I tower over My sl*ve H, My high-heels and long legs contrast powerfully with the naked sub kneeling before Me. Today I have in mind a special punishment for sl*ve H, he will take the cane! I tease My boy, holding the cane under his chin whilst My outfit, a figure hugging and exposing bodysuit takes the sub’s breath away. My red lips distract this servile m*le, and I toy with him and then declare that sl*ve H should s*ffer for every glimpse of My red lips that I have given him.

My boy agrees, after all he is well trained and somewhat visually motivated today, to say the least! I hold his face with a firm grip and order My toy to stand and then advance to the caning wall where I will assess his capabilities. With the sl*ve’s hands placed upon the wall he is utterly defenceless. I tease him, running My hands over him and allowing him to feel My cleavage pressed against his back. The sl*ve’s c*ck reacts to every stimulus, desperate, denied. I dig My nails into his nipples and note that so much pleasure must be balanced by the stinging treat of “a l*ttle p*in!”

I retrieve My cane and begin to apply My skills in a different way, a world of bruising p*in awaits My sl*ve H. The first cane stroke jiggles the sl*ve’s buttocks, and the impact sends his c*ck flying skywards too. My boy thanks Me and I add another stroke that has My boy’s knees buckling, the red heat of his b*rning *ss has My boy moaning already. As he breathes more deeply I ready another, impeccably accurate thrash, and My boy cries out, jumping up and down under the clearly pleasurable sensations that he feels.

This sl*ve deserves more lashes, and I check the marks that I have given him, letting them b*rn ridge-like into his flesh. My boy tries to collect himself and reinforces his will to serve, because of the challenge that I present him with. All of My boys know that they should please Me, and sl*ve H has no escape as I state “s*ffering is essential” with a firm voice and unwavering commitment to punish his naked *ss. My boy presents himself once more, assuming the position and crying out loudly as cane meets flesh and wins!

“We have a long way to go” I confirm as the fifth stroke lands concussively. My boy takes it and, perhaps, is starting to warm to the scathing cane that wreaks flagellating fun upon his bum. I watch as My sl*ve steadies himself, standing so that he makes it easy for Me to choose My spot and deliver another savage bl*w to his reddening backside. My enjoyment is clear as I smile, accept My boy’s thanks, and control every aspect of the caning.

Now, even the slightest touch from My red nails on his cheeks, has My boy shivering, moaning and quaking. I speed up, delivering several quick strokes; each elicits cries of t*rment as We move into double figures, and I push for more. At twelve I take the sl*ve to task for too much “jumping around” – My boy, sweating now, admits that the caning feels “br*tal” but this is only natural and to be expected.

To control My sl*ve’s jigging, I attach his cuffs to his collar. By now the long, raking marks from My nails are visible on his back and the parallel cane stripes stand out on My sl*ve’s *ss. Now there is much less movement from My sl*ve, and I reach twenty strokes as the lashing heat sears through him. My boy thoughtfully miscounts the strokes, double-counting and giving himself one extra as We drive through twenty and arrive at, an official, two dozen with the sl*ve up on tippy-toes, his *ss beginning to bruise up nicely.

Now I am more impressed with the sl*ve’s efforts: still, I gag him, to shut up the inevitable cries. “Present your bottom to Me again, go on!” I order and I advise My boy that from here on, the caning will get harder for him to take. I count the third dozen as My sl*ve makes quieter yelping noises. The sl*ve’s form may slacken but My majestic stance and technique will never relent. I apply the thirty-sixth stroke and admit that the sl*ve’s cheeks “look very sore” and very painful.

I continue to test the restrained, gagged sub and My boy agrees that he needs to receive still more strokes of the cane. I count the strikes into the forties, harsh, percussive bl*ws that turns his *ss past red, into purple welts. Four dozen, hard, br*tal, relentless strokes: they leave Me wanting to deliver sixty in total. My boy knows that this should happen and agrees that he will meet the target that I have set.

I set the final twelve strokes in train, and My boy pleases Me, taking them even as his high-pitched cries of p*in ring out from behind the gag. I am pleased, what a good boy sl*ve H is: I reward him with saliva from beyond My shiny red lips as he kneels in thanks and adoration. I train My sl*ves to understand that “P*in is a way of life” that they will enjoy a fulfilled existence through it, led by My Female Domination of them.

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