This is not a rule of thumb, Please cane your pupil on his bum. Caning hands is very bad, It never will reform a lad. Get his trousers round his knees, And his pants too, if you please. Lift his shirt and jersey too, Bare his bottom to the view. Make him bend and thrust it up, Humiliate the little pup. Swish him hard and swish him well, Give the blighter bloody hell. Six at least is what he needs, For his very wicked deeds. If he cries and begs, "Refrain!" Crack him harder with the cane. Watch his buttocks redder grow, With each crisp and stinging blow. Cover his entire behind, Filling gaps that you may find. When you think hes had enough, Stand him up, and dont be rough. Those tears are coming out in spurts, Let him rub it where it hurts. Pull his clothes up round his waist, But gently go, lest in your haste, Buttons pop and zips get caught, Causing him to get distraught. Shake his hand and say, "Well done! "You took it like a man, my son." Watch him close the study door. Tomorrow hell be back for more!
There was a small boy who bent over, For eating his fathers pavlova. He said, "The meringue "Had a raspberry tang, "But, alas, Im now over the sofa."
There was an old man with a strap, Whose godson went over his lap. He beat his bare bum, And made the lad come, That lecherous old man with a strap.
There was a blond boy whose behind, For chastisement was clearly designed. But when they said, "Bare "That bottom so fair." He declared, "You are out of your mind!"
There was a fair youth With a figure so svelte, He was often given A dose of the belt. He said "Its not fair, "That my bum I should bare, "When the fat ones never get it. "Ill go on a diet and eat cream puffs, And hope that they forget it."
There was a boy In an Eton jacket Was given the strap And couldnt hack it.
When he asked If they would stop, They beat him harder With the strop.
He cried out loud, "My bums so sore!" But they strapped him All the more.
When they were finished, They stood him up, And he ran to his mother And cried like a pup.
Dalziel was a boy with a lovely bum, Who thought hed make his teacher come. He stood up one day in front of the class, And asked the master to wallop his arse.
The master, sensing a rare event, Asked him what he really meant. The boy said, "Sir, Im a wicked child, "My punishment must not be mild.
"I stole some apples and poisoned a stream, "Please beat my bottom till I scream." The man said, "Boy, its only fair, "That you should get it on the bare."
The boy agreed and his shorts came down; He dropped his pants without a frown. He lifted his shirt and flaunted his _c_o_c_k_, Which gave young Johnson (so shy) a shock.
The boy bent right over, displaying his hole, Young Wilkins (a choirboy) said, "God bless my soul!" The chorister shouted, "Spare not the rod! "A really good thrashing will lead him to God."
The master retorted, "Young Wilkins, forbear! "Im trying to get this boys buns in the air." He jiggled the bottom until it was right; The final position was such a delight!
He said to the culprit, "Im about to begin, "I hope, like young Wilkins, to save you from sin." He took a deep breath and then counted to three, The joy on his face was a pleasure to see.
The master then smiled as he took up a stick. He felt a sensation go right down his prick. Young Wilkins his hand in his pocket then thrust, And fingered his dick with unchoirboyly lust.
The first stroke came down with a swish and a crack, The second a stinging effect did not lack. The third was a cracker and left a nice weal, The laddie real pain was beginning to feel.
He sobbed as the whacking continued apace, The tears he produced ran right down his face. He begged for a respite, but none was allowed, As the masters and choristers willies stood proud.
The pedagogue, feeling an orgasm near, Beat harder and harder upon the boys rear. At last with a surge his semen spilled out; An exceptional feeling without any doubt.
The chorister, meanwhile, his bishop was bashing, Enthralled by the sight of the merciless lashing. Too young to ejaculate into his pants, He sprang up and started on one of his rants.
"Oh, look sir, his bottom is beautifully red, "From the snares of the devil he has surely been led. "Your cane is a symbol of heavenly grace; "The Dark One has fled and returned to his place.
"I know that a thrashing is very hard work, "But beating his bottom has converted this perk. "Ill sing hallelujah that you used your cane, "And showed this poor boy the true meaning of pain."
The thrashed one stood up with his hands on his bum, And turned to young Wilkins and said, "Youre so dumb! "You really should know I enjoy the caress "Of the rod when applied with such art and finesse.
"A really hard whacking goes right to the brain, "Producing endorphins that help ease the pain. "The feeling that follows is pleasant and warm, "And regular beating helps keeps you in form.
"This evening at vespers slip into the church "And ask the churchwarden to show you his birch. "Im sure that for asking your backside hell paste, "And after one licking youll soon get the taste.
"Now if youll excuse me my bottom needs balm, "And the state of my spirit necessitates calm." The master conceding the truth of the claim, Proceeded to finish the excellent game.
All that thrashing and coming had sated his lust, So he ordered the youngster his clothes to adjust. He hoped that a boy would soon merit the cane, And the angelic choirboy was thinking the same.