When we last saw her, our naughty heroine is being prepared for a spanking for her rudeness.
...Inhaling hard she placed her cuffed wrists against the top rung and her feet on the lowest one. Then she levered herself up with her wrists, bent her body reluctantly forward and let her bound arms hang down as low as they were able.
"I'll just make sure you stay there," Rab said tauntingly. Fern trembled as she felt him fumbling at her ankles and wrists. When he moved back, she looked down. He had fastened one end of his belt around one of her ankles then tied the free end to the chain between the cuffs. Now her bottom was a raised and tempting target, and she couldn't move her flesh enough to evade even one single spank.
The men had warned her to keep her skirt up around her armpits throughout the punishment walk, so now the only protection Fern had was her cotton panties. And Rab had made it clear that they were coming off!
Fern tensed her eyes and mouth. Her belly felt glued to the fence... She inhaled and held as the driver took hold of the back of her waistband and tore her panties away. She felt the cool breeze brushing over her helpless bottom and the flesh above her stocking tops. There as a silence in which she could tell that both men were contemplating her newly bared bum...
She sensed him moving closer, and felt the first two-palmed fondling of her twitching arse cheeks. His hands were rough, and mercilessly thorough. She tensed her thighs together as he stroked and squeezed each inch of skin...
She felt a sudden pain, and heard the accompanying loud slapping sound. "Aaah! Ouch!" Both spanks brought back some of the heat of her earlier punishment.
"Give me a minute and I'll really give you something to cry about," Rab said.
Obviously in search of greater leverage he put one hand on the side of her back, and started to spank her more firmly. His hand toasted first one taut globe then the next. Fern jerked and writhed, vaguely aware of little squealing sounds. It took her a few seconds to realize that they were coming from herself.
The man knew how to spank! Bound as she was, Fern couldn't see how far he was lifting his hand back, but she could feel the flesh-on-flesh explosion, hear each resounding crack. "Getting nice and toasty now," Rab gloated, stopping for a second to rest his hands against her extremities.
"Two more minutes," Dr. Marshall smiled.
Which meant she was just over halfway through her second-ever chastisement. Who'd have thought a grown woman could feel such shame? Shame, and much as she'd mentally hated Rab's degrading words, she'd felt an unwanted creeping physical pleasure. Now that he was caressing her bottom cheeks, she registered a heavy arousal-led heat between her legs.
"Let's see if we can make this arse the colour o' the poppies over there," Rab said, and Fern knew without opening her eyes that the poppies would be the deepest red.
"A thrashing hurts more after a wee rest," he continued, fondling her already-sore orbs. She tensed as his palm left her bum, then yelled as it made contact again with renewed energy. He spanked the full swell of her cheeks, walloped hard at the top, then the sides and the jiggling underswell.
"I'll not leave your bonny legs out," he continued in his horribly exultant voice. "They'll come up real pink with the right treatment." He started to heat the tender backs of her thighs with every fourth or fifth smack.
"Ah! Ah! Ah!" Fern grunted in an accompanying rhythm. Her mound rubbed against the fence as each new slap enlivened her quivering cheeks.
"Enough," said Dr. Marshall's voice.
Enough for now, perhaps. There will be more to come in future installments.
When we left our convicted arsonist, Fern, she was on her way to a very special kind of reformatory. She had already been given a spanking in the van for attempting to seduce her attendant (read about it here and here) and is still lying across the doctor's lap.
"Can I sit up now, sir?" She asked humbly.
"Only when Rab finds a lay-by," the psychiatrist said.
"We're stopping for a break this soon?" Her watch showed that it was only three quarters of an hour since they'd left the court's busy car park.
The man hoisted her higher upon his knee. "We're stopping so that Rab can warm your arse for your earlier rude words."
"But I was rude to you, not him!" This time Fern risked a reproachful look back at the man - she had to do something!
"True, but I'm delegating the task." He fondled her writhing posterior. "My arm's a little tired, whereas his will be painfully alert. And he does so enjoy chastising a new offender - especially when it's a pretty woman!" He rested a palm on each of her buttocks as if savouring their obvious well-spanked warmth.
...It was awful to lie here knowing that her bum was going to be toasted again...Fern trembled as she heard and felt the van nosing its way into the side of the road. She nibbled at the insides of her cheeks as the engine was switched off and she heard Rab's cabin door opening and closing...
She got to her feet quickly as Rab reached for her right arm.
"Seems I've got to warm your arse for you, darling."
Fern turned to face him, looking up into the eyes of an angry and uneducated man.
"Please," she whispered to Dr. Marshall. "I can't bear to... Can't you spank me again instead!"
"I could but I won't. It wouldn't be as hard or as shaming. And the object is for you to feel shame now. After all, your response for my letting you keep on your pants was a particularly ungrateful one."
"I was grateful really," Fern lied as Dr. Marshall turned her toward the van's open doors. She saw Rab's gloating gaze contemplating the rotundities beneath her raised linen skirt, and decided to say nothing further.
"Right, darling, let's get you down," Rab said...
She kept looking nervously at Dr. Marshall as he scanned the landscape.
"Want to tie her to that tree over there? He asked Rab.
"Nah, I like a bent-over bum. There's a fence round that big tattie field down there," the driver answered...
"Almost there, darling. Ever been bound over to keep the peace before? Makes your arse stick out nice and high for me to toast with my hand."
She stared at the recently mown grass a few feet in front of her. Though she tried to slow her steps, they were taking her closer and closer to the dreaded fence if only she hadn't been rude to Dr. Marshall! If only she hadn't set fire to that store! If only she'd... Fern's mind raced with if onlys, but her bum already knew it was too late.
They reached the gate and Rab pointed to a smooth new piece of fencing along from it. "Out your belly against that, my bonny angel."
Fern looked weakly at Dr. Marshall, who nodded. "Rab's to give you a five minute spanking across a fence for your impertinence." He smiled down at her. "Whilst it's going on, you'll only be able to think of the heat in your poor bottom, how sore it is. But afterwards think of the lesson - reflect on how nice you could have been to me, or to anyone else you interact with."
"Yes sir," Fern muttered.
To be continued....
I can't believe that I've been blogging for two years! In the blogosphere, that makes me a veteran, and Hermione's Heart is middle-aged.
My first year was a time for exploring and getting my bearings as a blogger. This second year has been one of expanding and growing, both in my blog and in my spanking relationship with my dear husband Ron. Life just keeps getting better and better.
I've had some turmoil in my professional life in the past year, and while I am relieved to say that things are looking up now, and I am enjoying new challenges with the support of a great group of co-workers, there were long stretches of time when it was a struggle for me to turn up at the office each day. During those months, the blogging world was the only thing that kept me going. For that I am very grateful.
Thank you, dear readers, for returning here again and again to see what's in Hermione's Heart. You make it all worthwhile.
The appropriate gift for a second anniversary is cotton, and after I excluded clothing, I found a few possibilities. I wonder which one Ron will choose to commemorate my blogaversary.
The food isn't great, but the ambiance is wonderful!
Two weekends ago I was lying across Ron's lap and he was energetically applying the riding crop to my bared bottom. As he spanked, I mused. (I'm good at multi-tasking.) It was funny, I thought, that the last time he had used it, he had switched to a different implement because I hadn't been reacting to it much. I had been disappointed with it too.
How different things were this time. The little hand on the end of the crop was making its presence known. Had Ron been practising? Or was he simply giving me harder strokes?
Then the swats stopped as Ron paused to admire his handiwork and to see what effect it was having on me. His hand gently rubbed my hot cheeks, then slipped in between them to rub even more gently. The rubbing became a little firmer and more rhythmic, and I realized we had moved on to the next phase. That was fine.
Or was it? The riding crop had felt good. I wanted more. When he continued his ministrations I weighed the odds. I knew where this was headed - where I was headed - and that was nice too, but first, I had to feel the crop sear my buttocks again. Should I speak up? Or should I go with the flow?
I made up my rapidly-dissolving mind.
"May I have a little more?" I whispered. Ron immediately withdrew his hand, and in a heartbeat I felt the welcome, rhythmic pain once more. He kept it up until I stopped squirming and ow-ing and settled into it. Then he put down the crop and picked up from where he had left off. This time I didn't stop him and, well, you'll just have to imagine the rest
"Do I have lots of little handprints on my bum?" I asked later, as we cuddled together.
"Dozens," Ron affirmed, and I couldn't wait to see them for myself.
The following weekend found me on my elbows and knees on the bed after Ron had decided that the belt hadn't been taken out of the drawer for quite a while. He made that implement hurt a lot more than I remembered, but it was such a good hurt.
Sets of whacks with the belt alternated with periods of caresses on my sore posterior. Each time the belt resumed its task, I felt it less and less, although I could tell that Ron was using more force. When he finally put the belt down, I sighed and started to roll onto my side. Ron put a hand on my back to stop me and asked, "Enough?"
I was thrilled at his considerate question. "You've never asked me that before," I replied, somewhat flustered. Should I ask for more? I thought it was over, and was okay with that. But this might be my chance to go for the hour-long spanking. Should I? Shouldn't I?
I lay back, then pulled Ron down beside me.
What a gentleman! In future I won't hesitate to ask for what I need, but then again, I may never have to ask.
As we saw yesterday, the prisoner is in for an over the lap spanking at the hands of the prison psychiatrist.
He pushed the button on the wall leading to the driver's cab, and the glass panel immediately wound down. "Rab, one spanking over her pants to be recorded in the punishment book."
Fern shivered and closed her eyes, hating the fact that the driver might hear her taking her thrashing. He could watch in the cabin's mirror as she got a toasted rear end.
"And a second smacking on the bare backside for being rude to me," Dr. Marshall added in a conversational tone.
Fern squirmed in his lap. She felt hugely aware of her small high buttocks and was glad that her panties were waist to thigh white cotton...She tried to steady her breathing, aware that the inscrutable doctor was still staring down at her helpless buttocks. What would this correction be like? She had never been spanked before.
"You aren't really going to do this?" She said, but it came out a question rather than a determined statement.
"Oh trust me - I certainly am," the tall dark doctor replied.
...
Fern sensed rather than saw the movement:, felt the air currents change then winced as the first downward slap made contact with her taut right cheek. As the warm glow spread through its smooth center, her tormentor spanked the flesh above it, then below it.
"Ouch, that hur..." Fern started, the word changing to an indignant squeal as he turned his attention to the other buttock and doled out three equally stinging slaps. Then her tormentor smacked the bare flesh at the top of her thighs till the cool flesh felt hot and tender.
"Girls hate a tops-of-leg spanking, but it makes them behave much better," he murmured, before smacking the backs of her thighs all over again.
After that, he settled into a painful pattern. Spanking first one pantied buttock then the other. Fern wriggled about defenselessly as he used her bottom like a drum on which he beat out a one-handed tattoo. His right hand was big, his right arm was strong, her small rump was soft and supple.
"Shouldn't have tried to seduce you. Won't do it again!" she gasped, wincing and squirming across his lap.
The doctor spanked the lower portion of both tender cheeks. "You won't if a hot sore bum reminds you of the error of your ways."
Fern writhed across his knees as he continued with his relentless hand-heavy rhythm. Her nipples rubbed against the van seat. Her pubic mound pushed against his lap as she tensed and untensed her major leg muscles. Her main attention, though, was concentrated on her poor disarmed bottom, still receiving slap after slap
At last he stopped. Fern cautiously opened her eyes. The van looked brighter than before, as if filled with extra sunshine. She could see that Rab the driver had left his glass partition fully wound down. Damn it, he'd have heard her apologize, heard her little gasps and squeals, her breathless entreaties. She'd never be able to look him squarely in the face again!
What was a woman to say or do after a man had spanked her for being devious? Fern's mind raced with possible humorous and dramatic one-liners, each of which she instantly sent sway. Her backside was still beneath the police psychiatrist's palms, so she didn't want to enrage him further. She just wanted to be allowed to sit on the side of her hip and pretend this had never happened and continue the journey to the reformatory in sore-bummed peace.
"Does your bottom hurt?"
She winced as the bearded man stroked her hot cheeks again and again. Of course it bloody hurt -- it had been well-roasted.
But wait. There's more to come. Stay tuned...
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