Readers,
Our UK Laureate has perfected the art of spanking verse, as evidenced here, once again, in ‘In Awe of the Cane’. Please take a moment to comment (or Love it) in appreciation for his talent and willingness to share it with us – without he and the other wonderful contributing authors, this blog would be much less colorful.
– Dana
*****
In Awe of the Cane
The slipper, hand and hairbrush are all good
For spanking bums when perched across the knee;
There’s leather whips and paddles made of wood,
But, best of all, the cane if you ask me.
The strap and crop can both be used with pride,
And tawses too and birches that I’ve seen:
There’s instruments galore to tan our hide
But o’er them all the rattan cane’s the Queen.
That golden rod, a slender pliant wand,
It thrills my mind and makes my pulses race;
It may sound strange to say of it I’m fond
When, put to use, there’s anguish on my face.
But yet this fact I gladly here confess:
The rattan’s a magnet that just draws me in;
Its strokes may tease when given with finesse,
Or cause great hurt when used to punish sin.
It waits in the closet, hung on a hook,
Silent and brooding, an ominous tool;
Sharp and severe, be it straight or with crook,
Ideal equipment for women who rule.
In their hands that cane provides the best means
For ultimate pain and pleasure combined.
I oh so adore those correction scenes
Where both top and bottom fulfilment find.
I watch as she bends the cane to an arc,
Stressing its menace now right at the start;
I know that rod will quite soon make its mark,
My body the canvas for inventive art.
Red is her colour, I know that for sure –
She paints lines and stripes with consummate skill;
Each stroke of the brush brings pain to endure
While holding my breath and (just) keeping still.
In flight the cane makes a high piercing whine –
With loud hissing swish it cuts through the air;
Whose bottom now will feel its effect? Mine!
And yes, of course, without a doubt, it’s bare;
That way I’ll feel its penetrating sting
That courses through my body like a storm
And takes me to heights, my mind on the wing,
Away from the humdrum, far from the norm.
She starts with aplomb, a salvo of strokes
That hurt my backside and startle my brain;
“A nice gentle start,” with laughter she jokes,
Then whips down that cane again and again.
The next strokes come now, all spread down my thighs,
And then she lands one right over the crease –
Ouch! That accurate swipe caught me by surprise,
Plumb on the sweet-spot – oh stinging, please cease!
But there is no pause, no time to reflect,
She’s now on a roll, in tune with my need,
Another stroke lands, I feel the effect
As it bites on my flesh with light’ning speed.
Four dozen the tariff initially set,
Her mind was made up my backside to burn,
A caning harsh I know I won’t forget
But savour in ways I can’t yet discern.
The final six strokes, the hardest of all,
Are given quite slowly, fuelling the fire
That burns so harshly but holds me in thrall –
A cryptic mélange of hate and desire.
My body recoils, an uncontrolled writhe,
A gasp of distress, a shout of acclaim;
That sensuous stem, so springy and lithe,
Takes me yet higher, my senses aflame.
She too is astir, she tells me she feels
Excitement and pleasure, seeing my pain;
Gently she touches those fiery weals
She’s made with such care – she too loves the cane;
The kiss of the rod is her special gift,
An offering of pain to scare and delight,
Delivered with strokes both measured and swift
To tease and torment and passion ignite.
I’m in awe of the cane, its power and grace,
Its curvaceous beauty, mystique and sound,
Distinctive tramlines, its stinging embrace,
All serve to produce a penchant profound.
To some that is strange, to others it’s clear,
For they too have kinks for which they give thanks;
Whatever our bent, we all can hold dear
Discipline given with beatings and spanks.
*****
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