Dorabella’s robe falling open again was an MGM moment: that vista of creamy smooth stomach and the inner slopes of her breasts, revealed again. Dorabella knew she’d caught my attention. She didn’t close it, this time. 

I glanced at Lynette. She’d switched to filming Dorabella’s open robe and its revelations. She started a little guiltily when she saw me looking at her, and quickly moved the camera frame back to Raylene’s ass.

I said, “Bad girl.” But I might have meant all three of them, for one reason or another.

I swung the cane again, letting the bamboo land medium-hard, the stroke making that wonderful sharp sound of bamboo meeting flesh. It crossed other strokes on the fleshiest part of Raylene’s bottom. Raylene cried out, the impact and heat setting her ass bobbing in furious motion. But there were no sobs.

Beside me I heard Lynette sigh. A release of tension, or a response to the primordially sexual sight Raylene presented: I couldn’t tell.

“Last three with this cane now, Raylene. If you behave.”

She didn’t answer, except to move her grip on the desk legs. There was tension in her arms: she didn’t want to let go.

But the next stroke was the fourth of this series, and I’d decided that those had to be hard. I aimed it ruthlessly low.

Raylene jolted violently when the cane bit her, just above her thighs, and despite her determination her hands lost their grip of her desk. She gasped with the shock of pain, and struggled with Dorabella, trying to get up.

Dorabella’s face was a mask of concentration. She held on to Raylene’s shoulders and pressed down with all her weight and strength.

After a second or two Raylene gave up her struggle, relaxed and resumed her grip on the desk legs. She yowled once from pain and frustration, and her head turned anguishedly from side to side. She resumed her sobbing.

But this time I knew I had the audience on my side.