Ramya: submit to caning or it's over

Author's note: this chapter has consensual caning with plenty of pain for Ramya. Don't read if you don't like that stuff.

Crack!

My nose crinkles up in surprise at the sharp sting. It's not the playful smack on my bum that I was hoping for. The cane is slender and delivers maximum pain in a concentrated strip on my ass.

Crack!

I shake my head. This is awful. "Really?" I protest.

Whap!

"Ow!" The third stroke lands near the first with a harder swing. Kiki's arm is warmed up. Three angry, raised red welts already mar my perfect bum.

Crack!

I cry out sharply. White-hot fire flares up on the sensitive underside of my cheeks. Kiki is spreading the impact area to cover the surface area of my bum with marks.

Crack! Crack! Crack!

I endure the next three, pain in a crescendo, each stroke building on the previous. My right butt cheek is bearing the brunt, and that leg starts to shake uncontrollably.

Crack!

The pain is too much. I lean my hips forward, abandoning the sexy arch in my back.

Crack!

Kiki strikes anyway. I groan deep

"Don't run from it. Stick your butt out for me," Kiki demands.

I shake my head and comply, and the next stroke impacts harder than the previous ones. Kiki's punishment for non-compliance. My right knee buckles, and I almost fall to the floor. My left leg starts to shake too, and my eyes well up with tears. That's only ten lashes. There's no way I'm going to make it.

She waits a few extra seconds for me to regain composure, then the next stroke lands. Searing pain, my thighs quiver, and I start to inch forward before each impact, as if that can stop what's coming. My body contorts with my hips slightly right or left as I squirm to avoid what I can't escape. Each strike with the cane lands different. My squirming only seems to expose more of my bum at different angles to the destructive power of the cane.

This is a different kind of ruin. My hymen might already be damaged from the probe kiki shoved into my pussy earlier, and now my butt will be scarred and left unsightly.

She no longer corrects my posture when I scoot in my hips. I'm squirming so much, my butt will eventually be back where she wants it anyway. And I think she likes a moving target.

A high-pitched screech as the cane slices through the air, then...

Whap! Crack!

Over and over.

Then it stops. I've long since lost count. Could it be over?

"The candidate is halfway done," Kiki announces.

Holy shit. I begin to sob.

She appears to my left, "Stand for a second, shake it off."

"It... Hurts... A lot," I say between deep breaths, panting.

She waits patiently. I look closely at the cane, and I see the fresh red and know Kiki is breaking the skin. They said no scars, but they were lying. Then I look at her pussy with her legs slightly spread, and there's no mistaking the swell and arousal, her lips painted with slick juices. She's getting off on hurting me. I look at her face incredulously. She licks her lips, grins at me, then presses the tip of the cane against my left cheek and gestures back at the dais.

"Bitch," I mutter under my breath.

"Not done. Bend over," she commands.

"Fine. Let's get it over wi.."

Crack!

"Fuck! Dammit just wait!" I squeal as the cane strikes again before my hands even reach the dais.

I'm mad now. Really fucking pissed off. Fierce determination kicks in. I put arch in my back, stick my butt out, and manage to stay in place for the next ten strokes despite both my legs shaking. Each new impact feels like it’s splitting me open. I look back and meet her eyes for three strokes. Her whole body is getting into the swing, and the cane strikes even harder now. I feel myself going numb back there, and Kiki knows this is what happens, so her strokes intensify.

I look around. My future husband Raj watches intensely, and I see the erection in his pants still. I look at "Aquaman," who just has a blank stare, still hard. I look to the other side and see White Guy. He's completely lost his erection and has a look of concern and anger at what is happening. At least there is one shred of humanity left in this place.

Whap!

Now I'm wiggling again and can't keep good posture. Pain overpowers my newfound resolve. I don't have a shred of dignity left. Cellulite ripples all across my thighs, adding unsightly blemishes to my marred buttocks. My breasts, large and sagging from my weight loss, dangle in large, pendulous orbs beneath straining breast tissue. They jostle with the impact of the cane and show the stretch marks worse from behind. My face contorts with pain and oozes snot and tears.

Whap!

A deep convulsion rocks me, and I clench my sphincter in panic as I sense something might come out. Am I about to lose bowel control? Kiki's finger dilated my anus earlier and triggered some internal movement. My shiny, lubed butthole winks as I try to keep it shut. On the next brutal stroke I let out a deep, broken moan, and a small spurt of urine escapes me, trickling down my inner thigh. I know they can all see it. I am positioned such that they don't miss any of the good stuff, and bright lights fill the shadows. This is what they want. The humiliation burns hotter than the cane.

That's when I first notice it. My entire ass is on fire now, and with it, a confusing heat has spread to my core. My pussy is wet.

Impossible.

And the humiliation is making it worse. It makes no sense. This is a violation I should never tolerate as a strong woman. Instead, underneath the agony and the shame, there’s a strange, reluctant pull toward the submission itself. I hate that it’s there.

I can't think about that now though, because I'm trying not to shit myself.

The cane whistles through the air three more times as I try to regain control of my bodily functions. It's just too hard when I'm coping with the pain. My right knee gives out again, and I'm leaning to that side, barely hanging on. The next lash is the hardest one. Pain rocks me, and I know my skin is torn and ripped. I collapse to the floor and roll up into the fetal position, sobbing.

"The candidate has completed the audition," Kiki announces. "Fifty strokes."

A chorus of cheers and encouragement lifts me up from the room, as if they haven't just stripped away all my pride and dignity and left me humiliated and ruined. White Guy’s shoulders drop in visible relief. “It’s over,” Raj says quietly. “No more strokes. We promise.”