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.
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.”
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.