The Caning of Lilly

She clamped her teeth tight and took it. Every stroke hit harder than the last—single tail cracking, crop snapping, cane landing like a blade. Her skin jumped and burned, but she didn’t flinch. Didn’t break. The heat coiled low in her belly, growing fast, mean, impossible to hold. Her thighs shook. Her wrists pulled against the ropes. Still she swallowed the word she knew would stop everything. She rode the pain like it could fuck her open. Her Mistress kept swinging. And Lilly kept wanting more.