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The tears came with the third blow. She wanted him to see her disappointment manifest itself clearly and unambiguously, so she did not hold back with her pathetic weeping.
The fourth resulted in little movement. She had adjusted to the level of pain. It was expected and no longer novel to either of them. Casey had learnt through experience how to process pain. Her voice remained barely audible.
The fifth hit lower, nearly on her upper thighs. She released a silent scream, then increased her grasp. Determination kept her from standing up or rubbing her bottom.
The sixth was the coda. She sobbed and bawled at Rob. A stream of apologetic words came out of her mouth. Inside her body, a string of tension had snapped. She hated that she had allowed Rob to see her bad side—the person she hoped she had left behind. All she sought, amongst her contriteness, was his forgiveness.
The cane clattered on the wooden boards, and the next thing Casey knew was she was wrapped in Rob’s embrace.
“Done,” he said. “No more. You have been punished. The matter is finished.”
“I’m forgiven?” she hiccupped between coughs.
“Yes, Casey. I always forgive. Do not forget today. Remember how it feels, this. Use it to avoid similar deficiencies in your behaviour. Now stand in the corner and compose yourself.”
It was difficult, and she felt ashamed to be treated so childishly. He insisted her skirt remained high and her welted bottom exposed.
“Deep breaths,” said Rob calmly from the other side of the room.
In through the nose, out through the mouth. Repeat. The technique Rob had taught her to help process pain and frustration. Feeling her behind, the pain had not abated; if anything it felt worse. She dreaded sitting on it. Still not quite lunchtime, she had to finish the rest of the day’s work seated on her poor bottom.
Ten minutes later, Casey was instructed to go lie on their bed. She tottered out of the room, eyes barely dry from her copious tears, and made her way to the master bedroom. Once there she flopped on the bed and buried her head on the pillow.
He approached Casey almost inaudibly. From the click of the bedroom door closing to her bedside, his stealth-like actions were similar to a predator’s. With trepidation, she scrunched the soft pillow between her hands and kept her face hidden. Her skirt was lifted up once again and the air brushed against her tender bottom. Casey went rigid and turned to look over her shoulder. Seeing what he had in his hands, she relaxed.
“Arnica cream,” he waved the pot. She felt the cool cream on her fiery bottom. He gently applied the lotion to her welts.
“Thank you,” she said quietly.
“I’ll make us lunch, some sandwiches,” he said, putting the cream on the bedside table.
“Okay,” she said.
“Then, we’ll come back here, and I’m going to fuck you.”
The word, the gratuitous expression of lust, made her insides rumble. She liked the word and the connotation. Forgiveness in action; to have sex was excellent therapy.
“You will,” he said the word with emphasis, “come for me.”
“Yes, sir,” she tried not to snigger.
“Then you will sleep.”
Casey swung round to face him. “What about my work. Have you fired me?” she said with alarm.
Rob laughed. “Good grief, no. I want you to rest. Clear you head. Then come back afresh with renewed purpose. Can you do that for me?”
“Oh yes, Rob,” said Casey with determination. “Yes!”
Chapter Six: Entertaining Friends
Brushing her hair, Casey kept half an eye on Rob. She could see him in the mirror’s reflection, propped up in bed, watching her. She was seated at the dressing table on a stool and each stroke of the hairbrush went from root to tip. Her hair was long, and she brushed it twice a day. Once in the morning, after a shower and again in the evening, before bed. The art of hair brushing was never to rush, and Casey took her time.
From his vantage point he would be able to see her in the reflection as she tilted her head from side to side, letting her strands flow down. Casey had struggled with accepting her pretty looks. They had dawned on her face late, after the braces had left her teeth and the acne had dried up. Then, rather like when the ugly duckling had discovered it was really a swan, Casey had been unearthed as a beauty, much to her parents’ dismay.
It was clear from her own childhood recollections that she had been sought after by her fellow students. Fortunately, she had held off their temptations until she reached womanhood, then she had slipped between the sheets of one young man for her initiation. None of her attempts at exploring her sexual side had lasted more than a few weeks. Though her beauty had attracted her choice of men to bed, she had failed to identify a feature of masculinity that appealed to her own wishes. Tumbling between the sheets and falling asleep afterwards had not triggered an applause of rapture, merely disappointment.
Casey had taken to Rob’s bed with very little fear. Though he had already spanked her many times for misbehaving, she had not equated what he did in his study with the thrill of a bedroom spanking; the two scenarios had remained distinct and served different purposes. Rob often remarked on Casey’s natural ability to absorb pain and turn it into something sensual and pleasurable for them both to enjoy. Casey was no longer disappointed with her bedfellow.
