The cane and tawse famine ended spectacularly yesterday. I had given Robert twenty-four hours notice of his well deserved punishment, as is my custom, and instructed him to have the whipping bench assembled and implements arranged ready for use by 10am. I prefer to administer punishment early in the day. I had planned to use my new toy, Robert’s wheel of misfortune, to decide on number of strokes and implements to be used, but changed my mind shortly after giving him notice. It was a phone call that swayed my plans.

As readers of my blog might recall, I’m considered by friends and neighbours as being quite proficient at cake decoration. A neighbour phoned to ask for advice on decorating a birthday cake for her husband, a mathematician, so I suggested she might consider decorating the cake with some sort of geometric pattern. It was while we were exploring this idea that I found myself doodling on the notebook we keep by the phone. By the time we had concluded our call I realised that I had drawn a bottom, decorated with neat groups of lines. This gave me a delicious idea for Robert’s punishment. I decided not to tell him, saving it for a nice surprise when I had him secured, naked, over the whipping bench.

Robert has been exceptionally flippant over the Christmas period, so severe punishment was quite appropriate, and he knew it, so he was quite on edge in the hours leading to his thrashing. I think he might have been even more on edge if he’d known about my change of plan.

I was out of bed with a spring in my step yesterday morning. It was a beautiful, clear, cold morning. Our rear lawn was sparkling with white frost.

I want the whipping bench ready half an hour early, Robert,” I told him, “I haven’t swung a cane or tawse for about a month. I want to practice on pillows before I turn my attention to your deserving bare bottom. I’d like you to strip now, so I can observe the bare bottom I am shortly going to decorate.”

He was very quiet as he assembled the whipping bench under my watchful eye. I noted with delight that his bottom was totally unblemished. A rare treat indeed. I couldn’t wait sink my canes and tawses into that pale flesh and to watch his bottom weave, gyrate and clench, and to hear him gasp and sob. As soon as he had finished I ordered him from the room. He was to wait outside the closed door, naked, while I practised. I wanted him to hear the cane and tawse cracking down on the pillow, but not to see.

As soon as he was out of the room I secured a pillow over the end of the bench in the position his bottom would be, then, careful to warm up slowly, I began to administer strokes of the cane. Accuracy was my first objective, then, as I got into my stride, I began to administer the strokes with more force. Soon the cane was biting into the pillow with a consistent resounding crack. I could only imagine what was going through Robert’s mind. Next I turned my attention to the short tawse I’ve named the hellstrap. This was the choice of tawse for what I had in mind.

Robert looked terrified when I opened the door and beckoned him in.

I’m not so sure I want to go through with this today,” he said to me, eyes imploring me to postpone his thrashing as I stooped down to fit his protective thong. He knows the tawse will be used when I fit this.

Place yourself over the whipping bench at once,” I replied. “Don’t even think of trying to change my mind. If there is one more negative word out of you I will add a dozen strokes with the hellstrap, all aimed into you inner thigh.”

He was over the whipping bench in a flash. I swiftly secured the restraining straps so there was no going back. Now he was as I like him: helpless, naked with his gaping bare bottom thrust up and perfectly presented for punishment. No matter how hard I now thrashed him and no matter how unbearable he found the pain, he had no choice but to accept it. There would be no escape. Wonderful.

I’ve changed my mind about using the wheel of misfortune today, Robert,” I informed him. “Today you will receive a very severe, methodical, clinical and totally merciless caning followed by a vigorous taste of the hellstrap. It’s no less than you deserve for your flippant attitude over the Christmas period.”

I picked up my favourite cane, a relatively new, senior dragon cane, then took my position to his left. I laid the cane gently across the upper part of his bottom, just an inch below the start of his bottom cleft.

To start with, Robert will mark the upper limit of my target area with a few stripes. I’ve been practising my accuracy.”

I was already warmed up, so stroke one was administered with maximum ferocity, biting deep into his offered bottom with a satisfying ‘crack’.

Robert hissed in a lungful of air between his teeth as the agony of his first stroke of 2015 seared across his bottom. But worse was to come. He hates it when strokes are applied to the same spot several times before the fire from the previous stroke had faded. He foolishly told me that when agony overlays agony, it is totally unbearable. As he squealed, writhed and gasped, I administered six wonderfully hard, brisk strokes to a narrow band across his upper bottom, then stood back to watch the weals mature. I was delighted with both the severity and accuracy of the strokes. He was now sporting a vivid band of raised weals about one and a half inches wide, that was gradually turning purple.

Now let’s mark the lower limit,” said, as I placed the cane across the top of his thighs, just an inch below the crease where thigh meets bottom cheek. He whimpered with dread. This is a sweet spot. Some of my most excruciating strokes have bitten in here.

Robert’s bottom writhed, bucked, clenched and unclenched bizarrely, as he desperately and hopelessly fought with his restraints as my cane did its best. He was not coping at all well with the agony I was inflicting. It was delicious, and I had only just started.

I gave him a few moments to compose himself. He was hyperventilating and sweating profusely from his futile efforts to wrench his bottom out of the path of my cane.

So, Robert,” I continued, “We now have a clearly defined target area for my cane. I think I’ll divide it into two.”

He groaned in despair as I placed the cane across the very centre of his bottom, midway between the upper and lower bands of weals.

A further six satisfyingly hard strokes caused yet more squealing and writhing as they bit into his helpless bare bottom.

I’ve just realised, Robert,” I said, as I stood back to admire my work, “If I’d given this more thought I could have divided your bottom up into thirds, then I could have played a game of noughts and crosses, before filling in all the gaps. Never mind, perhaps I’ll try that next time.”

Robert didn’t seem to appreciate my joke so took my position to his left again. With even more writhing and squealing, I placed two six stroke bands of colourful weals across either side of the central band, half way between the upper and lower bands.

Please, Miss, I really can’t take any more,” he sobbed, gasping for air.

It does surprise me that, after all the years I have been thrashing Robert, he still sometimes seems to cling to the idea that he might find a glimmer of compassion in me. Foolish boy. His chances of winning the lottery or being struck by lightning are infinitely higher.

What you think you can or cannot take is of no consequence, Robert,” I replied. “You will take what I decide without question. You were warned of the consequences of not doing so. You will receive your penalty now. Twelve strokes with the hellstrap to your inner thigh. Then I will continue with the caning.”

Please. No,” he begged.

That’s now increased to eighteen strokes,” I said, picking up the hellstrap. “Do you have anything else to say before I start.”

He shook his head, sobbing with dread. He seemed to have got the message.

Shrieking filled the air as the hellstrap began to weave it’s pattern of ‘blackberries’ across his inner left thigh. The whipping bench restraints, strong enough to hold down Hercules, are designed to keep his thighs well spread. It is an absolute joy to watch his muscles stand out like rods of iron and his body to writhe and shudder, as he tries desperately to clamp his thighs together and so hide his inner thigh from the bite of my hellstrap. The eighteen spiteful strokes were administered mercilessly and without pause. I suspected there would be no more pleas for leniency today.

I think I’ll take a tea break, Robert,” I said, when I had given him time to compose himself.

I went downstairs and made myself a cup of Earl Grey.

We keep a large bag of frozen peas in the bottom of the freezer. Robert often uses them to cool his bottom and reduce the swelling after punishment. As I looked out over our frosty lawn, I amused myself by imaging what our lawn would look like if he were to use that instead of the peas to cool his bare bottom. I tried to imagine bottom shaped thawed areas all over our lawn. I couldn’t get the thought out of my head. I was giggling to myself as I climbed the stairs about fifteen minutes later as I imagined our neighbours trying to work out why we had bottom shaped patterns in our lawn.

I stooped down to make a careful study of his bottom. The weals had matured nicely. There wasn’t much white left between the purple and crimson bands, but the five raised purple bands were quite distinct. They each gradually faded to red, before darkening again to purple of the next band. My task now was to make his bottom a nice uniform purple. Six nice hard strokes administered to each of the four areas of red should help.

Twenty-four strokes, Robert. Then we’ll see what still needs attention,” I said, as he braced himself for even more agony. He, very wisely, refrained from pleading for mercy.

I did worry if his shrieking would be heard by the neighbours as the vigorous continuation of the caning of his now very sore bottom resumed, but the intoxicating sound of rattan biting into bare flesh combined with the writhing and bucking of his bottom simply encouraged me to administer the strokes with even more venom. We were both breathless when I eventually laid the cane down to wait for the full colour of the weals to develop. I keep a bottle of surgical spirit in the punishment room, so I cleaned up his cuts and the cane using cotton wool as I waited.

I think that will do for the caning, Robert,” I said, after a few minutes, “Your bottom cheeks are a wonderful colour, but the area between your cheeks is so white in contrast that I almost need sunglasses to look there. Better do something about that.”

As Robert sobbed in despair, I reached for the hellstrap. Despite the maniacal effort Robert put into trying to clench his bottom cleft out of reach, the restraints kept it available to the heavy, painful tips of my hellstrap. Again and again, to a symphony of screams, the leather tails sought out and bit deeply into the white flesh, leaving its distinctive ‘blackberry’ pattern. After thirty-six delicious strokes I considered the job well done.

Ten minutes later found me leaning back in a chair with another cup of Earl Grey watching Robert, still naked, standing on a chair cleaning speckles of blood off the ceiling. I don’t think there will be much flippancy from him for a while. 2015 is off to an excellent start.

Doodle of a Disciplinarian


About Annie Bee Books

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

2 Responses to 2015 IS OFF TO AN EXCELLENT START

  1. sissy jamieanne says:

    Absolutely breathtaking, Miss! I find myself on the one hand envying your Robert as he receives your expert disciplinary attentions, and on the other hand knowing beyond doubt that I would be in dread as I bent across your whipping bench As always, thank you for sharing your love of corporal punishment!

  2. Neil says:

    Yess plz Lovely Annie, I beg u xxx

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