ONE CANING CERTAINLY WASN’T ENOUGH

Perhaps I should remind you of my blog of a few days ago: To celebrate the publishing of my latest short story ‘ONE CANING IS NEVER ENOUGH’, I thought it would be appropriate to visit a nice restaurant for lunch with Robert. I had the fun idea of giving six of the best across the seat of his trousers before we left, so he would have a nice, sore bottom to sit on while we enjoyed lunch, as a constant reminder that he would receive a dozen of the very best on the bare bottom when we returned.

I decided to use my favourite senior cane and to cane him in the lounge. I waited until the very last moment before we were due to leave for the restaurant before producing the cane. He probably thought I’d forgotten.

“Close the curtains, please, Robert, then bend over the back of the settee,” I instructed him.

He drew the curtains shut then bent over as instructed. As the fabric of his thin trousers tautened across his buttocks, I stepped forward to pull the rear of his shirt out from the waist of his trousers, just in case they offered extra protection.

“Chin on the seat, please, Robert, and toes on the floor.”

Robert lowered his torso so his chin touched the seat, causing the fabric of his trousers to tauten further as his bottom elevated. It was an excellent position for a caning as I would be able to cane from above, so gravity would add to the energy of the cane.

“Six strokes, Robert,” I said, as I tapped his upturned bottom with the cane, “To be taken in complete silence and without moving out of position. Is that quite clear?”

“Yes, Miss,” he whispered.

I delivered all six strokes with as much venom as possible, each biting into his trousered bottom with a beautiful, resounding ‘crack’, I thought I heard a gasp as the final stroke coaxed a little dust from his trousers.

I know his body language intimately, and I could see they really hurt him. He made to get up.

“I have not given you permission to rise, Robert,” I said, quite sternly, “and you failed to take the caning in silence. The caning will be repeated.”

I was quite sure I heard him groan as he lowered himself back into position.

“Plus an extra three strokes for groaning,” I said, as the cane tapped his bottom.

He managed to take nine further, blisteringly hard strokes. He had tears in his eyes and was shaking a little, when I gave him permission to rise. He wiped his eyes, and a few minutes later we were on our way.

“Don’t forget, Robert,” I reminded him, as the car pulled away. “You will receive a dozen of the very best on the bare as soon as we get back.”

Lunch was delightful, but neither of us consumed alcohol. I never drink and cane, and I certainly wasn’t going to allow Robert any anaesthetic value that alcohol might offer. I loved sitting opposite him, knowing that his bottom must have been throbbing and how much he must have been dreading the caning on the bare that was coming. Robert was dragging his feet as we made our way back to the car. It was just a ten minute drive home. His caning on the bare was imminent.

“Trouser and pants down, Robert,” I said as soon as we were home. “Then back in position over the back of the settee, chin on the seat.

I picked up the senior cane, flexing it impatiently.

As Robert peeled down his underpants, I caught my first sight of the marks from his earlier caning. The weals were impressive indeed. He looked very sore – perfect!

“Don’t forget, Robert,” I said as the cane tapped his upturned bottom, “Complete silence and stay in position.”

As I raised the cane, I was absolutely determined to make him howl. A Dozen strokes, I decided, wasn’t enough. I had to coax some reaction from him. This seemed to give me added strength. The cane strokes were venomously hard and quite brisk. Many bit deep into already sore weals.

I was too much for poor Robert! At stroke eight, he leapt up, gasping, clutching his burning bottom. I was delighted. It took me several minutes to get him back over the arm of the settee to resume the caning. Twice more he jumped up, howling and clutching his hands to his bottom. This would never do!

“You have totally failed to take your caning as instructed, Robert,” I said, as he cowered in front of me, still clutching his bottom, “So now, instead of relaxing after lunch, I will have to spend a good part of the afternoon punishing you. Assemble the whipping bench at once.”

For a moment, he looked as if he might argue, but thought better of it.

While Robert assembled the bench in the punishment room, I checked to see if there was any feedback from the publication of the latest book.

Fifteen minutes later, Robert was strapped down over the bench, bare, wealed, bottom perfectly presented for the cane.

“Obviously, Robert,” I said, as I took my position to his left and placed the cane across his bottom cheeks, “I will repeat the twelve strokes you so pathetically failed to take while not restrained. This time you have no choice. In addition, I am adding another six each for moving out of position a further two times. So that makes twenty-four.”

He was whimpering with dread, now.

“But there is more,” I said. His whimpering stopped. I had his full attention. “I’ve just checked my feedback. There are two spelling mistakes in my latest book. Mistakes that you should have corrected. I will add six strokes for each, making thirty-six strokes in all.”

The whimpering and sobbing intensified.

Robert howled and shrieked through all thirty-six strokes. I can’t remember the last time I had caned him so severely. The weals were a joy to behold.

“One caning is never enough, is it Robert?” I said, as I began to unbuckle his restraints.

I’ve at last finished writing my new book, “Theatre of Correction”, it just needs to be checked for errors by Robert. It’s taken a little longer than usual because I had ideas for two short stories while I was working on it, so broke off to write those. So I now have three new books to publish, the first of which, “One Caning is Never Enough” is published today.

To celebrate publication, Robert and I will dine out and I’ve decided to make the experience a little more exciting for him. I normally cane only on the bare bottom, but today will be an exception. Before we leave for the restaurant, Robert will be required to bend over for six of the very best with my senior cane across the seat of his trousers. He must take all six in silence and without moving out of position. If he fails I will repeat all six. We will then leave for the restaurant. He will sit through his meal on his sore bottom in the knowledge that, when we get home, he will receive twelve of the very best on the bare bottom. The same, ultra-strict rules on fuss will apply. That should spice up his dinner. I’ll let you know how we get on.

“Theatre of Correction” and the other shorts story, as yet untitled, will be published shortly.

TIMED TAWSING, THEN THE CANE

This morning Robert ‘enjoyed’ a second appointment with my hellstrap (my new thick, heavy, short, but flexible, bespoke, tawse). He spent exactly one minute in hell and he claims it was the longest minute of his life.

I’ve been working out at the gym at least three times a week recently, so I’m extremely fit. My tawsing technique has improved considerably, and my new hellstrap is superb. I’d given Robert 24 hours notice of his punishment – I usually do this, so he has the opportunity to contemplate his fate. I told him that I would be using the hellstrap and that he would be thrashed far more severely than his first taste of it because he had made far too much fuss.

It’s strange how moods change – sometimes I’m in the mood to thrash Robert, and other time I’m REALLY in the mood to thrash him. Robert can tell when the latter is the case from the glint in my eye. And so was the case this morning. He was physically shaking with fear as I guided him over the whipping bench. I placed a rolled up pillow under his hips to raise his bottom a little higher than usual, then tightened a sturdy leather strap over the small of his back to keep his back hollowed. This had the effect of spreading his bottom cheeks and keeping his bottom cleft humiliatingly exposed. His thighs, ankles, shoulders, arms and wrists were all tightly strapped down. The embrace of the whipping bench was complete. Robert was totally helpless and his bare bottom was raised and gaping, perfectly presented for punishment. Although I was aching to take the hellstrap to his offered flesh, I had a few things to say to him:

“This is going to be far more severe than the last time I used the hellstrap on you, Robert. This time I am gong to thrash you for a full minute. The strokes will be administered as hard as possible and as briskly as possible. There will be no mercy. You are being punished for making too much fuss last time. I expect you to take your punishment in total silence and without fuss. Failure to comply will result in penalty strokes, and if you make as much fuss as you did last time I will repeat the entire punishment. Is that quite clear?”

It is unusual for Robert to panic at such an early stage, but to my delight, he did, and began to plead for mercy.

“Please Miss, I beg you, not so much. I really won’t be able to take it. I beg you, PLEASE”.

This was wonderful. Trying to contain my excitement, I answered coolly:

“Now you know very well, Robert, that begging for mercy is strictly forbidden, so I will now give you a choice. You can either accept your punishment now, I have increased it to 1 minute 20 seconds, and ask for it, OR, you can continue pleading for mercy, in which case I will double it to a full 2 minutes. What is your choice?”

“I’ll accept the 1 minute and 20 seconds, Miss,” he whimpered.

“Ask for your punishment, Robert. Tell me that you deserve to be punished severely. Ask me to thrash you as hard as possible.”

In a faltering voice, he managed to find the words.

“I deserve to be severely punished, Miss. Please thrash me as hard as possible.”

“It will be my pleasure, Robert,” I whispered.

I use a kitchen timer for timed punishments. I set it to 1 minute and 30 seconds, giving me an additional 10 seconds to get started, then picked up the hellstrap. A ‘beep’ signalled to Robert that the timer had started. He braced himself, with a sob, as I took my position to his left, then raised the hellstrap.

“CRACK”

His body froze as the first stroke bit in, then went into convulsions as the second overlaid it. It was one of the most delicious thrashings I have administered. Robert writhed and shrieked his way trough the entire minute and a half. He strained so hard in his attempts to weave and clench his bottom cheeks, causing the joints of the whipping bench to creak, but his bottom remained gaping open and perfectly presented for the hellstrap. His desperate protests merely encouraging me to thrash him harder and harder. Towards the end his shrieking became so shrill and loud, that I did fleetingly worry about disturbing the neighbours.

It’s a good job I work out at the gym. A minute and a half of thrashing a bottom at that intensity is hard work. I was quite breathless as I laid down the hellstrap. Robert’s shrieking faded into sobbing and he was trembling. His entire body was glistening with sweat from his fruitless efforts to escape the clutch of my whipping bench. I almost felt sorry for him, as I picked up my dragon cane.

“You know the rules, Robert. Punishment must be taken in silence. I would hardly call that silence.”

Robert said nothing, wisely, but he was shaking his head in despair as he continued to sob.

“Twenty-four of the very best,” I announced

Although Robert’s bottom cleft was almost purple, and his left bottom cheek was bright red, his right cheek was almost unscathed, This was perfect as the cane would discharge most of its energy here. I raised the cane, and as Robert howled, I decorated his his bottom with another twenty-four vivid weals, then added a further six for the fuss he made during that.

Robert could hardly walk when I eventually released him from the whipping bench, and as I write he is holding a pack of frozen peas against his burning flesh.

 

WHIPPING BENCH UPGRADE THEN A SPELL IN HELL

 

I remain delighted and excited by the results I achieved with my new tawse, christened by Robert, ‘The Hellstrap’. He has mentioned a few times since that the thrashing he received with it was like stepping into hell. It was absolutely delicious to watch him writhing and squealing as I soundly tawsed his wildly weaving, bare bottom with my new hellstrap. I can’t wait to repeat it, but with improvements. Although the thrashing was exquisite, it was far too brief. You might be surprised to learn that it lasted no more than 15 – 20 seconds, but in that time I probably managed about 20 absolutely scorching strokes, aimed so the tawse tips bit deep into his bottom cleft. The problem was the restraining straps. For the first time I began to have concerns as to whether they were strong enough to hold him in place. You may remember me mentioning previously that the whipping bench is of my own design, and that the restraints are secure enough to hold down an angry elephant, but after his last thrashing I do wonder if it’s secure enough to keep Robert firmly ‘in hell’ as he enjoys the vigorous attention of my hellstrap. His bottom was able to weave around too much for my liking, as he managed to find superhuman strength in his futile fight to wrench it out of the reach of my eagerly applied tawse. Although it was absolutely delicious to observe his frantic and hopeless efforts to escape, I have to stop his bottom weaving quite so much as it risks spoiling my aim. I want ALL of my strokes to bite in where intended, not just most of them. I do not compromise on matters like this.

When I was a professional disciplinarian, I would routinely tawse and cane several bare bottoms each day, but now, because I only punish Robert, and each time he generally takes several weeks to recover, I treasure each of his trips over my whipping bench. It seems only right to make each thrashing really special, so I put quite some time and effort into preparation. Of course, Robert does get very nervous when he is witness to my meticulous attention to detail when planning for his punishments. At every stage of the preparation I ask myself; ‘What can I do to make the punishment even more agonising?’ And ‘How can I make sure he can’t escape?’ It is the second question that I am addressing currently. I’m quite sure I already know how to make his next appointment with my hellstrap even more agonising – I will use the same technique of applying it to his bare bottom as hard as possible and as briskly as possible, in exactly the same spot, but for a longer period – perhaps 30 seconds, or even a whole minute. Then, if I still have the energy, I might repeat it on another part of his bottom or inner thigh. Being right handed, my favourite spots to aim for when using a tawse are his bottom cleft, the top of his right thigh, just where it meets his right buttock, and his inner left thigh (the tails, being flexible, curl in beautifully here). The great thing about aiming for these particularly sensitive areas is that a reasonable part of his bottom, and especially his right cheek, will remain almost unscathed, so I could follow up the tawsing with a nice, hard caning.

Back to my main concern, keeping his bottom firmly in place. I’m happy with a limited amount of writhing, but not so much that it in any way spoils my aim. I also must make quite sure he doesn’t have any opportunity to clench his bottom cheeks to protect the sensitive flesh in his bottom cleft. I need to experiment with additional restraints. His ability to move needs to be restricted considerably. I’m very happy for his feet to weave about, grasping pointlessly at the air, and I’m happy for his head to shake and gyrate, in fact I adore these futile signs of desperation and agony, and it encourages me to thrash him harder still, but his gaping bottom must remain exactly where I want it – a static target, perfectly presented for punishment. I will experiment with additional restraints over the next week.

 

I’m also planning to attempt some left handed tawsings and canings. I’ve never tried this, but mastering it will enable me to decorate Robert’s bottom with symmetrical weals. I’ll report on how I progress.

 

Does Robert know what I have planned for him, you may wonder? Yes he does, because I make Robert spell and grammar check all my blogs and books before publishing, so by the time you read this he will either be anticipating his forthcoming spell in hell, or will be nursing a very sore bottom.

 

In the meantime, my writing is going well and my new book, which I’m thinking of calling ‘Theatre of Correction’ is well under way. The sales of my existing books continue to delight. ‘The Landlady’s Punishment Book’ is my current best seller on Kindle. I may consider a sequel.

 

WEAR & TEAR & A NEW TAWSE

As regular readers of my blog are aware, my partner, Robert, receives regular thrashings across his bare bottom with my wonderful selection of canes and tawses, and it does take its toll. He’s never released from the whipping bench without first having his bottom decorated with vivid weals, but within a few weeks he’s usually recovered enough for another roasting.

The same, however, cannot be said about the floor covering in the punishment room. The whipping bench is always carefully located in the same spot, where it gives me maximum room to swing my implements of correction. This, of course, means that I always stand on the same spot of carpet. There is now a distinct worn patch, evidence of many canings and tawsings. The carpet will need to replaced and I will also buy a rug to place over the wear spot. Problem solved.

I’m very pleased with my most recent acquisition, another tawse. This is a bespoke model, made to my specification. Robert made the mistake of mentioning to me that one of the most agonising thrashings are those where strokes are applied to the same spot, briskly (and obviously, hard – I only do hard). At 43cm (17”) long, this tawse is considerably shorter than my Lochgelly tawses, but it is thick (8mm), and made of dense,heavy, leather, so it has real ‘bite’. Its size allows me to administer strokes considerably faster than usual, and its shorter length makes it easy to make sure strokes land exactly where I intend. Although heavy, there is enough flexibility in the tawse to mould to the curve of Robert’s bottom cheeks, so the painful tawse tips can search out all those sensitive spots. I tried it out on Robert’s gaping bare bottom this morning. I aimed a series of brisk, and very hard strokes so that the tawse tips bit into his bottom cleft again and again, in exactly the same spot. My goodness, what a fuss he made! I don’t think I’ve ever seen him wriggle so violently. The restraints, held him, so despite all the squealing and writhing, I was able to continue the tawsing uninterrupted, but I did have some concerns that he might wriggle enough to spoil my aim. He was in a state of shock when I eventually released him, and he said the build up of agony was of an intensity that was absolutely unbearable. He’s christened my new tawse ‘THEHELLSTRAP’, named after a particularly severe tawse that features in one of my stories. I like that name, so that is what it I will call it from now on

As you may be aware, Robert is always under strict instructions to take his punishment without fuss and in silence. He failed in this responsibility totally this morning, so he is in serious trouble. As soon as the angry weals on his bottom have faded he is going back over the whipping bench for another taste of ‘THE HELLSTRAP’. This time I will double up on the restraining straps to make sure his bottom can’t weave around so much as I thrash it. If he thought today’s thrashing was unbearable, I’m curious to know how he will describe the next one. What he received this morning will seem like a stroll in the park compared to what I have planned for him.

PRACTICE MAKES PERFECT

 

If I do say so myself, I believe I’m quite proficient with the cane. I’ve administered countless canings to many bottoms over the years and it now takes only me a few strokes to get the feel of any cane and get into ‘the swing of things’. My preference is to cane hard and I like to exceed pain thresholds so I can delight in the recipients reaction as they fail to cope with the agony. I only cane one bottom now – Robert’s. He has a very high pain threshold, so I have to work quite hard to breach it – I generally do, so he is always restrained.

The tawse is another matter. I’ve been using a variety of tawses for many years, and, as Roberts confirms, I’m getting pretty good at administering the tawse, but I still feel there is room for improvement. So more practice is needed, and that’s what I did today. Robert was informed of my intentions yesterday and was instructed to prepare the punishment room to be ready by 10.00am this morning. It takes him about half an hour to assemble the whipping bench and arrange my implements and restraining straps ready for use.

The whipping bench, as many of you will remember, is a converted, very sturdy, coffee table, and having used it for a few years, I have to say that I’m very pleased with it. I don’t have to worry about hiding it when we have visitors, as I did when I used a professional whipping bench. With the addition of two substantial wooden beams bolted at low level to either side of the table, extending at one end to support a kneeling platform, the conversion is complete. The business end of the whipping bench is raised by placing it on blocks, so Robert’s bottom is raised to a more convenient height for me to thrash. He is secured with heavy leather straps that keep his knees well apart, one strapped to each rear leg of the ‘bench’, while his torso is held down onto the sloping top of the bench by a strap that passes over the small of his back and under the top of the bench. His wrists are cuffed, then padlocked to rope loops attached to the front of the wooden side beams. Once restrained, Robert’s gaping bottom is perfectly presented for punishment. It’s impossible for him to clench his bottom cheeks and attempts to escape are utterly futile (that doesn’t stop him trying, though). I do, however, allow him the luxury of wearing a protective thong when I tawse him, to keep his ‘bits’ safe.

As I picked up my extra heavy Lochgelly tawse, I was pleased that the weather has cooled recently. When I tawse Robert I have to wear protective clothing – leather boots, long skirt, long leather gloves. Stray strokes are always possible and I have to be confident that my own delicate flesh is protected before I have the confidence to tawse Robert with maximum severity. I can get uncomfortably hot wearing all that protective clothing in warm weather while administering energetic tawsings.

Sometimes I like to keep Robert in ignorance and suspense, but today, as it was just a practise, I decided to tell him exactly what I had planned for him: My intention was to hone my skills, using two tawses. The objective was to cause maximum agony in three areas:

The top of his right thigh, using the XH Lochgelly tawse.

The top of his left thigh, using a lovely little heavy rubber tawse.

The sensitive area between his bottom cheek, using the XH Lochgelly tawse again (This requires a very skilful, ‘wrap around’ stroke, causing the tawse tails to follow the contour of the left buttock and the tawse tips to accelerate into the bottom cleft – absolutely delicious when one gets it right).

The good thing about aiming for these three areas, I explained to Robert, as he began to tremble in anticipation of the agony to come (lovely!), is that his right bottom cheek should remain unscathed, and so in a good state to conclude with a penalty caning, should the need arise.

The idea of concluding with a penalty caning was quite appealing, so I informed Robert that I expected him to accept his tawsings in total silence – failure to comply would result in six strokes of the cane for each offence.

It was time to begin. He took the first three strokes aimed at the top of his right thigh surprisingly well. I was a little disappointed. I could tell from his body language that he was struggling to cope with the nasty little rubber tawse as I cracked it down across the top of his left thigh, but although he began to struggle and there were sharp intakes of breath, he managed to keep his vocal chords under control. However, as the second stroke aimed into his bottom cleft bit in, I scored my first penalty. Every now and then I’m able to achieve that near perfect stroke – hard, accurate and where the leather lands flat with a satisfyingly sharp ‘CRACK’. It had him howling and his body went into a frenzy of desperate struggling. He was still howling as stroke three bit deep into his bottom cleft. He went berserk – wonderful!

“I’ll count that as just one penalty point, Robert,” I said, when he had quietened down, “Although I would be quite justified in calling it two penalty points. I suggest you try to keep control of yourself. I’ve only just begun. Do remember that each penalty point earns six of the best with the cane.”

I decided to administer six strokes of the tawse to each area next. They were a little harder, and to his credit, Robert showed early signs of heeding my advice. Although his body shuddered and tensed, and he hissed in air to his lungs, he managed to stay relatively quiet. That is until the tawse began to explore his bottom cleft again. I had to award a further two penalty points.

“Now, Robert,” I said, tawse in hand, as I prepared to conclude the practise, “You will need to exercise as much self control as you can during the final tawsings. I will conclude with a dozen strokes to each area. These will be the hardest of all and I expect them to be taken in complete silence”.

Robert was physically shaking with fear as I raised the tawse. The door bell rang.

Ordinarily, I would probably have ignored it, but I was expecting delivery of a new implement called a ‘priest strap’ (more about that later). It would need a signature, so I had to take off my gloves, leave Robert shut in the punishment room, while I answered the door. It was Julia, one of my neighbours, returning a cake decorating fondant mould I had loaned her. She was very excited about the cake she had just made and wanted to talk about it, so I invited her in for tea. If she wondered why I was wearing long leather boots and a long leather skirt, she said nothing.

It was forty-five minutes before I got back to Robert. My word, his weals had matured to a nice colour! His left bottom cheek was an angry red, ans the top of his thighs and bottom cleft were a mixture of red and purple weals. He looked very sore indeed, and we weren’t even half way through. The next thirty-six would be interesting.

“Remember Robert,” I said, as I picked up the tawse, “In complete silence.”

He tried so hard, but it was inevitable that he would fail. In the end it was difficult to tell when one shriek ended and the next began. I’ve warned him countless times that shrieking and pleading for mercy is counter productive – it simply encourages me to thrash him harder still. He never learns.

I gave Robert a few minutes to compose himself after his final thirty-six with the tawse, before announcing that he would receive a penalty caning of thirty-six strokes. I administered them immediately with maximum severity using a dragon cane.

I cleaned Robert and the cane up with surgical spirit, before releasing him and leaving him to clean the blood speckles off the ceiling.

I feel satisfied that my tawsing continues to improve. The final thirty-six included a few real gems – strokes that really ‘hit the sweet spot’. The sound of leather cracking down on bare flesh with the report of a firecracker is blissful, and the resultant squealing and writhing of the recipient is a joy to behold. If only I could achieve 100% perfect strokes. The practice must continue.

The door bell rang again. My priest strap had arrived. What a shame I will have to wait for Robert to recover before I can fully test it.