Hold-ups slinking up your legs, snapping in place at the top.  Plain black bra holding you tight, nipples already swelling against its resistance.  Today you are teacher - strict, stern and in control.  White shirt, black pencil skirt, hair tied back.  No nonsense appearance with a slash of scarlet lipstick, portentous of scarlet stripes to come.

You walk downstairs to find him waiting, not quite so confident as usual.  He’s unsure of what exactly is to come, how severely he is to be dealt with – if he’ll be able to handle it.  You will make sure he can’t.

Silently holding his gaze, you pick up the cane, flex it between your hands.  Lifting it high, you bring it whistling down on to the arm of a chair.  It lands with your full force behind it, it’s crack breaking the silence, increasing the trepidation in his eyes.

“You know why you’re here, don’t you?”

His mumbled response is indistinct.

“Your behaviour has gone from bad to worse of late.  And I’m going to teach you a lesson that will change that.  You’re going to feel what’s coming for days to come. And you’ll think twice before you behave in a way that risks it happening again.

“Stand in the corner, hands on your head, face to the wall and wait until I’m ready to deal with you.”

Perhaps for five minutes, perhaps for half an hour, you leave him waiting, his apprehension growing, as you distract yourself elsewhere, ignoring him completely.

Inwardly, your sexual tension is growing.  The feeling of power, the anticipation of what you’re about to do, stokes your turn-on.  You resolve to make the intensity of the thrashing equal to that growing in your pussy, and not to let it drop if you should orgasm in the delivery of it.

When you’re ready, you return to summon him from his corner.  “Over the table, now!”

Picking up the cane, you position yourself to one side and measure it across the tight seat of his jeans.

“Stretch further over.  And be warned: if you move out of position the stroke will be repeated.”

This is to be entirely for your pleasure, not his.  And the more it stretches him, the more the pain drives beyond what he can handle, the greater your pleasure will be.

No gentle warm up then.  You bring the first stroke crashing down as a mighty statement of intent.

You see his body tense, struggling to contain it, hear the long slow hiss of breath.

Driving the point home with a second stroke, and then a third, a fourth, you watch him struggle, releasing grunts and moans as he starts to understand that this is a contest – one that he has no chance of winning.  Your pussy knows that it won’t be until that contest is clearly won that his thrashing will really begin.

You land the sixth stroke lower – at the crease between arse and thighs – eliciting a tight lipped “Fuck!”

You immediately whip the cane down twice in quick succession.  “How dare you swear in my classroom.  For that you can drop your trousers and take the remaining four on your bare backside.”

Jeans and pants down to his calves, he stretches back across the table as you get your first sight of the stripes you have been painting.

Each stroke measured and deliberate, driven by your rising lust, you sense the remainder of the caning pushing him ever closer to an edge he is near to toppling over.  As he stands, you see his cheeks already wet from the tears he’s trying to hide from you.

Leaving no time for him to recover and regroup his resilience, you immediately demand he strip completely.  “Now stand in the middle of the room and bend over.  Grip your ankles.”

Picking up the gym shoe you feel it’s weight in your hand.  Delivered with force, it will combine bruising impact with the broader sting of its large sole landing flat against your already striped target.  Knowing how anger can up the power behind a thrashing, you muster genuine irritations to add even more vigour to the strokes you hammer against his arse.  You set out to give a dozen but, with extras for not staying in place, it’s probably nearer twenty by the time you finish.

Tears now flowing freely, you forbid him to touch or try to rub the pain away as he stands.  You fix him with the same silent stare.  Where there was trepidation at the start, you now see you have him at the point where endorphins have deserted him, and this is to be a very real spanking.

His prick hangs soft, for the moment chastened.  You want it hard and inside you.  And later you will have it.  But for now you revel in your horniness, knowing that there’s a very long strapping to deliver before bending him back across the table for a final dozen with the cane.

“Put a straight chair in the middle of the room and fetch me the strap.

“Now get yourself across my lap!”

Enjoying the warmth of his body across your thighs you take a firm grip of his hip and, reminding yourself that the thrashing doesn’t start until you have pushed him completely over that edge, you lift the strap above your head .....