His boots thudded against the bare floor as he strode over to the rack. He was a stunning man with tattoo artworks all over his arms, chest and back; his narrow hips and long legs in black trousers. He reached for one of the thin black rubber canes, weighing it in his hand and running his palm along its length as he checked it. He flicked it through the air and it made a swishing sound that promised an intense sting.
Satisfied, he strode over to stand behind me. His warmth settled on my skin just as his breath fanned my ear and nape. “For your penance you will receive thirty strokes of the cane.”
My pulse raced and I closed my eyes as I replied in an out of breath voice, “Yes, sir.”
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