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“What are you doing?” I exclaimed, unable to hide the high-pitched shock in my voice.

I was facing away from the crowd. I was ninety-nine percent certain that I was still entirely covered and that my skirt was just long enough to prevent giving the audience more of a peepshow than I wanted. I tried to remain calm. Maybe this man could be reasoned with. I just had to figure out what he wanted so that he’d let me get back up and finish the show.

“Let me up. Stop now and I won’t press charges,” I threatened.

He didn’t answer me, but the quiet rumble of his chuckle made my legs quiver with anxiety.

After a very long moment, he flipped my skirt up and bared my panty-clad bottom to the audience. I rushed to push myself off the stool, trying to use the rungs to stand back up and gather whatever modesty I had left. His hand flattened even more firmly against my lower back, preventing me from getting up at all. His palm was wide, and with his superior strength he held me there rather easily no matter how hard I tried to fight. I tried to rock the chair from side to side, but it banked precipitously toward the right before he pushed it back into place and secured it with his foot. After that, the chair didn’t move at all and neither did I.

Fuck. This was bad.

I’d made a mistake in taunting him.

His fingers grazed against the flesh at the backs of my thighs and I jumped as a harsh jolt of electricity coursed through me. After that, he brushed my hair to the side. Carefully, his thumb caressed the birthmark at the side of my throat. Then his touch was gone. In its absence, I felt even more scared.

“Please, you’ve made your point. I’ll sing for you,” I pleaded. I was so embarrassed, and I just wanted this to stop. The whole audience could see my bottom right now and it was far more humbling to be put on display like this than I could ever have imagined. I pressed my thighs together, suddenly very aware that the seat of my panties was wet with my own arousal. I hoped that they weren’t soaked through and that the strong stage lights weren’t highlighting my shame to the audience.

“Silas, I’m sorry I threw the drink in your face. Let me buy one for you to make up for it,” I whimpered. He still didn’t answer and that was the most terrifying thing of all.

His fingers traced along the edge of my lavender panties, lifting the lace and sliding just beneath in a way that was as tantalizing as it was scary. He did that for several more moments before he gripped them in his hands and yanked them down to the middle of my thighs so swiftly that I couldn’t even reach back to try to stop him.

“I have something else in mind, Chloe,” he said boldly.

He’d exposed me to all the men watching. Bent over like this beneath the stage lights, I was on complete and utter display. They’d be able to see everything.

I gasped in shame and embarrassment. I tried to escape his grasp once again, but it was useless. It didn’t matter if I wiggled or kicked, I didn’t budge a single inch. In my struggles, my panties had fallen to my knees and then to my ankles. Still holding me in place, he reached down and guided my feet out of my underwear. I desperately hoped he hadn’t looked at them too closely because he would see the wet spot. If he did, he didn’t say anything, and I was left feeling decidedly unsteady. He put my panties in his pocket, and I trembled in fear.

It was clear to me now that no one was coming to my defense. Not a single audience member spoke up for me and not even one of the security guards that watched over the place were willing come to my aid. It was as if everyone knew who this man was other than me. I’d made a very big mistake pushing him and I wished that I could take it back.

His rough palm lay against my naked backside and I cried out at the shocking feel of it. Still, he stayed silent and I started to really beg in hopes that he would let me go and stop whatever this was.

“Please. I’m sorry. I’ll restart the show right away. I’ll even give a special encore in your honor, Silas, just please. Let me up,” I implored him. My pleas fell on deaf ears though and his hand explored my vulnerably bare backside as if he owned it.

I couldn’t decide if I hated it or if it felt good.

A loud crack echoed throughout the room and it took me several seconds to realize it was because he’d used his hand to spank my bare bottom. I tried to convince myself that I was going crazy, that maybe this was just a terrible dream and that none of this was really happening, but my right cheek began to burn with a hellacious sting that could not be imagined, not by a long shot. He repeated the motion on the left side of my bottom, and I stilled with shock.

What the hell?

My mouth opened with a soft gasp, fully taking stock of the image that I was presenting to the audience, and I bit my lip in horror. Before I could really think about how awful it really was, he took that choice away from me too.

The first two spanks had hurt, but they had been manageable enough that I hadn’t made a sound. I quickly realized that those initial smacks had been loud enough to get my attention and to make a point, but not hard enough to really hurt.

The next set of smacks hurt. They hurt a lot.

I tried to remain stoic at first, attempting to remain still and take whatever he wanted to give me before he decided I’d had enough. I clamped my lips shut, vowing that I wouldn’t make a single sound until it was all over. I gripped the rung beneath me even more firmly so that my knuckles turned white. I would get through this. I could get through anything.

I was able to keep my vow for the initial round of spanks, but as more continued to pepper my naked flesh, I realized that I may not be able to. The expanse of his palm was so vast that it felt like it covered most of each cheek with every blow. His palm felt as hard as wood and I bit my lip to keep quiet, but that only worked for so long.

He spanked me harder and faster than I thought possible and I quickly found myself losing control. I opened my lips as one cruel smack bit into my tender flesh, followed by another and another until at long last, I finally made a sound. I whimpered and I hated that I did.

Then the spanking got harder and my pledge to remain quiet and just take it quickly fell to the wayside. I lost control and I

made another sound of distress.

I cried out as his palm punished my naked backside. I forgot all about the shameful display I was putting on as I tried to twist side to side. I kicked my legs, vaguely aware that I was giving the audience far more of a show than I wanted. He painted my backside with his cruel palm, making sure that he punished from the tops of my cheeks down to the lower curve of my bottom. It stung far more fiercely when he focused on that small area and I quickly found myself pleading for his mercy.

I found none.

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