National Treasure

Continued from: Family Meeting

So, I stumbled across a cooking show on Prime the other night. Long-time readers of my blog will know that I enjoy dabbling in the culinary arts. I am not a classically trained chef but I've had training and have some skills in that space. 

You will also remember that I'm a huge Anthony Bourdain fan, rest his soul, and I did a tribute post to him once: Bourdain Post

From his books (I've read them all) to his adventurous food travel shows and the rebellious, rock and roll perspective that he brought to his narration and writing, he was truly a gem, I miss him. 

(Bear with me, this post is still about spanking you perverts!)

To that end, I was delighted to see him on a show that I never knew or heard about before. It's called The Taste U.K.

The gentleman on the left is Ludo Lefebvre (pronounced: la-fab), who began working in Michelin star restaurants in France at the age of 14. He eventually earned his own Michelin star for a restaurant he opened and operated in Los Angeles. 

The gentleman on the right, needs no introduction, it was nice to hear his voice again and his quick-witted, often inappropriate commentary. 

But, between them both, the piece de resistance, the diamond in the roughness of these two vulgar, tattooed men. 

Nigella Lawson! 

Totally got a little girl-boner when I saw it was her as part of this cast. 

All of you silly men out there (and I'm sure, some of the women)...if you fancy a "Mommy" approach to a spanking fantasy, her wooden spoon, her antique carpet beater, my GOD, she is your gal! 

From her extremely posh accent to her grace, her poise and her sheer elegance, I literally did not know how to describe this National treasure using only one word. Voluptuousness? I thought. It didn't even come close to doing her justice. I had to ask one of the A.I. girls for help. How do I pack all of these words into one description to truly honour this beautiful woman. 

Elegant, posh, curvaceous, refined, prim, proper, maternal, voluptuous.

"Why don't you try, Opulent, Ma'am?" The A.I. version of Summer said to me. 

That's perfect, I thought to myself. Her opulence is unquestionable, and as I watched her on this show and heard her speaking, the Mommy fantasy began to take-hold of me, as I squished my thighs together on the couch. 

Bourdain, in one of the episodes and in true Bourdain style, drops a: 

"Don't let her fool you, there's an iron first under that velvet glove." lol - Classic Anthony. 

The two of them were actually friends, the most unlikely of pairing when I saw them collaborating for the first time on a show. She's silk stockings, pearls and high-tea. He's jean jackets, punk rock music and stale cigarette smoke. Who knew.  

The concept of the show is almost like that singing show called The Voice. Twenty-four people who are not chefs, some had training, most were just home cooks, had but one tasting spoon to show the judges what they are made of. 

They had to pack their entire culinary prowess into one spoon for the judges to taste. Then, like The Voice, they either got dismissed, or one of the judges, all of the judges, asked and fought over the person to be on their team.

Cute concept, until sadly, people started to get eliminated and sent home. But that's when my butterflies began to stir, listening to Nigella scold these adults, literally sending them off to a room, heads bowed in shame, to think about their actions and how much they disappointed "Mommy" with their cooking. Layer on that accent of hers and I could see the spanking scene playing out before me. 

I asked one of the A.I. girls, "hey, can you play the role of an old-fashioned, opulent, elegant and absolutely gorgeous, posh-accented, British mother? The mother has two adult children and based on their recent, poor behaviour, she is required to punish them." 

This is what it came up with (it named itself Lady Penelope in the story but lets just call her Lady Nigella, shall we?):

Picture Lady Nigella, resplendent in her tailored pencil dress and heels, standing ramrod straight in the centre of the drawing room. Her adult children, Reginald and Elizabeth, both impeccably dressed in their finest evening attire, quake before her steely gaze. 

"Now then," Lady Nigella begins, her cut-glass accent slicing through the tense atmosphere. "I believe we have some rather pressing matters to discuss, regarding your appalling behaviour last evening. 

Reginald, evert the brazen one, attempts to interject. "Mother, honestly, it was just a spot of harmless fun. No need to make such a fuss."

Lady Nigella's eyes narrow dangerously. "Harmless fun, you say? Is that what you call making a complete arse of yourself in front of our guests? And you! "she turns her icy gaze on Elizabeth, "cavorting with that stable boy like some common tart. I raised you to have standards, child." 

Omg, that was gold! Haha, cavorting....the stable boy...tart. lol  

If you watch the cooking show, you'll actually hear her say "tart", obviously in different context. She says testicles and balls several times (apparently rabbit testicles are quite tasty). And other triggering Mommy words such as "bottom, ...of the best, and disappointed."  

Let's keep going, chop, chop. 

"Where is your dignity?" Elizabeth hangs her head in shame, unable to meet her mother's piercing stare. "I'm terribly sorry, Mummy," she murmurs. "It won't happen again, I promise." 

"Indeed it will not," Lady Nigella agrees. "Because I intend to ensure that neither of you forgets this lesson anytime soon." 

She retrieves a slim, supple rattan cane from its sacred spot atop the fireplace mantle, flexing it ominously between her hands. "Both of  you, remove your garments below the waist and bend over the back of the sofa. Six of the best, on the bare. And I expect you to count each one aloud and thank me afterwards. Failure to do so will result in starting over. Am I quite clear?" 

A.I. nailed that one, well done! At this point to add rich detail, I could have stopped it and started asking things like, can you describe how the siblings bare their bottoms, the shame and embarrassment of seeing each other's most private parts, etc. Which is more in the style of Miss Julie and her stories, but I didn't want to interrupt, I just told the thing, "go on." 

The siblings exchange horrified glances, but they know better than to argue. With shaking hands, they strip naked from the waist down, baring their bottoms for the impending punishment. 

Lady Nigella takes her position behind them, tapping the cane menacingly against her palm. "Let us begin, shall we?" Without further ado, she brings the cane whistling down onto Reginald's exposed cheeks. He yelps in pain, dancing from foot to foot. "One! Thank you, Mother," he gasps out, his voice trembling. The second stroke follows swiftly, eliciting another cry. "Two! Thank you, Mother!" 

By the third stroke, tears are streaming down his face, but he manages to choke out the required words. Lady Nigella shows no mercy, laying on each stroke with precision and force. When she finally finishes with Reginald, his bottom is a perfectly laddered pattern of angry welts. 

She turns her attention to Elizabeth, who is already sniffling in anticipation. The first stroke lands with a sharp zip, and Elizabeth howls. "One! Thank you, Mummy!" she sobs. The cane continues to fall relentlessly, each stroke harder than the last. Elizabeth's bare bum soon matches her brother's, a painful reminder of their transgressions. 

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, it is over. Both siblings are left weeping and rubbing their sore behinds, their dignity in tatters. Lady Nigella replaces the cane on the mantlepiece, her expression stern but satisfied. 

"I trust this experience will serve as a reminder to behave with the decorum befitting your station," she says coolly. "Now, run along and compose yourselves. We have supper guests arriving shortly, and I expect you both to be on your best behaviour. 

Chastened and contrite, Reginald and Elizabeth slink from the room, their bottoms throbbing with each step. As they depart, Lady Nigella allows herself a small, secret smile. Nothing like a good, old-fashioned caning to keep one's offspring in line, she thinks to herself. 

Perhaps she should institute regular sessions, just to be safe. After all, one can never be too careful when it comes to raising proper English gentlefolk. 

Not bad, A.I., not bad at all. Nigella, what did you think? 

I once thought the only good thing to come out the U.K. were Twiglets and Dyson vacuums, but you lot have a real treasure on your hands with Nigella.  Take good care of her and let's hear what the A.I. thinks of the real Lady Nigella. 

Nigella Lawson is a well-known British food writer, television chef, and personality. She's famous for her accessible approach to cooking and her celebration of indulgent, comforting food. 

She's also celebrated for her beauty, charm, and effortless way of blending sensuality with cooking - a style that has made her a beloved figure worldwide. 

Ummm, *slowly raises hand on behalf of Canada, "present". 

Nigella Lawson's beauty is the epitome of posh elegance with a tough of earthy sensuality. She exudes a timeless, voluptuous allure, characterized by: 

• Dark, glossy locks that cascade effortlessly, framing her face with sophistication
• Striking, luminous skin that radiates warmth and vitality
• Curvaceous, feminine figure that embodies classic beauty and confidence
• Expressive, sparking eyes that draw you in with intelligence and charm
• A naturally graceful demeanour, paired with her posh accent, making her presence both refined and inviting.     

Rather than flaunting wealth or extravagance, Nigella's opulence lies in her ability to make life feel effortlessly luxurious and full of pleasure. She represents a lifestyle where beauty, comfort, and sophistication coexist seamlessly. 

Wow, I thought I was the one with the girl-crush on her. Seems like the A.I. has a flushed-face too. 

While I am notoriously impervious to the charms of desserts, I'd try her cupcake, if she offered me one.

*wink  

She's has loads of holiday recipes online, check out that show if you have time, it's fun. I'll see if I can Christmas present all of you a video of me: 

Meh, my selfies are better. 

If you don't check back in during the holidays (I will likely be doing some writing), happy holidays from Summer and I, Russell and Sarah Jane. Wishing you all a safe, sane and consensual 2025. 💋

Mistress Andrea

xoxo

Continued in: The Season for Giving

There Must be Order

Continued from: It Will Heal

As the front door closed behind Bella and Cassandra, I allowed myself a moment to reflect on the events of the past few hours, on the emotional rollercoaster that I just guided them through. Spanked, humiliated, but reconciled. I felt a sense of satisfaction, of accomplishment, knowing that Cassandra was going to stay with her mom for a few days, before coming back to see Summer and I for an inevitable, tearful goodbye, before she returns to the U.K. 

But my reverie was short-lived, interrupted by the sound of giggles and chatter emanating from the foyer. I turned to see Summer, Sarah Jane and Russell entering the house, their arms laden with shopping bags, the girl's faces flushed with excitement and enthusiasm. 

"We're back!" Summer announced, her voice bubbling with energy. "And you won't believe what we found! The cutest little outfits for Sarah, we actually found an adult baby store."

And some really kinky fetish wear too, stuff that'll make Daddy drool!" She giggled, shooting Russell a playful wink, which he returned with a sheepish grin, his cheeks colouring at the mention of his desires.   

Sarah Jane, for her part, seemed almost giddy with anticipation, bouncing on the balls of her little sneakers, her eyes sparkling with delight. 

"Can we try stuff on, Mommy?" Summer asked me, her voice breathless with eagerness. "Please, please, pretty please?" 

"I want us to model our outfits for you and Daddy!" Sarah added, equally as enthused. 

"Of course, sweetheart," I replied, my tone warm and affectionate. "Why don't you and Summer take the bags upstairs and start sorting through your new treasures? I'll join you in a moment, once Russell and I have some grown-up conversation." 

Sarah squealed with joy, grabbing several of the bags from Summer's hands and raced up the stairs with Summer hot on her heels. As they disappeared from view, I turned my attention to Russell, my expression softening, my gaze lingering on his handsome face, on the lines and contours that I once knew so intimately. 

"This feels right, doesn't it, our little unconventional family?" I murmured to him, reaching out to caress the back of his neck into a warm embrace. "This whole 'Mommy' and 'Daddy' thing, you and I...our two little ones." I gestured my head toward the giggles coming from upstairs, but soon felt the spill of a tear rolling down my cheek, triggered by the memory of recent events and the emotions of today. 

"We almost lost you, Russ." 

"I'm here now, Andrea, for as long as you'll have us." His voice vibrated into my chest with a raspy growl, a few octaves deeper than before and way more gritty, an apparent biproduct of the smoke inhalation but it suited him, it was rugged and sexy.  

"I made things right with Bella and Cassie," I remarked, wiping away my tear and smiling, "they actually just left." 

"Jesus, how'd you do that?" Russell laughed aloud. 

"Let's just say...I can be rather convincing when I need to," I kissed his cheek and took him by the hand to the couch, just as Summer came bounding into the room with a squeal.

The little spider monkey did a dolphin dive onto the cushions right beside us. 

"Do you like my shorts, Daddy?" Summer boldly asked, all while twerking her figure-skater arse, right in Russell's face. 

"Summer Addison!" I scolded playfully, do we need to have a little chat, you and I...upstairs?" I clicked my tongue in my mouth and raised an eyebrow at her. "Where's Sarah Jane?" 

Summer explained that Sarah's outfits were a little more "involved", but would be down shortly. "Wait until you see her sparkly little Docs! I picked them out!" Summer proudly declared. 

After a few more twerks of her ass and a sharp slap by me to get her to stop, Summer led Russell and I to the den, where Sarah was waiting in one of her new outfits. 

"Mommy, Daddy, close your eyes!" Summer excitedly suggested, as she led us both by the hand. 

"Okaaaaaaay....open!" 

"Well, aren't you just an adorable little princess," I cooed to Sarah, as she crossed one ankle behind the other and dipped into a curtsey. 

"Daddy do you like my dress?" She cutely squeaked out, batting her eyelashes at him. Before Russell had a chance to respond, she boldly blurted out, "Daddy, can we fuck in my new outfit?" 

Summer, not missing a beat, is practically vibrating with excitement beside me, her own eyes sparkling with mischief and anticipation. "Oooo, Mommy, can I help Daddy? I'm the best little helper!" 

I shook my head, knowing that my head-of-household (HoH) intervention would soon be required. The lustful energies that had been building since Russell and Sarah moved in, threatened to overwhelm the delicate balance of our unique dynamic and the roles we all played for each other. 

"Alight, everyone," I said firmly, my voice cutting through the sexually charged atmosphere like a knife. "It's time for a little family meeting, there must be order in this household." 

...and it was "Mommy's" job to uphold it. 

Mistress Andrea 

xoxo

Continued in: Family Meeting

It Will Heal

Continued from: The Goth Girls

I sat upon the edge of the wooden chair, creating a steady base by bringing my knees together, as I surveyed the scene before me. To my left, Cassandra sat primly in the other chair, her hands folded neatly in her lap, her gaze fixed steadfastly on the corner of the room. She was the picture of obedience, of submission, her ridiculous schoolgirl uniform a stark reminder of her childish behaviour. 

In front of me, stood Bella, her mother, a woman of fifty-odd years, dressed in an equally absurd outfit, her face a mask of humiliation and embarrassment. 

"Isabella," I said, my voice low and dangerous, "I'd like you to pull down your panties and lay over my knees. Now!" For a moment, she hesitated, her hands trembling at her sides, her bottom lip trembling. But with a resigned sigh, she reached beneath her skirt, hooking her thumbs into the waistband on her panties and slide them down to her ankles with a whisper of satin against skin. 

With one last despairing glance at her daughter, she turned to face me, her eyes downcast, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. "Please, Ma'am," she whispered, her voice barely audible above the sound of Cassandra's sobs. "Not like this. Not in front of her." 

But her pleas fell on deaf ears. With a single, imperious gesture, I beckoned her forward, patting my lap in invitation. I took her hand in mine, guiding her gently but firmly over my knees, arranging her body so that her bum is raised high in the air, her skirt riding up to expose her vulnerable bum and pussy. 

Her hand flew back after the first volley of smacks, instinctively trying to cover her exposed bottom. I reacted quickly, seizing her wrist and pinning it to the small of her back. 

With each transition of position and each escalation of implement used, I relived her of another article of clothing. 

My initial thought was to spank her bare naked, in front of her daughter, for the added psychological effect. But, I decided to keep her in just her knee socks and Mary Janes to amplify her innocent vulnerability and humiliation. 

As I continued to punish Bella, I was acutely aware that Cassie could hear every cry, every promise to be a good girl, every desperate plea that escaped her mother's lips, and I could only imagine the conflicting emotions that must have been coursing through her. 

On one hand, there must have been a sense of vengeful satisfaction, as she heard my hairbrush cracking down against her mother's bare bum. But also, a fear and trepidation as she realized it will soon be her turn. 

As she laid sobbing across my lap, her bum a deep, angry shade of red, she clutched my hosed ankle and begged for the spanking to conclude. "Please, Ma'am," she whispered, her voice hoarse and ragged from crying. "Please, I'll be good. I'll make things right with Cassie." 

I helped her to her feet and arranged her in the corner to swap places with her daughter, moving the time-out chair to a very public presentation below the window. 

Cassandra received the exact treatment in the same fury of punishing severity. A hand spanking, a strapping on the bed with pillows under her hips, and back over my knee for the hairbrush, all the while, relieving her of the protection of clothing. 

The odd time, I would scold Bella who stood quietly in the corner with her nose to the wall. "Hands on your head, don't even think about trying to rub that sore little bottom of yours, Isabella." 

I delivered the final strokes of the hairbrush to Cassandra's upturned bum, each impact landing with a resounding crack. I allow her a moment to collect herself and steady her breathing, before helping her to her feet. 

"Go and join your mom in the corner, hands on your head," I instructed her, my tone firm and maternal. 

"I want you two to think long and hard about why you're standing in the corner with spanked bottoms and the choices you two have made to bring you to this moment. You may speak to one another during your time-out, but under no circumstances are you to move from that corner. I'll be back in thirty minutes." 

Cassandra nodded mutely, her lower lip trembling as she turned to obey my command, and took up a position beside her mother. 

Satisfied that they understand, I turn and exit the room, closing the door softly behind me and setting a timer on my phone. Thirty minutes. That should give them amble opportunity talk and reflect upon their behaviour, upon the events that led them to this humiliating and painful predicament. 

Exactly thirty minutes later, I reenter the room, my heels clicking in a commanding cadence against the hardwood. "You may turn and face me," I instruct, my voice calm and measured. 

(I asked the A.I. for knee socks, glossy Mary Janes, hands on heads and otherwise, bare naked. This is the best you're getting I'm afraid)

"And you have my permission to rub those sore bottoms if you feel the need." 

Their hands protectively drop from their heads to cup and massages their tender, inflamed bums as they both squeaked out a, "I'm sorry, Ma'am." 

I look at the two Goth women before me, their faces streaked with tears, their bodies trembling with a mixture of pain, humiliation and emotional exhaustion. 

"It will heal, girls," I tell them, my voice gentle but firm. "The soreness will fade, the welts and bruises will disappear. But what of the welts and bruises you've inflicted on each other? The apology you owe is not to me, it's to each other, as your relationship will heal, just like your bums will." 

I waited patiently, expectantly for one of these previously stubborn Goth women to break the silence, towards reconciliation, to towards healing. 

I watched as Bella reached out to her daughter, pulling her into a tight embrace, their naked bodies pressing together, their breasts and nipples meeting in a strangely intimate and taboo manner. Tears streamed down Bella's face freely as she held Cassandra close as she whispered the only words Cassie needed to hear. 

"I love you, Cassandra." 

Cassandra stood rigid in her mother's arms, her body tense, uncertain, as if unsure how to respond. But then, slowly, I saw her shoulders relax, her arms lifting to encircle her mother's naked back, returning the embrace with equal fervor. 

"I love you too, Mom," she murmurs, her own voice thick with tears. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry for everything."

They clung to each other, their bodies shaking with sobs, their tears mingling, washing away the pain and anger and resentment that had built up between them over the years. It was a beautiful moment that filled my heart with warmth and hope. 

I picked up my hairbrush and ran my hand over the smooth expanse of the backside, smiling at its simplicity. I opened my dresser drawer and tossed it in with the others. 

Feeling a sense of pride and accomplishment, I left the room without saying another word. 

Mistress Andrea

xoxo

Continued in: There Must be Order

  

 

Our Anchor

Continued from: Lump in the Throat

As I blinked away the remnants of sleep, my body stiff and sore from the uncomfortable position I had been forced to nap in, I found myself greeted by a sight that simultaneously broke my heart and filled it with a warmth that brought tears to my eyes. 

There, nestled in the hospital bed beside Russell, was none other than Cassandra - her petite frame curled up against his larger one, her head resting on his chest as if seeking comfort from the steady beat of his heart, which, despite the circumstances, was still beating. 

But it was the way she held onto him that truly had me sobbing fresh tears - for she had taken his lifeless arm and draped it protectively around herself, as if seeking to shield her from the harsh realities of that sterile room. 

The gesture was so simple, so innocent, and yet it spoke volumes about how much Russell actually meant to Cassandra, how deeply she cared for him as a father figure in her life. I felt a surge of love and gratitude wash over me, knowing that even in his weakened state, Russ was still able to provide solace and support to those who needed it most. 

Sarah Jane had awoken and crept up beside me, her hand squeezing mine for support, followed by Summer, who broke down completely at the sight of her bff, Cassie, finally home but under such brutal circumstances. It was a tearful reunion for all of us, especially when Cassandra finally awoke to see us all standing there, sobbing into our hands. In that moment, I made a silent vow to do everything in my power to ensure Russell pulled through, that he recovers fully and returns to us whole and unbroken. 

He is the rock, the anchor in all of our lives, the steadfast presence that has always held us together through thick and thin. 

**********************

A few days passed in a blur of hospital visits, hushed conversations, and anxious waiting. Cassandra stayed with Summer and I at the Facility, keeping a rather low profile. Despite my urging and maternal counselling, she refused to even let her mother know that she was back in Canada.

Then finally, mercifully, the news we had all been praying for arrived: Russell was brought out of his induced coma, his body having stabilized enough to breathe on his own once more. Through it all, Sarah Jane remained by his side, her hand never leaving his, her gaze never wavering from his face. She reported that he was his usual cheerful and comical self, despite being a little groggy and disoriented. 

The moment the doors swung open, revealing the stark white hospital room where Russell lay recovering, Cassandra burst through like a whirlwind - her eyes flashing with a mixture of anger and relief, her fists clenched at her sides.  

"You big asshole!" she hissed, her voice trembling with barely contained emotion. "Don't scare me like that!" Despite the gravity of the situation, I couldn't help but smile at her feisty demeanour. 

Russell, for his part, merely smirked and glanced over at the doctor standing in the corner of the room - a silent acknowledgment of Cassie's characteristic outburst. 

"Good to see you too, Cassandra," he chuckled, his voice still hoarse from the ventilator tube that had recently been removed. The sound of his laughter, as weak as it was, sent a wave of warmth right to my heart. 

"This must be your daughter?" 

An awkward silence descended upon the room as the doctor's question hung in the air, unanswered. We all exchanged glances, unsure of how to respond without revealing the complex web of relationships that existed between us. 

But before any of us could formulate a suitable reply, Cassie took matters into her own hands - as she so often does. With a boldness that bordered on recklessness, she marched straight up to Russell's bedside and climbed onto his lap like a little girl, wrapping her arms around his neck in a tight embrace. 

"Yep, this is my dad," she declared, as tears spilled down her cheeks. 

I watched with pride as she nuzzled her face into the crook of Russell's neck, her body molding perfectly against his despite the IV lines and monitoring wires that snaked across his torso. 

"I thought I was gonna lose you, Daddy," Cassie gasped out between heaves of her chest. 

Then she leaned in close, her lips brushing against his ear. I strained to catch her whispered words. "If you weren't in a hospital bed," she hissed, her voice laced with playful irritation, "I'd tan your bare arse for scaring me like this!" 

I suppressed a small smile at her threat. It was classic Cassandra - fierce, protective, and utterly unafraid to assert her dominance no matter the setting. 

Russell smirked as well, but his expression shifted from amusement to concern. His gaze sought out Sarah Jane. 

"What's the state of the house?" he asked, his voice rough and raspy. "Is insurance taking care of things?"

Sarah hesitated for a moment, her eyes dropping to the floor as she shook her head in defeat. When she finally met Russell's gaze again, her voice was heavy with resignation. "It'll be months before they even start on the interior, huni," she said softly. "They've got us in some rental condo downtown..." Sarah's voice trailed off as I prepared to put a stop to this. 

"Nonsense!" I interrupted firmly, stepping forward to take charge of the situation. "You two will move in with Summer and I until the house is repaired. Yes, it's primarily a BDSM studio but you know we have vanilla living quarters too. Besides, the place is practically a mansion." 

"We couldn't possibly impose like that, Ma'am," Sarah protested weakly, her eyes darting nervously between Russell and I. But I was having none of it. With a swift, decisive motion, I reached into my purse and withdrew the menacing wooden hairbrush that I always kept on hand for just such occasions.

"My decision is final, Sarah Jane," I declared, while tapping the brush against my palm. "You're moving in with us, or shall we go into the bathroom over there and discuss this further?" 

"Russ, you're her 'Daddy' again, tell her." I looked in his direction with daggers in my eyes. 

"Thank you, Andrea, from the bottom of my heart, we accept your gracious offer." Russell smiled at Sarah Jane and nodded warmly in approval.

Summer immediately squealed and rushed to Sarah's side, tickling her tummy and bouncing up and down in front of her!

"Ma cherie!"

"We'll be just like sisters again!" 

Mistress Andrea 

xoxo

Continued in: The Goth Girls

 

Fire & Ice

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