“Wake up,” he said into Alana’s hair.
Her eyes opened as she struggled to focus.
“I can’t sleep,” he informed her. “I’m going to cane you to relax.”
Her eyes widened, her hands flying to her mouth. “Not the cane!” she blurted. She bit her lip. That protest alone was enough for punishment, but he let it pass as he unlocked the chains that held her iron bracelets. He pushed her from the bed, pressing her shoulder so she knelt on the floor as he climbed out of the bed.
“Crawl to the playroom and wait for me.”
“May I use the toilet first, Sir?”
“No.”
He detected the slightest hint of a sigh, but after a moment, she dropped dutifully to her hands and knees and crawled out of the bedroom, her gorgeous ass swaying.
When he came into the playroom Alana was kneeling up, her back straight as she sat back on her haunches, her legs spread as he had taught her.
When he showed her the blindfold, she lifted her chin and closed her eyes, waiting with absolute serenity.
She was breathtaking.
I love you.
He placed the blindfold over her eyes. “Stand up,” he ordered and she obeyed. He raised her arms and she held them aloft, wrists touching, while he clipped a chain to her cuffs. He attached the cuffs to the metal bar hanging from the ceiling. He admired her naked body for a moment, the long, slender waist, the high, full breasts, the gently flaring hips. He reached down and cupped her pussy, inserting a finger deep into her cunt. She was wet, wonderfully wet, but he could see the fear in her eyes. What a perfect combination.
Mark held the new fiberglass cane to her lips. She kissed it. He placed the tip against her lips. They parted. He inserted the cane several inches into her mouth and pressed down, forcing her to open her mouth wide. She began to tremble.
Withdrawing the cane, he walked around behind her. Slowly he dragged the rod across her back, down to her ass. She remained still, but the pace of her breathing had picked up. Mark returned to stand in front of her. He leaned close so their naked bodies were touching. He brought his arms around her, holding the cane in both hands, imprisoning her between his body and the cane.
He could feel her heart pounding against him. He could see she was afraid. And brave. And willing. He stepped back from her and again walked behind the bound woman. He spit on the cane’s handle and rubbed the saliva over it as a lubricant.
Alana let out a sudden cry as he inserted the rubber handle of the cane into her ass.
He took a step back. What a picture she made, hung and naked, with the cane hanging lewdly from her ass. Mark held it there a moment longer, testing her grace, testing her resistance.
“Whose ass is that, slave?”
“Yours, Sir,” she managed between clenched teeth.
“That’s right, my love. It’s mine. If I wanted to, I could have you bare your asshole so I could cane it until it bled. Isn’t that right?”
“Yes, Sir,” she said in a tiny, frightened voice. He could smell her fear. And her desire. Mark withdrew the rod from her luscious bottom. The time had come. Let the dance begin.
The first blow landed suddenly, across the front of her thighs. She hissed her pain. Again the cane struck, this time behind her, on her ass, across both cheeks. Aiming a few inches lower, he let the cane strike her flesh again. The welts were beautiful. The only sound in the room was the whistle of the cane, the crack on her flesh, and her breathing, ragged and rasping in her throat.
When the cane landed across her breasts Alana wailed, losing control of her bladder. Urine trickled down her legs as she danced and hopped in her efforts to avoid the cruel bite of the rod. Aware of what she’d done, she blushed a dark, brick red. She would suffer for her lack of control, and they both knew it.
He brought the cane to her lips again. After a moment, she kissed it. Then he smacked her breasts again, bringing the cane down hard on her tender flesh. Alana screamed. He knew, because of the kiss she had thought they were done, but they were only just beginning.
~*~
Alana’s arms were numb. Her body was covered in lines of fire, sweat stinging the welts. Her blindfold was damp with tears. She could sense Mark close by, and knew by the slippery slap of his hand against his spit-lubricated cock that he was masturbating.
Every ounce of strength had been caned from her and she sagged against her restraints, relieved it was over. She was desperately thirsty, but lacked the strength even to form the words, to push forth the breath it would require to ask for a drink of water.