Raylene dropped, as I’d told her, squatting on her toes. She looked up at me, still in slight disbelief, and I nodded. She let her weight fall forward onto her hands, fingers and thumbs on the carpet, and kicked her legs back.

She paused in plank position, her weight resting on her toes and her straining arms. Her arse, still freshly, redly, caned and – she’d complained – burning hot, squirmed appealingly with the effort. Then she came back to squat position. She paused. 

I touched her side with the cane. The heavier cane that was going to deliver the next twelve strokes. “Keep going and don’t stop for a second. And count them. Out loud. Say, ‘one!'”

“One! Master.” There was a slightly whiny tone to the second word, as if a kind master wouldn’t do this to her.

I was unsympathetic. “Just do as you’re told.”

She dropped and performed again. “Two, Master.”

“And anyway, it’s for your own good. It’ll keep you from being too stiff tomorrow.”

She nodded as she came upright again. “Three, Master.” She sounded better.

I had no idea whether the exercise would reduce muscular stiffness from her caning. No one in their right mind should take health advice from an obvious pervert.

But I did know, or strongly guess, that Raylene was enjoying the display she was making. And I knew she could feel Lynette’s cool, appraising interest, watching her move as she worked her ass and thighs. As well as my more overt pleasure in her.

“Four, Master.” She sounded a little winded. I brought the cane down on her upper hip, very gently, and she sped up.

“Five, Sir. I mean Master!”

“You’ve already got an extra punishment stroke coming, Raylene. There can be more.”

“Yes, Master! I’m sorry. Six, Master.”

Squat thrusts involve five steps. First, the person squats down on their toes. Second, they put their hands on the floor. Third, they shoot their legs back, so so they’re supported by their hands and toes, in the “plank” position you’d get in to do press-ups. Fourth, they bring their feet back under them, back into the squat position. Fifth, they straighten up. Then repeat.

Until the man holding the cane tells them to stop.

For most people this is a good cardio exercise that also gives the glute and quadricep muscles a bit of work. For me, it was the only exercise movement I could think of and name. For Raylene it meant a room full of people watching her breasts bounce while she awkwardly worked and showed off the muscles of her caned ass.

She looked at me. Her eyebrows arched appealingly. I pulled her shoulder before she had time to form a request. I had her half turned, and I smacked her ass, a hard fleshy impact on sore skin. So instead of begging me not to humiliate her she yelped: “Owww! Thank you, master!”

“Raylene, I didn’t ask you to thank me. But when I say ‘go’, you’re going to drop to the floor – quickly – and get started.” 

Raylene looked at her bedroom floor. She’d been seeing a lot of it lately. She sounded resigned. “Yes, master.” 

“Lynette. That cane under your arm. Could you pass it please?”

“Oh!” It was as if Lynette had forgotten she held the thicker length of bamboo. She grasped it like an officer with a swagger stick, and handed it to me. “One cane. Use it wisely.”

Our eyes met while the cane passed between us. “And hard, you think?”

“Oh yes. Yes, please.”  

“I think so too.” I looked at Raylene, who had nothing left of her usual self-possession.

She put her hands on her head. She wanted to show she was good.

She was thoroughly disconcerted, red-faced, a muscle in her torso fluttering under the skin. I touched her belly with the bamboo. She fought to keep still, sucking her stomach in.

“Raylene, it’s the heavier cane for you, from now on, if you put a foot wrong. So mind yourself. Now: Go!”

Aware of my gaze, and Lynette’s, Raylene dropped. In every sense of the word.

The first movement after a caning is the hardest

Even with my hand comforting her hips, Raylene seemed likely to continue being vocal unless stopped. So I said, “Get up, girl.”

“Oooh. Ooof. Oh Jesus, Master, that really hurt.” Raylene pushed her upper body up from the desk, and straightened up.

There was a box of tissues on her dresser. I passed them. “Clean your face up, love. And you can stop crying.”

“Thank you.” She meant for the tissues. She honked noisily. It took her four fluffy handfuls before she was ready. She stepped towards me and I held my arms out. I held her round her waist, no lower, while she snuggled in. Her belly bumped against my erection.

“Unh.” I said that. The contact had made me leak, a tiny trickle of pre-come.

Raylene pressed herself closer, and wriggled. “Oh,” she said. “You weren’t even slightly sorry for me, were you?”

Why do caned submissive want to rub their arses? I’ll never know. It looks … painful, and you know I’m against that

“Unh. Girl… Well, a bit. Maybe. But hotness sort of overrode that.” I grinned lopsidedly so that she’d know I didn’t mean what I was about to say. “Sorry.”

“Hah.” Raylene stepped back and put her hands on her hips. She pushed down, straightening her back. “God, my arse feels like it weighs a ton. And it’s doubled in size.”

Dorabella had picked up the thin cane, holding it as I’d told her.

She was inspecting the business end for damage, “Raylene, your bum looks like an angry tomato. Actually.”

Lynette said, “In a good way. You look… well. Hot.”

Gymnastics, and thrusting, but the is NOT a squat thrust. They’re doing it wrong.

Raylene touched her fingertips very lightly on the corrugations across her ass. “Hot is right. It buuuuuuurns. I’ll be so stiff tomorrow.”

A joke about ‘stiff’ crossed my mind. But I thought of something better. “Well, we can fix that. Do you know how to do squat thrusts?”

“Squat thrusts?” She tried to sound amazed that such words even existed, especially in combination.

But she knew what they were.