Back in the day I collected spanking-oriented memorabilia. I recall the old days of the “bookstores” in the Times Square area of New York, which in the 1960’s were practically the only place that spanking related materials were sold. These were in the form of thin pamphlets printed on cheap pulp stock. They occupied space along with pamphlets devoted to three other topics– female domination, bondage, and wrestling. These were the four topics that defined kink at the time. Typically some of these pamphlets were illustrated. One such illustrator was known as “Trudy”.
Another was “Aces”
This was also the heyday of Stanton and John Willie.
The authors of the stories in the pamphlets are unknown, but a typical title might be “Kate’s Adventures in the Woodshed.” I actually have a copy of that one
And here is an excerpt:
ALTHOUGH my spanking life has covered less than a half dozen years, to write fully of it would fill the space of many volumes.
As a child, I received the regular spankings from my parents, who would smack my bottom several times, or occasionally turn me over their knee, lift my dress and warm the seat of my panties. I was ten years old before the first variation of them occurred.
When I was ten years old my parents were killed in an automobile accident, and I was taken into the country to live with my grandfather and my aunt Monica.
From that time on I was under the care of Aunt Monica, even though she was only ten years older than me. My grandfather never spanked me, but when I was disobedient, Aunt Monica would turn me over her lap, lift my dress, unbutton and take down my drawers, then spank my bare behind with a hairbrush. Although the spankings would sting my heinie, they were nothing more than what the average girl gets from her mother, and I loved Aunt Monica, regardless of them. She never spanked me unless there was a good and sufficient reason.
I was sixteen years old when grandfather died. Aunt Monica made an effort to carry on the work of the farm, but never having been familiar with anything but housework, she made a miserable failure as an agriculturist. When she tried to sell the farm, she found it impossible to locate a buyer,
It was about that time that Jeb Turner, who had been working at odd times for Grandfather, began to call around to see Aunt Monica. He was several years her senior, and rather good looking. At least, Aunt Monica thought so.
When she explained to him what she was up against regarding the farm, he suggested that the best think she could do was marry him and let him run things. I don’t know whether she really wanted to marry him, or just took his suggestion as a way out of the trouble, but two weeks later they were married.
Almost from the very first day they were married there was a different atmosphere about the farm. Within a couple of weeks Jeb was ordering Aunt Monica and I about as though he was boss of everything. Aunt Monica didn’t say anything, but I objected and soon told him just what I thought.
“For a kid, you’ve got too much to say,” he declared. “What you need is a darned good licking. And if you don’t watch yourself, I’ll take down your pants and give it to you!”
“Just you try it!” I replied. “I’d like to see some bully like you try to give me a licking.”
Jeb said nothing, but before I realized what was happening, he was out of his chair and grabbed me. I kicked and struggled desperately, but I might just as well have remained limp in his arms for all the good it did. As though handling a small child instead of a girl of sixteen, I went down over his knees, and he planted a strong left hand in the small of my back to keep me sprawled across his lap.
“Jeb, don’t you whip her!” exclaimed Aunt Monica, who rushed into the room, attracted by my cries. “Keep out of this, Monny, or you’ll get the same dose,” advised Jeb. “This fresh kid needs somebody to
take the starch out of her, and I’m going to do it.” “Jeb!” exclaimed Aunt Monica again.
But Jeb ignored her as he lifted my dress and pulled down my panties. Then he began spanking my bare bottom with his rough, calloused hand. The spanking stung fearfully, for Jeb was a strong man and he put the full force of his strength behind each smack. It was far worse than any paddling I had ever received from Aunt Monica’s hairbrush.
I wriggled and squirmed my bottom about upon his lap, but his hand struck down sharply and landed accurately each time. Aunt Monica tried to grab his arm to prevent him from continuing the spanking, but her efforts were as puny as mine had been.
He spanked me for several minutes, and my bottom had never before felt as sore as it did then.
“Now let that teach you not to try talking back to me again,” he declared as he released me so I could scamper from his knees. “The next time I take down your pants, I’ll give your backside a darned good licking with a strap!”
“Jeb, you shouldn’t have done that,” declared Aunt Monica as I backed quickly away from him, pulling up my panties and tenderly rubbing my sore heinie.
Jeb turned slowly about and looked at Aunt Monica in a stern way.
“And now I’m ready for you,” he said. “You saw what happened to Kate for being a fresh kid. That’s what’s going to happen to her every time I think she needs it, only the next time I’ll probably give her behind something to make her really yip a−bout. And if you ever try interfering again as you did this time, I’ll take you over my knee and tan your backside as I did hers. It’s time you women learned that there’s a man around this house now who’s running things.”
Aunt Monica, who was always a quiet, timid sort of person, and who had become even more so since she had married Jeb, said nothing further about the spanking I had received. But she looked at her husband with a strong fear in her eyes, as though she knew he was not making an idle threat.
I thought when he said he would give her a licking that he was just bluffing her into being afraid to say anything whenever he wanted to spank me. I knew that Aunt Monica was easily intimidated. But I soon learned that he was not bluffing.
Aunt Monica was then twenty−six years old, and I did not think it possible that a woman her age would have her bottom turned up, uncovered and spanked as I had gotten mine.
But several days later, just as I was coming out of the hen house, I saw she and Jeb walking toward the woodshed., Jeb was carrying a strap in his hand. They could not see me, but I could see them and could also hear everything that took place.
“Get in there!” Jeb commanded when he opened the door of the woodshed. “I’m going to teach you once and for all who’s boss around here. I’ve told you about arguing with me over my way of doing things, and since my talking to you didn’t do any good, maybe a few licks, of this strap across your bare backside will make you sing a different tune.”
“Jeb, you shouldn’t whip me,” declared Aunt Monica in a pleading voice as she stepped timidly into the woodshed.
“And you shouldn’t argue with me,” retorted Jeb. “So just as long as you do it, you can expect to get a licking from me. Now turn your backside around here.” .
When Aunt Monica turned her back toward him, he lifted hen dress to her waist, then stripped her panties down from her bottom, leaving her naked from the knees to the waist. He caught her under his left arm and bent her over so that her hindquarters were pointed toward the strap.
Then he began whipping her. I could see her naked bottom quiver each time the strap landed full across the two plump cheeks. A vivid red mark was left upon her heinie each time the strap descended upon her shuddering rear end. Within a few minutes her bottom was completely covered with the vicious red lines.
Jeb showed her no mercy, and took full advantage of her meek, submissive nature to whip her bare behind more soundly than I had ever known anyone to be punished.
Possessing more courage than Aunt Monica, I would have rushed in and attempted to make him stop. Several times I started to step forward, but I knew the embarrassment it would cause her to know that I had witnessed her getting her bare bottom whipped. So for her sake I refrained from interfering.
“Now are you going to stop arguing with me, or shall I give you a further taste of this strap?” demanded Jeb, as he continued to hold Aunt Monica under his arm, with her bottom turned up in a position to be easily whipped.
Her body was convulsing with sobs, which made it difficult for her to answer, but she finally sobbed out a reply.
“I’ll always do whatever you tell me, Jeb, and let you run things your way,” she answered. “Please don’t whip me anymore. Please don’t!”
I could tell from the pleading note in her voice that the whipping had pained her dreadfully. Only such a sound whipping could have caused her to humble herself that way.
−”And are you going to try interfering when I give Kate a licking?” continued Jeb.
When Aunt Monica hesitated about making a reply to that, Jeb raised the strap and brought it down sharply upon her upturned, unprotected bot−: torn, leaving another red weal across the tender cheeks.
“I’ll not interfere, Jeb,” she answered. “Please don’t whip me again! Please don’t!”
“You think I aught to take down her pants and give her a licking once in awhile, don’t you, Monny?”
Jeb continued, and made her heinie quiver anew by letting the strap rest tantalizingly on it.
“Yes, Jeb,” she answered with a sob.
“All right,” he said, releasing her. “Now pull up your drawers and get back to the house. And remember, if I hear another chirp out of you, back you’re coming here to the woodshed to get your backside whipped
“Yes, Jeb,” she answered meekly as she drew her panties slowly up over her thoroughly chastised bottom as though even the chafing of the rayon undergarment was painful.
Later on various magazine publishers occasionally tried to produce a high quality spanking magazine but it never lasted. Probably the longest lived attempt was one called Corporal. Here are some photos.
This was all before the advent of the British invasion spearheaded by magazines like Janus and Kane and before the advent of Nu-West which will be the subject of a later post.