She leans back on the sofa, resting the back of two fingers on her lips. Her back is straight and she looks ahead at the television with a studied air of relaxation on her face. She keeps her breathing steady and deep. He will not get any indication of how annoyed she is.  This piece of her is not for him. He does not even deserve to know how angry she is, that is too intimate.

He turns the television off. Neither of them says a word. A motorbike goes past on the street. A water tank empties somewhere in the house. A laptop hums quietly in hibernation mode.

“Do you want to tell me what the problem is?” He has no emotion in his voice, neither urgency, patience, nor fear. He asks her as if he is offering to take the bin out.

In her head she stands and screams at him. She spits out a vitriolic speech that leaves him open mouthed, silenced and repentant.

“No.” She says. They both know this is a declaration of war. She is just refusing to name her demands. She refuses to look at him. She owes him nothing; her attention is not for him. Her heart beats so hard it hurts her chest. She looks away from him, to her left. There is a little table there. It has a watch, a phone, an empty mug and an old magazine. With intrepid, lying hands she picks up the magazine. He will not do anything. She is almost sure. She has to behave like he is powerless and he will be powerless.

She feels the weight on the sofa shift as he stands up, she looks harder to her left to avoid seeing him. He stands in front of her, dark jeans push against her knees. She pretends not to know what he wants. He squats down so his face is level with hers and takes her chin in between his thumb and his index finger. Forced to face him she strains her eyes to look down and avoid him. It may be determination to not let him see her. It may be concern that if she looks at him she will yield but either way she looks down seeing her own cheeks in her vision as she strains against his hold.

She feels him study her and for a moment wonders what he sees there. ‘Is he afraid of me?’ she asks herself. “Go and stand in the corner,” he tells her and she has her answer. His voice is brutal in the quiet and it jars her. She knows she should not be treated like this. She knows that he will regret his actions. He is wrong.

She pulls her chin away in semi circle and keeps her eyes away for him as she stands. She smiles to herself as she paces herself where he has put her a thousand times before. She pulls her skirt up and tucks her hands behind her back. With her head straight she feels the nobility of having right on her side. She will not give him one reason to correct her. She even considers asking him what he wants her to do with her knickers but as she feels them tugged down behind her, her back hardens in resolution.

She stares hard at the wall. She will not move. This is not obedience she tells herself. This is not giving him one opportunity to tell her what to do. He will not be able to have any impression on her. She curses his strength, curses that if she started to walk away he would easily catch her and place her back where he wants her. She will not allow him to make it any worse than it is now. He will not control her.

He watches.

When he sees a tiny shift in her, he tells her not to move. Leaning back in the sofa he relaxes as he watches her.  It is most unlike her not to shuffle – he reads her shoulders and the poise in her head. He sees indignation and rage. He smiles.

When he turns her around to face him he is unsurprised by the flashing of her eyes. But she stays silent as he asks her again what the problem is. This time she studies his chin and refuses to answer. Her rage is working perfectly. She is not even afraid.

He feels no concern. He feels nothing but the interest of a man with a puzzle to solve. He places her over the arm of the sofa. It is a high backed sofa, the arms are such that when she is positioned her toes are off the floor, ‘Perfect presentation,’ he thinks to himself.

She uses her arms to keep her top half stiff, holding herself above the sofa, showing what she hopes is indignation; a silent martyr act that will carry her through whatever he thinks will alter this. She will forgive him, she thinks to herself, she will forgive him when he apologises because she is not so difficult as he is.

She hears him leave the room.

She waits.

The fear that she has been ignoring gives a polite cough inside her head to remind her it is there. She tries to think of something to say on his return but cannot think of anything that will not sound like she is asking for something and she will not give him that.

Her arms ache. She alters her position and seeks the floor with a tip toe.  She knows her bum is placed just where he wants it, curved, presented and vulnerable. Somewhere inside her there is a pang of something. She realises she is waiting for him. She realises she wants him to come and get her, and she realises he won’t do anything until he decides to and all this time she thought he was waiting for her to soften.

He returns and stands behind her naked bum, taking a step forward so that her legs are forced apart. She doesn’t know that she will move but finds herself hiding her head, forcing it downwards in shame as he is so close to her. Se squeezes her eyes tight shut to avoid knowing what he can see. She cannot close her legs even an inch as he stands resolutely between them.

She feels his hand on her bottom, manipulating it in a way that makes her blush all down her back, she thinks he is going to place himself inside her and braces herself for the pleasure that hurts, unsure of his she feels about this intrusion. Her mouth slowly opens in an “O” and a gasp as she breathes in as he inserts into her tight bottom a root that makes her beg him for mercy in an instant.

Still he says nothing as he slides the vicious little punishment into place and waits for a moment behind her to admire his handiwork.

It takes several moments for the sting to develop. Her stubborn, deep breathing alters and it becomes an inhale and exhale to manage the pain. He stands away from her and watches her legs as they wave around and he knows that she has forgotten her dignity. Her polished toes stretch out behind her as her toned legs straighten as she attempts to control the pain. He casually runs a finger tip down her right calf as he walks around her unhappy frame and sits down on the sofa. She concentrates on the distress in her bottom so much that she s only aware of him when the cushions under her fists yield and tip her upper body forward.

“Please,” she says to his thigh, she rests her elbows on the cushions, crying out as the tipping forward closes her bottom tighter around the ginger. She tries to say more as she loses her speech to a garbled rush of distress.

He reaches out with his right hand and places a finger under her chin, tilting the increasingly compliant girl in his direction. His grey eyes meet her open, pleading blue ones as he asks a silent question with his raised eye brows.

“Oh, God,” she tries to swallow her impatience, “Please take it out. I told you, I can’t do this. It hurts too much. Please, please take it out.”

He holds her head in place, studying her face keenly before he ponders, “I asked you what the problem is and you wouldn’t tell me. I think you wanted me to work it out for myself and the thing is,” he tilts her head left and right a little, appreciating the pliable attitude of the girl on his finger, “the thing is, I am not sure you are ready to tell me yet.  Or ..” he speaks a little louder to cover her protests, she quickly falls into obedient silence, “I am not sure I care what the problem was because now,” he kisses her nose lightly “you appear to have a whole new problem. Don’t you?”

He lets her head go and she hangs forward, trying to scrabble forward so she can rest her head on his thigh but every movement towards him forces her legs tighter together and increases the burning pressure inside.

She tries very hard to think of what she should say. She tries to think of what her point was before but she cannot remember it. She just wants him to take this pain away. She just wants him to make it better. “Please help.” She asks after minutes of this wrestling. Her head tucked into her arms she waits for him to rescue her.

He absentmindedly strokes her head as he explains to her what she must do. Each time she objects he stops talking until the silence and the terrible pain forces her to beg him again to continue.

And this is how she finds herself in ignoble pain, bent over the sofa, with the infernal root still threatening damnation as she asks the man standing behind her the terrible question.

“Please, Sir, will you cane me?”

Each expert, crisp stripe causes her to scream out and kick which awakens the burning inside her bottom. Each time he pauses and makes her still herself and ask politely and with all due respect, “Please Sir, may I have another?”

Red lines across her, blazing pain inside her and she is lost to everything but what he tells her. Each time she thinks she will not be able to feel the next impact as her bottom has been so assaulted but he ensures that is not the case. Calm, measured eye and patient practised hand ensure she is delivered entirely to her repentance.

When he sees this in her, when he sees total submission in her body and when he hears it in her voice once more he stands forward and makes her open her legs for him. This time there is no protest. She meekly opens for him as though he were her gate keeper and as he starts to remove the punishment from her bottom he knows that she is totally his now and they both expect more from him than this. Instead he taps the root back into place listening in vain for her objection and walks around her to her drooping head and shoulders.

When she hears his zip open she lifts her head and opens her mouth in one movement. The position of her body is perfect to allow him to push himself into her mouth to the hilt. For the first time he is the one to gasp as he holds her hair and pulls her gently on and off him. He can see the curve of her white flesh descend into angry redness over her bottom. He knows the agony she is in and feels how deep her submission is in her eager mouth and this makes him thrust more eagerly into her.

It takes all his self control to stop himself and pull away for the last time as this ending must be more poetic. Standing behind her for the final time, between her compliant and accommodating legs he finally removes the ginger and places his own hardness inside her. The warmth it has left behind urges him on as does the red stripes which cross her thighs and buttocks, he can see them between his hands as he holds her tight and guides them both to his completion.

Would you like another?