Thursday 30 August 2012

Ten Thousand Whacks and all of them Sweet.


This blog has been going for less than a year and has effortlessly passed my other blog on the antics of local theatre folk. That is popular (no I shan’t tell you what it is) but clearly an alternative antic involving the fearful lowering of pants for disciplinary pleasures has a wider appeal. I am not surprised. If there is anything more stimulating than baring one’s behind for the whack of an avenging cane or strap then I have yet to discover it. Simple, innocent, invigorating, and not available in Waitrose. A Master or Mistress, fantasy or fact, it does not matter. Bend over, pull down those nether garments, and feel the swishing sting on the naked cheeks. That is all. Beats all the proffered pills from the surgery. And if you can’t do it, or not too often, then writing about it is a fair second best. Or that is what I think. And, thank God, some folks like to read it. Whacking Tales is my bit of fun for a private and specialised world that is rarely talked about. Indulged in by postmen and politicians, farmers and firemen, nurses and number crunchers, it is a pleasure unsurpassed. If it did not exist we would have to invent it. In a way I suppose we did. When that first authoritative human smacked his first bottom he laid down a trail that endures to this day. The charm of such activity will never die out and the internet underlines its fascination. This blog is just a small part of it. On it I have just passed the Ten Thousand hit mark (10,000) and all of them are beautifully sweet. I thank you all.
I am fortunate in that I do not care who whacks my bottom, male or female, providing they know what they are doing but many of you are different. At least if you reading preferences are anything to go by. F/m and F/M still figure a long way ahead of M/m and M/M. And stories are much more popular than poems or autobiographical pieces. Explains why I Have Never Seen Whipstock Grange (F/M story inspired by a real place) still saunters over everything with 14% of the hits. The next six (all generally F/m stories) account for over a combined 36%. You have to get down to Yesterday’s Boy (autobiographical M/m) in eighth place with 4% of hits before a different scenario intrudes.
And in 28 posts (this is the 29th for the mathematicians amongst you) my two poems can only muster a measly 0.89%. I get the message. Loud and clear. Stories, preferably F/m. One to be posted shortly. It is my way of saying thank you.
 
To come:
The Boy in Black Trunks.
It is long.  It is on the Lulu site, but not selling well. And it predates The Past is Always Present and The Boston Landlady. But when it comes to being whacked you clearly like this F/m sort of thing. And this boy, pants down, gets whacked many times. As does his girl. So all tastes catered for in my shameless quest for the next ten thousand hits.
Alfred Roy
 

Thursday 9 August 2012

The Law of Miss McKindrick - Poem (F/m)

The Olympics has dominated my household for the last couple of weeks. I am sure others, gripped or bored, find it has the same fascination. I like the swimming and athletics and, strangely, the weightlifting. Most others leave me cold. Except the diving. That has the bonus of seeing slipped trunks on occasions. A glimpse of a nice bottom can cheer up the most prosaic event. This poem, when a young bottom is fully revealed for the usual retribution, is taken from my book 'Scenes From A Disciplined Mind'. A quick blogging antidote to those mesmerising distractions in Stratford East. Alfred Roy.


Don’t talk in class, don’t turn up late.
The bus turns up at half past eight.
Don’t run around or act the fool.
And wear your cap when entering school.
Don’t spit at fellows who fail to please.
Wash dirty hands and grubby knees.
Obey these rules and many more.
Or risk the wrath of McKindrick’s law.


Don’t giggle when the hymns are sung.
Or tease the girls or taunt the young.
Don’t write rude words upon the wall.
Or whistle in the school’s great hall.
Don’t pick your nose, or swear, or fight.
In sums, get all the answer’s right.
To avoid a bottom, red and sore.
Do not fall foul of McKindrick’s law.


For Miss McKindrick has one rule.
When naughty boys upset her school.
Across her knee they quickly go.
And just before she strikes a blow.
The shorts and pants are taken down
To expose the bottom, pink or brown.
And hand and slipper start to wreak
A fiery pain to each bare cheek.


As face is pressed to meet the floor.
And legs stretch out towards the door.
The upturned bottom waits the slap.
She has been known to use the strap
But whatever method she does choose.
Bare cheeks a coolness quickly lose.
She spanks and spanks and spanks once more.
To remind, through tears, McKindrick’s law.


One jolly fellow quite forgot.
How naughty boys were dealt their lot.
So the sinful deeds of Master Price.
Incurred displeasure, and got whacked twice.

                             *

He stole the bike of Sarah Jones.
Fell off. Survived. No broken bones.
But bike was twisted, spiked and bent.
And into a river it was sent.
But Master Price, not being brave.
Denied this end in watery grave.
Denied the deed, though seen, and lied.
No matter how the young girl cried.


Go to my room and wait for me.
Miss McKindrick said. So off went he.
To stand outside the private door.
All entered sound, most left quite sore.
For this was where she dished out pain.
Where McKindrick’s law was give full rein
In spite of face which looked so kind.
She was the scourge of bare behind.


Young Master Price did as was told.
His face was hot, his hands were cold.
Stood by the door and watched the clock.
Ten minutes passed. Tock tick.Tick tock.
Much fright did show upon his face.
Much twitching in another place.
He rued his fate and feared his due.
To be spanked, alas, was something new.


Miss McKindrick came, did not forget.
Her eyes were cold, her jaw was set.
His stomach lurched, which was because.
In her large hands she held a tawse.
Inside young man, she did command.
It’s time you had your bottom tanned.
For stealing bikes and telling lies.
I hope Miss Jones can hear your cries.


She closed the door and grabbed a chair.
He clutched his bottom, wailed ‘it’s not fair.’
It’s more than fair, young Master Price.
For telling lies I shall spank you twice.

                              *

My hand will teach you not to steal.
And take my word I make it feel.
For telling lies you get the strap.
So come, stand here, beside my lap.
He did as told, and buttons found.
His shorts were soon upon the ground.
With hand on neck, he was over knee.
His bottom raised for her to see.


Her hands did itch to make a start.
But boys upturned must play their part.
Her fingers played upon his waist.
Then pants came down with gentle haste.
The chubby bottom a pleasing scene.
Glistened in youth and seemed quite clean.
Take all your time no need to rush.
The boy will cry as cheeks do blush.


So Miss McKindrick enhanced her law.
Spoke to this bottom, soon red and sore.
Her hand whacked cheeks, both left and right.
And conjured up a charming sight.
Young Master Price both squirmed and squealed.
The fire was hot, his bottom wealed.
With shorts and pants below his knees.
He begged forgiveness, uttered pleas.


But regardless of his twist and turn.
Miss McKindrick worked upon his stern .
Around his waist she held left hand.
Whilst right struck out its fiery band.
Twent Four times she smacked his bum.
And Master Price feared more to come.
His pants were down, his rear on fire.
‘Please stop’ he said, ‘I may expire’.


She did relent when his tears were full.
And further down his pants did pull.
Your bottom glows young Master Price.
My hand was first, all else comes twice.

                              *

Raise up behind to meet my strap.
Compared with this that’s just a tap.
You’ll get six and two and then eight more.
The last real hard, you will wish for four.
I intend to make this bottom smart.
You told me lies, now play your part.
For lying, the worst McKindrick law.
This bare backside will be well sore.


So the scene was set, the players cast.
His first big role, but not his last.
His teacher played the starring part.
But Master Price sang out his heart.
Bare bottom raised, he felt her strap.
Miss McKindrick knew how to spank a chap.
Over her lap not an inch was missed.
All the bare flesh was resoundly kissed.


She strapped him high, she strapped him low.
She strapped both cheeks with a hefty blow.
She strapped to the left and then to the right.
She strapped his behind till it burned so bright.
He squealed and he howled, he stamped and sobbed.
As his little backside both stung and throbbed.
She whacked his cheeks, and for a week or more.
A tender glow spoke McKindrick’s law.


Pants at feet and bum in air.
Over her knee he got spanked bare.
And all he did for the rest of the day.
Was rub at shorts to take the pain away.
But hand and strap had landed true.
And cheeks lit red, kept their pinkish hue.
For it took two weeks for the marks to fade.
And expunge the day when a debt was paid.


So that is the story of McKindrick’s law.
To keep control she made boy’s sore.
And this was story of Master Price.
Who stole and lied, so got spanked twice.

Alfred Roy (revised 2012)