June’s Caning

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.
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.

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