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Under the bench, Freya clenched her hands together. She closed her eyes and blotted everything out—the gathering and shuffles of restless feet on the floor.
She heard a swoosh, but when she tensed, expecting the first strike, nothing arrived. He was practicing, she assumed. A few more swishes, then she felt the cane tap against her hot ass.
He focused his taps on a patch just above the crease. She braced, and when the swoosh came this time, so did the sting of the cane landing on her bottom. A bee sting might have hurt less than the rigid length of the rod cracking against her behind. Its inflexible form offered no mercy. She opened her mouth to cry out, but too stunned, not a sound left her lips. With her legs tethered, she had no ability to escape the flight of the rod or even kick out in an open act of resistance.
Marco called out the first number. “One.”
She immediately expected the next and every muscle in her legs and belly locked rigid. She squeezed her buttocks together and clamped down on the plug buried in her bottom. The prickles intensified, as the aylerberry liquid, which was coated on the plug, heightened its effect.
“Oh, no,” she muttered, realizing exactly what its purpose was. If she reacted by clenching, the aylerberry ramped up its impact; if she relaxed, then the cane would hit a softer surface.
He touched her. Not between her legs, but along the line he’d produced on her ass. He stroked it back and forth, testing the rise of the welt. She arched her back and pushed toward him. She desired his touch, not the cane, and if he saw her respond then he’d know what she wanted from him.
A soft swell of exclamations and mutterings reached her ears. Had she done something unusual? She wished they were alone, then she could be more vocal, perhaps even tell him what she felt. Instead, the presence of an audience inhibited her and added to the humiliation.
Why had he elected to punish her in such a fashion? She could make a guess. Pain, she could tolerate up to a point, but the shame was harder to bear. The proud Earthling stretched out with her red ass on show and no means to extradite herself.
The rod cracked against the width of her bottom and the singe of fire joined the line below it. Eight more to go. Then, as she attempted to relax her cheeks, a flurry of butterflies leapt out of her belly. Another different, more pleasurable reaction had awoken.
Her eyes widened in amazement. How could this be happening in the midst of a humiliating caning?
Marco launched another snap of the rod and the response intensified, and again with the next. It wasn’t a false emotion—she really was aroused.
Nothing could have prepared her for the conjoined impact of the cane and the strange effect of the aylerberry juice. She squirmed, as much as her bonds allowed her and moaned. The heat inside her interior rose and the plug seemed larger, more invasive. It pressed down into her belly and as she jolted with another blow of the rod, reaching the seventh in the count, her clitoris knocked into the beveled edge of the bench. The rounded surface chafed in a way she’d not expected—it magnified the arousal.
How could she find pleasure amongst pain and heat of her punishment? While Marco brushed his fingertips along another welt, Freya clenched her pussy as if it too had been penetrated.
To add to her mortification, Marco used the interval between strokes to do a closer inspection. Placing the cane to one side, he moved her buttocks apart, spreading them wider so he could see her slit. He separated her folds and opened up her pussy with his fingers.
A plume of heat rose across her bosom and into her neck. Oh, if they were alone, she’d start asking to come, but in front of others, the examination was nearly intolerable. Please, she pleaded silently, don’t touch my clit.
“Pass me the aylerberry juice,” he commanded.
With another three strokes on her ass, he chose to torment her further. He smeared the extract along her labia, mixing it with her own juices. The prickles preluded a fresh wave of burning heat and by the time he resumed caning her, a spicy inferno had formed on the tender skin.
“Oh, gracious,” she mumbled in English. The composition of pain and pleasure he’d created was indescribable and she responded to each element with conflicting emotions—she loathed the sting of the cane and the sharpness of the aylerberry’s prickling, but she welcomed the warmth generated and how it excited her.
The ninth strike heralded a new level of pain and it nearly obliterated all other sensations. Freya yelped and bucked against the benched, grateful for the layer of padding on top of it. As with all the other stripes, Marco traced his finger along the new line and as he did, he leaned over her and whispered into her ear.
“Do you trust me now? Will you accept my role in your life as essential? Desired? Do you promise to share your worries, your concerns, to keep alive the bond between us with honesty?” He spoke in English, aware of their audience.
“Yes. Yes, yes,” she rattled with increasing urgency. He’d pressed his hips against her ass when he’d bent over her and she detected the slight bulge, the hardness contain within his pants.
She swept aside any residue feelings of humiliation when he ended her punishment with the last stroke of the rod. She bore the thwack as she had all of them, with as much fortitude as she could muster. Except, now that it was done, she could let the tears fall. She didn’t care any longer who saw them. She openly sobbed.
* * *
It was too late. What had happened couldn’t be undone. Freya had proved to him she’d courage and that she’d trusted him. She’d not balked, screamed, or harangued him in front of the others. She stoically accepted the punishment, and with the aid of the versatile aylerberry, she’d reached out to him in another way, one that required completion and he couldn’t ignore the urgency of his growing erection. However, the audience had to go—they had been a mistake.
“Leave us,” Marco barked to the throng. He’d had enough of them. Some had gloated, others had struggled to watch without a mutual flush of embarrassment on Freya’s behalf and a few had stared transfixed, as if in envy.
Lalita appeared too smug. Now he regretted her influence on his decision. She’d wanted this exposure of their intimacy, not him. Marco would have been content to discipline Freya in private. Although Lalita protected her jenjin with the level of duty expected of her, he sometimes wondered if her need for dominance amongst the other women lacked appropriate limits.
Freya had nearly breached his own limits. He’d held off from using the cane harshly, as he might with a man. He’d seen how it could harm and damage, and the last thing he wanted was his beautiful Freya broken. However, to his surprise, he’d taken satisfaction from punishing her. Not in seeing her suffer, but in her submission, her endurance of the aylerberry juice and the inevitable effect it had on her—her swollen sex and dripping pussy provided all the evidence he needed that it had worked as anticipated. Her humiliation had been intense, but then it was a necessary part of her punishment, more so than the cane, which he’d used sparingly, compared to Gellis’s thrashing. He’d witnessed that over the monitor screen in Lalita’s office, where he waited, observing the impact on Freya.
She’d arrived in the Volta angry and determined to fight. While the fire rabbit danced around her back, invisible to her, he remembered what it was about Freya that had drawn him to her—her resilience and passion. During Gellis’s caning, Freya had seemed pained, and probably stricken with guilt. Perhaps that punishment alone had made her reconsider her foolish plan to help Lucilla. However, her compassion for others hadn’t excused her actions and she had required discipline. Yet, as he heard the door close behind him, he wished to reclaim her.
She lay somewhat limp, but had ceased her soft crying. He leaned over and kissed her between the shoulder blades. She didn’t flinch.
