Say nothing

I wanted a scene where she is made to strip while he is fully dressed, sleeves rolled up and he uses his belt to punish her. At first she thinks she can handle it but as they proceed with the punishment the intensity is more than she expected. She is made to count and if she misses counting a strike, they start over. She cannot delay the count of miss it. And around the 7th strike she sobs and misses the count so he says we gotta start from the scratch once again in a cold detached tone to show that when it comes to the scene, he isn't soft and pliable. He is a true dominant. Her position makes her feel exposed as she bends over forward exposing her back to him. He threatens that if fails to hold the position or moves her hands to cover herself he will tie her down and the punishment will be ruthless. Seeing him fully clothed while she is made to hold the position fully stripped makes her feel ashamed adding to her humiliation. Yes, she is crying steadily as the pain limit is pushed with each strike and he notices how she flinches slightly before the strike lands, her soft sobs, gasps as it lands on her bare skin, and not being allowed to rub the spot to soothe the pain adds to her humiliation and vulnerability

The room was stark, the air thick with tension. She stood before him. A tall desk stood to his side, only milk in a glass and a belt thrown on top. His sleeves were rolled up, the first few buttons of his shirt undone, exposing a hint of chest hair. She was naked, her skin already flushed with a mixture of embarrassment and anticipation. "You know the rules," he said, his voice steady, eyes locked onto hers. "Bend over the desk. Hands flat, ass up. You move, you cover yourself, we start over. And if I have to tie you down, it gets worse." She complied, her body trembling slightly as she leaned over the polished wood. Her breathing hitched as she felt the cool air hit her exposed flesh. He picked up the belt, the leather sliding through his fingers with a soft sigh. "Count," he commanded, his voice firm. The first strike landed with a sharp crack, the leather biting into her flesh. She gasped, her body flinching. "One," she managed to say, her voice already shaky. He didn't pause, the next strike landing swiftly. "Two," she cried out, her fingers digging into the desk. The pain was sharper than she expected, each strike pushing her limits. She tried to brace herself, but the flinch was involuntary, her body's instinct to protect itself. By the seventh strike, she was sobbing, her body jerking with each landing. "Seven," she choked out, but the next strike came before she could finish. She missed the count, her body wracked with sobs. "Start over," he said, his voice cold and detached. She looked back at him, tears streaming down her face, but he showed no mercy. " Position. Now." She pushed back into position, her body shaking. He started the count again, his strikes landing with precision. She counted aloud, her voice breaking with each word. He watched her, noting the way she flinched, how her soft sobs turned into gasps with each strike. He made no move to comfort her, his expression unyielding. She was exposed and vulnerable, her body on full display, humiliation and pain etched onto every line of her body. He watched her, noting the broken rhythm of her breathing, the tenseness in her every muscle, the way her naked body trembled like a leaf in the storm.

She knew better than to delay, her position already precarious. Her breasts pressed against the cold desk, nipples hard from the chill and her arousal. She could feel her wetness, her body betraying her even as tears streaked her cheeks. She gripped the desk edge tighter, knuckles white, as she felt him shift behind her. The belt whispered through the air, a soft, menacing sigh. She tensed, braced for the impact. It landed with a brutal crack, the leather biting into the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. She screamed, "One!" Her body jerked forward, but she forced herself back into position. The next strike followed immediately, landing on her other thigh. "Two!" she cried out, her voice hoarse. He moved higher, the belt landing on her ass, the pain exploding across her skin. "Three!" She panted, her body shaking. He struck again, the belt leaving a hot, stinging trail. "Four!" She was sobbing openly now, her body convulsing with each strike. He paused, his hand rubbing the welts he'd raised. She could feel the heat, the throb of pain. His touch was rough, possessive, a stark contrast to the gentleness she craved. He moved back, the belt whistling through the air again. "Five!" she screamed as it landed on her lower back. She could feel the marks, the raised, fiery lines. He struck again, the belt catching her just below her ass. "Six!" She was a mess of tears and snot, her body wracked with sobs. The next strike was the hardest yet, landing across both ass cheeks. She screamed, her body bucking, but she managed to gasp out, "Seven!" She was panting, her body shaking, but she held her position, waiting for the next strike. She could feel him behind her, his breath hot on her back. She braced herself, but instead of the belt, she felt his hand, rubbing her ass, his fingers dipping lower, tracing the wetness between her legs. She shuddered, her body betraying her once again. He chuckled, a low, dark sound. "Good girl," he murmured, his fingers probing, teasing. She could feel her body responding, her hips moving of their own accord. But she held her position, her body trembling with the effort. His fingers withdrew, leaving her empty, aching. She heard the belt again, the soft sigh as it slid through his fingers and she shuddered. But she didn’t flinch. She didn’t dare. She cried out as the belt landed, each lash of the belt making her ache for more, the intensity of the pain overwhelming her senses. She could feel her body tensing, her muscles clenching as she waited for the next strike, her pussy throbbing, aching for something to fill the void. His fingers danced around her clit, soaking up the slickness that dripped down her thighs. But she couldn’t move, couldn’t shift, couldn’t rub herself against his hand. Still he tormented her. His fingers dipped lower, sliding into her wetness, fucking her slowly, torturously. She groaned, her body shaking, her breath coming in ragged gasps. He struck her again, the belt landing on her thighs, the pain blending with the pleasure, her body convulsing. She cried out, "Eight!" Her body was a mess of contradictions, pain and pleasure, humiliation and arousal. Tears streaked her face, her body shaking with sobs and laughter, her mind spinning, lost in the storm of sensation. She could barely count, her voice breaking with each word, her body bucking with each strike. But she held her position, her body open, exposed, vulnerable. She was his, completely and utterly, her body responding to his every touch, his every command. She was lost in the storm, drowning in the sensations, her body aching, her mind spinning, her soul laid bare.

She had nothing to hold onto, nothing to grasp, nothing to distract from the pain. The room spun, her vision blurring with tears and snot. She couldn't catch her breath, her body heaving with sobs and gasps. Her mind screamed at her to move, to escape, but her body refused, held in place by a mix of fear and dark, twisted desire. "I can't," she cried out, her voice raw, her body shaking. "It hurts too much." "You can," he replied, his voice firm, unyielding. "You will." The belt whispered through the air, a chilling sound that made her flinch even before it landed. It cracked across her ass, the pain exploding across her skin, a fiery, agonizing heat. "Nine!" she screamed, her body jerking forward, her hands slipping on the desk. He paused, giving her a moment to regain her composure. She panted, her breath coming in ragged gasps, her body trembling. She could feel the welts, raised and hot, pulsing with pain. Her ass was on fire, her thighs throbbing, her lower back aching. She could feel the marks, the raised, fiery lines, each one a testament to his control, her submission. He struck again. The leather bit into her flesh, the pain intense, blinding. She screamed, "Ten!" Her body convulsed, her muscles clenching, her pussy throbbing, aching for something, anything to fill the void. But there was nothing, just the pain, the relentless, agonizing pain. Her mind was a whirlwind of confusion, her body screaming for release, her mind screaming for escape. She couldn't tell if she liked this, if she wanted more, if she wanted to run. She was lost, drowning in a sea of sensation, her body and mind at war. Another strike, the belt landing on her thighs, the pain blending with the pleasure, her body convulsing. She cried out, a raw, primal sound, her voice breaking with each word. She couldn't count, couldn't think, couldn't do anything but feel. The pain was everywhere, in her ass, in her thighs, in her lower back, a fiery, agonizing heat that consumed her. She could feel her body responding, her hips moving of their own accord, her pussy throbbing, aching for his touch. But there was none, just the belt, the relentless, agonizing belt. "Please," she cried out, her voice a desperate, pleading sound. "Please, I can't take anymore." "You can," he replied, his voice cold, detached. "You will." The belt whispered through the air again, a chilling sound that made her flinch even before it landed. She braced herself, her body tensing, her muscles clenching. But the strike never came. Instead, she felt his hand, rubbing her ass, his fingers dipping lower, tracing the wetness between her legs. She shuddered, her body betraying her once again. Her mind screamed at her to push him away, to run, to escape. But her body refused, her hips moving of their own accord, her pussy throbbing, aching for his touch. She was lost, drowning in a sea of sensation, her body and mind at war. She didn't know if she liked this, if she wanted more, if she wanted to run. All she knew was the pain, the relentless, agonizing pain, and the twisted, dark desire that came with it. She couldn't think, couldn't breathe, couldn't do anything but feel. And she felt it all, every strike, every touch, every sensation, every contradiction. She was his, completely and utterly, her body responding to his every touch, his every command. She was lost in the storm, drowning in the sensations, her body aching, her mind spinning, her soul laid bare. And she didn't know if she liked it or hated it. All she knew was that she couldn't stop, couldn't escape, couldn't do anything but feel. And so she did, she felt it all, every strike, every touch, every sensation, every contradiction. She felt it all, and she screamed.

She felt his fingers, wet with her arousal, trace the lines of the welts he'd raised. He chuckled, a dark, mocking sound. "Look at you," he sneered. "Pathetic. Begging for more, even as you scream in pain." He grabbed a handful of her hair, forcing her head back. She could feel the strain in her neck, the vulnerability of her position. He leaned down, his breath hot on her ear. "Say it," he growled. "Say you're a pathetic little slut who loves this." She hesitated, her mind screaming at her to refuse. But her body betrayed her, her hips arching back, seeking his touch. He tugged her hair, a sharp, painful pull. "Say it," he repeated, his voice a low, dangerous growl. "I...I'm a pathetic little slut," she stammered, her voice barely a whisper. She could feel the humiliation, the shame, burning in her cheeks. But there was something else, something dark and twisted, something that made her pussy throb, her body ache for more. He released her hair, his hand sliding down her back, tracing the curve of her spine. "Good girl," he murmured, his voice a stark contrast to his earlier tone. She could feel his pleasure, his satisfaction, in her submission. It fueled her, drove her, made her want to give him more. He moved back, the belt whispering through the air again. She braced herself, her body tensing, her muscles clenching. But she knew, deep down, that she wanted this. She wanted the pain, the humiliation, the dark, twisted desire. She wanted it all. And she wanted to give it to him. She was his, completely and utterly, her body responding to his every touch, his every command. And she knew, as the belt landed, the pain exploding across her skin, that she would do anything for him. Anything to please him, to make him proud, to make him want her. Even if it meant enduring more pain, more humiliation, more of the dark, twisted desire that consumed her. Even if it meant screaming, begging, pleading for more. Even if it meant laying her soul bare, exposing her every vulnerability, her every weakness. She was his. And she would do anything for him. He struck again, the belt biting into her skin, the pain intense, blinding. She screamed, her body convulsing, her hips bucking, her pussy throbbing. She could feel the wetness, the slickness, the evidence of her arousal. And she knew, as she cried out, "Eleven!" that she was lost. She was lost in the storm, drowning in the sensations, her body aching, her mind spinning, her soul laid bare. And she didn't want to be found. She wanted to stay here, in this place of pain and pleasure, of humiliation and desire, of vulnerability and power. She wanted to stay here, with him, her body responding to his every touch, his every command. She wanted to stay here, and she would. Until he said otherwise. Until he told her to stop. Until he told her she was enough. Until he told her he was proud. Until then, she would take it all. The pain, the pleasure, the humiliation, the desire. She would take it all, and she would scream.

By the 12th strike it hurts so much that she is sobbing but forgets to count. And her hands move involuntarily to soothe the welts. This makes him angry and he ties her up and commands that she is starting again

The belt landed with a vicious snap, the 12th strike a brutal assault on her senses. She screamed, a raw, guttural sound that tore from her throat, her body convulsing with the force of the blow. Tears streamed down her face, her sobs wracking her body as the pain consumed her. Her hands, acting on their own, flew back to soothe the burning welts. She gasped, her fingers tracing the fiery lines, trying to alleviate the agony. But the moment her hands made contact, she heard his sharp intake of breath, a low growl of disapproval. "What did I tell you?" he snarled, his voice like thunder. He grabbed her wrists, yanking them away from her punished flesh. She cried out, her body jerking with the sudden movement. He didn't let go, his grip tight, almost bruising. "You disobey me, and this is what happens." He spun her around, his hands rough on her skin. She stumbled, her body unsteady, her mind a haze of pain and humiliation. He pushed her against the desk, her chest pressing into the cool wood, her ass still burning, still throbbing. She panted, her breath coming in ragged gasps, her body shaking with sobs. "I'm sorry," she whimpered, her voice barely audible. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—" "Shut up," he barked, silencing her. She flinched, her body tensing as he grabbed her wrists again, pulling them behind her back. She heard the rustle of fabric, the dull thud of something heavy hitting the floor. Ropes, she realized, her heart pounding in her chest. He was going to tie her up. She whimpered, a soft, pitiful sound, as he looped the rope around her wrists, pulling it tight. She could feel the roughness of the fibers, the bite of the rope as it dug into her skin. She tugged, testing the bonds, but it was no use. She was trapped, helpless, at his mercy. "Please," she begged, her voice trembling. "Please, don't do this." He ignored her, his hands moving to her ankles. He pulled them apart, looping more rope around them, securing them to the desk legs. She struggled, her body twisting, her mind screaming for release. But it was useless. She was completely at his mercy, her body spread out, her most intimate places exposed. He stood, his breath ragged, his eyes wild. He looked down at her, his gaze roaming over her body, taking in her bound limbs, her welts, her tears. And she saw it, the dark desire in his eyes, the satisfaction, the pleasure. He liked this, liked seeing her like this, vulnerable, helpless, at his mercy. And it terrified her, excited her, drove her to the brink of insanity. "You're starting again," he growled, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. She whimpered, her body tensing as he picked up the belt, the leather whispering through the air. She braced herself, her mind screaming, her body aching. And she knew, as the belt landed, the pain exploding across her skin, that she was truly lost. She was his, completely and utterly, her body responding to his every touch, his every command. And she would take it all, every strike, every humiliation, every dark, twisted desire. She would take it all, and she would scream.