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Message-ID: <61444asstr$1314627001@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Lance Greencastle <lancegreencastle@gmail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} June's Caning
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Date: Mon, 29 Aug 2011 10:10:01 -0400
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June hesitantly takes hold of the sides of her white cotton panties.
Bent awkwardly over the hard desk she has to arch her back, sticking
her bottom up into the air, as she stretches back to pull her panties
down.
She is crying now. She knows she shouldn't. She knows she should put
on a brave face and pretend that she is strong. She should not allow
him to see her weakness. But she does. She can't help it. Bent over
his desk, with her skirt flipped up, she can feel his eyes burn into
her, and she feels weak.
Weakly she grips the waist band of her panties and starts to pull them
down. Pulling them down over her round buttocks. Revealing her ever so
soft skin. Revealing herself to him.
Her pert bottom uncovered she hesitates. Now that her panties are at
the top of her thighs she can't pull them down any further.  He has
instructed her to spread her legs, and to keep them spread. She knows
she can't pull the panties down with her legs so far apart. She has
already felt one bite of the cane across her thighs for not obeying
him. She does not want to provoke another, even though she knows more
are sure to come.
"Let me help you with that," there is an edge of cruel humour in his
voice.
Swish! The cane flies through the air.
She opens her mouth to scream, but just gulps. There was no biting
sting. No cut to her tender flesh. No pain. The cane didn't hit her.
There was just a sharp breeze behind her buttocks as her panties were
snapped out of her fingers.
The cane swishes through the air once more and the tangled remains of
her panties drop onto the desk beside her face.
He laughs softly.
She shivers in anticipation.
"Resume the correct position."
She stretches her hands across his bare desk. The hard, polished
mahogany half reflecting her arms. With her hips pressed tightly to
the edge she can just reach far enough to hook her fingertips over the
edge. He has a big desk, she thinks. Then starts to laugh to herself,
he has a big, hard, mahogany desk. The laugh starts inside her mind,
but as it percolates up to her voice the rest of her situation soaks
into her perceptions and it emerges as more of a soft sob. I am
stretched over his big, hard desk and he is going to flay my bottom
with a sharp cane. Her blood runs cold and she shivers once more.
She can feel him looking at her
She knows she is wet. She doesn't want to be. But she can't help it.
She sobs.
She knows he knows she is wet. She knows he can see it. She knows he
can smell it.
Her desire, normally kept so secret, is now on display. Paraded in
front of him where he can not help but see it. Where he can not but
see the burning need deep inside her. That gaping void waiting to be
filled. Needing to be filled by him.
She needs to be filled by him.
Swish!
The cane burns a line across her buttocks.
She gasps, too shocked to cry out.
But the second cut makes her cry out.
And the third makes her shout.
The fourth makes her scream. And the fifth, the sixth and the seventh.
Again and again the cane cuts. And again and again she screams.
Until she is unable scream any more. Unable to shout. Unable to cry
out. Unable to do anything but hang on by her fingertips, knuckles
white as they grip the edge of his desk. They are all that prevents
her from sliding onto the floor and becoming nothing but a pile of
passion filled flesh. She hangs on, only slowly realising that the
cane has stopped.
"You know I can't resist you," he moves behind her, slipping in
smoothly, taking her and filling her.
Her weakness crushes her, cascading over her in successive waves as he
moves inside her, filling her need and making her his.

---
Copyright Lance Greencastle
http://www.LanceGreencastle.com/

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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