Hylas, naked, bent at the waist, touching his toes, felt the absence of the cane, and then, three seconds later, its return, burning a line of fire across his buttocks. The slap of bamboo on his flesh echoed in the room. Ojastara was not being playful now, nor holding back. 

He remembered he had seen his father discipline one of the household slavegirls, the punishment seeming to exceed her trivial fault. That poor, pretty girl and counted each stroke aloud, and thanked her master for her lesson, after each stroke. Ojastara had not asked for that display of submission. 

But it felt right. He knew his father had whipped that girl for sexual reasons, and that the two of them had spent that night together. Some of the sounds of pleasure from that room had clearly been female.

He said, “One, thank you. Ojastara.”

She paused, surprised. Then she said, “Good boy, Hylas.” But the next stroke, just a dactylos below the first, was if anything harder.

His breath hissed with the pain. He wondered if she could make him cry out. Then he stopped wondering. Of course she could.

When he could speak he gasped, “Two, thank you, Ojastara.” 

She said, “Good boy. But you don’t need to count any more. Just stay in position while I punish you. Why are you being punished?”

He looked at the floor between his head. “Because I failed to satisfy you, Ojastara.” 

The cane whipped in again. He wasn’t expecting it and he yelped. It had not taken her long. She said, “That’s right, Hylas. Now, I liked hearing you whine just then. I’ll have more of that. Keep your mouth open, for the rest of this beating. So I can hear you.” 

His face burned fiercely. He said, “Yes, Ojastara.” He could feel that the pain of his three strokes, and her utter unconcern for his dignity were having their effect. Blood flowed to his cock. 

Ojastara applied another three strokes, his vocal grunts and yelps getting a little louder with each fresh application of pain. Then she put the cane in his mouth. He closed his mouth then, to hold it. She said, “Stand up now, Hylas. Hands in your hair.”

He obeyed, knowing he was displaying a half-erect and steadily expanding cock. She stepped close and took it in her hand, squeezed it. Then she kissed him, stroking his cock lightly. She smiled at him. “That’s a useful reflex you have. Should I tell Phyrne that being beaten makes you hard?”

He couldn’t organise his thoughts to answer. He didn’t want the humiliation of that. Or perhaps he did. Her hand on his cock was what he knew. At last he said, “Whatever you think best, Ojastara.”

She smiled. “Hmmmph. Well, we’ll see.” Then she removed the cane from his mouth. “Well, I don’t think we’re quite finished yet, Hylas. Bend over again, boy. Touch your toes. We’ll continue.”