I am finished. The stranger gently pulls me to the edge. He wants me on my feet, leaning over the table. So that I'm facing my audience. He unbuckles his leather belt and takes it off. It's a heavy kind of belt, with studs, like a biker belt. The people outside looking at me seem to nod with approval.
The first cracking lash rings out across my ass. It sounds frightful. Then I feel the pain. Tears shoot into my eyes. I can hear myself scream. Each lash makes me jump up. And after each lash he waits until I get into position again. I have to raise up my bottom to ask for the next one.
My tears are falling onto the table. When will it stop? The people watching are pressing against my windows, they like what they see. An idle housewife screaming while she gets whipped for her naughtiness. And the whipping continues. Lash after lash.
The stranger grabs me by my hair and walks me around the table. I have to bend over again, this time with my backside facing the windows. The audience claps their hands when they see how deep the leather belt cut into my bottom, creating a criss-cross pattern of rigid red welts. I raise my bottom up again, asking for more.
This time I have to count them out loud. The pain so intense I can hardly breathe. I shout and scream and I beg him to stop. But it doesn't stop until I count lash number fifty. The audience applauds again. They leave and they are satisfied. And so they miss seeing me ass-up over the table with my hand in my panties. They miss watching the rhythmic back and forth of my just-whipped backside while I masturbate again.
Now I'll take another shower.