Caning

The first thwack landed and he marvelled at the way her buttocks responded. A ripple of flesh sped out from where the strap touched her. It was like dropping a stone into a pool of oil. She did not flinch or cry out; she knew the rules just as he did. He brought his arm back and the strop whispered through the air again, landing harder this time.


He paused, admiring the three tongues of red that were appearing on her right cheek, a clear imprint of the leather. She was kneeling on the floor, bent forward onto the leather seat of the antique carvers’ chair that they kept especially for this purpose; her body presented for his, and her, pleasure.
Attacking her left buttock with more force, he dropped two strikes onto the same spot.
She gasped, sucking air through her teeth with a hissing sound but still did not cry out. He could feel his erection growing and rubbing against the restraint of his trousers Moving around her he shifted his position and swung back hand at both cheeks, like a tennis player returning a volley then, bending his knees and aiming lower, to planted a strike across the back of her legs.
‘Iyya,’ she gasped but didn’t move.
He smiled as he watched the two round globes of her behind reddening like apples ripening in the sun.
‘Stand up.’
Jerking at the sound of his voice more that at the contact from the strop she came up off her knees to stand, head bowed arms meekly at her side, in front of the chair. Her reddening bottom wrinkled slightly and began to turn the purple of an over ripening plum,
‘Bend over.’
She obediently placed the palms of her hands on the seat of the chair.
‘Lower.’
She bent forward onto her elbows, her forehead nearly touching the seat. Her flesh stretched firm again. Between her legs he could see the lips of her sex engorged and waiting. The room smelt of sex and anticipation, that strong, sweet, hormonal smell that made his nose wrinkle but drew him to her. He slipped off his clothes and his erection rose out in front of him as she stood silently waiting. He could feel his blood pulsing through it, urging him forward but he sensed that she was not ready yet.
He picked up the cane. It was as thick as his finger but pliant and hissed through the air beautifully. He brought it down so that it swished malevolently within millimetres of her skin. He loved the way she flinched at the imagined contact. He brought it down again at an oblique angle so that it contacted with her left buttock but then folded itself around both cheeks.
‘Yee . . . aagh.’ Her legs buckled.
He swung again, careful to avoid the bruising red stripe appearing from the first strike.
‘Count,’ he ordered.
‘One . . . two . . . three . . . four . . . oh fuck, five . . .’
He waited and then moved round behind her. ‘Are you wet?’
‘Yes sir,’ she murmured.
‘Legs apart.’
She complied and he tapped the tip of the cane on her sex.
She gasped. Not in pain but the short little staccato gasps of a woman close to orgasm.
He pushed her swollen lips apart with the cane and slid it between them; not penetrating her but rubbing it along the length of her sex. The end of the cane gleamed sliver and her knees buckled at the stimulation. He tapped with small sharp movements and she started to make small bird like sounds as she tried not to come.
It was all part of the game. She tried not to come and he tried to make her. He knew he was winning and stepped back. He crashed two more smacks of the cane down onto her and her legs crumpled and her hips jerked as it she had already been impaled by an invisible lover.
‘Oh god . . . six,’ she wailed.
He stepped forward and slid his erection into the wet cocoon between her legs. She felt hot on his hard flesh as she jerked back against him, trying to prolong her orgasm.
‘You know the penance for coming before you are commanded,’ he slapped his hands down on her bruised buttock causing her whole body to shudder.
‘Yes sir.’ She slid obediently off his cock leaving it slippery and silver and pushed the bud of her anus against its head. Firmly he pushed himself into her and she gasped. Where her cunt had felt like a soft warm glove slippery with desire her arse was firm and gripped him like her hand did when she masturbated him. He pushed in deeper feeling her flesh stimulating his. She wriggled, trying to make him come.
‘Keep still,’ he slaps her hard with the palm of his hand. It is no good; disobediently she continues to slide up and down his shaft. He cannot stop. He felt the jolt of electricity as he spurts into her. He buries himself as deep as he can between her buttocks and she cries out with desire,

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