Stanton was obviously some mind of expert in the psychology of corporal punishment. He’d been up to all sorts of tricks, giving me plenty of time t... understand that something very unpleasant, something really painful, was about to happen – and I was becoming more afraid every moment.I also realize, now, that maybe only three or four seconds passed before the first feeling of the cane resting across my arse kind of exploded into the first stroke. But my mind must have been started working. Halfway down the stairs on the porch of the huge house I found Carol softly crying into her knees with her head bent between her legs. Startled, I wobbled at the entry way in pause, and then made my way to sit down beside her. She sat up a bit and looked at me with wet bleary eyes showing no recognition. Perhaps it was because this was likely my last chance, or maybe it had been all those beers, but with her looking so sad, I pulled her over hugged her head against my shoulder. Hugging her. It was a pretty room, low ceiling with rustic country furniture and a bed covered in floral chintz and lacy cushions. Tom had placed a single red rose on a cushion in the middle of the bed, a small, but perfect gesture of his love for me. I sat on the bed, picked up the rose and sighed, it was so beautiful, not only visually, but in what it represented. But I couldn’t take it home with me as I could not risk my husband seeing it. Tom was the man I was falling in love with, but he was not the. I was right about one thing; her skin was baby soft. Franziska’s nipple got hard under my palm as I massaged her perkiness. She moaned under my touch and it felt good to know I was able to please a porn star.I then ran my other hand down between her legs, circled over her pubic mound, and as the director ordered, began to keep Franziska’s pussy wet by running my fingers over it. It was hot, soft, and wet in the inner lips. I could even feel her hard clit hiding behind the thin flaps of skin.