Thursday, May 24, 2018

Complete the Caption

What's up here? Is it some sort of adult party game? Are those Pringles he' Have we crossed the line?

Complete the caption—if you dare—by leaving a comment, and I will publish whatever you come up with on Saturday.
From Hermione's Heart

Tuesday, May 22, 2018

From the Top Shelf - Naval Discipline

Today I have a treat for you. It's one of the late Alex Birch's stories, which at one time was a running narrative for a series of very juicy illustrations. Alas, the pictures are lost, so you must use your imagination to picture the scene.

A Lesson in Naval Discipline

"You wanted to see me, Chief?"

"Let's start by getting my form of address right, Driscoll. It's CHIEF PETTY OFFICER STEWART when you get an official summons to my quarters, understand?! And yes I most certainly do want to see you!"

(Oh Christ, he's found out!)

"You were on morning watch at three bells, were you not, Driscoll? So why did Johnson stay on watch an extra half hour...because you weren't there! Explain!"

(Blushing) "I'm-I'm sorry Chief Petty Officer Stewart. I-I overslept. It-it won't happen again."

(Angry) "...And it's the third time, Driscoll! There are those of us, Driscoll, who objected to having a bunch of Mollies on board ship in the first place. Makes the men horny and the discipline gets slack. And you are the worst possible advertisement!"

(Hangs head) "I'm truly sorry, Chief Petty Officer Stewart.

"Do you know I should put you on a charge, Driscoll? Clap you in irons until your court martial comes up. And you'll know from Queens Regulations—if you'd ever read 'em—you will be stripped to your underwear while you're locked up for the rest of the voyage, for your own safety. Self harm and all that!" (That'll scare the silly cow!)

"Oh please, Chief Petty Officer, give me another chance! (Tearful) Please don't report me!"

"Very well, Driscoll, I might give you another chance if you're a good girl. Have you seen one of these before?"

"Y-yes Chief Petty Officer, (Oh my God!) it's a cane."

"Well that's your option, Driscoll. A good caning unofficially here in my quarters or put on report. What's it to be? I'll cure you of this slovenliness one way or the other!"

"Oh please, not the cane!"

"Very well. Then I will call for Johnson and Lambert to escort you to..."

"NOOOO ! I'll do it! I'll take the caning"

(Laughs) "I thought you'd see sense. Now turn and face the stool!"

"First of all, Driscoll, I'm sure you agree we are in a novel situation here...normal protocol suspended...and for the next half hour or so, you will address me as 'Sir' Is that clear?"

"Oh, yes Sir." (Why does it give me a little tingle to say that?)

"Go on girl, get bent over it!"

"Yes Sir. Please don't hurt me, Sir."

(Chuckles). "Wouldn't do you much good if I didn't, would it Driscoll?"

(Trembles) "No Sir, I suppose not."

"Right. Now get that skirt up!"

"My skirt, Sir? Oh no, please, when I agreed I thought......"

"...I was going to cane you through a thick layer of cotton. Well think again, Driscoll! Get it up NOW!"

(Whispering) "I-I can't, Sir, I just can't!"

"Have you got something under there other women haven't, Driscoll? Come on, I've seen what's under a woman's skirt before. Hurry up and obey..and here's a little incentive!"



"Now get on with it!"

(Smug and sarcastic) "Ah I see I had it arse about face, Driscoll! Now I see why you were so coy! You haven't got what all other women on this ship SHOULD have! You've got no panties on. Would you care to explain this breach of Queen's Regulations for Female Naval Personnel?"

(Blushing) "The-the ship is so hot, Sir, and when I have to work below decks, I get uncomfortably warm around my..around my...." (voice trails off in embarrassment)

(Wry amusement) "So you get a bit sticky down around the old welcome mat do you? Well what a shame! I'm sure all the lads on board will be leaving their jockeys off once this gets around? Equal opportunity and all that! Is this common among you ladies, Driscoll? Should we have a full, on deck, uniform inspection of all the girls?"

(Almost tearful) "I-I don't know Sir. Please, Sir, don't..."

"Well this further little piece of dumb insolence is going to add to your allotment, Driscoll. Get right over!"

"Aaaaaaaahhhhh, please Sir, that hurt!" (squeals loudly)

"Well what a surprise, Driscoll. Did it really? I had no idea. Of course I suppose it would just through that thin pantyhose. That'll teach you not to leave your panties off!"

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaahhhh...oh please, Sir, stop, my bottom is burning."

"My God, what are we breeding in the modern navy? Young sailors used to be strapped over a gun for fifty lashes of the cat at one time, Driscoll. You've had three cane strokes on your bottom and you're howling like a baby!"

(Tearful) "Yes, Sir, I'm sorry, Sir."

"Still as you've remembered your respectful form of address so far, maybe I can see my way clear to giving your bottom a bit of relief from the heat."

(Relieved sigh) "Oh thank you, Sir."

"That's quite alright, Driscoll. It suits me down to the ground to get some air to your bottom. Take your pantyhose down!"

"Oh please Sir, NOOOO!"

"Another refusal to obey a command and I'll add strokes!"

"Y-Yes Sir"

"Oh Sir please don't stare at me like that!"

"Don't tell me what to do, just bend over that stool again!"

(I know this is awful, but he looks so sexy and stern. I'm getting horny waiting for the cane with my bottom bare. He can see EVERYTHING!"

"Now you can give me a naval report, Driscoll. Tell me how much sharper it feels without your hose on!"


"Aaaaaaaaaaaaahhh. Oh my God, Sir, it's awful. It's like a burning ember on my bottom."

"Excellent analysis, Driscoll. You might make a useful member of Her Majesty's Navy yet! Now get further over that stool. Lie right across it. I want your bottom right up in the air."

"That's it, girl. See you CAN obey orders if you work at it."

"Oh please Sir, (sobbing now) how many more? My bottom is roasting!"


"That's for your cheek, Driscoll. Two more cane strokes but don't think that's the end of your punishment!"

"Right, Driscoll, that's the end of your caning. Still alive, aren't you, for all that whining and bleating?"

"Yes Sir, I'm-I'm sorry Sir."

"Well I don't think that's enough. You need to be taught a good lesson. You are a serving sailor, not a little girl who sleeps in on a Saturday until mommy wakes her up. Is that clear, Driscoll?"

(whispers tearfully) "Yes Sir."

"Good. We agree that you have behaved like a spoilt child and you deserve a spoilt child's punishment. So you can start by getting all your clothes off. Come on! Naughty girls get spanked in the nude, Driscoll!"

(Submissively) "Yes, Sir. Whatever you say, Sir."

"D-Do I have to do this in front of you, Sir?"

"You most certainly do, Driscoll! It's called a test of character!"

"T-This is really humiliating, Sir."

"Really? Well maybe you won't oversleep in future. Get on with it!"

"Don't try delaying tactics, girl. You'll only get more when you're over my knee if I lose patience!"

"S-sorry Sir, my skirt zipper's stuck."

"Well hurry up or I'll rip it off!"

"I'm trying, Sir...ah there...done I really have to take my shirt off too?"

"Everything, I said. Mind you you can leave your hat on. Might remind you that you ARE in the Navy! Something needs to!"

"Ah now isn't that lovely. I must admit you have quite a beautiful figure, Driscoll! You're certainly not a little girl after all, are you?"

(Looks embarrassed). "Please don't say things like that. I've never done this in front of a man before, Sir. I'm so ashamed."

"And so you should be, my girl! Not for being naked in front of me but for breaking another of the Queen's Regulations vis a vis underwear. You're not wearing a bra either!"

"I never do Sir, I- I hadn't realised..."

"Because you don't study regulations, my girl and for that you will be punished severely. I was just going to hand spank you but now I'll take a slipper to your bottom!"

"Oh no, please! Not after my caning. My bottom..."

" very sore no doubt—and about to get worse. Now come here and lie across my lap!"

"AAAAAHHHH! Oh my God. Please, Sir, that really hurts!"

"Of course it does. Especially on top of those cane stripes—and it's going to hurt a lot worse before I've done with you!"

"Please, Sir, if you stop this I'll do anything for you—and I mean anything!"

"You cheeky little tart! A minute ago you were pleading your innocence about stripping in front of me and now you're offering sexual favours. I'll add a few more for that!"

"AAAAAAAAAAHHH! Oh, no more please, Sir. My bottom is scalding hot."

"And so it should be, you little trollop. I'll teach you to try and seduce a superior. Take that...and that!"


"Stop your bleating and lie further over. Come on, get that nice big bottom right up."

"Oh Sir, This is degrading. You're treating me like a naughty child. This is worse than being caned."

"Yes, I thought you might feel slightly embarrassed, Driscoll, in this position. But you'll have to learn to take it with a stiff upper lip. You're in the British Navy!"

"Oh dear God, please Sir, stop! I'm burning up. I can' t take any more. OWWWWWWWWWWWW"

"You are strange creatures, Driscoll, you women. I believe you are in quite a bit of distress, but I can see quite clearly that one part of you is becoming very moist!"

(Oh God he can see that? I will never recover from the shame of this)

"But as I'm sure you can feel, Driscoll, you're not the only one becoming aroused. And I think I've beaten you enough. Stand up and face me!"

"You are quite a pretty sight, Driscoll, with a face almost as red as your bottom. And you shave so neatly down there."

"Oh please, Sir, don't make comments like that. You are humiliating me."

"Indeed I am, Driscoll, but I have let you off about 15 minutes of intended punishment so consider yourself lucky!"

"I-I'm very grateful, Sir."

"Are you indeed, my girl. Just how grateful would that be?"

"I-I don't know what you mean, Sir."

"Well seeing as you made an offer less than ten minutes ago you should know exactly what I mean. I'm sure you're not that stupid. You are aware that the Navy is called 'The Senior Service', Driscoll? Well here is one Senior who needs servicing very urgently. So get to it or you'll find the cane across your bottom again!"

(Licks her lips in anticipation) "OH SIIIIIIRRRRRRR!"

From Hermione's Heart

Monday, May 21, 2018

Recap: Spanko Brunch 2.0 for May 20

Today is Victoria Day, when we Canadians celebrate the birthday of Queen Victoria as well as the birthday of our present monarch, Queen Elizabeth. Happy birthday, ma'ams!

Now on to our question of the week: do you write about spanking?

Windy: Up until recently, I was just reading romance novels, some with spanking type stuff, some not. I preferred to read fiction.

Then about 2 months ago, I was reading real blogs by ladies with dd/ttwd type personal stories because I found them through your site, H and Bonnie's. And for the first time, I commented here anonymously, then signed up a week later just to contribute to your Captions and Brunches, as you know. Almost two weeks ago, I started my own blog and joined the ttwd community. So now I am sharing my true stories that often include some aspect of spanking.

GREAT question!!!

Welcome to blogging, Windy! I have added you to my blogroll.

Baxter: I have written quite a bit of my own fiction, based loosely upon real events as the starter and then the fiction takes off from there. I have never shared it. I also love to read spankng stories, real or fiction and enjoy those that give me signifiant arousal.

KDPierre: I've done a bit of writing as you well know. ;-)

Some of my stories are fictionalized accounts of actual events. Others are fictional plots with characters based directly on people I know. And others are total fiction, but written with firsthand experience in how ttwd works in real life.

All of my stories can be found on my website that is linked through my blog and most of my stories are also on the Library of Spanking Fiction.

Amy: I have our blog and I've done a couple of Fantasy Fridays with PK. I write mostly about Eric and me, though when he travels I'll do some fictional stuff to make the time go by.

Roz: I am more of a reader. The only writing about spanking I have done has been on my blog.

arched one: I have written spanking letters to my wife, she enjoys reading them and usually comments on them. Reading spanking stories, I prefer real life or fantasy written well so one could believe it could happen in real life. I also prefer women spanking me (as my wife spanks me) to get the males' feelings on being spanked and why they accept spanking. Some real good stores also give the wife/girlfriend's view on why they spank.

Anon 1: The pictures of F/m spankings I write as if it was I being spanked. With [pictures of[ older women I can come up with more stories. Trying to come out I’ve tried, no luck.

Anon 2: The person who spoke of F/m spanking I wish to add this. I'm seeing a mature woman, do not have the nerve to bring up my desire. We have great sex, but if I could tell her of my spanking desires it would be totally wonderful. I cannot explain this desire, had it for as long as I can recall. I find pictures on different blogs of mature women spanking. It is those pictures with that look a woman has, it is the look of the one being spanked that get my attention. If there is room on the picture I will put my story on the picture, if not will attached and then write my story. It is always told with the mature woman speaking and me responding. The best ones are when the woman tells me that I must call her "Mommy", since Mommies spank naughty little boys. I have a collection hidden in the bathroom, one that I really get enjoyment is of a woman spanking me, then standing, rubbing, my shorts and underpants around my ankles and she is hold my penis saying "are you going to play with that again husband of mine, or should I be the Mommy and spank you for being a naughty little boy, I say I'm sorry and she sternly tells me to face the wall, no rubbing, talking and if someone drops in, better not move, or will get a spanking in front of that person. We all have our sexual desires, this is the safe way for me, so if I need to masturbate to fill this desire I do, it is not hurting anyone. The sexual fantasy at its best is what is in your mind. You asked the question I answered it, and coming out, to admit I sit on the toilet, naked, looking at F/m pictures and reading what i wrote or looking and coming up with the story while I masturbate, I don't think one can be more open and replying to what you asked.

Thank you for your honesty and openness.

Leigh: Yeah I've written about spanking a time or two.

Anon 3: I am currently writing a story that starts with me in everyday autobiographical life and eases into fantasy. I have a long way to go on it and have not shared it with anyone. I prefer reading real life stories.

Ronnie: As you know I have a blog and write about the spankings I get from my nearest and dearest. I've done one or two fictional stories for PK's Fantasy Fridays.

Yorkie: I write about my own experiences plus some fantasy stories. I put some of my stories up on some forums that are now defunct and nowadays only my wife reads them. She prefers my recollections of the spankings she gives me as she loves to know about my feelings and what I'm thinking.

Rosco: So much to say here. Mostly I like to read stories that are at least sort of believable. But my own fantasies are not that realistic and generally involve lack of explicit consent.

When my wife and I engage in this stuff, I certainly pretend it is for real. Asking her "to spank me harder" would diminish the mood.

I haven't written much but think about doing my own website often. There are several reasons why I have not:

1. I would really hate to get caught - especially by my (grown) kids.
2. People don't seem very interested in reading stuff from a male submissive.
3. Some of my stories/fantasies emanate from my youth. I worry about legal and social repercussions of writing such stories.

Hermione: Since this is a blog about spanking, then the answer would have to be "yes". If you search the archives, you will find that over the years I have written less and less about my own spankings. This is largely because the occurrence has become a routine in our home, and there isn't a lot that is different or blog-worthy from week to week. Describing each one would become repetitious. But I do enjoy reading other bloggers' true accounts of their own percussive activities.

I enjoy reading spanking fiction but find it very difficult to write, and have only produced a handful of fictional stories.

Thank you all for joining in the discussion this week!
From Hermione's Heart

Sunday, May 20, 2018

Spanko Brunch 2.0 #228

Welcome, dear readers, to a very special royal wedding brunch. I know there are many of you who are bloggers, and there are many more who do not have blogs but enjoy reading about spanking here. There is much creative energy out there that never sees the light of day. This week's topic is open to all, whether you blog or not.

Do you ever write about spanking? If so, do you prefer to write about your own real-life experiences, or do you write about fictional characters and situations. Have you ever written down your own secret fantasies? Do you share your writing with others or is it private? If you don't write, do you prefer to read about real spankings or fictional ones?

Please feel free to join in and express your preferences by leaving a comment. You may remain anonymous if you wish. I will publish a summary of our discussion once everyone has had a chance to speak.
From Hermione's Heart

Saturday, May 19, 2018

You Completed the Caption

Baxter: You see my dear, it is all about energy. Now witness when I take you across my knee, the more energy I put into spanking you, the higher the results, thus E=MC squared. Very simple concept. now please bare your bottom so that I can again prove this to you.

Kingspan: I could make her ass appear red by moving it away from me at high speed and observing the Doppler shift, but I can think of a more efficient and pleasurable way to achieve the same result.

Katie: Hazel embraced her knowledge of shorthand, while the professor entertained thoughts of a very different type of hand action!

Windy: "Silly man, E does not equal MC cubed, it's MC squared."

Sir Wendel: My dear, I call it the "Theory of Spanking Relativity". Come over here and I will give you a demonstration.

Bernie: Dammit, Mileva, write it down correctly, or I will prove to you that E does not equal MC*Hammer. And, no it's not MC**Hammer, either. And where did you get the notion that there's an MC Hammer, anyway? Do you have any other ideas about the secrets of the universe?

Ronnie: E=MC squared, speed of light, black holes. Wish I knew what he was talking about.

Dr. Ken: Errors = Me Caning her bottom about three times over. Or what I like to call E=MC squar....wait a minute, I may be on to something here....

Hermione: Oh, gosh, I don't know the shorthand symbols for all those formulas. I'll just draw a black box instead. Nobody will know the difference.
From Hermione's Heart

Thursday, May 17, 2018

Complete the Caption

Shhhh! Genius at work. What does the esteemed scientist think of his new secretary? Better still, what does she think of him? Is that a cane I see hanging on the wall?

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

Tuesday, May 15, 2018

From the Top Shelf - Confessions and Experiences

Today's story is from Confessions and Experiences by the notorious Edith Cadivec, whose love of dishing out the rod to schoolchildren earned her a prison sentence. In this extract she talks of how, in her early years, a stern stepmother established her iron will. I first read this excerpt many years ago, in one of my first spanking paperbacks, and it was the source of many masturbatory fantasies. I am pleased to be able to share it with you here.
My father's sister, Aunt Regina, the widow of a district judge who had died early, came over to the house after my mother died, as she had done so often before, in order to see that everything was all right. The household was greatly neglected, the wardrobe of the children was in a bad way, and our upbringing left much to be desired. This time Aunty remained with us for several months, more for her brother's sake than for her motherless nieces. She found us not at all properly brought up and soon found she could not cope with the task of running her brother's household permanently, thus soon returned to the loneliness and peace of her widow's residence. This was certainly the reason why father chose to marry for a second time, only one year after my mother's death.

My stepmother was a lady of thirty five. When father took her home she had just become the widow of a seventy-eight-year-old doctor, to whom she had been married for four years. Formerly she had been the governess of many children in socially prominent families.

Outwardly she was pleasant without actually being pretty. Practical, materialistic,and clever as she was, she had married father only for reasons of security. She was a model housewife, a good cook, a foe of dust and of stockings with holes and tyrannised the whole house with her inveterate love of order. She shook me out of my daydreaming and urged me to take up needlework. Gabrielle had to help with the housework and knit stockings. We were no longer allowed to be idle.

We sisters quickly discovered that our stepmother was a lady of great energy and sternness who always knew how to make her will prevail. She demanded prompt obedience, good behaviour and an iron industriousness from us. When she was angry and bored through us with her looks, her cold steel-green eyes could look at us with a sternness that made hot and cold shivers run down our spines. Our freedom was limited and now we had to come home punctually, on the minute.

Despite her zeal in child rearing, our stepmother did not show the slightest affection for us children. But she was ostentatiously affectionate with father. He was happy at her side, wholly hen pecked.

A few months after the entrance of our stepmother into our lives, it happened that Gabrielle did not come home punctually at one o' clock for the midday meal. It was served and eaten as usual and when she did finally come home, around one thirty, she was served afterward and had to eat alone. My stepmother darted angry glances but did not utter a word as long as father was present. Gabrielle excused herself to father, explaining that she was late because she had accompanied a school friend home, and believed that her explanation had settled the matter.

When father had left the house, our stepmother came into the room where Gabrielle and I were busy with our homework. She went directly up to my sister and, flushing red, angrily demanded, "At what time are you supposed to be home?"

"At one o' clock," answered Gabrielle calmly.

"And at what time did you get home today?"

"At one thirty because I walked my friend home."

"Yes indeed! But you know I have insisted again and again that you be home at one o' clock on the dot. Now come with me!"

She grabbed the resisting Gabrielle by the arm and dragged her to the bedroom next to the room in which we had been sitting. It was clear to both of us that something terrible was now about to happen. I stared into space, stiff, as if paralysed in every joint. My heart was in my mouth and the air was laden with an oppressive mystery that took my breath away. Gabrielle began to cry, plead and promise that she would never do it again. But stepmother did not listen and silently dragged Gabrielle along with her. After they disappeared into the bedroom, she locked the door.

The surmise that a thrashing was in the offing became a certainty. An oppressive stillness prevailed all around me, so that I could hear every sound coming from the bedroom. I heard the sound of a chair being pulled out and then I heard my stepmother.

"Now, little girl, my patience with you is at an end! If you will not hear what I say you must be made to feel my anger. Now you will taste the birch on your naked bottom. Maybe that will have some effect!"

Immediately the bedroom resounded with urgent pleas and implorations for forgiveness. Gabrielle's promises to mend her ways were desperate, her weeping grew louder and louder, her screaming ever more heart rending. A convulsion went through my body and I trembled like an aspen leaf.

Gabrielle, in a shocked fear ridden tone, whimpered and squealed "No-no- you can't unbutton my drawers! I'll be good-good and punctual-I won't do it again. Don't take down my drawers-no-no!"

A piercing shriek ensued confirming that her pleas were in vain and that Gabrielle's bare bottom had received the first blow with the birch, and marked the first time that our stepmother had given a birching in our house. Indeed it was the first time ever that Gabrielle had received a taste of the rod - but it was not to be the last!

I listened in state of frantic, tense excitement to the whistle of the birch as it came swishing down, blow after blow, on my sister's bared bottom. So many were the blows that descended on Gabrielle's bottom that it seemed the birching would never end. I will never forget that day - my soul inflamed and my blood raged as in a fever.

A whole new epoch was ushered in by this event. From then on, our stepmother thought of no other punishment for us children than the birch, and always on the fully bared bottom. Since that day hardly a week went by without my sister or me being summoned into the bedroom for a whipping.

Gabrielle, who was older, always had to unbutton her own drawers whereas my stepmother pulled mine down. When I received the rod for the first time, I could hardly endure it. The blows, which had the effect of molten lead on a naked bottom, singed my flesh like an infernal fire.

We were never birched when father was at home, but we lived in constant fear of inviting a punishment. One day Gabrielle complained about our stepmother to father because she, now a big girl of almost fourteen, had been birched. She did not want to put up with this anymore. But father merely answered "You must have surely deserved it, my child!"

That day, when father left the house, our stepmother summoned Gabrielle to the bedroom and birched her once again, this time so soundly that she never again complained to father. Hereafter she meekly submitted to her punishments.

I always waited for such events with taut nerves. I observed my stepmother's features searchingly and tried to read in them the riddle of her inner being. Never did her eyes beam more brightly, never did the smile around the corners of her mouth play more happily than when she could belabour the bare bottoms of her step daughters with the birch. She would beat with a slow deliberation and the strange sensations I felt filled me with awe.

Later, when I recognised the nature of my own being, when my eyes and mind had been opened to the sweet pleasures of the rod, the image of my stepmother often cropped up in my mind. Then I would see her glowing cheeks, her flashing eyes, and I understood the zeal with which she sought excuses for calling two grown girls into her bedroom for punishment. No doubt it was my stepmother's greatest enjoyment.

In the evening, of course, I was bent on finding out whether traces of the birching were still discernible on my sister's bottom. At bedtime I made her lift her nightgown and, with horror, I saw a number of clear, reddish streaks. Especially noticeable were the yellow-blue spots on her right buttock which was precisely where the points of the birch had landed.

It was understandable that such a sight should excite me and fill me with quaking fear. Which of us would be next to have her naked bottom birched so soundly. Numberless times I too was stretched over a chair like Gabrielle and received the birch on my bare buttocks. In the beginning both my sister and I found it puzzling when stepmother came into the room, motioned with her forefinger, and called out "Edith, come here!"

Little by little, however, we understood what it signified: the birch rod, the rear flap of the drawers pulled down to bare the bottom. She laid such careful emphasis on the word 'naked' when rebuking the culprit and one felt like crawling into a hole in shame.

At the time it seemed that a complete transformation had taken place in my soul. Until then I had been but a schoolgirl. My thoughts were divided between homework, my playmates, my sister and my home. Now, since the introduction of birching and a strict regime, a new and exciting element had been added to my education, a feeling my sister never grasped in the same way.

As the years went by, only I was consumed by the erotic power of a birching! Why? This question has often occupied my thoughts. Is it an accident or did I possess this tendency from birth? Or was it placed in my soul from the ovum onwards and merely waited only for this domestic impetus to break out with elemental force? If only I knew!
I have often asked myself those questions. How about you?
From Hermione's Heart

Monday, May 14, 2018

Recap: Spanko Brunch 2.0 for May 13

Do you remember the worst spanking you ever received or gave?

Amy: I can think of two examples and both happened in the very beginning. Eric was so worried about being too hard on me, that first "swat" got a look from me like, "Uh... that's all you got?" LOL. The other example was when we tried our first "role play" and I just thought he was such a cute tough guy, I was beaming and grinning to the point that he threw up his hands, announced that this was not working, and walked away. In both instances, we learned that communication is key and that this whole spanking thing is actually a partnership, a dance as it were.

abby: It was at least 19 years ago...maybe more. We had been mis-communicating all day...both of our faults. He decided I needed a 'barn-burner' spanking...I leaned over the chair, it was short, but with the large paddle and all hard ones. He finished I got up and stomped up the stairs ignoring Him telling me to come back, I stopped at the top and heard Him say come back we are not done. I almost just kept walking out the door, I was furious...but I stopped and walked back down the stairs...and he pulled me in for a big bear hug, and pulled me on his lap so we could talk it out. It could have ended very differently...but I am so glad it did not.

Rosco: A bad spanking - is there really such a thing? Perhaps one that never really got started.

The cute, high energy, flirty but bratty Monica finally crossed the line by spitting sticky gooey slurpee on me. I chased her and landed a solid swat on her bottom. But she got away and I chased her again determined to giver her the punishment she deserved and seemed to be asking for.

But then in stepped Molly who told us both to grow up. What a bitch.

Funny, when I first read the question I thought it was about a spanking that didn’t work for some reason, not one that was especially hard or embarrassing.

My wife Irene spanks me once a week or so, usually but not always prior to reverse cowgirl cunnilingus and other related activities. The spankings are certainly consensual but once we start it’s important for me to play the part of a naughty boy getting what he deserves. Irene tells me that she really does like to hurt me a bit. I would describe all her spankings as Intense but not severe. She leaves my bottom tender for several days, but never really bruised or worse.

But there have been times when she’s been less than careful with whips or other implements and the lash wraps around and gets me on the hipbone. A few times she’s also mistakenly struck my testicles with force. Whenever these things happen, the delightful sexual aspect of our encounter disappears immediately. So those times were the worst, but Irene has been more careful for many years.

Roz: Two spankings come to mind. Rick was away and I was going to visit my parents which involved driving a notorious stretch of road which included a small, very windy mountain pass and I was returning after dark. I failed to check in and let him know I was home again (also a rule at the time). Poor Rick was beside himself with worry and the spanking that followed was a serious one which included a few different implements. What made it more memorable was the emotion and feelings involved on both our parts. Not a 'bad' spanking but definitely memorable.

The other occasion was one time something very minor had happened, which wouldn't usually have upset Rick at wll, but he spanked me with no prelude or aftercare, which is unheard of. I was left angry, upset and confused. We talked after and he apologised and admitted he was just using an excuse to try out a new implement. He could, of course have done so in a fun/play setting. Needless to say it never happened again.

Yorkie: Like I say to my wife, there is no such thing as bad sex. Any time I can be intimate and connected to my wife is always good. As my spankings are always erotic and turn me on immensely, I am of the same opinion about spankings for the same reasons as for sex.

Anon 1: My wife is the head of the household, most males would not want to admit that. The worst spanking was on the first visit to my mother-in-law, a year after our marriage. I have an attitude my wife addresses at the time, I was warned about that, plus my behavior, I have to have my way, man of the house attitude. It is a good two days' trip and she reminded as I drove she would not hesitate giving me a spanking. At the hotel stepping out of the shower prior to going to dinner, she showed me the dreaded hairbrush and I knew I better be good.

It was the third day that I messed up, my wife pointed to the bedroom, my mother-in-law with a smile on her face. In the bedroom my wife waster no time, I was to undress, no pleading, I did and stood naked, she scolded me for a long time and then over her lap. I know my mother-in-law could hear and I could not help it. Once the spanking was done I was told to put my underpants on, i was to face the wall in the front room, I looked at her and she had that look and with a grip on my arm I was led to the front room. My mother-in-law looked at me, sure is loud isn't he, my wife smiled, always. I stood facing the wall, my mother-in-law soon was standing behind me, these are not needed young man and down came my underpants. That is better, very good job dear, I said nothing. The rest of the time there was okay, the next to the last day I showed the spanking did not correct the problem. Over my wife's lap in the bedroom, a few swats already landed and my mother-in-law walked in. Let me spank him she said and sure enough I was spanked my my mother-in-law and she was harder than my wife.

Anon 2: I dated this woman (early 30's) I was mid 20's, she was born with a silver spoon in her mouth. This I learned shortly after seeing her, I thought I could handle it. We were staying at a nice beach front home we rented for a week. Been out to dinner, met a couple that rented the home next to us, nice couple. Well my girlfriend decided to show her true colors and I was polite and asked her to be nice, she smiled and I then said your acting like a spoiled little girl who needs a spanking, she just looked at me and was not going to believe me.

 A couple of mornings later as she was stepping out of the shower, I watched her dry off and commented how beautiful she was, she smiled and wrapping the towel around her self told me she would be done soon. I took hold of her arm and lead her to the bedroom I had a chair in the middle of the room and soon had her across my lap. Won't be needing this and raised her enough to remove the towel. I heard how dare you, I'm too old, don't you dare, but soon my hand was landing on her bare bottom and she tried to get off but I had a strong grip. She finally was pleading and promising to be good, I told her she best do as I say from now on, she agreed, I then reached under the chair and pulled out her hairbrush. She saw it, please, NO, I'll be good, but I applied it and enjoyed how she was squirming, crying, and when i stood her up she danced around the room rubbing, crying. I told her naughty little girls will be given a spanking, and you have been a very naughty little girl have you not, yes she said.

I dated her for another year or so, she did receive other spankings, but that first spanking she said was the worst and I must agree.

Windy: Hi, Hermoine! I would say just in general in the past if it wasn't hard enough... still learning back then like Amy and Eric..... and last week, he broke a dowel rod on me. ROFL It was very thin and did not do much more than a slight sting, but I thought it was hilarious he broke it. He didn't think it was funny. Apparently, he's up to serious business back there!! lol

Hermione: The early ones I had with my ex were not the greatest. There was a consistent theme running through them; he constantly reminded me that I was 'sick' to want to be spanked, and he was only doing it begrudgingly. Needless to say, that relationship didn't last.
From Hermione's Heart

Sunday, May 13, 2018

Spanko Brunch 2.0 #227

 Welcome to our weekend brunch, when we have the opportunity to discuss a topic related to the percussive activity we all enjoy so much.

Speaking of enjoyment, sometimes a spanking does not go as planned. Something goes wrong, and the occasion is not a pleasant one. Today's topic was suggested last week by an anonymous reader, and I think it bears some consideration.

What is the worst spanking you ever received or gave? What makes it the worst? Is there something you could have done while it was happening? Did you learn something from the experience?

Leave your response as a comment and I will publish a summary of our conversation on Monday.

From Hermione's Heart

Saturday, May 12, 2018

You Completed the Caption

Baxter: Oh darn, I am missing that great shoe sale today. Wonder if I will get a spanking after I come home with five boxes of shoes I don't really need or can afford?

Anon 1: Finally he decided to spank me, feels so good, but why now, at a nice hotel, how will I be able to sit for breakfast? Sure hope he does not pull the nightie up, too late, my bare bottom is feeling it more.

Leigh: She couldn't believe he finally got her message and hoped he didn't stop too soon.

Katie: "That's right! OW! Just like that! Whoa! OW!! Impressive! OWW!!! He's getting to be a great spanker!"

Anon 2: Next week it is my turn to spank him -- with a Spencer paddle no less, according to our agreement. I can't wait!

Anon 3: I can't remember if I put on clean panties ... or any panties!

I wonder what he's going to say when he finds out my bottom's already red from the spanking my boss gave me this afternoon?

Did I turn off the stove?

Oh, dear, he's a lot better at this spanking stuff than I thought he would be. I have a feeling I'm really in for it now.

Ronnie: How can I tell him to spank me harder, OUCH OUCH, I think he knows.

Rosco: Does he even know how wet my pussy is? Men are so dense sometimes.

Sir Wendel: What the hell, is he just dusting off my bottom?

Hermione:  Tee hee! Wait till he discovers my new steel mesh-reinforced Spanx. This is going to hurt him more than it hurts me.
From Hermione's Heart

Friday, May 11, 2018

Friday FAIL

Last week I received some new tops that I had ordered online. Since they were rather fragile, I decided to check the laundry care label before washing, even though I don't usually bother.  I'm glad I did. It saved them from an awful fate in the dryer, where I would normally have put them after washing. I hung them up instead, and they still look as good as new.

Now check out these labels. Helpful?

Now those are instructions I can follow!
From Hermione's Heart

Thursday, May 10, 2018

Complete the Caption

We've all seen pictures of spankings before, but there's something about the expression on this spankee's face that tells me she has a hidden agenda. What might that be?

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

Tuesday, May 8, 2018

From the Top Shelf - Alice and Rosemary

This extract is from a story by China Hamilton. the internationally renowned photographer, who writes very passable erotic fiction in his spare time. It's from a terrific anthology of text and pictures called Maids and published by the Erotic Print Society. This is the tale of two young girls, former residents in an orphanage, who are found work as serving girls as soon as they are old enough to finish schooling. Their first kindly employers are forced, through circumstances, to let them go and the two girls are kept together and sent to a home of the nobility in the west country of England. Life there is a little more severe where her Ladyship gets off on watching the girls punished under the regime of a disciplinarian housekeeper named (Mrs) Weeks.
Alice and Rosemary lapsed into a tacit acceptance of their lot. The days went by and they soon acclimatised to the place and to their duties. Neither master or mistress seemed to notice them and, except for the occasional instruction, no words passed between them. Even the cook started to make conversation and the boy Tom, when alone with them, made earnest attempts to please the girls with silly jokes.

One afternoon, Rosemary was laying out tea for her Ladyship. The silver teapot slipped from her grasp and fell onto the Turkish rug spraying tea in all directions from lid and spout.

'Stupid child,' said her Ladyship. 'Get it cleared up and bring me fresh tea!' That was all she said. Rosemary called for Alice to help, equilibrium was restored and her Ladyship had her tea.

As Rosemary curtseyed before leaving the room, the ominous words assailed her ears. 'You'll be brisked up tonight! Now leave.'

Weeks, when told, seemed very detached about the matter.

'I'm surprised that both of you have made it this far without a visit to the special room, my girl,' she said to Rosemary as they walked together up a staircase in the old, unused part of the house. The way was lit by a candle held by Weeks. When they reached the top, a door on the dusty landing stood open and a light shone from within. The two of them entered.

The mistress was already there, sitting calmly on a large chair. The room was well lit by wall mounted candles. Rosemary, in a frightened daze, took in the room which, she realised, had once been a boudoir. Now it was bare with a few chairs and, in the centre, a wooden construction like a saw horse but on longer legs. Its top came to an edge which was minimally padded by old, well-stained leather. Each leg was linked to leather straps. Upon one wall, she noticed, there hung an array of flagellatory instruments. Small whips, leather straps and a number of long canes.

'Now girl,' said Weeks 'Best if you go along with this and get it over with. Just do as I tell you and all will be fine. Slip off your pinafore and dress and be smart about it.'

Rosemary did as she was told, folding the clothes with deliberate neatness onto a chair. She now stood before the two women in her undergarments.

'Have the girl strip to the waist, Weeks, if you please. Don't want her sweating into the good underwear my money provides' said Lady Elizabeth.

'Off with your top,' said the Housekeeper and Rosemary obeyed, slipping off the simple white chemise to expose her young breasts.

'Have her mount the horse!' said the mistress.

Weeks pulled forward a small wooden box and placed it underneath the horse.

'Climb astride the horse, girl, and use the box,' she ordered.

Rosemary stood up on the box and swung her leg over the ridge to stand with her legs apart across its edge.

'Come down a little towards the end, then part your drawers and sit down with your bare pussy touching the top. I will do the rest,' said Weeks.

Rosemary did as she was told and parted the material of her drawers then placed her 'sweet spot' in its brown curls upon the leather which was marked by the juices of so many girls before her.

Satisfied that the girl was correctly positioned, her bare pussy pressing down against the hard leather of the saw horse, Weeks quickly pulled the box away and Rosemary now felt the painful and instant discomfort of the leather forcing open her labia. Quickly, Weeks swept up each booted ankle and strapped it high up on the rear legs of the horse so that Rosemary was now seated like a jockey. She then pulled the girl down at the front until her nipples caressed the top of the horse. Each of the girl's wrists was now strapped low down on the front legs.

Rosemary was now perfectly placed, bottom thrust up and ready, the edge of the horse pressing cruelly against the base of her mound and her clitoris. She now realised the cunning of this sadistic device to add additional suffering and pain.

Weeks proceeded to completely bare the girl's bottom. She pulled open the division of the drawers and worked the material back, tucking it under so that each neat tightened cheek was clearly on show and gleaming pink in the candlelight.

'Now there, Weeks, is a good sight! What a suitable bottom this young miss has. Well rounded, pert, just ripe for a brisking. Such fresh young skin, neglected for so long. We must make her do her duties without carelessness. A good cane, Weeks, is best for a tight little bottom. That one, the third from the end. That will get her working on the horse and give her a good ride!'

It was the first time that her Ladyship had shown any sign of animation or interest. Her cheeks had become something of a flush and her languid voice had become excited. Weeks took up the suggested cane and flexed it a few times to get its measure. Then she positioned herself behind the proffered bottom. Rosemary had been quiet while all this was going on but the growing pain between her legs made her whimper.

'Two dozen if you please, Weeks, we must make up for past neglect and mark that virgin skin a little. Keep them in a tight group, she has a small arse. Not too hurried, strike just below the curve, you know the spot I'm sure. Now off you go.'

Rosemary had known the burning pain of the birch on many occasions during her time at the orphanage. That was a long time ago and, while the birch strokes had been painful, they in no way matched the extraordinary pain of each stroke of the cane. Weeks was obviously skilled at the task and laid the strokes one upon another to the lowest part of the rounded cheeks. At each stroke, Rosemary could not help but drive forward and further punish her crotch. 'Working upon the horse' as her mistress had promised.

After a number of strokes, Rosemary started to shudder and the muscles of her buttocks engaged in involuntary spasms. With each whistle of the cane, and its frightening crack upon the naked flesh, came the attendant, pitiful scream of the punished girl. The pause between strokes was full of heavy breathing and choking sobs.

Lady Elizabeth sat upright, hands tightly clasped, rocking slowly with ill-concealed delight as the caning progressed. Her eyes were fixed and bright, looking intensely upon the scene, relishing, quite unashamedly, this act of sadism.

There was clear disappointment when the allotted number of strokes were finished.

'The girl may have two days off to let the bleeding stop before she goes back to work. We do not want her garments soiled.' she said, then hastily left the room.

Rosemary was near fainting, sobbing uncontrollably, unable to support her body any longer. Weeks methodically wiped the cane on a cloth before hanging it back on its hook.

Alice did her best to comfort her friend when they were alone in their bedroom. She was very distressed when shown what she was familiar with as a sweet, unblemished posterior to kiss and caress. It was a now a black and purple mess, the raised edges of the weals still seeping little drops of blood. Weeks had provided an old towel to protect the bed clothes though there was no chance of Rosemary lying on her bottom for some time to come.

I wouldn't mind reading the whole book. If I can find it, I will post it for you.
From Hermione's Heart

Monday, May 7, 2018

Recap: Spanko Brunch 2.0 for May 6

What crimes ought to be punishable with spankings?

Amy: Eric and I like to "play" corporal punishment in a school setting, to get out of a speeding ticket or jail time but in the real world, not sure it would have an affect. So many criminals seem to take their own lives or expect to be shot in the act - if death isn't a deterrent, would a spanking work?

Baxter: Politicians who lie.

Doug: Spanking should be an option for minor driving offenses, for things like texting when driving, road rage, and throwing trash out of a car window.

Sir Wendel: People who text while driving definitely deserve a good OTK paddling.

The last time the Misses came home with a speeding ticket I spanked her until she couldn’t sit. She hasn’t gotten one since.

Ronnie: Shoplifting is the only one I can think of at the moment.

Roz: Interesting question Hermione, minor traffic offences and shoplifting are the only things I can think of too at the moment.

Anon 1: Hitchhiking when in my twenties, a small town in the South, got caught shoplifting some candy bars. The owner was an middle age lady, very Motherly looking. She informed me that in this town only children steal candy and if caught she spanks them. That is when I wish was taller than I was, she was taller. I said nothing, was told either she would call the police or address the problem herself. I left that store, glad I was walking, my bare bottom was very red, warm, stinging. Never knew as an adult a spanking could hurt so much and over her lap just like a naughty little boy.

Anon 2: As a male, my girlfriend acts childish at times, she tells me that is what female of all ages can do, no matter how old. She enjoys teasing me in public, in front of her mother and her best friends. I took the teases for so long and threatened her with a spanking, saying naughty little girls get spanked. She said not at her age and it took some time before I did give her the spanking she needed. So if a woman wishes to act childish, then the male should address the childish behavior properly. Oh, I did enjoy spanking her, especially when I decided to pull her panties down, should have done it long time ago.

Bernie: It might reduce the recidivism rate for minor offenses (littering and jay-walking come to mind).

I doubt that there would be much deterrent effect before the first time. You might even get the opposite effect with spanko wannabees.

Windy: These are not misdemeanors, but they should be !!
 1) Talking in the movie theater
2)Having to wait over 25 minutes at the doctor's office
3) Delivering a pizza with the wrong toppings
 4) Putting your dirty clothes turned inside out in the laundry pile
5) Long overdue library books
6) Not having coins ready at the toll road.
7) Construction signs up and lanes all blocked off when there is clearly no construction taking place for miles.
And, yes, I think a spanking would work well in all those situations! :)

Hermione: Like Doug and Sir Wendel, I like to think that the threat of spanking would discourage texting while driving, or for that matter, any distracted driving. Surely that text or phone call can wait until you have reached your destination.

Anon 3: My wife a few years older has her own set of rules and punishment. I accepted but dreaded the punishment. Several speeding tickets, trips to court, paying the fines, and getting lectured by the judge. After the third ticket in six months, my wife told the lady judge that she knew a way to address this problem and should have done it after the first speeding ticket. The drive home, she was driving, was quiet, until we walked in the house. Your car keys she said sternly and i handed them to her, we have a bike, your transportation for the next month. I looked at her, she had that stern look and said your getting a spanking, it had been awhile, I pleaded, begged, promise no more speeding tickets, she was not listening. I was soon across her lap, bare bottom in position and she really warmed my bottom. I danced around the room, rubbing and she had enough and told me best face that wall. When I was finally allowed to leave the wall, she said I would be getting a spanking prior to bed and best do as told the rest of the day. She kept me busy a lot of chores were completed. The spanking I got prior to bed was even harder than the one earlier and I slept on my stomach that night. Riding the bike to work was not easy, my bottom still sore from the spanking. I was glad when the month was over, but she warned me.
From Hermione's Heart

Sunday, May 6, 2018

Spanko Brunch 2.0 #226

Welcome back, dear friends. It's always good to see you at brunch.

As you may recall, I have published several stories that involve people being sentenced to corporal punishment as the result of committing certain crimes. I confess I have a fascination with the idea. The practice will probably never be instituted, although it was once a common occurrence in prisons. (I have seen the actual spanking bench and straps used.) But it might possibly act as a deterrent and thus ease the problem of overcrowded prisons. Let's use our imaginations for this one.

What crimes or misdemeanors do you feel should be punished by spanking? Do you feel the sentence should be delivered for less serious crimes, or reserved for the most heinous? Would it work as a deterrent?

Your opinions can be serious or frivolous—whatever suits your mood. Leave your response as a comment, and I will publish a summary of our discussion on Monday.
From Hermione's Heart

Saturday, May 5, 2018

You Completed the Caption

Roz: It ain't gonna spank itself!

Hands63: It’s the nuclear war position. Bend over, stick your head between your legs and kiss your ass goodbye!

KDPierre: Frustrated by the pervasive assumption that just because she had a curvy bottom, that whenever she bent over for ANYTHING she was somehow consenting to be spanked, Hilda developed her own brand of "negative reinforcement therapy" for compulsive spankers. Those unable to resist her provocative charms invariably learned she was also a very good they ended up groaning on the ground clutching their groins. You go, girl!

Ricky: Let's see if Tom Sawyer or Huck Finn can do this!
Becky Thatcher

Anon 1: Hilda’s latest escapade to get out of a spanking she was due began with such promise but ended, alas, as these things always did, with her on the receiving end of an even more unpleasant spanking than the one she’d originally been promised. You see, when her boyfriend arrived home to administer the spanking she was due, she ran out the back door and took off across across the field with him in hot pursuit. When she reached the road, she found the slingshot and pebbles she’d stashed there, and with deadly accuracy, was able to use them to send him retreating for cover, thus giving her more time to escape. Unfortunately, when she stood up, all the blood rushed out of her head and she fainted. She awoke some time later back at home and cuddled on the sofa in the arms of her boyfriend, who, once he’d determined she was okay, pulled her across his lap and delivered the hairbrush spanking he’d promised, along with extra swats with a paddle for her cheeky behavior, followed by a good dose of the bath brush for the fright she’d given him when she fainted. Once again, one of Hilda’s hair-brained I’m-not-going-to-let-him-spank-me schemes had gone very painfully awry, a fact her aching bottom would remind her of every time she sat down for the next week. Has Hilda finally learned her lesson, only time and Hermione’s “Complete the Caption” will tell.

Anon 2: Hilda’s plan was working perfectly. Her husband had gone back to the house, leaving her to breathe a sigh of relief. But just as she was about to abandon her post, she saw him headed her way, carrying a large paddle. Hilda resumed fire, only to have her husband use the paddle to swat the stones back at her. When one of the zinging projectiles connected with her large, well-positioned posterior, Hilda howled, dropped the slingshot, bolted upright, grabbed her stinging behind and broke into a wild dance, giving her husband time to close in on her. Once he had hold of her, he dragged her off to the nearby woodshed where, with the aid of the paddle, he spent the next hour giving his naughty wife many, many reasons to continue her howling and dancing.

Bernie: Is she hoping that the sling will wrap around and give her a good smack?

Windy: David didn't know it was really Hilda's trick shot that killed Goliath.

Sir Wendel: Hilda nervously lined up the shot knowing that a miss would get her a whipping.

Hermione: I've never been spanked with a slingshot before, but are you sure this is the right position?

From Hermione's Heart

Friday, May 4, 2018

Friday FAIL

I love to cook, but even if I didn't, these naughty oven mitts would lure me into the kitchen.

Right on!
From Hermione's Heart

Thursday, May 3, 2018

Complete the Caption

This picture of Hilda make me laugh! I leave it to you, dear readers, to decide what her true intention is.

Complete the Caption by leaving a comment. I'll post your submissions on Saturday.
From Hermione's Heart

Tuesday, May 1, 2018

From the Top Shelf - Marianne

Today's selection is from a collection of short stories by Maria del Rey. I think you will enjoy it.


'Stephen stood up and went to the window. The sky was a uniform milky grey, leeching the colour from the day and leaving everything dull and flat. He stood for a moment, looking out across the fields to the thin lines of trees on the horizon, the thin green plumes pointing to the hazy white disc that was the wintry sun.

"If we're going to do this then we have to do it properly," he had said earlier in the bar. She had agreed readily but had avoided looking at his eyes, staring instead into the roaring flames crackling in the fireplace.

The air felt heavy, the atmosphere was already very tense, filled with an expectation that was almost tangible. He returned to the desk and buzzed Marianne, jabbing a finger forcefully at the intercom.

"Yes, sir," she responded, breathlessly. He could imagine her sitting on the edge of her seat, waiting for his call, her legs crossed so that the tight skirt revealed the perfect shape of her thighs.

"I want your personnel file, please," he said clearly, managing to conceal the tremor of excitement with an air of cool formality.

"My-my file?" she asked, with a note of genuine surprise.

"Yes, please," he said, and cut the phone off, her quizzical note still hanging in the air. He leaned back, sinking into the welcoming comfort of the leather chair, and waited for her to come in. The Sullivan account file lay on the desk in front of him, the buff folder containing the full details of the most important account the company had ever had. It was the first file he had asked for when they had both arrived that morning. He remembered the nervous look in her eye as she handed it over, as if she wasn't sure she wanted him to see it. But the account had been lost and he had to see the file.

Marianne entered and smiled coolly, it was an efficient smile that managed to conceal whatever feelings she had, yet managed not to look false. "My personal file," she said, carefully handing him the blue folder with her name neatly stencilled on the cover.

"Thank you, Marianne," he said, deliberately placing it next to the Sullivan file.

"Do you need anything else?" she asked, hovering nervously in front of the desk.

"No, thank you." He looked down at her file, not bothering to wave her away. She hesitated for a second, standing in front of the desk, one leg crossed in front of the other, hands together, fingers locked tight. It was only when she turned to walk away that Stephen looked up again. She was wearing a smart navy skirt and jacket, with black seamed stockings with butterfly bows on the heel. Her skirt was tight and her hips swayed slightly with each step, emphasising the constraining tightness of the skirt and the elegant curves of her body.

She lingered at the door for a moment and he felt sure she was going to say something, but if she was she changed her mind. She closed the door gently and he felt a sigh of relief. These situations were always so difficult, so very tricky. He skipped through her file, flicking through the pages, not even pretending to read through it. He knew all that he had to know, but he was stalling for time, wanting just those few extra moments to think things through. He leaned back in his seat once more and looked around the comfortable office, at the framed certificates on the wall, at the book-lined shelves, at the painting by the door, at the drinks cabinet in the corner. Success - everything reflected the success of the company, and of the people who worked for it. Until now.

He buzzed Marianne again. She responded too quickly, her voice just a little too loud and a little too eager. "Marianne, can you come in again, please?" he said, as calmly as he possibly could. His heart was thumping and his throat had gone impossibly dry.

"Yes, Stephen," she said when she came in. Her smile was more nervous than it had been a moment earlier, as if she realised that things had finally come to a head.

"This is going to be very difficult," he said, playing with a pen nervously, finding it easier to look at that and not at her. "Very difficult," he repeated softly, "for both of us. You've been with us a long time now, and sometimes that's not a good thing."

"It's about the Sullivan account," she said quietly, barely whispering, her sharp blue eyes were suddenly full of tears.

"Yes. The Sullivan account." He paused and exhaled deeply. "But that's not the first time, is it!"

"B-but it wasn't my fault," she whispered, her lips trembling.

"I'm afraid it was," Stephen said, softly but firmly, hoping that she wouldn't make a scene. "You were late with the tender documents. We missed the deadline for the contract and they lost the job. They lost a major contract because of us, and it was our fault. YOUR fault. They were our biggest client and now they've gone. This was the third time you've screwed up, Marianne, the third. We've given you chances before, too many perhaps. We just cannot go on like this."

"Please, I'm sorry," she said, the anguish etched miserably on her face. Her skin was pale, making her red lips more prominent, pouting, alluring.

"I'm sorry too," he said, closing the file and pushing it towards her.

"Please, Stephen, I'll do anything..."

He shook his head sadly, exhaled slowly. "I'm sorry," he repeated, looking up into her eyes for the first time.

She looked at him, eyes wide, her body trembling, then she looked away. "Please....." she whispered.

"What else can I do?" he asked reasonably. "You've been warned before. You've been given chances. What can we do? It's as if stern warnings aren't enough. Sometimes I think there's only one thing you'd respond to. Sometimes I want to......." He stopped, suddenly aware that he'd said too much, gone too far.

"What? Do what? I'll do anything, you know I would. I'm so sorry," she said, earnestly.

He looked at her. She was beautiful, even the tears in her eyes and the anguish on her face was seductive. His heart was racing. He had said too much, letting the tension and the emotion get the better of him. "Nothing. Forget I said anything," he said tersely.

"Please, Stephen, what were you going to say? It's not fair to hold back, you can't do this to me. You owe me more than that."

He took a deep breath. "I was going to say that sometimes I think you would only respond to being properly punished."

She looked up sharply. "What do you mean?"

"I mean treated like a naughty child. Punished with more than just a few sharp words."

There was a moment of tense silence and he regretted ever opening his mouth. It hadn't been a smart thing to say and it was going to make a difficult situation impossible.

"Yes. Maybe you're right," she said, very quietly, her face blushing pink. Her eyes were fixed on the ground avoiding his own questioning look.


"I said maybe you're right. Maybe I do need to be punished."

"No - I'm not sure you quite understand. I meant punished, as in smacked hard on the backside and taught to behave."

"Yes, I know," she answered quietly. "That's what I thought you meant. Perhaps I do need to be punished like that."

Stephen breathed deeply, his hands trembling. The tension in the room was overwhelming.

"Remove your stockings," he said, his voice almost hoarse.

Marianne's face was burning red, her embarrassment clear to see, but she obeyed. She turned her back to Stephen and pulled her skirt up at the front. She reached under and fiddled with her suspender clips. Stephen stood up and walked round to the front of the desk, his eyes fixed on her long, elegant thighs. She looked away from him but made no effort to cover herself. Her stockings were dark against her soft white skin, and when she rolled them down he felt the heat rising within him. It was like a dream, something he could hardly believe was happening. She slipped her shoes off and pulled the stockings off completely.

"Bend over the desk!" he ordered, putting a hand on her shoulder to stop her picking up her stockings. She stepped back into her high heels and then went to the desk. She bent over at the waist, pressing herself flat against the smooth leather topped desk, pressing her face against the cool surface, her hands up by her face.

Stephen stood behind her, enjoying the sight of her skirt pulled tightly over her bottom, pulling the buttocks slightly apart. Very gently, he took the hem of her skirt and lifted it high, up and over her waist. Her long legs were smooth and straight, the knees locked tight so that every muscle and sinew was stretched. Her snow-white panties were pulled tightly between her thighs, deep between her rounded bottom cheeks. The darkness between her thighs was unmistakable, the outline of her sex clearly visible.

"I'm going to smack you six times," he said, his voice trembling. "I don't want you to scream or cry. If you do, I'll punish you for that as well. Is that clear?"

"Yes," she said, her voice as nervous as his. "Yes, sir," she added, twisting round to look at him, her eyes sparkling with fear and excitement.

Stephen hesitated, eyeing her lovely long legs and beautiful rear. He reached over to the desk to the photograph of happy laughing children and turned it over.

The first smack echoed in the room, a sharp sound of hand on flesh. Marianne moaned softly, her hands pressed hard onto the desk, her eyes half closed. Stephen waited a second then smacked her again , a hard slap on the other buttock. He stopped to admire the imprint of his fingers, marked deep red on the soft white flesh of Marianne's backside.

"Does it hurt?" he asked softly.

"Yes, it stings horribly," she replied quietly, her eyes still half-closed. She was breathing hard though Stephen still couldn't tell how she was reacting, her feelings closed off from him, obscured by her silence and her half-closed eyes.

He spanked her again, two quick strokes in rapid succession. Each time she tensed and then exhaled slowly, the breath escaping from her glossy red lips like a sigh.

"Oh it stings. It's like a fire spreading..." she whispered, as if talking to herself, comforting herself.

Stephen's prick was hard, throbbing. Marianne's beautifully punished backside was the most erotic sight he'd ever seen. He wanted to stop and touch her, to slip his fingers under her panties, to part her buttocks and stroke her there, to press a finger between the inviting lips of her sex.

Marianne moaned again. She was opening and closing her eyes slowly, breathing hard and deep, almost gasping for breath. He saw that her panties were damp, and that the wet heat was spreading. The look on her face seemed to hover between pleasure and pain, her lips parted, half smiling, half scowling. He smacked her again, a hard stroke directly between her gorgeous arse cheeks.

"Oh, Jesus..." she moaned, her body tensing momentarily, her eyes flaring open. Another hard smack in the same place and she cried out, an animal cry that could only be interpreted one way. She had climaxed powerfully, the heat from her reddened backside spreading deeply into her sex.

"Don't move!" Stephen ordered sharply, stepping away from her.

Marianne opened her eyes and twisted round to look at him but he had retreated to the back of the office. He poured himself a drink from the glass cabinet and then turned back to her. He could see that her skin was patterned red with his finger marks, that even the white panties could not obscure the evidence of punishment. But it hadn't been enough. She had found pleasure in the punishment and the pain, and finally sexual release.

"Don't move, not until it's over," he warned.

"Yes, sir," she responded, so softly that he hardly heard her. He downed his drink and then, quickly, stripped off all his clothes.

"Stephen, what...?"

"Quiet!" he snapped, banging the bottle of whiskey down in front of her. "You haven't been very honest with me," he said grimly.

"I don't know what you...."

"Shut up! Now I'm going to punish you properly!"

Marianne screamed when the heavy leather belt fell across her bottom. She tried to move away but he held her in place and beat her again with the belt, striking hard at the tops of her thighs. The office resounded to the rhythm of the belt and Marianne's cries of pain and pleasure.

"Oh, please...please..." she whispered, sounding close to hysteria.

"Please, what?" he asked coldly, his own nervous feelings swept away by the wave of excitement.

"Fuck me, Stephen! Whip me with the belt and fuck me!"

Roughly, Stephen pulled her soaking panties down to her knees. Her sex was hot and wet, he felt her respond when her pressed his fingers into the sticky heat.

He raised the belt and brought it down swiftly between her bare arse cheeks and she climaxed again, arching her back and crying out deliriously. He picked the bottle up and poured the amber fluid over her smarting skin, watching it cascade down between her thighs, droplets glistening like jewels in the raw pinkness of her sex.

At last he took her by the waist and pressed his pulsing cock into the velvety heat of her cunt. She was hot and receptive, raising her punished arse up to meet the hard thrusts of his prick. She rode with his rhythm, moving with his body, eyes closed and a look of ecstasy etched in her face. She was beautiful, vibrant, sexy, the most fantastic fuck he'd ever had. He fell across her, covering her body with his own, pumping hard, crying out with her, sharing an explosive climax as one.

* * *

Marianne was waiting when he emerged from the office. She was trying to look cool and composed but her eyes were glowing and she looked a little dazed. He knew that her bottom must still be smarting, it would be marked for days, an eloquent reminder of her punishment.

"Thank you," she said quietly, counting out his money at the same time.

"Will we ever do this again?" Stephen asked, hopefully.

She shook her head. "I don't think that would be wise," she said softly and smiled.

Stephen nodded sadly. That was how it was, he had known all along that it was a one-off, but in the shared sexual excitement he had hoped that Marianne would change her mind. He took the money from her and stuffed it into his jacket pocket. They shook hands and she disappeared back into the office. Stephen waited a second in the Saturday morning silence, hoping that she would relent. He looked at the door for a moment, at the nameplate that read, 'Marianne Hughes, Managing Director' wishing it would open once more. But what was the point? He shrugged sadly, turned and walked away.
Wasn't that a twist!

From Hermione's Heart