You know, as you walk in the door, that he wants to play the game, your game. He doesn't tell you, not in words, that would spoil it completely. No. He has to let you catch him, find him out, punish him.
He is in the den, you can hear the TV, see the flicker of it around the door. That's the giveaway. He knows what time you were coming home, he would normally have had coffee brewing, but he is watching TV in the den, and you know.
Quietly you walk to the door, step inside. Flesh bobs and quivers on the screen. Bodies writhe. He hears you coming, turns quickly, his eyes wide. Quickly he flicks the remote, kills the picture, but not fast enough.
"So!" you hiss, "This is what you do when I'm out?"
He looks down "It was nothing. I was given it. I didn't know what it was."
"Didn't know? Of course you knew. Why did you watch such filth? Aren't I good enough for you?"
"Of course you are!"
"Oh, I think not! You want to watch those porn girls with their silicone tits, they hold more appeal on a screen than my body does in reality, do they?"
"No, please, of course they don't. I'm sorry, please don't get angry."
"Oh but I am angry." You reply, "Very angry. You need to be a taught a lesson. You need to be shown how to treat a lady. You know what I mean, don't you?"
"Yes love."
"LOVE! Do not dare call me love. Until I decide that you are truly sorry, what do you call me?"
He mumbles.
"Louder!"
"Mistress. I call you mistress!"
You stare at him, until his eyes drop. "You know what to do next!"
"Yes mistress."
"Very well. Five minutes, not a second more, then you come!"
You stride out of the room, across the hall to the bedroom, your shared room with it's king size bed, subtly placed mirrors, the delicately erotic paintings on the walls. Stripping quickly, you open the wardrobe and choose your outfit.
Quickly but smoothly, you dress. A sheer bra that shows your nipples through the fine mesh. A garter belt and lace topped stockings, a pair of lace panties over these. Over this you step into a short skirt, slit down the side, and a blouse so fine and transparent that neither it nor the bra leave anything to the imagination. You look in the mirror. Your nipples push through the thin fabric, pink and sensual. Your thigh flashes temptation through the split skirt. You will suffice.
Right on time, the door opens, sheepishly he enters. You stand, hands on hips. He waits, head down, playing his role well, as you play yours.
"What do you think I should do with you?" you begin.
"I don't know mistress."
"Oh yes you do. You know there's only one fitting punishment for what you've done, don't you?"
"Yes mistress."
"Yes mistress indeed! So what are you waiting for? You know where it is, go and fetch me it!"
Slowly he crosses the room, opens the wardrobe, takes out the cane hanging there. Bringing it back, he hands it to you, his hand trembling slightly.
Ah, the cane. Three feet of whippy rattan, oiled to keep it supple, in the hands of an expert it can sting and tease, or burn like fire, and you know how to use it well. It is flexible enough to wrap around naked buttocks like a lash, leaving red tramlines on the quivering flesh.
"Undress!" you order sharply.
He strips in front of you, acting reluctant, taking his time. As he removes his clothes, you play with the cane, tapping it in your hand, flexing it, bending it almost double. He watches you, like a rabbit watching a snake. The cane is like a third person in the room, dominating both your thoughts.
Finally, he stands naked, the muscular body shivering slightly, the thick cock hanging loose but with the first signs of an erection. You look him up and down, feeling the heat rise in your face.
"Chair!" you snap.
He brings a hard backed chair from the wall and stands it in front of you.
"What are you waiting for? Over the back."
He bends over the chair back, his hands clasping the edge of the seat, his lower belly resting on the top. You run your gaze over the firm buttocks presented to you, the strong thighs and calves. You feel the first swelling of labia in your panties, the seeping of moisture. You know what is to come, before this is finished both of you will be satisfied, but it must be played out.
You stand to the side, measuring the distance. Gently, you rest the cane across the naked buttocks, and he feels the touch and trembles under it. There is a way to use a cane. Often on film you see someone swinging their whole arm up, as if the cane were a club. This is total nonsense. The elbow is kept down, near to the body, the whole action lies in the forearm and wrist. The secret is not in strength, but in technique. The wrist can whip round far faster than the whole arm, and deliver a more controlled strike.
Your wrist bends back, then with a soft swish you bring the cane down across the pale flesh, not too hard, just hard enough to sting and for him to anticipate what is to come.
Swish, and another pink line stripes the muscular buttocks. You can feel yourself getting really wet now, feel your nipples hardening in the taut bra, pushing the fabric out in little cones of sensation.
Swish, a third stroke. He has made no sound as yet, but so far you have been gentle. Now it is time to tease a little, before you deliver more pain.
Your left hand reaches under him, feels the thick dangling cock, strokes it gently from base to tip. He gasps, and it begins to swell and harden in your hand. Softly you caress it.
"Does that feel nice?"
