No, but give her a chance to back out.

Your mind races as you look at Sandra trying to read the impenetrable mystery that is a woman's mind. Did she assume that your last line meant that Rae might get **** and thus is now scared? Or was she speaking in character and wants you to continue?

With your dick still throbbing, you really, really want to continue, so decide that you will stay in character one last time. If Sandra objects again, you will of course stop, but if she doesn't . . .

“The whip-master lets go of your breasts.” You announce and then pause for a second to watch Sandra's reaction. She just listens, so you continue. “He grabs you by your hair and forces your head back so you can seem him out of the corner of your eye. 'Are you saying you're not guilty?!' He growls.” You stop and look at top-heavy sophomore whose breathing is a bit erratic.

Sandra's eyes dart away, avoiding contact, but when she realizes you're waiting she meekly answers, “No.” Looking at the ground in a defeated manner she mumbles, “I'm guilty. I deserve this.”

With that answer, you now resolve to play this through to its climax, no matter how much Rae might object in game. “The whip-master lets you go and strides around to your front.” You confidently return to full DM mode. “The brute of a man carefully looks over your naked body now covered with sweat and heaving from the pain. He coils the whip up in a circle and uses it to brush your hair off your shoulders so your tits are completely exposed. 'A tit-whipping always breaks them.' He slaps the coiled whip against your breasts with a lewd smile. 'And the bigger the tits, the greater the pain.' He adds. 'Cunt, these next twelve, you're never going to forget.' With that he unfurls the whip with a loud crack and steps back to the ideal whipping range, this time, however, in front of you.”

“I have to roll under 7 for these, right?” Sandra hesitantly asks.

“Yes, because these are going to be harder to take. The whip-master wasn't bluffing.” You answer as a devious idea comes in your mind. “Stand up.” You order.

“What?” Sandra gives a perplexed sheepish look.

“I said stand up. I want you to replace your chair with Brian's.”

“But, I don't . . .” When the top heavy priestess sees your uncompromising demanding look she adverts her eyes and stands. Putting her folding medal chair aside she walks over to the other end of the table where Brian usually sits. The old Adirondack spindle-back chair has no arms and is made of rough, unfinished wood. The top of the front legs rises up about an 1/2 inch above the seat, effectively making two knobs on the front corners of the chair, the place where Sandra has been grinding herself down against.

Her head whips around looking at with terrified knowing eyes.

“The whip-master did say 'you're never going to forget' this punishment.”

Sandra responds by shaking her head in a negative fashion too afraid to speak. “Bring the chair over and sit down.” You will have none of it. “There is no way Rae can escape her punishment.”

The condemned cleric looks back down at the chair and shudders while picking it up and moves it to her place at your right hand. Before Sandra can sit down, however, you twist the chair forty-five degrees so the that the right front corner is facing the table. The busty sophomore slowly sits down, spreading her legs in order to straddle right before the knob.

“Please, have mercy.” Sandra again pleads with you.

“Rae's begging is met with dismissive chuckles.” You use her statement in game against her. “Cruel cries for justice are shouted out from the mob: 'Shut up whore, you're getting what you deserve!' 'Lash the bitch harder!' 'Make the cow's udder bounce!' 'Teach the cunt a lesson!' 'Let's hear her scream!' 'Whip her!' Several begin to simply chant, 'Whip her tits!' “Whip her tits!' Whip her tits!'”

“The whip-master reaches back with his powerful arm and lets the leather fly. It viciously hisses through the air and with a loud 'crack' slashes diagonally across the upper part of your right breast down across the lower inside of your left tit. Roll your d20.”

Sandra runs her fingers through her hair with one hand as she rolls her pink dice with the other.

“Even with a successful roll of a 10 you still scream out, because being whipped in this part of your body is far more painful than any lash that has landed on your backside. Roll again.”

“Nooo.” Sandra whimpers as her dice stops on a 5.

“This time the whip lands horizontal,” you waste no time in explaining her failure, “across the peaks of your breasts and cuts into your left nipple. Your howls of agony are greeted with claps of approval. Remove a Hit Point from your character sheet.” You order.

“Oh fuck that's hard.” The top heavy brunette gives a guttural gasps as she raises up in her chair and then lowers herself on the wooden knob. Trusting her hips down, as her doom requires, Sandra's body shakes as she fumbles about with her pencil trying to make the correction.

After much effort the tortured priestess sits back in her chair and rolls a 4, another failure.

“No, no, no.” She shakes her head in disbelief. “Not again, not so soon!”

“Once more, the whip strikes horizontal, across the center of your tits, slashing into both of your nipples.” Though you cannot help but notice Sandra body is still quivering, you insist, “Your screams are heard throughout the lower level of the tower. Lose another Hit Point.”

“But this brings me down to one.” Sandra squirms about in her chair as she complains.

“That's not my problem.” You flatly answer. “Now get going.”

Biting hard down on her lower lip Sandra slides forward, pushing her sex onto the knob.

“Damn it!” She swears as a long groan is **** through her clenched teeth. “I'm starting to cum.” She grieves, not being able to control her tongue, let along her body, as she jerks up and down a few times, humping the chair.

“You're shameful declaration that you're starting to orgasm briefly silences the room.” You strangely feel compelled to stay in character. "Soon this is replaced with bursts of laughter at your disgrace, as mockery descends on you from all corners. 'It's true, look how swollen her pussy is!' 'You can see her juices coming down the inside of her legs!' 'What a whore!'”

Gasping, Sandra collapses forward, her elbows thud onto the table, as her face falls into her hands. While her hips still grind away she makes a crude scratch mark on her character sheet and forces herself to sit back up with much effort.

Breathing heavy, her chest rhythmically heaving up and down, she takes her dice and rolls again: A one, a fumble.*

["*" = Fun fact, I actually randomly generated all of Sandra's rolls for this story, as if it was a real game. "She" really did roll a 1.]