AN ABSOLUTELY DELICIOUS FINAL THRASHING OF 2018

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.

CRACK!

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.

CRACK!

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?”

“No, Miss.”

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:

http://anniebeebooks.com/id1.html

I’ve also written a free story called ‘Destined for Punishment’ which can be found here:

http://anniebeebooks.com/id5.html

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.

ROBERT HAS A VERY, VERY SORE BOTTOM, PART TWO

As Robert will testify, I always spank, cane and tawse hard and almost always on the bare bottom. It really is the only way, in my opinion. Usually, Robert needs between a week and three weeks to recover from one of my punishments. So when he’d suffered a particularly severe spanking from me with my new ebony hairbrush, he naturally assumed that he would be allowed to recover before being punished again. I was really looking forward to seeing the look on his face when I told him that, on this occasion, his assumption was wrong. He would be spanked again, within hours of the first spanking, and while his bottom was still very sore.

The prospect was made even more exciting for me when he mentioned, about four hours after his spanking, that he was still so sore that it was uncomfortable to sit down. I do believe he was actually fishing for sympathy from me. Stupid boy!

“Is it really that sore?” I asked, faking concern, “Let me see.”

We were in the kitchen. He turned his back to me, then lowered his trousers and boxer shorts. I stooped down behind him to take a closer look.

“I see what you mean,” I said, as I looked at his beautifully decorated bottom. It was now mainly purple, fringed with red. I held my palm against his bottom cheek.

“My goodness, Robert. I think you could fry an egg on that,” I laughed.

“I know. I can feel the heat radiating from it. You can’t believe how sore it is. That new brush of yours is evil.”

“Can you imagine what it would feel like to be spanked again with that lovely brush, while your still sore?”

“I think the agony would be unimaginable,” he replied, blissfully unaware of my plans for him.

“Well, you won’t need to imagine it, because this evening you will find out.”

There was a stunned silence, and I do believe the birds in the garden stopped singing.

“You can’t be serious. I can’t take another spanking, I’m far too sore,” he pleaded, looking down into my eyes and searching for any indication that I was joking.

“I’m completely serious, Robert. You deliberately provoked me by email when you were abroad, where I couldn’t get my hands on you. There must always be consequences for such foolish provocation.”

I stood up to look into his eyes. He was still standing, in shock, with his trousers and boxer shorts around his ankles.

“Oh, please, Annie,” he pleaded. “I really can’t take another spanking. I’m far too sore. Please give me some time to recover.”

“Round two of your hairbrush spanking, with my new brush, will be administered in exactly one hour,” I said, looking at the kitchen wall clock, “So you have some time to reflect on your conduct and mentally prepare for your punishment. You will receive exactly the same spanking as you did this morning, except I will endeavour to make it harder. If you complain, or attempt to hinder the punishment in any way, I will be more than happy add round three to your punishment tomorrow morning. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Annie,” he whimpered.

“You are about to be disciplined, so you know you should be addressing me as Miss. You will receive an extra dozen strokes.”

“Oh, please, no, Miss. I’m sorry.”

“I will be delighted to make that two dozen extra if you want to argue about it,” I said quietly.

He looked close to tears, as he stood with his hands now holding his hands against his bare bottom, as he contemplated his fate.

“Good. I’m pleased that’s settled, then. Present yourself to me in the bedroom, naked, in exactly one hour. That’s five-fifteen. Understood?”

“Yes, Miss,” he almost sobbed.

“Tea?” I asked, cheerfully.

“Er, no thank-you, Miss.”

While I made myself a cup of Earl Grey, Robert pulled up his shorts and trousers, then went to sit in the lounge.

“I’ve changed my mind, Robert,” I said, as I sat down opposite him with my tea, a few minutes later. “I’ve decided to postpone your spanking.”

The relief in his face was a picture to behold.

“It really does make sense, Annie. I really am not fit to take another spanking.”

“I’ve decided to postpone your spanking until six-fifteen. In the meantime, I have a little job I want you to do for me.”

His relief evaporated, and he looked close to tears. What an awful tease I can be. I can’t help it, it’s such fun.

“Come with me to the bedroom. I’ll show you what I want done,” I said, putting down my tea, then rising to my feet.

He followed me upstairs, meekly.

In the bedroom, I sat on the bed, where I intended to spank him later.

“Over my lap, please,” I instructed. “I’m not going to spank you now, but I need to check something.”

I hitched up my skirt, then parted my thighs. He uneasily draped himself over my left knee.

“OK. Back on your feet,” I said, a few seconds later.

“I want one of those eye bolts fitted to the floor here,” I said, indicating the area of the bedroom floor where his feet had been when he had been over my lap. “The same as the ones you fitted to the whipping bench. I’ve noticed you have a few spares.”

He looked a little confused.

“You wriggled around too much. It made my thighs ache, keeping your legs in place, so I’m going to secure your feet to the floor.”

“But I’ll have to make holes in our lovely polished floorboards. The eye bolt will be a tripping hazard.”

“I’ve thought about that. You will remove the eye bolt when I’ve decided that you have been adequately punished, and you will work out how to fit some sort of recessed brass plate to cover the holes. I’ve no doubt that the eye bolt will be needed again. Are you quite clear as to what is needed?”

“Well, yes,” he replied.

“Get on with it, then. It has to be ready for your spanking.”

I left him standing in the bedroom looking at the floor. Ten minutes later, I heard the sound of an electric drill.

It took Robert longer than expected to complete his task. He reported to me that he had eventually finished at six-thirty. He looked very frightened.

“I had to take up part of the floor to get a firm fixing,” he explained.

“Well I hope you did achieve a firm fixing, because I have a feeling it will need to be. You look sweaty. Take a shower at once, then report to me in the bedroom, naked. And don’t keep me waiting too long.”

He looked as if he were about to say something, then changed his mind. He scurried off, and shortly afterwards, I heard the shower running. I left for the bedroom to prepare for his spanking. The eye bolt seemed to be securely fitted.

Robert was shaking with fear as he presented himself to me about ten minutes later. I was sitting on the bed with all the items I needed to hand. I gestured for him to stand by the eye bolt. He complied at once. I secured his ankles with cuffs, then secured them with a locking ring to the eye bolt. I secured his wrists with handcuffs, then ordered him over my left knee. I hitched up my skirt, then scissored him between my thighs.

His bare bottom was a joy to behold. The bruising from the morning’s spanking looked incredibly sore and I was so looking forward to his reaction to another vigorous spanking.

“You do realise, of course, that your late completion of the eye bolt cannot go unpunished, don’t you, Robert?”

“Oh, no. Please, Miss, no. I worked so hard to get it done on time. It’s not fair!” Poor Robert sounded desperate, and close to tears.

“Yes, I agree, Robert. It is a little unfair, but I’m afraid there is no alternative. For me to leave any failure by you unpunished would set a bad president. It would place the disciplinary regime in this house on a slippery slope, and I’m sure you understand that we can’t, under any circumstances, allow that to happen. You will just have to accept that life sometimes is unfair, and that the bigger picture is more important. You do understand, don’t you?”

“Yes, but if we both agree it’s unfair, surely it would be OK to make an exception.”

He was sobbing, now, as he’d seen me pick up my new hairbrush.

“There can be no exceptions, Robert,” I replied, firmly, “and furthermore, you know very well that you are forbidden to question my judgement when you are being punished. I thought I had convinced you of that on numerous occasions. I have obviously been too lenient with you, far too lenient. You will receive an additional twelve strokes for being late with your work, plus another twelve for arguing. If you have anything else to add, I will be very happy to double both. Do you have anything else to say?”

“No, Miss,” he sobbed.

“Good. Then I suggest you take a deep breath. It’s time we got started.”

I allowed him a few seconds to attempt to compose himself, then raised the brush.

CRACK!

Robert’s first hairbrush spanking on an already very sore bottom was a memorable, and deliciously exciting event. His frantic wriggling over my lap was an absolute joy. His gasping and pleading was music to my ears. The integrity of the eye bolt fixing was seriously tested. I paused half way through  to continue our ‘chat’.

“So we dealt with your use of the term namby-pamby this morning, Robert. This is to address you referring to my spankings as lacklustre. Think of that word while I spank you. Perhaps you will find, by the time I have finished, that you have permanently disassociated spankings from me with those words.”
“Please stop,” he pleaded. “I really can’t take any more.”

“You need this spanking, Robert, and you know you need it. You would not have sent me such provocative emails unless you did. You wouldn’t be that stupid. You knew there would be consequences, and now you must accept them.”

The eye bolt was put to an extreme test as I continued the spanking. He received his spanking in full. I never exercise mercy.

My goodness. What a colourful bottom he had by the time I’d finished with him! Just as it should be.

How lovely to have things back to normal.

I’m delighted to announce the publication of my latest book, Allure of the Cane which can be found on all the Amazon sites.

ROBERT HAS A VERY, VERY SORE BOTTOM

And well deserved it is too!

I’ve been quiet for a while here, but that doesn’t mean that I haven’t been keeping Robert well caned and tawsed. On the contrary, my appetite for setting his bare bottom ablaze is more intense than ever. Rare indeed have been the times when his bottom is not sporting the vivid marks from a recent caning or tawsing since we first met. However, recent circumstances, where we had house guests for a few weeks, followed by him needing to work abroad for a further month, left a serious corporal punishment deficit.

In the many years that Robert and I have been together, we have never had to deal with such a long thrashing famine. As the weeks passed, I longed to see the cane biting deep into his squirming, writhing bottom. I yearned to hear the hiss and the sharp crack of the cane making contact with his naked flesh, followed by the gasp of agony. I felt myself becoming increasingly irritable as the abstinence continued.

Robert, too, I discovered, was suffering from punishment withdrawal. We don’t discuss things like this directly, as it would spoil the fun. Everything is in a code that we both understand. Robert knows, from painful experience, that if he is flippant in his communications with me, he will ignite a fire in me that can only be extinguished by thrashing him. So I knew, as soon as Robert started sending me increasingly flippant emails while he was working abroad, that he was pining for the kiss of my numerous corporal punishment implements. Here is an example of one such email:

‘My Dearest Annie,

I miss you. You might be surprised to learn that the marks from your last punishment have now completely faded. Personally, I wasn’t particularly surprised because I remember thinking during the caning that it was a bit namby-pamby. You concluded with the tawse, and that too was a bit lacklustre. Perhaps you’re going soft, my dearest?

Never mind. I’ll be home in just over a week, so perhaps you might want to ‘chat’ about it then.

Lots of Love, Robert’ 

And here’s how I replied:

‘Dearest Robert,

I miss you too. What a short memory you seem to have. I distinctly recall your last appointment with my whipping bench, and there was an awful lot of squealing, pleading and sobbing going on as I decorated your very deserving bare bottom. However, in view of your comments, we most certainly will have a little ‘chat’ just as soon as you get home.

I can’t wait to get my hands on you.

Much Love, Your Dearest, Annie’

Correspondence such as this fuels the anticipation for both of us beautifully. I could just imagine that Robert now expected to be ordered to prepare the whipping bench the moment he stepped through the door, before receiving a very enthusiastic caning and tawsing. But I decided that I would surprise him. He usually loves surprises, but I wondered if he would love this one.

I don’t use the hairbrush as often as I should, and I decided that it was time his bare bottom was well and truly roasted with one. I have two lovely, heavy brushes that I use for spanking. They are actually clothes brushes, and they are a beautiful, oval shape, with rounded edges, and made from hard, polished wood. I thought it would be fun to get another one, perhaps a little heavier, as a welcome home treat.

Over the following days, I visited numerous antique shops, and was at the point of abandoning the search, when I found just what I wanted. In the dusty, rear corner, of a rather run-down antique shop in London, I picked up a very dark, heavy, hairbrush. I guessed it might be made from ebony. It was the perfect, oval shape, with beautifully rounded edges, and most important of all, it felt just right in my hand, a perfect fit. I gave my left palm a firm slap in delight, then winced at the intense sting. The shop owner, an elderly gentleman, looked up from the newspaper he had been reading. I wondered if he had guessed what I wanted it for. I tried to conceal my excitement as I handed over the £3 price that was written on a scuffed label on the rear, as I imagined how agonising my new acquisition would be when applied briskly and hard to Robert’s bare bottom in just a few days time.

I always love trying a new implement, but I was more excited about this one than usual. Back at home, I carefully cleaned, then polished it, then could resist giving my own, fully clothed bottom a playful slap. My goodness! What an intense sting it had! I decided to carefully bind the handle, using a roll of self-adhesive, black, cloth tape that I’d found in Robert’s bicycle ‘bits’ cupboard, in the garage, as I was concerned the implement might otherwise slip out of my hand when used with real enthusiasm.

Now all I had to do was to wait for Robert to arrive home. I was amused that, as the day of his return drew closer, the flippant remarks were in evidence less and less. Robert knew he had over-stepped the mark, and now he was trying to back-peddle. Too late for that now, Robert, I thought, as I toyed with the new brush.

I was delighted to see my dearest, when he stepped through the door, late the following morning, presenting me with a bouquet of mixed roses.

“How sweet of you, Robert,” I exclaimed, as I thought to myself: ‘If you think this is going to help you, you are sadly mistaken’.

I put the flowers in water, then turned to Robert, who was hovering, nervously.

“Why don’t you take a shower, then we can have our chat.”

He was probably confused because I hadn’t ordered him to assemble the whipping bench. I knew he’d been anticipating that. He hesitated, and seemed about to say something, then thought better of it, and left for the shower.

As he stepped from the shower, I was in the bathroom waiting for him, holding a pair of handcuffs behind my back. He nervously took the towel I offered him, then dried himself off, as I watched.

“Now, let’s have that long overdue chat,” I said, as he finished drying himself.

Before he knew what was happening, I grasped him arms, firmly, then cuffed his wrists. I took hold of his arm, then led him, naked, to the bedroom.

I sat on the bed, hitched my skirt, then parted my thighs to guide him over my left thigh. I scissored him between my thighs as his torso dropped onto the bed to my left. I don’t think he saw the hairbrush on the bedside table.

“I think ‘namby-pamby’ was one of the expressions you used to describe your last punishment from me,” I said, as I picked up the heavy, polished, brush.

“I was only joking,” he whimpered.

“Then let’s see how funny you find this,” I said as I raised the brush.

CRACK!

I brought it down with all my strength, and the flat, back of the brush made resounding contact with the centre of his right bottom cheek.

He squealed with shock and agony, but I’d barely started.

I’m well aware that the build up of sting, when a hairbrush is used to spank the same area, briskly and hard, can be unbearable, so I rained down another five hard spanks right in the centre of his right bottom cheek. The heavy brush flattened his bottom cheek with each resounding ‘crack’. Robert struggled desperately over my lap, and squealed for all his was worth as the brush set his bottom ablaze. I’d forgotten just how delicious it was to have a squirming, naked man over my lap as I spanked him.

His right bottom cheek developed a vivid, red and purple, circular weal, like a hoop, before I switched my attention to the centre of his left bottom cheek. His writhing became more frantic as the brush cracked down with undiminished venom, and I had to tighten the vice like scissor grip of my thighs to keep his bottom where I wanted it. I produced an exact matching ‘halo’ on his left cheek.

He knew what was coming next, because I always spank the same way with the hairbrush. He started to plead for me to stop, as, after six hard spanks to each cheek, I paused to adjust my position. Silly man! He knows only too well that pleading for mercy merely encourages me to spank harder.

He really howled as I then concentrated my efforts on the crease between his bottom and the tops of his thighs, six nice hard strokes each. I had to fight to keep him in place, and he was sobbing uncontrollably by the time I’d finished. Poor Robert thought it was over, and he relaxed.

The marks were wonderful. Two perfect, matching hoops, one on each bottom cheek, with two distorted hoops lower down and all beautifully symmetrical.

“Was that namby-pamby, Robert?” I asked.

“No! No it wasn’t!” he sobbed. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

“But not sorry enough, my dearest,” I said as I raised the brush for round two, which I decided would be double that of round one.

My goodness! What a fuss he made! The sounds were blissful. Hysterical squealing to the accompaniment of the steady ‘crack, crack, crack’ of my lovely new ebony brush. The visual delights were equally enjoyable to behold, as the symmetrical marks on his wildly gyrating bottom deepened in colour. But most delicious of all was feeling him struggle over my lap with such frenzied contortions. I nearly lost my grip on him a few times, but his bottom remained presented for the brush for all of the second batch of forty-eight strokes.

I allowed him to slip off my lap, where he sank to his knees, grasping his burning bottom cheeks with both hands. He looked up at me with his tearful eyes wide in shock. He was speechless for at least a minute, as I regarded him with amusement. His eyes then fixed on the brush I still held in my hand.

“Where did you get that from?” he eventually gasped.

“I did a bit of shopping while you were away, darling. It’s lovely, isn’t it?”

I was quite out of breath. I’d been enjoying myself so much that I hadn’t realised how much energy the spanking had needed. A break was needed.

“I’ve never felt anything like it,” he replied, still breathless. “I promise I’ve learned my lesson.”

I merely smiled, as I toyed with the brush, looking down at him. I decided not to tell him that his punishment was only half way through, and that I was intent on repeating the entire spanking before he went to bed that evening. Another dose of my new ebony brush on a bottom that was already very sore would be a whole new experience for him.

I wonder if Robert will ever learn not to provoke Annie Bee. I do hope not!

To be continued…

ANOTHER SPANKING GAME

Despite taking a rest from writing, I most certainly have not taken a rest from thrashing Robert’s bare bottom, as the colourful stripes he is currently sporting will testify.

We’ve recently been having fun with a board game I’ve developed. It’s a bit like a Monopoly board, but with only thirty squares arranged around the perimeter of a square board, numbered 1 – 30. The squares don’t represent properties, as in Monopoly, they represent punishments that Robert will receive. I do tend to overcomplicate things, so the game is quite involved, but I’ll describe a simplified version here:

The various punishments are arranged in groups of 3-6 squares each. These might be:

SP = An over the knee hand spanking
C1 = A sound caning of 24 strokes
C2 = A sound caning of 36 strokes
T1 = A sound tawsing of 24 strokes
T2 = A sound tawsing of 36 strokes
L = List, where I get to choose a punishment from a list of 10 imaginative punishments I have dreamed up Here’s a sample of just two from the list:

1. SELECT THREE IMPLEMENTS. Toss a dice to decide the total umber of strokes to be administered:

1 – 4 = 24
5 = 30
6 = 36

Toss a dice to decide which implement to begin with, then toss a dice to decide the number of strokes. Toss a dice to decide which of the two remaining implements should be used next. Toss a dice twice, adding together, to decide the number of strokes. Use the final implement to administer the balance.

2. A TIMED CANING OR TAWSING. Toss a dice to decide which implement, then toss a dice for the time:

1-2 = 30secs.  3-4 = 45secs.  5 – 6 = 1min.

Punishment to be administered briskly and hard, with no pauses.

All punishments, apart from the spanking, are administered while Robert is secured over my whipping bench, and are administered the only way I know how – with vigour.

In it’s simplified version, Robert sets off from square one, around the board with his lucky  (or not so lucky) token, moving in accordance with throws of a dice. He gets ten throws. He receives the punishment shown on the square he finishes on. He’ll be hoping for that to be SP. I’ll be hoping for something more interesting.

One final detail, is that one numbered square of the thirty will be deemed a black square. It’s a secret square between 1 and 30, known only to me. I write the number on a piece of paper together with details a very severe secret punishment (something like a 2 minute timed tawsing – Robert dreads these more than anything). This piece of paper is sealed in an envelope, then placed next the board game. If the square that Robert’s lucky token proves to be not quite so lucky, and he finishes up on the square number that I have in the sealed envelope, then he is in real trouble. But this will not be revealed to him until he is safely strapped down over the whipping bench (otherwise I might have trouble persuading him to go over it). I will take great delight in opening the envelope to inform him of his bad luck once he is at my mercy.

We’ve played this game about half a dozen times now, and each time I seem to find spiteful refinements to add to it. Robert has been lucky enough to get away with a simple spanking just once, on the other occasions he’s gone over the whipping bench, resulting in a very sore bottom.

He surprised me very pleasantly the last occasion we played. He Finished off on a square that earned him 24 strokes with the cane, and, of course, once he was safely strapped down over the whipping bench, I administered them with my usual enthusiasm. Can you imagine my delight when, having asked him to thank me for his punishment, he actually said that he thought 24 strokes hadn’t been enough?  I’ll leave it to your imagination as to how I responded.

He has, however, so far managed to avoid the black square. His luck will eventually run out, in which case I will be delighted to treat him to something that will have him struggling so desperately that he will have the joints in the whipping bench creaking. What a delicious prospect!

MASKED AND MERCILESS

Robert and I are faithful to each other, and that extends to the administration of discipline. I haven’t thrashed a bare bottom other than Robert’s for several years, and Robert has received discipline from only me during the same period.

It was not always like this. As a professional disciplinarian I caned, tawsed and whipped a wide variety of bare bottoms, and it was during that time that I met Robert. Robert had reported to numerous disciplinarians for the punishment he needed until he met me. It was an exciting and enjoyable time. It was Robert’s idea to see if we might try to relive the past, and after hearing his idea, I embraced it at once. I would take on a new persona, become a different person. I rarely use bad language, so, to distance myself from Annie Bee, I decided to call myself MISTRESS FUCKING MERCILESS, making it quite clear that the unexpected should be expected. I’m quite sure I will be able to slip into my new role effortlessly. Each time I write a book try to I put myself in the position of the ‘heroine’ so I know how to adjust my mindset. I took over the development of his idea from that point on.

I decided that Robert would only ever meet MFM when he was already secured over the whipping bench. He would never know when she might appear. At some point during a future punishment, I would leave the room. MFM would appear shortly afterwards. She would always wear a mask, making it impossible for Robert to read her face or see her smile. I’ve already bought the mask, and I love the expressionless face (see photograph). There is always the option of painting some features on her at some time in the future.

I have been punishing Robert regularly for so long now that he can sometimes anticipate what I have planned for him. That will change when he makes the acquaintance of MFM. She could even be a different disciplinarian each time he meets her. At the first meeting, I have decided, she will set the bar higher than Annie Bee, taking discipline to a new level. Rules on noise and fuss will be enforced more rigorously and penalties will be harsher. Strokes of the cane and tawse will be administered with maximum severity and nothing but perfection will suffice. If there is the slightest doubt about the severity of just one stroke, then Robert can expect the entire batch to be repeated.

Pleading for mercy will be absolutely forbidden with draconian penalties imposed if MFM so much as suspects the idea is even being considered.

MFM’s idea of fun is experimenting with implements, making strokes as spiteful as possible. If she manages to make her subject squeal, so much the better. There is always a price to pay for fuss. Whole batches will be repeated, or doubled, for the slightest reason. But MFM doesn’t need a reason to repeat batches – she can do so just for the fun of it. She doesn’t need to justify anything she does, but she might enjoy explaining her thought process to her helpless subject. Imagine that she has just administered six agonising strokes with a particularly spiteful implement, that had her subject gasping. I can already hear her voice and imagine the things she might say:

“That was fun. I think I’ll repeat it. On second thoughts, I think I’ll double it.”

“I don’t think they were quite as hard as I would have liked. I’ll have to repeat the whole batch.”

“Stroke number five didn’t sound quite right to me. I think I’ll repeat the whole batch.”

“That still wasn’t quite hard enough. I think I’ll repeat it again.”

“I’m quite impressed that you managed to take those in silence. Well done. However, the reason might be that they weren’t spiteful enough, so I’d better repeat them to see if I can add a bit more venom.”

“You made too much fuss that time Robert. Let’s see if you can show a bit more self control while I repeat the entire batch. I’ll see if I can make it just a little harder this time.”

“Do you think they were hard enough, Robert? Do you think, perhaps, that I should repeat them? I’m disappointed that you don’t agree, so I’m going to double the strokes and make them a bit harder too. Perhaps that will help you realise that you must never disagree with me. My purpose is to make your punishment as painful as possible. Your purpose is to accept whatever I deem appropriate and without question.”

I think you have an idea of her mindset. No matter how hard Robert may try to comply with her instructions, she will always find excuses to repeat and double thrashings.

Annie Bee can sometimes exercise reason and fairness when deciding on punishment. MFM will not be so predictable. Although Annie Bee is a very strict and harsh disciplinarian, she does occasionally exercise compassion. MFM doesn’t know the meaning of the word. As her name suggests, she is totally merciless. When Robert meets MFM it will be the beginning of a journey into the unknown. He won’t be able to anticipate anything. The blank masked face of MFM will tell him nothing. I seem to have written my way into MFM’s mindset already.

Robert hasn’t yet met MFM, and he doesn’t know when he will. Nor do I. She will make her first appearance when Annie Bee feels the time is right to slip into her shoes. He’s told me that the prospect of meeting MFM terrifies him. I’ve told him that I suspect his fears are more than justified. I’ll let you know how their first meeting goes in due course. In the meantime I think I’ll get Robert to reinforce the joints of the whipping bench. They do tend to creak a little when Robert is being subjected to particularly severe punishment. Perhaps MFM will redefine ‘severe’.

INSPIRED CANING & TAWSING

It’s been seven years since I began publishing books, and I feel that some of the covers need freshening up, so I’ve started with my first ever story, “Jonathan’s Introduction to the Cane & Tawse”. I probably wrote this story about ten years ago, so I thought I’d reminisce by reading it through again, and check for errors. I have to confess that I really enjoyed it, and couldn’t put it down. The description of the canings and tawsings really wetted my appetite, and by the time I’d finished I was almost desperate to thrash Robert. He proof reads all my books and I wondered if he remembered my first characters.

“Robert,” I asked him, “Who would you rather be dealt with by, Mrs Weston or Mrs McKay?”

“Er, well, I’m not sure,” he replied, looking exceedingly uneasy.

“In that case you will be dealt with by both of them, or more accurately, by me in the role of both. I’ve just read my first book and I’m in the mood to set your bare bottom ablaze. Get the whipping bench ready. I want everything prepared in fifteen minutes.”

Robert looked very uncomfortable. It is usual for me to give him a day’s notice before I thrash him. It gives him a chance to mentally prepare, but my need to cane and tawse him was too intense. I needed to hear the sound of rattan and leather biting deep into his bare bottom. I needed to see him writhe and squirm as colourful weals sprang up across his helpless bottom. I needed to hear him squeal and plead for mercy. He knows that it is very unwise to argue with me over matters such as this. I timed his preparation.

“That was seventeen minutes, Robert,” I said, looking at my watch, as he stood nervously beside the whipping bench, naked apart from a protective thong. “I instructed you to be ready in fifteen. You obviously need more practice.”

“Sorry, Miss,” was his weak response.

“I’m sure you are, but nowhere near as sorry as you will be in a few minutes time. Place yourself in position over the bench.”

Robert was trembling as he lowered his body over the whipping bench. The first restraining strap was tightened across the small of his back within a few seconds. Wrist and legs restraining straps followed, and he was soon totally helpless, with his gaping bare bottom presented for me to do exactly as I pleased. Apart from the feint bruises left from an appointment with my hellstrap some weeks earlier, his bottom was unblemished and fit for punishment.

“As you may remember, Robert, Mrs Weston likes to use the cane, whereas Mrs McKay has a passion for the tawse. Who do you think should begin?”

“I don’t know, Miss,” he whimpered.

“In that case, I think you should savour the taste of Mrs Weston’s cane first.”

In my opinion, I have a vivid imagination. When I first wrote the story about Jonathan, I could picture the imposing figure of Mrs Weston. I was familiar with her large, somewhat old-fashioned kitchen, with the large old pine table that she tied Jonathan over for his first caning. Even though I’d never been there, I was able to see it all.

Now, as I looked down at the bare bottom that was presented to me for punishment, and with a cane in my hand, I felt I was Mrs Weston. Robert was now Jonathan, and my word he deserved a sound caning today! Jonathan had lied to me about his experience, resulting in me entrusting him to carry out the work of a skilled builder. The plumbing work he’d completed in the loft had been seriously sub-standard, resulting in a leak that had caused dreadful damage to my house. Now he was to pay the price. His caning would fit the crime. I would make sure that Jonathan’s introduction to the cane would be memorable and very painful. He deserved no less.

SWISH – CRACK!

Ah.. The bliss of seeing a heavy cane bite deep into the soft flesh of a helpless bare bottom. The delicious, sharp ‘crack’ the impact makes. He began to gasp and writhe in agony almost at once.

“You will take your caning in silence,” I instructed. “Just twelve strokes. Less than you deserve, but in total silence. Otherwise I will add strokes. Understood?”

“Yes, Miss,” he sobbed.

SWISH – CRACK!

Harder. Oh, yes! He certainly felt that one. He just managed to stifle another gasp, but his body language confirmed that it was a real struggle for him. The muscles in his legs stood out like rods of iron and his bottom weaved bizarrely within the confines of his restraints.

SWISH – CRACK!

Even harder, and resulting in a squeal. I’d broken him already. So after just three strokes we were already into extras. Wonderful!

I caned him hard and mercilessly, and he squealed and writhed at every stroke. I didn’t bother to stop at twelve strokes. He was into extras and he knew it, so I simply continued the caning, maintaining the agony at ‘very intense’ without affording him the luxury of a pause.  He absorbed eighteen of my very best. I put down the cane, then watched the angry weals decorating his bottom  deepen in colour.

“That was fun,” I said, as he whimpered. “I think I’ll retire for a cup of Earl Grey. I suggest you prepare yourself for twelve strokes from Mrs McKay with her tawse. Twelve strokes, with extras, of course, if there is the slightest sound from your mouth. I won’t be able to match the Scottish accent, but I think I’ll let the tawse do the talking.”

I left him to contemplate his fate.

I think you can probably guess what happened when Mrs McKay took her extra heavy, Lochgelly tawse to his writhing bottom when the tea break was over.
I plan to gradually work my way through some of my earlier books, giving them a fresh cover, and reading them again to check for any errors. Perhaps it will also inspire me to step back in time with Robert once again over the whipping bench.

BEGGING FOR MERCY – MY ATTITUDE

I’ve received a few comments from readers of my blog suggesting that I am a little harsh when responding to pleas for mercy from Robert during punishment, so I thought I should clarify my position. Before I go any further I should add that Robert knows that I simply do not do mercy. I’ve imprinted this on his mind, via his bottom, relentlessly, for over a decade. So when Robert places himself over the whipping bench and allows himself to be secured and so placing himself at my mercy, he knows there will be none.
Punishment is supposed to hurt. As far as I’m concerned, that’s the whole point, so the more it hurts, the better the punishment. The pain suffered during punishment should be unbearable. That’s why I nearly always restrain Robert. For me the punishment only really starts at the point where Robert feels he can’t take any more. It’s at this point when he can start pleading for mercy. For me, this is one of those magic moments. I have broken through the last chink in his pain threshold. Is now the time to stop? Of course not. Now is the time to get started. Now is the time to administer the strokes with even more venom and spite. Now is the time to lick my lips and grit my teeth so I can delight in the tawse or cane biting deeper and more savagely into his squirming, writhing bottom. To stop now would be rather like abandoning a one hundred meter sprint when you are in the lead with just thirty meters to go. In those final thirty meters you would give it everything, and so is the case when thrashing Robert. When Robert pleads “Please, I can’t take anymore,” I translate this as “You’ve just broken through my pain threshold, so now’s the time to up the game and really start laying the strokes on hard.” Putting it another way, if you were the pilot of an aircraft that is racing down a runway, building up speed, would you throttle back just as the wheels were about lift from the ground? Of course not.

Everyone is entitled to have their own view on this, but I hope this clears up any confusion on my attitude towards mercy.

For the same reasons, I don’t do safewords. As a professional and with my experience it is me who decides when Robert has been adequately punished, not Robert.

HONING HELLSTRAP SKILLS

Being my full-time partner means that Robert’s bottom is required to accept regular and severe canings, tawsings and whippings, and is rarely free of marks from a recent thrashing. I wish I was ambidextrous, but I’m not. I’m right-handed, and this results in Robert’s right bottom cheek being subjected to more severe punishment than his left. Sometimes I wish I had a twin sister who was left-handed, so we could thrash him in unison, as in my new book ‘Horsed and Tawsed’, (to be published soon) but on reflection, I think I’ll keep him to myself, and improvise.

Making more use of my hellstrap is one way to even up punishment. My hellstrap is a shorter than normal tawse and I adore using it in a very spiteful way which leaves his right bottom cheek unscathed. To add venom to strokes with my hellstrap I adopt a wrap-around technique, where I have Robert secured, helplessly over our whipping bench with his bare bottom gaping. I stand close to his head, then bring the hellstrap down on his left flank, causing the tails to curl around his left bottom cheek, and with luck, sending the tawse tips to accelerate into his bottom cleft. It’s not easy to get it just right, because the target area is unsighted, but a carefully positioned mirror can help. When I do get it right the result is deliciously excruciating. The hellstrap will bite in with a resounding ‘crack’, and Robert will go into a frenzy of futile struggling and squealing, as he tries, and fails, to clench his bottom cheeks. Robert always wears a padded thong for punishment, and that is essential when using the hellstrap in the way I like to.

Yesterday I decided that, with Robert still recovering from a sound bare bottom caning of just over a week ago, I would amuse myself by treating him to hellstrap workshop to hone my skills. With no particular number of strokes in mind, I began to apply the hellstrap to his naked, gaping bottom, gradually increasing the wrap-around element of each stroke. Robert was soon gasping and wriggling.

I gradually increased the severity and spitefulness until I reached an absolutely exquisite moment when I managed to administer about six, brisk, real crackers right into his bottom cleft in succession. He went into a complete frenzy of writhing and shrieking. And then came the part I always love the most: He started pleading for mercy. It is completely beyond me why, after years as my partner, he hasn’t yet learned that I don’t do mercy. Pleading to me for mercy never, ever, results in anything other than encouraging me to administer strokes with even more venom, and that is exactly what happened. While he writhed and shrieked with even moire urgency, I upped my game to administer another venomous dozen right into his gaping cleft, then continued, gradually working lower, to reach into his inner, upper left thigh. My goodness, what a fuss he made! Delicious.
What fun we had together. After much strenuous and hopeless struggling with his restraints, Robert was sweating so profusely that I almost had to ‘peel’ him off the whipping bench by the time I had eventually finished with him. I was delighted to observe that I had not added a single mark to his right bottom cheek, but looking a little to the left was another story altogether.  He’ll need a few weeks to recover, but I’m already planning his next treat. Another dice game, I think. On the other hand, if we manage to be alone together on the 31st December, I might cane him into the new year to the chimes of Big Ben, as I did a few years ago.

 

THIS WIPED THE SMILE OFF HIS FACE

But it put a smile on his bottom, many smiles. Let me explain: I was rummaging through my old bag of discipline equipment when I came across an implement I had forgotten about. I wasn’t even sure what the proper name for it was. It’s a leather loop with an attractive, turned wooden handle. I applied it to the bare bottoms of a few clients quite early in my career as a professional disciplinarian, and the general consensus was that could impart quite a sting. However, it was the kiss of the cane and the tawse that were usually deemed more appropriate, and my leather loop was forgotten – until last week.

When I showed it to my partner, Robert, he confessed that he’d never felt one applied to his bottom. That situation was soon rectified, and after a few whacks he confirmed that it did indeed sting quite a bit, but I felt it lacked enough weight to really bite in. I like my thrashings to be absolutely excruciating. ‘Sting quite a bit’ is simply not good enough. I did, however, notice that each stroke of the loop left a lovely ‘smile’ shaped red mark on his bottom, and that decided me to get my hands on a loop that would make more of an impression. Robert was given instructions to either acquire or make one that I would meet my requirements. Robert knows that he is most wise to comply with my instructions, so he scurried off to see what he could do.

The following day he presented me with a loop made from a length of round, electrical flex. It has considerable weight and is quite flexible. Giving him a few strokes over his presented clothed bottom was enough to confirm that it was a satisfyingly spiteful little implement with a lot of bite. Like the tawse, it can reach places that the cane can’t, but I soon discovered that it can flick back to catch the administrator’s wrist, so requires the wearing of a long leather glove. I was keen to give it a thorough test, so Robert was instructed to assemble the whipping bench.

I was delighted to see, as I later strapped Robert down, naked, over the whipping bench, that his bottom was already decorated with a few distinct smiles. As these were the result of only moderate/light strokes over clothing, I was very keen to see what nice hard strokes on the bare could achieve. Robert was wearing a protective thong to keep his ‘bits’ safe, so I was free to explore the target presented with cheerful abandon. And that is what I did.

I quickly discovered that, being such flexible implement with a very smooth finish, it had a tendency to glance off his bottom. This had not been such a problem when he had clothing on, but on naked flesh it was. I changed my position to stand closer to his head. This enabled me to administer ‘wrap-around’ strokes. This method worked brilliantly. It means the target is largely unsighted, but I positioned our floor standing mirror to give me a view of where the loop was biting in. Now I was able to really get down to some seriously severe strokes. A good ‘wrap-around’ will accelerate the ‘smile’ part of the loop wonderfully and add real venom.

My word, what a fuss he made! As I began the enthusiastic and vigorous exploration of his gaping, presented bottom, he squealed and wriggled deliciously. It was wonderful to watch white smiles spring up after each stroke, then fill with colour. He went into a frenzy of futile struggling and squealing as I laid a pattern of smiles along his bottom cleft, and was shrieking pitifully as I turned my attention to his upper, inner thigh.

Poor Robert thought it was over when, after about thirty strokes, I put down the loop, then slipped off my leather glove. However, his relief was short lived. I informed him that I was merely taking a tea break to watch his weals mature, before continuing the exercise. He pleaded to be let free, saying that he couldn’t take any more, so I replaced the glove, picked up the loop then administered six, harsh, penalty strokes. He knows only too well that pleading for mercy is strictly forbidden. Will he never learn? I hope not.

“The pattern on your bottom reminds me of the 1950s wallpaper my grandmother had in her lounge,” I said to Robert, as I sat sipping Earl Grey tea, admiring the overlapping red and purple crescent weals my new loop had produced.

Robert, wisely, resisted the urge to plead for mercy again.

“The colour is different, of course,” I continued. “My grandmother’s wallpaper was a sickly green, and your pattern of crescents looks a bit sparse, but I’ll rectify that when I’ve finished my tea.”

I felt a smile appear on my face as Robert groaned in despair. Robert groaned again, several minutes later when, refreshed and rested, I slipped on my glove and picked up the loop. I had the feel of the loop by now and with a little more wrist action I was confident that I would be able to put even more venom into the strokes.

The next few minutes were an absolute joy. As Robert squealed and writhed, I applied the loop to his squirming bare bottom with spite and severity. It was glorious to see it bite deep into his trembling, squirming flesh and to hear the resultant squeals. Once again, the strokes that bit into his bottom cleft and inner, upper thigh produced the most delicious reactions, but I tried to make sure that his bottom cheeks received their fair share of attention too.

The thrashing ceased after about thirty more strokes and his bottom was a mass of colourful smiles. Once again, poor Robert thought it was over. I saw his body gradually relax as the fire in his bottom began to fade.

“You did make rather a lot of fuss, Robert,” I said.

He looked around in dread to see that I was still holding the loop.

“I think you deserve a final six strokes,” I said, “If you take them in silence I will declare your punishment over.”

Poor Robert tried so hard to stay quiet, and I tried so hard to make sure he found it impossible. I put absolutely everything into the six strokes that followed and he squealed and wriggled for all he was worth, so I gave him another six.

What a lovely little implement my new loop has proved to be. Robert tells me the sting is eye-wateringly intense. He tells me that it is made from 7mm diameter electrical flex and it measures about 40cm long as seen in the photograph, but the shape lengthens and narrows when it is wielded, producing a more pronounced ‘smile’ on the flesh. I may get him to make me some variants, perhaps using other materials, such as rubber, or perhaps implements incorporating more than one loop, but I shall definitely have his bare bottom dancing under a loop again before too long.

On other matters: I may have looked to be unproductive this year, but I have several new books almost ready to publish, and I’ve just published ‘Dancing Under the Cane’. Others to follow in due course, including one that just has to include a loop.

Finally – FACEBOOK! Over the years I’ve put a lot of time into building up an entertaining facebook profile. I’ve uploaded many interesting images, keeping them what I believed to be ‘decent’, and I’ve amassed almost three thousand friends. Facebook have closed me down. For the time being I will leave it closed. You can still find me on FetLife where my profile name is ABee.

Happy spanking.

DANCING UNDER THE CANE

The heroines in my stories, like myself, usually have, or develop, a passion for administering corporal punishment. They are also usually beautiful, and Robert, wisely, tells me I am too. However, in my stories, my heroines can also have access to anything that my imagination chooses to gift them. In my soon to be published story, ‘Dancing Under the Cane’ Karla is the heroine, and she is based on somebody I once worked with.

Before I became a professional disciplinarian, I worked briefly in an office. I was totally unsuited to the job because I am unable to take instructions, especially from men. (I prefer to give instructions to men, and to cane them.) Karla arrived as a temporary filing clerk, and within a short time had impressed the management with her initiative and energy. On the first day she observed that the filing system was in a mess and asked the office manager if she could tidy it up. She used her lunch breaks over the following days to do just that. I remember thinking to myself that, had she stayed, she might have ended up running the company. In my forthcoming story, she does. She also takes delight in caning and tawsing the male member of staff she appoints as her assistant.

Success in business gives Karla the resources to indulge in her passion for administering discipline, and her imagination leads her to devise, and have made, an ingenious whipping bench that renders her victim totally helpless, bottom presented for punishment, while allowing enough freedom of movement for her to delight in watching his bottom wriggle, weave, clench and unclench, as she decorates it with her canes. I’d love a whipping bench like this, but I don’t have a secret basement to hide it. Karla does. Details of how the whipping bench works, along with another punishment structure Karla commissions, will be in the book, along with detailed descriptions of the delicious thrashings she administers in her punishment chamber.

While I don’t have the resources of Karla, I do have her imagination, and I have a large selection of canes, whips, tawses and hairbrushes. I also have a partner, Robert, who’s bottom needs regular chastisement, so I don’t feel in the least bit hard done by. My latest fun game with Robert has been to hold a quiz night, where I ask him general knowledge questions and he get punished for each wrong answer. Here’s how it works:
GENERAL KNOWLEDGE QUIZ
(Robert to be secured over the whipping bench, naked)

ROUND ONE:

4 Questions.

2 strokes for each wrong answer, and 4 strokes for the last question plus 4 strokes with each or any implements not yet used.

Toss 8 sided dice after each wrong answer to decide on implement:

1 – 2 = Hellstrap (my short, heavy, two tailed tawse)
3 – 4 = Hairbrush
5 – 6 = Lochgelly Tawse
7 – 8 = Senior Cane
ROUND TWO:

As round one, except increase strokes to 6 for the first three wrong answers.

The penalty for getting the final question wrong is 12 strokes with an implement chosen by the dice, plus penalties, but first he is to receive 6 strokes with each implement that otherwise will not feature in round two.

We’ve tried this quiz, or variants of it, a few times now, and Robert has always ended up with a very sore and colourful bottom. Obviously, as it is I who chooses the questions, they are suitably hard. In fact, I don’t think he’s got a single one right yet.