"I will concede that I have never beheld anything more beautiful." Some genuine quality in his voice made me glow with pride. I know I'm beautiful, but it's a lovely feeling when someone else agrees. He hit me again. I could not tell if he was striking me all out. The impacts were of the same intensity as when Yola hits me as hard as she can. It hurt fiercely. I wondered how many my fire could absorb before I started to scream. I passionately did not want to scream for a man. For darling Yola, yes, but not for the Male! I wanted to bestow on him only those sounds that would provoke his erection and agonize his desire. That way I would emerge the victor. Is that silly too? I expect it is. Royden caned my bottom with tremendous male verve and competence. The impacts of the cane burying itself in my flesh caused the bar to swing a little from side to side with me as a pendulum. Royden used my changing salient aspect to place his strokes to best advantage. I was being caned by a Master of the Craft. I had an absurd vision of him as a Head Master with morta-board and gown, and myself as some shockingly delinquent pupil. A little girl whose bottom had been bared for her iniquities.
"Do you cry at all, Miss Carstairs?" he inquired conversationally.
"I can if you want me to," I offered between gasps "A girl can, y'know, and they'd be quite genuine." He sliced me low on my bottom where it hurts most. "No. Just let tears flow if they're spontaneous. It's a nice effect."
"On the erection?" I tried to sound casual. He chuckled, pleased. "Naturally. The erection is the alpha and omega, isn't it! How about screaming?"
"I can't always control it. I'll try not to, but I probably will."
"Almost a challenge to me." His voice held dry humour. "I take it this gift of yours is not limitless, there's a brink you can cross so that you hurt and react like any other girl?"
"Yes," I admitted. "I'm terribly sorry. It's a bit of a let down for me too. I'd love to be able to laugh all through. But the pain's a lot more awful than you probably realize."
"Help if I cane you more slowly?"
"Yes. Thank you." The strike was as though he was making up for all the chitchat. I yelped again and kicked my legs. The pain worked its way through me from back to front. I could feel my nerves receiving it and passing it on, wave after wave. Being caned is quite an experience. It's like nothing else that can happen to a girl. There are worse things, but a girl's bottom has a responsiveness all its own.
"That one was most impressive, Mr. Royden." I paid maiden tribute to whatever his motivation might be. "Thank you for the pause." His next gift to me cut deep into the top of my thighs and produced that other kind of agony that eats into a girl's stomach and leaves you certain you can't bear another. My legs pedalled like mad. I made magnificent erection generating vocals that were quite impromptu.
"If I can make a deal I'm going to buy you, Miss Carstairs," said Mr. Royden, and struck me again on the same place. It was probably the most sincere tribute ever given to me. But I think I must have gone half mad with the pain. Two on my thighs, one on top of the other! For a moment they almost doused my fire. I bit my lip to keep from screaming, but my legs flailed like crazy and the rest of me writhed and twisted worse than a puppet on a string. I did not trouble to look, but I had a feeling he was standing back in awe. After a long while he made an important announcement.
"I think we can discard the cane now, Euphemia, and move on to the whip." I controlled my vocals long enough to say: "Thank you, Mr. Royden, that would be nice." How absurd we were! How formal and correct! I sensed that, for both of us, it was keeping my torture on a plane above the commonplace or the disagreeable. We were being frightfully British. His use of my Christian name gave me an inordinate pleasure. I made my small moans and used my feet to kick away the pain they could not touch.
"Have you any preference in the matter of a whip, my dear?" Royden's voice had taken on a new warmth during the caning of my bottom.
"Please, could I have one without knots?"
"Of course. But there's quite a collection here."
"Knots cut me, Mr. Royden, and I've found that multiple lashes tend to bunch and give me a miserable sort of blow that makes ugly marks and bruises. A single thong is the most aesthetic and they hurt terribly, You can choose the length according to how you want them to snap around me. The shorter ones are the most accurate if you want to mark me in certain places or ways."
"Knowledgeable little girl, aren't you!"
"Yes, Master. Thank you. I've been whipped a lot."
"And it still hurts?"
"Oh, Master, if you only knew!"
"What about your breasts, do they just take what comes?"
"I'd be grateful, Master if they were left safe. When the lash curls under my arm and goes on 'round, the tip snaps on them and cuts my skin. You could whip me more somewhere else."
"Where somewhere else?"
"I'll open my legs wide if it would please you there?"
"On this little lady here?" His masculine hand enveloped my puss and squeezed. I gasped with pleasure. It was as though Yola stood beside me. I knew I should be angry, but my blush was my only protest.
"If whipping her would give you pleasure, I won't mind," I told him prettily.
"You're right, you're not like other girls," he declared emphatically. "You're every man's dream… mine, at any rate. Did you know the lady was soaking wet?" He wiped his very wet hand on my thigh below the wounds.
"She's like that," I admitted apologetically. "She's always wet when I'm being punished, even when I scream."
"Don't feel badly about her." He chuckled. "She's one in a million. I suppose she's also wet at the proper time?" How could I tell him it had been just me and Yola! I giggled. Giggles help a girl a lot. "I'm afraid she is," I said demurely. I don't suppose there was a whip in that room that would not hurt a girl unbearably. The one Mr. Royden selected was a half and halfer. It would not wound me and it would not curl all the way 'round my nudity. But apart from that it was a whip well designed to hurt a girl.
"Stand on this a minute, you can use a rest." My toes were only six inches from the floor. The box he thrust beneath them was an unexpected boom. I stepped on it gratefully. Yolanda had suspended me all night once. I had been a very humble girl in the morning. Mr. Royden was an unknown quantity. Any respite was welcome. My flaming bottom was testimony to his enjoyment and skill in hurting girls. The whip was still to come. "You're being terribly kind," I said, and actually meant it.
"Want a drink'?" I almost wept when he handed me the glass. But I still could not lower my hands far enough, so he had to hold it to my lips. I don't drink, but I gulped this gratefully. It was shockingly strong. I hoped it might be at least faintly anesthetic.
"I'd sooner carry on with your bottom; but enough's enough. You did damn well. Is the whip going to be worse for you?"
"It's a different kind of pain. It's less sexy."
"But still a little?"
"Oh, yes. Especially if you use it between my legs. You'll have to tell me if you want to do that."
"Doesn't the suspension bother you?"
"In it's own way." I giggled. "But we've agreed I'm not like other girls. For an hour I love it. Then it gets increasingly awful."
"If a chap had the time to just be cruel to you up to the limit of your tolerance for pain, you'd be an astounding experience for any man, Euphemia." He gave me an incongruously comradely grin. "If I manage to buy you I can limit my baser instincts to a good bash every Saturday. The prospect appeal at all?" I expect I'm a silly girl with a warped set of values, but I was impelled by a wave of longing. "Please buy me, please, please," I begged with complete sincerity. "I'll make you very happy." Oh sure, I had a pretty mental picture of him selling me back to Yolanda. I felt certain Gyorkos never would. He was pleased. He gave me the rest of my drink and patted my wealed bottom in a paternal sort of way. "How many do you usually get with a whip like this, Euphemia?" He said it like asking how many sugars in my tea. I decided not to be too much of a cheat. "Fifteen," I said brightly.