Saturday, May 31, 2014

You Completed the Caption

After a hard-fought ten rounds, here are your very creative captions:

Nina: Nobody comes between me and my Oreos.

GaryNTboy: Just wait till I get my hands on that hairdresser!

Cara Bristol: What do you mean you don't like my meatloaf?

Queenie: I SAID we're going OUT to dinner!

Sunny Girl: Come and get it buster, I dare you!

Ronnie: Try that again again and I'll knock you for six. Didn't you know I was the women's boxing champion in college?

Not the type of glove modeling Mary was used to.

Minelle: I'm tougher than I look!

Sir Wendel: Madison Boxing Gloves in Saffiano Leather by Coach.

Annapurna: Hi, I'm your brain surgeon. Don't worry about my hands. I can still hold a scalpel.

Michael: If you think my hair is bad you should see what the manicurist did to my nails.

Bobbie Jo: C'mon, big boy. I'll show you what tough is!

Ricky: I believe that is 1930s film star, the luminous Jean Arthur.
To the studio chief: Now I want top billing on my next picture, or else!

Katie: Uh uh!!! NO spanking for me today!! I have a great right hook!

Vfrat25000: Doctor: What seems to the problem Mary?
Mary: My hands are terribly swollen, dark, and puffy. I can’t see my fingers!
Doctor: Mary, you are wearing boxing gloves. Take them off!
Mary: Oh thank you Doctor. You are a medical genius. Thank you so much
Doctor: You are welcome. Have a nice day Mary.

What’s with the woman in boxing gloves?
Apparently, her husband found out about her wrecking his new Corvette while showing off to her friends. Personally I think she’s got the padding on the wrong part of her anatomy!

Betty had a bad case of P-M-S which made her want to kick some serious A-S-S

Here Betty, hold this priceless and I mean priceless Fabergé egg while I open the safe. For goodness sake DON’T drop it!

I woke up in a gym Sunday Morning with boxing gloves on and some old goober passed in the center of the ring. What happen to the good old days when I would go out on Saturday night and Sunday morning I would wake up beside some tall nameless cowboy type? I have GOT to lay off the tequila.

Hermione: Sally went to great lengths to protect her manicure while giving her husband a spanking.

That was energizing! Now let's relax and have a nice chat over brunch, coming up next.
From Hermione's Heart

Friday, May 30, 2014

Friday FAIL

Let's go shopping at Walmart. Be sure to put some eye bleach in your shopping cart.

 What a bargain! They're usually so much more expensive.

 Now there's a true fan

 A little too revealing for me

 They must be having a sale on belts

Bargains galore today!

Judging from the look on their faces, the front view is even more disturbing.

On your way out, don't forget to Complete the Caption.

Happy Friday!

From Hermione's Heart

Thursday, May 29, 2014

Complete the Caption

This young woman seems ready to do battle against all comers. What has prompted her to put on the gloves?

Complete the caption by leaving a comment and I will print your submissions in a future post.

From Hermione's Heart

Wednesday, May 28, 2014

An Aborted Spanking

When I was in my early teens I was a big fan of the television show The Man from U.N.C.L.E. It was inspired by the then-popular James Bond movies, and featured two intrepid spies, Napoleon Solo (Robert Vaughn) and Illya Kuryakin (David McCallum).

My best friend and I pretended we were the spies - she was Napoleon and I was Illya - and we imagined our teachers all worked for THRUSH - the evil forces that U.N.C.L.E. was attempting to quell.

Here's a lovely little scene in which Illya deals with a naughty girl.

Sigh! Duty calls.

From Hermione's Heart

Tuesday, May 27, 2014

From the Top Shelf - The Truth Always Hurts

This short story by an anonymous author is from the anthology of spanking stories called The Reckoning. I hope you enjoy it.

James Langford stood in the garden of his home, contentedly puffing on his pipe, savouring the feeling of new ownership. He relished the unaccustomed silence of the country and the privacy which the garden afforded. It was large, partly walled, and the remainder enclosed by a tangled hedge bordering fields that undulated down to the village somewhere below. Wild and overgrown though it was, the garden had transmuted neglect into beauty; clematis and honeysuckle toppling over the crumbling brick walls and a confusion of rampant ivy threatening to smother the orchard.

There it was - the orchard. The cause of his love affair with the house and his commitment to its restoration. There numbered some two dozen mature apple trees, the grey-green flaking lichen on their trunks like a mutant growth on a lizard's scaly fingers. Their branches linked above him as he walked underneath, crunching half-ripe apples underfoot, and looking up with pride at the size of the crop.

A heavy iron greenhouse had been built out from the wall; most of its glass was missing. Inside, a fan-trained peach had gone wild and thrust itself up through the frame. It was covered with ripening fruit; Langford had counted thirty-six, mindful of those which had dropped and were sweet feast for the ants.

With the apples, he mused, he could be generous, but he coveted the peach for himself. And each downy, blush-ripened one would fall into his own cupped hands to eat within moments of its plucking, still sun-warm.

The days passed. He intended to work on the house, but found himself drawn to the garden to explore its labyrinthine paths and hollows.

Plans for re-creating its former glory fermented in his brain, and it was wholly his; and each plant; each tree, would bear the caring touch of his possessive fingers, like a man moulding a young girl until she flushed into womanhood.

Langford visited the greenhouse every morning and many times during the day, waiting to lay claim to the first ripe peach, to feel the softness of its skin and savour its sweet flesh.

Then suddenly there were not so many, so he began counting them again and realised, with disproportionate rage, that the four ripest ones had vanished, been plucked. It struck him that the culprit had not only stolen his much desired first pickings, but had invaded the privacy of his garden and had no doubt taken similar liberties with it before. It was probably a boy from the village who had skulked around his orchard in the dusk, had marked every tree, every ripening thing.... He decided to keep watch for the culprit and catch him red-handed.

There were plenty of bamboo canes in the greenhouse, he remembered. Excellent for giving the young rascal a good hiding.

The culprit remained elusive for a few days. Langford rushed down the garden on several occasions at a whisper of a noise, only to find no one, and to suffer the mocking cries of the crows.

It rained for a spell and he relaxed a little, thinking that the audacious thief would be loath to venture out. Evidently not so. One day, in the early afternoon, he heard a crash of glass and a scream. He tore down to the greenhouse, the blood howling in his ears, in time to see a figure running for the hedge with long, slender legs, dressed in a sun-bleached tee-shirt and shorts.

"Stop you!" He yelled. The figure halted before the hedge and turned round in agitation. For a second their eyes met, both in apprehension. But the surprise was all his. It was a girl.

Before he could speak or move, she was gone, scrambling through the hedge. The last glimpse of her was of her bottom, almost bursting out of the most immodest shorts he had ever seen, wriggling through the hole. He grew hot and angry. If he could catch her, he'd give her bottom such a tanning...

For days, Langford dreamed of punishing her, and the desire was at first fed by his anger, but that ebbed away, to be replaced by vague feelings of regret and disappointment. He'd probably seen the last of her, having so nearly been caught.

He answered the door one evening. It was the local clergyman, accompanied by his daughter, inviting Langford to help at the Harvest Festival. Maybe he would like to make a contribution of fruit, or something. He declined, and found himself staring at the daughter. Dressed very modestly in a blue and white skirt which came well below her knees, with a white high-buttoned blouse and gloves to match, she was very much a young woman. A beautiful young thing, with tumbling hair and fresh skin and a mouth that pouted slightly when she nervously smiled.

And those eyes... the brief scanty shorts, the long tanned length of her thighs, the round cheeks of her bottom that were... so...

Langford closed his eyes for a second, opened them to fix on the father's mouth, wagging like a gaping fish, and realised that, for some time, he had not been listening to a word the vicar had said... except when he introduced his daughter as Elizabeth.

* * *

"Caught you, young lady!" The triumphant excitement in his voice volleyed around the garden. He'd seen her stealing apples, the brazen cheeky hussy, at the top of a tree, stuffing them hastily into a cradle made by pulling up her skirt. She was barefoot, bare-legged, her bottom squeezed unbelievably into shorts which looked as though they might split down the back at any moment. And from where he was standing, the view up her slender legs to the ripe curve of her bottom was delicious.

The apples fell around him in a heavy shower.

"Come down this minute, Elizabeth, or I'll come up and get you!" He was relishing the spectacle of her, wobbling unsteadily on the branch above, blushing furiously as he stood with arms folded, head cocked, eyes travelling with deliberate slowness over her bottom, neat little waist, the soft swell of her breasts, to her very red face.

"I-I can't...." she stammered in a very small voice.

"You will, Miss," he said harshly. "Lost your nerve, have you?"

With purposeful strides he went to the greenhouse and returned with a ladder. Tucked under his arm was a cruel, thin bamboo cane. Elizabeth watched him from her perch and felt uneasy. A cane! Whatever did he want a cane for? She shut her eyes for a moment and swallowed nervously.

"Now, Elizabeth, I think it's time we had a little talk." And he noticed with satisfaction how quickly her face had changed colour from rosy-red to sickly-white. Her eyes were spellbound by the cane. Good! Perhaps she had guessed there was to be more than just talking!

"You may wonder," he went on, as he positioned the ladder and invited her to descend, "how I know your name, Elizabeth." She pouted and he added, "We've met before - remember? Only, in your father's company, you were dressed a little more modestly."

Elizabeth began to blush uncontrollably at this and, rolling her blue eyes skyward, climbed higher up the tree, shrinking from his penetrating stare and her own embarrassment. She began to feel a little dizzy - even though she had a good head for heights.

The birds' singing seemed very loud all of a sudden and everywhere else was hushed, waiting.

"I've been waiting to catch you for a long time," Langford called out. "I don't like thieves - even pretty ones."

Elizabeth slid her feet along the branch, noticing for the first time how nasty and rough it was.

"Come down here... NOW!" He was getting a tantalising view of almost everything that was important to her modesty, and Elizabeth knew it.

Slowly, with trembling legs, Elizabeth began to descend the ladder, trying to position herself this way and that. Oh, if only he wouldn't stare at her so intently!

"Elizabeth," he said, when she finally stood before him, digging her nails into her palms, "you're such a pretty little thief, aren't you? " he sighed. "But a thief, nevertheless." Elizabeth was swaying unsteadily and couldn't look at him.

"I am going to punish you for stealing," he said sternly, "and since you are so keen on revealing to all and sundry as much of your bottom as your shorts allow, I think it's appropriate I give that part of your anatomy some attention."

Elizabeth shrank helplessly against the trunk and looked frantically about her. She couldn't escape. Being barefoot placed her at a distinct disadvantage. He would easily catch her and the outcome might be worse. She felt like a stricken rabbit caught in a trap. Perhaps she should try a little pleading. With a desperate look of the most appealing contrition she could muster, she fixed her wide blue eyes on his. What a sweet young girl she could be!

"You have every right to be angry with me for taking your fruit," she murmured in a voice which trembled as she caught sight of the cane once more, "but I honestly didn't know at first that you lived here."

Langford looked piercingly at her.

"And when you did find out I was living here?" He lashed viciously with the cane at the apples above in a slicing movement, sending several thudding to earth.

Elizabeth flinched. "Then it was j-j-just a t-t-temptation," she stammered out, and looked away miserably. The truth had been told; surely now he'd think what an honest girl she was and relent, let her go. But it seemed to make him more resolute than ever. Langford gripped Elizabeth's arm and led her to the greenhouse.

"What are you going to do to me?" she squeaked in terror, as she vainly tried to wriggle out of his grasp.

"An old-fashioned but appropriate punishment. Short, sharp - and very effective. I am going to give you a sound spanking on your bottom!"

Her mouth dropped open and she froze.

"S-s-spanked? B-but you can't," she squealed, "I'm not a child!"

Langford chuckled, and still keeping hold of the indignant but frightened young girl, he dragged a chair across the tiled floor of the greenhouse. She pushed against him, shook her head ferociously and jiggled about in another attempt to get free. He laughed aloud. Innocent vicar's daughter indeed! He remembered how she stood in her demure little outfit, coyly murmuring, holding Daddy's arm, knowing Langford had recognised her and guessing he would say nothing. Well, there was no indulgent father to protect her now. She'd have to answer for herself to him! He looked at her bare, plump thighs and the curve of her cheeks bulging from tight, tight shorts. Provocative young miss to go flaunting her semi-naked body at him!

He sat down and pulled her arm until she lost her balance and fell awkwardly across his knees.

"Noooooooo, No-o-o-o-o, p-plee-aa-sse, Ow! No-don't, Ahhh!" she spluttered. He hauled her roughly into a position where her long brown legs dangled down one side, and her tumbling hair swept the floor on the other. Her round wobbling bottom was nicely elevated.

In an unwise flash of indignation, she struggled, kicked, tried to bite his leg, and let fly with her fists backwards, catching Langford painfully on the chin. He responded by pushing her further across his lap so that her face was touching the mouldering mushroom-like earth.

"Oh, how dare you! I shall tell my father, I shall -" Her indignant voice trailed away as, with awful shock, she felt the first hard slap on her bottom, heard the 'smack' as Langford's hand landed resoundingly on her thighs. She screwed her eyes up tight. It was unthinkable, yet here she was, the vicar's well well-brought-up daughter, lying across a man's lap, experiencing the humiliating enormity of being spanked like a naughty child. Oh no, it couldn't be happening to her!

"You p-p-pig, you bully, you horrible man! Ouch! Ow! You're hurting me! Oh, p-piss off -" She stopped, horrified at her profanity, and bit her lip hard.

"What did you say, Elizabeth? Such language from the vicar's daughter! Get up!" Langford's face darkened.

She stood up, smarting with humiliation more than pain, her hands protectively covering her thighs, her face flushed and excited.

"I simply can't have this. Take your shorts off, Elizabeth!"

She stared, open mouthed in disbelief, her lips forming a perfect circle, eyes wide in horrified amazement.

Without waiting for her to comply, Langford wrenched at her zipper and tugged at the legs of her shorts. Involuntarily, Elizabeth clutched her hands to her groin, but he roughly swept them aside. He was trembling all over and his eyes were fixed on her body.

"Please, no," she mumbled piteously as the shorts came inching down... "Oh, no, no! How could you? How could you?" she wailed in total mortification. It was within her nature to have slapped Langford hard, but something stopped her.

"Well, well," Langford grinned, " so the vicar's daughter doesn't wear any knickers. Just your misfortune, Elizabeth. " He was breathing heavily. "Back over my knee, young lady." He pulled her down roughly. " Don't tense your bottom like that, Elizabeth, or I shall spank you all the harder until you relax."

Langford was feeling far from relaxed at the picture Elizabeth presented, her naked bottom spread before him, so deliciously nubile.

Elizabeth tensed her whole body, waiting for the first smack on her bare bottom. But it didn't come. Perhaps he'd decided that the sheer humiliation to which she had been subjected was enough.

He sat looking at her bottom as a starving man might stare at a feast. This young hussy was totally in his power. He would spank her when he chose, not when she thought he would. Now he was enjoying the warmth of her body against his thighs. Elizabeth wriggled when he touched her, so he began to spank her again, slowly, seriously and much harder this time, covering every part of her bouncing flesh with a red diffuseness. It was like watching a photograph developing, with all the tones of colour appearing in their mistiness, growing clearer and more vivid with every second. It was beautiful, although the restrained mewing noises coming from Elizabeth told him she didn't like it one bit. Langford wanted to punish her, hurt, and love her all at the same time.

She had stuffed a fist into her mouth and felt suffocated by the repressed tears that sought release. To cry would be babyish - and surely the object of punishment was to take it and show how brave she was. She didn't feel sorry - yet.

"Up you get, young lady." Langford put an arm around her naked waist, brushing her little mound of delicate hair, and hoisted her up and over the back of the chair till she lay draped and motionless like a rag doll. Elizabeth's skin prickled with fear.

What was he going to do to her? She was unable to think, her mind paralysed with terror.

Langford was annoyed by her apparent resistance. Obviously, the punishment had made no impact yet. She was showing no signs of contrition although her bottom was glowing red. Indeed, he thought, she hung over the chair almost sulkily.

There was no other way - he would have to be more severe. Almost reluctantly, he picked up the cane, and toyed with it for a while before preparing for the first stroke. He ran the tip of the cane up and down the crack between her bottom-cheeks; she wriggled and humped her bottom up and down. It tickled unbearably.

The cane slashed into her buttocks; it was like a shock-wave, piecing through her previously numb emotions. She gasped at the pain which rose to an almost unbearable crescendo, drawing in her cheeks and twisting her body this way and that until the burning eased. Langford ran his hand over the ridge of skin that was swelling and puckering into a plum-coloured weal. Then he brought the cane down again... and again... measuring each stroke, taking care not to stripe the same place twice. Elizabeth rose after each stroke, clutching her bottom cheeks, her pretty face contorted in agony. She could think or feel nothing but the sensation of heat and pain. As Langford finished one cut, Elizabeth held her breath, curled her toes tight, gripped the chair with whitening knuckles and distorted her lovely mouth into a grimace, in preparation for the next.

Langford paused, panting with effort and excitement. His trousers felt constrictingly tight; the sight of Elizabeth's rubescent rear was powerfully arousing. She writhed and bucked, throwing her hips from side to side in futile attempts to end her sufferings. Her red-blotched bottom shook tantalisingly with each cut of the cane as she hopped from one foot to another, curling her free leg tightly around the other one like a tentacle. Apart from strangled gasps and hisses, Elizabeth made little noise, so Langford gave her four quick strokes, one for each stolen peach, on her peach-like bottom. On the last, he uttered her name, '"Elizabeth" almost reproachfully.

The resistance in her nature bowed completely at the sound of his voice, and she burst into helpless tears.

"Oh, oh, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!" And now he knew that she was.

Suddenly it was over. He sat down and laid her back over his knees, while she stayed motionless, except for a hiccup and sigh now and then. His hands smoothed the bottom he had so effectively reddened. His fingers, trickling over her burning skin like cool streams of water, slid down to the dampness between her legs. He squeezed the delicate softness of her inner thighs in a gentle massage, while he battled with the fierceness of his lust.

Finally, he let her go and allowed her to pull up her shorts which made her wince. At his command, she looked shakily at him. He felt very much that she didn't want to go, for she stood before him so quiet and submissive.

"You might as well take what you came for," he said tartly, and gathered the fallen apples, "but with my permission this time."

Langford would dearly have loved to watch the irresistible sight of her red thighs and bottom struggling through the hedge, but he allowed her to leave by the front gate. She walked slowly away. Every cell of his body cried for her to come back.

Would he ever see her again? He thought not.

In fevered realisation of what he had done, and with the sudden return of the thudding loneliness which her presence had so joyously driven away, he went back to work with bitter reluctance.

A week went by and there was no sign of her. He was being silly. How could he ever expect the girl to look him in the eyes again?

One evening, after collecting the apple crop into baskets, he walked in a sombre mood to the village.

On his return, he found that the apple baskets were empty. Surely not......!

The back door was open. On the table in the kitchen lay an apple, with one bite-sized piece missing. A little further away lay a long garden cane. He picked them up, his face a picture of wonder.

Upstairs he heard a faint creaking and the hint of a girlish laugh... and then he knew... and picked up the cane.

His bedroom door was open and she was there, sitting on his bed sideways, swinging her legs. Eating one of his apples.

"I'm sorry." She was blushing. "I was tempted again."

Langford sighed. "You'll never learn, will you, Elizabeth?" And flexing the cane rhythmically, he added. "Do you know the old saying, Elizabeth, 'the truth always hurts'?"

Elizabeth paled, trembled and looked away, but obediently began to take her shorts down.

What that girl wouldn't do for a juicy apple. Whatever will she do once fruit season is over?

From Hermione's Heart

Monday, May 26, 2014

Recap: Spanko Brunch 2.0 for May 25

Our topic this week was preserving our spanking memories.

Jay: About a month before I started blogging, I decided to write letters addressed to my fiancé in a journal so he could read them. It's always been difficult for me to communicate my wants/desires/needs, so I thought maybe I should try writing letters where I can explain what I like or don't like without feeling like I'm under a spotlight. I will usually write something about a recent spanking with emphasis on what I enjoyed or what to avoid. So far, it has worked great! The journal and my blog serve as a record of my memorable spankings. And what's also great is that these two record-keeping methods as well as the spankings themselves have all made opening the door for communication easier.

Nina: Long ago, in the early stages, I have had a diary where I also wrote about spankings. But that's stashed away at the back of my wardrobe and I haven't used this diary for years. If I do write anything about spankings, even about memorable ones, I do it online, in my blog now.

Abby: I have kept a diary for years....long before Master. I have kept almost all of them, I enjoy going back and reading them, i choose one a read or re-live. I do mention Master, but by His name and our vanilla activities. My blog is my kinky diary.

Sunny Girl: I'm like Abby, my blog is my kinky diary. Now you know just how bland my life really is. lol

Dan: An old blog that I've since discontinued served as my spanking journal for some time. But, I found that to be too public a forum. I haven't really kept one since. One thing we have been experimenting with is a journal in which I am required to self-report any breaking of our rules, or other bad behavior meriting a spanking.

Ricky: A record or diary is a private thing; it tells to our future selves what we were in the past, and gives us clues of what we've become.

Well now, who feels like celebrating?

Arched one: I have never kept a journal of the spanking I receive, but many pictures have been taken of my red sore bottom. At times when many implements have been used in one spanking she has taken pictures after each implement. They are all dated and we go thru them once a year and enjoy the memories.

D: We are going to start a private 'Spanking Log'. It will have columns for:- date - time-location-number of spanks- which implement - what on, clothed, pantied or bare - position adopted - whether restrained, gagged, blindfolded or butt plugged - and the reason for the spanking, if any.

It will be S's job to complete the Log, and assess the smart from 1 to 10. At the end of the year, I will add up the total number of spanks. I'm sure this will be well into four figures, but that only averages out at 4 or so a day !

Simon: For a long time we didn't take pictures. I realise your younger readers might not believe it but there was a time when if you used your camera you had to take the film to shop to have it developed and that stopped us taking pictures.With the advent of digital photography we started keeping a pictorial record of my punishments and I have written them up sometimes for her blog. Some carefully chosen pictures, in which I am not easily recognised, have appeared on her blog and a few other blogs I read but on the whole they are a private record.

Ronnie: My blog is my diary and P has his own - an album of my spanked bottom and a couple of videos:)

Dee: Like most everyone else. My blog serves the purpose of a diary I guess. (Or it kinda used to) I do have a tumblr which has a few 'selfies' but I'd say that's more of a picture diary, if I could even call it that! I have a video of Mitch spanking me because yeah..... I was curious and wanted to see what I looked like from that angle. I don't know if I'd ever do that again because I was very aware of being filmed and looked like a dead fish over his knee. LOL! Not to mention I discovered I had very fine blonde hairs on the lower half of my 'cheeks' which had me reaching for the wax strips faster than you could say....... CUT!! :)

Annapurna: What an interesting set of questions!

No, I don't record or photograph my play, and I have no intention of doing so.

If my novel ever is published, it will contain some fetish elements, written for a mainstream audience.

River: No, I don't keep any record of my punishments. Sometimes I write about what caused a spanking, or how I felt about one, on my blog though :-)

Underling: My 'naughty girl' has a diary (really just a blank ruled notepad) that I gave to her, I think, the second time we met. We don't live together, and she typically fills it in between times while I'm not around - or if she gets behind with it (which of course, is considered being late with homework and dealt with accordingly ;)) I help her to catch up.

It's mainly a document of the kinky stuff we get up to, but also contains souvenirs like cinema or art gallery tickets, occasional photos and the like. It's a lovely thing to look through.

Jenny: I really don't, though my blog can become a record of most of my activity.

Hermione: Like many of you, I use my blog as a record of memorable spankings I have received. I don't record them all - just the fun, quirky ones that I want to share with you. Photos or videos? No way! Lucky for me, Ron doesn't know how to use my BlackBerry to take pictures or movies.

For all my American readers, have a safe Memorial Day.
From Hermione's Heart

Sunday, May 25, 2014

Spanko Brunch 2.0 #21

Welcome again, dear friends. Another month is almost over - how time flies! This week's topic is about the passage of time and keeping those spanking memories alive.

Do you keep any kind of record of your spankings, like photographs, videos, a diary, a journal or a punishment book? If so, do you record most of them, or just the memorable ones? Do you share them with anyone else? If you don't keep a record, would you ever consider doing so?

Please leave your response as a comment, and once everyone has had a chance to speak, I will publish a summary of our discussion.

From Hermione's Heart

Saturday, May 24, 2014

You Completed the Caption

This was my favourite caption when the photo was posted on, and some of you had the same idea. Great minds think alike!

Nina: Queueing for a spanking - the continental way.

Simon: The club rules stated that gentlemen must wear their hats at all times.

Sunny Girl: The Top Hat Society posing for their charity calendar.

Blondie: Isn't this where the song "You Can Leave Your Hat On" came from?

Ronnie: British Olympic Swimming Team unveil new uniform.

Ricky: Well, I'll be doggone! Our great, great grandpappies knew how to advertise their wares in the Great Repression of the Victorian Age.

Smuccatelli: Grandma likely thinks Grandpa is out of his freakin' mind...

Vfrat25000: Hurry and take the picture. I think Winston is starting to get a “chubby”.

It's way past time to send these guys back to the city and bring in the replacement crew.

There are days where you feel like wearing ONLY your Ralph Lauren underwear and a top hat. Thank goodness not many but there are those days!

She wore nothing but a tulip and I wore nothing but a top hat and a big red rose! (And my tighty whities of course, after all it is 1896 for Pete’s sake!)

Which one is your Dad? The one wearing the top hat and that’s ALL I going to tell you!

I present to you a recently discovered photo of the original Chippendale Male Dance Review

Annapurna: Gentleman, you have been chosen to be the backup dancers for the Chippendales. When you're needed, don't call us, we'll call you.

Sir Wendel: The boys from the Harrow Club bet to see who has the biggest hat. Winston Charles Montgomery III wins again!

What creativity! I laughed so hard I dropped the coffee pot while I was preparing for brunch. I hope tea will do instead. Do join us for a bite to eat, a hot drink, and some lively conversation.
From Hermione's Heart

Friday, May 23, 2014

Friday FAIL

The warm weather is finally here, and my thoughts turn to spanking gardening. Then they turn to paddling eating. So, to whet your appetites, here are some yummy food-related images, freshly harvested from the interwebs. Are they really FAILs? It's up to you.

Depending on Crookshanks' mood, I may never get to step 2.

I wasn't expecting that

This relationship is doomed

Obviously not this signmaker's favourite veggie

Muffintops are usually a FAIL, but who wouldn't love these?

How grapes are made

Did you Complete the Caption? No? That's a big FAIL.

From Hermione's Heart

Thursday, May 22, 2014

Complete the Caption

A photo from granddad's old album revealed an astonishing glimpse into his past. What on earth was he up to? What did grandma think of it?

Complete the caption by leaving a comment and I will publish your submissions in a future post. If you haven't joined in before, now's your chance. There are no wrong answers. Have fun with this one!

From Hermione's Heart

Wednesday, May 21, 2014

A Shop for Tops (and maybe for bottoms too)

Long-time reader René sent me this photo of a store in Vancouver, British Columbia. He has wondered whether they provide more than just women's clothing. "I didn't ask so far, but maybe they do in the back" he said.

Well, maybe they do provide other services, or at least one might find serviceable straps and paddles among the handbags and scarves. The name draws a lot of attention to the four shops in various locations throughout the city. Reviews on Yelp regularly mention the name, although not all customers are equally enthusiastic.

"If the name isn't enough to entice you to step in, the clothes, shoes and accessories will do it for you!"

"Great store, crappy name."

You can't please everybody. But about the name. In an interview with the in-house clothing designer, Sylvia Lee explains how it came to be.

Working in Spank has been such pleasure for Lee. But once in a while, some amusing quirks come along, like questions about the store name – why is it called “Spank”?

“People always mistake Spank for something like spanks! [Does she mean Spanx?] It’s really funny!” laughed Lee. “Jana [the owner] came up with the store name. She’s a creative woman, and kind of eccentric in a good way. She just blurts out ideas to get a reaction, and when she was trying to figure out a name for the store, she’s like, ‘Spank!’ She guessed that people would ask, “why is it called Spank?” and maybe because it can be interpreted a certain way…”

She's right. The name got a reaction from me, and I interpreted it that 'certain way'. Wouldn't you?

From Hermione's Heart

Tuesday, May 20, 2014

From the Top Shelf - The Key that Unlocks, Part 3

This is the last letter from a 1980s issue of Janus, and it recalls a more exotic and probably less credible scenario but it's not totally beyond belief. The author's pen name was 'Susan', aged 26 and married to Alan, a civil servant the same age. She recalls a memorable holiday that permanently changed their relationship.

It was two years ago when we were on holiday in the Dordogne area of France and staying in a remote country cottage. We didn't have Debbie then, only Samantha, and we had left her with a babysitter while we went out for the day in the car. We walked into some woods and had a picnic. With the food and wine and lovely weather, Alan and I both felt very randy and, you know, wanted to do it right there in the woods.

I was wearing jeans and I took them and my knickers off and we both laid down on the blanket. Well, we were doing it, with Alan on top of me, and me looking up over his shoulder at the trees and the sky. Suddenly there were two faces there as well. Men's faces. Alan, of course, didn't see them and he just went on fucking me while I lay underneath him with my legs up round his back - and these two men looking down. It was really scary and I couldn't say a word, not even shout. Then one of the men pushed Alan and of course he stopped.

They said we were trespassing on their property and committing an indecent act which was a serious offence. They said we had to go with them. I struggled back into my knickers and jeans while the two men watched. One was in his twenties and the other was older but both were thick set and strong and we would have had little chance to resist them. They took us a few meters to their farmhouse and the younger one, who spoke very good English, said we needed to be taught a lesson.

In the farmhouse kitchen there were a number of other people. The women and children were sent out and there were then four men present, including one old one - the grandfather, I suppose. Then the older of the two who'd brought us there took a thick leather strap out of a cupboard. Then they told me to take my jeans down and bend over the edge of the table. At this point Alan shouted in anger and tried to break free but a large fist was put under his nose and he stopped protesting. It was useless.

It was unbelievable, of course, but there was nothing we could do, not with the four of them there, all powerfully built men. I had to do it - unzip my jeans and take them down and then get over the table. They took my knickers down as well, then the man with the strap laid into my bare bottom. God, it really hurt! And all Alan could do was stand there and watch.

After they'd finished spanking me they let us go. They didn't do anything else to me or punish Alan in any way. I suppose his punishment was being humiliated by having to watch me get it. We were both in a state of shock as we walked back to the car and drove back to our cottage. We talked about going to the authorities but it would have been so embarrassing and I suppose the men would all have denied it.

It was an awful experience but we were both definitely turned on by it. By my having it done to me and by Alan having to watch. By mutual consent we went to bed early that night and we seemed to be fucking the whole of the night.

In the morning, lying in bed, I said to Alan, "That really got you going, watching my arse being strapped like that!" And, shamefaced, he admitted that it had. Then I said, "You could do it to me as well if you like." He looked a bit wide-eyed and I grabbed him and whispered, "You could give me a good seeing to if you like. With one of those leather straps - as long as it's not too hard."

So with a tremendous feeling of excitement we went into the nearby town and bought one. And we did it right away when we got back. Just put Samantha to bed and then right there in the middle of the afternoon re-enacted what had happened the day before. I took down my jeans and got over our kitchen table then Alan took my knickers down and strapped my bottom. Then afterwards we were so aroused we had a really wild session in bed, the best we'd ever had. It was simply fantastic.

We had a strapping session the next day and again the day after - and I suppose just about every day we were there. It was really wonderful. It had really opened up a whole new vista for us.

When we got back from holiday it just took off from there. Alan bought a cane and we experimented with different scenes, not just being strapped by angry French farmers. We have a range of scenes now that we use. One of Alan's favourites is to have me as a sixth form schoolgirl and he is the Headmaster who canes me for some misdemeanour or other. I wear my old school uniform which I still have and which, I'm proud to say, I can still get into.

We have loads of other ones. A shop girl caned for having her hand in the till, a housewife thrashed by a burglar for refusing to say where her jewellery is, a woman driver who causes an accident and get strapped by the other driver. We are very imaginative, you see.

I've never been caned or strapped by anyone but my husband, except for the experience in France. Would I like to be? Alan and I have discussed this but I know he wouldn't like me to be caned or strapped by another man. But me? Well, yes, I know I would enjoy the real thing with someone else. It would have to be without Alan knowing - and it would have to be someone dominating who I couldn't resist. It would have to be like France - but how often does that kind of thrill come a girl's way?
I would love a walk in the French countryside sometime soon.

From Hermione's Heart

Monday, May 19, 2014

Recap: Spanko Brunch 2.0 for May 18

This week's discussion was on whether spankers are born or made. Here's what you said:

Dan: As always, thanks for the shout-out! Hope you're doing well. In our case, I would describe my wife's attitude as, "willing though skeptical." Frankly, she thought it was more than a little weird. Yet, here we are, 10 years later!

Joe: I suspect the truth lies somewhere in between 'born with' and 'grew into'. I certainly didn't marry dear wife so I could leave 'impressions' on her bottom and she didn't go out looking for a Master to spank her.

Although early in our courtship we realized she needed strong guidance and about the time we were married that guidance grew into physical discipline albeit quite by accident. We had just got home from our honeymoon when she got into a mood. In frustration I gave her a swat on the butt and her mood improved immediately. It happened again several months later and I realized she needed regular maintenance. With maintenance her foul moods disappeared and an extremely beautiful woman emerged. However maintenance was not sufficient and occasionally she needs a punishment spanking. That doesn't mean we are into kink however. We are devout Christians who believe that Husbands should love their wives and wives should submit to their Husbands. At my suggestion my dear wife has put a submission tattoo on the back of her neck. In Hebrew it says "Master's" She finds it comforting in the evening when she sits on her cushion at my feet and I gently rub the tattoo.

Welcome, Joe!

Minelle: I'd say my guy was a spanker! The first time I kept (playfully albeit annoyingly) punching his arm... 23 years ago, I ended up across his knee. I was a bit of a live wire. We had more threats and small spankings until recent years where we are much more actively TTWD.
As for me the interest has always been with a part of me!

Dee: I think they could be both born and made. But my fella was definitely 'made'. I reckon I wore him down with so many emails/conversations and total 'brain information overload' that the only way to get me to stop, was to spank me :)

Dee, it's lovely to hear from you again!

Terpsichore: For me this has always been a part of me. For my husband, while he enjoys to see me feel the pleasure that I crave from a spanking and does so willingly...I still sometimes need to encourage, ask, hope, give instruction, beg, and plead...I would say he was made not born :-)

Annapurna: The predisposition to spank or to be spanked, or both, are inborn then nature and happenstance take over.

Cutiebootie: What a great question! I feel that I was born wanting to be spanked. I am a switch, so my love for spanking meandered over to becoming the spanker. It was intriguing to me. For me, it was perfectly natural.

As for my guy, he has grown to love spanking me. He has always been eager to participate, never hesitated to try spanking me, and is a fast learner. I still remember the first time that he spanked me. He did a good job. My spankings have become a lot harder these days and we both enjoy them!

Arched one: In our relationship, I'd have to say she was made a spanker. She started spanking me because I asked for them. She went along eagerly but did not understand why I liked her spanking me. She knew it hurt and did not understand that. After much explanation and reading she now understands and now with much eagerness gives me punishment, maintenance, and just because she feels like spanking me spankings.

On my part I'm more than happy to present my bottom to her.

Simon: I think spankers are born not made. When I was younger I tried to be a spanker but it never quite worked. I knew I was interested in spanking but whenever I was lucky enough to have a lady over my knee it was never quite right. It took me a while to realise that I had misinterpreted my desires and that what I actually wanted was to be spanked. Once I had worked that out I enjoyed myself considerably more. I have been lucky enough to find a lady who is a born spanker (and indeed caner, strapper and what ever other implement she can use) and since then I have never looked back. So there you have it, I think spankers and spankees are born with an innate desire.

Dr. Ken: I'm on the right track, baby, I was born this way! :-)

(Ahem) Sorry about that...

I became aware of an interest in spanking at elementary school age, so I definitely feel that this interest in spanking women is something I was born with.

Prefectdt: Put me, strongly, in the born camp.

As far as female spankers are concerned, I suspect that there are more natural spankers than will admit it. The "men being dominant" expectations of society causing many to suppress their nature.

Nina: I'd say both, born and made are both possible. Hubby knew it from his family, whereas I only learned it from him.

Baxter: My wife thought it very weird and me a pervert for wanting her to spank me. I took to getting spank fiction books from Amazon and one day she asked to read one. She read several stories and said 'I get it'. And then she said, pull down your pants and bend over the bed and she proceeded to take one of my leather belts and spank me with it. That was probably 8-10 years ago and she has been spanking me ever since, upon my request and as it turns out, at her proactive demand. I am a very happy husband now.

Ronnie: Both born and made are possible. I'd say P was born a spanker, definitely interested and eager to participate.

Rob: I saw a picture of me at 3 and it looks like I am smacking the rear of my girl cousin. I do remember playing doctor when we were 5/6 and I always gave her a smack after the "exam".

In my case, this was definitely innate. For the record, I was never spanked as a kid.

Welcome, Rob!

Hermione: My husband was the one who initiated spanking in our relationship, so I'd have to say it was an innate preference. My explorations into the world of spanking blogs resulted in a whole lot of ideas that I gradually introduced into our play. Our spanking adventures blossomed after that, so I guess it was a little of each.

Nature or nurture? It seems to be a bit of both, but who cares, as long as it results in spanking. See you all next week!
From Hermione's Heart

Sunday, May 18, 2014

Spanko Brunch 2.0 #20

Here we are at another weekend brunch. Did you know that we aren't the only people who gather once a week to discuss spanking? Dan at The Disciplined Husbands Forum also has a weekly discussion topic. A recent discussion on wives who administer discipline inspired this week's question.

Are spankers born or made? Was the spanker in your relationship naturally interested in TTWD and eager to participate, or did that person need some coaxing, encouragement or instruction?

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

Saturday, May 17, 2014

You Completed the Caption

You responded enthusiastically to this snapshot of some seaside fun!

Minelle: "Now on the other side please!"

Sugar: "Well, really Bess...sticking a fish in my bathing suit!!! You naughty little minx!!"

Ronnie: Are you sure this is how you spank someone?

Mitch: I told you not to go in the water for 30 minutes after eating!

Sir Wendel: Getting a fine tanning on the beach.

GaryNTboy: I said walk the plank, not crawl the plank... now I must SPANK !!!

Arched one: You will love a wet bottom spanking, just wait until I get those knickers down.

Dr. Ken: "Are the boys looking now? Maybe if I bend a bit more... are they looking yet? Maybe give my bum a little smack like you're going to spank me... are they looking NOW?"

Vfrat25000: "I’m bored let’s go throw firecrackers in the men’s changing room."

The inaugural edition of the skin magazine Wet and Willing Women was less than a rousing success after they used Betty and Coriander Pogolsmith, the two spinster schoolmarms from Packsuckett, Kentucky on their cover page.

I think there is a trout in my hat; at least I HOPE it’s a trout!

I am getting seasick, Bertha!
Oh, quit complaining, Gwendolyn, you are only standing in six inches of water.

Maude Pendergraton and Beulah Steadfeter always dreamed of being in the Sports Illustrated swimsuit edition. They will have to wait another year after their photo portfolio was declined.

Prudence, you can drop the provocative pose. That yacht just sailed on by.
Crap. Well it looks like we buy our own dinner again tonight.

Hermione: Felicia, I said do the dog paddle. That's the dog piddle!

That was fun! Please stay for brunch, being served shortly.
From Hermione's Heart

Friday, May 16, 2014

Friday FAIL

Those of us who work in offices have all had to share the kitchen facilities. But how do you keep people from stealing your food?

This is one way

This is another

Forever alone

They'll never ask me to bring the doughnuts to the staff meeting again

Wait. What?

It seems as good a plan as any

Before you leave for the weekend, please take a moment to Complete the Caption.
From Hermione's Heart