We love to entertain friends and neighbours over Christmas, but it does stifle some of our other activities. I didn’t point out to Robert that it would probably be the last thrashing I would be able to administer this year until I had him safely secured over our whipping bench. He knows only too well that I’m always looking for excuses to make thrashings ‘special’ and I wanted him helpless and at my mercy before he realised that he was destined for a thrashing that might be particularly severe.
I noticed his body stiffen when I mentioned that I may not have another opportunity to punish him this year, so I thought it might be a good idea to decorate his bottom with a pattern that was sure to last through until 2019. I knew he was frightened – just how I like him to be.
“If I were to ask you which implement you would least like me to use to make sure you were wearing marks until 2019, Robert, which would you choose?”
This was the question I asked him as I arranged my selection of canes and tawses on the table in our punishment chamber. I could almost hear his brain whirring as he fought to come up with an answer.
“Err, the cane, Miss,” he lied. I know for a fact that it’s my hellstrap* he fears the most.
“Well, we won’t use that then,” I replied. “I think it’s time that I reacquainted you with my hellstrap, I’ll see if I can make your final thrashing of 2018 as memorable as possible.”
I thought I heard a groan of despair as I picked up my lovely hellstrap.
“I think I’ll set myself a challenge,” I said, as I approached him, “Six perfect strokes.”
I was sure I heard a sob of dread as I took my position to his left, close to his head. I know exactly where to stand now to ensure that the tawse tails will wrap around his left bottom cheek, causing the spiteful tips to accelerate into his bottom cleft.
The delightful sound of leather biting deep into naked flesh confirmed that the first stroke was on target. Robert squealed and the muscles in his thighs stood out like rods of iron as he tried with all his strength, but failed, to clench his legs and bottom cheeks together. It’s a pointless exercise for him because the latest addition to my whipping bench are two wooden blocks fitted securely to the kneeling platform. With his knees either side of the block, closing his thighs is impossible, and access to his most sensitive areas is guaranteed, no matter how much he struggles.
Another nice, hard stroke found its mark. Robert whimpered, and his body began to writhe. I’d already breached his pain threshold, and I’d barely started. Delicious!
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
A symphony of screams and gurgling filled the chamber as my lovely hellstrap began to revisit already burning flesh. His body bucked and twisted within the confines of his restraints, but his gaping bottom remained stubbornly presented for punishment.
“Not bad,” I said, when his shrieking had quelled, and I inspected the marks I had produced, “But far from perfect. The fifth stroke didn’t produce the nice, sharp crack I like to hear. Never mind, I’ll try again.”
“Please, no!” he begged. “I cant take it. Please, no!”
“Now you know very well that pleading for mercy is forbidden,” I scolded him. “If I hear any more I’ll be delighted to increase batches from six to eight strokes. Is that understood?”
“Yes, Miss,” he sobbed, as I took my position to his side again.
The chamber filled with hysterical shrieking as my hellstrap went enthusiastically to work again, and another six strokes found their mark with satisfyingly sharp reports.
Inspection of his bottom revealed the first signs of purple, where the tawse tails had revisited already red, burning flesh.
“Perhaps a little better,” I said, as I took my position to his side again, “but still far from perfect.”
And so his punishment progressed. Robert shrieked, writhed and struggled through another four batches of six strokes.
“There’s still room for improvement,” I said, as he groaned in utter despair, “But I think I’ll take a tea break. I think I deserve a nice cup of Earl Grey.”
I left Robert to contemplate his fate. I was back less than a minute later.
“Robert. Why do we have no Earl Grey Tea? I told you buy a packet when you went shopping yesterday.”
“Sorry, Miss,” he whimpered, “I forgot.”
“Then I shall have to make sure that you never forget again, shan’t I?”
“Yes, Miss. I’m very sorry, Miss,” he replied, miserably.
“I’ll have to go shopping,” I said, “I’ll deal with your forgetfulness when I get back, and after I have enjoyed my overdue cup of Earl Grey.”
“How long will you be? What happens if I need to use the toilet?” he sobbed.
“I have no idea how long I’ll be, and if you need the toilet then you had better hold on, because if you don’t, I will add thirty-six very hard strokes with my Lochgelly tawse to whatever I plan for you.”
Poor Robert, with his presented, gaping bare bottom burning and throbbing, was left to contemplate his fate. I took my time, and the weather was pleasant, so I decided to walk. It was exciting and empowering to casually browse in our local convenience store, knowing that Robert was helplessly secured over the whipping bench, with his bare bottom waiting for my attention. With my pack of tea, I made my way back, again taking my time, as I planned how I would punish Robert. I was relishing the prospect. Back at home, I first made my tea, then sat in the lounge to enjoy it. Robert would have heard me return, so he would know the resumption of his punishment was imminent, and I imagined his nerves were on edge. What I didn’t know at this stage was that, while he had been forced to wait for me, with his throbbing bare bottom thrust up for punishment, his mindset had undergone a transformation.
Robert, underneath all the nerves and dread, actually loves to be punished. He finds the anticipation frightening and exciting, and his fear is usually the most prominent emotion as he is being secured over the whipping bench. But there is also an underlying craving present. He’s always jubilant after punishment, and always grateful to me for punishing him, especially if I have been especially severe. However, just occasionally, his craving to be punished stands out as his strongest emotion, and on occasions like this he is a joy to deal with, as he actually taunts me and encourages me to thrash him harder. While Robert had been waiting for me, his craving for more punishment had taken over his mind.
“I’ve decided on your punishment, Robert,” I said, as I opened the door to the chamber.
I noted that his bottom cleft was now largely purple, and looked very sore and tender. Further application of the hellstrap would be eye-wateringly painful. Robert was silent.
“I’ve decided the second part of your punishment will be called a six stroke ‘hellstrap sandwich’. You will receive, without any pauses, six strokes with the hellstrap, then six with the Lochgelly tawse, then six more with the hellstrap, followed by six strokes with the senior cane, then finally, six strokes with the hellstrap. All strokes will be administered with maximum severity. Have you anything to say before I begin?”
“Yes, Miss,” he replied firmly, “that sounds too lenient. Far too lenient.”
I felt a smile of delight breaking out on my face. I reached down to gently stroke his bottom.
“You’re right, of course, dear Robert. How remiss of me. Far too lenient, you say?”
“Yes, Miss. Far too lenient.”
There were several long seconds of silence. I continued to gently stroke his bare bottom as I pondered my delicious decision. Robert, I knew would be waiting to learn of his new sentence with heightened excitement and dread. It was a magical moment.
“I shall double it to a twelve stroke sandwich,” I said, as the gentle caress ended, and I picked up the hellstrap. “The tawse I shall use will be the extra heavy Lochgelly, and the cane will be the dragon. Do you have anything else to say?”
I thrashed Robert’s bare bottom as hard as I could and without any pauses. He squealed as the first few strokes with the hellstrap bit deep into already very sore flesh, but the squealing then ceased. He writhed though – oh how he writhed! Within the confines of his restraints, he twisted and bucked. His feet gyrated and grasped at air. HIs head twisted and swayed, and he hyperventilated throughout. The Lochgelly tawse rapidly put colour into his unscathed right bottom cheek, and the cane added colourful, raised stripes. It was all over in a few minutes, by which time we were both breathless, and glistening with sweat. I released him with urgency.
I won’t tell you what happened next. That’s private, but I’m quite confident that he will be wearing the marks of this particularly erotic thrashing well into 2019.
I’ve been quite productive in recent weeks. I’ve published two new stories, ‘Allure of the Cane’ and ‘Punishment Project Three’ . The latter written under my pen name, Amanda Barrington. They can both be found here:
I’ve also written a free story called ‘Destined for Punishment’ which can be found here:
I hope you have a happy spanking new year.
* My hellstrap is a bespoke short tawse, 43cm long, split into two tails of heavy, but flexible leather, each measuring 12mm wide x 9mm thick. It is particularly suitable for administering what I call ‘wrap-around’ strokes, where the shorter length enables the tawse tail tips to bite spitefully into the most sensitive areas. I like to think that I am close to perfecting the excruciating potential of this delicious implement. To maximise the ‘wrap-around’ effect, I stand to Robert’s side, close to his head. It is essential that he is securely restrained, well bent over, with his legs spread and his bottom cleft gaping, making clenching of the bottom cheeks impossible. He alway wears a well padded thong to protect vital ‘bits’, while offering minimal protection to his bottom cleft. Strokes are administered to wrap around his left bottom cheek, causing the tawse tips to accelerate into his bottom cleft or inner, upper thigh. The technique takes some practice because the target area is out of sight from where I stand, but a floor standing mirror can help. A reassuring ‘CRACK!’ , followed by frantic struggling, gasping and squealing helps confirm when I am getting it right. When I manage a flurry of brisk, hard strokes, all on target and aimed for the same sensitive area, his reaction is absolutely delicious – he goes berserk, and he tells me that the agony is so intense that it’s not possible to put into words.
I often incorporate the ‘wrap-around’ technique of using a tawse in my stories. So although they are fiction, my experience in this field helps inject realism. Where spanking, caning and tawsing are involved, I know what I am talking about.