She is pretty sure she has him all beaten in- out topping the Top has always been easy for her. He could have punished her earlier when she was submissive and pliable after a luscious morning spent in bed. Her back was arched then, her eyes were wide and she followed his wishes in the same way her body bent towards his hands.

But not now, now he missed his chance. She no longer wants to be punished. She is wearing jeans. She has eaten breakfast and gone out for coffee. Now she is an adult, an independent, and not the sort of person to get spanked at all.

They are on his sofa and she lazily explains why it would be so much better to spank her later in the day. Her points make excellent sense, they both agree.

She sighs. It is almost too easy.

And then he stands and looks down at her. He offers his hand as though they are at a ball and he wishes to escort her round the floor. She takes it and is led t her feet and then the door.

“Where are we going?” she asks, stumbling slightly as they make a turn towards the stairs.

“Where I said. You are going to be punished.” The unconcerned reply comes.

Behind him her eyes cross in consternation. This cannot be. She will dissuade him in the bedroom, there are more delectable ways to spend an afternoon.

She stands before him. He smells wonderful, better than baking, better than sunny days. Somehow she has been divested of her jeans. (He told her to remove them. She obeyed before she meant to. Arguing seemed too vulgar. In a moment she will put him right.)

He fixes her with his eyes.

Inside she locks down. ‘I will not succumb.’ she thinks. She smiles at him. It is a grim little smile.

“You will call me Sir until I tell you otherwise which will be for the duration of this punishment.”

Against her will she makes a wordless objection and lifts her hands to push lightly against his chest. She rests her head there, her eyes open and hard but safe where he can’t see them.

He lifts her head with his forefinger and thumb, it almost hurts as she fights him but she faces him, both hands holding his wrist as he holds her eyes in his.

“I have told you that you may not go there. It is dangerous and full of people that make you unhappy.”

She shrugs in the pause and tries to wrestle her eyes free.

“I have been clear with you and you have been disobedient and deceitful. Haven’t you?”

Another shrug. This does not seem to be ending she realises. It does not seem as easy to manipulate him as it might be.

“Answer me.” The instruction is given gently but they both hear the alteration in his voice.

“Yes,” a sullen response.

Silence.

“Yes, Sir.” Comes a more soft response.

She is starting not to understand this. It may be that she might not be able to get out of this right away.

“I am going to cane you.” He waits while she objects. He pays no attention to her words, waiting for them to end before he continues.

“I will cane you two strokes for each day you lied to me and four strokes for disobeying me. If you object I will stop and put you in the corner until you calm down.  We will then start again from one.”

She looks sad now. This is not right, she knows it isn’t. This should be different. She does not want this. Soon he will change his mind.

“Bend over with your hands flat on the bed. I know you hate this. I will go steady but you will count each one.”

As she bends to adopt the ignoble position she knows this must stop soon. She knows that any moment he will understand what she said downstairs and reconvene the punishment next month or with another girl or something.

Her hands look very small on the smooth bed covers, the subtle cream stripes catch the sunlight that pours through the window.

He taps the cane on her bottom finding his mark.

The first stripe burns on, dead centre across both cheeks. She had forgotten how much she loathed the cane.

“I am waiting,” his voice sounds different to normal. It makes her shy.

“One, thank you, Sir.” She whispers. She bites her lip.

“I won’t remind you again.”

The second is lower, sharp and solid all at once. A little shriek and “Two, thank you, Sir.”

This has to stop soon. He can’t do what he said. She wants to ask but …

The third lands on the curve of her bottom and makes her move to the side taking his target away.

“Move back.” The command is hard. She does not like this man, he is scary. She wants her boyfriend back.

“Three, thank you, Sir.” and she scuttles back to place and tries to stay still for the next.

It arrives higher than the last, the sound and then the pain and she hisses, “Four, thank you, Sir”

She wants her normal man back, the one she gets to control a bit.

“Arrgh, Five thank you, Sir”

She wants the man that doesn’t make her call him ‘Sir’ and will forget what he wants to suit her.

An acute school girl pain. “Six, thank you, Sir.”

She opens and closes her hands on the duvet and picks one foot up and curls the toes before repeating the movement on the second side.

He lays his hand on her back. It is warm and feels like her lovers hand. She fights the urge to stand ad turn into his arms. She daren’t move. This man that is Sir is too much for her.

The sound makes her jump and the strike builds to a crescendo in a second.

“Seven, thank you, Sir.”

“One more, hold still, this one will sting.”

Her eyes widen at his words and she opens her mouth to object so that when the cane lands on her striped bottom she calls out without meaning to and it is several moments before she can gather herself enough to say, “Eight, thank you, Sir.”

She hears him step away. The wardrobe door opens and she knows that he is hanging his cane up.

She stays still. Her bum throbs, each line is a clear burn and she longs to rub them gently but her hands stay in front of her. She watches them, a quiet observer.

His warm hands are behind her, they cover her bottom, possessively, tenderly.

“Come here.” He sounds almost like her boyfriend. That warm gentle voice doesn’t need to repeat itself.  Hiding in his chest she doesn’t care that he is still gently telling her off, she doesn’t mind that he is sending her to the corner and reminding her not to rub. She doesn’t argue when he puts her nose right to the wall.

She smiles to herself. The man she loves is back. That horrid strict man is gone. It doesn’t matter where. She sneaks a peek around at her lover as he starts to type on his computer.

‘He will stay,’ she assures herself, ‘that other strict one, I can keep him away from now on. It will be easy.’