Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 75260 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75260 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
“The correction is delivered to the buttocks for reasons both practical and symbolic,” Prince Hendren continued, his voice taking on the cadence of a lecture. “This area can withstand significant punishment without permanent damage, ensuring the lesson is thorough yet safe. Symbolically, it represents the most private, vulnerable aspect of feminine pride—the part of herself a woman guards most carefully from masculine authority.”
He moved behind me, and I heard the whistle of the cane as he tested its flexibility through the air. The sound sent terror coursing through my bound form.
“By accepting correction in this most intimate manner, the subject demonstrates complete surrender of her will to masculine guidance. Today, Viola Herranofar will discover that true submission requires abandoning the last vestiges of pride and control. She will bear the signs of this punishment on her backside for a long while, as an intimate reminder of her misbehavior and its reward.”
I squeezed my eyes shut as I felt him position himself behind my raised bottom, the cane tapping lightly against my tender flesh in preparation. The touch was almost gentle, but I knew it was merely the calm before devastation.
“Twenty-four strokes,” he announced to the crowd. “One for each month of neglect that led to Artemisia’s downfall. Let the correction begin.”
The first stroke fell with explosive force across the center of my bottom, the bamboo landing with a sharp crack that echoed through the yard. The pain was unlike anything I had ever experienced—pure fire that radiated from the point of impact through my entire nervous system. Without the governor’s usual cushioning arousal, every nerve ending registered the agony with crystalline clarity.
“Ahhhh!” The scream tore from my throat before I could stop it, my body straining against the restraints as the pain peaked and then settled into a burning throb.
“One,” Prince Hendren announced calmly, already positioning for the second stroke.
I bit down hard on my lip, trying to prepare myself, but nothing could have readied me for the devastating impact when the cane struck again, this time just below the first mark. The overlapping pain created a storm of agony that made my vision blur.
“Please!” I sobbed, the word escaping despite my determination to endure silently. “Oh, powers, please!”
“Two,” came his inexorable count.
As the third stroke landed with searing precision just above the first, I understood with terrible clarity that my pleas meant nothing. The governor’s suppression function ensured that my body could find no refuge in arousal, no chemical relief from the mounting agony. Each stroke registered with absolute, unforgiving clarity.
“Three.” Prince Hendren’s voice remained steady as granite.
Through my tears I thought I could hear the crowd’s collective intake of breath with each impact. I couldn’t help picturing them, though the mental image drew a new sob from my chest. Some must be watching with clinical fascination, others with discomfort, but in my imagination all remained transfixed by the spectacle of my correction. And the Federation News Services cameras must be capturing every angle of my degradation, broadcasting my naked suffering across the galaxy.
The fourth stroke fell diagonally across the previous marks, creating a crosshatch of fire that made me throw my head back and wail. “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry for what I did to Artemisia!”
“Four. Your apologies are noted, but they do not diminish your debt,” Prince Hendren replied, his tone carrying both authority and what might have been compassion.
By the eighth stroke, my bottom felt as though it had been branded with molten metal. Tears streamed down my face, falling to the stone below as my body shook with each impact. The restraints held me perfectly in position, preventing any escape from the methodical destruction of my pride.
“Please, Master,” I gasped between sobs. “No more… I… I was…”
But I couldn’t say it: I couldn’t admit I had made a mistake, because I knew I hadn’t, as mind-robbing as the pain felt. The cane whistled through the air to land with devastating accuracy. I screamed, my backside squirming the few millimeters it could as I desperately tried to sooth the agony.
“Nine.”
The crowd had fallen into complete silence except for my cries echoing off the stone walls. And, I realized something else—a woman’s voice, speaking in a hushed but excited tone, fully audible to me now that I had focused my mind on it. I felt heat rush to my face as I realized it must be a reporter for Federation News, narrating my punishment to the galaxy.
“As you can see in this very moving close-up of her bottom, Viola is beginning to lose control of her body, as generally happens during this kind of severe discipline. I imagine she’s feeling some gratitude to her master for making her relieve herself in the cell beforehand so that she won’t shame herself here on the punishment frame.”
“Oh, no,” I whispered, feeling my head shake as if I could stop the woman from speaking or at least keep myself from hearing her. When Prince Hendren struck again, and I cried out, I did feel gratitude, strange as it seemed.