A masterstroke of the cane makes a whistle before impact; forgotten in the searing brand lanced across flesh already basted. Worn nails scrabbled for purchase as they belabored my bottom. Compared to my first day caning, the thrice thrashed times two I received from them both, was bearable on already spanked surface. Quite the lewd display I offered, hips pumping, buttocks clenching, wet cunny squelching; lost in my agony, could not overhear the murmured consultation far above my prone body. When I felt the tip of cane poke at my wanton portal of Venus, I shimmied, and lifted my arse.
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