A hundred lashes at the whipping post

Eyes darting in panic from you to the blubbering teenager nearby, Lorna's breathing is so rapid that she can hardly reply to your question, but with trembling lip, she finally manages to answer.

"Please may I be flogged at the whipping post, Professor?"

Then she bursts into tears herself at the prospect of doubling her punishment for the safety of being restrained to avoid earning extras. Seeing her companion's fate probably led to her decision, which you think, on the whole, is wise. You tell her to put her hair up while you select a whip from your collection, but her hands are shaking so much that she's still fumbling around after you've chosen a nice supple single tail that should sting abominably without too much damage to her skin. You can tell she's scared that you're going to increase her chastisement for the delay, which makes her even more clumsy, but eventually her chestnut locks are confined to a rough but sturdy bun on top of her head. She definitely doesn't want it coming undone in the middle of her flogging as that would mean more punishment.

You strap her to the post yourself, since the other student is still recovering. To her credit, she follows your instructions unhesitatingly, slim torso pressed firmly against the upright, arms outstretched along the crossbar, tightly bound at wrist, elbow, shoulder, thigh, knee and ankle. Her weeping is muffled by the mushroom gag, which also prevents her biting her tongue if the pain becomes too bad.

Starting behind her right shoulder, you flick the whip at a downward angle, leaving a vertical stripe the length of her back, extending all the way down over the top of her buttock. Muffled sobs become muffled screams, but you're pleased to note that she can hardly move and it's easy to aim the next lash.

You gradually circle your subject in a clockwise direction, using the weight of the lash to do most of the work, swinging it in an elliptical motion that turns her skin bright pink, darkening to a bruise over the course of several minutes. It's odd to think you've done this so many times that you can expertly judge the rate of your orbit to return to the start point after exactly fifty lashes. By this point, Lorna is howling into the gag (which is doing rather a good job of keeping the noise to a minimum), her face a mask of tears.

The first circuit took only a couple of minutes, even at a languid pace, so you slow down for the second, not hitting any harder, put pausing after each stroke to give the girl on the receiving end time to fully appreciate each and every one.

Soon, you fall into a rhythm. The whip connects, tracing a line of agony more or less over the top of an earlier stripe. Lorna shrieks into the gag, body tensing, but unable to escape the maddening torment. Slowly, she relaxes, screams turning to agonized moans and you repeat, leaving another weal.

Whipping under her armpit keeps the exercise interesting, since it allows you to use your skill to target the lash underneath the crossbar. Happily, you're still able to strike exactly where you aim, leaving a welt from the middle of the pit itself, across ribs just barely visible beneath tautened skin, down her side to the jut of her hip. It's a shame no other disciplinarians are there to see your control and the ease with which you're able to uniformly mortify her flesh all the way round her body.

The next section, the front, is interesting for another reason, breasts quivering from the periodic impacts. There's no doubt in your mind that this is the most painful part of the punishment, although you suspect that in the long run, the weals under her arms may cause greater torment. Every blow sends droplets of tears flying from her tits, quickly replaced by new drops dripping from her saturated cheeks. Where you've whipped it, her skin is almost the same colour as her aureoles, except for the nipples which you cruelly subject to three strokes: one on each side and one right down the middle. They're nearly black by the time you've finished and horribly swollen, eliciting the most intense squeals of all.

You complete the chastisement with a second demonstration of accuracy beneath Lorna's right armpit and are pleased that she still reacts to every lash, even after you leave the more sensitive areas of boobs and belly. As you reach the hundredth stroke, their recipient is nearly hysterical, thrashing helplessly against her bonds. Checking her skin with your hands causes still more torment, but you're satisfied that despite the huge number of lashes, she's still in good shape and could even take more, if required.

Leaving the girl in position for now, since she'd probably collapse if you untied her, you return the whip to your store and pick up the cane again. Anthea has stopped crying and stares glumly over the back of the chair where she's been kneeling whilst you attend to her companion, knowing her share of suffering is far from over.