it?"

"I guess that's true."

"If you walk down these halls, any time of the day or night, you'll hear the noises of guys jacking off. It's gonna happen. If anyone overheard you when you came, they'd just assume you were pleasuring yourself."

"What if someone saw you entering my cell, and then heard me grunting and moaning?"

I shrugged. "Everyone here knows that guards and prisoners hook up sometimes. As long as it's consensual and discreet, we just look the other way. We're all men, we have needs and urges. Put us together in the same building, there'll be hookups."

"What would happen if you were caught? I mean, if you weren't discreet?"

"I've only known it to happen once. Guard was overheard bragging about how many men he'd had that week. He thought it was funny to tell everyone what he was doing. The authorities had to make an example of him."

"What did they do?"

"Four days later, I watched as he was flogged. To his credit, he took it like a man. I've seen guys react a lot worse." I smiled at him. "But let's talk about something more pleasant. If you enjoyed tonight, I can give you a visit every night. No reason you can't have an orgasm like that every day if you want it."

"Wow. That's fucking amazing. And you know…" He stopped, looking down at me with a little smile—the first time I'd seen him smile. Understandably enough. But his beauty once again knocked me flat—I wanted to pleasure him again, and again, but I knew he needed time to recover.


"I'd return the favor if you want."

"You want to do that?"

He nodded. "I think you're pretty hot-looking, yourself."

I shook my head with a little grin. "Not tonight. Maybe tomorrow. For today—you've had a rough day, and this was meant to bring you some relief and release and comfort. I can take care of my own needs this evening. And while I do it, I'll be thinking of you—and thinking of tomorrow."

"Me too." He turned back over onto his stomach. His penis was now hanging again from the golden curls of his pubes, but I knew that tomorrow it wouldn't take much to get it erect again. "I think now at least I'll be able to sleep."

"So will I," I said with a quiet laugh. "After I jack off, which I'm gonna do about thirty seconds after I get back to my apartment. And maybe, in a month, when you're released—if you want, there's no reason we couldn't continue to pleasure each other."

He gave me a contented grin, one that looked satisfied despite his stinging, flaming-red ass. "I think I'd like that."

"I'd better go, before I reconsider letting you suck me off. I'll see you tomorrow. Same time."

"Same time. But next time… I want to see you naked, too. If you get to see my body, I get to see and enjoy yours."

"Fair enough." I stood, walked to the door, and used my card key to let myself out. "Good night. Sleep well. And if you wake up horny, don't jack yourself off—save it for me."

Fucked and Bound
37 views · 7 days ago

Phillips's face twisted, and he closed his eyes as the punisher lightly touched his bare ass with the paddle to take his aim, then brought his arm back, and delivered the first stroke.

Our punishers make every stroke count. If you're sentenced to receive strokes, you can be sure every one will hurt. The crack as the paddle struck the young man's bare ass was loud in the silence. His body jerked (making that beautiful penis swing… dammit, keep your mind on the job!). He gave a hissing intake of breath.

One. 29 to go.

The punishers don't work fast; they are instructed to give a count of ten between strokes, as that increases the sting, and means the prisoners' punishment isn't over too quickly. A second stroke fell, and then a third. Now he was whimpering, his body jerking forward each time the paddle made contact. By the seventh stroke he couldn't remain silent—he'd actually held out longer than most, virtually every man I've seen paddled has cried out on the third or fourth stroke. But once he started making noise, it was impossible to stop himself. He started with grunts (once again making me think about having an orgasm… no, don't, I thought, or you actually will!).

At the twelfth stroke, he was crying out, pleas and obscenities, utterances of "Oh, god," or "Oh, fuck, it hurts!" or "No, no more, please!" This had no effect on the punisher; he'd heard plenty of that before. But it made me even more aroused.

At the twentieth stroke of the paddle, he dissolved into tears, and the remaining ten were received with increasingly desperate sobs. But finally it was over. He'd received his paddling, it was done, and if he was smart, he'd never find himself here again.

The punisher left silently, and the guard returned to take the young man down from the frame. Once freed, he did what everyone did—reached back and rubbed his red, stinging ass, his smooth, muscular chest rising and falling with ragged breaths as he tried to get back in control of himself. He stopped crying pretty quickly. The relief of what you'd dreaded being over with was enough to do at least that much. He fumbled with the pants, trying to close them over his ass (and covering up his crotch in the process, unfortunately). It was pointless; he'd be stripped when he returned to his cell anyway, the pants were worn only to and from the punishment cell. And as far as being naked in his cell—well, since everyone here was male, and it was standard procedure, and the cells were kept warm enough — it wasn't that big a deal.

Plus, most men don't want to wear clothes for several days after receiving punishment. I remember well enough that I didn't.

But he was able to gather them around himself at least to some extent, and the guard took him out of the room, escorting him back to his cell, where he'd spend the next month naked and alone.

And it would be at least five days before he'd be able to sit comfortably.

The remainder of my shift I hardly remember. I supervised two more whippings—one of a man who looked tough but started to cry as soon as he was strapped in to receive four dozen lashes across his bare back for resisting arrest after a street brawl. But it barely registered.

I couldn't stop thinking about that young man's exquisite body, and of the electric flash that had passed between us.

48 views · 7 days ago

It was a typical day, by which I mean I'd supervised the carrying out of sentences against eight men, in the small cell block where corporal punishment is administered. Mostly, I was there to make sure that the protocols were followed, and that the right number of strokes of the paddle or lashes with the whip were given, that the prisoners were brought back to their cells after the punishment was over, and so on. I'd been doing this job for two years, and mostly it didn't affect me one way or the other. The tears, the pleading, and the cries as each stroke landed were just part of the job.

That day, we'd had five paddlings and three whippings, so far nothing more than three dozen strokes. That was also typical. Corporal punishment was an incentive not to break the law again, and wasn't meant to leave scars, although I'd seen the whip in the right hands leave some marks across a man's naked back that wouldn't go away quickly. So all in all, an ordinary day—until the ninth prisoner walked in.

I saw on the roster that his name was listed as Phillips, S. No mention of what the S. stood for. He had been caught shoplifting three days ago, tried immediately, found guilty and sentenced to thirty strokes of the paddle and a month in jail. With this sort of thing, we don't leave men hanging, wondering when their punishment is going to be given; it's usually administered a day or two after the verdict is handed down. The anticipation of it is the worst part, might as well not prolong it.

I know this first hand. I got a punishment paddling myself when I was 19—me and two friends got picked up spray-painting an underpass. All three of us received three dozen strokes and three weeks in jail, and needless to say, none of us was in the slightest inclined to sit down for a week or to vandalize anything ever again.

So a guard unlocked the cell, and escorted S. Phillips in.

I had to stop myself from doing a double-take. This man was, in a word, gorgeous. When they're brought to receive their strokes, they're already shirtless and in loose fitting pants that open at the back—for obvious reasons. If the sentence is whipping, they're strapped to the frame like that; if it's paddling, they're strapped in, then the pants pulled open to expose their bare ass. All part of the ritual.

Anyhow, Phillips—he may have been the handsomest man I've ever seen. About my age—which is to say, 25 or so—tousled blond hair, beautifully sculpted muscles on the shoulders, arms, and chest, and a set of six-pack abs that must have been the product of months of work at the gym. His face was chiseled, with a strong jaw, a straight nose, and bright blue eyes.

Eyes which were at the moment filled with fear. As I looked at him, I could see he was trembling, and a drop of sweat trickled down his side. He was terrified, which, of course, most of them were.

I had to attend to my job, however. I read from the roster, "Prisoner Phillips?"

He said, "Yes," in a voice that was intended to sound defiant and actually made it even more obvious how scared he was.

"You were found guilty of shoplifting, and sentenced to receive thirty strokes of the paddle. Do you have anything to say before the punishment is administered?"

"No," he said, and his face twisted and his lips quivered. He was near tears, holding them back with an effort.

"Then step to the frame and prepare yourself."

I wanted to console him, to tell him that I'd been in his position and it's something you can live through. I wanted to hold him until he wasn't afraid any more. Then I realized that I wanted to hold him for another reason, to feel his warm bare skin against me, to take away his pain in a totally different way.

The guard brought him to the whipping frame, and as I watched, they strapped his wrists and ankles. By this time I had a desperate hard-on—something that almost never happened to me on the job. I'd seen one or two guys I'd thought were sexy, but no one ever had affected me like this man did.

The guard was efficient; like me, this is what he did all day. Soon Phillips was spreadeagled, his body shaking harder than ever. The hair under his arms was blond, like that on his head, and it was wet with sweat. He looked toward me, and those crystalline blue eyes locked on mine for a moment in a flash between us that felt like a bolt of electricity.

But that was when the man with the paddle came through the door into the room.

Only the higher-ups know the identities of the people who administer whippings and paddlings. It's one thing to supervise them, but another to give them, and the decision was made long ago to keep their names secret. They always are dressed the same—tight-fitting black tank-tops, sleeveless so their arms are free, black pants, and a black mask. When the man walked in, carrying a long wooden paddle, Phillips gave a little whimper and a pair of tears streaked down his cheeks.

But the people who deliver corporal punishment wouldn't be in that job if they were affected by tears. The man set his paddle down, went to Phillips, and pulled open the back of the loose pants he was wearing. The velcro fastener gave way, exposing the young man's naked ass. He then gave a downward tug on the pants to make sure they weren't going to get in the way of the paddle strokes.

I was facing him, so this also exposed the front of his body to me… and I let my eyes trail down his bare torso.

Curly, dark golden pubes, not as blond as the hair on his head, but lighter than most men's. A penis as beautifully-made as the rest of his body; long, thick, hanging downward over his balls and swinging a little whenever he moved. I let my imagination wander, thinking about what it would look like, how big it would be, if he had an erection….

Then I realized, with some discomfort, that they were waiting for me. I was distracted by the young man's beauty, distracted enough that it's amazing I didn't ejaculate in my pants. I knew I already was leaking precum, I could feel the wet spot growing and hoped it wouldn't show when I stood up.

"Um," I said. "Yes. Thirty strokes of the paddle. You may administer the punishment."

119 views · 7 days ago

getting the seat of my spanky little underpants warmed soon, can't wait!

Fucked and Bound
62 views · 7 days ago

'It's ok, I understand ....' 'I'm here if you need me'

I feel like I have said these words so many times in my life that they actually come out in autopilot.

A boyfriend...a friend...both males and females, doesnt matter the ending is always the same.

'It's ok, I understand that things are crazy since (the move,the baby,the divorce,the breakup,the new girlfriend/boyfriend,new pet,the job change etc etc etc)we can hang out when things simmer down a bit (that will never happen and I know it) I'm here if you need me'


I can count on one hand(not including my family) people that I have met/dated/become friends with in my life that have not deemed me expendable. There was no falling out because of a fight,cheating,lies (at least on my end) just suddenly I am no longer needed. I am used to being abandoned ,used,abused and tossed aside by those I trusted...its why my walls are getting pretty solid.

Truth is...
Its not ok
I dont understand
And yes,because I am who I am....I probably will be here for you if you ever need me...but you will never get ME again...

I dont know if she even exists anymore to be honest. You can only blow a balloon up once and achieve its perfect elasticity....once its deflated and blown up again it becomes weaker...this is how my heart feels anymore.

What is it about me that attracts the users and abusers? What is it about me that makes me so easy to toss aside? Is it my submissive nature that makes me expendable?

Im a fiery hot tempered Italian....I am not a doormat. I have sass for days and opinions to boot...Im am quick with the wit and dry humor but ....Im a pleaser.

Therein lies my downfall.

'What do you want to do?'
-I dunno,what do YOU want to do?
'What do you want to eat?'
-Im not picky,what sounds good to YOU?
Etc etc. Etc.

I can honestly say that making others happy makes me happy...much happier than I would be choosing the meal or activity etc. Im not picky when it comes to food and as long as I am with those I love I really could care less what we do.

Is it THIS quality that makes me expendable? Why is losing me a non issue?

Someone....anyone...please explain this to me.

488 views · 7 days ago

Okay, okay, okay… everybody come in and sit down… damnit…where did I put my papers? I know I packed them before I left home… argh…
I hate when this happens!

Class, sit down and be quiet please!

(takes the paddle and hits on the desk, waits till there is silence)

Now listen, I did prepare an exam for tonight. But it looks like… well long story short, all the papers are gone. But nevermind. I just gonna write the questions down on here. You send your answers to my inbox, please. Subject: EXAM 1

Here we go:
1) name the 10 basic rules in DD
2) name 10 DD implements
3) differ the terms Mistress and Domme / Master and Dom
4) differ BDSM from DD
5) case study: The Domme comes home after a long days’ work. She’s exhausted and
tired. When she enters the house, the sub has prepared a wonderful candle-light
dinner. But the kitchen’s a mess. What’s the Domme supposed to say/do?

Don't write a novel, but don't be too short either.
You have 20 mins... from... NOW!

176 views · 7 days ago
Fucked and Bound
96 views · 7 days ago

Hello peeps, I'm back from my punishment, and missed you guys. Gotta be on my best behavior :(

107 views · 7 days ago

Students of Spankocity!

Get your pads, pens and panties ready for class!

Bell's ringing in 20 mins!

Spanking Images