I’d told Claire to arch her ass up, as though she was begging for the cane.
“Yes sir!” Claire’s bottom rose off the desk, round, sweetly curved and decorated with five glowing bands from the ruler in Maddie’s hands. Bent over, her legs straight and widely parted, ass poised, she was in one of the most sexually abject and inviting positions a woman can assume.
But I gave her no praise, instead tapping her bottom with the cane, not softly. I growled, “Keep your ass right there, girl. You’ve go twenty seconds after each stroke to get back in this position. Or you’ll get extra strokes.”
“Yes… S-sir.” Claire was having trouble speaking.
I wondered whether to make her count and thank me for each stroke, but I guessed that she’d lose what remained of her ability to speak in the first four strokes. Maddie could do the counting.
That raised another question: how many strokes to give her? On the one hand, I considered she’d done nothing wrong; but she felt intense guilt, and her caning had to be impressive enough to end that guilt. Not less than two dozen, I decided, and possibly three dozen. More if she wasn’t sobbing.
Maddie crossed to Claire’s side. She bent forward and kissed Claire’s bare shoulder, then her neck. And she put her hand on one of Claire’s hands, which were fiercely gripping the edge of my desk.
Maddie whispered, “It’s going to hurt, little darling. But you’ll get through it. I’ve been in your place, on this very desk, and I can promise you you’ll be all right. There.”
I tapped the cane on Claire’s bottom again. “Ready, Claire?” It was a ridiculous question, but a traditional one.