A hidden candlelit lair beneath the old oak floor evokes the most atmospheric surrounding, and the acoustics echoing off the brick walls enrich the senses, enhancing ones experience!

Flames flicker, casting eerie shadows. Shackles, whips and chains hang from the old scarlet brick walls. Imbued deep within these dungeons are the perpetual aide-mémoires of my slaves enduring the most mind-blowing sessions.

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Now imagine being bent over and shackled face down on my cast iron Whipping Bench. My scent, a blend of sweet honey, summer berries and cinnamon, arousing your senses further. I stroke the side of your neck with my long fingernails, while your head is strapped in position.

Oh how I relish and thrive on teasing my slave, as my hand caresses your body. 

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My right arm stretches back with the crop and stops! My my, I can feel the tension as you wait tensing your muscles, ready for the first strike. The crop swishes slicing the air. With precision I deliver ten light strokes. With a pause, I deliver another ten strokes followed with another break. As you find yourself relishing the mild stinging sensations, your nervousness quickly evaporates.  

It's not long before your adrenalin is pumping, clouding your judgement. Feeling a little brave, you challenge my force with foolish quips. Oh how you have such a small brain, yet I find you most encouraging, as I continue to increase the severity of my thwacks. I goad you on, as you absorb the mild pain.

While you foolishly believe you have the strength to take anything, it is indeed all about to change! After all, my skill is to ensure your buttocks can take a long drawn-out session of caning in the knowledge you'll continue to feel my thwacks days after your session with me. My sessions are to remain in your thoughts until you come to see me again!