Raylene’s head bobbed, though she carefully kept her eyes on Lynette. “Yes, master. I’m ready to say sorry.”

“Good. Get your ass up a bit, girl. Straighten those legs.” 

“Yes, master.” She shuffled her feet a little further apart and arched her back.

Like a cat wanting to be fucked. Like a submissive girl wanting to display her cunt for her master, wanting to be good and wanting to be admired. Her cunt was puffy, and wet. The red stripes across her buttocks, two of them darkly raised, seemed to point towards that soft, sweet flower. So we were agreed, Raylene and I: she urgently needed to be fucked.

I raised the cane, though. There were things that needed to be done first. Or maybe this caning wasn’t just going to merge with our next fuck; it was already part of it. “Do you think you look hot, Raylene?”

“I hope you think so, sir.”

Sir? I don’t think she really meant to drop me in rank. But though I’d never asked her to address me as master – she’d started that, spontaneously – I missed the title. I minded.

I delivered the next stroke fast, and hard. The cane bit loud and merciless into the crease of her bottom and thighs. Raylene’s head shot up, blue hair flying, and she howled, wordlessly, the pain rising through her body and expelled from the back of her throat. Her upper body rose from the table while she shook her arse. But she kept her grip on the table-legs. The howling became sobs, and she bawled like a baby for a few seconds. Then she quieted and fell back to the table. 

“Yes. I do think you look hot.” I put the cane between her thighs and pressed the bamboo upwards, into that viscous groove between her lips.

Raylene’s tone changed as she rode the cane, keeping her cunt around wet bamboo. Her cries slowed and quietened, becoming the heavy panting of a long-distance runner.

I looked at Lynette, who was also red-faced and breathing heavily, her mouth open. “Do you think her eyes are pretty when she’s crying?”  

Lynette shook her head. “Oh, yes. I – She looks very pretty.”

“But that wasn’t eye contact, was it?”

Lynette hesitated, again. But she’d done solidarity for Raylene already, and the lying had cost her. Also, though she had no reason to be, I felt she was a little frightened of me at that moment. Or of her own reactions to Raylene’s caning.

I guessed she was enjoying her fear, at the same time as knowing she was safe. I had no right to do anything dom-ly to her, or any intention of doing so, without her consent, and she must known that as well as I did. Still, I was a man with a cane in his hand, and I’d been providing scary, sexy fun, like a roller-coaster ride.

Anyway, she looped the loop. “No. That wasn’t eye contact. She wasn’t looking at me at all.”