He took up the cane in his red right hand. She faced the wall, red bottom, chalk poised. He began to tap, hit, and distract her with the sting of the cane. Buttocks, thighs, hips, back. He tapped the cane on her inside thigh, an instruction to part her legs. He caned her slickness. She was distracted and working hard to remember rule number two.
Tap tap tap tap thwack!
Tap tap tap tap tap sting!
The staccato of the cane's touch drew her thoughts away from the chalked wall to the sting of her skin.
She begged him to stop. 'I can't concentrate.' He didn't stop.
She made herself relax. The sting of the cane was relentless. She scribbled urgently.
'Make sure it's neat' he said, 'or you can rub it out and do it again.'
He continued to tap her skin, He continued to talk. Many words designed to distract her.
'Stop bleating on Sir! I can't concentrate!'
He stopped. His eyebrows raised. 'Perhaps you should stop for a while.'
'No Sir, I need to get this done!'
She stopped, chalk poised.
'Put your forehead on the wall.'
'Hands behind your back. Legs apart. Now stand there and reflect upon your task.'
She stood. After a time He moved behind her wrapping his fist in her long curls then swiftly and without warning His large rough hand connected with her arse repeating the severity of the stroke she had experienced earlier that day.
She squealed and grunted with the force of His hand.
'Now get on with it.'