Free Folly by Jassy Mackenzie Page B

myself.
    But he didn’t. Prostrated over the horse, he turned his head and looked at me and his eyes widened.
    â€˜Mistress,’ he whispered in respectful tones.
    â€˜You will speak only when spoken to, Mr Lowly.’ My voice was sharp and stern. ‘We’ll continue our disciplinary session with some corporal punishment, which I feel you certainly deserve. Perhaps this will help to remind you to be more accurate with your sums next time.’
    â€˜Oh, I will try, Mistress.’
    â€˜Lift your shirttails up for me and hold them out of the way. I want your backside bare and unprotected.’
    His buttocks were broader than the rest of him, his crack was home to a small forest of hair, and his legs were short and stocky, like miniature tree trunks.
    â€˜I’m going to give you your first six punishment strokes. You’d better be ready for them. And grateful, too. According to our disciplinary code, you are required to count the blows down, and thank me after every one.’
    â€˜Yes, I will, Mistress.’
    I raised the whip. This was the moment. Without hesitation I brought it down in a swift slapping motion across the middle of his bum, and was rewarded by his cry of pain. I saw a purplish, crop-shaped bloom was spreading swiftly across the pale brown map of his arse. Hopefully it would fade nearly as fast as it had come.
    â€˜One, Mistress. Thank you.’
    My armpits were slick with sweat and I was breathing so hard I was sure I must be snorting like a buffalo, but what I felt right at that moment was a massive sense of accomplishment. I had unflinchingly landed my very first blow on the backside of a paying client.
    Even if, at the moment of impact, I had squeezed my eyes tight shut.
    Aiming carefully, I landed the next blow a fraction lower. I kept my eyes open this time, although I thought I was probably making the most awful face. My expression must have been a contorted blend of terror and triumph.
    â€˜ Ow! Two. Thank you, Mistress.’
    As Lowly breathlessly counted to six, thanking me in whispered tones after every slap of the whip, I was kept busy landing the smacks as accurately as I could, making sure each one fell across his buttocks. And as I wielded the whip, administering stroke after punishment stroke to his cringing form, my nerves dissipated and I experienced a rush of euphoria. It wasn’t a sexual feeling – not really. Rather, it was the heady sensation of being in complete control.
    A false delight, I knew, since this dance had two partners, and the one who ultimately controlled the moves was the client. Powerful as I was, that was only because he was paying me to be.
    â€˜Please … no harder, Mistress. I don’t want to be beaten any harder.’
    A genuine plea, or a veiled request for rougher punishment? Since he hadn’t used the safe word, I interpreted it to mean the latter.
    â€˜Unfortunately I cannot make any exceptions for you, Mr Lowly. The company’s disciplinary code dictates that you must receive a harsher beating now. You will count to six again for me.’
    And I brought the crop down with even more force onto his nowblotchy buttocks.
    When his next beating was finished, we were both breathing loudly and I felt quite lightheaded from the effort of keeping my voice stern and level while at the same time judging every stroke of his beating correctly. I was discovering that it took a surprising amount of power and control to hit just hard enough, but not too hard.
    â€˜I see the next section in the procedure requires you to kneel on the floor and kiss my boots. You will note that I’d like it done with gratitude. As if you mean it. Some serious grovelling is in order, Mr Lowly.’
    â€˜Oh, yes, Mistress.’
    He prostrated himself at my feet and, with fervour, set about kissing the shiny uppers of my boots. After a minute or two, I stepped back.
    â€˜And now you must crawl over to that shelf over there