For His Pleasure

We live on a farm, which I absolutely adore. No near neighbors, just the chickens, ducks, and sheep. We don’t farm the 10 acres, we just raise the animals, sell the eggs, wool, and sheep’s milk. We love having the land around us, the meadows, the trees. So, when Farmer asked if I’d like to go for a walk with him, I gladly agreed. Then I saw the knife in his hand. I gulped, but felt my panties get wet anyway. “Pick a Stick,” he said. “A nice straight one.” After a few minutes, we passed the willow tree and I pointed to a c5jmuxjwaaastthlong, slender branch which had fallen. Farmer nodded his approval, picked it up, and opened his knife. As we walked, we chatted about various things as Farmer cleaned the branch of it’s slick bark. Then, we can to what I fondly think of as The Whipping Tree. I looked at him and he looked at me. Pointedly. I unzipped my jeans and pushed them down. He laughed a bit when he saw how wet my panties already were. the weather had  been awful of late and this was the first time in weeks we had been able to visit here. I got into position. Farmer asked what the date was. I closed my eyes in dismay and excitement. “The 20th, sir.”

“Then 20 it shall be. Do you know why I’m caning you?”

“No sir,” I answered honestly. I tried to think if I had broken any rules, but I didn’t think I had.

“Because it pleases me.”

Excellent Reason, I thought as he administered the first stripe.

 

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