Monday, 30 December 2013

Life imitating art

Or imitating a spanking scribble at least. Just like the girl in my Christmas story, this naughty Penny got her backside tanned good and proper yesterday. (What is it about Sunday and me being spanked?)

To be fair to BH, I had been pestering him for a hiding like an eight-year-old might pester for a pony. Day in, day out, “Can I have a spanking? Wow, I want a spanking. You know, there really is nothing like a good spanking.”

(A slight paraphrase, but you get the idea).

Yesterday was the first day in over a week when we didn’t have to see anyone or go anywhere. And silly Penny got what she asked for and more.

Marched to the bedroom. Stripped down to my panties and ordered onto the bed. Wrists tightly bound and tied securely to the headboard. Baby-pink ballgag popped into my mouth and fastened behind my head. And suddenly I am helpless. Kneeling, face down, ass up, presenting myself for punishment like the most wretched little whore.

Unbearable anticipation, unbearable tingling between my legs.

The tip of the riding crop is traced down my spine and over my waiting buttocks. I moan shamelessly; arch my back, push my bottom out to meet the instrument of my punishment. To signal my submission, my wantonness.

He talks to me as he teases me with the crop, his words an extension of its caress. I close my eyes and feel the truth of his words.

I am a wicked girl. A slut. I deserve to be bound. I deserve everything I have coming.

And then with full force he thrashes me. The strokes come at a deliberate pace; a rhythm that lets me feel the full effect of each, inside and out. I yelp into my gag, I drool, I writhe, dishevelled, disgraced.

I beg for mercy.

I deserve none, and receive none. That frightful crop returns to my backside over and over and over again, scorching it, each and every blow sending lightning bolts of remorse and desire and pleasure coursing through me, overwhelming me. Faster and faster it comes, and I scream into my gag.

My words are meaningless, worthless sounds. His are deeply-spoken, measured, final.

“I will shortly be taking your panties down and inspecting you, bitch. And heaven help you if I find you wet.”

His hand between my legs, caressing me through fabric. Growled words of reproach. Helpless, wanton arousal in the wicked girl kneeling on the bed. There are no other words for it: she is an absolute disgrace. And then she is exposed, humiliated, her sole and most intimate item of clothing taken down and left at her knees.

A disgracefully red bottom; a sure sign of a naughty girl. And, oh – worse, far worse! – the little slut has been enjoying her punishment! She even whimpers with delight as he touches her shame!

He is quite right to take the crop to me again, to thrash my bare ass and legs with it, mercilessly, for my own good, but how it stings! Oh, please, please! I’m sorry! PLEASE!


When at last – when he has beaten me to his full satisfaction – I am given the opportunity to please him I take it gratefully. I am a good little slut, an eager little toy. I know I was wicked and I am grateful to have been punished.

Fuck, I love spanky Sundays.

Tuesday, 24 December 2013

A visit to a naughty girl

(With apologies to Clement Clarke Moore. And Beatrix Potter. And all other authors!)

‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all thro’ the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse...
...but, look! A little girl, climbing down from her bed!
With naughty little thoughts running through her blonde head.

Penny crept out of bed as quietly as she could; she knew she would be in terrible trouble if Daddy heard her. All was silent and dark in her room, for it was midnight on the most magical night of the year... Christmas Eve.

She should of course have been sleeping, like all the other girls and boys, but an impulse had gripped her imagination. She wanted to see Santa. So what if it was naughty to want that? She was sure Santa wouldn’t mind when he saw her happy little face.

She slipped her dressing gown on and tiptoed across her bedroom, then across the landing and down the stairs, being as careful and stealthy as a cat.

Cre-eak! went a step under her foot, halfway down the stairs. Oh, stupid step!

She breathed a quiet sigh of relief when Daddy didn’t emerge from his room. She carried on down the rest of the stairs, being extra-double-careful and stealthy.

Once downstairs she skipped with glee. She was going to see Santa! The real one! With the reindeer and the presents! She was sure he would think her the sweetest girl in the world, and maybe – she guiltily thought to herself – he would give her an extra gift for being so cute. Smiling with such happy thoughts she bounced onto an armchair and curled up to wait for her magical visitor.


Some time later, she was startled by a sudden sound: she realised she must have drifted off to sleep while waiting. The noise was coming from the chimney – it had to be Santa!

Suddenly not so sure of his approval of her being awake, she determined to hide. She looked about herself, fixed upon a spot beneath the dining table, and scooted there as quick as a rabbit.

A few moments later, her curiosity too strong to resist, she peeked out from her shady hiding place. Despite her best efforts to stay silent she gasped in wonder as, sure enough, the portly red figure of Santa emerged from the fireplace, big black boots first.

Her gasp hadn’t been especially loud but it had been enough. Her little heart leapt into her mouth as Santa turned to her hiding place... then paced toward it... then bent down and looked straight at her, a displeased expression on his bearded, saintly face.

“And what, young lady, are you doing out of bed?” he demanded.

Thoroughly discovered, Penny gulped and sheepishly crept out from under the table, her little face glowing as crimson as Santa’s coat.

“I... I wanted to see you...” she whimpered into her chest.

Santa made an ominous harrumphing sound and pulled a roll of parchment from his pocket. “Ah yes,” he said. “Penelope... Hasler. Oh, yes indeed. You know, I don’t think you would have stayed up to see me if you knew what I had in store for you!”

Penny’s tummy sank with an all-too-familiar feeling. The feeling that she got when she was in for a spanking. Yet the sight of Santa’s sack of toys in the corner of her eye gave her one last flicker of hope. She looked up at him with her most appealing, wide-eyed expression. “Is it... a new doll?” she ventured with a timid little smile.

Santa laughed. “Ho ho, no! Oh, that’s a good one!”

Penny frowned in disappointment. And then she wailed as she was grasped firmly by the wrist and dragged across the lounge to the armchair she had sat curled up in not five minutes before.

“It’s not a doll you’re getting, my girl!” Santa boomed. “You have been bad all year long – the number of entries you have on my naughty list bears sad testimony to that – and tonight’s indiscretion is just the icing on the cake!”

And in the blink of a reindeer’s eye poor Penny lay helpless across Santa’s lap, her sky-blue nightdress up round her waist, her childish pink panties down round her knees. And then her little bare bottom bounced and squirmed under Santa’s hard hand as he set about slapping a much-needed lesson into her.

“Naughty girls get spankings!” he scolded, proving his point with emphatic (and painful) zeal. “And you have to be about the naughtiest little girl I’ve ever known!”

“Ooh! Ow! Owch!” Penny squealed, her slippered feet kicking, her blonde mane bucking, her little face a deeply flushed picture of sorrow. “I... I’m sor-ry!

And she was sorry. Very sorry indeed. Santa spanked very hard, and long before he had finished poor Penny bawled in pain and sorrow, certain she could take no more. She was sorry the entire hour she spent standing in the corner, her little red bottom glowing in the night-time darkness. She was sorry as she lay in bed, sucking her thumb and rubbing the soreness away.

And she was sorry the next morning when she woke to find nothing but a note in her little red stocking.

Dear Daddy,

Penny has been very naughty this year and so I have spanked her and left her no gifts. I strongly urge you to spank her again today and send her to bed early.

Yours, Santa.

Poor, silly Penny. She had promised Santa that she would be good – “the bestest little girl ever!” – as he had expertly roasted her rear, and she would promise her Daddy the same when she was turned over his knee for a second, equally-thorough, Christmas Day spanking. And during each ordeal she cried just as pitifully as the ‘real tears’ doll she had set her heart on receiving, her little heart breaking with remorse...

...yet come December 26 she would be just as naughty as ever!

So as poor Penny sobs, her behind burning bright –
Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!

Have a great time, everyone :D

Monday, 23 December 2013

Only two sleeps to go

It’s very nearly Christmas! I hope you’re all well and everything is set for a lovely festive celebration. I still need to wrap a few presents myself, actually... I will go and do that shortly, in front of the fire in the sitting room, the lights of the Hasler tree glistening prettily as I struggle with sellotape and try to make my gifts look like they were wrapped by an adult :)

Just to let you know that Ana’s Advent Calendar – on which I’ve been moonlighting as a helper elf – has a special post today in honour of us elves. (Some of) the naughtiness and fun we’ve had over the past month is detailed there for your amusement, so if you’d like a laugh, do pop over and say hi!

Oh... and if you have any thoughts about what should be done with a naughty Penny elf, grinning with mischievous glee in her sexy little elf outfit, do feel free to let me know in the comments here!

(Personally, I think Penny elfs should be given jelly tots and cuddles and not spankings at all, nuh uh!) :D

Tuesday, 17 December 2013

And let that be a lesson to you, my girl

I said yesterday that I was going to give myself a good hiding, and I did. The instant after posting on my blog I left my writing desk and went to the bedroom, fished my wooden ruler out from under the bed (we keep most of our hitty things there), went to the foot of the bed, yanked my knickers down to my ankles, hitched my dress up, and bent over.

Most times when spanking myself I imagine a scene – usually a school one – complete with an imaginary disciplinarian who is thoroughly appalled by my conduct and thrillingly/chillingly determined to teach me a painful lesson. I imagine him or her saying scolding words, and I feel his/her strict gaze upon me. But last night it was just me, in my bedroom, giving myself something I really needed. It was rather like the spanking I gave myself as a teen on a cross-country run, I guess, albeit more private and less chilly.

And I did need it, believe me. I haven’t been spanked for weeks and I would describe the feeling that I have had during that time as a type of desperation. Thoughts of spanking have come to me, all the time: at home, at work, in town, everywhere. And the yearning feeling that courses through me, part emotional, part physical, the feeling that tingles between my legs... it’s hard to describe, but it’s VERY real and VERY powerful. I’m sure many of you know the feeling I mean.

So I did what I had to do. Once suitably in position, I flashed that ruler down upon my cheeks just as hard as I could. Oh. OH. The wonderful slapping sound of wood upon skin... the delicious, much-needed sting (so intense when I gave myself a few spitefully hard swats in a row to the exact same spot)...


I didn’t have a particular number in mind before I started, and I simply walloped myself until it felt right to stop. Until the itch that had been driving me crazy had been scratched.

And when that happy point was reached, Penny’s naughty little bottom was very red and very sore, and she slept soundly and contentedly that night.

The end ;)

Monday, 16 December 2013

Party season

Apologies for the continuing lack of Penny productivity... I have simply been kept too busy to spend much time on my lovely little blog. Rest assured that I feel thoroughly ashamed – more toe-gazingly abashed than a fourth former caught under the covers in the dorm room with a salacious magazine in one hand and her other hand in an unspeakably wicked place – and I shall punish myself accordingly. (More on that later).

Saturday was a nice kind of busy, at least: in the evening I was hostess to a select gathering of sophisticated and urbane persons and a thoroughly enjoyable time was had by all. And Penny did get tipsy and act the giddy goat. But she only fell on her bottom once. As far as I remember.

I get another opportunity to behave badly this coming Thursday, as it’s the Christmas party at work. If last year’s bash is any guide, I think Friday is very likely to be a write-off, writing-wise...

But enough about my festive fooling. I mentioned punishing myself, and that is exactly what I intend to do right after hitting publish on this post. I am not only feeling guilty for a poor blogging performance. I am, sad to say, very badly in need of a spanking as my dear partner has not warmed my rear for a good few weeks. Not since November 24, in fact. A sorry state of affairs, I’m sure you’ll agree.

But I am not going to take it lying down. No sirree. I am going to take it bent over the end of the bed, with my dress hitched up and my knickers round my ankles. I am going to take my wooden ruler firmly in hand and apply it to my deserving buns until they positively burn. And I am going to feel like a very, very naughty girl.

(Oh, an amusing snippet from Saturday: we played Twister at our sophisticated soirĂ©e and a female friend whom I always had pegged as 100% vanilla smacked me firmly on the butt at one point. I would say I didn’t know where to look... but I was already looking foursquare into a second friend’s cleavage. Oh, the naughtiness! :D)

Thursday, 12 December 2013

Shiny and festive and pretty

But enough about me, aha.

To festive up my blog and spread a little cheer, I thought it would be nice to snap and share some artistic and tasteful images of the Hasler Christmas tree!

I’m not an expert but I think it’s a Plastic Spruce. The important thing is that it stands proudly in the drawing room of Hasler Towers (between Doggie’s armchair and the TV) and makes the place look Christmassy :)

And, just for my dear friend Katherine Deane, here is my Disney Princess advent calendar! (I closed the doors up again for the purposes of picture-taking... the choklits are gone, needless to say).

Want more bauble porn? Here are some snaps I took last year of the little Christmas tree that sits on my writing desk :)

Monday, 9 December 2013

There's a brat in Ana's kitchen

It must be the time of year for yummy recipes – today Ana is inviting people to share their recipes for holiday treats on her blog, with guest Leigh Ellwood mistress of ceremonies for the day.

I better think of another recipe, quick! (Something other than the festive choklit biskits I’m currently scoffing out of a box :D)

Maybe I should send Little Penny over. She knows her way round a kitchin.

P.S. I’ll write something more substantial (if not more sensible) soon, I promise – the free time fairy has just been avoiding me of late. There’s an English lesson to be held, and poor naughty Penny has been waiting in suspense for nigh on three months now! Wail!

Wednesday, 4 December 2013

The spirit of giving

The title and theme of my Christmas short story, but this post is about something far less silly and far more important.

Ana Vitsky has a beautiful post on her blog today (part of her daily Advent Calendar series), all about the importance of selflessness and kindness. She reminds us to think of others – particularly those less fortunate than ourselves, particularly at this time of year – and she (and her many commenters) share sad, heartwarming, inspiring stories and suggest all kinds of ways, big and little, to reach out and help.

And this is, of course, the true meaning of Christmas: the capacity for kindness we possess, each and every one of us; the amazing difference that can be made to the lives of others if we choose to use that capacity. The spirit of giving.

I can only urge you to visit Ana’s blog and join in the conversation: I guarantee that your heart will be gladdened.

(As one final enticement, Ana’s post features an original piece of Penelope Hasler artwork, drawn purely in the hope of making a friend smile).

Sunday, 1 December 2013

Tis the season to be spanky

Whee, it’s December! I don’t know about you, but now it really feels like Christmas is near, a feeling that I didn’t have yesterday. Amazing what opening the first door on a Disney princess advent calendar can do :D

And an even nicer Dec 1 gift was an email telling me that my Christmas short story has been published!

It’s one of ten brand-new tales in a lovely little collection called The Christmas Spirit, available from Amazon or direct from the clever people at LSF Publications. Lookit!

And if that isn’t enough spanky, seasonal story fun for you, there are not one, not two, but six other splendid collections all bursting with naughtiness and festive fun. Pop over to LSF’s Christmas collection page to have a browse :)

Yay for Christmas!