NEW WHIPPING FRAME

As you may have gathered, I adore the corrective properties of the tawse, and I’m going through a tawsing phase at the moment. I’ve been reacquainting myself with the blissful sound of the heavy leather tails of a flexible tawse biting deep into the yielding flesh of a bare bottom – that sharp ‘CRACK’ that confirms the stroke was excruciating, confirmed a second later by the body language of the recipient. The inspiration has come from my latest book, as yet with no title, but largely complete and awaiting proof reading and correcting. The book has been written under my new pen name, Amanda Barrington, and is written from the disciplinarian’s perspective, in this case a Miss Martha Downton.

Martha plans to administer the most excruciating punishment to an unsuspecting, but fully deserving male. This leads her to develop a simple whipping frame that will present her recipients bare bottom in the perfect position to apply the tawse, and keep it there, no matter how unbearable the pain is. She wants her recipient’s bottom raised and gaping, so that the tawse can be applied from above. This has three advantages:
1. It means that the force of gravity is added to the momentum applied by her arm.
2. The strokes can be applied from both sides, ensuring that the tawse can reach all areas.
3. The enforced gaping ensures that the painful tawse tips can reach into the bottom cleft, thus ensuring maximum levels of agony are achieved.

Although my books are fiction, I do like to research implements, equipment and techniques before putting them into print. The whipping frame was no exception. When Martha came up with the idea of a whipping frame that could be used with the recipient laying face down on a bed, with his bottom presented in the required gaping position and rendered totally unable to clench his bottom cheeks, or escape, I decided to instruct Robert to make one.

The construction was easy and testing has been a joy. The frame consists of two sturdy wooden members placed lengthways on a bed, about three feet apart with two cross members bolted to them. We used 3” x 2” timber. The hips rest over the top of the central member, which is raised by spacers, and the knees hook under the second, lower member. Ankles and knees are strapped to the side members, wrists are cuffed behind his back and kept well up by locking them to a strap around his neck (so he can’t reach down to protect his bottom). A heavy leather strap encompassing the small of his back and the frame, keeps his back down low, hollowed, so his bottom pushed up high with cheeks gaping open. I place a few pillows under his hips for his comfort (also raising his hips a little higher). In this position he is utterly helpless and his bottom remains perfectly presented for the tawse come what may. I do, however, permit Robert to wear a protective thong, to protect his ‘bits’.

My preferred tawse for this position is the short, heavy two tailed tawse I call my ‘hellstrap’. It’s heavy enough to bite deep in deep, flexible enough to curl around his bottom cheeks, and short enough to be wielded from above without risk of hitting the ceiling. By placing the whipping frame in the centre of the bed, I can apply strokes from either side.

Robert foolishly let slip some time ago that he finds the tawse particularly agonising when applied to the same area, briskly, so my favoured technique is to apply about four strokes, slowly, aiming the strokes so the tawse will curl around the nearest bottom cheek, sending the painful tips to search out the sensitive flesh of his exposed bottom cleft. This method, when perfected, causes the tawse tips to accelerate into the target area. Four strokes is usually enough for me to fine tune my aim and adjust my footing. When I am happy with my accuracy, I move up a gear to administer between six and a dozen strokes, now briskly and very hard. The whole procedure can then be repeated from the other side.

Robert finds this so unbearably agonising that his shrieking actually descends into a strange gurgling noise. Wonderful. Despite his frantic efforts to clench his bottom cheeks, his bottom remains perfectly presented throughout, gaping up at me, as if to say ‘PLEASE TAWSE ME HARDER’.

Robert is quite a seasoned recipient, and he usually takes punishment well, but using this particular method of tawsing him seems to overwhelm his self-control. He’s forbidden to plead for mercy, of course. That’s one of my golden rules. But earlier today, after the first brisk dozen, there was an awful lot of frantic pleading for mercy as I changed my position to tawse him from the other side. His pleas, of course, were totally futile, merely acting as an encouragement to thrash him yet harder. In addition, his pleading earned him penalty strokes. Will he never learn? Apparently not. Never mind.

Although the whipping frame was constructed and used primarily for research, I’ve enjoyed tawsing Robert over it so much that I will now utilise it regularly. It takes apart in a few minutes to become a few innocent pieces of wood and a few bolts. Very useful for storing in a domestic environment.

I’ve had Robert make up a sketch to show the whipping frame’s simplicity. See below. Click on picture for larger image.

TAWSE TEST RESULTS

Robert’s test results were very disappointing. He had ample opportunity to revise, but for reasons best known to himself, chose not to. In consequence, he is now nursing a very hot and sore bottom with a bag of frozen peas. The test questions, with correct answers were as follows:
1. From where does the name the name ‘tawse’ derive?
A. From the Scottish name for curing hide – Tawing.

2. Name the most famous tawse?
A. Lochgelly.

3. Name the Scottish gentleman, born in 1882, who began producing the Lochgelly tawse in 1924?
A. George Wilson Dick.

4. Apart from tawses and other leather products, including, harness, footballs and hand bags, what other trade did this gentleman engage in.
A. Coachbuilding – lorries, vans and shooting brakes.

5. Name the son who took over the business in 1950?
A. John Dick.

6. The Lochgelly tawse is usually stamped with an abbreviation of its weight. Name them?
A. L, M, H, XH (light, medium, heavy, extra heavy).

7. What factor, in one year, contributed to a fifty percent increase in the sales of tawses to schools in Scotland?
A. Raising of the school leaving age.

8. The tawse was traditionally applied to the palm of the hand. How and where, does Annie Bee prefer to administer it?
A. Always hard. Always on the bare. Never less than a dozen strokes.

9. Which weight of tawse should be used by Annie Bee to correct wrong answers to this test?
A. XH (extra heavy).

10. Do you consider six strokes for each wrong answer sufficient? Explain your answer?
A. No. In the case of only one wrong answer, then six is clearly not sufficient because Annie Bee is quite clear the punishment should be Always hard. Always on the bare. Never less than a dozen strokes.

It is easier to list the questions Robert got right: 2, 5, 6. His remaining seven answers were incorrect, so his sentence was 6 x 7 = 42 strokes with the extra heavy Lochgelly. However, he didn’t go over the whipping bench willingly, so I increased his tawsing to 60 strokes.

There was an awful lots of writhing and squealing as I began to enthusiastically decorate his deserving bare bottom, so I concluded with a dozen penalty strokes with the dragon cane. The tawsing and caning were both very hard and merciless – delicious!

I’ve given a new cover to one of my short story, ‘AN APPOINTMENT WITH MISS ANNIE BEE’ : http://www.anniebeebooks.com/id8.html
I hope you like it.

TAWSE TEST

As you may have gathered, the cane rules in our house. I have never found any implement that has quite the same delicious combination of qualities. I love the feel of a flexible, swishy cane. I love the sound as it whistles through the air, followed by the sharp ‘CRACK’ as it bites into the flesh of a presented bare bottom. Most of all, I adore the reaction it coaxes from the recipient, especially when applied hard. The writhing and squealing as the agony sinks in is a joy to behold.

However, the tawse is a close second. They come in a multitude of weights and sizes and can range from mild to very severe. It will come as no surprise that I like the very severe ones. My interest in the tawse has led me to read something of its history, and I thought it might be fun for Robert and I to carry out some research together. I decided to set him the task of learning as much as he could about the tawse, while I did the same. Then I would set him a test of ten questions. The test would be conducted in examination conditions and anything less than ten out of ten would result in strokes of the tawse. I told him each wrong answer could earn him six strokes with my favourite tawse, hard, on the bare bottom.

Here’s the test I set Robert. Why not try it yourself to see how many strokes you deserve:
(answers in a few days)
1. From where does the name the name ‘tawse’ derive?
2. Name the most famous tawse?
3. Name the Scottish gentleman, born in 1882, who began producing this tawse in 1924?
4. Apart from tawses and other leather products, including, harness, footballs and hand bags, what other trade did this gentleman engage in.
5. Name the son who took over the business in 1950?
6. This tawse is usually stamped with an abbreviation of its weight. Name them?
7. What factor, in one year, contributed to a fifty percent increase in the sales of tawses to schools in Scotland?
8. The tawse was traditionally applied to the palm of the hand. How and where, does Annie Bee prefer to administer it?
9. Which weight of tawse should be used by Annie Bee to correct wrong answers to this test?
10. Do you consider six strokes for each wrong answer sufficient? Explain your answer?

Robert’s results, alas, were disappointing. He’d had ample opportunity to prepare for this test, but for reasons best known to himself, had chosen to skimp.

“You are the architect of your own destiny, Robert,” I said, with a sigh, as I tightened the restraints that secured him to the whipping bench, rendering his exposed bare bottom perfectly presented for the tawse.

“I think the extra heavy Lochgelly tawse is the appropriate choice for your correction today, Robert,” I explained, as I sat down to calculate how many strokes he had earned for his wrong answers.

I will publish Robert’s test results and subsequent punishment in a few days, together with the correct answers to the test.
In the meantime, do please cast your vote in my six of the best caning competition. Voting is open until the end of this month (May 2014).
Details here: http://www.anniebeebooks.com/id9.html

 

HOW HOT WITH A HAIRBRUSH?

Very hot indeed, Robert assures me. He is, of course, referring to the heat I recently generated with my lovely, hard, wooden hairbrush, when applied with vigour to his bare bottom.

One of the stories I am currently writing features the hairbrush as the favoured implement of discipline by Mrs Jepsom. Mrs Jepsom likes to administer the hairbrush hard, frequently, and on the bare bottom. She also discovers the delight of hair-brushing a wet, bare bottom. To find out more you will need to read my book (to be published soon).

I like to live the life of my heroine’s where I can. I need to get into their minds, and what better way to do that than to take Robert over my knee and administer a scorching hair-brushing to his squirming bare bottom.

I’ve found, in the past, that he is able to wriggle around too much when I’m blistering his bottom with a hairbrush, and whilst this is a delight to behold, it can become tiresome if it interrupts the punishment.

This time, I tried a new approach. I fitted leather cuffs to his wrists before hauling him, naked, over my lap. Each cuff is fitted with a sturdy metal ring, and with the additional aid of a length of rope, I secured his wrists behind the back of his knees. This rendered him helpless, well bent over, with his bare bottom perfectly presented for the hair brush.

I do have plenty of energy, and I think Robert would agree. I subjected his bare bottom cheeks to a deliciously energetic spanking. He gasped and writhed and squealed, as my brush cracked down hard across every part of his churning bottom cheeks. It was wonderful to watch the colours mature into a deep purple. I’ve no idea how many strokes he endured, suffice to say that I lost count at fifty. We were both breathless by the time I released him and allowed him to slip off my lap onto the floor.

As Robert remained on his knees, clutching his burning bottom, whimpering, I stood to take a look at myself in the mirror. My face was flushed from the exertion and excitement. My efforts had also left my hair a little de-shelved, so I brushed it. I smiled to myself as I realised that in all the years I had owned this beautiful brush, it had never before been used for brushing hair.

I plan to publish my book featuring Mrs Jepsom’s hairbrush soon. However, I am also writing another book under my pen-name of Amanda Barrington. Her first book, ‘Theatre of Correction’ has been extremely popular, and this may well be published first (after Robert has checked it for errors – he better not miss any this time!).

Finally, entries for my 2014 Six of the Best Caning Competition have now closed. The entries can be found by logging into FetLife: https://fetlife.com/users/1266528

My name on this site is ABee

To vote, find my profile, click on ‘view pics’ (under the picture of me caning Robert), then ‘love’ your favourite picture. The winning entry will be decided by the picture that receives the most loves by the end of this month (May).

Robert should be fit for another caning by the end of the month, so I thought it would be fun to try replicating the six cane marks of the winning entry on his bottom – then fill in all the gaps, of course.

PUNISHMENT BOOK ENTRIES DISCHARGED & A GHOST STORY

Robert’s tawsing was successfully administered yesterday, and he now has a VERY sore bottom. As it was to be a particularly severe tawsing, I gave him 48 hours formal notice, informing him at what hour he must have the whipping bench prepared, and at what time the first stroke would be administered. I placed my extra heavy Lochgelly tawse in water the night before, to give it more weight (more bite). I realise, of course, that this may shorten the life of the tawse, but I can buy another if this one loses any severity.

Robert has been so well behaved since I made my entry in the punishment book, so I have had no reason to add to the 36 stroke sentence – a shame. He was very quiet the night before sentence was due to be carried out. I noticed him glancing at the clock. I imagine he was counting the hours and minutes before the first stroke would bite hard into his bare bottom. After I had dropped the tawse into the filled sink in the utility room, I made a point of asking him to check if we needed any more dishwasher tablets, as I was making a shopping list for the following day. I did this deliberately, because we keep the tablets in the utility room and I wanted to make sure he knew the tawse was being prepared for his punishment. His face was a picture when he came back. Delightful! I love watching his mental torment prior to a thrashing. I gave him a knowing smile. Nothing was said.

I didn’t need to say anything the following morning either. He knows only too well that I am always eager to add strokes to a punishment, so at an hour before the appointed time he dutifully began to assemble the whipping bench in the punishment room. At five minutes before the hour, I entered the punishment room, with the soaked tawse, now transferred to a washing up bowl filled with water. I’d decided to keep the tawse wet throughout, so I would immerse it back into water after every six strokes. Robert was standing next to the whipping bench, naked, apart from his protective thong, his head bowed. He looked briefly at the tawse, still in water, then shuddered.

“Place yourself over the whipping bench, Robert”, I ordered.

He looked just for the briefest moment into my eyes. It was a joy to see the fear there.

Within a few seconds he was obediently in position, so I began the task of strapping him into place with the numerous leather restraining straps. I tightened them a little more than usual. I wanted his bottom as stationary as possible and I wanted to make it impossible to clench his bottom cheeks.

The whipping bench is designed to keep his bare bottom presented exactly as I like it – upturned, with the bottom cleft exposed, and legs spread apart to give me access to his sensitive inner thighs. The restraints are far more robust than they need to be to make absolutely sure he is unable to wriggle his bottom out of the path of my implements of correction, no matter how desperately he tries. The thong is substantial and padded, to keep his ‘bits’ safe. This is important, as it allows me to curl the tawse into the most sensitive parts with reckless enthusiasm.

“My word, this tawse feels heavy!” I said, as I lifted it from the water and shook the excess off. “Prepare yourself for thirty-six of the very best.”

Robert actually squeaked with fear as I slapped the heavy, cold, wet tawse across his bare bottom in preparation to administer the first stroke.

“It’s two minutes to the hour, Robert,” I said, “but I think I’ll make a start. The strokes will be in batches of six. I’ll give the tawse a dip in the water between batches to replenish any lost weight. Sorry the water’s so cold, I should have been more thoughtful and used warm water. Mind you, I don’t think you will be complaining about lack of heat.”

For some reason, Robert didn’t appear to be amused by my little joke. No matter, it simply gave me even more reason to make the tawsing as hard as possible.

For this thrashing I was wearing long leather boots and long leather gloves to protect me from any wild strokes that might glance off or flip back. Stray strokes have caused me some discomfort in the past and I didn’t want anything to deter me from putting absolutely everything into each stroke.
When I raised the tawse over my shoulder, the additional weight actually propelled the twin tails to kiss my own bottom. I made a mental note to wear a leather skirt for the next ‘wet’ tawsing.

CRACK!

The tawse bit savagely into his offered bottom with the most delightful sound I have ever achieved with a tawse. It must have been because I had soaked it. The effect on Robert was spectacular. I have rarely had him writhing and shrieking so energetically after just one stroke. This was wonderful, and encouraged me to make stroke two even harder. I would just have to put up with the tawse occasionally slapping my own bottom, and the damp patch that was forming on the back of my cotton skirt.

After Robert had gurgled, screamed, pleaded and writhed his way through the first six strokes he was treated to a short break while I immersed the tawse back in the water. The strokes so far had been across the centre of his bottom and it was already displaying a vivid red band, turning purple, with some particularly angry spots on his right bottom cheek, where the tawse tips had bitten in.
The next six were what I call ‘wrap-around’ strokes. Totally ignoring his frantic pleading, I shook excess water off the dripping tawse, then took a position closer to his head. This allowed me to curl the tawse around his left bottom cheek, causing the heavy, wet tawse tips to accelerate into his bottom cleft. This is excruciating, and Robert’s reaction confirmed it. I had to pause for a few moments after just two strokes because Robert was using almost superhuman strength in an attempt to spoil my aim by wiggling his bottom from side to side. I dropped the tawse back in the water, while I tightened the restraining straps by another notch.

“Those two didn’t count, Robert.” I said, as I picked up the tawse again.

The symphony of shrieking that filled the room was blissful as the tawse tips found the most deliciously sensitive parts of his bottom.
The remainder of the thrashing was completed quite quickly because I had some concerns that the tightness of the restraining straps might be restricting his circulation. I still replenished the tawse with water every six strokes, however.

The next six strokes were ‘cracking’. They put some beautiful weals into his left inner thigh. I did have some concerns that he might be damaging his vocal chords, but not enough concern to moderate my strokes.

The next six were aimed so the tips bit into the crease between his right buttock and the top of his right thigh.

During the final two sets of six I amused myself aiming for any white spots that remained visible in my target area – there weren’t many.
I almost had to ‘peel’ Robert off the whipping bench when it was over. He was dripping with sweat from his futile efforts to escape. My own bottom was quite wet and a little sore from the the numerous slaps it had received from the tails of the dripping tawse.
I hope the tawse recovers – I do fear the soaking and drying out will cause it to become brittle.

Robert is currently nursing his blazing bottom with a bag of frozen peas. It will take quite some time to recover from this particularly enjoyable tawsing, so I will have to amuse myself completing a story I am working on.

I don’t spend all my time punishing Robert. One of our pleasures is visiting the treasures English history has to offer. We recently visited Ham House in Richmond, on the river Thames, and we learned that the building was reputed to be haunted by a Duchess. As we toured this beautiful house, soaking up the atmosphere, my imagination was conjuring up some delicious images of ghosts and birchings. The result is a short ghost story set in a, Victorian house. Not as grand as Ham House, but sharing that haunted atmosphere, Pike Hill House hides secrets of past birchings, until they are unlocked by a young man researching his family tree.

I had fun writing this story which I have called “Victorian Birching” and I hope you enjoy it too: http://anniebeebooks.com/id8.html

THE WEEK OF THE TAWSE

The tawse will feature in my world for two reasons this week:

First, I am revamping some of my earlier book covers, and this week I have turned my attention to “TAILS OF THE TAWSE”. I published this a few years ago and it tells the tale of the erotic adventures of Penny. Her experiences at the hands of the mysterious and sadistic Miss X are both sensual and painful. When the tawse is brought into play, the agony escalates. More details here: http://anniebeebooks.com/id1.html

The second way the tawse will feature is Robert’s tawsing. As readers of my last blog will know, I have placed an entry in my punishment book sentencing Robert to thirty-six strokes with my extra heavy Lochgelly tawse. I have put him on notice that the sentence will be discharged in the next seven days. He hates this tawse, and I love it. Needless to say, he will be securely restrained over the whipping bench for punishment. Strokes will be administered to his bare bottom as hard as possible (I only do hard). There will be no mercy, no matter how much he pleads (I don’t do mercy either). Robert is on his best behaviour at the moment as he knows I will be delighted to add strokes to his total for the slightest reason. I’ll report on his tawsing when it has been administered. I may soak the tawse in water to give it more bite.

I’ve started receiving entries for my six of the best caning competition. All friends of mine on FetLife are welcome to enter. The closing date for entries will be 30th April 2014 and the winner will be announced on 14th May. More details here: http://www.anniebeebooks.com/id9.html

I hope you enjoy your week as much as I intent to enjoy mine. Now, where’s that extra heavy Lochgelly tawse?

CANING COMPETITION & PUNISHMENT BOOK

A week after Robert’s last caning, and his bottom is still sporting vivid crimson and purple cane marks. My goodness, that was a delicious caning! The trouble is, his bottom will now need several weeks to recover before it will be fit for punishment again. This is a shame because not only am I in the mood to thrash him again but he deserves one.

I’m always grateful to readers for pointing out spelling and grammar mistakes in my books, and it was recently pointed out to me by a reader that one of my earlier books, published in 2011, had several mistakes. Robert is responsible for spell checking, so he is in trouble. I have now corrected the errors and while at it, given the book a fresh cover and shortened the rather long title; ‘THE RECLUSIVE SISTERS’ SECRET CANING REGIME’ is now called ‘SECRET CANING REGIME’.

I hope you like the new cover: http://www.anniebeebooks.com/id1.html

Obviously, Robert deserves to be thrashed for his part in these errors, but as he is not fit for punishment, I have made an entry in the punishment book. He will be tawsed with my extra-heavy Lochgelly tawse just as soon as I deem him fit. Thirty-six strokes across the bare bottom, so he had better behave himself in the meantime, or I will be delighted to add to this.

You may be aware that I’m organising another caning competition on FetLife. The results will be placed on my FetLife picture page. The competition is open to anybody who is a friend of mine on FetLife (I’m known as ABee on FetLife). More details here: https://fetlife.com/groups/367/group_posts/5120281

I’ll report on Robert’s next tawsing and the results of the caning competition in due course, and if anybody buying a copy of ‘SECRET CANING REGIME’ from today manages to find any spelling or grammatical mistakes, do please let me know. I will add strokes to Robert’s tawsing and make corrections.

I am currently working on two stories.

NEW CANE

I have a good collection of canes, but they do need replacing occasionally, especially when they are used with enthusiasm, as mine are. I love buying new canes because, being a natural product, no two are going to be exactly the same, so a new one might turn into a favourite.

I recently bought another senior cane. These tend to be my standard implement of correction. I reserve dragon canes for very severe canings. I’m always a little anxious when ordering canes because there’s always the possibility of the order going astray. I wouldn’t, for example, want a cane left with a neighbour if it was delivered while we were out. They may wonder what was in the package and take a look if the wrapping was at all loose. For this reason, I paid extra for a guaranteed, next day, morning delivery.

It’s a bore having to stay in to wait for deliveries, so I thought I’d make it more fun. Although Robert was still quite well-marked from his recent hairbrushing and caning, I decided to add some spice to the waiting by informing him that I would cane him with the new cane the instant it arrived.

“So, Robert,” I informed him, “When you hear the door bell, I expect you to present your bare bottom for the cane within a minute.”

To make it more fun, I added a guessing game. I instructed him to guess how many strokes I planned to give him, then write it on a piece of paper. I made it easy for him by telling him that it would probably be either six, or twelve of the best. I would also write down my chosen figure. Both our figures would remain face down on the table, with neither of us knowing what the other had written, until he was bent over with his bare bottom presented. If, when I revealed the two totals, they were both the same, then that would be the number of strokes he would get. If, however, they differed, he would receive the two totals added together.

I decided he would remain unrestrained for this caning, for a change. It would be a good test for his self-control. I would expect him to take the caning without moving out of position and without fuss. Any failing on his part would result in the whipping bench being deployed and the number of strokes doubled.

As the morning dragged on, and the cane had still not arrived, and as I observed Robert nervously glancing out of the front window to see if a delivery van was outside, my resolve to do all I could to break his self-control became irresistible. I did my best to appear relaxed, but inside I was becoming almost desperate to have Robert dancing around the room, clutching his burning bottom. Just the excuse I would need to strap him down over the whipping bench and give him the caning of his life.

I was beginning to think we would be let down, but just before noon the door bell rang. Robert shot me a nervous look as he must has seen my face light up with delight. It was indeed my new cane.

“If you’re not bent over the back of that armchair with your bare bottom presented for the cane by the time I have unwrapped this cane, Robert, you will receive double the strokes.”

He knows I always carry out my threats, so his bottom was presented within seconds.

I unwrapped the cane and it was beautiful. About 10mm diameter and 80cm long, it had plenty weight and was quite flexible. With good wrist action (which I have) this cane would bite nicely into Robert’s bare bottom. I gave it a few swishes through the air. It sounded and felt perfect.

“Oh dear Robert,” I said, as I turned over the two pieces of paper on the table, “You guessed twelve strokes and I wrote six, so you will receive eighteen.”

Robert didn’t look too happy, but wisely said nothing.

“In silence and stay in position,” I instructed, as I took my position to his left then measured the cane across his bare bottom cheeks.

I was absolutely determined to break his self-control. After a few taps, I raised the cane then brought it down as hard as I possibly could. The cane whistled down and bit into his offered cheeks with a glorious CRACK.

Robert gasped, but stayed down. I put even more venom into the next. He still stayed down, but made a whimpering sound, and his legs began to tremble. The third stroke was fabulous. It bit into the crease between his buttocks and the tops of his thighs. There was a muffled cry as he threw his head back, but he managed to stay down – just. I could sense I had him, though, and the next stroke was a masterpiece. It bit exactly into the line of fire from the previous stroke.

It was too much for poor Robert. He shrieked and leapt to his feet, eyes bulging, with both hands clasping his burning bottom. I was delighted! It had taken just four strokes.

“What do you think of the new cane, Robert?”

“It’s excruciating,” he whimpered, still clutching his burning bottom.

“Excellent,” I said, checking my watch, “I’d like the whipping bench ready in ten minutes. The caning has now doubled to thirty-six strokes and I will add another six for each minute you are late.”

I should explain, here, that our whipping bench spends most of its life as a coffee table and it usually takes him about fifteen minutes to convert it.

It was quite amusing to watch him assemble it in panic mode, naked from the waist down. He almost made it, but not quite. He ran over by twenty seconds.

“Just think, Robert,” I said, cheerfully, as I strapped him down over the whipping bench, “That’s forty-two strokes, plus the four you’ve already had. That means that the new cane will have bitten into your bottom forty-six times before its even been out of the box for half and hour. I think that’s a record.”

Robert didn’t seem impressed.

“Might as well round it up to fifty,” I said, as I secured the final restraining strap and picked up the cane.

It was going to be a very hard caning. I was in just the mood. Today, however, I wasn’t in the mood to listen to him begging for mercy, so I fitted the ball gag. Just thirty minutes ago, I thought, as I raised the cane, Robert was almost certainly hoping he’d get away with six of the best. Now the number had risen to fifty.

SWISH – CRACK!

“Life is full of nice surprises, isn’t it, Robert?”

He probably didn’t know, and didn’t care what I was talking about.

SWISH – CRACK!

Muffled screaming accompanied the wonderful sound of rattan biting deep into bare flesh.

I love my new cane.

Other news: My new short story, Spanking Rendezvous, has just been published. It tells the story of a young man who discovers he has to cope with an all female class on an adult education course. A steep and painful learning curve awaits him. More details here: http://www.anniebeebooks.com/id1.html

My last book, Caned at the Mill, featured the hairbrush. It fitted the story well as it is an effective implement that can be found, innocently, in many houses. I’ve been so busy with my canes, tawses and the birch in recent years, that my hairbrushes have been neglected. I decided it would be nice to reacquaint myself with them – or more accurately, reacquaint Robert’s bare bottom.

One hairbrush I own is particularly lovely – oval, on the large side, made of dense, smooth wood, and best of all, heavy. I know from experience that when applied briskly, in the same place, the hairbrush is excruciating.

“It’s for research, Robert,” I explained, as I propelled him, trousers and pants down, over my lap. “I want to see if I can hold you in position while I administer a really blistering hair-brushing.”

I was sitting on the settee and I sat slightly sideways, so Robert was able to rest his upper body on the settee seat next to me. I hitched up my skirt then scissored his legs between mine, while grasping his wrists and pushing them into the small of his back with my left hand.

“Now Robert. Let’s see how long I can keep you in place.”

I tightened my grip on his legs and wrists, then picked up the hairbrush. There were no preliminaries. I set about his bare bottom with enthusiasm. The plan was to crack the brush down six times across one cheek, then six on the other, then repeat this pattern, hard and brisk, until he wriggled free, or I was exhausted.

He was squealing after just twelve, then when the hairbrush began it’s second set of six on his left bottom cheek, it became too much for him. He wriggled free and ended up on the floor, on his knees, clutching his burning bottom with both hands. His face was contorted in agony.

“I suppose that’s why we have a whipping bench, Robert. Assemble it please. I haven’t finished.”

Robert looked quite desperate as he remained on his knees clutching his burning bottom. He really didn’t want any more with that nasty hairbrush.

“At once, Robert. I want is ready, with you over it in fifteen minutes. You have thirty-six strokes with the hairbrush remaining. If you aren’t ready I’ll double it.”

That seemed to do the trick. As he scampered out of the lounge I noted with amusement that the red markings on each bottom cheek now resembled red halos. I wondered what his bottom would look like after another thirty-six. I glanced at my watch and went to the kitchen to make myself a cup of Earl Grey.

My word! How he squealed as I administered the thirty-six about twenty minutes later. The restraints of the whipping bench kept his bottom cheeks perfectly presented, so there were no interruptions. The strokes were harder too, as the position allowed me a better swing. The halos, however, had almost disappeared, hidden in two skies of purple, but fringed with red.

“Can you describe the pain, Robert. I need a colourful description for my writing.” I asked, when he had quietened down a little.

I won’t repeat the expletives he came out with, suffice to say he found it excruciating and his foul language earned him another dozen.

As Robert’s breathing began to return to normal, I looked thoughtfully at the marks on his bottom. Something was missing. The circles needed something to make them more interesting – some lines. Of course! Robert’s bottom was crying out for a good, hard, caning.

“Oh no! Please no!” said Robert, as I approached him with the dragon cane.

Robert obviously thought he had had enough. I didn’t.

The wonderful sounds of rattan biting into bare flesh, accompanied by the hissing and squealing of a man in agony, filled the room. Wonderful. As much as I enjoyed applying the hairbrush, I think the cane is still my favourite.

When not thrashing Robert, I’ve been busy writing. I’ve recently published a new book called ‘Theatre of Correction’ http://anniebeebooks.com/id1.html. It’s written from from the perspective of lady who enjoys administering punishments and so is a change from my normal style. For that reason, I written it under the pen name of Amanda Barrington, but if you enjoy Annie Bee’s books, I think you might like this. Constructive feedback is welcome on anniebeebooks@hotmail.com

I’m also currently writing two other stories, to be published soon. I’ll have plenty of time, alas, because Robert’s bottom will need several weeks to recover. I did get rather carried away with my dragon cane.

TROUBLE AT MILL EARNS PUNISHMENT BOOK ENTRY

Robert and I visited a restored corn mill recently. I was captivated by the sounds of the water gushing through the sluice gates, the creaking of the old timbers and the grinding of the millstone, as the powerful waterwheel turned. What a delightful place to administer a caning, I thought to myself. My imagination sprang to life, and the result is a new short story, published today, called ‘CANED AT THE MILL’.

As we left the mill, we paused to browse in the gift shop. Robert noticed that they sold wholemeal flour that had been milled on the premises. They sold bags of various sizes, right up to 10kg. Robert does like to make the odd loaf in our bread machine.

“Shall I buy a 10kg bag?” he suggested.

“I really do think that’s too big, Robert,” I advised, “We should make sure we like it before we buy such a large amount.”

Robert foolishly chose to ignore my advice. He bought a 10kg bag.

“Tell me, Robert,” I said, as we left the mill. “Why do you bother asking my advice if you then ignore it?”

When we arrived home, I read the label on the flour packaging for the first time.

“I thought bread flour is usually labelled ‘strong’ flour, Robert,” I said. “This isn’t.”

“Oh…well, it will probably be OK,” he replied, sounding decidedly unsure of himself.

“It had better be,” I warned, “Against my advice you bought the biggest bag they had.”

Robert’s face was a picture as he later prized an inedible brick like object from the bread machine. Even the birds in the garden turned their beaks up at it.

“That’s going in the punishment book, Robert.” I said, as he cleaned the bread machine.

Unfortunately, he is still too badly bruised and marked from his last caning, so his punishment will have to wait. I think I’ll add six strokes a week interest.

See my website for details of all my books: http://anniebeebooks.com/id1.html