Red hot bottom

He took up the cane
not for my pain
but for color, for
heat, the rain of blows
restrained, traveling the
lane from the mounds
of my butt
down wincing thighs,
back to the blush of
white turned to pink
burnt to red.
"It hurts,"
I cried. "Daddy,
you're hurting me!"
I whined, as the
flow down my thighs
betrayed to his fingers
the truth of my need.