Tuesday, June 27, 2017

From the Top Shelf - His and Hers

One of my regular readers and contributors, KDPierre, is a very talented writer. His website contains a plethora of spanking stories to suit everyone's tastes, although most are FM, and he has kindly allowed me to reprint one of them here for you. I enjoyed it and I think you will too.

His and Hers

The situation called for a spanking, of that there was no doubt. The only problem was her misbehaving husband did not agree, a minor complication that Jessica merely regretted in the way one regrets missing one subway knowing the next one will be along in a few minutes. As a couple she knew that when Ben acknowledged his guilt with a sense of remorse a spanking quickly resolved their issues. To his credit Ben approached the majority of his spankings with this mindset, but not all of them. Today he reacted to Jessica’s decision with resistance even as he resolved to accept his fate. However, he only struggled with the reason for his punishment, not his wife’s right to issue one. Even to his conflicted mind her authority was unquestionable. And so despite his reluctance he obeyed her instructions to strip and procured the paddle she told him to bring her as she watched him and waited. 

And while Jessica could have hoped her husband would have a better understanding of why he was being punished today, given her current level of annoyance, she expected nothing less than his complete compliance regardless. But even though he followed her instructions, he clearly was not happy. Ben got into place with glaring defiance. It didn’t matter to Jessica. As long as Ben cooperated he could make whatever kind of face he wanted. It wasn’t his face that she was interested in right now.

For spankings like this, there would be no warm-up, no gradual easing into the punishment. The smacks started out hard and stayed hard. Ben wriggled dramatically. As he kicked about in response to the sting he spitefully moved his long thin thighs in a way that he knew would be uncomfortable for his disciplinarian figuring if his bottom was going to suffer this much she could suffer a little bit as well. It was his secret revenge. Jessica informed him that his wild wriggling was hurting her thighs, readjusted herself, and told him to settle down. Confronted, Ben did as ordered and modified his motions, but continued to vocalize his reactions. But instead of yipping or ouching through the ordeal, he made these angry grunts as the paddle landed. Jessica knew just what these grunts meant. Ben was clearly saying, “I may be cooperating, but I hate this because it isn’t fair. I didn’t do anything wrong or at least bad enough to deserve to be spanked this hard.” The problem was that even though he honestly felt this to be true, objectively speaking it just wasn’t. Ben deserved every bit of what he was getting...but more importantly, Jessica knew that she couldn’t let his feelings dictate her actions. What sort of authority would she maintain if Ben only got punished when he wanted? No, it was clear he had to be dealt with now…and firmly.

Jessica spanked with certitude, and certitude stung. The galloping backside reddened with each manifestation of Jessica’s annoyance. Still Ben resisted, feeling wronged. Despite what one may hear or read about a spanking eventually bringing about reflective clarity, the truth was that no punishment of any kind no matter the severity can force a person into accepting guilt unless they mentally come to understand it in a moment of revelation that only comes with an open mind. A series of stinging smacks can force the words of a desperate apology but not true contrition. Sometimes that understanding can occur during a spanking, the pain forcing the victim to consider things they had previously overlooked, but it was no guarantee. Pain might open a mind, but it could just as easily force a closed one to shut as tight as a box turtle’s shell. There certainly wasn’t any enlightening effect happening now. A reddening effect? Yes, but not a mind opening one. And for now that was OK. This spanking wasn’t about that. It was about a declaration of authority, annoyance, and retribution. This was really Jessica’s spanking. Ben’s spanking would come later.... and it would be Ben who would suggest it.

  ----------------------------------------------------

After the bedroom punishment Ben thought about what Jessica had said to him and pondered the issue from her perspective. It took a while. It took honest self-evaluation as well. And it took trust in Jessica’s judgment, judgment proven sound countless times before. About three hours after the initial punishment, the light came on and Ben recognized where he was at fault. In that moment a wave of guilt embarrassed him. He recalled his angry resistance and childish stubbornness and despite the prior spanking, Ben realized that the issue was not truly resolved. He mustered his courage and approached his wife transformed. Gone now was the stubborn, resentful adolescent looking to get away with his misbehavior, instead replaced miraculously by a meek guilt-ridden man-child in need of correction, a timid little boy who, while fearful of his mommy’s anger, knows that the only way to make things right is to offer up his naughty behind to her correction.

Jessica watched her repentant husband with satisfaction as he struggled to apologize and ultimately ask that she spank him again. It was no surprise. She had been through this before and knew it would happen. Whenever he resisted a punishment she clearly knew was warranted, she could expect Ben to act all distant and hurt and probably pout for a few hours after the initial spanking until he calmed enough for her words to sink in. He’d then think about what he had done and come to see his fault. The guilt over having resisted would torment him until...later on or maybe the next day....he’d show up all sheepish and apologize, and conclude by asking for another spanking...just as he did now. And though he came to her willingly, his face betrayed his inner conflict. A second spanking on a butt still stinging from the first would hurt a lot and they both knew it. Seeing her husband struggle with his fear and embarrassment and still confess his desire to be punished again both thrilled and amused her. Face blushing and posture slumped, he asked in a way that seemed he was inconveniencing her…as if she would not be all too happy to discipline him a second time. As if, she smiled to herself. She also saw his very real concern over being spanked atop a raw behind...and still he petitioned her discipline. What greater proof of her authority and Ben’s trust in it could there be? And yet, how comical was the fact that due only to stubbornness and closed-mindedness Ben would have to suffer another hard spanking in the same day? Had he only fully accepted the first he could have avoided a second.

But no matter, Jessica fully understood his need for absolution and had no problem in agreeing. She knew that as necessary as the first spanking was to maintain her authority, this one would be the most productive. This one, the one he now recognized as deserved, would be the one to absolve the guilt, clean the slate, and reconnect the two. Besides, despite her prior venting of anger, it would not be too difficult to get back to a proper disciplinary mindset. She’d just refocus on the misbehavior and rekindle some constructive ire. Ire to fuel a fire, she mused, picturing the hot glow that would soon be radiating from her husband’s bottom...a bottom she knew he’d now offer up willingly to her paddle. She liked when he did that. It amused her to see him react to her sharp smacks with a yelp and a clench and then see him struggle to arch up a relaxed posterior for her to punish again. It showed effort and sincere contrition, a contrition she would reward with more devilish smacks until he’d no longer have the energy to raise it or even clench it. Then she would just spank the slack, surrendered behind as hard as she could until all of her annoyance and all of his guilt had been spanked away. He would feel the burn for days...as he should, she thought. Nothing wrong with that. It’s how naughty boys learn to be good. 

Back to the room they went. Off came his clothes once again only this time he went over her lap with an already tender butt and receptive attitude. Jessica looked at the waiting bottom. She had done a good job. The chubby cheeks looked sunburned. A touch of her palm found them still warm as well. She realized poor Ben would not have an easy time of it and yet she would have no problem repeating the punishment. It was necessary and fair: merciful mercilessness. She had had her spanking, now Ben needed his...and sore butt or not, her arm wasn’t tired at all.

The end
Wasn't that yummy?

From Hermione's Heart

Monday, June 26, 2017

Recap: Spanko Brunch 2.0 for June 25

Do you tweet?

Fred: I do use Twitter I am @Pervy_thoughts
Mostly to follow 'rude' people, nudists and spankers.

Dr. Ken: No, I keep my spanko side off of social media, and confine my spanking posts to my blog.

Cutiebootie: I have a Twitter account, but it's not used for spanking. I am more of a blogger when it comes to discussing all things spanking.

Fondles: my twitter account is more for the dd/lg stuff - pictures, places we go, and sharing other people's posts - which DO include spanking and erotic pics.

Simon: I have a twitter account which I use to follow various spankers/spankees. I'm not very social media savvy and from bitter experience with a previous account I have learnt to be very careful with tweets re-tweets etc on this account. However I do find it useful and enjoyable as long as you are sensible.

Roz: I don't have a twitter account, my social media is restricted to blogs.

Sir Wendel: No Twitter. I just use Instagram which is spanking free.

Katie: I do have a twitter account, but don't really use it for anything more than following the kids, news and things of interest. Honestly, I hardly get there much. I restrict all things spanky to my blogger account/reading other blogs. I don't want to chance getting spanky stuff mixed up with vanilla stuff. It's manageable for me.

 Ronnie: I know twitter is very popular but I don't have an account. Anything spanking related is restricted to blogs.

Thanks for the mention.

Hermione: I have only tweeted once, several years ago, as part of a class exercise, when I first learned about Twitter at a blogging seminar. It was called microblogging, because of the shortness of the messages. I spend far too much time on the internet as it is, and think that if I start tweeting, I might never get anything else done.

There's quite a variety of Twitter use or non-use in our readers, and that's just fine! Thank you all for joining in.
From Hermione's Heart

Sunday, June 25, 2017

Spanko Brunch 2.0 #182



Welcome one and all to another chance to discuss a spanking-related topic. This week Ronnie published a list of spanking twitter feeds from some well-known spanking personalities in the blogosphere. I hadn't realized Twitter was so popular!

Do you use Twitter? If so, do you use it for talking about spanking? Do you follow other spankos? If not, would you consider doing so and why or why not?

Leave your response as a comment below and I will publish a summary of our conversation after everyone has had a chance to speak.
From Hermione's Heart

Saturday, June 24, 2017

You Completed the Caption

Fondles: I am proud to give you my daughter's hand and with it, the cane for her bottom!

kdpierre: While the Curator was delighted with his wealthiest patron's gifts of a ring from the Count of Evreux, and a walking stick that belonged to Louis XII, he worried that he'd never find a jar large enough and for the specimen of a young peasant girl being donated to the museum's new anthropology section.

Ronnie: Come now ladies, a little caning to end the evening.

Minelle: Now, let's have some fun!

Anon 1: I'll bet there's a nice big bottom under there that could do with a dose of this cane.

Anon 2: I'm sorry, sir, but only my husband is allowed to cane my ample arse. You're just going to have to make do reddening the skinny little behind of your petite wife.

Sir Wendel: So then Brent says to me “You know you have Zombies in your wardrobe?” What a jokester.

Hermione: No Monsieur Lesage, I am not suggesting you take my wife to bed. Just warm her bottom for her, then she will be ready for my attentions.

From Hermione's Heart

Friday, June 23, 2017

Friday FAIL

Today I have some interesting headlines that will make you scratch your head.


You don't say!





Poor snail





Obviously written by an entomologist













And finally, a safety warning.


From Hermione's Heart

Thursday, June 22, 2017

Complete the Caption

I love Hogarth's paintings. This one is called "Marriage a la Mode"; what a suggestive title! My, that's a long cane the gentleman on the right is holding. Who will be on the receiving end? 

Complete the caption by leaving a comment and I will publish your suggestions on Saturday.
From Hermione's Heart

Tuesday, June 20, 2017

From the Top Shelf - Blues for Alice

Last week I promised you that I would share one of the late Rollin Hand's stories. I think you will enjoy this one, even if you don't know much about jazz. It contains a mix of MF and FM spankings—something for almost everyone!
We were fumbling around on the stage trying to figure out what to play next when this guy shouts, “Hey, do you know ‘Blues for Alice’?”

Now normally this isn’t a bebop crowd, it’s a late night lounge thing, mostly standards, ballads and bossa novas, nothing too frantic. But hell, we all like bebop and especially a Charlie Parker tune, so we all look at each other. Jim on alto says he loves it, Joe on bass looks at the changes and says he can do it, no sweat, Alan on vibes knows it too. Reggie, our drummer only wants to know the tempo. They all look at me….

In the late 60’s I had a good gig playing down in the French Quarter while I was going to school uptown at Tulane U. Well, not the French Quarter, exactly. The Top o’ the Mart was a revolving bar on the top floor of the World Trade Mart, at the foot of Canal Street. Canal Street is bounded on the East by the French Quarter and the river. West of Canal is the business district. It’s a posh bar that rotates with great views of the Mississippi and the Quarter. I had met this vibes player, Paul Defours who needed a guitar to fill out a quartet and do a little late night modern jazz, not traditional stuff like they play at Preservation Hall and Pete Fountain’s.
So four nights a week, 9-12, I was there, doing jazz standards mostly---and some bebop.
Now bebop is difficult. The runs of notes are all over the place and the chord changes come fast. I’d hit clunkers now and then. They tell you there are no wrong notes in jazz. Don’t you believe it. See what happens when you lead with a G sharp over an E minor 7 chord or play an F sharp in Bflat Lydian mode. It’s not pretty!

Anyway, one night we’re playing and I notice this woman at the bar. She is absolutely gorgeous. She is a bit older than me, in her thirties, has long platinum blonde hair and she’s wearing this black sheath dress that hugs her figure like it was painted on. She’s on the slender side but with a really nice bust. I saw her get up at one point to take a powder and was treated to a rear view of a superbly shaped ass as she sauntered toward the girls’ room. Way out of my league, right?

Well damn, if at the break she didn’t buy me a drink. She asks me my name. Charlie, I tell her. She says she is Anna. She has an accent, like Russian, I’m guessing, but her English is excellent. I hadn’t pegged her as a jazz fan, but then she asks me, “Do you have the difficulty with rapid eighth notes over the Charlie Parker blues changes?”

That took me aback. “You’re very perceptive. Not many people notice those mistakes, thankfully.” That set we’d done “Au Privave” and “Blues for Alice”.

“Otherwise you play very well,” she said. She was an expatriate, she said. An heiress descended from Polish royalty, she said. She had managed to escape the Soviet Union with some money intact and she was traveling all over the US, trying to decide where to live.
“I come to New Orleans for a time because I love the jazz music,” she said. “Maybe next I go to Kansas City, the home of Charlie Parker,” she laughed. After the last set she came up to me. “I can help you, I think. You can learn to play better, this I know.” I asked her if she was a music teacher, she said no, but she had a method.

“We start tonight if you like. Come with me to my apartment.” She said this with a coy smile. And I thought, hot damn!

After our last set I packed up my Gibson ES 175 in a hurry. As I prepared to leave with the hot countess or whatever she was, I got thumbs up and envious looks from the rest of the guys. She had an apartment on Royal Street in the Quarter, a block down from the Royal Orleans and right next to The Court of the Two Sisters. You could hear the music from Pat O’Brien’s right on the other side of her courtyard.

Well, we’d no sooner got there when she slipped off into her bedroom. She emerged a few moments later and I nearly lost it right there. She looked breathtaking in a lacy black bra and matching sheer panties, with black stockings and a garter belt. Then she said, coyly, “Why do you need all those clothes on, Charleee?” That’s the way she said my name, drawing out the “eee” at the end. I wasted no time and practically tore my clothes off. Then she took me by the hand and led me into her bedroom. She pulled me down on the bed and started with kissing and touching and fondling and of course I reciprocated. But just when things were getting pretty heated up she stopped and got out of bed.

“Now, Charlee, I show you something. Roll over for me on your front,” she said. I had no idea what was going on. Some game? Ok, I’d play. She was gone a minute then came back with some stockings. She took the stockings and tied my hands and feet to the posts of her big four poster bed. I was thinking, ahh, a kinky game. I had a hard on that was digging through the mattress at this point. Then she took the pillows and shoved them under my middle which made my ass stick up.

All of a sudden I felt a little uneasy. What the hell was this? Well I sure found out when she went into a dresser drawer and pulled out a wicked looking riding switch. It was a long thin tapered thing that whirred ominously as she swished it through the air. Now I was alarmed. This game was getting out of hand. But I was tied up good.

“Now,” she said, “here is the music lesson. I count six times tonight you make the wrong notes. So I give you six lashes. Are you ready? Maybe next time you practice more, no?”
I blubbed and squawked and told her to ‘untie me, dammit!’ Like right now! But then she just smiled and said if I took my punishment like a good boy, she’d pleasure me “all night long, if you wish”.

That shut me up. Little Charlie told big Charlie to grin and bear it. She told me, “eyes front” then tapped my ass with that switch. I closed my eyes and gritted my teeth. I heard a whine and Crack! that thing landed right across my bare hiney. Let me tell you, that lick was pure hell. I let out a screech. Then whack! She did it again. It was like a red hot wire had been laid on my butt. Four more times she whipped that wicked switch down on my ass. Four blazing stingers that stayed with me for days.

But she was true to her word. After whipping my ass but good she untied me, rolled me over mounted me, straddling my middle. She lifted herself and fell, lifted and fell, her vagina stroking my shaft. I came so hard I thought I’d pass out. Then we did it again, experimenting with all kinds of exotic positions. This was one hot lady.

I left in the morning exhausted. She’d been insatiable, but good grief it had been hot. I wondered if that had been a one-night fling, but the next week, there she was again. At the break she motioned for me to come over to her table. She gave me this wicked smile and said, “So have you practiced, Charlee? Will you play Blues for Alice? I listen very carefully.”
Actually I had been working on it, memorizing the melody, working through all the changes. And by now the memory of that switching had faded so I gave her this cocky grin and said, “Sure.”

Well we played it and a few other tunes like “Boplicity” and “Groovin’ High” --bebop classics. I think the only problem I had that night was the bridge to “Joy Spring” –it changes modes chromatically every two bars.

After the gig, sure enough she invites me to come with her again. “I tell you how you did when we get to my flat.” She said this with a wicked thin smile like she was daring me. I knew what it meant. If she thought I’d missed some notes, that switch was coming out. I have to tell you, my ass cheeks clenched, but I said, with as much bravado as I could muster, “Of course. Let’s go.”

I have to say I did better. Still, the bill was four. “I will tie you if you wish,” she said. I said no.
This time, on her command, I bent over and touched my toes. I could hear her behind me and I felt the infernal tapping of that switch. Then whissh…crack! I stifled the urge to scream. Christ it hurt! Then the next. I let out a strangled “Yeowwch!” I got four licks with that whippy switch that scalded my ass with four lines that I could still see in the mirror a week later. But the consolation prize was another night of hot sex with this gorgeous creature.

And she taught me things. I’d be on my knees worshipping at her musky womanhood and she’d tell me, “Yes, right there, ahhh…” or if I was inside her she’d say “you go too fast…go slow, Charleee.” Sometimes she’d even keep the little whip in her hand and flick my bottom with it to emphasize a point.

I leaned fast. Now I was hooked, but I was determined to get my playing to another level. So I woodshedded like crazy, running scales and modes until I my fingers would fly without my thinking about it. So the next time she came in, I was ready.

And, I was brilliant. She knew it too. After the last set she sidled up to me and said, “You come with me now. I give you surprise.” Her eyes were pure lust. She told me to wait while she went to her bedroom. She came out wearing a filmy negligee, but I froze. She was carrying that switch. I was steeling myself to pay for a night of mind-blowing sex with another ass whipping when she knelt at my feet and offered the switch to me with both hands.

“This is your reward, Charleee. I hear 'Blues for Alice'. You play perfect. Tonight I am, how you say, the slave girl for you.” I took the switch and told her to get up. She rose and slipped off her negligee. Underneath she was gloriously naked. She said she wanted to be tied, and brought out stockings.

As I said, her bed was a big four poster so I tied her wrists to the uprights and her ankles to the legs so she was in a standing “X”. She looked at me and told me she should have 10, the total number she’d given me. Then she sort of hollowed her back and stuck her bottom out, ready for the whip. I was floored but so turned on. So if this was what she wanted….I told myself, ok I’d do it.

I whipped the switch through the air a few times to get the feel of it. It was very flexible and light---and I knew from experience it stung like hell. I lined it up on her delectable ass and tapped her a few times, then I brought my wrist back and let fly. The whip made that whiney “whirr” sound and landed with a whiuick! Right across the fullest part of her behind. Her cheeks indented then sprang back and a line of red appeared. She hissed a little intake of breath, wriggled a bit, then stuck her ass out again as if boldly asking for more.

And I thought well, this is what the lady wants, so I laid more of those firm, deliberate licks right across her bottom. Her bottom cheeks flinched as the switch struck, but she kept sticking it out. I took my time and aimed each one so that the strokes formed a ladder of red lines. This little dance took a few minutes. I’d land a stroke with the switch then wait for her wriggling to stop. When she was still, I’d line up another. At one point I stopped and she turned and said, “You must not stop, Charlee. Do it again.” So I did, all ten times.

Then I dropped the switch and came up behind her. I ran my hand up between her legs. She was wet and slippery and she moaned with pleasure. “Now, please, Charlee, now I want you.” I needed no second invitation. This whipping scene had made me as hard as blue steel. I shucked out of my pants and slid into her from behind, cupping her breasts in my hands. Her nipples were hard and I pinched them as I pistoned in and out of her. In turn, she pushed her ass back, in time to my thrusting. After we both came, I untied her and we spent the rest of the night in more passionate coupling.

 So that was how it went, only now, with my chops finely honed I was rarely on the wrong end of the switch, and it was Anna who took the licking. She incorporated other little games as well. She emerged from the bedroom one night as a Catholic schoolgirl, like you might see at Sacred Heart. She wanted to be spanked, across my knee like a naughty girl. So I put her over my knee, raised her skirt and pulled down her little white panties before smacking her wobbling rear cheeks with my hand for several minutes until her bottom was hot and red.

Another time she wore a baby doll nighty and handed me a short leather strap to spank her with. This one made a sharp crack! as it smacked her bottom and I even worried that the crowd at Pat O’Brien’s might hear us.

An especially memorable variation was the time she came out in harem pajamas and carrying a short whip like a miniature cat ‘o nine tails. She wanted to be tied upright to the bedpost, have her harem pants lowered and leathered with that little whip until her ass cheeks glowed. As always we ended up screwing ‘til dawn it seemed.

Then I didn’t see her anymore. A week went by. Then two. Still, no Anna. “Your girlfriend run out on you Charlie?” asked Paul one night as we packed up. I had to say I didn’t know.
I finally decided to try and call on her. I told myself that it was to make sure she was ok. But nobody answered at her Royal street apartment. I found the rental office and they just said she’d moved. No forwarding address. I thought, well, maybe she did go to Kansas City after all.

But several years later I did see her again. In the news. I was living in DC then and there was this piece in the paper. There was a picture of a man who was said to be a defector from Poland, a well-known political figure. He’d been imprisoned, but had escaped to the West. He was now being wined and dined by the Washington establishment, hailed as a freedom fighter. In the background was a woman, said to be his wife, Anna. It was her.

The next picture showed him playing the violin. The piece said he was an accomplished jazz violinist and he’d apparently been asked to play at this cocktail party where the photos were taken. In the picture he’s playing, but his gaze is fixated on his wife’s face. He looks triumphant. She is smiling but maybe looks a tad anxious. The article went on to say, “…and he played the Django Rhinehart number flawlessly, not a note out of place….” I had to smile, knowing what she had likely wagered on the outcome of that performance. Would she be donning the harem costume or the schoolgirl 
Lovely. We will miss you, Rollin.
From Hermione's Heart