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It’s bad enough that all these people need to see me like this, but to know he’s here… Seeing who I’ve become… It’s almost enough to break through my mental barriers, so I push him away.
“That’s right,” he confirms, before continuing, “And you deserve to be punished.”
I block out whatever happens next, and before I realise, I’m being guided towards the spanking bench. It reminds me of the horse apparatus we had in gym class at school, only this has rests on either side for you to kneel on.
With my chest laying flat on the bench, I have a knee on either side, my ass up in the air. I ignore how fucking cold it feels on my nipples, and how humiliated I am when my legs are spread wider, and my back is arched to show off my cunt more.
There are straps on the legs, and the top of the table, but The Sheriff doesn’t bother to strap me down. Maybe it’s a test. He’s hoping I will move, so he has an excuse to punish me more. I won’t fall for that. Instead, I grab hold of the side of the table, my fingernails gripping on as much as possible, and I close my eyes.
My cheek is pressed against the cool table, and I’m facing towards the audience, so they can see my reactions. Though thetable is diagonal enough that they can see my ass, too. If this had been planned, The Sheriff would have set up cameras and a big display screen, so everyone could watch the close up reactions of my face, and how red my ass gets with each blow. I’m a little relieved he hasn’t had time to set that up, if I’m honest.
Even though I’m sure he’s counting down to the blow, gesticulating loudly about what he’s going to do, egging the crowd on, I continue to shut it all out. So when the first slap of his belt lands on my ass, I’m startled, as I wasn’t expecting it.
I keep my eyes closed as I focus on my breathing, trying harder to imagine what the water would feel like lapping at my feet. Anything to detract from the stinging and burning I’m feeling on my ass.
He doesn’t give me even a second to adjust to the hit, he just continues to rain down the blows with his leather belt, spreading them out across each cheek. Some hit harder, while others are more direct blows with the flat of the belt. Tears roll down my cheeks as I bite down on my lip, refusing to make a sound.
He lashes me a few more times before he stops, and I let out a sigh of relief—even though I know it’s not over yet. His punishments are never this short.
I feel his breath against my cheek, and I freeze. He whispers against my ear, so only I can hear.
“Open your eyes, whore. Make sure you give the bidders a good show, or you will regret it.” He then takes the microphone and uses his fake-ass voice to address the crowd. “It looks like my little slut here was enjoying it so much, she forgot it’s a punishment. Whore, what do you normally do when you are being whipped that you didn’t do this time?” he asks me, and my mind races as I try to think of the answer.
The crowd chuckles, like they’re enjoying my humiliation, and I have to drown them out, so that I can think. Only a few seconds later, it hits me what he’s referring to. “I’m supposed tocount the blows, and say thank you,” I reply, my voice just as dead as I feel.
“Good girl. I guess we will have to start all over again, won’t we?” he says with a maniacal laugh, and the crowd chuckle in response.
Fuckers. I have an overwhelming urge to punish every last person in this room.
This time when he whips me, while my mind is somewhere far away, I respond on auto-pilot. “One. Thank you, Sir.”
SLAP!
“Two. Thank you, Sir.”
On and on we go like this until I reach thirty. My ass is red and sore, the skin throbbing from the force behind each blow. I’m lucky the hits were with the flat of the belt, and didn’t break open the skin.
Tears are flowing down my cheeks as I frantically pull air into my lungs as the pain grows, but I try to blink them away. I refuse to allow these fuckers to see my pain.
“Very good, bitch. What did you think, ladies and gentlemen, do you think she took her punishment like a good girl?” The Sheriff yells to the crowd, like he’s hyping up an audience before the band is due to come out.
A loud array of responses fill the air. Some say no, others say yes, but most say they want to see more, and my heart sinks.
The Sheriff strokes his palm over my no-doubt extremely red ass cheeks, giving them a squeeze, which makes me cry out in pain. I bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from sobbing. I refuse to give him the pleasure of seeing how much he’s destroying me.
With each swipe of his hand, his fingers get a little closer to my pussy, and my stomach swirls with nausea. “I wonder if my little whore enjoyed that. Tell me, slut, are you wet?” heasks, holding the microphone next to my face, waiting for me to answer.
No, I’m fucking not. I’m drier than the Sahara fucking desert, like I always am when you’re around, I yell in my head. But, of course, I can’t say that to him, or he will hurt me.
I close my eyes, trying to block out the world around me, as I let the lie tumble from my lips. “I’m very wet. All good little sluts like being punished.”
I’m sure I hear an angry growl from in the audience, louder than all the other jeering and degrading insults, but I push it away. My cheeks flame as red as my ass while acid burns my throat.
The Sheriff chuckles beside me. “You weren’t supposed to enjoy it, you naughty girl,” he chastises me in a mocking tone. “I, however, was supposed to enjoy it, and I did very much. Would you like to see how much?”
I don’t bother to respond, as I know where this is going, and I’m scared that if I open my mouth to speak, I’ll vomit all over the stage. Beside me, I hear the familiar sound of a zip being lowered, and before I know it, The Sheriff’s less than impressive cock is bobbing in front of my face.
“Look what you did to me. How are you going to make this better?” he mocks, as he taps the head of his cock against my cheek.
