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.”  

Possession isn’t everything. But it’s good.

Dorabella was still filming, and for no good reason except to bring her back from recording to participation, I whacked her arse, not hard, and pulled her into an embrace.

She put the phone down beside Raylene’s hip, and took the thicker cane from between her thighs to hold on to it while she clung to me. She kissed me, affectionately rather than passionately.

“I bet you never expected this was how this would go.”

“Are you … Do you mind?”

“No. You’re a good skin.” I’m still not sure what a ‘good skin’ is, except that it must be good. And skinny. “You’re allowed to be happy. And … you’re enjoying yourself. What you’re doing. And how you’re doing it. It’s fun to watch you.”

Dorabella’s dancecard, for some time tomorrow. At least as I envisaged it. Pretty sure she had something simpler in mind

“Hmmm. Well, don’t get too damn analytical. I’m still expecting you in Raylene’s bed tomorrow. Or yours.”

“Um. Yes, well. You’re still booked for a fuck. On my dance card. Or something. But we’ll have to talk about it.” 

I wasn’t sure what that meant. But at least it seemed that I hadn’t blown it completely. So I said, “Ok. We’ll talk. But just now…”

I glanced at the cane in my hand, and at her sister. 

Dorabella gave me the eyebrows ironical again. “No, you’re a busy man. Go for it.” 

“Filming, Dorabella.” That was an order, a hint of command voice.

When Dorabella smiles, there are dimples. “Yes, sir.” She still meant it ironically. But she put the spare cane back between her thighs, and picked up the phone.

I gave her a few seconds, then said, “Lynette, you’ll have to lean back now.”   

Lynette looked at me almost guiltily, then took her hand away from Raylene’s shoulders. She leaned away quickly, dropping both hands to her lap. What the hell was going on with her?

So I said, “Thanks.” Then, because sometimes I just push my luck, I added, “Good girl.” 

Lynette frowned. She seemed to be puzzled too. I said, “Eyes on Lynette, Raylene. And after this stroke you’ll take your t-shirt off and get up to face her. You’ve got an apology to make.” 

Oh, please don’t tell!

Raylene stared beseechingly into Lynette’s eyes. Lynette, I dare say, wondered about what to do with power. She’d enjoyed watching the two cane-strokes she’d witnessed so far.

Now, with a word she could get Raylene an extra stroke, entirely in Lynette’s honour. And at her discretion. It’s no bad position for a guest of honour to find herself in. So she hesitated.

But like a good feminist woman, all solidarity with the sisterhood (eventually), she finally said, “Oh. No, she was, you’d say, good. She didn’t break eye contact.”

I gave her the look you give a brat who’s denying that she ate all the chocolate biscuits.”Oh? Are you sure? Lynette? Really sure?”

Lynette’s eyes dropped. She didn’t like lying, and she was terrible at it. Then she looked me firmly in the eyes, radiating truth and sincerity. “Yes. She kept her eyes on me all the time.”

This was comedy and we both knew it. “Oh. OK. That’s all right then.” It was a very poor imitation of someone who believed her.

We looked at each other. I grinned at her, and a second or two later she smiled back. Two liars, in a conspiracy to save Raylene’s ass.

Stripes in blossom. Roses of red and white. It was Spring, on Raylene’s arse. 

I saw Raylene relax slightly, relieved, so I whipped the cane down again. Not hard, but low, catching the soft flesh of her underbum. This time she managed to contain the pain, expelling her breath hard but more or less silently. Though she couldn’t keep her ass still while the new stripe blossomed to red, she did manage to keep her eyes on Lynette.

Lynette smiled at Raylene. Her self-control meant that Lynette wouldn’t have to lie again. Approving of the behaviour of a girl getting the cane: that was a new and strange experience. She seemed to be enjoying it. 

“You can call her a good girl, if you like. When she is being good.” I was being helpful.

Lynette put her hand on Raylene’s cheek, touching her thumb to her mouth. “You are a good girl.” Then she stroked Raylene’s hair, lifting it away from her face.

Raylene accepted the caress but said nothing. She may have felt she could only address me. Lynette’s hand strayed down to Raylene’s shoulders. She must have been dying to get her hands on Raylene’s ass again. But she didn’t dare.

This time I didn’t help. Or give her permission.

Raylene’s amazing hypnotic arse

Raylene had settled again, and managed to keep her face turned to Lynette as I’d instructed. It looked to me as though she’d been a bit vague about holding eye contact, and that Lynette hadn’t mentioned it. 

Lynette would be telling herself that this was womanly solidarity, and she’d be feeling good about that.

That and the sexual atmosphere in the room would keep Lynette here. She was focussed and bright-eyed, watching what had become the slow, undulating movements of Raylene’s ass. She was happy. Moderately hypocritical, perhaps, but by then I’d learned not to mind mild hypocrisy. We can’t live without it.

Dorabella still held the cane between her thighs, and filmed Raylene’s arse. Dutiful girl. Beautiful girl. I knew I was being unfair to her, giving her less attention because she was neither my new lover nor a woman I hadn’t had sex with before. That’s shallow, and it’s one of the ways the male brain works. It’s still my fault if I do it, but I don’t think that one’s just me. So I smiled at her. “How’s the filming going?” 

Dorabella was still on her knees, with the phone camera to her eye. “I think you’ll like it. It’s hard keeping Raylene’s arse in frame, though. When it’s really moving. Thought a sadist like you would have tied her down?”

“Pervert, yeah. Sadist, no. Can’t stand Sade. But it’s hotter if Raylene has to keep herself still. This time.”

“And next time?” 

“If you film another episode of ‘Raylene Gets the Cane’, I’ll tie her down. Ok?” 

“That would be very thoughtful.” 

“Then you might want to be ready for the next stroke. It’s going to be hard. I don’t think that ass is going to keep still.” Then, not really talking to Dorabella, I said, “But if Raylene lets go of the desk or breaks eye contact with Lynette, she’ll get the stroke again. Even harder. Until she gets it right.”

Lynette said, “Jesus.” I was sure Raylene would hold the desk but lose eye contact. I wondered if Lynette would tell on her. I expected – and hoped – not.

And that was enough preamble. “Show me how brave you are, Raylene.” 

She didn’t answer, except to adjust her grip of the desk legs she was clinging to. I raised the cane, and counted, everything held in awed suspense, silently to twenty-five. Then I swept it down, putting a little more force into the stroke.

Dance de la croupe. Raylene could come dancing, and Lynette could probably come from watching.

It landed across the crown of Raylene’s ass, with a high, loud SWACK, though it was only a slender cane. It would have been worse if I’d aimed for her lower buttocks again, but Raylene had no sense of being treated mercifully.

Her ass shook while the fresh stripe bloomed, and her body flopped on the desk as though it was trying to buck her off and she was trying to stay on.

My lovely cowgirl. She sang, “Ohhhh! Huuuuuuuu! Oh-owwwwwww, fuck!”  

Eye contact was forgotten in the turmoil of pain until suddenly, guiltily, she snapped back to face Lynette. Still mewling: “ooohhhhhhh.” I expected that her mouth looked very beautiful. I expected that Lynette thought so too.

“Lynette.” She looked at me, startled. She’d been entranced. I said, which hadn’t been what I intended, “Lovely, isn’t she?”

“Oh, god yes.” That sounded heartfelt. Cunt-felt.

“But I could have sworn she broke eye contact with you. Did she?”

Lynette paused. Solidarity hung in the balance, with lust jumping on the other scale. 

Lady in waiting

So Raylene, freshly comforted, waited over the desk for me to resume her caning. She arched her ass up a little tighter, presenting two straight and red cane-lines neatly ruled across the pallor of her buttocks. Her legs were tense and spread.

She signalled readiness and quivering obedience with every atom of her body.

Her witnesses, Dorabella and Lynette, were in place. Everything that needed to be said had been said.

Though when I’d told her that I seemed to be falling in love with her, maybe I’d said a little more than was strictly necessary. Still, though we’d need to talk about that when we were alone, making a declaration in front of witnesses could have been the right spirit. It was the same spirit as Raylene’s, anyway: crash or crash through. 

So I took my stance behind Raylene and raised the cane. It’s a good moment, that. I paused to savour it, and to help the tension build in that little room. Lynette had told Raylene that she hoped it’d hurt, but I expected she’d been playing up for Raylene’s benefit, and perhaps mine. Anyway, I didn’t want Raylene jumping up on her first stroke in front of Lynette, so this stroke would have to be hard, but not as hard as later ones would be. I’d just have to trust Raylene’s courage and control. She shouldn’t suspect I was going to go easy on her.  

So I swung, aiming low, just above the sweet fold at the juncture of her buttocks and thighs. And I let it bite fiercely.

A half-second after the “snick” of impact Raylene’s head shot up. Her arse trembled, at the edge of her control, while that third stripe redly announced itself.

She gasped twice and let her breath out with a sweet, low moan.

I could see in her shoulders and arms the effort she’d made to keep from rising. But I spoke as if I was angry with her. “Keep still, girl. Or I’ll give you the stroke again.”

Raylene gasped twice more, gathering herself to speak. But her voice was still a little unsteady when she said, “Sorry, master.”

Lynette’s eyes widened. She hadn’t heard about my promotion from “sir” to “master”, till then.

She watched the stripe forming on Raylene’s excellent ass. So did I.

I grunted as if I were – provisionally – satisfied, and raised the cane again. I figured Lynette was committed now. So this next stroke would be harder. 

This very fine, very hot piece of erotica is soon to be published. So it has to come down from here.

I’ll add the URL where you can buy it shortly.