Crack!
“Unngrrng!”
Ilya felt the first impact as a shock. The gasp of surprise flew out of her with the blow.
Crack!
Expecting it, Ilya managed to take the second blow without a sound. They stung, but oddly so. The impacts felt wide and broad on her bare ass, but only the edges of the impact zone felt painful. The rest felt solid, like a thump–almost comfortable.
Whud!
This one struck her in the lower back. Again the initial impact felt heavy, almost nice, then rapidly blossomed into painful fire around the edges. “Grrrlngrl!” It was humiliating to have her cries garbled, as if even bravely enduring pain was being denied her. She was a slave, suffering exactly what and how her masters wanted her to suffer. They had full control of her.
Thwack!
This one struck across her left butt cheek and Ilya felt her entire ass jiggle and quiver. The bells on her pierced nipples rang out clearly. “Unngngrl.”
The pattern continued: smack, tinkle, moan; smack, tinkle, moan; smack, tinkle, moan. Anticipating each blow, Ilya moved as far foward as she could; but this only succeeded in thrusting her naked body at her captors seated at Mistress’ table in a kind of lewd gesture.
Reya targeted most of her blows on her submissive’s supple ass, evidently enjoying the way it shook with each accurate strike. At first, Sebastian would wiggle and squirm after each impact, as if somehow he could avoid the next. Soon, though, he remained still and submitted in stillness to the succession of blows.
He did not submit in silence, though. Each hit produced a gagged moan that was half pain, half pleasure. Emma watched intently, her breathing shallow, her thighs grinding slightly together. Behind her, Yuna watched Emma’s reactions closely, a naughty, excited gleam in her eyes.
The doors to the chamber opened and a cart rolled in, laden with food. Feeling like she’d been caught in an embarrassing sex act, Ilya glanced over in shameful panic. The servants in aprons and chef’s hats pushing the cart froze, equally ashamed, their eyes glued to the naked girl bound and gagged in the middle of the room.
Crack!
Ding, ding, ding!
“Unnnggg!”
The pain in her back and ass was getting more intense as more blows fell on previously struck flesh. She squirmed and writhed but to no effect except the entertainment of her masters. Her naked body was a helpless, bare target.
The kitchen staff remained frozen in place, watching the kinky spectacle.
“Zinny!” Indigo’s voice cut through the repetitive, hypnotic pattern of leather strands striking bare flesh, followed by pitiful, gagged moaning. Another tinkling sound–different in pitch and timbre from Illya’s nipple bells–sounded from the far end of the vast chamber. From beyond a dividing line of red drapes a little gnome girl dressed in button-up white shirt over green, pleated skirt came running. A little metal disk jingled at her throat.
“Yes, mommy?” Zinny asked. Then, registering the guests and Indigo’s disapproving look, corrected, “Yes, Master?”
“Set the table so these good servants can return to the kitchens. We’ve had a little difficulty with our slave for the evening.” Indigo’s voice was paternalistic–a parent speaking to a child.
Suddenly, Zinny took in Ilya, bound naked and stretched tightly between the ceiling and the floor, a black bit wedged in her mouth. They locked eyes for a moment.
Thwud!
Tinkle, tinkle.
“Unnnnggggg!!”
Zinny’s eyes went wide as saucers.
“Zinny!” Indigo said in a lilting voice, like calling a dog’s attention with treats. Zinny’s gaze snapped back to her master. “That’s a good girl. Now, the food, please?” Then, in a cold tone to the servants, eyes still glued to the naked girl being whipped in the center of the room, she said, “You may leave.” They quickly departed, closing the door behind them.
To her astonishment, Ilya watched as Zinny flicked her hand lazily and, one by one, the plates of roasted meat and vegetables on the cart rose of their own accord into the air, soared gracefully, and landed without incident on the table in front of the guests.
I: Can someone make a perception check at disadvantage for Sebastian? He’s a little tied up right now.
Em: I’m on it! [Rolls. Checks Ilya’s character sheet.] That’s a 4.
I: Mmhmm. Like I said, a little too tied up to notice.
She might have thought more of it had not her attention in that moment primarily been absorbed by the experience of having her naked, bound body flogged in front of an intimate group of onlookers.
“So, as I was saying before I was so inexcusably interrupted,” Indigo said, her voice back to a confident, nonchalant drawl, “we’ll have your possessions back in no time.”
The conversation continued, utterly ignoring her pathetic moans, the rhythmic impact of the flogger against her flesh, but Ilya couldn’t follow what they said. It sounded like boring table banter between rich elites–complaining about this or that and mocking everyone but themselves in the process.
In the meantime, Ilya’s world was the regular, heavy thud of leather on her body, followed almost instantly by a bloom of iridescent pain around the borders of the impact. As the flogging continued, her skin became more sensitive and sore and the pain grew more and more intense. Her gagged moans, which had begun as expressions of surprise and protest, soon turned to begging and pleading. The pain, while sharp and awful, was far from unbearable. But the relentless nature of it made her desperate. Worst of all, Ilya began to sense that it would go on unless and until her Mistress intervened. If so, she had every reason to swallow her pride and abjectly beg her Mistress for mercy, to make a public show of having been thoroughly punished and chastised.
I have to make myself her toy, her thing, Ilya told herself in an attempt to find some measure of personal control in a helpless situation.
I have to play her game by her rules. If I willingly submit myself to her, things will go better for me, a quiet, small voice inside her solemnly intoned.
“Alright, Seb,” Ingrid interjects. “I know you can’t roll, but I need you to make a choice for me. One that will determine where this goes for Ilya.”
“Rrnggllmmmrllng.”
“Yes, I know you’re gagged, darling,” Ingrid replies as Reya continues her flogging unabated. “I want you to think how Ilya would respond in this moment. Does she choose the safe route and try to make herself small enough to survive? Does she submit fully to her new Mistress?”
Ingrid pauses and in the silence another blow lands on Sebastian’s left butt cheek. It jiggles while Sebastian moans in delight.
“Or, on the other hand, does Ilya fight back against the small voice, the urge to become small to survive? Does she fight back?”
Smack.
“Rrrnnggg.”
“Give me one short, gagged grunt if she goes with the little voice; two grunts if she resists it.”
A long pause. Whack! “Rrllnnggg.”
Sebastian’s friends sit perfectly still, waiting silently to hear his choice.
Then, two clear grunts.
Thwump. “Mmmrnnngg.”
Sebastian’s ass is bright red by now, making Emma giggle in embarrassed sympathy. But, lost in the throes of the scene–and facing the wrong direction–Sebastian misses the shared looks and warm grins and smiles that pass between his friends. Silus reaches out and grips Ingrid’s shoulder.