AbouteBookseBooks - Short StoriesNotes on DisciplineBlogSpanking GamesFree StoriesFAQsLinks
 

     
 

**IMPORTANT INFORMATION**

My latest blog entries listed below can now be found on Wordpress:

 
 

anniebeebooks.wordpress.com

 

.

 

.

 

 

April 21st 2017 - MASKED AND MERCILESS

March 30th 2017 - INSPIRED CANING & TAWSING

January 27th 2017 - BEGGING FOR MERCY - MY ATTITUDE

December 24th 2016 - HONING HELLSTRAP SKILLS

November 4th 2016 - THIS WIPED THE SMILE OFF HIS FACE

March 13th 2016 - DANCING UNDER THE CANE

December 16th 2015 - CHRISTENING MY WHIP

December 3rd 2015 - VINTAGE WHIP

October 8th 2015 - PERFECT STROKES

August 22nd 2015 - TESTING NEW CANES

July 21st 2015 - PICNIC PUNISHMENT

June 28th 2015 - AN EXERCISE IN MEMORY IMPROVEMENT

June 15th 2015 - TIME TO BRUSH UP ON HAIRBRUSHING

May 9th 2015 - READING THE SIGNS

March 13th 2015 - TIME TO SWING THE TAWSE

January 23rd 2015 - 2015 IS OFF TO AN EXCELLENT START

January 12th 2015 - ANOTHER YEAR OF PUNISHMENT AHEAD

November 24th 2014 - WHEEL OF MISFORTUNE

November 8th 2014 - NEW CANES

October 27th 2014 - LESSONS IN SELF-DISCIPLINE

October 9th 2014 - ROBERT FACES THE MUSIC

August 18th 2014 - A VERY TESTING TIME FOR ROBERT

August 7th 2014 - I WILL WIPE THAT SMILE FROM HIS FACE

July 21st 2014 - DANCING TO THE TUNE OF THE TAWSE

July 14th 2014 - SENTENCE CARRIED OUT

July 11th 2014 - BACK TO THE CANE

June 16th 2014 - NEW WHIPPING FRAME

June 2nd 2014 - TAWSE TEST RESULTS

May 26th 2014 - TAWSE TEST

May 15th 2014 - HOW HOT WITH A HAIRBRUSH?

April 3rd 2014 - PUNISHMENT BOOK ENTRIES DISCHARGED & A GHOST STORY

March 23rd 2014 - THE WEEK OF THE TAWSE

March 15th 2014 - CANING COMPETITION & PUNISHMENT BOOK

March 7th 2014 - NEW CANE

February 26th 2014 - REACQUAINTING ROBERT'S BARE BOTTOM WITH THE HAIRBRUSH

January 22nd 2014 - TROUBLE AT MILL EARNS PUNISHMENT BOOK ENTRY

January 15th 2014 - ONE CANING CERTAINLY WAS NOT ENOUGH

January 11th 2014 - ONE CANING IS NEVER ENOUGH

December 11th 2013 - TIMED TAWSING, THEN THE CANE

November 27th 2013 - WHIPPING BENCH UPGRADE THEN A SPELL IN HELL

 
 
Blog Archives:

17th July 2013

A PERFECT PAIR ON THE BARE

It sounds quite undemanding, doesn't it? I'm sure that's what Robert thought as I was securing him over the whipping bench yesterday. For the first time in several years I had a totally unmarked bare bottom to deal with. I'd managed to resist the temptation to thrash him for about two months. Now it was time to redecorate his unblemished and deserving buttocks.

"It's not going to be as easy as you think, Robert," I warned him, as I tightened the last of the restraining straps, leaving his gaping bare bottom perfectly presented for punishment.

"Perfect," I continued, as I picked up my extra heavy, two tailed Lochgelly tawse, "means that I will discount any stroke that is not VERY HARD. I will discount any stroke that is not totally accurate. I will also discount any stroke that does not result in a satisfyingly sharp 'CRACK'. Believe me, Robert, that is a rare stroke indeed. I will not compromise. To achieve two perfect strokes in succession will be a considerable challenge - but it is a challenge I accept. Do you have anything to say before I continue, Robert?"

He took some time to reply. Perhaps he was still digesting what this meant for him, and was coming to the conclusion that he was in for the tawsing of his life.
"No Miss," he replied in a trembling voice, eventually, just before I was about to administer six strokes to hurry him up.
"Good," I said. "I'd like you to participate in the decision making, Robert, and as the recipient of the strokes, you are in an excellent position to judge when I have achieved a perfect pair on the bare. All you need do is announce "A PERFECT PAIR, MISS," when you judge me to have delivered just that, then our game will end and I will release you. Does that sound reasonable?"

"Yes Miss," he agreed at once.

"Of course,"I added, "There is always a chance that when you do announce "A PERFECT PAIR, MISS", that I will not agree with you. What do you think we should do then, Robert?"

"I don't know, Miss", he replied, uneasily.

"Well we don't want you making hasty decisions, do we, Robert? We need to be sure that you aren't too generous with your judgement of my standard of tawsing. I think we need to give you some real incentive to only judge strokes perfect that really are perfect. That makes sense, doesn't it, Robert?"

"Yes, Miss."

It's funny that he always agrees with me when he is strapped over the whipping bench with his bare bottom presented for punishment and with me standing over him with a cane or tawse.

"I know," I said, after a few moments pondering the problem, "If you announce "A PERFECT PAIR, MISS", and I don't agree, I will immediately administer another six strokes - that's for a first offence. A second offence would be nine strokes, a third offence would be a dozen. Isn't that a brilliant idea, Robert?"
"Yes, Miss," he agreed miserably.

"Good. Then we can begin."

I was looking forward to this immensely. At last, a blank canvas to decorate. I took up my position to Robert's left and gently laid the tawse across the lower part of his bottom, just where the his buttocks meet with the tops of his thighs (a very sensitive spot). I wanted Robert to be aware that I wanted the tips of my beautiful tawse to bite hard into the very top of his right thigh. I watched his body tense as I raised the tawse.

CRACK! CRACK!

Robert hissed with the pain, but wisely said nothing. He knew only too well that, although they must have been excruciating, I was capably of much better. And he was right. They should have been harder, the second stroke was a little lower than the first, and neither stroke made contact with that really satisfying, sharp, CRACK that might be confused with a pistol shot. I decided to aim for exactly the same spot for my next pair.

CRACK! CRACK!

Much better! Robert's reaction confirmed it. As the second stroke bit into exactly the same spot as the first, Robert yelped. His body language was a delight.

"A PERFECT PAIR, MISS", he gasped.

"That's nonsense, Robert," I scolded him "You know very well they were nowhere near perfect."

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

I think Robert was beginning to get the idea, now. I set my standards high - obviously much higher than he sets his.

My tawse strokes gradually improved and the leather tails steadily bit deeper into his burning flesh, but Robert twice more made premature judgements, earning nine and twelve strokes respectively, but eventually I administered two real scorchers and Robert, after he had finished shrieking, called it correctly.

He'd received a total of fifty-seven strokes with the tawse. I thought he'd made rather too much fuss, though, and he agreed with me (as I stood over him with my dragon cane) so I administered twenty-four of the very best with the cane, followed by another dozen for making even more fuss. Robert's a wonderfully slow learner.

 

24th April 2013

YOU GET OUT WHAT YOU PUT IN

I was quite in the mood for a game of "PAIRS" yesterday. As I've mentioned before, "PAIRS" is a favourite. Without going into all the detail, that game goes like this: With Robert strapped down over the whipping bench, I place a tray in front of him with 20 - 30 playing cards on it. Robert is instructed to choose two cards for me to turn. If the two cards make a pair, they are removed from the tray. If they don't, he receives a hard stroke with my extra heavy, Lochgelly tawse, and the two cards are turned face down again. He is then invited to choose another two cards to turn - same rules apply.

There are exceptions: If one card of an unmatched pair is an Ace, I administer three strokes with the tawse. If a Joker is part of an unmatched pair I administer six strokes.

The game continues like this, with Robert desperately trying to remember where all the cards are while I decorate his upturned bare bottom with the tawse, until he declares that he thinks there are no more pairs to find. I then turn all the remaining cards face up. There are always a few pairs that he has missed, as well as some unpaired cards (inevitable with an incomplete pack).

For each pair he has missed he received six strokes of the cane. For a pair of missed Aces he receives twelve strokes and if his misses the pair of jokers, he receives eighteen strokes. In addition to this, he receives six strokes for any card that I think has remained unturned throughout the game. There are other draconian rules I usually impose that I won't detail here, each resulting in more strokes of the cane. The final caning is administered with maximum severity and with no pauses.

Yesterday, as the game got underway, it soon became apparent that Robert was getting off too lightly. For some reason his memory appeared to be sharper than usual and he was also enjoying considerable luck with his choices. They do say that when things are going well you should keep quiet about it. Robert would do well to remember this. Although he wasn't actually boasting about how well he was doing, his body language said it all. He was beginning to relax and choosing his cards with an air of confidence. I had to put a stop to it.

"Robert," I said, half way through the game, "I've been meaning to update the rules and I expect you to adhere to for some time. I think now might be a good time to do it. I'll be back shortly."

I left Robert secured, with his red glowing bare bottom pointing skyward, brewed myself a cup of Earl Grey tea, then went to my study. I was no no hurry, Robert wasn't going anywhere.

I spend a good thirty minutes revising the rules that Robert must comply with while being punished. I also took the opportunity to revise the associated penalties. Robert's cockiness seemed to have deserted him when I joined him back in the punishment room.

"I'm sure you'll approve, Robert," I said, placing a piece of paper entitled "REVISED RULES & PENALTIES" on top of the half finished card game in front of him. "I'll just make myself comfortable, then you can read them to me. I want to have them all firmly fixed in my mind before we continue the game."

I made myself comfortable in a chair positioned so I could look at Roberts gaping, expectant, bare bottom, while he read.

"You may begin, Robert," I said.

In a faltering voice, Robert began to read.

"From the very moment the restraints are in place, right up until you decide to release me, I can be awarded penalties. They will be discharged immediately after the game of pairs and associated tawsings are complete.

For each infringement I will be awarded a penalty of between two penalty points for the most trivial, up to twelve penalty points for something serious. Each penalty point is worth a minimum of one hard stroke of the tawse and 1 hard stroke of the cane, or any variation of this that you choose..

You have the freedom to award penalties in the most draconian manner and for the slightest infringement. Any infringement, however trivial, can be awarded penalty points. If you suspect I am playing to any system I should expect penalty points to be added, and this is NOT a trivial infringement. You can engineer penalty points if you feel like having more fun. At any time in the game game you can order strokes to be taken in TOTAL SILENCE, obviously the slightest noise will attract penalties.

You may ask me awkward questions, such as: Was that hard enough? Was that accurate? Do you think I'm being too lenient with my penalty points? If my answer is in any way not to your pleasing, I will have more penalty points added.

You may even award penalty points if I fail to ask for a weak stroke to be repeated, harder.

Penalty points can also be added for any demonstration of poor play, taking too long to choose cards, too much fuss/noise or any other reason you see fit. Penalties MUST be accepted gratefully. Any pleading for mercy or crying out or protest of any kind will result in severe penalties.

I must never question any decision you make, however harsh or unfair. To do so will incur severe penalties".

As I sat, looking at the bare bottom that was presented for me to thrash, listening to Robert obediently recite the revised rules, I became intoxicated by the power I had over him. He was totally at my mercy. I could do whatever I wanted, thrash him as severely as I wished, and there was nothing he could do about it. He would take it, no matter how unbearable.

He sounded far less confident now.

"I noticed you seemed to have the hint of a question in your voice, Robert, when you read the bit about being awarded up to twelve penalty points for serious infringements. Am I to take it that you are questioning my new rules?"

"No Miss," he replied at once.

"Well I'm not convinced," I replied. "You have just earned six penalty points for questioning my rules plus a further six for being dishonest. Now, I'd like to hear you read the rules again. This time without the questioning tone in your voice."

As Robert read them again, I was pleased to note that he now sounded terrified. As I listened to the draconian rules, with my eyes fixed on his perfectly presented, helpless bare bottom, my desire to thrash him very severely became irresistible.

He was certainly not sounding smug as the game resumed. His first two choices each resulted in one stroke of the tawse each, which he managed to take well. However, his luck ran out on his third choice - an unmatched joker - six strokes. I was determined to capitalise on this.

"I want these six strokes taken in TOTAL silence, Robert. Apart from the sound of the tawse biting deep into your bare bottom, I don't want to hear a single sound. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Miss," he whimpered.

I took time to aim. I wanted the twin tails of the tawse to curl around his bottom, propelling the tips savagely into the crease between the bottom of his right buttock and the top of his thigh. I put every sinew of strength into the first stroke.

CRACK! It was spectacularly hard. I noted that, although Roberts body was reacting as if he had an electric current passing through him, he managed to keep quiet. Never mind, five more to go.

Stroke three resulted in a squeak and stroke six a scream. They must have been agonising beyond belief. I waited for a few moments for Robert's breathing to calm down before I spoke.

"Do you have anything you wish to say to me, Robert?"

"Sorry, Miss," he whimpered.

"And so you should be, I replied. You were instructed to remain silent. You disobeyed me, twice. I'm awarding you six penalty points for each offence. You now have a total of twenty-four penalty points. Do you have anything further to say?"

"No, Miss," he sobbed.

What a nice change from his cocky manner just thirty minutes earlier.

"You should have reported to me that the fifth stroke was unsatisfactory," I said quietly. "For that offence you have earned yet another six penalty points. I will also repeat all six strokes. You have another opportunity to take them in silence, Robert, and do make sure to report any sub-standard strokes this time."

Robert was shaking with terror as I raised the tawse. This was more like it.

Of course, he couldn't take it. After just three beautifully hard strokes he was shrieking.

"I think we will ave to abandon the game and go straight to discharging the penalties, Robert," I said, wearily, when his screaming had quietened down. "We'll be here all day otherwise."

He protested as I forced a ball gag into his mouth. He was shaking his head in disbelief when I informed him that he had earned a total of forty-two penalty points. Forty-two with the tawse plus forty-two with the cane.

They were applied with vigour. It was wonderful! His muffled screaming joined the methodical cracking of the tawse as it bit deep into his burning bottom. The whipping bench and leather restraining straps creaked as he struggled hopelessly to escape. Later the swish of the cane added yet another backdrop to his symphony of muffled screams.

I was quite elated as I put the cane down and admired his vividly decorated bottom. With a bit of effort and thought I had turned a quite mundane thrashing into something quite delightful.

I made myself another cup of Earl Grey before releasing him, then sat back in my chair to watch him clean the speckles of blood off the ceiling.


 
22nd March 2013

PAINLESS TAWSING

Robert says he knows when a thrashing from me is going to be particularly severe, even before the first stroke bites into his bare bottom. He says that if, after I have securely strapped him down over the whipping bench, I pick up the cane or tawse of choice, then put it down again so I can tighten all the leather restraining straps one more notch each, then he knows I have it in my mind to make him really squeal. He can read me like a book.

That's how I prepared to celebrate the completion of my latest book, 'The Strict Piano Teacher'. The book contains descriptions of some delightfully severe tawsings, so much so, that it had given me the appetite to administer the real thing on Robert. I can't help thinking that it's inappropriate to be excited by one's own writing, but I'll just have to live with this personality flaw.

“I'm just using the one tawse today, Robert,” I explained as I picked up my heavy, two tailed Lochgelly, “I'll start with a couple of dozen careful practice strokes, before administering the real thing.”

My objective was to use the practice strokes to perfect my 'wrap-around' strokes. To find the 'sweet spot', where the tawse curls around the left buttock causing the tawse tips to accelerate into the bare flesh just beyond with a sharp CRACK! As I've said before, the area around the bottom cleft and the top of the right thigh, just where it meets the buttock, are perfect targets for this type of stroke. You can always tell when you get it right: The reaction of the recipient, the delightful sound of leather on bare flesh, and the way the tawse seems to momentarily 'grip' as the recipient's bottom absorbs the considerable energy imparted by the tawse. Robert is unwise to shriek with agony when I find the 'sweet spot' as he knows only too well that this simply encourages me to thrash him harder. He never seems to learn.

I knew I was going to have fun when the very first stroke bit in beautifully and forced a loud gasp from Robert. His body tensed as he attempted to deal with the excruciating pain, and prepare himself for the next. I was able to bring the tawse down in exactly the same place – laying agony over agony. It was too much for poor Robert and he began his usual frenzied, but futile, struggle to escape his restraints while shrieking with agony. This is the bit I really love. With only two practice strokes I felt I had my eye in and I was ready to really thrash Robert, so I began in earnest. The strokes cracked down mercilessly for about two minutes. No part of Robert's bare, writhing bottom escaped the attention of my tawse. As the punishment continued, the strokes became harder and Robert's shrieking more shrill. It was bliss!

As I've said before, administering a severe tawsing can sometime be painful as the tawse can sometimes flick back, catching the administrator's arm, or following through and catch one's leg. I'd prepared well, with long leather gloves and long leather boots to protect me, the tawsing was painless. That gave me the confidence to put every sinew of strength into the strokes. Robert received the tawsing he so richly deserved.

I'll cane him next time.

Back to my book. Robert proof reads them before I publish, so I don't expect ANY errors. However, he has let some slip through in the past. Perhaps, if you do read my books and notice spelling or grammatical errors, you would be kind enough to let me know where the error is. I will correct it, then correct Robert.

 

11th March 2013

TIME FOR THE TAWSE, AGAIN

I have a few things to report: The 'SIX OF THE BEST CANING COMPETITION' I organised on 'Fetlife' is now over and I have awarded first, second and third places. The standard of caning was quite remarkable and photographs can be seen in the pictures attached to my profile on 'Fetlife' - I'm called ABee on this site. The winning entry is entry number three.

It was a fun competition and I may organize another when the various bottoms have had a chance to recover. I'm considering the idea of a 'FIVE BAR GATE' competition, where entrants will need to submit a photograph of a bottom that has received five parallel strokes and finished with one diagonal stroke aimed to cross them all. I believe this was a popular method of caning at some public schools in years gone by.

The other thing I have to report is that Robert has almost recovered from his Valentine's day caning, so he will soon be back over the whipping bench to have his cane and tawse marks replenished. Actually, I am quite in the mood to administer a blisteringly hard tawsing - inspired by my own latest book about a strict piano teacher. The tawse features quite extensively in parts of the story. I've even invented a Scottish character called Jock McCracken, a maker of judicial punishment tawses. He was infamous for his hostility to his competitor, John Dick, maker of the Lochgelly tawse, who he referred to as a 'purveyor of girl's tawses'.

Anyway, the book is written and just needs proof reading and a title. I hope to report soon on the publication of the book and the tawsing of Robert.

 

14th - 16th February 2013

VALENTINE'S DAY CANING

I'm a romantic at heart. I always like to remember birthdays, anniversaries and special occasions. Robert, on the other hand, always seems to forget. Never mind, his forgetfulness has its advantages:

Take last Thursday, for example - Valentine's Day. I really didn't think he'd forget after what happened last time he forgot. I had a warm glow inside me when I went to bed on Wednesday night because I knew the following day would be nice for me - either I received a card, or Robert would be caned. The prospect of either was lovely. However, something must have happened during my dreams, because when I woke on Thursday I really didn't want the card - I wanted to cane him, HARD.

Either he was putting on an excellent act, or he was completely oblivious to the fact that it was a special day. I managed to act as if nothing was on my mind until we had finished breakfast before I said anything.

"You do know what today is, Robert?" I said, as sweetly as possible.

I love watching his face when he realises he is about to be thrashed. He looked at his watch, saw it was the 14th, then I watched his brain recall that it was February, then realise he had forgotten Valentine's Day. He then looked at me in dread. This whole process happened faster than it's taken you to read it, but it's precious moments like this that I treasure.

"You know what to do," I said, smiling, "I'll be up in thirty minutes."

That's the advantage of having a full time partner to thrash. You don't need to explain things. Robert knew he was to be punished and that he was to assemble the whipping bench and that I would expect to find him naked, bent over it, ready to be secured, in half an hour. There is no way he would have forgotten how severely I caned him last time he forgot Valentine's Day, so he knew today would be worse.

Sometimes I'm in the mood to thrash a bare bottom, and other times I'm REALLY in the mood. The latter was the case today. Robert was in for a memorable caning. He could see it in my eyes. I could see the fear in his eyes. Wonderful!

Batches of fourteen I decided would be appropriate for a Valentine's Day caning, as I strapped him down to the bench, thirty minutes later.

"Do you remember what happened last time you forgot, Robert?" I asked, As I picked up a senior cane.

"Yes, Miss," he whimpered.

"Remind me," I ordered.

"You caned me, Miss," he said, voice quivering with fear, "You caned me really hard."

"Yes," I agreed, "I seem to remember it was quite hard."

I laid the cane gently across the centre of his helpless bare bottom. He flinched as he felt the rattan touch his exposed, expectant bare flesh.

"But it obviously was not hard enough, or you wouldn't have forgotten again. Batches of fourteen today, Robert."

Like many at this time of the year, I've been visiting the gym more frequently. My New Years resolution was to improve my fitness, and in particular the severity of my cane strokes. I told the instructor at the gym that I wanted him to set me up a program for me that would improve my tennis.

SWISH - CRACK!

As soon as I brought the cane down and saw, with delight, how deeply it bit into poor Roberts bare bottom cheeks, I knew my tennis serve would be better this year. Robert's gasp of agony confirmed that he would agree. Thirteen strokes to go (of this batch). I was going to enjoy this.

Robert was blubbering by stroke three. His body was writhing bizarrely, as he fought the inevitably futile battle with his restraints. By stroke six he was shrieking and I realised I should have fitted the gag - the pitiful noise is music to my ears, but I do worry about the neighbours. Never mind, the gag would have to wait until I had completed the first batch. How he howled!

I wasted no time in fitting the gag. Robert was whimpering and pleading for mercy. His body was already glistening with sweat from his struggles and the weals across his bottom were quite spectacular.

"You shouldn't have forgotten my card, Robert," I said in reply to his pleading, as I tightened the harness straps of his gag, and snuffed out any coherency to his desperate appeals.

Batch two: His muscles and tendons stood out like rods of steel as he fought frantically with the restraints, his muffled screams encouraging me to cane harder still. The cane was laying down a beautiful lattice of weals across his writhing bottom. The second batch of fourteen were over too soon and it was quite obvious that one more batch would be more than enough, so I continued with this immediately. In spite of all the hysterical fuss he was making, Robert must have been counting the strokes remaining in his head, because when I carried on past stroke fourteen to fifteen, his shrieking became more shrill. Wonderful!

Alas, too soon it was over. Breathless, I put down the cane and admired the glistening weals I had produced.

"Do you think you will remember my card next year, Robert?" I asked, as I removed his gag.

"Probably not," he replied.

I couldn't decide whether he was being flippant or truthful. Perhaps I should have refitted the gag and carried on, but it would have put him out of action for too long, so I gave him the benefit of the doubt. He's standing on a chair, naked, wiping speckles of blood off the ceiling as I write.

There is still time to enter my SIX OF THE BEST CANING COMPETITION on 'Fetlife'. If you wish to enter a photograph you can find details on 'Fetlife' in the 'CANING' group discussion. My user name is Abee. Last entry is 28th February.

I'm currently working on two more books:

The first is inspired by Robert - before he met me he had a piano teacher who caned him if he failed to progress. I think his piano playing actually deteriorated under her tuition, but no matter, she persevered. My new book will feature a strict piano teacher. Her pupil gets considerably more than he bargained for.

The second book will read almost like a manual aimed at relationships where corporal punishment is utilised for pleasure. I share some of my experience and offer advice. I will also detail some of the fun card and dice caning and tawsing games I have developed.

 

15th January 2013

I'VE ORGANISED A CANING COMPETITION

What fun it was! What a sore bottom Robert now has! Unfortunately, it will be weeks before he's fit for another thrashing. I decided to brighten the dull month of January by playing the card game "PAIRS" with him.

I'm currently compiling details of the card and dice games I play with Robert. They inevitably result in him having his bare bottom soundly caned or tawsed, or both. I may publish my work on this at a later date.

"PAIRS" is a favourite. Without going into all the detail, that game goes like this: With Robert strapped down over the whipping bench, I place a tray in front of him with 20 - 30 playing cards on it. Robert is instructed to choose two cards for me to turn. If the two cards make a pair, they are removed from the tray. If they don't, he receives a hard stroke with my extra heavy, Lochgelly tawse, and the two cards are turned face down again. He is then invited to choose another two cards to turn - same rules apply.

There are exceptions: If one card of an unmatched pair is an Ace, I administer three strokes with the tawse. If a Joker is part of an unmatched pair I administer six strokes.

The game continues like this, with Robert desperately trying to remember where all the cards are while I decorate his upturned bare bottom with the tawse, until he declares that he thinks there are no more pairs to find. I then turn all the remaining cards face up. There are always a few pairs that he has missed, as well as some unpaired cards (inevitable with an incomplete pack).


For each pair he has missed he received six strokes of the cane. For a pair of missed Aces he receives twelve strokes and if he misses the pair of jokers, he receives eighteen strokes. In addition to this, he receives six strokes for any card that I think has remained unturned throughout the game. There are other draconian rules I impose that I won't detail here, each resulting in more strokes of the cane. The final caning is administered with maximum severity and with no pauses - delightful!

Robert took a total of twenty-nine strokes of the tawse followed by thirty-eight strokes of the cane. I was a little unfair with him half way through the game - he annoyed me by choosing which cards to turn in a orderly sequence to avoid missing any, so I picked them all up, shuffled them and laid them in front of him again. That messed up his devious little plan.

While waiting for Robert's bottom to heal, I've had the fun idea of organising a global caning competition, where participants are invited to submit their best photograph of a bare bottom that has received six of the best with a cane. Full details are to be found on fetlife.com (see link to the right). Find the 'caning' group. The competition is called 'SIX OF THE BEST CANING COMPETITION'. I'm pleased with the international interest this is already receiving. The competition will conclude at the end of February. By that time Robert should be ready for my cane again. Might be a bit more than six of the best, though.

 

4th January 2013

JANUARY THRASHING

It's frosty this morning, below freezing outside. I think it's time to turn Robert's bottom into a furnace. I do participate a little in a few social networking sites. It appears that the English are not the only people who enjoy caning bare bottoms. It seems to be popular world wide. I've just added a lady from New Zealand as a 'friend' and her profile photographs of freshly caned bare bottoms has inspired me to thrash Robert again. The timing is perfect – he's just about recovered from his last caning, and I'd like to give him some nice vivid weals that will last right through to the new year. The caning will therefore need to be very hard. I'm also aware that he has not felt the kiss of the tawse for several weeks. I shall remedy that as well tomorrow. I will use my variety of tawses to search out all those sensitive areas that the cane can't reach, before I take the cane to him. I'll report on his thrashing shortly.

 

23rd November 2012

HAPPIER WITH THIS CANING

I woke up this morning with a real desire to cane Robert – HARD. I usually give him at least a day's notice, but the desire was too strong. It had to be today and it had to be hard, so Robert was instructed to assemble the whipping bench and lay out my array of canes almost as soon as we were up. By 10.00am he was securely strapped down over the bench with his quivering bare bottom pushed up and presenting an irresistible “PLEASE CANE ME HARD” invitation.

I decided to make it more fun for Robert by deciding the number of strokes with the toss of a dice. He was warned that they would all be very hard and with a nice heavy cane, but the number of strokes would range from twenty-four, if I tossed a “one”, right through to fifty strokes if I tossed a “six”.

I tossed the dice onto the floor in front of him and it rolled under the whipping bench.

“Tell me what the number is, Robert,” I instructed him, as I selected a nice heavy senior cane.

“I can't see it, Mistress,” he complained in a trembling voice.

I reached under the whipping bench to retrieve the dice, showing a “two”.

“I'm afraid it's a “six”, Robert,” I lied, retrieving the dice out of his sight. “Prepare yourself for fifty of the very best.”

It was a delicious caning! Robert squealed and struggled frantically as the cane bit deep into his offered, helpless bottom. Fifty strokes gives one the opportunity to get into a nice steady rhythm and to really get the feel of the cane. I was delighted to be able to progressively increase the venom of the strokes as the caning progressed. The desperate struggling and shrieking of Robert merely encouraging me to find ever more strength. All too soon it was over. You can see the finished result below. I'm already looking forward to his next thrashing.

My latest book, “BARED FOR THE BIRCH”, will be published within the next few days. I've discovered a nice application into which one can download the text of a book and it will throw the most commonly used words up into a colourful random pattern. The size of the words represent the frequency of use. The abstract display below give you some idea of the content of this latest book.

23rd October 2012

BIRCH RESEARCH PROGRESSES

I'm delighted to report that my arm is very much better, so the lack of angry weals across Robert's bottom is about to be remedied. He will receive his severest ever caning next week. The results will be photographed, and I hope some of them will be worthy of publishing on my website, perhaps by the end of next week.

In the meantime, I have taken a slight risk with my arm and Robert's bottom. I birched him yesterday. My latest book, featuring the birch, has been somewhat held up by my lack of experience with the birch. I've read many personal reports kindly sent to me by readers of my blog, but I needed to get the feel of the birch, listen to it whistle through the air, listen to it and crack down and bite into a bare bottom, watch the the response of the recipient. So I've taken a risk, and it's paid off - my arm still seems to be fine, I know a lot more about administering the birch, and Robert has had a taste of the corrective qualities of the birch. I thought I could risk just six, sound strokes, without risking enough damage to deem Robert unfit for next weeks caning. I'm pleased to report that, although he has some superficial marks, he will be fit for the cane next week. Robert heals quickly, thankfully.

I decided to have Robert make a birch up with just five switches, a mixture of hazel and apple, as I have access to both and I've read that both are suitable. I did find the hazel a little brittle, so I soaked the completed birch in water for twenty-four hours before strapping Robert over the whipping bench. The first thing I noticed was just how much heavier this implement is than the cane. My regular gym workouts have not been in vain. I also quickly realised that, even with just five switches, it's almost impossible to ensure that all five bite in nicely because some get in the way of others. I took time to orientate the birch to minimise this before commencing the birching in earnest. I like the whistle of the birch and the 'crack' as it impacts on a bare bottom is similar to that of a cane, although not quite so distinct because there are four or five impacts. I could tell from Robert's gasps that it was certainly effective - he later said it felt like six strokes of the cane at once. The real beauty of the birch is the fast build up of pain when the strokes are applied briskly. Because there are so many points of impact you can be quite certain to revisit already burning areas with successive strokes, overlaying agony with agony.

Robert received just six sound strokes with the birch, and by the sixth I could tell he was finding the birch excruciating. The birching of Robert remains an unfinished project, but I've learned enough to feature the birch in my latest book, and the damage to his bottom is quite minimal, so he will be fit for the caning of his life next week (I mean it, Robert - he reads my blogs).

 

 

 

16th October 2012

HE WILL PAY VERY DEARLY FOR THIS:
 
I have no idea how many times Robert has found himself at the mercy of my canes and tawses, strapped down to a whipping bench. Frequently he is punished because he deserves it and at other times he is punished just in case he deserves it. I've heard it said that you can't be punished for just thinking of doing something bad – Robert is.
 
I can now report that Robert is heading for the most severe thrashing he has ever received from me.
 
As you will be aware, if you have been following my blog, I had planned a few discipline related projects with Robert. My latest book will for the first time feature the birch and my birch research necessitates that I subject Robert to a sound bare bottom birching. I had also planned to complete a photographic caning project, so I could share with you the results of an enthusiastic caning of his naked rump. Both have had to be postponed, and it's entirely Robert's fault!
 
I'd been visiting friends for a few days and decided to travel by train. On my return I had instructed Robert to pick me up from the village railway station at 10.00pm. He fell asleep and failed to meet me. I had no signal on my mobile phone, so I had to walk all the way home with a very heavy suitcase, and pulled a muscle in my arm.
 
As I have mentioned before, I don't raise my voice, but I have to concede that I am inwardly seething. I will discharge this anger on his bare bottom just as soon as my arm is 100%. I haven't decided exactly what I will do yet, but it will be Robert's severest ever punishment, and I think he knows it.
 
I will report on Robert's overdue punishment just as soon as I have administered it.

 

 

10th September 2012

UNSCHEDULED TAWSING

It's not often that Robert makes me really angry, he learned long ago how unwise this is. However, he managed it a few days ago, and for that reason I have had to, unfortunately, delay the physical aspect of my planned birch research, and this in turn, will result in the delay of my next book and also in the delay of a caning I have been planning, where I will take high quality photographs of Robert's bottom after every twelve strokes of a very severe caning. This has obviously made me even angrier. A severe punishment was required, and I needed a familiar implement, the tawse, to make sure Robert was made fully aware of my displeasure. I reasoned that the tawse was the best compromise between delivering an excruciating punishment, while minimising the recovery time before I can embark on the birching and caning projects.

I don't raise my voice when I'm angry, but Robert knows me well enough and it only takes one look from me for him to sense the menace in me, so he was physically shaking when I ordered him over the whipping bench. I tightened the restraining straps tighter than usual as I didn't want his gaping bottom weaving around too much. I'd instructed him to wear his protective thong, so he knew the tawse would be in use.

"I shall leave you for a few minutes to reflect on why you are being punished today, Robert." I said, as I looked down at his trembling, offered bare bottom, "When I return I shall ask you how many strokes of the extra heavy Lochgelly tawse you think you deserve."

With that, I left the room to change into my long, heavy skirt, leather boots and long leather gloves - all needed to ensure the protection of my delicate skin from any stray strokes of the tawse I was about to roast Robert's bare bottom with. Robert hates it when I demand his opinion of how many strokes he deserves as he invariably gets it wrong, and this obviously results in additional strokes.

I'm sure I heard him squeak in terror as I returned to the punishment room some ten minutes later with the tawse, a ball gag, pen and paper. I usually enjoy listening to him shriek and beg for mercy, but I feared that today he might be so vocal that it may disturb the neighbours.

"How many strokes do you deserve, Robert?" I said quietly, as I closed the door behind me.

CRACK!

I don't like dithering. Robert had had a good ten minutes to consider his answer, so I brought the tawse down sharply across his bare bottom.

"Twenty-four," he whimpered.

"I'm afraid that's not what I have written down on this piece of paper, Robert," I replied, "So I'm going to add a dozen strokes to the total, then you can have another guess."

I crossed out the figure, and wrote a new total.

"Well?"

"Sixty," he whispered, almost in tears.

It was an inspired guess and I was happy to accept the figure and pronounce this as his sentence. Although my revised total stood at only forty-eight, Robert knows that I like to award strokes in dozens, so the total could have escalated quite quickly if he had chosen to under guess too many times.

"So, Robert - sixty it is," I said as I pushed the ball gag deep into his mouth and tightened the leather harness straps to keep it in place. "You've had one stroke already, but I'm afraid I can't count that - it was nowhere near hard enough."

Robert was trembling uncontrollably with fear as I took up my position and laid the heavy tawse across his quivering, white bottom cheeks.

Because Robert is caned so frequently, and with me being right handed, it's always his right buttock that suffers the most. The tawse offers the opportunity to explore other areas, so this is what I intended to do. Careful observation of Robert's body language has shown me that the tawse, in particular, is at its most agonising when the tawse tips are brought down repeatedly in the same place, hard and without pause. To a symphony of muffled shrieking and frantic, but hopeless restrained contortions, as Robert tried in vain to wrench his bottom out of the path of the tawse, the strokes began to crack down hard.

I began with twenty-four strokes aimed into his gaping bottom cleft. Try as he did, the secure restraints made it impossible for him to clench, so the wicked tawse tips found their mark each time and bit in delightfully. I followed this with a dozen 'wrap-around' strokes, sending the tips snaking into the top of his inner left thigh. I noted with satisfaction that his muffled shrieking went up an octave. I loved the sharp 'crack' the tawse made on impact with his flesh at this most sensitive spot, so I decided continue with another dozen, before concluding with a final twenty-four strokes aimed back into his bottom cleft.

My word! What a lot of saliva Robert had gurgled past the gag! I must remember to put some kitchen towelling on the floor under his face next time I thrash him.

I will be some time before he's fit for the birch, but at least his right bottom cheek is almost unscathed, and that is where he will absorb most of the energy of the freshly cut hazel switches. I can't wait.

You may wonder what Robert had done to make me so angry. Well, I have no intention of 'washing our dirty linen in public', but I can tell you that I don't think he will do it again.

 

2nd September 2012

FURTHER BIRCH RESEARCH

Hazel it is, then. I'm grateful to those of you who have written in offering me advice about making and administering the birch. I'm especially grateful for the comments of those who have received severe judicial birchings, as this is where my interest lies. Hazel switches, I understand, were the favoured material used to make birches on the Isle of Man, before the cessation of corporal punishment (a most unwise decision in my view).

I'm fortunate in having access to an abundant supply of hazel, so I will instruct Robert to make a number of implements of various weights, and I will birch him within the next ten days. As always, I will adhere to my own rules:

ALWAYS HARD, ALWAYS ON THE BARE, NEVER LESS THAN A DOZEN STROKES

I can't wait. Robert's starting to get a bit nervous, so my appetite is well and truly wetted. It will need to be a serious and severe birching because the research for my next book demands it. I have to hear and see the result of a sound thrashing before I write about it.

My latest book, "Thrashed in the Basement" appears to be very popular, and has already been described as "a masterpiece" by several readers. I've just put together a rather fun video trailer to promote it. Please do take a look.

In my next blog I will report on Robert's birching. There will no doubt be a lot of broken hazel debris to clean up off the floor afterwards, so I will be able to admire the fruits of my labour decorating his bottom while I have Robert on all fours sweeping it up.

 

 

27th August 2012

BIRCH RESEARCH - HAZEL HURTS

I am delighted to report that I've finished and published my new book called 'Thrashed in the Basement'. At almost 50,000 words, it's the longest I've ever written and tells the story of a young man who needs to be taught to treat the fair sex with more respect. It's certainly a very painful lesson.

Also, for those who prefer 'real' books, I've just published a paperback, available Lulu.com now and will be available on Amazon shortly. It contains four stories previously published as Kindle books and is called 'Four of the Best'.

I'm sure you'll be pleased to learn that I've already started writing another book. I've decided to try something different, so this book will feature the corrective qualities of the birch. I have carried out a few birchings in my time and mostly I remember all the mess that needs to be cleared up afterwards - not only the blood, but all the bits of broken birch scattered over the floor. I made my own birches with fresh cuttings from a birch tree, but having carried out a little research, I understand that a far more painful implement can be made from four or five fresh hazel switches. Obviously I will need to research this claim, and that's where Robert comes in. I shall have him make a hazel birch for me, then strap him over the whipping bench for a severe birching.

I only have old pictures to go on, but I've but down a single hazel switch of the size I think will be most effective (painful), and I will instruct Robert to cut four or five of a similar size - 750mm long x 7mm at the handle end and 3-4mm at the stingy end. It's a dense wood, but very whippy, so I can imagine the completed birch will be extremely painful. The switch also has lots of knobbly bits after trimming off all the shoots. I'll get Robert to round these off, but otherwise leave them in place as I'm assuming that these will add dramatically to the sting.

I understand that these implements were soaked in water to keep them heavy and supple, but I shall be using them freshly cut, so I probably won't need to. I'd welcome any advice from any of you who have experience with birching.

The things I have to do in the name of research!  

 

19th August 2012

HOT WORK

My word, it was hot today, but I'd told Robert yesterday that he would be punished, and once the decision is made I consider it 'set in stone'.

We often complain about the weather in England being too wet and cold, but is has its advantages. Obviously, when I cane and tawse Robert I close all the windows so as not to disturb the neighbours with his shrieking and pleading for mercy (Yes, he still does it, even though he knows very well that he will not only receive no mercy, but will receive additional strokes).

The heat was stifling. It was ok for Robert, he was naked, but I like to wear nice smart clothes when I thrash him. I suppose I like it because his nakedness and vulnerability is somehow accentuated when I dress nicely.

I'd decided to treat Robert to a blisteringly hard tawsing with my extra heavy two tailed Lochgelly, and I was just beginning to get into the swing of things, with the tawse cracking down across his bare bottom beautifully and some lovely colourful weals springing up, accompanied by his squealing and pointless, restrained writhing, when the heat began to get to me.

I put the tawse down and wiped my brow, feeling quite uncomfortable, then went to the kitchen for a glass of water. I ran my wrists under the cold tap and soon felt much better, but as soon as I had returned to the punishment room to resume the tawsing, the heat became a problem again - so I stripped off! I've never thrashed anybody naked before and it was a refreshing experience. I immediately decided to dispense with the tawse as the risk of a stroke glancing off Robert and catching my naked body was too high.

"It will have to be the cane, again Robert," I said, as I picked up my favourite dragon cane, "and I might as well start again. Thirty-six of the very best."

And that is what he received. With no clothes, I felt somehow liberated. The lack of clothing also enabled me to cane hard with no restriction of movement whatsoever. Robert shrieked and wriggled all the way through, and that just encouraged me to cane harder. I added another dozen penalty strokes at the end because of all the fuss, then released him to clean the blood off the ceiling while I took a cool shower.

Robert's sitting on his special bag of frozen peas as I write.

I've added a question page to my website, where I hope to answer sensible questions about my experience as a professional disciplinarian. Do feel free to email your corporal punishment related questions to me.

 

30th July 2012
PRACTICE MAKES PERFECT

I frequently arrange practice sessions with Robert as I like to keep my eye in and my tawsing and caning technique in tip top form. Robert usually quite enjoys these events because I cover his bottom with several layers of towelling for the practice so he is saved from almost all the pain involved. I do, however, usually conclude with a few strokes on the bare, just for good measure. I always insist on securing him properly over the whipping bench and insist that he wears his protective thong, to make sure the practice is as realistic as possible, and also just I case I change my mind about ending with just a few strokes on the bare.

I tawsed Robert quite severely about two weeks ago, and he is still sporting the marks, so when I instructed him to assemble the whipping bench for a practice, he was quite confident that he was in for an easy time. He was quite cheerful as I strapped his naked body into position over the bench - silly boy!

I draped four layers of towelling over his bare bottom, then proceeded to warm up with both canes and tawses, gradually increasing the power of the strokes until I was quite happy with my severity.

"We'll conclude with just a few on the bare, Robert," I said as I whipped the towels away.

As his bare, still bruised bare bottom was revealed, something came over me and I knew that "just a few" would not be enough.

I have a small rubber tawse that I'm quite sure has more potential than I've given it credit for. It's very flexible and extremely heavy for it's size, so I thought I'd start with this. I felt like trying a few really nice "wrap-around" strokes. If you get these right the tips of the tawse can accelerate into the bottom cleft with quite splendid results.

"I hope you haven't forgotten, Robert, that rules regarding fuss and noise still apply, even though this is only a practice," I reminded him as I ran my fingers gently over the target area, before picking up the "nasty rubber tawse", as Robert calls it.

CRACK!

I love the sound of a tawse making hard contact with bare flesh. Robert gasped as the tawse bit in, and shuddered. Close inspection of his bottom revealed that the tips of the tawse had strayed across to his right buttock, so I adjusted my position accordingly, before administering another.

CRACK!

I could tell from Robert's squeal, and the delicious way he began to struggle, that the tawse had found it's target. I simply couldn't resist administering another six in exactly the sale place. This had Robert shrieking in pain - wonderful.

"I thought you said just a few, Miss!" gasped Robert, as I paused to add penalty cane strokes to the list.

"Well, I've changed my mind - it's a ladies prerogative, and you know very well, Robert, that I do not permit complaints. That will cost you another six penalty strokes with the cane." That shut him up.

I decided to stick with the small rubber tawse as I was getting on with it so well. I switched my attention the the very top of his right thigh. I administered two hard exploratory strokes to get my measure, then cracked down another six blisteringly hard strokes. That really had him blubbering. I do so love watching him writhing as he hopelessly fights with his restraints in a desperate, but entirely futile attempt to wrench his bare bottom out of the path of the tawse. All that wasted energy - just to ensure more additions to the penalty stroke list.

I saved my most ambitious strokes to last. I wanted to curl the tawse around the top of his left thigh, so the tips would bite into his inner thigh. 'Blackberrying' I call it, on account of the cluster of purple weals that pop up when one gets it right. It's a tricky shot, as one has to miss his thong encased dangley bits, but my word, when you get it just right, the reaction is spectacular. I had to put a towel down in front of Robert at this stage, as his blubbering, squealing and screaming was producing a voluminous quantity of saliva, and I didn't want a mess on the floor.

"I'm having so much fun, Robert, that I'd like to repeat the tawsing all over again with each of the Lochgelly tawses. Do you agree that it's a good idea?"

I love asking him questions like this. He knows only too well that if I don't like his answer I will usually double it.

"Yes, Miss," he sobbed.

"Good. I knew you would."

I picked up the intermediate Lochgelly tawse, then put it down and picked up the extra heavy tawse.

"I've changed my mind, Robert. I think I'll administer them all with the extra heavy tawse, so that's a dozen in each place, plus a few to get my aim right."

He was whimpering with fear as I raised the tawse. What a fuss he made! After each dozen I had to stop to add yet more strokes to the penalty list. The delicious sounds of leather on bare flesh, accompanied by hysterical shrieking and creaking of the whipping bench, was a delight, and made even better by the steadily increasing list of penalty strokes.

"You've managed to accrue thirty-three penalty strokes," I informed him as I put down the tawse and picked up my senior cane. "So we'll round that up to thirty-six, a nice round number."

He was still blubbing from the effects of the tawse when the first cane stroke whistled down and buried itself deep into his twin globes of offered flesh. The shrieking continued throughout, so I continued past the thirty-six mark to take account of the additional penalties he was incurring. I eventually put the cane down after his bottom had absorbed forty-eight glorious, full force cuts of the cane. Then stood back to admire the lattice deepening purple weals, glistening with blood. An excellent practice session.

 

 

17th July 2012
TAWSEDAY

The wonderful thing about about the internet is the ability to correspond with interesting people all over the world. It was while doing this that I was reminded of my occasional practice of soaking the business end of my tawses in water just prior to use. The added weight gives a little more 'bite' to the tawse tails, and the response of the recipient is even more of a joy to behold. In fact, you can see the water marks on tawses in some of my photographs, in particular, the Annie Bee Honey photograph.

Another correspondent suggested a lovely alternative to calling the day after Monday, Tuesday. He suggested Tawseday. Of course, last Sunday, when I told Robert that I'd just been reminded about soaking the tawses in water, and that in two days time it would be Tawseday, he knew that sitting down would be uncomfortable on Wednesday - and so it was.

Since I caned Robert about three weeks ago, he has been quite well behaved. It was a particularly hard caning, and I think it made an impression. But good behaviour is not enough reason to spare the rod, or strap in this house. I have my book research to carry out. I can't be expected to write accurate descriptions of the writhing and shrieking of my book characters as they are thrashed mercilessly unless I witness it first hand on a regular basis.

Also, I did have reason to be quite cross with Robert. I'd quite forgotten that I bought him a lovely punishment book last Christmas, and there are still some outstanding entries in it that are very overdue for settlement. I think Robert had a duty to remind me, and he didn't.

So, on Monday evening, I selected three nice heavy tawses, and placed them, tail downwards, into a bucket of water, leaving them overnight to soak. Robert was given instructions to begin assembly of our whipping bench at 9.00am on Tawseday.

The lovely thing about the tawse is it's unpredictability. A serious cane, when applied with vigour, can be guaranteed to produce a delicious white hot line of fire when it sinks into the naked flesh of a presented bottom. The tawse, however, can be more fickle. It will always cause considerable pain when applied hard, but every now and then, with patience and determination, it is possible to administer something really special: The main body of the tawse will land flat and the tails will curl around the target causing the tips of the tawse to accelerate and bite deeply into the soft, sensitive flesh that lies beyond, with a sharp 'crack'. The effect on the recipient is wondrous to behold! I call these 'perfect' strokes.

Robert is very aware of this and he knows just how patient and determined I am. He also knows that once I have administered a 'perfect' stroke, I will be driven to replicate or better it. Sometimes, when luck is with me (and deserting Robert), I am able to produce a succession of 'perfect' strokes, all biting into exactly the same place. Robert's reaction is often spectacular and provides invaluable material for my books. Robert's shrieking and pleading for mercy does not fall on deaf ears - I listen intently and it encourages me to bring the tawse down harder still.

He was visibly shaking as I guided him over the whipping bench. He had tried all the usual schoolboy excuses, like not feeling very well, not being in the right fame of mind, having a headache, in an attempt to delay his appointment with the tawse, but I was having none of it. Soon he was strapped down, bare bottom perfectly presented for the tawse, and totally helpless. I draped four layers of towelling over his offered bottom, then selected one of the tawses from the bucket to begin my warm up. I think it's important to warm up thoroughly if one is to avoid the discomfort of a pulled muscle in ones arm. I also think it's exciting if the first stroke on the bare is spectacularly hard and a real shock for the recipient. I warmed up with each tawse in turn, being careful to return each to the bucket of water to replenish any water lost from the tips, before whisking the towels away to begin his thrashing.

I often use dice or playing cards to dictate the number of strokes, but today I was in the mood to administer a straightforward, long, hard tawsing. I had no particular number of strokes in mind, so I was unable to offer Robert any target to 'hang on' for.

I can be quite illogical at times. I had carefully selected three tawses the night before and all three had been soaking in the bucket. When Robert's time of reckoning arrived I simply selected the longest, heaviest, tawse, and used it throughout. The other two remained in the bucket. The tawsing was absolutely wonderful! The sharp cracking of leather against bare flesh. The gasping, pleading, shrieking and gurgling. The pointless and futile writhing as Robert struggled hopelessly against his restraints. There were no pauses today, I simply thrashed Robert as hard as I could at a nice steady pace, until his bizarrely weaving bottom was adequately decorated with weals, then concluded with a final dozen of the very best. Playing the video recording back afterwards revealed that Robert had received forty-seven strokes.

At this moment, Robert is defrosting a large bag of frozen peas against his burning bare bottom. We keep them in the bottom draw of the freezer and, having been defrosted several times, they are no longer suitable for consumption.

The whipping bench has lost some of it's bolts, sturdy timbers and straps, and has reverted to our coffee table. It would be nice to have tea and scones in the garden, but it looks like rain.

 

22nd June 2012

ROBERT HAS A VERY SORE BOTTOM

Robert and I took a pleasant walk through the village yesterday. The sun was bright, but there was a rain making ceremony in progress on the village green, otherwise known as cricket. "The glorious sound of leather on willow", it is said of this very English game. Personally, I prefer another very English practice, typified by the glorious sound of rattan biting deep into buttock, and it was this sound, together with Robert's shrieking, that filled the air of my punishment room as I enthusiastically caned his bare bottom yesterday. Of course, I prohibit fuss, so additional strokes were mandatory. Delightful.

This was a hard caning, even by my standards. It took me back to the judicial style canings I administered during my professional disciplinarian days. "Be careful what you ask for" I warned prospective recipients on my website. If they still insisted on going ahead, then once I started there was no way out for them. They were strapped over my sturdy whipping bench, then, after a few moments for reflection, the caning would begin, hard. No matter how much fuss they made, no matter how much they pleaded that they had made a mistake, that they hadn't realise how hard I could administer the cane and how agonising it would be, I would continue without mercy until the prescribed number of strokes had been administered, usually twenty-four or thirty-six with a serious cane. My favourite clients were those who returned for more, suggesting that I might have been too lenient. What an irresistible invitation!

Robert's caning was along the same lines. His face was a picture as I led him to the whipping bench. He was terrified. I could almost see him saying to himself "why do I let this sadistic woman do this to me?" He always does, though, and I soon had him strapped down over our home made whipping bench. It's just as well I had him make it sturdy enough to restrain an angry elephant! I don't know what got into me yesterday. I just had this insatiable need to cane his bare bottom as ferociously as I could.

I warmed up thoroughly with my favourite dragon cane over six layers of towelling, starting with moderate strokes, gradually building up to very hard. This has several benefits: It keeps me from pulling any muscles. It gives Robert plenty of notice of how hard I intend to cane him, and it means that my cane strokes are at their optimum severity when I whisk the towels away to administer the cane on the bare. I love it when the first stroke on the bare is venomously hard. It doesn't give him a chance to get accustomed to the pain. He has to endure the shock of unbearable agony right from the start. I want him to think "I can't possibly take another stroke like that, let alone another twenty or thirty!" But, of course, he has no choice. The caning continues, regardless of all the fuss.

I'd decided on the number of strokes by using a fun random number generator. I'd fixed the upper and lower thresholds as 20 and 40. The number generated was 23. There was no way I was stopping at 23, I was having far too much fun. Besides, I hadn't told Robert the number, so he had no idea when I would stop.

I worry myself sometimes. It seems the more Robert shrieks, the more he begs, the more he twists and squirms in a futile attempt to escape from the clutches of the whipping bench, the harder I want to cane him. I like to think that I'm a compassionate lady, but when I'm caning Robert, I have none whatsoever. I do all I can to ensure that each strokes bites in deeper than the one before.
I have no idea how many strokes Robert took, I'll have to wait until we watch the recording, but I reluctantly put down the cane when the familiar speckles of blood started appearing on the ceiling.

One of my most enjoyable canings and wonderful research for my books. Putting the reaction of recipient to the unbearable agony of a severe caning into words is so much easier for me when I have Robert's writhing and shrieking fresh in my mind.

 

18th June 2012
A GOOD, HARD, CANING

I've been having such an enjoyable time, recently, experimenting with my various tawses, seeing what effect they have on Robert. They can be a little unpredictable, but I'm getting quite skilled at placing strokes into some very sensitive areas of Robert's bare bottom, and my word, what a delight is to watch his reaction! I love it when he tries desperately to escape from the clutches of the whipping bench, and can't. The design of the bench is such that it is not possible for him to clench his bottom cheeks, and in doing so, hide some of his more sensitive areas from the tails of my tawses. It doesn't stop him trying, though. Watching him fail is wonderful, and just makes me want to tawse him harder.

It dawned on me today, however, that I've been neglecting the cane. If I'm honest with myself, the cane is probably my favourite implement. I love the high pitched swish as it is brought down and I love the sharp crack as it bites deeply into the bare flesh of Robert's bottom. When applied hard, as I always do, I can see from Robert's body language that the agony is unbearable. "The harder the better" is my view, and Robert knows this only too well.

I shall put the tawses to one side this week, and give Robert a good, hard caning with either one of my senior or dragon canes, perhaps both. To add a bit of fun, I may use a random number generator from the internet to decide on the number of strokes. I've found a fun site where you put in a maximum and minimum number, and it will generate a random number between them. I might go for 20 and 40, something like that. Readers ideas are always welcome.

Unfortunately, there will be a price to pay. A good, hard caning will put Robert out of action for several weeks and will probably require blood speckles to be cleaned off the ceiling again (thanks for the advice from readers on this, by the way).
I've just informed Robert of my plans for him, and I can tell he's excited. I like to give him a few days to contemplate, then watch him as the time for his sentence approaches. Fear slowly displaces excitement, until it grows into dread, as I strap him down over the whipping bench, then select a cane. I always cane very severely these days, so he knows the agony will be intense. He's so relieved when it's over, and proud if he manages to take it well. I also feel proud when a severe caning is well administered.

Thank you for book cover ideas for my forthcoming story, "Thrashed in the Basement". It's coming along well, and seems like it may be quite a long book for me. Do keep the ideas coming.

I'll report on Robert's caning in due course. I'm in the mood to cane him extremely hard. I want to hear him squeal. Lucky Robert.
 

8th June 2012
BOOK COVER

With the help of Robert, I do all the work involved in writing and publishing my books. Thrashing Robert's bare bottom helps with research and inspiration for book content, and having written a book, Robert will check it for errors. Woe betide him if he misses any (more about that later). We also design and take photographs for the book covers. I was talking to Robert about this earlier today and we both thought it might be fun to ask for readers' suggestions for the cover of my new book.

The book is about a young man who has been busy with the girls in his office, he sees each as a 'conquest', and having bedded one he drops her, then moves on to the next, keeping a total in his desk diary. His unacceptable behaviour comes to the attention of a group of ladies who share my views on strict discipline and corporal punishment. They kidnap him, hold him in a basement, and subject him to severe canings and tawsings with the intention of teaching him to treat ladies with respect. I would be most grateful for any ideas for a book cover. I do like to keep my covers tasteful, so nothing too graphic or extreme, please. One of my best selling books, 'Office Discipline', for example, has a very simple cover that hints at the book content.

Thank you in anticipation of your ideas, or links to examples to my email address: anniebeebooks@hotmail.com

Now, back to Robert: I am most grateful to the readers who have taken to trouble to point out some of the grammatical errors in my latest book, 'The Landlady's Punishment Book'. Sales of this have really taken off, but it upsets me to think of a few silly mistakes that Robert should have picked up during proof reading being duplicated each time another book is sold. I frequently cane and tawse Robert for my amusement and pleasure, but his next punishment will be just that - punishment. He will learn a very, very painful lesson next week. I will not tolerate careless proof reading of my books. I'm starting to get quite angry just writing about this. Robert, you really are for in for it. I will report on his thrashing in due course.

 

1st June 2012
LET DOWN BY ROBERT

Robert let me down this morning. I usually give him 24 hours notice before I thrash him, and I did so yesterday. Robert's response was to drink too much last night to "calm his nerves", and this morning he complained that he had a hangover and felt too delicate to take a serious punishment.

Perhaps I'm going soft, but I agreed to postpone it for a day, or two, but insisted that he help me with a little research into grading my tawses for severity. For this I needed him over the whipping bench, naked and restrained (this is a rule for me, any time he goes over the whipping bench, even for practice, he must be naked and restrained - just in case I change my mind, as is a ladies prerogative). With Robert's bottom presented nicely, I covered it with four layers of towelling, then applied a few hard strokes with each of my tawses, then asked him to grade them for pain. With four layers he said there was almost no pain, with three he started to feel the heavy Lochgelly. Two layers is about right as he said all the tawses hurt, but there was a distinct difference in the level of pain between each tawse. With only one level they all hurt considerably, and it was not quite so easy to separate them.

With this stage of my research complete, I retired to the kitchen to brew a cup of Earl Grey, leaving Robert secured over the bench just in case I wanted to run through anything again. The research confirmed what I already knew, my heavy, full length Lochgelly tawse, applied hard, is very effective, but not always consistent, as it's quite hard to control exactly where the tails tips land, whereas my slightly shorter, heavy Lochgelly is not quite so severe, but easier to control, so I can more easily search out all those extra sensitive areas.

Those of you who have read about Mrs McKay in my book "Jonathan's Introduction to the Cane and Tawse" may remember that she added small lead weights to the tails of her tawse. They were stitched into the tips to give "more bite". I may arrange to have this done to my shorter Lochgelly.

Having finished my tea, I rejoined Robert. He was expecting to be released, but I suddenly felt quite cross with him. How dare he drink too much and spoil my punishment day. I made him promise never to do such a thing again, then bared his bottom and picked up the heavy Lochgelly. I've no idea how many strokes I applied, but it was certainly in the 30 plus region, and they were hard. Serves Robert right for making me angry.

I've been quite busy with a new book and hope to have it published in the next few weeks. It will be called "Thrashed in the Basement" and follows the misfortunes of a young man who makes the mistake of treating the wrong lady with disrespect, and finds himself imprisoned in a basement to be taught the error of his ways by a group of ladies who share my views on corporal punishment.

 

15th May 2012
New story available on amazon now: 

I've just published my new book called 'The Landlady's Punishment Book'. It's about a young man who thinks he has found a flat that seems too good to be true, but he soon discovers there is an additional, very painful, price to pay. Reading through it as a final check has really put me in the mood to thrash Robert, but, alas, he has not recovered sufficiently from his last one. I will have to wait a few more weeks.

I'm really enjoying the tawse recently, and I might treat myself to a new one. Ideally, it will be very heavy, while flexible, so I can explore all those 'hidden' places that escape the attention of the cane. I've discovered this is the best way to coax those high pitched shrieks of agony out of Robert, accompanied by frantic (futile) attempts to wriggle free of his restraints - such a delight to behold.

I do hope you enjoy my new book. I'm pleased with it.


3rd May 2012

A WARM GLOW

I feel a warm glow inside. I've just thrashed Robert and all minor frustrations and irritants of life were cleansed from my mind as I enthusiastically applied my tawse and cane to his offered bare bottom.

Robert says he also feels a warm glow inside. He gets very frightened and excited in the days and hours leading up to a thrashing, and feels tremendous relief when he's had his endorphin rush, and it's over. Of course the warm glow he feels inside is completely outclassed by the furnace that is his bottom. In fact, as I sit here, writing this blog and sipping Earl Grey tea, Robert is laying face down on the bed holding a large bag of frozen peas against his bare bottom in an attempt to put the fire out. I hope he doesn't get frostbite.

It was pouring with rain outside as I wielded the tawse and cane. It's always more enjoyable thrashing him during bad weather because the somewhat irrational, nagging fear that a neighbour might hear his muffled shrieks of agony while they tend their flower beds is removed. I say 'irrational' because we've already tested the sound proofing of our punishment room - I had Robert scream for all he was worth, while I stood outside. Not a whisper escapes to give any hint of what goes on inside. But with the added security of bad weather I feel able to really let go with the cane and tawse - the music of his screaming, begging and shrieking will be enjoyed only by my own deaf ears.

I'd already decided on a card game to dictate the initial number of strokes, so both Robert and myself were able to enjoy the excitement of venturing into the unknown. I won't bore you with all the details, but I'll explain briefly:

With Robert naked, and secured over the whipping bench, bare gaping bottom pointing skyward, I produced a shuffled pack of cards, with jokers removed, and placed it face down in front of him. Cards were turned, one by one, and strokes of the tawse were administered as follows:

Numbered cards = 1 stroke, Jack = 2 strokes, Queen = 3 strokes, King = 4 strokes, Ace = 6 strokes. The card game would continue until at least one of each of the above had been turned, at which point a joker would be added randomly to the pack, then the game resumed until the joker was turned.

Robert was under strict instructions to take the strokes in total silence, or risk having penalty strokes added. Each time he made the slightest noise I would add between 1 and 6 strokes of the tawse to his final tawsing, and between 1 and 6 seconds to his final, timed caning. The starting figure for his final tawsing would be 12 strokes and the starting figure for his final caning would be 1 minute.

Obviously, my objective would be to coax as many squeals as I could out of Robert during the card game in order to maximise the severity of the final thrashings.

The advantage of thrashing the same person again and again is that you get to read his body language. I can tell when the agony of a particular stroke is simply too much for Robert to bear. Even if he manages to stifle his screams, I can tell by the way his body shudders and his feet curl, as if trying to grasp air. This is the signal for me to repeat the stroke, harder if possible, in exactly the same place.

With Robert in firmly place, I prepared myself by slipping on long leather gloves and high leather boots. These, with the long skirt I was wearing, offer me protection from the sometimes unpredictable behaviour of the tawse tails. I've suffered some quite painful glancing strokes in the past. Dressed thus, I am able to administer the tawse with maximum severity, confidently. I always warm up for several minutes, by applying the tawse over several layers of towelling. I start with moderate strokes, building up to hard gradually. This is important, as I have to be careful not to pull any muscles. It also gives Robert an opportunity to anticipate the delicious agony to come. When I am happy with the accuracy and severity of my strokes, the towels are whisked away, and Robert knows he will be feeling the full effect of the tawse on the bare within a few seconds.

I like the first stroke to be hard - to be a real shock. I like to hear a nice loud CRACK as the tawse make contact with bare flesh. I had chosen a nice, extra heavy, Lochgelly tawse for this thrashing. It has the weight to bite in deeply, while being flexible enough to curl around the curvature of buttocks, My favourite stroke is to curl the tips of the tails into Roberts gaping bottom cleft.

Robert was quite lucky to start with. The first four cards turned were ordinary numbered cards, worth only one stroke each. Even so, I made sure they were hard and spiteful, but he managed to keep mostly quiet, being awarded only 2 penalty points for breathing too loudly. His luck ran out when the fifth card was turned to reveal a king, worth four strokes. This was my opportunity to get some real reaction out of him. I took very careful aim, then brought the tawse down as hard as I could, curling it around his left buttock so the twin tails accelerated into his bottom cleft. It was a magnificent stroke! Robert took a sharp intake of breath and he began to shake and his feet started grasping wildly at air. He was on the brink of loosing self control, so I pounced. Three more breathtakingly hard strokes followed swiftly, all landing in precisely the same spot - the shrieking began in earnest and the penalty points started to make real progress.

The highlight (for me) of the card game was when the first ace was turned. Robert had just received another four real scorchers from the previous card, a king, and had been writhing and squealing for all he was worth. When he made out the ace through his tears, he panicked and began to plead to be let off. It was music to my ears! Goodness know why he does it - it NEVER works, it simply encourages me. He was awarded another 6 penalty points, then I forced the ball gag into his mouth and administered six savage strokes. The resultant muffled screaming earned him a further six penalty points. By the time the card game was over, I'd administered well over thirty strokes and I deserved a break, so I retired to the kitchen for a cup of Earl Grey and to add up Roberts penalty points.

Twenty minutes later, when I returned to the punishment room, Roberts bottom was quite a colour and looked extremely sore. I almost felt sorry for him as I told him the totals he would now receive as a result of the long list of penalty points he had accrued - thirty-two strokes of the tawse, followed by a timed caning, where I would administer as many hard strokes as I could in 1 minute 32 seconds.

I decided on a change of tawse, so picked up the extra heavy stitched tawse. Robert really doesn't like this one. It's the heaviest tawse I have, also the stiffest, so needs further breaking in, but applied hard, it will follow the contours of a buttock, allowing the tips of the tails to reach all those sensitive spots.

Robert always produces a lot of saliva when he's attempting to scream through the ball gag, so mindful of this, I placed a towel under his head before getting to work with the tawse - and it's just as well I did! What a mess he would have made on the floor! Robert was shrieking from stroke one as the heavy tawse bit savagely into his poor, and so sore bottom. The thirty-two strokes were administered, plus the original twelve, briskly and hard. No luxury of pauses this time. Robert's body was a joy to behold as it struggled desperately to wrench his gaping bottom out of the path of of my merciless tawse. It was a complete waste of his time, of course. All he managed to achieve was to chafe his skin on the leather restraints. His voice had gone hoarse from screaming, and his body was dripping with sweat by the time I put down the tawse and picked up my dragon cane. How many really hard strokes could I get into 1 minute 32 seconds I wondered?

Forty-three it transpired. It all depends on the weight of the cane, I think. With a lighter cane I could have managed more, but this savage beast takes time if the strokes are good and hard. Roberts vocal protestations went shrill during this caning, all adding to the delicious sound of the cane whistling down and biting deeply into his raging bottom. The tawse had produced very little blood, but the same certainly could not be said of the cane. I instinctively looked up at the ceiling.

As soon as I had released Robert I had him up on steps with a brush and a tin of white emulsion paint, covering the speckles of blood, before allowing him to lay face down with the bag of frozen peas on his bottom.

This evening, Robert and I will sit down to watch the video of his thrashing. I more comfortably than him.

14th April 2012

 

ADDRESSING A PROBLEM:

 


I've been busy writing a new story and I hope to publish soon. It's about a landlady who shares my own views on the administration of corporal punishment: ALWAYS HARD, ALWAYS ON THE BARE, NEVER LESS THAN A DOZEN STROKES. Mind you, I can't remember the last time I stopped at a mere dozen. The last caning I gave Robert was particularly enthusiastic, carried out with a very severe cane - lucky Robert! However, the disadvantage of this is that the resultant damage to his bottom puts him out of action for several weeks while the wounds heal.

Roberts Christmas present from me last year was a punishment book. I thought it was a wonderful idea and it had several entries requiring the use of my cane before he'd even unwrapped it. The problem, I now find, is the I'm adding entries faster than they can be discharged. He simply take too long to heal between canings. Perhaps I need a whipping boy.


The good news is that Robert is just about fit for punishment again. I may make more use of the tawse when I punish him this time. As Mrs McKay (a character from my book 'Jonathan's Introduction to the Cane and Tawse') knows that the tawse can reach parts the cane cannot, so sensitive areas that escape the bite of my cane can be dealt with. I have noticed that Robert writhes quite vigorously when the tawse is applied briskly to the same area. It's like fire overlaying fire, he tells me. The other advantage of the tawse is that, even when applied hard (as I invariably do), there is less cutting of the skin than with the cane. Yes, I think I'll make more use of the tawse.


I shall have Robert secured over my whipping bench within the next week and I will set his bare bottom ablaze with my selection of tawses. I can't wait! The punishment book will be put to one side for this thrashing as I quite like the idea of playing a light hearted card game to decide on the number of strokes. That doesn't mean the strokes will be light - quite the opposite, they will be excruciatingly hard. I may not be able to resist concluding with the cane, even though it will put him out of action for another three or four weeks. Never mind, I think I prefer quality to quantity. 

 

7th April 2012

I have decided to experiment with "Twitter". My blog updates will be available in small doses on there for a while, although I will be coming back to my main blog shortly. We'll see how this "Twitter" goes. If anyone would like to follow me I am @AnnieBeeBooks or click the button below.

27th March 2012: Preview my new book trailer here

16th February 2012

THE VALENTINE'S DAY CANING:

The caning had been delayed by one excuse after another. I'd just taken delivery of a really lovely, dense, heavy, dark, dragon cane. The punishment book still had numerous outstanding entries. Robert had forgotten to give me a Valentine's Day card, and I was in the mood to listen to the sound of rattan biting into bare buttock. All this made a Valentine's Day caning irresistible.

I had Robert cover the floor with a dust sheet before assembling the whipping bench. He didn't appear much comforted when I explained that it was just a precaution in case the new cane produced one or two superficial cuts, but he seemed eager enough to mount the whipping bench when I threatened to add a dozen strokes of the tawse if he was not in place within five seconds.

With Robert secured, bare bottom pushed up invitingly for punishment, I picked up and flexed my new dragon cane. It is superb. I'd ordered it by phone from my preferred supplier and asked for something just a little more severe than their usual excellent dragon canes. The nice man promised he had just the thing, but warned that it really should be used with care and only by those with experience. Both Robert and I have a lot of experience and I intended to take care of him with it.

The cane, with it's additional weight is a little more rigid than I am accustomed to. If used very hard though, I guessed it would flex nicely. I've maintained my regular and rigorous workouts at the gym and the muscles in my arms are stronger and better toned than ever. So the caning would be harder than anything Robert had experienced before. I thought the extra rigidity of the cane might make accurate caning easier, so I decided to try something new.

Robert shuddered as he felt the smooth, cool rattan placed gently where I intended to place the first stroke - right at the top of his thighs, just where they meet with his buttocks. Robert tells me that it's a particularly sensitive spot.

I don't particularly like warm ups. I prefer the first stroke to be at maximum severity as I like to watch and hear the response to the shock of agony. I administered six real stingers across the tops of his thighs and Robert howled with each one. The result was a colourful band of weals about two inches wide - that would be my lower marker. It was a bit more colourful than usual for just six strokes as some of the cane strokes had inevitably overlaid others, so I reached for the cotton wool and surgical spirit to clean up.

Next I repeated the exercise to make my marker at the upper region of my target. Six eye-wateringly hard strokes produced another colourful band just an inch down from where his bottom cleft begins. I had to reach for the surgical spirit and cotton wool again, and I was already congratulating myself at having the forethought to protect the floor with a dust sheet (a shame about the ceiling - more of that later). I could tell from Robert's shrieking and by the ways his body was attempting to writhe in agony within the confines of the restraints, that he was as impressed with the new cane as I was.

When I'd cleaned up Robert, and the cane. I put down my central marker - six beautiful strokes right across the centre of his white bottom divided my target into an upper and lower white area still awaiting a visit from the cane. After I'd cleaned up and Robert's howling had died down to a whimper, I said:

"That's the markers put down, Robert. Now we can start the caning."

I can't abide bad language! Robert's pleading reply included a word which I do not approve of. I couldn't allow him to go unpunished. It had to be nipped in the bud.

"Robert. How dare you use that word," I scolded him, "I was going to administer twelve strokes to the upper part of your bottom, then twelve to the lower. Now I'm going to increase that to eighteen."

Robert was still blubbing and pleading as I raised the cane. The pleading instantly changed to shrieking as the first satisfying stroke bit into his upturned bottom. He maintained his howling and writhing for the full thirty-six strokes. Gradually, the two white sections of his bottom took on the vivid colouring of the markers. There was quite a lot of cleaning up to do afterwards, and I advised Robert to remain bent over the bench after I'd unbuckled his restraints to allow the cool air and surgical spirit to stem dribbles of blood from his wounds.

Robert remained naked for most of the rest of the day to allow his bottom to heal and to prevent blood stains on his clothes. He told me that he could tell how much damage the new cane was causing because he could feel a fine spray of blood falling on his lower back even as I was laying down markers. On close inspection, we noticed that the white ceiling above where he had been caned was flecked with tiny droplets of blood, so the dust sheet stayed down, while I had Robert, still naked, on a step ladder applying a coat of emulsion paint to the ceiling.

The new cane is very severe. I love it. Robert hates it. I'll keep it for special occasions.

Apologies for the delay in publishing my sequel to "The Gym Mistress Canes Hard". I have been carried away with the writing of another story that has caught my imagination. I will make sure the sequel is published soon.

 

31st January 2012

TIME TO DUST OFF THE CANE:

I'm pleased to announce that I've recently finished another short story, a sequel to the very popular 'Gym Mistress'. It has yet to be checked, but should be published soon.

I've also started another story. I won't give any of the plot away at this stage as it's little more than an idea, but I've decided to try something different. There will, of course, be some delicious discipline involved, but I'm going to introduce a little humour. It won't be written in quite the same style as my other books. I'll keep you informed of progress.

Now, regarding Robert: It's taken him a few weeks to recover from thirty strokes with the extra heavy tawse, and they were very hard. He's still bruised, but otherwise healed, and I've declared him fit for punishment, so the cane will be put to use this week. There are numerous outstanding entries in his punishment book and I'm anxious to discharge some for fear that the entries will get out of hand. I've been having so much fun improving my tawsing technique that I've somewhat neglected the cane. I will make amends this week. I do think you can't really beat the sound of a nice, hard caning on the bare.

Robert is very aware that I have been working out at the gym at least three times a week, so I am very fit and strong. He may find the caning more uncomfortable than ever.

 

11th January 2012

SUCH A FUSS!

We live in a well insulated, detached house and so we are never disturbed by noisy neighbours. However, I was a little concerned if they were disturbed by the noise that came out of Robert's mouth yesterday. Even when I fitted the ball gag I worried that his muffled shrieks of agony could be heard outside.

I eventually got down to discharging some of the entries in Robert's punishment book. I'd given him twenty-four hours notice and had him strapped down over the whipping bench. He's been on his best behaviour for the past week, his flippancy usually fades away when a thrashing is imminent. In particular, I know that my increased visits to the gym have caused him concern. I've never felt fitter or stronger.

His bare bottom still showed slight markings from his last thrashing. I do prefer a 'blank canvas', but that's a luxury I never have these days. I was in no hurry to start as I do so enjoy the pre-thrashing atmosphere. Robert is at his most compliant, desperate not to irritate me.

"Now, Robert," I said as I opened the punishment book, "Let's see how many entries we can discharge. I know you enjoy guessing games, so you should have fun today. The first entry in the book is that you failed to remind me to use the extra heavy, stitched tawse when I last thrashed you, so it's appropriate that we start your thrashing with that. I've written down how many strokes I think you deserve, and now I want you to guess what I've written down. If you guess higher then I will administer your number, if you guess lower, I will administer my number PLUS the difference between your number and my number. Do you understand?"

He understood. I've played this game with him before. He guessed six, and my number was four. So we would start with six, but I moved onto the next item in the punishment book: Suggesting I was too lenient last time!

Robert's guess was not quite so sensible this time. He guessed twelve strokes - he should have guessed eighteen.

"So, Robert, we add the difference of six to my eighteen, to make twenty-four, then add another six for the first entry in the book, making a total of thirty. They will all be administered with the extra heavy tawse, as hard as possible. I think it might be a good idea to double up on your restraining straps first."

I keep a black bag full of leather restraints, gags and bondage equipment, all left over from my dominatrix days, so I sorted through and doubled up on the leather straps securing Robert to the whipping bench. I love to keep the suspense going.

I stood back to admire my work. Robert's bare bottom was perfectly presented for the tawse. It wouldn't be going anywhere. I reached for the tawse and took a few practice swings, watching Robert's bottom twitch in anticipation.

Robert loves the anticipation in the days leading up to a thrashing, and he loves the feeling of relief afterwards. The only bit he doesn't like is the actual thrashing - it hurts so very, very much, apparently. Strangely, it's the very bit I love the most. I don't understand why, and I've given up trying.

Robert obviously hated this thrashing more than most. I put every sinew of strength into the first stroke. It's a really heavy tawse, so muscles are needed to put real venom into the tails. They cracked down across Robert's bottom, biting in savagely. The first stroke seemed to knock all the wind out of him in a long groan. The second stroke, in exactly the same place had him shrieking. This is forbidden, but I sensed that a verbal reprimand would not suffice, so I put down the tawse and reached for the ball gag. He was pleading with me to use another tawse as I forced the ball into his mouth and tightened up the securing straps.

"Only two strokes administered, Robert. Twenty-eight to go," I said, as I picked up the tawse. Robert was making a strange mewing noise as I took my position.

The tawsing was steady and hard. All areas of Robert's bottom received a savage visit from this most severe of tawses. Each stroke flattened the area it bit into dramatically. The noise of the impact ranged from a solid 'thud' to a loud 'crack', depending on how the flat the tawse tails made contact with bare flesh.

Robert's reaction to all this was wonderful. Even with the ball gag fitted, his muffled shrieking was worryingly loud. I hoped the neighbours couldn't hear, but it couldn't be helped. His struggling was a joy to behold! Poor Robert tried everything to wriggle free, to wrench his raging bottom out of the path of the twin tails of fire. It's the little details I notice that makes it so enjoyable. Although he can't move most of his body, his head and feet are free to dance, so when the agony reaches new highs he often shakes his head much in the way a dog does after a swim, and this makes his accompanying shrieking seem to warble. While he is doing this, his feet curl, almost as if he is trying to grasp air. This is all good detail to for me to use in my stories, so it's not just for pleasure I do this, it's useful research too. He sweated buckets with all his efforts to wriggle free, but all to no avail. His bottom remained stubbornly presented for each and every stroke.

There was, unfortunately, no question of continuing. After thirty strokes his bottom was not realistically capable of taking more. In the space of just a few minutes it had been transformed to a vivid, swollen mixture of red and purple.

The tawse, which I had been trying to break in and to make more flexible, looked unscathed. It was time for surgical spirit and plasters.

Robert will be sore for a very long time, the bruising is severe. I don't think he will refer to this thrashing as "too lenient".

I was able to discharge two entries in his punishment book, but added another for making too much fuss. Some progress, I suppose.

I'm already looking forward to Robert's next punishment, and I think I'll use the cane. As much as I love the tawse, you can't really beat the sound of a cane swishing through the air before it bites into a deserving bare bottom with a satisfying 'crack'.

 

7th January 2012

TIME IS RUNNING OUT:

Robert's very severe tawsing and caning is now imminent, and his flippancy has miraculously vaporised. My frequent visits to the gym are worrying him. I'm training for stamina and strength and Robert has been told to expect the thrashing of his life.

The new punishment book has numerous entries, and they are quite detailed. Each time I read them I relive the anger I felt when writing them. When Robert is securely strapped down over the whipping bench, bare bottom offered for punishment, I shall read the entries in the punishment book again, just before I select the tawses and canes I will use to decorate his cheeks with colourful weals. There will be no mercy and I will have him howling.

He has a slight cold. I want that cleared before he is thrashed. I want him in perfect health to receive his so richly deserved punishment - just a few more days, Robert!
Other matters: I'm pleased to announce the publication of my new book, "More Office Discipline". This is a sequel to the very popular "Office Discipline". Celia's sadistic streak seems to be getting worse. I do hope you enjoy it.

I shall report back within the week with details of Robert's appointment with my tawses and canes.

 

28th December 2011

IF YOU'RE IN A HOLE, STOP DIGGING

We entertained some neighbours yesterday. Mulled wine, mince pies - very pleasant.
It was while Robert was helping me in the kitchen with the mince pies that he commented how nice it was to sit down for few drinks with the neighbours. Even days later, I'm unable to forget his 'hot air' comment, so I replied:

"Enjoy sitting down while you can, Robert."

"I love your idle, meaningless, threats," he said, before kissing me on the cheek and returning to our guests in the lounge with the mince pies.

Perhaps the mulled wine had caused him to take leave of his senses. I had to excuse myself from our guests to urgently make yet another entry in Roberts new punishment book. My tawses and canes will be seeing some extremely vigorous action in early 2012.

24th December 2011

TOO LENIENT:

I always set up a video recorder on a tripod to record Robert's thrashings. It's mainly for Robert, he says watching them afterwards is almost as exciting as the real thing, but doesn't hurt so much.

We'd just finished watching the recording of the tawsing and caning I gave him earlier in the week. The final caning was particularly impressive, I thought, and the sound quality of the hiss of the cane, and the crack of rattan across Robert's bare bottom was superb.

"Well, Robert" I said, when the recording was over, "That was a good caning, wasn't it?"

"Almost," he replied, with a gleam in his eye, "Perhaps a bit too lenient, though."

I have to confess that his answer took me a little by surprise at first. The tawsing and caning had been hard and his bottom, three days after his punishment, is still decorated with the most vivid colours. I can also see that he still finds it uncomfortable to sit. But I shouldn't be too surprised really, he always likes to have the threat of a thrashing hanging over him - it's a good match for my sadism.

My preferred reaction to his flippant remark would have been to march him upstairs to assemble the whipping bench for the caning of his life, but unfortunately, with friends and family around for a lot of the Christmas period, this won't be possible. Robert, of course, knows this.

"Let me promise you something, Robert," I whispered into his ear, "You will certainly not make that foolish remark about the caning you will now receive after Christmas."

Robert turned to smile at me. "More hot air, Annie?"

All I could do, raging inside with frustration at his smug and provocative cheek, was smile sweetly back.

"Yes, Robert," I said after a pause, "You're quite right. I was too lenient, far too lenient. I promise I won't make the same mistake next time I have you secured over the whipping bench."
I always keep my promises, and he knows it. Just for the briefest of moments I noted a flicker of doubt show in his eyes. Just for a second he seemed to realise that he's gone too far with his flippancy.

He's right, of course, he has over-stepped the mark by a mile. He will pay very dearly. It's just as well I decided not to wrap his Christmas present - his new punishment book. A full account of his disrespectful comments have now been entered into the book, to be read out to him when he is next naked and at my mercy over the bench. I may ask him to repeat the "hot air" remark as I select the cane.

The local gym is always busy in January as New Years resolutions briefly swell the client numbers. I shall be there too, but my determination to improve my fitness and stamina will be more than fleeting. I intend to be fit and strong for Robert's next thrashing. He's in for a real shock.

 

 

20th December 2011
 
AT LAST!

I'm delighted to report that Robert's long overdue tawsing and caning was administered yesterday morning, and I'm confident that his bottom will remain well striped into 2012. Robert also is very pleased, pleased that he will not be required to 'enjoy' the kiss of the tawse and cane until January.

I was up early yesterday and added a few decorations to the Christmas tree to remind Robert what lay ahead for him (see photograph). No more excuses or delays. Robert was securely strapped down over the whipping bench, very exposed, completely helpless - just how I like him, by 10.00am. I used my varied dice set to decide tawse strokes. I used the 4, 6, 8, 10, 12 and 20 sided dice in turn, then administered the strokes that came up. I took my time to fully explore the more imaginative corrective qualities of the tawse, seeking out all those sensitive areas with the tips of my heavy Lochgelly. Using a tawse, especially a long one, can be a bit 'hit and miss', as you can never be quite sure where the tawse tails will bite in.

My favourite stroke is the one I call the 'wrap around' stroke. This is achieved by me standing quite close to Robert's head, so his bottom is unsighted. I sweep the tawse down with all my strength, so the tawse tails wrap around his left buttock or thigh, sending the tawse tips curling and accelerating into some very interesting areas. It doesn't always work as planned, but when it does, the result is immensely satisfying. One always knows when one gets it right, as the tawse tends to 'grip' the target on contact, all the weight and energy goes out of the tawse (transferred, of course, into Robert's bottom cleft or inner thigh). The sound resembles that of a pistol shot, and the reaction of the recipient is a joy to behold - shrieking, struggling, buttocks weaving and twisting bizarrely and attempting to clench. All completely futile, of course. The whipping bench, as I have mentioned before, is strong enough to hold down an angry elephant, so his bare bottom remains perfectly presented for punishment no matter how much he tries to escape. Robert had taken a total of thirty seven strokes by the time I'd thrown all six dice, and I was delighted by how many of those were really good. I seem to be really getting to grips with the tawse now. The final tawsing of the day was to be a brisk, very hard tawsing with the heavy Lochgelly, the number of strokes to be the total of the two highest scores of the dice game, so Robert shrieked and struggled through a further twenty-two strokes. I'd broken out into a bit of a sweat by the time I'd finished, and Robert was literally dripping with it from all his futile attempts to prise himself away from the embrace of the whipping bench. I decided I needed a tea break, so I cleaned up and applied sticking plasters to Robert's wounds, then went downstairs for a nice cup of Earl Grey. I'm sure Robert is now more frightened of the tawse than the cane, as when I told him that his tawsing was over and I'd be back later to cane him, I could tell from his body language that he was relieved.

It was while I was downstairs, sipping tea, that the postman knocked on the front door. He was delivering a package and some more Christmas cards. The weather was cold and wet and he looked quite miserable. I felt quite sorry for him so I invited him in for tea. Robert had stopped groaning by now, but I popped upstairs while the kettle boiled to warn him to keep quiet, then closed the door to the punishment room for good measure. The postman was very grateful for the hot tea, biscuits, and the gesture of kindness. It was when I was sipping my tea and chatting with him that I realised I had forgotten to use the extra thick and heavy, stitched tawse on Robert - it was still decorating the Christmas tree. How infuriating! Robert should have reminded me. However, I am a lady of my word, I had told Robert his tawsing was over, so that particular tawse will have to wait for the new year before it sees some serious action. Mind you, it was just as well I hadn't invited the postman into the lounge, I'm sure he would have spotted the unusual decorations on the tree. It was some time before the postman left, he was understandably in no hurry to go out into the cold and wet.

When the postman had left and I eventually went back upstairs to continue Robert's punishment I was pleased to see how nicely the bruising and weals had matured. They were mostly centred around his bottom cleft and left buttock and upper thigh, leaving his right buttock almost unscathed. This was good, as with me being right handed, the cane would mainly lay weals across his right buttock and upper thigh. I told Robert that I was quite cross with him for not reminding me to use the extra heavy tawse. He replied, quite indignantly I thought, that I'd banned him from speaking, so he couldn't tell me. What a ridiculous excuse indeed! He knows very well that I would have made an exception in this case. Fortunately I was able to vent some of my displeasure with the cane. I'd come back from my tea break armed with the kitchen timer, which I set to a minute and a half. I started the timer and immediately began to cane Robert's bare bottom as hard and fast as I could. My word it was tiring! I have to confess that towards the end I wondered if the timer had broken. I was literally panting by the time it eventually beeped. Robert's shrieking had subsided to a whimper by then. All the fight had gone out of him. I've no idea how many strokes he received, I'll have to check the video recording later, but I would guess it was over forty, and they were very hard indeed. I aimed a lot of them low, just at the tops of his thighs, and some of them had cut - never mind, can't be helped. I would guess it will be late January before I'm able to take the extra heavy tawse to his bare bottom, such a long time for a girl to wait!

One of Robert's Christmas presents will be a new punishment book. It already has two outstanding entries: Failing to take punishment in silence and failing to remind me to use the extra heavy tawse. I will postpone wrapping it until Christmas eve as it's quite likely that more entries will need to be added.

I've just published my new short story called "The Strict French Mistress" and my sequel to "Office Discipline" will follow shortly.

Finally, Robert and I wish you all a very happy Christmas.


16th December 2011
 
NEW SHORT STORY:

I had hoped to have been able to report long before now on how Robert's long overdue tawsing and caning had gone. I regret to report that, for a variety of reasons, Robert has managed to delay his appointment with my extra heavy tawse. Not for much longer, though. He is to be thrashed on Monday, 19th December. That date is set in stone, and because we seem to have had such difficulty in arranging a few hours alone, I have decided to follow the tawsing with the caning. Both will be very severe and I expect the marks from the caning to last well into 2012.

That reminds me of a caning I gave Robert three years ago. We arranged to see the New Year in together, alone, and I decided to cane him into the New Year. At ten minutes before midnight I had him secured over the whipping bench, naked and I was standing over him with a cane. The television was on and I waited until the familiar sound of London's Big Ben began its famous introduction. The caning commenced immediately, hard and fast. The chimes seemed to last for ever and I was quite out of breath before the final twelfth bell chimed. It was such fun hearing all the crowds cheering, the fireworks outside banging, the cane swishing and cracking down across Robert's bare bottom, and Robert squealing in agony. So much more fun than singing Auld Lang Syne.

The sequel to Office Discipline is finished, and in the progress of being corrected. In the meantime, I have written a short story called "The Strict French Mistress". I wrote it on the spur of the moment after being inspired by overhearing somebody a few days ago describing how they had become trapped in their car by snow a few years ago. You may be wondering how that progressed to a story about a French Mistress - you'll have to read it to find out. I should be publishing it in the next few days. My next blog will report on Robert's overdue caning and tawsing.

 
 
6th December 2011

VARIETY IS THE SPICE OF LIFE:

My favourite tawse of late has been my heavy two tailed Lochgelly. It's twenty-four inches long and made of thick leather, five-sixteenths of an inch thick. I like my tawses flexible, so they can mould to the shape of Robert's buttocks, and the tawse tips can search out all those sensitive little areas that make Robert writhe and squeal so deliciously. I've often thought it would be nice to try a tawse with more weight, but of course that means it needs to be made of thicker leather, so the flexibility I like is compromised.

I was gifted an extra heavy tawse some years ago by a kind client, but I've always considered it too stiff and I've never used it - until today, that is. I carried out the much overdue tawse exercise today - practice in preparation for the real tawsing that will take place in a few days from now. Although only a practice, I did warn Robert that the majority of it would have to be on the bare, with some strokes hard, so he would need to be secured over the whipping bench. The extra heavy tawse is made of two thickness's of leather stitched together and is over three-eighths of an inch thick, so it's got some real weight behind it. Anyway, I thought I'd give it a try, and I'm so glad I did. Robert hated it! My goodness what a fuss he made!

Although the tawse is more rigid than I would have liked, if applied really hard, it does mould to Roberts buttocks surprisingly well (perhaps it would be more accurate to say the Robert's buttocks mould to the tawse). So that's the rule for me with this beautifully made tawse - it should only be administered really hard. I shall use of for part of the real tawsing in a few days. I have warned Robert to expect something quite memorable, and with the caning to follow, I should be able to make sure he has a colourful bottom that will still be showing marks well into 2012.

The tawse exercise was useful. As well as trying the extra heavy tawse, I spent a lot of time experimenting with the heavy lochgelly. I had Robert clear the punishment room before assembling the whipping bench as I wanted plenty of clear space around it to give me a good wide swing from various positions. The experiment confirmed my previous findings, it's the strokes that curl around Robert's buttocks, accelerating the tawse tips into the places the cane can't reach that seem to be the most effective, so I will concentrate on those when I come to administer the real thing. Can't wait!!!!

I've taken photographs of the extra heavy tawse so you are able to appreciate the extra thickness alongside my well used Lochgelly. Perhaps the extra heavy tawse will also look well used before too long, and perhaps with some vigorous use it will gradually lose some of it's stiffness. Yes, I think I will try to thrash some flexibility into it. Lucky Robert. 

4th December 2011
 
HE'S ONLY DELAYED THE INEVITABLE:

It been pleasant to have friends staying with us. They emigrated some years ago, and are back in England for a few weeks, staying with various friends and family. They had planned to spend last weekend with us, but Robert persuaded them to stay the whole week. Why did he do that, I wonder?

I suspect that Robert was fearful of the tawsing I had planned for him, and invited them to stay to delay his appointment with the tawse. When I confronted him with my suspicions, he denied it, but I could tell he was lying. He really should know better. He has only delayed the inevitable, and now he will be thrashed even more severely. I have a whole program of punishment planned for Robert, culminating in a very sound caning whilst still sore from the tawse. By this time next week I hope to have completed all overdue punishment, and Robert will have a very, very sore bottom.

A full report will follow.

 
21st November 2011
 
A WOMAN'S WORK IS NEVER DONE:

Robert was uncharacteristically quiet for a good week after his last punishment, but his familiar flippancy has emerged recently. That can only mean one thing, it's time for the whipping bench to assembled. My new found love affair with the tawse remains, so I will use that on him. I think I'll have him over the bench three times in the coming week.

I shall start with a slow, exploratory exercise with the tawse, I'll take my time, try different strokes, find the strokes that are really effective. I'll restrict this to about twenty-four, or so strokes. I'll give him a few days to recover before putting gained knowledge to work with a really severe tawsing - I may add a bit of spice with the dice to determine the number of strokes, but he'll need to be very lucky to escape with less than fifty strokes.

Finally, I plan to cane him. I'll give him a day, or two, to recover from the tawse, but I'd like to apply the cane to his bottom while he's still sore (I really am beginning to wonder if I have a bit of a sadistic streak in me!). I feel like administering a sound, no-nonsense, no-stop caning, something like thirty-six of the very best.

That's the plan for the week. I'll let you know how it goes.

While I've been waiting for Robert's bottom to repair, I've been busy writing my latest book. This will be a sequel to 'Office Discipline' in which Celia will meet her match.

Finally, I must add a thank you to the kind gentleman who has left such nice reviews on some of my books. Perhaps it will encourage others not to be so shy.

 
 
 
14th November 2011
 
RECOVERING FROM A TAWSING:

It's a week since I tawsed Robert, and you may be wondering how the recovery is progressing. Still some way to go I have to report. I seem to have pulled a muscle in my arm and it's still giving me a twinge of pain. I'm assuming the damage was caused during the tawsing when Robert started pleading for mercy, obviously this encouraged me to tawse him even harder, and I think that must have caused the damage.

I mentioned it to Robert this morning, telling him that I'd found it a bit painful carrying the shopping home. He was very sympathetic, and even offered to buy me a shopping trolley with wheels. Did I detect a hint of sarcasm? Yes, I think so. An entry has therefore been made in the punishment book.

I had some time to myself yesterday afternoon, so I curled up on the settee to watch a video: Robert's Last Tawsing. It's not purely for pleasure that I record most of his thrashings. I find it useful for seeing where I can improve my technique. Robert likes to watch them too. "I must be mad," he can sometimes be heard to mutter, as he shakes his head while watching weals spring up on his own bottom.

Anyway, having watched the recording, I would rate it as in the top ten of my thrashings to date, and certainly my best ever tawsing. First place is still held by a thrashing I call "The Contract". This is the recording of a rather formal punishment I administered about four years ago. I had the idea of writing up a contract, which Robert and I would both read out and sign up to our respective responsibilities (all recorded), before I strapped him down over the whipping bench to administer it. The contract was quite precise and listed the punishments that would take place and stipulated that every stroke was to be as hard as possible. I had to promise to abide by the terms of the contract and Robert had to request that he was afforded no mercy, and that any pleas for mercy would be ignored. This was the first time I managed to make Robert really beg for mercy. It fell on deaf ears, of course, but it adds a lot to the recording. The most striking thing is that it is so clear that the begging for mercy is 100% genuine, not like some of the namby-pamby commercial recordings I have seen. The room was filled with the sound of Robert's desperate pleading and shrieking, accompanied by the relentless swish and crack of the cane, and you can just make out my rather unladylike grunting as I put my all into each stroke. And thank goodness for colour! The vivid weals on Robert's bottom would have been a real disappointment back in the days of monochrome recordings.

As for Robert's next punishment. I'll let you know when I'm ready. I'm quite fond of the tawse at the moment. I'll see if I can coax a bit more squealing out of him with my lovely, heavy Lochgelly two tailed tawse - my current favourite.

 

8th November 2011

THE TAWSING:

I'm delighted to report that the tawsing has been administered. The first stroke thwacked down across Robert's bare bottom at 10.33am yesterday. It bit in savagely and made a nice resounding 'crack'. It was impressive for a first stroke, probably because I had warmed up thoroughly over several layers of towelling draped over his bottom. I was wearing a long black skirt, black leather boots and leather gloves, so I was confident that no stray strokes would hurt my own leg or kick back and hurt the back of my hand. It made all the difference! These simple measures gave me the confidence to swing the tawse with maximum venom.

Robert was wearing just a thong to protect his 'bits', so all areas of bare flesh were fair game. He was gasping after just one stroke and I could tell from his body language, as the tawsing continued, that he was finding the agony very challenging. His body went into spasms and he was making squeaky, gasping noises. The muscles in his limbs stood out like iron rods as he tried to clench his bottom cheeks together to protect his bottom cleft from the tongues of fire at the business end of my heavy, two tailed Lochgelly tawse. It was a futile effort, the bench and restraining straps are strong enough to hold an angry elephant, so his bottom remained stubbornly exposed and perfectly presented for the tawse.

The dice dictated the strokes to be administered as 8 + 11 + 21 + 22 (total 62). Half way through the second set (11 strokes), he panicked and started begging for mercy. This is unlike him, but he told me later that it was so very painful, and the prospect of another 50 odd strokes was just too much for him, he couldn't take it. But, of course he did, he had no choice. Robert didn't deserve any mercy, and there was none. His desperate struggling to escape the embrace of the whipping bench merely encouraged me to tawse him even harder. The tips of my beautiful, long, flexible tawse, methodically sought out all those really sensitive spots that remain inaccessible to implements like the cane. The kiss of the tawse to his bottom cleft and the inside of the tops of his thighs resulted in his most spectacular reactions, so this is where I concentrated my efforts. I would leave his bottom cheeks relatively unscathed, for the mandatory final caning that I administer to conclude his punishment.

The tawsing offered me the chance to be more imaginative. The tawse can be a little unpredictable, it doesn't always land square and make that lovely sharp 'crack' sound, but with so many strokes at my disposal, I didn't consider the odd 'bum' stroke too much of a problem, so I tried for some 'wrap around' strokes. I positioned myself right by Robert's head, then administering the tawse so as to curl around his left buttock. You can only hope that the tawse tips will accelerate into the right place (in this case, his bottom cleft and inner thighs) as you are unsighted, but if you administer enough of them, making slight changes to your position each time, some will find their mark - and they did! Wow! What a reaction! I would never have guessed it would be possible to struggle so energetically when strapped to a whipping bench! What a shame I didn't actually see the strokes bite in - perhaps I'll invest in a floor standing mirror. Never mind, I have it all on video.

Yes, the tawsing went very well. Wearing the gloves and boots gave me the confidence to put all my strength into the tawse strokes. Robert noticed the difference straight away.

He was actually quite badly marked by the time the tawsing was over, so the mandatory caning at the end was restricted to a brisk 24 of the very best. Any more would have left him in too much of a mess, with all the tedious cleaning up afterwards. I'll address the matter of penalty strokes for making too much fuss when he's repaired.

"Please, Miss," Robert whimpered, still shaking, as I released him from the whipping bench, "Please, please, please, never use that tawse on me again. I beg you, PLEASE."

Of course, he'll change his mind. He always does, especially when I remind him that he is punished for my amusement, not for his own gratification.

Now the canes and tawses are stored away, hidden until next time. The whipping bench has lost some of its extra timbers and returned to its role as a heavy coffee table, and we have once again returned to being those quiet, respectable neighbours who tend their garden and cherish their roses. Robert has some quite distinct scuffs on his wrists, a result of his futile attempts to escape from the whipping bench, they will fade in a few days. The marks on his bottom, however, will take a lot longer.

Congratulations to 'nicely striped', who was very close with his guess that the dice would seal Robert's fate at sixty strokes.


All of my stories are available on Amazon
 
.
.
.
.

 "An Inspector Canes" is available on Amazon now
 
 
.
.
.
.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Link to Fetlife website

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

 

My new short story is now available on Amazon

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Link to Fetlife website

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Also available on Amazon.com - Click here

.

.

.

.

.

.

 

"Four of the Best" - Annie Bee stories in paperback

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

 

Also available on Amazon.com - Click here

.

.

.

.

.

.

 

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Also available on Amazon.com

The Landlady's Punishment Book

.

.

 

.

.

 

See all of my book covers here

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

 

.

.

.

.

..

.

.

.

.

.

.

..

.

.

.


 

 

.

My new book is now
available on Amazon

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

..

.

.

.

.

 

"The Strict French Mistress" and all of my other eBooks are available on Amazon

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

..

 

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

 

.

.

.

.

 

 

 

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

 

All books are available on amazon

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

 

 

....................

5th November 2011

ALMOST READY FOR THE TAWSING:

Robert, in my opinion, is almost fit for punishment. His recovery from the last caning I gave him has been quite impressive (perhaps I need a heavier cane). It would, of course, be nice to start the tawsing on a 'blank canvas' but that just isn't going to happen, I'm not prepared to wait that long. The long awaited tawsing in my quest for the perfect tawse stroke will probably take place on Monday 7th November, with the first stroke being administered at 10.30 am. Perhaps you could spare a thought for him at that moment as I do intend it to be so very painful. It did occur to me that the 5th November, firework night, would be a fun night to thrash him as I could have competed with the noise of the fireworks with the sound of my tawse cracking down across his bare bottom, but unfortunately we have guests.

Thank you for your many helpful suggestions regarding the rules of the dice game I propose to use to decide on how many tawse strokes Robert will receive. I did a quick dummy run of my original dice game yesterday and the result would have been a total of just 29 strokes - not enough, so I will be using a modified version of this game. Robert's punishment will, naturally, conclude with a mandatory caning.

My book sales are increasing each month, with last month being a record. I've often heard corporal punishment described as the 'English disease' but judging by the international appetite for my spanking stories, the disease seems to have spread worldwide. I was pleasantly surprised to see how many books I've sold in the USA and China. A big 'thank you' to all my customers. It's very sweet of you, and please, if you do enjoy my books, do take time to leave me a review on Amazon, for some reason there seems to be a shyness amongst my customers to do this.

I hope to have a full report on Robert's thrashing here for you early next week.


1st November 2011

DICE GAME:

Robert is still some way off from being recovered enough from his recent caning to be ready for his tawsing, but I can amuse myself in the meantime planning for it. I'm still minded to decide the number of strokes he receives by using dice. Also, after a quick search on-line, see image below, I've now acquired some additional and unusual dice. I have an imaginative mind, so I've had quite a few ideas for dice games I might use. This is my current favourite:

Items needed:

2 four sided dice, 2 six sided dice, 2 eight sided dice, 2 ten sided dice, 2 twelve sided dice, 2 twenty sided dice, a sturdy whipping bench, Robert, bottom bared (strapped on it), a heavy Lochgelly tawse, and my strong right arm.

The idea is to decide on the number of strokes by adding together the scores of two of the above dice, selected by initially throwing two six sided dice, then using the scores to select the two dice to be used from the list below:

1 = 4 sided dice
2 = 6 sided dice
3 = 8 sided dice
4 = 10 sided dice
5 = 12 sided dice
6 = 20 sided dice

Calculate the number of strokes and administer with maximum severity.

Repeat the game three more times (now changed to four more times).

The minimum number of strokes mathematically possible for each tawsing is 2 and and the maximum is 40. When I later showed the proposed game to Robert, his only comment was that repeating the game three times seemed a bit excessive, so I've increased it to four. Why not try to guess what the total number of strokes Robert will receive? I'll mention the closest guess after I've administered the punishment.

Do feel free to suggest alternative games dice I might employ. I'll post the best on my website.
I'm hoping that Robert will be fit for punishment within ten days. There will, of course, be a full report.

* Click on dice to purchase from Amazon:

 
 
 
For those within the UK:

Annie Bee books on Amazon.co.uk

 

 

For all those outside of the UK:

Annie Bee books on Amazon.com

 

29th October 2011

CANE MARKS?

Have you ever stood in a large, busy supermarket and wondered how many of the people there have cane marks on their bottoms? Probably more than you might think if my experience as a professional disciplinarian is anything to go by, and if you stand in a busy mainline station during rush hour, where pin-stripped suits abound, there will be more. Of course, if I go shopping with Robert I can be sure there will be at least one. In fact, when I went shopping with him this morning, he was not only sporting cane marks, but also several sticking plasters on his bottom to protect his wounds. I doubt if anybody looked in our shopping trolley, saw the sticking plasters, cotton wool and surgical spirit amongst our shopping and wondered what they were for. I would have wondered, though. So if you're ever in a supermarket queue with the above items in your shopping trolley, and a beautiful, refined lady in the queue is looking at you with the hint of a knowing smile - it might just be me.

24th October 2011

TAWSING POSTPONED:

To those who have been waiting to hear how the tawsing went, I must apologise. I caned Robert instead. The tawsing will have to wait, and it will be VERY severe, as I now suspect, that Robert has been deliberately manipulative. I think he had been more worried about my improved technique with the tawse than I had realised, so to postpone it, I think he provoked me into caning him, knowing full well that the resultant weals would make tawsing out of the question for a few weeks.

Robert knows very well how to make me cross. On the eve of the planned tawsing he commented that he thought I may be switching my attention to the tawse because my canings had become a bit 'namby-pamby'. I saw red. How dare he! Although I was seething, I maintained an air of calm, simply instructing him to assemble the whipping bench at once. He knew from my manner not to argue.

"So, Robert, Let's see if you find this 'namby-pamby," I said to him quietly, as I secured the last restraining strap securing him over the whipping bench and picked up my favourite dragon cane.

"I was only joking," he pleaded, now visibly shaking.

"Perhaps you'll find this funny, Robert. I'm going to cane you until I'm absolutely sure that you don't consider my canings 'namby-pamby'.

With that I raised the cane and brought it down full force across his upturned bare bottom. Being a heavy dragon cane, it sank deeply into his flesh, resulting in a hissed intake of breath from him as he fought to cope with the agony.

Robert hates it when I don't give him any indication of how long I will cane him for, or how many strokes there will be. He says he needs a figure to count down to, so he can hold on, so he can make a mental note when he's half way through his ordeal, etc. I didn't afford him that luxury on this occasion. I just caned him, very hard, steadily, and for a long time. When his bottom was a mass of weals I moved on to the tops of his thighs, then attempted to fill in all the areas that still showed any hint of remaining white flesh. This was a severe caning, even by my standards. Robert was gasping and blubbering throughout. He knows there is no escape when he is firmly strapped down to my sturdy whipping bench, but he still tries (I love it when he tries desperately to wriggle free - and can't).

Eventually, the caning ended. What a colourful sight his bottom was to behold. I've no idea how many strokes his bottom absorbed, but I would guess somewhere in the region of forty to fifty.

"You do realise of course, Robert, that you made far too much fuss, so there must be penalty strokes. Another dozen."

Now this may seem a little harsh, but I firmly believe that, if you make rules, you must enforce them. So a further twelve, crisp, hard strokes added to the multicolour lattice of weals that decorated his bare bottom.

If the provoked caning had been an attempt to postpone the tawsing, I don't think he'll do it again.

I can only apologise, once again, at not being able to report on the tawsing. I can promise you, however, that as soon as he's fit it will take place, and it will be severe, and there will be a full report from me posted here.

Finally, I must thank all you who have sent me such kind emails. I do read them all and It's very sweet of you. I do consider all the ideas put forward for future books, but I do tend to favour situations and practices where I do have some first hand experience. Please understand that I receive too many emails to reply to them instantly (if I did, I'd have little time left to write my books).

18th October 2011

QUEST FOR THE PERFECT TAWSE STROKE

Following some most enjoyable research into the corrective qualities of the paddle, mainly by applying it with enthusiasm to Robert's bare bottom, I have now published my new book. It's called 'Jonathan's Introduction to the Paddle'. Jonathan jumps out of the frying pan into the fire in this sequel. I do hope you like it.

Without wishing to sound self-applauding, I do consider myself proficient with the cane. Robert thinks so too, he knows better than to disagree with me. I have, however, felt for some time that I have room for improvement with my tawsing technique, so I'm going to concentrate on this next. Robert will assist me as usual as recipient.

For me, the perfect tawse stroke is achieved when the main body of the tawse lands flat on Robert's bare left buttock, allowing the tails to curl around and 'grip', imparting maximum energy into the tips of the tawse. They can bite into some quite imaginative areas and the resounding 'crack' and Robert's body language leaves no doubt when I get it right.

Unfortunately, my heavy Lochgelly tawses sometimes seem to have a minds of their own own, especially the longer ones, and less than perfect strokes can be a problem for me. If the tawse fails to 'grip', it can glance off and follow through, sometimes catching my leg, quite painfully. I've also experienced strokes that appear to bounce back off of Robert's bottom in such a way that the whole tawse curls back, causing the tips to strike the back of my hand. The main problem with this is that the fear of hitting myself can prevent me applying the tawse to Robert's bottom with 100% vigour - I hold back. A most unsatisfactory state of affairs I'm sure you'll agree!

The solution may be simple - leather boots and leather gloves to protect me. I tried a few strokes across Robert's bottom yesterday with me thus attired, and I think I may have the problem solved. It was painless (for me, not Robert). I'll know for sure tomorrow, as I'm planning to treat Robert to the tawsing of his life. Lucky Robert.

To make it more fun, I think I'll use a dice game to decide how many strokes he receives. I love games that decide for me how many strokes to apply as there's always a chance of a really high score popping up. "It's not my fault, Robert," I can tell him, as I prepare to thrash him, "I have to do what the dice says. Those are the rules."

As well as the normal six sided dice, I have also acquired an eight sided dice and also a transparent twelve sided dice with another twelve sided dice inside. I haven't yet finalised the rules of the game, but I'm sure you can imagine that adding or multiplying the scores of two, or more dice could be interesting. I'm confident I can come up with a game where, if Robert is unlucky, he will be soundly tawsed, but if he's lucky it will be far more severe. I'll let you know how it goes.

3rd October 2011

PADDLE POWER

My first book, “Jonathan's Introduction to the Cane and Tawse” proved popular, so I decided to write a sequel. I haven't thought of a title for the new book yet, but I expect to publish it in the next few weeks.

I can see the attraction of sequels. It's easier for the reader and the writer because both are familiar with the main characters, so you can get straight into the story. It hasn't proved easier for Robert, however. I like to make the descriptions of my punishments as realistic as possible, from both the recipient's and administrator's point of view, and I now use Robert for a lot of my research. So when I wanted to introduce the paddle into my sequel about Jonathan, I really had no choice but to have Robert make me a really nice paddle so I could try it out on him.

He managed to find a nice heavy piece of hardwood, about 3/4” (20cm) thick, and I had him fashion it into a nice, smooth, oval shaped paddle with a very comfortable handle. The paddle isn't much used in the UK, seemingly it's more popular in America, so my experience up until now with paddles has been limited to those of light to moderate weight. The new paddle is in a different league, the main characteristic that sets it above the others is it's substantial weight. I had him polish it to bring out the colour of the wood, and it looks quite lovely.

With the paddle complete it was time to get down to some serious research with Robert strapped securely over the whipping bench, bare bottom up. I wanted to know just how painful it would be when applied with enthusiasm, so after a few practice swats, I got down to it and really laid into Robert's bare bottom. I gave him twenty-four of the very best, and my word, did he howl! It did give me an indication of just how effective the paddle is, and I was grateful for that, but Robert knows the rules - he is forbidden to make a fuss when I'm punishing him, so I had to give him another six. Rules are rules.

It's hard work too. Administering a prolonged paddling with a heavy paddle is quite tiring. Fortunately, I'm quite a strong girl, so I think Robert had had enough long before I had.

Then there was the pain! Although Robert had made the paddle with a beautiful smooth finish, the tight grip I had to keep on the handle while I applied it enthusiastically across his bare bottom produced a nasty little blister on my thumb, making the final six strokes quite painful. I was really quite cross, so I put a dressing on it, then fetched the cane. Robert made the paddle, so the blister must be his fault. Twenty-four of the very best with the cane was the obvious sentence.

Unfortunately, the colourful weals produced by the caning, made it difficult to assess the level of bruising caused by the paddle, so I'll have to wait a few weeks to give the marks a chance to fade, then repeat the paddling to complete my initial research. I'll put a plaster over the blistered area of my thumb, so the paddling shouldn't hurt at all.

Roberts verdict? He said he now understood why the paddle was so popular in America. When I asked him how much it hurt, he replied “probably more than your blister.” That sounded a little flippant to me, so the lochgelly tawse was soon hard at work putting some colour into the few remaining white areas of his bottom.

19th September 2011

WHAT ARE GIRLS MADE OF?
 
Robert can be infuriatingly stubborn! Despite my efforts to convince him otherwise, he continues to believe that girls, and especially me, are made of “sugar and spice and all things nice.” Never mind, I shall persist, and the canings and tawsings will continue with renewed vigour. Success comes to those who move from one failure to the next without losing enthusiasm, and some do say that the journey is often more rewarding than the arriving, which is just as well, because I'm beginning to suspect we may never arrive.
 
I deemed the effects of his last thrashing sufficiently healed to have him back over the whipping bench yesterday. His flippancy had returned – a sure sign that the cane and tawse need an airing.
 
I decided to start with the heavy two tailed lochgelly tawse. I like card games, so strokes with this were decided by five random cards drawn from a pack. I arranged them face down in front of Robert, with the lowest on top, running in order to the highest at the bottom. I told him that I would turn the cards in order, each time administering the number of strokes equal to the face value of the card. All hints of his flippancy evaporated when I warned him that the strokes would be as hard as possible, and I would double the value of the last (highest) card. He received 3 + 6 + 8 + 11 + 22. He was gasping and testing the restraints before even the third stroke had cracked down across his helpless bare bottom (I love the way the tawse wraps its embrace of agony around the contours of a bare buttock). Having not used the tawse for several weeks, I was a little rusty, but by the time I had turned the third card I was back on top form and had the tawse cracking down hard across his squirming bare bottom with the reports that could have been mistaken for pistol shots. My word, how he tried to wriggle free. The final twenty-two were the best of all. I administered these briskly, making sure the tawse tips found all the most sensitive areas. By the time I'd put the tawse down, poor Robert was glistening with sweat and panting from his futile efforts to escape his restraints.
 
Now it was time for the cane. I reminded Robert that I was still quite annoyed that the video recorder had been switched off when I'd last caned him – I was curious to know how many strokes I could administer in a set time, but I hadn't been counting as I thought the recorder was on. This time it was on. I set the kitchen timer for one minute (plus five seconds to get started), then really went for it. I thrashed his writhing bottom for all I was worth – the strokes rained down, non-stop, briskly and very hard. I could tell I'd pushed him beyond his pain threshold from his frantic (hopeless) attempts to twist his buttocks out of the path of the cane. Of course, this simply encouraged me to put even more venom into the strokes. He'd received 35 of the very best by the time the beeping of the timer came to his rescue.
 
He still thinks I'm made of sugar and spice and all things nice.

 

18th August 2011:

TIME STANDS STILL

Robert still had cane marks on his bottom yesterday, but my patience ran out. I'd hoped to have a “blank canvas” to work on, but I decided to make do with his bottom as it was. I was impatient to give the new whipping bench a real test, and in doing so I seem to have discovered a way to make time stand still... well, almost.

I like to add a little variety to Robert's thrashings, so I decided to administer a timed caning. I had Robert secured over the new whipping bench, bare bottom up and nicely presented for the cane before I revealed my plan to him. I had borrowed the timer from the kitchen then set it to beep after two minutes, then selected a nice flexible but heavy cane. Robert's face was a picture as I told him that there would be no warm up today. He would receive a brisk, hard, two minute caning from cold. I intended to rain down as many hard strokes as I could until the timer beeped. Before starting the timer, I decided to add another fifteen seconds for good measure to give me plenty of time to take my position and get into the swing of things. My word, what a fuss Robert made when I got up to full speed! I could see that the whipping bench was really being put to the test as he struggled to escape his restraints. He was sweating profusely by the time we were half way through, and this made it easier for him to slide his body and limbs around in his frantic efforts to wrench his bottom out of the path of the cane. This, of course, simply encouraged me to cane him with added vigour, and although his bottom weaved around in the most energetic manner, it remained perfectly presented for each stroke of my cane. He later said it was the longest two minutes of his life. I found this amusing because for me the time flew by. I think I managed about fifty strokes.

Unfortunately for Robert, his ordeal was not quite over. I've told him time and again that making a fuss during punishment breaks one of my golden rules, so penalty strokes were mandatory and I had no choice but to inform him that I must comply with the rules. You'd think he would have learned by now! Robert looked quite dismayed, but wisely chose not to complain (that breaks another golden rule). As I was feeling in a kindly mood, I informed him that I would give him a few minutes break while I made myself a cup of Earl Grey. I left him strapped down over the whipping bench to contemplate.

By the time I had finished my tea, Robert's bottom looked spectacularly colourful. All the cane weals had matured to a lattice of deep red and purple. My word, it looked sore! There were, however a few unscathed nooks and crannies where the cane can't reach, so I decided to see if I could put some colour into these. The heavy Lochgelly tawse was the implement for this job – a dozen nice hard strokes seemed appropriate.

Just occasionally, Robert shows some indication that he is actually slowly learning. He almost managed to take the twelve strokes without a fuss, but not quite, so I administered a further six strokes for good measure.

I often set up the camcorder on a tripod to record Robert's punishments. It's mainly for him, as he likes to watch them afterwards, claiming watching doesn't hurt so much. Unfortunately, on this occasion, I forgot to switch it on. It would have been interesting to know exactly how many cane strokes I managed in the two minutes, as it would have given me a target to beat next time. I blame Robert for this, he should have reminded me, so now we'll have to do it all over again, as soon as he's recovered. On the other hand, I'm not sure I'm prepared to wait that long.

2nd August 2011:

MONOPOLY

While I wait for the weals on Robert's bottom to fade, I have to be content with reminiscing. I have fond memories of the board game, Monopoly. When I was a young girl, the Monopoly board always came out at Christmas after dinner. My brother or dad usually won. They took it so seriously. I decided to play a game with Robert a few months ago, and this time I won. This is probably because I've changed the rules - I'm allowed to cheat, and he isn't. Another interesting rule I've made is that he starts with hardly any money and can't afford to buy property, so I buy it all. As you can imagine, it's not long before he's facing serious rent arrears. I'm very strict on this, so each time he lands on one of my properties and can't pay the rent, I insist that he borrows from the bank. As it happens, I'm also the bank manager, but I charge him one hard stroke of the cane for each £100 he borrows. The game ends when I have all the money and Robert has a very sore bottom and a huge overdraft.

30th JULY 2011:

Sadly, I've had to say goodbye to my whipping bench. It served me well as a professional disciplinarian, and it's continued to be regularly used to keep Robert firmly in place when I punish him. The problem is it's very substantial and difficult to keep hidden in a domestic environment and it can't be disguised, it's pretty obvious what it's for. We always had that nagging concern that a neighbour or friend would stumble across it. The good news is that we now have an excellent replacement. I like to cane and tawse Robert hard, so effective restraints are essential. He is simply unable to take the level of punishment I like to administer without moving out of position, so before we sold the professional bench, I had him devise a whipping bench that doubles as a piece of furniture. We bought a very heavy coffee table, then Robert adapted it for use by bolting sturdy timber beams, low down on each side. They extend beyond the length of the coffee table to support a kneeling platform bolted to one end. The wooden beams have strategically placed holes to enable restraining straps to loop through. Robert says it is quite comfortable. He kneels on the platform with his legs secured spread apart to the width of the beams, and his torso rests on the table top. His wrists are secured to fixing points on the wooden beams with leather cuffs and padlocks, and a wide strap keeps his body firmly down on the table top. The final detail is to place the structure on stable blocks to raise one end. This lifts his bottom to the perfect height and angle for me to cane and tawse. We've tested it with a moderate caning and tawsing and it seems very good, but I've yet to put it to really serious use. Robert is overdue a severe thrashing, so I'll soon know if the new bench is secure enough. He'll be in serious trouble if it's not as I told him to make it strong enough to restrain an angry elephant. When the bench is not in use it converts back into an innocent coffee table in about five minutes. I'll report on the first real test of the new bench later. I'll have to wait for a week or two as I want to start with a “blank canvas”. Robert is still quite well decorated from the test.

"Great discipline with a very erotic storyline. I highly recommend this book" Amazon review

Print



This page was last updated on
5th August 2017