Charisma & Tiffany Part 4

Seeing the wicker cane, she knew what Charisma had in mind for her, and she dreaded what was about to happen to her. She didn’t know she’d begun to weep until she felt her tears, warm and wet, stream down her face. She whimpered, wanting to beg and plead to be spared the extreme punishment that Charisma had decided to inflict upon her bare, defenseless flesh, but she did not, knowing that any request for mercy would earn her only greater, and more prolonged, torment.

Charisma took the cane from the velvet pillow on the silver tray. “Thank you, James,” she said to the butler. “That will be all.”

“Yes, Madam.” The servant left the chamber as quietly as he had entered, leaving Tiffany alone with the sorceress.

“If I were you,” Charisma advised, “I would face the wall, bend forward as far as possible at the waist, and try not to move. This cane will cut you, wherever it lands, and if you dance, it is likely to fall upon your cock or balls rather than your back, ass, or thighs. In that unfortunate event, it would probably cause irreparable damage. You might well be castrated.”

Now, despite her better judgment, Tiffany did beg for mercy. “Please don’t so this to me,” she pleaded. “Let me go. Please. Please. Please--”

A sharp, stinging lash fell across Tiffany’s buttocks, and, howling, she leaped forward, into the wall, stunning herself in her desperate, but vain, effort to escape the instrument that had just inflicted such extreme pain.

“Shut your fucking mouth,” Charisma said, her tone still calm, still quiet, but full of menace, nevertheless.

Tiffany squeezed her eyes shut, bit her lip, and shuddered from the effort of repressing the need to cry out against the burning pain that continued to flash through her bottom. No doubt, she thought, an angry red welt was already rising along the line of impact that the cane had made upon her ass cheeks.