Tuesday, July 31, 2018

From the Top Shelf - Uncle Henry, part 2

Last week we began a new story, Rollin Hand`s “Uncle Henry and his Girls”. You may recall that Uncle Henry gave his niece, Amanda, a bare-bottom spanking, and Amanda`s friend Libby was quite moved by the event. (Read it again here, if you wish.) It is now the next morning, and Libby has a lot to think about.
After that, Libby regarded Uncle Henry with a bit of awe. He was his usual cordial smiling self at breakfast the next morning, but Libby could not stop staring at the man who had whipped her friend’s bare bottom with a strap the night before. Amanda did not seem any different. She greeted Uncle Henry with studied nonchalance. It was as if last night had never happened, except that Libby noticed a slight wince when she sat down.

“So did you sleep well, Libby?” said Uncle Henry.

Libby blushed and managed to mumble that she had indeed. In truth she had tossed around in bed feverishly until her fingers had brought her to climax, thinking about Uncle Henry and his strap, the concentration on his face as he had meted out chastisement to Amanda with such a natural air of dominance.

“Splendid,” said Henry, stirring some sugar into his coffee. “I think a month here in the country will do you a world of good. It has already put some color into Amanda’s cheeks.”

Libby almost spewed her orange juice at this remark, and Libby looked up to catch a blush and a shared glance between Amanda and Henry. It was clear she bore him no ill will, though. Libby had to wonder what sort of family this was.

Libby had to wonder also, what would it be like to be stripped and flogged across her bottom by a man? She’d had little experience with corporal punishment of any kind, except for one recent embarrassing incident. But that had been at the hands of girls her own age. It was the idea of being dominated, denuded by a man, especially one so virile, handsome and mature as Uncle Henry that intrigued her. To be stripped to a state of such utter vulnerability and then punished in such a shameful and intimate way, her womanly charms fully exposed to his gaze—what would that be like? Why did the thought make her heart pound and her womanly parts become sticky and slick? She couldn’t get it out of her mind.

Seeing Amanda punished in that way – by a man, no less! It made Libby think. She had to admit to herself something she’d never told anyone, and that was that the whole idea of spanking excited her. Growing up, she’d had no experience with any kind of physical punishment at all. But very recently she had engaged in some delicious and secretive games with other girls, and that experience had been a revelation– and very different. But those games, well …. it was not anything she’d even told Amanda about yet.

* * *

It had happened only months ago, at a winter break. A girls boarding school can be a dull place, especially around holidays when most students went home or visited friends. This particular holiday, Libby had been stranded at Litchfield. A few other sophomore girls were there as well, left to fend for themselves over a long dreary winter week.

Penny Hardesty and Evie Deschamps were friends of Libby’s, and the three of them had banded together in an attempt to come up with a plan to have some fun. Penny was just the type of girl naturally inclined to seek out some sort of deviltry to get into. A naturally mischievous sort, she went looking for trouble and usually managed to find it. Libby wasn’t one to get into mischief herself, but boredom coupled with curiosity got the better of her this time.

Penny’s claim was that she knew where to find some alcohol right there on campus. This was the real stuff, wine imported from France.

“But Penny,” said Libby, “that’s illegal now. Where in the world is it?” Since prohibition, all alcohol, whether bathtub gin or fine French wine, had been banned for public or private consumption. While in many quarters the new law was openly scorned, it would be expected that no illegal alcohol would be found on the premises of a prestigious girls’ school. At least this is what Libby assumed.
Penny had grinned triumphantly. “There is a secret cache of fine wine, right here at Litchfield,” she said. Then she proceeded to explain.

“In the main hall where the school president’s office is, there are stairs leading to a basement. In the basement is a wine cellar. They keep it a secret, but it has been there since before prohibition. Old Mrs. Howard, the president of Litchfield, likes to imbibe, at least that’s what I hear. They keep it for wealthy alumni too, to soften them up when they’re pushing for a big contribution to the endowment fund.”

“Gee, that’s swell, Penny, but how do we get it?” Her friend Evie was skeptical.

“If we can get into the main hall, it’s duck soup, girls. The cellar isn’t locked.”

“How do you know all this?”

Penny explained that once she had demerits to work off, and they were put to work sweeping out the basement as punishment. Work parties on Saturday were the official sanction for demerits for boarders at Litchfield.

“I started nosing around while I was working down there, and voila, there it was! So what do you say, chums? Shall we lift some hootch?”

It seemed an exciting bit of dangerous fun to Libby, but it proved to be deceptively simple. Except for a few boarders and a skeleton crew of staff, everyone was gone on holiday. So, at the end of the very next day, three giggling girls snuck into the main hall and found the stairway down. The wine cellar was there as promised. A half hour later the girls were back in the dorm, elated at the liberation of a dozen bottles from dusty racks near the back of the cellar where the light was bad. “They’ll never know they are missing,” declared Penny.

Later that night the party got underway. They gathered in Penny’s room in their nightgowns, sat on the floor, uncorked a couple of bottles, and started to pass them around. The noise attracted another girl, Jane Dougall, a friend of Penny’s. They gossiped and drank, and it did not take long before they all became a little tipsy.

“We’d better be quiet,” said Jane. “Victoria is here.”

Victoria Jameson was the dorm monitor, also known as Vicki, the head girl. A senior girl from a prominent Rhode Island family, she was a real stickler for the rules. Penny, who had little respect for what she considered were petty ordinances, had clashed with her several times.

“Vicki can go you know where,” said Penny.

“Has she given you demerits?” asked Libby.

“She gave her more than that,” said Jane in a dry tone that implied there was much more to the story.

“What do you mean?”

“Victoria can be a rather nasty sort,” said Jane, “and she has a unique way of dealing with some of the younger girls. Rather than issuing demerits she’ll bring out that tappette of hers, won’t she Penny?”

“What’s a tappette?” said Libby, now really intrigued.

“If you must know,” said Penny, “it’s a thin wooden paddle. It’s a French thing, narrow like a ruler, flaring out wider at the end. It is used to punish children.”

Libby put her hand to her mouth. “Oh, my,” she said, the realization hitting her.

“Yes,” said Jane, “our miss Vicki likes to spank the younger girls. I think she likes it. She gives them a choice and most of them go for it rather than take the demerits. I saw little Dorothy Beauchamp go into her room several weeks ago. When she came out her eyes were watery and she was rubbing her behind.”

“What about you, Penny. Did she…?”

“If you must know, yes. I had to touch my toes and take ten good stingers from Vicki for a harmless prank. It hurt, but it was better than demerits,” said Penny, shrugging as if it were nothing.

“My goodness,” said Libby. “I’ve never been spanked. Ever. Is it bad?”

Penny grinned. It was an oddly lewd expression. “It’s not so bad. There can be compensations.” She swiveled around. “Can’t there, girls?” There were knowing smiles all around. “In fact,” said Penny. “Let’s play a game.” She got up, went over to her vanity, rifled through a drawer and came back with a deck of cards. “We’ll play hearts, but with loser forfeits.”

“Oooh, Penny, what’s the forfeit?” said Evie, gleefully clapping.

“Loser draws a card. That card is the number of spanks she gets from each of us. Then a second card. If it is black, she keeps her pants on, but if it is red…”

“She gets it bare bum!” said Jane, excitedly.

“That’s right, sister. On her bare little bottom,” smirked Penny.

“Really?” said Libby, not knowing what to make of all this.

“You’re not chicken, are you?” said Penny.

That was the last thing Libby wanted – to be shamed for being “chicken,” especially with the other girls willing to go along. She agreed to play.

The cards were dealt and the game began. The first loser turned out to be Evie. There was much giggling and snickering as Evie prepared to meet her fate.

“All right, Evie, pick a card,” said Penny holding out the deck.

“Uh, oh,” Evie said, as she pulled a nine out of the deck.

“And now the all-important next card,” announced Penny like a carnival barker. It was the three of hearts. Evie grimaced and blushed.

“Ok, girl, time to pay up,” said Penny gleefully. “Over here.”

Penny sat on the bed and a red-faced Evie came over. She wore a short nightdress which Penny flipped up as Evie went over Penny’s knee. Underneath were some lacy tap pants. “Just like momma used to do, Evie. Remember? When was the last time you had a good bottom spanking?”

“I’ll get you, just you wait, Penny,” said Evie.

Jane laughed at Evie’s predicament while Libby was silent, watching in wide-eyed wonder.

Penny slipped down Evie’s lacy step-ins to reveal a cute pair of nicely rounded fanny cheeks. Penny patted Evie’s seat and said, “Are you ready? Nine smackers. Here we go!”

Smack! Penny’s hand made a loud sharp sound as it impacted Evie’s bottom.

“One,” she said, and slowly raised her hand to deliver number two. The spanks were delivered slowly with much mock ceremony and giggling, even from Evie interspersed with squeals of “Ouch!” Libby observed that with every loud splat Evie yelped and wiggled her fanny. The ritual spanking continued until all nine spanks had been doled out.

“There!” said Penny after smacking Evie’s bottom for the ninth and last time. “Your turn, Jane,” she trilled.

Jane spanked differently, choosing to plant nine spanks rapid fire on alternating cheeks of Evie’s cute behind.

“Ow! Ow! Ow!” yelped Evie, reacting instantly to the staccato barrage of spanks with fluttering feet and much squirming. After Jane was done, Evie jumped up and rubbed. “Ouch, you meanie!” she exclaimed. Jane and Penny laughed. “Your turn will come,” she threatened, but Libby did not miss the fact that she was grinning as she said it.

“Your turn, Libby. Give her a good one,” said Penny with a grin on her face.

Libby sat down and Evie went across her lap. She wasn’t prepared for the intimate contact of girl to girl flesh as Evie settled across her thighs. It sent a thrill like an electric charge coursing through her. Even more arousing was the feel of Evie’s bare bottom as she placed her hand on it. The flesh was soft and rubbery and Libby couldn’t help squeezing Evie’s bottom, getting a feel for how she should do this.

“Ooh, that feels good, Libby. Don’t stop,” said Evie.

“Don’t listen to her, Libby. Give her a good shellacking. Go ahead, she won’t break,” said an excited Penny.

Libby raised her arm and gave Evie’s cute fanny a tentative smack.

Penny snorted. “You call that a spanking? Go ahead, smack her for real!”

Evie twisted her head around. “That’s all right, Libby. Go on. I don’t mind.”

Evie’s eyes were shiny, her face was flushed, and Libby noticed moisture on the lips of her quim. The scent of musk was heavy in the air. It was at that moment that Libby realized the power of this sensual game. Evie wanted to be spanked, and spanked hard. It excited her. Libby laid on eight more spanks in deliberate fashion, planting each one on a separate area of Evie’s bottom, marveling at the rose colored splotches her palm made. By the time she was done, Evie’s bottom was a dull red and hot to the touch.

They drank more wine. The game became louder and more raucous. Then it was Libby’s turn as the loser. Her heart was in her throat and her pulse pounded as she went over Penny’s knees for her first ever bare bottom spanking. She’d drawn a King, by rule twelve spanks.

“Oh, I will enjoy this,” said Penny. “What a peach of a fanny!” She patted and stroked Libby’s cute rear end as she said it.

Libby shifted nervously, awaiting her first ever real spanking. Her head was swimming, partly from the alcohol, partly from the excitement coupled with fear as to what this new experience would bring.

In a sudden burst, smack! Smack! Smack! Penny’s palm spanked Libby’s bottom three times in rapid succession. Libby’s head jerked up at the sudden blast of sensation. It stung! Not so bad, though. Libby felt a flush of heat at her core. Penny laid on another three spanks, waited, then did it again and a third time. By the time she was done, Libby’s behind tingled and her breathing had become shallow. A warmth spread from her behind to her crotch. She felt herself becoming wet, and the other two spankings added fuel to the fire. Her bottom became progressively hotter as Jane, then Evie took their turns administering the forfeit of twelve spanks. The spanks stung, but it was a nice sting. Each smack produced a shockwave of tingly heat that blossomed out from her behind and found its way to her moistening pussy. But by the time they had finished, she almost wished it would continue. Her sit spot throbbed with a glowing heat and so did her pussy when she sat back down to resume the game.

One at a time, each of the girls went over each other’s laps amid much mirthful playfulness, and endured having their nightgowns lifted, their drawers pulled down, and their bare bottoms spanked until all sported rosy red fannies and they were pleasantly inebriated.

Libby was floating along in an alcoholic haze, pleasantly high, and more than a little aroused when the door was abruptly flung open and a voice said, “What is the meaning of this?” The girls instantly realized their boisterous carrying on must have filtered upstairs, reaching the ears of Victoria Jameson, for it was she who now stood in the doorway accompanied by another senior girl and cohort named Catherine Howell. Libby’s eyes fell to the object in her hand. It was a tappette.

“Well, well. If it isn’t Miss Hardesty,” she said with a smirk on her face at having caught them red handed. She picked up an empty bottle and sniffed it. “Is this wine? Have you girls been drinking?” She turned to her friend and said, “Catherine, what do you suppose the penalty is for drinking illegal alcohol on campus?”

Catherine Howell shook her head and said, “Probably expulsion, but if not, more demerits than you could ever imagine.”

In the end Vicki confiscated what was left and made her demand. “For you nasty little sophs I’ll let you off easy. We won’t tell, but you’ll strip off everything right now and bend over for it. That’s right, I want you bare naked for twenty hard smacks with my tappette,” she said with an evil glint in her eye. “I’m going to set your little fannies on fire.”

“Twenty!” said Penny. “Absolutely outrageous.”

Vicki shrugged. “Take it or leave it,” she said.

They really had no choice. Vicki could just tell on them which could have been devastating, or they could bend and bare it. They chose the paddling.

After they stripped completely naked, adding a healthy bit of shame to the penalty, she told them to get in a line with some separation between them. Libby obeyed. What else could she do? She stripped off everything down to her bare skin. So did the others, until they all stood there stark naked awaiting the next order. The command to bend over was given and the four girls bent grasping their knees, four sets of bare bottoms thrust out and ready for punishment.

“What’s this I see? Have you girls been playing at spanking games?”

Uh, oh, thought Libby. She can see our seats are already red.

“Well, this is no game, ladies. You are going to be punished now for real, right Catherine?”

“Quite right, Vicki. I expect you make those fannies very hot and stinging. They deserve it, the scummy little baggage.”

“I’ll start with you Miss Hardesty. Stick it out nicely for me now, if you please,” said Vicki, tapping Penny’s rear with the paddle.

Crack! The sound was explosive and Libby flinched.

“Yeow!” cried Penny.

“How did you like that, Hardesty? Here’s number two.”

Smack! The paddle struck Penny’s buttocks again, momentarily flattening the flesh. Libby shivered in fear. Her turn was coming.

The smacks from Vicki’s paddle turned out to be very different from the playful hand spanks from Libby’s friends. Each one stung like a touch by a hot iron, and it was all Libby could do to hold back the tears. The pain rose with each lick until by the count of five it seemed unbearable.

It was a lurid scene – four girls, stark naked, standing in a row, bent over with bottoms thrust out and a grinning senior girl dishing out spanks with her paddle to each girl in turn. She doled out the punishment in sets of five. Each had to grit her teeth, hold on to her knees and take five brisk swats with the tappette. Each smack landed on bare flesh with a loud crack that sounded like a branch snapping, and the accompanying yelp confirmed the swat’s effectiveness as punishment. Once Vicki had gone down the line, she started over and applied another set of five swats to each bare bottom until all four girls had been given twenty licks with the stinging bat.

By the time Vicki finished, no one could hold back the tears, nor avoid clenching, shuffling and shifting from foot to foot in an almost comical attempt to alleviate the sting. Several times Vicki had to admonish them.

“Hold still and stick it out, girls, or I’ll give extras.” Somehow they all got through it.
Then Victoria left with the confiscated contraband, and there they were -- four naked girls, sniffling, rubbing their inflamed bottoms and trying to console each other.
So Libby is not entirely a spanko virgin, as we had initially suspected. Next week, we travel back to the present.
From Hermione's Heart

Monday, July 30, 2018

Recap: Spanko Brunch 2.0 for July 29

This week we shared our thoughts on bratting.

KDPierre: We don't because it runs contrary to our more serious DD, and even our more playful D/s philosophy. For us, if it's about behavior, what could possibly worse than an INTENTIONAL provocation? And if it's for fun, why not just ask?

Now, we are only human and do have senses of humor, so a little playful bratting within a teasing atmosphere or context is fine and even natural. But for me to just use it as some passive/aggressive technique to get a spanking? No way. She would not be amused....and I would not feel good about myself even if it somehow "worked".

Baxter: I do try to instigate a spanking and typically my wife picks up on it, tells me to bend over and with a paddle or belt or whatever she can grab, will give me a few good whacks. Typically this leads to sex.

Sir Wendel: The Misses will occasional do things that she knows annoys me. I always assumed it was to get me to spank her. She would keep it up until I would get fed up completely and haul her across my lap. I would spank her by hand until her bottom was bright red.

In answer to last week’s question: The Misses has come straight out and asked me for a spanking. Since I love her I will oblige. I’ll take her to the kitchen and spank her bare bottom with my hand or if belt if I am wearing one at the time.

Yorkie: Not in our relationship. We've tried but because we aren't into punishments it doesn't work so we just give each other cheek regardless as all good friendships do.

Anon: Not in this family, my bottoms knows all to well the results of such behavior. At first I thought it would be fun, but it just took one long over her lap spanking that I did not wish to experience again. 

NoraJean: If we are both in a playful teasing mood, then I might push a button or two but that's just part of our back and forth banter. In our day to day ttwd relationship, I try to abide by our agreed to rules and expectations.

Rosco: All the time. Usually but not always preceding a time for what we call a “date”. But it’s never very serious.

Sometimes however I’ll cop a few feels too many at bedtime and she’ll tie me up and whip me. I’ll then go to sleep for half the night, then wake up and wiggle out of my bonds - then be very ready for a date the next day.

Hermione: Sometimes I am very tempted to brat, but when I do Ron just smiles and days I'll have to wait until he's ready to deal with me.

See you next week!
From Hermione's Heart

Sunday, July 29, 2018

Spanko Brunch 2.0 #238

Welcome, one and all, to our weekly gathering of like-minded individuals. Grab a snack and let's get started.

Do you or your partner ever "brat" or act up in order to instigate a spanking? Why or why not? If so, what is the usual result of the bratting?

Leave your response as a comment below, and I will publish a summary of our discussion once everyone has weighed in.
From Hermione's Heart

Friday, July 27, 2018

An end of the week meme

Terpsichore published this meme recently, and I liked it a lot, so here goes!

1.  Name a place where you have always wanted to make love with your partner.
Outdoors, somewhere secluded.

2. What is your least favorite implement for a discipline spanking?
Dressage whip.

3. Name or describe a piece of lingerie in which your husband loves to see you.
Black garter belt and stockings

4. Do you favor silver jewelry or gold? Besides a wedding ring, do you have a signature piece that you wear often or even every day?
I love silver jewelry. I always wear a silver ring that I bought in Colonial Williamsburg, a Celtic ring with characters that mean joy, prosperity and fruitfulness, and Ron's baby ring with his birthstone.

5. What was the worst job you ever had?
My first summer job was in the bindery of a printing plant. The work was too heavy for me and I just wasn't any good at it. The next summer I worked in a newspaper\s editorial department as a proofreader and enjoyed it much more.

6. Is there something your husband does (or doesn't do) around the house that drives you crazy?

He does lots of jobs around the house, so no complaints there! The only thing that bugs me is that he won't give a straight answer to a question, but says "I guess so" or "I don't know".

7. What is the hardest thing you ever had to learn? Could be school, career, life, or even ttwd.

I learned the hard way to keep my mouth shut instead of spouting wisecracks.

8.  Besides a spanking, tell us something that always brings a tear to your eye. Could be a movie, a song, a memory, or something else.
I usually keep my emotions in check; keep calm and carry on, stiff upper lip are my mottoes. But if I'm feeling low and somebody shows sympathy to me and encourages me to open up, the tears come easily.

9. What was your favorite grade in school (K through 12) and why?
None of those. I always dreaded September and the return to school, because I was socially awkward and felt like an outsider, and the teachers didn't like me much either. Grade 13 was better because it was in a new city, people didn't know I was an outcast, and I sort of remade myself to make up for the past.

University was much better, and teacher's college was absolutely the best year ever, because there I met a huge number of fellow students who had also been outcasts. I learned there that the word for us was "isolates".

10. As a child, did you have a favorite stuffed animal or doll that you took to bed?
I loved stuffed animals and had a huge collection of different ones. When I was very small I had a stuffed toy - a cat or something - that I was never without, until it got too dirty and my mother threw it away. I was furious!

11. What was a make-believe game you loved to play when you were a kid?
It was a spanking game - no surprise there. I was the stern teacher and had very unruly teddy bear pupils who were spanked for every misdemeanor.

12. Look in your closet. Is there a lot of one particular color? Are you drawn to that color when you shop?
I look good in blue, so most of my clothes are in various shades of that colour. I also like reds.

13. What is your favorite alcoholic beverage? What is your favorite soft beverage?

I enjoy white wine, although I wouldn't turn down a glass or red. I usually drink water throughout the day, along with tea at lunch and mid-afternoon.

14. If you could have your dream job for a day, what would it be?

I already have it.

15. Describe your wedding gown. If you didn't have a gown, tell us about what you wore. If you were going to get married again, what would you pick today?
I made it myself, and it was floor-length, white and pale green, with short sleeves. If I were to marry again, I would wear something comfortable and blue.

16. Tell us about your first car! How old were you? Did you give it a name? Do you remember how much it cost?
I was in my twenties, and it was a green Renault, totally unsuitable for Canadian winters. It was cheap, and I called it Kyrie.
And there you have it!
From Hermione's Heart

Wednesday, July 25, 2018

Guest Post - Implements I

Last week a regular reader and brunch attendee who I will call 'Barrel' suggested that I ask readers to send in pics of their favourite implements. Since it was his idea, I thought it only fair that his picture should go first.

That's quite a collection! He says about the strap that is fourth from the bottom "I made the leather strap from a shoulder strap off of a discarded piece of luggage. " Very creative!

If you would like to send me a photo of your favourite implement(s) I would love to post it here. Send it to me at martingale2 @ yahoo . ca (without the spaces).
From Hermione's Heart

Tuesday, July 24, 2018

From the Top Shelf - Uncle Henry, part 1

I had totally forgotten that Rollin Hand gave me this yummy story to share with you. It's called "Uncle Henry and his Girls", and what a tale it is! It's quite long, so I will share the first part with you today.

As the car made its way up the lane that led to the Pierpont summer mansion, Libby heard Amanda suck in her breath as if startled. There was one other car, a silver Bentley, parked in the wide circular drive that that formed the formal entry to the country estate. The house itself was an impressive French style chateau set far back from the road, and accessed by this rather long driveway lined on either side by tall Norwegian pines.

Amanda Pierpont had invited Libby Hutton to the family’s house in the country for a month of summer break, and they’d been picked up in the Rolls at the train station by Charles, the chauffeur.

“What is it?” said Libby. Her chum from school was clearly agitated.

“Uncle Henry. He’s here.” Amanda leaned forward and craned her neck, scanning the house and its lushly manicured grounds.

“Who is Uncle Henry?”

Amanda appeared to compose herself. “He is the son of my mother’s aunt, so that makes him actually a second cousin. He manages the family trust.” she said. “And he pays my tuition at Litchfield,” she added.

“So? You seem apprehensive.”

“It’s nothing,” said Amanda, sitting back flipping her hair away from her face. “He’s nice. But strict. You’ll see.”

Libby sensed some nervous apprehension on the part of her schoolmate. They were good friends and shared most everything. In appearance they were a study in contrasts. Amanda was tall and lithe, a picture of studied elegance with long black hair, dark eyes and sensuous lips. Libby was short and blonde, a pretty girl with a heart shaped face and a ripe body that attracted male attention like sugar attracts flies. Both had a nose for trouble and often got into scrapes together, although it was Amanda who usually instigated, and Libby who followed.

Libby’s curiosity had been roused by her friend’s reaction, but there was no more time for questions. It was time to greet Uncle Henry.

* * *

As far as Libby was concerned, he was far more than just nice. She nearly swooned at her first sight of the man. An exceedingly handsome gentleman in his late thirties, he was tall and fit, with the sinewy build of an athlete, or maybe a movie star like Errol Flynn. His hair was dark and full with some graying at the temples, and when they made eye contact, his intense dark eyes made her want to melt into a puddle. On top of that, he engaged her in dinner time conversation like an adult, making her feel more like a serious and erudite woman of the world instead of a nineteen year old sophomore at an exclusive girls’ boarding school.

Libby observed that Amanda verbally sparred with Uncle Henry throughout the meal, gleefully challenging him with modern views on politics and current events. This frequently provoked frowns of disapproval that a woman would hold such opinions, but Amanda seemed to relish the challenge, and it seemed like she was getting under Uncle Henry’s skin. She refused to take him seriously. It was as if she were deliberately trying to goad him, and incidentally making a fine job of it in the process. If Uncle Henry corrected her or expressed disapproval, Amanda either dismissed him with casual reproaches like, “Oh, Uncle Henry, you are such an old fig sometimes,” or deliberately contradicted him.

So, while Libby chatted enthusiastically with Uncle Henry, trying to be as grown up as possible, Amanda played the bratty femme fatale. Finally, Uncle Henry had had enough.

He rose from the table, made a slight bow and said, “Ladies, I now bid you good night.” Then he turned on his way out and said, “Amanda, get ready for bed, and then I’ll need to see you in the library. You know why.”

Libby watched Amanda’s face as he said it. She was pale. All the color had drained out.

Once he had left, Libby turned to her friend. “What is that all about?”

* * *

“Mother sent Uncle Henry,” said Amanda as they sat on Amanda’s bed. “He’s here because my marks this past semester were not up to snuff, at least in mother’s opinion. Or maybe it was that row in town and the missed curfew. He agrees, I’m sure, and, he pays the bills. So I have to behave … or else.”

“Or else, what?” said Libby. “You’re being very mysterious.”

“Or else I get a visit from Uncle Henry and we have a little chat.” Then she added nervously, “Uncle Henry is rather old-fashioned and, well, strict.”

“A little chat? Now? Just before bedtime? And what do you mean by strict?”

“Uncle Henry thinks that’s the best time for a chat.” Amanda noticed her friend’s concern and diverted her attention to more mundane matters. “Don’t worry about it. Here, I’ll show you your room. You’ll like it. We’ll have fun here. We have a pool that is the bee’s knees, horse stables and there is the boardwalk in town along the shore, shops, movie theaters, a concert hall.”

Libby let Amanda show her a bedroom down the hall. It was spacious and comfortable with a large four poster bed, a vanity and a large closet.

“We’ve had a long trip, so you relax while I go see Uncle Henry,” said Amanda with a wry smile.

* * *

But as soon as she had slipped on her nightgown and was ready for bed, Libby realized she felt too wide awake for sleep, notwithstanding the long train ride. There was an excitement in the air like an electric charge. Libby did not know where it had come from, but she suspected the odd interchange between Uncle Henry and Amanda. Uncle Henry was strict. What did that mean? Something was about to happen, Libby just knew it. In her energized state she heard soft footsteps, and peeked out of her room just in time to see Amanda in a nightgown walking down the carpeted hallway. Should she? There were butterflies in her stomach, and an intense curiosity to see the exchange between Amanda and Uncle Henry. As silently as she could, she waited for Amanda to reach the stairs, and then she tiptoed out, following her.

As Libby approached the study below, all was silent. No one was around. The servants had all retired. The library door had been left open a crack and Libby peered in. Amanda stood before study desk. Uncle Henry sat perusing a piece of paper. Libby strained to hear what was being said.

“Your mother and I are very disappointed in your behavior, Amanda,” said Uncle Henry, slapping the paper. “Caught in town after curfew with young men?”

“Yes, sir,” said Amanda. She stood ramrod straight, hands at her sides. Libby was surprised to see that Amanda wore only a silk nightgown that fell to just below her hips. A tall, willowy girl, she nevertheless had high set breasts, shapely legs like a dancer’s and a prominent pear-shaped derriere that jutted out impudently.

So that was it. The report that had placed them both in detention, along with the several others who had gone to the village on Saturday only to meet up with boys from Yale and go nightclubbing, a most forbidden activity, had been sent home. They had lost track of time and missed curfew. Libby supposed her parents would get a copy too, but no matter. Nothing would come of it. She was blonde and cute and daddy was wrapped around her little finger.

“This is not up to our standards or yours,” he said, frowning and clearly displeased.

“Yes, sir.” Amanda began to fidget nervously.

“We have talked about this before, Amanda, and I fear it has fallen on deaf ears. Sometimes you make poor decisions.”

Amanda said nothing.

“Your mother and I have decided that a more forceful sanction is called for -- one that will impress upon you the seriousness with which we view this.”

“Uncle Henry, please…” said Amanda, gesturing with her hands as if imploring Uncle Henry to stop.

“And so,” said Uncle Henry, rising, “you must be punished. You must be taught a lesson. Go stand by the couch, Amanda. You know how I want you.”

“Uncle Henry, no. Not that!” Amanda put her hand to her face and bit her lip.

“I’m sorry it has come to this, Amanda,” he said, opening a cabinet door behind the desk.

Libby’s heart caught in her throat as she watched the drama. Inside the cabinet door several thin canes, multi-stranded martinets and gleaming leather straps hung on pegs. Libby gulped. What on earth? It was clear now. Amanda was to have her bottom whipped. How embarrassing … and by a man, no less. Libby nearly gasped aloud, but stifled it. Still, she thought she caught Uncle Henry turn his head in her direction, glancing ever so briefly toward the door.

He selected a strap with three split tails at the end and walked toward the sofa. Amanda stood to its side. In Libby’s view it was a curious piece of furniture. On one side was an armrest of ordinary dimension. At the other end, where Amanda stood, the armrest formed a high oversized bolster, a large padded cylinder.

Libby’s heart was pounding. The handsome Uncle Henry now seemed ever more the stern taskmaster who must be obeyed. Standing before Amanda, feet planted solidly, the strap stretched between his hands, he was the implacable male bent on dispensing punishment -- and of such an intimate nature! Amanda must offer her bottom up to him for chastisement. Oh, what must she feel? She thought. Libby felt weak in the knees. A strange excitement gripped her, and a part of her wondered what it would be like to exchange places with Amanda at this very moment.

“Amanda, raise your nightgown and bend over the couch,” he said.

Amanda obeyed, raising the diaphanous nightgown to her waist and bending forward, prostrating herself across the raised arm of the divan. The posture thrust her buttocks into full prominence as her body curved over the padded cylinder. Under the nightgown she wore thin tap pants with dainty lace at the legs. Libby could scarcely believe her eyes at what came next. Uncle Henry flipped the nightgown up onto her back and inserted his fingers into the tap pants to slide them down, baring Amanda’s bottom. The twin moons bulged like ripe melons, pale flesh rudely exposed and vulnerable, jutting upward prominently, awaiting correction by the strap.

Henry stood to the side and laid the strap across the quivering mounds.

“Twelve strokes, Amanda. Do not move or put your hands back to protect your bottom. We would have to repeat that stroke if you did.”

“Yes, sir,” said Amanda.

Swoosh…splat went the strap. The sound was like a shot and Libby almost jumped, it sounded so startling. A red band appeared across Amanda’s bottom. Libby heard a harsh intake of breath, a hissing sound as Amanda reacted to the smack of the leather on her backside.

Swoosh…splat! Again the cruel strap smacked her friend’s derriere, making it quiver. Another red stripe formed.

The strap rose and fell. Each splat landed with a sharp retort that bounced off the study walls. How can she remain still and take this, wondered Libby?

Smack! “Whahh,” seethed Amanda, half rising.

“Steady, Amanda,” said Henry. “You deserve no less.” He raised his arm, the strap falling back over his shoulder then reversing direction to speed to its target with a downward swipe of Henry’s arm.

Whack! Another earsplitting crack and a moan from Amanda. Shouldn’t the servants awake? thought Libby.

It must sting like crazy, thought Libby. Amanda’s womanly bottom lurched and bobbed under the onslaught. Toward the end there were gasps and the drumming of toes on the floor. Amanda’s full and shapely behind wobbled lasciviously each time the strap struck. That made Libby wonder – could Uncle Henry be aroused by such a sight? Libby was definitely aroused. She could not help it. This tableau of such male dominance over a nearly naked female subject -- a sound whipping on her bare bottom -- was making Libby wet between the legs.

When it was done, Uncle Henry told Amanda to rise. She did, placing her hands behind her and rubbing her inflamed bottom as Henry lectured her on the need for behavior more appropriate for a young lady of her station. Libby realized that the punishment session was at an end. She departed for the stairs and her own room as quietly as she could.

Libby waited for her friend, thinking she’d ask her what had happened and perhaps console her, but time passed and Amanda didn’t come. That’s quite odd…whatever are they talking about? It was the last thought she had before falling asleep. She never did hear Amanda return.
Did Uncle Henry see Libby spying on them? Will it be her turn next? Stay tuned.
From Hermione's Heart

Monday, July 23, 2018

Recap: Spanko Brunch 2.0 for July 22

Do you ever ask for a spanking?

Anon: The only time I wanted to be spanked was when I was dating. An older woman I was seeing, relationship lasted about two years. It was several months into the relationship and she would at times remind me to act more my age or she would address the problem. A couple of times she said a spanking would do you good, serious tone of voice. Well one Saturday morning I went to the kitchen naked, she looked at me, I just said so you want to spank me, I’m ready. It was my biggest mistake, she did spank me, I was rubbing and dancing around afterwards, she said that would not be the last time she would spank me. I was heading back to the bedroom, she stopped me, told me to face the wall, I looked at her, a few more spanks and I was soon facing the wall.

Fondles: If I'm in need of a reset or some stress relief (and BIKSS isn't quite on to me yet) then I'll ask and tell him the reason.

If I'm feeling penitent I'll ask too.

Sometimes if he's had a rough day and I'm not quite in the right mindset despite needing a spanking, I put it off cos I don't want to add on to his "burden" of having to GET me in the spankee frame of mind on top of having to physically do the spanking after his long day.

Most of the time tho, he's quite clue-y and I think around 80% of the time he's aware when I'm in need of a spanking.

Yorkie: I used to ask for them all the time but there has been the odd occasion when she has suggested it.

Lately the kids (all adults now) have been leaving us home alone, almost on a weekly basis, so she assumes (correctly!) that I want to be spanked while they're out.

Amy: I used to have this idea that if I had to ask for something, it wasn't authentic. In other words, I would never know if Eric was doing it because he wanted to or because I asked for it. Fortunately, he's gotten me over that silliness. Now, if I'm feeling off, I just let him know what I need. He's so glad to have the blue print. "Why wait for me to figure it out?" he's said numerous times. "Then we both feel bad if I miss your signs. Just tell me and we can cut out all the wasted hinting around." It's a good thing.

Baxter: Yes I ask for spankings. I first asked early in our marriage and my wife said no, that it is perverted. So probably a couple decades went by and she asked to look at one of my spanking fiction books. She read a bit and then said she understood and to bend over the bed, which I did and she spanked me. Since then and that was probably 15 years ago, I have asked and she has willingly paddled my bottom when I ask. This morning I playfully gave her some lip and she grabbed a metal spatula and told me to grab onto the sink and she warmed my bottom. So yes, I ask for spankings as that is about the only way I will get one to satisfy my want and need.

Hermione: In the early days I did have to ask on occasion. Nowadays they are a regular occurrence so I no longer need to request one. I get more than enough!

Thank you for joining in this weekend!
From Hermione's Heart

Sunday, July 22, 2018

Spanko Brunch 2.0 #237

My, how time flies! It's brunch time again, but before we begin, I would like to welcome back my very dear friend, Erica, who has resumed blogging after taking a well-earned rest. Let's give her a warm welcome and a soft cushion for her chair. Please pay her a visit and find out what she has been up to.

Now on to today's discussion. We all know that spankings happen, sometimes like clockwork, and sometimes when we least expect them. But do you always wait patiently?

Do you ever ask for a spanking? If so, is it a common occurrence, or something you rarely do? If not, why not?

Leave your response as a comment, and I will publish a summary of our discussion early next week.
From Hermione's Heart

Friday, July 20, 2018

Picture This

Just when I was thinking that it was time for something new and different on this blog, a creative reader came to my aid with a wonderful suggestion. He thought it would be interesting to ask readers to send me pictures of their favourite implements, and I think so too!

So, you are hereby invited to send me pictures of your implements. It could be your favourite one, your least favourite, a memorable one (and please say why it is so memorable), a homemade one, or a collection of all your implements. If you have a story to go with the picture, so much the better.

No faces or other identifying features in the photos, please, and you need not show the implements in action. The pictures must be in JPG, GIF or PNG format so I can upload them here.

You can find my email address in the right sidebar, under the Canadian flag. (It's martingale2 @ yahoo . ca without the spaces).

If you use an email account that shows your real name (not recommended), please let me know how you want me to identify you in order to preserve your anonymity.

I will publish your pictures here on a regular basis, and I can't wait to see them, so grab your camera, phone, iPad or whatever device you have, and start clicking!

Update: I have already received several great pictures. This looks promising!
From Hermione's Heart

Tuesday, July 17, 2018

From the Top Shelf - The Headmaster Lends a Hand

You may have guessed by now that I love naughty schoolgirl stories, and this story is no exception. Except that it is. Because the naughty schoolgirl in question is actually no longer a schoolgirl, but a grown woman and a teacher. Are you intrigued? Then enjoy this story from a spanking collection called The Reckoning by Anonymous.
Lucy Millar's arrival at St.Bede's Boy's Grammar School as the young biology teacher was as dramatic as suddenly opening the doors of a monastery to women. Among the twenty or so teachers already there, only one was female. She was Miss Arnott, tall, grey-haired with nicotine stains on her gappy teeth, who always spoke in a masculine rumble. She wore mannish suits and brown brogues.

Lucy, fresh from college, was the antithesis of Miss Arnott. She was small, feminine, channelling her enthusiasm for the job into super-efficiency. She wore large glasses with delicate silver frames and had the disconcerting habit of sliding them down her nose to add emphasis to her words. Naked contact with her large intense cobalt-blue eyes had a distinctly unsettling effect on any male who thought he'd like to lose himself for a moment in those mesmeric blue pools.

On the first day of the autumn term, Lucy arrived early to be personally welcomed by the school's Headmaster, George Adams, a tall thoughtful man in his late forties with fair hair liberally streaked with platinum. He had a warm, possessive handshake.

Thus was Lucy Millar greeted as she briskly stepped into Mr Adams study and took her seat in front of his old mahogany desk which was dusty and rather neglected in appearance.

"She's very efficient," thought Mr Adams as Lucy nimbly flicked her hands underneath her slim contour-hugging skirt, smoothing her seat before sitting down with a briskness which amused him.

For a moment both Headmaster and new teacher stared at each other with the cautiously veiled interest that is always present at the meeting of a pretty young woman and a not unattractive man some twenty-five years her senior.

Lucy stared at him, wide-eyed and alert, positively bristling with enthusiasm while he explained the niceties of school policy and administration to her intense, innocent little face.

Mischievously, he tried to distract attention from his words, to make those piercing eyes blink at him - just once. He leaned back heavily in his heavy oak chair which creaked lugubriously, but she did not twitch an eyelid, nor was there any sign of a smile. He picked up a ball-point pen and began clicking it loudly and rhythmically on the dull wooden desk top, proceeding with his headmaster's monologue all the while. There was a little crater in the polished wood which suggested that this was a favourite trick to confuse an embarrass his staff. It held implications that he was growing a little impatient, and although he was a gracious man, he had something better to do than pep-talk his teaching staff, who after all, were not that important.

The effect was lost on Lucy. She had entered the musty chalk-smelling study with the kind of no-nonsense confidence that often frightens men.

George relaxed, feeling wistfully that it was 'all down to youth' and studied her closely. Her hair was piled on the top of her head and severely anchored with a good many pins, but George noticed that stray blonde wisps had escaped the tortuous bun, and frothed about her forehead and cheeks quite engagingly. She was, he thought, trying to create just the right image, and very successfully too.

Absentmindedly, he catalogued her other features. Small firm breasts, nicely outlined under a slim-fitting pale blue cashmere jumper, delightfully tiny waist and...mmm..he would have to fill in the missing detail when she rose to go. All he could see at the moment below the waist were her dainty hands crossed tidily in her lap, and the wrinkles of her skirt as it broached into tightness. He would have to wait until she turned for he had always had a particular fondness for the female bottom.

"If you have any trouble with the boys during lessons, be sure to let me know," he said.

"I don't foresee any, Sir," she answered him politely but with evident surprise.

George sighed. No, he wouldn't mention the fact of her being an extremely pretty young woman in a school full of sexually deprived adolescent boys. No, he decided against that. A few weeks at St. Bede's would soon take the edge off that rather disconcerting confidence.

He found himself thinking that Miss Lucy Miller could be even more formidable than Miss Arnott if she chose. But damned attractive with it.

The assembly bell shrilled in the corridor outside and brought an end to the interview. Lucy rose to go and the Headmaster was able to complete his appraisal of the young woman. He was quite pleasantly taken with what he saw.

She was wearing a thin grey flannel skirt which was so tight that every curvaceous inch of her hips was revealed. As she turned her back on him to leave the room, the most erotic profile was revealed; a round girlish bottom, pertly prominent - even saucy in the obstinate retrousee angle it assumed when she stood up. George's eyebrows rose slowly in delighted surprise.

Lucy had the misfortune at that moment to trip, and George the good fortune of being there to help her. As one of her stiletto heels caught the leg of the chair, she overbalanced all of a sudden and put her hands awkwardly on the chair arm to steady herself. For a brief moment, her body made a perfect arc with her bottom raised vulgarly at its zenith. George, having leapt to her side, felt a barely controllable urge to smack it.

Instead he placed his hands lightly on her hips, while Lucy got to her feet. He noticed she was blushing. He also noticed that her seams were crooked. He looked again at the slender curves. Sure enough there were tell-tale wrinkles around her ankles and knees. My God, she was wearing real stockings!

George found the discovery quite intriguing. Somehow this revelation of secret femininity seemed to be rather at variance with her precise business-like manner and dress. He was puzzled - and excited.

* * *

A month passed. Lucy settled in extremely well, proving to be an excellent teacher both in her teaching techniques and the uncompromising method of discipline she employed. The boys adored her, worshipped and fantasized about her - but from a safe distance.

George Adams watched her closely. Somewhere, he decided, beneath that cool unflappable suit of armour she wore so convincingly, was a chink.

One lunchtime, while buying his usual cigar, he bumped into Miss Millar in the newsagent's near the school. She was standing, head bent, earnestly poring over a magazine. George approached and tapped her gently on the arm. She reacted as though she'd been struck. With a strangled shriek she let the magazine fly out of her hands. It fell to the floor and lay there, open at the centre page.

In full colour, staring up at them both was an expression of agony on the face of a girl lying upside down across a man's knee. Although dressed in a skimpy school skirt and blouse, she was obviously a grown woman. George blinked and felt beads of tense perspiration breaking out around his collar. The girl in the picture was wearing blue gym-knickers in a tangle around her knees, and she was receiving the spanking of her life.

The Headmaster did not know how to react for a full half-minute. The open magazine seemed to claim all his attention, yet he was aware of Lucy standing next to him, of the flustered distress of her hands, and the fact that she was shaking uncontrollably. He felt the sharp sickness of awakened desire. The poor girl's face was scarlet - she looked as though she had been caught in some criminal act. All her self-composure had vanished.

Mr Adams decided to save the situation. After all, it seemed to him that it was suddenly, gloriously, in his power to do so. Breathing heavily, he picked up the magazine which flew open embarrassingly in several places before he had command of it.

He cleared his throat. "Dear me, did this fall off the top shelf? They don't always stack them too carefully here." He bent to catch her expression.

Lucy couldn't look at him but muttered a strained "Yes" as he put it back.

"They're tempting to look at now and again," he continued airily, " No need to look so embarrassed, Miss Millar."

Lucy shook her head, wanly smiled and, after mumbling an incoherent excuse, fled the shop. George stood and watched her go, amazed at the transformation. Far from looking like the assertive young woman he had come to know, she now looked every inch the guilty schoolgirl.

For days after the event Lucy felt her cheeks burn at the mere sound of the Headmaster's approaching footsteps. She felt curiously under his power, knowing he had realised only too well that the spanking magazine she had been poring over had not landed in her hands by accident. And strangely enough, she found the thought of their shared secret very exciting.

Adams noticed a difference in Lucy after the incident. Her once confident walk had shrunk to a guilty scurrying about the school. He even caught her walking on tip toe to avoid the loud assertive click of her high heels on the marble floor. Her hair now tumbled down in a loose swirl from that severe little bun, making her look quite beautiful. George found he only had to raise one questioning eyebrow for Lucy to begin to stammer in her replies to him; she blushed and felt helpless under his scrutiny.

One Sunday evening, Adams was walking in the local park, the sad decay of autumn at his feet, when he saw her. Silhouetted on the hill in the dying light, she stood with a dog on a lead, her hair flying madly about her in the determined wind. She wore a short jacket and a figure-hugging pencil skirt.

"Miss Millar?" he shouted into the wind.

She looked up while, simultaneously, the mongrel dog wrapped itself around her legs and effectively hobbled her. She couldn't quite seem to disentangle herself, so George went to help her, crouching down to try and unravel the muddle. She was very embarrassed.

The lead had snaked around her thighs, clipping the skirt to her legs and pulling it furiously tight - drawing compulsive attention to her bottom. Somewhere among the tangle of girl and lead, George found his hands roundly cupping her bottom cheeks over her tight, tight skirt. Lucy squirmed with pleasure.

Her curves were soft and pliant like a young girl's. He could feel the ripeness of each cheek and the intimate crack between them in his exploring fingers. Then his hands wandered uncontrollably down to her thighs where he encountered the hardness of her suspender buttons. Feeling her stockinged legs, so slim and so girlish, he suddenly imagined them clad in long white schoolgirls socks, with little open-meshed sandals on her feet. He grew hot at the thought.

They stood up. Lucy struggled to gain composure as Mr Adams's hands swept lingeringly around her legs, pulling the lead free.

They parted and she was unable to look him in the eye.

* * *

Lucy's work began to suffer. To everyone she appeared in a state of constant agitation. The Headmaster felt she was wrestling with some deep inner demon, but he was reluctant to quiz her about her private life. Pupils were beginning to take liberties with her. Standards had dropped.

Although Adams knew he should confine thoughts about his young teacher to the job alone, fantasies filled his mind as to what she did after school. And what he would like to do to her. In his mind, Lucy Millar was the schoolgirl in that magazine centrefold and he, George Adams, Headmaster of St. Bede's, was the strict disciplinarian.

Rothwell's department store, one Saturday, found him wandering languidly through the schoolwear department. He hadn't the faintest idea what he was doing there, except that a strange wistful longing stirred dully in his mind at the sight of row upon row of schoolgirl gym-slips and blazers.

It was then he saw her. Leaning over the small, glass-fronted counter with her now all-too-familiar smackable bottom delicately elevated, she stood on one high heel, curling her other stockinged foot nervously up and down her calf.

On the counter lay a grey pleated gym-slip with a red games girdle, blouse and tie, school cardigan. And topping the lot,a a pair of soft navy blue cotton knickers.

Adams knew instinctively that the the uniform was for her, and not some young niece or for a fancy dress party, although they were probably the reasons she had given the assistant. The time had come to take Miss Millar firmly in hand.

That evening he went to the park as usual. He had hoped to see Lucy again, but there was no sign of her. He left in disappointment.

As he neared the park exit, a young woman rushed past him out into the road, a familiar dog snapping at her heels. It was Lucy Millar and she was crying.

Forgetting his position, forgetting everything but her, George pursued the hurrying girl along the tree-lined suburban road until she disappeared into a tiny upstairs maisonette. With a thumping heart and his mind in a turmoil, he waited for five minutes before knocking on the door.

Agonising seconds dragged by. It appeared that she wasn't going to answer. Then slowly the door inched open.

Lucy stood, dressed in a pretty white blouse and long tight skirt with fluffy mules on her feet. Her hair was loose around her shoulders, her face streaked and etched with tears.

"Miss Millar, what on earth is wrong?"

She stood aside and let him walk into her flat.

"My boyfriend has finished with me," she said in between sobs.

George was silent. Suddenly he felt a pang of irrational jealousy. They sat down together on the settee. The room had a chaotic disorder that pleased him. She had a large collection of teddy bears and foreign dolls - little girl's things. Quite at odds with the assertive, brisk young woman he knew at school.

Lucy stood up and went into her bedroom.

"He left me because I bought this." And to Adams's astonishment, she returned holding out the grey pleated gym-slip. She was obviously so upset that she no longer cared what she said, or to whom. Except that she was telling her Headmaster. And he wanted to hear every word.

Standing there in her bedroom doorway with her wet face, was Lucy Millar the teacher, looking every inch Lucy the vulnerable schoolgirl. Holding out the gym-slip with a pathetic gesture, asking for sympathy...asking for approval...just begging to be spanked.

A delicious state of arousal flowed through his body, and something of his excited state reached Lucy. She stopped crying and stood, wide-eyed, looking at him. Then a blush crimsoned her cheeks.

Adams sat at the edge of the sofa, all the while trying to communicate with his eyes his desire to punish his naughty junior mistress severely. But he couldn't just grab the girl and tell her in no uncertain terms, "Lucy Millar, I'm going to give you the spanking you deserve." No he couldn't just do that. He wasn't sure either whether it wasn't just a fantasy on her part. How would she react with his large, mature palm descending on her gym-knickered rump time and time again?

"I don't see what's wrong with you buying a school uniform," he said as evenly as he was able. "There's no harm in it." He looked down at the space between them, and then directly into her wide-open eyes. "Didn' t your boyfriend like you in it?" he asked softly.

"No, he said it was perverted. He said I -" she faltered and turned red again.

"Silly boy. I would have."

Lucy shook. Adams had never seen a girl so visibly moved.

As Lucy seemed to have lost the power of speech, George Adams knew this was the moment to take supreme control over the young woman. And it was so easy.

He looked at her and said, as if talking to a small child, "Now, Lucy, go and put your uniform on for me. Go on."

Lucy turned obediently and went into her bedroom. It was as though she had become totally possessed by Mr Adams's words.

There was silence, as if for a brief moment she was thinking about the enormity of what she was doing. Then a rustle as she took the uniform from the carrier bag.

Adams removed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. He looked around the room for a suitable chair.

"How are you doing, Lucy? Are you ready yet?" he asked gently, so as not to alarm her.

A muffled voice was his answer. She was pulling on the jumper.

"Have you any long white socks?"

"Yes, Mr Adams." There was barely concealed excitement in her voice.

"Then put them on!" he commanded , and added "make sure you're wearing regulation sandals too."

He sat on the chair in the middle of the room, having pushed the sofa back against the wall. He discovered a spotlight which he adjusted so it would shine on the chair - on his lap - on Lucy Millar's deliciously spankable bottom.

He found in his intense excitement that his eyes kept keenly returning to trivial details about the room. The pattern-repeats on the wallpaper, the shiny gold hands of the clock. He found himself following each jerky second-hand movement round and round and...

She was there. Shy, blushing, treading her way tentatively towards him as if she was temporarily blind and didn't know the room.

Adam's mouth felt sloe-dry. His lips compressed and tightened in excitement.

My God! What a sight she was!

"Stand in front of me, Lucy. I want to inspect your uniform."

As though in a trance, Lucy obeyed him.

Adams's eyes greedily devoured her womanly body, clad so provocatively in schoolgirl clothes. Hair loose in two bunches. Earrings.

"Take those earrings off!" he snapped. "No jewellery in school!"

Her trembling hands flew to her ears and she removed them, dropping them into his outstretched palm.

"No make-up, I see. Good. One point in your favour - not that it will help you much, Lucy Millar!"

She wore a white school blouse and cardigan, which were too small, drawing delicious attention to her breasts. He'd check later whether she was wearing a bra or not. He hoped she wasn't.

The gym-slip ended half-way down her thighs. Nice.

He ordered her to turn around slowly.

"Bend over and touch your toes!" he snapped. "I intend to check whether you are wearing regulation school knickers!" He drew out the syllables of the word 'knickers' with undisguised relish.

Lucy, trembling, did as she was told. Down went her slender little hands, sliding over her long white socks on her calves, until she was touching her ankles. What an excruciating position to be in! And how dreadful to have to do it in front of her Headmaster!

The gym-slip had risen with slow magic. Up, up over the pinchable, squeezable softness of her thighs, bare and talcum-smooth. Up over the crown of her buttocks, thrusting up and over their fullness, until the pleats jutted out like a stage curtain.

George Adams's eyes were greedily focused on the vulgar exhibition of her navy-knickered bottom. There was a dark stain seeping through the gusset already. He leaned forward and tested with a finger. She was wet all right!

"Disgusting!" he said throatily, smelling the heat and the juice from her, and enjoying her mortified squirming.

He turned round again until she was facing him. Her knees touched his knees. Dumbly, her face flushed with shame, Lucy listened to the Headmaster's lecture.

"...and to crown everything, I catch my young Biology mistress gloating over a pornographic magazine," he paused to add emphasis to his next words. "A magazine where naughty, wicked girls get what they deserve. A damned good spanking!"

Adams pulled Lucy down onto his wide lap. She, weak from the excitement of being shouted at and lectured, floated down onto his knees like the descent of a feather. She was light and small and schoolgirlsih, and she was his very naughty, about-to-be-punished school mistress.


Lucy's legs and arms flopped onto the floor as she made a perfect arc across his lap. The crisp impact of his decisive palm on her delectable rear sizzled through her body. Her nerves became like telephone wires, buzzing with messages.


She was hardly aware of what was happening. Adams lifted up her gym-slip skirt and neatly laid it back above her waist.

His warm male hands cupped her bottom cheeks, squeezing and kneading each one in turn. His fingers poked indecently into her cleft, forcing the navy cotton into a kind of valley in between. He continued poking and pushing his humiliating finger down, down into the deep cleft and beyond - massaging the sticky wet cotton stain until she writhed uncontrollably. The hems of her knickers were soaked in perspiration.

SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! Heavier and hard, punishing and determined.

She made no sound. Her face was flushed, her forehead beaded, her ears ringing from the pumping, pumping in them, and from the fly-swatting spanks of her bottom.

"Now I shall really punish you!" he said, his voice rising to an angry crescendo.


"Get up, Lucy!" he bellowed.

Lucy awkwardly clambered off his knees, feeling her knickered, spanked bottom gingerly.

"Lucy," Adams's voice rose and fell with subtle sarcasm, "you aren't showing any signs of repentance, are you!"

Lucy's toes curled involuntarily. She hadn't the courage to look him in the eye.

"I'm afraid I must insist you take your knickers down!"

Lucy stared at him with enormous eyes. Dare she? Should she? He was her Headmaster!

"Mr Adams - "

"Don't interrupt, girl - do it!" he snapped , taking her hands and placing them on the waistband of her knickers. But the gym-slip was in the way , and it had to come off. Silently, he rotated her like a frozen ballerina and, unzipping the back of the gym-slip, eased it from her shoulders and let it slip into a grey puddle at her feet.

Then he turned her round to face him and took her hands, pulling them into his hot crotch where her fingers closed obediently around his erection.

With her body bent towards him, her hands moving all the while, he lifted his own hands and out them in the waistband of her school knickers, peeling the navy cotton down and away from her beautiful buttocks.

Down they came. He savoured it with a slow deliberate motion, rolling the soft cotton between finger and thumb and then easing it, controlling it down over her nubile pink and white bottom.

Angrily, because at that moment she took her hands away from his trousers, he jerked her down over his knee. Her naked bottom was well stuck-up. The knickers rolled down to her calves of their own accord and stopped there.

Like a hungry man savouring a feast, he studied every part of her nakedness. The gentle girlish curve of her bottom cheeks, the saucy brown curls of pubic hair peeping from between her tightly closed legs.

Then he began to spank his young Biology mistress on her bare arse.

Lucy had no idea that the punishment would be as painful as her Headmaster seemed determined to make it. He had taken such command of the situation that she felt she could do nothing except obey. "He's doing what he likes with my bare bottom!" she kept repeating to herself. "He's really spanking me bare!"

In between the hardest bottom-smacks he could muster, Adams tilted her slightly so he could rub her pink erect clitoris - already swollen and streaming with moisture. As the heat in Lucy's bottom grew, she clenched her cheeks together in an attempt to ease the pain. She began to wish that she wasn't being spanked after all. And with that came a sudden reality check - that Adams was doing what he liked to her bottom and her sexual parts without her consent. The awareness became dreadfully humiliating. But there was no getting away from it - or from the fire he was stoking in her bottom.

She began to squeal through clenched teeth, but then as the slaps came one after another in the same sore places, she cried out, "Oh stop it!Pleeeeeeeeeeeasse!" and screeched in distress.

George Adams was going to do no such thing until he was satisfied she had been punished entirely to his liking.

"And next time, it will be my cane, young lady - and I'll thrash you with all the strength I have in my body!" he hissed.

"Ohhhh! My poor bottom. Oh Ohhhhhhhhhhh! Please, I'm sorry!" Lucy yelled, but Adams seemed only to smack her all the harder.

Suddenly there was an explosion of tears. She threw back her head and sobbed like a baby.

He pushed her off his lap and onto the floor. The schoolmistress lay submissively at her Headmaster's feet.

Still sobbing, Lucy felt his hands lift her up and smooth her well-spanked buttocks. With a voice of acid hardness he told her to take off her jumper and blouse.

Now she was naked apart from the long, white socks. The sweat from her wrigglings mingled with her perfume and trickled down between her bare breasts.

George pushed her over to a corner of the room and positioned the spotlight onto the young woman standing there, rubbing the reddest bottom he'd ever seen.

"Put your hands on your head!" he thundered.

Delicious! The spotlight played up and down the creamy whiteness of her back, the raw rude crimson of her arse. The posture was so like that of a truant schoolgirl made to stand in the corner with hands on head.

He stood behind her, smoothing her body and marvelling at the heat coming from her punished bottom.

Then, like a doll-ballerina, Lucy walked stiffly to her bedroom - propelled by Adams. The Headmaster of St. Bede's Boy's Grammar School had one hand on her burning flanks, the other now massaging his swollen cock, thrusting from the open zipper of his trousers.

Biology teacher she might be; but he was going to teach her a few things about Biology she wouldn't find in any of her textbooks.
Has Lucy forgotten her ex-boyfriend already?
From Hermione's Heart

Monday, July 16, 2018

Recap: Spanko Brunch 2.0 for July 15

What implements are you currently using?

Baxter: I am the spankee, for the most part. My wife uses a few things. One is a wooden paddle we bought at the local kitchen store, actually it is a bread board,but never used as such. She also uses a very long shoe horn, 2.5 feet long, that we got before I had my total knee replacement. It was to be used to help get shoes on but I had never needed it. My wife looked at it and told me to bare my bottom - wow does it sting. Another item is a wooden spoon bought at the hardware store, again never used in the kitchen, but for spanking me. We do need to get a leather belt so she can spank me when we are having sex - pain and pleasure are an intoxicating mix.

 Anna: In our kitchen, we have a wooden bread slicing board that Peter made for his mom when he was a Boy Scout. His mom gave it to me as a housewarming gift, when we bought our first home 10 years ago. No one knows that every Saturday morning it it put to use as a spanking implement for Peter. I love seeing him after the spanking standing in the corner, pants around his ankles, bare bottom beet red.

In addition I have used his belt, that I make him remove and hand to me. Upstairs in our bedroom is the hair brush with an ivory handle. That is also hot. All these things bring him back to the sweet man I married.

Roz: With spanking being pretty much non-existent here now days when they do occur it's usually a hand spanking. Our main implements would be leather paddle and wooden spoon.

Rosco: I am honored that you were inspired by my comment.

My bottom is currently feeling the aftermath of Wednesday's switching with supple shoots from a plum tree -something that grows wild in our area if you look.

I do liken the switch more to a whip than a paddle but it is a bit different. The delicious sting reminds me of tart lemonade on a hot day - once the intensity subsides a bit.

Barrel: Mistress's hair brush and rubber paddle are her favorites as she enjoys the OTK intimacy and the close up view of the results.

NoraJean: Older and been around for a few years ... crop and flogger, both favourites
New to the scene ... strappy leather paddle ~3 inches in diameter ... kinda slappy and stingy ... roundish leather paddle, quite thuddy ... a thin bamboo tomato stake, I wish he would only use it after a good warmup ... and the latest, an ok'd belt of his doubled over - I think it's going to go on the same list as the crop and flogger ... the 'yummy, yes please more, Sir' list ;))

Yorkie: For a while there, for noise reasons, we stuck to a Cane-iac Every Ready cane which is perfect for OTK and a Smack Stick Senior. Lately, however, the kids have been going out and leaving my wife and I home alone so I am free to use anything in my toy box which includes an OTK strap (oh I love that thing. I could take that thing all day), a small quarter inch think paddle, a short handled bath brush, a long handled bath brush, a removable handle from one of those bath brushes and a Smack Stick Junior which is hardly used as the Senior version is quite brutal and I love it.

I even trialled some of our wooden spoons in the kitchen. I was quite surprised at how effective some of them were.

Fondles: I think we have phases. His hand is always featured, followed by something else. Often its the cane, or his belt. But recently he's been pulling out the flogger (cos it's new I reckon) and the Christmas paddle - when I need a serious stress relief spanking!

Sir Wendel: The paddle and the belt are our favorite implements and nothing is better than the personal touch of the open hand.

Bonnie: Randy loves variety and surprises. Most of the time, he seems to choose the implement(s) with this in mind. So on any given day, it might be a favorite implement or just something he picked up off the counter. As soon as he feels like he's getting into a rut, he changes up his selections.

Amy: Eric is traveling for work so there are no spankings here. :( However, we seem to go through phases. A leather phase. A wooden phase. An otk hand phase. At this point, I'd take a wet noodle spanking!

Red: Good topic: we have progressed to canes (from Ronnie), Tawses (from Can-iac) and wooden bath brushes (from any local pharmacy or Walmart and our last was from a grocery store.

Ronnie: P chooses the implements so could be anything. Lately it's been the holey paddle Bogey sent me, the rose leather paddle and of course the cane.

Hermione: We have a large selection to choose from, and Ron keeps things interesting by varying his selection. Sometimes it's all leather straps and crops. Other times it's a mixture of leather and wood. He loves our long, red wooden shoehorn and uses it frequently. There are also a few Delrin implements that he likes, but only one of these will go into the mix. I am always allowed to choose one, and my choices are usually a leather paddle, ping pong paddle, or wooden beach paddle.

Thanks for participating in this lively discussion. Remember: I am always looking for new topics to discuss, so if you can think of a spanking-related topic we haven't discussed lately, please share it with me.
From Hermione's Heart