The Pasta Paddle

Here's the other side of that wicked wooden pasta paddle. (Thank you, Dr. Ken, for providing the perfect name.) As you can see (and click on the image to enlarge it if you can't) the other purpose of the holey horror is to measure uncooked spaghetti. That's why I chose this one. The other one didn't have the measurements printed on it.

Most of you came up with the correct answer. There are a lot of pasta lovers out there! Some of the other guesses were pretty creative:

• candle holder

• tool used to make butter or cheese

• bottom paddler

• male member measurer (!)

• wall decoration

Because I've always been a mouse lover, I want to share Mr. C's response with you.

This is a very close copy of the one found at Quidenham Monastery in Norfolk.
That one was fancier and gilded, but this looks a nice plain example.
This is indeed a pet mouse sizer. If the mouse can pass through the smallest hole then the naughty monk has been underfeeding his furry pet. On the other hand if the mouse cannot pass through the largest hole, it is mousy diet time. The other holes are simply to keep an eye on mouse girth gain, or MGG as it is known.
Ahhh, the joys of monastic mouse keeping.

This implement will be so useful in our kitchen. I usually grab a handful of spaghetti, think it doesn't look like enough, then toss in more. And more. Ron does the same when he cooks. We always end up with leftovers.

Maybe we could start a new ritual for pasta night. I measure the spaghetti and put it in the pot. Then Ron spanks me with the wooden measurer until I think the spaghetti is done. He tosses a strand against the wall, and if it sticks, we eat. If it doesn't, I get paddled for an extra minute or two.

But what if we get carried away and the pasta ends up overcooked?

My Latest Pervertible

Here's my latest treasure from a large thrift store that's right on my way home. There were two, but I didn't want a pair of them--one will be more than enough--so I chose this one. Why? There's a reason, and you'll find out in my next post.

It looks like this paddle might deliver quite a wallop to my backside. But what else can it do? It has a vanilla purpose too, and I think it will come in quite handy, but I'll leave that up to you.

What will is this lovely wooden paddle be used for, besides spanking?

I'll let everyone have time to guess and will then I'll reveal the truth in a day or so.

Knock, Knock

Some weekends are pretty busy. On Saturday we shopped for groceries, did some housework, and I helped Ron connect an new electrical contraption to the TV. Then on Sunday we had to disconnect the contraption because it didn't work as expected, and get the TV and assorted accessories back into working order before the football game started. We were also planning an early dinner that day because I would be going out for the evening.

While I was putting in another load of laundry, Ron suggested we go upstairs for a while. That sounded like just the kind of break I needed, and much more fun than laundry! We shut the dogs in their crates and headed up to the bedroom.

Once there, we undressed, climbed into bed, and began to make the most of our limited time. We kissed passionately, and Ron's hands slowly crept down my back until they came to rest on my bottom. I held my breath in anticipation as he rubbed and squeezed my cheeks. I didn't have to wait long. The first slap always takes my breath away, and the second wasn't far behind. After giving me a few swats, Ron turned me over onto my tummy so he could do a better job of reddening my bottom. Ouch! It must have been the cold weather that had made my cheeks so sensitive.

Ron stopped and reached for an implement to make the job easier for him. I glanced up to see what he had chosen. It was "Black Beauty", the black leather paddle. He hadn't used it more than a time or two, and I had forgotten what a sting it could induce. I squeaked involuntarily each time it connected, and flinched as I felt it burn. It was so good, I wanted all he could give me.

I suddenly came back to earth as the dogs erupted in a frenzy of barks and yelps. That could only mean one thing. Someone was knocking on the front door.

"Who's that?" Ron grumbled, as he put Black Beauty down.

I had a pretty good idea. We were keeping an eye on our neighbour's house for a few days, and she was due back sometime that day.

"It's Patty. She's come for her key."

"What'll we do?"

"Ignore her and she'll go away." I was anxious to get back to the job at hand.
The dogs eventually quieted down, and Ron remembered he had some unfinished business with my backside. A few hard swats later, the dogs' voices again almost drowned out the sound of leather meeting flesh.

"She's still there. She knows we're here." Ron stopped again. "This isn't going to work." He was clearly uncomfortable and I was a bit flustered. We waited until all was quiet once more, then tried a third time. But we were both listening for other sounds in between swats. In view of our time constraints, we decided to call it a day.

As we dressed, I took a quick peek in the mirror. My tingling bottom was a dark shade of red. Ron fretted about what to do next.

"This is so embarrassing. What do we say to her? I suppose we could've been out for a walk," he suggested.

"I'm sure she couldn't hear us, or know what we were doing," I soothed. "A walk without the dogs? I don't think so. But we could have been out. We might have been feeding Martin's cat." As it happened, Martin--our neighbour on the other side--was also away for a few days and we were minding his house as well, so it was quite plausible.

"Okay, that's what we were doing." Ron finished dressing and turned to me. "And I tell you what. Tomorrow morning, before you leave for work..." Was he going to suggest an early morning spanking? Some pre-commute cuddling? I held my breath.

"Take Patty's key over to her house."

Oh.

"Sure, I'll do that."

"And tell her we were feeding Martin's cat."

"If it comes up. You know, this doesn't happen very often. Do you remember the last time we were interrupted?" I gave Ron a quick hug. "And I want a repeat performance with that black strap before too long. It hurts so much. I like that."
Even though the spanking hadn't been long, my bottom was quite sore, so I couldn't complain. I was performing in a concert that evening, and when I wasn't standing, had only a hard wooden bench to sit on. Each time I sat down, I felt the burn, and couldn't help smiling at our earlier predicament. These things happen.

To make a long story short, the next day all keys were returned, all neighbours were present and accounted for, and we had an early night and finished what we had started the day before. Ron and I both agreed that it was much nicer when we weren't being interrupted.

A' The Best, Robbie

Today is Robbie Burns Day, celebrated with great enthusiasm not only in Scotland but by the Scottish diaspora around the world. It is also the 250^th anniversary of the poet's birth, so I thought a tribute was in order.

Burns is well known as a womanizer; he loved the lassies, but did he spank them too? First of all, I had to do some research on that word. In the Scottish language, spank is "skelp".

Skelp - a slap, a smack, to run, to hurry, to skip or trip.
Skelpie-limmer - female scolding. A hussy.
Skelpin - walking smartly, resounding.
Skelping - slapping, spanking.
Skelpit - hurried.

from the Scots Language Centre, where it was word of the week in September of last year,

The skelp might be administered on the buttocks, earning teachers the unflattering nickname of 'skelp-dowp'... but the preferred skelp was on the hand with tawse.

I discovered only minor references to spanking in Burns' poetry. I have taken the liberty of replacing Scots words with English , for the convenience of the Sassenachs (anyone who is not Scottish).

The first is in his Address to the Devil. Here, the word is used in the true sense:

Hear me, Old Hangman, for a while,
And let poor damned bodies be;
I'm sure small pleasure it can give,
Even to a devil,
To spank and blister poor dogs like me,
And hear us squeal!

The second is in the poem Tam o'Shanter, where it is used to mean hurrying:

Well mounted on his gray mare Meg,
A better never lifted leg,
Tam spanked on through mud and mire,
Despising wind, and rain, and fire;

Let's not forget the part of the anatomy most often chosen for our favourite activity. The buttocks are "hurdies", as in the Address to the Haggis, commonly recited at Burns Night suppers:

The groaning platter there you fill,
Your buttocks like a distant hill

Here's a parody on Burns' most familiar poem, from Dave at Anime OTK.



TO A BOTTOM (with tribute and apologies to Robert Burns)
A poem recited by a strict but loving uncle as he looks down on his 18 year old niece Jenny’s pale, pink, bare buttocks across his lap.

Wee, sleekit, cowerin, tim'rous beastie,
O, what a panic's in thy breasty!
Thou need to shiver away sae hasty
Wi' squirmin' rap!
I mon slap ye so hard and hearty,
Wi' leathern strap!


I'm truly sorry your ill-mannered action
Has broken our social union,
'an justifies that ill opinion
Which makes thee submit
to me, thy erstwhile good companion,
an' friend complicit!


I see your buttocks laid bare an' waste,
An' the hard strap comin fast,
so uneasy here, beneath the blast,
Thy cheeks must dwell,
Till, thwack! the cruel leatherin' is past,
an' the pain's like hell!


That wee bit cigarette ye smoked in bed,
Will cost thee monie a sore stripe red!
Now thou's turned out, for a' thy trouble,
wi' buttocks fully bare
To thole the leathers hard weary stroke,
An' thrashin' rare!


But Jenny, thou art not the one alain,
proving pleasure may be in vain:
The best laid schemes of mice and men
Gang aft agley
An' leave you nought but grief an' pain,
For promis'd joy!

The Power of the Internet

The internet is a powerful resource. It can be an asset or a liability, a friend or an enemy, depending on how we use it.

I want to tell you a story, but it isn't about spanking. Some of the details have been altered to protect the identities of the people concerned, but it really happened a few years ago.

I belong to an online group of people who correspond by email to discuss a [vanilla] interest that we all share. Some groups don't permit off-topic posts, but in this group, anything goes, so the conversations are about anything and everything.

One day, a group member asked us all to think good thoughts about her son, who would be undergoing surgery the next day. Many members responded that they would. At the time there were about 800 people in the group.

The following week, someone else asked us to think about her mother who was ill. These requests became more frequent as people realized this was a place where people cared about each other. The moderator added the names of those who were sick to the home page of the group, as well as to the bottom of each email that went out to everyone. Names were added and removed as time went by.
Ron has a friend whom I'll call Pat. On a holiday long weekend Pat came down with something, probably the flu, but serious enough to warrant a trip to Emergency. The diagnosis was indeed the flu, and that was that.

But Pat didn't get any better. After a few days another trip to Emergency resulted in an airlift to a bigger hospital that was better equipped to deal with whatever this was. And the news from the big hospital was not good. Pat was having organ failure and was put at the top of the transplant list. 

Ron had known Pat and Pat's partner Chris for many years, and had watched their children grow up. He was as upset as they were, and there wasn't anything any of us could do but stand by helplessly and wait. Then I had an idea. I told my group about Pat's predicament and soon another name appeared at the bottom of every email. Pat was in the hearts and minds of 800 strangers all over the world.

I told Ron what I had done and expected him to be sceptical. But I was wrong. He was touched by my gesture, and told Chris and the children, who were also very pleased and grateful.

We were all prepared for the worst. But after a few days, Pat started to improve, and by the end of the following week was released from hospital and sent home with medication. We'll never know exactly what was wrong or why the condition suddenly reversed itself, but I like to think that my 800 friends on the internet--strangers I've never met and probably never will--played some part in it.

A Little Conversazione

A magazine called the Englishwoman's Domestic Magazine was very popular in England during the latter half of the nineteenth century. Aimed at middle class women who stayed at home with the children and did all their own housework, it was full of helpful information on cooking, crafts, and pets. Of special interest were the fashions of the day; each issue featured a picture of a young lady wearing the latest Parisian creation, and included a pattern for making the garment at home.

Also popular was a feature called "Cupid's Post Bag" that contained letters from readers concerning affairs of the heart, along with Cupid's helpful replies. As time went on, this column was renamed "Conversazione" and the letters had taken a decidedly kinky turn. Questions regarding weight loss and husband hunting were replaced with ones about whipping young female servants and the pleasures of wearing corsets and spurs. Pornography, to be sure.

If you live in or around London and wish to actually read the naughty letters, you can do so at the British Library. Be forewarned, however. You will be under the scrutiny of a stern librarian while you read. (That might make it even more fun.)
You may also reserve the titillating issues in advance if you are a member of the library. They are catalogued separately.

Has anyone already seen these issues? Abel? Haron?

Rent to Own

I went for a walk at lunchtime last week and took a different route than usual. As I passed a small strip mall, I noticed that one of the businesses was an adult video store. The windows were covered with paper so I couldn't look in, but there was a sign above the window that looked something like this:


I can understand a place that rents DVDs and sells them too, but toy rental? That doesn't seem very hygienic. Although I suppose you'd want to test a toy to see if it . . . um, has the desired effect, before spending a lot of money to buy one.

I wonder what the policy is for late returns. And would the reminder to "Be Kind, Rewind" still apply?

In This Corner

Corner time has never been a part of our spanking play, but the other day I started wondering about it. If Ron suddenly told me to go stand in the corner, where would I go? The truth of the matter is, our house has no corners!
Before you ask, we don't live in a teepee, cave or igloo. Ours is a perfectly ordinary house with rectangular rooms. It's simply that none of the rooms have any empty corners. I checked.

The bedroom--where all spankings happen--has two nightstands occupying two of the corners, and a dresser in the third. The only actual vacant corner is formed by the door and the closet. If I were to stand there I would be squashed when the door opened.
Ron's study has its corners filled with bookcases and desks. I suppose I could stand by a bookcase and while away the time glancing through the books I always mean to read but don't have time to. Or over by the computer table there's a sort of corner, but I'd be able to pick up the mouse and check a blog or two.

My room? You couldn't swing a cat in there. Keep looking.

The kitchen is completely occupied with the usual kitchen furnishings and there isn't even an empty wall to get close to. There is a sort of corner at the counter where stove and sink meet. I would be able to empty the toaster crumb tray while there, and the cookie jar is conveniently within reach.

Living and dining rooms similarly have furniture located in all corners. Where else would you put these things? There is one very narrow corner that's sort of free, although I would have to duck under a hanging light and a birdcage and move a heavy objet d'art aside. Tight quarters, though. I don't think Fawkes would be at all pleased.

Now, the basement family room actually holds a possibility. There is one unoccupied corner beside a sliding door to the laundry area, so the squash factor is eliminated. And while I waited I could conveniently fold some laundry if I got bored. Can you tell I don't like to stand around doing nothing?

I don't know, though. If I were sent to that particular corner after a spanking, I would have to walk down two flights of stairs to reach it, and who knows what distractions I might meet along the way. There's a good chance I'd forget where I was going and why, and would have to go all the way back upstairs to figure it out. Then if Ron didn't remember either . . .

Somehow, I don't think corner time would work for us.

Mine Glows

"I do most of my work sitting down; that's where I shine."

- Robert Benchley

Not About Birching

I'll admit I wrote one post about birching. Not that it would provide much fodder for sexual fantasy or arousal. It was a pretty mild post. Still, it draws people to this blog. Here is a small sample of the text typed into Google that brings them here.

birching stories	Victorian birching young ladies
birched stories	birched on bottoms
birch rod stories	bottoms birched
birched ladies	birches in brine
birching her	birches soaked in brine
birching	birching a woman
birch rod	stories birching punishment
birch soaking	birched ladies severe punishment stories
been birched	birched young ladies caning stories
birched she was	very painful birching
girl birched	birching my bottom stories
round bottom birching	brine soaked birch

The most interesting fact is the source of these searches. In most (but not all) instances, if I look at the country of origin of one of these queries, this is what I see:


The British do have a fascination for birching. I'm glad my post on the subject is encouraging them to visit me. But, er, this post isn't about birching either.
Sorry.

Benched!

The past few weeks have been hectic, and the weather certainly complicated matters. Often, spankings took a back seat to snow shoveling, which used up all our energy. By the time the weather had settled down--albeit briefly--I was very much overdue for some attention. Ron chose my favourite leather paddle and, while explaining and then demonstrating to me exactly why it was his favourite too, he made up for the delay and then some. When he was finally finished, I had a smile on my face and a bottom that stayed red for several hours.

I was still feeling the afterglow when some friends arrived to spend the evening. Once coats and boots had been stored away and everyone was seated in the living room, I looked for a place to sit. Wouldn't you know it, the only vacant place was the piano bench. The hard, unpadded, wooden bench. I perched on the edge and my cheeks winced in protest. After a few minutes of polite conversation I got up to get snacks from the kitchen, and managed to avoid sitting by being a very attentive hostess.

Dinner was no easier. The dining room chairs are also wooden, and unadorned with any sort of cushion. The meal took my mind off my predicament, and I found reasons to be up and about fairly often, clearing plates, refilling glasses, or whatever else I could think of doing.

Once the table had been cleared, I had to return to the bench for the rest of the evening. While on a brief trip outdoors to supervise the dogs on a biological break, I looked at the large snowbanks and thought how good the cold snow would feel on my stinging bottom. I was very tempted, but thought of the very obvious impression my posterior would leave in the snow and resisted the impulse.

So, note to self: no spanking allowed less than 24 hours before we have company look for a piano bench cushion in the January sales.

Supersize Me

Here's a great search string somebody recently used to find me:

hermones pills to make my butt bigger

I get all kinds of variations on the spelling of Hermione, so that's why this search led the reader to my blog. I assume they meant hormones.

Inquiring minds want to know, so I Googled it and found the same question here. Apparently there is a pill! And cheeseburgers and anal sex also work.

While I was there, I also found out how to acquire a bubble butt.

Dietary advice given includes chocolate, eggs, chicken and milk. Exercise was mentioned several times, but alas, anal sex wasn't.

And finally, for bigger boobs, try rubbing them with lavender or drinking milk.
Who knew?

Location, Location

The Platinum Lounge, a lap dancing club in Chester, England, has come up with the idea of selling advertising space on the dancers' bare bottoms. A spokesman said the ads are a "cheeky bit of fun" but also a serious, "interesting and unusual way for people to get their businesses noticed."

Read the full story here. It includes a telephone number and an email address so that interested businesses may contact the club.

Since the club has a wide variety of clients from all walks of life, I think that would be an excellent way for some of the popular implement vendors to advertise. 

Looking Back

Some months ago I told you about an especially frightening pervertible that lives in our kitchen.

The last time I visited my dentist, he noticed that one of my front teeth, which had been repaired several years ago, seemed to be weakening. "Be careful eating baguettes," he cautioned me. How did he know?

When I got home, I paraphrased the warning and told Ron I wasn't able to eat baguettes any more, so we might as well give away our baguette board.

Too bad, but dental care is expensive.

Bratting

According to a recent article in the New York Times, people in America have become less courteous toward performers. Pauline Wallin believes this rise in heckling is because people are brattier now. These children of the Consciousness Movement have grown up self-centred, and their children are also self-centred.

Looks like somebody needs a spanking. 

It's 2009!

I wish each and every one of you an abundance of happiness, health, and spankings in the year ahead.

Hugs,
Hermione