EXTRACT FOR
The New Girl
(Miranda Birch)

Deprived of all sexual release as they were, the slave males of Lucy's estate frequently developed fixations on the females to whom their lives were now dedicated in service. Even now, in anticipation of what would surely be a severe punishment, he wanted me. Well, too bad! There was only one thing he was going to get... 



"Go and get a cane out of the drawer. One of the heaviest ones." I ordered. 



"Yes, Mistress," he quavered. He walked to my dressing table and opened the top drawer, where my instruments of correction are kept. He rummaged around nervously and then withdrew a rod, smooth and gleaming yellow, the thickness of my little finger. 



He brought it to me and presented it in the obligatory fashion: that is, on his knees, arms uplifted, the rod on his upturned palms. Tom's breathing was fast and shallow now. He knew he was in for it alright. And all for a moment's little thrill! Still a Mistress can't let a slave get away with such a thing. 



"Over the back of that armchair," I ordered. 



It showed how well trained he was that Tom obeyed so swiftly. 



"Grip the front castors." 



He did so... and I locked his wrists into the cuffs which are kept permanently there, for just this kind of occasion. His naked, nicely muscled hindquarters were well thrust up. I stood there regally naked, flexing the rod and considered how many I should give him. The cane felt very good in my fingers: polished, weighty. No doubt it would hurt a very great deal. When they get this weight of cane, slaves usually start hollering right from the start, no matter how `macho' they may once have been, or thought they were. 



I usually cane in sixes, twelve being the usual number of strokes for anything but the mildest of offences. But I considered eighteen was more suitable on this occasion. 



"Eighteen, slave," I announced. 



His nates clenched convulsively with dread. 



"And you deserve them!" 



Then I swung into the first stroke. 



The great secret of effective caning is not to hit from the top, that is to say, early in the stroke: but to delay the wrist release for as long as possible. It is in fact the same principle as a golf stroke. This technique ensures maximum speed at impact, so hurting to the greatest possible extent. 



Tom let out a gasping howl as the first stroke bit and his hindquarters twisted halfway over, then back again. A red-purple, twin-tracked weal encircled both buttock cheeks. I was pleased with my effort. The stroke had landed just where I had intended, right at the top of his rump. 



I waited for a few seconds -- let him have some time the feel the dread of anticipation! -- then laid on the second stroke. That produced the same reaction, both vocal and physical. No doubt at all: it was very painful. A second weal erupted, a fraction below the first, curving round into the right flank, where the colour became a deeper hue. 



It must have been quite devastating, I thought, for Tom to know he was getting another sixteen strokes like that; and to know that there was absolutely nothing he could do to prevent it!