Wednesday, February 29, 2012

Wednesday WIN

Advertisements with that feminine touch!

From Hermione's Heart

Tuesday, February 28, 2012

More Corrie Spanky Talk

The picture above is of the famous tram crash that decimated the population of Coronation Street in a live broadcast on the show's fiftieth anniversary.

Betty, a barmaid at the Rover's Return, is bickering with Norris, the owner of the news agent's shop. In frustration, Betty warns Norris that "you're not too old to put over my knee."

Norris retorts, "Yes, I think I am."

Betty - may she rest in peace - was in her early nineties and Norris is probably seventy-something. Think again, Norris. You're never too old for a spanking.


Carl has just been banned from Roy's Rolls (the local cafe) by Sylvia, Roy's bad-tempered, overbearing mother. His crime? He popped in to use the facilities then refused to make a purchase. Carl pours out his tale of woe to Norris.

"She made me feel like I was a lad in short pants."

"Well, what about Roy?" agrees Norris. "She looks as if she's going to put him over her knee and slap his backside."

I can't wait to see that!


Norris has emerged after spending the night locked in the loo at the cafe, where Sylvia incarcerated him after he refused to pay 20p for rental of the key to the bathroom. Mary tries to cheer him up.

"Are you enjoying the feeling of air on your cheeks?"

A double entendre if ever I heard one.


And now for an actual spank. Peter and Leanne operate the local bookies', and they have been trying for a baby. They exchange some banter about the frequency of their attempts, and are interrupted by Leanne's mother. The two women arrange a lunch date, and although there has been some friction between the two, Leanne seems pleased with the arrangement. When they are alone again, Peter remarks, "You're going overboard."

Leanne shrugs and replies, "It's only lunch."

Peter passes behind her and, quite unexpectedly, gives her a slap on the bum. Her eyes widen and she squeaks, "Ooh!"

A little foreplay before their next attempt to produce a sprog.


Newly-engaged business partners Carla and Frank are having dinner in the street's bistro with Frank's parents. Mum is overbearing and excessively motherly, and she and Dad are planning the couple's future down to the last detail. Carla is annoyed but holds her tongue and drinks glass after glass of wine. Finally, she erupts. When Mum objects to her outburst, Carla snarls, "Are you going to put me on the naughty spot?"

Frank is alarmed at Carla's behaviour. He stands up, grabs her arm and orders, "Come with me." He pulls her away from the table and off-screen, where we can only imagine a very sound spanking takes place.

Well, that may not be what the writers intended, but it is only a story. Anything can happen.

From Hermione's Heart

Monday, February 27, 2012

From the Top Shelf - The Perfect Wife

An excellent blog called Ladies' Spanking Fiction has resurfaced after a period of inactivity. The author, Roberta S. Barnes, presents a lighthearted view of spanking. In her own words, she creates "[s]panking fiction as it used to be: no porn, no vulgarity, no nude photos, no adolescent jokes. Just cute and wholesome spanking stories, with the merest hint of spice!" That's my kind of blog.

Today I'll share one of her short poems, The Perfect Wife

I know the sweater that I bought is more than our finances can bear,
And I'll get the oil changed this week, my turtledove, I swear,
It's just that I'm so woozy from being in love with you,
That there are many things around the house that I forget to do.

I know that I'm exasperating, that's why you're strict with me,
Why I must take my panties down, and climb across your knee;
You spank me 'cause you love me, dear, I know it breaks your heart,
But there's no one else I'd rather have
Making my bottom smart!

You're always there for me, my dear, and so I pledge to you,
That I will be the perfect wife, and do what I must do;
I'll be prompt and sweet and thrifty, you'll never have to fret,
You'll never have to spank again-- hm-m...
But not just yet!
Would you like another? I'm sure you will enjoy her Reflections in Corner Time.

From Hermione's Heart

Sunday, February 26, 2012

You Completed the Caption

What to do inside on a rainy day? Here's your advice.

Spankedhortic: After what you did, just be thankful that this umbrella isn't being inserted sideways.

James: You're right this umbrella does have many uses!! I'll take three...

Sunnygirl: The next time you go out without your umbrella you'll think twice.

Anon:  And wait until I find your little dog, Toto, too!

Kitty: Harder, you say! I'll give you harder, in spades!!!

Celeste: "Don't you know anything about yoga? You need to get your butt up higher for downward facing dog."

Ronnie: "Next time you decide to come home drunk - I'll use the broom."

Spanky: "I told you, I don't want to buy any more brushes! Stop ringing my bell!"

Kingspan: Before adult spanking toys were widely available, people just had to improvise.

Lea: "I'll show you what happens for trying to look up my skirt!"

Ken: So, you don't think I should have the right to vote? Well, I'll show you a different kind of 'suffrage'!

Conina: Herbert had wondered exactly how much worse his day could get. He was finding out.

Rod: Another wet weekend at home.

Vfrat25000: A photograph of the very first time a couple played the game “TWISTER” was recently uncovered in a box of old newspapers.

Maude and Herbert didn’t wait ten seconds to get frisky after John Boy left for college.

Mother, Father we are home early, the heater in the school isn’t working

Dang nab it Herman…I told you I wouldn’t do that sort of thing before we were married and I sure as “heck” am NOT going to do it now…That’s DISGUSTING!

You may be the President of the Bank at work but in this house you are just an office boy.

Thank you DEAR….May I have another!

Blaze: I must record this fart and send it to the Queen.

Hermione: It never rains but it pours.

Thank you all for your creative interpretations. See you next time!

From Hermione's Heart

Saturday, February 25, 2012

Complete the Caption

Somebody's in trouble! What could this gentleman have done to find himself in a very awkward position?

Complete the caption by leaving a comment and I will publish your submissions in the next post.

From Hermione's Heart

Friday, February 24, 2012

Friday FAIL

The attempt might have been more successful if they had spanked her instead of inflating her.

Here's a little more information on the procedure, thanks to Prefectdt.

From Hermione's Heart

Thursday, February 23, 2012

There's an app for that

The Magic Butt is an interactive wallpaper for Android that lets you imagine you’re touching - and spanking - a lady’s bare bottom.

From Hermione's Heart

Wednesday, February 22, 2012

Wednesday WIN

This screenshot of a book advertised on Amazon appeared on Failblog, but I think you'll agree it's a double WIN. The WINning title of the book is enough, but look where that arrow is pointing!

Tuesday, February 21, 2012

Interview at Blossom and Thorn

Recently I was interviewed by two of my favourite bloggers, Season and Michael of Blossom and Thorn fame. If you have a chance, please stop by their blog and read the interview. We had a lot of fun doing it, and I hope you enjoy it.

From Hermione's Heart

Monday, February 20, 2012

From the Top Shelf - Military Discipline II

Today I have for you the second half of Lauren Aspen's Military Discipline, from Alex Birch's blog, Taste of the Birch. If you missed the first installment, you can read it here.

Despite trying, largely successfully as they both did, to keep their relationship on a professional footing over the subsequent couple of weeks there was no doubt that a Rubicon had been crossed. An electric erotic tension so strong it was almost palpable seemed to arc between the Private and Major at times and it was all either could do to contain themselves.

Eventually Eileen, straightforward and determined as ever, took the initiative. In just two weeks the major’s current mission would be complete and both parties posted Lord knew where. She was dammed if she was going to let a catch like this escape and determined to engineer a consummation of their mutual desire, no matter what the short-term personal cost.

‘You’ve done what!’ said an exasperated Appleton.

‘Bashed the Humber Sir, sorry Sir.’

‘Christ, just when I thought we’d return it pristine, have you any idea of the paperwork I’ll have to fill in?’

‘I imagine it’s terrible Sir, I expect I’m in big trouble now?’

‘You suppose correctly, private.’

‘In which case no doubt you’ll want to punish me, Sir.’

‘Punish you, how?’ Appleton was suspicious. No squaddie ever volunteered for discipline.

‘Yourself, I mean like last time Sir, don’t want to ruin my perfect army driving record and affect my chances of a job on demob.’

‘The bumper will still be bent no matter how you’re dealt with,’ pointed out Appleton crossly.

‘Ah well Sir,’ responded Eileen chirpily, ‘thing is I’ve a pal in the motor section where we’re going tomorrow, he’ll straighten it out as a personal favour and I can bolt it back on myself, we’ll just lose a couple of hours that’s all.’

‘Really? You seem to have thought this through very thoroughly Private Terry,’ said Appleton cautiously; his initial glimmer of suspicion began to rapidly grow.

‘Just using the old noggin’ Sir,’ continued Private Terry, suddenly anxious to move the conversation on, ‘So I’ll report your quarters at 2100 hours to take my medicine shall I Sir?’

‘Yes, very well Terry,’ agreed Appleton distractedly, an absorbing idea beginning to take shape in his head. ‘Oh and Private…’

‘Yes Sir?’

‘Since a hand spanking has singularly failed to have the requisite salutary effect you’d better use that initiative of yours a bit more and find something else for me to punish you with.’

At 9pm on the dot there was a sharp rap on the door of his secluded billet on the far edge of the camp.

‘Enter,’ said the Major curtly and Private Terry marched smartly into the room.

‘Ah Terry,’ observed Appleton, looking up from the armchair where he was enjoying a rather good restorative single malt, ‘punctual, present and correct I see.’

‘Yes Sir, she replied hesitantly, suddenly this didn’t seem like such a clever wheeze after all.

‘And what..?’ he enquired rising from the chair, ‘have you bought me?

‘This sir,’ she replied, unenthusiastically proffering a slender flexible parcel, which contained, he discovered upon tearing off the brown paper, a riding crop.

‘Where on earth..?’

‘Mine Sir,’ carry it with me in my kit, just in case I get the chance of a hack somewhere we visit. Thought It’d be going home unused but…’

‘Events took an unexpected turn?’ the Major ventured.

‘Yes Sir.’

‘Ah, but that’s not quite true is it Private?’

‘Sir?’ Eileen sounded worried; it transpired, with good reason.

‘There was nothing spontaneous about today’s little accident was there?’

‘What do you mean Sir?’ Acting innocent was not her forte.

‘I mean I saw you deliberately reverse the Humber into that post for a start… No hear me out,’ he added as she moved to make an excuse. ‘Having no doubt already established your mate could fix it. You’re far too competent a driver to make a mistake such as that so I can only assume this whole little scenario is a deliberate set up.’

Private Terry had turned a nasty shade of pale, being caught out so easily had not been part of her plan.

‘Don’t panic Private,’ said Appleton correctly interpreting her aghast expression, ‘all is not lost. In fact such a hamfisted lie gives me all the more reason to punish you severely.’ He swished the crop loudly through the air.

‘Extra strokes, a sound thrashing,’ he added, emphasising the latter word with evident relish. ‘Deceiving a senior officer is a far more serious matter than simply denting a car wouldn’t you agree Private?’

‘Sir, I…’

‘No matter, I don’t require your agreement,’ he added pacing the room slapping her uniformed rump in the process, ‘and be warned girl, this dose of discipline will be on your bare bottom.’

‘Sir!’ Eileen was shocked. Just when she’d imagined herself to be orchestrating events the tables had been comprehensively turned.

‘You know the routine Private, cap and tunic off and across my knee, now.’

Stung by his cold, commanding tone Eileen hurried to obey.

Unlike the previous occasion, Major Appleton wasted no time in soundly tanning her rear. For five full minutes every inch of Eileen’s unfortunate knicker-clad rump was treated to an unremittingly thorough spanking. Appleton didn’t once pause until he could perceive a roseate glow permeating the tightly stretched silk knickers.

Eventually the Major took a break to allow himself and the already moist-eyed, squirming girl across his lap to draw breath. Notwithstanding different colour knickers there were, he now noticed, other more subtle sartorial variations in Private Terry’s presentation. More makeup than one might usually expect to find adorning an on-duty female member of the ranks for a start. Not that this was visible at present since her animated and increasingly shrill gyrations had caused Eileen’s shoulder length curly brunette hair to come unpinned and fall about her face.

Appleton sniffed, perfume and not the sort of cheap stuff the average female squaddie usually treated herself to from Boots either but then, despite her current humble calling, Eileen was after all a nice middle class gel. He sniffed again; Private Terry’s body further betrayed her, protestations and pleas for mercy aside the Major caught the unmistakable tang of female sexual arousal.

Brief interlude over he purposefully grasped the waistband of her drawers and tugged them firmly down over the generous curve of Eileen’s crimson marked buttocks to the tops of her stockings. These weren’t standard issue either, he observed, being the very latest American nylons, sheer, seamed, fully-fashioned and sheathing her elegant legs all the from way from the tips of Eileen’s toes to the tops of her thighs.

He could see her toes clearly because, in the struggle to stop him pulling down her pants – during which Appleton had grasped the young madam’s wrists firmly in the small of her back – she had kicked her equally non regulation court shoes across the floor.

‘Oh no please Major, don’t spank me bare,’ wailed Eileen, who up to now had thought this only a threat, ‘please. It’s so undignified.’

Her heartfelt pleas were all to no avail unfortunately, Appleton calmly ignored her cries and resumed the spanking of her out-thrust seat, taking care to fill in any previously neglected areas of unblemished skin before concluding by peppering the tops of her tender thighs with a series of stinging slaps which send tears running down her face.

‘Right Private, that concludes the first part of your punishment,’ said Appleton whose hand was beginning to smart. ‘Up onto your feet, leave those knickers around your knees and go and stand in the corner with your hands on your head for five minutes.’

‘Yes Sir,’ answered Eileen miserably, stumbling awkwardly across the floor to obey his instruction. Crestfallen and humbled she stood facing the wall; pussy throbbing wildly, bottom burning fiercely, desperate to rub away the blazing hurt but too scared of the consequences to do so.

Appleton returned to his easy chair, took up his whisky glass and settled down to enjoy the view. The smartly turned out Private who’d presented at his threshold just 15 minutes before was now a methodically castigated, dishevelled and tear-stained young lady. Clothes awry, mascara running, bouncing curls tangled she fidgeted uncomfortably as the heat from her burning seat gradually suffused every element of her lower body, especially her sopping sex. Submitting to the dashing young officer might have been painful but a substantial part of her enjoyed the element of coercion and - as the first spanking had taught her - such humiliation had its compensations.

On please, she thought, if she could only somehow convince him to take her now, assuage the ache between her legs, satisfy this atavistic need to be held and vigorously, passionately, ’seen to’.

For his part Appleton’s mind was following a broadly similar path, albeit from a dominant male’s perspective. First there was a job to be done, this little minx must be left in doubt who had, and would always have, the upper hand. Then, the Major decided, it was time to throw caution to the winds, unless he was very mistaken the erect nippled, evidently aroused clergyman’s daughter was more than ready to be fucked, and right know he’d an erection like a tent pole just yearning for the task.

‘Turn around Private,’ he commanded softly, thoroughly enjoying the spectacle as, blushing furiously she did so lowering her hands to cover her auburn bush. ‘Come now Terry, it’s a bit late in the day for modesty isn’t it?’ enquired Appleton. ‘You surrendered most of that just now when you were hollering, bare bummed over my knee, scissoring your legs and revealing all of a girl’s most intimate secrets.’

Poor Private Terry blushed even deeper, her bottom lip quivering. ‘Was it that blatant?’ she whimpered.

‘Yes, confirmed,’ Appleton his voice taking kinder tone, ‘but thank you I’m flattered. Now let’s get the concluding part of your punishment over with young lady. Skirt and knickers off then get yourself bent over the back of this easy chair, head and hands on the seat, feet slightly apart and bottom pushed well out for a taste of the crop.’

With a pathetic sniffle, surely sufficient to melt all but the hardest heart Private Terry did his bidding.

‘Wait a moment,’ said Appleton as she stepped gingerly from her skirt.


‘Put those shoes back on Private, the heels will stiffen your calves and help push that naughty little arse into prominence.’

He was of course correct and soon had the unhappy soldier presented in an optimum position.

‘Excellent,’ confirmed Appleton, pacing around, appreciating the view. ‘Legs wider apart, bottom out further, very good.’

‘Oh goodness, what must he be able to see,’ worried Eileen, bitterly regretting her earlier bravado and the mess she’d got herself into. ‘With my bum presented like this my pussy, even my anus must be clearly visible.’

Indeed they were. Major Appleton had not selected this pose by accident. He bent closer, no doubt about it; beads of moisture were visible on her pubic hairs, labia pouting invitingly between the curls.

‘How many strokes Sir?’ enquired Eileen barely able to stop her voice from shaking.

How many indeed? His fantasy now made flesh Appleton could happily have thrashed this delectable derriere all night, but punishment was no longer the principal part of his agenda.

A dozen perhaps? No wise up man. The girl before him, the girl for whom his feeling were growing by the day, the girl dam it who had set up this little scenario before getting more than she bargained for, had born her travails bravely. Done everything he’d asked; her poor hot posterior was already tender to the slightest touch. Beat her hard and he’d be nothing more than a bullying brute and Lord knows the army had enough sadists in its upper echelons. Beat her hard and Eileen’s evident sexual stimulation would disappear in a blaze of soul-destroying pain.

‘How many do think you deserve?’ he enquired archly, playing for time as he picked up the crop and swished it noisily through the air.

She flinched visibly at the sound. The notion of its imminent searing impact on her already scalded skin was unthinkable.

‘Perhaps six Sir?’ she ventured, her voice cracking, sure she’d never escape that lightly.

‘Six, yes that seems fair,’ agreed Appleton easily, reluctant to torment Eileen further. Idly he flicked the crop’s leather flaps against the tops of her thighs, watching her shudder at even this fleeting touch. ‘Six and your penance shall be paid Private.’

‘Thank you, Sir.’

‘Private…’ began Appleton flicking the crop’s end carefully up between her lewdly parted thighs where it landed lightly but damply against her sodden sex sending shudders of desire though her lower limbs.


‘Do I take it you are not a virgin?’

‘Fraid not Sir.’


Because women have needs as well as men,’ the lithe young girl retorted immediately, more than a trace of her old spirited self evident in her tone, ‘anyway,’ she added looking back over her shoulder, a hint of humour on her lips, eyes bright once more, ‘how do think I got these stockings?’

‘And that doesn’t spoil a girl for marriage?’

‘I wouldn’t like to marry any man who thought that’s all a girl was intended to do,’ she replied reasonably, ‘but,’ she added quickly, ‘I was joking about the nylons.’

‘One Yank and they’re off, that’s what they say.’ It was Appleton’s turn to grin, ‘don’t worry Private, I didn’t think you were that undiscriminating.’

‘Sir, could we possibly get this hiding over with?’ enquired a newly emboldened Eileen.

‘You in a hurry soldier?’

‘Well rather Sir, yes; because after you’ve striped my wretched bum I was rather hoping you might relieve a girl’s misery with a through rogering.’

‘Only a cad could refuse,’ said Appleton dryly, taking a step backwards and smoothly delivering the first of six strokes, decorating the smarting, erotic swell of her nether cheeks with half a dozen parallel bands of vivid purple fire, from the crest of Eileen’s perfectly rounded orbs to just above the tops of her tan stockings. A carefully spaced volley of firm but fair strokes delivered with tennis player’s forearm and a badminton champ’s wrist. Rapid, scorching, cleansing impacts each of which left a livid wheal across the taut, yielding flesh of her gorgeous arse.

‘Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, OH!” Each scourging contact of the crop was punctuated by a progressively louder emotional exclamation from Eileen the final, seventh, cry mingling surprise and relief as a rod of an entirely different kind made its presence felt inside her overheated sex. Carefully the Major slipped the tip between the slickly lubricated, puffy lips of her intimate anatomy, one inch, she moaned anew, then two, another cry, more guttural, next three and then he abruptly halted.

Puzzled, Eileen turned her face towards her senior officer who held her firmly by the hips, the frustration was unbearable, it was too late to stop now. Then, instantly she understood, he might not be making her beg but the Major was going to ensure Eileen worked for her pleasure. Slowly, lasciviously, she began to rotate the glowing roundness of her smarting backside, shimmying her supple hips like an accomplished voluptuary, all the while gradually pushing up her hot sore tush towards the steely abdomen of her chastiser. Faster now, her breath beginning to come in pants, she impaled her honeyed portals, clenching her muscles, pulling him deep inside. Back and forth, harder and deeper, she felt his balls slaps against her perineum as Appleton lifted her onto the tips of her toes to ensure that every last centimetre of his impressive cock, quite the biggest she’d ever experienced, was rammed home to the hilt. Later they would repeat the exercise, face to face enfolded in each other arms. Next time the pace would be leisurely but now neither could contain themselves a moment longer, each urging the other to an orgasmic conclusion.

‘Corporal?’ enquired Appleton some 10 minutes later, he sitting back in the easy chair, she perching gingerly on his undamaged knee - neither had adjusted their dress, eyes and hands locked together, basking in a satisfied, post-coital silence.

‘Sir?’ replied Eileen lazily.

‘They’ve asked me to extend this tour to our bases in the Med.’

‘Really Sir.’

‘I like you to join me.’

‘That would be more of an instruction than a request would it Sir?’

‘That’s pretty much how I perceive the future of this partnership, yes.’

‘In that case, like a shot Sir,’ she agreed immediately, then quizzically ‘but Sir, what did you mean Corporal?’

‘Ah yes, meant to tell you, I put you up for promotion, it came through yesterday. Dam appropriate in view of our little disciplinary encounters eh Eileen?’

‘Corporal punishment,’ she mused, very droll, very corny but very accurate. Yes, why not? ‘Thank you Sir.’

‘Call me Andrew and thank you corporal.’

Whew! I don't know about you, but I need a cold shower after reading that!

From Hermione's Heart

Sunday, February 19, 2012

You Completed the Caption

The silly season came early this year! Here's how you captioned this picture.

Prefectdt: Wilson and Keppel were enjoying the auditions for a new Betty.

With Akela safely tied up and all the locals keeping a good distance from the site, the Girl Brat Guides thought that this year's camp was going well.

Simon: The video to accompany Lady Gaga's new single took a lot of people by surprise.

Kingspan: The term "field sobriety test" originated in ancient Greece, where Dionysus began festivals by making his nymphs stand on one leg in a field to see whether any had begun the revelry without him. The ritual spankings that followed may have led some to stumble on purpose.

Bonnie: "OK, I admit it's not the same as Sierra Mist."

"When I pledged to the Deltas, you just got paddled and that was the initiation."

Ronnie: A morning dance for the Nymphs.

The girls annual fairy dance was becoming a little silly.

Sunnygirl: Are the satyrs going to join the dance too?

Six of the best: My request for six naughty ladies dancing in a fest. Is giving them on their bare bottoms, 'six of the best'. With vigorous zest.

Vfrat25000: The American Medical Association’s Committee of Women Neurosurgeons finally decided to enter the Amateur Talent Night at the National Convention.

The Organization of Women Against Internet Smut had a rather embarrassing experience at their monthly picnic after Dear Sweet Old Mable made some of her “special” brownies.

I think the mayonnaise in those sandwiches may have gone bad. Take a look through those bushes and tell me if you see six women dancing in ballet costumes in the middle of Jones Park?

The training for the Military’s Special Forces personnel certainly has changed since they began admitting women into the program.

Truth or Dare: “Admit the last time you were turned over someone’s knee and spanked as an adult OR dress up in ballet costume and dance through the city park!

Daisychain: C'mon, c'mon, the best dancer wins a spanking... 

C: I will listen for the Satyr while you all sneak away so he can't spank us for frolicking in the meadow.

Hermione: Groundhog Day celebrations took an unexpected turn when Wiarton Willie failed to see his shadow, and winter suddenly ended.

Thank you all for having fun with me this weekend. Have a safe and happy week and we'll do this again soon.

From Hermione's Heart

Saturday, February 18, 2012

Complete the Caption

Ah, summertime! It seems so long since we've enjoyed a frolic in the meadow.

Complete the caption by leaving a comment, and I will publish your submissions in the next post.

From Hermione's Heart

Friday, February 17, 2012

Friday FAIL

Today's FAILs are on the subject of pain - the bad kind, not the kind we love - and how to relieve it.

The contents of Dalley's Magical Pain Extractor are unknown, but probably either ineffective or dangerous. The text reads: "Molly Pitcher, the heroine of Monmouth, avenging her husband's death."

Wolcott's Instant Pain Annihilator is "A speedy & permanent cure for headache, toothache, neuralgia, catarrh and weak nerves." Contents also unknown.

From Hermione's Heart

Thursday, February 16, 2012


Ron and I go for a walk together as often as we can, weather permitting. It's good exercise, and gives us a chance to explore our neighbourhood and to observe things that we would otherwise miss while driving past. Ron always carries a walking stick in case we are approached by an agressive dog. City by-laws don't permit dogs to run loose, but some people let them do so anyway, so it's best to be prepared.

But Ron finds the, walking stick, handy in other ways. For example, when I have to stop and tie my shoelace (curse those round laces; I must replace them with flat ones) I sometimes feel a sharp tap on my bottom, urging me to hurry so we can resume walking. While crossing the road, I may step in front of him, cutting him off, and he registers his displeasure with a smack of the cane on my posterior. Or if I'm lagging behind, he will use the stick as motivation to get a move on.

What pleases me most is that he's doing this where people can see. Not that there are many people outside in the cold weather, except for a few other walkers. But I like to think that there is someone sitting at a window, observing the passers-by, who sees a man swatting a woman on the backside, and then sees the woman laugh. And the watcher will frown or smile at what he has seen.

From Hermione's Heart

Wednesday, February 15, 2012

Wednesday WIN

Who knew vinyl records were kinky? I hear they're making a comeback.

From Hermione's Heart

Tuesday, February 14, 2012

Be My Valentine

What a lovely way to celebrate Valentine's Day!

From Hermione's Heart

Monday, February 13, 2012

From the Top Shelf - Military Discipline

Over a year ago we lost a valuable member of the spanking blog world. Alex Birch maintained a huge collection of spanking stories in his now-defunct blog, Taste of the Birch. Sadly, his blog has been hacked and the stories were deleted, so I won't include the URL. But fortunately, while I was at Hogwarts, I learned a spell for resurrecting blog posts that have vanished, and was able to restore a favourite of mine.

I'm a big fan of a television series called Foyle's War, set in England during and after the Second World War. It features a civilian detective, Chief Superintendent Christopher Foyle (Michael Kitchen) and his lovely driver, Samantha "Sam" Stewart (Honeysuckle Weeks - isn't that a fantastic name?)

Military Discipline by Laurel Aspen reminds me of this unlikely couple. I can hear Sam's voice speaking the words of Private Terry.

‘Ah, good day to you Appleton.’


‘No need to come to attention old chap, sit down, take the weight off, how’s the leg?’

Major Appleton sat gratefully. ‘Coming along sir, although I may never regain full flexibility in the knee.’

‘Shame,’ said his host shortly but with evident sincerity, ‘can’t think for a moment why we had to blindly follow the Yanks into south east Asia in the first place, God forsaken place Korea and we were never going to win. Political vanity as always.’

Slightly taken aback by this candour Appleton, who’d fortunately been forewarned of the canny old civil servant’s habit of communicating in staccato bursts of rhetoric, wisely kept his own counsel. Sir Archibald Piercy, intentionally unknown to the man on the Clapham omnibus, was the senior permanent secretary at the Ministry of Defence. When Piercy called you came running, or in Appleton’s case at a brisk limp.

‘Sorry to drag you back from sick leave,’ Piercy continued in an avuncular tone, ‘but we’ve a pressing problem we rather hoped you might lend us a hand with.’

That would be a governmental rather than a Royal ‘we’ Appleton surmised. ‘Glad to be doing anything Sir,’ he answered enthusiastically, ‘convalescing is driving me mad with boredom.’

‘Thing is,’ said Piercy, ‘and this is strictly entre nous, the PM’s lately got the wind up about the state of readiness of some of our military bases. “Much Binding in the Marsh” and all that is a tad to close for comfort in a few cases.’

‘I’d heard rumours Sir,’ said Major Appleton, who kept his ear to the ground, ‘one of the problems of a conscript army.’

‘Quite so,’ agreed Piercy sagely as he keenly observed the young officer before him. Walking stick and limp apart he saw a bright, battle hardened veteran. A fellow who knew his own mind and wasn’t afraid to speak it. ‘Cut a long story short,’ Piercy went on, ‘we’d like you to make a series of unannounced inspections. Turn up out of the blue, shake the buggers out of their torpor.’

‘I see Sir,’ Appleton brightened visibly at the prospect; a chance to something useful at last and just when he’d reconciled himself to being pensioned off to some dull Whitehall desk job.

‘Report problems personally to me pronto then return a few months later to check they’ve been sorted out,’ Piercy continued.

‘Splendid Sir, I can’t wait,’ responded Appleton smartly, ‘only thing is I’m going to need a driver to get about. Dam leg won’t work a clutch pedal yet.’

‘Yes thought as much,’ said Piercy, always a step ahead. ‘Not to worry old chap, I’ve requisitioned a decent enough Humber from the pool and after a lot of badgering, apparently your rank isn’t automatically entitled to one, finally managed to blag you a driver, name of Terry. Dam bureaucratic nonsense if you ask me,’ he concluded clearly oblivious to any irony.

‘Marvellous Sir, thank you, when may I start?’

‘That’s the spirit, knew we’d chosen wisely. The car will be at your flat, Marylebone isn’t it?’ he checked a file on the desk, ‘tomorrow 9am sharp. Organise your own itinerary and I’ll expect the first report in a week. Good luck.’


‘You’re Terry?’

‘Yes Sir.’

‘But I…’

‘Was expecting a bloke? Happens all the time Sir. Private Eileen Terry Royal Corps of Transport reporting for duty.’

‘I see,’ said Major Appleton, who didn’t, doubtfully.

‘You’ve nothing to worry about,’ announced the young Private, correctly interpreting his look. ‘I can drive ‘em, I can mend ‘em and,’ she smiled cheekily, ‘I can type as well, what more could an officer want?’

‘A little more respect for a start,’ replied Appleton, struggling to suppress a smile.

Despite the unflattering cut of her standard issue khaki tunic there was little doubting that Eileen Terry, aged he guessed early 20s, some 10 years his junior, was something of a dish. Somewhere under that ill-cut serge - say what you like about the Jerries but at least their uniforms had always looked good – lay a trim little figure.

Private Terry stood a good few inches shorter than his angular six foot frame; a trace of lipstick and curly brown hair tucked under her peaked cap preserved a vestige of the femininity her clothes otherwise so successfully concealed. Unasked she picked up his case and carried it to the boot. As Eileen bent forward to stow his belongings in the Humber her skirt tightened across what Appleton couldn’t help but notice was a potential peach of an arse. Full, firm and… yes well quite, concentrate on the task ahead man.

They set off down the A24, a perfect spring day, traversing the sun-dappled North Downs en route to a costal defence battery near Worthing.

‘What’ enquired Appleton after several miles, ‘brought a girl like you into the army?’

‘Girl like what Sir?’

‘Well spoken and clearly educated for a start. Unless I’m mistaken National Service hasn’t been extended to women?’

‘To travel and see the world,’ replied Eileen promptly. ‘My dad’s a vicar, not far from here in fact, and mum’s very involved in the Parish, all very pleasant but rather dull and not at all for me.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because in that cosy little existence nothing unpredictable ever happens. Nice middle class girls either seem to work in an office until some bloke takes pity and proposes or trot off to teacher training college…’

‘Then back to the same town to teach for a couple of years until some bloke takes pity and proposes,’ chimed in Appleton.

‘Exactly sir, well done, gosh, people don’t usually have an inkling of what I mean but you’ve got it in one,’ said Private Terry, clearly delighted by his empathy. ‘Mum and dad weren’t at all thrilled when I joined up at 18 but in the last five years I’ve been to Aden Cyprus, Germany…’

‘And it’s still only 1955,’ smiled Appleton, already impressed by her radiant smile and positive, can-do, attitude to life.

‘That’s right,’ agreed Eileen cheerfully, ‘who knows what’ll happen next?’


On the military front nothing radical was the short answer.

During the following couple of weeks the pair visited half a dozen bases, two excellent, one average and three, as Appleton was not slow to point out to the OICs ‘downright diabolical.’

Quietly observing Appleton’s working methods, often at his behest taking notes, Eileen soon learned to respect her new boss. Assertive rather than aggressive he suffered fools and blusterers not at all yet listened carefully to reasoned arguments, frequently taking to the trouble to perform small acts of kindness without apparently feeling any less of a man.

Which, she knew, having once arrived early at his billet and caught him coming out of the shower Appleton most definitely was, lean muscular, often pained by his leg wound yet uncomplaining. An alpha male to set a girl’s heart racing.

For his part Appleton was equally taken with his willing assistant for Eileen, quick on the uptake, sparky and possessed of plenty of initiative, soon expanded her role. Careful not to overstep the hierarchy of rank she nevertheless occasionally ventured perceptive opinions and, to Appleton’s relief, could happily chat about an eclectic range of non-military matters during their long hours on the road.

All went swimmingly until the morning when Eileen mislaid the car keys. Sure enough she found them somewhere obvious some 30 minutes later but the time lost made Appleton late for his appointment to check progress at a particularly slovenly camp. Which in turn, he felt, diminished his authority and put the normally even-tempered Major in a decidedly frosty mood for the rest of the day.

That evening after dinner Appleton finally simmered down and regained his sense of perspective. The girl had done dam well up until now and there was no sense in damaging a perfectly serviceable working relationship because of one minor mishap. Besides which he’d privately become rather fond of Private Terry; better to have the matter out that very evening he thought and summoned her to his temporary quarters.

Eileen for her part had been feeling guiltily wretched all day and was desperate to make amends to someone who she not only admired professionally but also rather… ‘hmm, no sense thinking like that girl, it was your mind wandering which got you into this jam in the first place.’

‘I should report this,’ said Appleton severely, although in truth he was considering doing no such thing.

‘Please don’t Sir, my record’s spotless so far, I don’t want to ruin it with something so silly.’

‘How else are we to resolve this matter Private? This is the army, we must maintain discipline above all else.’

‘Well Sir,’ Eileen blushed, her eyes downcast, ‘I did have sort of an idea…’

‘Really? Well come on woman let’s hear it, your suggestions have generally been jolly good thus far.’

‘Sir, I was careless I know, and I deserve to be punished but perhaps if you could do it yourself rather than putting me on report...?’

‘Go on,’ Appleton had been considering nothing more than brief verbal bollocking but this development was intriguing.

‘Sir when I was in Aden the CO at the military hospital sometimes spanked the nurses instead of sticking them on a charge.’

Did he indeed, thought Appleton, his trousers twitching at the image Private Terry had created in his head. ‘Did he indeed?’ he said out loud struggling hard to keep his voice neutral, ‘and you thought, what exactly?’

Eileen squirmed at something resembling attention before the Major unable to look him in the eye, cheeks red with shame. ‘That you might do the same Sir?’ she whispered tentatively.

Appleton let the silence hang in the air. Uncanny, his favourite fantasy – until now apparently destined to remain nothing more – made flesh. He hadn’t even broached the subject of spanking, she had. Not that if anything went wrong this fact would save him. He was after all the senior officer, the one in authority; and there was nothing the tabloid newspapers liked more than embarrassing the establishment.

He looked up gravely at Eileen, anxiety written all over her face. That had taken some guts, he thought, not just to suggest such a punishment but then possibly suffer the humiliation of being a grown woman willingly submitting to getting her bottom smacked like a naughty little girl.

‘Very well,’ Eileen he said carefully, Christ, was that his voice? It seemed to echo from another dimension ‘I’m prepared to accept your propped alterative. A short, sharp physical chastisement,’ she winced at the words, ‘and then the matter will be forgotten.’

Eileen’s mouth opened to reluctantly assent but no sound was audible, just a silently mouthed ‘yes.’

‘No time like the present Private,’ he continued in brisk, business like tones, ‘ so get yourself over here now.’

Taking a deep breath Eileen crossed the room to where Appleton sat on an armless, upright chair.

‘Hat and tunic on the desk please,’ Appleton continued brusquely, ‘then stand next to me.’

Fingers fumbling over buttons, hat dropped on the floor in haste and retrieved by visibly shaking hands Eileen silently complied, her attractive features a mask of apprehension.

Butterflies danced frantically in her stomach as she stood as bidden. ‘Hands on head Private and face away from me,’ ordered Appleton. Knees knocking, heart thudding, she obeyed standing rigidly, feet together, shoulders back and stomach pulled tight in the approved parade drill fashion as he lifted the hem of her skirt.

Slowly, carefully, the Major exposed slender legs in unflattering regulation stockings, broad suspender straps taught over curvaceous hips and a most irregular pair of silk French knickers, which certainly weren’t HM’s standard stores issue.

‘Hmm,’ breathed Appleton with classic English understatement, relishing the sight. Her legs were very bit as delectable as the accidentally teasing glimpse of thigh - occasionally revealed when Private Terry climbed from the car during the preceding weeks - had led him to hope

The knee length skirt, bunched out of the way around her tiny waist, further emphasised the fullness of Eileen’s buttocks as his strong arms easily turned her around and over his knee. Finger tips on the bare wooden boards on one side, toes of her highly polished clumpy lace-ups just touching the floor on the other. Across his lap Private Terry’s exquisite peach silk covered derriere positively invited the visitation of the hand that Appleton bought determinedly down to the centre of the target area with satisfyingly audible slap.

Carefully, methodically the Major set to smacking every inch of her obediently proffered bottom. Save for the noise of each ringing blow his victim lay rigid at first, taking her medicine in exemplary silence. Gradually though the skin at the edges of her lace trimmed knickers began to turn pink in tandem with the inexorably increasing heat of her punished posterior. In reaction to each ringing, stinging slap the entire surface of her vulnerable nether regions began to smart unbearably. Involuntary grunts and mews of distress escaped the unfortunate soldier’s lips. Private Terry’s feet kicked thin air, her hips twisting on his lap; waist held firmly in Appleton’s steely grip escape was impossible.

In no hurry to rush to a conclusion the Major rested his hand lightly on his delinquent driver’s delectable rear and felt the heat emanating from her soft, pale skin. Absently he stroked her heaving globes sending shivers of pleasure darting to Eileen’s sexual epicentre. The impromptu pause in punitive proceedings permitted Eileen to catch her breath and discover that, though her poor little backside felt as if had been toasted, the resultant fire was beginning to permeate her very core with an unmistakable adrenalin rush of arousal. Every nerve end of her pink flushed behind tingled with unaccustomed stimulation. The young Private’s private parts, shamefully neglected by any hand but her own these last few weeks, dampened in an enthusiastically libidinous response.

An embarrassing position to be in perhaps, but viewed another way there were worst fates which could assail a girl than being pinioned firmly across the knee of a handsome officer who, if the impressively sized blunt object nudging her thigh was anything to go by, was experiencing a not dissimilar pleasure.

Agreeable though this interlude was proving Appleton thought it prudent to conclude events, this was after all, dam it, supposed to be a punishment. Grabbing her French knickers in his left hand he pulled the already damp crotch tightly into Eileen’s buttock cleft, sending further pulses of pleasure through her body. As the thin strip of material sank deep between her labia so wisps of fair hair appeared, damp with the tell tale moisture of Eileen’s evident arousal.

‘Well well,’ he mused quietly. Her head pointed floorwards Eileen missed the smile of comprehension that creased her tormentor’s features. So she was enjoying this almost as much as he; Appleton would soon see about that.

A dozen hearty concluding smacks fell onto what was essentially bare flesh leaving livid fingerprints across her milky under cheeks and eliciting heartfelt wails of distress. Appleton waited patiently for Eileen to compose herself and helped her clamber stiffly from his knees as eyes damp with tears, hands clutching her burning bottom she somehow contrived to maintain her dignity.

‘Thank you Sir,’ Eileen said in a small but firm voice, her hands all the while massaging her hot and sore buttocks. ‘Will there be anything more?’

‘If only,’ thought Appleton silently, ‘if only,’ but that would be pushing events too far, too fast. Better to see how things panned out. A precedent of sorts had been set tonight and both of them were now in no doubt as to the aphrodisiac effects of the spanking. However, where one thing might have quickly led to another in Civy Street they were in the army now.

‘Off to your quarters with you and report at 8am sharp tomorrow please Private Terry,’ said Appleton shortly in as neutral a voice as he could muster.

‘Understood Sir,’ Eileen saluted smartly and Appleton could only marvel out how quickly she regained her self-possession marching purposefully, albeit a little tenderly from the room. Dam it all, there was even twinkle in her eye and an incipient smile on her face.

There's more to the story; enjoy part 2 here.

From Hermione's Heart

Sunday, February 12, 2012

You Completed the Caption

Here is the photo as captioned on VeryDemotivational. Now let's see what you wrote:

Simon: "I have no idea how I'm going to explain this to Spock."

Attractive as his communications officer was, Kirk couldn't help wishing that Nurse Chappell had done something that warranted a spanking.

Michael: "Spanking....the kinky frontier.
These are the adventures of the spanko Hermione,
Her lifelong mission: to explore erotic new spanking positions,to seek out new spanko friends and new implements, to boldly spank where no spanko has spanked before."

"Phaser set on fun"

"Arming fleshton torpedo" 

Kingspan: "This will make the perfect cover photo for my tell-all book: From Warp Speed to Warped Minds - The Kinky Lives of the Cast of Star Trek."

"I better enjoy this while I can. No woman is going to let me pull her panties down when I'm eighty years old and staring in Priceline commercials."

"The rest of me may be on the bridge of the Enterprise, but my palm is about to land on the moon."

Mick: Scottish Voice from the intercom: "Captain! She can't take much more!"

Duality: "If...only... there was... SOME... way to spank myself. Bones, can you.."
"Jim, if you make me say I'm a doctor and not a magician I'm going to come up to that bridge and so help me.."
"Right. So spanking Uhura it is."

Spanky: "I wonder if this would fit in the replicator?"

Penelope: "I wonder if that cutie I met on Tagnion 4 is into spanking... hmm...she did want me to explain that thing called 'love' to her, after all..."

Sunnygirl: Got you exactly where I always wanted you - now what do I do?

Bonnie: "If those prudish censors freaked out over an interracial kiss on TV, this will blow their minds..."

"What? Did you really expect me to throw her in the brig?"

"Y'know, Spock, this is more fun than fist fights with aliens."

"She's red, Jim"

Bobbie Jo: "Long, long ago in a galaxy far, far away..."
Wait a minute! Where'd that come from?

Ronnie: Uhura thought if only Scotty could beam her out of this before Spock saw them.

Rod: "Signs of life alright."

(Although I always had a thing for Yeoman Rand, myself.)

Uhura - Tell me more of this Earth custom called "Spanking".
Kirk - But you are from Earth.
Uhura - (exasperated) Just play the damn scene will you.

A. Lurker: "To boldly go where no man has gone before!"

Klingons around Uranus? We must never speak of this again.

How many times must I tell you? Starfleet FORBIDS contact with the Romulans!

The communications station is NOT to be used for facebooking, E-Harmony and especially NOT for spanking blogs!

"Red Alert" is NOT the safeword!

I'll give YOU warp factor 3!

"And I thought Tribbles were trouble!"

"So YOU put the tribbles in the quadrotriticale!"

"GET (smack) THOSE (smack) TRIBBLES (smack, smack, smack) OFF MY BRIDGE (slap, spank, whap, smack . . .)!!!!"

You gotta love those tribbles!

Six of the Best: "Spanking this Trekkie is 'out of this world."

Ricky: No, no, no, Scotty, not now!

Anon: "No, Bones, not the tri-corder! The Captain promised that I wouldn't be able to sit down for a week. I want to see if that's true."

Daisychain: "Ass, the final frontier..."

Hermione: Please, Captain, not in front of the Klingons.

Well, that was fun! So until next week, "Second star to the right...and straight on 'til morning."

From Hermione's Heart

Saturday, February 11, 2012

Complete the Caption

Here's one for all you Trekkies. What does that faraway look in the good Captain's eye mean?

Give it some thought, then complete the caption by leaving a comment. I will beam up your submissions in the next post.
From Hermione's Heart

Friday, February 10, 2012

Friday FAIL

Judging from your comments, I've been getting these Friday FAILs wrong. You usually think they are WINs and I must confess I often agree with you. So I tried a little harder to find some true FAILs and I think I succeeded.

Here, for your amusement, are some real advertising FAILs from days gone by.

From Hermione's Heart

Thursday, February 9, 2012

Well, well, what have we here?

A few weeks ago we had an exceptionally severe winter storm, with snow, freezing rain and high winds. The combination caused many trees to come down, bringing overhead power lines with them. One casualty of the storm was our desktop computer. A series of power surges, as the electricity went off, on, off, on for an hour or so before going off altogether, was too much for the mysterious inner workings of our machine. When hydro was finally restored a day later, the computer refused to turn on.

I'm pretty self-sufficient when it comes to software problems, but dealing with the hardware is quite another matter. I wasn't at all happy about taking the machine somewhere to be fixed. What would strangers find on the hard drives? Why hadn't I cleared my browser history? What about all the shortcuts to spanking blogs? The browser would probably open up to my Blogger account for the blog. Eek!

But really, I had no choice, and I consoled myself by deciding that anyone who repairs computers for a living has probably seen it all. So as soon as the roads were cleared and safe for driving, I disconnected our computer - carefully labeling all the wires and cables so I would know where each one went - and we drove off to the nearest repair shop.

Our problem was a common one caused by the violent storm, and the technician had seen several cases exactly like ours in the previous 24 hours. He promised to fix it within the hour, so we went for lunch then came back to pick it up.

When we returned, it was ready to go.

"It works fine," the technician said. 'I turned it on. I like your desktop!"

My desktop? What on earth was on the desktop? I couldn't remember. Did I have shortcuts to spanking sites? Blog pictures? My mind was blank.

"Thanks," said Ron, and he looked quite pleased. Then I realized that they were referring to the wallpaper on the desktop. Ron has a series of satirical political cartoons and photos that he likes to display, and obviously his latest was a hit with the guys in the shop. I breathed a sigh of relief!

Our computer worked better than ever, and the first thing I did once it was up and running again was back up all our important files and pictures, and move all blogging-related items to a flash drive.

Update: Sadly, our hard drive collapsed a few days ago, and in view of its age, we opted to buy a new machine rather than spend any more money on the old one. We went back to the same shop and bought a brand new computer with much more capability and a newer operating system. Again I had a moment of panic when I asked for the data to be transferred from the old machine to the new, but I really didn't have any choice.  I felt mixed emotions when I received a phone call from the technician later that day, telling me he had been unable to retrieve any files from the old hard drive. Once again I had escaped detection, and the backup from a month ago meant that we had lost little.

From Hermione's Heart