It was a Sunday afternoon. I arrived after lunch, because once I was with her I wouldn’t want to waste time eating. Except her.

Things moved quickly once I’d arrived, till we were here. Then time slowed down 

I do a good headmaster, when I’m punishing a girl. So after the first four strokes, I roared, “I can’t believe I have to do this again! When will you learn to behave?”

There was a pause, while Arethusa composed herself. She sniffed and swallowed, then said, “I bet you hope, I never do.”

Reader, I kissed that girl. But cane stripes look like kisses, too. I picked up the cane again.

Zoë gets up, drawn by the light, to look out at the dawn over this new city. Even though they’re directly over a building site and a tv studio, the world seems green and optimistic. 

She studies, fascinated, the the elegant beauty, the slowly moving interplay, of shadow and light. 

But someone who hasn’t got up is fascinated by much closer beauty. “Zoë,” he says, “Come back to bed.”

She is a possession. Beautiful, well disciplined and well loved.

She lies on her bed, comfortable, relaxed and happy.

But she hears her Master enter the room. She turns, wondering what he wants with her. But she has a pretty good idea. 

It was University again, that got Arethusa caned. There were several essays set, and Arethusa let one slide until the day before handing in. It wasn’t the first time that had happened, or the second.

When she confessed it was hanging over her, I sat her down in the library and made her work on it, while I wrote the appendices as best I could. Though even they needed more specialised knowledge than I had. But the only way of getting the essay in before the cut-off time was if I did them. So we both worked until the early hours, and got the essay in with minutes to spare. 

I was concerned about why this was happening. But I was also certain that as soon as the essay was sent, and she’d slept, there was a reckoning due.

So we have this picture of Arethusa about halfway through that reckoning, and the collection of implements I used in that reckoning. And, because every loving Master should look after the messes he creates, a box of tissues.

But there were always two tracks of thought and feeling with Arethusa’s punishments. She is submissive, and I’m a Dom. That means I was in charge, and responsible for making sure things went well for her, using guidance, assistance and discipline. It also meant, it’d be silly to deny, that some scenes were hot as fuck.

So in the midst of punishment I was always thinking about how hard it was reasonable to go, and what she needed to change her behaviour. But there was also simple sexual appreciation: she looked beautiful. And the more I marked her, the more beautiful she looked.

It’s an odd kind intimacy if you aren’t wired for it, as giver or receiver. But for us, it was an act of love and care. Her gift of submission, and mine of control and care. And then of lust and joy.

“Well? Sir? Am I a good girl yet?”

“You’re not looking very sorry, are you?” 

“I don’t see how that’s ever going to make me sorry. I could possibly suck your cock. That counts as good, doesn’t it?” 

“After the spanking, the oral sex? Good idea. But I think I’ll do you, first. You’re looking very yummy.”

“I’ll be beaten then eaten?”

“Hah. But I think you need the cane, first.” 

“You always think I need the cane.” 

“Well, I’m never wrong. Get that arse up, girl.”

And she still didn’t look sorry. But she did do as she was told.

The world is comfortable. Even the cuffs are padded. 

And it is beautiful.

(Model: The lovely Zoë, whose blog is here.)

Half-naked and heated is a happy way to be. 

(Model: The lovely Zoë, whose blog is here.)

There’s a story behind that razor strop, and I once started to tell it on this blog. I’m going to get back to it soon. 

But every implement should have more than one story. Here it is in my library, having travelled with me for a couple of thousand kilometres, 

And finding itself with warm, sensual work to do. It helps to create and enhance beauty, among its many other talents. 

(Model: The lovely Zoë, whose blog is here.)

Body warmth is generated by bodies pressing together. And friction. And impact. 

Emotional warmth: that’s generated by those things too. 

(Model: The lovely Zoë, whose blog is here.)