Thursday, June 22, 2017

Complete the Caption

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

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

Tuesday, June 20, 2017

From the Top Shelf - Blues for Alice

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Monday, June 19, 2017

Recap: Spanko Brunch 2.0 for June 18

What is your favourite spanking outcome?

Emerging Lurker: All of the above except for the clean slate since spankings here are all for fun.

Domhnall: No matter what the reason for the spanking, “a hot, red bottom” is a must.

At the beginning of my journey I scoffed at the idea that a visit to my Disciplinarian could “wipe the slate clean” but I decided to give it a try. There were two memories from my youth that always made me cringe with shame and guilt. I brought these memories to my Disciplinarian, one at a time, and received a severe punishment spanking for each. I was very surprised to discover that the guilt and shame that was always associated with the memories is no longer there. So, although punishment spankings are far from my favorite, I do appreciate the outcome.

My number one reason for seeking a spanking is to reduce “tension and stress”. Life can wind me up tight and a good spanking will reverse that nicely.

Liza: Erotic feelings for sure.

Fondles: I like all the different emotions and outcomes from having been spanked but perhaps the most cherished is the feeling of reconnection. Spanking for stress reduction, or foreplay eliciting erotic feelings leading to playtime after, or simply a reminder of who's boss - all ultimately serve the same goal - helping us reconnect and establish our respective roles.

Roz: Pretty much all of the above, but greater intimacy and closeness top the list.

Anon: I'm with Emerging Lurker here. All my spankings are fun and erotic so, I love the hot, stinging, aching bottom and feeling oh so close to my wife and of course, feeling all revved up and ready to go.

Steve: Love, knowing my wife Love me. She initiated the spankings, reason, acting "stupid" at times, her words. She also said if I was a little boy, I would be over her lap and be getting a spanking. I laughed, bared my bottom, give it your best shot. My mistake and when she now said I need a spanking, I no longer laugh, I plead, beg. Always over her lap, she bares my bottom, or when I have gone to far, I'm sent to the bedroom, told to undress and wait. Waiting is what she determines. Those spankings are start and end with her bath brush. When she stops I dance around, I either face the wall in the kitchen or the front room, spanked the whole way. After a good hour or half hour I sit on her lap, squirming and she reminds me she loves me, and I totally agree.

Ronnie: All of the above but top of my list is the closeness.

Peter: Have to agree with Ronnie! It is all of the above and the closeness for me comes from
trusting her to take me to my knees and then lend me a hand to sanding again with a better sense of what is truly important. I confess a bruised bottom a few days later does arouse me with the memory of the moment.

Rosco: For me, a sound whipping or spanking provides an intense satisfaction similar in some respects to a glass of cold tart lemonade on a hot summer day.

Beyond that I seem to find it relaxing. My wife has taken to tying me down before a spanking, then leaving me to reflect on my "behavior" for a half hour or so. I've often fallen asleep- the only naps I ever take. She'll return, and we will take our sex games to the next level.

Hermione: I crave the combination of receiving controlled physical pain and feeling completely submissive. That puts me into a very special mental place. It also provides a way to escape from a mind full of noise. The peace that results does away with stress for a while.

Thank you to all who responded. Let's do this again next week!
From Hermione's Heart

Sunday, June 18, 2017

Spanko Brunch 2.0 #181

Welcome to another weekend spanko brunch. I send out a special greeting to the fathers among my readers; I hope you have a happy Father's Day.

We all enjoy spanking, but the end result may be differerent for each of us. This question, which Bonnie first posted at a brunch back in 2008, is worth re-examining.

What is your favourite spanking outcome? A hot, red bottom? Wiping the slate clean of some infraction? Feeling closer to your partner? Erotic feelings? Reduction of tension and stress? Reassertion of dominance or submission? Something else? 

Leave your reply as a comment below, and once everyone has had a chance to respond, I will publish and edited sumamry of our discussion.
From Hermione's Heart

Saturday, June 17, 2017

You Completed the Caption

kdpierre: Ah, so THIS is what happens when you have Chef Michael Chiarello run your company's "Sensitivity Training Retreat Weekend"?

Anon: The origin of the phrase "the right hand doesn't know what the left hand is doing".

Carl: You guys are supposed to be playing with what goes in those bras - not grab assing the guy next to you.

Sir Wendel: The one that draws the yellow bra gets the spanking.

Hermione: The rhythmic spanking competition winners for 2017!
From Hermione's Heart

Friday, June 16, 2017

Friday FUN

Ever since we played Finish the Sentence two weeks ago, my spanko senses have been more attuned to vanilla objects that would make lovely spanking implements.

On a recent trip to Canadian Tire—where they sell much more than just tires—I spotted a display of red fly swatters like this one.

I paused to consider it, but Ron was in a hurry so I made mental note to come back for it some other time.

As I said, Canadian tire sells more than automotive supplies. In fact, there is a huge kitchenware department. I detoured through it and couldn't help spotting a display left over from Mother's Day.

What mother wouldn't enjoy a set of colourful spatulas applied to her posterior?

Our next door neighbours are away right now, so every day I pop over and take in their mail. On the day after their departure I checked their mailbox, removed some letters and flyers and  unlocked the front door. After dropping the mail onto a small table in the hall, I looked up and noticed a low, wide bench against the wall facing the door. It hadn't been there the last time I had been inside. On the bench were two items: a long black shoehorn and a red lint removal brush with a white handle.

There must have been a very innocent explanation for those two items being there on the bench. Our neighbours couldn't be spankos, could they?
From Hermione's Heart

Thursday, June 15, 2017

Complete the Caption

Summer is nearly upon us, and the water is warming up nicely. These guys look ready for some aquatic play, judging from where their hands are.

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

Tuesday, June 13, 2017

From the Top Shelf - A Master of Discipline - conclusion

Before I present the final chapter of A Master of Discipline by Zoe Templeton, I would like to bid a fond farewell to a dear friend, Rollin Hand. For many years he entertained us all with his blog and his published spanking stories. Rollin was always very generous about sharing his stories with me and allowing me to publish them on my blog. In May, Rollin took a break from blogging and writing in order to deal with his health issues. Sadly, Rollin passed away a few days ago. He will be sorely missed, and our thoughts go out to his family at this time. Next week I will post one of his excellent short stories here.

Now, on with the conclusion of A Master of Discipline. It's quite lengthy, but I couldn't see a way of breaking it up without losing the continuity of the wrap-up. So get comfortable with a hot drink and enjoy!
The party was in full swing. The wall's of Ruth's little house were shaking with the sound of the music, and she had never had so many people crammed into her lounge. Everyone was having a wonderful time, and, despite their varied backgrounds, all the guests were getting along together. Ruth giggled to herself at the incongruous sight of Lillian Greeves being swept off her feet by the young sergeant who worked with Tony. She was so happy; she could hardly believe that only three months had elapsed since her release from Damocles Priory.

The first few hours after she and Stephen had been released were simply chaotic and there had been moments when she wondered if her life would ever recover normality. Firstly, there had been explanations to make, on both sides. It transpired that Tony's timely arrival had been more due to the Reverend Mould than anyone else. The Reverend had not reconciled himself to his peremptory dismissal and had rented a small cottage nearby, in the hope that, somehow, he might be reinstated. He had apparently begun to give private tuition in his favourite subject, to eke out an income, while still keeping an eye on his beloved priory. The comings and goings of Robin Henderson and the Karabengse family had attracted his attention and, while walking in the woods, he had come across Stephen's motorcycle lying in the ditch where Luc left it. His suspicions had been aroused and he had contacted the local police, who traced the registration of the bike to Stephen. Tony had already become concerned at Ruth's absence from home, combined with the message Stephen had left on the answering machine. He had made a link, quite an incorrect one as it happened, between Ruth and Stephen. As soon as it became apparent that Stephen was the victim of foul play, Tony had descended on the priory with a squad of men, to be met by the sight of Nicky trying to climb out of an upstairs window and down the ivy. For Tony, once given the excuse he needed to force an entry, the rest became easy.

Ruth's explanation of how she and Stephen came to be dressed in not much more than broad smiles was not so easy. When Tony battered down the door of the main hall his immediate reaction had been one of anger. However Ruth somehow managed to allay his suspicions. The bluster of lies and half-truths put up by the Hendersons had helped because it had so irritated Tony that he would have listened to anything rather than accept what the arrogant Sir Harold and his objectionable son had to say. Sir Harold had even produced the papers which Ruth and Stephen had signed when they joined the Reverend Mould's course, as evidence that everything that had happened since had been done of their own free will.

Nicky, to Ruth's surprise, had taken charge of Stephen with a maturity beyond her years, taking him off for, as she put it, 'some tender loving care'. Ruth had suddenly realised that she could do with some of that herself, and persuaded Tony to cut short his interrogation to allow her some recovery time.

She had begun by taking a holiday, leaving all the statements, interviews and legal clearing-up which was the natural result of her abduction to be taken care of later. Ruth made minimal preparations, telling Lillian Greeves that she was taking some sick leave, and Tony only that she needed to be alone for a while. Then she quickly packed a bag and was gone. To his credit, Tony had not pressed her to stay. She knew it was a very difficult period for him too; part of her reasoning in wanting to get away was so that Tony would have time to adjust to what had happened.

After a day spent browsing in travel agencies, she had decided to rent a small stone cottage in Snowdonia, hiding herself away as best she could. She wanted no distractions, no contact with the outside world, while she came to terms with herself.

She spent a great deal of the time wondering what Tony would think when the police investigation began to reveal the details of just what had happened at Damocles Priory. In the end, she concluded that it didn't matter; Tony would either accept her for what she was or not at all. There was nothing she could do, indeed nothing she wanted to do, to change the fact that she was naturally, sexually, a submissive character. Things had certainly got out of hand at Damocles Priory - that must never be allowed to happen again - but she was sure that there were other ways of satisfying her craving without going to such extreme measures. If she persisted in trying to lay charges against the Hendersons, an awful lot of mud was going to be thrown, and inevitably some of it would stick. Ruth seriously doubted her own ability to stand up to cross-examination and deny that she had derived pleasure from what had been done to her. The irony that her own honesty could so work against her was not lost. After three weeks of musing in the Welsh mountains, she concluded that hiding herself away was doing her no good. So she returned home, ready to defy anyone who would not accept her at face value.

Ruth's first ordeal on returning home was returning to work and facing Lillian Greeves. Ruth knew that her boss deserved some sort of explanation,and that did not promise to be easy. The prospect made her feel every bit as nervous as a junior pupil, meeting her headmistress for the first time.

Lillian began by welcoming Ruth back from her sick leave. Taking three weeks had not been an excessive degree of sick leave; it had taken that long for the marks of her various punishments to wear off, leaving Ruth's bottom once again a pristine white as she examined herself in the bathroom mirror each morning.

"Now, Ruth, the question remains; what are we going to do with you for the next few weeks?" Lillian looked at Ruth with a kindly, motherly, sort of expression.

"I don't understand. Surely I can start work again? I'm ready to. I feel fine now."

"Yes, I can see you look well, but there is the question of the staff-pupil relationship. I don't know exactly what went on at Damocles Priory but, from the little I've managed to prise out of Nicky Shaw, your professional relationship with her, and Robin Henderson even more, was shall we say...embarrassingly compromised...was it not?"

Ruth felt herself blushing brightly. How much does she know? Did Nicky tell her everything? ", I suppose it would be a little awkward if I had to teach Robin again," she admitted.

"Well that question does not arise. Whatever else happened, it has come to my notice that he was the ring-leader of a group of sixth-formers who were passing around some quite obscene video tapes, apparently made at Damocles Priory at the instigation of Henderson's father. So I have told his father to remove Robin from the school, with immediate effect. The tapes involved have been burned, and the other pupils have all felt the weight of my senior cane across their bare backsides. So that matter is now closed."

Ruth gave an inaudible sigh of relief. At least she would not have to live with the snickers of her pupils, pointing fingers behind her back, having witnessed her course performance. Lillian Greeves seemed to be smiling at her, but Ruth could not see any reason for humour. She put it down to the fact that her boss was trying to be pleasant. Little did she know that Lillian fully understood her relief, having featured on at least one of the tapes herself. She had discovered this when playing each of the tapes in turn, in the privacy of her home. before destroying them.

"However, there is still the question of Miss Shaw. She is leaving school at the end of this term anyway, having decide that an academic career is not for her, and her parents have supported her decision. A pity but there it is. I don't know exactly what her role was in the goings-on at Damocles. She will not tell me. I gather she has not been very helpful to the police either. I don't think it would be a good idea for you two to work in close harmony for the remainder of the term. I understand that she wants to talk to you, which is fair enough, but after that I think it would be best if you had minimum contact until she leaves the school.

I have dealt with her behaviour in truanting from school in order to play whatever part she did in the goings on at the Priory. She has had a damn good caning on her bare bottom which she won't forget in a hurry, and I left her in no doubt that I thought she deserved more. She accepted her punishment with remarkably good grace. This tends to confirm my suspicion that the young lady has a very guilty conscience and I suspect she feels she has escaped lightly, but in the circumstances I think it's best all round to let the matter drop. I don't believe she is able to sit comfortably yet, but that will pass, and I don't want to have your presence as a constant reminder of something that she, and the school, would rather was forgotten."

Ruth felt some sympathy for Nicky who had, after all, done her best to help in the end. All things considered though, a 'damn good caning' on her bare bottom was a fair penalty for her earlier involvement. But what was Lillian leading up to? Ruth had the distinct feeling that she was being set up for something. Was it to do with Lillian having a much better idea than she was so far admitting, about what went on at Damocles? That familiar feeling, the thrill of punishment to follow, began to stir in Ruth's loins. Lillian had not been too shy to use the tawse on her once before. Perhaps this interview was the build-up to another strapping. Her bottom tingled in anticipation, even as she was wondering what pretext there could possibly be for such an action.

"As it happens, there has been an extraordinary coincidence which provides an opportunity for you to further your career over the next few weeks and, at the same time, will keep you out of school for the same period."

Lillian was still smiling, and Ruth was mystified by what might be coming next.

"Educorp-West was very interested in the work that Reverend Mould was doing, and there was general dismay when it transpired that Damocles Priory would no longer be available for staff training courses, although it was felt that, perhaps, the good Reverend was just a little too enthusiastic about Action Learning. So the Company has decided that we will set up something similar at another establishment, only with a more balanced course content. I have suggested to the Board that you should be seconded, until next term, to lead a project team consisting of the Reverend Mould and another colleague, to design the new course curriculum. Are you interested?"

To say that Ruth was flabbergasted was to understate the case wildly. Ruth could not believe that she was hearing correctly. Her mind spun. Although she was entirely innocent of any wrong-doing in connection with Damocles Priory, she knew that her behaviour had not been totally professional. She had expected a reprimand, at the very least, but this was almost by way of a promotion! She stammered her thanks, and asked Lillian if she could have a little while to think the offer over, a request that was readily granted.

Her sense of shock at the unexpected offer had not helped her next conversation to go any easier. Emerging from the headmistress's office, she had walked straight into Nicky, who had been tipped off about her presence by Coral Browne. After an embarrassed silence, Ruth broke the ice.

"Hello, Nicky, Miss Greeves tells me that you have decided to leave school at the end of term."

"Yes, miss, I think after what happened I don't think I could go back to being a schoolgirl again."

Ruth pondered for a moment, but she knew what the girl meant; the events at Damocles Priory had been a new experience for them both, and neither could wind back the clock.

"Yes, I suppose so," she said. "What are you going to do with yourself? There are still openings for further education, if you want to, you know."

"I know, and maybe, later, I will. To start with though, I'm going to get some business training and earn my own living. My parents say it's OK, and there is a little project which I want to try , just to see if I can make it work."

This was the old Nicky whom Ruth had known before the incident at Damocles, the sharp, intelligent, self-confident girl for whom she had predicted such a bright future. She smiled, thankful that she could still be proved right.

"I'm glad you have such bright hopes, Nicky, after all that's happened. I wanted to say something about that. I mean, now that you are finishing school, launching into the big wide world, as it were, as one adult to another, I can rely on what happened at Damocles remaining confidential, can't I?"

"Oh, Ruth, of course you can. You are right, I have grown up. I finished being a schoolgirl last week when Miss Greeves caned my bottom. I don't ever want to repeat least not in that sort of way." She grinned knowingly at Ruth, rubbing the back of her skirt as she did so. "Your secret is safe with me. Who knows, one day I may need you to give me some advice on the subject."

It was Ruth's turn to smile. She knew that Nicky was winding her up, but still felt that she could trust her. It would be nice to have her as a friend in years to come, she thought. After all their age difference now was not that great and soon it would mean nothing.

Later that day she had to face Tony again. Arriving home after work, she knew that he was already there; his car was in the drive and he had his own key. Her heart was in her mouth as she parked, being careful not to box him in, and being extra-careful to lock her own car. She would never, never, never leave a car unlocked again. If her experiences at the priory had taught her one lesson, it had taught her that. Meekly, she let herself in, knowing that the next few hours were going to be difficult.

Tony was sitting in the kitchen, waiting for her. Their first words were awkward. They could have been strangers meeting for the first time. They talked about the weather and how it had been since Ruth went away. Tony told Ruth that he had tended her little garden while she was away, and how the fine weather had made everything grow. Then Ruth said that she had been to Wales, to Beddgelert. She told Tony the story about the Welsh prince who had slain his faithful dog, Gelert, thinking that it had killed his son, only to find that the hound had defended the boy to the death in the face of marauding wolves. Tony said that was very sad.

The conversation moved on to work. Ruth told Tony about her conversation with Lillian Greeves and the opportunity she had been offered. When she had finished, Tony mentioned for the first time the subject of Damocles Priory. However he did not begin, as Ruth had been expecting, with an interrogation. His surprising news was that Stephen Langton had mysteriously resigned from the police force and was declining to give evidence in any proceedings, which was going to make any kind of prosecution difficult.

"The rumour is that he came into some money, unexpectedly, but I think there is more to it than that." Tony was obviously waiting for Ruth to comment, and perhaps to explain her side of the story.

Gradually the barriers between them crumbled and the talking ceased to be mere niceties and became communication. The mention of Stephen was the key that unlocked Ruth's inhibitions. As she unravelled her tale she grew in confidence, and Tony grew in understanding. Their conversation went on long into the evening and, by its end, Ruth felt totally drained. She had not held much back; her experiences and their effect on her had all come out in the open. The only bit she glossed over was Stephen's and her brief relationship. She covered that part of the story by saying that Stephen tried to rescue her and had been overpowered by Luc. The details of what transpired afterwards she left to Tony's imagination, and she was careful not to fertilise that imagination too much. Even so, at several points in the narrative she thought that she had misjudged her partner's feelings and that perhaps he had guessed more than was good for her, but she never did find out exactly how much Tony knew of what had gone on at the priory.

Finally, when everything had been aired, Tony took a deep breath. "You don't really want to face a court case and giving evidence, do you?" he asked thoughtfully.

"Not really," Ruth admitted. "What good would it serve? It wouldn't do me any good. Sir Harold Henderson is bound to have some really sharp lawyers. They'd make me look silly at best, and a whole lot worse if I was unlucky. I'd never be able to face working at the school again. Do you think I'm so terrible not wanting to give evidence?"

"No, not really. You're right, of course, you wouldn't come out of it very well. Neither would Stephen or Nicky. I'm not so sure that I care too much about Stephen - I still don't think you've told me all there is to tell about his part in this - but it would be a shame to ruin young Nicky's life. So the question remains; what are we going to do with you?"

"How do you mean, do with me? I'm not a thing, you know! I'm a person. I have a free will. You can't just decide something about me without me agreeing to it."

"Oh, I know that, but this famous free will of yours has just got you into a pile of trouble. You might not be so lucky next time. It seems to me that you need a bit of firm guidance."

"Oh, what are you suggesting?"

"Get yourself up to the bedroom, wench!" He turned her gently about and patted her rump as an encouragement. Ruth needed no second bidding. This was her old Tony, back to normal! She leapt up the stairs two at a time. Reaching the bedroom, she turned to hug him, putting both arms round his neck. He held her head to him with one hand, his tongue avidly seeking hers. She felt his free hand tugging at the zip of her skirt.

As the garment fell to the ground, Tony gave her a gentle push. The back of her knees contacted the end of the bed and Ruth squealed, tumbling backwards in an untidy heap on the bed. She lay on her back, laughing, genuinely happy for the first time in weeks, as he flung off his own clothes. She expected him to join her on the bed immediately but, instead, he scooped up her legs, his arm under her knees. He lifted her ankles high and pulled her panties unceremoniously to her knees.

"Oh, sir!" she giggled, "that's not very dignified."

"You won't sit on your dignity when I've done with you."

Ruth felt her legs being lifted higher, bent back over her shoulders. "Tony, what are you doing? No!" Her voice rose to a squawk as his intentions became clear.

"You caused me a lot of trouble and heartache over the last month, young lady." His right hand, the fingers extended rigidly, made a stinging contact with her bottom. "I don't want it to happen again."

She wailed as he spanked her again, but not so loudly as to put him off.

With her legs held high, her bottom lifted inches off the bed, Ruth was totally exposed. She could watch every smack, watch the movement of his hand before the loud slap of the impact. She could also see the effect of the spanking on Tony's rapidly stiffening manhood, and prayed that he would yield to lust before the heat in her bottom became absolutely unbearable. She was not disappointed. With a final resounding whack, Tony clambered onto the bed, hooking her knees over his shoulders to assume their favourite position.

For a brief moment, she was able to watch his penis lancing towards her. Splaying her legs wide, ready to receive him, she felt her smooth exposed sex-lips pucker as his throbbing gland parted them, paused momentarily at the entrance, then slammed into her with a ferocity that rattled her teeth together. There was no delay, no savouring of a slow penetration tonight. With a passion fuelled by abstinence, Tony plunged into her again and again, making Ruth groan with the force of his thrusts, his rapid pumping making her gasp for breath. Such vigour could not be sustained for long, by either partner, and Ruth screamed softly as she climaxed, feeling his hot semen filling her, her vagina contracting in a series of spasms which gripped his member in a velvet vice, squeezing him dry.

"Ruth - about us." His voice was husky. "I don't want anything like the last few weeks ever to happen again. I know it wasn't your fault and whatever happened between you and Stephen is over now, but I'd like to make sure. About us, I mean."

"You mean you want to make an honest woman of me, so I have to promise to obey?" Ruth didn't really consider the significance of the words.

"Ruth, I love you and I want you to be my wife," he whispered softly in her ear, as he lay beside her.

"And will you still spank me if I say yes? Tan my bottom if I misbehave?"

"If that's what it takes to keep you happy."

"Oh, Tony, yes, please. Oh yes." She began to weep with joy as he held her close.

After that, events had moved so fast that Ruth could hardly believe so much could be accomplished so quickly. Her experience at Damocles Priory had opened up a new chapter in her life, which she could never have dreamt of. Firstly, Tony used his influence to clear up the legal side of things with a minimum of fuss. To her relief, the Karabengse family left the country; not exactly deported, just encouraged to seek a new home elsewhere. Robin Henderson, having been caught in possession of a number of video tapes made at Damocles, was duly prosecuted and given a three-month juvenile supervision order, plus a judicial bare bottom caning of twelve strokes, which Tony had gleefully witnessed and recounted to Ruth afterwards. Sir Harold Henderson was persuaded to divest himself of all his financial interests in Damocles Priory and any other educational interests and announced his retirement from business.

Secondly, Ruth successfully completed the project which Lillian Greeves had set her, finding the Reverend Mould a surprisingly engaging character as a working colleague. At the end of the project, she made a presentation of her findings to the board of Educorp-West and received a very attractive offer of promotion as a reward.

Finally, and most surprising of all, Tony and Ruth received a letter from Nicky Shaw. The letter, in Nicky's neat hand, began:

'Dear Ruth and Tony,

We were so pleased to hear the news of your engagement that we thought you might like to hear our little surprise as well. Stephen and I have formed a partnership. After what happened at Damocles, I took pity on Stephen, because what happened was partly my fault. We, sort of, got together. I know you'll think I'm awful and, normally, we would not have told people about this for a while yet, but Stephen winning the lottery sort of changes things.

To cut a long story short, when I was shut away on my own at Damocles, while Robin and the others were being nasty to you and Stephen, I was looking for a way to escape. I found an old tin box. I was going to use it to smash the door but then Tony arrived and there was no need. Anyway, I kept the box and, later, when all the fuss had died down, I read the papers inside it. They turned out to be the recipe for Moon Balm. It's ever so simple really, just some herbs and things, mixed up, and well, you don't need to know all that stuff.

The fact is, Stephen and I have gone into a business partnership, as well as the other kind. Stephen has bought Damocles Priory from Sir Harold Henderson, because all the herbs and things we need are there, and with my business training, we're going to set up a little company to market Moon Balm. I don't need to tell you, Ruth, it has pretty remarkable pain-relieving and healing properties, and Stephen says it has other beneficial effects as well. Stephen says I'm too young to know what they are but I can guess!

Stephen sends his love, as I do


Nicky '

When she had finished reading, Ruth laughed until she cried. Tony was mystified at first, then saw the funny side and joined in the laughter. They replied promptly, inviting both Nicky and Stephen to their engagement party, but received no reply. Although Ruth had kept the letter in her mind ever since, she had been so frantically busy and so deliriously happy that she had not done anything more about it. Now, with the party well under way, she realised that there were still two guests missing.

Ruth was suddenly aware that Tony was beckoning her from across the room, gesturing that she should come to the kitchen. With an effort, she dragged herself back to the present and obediently made her way through the crowd to the kitchen door. Obedience was very much on the agenda these days.

"Congratulations, Tony, do we get to kiss the bride-to-be?" To her amazement, Ruth saw Stephen and Nicky standing behind Tony.

"Sorry we are so late," Nicky stepped forward holding a parcel. "We got held up, so we came in the back door to surprise you. It was my fault, I had to get something from the woods and it took some time to find exactly what I wanted."

"Here, this is for Tony," Stephen interjected. "You'd better give it to him." He passed a large brown-paper parcel to Ruth.

"Why have I got to give it to Tony? It's your present." Ruth was puzzled.

"You'd better open it and see." Nicky was laughing now, and Ruth was sure that she was about to become the victim of some sort of practical joke. Nevertheless, her curiosity was getting the better of her, so, with Tony at her elbow, she put the package on the table, rummaged in the drawer for some scissors, and cut the string.

The wrapping paper folded back, revealing an antique looking glass case, the wooden frame bearing a patina of age.

"We found it when we were clearing out all the old stuff from Damocles," Nicky chortled gleefully. "We thought you and Tony would like to have a souvenir of Damocles Priory."

"Very thoughtful, I'm sure." Ruth grinned wryly, examining the case which she had last seen in the main hall of the priory. The curly handled cane and black tawse were every bit as menacing as when she had last seen them. But worst of all was the bundle of birch twigs, carefully bound with a pink ribbon. They were clearly freshly cut.

"As that's Tony's present, we thought you had better have this." Nicky was grinning from ear to ear as she passed Ruth another parcel. Opening the second package, Ruth found a cardboard sleeve with three small glass jars, ornately decorated. Each one was labelled in gold script against a black background.

"They are samples from our very first production run," Nicky explained proudly. "We had them specially packaged for you . You'd better read the labels carefully."

'For Ruth," she read the card stuck to the first jar. Then she looked at the individual labels on the jars. 'Regular (tawse) , 'Extra-strong (cane) , and 'Ouch!' (birch).

She blushed to the roots then looked adoringly at Tony, who was standing in the kitchen doorway. She felt herself shiver with anticipation at the thought of blending her new professional role, as senior instructor at Educorp-West's new staff training establishment - Director: The Rev. J. Mould, with the equally demanding job of being Mrs. Tony Chalmers.

From Hermione's Heart

Monday, June 12, 2017

Recap: Spanko Brunch 2.0 for June 11

What is you most unusual location for spanking, either real or imaginary?

Anon: Not so much unusual as it was fitting the childish image of a spankee.

I met my present one 20 months ago, and when we agreed to meet for her first spanking, rented 1 day via B2b a small rural house. Pretty home but cheap owner. No blinds anywhere, how am I going to spank her, but it had a kid's bedroom with a world map full big window covering that worked like a shade. That also happened to be up a winding staircase. So that let me send her marching to "her" room, which was fully decorated as a young child's room, to get her first spanking from me. We laugh about it to this day.

kdpierre: In all honesty, after 40 years of doing this, there aren't too many places I HAVEN'T been spanked in. As such, I don't think of any particular place as "unusual" anymore.

When Rosa first moved in we even played a game where we intentionally conducted a spanking in every room in the house from attic to basement. And I've also been spanked in camping areas, open areas, parking lots, hotel rooms.....etc. etc. I'm not sure what's left? The altar at a church during a Mass? ;-)

abby: I was spanked in my classroom....with a cane, of course.

Roz: I have been spanked outside in a secluded spot near the waterfront. We also went to a BDSM event where Rick spanked me.

Fondles: Gosh - I feel almost prudish. The only place I can think of that's NOT indoors (or in the car at least) was when we went walking as usual along the beach, only it was a different more secluded stretch and there were stone benches at intervals along the path. BIKSS had me across his lap between cyclists and joggers going past! I was so nervous that someone would see and we wouldn't see them first in order for me to get up in time!

Simon: Until fairly recently I had only ever been spanked indoors by one lady. Since I retired I have become far more adventurous and have been punished in some unusual places. I've been spanked outside in a hot tub, something I highly recommend. Also two delightful ladies tied me to a tree and flogged me and that was very exciting (it was admittedly a large enclosed private garden in both cases with no chance of any outsiders seeing anything). I was stripped and caned in a pub during a spanking party. My most unusual experience was being strapped and caned in front of an audience of about 30 people when I was part of a introduction to CP event. That was a very weird experience and even though by the nature of the event everybody there was of a like mind I did find it nerve-wracking.

Rick: My wife decided that since I was rude to her parents, she was going to insure that would not happen again. They live three or so hours away and she ask me to pull the car over at a secluded rest stop. We got out and she said she needed to walk, get some exercise and talk. We were soon far from the road, open area and I was told to drop my pants and underpants, I've been spanked many times, so I did as told, well she soundly spanked me and said this was to insure I would not be rude to her parents. I squirmed the rest of the drive to her folks, getting out of the car she said, best behave or I will spank you here. I behaved, sitting was hard, she told me later her mother asked, smiling she said she told her mother about the spanking.

Sir Wendel: We love hiking and there have been many trails that ended with a spanking. We tend to spank on the more challenging trials since they are less traveled but there is always a risk of someone wandering by. We took a trip to southern parts of Ireland back in April to explore the old wrecks of castles. One evening we set off hiking at a place called Loch Gur. Once at the top of one of the little mountains I bared the Misses' bottom and spanked her. There wasn't much cover so there was chance someone saw the spanking.

Ronnie: I've been caned in our garden shed and spanked in a pub's games room over a pool table.

I'd liked to be spanked on the beach but we haven't found a secluded one yet.

Hands63: I was once spanked when I was 14 years old in a school conference room in front of about a dozen witnesses. I did something really stupid in school to earn that punishment. I was spanked by one of the teachers, over her lap with my bottom bare. What probably took only a few minutes felt like hours and I physically felt that spanking for days after. Left an impression that lasted a lifetime

Hermione: The most unusual place I've been spanked is a storage vault in the basement of the office building we both once worked in. We used to come in on Saturday mornings when the place was deserted and go down to the vault for some private time. There wasn't much in the way of furniture, just an old table for stacking files, but it worked for us.

I would like to be able to say I wish I could be spanked at the top of the Eiffel Tower or the London Eye, but I am afraid of heights. But there is a place not too far from us that I think might be possible. It's a mountain with a winding road to the top. Once there you can walk to the edge and look out over the valley and the village below. It is especially beautiful in the autumn when the trees are showing their fall colours. If the clearing is deserted, a picnic bench could be put to good use.

Thank you, everyone, for sharing this week.
From Hermione's Heart

Sunday, June 11, 2017

Spanko Brunch 2.0 #180

The week has flown by for some of us and crawled by for others, but the weekend is here once more. Let's get comfortable and talk about spanking. We all know the spankings can happen anywhere.

What is the most unusual location—city, building, outdoor venue or room—you have ever spanked or been spanked in? What were the circumstances? Is there a particular location that you have always thought would be perfect for spanking, but haven't had the chance to do so yet?

Leave your response as a comment and I will publish a summary of our discussion on Monday.
From Hermione's Heart

Saturday, June 10, 2017

You Completed the Caption

Kingspan: Max was sure Hilda deserved a bare bottom spanking for forgetting his supper.

kdpierre: No matter how many years had passed, Hilda was always shocked at how she could never seem to leave her days as the Coppertone model behind her.

The Glenmore: It would be nicer if there was a red spanked bottom under those PJ'S!

Anon 1: Oh, my, it's cold back there. How will I ever get it warmed up?

Sweetspot: Sometimes Hilda wished Henry was like other husbands. The kind of husband who thought it would be cute to train the pup to open the refrigerator door and fetch a beer.

Sir Wendel: Last night Champ overheard Hilda’s husband say that he was putting a bone back here but was sad when he found the cupboard was bare.

Ronnie: He said I'm to fetch you as it's time for your spanking.

Anon 2: Hilda couldn't believe her own dog would betray her by yanking down the seat of her pajamas when boyfriend yelled, "Spanking time." She was even more shocked when she was head down and bare bottom up over his lap and heard him yell, "Fetch," only to watch helplessly as her dog ran into the bedroom and returned carrying the hairbrush her boyfriend then used to make her poor bum glow hotter than the wood stove.

Hermione: Rex wasn't top of his obedience class for nothing. He was the only dog to perfect the  "bare bottom" command.
From Hermione's Heart

Friday, June 9, 2017

Friday FAIL

Pity the poor employees who had to deal with these customers. How would I respond?

That's six of the best for you, mate.

It's the cane for you.

Eight with the spatula, coming right up.

Get over my knee this minute, young man.

Step over here and Ronald will paddle you while you wait for your order.

From Hermione's Heart

Thursday, June 8, 2017

Complete the Caption

Here's Hilda, our voluptuous pinup girl, and she's in an interesting predicament. What do you make of it?

Complete the caption by leaving a comment and I will reveal what you have in store for her on Saturday.
From Hermione's Heart

Tuesday, June 6, 2017

From the Top Shelf - A Master of Discipline, part 20

We are nearing the end of the tale of A Master of Discipline by Zoe Templeton. The story took a dark turn a few chapters ago, but you will be happy to know that this week's installment is lighter. The activity that Ruth and Stephen engage in is entirely consensual, and there are even moments of humour.

The heavy door of the main hall slammed shut. Ruth heard the key grate in the lock as Madam Karabengse, the last of her tormentors to leave, followed Sir Harold's instructions to ensure that she and Stephen remained safely shut away. Her jaws ached from being stretched so wide by the ball-gag and her throat was sore from the unnatural sounds she had been forced to emit during her harsh treatment. She tried, not very successfully, to divert her mind from dwelling on the various other aches and pains which permeated her body.

Her bottom still smarted abominably from the wallop which Kim had dealt her, and her breasts, which had hung unsupported ever since she had been locked into the pillory, throbbed from Robin's use of the riding crop. Throughout that time, her awareness of her exposure, her position and the various assaults had maintained her in a constant state of sexual arousal. Her nipples had already been erect, hard and sensitive when the leather loop at the end of the crop had flicked agonisingly across each in turn. Madam Karabengse's application of the Moon Balm had helped considerably, but such was the exquisite tenderness of her flesh in that area that she could still feel the crop sending pulses of pain into her very core with each heartbeat.

Ruth heard Stephen groan.

Forgetting her own troubles for a moment, Ruth turned her attention to her companion. He was, after all, their only chance of getting out of this nightmare in one piece. Stephen was still slumped in the same position, his head bowed. The only thing which had changed was that Kim had used a knife to release the bonds on one of his wrists, so his right arm was now hanging limply rather than extended at full stretch.

She made another gurgling sound behind her gag, trying to attract his attention. For a moment, she thought that he had not heard her, that he had been more hurt by the blow to the head than she had realised. Perhaps he had concussion, or worse? Ruth began to struggle against her restraints, gurgling into the gag. To her intense relief, after a moment or two, Stephen raised his head and looked towards her.

His eyes were open, his face streaked with tears, but at least he appeared to be in possession of his faculties. Ruth thrust her head forward, straining against the headboard of the pillory, her eyes wide, pleading. Stephen must have realised what she wanted because he raised his free hand towards her, albeit somewhat half-heartedly.

It was not enough; his limp fingers were still an inch or two short of her face. Frantically Ruth thrust herself forward, adding a pain in her collar bones to her catalogue of woes, straining her neck muscles to extend herself as far forward as she possibly could. His fingers brushed the surface of the ball in her mouth and Ruth let out a cry of triumph as she felt him tug at the gag. For a brief instant, she thought he had released her, but then the effort of stretching against their respective bonds became too much for both of them, and they simultaneously relaxed, temporarily exhausted.

Ruth was ready to weep. She had hurt herself across the shoulders and neck in trying to reach out to Stephen, and she was sure that he could have reached her if he had tried just a little bit harder. She sobbed in frustration into the gag and felt the ball rattle against her teeth. Shaking her head in temper, she made a futile attempt to dislodge the ghastly thing, shaking it like a terrier with a bone. Again she felt the hard plastic rattle against her teeth, mocking her. Wait a minute! She realised that the ball had been inserted so forcibly into her mouth by Madam Karabengse that it could not possibly move. Now it was just loose enough to be able to feel the movement. Perhaps Stephen's grasp had done some good after all.

She tried bending her neck to one side, rubbing the fastenings of the gag against the wooden structure which held her. The movement was painful; she felt as if she was choking, but she could feel the ball moving in her mouth. She turned to the other side with a similar result. No, wait! The retaining strap on that side was definitely not as firmly fastened as its opposite number. Desperately she bobbed her head up and down, her tongue coming into play, pushing at the back of the ball, her mouth straining wide to release the foul thing . Suddenly, without warning, the gag gave way. Ruth felt the strap fall away from her face, and with a great whoop of exhaled breath, spat the loathsome gag across the room.

For a moment she could do nothing except gasp from the exertion, licking her lips to moisten them, and gently working her jaw, easing the muscles back into shape after their prolonged extension. Going to the dentist and being told to 'Open Wide' would remind her of this for the rest of her days, she thought wryly. She looked across at Stephen, trying to smile, hoping for some reaction from him in return.

"Stephen!" Her voice was hoarse from the shouting, screaming and unnatural breathing which the gag had imposed on her. "Are you all right?"

He raised his head slowly. "Of course I'm not all right." But his action belied the words; he could move his free limb, he could hear and see her, move his head.

"Stephen!" Ruth's voice was sharp. "For heaven's sake snap out of it. Are you OK? Have they hurt you?"

"You saw what those swine did to me. How can you even ask that? " He allowed his head to hang down again.

"I'm sorry. I'm so dreadfully sorry I got you into this." Ruth meant every word, but she also knew that she needed Stephen to get with it, if they were to have any chance of escape before Henderson and his gang returned. "Look, I know it's hard to take, but you have to snap out of it. You must get free and then release me from this damn pillory. If we work together, we might just find a way out of this."

"What's the point? We can't get out of here, we're locked in, we've no clothes. It's a waste of time trying."

"For heaven's sake, Stephen, snap out of it. Now come on, get with it."

Stephen, at long last, began to free himself. He worked at the knot which secured his other arm and, with a grunt of satisfaction, managed to release his wrist. Ruth watched as he put his hands on the crosspiece of the birching bench and eased himself up into a kneeling position. Her hopes began to rise. If only she could get out of the pillory, there must be some chance for both of them. "Can you do it?" she asked him, softly, encouraging. "Can you get yourself free?"

I don't know, I'll try, but I can't turn. I'll have to do it by feel." Ruth watched as he bent backwards, trying to reach the bonds which held his ankles. Stephen had been tied on the bench in exactly the same manner as Ruth herself had been, the night before. His legs were spread wide, his shins horizontal on the two supporting planks, and secured at the ankles. He could only half turn to see the knots and pick at them. Ruth could not fail to see that his penis was fully erect, standing proud of the undergrowth of his pubic hair like a great monolith.

She had seen his genitals before, of course, scarcely disguised under a jockstrap when she had caned him in this very room. It seemed such a long time ago and such an innocent act. She remembered that she had been impressed with his size then, and had felt more than a passing twinge of longing. Only the threat of her own imminent punishment at the hands of the Reverend Mould had suppressed her desire. The evening afterwards, it had been the image of that powerful tool, combined with the warm afterglow of her thorough birching, alleviated by the Moon Balm, which had provided the inspiration for the essay which had won her the golden tawse as a souvenir.

The recent past flashed across Ruth's mind at lightning speed as Stephen struggled to release his legs. All the while, Ruth felt her hot gaze being drawn as if by magnets to his quivering erection, surely made all the more massive as his exertions stimulated his circulation. At last the knots gave way to Stephen's efforts and, with a groan of relief, he swivelled into a sitting position, massaging his legs. Ruth could see the marks where the bonds had dug into his ankles.

"Come on," she urged him. "Get me out of this."

He stood up and turned unthinkingly towards her, then sat down again sharply, his hand across his groin, his face beetroot with embarrassment.

"What's the matter?" Ruth was still concerned that he had suffered some, as yet undiscovered, injury.

"Oh God, Ruth, I can't let you see me like this."

"Don't be so damn stupid! We haven't got time for ridiculous concerns about modesty. You've got to get me out of this and, if you think your prick is the worst thing I've seen in the last forty-eight hours you couldn't be more wrong. Now come on, get me out of this!" She snapped at him, her temper frayed suddenly by an accumulation of stresses. Just as quickly, she regretted her action as she saw the hangdog expression on his face as he stood up again.

He made no attempt to cover himself this time, as he approached the pillory, and Ruth felt his naked body brush against hers as he stepped behind her to unlock the top section of the headboard. She didn't think to enquire why he had chosen to release the board from behind, when it would have been much less of a stretch to do it from the front. She flinched automatically as his warmth touched her, then sighed with relief as she felt the headboard being lifted from its position over her neck and wrists to fall with a clatter behind them.

Ruth remained in position, her neck still resting in the slotted board, as Stephen knelt at her feet to release the straps which held her ankles to the uprights of the pillory. She gratefully eased her legs back into a less acute position, to restore her balance. She was about to ease herself stiffly into an upright position when she became aware that Stephen was still on his knees at her feet.

"Oh, Ruth, I would have done anything for you. I fancied you like crazy; that's why I'm here. But that's all gone now. Once we get out of here, if we ever do, you'll never want to look me in the eye again."

Ruth took a deep breath. She knew that she could not break out of the priory unaided, she needed Stephen. Drastic therapy is called for, the little voice at the back of her head told her. You know what you have to do.

"Stephen, that's not how I see things at all. I fancied you too...and I still do. And, right now, I wish you'd do something with that wonderful cock of yours."

His eyes widened as he looked up at her. "Do you really mean that? All of it? I mean, do you really want"

"Oh for God's sake, Stephen. Yes. Stick it in me, give it to me, fuck me right now." She thrust out her bottom and waggled her hips as provocatively as she knew how. Slowly, Stephen stood up. Ruth's last glimpse of him as he moved out of her sight was a look of pure astonishment. Then she felt his hands on her hips. She braced herself against the pillory as his member slid between her legs, then gave a little scream as he thrust into her in one fierce movement. She had not anticipated how much her bruised labia had swollen, and the sensation as the great stiff shaft slid into her was the most exquisite combination of pain and pleasure she could imagine.

He remained in her, immobile, buried to the hilt, his wiry hairs tickling at her smooth pussy, while his hands slid up over her hips, round and under her and up to her breasts. She gasped as he gently kneaded her erect nipples then brought his hands together, the fingertips tracing the line of the crop down over her belly. His fingers splayed, pressing against her stomach, then slid deeper, parting her outer lips still further until he was able to massage her clit between the fingertips of both hands. Ruth was herself melting as the tension of her captivity was released. Stephen began to move inside her, slowly at first then speeding up as her vagina flooded with warm juices. His pulsing shaft worked backward and forward, stretching her, filling her, releasing her.

They were both far too tense for the coupling to last and the wooden frame of the pillory rattled noisily as they came to a climax. Pulling out of her, Stephen gently eased Ruth upright, turned her, and kissed her full on the mouth.

"You should have been a doctor, not a teacher," he whispered softly. "It was clever of you to know what I needed."

"Not really," She smiled. "I needed it so badly myself."

Their brief moment of tenderness was suddenly shattered by the sound of a siren on the drive outside. Then bedlam broke out. Both inside and outside the building, men were running. Doors slammed and there were shouts from a number of different voices. Ruth could hear Madam Karabengse's high-pitched tones, angry, along with several deeper, more English voices. To her amazement, one of the voices she could hear belonged to Tony!

Frantically she looked around. "Quick!" she hissed. "We must find some clothes. They can't find us like this."

She could hear the sounds of another door being kicked in and a shout of "Anyone there?" With an inspiration born of desperation, she grabbed one of the waxwork figures, the schoolmaster engaged in thrashing the boy draped over the stool. She tore the gown from the pedagogue's shoulders and wrapped it round herself. She turned her attention to the Victorian parent, standing frock-coated, ready to apply the riding crop to his daughter.

"Help me." she gasped at Stephen. The waxwork's limbs were stiff and unyielding as she tried to rip the frock coat off the dummy's shoulders.

Stephen had only just managed to wrap the dusty, ill-fitting garment about himself when the main door of the hall burst open with a crash.


"Ruth! What the hell is going on?"

Stephen looked away, a wry smile creeping across his face, as Ruth launched herself at Tony in an enveloping bear hug. Explanations would come later, and would no doubt have to be carefully thought out to avoid embarrassment.

But for the present, it was enough that they were safe!
What must Tony think of this very odd arrangement. Will he approve of Ruth's choice of daywear? How will his relationship with Stephen change now that he has seen him in a frock-coat? Has Tony brought back-up or is he in for a turn on the birching bench? All will be revealed next week.

From Hermione's Heart

Monday, June 5, 2017

Recap: Spanko Brunch 2.0 for June 4

How do you feel about using a gag during a spanking?

Roz: Hi Hermione, that story is getting a bit too dark for me. We have only tried improvised gagging, as in no ball gags or 'proper' gags on a couple of occasions. It's definitely not for me.

Downunder Don: Gagging in any form is a definite no-go here. Apart from anything else it is potentially dangerous!

abby: Well, in my case, Master worked way to hard to get me to be 'expressive' during a spanking...or other activities. He would never make me think that He wanted me to be gagged... unless you include a mouth full of cock.

Subone: Right now my mom is using my front room as a bedroom. I ball up a blanket and knot it. We do have a ball gag but have not used it yet. Maybe some day.

Joseph: It would not work with me, I don't "give in", my wife knows that once I start squirming, kicking, she is getting to me. When I do make sounds from the pain of the spanking she always saids "Now we will get down to your spanking" and from then on I can be heard for "miles". She believes strongly that the more noise I make the more effective the spanking is. When she tells me to stand up, I start rubbing, dancing around the room, she just smiles. It is when she takes me to face the wall, spanking my sore bottom on the way. It takes awhile to get under control while facing the wall. So as far as my wife is concerned, the sound is part of the punishment.

kdpierre: A ball-gag is merely one way to achieve a goal. There is nothing inherently extreme about any tool, though any tool can be used to an extreme. As for us? We don't have one but only because the whole "noise thing " is neither an practical concern nor a sexual thrill. Still we have employed other things when enforcing silence WAS a goal.

Simon: I'm normally able to keep quiet during a punishment apart from the occasional grunt and I do like to be able to chat if the situation calls for it. I have been gagged but only rarely as I find that gags make me gag and I can become quite nauseous and nothing ruins a spanking like the feeling that you are going to be sick at any moment.

Wilma: I can't use a ball gag as I have an overbite ( um not bucked teeth! lol). We do have a bit gag that has been used on various occasions. For Barney it is another way he exerts his control. It works. It has me more focused or out of my 'head' when being reset. There are other times he has shoved a face cloth or other fabric in my mouth. I am generally very quiet during a spanking (if you don't count laboured breathing and snorting), so the gagging really has nothing to do with being heard outside of the area we are in. It can be very humbling for me.

Enzo: Hi Hermione - I love to hear a girl moaning and pouting and thus the reason to not use a gag most of the time. However, although never used an actual ball gag, I have used other specific fabric items as gags and for all the reasons Wilma explained.

In terms of the story, the ball gag wouldn't have been my issue. I was not enjoying the overall themes of extreme non-consent. It was no longer non-consent between two people, it was multiple people and the overall darker future plans. Again just my opinion which may be hard to clearly define.

Ronnie: No ball gags. Once P used a pair of my knickers but it made me gag so he had to take it out so no, I wouldn't like to try one.

Ripley: I don't think I would like any kind of gag. But for sure not a ball gag (or anything else that completely covered my mouth). Just the thought of it causes me anxiety.

Leigh: I've never worn a gag, nor do I think I would like wearing one.

Yorkie: Considering I am the one giving the directions during my spanking it would not work if I were unable to speak. So that would definitely would be a no from me for gags.

Hermione: It's not for us. I like to think that Ron enjoys my vocal expressions of distress. If I don't say "Ow!" and squeal frequently, I'm afraid he will think I'm not enjoying myself.

Thank you all for your participation this week. By the way, in the passage that I omitted, the ball gag was described as a practice golf ball with holes in it to allow breathing. But the whole process was, and Enzo said, non-consensual and therefore unpleasant.
From Hermione's Heart

Sunday, June 4, 2017

Spanko Brunch 2.0 #179

Welcome back, dear readers, to my little blog. You're just in time for brunch. Earlier this week I published an installment of the novel A Master of Discipline by Zoe Templeton. I chose to omit two paragraphs that contained a graphic description of fitting Ruth with a ball gag. I did so because I thought it might offend some readers, even though others may have enjoyed the description. So I would love to know what your opinion is of being silenced during a spanking.

How would you feel if you were somehow prevented from speaking or otherwise expressing yourself during a spanking? Have you ever used or worn a gag? If so, what was your impression of the experience? If not, would you be open to trying it?

Leave your response as a comment and I will publish a summary of our discussion soon.
From Hermione's Heart