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sees, smiles wryly.
    “Twenty in total. The first ten with my hand, to prepare you a little. I won’t be gentle, but it will give you a chance to get your head together, get used to feeling the pain, riding it, breathing through it. Then the final ten with the paddle. And I want you to hold the paddle please, until I’m ready for it.”
    The sadist. The cruel bastard is really rubbing the salt in. He makes me release my grip on the edge of the bench and instead wrap my fingers around the handle and the blade of the black rubber monster he’s selected. Apparently satisfied at last that I’m as terrified as he can conceivably achieve, no more words are spoken as he moves down to stand behind me. I brace, waiting for the first blow to fall, and almost leap off the bench as his palm connects with my left buttock. But it’s not a slap, it’s a caress.
    “Keep still, I won’t tell you again.” His tone is firm, stern now as he reprimands me. “I don’t intend to tie your hands, but I will strap you in place around the waist and the knees if I need to. Now, I just want to make sure your circulation is stimulated, get some blood to the surface of your skin, help you to fully appreciate what I have to offer you. Would you like to thank me for my kindness, Miss Stone?”
    I concentrate on remaining perfectly still, but apparently that’s not enough now.
    “Miss Stone, pay attention. I asked you a question. Would you like to thank me for my kindness? You can answer by nodding. Or not.”
    Discretion is without doubt the better part of valor. I nod.
    “Good, you’re learning. Now, you should feel free to enjoy this part if you like.”
    He continues to caress and massage my bum, digging his finger ends into the fleshy cheeks, sliding them under my thong to trace the crack between my buttocks, even circling my most private little orifice with one gentle fingertip. I manage to remain still, but can’t help the little gasp which escapes me. In the silence of the room it sounds like a steam train. “Are you very sensitive here, Miss Stone?” He helpfully probes my tight sphincter once more, just to make sure I know where he means. “Or maybe just shy?”
    Rhetorical question? I’ve no idea—not sure if, or how, to answer. He helps me out of my dilemma again.
    “Yellow for sensitive and you want me to be careful, red for shy and you want me to stop. Which is it, Miss Stone?”
    I hesitate for just a moment before raising my left hand, the red wristband. No point in anything less than an honest response, no one has ever explored my bum before and I’m not at all sure I like it. I’m definitely acutely embarrassed but much, much too intimidated to move or even think about asking him to stop. But he does stop even so, and I realize that I used the ‘red’ signal. Was that why he stopped? Was that my first little practice at safe wording? His way of demonstrating to me that it works?
    I’m still pondering that mystery when the first blow lands, full, hard and sharp across my left buttock, and I jerk on the bench, His hand is heavy, the slap reverberating around the room. He waits a couple of seconds before landing the next one, this time on my right buttock. Again I jerk—it hurts, really hurts. My knuckles are white as I grip the paddle, grinding my teeth to bear the pain. The third slap falls on my left buttock again, followed closely by another to the right. I’m shaking now, only sheer force of his will keeping me in place. I know if I move it’ll be worse in the long run.
    Just take it, survive it.
    “Don’t fight it, absorb it. Breathe slowly, in before I slap you, and out afterwards.” His tone is calm and measured, his advice no doubt perfectly sound.
    Even so my first, inner reaction is along the lines of ‘Fuck you, you sadistic bastard’.
    The next slap is harder than the first four were.
    “More respect, please, Miss Stone. Now, breathe in and out slowly, it will be easier for you.” His