Sunday, November 30, 2014

Spanko Brunch 2.0 #48

Welcome to our regular weekend brunch, where we discuss subjects related to spanking. There are so many different implements that can be used to administer a spanking. Some are thin and flexible and deliver a sting; others are solid and broad and produce a thud. Still others are somewhere in between.

Do you prefer sting or thud? What is your reaction to each? Are there times when one or the other is more appropriate to the type of spanking? 

Leave your response as a comment, and when everyone has had a chance to speak, I will publish a summary of our discussion. If you haven't joined in before, this is your chance. Don't be shy!

From Hermione's Heart

Saturday, November 29, 2014

You Completed the Caption

Thanksgiving will never be the same! Here are your captions:


Nina: Nothing to worry about, dear. This Thanksgiving will be so delicious! First we'll have roasted turkey, then I'll roast your tushy.

Simon: "I think you've misunderstood the basic concept of Puritanism. It's a church meeting, not an orgy I'm afraid".

Ronnie: Come on Martha, you know the tradition, we roast the turkey and then all the women get spanked.

King Marshal: And this how the tradition of the Woodshed began.

A. Lurker: Little known fact - The first Thanksgiving Day feast started with a community "rump roast" and ended with "just desserts".


Ricky: The first Thanksgiving perhaps? And certainly not the last.
Happy Thanksgiving America!

Sir Wendel: The First Black Friday.

Dr. Ken: "Be thankful you have a husband who is willing to chastise your bare hindquarters in front of the entire town. It just proves how much I care."

Anon: It's a little known fact that the Puritans celebrated the first Thanksgiving by taking their naughty wives, daughters, grandmothers, into a woodshed, upturned their clothes, took down their bloomers, and spanked their bare bottoms, blushingly red.

Katie: "I don't care what the other wives say! I expect you to behave yourself during dinner! Or when we get home, I will add to the already burning bottom that you have presently!"

Jimisim: "I'm really looking forward to giving Ruth the first ever paddling in Wellbeloved, the Pastor said to the Elder, as they walked into the Community Hall."

Jon: Somebody out there is set on defaming American men, me thinks. Since when does it take two men to take one woman for a well deserved trip to the woodshed?

Or are you trying to suggest that American women are so tough that it takes two strapping men to complete one strapping?

Vfrat25000: I don’t know what is dear. All I know is they call it a "Walmart".

I hope that Hettie James doesn’t make those gosh-awful deviled eggs again this year. I had gas for a week!

Whose bright idea was to build the town hall so far out in the woods? I am freezing my ass off and I can’t feel my feet.

We have to invest in at least a couple more televisions. Walking halfway up a mountain to watch the Super Bowl sucks!

Hey Prudence…how about we sneak out to the woodshed. We are 5000 ft up the mountain. Have you ever heard of the “Mile High Club?”

Oh cCrap….we walked a half mile up this fricken freezing mountain, in the snow and I just realized we left the paper plates in the buggy!

Kingspan: Of course I'm certain, my dear. He said we were all to come to the meeting house to give spanks.

Hermione: No matter how many times they had seen it, the community always flocked to see another showing of McLintock.


For more Spanksgiving fun, please join us for brunch. It's being served in a few hours, so stick around.
From Hermione's Heart

Friday, November 28, 2014

Friday FAIL

It's Black Friday, so let's see what bargains we can find at Walmart.


If you're first in line waiting for the doors to open, this will encourage other shoppers to go elsewhere.




What else would they be shaped like?





A quick visit to the restroom—on second thought, maybe I'll wait till I get home.





Meanwhile, in the paint department





She has an eye for bargains.


Today only, two captions for the price of one at Complete the Caption.
From Hermione's Heart

Thursday, November 27, 2014

Complete the Caption

On this American Thanksgiving Day, we remember the pilgrims who sailed from England to begin a new life in the American colonies. Their lives were governed by strict rules, and violators could expect to be dealt with. Here we see a group going into a primitive building. What lies in store for them inside?

Complete the caption by leaving a comment and I will publish your proclamations in an upcoming post. To all my American friends, have a happy Thanksgiving, and enjoy your turkey and football.
From Hermione's Heart

Wednesday, November 26, 2014

Out of Order



Ron and I had quite a merry spanking session last Saturday. He had chosen four implements—a long black strap, a rattan carpet beater, a short brown leather paddle, and a black and red ping pong paddle—and arranged them on the bed for my inspection. A shiver ran down my spine when I realized what was in store.

I obediently removed my jeans and panties and got into position. Ron's usual habit was to give me several swats with each of the four implements in turn, and so he began. The leather strap seemed especially fierce that day, but the carpet beater was even worse. My attempt to dodge a swat only rewarded me with a whack on my calves and another on my thighs. The short leather paddle came as something of a relief and seemed almost gentle in comparison. The ping pong paddle too was not so bad, or maybe it only seemed that way because my bottom was warming up.

Ron cycled through the implements again, as he usually did. But as the spanking continued,  he often applied a few whacks with something that was not officially next.

"Out of order!" I cried.

"I just wanted to see if you were paying attention," Ron replied.

A few minuted later, it happened again. I got the carpet beater when it was actually the short leather paddle's turn.

"Out of order," I exclaimed again. "What's the matter? Are you getting bored?" Ron chuckled. "Maybe I should put labels on them. 1, 2, 3..."

Ron had a better idea. "No, A, B, C, D. Let's see... Ass, Bum, Caboose, Derrière. That sounds about right."

We both roared with laughter at his cleverness, and the spanking progressed in a very upbeat manner.

From Hermione's Heart

Tuesday, November 25, 2014

From the Top Shelf - The Fortunes of War, part 2

Today I will share with you the conclusion of The Fortunes of War by Samuel Lovell. Mascara alert - you'll need to have a tissue handy. If you haven't read part 1, or want to refresh your memory, read it here.

Once back on the ground my thoughts soon returned to Margot for I was becoming besotted with her and I wanted to coerce her into another spanking. My mind wrestled with various approaches and excuses which ranged from the direct to the ridiculous, but in the end it was Margot who once again led the way, and the path was a familiar one.

"I do not know...it is too hard...I cannot be bothered," I recited angrily, though inside my heart was leaping, as I read the answers to her written work. "What kind of answers are these?"

"They are bad answers, Sir. I am naughty girl. You must whip me many strokes, Sir," my pupil whispered in that so alluring accent. "I admit that I do bad to annoy you," she continued while rising to her feet, "so you whip me hard, like ma mere, and make me cry plenty."

"What do you mean by that?" I asked, my curiosity roused.

Margot went slowly to the chest of drawers her mother had pointed to on that first evening, and withdrew a wooden handled martinet.

"You use this," she said softly, "and I go across the table."

"Very well," I agreed before adding, in an attempt to regain the mantle of authority, "but take off your skirt and knickers completely first."

Margot obeyed, neatly folding these articles of clothing and placing them upon the seat of a chair. She showed no sign of embarrassment at her nakedness or for that matter trepidation at the agonising fate that waited. Moments later she approached one end of the table, bent forward into position, stretched her arms out at right angles and took a grip of the edges. Unlike her mother, my pupil possessed remarkably long legs and she kept them straight, thus compelling her buttocks to jut out with evocative ease. The thick dark socks that reached up to her knees were hardly haute couture, but they complemented their owner's slim muscular calves to perfection. I allowed my retinas to bathe in this glorious sight absorbing every breathtaking inch until I could stand no more.

Being a novice with this particular Gallic instrument of chastisement I will admit that my initial efforts were rather tame affairs. Margot sensibly refrained from giggling on this occasion knowing all too well that once I mastered my swing she was going to suffer enough. With a little practice I quickly mastered the necessary technique and set about my task with added verve. Her anguished squeals were soon echoing off the high open beamed ceiling and she found it impossible to keep her legs so modestly pressed together. I noticed the whippy tails curled around the flesh, connecting harshly with her right hip and I paused to examine the patchwork of livid red weals now adorning that region. Margot burst into fresh wails of tears when she realised that this respite was only a temporary one, yet her knuckles whitened and her body tensed in anticipation of the next blow.

I am at a loss as to how many strokes I saw fit to bestow across her beautiful moons. The sheer burning heat of the moment and the passage of so many years has left my memory strangely fragmented. I can see her scarlet rump rolling from side to side and I can hear her yelps of pain, but I cannot place them in any sort of chronological order. Nor would I wish to, for surely that would ruin the vivid images which still dance merrily through my mind bringing a bitter sweet comfort. From this fervent haze my first recollection is taking Margot into my arms and drying her tears with a handkerchief. Then, as before, everything returned to normal and we had a very pleasant lesson indeed though Margot repeatedly squirmed in discomfort.

Our affair, if such is the word, continued to develop in this way as the weeks blended into months. I increasingly favoured the martinet, yet still found good use for my hand and her shoe. More decisively, I no longer waited for Margot to take the lead and, in truth, devised new rules with the express purpose of entrapment. She rose to the challenge enduring a sustained barrage of spankings and whippings.

Inevitably our bliss was interrupted by the machinations of Mr. Hitler and, at the beginning of May, my squadron was warned that soon all leave would be cancelled. I travelled to the Brouzet household with a heavy heart that afternoon, knowing it would be my last visit for some time. The strain must have shown on my face because Margot recognised it immediately.

"You are leaving soon," she whispered as we stood in the hallway.

"Yes," I replied barely able to look into her sad brown eyes.

"Come," she said, "there will be no lesson today."

I followed my enchanting princess through the kitchen and up a narrow flight of stairs. Then we entered into an expansive bedroom. The sun's warm rays streamed through the window gleaming off the white walls and spotless hardwood floor. Margot made her way past the large iron framed bed to an elegant oak wardrobe from which she brought forth a long wispy birch rod.

"La verge!" she said distantly while presenting me with this carefully bound bundle of twigs. "I cut it for you this morning and I was full of joy. Now I am miserable because you are leaving and I love you so much."

"Don't worry, my darling," I said in that chirpy, stiff upper lip style that we English tend to adopt in the face of emotional turmoil. "We'll have these Nazis finished off by Christmas and I'll be driving my motorcycle up your lane not a month later."

"Yes and I will be waiting," she said sorrowfully.

"That's the spirit," I replied, though the words left a bitter taste.

"You are a very good man," Margot replied, a few stray tears trickling down her cheeks. "You could have made love to me much earlier, but you waited until I was ready and now I am."

"Don't cry, my love, I'm not so terrible, am I?" I tried to joke.

"Of course not," she smiled, "you are a sweet man but sometimes my bottom argues with me about that."

Then, methodically, she began to remove her clothing until she stood totally naked and resplendent in the bright sun. Without a word she took two pillows, placed them on the edge of the bed and bent across them. Her slender back arched exquisitely as she rested upon her elbows and I sighed with contentment as her rump rose into two heavenly peaks.

Once settled I thrashed the girl I loved with all my strength, stroke after agonising stroke. Margot screamed quite madly from the off, her legs flying as she tried to remain in control of her senses, but whenever I stopped she begged frantically for more. Fearing the skin on her buttocks was near to breaking I changed tack and lashed the tops of her legs until they too were red raw. Her near hysterical whimpering verified my belief that she was sated and I tossed 'la verge' aside.

Tearful yet impassioned, she helped me to pull off my uniform in that frenzied dash that uncontrollable desire demands. Our passionate lovemaking took up the rest of the day and when not in Aphrodite's embrace we just clung to one another as if our lives depended on it.

The war, as we all know, saw fit to last a year or four more than the Christmas I had originally anticipated and even when it finished my superiors refused to grant me the necessary leave. It was May 1946 before I returned to the Brouzet farmhouse and, from a distance, everything looked the same, but as I drew nearer the broken shutters and the bullet holes told a different story.

There was no sign of Margot or her mother and the property had been viciously looted. I made extensive enquiries throughout the area, but it seemed they had disappeared in the violent ebbs and flows created by the war. Undeterred I continued my search for over twenty years placing a thousand adverts in as many newspapers. It was no use, she had gone forever and I slowly accepted that our fleeting yet exceptional joy now existed only within my own memory. And there it stays, reminding a sad old gentleman that a truly broken heart never really mends.
I'm sorry it has such a sad ending, but such are the fortunes of war.
From Hermione's Heart

Monday, November 24, 2014

Recap: Spanko Brunch 2.0 for November 23


This week we discussed what we think about during a spanking, and here are your thoughts on the subject:

abby: It depends. If it is a fun or good girl i am relaxed and thinking i hope He keep going...until i start to feel that tingle...and then i start thinking how long can i let Him continue before i ask...or beg ...for a permission.
For a punishment, i am thinking, Enough...reminding myself not to move out of position...and then just OUCHING very loudly...void of thought, just caught up in the pain.

Annie: I think of nothing. It's absolute peace. I LOVE IT.

Welcome, Annie!

mouse: It's completely mood dependent and perhaps the reason why mouse is being spanked (fun, pleasure, punishment) Often mouse is mentally present and enjoying every moment. But when mouse asked Daddy about it, he pointed a few times when he felt mouse wasn't connected to what went on -- at least in the beginning. In fact one of those times mouse is pretty certain she was going through a mental to do list. Which is absolutely terrible to admit -- but it felt rote. But Daddy switched to the leather strap and then mouse was all there with him.

Great discussion starter though!

Baxter: Well, I am thinking of the pain of the last spank and waiting for the next one to amplify the pain. And also glad I am being spanked after a week of no spanking.

Jenn: I'm wondering how hard it will be, how long it will last, can I take it? Sometimes (early on) I'm thinking that it feels like a good massage. Sometimes I wonder if he's enjoying it. If it's a punishment, sometimes I think that I should not have broken a rule.

After the last spanking, I realized I had been feeling like I was reaching and "getting" somewhere. So I was not really thinking about that during the spanking, but the almost subconcious thoughts were there.

Sir Wendel: My first thought when I start spanking is how her beautiful little bottom turns red. After the first couple of minutes of her spanking my mind switches to making love to her afterwards. When I’m the one getting spanked I think of how sore my bottom is getting.

Roz: It does depend on the mood and reason for the spanking. Sometimes wishing it would end or sometimes wishing for more LOL. Quite often I'm focused on anticipating the next spank.

arched one: Is it brunch time already? Wow does the weeks fly by. When my wonderful wife R is about to spank me, no matter the reason for the spanking, I'm excited and want it. I get in position and can't wait for the first spank. During the spanking I've got mixed thoughts. Why do I want this, and at the same time I'm thinking yes, yes spank me more don't stop.

Prefectdt: At the start of a spanking I am usually thinking "Why did I want this to happen?" :) But after the mental chemicals start flowing, my mind starts flitting all over the place and what I am thinking about changes every few seconds.

Dr. Ken: I'm mostly occupied listening and watching her body language. Lately, when I've had the chance to play, I've been thinking how beautiful her bottom looks over my lap and how lucky I am to have her there!

Ronnie: For me it depends on my mood and what I'm being spanked for so could be excitement, wanting the spanking, not wanting it, wishing it would never end. Focusing on what P's saying.

Six of the best: The thoughts on my mind, when I use the cane on a woman's knickers down bare bottom, is the sexual and erotic excitement that brings to me. Yes, giving this woman 'six of the best' strokes upon her naked rear end, is most heavenly.

Blackbird: Only ONE thought..."When is this going to stop!"

Welcome, Blackbird!

Hermione: I start out by thinking how much each swat hurts, and wishing it were all over. Then, as I settle in and my bottom is warned up, I relax and start to think how nice it feels. A stray whack to my thighs usually gets me out of my comfortable mindset, and then my mind starts to wander. I begin to imagine I am playing one of the games on my iPad. During a spanking I can actually be mentally popping balloons, lining up three candies in a row, or making a batch of chicken wings.

Irish Lucky: Oh my goodness, my mind goes all over the place! I can start with the thing I am looking at, like oh wow this comforter needs replaced or the carpet needs cleaned. He had bare feet once and I decided his feet were unnaturally hairy and gave him a foot complex for weeks. But I can say my mind journey usually doesn't go very long and I get centered on the fact my bottom is hurting and the pain focuses me back. Then it's all about when is this EVER going to end! If he decides to lecture or ask questions it actually makes me focus in from the start (he doesn't generally do this), so thank goodness I usually get a bit of mind wandering before my brain catches up to my bottom's condition. :0)

Brunch is over for this week, but there's always another one next weekend, so I hope you will come back for another exciting discussion. Remember: if you have a suggestion for a brunch topic, please leave it a s a comment. I'm always on the lookout for new ideas.
From Hermione's Heart

Sunday, November 23, 2014

Spanko Brunch 2.0 #47

Welcome one and all to our weekly brunch. Last night I was thinking about a topic for today, when it suddenly dawned on me that thinking would make a good topic, so here goes.

What thoughts go through your head during a spanking? Does your mind ever wander? Are there some thoughts you wish you didn't have?

Leave your response as a comment and I will publish a summary of our conversation once everyone has had a chance to speak.

You may leave an anonymous comment if you wish, although Blogger will prompt you to complete a nearly unreadable CAPTCHA. It's part of their spam prevention efforts and there is no way to avoid it. One solution is to create a Blogger profile of your own. You may use a fictitious name if you wish, and make the profile private so no one can see it.


From Hermione's Heart

Saturday, November 22, 2014

You Completed the Caption

You were positively inspired by this week's photo. Here are your captions:

Dr. Ken: Knowing that she learned best from being spanked, Tom prepared to teach Marlene how to program the VCR....

Arched one: What am I looking for down here and why does my bottom have to be bare and why do you have a belt in your hand?

Anon1: Stay just like that sweetie, I have a surprise for you!

Clara: Maybe if I start the movie he'll forget why I'm laying here. I know, put the remote in his hand!

Leigh: No doubt strategically placed by SO, and he has control of the remote so she has no choice but to acquiese if she want to watch a movie.

GaryNTboy: Samantha was thinking, 'favourite little baby girl my ass! If I don't retrieve my engagement ring from this damn machine, my ass is gonna be toast!'

Michael M: Where the hell is that workout video?

King Marshal: "Good! The paddle did fit in there!

Ronnie: I don't know why Tom wanted me to remove my trousers before I changed the DVD.

Anon2: Get one of these for your living room and promise you, you will never ever be distracted by the clock blinking on your VCR.

Kingspan: At the last minute, Karen worried that she'd gone one step too far with the brat act, but there was no way to get the peanut butter sandwich back out of the VCR.

Baxter: Dammit, how do I get that DVD out of this $%^***&^ thing? My boyfriend cannot see it or he will see his best friend spanking me and you know what else? He will fry my ass if he sees it.

A. Lurker: "Emily, I warned you what would happen if you ever stuffed your peanut butter sandwich in the VCR again!"
(Thought of this caption before I looked at the comments - sorry Kingspan)

Hermione: Clara could always count on the VCR clock flashing 12:00 and Ted's OCD to get her out of a spanking by telling him she would fix it.


Please join us for brunch, coming up next.
From Hermione's Heart

Friday, November 21, 2014

Friday FAIL

Many of us spend most of our waking hours in office cubes, slaving away over a hot keyboard.





Working at a help desk can be so frustrating at times.





Why can't I speak to a person when I place a call for help?





But the customer is always right—right?





Damned if I know.





Sometimes it all becomes too much, like it did for this employee. Quit like a boss!


Have a wonderful weekend, but before you clock out, kindly Complete the Caption.
From Hermione's Heart

Thursday, November 20, 2014

Complete the Caption

Is there something wrong with the Blu-Ray player, DVD recorder or VCR? Or is this an experimental position for a spanking? I'll let you be the judge.

Complete the caption by leaving a comment, and I will publish your recommendations in an upcoming post.
From Hermione's Heart

Wednesday, November 19, 2014

Love Our Lurkers Days Wrap Up


Another Love Our Lurkers celebration has come and gone. How did we do? The numbers aren't as impressive as they were in former years, but that was to be expected with the change of venue. Still, I'm very pleased with the outcome. Some of you created a separate post for each of the two days, and I included comments from both days.

So here are the statistics (drum roll please)

Total number of blogs participating   91
Total number of comments   3305

Thank you once again to everyone who participated, whether by blogging, commenting, de-lurking, or silently watching and saying to themselves, "Next year I promise I will stop being a lurker and reveal myself".

It's only 11 1/2 months until Love Our Lurkers 10.

From Hermione's Heart

Tuesday, November 18, 2014

From the Top Shelf - The Fortunes of War, part 1

The Fortunes of War is a heartwarming story by Samuel Lovell, set in France during the Second World War. A young RAF officer finds a very pleasant distraction from the war while on leave one day.
The rest of my squadron had made straight for a night club, eager to submerge themselves in the many pleasures this establishment offered. I was less keen, having tired of the smoky atmosphere, the hectic jazz rhythms and the over-priced champagne we consumed so readily. Instead, I opted for a stroll, hoping to calm my anxieties while learning a little about the town of Nancy where we were based. It was, I discovered, a pleasant place with an impressive cathedral and a seventeenth century chestnut avenue leading to the gothic Basilique de St Evre. The streets were tranquil and it was peculiar to remember that not far away Hitler's troops were massing in preparation for his assault on France and the low countries.

The bitter January wind eventually put paid to this bout of wanderlust and I decided to rejoin the rest of the chaps back at the club. One has to assume that I was rushing because I collided with a middle aged lady who was standing at a bus stop. As a result she was sent sprawling across the pavement amid a profusion of baguettes and other groceries. She began shouting at me immediately and her strong patois did little to hide the gist of her angry comments.

Being a gentleman, I took this scolding in good heart and set about helping Madame back to her feet. She was still extremely cross and her expression only softened when I began to apologise in my best public schoolboy French. These efforts amused her greatly and, to my surprise, she kissed both my cheeks. Forgiven, yet still wishing to make amends, I offered to escort her safely home in the side-car of my motorcycle. After some debate and the extensive use of sign language she eventually agreed.

Her name was Madame Brouzet and she resided in a large farmhouse ten miles along the road to Metz. When we arrived she insisted that I followed her into the kitchen, saying something about having a daughter who spoke very good English. My compliance was rewarded by a stout glass of full bodied red wine. My hostess meanwhile disappeared outside leaving me to deliberate on the politest way to make my escape. Having taken a number of holidays in rural France before the war, I knew only too well that its inhabitants loved to wine and dine their guests to the point of stupefaction. That, I told myself firmly, would not be the case tonight. My first reconnaissance flight was at seven o' clock the next morning and I intended to accomplish it with a clear head.

Then Madame Brouzet returned and trailing in her wake came a creature of such sublime beauty that I nearly forgot to rise from my seat. She had long dark auburn hair that came down past her shoulders with attractive ringlets falling over proud cheek bones. Her eyes were slightly too large and preposterously oval, but one could have spent a lifetime simply staring into them.

"Good evening, Sir," she said uneasily, yet with that innate charm possessed by the French. "My name is Margot Brouzet."

"Bonsoir Mademoiselle," I replied, "Je m'appelle Daniel Thorpe."

"Will you stay for the eating?" she asked and I struggled not to grin.

"Thank you," I replied, forgetting in an instant my former good intentions, "it would be my pleasure."

"Good," said Margot with a smile, "you sit now."

I obeyed and then watched as she took off her heavy overcoat revealing a loose fitting woolen skirt that fell down past her knees. This clumsily cut garment however, could do nothing to conceal the girl's sumptuous hips or her calves that were strong and taut. Conversely, her blouse didn't even attempt to enshroud its contents and was, I believe, a size at least too small. It hugged her trim young waist and drove one's eyes upwards to her conspicuously ripe breasts.

After taking a seat we entered into polite conversation which was thankfully conducted in my native tongue. Margot's English vocabulary was remarkably broad for a girl brought up in the country and, despite her many grammatical errors, it left my command of French looking pathetic.

The late Monsieur Brouzet had been responsible for teaching his daughter English, having learnt the basics himself during Jerry's last outing across international frontiers. He had clearly done a fine job because shortly before his death Margot had passed the examinations of a foreign language college in Strasbourg. The war then made an untimely entrance putting paid to her ambitions and ever since she had been working hard at trying to run the family farm, a task which had become practically impossible since her three brothers went to join their countrymen at the front. So now her books stood unopened, gathering dust, and much she once understood had been forgotten.

Madame Brouzet occasionally left her cooking and entered our conversation with a question of her own. Naturally Margot acted as interpreter and it was during one of these that she suddenly began to blush. From what I could gather, which was very little due to the rapidity of the speech, she was refusing to put one of her mother's inquiries to me. The old girl was certainly getting hot under the collar, but her daughter remained unmoved. This carried on for several intriguing minutes until Madame Brouzet pointed at a chest of drawers that stood in one corner of the room while glaring meaningfully at Margot.

The poor girl, clearly cowed by the gesture, submitted to the stronger will and turned towards me, her eyes shyly avoiding my own.

"Ma mere has told me to ask you for English lessons," she stuttered, obviously dying of embarrassment. 'Ma mere' then offered some more intelligible advice which her daughter passed on without emotion. "She will cook you a fine meal in paid for each one."

I had never considered myself a tutor, but looking at Margot with her beautiful features glowing in the orange haze of the oil lamp, it seemed the time had come to take on a new challenge.

"I'd be delighted," I replied.

"Really?" gasped my new pupil, her eyes sparkling.

"Yes, really," I confirmed, hardly able to believe my luck.

So it was settled and within three days I was back at the Brouzet kitchen table, sat next to the lovely Margot. Her mother obligingly left us in peace and, inside the hour, we had formulated a study programme with which to proceed. We split our time between oral and written work, the latter proving to be a troublesome stumbling block. To try and address this imbalance I set extra prep for her to accomplish during my absences. When I returned, two or three days later, we would go over her efforts in detail and, as a rule, they had been completed with great diligence.

This high quality output came to an abrupt end one afternoon when Margot presented me with a dozen lack-lustre answers to questions well within her grasp.

"This is terrible," I said severely, tossing her work aside. My pupil giggled and, looking up, I discerned a most unappealing smirk on her face. This served to add fuel to my irritation, transforming it into hot anger. I suppose one could accuse me of taking my position as tutor far too seriously - after all, though I hated to admit it, my true intentions on Margot were far more carnal than academic. The lessons, in my mind, were merely the vehicle with which to assist the fulfillment of these cravings, yet still I felt insulted.

Perhaps it is an indication of my upbringing, but I was incapable of suppressing a reaction. "If you were a little younger, my girl, "I growled somewhat menacingly, "I'd take you over my knee and give your petite derriere a sound spanking for this pathetic effort."

"I am not that old, Daniel," she laughed coyly, " but I know you are much too kind to smack my little tutu."

"If you continue to be so lazy," I threatened, "you may be in for a shock!"

"Then I will be... 'ow you say... bone addle," she provoked quite blatantly.

I will freely admit that I found this situation quite bewildering and my mind reeled with the possibilities. The sensual aspects of chastisement had never really appealed to me, my only experiences thus far being as a reluctant recipient during my schooldays. Yet the idea of placing a few well aimed slaps across Margot's lovely plump behind had my pulse racing like a runaway train. It will come as no surprise to learn, therefore, that I gave way to this desire and acted accordingly.

"Stand up you naughty girl," I said with great force, "you won't be smiling so happily by the time I've finished with your behind."

"You will have to spank very hard then, Daniel," she teased, leaving me to wonder who exactly was in control here.

"You will address me as 'Sir' until I tell you otherwise!' I countered in an attempt to regain the upper hand.

"Yes Sir," she replied while biting her bottom lip in the most charming manner.

Her contrite and humble expression gave me a much needed boost in confidence. I too now stood, lifting my chair back from the table with casual intent. Then, after sitting down once more, I beckoned Margot to my right hand side. She complied meekly and to my utter amazement proceeded to lift her skirt up to her waist. I had intended to spank her over her skirt, being a man of some propriety, but here, I recognised, was an old hand when it came to the art of receiving discipline. Well if she wanted it across her knickers that was fine by me, and, without further ado, I began to haul her over my lap. She resisted and pulled away most unexpectedly.

"But Sir," she said, her face a picture of concerned horror, "la decullotage. La fessee est toujours sans culottes!"

One does not require a PhD in French erotic literature to know exactly what my mischievous little minx wanted. I sensed once again, however, that she was running the show and if she wanted a spanking with her knickers off then I was going to do the removing. I grabbed Margot's full hips roughly, pulled her towards me and hastily untied the cord that kept the home made woolen knickers in place. With similar determination I then yanked this expansive piece of underwear down to her knees.

"Now get over my lap!" I commanded and she obeyed with a flamboyance that bordered upon the arrogant.

As she squirmed into a comfortable position I became acutely aware of my erection. Every nerve end in my body was prickling with a delightful sense of anticipation and Margot must have felt the hardness pressing against her left thigh. My hand, which was supposed to be belabouring her pale white buttocks, preferred instead to softly trace the contours of those fine rounds of flesh. They rose expectantly to the touch languishing happily in the attention.

This will never do, I reprimanded myself sharply, and I hastily delivered a rather ineffectual slap across the middle of the tasty target. Margot giggled in the manner that had begun to infuriate me and I repaid this outburst with a real cracker over the same spot as the first. No laughter on this occasion, just a slight gasp and a rather becoming wriggle of her rump, upon which a bright red hand print was glowing. Pleased with this response I let fly with another dozen or so resounding smacks up and down Margot's tight cleft. Noticing the virgin flesh on the sides of her buttocks, I changed strategy, spanking one nate and then the other. These edges proved to be rather delicate and my pupil's gasps grew audibly, a phenomenon that brought me a previously unknown pleasure. By this stage her derriere was the colour of scarlet and so after another quick slap or two I decided to bring an end to the punishment.

"There," I said in my most masterful voice, "let that be a lesson to you, Margot!"

Instead of rising promptly to her feet and rubbing the afflicted area as one might expect, she contrived to twist her head around until she stared in to my eyes, a mischievous grin on her face.

"Look, M'sieu," she said softly, "my eyes are not even wet!"

"They soon will be," I promised with calculated ferocity - though how I was to achieve this was as yet a mystery.

My hand was evidently not up to the job, but I had no intention of allowing this little minx to make a mockery of my attempts at dispensing discipline. We British, I think you will agree, have a certain reputation to uphold in the field of corporal punishment and one certainly did not want to let the side down. What I needed was an implement of some kind with which to make a deeper impression. A hairbrush or a wooden spoon would fit the bill, but unfortunately I could see neither. Then, in a flash of inspiration, I reached down and pulled one of Margot's shoes from her foot. It was dainty kind of slipper, quite pliable, but with a solid leather sole. I had my weapon and, after taking a firm grip of the miscreant's supple waist I introduced her chubby cheeks to its bite.

She squealed as the leather sank into the soft muscle and her legs kicked involuntarily, clearly denoting sincere distress. It was a scene that repeated itself with increasing animation as the strokes wore on. My left arm struggled to contain her as she bucked, twisted and ever so slowly began to sob. If the girl thought a few tears would bring an end to her ordeal, she was sadly mistaken. It was my turn to dictate events and with meticulous regard for detail I worked the length and breadth of her already burning rump leaving the skin a dark hue of crimson.

By way of a finale I administered six sharp whacks low down where the inner thighs merge into the buttocks causing the knickers, which had been waving round her ankles, to be kicked clean across the room. When given permission to rise, she did so without complaint and quickly grasped her ravaged bottom in the traditional manner. It was a gratifying spectacle and, naturally, my thoughts turned to ravishing her there and then on the kitchen floor.

Margot's disposition, however, indicated a thoroughly chastised young lady and not an ardent lover. Whatever passions had driven her to bare all were obviously satisfied and I realised, sadly, that my ardent lust would have to be curbed. My observation proved to be accurate and within ten minutes we were back at the table extending Margot's knowledge of English grammar. She worked hard and made significant progress, only stopping when her mother came back to prepare supper.

"Please Sir, say nothing to ma mere," my pupil whispered furtively, her deep brown eyes glistening with emotion. "She would whip me terrible if she know I make you angry."

That was the last reference Margot made to our disciplinary encounter that evening or, I may add, for the next three lessons. She was a model pupil making great strides in the right direction and I could only conclude that the spanking had done her the world of good. This was a pity because I was a mass of raging passions desperate to further my burgeoning interest and experience in the thrashing of feminine rumps.

All of which left me a confused and perplexed wreck. It was almost a relief to be flying missions where the many hazards kept one's mind firmly upon the trivial matter of simply staying alive!
You will have to wait until next week to see what happens when our hero returns to earth.

From Hermione's Heart

Monday, November 17, 2014

Recap: Spanko Brunch 2.0 for November 16


Our topic was your favourite spanking book and/or author, and here are your top pics.

Katie: I have enjoyed all of the authors that I have read around the land. Such a diverse group, I can't pick a favourite. I don't think that I even want to! :)

On the other hand, I can tell you of two authors outside the land that write really good spanking scenes that I enjoy. Both I are D/s really. One is Cherise Sinclair. I love her books. They are fun, and you get to know the characters as you progress through. The other is Kallypso Masters. Her Masters at Arms series is wonderful!! There is so much more to them, and good spanking scenes too. She writes really well too. Best to go in order though.

Rollin: The best piece of spanking erotica I ever read, and this was way long before before jumping into writing it myself, was a book called "Passions of a Satyr" by a "Frank Doyle". It was just a porno store paperback, but the writing was excellent. I keep looking on Olympia Press to see if it will turn up, but so far not yet.

Dr. Ken: While I am a voracious reader--at one time, I actually counted it up and found I had about 300 paperbacks and hardcovers waiting to be read--I don't seek out spanking stories, or books that might contain spanking. My tastes are more mainstream--suspense, mystery, some horror, some SciFi or Fantasy. I much prefer the oppoturnity for the real thing as opposed to reading about it!

Baxter: Many authors are good including Fiona Locke, Rachel Kramer Bussel and CC Patterson. The last one self publishes and can be found on Amazon. I have only purchased from Amazon and there are hundreds of books on it that involve spanking and discipline.

Anon: Catherine Taylor! The Finest Line (trilogy) has a fabulous secondary storyline with plenty of suspense/intrigue that balances the dd/ds dynamics of the developing romance. (Some stories can saturate with so much of it one can become desensitized). Great mix, I also liked the the way the erotic appeal of dd is embraced.

Jenn: I don't read fiction, so I'll mention one of the books that led me to the realization that I love the thought of being spanked: "My Secret Garden: Women's Sexual Fantasies" by Nancy Friday. After reading then entire book as a young 20-something, I noticed that all the fantasies that I had dog-eared involved spanking or something very similar. Others (rape fantasies, etc.) did nothing for me. That led me to more of her books and other anthologies of realistic erotica short stories, some of which involved discipline topics.

Prefectdt: I still think that Nikki Flynn's memoir "Dances with Werewolves" is my favourite book with spanking in it.

Jan: I love lots of our spanking bloggers books. Just recently I discovered Ashe Barker's trilogies. I loved them all!

Lillyanna: I recently came upon Caia Fox! I've really enjoyed reading all of her books :)

Minelle: A lot of the 80s bodice busters had spanking in them. Of course they were very mild compared to the stories written specifically here in our world. I still loved them. Here there are too many good authors to choose from.

Jon: Wow, lots of authors I'd never heard of before.

The Story of O started me down (up?) the road.

An author named Martin Pyx had a series of books with the names of the seasons in them I enjoyed in the [years redacted to protect me.] I think he is out of print.

There are too many new authors to pick one favorite so I'll dodge and name two ladies who have recently started publishing. Both go (well) beyond DD. "Golden Angel" and "Rachel Burns." Over among the men are DJ Black and Devlin O'Neil, who has a very readable series about a mythical place called Neverwasnia.

PK Corey and Leigh Smith deserve particular mention from me because Hermione's blog led me to them and their writing.

Jimisim: My first favourite was the late Alex Birch, who in his blog "Flaming Cheeks" encouraged me to write and bullied me into entering a an annual contest which amazingly I won in my category.

Currently my favourites on LSF are Susan Thomas and an occasional author called 'Spankerotic'. It is rather unfair to single out individual authors though as on LSF they all give freely of their work and many others give me great pleasure.

One thing I have noticed is that there seem to be great differences in personal preferences. For instance I will not knowingly read stories involving children under sixteen, and I don't gain much pleasure from domestic discipline stories which involve an overbearing or controlling partner.
There also appears to be a pronounced difference in taste between the UK and the US, although not possibly Canada.

Ronnie: Some authors here I've never heard of. We have some wonderful writers in our community and I have several of their books.

To be honest I don't have a favourite and too many good authors to choose from. I have liked some by Alex Birch.

Hermione: My earliest introduction to spanking literature was The Story of O by Pauline Reage. I them discovered The Pearl, a colllection of 18 issues of the Victorian magazine of the same name. Later I also discovered Blue Moon Press and Nancy Friday's My Secret Garden.

My favourite modern book is Erica Scott's Late Bloomer. It's an autobiographical account written by someone I know, and there's plenty of spanking in it.

Jay: Right now, I think my favorite author who includes spanking is Livia Grant. She recently published "Wanting it All" and "Securing It All." She has another in that series that she is trying to get out soon. I'm sure my list of favorites will grow if I ever find time to read again!

There you have it. Don't you feel like curling up in a comfy armchair with a good book?

From Hermione's Heart

Sunday, November 16, 2014

Spanko Brunch 2.0 #46

Another Love Our Lurkers celebration has come and gone, and I think it was quite a success. If there is a blogger whose LOL Days post did not appear here, please let me know so I can add it and include your blog in the final tally.

In his LOL Days comment, regular reader Jon suggested a brunch topic that I really liked, so let's discuss it today.

What is your favourite book that includes spanking or corporal punishment? If you can't think of a single title, then what is your favourite author of spanking books or stories?

Please leave your reply as a comment and I will publish a recap once everyone has had a chance to speak.

From Hermione's Heart

Thursday, November 13, 2014

We Love Our Lurkers



Come out, come out, wherever you are! Today is the day that spanko bloggers everywhere urge their silent readers to leave a comment. If you are a regular reader of this blog, or even if you drop in occasionally, I would love to hear from you.  You don't have to reveal your identity - you may remain anonymous, or use a fictitious name.

If you have never left a comment before, this is your chance to step out of the shadows and make your presence known. What should you say? "Hello" is fine. You can tell me a bit about yourself, or you can ask me a question. It's up to you.

I will be displaying the names of all the blogs participating in Love Our Lurkers 9 here, so come back often - or refresh your browser (CTRL F5) - to see who else has joined the party. New additions will appear at the top of the list.
Au Fil des Jours
Husband Spank TherapyGlenmore's Spanking Tales
Under Contract to my WifeNatasha Knight
Sincerely YoursD's Naughty Boy Spanking Adventures
A Submission to SlaveryMPB (Master's Pleasing Bitch)
Spanky's Spank JointAngelbrat's Blog
Everyday SpankingsBlondie's Blog
Alex in SpankinglandHim, Me and Us
Richard Windsor's Spanking BlogNot Your Everyday Fairy Tale
A Uniquely Different LifeAll Things Spanking
Clear as MudBonnie Gets Spanked
Vanillamom's BlogPillow Talk
Dark MusingThe Canery
Submissive SanctuaryBlack and Blue
Ami's Star SongLoving Me Always
Learning Domestic DisciplineThe Power Exchange
Awesome Feeling of LoveHappily Surrendered
Spanking MinnesotaRelativity
The Road Less TraveledGoverning Ana
A Voice in the CornerThe Journey
Consensual SpankingA New Perspective
This Whole ThingLes errances d'Amandine
The Taming of the ShrewShades of Scarlet
Sir Q and meOldFashionGirl Spanking
Secret SpankoXOXO, Beth
Loving SubmissionGrumpy Old Fart
Our Bottoms BurnSpanked, Not Silenced
His Cheeky SubThis Girl's Weblog
A Reluctant BitchFinally Finding "Me"
Acknowledging ImperfectionSuburban Spanking
Rogue's AwakeningMy Bottom Smarts
Rollin Hand's Disciplinary TalesGiggles, Grins, and Reflections
Ludwig's Rohrstock-PalastGeorge's Hangar
Heart and SoulGeekie Kittie
James Stephenson's Spanking BlogMy Personal Thinking Spot
A Place of FanciesErica Scott
A Day in the LifeAn English Rose
Renee Rose RomanceChross's Guide
In Hushed VoicesDevlin O'Neill's Web Log
Lillyanna Rose SubmitsCassie's Space
New BeginningsHis Rib, Her Rock
Tim the TumCasey McKay
A Place to ShareLeigh Smith
Florida Dom's CornerAimless Ramblings
My BreathDisciplined Husbands Forum
New Twist After All these YearsA Spanko Garden

From Hermione's Heart

Tuesday, November 11, 2014

We Will Remember Them

Today we remember all those who lost their lives defending our country. The images in this post are of the National War Memorial in Ottawa, the scene of a recent tragedy.

The National War Memorial, unveiled in 1939 to commemorate the response of Canadians in the First World War, has, over the years, come to symbolize the sacrifice of all Canadians who have served Canada in time of war in the cause of peace and freedom. For that reason, the Memorial was rededicated to their honour. The dates 1939-1945 and 1950-1953 have been added in bronze numerals on each side of the memorial.

Today the Memorial was again rededicated: this time, to all those who lost their lives serving in the Boer War and in Afghanistan. Inscriptions have been added to the monument.



















From Hermione's Heart

Monday, November 10, 2014

Recap: Spanko Brunch 2.0 for November 9

This week's topic was aftercare, and here's what you said.

Minelle: Usually we move on to making love. There are those quick over the knee moments which just end in both of our attitudes adjusted. We may just cuddle or kiss after.

Dr. Ken: It depends on the lady I just spanked, since different people like different things. Usually I'll gently rub their bottom for a bit (after spanking it, the least I can do is rub away a bit of the sting). There's always a good hug afterward, and maybe some time just holding her or cuddling with her.

Abby: It depends. Sometimes we both are ready to make love, sometimes i just lie quietly while He rubs away the sting waiting for me to chat quietly. Often lately i end up on His lap for a long snuggle.
After a punishment, i get a hug but no rubbing or fun times.

Cutiebootie: After a spanking, I like when my guy rubs my sore backside. I will kiss him afterwards, which is a quiet way of thanking him for spanking me.

We often cuddle for a bit after I have been spanked, but it depends on how we feel. Often, we end up making love.

Arched one: After most spanking, we will cuddle and make love. Only a few times will she rub my bottom she likes me to feel the sting for awhile. If it's punishment then I'm put on the floor in display position (knees and elbows) and I better not run unless I want more.

Roz: It depends on the nature of the spanking. If it's a fun spanking we move on to making love. When we did punishment and role affirmation spankings, I would end up on his lap afterwards and snuggle.

Jan: We always cuddle after a spanking, no matter what kind! It's the best bit.

sub hub: Mostly, I am kneeling before her as she stands and I lay my head in her tummy. She holds my head while rubbing and we either talk through what just happened or we will just hold in our tender embrace.

I've noticed that I have been having some interest in those that require their submissive to endure some corner time after their spanking. Like real hard spankings that hurt, or the thought of consumming my own cum, corner time is one of things that although I am certain I wouldn't enjoy the activity while it was happening, it's necessary use would be something attractive.

Baxter: If it is a quick 10-15 stroke spanking, we will make love. If it is a longer one, typically my erection of before is a distant memory and the most I do is look at my butt in a mirror, then go kiss my wife and thank her for the spanking.

Ronnie: It depends on the type of the spanking. After a fun spankings we usually go on to have sex. Punishment spankings, sometimes no aftercare (that I like) and other times I will lie there with P stroking and rubbing my bottom. Other times cuddling and stroking.

S: After my bottom has been thoroughly spanked, there are only two ideas in my head; to grab and rub the poor smarting thing or get a really sexy seeing-to from D, but it is up to him which comes first, and I am often left bent over for some time, before either happens, which is even better if I am tied in place to savour my smarting cheeks, until her takes me, still bent over and helpless.

Six of the best: If it was a 'love' spanking, I would caress her bare bottom. If it was given as punishment, she would find herself standing in the corner.

Bonnie: Sometimes we make love. Other times, Randy will apply lotion to my sore bottom and then we make love. Or we cuddle before we make love. Or we engage in other sorts of foreplay then we make love. But mostly we make love. I think that's as it should be. :)

Anon: For my most recent spankings, we'd hug or sort of cuddle. The guy spanking me was not my boyfriend, and he doesn't do humiliation with me (yet).

Hermione: After a spanking I have a fragrant body butter rubbed into my sore cheeks, and a very nice back rub. Lovemaking is usually reserved for later on, but sometimes Ron will surprise me and interrupt the spanking to move on to other things.

Nena: If it was a fun spanking we move on to making love, if it was a punishment spanking I get corner time. After corner time we will hug and than we go on with our day.


Thank you all for sharing your stories. Don't forget our ninth annual Love Our Lurkers celebration, on November 12 and 13.
From Hermione's Heart

Sunday, November 9, 2014

Spanko Brunch 2.0 #45

You're just in time to enjoy brunch, so pull up a chair and let's get started. Today's topic is all about aftercare.

What happens once a spanking is over? Are there certain rituals that you and your partner enjoy? Is there a type of aftercare that you haven't tried but would like to?

 Leave your thoughts in a comment, and once everyone has had a chance to respond, I will publish a summary of our discussion.
From Hermione's Heart