I knew what to do. I followed her up the stairs, took off my clothes and began to look for a pair of panties. No luck. I’d been too efficient rinsing out Hannah’s lingerie. “Oh, just use one of my pretty bras.” Which is not quite the same thing but I do what I’m told. In a moment I took my place in Hannah’s lingerie closet, closed the door (which turns the light out) and, in the pitch black, pressed my nose into her lovely bra in the corner. I could hear the sound of the vacuum.
Standing naked in the dark, cool, closet I had plenty of time to reflect on how lucky I was to be lead by such an attentive, sweet woman. And I wondered if, at the end of my meditative confinement, Hannah would whip me. Not that I had any say in the matter. I heard her puttering about. No sound of hair being washed. Just lots of work being done. I realized that, from Hannah’s perspetive, my cornertime could be used more effectively pushing a vacuum or ironing. But then the focus of my thoughts would wander. So I took the time to simply be grateful.
The door opened and I was blinking, naked, in the bright sunlight. “Put your hands on the bed and stand on the balls of your feet.” I obeyed and Hannah began a quick warm-up hand spanking. A dozen swats and she judged me ready for the cane. Two ranging strokes and then twelve medium force. They hurt like anything, lines of flaming pain across my bottom.
“You’re done.” said Hannah. I stood up, half errect, Hannah kissed me. “Now, back to work. I’m going out and I’m looking forward to a nice, clean, man for cocktails.”