Punishment

The guard smiled

- Good, take off your clothes, get back into position, leaning your torso against the table and spreading your legs.

I felt the cold air of the security room caress my bare skin as I bent over the table again, my sweaty palms sliding across the Formica.

"Wider," he growled, striking the inside of my thighs with his baton, leaving a pinkish mark on my trembling flesh.

- Your theft was worth 150 euros, that'll be 15 strokes, he said, taking out a riding crop.

The crop whistled through the air before stinging my bare skin, leaving a trail of fire across my already tense buttocks. I bit my wrist to stifle a cry, the pain radiating in searing waves as the guard counted hoarsely:

"One."

The second blow came before I could catch my breath, striking lower, where the skin was thinner, more sensitive. My fingers clawed at the table, my toes curling against the cold floor.

The riding crop whistled again, this time striking the sensitive hollow beneath my buttocks. A low groan escaped me as my muscles tensed violently, my breath caught from the insidious burn that rippled through my flesh.

"Two," he sneered, his free hand holding my pelvis firmly against the table.

The third blow stinged the backs of my thighs, harder, more precise. I felt my skin lift with the impact, a humiliating wave of heat spreading between my legs.

"Three."

The fourth blow landed diagonally, crossing the already inflamed welts on my buttocks, and this time I couldn't suppress a sharp cry. The guard growled, brutally grabbing my hips to slam me more firmly against the table, his thumb digging into the small of my back like a vise.

- You stole, now you pay. Spread your legs wider.

I felt his fingers roughly spread my buttocks, exposing my most intimate flesh to the icy air.

The riding crop whistled a fifth time, striking my groin directly with cruel precision. A spasm shot through my entire body as the sharp pain mingled with a wet burning sensation between my thighs.

"Five," he growled, his free hand moving up my damp back to dig into my hair and grip it tightly.

I felt the tip of the riding crop slide along my slit, tracing a line of fire before stopping against my swollen clitoris.

"Six."

His voice was a groan against my ear as the riding crop pressed harder, crushing my sensitive clitoris until a violent shudder ran through me. I gritted my teeth, my thighs trembling despite the order to stay spread apart.

With a sharp tug, he raised the riding crop and let it slam down on my labia with sadistic precision. The pain was so intense that my knees buckled, but his fingers gripping my hips kept me from falling.

"But she's getting wet, the little vixen. Don't worry, we'll satisfy you later."

I was trembling, completely in a trance. My primal urges had taken over, my consciousness retreating into a bubble far from the pain. Only my senses mattered; I no longer counted, I was in the perception of my sensations.

"Seven."

His hoarse voice resonated against the back of my neck as the riding crop stinged again, this time striking the sensitive juncture between my buttocks and thighs. A strangled cry burst from my throat, my nails digging into the Formica as my muscles contracted violently. The pain radiated in burning waves, mingling with the shameful dampness that beaded between my spread thighs.

He stroked my red hair under the gaze of his subordinate and breathed,

"You're beautiful like this. Your body trembles with both pleasure and pain. We want to make you vibrate with both endlessly, but hold on, there's only half left."

"Eight."

The riding crop struck higher this time, stinging the small of my back with a force that doubled me over. A hoarse moan escaped me, my mouth open against the cold table, my saliva tracing a glistening trail on the Formica. His fingers tightened in my hair, pulling my head back until I felt his warm breath on the nape of my neck.

"Look at yourself," he murmured, his voice low and husky.

I lost all sense of myself when he finally counted to fourteen. I was panting, completely aroused, ready to do anything to make it end. I was reaching my limit.

— Fifteen.

The final blow landed with brutal force, stinging the already marked cleft of my buttocks with a sharp blow that made a hoarse cry burst from my throat. My legs trembled, my knees hitting the cold floor as my arms, too weak, could no longer support me. I lay there, panting, breathless from the pain and the burning humiliation that reddened my skin.

The guard dropped the riding crop with a metallic clatter on the table.