Chase. Flora Dain

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      ‘Bend over. Grab hold of the tree with both hands. Stick out your ass and arch your back.’

      Yikes. I know what’s coming: a spanking. But out here? Won’t someone see? Or, even worse, hear?

      ‘Hold still. Don’t move.’

      Heart in mouth I cling onto the rough bark, hoping none of his security detail are tuning in. And that’s before I start to worry about ants, mosquitoes. I’m very exposed out here. My arms are aching now as I lean forward. My cheeks burn with shame. I long to straighten up and cover myself.

       Someone might see.

      And then to my horror I hear him walk away. ‘Wait. Where are you going?’ I sound shrill, a lost soul out here among the endless trees. I turn round in a panic but now he’s out of my line of vision. All I can hear are his footfalls, padding away, and then coming closer. As his loafers come into view I breathe a deep sigh of relief. ‘Thank goodness … Ow!’

      I shriek as his hand lands on my rump with a stinging slap that stops my breath. As I open my mouth to drag in air it lands again and again. And again.

      Arousal flares.

      ‘Quiet. Did I say you could speak? I said stay there. Keep your legs straight. I’m not going far.’

      My bum is burning up and we’ve hardly started. I doubt he’ll leave it there. I rarely get away with just four slaps.

      I’m scared now. What’s he doing? It’s taking an age. I strain to hear where he is but all I can hear are rustles in the bushes, the scrunch of twigs and the snap of a stick. Alarm spirals though me. A bear? A wildcat?

      It’s worse: a Wolf. Once more I see his loafers coming towards me, and something else. I shiver. It’s the swishing end of a stout, springy stick.

      I’m going to get caned. Or birched. Or twigged. Hit anyway, with whatever that thing is he’s holding.

      He fondles my quivering backside with a caress so tender I shudder.

      ‘Hey, you’re cold. Don’t be scared.’ He pauses for a second. ‘Ella? You OK? You said you’d try it. We agreed.’

      ‘I’m fine.’ In the silence of the trees my voice is thin and reedy but it’s all he needs.

      ‘This won’t take long.’ Now he sounds brisk. ‘Don’t move.’

      I stand rigid, part scared, part excited. Down below I burn. The rest of me chills as the scared part takes over and I strain to hold still and avoid his displeasure. Something about the way he’s swishing that stick warns me too much wriggling, even in happy anticipation, might be unwise.

      But he’s moving plenty. I hear snaps, scratches and shuffles and now small bits of twig land on the ground near my feet as he strips the sapling, preparing it. I shiver as he swishes it a couple of times to test its strength.

      His fingertips land on my rear, gentle and warm as he positions me precisely, and then he strokes me again, chuckling now. He’s enjoying this.

      ‘Six strokes to warm you up. Then we’ll take it from there.’

      As the first lands I’m almost jerked off my feet. He waits while I writhe, fighting to stay in position but needing to move about to deflect the sudden sharp flash of pain.

      Another strike. The shock makes me gasp but this time I’m prepared so it stings less.

      The third blow is softer still. He pauses to feel me, his hand cool on the burning stripes he’s etched into me. And now he starts a new torment as his soothing caress turns into a slow exploration between my legs. He wants to know what’s happening down there. I’m already soft, swollen, wet.

      With a satisfied chuckle he takes aim again, finishing the last two strokes with a flourish. He leans close and murmurs against my neck as I pant to catch my breath. ‘You OK?’

      I swallow. ‘I’m fine.’

      His kiss lingers on my neck. ‘More?’

      ‘No. I want …’ I tremble, unsure if this is allowed. But the bracelets mean I have a say now. At least I think that’s what he said.

      ‘What? What do you want, Ella? Tell me.’

      He trails soft kisses along my spine while he draws the switch slowly between my legs, letting me feel every rough nick, every inch of its harsh, springy length. It slides perilously close to my eager sex, splayed for his delight. I can’t see the stripes but I feel them blend into a hot glow.

      ‘I want you inside.’ I’m ashamed to ask. I sound tinny and unreal in the gathering darkness of the tall trees all around us.

      ‘Where, Ella? Tell me. Here?’ He reaches down to feel the place and drops kisses along my shoulder blades.

      ‘Please,’ I say as the head of his erection grazes my burning bottom in a silky nudge of greeting. All at once he slams into me, jerking me hard against the tree with his power and his weight. He feels so good.

      Far above us the sky remains light, pearly now as the sunlight fades. Down here in the growing darkness the bracelets gleam and flash as he pounds.

      He reaches underneath me, teasing me open, his touch light, tingling like sparks. I close my eyes and sigh, treasuring the slow climb to rapture as he moves gently inside me, easing his stroke to slow us, to prolong the moment …

      And then he pauses, quivers and slowly withdraws. ‘Know what? I’ve got a better plan. We’ll finish this in bed.’

      Grr. My rapture’s on hold, poised at the peak. I straighten up. ‘Are you serious?’

      He smiles at me calmly as he fastens himself. ‘Any objection?’ His voice is low and amused.

      ‘Where do I start?’ With an effort I unclench my teeth and he kisses me gently on the forehead.

      ‘Hey, chill. Good for you. Teach you some discipline. Come on, race you back.’

      We run to the house, the way much easier downhill. He seizes my hand and drags me along the last few feet of driveway, his eyes dancing at the sight of my flushed cheeks, my wild hair and my heaving breasts. He’s still holding the switch, swishing it through the air and taking pretend swipes at my legs to speed me up.

      The bracelets are heavy now, their weight and the movement from my running etching redness into my wrists. The diamonds flash in the glow from the elegant garden lighting that floods the grounds under the tall, graceful windows.

      As we draw near the front entrance we pull up short.

      A pale, haughty-looking man with a ponytail and a small pointy beard is coming down the steps. He’s wearing a lizard-skin jacket, tight jeans and stacked heels.

      He eyes us with distaste. ‘Who the hell are you?’

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