Much longer than you expected

If this is going to become a regular occurrence, then the girl is going to have to learn to count the swats and thank you for each one, but hopefully today will be enough to scare her off and get her chastisement elsewhere, so you decide not to bother teaching her just yet. You wallop her proffered buttocks with enough **** to raise an immediate pair of welts and a moan of agony is your reward, but she doesn't flinch. The paddle is big enough to cover most of her rump with each swat, so you don't move it much, targeting the area from just below her tail bone to the top few inches of her thighs.

You only give her a few seconds between spanks, about as long as it would take a student to ask for the next, but although the crescendo of pain rapidly increases, turning groans into cries and finally full-throated screams, she doesn't buckle or try to escape, even managing to keep her knees straight without needing to be warned. After the tenth smack, you give her a few moments to recover and she catches her breath enough to thank you and offer a tip before you have to remind her.

Once again, you choose money and she picks up her 'phone to arrange the transfer, but as she wipes the tears from her eyes to see the screen better, you notice that it's displaying the floor of the green room until the image is replaced by her banking application.

"Were you recording us?" Your question snaps out, indignation and disbelief combining to make your tone sharper than it normally would be.

"No!" The blonde replies, panicked, still sobbing under her breath. "Uh, I mean, yes, tech-technically, b-but I was-wasn't streaming. I just wanted to show you what it looks like. See," she switches to another screen, scrolling through a seemingly endless stream of pictures and comments, holding it up for you to look, "there are all these fans talking about videos of the strapping you gave me earlier that people have posted. Girls the world over, places where they don't have spanking, they don't know what they're missing. We have to show them how important it is to be disciplined by older men—and get the men to take responsibility, too."

You can see she's really passionate about this, but fear her mission is doomed to failure, not least because the only reason the people of your country respect spanking is the Rulebook. Moreover, whilst her intentions may have been good, she still disobeyed you and that requires severe punishment.

Taking your silence as an invitation to continue, she starts talking about analytics, trying to justify why her figures make her the ideal international ambassador for spanking. It seems to boil down to controversy boosting her profile and generating her more followers, but you quiet her and repeat that other disciplinarians can do what they like, but you are not looking for any more publicity. Then you order her back in position for another ten swats.

She pales at the realization how much more another ten will hurt on top of the weals you've just inflicted, but complies with a sob, this time putting the smartphone down without setting it up to record. From the first, she howls in anguish, her bottom, already black with bruising and speckled with raised red circles, quivering under the merciless impact. You keep the same inexorable pace as before and despite her cries becoming frantic and her muscles straining beneath her skin in the effort to hold still, you think she's going to manage to get through the brutal beating, until the eighth swat proves too much for her resolve and she staggers forwards, screaming over and over.

Dropping to her knees, she begs incoherently for her deserved punishment, apologizing incessantly until you order her to present her bottom again. You repeat the eighth swat and add one extra, which nearly floors her again, then finish up with the final two to her blistering sit spot. It's at this point you notice you have the room to yourselves, the other girls having left to get ready for the next race. Putting the paddle under your arm, you inspect the young lady's ravaged cheeks with your hands, relishing the feeling of her flinching at your touch and retching from the pain. The bruising has spread half way down her lean thighs and into the cleft between her buttocks. Her ongoing suffering will remind her of her misbehaviour for a long time to come.

Satisfied, you help her straighten and wait patiently whilst with shaking fingers she deletes the contraband recording of the first paddling, tips you even more generously than last time and gets dressed (still keeping her topless as an example to others). Her jeans are not very tight, but much tighter than she would've chosen had she known how swollen her bum would turn out to be and she's rather unsteady on her feet, so you help her back out to the public area, where her friends (or whatever she wants to call them) are.

Emerging into the sun, you're met with a wall of noise from the third heat in progress and realize both that you've taken much longer than you intended and that the Boat's soundproofing is excellent. To your surprise, the attractive woman so recently thrashed suddenly hugs you tightly and you decide not to admonish her for getting your shirt wet with her tears. Just as the two of you are about to part company, she remembers to take your email address so she can send you her weekly list of misdeeds, although you hope the only contact will be to tell you she's found an alternative disciplinarian.

By the time she hobbles off to find Flo and Devon, the race is almost over and you decide not to draw more attention to your absence by pushing through the spectators to your old vantage point, instead going back inside to grab a drink and a few extra snacks, then returning to wait at the back of the crowd.