You need to be punished for lack of control

"Line up side by side," George Collins instructs. "Lift your hips and spread your legs."

You do so, supporting your back with your hands, toes touching Diana's. Your landlord brandishes the other item he found in your bedroom when he fetched the vibrator: a thick leather tawse reinforced by rows of metal studs along its twin tails. You vaguely remember seeing it at your girlfriend's place, but you have never tried it out, from either end. If you didn't know her so well, you would not notice, but you sense Diana stiffen at the sight, bracing herself. You do the same, realizing that it must be a fearsome implement.

"Diana. You did not react when I examined you, but you spoke out of turn when Jenna was making love to you under my direction and you squirmed unacceptably. I shall therefore administer three lashes to your pudenda. Jenna, you did not complain, but I had to order Diana to stop no less than ten times and you tried to stimulate yourself against my fingers when I examined you. Therefore, you will receive twelve lashes."

You flush at his words. You would not describe your involuntary reaction to being fingered in quite those words, but objecting would clearly be both futile and unwise, so instead you join your girlfriend in saying thank-you.

The tawse snaps down and Diana gives a shuddering moan. The landlord waits for at least a count of ten before administering the next lash, which Diana takes stoically, fingernails digging into the flesh over her hips with the effort of remaining still. The third lash elicits a whimper and then it is your turn.

George Collins lines himself up between your legs and raises the strap over his shoulder. The high ceilings which made the flat seem light and airy when you were viewing it earlier now give him the headroom to whip you with vertical strikes. Despite being warned by your lover's reaction, the first blow is shockingly painful, scorching your labia with two parallel lines of agony. You grunt and shift your weight slightly to better brace yourself against the coming onslaught. Some disciplinarians take exception to a girl moving during a punishment, but better that than collapsing after a couple more strokes. In the event, he doesn't react to your slight change and after the standard pause whips you again.

The last few months have taught you to endure punishments with grace and stoicism, but the fiery agony imparted on your intimate parts is so intense that it takes all your strength to hold still and not curl up into a ball. He does not spread the lashes, putting every one directly over the centre of your sex. Tears are running down your cheeks by the half way point and soon after, your sobs are echoing around the small bedroom.

The intensity of the pain pushes all coherent thought from your head. All you can do is suffer and rue the decisions that put you in this position. However, the punishment is at least short and George Collins is saying goodbye and reminding you he'll be by the day after tomorrow to inspect your belongings, before you even realize he has finished belabouring your genitals. Fortunately, he does not seem unhappy that Diana has to show him out by herself, because you are in no shape to stand up. When she returns a few moments later, you are still crying on the bed.

She lies down beside you and takes you in her arms, holding you close, but careful not to give the impression that you are doing anything you should not.

"I'm sorry," you whisper to her.

"Nonsense," she replies, stroking your hair. "You have nothing to be sorry for. We're going to be fine. It's just going to take some getting used to, that's all."

You hug her close, exhausted by your ordeal. All thoughts of dinner have been banished and without need for verbal communication, you both decide that sleep is your most pressing need. Well, examining the state of your crotch would be high on the list, but the cameras are dissuading you from doing anything that might be misconstrued, so sleep seems a safer option.

When you waken, it is early morning and you are under the bedclothes (although your arms are on top, so you will hopefully avoid being suspected of illicit masturbation). You do not remember getting into bed, nor using the lavatory in the night, although the fact that your bladder is not bursting means you must have done. Diana is not beside you, but you can still feel the warmth of her presence, so she must only just have risen. You roll out of bed and pad naked through your new home to the kitchen, stretching as you go, until you remember the cameras and stop putting on such a display.

Your girlfriend is there, starting to cook breakfast. A fry-up is unusual for either of you, but after missing lunch and dinner yesterday, it is most welcome. It does occur to you that she is just using it as an excuse to cover up with an apron, though.

"Hello, beautiful."

"Good morning, my love."

You exchange an almost chaste kiss and then lay the table, which involves unpacking another box. You're not feeling too sore, although you get a few twinges when you bend. The strapping seems to have done little to suppress your libido and even with her front covered, Diana's bare rear is more than enough to have you wishing you could take her back into the bedroom for more of what got you into trouble yesterday.

"Anything I can do to help?"

Diana looks at you lovingly and shakes her head; there is only really room for one person at the hob, anyway. Then she seems to think of something.

"Oh, you could put the mattress protector on the line, so it'll be dry by this evening."

You are not looking forward to another trip to the garden, because you are not sure you are ready to meet any more neighbours, but you just smile and pretend to be happy to help. The spin cycle has actually left the item in question fairly dry, anyway, so a bit of breeze and sun should finish the job quickly enough.