There was no reason for caning poor Arethusa that day. She was innocent and good! 

At least, there was no disciplinary reason. She was doing well at university, with health, money and all the other things I watched. 

But it was Sunday afternoon. She hadn’t been caned in too long. We both knew that. So … What else can a Master and his slavegirl do? 

The score:

I loved caning Arethusa. The impact, the little shiver and gasp she gave each time the cane landed.   Each stripe appearing and forming under me.

She didn’t enjoy getting the cane as much as I enjoyed caning her. 

But she liked my pleasure. She liked the transgression of it. And she loved the warm/hot fuzziness that comes when it’s over. She loved Just Having Been Caned. 

And there’s something about immediate post-caning sex. Arethusa tended to be feeling very surrendered while I tended towards the savage. We fucked like she was a town being sacked and I was the Roman army. 

And afterwards … the marks. We loved those marks.