Sa’afia held the rod clasped between her upper thighs. I lifted it a little, so it pressed against her cunt. Sa’afia moved her left foot a little further leftwards, and moved her hips forward so that a little sliver of the rod disappeared beteeen pink folds. I lifted the rod a little to make the angle more pleasing, and Sa’afia closed her eyes, riding a cock horse. A couple of centimetres of the rod gleamed darkly in the light. She’d got it wet.

I took it away again once she’d relaxed. It was crueller than striking her thighs with it. She opened her eyes wide, shocked, and her mouth to protest. The rod had been wonderful. Why was it gone? I tapped her left thigh, below the first stripe, now slightly raised. I said, “You’ve got two stripes on your right side, and just one stripe here. Is that fair?”

“No, sir.”

“And so…?”

“You’re going to cane me on my left thigh, sir.”

“Holy fuck.” I was jolted out of role. I held up the stick. “You call this thing a cane?”

Sa’afia frowned. “Yes?” She couldn’t see what I was getting at. “It’s always called a cane.”

“Well, okay.” It wasn’t a cane. It was something fiercer, harsher, than a cane. But I was getting off track again. “That case I’m going to cane you. Open your mouth.” 

Sa’afia looked a little bewildered, but obeyed. She’d been quiet so far, when she’d felt my hand or the rod. I wanted to make it harder for her to stay silent.

I didn’t explain that. I knew she’d like being told how to hold her mouth while she was being disciplined. It showed that I cared about her, in detail. “And keep it open until I tell you you can shut it.” 

Sa’afia closed her eyes and nodded, open-mouthed. I tapped her with the rod. “Open your eyes, stupid girl.” She watched, jaw dropped, while I raised the rod and held it poised, letting her wait.