Pretty Please Daddy

She’s still locked inside that golden cage, begging. Arabelle presses her face to the bars, lips parted, voice low. “Let me out. Pretty please Daddy.” Her eyes do the rest. You unlock the door. She steps out already wet, already willing. You strip her down and bend her over the bench. The cane sings through the air and lands hard across both cheeks. She jerks, then pushes back for more. You keep swinging until her skin burns red and her breathing turns ragged. Next come the clothespins. One after another, you pinch them along the insides of her thighs, over her nipples, down the soft curve of her belly. Every pinch draws a fresh whimper. She’s soaked, thighs slick, but you’re not done. You edge her with your fingers and the tip of the cane, never letting her tip over. Each time she gets close you pull back, slap her swollen cunt with leather, watch her tremble. She stays right on the edge, dripping, shaking, whispering “please” like it’s the only word she knows. You decide when she earns the next stripe, the next pinch, the next withheld orgasm. She stays on her knees, marks blooming, eyes glassy, still whispering that pretty little plea.