Yes

Amandla stared at her reflection in the mirror for just a moment, watching her thumbs squeeze her nipples. She wasn't sure how she could "sharpen and deepen" the pain she was in already; she didn't think she could dig her thumbs in any harder. But she realized, through the bruising pain, that the "choice" was really **** at all. She could either do what this interloper in her mind wanted, making an honest effort to punish herself ... briefly ... for what were essentially "thought crimes," or she could accept his "correction" for an unspecified time and accept that Mikaela would see her doing ... things ... she couldn't possibly explain to herself.

The fact that she couldn't quite discount the possibility that she was doing all this to herself didn't make her situation any better, or her "choice" any less mandatory.

Okay, I'll do it, she thought, attempting to communicate without speech as the voice had suggested.

"Do what? Be specific, little homo."

I'll ... try to hurt myself. It seemed unjust, somehow, that she could now hear the intruder's voice more clearly, somehow more solidly, than the thoughts she "spoke" to him with, not that justice appeared to be the day's theme ...

"How scrumptious. How utterly toothsome. Yes, feel free. But first, this is discipline and correction, not ****. You've been a naughty, disrespectful girl, after all. Say it, then you may begin."

Y - yes, a tear rolled down one cheek at this surrender, I've been a ... a naughty girl. I'll try to ... correct my behavior.

Amandla's thumbs suddenly relaxed on her nipples, bringing forth a new wave of pain, one that pounded with her pulse as blood began to flow through her capillaries again. She gritted her teeth and leaned against the sink for a moment, stunned by the throbbing ache in her sensitive flesh.

"If you don't actively work to obey me and ... discipline yourself, you will start to bore me. You've thirteen minutes left."

Shit. Had she really already been standing there two minutes? Or was he just fucking with her? Crap! Would he see that as "disrespectful?" Stop thinking so much and do something!

She reached for her nipples again and began squeezing. The throbbing increased, the pain grew, but she suspected from the silence in her head that it was not enough. The pain felt worse than before, but was that simply because she was inflicting it herself? She couldn't tell.

"Boooooooooor- ing," sounded in her ears, "You have nine minutes."

Shit. Shit shit shit shit. This obviously wasn't "enough." Forgetting her earlier resolution to try to provide an "acceptable performance" but just tolerate the "punishment" otherwise, Amandla frantically searched her mind for some ... any ... idea that might allow her to succeed.

Then something occurred to her. She looked down at her breasts, swallowed hard, and without loosening her grip, began twisting and tugging her nipples.

Her bruised flesh began to actually writhe in pain ... oh. No, it was Amandla, writhing and hopping from foot to foot as she tortured ...

Discipline! Don't call it ****! she censored herself ...

... as she disciplined her flesh, bruising it even more deeply, tears now streaming down her cheeks.

She heard nothing from the voice of her intruder for some long, painful minutes, though she thought she might be feeling something ... interest, maybe? ... from him. Then ...

"Very nice. Now give me something ... more."

More? she thought-asked, confused, More how? What do you mean?

"More," he repeated, "More punishing, more humiliating, more painful ... you decide. Just give me more."

Shit shit shit, she thought again, continuing to twist and pull but completely out of ideas. Then an idea just dropped into her head, almost as if placed there like an evil Easter basket. Amandla instinctively recoiled from the thought, but could think of nothing else that might suffice. Trembling and whimpering, she released her right breast and pulled on the left, stretching it out as far as she could **** it, and then brought her right palm down on it in a vicious slap while continuing to squeeze her nipple in the fingers of her left hand, holding it in place. She sobbed suddenly, but repeated the blow, then repeated it again. And again, and again and again and again until, finally, her nipple escaped her grasp and her bruised and aching tit bounced against her ribcage.

"Very nice. Very ... imaginative. You've almost got your five minutes, slut. Now do the other one."

No longer able to resist through the self-inflicted pain, no longer really even able to think, Amandla simply nodded, tears dripping off her chin, and grasped her left nipple, stretching it out before her.

The first stroke drew another sob from her. No longer able to care about incidentals like how much noise she was making, she shrieked and sobbed with each painful impact, grunting or moaning in between them. After nearly a dozen vicious blows, the nipple finally slipped from her vicelike grip and she collapsed, first leaning against the sink and then falling, first to her knees and then onto her ass.

"Good girl," came the voice, "Very good. I trust you'll remember this ... incident ... when instructed to be courteous in future. Now stand up, strip, and look at your cunt."

Amandla didn't answer even in thought, not out of discourtesy but simply because she seemed to have lost the power of thinking in words. Moving like an arthritic grandmother in order to avoid disturbing her bruised, beaten tits, she carefully lowered her nightie over her hips, then pulled down her panties and looked at herself ... down there.

Her pussy lips had opened up and were dripping moisture, the inner lips and her clitoris swollen and deep red in color. She reached down and touched herself, shuddering now for a completely different reason.

"And here is the second part of your punishment. From now on, any time you are punished ... by anyone ... you will become quite sexually aroused, but only after the discipline is finished. We wouldn't want you to grow to enjoy your punishments, after all. Now get in the shower and clean yourself. Oh, and shave that snatch; I like my girls clean and smooth down there. But don't touch yourself. I want you nice and wet when we greet your girlfriend before she leaves for the day."