Eight, nine, ten. Nothing of Emma existed except her bottom, a constant flare of pain consuming all her energies.
‘Ow, it’s horrible! I’m sorry! I’ll be good!’
Five more in such rapid succession that she howled.
‘That’s better,’ said Allyson. ‘You’ll certainly be getting more of this.’
‘Nooooo!’
Emma twisted her neck around. Allyson had stopped. Surely there were five more to go.
Allyson looked weird, almost worried.
‘Five more,’ prompted Richard.
‘Yes, yes, I know,’ said Allyson hurriedly. ‘Just … No, it doesn’t matter. Five more.’
The last five were the hardest yet and Emma knew that just one more would have broken her and brought the tears out. As it was, she lay there, grateful for avoiding that particular embarrassment, letting the alarming throb slowly recede, leaving tight skin and residual sting behind.
Allyson bent down to her ear.
‘You sure you’re all right with this?’
Emma nodded.
‘Any time you want to stop …’
‘I’m OK. Thank you. Love you.’
‘Love you, too.’
She straightened up and slapped the paddle into her palm.
‘Take note, gentlemen,’ she said. ‘This is what she needs.’
‘Better take another break before the cane,’ said Richard.
‘Good idea,’ said Blake. ‘No point caning a numb bum.’
They all agreed with that, laughing. Richard went to make them a cup of tea.
Allyson took a number of photographs of Emma’s bottom, promising to put them online on the government’s ‘Crime and Punishment’ gallery.
‘Won’t that be a service to the community,’ she gloated, holding Emma’s chin in her hand and forcing her to look up at her. ‘You’ll be a living deterrent. You never know, you might put someone off a life of crime. “Don’t want an arse like hers, ouch, no thanks,” they’ll say. We’ll have a little picture of your face next to it too, and your name and all the details of what you did. It’ll be out there for all to see, forever. I’ll get some snaps of you after you’ve been caned, too. I always love a caning photo.’
Emma saw Richard go into the kitchen and return with a bottle of sherry and some glasses.
‘I don’t believe in caning drunk,’ he said, ‘but just a quick snifter shouldn’t hurt.’
The cork popped, the liquid glugged, the glasses tinkled.
Emma’s mouth was dry. Nobody was offering her a drink.
‘When are the others getting here?’ Blake’s voice.
The others?
‘They shouldn’t be too long now,’ said Richard. ‘Unless Lucy’s managed to leave the motorway at the wrong exit. She does have a bit of form for that.’