Lory and her Mistress

Lory's far from the saint she looks like. Every once in a while the naughty streak shows. Katia doesn't stand for it. She keeps a short leash on every girl under her roof, and the younger one gets the whip when she steps out of line. Right now Lory's bound at the wrists, knees forced open by a leather spreader. Katia’s having a rotten day and has already decided to make it Lory’s problem. Tears haven't earned her mercy; neither has the whispered promise to behave. The leather slaps, kisses skin over and over. Each new stripe draws a helpless sound from the girl's throat while Katia keeps her expression half bored, half hungry. The strokes grow slower, heavier, delivered more for Katia's pleasure than punishment. Lory arches, caught between wanting it over and craving more; the Mistress simply hums and raises the strap again, the perfect portrait of a woman who knows the evening is young.