The thought of taking my panties down, of showing my bare breasts, sent a confusing mixture of shame and heat coursing through me. I could feel myself getting wet again, my body betraying me just like it had on that horrible bench.
“I’d like to do the minimum,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady, trying to sound like I had some control over this situation even though we both knew I didn’t.
Mark sighed. “I have a whole suitcase of lingerie that would help you present yourself properly. Help you get in the mood. You’d look much better in?—”
“No,” I interrupted. “Just… the minimum. Please.”
He looked exasperated but didn’t argue further. “Fine. Stand on that mark there.” He pointed to a piece of tape on the floor near the tree branch.
I moved to where he indicated, and he began positioning me. Turn this way. Lift your chin. Hands at your sides. Each instruction came with small adjustments, his hands impersonal as he angled my shoulders or tilted my head. The camera clicked steadily.
“Now the bra,” he said after a few minutes.
My hands trembled as I reached back to unhook it. The fabric fell away, and I had to force myself not to cover my breasts with my hands. The afternoon air felt cool against my nipples, making them harden immediately. More clicks from the camera.
“Good. Now turn to the side. Profile shot.”
I obeyed, my whole body burning with humiliation. But underneath the shame, that terrible heat continued to build below my belly.
“Alright, now I want you to bend over the tree branch. Face away from me. Look back at me over your shoulder.”
I bent forward, gripping the rough bark of the branch, and twisted my head to look back at him. The position made my bottom stick out, and I knew the welts from the cane had to be visible through the thin fabric of my panties.
“Perfect,” Mark said, the camera clicking. “Now hook your thumbs in your panties and pull them down. Slowly. Just to your knees.”
My hands moved as if they belonged to someone else. I hooked my thumbs into the waistband and began to slide the fabric down over my hips. The cotton caught a bit on the raised welts, sending sharp stings of pain through me that somehow twisted into that shameful heat coiling in my belly.
The panties slid down my thighs, and suddenly I was completely bare from the waist down again. The afternoon air kissed my freshly shaved pussy, and I felt so exposed, so vulnerable, that reality seemed to warp around me. This couldn’t be happening. This had to be a dream.
“Beautiful,” Mark murmured. “Now reach back and touch the welts. Show me where it hurts.”
My hand moved without conscious thought, my fingers finding the raised lines across my bottom. The moment I made contact, my pussy clenched so hard I couldn’t stop the whimper that escaped my throat.
“That’s it,” Mark said, his voice low and encouraging. “Bend further. Press your chest against the branch.”
I obeyed, folding myself over the rough bark until my breasts pressed against it, my bottom raised even higher. The position spread me open, and I knew—god, I knew—that he could see everything. My bare pussy, glistening with arousal. The welts. All of it.
“I can tell how badly you need to touch yourself,” Mark said, still clicking away with the camera. “Are you sure you don’t want to?”
The question hung in the air. I should say no. I should maintain what little dignity I had left. But my hand was already sliding down from the welts, moving lower, seeking the aching heat between my legs.
“That’s a good girl,” Mark said as my fingers found my clit. “Show me how a naughty girl pleasures herself.”
I couldn’t stop. My fingers moved in slow circles, and a moan escaped my lips before I could bite it back. The humiliation of what I was doing—masturbating for a stranger’s camera, bent over a tree branch with my punished bottom on display—only made me wetter.
“You’re going to find out what happens to naughty girls like you,” Mark continued, his voice taking on a darker edge. “How wealthy men like to fuck tight little pussies. How they’ll bend you over just like this and use you whenever they want.”
The words sent me spiraling. My fingers moved faster, my hips rocking against my hand. I was panting now, shameless, lost in the sensation.
“That’s it. Come for the camera. Your sponsor’s going to love taking your virginity.”
My breath came in ragged pants. My fingers moved faster and faster no matter how hard I tried to pull my hand away.
“And that ass,” Mark said, his voice almost conversational now. “God, that’s irresistible. Your sponsor is going to make you take his cock there often. Very often.”
The words sent a jolt of shameful electricity through me. My fingers kept moving, but my mind reeled at the image his words conjured—being taken there, in that forbidden place the nurse had examined with the speculum.
“When he wants to use your bottom and you refuse,” Mark continued, still clicking away with his camera, “he’ll spank you over his knee until you’re crying and begging him to fuck your ass instead of spanking you anymore.”
