Tuesday, June 28, 2016

From the Top Shelf - A Walk in the Meadow

Jamie has taken his cousins Amelia and Clara on a field trip at Hope Hall. The reason will become clear as you read on. This excerpt is part of our ongoing enjoyment of Hall of Infamy by Amanita Virosa.
"I say, girls, aren't the meadows looking splendid!" Jamie slashed his whip through the air, neatly decapitating a buttercup. Amelia's bottom tensed in automatic response to the hiss of the crop, and she sensed Clara flinch beside her.

There was certainly truth in his observation. The meadows on the far side of the ornamental lake were ablaze with wild flowers. Golden buttercups vied for attention with crimson poppies, while mauve vetchlings and the creamy froth of meadowsweet provided a palette of subtler colours. Not that Amelia was in any mood to appreciate the scene.

For one thing, the soft sward was difficult to walk across in the precariously high heels of her button boots. For another, the little smock and frilly knickers, so humiliating in the nursery, were even more mortifying out here in the open air. Anyone might see her out here - gardeners, estate workers...the stable-boys.

Amelia's cheeks burned anew as she remembered that cat-calls that had followed the cousins as they tottered across the cobbles of the courtyard. The knowledge that she would have to return, probably passing the stable block again, squatted like a stone in her stomach.

Then there was the fact that the mission they were on was far from cheering. Betsy bustled along behind Jamie and the cousins, laden down with trugs and secateurs. One glance at the maid's burden reminded Amelia of the task they were intent on.

Jamie had announced their expedition after luncheon. "We need to put up some birches for you girls. It's not the best time, as they are in leaf, but that cannot be helped. It looks like a lovely afternoon. What do you say, girls - shall we go up in the groves and cut you some switches?"

"Yes, sir," Clara had replied softly, after a moment's hesitation. Amelia had nearly slapped the silly little bitch.

"Amelia, you don't seem so keen. Have you other plans, perhaps? Were you hoping to pay a visit to the Reverend Dawes' study, for instance?"

The very mention of his name had made her face go red. The jovial suggestion filled Amelia with utter dismay.

"No...please," she had said quickly, terrified now that he would send her, on some pretext, to the rector.

"So you would rather come with Clara and me to cut birches?"

"Oh, very well, I suppose so."

"Amelia!" Jamie's tone had decided her to rephrase.

"Yes...please...sir," she had said, forcing the words out one by one.

"Jolly good." Jamie had given her bottom a friendly squeeze. "I'm sure we will have a lovely afternoon."

The little party strolled on in the warm afternoon sun, through the meadows, and then to the park beyond. Herds of graceful fallow deer moved off as they approached, disappearing into the dappled shade of the oaks that fringed the pasture.

The young man led the girls on through a gate which gave onto a pretty woodland ride. Almost at once, the pathway began to climb steeply through the woods. The trees lining the woodland ride on either side were mostly oak, though hornbeam soon became more common.

"It is a remarkable estate, is it not?" Jamie said, waving at the woods. "All this is still within the walls. Of course, it used to be truly vast in the old days."

Amelia concentrated on keeping her balance. The path was a rough farm track. The sun-baked clay that had given some solid footing for her heels was rapidly becoming sandy. Glancing round, she noticed that silver-barked birch trees had begun to make an appearance, lining the pathway. Amelia had always loved the delicate grace of the birch but, today, their beauty gave her no pleasure. Instead they seemed ominous and tainted.

"One wonders how long these groves have been maintained," Jamie mused as they followed the path upward. He led them from the main path. It was brighter here, for the birch foliage was light, the trees were small and the afternoon sun was shining. The woods were full of birdsong, but for all this, the place seemed terrible to Amelia. Just as in the Whippery, the very brightness of the groves only heightened their sense of menace.

The birches here seemed to be shrubs rather than trees, for the most part consisting of regular sized evenly spaced bushes. Jamie instructed the cousins and the maid to take a trug and pair of secateurs each. Then he led Amelia to one thicket of birch.


"These are coppiced so we can reach the shoots," he explained. "Not usually a long-lived tree, the birch, but these beauties are ancient. The coppicing lengthens their lives." He pulled a long limb free and indicated that Amelia should snip it off. "It makes you wonder, doesn't it -" his face was rapt "- how many birch rods has this old stool provided for Hope Hall?"

Amelia cut the next bough that he indicated and placed it in the trug.

"It must be hundreds anyway," Jamie continued. As he imparted this information, he grinned at the tension in Amelia's face, and patted her gently on her behind. "So, while you're cutting," he murmured softly, "think about all those well-flogged bottoms."

* * *

"That's it, Clara, good long limbs - they'll make a birch that will fetch you properly, my sweet."

Amelia tried to ignore Jamie's relaxed and amused voice, and concentrate on her doleful task. It was not easy.

"Betsy, what on earth is this? Great heavens, girl, you should know how to cut a Hope Hall rod by now! This little twig is only good for one thing. Do you what that is?"

"A-A bosom birch, sir?"

"That's right. A little bitty titty-teaser. Now I will have no waste. Cut them longer, or we shall demonstrate to the young ladies why it is advisable to cut their switches good and long."

Amelia glanced down at her trug in alarm, trying to gauge if any of her leafy boughs might be adjudged too small, and trying to quell the sensation of near-panic that gripped her vitals. She decided against the branch that she was going to cut and reached out to take another, more substantial one.

"I say, Jamie, well met. What a glorious day!"

The voice of the newcomer made her hand freeze for a moment, and Amelia was not able to stop her outstretched arm from trembling slightly.

"Glorious indeed, Reverend. Ah, you have trugs with you, I see. I suspect that you are on the same mission as we."

Amelia swallowed bitter bile as the two men chuckled behind her.

"It really is remarkable. However many dozen birches I put up each winter, I always seem to be going through them and need to come and cut more by the end of spring." He sighed theatrically. "The wickedness of the world, Jamie, makes constant demands on my store of rods."

Amelia laid the cut branch in the trug, which was on the ground, conscious that in bending she must display her bottom to the watching men. However, she need not have worried.

"Amelia, Clara, leave your tasks and come over here."

Amelia turned at last to find what she had half-expected and much dreaded. The Reverend Dawes' glittering gaze immediately locked onto her eyes. It was only for a moment, but for that moment she was sure that her heart had altogether stopped. It was only with a real effort of will that she could obey Jamie's instruction and walk towards that terrible gimlet gaze.

"Old Banks, the woodsman, has kept these coppiced for forty years to safeguard the Hall's supply of rods," Jamie declared.

"Quite right! Faith, Rose - watch and learn and note well the size of limbs required, unless you want to receive the same."

The Reverend's presence had so compelled Amelia's attention that she had scarcely been aware that he had not arrived alone. Now she ventured a glance at his companions. A lovely girl with long blonde hair and a demure expression stood next to a robust-looking young woman with a shock of red curls. Both wore smart black maids uniforms. Neither girl replied but both kept their eyes downcast, and Amelia saw the redhead swallow glumly.
I'm afraid the scene must end here, although you must be wondering - as am I - about the two maids the Reverend has brought with him. One at least seems to know she is in trouble.

I must come clean and confess to you that in the original, what followed was a very graphic description of a bosom birching that I found quite distasteful. Some of you might have enjoyed it but I felt it went beyond the scope of this strictly spanking blog. There will be a much more exciting selection next week, with some actual spanking in it, I promise.
From Hermione's Heart

Monday, June 27, 2016

Recap: Spanko Brunch 2.0 for June 26

What do you do when you crave a spanking but your partner isn't in the mood?

A.J.: It's been a while since I've visited here, Hermione, but here's my (male who has been on both sides of the lap) take:

Sulking doesn't work and quickly goes negative. (And no one likes a sulker.)

Sit down and talk? Oh, Hermione! That is so girly-girl. And #4 and #5 are too general.

Here's what I think, it's a version of #3. If she comes to me and asks for a spanking - and I'm not doing something critical that just has to get done, or not physically ill (head cold, flu, headache, etc.) - I'll stop what I'm doing and spank her. It doesn't take long, often under 5-minutes. And I don't care who you are, you can always find 5-minutes somewhere somehow to do anything!

If it's the reverse and I ask her - she can put aside the iPad and playing solitaire for a few minutes and do it! Same rules.

Now, we only spank for the fun of it, so that 5 minutes may lead to many more minutes in the bedroom, but 'ya do what 'ya gotta' do, amiright?

abby: Well, He has never said no just because He was not in the mood...because of time constraints or we have plans and He does not think we have time. I do know He will get to to as soon as possible...

Michael M: I might try and steer things towards a spanking but I am not in a position to ask outright. It has to be her call.

Arched one: I guess I've been very lucky and have not had that problem. From the time she found out I love having my bottom paddled she has been more than willing. I was lucky to find the love of my life that also loves to spank her husband.

Ronnie: If I asked and was refused I would probably behave in a manner that would change his mind. Though does depend on what P was doing at the time I asked.

Yorkie: My wife is never in the mood to spank me but does it anyway as she realises how important it is to me. For that I will always be truly grateful.

Hermione: If Ron is feeling tired he might suggest that we postpone it until the next day, and he always keeps his promise, so I don't object. It is in his control anyway, because he's the boss, so I accept the postponement without being irritated.

Thank you all for participating this week!
From Hermione's Heart

Sunday, June 26, 2016

Spanko Brunch 2.0 #131

Welcome, one and all, to our regular weekend brunch. Have you ever found yourself in the following situation?

You really want a spanking but your partner is not in the mood and refuses. What do you do? 
  1. Say nothing, but sulk or otherwise make your disappointment clear? 
  2. Sit down and discuss the reasons for your partner's refusal? 
  3. Cheerfully but firmly encourage your partner to do it anyway? 
  4. Behave in a manner that might make your partner change his or her mind, such as bratting or seduction?
  5. Resolve the situation in some other way?
If this has ever happened to you, let's hear how you handle this. Please leave a comment, and I will publish a summary of our discussion once everyone has had a chance to contribute. If you have never joined in before, now's your chance. You may remain anonymous if you wish.
From Hermione's Heart

Saturday, June 25, 2016

You Completed the Caption

What are these two discussing, and what is in his hand? You be the judge.

Simon: Edward and Mabel were horrified when the daguerreotype arrived in the post. They hadn't realised that any one had seen their alfresco spanking in the park.

Apparently Edward had only 2 weeks to pay his beard tax or be taken to court.

Six of the best: "My dear, I just received a letter from his majesty the king. He said you were caught swearing at the queen. Such gutter language, will find yourself with your bare bottom on display, and being thoroughly caned".

Minelle: 'Yes dear, you have overspent your account once again! We will see to your spanking this evening!'

Sir Wendel: Well dear, it says we’ve won top prize in the Spankos’ lottery; a good paddling every Saturday night for two years.

Dr. Ken: He: "It's an invitation to one of Elizabeth's spanking parties. What do you say? Shall we attend?"

Ronnie: Edith, what's the meaning of this? A bill from your dressmaker. Didn't I tell you no more dresses until the end of the year. Now go upstairs and wait for me.

Anon: Her: Dear, that can't be the entire list of things I did this week to earn a spanking. There are only five items on there, and I know I did many more naughty things than that.
Him: Sweetheart, this is only the first of six pages. Don't worry, I've kept a very thorough accounting of your behavior, and believe me, I intend to give your bottom the good blistering you've earned. Now, go and fetch the paddle. I'll give you until the count of ten.
Her: Yes, sir!

Fondles: Well, Missy, as your new guardian it seems I have been given specific instructions as to how to handle your discipline!

Hermione: "Oh, dear! An invitation to a spanking party at the Montague-Outhwaites', and I haven't any clean bloomers."

For more startling revelations, be sure to come back for brunch, being served shortly.
From Hermione's Heart

Friday, June 24, 2016

Friday FAIL

The theme today is food and drink.



Now that's a convenience store!





Mmmm. I'll take two pints.





Some butts don't need additional stuffing





Whoever wrote this sign needs a good spanking!





What a feast!


For more nourishment, scroll down to Complete the Caption.
From Hermione's Heart

Thursday, June 23, 2016

Complete the Caption

Here is a long-ago photo of a couple examining...what? It could be a bill, a photo, a letter, or something else. What is the lady thinking as she and the gentleman consider the implications?

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

Tuesday, June 21, 2016

From the Top Shelf - We Don't Allow That Here

Things are getting exciting at the Hall of Infamy by Amanita Virosa. You may remember the belting that Kitty endured at the hands of Mr. Blackstock in the stables. What's that? You don't remember? Personally I thought it was quite memorable, but if you really don't recall it, read it here.

All done? Good.We pick up the story the following day,

Cautiously, Kitty placed the tray on the little rosewood table and darted an anxious glance towards her mistress.

"You may pour," Lady Alicia instructed, continuing to look out of the casement window. Trying to control the trembling of her hand, Kitty poured the Earl Grey, anxious in case she should spill a drop. When it was safely done, she stood awaiting further orders, sneaking a furtive peak at her mistress as she stood bathed in sunlight.

Lady Alicia presented a truly magnificent spectacle, her black hair pulled into a bun which emphasised her sultry Spanish beauty. Her breasts were full and her hips generous, her waist laced tightly into a long black corset. Apart from fine drawers of black silk and matching stockings, her only garment was a black lace negligee which she had allowed to fall open, letting the sun's rays caress her bare breasts and thighs.

Finally she turned to the maid. "Well, girl,how did you enjoy your trip to the stables yesterday?"

Kitty felt the blush suffuse her cheeks. She hesitated, hardly knowing how to answer.

Her mistress regarded her gravely for a moment. "So, answer me, little one - did Mr Blackstock give you a good belting?"

Kitty's bottom lip began to tremble. "Yes, ma'am," she whispered huskily, staring at the floor.

"Let's see. Turn around and drop your drawers!"

The instruction was easy to follow. The skirt of Kitty's uniform was so short it rode up as she bent, and she only to pull her knickers down to leave her bottom exposed.

Lady Alicia stared hard and grunted. "Yes, I see he did a sound job."

Kitty quivered at the memory as her mistress leisurely perused the evidence of her thrashing.

"All right, you can pull them up. Let that be a lesson to you not to spill my tea!" The maid adjusted her dress with huge relief. By the time she stood upright again, her mistress had returned to her vigil at the window. "Tell me Kitty, when Mr Blackstock was belting your bare arse, were any of the stable boys present?"

Kitty blushed a deeper shade of scarlet and the knot in her stomach tightened. If she had dared, she would have refused to answer, but Lady Alicia's enquiries were not to be ignored. "Y-yes, ma'am," she whispered, hanging her head in shame as she remembered the boys' comments...their hands touching their...their things....

"I see. And what were the boys doing during - and after - your punishment?"

Kitty sniffed disconsolately but she knew she had to answer; Lady Alicia had an uncanny talent for finding out the truth. "They-they touched me...and they...they played with themselves..."

"Played with themselves, you say?" Lady Alicia interrupted. "What do you mean? Surely you're not suggesting they indulged in self-abuse?"

Kitty glanced up to find her mistress's gaze upon her. Her tone was shocked but her eyes were sparkling and there was a hint of a smile on her lips. "Come here!"

Kitty approached her mistress with trepidation, but Lady Alicia merely motioned her to look down into the courtyard. Below, outside the stables, a boy of about nineteen was forking manure into a barrow. As the day was hot and the work hard, he had stripped to the waist. Though slender, his body was wiry and gave the impression of strength. His dark hair had been cropped, giving him something of the air of a convict. His body was nearly hairless, his pale skin glistening with sweat as he laboured in the warm sun. He put down the fork and bent to lift the barrow, the seat of his cord breeches tightening as he did so. Unaware of the women's gaze, he lifted the barrow and wheeled it out of sight.

Lady Alicia turned to Kitty and her eyes were bright. "What about him, the new boy - did he abuse himself?"

Kitty looked down, remembering the boy laughing... She had to stop herself from smiling; revenge was going to taste so sweet.


* * *

Davy followed the blonde maid up the stairs, his eyes fixed on her behind. Below her knickers, above the tops of her stockings, he could see the traces of Mr Blackstock's belt inscribed in shades of mauve. The sight, together with the memory of Kitty bucking under the belt, her bottom bouncing from the impact of the strap, combined to make his manhood swell inside his tight breeches.

Davy had never been inside the house before and wondered at the size of it as Kitty led him down a long corridor, her perilously high heels click-clacking on the tiles and echoing around the hallway. He had no idea why he had been summoned. A wild hope that yesterday's delights might be repeated competed with a strange sense of unease. Finally, the maid stopped, and turned to look at him haughtily. As she knocked, Davy thought he caught the hint of a smile. The little trollop wasn't so full of herself yesterday, he thought, but his amusement was short-lived. A husky female voice bid them enter.

Davy was astonished. He had little experience of women. What he had seen of Kitty with her drawers down for the belt had been something of a revelation to him. Certainly, he had never seen anything like Lady Alicia. She stood resplendent in the sunshine by the window, hands on hips. Her proud breasts were upthrust by the corset, veiled only partly with a film of black lace through which her jutting nipples glowed like rubies against pale cream skin. Davy blushed to see so much of so grand a lady, then blushed deeper as the riot of silk and lace and perfume in the room made him all the more aware of his own coarseness; his stench of sweat, horses and manure, his rough stained breeches and the patched smock he had thrown on when Kitty had come to fetch him.

Lady Alicia regarded the red-faced stable boy with distaste. "You what is your name, boy?"

"Davy Falconer, if you please, your ladyship."

"You will address me as 'ma'am, do you understand, boy?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"How long have you been at Hope Hall, Falconer?"

"I started last week, ma'am. If you please, ma'am." Davy found himself unable to wrench his gaze from her nipples. Visions of chewing on them made his mouth go dry and his cheeks flame brighter.

"Well, Falconer, I have to tell you that reports have come to me of appalling behaviour on your part. I wish to find out if these reports are true."

Davy felt a sudden dread. What had he done? He tried to think. He thought of Kitty's smug smile but no - it couldn't be that. The other stable lads had done the same, had egged him on; he had thought it must be normal at Hope Hall - permitted, encouraged even.

"I have been told that while my maidservant was being chastised yesterday, you had the impertinence to masturbate. Tell me now, boy, and tell me the truth. Did you, or did you not, abuse yourself during my maid's punishment?"

Davy reeled in shock. Lady Alicia was terrible in her anger. For all her flouncing silk and lace there was steel in her voice. He did not know what to say. He had frigged himself while the chit was being whipped, though surely she had been too distracted to see? At any event, there had been others present, as guilty as he and yet witnesses for all that....

"Yes, ma'am, but I weren't the only -"

"Silence, boy!" she roared. "I have no wish to hear excuses from masturbating brats. At Hope Hall self-abuse is punished, and that means you are going to be thrashed."

Davy was thunderstruck. The thought occurred to tell her ladyship to go hang, that he would go and get another job. Somehow, though, the words would not come. Maybe he was mesmerised by Lady Alicia's splendour; perhaps the hope of future delights like watching Kitty's whipping was too intoxicating to forgo. Anyway, as Davy told himself, he was a tough lad who could take a beating from any woman. His only real fear was that he would be ordered to drop his breeches. In front of Lady Alicia and a sniggering Kitty, that would be too humiliating to endure.

To his relief, Lady Alicia indicated a whipping triangle ready set up in the corner of the room, then coldly ordered him to remove his smock. A birch or cat on my back, he thought, suppressing a smirk. I'll show these women how Davy Falconer can take that! He allowed Kitty to buckle the restraints around his wrists. He grinned insolently at her, but she seemed disturbingly self-satisfied. He suffered himself to be secured, standing with arms above his head, against the triangle. Nor did he struggle when the maid fastened his ankles close together. Only when Lady Alicia came close, close enough to smell her intoxicating perfume, so close that her jutting nipples grazed his naked back, did his self assurance start to waver. She reached around and took his nipples between sharp nails, and for the first time, Davy shivered.

"You stink, boy, do you know that?" Lady Alicia whispered huskily into his ear. Her overwhelming presence assailed his senses. Her lacy negligee brushed against his bare back, tickling terribly. Musk-rose perfume made his head reel as her nails bit hard into his nipples. Davy groaned.

"Answer me, boy. Do you realise that you stink?"

"Ow, yes ma'am." He gasped as she twisted his nipples viciously between her crimson talons. Davy was trembling now, panic growing, but then she released his nipples and reached down to his waist and began to unbuckle his belt.

"Oh no!"

"What's the matter, boy? Don't you want Kitty to see you?" Lady Alicia undid his breeches and pulled them down to his knees. "I thought she already had. Kitty, look. Hasn't he got a pretty bottom?"

Davy's face burned. He was shamefully exposed.

"And what's this, boy? Don't tell me you have the gall to entertain impure thoughts even here, in my very bed-chamber? Kitty, fetch me a cane!" She put her lips to his ear again, gouging his rigid prick with her nails as she whispered, "I'm going to thrash you now, boy. I'm going to cane you till you cry. I'm going to beat you until you beg for mercy."

Davy took a deep breath when she released him to take the rod, swearing to himself that she would never hear him beg. He was no coward, nor was he unacquainted with the rod. Yet as she slashed the long cane through the air with an ominous whoosh, his whole body tensed. His cock and balls had felt so vulnerable to her talons, he wondered if there was any limit to what this terrifying creature might do.

Finally the cane fell, slicing across his bottom with a sickening thwack. A hiss of pure pain escaped from between Davy's gritted teeth. As the waves of pain slowly subsided, he tensed himself for the next stroke. But Lady Alicia was in no hurry, content to let the agony from the first cut slowly fade.

"Stop sniggering, Kitty, unless you want some of the same!" He heard the cane whoosh through the air again, the sound making his stomach clench so hard it hurt, but no impact followed. Only after several preparatory swishes, each one ratcheting his nerves to screaming pitch, did she finally lash into him again.

Afterwards, Davy could not have said how long the thrashing lasted, nor how many strokes his bottom and thighs received. Lady Alicia beat him leisurely, with long pauses between each stroke, but she was pitiless and her arm was strong. She whipped his bottom and the backs of his thighs, working down until the cane cracked across his legs a little above the knees. Then she worked up again, taking no pains to avoid striking the crimson marks of previous strokes.

When she reached the tops of his buttocks, Davy waited in apprehension as his tormentor took a break to refresh herself with tea and cakes. Then the strokes started again over cheeks already beaten to redness. Soon after she resumed the torment, Davy heard himself beg. Begging quickly turned to pleading for mercy, and pleading to howling helplessly as the cane came down again and again.

Lady Alicia released him herself, cooing insincere condolences to the sobbing boy. Davy slumped to his knees and found his face pulled into the black silk of Lady Alicia's drawers. The sweet sensations of warm silk and perfume vied with the dreadful throbbing in his hindquarters, creating a state of mind close to delirium. Lady Alicia stroked his neck firmly, pulling his face into her crotch.

"There now, boy, your whipping's over. You can stop crying now." She caressed him as the pain slowly subsided. Davy felt foolish yet wildly excited. Trembling with anticipation, he nuzzled the warm flesh of his mistress through the warm silk which blotted out his vision.


Oh my. I think Davy might be having impure thoughts again.
From Hermione's Heart