The room echoes with the sharp cracks of the cane against flesh, and the man's ragged breaths. His Mistress, a vision of dominance, watches his body's response intently. She pauses, running her gloved hand over his heated skin, feeling the pulse of his heartbeat. "How many more, pet?" she purrs. He groans, "Four, Mistress," as she raises the cane again. With each strike, his cries grow louder, his body tensing and releasing, until finally, with a satisfied nod, she lowers the cane. "Good boy," she murmurs, tracing the welts she's so expertly crafted.