Complete the Caption

Our friend Hilda is hard at work painting. What will be her reward for all her hard work?

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

From the Top Shelf - Sally's Mom, part 1

Those of you who enjoy both M/F and F/M spanking are in for a real treat, because this story has some of each. "Sally's Mom" is from Rollin Hand's collection of spanking stories, Women in Charge, and it's a very hot tale! Here is part one:

Sally’s Mom

Every boy has that one experience – that coming of age wake-up call – that WOW moment. Mine came when I was nineteen, which they say is the peak of a young man’s sexual potency. They may just be right.

Back in the 1960’s I attended a junior college in rural southwestern Virginia. My family had moved there from the DC area because of a job opportunity for my father. I hadn’t been crazy about it, and for good reason. The town was rock solid bible belt conservative in terms of culture. Being from the hip environs of Washington DC, I felt like a fish out of water in a social milieu of church bake sales and barn dances.

It wasn’t all bad. There was this really cute girl in one of my classes by the name of Sally Jamison. Sally was a vision with her long silky reddish hair and green eyes. She dressed conservatively, but I could tell that underneath the modest dresses there was a stunning figure. She was a shy girl and it took me a while to form even a casual friendship with her. At first she shied away from my attempts to strike up casual conversations, but I was persistent. I couldn’t help it. She was so sweet and appealing that I felt like I had to get to know her. Gradually she began to talk to me. We ate lunch at the student center and discussed our classes. I walked with her to class. After six weeks of just chit-chat I asked her if she’d like to go to a movie. To my delight she said yes. I said I’d pick her up at her house.

It’s always a little nerve wracking meeting the parents for the first time. You always wonder, will they like you? Will they disapprove? Are they strict? What rules will they lay down? I thought about these things as I approached Sally’s house to pick her up that first time. I went through my rehearsed “parent speech” and figured I was ready. What I was not ready for was Mrs. Jamison.

Her name was Evelyn and she was a knockout. She couldn’t have been very old, early 40’s at the most. I decided she must have married young. As I said, Sally was cute, but her mother was something else. I tried not to gape as she ushered me in. Tall, with broad shoulders and a full bust, she moved with a lithe grace in tight Capri pants that outlined a voluptuous figure. Today our notions of beauty tend toward thin and athletic body styles, but back then it was curves and abundance. Jane Russell, Jayne Mansfield, Marilyn Monroe – those were our sex bomb icons. And that was Mrs. Jamison – glamorous and larger than life. In a few years that figure would tend toward matronly, but not today. She was the only parent in the house because Master Sergeant Jamison, her husband, was overseas.

She looked me up and down and let me sweat for a minute before she said, “You look like a nice young man. Sally will be out in a minute. Come on into the living room and let’s talk.”

I followed the sway of those ample hips as she led the way into the living room and motioned for me to sit. Then came the usual third degree. Where was home, who were my folks, what was I studying, what are my interests, do I attend church, etc? I think I managed to navigate all this, but I was running out of material. Miraculously, Sally saved the day by bounding down the stairs.

Then the conversation turned into ‘where were we going?’ and ‘who would we be with?’ The answers seemed to be satisfactory, so the cross examination finally ended and we were on our way. All the while I noticed that Sally seemed cowed by her mother. There was none of that teenage mother-daughter arguing that would seem so common to me later on in life. It was all ‘yes, mother’ and ‘no, mother.’ No, it was clear Evelyn Jamison ruled the roost and her offspring obeyed the rules. It was her intensity, I think -- an air of absolute authority. The way those eyes bored into yours told you she was always in charge and rebellion would be quickly and unmercifully quashed. It unnerved me as I observed how Sally was so polite and deferential to her mother.

That very evening I got an idea of how Mrs. Jamison was able to impose her will so absolutely and ensure such strict obedience. We had just come out of the movie theater. I suggested we go to a local soda shop and talk for a while. I could tell Sally wanted to. She gnawed her lower lip and looked around. “What time is it?” she said. I told her we had time before her curfew and anyway, what if she was a few minutes late? What was the big deal?

She went pale. “You don’t understand,” she said. “Mother is very strict.” Then she proceeded to tell me that hers was a strictly religious family and they followed biblical principles. Mother mostly ran the house because her dad was gone a lot. He was in the Army and was stationed in Korea at present, so mom was the sole authority. “If I disobey, even just a little, I get punished,” she said.

“What?” I said, “You get grounded?”

She blushed. “Um…yes,” she stammered as if the question conjured up something shameful. “And worse,” she added. Clearly, this was an uncomfortable subject.

That was a curious response. I wondered what ‘worse’ might entail. I knew Sally had an older sister who lived at home and two younger brothers in their early teens. I tried to imagine what the discipline regime in a household like that might be like. I did not want to probe. After all, we were just getting to know each other, but I was certainly curious.

I took her straight home. Sally was clearly anxious to get in by her curfew, and we made it by half an hour. Still, Mrs. Jamison met us at the door (no goodnight kiss, darn it), and made a show of looking at her watch.

That night I replayed the evening in my head and tried to understand the Jamison’s better. Ok, they were staunchly religious just like many families in Southwestern Virginia. That wasn’t unusual. Ok, Sally’s dad was military and her mom clearly authoritarian. So what made Sally so afraid of bending a rule?

The next time I called on Sally, I found out. There was some tension that I could sense as Mrs. Jamison ushered me in. I was led into the parlor to wait for Sally and what should I see but Fran, Sally’s older sister, kneeling in a corner facing the wall. On the coffee table there was a paddle. It was about a foot long and highly varnished. The edges were all rounded and beveled and the handle was wrapped in tape. It looked well used. Sally’s mother noted my surprise and casually said, “Sally will be down in a minute, then Fran and I can tend to our business – isn’t that right Fran?”

I heard a muffled “Yes, mother,” from Fran. I was stunned. Fran was probably twenty. She was still being punished with a paddle? This maybe explained Sally’s nervousness from our previous date.

Sally confirmed it. “Fran will be absolutely mortified that you saw that,” she said as we hurried down the front steps. I kept looking back as if I might catch a glimpse of the action through the window.

I asked what had happened.

“She and mother got into an argument and she sassed mother. She even used foul language. Mother absolutely won’t stand for that, so she sent Fran to fetch the spanking paddle. I’m afraid she is in for a hot time.”

My next question was obvious, and I think Sally knew it was coming. “So do you get paddled too?”

Sally blushed beet red. “Yes. We all do.” Then she grabbed my sleeve and added, “Please don’t tell anyone. Please?”

Strangely, I was not horrified, I was fascinated. I wanted to know all about it. Where I grew up, spankings were not all that common. I had known a few kids who got it, mostly the kids whose families were sort of blue collar. I remember hearing stories of memorable lickings, sometimes third hand and obviously embellished, but sometimes from the unfortunate recipient of parental wrath.

I started asking her for details. How does she do it? What is the kneeling in the corner all about? How many do you get? And the most important of all—what do you wear? Or is it on the bare?

But the topic made Sally uncomfortable. “Can we talk about something else?” I said ‘sure’ and the subject was dropped. But the fascination remained. I wanted to know all about the disciplinary practices of the Jamison family. Mostly I wanted to know all about Sally’s lickings. In my mind’s eye I saw her, bottom up, skirt furled back, maybe even panties slipped down to her knees while a determined Mrs. Jamison delivered smack after smack to her shapely derriere. Or maybe she’d be turned over her momma’s knee, skirts up and panties dangling at her knees. The thought gave me a ferocious woody.

I'll bet you are all wondering too. I'm afraid you will have to wait until next week to find out out if our narrator's imaginings are close to the real thing.

Recap: Spanko Brunch 2.0 for April 7

Do you ever test your limits?

Barrel: LOL, great and timely question as my wife and I are planning a session today or tomorrow that will push our limits. Our limits are primarily hers as she backs off sooner than I am at my limit due to my moaning. We have discussed and agreed I want to go deeper and she wants to help us go there.

Obviously communication is one key. The second is her recognizing the cleansing and relief I get after being severely thrashed. Finally, she is growing in her enjoyment of the actual strapping and caning. I am looking forward to broader limits.

Yorkie: I am always wanting to push limits but mine are way higher than my wife’s so I don’t think I will ever get close to my limit. Having said that, we played last weekend for the first time in about six or seven months and I have to admit, I had tears in my eyes and thought seriously about calling it off at times but I stuck it out and ended up doing what I always do - calling time to save my wife from getting bored.

I’d say that was the hardest spanking I’ve ever had only because it was a while between drinks and my pain tolerance was down a bit (I think). I had marks and redness but no bruising and they didn’t last a day either but surprise surprise, I want another one just like it.

Roz: This is a great question Hermione. I can't say we have tested the limits as such and since we haven't practised ttwd for so long now I think any spanking action would be more a gentle re-start.


Rosco: Yes, in a couple of ways.

We’ve tried numerous implements and presently have 5 or 6 on hand. The carpet beater was too much, as were some of the switches I’ve cut from time to time.

As for longevity, a lovemaking session usually involves 2 or 3 spankings spread out over half hour or so. But sometimes I crave more and feel she’s in the mood to dish it out as well. So I’ll act out a bit - it’s as easy as telling her I don’t deserve to be spanked.

I feel like I could be spanked forever- I just love that edge of pain and pleasure. But my bottom is tender for the proverbial week after, which is not always so sexy.

Bonnie: My first thought was, no, our spankings today are nowhere near the intensity of those we enjoyed two or three decades ago. With aging and the passage of time, it doesn't require as much to get us where we need to be.

On the other hand, limits can be fluid. We can discover limits today that might have constituted a routine spanking in years past. It's an ongoing negotiation between loving partners who know each other well. May it always be so.

Anon: Mine are punishment spankings and so she has tested the limit when I've messed up and knows when to stop. I wish for it to stop sooner, but I'm not the one doing the spanking.


Hermione: Once in a while, Ron will use one of the nasty implements, and I have to admit, I make my displeasure known. There are a few, made of delrin, that are really too much, no matter how numb my bottom is from other implements.

Thank you for your frankness on this subject!

Spanko Brunch 2.0 #273

Welcome to another weekend discussion. Our topic today is one that was first discussed by Bonnie's readers in 2008, and it's high time we talked about it again, so here goes.

Have you and your partner ever tested limits in terms of spanking? If so, what approach did you use it and what were the results? Would you test limits again? If you have not tested limits, would you ever consider doing so? Why or why not?

To add your thoughts on the subject, leave a comment below. I will publish an edited summary of our discussion once everyone has had an opportunity to speak.

Friday FAIL

Some product instructions that will make you shake your head and reach for the paddle.

This one I agree with

 I give up!

 Think I'll take aspirin instead.

 "Keep on believin...♫♬♫♬"

 

I'm not hungry any more.

Is this for cooking or for oiling squeaky hinges?

Happy Friday!

From the Top Shelf - Sweet Dreams

This extract is from a novel called Sweet Dreams and is a classic Richard Manton plot of a rich adventurer who, doing a favour for a friend who must travel abroad, reluctantly leaves his home in Paris to live in an English country home as mentor and guardian of two beautiful and headstrong teenage sisters, Sharon, the elder, and Victoria. (Wouldn't you love to find a job like this!) Needless to say both these young ladies are in need of strict discipline and our hero and narrator, oh so sadly of course, feels the need to attend to their bare bottoms. The first to suffer, after disobeying an instruction, is 18-year-old Sharon who has just returned from horse riding to find her guardian waiting for her.

"Presently I was alone with Sharon. She stood before me in her singlet and jeans, the veil of brown hair freshly combed and settled on her shoulders, the careless fringe of it on her forehead and the sweep of it framing the firm pale oval of her face. She stood there with arms folded, her expression suggesting that, though she would not resist me, she would do nothing to assist in her own punishment. A girl of eighteen has at least that much pride.

I turned to the cupboard, taking out the slim black switch and the rather frayed cord of the horsewhip. She stared at them, still unable to comprehend the degree of torment they may inflict upon her. At the centre of the room was a heavy oblong table of dark wood.

"Go over and stand facing the table, Sharon," I said quietly.

She turned and walked slowly across, still with her arms folded as if to show her indifference. I promised myself that she would show little indifference or self-possession in half an hour's time!

"Lie forward over the table, Sharon. Bend forward over it."

She did as she was told, still without a word, lying forward along it.

"Give me your hands."

She reached them out in front of her, above her head as she lay still. I slipped a strap around her wrists and drew it tight. Then I ran a length of stout cord around the strap, drew her arms out at full stretch and tied the cord firmly to the nearest table legs. Sharon turned her face aside and shook her dark brown hair into place, her cheek resting on the table.

I pulled the singlet hem free of the waist of her jeans. Now that I had Sharon bending fully over, the rear view of her riding jeans was of two quite plumply swelling young bottom cheeks with the outline of her panties clearly ridged. I undid the clasp at her waist and eased the denim down, making her step out of her jeans when they had fallen to her ankles. She now lay there displaying briefs of white elasticated cotton.

"Now your knickers, Sharon," I said "You must be properly undressed for this."

I pulled her knickers down and admired the view. Sharon's bottom gained its seductive fullness from the slight pale sheen of adolescent puppy fat. I ran my hand gently over it and gave her a light cheek smack, causing Sharon's soft pale arse flesh to jump and quiver.

"Never had the whip before, Sharon?"

She bit her lip and said nothing.

"Answer when you're spoken to!"

There was a pause and then the answer came almost as a gasp.

"No!"

I gave her bottom another light smack.

"You shall have a taste of the stable switch first, and then the whipcord to finish off."

Though her face was hidden, her body now betrayed Sharon's panic. Her knees were pressed together and she was trying to compress her rear cleavage. I stood over her, put one arm around her waist, and closely inspected her young backside and the rear opening of her thighs.

"Relax your bottom, Sharon. I must have a good look at you first."

And so I did, admiring the rear aspect of her young sex at the junction of her trembling thighs. She tried to tighten again presently, when I pressed her cheeks hard apart and considered the little vortex before me. I straightened up, gave her another light slap on the bottom and walked across to the desk where the slim black switch was lying. I picked up the switch and a leather belt. The latter went tightly around Sharon's waist, for I intended her to remain very firmly lying over the table.

I cut the air with a switch and the sound of it made her jump with fright, Sharon's bare buttocks tightening instinctively.

I spent a little while taking my aim, touching the cold leather of the switch one way and another across Sharon's bare and flinching rear cheeks. My resolve had begun to harden and I very much determined to make this a long and fruitful session. I raised the long slim switch and brought it down hard with a flick of the wrist, catching Sharon's squirming young backside expertly aslant its cheeks. The room rang with the smack of leather on the soft flesh of Sharon's bottom. Sharon gasped and then her gasp rose to a cry as if the anguish increased for a moment after the impact. The silky twist of her brown hair slithered clear as she tried to twist her face round to implore me. The whip cracked keenly, making her young bottom cheeks quiver again and again.

Sharon bent one knee up quickly and desperately, as if that might ease the lingering smart of the whip, something I was later to see Victoria do. I caught her again with a cut that touched the searing red of the first stripe and Sharon yelled wildly. Her silky hair was spilling in confusion and, when I walked around to the front, I saw her brown eyes filled with tears of dismay. Sharon had never dreamt that she could be hurt like this in response to her conduct. Her legs were squirming and wriggling. The whip smacked low across her bottom cheeks and Sharon uttered a wild and wordless soprano squeal.

The pale swell of Sharon's bottom cheeks jumped and quivered under the force of each impact. She performed arse contortions that a professional belly dancer might have envied. The slim black switch whipped and whipped again across her young backside until Sharon made the walls ring after every cut. She kicked out with her bare legs this way and that, receiving six measured cuts across the backs of them to discourage such conduct. Her knees seemed to give way at this point. Had she merely been bending to touch her toes, Sharon would have collapsed on the floor. How wise I had been to secure her, bending over the table, so that she would have to take what was given her, whether her legs would support her or not.

I do not know if she was sorry for all her previous misconduct but she looked extremely sorry for herself! From its deep blushes and crimson streaking, Sharon's eighteen year old bottom looked as if she had been made to sit all day in a vase de nuit filled with a boiling brew of sharpest thorn twigs.

I stood back and gave her six more for luck...[t]hen, with some reluctance, I laid down the implement. I freed her and she burst out into a sobbing, heaving lament. I untied her and allowed her to stand up. Like a little girl who has just had a smacked bottom, she wanted only to be out of her chastiser's presence and safe in her own room.

"Have you had enough, Sharon?" I demanded.

She would not answer me, her head bowed, her face scalding with tears, and her brown hair hanging down.

"No answer, Sharon? What did I tell you about answering me? I assume you want some more then! I can call in the stable boys to put you over that table again and hold you while you're getting it! Would you like that, Sharon?"

She shook her head vigorously but would neither look at me or speak.

"Have you learnt your lesson, Sharon?"

Still nothing. Before I could repeat the question or warn her again of the penalty for dumb insolence, Sharon snatched up her briefs and jeans. Without pausing to put them on, she uttered a desperate sob, ran from the room, and made the house echo to her weeping and running footsteps on the stairs.

Despite such discourtesy, I did not follow up on my threat. She had been punished enough. Sharon spent an hour in the bathroom before throwing herself painfully onto her bed, and sobbing herself to sleep.

Will there be a follow-up for her continued disobedience? Will Victoria soon receive a similar punishment? Unfortunately, we can only speculate because this is the only excerpt I have from the book. I will explore the possibility of obtaining a copy.

Recap: Spanko Brunch 2.0 for March 31

What kind of April Fool prank would get earn you a spanking?

Roz: Great question Hermione. I'm not sure though, I doubt much would earn a spanking these days. I've never actually played an April Fool prank.

Windy: I've been in enough "real" trouble lately..... I don't need April Fools this year to help me out in that area at all!

Fondles: Oh, we celebrate our anniversary on April 1st :) That kinda means I automatically get spanked every year on April fool's without having to play a prank or get in trouble for it!

Sir Wendel: A few years ago I put the Misses’ 2lbs hand weights in her work bag with April Fools stickers on them. I never heard anything from her about it the entire day. Later in the evening she was waiting for me with the paddle. It had the April Fools sticker on it. My bottom was sore for over a day.

Hermione: We bought a new car three weeks ago, and it is Ron's pride and joy. I think it would be a good prank to buy a roll of very narrow, black tape, and stick a jagged line of it along the side of the car on the driver's side. When Ron looks out the window to admire it, he would think it had been keyed! Alas, my order of tape from Amazon hasn't arrived yet:(