From the Top Shelf - Gloria Denham, part 2

Last week we met Todd, the tennis pro at an exclusive club. His eye for the ladies has landed him in trouble with his boss, but he just couldn't resist the lovely Gloria Denham. Alas, he found himself over her knee instead of in her bed. After his butt had been thoroughly reddened, Todd heard a visitor enter the suite; it was someone he recognized.

That voice. That voice. He knew that voice.

“Take off his blindfold.”

When Todd shook his head and blinked his eyes, clearing the blurriness brought on by the tears, he turned and looked. And his knees sagged. It was HER. Valerie Navarro, Rockwell’s Vice President of Human Resources. She stood there in a business suit, her head cocked to one side, looking him up and down. Almost tiny next to Gloria Denham, she nevertheless still exuded authority.

“Well, Todd, here we are,” she said. “We baited the lure and you took it – hook, line and sinker. I told you next time there would be consequences. This is a consequence. And we’re not done yet. Oh, no. I’m going to add my two cents worth, and we’ll see how much your job is worth to you.”

While she was talking, Gloria went into an adjacent room. When she came back she was flexing a long slender wand. It was yellow and very thin, so flexible she could bend it almost in a circle. “This is an English school cane,” said Valerie Navarro. “They don’t use these so much anymore, but back in the day this was the terror of many an English schoolboy.”

She took it from Gloria and whipped it back and forth. It made a sick whine. Todd’s buttocks tightened. She didn’t mean to…to whip him with that? He couldn’t take it. Not on top of the spankings.

“The usual measure was six – what they called ‘six of the best’.” She let that sink in. Todd gulped. “But that was for schoolboys. I think for an adult like you, Todd, maybe ten is about right. What do you think? Would you be willing to take ten sizzling licks with this on that shiny red butt of yours to keep your job?”

So that was it. He had to take ten strokes with that whippy cane to stay a tennis pro at El Camino.

“Up to you, Todd.” She added, “I don’t have all day.”

Todd had to think. Sweat beaded up on his forehead as he watched Valerie Navarro whip the cane around with her wrist. It made a sick whining sound.

“See Todd, I’m not as big or as strong as Gloria, so I had her sort of ‘prepare the terrain’ for me so to speak. Just so you’ll get the full benefit of every stroke. She says it’s all in the wrist. We’ll see.” She lowered the cane and tapped it against her leg in a gesture of impatience. “Do you want to come to work tomorrow or not?”

Todd was sweating and felt sick to his stomach from the cold knot of fear in his gut. This was the cushiest job he’d ever had. Beat the hell out of car sales or telemarketing. Both were hell and he did not want to go back. “Yes,” said Todd. But his knees shook.

Valerie Navarro nodded. “All right.” She tapped the back of the couch with the cane. “Over you go. Let’s get that hiney up in the air so I can have a go at it.” She swished the cane through the air, testing its feel.

Todd whimpered but bent over. He gripped the couch cushions with his hands.

“Gloria, would you please kneel over Todd and hold him down? I don’t want him thrashing around.”

“I’d be happy to, Valerie. We can’t have our boy wiggling away.” She knelt on the couch, her thighs almost straddling his neck while she pushed down on his shoulders. He was completely immobile. Gloria was a big strong woman and Todd could move hardly an inch.

“Now,” she said. “It will be ten strokes, Todd. You will count each one for me. If you hold still and take all ten, you can keep your job. You can say ‘stop’ any time and I’ll stop. But, then you walk out of here and don’t come back. Understand?”

Todd understood. He managed a muffled "yes".

“Here we go,” she said. She set up to the side and measured the distance so that the tip of the cane barely extended past his right bottom cheek. Todd flinched as he felt the thin wood touch him. “It’s better if you don’t tense up,” she said.

He heard a whine and felt the impact before he heard the cane crack against his bare seat. Nothing could have prepared him, though, for the atrocious wave of pain that followed. It spread through him like a firebomb in a tunnel, obliterating all other senses. Nothing had ever hurt so badly.

“Yahhh!” he yelled. What? Nine more like that? He couldn’t take it, just couldn’t.
But he managed to croak, “One.”

Each stroke was fiery hell, more pain than he’d ever experienced. The sequence went like this: first there was the wait; then he’d feel a tap-tap-tap of the stick as she lined it up; then nothing but a breeze, so he knew it was on the way – he sensed a brief disturbance in the air – he heard that sickening whine; then a white hot explosion of fiery hell. A thin line of liquid fire that made him grit his teeth and tense every muscle. He wanted to scream. As the agony washed over him, he waggled and bucked as if that would help, but it didn’t. Valerie Navarro calmly waited for him to stop twitching and settle down before she lined up and delivered another stroke. One by one he counted them off, his knuckles white as he gripped the sofa cushions. Along with the count he screeched like scalded cat, so loud in fact that Gloria expressed concern.

Valerie chuckled. “No one can hear him up here. He can cry all he wants.” Valerie took her time, spacing the strokes out. Each one was an event all by itself. When Todd had finally counted ten, she told Gloria to release him.

Todd stood up on unsteady legs. His ass was ablaze with fiery misery. Tears poured out of his eyes. He coughed, fluid choking his airway.

“Well, Todd, have we learned a little lesson here today?” said Valerie.

“Yes,” Todd managed to choke out.

“Good. I’ll leave you in Gloria’s capable hands. I trust there will not be another time.”

Todd shook his head. “No ma’am.”

She tossed the cane into a chair and departed, closing the door behind her.

Gloria unlocked the cuffs. Todd’s hands went immediately to his swollen and red streaked buttocks. Gloria watched with an amused smile as Todd tried to rub the sting out.  He pouted, his face a study in wounded pride. “You tricked me,” he said. “You were working for them all along.”

Gloria shrugged. “No trick. All I did was sit at a bar and you came on to me. You did it to yourself.” She beckoned with her finger. “Come into the bedroom. I have something for your butt. It’s really red.”

Todd didn’t know why he even listened, but his ass still felt like a hot stove. When he entered the bedroom he saw her pick up a jar and unscrew the cap.

“This is a pain reliever. I knew you’d need it. Lie down on the bed and I’ll put some on.” Her tone had shifted again. Now she seemed pleasant. The commanding bossy persona was gone.

He lay face down. She knelt on the bed beside him and spread some sort of gooey cream all over his ass. She was right. It did feel good. It was cool and soothing. After a few minutes of rubbing it in he felt much better. She got up. Todd turned his head to see what she was doing. He was of a mind to get the hell out of there, and soon. To his amazement she was undressing. The tight skirt came off, then the blouse. Just like that she was down to bra and panties and a sexy garter belt. Todd felt his cock begin to awaken.

“What are you doing?” he said.

“You’re mine for the day, remember? I told you I have exotic tastes. Spanking your tight little fanny turned me on. And that caning – mmmm, ummm – delicious watching you get a good one.” She slipped her panties down to reveal a furry thatch. She reached behind her and the bra came off allowing her gorgeous breasts to swing free.

“Roll over,” she said.

He did. His eyes tracked her appreciative gaze as she took in his erection that was swelling nicely.

“Wait a minute. I don’t want any more trouble. I learned my lesson, ok? I’m getting out of here.” He came up on his elbows.

She landed on the bed and pushed him back down. “You’re not going anywhere,” she said. Before he could even sit up, she straddled him and lowered herself onto his prick, which in spite of his intentions, now pointed straight up. He closed his eyes as the familiar surge of pleasure from the friction of sliding into a wet vagina took over.

“Oh, yeah,” she said, impaling herself to the hilt, squeezing her breasts and pinching her own nipples. “Sooo good.”

“Ahh,” Todd managed to croak. It did feel good.  “But the rules…Ms Navarro.”

She stopped for a minute and leaned down, right into his face. “I make the rules, Todd. My name’s not Denham; it’s Rockwell. I’ve run Rockwell resorts since my husband died. Now stop blubbering and start fucking me properly. I have a long afternoon set aside and I’m going to ride you like the Pony Express – ‘til you drop.”

Thank you, Rollin, for an excellent tale.

Recap: Spanko Brunch 2.0 for February 25

Which do you prefer: the written word or pictures and videos?

abby: My preference is the written word...leaving lots to my imagination and my interpretation

Anon 1: Still pictures, I then add my own caption of communication. I find two pictures stimulate me the most, one is of the male naked between two females, one holding a ruler, his bottom red, there other younger in the kitchen. I always think of the male caught masturbating in the bathroom, the mother-in-law catches him and uses the ruler to spank him, then take him to the kitchen to tell his wife what he was doing. The other is the person naked over a older woman's lap, women sitting on the couch watching.

Baxter: I find the written word arouses me much more than the still picture. However a well done, erotic still picture can be arousing. Spankingtube.com can conjure arousal also. What I am getting at is that all three options can be arousing to different degrees. I enjoy reading stories on overthedesk.com and anywhere else I can find them.

Anon 2: I have to admit that as a writer, my preference is the written word. There's nothing better than a well written story, be it about spanking or not, to keep me enthralled. I do have to admit that I also love spanking videos, though finding good ones is somewhat of a challenge. My pet peeve with both genres, however, is the fixation on schoolgirls and young women in their 20s and 30s, and the scarcity of stories and movies featuring mature women – women in their 40s, 50s, 60s and older – being spanked. The maxim, "a woman is never too old to be spanked," is not reflected in much of what's available. In my opinion, there is nothing more erotic or stimulating than reading about or watching a mature woman draped over a gentleman's lap as he bares and spanks her squirming, ample bottom, all the while ignoring her protests that she's too old to be treated in such a manner.

Ripley: I prefer reading stories. As Abby said, this allows me to use my imagination and interpretation.

Sir Wendel: The misses prefers reading and using her imagination. I enjoy both written and visual. I like to imagine the scene I am reading and also create my own comments from the pictures.

Ricky: I'm sorry, I just can't get past those two pieces of well buttered toast; they look good enough to eat.
I know, I know, they're symbols, right? Now, if I could only figure out what they mean. Hmm....
Err, could you give me a hint?

Ricky, there is a subliminal image of a well-spanked bum somewhere in the picture.

Not!

Roz: I prefer reading, as some of the others said,it allows me to use my imagination. Also, there is often more build up and scene setting with the written word than with pictures.

Ronnie: I like both but the written word more. As others have said, it allows me to use my imagination and interpretation.

Bogey: I prefer illustrated stories. I abhor non-consensual spanking stories, even ones that are very well-crafted.

Anon 3: A picture speaks a thousand words, can be interrupted many ways. Single male, early 20's, desire to be spanked, and yet very careful in letting it be known. Have had some bad experiences. I find the old woman giving the spanking to a younger man I can think of so many ways to tell the story. It is when the picture and for no other way to put it, so sorry in advance, I get a hard on. I find myself looking at the picture, and sitting on the toilet, stroking away. I just wish one day I find a woman who understands.

Anon 4: Let your mind "show the story", looking at a picture, for me, an "Motherly" woman is a sure turn on. I've enjoyed many moments looking at a male being properly spanked and thinking of the reason why. Being led by the ear down the hall naked, laying across a woman's lap kicking and squirming, face the "corner" afterwards and being seen by a visitor, the best is being married, your mother-in-law wishes to have a "talk" with you and your wife watches the spanking, only to be given a spanking by her next. In this day and age, the talk on women being taken advantage of, it is safer to keep to oneself their sexual turn-on. It is blogs like this, that do us males who wish to be spanked a big favor, provide a safe place, provide the stories we build on. So saying Thank you is not enough, this male surely appreciates your blog and words don't do justice to say Thank You.

Anon 4, thank you for your very kind words. I'm delighted that my efforts are providing you with some satisfaction and companionship.

KDPierre: All I want is to feel a connection to what I'm seeing, reading, etc. I want something of quality and honesty. I want to feel like I'm looking at something that feels true...even if its fiction. If I could find this more easily in a video, I'd probably watch more videos. But videos are normally terrible, fake-looking, awkward, poorly-acted romps with absurd story-lines.

If I could find this in stories, I'd probably read more stories...but as it is, I can hardly find what I'm looking for anywhere. Most stories are: sub was bad, sub got caught, Top took charge and spanked sub, whack-whack-whack-whack,the end. >YAWN<

The closest thing to what I'm looking for is probably a good blog with real people participating and so I suppose that is my preferred medium...but even that is getting harder and harder as Tumblrs replace interactive blogs as popular destinations, and participation on blogs declines further and further.

Enzo: Despite being a truly visual person, I prefer the written word. My problem as I mention often is finding written stories to my apparently unique tastes. Opposite of what seems to be popular, I do not like the typical full-on consent in stories (these are fantasies remember) or stories where spanking is introduced to a non-willing participant and she instantly becomes an advocate after her first spanking. This is the reason I often write my own stories (as unpopular as they may be) because they mostly have scenarios I want to read about. The other element that I often find missing in erotic stories is the graphic depiction of the spankings themselves.

As much as I enjoy videos, I often watch them with the volume turned down. LOL. Honestly. The acting is often so bad it becomes distracting.

Lea: I definitely prefer videos. Though I am an avid reader, if I see a blog is posting a fictional story, 9 times out of 10 I skip that post. I can be very picky with writing style.

Amy: For me, the story line is as important as the spanking itself so I find reading does more for me than videos. However, the occasional video that builds in the offence, the lecture, the corner time; I'm hooked!

Hermione: I love to read a well-written spanking story. The beauty of it is that I make up images in my mind to go with the test, and I can replay those images over and over, any time, anywhere.

I'm very pleased that the topic went over so well and that so many of you participated. We heard several new voices today, and I hope they will return for more brunches. Everyone is always welcome here!

Spanko Brunch 2.0 #216

Welcome back, dear friends. I am always pleased to see how many readers drop by for brunch on the  weekend. It is your enthusiastic participation that keeps me serving up a delicious dish seasoned with spicy conversation each week.

Last week I published the last chapter of a very well-crafted spanking novel. I publish  a spanking story each week, and as you may have guessed, I am fond of the written word. But not everyone enjoys reading stories. As evidenced by the large number of Tumblr blogs around these days, many people enjoy graphic depictions of spanking. So how about you? Which do you prefer?

Is the written word your go-to medium for erotic spanking? Or do you find that watching spanking videos is more stimulating?

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

You Completed the Caption

Yorkie: Day time. NIGHT TIME! Day time. NIGHT TIME!

Amy: "Oh Darling, It's been a bit of a gray day. Why not redden my ass and put some color back in our lives?"

Katie: When he told her that she could have a good girl spanking for every single thing that she could match up with the girl in the print, she went right for the challenge!

Leigh: She wanted to see red.

Anon 1:
Woman: Look, honey, I look just like the girl in the cartoon.
Man: Well, not quite. You’re missing just one thing.
Woman: What’s that?
Man: The sore, red bottom she’s reaching back to rub.
Woman: But you don’t know for sure that she’s just been spanked.
Man: No, but I know for sure that you’re about to be!

Anon 2: Remember how you said that if I ever dressed like that pinup model in the cartoon you'd spank me? Well ...?

Anon 3: I thought that if I looked and acted like a naughty '50s wife you might put me over your knee and spank me the way this naughty wife's husband would have done.

Dr. Ken: She: "See? Right there? When you hugged me, the car keys in your pocket actually caused a bruise. I even made a drawing of it to illustrate it. See? See the comparison? It's there. Right there! It's....why are you picking up that hairbrush?"

Sir Wendel: I hope this new look animates me a spanking.

Ronnie: I wonder if he'd spank me if I dressed like either of these pin-ups girls.

Baxter: Stop watching the Olympics and give me a spanking and then we will have our own Olympics afterwords

Anon 4:
Wife: How do you like my outfit? Do you think I look like the woman in the cartoon Phil sent out with the party invitation? I feel so … so deliciously mischievous dressed like this. I hope Phil doesn’t think i’m going to pose like this at the party with my dress flipped up and my garters, stockings and these skimpy little panties you bought me on full display.
Husband (taking his wife in his arms and giving her several loving pats on her bottom): First of all, you look great … very much like a naughty little ’50s wife. And secondly, no, neither you, nor any of the other ladies, will be made to pose like “that” at the party. Now there are a few husband/wife activities that will require us to assume certain positions in order to get the most out of them, but believe me, the only person who’s going to be flipping up your dress to expose your garters, stockings and frilly little panties, is me.
Wife: I’m so glad you guys decided to throw this Old Fashion ’50s party. Here us gals thought you might be upset with us after we pulled that little prank to win our bet, but you guys have been such good sports. And I think this party is such a great way to put all that behind us and have some good, old fashion fun.
Husband (fondling her bottom): Oh, yes, “behind” is definitely what we’re aiming for, and I do hope the old fashion activities we have planned will make a good and lasting impression on you ladies.
Wife: Is there going to be dancing?
Husband (patting her bottom): I think it’s safe to say that I’m going to make sure you kick up your heels and do quite a bit of dancing. As a matter of fact, once we get started, I seriously doubt you’ll want to sit down.
Wife: Oh, I can’t wait to see how all the other wives are dressed and get started on the fun.
Husband (Pushing her away and reaching for the dresser): Well, in that case, we need to go or we’ll be late. Here, don’t forget to take your hairbrush.
Wife: You think I’ll need it? Are the activities going to be that spirited that my hair will get messy?
Husband: Well, I can tell you this, without a doubt, we old fashion husbands intend to engage very vigorously in these endeavors, and I’m certain that once we get you naughty little wives into the right frame of mind, you’ll find that lively participation on your end is pretty much unavoidable. So, yes, I think that hairbrush is going to come in extremely handy before the night is over.

Bogey: The model and the finished Elvgren work

Hermione: Can you airbrush by bottom so it isn't so big? Yes! That's perfect!

Friday FAIL

Ron sent me these advertisements from the "good old days" and I just have to share them with you.

Those were the days, all right!

Complete the Caption

I found this unusual graphic recently and immediately thought of you, dear readers, and what fun it would be to come up with a caption for the gif. There is an obvious reference to spanking that I can see, but why the switch from photo to cartoon?

Leave your caption as a comment and I will publish your contributions on Saturday.

From the Top Shelf - Gloria Denham, part 1

It will be difficult to top our previous series, In a Mist, but I think it is time for an F/M spanking story, don't you? And who better to supply us with one than my dear departed friend, Rollin Hand. So without further ado, let's get comfortable and enjoy part one of "Gloria Denham", from Ladies in Charge.

Todd looked again. Yeah, his radar was pinging. The platinum blonde at the bar was on the make. He had a sixth sense about these things. He could sense that she’d been shooting glances his way. Maybe she’d want tennis lessons. That would be a way in. She looked good for an older woman in her forties – busty, great long legs, platinum hair coifed just so. And she looked bored. Hubby was likely off golfing and she was looking for action.

As the assistant tennis pro at the plush El Camino Resort he had plenty of opportunity to get close to rich society wives on the make. El Camino was one of a chain in the high end luxury resorts owned by Rockwell Corporation, a leisure time giant. In such a lush environment. His charm, boyish good looks and his position put him right in the sweet spot. The patrons were rich and the wives were trophy caliber. Many played tennis, and it was a given that tennis players were likely to be in good shape. He coaxed them into lessons, and more often than not, it all ended up in his king sized bed (or hers). It was his MO and it had worked.

It had landed him in hot water as well. The first time he’d been suspected of dalliance with a married guest, his boss had chewed him out royally. He brushed it off. What did they know? The way he saw it, he was providing a service. The second time he was caught, he had to pay a visit to corporate to listen to a boring lecture from the Rockwell Resorts VP of Human Resources, one Ms. Valerie Navarro, a ball breaking bitch if there ever was one. Thin and small of stature, she was nonetheless in a powerful position over him. Even though she looked like she’d blow away in a strong wind, she had the authority, so he had to listen. She went on and on about appropriate behavior with guests. Rockwell policy strictly forbade these liaisons, she said. He was told there had better not be a third time or there would be serious consequences, blah, blah, blah. This Ms. Navarro was just the kind of snooty bureaucratic bitch he hated. Screw her. This babe at the bar, she was just too much. He had to try.

 He looked again. She saw him and smiled. He took that as an invitation.

“Buy you a drink?” he asked.

“Sure,” she said. “Gin and tonic, if you will.”

He told Sammi to set her up. The bartender did, and placed the drink in front of her. She cupped it smoothly and took a long sip. The woman was a looker, that was sure. In that short dress he got a good look at some of the best legs he’d seen in a long time. The dress had a deep v-shaped neck, too, giving him a good shot at some prime cleavage.

“Ahh,” she said. “Thank you.” Then her eyes narrowed. “Say, I’ve seen you around. Aren’t you down in the tennis shop or something?”

“That’s right,” said Todd. “I’m an assistant pro. Do you play?”

“Yeah, I do. Used to be pretty good, too. In high school I went to the state finals three years running.”

“Yeah?” said Todd. “You ought to take a lesson from me. I’d sharpen your game up.”

“Yeah. I’d like that. Gotta do something around here.” She frowned, indicating her displeasure at her current circumstances.

“Husband out golfing?” That was the likely source of her displeasure. It was what they did. They dumped their wives and went off with their buddies on one of El Camino’s three championship courses.

“Yes, he is. And leaving me all alone like this.” She gave him a sly glance, looking him up and down. Its meaning was unmistakable. “You’re cute, but I bet all the girls tell you that.”

Todd’s cock swelled as she looked him over candidly. This is a live one for sure. “By the way,” she said, “I’m Gloria Denham.” She stuck out her hand.

“Todd Francis,” said Todd, taking it.

She scheduled a lesson for nine AM the next morning.

* * *

“You are pretty good,” said Todd as they volleyed back and forth. Actually she was more than good. Her forehand came at him like a bullet and her backhand was solid and accurate. He could not believe how she was running him all over the court. She was in great shape for her age, and not only that, she was a crafty player.

“I could take you, you know,” she said, after they had volleyed for several minutes, warming up, and were taking a breather. “For a pro, you need work. More practice.” She said it dismissively with a toss of her head.

Todd’s jaw dropped. Had she really said that? “You could not,” he countered. “You’re just…”
He didn’t finish.

“A woman? I’m just a woman?” She turned and walked toward the net. “So, I couldn’t beat a buff guy like you?” She said it with a flirtatious smile that signaled the game was on.

Todd got the message. It was an unmistakable challenge. One that could end up in her bedroom (or his) if he played his cards right.

“The hell you say.” Todd stopped and put his hands on his hips, eyeing her with an expression of disbelief.

“Care to put your ass on the line then?” Again the flirty smile.

“Sure, what’s the bet?”

“Well…” she tapped her lips with her index finger, thinking. “Loser buys lunch and then we go back to my place and…. what the winner says goes -- for the rest of the afternoon.”

Whoa! It looked like she meant it, and no mistake about what she was suggesting. That was an offer Todd couldn’t refuse. He didn’t care what the hell corporate VP Miz Navarro said, he was going to take advantage of this one. This was one hot babe. Company policy be damned.

“But I must warn you,” she said with a wicked grin, “my tastes are exotic.”

Bring it on, thought Todd.

* * *

Todd nursed his wounded pride as he sat across from Gloria Denham at a trendy (and expensive) La Jolla watering hole. She had kicked his ass, but good.  He’d struggled to win even a point while she had run him ragged all over the court. In fact, they were lunching early because Gloria had made such quick work of him, 6-1, 6-0. It was like she was some sort of ringer.

“Don’t pout, Todd,” she said. Her tone was sharp, a change from the seductress of earlier. He blushed. The admonishment sounded like something his junior high schoolteacher would say. “I whipped your ass, fair and square.” She was almost gloating. “Maybe that’s what I’ll do when we get to my suite.”

“Do what?” said Todd.

“Why, whip your ass, of course. You have a nice one, you know. Very cute and tight. I like that.”

Todd leaned forward. “W-what do you mean?” Had he heard right?

“I told you my tastes were exotic,” she said. “Come on, let’s go.”

She rose abruptly, signaling that the meal was at an end. Todd paid and followed after Gloria Denham like a puppy dog as she got up and strode out of the restaurant. Despite what she’d said, Todd was in full arousal mode watching the svelte hips of hers sashay in that flippy little tennis dress. So what if she was a little kinky? Once she got a look at the Todd Rod she’d be his to command. They all fell into line eventually.

Her suite was the most luxurious one in the resort. Large, isolated and fully furnished with everything one could wish for, it was a statement about how the other half lived. Fully three thousand square feet in a penthouse setting, its commanding view of the Pacific Ocean was magnificent. Through a whole wall of glass he could practically see from downtown San Diego to Carlsbad and beyond. Todd’s thought was that Gloria’s husband must be one serious player to be able to afford all this. Which made him worry. What if he came back? On these trysts Todd usually took them to his place, modest digs, but safe.

“Look, this is all very nice, but what if your husband comes back?”

“He won’t. Trust me, we have plenty of time.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes, I am,” she said. Gloria was still wearing the tennis dress. It displayed her long legs to their best advantage. “In fact I’m going to shower and change,” she said, flashing another seductive smile. “In the meantime, you could go in the bathroom down the hall and do the same.”

Todd gave her his best wolfish grin. “Or, I could shower with you.”

“Oh, that would spoil the fun,” she said. “You just get yourself back here. And don’t worry about clothes – you won’t need them.”

Hot damn! Todd’s eyes followed that twitchy butt out of the room, and he then went into an adjacent bedroom. It had its own bath, of course. He showered and decided to come back out into the main suite clad in one of the plush robes the resort provided for the guests (a mere two hundred dollars if you wanted to take it home with you after your stay). Gloria was still not out yet, but the water wasn’t running. Todd stood at the large west facing window looking at the ocean, waiting.

“Todd?” she called from the master bedroom.

“Yes?” he said moving in that direction.

“Don’t come in. I’m dressing. Take off the robe and go stand facing the corner.”

“What?” Face the corner? This was weird.

“I said, get yourself totally naked and stand in the corner like the naughty boy you are.”

“Well, really? Ok,” he said, reluctance clearly in his tone. Yeah, this babe was kinky somehow, he thought. But he figured he had to play along. She sure sounded different. Businesslike. Commanding. Not at all the seductress from earlier.

“I won the match. You agreed. This is my game. I want you bare as a newborn babe, got it?” She shouted from down the hall.

“Uh…all right,” he said. He shrugged out of the robe leaving it in a pool on the floor and stood in a corner feeling embarrassed and really stupid. He stood there waiting…and waiting. Oddly he felt his erection rising. I’ll just get ready for her, he thought. Give her a good gander at the ‘ol Todd Rod. But after stroking it for a while he merely felt foolish and ridiculous. He was about to turn and go looking for Gloria Denham when he heard a sound behind him.

“All right, young man. Turn around.”

Todd turned. Instead of finding Gloria in a some skimpy bit of negligee (he’d imagined what it might be – black, frilly with lace and skimpy), she was dressed as if for work in a short tight business skirt, a white blouse, high heels and hose. In her hand she carried an object. Todd looked closely. It appeared to be a wooden hairbrush. Now Todd really felt dumb. She was fully dressed, he was naked. What was this?

“What is this?” said Todd. “I thought…”

“I don’t care what you thought, Todd.” She took a chair from the dining area and pulled it over into the great room, then sat down. “Come over here.”

Todd obeyed but as he approached he got a sinking feeling in his stomach. This was feeling to him like a repeat of a scene from his childhood. The last woman seated in a chair to summon him to her side while holding a hairbrush had been his mother the day he had been caught with Joey Clinton out in the garage looking at Joey’s Playboy collection. He had been ten. His mom had whaled his bared bottom hard with that hairbrush, lecturing him the whole time on the evils of pornography. He’d dissolved in tears, blubbering, pleading forgiveness, promising anything if only it would stop. It had finally stopped, but not until his salty tears and the snot running out of his nose had made a mess of the carpet next to that chair and his bottom was burning like the fires of hell. The shame of being bared and spanked had stayed with him for weeks, but strangely enough when he had attained puberty, recollection of that event usually produced a woody. He had one now.

“And just what is THAT?” said Gloria Denham, pointing the end of the brush at the Todd Rod, now sticking straight out, pointing at her tits which strained the front of the blouse. “Do you think this is going to be fun, Todd?”

Todd was tongue tied. He didn’t know what to say. In a heartbeat her whole demeanor had changed from seductive temptress to no-nonsense schoolmarm. “Wh—what are you going to do?”

“Isn’t it obvious, Todd? I’m going to spank you like a little boy.”

“Wh—why?” Todd couldn’t believe this was happening.

“Because. Just because. It pleases me. I won the match and what I want is to give your cute little boy butt a good shellacking. It should be an exemplary experience for you. So, mister. Get across my knee.” To emphasize the point she tapped her leg with the brush.

She pulled her skirt back revealing more of those shapely legs. Todd felt conflicted. On the one hand, this was crazy. On the other he was strangely turned on by the whole scene. So he eased himself across her lap, his cock nestling between her thighs clad in the sheerness of nylon hose. The feeling was electric. His penis slid down between her legs and she closed them slightly trapping his erection like a vise.

“Now you won’t go anywhere, young man. Since you’re new to this, I’ll start with just my hand.”

The next thing Todd felt was her hand, rubbing his bare bottom, patting it, making little circles on it. If the situation hadn’t been so embarrassing he would have said it actually felt good, sexy, titillating.

Smack! That first hard slap was like a dousing with cold water. It stung.

Smack! An identical smack on the other side.

Then she launched into a volley of brisk spanks, slapping one cheek then the other, sometimes bringing her hand down hard right across his central crease. It burned. The tingling mild sting from those first few slaps morphed into mild discomfort. He waggled his body, trying to shake it off.

“Oh, no you don’t,” she said, and tightened her left arm which encircled his waist and pulled him tight against her.

Then the spanking began in earnest. She was methodical, relentless and thorough. Spanks piled on top of spanks. His flesh burned. Sometimes a quick volley of wrist snappy spanks, sometimes full on hard whacks delivered slowly, each one a real burner. How could her hand be so hard? And sting so much? He tried to be stoic about it. Part of him wanted to cry out, to beg her to ease up. It was hurting – really hurting. Finally he couldn’t stand it. He reached his hand back to protect his inflamed bottom.

“C’mon! Ow! It hurts!” He yelped in a high pitched voice.

“You get your hand away,” she said, swatting it away. “I’m going to tan your little fanny good and don’t you try to interfere. We can go all afternoon you know.” As if to emphasize she delivered a set of rapid fire spanks that had him arching his back and fluttering his feet.

“Ow! Ow! Ok – ok!” he said, wriggling. “Just…just, it hurts!”

“Well, I know, silly. It’s a SPANKING. A real one. It should hurt plenty. To teach you a lesson. A good one.” The spanks continued to fall even as she spoke.

This was new information. What lesson? What had he done?

“I think we are ready to graduate to the hairbrush,” she said, after a furious barrage of stinging spanks that took his breath away. Todd felt her right leg slide to the side and she pushed him farther over her left knee. Then her right leg clamped his legs behind his knees. His nose was pushed into the carpet and his butt was arched in a prominent curve over her left knee. He had never felt so vulnerable. That wasn’t the worst part. The worst part was the spanking with that merciless hairbrush.

The first crack sent a burst of flame that blossomed out from his bottom and engulfed his senses. The awful sting dwarfed the discomfort of the hand spanking. He flailed while she laid it on, smack after smack. This time he wasn’t silent.

“Yeow! Ouch! Stop!” He pleaded, but it was an exercise in futility as the spanks rained down, sonorous whacks, each one igniting an explosion of heat on his tortured skin.

“When I spank a boy, I make a good job of it, Todd.”

Todd was beyond listening. He was just trying to cope with the harsh cracks of the hairbrush that were scorching his behind.

“Your cute little butt is almost done, I’d say. Ten more good ones and you count.”

How Todd managed to croak out a count of ten, he didn’t know, but finally it was over. She released his hand and lifted him up, making him slide down to his knees so he was kneeling between her legs.

“Now, that’s a good boy,” she said, grabbing his hair and pulling his head back until his eyes stared up at her. From somewhere she produced a blindfold and slipped it over his eyes. “Stand up,” she said. “Give me your hands.” Todd did. He was too dazed to oppose anything. His ass was burning up and tears were running down his face. Something was going on but he wasn’t sure what it was. This whole thing was something other than what he had thought.

While he was trying to figure it out, handcuffs were snapped on his wrists. This was another alarming event. “What are you doing?” he said. She had grabbed him by the elbow and was marching him somewhere. He stumbled along, helpless now. They hadn’t gone far. He felt his crotch touch something. The leather couch that dominated the main room, that’s what it felt like.

“Stand here,” said Gloria Denham.

He stood waiting. With his hands in the cuffs he couldn’t rub his buttocks. His seat felt swollen to twice its size and hot – flaming hot. If only he could rub some of the sting away. He heard the soft beep of numbers being punched into a smart phone. Then he heard Gloria’s voice. “He’s ready,” she said.

He was ready for what? Now what?

The next thing he heard was the soft chime of a doorbell. Someone was here. Who? Her husband? Oh God! No it couldn’t be her husband, he would just come right in.

“You stay right there,” said Gloria.

He heard her pad away and go open the door. “Come in,” he heard Gloria say. “Yes, he’s all ready for you.” He heard the new voice say, “Yes, I can see he’s all primed. Good job, Gloria.”

Female. It was another female.

That voice. That voice. He knew that voice.

Oh my! Who could possibly be at the door that Todd knew? I'm afraid we must all wait until next week to find out.

Recap: Spanko Brunch 2.0 for February 18

Do you think that spanking is a gateway to BDSM?

Michael: Sorry if this is a duplicate post. Just learning the site.
Yes, my gf and I have a mutual DD relationship and spanking has evolved into more and varied BDSM play.

KDPierre: No. I don't believe in "gateways" unless the term is used strictly in the sense of an 'ice-breaker'. As a slippery slope pathway however, no. And I think the proof for this is quite simple. There are a myriad of BDSM activities and there are practitioners of some that are simply not into others (spanking included). You could be into BDSM bondage and not want to get spanked, and you can like a good spanking yet not want to have a plug in your bottom, and so on. Having an interest in spanking can easily coincide with other fetishes and interests, and often do...(Hell could be the poster-child for this! LOL) but it is not a 'given'. A person could very easily have a 'stand alone' spanking interest with no other cross-over, and indulging that spanking interest isn't going to alter that. Now if someone has other, possibly buried, interests, starting out with spanking could well open the field to trying the others, but I would not say that's a 'gateway' in the sense that it is usually used.

Anon 1: Not a bit for most people.

Of all the people I know who like spanking, none are interested in any other aspects of BDSM.

Lea: It wasn't, not for me. Actually, BDSM was a gateway to spanking for us. We were more D/s and bondage and less impact stuff at first!

I think it depends on the person and what their leanings are to begin with.

Sir Wendel: It is not for us. We just like to spank each other and not interested in anything more extreme.

abby: For me the answer is yes. All I was interested in was spanking...never even had considered BDSM...M, in his wise way, slowly introduced me to 'pleasures' of it.

Roz: For us over time the level of intensity and implements increased and spanking did on occasion lead to other activities such as light bondage, clamps etc

Willie: In our case it was. We started out what many would consider a Dd couple and that moved into what is basically classified in this corner of blogland ( or my impression is) to D/s. Barney uses BDSM as play and to 'reset' us. It is more for his enjoyment than mine. LOL. But the end result is always good - much like spanking. For us spanking has physical limitations, so this is where other BDSM activities come into play. All in all it allows us to get back to our roles when life pulls us apart.

Prior to our Dd life and spanking, I never ONCE considered BDSM.

Katie: I don't think that it is necessarily a gateway unless one wants it to be. Though our focus day to day is on spanking, I'd say that we dabble in D/s lite too. I've always looked at it as ttwd "with a twist of D/s"! We found just the right balance for the dynamic that we have. Can be lots of fun! ;)

Dan: For us, it worked kind of the opposite. We started off with "play spanking" that we never really labeled as BDSM but it basically was a form of BDSM "scening." We also experimented with some other BDSM-oriented kinkiness. But, my wife grew concerned that play-acting a scene in which I was fake punished for real bad conduct might actually reinforce the bad conduct. I then stumbled across the concept of spanking as a form of adult discipline -- otherwise known as Domestic Discipline -- and we gave it a try. Now, we use spanking exclusively as discipline, and most of the BDSM activities have stopped.

So, I don't see spanking as a "gateway" so much as a very flexible means to all sorts of ends. It can be erotic or disciplinary, play-acting or all too real.

Ronnie: I never really thought of BDSM before spanking but over time, we've done the role play, different implements, clamps, little bondage so I suppose the answer is a sort of yes as we would never have tried the other had we not started spanking.

Rosco: We don’t really use the phrase BDSM. But my wife first spanked me in 1980, and we’ve extended our activities in many ways since then.

I was the one who first asked to be spanked. It took her a little while to get into it, but then she sent me out to buy a riding crop. Then it was toys so she could violate my bottom.

She also dresses me in panties and will spank me and put me to bed in a frilly pink nightgown.

I’m often bound at the head and feet in bed - just loose enough so I can turn over. She’ll thrash my bottom, then turn me over and sit on my face - I call it reverse cowgirl cunnilingus. Usually I’m tied up when we have sex. But sometimes she’ll leave me tied up for awhile waiting and wanting.

She doesn’t wear leather, but does have a number of sexy outfits that she wears.

Is this BDSM? I don’t know.

Yorkie: No. Never. And never will be. She hates spanking me but still does it bless her but neither of us are interested in anything more.

Hermione: Several years ago I discovered a television series called Kink. Each season, the show documented the kinky activities of several couples and individuals in a different Canadian city. Oh my! I learned so much about kinks I had never even heard of! But the only part that really interested me was the spanking. Flogging, maybe. A little bondage, yeah, okay. But nipple clamps made from tiny clothes pins from the dollar store? Forget it! Most of what I saw turned me off, but it was worth watching to catch glimpses of people engaging in what I loved most. What I learned was that I am quite happy to remain a spanko, but that there are more pleasures out there for those who are inclined to try them.

Thank you all for presenting all sides of this interesting theory.

Spanko Brunch 2.0 #215

It's the weekend, and that means it's time for another scintillating conversation. Last week we discussed whether your spanking activities tended to escalate over time. This week, let's explore this escalation even further.

Do you believe that spanking is a "gateway" to BDSM? Has your interest in spanking led you to explore aspects of BDSM that you otherwise would not have considered?

As usual, leave your response as a comment, and I will publish a summary of our conversation after everyone has had a chance to speak.

You Completed the Caption

Sir Wendel: “Free Spanks” - howled the dog.

Baxter: Oh woe is me, I forgot a bucket for the water and the handle won't go down. My little tender bottom is going to be spanked for this. Oh woe is me.

KDPierre: Never having actually witnessed this scene, the Johnson's were at a loss to explain why there was a localized splintering of their water pump platform...with fur bits radiating out from it in all directions.

Dave: Wait...Did Master want to see me "hump" or "pump"? Maybe this will do both!

Katie: After watching the Olympics, Hilda was determined to begin some daily exercise. She thought it a good idea to incorporate the water pump, and imagined it a high hurdle. Little did she know that her first attempt would land her in this situation. Unable to stop pumping, due to the loud protests of her enthusiastic puppy, she feared that her Sir would be alerted to the barking, and spank her for this ridiculous, and dangerous sport-like activity!

Anon 1: Hilda: I yelled that I needed you to RUSH. I never said anything about needing you to bring a BRUSH.

Anon 2: He warned me this would happen. But did I listen? No. I was a real brat. I stuck my tongue out and told him I could damn well do this myself. Then he warned me what he would do to me if I got myself into this position. But did I listen then? No! And now he’s walking over here with a big grin on his face and taking warm up swings with that damned paddle. Boy is he going to roast my rump but good … and right here, in the open, where anyone can see me him soundly spanking my big, bare bottom. Ugh, I hate it when he’s right, especially when I'll be reminded of it every time I sit down for the next week.

Ronnie: Oh dear, it's stuck. I'm not going to be sitting very comfortably later - he told me he'd fix it when he came home.

Hermione: Here he comes with the switch. I wish I hadn't tipped that bucket of water over him while he was sleeping.

Friday FAIL

Some inventors have great imaginations but no common sense. Take a look at what various creative geniuses have dreamed up.

Sorry, guys and gals. Don't give up your day jobs.

Complete the Caption

I had to laugh when I saw this picture of Hilda. It just screams "Spank me!" don't you think? But our Hilda looks worried, and I wonder why.

Complete the caption by leaving a comment and I will publish your naughty thoughts on Saturday.

From the Top Shelf - In a Mist, Chapter 22

The story so far:
Chapter 1	Chapter 12
Chapter 2	Chapter 13
Chapter 3	Chapter 14
Chapter 4	Chapter 15
Chapter 5	Chapter 16
Chapter 6	Chapter 17
Chapter 7	Chapter 18
Chapter 8	Chapter 19
Chapter 9	Chapter 20a
Chapter 10	Chapter 20b
Chapter 11	Chapter 21

Sadly, we have now reached the conclusion of our story. Will Lennox finally find true happiness? Will he and Elizabeth reunite? Are Florence and Tomms still together? Read on and find out.

Final Chapter - In which Lennox indulges all his sensual pleasures.

Late that night as Lennox lay naked and sleepless on his bed, his prick stiff with excitement at the memory of Lucy Palmer's caning, there was a timid little knock at the door.

"Christine?" he said softly but loud enough for her to hear. His cock twitched expectantly.

The door opened and there she stood silhouetted in the moonlight. Her gamine fringe accentuated her girlishness as did the cotton singlet and schoolgirl panties he insisted she wore instead of night attire when she came to his bed.

During the months she had been there he'd trained her to pander to his every whim. She was his dream come true, the living epitome of every lustful fantasy he'd ever had. She loved to please him in every possible way, for in doing so she herself garnered a harvest of untold pleasure and fulfilment.

He could do to her whatever he wanted - for whatever he wanted, she wanted too.

She turned to close the door behind her. The moonlight streaming through the ivy-fringed window shone like a spotlight upon her soft round bottom. The lavish contours of her arse-cheeks and the deep sensual cleft between them was all too apparent beneath the tight white cotton panties.

The knowledge that she was totally his, to do with as he pleased, made him ache all the more for her.

"Christine!"

Blinded by the moonlight she could only hear his voice coming from the dark looming shape of the bed.

Then a stray moonbeam picked out a thick white tower, a lighthouse rising proudly from the sea of crumpled bedclothes - her master's prick. As in a dream she slowly moved towards it.

"Take it in your mouth, Christine."

Obediently she knelt down beside the bed. He groaned with delight as her soft moist lips enfolded his delicately sensitive glans.

Greedily she sucked him, accommodating all she could of his thick, fleshy rod, while his hands caressed, beneath the thin cotton, her breasts, her bottom, and down between her thighs where the gusset of her panties grew hot and sticky against her wet, palpitating quim.

She continued to suck him noisily until he felt himself about to explode in her mouth, at which point he told her to stop - for his preference was always to ejaculate in the place nature provided for the purpose.

Besides which she deserved summary punishment for such brazen shameless behaviour.

"Little hussy! You've earned yourself a bedtime spanking!" he panted with excitement. "Take down your knickers immediately!"

Eagerly Christine did as she was told while Lennox seated himself on the edge of the bed. His penis, bigger than ever before, glistened with the dew of of Christine's saliva.

Although they were now patently lovers, Lennox never play-acted when it came to disciplining her. The 'bedtime spankings' he gave her were, for Christine, painfully real. While she draped herself submissively across his broad lap, he inserted the shaft of his penis in between the fork of her thighs so that it rubbed maddeningly against her swollen sex.

As he spanked her with loud fleshy slaps, alternating from cheek to cheek, so the heavy impact of palm on buttock encouraged her to pump her loins up and down - generating exquisite friction between her engorged clit and the shaft of his cock. By this means he was able to bring her to climax several times during the course of the spanking. Christine's animated cries were more to do with pleasure than with pain - although afterwards her bottom felt hot and sore for quite a while, yet curiously never at the actual moment of chastisement.

Sometimes he used an ivory-backed hairbrush on her in this fashion, and he was delighted to discover that once Christine was erotically aroused he could administer a severe spanking that would leave her marked for days afterwards - but which never seemed to cause her that much pain at the time of infliction.

Not that he shrank from inflicting pain on her - quite the opposite, for the more he punished her, the more certain she became of his love for her. Several times already, in the privacy of his bedroom, he had caned Christine twice as hard as he had caned Lucy Palmer - and she had loved him for it, treasuring the weals he planted on her soft receptive bottom.

But more and more his hectic love-making bouts with Christine taught him to channel his aggression away from the infliction of pain for its own sake and into a delightful no-man's-land where pleasure and pain held equal sway. He even developed an ingenious technique of incorporating this into their coital positions. He would lie on his back with her above him, impaled on his rigid cock, then swivel her round until she was lying across his lap. Thus he could spank her and fuck her at one and the same time.

Another thing he liked to do while they were making love was to threaten her with a caning there and then. The mere threat was usually enough to make her come, and he loved to thrust masterfully inside her while watching the ripples of orgasmic delight distort her pretty face.

Sometimes, more exciting still, he implemented his threat and, brusquely withdrawing his penis from within her, reached for the light-weight rattan cane he always kept in readiness beside the bed. Ordering her to lie on her tummy, stuffing a pillow beneath her loins to elevate her naughty bottom to a pleasingly erotic angle, he would cane her slowly and cruelly, ignoring her tears and her cries of pain, gloating instead on the rich, rubescent weals with which he was adorning her pretty bottom - like diadems of precious stones.

He always seemed to cane her more violently on those occasions. It was as though the volcanic passion of some bitter anger locked deep inside him was being released.

After such a caning he would invariably take her from behind and, as he reached his frenzied climax, he would squeeze and pummel her aching buttocks with unmitigated savagery.

Afterwards he always felt God-like, as though he'd transcended to a higher plane. The entire armies of the Third Reich could lay siege to Lymchurch House for all he cared!

o O o

June 6th 1945. Hazy blue skies and tender sweetness of summer in the air. Lennox and his perennially naughty Christine celebrated V.E. night in one of the new night clubs that had sprung up in the shabby streets adjoining Leicester Square. The Ace of Spades it was called, a long low-ceilinged cellar joint, uncarpeted and cheaply furnished with rickety old tables and chairs.

But it had the best jazz combo in London, so Lennox had been assured. Rumours abounded of legendary American negro hornmen, on leave from Uncle Sam, nightly blowing up a storm.

By midnight the tiny place was jam-packed with drunken revelers, their loud uncouth presence bitterly resented by the serious hard-core jazz aficionados who were there solely for the music. Cigarette smoke hung heavy in the humid air, as did the stink of unwashed bodies and cheap perfume. Lennox loved it. He'd never been anywhere like it before in his whole life. This, he felt, was his real home. Leaving Christine at a table with the beers, he fought his way through the jostling throng to get a look at what was happening on the bandstand at the other end of the room.

An enormous bull-necked negro G.I. was playing the tenor saxophone. Behind him a cadaverous-like youth in dark glasses was crouched over the piano, his splayed fingers hammering out jaggedly dissonant chords. Sweat pouring down their faces, the bassist and drummer were doing their utmost to keep up with the ferocious tempo the negro hornman had set.

His eyes open but expressionless, the huge hornman was spattering the opposite wall with machine gun volleys of sound. To Lennox's bewildered ears it seemed a frighteningly nihilistic music, full of discords, high-pitched squeals, and abrupt polyrhythmic explosions. Lennox guessed they were playing a twelve-bar blues, though the chord changes were barely recognisable. A skinny, sleek-haired adolescent, eyes wild and mouth agape, leaned across and yelled excitedly in his ear "So this is Be-Bop!"

As the number ended suddenly, almost in mid-flight, to tumultuous applause, the black tenor man looked down and spotted Lennox, anxious and restless, his cornet-case in his hand. A smile flickered briefly across the negro's bored expressionless features. "Hey man, you wanna jam?" he murmured in a voice of gentle amusement.

Never one to turn down a challenge, Lennox nodded eagerly and jumped up on the stage. But his heart began thumping and his lips suddenly felt dry and parched. He was so nervous he wondered if he'd be able to produce a single note from his horn. Nevertheless he was determined to at least try.

"I say, do you happen to know an old Dixieland tune called 'Indiana'?" he stammered shyly, removing his battered silver cornet from its case and blowing down it self consciously.

"Sure thing, man," the negro nodded, turning to the rhythm section to count it in. Before Lennox could ask him what key they were playing in, they were halfway through the first chorus.

Afterwards he came off the bandstand feeling dazed, depressed - yet at the same time elated. He had barely managed to keep pace with the blistering tempo , for he had never had to play so fast in all his life. He had peppered his shrill frenetic solo with embarrassing 'clinkers' but in spite of that the crowd applauded him, and when it was over the big smiling tenorman had hugged him to his chest, calling him a 'mean cat'.

In a mist of euphoria he rejoined Christine at the table. She leaned across and kissed him proudly on the lips. "You were wonderful!" she gasped. "I never realised you were that good."

That night it seemed to Lennox like the dawning of a new age, with the War over and this tremendous discovery of a whole new form of jazz. He looked at Christine, flushed and excited in the red dress he'd bought her that day from a Knightsbridge store. It set off her figure to perfection and he remembered the spanking he'd given her that afternoon and how sweetly vulnerable she'd looked in her old school uniform.

He was glad too that he'd thought to pack a slender whippy cane in his suitcase. Even though Christine was now twenty-three, he still caned her bottom at the slightest provocation. It gave an exciting edge to their relationship, and she respected him for doing so.

It was well past two o'clock in the morning when they finally left the Ace of Spades. There were no taxis to be had for love nor money, so they walked wearily all the way back to the Bloomsbury flat which Lennox had managed to beg the use of from an old college friend. The West End streets were still thronged with drunken merrymakers. He felt happier than he had ever done before - even though he was out of a job and with a young woman to support too.

His school had closed down, the girls had all gone their separate ways - all except Christine, who had admantly refused to go anywhere without him.

Lymchurch House had reverted to its rightful owner, Elizabeth Montague, who had promptly sold it to a fat war profiteer from Birmingham. Lennox had met her briefly, for the last time, when she had come to take a look at the place.

It had been mid-winter when Elizabeth arrived swathed in Russian sable and french perfume, in a sleek chauffeur driven limousine. She was a fine patrician lady now. Lennox had found it hard to imagine her as the headstrong little tomboy he'd put across his knee with such relish all those years ago. There was an awkward exchange of inconsequential small talk and her cold reserve made him feel ill at ease. He was relieved when, after an hour, she left for a pressing engagement in town. She extended a kid-gloved hand to him, which he shook formally. As her car glided away he knew their paths would never cross again.

When Lennox and Christine got back to the flat in Bloomsbury, dawn was already beginning to break over London. Suddenly all his weariness forsook him and he knew he wanted her like mad. He picked her up and carried her into the bedroom, depositing his giggling girlish bundle on the bed and arranging her in a kneeling posture so that her well-rounded rump stuck up at a provocative angle. His eyes glinted dangerously as he flipped up the back of her new dress and peeled down her flimsy pink panties.

"Oh golly!" she protested, half-heartedly, "you're surely not going to spank me again, are you? My poor little bottom's still sore from yesterday afternoon.

But he was already searching the bedroom cabinet for the hairbrush.

THE END

Well well! So Elizabeth was now only a distant memory and she has gone on with her life. But Lennox and Christine have a fine future ahead of them, provided he finds a way to support them. But that's another story!

Recap: Spanko Brunch 2.0 for February 11

Do you and your partner remain at a consistent level of spanking intensity, or have you escalated your intensity over time?

abby: We do try new things..new implements, new positions, more intensity....Master is very creative...as He says...likes to keep me on my toes, in more ways than one. He is also very open to trying any ideas I suggest.

Amy: We are all over the place depending on the amount of time Eric is home. Overall,though, we like the variety and like to push the limits. Also, some of our spankings are for discipline (which seems to be more emotional than physical) and then there are those for a "reset" or clearing of the mind. Those tend to be way more physically intense.

Fondles: We sometimes go thru phases of "tried and tested" but at other times it's anyone's guess. Sometimes BIKSS will be in the mood for mixing it up, and sometimes I'm the one who wants more or will request for a particular implement.

Roz: Well, there hasn't been much ttwd action here for so long. Consequently any time we do indulge it's very light.

Dave: We are always on a seemingly never-ending quest together, in order to try new things, new scenarios, creative roleplays, new implements and hopefully expand our levels and limits in the spanking scene, so to speak. Always hoping to get to that "next level."

Anon: We are still struggling with consistency. I need more strict discipline and punishment, but Master prefers to spank as a prelude to physical play. He tends to stop short of leaving the lasting sting I need to feel when its over. It has been months since I've felt fully disciplined. Master stops as soon as I start struggling to remain in position/Submission, despite my begging that he push me and continue. His intensity is not consistent. He mostly eases the intensity when I react to any swat of the paddle.

A.J.: Pain is not part of our folio. A red bottom with a little sting and lots of rubbing after - sure! That turns her on, and ditto when it is me on the receiving end. All in fun and leading to "other" things, if-you-know-what-I-mean-and-I-think-you-do.
 
Hermione: At one time, when we were just starting out, I constantly yearned for more: harder, faster, longer! We gradually escalated over time with longer, harder spankings and use of multiple implements. Now we are at a point where no more escalation is needed. After ten minutes of spanking, my bottom is numb, so going longer, harder, or adding more severe implements would have no effect. But it took us several years to get to this point.

Lea: We go through both. It is sometimes same old, same old, or: If it ain't broke, don't fix it.
Usually I am fine with whatever Sir decides. Same, or more intense. Just his hand, or many implements.

Lately I've been a fan of more more more! And so has he. But we'll go back to maintenance eventually.

It is a bit of a rollercoaster.


Thank you all for your interesting responses. Next week I will have a follow-up question.

Spanko Brunch 2.0 #214

Welcome to our pre-Valentine brunch. You are all welcome to voice your opinion on what I hope will be an interesting topic today. Let's evaluate your current spankings.

Are they all you need to give or get, and do you and your partner consistently stay at the same level of intensity? Or do you regularly strive to experience more pain, use more severe implements, or employ other means of experimentation to reach a new level?

As always, leave you response as a comment, and I will publish a summary of our discussion in a few days.

You Finished this Sentence

Once I realized my mistake...

Amy: ...I put a pen and paper next to my bed so I could write down all of the grand ideas I have at midnight. ;)

Ronnie: ...it was too late, I was over his knee getting spanked.

KDPierre: ...I immediately regretted that life doesn't come with a reset feature like video games do.

Anon 1:  ...I knew I'd soon be standing in the corner with my sore, red bottom on display so my husband could admire his handiwork (or rather, his brushiwork).

...I knew there was no getting out of the spanking he'd promised me if I made this mistake again.

...I apologized, which at least saved me for the moment, but only postponed the fate that awaited me when my boyfriend got me home.

...I knew I wouldn't be sitting comfortably for the next week.

...I dared my husband to follow through on his threat to spank me--which proved to be my second  mistake.

Bernie: ...I went to the closet, got the paddle, undressed and waited for the inevitable.

Hands63: ...I blamed the dog.

Lea: ...I tried to hold it in, to keep me out of trouble--but I just blurted it out, like I always do!

Anon 2: ..I turned tail and ran.

Minelle: ...my backside began to tingle in anticipation of my future spanking!

Sir Wendel: I was already getting the paddle once I realized my mistake.

Anon 3: ...I asked myself what President Trump would do in a situation like this, so I claimed that the very idea that I had made a mistake was fake news. My husband's reaction was to inform me the very idea that I was too old to be spanked was fake news, and then he proved it by giving me the most real spanking I've ever received.

Hermione: ...I pulled up my panties and said, "Sorry I thought I heard you say 'I want to spank you'. You're welcome."

Friday FAIL

Bad thing happen to good (and not so good) people all the time. We were fortunate to catch these events on camera in mid-FAIL.

Your life doesn't seem so bad now, amIright?

Finish this Sentence

Last night I woke up around midnight and thought of several sentences that I thought would be really fun to complete. I didn't have a pen and paper handy but oh well, I told myself I would surely  remember them in the morning. Ha! Famous last words, right? Anyway, here's the only one I could recall. The rest are somewhere in my mind and I'll try to record them if they pop up during the day.

Once I realized my mistake...

Finish the sentence in the comments section below and I will publish your sentences on Saturday. I can't wait to see them!

From the Top Shelf - In a Mist, Chapter 21

The story so far:
Chapter 1	Chapter 12
Chapter 2	Chapter 13
Chapter 3	Chapter 14
Chapter 4	Chapter 15
Chapter 5	Chapter 16
Chapter 6	Chapter 17
Chapter 7	Chapter 18
Chapter 8	Chapter 19
Chapter 9	Chapter 20a
Chapter 10	Chapter 20b
Chapter 11

Lennox is enjoying his time at tutor to wayward girls at Lymchurch House. today we meet his new favourite, as well as some also-rans.

Chapter 21 - In which Lennox discovers his perfect soul mate and a thief gets her just reward!

Although small-boned and delicately built, Christine was quite a big-bottomed girl for her size. Her slender shoulders and narrow waist accentuated the provocative flare of her hips. When she bent down to tie up her shoelace the sight of her proffered buttocks in all their magnificent vulgarity, her skirt-seat stretched to bursting point, was enough to inspire the most sadistic fantasies in any red-blooded man.

If any girl was born to feel the bite of a cane across her pretty behind it was Christine. She came from a Catholic Anglo-Irish family. The rites of confession, absolution and penance were in her blood. At the convent school she'd attended the Sisters of Mercy had taken the leather strap to her bottom on many occasions.

So it was that, unlike some of the girls at Lymchurch who objected strenuously to receiving physical correction, Christine accepted it without protest or demur - as though it were the most natural thing in the world to offer her well-rounded bottom for chastisement.

Never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Lennox was swift to take full advantage of Christine's uncomplaining acquiescence. A quiet, thoughtful girl, she was not the kind to spearhead a classroom mutiny or flout even the most trivial of school rules, so in the beginning Lennox had to invent reasons for punishing her.

In desperation he found himself resorting to the flimsiest of excuses. He would detain her after morning classes and say: "Christine, I am dissatisfied with your progress. Report to my study this evening after Prep. Perhaps a good spanking over my knee will help you to smarten up your ideas," and she would redden and look down at her shoes. He'd crook his index finger under her chin and compel her to look up into his face. Did he detect in those timorous eyes a tiny tremor of desire? She'd give an embarrassed gasp as he dismissed her with a sharp slap on her bottom.

Despite her unprotesting compliance Christine was only human. To be sentenced to a spanking was, for her, a well-merited penance the justice of which she never questioned - but that never made it any less of an ordeal for her. How it excited him to imagine her feelings of mounting trepidation as the afternoon lengthened into evening and the time approached when she would have to knock timidly on his study door, her heart in her mouth, and enter, a delectably blushing schoolgirl in white blouse, grey pleated skirt, and ankle socks that made her look much younger than her eighteen years, to hear him say those by now all too familiar words:

"Ah, Christine, come for your spanking, have you? Lock the door behind you, there's a good girl, and slip out of your skirt and knickers...you won't be needing them for the next hour or more...ow then, let's get this naughty big bottom of yours well stuck up across my lap so that I can really give it the firm treatment it deserves...oh dear, tears of penitence flowing already, even before I've begun? How very commendable in a young lady...now then, I think we'll have this bottom a little higher please...excellent..now relax your bumcheeks...come on now, legs well apart...no need to be shy with me,Christine, I've seen everything you've got many times before!"

And then he'd commence spanking her. Slowly, unhurriedly, savouring her petrified little squeals of embarrassment and pain. Savouring too the heady intimacy of palm against bottom-flesh, each sonorous smack kneading the plump, jouncy buttocks - prising them apart to disclose, to her intense mortification, her tight little anus and the deep cleft below delicately fringed with fine brown curls...

So deliciously compliant did Christine turn out to be that soon Lennox no longer felt the need to invent excuses for punishing her. Her nocturnal visits to his study grew longer and more frequent until they became the talk of the dormitories. Nor were her visits now solely confined to his study. Before very long Lennox was ushering sweet submissive Christine up the back stairway to his bedroom.

She became his pet, his toy, his favourite plaything. He grew besotted with her, and she with him - for Christine was the kind of girl who, especially in those turbulent war years, needed the firm reassurance and guiding hand of a 'father figure', her own beloved father having perished at Dunkirk.

Apart from her natural submissiveness what else was it about Christine that caused him to single her out from the rest of the girls? Her grey-green eyes? Her mousey-brown collar-length hair cut in a zigzag fringe over her high forehead? Her finely-sculpted face with its high cheek-bones and its air of disdainful sulkiness?

Was it her voice, soft and husky, with its pleasing northern lilt? Did it remind Lennox of his own home town and all those bonny Yorkshire lasses there whose bottoms he'd secretly, guiltily, ached to chastise?

Was it her slow-moving lazy sensuality, the pronounced heaviness of her hips that made her bottom sufficiently plump to draw attention to it, making it seem ideally formed to be spanked and caned?

Or was it the delightful softness of her pale translucent skin, and the fact that - at least in the first few weeks that he regularly punished her - it marked so easily?

All those things, together with the quiet unstinting devotion she showed towards him, both aroused his passions and touched his heart. There was a sense of completeness that he'd never experienced before with any other girl - not even Elizabeth. Now, for the very first time in his life, Lennox felt himself to be a whole person. In short, he fell in love.

Then again, of course, there were plenty of naughty girls in Lennox's establishment who merited the most rigorous discipline that he could mete out, particularly crop-haired Annette Lewis with her big blue eyes, Susan Jones whose long straight hair was the colour of ripe corn, sultry, raven-haired Pamela Rawlinson who never seemed to be out of trouble, and and luscious blonde Lucy Palmer whom Lennox once had to cane in front of the whole school for pilfering cigarettes from the village stores.

Lucy's come-uppance occurred one Friday morning during prayers. While the assembled girls sang the hymn "All Things Bright and Beautiful" accompanied on the piano by Miss Davies, a formidable Welsh schoolmistress who shared Lennox's views on strict discipline and who, together with young Mr.Gosling the local curate, comprised the entire teaching staff, Lucy Palmer, a pert little mischief-maker with her blonde hair in pigtails and her pale blue eyes radiating their deceptively angelic innocence, was led into the room by a grim-faced Lennox and ordered to prepare herself for punishment.

Lucy knew full well what that meant. All canings at Lymchurch were administered to the bare buttocks. In full view of everyone, she was expected to lower her skirt and knickers and present her bare bottom to be thrashed.

What courage Lucy had mustered for the ordeal rapidly deserted her. Tears began to roll down her pretty cheeks as she loosened the buttons of her skirt.

As the girls reached the final verse of the hymn, the wretchedly whimpering Lucy slipped her knickers down to her ankles and clumsily stepped out of them, trying vainly to shield her blonde pubic bush from general view.

"Turn around and present your bottom to your schoolmates, Lucy," Lennox, red with excitement, directed the weeping girl in the sternest, most pitiless voice he possessed.

Young Lucy Palmer looked every inch the fallen angel as, legs visibly quaking, she slowly inched herself round until her chubby little bottom came into full view of the hushed ranks of girls.

"Touch your toes, you little thief, I am going to give you twelve of the very best!" Lennox growled, grateful that the ample folds of his gown concealed the enormous erection he was now sporting.

"Oh sir, p-please have mercy on me!" the pretty culprit blubbered babyishly.

Seventeen-year-old Lucy Palmer's 'glamour girl' figure, her large firm breasts, narrow waist, and dramatically flaring hips was the envy of the school. Now every girl was agog to see her publicly stripped and flogged. Many was the girl that day who secretly exulted in poor Lucy's shameful fate.

The effort of reaching down and touching her toes made her gasp audibly. With her legs planted quite widely apart, as directed by Lennox, everyone present was treated to a clear view of Lucy's well-developed private parts.

Outside, the craggy leather-jerkined figure of Mr.Tomms laid down the garden hoe he was using to weed the stone-flagged paths and peered in furtively through the leaded windows. He gave a wheezy grunt of pleasure to see the caning of Lucy Palmer in progress. Saucy young trollop! He'd lost count of the number of times she'd flaunted herself at him - and he a respectably married man, too!

Many was the time she'd hitched up her skirt and brazenly flashed her teenage thighs at him. Now he too was gloatingly witnessing her moment of abject shame. Now, while the cane whipped down bitingly across her reddening bottom cheeks, he was getting considerably more of an eyeful of Lucy's intimate charms than she'd ever deigned to show him!

A huge grin of delight animated his habitually sullen features. Unbuttoning his trouser-flies he began to fondle his swollen member.

As the caning neared its end, Lucy Palmer's fat little bottom was no longer pale ivory. Blazing red, criss crossed with thick, plum-coloured weals, it wriggled and gyrated with a life of its own as it desperately tried to dodge the cruel swishy rod of retribution.

"There's one little baggage who won't be sitting down comfortably for a week!" Tomms laughed coarsely. Through the leaded windows he heard the explosive impact of cane on bottom, heard the shrill soprano screams of Lucy as the cane bit into her soft bottom-flesh, heard the gasps and murmurs of disbelief from the assembled girls. It was all music to his lecherous ears.

On the verge of bringing himself off he thought better of it and ambled off in search of Florence.

What a busy man our hero is! Next week we finally reach the end of the story. Will Elizabeth return?