Self Discipline -- It was harsh punishment but it lead her to him...
Storyline:
She had done some pretty bad stuff. But the courts were willing to be lenient. She could volunteer for a year of self imposed punishment. Or she could go to the women's prison and probably wind up the cell block fuck toy. But then she never would have met the man of her dreams...
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For those who don't mind getting a little behind in their stories...
* * * * * * *
* * * * * * * Daylight at the end of the tunnel...
She waited for the pain and burning in her butt to settle down. Her ass was on fire. She felt the pain down to her bones. She knew without having to look that it was covered in welts and bruises. It felt like a piece of meat that had been properly tenderized by a very experienced chef. She wasn't sure it would ever feel right again.
There was some political movement to stop the program she had chosen. Some wanted to outlaw all forms of corporal punishment. Still, it did have good results for some, even if it seemed barbaric. So far as she was concerned it beat the alternative. She could have spent the year in some prison with a bunch of horny, nasty women who would have passed her around as their fuck toy. She shuddered at the thought.
Tears rolled down her cheeks. Her whole body was beginning to shake. All of the sessions had been bad. But none like this one. She almost wished her ass would fall off so she could get away from the pain. Only 50 more strokes to go and she would be free. Or would she...
Her mind wandered back to how she had wound up in this position. She had done some pretty horrible things. Because it was her first offense they were willing to show her some leniency. To avoid worse punishment she had agreed to a self discipline session once a week for a year. It was self discipline because she had to voluntarily show up and push the button that was to deliver each stroke. One hundred strokes a week on her bare ass. If she failed to comply she would be sent to jail where she would probably be subjected to things she didn't even want to think about.
A hundred strokes a week may not sound like a lot. But each one of them was delivered with maximum effect. The first few weeks were not so bad. But after the first month she was in constant pain that kept going deeper and deeper into her flesh. The everyday things like sitting and relieving herself had become an ordeal.
By the sixth month she was almost ready to give up. It would have meant going to the prison to finish out her term. Thoughts of what she might have to deal with there kept her coming back and sticking her ass in the air. It was also about that time that something important changed.
The original machine that delivered the strokes wasn't just some mechanical apparatus. It had a computer brain and sensors that could tell if each stroke had been administered properly. It also monitored her vitals to make sure that she didn't get too much and become ill. Still, it made sure that each stroke was correctly delivered for maximum effect. It had been very efficient at its job. She remembered every stroke well!
In an effort to become a kinder and gentler society they had transferred that same programming to an android. It had unnerved her the first time she saw it -- him. He was mechanically polite but not warm. He was clinical. But over time he had been made more human, gentler. He still did his job efficiently. But now he did it with some artificial version of compassion. In an odd way it -- he - had become a kind of friend.
Her trembling hand reached for the button. At least she had been spared the indignity of having to ask for each stroke. She needed to keep whatever little dignity she felt she had left. Being butt naked, face down and ass up while you are being severely beaten by an android -- and a male one at that - didn't leave much room for dignity.
She hesitated for a few seconds as she mentally prepared herself for what was coming. She knew it would hurt like hell. She quickly pressed the button. The green light came on that indicated she was ready. She braced herself. The sounds of the leather strap as it whistled through the air made her close her eyes and clench her fists. Her butt muscles tensed as much as they could in her position.
The strap made contact with her already brutalized flesh in a sound that hurt her ears as well as her ass. It took a fraction of a second for the pain to sear its way to her brain. Her head flew up, tossing her hair in a spray over her shoulders. She let out a cry. More tears streamed from her eyes. The burning raced along every nerve in her body. Her butt muscles twitched and danced from the punishment they were receiving.
Her breathing got heavier. She tried not to think about the wetness that was running down her thighs. She knew it wasn't blood because he would have stopped the session if it was. But it wasn't all sweat either. Her pussy had betrayed her. The little dignity she had left was slowly fading away.
"Good" said Stan (her nickname for it - him). "You're almost there. You have taken this so well. I am proud of you, Diane." His voice was strangely soothing.
"Thank you Stan" she whispered.
"You're welcome Diane. I know you are in a lot of pain but this will soon be over and be just a bad memory before you know it."
She almost laughed. "It will be a bad memory, Stan. But I don't think it will be soon. It'll probably take months before my ass feels right again. I have forgotten how it feels to sit without pain..." Just passing wind can make my eyes water, she thought to herself.
"Perhaps I will be able to help you with that" he said softly. "But we can talk about that later."
She reached for the button again. Only 49 more strokes to go, she told herself. She pressed the button. Yes, it will be a long time before I will be able to sit comfortably, she thought just before the leather welted her ass again.
"Ahhhhhhhhh!!!!" she cried as more tears streamed down her face. She closed her eyes tightly as she reached deep inside to find the strength to finish her session. Soon, she told herself, soon. Only 48 more strokes to go. She barely heard Stan's encouraging words.
For the next hour there was a steady round of the sound of the strap as it whistled through the air and connected with her ass. Diane would cry out. Stan would try to console her.
They were down to the last twenty. Stan crouched down so he could look into her eyes. Even with her tear streaked face and sweat matted hair she looked beautiful to him. He had come to appreciate seeing her from every angle.
"Almost there Diane" he said as he brushed the hair off her face.
She made a feeble attempt at a smile and nodded. A little twinkle appeared in her eyes, even through the pain. She was sure her ass would never feel right again.
"Diane" he said softly. "I have the authority, at my discretion, to suspend the rest of your strokes or at least go lighter with you."
Her eyes widened. No one had ever even hinted at that possibility!
"But I am not going to" he said before she could speak.
Diane was bewildered. "Why not!?" It was barely a whisper.
"Because I don't think you want me to. Not deep down inside. I know the pain is almost unbearable. But I know you can take more." He was looking deeply into her eyes with a look that unnerved her. "But it is not your ass I'm talking about. It is your heart. You want all of this. I know you don't want me to spare the rod..."
She was definitely surprised. How did he know? Yes, every nerve in her body wanted the pain to end. But there was another part. Over the year it had become clear to her that at some deep level she wanted this punishment -- she even needed it to feel whole sometimes. It was like a cleansing. But how did he know?
He smiled at her. "Last twenty. Are you ready?" he asked gently as he removed more of the hair that was matted to her forehead.
She nodded.
"Good girl." He stroked her hair gently, affectionately. Then he took his position behind her and waited for the green light. It came soon.
Stan gave the last twenty strokes in a more calculated manner than he ever had. He wanted Diane to get the best he had to offer. He definitely did not spare the rod. But he watched carefully to be sure that she received maximum pain with minimal, hopefully no, permanent injury. She cried out loudly with each stroke. But she continued to press the button even though it took a little longer each time.
