The fifth stroke was the worst yet, crossing over the previous welts, and I dissolved into helpless sobs. But beneath the pain, my body betrayed me completely. I was soaking wet now, I knew I had to be, and the thought that Hank could see it, that he knew exactly what this was doing to me, made everything so much worse.
“F-five,” I managed between sobs.
The final stroke landed across the center of my bottom, and I screamed again, my whole body shaking. Every nerve ending was on fire, the pain radiating outward in waves. But underneath it all, that terrible, shameful need pulsed between my legs.
“Six!” I cried out.
Silence fell. I heard Hank’s footsteps as he moved around to where I could see him. He set the cane aside and studied me with the same frank assessment he’d had on his face from the beginning.
“Are you ready to have your picture taken now?” he asked.
I nodded frantically, unable to form words, my face wet with tears and snot. I would do anything—anything—to avoid another stroke of that horrible cane.
“I need to hear you say it.”
“Yes,” I choked out. “Yes, I’m ready.”
CHAPTER 4
Laura
Hank released me from the bench and told me gruffly to pull up my jeans and panties. As I obeyed, my eyes found the linoleum of the floor and stayed there; I couldn’t have looked the orderly in the eye for a million dollars. I followed him back through the corridors, each step sending pain radiating across my welted bottom. Through the thin fabric of my panties the denim of my jeans rubbed against the marks with every movement, making me wince. I kept my eyes down, watching my untied sneakers shuffle across the polished floor.
When we emerged back into the courtyard, I heard sounds that made me freeze. Breathy moans. A man’s encouraging voice.
“That’s it,” Mark was saying. “Fingers inside your pussy… just like that. Every potential sponsor is going to love watching you pleasure yourself for him.”
My eyes lifted despite myself. Another girl—probably my age, maybe a year or two older—sat perched on a decorative tree branch that was part of the outdoor set. She wore a black lace thong that on its own would have left almost nothing to the imagination, and she had pulled its gusset aside with one hand. Her other hand was attending to her pussy, moving in slow circles while Mark’s camera clicked steadily.
“Beautiful,” Mark said. “Now arch your back a little more. Show me how much you need it.”
The girl complied, her head falling back, her lips parting. She looked… god, she looked like she was actually enjoying this. Like she wanted to be doing it.
I couldn’t watch. I dropped my gaze back to the ground, my face burning even hotter than it had already been after being punished by the orderly. The sounds continued—the camera clicks, Mark’s low encouragement, the girl’s soft gasps—and I stood there next to the man who had just punished me, wanting to disappear.
“Perfect,” Mark finally said. “That’s a wrap. Your profile is going to get excellent engagement.”
I heard rustling as the girl presumably gathered her things. Footsteps approached, but I kept my eyes fixed downward as she passed us. I caught a glimpse of her legs, bare beneath a short skirt she must have pulled on over the lingerie.
“Good luck,” she said softly, and I realized with a jolt that she was talking to me.
I couldn’t respond. Couldn’t even look up. The footsteps continued past, and then she was gone.
“Alright, Laura,” Mark said, his voice all business again. “Let’s try this again. Strip down to your underwear. We’ll get a few shots that way before I have you take your panties down so we can see that you had to learn a lesson today. Your potential sponsors deserve to see what they might be paying for.”
My hands went to the hem of my hoodie, and this time I didn’t hesitate. The memory of the cane was too fresh, the welts across my bottom still screaming with every movement. I pulled the hoodie over my head, then fumbled with my jeans. Getting them down over my aching bottom made me hiss with pain, but I managed it. I stood there in just my bra and panties, my arms wanting desperately to cross over my body but not quite daring to. Mark glanced at his tablet, then looked up at me with an expression I couldn’t quite read.
“Interesting,” he said, tapping the screen. “The data from your perineal sensor shows your arousal response during the punishment was… remarkable. Off the charts, really.”
My face flamed so hot I thought I might actually catch fire. He could see that? He knew?
“Look,” Mark continued, his tone pragmatic, “certain aspects of this shoot are up to you. But I think you’d get excellent results if you showed prospective sponsors just how well you respond to strict discipline.” He gestured toward where the other girl had been. “I’m sure you were watching. It’s not compulsory, but you should think about whether you want to play with yourself for the camera.”
The words hit me like a physical blow. My mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out.
“What…” I finally managed, my voice barely a whisper. “What exactly is compulsory?”
Mark consulted his tablet again. “For the premium program, you’ll need to at least take your panties down and show your nipples. That’s the minimum to qualify for the placement tier you applied for.”
