Robert likes to wear shorts during the warm, summer months. Regrettably, that won’t be possible for the next few weeks, perhaps months. Let me explain why:

I take health and safety very seriously – my health and safety, that is. So when I pulled a muscle recently in my right arm it was a matter of serious concern. Especially as this is my cane and tawse wielding arm and I had planned to conduct a timed tawsing test on Robert’s bare bottom. It left me frustrated and Robert’s obvious glee at my injury didn’t help. To say I was cross would be an understatement. However, I like to be positive, so I comforted myself with the prospect of having more time to plan his tawsing with the aim of making it as agonising as possible. It would also give his bottom a little longer to recover from his last caning, so I might even have an unmarked bottom to deal with. A ‘blank canvas’ to work on is a rare delight in this household.

I undertook a careful fitness program to speed my recovery, beginning with gentle daily swims, then later, light workouts at the gym. Within a week I felt I was fit to administer a sound thrashing, but I decided to give the training a further week to make sure I was in superb shape. I wanted to teach Robert the lesson of his life.

While my fitness was improving I was also reviewing the design of my new whipping frame. Regular readers of my blog will know that I have developed a simple, but very effective structure, designed to present Robert’s bare bottom perfectly for tawsing from above and from either side. It has worked very well so far and I’m quite confident that the frame is sturdy enough to restrain Hercules, but I’ve started to have a niggling doubt regarding the strength of the strap I use to keep Robert’s back hollowed. The strap is essential in ensuring that his bottom cheeks are presented in the ‘up and gaping open’ position. This allows me to curl the tawse around his bottom cheeks in such a way that the tawse tips can search out those very sensitive areas that normally stay hidden between his cheeks. I’m sure you can imagine the effort Robert puts into trying to clench his bottom cheeks when my tawse starts finding its mark. The strain this puts on the leather restraining strap must be enormous.

The strap in question is a simple, wide, black leather strap with a buckle. It was sourced from a specialist BDSM supplier, and it has not yet failed me, but I am putting it to such extreme use (well, Robert is), that I fear it may asking too much of it. At the end of the day, the only thing that is preventing Robert from clenching his bottom cheeks to hide his bottom cleft from the tawse is a single metal buckle pin passing through a small hole in the leather strap. The strap looks the part, but I don’t think it was designed to cater for the sort of use I need it for.

The answer was simple and inexpensive. I’ve bought a couple of heavy duty tie down straps designed strap down luggage on a trailer. They are fitted with simple locking buckles and they act as a ratchet when tightening the strap. The breaking strain is claimed to be almost 400kg, so with two of these secured tightly across his hollowed back I was quite confident that ‘clenching’ would be totally impossible. My tawses would be free to explore no matter how hard he tried to deny me access, and this, indeed, proved to be the case when yesterday I administered a tawsing I think Robert will remember for the rest of his life.

I gave him twenty-four hours notice that I intended to conduct my overdue timed tawse test. Details of this in my previous blog. I warned him that I was still a little cross about his gleeful reaction to my earlier injury. Robert knows me well enough to know that when I warn him that I am a little cross, he is in serious trouble. He was extremely quiet in the hours leading up to his punishment. He was instructed to have everything ready for me by 10.00am the following day, including the whipping frame, the three tawses to be tested, the kitchen timer, the blank chart and all restraint equipment.

At 10.00am yesterday he was naked, trembling with fear, and lowering himself into the clutches of my whipping frame. I tightened the new restraining straps and the locking cam buckles gripped reassuringly. Next I secured Robert’s cuffed wrists high up behind his back to a collar around his neck. This is now my preferred method of rendering him completely helpless as is prevents him pushing down with his arms in an effort to escape.

Robert is quite aware that the more he hollows his back, the more this pushes up his bottom to further expose his bottom cleft, and I suspected his offering could be improved on.

“I’d like you to see if you can hollow your back a little more for me, Robert,” I said, gripping one of the restraining straps, ready to take up any slack.

“That’s as much as I can manage, Miss,” he assured me. He was lying.

“I think I might be able to coax a little more flexibility,” I said, picking up the shorter tawse called the hellstrap.

Without waiting for a reply, I raised the tawse, then brought it down hard across the centre rear of his left thigh, sending the tawse tips to curl around and bite into his soft inner thigh. He shrieked with shock and pain. I continued, aiming another five hard strokes, concentrating the agony on his inner thigh. Robert gasped and shrieked throughout.

“Try again, Robert,” I suggested, as I grasped the restraining strap again.

Miraculously, Robert managed to hollow his back further and I took up at least two inches of slack in the strap to lock his hollowed back in place. I took up the slack in the second strap and stood back to admire the improved presentation of his helpless bare bottom.

“Now you know my latest rule, Robert,” I reminded him, “Anything I do from one side must be repeated from the other. Then we’ll see if we can persuade you to hollow your back just a tiny bit more.”

With Robert pleading, then shrieking, I administered another six strokes, this time with the tawse tips biting hard into his inner right thigh. Robert did manage to hollow his back a little more for me after that. I took up another inch of slack in each of the restraining straps. I was quite confident he was now presented at his best and most vulnerable for punishment. The angry weals that now decorated each of his inner thighs resembled a cluster of blackberries, but his bottom was unmarked and ready for my best attention.

“You were very foolish to make me cross, Robert,” I said, quietly, as I reached for my standard two tailed heavy tawse.

I laid the tawse across his gaping bare bottom, then picked up the kitchen timer with my left hand, already set to fifteen seconds by Robert as instructed by me. I decided to administer six warm up strokes, before activating the timer. The first strokes would be moderately hard and just aimed at getting my stance and accuracy honed. I would save my real venom for the timed tawsing.

Poor Robert was gasping after just the first stroke. It was an adequate stroke, but no more. The twin tail tips bit nicely into the centre of his right bottom cheek with a pleasant ‘crack’, but it was a mere tickle compared to what I had planned.

Like everyone, my moods vary. Sometimes I’m in the mood to thrash Robert, and other times I’m really in the mood to thrash him. Robert’s reaction to punishment also varies. Sometimes his pain threshold is high, other times it’s low. The really exciting thrashings occur when his threshold is low and I’m in the mood to thrash him really hard. This is when I can take him to a world of agony rarely visited. He loses touch with reality before I’ve even gotten into my stride. His desperate pleas for mercy and frantic efforts to escape have the exact opposite effect on me that he so badly craves. It encourages me to thrash him even harder and to take to him to a place that is further past his pain threshold than he has travelled before. And so it was on this occasion. Poor Robert had already taken all he could before I had even finished my warm up. As I tripped the timer, then dropped it onto the bed, I felt fresh power and venom surge through my right arm. Robert was truly in for the thrashing of his life.

Robert squealed, sobbed and pleaded his way through three fifteen seconds thrashings with each of my three favourite tawses from each side. After each thrashing I logged the time and number of strokes on my chart, before continuing. I used the standard tawse to concentrate on the bottom cheek furthest from me, the hellstrap was aimed to bite into his bottom cleft and the extra heavy Lochgelly was aimed at the top of his far thigh, just where it meets the bottom cheek. The strokes per minute table I produced from this is listed below.

As I’ve tawsed and caned Robert so many times, I can tell how agonising my thrashings are from his body language, but with him so securely trussed up there wasn’t much he could move. There was, however, enough to give me a pretty good idea of excruciation levels. The way his feet gyrated and clutched at the air. The way his fingers clenched and unclenched bizarrely. The shuddering of his legs, and the shaking of his head. All these indicators told me when I was really getting to levels of pain he was totally unable to cope with. So by the time the test was over I had a pretty good idea which tawse had been the most effective.

“Let me ask you a question, Robert. The tawse test is now complete, so now I am going to administer your punishment. This is for being so pleased when I told you I had injured my arm. I want you to tell me which of the three tawses you would least like me to use for your, timed finale. But think carefully before you answer, because I’ve put an asterisk next to one of the tawses. If you pick that tawse, you will receive a very hard, thirty second tawsing from each side with it. If you choose a different tawse, you will receive a thirty second tawsing from both sides with each of our choices. Which tawse, Robert?”

This presented Robert with a bit of a dilemma. He certainly didn’t want another whole minute of venomous tawsing with the most painful tawse, but he knew the pressure was on him to choose exactly that. I decided to encourage a prompt reply.

“I want your reply in five seconds, Robert,” I said, looking at my watch, “If not you will receive a thirty seconds, twice, with all three tawses.”

“The hellstrap, Miss,” he whimpered.

I smiled, then picked up chart to show him the asterisk I had placed against the extra heavy Lochgelly tawse. Robert groaned in despair.

Did I trick Robert, or was I mistaken? I think I’ll leave that unanswered.

I checked the tautness of the restraining straps and discovered that I was able to tighten them by another inch. I suspect the straps had had stretched a little because of all his futile struggling. I picked up the extra heavy Lochgelly.

“We’ll start with my choice, then finish with yours,” I said. “This is no longer a test, Robert, this is punishment, so take a deep breath and prepare yourself.”

Robert squeaked in terror as I laid the heavy tawse across his already vividly marked bottom and took my position. I would aim to add to the colour of his far bottom cheek, then gradually move my attention to the top of his far thigh. Thirty seconds is a long, long time when on the receiving end of an extra heavy Lochgelly tawse. I would apply the strokes very hard and at a steady pace, with no pauses.

The next few minutes were bliss. As Robert howled, gurgled and shrieked, and as his feet and hands grasped pointlessly at the air, while gyrating in a frenzy, my extra heavy Lochgelly tawse cracked down mercilessly across his helpless, offered bare bottom. The red and purple weals decorating his right bottom cheek and upper thigh gradually darkened in colour as I laid my path of agony.

When the first thirty seconds were up I moved to his other side then re-stated the timer. The shrieking never stopped. I applied the tawse with equal vigour to even up the marking. The second thirty second tawsing was over too quickly for me. Now it was time to conclude with the hellstrap.

Robert’s shrieking seemed to rise in pitch as the tips off the hellstrap found the already burning flesh of his bottom cleft. I concentrated on this area for the first fifteen seconds with very hard strokes, brisk strokes. I could tell that the intensity of the pain Robert was experiencing was now off the scale. The final fifteen seconds were aimed to bite into his inner thigh. His reaction was delicious. The sound of the tawse biting sharply into his flesh at a rapid pace was intoxicating. When the thirty seconds was up I moved to repeat the procedure from the other side with a sense of urgency. I didn’t want the agony to have time to fade. I wanted to keep him over his pain threshold.

All too soon it was over. It was the most severe tawsing I have ever administered. I was elated and sweating profusely. So was Robert. I eased the restraining straps across his back little, but left him restrained so I could continue to admire the vivid marks my tawses had left on his bottom and thighs for a few more minutes.

When I eventually released him he rose unsteadily to his feet, then walked stiffly to the wall mirror to view his raging bottom.

“I must be insane to let you do this to me,” he said.

I have to say that I agree. He must be a little crazy, but I’m so pleased he is. He confirmed that it had been the most painful tawsing he had ever had. He said that he would have done anything to escape the agony while it was being inflicted, but now it was over, he too felt elated and was grateful that I had taken him on a journey so far beyond his pain threshold. He won’t be sitting comfortably for some time.

I’m already planning his next thrashing. My sadism still amazes me and I think I’m getting worse.

The results of the test were as follows:
The Hellstrap can be administered at a rate of 46 strokes per minute.
My standard heavy two tailed tawse achieves 30 strokes per minute.
The extra heavy Lochgelly can be administered at 24 strokes per minute.

It should be noted that the emphasis was on delivering very hard, full strokes, with no pauses. I’m sure I could have applied the strokes faster, but that might have been at the expense of severity. I don’t compromise on severity.


About Annie Bee Books

I am an author of BDSM fantasy stories.
This entry was posted in BDSM, Corporal punishment, Spanking and tagged , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.


  1. Anton Pelican says:

    I’ve already praised the true Art with which you put to good use your lovely discipline implements, along your extraordinary way of writing that makes every “report” alive and vibrant…
    What more can I say? Your delightful, genuine sadism, combined with your Robert’s equally genuine masochism makes for an always interesting and highly arousing reading, unmatched by any other female writer that I know of…

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