The stream had already started by the time she ordered me into position.

Mistress stood beside the chair in the center of the room, dressed in a tight black latex corset that hugged her petite frame and thigh-high boots that clicked with every calculated step. Her eyes sparkled with cruel anticipation, the same gleam that always told me tonight wouldn’t end quickly—or kindly.

“Say hello to your audience, pet,” she said, gesturing toward the camera.

I stood naked before the lens, cheeks already flushed with humiliation. “H-hello…”

She snapped her fingers. “Louder. Like a man.”

“Hello, everyone,” I said again, clearer, though my voice cracked.

The chat was already alive.

“He looks pathetic.”

“Is that fear in his eyes? Good.”

“Make him cry, Mistress. Please.”

She sat down on the chair and pointed to her lap. “You know what to do.”

I swallowed and draped myself over her thighs. Her skin was warm beneath me, her frame delicate but unyielding. A moment later, the first slap rang out—sharp, direct, and precise.

She spanked me slowly at first, each hit stinging more from the shame than the pain. Her palm landed again and again on my exposed cheeks, the sound echoing in the quiet room, broken only by her occasional tut of disapproval.

“You think this is punishment?” she teased. “This is just foreplay.”

My ass was already warm and glowing when she pushed me off her lap and made me bend over the back of the chair. She took her time selecting the paddle—wide, heavy, wood. The moment it touched my skin, I flinched.

And then she began.

The paddle thudded into me with force. Again. And again. Each blow pressed air from my lungs, the pain blooming outward in waves. I clenched the chair, trying to be strong, trying to hold on to some shred of dignity.

The chat was merciless.

“Harder, Mistress. Make him scream.”

“Look at his little cock twitch. He’s loving it.”

“Break him. Make him sob.”

Mistress said nothing for a time. Only the steady rhythm of her strikes filled the room—until she stopped. Silence. Then the swish of the cane.

“Spread your legs.”

I obeyed, still bent over, presenting myself. Vulnerable. Waiting.

The first stripe cut across my ass like fire. I yelped, my knees buckling slightly. She paused, letting me feel the sting, then brought it down again. Over and over, lines of fire burned into my flesh, some kissing the backs of my thighs. Each blow seemed deeper, more personal, more intimate.

Tears welled in my eyes. I bit my lip to keep from crying out.

“You’re trembling,” she said softly. “But we’re far from done.”

She made me stand, legs wide apart, and told me to “Pull your cheeks apart. Hold them. Show them everything.”

My face burned with shame, but I did as I was told. I stood exposed, stretched open, cock twitching, balls dangling helplessly.

She circled behind me and took up the broad leather whip. She let it hiss through the air once, twice. Then—

CRACK.

It landed across the curve of my ass, catching the inside edge, licking dangerously close to my hole. I gasped. Another landed, then another, this time curling under, brushing against my balls. My hands shook as I struggled to keep myself spread as another aimed straight down lashed the whole of my crack, a burning sensation firing through my bum hole.

“Torture his little balls, his wife doesn’t need them!”

“He’s crying already. Perfect.”

“Whip his cock next, Mistress!”

Mistress didn’t hesitate. She flicked the whip underhand, striking the underside of my shaft. Pain shot up my spine like electricity. I stumbled but didn’t fall.

CRACK. Another. Right across the tip of my cock. My vision blurred.

“Please!” I finally sobbed. “Please, Mistress, I can’t—!”

“Then cum,” she said simply. “Show them how pathetic you are.”

I shook my head. I didn’t want to. I couldn’t. But my body betrayed me. The pain, the shame, the exposure, the humiliating heat crawling across every inch of my body—it became too much.

Mistress took hold of a wooden ruler and began a tip-tapping it on the underside of the shaft of my cock, increasing the frequency and the power applied to each stroke until in my fuddled mind it became almost like I was wanking myself - with a handful of stinging nettles.

I groaned, legs wobbling, and exploded. My cock jerked, leaking uncontrollably, spurting across my inner thigh as the chat went wild.

“YES! He came!”

“He liked it.”

“Crying like a sissy and still cumming, oh so much!.”

I collapsed to my knees, sobbing. My arms fell limp at my sides. Mistress stood behind me, ruler dangling at her side, looking down on the ruin she had made of me.

She knelt, gently lifted my chin, and smiled.

“That’s my good boy,” she whispered. “Let them see what you really are.”

And they did.