Thursday, July 19, 2018

Picture This

Just when I was thinking that it was time for something new and different on this blog, a creative reader came to my aid with a wonderful suggestion. He thought it would be interesting to ask readers to send me pictures of their favourite implements, and I think so too!

So, you are hereby invited to send me pictures of your implements. It could be your favourite one, your least favourite, a memorable one (and please say why it is so memorable), a homemade one, or a collection of all your implements. If you have a story to go with the picture, so much the better.

No faces or other identifying features in the photos, please, and you need not show the implements in action. The pictures must be in JPG, GIF or PNG format so I can upload them here.

You can find my email address in the right sidebar, under the Canadian flag. (It's martingale2 @ yahoo . ca without the spaces).

If you use an email account that shows your real name (not recommended), please let me know how you want me to identify you in order to preserve your anonymity.

I will publish your pictures here on a regular basis, and I can't wait to see them, so grab your camera, phone, iPad or whatever device you have, and start clicking!
From Hermione's Heart

Tuesday, July 17, 2018

From the Top Shelf - The Headmaster Lends a Hand

You may have guessed by now that I love naughty schoolgirl stories, and this story is no exception. Except that it is. Because the naughty schoolgirl in question is actually no longer a schoolgirl, but a grown woman and a teacher. Are you intrigued? Then enjoy this story from a spanking collection called The Reckoning by Anonymous.
Lucy Millar's arrival at St.Bede's Boy's Grammar School as the young biology teacher was as dramatic as suddenly opening the doors of a monastery to women. Among the twenty or so teachers already there, only one was female. She was Miss Arnott, tall, grey-haired with nicotine stains on her gappy teeth, who always spoke in a masculine rumble. She wore mannish suits and brown brogues.

Lucy, fresh from college, was the antithesis of Miss Arnott. She was small, feminine, channelling her enthusiasm for the job into super-efficiency. She wore large glasses with delicate silver frames and had the disconcerting habit of sliding them down her nose to add emphasis to her words. Naked contact with her large intense cobalt-blue eyes had a distinctly unsettling effect on any male who thought he'd like to lose himself for a moment in those mesmeric blue pools.

On the first day of the autumn term, Lucy arrived early to be personally welcomed by the school's Headmaster, George Adams, a tall thoughtful man in his late forties with fair hair liberally streaked with platinum. He had a warm, possessive handshake.

Thus was Lucy Millar greeted as she briskly stepped into Mr Adams study and took her seat in front of his old mahogany desk which was dusty and rather neglected in appearance.

"She's very efficient," thought Mr Adams as Lucy nimbly flicked her hands underneath her slim contour-hugging skirt, smoothing her seat before sitting down with a briskness which amused him.

For a moment both Headmaster and new teacher stared at each other with the cautiously veiled interest that is always present at the meeting of a pretty young woman and a not unattractive man some twenty-five years her senior.

Lucy stared at him, wide-eyed and alert, positively bristling with enthusiasm while he explained the niceties of school policy and administration to her intense, innocent little face.

Mischievously, he tried to distract attention from his words, to make those piercing eyes blink at him - just once. He leaned back heavily in his heavy oak chair which creaked lugubriously, but she did not twitch an eyelid, nor was there any sign of a smile. He picked up a ball-point pen and began clicking it loudly and rhythmically on the dull wooden desk top, proceeding with his headmaster's monologue all the while. There was a little crater in the polished wood which suggested that this was a favourite trick to confuse an embarrass his staff. It held implications that he was growing a little impatient, and although he was a gracious man, he had something better to do than pep-talk his teaching staff, who after all, were not that important.

The effect was lost on Lucy. She had entered the musty chalk-smelling study with the kind of no-nonsense confidence that often frightens men.

George relaxed, feeling wistfully that it was 'all down to youth' and studied her closely. Her hair was piled on the top of her head and severely anchored with a good many pins, but George noticed that stray blonde wisps had escaped the tortuous bun, and frothed about her forehead and cheeks quite engagingly. She was, he thought, trying to create just the right image, and very successfully too.

Absentmindedly, he catalogued her other features. Small firm breasts, nicely outlined under a slim-fitting pale blue cashmere jumper, delightfully tiny waist and...mmm..he would have to fill in the missing detail when she rose to go. All he could see at the moment below the waist were her dainty hands crossed tidily in her lap, and the wrinkles of her skirt as it broached into tightness. He would have to wait until she turned for he had always had a particular fondness for the female bottom.

"If you have any trouble with the boys during lessons, be sure to let me know," he said.

"I don't foresee any, Sir," she answered him politely but with evident surprise.

George sighed. No, he wouldn't mention the fact of her being an extremely pretty young woman in a school full of sexually deprived adolescent boys. No, he decided against that. A few weeks at St. Bede's would soon take the edge off that rather disconcerting confidence.

He found himself thinking that Miss Lucy Miller could be even more formidable than Miss Arnott if she chose. But damned attractive with it.

The assembly bell shrilled in the corridor outside and brought an end to the interview. Lucy rose to go and the Headmaster was able to complete his appraisal of the young woman. He was quite pleasantly taken with what he saw.

She was wearing a thin grey flannel skirt which was so tight that every curvaceous inch of her hips was revealed. As she turned her back on him to leave the room, the most erotic profile was revealed; a round girlish bottom, pertly prominent - even saucy in the obstinate retrousee angle it assumed when she stood up. George's eyebrows rose slowly in delighted surprise.

Lucy had the misfortune at that moment to trip, and George the good fortune of being there to help her. As one of her stiletto heels caught the leg of the chair, she overbalanced all of a sudden and put her hands awkwardly on the chair arm to steady herself. For a brief moment, her body made a perfect arc with her bottom raised vulgarly at its zenith. George, having leapt to her side, felt a barely controllable urge to smack it.

Instead he placed his hands lightly on her hips, while Lucy got to her feet. He noticed she was blushing. He also noticed that her seams were crooked. He looked again at the slender curves. Sure enough there were tell-tale wrinkles around her ankles and knees. My God, she was wearing real stockings!

George found the discovery quite intriguing. Somehow this revelation of secret femininity seemed to be rather at variance with her precise business-like manner and dress. He was puzzled - and excited.

* * *

A month passed. Lucy settled in extremely well, proving to be an excellent teacher both in her teaching techniques and the uncompromising method of discipline she employed. The boys adored her, worshipped and fantasized about her - but from a safe distance.

George Adams watched her closely. Somewhere, he decided, beneath that cool unflappable suit of armour she wore so convincingly, was a chink.

One lunchtime, while buying his usual cigar, he bumped into Miss Millar in the newsagent's near the school. She was standing, head bent, earnestly poring over a magazine. George approached and tapped her gently on the arm. She reacted as though she'd been struck. With a strangled shriek she let the magazine fly out of her hands. It fell to the floor and lay there, open at the centre page.

In full colour, staring up at them both was an expression of agony on the face of a girl lying upside down across a man's knee. Although dressed in a skimpy school skirt and blouse, she was obviously a grown woman. George blinked and felt beads of tense perspiration breaking out around his collar. The girl in the picture was wearing blue gym-knickers in a tangle around her knees, and she was receiving the spanking of her life.

The Headmaster did not know how to react for a full half-minute. The open magazine seemed to claim all his attention, yet he was aware of Lucy standing next to him, of the flustered distress of her hands, and the fact that she was shaking uncontrollably. He felt the sharp sickness of awakened desire. The poor girl's face was scarlet - she looked as though she had been caught in some criminal act. All her self-composure had vanished.

Mr Adams decided to save the situation. After all, it seemed to him that it was suddenly, gloriously, in his power to do so. Breathing heavily, he picked up the magazine which flew open embarrassingly in several places before he had command of it.

He cleared his throat. "Dear me, did this fall off the top shelf? They don't always stack them too carefully here." He bent to catch her expression.

Lucy couldn't look at him but muttered a strained "Yes" as he put it back.

"They're tempting to look at now and again," he continued airily, " No need to look so embarrassed, Miss Millar."

Lucy shook her head, wanly smiled and, after mumbling an incoherent excuse, fled the shop. George stood and watched her go, amazed at the transformation. Far from looking like the assertive young woman he had come to know, she now looked every inch the guilty schoolgirl.

For days after the event Lucy felt her cheeks burn at the mere sound of the Headmaster's approaching footsteps. She felt curiously under his power, knowing he had realised only too well that the spanking magazine she had been poring over had not landed in her hands by accident. And strangely enough, she found the thought of their shared secret very exciting.

Adams noticed a difference in Lucy after the incident. Her once confident walk had shrunk to a guilty scurrying about the school. He even caught her walking on tip toe to avoid the loud assertive click of her high heels on the marble floor. Her hair now tumbled down in a loose swirl from that severe little bun, making her look quite beautiful. George found he only had to raise one questioning eyebrow for Lucy to begin to stammer in her replies to him; she blushed and felt helpless under his scrutiny.

One Sunday evening, Adams was walking in the local park, the sad decay of autumn at his feet, when he saw her. Silhouetted on the hill in the dying light, she stood with a dog on a lead, her hair flying madly about her in the determined wind. She wore a short jacket and a figure-hugging pencil skirt.

"Miss Millar?" he shouted into the wind.

She looked up while, simultaneously, the mongrel dog wrapped itself around her legs and effectively hobbled her. She couldn't quite seem to disentangle herself, so George went to help her, crouching down to try and unravel the muddle. She was very embarrassed.

The lead had snaked around her thighs, clipping the skirt to her legs and pulling it furiously tight - drawing compulsive attention to her bottom. Somewhere among the tangle of girl and lead, George found his hands roundly cupping her bottom cheeks over her tight, tight skirt. Lucy squirmed with pleasure.

Her curves were soft and pliant like a young girl's. He could feel the ripeness of each cheek and the intimate crack between them in his exploring fingers. Then his hands wandered uncontrollably down to her thighs where he encountered the hardness of her suspender buttons. Feeling her stockinged legs, so slim and so girlish, he suddenly imagined them clad in long white schoolgirls socks, with little open-meshed sandals on her feet. He grew hot at the thought.

They stood up. Lucy struggled to gain composure as Mr Adams's hands swept lingeringly around her legs, pulling the lead free.

They parted and she was unable to look him in the eye.

* * *

Lucy's work began to suffer. To everyone she appeared in a state of constant agitation. The Headmaster felt she was wrestling with some deep inner demon, but he was reluctant to quiz her about her private life. Pupils were beginning to take liberties with her. Standards had dropped.

Although Adams knew he should confine thoughts about his young teacher to the job alone, fantasies filled his mind as to what she did after school. And what he would like to do to her. In his mind, Lucy Millar was the schoolgirl in that magazine centrefold and he, George Adams, Headmaster of St. Bede's, was the strict disciplinarian.

Rothwell's department store, one Saturday, found him wandering languidly through the schoolwear department. He hadn't the faintest idea what he was doing there, except that a strange wistful longing stirred dully in his mind at the sight of row upon row of schoolgirl gym-slips and blazers.

It was then he saw her. Leaning over the small, glass-fronted counter with her now all-too-familiar smackable bottom delicately elevated, she stood on one high heel, curling her other stockinged foot nervously up and down her calf.

On the counter lay a grey pleated gym-slip with a red games girdle, blouse and tie, school cardigan. And topping the lot,a a pair of soft navy blue cotton knickers.

Adams knew instinctively that the the uniform was for her, and not some young niece or for a fancy dress party, although they were probably the reasons she had given the assistant. The time had come to take Miss Millar firmly in hand.

That evening he went to the park as usual. He had hoped to see Lucy again, but there was no sign of her. He left in disappointment.

As he neared the park exit, a young woman rushed past him out into the road, a familiar dog snapping at her heels. It was Lucy Millar and she was crying.

Forgetting his position, forgetting everything but her, George pursued the hurrying girl along the tree-lined suburban road until she disappeared into a tiny upstairs maisonette. With a thumping heart and his mind in a turmoil, he waited for five minutes before knocking on the door.

Agonising seconds dragged by. It appeared that she wasn't going to answer. Then slowly the door inched open.

Lucy stood, dressed in a pretty white blouse and long tight skirt with fluffy mules on her feet. Her hair was loose around her shoulders, her face streaked and etched with tears.

"Miss Millar, what on earth is wrong?"

She stood aside and let him walk into her flat.

"My boyfriend has finished with me," she said in between sobs.

George was silent. Suddenly he felt a pang of irrational jealousy. They sat down together on the settee. The room had a chaotic disorder that pleased him. She had a large collection of teddy bears and foreign dolls - little girl's things. Quite at odds with the assertive, brisk young woman he knew at school.

Lucy stood up and went into her bedroom.

"He left me because I bought this." And to Adams's astonishment, she returned holding out the grey pleated gym-slip. She was obviously so upset that she no longer cared what she said, or to whom. Except that she was telling her Headmaster. And he wanted to hear every word.

Standing there in her bedroom doorway with her wet face, was Lucy Millar the teacher, looking every inch Lucy the vulnerable schoolgirl. Holding out the gym-slip with a pathetic gesture, asking for sympathy...asking for approval...just begging to be spanked.

A delicious state of arousal flowed through his body, and something of his excited state reached Lucy. She stopped crying and stood, wide-eyed, looking at him. Then a blush crimsoned her cheeks.

Adams sat at the edge of the sofa, all the while trying to communicate with his eyes his desire to punish his naughty junior mistress severely. But he couldn't just grab the girl and tell her in no uncertain terms, "Lucy Millar, I'm going to give you the spanking you deserve." No he couldn't just do that. He wasn't sure either whether it wasn't just a fantasy on her part. How would she react with his large, mature palm descending on her gym-knickered rump time and time again?

"I don't see what's wrong with you buying a school uniform," he said as evenly as he was able. "There's no harm in it." He looked down at the space between them, and then directly into her wide-open eyes. "Didn' t your boyfriend like you in it?" he asked softly.

"No, he said it was perverted. He said I -" she faltered and turned red again.

"Silly boy. I would have."

Lucy shook. Adams had never seen a girl so visibly moved.

As Lucy seemed to have lost the power of speech, George Adams knew this was the moment to take supreme control over the young woman. And it was so easy.

He looked at her and said, as if talking to a small child, "Now, Lucy, go and put your uniform on for me. Go on."

Lucy turned obediently and went into her bedroom. It was as though she had become totally possessed by Mr Adams's words.

There was silence, as if for a brief moment she was thinking about the enormity of what she was doing. Then a rustle as she took the uniform from the carrier bag.

Adams removed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. He looked around the room for a suitable chair.

"How are you doing, Lucy? Are you ready yet?" he asked gently, so as not to alarm her.

A muffled voice was his answer. She was pulling on the jumper.

"Have you any long white socks?"

"Yes, Mr Adams." There was barely concealed excitement in her voice.

"Then put them on!" he commanded , and added "make sure you're wearing regulation sandals too."

He sat on the chair in the middle of the room, having pushed the sofa back against the wall. He discovered a spotlight which he adjusted so it would shine on the chair - on his lap - on Lucy Millar's deliciously spankable bottom.

He found in his intense excitement that his eyes kept keenly returning to trivial details about the room. The pattern-repeats on the wallpaper, the shiny gold hands of the clock. He found himself following each jerky second-hand movement round and round and...

She was there. Shy, blushing, treading her way tentatively towards him as if she was temporarily blind and didn't know the room.

Adam's mouth felt sloe-dry. His lips compressed and tightened in excitement.

My God! What a sight she was!

"Stand in front of me, Lucy. I want to inspect your uniform."

As though in a trance, Lucy obeyed him.

Adams's eyes greedily devoured her womanly body, clad so provocatively in schoolgirl clothes. Hair loose in two bunches. Earrings.

"Take those earrings off!" he snapped. "No jewellery in school!"

Her trembling hands flew to her ears and she removed them, dropping them into his outstretched palm.

"No make-up, I see. Good. One point in your favour - not that it will help you much, Lucy Millar!"

She wore a white school blouse and cardigan, which were too small, drawing delicious attention to her breasts. He'd check later whether she was wearing a bra or not. He hoped she wasn't.

The gym-slip ended half-way down her thighs. Nice.

He ordered her to turn around slowly.

"Bend over and touch your toes!" he snapped. "I intend to check whether you are wearing regulation school knickers!" He drew out the syllables of the word 'knickers' with undisguised relish.

Lucy, trembling, did as she was told. Down went her slender little hands, sliding over her long white socks on her calves, until she was touching her ankles. What an excruciating position to be in! And how dreadful to have to do it in front of her Headmaster!

The gym-slip had risen with slow magic. Up, up over the pinchable, squeezable softness of her thighs, bare and talcum-smooth. Up over the crown of her buttocks, thrusting up and over their fullness, until the pleats jutted out like a stage curtain.

George Adams's eyes were greedily focused on the vulgar exhibition of her navy-knickered bottom. There was a dark stain seeping through the gusset already. He leaned forward and tested with a finger. She was wet all right!

"Disgusting!" he said throatily, smelling the heat and the juice from her, and enjoying her mortified squirming.

He turned round again until she was facing him. Her knees touched his knees. Dumbly, her face flushed with shame, Lucy listened to the Headmaster's lecture.

"...and to crown everything, I catch my young Biology mistress gloating over a pornographic magazine," he paused to add emphasis to his next words. "A magazine where naughty, wicked girls get what they deserve. A damned good spanking!"

Adams pulled Lucy down onto his wide lap. She, weak from the excitement of being shouted at and lectured, floated down onto his knees like the descent of a feather. She was light and small and schoolgirlsih, and she was his very naughty, about-to-be-punished school mistress.

SMACK!!

Lucy's legs and arms flopped onto the floor as she made a perfect arc across his lap. The crisp impact of his decisive palm on her delectable rear sizzled through her body. Her nerves became like telephone wires, buzzing with messages.

SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!!

She was hardly aware of what was happening. Adams lifted up her gym-slip skirt and neatly laid it back above her waist.

His warm male hands cupped her bottom cheeks, squeezing and kneading each one in turn. His fingers poked indecently into her cleft, forcing the navy cotton into a kind of valley in between. He continued poking and pushing his humiliating finger down, down into the deep cleft and beyond - massaging the sticky wet cotton stain until she writhed uncontrollably. The hems of her knickers were soaked in perspiration.

SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! Heavier and hard, punishing and determined.

She made no sound. Her face was flushed, her forehead beaded, her ears ringing from the pumping, pumping in them, and from the fly-swatting spanks of her bottom.

"Now I shall really punish you!" he said, his voice rising to an angry crescendo.

Silence.

"Get up, Lucy!" he bellowed.

Lucy awkwardly clambered off his knees, feeling her knickered, spanked bottom gingerly.

"Lucy," Adams's voice rose and fell with subtle sarcasm, "you aren't showing any signs of repentance, are you!"

Lucy's toes curled involuntarily. She hadn't the courage to look him in the eye.

"I'm afraid I must insist you take your knickers down!"

Lucy stared at him with enormous eyes. Dare she? Should she? He was her Headmaster!

"Mr Adams - "

"Don't interrupt, girl - do it!" he snapped , taking her hands and placing them on the waistband of her knickers. But the gym-slip was in the way , and it had to come off. Silently, he rotated her like a frozen ballerina and, unzipping the back of the gym-slip, eased it from her shoulders and let it slip into a grey puddle at her feet.

Then he turned her round to face him and took her hands, pulling them into his hot crotch where her fingers closed obediently around his erection.

With her body bent towards him, her hands moving all the while, he lifted his own hands and out them in the waistband of her school knickers, peeling the navy cotton down and away from her beautiful buttocks.

Down they came. He savoured it with a slow deliberate motion, rolling the soft cotton between finger and thumb and then easing it, controlling it down over her nubile pink and white bottom.

Angrily, because at that moment she took her hands away from his trousers, he jerked her down over his knee. Her naked bottom was well stuck-up. The knickers rolled down to her calves of their own accord and stopped there.

Like a hungry man savouring a feast, he studied every part of her nakedness. The gentle girlish curve of her bottom cheeks, the saucy brown curls of pubic hair peeping from between her tightly closed legs.

Then he began to spank his young Biology mistress on her bare arse.

Lucy had no idea that the punishment would be as painful as her Headmaster seemed determined to make it. He had taken such command of the situation that she felt she could do nothing except obey. "He's doing what he likes with my bare bottom!" she kept repeating to herself. "He's really spanking me bare!"

In between the hardest bottom-smacks he could muster, Adams tilted her slightly so he could rub her pink erect clitoris - already swollen and streaming with moisture. As the heat in Lucy's bottom grew, she clenched her cheeks together in an attempt to ease the pain. She began to wish that she wasn't being spanked after all. And with that came a sudden reality check - that Adams was doing what he liked to her bottom and her sexual parts without her consent. The awareness became dreadfully humiliating. But there was no getting away from it - or from the fire he was stoking in her bottom.

She began to squeal through clenched teeth, but then as the slaps came one after another in the same sore places, she cried out, "Oh stop it!Pleeeeeeeeeeeasse!" and screeched in distress.

George Adams was going to do no such thing until he was satisfied she had been punished entirely to his liking.

"And next time, it will be my cane, young lady - and I'll thrash you with all the strength I have in my body!" he hissed.

"Ohhhh! My poor bottom. Oh Ohhhhhhhhhhh! Please, I'm sorry!" Lucy yelled, but Adams seemed only to smack her all the harder.

Suddenly there was an explosion of tears. She threw back her head and sobbed like a baby.

He pushed her off his lap and onto the floor. The schoolmistress lay submissively at her Headmaster's feet.

Still sobbing, Lucy felt his hands lift her up and smooth her well-spanked buttocks. With a voice of acid hardness he told her to take off her jumper and blouse.

Now she was naked apart from the long, white socks. The sweat from her wrigglings mingled with her perfume and trickled down between her bare breasts.

George pushed her over to a corner of the room and positioned the spotlight onto the young woman standing there, rubbing the reddest bottom he'd ever seen.

"Put your hands on your head!" he thundered.

Delicious! The spotlight played up and down the creamy whiteness of her back, the raw rude crimson of her arse. The posture was so like that of a truant schoolgirl made to stand in the corner with hands on head.

He stood behind her, smoothing her body and marvelling at the heat coming from her punished bottom.

Then, like a doll-ballerina, Lucy walked stiffly to her bedroom - propelled by Adams. The Headmaster of St. Bede's Boy's Grammar School had one hand on her burning flanks, the other now massaging his swollen cock, thrusting from the open zipper of his trousers.

Biology teacher she might be; but he was going to teach her a few things about Biology she wouldn't find in any of her textbooks.
Has Lucy forgotten her ex-boyfriend already?
From Hermione's Heart

Monday, July 16, 2018

Recap: Spanko Brunch 2.0 for July 15

What implements are you currently using?

Baxter: I am the spankee, for the most part. My wife uses a few things. One is a wooden paddle we bought at the local kitchen store, actually it is a bread board,but never used as such. She also uses a very long shoe horn, 2.5 feet long, that we got before I had my total knee replacement. It was to be used to help get shoes on but I had never needed it. My wife looked at it and told me to bare my bottom - wow does it sting. Another item is a wooden spoon bought at the hardware store, again never used in the kitchen, but for spanking me. We do need to get a leather belt so she can spank me when we are having sex - pain and pleasure are an intoxicating mix.

 Anna: In our kitchen, we have a wooden bread slicing board that Peter made for his mom when he was a Boy Scout. His mom gave it to me as a housewarming gift, when we bought our first home 10 years ago. No one knows that every Saturday morning it it put to use as a spanking implement for Peter. I love seeing him after the spanking standing in the corner, pants around his ankles, bare bottom beet red.

In addition I have used his belt, that I make him remove and hand to me. Upstairs in our bedroom is the hair brush with an ivory handle. That is also hot. All these things bring him back to the sweet man I married.

Roz: With spanking being pretty much non-existent here now days when they do occur it's usually a hand spanking. Our main implements would be leather paddle and wooden spoon.


Rosco: I am honored that you were inspired by my comment.

My bottom is currently feeling the aftermath of Wednesday's switching with supple shoots from a plum tree -something that grows wild in our area if you look.

I do liken the switch more to a whip than a paddle but it is a bit different. The delicious sting reminds me of tart lemonade on a hot day - once the intensity subsides a bit.


Barrel: Mistress's hair brush and rubber paddle are her favorites as she enjoys the OTK intimacy and the close up view of the results.

NoraJean: Older and been around for a few years ... crop and flogger, both favourites
New to the scene ... strappy leather paddle ~3 inches in diameter ... kinda slappy and stingy ... roundish leather paddle, quite thuddy ... a thin bamboo tomato stake, I wish he would only use it after a good warmup ... and the latest, an ok'd belt of his doubled over - I think it's going to go on the same list as the crop and flogger ... the 'yummy, yes please more, Sir' list ;))

Yorkie: For a while there, for noise reasons, we stuck to a Cane-iac Every Ready cane which is perfect for OTK and a Smack Stick Senior. Lately, however, the kids have been going out and leaving my wife and I home alone so I am free to use anything in my toy box which includes an OTK strap (oh I love that thing. I could take that thing all day), a small quarter inch think paddle, a short handled bath brush, a long handled bath brush, a removable handle from one of those bath brushes and a Smack Stick Junior which is hardly used as the Senior version is quite brutal and I love it.

I even trialled some of our wooden spoons in the kitchen. I was quite surprised at how effective some of them were.

Fondles: I think we have phases. His hand is always featured, followed by something else. Often its the cane, or his belt. But recently he's been pulling out the flogger (cos it's new I reckon) and the Christmas paddle - when I need a serious stress relief spanking!

Sir Wendel: The paddle and the belt are our favorite implements and nothing is better than the personal touch of the open hand.

Bonnie: Randy loves variety and surprises. Most of the time, he seems to choose the implement(s) with this in mind. So on any given day, it might be a favorite implement or just something he picked up off the counter. As soon as he feels like he's getting into a rut, he changes up his selections.


Amy: Eric is traveling for work so there are no spankings here. :( However, we seem to go through phases. A leather phase. A wooden phase. An otk hand phase. At this point, I'd take a wet noodle spanking!

Red: Good topic: we have progressed to canes (from Ronnie), Tawses (from Can-iac) and wooden bath brushes (from any local pharmacy or Walmart and our last was from a grocery store.

Ronnie: P chooses the implements so could be anything. Lately it's been the holey paddle Bogey sent me, the rose leather paddle and of course the cane.

Hermione: We have a large selection to choose from, and Ron keeps things interesting by varying his selection. Sometimes it's all leather straps and crops. Other times it's a mixture of leather and wood. He loves our long, red wooden shoehorn and uses it frequently. There are also a few Delrin implements that he likes, but only one of these will go into the mix. I am always allowed to choose one, and my choices are usually a leather paddle, ping pong paddle, or wooden beach paddle.

Thanks for participating in this lively discussion. Remember: I am always looking for new topics to discuss, so if you can think of a spanking-related topic we haven't discussed lately, please share it with me.
From Hermione's Heart

Sunday, July 15, 2018

Spanko Brunch 2.0 #236

Welcome, everyone, to our weekly gathering for a chat about spanking. Today's topic was suggested by Rosco at last week's brunch, when we discussed who buys the implements. He remarked that "[f]or us it’s mostly whips etc. rather than paddles these days. I wonder how others feel."

So let's answer his question.

What implement(s) are you currently using for spanking? Is there a certain type you usually use, or do you prefer variety?

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

Saturday, July 14, 2018

You Completed the Caption

This is the full postcard with its saucy, double entendre. Now here are your suggestions:

Hands63: Behold, the crack of dawn!

Storm: Welcome home, Honey! I have a surprise for you behind curtain number 1!

Sir Wendel: I can’t come out and play right now. Daddy is about to spank me.

And that's all, folks! Stay tuned for brunch, coming up next.

From Hermione's Heart

Friday, July 13, 2018

Friday FAIL

Uh oh! It's Friday the 13th. Something very bad is about to happen to these unfortunate souls.




























Be careful out there today.
From Hermione's Heart

Thursday, July 12, 2018

Complete the Caption

This is a naughty postcard from the Fifties, when such things were readily available at seaside resorts and holiday camps. I have removed the saucy double entendre from the card so that you could have a go at adding one.

Complete the postcard caption by leaving a comment, and I will send your greetings on Saturday.From Hermione's Heart