Thursday, January 18, 2018

Complete the Caption

Here's our friend Hilda, toasting her buns by the fire. But why? It seems a rather strange thing to do, but our girl must have her reasons.

Tell us what they are by leaving a comment. I will publish your conjectures on Saturday.

From Hermione's Heart

Tuesday, January 16, 2018

From the Top Shelf - In a Mist, Chapter 19

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

Here is the chapter we have all been waiting for. Arthur Lennox miraculously returns to Lymchurch House under very different circumstances. You all must be eager to find out how, so without further ado, read on.
Chapter 19 - In which Lennox comes face to face with the past

Shortly after the outbreak of war, Lennox enlisted as an officer in a tank regiment and saw active service with the British Expeditionary Force in France.

He fought valiantly, risking his life again and again as the British army vainly tried to halt the advance of Hitler's invincible war machine. Wounded in the chest by a German shell during the British counter-attack at Arras in May 1940, he was sent home to convalesce. It took many weeks of his mother's doting care to nurse him back to health. Even then he found himself plagued with minor respiratory ailments that took years to go away. He was awarded a medal for his gallantry and discharged honourably from further military duties. Reluctantly, he found himself, once more a civilian.

By no means an easy patient, he soon grew restless with nothing to do except play his cornet, which his doctor recommended as an excellent means by which to improve his breathing, and go for gentle strolls on the moors. He began to find home life depressingly dull and, craving excitement, started looking round for interesting employment.

Like many country houses all over Britain during the war, Lymchurch House had been requisitioned by the Ministry of Education to be a turned into a small boarding establishment for young girls evacuated from their homes in the towns and cities. Lennox got to hear about it from a former teaching colleague.

In a wild impulse he applied for the post of Headmaster. He was short-listed together with three other candidates.

At the interview in London the Appointments Committee briefed the applicants on the particular function of the new establishment. It was to be a Special School for wayward girls, therefore maximum security as well as strict discipline would be essential.

Lennox gave a sparkling interview, for he felt the ball was in his court. Not only was he the best qualified among the contenders, especially when it came to discipline, but he was also a gallant war hero - a prestigious factor which virtually assured his success. Prudently he refrained from alluding to his brief tenure as tutor at Lymchurch House all those years before, and as it had been merely an obscure private post the Appointments Committee would have no record of it.

He was offered the Headship and, in a glow of euphoria, returned home to pack his bags and break the good news to his parents.

Meanwhile the owner of Lymchurch House, Elizabeth Montague, was informed both of the plans in store for it, and the identity of the man designated to carry them out. She felt a sharp pang of wistful nostalgia and tears came to her eyes. How strange are the twists and turns of fate, the sudden unexpected ironies of life, she reflected with a sad smile.

At Chatsworth House in Derbyshire there hangs a painting by a local artist entitled "Chatsworth in Wartime". It depicts the state drawing room turned into a girls' dormitory, for when war broke out in 1939 a girls' boarding school in North Wales was taken over by the Ministry of Food and the school was moved to Chatsworth.

The painting, which is reproduced in the official guide book, offers a fascinating insight into boarding school discipline for girls.

In the foreground of the picture, a pretty adolescent schoolgirl is standing by her bed brushing her waist-length blonde hair. Her navy-blue gym tunic is short, well above her knees, barely covering the tops of her black stockings.

A companion, her mousy-brown hair plaited in pigtails and tied with dark blue ribbon, is seated nervously upon an adjacent bed, her arms clasped around her knees which are drawn up so revealingly as to expose not only the tops of her stockings but the white elastic straps of her garter belt.

The second girl is clearly in trouble and is about to be punished because, standing by the open doorway a severe looking schoolmistress dressed in black, is severely regarding her. Behind her, hanging on the dormitory wall, can be discerned the sinister presence of a crook-handled school cane....

Lymchurch House was to become, not so much a conventional boarding school for the daughters of the well-to-do as, what was termed a 'closed unit' for 'problem girls' from the big cities who had either been in trouble with the law, persistently truant from school, or generally fallen into bad company while their fathers were away serving in the armed forces and their mothers working long hours in the munitions factories. Some of the girls were orphans, their parents and relatives killed in the bombing raids - for the Germans had intensified their air attacks on Britain since March 1940.

Under cover of war, with Britain in a constant state of crisis, many moral irregularities went unnoticed. Lennox, with his little flock of a dozen or so naughty girls, whose bottoms - as well as goodness knows what else - had to be frequently attended to, was left alone to get on with the task, untroubled by tiresome inspections by nosy Ministry officials.

Once his girls had arrived and things were well under way, Lennox was kept extremely busy. Some of the girls responded to their regular diet of corporal punishment in strangely demanding ways. The girls whom he'd caned in the classroom or in his study by day were the very ones who by night pestered him for sexual favours, tapping persistently on his bedroom door in their flimsy nighties and tight pyjamas.

Amorous passions and erotic fantasies ran high in Britain during the wartime years. Despite the introduction of clothes rationing, spicy lingerie adverts began to appear on the front pages of national newspapers like the Daily Mirror. "Modern Miss buys her undies with care!" proclaimed a daring advert in the Mirror on June 12th displaying a saucy young Miss clad only in a pair of flimsy cami-knickers decorated with heart patterns, proudly showing off the barely concealed cheeks of her bottom. Never before had the male population of Britain been left in so little doubt as to what pretty young girls were wearing beneath their dresses.

The famous Jane strip cartoon featuring a shapely scatterbrained heroine had been running in the Mirror since 1932. But by 1940 occasional glimpses of her stocking tops had given way to blatant displays of her just in bra, panties and stockings - and more shocking still, naked poses of her stepping out of the bath or undressing for bed.
By September the universally popular but incredibly dizzy glamour girl had been recruited to Naval Intelligence. The cartoon strip which appeared on the 16th showed her being very soundly spanked over her rugged commanding officer's knee for some rather minor infringement of naval discipline.

Also popular at the time were several photos appearing in the magazine Picture Post showing a group of nubile "landgirls" - girls specially conscripted to help bring in the harvest - dressed in shorts and volunteering, as a publicity stunt, to be photographed while being spanked "for the war effort".

"Lennox's girls," as they became known in the village, began to arrive clutching their bags and packages, gas masks slung over their shoulders and identity labels flapping from their button holes. They were met at the station by the indefatigable Tomms who cast an appreciative eye over their charms and drove them back to Lymchurch House, where his wife Florence, in bustling cheerful motherly fashion, stripped them of their garments, which were then boiled rigorously in a large copper tub and disinfected for parasites, then rife in the bomb-torn cities.

As for the girls, they were bathed and scrubbed furiously with a formidable brush until they gasped and squealed with pain and their tender pale little bodies were red raw.

Daisy Potter, an olive-skinned seventeen year old with long jet-black hair, almost gypsy-like in appearance, was the first girl to arrive several weeks before the others.

Plucked from the burning London streets where she'd been found wandering waif-like among the strewn rubble and gutted buildings, she'd stubbornly refused to tell the air raid wardens where she'd come from. For her own safety they passed her into the hands of the police who questioned her rigorously, suspecting that "Daisy Potter" was a false name deliberately invented to throw them off the scent.

One thing she was unable to conceal was her middle class accent and good grammar school education. Wherever she came from, from whatever background, she clearly wanted no further part of it.

On her arrival, after being attended to by Florence, Daisy Potter was ushered into Lennox's study where he gave her a lecture on the type of regime she could expect at Lymchurch House. He spared her no details when it came to explaining matters of discipline and, when she emerged from his study half an hour later she looked anxious and ill at ease, already wishing she'd never been sent to such a horrid place where bare-bottom spankings and canings were to be dealt out unsparingly for the smallest misdemeanours.
Daisy Potter seems destined to be Lennox's next conquest, but where is Elizabeth? By the way, I was unable to spot the school cane hanging on the wall in the picture of Chatsworth House at the top of this post. Can you see it?
From Hermione's Heart

Monday, January 15, 2018

Recap: Spanko Brunch 2.0 for January 14

Do you have any spanking implements hanging on the wall in plain view?

Bogey: They are both vanilla and specially designed for spanking. Two hand-carved wooden spoons hang in our kitchen. Nothing odd about them at first glance, but if you examined them you would discover they are only slightly dished out, which makes for a fine spanking surface.

Peter: When I was a boy in summer camp i made a small cutting board. I painted, in the center of the board a large red tomato. When I married my mom gave the cutting board to my wife at a wedding shower. It hung in our kitchen for several years as decoration only.

A few years ago my wife Beth began using that board on me for discipline. She orders me to get it off the wall and after I have to return it to its hanging place.

Red: No. Family visit often, with grandchildren, so everything hidden, except for a short period when doing 12 spanks of Christmas game.

Sir Wendel: Growing up my mom kept a paddle in the pantry cupboard. She retrieved it more times than I remember. I keep one in our cupboard but unlike my mom I keep it surrounded by pot holders so it does not stand out too much. We also keep a paddle and a belt solely used for spanking on the back of our bedroom door.

Amy: Eric has a black weave belt hanging in our walk-in closet. He used to wear it every day but now leaves it there when he travels as a reminder. We also have a wooden cheese board on our kitchen counter that serves up a deliciously stingy bottom. ;)

Roz: Great question Hermione, no implements on display here.

Yorkie: Absolutely not. All my implements are hidden in my wardrobe.

Anon: My wife bought a "Board of Education" from a store, it hangs in the kitchen. It to most is a wall decoration, some humor. I don't know if any of her friends know, but it is not humor when I'm across her lap, bare bottom and feeling the sting of it.

Bonnie: We have a hook on the wall near our bed. Various spanking implements hang there from time to time including paddles, a crop, a cane, a body brush, and a bath brush. When Randy hangs an implement, it provides a reliable forecast of the future temperature of my bottom.

When family members or friends are expected, these toys go back into a closet or drawer.

Leigh: Not hanging and not that they get used much, but on my kitchen counter I have a crock that holds all sorts of wooden spoons, spatulas, several rubber type spatulas that were gifts from my beach sisters through the years - does that count? Oh, there is a bamboo back scratcher hanging behind the linen closet door too.

Fondles: Sadly, nothing hanging on the wall nor put in plain sight. all spanking tools are safely tucked away in a drawer by the bed.

KDPierre: Yes, we have a very large wooden spoon in plain view in our kitchen with my name on it. It hangs from a decorated plaque that says: "Rosa's Medicinal Spoon. Provides a big dose of an age old remedy proven to cure most domestic maladies. Those showing signs of ill-temper, irritability, or chronic lethargy, should be prepared to take their medicine!"

It is right by the entrance way to our dining room, so it's not at all difficult to notice. Anyone who has been in our home can easily see it, read it, and interpret its meaning however they like.

Ronnie: We having nothing spanking related hanging on the wall. At the moment, P has two canes on his side of the bed.

Hermione: We have a back scratcher hanging in the dining room, and it's never been near a back, only a backside. Then in the kitchen there is a heart-shaped wooden spoon and a flat wooden pizza cutter. Neither has been used for its intended vanilla purpose. Our real spanking toys are hanging up on a couple of racks, but they are in a room that can be closed off from prying eyes.

I would love to visit all your homes and check out the walls! Thanks for stopping by!
From Hermione's Heart

Sunday, January 14, 2018

Spanko Brunch 2.0 #210

I'm glad you were able to drop by for today's brunch. Please help yourself to cake and take a seat (unless you'd be more comfortable standing!) Today's topic should be fun.

Do you have a spanking implement hanging on the wall in your home? If so, is it a vanilla object or is it an item especially designed for spanking? If not, do you have something suitable that you might consider displaying?

I look forward to your responses, so please leave a comment and I will publish a summary of this discussion once everyone has had an opportunity to speak.
From Hermione's Heart

Saturday, January 13, 2018

You Finished this Sentence

This year I resolve to...

Fondles: ... spend money more wisely and write shorter blog posts!

Peter: ... go into the world unashamed of my need for submission!

Amy: ... set three reasonable goals and make them happen; with the help of Eric and his twitchy hand. ;)

Dragon's Rose: ... ask Dragon for the much needed weekly spanking even when I'm not in the mood.

Ronnie: ... do more volunteering and to have a few more spankings than last year:)

Enzo: ... find a "young lady" to spank on a regular basis.

Sir Wendel: ... to stop making resolutions.

Hermione: .... not make so much noise while being spanked, because the neighbours have complained.
From Hermione's Heart

Friday, January 12, 2018

Friday FAIL

We haven't been to Walmart for a while, but let's go now to check out the post-holiday sales, as well as the butts on display.

Cat butts are good for a start

Did she get caught in a shredder?

Some people don't bother to finish dressing before going on a shopping expedition

I can'r make out what her tattoo says, and frankly, I don't want to know

Isn't that the wrong order? Maybe she was in a hurry, dressing in the dark.

Have a rocking weekend!
From Hermione's Heart

Thursday, January 11, 2018

Finish this Sentence

Every body makes them. Everybody breaks them. You know what I'm referring to, right? No, not paddles. They're New Year's resolutions. So here's your chance, if you haven't already made one (or made one and broken it already).

This year I resolve to...

Finish this sentence, if you dare, and I will put up the complete list on Saturday.
From Hermione's Heart

Tuesday, January 9, 2018

From the Top Shelf - In a Mist, Chapter 18

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

Our good friend Mr. Lennox is having a fine time in Italy, but alas, his lust gets the better of him -- again!
Chapter 18 - in which Lennox repeats mistakes of the past

As so often happens with girls of such nature, having discovered her own partiality for physical punishment, Rita de Gregorio grew quite demanding in her efforts to satisfy her strange desires. She went out of her way to incur spankings, which Lennox of course was all too willing and eager to supply.

One evening after dinner the girls, escorted by Lennox, decided to have a stroll round the nearby piazza. They stopped at a pavement cafe to enjoy the pleasure of just watching the world go by. Lennox ordered cappuccinos and gelatos for the two girls and a brandy for himself. The meal that evening had been as excellent as ever and he felt in fine spirits. he watched the courting couples promenade around the square, decked out in their summer finery, he gossiped with his two young charges and teased them mercilessly.

Then he noticed that Rita was gazing rather pointedly at the handsome young waiter who had served them and who was now standing in the doorway winking and gesticulating vulgarly at her.

Knowing how shocked Signore de Gregorio would be by his daughter's behaviour, for he was an Italian of the old school when it came to the raising of daughters, Lennox immediately went over and reprimanded the waiter then returned and spoke sharply to Rita.

"Your father is detained in Pisa tonight, as you know, Rita, so I shall have to deal with this disgraceful exhibition of yours as I see fit. I intend to spank you soundly and send you to bed!"

While Carla giggled and gloated over the fate that awaited her sister, Rita looked down at her shoes and blushed helplessly, her embarrassment all the greater because Lennox had spoken quite loudly in Italian and the people at the neighbouring tables had quite clearly overheard. Two middle-aged gentlemen in cream suits were grinning broadly and staring at the red-cheeked discomfited girl.

On the way home Lennox walked behind the two girls, his eyes returning again and again to the erotic undulations of Rita's plumply prominent bottom clad in a long sheath-like black dress.

Carla waited for him at the worn stone steps leading up to the front door. As he stood watching Rita slowly ascend, the front of his trousers tight and constricting as he scrutinised the swaying contours of Rita's behind, detecting beneath the thin summer dress the deep divide between her luscious arse-cheeks, Carla, her eyes gleaming with mischief, stood on tiptoe and whispered in his ear: "Be sure you spank her bare bottom very hard tonight, Signore. Rita adores it - she told me so herself! She is madly in love with you! Her play for the waiter was just a ruse to make you punish her!"

"What utter nonsense, Carla!" Lennox chided, pushing her away to hide his confusion. "Any more rubbish like that and you'll be getting your bottom spanked too!"

She gave a snort of derision and scampered up the steps ahead of him.

Out on the streets the air was still oppressively sultry despite the lateness of the hour; but it was refreshingly cool in the dim marbled hallway. He could hear Carla defiantly playing the piano in the drawing room, but of Rita there was no sign. She had already gone up to her room to prepare herself for punishment, as if perversely eager for it to begin.

He was troubled by Carla's brazen disclosure, uneasy that she knew all about her sister's strange proclivities. If it got back to her father then surely he would be for the high jump. Rita clearly had to be taught a lesson she'd never forget,a harsh lesson in discipline that would deter her from ever goading him again.

On the black oaken chest by the umbrella stand there lay a foot-long ebony clothes brush, its broad oval back inlaid with ivory - broad enough for Rita's generously dimensioned bottom. He picked it up and toyed with it, smacking the flat ivory back against the palm of his other hand. It stung like the devil. His heart pounding with anticipatory excitement he began to mount the stairs.

Rita was indeed in her room. She was still fully clothed, seated nervously on a velvet-covered four-legged stool at her dressing table, pretending to brush her long lustrous hair.

As he advanced towards her, the clothes brush concealed behind his back, their eyes met in the dressing table mirror and he saw the look of excited fear in her face. She flinched visibly when he produced the wicked-looking clothes brush. She hadn't bargained for that. She had been expecting him to use his hand, as was his normal practice.

"Get undressed," he said curtly. Without a word Rita stood, unbuttoned the black silk dress that accentuated her full womanly shape, and stepped out of it.

Then she loosened the shoulder straps of her white petticoat and it fell to the floor around her feet.

She stood coyly before him in just a flimsy white lace chemise, matching panties, garter belt, and black silk stockings, her hands modestly endeavouring to conceal the dark hair of her pubic bush, easily discernible through the thin white lace of her panties.

Impatiently he jerked the stool away from the dressing table to give himself space for what he was going to do. The slender legs of the stool creaked audibly as he sat himself down on it.

"Abasso loro mutande - Remove your panties, Rita," he said, his voice hoarse with excitement, "then come and lie across my knee."

He brandished the foot-long clothes brush in the horrified girl's face and added: "Tonight, Rita, I am going to spank you harder than I have ever spanked you before! Your big naughty bottom will be tender and bruised for days to come. Do you understand?"

Rita nodded dumbly, her dark eyes wide with alarm and dismay. She realised with a sickening churning in her stomach that her little attention-seeking prank at the cafe had badly misfired.

Ashen-faced and trembling with terror Rita slipped her panties off and reluctantly lowered herself across Lennox's lap, until her face was hanging down inches away from the fine-wool hand-woven carpet and her plump bare bottom was now the most elevated portion of her anatomy.

He laid the clothes brush on the floor beside him and commenced to spank her slowly and purposefully with his hand, to warm her up and prepare her for the crueler punishment to come. Perhaps it was an error of judgment on his part, although an agreeable pleasure he was loth to forgo, for Rita - true to her nature - soon began to display unmistakable signs of arousal. He could see with his own eyes how wet her vagina was becoming, and her gasps and moans - as well as the way she repeatedly stiffened her body like a taut bowstring - heralded the onset of her first orgasm.

Greedily, amid loud ecstatic cries, Rita climaxed twice more during the course of the hand spanking, but not before her bottom and thighs had been spanked to a colour of dark ruby wine.

Only then did Lennox pick up the heavy clothes brush. Rita squeezed her hot burning bottom cheeks together in consternation when she felt its cold smooth ivory back tap-tapping against her aching flesh.

Tightening his grip on the polished wooden handle he raised the clothes brush above his head and brought it down hard on the squirming spank-stained summit of Rita's right buttock.

She jerked wildly and howled like a cat that had just been trodden on. The clothes brush had certainly left its mark - an oval imprint much darker in hue than the rest of her bottom.

He repeated the process on Rita's left buttock with the same result. She was crying now, in loud sobs that shook her whole body.

"You aren't enjoying this one little bit, are you, Rita?" he tormented her lustfully, as the clothes brush rose and fell with pitiless regularity upon the writhing arse-cheeks of the hysterically sobbing girl. "Naughty young ladies who like having their bottoms smacked usually end up with more than they bargained for!" he added with a wolfish grin.

Ten minutes later when Lennox at last let the clothes brush fall to the carpet, Rita's poor bottom was a swollen mass of ugly dark-blue bruises, her pretty face contorted with pain and awash with tears.

He comforted her as best he could, stroking her head and running his fingers through her hair that hung down in untidy disarray, wet with her crying.

He felt a sudden urge of uncontrollable desire for the girl. The sound of her moans and her quiet weeping was driving him frantic.

Without pausing to think of the consequences Lennox thrust his hand between her thighs and gently but insistently began to manipulate her cunt into a state of renewed arousal.

At that point all reason deserted him. Scooping her up in his arms he carried her to the bed, ordered her to kneel with her darkly bruised bottom stuck up submissively in the air while he tore off his trousers and climbed up behind her.

"Kneel right over, Rita, your forehead touching the bedspread. That's right girl! Now open your legs as wide as you can!" he commanded as he guided his pulsing prick into her dark juicy cleft. The harshness of his voice only aroused her further.

With one almighty thrust he had breached her impeccably nurtured virginity and soon their separate gasps and moans of pleasure fused into one living being as Lennox rode Rita to a memorable climax that left them both spent and exhausted.

Afterwards, while lying cradled in Lennox's arms, Rita described to him how, when she was a young girl covertly ransacking her father's library in search of spicy reading to stir her awakening sexuality she read a passage in The Brothers Karamazov that left a lasting impression on her: a graphic account of peasant girls being soundly whipped by the men who would afterwards claim them as their brides.

"It seems that in Russia, caro Professore, " Rita whispered naughtily in Lennox's ear, " a girl regards being whipped as proof of a man's love for her. I have done nothing but dream of being punished by a man ever since I read that passage.

"So, " she went on, turning over on her tummy and gazing up adoringly into his eyes, "the first time you spanked me over your knee how could I do anything else but fall in love with you?"

So infatuated were they with each other that they had forgotten one fly in the ointment - Carla!

She had silently followed Lennox up the stairs and, peeping through Rita's keyhole, had witnessed the entire shocking proceedings.

With hindsight Lennox realised he had underestimated Carla's talent for mischief-making and tale telling. Who knows, was it a sense of moral rectitude or a case of bitter jealousy that prompted Carla, the very next day, to relate to her outraged father all that she had witnessed the night before - sparing no juicy detail!

Needless to say, Lennox was obliged to leave the town of Lucca in rather a hurry!
You saw it coming, didn't you? Where will Lennox go next? We must wait and see.
From Hermione's Heart

Monday, January 8, 2018

Recap: Spanko Brunch 2.0 for January 7

How would you handle the aftermath of a spanking if you were staying at a nudist camp?

Arched one: Interesting question. We have never been to a nudist camp. I would go but Robyn would not agree to it. To marks spanking leaves, she has spanked me every place we go and if we did go and she spanked me I would let it show as I'm not ashamed of her spanking me, and again she probably would not spank there but wait until we got home as she wants it private.

Yorkie: The fantasy says show it off but the reality says stay home and don't go to a nudist holiday camp...

Sir Wendel: I agree with Yorkie. Parading around displaying my freshly spanked bottom sounds exciting but I would not actually do it.

Amy: Quite frankly, if we were bold enough to be walking around in a nudist camp, it would be nothing to have a mark, a red cheek, or a welt on display. At that point, why not?!

Ronnie: I can't see us ever holidaying at a nudist camp but if we did, I'd like to think that spanking continued and I was happy to display my spanked bottom but in reality, we would postpone spanking until we returned home.

Hermione: Since we would only be temporary guests and would never see any of the other campers again, I would brazen it out and explain exactly how the marks came about. Who knows? I might meet some fellow spankos that way.

Just kidding! I'd probably keep my back turned away from everyone, although that might be a problem in the buffet line :)

Well, that was fun! Please come back next week - if the roads are clear and travel is safe.
From Hermione's Heart

Sunday, January 7, 2018

Spanko Brunch 2.0 #209

Baby, it's cold outside! The whole east coast of North America is experiencing colder than usual temperatures, and northeastern US and eastern Canada are in the deep freeze. Meanwhile, the southern hemisphere is suffering from excessive heat. So some of you might be quite enthusiastic about today's topic, while others wouldn't dream of considering it in the near future. No matter. Let's see what you think.

Imagine for a moment that you are enjoying a vacation in a holiday camp for nudists, where clothing is optional. How would you handle your spanking activities? Would you postpone them until you returned home? Would you carry on, but wear a strategically-placed towel? Would you brazen it out and truthfully explain the marks?

Some of my readers have probably had to deal with this problem, and I look forward to hearing from them. Even if this has never happened to you, I invite you to be creative in your response. All suggestions are welcome! Once everyone has spoken I will publish a summary of our discussion.
From Hermione's Heart

Saturday, January 6, 2018

You Completed the Caption

Simon: "Well this will either get me spanked or a vacuum cleaner" thought Hilda.

Baxter: The last time I did this, I was found out and got a wicked good spanking. Hoping for another go at it.

Fondles: (NOT a caption, but seeing as how I just got a handheld vac for Christmas, I can totally relate to Simon's caption!)

Magenta: She'll get a hiding for hiding!

Sir Wendel: Shhh...don’t tell or daddy will tan my bottom with the belt.

js666: Her drop-seat is red -- and what's under it will be the same shade of red shortly.

Ronnie: I wonder if this will work again and get me spanked like the last time.

Anon: Oh, honey, this isn't what it looks like. I was just going too ... um, why are you tapping your hand with my hairbrush?

I ... I couldn't find the dustpan ... oh, you've got it ... and you found it right there in the closet on the hook next to where we keep the broom ... ha, ha, well I guess I just missed it ... so, now that you're here, why don't you let me have it? ... What do you mean that's exactly what you intend to do? ... I ... oh wait ... no, please ... I'm sorry ... I'll ... oh, nooooooooooooo!

What do you mean it's about time I learned what the drop seat was really made for?

It looks like this naughty old-fashioned girl in her old-fashioned drop seat pajamas is about to get an old-fashioned spanking.

Uh oh ... I think I'm about to find out the real reason he gave me these pajamas for Christmas.

Hermione: "Why? Because you didn't put the dustpan back after you spanked me with it."

From Hermione's Heart

Friday, January 5, 2018

Friday FAIL

I hope you all received the gifts that you wanted for Christmas. But did you find the instructions just a little bit startling?

From Hermione's Heart

Thursday, January 4, 2018

Complete the Caption

Our Hilda is being naughty again, and is wearing an appropriate outfit in which to receive her punishment. Or will she?

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

Thank you to Sir Wendel Jones for the picture.
From Hermione's Heart

Tuesday, January 2, 2018

From the Top Shelf - In a Mist, Chapter 17

The story so far:
Chapter 1Chapter 12
Chapter 2Chapter 13
Chapter 3Chapter 14
Chapter 4Chapter 15
Chapter 5Chapter 16
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11

We continue our story five years later, and find out what has happened to Elizabeth and Arthur.
Chapter 17 - In which the more things change, the more they remain the same.

Half a decade went by, Hitler invaded Poland and, for the second time that century, England was plunged into the maelstrom of world war. Old Mr. Harker, gentle Victorian soul that he was, had been thankfully spared the shock of seeing German bombers roaring above the downs on their way to blitz London, for he had long been laid to rest in Lymchurch graveyard in whose trees a brightly plumaged congregation of birds gathered every summer to serenade their old friend.

Elizabeth, the sole beneficiary of her guardian's will, now the proud mother of three children - two pretty daughters as well as her beloved little Arthur - had been unable to confront the reviving of quiescent memories that a prolonged visit to Lymchurch House would bring, so she instructed her late guardian's lawyer to oversee the sad business of closing the place.

The latticed windows, gay with May honeysuckle and clematis, were shuttered; the blinds were drawn; the Regency tables, chairs, and chaises longues shrouded in dust-sheets. The ageing servants were handsomely pensioned off. All, that is, with the exception of Mr.Tomms and Florence who, to Elizabeth's surprise, had become a respectably married couple and whose services were required as caretakers. They retained their comfortable living quarters above the old coach house.

For painfully distressing though her latter memories of the house had been with her tutor's sudden and inexplicable abandonment of her, still Elizabeth Montague could not find it within herself to commit the irrevocable deed of selling the place.

Her husband was both puzzled and angered by her stubborn refusal, against all his advice, to put Lymchurch House on the market. What possible use could they put it to, he reasoned, when she clearly had such an aversion to going anywhere near it, and when they already had everything that money could buy?

"Darling, please give me time, and let the future decide," she would say with a defiant toss of her head and a steady look of emerald-eyed stubbornness.

Though it irked him greatly, for there were many questions about his wife's former life to which he'd never received a satisfactory reply, nevertheless, because he loved her, he allowed her to have her way and Lymchurch House remained shuttered and silent, save for the cooing of pigeons in the loft above the clock tower by day, and the nightly hoots of preying owls.

And what of Arthur Lennox during this time?

As is so often the case, after a while the old itch returned, his old demons conquered and prevailed. In 1938 he had accepted a summer post abroad, in the old walled city of Lucca in Tuscany, tutoring two sisters, Rita and Carla de Gregorio. Their father, a pleasure seeking patrician in his middle fifties and a widower, was a confirmed Anglophile who insisted that his sixteen and seventeen year old daughters profitably employ their long summer vacation from their local Acadamia by receiving, as he called it, "a proper knowledge of the grande poeta Shakespeare, and molto, molto bene discipline Inglese! They must learn to respect their professore Inglese, so you will kindly do me the honour, Signore Lennox, of beating them whenever they make you, how you say, malcontento?

This on the very first day of his arrival! Lennox coughed to hide his embarrassment and turned away, pretending to study the walled garden from the terrace where Signore de Gregorio and he were strolling. The fountains, ornamented with beautiful cherubs, lent a welcome aura of coolness to the sultry evening air fragrant with oleander and hibiscus.

The villa was on the Via de Battistero, a stone's throw from the Piazza del Giglio (the Square of the Lily) dominated by the Romanesque cathedral they call the Duomo, on whose enormous marble fronted facade the sculptor Guidetto had superimposed wild fantasies derived from mediaeval bestiaries. Shady pavement caffes with their gay awnings lay dotted around the square, and on the west side stood the Opera House.

From his bedroom balcony Lennox could look out over a panorama of churches, belfries, palaces and piazzas, with the purple hills of the Apennines cradling the city on every horizon.

Signore de Gregorio, it soon became apparent, had little time for his daughters. Most days and nights he spent at his elegant little appartamento in Pisa, some twenty kilometres distant. Lennox more than half suspected he had a mistress installed there, but all the same Signore de Gregorio was strict and unyielding when it came to Rita and Carla, allowing them little if any freedom. Lennox was enjoined to chaperone them constantly,even on their trips to the baker's shop on the piazza to buy brioches.

Rita and Carla were devoted sisters. They did everything together and were so alike with their exquisite doll-like features, their pale porcelain skin, their proud dark eyes, and their cascades of glossy shoulder-length hair, that people often mistook them for twins despite there being a year's difference between them. Their pretty scolastico uniform of pink gingham knee-length frocks, black silk stockings, and dainty black leather sandals with pearl button straps did nothing to hide their shapely figures - their firm ripe breasts and the lavish curves of their Mediterranean bottoms.

Rita was a shy, introspective girl given to daydreaming but, as Lennox soon discovered, her younger sister Carla, with her mercurial moodiness and her habitual impending pout, had the very devil in her. How she mocked him with those imperiously flashing eyes of hers! She had a willful stubborn streak and refused point blank to obey his simplest injunctions.

It was not long before Lennox was compelled to use his cane on her well-rounded Italian bottom, after first seeking and gaining her father's wholehearted approval.

One afternoon at 3.30, after taking his customary siesta, Lennox quietly entered the upstairs "schoolroom" overlooking the terraced garden with its limpid pool, flowering shrubs and veined marble statuary, and caught Carla in the act of executing an obscenely crude caricature of il professore, himself, on the blackboard.

Her sister was perched conspiratorially on top of the teacher's high desk, lazily fanning herself with a rare leather-bound edition of Keats, a Mona Lisa smile of suppressed mirth on her face.

Uttering a loud exclamation of anger, Lennox strode over to Carla who stuck out her tongue at him, threw down the chalk and raised her hands in the air in a gesture of mock terror.

He unhooked the slender yellow cane from where it hung on the wall beside the blackboard and, gripping Carla tightly by the earlobe, propelled the vociferously protesting girl into the centre of the room.

Ignoring her unladylike torrent of Italian imprecations, as well as the vicious kicks she aimed at his ankles, he yanked her downwards by the ear until she was compelled to bend over and support herself with her hands on her knees.

Without letting go of her lest she try to escape, which she had succeeded in doing on several previous occasions, he deftly flipped the hem of her pink gingham frock up over her back with the tip of his cane.

Her white cotton panties would afford her minimal protection. They were almost transparently flimsy and immodestly failed to cover the white porcelain summits of Carla's fat little bottom-cheeks.

Lennox gazed with excitement at the girl's deeply defined bottom crack, noticing how, like a second skin, the drum tight gusset of the panties adhered to her provocatively bulging private parts, with curly wisps of black pubic hair peeping out from either side.

Carla's energetic cursing changed immediately to shrill lamentations of "Oh Signore, loro sono troppo severo!" as he brought the long whippy cane sharply down again and again across those broad, soft bottom-cheeks of hers.

She struggled frantically, an erotically prick-stirring sight for Lennox who liked nothing better than to see a pretty girl's bottom wriggling sexily at cane's length. But by now he was perspiring freely with the effort of chastising Carla and he was in danger of losing his grip on her ear. Therefore he delivered four whistling cuts - two to the top of each plump thigh - warning her in a crisp angry voice that unless she took the rest of her punishment docilely he would continue to cane her there - on that tantalising gap of translucent flesh between the tops of her black silk stockings and the soft fold of skin where her bottom began.

Those last four strokes must have proved excruciatingly painful for the girl because they left thick ridged weals on her smooth alabaster thighs, and she greeted each sizzling cut with piercing screams that set the sparkling cut-glass chandelier above their heads tinkling musically.

Satisfied that he had at last succeeded in subduing the tempestuous Carla, who was now howling and sobbing wretchedly, tears streaming down her pretty face, Lennox released her ear. To his utmost gratification she still remained obediently bent over and her shrill operatic cries grew somewhat calmer and less insistent.

Tucking the cane under his arm he reached out to pull down Carla's panties, concluding her punishment with a traditional 'six of the best' on the girl's completely bare buttocks.

The acute shame and humiliation of being thus denuded before a man's eyes sent Carla into fresh paroxysms of tearful wails, which rose to a frenzied crescendo as the cane rose once more and fell pitilessly upon her erotically plump bottom six more searing times.

As the caning of Carla reached its noisy climax Lennox glanced across at her sister. The big dark eyes of the dreamy seventeen year old shone with excitement at the extraordinary spectacle of her beloved Carla's saucily bare bottom, the soft peach of her vagina plainly visible, being dealt with so forcefully by their handsome young professore inglese.

Still perched on top of his desk, Rita was quite unable to stop herself from wriggling her hips about in sensual delight. Worse, the panting, red-faced girl was squeezing her shapely thighs together - then opening them to allow her hand furtively to shoot up under her skirt and stroke her most intimate parts.

Consequently her pink gingham frock had ridden up high above her stocking tops. It didn't take much imagination on Lennox's part to guess that the crotch of her panties was by now soaking wet.

Then she realised he was looking at her. Hastily she withdrew her hand and guiltily re-adjusted her skirt, blushing scarlet that he had found her out. He pursed his lips grimly, shot her a look that signified "Just you wait till it's your turn, my girl!" and turned back to conclude his business with the unfortunate Carla whose upturned naked rump was now a heaving mass of thickly clustered red weals.

Carla's low groaning sobs gave way to long self-pitying sighs as her trembling fingers tentatively explored the damage inflicted on her schoolgirl bottom. Wincing, she touched the parallel rows of raspberry-coloured cane weals, some already darkening into purple.

To complete the subjugation of proud Carla, Lennox unbuttoned the girl's gingham frock and removed it from her, whisking it over her head. Clad only in a tiny white cotton chemise that barely contained her plump uptilted breasts, her panties twisted comically around her ankles, she was made to hobble over to stand in the far corner of the room, hands on head, her soundly thrashed bottom on full blushing display.

As for the crafty, lascivious Rita, Lennox decided to deal somewhat differently with her, befitting the nature of her crime.

She gasped, and murmured "No, Signore, please no, I beg you" when he seized her by the wrists and drew her down from the desk. She landed so awkwardly that she fell into his arms. Lennox quivered with excitement to feel his hands encircling the soft yielding contours of Rita de Gregorio's bottom, while her panting breath and fluttering hands betrayed her true state of agitated arousal.

Maneuvering a slatten-back oaken chair, mellow with age, into position he quickly undid Rita's frock and, deaf to her embarrassed protestations, slipped it down to her ankles. As he had done with her sister, but this time from the start, he peeled down Rita's little cotton panties. Then he sat on the chair and drew the luscious young Italian girl across his knees.

Rita was less of a child and much more of a dignified young woman than her tomboyish sister and she beseeched him not to humiliate her thus by subjecting her to a shamefully demeaning bare-bottom spanking. She was no longer a little girl to be dealt with in such an abject manner, she complained, her voice shaking with injured pride.

"Non desidero una sculacciata! Please do not spank me, Signore Lennox, I beg you! It was Carla, not me, who was impertinent! I have done nothing to deserve this!"

But Lennox simply pulled the wriggling girl further over his knee so that her bare bottom was even more prominently raised than before.

"It is precisely because you are older than Carla," he said sternly, tightening his grip around her waist, "that I am going to punish you in this childish way, simply to bring home to you just how childishly you behaved, Rita. If you are the responsible adult you claim to be, why then did you not step in and call a halt to Carla's stupid schoolgirl prank? Instead of that, you condoned it because it gave you the opportunity to sit back and have a quiet snigger at my expense!" While lecturing her Lennox indulged himself in the pleasure of patting Rita's plumply receptive bottom. It was a larger, more expansive bottom than her sister's, due no doubt to her constant craving for sweet things. In addition he had noticed that being a more placid, sedentary type than Carla, she spent more time sitting on it.

The erotically fattened orbs were pale as ivory yet deliciously soft and yielding. In between her cheeks the deep dark cleft beckoned invitingly. Lennox smelt the musky aroma of female arousal.

A brief investigation confirmed his suspicions. Her vagina was swollen and flowing with intimate scretions. Despite all her protestations to the contrary, the lovely Rita de Gregorio was being driven frantic by a strange sexual perversity over which she had no control.

Lennox felt his penis stiffen. He found himself wondering if Rita, too, was becoming aware of it, rigid as a poker beneath her palpitating belly.

She must have felt its presence once he started to spank her, alternately on each broad buttock with loud ringing slaps that echoed around the sparsely furnished room, because she began to thresh her hips about excitedly, pumping her bottom up and down to meet each spank, rubbing her pubis blatantly against his erection.

Lennox refused to be hurried. He spanked her leisurely, his arm rising and falling in high looping arcs. He concentrated on the well-fleshed summits of her buttocks, where she could take it most. But he frequently ventured lower, his outspread palm making loud stinging contact with the soft undercurve of her cheeks - even the tops of her sturdy thighs, causing Rita to jerk violently, kick her ankles, and utter low gasping wails of obvious distress.

All the time her bottom moved up and down vigorously, ever more swiftly. Lennox guessed by her bodily movements as well as by the loud moans coming from her lips that Rita was approaching her climax.

Carla, still snivelling babyishly in the corner, her jouncy young buttocks ablaze, obviously derived no pleasure whatsoever from being physically punished. But Rita was a different case altogether.

At the end of Rita's spanking, despite being the owner of a flaming red and doubtless very sore pair of buttocks which would prevent her from sitting down in comfort for an hour or more, nevertheless the look on Rita de Gregorio's face could best be described as one of blissful contentment - a fact her sister observed with some astonishment.

After despatching the girls to their respective rooms Lennox sat down at his desk and pondered awhile. An interesting phenomenon, Rita and her penchant for discipline. He resolved, as daringly and as single-mindedly as his unique position in the household allowed, to explore it further.
Arthur Lennox has certainly landed on his feet! I am a bit disappointed that we learned so little about Elizabeth's new life, but perhaps she will return in a later chapter.

From Hermione's Heart

Monday, January 1, 2018

Recap: Spanko Brunch 2.0 for December 31

Have you made any New Year's resolutions that involve spanking?

Roz: Fun question Hermione, though sadly my answer is boring lol. No resolutions here. Wishing you, Ron and family a very Happy New Year filled with health, love and joy.

Anon 1: My partner will not get away with any disrespect towards anyone in 2018. In the past, she was only punished for it with me.

She bought a much larger paddle late last year, and it will be used for such offenses in the months to come. When I last used one half its size, she had residual marks for 2 days.

We live 2.5 hours apart, and her punishments are at my place. Driving home should be "interesting" for her if she shows disrespect to anyone in 2018. I will give her a pillow for that long ride. It is bumpy in spots due to major elevation changes.

Anon 2: Jackie my wife gave me my first spanking a couple of weeks ago. She said, not with a smile that in 2018, sitting is not going to be comfortable, attitude and behavior is going to change for the better. She ended with, this is what you wanted, a woman to be in charge, to spank if necessary. I said yes this is what I wanted, but don't spank so hard. She smiled, you just earned harder spankings and telling me what to do. I got my last spanking for the 2017, my second, just hope I can hide that fact when we go out New Years Eve, she really warmed and redden my bottom, hate that hairbrush.

Arched one: Interesting question...but no spanking resolutions in this house, not needed with the rules we presently have. I'm naughty, she spanks me, and gives maintenance spankings to remind me to behave....and she spanks me just because she feels like spanking me. She has it pretty well covered.

Ronnie: No New Year's spanking resolutions for us.

Red: No resolutions, but Happy New year to you and hubby. Hope the year is filled with good health, happy times, many spankings, and happy adventures

Hermione: We don't make New Year's resolutions because any day is a good day to decide to make changes in your life.

Terpsichore: No resolutions...just hopes :-) Hugs and happy new year!

Leigh: Just likes Terps, no resolutions and I think that ship has sailed..
Happy New Year.

Happy New Year to all my readers. Keep visiting, and keep spanking!
From Hermione's Heart