Robert and I are only too aware of how fortunate we are during this time of global crisis. We have our health, and we are locked down together, so the canings continue.
I am taking the lockdown seriously. Only yesterday I had Robert locked down over my whipping bench. It was my intention to run through my latest dice game, called ‘ALL SIDE OF A DICE’ (see link at the end of this blog). It’s a fun game that we’ve played three times already, but I felt that Robert had been a bit too lucky with the rolls of the dice, so I’d tweaked the rules to increase the chances of him receiving a more severe thrashing.
I was just about to get started, with the dice in my hand, looking down at his helpless bare bottom, and with an array of canes and tawses to hand. I was thinking to myself that life wasn’t too bad at all. There are some positives to the current lockdown. The background hum of traffic has been largely replaced by birdsong, one of my favourite sounds, second only to the sharp crack of my cane biting into the bare flesh of Robert’s upturned, helpless bottom. Today I would be able to savour both together.
Just then, to my irritation, our neighbour’s petrol mower spluttered into life. I took a look out of the window to see it was the neighbour to our left. He’s fanatical about his lawn and mows incessantly during the summer months.
“I think we’ll forget the dice game for today, Robert,” I announced. “We’ll play a guessing game instead. How many times do you think the mower will stop while he empties the grass box?”
“I don’t know, Miss,” he answered, warily.
“Well I suggest you make a sensible guess, because if you don’t I will make your guess for you, and when he’s finished mowing the lawn, I will administer 6 strokes of the cane for every number your guess is wrong by.”
“Six times, Miss.”
“OK. It usually takes him about half an hour. I wonder how well you will do. In the meantime, to make sure we don’t get bored I shall administer six strokes with the tawse each time the mower stops.”
I picked up my extra heavy Lochgelly tawse, then positioned myself to Robert’s side to look down at his upthrust bare bottom. It was just crying out to be decorated with colourful weals. The next five minutes must have seemed an eternity to Robert, as we waited for the petrol engine to shut down.
Eventually, there was silence. Robert braced himself.
“Might as well wait for the mower to start again. I intend to tawse you hard, the mower will help drown out any squealing.”
It was about a minute before the mower engine started again. I raised the tawse.
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
Robert’s bare bottom sprang into life, wriggling, clenching and unclenching bizarrely, as the tawse began to weave its pattern of agony and colour.
Our neighbour resumed his mowing, blissfully unaware that he had Robert’s fate in his hands. I sometimes amaze myself with the games I come up with when Robert is secured over the whipping bench. I try to make sure he never has a bored moment.
After Robert’s third batch of six, Robert was quite breathless. The strokes were biting in nice and deep, and having him gasping and wriggling deliciously. I took a look out of the window to see that our neighbour was only about a third of the way through his mowing. Seemed like Robert’s guess was going to be wrong. I didn’t tell him, though, but just chuckled. Robert groaned in reply. He can read me.
“It seems he’s finished,” I said, looking out of the window about twenty minutes later. “Your guess was wrong. You were four out, so that’s twenty-four strokes with the cane.”
Robert groaned in despair again. His bottom was already vividly decorated from the sixty strokes of the tawse he had received. The cane would add some nice raised, purple weals.
My goodness, what a fuss he made as I began his caning. Although he looked very sore, I didn’t hold back. I never do. Robert gasped, squealed and writhed through all twenty-four deliciously hard strokes. His blazing bottom was a picture to behold.
I don’t know why, but I didn’t release him, and it’s just as well I didn’t. Instead I went downstairs to make myself a well deserved cup of tea. Just as I was brewing my Earl Grey, I head the mower engine again, this time from the front of the house. I giggled to myself, realising that Robert would have heard it too.
“Just as well I din’t put my canes and tawses away,” I said, cheerfully, as I joined Robert upstairs. “I might as well wait until he’s finished completely, so I can recoup my energy while I enjoy my tea.”
I pulled up a chair so I could sit behind Robert and watch the weals on his bottom mature, while I sipped tea and listened to the lawnmower.
By the time I’d finished my tea, our neighbour had finished mowing his front lawn, and Robert was due another dozen with both the tawse and the cane.
“You know the rules, Robert,” I said, as I picked up the tawse. “The final strokes are always the hardest.”
* * *
I haven’t published a new book for a while, but there are several nearing completion, and will be published soon.
My latest dice game, ‘ALL SIDES OF A DICE’, can be found on the SPANKING GAMES page of my website: