Sunday, April 29, 2012

Recap: MBS Sunday Brunch for Apr 29

This week we tried something a little different by inviting brunch participants to share a short spanking story. As you can see below, the results are nothing short of stupendous.


Once upon a time, a sweet and lovely girl named Ana was trying to do her homework. Her head ached, she was tired from too many all-nighters, and she was annoyed with all of the demands of school. She decided to go out and play instead. Unfortunately, the next day her teacher chose to give a surprise quiz based on the homework. Ana failed miserably. She got a sound spanking when she arrived back home and swore to herself to never get caught again without her homework completed... or at least to learn how to cheat. But that's a story for another day.

The very well-spanked, bright-red end. :)


My naked body shivers in the corner of the cool room as my mind wanders to the events of the morning that put me in this place. How could I oversleep on such an important day? Her surprised and stern look when I awoke her a mere twenty minutes late made me shutter, but not as much as the text message that arrived telling me she had missed her meeting or the next message instructing me to be in position with the heavy cane on the bed when she returned.

She enters the room and commands me to bend over. I hear her heavy breathing and the swish of the cane. Stroke after burning stroke burns my skin. My legs begin to shake from the searing pain. Perspiration drips from my brow and burns my eyes as the relentless stinging swats find their mark. I hear the cane drop and she leaves without a word.

Xantu: I meet him at the door, on my knees, forehead pressed firmly to the floor; as is the daily requirement. But today is different. Today is his birthday and I have been busy; flowers, wrapped presents, gourmet dinner, his favorite dress pooling around my knees.

He leaves me there, kneeling, silent but quivering with pent up excitement. He rumbles with pleasure.

He returns and stands over me. I shiver as he slowly lifts up my skirt and slides my panties down.

As his first blow lands, he begins to count.

I remember the surprise. "Hey, its your birthday, not mine!"


The path curved through the woods, deeper and deeper, stopping at a clearing where moss covered the ground. Sunshine spilled through the branches onto a grey stone bench, lichen-covered and weather-beaten. Mist descended, swirled and parted to reveal a young man in uniform seated on the bench, holding a girl by the hand. He guided her over his lap; printed skirt raised, panties lowered in an instant. Sounds of slaps mingled with laughter and murmured endearments. Red bottom, red cheeks, red painted nails gripping the stone. Then red lips pressed together urgently as teardrops stained the moss.

“Remember me when I am gone.”

The mist swirled again and vanished. The bench stood empty in the sunlight.

Joeyred: @Hermione, brilliant.


When I close my eyes, I still picture the evening you made me stand with my hands entwined above my head facing the wall. There is a mirror there to reflect upon, watch my face as your hand slaps my bottom, a forceful caress, your remonstrations each time your palm connects with my naked flesh. I observe my detached reflection, my lips in a silent circle of ouch and, ahh, the frown on my forehead as my bottom bounces under your firm hand. The tears cascade over my eyelids coursing a track down my cheeks to drip from my chin.

I gently sob as I promise to change my ways. But we know I never will, because I also know you so well my love. There is a deception, a slight of hand, and you are cross with me, but my instincts tell me more. I see the smile behind your eyes, your kind and gentle nature betrays you and you fall under my spell so easily when I silently ask, in my secret way. We keep our secret selves locked away so tightly in a Pandora’s box that calls to me in the darkness and the light. I am driven to open it. And so I remember our eyes meeting in the mirrored reflection, a fleeting glimpse, my shy smile confirming our complicity in the knowledge that I will always return to that secret Pandora’s Box of ecstasy.

Saoirse: That was beautiful, Hermione!


I had really tried. I was respectful, loving, and attentive. Really, I was. But, well... Something was missing. Fun? Banter? I couldn't work it out.

Then after breakfast one morning, he hugged me close and led me to the couch. Sitting down, he gently pulled me over his lap. I was surprised, and asked, "What have I done?"

"Nothing, my love, you have been wonderful," he replied, "and now I am going to give you a good girl spanking!"

He began spanking me with his hand. These were stinging, but not unbearable swats. All the while, he told me how much he loved me and appreciated my attitude, my behaviour, and my efforts to make him comfortable. I loved it! It was like a reward for being good and it brought back THE SPARK. Yes, the sexual tension was back in full force. I felt sexy and alive and excited. After the spanking finished, we moved on to other equally delightful activities...


“It sounds like you were” – spank – “forgetting” – spank – “who’s” – spank – “in” – spank – “charge.”

The spanks he’s delivering now no longer feel playful. And he’s going on.

“It sounds like you were telling me what to do.” Wow. This is a first. There's fire on my behind with every slap.

“No, James.” I answer him because I know I have to, but every part of me screams out not to say a word that might make him stop. I finally feel like I’m getting spanked now! My bottom is burning with every smack, and I’m getting so hot from it that I can’t breathe.

A'marie: I love this idea, Bonnie. I loved reading all these little stories. Perfect, and so much fun! :)

There's a tipping point, a moment in time when I know I've gone too far, but I can't stem the cascade of words tumbling out of my mouth. Your pursed lips are an unheeded warning. The momentary satisfaction of my tirade has me throwing common sense out the window.

You say nothing, but your hands move to your waist and I hear the rustle of a slender leather belt being pulled from its loops. Some days, this might leave me instantly penitent. Today, my penitence comes at a price.

My smile is tinged with defiance as I shimmy out of my jeans, leaving them in a heap on the floor. Your silence continues as I drape myself across the bed.

Moving to the side of the bed, your hand snakes into my hair, pulling my head back. I turn my face slightly to meet your gaze.

"That little display of petulance was uncalled for."

I sense the backwards movement of your hand, and a moment later the belt cracks across my bottom with an intensity that surprises me. It is followed by a dozen or more quick, hard strokes. I remember why I hate this belt, the thin, whippy feel of it. I grit my teeth and bury my face in the covers. Penitence is still several dozen strokes away.

Six of the Best:

There was my wife, my daughter, and mother-in -law, all standing in the corner, with their red blushing bare bottoms on view. For I had just given all three of them a good spanking on their naked rear ends, for coming home late, and each consuming too much liquor at a party.


Oh nine thirty... Mark

Load and initialize Jennifer subroutine F


Set level three

Level three, sir

Confirm physical positioning and restraints


Engage standard warm up sequence

Sequence initiated

“Ow! What kind of warm-up is that? Yeow!”

Proceed with ramp up to level three with 120 second logarithmic phase in

Ramping now

“Ach! That really hurts...”

Approaching level three... Mark

Sustain at level three for 180 seconds

Sustaining, sir

“Oooo. Aaaeeeee! Ow!”

180 seconds... Mark

Bypass standard ramp out and go to full shutdown

Shutting down, sir

Disarm and release all restraints

Disarmed now. Restraints are open.

“Stupid robots. You take the fun out of everything!”

I had never been spanked until theday when my boy friend I and were arguing about some trivia. I said, "I know I'm right."

"So do I," he said. "All right, I'll bet you fifty pounds I'm right?"

"I can't afford that much."

"All right then, if you're right, you get the fifty, but if you're wrong, you get a good spanking."

I gasped in surprise, and said, "OK then, but I know my bottom's quite safe."

We went back to the house where a book quickly proved that he was right. He grinned happily as my rear end tingle nervously. He sat down and patted his lap."Over you go then, love."

I tried to delay matters, but got a firm, "Now!" I laid myself across his strong thighs, my thin stretch jeans hugging my ample bottom. I felt his hand on their zip.

"No, no, not on the bare. It's my first spanking."

"All right then, but I'll have to spank harder."

He gripped me firmly, pushing my upper half down, so that my jeans were even tighter. They weren't going to be much help, with only my tiny thong beneath. Then a broad male palm landed with a resounding thwack across my upturned bum. Wow, it stung, but he held me tight, and went on to apply my first spanking with gusto. I squealed and wriggled, but there was nothing I could do. After I don't know how many spanks, he stopped and helped me to my feet.

I clutched my burning, smarting cheeks. "There, honour satisfied," he laughed. "I really enjoyed that, and next time it will be on the bare."

"I can see that," looking down at the bulge in the front of his jeans. I undid my own, peeling them off. "So did I, so let's do something about it," and I sank my now bare red bottom onto him.

Loki Darksong: Ten Minutes (M/F)

She was a Black woman, looking far younger than her forty-two years. She had a thick build but was not fat. Her years of weight loss still toning down her body paid off.

She was tied over a padded bench and was wearing the uniform of an Edwardian period maid. Her skirt was pulled up and her bloomers pulled down. The air felt cool on her brown colored rear.

He, her husband, also was dressed in period attire. The clothing, that of a gentleman of means, looked sharp on his dark brown skin, his dreadlocks adding more flare to the image.

In his hand he held a martinet, a French spanking implement made of many laces of leather. On the table was a small hour glass that measured ten minutes in length.

She did not believe that a martinet was that fearsome an implement. That a handful of strokes with it was not too much of a threat.

He had said that it was how long you used it rather than a set number that really mattered with the martinet. And he only needed ten minutes to prove his case.

The first minute reminded her of a birching. The leather held the same sting as a birch with less chance of splinters.

The second minute she wished that it was made of wood. By now it would have been time to stop and get a fresh birch, giving her a few moments breather instead of this constant lashing across her rear.

The third minute she was unable to keep still in her bonds. She flinched and jerked about constantly, little gasps escaping past her clenched teeth.

The fourth minute and she was tugging at her bonds trying to get free of the constant sting, her own dreadlocks dancing about with her head’s motions.

The fifth minute was when she admitted to herself that he was right! The martinet WAS an effective implement of punishment, when used properly. She did not say that aloud, keeping it to herself for the moment. And she did not safeword, choosing instead to see where this ride went. Crazy, yes. But why not?

The sixth minute made her question that decision. Her husband had changed the strokes, slowing the tempo while upping his strength. Now she was really jumping on the bench!

The seventh minute and she wished she had chosen to be nude for this scene. It would have been so much cooler! The rest of her body, within the maid’s uniform, was almost as hot as her rear.

The eighth minute passed and she was almost done. She had run through her entire repertoire of sounds, cries, yells and words of distress. But her husband never ceased in helping her find newer ways of squirming under the strokes.

The ninth minute surprised her. Her husband had yet again ramped up the strokes, this time to a whole new level. She found herself now with renewed vigor in her actions and voice.

The tenth and final minute found her spending the energy of that second wind pulling off some fantastic writhing and leaps, restrained by the bonds that held her to the bench. It was true poetry in motion. Later, as they watched the footage, they would both be glad that they had decided to film the scene. It was very hot!

By the time the last grain of sand fell, her backside felt thoroughly roasted. Contrary to the beliefs of some, colors of a spanking, red and otherwise, do appear on dark brown skin. The many, many dark red lines etched across her brown skin could be seen quite clearly. Her bottom in general was now a darker shade of red as well.

In all it was a fun session. After retiring to their bedroom, and after a bout of post spanking… fun, she reflected on her new respect for the martinet. She could not wait for the opportunity to use it herself. Perhaps in concert with what she was going to use on her husband during their next playtime.

She had come up with such a nice image while over the bench. It would be so much fun to bring it to life!

Wow. Great job, everyone! I guess we can call this experiment a success. This is one topic that I won't regret revisiting in the future. Thanks to all of our wonderful contributors.


Julia said...

Oh, I could totally identify with Kat's story...

SNP said...

Fun and creative all of you!

A-Non said...

I've tried writing short pieces like this, but I'm just not satisfied with less than about 2500 words. I guess I like the setting and the buildup too much. I loved these stories. I will try to write a short one next time this brunch topic is proposed.

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