I wouldn’t dare

Canes are not just for whacking bottoms.

It can not be coincidence that the pudendal cleft, known by scholars as the Cleft of Venus, accommodates an interrogating rod so perfectly.

How the smooth thin stick fits so snugly in your fleshy groove, its edge faintly touching the tip of your tingling clit.

How, when slowly drawn back and forth like a violinist’s bow, it is lubricated, gathering the sheen of your involuntary excitement.

How just a little pressure upwards, can raise you on your toes.

I see you shaved bare for me. Good. You will find obedience is rewarded.

But first, I have answers to pursue.

I tap on your labia. Rapid, firm smacks. A spanking in microcosm.

Spanked on your front bottom, how embarrassing that must be.

You yelp from the sting, but it’s the deep echo of the impacts that really makes you ache.

I slot my cane back into your slit.

Stroking. Slipping. Sliding. Back and forth.

You’re making my stick… very… wet… indeed.

Have you been touching yourself?

You know this place is out of bounds.

Yet, you also know the prize denial brings.

The glorious gift in my sole power to give.

I lift the cane, intruding deeper, raising you to your tiptoes.

Will you be a good girl?

For me?