A pasty young guy

Another stark room, concrete walls and floor, an open ceiling crisscrossed with wires and ventilation ducts and bright lights creating stark shadows everywhere--the dungeon is downright grim. Mistress Golgotha leads me up to a naked boy a couple years younger than me, bent over with his neck and wrists in a pillory and his ankles shackled to the floor. He's scrawny and very white, his head topped with one of those broccoli haircuts, his cheeks and lips bee-stung. A half-erect dick hangs down from his crotch. He has such an uncanny resemblance to my last disastrous date that I have to do a double-take to assure myself it isn't the same guy.

"Hey, lady!" he complains to Golgotha as she approaches. "I'm not loving the vibes here, for real. No cap."

Fuck. He sounds just like my last disastrous date, too.

"Now, now, Mr. Collins," Golgotha chides him. "You took the assessment, and it led you here. If there's been some mistake, well, you know what to do." She leans in and whispers. "'Landlubber'."

The boy stays silent. Apparently, he's not hating this as much as he pretends.

"Mistress Auburn here will see to your correction," Golgotha continues. "If I were you, I'd try not to piss her off even more than your mere presence already has." She turns to me and points at a corkboard on the nearby wall. "Your implements. Go ahead and get started. I'll be back later." She exits through the door we entered.

I look over the items hanging from the corkboard--paddles of various sizes, whips, a leather strap. I take down the strap and brandish it, walking around the captive form of the boy. His eyes follow my near-naked body as I pass in front of him, and I feel flattered at how his cock extends to full mast.

"Look at you, fucking loser incel!" I sneer. "Woman hater! None of your red pill bullshit is going to help you here! It's my job to help you understand your true worth--that is, less than a smear of dogshit underneath my foot. Do you understand, worm?"

"Ooh, slay queen!" he says, his mouth contorted in a sarcastic smirk.

I bring the leather strap down on his upthrust butt cheeks, hard, leaving a red mark. "None of that! Talk normally! Maybe get off the Internet for two seconds, touch some fucking grass!" I bring the strap down again, and his entire body shivers.

"No one wants to see your pathetic dick pics!"

Whap!

"Maybe you could do some goddamned chores around the house for once in your life!"

Whap!

"I bet you're always thinking about the Roman Empire!"

Whap!

"Well, I am, too! Those were some real men back then, not brain-rotted soy boys like you!"

Whap!

"Obviously, I'd choose the bear! Unlike you, I bet he could get it up!"

Whap!

Belying my last comment, his cock strains, throbbing, erect, leaking a couple of drops of precum onto the concrete floor below him. I've toasted his buns pretty well by now, a nice shade of pink. I stand there for a moment, wondering what I should do next. Maybe I could give him some relief? Maybe he could give me some instead?