“Who do we have here?” He said the right words and used the right tone, but I saw it in his eyes. There was something not quite right about him.
“Um, I’m Amanda. I’m here as part of the submissive training group.” I wanted to sound bolder, less meek and mild. Something about him made me nervous. Not the good kind of squirmy nervous, but truly scared. His eyes looked like crystals – bright, shiny – hard.
“Master Anthony, Miss Amanda was our only new submissive to show interest in caning. Can you give her a quick demo?” My guide didn’t wait for answer. He walked away quickly. Yeah, run you little scaredy cat. I didn’t blame him, but I felt completely alone and vulnerable.
“Well, girl, would you like to watch me or feel it for yourself?” His expression dared me. He wanted me to put myself at his mercy. I might be new the whole submission thing but I’m no idiot.
“I’ll watch, thanks.” Damn it, why did my voice have to sound so shaky? He just ate that shit up, grinning at me like the Big Bad Wolf.
“Suit yourself, girl. Wait here while I set up.”
I sat down on a small stool near the wall while Master Anthony set a pillow against the spanking bench – a contraption I recognized from last week’s class. He used what looked like a roll of painter’s tape to strap down the pillow.
Without glancing my way, he stepped back with the cane in his hand. “For those who are new to caning, I may start like this.”
The sound of the cane hitting the pillow made me jump. That was how he started out?
“Then, once I’ve got my little subby bitch where I want her, I may ratchet up the intensity just a bit.”
Who the hell was this sadistic bastard? I felt the impact between cane and cotton as if it was hitting my own skin.
“And finally, when I’m good and ready to let loose…”
He struck so hard that the pillow exploded, feathers and fluff rained down over our heads. Sweat beaded on his forehead. His arm shook from the force of his strike.
I crossed my arms in front of my chest and pressed myself against the wall. The whole scene might have been funny if I hadn’t seen the look on his face as he wielded the cane. His last swing had been scary. His style was sadistic, unfeeling, uncaring, and I could have sworn he used the cane with a flourish of pure hate.
Welcome to Wicked Wednesday! This week’s prompt was “a flourish of hate.” There’s so much that could be done with this story, but I’ll leave the rest to your imagination.