Your ass gets the strap.

Having been defeated by that insidious probe you resolve not to be broken by the lash. The pigs might have made you cum, but they will never make you beg or shed a tear. Though you have never tasted the caress of the whip, you are no stranger to pain, whether from the hardship of life in the wilds or the sting of combat. You steel yourself for the beating you are about to receive, hoping that at least some of the potion induced erotic urges will be purged from your body by the sharp kiss of painful leather.

The whipmaster moves behind you and with his bare hand slaps your ass a few times. This spanking isn’t really part of the official punishment, though it certainly stings, it is more a measuring of the target as the brute considers where to begin. After a half of dozen or so more spanks the whipmaster is called over by the royal apothecary, after a brief chat they both nod in agreement. The whipmaster heads for the table of torture devises as the apothecary addresses the judge.

“Your honor, since we have all day I thought I would have the whipmaster demonstrate the various implements of correction used by the court on the prisoner, so the public maybe better informed on how justice is dispensed.”

With the judge’s nod of approval the whipmaster picks up a metal rod and moves to the outsider of one of the poles that you are bound too. He inserts the rod into one of the main holes that run parallel on both poles at your groin level; pushing it through the tip of the rod hits the side of your upper hip.

“Ass out, cunt.” He orders. Not acting quickly enough for his liking he mutters, “stupid bitch”, and takes a few steps behind you and with one hand grabs the back of your thong and pulls your ass out. Fortunately, your loincloth doesn’t tear, but your hips are moved out of the way of the tip of the rod so the whipmaster move it to the corresponding parallel hole on the other post. Letting go of your thong, he locks the horizon rod in place so the two poles now make a large “H.” Your pelvis rests against this bar as you are forced into a partial bent over position. Your breasts dangle forward while your ass is forced to stick out, no doubt the first target of the whipmaster’s attention. Taking a thick leather belt that is only a few feet long he shows it to the crowd as the apothecary explains what will occur next.

“This is the least painful instrument of correction the court uses, it is called the strap. Normally used on only children and ladies, it can give quiet a sting and usually brings the fairer sex to tears with but a few lashes. Traditionally, only four to eight strikes are assigned, with the maximum sentence being twelve. It is always administered in private and the lady is allowed to keep her dress down to defend her modesty and the fact its sting on bare flesh would be too much for any woman of quality.”

Looking at the thong that barely covers your ass crack and leaves both your cheeks fully exposed, the apothecary cannot help but smile. “Considering the shameful display we just witnessed this prisoner is not only properly attired, but will of course receive the full twelve. Sergeant, when you are ready, on my count.”

Grabbing tightly onto your leather bounds you grit your teeth preparing to be spanked by the strap. You feel its leather barely touch the center of your rear as the whipmaster sights his target.

“One.” The apothecary commands.

SMACK. The strap cracks against your ass cheeks. You give a muffled grunt as the horizontal rod rattles from your pelvis being slapped forward into it.

“Two.” The count continues.

Able to handle all twelve strikes, you put on a brave show, not crying out and remaining mostly silent. Your ass really begins to sting, however, and for the last few spanks you have to twitch your rear about a bit trying to cool off that stinging feeling.

Looking over the whipmaster’s work the apothecary calmly adds. “I think another twelve are in order.”