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“It’s been a disappointing day for me. Minor issues, but you chose to tell your mother before me. Your decision smacks of disrespect, a lack of thought, and I’m not feeling pleased. Call me selfish, but I like having your attention as much as you like having mine. I expected you to focus on getting ready for me.”
“I’m sorry I have disappointed you so much, Master.”
My silly lack of foresight gutted me. I hated it when he built me up, teased me sexually until I entered an orgasmic state and then extinguished the fire inside me by listing my faults and failings. As discipline went it was very effective. I’d prefer the cane.
He cocked his head to one side and returned to massaging my feet, pressing his thumbs into my tender soles. I flinched. “Do you want to feel better? Then up and bend over. Let’s give you a thorough caning.”
I scrambled to my feet, and he flexed the cane in front my eyes. I pressed my trembling hands on to the seat of the armchair, bottom lifted high and legs parted. Behind me, Jason swished the cane through the air as if the room had been filled with unwanted flies and he was attempting to swat them individually. The noise forced my pussy to clench.
Finishing his little swatting display, he progressed to the next act in the prelude. The length of the cane rested against my lower thigh, and he trailed it upwards, following the contours of my buttocks and halting at the base of the spine. Back and forth, he see-sawed the cane, making me grunt with anticipation. How I both hated and loved his build-up.
Tapping the cane was his next little trick. Tiny little flicks of his wrists and the cane bounced repeatedly off my buttocks. It neither hurt nor gave me a sense of reassurance; it reminded me there was more to come.
The cane he had chosen to inflict on me was one of his thin, whippy ones. Two feet long and looped at the end—the classic headmaster’s implement of discipline. It would smart like crazy, as if a thin line of wasps’ stings all landed in one fell swoop. I drew air in through my nostrils and released a deep exhale out of my mouth. My signal to him.
It took all my powers of self-control not to kick my legs, not to shift my bottom forward and down, not to grab at my buttocks with a hand and rub hard. None of these acts were permitted. I extracted another necessary lungful from the room’s increasingly heated atmosphere. I uttered my count then did what he always expected me to do. I stuck my bottom up higher.
“Good girl.” He ran his hand down my cheeks. “Next one.”
It sliced over my flesh, slightly lower than the last one, and I let loose a muted shriek. My feet shuffled on the floor, and I clawed at the fabric of the chair.
“Two. Sir,” I gasped.
“Struggling a bit, aren’t we?” He gave my cheeks another rubdown. Reaching round, he removed the nipple sticks—the exquisite burst of agony lasted seconds, and I stamped my feet and hammered the seat with my fists. At least with them gone I could concentrate on processing one kind of pain.
I trusted Jason, trusted his judgement, his observational skills. Years ago, just the thought of the cane would have sent me into an immediate state of panic. Since the horrific assault with the vicious barbed cane, which resulted permanent scars, Jason had rebuilt my confidence and the reintroduction of the cane had been the hardest step in my recovery.
“Mmmm,” he murmured, as if unconvinced by my ability. He rested a calming hand on my lower back and bent over to whisper in my ear. “This isn’t a punishment. Remember your safe-words.”
I did. I always did, but sometimes wanting to use them would be overshadowed by the need for something else. As if to make the point, he traced his finger down my spine to my exposed cleft. He trailed it over my delicate bud, causing the little opening to flex. Further down he travelled, slipping between the folds of my swollen labia and delving into my open pussy. My knees nearly buckled as my legs jellified and a storm of butterflies palpitated in my belly.
“Please don’t stop,” I blurted. “I’m okay, even if I cry, don’t stop.”
He chuckled. “Tears don’t stop me, my dear, sometimes they are what we both need from you.”
The next ten lashes of his cane seemed to land differently. I didn’t think he’d changed the severity, I absorbed them and accepted them for what they were—my release and a symbol of my submission. I ached for each blow, cursed them, too. The last stung, and I tossed my head back, letting out a long moan.
“Good girl. You took those well.” His declaration made me sob with relief not pain. “Stand up and come over here.”
I lay across his lap, and he rubbed my blazing cheeks dispersing the fearsome searing, which emulated from the stripes. He purloined a blanket from nearby, hidden and waiting for the aftercare, and covered me up. I snuggled against him.
We chatted about Joshua’s speech development. I believed he would be saying Daddy soon.
I didn’t mention Gillian’s tale during the journey home, but told him she held fast to the plan of forcing Anthony to confront Jason over the misconstrued idea Jason wanted to buy him out. Anthony hadn’t arrived home when the car had dropped her off at her front door.
“Today has been a challenge,” I remarked.
“We’ve dealt with everything now. I don’t mind you being proud of Joshua’s first mummy word. I’m not jealous. Just share things with me. I don’t get to see him much at the moment, and I’d like the excitement of hearing your news first. Now it’s done, you enjoy it, babe.”
The cuddling continued until the phone rang. I curled up on the sofa while Jason took the call.
“I see, Gillian.... Thanks for the warning.... When did he leave.... How mad?” The hurried conversation caught my attention, and I sat up. “Don’t worry. Why are you crying, Gillian...Gillian?” Jason’s tone grew concerned, and he gripped the handset tighter, knuckles whitening.
There was a long pause. Jason’s face turned strangely impassive. I held my breath. Either he attempted to suppress unwanted emotions or he didn’t want me to see them. Probably both.
“Are you alone? Where are the girls? Call your mum, Gillian, you shouldn’t be alone.... Call her.... Promise? Okay. I’ll ring you back later.” He hung up and stood for a while staring at the handset in his hand.
I shifted to the edge of the seat, my nudity and pained backside forgotten. “Jason, what’s wrong?”
