Monday, April 15, 2013

From the Top Shelf - The Woodshed



I haven't posted a poem lately, so here's one that I hope will start your week off on a high note.


The Woodshed

by P N Dedeaux

As into the woodshed Elizabeth went
to atone for a moment's domestic dissent.
She espied an object designed to cause pain
An object which looked very much like a cane.

It could do her dire harm, our Elizabeth knew
for she'd suffered before its effect...black and blue
having bent her broad bum to its beastly embrace
and suffered its sting and the shameful disgrace.

Altogether her future seemed lacking in cheer
as her father, observing her symptoms of fear,
stated her sentence and set her ears buzzin'
"For answering back, Miss, the best of a dozen!"

"A dozen? Papa, oh please not so strict!
For cheeking Mama I've ne'er been so licked.
Oh Mercy, Dear Papa, 'twill cut me in two
Oh please let me off, if only a few!"

But let off she's not, despite wringing white hands
and a body that's trembling right there where she stands
her bosom so tense it might well be in milk
and lily white thighs, their surface like silk.

And now she is focused on Papa's thick stick
which now larrups the air so's to make her feel sick.
All her pleas were in vain, just elicit a frown
a click of the latch and a gruff "Take 'em down!"

Oh God she must strip, she must "take 'em down", quite
with fumbling hands bare her buttocks so white.
Though not long to remain so is our guess and fear
To judge from the way father eyes up her rear.

He eyes its appearance appraisingly now
as Betty disrobes with modesty's bow
and while father rolls up the sleeves of his shirt
her task is to doff, rather slowly, her skirt.

Now bare from the waist, heavy bottomed and broad
Betty blushes and stares, rather glumly, toward
the trestle o'er which she must bend her poor base
soon to be redder than even her face.

Her sense of distress and impending dire pain
increase at the sight of that frightening cane.
"Now get over tight and stick it right up
I'll teach you to lip, you insolent pup!"

Now that dreaded sawhorse has legs widely spread
and the end where she bends slopes down to its head.
So poor Betty is really extremely distended
an impartial viewer might call it well bended.

Upended, distended and thoroughly bended,
poor Betty, we fear, can not be defended
from that terrible flexible hickory stick
positioned and ready to give its first lick.

The wood writes its stripe with a grunted out "One"
for, heavens above, her chastisement's begun
and a flame of white fire courses through that young rump
as the second cut follows with sickening thump.

With the thump on her bottom, Elizabeth grips
holding hard to the trestle with in-bitten lips.
Three and four follow with plenty of time
for her father undoubtedly knows how to "lime".

And now he wraps round her the full of the tip
whose burrowing ache and blistering nip
extract his first 'music' - a quick stifled cry
Chastisements due toll, howe'er hard Betsy try.

Brave Elizabeth tries with her might and her main
to suffer in silence the scorch of the cane
but if seven is hell she gets eight at a run
her bottom is blazing, her pluck is near done.

Yes the pluck of poor Betty is seen in her face
when she turns it to daddy, as red as her base.
"Oh Father, oh please you have set me on fire!
Oh please, can't you cane me a little bit higher?"

"Please come up higher.." she piteously begs
"...the last two you gave me were down on my legs!
I'm trying to bear it the best that I know
but it isn't fair, daddy, to beat me so low!"

"You're cutting so low that it's down in the fold
where its tender and sore...if I might be so bold
I'll even take extra if higher you'll come...
In short, oh papa, please oh please just my bum!"

"I'll beat it..." he told her "...I'll beat it all right
just spread your cheeks wide and get it up tight"
and the last strokes he gave her were deadly and true
Betty yelped like a puppy and, be fair, wouldn't you?

The last that he dealt were so terribly strict
she leapt up as if by some mule she'd been kicked
for a second she seemed with the sawhorse to wrestle
in the next she had leapt from that terrible trestle.

She leapt up in terror as the last caught her well
clipping in underneath like a brand hurled from hell
it came right in to the region so tender, defined
the most feminine part of poor Betty's behind.

Poor prancing Elizabeth holds hard her rear
quite lost to all modesty now then I fear
as stamping with pain and howling her woe
she kneads her young bottom like soft stripy dough.

Kneading her buttocks and panting again
she writhes in the grip of real punishment pain.
Her father regards her, a light in his eyes
with a grin he confounds her - "Did I say you could rise?"

For rising before permission is given
is extra, alas - however you've striven
in vain poor Elizabeth falls to her knees
in vain do her salt tears now back up her pleas.

Once more she goes over in tearful despair
Once more stern papa whips that cane through the air.
The dozen's a butcher's - all ways of that word -
"Now off to your mother" is all that she heard.

Leaden limbed, dewy eyed and holding her bum
Betty dresses and drags herself off to her mum.
Her bottom is blazing, it seems twice the weight
the weals thick as fingers whose smart won't abate.

"Mama I am sorry, I apologise quite"
and curtseying Betty displays quite a sight
for turning she shows to mum her bare seat
its lily white hue turned the colour of beet.

She must turn and display the results of her crime
transgression's reward and humility's prime
the work of her father's skill with the cane
"Dear Mama, I shall ne'er answer back once again!"

With raised skirt in a corner our sinner must pass
an hour with the bible, while quite bare of ass
reading the prophets, while, rueful of face,
one hand rotating the skin of her base.

Bare of behind and a Bible before her
Elizabeth's mind is in growing disorder.
Her pain is below but her mind's overhead
where the squeak of a mattress, the springs of a bed...

...cause a blush to creep o'er Elizabeth's cheeks
hearing lusty large lungings, Mama's answering shrieks
as her father, as always after Betty's disgrace
exacts his reward from...a different place!!


From Hermione's Heart

Sunday, April 14, 2013

You Completed the Caption


Here is how the photo was captioned on VeryDemotivational.com, and now here are your captions:

Archedone: What is this thing? Is it used for spanking?

GaryNTboy: IRAN TESTS THEIR LATEST ARMOUR PLATED PANTS !

Cathie Cooky: Cut that out, I am not your wife.

Sir Wendel Jones: The Elite Suicide Spanking Squad

Michael: "Rocket in his pocket"

"Ass missile proves a dud"

"The Afghanistan comedy team of Fariad & Farrin, The Two Stooges, perform live (for now) in Kabul for Afghanistan President Hamid Karzai"

Anon: Surplus Missile Used as Spanking Implement

wo Arabs walk into a Missile surplus dump....looking for new ways to discipline their wives, they try spanking on each other with an empty missile.

Do you think my wife will like this?

Kingspan: And you thought a hairbrush delivered a powerful spank!

Minelle: Let me see if this makes a good spanking tool. Nah...not so hot. Much too cumbersome.

Ronnie: He'd found another use for his RPG.

Vfrat25000: You idiot, you stole the secrets to our new rocket from Toys R Us. Toys R Us is NOT an Aerospace Company it’s a TOY STORE, a fricken TOY STORE!

Be afraid…Be very afraid. Iran has successfully developed a nuclear tipped Bullsh*t Detector. They demonstrated the device in the village square in front of a huge crowd.

“My beard itches something fierce, my hat smells like hot road kill and I am having a terrible time picking up woman in these pajamas you make us wear.”
“Infidel…Ill teach you to speak out! Hand me the explosive tipped attitude adjuster!”

The Iranian Secret Police finally solved the mystery of the disappearance of Jimmy Hoffa. He was apprehended while trying to unionize the Iranian Auto Workers of Tehran.

Tag, your it!...........Oh crap.It was armed……..Sorry Dude!

I want to play Bob Hope…You get to be Bing Crosby…I want to be Bob Hope….NO way…The guy with the missile wins...I play Bob Hope in our new Iranian production of the Road to World Domination.

Why is that Security Officer whacking that guy with a missile?
He secretly recorded “Oprah & The View” on the Royal TIVO! We must make an example of him. 

A. Lurker: Confirmed Sighting: Taliban Harbour Weapons of mAss Destruction

Cross-Dressing Taliban Female Duly Punished

Taliban Give Whole New Meaning to Expression “Getting Bombed”

Young Lady: The men were much better behaved with the new "spanking policies" in place... somehow being spanked was not considered very manly.

Dr. Ken: "Yes, that was me. You were expecting maybe Mary Poppins?"

Bonnie: "That missile is a real stringer!"

I hope everyone had a good time here today, and that you will join me tomorrow for a very special treat.

From Hermione's Heart

Saturday, April 13, 2013

Complete the Caption

Imagine seeing this photograph on the front page of the World News section of your daily newspaper. What would the headline read?

Complete the caption by leaving a comment and I will publish your submissions in the next post.


From Hermione's Heart

Friday, April 12, 2013

Friday FAIL

We're overdue for another visit from those intra-planetary terrestrials, the WalMartians.



 Poor Mickey!




 I hope she's ordering a hot chocolate to warm up those buns.




 Why even bother with shorts?





 Express checkout for sleazy chicks.




Until now I thought the fashion of wearing your pants around your knees was just an internet joke. Then yesterday I saw two boys from the local high school dressed much like this. What is this world coming to?


From Hermione's Heart

Thursday, April 11, 2013

Say what?



 Our spankings are always for fun, although at times I wonder exactly who is enjoying it more. Sure I like being spanked by the man I love, but do you want to know something? It hurts. I have been known to loudly protest when my bottom is being subjected to torment, and Ron is invariably quite unsympathetic. I'll let you eavesdrop on a few recent exchanges and you'll see what I mean.



H: It hurts!
R: I'm whacking you; that's why it hurts.


H: Ouch!
R: It's supposed to hurt. Isn't that the idea?


H: (While he was using the shoehorn on the crease where my thighs end and backside begins) Ooh! You've found my Achilles' heel.
R: That's not what it looks like from here.
H: I hate to think what it looks like.


R: It's wood day!
H: Ow!


H: (As the big wooden paddle is applied) Ow, that hurts!
R: Ha ha! Is that a good hurt?
H: No, not yet.


H: Ow.
R: What?
H: OW.
R: Eh?
H: OW!
R: Oh.


R: It's leather day!
H: Ow!
 

H: Ow.
R: When you're getting whacked, "ow" is good.

From Hermione's Heart

Wednesday, April 10, 2013

Wednesday WIN

More fun with asses.




 Very wrong. I can't imagine what's in that bag. Disposable bottoms?





 Quite a lovely one too.





Good boy!





Bill Gates has a giant paddle. Now go spank yourself with it, and apologize for Vista.





For all my spanko friends; this pretty much sums it up.


From Hermione's Heart

Tuesday, April 9, 2013

From the Top Shelf - School Bullies


I have for you today a letter originally published in Janus - the magazine dedicated to all things spanking - in 1979. it was submitted by a former teacher and relates her experiences with corporal punishment (giving, not receiving) at school in the early 1950s.

I am a woman who has always been deeply aroused by spanking and, in fact, worked for many years in an environment where my 'interest' had to be suppressed. I was Deputy Head of a private girls school in the southern counties of England, just after the war. The school used corporal punishment and parents sent their girls to us because the disciplinary policy was well known and respected. This was no regime of savagery, the usual class punishments being a short strap across the hand or a plimsoll across the seat of the knickers. The girls hated this because of the embarrassment more than the pain, in front of their classmates.

More serious offences resulted in girls being sent to the Headmaster, who would administer between four and six strokes of the cane to the knickered bottom in front of a female witness, usually me. Although four strokes may not sound a lot, his strength and technique was enough to guarantee that the culprit was inevitably red-faced, tearful and very sore by the end of the punishment. I was trained in the use of the cane and substituted for the Headmaster during any necessary absences, although my opportunities to 'lay it on' were necessarily spasmodic.

On one particular occasion, in the early 1950s, an opportunity arose which gave me great satisfaction. A visiting school came over for a hockey match, a game which resulted in a win for the visiting team. After the game, while the girls were in the communal bath, a visiting first year girl, aged about eleven, walked into the dressing room to congratulate her team-mates and was seized by some of our team and flung, fully clothed, into the bath where she was held under water for some seconds until allowed to escape, crying in terror. She ran up the corridor, sobbing, into the arms of our Games Mistress who elicited the full story.

Three girls from our school were identified as the culprits, and I was summoned to the Headmaster's office the following morning. He was furious, not least because the victim was a visitor, and the incident created a lot of embarrassment for him personally. He told me emphatically that such bullying deserved serious consequences and what he had in mind was not appropriate for a male teacher to administer, so he delegated the punishment to me.

Two of the three girls were regular trouble-makers and I'd had cause to punish them before, but not with such severity. The third was new to the school and had only been attending for a few months.

I decided to start with her and called her in. Her name was Vivienne (I'll omit her surname) and she was a tall, brown-haired, pretty girl aged sixteen. She looked quite frightened and there were tears in her eyes already. I explained that she would receive six strokes of the senior cane for her part in the shameful bullying and that the punishment would take place immediately.

She coloured up and walked to my desk holding out her hand for punishment. Coldly, I told her that the reason I was to administer punishment, and not the Head, was because we believed the incident was so serious that all three girls should be caned on the bare bottom. She began to back away, weeping, and refused to accept the punishment. I told her we had contacted her father, who had agreed with our decision, and should she continue to obstruct me, she would be taken to the Headmaster's office. There, if necessary, she would be forcibly divested of her knickers and receive an even harsher caning on the bare bottom from the Head and then, quite possibly, expelled.

She broke down in tears, saying she would accept my caning and, with trembling hands, she removed her underpants completely, as I instructed and placed them on the chair. The she bent over my desk, gripping the far edge as I had instructed, standing on tip toes, her bottom raised. I raised her skirt and ran my hand briefly over her plump, firm bottom. I was sure she could take a caning without too much trouble. I varied my strokes to cover her bottom from top to bottom and she was gasping and crying long before the end and, when I'd finished, she lay there weeping, her bottom cheeks pulsing with six bright red stripes. When she eventually did get up, she rubbed her bottom cheeks vigorously and went to put her pants on. I told her to leave them where they were, to hitch her skirt up to her waist and to stand in the corner with her hands on her head.

I called in the second girl, whose name was Andrea, and when she walked into the study her face reddened as she saw the state of her team-mate and understood her fate only too well. Without needing to be told, she slipped her knickers off and left them on the chair, then bent over my desk, pulling up her own skirt and sticking her bottom out.

I told her she would get six strokes - hard ones - for I was sick and tired of this young lady and determined that the message would get through. She had quite a large bottom for a small girl and, by the time I'd finished I made damn sure I'd covered every part of it. I hit her with considerably more force than I had used on Vivienne and, by the last stroke, she was howling and begging me to stop. I made her lie across the desk for five minutes, displaying her stripes, and threatening her with more if she attempted to rub her bottom, before telling her to join Vivienne in the corner.

When the third girl, Pamela, came in she too immediately realised her fate when she saw her two red-striped companions and begged me not to give her the cane but to substitute something else. I had caned her before, over her pants, and it was true that she seemed to have a very low pain threshold for she had screamed almost from the first stroke. So I agreed to use the tawse instead, though I suspect she had no idea of the effectiveness of a Scottish tawse on a bare bottom.

After removing her underpants, she bent over the desk. I flipped up her skirt and raised my three tail tawse and struck. The covering power of a tawse is considerable and she let out one disbelieving shriek. I had realised that this young lady was the ringleader of the three and had caused me considerable problems in the past. The fact that she seemed to have made a bad choice bothered me not one whit and I enthusiastically stuck to my task.

She would not keep still throughout the punishment, wriggling her bottom and kicking her legs until the six strokes had been delivered. She had a big plump bottom and by the end it resembled a huge scarlet mountain. She was gasping and crying, still kicking her legs, as she lay across the desk for the obligatory five minutes. I hoped, perversely, that she would reach back and touch her bottom for then I could thrash her again but she managed to control herself. On rising she rubbed her bottom and jumped up and down in severe pain until I told her to stand still.

All three were warned that any more trouble would mean instant expulsion. The three girls who left my study were very changed little madams from the ones who entered it.

About three months later, Andrea left the school to live abroad with her parents. She came to me before leaving and quietly thanked me for the caning which, she said, had made her grow up very quickly and become more responsible. I was gratified by her comments but a number of girls experience this change of attitude. She was far from the last to feel my cane or have the time to regret her stupidity.

It's good to know that caning had a positive effect on at least one pupil.


From Hermione's Heart