I gave her five more strokes, feeling the temptation to go harder with each stroke, and resisting it. It seemed that in any case each stroke hurt a little more than the one before.
She found it harder to keep her hands out for the last three strokes, and she had to breathe heavily, several times, before she could speak the last two ‘thank you, sirs’.
I lowered the strap and contemplated her. She was still panting a little, but holding her hands out bravely, not sure if I’d finished. I remembered something. “You were a very good girl then, Chloe. You’re a very brave and good girl.”
Chloe brightened. “Thank you, sir.”
I’d never used a strap on a woman before. It had clearly hurt.
My conscience was a little worried that I’d hurt her, deliberately, and I’d enjoyed watching her reactions. I’d loved her obedience. Chloe watched me, her hands still held out. To be convenient for me, in case I wanted to hurt her more.
I’d decided that six was enough for now. On her hands, at least. But it seemed best to keep her waiting for that information. At last she asked, “May I rub my hands, sir?”
I would always have said yes. But Mr Mortimer was the pilot for the moment, and that man, he was a bastard. “Of course not.”
“Ohhh, si-ir.” But she kept her hands up and presented.