The Art of Petticoat Punishment by Carole Jean

Part 12 - Bill Ward

From his 1946 ‘good girl art’ in ‘Torchy the Blond Bombshell’ and his cartoons beginning that same year in ‘Humorama’ to his death in 1998, Bill Ward’s art has graced men’s magazines. A small part of his work is on the topic of Petticoat Punishment and that is often distinguished by such extreme images as surgical body modifications. However, he was so prolific that even a small part of his work represents hundreds of drawings.

Bill Ward graduated from the Pratt Institute, a commercial art school in Brooklyn, in 1941. He worked for Jack Binder drawing backgrounds for Fawcett comic books. In 1942 he moved to Quality Comics and when Reed Crandall was drafted, Ward took over drawing the Blackhawk comic. He was drafted himself in 1942 and began drawing ‘Ack-Ack Amy’. Reincarnated as a blond, she became Torchy Todd and soon was appearing in army newspapers across the country.

Upon his release from the army in 1946, Ward rejoined the Quality Comics Group with such artists as Will Eisner, creator of The Spirit, and Reed Crandall. Ward’s Torchy the Blond Bombshell began in Doll Man Comics in 1946. Ward said that she was modeled after Anita Eckberg with legs from Betty Grabel and eyes from Anne Sothern. She got her own book in 1949. Ward was so busy drawing romance comics that he shared art and story responsibilities on Torchy with Gill Fox. Torchy was listed in Dr. Werthan’s ‘Seduction of the Innocent’ as ‘unfit’ and was cancelled after a six issue run. These six comics are among the definitive examples of ‘good girl art’ and the first issue in mint condition sells for over $1000.
Here are the covers to these six books. Ward drew number one and six. He redrew the first cover for me a few years ago and I have included a copy of it.

These books featured teasing pin up images of Torchy, an innocent. Contrast this 1949 peeping Tom theme from Torchy with the 1967 ‘Strange Mood’ for After Hours Books and the even more extreme 1992 ‘Scorchy’ for Forbidden Fruit Comics.

The earliest Ward Petticoat Punishment art I have found is from ‘Madam Noclaire’s Torture Botique’ for Eros Goldstripe in 1971. If you know of any earlier work by Ward on this topic please let me know. (‘Botique’ is their misspelling not mine. As I have said, I will not correct the original errors in spelling, grammar and punctuation. However, if you spot any errors in my own writing please let me know so that I may correct them).

The book is about a dominant woman, her maid and a well-hung delivery boy.

"Hurry, Colette, bring me my most expensive black kids, and my highest heeled boots, that darling little grocery boy should be here shortly," the ravishing Madame Noclaire instructed.

"You mean ze leetle boy with ze beeg peenis," Colette giggled.

"That's right, pet, I feel it my duty to punish any boy who so blatantly wears skin-tight jeans to show off to the world how huge his penis is."

"But Madame," the maid said. "He's such a sweet leetle boy. He probably doesn't even realize zat he possesses a peenis zat weel make many women happy in years to come."

"But don't you understand, pet? I can't wait for years to come. I want zat peenis, as you call it, NOW."


"I'll take the groceries, young man," she said cheerily as she saw him standing there holding a well filled bag, an expression of disbelief on his face as he drank in the wanton vision before him. "Good gracious, why do you look so startled? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"I-I ain't never seen no ghost like you, Mam," he managed to blurt out, the bulge in his jeans showing signs of life as it swelled to awesome proportions.

"Oh I see-e-e," she laughed, her lovely eyes widening when she saw the great protrusion in his jeans. "I completely forgot that I had on the costume that I'm wearing to the artists and models ball tonight. . .but why on earth would a costume on a fat old lady like myself affect a child of your age?"

"I-I ain't no child," he stammered as he stood rooted to the spot, his knees trembling. "And you sure ain't no fat old lady. . . you gotta fantastic shape."

Her eyes slitted fiercely as she snapped." Do you do that to ALL of the housewives you deliver to, young man?"

"D-Do what?"

"Comment on their shapes while you expose an erection to them." She pointed a gloved forefinger at the lump in his jeans.

"Oh jeeze!" he exclaimed as he gaped down at his erection. "I didn't mean nothin!"

"What's the phone number at the grocery store?"

"Oh you wouldn't tell Mr. Jones," he cried, tears beginning to streak down his cheeks. "He'd fire me. It was the only job I could find in town. . . l had to quit school cause my mother's sick in the hospital, and I ain't got no father."

"Well you should have thought of that before you did this terrible thing, young man," she said icily. You do realize that you must be punished,"

"Y-Yes, but I need the job."

"Well I wouldn't want your poor mother to suffer for what you've done."

"P-Perhaps you could punish me. . .t-then I could keep my job."

"I hadn't thought of that."

"Sure, you could spank me, and then everything would be O.K."

"I'm afraid what you have done deserves quite a bit more punishment than that, child."


"Madame, he ees positively beautiful," Colette exclaimed.

"Yes he is, isn't he," her mistress replied thoughtfully as she examined his finely chiseled features. "Too beautiful for a boy, wouldn't you say?"

"Ou-la-la...he WOULD make zee beautiful girl," Colette shrieked. "But no one could mistake heem for une femme wiz zat beeg Eiffel Tower een hees trousairs."

"Exactly, pet," Madame Noclaire smiled. "The contrast should be devastating; something for everyone, so to speak. . .quickly, let's undress him."

Experienced feminine fingers flicked here and there, divesting a disbelieving Johnny of his garments.

"Oh my-y-y," Madame Noclaire said. "This promises to be quite a day...quickly, Colette, bring me a pair of long black kids, stiletto heeled black pumps, back textured hose' and that divine little black lace corselet that laces up in the back.

"Hey," Johnny exclaimed, the realization sinking in of what they were about to do, "you ain't gonna dress me up as no girl!"

"Alright, if that's the way you want it," Madame Noclaire said haughtily. "Colette, phone the grocery store and tell the owner that I want him here toute suite."

"Oh NO," he cried out. "Don't tell Mr. Jones. . .dress me any way you want."

The cross dressing and beatings commence

Johnny couldn't understand why, but little secret thrills were coursing down his spine from the sensation of the feminine garments. The tightness of the gloves and corselet, the sleek feel of the hose as Colette caressed them upwards. Tiny little blond hairs became ensnared in the open mesh, but the resultant little tugging pains were delicious, exciting. His erection was now a massive thing, straining and leaping in the taut confinement of his briefs. So much so in fact that Colette was finding it difficult to clasp the garter straps to his hose, as it kept knocking against her hands.

Oops, he likes it. The story is over for me, but Ward continues with beating and fetish art. However, there are no additional PP drawings.

In Unique World #3 an Eros Goldstripe Publication from 1972. Ward illustrated ‘Taming of a Husband’.

"Tonight I’m going to tame my husband and make him my slave for life," Yolanda pressed her feverish painted lips against Ethel’s in a smoldering kiss.

"Impossible," Ethel moaned as Yolanda’s darting tongue lapped madly at first one nipple then the other, "He’s far too big and strong."

"You sill have your ex maid, Bertha’s, uniform, don’t you. I’ll have him in it by tonight."

"Oh what a beautiful maid he’ll make," Ethel giggled.


Yolanda struck him on the face quickly – then pushed him backwards. His head hit the floor hard. She leaped atop him and drove her gloved right hand again and again into his jaw. A vicious karate chop to the neck left her husband unconscious.

When he awoke he begged, "Please don’t hurt me any more. Look at my blood, it’s all over the rug. You’re not going to make me wear those," he noticed the clothes she was laying out.

"Shut up, slave"

When a bouffant blond wig and frilly white cap, falsies, skin tight black satin uniform, and a little white apron were set in place, and a deft application of lipstick, mascara and eyeshadow, Bob was a gorgeous blond amazon of a maid.

Note that even Ward’s men in dresses have very large breasts.

Ethel was right, Bob was dangerous and before the story ends he turns the tables on Yolanda. By the next drawing he is out of the maid’s uniform for good and is beating Yolanda.


More Tales of Torture Manor no date or publisher has more early Ward Petticoat Punishment illustrations.

"Babette, I believe I see our next customer coming across the lawn," Lady Dornineer said as she noticed the figure of a slender blond youth through her huge French windows. "Why he's positively beautiful."

Both women ran to the window for a better look, and it was true, he was beautiful, with the finely chiseled face of a lovely woman, with silver-blond hair, long and flowing in the style of English youth of today. He didn't walk in the heavy masculine tread that you might expect, but rather in little mincing steps, as though he were a woman in stiletto heels.

"OH, MILADY," Babette exclaimed, "wouldn't he make ze most heavenly transvestite zat you evair saw. LOOK . . . he ees slender like a reed, but! hees rear, eet ees as fat as mine . . . and look how saucily he wiggles eet as he walks why weeth a tight dress and falsies he would be irresistible."

"My thoughts exactly, precious," Lady Domineer exclaimed. "He certainly is aptly named. He's Lord Lushbottom. The professors at Eton can't seem to control him, so his father has sent him to us for our special brand of chastisement . . . go let him in, my darling. I can hardly wait."

Babette hurried excitedly from the room, her bulbous breasts and gelatinous buttocks jiggling madly as her black nylon-coated legs flashed in the late afternoon sunlight. She opened the massive front door just as the slender Lord arrived.

"My . . . my father has sent me to see Lady Domineer," he stammered, his eyes staring down into Babette's vast cleavage, and at the soft white flesh that bulged like two half moons over the top of her low-cut black satin uniform. "I am Lord Lushbottom."

"You look like ze beautiful woman, but I can see zat you are truly a man," Babette giggled as she noticed stirrings in his tight trousers. "Please come een, Milady ees waiting for you upstairs."

The youth blushed and his long black lashes slipped down to brush his rosy cheeks as he followed the voluptuous maid into the house and up the long spiral staircase. After the introductions, Lady Domineer, also taking note of his aroused condition, unable to hide the note of excitement in her voice, said softly, "Your father has sent you to me for certain . . . er . . . disciplinary measures, shall we say. Babette, while I am explaining to his Lordship just exactly what I have planned for him, hurry to your room and bring me one of your uniforms, including black hose, that delightful black lace waist cincher of yours and the pair of platform sole pumps that you wear on special occasions."

"OH, OUI MADAME . . . a marvieux selection," Babette squealed as she scurried from the room.

"Your Lordship, my personal maid, Babette, has been terribly overworked of late, so much so that I need two personal maids . . . an extra one that can take care of some of my personal wants that she is incapable of and I can see that you are entirely capable of," Lady Domineer said, her eyes staring at his groin. "There's no need to be frightened, I think you will enjoy it to the utmost."

The statuesque mistress of Torture Manor went to her bureau and took out a wispy pair of black nylon panties from one of the two top drawers and handed it to the startled lad. "Go into my dressing room over there and remove all of your clothing and put these panties on."

There was a definite note of authority in her voice as the young Lord took the panties in shaking fingers and entered the dressing room. Lady Domineer took out a pair of long black kid gloves and moments later Babette entered the bedroom with an armload of wispy black clothing. Then the door to the dressing room opened and both women gasped at the vision of the slender, white-skinned youth, an overstuffed pair of black panties clinging to his hips. Lady Domineer began to pull a kid glove up over his arm as Babette slipped an exciting black lace waist cincher about his waist and hooked it in place. Several slender garter straps hung down from its bottom edge, caressing his hairless, creamy thighs. Then Babette kneeled before him and grasped one of his legs, placing it in her lap. She took a wispy black stocking and slipped his foot into the open end, sliding it upward in what couldn't be considered anything other than a caressing motion.

"Ou-la-la, Milady, hees skeen ees not like ze young girl's . . . eet is as smooth as a baby's," the excited maid exclaimed as she ran a hand upwards ahead of the sheer hose, over his soft, white thigh. Finally she had the stocking at midthigh, and she stretched one of the garter straps down and anchored it to the jet-black elastic top of the stocking.

"Didn't I say that your Lordship would enjoy it," Lady Domineer giggled as she pulled a glove taut at his armpit. Down below, Babette was making the final adjustments to his hose, then she slipped his feet into a pair of pumps with at least eight-inch heels and tremendously high platform soles. She rose and slipped a bra around his chest, then stuffing it with two huge falsies with great nipple-shaped points at their tips.

The two women assisted him into the black satin maid's uniform, which clung to him like a second skin. Then while Lady Domineer deftly applied mascara to his long lashes and metallic blue eye shadow to his lids, Babette attached a white lace maid's cap to his head and a matching apron. He stood now, teetering in his eight-inch heels, thrilling to the sensation of the tight garments, looking even more breathtaking than the two women who stared at him incredulously. Lady Domineer handed him a broom, snapping, "This room is filthy, make the floor so clean that I can see my reflection in it . . . not like that, encourage him, Babette." CRACK . . . the numerous strands of leather from the cat cut into his lush rear, bringing an anguished cry from his lips.

"Give him ten lashes, Babette, he must learn that any maid that works for me must put more energy into his sweeping than he was doing," Lady Domineer snarled fiercely.

"Oh no you won't... I won't be humiliated this way," the young Lord shouted defiantly as he attempted to leave the room, but due to his sky-high heels, falling to the stone floor, ripping his gossamer stockings and lacerating his knees on the rough granite.

"Oh yes you will, my pretty young thing. Your father sent you to us to knock the independence out of you and that's just what we intend to do . .. and don't think that you can get away, why do you think we put those platform soles on you, you can't even walk, much less run in them . . . NOW GET TO YOUR FEET AND TAKE YOUR PUNISHMENT LIKE A LOVELY MAIDEN SHOULD! !" Lady Domineer shrieked, standing defiantly with legs cast wide apart, gloved hands on hips, her monstrous melons rising and falling like an angry sea with the intensity of her breathing.

Tears streamed down his cheeks as he scrambled to his feet and stood meekly before them, whimpering, "I'll do anything you say, Lady Domineer, just don't hit my bunny with that terrible whip again."

"The nerve of you, telling ME, Lady Domineer, what I should and shouldn't do. No one does that, not even a Lord," the now furious Mistress of Torture Manor screamed as she grabbed him and literally threw him across her dressing table, jewels from her jewel box and bottles of perfume flying in all directions.

Then she scrambled onto the dressing table and straddled the terrified Lord, holding his gloved arms spread-eagled, his black-stockinged limbs flailing the air.

"Now give him the lash, Babette, give it to him till there isn't a trace of whiteness on those big buttocks of his... give it to him HARD."

Babette, excited beyond belief from the bizarre proceedings, unearthed a power and strength in her right arm unknown previously as she sent the cat to its meaty target repeatedly.

"To the dungeons with him, Babette," Lady Domineer shouted, pointing a gloved finger towards the doorway.

"Oh oui, Madame, we should have ze great fun weeth zis lovely girl in ze dungeons," Babette exclaimed delightedly as she assisted the young Lord towards the doorway with great enthusiasm, as he teetered in his skyscraper heels.

Down and down they went into the depths of the ancient dungeons; the two women assisting the stumbling lord, pausing occasionally to pinch his bulbous buttocks. He was terrified, but not so much so that he couldn't appreciate the unbelievable pulchritude of Babette and her mistress. As they went step by step down the stone stairs so ancient that grooves were worn in their center from countless slaves being led to their doom, he stared fascinated as four huge orbs bounced methodically with the cadence of their steps, and he thrilled inwardly as his garter straps pulled taut, the garter clasp cutting into his thighs, then loosening as he stepped down. He wouldn't have been able to take one step if the two women hadn't held him by each gloved arm.

"Babette, tie him up with his arms behind him," Lady Domineer commanded as they led him to a wall of the dungeon that had a squared-off block of stone set against the wall.

The two women forced him prone on the damp stone floor, his chin resting on the block of stone as though he were about to be guillotined. Then Babette grasped a length of hard hemp rope that was nearby and expertly twisted it around his ankles, first encircling each individual ankle two times just above the bone that jutted through his sheer black hose. Then she tied the two of them together, the thick, hard knot cutting deeply into the soft flesh. She wound the rope round and round the length of his silken legs, bending them cruelly backwards till his stiletto heels pressed deep into his lacerated buttocks. Once they were firmly held, Babette drew his tightly gloved arms behind him, sliding his hands between his bound feet at the wrist. Then each hand was lashed individually, the hard hemp cutting deeply into the velvet-like softness of the exquisite kid.

"A beautiful job, Babette, you should be complimented . .. but isn't it a pity, our pretty maiden looks so lonely lying there, perhaps we should provide her with some company." So saying, Lady Domineer reached down and raised the iron railing. Immediately dim shapes could be seen scurrying towards the opening and Lord Lushbottom's scream reverberated along the stone walls of the ancient dungeon. This was followed by another, louder scream, as a fierce looking rat emerged from the darkness, and it was evident that numerous others were following close behind, climbing over one another in their eagerness to get at their delectable prey.

Next in my review of the Petticoat Punishment work of Bill Ward is Transvestite in Bondage, 1973 by Hilbarth Inc.

Aunt Matilda takes in 16 year old Bruce Hampton after his parents die in an auto wreck (Remember that one basic rule of Petticoat Punishment stories is first kill the father).

She is fond of pain and his enormous member. After initiating him into S & M she wanders off to marry a rich European. He takes a delivery job for an advertising agency and meets a wealthy and warped woman who has the same two interests as his aunt. She sets him up as her account executive. Keeping the job, however, involves some sacrifices.

"Isn’t my new account executive handsome, Bobette?" Mrs. Allison asked her maid while the three rested after their frantic lovemaking.

"Oui, Madame, beautiful enough to be a girl."

"What a marvelous idea. Bring some of your clothes."

"You can tell her not to bother, Mrs. Afferton. I’m not going to wear her things," Bruce said sternly as the maid left the room, his masculine pride injured.

"Oh, we’re just having some fun, it’s a part of your job. You do like your job, child."

Bruce said no more. The job meant everything to him.

Mrs. Afferton was so delighted with the effect they created that she told Bruce, "You must realize, child, that your job at the agency is a temporary thing, at least it is till you pass our last test."

"No I didn’t realize," replied the horrified youngster.

"Oh, I must have forgotten to mention it," she smiled. "Well, it’s a simple test. You merely have to go out in the street in your new female identity and pick up someone, a woman or a man, whichever you prefer. You’re to do it with your charm alone, you are not to hire anyone or get a friend.

As Bruce moved down Park Avenue, men paused to stare. He was thinking, "What a hell of a spot to be in. I could pick up any of these men in a second, but they would no doubt beat the shit out of me when they discovered the truth."

Fortunately, He comes across the most amazing woman. Not only is she dressed for fetish games, but she also has the most enormous breasts he has ever seen. Moreover, she is delighted to discover his giant member. Many beatings and little Petticoat Punishment follow.

Next in Bill Ward’s sleazy parade is ‘Women in Bondage’, 1974 Delta Publishing Co.

Tom thinks he’s lucky to meet Mable Morgan, the Hollywood sex kitten, but her sexual interests are almost too much for his tortured body. There came to be a bond of perversity between them.

As she rubbed a soothing lotion into the wounds she had opened in his skin she said, "I can’t have you live with me as a man, the newspapers would bury me. But you could live with me as my maid."

"But how?"

"With make-up you’d be a lovely girl."

Tom was soon converted into a stunning maid. Beneath the skintight black satin uniform were falsies, both front and back, giving him an appealing figure. His legs were encased in sheer black nylons held up with a garter belt. When he moved, he teetered, due to the unfamiliar six inch stiletto heels. A blond wig and maid’s cap were on his head. The star had made his face up using eyeliner, mascara, purple eye shadow and a heavy application of carmine lipstick.

"I christen thee, Tometta," Mable giggled.

One afternoon, dressed as usual in his maid’s costume, Tom was alone in the apartment. The doorbell rang. Standing there was the most unbelievably constructed female that he had ever laid eyes on.

"What are you, a lesbian?"

"O-of course not," he replied in the highest pitched voice he could manage.

"Then why are you looking at me like that?"

"It’s just that you’re so fantastic. Who are you?"

"I’m Mrs. Morgan, Mable’s mother. Do you always interrogate my daughter’s guests." Then she noticed the growing boner that was holding his frilly apron up like a tent pole.

"You louse pervert – the NERVE of you questioning me."

She swung at him and with pinpoint accuracy caught him on the point of his jaw.

When he regained consciousness he found himself nearly naked and tied upright to one of the posts of Morgan’s bed.

"Please Miss Morgan these ropes hurt," he said.

"If you think that hurts, wait until you feel this." She raised her leg high and aimed her rapier like heel at his penis.

"Oh N-O-O, not THERE!" he screeched.

My but that looks uncomfortable.

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