Tuesday, February 20, 2018

From the Top Shelf - Gloria Denham, part 1

It will be difficult to top our previous series, In a Mist, but I think it is time for an F/M spanking story, don't you? And who better to supply us with one than my dear departed friend, Rollin Hand. So without further ado, let's get comfortable and enjoy part one of "Gloria Denham", from Ladies in Charge.
Todd looked again. Yeah, his radar was pinging. The platinum blonde at the bar was on the make. He had a sixth sense about these things. He could sense that she’d been shooting glances his way. Maybe she’d want tennis lessons. That would be a way in. She looked good for an older woman in her forties – busty, great long legs, platinum hair coifed just so. And she looked bored. Hubby was likely off golfing and she was looking for action.

As the assistant tennis pro at the plush El Camino Resort he had plenty of opportunity to get close to rich society wives on the make. El Camino was one of a chain in the high end luxury resorts owned by Rockwell Corporation, a leisure time giant. In such a lush environment. His charm, boyish good looks and his position put him right in the sweet spot. The patrons were rich and the wives were trophy caliber. Many played tennis, and it was a given that tennis players were likely to be in good shape. He coaxed them into lessons, and more often than not, it all ended up in his king sized bed (or hers). It was his MO and it had worked.

It had landed him in hot water as well. The first time he’d been suspected of dalliance with a married guest, his boss had chewed him out royally. He brushed it off. What did they know? The way he saw it, he was providing a service. The second time he was caught, he had to pay a visit to corporate to listen to a boring lecture from the Rockwell Resorts VP of Human Resources, one Ms. Valerie Navarro, a ball breaking bitch if there ever was one. Thin and small of stature, she was nonetheless in a powerful position over him. Even though she looked like she’d blow away in a strong wind, she had the authority, so he had to listen. She went on and on about appropriate behavior with guests. Rockwell policy strictly forbade these liaisons, she said. He was told there had better not be a third time or there would be serious consequences, blah, blah, blah. This Ms. Navarro was just the kind of snooty bureaucratic bitch he hated. Screw her. This babe at the bar, she was just too much. He had to try.

 He looked again. She saw him and smiled. He took that as an invitation.

“Buy you a drink?” he asked.

“Sure,” she said. “Gin and tonic, if you will.”

He told Sammi to set her up. The bartender did, and placed the drink in front of her. She cupped it smoothly and took a long sip. The woman was a looker, that was sure. In that short dress he got a good look at some of the best legs he’d seen in a long time. The dress had a deep v-shaped neck, too, giving him a good shot at some prime cleavage.

“Ahh,” she said. “Thank you.” Then her eyes narrowed. “Say, I’ve seen you around. Aren’t you down in the tennis shop or something?”

“That’s right,” said Todd. “I’m an assistant pro. Do you play?”

“Yeah, I do. Used to be pretty good, too. In high school I went to the state finals three years running.”

“Yeah?” said Todd. “You ought to take a lesson from me. I’d sharpen your game up.”

“Yeah. I’d like that. Gotta do something around here.” She frowned, indicating her displeasure at her current circumstances.

“Husband out golfing?” That was the likely source of her displeasure. It was what they did. They dumped their wives and went off with their buddies on one of El Camino’s three championship courses.

“Yes, he is. And leaving me all alone like this.” She gave him a sly glance, looking him up and down. Its meaning was unmistakable. “You’re cute, but I bet all the girls tell you that.”

Todd’s cock swelled as she looked him over candidly. This is a live one for sure. “By the way,” she said, “I’m Gloria Denham.” She stuck out her hand.

“Todd Francis,” said Todd, taking it.

She scheduled a lesson for nine AM the next morning.

* * *

“You are pretty good,” said Todd as they volleyed back and forth. Actually she was more than good. Her forehand came at him like a bullet and her backhand was solid and accurate. He could not believe how she was running him all over the court. She was in great shape for her age, and not only that, she was a crafty player.

“I could take you, you know,” she said, after they had volleyed for several minutes, warming up, and were taking a breather. “For a pro, you need work. More practice.” She said it dismissively with a toss of her head.

Todd’s jaw dropped. Had she really said that? “You could not,” he countered. “You’re just…”
He didn’t finish.

“A woman? I’m just a woman?” She turned and walked toward the net. “So, I couldn’t beat a buff guy like you?” She said it with a flirtatious smile that signaled the game was on.

Todd got the message. It was an unmistakable challenge. One that could end up in her bedroom (or his) if he played his cards right.

“The hell you say.” Todd stopped and put his hands on his hips, eyeing her with an expression of disbelief.

“Care to put your ass on the line then?” Again the flirty smile.

“Sure, what’s the bet?”

“Well…” she tapped her lips with her index finger, thinking. “Loser buys lunch and then we go back to my place and…. what the winner says goes -- for the rest of the afternoon.”

Whoa! It looked like she meant it, and no mistake about what she was suggesting. That was an offer Todd couldn’t refuse. He didn’t care what the hell corporate VP Miz Navarro said, he was going to take advantage of this one. This was one hot babe. Company policy be damned.

“But I must warn you,” she said with a wicked grin, “my tastes are exotic.”

Bring it on, thought Todd.

* * *

Todd nursed his wounded pride as he sat across from Gloria Denham at a trendy (and expensive) La Jolla watering hole. She had kicked his ass, but good.  He’d struggled to win even a point while she had run him ragged all over the court. In fact, they were lunching early because Gloria had made such quick work of him, 6-1, 6-0. It was like she was some sort of ringer.

“Don’t pout, Todd,” she said. Her tone was sharp, a change from the seductress of earlier. He blushed. The admonishment sounded like something his junior high schoolteacher would say. “I whipped your ass, fair and square.” She was almost gloating. “Maybe that’s what I’ll do when we get to my suite.”

“Do what?” said Todd.

“Why, whip your ass, of course. You have a nice one, you know. Very cute and tight. I like that.”

Todd leaned forward. “W-what do you mean?” Had he heard right?

“I told you my tastes were exotic,” she said. “Come on, let’s go.”

She rose abruptly, signaling that the meal was at an end. Todd paid and followed after Gloria Denham like a puppy dog as she got up and strode out of the restaurant. Despite what she’d said, Todd was in full arousal mode watching the svelte hips of hers sashay in that flippy little tennis dress. So what if she was a little kinky? Once she got a look at the Todd Rod she’d be his to command. They all fell into line eventually.

Her suite was the most luxurious one in the resort. Large, isolated and fully furnished with everything one could wish for, it was a statement about how the other half lived. Fully three thousand square feet in a penthouse setting, its commanding view of the Pacific Ocean was magnificent. Through a whole wall of glass he could practically see from downtown San Diego to Carlsbad and beyond. Todd’s thought was that Gloria’s husband must be one serious player to be able to afford all this. Which made him worry. What if he came back? On these trysts Todd usually took them to his place, modest digs, but safe.

“Look, this is all very nice, but what if your husband comes back?”

“He won’t. Trust me, we have plenty of time.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes, I am,” she said. Gloria was still wearing the tennis dress. It displayed her long legs to their best advantage. “In fact I’m going to shower and change,” she said, flashing another seductive smile. “In the meantime, you could go in the bathroom down the hall and do the same.”

Todd gave her his best wolfish grin. “Or, I could shower with you.”

“Oh, that would spoil the fun,” she said. “You just get yourself back here. And don’t worry about clothes – you won’t need them.”

Hot damn! Todd’s eyes followed that twitchy butt out of the room, and he then went into an adjacent bedroom. It had its own bath, of course. He showered and decided to come back out into the main suite clad in one of the plush robes the resort provided for the guests (a mere two hundred dollars if you wanted to take it home with you after your stay). Gloria was still not out yet, but the water wasn’t running. Todd stood at the large west facing window looking at the ocean, waiting.

“Todd?” she called from the master bedroom.

“Yes?” he said moving in that direction.

“Don’t come in. I’m dressing. Take off the robe and go stand facing the corner.”

“What?” Face the corner? This was weird.

“I said, get yourself totally naked and stand in the corner like the naughty boy you are.”

“Well, really? Ok,” he said, reluctance clearly in his tone. Yeah, this babe was kinky somehow, he thought. But he figured he had to play along. She sure sounded different. Businesslike. Commanding. Not at all the seductress from earlier.

“I won the match. You agreed. This is my game. I want you bare as a newborn babe, got it?” She shouted from down the hall.

“Uh…all right,” he said. He shrugged out of the robe leaving it in a pool on the floor and stood in a corner feeling embarrassed and really stupid. He stood there waiting…and waiting. Oddly he felt his erection rising. I’ll just get ready for her, he thought. Give her a good gander at the ‘ol Todd Rod. But after stroking it for a while he merely felt foolish and ridiculous. He was about to turn and go looking for Gloria Denham when he heard a sound behind him.

“All right, young man. Turn around.”

Todd turned. Instead of finding Gloria in a some skimpy bit of negligee (he’d imagined what it might be – black, frilly with lace and skimpy), she was dressed as if for work in a short tight business skirt, a white blouse, high heels and hose. In her hand she carried an object. Todd looked closely. It appeared to be a wooden hairbrush. Now Todd really felt dumb. She was fully dressed, he was naked. What was this?

“What is this?” said Todd. “I thought…”

“I don’t care what you thought, Todd.” She took a chair from the dining area and pulled it over into the great room, then sat down. “Come over here.”

Todd obeyed but as he approached he got a sinking feeling in his stomach. This was feeling to him like a repeat of a scene from his childhood. The last woman seated in a chair to summon him to her side while holding a hairbrush had been his mother the day he had been caught with Joey Clinton out in the garage looking at Joey’s Playboy collection. He had been ten. His mom had whaled his bared bottom hard with that hairbrush, lecturing him the whole time on the evils of pornography. He’d dissolved in tears, blubbering, pleading forgiveness, promising anything if only it would stop. It had finally stopped, but not until his salty tears and the snot running out of his nose had made a mess of the carpet next to that chair and his bottom was burning like the fires of hell. The shame of being bared and spanked had stayed with him for weeks, but strangely enough when he had attained puberty, recollection of that event usually produced a woody. He had one now.

“And just what is THAT?” said Gloria Denham, pointing the end of the brush at the Todd Rod, now sticking straight out, pointing at her tits which strained the front of the blouse. “Do you think this is going to be fun, Todd?”

Todd was tongue tied. He didn’t know what to say. In a heartbeat her whole demeanor had changed from seductive temptress to no-nonsense schoolmarm. “Wh—what are you going to do?”

“Isn’t it obvious, Todd? I’m going to spank you like a little boy.”

“Wh—why?” Todd couldn’t believe this was happening.

“Because. Just because. It pleases me. I won the match and what I want is to give your cute little boy butt a good shellacking. It should be an exemplary experience for you. So, mister. Get across my knee.” To emphasize the point she tapped her leg with the brush.

She pulled her skirt back revealing more of those shapely legs. Todd felt conflicted. On the one hand, this was crazy. On the other he was strangely turned on by the whole scene. So he eased himself across her lap, his cock nestling between her thighs clad in the sheerness of nylon hose. The feeling was electric. His penis slid down between her legs and she closed them slightly trapping his erection like a vise.

“Now you won’t go anywhere, young man. Since you’re new to this, I’ll start with just my hand.”

The next thing Todd felt was her hand, rubbing his bare bottom, patting it, making little circles on it. If the situation hadn’t been so embarrassing he would have said it actually felt good, sexy, titillating.

Smack! That first hard slap was like a dousing with cold water. It stung.

Smack! An identical smack on the other side.

Then she launched into a volley of brisk spanks, slapping one cheek then the other, sometimes bringing her hand down hard right across his central crease. It burned. The tingling mild sting from those first few slaps morphed into mild discomfort. He waggled his body, trying to shake it off.

“Oh, no you don’t,” she said, and tightened her left arm which encircled his waist and pulled him tight against her.

Then the spanking began in earnest. She was methodical, relentless and thorough. Spanks piled on top of spanks. His flesh burned. Sometimes a quick volley of wrist snappy spanks, sometimes full on hard whacks delivered slowly, each one a real burner. How could her hand be so hard? And sting so much? He tried to be stoic about it. Part of him wanted to cry out, to beg her to ease up. It was hurting – really hurting. Finally he couldn’t stand it. He reached his hand back to protect his inflamed bottom.

“C’mon! Ow! It hurts!” He yelped in a high pitched voice.

“You get your hand away,” she said, swatting it away. “I’m going to tan your little fanny good and don’t you try to interfere. We can go all afternoon you know.” As if to emphasize she delivered a set of rapid fire spanks that had him arching his back and fluttering his feet.

“Ow! Ow! Ok – ok!” he said, wriggling. “Just…just, it hurts!”

“Well, I know, silly. It’s a SPANKING. A real one. It should hurt plenty. To teach you a lesson. A good one.” The spanks continued to fall even as she spoke.

This was new information. What lesson? What had he done?

“I think we are ready to graduate to the hairbrush,” she said, after a furious barrage of stinging spanks that took his breath away. Todd felt her right leg slide to the side and she pushed him farther over her left knee. Then her right leg clamped his legs behind his knees. His nose was pushed into the carpet and his butt was arched in a prominent curve over her left knee. He had never felt so vulnerable. That wasn’t the worst part. The worst part was the spanking with that merciless hairbrush.

The first crack sent a burst of flame that blossomed out from his bottom and engulfed his senses. The awful sting dwarfed the discomfort of the hand spanking. He flailed while she laid it on, smack after smack. This time he wasn’t silent.

“Yeow! Ouch! Stop!” He pleaded, but it was an exercise in futility as the spanks rained down, sonorous whacks, each one igniting an explosion of heat on his tortured skin.

“When I spank a boy, I make a good job of it, Todd.”

Todd was beyond listening. He was just trying to cope with the harsh cracks of the hairbrush that were scorching his behind.

“Your cute little butt is almost done, I’d say. Ten more good ones and you count.”

How Todd managed to croak out a count of ten, he didn’t know, but finally it was over. She released his hand and lifted him up, making him slide down to his knees so he was kneeling between her legs.

“Now, that’s a good boy,” she said, grabbing his hair and pulling his head back until his eyes stared up at her. From somewhere she produced a blindfold and slipped it over his eyes. “Stand up,” she said. “Give me your hands.” Todd did. He was too dazed to oppose anything. His ass was burning up and tears were running down his face. Something was going on but he wasn’t sure what it was. This whole thing was something other than what he had thought.

While he was trying to figure it out, handcuffs were snapped on his wrists. This was another alarming event. “What are you doing?” he said. She had grabbed him by the elbow and was marching him somewhere. He stumbled along, helpless now. They hadn’t gone far. He felt his crotch touch something. The leather couch that dominated the main room, that’s what it felt like.

“Stand here,” said Gloria Denham.

He stood waiting. With his hands in the cuffs he couldn’t rub his buttocks. His seat felt swollen to twice its size and hot – flaming hot. If only he could rub some of the sting away. He heard the soft beep of numbers being punched into a smart phone. Then he heard Gloria’s voice. “He’s ready,” she said.

He was ready for what? Now what?

The next thing he heard was the soft chime of a doorbell. Someone was here. Who? Her husband? Oh God! No it couldn’t be her husband, he would just come right in.

“You stay right there,” said Gloria.

He heard her pad away and go open the door. “Come in,” he heard Gloria say. “Yes, he’s all ready for you.” He heard the new voice say, “Yes, I can see he’s all primed. Good job, Gloria.”

Female. It was another female.

That voice. That voice. He knew that voice.
Oh my! Who could possibly be at the door that Todd knew? I'm afraid we must all wait until next week to find out.
From Hermione's Heart

Monday, February 19, 2018

Recap: Spanko Brunch 2.0 for February 18

Do you think that spanking is a gateway to BDSM?

Michael: Sorry if this is a duplicate post. Just learning the site.
Yes, my gf and I have a mutual DD relationship and spanking has evolved into more and varied BDSM play.

KDPierre: No. I don't believe in "gateways" unless the term is used strictly in the sense of an 'ice-breaker'. As a slippery slope pathway however, no. And I think the proof for this is quite simple. There are a myriad of BDSM activities and there are practitioners of some that are simply not into others (spanking included). You could be into BDSM bondage and not want to get spanked, and you can like a good spanking yet not want to have a plug in your bottom, and so on. Having an interest in spanking can easily coincide with other fetishes and interests, and often do...(Hell could be the poster-child for this! LOL) but it is not a 'given'. A person could very easily have a 'stand alone' spanking interest with no other cross-over, and indulging that spanking interest isn't going to alter that. Now if someone has other, possibly buried, interests, starting out with spanking could well open the field to trying the others, but I would not say that's a 'gateway' in the sense that it is usually used.

Anon 1: Not a bit for most people.

Of all the people I know who like spanking, none are interested in any other aspects of BDSM.

Lea: It wasn't, not for me. Actually, BDSM was a gateway to spanking for us. We were more D/s and bondage and less impact stuff at first!

I think it depends on the person and what their leanings are to begin with.

Sir Wendel: It is not for us. We just like to spank each other and not interested in anything more extreme.

abby: For me the answer is yes. All I was interested in was spanking...never even had considered BDSM...M, in his wise way, slowly introduced me to 'pleasures' of it.

Roz: For us over time the level of intensity and implements increased and spanking did on occasion lead to other activities such as light bondage, clamps etc

Willie: In our case it was. We started out what many would consider a Dd couple and that moved into what is basically classified in this corner of blogland ( or my impression is) to D/s. Barney uses BDSM as play and to 'reset' us. It is more for his enjoyment than mine. LOL. But the end result is always good - much like spanking. For us spanking has physical limitations, so this is where other BDSM activities come into play. All in all it allows us to get back to our roles when life pulls us apart.

Prior to our Dd life and spanking, I never ONCE considered BDSM.

Katie: I don't think that it is necessarily a gateway unless one wants it to be. Though our focus day to day is on spanking, I'd say that we dabble in D/s lite too. I've always looked at it as ttwd "with a twist of D/s"! We found just the right balance for the dynamic that we have. Can be lots of fun! ;)

Dan: For us, it worked kind of the opposite. We started off with "play spanking" that we never really labeled as BDSM but it basically was a form of BDSM "scening." We also experimented with some other BDSM-oriented kinkiness. But, my wife grew concerned that play-acting a scene in which I was fake punished for real bad conduct might actually reinforce the bad conduct. I then stumbled across the concept of spanking as a form of adult discipline -- otherwise known as Domestic Discipline -- and we gave it a try. Now, we use spanking exclusively as discipline, and most of the BDSM activities have stopped.

So, I don't see spanking as a "gateway" so much as a very flexible means to all sorts of ends. It can be erotic or disciplinary, play-acting or all too real.

Ronnie: I never really thought of BDSM before spanking but over time, we've done the role play, different implements, clamps, little bondage so I suppose the answer is a sort of yes as we would never have tried the other had we not started spanking.

Rosco: We don’t really use the phrase BDSM. But my wife first spanked me in 1980, and we’ve extended our activities in many ways since then.

I was the one who first asked to be spanked. It took her a little while to get into it, but then she sent me out to buy a riding crop. Then it was toys so she could violate my bottom.

She also dresses me in panties and will spank me and put me to bed in a frilly pink nightgown.

I’m often bound at the head and feet in bed - just loose enough so I can turn over. She’ll thrash my bottom, then turn me over and sit on my face - I call it reverse cowgirl cunnilingus. Usually I’m tied up when we have sex. But sometimes she’ll leave me tied up for awhile waiting and wanting.

She doesn’t wear leather, but does have a number of sexy outfits that she wears.

Is this BDSM? I don’t know.

Yorkie: No. Never. And never will be. She hates spanking me but still does it bless her but neither of us are interested in anything more.

Hermione: Several years ago I discovered a television series called Kink. Each season, the show documented the kinky activities of several couples and individuals in a different Canadian city. Oh my! I learned so much about kinks I had never even heard of! But the only part that really interested me was the spanking. Flogging, maybe. A little bondage, yeah, okay. But nipple clamps made from tiny clothes pins from the dollar store? Forget it! Most of what I saw turned me off, but it was worth watching to catch glimpses of people engaging in what I loved most. What I learned was that I am quite happy to remain a spanko, but that there are more pleasures out there for those who are inclined to try them.

Thank you all for presenting all sides of this interesting theory.
From Hermione's Heart

Sunday, February 18, 2018

Spanko Brunch 2.0 #215

It's the weekend, and that means it's time for another scintillating conversation. Last week we discussed whether your spanking activities tended to escalate over time. This week, let's explore this escalation even further.

Do you believe that spanking is a "gateway" to BDSM? Has your interest in spanking led you to explore aspects of BDSM that you otherwise would not have considered?

As usual, leave your response as a comment, and I will publish a summary of our conversation after everyone has had a chance to speak.
From Hermione's Heart

Saturday, February 17, 2018

You Completed the Caption

Sir Wendel: “Free Spanks” - howled the dog.

Baxter: Oh woe is me, I forgot a bucket for the water and the handle won't go down. My little tender bottom is going to be spanked for this. Oh woe is me.

KDPierre: Never having actually witnessed this scene, the Johnson's were at a loss to explain why there was a localized splintering of their water pump platform...with fur bits radiating out from it in all directions.

Dave: Wait...Did Master want to see me "hump" or "pump"? Maybe this will do both!

Katie: After watching the Olympics, Hilda was determined to begin some daily exercise. She thought it a good idea to incorporate the water pump, and imagined it a high hurdle. Little did she know that her first attempt would land her in this situation. Unable to stop pumping, due to the loud protests of her enthusiastic puppy, she feared that her Sir would be alerted to the barking, and spank her for this ridiculous, and dangerous sport-like activity!

Anon 1: Hilda: I yelled that I needed you to RUSH. I never said anything about needing you to bring a BRUSH.

Anon 2: He warned me this would happen. But did I listen? No. I was a real brat. I stuck my tongue out and told him I could damn well do this myself. Then he warned me what he would do to me if I got myself into this position. But did I listen then? No! And now he’s walking over here with a big grin on his face and taking warm up swings with that damned paddle. Boy is he going to roast my rump but good … and right here, in the open, where anyone can see me him soundly spanking my big, bare bottom. Ugh, I hate it when he’s right, especially when I'll be reminded of it every time I sit down for the next week.

Ronnie: Oh dear, it's stuck. I'm not going to be sitting very comfortably later - he told me he'd fix it when he came home.

Hermione: Here he comes with the switch. I wish I hadn't tipped that bucket of water over him while he was sleeping.

From Hermione's Heart

Friday, February 16, 2018

Friday FAIL

Some inventors have great imaginations but no common sense. Take a look at what various creative geniuses have dreamed up.

Sorry, guys and gals. Don't give up your day jobs.
From Hermione's Heart

Thursday, February 15, 2018

Complete the Caption

I had to laugh when I saw this picture of Hilda. It just screams "Spank me!" don't you think? But our Hilda looks worried, and I wonder why.

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

From Hermione's Heart

Tuesday, February 13, 2018

From the Top Shelf - In a Mist, Chapter 22

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 8Chapter 19
Chapter 9Chapter 20a
Chapter 10 Chapter 20b
Chapter 11Chapter 21

Sadly, we have now reached the conclusion of our story. Will Lennox finally find true happiness? Will he and Elizabeth reunite? Are Florence and Tomms still together? Read on and find out.

Final Chapter - In which Lennox indulges all his sensual pleasures.

Late that night as Lennox lay naked and sleepless on his bed, his prick stiff with excitement at the memory of Lucy Palmer's caning, there was a timid little knock at the door.

"Christine?" he said softly but loud enough for her to hear. His cock twitched expectantly.

The door opened and there she stood silhouetted in the moonlight. Her gamine fringe accentuated her girlishness as did the cotton singlet and schoolgirl panties he insisted she wore instead of night attire when she came to his bed.

During the months she had been there he'd trained her to pander to his every whim. She was his dream come true, the living epitome of every lustful fantasy he'd ever had. She loved to please him in every possible way, for in doing so she herself garnered a harvest of untold pleasure and fulfilment.

He could do to her whatever he wanted - for whatever he wanted, she wanted too.

She turned to close the door behind her. The moonlight streaming through the ivy-fringed window shone like a spotlight upon her soft round bottom. The lavish contours of her arse-cheeks and the deep sensual cleft between them was all too apparent beneath the tight white cotton panties.

The knowledge that she was totally his, to do with as he pleased, made him ache all the more for her.


Blinded by the moonlight she could only hear his voice coming from the dark looming shape of the bed.

Then a stray moonbeam picked out a thick white tower, a lighthouse rising proudly from the sea of crumpled bedclothes - her master's prick. As in a dream she slowly moved towards it.

"Take it in your mouth, Christine."

Obediently she knelt down beside the bed. He groaned with delight as her soft moist lips enfolded his delicately sensitive glans.

Greedily she sucked him, accommodating all she could of his thick, fleshy rod, while his hands caressed, beneath the thin cotton, her breasts, her bottom, and down between her thighs where the gusset of her panties grew hot and sticky against her wet, palpitating quim.

She continued to suck him noisily until he felt himself about to explode in her mouth, at which point he told her to stop - for his preference was always to ejaculate in the place nature provided for the purpose.

Besides which she deserved summary punishment for such brazen shameless behaviour.

"Little hussy! You've earned yourself a bedtime spanking!" he panted with excitement. "Take down your knickers immediately!"

Eagerly Christine did as she was told while Lennox seated himself on the edge of the bed. His penis, bigger than ever before, glistened with the dew of of Christine's saliva.

Although they were now patently lovers, Lennox never play-acted when it came to disciplining her. The 'bedtime spankings' he gave her were, for Christine, painfully real. While she draped herself submissively across his broad lap, he inserted the shaft of his penis in between the fork of her thighs so that it rubbed maddeningly against her swollen sex.

As he spanked her with loud fleshy slaps, alternating from cheek to cheek, so the heavy impact of palm on buttock encouraged her to pump her loins up and down - generating exquisite friction between her engorged clit and the shaft of his cock. By this means he was able to bring her to climax several times during the course of the spanking. Christine's animated cries were more to do with pleasure than with pain - although afterwards her bottom felt hot and sore for quite a while, yet curiously never at the actual moment of chastisement.

Sometimes he used an ivory-backed hairbrush on her in this fashion, and he was delighted to discover that once Christine was erotically aroused he could administer a severe spanking that would leave her marked for days afterwards - but which never seemed to cause her that much pain at the time of infliction.

Not that he shrank from inflicting pain on her - quite the opposite, for the more he punished her, the more certain she became of his love for her. Several times already, in the privacy of his bedroom, he had caned Christine twice as hard as he had caned Lucy Palmer - and she had loved him for it, treasuring the weals he planted on her soft receptive bottom.

But more and more his hectic love-making bouts with Christine taught him to channel his aggression away from the infliction of pain for its own sake and into a delightful no-man's-land where pleasure and pain held equal sway. He even developed an ingenious technique of incorporating this into their coital positions. He would lie on his back with her above him, impaled on his rigid cock, then swivel her round until she was lying across his lap. Thus he could spank her and fuck her at one and the same time.

Another thing he liked to do while they were making love was to threaten her with a caning there and then. The mere threat was usually enough to make her come, and he loved to thrust masterfully inside her while watching the ripples of orgasmic delight distort her pretty face.

Sometimes, more exciting still, he implemented his threat and, brusquely withdrawing his penis from within her, reached for the light-weight rattan cane he always kept in readiness beside the bed. Ordering her to lie on her tummy, stuffing a pillow beneath her loins to elevate her naughty bottom to a pleasingly erotic angle, he would cane her slowly and cruelly, ignoring her tears and her cries of pain, gloating instead on the rich, rubescent weals with which he was adorning her pretty bottom - like diadems of precious stones.

He always seemed to cane her more violently on those occasions. It was as though the volcanic passion of some bitter anger locked deep inside him was being released.

After such a caning he would invariably take her from behind and, as he reached his frenzied climax, he would squeeze and pummel her aching buttocks with unmitigated savagery.

Afterwards he always felt God-like, as though he'd transcended to a higher plane. The entire armies of the Third Reich could lay siege to Lymchurch House for all he cared!

o O o

June 6th 1945. Hazy blue skies and tender sweetness of summer in the air. Lennox and his perennially naughty Christine celebrated V.E. night in one of the new night clubs that had sprung up in the shabby streets adjoining Leicester Square. The Ace of Spades it was called, a long low-ceilinged cellar joint, uncarpeted and cheaply furnished with rickety old tables and chairs.

But it had the best jazz combo in London, so Lennox had been assured. Rumours abounded of legendary American negro hornmen, on leave from Uncle Sam, nightly blowing up a storm.

By midnight the tiny place was jam-packed with drunken revelers, their loud uncouth presence bitterly resented by the serious hard-core jazz aficionados who were there solely for the music. Cigarette smoke hung heavy in the humid air, as did the stink of unwashed bodies and cheap perfume. Lennox loved it. He'd never been anywhere like it before in his whole life. This, he felt, was his real home. Leaving Christine at a table with the beers, he fought his way through the jostling throng to get a look at what was happening on the bandstand at the other end of the room.

An enormous bull-necked negro G.I. was playing the tenor saxophone. Behind him a cadaverous-like youth in dark glasses was crouched over the piano, his splayed fingers hammering out jaggedly dissonant chords. Sweat pouring down their faces, the bassist and drummer were doing their utmost to keep up with the ferocious tempo the negro hornman had set.

His eyes open but expressionless, the huge hornman was spattering the opposite wall with machine gun volleys of sound. To Lennox's bewildered ears it seemed a frighteningly nihilistic music, full of discords, high-pitched squeals, and abrupt polyrhythmic explosions. Lennox guessed they were playing a twelve-bar blues, though the chord changes were barely recognisable. A skinny, sleek-haired adolescent, eyes wild and mouth agape, leaned across and yelled excitedly in his ear "So this is Be-Bop!"

As the number ended suddenly, almost in mid-flight, to tumultuous applause, the black tenor man looked down and spotted Lennox, anxious and restless, his cornet-case in his hand. A smile flickered briefly across the negro's bored expressionless features. "Hey man, you wanna jam?" he murmured in a voice of gentle amusement.

Never one to turn down a challenge, Lennox nodded eagerly and jumped up on the stage. But his heart began thumping and his lips suddenly felt dry and parched. He was so nervous he wondered if he'd be able to produce a single note from his horn. Nevertheless he was determined to at least try.

"I say, do you happen to know an old Dixieland tune called 'Indiana'?" he stammered shyly, removing his battered silver cornet from its case and blowing down it self consciously.

"Sure thing, man," the negro nodded, turning to the rhythm section to count it in. Before Lennox could ask him what key they were playing in, they were halfway through the first chorus.

Afterwards he came off the bandstand feeling dazed, depressed - yet at the same time elated. He had barely managed to keep pace with the blistering tempo , for he had never had to play so fast in all his life. He had peppered his shrill frenetic solo with embarrassing 'clinkers' but in spite of that the crowd applauded him, and when it was over the big smiling tenorman had hugged him to his chest, calling him a 'mean cat'.

In a mist of euphoria he rejoined Christine at the table. She leaned across and kissed him proudly on the lips. "You were wonderful!" she gasped. "I never realised you were that good."

That night it seemed to Lennox like the dawning of a new age, with the War over and this tremendous discovery of a whole new form of jazz. He looked at Christine, flushed and excited in the red dress he'd bought her that day from a Knightsbridge store. It set off her figure to perfection and he remembered the spanking he'd given her that afternoon and how sweetly vulnerable she'd looked in her old school uniform.

He was glad too that he'd thought to pack a slender whippy cane in his suitcase. Even though Christine was now twenty-three, he still caned her bottom at the slightest provocation. It gave an exciting edge to their relationship, and she respected him for doing so.

It was well past two o'clock in the morning when they finally left the Ace of Spades. There were no taxis to be had for love nor money, so they walked wearily all the way back to the Bloomsbury flat which Lennox had managed to beg the use of from an old college friend. The West End streets were still thronged with drunken merrymakers. He felt happier than he had ever done before - even though he was out of a job and with a young woman to support too.

His school had closed down, the girls had all gone their separate ways - all except Christine, who had admantly refused to go anywhere without him.

Lymchurch House had reverted to its rightful owner, Elizabeth Montague, who had promptly sold it to a fat war profiteer from Birmingham. Lennox had met her briefly, for the last time, when she had come to take a look at the place.

It had been mid-winter when Elizabeth arrived swathed in Russian sable and french perfume, in a sleek chauffeur driven limousine. She was a fine patrician lady now. Lennox had found it hard to imagine her as the headstrong little tomboy he'd put across his knee with such relish all those years ago. There was an awkward exchange of inconsequential small talk and her cold reserve made him feel ill at ease. He was relieved when, after an hour, she left for a pressing engagement in town. She extended a kid-gloved hand to him, which he shook formally. As her car glided away he knew their paths would never cross again.

When Lennox and Christine got back to the flat in Bloomsbury, dawn was already beginning to break over London. Suddenly all his weariness forsook him and he knew he wanted her like mad. He picked her up and carried her into the bedroom, depositing his giggling girlish bundle on the bed and arranging her in a kneeling posture so that her well-rounded rump stuck up at a provocative angle. His eyes glinted dangerously as he flipped up the back of her new dress and peeled down her flimsy pink panties.

"Oh golly!" she protested, half-heartedly, "you're surely not going to spank me again, are you? My poor little bottom's still sore from yesterday afternoon.

But he was already searching the bedroom cabinet for the hairbrush.

Well well! So Elizabeth was now only a distant memory and she has gone on with her life. But Lennox and Christine have a fine future ahead of them, provided he finds a way to support them. But that's another story!
From Hermione's Heart