Chapter 4
Laura
Hank released me from the bench and told me gruffly to pull up my jeans and panties.
As I obeyed, my eyes found the linoleum of the floor and stayed there; I couldn’t have looked the orderly in the eye for a million dollars.
I followed him back through the corridors, each step sending pain radiating across my welted bottom.
Through the thin fabric of my panties the denim of my jeans rubbed against the marks with every movement, making me wince.
I kept my eyes down, watching my untied sneakers shuffle across the polished floor.
When we emerged back into the courtyard, I heard sounds that made me freeze. Breathy moans. A man’s encouraging voice.
“That’s it,” Mark was saying. “Fingers inside your pussy… just like that. Every potential sponsor is going to love watching you pleasure yourself for him.”
My eyes lifted despite myself. Another girl—probably my age, maybe a year or two older—sat perched on a decorative tree branch that was part of the outdoor set.
She wore a black lace thong that on its own would have left almost nothing to the imagination, and she had pulled its gusset aside with one hand.
Her other hand was attending to her pussy, moving in slow circles while Mark’s camera clicked steadily.
“Beautiful,” Mark said. “Now arch your back a little more. Show me how much you need it.”
The girl complied, her head falling back, her lips parting. She looked… god, she looked like she was actually enjoying this. Like she wanted to be doing it.
I couldn’t watch. I dropped my gaze back to the ground, my face burning even hotter than it had already been after being punished by the orderly.
The sounds continued—the camera clicks, Mark’s low encouragement, the girl’s soft gasps—and I stood there next to the man who had just punished me, wanting to disappear.
“Perfect,” Mark finally said. “That’s a wrap. Your profile is going to get excellent engagement.”
I heard rustling as the girl presumably gathered her things. Footsteps approached, but I kept my eyes fixed downward as she passed us. I caught a glimpse of her legs, bare beneath a short skirt she must have pulled on over the lingerie.
“Good luck,” she said softly, and I realized with a jolt that she was talking to me.
I couldn’t respond. Couldn’t even look up. The footsteps continued past, and then she was gone.
“Alright, Laura,” Mark said, his voice all business again.
“Let’s try this again. Strip down to your underwear.
We’ll get a few shots that way before I have you take your panties down so we can see that you had to learn a lesson today.
Your potential sponsors deserve to see what they might be paying for. ”
My hands went to the hem of my hoodie, and this time I didn’t hesitate.
The memory of the cane was too fresh, the welts across my bottom still screaming with every movement.
I pulled the hoodie over my head, then fumbled with my jeans.
Getting them down over my aching bottom made me hiss with pain, but I managed it.
I stood there in just my bra and panties, my arms wanting desperately to cross over my body but not quite daring to.
Mark glanced at his tablet, then looked up at me with an expression I couldn’t quite read.
“Interesting,” he said, tapping the screen. “The data from your perineal sensor shows your arousal response during the punishment was… remarkable. Off the charts, really.”
My face flamed so hot I thought I might actually catch fire. He could see that? He knew?
“Look,” Mark continued, his tone pragmatic, “certain aspects of this shoot are up to you. But I think you’d get excellent results if you showed prospective sponsors just how well you respond to strict discipline.
” He gestured toward where the other girl had been.
“I’m sure you were watching. It’s not compulsory, but you should think about whether you want to play with yourself for the camera. ”
The words hit me like a physical blow. My mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out.
“What…” I finally managed, my voice barely a whisper. “What exactly is compulsory?”
Mark consulted his tablet again. “For the premium program, you’ll need to at least take your panties down and show your nipples. That’s the minimum to qualify for the placement tier you applied for.”
The thought of taking my panties down, of showing my bare breasts, sent a confusing mixture of shame and heat coursing through me. I could feel myself getting wet again, my body betraying me just like it had on that horrible bench.
“I’d like to do the minimum,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady, trying to sound like I had some control over this situation even though we both knew I didn’t.
Mark sighed. “I have a whole suitcase of lingerie that would help you present yourself properly. Help you get in the mood. You’d look much better in—”
“No,” I interrupted. “Just… the minimum. Please.”
He looked exasperated but didn’t argue further. “Fine. Stand on that mark there.” He pointed to a piece of tape on the floor near the tree branch.
I moved to where he indicated, and he began positioning me. Turn this way. Lift your chin. Hands at your sides. Each instruction came with small adjustments, his hands impersonal as he angled my shoulders or tilted my head. The camera clicked steadily.
“Now the bra,” he said after a few minutes.
My hands trembled as I reached back to unhook it. The fabric fell away, and I had to force myself not to cover my breasts with my hands. The afternoon air felt cool against my nipples, making them harden immediately. More clicks from the camera.
“Good. Now turn to the side. Profile shot.”
I obeyed, my whole body burning with humiliation. But underneath the shame, that terrible heat continued to build below my belly.
“Alright, now I want you to bend over the tree branch. Face away from me. Look back at me over your shoulder.”
I bent forward, gripping the rough bark of the branch, and twisted my head to look back at him. The position made my bottom stick out, and I knew the welts from the cane had to be visible through the thin fabric of my panties.
“Perfect,” Mark said, the camera clicking. “Now hook your thumbs in your panties and pull them down. Slowly. Just to your knees.”
My hands moved as if they belonged to someone else. I hooked my thumbs into the waistband and began to slide the fabric down over my hips. The cotton caught a bit on the raised welts, sending sharp stings of pain through me that somehow twisted into that shameful heat coiling in my belly.
The panties slid down my thighs, and suddenly I was completely bare from the waist down again. The afternoon air kissed my freshly shaved pussy, and I felt so exposed, so vulnerable, that reality seemed to warp around me. This couldn’t be happening. This had to be a dream.
“Beautiful,” Mark murmured. “Now reach back and touch the welts. Show me where it hurts.”
My hand moved without conscious thought, my fingers finding the raised lines across my bottom. The moment I made contact, my pussy clenched so hard I couldn’t stop the whimper that escaped my throat.
“That’s it,” Mark said, his voice low and encouraging. “Bend further. Press your chest against the branch.”
I obeyed, folding myself over the rough bark until my breasts pressed against it, my bottom raised even higher. The position spread me open, and I knew—god, I knew—that he could see everything. My bare pussy, glistening with arousal. The welts. All of it.
“I can tell how badly you need to touch yourself,” Mark said, still clicking away with the camera. “Are you sure you don’t want to?”
The question hung in the air. I should say no. I should maintain what little dignity I had left. But my hand was already sliding down from the welts, moving lower, seeking the aching heat between my legs.
“That’s a good girl,” Mark said as my fingers found my clit. “Show me how a naughty girl pleasures herself.”
I couldn’t stop. My fingers moved in slow circles, and a moan escaped my lips before I could bite it back. The humiliation of what I was doing—masturbating for a stranger’s camera, bent over a tree branch with my punished bottom on display—only made me wetter.
“You’re going to find out what happens to naughty girls like you,” Mark continued, his voice taking on a darker edge. “How wealthy men like to fuck tight little pussies. How they’ll bend you over just like this and use you whenever they want.”
The words sent me spiraling. My fingers moved faster, my hips rocking against my hand. I was panting now, shameless, lost in the sensation.
“That’s it. Come for the camera. Your sponsor’s going to love taking your virginity.”
My breath came in ragged pants. My fingers moved faster and faster no matter how hard I tried to pull my hand away.
“And that ass,” Mark said, his voice almost conversational now. “God, that’s irresistible. Your sponsor is going to make you take his cock there often. Very often.”
The words sent a jolt of shameful electricity through me. My fingers kept moving, but my mind reeled at the image his words conjured—being taken there, in that forbidden place the nurse had examined with the speculum.
“When he wants to use your bottom and you refuse,” Mark continued, still clicking away with his camera, “he’ll spank you over his knee until you’re crying and begging him to fuck your ass instead of spanking you anymore.”
The image crystallized in my mind with devastating clarity—bent over some wealthy stranger’s lap, my bottom already sore from his hand, pleading with him to take me there just to make the spanking stop. The humiliation of it, the surrender, the complete loss of control—
My orgasm crashed over me before I could stop it. I cried out, my whole body convulsing as pleasure ripped through me in waves. My fingers kept moving, drawing it out, making it last until I was trembling and gasping against the rough bark of the tree branch.
The camera never stopped clicking.
“Excellent,” Mark said after a moment. “That footage is going to get you a top-tier sponsor, no question.”
I stayed bent over the branch, my chest heaving, my face burning with the aftermath of what I’d just done. The welts on my bottom throbbed in time with my racing pulse. My pussy still clenched with aftershocks.
“You can get dressed,” Mark said, already checking his tablet as if to prepare for the next girl. “You need to see Ann, the intake counselor. She’s in Building C, second floor. Reception will direct you.”
I straightened slowly, every muscle protesting.
My panties were still around my knees, and I had to bend down to pull them up—a movement that sent fresh pain radiating across my welted bottom.
My bra lay in the grass where I’d dropped it.
I picked it up with shaking hands and fastened it, then pulled on my jeans and hoodie.
Mark was already walking away toward his camera bag in a shady corner, like I was just another item checked off his to-do list.
I stood there for a moment, trying to process what had just happened.
What I’d just done. I’d masturbated to orgasm in front of a stranger’s camera.
I’d gotten aroused from being caned. The evidence of my shame was all captured on video, ready to be viewed by wealthy men shopping for a submissive girl to use.
My legs felt unsteady as I made my way back inside. The receptionist looked up as I approached.
“Building C,” I managed to say. “Second floor. Ann?”
She studied me for a moment, and I wondered what she saw. Could she tell what I’d just done? Could she see it written on my flushed face?
“Down that corridor to the left. Elevator on your right.”