Reward

(***, F/F, Severe, non-consensual paddling)

A cruel paddling in a prison. (Approximately 1,376 words. Originally published 2020-05.)

"Next!" called the matron. Though gray-haired, she had an iron jaw, a rigid back, and was full of wiry strength. In her right hand she held a flat oak board half a meter long. It was ominously thick and terrifying, but the girl who stepped forward showed no emotion as she calmly stripped off her beige prison uniform.

She was taller than matron, her athletic body lean and lithe. Her buttocks were broad, full jutting ovals of healthy firmness and resilience. Her tawny skin was pale and smooth. She presented herself upright, rump to the woman, and said nothing. Her rear cheeks pressed together forming a thin dark line between them, widening slightly as it dipped between the gap of her thighs.

"You've been behaving yourself, Perkins," said the matron, studying her chart. "No reports this week."

"Yes ma'am."

"Must be a mistake. You're always on report for something. Last week it was three. You must have done something."

"No, ma'am. I was... good, ma'am."

"I don't believe it. I'm putting you down for two," said the woman sternly. "Five each. Plus your weekly ten."

There was only the slightest hesitation from the girl, who grunted. "Y-yes ma'am."

Her face was hard and impassive, jaw locked, her eyes cold. If she was upset, it was difficult to tell. She'd worked hard the past seven days to avoid trouble. In this place, that was almost impossible, yet she'd managed. Her reward was punishment. Unfair, but that was life here.

The was a blur of movement. Oak thumped in hard across the bulging orbs. They flattened, crushed by the impact. The sound was that of thunder, a roar of air and slap.

When the paddle retreated, it left behind a rectangular imprint, pink and hot. The cheeks bobbled, twitched, and slowly stilled. Fiery sting shot through the girl who remained impassive, only her muscles tensing at the pain.

Another swing, the placement lower and hitting more on the right side. The cheek burned. The girl grunted, her body jerking with the hit. She said nothing.

A third and then a fourth. After five, the white expanse of buttocks bore a series of overlapping rectangles of various shades of scarlet. Tears trickled down the face of the inmate, who struggled to hold her hands at bay and keep her bottom obediently relaxed.

More spanks followed, the matron an expert at delivering maximum sting for minimal effort. She let the heavy wood do most of the work, gravity and momentum providing much of the searing heat. At each solid whack the girl's body rocked, her butt jiggling, its reddened flesh growing more crimson by the second.

The standard ten was hardly considered punishment in a place like this. It was a beginning, not an end. Yet to a tender schoolgirl -- and that's what this girl was, technically still a teenager -- this was severity unlike anything she'd known in school. Already her bottom sizzled with fire-red bruises, her skin flaming as though a lit candle had charred her rotund bottom flesh.

The oak continued to punish, however, imparting blisters on top of blisters. She cried out now, unable to hold her yelps and moans. She wiggled, writhing and twisting her hips, careful to keep her feet planted and her hands clear of the line of fire, but moving as much as she dared simply because she could no longer stand still and endure such awful agony.

This brought a smile to the face of the matron, except her lips didn't move and her expression didn't change. It was an internal grin, a secret satisfaction that the woman enjoyed. She loved making the girls squirm. That was her goal in life. Stoicism was a requirement here, but it such joy to see a tormented girl broken and whimpering, pushed beyond her endurance.

Soon the girl was dancing like a puppet on a string. Her limbs jerked, she twitched and wiggled, while behind, her buttocks steamed as the wood thumped and smacked and crashed into soft feminine flesh. The cheeks were almost bloody with vivid crimson coloring, yet still the paddle struck with no more mercy than the wood itself would grant. The matron was as grim as death and swung her board with righteous conviction.

"Ooh ahhh!" yelped the girl, fresh sobs emerging from her throat to join the sounds of her tears. She staggered, hot pain flooding her rump and flowing through her loins, torso, and being.

The matron pressed ahead. They were near the 20 but she didn't care. She made the rules here and who could complain? Her charges were liars and thieves. No one would believe this girl if she said the matron gave her 21 instead of 20.

An extra lick or two was all the woman needed. When the intensity was too great, the girl slipped, one foot rising off the pads as she howled in anguish.

The tiger pounced. "A violation!" cried the matron triumphantly. "That's five extra."

The girl sobbed, her head drooping. She wasn't prepared for the awful correction that came, the oak striking low and actually lifting her body upward. Her feet shifted as she struggled to hold her position.

"Another violation and another five penalty swats," crowed the matron. The girl let out a disparing sob.

The paddle worked its magic, transforming pretty white cheeks into roasted red rump. The girl wept nonstop, her cries increasing momentarily with each fresh whack.

As the count approached 30, severe even for this place, her struggles increased so much that sweat dripped from her brow and her skin gleamed. All her muscles were as tense as piano wires, holding on the final few blistering blows.

The matron, concentrating as hard as the girl, but for the opposite purpose, aimed and swung. Now she put serious effort into the swings, eager to cause the girl to move and extend the spanking by a few more smacks.

At stroke 29, she succeeded, her lips twisting into a grin as she called out another five-lick penalty. The girl's entire being seemed to slump, though she remained obediently in position. She was too well-trained to fall for that mistake. She had in the past and the consequences made this weekly beating seem like a birthday party.

The matron swung harder now, faster, the wood pressing aside the air and bursting upon the cherry-red buttocks with a vigor that nearly toppled the girl. She had to brace herself and work to thrust her sore, blistered butt out toward the paddle, welcoming the agony, in order to spare herself additional penalties.

This time she survived the onslaught. Though her ass was burned to a crisp, every inch blasted raw, so purple it hurt the eyes and twisted the stomach of any caring person, she managed to stay still and accept the searing swats.

The matron didn't mind. She put down the paddle, satisfied she'd imparted her message. The girl would remember this spanking for a while. A few weeks, perhaps a month, and then she'd need another reminder.

Inmates were bad girls and needed to be punished. It didn't matter if she behaved herself or not. That was just an excuse. She was here to be tortured, to be reformed, to suffer. She'd made her mistakes and this was her due. This one was lucky. She was strong and young with a healthy body, and her sentence was only two years. It would be extended, of course, at least six months or maybe a year for some made-up offense like fighting or rebellion. It would happen at the last minute, just a day before her release. That was the best way to crush a girl's spirit. Let her think she'd almost escaped, then bring her back inside for another spanking.

The matron could hardly wait. Their expressions of woe were always so heart-breaking. This one, who acted so tough, would be especially enjoyable. She watched as the girl slowly dressed, wincing at every movement, her bitter tears still flowing. She exited, walking as though her bare feet were on a hot griddle.

"Next!" the matron cried, picking up her paddle and watching as another victim, young and pretty and trembling, made her way into the punishment room.

The End