It was filled with a touch of humor that I found marvelously enchanting. “You don’t think a woman has the ability to cane a naughty boy?” she asked, her eyes twinkling with sparks of fire. “Uh, no ma’am, it’s not that–” “Then you don’t think a woman can cane a naughty boy as hard as a man, is that it?” “Uh, no ma’am, I’m sure you can, it’s just that–” I stopped, frozen in terror and bewilderment. How could I explain? The thought of a caning from Mr. Grimm, as severe as that was, now seemed like a mild torture compared to what I was facing. That this delicate, beautiful creature was about to whip my arse sent dozens of contradicting messages to my brain and body.
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