The Eve of All Hallows

Happy Hallowe'en!

Guess the Implement - the Reveal

Okay, I'm not really mad, but you are all too good at guessing! I really thought I could fool you this time, but so many of you guessed the correct answer that I have run out of prizes. The winners will just have to supply their own spankings - sorry!

It is indeed an incense burner. I think that if I had to guess, I wouldn't have known what it was. This one came from a thrift shop quite recently. When I used to burn incense way back when, I had brass holders for both stick and cone types. Live and learn!

As some of you mentioned, it is too flimsy and small to make a good spanking implement, but it might be worth a try.

Here it is in (vanilla) action. Our house smells like the sixties again!

Guess the Implement

So many of you correctly guessed the implement in last month's contest that I have had to search the corners of our toy box for something special.

What do you think this pretty wooden thing is used for in the vanilla world? It could be found anywhere. it isn't necessarily in its correct orientation; this photo might be on its side or upside down. I haven't given you any way to judge the actual size of the object either; it could be very large or very small.

Leave a comment with your guess, and I'll announce the winner in a few days. The prize? The winner will give or receive thirty-one swats with the wooden implement of their choice. Why thirty-one? Because it's the number of days in October.

A Scary Search

The other day I received a disturbing email from Ron. He had Googled my real name, and one of the hits was something that he was sure I wouldn't want other people to find associated with me.

I've always been very careful to keep my spanking and blogging interests separate from my everyday vanilla life, so I had to see it for myself. I typed in my name and was amazed at the number of hits.

Most were reasonable, and referred to various organizations and activities I'm involved in. Some were from websites I manage and one was work-related. But a very unexpected hit was on a large online bookseller's site: it was my wish list. Unfortunately, the book at the top of the list was about spanking, and the title made that very clear. A person looking for me would not even have to click on the link to see what I liked to read; the information was all right there in the search results.

I quickly logged on and brought up my wish list. The book in question wasn't even on it. Nevertheless I deleted everything on the list, then repeated the search. The offending book still appeared in the search results. Even scarier was the fact that the date of wish list was over two years ago. I clicked on the link in the search and deleted the book. Phew!

I'm so grateful to Ron for finding this virtual finger, pointing to my kinky interests, and I thanked him cheerfully, although I did feel rather embarrassed. Still, I have to wonder. Why was he Googling me? I have no idea. What did he hope to find? Who knows. I hope he found what he was (or wasn't) looking for.

The moral of the story is, even when you think you're safe, you can never be sure. I would advise you all to try Googling your own names, and I hope you don't find something incriminating.

Spank the Virgin

While decluttering a drawer full of old papers, I came across a page torn from a newspaper dated August, 1996. The article I had saved was about a new game (CD-ROM version) based on the movie Monty Python's Quest for the Holy Grail, and the heading promised that "Pythons leave in naughty bits..." No wonder I had saved the article, even though I never bought the game.

I quickly skimmed the text. The specific naughty bit was based on the knights' visit to Castle Anthrax, and the sex-starved ladies therein. After you have navigated to that place, according to the article, you have the opportunity to play the "highly politically incorrect game called Spank the Virgin, a description of which is perhaps best left to the imagination".

Ooh! I can imagine!



I found a very old review of the game here.

Here's a fun reminder of one of my other favourite parts of the movie. Now, if I only had an audio of coconut shells horses' hooves...

Overheard in the Media

Spanking references are everywhere these days. Here are a few that made my spanko senses tingle.

On the radio:

During a retrospective on the failure of a major investment firm that led to the financial collapse a year ago, the presenter spoke of a review of "...those banking practices..."

When you say it fast, it sounds like TTWD.

In a newspaper:

After a dinner party, in front of a blazing fire, "the hostess finally at ease, with [guests] of various ages draped over laps and sofa arms..."

You finish the sentence!


On television:

A popular cooking show star who likes simple, casual dining complained that when she walked into a dining room and saw "the white tablecloth and the straight-backed chairs, I get shivers up my spine."

Who wouldn't?

Spanking with a Rolled up Newspaper

This is what I found on my doorstep yesterday morning when I opened the door to bring in the morning papers. The usual wrapping - if rain is predicted - is a clear plastic sleeve. One of the papers was dressed in just such protective gear. The other one was in an opaque white bag printed with the warning you see above.

Had our paper carrier heard us while we were engaged in spanking fun? Had the circulation department singled us out for a special treat? Was it a warning to behave myself or else?

On closer inspection - after my heart stopped racing - it seems the legend on the bag was actually "You can bet your bottom line on it." It was an advertisement for a firm specializing in payrolls and human resources.

Age

On Spankolife recently there was a discussion about whether you would want to engage in a spanking with someone much younger or older than yourself. How would you feel spanking a much older person? What about being spanked by someone many years younger?

There was a good variety of opinions, as always, but the topic brought to mind something that happened when I was in my twenties. It's a vanilla story, but age discrimination knows no boundaries.

I was working as a proofreader at a small publishing house that was struggling to establish itself. Unfortunately, a few months after I started, the company folded and we were all laid off. A rival company in the near vicinity somehow got hold of our names, and a few days later I received a phone call, with an invitation to come in for an interview.

I dusted off my resume and arrived at the appointed time. After the formalities were over -- I was hired on the spot -- the young lady conducting the interview asked if I could recommend any of my former co-workers from the other publishing firm. I immediately thought of someone who really needed the work, and gave her his name.

"Sam Shaw*? But he's old," the interviewer objected. She was obviously familiar with the vital statistics of all of us.

"Oh, no, he's only 42. He's an excellent proofreader," I countered.

"Well, no, we wouldn't want him," she replied, and that was that. When I reported for work the following Monday morning, several of my former colleagues were there. Sam wasn't one of them.

That sort of discrimination is against the law now, but it does make me think. My husband and I are both quite a few years older than the gentleman in question was. Is it really fair to rule out someone as a possible spanking partner because of age?

*Not his real name.

Dining and Birching

One evening last week we went out to dinner. As we entered we saw a bright, informal dining area for breakfast, lunch, and casual family dining. There was also a larger, dimly-lit, more formal area where several couples and some small groups of adults were enjoying their meals. As we were escorted to our table in the adult section, we passed an arrangement similar to the one below, which separated the two eating areas.


After examining the menu and deciding what to order, I stared at the room divider and of course, fantasized about the choice of birch rods as decoration. Was the owner a closet spanko? I pointed out the birch rods to Ron, and he laughed and shook his head. He then assured me that they had had absolutely nothing to do with his choosing this particular restaurant.

I wonder.

Meet me at the corner of....

A brazen blush on each pale cheek

Ron and I were watching a favourite television program the other evening when we heard the star say:

"A brazen blush on each pale cheek."

My ears pricked up and I blushed too. Ron repeated the line with a grumble about the language being a little too over the top. Then he turned to me with a suggestive grin and said, "I suppose you can relate to that."

He had picked up on the spanking innuendo after all. I laughed, "Of course. I'm going to write that down," and I reached for pen and paper before I forgot the exact words. "That will be the subject of my next post."

"So that one went right by you," Ron gloated. I didn't say anything.

No, of course it hadn't. But sometimes I think he gets irritated with my "all spanking, all the time" view of life, so I had kept silent. But it looks like my husband is starting to see things from a spanko's perspective, and that's fine with me.

Oh, right, you probably want to know more about the pale cheeks and their brazen blush.

We were watching one of the lovely Nigella Lawson's cooking shows.




















You can probably see why it's one of Ron's favourite programs, and not because of the recipes.

The dessert she was preparing was called Eton mess - a combination of whipped cream, crumbled meringues and macerated chopped strawberries (that was the pale cheek) topped with more strawberries (aka brazen blush).

Finish this Fantasy III

Here's another interesting fantasy for you to finish - with a spanking, or in any way you choose. Write your own ending in the comments here, or on your own blog if you prefer.

Leaving a friend's apartment, we decide to take the stairs. As we go down, you sprint ahead and motion me to follow. I speed up, my eyes on your bottom. I almost catch up, then you stop. Momentum takes over and my body pins yours to the wall. Panting, I take your arms and hold them back so ....

Finish this fantasy!

Hands Off

I found this in a dollar store recently. It's a sheet of hands that glow in the dark. The idea is, you peel off a hand and stick it in a place where it will reflect the light and alert others of your presence. An excellent safety precaution when walking outside after dark.

You'll notice one is missing. Where do you think I stuck it?

Lost and Found

Last year I found a wonderful place to buy small but unique gifts for the holidays. Lately I have been making plans for another excursion to the same location, but while cleaning my closet I came across this wooden spoon.

I had picked it up last year, intending to present it to Ron at just the right moment, but somehow I either lost my nerve or misplaced the spoon. So, I couldn't justify another trip that might result in more implements coming home without trying out last year's find.

I considered leaving the spoon on Ron's bedside table as an obvious hint, then thought better of it and slipped it into the drawer. I'd let him make the ultimate decision.

That decision came sooner than I expected. We were rather overdue for some intimate time together, and the pillows were arranged against the headboard of the bed. I was in for an over the lap spanking. Ron reached for one of the implements hanging on the bedpost, then stopped. Ever the gentleman, he politely inquired, "What would you like?"

"Pick something short," I advised. He looked at the pillows and thought a minute, then opened the drawer.

"When did you get this?" He held the spoon up and examined it.

"Oh, last year some time. I'm not sure exactly."

Ron smacked it against his palm a time or two, then settled himself against the pillows and motioned for me to assume the position. I did so, wriggling a little to get comfortable. I felt the bowl of the spoon pressed against my cheek, and waited.

Smack! Ow! Smack! Ow! it had been a long time since the last wooden spoon spanking, and I had forgotten what a wallop they packed. I squeaked after every stroke and kicked my legs. Ron had to caution me to keep still, and I did with difficulty. For some reason, the swats to my left cheek hurt twice as much as those to the right.

"I think I should return that thing to the store," I grumbled.

"Do you want to try something else?"

"No, I'm okay."

Then Ron got creative. Instead of the steady right-left pattern, it became three right, three left, two right, four left. Then the swats started falling at irregular intervals, in some bizarre pattern. I thought to myself, Morse code? Who is he trying to contact? Or is he beating time to a song only he can hear? What the heck is it? Buddy Holly? Whatever it was, the strange uneven beat made me giggle, even as the swats stung me. Encouraged, he continued performing his percussion on my posterior.

Ron stopped, put the spoon down, and gently stroked my bottom. I relaxed; that felt good. Then he resumed his rhythmic right-left pattern, but with his open hand. Slow, even swats, back and forth, that felt like caresses to me. I love hand spanking, but rarely get it except for playful swats while I'm clothed. He didn't stop for what seemed like a long time.

Then after a little pause the spoon was put into action once more. This time I barely felt the sting. I kept silent and still and drank in the heat, the sound, and the impact and well as the warmth and strength of my husband's body beneath me. I didn't want it to end. The rhythm became erratic once more. Jerry Lee Lewis, I guessed.

The solo ended, and Ron began to gently rub my bottom. Mmmm, this is nice, I thought. I hope he keeps on doing it. I wonder if he'll use his hand again. I hope so. But this is nice. I love bum rubs even more than back rubs. Maybe I should ask him to spank with his hand again. But this is nice. He isn't stopping. I'm so happy, I think I'll close my eyes. I wonder if his eyes are closed too. Mmmm, this is nice....

Before I actually fell asleep, Ron's hand slipped between my legs for a different kind of stroking. I abandoned any thoughts of a snooze as I rapidly became aroused. In an unusually short time his gentle touch had brought me to the edge and I was soaring.

That spoon was a wise investment.

Carved in Stone

Now that's a tribute to spanking! Someone must have taken my request for ideas for a Celebration of Spanking seriously and built a spanking bench -- complete with spanker -- for their town square. (No, I'm not the spankee.)

Does anyone recognize this statue or know where it's located?

LOL Day in Retrospect

Love Our Lurkers day is over for another year, but I wanted to share some of my thoughts about this annual ritual with you.

One blogger asked, "Is LOL day always this much fun?" The answer is yes!

Last year was my first LOL day and I enjoyed visiting the participating blogs and receiving comments on my own. This year I was more heavily involved in it so I got to see first hand how big it has grown and also to appreciate how much work, time and effort Bonnie puts into it each year. Let's give her a big round of applause!

Each time I left a comment on a blog, I was tempted to check the "receive followup comments by email" box, because I like to read other readers' comments too, but knew that my inbox would explode if I did.

In reading the various LOL day posts, I found out that some bloggers get 50 hits a day, some get 5000, and many more like myself are somewhere in between. Despite the wide range of readership, we are all important in what we contribute to this common interest that unites us.

I got a lot of hits on my blog that came from my profile. Maybe those readers will come back again. Some of the comments I received were from people who had not known about my blog, but had come for a look after seeing my comment on another blog. That's a very good reason for bloggers to try to visit all the participating LOL day blogs.

Another interesting fact was that, although I had lots of comments and a large number of new readers, the overall total number of hits for the day was down. I suppose the blogosphere was especially busy that day with so many blogs to visit, and some of my regulars couldn't make it.

Thank you to the lurkers and regular readers who took the time to visit me and leave a comment. Believe me, my blog is a labour of love and an important part of my life. Sometimes it's the only thing that keeps me sane.

I received more comments this year than last, and although they are all important to me, I was pleasantly surprised to get one from Chross, the mega-blogger who makes my stats jump skyward every time he features my blog in his "Spankings of the Week".

For the lurker who asked for advice: by all means allow your wife to spank you, as it seems that you and she both want the same thing. But as to what the future holds and how your relationship will change, that's for the two of you to talk over together.

See you all next year for LOL V.

Hugs,
Hermione

Love our Lurkers

Every day Hermione's Heart gets several hundred visitors, but I know only a small number of you. So today's the day I'm inviting each silent lurker to step out from behind the tree and leave a comment.

Everyone starts out as a lurker. It can take days, weeks or even months to feel comfortable enough to leave a comment on a blog. Sometimes it seems like the other people who leave comments are all friends who know each other and outsiders' comments aren't welcome. That's not the case here or on most blogs. I love to hear from newcomers, and you'll soon feel right at home.

What should you say? Tell me what country you're in, what your favourite colour is, or something about your interest in spanking. (That is why you're here, isn't it?). Or just say hello.

I'd love to get to know each and every one of you a little better.

A big thank you goes out to Bonnie for organizing Love Our Lurkers Day again this year.

A Thanksgiving Tale

This fictional account is based on a 100-word "drabble" I wrote last year for a contest Thomas was having on his blog. I decided to expand it to a longer story. It's based on a true misadventure - I really did burn the sauce one year - but it's pure fantasy.


Alice sat at her dressing table, carefully applying eyeliner. She wanted to look her best, and had planned and worked hard to make this day perfect. She would proudly serve her first Thanksgiving dinner to their families and everyone would think she was a wonderful cook.

"What's going on down here?" Matt's angry shout broke into her thoughts. Alice jumped up, put down her brush and ran to the bedroom door, wondering what all the fuss was about. Then she remembered. She hurried down the stairs and into the kitchen, where she was greeted by clouds of black smoke and Matt's angry face.

"How many times have I told you not to walk away when you've got something boiling on the stove," he barked.

"Oh, I forgot. I only went upstairs for a minute, to put on my . . ."

"I don't care why you went upstairs. Look at this mess."


Alice looked. A pot sat on the stove. Thick red lava foamed and bubbled and spilled over the rim onto the stovetop, where it sizzled and blackened and hardened on the hot ceramic surface. The knob was turned to OFF but the heat would take a while to dissipate. The air smelled of burned sugar.

"My cranberry sauce!" she exclaimed. Then, "I'm sorry, Matt. I didn't mean to."

"You never mean to. But you always do it again. This time I'm going to teach you a lesson."

"What do you mean?"

Matt reached out and set the stove timer. "You have fifteen minutes to clean up this mess. Then I want you to go upstairs to my office, take off your skirt and panties, and bend over the desk." He gestured to the wooden spoon balanced on the spoon rest in a puddle of sauce. "And bring that with you."

"But your parents are due in half an hour. And I need to baste the turkey. Please, Matt . . ."

"Fourteen minutes."

Alice knew arguing would only fan the flames, and result in a harder spanking, so she set about trying to salvage some of the sauce. Her hands shook as she ran hot water on the wooden spoon then dried it carefully. She was not going to risk getting cranberry sauce on her new black velvet skirt as part of her punishment. As she scrubbed the stove in a frantic effort to remove the hardened sugar, she thought with some trepidation about her fate.

She would slowly climb the stairs to Matt's study, remove her panties and skirt, carefully place them on the back of the desk chair, and bend over the desk. The wooden spoon would lie waiting on the smooth surface just beside her elbow. Then she would listen for the sound of his footsteps on the stairs. She would not look at him. Head down, hands gripping the edge of the desk in front of her, she would hear him scold her again.


He would adjust her blouse so that it protected nothing, then place a hand on her back, pressing down so she knew there was no escape. lecture her, tell her how careless and irresponsible she had been again. She would agree and apologize. He would grasp the spoon by its handle and press the curved bowl against her curve. He would raise his arm. She would hold her breath and squeeze her eyes shut. He would spank her, hard and long. She would sob and beg; he would ignore her and continue until she had been sufficiently disciplined. She would promise to do better in future, and would be allowed to stand up, put on her clothing and return to the kitchen. The doorbell would ring before she had fully composed herself.

Alice was trembling and her eyes were filled with tears as she finally finished her tasks and glanced at the timer. One minute to go. How could she face their guests and get through the evening after this? She turned toward the stairs . . .

The front door burst open. "We're here, dear. Happy Thanksgiving!"

Carol and George, Matt's parents, stood in the front hall, smiling. Carol held a basket out to Alice.

"I brought you some home-made rolls. My, something smells . . . interesting."

Matt bounded up the stairs from the basement. He glanced at Alice, then at his parents.

"Hi Mom, Dad. Oh, that. Alice was experimenting in the kitchen." He looked at Alice meaningfully and she pleaded with her eyes. Please, don't make me go upstairs now.

Just then, Alice's brother Patrick and his fiancee Sharon appeared in the doorway. After a flurry of hugs and greetings, and exclamations over the pumpkin pie Sharon had brought, Matt said to Alice, "Don't you need to baste the turkey?"

Alice breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn't going to spank her right now. "Yes, I do," she gasped gratefully and disappeared into the kitchen.


Dinner was delicious, and everyone enjoyed the traditional feast of roast turkey, gravy, vegetables, and even some of the cranberry sauce, which Alice had managed to salvage.

"Mmm, the sauce tastes unusual, but it's good," commented Sharon.

"I added a little marmalade to it. I, um, ran out of cranberries," Alice explained.

After everyone had enjoyed Sharon's pumpkin pie, topped with whipped cream, the group left the table. While the men disappeared in the direction of the football game on television, and the women discussed Sharon's upcoming wedding, Alice's mind was on the delayed punishment. Would Matt forgive her and cancel the spanking? Probably not. But at least he might wait for another day. If his team wins the game, he'll be too happy to spank me. If they lose . . . Why did that stupid stove have to be so hot anyway?

Eventually the guests took their leave, and Alice stared at the door as it shut behind them. Matt came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her.

"Dinner was fantastic. Everyone loved it. I'm so proud of you." He took her hand, led her to the couch, and together they sat down.

"I love you, Alice," and Matt kissed her gently, then more passionately. He held her tightly and stroked her hair, her arm, her back. His hand drifted down to her thighs, then reached for the hem of her skirt and pulled it up. He caressed her firm bottom, slipping his hand underneath her thin nylon panties. Gently he pulled her forward so that she was half sitting and half lying across his lap. Alice moaned. Matt uncovered her bottom cheeks and caressed them lovingly. He slapped first one, then the other, not gently, but not hard. The swats came in a steady rhythm and Alice squirmed into a better position to receive them fully. If this was her punishment, it certainly was an enjoyable one.

Matt's strong hand delivered stinging blows that soon had Alice writhing with pleasure. When he finally stopped, that same hand found its way into her intimate place while the other undid the button and zipper on his trousers. Soon they were on the rug, passionately enjoying one another's bodies in a very pleasurable way.

"Promise me one thing," Matt said later, as they lay entwined and sated.

"Anything," murmured Alice.

"Next time, buy canned cranberry sauce."




Happy Thanksgiving day to all my fellow Canadians.

Did I Miss Something?

Could late night talk-show host David Letterman be a spanko?

Letterman has been in the news lately for his public confession of having had sexual relations with staff members, and his subsequent on-air apology to his wife. (For those of you who may not be familiar with the story, here are the details.)

So he was fair game for the CBC radio current affairs program The Current. The intro to yesterday's show went like this:

Sweden is marking the 30th anniversary of its ban on spanking


Currently ... David Letterman is on day three.

Have I missed something? Was this a feeble but titillating attempt at humour, or is spanking part of his lifestyle?

Does anyone know? If so, please share with us!

Be Prepared

A thief who hit a Subway sandwich shop in Houston, Texas got more than he bargained for. When he reached over the counter and grabbed some bills from the open cash drawer, the gal behind the counter hit him.

The shocked robber fell back against a wall, but then realized he had the money in his hands and made a run for the door. The young lady jumped over the counter and then jumped on him. She shouted to the customers standing around to give her something. Someone handed her a pair of handcuffs and she cuffed him. Then someone else handed her a Taser and she zapped him with it. That kept him quiet until the police arrived and arrested the thief.

What are the odds that someone enjoying a sub would be carrying a set of handcuffs?

An Honest Blogger

Ally and Cookie nominated me as an Honest Blogger. I'm not sure how honest I really am -- after all, my blog is peopled with characters from Harry Potter -- but I do try to be truthful in what I write about. So here are ten real facts about me -- honest!


1. I am afraid of heights.

2. I had my 15 minutes of fame at age six. A small news item about me that appeared in the local paper was picked up by The Canadian Press, and it subsequently ran in newspapers across Canada.

3. I hate telephones. If I can't use email to contact someone, I write a letter.

4. Many people are envious of my hair, and I always offer to trade. It's taken me many years to establish a peaceful co-existence with it.

5. I am a member of Mensa.

6. If I were stranded on a desert island with only one kind of food, I would want it to be cheese.

7. It's no problem for me to speak in front of hundreds of people, but I stumble over my words when talking to one person if I feel uncomfortable or anxious.

8. For the first 20 years of my life, I had no access to a car; I walked, cycled or used public transportation to get where I needed to go.

9. I hate to eat alone in a restaurant, and will usually opt for takeout or something from the grocery store.

10. I like mice, rats, snakes, frogs and bats. Spiders, on the other hand, give me the willies. I can't even look at or touch a picture of one.



I won't nominate anyone; I know all my readers are honest. Please feel free to try this meme on your blog, or in the comments here, if you don't have a blog of your own.

Which One First?

Which bottom should be spanked first? the one on the left? Or the one on the right?