A Poem – “Implements”
The implements are ready,
laid out upon our bed.
LJ will carve out little rings,
raised and sore and red!
The strap looking kinda gruesome,
rubbed down with a little oil.
Will soon unfurl its vengeance,
as its leather will uncoil.
The paddle (my most loathed implement)
its correction penetrating deep.
The impact lasting until morning,
its soreness makes me weep!
With the hairbrush there’s a choice,
bristles or smoothness at either end?
If I really wriggle then....
“bristles” the loud clear message sends!
The cane is used as a last resort,
its lashings really welt!
Sometimes I do deserve it, :-(
but prefer...the paddle, strap or belt!
The belt with its duel purpose,
a buckle at one end.
The buckle part a “warning” used,
my attitude to mend!!!
The switch, I am instructed,
to select and cut my own.
My humble heart fills me with shame,
obeying your commanding tone!
The Scottish tawse, severe enough,
to be felt through the thickest kilt,
More than a “wee dram” needed,
to alleviate the pain it’s built!
Out of all these implements,
the one I much prefer....
Is the firm application of your hand,
intimate feelings it can stir!!!
N.B. "wee dram" is Scottish for a little tipple or drink (usually referring to whiskey!)