I broke character at last and grinned at Sa’afia like a cartoon wolf, all hunger, treachery and lechery. “Hello, sexy. Good evening.”

She said, “And sexy welcome.”

I kissed her for that, or for something, and then looked serious and heartless again. “Were you told to be naked?”

“Yes.” She saw my expression. “Yes, sir.” 

“And are you naked?”

“No, sir.”

 “No. You’re not. You disobeyed me.”

“Sorry, sir.” She made some effort to ensure she didn’t look remotely sorry. Her spanking had been solemnly intense. Now she was in reaction, on an endorphin high, and it was making her playful.  

“I don’t accept disobedience from you, Sa’afia.” I didn’t have to be playful just because she was. I was the act’s straight man. But I smacked her hard enough to divert her attention from her hormonal ride. “Get those fucking socks off. Now.”

Sa’afia took a breath and bent with demonstrative neatness at the waist to peel them down, one by one, and step out of them. She foot-scooted them across the kitchen floor in the general direction of the bedroom door. She looked at me. “Sorry sir, I must have misunderstood you. I thought you’d like them.” 

“Sa’afia. You just have to do as you’re told. It’s not hard. But if I have to teach you obedience, I will.” 

“Well, teach me. I’m listening.” 

“Give me that stick, girl.” 

Sa’afia looked doubtful. “Give you the stick? Well okay, if you’ll assume the position.”

A subbie joke. Dom jokes are every bit as bad. It wasn’t hard to look unamused. “Take the stick in your hands, holding it in the middle, and pass it to me. So I can punish you with it. Starting with six across the backs of your legs for that little stupidity.” 

“The backs of my legs? That hurts!” 

“Did I say six? I mean ten. Would you like me to make it more?” 

“Sir!” Sa’afia turned, took the stick from the table and held it out towards me, cradling it in both hands. I took it.