A Busy Day Pt. 02: Workplace Discipline

"My saggy breasts wear a size 36-D bra, Ma'am," Janet answers in a very hushed voice that trembles as badly as her hands were. Or might still be. That would have been my guess, too. But I'm sure she would have preferred not to tell me, or anyone, her bra size.

"Let's see what you've shamelessly flaunting, gutter skank. Stay." I assume Dmitri has taught her some basic commands, and "stay" is fairly universal. It means just what it says, stand there and do nothing. Like move. Just stay put.

I move very slowly as I reach my hand up towards her mound. I go slow, forcing her to see me reaching up to her breast, and giving her time to think about it. To think about how in just a few seconds she's going to have to stand there demurely and allow a woman to touch her breasts here, in a small bathroom, while she should be working. And to think about how she has no choice in the matter. If she did, she wouldn't be standing there naked from the waist up, let along allowing her breasts to be felt.

I put my hand underneath her ample mound, cupping it. Her breasts are large enough, and my hands petite enough, that the tips of her mounds and her nipples hang over the edge of my hand. I heft her mound, feeling its weight. Then I give her mound a couple of firm, but light squeezes. They're soft, like wet sponges, but also moderately firm, in my hand. "These water balloons are even flabbier than they look," I comment to myself, just loud enough for Janet to hear me. I want her to feel as if I'm not playing with her breasts for fun, but instead that I'm critically evaluating them. Judging them. And failing them.

I hold her mound in a light snug grip. I use the fingers of my other hand to tenderly stroke over the tip of her nipple, feeling the hardness of her nub. It also sends a shiver rushing through her and goosebumps erupting over her mound. I use my fingers to tease her nipple for a second, then give it a light pinch before releasing it.

I open my purse. Today I'm carrying a large one that is so not going through any x-ray scanners. I've stuffed a few toys in it that I might want while I'm out today. But anyone else, anyone who doesn't know me, would think those toys were for use on myself. And they are not! I take my crop out. I had to fold it up to get it in even this over-sized purse, but it fit. And it springs right back into shape once it's out.

Janet stands there, a wary eye on the crop, and a look of utter shame on her face. And now she quivers. Not hard, but enough. Just enough that her spongy breasts jiggle slightly.

I hold the whip up, letting Janet see it. I have no doubt that she's seen, and felt the bite of, Dmitri's crop. Maybe some others. She knows exactly how it's tip is going snap against her flesh. How her flesh is instantly going to burn with fire where it lands. How sharp needles of pain are going to sting as they shoot into her flesh. How it will leave a glowing angry red print on her light-white skin that will take an hour or two to fade, and sting her even longer.

"You will get ten strokes for acting like a skanky shameless slut. Since you flaunted those flabby, sagging tits, you can be whipped on them."

Janet's eyes snap wide open. A sudden, and very powerful, tremor racks her body. Now she looks at me with a very nervous face. I see that tear that's been welling up in the corner of her eye roll down her cheek. I don't know if she's ever had them whipped before. I hope Dmitri hasn't passed it up. If she has, she knows it's going to hurt worse than it would on her bottom. If not, she's standing there anticipating it hurting even worse than it's going to.

I tell her not to drag her feet and waste my time, I would be disappointed in her if she did. I tell her to stand with her side to me, facing the wall and back from it. Then to lean over until her back is perfectly flat and scoot forward until the top of her head is lightly against the wall. And then to put her hands against the wall, her elbows fully bent, her palms flat on it even with her head.

She drags her feet, but not so much that I add to her punishment for it. Enough that I start tapping my foot, which encourages her to speed it up. The position has her breasts hanging freely and dangling straight down from her flat chest. It also has her arms, and the rest of her body, out of the way to afford me unhindered access to those dangling mounds with their stiff nipples stick out.

I very lightly touch the tip of my crop to the tender underside of her soft mound. I hold it there, it's supple leather against her bare skin. "Oh, and if I were you, I'd be a very good little skank for your punishment. You wouldn't want to make so much noise someone comes in and sees you standing there with those flabby things hanging out for their whipping, would you? That would be so humiliating I'd have to laugh! At you!" I tauntingly suggest to remind her where she is. It has the desired effect on Janet. She shivers crisply and grimaces harder.

I snap the crop. It's not my hardest swat by any means. It's firm, but only about half of what I could have made it, even taking into account that I have to swing it to avoid her slightly sagging stomach. It lands with a loud crack. At least one that sounds loud in this little room, but one I know isn't so loud that it will carry through the door.

Janet grits her teeth hard. As the crop strikes her breast she flinches hard, her body tensing up so sharply that it makes her breasts jiggling wildly for a moment. She grunts out a muted, and pained "MM!" through her clenched teeth. Then she pants a few fast breaths through her nose, which makes them a hair noisy. She opens her mouth, takes another deep breath, and tries to brace herself for the next stroke.

This time I land the tip of my crop on the outside of her mound. It lands just the same, searing a bright, fire truck red crop print on the pale flesh of her soft mound. It makes her stiffen and shudder hard again, sending her breasts into another jiggling. It gets a more pained grunt through those clenched teeth, too. And it takes her just a second longer to get herself ready for the next swat. Long enough that she uses up all of the time I allow her as I bring the crop back for the next stroke.

This time I snap the crop upward, landing its tip on the inside of her mound, in what would be her cleavage. It's a tricky stroke to make. I have to avoid her other breast, dangling just an inch or so away. This one gets the tears flowing out of her eyes. But facing the floor, the fall instead of running down her cheek and destroying her make-up. Maybe sometime later, much later likely, she'll realize I did that for her and how much embarrassment and explaining I saved her. Her friends here would know she'd been crying. But not now. Unless they see the little teardrops on the floor.

I snap the crop again, landing this one on the top of her mound. It's a place that would be bared if she left her blouse less than fully buttoned. Part of the cleavage she'd show. That I bet she likes to show around here, trolling for compliments in the form of lecherous eyes on her chest. I know she was showing just enough to look sultry-but-professional when I arrived. I'll bet she doesn't for the rest of the day. I'd bet the sting she'll feel for the rest of the day will convince her that the red marks are still glowing on those mounds long after they've faded away.

Now it's time for the final stroke on this breast. Idly, I wonder if Janet knows, or guesses, where I'm going to land it. I give her just an extra second to think about it, letting my crop dangle free at my side, in my hand. Then I quickly snap it up, adding a touch of power to this stroke. Its tip flies straight, arcing up. It lands hard, cracking against the tip of her pendulous mound squarely atop its stiff nipple. It lands with enough power that for just an instant I see it shove her mound up.

Janet grunts hard, her mouth involuntarily dropping open as she cries out a deep "UH-MM!" that more or less manages to keep from rising to a cry. It's louder than she'd like, enough to be heard outside, but only if someone were listening at the door. Hopefully, no one is. She gasps a few very stressed sucking pants, her exhales laced with "OW!s"

I tell her to stand up. It lets me see all five of the crop prints on her left breast, one on each of its four sides. And one that more darkens the shade of her nipple and ring to a deep blood-flushed red-purple. But somehow left her nipple straining to and even stiffer hardness, pulling up so tensed that it wrinkles up little goosebumps around it in her dark ring.

I tell Janet that's half her punishment. Now her right breast has to pay for allowing itself to be flaunted about. I tell her to turn around and reverse her position, standing the same way, but now with her right side facing me. I point out that as a worthless bitch, it's her place to make it easy for me to whip those slutty breasts. She very hesitantly bends over and positions herself for the next five strokes.

I whip her breast, getting about the same reactions from her that I got on her left one.

Once she's suffered the full whipping, I tell her to stand up facing me. It gives me a view of her freshly whipped mounds. And all of their glowing, painful, bright crop-prints on them. Obediently, Janet stands with her hands behind her back.

With her standing there unmoving, I make her watch as I fish in my purse and bring out my iPhone. I take my time framing up the image I want. Then I snap a picture of her standing there. One that shows her from about an inch below the lowest point of her breasts up to the very top of her head. Including her face. I show her the image and she cringes hard as she thinks of who might end up seeing it. But she doesn't dare say anything about it.

"Dress, skank," I tell her.

"Yes, Ma'am... may this worthless skank please have that bra and permission to put It on the unbearably stinging breasts, Ma'am?" Janet politely asks me. I'd make her ask it as two separate questions, first asking for her bra, and then once she had it in her hands for permission to put it on. I guess Dmitri doesn't require that.

I pick up her bra, letting it dangle from my hand in front of her eyes. I pretend to consider her request for several long seconds. "No." I finally say firmly. "You want to flaunt yourself like some slut, you can go around like a slut, skank." I shove her bra in my pocket.

Janet gets wide-eyed and stares at me, looking as if she's about to either burst into tears or balk and scream at me. She hesitates for a second. Then another. Then, her voice suddenly hushed and squeaky with shame, she very politely asks "Ma'am, may this worthless skank please be allowed to wear that blouse to cover these stinging bare breasts so that I may finish working today, Ma'am?"

I pick up the blouse and let it dangle in front of her eyes for a second. "I guess I have to allow you something..." I toss the blouse at her.

She snatches it out of mid-air. "Thank you, Ma'am. If you are done with my slutty breasts Ma'am, may I please put this blouse on now, Ma'am?"

"Fine..." I sigh out reluctantly.

Janet scrambles to get the blouse on. She starts buttoning it in the center, with the button directly over her breasts. She buttons it all the way up.

"You greedy, naughty, skank!" I scold her in a very stern and disapproving voice. "Is that how you wear that blouse? No! You must think I'm as stupid as you are! I'm not! That's not how you wear it. It's not how you were wearing it when you took it off, is it, cunt?"

"No, Ma'am." Janet trembles as badly as her voice does, but she confesses to it.

"Give me the blouse, cunt."

"Yes, Ma'am," Janet replies in a very embarrassed, and edgy voice. She fumbles to unbutton it. I don't help. I scold her constantly as she fumbles, which only makes her fumble it worse as her nervousness shoots up. She folds it, this time taking a second to get it neat, and hands it to me. I put it back on the sink.

It leaves Janet bare-chested again and standing in front of me. I just glare at her for several long seconds that likely seem an eternity to her. "I guess I can't toss this blouse in the toilet and flush it, which is what I ought to do since you still have a couple of hours to work..." I say it as if I truly regret it. "Well, since now you want to fake like you're all modest and some kind of actual woman, instead of just a gutter skank, and hide those stinging, red, freshly whipped boobs... I think it's appropriate that they pay for your fake modesty.

"You will stand there. You will stand perfectly still. You will not make a sound. One of those sagging boobs will get another stroke of my crop, right on its nipple, and it will be a good stroke. Instead of squealing like some mouse, immediately, after the stroke, you can thank me for my generosity. And I mean immediately. As in while the sting of it is still lancing into your tender boob and unbearably burning you. I promise you, skank, you do not want to disappoint me now."

I lift my crop up high, my hand about even with her mounds. "You have a quarter second. I want to hear two words out of your stupid mouth, and nothing more. Pick one. Pick which breast gets whipped."

"R- Right, Ma'am," Janet says in a hushed, and sobbing, humiliated voice.

She barely gets it out before I snap the crop with a flick of my wrist. It sends the tip soaring down. It lands exactly as I want it to, evenly split between the top and the front of her breast. It gets the nipple under its leather, swatting the hard nub from the top. It leaves a bright, and slightly deeper, red print on her mound.

Janet stiffens hard, her face scrunching up overly-tight. She holds her breath while it lands. Stiffening up is enough to make her breasts wiggle a little. I let her get away with that. Her jaw snaps open as the strike lands. She tries hard not to stall. It takes her close to a second. "Thank you, Ma'am, for being so kind and whipping my already too-sore breast for forgetting what a total gutter skank I am, Ma'am." As she speaks, her voice can't hide the pain in it. Not can it hide the humiliation.

I make Janet stand there while I get another picture of her whipped breasts. Then I tell her to dress again. This time she leaves the top two buttons of her blouse undone, which is exactly how it was when I first brought her in here. It's enough to hide the whip marks on her breast, but the utter lack of even a sliver of bra makes it clear that she's not wearing one. I suspect that won't be a surprise to anyone. Her bouncing breasts will broadcast that. I just wonder how many of her customers will try to peek down her blouse and if they'll see the whip marks on her mounds if they do. Tell me that doesn't scream "kinky girl!" I allow her to put her blazer back on as well. It hugs her breasts gently to her body when she buttons it. It'll keep them from bouncing shamelessly, but not from bouncing. It'll exact its price for that too, its light hugs reminding her of the sting in those mounds.

I act like we're done. I leave her standing there as I put my crop back in my purse. Then, as if it's an afterthought, I ask Janet "You're not being a total slut are you, skank? Don't tell me that pussy of yours is all hot right now!"

Janet bursts out sobbing. "I'm sorry, Ma'am... I'm so sorry for being such a gutter slut, Ma'am... I'm sorry, Ma'am! Yes, Mama, my pussy is very skanky and hot right now, Ma'am..."

"Show me, skank," I tell her firmly. "Turn your back to me. Bend all the way over. Lower your pants and panties all the way down until they're fully off your cheeks. Then spread your legs as far as your pants will let you. Reach around your thighs, spread your cheeks at the very bottom of your crack as far apart as you can so they don't block my view of that skank pit."

Still tearlessly bawling, in her hushed and mousy voice, Janet says "Yes, Ma'am."

Janet doesn't hesitate this time. She blushes a deep beet red. She turns her visage and movements nothing but despondent acceptance of her fate. She turns, and in a moment she's displaying herself to me.

Her bottom carries only a few extra ounces. It's rounded and shapely, but her globes look to be slightly spongy-soft. When she stands, I could see a slight flatness to the curve atop her globes, but now that she's bent over, they're pulled taut and rounded out.

I can see a light, sparse fur covering her lips. I can see lips that are long and wide, but very puffy. Puffy enough that their outsides are rounded at the center, flowing inward as they near her slit. And lips that are long enough that they seem to rise all the way up, coming together into the wrinkles that flow inward and make her asshole just above her pussy. Her lips don't quite meet, leaving a narrow slit between them. A slit that the puffiness of those lips makes to look deep. But not a slit wide enough to bare even a sliver of the pinkness of her inner folds.

And above that, I can see her asshole. Hers is tiny. It's a shade of pink just a hair lighter than her nipples, but now it's flushed brightly. It puckers out at me, standing up maybe 1/8th of an inch, maybe a little more, above the bottom of her crack. It's very wrinkly. So wrinkly that it looks to be a jumble of wrinkles, some rising up from her crack, that all flow toward the same puckered ring. And I can see a single hemorrhoid, a pea-sized, bright blood-red knot swollen up on the edge of her ring.

I'm sure she knows she suffers from hemorrhoids. Just as I'm sure the last thing she wants is for me to know that. Or worse, to see it. I tell her that I can see it and she should consider going to the doctor for it. I can see the shirk sweep her body as she listens to me.

"At least you're honest, skank." I tell her, "that pussy is beyond aroused right now." The glistening coat of her oily honey gives that away. It's a coat that clings to everything. Her lips. The creases of her thighs. Even the tops of her thighs. And it drenches her fur. I take a second to pull her lips wide open, splaying them to display her inner folds to me. She's even wetter inside. But the first thing I notice is the strong, powerful scent of her muskiness. Almost as quickly I see the half-marble of her clit, peeking the very tip of itself just above its nest of wrinkly pink folds, and throbbing so hard I'd almost say it looks more like it's jumping. Its tip is swollen so tautly that it's almost white-looking until her heartbeats and send a torrent of blood pushing it out at my eyes as it flushed deep red for an instant. It's covered with its own layer of honey, a honey that's seeped into the nest and flooded the space between the wrinkles.

But what I notice most is her pussy. Her tunnel is flushed an almost blood-red that glows like neon. It's slightly wide, gaping but not so wide that I could slip a finger into it without stretching it. And it's pucker out prominently. So much so that it's edge had to be flush against the inside of her lips. It's flooded with the honey steadily weeping out of it.

"You know what, skank? I don't think anyone will believe just what a slut you really are. Stay. I'll just have to get a picture to prove it." my words send a shudder through her, and get a twitch from the rim of her pussy. A moment later the flash on my phone's camera goes off, sending another, and sharper, shudder through Janet's body.

I allow her to stand up and fix her clothes. I wait until she's fully dressed and standing before me. It's been less than fifteen minutes since I brought her in here.

I hold my phone up and demand her husband's private cell phone number. She rattles it off in a voice that's pure reluctance. I attache the picture of her whipped tits to my message, sending a copy to both her husband and Dmitri. Hi, Honey! See what happens to tits that I flaunt like a shameless gutter slut? I send it. But I use an app that allows me to send a message from a one-time, random, phone number that can't be called back. I'm sure the police could trace it, they seem to be able to trace anything, but so far no one else has been able to. And this is my phone, not hers.