Close Encounters

She’s lashed to the heavy chair, thighs forced wide and ankles cinched tight to the front legs. The leather belt is already between her teeth before she can draw another breath, buckled hard at the nape. Master steps in close, belt in hand. Her eyes flare wide. She knows the drill: the cane waits on the table, clover clamps dangle from his pocket, and any sound she makes will cost her. Still, when the first strike lands across the soft crease of her inner thigh, a muffled cry slips out. She tries to bite it back, fails, and braces for the next one.