Madam steps toward duckie with the cane still in her hand. This next round belongs to me.

Seventy-five strokes.

She doesn’t waste time. The first twenty are coming fast—quick-count style.

The first crack lands, sharp and immediate.

duckie barely has time to get the words out—“One!”—before the next strike comes down.

Another. Another. She’s relentless, moving with precise rhythm. Each impact lands solidly on his ass, heat rising fast across his skin.

“Two! Three! Four!”

His voice stays steady, but his body is tensing against the restraints.

She keeps going—ten in. Then fifteen.

Each one snaps across the same spot.

“Sixteen! Seventeen! Eighteen!”

The final two come down just as quick.

“Nineteen! Twenty—for Levi, thank you, Madam!“

He barks it out, just like that. No hesitation. No breaking.