#corporal punishment

[incognitopolls]

We ask your questions anonymously so you don’t have to! Submissions are open on the 1st and 15th of the month.

[mapsontheweb]

Legality of corporal punishment in schools in the United States

[conurecc]

nothing like citing bible verses while justifying child abuse

ain't no hate like christian love

curiously the majority of states that allow for corporal punishment in school (read: literal child abuse) are run by Republicans

& this remains the most accurate meme i ever made

[disciplinariansir]

caning

[deniedbetahusband4]

[spankthegirl]

what a naughty girl!

[newyorkspanker]

Katherine's First Punishment Spanking

[audhdnight]

Spanking is to parenting what prisons are to criminal justice. Allow me to elaborate:

What does spanking do? “It teaches kids to behave!” Actually, no. It teaches kids to fear their caregiver(s). But say we go with that line. How does spanking teach kids to behave? “It shows them the consequences of bad actions!” Actually, no. It shows kids that when the caregiver is displeased, the kid gets hurt. In the mind of the child, the sequence of events is not [misbehave:consequence]. It is [caregiver unhappy:pain]. And maybe you’ll say “But my kid stopped mouthing off after I started spanking them for it”. Okay, sure. Maybe they stopped responding when you argue, but only because the learned to fear what their response would bring. They’re not holding their tongue because they realized it’s disrespectful or rude or whatever else you believe it is. They’re holding their tongue because they know it won’t do any good and will only make the situation worse for them. I can guarantee they are still thinking all those rebellious naughty talk-backy thoughts. They just aren’t saying them out loud. Spanking did not teach your child to behave, it taught them to walk on eggshells.

Similarly, prisons do absolutely nothing to enforce laws. Prisons do nothing to fix the real crimes that do get committed. A shooter or rapist or embezzler being incarcerated does not bring their victim back to life, un-traumatize them, or make reparations for any damages. Additionally, it makes life a living hell for the innocent people who end up in jail (OF WHICH THERE ARE A HELL OF A LOT). And maybe you might say that the point of prison is to encourage good behavior, because no one wants to go to jail. I would ask, then, why there are so many prisons, of which so many are full or overcrowded. Clearly, the threat of incarceration is not keeping people out of jail. Additionally, much like a child who was spanked being afraid to do normal things in their own home for fear of displeasing their caregiver, regular non-criminal people are afraid of prison, even though they have done nothing wrong. They know they could be incarcerated because of falsified evidence, biased testimonies, unfair trial, or simply bigotry. Especially people of color. Even though they haven’t done anything wrong, they are scared of what could happen to them if the person in power (police) was unhappy with them.

Negative consequences unrelated to the actual incident do not discourage “bad behavior”. Just like a child who is spanked will simply learn to be sneakier, a thief who goes to jail will simply cover their tracks better next time.

Stop spanking your kids, and abolish prisons. Have a nice day.

[incognitopolls]

Psychiatric help could include medication, therapy, institutionalization, etc.

Hitting or hurting could include spanking, yanking arms or hair, etc.

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[mapsontheweb]

Laws in 16 U.S. states explicitly allow educators to use corporal punishment on students as a form of discipline.

[3amfanfiction]

Father MacTavish

Johnny MacTavish x you Synopsis: Nothing but religious vibes (gross) sorry guys. Father MacTavish is fed up with you flaunting yourself at every opportunity. He decides it's time for you to be shown how to be properly pious. Cw: power imbalance, religion, corporal punishment, dubcon, oral, shoe humping. This is definitely a case of another cake so thank you to everyone who's written lecherous priests before me.

Father MacTavish was a handsome sort. With his bright blue eyes and the way he filled out his dark vestments he knew he drew the eye of his followers—men and women alike. He both welcomed it and tried not to take advantage at the same time.

Even still, he had been known to slip. He was only human after all but as the Good Lord said, we are all worthy of forgiveness for our sins. We must simply ask.

He tried to remember his own mortal failings and to be gentle on his parishioners when they inevitably fell to temptation. Whether that be envying a neighbor's sudden windfall or taking the Lord's name in vain, he tried to be lenient when they told him of their sins. Tried not to lose his temper on his flock that was his to lead.

That all went out the window when someone had temerity to throw themselves at him though. Him, a man of the cloth, and some trollop wanted to be lewd in his presence? Wanted to flash an unseemly amount of thigh when they crouched down to pick up a fallen piece of paper, their breasts pushed up to their neckline in an effort to entrance him?

No. He wouldn't abide by it.

Some things simply went too far.

He drew you aside one day after the sermon, ostensibly to speak about an upcoming program the church would be putting on in the coming months. You had always been eager to help with any functions the church hosted and this time was no exception.

"Father, how can I help you?" Temptation is the sign of the devil.

"If you're not too busy my dear, I was hoping you could come by tomorrow evening? There's some logistical help I need and I know you'd be just the person for the job."

"Of course, Father MacTavish. You know I'm always available for anything you might need."

You smiled up at him, eyelashes fluttering around your pretty eyes. Even now you worked to entrance him. Temptation and lust rolled into a single pretty package attempting to sharpen your teeth on him.

"Wonderful, come find me when you get here and we'll get this all straightened out properly. Enjoy the rest of your day, my dear."

That night he prayed for the Lord's guidance as in all things. He knew he was prone to mortal failings like the rest of his flock and so looked to the Lord for assurance.

He thought back on the way your plump hips had pressed against the thin fabric of your skirt, the line of your panties showing you had forgone your slip when dressing for the day. Such immoralness filled him with emotion and he was reassured he was on the correct path.

It was his job to guide his flock out of the darkness and into the light. Satan was clearly digging his fingers into you if this was how you acted in a house of God. He wouldn't let your soul suffer eternal damnation when he could save you with a bit of discomfort now. Ending his prayer he was filled with a sense of resolution.

It was settled then.

The next evening saw you walking into the empty church in another tantalizing dress. The flowing skirt ended right at your knees, giving glimpses of your thighs with each step, a siren call of harlotry. Had you no shame? Flaunting yourself in front of a priest. It was another sign that you needed him. Needed him to guide you.

"Father MacTavish, I'm here as you requested," you chirped. "How can I help?"

Guiding you towards the alter he watched as you took in the rice spread across the ground, generous handfuls thrown against the shining wooden floor, laying in wait.

"It's how I can help you, my lamb. You've fallen to perversion and as the shepherd of your immortal soul, it is my responsibility to guide you back to the light. Now, now," he hushed you with a raised hand as you started to protest, "I know the truth of it and I care not for how it came to be. My only concern is where we go from here."

He watched you struggle, clearly wanting to argue but too cognizant of your respective standings to put up much fuss. There were glimpses of a true, pure spirit under the cover of your prurience. He would soon have it shining for all to see.

He watched as you acquiesced, having mentally run through all the arguments you could make and his likely rebuttals. This was his duty to you and he would see it through, no vacillation would change his mind.

Finally, you sank to your knees, kneeling on the grains of rice with a wince.

"You may begin your prayers, my child. I'll be here with you."

As you clasped your hands and began your recitation, he watched you. He watched the way your chest rose and fell with each breath, the way you shifted on your bed of rice, trying to find a comfortable position but each shift only making it worse, the way your face crinkled in discomfort, voice hitching with a shuddering exhalation of your words.

Even now you maintained your aura of enticement.

He began to have a reaction of the body, his cock thickening and pressing against the placket of his pants. He widened his stance, giving himself some relief from the pressure. The church was silent aside from your words, the cadence of them lulling him into a familiar headspace.

It was jarring when it was broken.

"Father, how much longer am I to pray?" you pleaded, looking up at him with watery eyes from the continuous pain of the hard grains pressing into your delicate skin, voice slightly raspy after your lengthy prayers.

"Even now you try to beguile your way out of a required lesson." Disappointing. He had had higher hopes for you. "I had prayed this would be enough for you to see the wickedness of your ways but if I must go further then I will. I won't shirk in my duty to your soul, my child."

With a world-weary sigh he moved behind you, fiddling with the front of his pants as he went. He dropped to his knees, chest to your back, and placed heavy palms on your shoulders holding you steady.

Pressing firmly into your back, he said, "Just know this doesn't bring me any joy. This is the Lord's decree and I carry it out as I carry out all my tasks. With surety that my actions will ensure your place in our Father's home when the time comes."

Sliding his hands down he came to a stop along the outsides of your thighs. Grabbing fistfuls of your skirt he began to lift.

"Father MacTavish!" you yelped, hands dropping to try and keep the fabric in place.

"Continue your prayers, child," he dropped his gathered handfuls and reached out, encircling your wrists with warm, thick fingers before moving your hands back to your front to be clasped again. "The sooner you properly repent, the sooner your lesson will end."

He pressed his palms to your hips, waiting until you shakily restarted up your prayers before tugging your skirt upwards once more, pausing each time you did. He looked down as the soft fabric raised above your backside, smooth skin covered by a thin pair of panties—all that was keeping you from him.

Your voice stuttered to a stop as he dipped his hand between your thighs, stroking from your clit through your dampening slit, your underwear slowly darkening as he pressed it ever so slightly inside of you before withdrawing. You squealed in shock as he pulled back to swat a quick palm to your swelling clit.

"Why must I keep repeating myself? What is it I told you to do?"

"Y—you told me to keep praying. Father." you stuttered, tongue tripping over your words in your shock.

"And did you forget the words to your prayers?"

"No, Father."

"Then continue."

As you once more began to recite your orisons he returned to his stroking—a steady draw from clit through slit, the gusset of your panties all that separated him from your skin. Your warmth radiated through the fabric now dark with slick. A wet rasp heard during the lulls of your speech as he dragged his strong fingers over the cloth.

You were soaked by the time he deigned to pull them to the side and repeat his actions, this time dragging through damp curls before your plump lips spread around the tip of his fingers—nothing to shield your most intimate place from him.

He restrained himself at first—never pushing inside, just a slow drag of skin against skin as he spread your wetness across your folds. You squirmed in place, caught between the pain of kneeling and the pleasure he was providing. A hitching of your hips before a shuffling of your knees.

Your gasped protests as he eventually sunk his finger in to the knuckle did nothing to deter him. If anything, the resultant wave of heat that made its way through his body confirmed he was on the right path. He must show you the sins of the life you were leading.

It was his duty.

One finger quickly became two became three. He pressed and caressed, stroking along the delicate skin of your insides, fingers catching on a sensitive spongy bit that had a strangled gasp slipping from your lips. He played you like a harp—never ceasing, never faltering.

Your slick dripped down to his wrist by the time he deemed you suitably prepared. Holding your panties to the side he notched his tip against your opening and pressed inward, his fingers clenching and tugging at your dress where they were clutched at your hips. He struggled to maintain his composure at the feel of your wet heat. The slick press of you stroked along the sensitive skin of his cockhead, stirring him to greater heights with every centimeter gained.

"I cant, Father MacTavish it's too mu-ch!" you ended on a yelp as he took your distraction to push in another inch, drawing back and pressing forward in a sawing motion, teasing you with the possibility that he might seat himself fully each time. Your slick covered his cock, allowing each subsequent stroke to glide more smoothly than the last.

"This is to be your lesson. When you act like a whore you will be treated like a whore. You worked so hard to draw my eye and now you have it," he asserted with a curled lip.

Pushing firmly one last time he pressed his hips to your backside, sliding deeply inside you as he kissed your cervix. Tears fell from your eyes in sheets, a constant outpouring at the overwhelming sensations as you scrambled for purchase.

"I do this to save your soul, child, now be a good lamb and take it," he snarled and snapped his hips into you with force, a smack sounding with each meeting between the fat of your backside and his pelvis. He maintained his rhythm for a few moments before coming to a standstill, pressed deeply inside of you.

"I don't believe I told you to stop your prayers," he sighed. "This reminding is becoming quite tedious."

He reached down and pinched harshly at your clit causing you to squeal and attempt to buck up, away from his grip. He followed along with you, keeping an unyielding grip on the sensitive bundle of nerves. If you'd been crying before you were downright sobbing now.

"I'm sorry Father, it's just . . . it hurts. The rice hurts."

"If your dress wasn't the length of a whore's then this wouldn't hurt nearly as much. You would've had a soft layer between you and the rice but you wanted to flaunt yourself in God's house."

Sniffling, you started up once more—a hitching recitation echoing off the ornate walls of the church, the only sound beside the rasp and clap of skin on skin.

He made a game of it. He knew he shouldn't, that this was a lesson for his one of his flock and not something he should be using to entertain himself but he found himself falling into a pattern. He would pick up a steady rhythm of thrusts—allowing you to catch your breath and for your speech to take on a steady cadence before driving forward with vigor, punching into you with sharp, biting thrusts causing you to lose your breath and your place. He wanted to see if you could maintain your composure through your trials.

You hadn't yet.

It was during one of these stretches that you began to tense up, pushing back to meet him with each drive of his hips as if you were chasing something of your own. With a reedy cry you came, squeezing around him rhythmically as you stuttered to a stop, too caught up in the sensations to continue speaking.

He froze—a thunderous look crossing his face.

"Did you just find release around my cock?" he hissed in shock. "And I thought we had reached the end of your depravity."

He didn't give you time to plead your case, resuming his thrusting and ignoring your pleading as he pressed through your over-stimulation and built you back up towards another release. He clenched his hands on your hips, your dress crinkling between his fingers.

With each firm pull back onto his cock the fabric of along your chest pulled taut, inching downward towards where it was being tugged. You choked as the fabric finally gave way, sinking down below your breasts to allow them to spill out of the low neckline. Your lack of bra ensured they swung madly to his tempo.

You were just beginning to flutter around his length, muscles dancing to a beat only they knew, when he stopped completely and pulled out, ignoring the breathy what? you squeaked out.

Pulling back, his thick cock fell to the side, smearing your wetness against his furred thigh and trousers as a heavy plap was heard. Rising with a grunt he moved around to your front, looking down at you kneeling on your bed of rice. What a picture you made. Your breasts spilled over the top of your dress and your face was shiny with tears, eyes red-rimmed and glossy.

Beautiful.

"Oh my child, look at what a mess you've made of yourself." He reached out to wipe away a tear, "I know this must be difficult but we must preserver through our trials in order to find the Lord's grace. Now—open," he commanded, tapping the tip of his cock against your tear stained lips, "and put that provoking tongue out."

You sniffled and opened your mouth, hesitantly sticking out your tongue as he'd commanded. He waited and watched as drool collected and then dropped off the tip. Pressing forwards he dragged his sensitive head along the muscle. He sighed in relief at the sensation, teasing himself with a side-to-side caress before he slid into your heat.

He bit back a groan as the wet sensation swallowed him, watching as you made a slight face at the combined taste of you. He rocked himself forward gently, allowing you to get used to the sensation before slowly deepening his strokes.

Slowly sliding down to the back of your mouth, he held there for a moment, letting the drool gather as you fought not to gag around his length. Your lips were smooth where they had stretched wide around his girth, jaw mostly likely already aching.

Pulling back he let you catch your breath, swallowing and coughing as you received unobstructed access to air. He caressed the side of your face gently.

"You look so beautiful like this," he hummed, "practically angelic. Do you feel you have learned your lesson? Have you come to understand God's will?"

When you nodded furiously he smiled fondly and slid his foot forward, shiny black shoe coming to rest comfortably between your spread thighs.

"I am not completely without compassion, my child. Go ahead, you may use my foot to bring yourself to release while you continue."

It wasn't surprising how quickly you shifted to rest your covered center over the tip of his shoe, mouth opening as you leaned towards him, looking to have him in your mouth once more.

He reached out to hold onto the sides of your head, guiding you to his preferred tempo as you humped shamelessly on his foot. He knew his shoe would be shined slick by the time you were done.

After having teased himself for so long it was no shock how quickly his own release was on him. He held onto it with gritted teeth as he watched you climb towards your own high once more, waiting out your convulsions before pulling back to paint your breasts with his spend. He watched them glisten, dripping white as he caught his breath.

Tucking himself away he helped you to your feet, tweaking your nipples before he pulled the fabric of your dress up over them once more, covering the evidence of his release with the cloth.

He wiped your tear-stained cheeks with fondness, "There, there, no need for further tears. It's over and done with, my child, nothing further to worry about."

He guided you to the entrance of the church after you had composed yourself, eyes still puffy and red-rimmed but clear. He kept a hand placed low on your back to steady you.

"I trust you've learned the errors of your ways?" When you nodded firmly he smiled warmly. "Good. Then be at peace in the Lord's forgiveness."

He ushered you out of the church and closed the door behind you, never knowing you were mentally going through your dress options, already planning on a shorter length for this Sunday's service.

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[the-heaminator]

It would be greatly appreciated if you tools me the culture you're from and the age they started/stopped doing it to you.

[newyorkspanker]

Ribbon12 is Spanked for Lying Part 1

It was hot downstairs, so Tiler volunteered to get a fan that she claimed she saw upstairs. While I was waiting downstairs for her I noticed she was taking a long time to come back down. So in the end I found out that she was using that time as an opportunity to hide my implements and there was not any fan in the house. So I punished her for lying to me. In part 1 I use my hand only.