The last thing you can remember was the wine, and how it went to your head so quickly. But now, as you wake there's something wrong. Very wrong. Where is this? You are captured within a strange device made of steel pipes bolted to the floor. It is a series of clamps that hold you completely immobile. Cold metal holds you down at the ankles and wrists. The wood under your hands and knees is rough and hard. As you try to look around the room, you see that there's is really no escape from this place. As you come to realize your predicament, fear wells up inside you and you struggle. Soon, though, you lie still; your struggling served only to illustrate just how helpless you really are. Alone. In this room there will be no escape today, whatever may come . .

There is a large table with a collection of Whips, canes, belts, and paddles, as well as other toys. An old fashioned caning bench stands along the short wall. In the center is a steel device holding you,  your barely clothed body caught it its unforgiving clutches.  Helpless. Anything could happen here and there would be no stopping it. Your spirit could be broken in this room. The cold air and metal restraints make you shiver. So bare; so powerless.  My footsteps grow louder in the hall.

As I enter I can see your head drop. You knew what was to happen, and you knew why.  On yesterday's ride, you were petulant.  You chose a short light skirt that was far too revealing. Your behavior was also quite unsatisfactory. Your laughter drew attention and leering stares from many who were with us. You could see me growing more and more angry.  You didn't seem to care; you just wanted to tease and flirt, so you flaunted yourself without shame. I decided not to speak to you right then.  I shouldn't need to; you could read the growing anger on my face. But you chose to continue. As you wish . . .

Lesson Three:  the single tailed whip.

Without a word, I walk to the table and choose a coiled single tailed whip. I walk slowly around you as you lay locked in the device, allowing you to watch as I uncoil the whip.  I test it harmlessly in the air, then snap it loudly. The crack makes you jump.  You wonder could this be more than you could take ? No way  to stop what was next.

"You already know why you are being punished. Your behavior has consequences. Ready yourself."

A moment later I draw the long whip back and then snap it hard across the bare skin of your back. You react by jumping a little inside your bonds. The leather bites into you and falls across the metal securing  your hips.  This was a different sensation, softer than the cane, somehow, but sharp and stinging.

Then the whistling sound again, followed by the strike - louder than the first. And so much harder! After the second blow, I realize this was not the right tool; the lash is getting caught in the restraints. I take a thick oak paddle from the table and hold it close for you to see. Walking behind, you I push the wood into your fleshy ass. It presses your skin. This will do nicely.  And now to begin . .

The first blow was excruciating. Full force on your bare left cheek. The heat in your flesh flared. The next kiss strikes you directly on the right. Was this one even harder? You couldn't tell. Another dreadful kiss, and  then another.

The sound was so different; a sharp slapping mixed with a dull thud as the heavy wood face crashes into your flesh. The feeling is overwhelming. With no whoosh in the air to warn of the next stoke, the paddle is a shock,  over and over. The pain of the paddle is unlike any other. Eventually, you stop your struggles,  and  submit to the rain of full-strength blows. I don't stop, this time, though. I continue. The early blows break the first capillaries, and the blush grows. Your cheeks are now a fiery red, with darker areas growing fast. Still, I do not relent.

I can feel the vibration through the wood, as the paddle beats against your fleshy ass.  Twenty vicious blows. After the last loud crack, I listen to your sobs, soft and steady.  I examine the paddle and find a trace of blood. I put my tongue to the wood. Salty sweetness. Smiling, I brush the wood against your face, and bid you to taste.

What shall I do to you next?