Page 46 of Brave
“What’s your name? Your real name, because I refuse even one more time to call you by anything that asshole assigned you.”
She looked back at him over her shoulder, eyes wide with surprise. “I’m Cynthia. Cynthia Reynolds.”
“I’m going to cane your bottom ten times, but I want you to know, there will never be a time when you may not use your safeword with me. I don’t care what the circumstances are. Use your safeword. I don’t care if you call it after every single stroke. We’ll stop and we’ll talk about it, and only when you’re ready will we go on.”
She stared up at him, her brow knitting. “Even for a punishment?”
“Especially then,” he assured. “Any time you’re afraid, I want to know about it, and I want you to remember this.” He tightened his embrace. “This is what matters right here. I don’t ever want to give you a reason to be afraid of me.”
Her breathing had quickened, but she didn’t appear scared when she shook her head. “I’m not.”
He didn’t mean to kiss her, but he couldn’t stop it. He pressed his lips to the top of her head, knowing if he got any closer to her lips than that his will would most likely crumble. It almost crumbled as it was anyway, especially when he saw she’d closed her eyes.
Patting her hip, he stepped back into his place and she assumed her position.
A caning didn’t need to be hard to be effective, and by no means did he use his whole arm. But he did put enough swing into each stroke for the cane to whip through the air, and right from the very first snap of his wrist, he made sure she knew this was a correction.
She jumped, sucked air, and grabbed onto the edge of the desk, but she kept her place.
He paused after three, giving in to his urge long enough to offer the budding welts he’d lain a comforting caress. “Are you okay?”
She nodded, eyes tightly shut and teeth gritted. “I’m sorry I lied, Sir.”
“Me too.”
She groaned, tucking her chin as she fought to accept the whuck of the fourth blow. Her legs wobbled, her flesh clenching in spasms as the pain chewed in. “I’m sorry I lied!”
He caressed her bottom again. “You don’t have to keep repeating that, honey.”
She broke down on the fifth stroke. Burying her face in her fists, she fought to keep it quiet, but her whole body shook with the force of her sobs.
“Are you all right?” he asked, rubbing her back.
She nodded.
“Do you want to stop?”
She shook her head.
The sixth stroke buckled her knees.
The seventh brought her dancing up onto both the tips of her fingers and the tips of her toes. She bounced, hissing through her teeth, and quickly put herself back into position. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”
“Do you want to stop?”
She shook her head hard. “I can… take it!”
“Last three,” he cautioned, taking time to examine the marks flushing hot and bright against her flesh before stepping back into place again. “Repeat after me. I am not garbage to be thrown away.”
Puppy burst into tears all over again. It took almost a full minute before she could make herself garble the line back at him. He’d covered her bottom in welts, which meant these last three would have to be given low on the underswell where her ass met her thighs and the nerves were far more sensitive.
He used more wrist than arm, but the cane still snapped and she still came vaulting up onto her toes. She bounced, a dervish writhing that he would have found provocative were this for any reason other than true correction.
Gradually lowering herself flat on her feet, she assumed the position. Sniffling, she offered a shaky, “I’m ready.”
“I’m worth something to my Sir,” Carlson said, giving her the next line.
Folding her arms on his desk, she buried her face in them and wept. He waited until she’d collected herself enough to repeat her line, and then he laid the next lashing welt directly across the tender crease above her thighs.
