Sunday, September 23, 2018

Spanko Brunch 2.0 #246

Welcome back, fellow spankos. I hope you are ready to relax and enjoy good food, good company, and good conversation. This week's topic is one suggested by Barrel, and one that we have not specifically discussed before.

Do you ever use a blindfold for the bottom receiving the spanking?  If so, how does it change the dynamic? If not, is it something you might consider trying?

Leave your response as a comment and I will publish a summary of our conversation at the end of the weekend.
From Hermione's Heart

Thursday, September 20, 2018

Signs of the Times

Sometimes you see a sign that rubs you the wrong way, and you just have to respond.

Happy Thursday!
From Hermione's Heart

Tuesday, September 18, 2018

From the Top Shelf - The New Callipygians

Today's story is rather a long one, written many years ago by the late Alex Birch. If you are like me, the term 'callipygian' is an unfamiliar one. It is used later in the story, and it means "having beautifully-shaped buttocks". Have I piqued your interest?

Jane Forrester lowered the sun visor of her silver grey Volvo estate to display the photo electric entry card as she reached the imposing gates of Chalford Manor. The ornate metal gates swung open and Jane eased the car into gear before driving down the long winding drive to the splendid Tudor mansion.

Although this was a routine Jane followed daily as Head of the Household, she always treasured the beauty of the Chalford grounds, the lawns and gardens maintained immaculately thanks to her employer's love of horticulture and her dedication to maintaining standards.

Jane had worked for the Duke and Duchess of Falmouth for nearly eight years, since she'd obtained her University degree at the age of 22. The job she held was no menial servant's role but a supervisory post which required accountancy and management skills, and was extremely well paid As with so many stately homes, part of Chalford had been opened to the public and Jane had to supervise the staff required to service the needs of the domestic household and the budget for services to the general public, restaurant and bar staff and the like.

Jane hardly saw the Duke at all, for he was content to leave the household matters to his wife, preferring instead to concentrate on his political life in the House of Lords and his love of cricket, but Jane had a regular weekly appointment with the Duchess to discuss the budgets and the immediate needs of the House. They got on well, although the Duchess chose to preserve the formality of their relationship but was no less of a kind employer for that.

As Jane neared the stately home and the staff car park, she tried to shake off a mood of foreboding and unease, for there were distressing clouds in her life at present which refused to go away. She swallowed hard as she got out of the car and switched on the alarm lock. She was anxious to discover why the Duchess had insisted on a meeting this morning, at very short notice, not on their regular Thursday. A shiver of fear ran through Jane's shapely frame as she walked up the steps of Chalford House and inserted her swipe card into the entry scanner.

Once in her private office, she picked up the internal phone and hit '0'. The dulcet tones at the other end replied immediately and Jane said "Just to let you know I'm here, Ma'am." A pause then, "Very well, Ma'am. I'll be up immediately."

Five minutes later she was sitting facing her employer in the Duchess of Falmouth's private study and her nerves were increasing. It was nothing tangible, just that her employer's face was inscrutable, not welcoming or warm.

"Thank you for complying with my request at such short notice, Jane" the Duchess said politely but coldly and Jane, mystified, replied "My pleasure, Ma'am."

"I'm sure you are wondering why I called you here today but first, forgive me, but I need to ask you a few personal questions."

Jane said, hesitantly, "Of course, Ma'am. As you wish."

The Duchess nodded. "Jane, I understand your husband lost his directorship with Ridgeway and Templeton brokers recently. Am I right?"

Jane stiffened with apprehension. Where was this going?

"He-he resigned over policy differences," she said anxiously, "it-it's just a temporary problem, Ma'am. He is considering his options."

"I think not, Jane," the Duchess' voice was hard and insistent. "I am told on good authority that due to 'irregularities' he was given the option of resigning or being fired, with the consequent publicity."

Jane's face had begun to burn with shame and rage. What right had this woman? What was going on?

"It-it was a huge misunderstanding," she faltered, "I-I'm sure it will be-"

"- and your little boy has just started at the Templeton School. My, my now THAT must be expensive."

Jane sat red faced and wide-eyed, lost for words. A growing sense of dread was beginning to consume her.

The Duchess calmly laid some invoices on the table.

"-which presumably explains why the invoices I have for food and drink for the last three months do not tie up with what is actually in the kitchens and wine stores, Jane. And, do you know, I bet if I insisted on you showing me the freezers and storage cupboards in your home, that's where we would find the difference!"

Jane stared at her employer, her face a picture of red faced shame and horror. She thought about lying then realised in an instant just how pointless that would be. She simply broke down in tears, her pretty face racked with sobs.

The Duchess looked on impassively as Jane bravely tried to pull herself together.

"I'm so sorry, Ma'am, I am so ashamed. The expenses began to overwhelm us. When James resigned, his 'golden handshake' just about paid off our debts. We had been living above our means and –oh I have been such a fool! I will of course resign immediately, Ma'am"

The Duchess stared at her coldly.

"No you won't," she said harshly, "I don't intend to give you that option. I may well fire you and then both you and your husband will be branded as thieves and neither of you will ever hold your heads up in society again. You will both be finished!" She paused and said dryly, "I may visit you at the refuge for the homeless if I have time!"

Jane stared at her, speechless with horror, but the Duchess was not finished yet.

"Now I may not fire you, because, despite this, I am very fond of you, Jane. Fond but disappointed. And so I may seek recompense in another way. You see we all have secrets and I have, shall we say, interests which I would not appreciate any but my closest friends sharing –"

She stared at Jane who, still in shock, gazed in bewilderment.

"- but I need to know I can trust you. And of course what better way is there to ensure trust than blackmail? Now the revelation of your scam might be sufficient but your husband might well be aware of your little game. So I decided I needed something a little more compelling–"

Jane sat rigid with shame and terror as the Duchess reached into a drawer then tossed some photographs over to her. The young woman's face turned white and she barely controlled the urge to retch.

"Do try not to vomit on the carpet, Jane," the Duchess said dryly, "It's just been cleaned. I can understand your distress though. You have no mystery left from the look of these! Such pronounced nipples! And I see you shave down there too. How trendy! I must say you have a lovely body –"

Jane's body racked with helpless sobs but the Duchess continued mercilessly.

" –and the boy, it's young Richard Pemberton, of course, Lady Fairford's lad! Jane, have you no shame? He is only 19! My, you're quite the cradle snatcher! Still I can I quite see the attraction, he IS a big boy for his age.! Not lacking in sexual awareness either! Just look at the third picture with your arse in the air! Jane how COULD you let him do THAT! Does your husband screw you there or-"

"MA'AM PLEEEEASE –" Jane's voice was an agonised shriek, "please I'm so sorry. I must have been mad. I'll do ANYTHING you ask, ANYTHING! Please don't shame me any more!"

"Very well, I think we understand each other, "the Duchess said grimly taking the photographs back from Jane's shaking hands," and yes I did have you followed. I suspected you were a randy little cow and I'm pleased to know I was right. You may come to appreciate that 'talent' sooner than you think."

She paused. "Now what I need is a servant – a domestic menial." She saw Jane's face fill with distress and she smiled sadistically. "Which is what you should be reduced to here and be completely humiliated but I'll spare you that. You will keep your job here – unless you try to cheat me again – but this is extra curricular. You will be available to me on at least two evenings a month, do you understand? You will not know which evenings until the last minute at which I will expect you to cancel any prior engagement and to be at the address you are given. You may make any excuse you wish but you must not tell ANYONE – including your husband, who you are with, where you are going, or what happens there. You must also do everything you are told, without question! If any of those conditions are broken, I will ruin you both. Is that clear?"

Jane bowed her head helplessly. "Yes, Ma'am' she muttered softly.

The Duchess nodded. "Very well, now get on with your work – and do it honestly from now on!"

Jane got up, nodded politely and left the room. Once outside she burst into tears and fled back to her office.

* * *

Nine days later she got the text message on her cell phone. She was given travel directions to a country house some 5 miles away and told to be there that same night by 8pm. She was to be met by the housekeeper and she was to do exactly as she was told.

In a panic she phoned her younger sister who had an apartment a couple of miles from Jane's own home.

"Lucy, it's me." She gabbled down the line desperately," look don't ask questions but I need you to cover for me tonight. I have to go out but I can't explain why to James. Look, trust me Sis! When you next talk to my husband I was at your place all evening, OK?"

She rang off and fretted for the rest of the day. She had no idea what to wear but assumed if it mattered they would have said. Anyway she could hardly wear her best ball gown to visit her sister. Later, at home, she sold the story to her husband easily enough and went upstairs to change and shower, her heart beating rapidly and her stomach churning. Strangely, for all the fear, there was a certain buzz in her lower belly, based on something the Duchess had said about her being ' a randy little cow'. Was she going to be used as a whore? What was their purpose? She took a deep breath as she changed into blouse and jeans. There was only one way to find out.

With beating heart Jane arrived at the secluded mansion with 3 minutes to spare and navigated her way up the long drive. She noticed that there were eight cars parked there and guessed with some relief that this soiree, whatever it was, did not involve a large number of people.

After a few seconds hesitation, she rang the door bell which was answered almost immediately by a woman in her fifties, dressed in a black, lace trimmed uniform dress. Her face was hard, unsmiling and she looked Jane up and down with a measured stare.

"Ah the new maid," she said sternly, "you're just about on time. Wouldn't do to be late on your first night! I'm Mrs. Bridges, Now follow me!"

Jane felt herself flush with anger. This was the kind of employee she would be summoning to HER office under normal circumstances and now she was being treated as the woman's skivvy. She remembered the warnings about absolute obedience and dutifully followed the woman into the large hallway and up a flight of stairs to a large bathroom with an ante chamber for coats and clothing.

"Right," said Mrs. Bridges, folding her arms and staring grimly at Jane, "take your clothes off!"

Jane's mouth dropped open. "P-Pardon?" she gasped.

"Not deaf are you? I said take your clothes off. You need to change into your uniform."

Jane considered a protest about the woman's presence but thought better of it. With a deep breath, her cheeks pinkening, she slipped off her fashion boots, unzipped her jeans and pulled them off, then unfastened her blouse and removed it. She stood, feeling embarrassed and vulnerable in pink bra and panties, looking round for a uniform.

"Come on, bra and panties too – everything!" the Mrs. Bridges said icily and Jane flushed angrily.

"Now just a min –" she began and the woman cut her short.

"Do you want a bad report on your first night? I don't recommend it! Come on, get naked and be quick about it – you're to take a shower and use the body oils. They want you smelling like a rose garden. Your uniform will be here when you've finished – and make sure you wash EVERYWHERE!"

Jane, angry and ashamed, gritted her teeth and took off her underwear under the woman's stern gaze. The temptation to cover her breasts and pussy were almost overwhelming but she refrained allowing the woman's gaze to take in the whole of her naked body.

"OK get in the shower and make sure you use the herbal oils. I want you downstairs in ten minutes. Your uniform will be here waiting when you've finished.

Jane luxuriated under the shower, feeling the pleasure of the herbal aromas as they cleansed every pore, then suddenly conscious of her deadline she got out and dried herself on the ample luxury bath towels provided. Feeling cleansed and refreshed she walked back into the ante room and discovered that all her clothes had gone. In their place was a pair of flat shoes and, hanging on a hook, a black pinafore – and nothing else. Her mouth open in shock, she took the sheer nylon garment off the hook and slipped it over her head. It was certainly her size, for, at the front, the garment covered her breasts and her pussy, although the pinafore skirt was so short it would reveal everything once she stood on a chair or leaned backwards.

Such niceties were academic, however, for the simple tie around the waist left her back and bottom completely bare. Jane stood, paralysed with indecision for a few seconds, horrified by how exposed she was. Then she bravely took stock and decided that her stupidity had got her into this mess and, no matter how humiliating, she had to make the best of it.

She crept self-consciously out of the cloakroom and made her way down the stairs, her head turning this way and that as she worried who might see her. As she reached the bottom of the stairs so Mrs. Bridges rounded the corner and stood arms folded in front of her.

"Ah! About time! Follow me!" she ordered, with no suggestion in her face that Jane's appearance was anything out of the ordinary and so she followed the woman into the kitchens where a large buffet had been prepared. Mrs Bridges pointed to the meals trolley by the stove.

"Load this with plates of food and take it into the meeting," she ordered. "Left out of the kitchens, down to the end of the corridor and it’s the double doors on your right."

Jane hesitated, her face a deepening red and for the first time Mrs. Bridges showed a spark of kindness and grinned.

"Afraid of who's going to see your cute bare arse, are you? Well there's only ladies here so you don't have to worry about any men letching after you. Mind you the ladies are partial to – er - I've already said too much. Now run along!"

Feeling slightly relieved, Jane pushed the trolley down the corridor ever conscious of her nudity as the chill draught blew across her bare bottom and made the hairs around her pussy tingle. Taking a deep breath she paused at the double doors and then pushed them open simultaneously. The sight that met her took her breath away and she stood, gasping like a beached whale in astonishment.

Ten elegant women sat around a large banqueting table and, as Jane's eyes scanned the table she recognised nearly all of them. The women wore nothing but diaphanous white shifts and Jane stared at their breasts, virtually nude, thrusting through the thin material. In the middle of the group was the Duchess of Falmouth. Jane had never seen her employer in other than formal business clothes and to see her almost naked was both shocking and strangely arousing. She forgot about her own state of undress, lost in admiration at the sight of a middle aged woman who looked that good without her clothes. Jane swallowed hard as she took in the other guests. She recognised a minor Duchess, a Government Minister's wife and the head of a media corporation.

Jane's eyes followed the direction of their stares and she nearly cried out in astonishment. They were looking to the head of the table where another of their number, similarly clothed, was standing by a large wooden triangular structure and holding a multi stranded leather whip. Jane recognised her as Lady Amelia Fairford, the mother of the boy in whose bed she had been so shamefully photographed. Strapped to the wooden supports was a young woman, completely naked, her back, bottom and thighs already glowing pink from the application of the whip. At that moment, the girl turned her head to the side and, even in profile, Jane recognised her as Penelope Wilton, the 22 year old supermarket heiress whose betrothal to the Prince of one of the Arab emirates had made society page news.

At that point she coughed discreetly and the women all looked towards the sound. The Duchess stared at her and beckoned her in to the room.

"Ladies, this is the new maid I was telling you about. It's been a problem replacing Maureen but Jane is good, reliable and very discreet. Aren't you, Jane!"

From the ripples of laughter it was apparent that the other guests knew precisely why Jane was there and her face deepened yet another shade. She pushed the trolley towards the table and began to lay out the plates of food, conscious, as she leaned forward, of the proximity of her bare bottom to the nearest guest. It wasn't long before a warm hand with long, gentle fingers began to caress her naked buttocks. She resisted the temptation to stiffen or turn round for she understood she was expected to tolerate this kind of attention. After a minute or so, the gentle exploration was not merely acceptable but decidedly arousing and Jane began to feel moist between her legs.

"She has a gorgeous arse, darling," the languid voice of her sensual tormentor droned as Jane turned scarlet.

"Let us complete Penny's whipping, "replied the Duchess, "and then you can all have a feel for yourselves. She is ours for the evening."

Jane swallowed hard and stood still as the fingers behind her began another exploration.

At a nod from the Duchess, the scene at the head of the table re-animated. Lady Fairford, flexing the whip in her hands, swivelled slightly before bringing it down on Penelope's naked bottom. The girl's bottom writhed and she gave a soft, gentle moan but already her elegant punisher was about to deliver the next stroke. Jane began to tremble with excitement as she watched the noblewoman, clad only in the transparent shift, swivel her body to deliver the blow. The quivering of her large breasts, the pubic hair clearly visible through the thin material , then, as her body turned to strike the blow, the sight of her magnificent plump bottom all made Jane's body tremble with excitement.

When the blow struck and the pretty nude girl writhed and cried in her bonds, Jane thought she would climax on the spot . She had never seen such a sexually exciting yet cruel tableau in all her life and she was finding it hard to breathe.

The whipping across the nude back and bottom continued for another ten minutes by which time the girl was moaning and crying and Lady Fairford's shift was damp with perspiration, her erect nipples seemingly glued to the material.

At last she put down the whip and every woman around the table applauded the performance.

The Duchess looked at Jane and smiled. "Now you see, my dear, why we need to be sure you can be relied upon. There are a few people here who are, shall we say, slightly well known – " laughter followed this " – and if the press were to discover our little predilection – "she shook her head sorrowfully. "We are the New Callipygians, Jane, dedicated to the restoration of sensual pleasure through flagellation so enjoyed by our ancestors. Everyone here is in love with the erotic pleasures of whipping, and Penelope here is just getting a little pre-nuptial experience. Arab men and their women, you understand. Of course, Jane, you are untutored in the art of receiving punishment as yet but I suspect you will take to it like a duck to water. I'm sure Lady Fairford, for one, has –er -..personal motives for wanting to take the whip to you!"

More laughter followed and Jane's eyes pricked with mortified, humiliated tears.

"Anyway," the Duchess continued, "now that we have got Penelope's little pre nuptial training out of the way, we can introduce you to our guests. Come, Jane, walk slowly round the table and let everyone get to know you!"

Biting her lip, Jane walked slowly around the banqueting table, stopping obediently at the side of each guest, eager fingers exploring the contours of her bottom and genitals as she stood to attention, trying desperately not to reveal how much she was becoming turned on by the attention. By the time she had reached half way round her pussy was soaking and aching for attention.

She reached the chair of the Duchess, now her mistress – no longer just her employer – and waited, eyes lowered for the gentle fondling to begin. Instead the Duchess pushed her chair back from the table and stared hard into Jane's eyes.

"Tonight," she announced loudly, "we will have a little break from procedure. Jane has displeased me in ways I need not discuss with you all and I intend to punish her for it. Thus before the next formal whipping of one of our members takes place, I intend to punish our new maid personally, here in front of you all! I will now take her across my lap as one would an errant child!"

Jane's eyes widened and her colour deepened. She had suspected, having seen Penelope strapped to the frame, that she might be whipped in similar fashion and had dreaded it. But even that was preferable to be turned over her employer's knee in front of all these eminent ladies and punished like a little girl.

"Oh please, Ma'am – " she cried but to no avail for willing hands assisted in helping her across her employers lap, the Duchess putting one firm hand across Jane's back as she found herself bare bottom up in the air and her face staring at the carpet.

"Gather round, ladies. Make sure you all have a good view, " the Duchess exhorted and Jane felt the tears pricking her eyes as she heard the scrape of chairs , every woman in the room rising to stand around and stare at her humiliation.

She gasped as the firm fingers of the Duchess pulled apart the skin of her bottom, exposing her anus to everyone in the room, at which there were chuckles and comments as Jane began to cry shameful tears, soon turning to gasps as a firm hand struck her bottom. For a delicately boned woman, the Duchess clearly had a technique to ensure that a spanking was something to remember for Jane was soon gasping for breath as the hard smacks whipped across the cheeks of her bottom.

She had never been physically punished and soon the burning pain was almost unbearable as she writhed and squirmed on her employer's lap. The spanking went on and on, the skilled hand skimming the crowns of both buttocks then changing angle to strike the under curve where bottom met thigh, until Jane was crying and squealing in pain then suddenly it stopped. Jane gave thanks for the sudden cessation of pain, the hot stinging blows leaving her bottom tingling and glowing, the urge to rub her burning buttocks irresistible but her hands could not reach behind.

"Celia, hand me the hairbrush!"

Jane's eyes widened in horror and she began to cry out "Oh Ma'am please I've had enough! Please not the hairbrush!" but her pleas were cut short by a solid thumping blow across her right buttock which made her scream. The hairbrush came down again and again, solid hammer blows across both her buttocks until her bottom was one churning mass of burning pain and she was writhing desperately across her employer's lap, the grip on her back tightening to ensure she did not fall off.

Despite the agony of the beating, Jane was shamefully aware that she had rarely been so sexually excited in her life particularly as she was being spanked by a woman she respected and worked for, a woman who was herself nearly naked. Lying across the almost bare thighs of the Duchess and feeling the warmth of her body was having an effect on Jane as the brush came down again and again. She sensed the feeling welling up in the pit of her stomach, the walls of her cunt swelling, her clitoris standing proud and then the climax hit her as she gasped and cried.

The beating stopped and there was much excited chatter around the table. Almost in a trance now, she felt the soft fingers of the Duchess stroking her swollen pussy.

"I knew you were a natural, you horny little bitch," the Duchess whispered, her tone amused rather than angry, "it's over. Now get up and begin serving the wine."

She got to her feet and her eyes filled with tears, her face was red and swollen and she hardly knew where to look. Yet suddenly the room swelled with applause and as she looked up there were a sea of smiling faces all appreciative of her 'performance'. She managed a smile and suddenly realised that for all their money and power, these women were here to subject themselves to similar treatment and to obtain sexual satisfaction from it. Suddenly the shame and embarrassment seemed to melt away

By the time she was dismissed for the evening and allowed to return to the bathroom, she found all her clothes back in place. She had been given permission to take another shower and as she did so, her naked body stinging with the contact of the warm water, Jane began to caress her bottom gently, rubbing the soap softly across the bright crimson buttocks. To her amazement she began to become very aroused once more but refrained from satisfying herself for she had other aims in mind.

She took gentle care in replacing her jeans the mere touch of the rough denim re-igniting the soreness in her bottom but she managed it and went back downstairs to find Mrs. Bridges waiting to let her out. The woman's grim features cracked into a smile.

"Reckon you'll do!" she said and for the first time Jane returned a friendly grin.

She got into her car, gingerly easing herself into the driving seat and suddenly burst into happy laughter. She still had her well paid job and now she had another little diversion from her domestic problems which had proved unexpectedly rewarding. Being spanked for the first time, and by the nearly naked woman she worked for, had excited her beyond reason, for she was so aroused that when she got home she was intent on having James fuck her brains out. Now she had experienced the excitement she knew she would never look back. Maybe life wasn't so bad after all!

From Hermione's Heart

Monday, September 17, 2018

Recap: Spanko Brunch 2.0 for September 16

Many of my faithful readers do not have their own blogs. Let's find out why.

Fred Bloggs: I used to have a blog, unimaginatively called 'The Blog of Fred'. I ran it for a few years, it was never particularly popular, it would have been easier to just email the 20 or so regular visitors.

I have just done a couple of guest blogs on 'Kink of The Week' and on 'Girl On The Net', and they have been well received so I may be tempted to have another go at blogging.
It's quite a commitment, finding something to write about every week.

Amy: Hi All! My advice is blog for yourself rather than for a following or reaction. The comments will then be a nice surprise rather than a reflection on your work. The relationships will also be more genuine. Write for you.

QBuzz: I agree with Amy, just do it for the enjoyment of writing and don't expect lots of comments

Minelle: I try and remember the advice PK gave me, which was: it’s your blog do what you want with it. I find it hard to keep up but I’m trying not to freak out when I can’t blog, so that’s my piece of advice. Try to relax and enjoy it all!

Roz: I agree with Amy and Minelle, write for you.

I don't post anymore but I found the blog a great place to process thoughts and feelings and obtain some fantastic support and advice. We also found the blog a great tool in our relationship as it started conversations between us in addition to giving Rick insight into my thoughts and feelings. These are just some of the benefits I have found through blogging.

Rosco: I have thought about it for a long time, and would like to do it. Discussion of spanking and other kinky activities has been really helpful to me, and of course titillating as well.

But I have not done it for many reasons, including:

I would be mortified if I was found out - especially by my grown children.
I enjoy writing, but I am slow and do plenty of writing at work.
I don't think there are many folks wanting to read the thoughts of one more submissive male.

Occasionally I have written about situations which have aroused powerful feelings in me (and posted in various places), but enthusiastic responses have been limited. I could try harder, and perhaps I will, but I am not sure.

One thing I have done is written fantasy letters to my wife, Irene. Generally they are from the point of view of a woman or girl who is reporting my misbehavior to her (and she herself plays a number of different roles as the recipient of the letter). For example, a sorority freshman sends a note to an older member that I have been peeking through the windows when I am supposed to be working in the yard - and of course recalcitrant yard boys get spanked at this sorority, especially when it is not their first time being caught.

Yorkie: I tried once. Forgot to tell the missus about it and when I did she was mortified. I wasn't that interested anyway so I deleted it.

Ronnie: I agree with Amy, It's your blog, write for yourself and only write what you are totally happy to share. Don't think you have to blog everyday, you don't. Enjoy it and when you are no longer enjoying your blog, stop, you can always come back at a later time.

Thank you all for enlightening us!
From Hermione's Heart

Sunday, September 16, 2018

Spanko Brunch 2.0 #245

Welcome one and all to another spanko brunch. Last week's question was mainly for those of you who have blogs, so this week I'll give the non-bloggers in our group a topic to express their opinion on.

If you do not have a blog, have you ever considered starting one? What stopped you? Might you consider having one in the future? Bloggers, what advice or encouragement can you give our non-blogging friends?

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

Thursday, September 13, 2018

Guest Post - Implements VIII

It's not the end after all! Bacall vary kindly sent me a photo of her arsenal.

"The small holey paddle is my all time favorite which Bogey made for me, followed by the leather paddle. One side is sensual and the other side is very stingy. It was given to us by a dear friend that is no longer with us. I think he only wanted the sensual side used on me. Bogey thinks it’s the stingy side that he wanted to be used. The leather paddle was the first one I bought. I like the long thin Teacher's paddle when I am in the right frame of mind. The red paddle is the one I like when I think I am bulletproof. "

Wow, Bacall! They all look very inviting, in an ouchy sort of way. I can't decide which one I love/fear the most! Thank you for sharing your impressions of them.

If you would like to send me a photo of your favourite implement(s) I would love to post it here. Send it to me at martingale2 @ yahoo . ca (without the spaces). 
From Hermione's Heart

Tuesday, September 11, 2018

From the Top Shelf - Tales from The Glenmore

A blog that I visit frequently for its cartoons and stories is The Glenmore, where FM spanking is a specialty. Sadly, the owner of this excellent blog is planning on closing the blog soon. I think that would be a shame. To show you why, here is the intro to the latest story, Just what the Doctor Ordered:
Lord Reginald Chumley looked warily across the room at the delectable Doctor Florence Davenport. She looked even more stunning than usual in her long fuscia[sic] evening gown which hugged her curves and had a teasing split at the back to give a glimpse of her shapely legs when she moved in her usual elegant manner.

The young Lord Chumley was hosting his first Charity Gala at Chumley hall with all the important people in the County attending. He knew the desirable Doctor Davenport had received an invitation, but given the way she had spurned his previous romantic attempts, he was not expecting to see her.

He was still reeling from his previous meeting with her which had ended in the most embarrassing fashion.
If you're anything like me, you will want to know all about that previous embarrassing incident, so before we go on, here is that previous encounter: More Doctor's Orders

Now, to continue with the latest story, hop over to The Glenmore and read Just what the Doctor Ordered. While you're there. please leave a comment to show your appreciation to the folks that work hard on that blog.
From Hermione's Heart

Monday, September 10, 2018

Recap: Spanko Brunch 2.0 for September 9

This week bloggers weighed in on their blogging habits.

KDPierre: I would say that I do blog 'regularly', but the intensity varies based on mood and available time. I also tend to separate what I do to keep my own blog active from my participation on other blogs...and that ratio also varies by mood. Sometimes Rosa or someone will need me for something and I am just finishing writing something and not wish to lose my train of thought, but mostly I do my writing when alone, so it rarely interferes with 'life'.

I suppose that admitting that mood governs a lot of this partially explains why my blog bounces between lifestyle topics and non-lifestyle ones. And as I've confessed before, a good portion of why I blog at all is rooted in a kind of 'self-therapy'. And that's probably why I still do it even as blogging itself seems to be a waning interest for people. It's like even though I had hoped for something more interactive, I am willing to look at it also as a kind of 'personal journal' where outside involvement is not crucial. That view keeps me writing even as commenting continues to dwindle.

NoraJean: I read blogs daily, commenting as time permits. Re blogging itself, I wish I had a set time and more time to blog ... I do it when I can fit it in ... and it seems life gets in the way more often than not. What I try to do in the interim is make notes in my iPad notepad app. From those notes come my posts.

Yorkie: Nope. Tried once but gave it up as I couldn't find the inspiration to keep it up so I deleted it.

Roz: I don't post on my blog anymore but do read and comment daily. I often read blogs on the way to and from work then go back in the evening and comment. It can at times be time consuming and often ends uo being combined with other activities, even if that is just watching tv.

Other activities and commitments do sometimes mean no time for reading and commenting on blogs.

The Glenmore: As it does tend to take up too much time and I have lots of other things to occupy me I will be ending my blogging once I have finished posting the remaining unfinished pieces in my draft posts.

I also came to the conclusion it is not worth it as there are few comments or interactions with fellow spanking enthusiasts than I hoped for.

I will be very sorry to see you go!

Sir Wendel: I do not have my own blog. Typically, because of schedules I read through the blogs on Thursday, Saturday and Sunday mornings.

Minelle: I am not very consistent! My life is just a bit busy! I try and read some every day! However, blogging is inconsistent especially if I post a drawing. It takes me time to do a drawing! I love the process and love any comments I receive!

Bonnie: I now blog when I have inspiration, time, and energy. These three factors unfortunately haven't aligned very often lately. But that situation is subject to change as the seasons progres

Wilma: I used to blog almost daily to help me process things. Posts, words would ramble around in my head until I got them out. A great deal of things changed for various reasons. The less controversial explanation can be I chose a different way to process and get support/advice.

My morning starts hours before anyone else at home, so I usually read blogs then, commenting on posts that touch me in some way.

Blogging and commenting used to be a larger part of my life, and a link to my dynamic. I guess I just grew away from that. Though I still enjoy reading, the need and draw is no longer as strong. ( I can still relate to KD's comment concerning self therapy, however. That is what has me occasionally post on my public blog)

Ronnie: Blogging is part of my routine and it did throw it out totally. Silly really.

Hermione: I do have a schedule that I try to stick to. I take care of blog matters—and that includes reading other blogs—first thing every morning. That leaves me free for other activities throughout the day, and I rarely check back to see how things are going in blogland. I have a weekly schedule for posts too. When real life intervenes and I can't adhere to my schedule, I feel somewhat guilty.

Thank you all for sharing your thoughts.
From Hermione's Heart

Sunday, September 9, 2018

Spanko Brunch 2.0 #244

Welcome to our first brunch for September. In my dear friend Ronnie's latest post, she said something that made me stop and think. Her blog was temporarily silenced, and she mused: "I was doing regular things but in an irregular order, amazing how not doing things blog-connected changed my timetable." I can relate to that, because my blogging routine is very much a part of my day. So here's the question for all you bloggers:

Do you blog regularly, or only occasionally as the spirit moves you? How do you balance blogging with other activities in your day? Do you have a blogging schedule? Does that schedule sometimes override other activities, or does vanilla life impact your blogging routine?

Please leave your response as a comment, and I will publish a summary of our discussion once everyone has had a chance to speak. I haven't forgotten those of you who don't have a blog; there will be a question especially for you next week.
From Hermione's Heart

Thursday, September 6, 2018

Guest Post - Implements VII

Yorkie, a regular reader and enthusiastic brunch participant, sent me this picture of his spanking arsenal.

"Here are the contents of my toy box. They're not much but they are effective. I love them all! In there is a handle from one of those bath brushes with a removable head. The head kept falling off so I kept the handle as it was too tempting to just throw out."

I also have one of those pink sticks, and wrote back to Yorkie, saying I hadn't dared to try it yet. Here is Yorkie's reply regarding the "Smack Stick Senior".

"That thing is quite formidable. Rather than try to describe it anew I thought I'd scour through all the things I'd written to my wife and the first one I came across was a session where I'd had about 60 swats from that strap, my Ever Ready cane and the small brush with angled handle. So I wrote...

"I also wanted that smack stick as, no matter how numb my bottom was in certain places, I knew that thing would up the ante. It did. Oh boy it did! If that small bath brush generates white heat, this stick turns it up even more and due to the thickness and density of the material it gives more impact to the layers of muscle underneath the skin. Oh my goodness! 60 with that was both enough and not enough."

Yorkie, you will be pleased to know that I have brought the Smack Stick out of hiding and it is now hanging on the wall with all the other implements. I haven't drawn attention to it, but if Ron happens to choose it, well, I guess I'll find out how it feels.

This is the last post in the series, but it doesn't have to be  the end. If you would like to send me a photo of your favourite implement(s) I would love to post it here. Send it to me at martingale2 @ yahoo . ca (without the spaces). 
From Hermione's Heart

Tuesday, September 4, 2018

From the Top Shelf - Uncle Henry, part 6

Last week Uncle Henry spanked Amanda with a small paddle she had bought in town for that express purpose, as her friend Libby (and most of us too, I suspect) had guessed. But now, it's Libby's turn over the uncle's knee.
Her heart thumping wildly and chills running up her spine, Libby nonetheless obeyed Henry’s command. She pulled her skirt up above her hips displaying a shapely backside clad in lacy step-ins, and shuffled over to stand at his right side.

“Libby, put yourself over my knee.”

Libby eased herself down, all the while blushing profusely. At the same time it was deliciously shaming and she felt her girlish parts moisten. His muscular legs were a platform for her mid-section, his arm a clamp across her back as he shifted her into position.

“All right, young lady, get ready.”

Libby sucked in her breath, then released it with a loud “Yow!” as the first of a volley of paddle smacks spanked her buttocks. They were sharp smacks that stung, the heat generated by the little paddle flaring quickly into what felt like a conflagration on her nearly bare seat. Libby couldn’t help squealing. It really hurt – like being stung by bees. Her feet thumped on the sofa cushions as she kicked and squirmed but Uncle Henry had her in a vice grip. She could not escape.

Then, like a spring thunderstorm it was over, and Uncle Henry propped Libby back on her feet. Her hands flew to her backside to rub the sting out.

“Amanda, turn around and come here. Libby, pay attention.”

Both girls stood in front of Uncle Henry ruefully rubbing their backsides.

“I think I’ll keep this little toy, add it to my collection,” he said patting his palm with the paddle. “But it is a toy and what you did, Amanda, well that calls for a grown up girl punishment.”

Amanda opened her mouth, an expression of stunned disbelief on her face. “But you just ---“

“I just gave you a preview, Amanda. Drinking to inebriation and then driving a car is serious. You could have hurt yourself and your friend. As we speak. Mrs. Hemphill is preparing a birch rod.”

“No!” said Amanda. “You can’t!”

“I can and I will. Ah, there she is.”

The girls twisted around. Mrs. Hemphill, the housekeeper, entered the library carrying a sheaf of long whippy switches. The leaves and shoots had been stripped away and one end was bound with twine. Henry took it from her hands and swished it through the air. It made a sickening whine.

“You surely don’t propose to flog me with that!” Amanda exclaimed. Her hands rushed to cover her buttocks by reflex.

“Indeed, I do, Amanda. The birch rod is a most traditional means of punishment for young ladies. I dare say your mother, her sisters, your great aunts – all the women of the Pierpont family have likely felt its bite at some time.” He tapped the roll top arm of the Edwardian couch. “It would be best if you removed your dress.” Henry stood back and waited, the rod clasped in both hands as his arms hung loose below his waist.

Amanda’s attitude shifted. She wriggled provocatively and pulled her dress up and over her head. She flung it over a chair in a defiant gesture, and grasped the bottom of her slip. “Shall I remove my slip, Uncle Henry?” she teased. Without waiting for the answer she stripped out of the slip, leaving her in a short chemise, tap pants and stockings. “How about my stockings?” she asked feigning innocence. “Do those come off too?”

For a moment Henry seemed nonplussed, unsure of himself. Amanda allowed herself a hint of a smile for at least taking some small bit of control away from the normally in-charge uncle.

“Come here and bend over the arm of the couch, Amanda. And,” he added, “slip down your drawers.” Now it was Henry’s turn to smile. “The birch is always applied to the bare fundament.”

Amanda stayed true to form and bent at the waist. It was a deliberately sensuous performance on Amanda’s part, as she slowly arched her scantily clad bottom out and curved her body over the rolled top of the couch. Then she slipped her fingers back and even more slowly peeled her step-ins down, revealing the lush contours of her bottom cheeks to Uncle Henry. A bawdy burlesque dancer could have done it no better.

That done, Henry extended his arm so that the rod splayed out, the withes touching Amanda’s exposed bottom cheeks. He tapped the bare flesh with little flicks of his wrist. “Twelve strokes, Amanda, and I expect you to stay in position.”

He raised his arm to shoulder height and swept the birch down in a long arc. There was a swishing sound and a sharp thwack as the switches struck Amanda’s posterior.

Amanda hissed through her teeth. Her body dipped slightly.

“That is one,” announced Henry.

Swish … thwack! The switches splayed out fan-like as they struck Amanda’s bottom.

“Two,” said Henry.

“Ow … ow!” Amanda bleated. She rose up, then settled back down.

Henry neither hurried nor dallied. He laid on the strokes one by one and slowly, a long pause between each to allow Amanda reposition herself to Henry’s liking.

“Dip your back lower Amanda, and present your posterior properly,” he said, tapping her impatiently with the rod.

Amanda obeyed, thrusting her curvy bottom out in a lewd display, daring Henry to strike it. But strike it he did, and she hissed and shuffled her feet in response, sometimes rising up, sometimes bowing her torso as if hugging the couch’s roll top arm.

The sharp whuicking sounds of the switches made Libby wince. This had to sting ferociously. All the same, with each swishy stroke Amanda waggled her bottom like a hootchie-coo dancer in a wanton display, as if the strokes from the rod were the caresses of a lover and not the infliction of punishment. It seemed to be getting to Henry. A light sheen of sweat had broken out on his forehead. Libby’s eyes dropped to his crotch. Yes. There. She could see the man’s erection straining against the front of his slacks.

A patchwork of thin red lines had formed on Amanda’s white derriere. With each deliberate thwack from the rod Amanda’s cheeks juddered slightly before she writhed in response. Libby was keenly aroused by the sight and sound of it. It was almost as if Henry and Amanda were playing out roles that mimicked the love act – the man with his rod plying it upon the woman who received its attention -- the strike, the sensuous writhing, the moans – it looked very much like love making.

Then it was over. Henry bade Amanda rise. She did and turned to face him, pouting as she ruefully rubbed her bottom. Henry placed the rod on the desk. “I hope that has taught you a lesson, Amanda. Now to bed with you both. I’ll see you at breakfast where we will discuss the rules of behavior for the balance of your stay.”

Suddenly Libby realized she was sopping wet. The tableau had been powerfully arousing, just like the other times. What she was going to do with that, she did not know. She could feel the erotic tension between Amanda and Henry. It was in the air -- palpable, like a living thing. Libby had the feeling that if she were not present, these two might be quite overcome by it.

Amanda pulled her silky pants back up, smirked seductively at Henry and picked up her dress. “Come, Libby. We’ll get some cold cream.”
Libby is truly one of us, is she not?
From Hermione's Heart

Monday, September 3, 2018

Recap: Spanko Brunch 2.0 for September 2

What are your thoughts on restraints?

Fondles: I think when the restraints come on I immediately get a whole lot more submissive in my mindset. It's definitely a different level!
We don't typically use them for spankings, but we have used them for other types of fun kinky activities.

Anon 1: Tighter leg hold, grip around waist, no restraints, this is how I know the spanking is going to be applied firmly, swiftly, and last longer.

Wilma: B uses restraints often. More often during a reset session than a punishment. My mindset definitely changes. I feel far more free not having to concentrate on my movement is one reason, the other is it seems to heighten his dominance. The intensity level appears greater, but that might also be due to my mindset, not the physicality of it all the time

Barrel: Mistress restrains me 3 or 4 times a year for intense punishments, birthday or anniversary events where the spanking will be especially long and hard. We do these as I crave them and Mistress relishes the ultimate power and authority. She plans such events for about a month to prepare my mental state for the session. I am always very submissive and hesitant as I prepare the bench at the foot of our bed with the restraints. Mistress is always supremely confident and sensitive as the time approaches to bind me to the bench. She comforts and assures me with her soft voice, telling me the restraints will help me endure the punishment she has planned. These sessions are usually longer than disciplinary spankings, and always harder as she employs many of the 11 toys at her disposal. Most of these sessions end with Mistress heavily applying both canes, the thicker to add intense discomfort and the thin cane to create welts that will last several months, thus the justification for the restraints. I have worked to enhance the restraints over the years to make them easy to apply and release to make Mistress's role easier.

NoraJean: We don't use restraints for strictly spanking activities, although Frank will,occasionally hold my hands behind my back while I am OTL. We do use them for other erotic, kinky actitivites

Sir Wendel: Only used restraints once. I tied the Misses’ hands to the headboard of the bed with a couple of neckties and then whipped her bottom with the belt. We did not care for it.

Yorkie: Nope. Never used them, never needed to and probably never will.

Roz: Restraints, blindfolds etc doesn't happen often and like Fondles, not specifically used for a spanking per sec, although spanking almost always happens once the restraints are on.

We use them more to enhance the experience. It definitely heightens the sensory experience and puts me more in a submissive mindset.

Evelyn: Restraints are used here for various reasons, though generally not in a spur of the moment spanking. I tend to kick up my feet, and being caned both intentionally and unintentionally on the bottom of the foot is not ideal for me! lol. Worse is a paddle to the ankle bone. Rarely is OTK used here so trapping my legs beneath his doesn't happen. Also Reed says I tend to flip around like a fish on a dock...diaper position is more like a wrestling match. LOL.

I too find freedom in being restrained. I can get panicked at the start as I know I am not going anywhere and he has complete control (yes we have a safeword) but eventually my mind settles and I don't have to worry about what my body is doing - nor does he

Amy: We have done very little with restraints but it is something we want to do more often. There is something exciting to both of us about getting me to the edge and that elusive subspace everyone talks about. Haven't gotten there yet but think restraints could help. First, Eric needs to get home and I need to get healthy. Then... we play.

Red: I received the same email from blogger, and it did work for one day, but now has stopped working again. Is it working for you?

I received emails for all the comments for this brunch. I will see if they stop today, if someone comments on this post.

Minelle: Never used restraints. Not sure but it may be fun to experiment!
Glad you said something about the blogger subscription! I was worried to just click! Im going to go and do it now! Thanks!

A.J.: I'm with Fondles. I don't spank for any reason other than fun so restraints have never been necessary.

That said, this question made me laugh. I was in my early 30's, dating this hot blonde who was out of my league but also at my townhouse one Sat. afternoon. She comes into my bedroom where I am tossing out clothing I don't use, that doesn't fit, out of style, etc. A big pile on top of the bed. To include a bunch of expensive neckties.

"You're throwing those out????"

"Might as well. Their old, a bit dirty, don't wear them much as all. Don't see why I should keep them."

She just looked at me with a stunned grin on her face, a look that just screamed, "You. Idiot!"

She didn't say a word! Not a word. Just "the look". Just that grinning quizzical look on her face begging me to figure it out....!

And I did. Everything went off the bed and onto the floor so I could put those old ties to new uses. I was a willing student; she, a great teacher.

Oh, the things you can do with old ties, whip cream, blueberries...and a feather! (The feather. Not the whole chicken. Remember that.)

Ronnie: We have and do on occasion use restraints, but not solely for spanking. They are used for other fun kinky activities.

Hermione: We have a set of silver vinyl wrist cuffs, and I always feel a special quiver in my tummy when they come out. Attaching them to the bed's metal headboard is usually a complicated matter, and we both have a lot of laughs during the process. I can't help thinking of Stephen King's Gerald's Game, so I have made sure I can unfasten myself if necessary. Like Yorkie, restraints are not needed to keep me in position, but they add excitement.

Wasn't that fun! Please  let me know if you have an idea for a brunch topic.
From Hermione's Heart

Sunday, September 2, 2018

Spanko Brunch 2.0 #243

Hello everyone! Before we get started on today's discussion, here's an update (finally!) on email notifications when you receive comments on your blog. Yesterday I received an email from Blogger asking me to confirm whether I wanted to keep on getting emails each time I had a comment on my blog. I clicked the 'Maintain Subscription' link, so let's see if those emails start coming again. Check your inboxes and spam folders for an email with the subject line "Comment subscription request from 'your blog'".

Today's topic was suggested to me by Barrel, the same reader who gave me the idea for the guest implement series.

Do you use restraints if/when the spanking is to be longer?  Harder?  More intense?  Or just to heighten the aura of a spanking?  How do restraints change the mood of a spanking?

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

Thursday, August 30, 2018

Guest Post - Implements VI

My very dear friend Ronnie shares her favourite (or least favourite, depending on how you look at it)  implements with us today. Ronnie's blog is offline at the moment, due to security concerns, but I hope she will be back up and running soon.

"My two least favourites - the black strap which P fashioned from an old belt, it certainly bites, hard and no flexibility in it. The other is a paddle Bogey sent me, I can only say for a small paddle it certainly gets my attention.

"My favourite and will always be is our Rose leather paddle, we've had it for ages and only gets better with age."

I must agree with her about the rose paddle. It's one of my favourites too!

If you would like to send me a photo of your favourite implement(s) I would love to post it here. Send it to me at martingale2 @ yahoo . ca (without the spaces). 
From Hermione's Heart

Tuesday, August 28, 2018

From the Top Shelf - Uncle Henry, part 5

It's a new day, and Amanda has more naughtiness planned for the two girls. Apparently she has not learned a thing from the lesson Uncle Henry gave her last week. I am beginning to think that she misbehaves on purpose, and that she actually wants to be spanked.
“Let’s go to town,” said Amanda. It was morning and the sun was out. There was not a cloud in the sky and it promised to be a glorious day. “We’ll stroll the boardwalk and shop. Have lunch. What do you say?”

Uncle Henry had left to attend to business in town. They headed out to the garage where Amanda helped herself to one of the family’s automobiles. There were several stored in the spacious outbuilding adjacent the main house and by the looks of the dust covering them, they didn’t get much use.

“Do you know how to drive?” asked Libby. “Why not just have Charles drive us and pick us up?”

Amanda brushed the question aside. “It’s more fun this way. I’ve driven a car before. Let’s take this one.”

The car she selected was a cute red roadster, a convertible with an open top. Libby wasn’t at all sure Amanda knew what she was doing because when she put the key in and started it up, the car gave a lurch forward and abruptly died.

“I think you have to put in the clutch,” said Libby. “That pedal there.” She pointed to the left. “Then let it out slowly.”

“Yes, of course,” said Amanda with some irritation. “I’d forgotten.”

After a few fits and starts, Amanda seemed to get the auto under control and managed to get it out of the garage without hitting anything. Her friend’s apparent lack of skills behind the wheel made Libby more than a little nervous. She had to wonder if Amanda was authorized to drive a car at all. They roared out, blowing right by Charles who did a double take, shocked that someone else was operating a family roadster. She wondered what Uncle Henry would say, and suspected he would not approve of this lark.

Her worries dissipated as they drove towards town. It was a beautiful day and they were two girls off on an adventure as the car sped along the country road with the top down and the wind blowing through their hair.

They made it to town, then parked on a side street and headed for the boardwalk that ran along the ocean. Shops, mostly cheap tourist joints filled with vacation memorabilia and chintzy knick knacks, competed with restaurants and bars for frontage space. Towards the center where a pier jutted out into the ocean, attractions of a more carnival-like nature beckoned, no doubt calculated to separate tourists from their money.

“Let’s go in here,” said Amanda, peering through the window of one of the more luridly appointed junk shops selling frou-frou. Libby followed her in, but couldn’t fathom why her friend would be interested in such cheap stuff. Amanda strolled the aisles, looking at this and that until her eyes settled on a bin of wooden objects. In it were paddles. Obviously intended as humorous novelties with pithy or corny text, they also bore cute drawings of boys and girls bent over with stars emanating from rear ends that had been spanked. The paddles were light and thin, clearly not serious implements of discipline, and Libby suspected that parents bought them in full view of the kids as an unsubtle warning. Still … they were paddles and were capable of executing their intended function, joke items or not.

“I think I’ll get this for Uncle Henry,” said Amanda, picking one up. “As a joke.”

“Are you serious?” said Libby. It seemed to her that giving Uncle Henry a spanking paddle was inviting disaster, or at least a sore bottom. Whatever was Amanda thinking? She’d been disciplined by Henry on two occasions, and both had been the real thing as far as Libby could tell.

“Well if you must know, Uncle Henry is the family disciplinarian.”

Libby had to feign ignorance. “You mean he gives out spankings?”

“Yes, actually, he does,” said Amanda.

“Has … has he ever spanked you?” Libby asked innocently.

“On occasion,” said Amanda after a moment’s hesitation. “But only if I’ve done something seriously wrong.”

“Wow! Is it bad?” said Libby, knowing full well it hurt, but not wanting to admit what she already knew. “And, he’s, well … a man.”

“Yes, he is. And that makes all the difference. Look …” Amanda seemed on the verge of spilling something. She hesitated then and said, “Look, if I tell you something it must be our secret. Do you swear not to tell?”

“Yes,” said Libby in a conspiratorial whisper, “I won’t tell a soul.”

“When Uncle Henry punishes me, it does something to me. In a womanly way. In a very grown up womanly way.” She halted trying to find the words. “He doesn’t see me as a woman, but I want … I want him to.”

“Do you love him? Is that what you are saying?”

“I think – I don’t know if it’s that. I just …” Amanda looked away, letting her eyes drift, focusing on nothing in particular. “I just want him.” She whipped around and stared Libby in the eye. “He’s a man. He takes control of a woman. Not a boy like those Yale boys… ”

“I’ve noticed,” said Libby in a dry tone.

“Then you understand,” said Amanda, relaxing. “You don’t know what it feels like to have a real man take you in hand. It makes you desire things. You want to do things with him. Wicked things.”

Actually Libby did have an inkling about that. She had certainly felt it. But she bit her tongue and said nothing.

“But to him I’m still this little girl.” Amanda sounded frustrated. She blushed then recovered her composure. “Well, what do you say we get a stiff drink? I need one.”

Libby regarded her friend with eyes wide as saucers. “Like … alcohol? But that’s illegal. Anyway, where would we get it?”

A wicked smile lit up Amanda’s face. “C’mon. I know a place.”

* * *

The place turned out to be a speakeasy joint a block or two off the boardwalk. They spent more time inside than they’d intended, enjoying the attentions of the male patrons who were only too pleased to buy drinks for the two attractive college girls. When they emerged several hours later, both were somewhat wobbly.

Somehow they managed to make it back to the car, start it up and push away from the curb, but in her inebriated state, Amanda began to weave around and eventually ran off the road into a ditch on the outskirts of town. If that wasn’t enough, a patrolling constable had seen the young woman veering all over the road and had followed her. He was too late to prevent the unfortunate crash, but not too late to assess the state of intoxication of the roadster’s occupants. There was nothing to do for it but haul them to the local jail. Eventually the sergeant of the watch extracted Amanda’s identity and did the one thing Libby feared. He called the Pierpont house.

Taken to a special section of the jail reserved for more high profile detainees, Amanda and Libby were ushered into an empty cell to sleep it off. Though the police were well aware of the clout wielded by Amanda’s family in the region, they could not allow the girls to leave in the condition in which they’d been found. Instead they placed them in more comfortable surroundings away from the general population. Her head spinning still, Libby lay down and dozed off.

Footsteps echoing loudly in the corridor startled Libby awake. She looked over at Amanda who was in the process of slowly coming back to consciousness. A tall shadow cast by a man in the doorway made Libby gasp. It was Uncle Henry and he did not look happy.

* * *

“Exactly what did you two think you were doing, going into that speakeasy? Amanda, you know very well that’s illegal.” Uncle Henry scolded them as they sat in the back of his Bentley while he drove. “Not only that, but you took a car out of the garage. Do you even know how to drive? Apparently not.” Uncle Henry answered his own question without waiting for her response. He was just getting warmed up, it seemed to Libby. “May I remind you that you are a Pierpont, and your actions reflect on the family? I see that I must, and I intend to do just that – in a way you will truly remember.”

“Uncle Henry, please,” said Amanda. “No harm was done.”

Henry nearly exploded. “No harm? No harm? You take a car you can’t drive. You sneak into a speakeasy. You put your car in a ditch because you don’t know how to operate it, either sober or under the influence of alcohol. You both could have been hurt. Hurt in a serious way. And you say ‘no harm.’”

By then Henry’s car had pulled up to the front entrance of the Pierpont house. Uncle Henry gave the keys to Charles then ushered Amanda and Libby into the house. Once inside, Henry stopped for a second and glared at both girls, as if trying to make up his mind.

“Both of you – go into the library and wait for me.”

So, Libby thought, she was to be included too.

“Wait, Uncle Henry,” said Amanda. “Don’t you want to see the present I bought you in town?”

Libby couldn’t believe her friend was doing this. She was egging him on – as if he needed to be provoked at this point in time. Henry was already furious, and Libby’s knees were quaking. He was sending them to the library – that could only mean one thing, and Amanda was about to hand him that novelty paddle.

“Here,” said Amanda with a smirk on her face, handing him a plain brown paper bag.

Henry’s face wore a puzzled expression as he took it. He fished out the paddle, and cocked his head toward Amanda, frowning. “Well. I see you’ve thought of everything,” he said in a droll tone of voice. He hefted the paddle and smacked his palm with it. “Not exactly what I had in mind, but it will do for a starter.” He handed the paddle back to Amanda. “You hold onto this. Now – into the library, both of you.”

Amanda turned on her heels and, flouncing her skirt, marched toward the library without a word. Libby grimaced and followed after her friend. Once there, they waited. Amanda went to the window and looked out, her head moving as if searching for something. Libby took the opportunity to inspect the odd rolled arm couch, the one over which Amanda had bent to receive her strapping that first night.

Finally Libby had to ask. “What is this?” She casually ran her hand across the cylindrical side wing of the sofa. It couldn’t be an armrest. It was too high. At the opposite end, the similar wing was a low armrest, giving the piece an unsettling asymmetrical look.

The question snapped Amanda’s attention away from the window. “Oh, that. They call it an Edwardian Punishment Couch. Quaint, isn’t it? The high end is made so you can bend your body over it while standing and thrust out your rump. Positions the buttocks perfectly for a good thrashing. And that’s what is coming, you know. A good thrashing for us both.”

Libby backed away, her hands behind her as if unconsciously protecting her seat from the notion of bending over and presenting it.

“Yes, I think you are for it too. Not as bad as me perhaps, but Henry has definite notions of what he considers to be proper behavior. He thinks we are in on it together and we’ve both behaved badly.”

Libby wanted to say that Amanda obviously deliberately set out to misbehave. She had as much admitted that the whole thing was a game to her. She started to speak but was interrupted as heavy footsteps announced that Henry had returned.

He strode into the room, and Libby backed away as he approached. Her heart fluttered and her legs shook. Amanda leaned against the window sill, an amused smile on her face as if she didn’t care what he did. He held the toy paddle in his hand, sat on the Edwardian couch and crooked his finger at Amanda.

“Come here, Amanda.”

With a toss of her head Amanda ambled over to stand next to Uncle Henry. She folded her arms.

“Well?” she said with a hint of insolence.

“Do you think this is a game?”

Amanda shrugged. In Libby’s view she was going out of her way to be a provocative brat.

“Lift up your skirt.”

Both girls were wearing the straight skirted dresses favored by fashionable young ladies of the day, currently nicknamed “flappers.” Amanda had to wiggle to pull the skirt up and over her hips. Libby was sure she put something extra into it just to tease Henry. Once she got the garment up, Henry’s hand shot out and grasped her around the waist. She gasped in surprise as he hauled her across his knee.

Underneath the skirt she was wearing silk step-ins with lace trim. Henry picked up the little paddle. “All right, Amanda. Here’s the first lesson. You are not permitted to just drive off in a roadster.”

The paddle came down and Amanda squealed it is it hit with a series of sharp pops. Henry spanked Manda’s bottom steadily, delivering a volley of brisk cracks that had Amanda yelping and squirming.

“This little piece of wood stings, doesn’t it, Amanda?”

“Yes! Yes! Ouch, Uncle Henry – please. Oh … ow!” Amanda was laid out along the couch, her hips propped up right over Henry’s lap. She fluttered her legs, her toes thumping on the couch cushions.

“Not a toy is it?” The paddle snapped down again and again, meeting Amanda’s thinly clad bottom.

“Ow! No – please stop. That’s enough!”

Amanda was clearly in distress. It seemed she had underestimated the punitive power of what was supposed to be a toy implement. Uncle Henry spanked her briskly for several minutes, smacking her fanny all over and doing a thorough job of it. Then he let her up. She shot to her feet and rubbed her bottom.

“That stung!” she said.

“Now stand over there. Face the wall,” he said, pointing.

He turned to Libby. “Libby, I’m afraid you’re in for it too.”

“Me?” said Libby.

“I’m afraid so, if you wish to stay the rest of the month. Partners in crime share everything,” he said. “Lift up your skirt and come here.
We will have to wait until next week for Libby's spanking, and do you think that Uncle Henry has finished with Amanda's punishment? No, me neither.
From Hermione's Heart

Monday, August 27, 2018

Recap: Spanko Brunch 2.0 for August 26

This week we discussed watching or being warched by our SO while being spanked by someone else.

Jack: Being watched getting a spanking was a fantasy of mine until it happened. While dating, my girlfriend (wife today), did spank me. It was more of do you want to continue to see me then you will be subjected to a spanking, my choice. Never would have thought she could really spank, it got my attention. It was about a week before we were to be married, I had not completed a couple of task, I knew I was in trouble and so in the bedroom I was soon bare bottom over her lap and feeling the sting of the damn hairbrush. "Anyone home?" I heard and soon her best friend was witnessing the spanking. The spanking did not stop, it continued, I was squirming, kicking, and when it was over I stood, told my wife to be I was sorry, and she said best get facing the wall. She told her girlfriend that it was not the first nor the last I would be getting. I was told to pull up my pants and get to the kitchen. Thinking my punishment was over I had to sit and listen to the two talk, squirming and saying nothing. They both I know enjoyed it very much.

Bonnie: No, spanking is a special activity that we keep for ourselves.

Liza: What Bonnie said.

KDPierre: Rosa has watched me being spanked by a very few and select others...WITH her prior approval. And yes I definitely thinks she enjoys it as a sort of extension of her own authority. We have one friend in particular we are both sort of eager to see feel free to do the same...but due to certain complications this has not yet happened. The "intimacy" aspect is only a factor for us in certain specific situations because we also see "spanking" as something that can embody less intimate connotations. It's like kissing. You can kiss your beloved...or you can kiss your mother...or child......or even a Frenchman when receiving a medal of honor. LOL It's all technically "kissing"...but very, very different.

 Roz: Hi Hermione, I think it's a good fantasy, but I'm sure the reality wouldn't live up to the fantasy. Spanking is an intimate act between us.

Sir Wendel: We only spank each other.

Bogey: We think spanking is special and fun. We have enjoyed other partners many times. Three-way, four-way, it's all fun.

Minelle: I asked my Scotsman and he was quite clear in his ‘NO.’
I asked why and he said, ‘ you’re my wife.’ So, for us it’s quite an intimate experience we share.

Yorkie: I agree with Roz whole heartedly.

Fondles: Oh we've talked about it often enough but we're also quite certain that spanking is a "for two of us only" activity. I think as a fantasy it's fun enough, but as Roz and others have said, the reality would be very different!

Red: Cindy has seen me be spanked by other women when attending a spanking party, and has watched Aunt Kay demonstrate how to use various implements when we were first starting on the spanking journey. She agreed that Danielle could spank me, so told Danielle that she could if she wanted to. Danielle was happy to spank me, as I readily agreed, but her husband john was disappointed that he was not spanked.

Cindy does not want to spank anyone other than me, and made that very clear. I look on spanking as KDPierre stated, as a fun activity between friends or others. without the intimacy of being spanked by Cindy.

Ronnie: P would enjoy seeing someone else spank me, but he knows there is no way it will happen. I'd like to watch someone get spanked.
Hermione: It would never happen, but if Ron did watch me being spanked by someone else, I assume it would be happening in a joking way as a silly prank, and not meant seriously. In that case I hope he would laugh. If Ron were to spank someone else, I would be terribly jealous, because for us, it is an intimate activity, not to be shared with outsiders.

Thank you, Red, for instigating such a stimulating conversation!
From Hermione's Heart

Sunday, August 26, 2018

Spanko Brunch 2.0 #242

Welcome back to another spanko brunch. I hope you have a good time here today. Following last week's discussion, my dear friend Red suggested a followup question that I think is interesting. I have rephrased it so that it refers to whichever end of the paddle you prefer to be on.

Do you think your partner would enjoy watching you spanking or being spanked by someone else? How would you feel if you were to watch your partner spank or be spanked by another person?

Please leave your response as a comment, and I will publish a summary of our conversation once everyone has had a chance to speak.
From Hermione's Heart