Day 5, late evening( the actual punishment part 1, after the punishment prep)
It feels like hours—endless, dragging hours—though I have no way to know.
The chain from the front keeps my head back, throat stretched, breath shallow; drool burns down my chin in slow, endless drips.
Arms locked high. Heels sink, calves knot, toes cramp; I try to shift my right leg—just a twitch—and the chain snaps back hard.
Forward yank, throat closes tight, head jerks up, chest thrusts out. Legs snap straight again. No mercy.
Blind, deaf, dumb—dark presses, silence booms, raincoat fogs, tampon grinds, clips throb.
Suddenly— a sharp hit! The cane cracks the back of my ankle—pure, burning sting like a knife slice.
My legs jerks and buckles inward. Body lurches forward—chain yanks from the front, head snaps back because of the chain!
I scream—raw, instant—but it dies in my mouth. Just a soft “hssshhh”—wet, strangled, like air forced through a pinched pipe, drool bubbling out the sides.
No real voice.
Just that weird, choking pathetic hiss.
The pain flares hot, deep—ankle throbbing, tendon burning, foot trembling.
I try to plant my legs properly with the heels, but the leg won’t obey—calf knots tighter, toes curl inside the shoe. Chain jerks me upright, chest thrust out, no mercy.
He keeps going. Ten strikes. Fifteen. Twenty. Each one lands clean—behind the knee now, then ankle again. Welts rise red, skin splits, fire piles on fire.
Around the twentieth—something breaks. The cry starts: quiet, choking sobs mixed with the hiss. “hssshhh… hssshhh…”—like a broken engine, drool running faster.
Tears well behind the goggles—hot, useless—trapped in the dark. No one seems to notice or care.
Thirty. Forty. Until the ankle’s numb, purple, swollen—flesh feels bare, raw, like it’s torn open. The pain pulses deep, tendon screaming, like the whole back of the leg is exposed nerve.
Every twitch sends fresh sparks—calf knots, toes curl, heel slips on tile. Chain yanks, body snaps upright again. No mercy.
He finally stops.
Silence. Just my “hssshhh”—soft, broken, endless.
Finally! I think it’s over—body shaking, leg throbbing, tears already pooling behind the goggles.
Then—thwack! Rolled paperback slams the right clip. Pain explodes—nipple crushed, fire straight to my heart.
Tears spill hot, sudden—the goggles fill, black cavity flooding with salt water, pooling against my eyes, stinging, blurring nothing because it’s already pitch dark. Heavy, trapped tears start sloshing inside the painted lenses.
Cry ramps up: “hssshhh… hssshhh…”—desperate, wet, drool spraying, sobs hitching in my throat.
Thwack! Left. Body arches, knees buckle—heel slips, leg gives. I collapse forward—chain catches, jerks my head back, throat closes like a vice.
More tears stream inside the goggles, soaking foam pads, stinging eyes, no escape. No leak—just pressure building, salt water starting to fill inside.
He doesn’t relent. Thwack. Thwack. Ten times—left, right, center. Each hit jolts the clips deeper, metal teeth grinding, nipples swollen raw.
Every collapse: forward lurch, chain yanks, throat bites, breath snags. “Hssshhh!”—louder inside my skull, pathetic outside.
Tears flood harder—goggles slosh inside the sealed cavity, black-painted lenses trapping every drop, eyes sting with salt, pressure building like drowning in my own tears. Just endless dark, wet and hot against eyelids. Sobs turn to choking gasps, chest heaving, raincoat slick only with sweat.
By the tenth—nipples numb then burning, body limp, tears still flowing like I’ve cracked open. I hang there, chain the only thing keeping me from the floor.
He finally stops. My relief? I think it’s over, tears already pooling behind the goggles
Then—suddenly—raincoat lifts from the front, cool air rushing up my thighs. Pinafore skirt follows, lifted up.
Panties drag down—just enough.
My penis—tucked tight until now—springs free. Hard from the pain, the stress, the overload. Not from want. Just… happens. Sudden, exposed, no control.
Not again! No way to hide. No way to tuck back.
Master’s voice cuts through, flat: “Violation. Appearance Major, base 400. Decency Major, base 500. Obedience Minor, base 200.”
“Not reflecting as a girl. Exposed. No control. Stacked.”
“Base 1,100. Multiplied by 3 for cross-genre—attire, posture, behavior—final: 3,300. Add to debt.”
The numbers land like another slap. Here I am paying back my debts, yet earning them back at the same time!
Next, he slips the rubber band on—loops it once. Twice. Three times around the base. Tight, but not choking—just snug, like a band too small for a wrist.
Snap! He pulls it back, releases. Sharp sting—penis bounces, skin burns.
Snap! Again. Snap! Third time. Each one jolts me—chain yanks, throat bites, “hssshhh!” sprays wetter than ever.
He leaves it on. Pressure builds slow: swelling, ache, heat trapped.
Then—he reaches down, fingers cold, pulls the penis back—firm, no gentleness—tucks it to the back again, ensuring that the area looks flattened. Panties pulled back up. Pinafore skirt smoothed down, raincoat tugged back into place—sealed.
But the band stays.
Suddenly—his voice, low, right at my ear:
“Enjoying it so far?”
Nothing. If I say yes, I’m stupid. If I say no, I’m in more trouble.
He waits—longer.
Then—firmer: “Enjoying it so far?”
Still nothing.
In my mind: He’s waiting. He knows I can’t. He’s testing. Don’t give him anything.
Voice low, edged: “Reply. Or I add points.”
I relented: only “hssshhh…” leaks, pathetic, forced. Not words.
He exhales. “Reply. Properly.”
No more voice. I force it: neck strains against the chain, head jerks, tiny nod.
He pauses. “That’s better.”
Then, flat, almost amused: “I’m so glad you enjoy it. It’s only been about ten minutes.”
The words land—ten minutes? Feels like hours already! Time is crawling on me! When will this punishment end? It feels so far away!
He leans in—breath on my ear, voice soft:
“Good girl.”
The words curl in, sickening.
Then—flat, like reading a receipt:
“You just paid 1,000 points tonight. The caning—behind the ankle, forty strokes—400. The clips—ten thwacks—300. The snap on your penis—three times—300. Total: 1,000.”
He pauses.
“But you earned 3,300. The exposure. The hardening. Not reflecting as a girl. Stacked. Multiplied by three. Net: plus 2,300 to your debt.”
The numbers drop like stones. One thousand paid, but three thousand three hundred back! like I never left! I thought I moved forward. But moved even more backward!
I shouldn’t have done what I did in the storeroom. Full of regret. Should’ve learned to obey like a good submissive. Should’ve avoided this. How I wish I could turn back time and do the right thing…
Then—his voice, low, right at my ear again:
“Continue your enjoyment. I’ll be back later.”
Now I’m alone.
Body hanging—arms still locked high above me, toes cramping inside the heels, back of ankle raw and swollen, nipples crushed, rubber band squeezing, chain pulling from the front, keeping my head back, chest thrust out. Tears slosh inside the goggles—hot, trapped, no way out. The tampon grinds with every breath. The raincoat sticks tight to sweat, fogging inside, trapping heat like a second skin.
To be continued…
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