A Strapping

“You told me how spoiled you were,” the prince then pronounces, “so I imagine that you have never had your little bottom strapped before. This experience, I think, will be instructive. However, your punishment includes the requirement for you to remain silent. If you make any noise above a whimper, that stroke will not count. I will not ask if you are ready; you will be beaten when I am ready to beat you, not when you are ready to be beaten.”

You see his arms whip back, and you know it must have come forward, but you were not aware of it because of the sudden flash of agony across your bottom and the sharp “crack!’ sound in the air as the lash strikes home.

You want to howl, but remember his warning, and stifle your howl to a moan. Damn, that hurt!

Before you can properly adjust yourself to the idea of being so painfully beaten, the flash of pain and crack of the lash come again, this time the agony seems doubled, and a keening noise escapes your lips. The pain and crack come again, and again. You lose track of the number of times you are struck, for they are all equally agonizing and humiliating. You would do anything to stop this, but can think of nothing that wouldn’t look like further defiance, so you can only endure it and concentrate on not making a sound louder than a moan. The latter is harder than you would have thought.

At last, after what must have been between fifteen and twenty-five strokes, the prince stops. “Wag your little bottom if you have had enough,” he says, “we can continue this, though, if you’d like.”

It is another humiliation, but you don’t even pause to consider it as you wag your bottom up and down. The prince laughs, and unties you.

Without waiting to be told, you put your hands behind your head.