Robert might have been unconvinced had she offered compassion as a reason not to cane his balls. Mercy, he had found, was in short supply around Lady Deborah. But the argument that it didn’t suit what she had in mind gave him some confidence that he need not fear the worst. Then came the first stroke as the cane bit into his ass. He cried out. The pain was white-hot; it burned his flesh. Lady Deborah had caned a lot of asses; she knew exactly how much force to apply, and exactly where to apply it. Her aim was true; each stroke hit home in that narrow band between the centre of Robert’s bottom and the crease where his buttocks met his thighs, a highly sensitive spot which, he now realised, he might have more frequently exploited during his own days of dishing out pain.
He squealed and writ
