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He heard steps outside, and rushed to the aperture, hoping for anything to break the monotony. He caught a glimpse of a woman stumbling past. She was naked to the waist and her back was raw and bloody. The gaoler with her grabbed her elbow and said ‘Next time you cause trouble, it will be thirty lashes.’ For one awful second, he thought it was Clara, until he realised this woman was a different size. The thought of Clara in here made him feel ill. Thank God she was on her way to London. Clara would not be able to resist causing trouble. The light dimmed. His door opened with a rattle of keys and a dish of gruel was shoved in. He ate it with his hands. His arm started to throb again. There was no honey to put on it. In the darkness, the smell of the prison was stronger. Despair, dampness, human waste. He heard rats moving around and moved to the door to see if there was anything more entertaining outside. There was a faint light, and two voices of the night gaolers. Occasionally, one. Saying, for her “not to move her hands regardless of her desires to protect her-self or she would be secured and double the sentence” he then trailed the lead over the table edge between her two hands. Her face was a mix of determination, fear and expectation as he fetched a flexible cane, making sure she could see it, before moving behind her and resting the cane across her backside. Her finger white now as she gripped the edge, my cock now so stiff it hurt and I almost wished I was in my chastity cage to aid control of the thing. Her face as she waited the first stroke was the most erotic thing I can ever remember; as the cane was gently worked across the buttocks I had so carefully powdered for this moment earlier, I wanted so much to fuck her at that moment.Whap, her face contorted as the stroke found its target, whap, a second and then a third.Her face now showing the pain as each stroke fell, I counted ten quite quickly before tears began to fall and her fingers were totally.
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