Seaside break

From her deckchair by the beach hut Nanny watched her charges with the help of a pair of rather elderly field glasses, which had once been carried by her late, lamented fiance Captain Smart. Time had passed, but the optics were undimmed and still provided a good, sharp image - she could see the girls perfectly well, but they were quite unaware that they were being observed.

Away from the confines of day-to-day domestic life the young ladies were in very high spirits and their behaviour was becoming anything but ladylike. As she watched she pondered what action she should take when they returned to their guest house.

A severe chastisement was called for, but would her strap deliver the lesson that was required? Perhaps she should ask her landlady to send out for a cane.

(Picture reblogged from the top-notch Wicked Knickers)

Monday Moment: Fabulous Fifi

"Couldn't we loosen it just a bit? Please." The feeling of constriction was becoming close to unbearable.

"You're to stay tight-laced until lunchtime. That's what I said and that's what I meant."

How long was it until lunchtime? The Nursery had no clock, so she had no sense of how much time had passed since breakfast. "Please..."

"Don't take that tone with me, young lady." There was an edge to Nanny's voice that told her she'd gone too far. "One more word, young lady. Just one more and you'll be taking a quick trip to Lapland. Is that what you want?"

She certainly didn't. Corset training was uncomfortable enough, but corset training and a well-spanked bottom would be too much to bear.

"No, Nanny," she answered.

"Good, well stop your fidgeting and sit up straight. You've another hour and that's that."

The little vault of treasure that this image comes from is called Fifi Feeling is First, which I love. It's an interesting mix, all frills and fantastic lingerie. Not a great deal of spanking stuff, but searching for it has kept me happy for hours - and making up stories to match pictures is great fun.

The birch - and branching out

It seemed like a good idea. Not a birch, more a birchette or a maybe a birchling. With Significant Other not at work and the kids out and about the opportunity was there for a bit of play.
Spring is already in the air here and I'd been out in the garden and what does a spanko's fancy turn to around growing things? Whippy switches, of course, and that leading character in any classic Victorian erotic yarn, Miss Birch.

So I looked out the secateurs and got snipping. Sadly no actual birch in our garden (note to head gardener - please rectify this oversight) so I thought I'd try willow instead.
And I wasn't in the mood for anything too Gothic, so I went for delicate little foot-long twigs.
Bound together with a couple of elastic bands it made the sort of pretty little rod that a Victorian nanny might have put to good use, rather than an avenging paterfamilias, but was something we could 'work' with.
I thought of adding a ribbon, but didn't want to waste precious time.What I had in mind was recreating a bit of 'A Week in the Country', or something rather like it. Not exactly this, but this kind of thing:

'You’re a wicked girl and this time I’ll make sure you get the lesson you so richly deserve, she says, bringing the birch down with all her strength. The twigs hiss through the air to lash across bumcheeks that flinch in anticipation of the impact. The rod whips back to shoulder height then falls again as the mistress settles into a steady, remorseless rhythm. After keeping her peace for the first dozen the maid lets out a squeal of distress at each of the punishing blows that follow.'

Didn't quite work out that way sadly. SO did indignant really well, while I protested my innocence and begged for mercy. But the birchette, birchling or whatever was a serious disappointment. Three of the twigs snapped on the first stroke and the whole thing promptly imploded.
And our moment imploded too - into giggling. Ruined the mood. Won't bother with willow next time.