Now he asked how it felt.
‘It burns, sir,’ I whimpered. ‘Oh, it burns.’
My face was as hot as my bottom. I looked wildly aroused, which probably wasn’t quite right for the film. I could see why Jasper wanted to remove the figging element for the final cut.
‘Then it is time for your caning,’ he said, swishing the lithe brown demon through the air.
Jasper’s hand slipped inside my knicker elastic, his fingers pressing and rubbing between my wet lips as we watched.
‘This your favourite bit?’ he murmured, kissing my ear as he watched himself tap the cane against my wriggling bum.
‘Mmm.’
‘The sound of it,’ he breathed in ecstasy, when Dunraven laid the first stroke. ‘Oh, poor little Walters.’
He liked the way I gritted my teeth and curled my toes and tried so hard to take it.
I liked the look on his face, fiendishly self-possessed, a mixture of every deadly sin in the book. Oh, do it again, sir, don’t spare her …
He held me tight against him, bundled up firmly while he fingered my pussy and my clit with inescapable strokes. I could feel him quiver every time he watched the rod fall, and the lump at his crotch threatened to burst through his trousers.
What an odd couple we were, I thought, in the last parts of my brain to admit coherence. How unlikely but how wonderful it was that we had found each other.
I knew that the third fall of the cane saw Walters make the elementary mistake of trying to clench her rectal muscles. The keen of shocked, aroused pain that ensued made me clench my own in sympathy.
‘Bad move,’ chuckled Jasper, working his fingers harder. ‘That must have stung.’
‘Big time … ohhh …’
I could see long red lines forming on Walters’s unfortunate bum. They were still there, throbbing inside my tight knickers, chafing against the material as Jasper’s hand stretched it.
The buzz of them augmented the effects of Jasper’s rubbing fingers, my sex seeming to grow and bloom in greedy response. I squirmed in his grasp, elbowing him, but he didn’t seem to notice, just clung on all the tighter and pushed his fingers deep inside me while his thumb pad kept up the good work on my clit.
‘This does it for you, doesn’t it?’ he whispered, as if the question needed asking. ‘Watching your own arse getting striped. Seeing yourself bent over and figged and caned. God, your face … I can’t wait to get the full face shot when that fig burns into you … though you’d be imagining it … but you’d remember how it felt, I’ll bet.’
My mouth was sticky, my throat dry. I couldn’t answer. My answer was in the arch of my spine and the flex of my thighs.
‘Tell me how it feels.’
But that was Dunraven speaking, not Jasper, so I was not forced to unglue my tongue from the roof of my mouth to answer.
Poor Walters had that honour.
‘It hurts … oh, it hurts …’ she panted.
He whipped five and six across her buttocks, quick and smart, and she wailed and rocked to and fro.
‘I know that,’ said Dunraven. ‘Tell me something I don’t know.’
‘It is almost more than I can stand,’ said Walters.
‘Almost? Then the sentence is too light.’
Unexpectedly – both to Walters and to me, because he had not told me he would do this wh
en we talked through the scene beforehand – he laid one last, brutal cut, harder than the rest, right across the very lowest point of my bottom.
Walters leaped upright and clutched at it, hissing out the pain.