Saturday, September 30, 2017

You Finished this Sentence

I really need to stop...

Anon 1: I really need to stop spending so much time reading so many spanking blogs ... but they're all so good and it's so much fun, I just can't help myself.

Jack: I really need to accept my spankings, no matter when and where, especially when my wife spanks me when my mother-in-law visits.

Liza: I really need to stop bending over in the kitchen when my husband is holding a spatula.

Hands63: I really need to stop in the name of love, before you break my heart
Or that paddle on my bottom.

Sir Wendel: I really need to stop given the misses excuses to paddle me. I can barely sit.

Dave: I really need to stop forgetting the safe word.

Baxter: I really need to stop wimping out when my wife gives me a spanking. That is what I want her to do but the pain makes me wimp out.

Ronnie: I really need to stop eating the chocolates I bought for Christmas or I'll be spanked.

Anon 2: I really need to stop being such a good girl so I'll get more spankings.

Anon 3: I really need to stop spanking my wife so much. NAH!

Hermione: I really need to stop buying pervertibles every time I go shopping.
From Hermione's Heart

Friday, September 29, 2017

Friday FAIL

Oh, the joys of working life. You meet some really dumb people, and helping them isn't always smooth sailing!

Don't you feel like paddling these customers?  On the bright side, maybe they gave you an inspiration for how to finish this sentence.
From Hermione's Heart

Thursday, September 28, 2017

Finish this Sentence

I found another incomplete sentence for you to finish.

I really need to stop...

Can you think of a spanking-related end? Funny or serious, politically correct or not, have fun with this one!

From Hermione's Heart

Tuesday, September 26, 2017

From the Top Shelf - In a Mist, Chapter 3

Do you remember Florence, the maid who got into trouble for wearing faux-silk panties last week? No, I hadn't forgotten either, and neither had the Master.

IN A MIST - Chapter 3 - Florence learns the price of clumsiness...and underwear!

Below stairs in the cavernous stone-flagged kitchen, the domestic staff of Lymchurch House took their ease, the day's duties over. Florence sat sewing with the other women at the large, white-scrubbed table. The men lounged around in a huddle, contentedly puffing their pipes by the back door that stood open to let in the balmy night air.

Suddenly the door at the opposite end of the room, leading to the rest of the house, was flung wide. "Mr. Tomms, a word with you please." It was Mrs. Anderson, forbidding in her high-necked starched blouse and funereal black bombazine skirt.

Florence went hot and cold all over as the burly chauffeur strolled nonchalantly over to the housekeeper. He was the only one among the servants to regard himself as being beyond Mrs. Anderson's jurisdiction. An uneasy truce existed between them. He conceded to her supreme sway over all household affairs, in return for which he came and went, indoors and out, just exactly as he pleased.

Mrs.Anderson whispered something in his ear and they both turned to stare at Florence. "Ten o'clock tonight in the tackroom, Flo, Master's orders," Tomms announced grimly. Florence blushed and bent her head low over her sewing. She'd been expecting the axe to fall ever since her telling-off at dinner, and in a way she felt almost relieved now that it had finally come. The cruellest thing of all had been the frail hope she had been nursing all along that somehow there would be a miraculous stay of execution.

The other servants winked knowingly at each other. The women began to titter and the men exchanged ribald remarks. Florence's chair grated on the stone floor as she pushed it back. She rose and fled hurriedly upstairs to the privacy of her tiny room, her cheeks burning with shame.

The tack room, where all the saddles and harness were kept, was part of the coach house with the stables adjoining. It was a well-scrubbed, dimly lit room with a grey tiled floor, and smelt of saddle soap, boot polish and leather.

It was a few minutes after ten when Florence entered, looking pale and sickly. She was a sturdy, big-boned girl, inveterately lazy and prone to acts of stupid clumsiness - as had been proved already that evening. Her big, fat bottom was no stranger to Tomms' broad black leather belt. Her normally rosy cheeks were ashen grey and her wide vacuous mouth drooped at the corners, giving her a sulky, petulant air.

"Well, what are you standing there for, like m'lady at a vicar's tea party?" Tomms taunted her cruelly,itching to lay his hands on her. "You ought to have learnt the drill b'now! Gawd knows I've belted yer arse often enough!"

With a long drawn-out sigh, Florence turned her back and lifted up her dress and petticoat, disclosing soft fleshy thighs above the tops of her black stockings attached to thick elastic garter straps - and those white artificial silk panties with frilly hems for which she was about to pay dearly for daring to wear them while on duty.

Tomms gave a little whistle of appreciation. He was used to seeing Florence's bottom clad in shapeless calico drawers.

"Oh ho, you saucy trollop," he grunted lecherously, "just asking for a prize whipping, ain't you!" Florence gasped, feeling the urgent prodding of his prick within his corduroy breeches, as he pressed himself up against her rump. He stepped back a pace or two and cupped each clearly defined bottom cheek in his hands. Then he thrust his hand down inside her panties and squeezed both buttocks hard until she squealed with pain.

Knowing that the time for her whipping was fast drawing near, in desperation she stuck out her bottom, rotating and wriggling it as seductively as she could, raising herself up on her heels so that Tomms' busy fingers, poking and kneading inside her tightly stretched panties, found their way eventually into the cleft between her legs.

"Why, you filthy slut, you're soaking wet!" Tomms cried hoarsely, his excitement growing by the second. "You know what happens to dirty girls who wet their panties, don't you, Flo!"

Florence nodded in dismal resignation as Tomms seized the waistband of the panties and, almost ripping them in his haste, wrenched them down over her broad hips past her stocking tops, letting them slide all the way down her legs until they flopped to the floor in a shapeless triangle around her feet.

Florence's big bare bottom wobbled invitingly like a white blancmange. Tomms scrutinised it, looking to see if there were any visible signs remaining from her previous whipping. Invariably there were: small mottled bruises, like birthmarks, showing up clearly against the whiteness of her flesh.

Then, despite her snivelling pleas and protests, he propelled her over to the bench where most of the cleaning and polishing of the riding tackle was done during the day, but which Tomms had already taken pains to clear of such workaday impediments as cakes of saddle soap, brushes and rags.

It was a high bench, made of oak, and Florence had to raise herself on tiptoe in order to place her soft white belly across its ample width. Above her, a row of thinly tapering riding switches hung vertically from hooks. Florence deliberately avoided looking at them - her one remaining hope being that, as he had already hinted, Tomms would use his belt on her which, painful though it was, was nothing compared to the unbearable agony inflicted by one of those slim supple crops.

She sighed in relief to hear the familiar "clunk" of the belt buckle being unfastened from around his waist. Folding the thick leather belt in two, Tomms gripped both ends together and raised the belt high above his shoulders.

Then, with a cruel flick of the wrist, he sent it snaking downwards. It sang through the air, making a vicious whirring sound, before wrapping itself painfully around Florence's bottom, pulling the cheeks together in an excruciatingly stinging embrace. The loud 'CRACK!' rang through the stone-tiled room. Florence uttered a cry of dismay, and her whole body shook as it fought to control the throbbing smart.

The belt hissed downwards and struck her again. She jerked upwards and yelled shrilly. Again and again the belt exploded against her buttocks with slow measured regularity. Florence began to whimper and sob, swivelling big womanly hips vainly from side to side, to try and escape the punishing strokes of the belt. But this only succeeded in goading the excited Tomms into wielding it with even greater ferocity. Her bottom rapidly pinkened, then reddened into crimson as each fresh stroke imparted yet another smarting stripe to the, by now, plum-coloured flesh.

"Oooooohh Mr. Tomms, please, no more - I can't stand it!" she blubbered, but Tomms was enjoying his cruel sport too much to want to end it just yet....

Ten minutes elapsed. Still the wicked black belt hissed and sang. Florence was howling vociferously, her bottom, from hip to thigh, one mass of purple bruising with a horizontal patterning of thick banded weals. Her frantic cries had attracted a little crowd outside the tack room.

It was an all male gathering, jostling and murmuring in their excitement. Florence's bottom, glowing like a fireball from within the dimly-lit room, held them spellbound.

"Blimey, just look at the state of 'er arse! Old Tomms ain't 'alf belting the 'ell out of it!" Rick, the stable boy, exclaimed in awe, pressing his nose against the bleared window pane.

"Ar, she be a real sturdy wench," said a calmer, more philosophical voice among the onlookers. "Wi' a backside as big as that, I reckon she'd take any amount o' whippin'."

Rick's hand clutched the growing bulge in the front of his trousers and he began to rub rhythmically as again and again the belt landed on poor Florence's blazing welted bottom, and her howls continued to pierce the silence of the night.

"What's the betting he'll shag her afterwards?" said Harry.

"She damn well deserves it." observed Joe. "She's askin' for a good shaggin' and no mistake, wigglin' 'er arse about like that. Ain't the girl got no shame?"

At long last Tomms flung down the belt. His arm ached with exhaustion. He stood wiping the sweat from his brow while Florence was allowed the indescribable luxury of rubbing her burning bottom-flesh.

But this was only a temporary respite for her. In a moment, Tomms began to unfasten his breeches. The spectators were immensely amused at the sight of the red-faced, perspiring chauffeur, struggling and swearing, his breeches entangled in his gaiters, and his enormous prick protruding from beneath his shirt.

He caught side of his audience and, shaking his fist with rage, lunged towards the window. The onlookers scattered and fled, for none of them much fancied receiving a black eye and a bloody nose from Edward Tomms.

Turning once more to Florence who was quietly weeping in the corner, he ordered her to bend over the seat of one of the work stools, her legs splayed wide apart, her hands clutching the lower rungs on the far side, while he guided his monstrously distended prick into the well-lubricated opening she was so obligingly presenting.

"Oooooooohh, Mr.Tomms!" she moaned, her eyes nearly bulging out of their sockets, as he slipped her his inordinate length. Grunting with pleasure, he insinuated himself deeper and deeper inside her. Then his heavy buttocks began to pound up and down as he established a rhythm, his great beer-belly slapping against her aching, bruised bottom.

The old stool creaked and lurched perilously beneath their combined weight. It even skidded an inch or two across the grey-tiled floor, as Tomms, entering the home straight, pounded towards his climax with animal-like groans and hammer-blow thrustings. His grizzled beard glistened with saliva.

Florence's face, now as red as her bottom, took on a look of furious concentration as she flet herself near to coming. As Tomms withdrew his sticky, glistening penis just in time to discharge a flood of milky semen all over her sorely maltreated buttocks, Florence let out a squeal of delight as a great wave of bliss suddenly overtook her....

Afterwards she cooed like a roosting dove while Tomms insisted on anointing her bottom all over with his come. Despite its salty sting, it felt like balm.

"Oh Mr. Tomms," she whispered in shocked amazement, "you ain't 'alf a caution and no mistake!"

Had the dourly puritanical Mrs. Anderson received a complete account of the goings on in the tack room that night, she would never have allowed the parlour maid within a mile of Edward Tomms.
Can you imagine that happening at Downton Abbey?
From Hermione's Heart

Monday, September 25, 2017

Recap: Spanko Brunch 2.0 for September 24

What are your thoughts on traditional corporal punishment? I'm delighted to see this topic produced such a large response.

Amy: I've always been a fan of Halloween because I love getting dressed in costumes. Eric is more than willing to play with me so we bought a "school girl" paddle, stick, and outfit. It's fun role playing the traditional because we've been watching them through a Hollywood lens for years. I will add, neither Eric nor I came from households where spanking was used for discipline. Neither of us have ever or would ever spank our children either. So for us, any spanking is an adult desire that we play out. It might be harder for someone who actually lived through and experienced such situations growing up to enjoy them as fun.

abby: Every now and again Master will tell me He wants to come home to a naughty school, a 'lady' of the street, or whatever else He has imagined...I must use only what can find in the house...makes for a fun day for me...and even more fun evening...

Anon 1: Not a fan of anything except spanking in natural dress patterns. I love fairly tight jeans, so enjoy spanking my gf in them at times. Also enjoy spanking her in pajamas, as I need no help baring her bottom, or even in repositioning her to bare it.

But in general, I prefer natural dress patterns. Traditionally, I always command her to come over to me in spanking attire when told, meaning in full dress waist up, panties only waist down. No shoes, no socks. I told her, from day one, at discipline time, I will control her panties, meaning I will lower them once she is otk when I wish after a solid "panty warming", and until I tell her it is ok to raise them post otk, she better not do so on her own, or she will be back otk immediately.

She knows better than to not comply 100%.

Anon2:  Both DW and I are die hard spankos. But: in the beginning of our relationship I began to introduce discipline and hit a major road block. That was a hard limit for her. She enjoys both erotic and hard spankings, but not for discipline.

While we do engage in quite a bit of funishment; true punishment has been off to the table. Schoolgirl outfits have been used, as well as inappropriate dress for "the office". I'm a very strict boss.

I've brought discipline up a few times, but that remains a hard limit. Still, we do have great fun with her plaid skits, and no panties.

Roz: Hi Hermione, we have in the past played with a bit of fun role play, including school girl. Not for some time now.

Bogey: Bacall can fall into a role in a heartbeat, with or without a costume. She enjoys playing naughty secretary, Persian slave princess, and wearing short pleated skirts. She normally surprises me when she puts on a costume. It's not something I ask for, but I do enjoy it.

KDPierre: It's hard to answer your question as worded. While we definitely incorporate spanking into fun and/or sexy situations at times, a significantly high percentage of the spankings that take place are done as discipline...but hardly as a "discipline scene".

If our domestic discipline aspect began to take on a role-play "scene" feeling, it would cease to work for either of us. So in that respect, my answer would be "no, we do not enjoy or do discipline scenes". But we DO live a full-time DD lifestyle where genuine discipline for misbehavior is a routine practice...and a very practical and satisfying one. (and there is no costume dress-up involved.)

Red: We have evolved into real spankings in a domestic discipline environment. I am spanked 98% of the time, but Cindy is also spanked for something that merits a spanking. Thus, no role playing. however, spankings are not in any way given with bruising or blood, but both of our spankings are much stronger than they once were. With the problem addressed, and solved, many times we move to the bed to make love, but not always, and not for on the spot spankings.

Anon 3: As a male in his 20's, traditional is what I want. Dating a woman in her 50's have found such a woman, corporal punishment is very much that. She tolerates very little and admits a lot of women her age enjoy dating younger men and also points out many men my age enjoy older women, it is just a fact of life.

When she stated I needed a spanking, I laughed and thought nothing more of it. I was a afternoon by the apartment pool that I may have gotten carried away. Glad there were few people there, for she grabbed my arm, landed a hard spank across my bottom, and took me back to the apartment. No sooner did she closed the door, my swim suit was around my ankles and I was over her lap. She was very serious and I soon was begging, saying I was sorry, and she did not stop until I actually was crying. She told me to face the wall and I did so. She said from now on, this would be my punishment, I stood facing the wall saying nothing.

 It was when she said she was not done that I turned and said I've learned my lesson. She smile and left the room returning with a hairbrush. Step out of the suit young man and I did, and then she said over her lap and I begged, she pulled me across her lap and that hairbrush made it point and I knew I could be heard. To this day I accept, and our sex life is great, when it comes to punishment, a spanking, old fashion, over her lap is what I get.

Katie: Hi Hermione,:) I have to say that Rob and I have not done much in the way of role playing. It would be fun to try one of these days. I will bring it up to him and see what he says. Love what Abby says above, about being given a role to play, and having to come up with items that are fitting, from what she has around her house. How fun!

A.J.: Sure! "Scenes", being the key word here, who doesn't?

I only spank or get spanked for the fun of it, and do not do nor believe in discipline spankings. Not my thing. Traditional to me is just otk and bare bottoms.

By the way, what does "non-traditional" imply...?

Anon 4: Let me begin by saying I am a male spankee in my late 60s. I really like being punished and being told why before, during, and after the spanking.

I've fantasized about and craved corporal punishment since I was about seven years old. I was caught throwing stones at a female classmate while on my way to school with another classmate. My reward was two-fold. I had a trip to the principal's office where I got the strap on my hands for the offense (yes, it was in Canada in the 1950s). At home, it was a trip to the basement for my Dad's belt across my bottom.

Fortunately, I have have an understanding wife who will redden my bottom when needed.

The best to all of you! I hope you all get and give what's needed.

Sir Wendel: If you are talking scenes like role playing then we enjoy it. Costumes are the best. The misses has a school girl costume. Once in a while she will put it on and come to me talking about getting sent to the principal’s office or failed tests. I put her across my lap, bare her bottom and spank her.
The misses will sometimes play mom and put on an apron and call me into the kitchen. I then have to bare the bottom and go across her lap for a paddling.
Fun stuff.

Ronnie: Haven't done any role play for a while but have in the past. Definitely the naughty school girl being sent to Headmaster's study for a caning, strict boss and secretary and maid/hotel manager.

Hermione: The schoolgirl scenario most definitely turns me on, and it is one of my favourite fantasies. We don't recreate it in real life, but it was my first choice in reading materials for a very long time.

Thank you all for sharing your thoughts, and a special welcome to the anonymous readers who joined in. Remember, you are always welcome.
From Hermione's Heart

Sunday, September 24, 2017

Spanko Brunch 2.0 #195

Welcome to our traditional weekend spanko brunch. Last week, while waiting my turn to give blood at our local clinic, I watched three girls from a nearby private school, who were all there to donate for the first time. I was amazed at the shortness of their pleated plaid skirts, and that reminded me of former blogger Abel. On his Spanking Writers blog he often wrote about traditional spankings involving schoolgirls in uniform. That brings us to today's topic:

Do you enjoy traditional corporal punishment scenes? Why or why not?

Please feel free to join in and leave your response as a comment below. You may remain anonymous if you wish. Once everyone has had a chance to speak I will publish a summary of our discussion.
From Hermione's Heart

Saturday, September 23, 2017

You Completed the Caption

This picture inspired so many of you, and I'm delighted!

Simon: Well I've got two trees growing in the study, none of the books have titles and everything is a weird shade of purple/pink. I'm certain to win this years quirkiest interior decorator prize,

KDPierre: "I don't know, darling. I'll rack them up...but are two girls like us, with a lavender table no less, even allowed to play 'Straight Pool'?"

Hands63: I'll call the shot, 8 ball, rear pocket...

"Hand me your cue stick!"

Amy: What do you mean, I'm "not allowed to touch your balls"?

arched one: You won the game and as promised I'll accept a spanking on the pool table.

Anon 1: If redecorating his man cave like this and presenting him with such a luscious target doesn't finally convince him to spank me, I don't know what will.

Dave: "Ready to play?"

Anon 2: What does a girl have to do around here to get a spanking?

Ronnie: You won, now come and claim your prize.

Harleyquinn7: I just remembered that I don't know how this game is played...By the way, since this is pool, where's the water?

Sir Wendel: If you let me touch your cue I will let you touch my bumpers.

Anon 3: You're not going to spank me for this, are you? It's just that when I see balls, I want to play with them. And, well, I'm used to having just two at a time...and there were so many on the table...I just couldn't help myself.

Now that I've warmed up with these, maybe I could play with your balls and cue stick.

js666: She wanted to surprise him by painting the felt on his table pink. Now he's going to return the favor by turning something else pink.

Hermione: This is the oddest spanking bench I've ever seen. I don't like being spanked with that stick at all!

Please stay for brunch, being served up next.
From Hermione's Heart

Friday, September 22, 2017

Friday FAIL

We don't have an IKEA store where I live, but I have visited one. I was prepared to get forced through the maze, and was delighted to find some clearly-marked "shortcuts". The furniture was gorgeous and I bought some small items—nothing that needed assembly! I have assembled furniture and other things that came in boxes, although not from IKEA, so I get the picture.

Without further ado, let's go to IKEA.

Have a great weekend!
From Hermione's Heart

Thursday, September 21, 2017

Complete the Caption

The local billiards parlour will never be the same after tonight's game!

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

Tuesday, September 19, 2017

From the Top Shelf - In a Mist, Chapter 2

The story so far: Arthur Lennox, a young tutor in pre-war England, has been appointed to oversee the belated schooling—and discipline—of the headstrong and petulant Elizabeth.

IN A MIST - Chapter 2 - Elizabeth meets her tutor—and her match!

From downstairs in the dining hall came the clink of silver cutlery. Florence was laying for dinner. She moved reverently across the polished oak floor, pursing her lips in silent concentration as though burdened by the enormous weight of her duties. She began to set a third place for Elizabeth's tutor, sighing in vexation at having to depart from her long-established routine.

Elizabeth took far longer than usual over her evening toilette. She planned to subdue Mr. Lennox with her female charms so that he would blush and stammer awkwardly in her presence.

Earlier in the day she had washed her hair, afterwards brushing it painstakingly until the honey-blonde filaments gleamed and sparkled like gold amid their darker lustrous neighbours. She arranged it loosely in soft curls that tumbled down her back, while over her forehead she wore a gamine fringe.

Although expressly forbidden by her guardian to use make-up, since according to him only "fast women" painted their faces, she defiantly applied mascara to her eyelashes, and a dab or two of rouge to colour her cheeks.

Then came the question of what to wear. After a long agony of indecision she finally plumped for a stunning cream chiffon gown, cut daringly low at the breast and short enough to show off her dainty ankles and calves clad in white silk stockings. For her feet, a pair of high-heeled pumps, with fashionably pointed toes.

A good ten minutes after the dinner gong had sounded in the hall she was at last ready, exquisitely jewelled and fragrant with French perfume. She sailed downstairs, her undergarments rustling proudly, and prepared to make her grand entrance.

The first person she saw as she swept into the Regency style dining hall was Florence, hovering nervously beside the bulbous-legged serving table. She had been waiting for Elizabeth to arrive before serving the tomato soup, which in consequence had now grown unappetisingly tepid.

"Ah, here you are at last!" Mr. Harker cried peevishly. "Late as ever! I had hoped the arrival of your tutor" he indicated Mr. Lennox seated opposite at the large round mahogany dining table, "might have encouraged you to mend your slipshod ways. Come and say how do you do to him."

"I'm sure Mr. Lennox is aware that lateness is a woman's prerogative," she retorted with a smouldering pout in the direction of the tall newcomer. It was an opening salvo which she'd carefully rehearsed up in her bedroom. As he met her eye she was annoyed to see a brief flicker of amusement cross his face. The prospect of meeting him had filled Elizabeth with nervous dread which she was desperately trying to hide beneath an outward show of bravado.

"Prerogatives are simply privileges, and privileges have to be earned in this world, Elizabeth," Mr. Harker admonished, looking to Lennox for support and who nodded vigorously in agreement. Pausing for breath he went on scolding her in his thin reedy voice that she found so tiresome.

"You cannot expect people to do you the courtesy of treating you like the grown woman you are in years, until you actually begin to behave like one." He sighed wearily. "Which brings us to the subject of why Mr. Lennox is here. I do earnestly hope that he will succeed where others before him have so miserably failed!"

"As for that, Uncle, we shall have to see, shan't we, Mr. Lennox?" she said challengingly, turning to confront her tutor. "I must warn you that I am by no means an easy pupil. I trust your constitution is as sound as a bell, otherwise I fear I may be the death of you!" She burst into peals of merriment while her guardian clicked his tongue at her insolence.

"Have no fear on that score. No pupil has ever got the better of me yet, Elizabeth," Lennox replied with a breezy confidence, scrutinising the girl so intently that she blushed and pretended to study the soup Florence was ladling into her dish. His deep bass voice, so resonant with male strength, had a curiously disquieting effect, not only on Elizabeth but on Florence who fumbled agitatedly with the ladle in her hand, spilling soup down Mr. Harker's sleeve.

"Clumsy, stupid girl," he murmured in irritation, "fetch a cloth at once and wipe it off." Stammering her apologies, the maid did as she was told, her underwear swishing almost as loudly as Elizabeth's.

Hating to be upstaged, and eager to shift the focus of attention away from herself, Elizabeth stared accusingly at the skirts of Florence's black alpaca uniform. "Uncle," she said spitefully, " I do believe Florence is wearing silk underwear."

"Is this true, Florence?" Mr. Harker eyed the maid severely. "You know very well that I have strictly forbidden the female servants to wear silk undergarments. I cannot abide their perpetual rustling; besides which I believe they provoke lusts in the male servants. Well, Florence, what have you got to say for yourself?" he demanded in a scratchy, petulant voice. Lennox found it hard to suppress a chuckle at such a comical charade as this. He had met some old-fashioned types in his time, but Mr. Harker really took the cake!

"If you please, sir," Florence stammered, conscious of being stared at by three pairs of eyes, "it's only artificial silk, sir. I could never afford real silk - not on my wages."

"Are you insinuating that the wages I pay you are inadequate?" Mr. Harker demanded indignantly. Poor Florence had put her foot in it yet again.

"Oh no, Mr. Harker, sir! I never meant that at all!" she protested in great alarm. "My wages are ample and most generous, sir."

"Very well then, Florence," Mr.Harker rejoined, a trifle mollified, " but I shall have strong words to say to Mrs. Anderson about your clumsiness—and your choice of underwear—after the meal."

Florence turned red and bit her lower lip. She knew that Mrs. Anderson, the grim iron-willed Scottish housekeeper, would turn her over to Mr. Tomms for yet another thrashing with his belt. Her eyes narrowed and she glanced hatefully at Miss Elizabeth, the architect of her predicament. Miss high-and-mighty Elizabeth, who always wore real silk next to her pampered skin, as Florence well knew from all the long hours she'd spent laundering her mistress's exquisitely fine silk, satin and lace underwear. Florence had to scrimp and save hard to pay for the one precious pair of artificial silk panties she was now wearing—such indescribable luxury compared to her regulation calico bloomers—and for which she was now to be punished.

Fortunately for Florence her existence was barely noticed during the remainder of the dinner. While they were consuming the main course of veal cutlets and vegetables, Mr. Harker questioned Lennox more closely about his journey. Travel was unquestionably one of Mr Harker's bete noirs, especially railway travel: "...nasty, noisy, smelly things, trains, are they not, Mr. Lennox? I myself am quite incapable of using them. I once went to Torquay by train, and was confined to bed for a month afterwards. And how was your stay in London? Was the hotel satisfactory? I trust the room was clean and the bed properly aired? And was Tomms waiting for you on the platform when you arrived here? Did he drive cautiously? I fear he is a dreadful madcap on the roads, but he has been with us for over twenty years and , quite honestly, I don't think we could ever manage without him now -even though he can be a little grumpy at times...."

Elizabeth, who had finished her veal, yawned and fiddled in excruciated boredom. She looked across the table at Mr. Lennox , who sat patiently listening, a wearied look creeping over his face as Mr. Harker's monologue showed no sign of ending. She began to mimic Lennox's pained expression, making fun of him. He caught her doing it, and she saw a sudden brief flash of anger in his eyes, which frightened, yet at the same time excited, her.

Later on, as the three of them were finishing their caramel pudding, Elizabeth, full of the devil again, began to bait Lennox mercilessly. "Do please tell me, Mr. Lennox," she purred, wide-eyed and innocent, " what do you propose to do with me when I am naughty?" She smiled sweetly, as if butter wouldn't melt in her mouth, although she was testing him out—seeing how far she could go with him.

But Lennox refused to be drawn on the subject. "Such matters, Elizabeth," he said with unruffled calm, " are best dealt with where they belong—in the schoolroom. I request the honour of your presence there at half past nine tomorrow morning, when we shall no doubt get to know each other better." He eagerly accepted Mr. Harker's offer of more pudding and set about it with a will, as though nothing else mattered in the whole world.

Elizabeth felt intensely piqued. He had, with quiet but devastating efficiency, put her firmly in her place. "That's a pretty feeble answer to a simple question, Mr. Lennox," she persisted obstinately. "If I am to be your pupil, surely I am entitled to know in advance what to expect? For instance, say I were to fall asleep over my sums—for I detest arithmetic above all else—would you then be most fearfully strict with me, and punish me severely?" She fluttered her long eyelashes at him ,and gave a coquettish little wriggle in her chair.

Even Lennox, with all his tutoring experience, was taken aback. He could not remember a girl pupil ever being quite so disgracefully forward at their first meeting. Struggling to contain his anger, he replied sharply , "Let us just say, Elizabeth, that when the situation arises I am quite capable of ruling even my most troublesome pupils with a rod of iron. Since I have successfully tamed dozens of large, strapping young men—one of whom, incidentally, even challenged me to put on boxing gloves and go ten rounds in the gymnasium—I hardly imagine I shall have much difficulty coping with a mere slip of a girl like you!"

"Oh, so I am just a 'mere slip of a girl', am I?" Elizabeth cried, seething with anger and rising from her chair. "Well, let me tell you, Mr. Lennox," she shouted, flinging her napkin down on the table like a gauntlet thrown in defiance, "I do not care a brass farthing for you, or any of your silly threats. You may be in the school room at half past nine tomorrow morning, if you wish. But as for me, I shall please myself!"

So saying, she stormed out of the room, amid impotent bewailings from her guardian and darkly-knit brows from Mr. Lennox, who decided this was much worse than he would ever have expected. He was still smarting from the verbal assault just made on him. The girl had plainly been allowed to run wild, without the slightest hint of discipline. He would have to employ quite draconian measures to have any chance of succeeding with her.

"There, you see what I mean, Lennox?" Mr. Harker cried despairingly. "The girl is quite unmanageable! Forever flying into tantrums at the slightest provocation. I swear she will drive me to an early grave!"

"To be plain with you, sir," Lennox could speak freely now there were only two of them in the room, Florence having departed with the dishes to the kitchen, "your ward, Elizabeth, should have had her bottom soundly whipped many times over, when she was younger. However, it is not too late in the day to rectify that omission. What do you say, Mr.Harker?" he put the question to him squarely. "Do I have your full permission to use corporal punishment on Elizabeth?"

"By all means, Lennox, do whatever you deem necessary. I leave the matter entirely in your most capable hands. You, after all, are the expert!" Mr. Harker felt intensely relieved that here, at last, was someone fully willing and able to curb the waywardness of his troublesome ward. The thought gave him a feeling of immense satisfaction. That night he slept better than he had done for years.

What will tomorrow bring? Stay tuned.
From Hermione's Heart

Monday, September 18, 2017

Recap: Spanko Brunch 2.0 for September 17

This week's assignment was to write a spanking resume. You came up with some interesting submissions.

Roz: Gosh, wow, such interesting questions. We spank (or used to) for discipline, role affirmation and erotic play. This includes role play sometimes, light bondage and blindfolds.

We have spanked in the car and outside in secluded areas.

Sir Wendel: Our favorite spanking thing would be wearing costumes. Nothing better than spanking a princess or whipping a pirate’s booty. Since we hike often we tend to spank out in the woods a lot.
We do not spank as discipline. We just enjoy it even though the bottom is rather sore afterwards.

Bogey: Spanking has made for a lot of fun and intimacy for us over the years.

Hermione: - Mature woman with 30+ years experience as a spankee
- Enjoys both wood and leather, will consider other materials
- Has a very spankable bottom
- Has experience with a wide variety of positions
- Commands a wide vocal range
- Always ready, willing and able.

That was fun! Let's get together again next week.
From Hermione's Heart

Sunday, September 17, 2017

Spanko Brunch 2.0 #194

Welcome to another of our popular weekend spanko brunches. If you are a new reader, you are encouraged to join the conversation. We are all friends here.

Today's topic is one Bonnie first presented several years ago, and I don't know how I overlooked it before. I think you'll enjoy it.

What would you include in your spanking resumé? Which of your experiences or insights are unique and interesting? How is your perspective on the topic of spanking different from most?

Leave your response in the comments section below, and once everyone has had a chance to speak, I will publish a summary of our discussion.
From Hermione's Heart

Saturday, September 16, 2017

You Completed the Caption

The original poster is very motivating to me! Let's see what captions you created.

It comes in all shades of pink.

Roz: A spanking a day keeps mistakes at bay.

Looking backward is only helpful if you learn from (or like) what you see.

Anon 1: You can do better if you want the rewards afterwards, roomie.

I wonder what I should do tomorrow to be spanked again.

It does a bottom good.

Something a naughty girl shouldn't take for granted.

It'll keep you on your toes.

Have It - Or Get It!

(There's My Pants!)

Adults Only!

Anon 3: HOT SEAT
What a naughty girl must sit on for the rest of the day.

What a naughty girl gets for being one.

What the rest of the office gets after a naughty girl is spanked.

Don't get behind on your work, or your behind will get a good working over.

A spanking is all that's needed.

King Marshall: PINK
It's more than a color for clothes

Make time to spank one today!

End up with sore red bottoms.

Kent: Now let me think, have I forgotten anything ? Oh yes, his cane! Lucky I remembered that!

Leigh: OOPS
Must Behave Better

Dave: Product testing: important, even at a paddle factory!

Sir Wendel: I goofed off at work all week and this the best the boss could do?

js666: If he's gonna be doing this regularly, it may be time to invest in a full-length mirror.

W.A. Whyte: 
She's so pretty in pink

That's all, folks!
From Hermione's Heart

Friday, September 15, 2017

Friday FUN

Restaurants and bars will do what it takes to lure you inside.

Have a safe, sane and consensual weekend!
From Hermione's Heart

Thursday, September 14, 2017

Complete the Caption

Wouldn't this photo be perfect for a motivational poster? You know the kind I mean - one large. positive word, followed by an inspirational phrase.

Give us a motivational caption (or any other caption, if you prefer) by leaving a comment, and I will publish your submissions on the office wall this weekend.
From Hermione's Heart

Tuesday, September 12, 2017

From the Top Shelf - In a Mist, Chapter 1

Today we begin a new novel. In the words of the late Alex Birch, In a Mist is "one of the best and most readable spanking books I have ever encountered. The story of Arthur Lennox, the cornet-loving tutor, and his wild and wayward pupil, Elizabeth, is a warm, colourful and at different times a sad and humorous story beautifully woven as their relationship develops in the setting of rural England, just prior to the outbreak of the second world war. The story is, as usual, attributed to 'Anonymous' and it deserves better because this is a truly wonderful novel where characters and places leap credibly from the pages and the reader feels they are there, involved in the action."

Chapter 1 - In which we meet Lennox and Elizabeth

Afterwards, whenever he thought of Lymchurch he remembered it as half hidden in mist. The vast empty stretch of sand curving away into blurred infinity. The ships' fog horns hooting out to sea like enormous owls. The old wooden bathing huts, ghostly sentinels on the edge of the beach. The bare-thighed girl, skirts lifted, standing amid the waves, calling him on. An elfin sprite, fleeting evanescent - like the mist itself.

He had travelled down by train from Yorkshire on a Saturday, stopping overnight in London at a small hotel off Euston Square in order to complete his journey next morning. Sunday train journeys were tedious affairs. He's had to change at Lewes and wait for over an hour for a chugging little local train to take him along the coastal line to Lymchurch. There were few fellow travellers and for most of the way he sat in an empty compartment gazing out at the lonely chalk downs, eagerly anticipating the moment when they would fall away sharply to meet the sea.

He loosened his collar. He felt clammy and travel weary. It was only the end of May yet it already felt like summer.

As the train neared the coast the clouds parted and there was the sun, bathing land and sea in a haze of radiance. He was met at the tiny station by an old dark-green tourer and a craggy chauffeur who pulled a face at the pile of luggage he had to load into the car.

They sped dangerously through country lanes. His flagging spirits rose as he caught sight of the sea once more, calm and blue. How green it was here, compared to the granite moors of Yorkshire. He could taste the salt tang in the air through the open car window.

And the girl, Elizabeth? Would she be pretty in her skittishness? "Undisciplined and wild" her guardian's letter had stated. But if she were pretty into the bargain, it would make his duties infinitely more enjoyable.

He tried without success to draw the chauffeur into conversation. The only words he seemed to know were "maybe" and "I reckon so".

The car turned off the road and along a sweeping drive lined by rhododendrons. They had arrived at Lymchurch House.

Mr. Harker met him at the entrance. He seemed so frail and diminished by old age that the slightest puff of wind might have blown him away.

"Mr. Lennox," he extended a bony blue veined hand. "What a wearisome journey you must have had!" He called the maid to show the visitor to his room. "Florence will bring you a pot of Earl Grey while you unpack your things." He was anxious to be as hospitable as possible to the tall, rather animated, young man in whom he was placing so much trust. "Dinner is at seven. Ample time for you to take a nap, and perhaps a stroll around the grounds later on?"

"Thank you, sir, I shall probably do just that," Lennox replied, deferentially bridling his strong desire to explore the place immediately.

"Till seven then, when you will make the acquaintance of your pupil. That is," he sighed, "if she decides to honour us with her presence. One can never tell with Elizabeth."

Mr. Harker excused himself and retired exhausted to his study and Thorburn's Book of Birds. He was a shy, reclusive man who always found meeting new people a dreadful ordeal, but he felt obliged to make a special effort with Lennox. A lot depended on him.

Lennox had been tutoring ever since he came down from Cambridge. It was a pleasant enough way to earn one's daily crust, for Lennox was one of that rare breed of men little bothered by worldly ambition. Not that he was in any way shiftless. Quite the contrary. He was practically obsessive in his dedication as a tutor. He achieved enviable results, even with the most obtuse and refractory of pupils, and had built up the reputation of being a thoroughgoing disciplinarian.

The demand for live-in tutors had declined of late. Nevertheless, Lennox managed to make quite a tolerable living from it. He had a drawer full of peerless testimonials and had absolutely no need to advertise his services. His fame was spread by word of mouth from one wealthy family to the next.

His liberal use of the cane was often in itself sufficient recommendation for many parents. "Cane them, do you, Lennox? Glad to hear it! A sound thrashing never did me any harm!" the fathers declared enthusiastically; while the plum-voiced blue blooded mothers, possessing that curious streak of inherent cruelty which characterises the English upper classes, were equally insistent that Lennox should beat some sense into the recalcitrant behinds of their daughters.

The scholastic whipping of the daughters of gentility was a time-honoured tradition, stretching back hundreds of years. Hadn't the tutor of young Effie Grey, Ruskin's future wife, been solemnly authorised by her parents to birch the girl across the seat of her drawers whenever necessary?

Although he found beating boys to be rather repugnant, Lennox over the years had developed quite a taste for caning girls. The maleness in him thrilled to their agonised yelps as the rod bit into their plump, delightfully rounded bottoms. Yet he would have been outraged had anyone suggested that he derived the slightest degree of erotic pleasure from whipping his girl pupils. For this was still an age of sexual innocence, and no one gave it a second thought when he took his cane to some cheeky young madam's backside, or else let her off lightly with a spanking over his knee.

After all, everyone knew that girls were infinitely more troublesome than boys. Unless kept firmly in check they would exploit their sex to unfair advantage and be twice as ill behaved as any boy.

Yes, I can see I shall enjoy my stay here, he declared to himself later that afternoon as he strolled contentedly in the gardens. Even taking into account his previous acquaintance with English country homes, Lymchurch House was a delightful place. It captivated the eye with its quiet, modest beauty, like a bashful girl reluctant to display her charms.

From the shrubberies he turned and looked back across the smooth lawns dotted with hawthorn and other ornamental trees, towards the long low frontage of the old house, its latticed windows framed by honeysuckle and clematis. It was not an enormously large house, but it straggled and covered a lot of ground. The roof was stone crop. Lichen clung to the mellow red tiles. Little dormer windows in the upper storeys winked and shimmered in the sun.

Above the white painted porch surrounding the main entrance Lennox noticed french windows leading out onto a balcony. Standing there was a girl with long flowing Pre-Raphaelite hair, wearing a white summer dress. He saw her indistinctly, as in a mist, but he sensed that she was watching him closely, studying his every movement. He gave a friendly wave - but she ignored it, spurning his overture. Turning abruptly she disappeared into the room beyond.

Elizabeth had been watching him for some time from the schoolroom balcony. She bitterly resented his arrival. He had come with the express purpose of depriving her of her liberty. His droning lessons would bore her to extinction. She was eighteen, and the thought of having to return to the schoolroom irked her considerably. It was so demeaning. But she would not submit easily to this humiliating regime. She would dig her heels in.

Nevertheless, she was surprised to see how young her tutor was. Her guardian had made no mention of Mr. Lennox' age. She'd naturally assumed that like all tutors he would be bald, rheumy-eyed, and walk with a stoop.

Yet here instead was this tall, powerfully-built man in his early prime who strode about the gardens with the natural ease of a panther. Curious to study him more closely she ran downstairs, returning with her guardian's binoculars which he used on his rare bird-watching expeditions, and focused them on the enemy.

She was even more taken aback to discover that not only was he young - but he was positively good looking. He had a fine head of light brown hair, with a broad intellectual brow and deep set aquamarine eyes. His keen nostrils inhaled the sea air with an almost greedy pleasure. His lips, full and fleshy, bespoke more than a touch of sensuality - albeit firmly kept in check by the strong decisive line of his jaw.

There was a breezy boyish enthusiasm about him when he smiled. But when he frowned a sudden sternness, which quite intimidated Elizabeth, overtook his features.

She sighed, self-pityingly. No more could she spend each prodigal day scrambling among the rocks at the foot of the cliffs, or dashing across the wide silver beaches. Nor could she ride her beautiful white pony over the old stone bridge further up the wooded river valley and canter furiously across the wide sweeping downs.

Now only at weekends could she do the things she loved to do. But never one to be down in the dumps for long - or for that matter to resist a challenge - she rallied her spirits and, delivering a spiteful little kick to the leg of the chair on which she had been sunbathing until Lennox' arrival, she crooned spitefully to herself, "Poor Mr. Lennox! I'm afraid I shall give you an awfully hard time of it!"

She saw him catch sight of her and wave amiably. With a scornful imprecation she flounced from the balcony and into the schoolroom, slamming the french windows so hard behind her that they rattled and shook.

Not only was she Mr. Harker's ward, she was also his niece - the only daughter of his late sister, Catherine, who had married a clergyman dedicated to evangelical crusading. Husband and wife were both carried off by an outbreak of diphtheria in Manchester, but they had bequeathed to the world a baby girl who miraculously survived. Once the tiny infant had been rigorously disinfected and quarantined, her bachelor uncle saw it as his bounden duty - albeit an onerous one - to take the orphan in and bring her up as though she were his own.

Seventeen years had elapsed since then. Mr. Harker had long given up all hope of being able to do anything with his difficult ward. From being a petty irritant as a toddler, she had become a positive nuisance in her early teens. Now, as he constantly complained to his friends and neighbours, Elizabeth had developed into " a constant source of trial and tribulation."

As a child she had been a restive mischievous tomboy, an unmanageable handful to the legions of nurse maids and governesses who had departed, broken and defeated, almost as soon as they arrived.

When she was twelve her guardian, fondly hoping that his troubles were now behind him, packed her off to a highly recommended and fearfully expensive boarding school in Berkshire. But she ran away from it so many times that eventually the school washed its hands of Elizabeth, pronouncing her to be "ineducable".

After that, Mr. Harker gave up all attempts to provide her with a formal education and left her virtually free to follow her own inclinations. She was by no means a dunce. On the contrary she was far too clever for her own good. She could read and write fluently, thought her taste in literature seldom rose above the seamy novels of foreign origin which her less desirable friends lent her, and which she smuggled into the house and secreted in a drawer beneath the gossamer layers of her lingerie.

She could sew and embroider dextrously, but only on those rare occasions when a quiet mood overtook her. Of scripture, history, geography, algebra and trigonometry she was utterly ignorant - and intended to stay that way. She loved nature and often, to her guardian's alarm, wandered off alone along the deserted coastline for whole days at a time, yet she loathed botany and zoology.

One of her favourite occupations was to loiter in the gravelled stable yard at the rear of the house, teasing the stable boys - so much so that sometimes things got so out of hand that the formidable Tomms would step in and put a stop to things, darkly threatening "Miss Elizabeth" with "a good larruping" if she persisted in her antics. Though afraid of him, she quite liked Tomms because she knew he would stand no nonsense from her. He never had to tell her twice.

For all that she was eighteen, she still refused to grow up into a young woman, continuing instead to act like a spoilt naughty girl. She was moody, insolent and defiant, prone to childish tantrums if she didn't get her own way, and also inclined at times to be deceitful to cover up her lapses in behaviour.

Her guardian was reaching the end of his tether. Preoccupied with his declining health, he had better things to do than go chasing round the house in futile pursuit of a selfish, inconsiderate girl who seemed to delight in wreaking havoc wherever she went. She terrorised the servants, making their lives a misery. She broke priceless vases and china ornaments with sickening frequency, either through sheer clumsiness or deliberately, in a tantrum. She insisted on an exorbitant dress allowance, which she wasted on silly French fripperies.

In a fit of pique one evening last summer she'd ridden the bicycle he'd foolishly agreed to buy her, all over the lawns and flower beds, leaving a trail of unsightly tyre marks and a carnage of mangled decapitated geraniums.

Once in a while Mr. Harker would try to put his foot down, thought the truth was that he'd left it too late in the day for any checks and restraints on Elizabeth's behaviour to have any effect. He tried lecturing her, but she laughed in his face. He tried sending her up to her room, but she sneaked down and disappeared outside the minute his back was turned. He tried stopping her dress allowance, but she sulked and stormed and made life unbearable for everyone, until eventually he was driven to relent.

After the incident with the bicycle he'd been sufficiently infuriated as to actually spank her. Elizabeth had, of course, objected vociferously to such uncharacteristic and drastic punishment, although she knew she deserved it. She protested that she was much too old to be spanked - even though he spanked her in the privacy of her bedroom and spared her the further indignity of having to take her pink gingham pyjama trousers down. She would have hated any of her friends to know about it.

Yet, although she behaved abominably towards him, Elizabeth was really quite fond of her guardian, with his old fashioned ways and cloistered outlook on life. In a way, she'd almost appreciated his taking the trouble to correct her physically, which was more than any of her nurse maids, governesses and boarding school mistresses had ever dared to do. Not that the few half-hearted smacks Mr. Harker administered had had any real effect on Elizabeth's pretty little bottom. Sadly he no longer had the strength to hurt her.

Now that Elizabeth had reached marriageable age Mr. Harker fervently hoped some socially acceptable young man would come along to claim her. But, because of his reclusive nature, he had never encouraged visitors to Lymchurch House, and the only members of his sex to call regularly were, alas, the postman, the milkman and the butcher's boy.

Besides, as Mrs. Pountney, his long time friend and neighbour, observed, "What gentleman in his right mind would seriously entertain the prospect of matrimony with such a volatile little minx!"

Yet no man with a discerning eye for the ladies would have quibbled at her looks. Elizabeth was undeniably pretty, even if her face was a trifle too narrowly sculpted, too high cheek boned, to be called classically beautiful. Though dainty and petite, Elizabeth was not lacking in feminine curves. The thin silk dresses she wore in summer hinted tantalisingly at the presence of firm rounded breasts, as well as a provocatively pert little bottom.

Any man alive would have found her pleasing to the eye. But few men, once they knew her, would relish taking her on. She was far from ready for marriage. In her present state of defiant intractability she would rather die than submit to the rule of a husband.

That was why Mr. Harker had taken the unusual step of engaging a tutor to complete her education and instill some social graces in her, even though she had passed her eighteenth birthday. Truly it was the last ditch attempt of a desperate man who craved only for a quiet solitary old age.

"You should have done this years ago, Henry," Mrs. Pountney remarked sagely when he told her of his plan. "As it is, you've left it far too late in the day. It's no good closing the stable door after the horse has bolted!"

"But Mr. Lennox believes in strict discipline," Mr. Harker added, waving a bony finger aloft in triumph, "He'll stand no nonsense from her, I'll be bound!"

Mrs. Pountney perked up considerably at this further revelation. "Didn't I always tell you that what Elizabeth needed was a soundly smacked bottom? My father would never have allowed me to behave the way she does! He would have taken a birch to me!"

The silver haired old lady leaned forward in her chair, rattling the bone china teacup and saucer in her hand in sudden animation. Like most of her generation, the whipping of recalcitrant girls and boys was a topic dear to her heart, representing as it did the victory of moral order over unbridled anarchy. Smiling as she rose to go she said "Of course, dear Henry, I shall expect to be kept well informed on this matter. In fact I shall settle for nothing less than a blow by blow account of every smack!"

Mr. Harker went pink with embarrassment and regretted ever mentioning the subject in the first place. He hadn't exactly intended to keep a close watch on things. On the contrary, while his pretty young niece was receiving her painful lessons in discipline, he intended to devote himself to his beloved birds.

As far as Elizabeth was concerned, he'd washed his hands of her.
So far, so good!
From Hermione's Heart

Monday, September 11, 2017

Recap: Spanko Brunch 2.0 for September 9

What vanilla spanking implements do you use?

Roz: I love this question! A pretty small list here:
wooden spoon
garden cane
 plastic pole from cat fishing toy
jandal (thong)

Sir Wendel: I’m sure I missed a few things but here is the list:
hair brush
bath brush
wooden spoon
hot wheels race track section
plastic toy baseball bat
and most recently – a fly swatter

Amy: LOL... this is fun. Thank you for posting it, Hermione. I'll say, all of the above (except the hot wheels race track and plastic bat) AND:
hardback book
blind wand
CD case
cheese board
and a ping pong paddle.

Leigh: What a great topic. A hot wheels track section is new to me.
Leather bootlaces
Venetian blind slat
back scratcher are some I've thought of that haven't been mentioned.

Ronnie: Fun brunch question. A hot wheels track section is a new one to me.

Apart from the usual kitchen implements and the bath and hairbrush:
wooden chopping board
ping pong bat
fly swats
back scratcher
long shoe horn
garden cane
spaghetti measure

Wilma: Okay well we have the usual:
bath brush
hair brush
(wooden spoons were tossed years ago)
solid pvc pipe, which is really like an acrylic cane
skipping rope, both leather and plastic
coax cable
ping pong paddle
long shoe horn
back scratcher
this Betty Crocker silicone icing spatula which I can't for the life of me see how it would be effective to ice a cake, but it does have a wire rod inside so it hurts like the devil at times

Oh, the other day out of necessity (apparently) a piece of baseboard. I think that is it for now, unless you count the fact that he is very fond of using the handle of the crop, not the crop itself.

Hermione: We have used quite an assortment over the years:
wooden spoons
bath brush
ping pong paddle
beach pong paddle
wooden pizza cutter
spaghetti measurer
wooden spatula
silicone spatula
dogging bat
riding crop
dressage whip
paint stirrer
fly swatter
back scratcher

My my, aren't we a creative bunch!
From Hermione's Heart

Sunday, September 10, 2017

Spanko Brunch 2.0 #193

It's time for brunch, so come on in! I am always delighted when someone suggests a brunch topic, and last week Amy suggested a topic that will be fun to discuss today.

Make a list of all the different vanilla spanking implements that you have tried. This excludes anything purchased at an adult store or online, or anything obviously designed only for spanking. Let's see who has the longest list!

Leave your list in the comments section  below, and I will tally up the results and publish a summary once everyone has had a chance to think and do some counting.
From Hermione's Heart

Saturday, September 9, 2017

You Completed the Caption

This is the conversation that appeared in the original photo, so now let's read yours:

KDPierre: "You ever hear: 'I have the pussy so I make the rules'? Well, my Mommy just got me a kitten for my birthday!"

Anon 1: Let's do this ; just like Mommy and Daddy!

Domhnall: She's telling him that he's extremely fortunate that she does not spank children.

Leigh: "You better listen to me, or else."

Hands63: "Am I tough? Just how bad do you want to find out?"

"I have ways of making you talk!"

Liza: Hermione's interest in spanking started at a very young age.

Ronnie: Now listen, you do as I say or else. That's what mom says to my dad when she has this stick in her hand.

Sir Wendel: Yeah. Just like when you were a kid.

Anon 2: No , you can NOT be the mistress-EVER ; you're just a little boy. Now , hurry up and finish my chores as I will not warn you again!

Hermione: Aw, come on, Charlie. Let's play stern schoolmistress and naughty schoolboy just once more.
From Hermione's Heart