Wicked Wednesday: Continued Caning

Continued Caning

Well, technically it was a party rather than a club, but still...
I was still relatively new to kink, but had reached a point where I relished my status as a rare creature - a single, dominant female who wasn't charging for her services. The party host had invited me to be in charge of the maids for the night, which was fun. I think there were about three or four of them, altogether: at least one was the type of maid who genuinely wants to be 'good' and whose thrill comes from providing service. At least one of the others was an absolute brat, though.
At some point, towards the end of the night, she cheeked me once too often, and I decided it was time to give her the good hiding she deserved. I took her into the back room, made her bend over the bed and raise her skirt and petticoat.
I probably started with a few hand spanks, though I seem to recall she'd had her arse warmed up by others. And then I moved on to the cane.
I have never been the world's greatest exponent when it comes to caning, but I wasn't a total novice. I could place my strokes pretty much where I wanted them to land, and when it was a matter of disciplinary roleplay rather than something with a likelihood of more erotic involvement, I liked to get whoever was on the receiving end to count the strokes and thank me after every one.
She counted three strokes, but when I laid on the fourth, there was no response.
'I didn't hear anything, girl.'
'I didn't feel anything, madam.'
You cheeky...
I laid on a much harder stroke, and got the required count and thanks.
And then it happened again.
And again.
I think it took about twenty strokes to get an official count of Six of the Best, and I observed that she didn't seem particularly chastened, so she could take six more, for insolence.
And another six after that.
And then six more.
I don't know how long it took, but I continued caning her until we both hit some kind of Zen state. The world had narrowed to nothing but her arse, the cane and the repeated movements of my arm.
Looking back, I wouldn't call it sexual - there was no frisson between me and the maid, none at all. It was, however, intense, and spacey, and quite unlike anything I'd previously done.
Something jolted me out of my near-trance, in the end, and I thought: Oh shit! What have I done to her?
I dropped the cane and told her to stand up. She gave me a little half-bob of a curtsey. She didn't seem particularly traumatised, or in any particular pain.
'Well, girl, have you learned your lesson?'
'I suppose so, Madam.'  Our eyes met, for a second. Hers still held a spark of mischief.
'Run along, then, and don't let me have to punish you again.'

The next day, I could barely lift my arm to brush my hair.