A belly beating

"On your back," you thunder, indignantly. "Now lift your tummy."

With a stifled groan of pain, Skylark obeys, pushing herself up into an arch and then walking her hands back towards her feet to make the arch more acute. It's not the first time she's had to adopt this position during her stay, but last time she collapsed while you were whipping her, so you had to increase her punishment quite dramatically. You'll see soon whether fear of a repeat will make her do any better.

You select a stiff leather strap with a heavy, two inch metal ring attached to the end. When she arrived, your guest's innate curiosity would've had her craning her neck to see what you had in store, but thankfully you've already beaten that behaviour out of her and she looks straight ahead, awaiting her deserved chastisement.

"Please may I be permitted to receive the first stroke," she implores tremulously, when you get into position beside her. You swing the heavy strap down so that the ring slams into her abdomen, just to the right of her belly button. Her grunt drowns out the sound of the impact, but you see a circle of bruised and welted flesh turn white briefly, then immediately redden and swell. Your cock also swells at the sight of how sensitive her skin is, even after the thrashings you've given her.

"Thank-you for the first stroke, sir. Please may I be permitted to receive another," she wheezes, coughing quietly in an attempt to dislodge the liquid she breathed in earlier.

The next lash overlaps the first, beginning a chain link pattern of weals that you intend to spiral out from her navel. The leather part of the strap has minimal effect, the vast majority of the pain coming from the ring at the end; a novel sensation, rarely experienced by those receiving discipline, though the blonde in front of you seems to be taking it well.

You continue around steadily, the only changes Skylark's increasingly laboured breathing and the growing trembling in her limbs, unaccustomed to holding this position for long periods of time. Surprisingly, she manages not to scream until the second turn round her tummy and tears only start to fall after about thirty lashes. When the pattern of weals you're making is about the size of a dinner plate, she finally starts sobbing again in earnest and you know you're close to breaking her once again.

Thinking that she might be expecting you to stop after fifty blows, although you've given her no indication of how long this phase of her punishment will last, you change direction for the fifty-first, slamming it down with considerable **** into her pudenda, so that the ring strikes the throbbing nub of her clitoris.

The slim blonde shrieks and her limbs shake as the effect of your surprise change of target ripples through her tortured body, so before she can express her gratitude for this new torment, you follow up with another lash to the same spot.