Amelia gets her face strapped

Julia walks over to the blonde standing in the middle of the trio, stepping close until they're only inches apart, looking straight into each other's eyes. The cheerleader trembles with trepidation.

"This is nice," the tutor begins, "being able to see your face. When you were walking over here, you were always looking down at your feet and your hair was falling forwards, making it hard to see your humiliation."

"I'm sorry, Dr. Morgan." Her voice is plaintive and unsteady. "Please may I be spanked for hiding my face?"

Julia nods curtly and pulls her belt from its loops, bending it into thirds so that about a foot is protruding beyond her grip. Stepping back to a little over arm's length, she rests the slender tail against the younger woman's cheek.

"Keep your mouth shut and your teeth together; don't speak until I've finished and don't turn your head away."

Amelia almost replies, but stops herself just in time. Julia draws back her arm and straps her as hard as she can, high up, but careful not to hit her ear, the **** instantly raising a crimson weal and moving her head just slightly, though not enough to warrant further punishment. Blonde hair flicks up and bounces about shuddering shoulders as though a sudden breeze had just appeared to play with the unrestrained tresses, whilst nearly everyone in the courtyard (except other students, who studiously avoid noticing the ongoing punishment) stops to watch the shocking scene with bated breath. The brunette follows up with a back-handed lash to the other cheek, the sound of faux-leather on flesh filling the suddenly quiet quadrangle.

Amelia's cheeks are already blazing red and slick with the tears that have started to fall unchecked, when the next stripe lands, the Tutor for Women alternating left and right with merciless precision, working her way down from temple to chin and back again. You can tell that the helpless cheerleader wants to scream, but is denied even that release by the instruction to keep her jaw shut for safety.

Having strapped the whole face, Julia starts again, whipping delicate skin already ravaged by the unaccustomed roughness. As the blonde's cheeks are marred by the relentless whipping, you realize that there's a difference between a bruised and battered bottom (which you personally find extremely beautiful, enhanced rather than diminished by raw weals or swollen welts) and a fragile visage suffering the same treatment. On most young women such brutality would look out of place and obscene, but you have to admit that in this case it merely makes her countenance match the rest of her thoroughly beaten figure. As the torment continues, you start to worry that you may have to intervene—the point of this ordeal is to break her spirit, rather than ruin her looks, surely—and it seems you're not alone, because a faint murmur of discontent tells you that some of the spectators are becoming uncomfortable at the spectacle.

Whether she senses the growing unrest or always intended to end the punishment after four sets of lashes you will never know, but Julia finishes with a pair of swinging blows that leave their near-hysterical recipient swaying and on the point of collapse. She steps forwards and runs her fingers over the raw stripes almost tenderly, nodding her satisfaction.

"You may speak now," she announces, but it takes a moment for the target of her attention to gather herself enough to sob out a warbling reply.

"Th-thank-you f-for strapping me for hiding my face, Dr. Morgan. I'm so sorry and I'll n-never do it again."

Julia nods and slides her belt back into its loops as the young cheerleader breaks down, shoulders heaving with unrestrained bawling. The mood of the spectators changes instantly from ambivalence to approval and acceptance. Then, realizing there won't be any tip to come as the disciplinarian was a woman, they prepare to move on, but it turns out the Tutor for Women has more planned.