Readers,
Having received this piece, titled ‘The Ballad of Lord Hazlemere’, a few days ago, I’ve spent some time deciding how to present it to you. Written by the same author who gave us ‘The Blue Umbrella’, this is another genuinely enjoyable read – and so very much more..
..because this story is written entirely in rhyming verse.
After having read it through twice, I toyed with the idea of placing the Ballad into a fancy template. Then I thought that maybe I would voice record it, since it sounds so lovely spoken (yes, I read it aloud…you should too.)
Finally, I’ve decided to present it to you exactly as it was presented to me – written, with no adornments to distract from the words. ‘The Ballad of Lord Hazlemere’ is funny, innocently racy, and an absolutely superior example of creative writing.
Many thanks again to our UK laureate.
– Dana
*****
The Ballad of Lord Hazlemere
This tale comes from days of yore, in England’s pleasant land,
When times were hard for many folk, whilst others had it grand;
But as you’ll see back then, as now, harsh punishment was given
In order that men’s sinful ways from mind and heart were driven.
Our tale concerns Lord Hazlemere, a man of noble birth,
And physically so well endowed – I speak of length and girth;
His exploits were quite legendary, through power, charm and riches
‘Twas rare the day the randy Lord would not cast off his breeches.
He spent his days out seeking willing women for his pleasure,
He had no thought of marriage, only conquests without measure;
‘Tis said he sired some sixty bairns, with women dark and fair,
And redheads too, both great and small, he really didn’t care.
While riding through a town one day he spied a comely wench,
Just right, he thought lasciviously, my manly needs to quench;
Her ample breasts, her golden locks, skin fresh as newly-born
Combined to give the lusting Lord a massive dose of horn.
He stopped his horse and spoke to her, “Pray, maiden, come with me,
And I will pay thee handsomely for couplings wild and free.”
“Oh Sire,” she cried, “I beg of thee, don’t treat me like a slut,
For I am yet a virgin, whose honour is uncut.”
These words the rakish Lord received with even greater lust:
A virgin yet unsullied – oh joy, now that’s a must!
Without a thought he scooped her up to sit astride his horse
And set off at a gallop with no feeling of remorse.
Out to the fields he took her – now I sadly must recount
That in the hay he had his way, the damsel he did mount,
Then, passion spent, he left her there, and carried on his way
With ne’er a thought that for this deed one day he’d have to pay.
But the Sheriff of the County soon heard of what occurred
For ‘twas his eldest daughter with whom Lord H had erred.
A solemn writ he issued for the miscreant’s arrest
And sent his men to find him – not too arduous a quest.
They set off with alacrity his whereabouts to trail –
That very eve the guilty Lord was locked inside the gaol.
And there he stayed for seven days while trial plans were made –
The Sheriff wanted vengeance to ensure just dues were paid.
In court the Sheriff’s daughter gave evidence conclusive,
The judge addressed the reprobate, “This crime was most repulsive,
Thou hast abused this maiden, her honour to besmirch –
Thou shalt be flogged unmercifully, with leather and with birch.
And furthermore, it’s clear to me, thou hast no moral code,
Thy punishment shall be discharged in recompensive mode,
With breeches down for all to see the object of thy pride,
At women’s hands thou shalt be whipped – it’s apt they tan your hide.”
The shackled, semi-naked wretch was taken to the town
Where the women of the County had come for the showdown,
And once his hands and ankles had been fastened to a frame
Stepped forth the Sheriff’s daughter to tumultuous acclaim.
The birch she held was venomous, an instrument for pain –
Exactly what was needed then to make the rogue abstain!
With four stout rods of hazel-wood more than a yard in length
She beat the scoundrel’s backside using every ounce of strength.
Soon stripes and lacerations sore came clearly into view,
A punishment the women thought was just what he was due;
The more he screamed the more they cheered, “Flog the brute”, they yelled,
But even after fifty strokes, their rage was not yet quelled.
The sheriff’s wife now came to fore, a bullwhip in her hand,
She knew that if she judged it right just where the tip would land;
With skill she lashed that evil whip, it cracked and curled right round –
The howl she heard was ample proof her target it had found!
Lord Hazlemere was mortified, his manhood now imperilled,
And through his pain he knew for sure his whoring days were killed.
From that day on, so legend says, he changed his sinful ways,
And lived in isolation ‘til the ending of his days.
Dear friends, this tale is at an end, its moral crystal clear:
For sins both great and small you’ll pay, and maybe shed a tear;
To punish indiscretions is a woman’s role, you see –
For further confirmation ask Miss Dana Kane, not me!
Visit my premium video, DVD, and products website at DanaKaneSpanks.com.
wonderful creativity–wonder how it might be different without rape
Anonymous,
I would be as different as the works of Nabokov, Shakespeare, and uncountable others, were they to exclude such content as well…
– Dana