By David

In my imagination, you’d be bent

To take a taste of corporal punishment

Delivered by a long thin cane, designed

For great effect upon a girl’s behind,

Its power to sting severely much improved

When skirts that cover buttocks are removed.

 

As each cruel cut inflames your cringing rear

You gasp and groan, then shed a bitter tear.

Once over, fix your uniform with care

Lest tender cheeks be chafed by underwear,

Then stumble from the scene, hands vainly rubbing

Those regions where the rod has done its drubbing.

 

Later, before the mirror, you survey

The damage done and see, to your dismay,

Red stripes that cross your crevice, cheek to cheek.

You’ll not sit down in comfort for a week.

And ever after, you’ll recall with pain

That day when you bent over for the cane.

 

© David 2014