Master of the House

The audience settled again. Sasha did more tapping, then she drew the cane away from Puss’s rounded bottom and brought it swooping down with a smart swish and thwick.

Ouch.

I saw Puss convulse, but she didn’t cry out. The place where the cane had landed went white, then colour began to seep into the line.

Puss’s self-discipline was amazing, but even she couldn’t restrain herself for the duration of the caning. She took the second and third strokes with fortitude, but on the fourth she whimpered and lifted her heels in the air.

I felt for her – I almost felt it with her – sucking in my breath each time the cane landed.

Five and six brought forth little sobs, but she didn’t move and she didn’t complain. I was sure there were tears in her eyes, even though I couldn’t see her face.

At six, Sasha rubbed her bottom with the hand that wasn’t occupied with the cane and spoke some words into her ear. I hoped the words were kind and private and told Puss how brave she had been. She really had.

Sasha patted her shoulder then stood up again and offered the cane to Voronov. He came over to the pair and accepted the rod from Sasha, who went to crouch in front of Puss’s face and hold her hands tightly.

Voronov shrugged off his jacket and threw it to one of the kneeling submissives. He had style and a certain effortless physicality, I had to admit. It was difficult to think of him as my father – I suppose it hadn’t sunk in.

He extracted flashing cuff links from his shirt and rolled the sleeves up to the elbow. It seemed a lot of theatrical preparation for one stroke, but it was certainly effective. Everybody was on the edge of their seats – those that were on them, that was.

He seemed eager to land a stroke that wouldn’t cross any of the others already given, and he poked and tapped the cane around the target area for some time before he determined on his spot.

The choice he made marked him out as an expert – there were lines above and below, quite close. He would have to be unerringly accurate in his aim to fit a welt between them.

But unerringly accurate he was, and he did it.

The four who came after him were less fussy and I took more interest in concentrating on poor Puss’s anguished contortions of expression, and Sasha’s calm, firm reassurance of her. I found this curiously moving and wondered, without fear, if that could be me and Joss one day. It occurred to me that I would be proud to endure this for him. It was a sort of perverse ceremony of commitment, and it was clear that both Puss and Sasha were emotionally locked into the scene and each other.

At last, Joss’s moment of glory came. I wanted to stop him, to wish him good luck, to touch his hand or something, but I knew this would be considered bad form so I held my position and tried to keep my face bland.

He took the cane – like a relay baton – and flexed his wrist for a moment, swishing it this way and that like a swordsman preparing to fence.

‘In your position,’ said Voronov, ‘I would go for the cross stroke. The eleven-barred gate.’

Joss nodded. I could see he was nervous. He gripped the cane so hard his knuckles whitened, and his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat.

He laid the cane diagonally across the eleven dark-red welts and I saw what he intended to do. It seemed risky and a stroke that could easily misfire. I clenched my fingers behind my back and almost had to shut my eyes.

But he positioned himself well, lined up the cane and swung it with confidence so that it landed precisely and smartly. Puss, for the first time, yelled then sobbed. Gold star for Joss. The audience clapped and one man whistled.

‘Wonderful work,’ complimented Voronov. ‘You must have practised that. Does Lulu take the cane as well as Puss?’

‘I have yet to cane her,’ he admitted, and some of the tops looked askance at each other.

‘Perhaps I have summoned you too soon,’ suggested Voronov. ‘But I was keen to see you with your submissive. Never mind. Sasha, and Puss, well done. A fine performance. How do you intend to finish it?’

Sasha finished rubbing her sub’s neck and straightened.

‘If you want, she’s going to give you a blow job while I do the business with my strap-on.’

‘That’s acceptable,’ said Voronov, smiling for the first time.

Puss dismounted the spanking bench and shuffled on her knees towards our host. He parted his legs and tugged at his belt while Sasha busied herself taking off her tight skirt and buckling herself into a belt-and-dildo affair over her sturdy, sensible knickers.

Puss bent her head and waited between Voronov’s knees until all extraneous clothing was out of the way. I couldn’t watch this. I didn’t want to see the o

rgan that had brought me into being getting dealt with by some woman. Instead, I watched the fascinating Sasha. She was exquisitely brutal, getting Puss up on her feet and making her bend over with Voronov’s cock still in her mouth, so that she could get the sex toy up inside her.

She thrust and grunted, grunted and thrust, her face getting redder and redder, her spiked-up hair beginning to wilt with the effort of it all. I saw her screw a finger into Puss’s bottom and that made Puss whimper and slurp.