Masturbation Monday: Emily’s second caning

So Emily had become mine. She’d once tried to get me to make her stop smoking, by taking charge, commanding her and punishing her if I smelled tobacco on her breath, her hair, or her clothes. Though one kiss will reveal that a girl has had a sneaky cigarette. I’d refused, because spanking or caning her because she had a sexy ass, and because she enjoyed submission, was one thing; presuming the right to give her orders and enforce those orders was another step, and I hadn’t been ready to take it. 

She became one of those black and white kneeling girls

So she’d done something that put herself in danger, and hurt me, and I caned her for it. A real world offence. She still had two more canings to go.

After her first caning, she’d told me that it was up to me to stop her smoking. I realised something I’d thought was a one-off event – in three instalments – was not that, in her mind. This was how she wanted to live.

So, finally, I stepped up and claimed her. We’d agreed: Emily was my property now, for me to reward or punish, and she was to do as I told her. 

We fucked again to celebrate.

When we rose, it was only three hours before Emily was due for her second caning, the one I’d promised her for lying to me.

She went to her room to work, though I doubt that she got much done. I spent the rest of the afternoon reading.

After dinner, Emily left while I cleared the table. She came back, naked, with the cane in her right hand. This time I had her bend over the table, holding on to the far edge. She was still brightly marked from yesterday’s caning, but I decided that didn’t matter. Or rather, it did matter. The fact that I was prepared to be merciless when she was already sore would make it hotter.

Even monochrome girls get the cane

I’ve described what caning Emily is like, so I’ll only say that this second time was noisier, because Emily made no effort to restrain her cries. She was lusty and loud, and she rocked, spectacularly, with the impacts, but she took her eight strokes across already marked skin, and didn’t let go of the table.

I felt sorry for her, but her punishment felt natural within the new terms of our relationship. It was amazing how fast I got used to having this right.

But underneath the rhetoric about justice and guidance I enjoyed the sight and sounds of her submission and her reactions, and Emily took her own pleasures from me. I knew she was floating in lust.

It was odd that she both enjoyed it and felt it as punishment. We were running on two emotional tracks at once. One was about punishing Emily for her behaviour and the expiation of her fault, and the other track was about her enjoyment of submission, and sex. One made her feel sorry and small, and the other made her wet and happy. Both tracks were true.  

Afterwards, in bed, I lay back so Emily could lie on her stomach, on mine. She cried onto my shoulder, eventually subsiding to snuffles. She said she was sorry, she’d been stupid, and she loved me. I held her, stroked her hair, kissed her over and over, and told her that it was done now, for tonight, and she was forgiven.

Generally, Emily dreamed in black and white

When she fell asleep I thought about her love and whether I deserved it. I decided she was in a life that excited her sexually and that committed me to keeping her from harm.

And while it hadn’t been a perfect negotiation, involving calm people, we’d both agreed to it, and the respective duties that imposed on us. So perhaps I was on reasonable moral ground.

It wasn’t about men and women or patriarchy. It was personal: she had a right to submit to me. She was one person, getting what she wanted from her lover. 

That’s where I felt that the ethics, the politics and the sex were lined up again.

I had another unsettling thought: was this why she’d fucked Marty? Had she staged a crisis to push me into taking control? It was something she’d asked for before, and  I’d refused her. So it made a kind of psychological sense. On the other hand, Emily wasn’t really devious. Our new arrangement suited her, and I’d resisted it for a long time. But she wouldn’t be that manipulative.  But… Emily slept beside me and I lay awake, wide-eyed.

Masturbation Monday: Under new management

I’d just said to Emily, “You’ll do as you’re told whether you want to or not. You obey orders, and you accept punishment when I say you deserve it. The final say is mine. That’s how we are, now.” 

She’d frowned, considering. My heart was thudding. She had every right to say no, since it was a hell of a lot to ask. Still, I’d be devastated if she did. 

But she didn’t say, Yes. She said, “Hey, Jaime?”

So now I was worried. “Yes?”

“This is totally not normal, this.”

“No. It’s perverse.”

“And I’m thinking of agreeing to it. I even think it’s hot, for god’s sake. We’re so strange. Does this feel right to you?”

“Oh absolutely. Yes. Completely right.” 

“Actually it does sort of feel right to me too. But it’s a bit scary, Jaime.”

“Well. Jump and I’ll catch you, my love.” 

“I love you too. Will you really catch me? Always?”

“Yeah, actually I will.” We were solemn together. I stroked her cunt gently, and unfairly, since I knew it interfered with her thinking, then slipped a finger into her ass. Emily sighed. She liked that.

She said, “Then. I jump. I’ll do as I’m told, from now on. I’m yours.”

“So. Emily Maria Viviani, under new management. You’ve changed hands.”

“Jaime, this is the weirdest thing I’ve ever done. It is so not normal. I’m absolutely terrified. But happy. I seem to be ridiculously happy. Well, so far.”

“I love you. I’m not scared at all,” I lied, “and I’m happy. You’re mine. And it is ridiculous.”

That the most amazing gift I have ever been given. It was considerably better than Christmas.

Masturbation Monday: Lunch with a caned girl

After making omelettes and warming bread I put the tray in front of Emily, who lay on our bed, on her front. I sat beside her, my back against the headboard. Emily demolished her omelette at speed, and helped herself to some of mine. Healing is hungry work.

She passed me her plate, for me to put on the floor beside the bed. “So. I’m supposed to obey you. Like take orders, from now on. But what happens if you tell me to do something really stupid?” 

“Well, I’ll try not to. I don’t want to do you harm.”

“Oh that’ll work. Because your judgement is always better than mine.”

I put my hand on her well-welted left buttock and squeezed.

“Yeech! Well, all right: mostly it is, come to think of it. But not always, Jaime.”

“That’s true. I can say really stupid things.”

Emily nodded. “How about if sometimes I say, ‘excuse me, but what you just told me to do, um, putting this nicely, was stupid and it would do me harm because’. And then I’d explain that it’s a bad idea because of whatever it is.”  

“That’d be fine. Except you have to be even nicer than that. I’d suggest speaking respectfully. Or.” I put pressure on the hot skin under my hand.

“Yii! That hurts!” It wasn’t a complaint, or not entirely.

“But if I tell you to do something that would actually be bad for you, then you can trust that I’ve made a mistake. So if I give you an order that seems stupid, tell me. I’ll listen to what you say. Always.”

“Okay. You’ll always listen to me. Then what?”

“Then I re-consider it. Then I decide.”

“I don’t know, Jaime. I want you to be in charge. But if there’s a risk, it’s to me. I know you don’t want to harm me, but what if you told me to do something that would fuck me up at work or something?”

“Well, I’m going to be careful. And I’ll never mind you telling me when I’m wrong. Ever. And I’ll hear you and decide. Carefully. I know what you’re worried about, but I’m asking you to trust me. I have to have the final say, or this doesn’t work.”

“Trust you? You sure? You seen the state of my arse lately?”

“You can trust me to keep your arse in that state. Your arse looks great.”

“Feels warm. Makes me feel horny. Which is weird, I know. Glad it looks good.”

“Oh fuck. Emily, that ass looks fantastic.”

“This is good.”

“But we were talking. You can trust that I’ll only overrule you when I know you’re wrong. Like if you’re trying to get out of doing something you really need to do. That’s when you’ll do as you’re told whether you want to or not. You obey orders, and you accept punishment when I say you deserve it. The final say is mine. That’s how we are, now.” 

I watched her face carefully. She was frowning.

Masturbation Monday: What is submission for?

Emily had just confirmed that I was in a position that I could order her to stop smoking. And she’d obey. Sort of. As best she could. Until I made it so, through perseverance and discipline. I decided to accept that gift. “Yes. You quit smoking, for good, on Monday. After you’ve had the third instalment.”

Smoke spurted. “Instalment!”

“Well, you know.”

“All right. I’ll try. No, of course I’ll stop. If you help me.” She saw my face. “Not just by caning me, you bastard. I mean, I’ll need you to help. In other ways. But all right.”

This was more, and easier, than I’d expected. I said, naively, “Good. That’s settled.”

Emily stubbed out her cig and turned to me. I hated tobacco, but it was never the only thing she tasted of. Just then, she tasted of milk and sweat. She said, “Yeah… this is good.” I almost patted her welted and super-sensitive bum. I remembered to stroke the small of her back instead.

“We’ll be all right. Well then. Brush your teeth and come back to bed.” And Emma obeyed. I pretended to be nonchalant. I was jubilant.   

 We slept through the morning, and greeted each other across the pillows in the early afternoon. Emily had slept on her stomach. I kissed her, and inspected the damage. The stripes were bright and her skin was flushed red, even where the cane hadn’t touched, but there was no swelling. Her body was impressively efficient at repairing itself. I kissed each rounded hillock, which drew a sigh rather than a yelp, another sign of healing. I gave Emily a progress report, took a photo of her ass and showed it to her, and got up to make lunch. 

Emily said, from the bed, “Shouldn’t I do that?” 

“Do what?” 

“Well, make lunch. Things. Now that I do what I’m told, shouldn’t I make lunch?” 

“Well, you can do the vacuuming. So long as you’re naked. And dusting, I completely hate dusting. But I’ll watch you dust. I’ll get you a feather duster.” 

“Will you test the surfaces with a white glove? And beat me if the glove gets dirty?” 

“Okay, a feather duster and white gloves. And I’ll definitely beat you. One moment.” 

In the kitchen I put rolls in the oven and made omelettes. It was a gesture, to show that certain things would go on as before. We’d shared chores and making meals, and we still would. I reflected, pouring out orange juice, that I could make Emma do all the housework.

I could sit on a couch and have her do all the work while I wore me a wifebeater singlet and shouted at the sports game. But getting out of housework still seemed a petty use of something as grand as Emily’s submission. It’d be a quick way to have her fall out of love with me. Anyway, I didn’t watch sports.

Masturbation Monday: All care, all responsibility

We fucked after Emily’s punishment. We were making certain assurances to each other. Emily still hurt, and she needed to know and trust that I hadn’t hurt her because I despised her, and she also needed to know that I didn’t think less of her for allowing me to hurt her.

I needed her reassurance just as much, that I hadn’t done a wicked thing, that she still loved me and trusted that I loved her and was vehemently on her side. Our gentleness said that I held Emily in awe, and I thought she was braver, more honourable and desirable than I could have imagined.

Our gentleness said that Emily, somehow, still loved me. So we were comforted and reconciled.

Hours later, Emily slipped out of bed, taking care not to wake me. I hadn’t been asleep. It was after midnight. I heard the toilet flush, but she didn’t return. I listened, thinking of Emily in the house without me.

Was she unhappy? If she was unhappy, why didn’t she come to me? She must be brooding, thinking bitter thoughts. Bitter thoughts about me. I told myself this was paranoid and self-obsessed, and to relax. I lasted, sane, for about a minute. Then I got up.

I found her on the balcony, watching the motorway below our apartment. Emily usually wore a robe for her balcony appearances, but her skin was both sensitive and warm.

She drew on a cigarette, her breasts and arms resting on the balcony wall, absently gazing down at the ribbons of car headlights and the nightworld below. She hadn’t noticed my arrival.

I gazed admiringly at the welts I’d given her, which were now a darker red with some black where the last couple of strokes had crossed.

So long as Emily was pleased with this, then I could be proud of giving it. I thought those marks were utterly beautiful and headily sexy. Politics could wait. 

Emily sensed me behind her and glanced back. With no time to compose her face she looked pleased by my presence. My heart lifted. A second later she made a guilty grab at her cigarette pack, then stopped. I’d seen it. But I’d never told her to stop smoking. I’d only advised it. We spoke simultaneously. I said, “you look lovely”, which was true but boring, and Emily said, “I suppose you’ll make me stop smoking, now.” 

Ah. There are many possible reactions to those words. I’m afraid mine was to get a rush of blood to my cock. Emily had given me more power over her than I’d realised. I stepped forward.

I knew her well enough to know she’d probably like to kneel and suck my cock, at that moment. That would let her feel she was serving, she was so owned.

But I wanted out bodies to be pushed closer than that. I was going to fuck her from behind, bending over that balcony, and that was probably going to hurt her hotly welted ass. At least, in that moment, I hoped so.

Masturbation Monday: Tenderly

Emily was crying, but pressing her body against me. I was in territory I’d read about but never been in before. I said, again, “I know you’re a good girl, you’re so good, my love. We’re going to get through this. You’ll be okay. We’ll be okay.” I hoped that tone of voice counted for more than the words, because I couldn’t think clearly. Then I took my hand away. “But stay in position, darling. We’re nearly done.”

We got through the ten strokes of the cane she’d been promised, with one more stop for emotional comfort. It seemed to be over quickly, though Emily’s time must’ve moved more slowly than mine. She stayed in position afterwards. She was vividly striped, and mouthed the syllables, “ol-cha, ol-cha” over and over, sometimes aloud and sometimes silent.

She honked back phlegm, and her bottom ducked and rose while she managed and absorbed the pain. I stood beside her.  “We’re done. For today. You were so brave, love.”

Emily snuffled for answer, and reached over to caress my leg. I ran the fingers of my left hand down the corrugations on her bottom. Ten stripes blossomed there, on golden curved girlskin, each stripe in a different stage of development. Emily would have something to admire in the mirror. Probably for about a week.

I stroked her cunt, to show that whatever changes we were forging, I was still here to serve her pleasure. After our fashion.

I hoped to find her wet, for my own reassurance. She, thank god, was. My fingers entered easily, slickly welcome, and Emily made a soft, pleasured sound.

These sounds continued, and raised slightly in pitch. That was encouraging.

So was the beauty and the sheer, shocking, sexual power of those ten stripes. Those stripes were sex. Those stripes were lust. I’d put those stripes there, ten flags of conquest. They claimed new territory, they were pink pennants of victory. She was mine, in some more literal and deeper sense than we’d had before.

I helped Emma straighten up after she’d come, and she put her arms around my neck and her head in my shoulder, and we rocked together, my arms round her waist. We walked crabwise to bed, where she lay on her front. I undressed and lay facing her, kissed, praised and comforted her while she shed tears and made small hurt-animal noises.

The fiercest heat of a caning, that makes the recipient cry and cry out, fades quite quickly. But Emma’s marks still radiated heat to the air and pain into her body, and she winced even at my gentlest touch. I thought we’d lie together like this until she slept. But after a while our occasional kisses became more focussed.

I rolled onto my back, pulling her on top. We fucked slowly, holding hands and caressing, looking into each other’s eyes.


Masturbation Monday: The keening sound of punishment

The cane impacted low across Emily’s bottom, the sound of rattan on skin sharp and loud. A second later Emily grunted. The sounds were to be remembered. As was the ripple in her flesh, and the slight, quickly controlled jerk of her hips. And the mark of that first stroke, flaring neat and thin across her bottom, emerging as a cream-coloured line that quickly turned pink and then red.  

Emily’s posture gave her immense sexual power, as she knew. She was posing, doing a show for her … whatever I was. I was Emily’s lover, obviously, but what was I becoming? We wouldn’t go back to how we’d been before. I didn’t think she’d want me to relinquish the rights I’d just acquired. I didn’t approve of my new rights, but I didn’t want to relinquish them either.

Emily moved her left foot to firm her stance. The movement signalled acceptance of whatever came, and that excited me. I swung the cane again. Lustily. It landed, loudly, an inch or so below that first stripe. Emily’s head and shoulders jerked up, her hair flying, but she almost instantly returned to position, releasing her breath in a sweet, low gasp.

Her fingers hovered a few inches above her feet. I’d told her to touch her toes, but I let it pass. The second stripe declared itself, a little below the first stroke, which had by now raised itself into a welt. Emily couldn’t see me as clearly as I could study her, but she could see when I braced my feet. So she sucked in air and held it when I raised the cane.

I arced the cane down, resisting the urge to make the stroke gentler, and watched a third stripe bloom, a parallel line across the best-padded part of her bottom. Emily’s third expulsion of breath was voiced.

Some time later I stopped to watch Emily’s bottom squirming, her movements blatantly sexual though she was no longer aware of or concerned about how she looked. Her buttocks were decorated by five straight, separated stripes. Her hands still pointed obediently down, but had moved beside her ankles, the fingers and thumbs splayed and taut. It was an effort not to put them in the way of the cane. Tears ran down the bridge of her nose, tracking down her forehead to her hairline. She made a small keening sound, more in her nose than her mouth.

I reached down and stroked Emily’s hair, and teary forehead. The other hand, still holding the cane, I put round her waist and pulled her to me. The keening noise was louder, though she sounded in some way comforted. Emily pressed her hip against me. I wanted to tell her, reassuringly, that she was a good girl, and then felt the absurdity of that. In what way was I an expert on goodness?

But I had to say something.

It was my first attempt at this sort of thing. “You’re so beautiful. You’re so brave. I love you.” And, because it seemed called for, “you’re a good girl. Really. I do know that.” Emily’s keening became sobs. So she had wanted to hear that. I stroked her hair. She reached her hand to take mine, the hand holding the cane.

Emily’s sobs slowly subsided while I held her, and she said, “ah-huh, ah-huh”. She was agreeing with something, though I wasn’t sure what.

Masturbation Monday: How to say the wrong thing

Emily had just declared that she wanted to be punished. It sounded like an oath to me, so I added, “Being of sound mind, ekt.”

Emily looked, for a second, up at the ceiling. “Oh, utterly sound mind.” 

“Ok. Look, as far as I’m concerned, there are two things. You shouldn’t have let me wait till three in the morning before you called me. I’m going to punish you for that. So that’s, um, ten strokes tonight, for making me worry about you. Whether you were ok.”

Emily said, “Ok.”

“And Marty, the Marty … thing. You put yourself in danger. It was stupid, and I’m not going to let you do that again. So I’m giving you a dozen tomorrow, for putting yourself in danger. You were scared, and you scared the shit out of me. That is not going to happen again.”

She nodded, silent. I did some counting. “So you’ve got twenty-two strokes, over two days, and I think I’m being lenient. If it hurts, and I’m going to make sure it does, you’ve got it coming.” 

Emily nodded again, thoughtfully. She said, “I guess I do.” I’d given her more strokes than that before. It was on the severe side, but it wasn’t outlandish. I hadn’t mentioned infidelity, having sex with fucking Marty. Fucking Marty. That was on both our minds but we didn’t say it. We were both influenced by versions of feminism, in which jealousy was one of patriarchy’s darkest and most dangerous corners. We were trying to be cool about that. She said, “I suppose. I suppose that’s fair.”

“And you lied to me. That’s more. One more day. Another six.” That was cheating, increasing the number after Emily had agreed. But I’d said it without thinking, and once it was said the rules seemed to say that I couldn’t go back on it. I’d have to remember not to do that again. “So that’s what it’s going to be.”

“That’s a lot, Jaime. I don’t know if I should …” She shrugged, impatient with herself. “No, okay. When?”

“We start right now, Emily. Go get the cane. Bring it to me.”

Emily gazed at me, then nodded without speaking, and left. It seemed she didn’t call me “sir” when it was real. The canes were in a cupboard with other toys and tools in Emily’s room. She returned holding a thickish length of rattan, about four feet long. But she didn’t immediately offer it to me. “I don’t have to take this if I don’t want to.”

She meant to say that she was reaffirming her choice and her consent, but I misunderstood her. “No, you’re right. You don’t have to.” That was the right thing to say.

Then I said, “But you deserve it, Emily. You really deserve it.” That wasn’t so good; I’d thought that I wasn’t going to be a bully.

I followed with worse. “Emily, you lied to me. And you fucked that – you fucking hurt me, Emily.” 

Emily stopped. A tear spilled, began its trail. Then gleaming tracks down both cheeks. Emma wept silently, still holding the cane. I said, “Oh fuck, I’m sorry.”

Masturbation Monday: Just desserts

Punishing Emily seemed to be a hot idea. It was also terrifying. I’d no longer be able to rely on the politics that I’d put together to allow me to accept my sexual desires. I’d have to fly without a map, immediately, and work out something new.

She was less fussed about the politics than I was, because we both knew that in any discussion over sexism the woman is always right. I might have to flounder round, trying to come up with reasons, but she didn’t. And she had no reason to worry about getting the cane. She liked getting caned. If she didn’t get caned for this reason, there’d be another reason coming along soon enough.

It came down to this, for both of us: we could carry on being awkward with each other, or we could do something new and scary that meant we’d fuck and forgive. There were arguments for and against this, but the lust of it led in only one direction.

My face was cold, pale and sweaty as a slice of picnic chicken. Emily was as pale as she ever gets, a speckled brown egg. “Yeah, well. Suppose you punish me. Okay. What happens?”

I was used to pretending to be a disciplinarian. Actually being a disciplinarian, the real thing, was stranger and more emotional than I’d imagined. “I suppose … Well, I’d tell you to go and fetch the cane. You’d do as you’re told. And then I’d cane you. And … No, that’s it, really.”

A day ago, Emily might have said something like, “Oh no, sir, pleeease not the cane,” and we’d have taken the game from there. Instead she said, “Okay then.” She stared at a point on the floor, just before my feet.

“Emily, look at me.” Emily looked up, then cast her eyes down. I realised, relieved, that part of her was still play-acting. Sure, she was ashamed, and afraid of the cane, but she was also enjoying her humiliation, and hoping I’d make it worse. I could talk to both Emilys. “I’m giving you one last chance to decide, okay? This is the chance, right now. If you say, ‘Yes, I deserve the cane’, then we’ll start. But if you can say, ‘No, I don’t deserve to be caned,’ then we don’t start. Nothing happens.”

“Um. Well, what happens if I say I deserve it, but I still don’t want you to cane me?”

I hadn’t thought of that. “I’d be pissed off with you.” I shook my head. That was bullying. I’d feel better about this if I managed not to be a bully. “I mean, truthfully, I would be pissed off with you. I’m pissed off now. But I’d forgive and forget. It’d take a while but it wouldn’t take forever. So if you say nothing happens, then nothing happens.” 

“You wouldn’t leave me?” 

“Jesus, Emily! No, I won’t leave you. Absolutely not. Not matter what. I love you.” It was true, though I didn’t sound very loving.      

“Okay. I love you too. Um, what was I supposed to say?”

“Well, whatever the hell you’ve decided should happen. It’s your choice. Oh. Right, the words were: ‘Yes, I deserve the cane.’” 

“Ok. Yes, I, Emily Maria Viviani, deserve the cane. No, really; I totally fucked up. You absolutely should punish me. With the cane. I really deserve it. I need you to punish me. I know I do.”

Once she’d said that our world changed. I pretended not to feel the vertigo. 

Masturbation Monday: Real-world consequences

For a second Emily didn’t react. Then she jolted, as if she’d been hit by an invisible tennis ball. She blushed, equally suddenly, and looked away. “Oh,” she said. “Oh.” She turned back to look into my eyes. “I don’t know, Jaime.”

“You asked me to cane you. If I caught you smoking?”

But she saw the doubt in my face. “Well, yes… But that was then. Anyway, Jaime, you said you wouldn’t. You said you can’t punish me just because I do something you think is wrong.” This was true. I’d turned her down, with self-admiration. “Remember?” 

“And you said you wanted me to punish you when you fucked up. That was just about smoking. Well hell, Emily, this is bigger than that.”

Emily would’ve gone on apologising forever, and I’d have gone on making her feel worse while acting as if I was being nice, also forever. That would be boring. This was dramatic.

One thing we’d learned together was that we had a mutual taste for drama.

“I haven’t given you the right, Jaime. Not for this.” 

“I think I should punish you.” Emily frowned. She knew I wasn’t convinced of that. “Well, what do you think? Do you think you deserve it?”

“Of course.” That was dismissive. “Well, okay. Yes, I do. I was really stupid. And I was mean. I hurt you. Of course.” That was less dismissive. “I’d deserve anything you did to me. Well, to my ass, anyway. But that’s not the point, Jaime. You said you wouldn’t punish me for real things. Not for real. You said you couldn’t. We’re supposed to be equals.”

“It’s your choice. We’d be equals if you choose it.”

“So you’d punish me for fucking another guy. But you’d want me to ask you to first. You’re saying that would make us still equals?”

“Um. Well, it’s your choice. And it wouldn’t just be for fucking Marty.”

“Oh, because you’re too high-minded to be jealous.”

“I never said that.”

“Jaime, you’ve got every right to be mad at me. And you are angry with me, you know you are.”

“Okay. That’s true.”

“So, I say I’m a bad girl and then you cane me. Only difference is that this time it’s real.”  

“It’d be real.” I hadn’t changed my mind about the politics: I didn’t believe any adult has a right to tell another adult what to do, let alone punish that adult. Everything I felt about sexual politics, plus my basic anarchism, was against it. But this wasn’t between citizens. It was between Emily and me, and though we weren’t open about it, it was about sex as much as justice. 

She sank to her knees. She wasn’t pleading. Not to be let off. We looked at each other, with nothing new to say. It helped that I knew that Emily wanted and intended to lose this argument.

She didn’t exactly want the cane, but she wanted to have been caned.

Then she wouldn’t be in the wrong any more. Neither of us liked occupying the moral low ground. Punishment would make her good again: I’d have forgiven her, and more importantly she could forgive herself.

But I was certain that her real reason was the same as mine: sex. It had been one thing to play dominance and submission games. But this was about making my dominance and her submission real, with real-world consequences. That seemed hot.