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Posting new one spent lot of time let me know how's it. It's harsh spanking of ff/mm with humiliation.
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Incest Spanking elder sister
- Thread starter Proud Punjabi
- Start date
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Komal Sharma was ready once again for her work she was a force of nature at 35 years old—a voluptuous Indian woman with curves that could make a man forget his own name. Her skin was a rich caramel, her long black hair often tied back in a no-nonsense ponytail that screamed authority. She had full breasts that strained against her work tops, wide hips that swayed with confident purpose, and a thick, round ass that she'd learned to use as both a weapon and a reward in her line of work.
For the past decade, she'd been an enforcer at the city's Punishment Center, a government-run facility where offenders like road rage fight domestic abuse or fraud case could opt for intense corporal and humiliating corrections instead of rotting in jail. It was a job that paid well, kept her fit, and satisfied a deep-seated dominant streak she'd discovered in her twenties she was best at her job she was super fit and on top of it she was trained for her job.
Her family knew about it in vague terms—her only parent father Raj thought it was some kind of "disciplinary counseling," and her husband Arjun assumed it involved stern lectures and light paddlings for petty criminals. They had no idea the depths of depravity she orchestrated daily: breaking men's wills with pain, forcing them to grovel at her feet, and leaving them marked inside and out. Komal loved her family fiercely, but she kept the gritty details locked away, fearing it would shatter their image of her as the dutiful daughter and devoted wife.
Raj, her father, was a 56-year-old widower with a temper as hot as the summer sun. Broad-shouldered from years of construction work, he had silver-streaked hair, a thick mustache, and a belly that spoke of too many beers after long days. He was fiercely protective of his family, quick to anger, and even quicker with his fists when he felt disrespected.
Arjun, Komal's husband of eight years, was 38 and built like a gym rat—tall, muscular, with a chiseled jaw and tattoos snaking up his arms from his mechanic days. He shared Raj's hot-headedness, often egging on his father-in-law during arguments, turning small spats into full-blown brawls. The two men were thick as thieves, bonded over cricket matches, spicy street food, and a shared disdain for "weak" people who couldn't handle themselves. Komal adored them both, but she often rolled her eyes at their macho posturing, warning them that one day their tempers would land them in real trouble.
That day came on a sweltering Friday evening in late summer. Raj and Arjun were heading to a distant cousin's wedding in the family car an old but reliable SUV that Arjun had tuned up himself. The traffic was a nightmare, horns blaring like a symphony of chaos on the crowded streets. They were already running late, tempers fraying. At a jammed intersection, a sleek luxury sedan cut them off sharply, nearly clipping their bumper. The driver, a smug young businessman in his late twenties, leaned out his window and flipped them off, yelling, "Learn to drive, you old fucks and keep on fucking dumb assholes!"
That was all it took and few vodka shots they had taken at home before going to party fuled their rage within seconds. Raj's face turned beet red. "What the hell did he say?" he growled, slamming on the brakes. Arjun, riding shotgun, was already unbuckling his seatbelt. "Pull over, Dad. This asshole needs a lesson." They swerved to the side of the road, the sedan following suit as the driver, fueled by his own road rage, decided to confront them. Words escalated in seconds insults about families, castes, and manhood flew like Dagger
The businessman shoved Raj first a fatal mistake. Raj swung a meaty fist, connecting with the guy's jaw and sending him stumbling. Arjun piled on, grabbing the man by the collar and landing a series of brutal punches to his gut and face. The victim fought back weakly, but he was no match for the duo's combined fury and By the time bystanders pulled them apart, the businessman was on the ground, bloodied and bruised—broken nose, split lip, possible cracked ribs. Sirens wailed in the distance.
The arrest was swift. Assault charges, with witnesses corroborating the beatdown. In court the next week, the judge a stern woman who had seen too many such cases laid out their options. "Six months in jail minimum gentlemen Or if you prefer to avoid the overcrowding and disease, you can opt for the Punishment Center. One session of corporal correction, tailored to the offense. It's anonymous, efficient, and you'll walk out the same day very sore, but free." Their lawyer nodded vigorously. "Take the center. It's quick.
They assign enforcers randomly few minutes before your turn so no one can bribe the punisher and you can get away with it" Raj and Arjun exchanged glances. Jail meant losing jobs, family shame, and months away from home. The center sounded like a spanking and a slap on the wrist. "We'll take the punishment," Raj said gruffly. Arjun agreed, both clinging to the hope that Komal—whose job they vaguely associated with the place—wouldn't be anywhere near it and they could keep it secret and avoid humiliation. What were the odds in a facility with dozens of staff?
The Punishment Center loomed like a fortress on the city's outskirts, its facade bland and unassuming to hide the torments within. Raj and Arjun arrived early on their scheduled morning, dressed in loose clothes as instructed in text message they had received early morning given detailed instructions and rules and law about their upcoming session and telling them to wear soft and loosest pants they had. Raj pickup Arjun his son in law and drive to facilty.
They were processed quickly IDs checked, forms signed waiving rights to appeal, then stripped and doctor checking them and making sure they are fit and handed gowns that tied at the back, leaving their asses half-exposed. "Sit in the waiting room," the receptionist barked. "Your numbers will be called."
The waiting room was a purgatory of plastic chairs and fluorescent hum. About two dozen men sat scattered, ages 18 to 55, all in identical gowns, numbers pinned to their chests like badges of shame.
The air was thick with tension—sweat, fear, and the faint echo of muffled cries from down the hall. No phones, no magazines No TV just the intercom and the relentless tick of a wall clock. Raj (number 62) and Arjun (63) found seats together, thighs sticking to the cold plastic. They tried to look tough, but their eyes betrayed the dread.
At first there was no voice just slow voice conversation between men and boys sitting there and then then it began intercom announcing Number 31 and a men in 40s looking fit got up a female guard approached him and he followed her to room 1 She pushed him in and shut the door and few minutes later The man's voice pierced through: "Ow! Ma'am, please—I'm sorry!"
Then a young guy in his early twenties—tag 44, lanky with a nervous tic leaned toward a burly man across from him. "You been here before?" he whispered. The burly guy, mid-forties with a beer gut and tattoos, nodded grimly. "Once. Shoplifting. Hurt like hell, but it's over fast. Just do what she says." The kid paled. "She? It's always a woman?" A chuckle from an older man nearby, fifties, balding. "Yeah, kid. Women enforcers only Keeps it... humiliating. They know how to break you and use the things they have."
The intercom crackled: "Number 45."
A skinny 18-year-old stood shakily, face as white as his gown. He shuffled to the door, escorted by a female guard. Minutes later, the sounds began faint but unmistakable through the thin walls. Sharp, rhythmic smacks: bare hand on bare ass. The kid's voice pierced through: "Ow! Ma'am, please—I'm sorry!" The spanks built, faster, harder. Then a heavier thud—paddle, maybe. His cries turned desperate: "Fuck! No more—I'll behave—ahhh please!" The room tensed; men shifted, some crossing legs protectively. Raj whispered to Arjun, "Sounds like a damn kid's tantrum." Arjun nodded, but his knuckles were white. somehow they were still not feeling it and ready to admit it would be painful.
The punishment dragged on: switches to a strap's vicious whacks, the 18 years old kid's sobs devolving into blubbering pleas. "Please, ma'am... my ass... it burns!" Finally, silence, broken by faint humiliated whimpers—kissing sounds? Licking? The men in the room exchanged uneasy glances. The balding guy muttered, "That's the worst part. They make you grovel. Feet, pits... whatever she wants and these punishment rooms are designed that way so we all can listen what's going on for more humiliation"
"Number 47."
Another stocky man in his thirties rose, trying to swagger but failing. As he left, the previous victim returned limping, red-eyed, holding his gown closed over a clearly throbbing ass receptionist was busy with other person checking him out giving him signed paper she signal him to sit and wait so He collapsed into a chair, tears streaking his face. The lanky kid from earlier asked softly, "How bad?" The victim shook his head. "No words beyond wrose. She caned me till i feel like bled. Then made me... lick her everywhere. Said it was for 'submission training.'" Murmurs rippled through the room. Arjun leaned to Raj: "Dad, this is fucked. What if it's..." Raj cut him off: "It won't be. Shut up there are dozens of rooms stop stressing about it."
And next moment they listened whistling swish, then CRACK! The stocky guy's deep voice boomed in pain: "Shit! Ma'am—no!" Stroke after stroke, his defiance crumbling into begs. "Please... not the cane again... I'll do anything!" The older men nodded knowingly. A wiry guy in his forties—number 59—whispered to Raj, "Serious offenses get the full treatment. Bruises that last weeks. And the pegging... if she's in a mood she is going to make sure she break your ego and arrogance." Arjun's eyes widened. "Pegging?" The guy smirked bitterly. "Yeah. Strap-on big 8-9 inch long and thick Right up the ass. Teaches humility real quick hope she use lot's of lube."
Time stretched like taffy. Another number: a 50-something man, his paddling sounds like thunderclaps, cries hoarse and broken. A teenage boy—barely 19—reduced to wailing from the first spank. Grown men begging like children: "Mummy—no, ma'am—stop!" Female voices leaked through: calm, dominant. "Take it. You earned this. Lick properly." Raj and Arjun sat frozen, dread coiling in their guts. Over an hour passed, each fresh torment etching deeper fear. They talked in hushed tones to the other learning of past horrors: one man scarred from a prior visit, another dreading the humiliation more than the pain.
For the past decade, she'd been an enforcer at the city's Punishment Center, a government-run facility where offenders like road rage fight domestic abuse or fraud case could opt for intense corporal and humiliating corrections instead of rotting in jail. It was a job that paid well, kept her fit, and satisfied a deep-seated dominant streak she'd discovered in her twenties she was best at her job she was super fit and on top of it she was trained for her job.
Her family knew about it in vague terms—her only parent father Raj thought it was some kind of "disciplinary counseling," and her husband Arjun assumed it involved stern lectures and light paddlings for petty criminals. They had no idea the depths of depravity she orchestrated daily: breaking men's wills with pain, forcing them to grovel at her feet, and leaving them marked inside and out. Komal loved her family fiercely, but she kept the gritty details locked away, fearing it would shatter their image of her as the dutiful daughter and devoted wife.
Raj, her father, was a 56-year-old widower with a temper as hot as the summer sun. Broad-shouldered from years of construction work, he had silver-streaked hair, a thick mustache, and a belly that spoke of too many beers after long days. He was fiercely protective of his family, quick to anger, and even quicker with his fists when he felt disrespected.
Arjun, Komal's husband of eight years, was 38 and built like a gym rat—tall, muscular, with a chiseled jaw and tattoos snaking up his arms from his mechanic days. He shared Raj's hot-headedness, often egging on his father-in-law during arguments, turning small spats into full-blown brawls. The two men were thick as thieves, bonded over cricket matches, spicy street food, and a shared disdain for "weak" people who couldn't handle themselves. Komal adored them both, but she often rolled her eyes at their macho posturing, warning them that one day their tempers would land them in real trouble.
That day came on a sweltering Friday evening in late summer. Raj and Arjun were heading to a distant cousin's wedding in the family car an old but reliable SUV that Arjun had tuned up himself. The traffic was a nightmare, horns blaring like a symphony of chaos on the crowded streets. They were already running late, tempers fraying. At a jammed intersection, a sleek luxury sedan cut them off sharply, nearly clipping their bumper. The driver, a smug young businessman in his late twenties, leaned out his window and flipped them off, yelling, "Learn to drive, you old fucks and keep on fucking dumb assholes!"
That was all it took and few vodka shots they had taken at home before going to party fuled their rage within seconds. Raj's face turned beet red. "What the hell did he say?" he growled, slamming on the brakes. Arjun, riding shotgun, was already unbuckling his seatbelt. "Pull over, Dad. This asshole needs a lesson." They swerved to the side of the road, the sedan following suit as the driver, fueled by his own road rage, decided to confront them. Words escalated in seconds insults about families, castes, and manhood flew like Dagger
The businessman shoved Raj first a fatal mistake. Raj swung a meaty fist, connecting with the guy's jaw and sending him stumbling. Arjun piled on, grabbing the man by the collar and landing a series of brutal punches to his gut and face. The victim fought back weakly, but he was no match for the duo's combined fury and By the time bystanders pulled them apart, the businessman was on the ground, bloodied and bruised—broken nose, split lip, possible cracked ribs. Sirens wailed in the distance.
The arrest was swift. Assault charges, with witnesses corroborating the beatdown. In court the next week, the judge a stern woman who had seen too many such cases laid out their options. "Six months in jail minimum gentlemen Or if you prefer to avoid the overcrowding and disease, you can opt for the Punishment Center. One session of corporal correction, tailored to the offense. It's anonymous, efficient, and you'll walk out the same day very sore, but free." Their lawyer nodded vigorously. "Take the center. It's quick.
They assign enforcers randomly few minutes before your turn so no one can bribe the punisher and you can get away with it" Raj and Arjun exchanged glances. Jail meant losing jobs, family shame, and months away from home. The center sounded like a spanking and a slap on the wrist. "We'll take the punishment," Raj said gruffly. Arjun agreed, both clinging to the hope that Komal—whose job they vaguely associated with the place—wouldn't be anywhere near it and they could keep it secret and avoid humiliation. What were the odds in a facility with dozens of staff?
The Punishment Center loomed like a fortress on the city's outskirts, its facade bland and unassuming to hide the torments within. Raj and Arjun arrived early on their scheduled morning, dressed in loose clothes as instructed in text message they had received early morning given detailed instructions and rules and law about their upcoming session and telling them to wear soft and loosest pants they had. Raj pickup Arjun his son in law and drive to facilty.
They were processed quickly IDs checked, forms signed waiving rights to appeal, then stripped and doctor checking them and making sure they are fit and handed gowns that tied at the back, leaving their asses half-exposed. "Sit in the waiting room," the receptionist barked. "Your numbers will be called."
The waiting room was a purgatory of plastic chairs and fluorescent hum. About two dozen men sat scattered, ages 18 to 55, all in identical gowns, numbers pinned to their chests like badges of shame.
The air was thick with tension—sweat, fear, and the faint echo of muffled cries from down the hall. No phones, no magazines No TV just the intercom and the relentless tick of a wall clock. Raj (number 62) and Arjun (63) found seats together, thighs sticking to the cold plastic. They tried to look tough, but their eyes betrayed the dread.
At first there was no voice just slow voice conversation between men and boys sitting there and then then it began intercom announcing Number 31 and a men in 40s looking fit got up a female guard approached him and he followed her to room 1 She pushed him in and shut the door and few minutes later The man's voice pierced through: "Ow! Ma'am, please—I'm sorry!"
Then a young guy in his early twenties—tag 44, lanky with a nervous tic leaned toward a burly man across from him. "You been here before?" he whispered. The burly guy, mid-forties with a beer gut and tattoos, nodded grimly. "Once. Shoplifting. Hurt like hell, but it's over fast. Just do what she says." The kid paled. "She? It's always a woman?" A chuckle from an older man nearby, fifties, balding. "Yeah, kid. Women enforcers only Keeps it... humiliating. They know how to break you and use the things they have."
The intercom crackled: "Number 45."
A skinny 18-year-old stood shakily, face as white as his gown. He shuffled to the door, escorted by a female guard. Minutes later, the sounds began faint but unmistakable through the thin walls. Sharp, rhythmic smacks: bare hand on bare ass. The kid's voice pierced through: "Ow! Ma'am, please—I'm sorry!" The spanks built, faster, harder. Then a heavier thud—paddle, maybe. His cries turned desperate: "Fuck! No more—I'll behave—ahhh please!" The room tensed; men shifted, some crossing legs protectively. Raj whispered to Arjun, "Sounds like a damn kid's tantrum." Arjun nodded, but his knuckles were white. somehow they were still not feeling it and ready to admit it would be painful.
The punishment dragged on: switches to a strap's vicious whacks, the 18 years old kid's sobs devolving into blubbering pleas. "Please, ma'am... my ass... it burns!" Finally, silence, broken by faint humiliated whimpers—kissing sounds? Licking? The men in the room exchanged uneasy glances. The balding guy muttered, "That's the worst part. They make you grovel. Feet, pits... whatever she wants and these punishment rooms are designed that way so we all can listen what's going on for more humiliation"
"Number 47."
Another stocky man in his thirties rose, trying to swagger but failing. As he left, the previous victim returned limping, red-eyed, holding his gown closed over a clearly throbbing ass receptionist was busy with other person checking him out giving him signed paper she signal him to sit and wait so He collapsed into a chair, tears streaking his face. The lanky kid from earlier asked softly, "How bad?" The victim shook his head. "No words beyond wrose. She caned me till i feel like bled. Then made me... lick her everywhere. Said it was for 'submission training.'" Murmurs rippled through the room. Arjun leaned to Raj: "Dad, this is fucked. What if it's..." Raj cut him off: "It won't be. Shut up there are dozens of rooms stop stressing about it."
And next moment they listened whistling swish, then CRACK! The stocky guy's deep voice boomed in pain: "Shit! Ma'am—no!" Stroke after stroke, his defiance crumbling into begs. "Please... not the cane again... I'll do anything!" The older men nodded knowingly. A wiry guy in his forties—number 59—whispered to Raj, "Serious offenses get the full treatment. Bruises that last weeks. And the pegging... if she's in a mood she is going to make sure she break your ego and arrogance." Arjun's eyes widened. "Pegging?" The guy smirked bitterly. "Yeah. Strap-on big 8-9 inch long and thick Right up the ass. Teaches humility real quick hope she use lot's of lube."
Time stretched like taffy. Another number: a 50-something man, his paddling sounds like thunderclaps, cries hoarse and broken. A teenage boy—barely 19—reduced to wailing from the first spank. Grown men begging like children: "Mummy—no, ma'am—stop!" Female voices leaked through: calm, dominant. "Take it. You earned this. Lick properly." Raj and Arjun sat frozen, dread coiling in their guts. Over an hour passed, each fresh torment etching deeper fear. They talked in hushed tones to the other learning of past horrors: one man scarred from a prior visit, another dreading the humiliation more than the pain.
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And after waiting for hours they were left only with couple of offenders and now loud intercom announcment had stop and they were being escorted by the guard And when Female guard told them" let's go you two...you would be dealt together they didnt ask why their number wasnt called Guard was big tall 6feet fit female officer so they followed her sliently. The door to Room 7 creaked open slowly, the guard's firm push guiding Raj and Arjun into the brightly lit chamber before she stepped back and locked it behind them with a resounding thud that reverberated through the sterile air.
The room felt smaller than it was—oppressive under the harsh fluorescent lights that cast no shadows, only stark reality. The tiled floor was cold beneath their bare feet, the two padded benches standing like silent sentinels in the center, restraints dangling ominously. A cart of implements gleamed nearby, and the wall camera's red light blinked steadily, recording every moment and written under it No audio.
Komal and Priya stood there, frozen for a heartbeat as recognition dawned. Komal's sharp intake of breath was audible, her curvaceous frame tensing in her black outfit, eyes widening in genuine shock. Priya, beside her in red, mirrored the reaction—her athletic posture stiffening, a hand flying to her mouth as color drained from her face.
Raj stumbled a step, his 56-year-old body sagging under the gown. "Beta... Komal? And Priya? This... this can't be," he whispered, voice cracking with disbelief.
Arjun's muscular frame went rigid, his eyes darting between them. "Komal? Baby? Priya you too? No... tell me this is a mistake."
Komal's lips parted, her voice trembling at first. "Dad... Arjun... oh god, I... I saw your files like 10 minutes ageo but I thought it wasn't real and I'm dreaming about it. The assignment is random—I swear. And for serious cases like yours who did crime together and serious offense that include seriously hurting someone we need two enforcers. I... I chose Priya because I couldn't do this alone." Tears welled in her eyes, unshed but glistening, as she glanced at the camera. "We're as shocked as you. This is... heartbreaking."
Priya nodded, her usual teasing demeanor shattered, voice soft and wavering. "Uncle..... I never imagined. But the system's locked us in for it. System do it randomly We have to... proceed." Her eyes shimmered too, a single tear escaping down her cheek.
Raj's knees buckled slightly; Arjun caught his arm. "please... not you two. Anyone else."
Komal stepped closer, her boots clicking hesitantly, placing a shaking hand on Raj's shoulder. "Dad, I wish I could stop this and ran away and someone else give you the punishment but It can't be once its assigned it can't be changed...the rules... if we don't, it's jail for you both And jail..." She swallowed hard, tears brimming as she painted the picture vividly, her voice laced with helpless urgency. "Jail would be hell, Dad. Overcrowded cells with violent men—fights every night, no safety, guards who look the other way. You'd be separated, alone in the dark, diseases spreading like wildfire, no family and food you have seen videos on YouTube and no visits for weeks. Arjun, your strength wouldn't matter; they'd break you with isolation, strip searches, constant fear. Six months minimum—losing your job, our home falling apart, me visiting through glass, crying every time. And the shame... the whole family knowing you rotted there. We can't let that happen. The camera's watching—no audio, so we can talk about it now but it records everything. If we falter, they review it, and you go to jail anyway. We have to... do this right. For you."
Priya wiped her tear, stepping to Arjun, her hand trembling on his arm. "Exactly... jail's a nightmare. No privacy—even showers are communal, predators everywhere. You'd come out changed, broken in ways pain here can't touch. Food that's barely edible, endless boredom turning to despair. I... I have tears in my eyes thinking of it. But here? It's over today. Painful, yes. Humiliating, god yes. But we love you—we'll make it as bearable as we can, strict but with heart. Agree, or we call the guard now we can't take long to decide camera is recording everything."
The men looked at each other, faces ashen, the weight crushing them. Raj's voice broke. "We... agree. For the family."
Arjun nodded, tears in his own eyes. "Yes... keep us out."
Komal's tears spilled over, but she nodded, wiping them quickly. "Good... my brave men. Strip now. Before photos."
Hands shook as gowns fell. Naked, vulnerable Raj's aging body soft and shrinking, Arjun's muscled but trembling. The women circled, phones clicking through tears—fronts, backs, asses unmarked. Priya sniffled. "You look so exposed. But we have to."
It was Raj her father who asked" why you taking pictures and camera is recording..is it safe what if it's leaked online.
Komal was in tears and still processing that her father and husband is in this position so Priya replied" pictures are for file it would be sent to judge and your record would be sealed.. and video wouldn't be leaked. it had never been reports of leaked videos of punishment it's super safe.
And they were tied To the benches bent, cuffed securely from both hands and feets. Komal behind Raj her own father Priya behind Arjun.
And before she start komal" Dad and you too sweetheart she said to her listen" we are so sorry ok but we have to do this okay it's going to be painful anything like you never seen before and humiliating to the level it break arrogance and ego of everyone it's designed like that. So bear it with us ok.
Komal's hand hovered, her breath shaky. "Starting with hands... to warm you. I hate this, Dad, but... it has to be done." Tears dripped as she landed the first SMACK!—crisp sting spreading like warm pins across Raj's skin. He grunted, the initial shock making his body tense, warmth building slowly.
Priya's voice cracked. "Same, Arjun... forgive me." SMACK! Arjun felt the sharp tingle, nerves awakening, a flush creeping.
Strokes built gradually each SMACK echoing, skin pinkening over minutes. Raj felt the heat accumulate, like sitting too long in sun, his tears mirroring Komal's as she whispered, "I'm sorry...."
And then they switched Priya on Raj, her tears falling on his back. SMACK! Sharper bite, Raj's softer flesh heating deeper, emotional pain mingling with physical. He know Priya is crying he could feel her tears.
Komal was now spanking Arjun SMACK! Arjun's muscles absorbed but burned, tears flowing as he turned his face for a moment and saw Komal's helpless face and tears.
Hand spanking was longer because Full coverage took time sit-spots pinching sharply, undersides aching dull. Asses red, throbbing gently, women pausing to rub tenderly through tears. "We love you... this keeps you free."
Then Komal's grip trembled. "Paddle now... it'll bruise. God, I feel helpless, but camera's on." THUD!—deep compression on Raj, shockwave to bones, purple blooming, ache settling like a heavy weight. Raj howled, pain radiating slow and deep.
Priya sobbed softly. "Arjun... forgive us." THUD! Arjun felt flesh squash, bruise forming, a throbbing pressure that made legs weaken.
Twenty each, paced slowly—each THUD overlapping, building layers of ache. Then they again Komal told Priya to switch now she was on Arjun, tears streaming. THUD! "Baby... it hurts me too." Arjun's prostate twinged, pain emotional as much as physical.
Priya didn't said anything she just raised the paddle THUD! Raj's ass swelled, bruises darkening, tears mutual.
Asses mottled plum, swollen, heat intense—men sobbing, women wiping eyes but continuing they were crying loudly now and now they know what was going on and why all of them were crying and begging for Mercy.
It was very serious offense so they weren't going to let both of them go with small punishment. When Priya and komal stopped for changing to strap.
Priya's voice broke it's strap now "Strap bites like hell but we have no choice." WHACK!—tails slashing Arjun, welts rising fiery, skin puffing hot, pain a searing line that lingered viciously. Arjun cried out, the cut feeling endless.
Komal was doing to her father now with strap "Dad... hold on." WHACK! Raj felt the vicious bite, welts swelling, agony sharp and spreading.
Strokes deliberate, slow—grid forming over time, some splits beading blood at least what they thought it was blood because pain was so much. They Switch twice: Tears flowed freely, women helpless under camera's eye. "For your freedom... we push through."
Asses black-purple, welts crimson, pain compounded, men were breaking emotionally. And pain was endless with every implement it hurt much more and different pain from hand, paddle and strap they just had received. And they could hear Swoosh swoosh sound in air they didn't dare to look back. They didn't want to know what's going to be next still in tears crying and thinking about their anger which lead to this.
Komal with teary eyes said"Cane last... quick but cruel. No jail, remember this " CRACK!—slice on Arjun, tramline swelling bloody, white-hot cut searing through bruises. Arjun screamed, pain focused and unbearable.
Priya was canning Raj CRACK! Raj wailed, ridge rising, torment pure.
Twelve each, spaced minutes apart—switches midway. Women cried openly but swung, helpless. "We love you... this saves you."
And it was done they cried like never before crying sobbing saying sorry to both promising to be better men in future.
According to rules they were given 5 minutes rest. They cried sobbing saying sorry again and again. They wanted to rub their asses but they couldn't. System was designed that way let them feel pain so that they don't do this ever again.
And then they were Uncuffed and as soon they were uncuffed their hands fly to their asses and they did their spanking dance holding their ass while they watch both of Women sat and start taking off their boots.
Komal: "Feet now... worship. It kills me, but... no jail remember I'm saying this again and again Dad and you listen too too she said to her husband we aren't doing this as fun activity it's to keep you both idiots out of jail she was helpless and sad but angry too she had never imagined this she would end up in the situation like this ."
Raj nodded yes and went down on Priya's feet his Lips on toes, tongue lapping slow, shame gut-wrenching as he sucked, feeling utterly debased. They both saw Priya and Komal's feet very beautifully maintained, nice red nail paint.
When Arjun Saw his father in law doing it to Priya he went down on his wife Komal's feet Tongue on arches, tasting wife through tears, humiliation twisting his soul.
Then they switched again. Raj on daughter's feet—taboo shame, tongue between toes, Komal crying softly. "Dad... forgive me."
Raj and Arjun were broken by now. They both weren't like that both were full on pride on themselves what they called macho man and both have anger problems that was the reason too Komal's father and her husband get along so well.
When they finish komal and Priya told them drink some water just enough to fresh up their taste bud don't drink much she instructed in strict voice while while they take their Tops off and they both were still in bra and they raised their arm and told them to Lick it clean Raj was in Priya's musky pit, tongue rasping, degradation intimate and raw.
Arjun in his wife Komal's scent twisted, tears mixing.
They were so broken by now they didn't even argued about it.
It was like longest 10 minutes of their life they had to lick it for 5 minutes in each underarms that was gross but it was punishment not sexual fun.
Both Women were helpless camera was forcing on. And when komal saw 10 minutes was complete she yelled"Go to priya sweetheart "We have to do it .....for you."and Then whole process was repeated Raj lick his daughter's armpits clean and Arjun did same to priya.
When time was up they once again drink some water to clean their mouth and taste bud on sink in corner.
Meanwhile komal and Priya had their Pants down completely and panty pulled down to their feet and their Asses presented directly towards camera.
Komal teary eyes said "Dad—rim me. God, this hurts my heart." Raj once again walked to his daughter and hold her cheeks opened, tongue circling then plunging, earthy taste, ultimate taboo shame overwhelming, sobs racking him. When he tried to avoid it komal instructed" get you tounge out dad just put it in stop making hard for yourself and me.
Arjun ate Priya's asshole—lapping slow, juices coating, debasement profound.
They switched after 10 minutes Arjun rimming wife—tongue deep, feeling owned in agony.
komal and Priya had more control by now they were feeling bad about it but they both know it wasn't their fault and they know about jail would be hell for them.
When they both got up when Priya and komal told them to stand they stand their emotionless by now their arrogance all gone and thinking about their rage that had caused all this ultimate pain and humiliation looking down not even looking at ladies.
They didn't even react when komal and priya grabbed their harness and adjust the didlo which was looking like monster hanging between their legs 8-9 inch long and thick like their wrist..komal had didlo matching with her skin and Priya had Pink colored.
And when they put condom over the didlo they put some cream which they both didn't know what was... without being told they bent over the bench with legs open wide..komal came behind her father and said" try to relax Dad it's last part please cooperate please can you do this for me...I'm sorry...
Raj replied while wiping his tears" it's our rage that put you girls in this position..we are sorry..Arjun nodded yes too...
And they both cried in pain as wide didlo stretched their asses open wide and when Priya who was fucking Komal's husband was gentle and slow and still had half didlo out komal said" just do it like we do it to others i don't want it be flagged and they have to repeat it.
Arjun: yeah Priya I'm not angry about anything just do it according to your rules.
And for next 15 minutes Raj and Arjun saw how strong komal and Priya are They fuck them little gentle at first but within two minutes they were both fucking them hard and fast without even taking break or slow down even For first 15 minutes komal fucked her father and then she changed the condom and went behind her husband and fucked him and Priya did same to Raj.
And when it was done they took pictures of after punishment and when they sent it and confirmation came within seconds komal said" it's over guys....
The room felt smaller than it was—oppressive under the harsh fluorescent lights that cast no shadows, only stark reality. The tiled floor was cold beneath their bare feet, the two padded benches standing like silent sentinels in the center, restraints dangling ominously. A cart of implements gleamed nearby, and the wall camera's red light blinked steadily, recording every moment and written under it No audio.
Komal and Priya stood there, frozen for a heartbeat as recognition dawned. Komal's sharp intake of breath was audible, her curvaceous frame tensing in her black outfit, eyes widening in genuine shock. Priya, beside her in red, mirrored the reaction—her athletic posture stiffening, a hand flying to her mouth as color drained from her face.
Raj stumbled a step, his 56-year-old body sagging under the gown. "Beta... Komal? And Priya? This... this can't be," he whispered, voice cracking with disbelief.
Arjun's muscular frame went rigid, his eyes darting between them. "Komal? Baby? Priya you too? No... tell me this is a mistake."
Komal's lips parted, her voice trembling at first. "Dad... Arjun... oh god, I... I saw your files like 10 minutes ageo but I thought it wasn't real and I'm dreaming about it. The assignment is random—I swear. And for serious cases like yours who did crime together and serious offense that include seriously hurting someone we need two enforcers. I... I chose Priya because I couldn't do this alone." Tears welled in her eyes, unshed but glistening, as she glanced at the camera. "We're as shocked as you. This is... heartbreaking."
Priya nodded, her usual teasing demeanor shattered, voice soft and wavering. "Uncle..... I never imagined. But the system's locked us in for it. System do it randomly We have to... proceed." Her eyes shimmered too, a single tear escaping down her cheek.
Raj's knees buckled slightly; Arjun caught his arm. "please... not you two. Anyone else."
Komal stepped closer, her boots clicking hesitantly, placing a shaking hand on Raj's shoulder. "Dad, I wish I could stop this and ran away and someone else give you the punishment but It can't be once its assigned it can't be changed...the rules... if we don't, it's jail for you both And jail..." She swallowed hard, tears brimming as she painted the picture vividly, her voice laced with helpless urgency. "Jail would be hell, Dad. Overcrowded cells with violent men—fights every night, no safety, guards who look the other way. You'd be separated, alone in the dark, diseases spreading like wildfire, no family and food you have seen videos on YouTube and no visits for weeks. Arjun, your strength wouldn't matter; they'd break you with isolation, strip searches, constant fear. Six months minimum—losing your job, our home falling apart, me visiting through glass, crying every time. And the shame... the whole family knowing you rotted there. We can't let that happen. The camera's watching—no audio, so we can talk about it now but it records everything. If we falter, they review it, and you go to jail anyway. We have to... do this right. For you."
Priya wiped her tear, stepping to Arjun, her hand trembling on his arm. "Exactly... jail's a nightmare. No privacy—even showers are communal, predators everywhere. You'd come out changed, broken in ways pain here can't touch. Food that's barely edible, endless boredom turning to despair. I... I have tears in my eyes thinking of it. But here? It's over today. Painful, yes. Humiliating, god yes. But we love you—we'll make it as bearable as we can, strict but with heart. Agree, or we call the guard now we can't take long to decide camera is recording everything."
The men looked at each other, faces ashen, the weight crushing them. Raj's voice broke. "We... agree. For the family."
Arjun nodded, tears in his own eyes. "Yes... keep us out."
Komal's tears spilled over, but she nodded, wiping them quickly. "Good... my brave men. Strip now. Before photos."
Hands shook as gowns fell. Naked, vulnerable Raj's aging body soft and shrinking, Arjun's muscled but trembling. The women circled, phones clicking through tears—fronts, backs, asses unmarked. Priya sniffled. "You look so exposed. But we have to."
It was Raj her father who asked" why you taking pictures and camera is recording..is it safe what if it's leaked online.
Komal was in tears and still processing that her father and husband is in this position so Priya replied" pictures are for file it would be sent to judge and your record would be sealed.. and video wouldn't be leaked. it had never been reports of leaked videos of punishment it's super safe.
And they were tied To the benches bent, cuffed securely from both hands and feets. Komal behind Raj her own father Priya behind Arjun.
And before she start komal" Dad and you too sweetheart she said to her listen" we are so sorry ok but we have to do this okay it's going to be painful anything like you never seen before and humiliating to the level it break arrogance and ego of everyone it's designed like that. So bear it with us ok.
Komal's hand hovered, her breath shaky. "Starting with hands... to warm you. I hate this, Dad, but... it has to be done." Tears dripped as she landed the first SMACK!—crisp sting spreading like warm pins across Raj's skin. He grunted, the initial shock making his body tense, warmth building slowly.
Priya's voice cracked. "Same, Arjun... forgive me." SMACK! Arjun felt the sharp tingle, nerves awakening, a flush creeping.
Strokes built gradually each SMACK echoing, skin pinkening over minutes. Raj felt the heat accumulate, like sitting too long in sun, his tears mirroring Komal's as she whispered, "I'm sorry...."
And then they switched Priya on Raj, her tears falling on his back. SMACK! Sharper bite, Raj's softer flesh heating deeper, emotional pain mingling with physical. He know Priya is crying he could feel her tears.
Komal was now spanking Arjun SMACK! Arjun's muscles absorbed but burned, tears flowing as he turned his face for a moment and saw Komal's helpless face and tears.
Hand spanking was longer because Full coverage took time sit-spots pinching sharply, undersides aching dull. Asses red, throbbing gently, women pausing to rub tenderly through tears. "We love you... this keeps you free."
Then Komal's grip trembled. "Paddle now... it'll bruise. God, I feel helpless, but camera's on." THUD!—deep compression on Raj, shockwave to bones, purple blooming, ache settling like a heavy weight. Raj howled, pain radiating slow and deep.
Priya sobbed softly. "Arjun... forgive us." THUD! Arjun felt flesh squash, bruise forming, a throbbing pressure that made legs weaken.
Twenty each, paced slowly—each THUD overlapping, building layers of ache. Then they again Komal told Priya to switch now she was on Arjun, tears streaming. THUD! "Baby... it hurts me too." Arjun's prostate twinged, pain emotional as much as physical.
Priya didn't said anything she just raised the paddle THUD! Raj's ass swelled, bruises darkening, tears mutual.
Asses mottled plum, swollen, heat intense—men sobbing, women wiping eyes but continuing they were crying loudly now and now they know what was going on and why all of them were crying and begging for Mercy.
It was very serious offense so they weren't going to let both of them go with small punishment. When Priya and komal stopped for changing to strap.
Priya's voice broke it's strap now "Strap bites like hell but we have no choice." WHACK!—tails slashing Arjun, welts rising fiery, skin puffing hot, pain a searing line that lingered viciously. Arjun cried out, the cut feeling endless.
Komal was doing to her father now with strap "Dad... hold on." WHACK! Raj felt the vicious bite, welts swelling, agony sharp and spreading.
Strokes deliberate, slow—grid forming over time, some splits beading blood at least what they thought it was blood because pain was so much. They Switch twice: Tears flowed freely, women helpless under camera's eye. "For your freedom... we push through."
Asses black-purple, welts crimson, pain compounded, men were breaking emotionally. And pain was endless with every implement it hurt much more and different pain from hand, paddle and strap they just had received. And they could hear Swoosh swoosh sound in air they didn't dare to look back. They didn't want to know what's going to be next still in tears crying and thinking about their anger which lead to this.
Komal with teary eyes said"Cane last... quick but cruel. No jail, remember this " CRACK!—slice on Arjun, tramline swelling bloody, white-hot cut searing through bruises. Arjun screamed, pain focused and unbearable.
Priya was canning Raj CRACK! Raj wailed, ridge rising, torment pure.
Twelve each, spaced minutes apart—switches midway. Women cried openly but swung, helpless. "We love you... this saves you."
And it was done they cried like never before crying sobbing saying sorry to both promising to be better men in future.
According to rules they were given 5 minutes rest. They cried sobbing saying sorry again and again. They wanted to rub their asses but they couldn't. System was designed that way let them feel pain so that they don't do this ever again.
And then they were Uncuffed and as soon they were uncuffed their hands fly to their asses and they did their spanking dance holding their ass while they watch both of Women sat and start taking off their boots.
Komal: "Feet now... worship. It kills me, but... no jail remember I'm saying this again and again Dad and you listen too too she said to her husband we aren't doing this as fun activity it's to keep you both idiots out of jail she was helpless and sad but angry too she had never imagined this she would end up in the situation like this ."
Raj nodded yes and went down on Priya's feet his Lips on toes, tongue lapping slow, shame gut-wrenching as he sucked, feeling utterly debased. They both saw Priya and Komal's feet very beautifully maintained, nice red nail paint.
When Arjun Saw his father in law doing it to Priya he went down on his wife Komal's feet Tongue on arches, tasting wife through tears, humiliation twisting his soul.
Then they switched again. Raj on daughter's feet—taboo shame, tongue between toes, Komal crying softly. "Dad... forgive me."
Raj and Arjun were broken by now. They both weren't like that both were full on pride on themselves what they called macho man and both have anger problems that was the reason too Komal's father and her husband get along so well.
When they finish komal and Priya told them drink some water just enough to fresh up their taste bud don't drink much she instructed in strict voice while while they take their Tops off and they both were still in bra and they raised their arm and told them to Lick it clean Raj was in Priya's musky pit, tongue rasping, degradation intimate and raw.
Arjun in his wife Komal's scent twisted, tears mixing.
They were so broken by now they didn't even argued about it.
It was like longest 10 minutes of their life they had to lick it for 5 minutes in each underarms that was gross but it was punishment not sexual fun.
Both Women were helpless camera was forcing on. And when komal saw 10 minutes was complete she yelled"Go to priya sweetheart "We have to do it .....for you."and Then whole process was repeated Raj lick his daughter's armpits clean and Arjun did same to priya.
When time was up they once again drink some water to clean their mouth and taste bud on sink in corner.
Meanwhile komal and Priya had their Pants down completely and panty pulled down to their feet and their Asses presented directly towards camera.
Komal teary eyes said "Dad—rim me. God, this hurts my heart." Raj once again walked to his daughter and hold her cheeks opened, tongue circling then plunging, earthy taste, ultimate taboo shame overwhelming, sobs racking him. When he tried to avoid it komal instructed" get you tounge out dad just put it in stop making hard for yourself and me.
Arjun ate Priya's asshole—lapping slow, juices coating, debasement profound.
They switched after 10 minutes Arjun rimming wife—tongue deep, feeling owned in agony.
komal and Priya had more control by now they were feeling bad about it but they both know it wasn't their fault and they know about jail would be hell for them.
When they both got up when Priya and komal told them to stand they stand their emotionless by now their arrogance all gone and thinking about their rage that had caused all this ultimate pain and humiliation looking down not even looking at ladies.
They didn't even react when komal and priya grabbed their harness and adjust the didlo which was looking like monster hanging between their legs 8-9 inch long and thick like their wrist..komal had didlo matching with her skin and Priya had Pink colored.
And when they put condom over the didlo they put some cream which they both didn't know what was... without being told they bent over the bench with legs open wide..komal came behind her father and said" try to relax Dad it's last part please cooperate please can you do this for me...I'm sorry...
Raj replied while wiping his tears" it's our rage that put you girls in this position..we are sorry..Arjun nodded yes too...
And they both cried in pain as wide didlo stretched their asses open wide and when Priya who was fucking Komal's husband was gentle and slow and still had half didlo out komal said" just do it like we do it to others i don't want it be flagged and they have to repeat it.
Arjun: yeah Priya I'm not angry about anything just do it according to your rules.
And for next 15 minutes Raj and Arjun saw how strong komal and Priya are They fuck them little gentle at first but within two minutes they were both fucking them hard and fast without even taking break or slow down even For first 15 minutes komal fucked her father and then she changed the condom and went behind her husband and fucked him and Priya did same to Raj.
And when it was done they took pictures of after punishment and when they sent it and confirmation came within seconds komal said" it's over guys....
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The pegging had ended minutes ago, but the room still hummed with heavy breathing and the lingering scent of latex, sweat, arousal. Raj and Arjun remained on their knees, bodies trembling, faces slick with the women’s juices, cocks soft and spent after their forced, untouched orgasms. Their asses—swollen, black-purple, and striped with angry red lines—throbbed in waves of fire that made even the slightest shift unbearable.
Komal and Priya exchanged a long, soft look. The teasing dominance melted away, replaced by genuine tenderness. They had pushed the men to their absolute limits; now it was time to bring them back gently.
Komal knelt first, her latex creaking as she settled in front of Raj. She cupped his tear-streaked face in both gloved hands, thumbs wiping away the wetness with infinite care.
“Shh, Daddy… it’s over. You took everything so beautifully. I’m so proud of you.” Her voice was low, soothing, the same tone she’d used when he was sick years ago. She pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, then another to each damp cheek. “You were so brave for me.”
Priya mirrored her in front of Arjun, brushing his sweaty hair back from his eyes. “Hey, handsome. Look at me.” She waited until his glassy gaze met hers. “You did amazing. Really. I know it hurt like hell, but you submitted perfectly. Good boy.” She leaned in and kissed the tip of his nose, then his lips—light, reassuring, no trace of mockery.
Both women stood and helped the men to their feet, supporting their weight when shaky legs threatened to buckle. The recovery robes—soft, thick cotton, warmed slightly in a cabinet—were draped over their shoulders. Komal tied Raj’s belt gently around his waist; Priya did the same for Arjun.
From the cart Komal retrieved a large tube of medical-grade soothing gel—cooling, anti-inflammatory, laced with aloe. She squeezed a generous amount into her palm, rubbing her hands together to warm it slightly.
“Turn around for me, Dad. Let me take care of these bruises.”
Raj hesitated, still flushed with lingering shame, but turned obediently. The sight of his ass drew a soft gasp from both women—swollen to nearly twice its normal size, deep purple-black with vivid cane strips.
Komal’s touch was feather-light at first, spreading the cool gel in slow circles over the hottest, most bruised areas. Raj hissed, then sighed as the cooling sensation sank in. “There we go… easy… this will help the swelling go down faster.”
Priya worked on Arjun with the same care, her long fingers gliding over his ruined cheeks. “Deep breaths, mechanic man. Let the gel do its magic.” She paused to kiss the small of his back tenderly. “You’re going to be sore for days, but we’ll make sure you heal nicely.”
They switched again Komal tending to Arjun, Priya to Raj—so each man felt loving hands from both women. Gentle murmurs filled the room
Komal hugged Arjun and said“My strong husband… you took it all for me. I love you so much.”
Priya also hugged Raj: “Uncle, you were incredible. Such a good man, letting us correct you like that.”thanks you did great really great.
And then they both help them cleanup. Komal cleaned Raj’s mustache with particular care, dabbing away the remnants of Priya’s juices, her touch apologetic and loving. Priya did the same for Arjun, wiping Komal’s essence from his chin and lips.
Priya fetched two bottles of chilled electrolyte water, holding one to Arjun’s lips while he drank slowly. Komal did the same for Raj, stroking his throat encouragingly as he swallowed.
“Small sips, Dad. You’ve been through a lot.”
When the bottles were half-empty, the women guided the men to a wide, cushioned recovery bench along the wall padded and angled to allow lying on their sides or stomachs without pressure on bruised asses. Soft pillows and light blankets waited.
Komal helped Raj settle onto his stomach first, arranging pillows under his chest and hips. She covered him with a blanket up to his waist, then lay beside him on her side, one arm draped gently over his back, rubbing slow circles between his shoulder blades.
Priya guided Arjun down next to them, positioning him facing Raj so the two men could see each other if they wanted. She curled up behind Arjun, spooning him carefully, her hand resting lightly on his hip, avoiding the tender areas.
They weren't in position to drive so they had to wait Till komal and Priya's shift ended.
For long minutes, the only sounds were soft breathing and occasional quiet sniffles. The women spoke in low, comforting voices.
Komal to both “You’re safe now. It’s all done. We’re so proud of how you surrendered. That took real strength.”
Priya: “And remember none of this changes how much we love and respect you. You’re still the same strong men we adore. Just… a little wiser now.”
Raj’s voice came out hoarse and small. “Beta… I’m sorry. For everything.”
Komal kissed the back of his neck. “I know, Daddy. Forgiven Completely.”
Arjun turned his head slightly toward Komal. “I love you… even after all that.”
She reached across to stroke his cheek. “I love you more, baby. Always.”
Priya pressed a kiss to Arjun’s shoulder. “And I’m still coming for Sunday lunch, uncles. No weirdness, okay? We’re family.”
And komal" ok now rest for a while we both have one more session to do then we can go home.
Slowly, the tension ebbed from the men’s bodies. Exhaustion took over; eyes fluttered closed. The women stayed with them, stroking hair, murmuring endearments, until soft, even breathing signaled sleep.
Only then did Komal and Priya carefully rise, dimming the lights and setting a quiet timer on the wall monitor to check on them periodically.
Before leaving the room, they shared one last soft look.
Priya whispered, “Think they’ll actually learn?”
Komal smiled gently. “They already have. And if they forget… well, we’ll be here.”
They closed the door quietly, leaving Raj and Arjun to heal in the warm afterglow of pain, love, and unbreakable family bonds.
Komal and Priya exchanged a long, soft look. The teasing dominance melted away, replaced by genuine tenderness. They had pushed the men to their absolute limits; now it was time to bring them back gently.
Komal knelt first, her latex creaking as she settled in front of Raj. She cupped his tear-streaked face in both gloved hands, thumbs wiping away the wetness with infinite care.
“Shh, Daddy… it’s over. You took everything so beautifully. I’m so proud of you.” Her voice was low, soothing, the same tone she’d used when he was sick years ago. She pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, then another to each damp cheek. “You were so brave for me.”
Priya mirrored her in front of Arjun, brushing his sweaty hair back from his eyes. “Hey, handsome. Look at me.” She waited until his glassy gaze met hers. “You did amazing. Really. I know it hurt like hell, but you submitted perfectly. Good boy.” She leaned in and kissed the tip of his nose, then his lips—light, reassuring, no trace of mockery.
Both women stood and helped the men to their feet, supporting their weight when shaky legs threatened to buckle. The recovery robes—soft, thick cotton, warmed slightly in a cabinet—were draped over their shoulders. Komal tied Raj’s belt gently around his waist; Priya did the same for Arjun.
From the cart Komal retrieved a large tube of medical-grade soothing gel—cooling, anti-inflammatory, laced with aloe. She squeezed a generous amount into her palm, rubbing her hands together to warm it slightly.
“Turn around for me, Dad. Let me take care of these bruises.”
Raj hesitated, still flushed with lingering shame, but turned obediently. The sight of his ass drew a soft gasp from both women—swollen to nearly twice its normal size, deep purple-black with vivid cane strips.
Komal’s touch was feather-light at first, spreading the cool gel in slow circles over the hottest, most bruised areas. Raj hissed, then sighed as the cooling sensation sank in. “There we go… easy… this will help the swelling go down faster.”
Priya worked on Arjun with the same care, her long fingers gliding over his ruined cheeks. “Deep breaths, mechanic man. Let the gel do its magic.” She paused to kiss the small of his back tenderly. “You’re going to be sore for days, but we’ll make sure you heal nicely.”
They switched again Komal tending to Arjun, Priya to Raj—so each man felt loving hands from both women. Gentle murmurs filled the room
Komal hugged Arjun and said“My strong husband… you took it all for me. I love you so much.”
Priya also hugged Raj: “Uncle, you were incredible. Such a good man, letting us correct you like that.”thanks you did great really great.
And then they both help them cleanup. Komal cleaned Raj’s mustache with particular care, dabbing away the remnants of Priya’s juices, her touch apologetic and loving. Priya did the same for Arjun, wiping Komal’s essence from his chin and lips.
Priya fetched two bottles of chilled electrolyte water, holding one to Arjun’s lips while he drank slowly. Komal did the same for Raj, stroking his throat encouragingly as he swallowed.
“Small sips, Dad. You’ve been through a lot.”
When the bottles were half-empty, the women guided the men to a wide, cushioned recovery bench along the wall padded and angled to allow lying on their sides or stomachs without pressure on bruised asses. Soft pillows and light blankets waited.
Komal helped Raj settle onto his stomach first, arranging pillows under his chest and hips. She covered him with a blanket up to his waist, then lay beside him on her side, one arm draped gently over his back, rubbing slow circles between his shoulder blades.
Priya guided Arjun down next to them, positioning him facing Raj so the two men could see each other if they wanted. She curled up behind Arjun, spooning him carefully, her hand resting lightly on his hip, avoiding the tender areas.
They weren't in position to drive so they had to wait Till komal and Priya's shift ended.
For long minutes, the only sounds were soft breathing and occasional quiet sniffles. The women spoke in low, comforting voices.
Komal to both “You’re safe now. It’s all done. We’re so proud of how you surrendered. That took real strength.”
Priya: “And remember none of this changes how much we love and respect you. You’re still the same strong men we adore. Just… a little wiser now.”
Raj’s voice came out hoarse and small. “Beta… I’m sorry. For everything.”
Komal kissed the back of his neck. “I know, Daddy. Forgiven Completely.”
Arjun turned his head slightly toward Komal. “I love you… even after all that.”
She reached across to stroke his cheek. “I love you more, baby. Always.”
Priya pressed a kiss to Arjun’s shoulder. “And I’m still coming for Sunday lunch, uncles. No weirdness, okay? We’re family.”
And komal" ok now rest for a while we both have one more session to do then we can go home.
Slowly, the tension ebbed from the men’s bodies. Exhaustion took over; eyes fluttered closed. The women stayed with them, stroking hair, murmuring endearments, until soft, even breathing signaled sleep.
Only then did Komal and Priya carefully rise, dimming the lights and setting a quiet timer on the wall monitor to check on them periodically.
Before leaving the room, they shared one last soft look.
Priya whispered, “Think they’ll actually learn?”
Komal smiled gently. “They already have. And if they forget… well, we’ll be here.”
They closed the door quietly, leaving Raj and Arjun to heal in the warm afterglow of pain, love, and unbreakable family bonds.
Umakant007
चरित्रं विचित्रं..
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Umakant007
चरित्रं विचित्रं..
- 4,792
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- 144
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strict teacher( didi)
The morning sun filtered through the curtains of their modest two-bedroom home in the quiet suburb, casting long golden stripes across the living room floor. It was February and Monday, and the house already buzzed with the usual pre-school chaos.
Komal stood in front of the full-length mirror near the entrance, adjusting the waistband of her tight black yoga shorts. They clung to her athletic thighs and rounded hips like a second skin, ending high on her toned legs. Her white t-shirt was equally unforgiving—stretched taut across her chest and flat stomach, the fabric slightly damp from her quick morning yoga routine. She pulled her long dark hair into a high, no-nonsense ponytail, her expression serious as always: lips pressed into a thin line, brows slightly furrowed. Discipline started at home, even on her first day as the new PE teacher.
Sunny sauntered out of his room still in his pajama shorts and an old faded t-shirt, hair a mess, grinning like he'd already won the day. At 18, he was taller than her now, lanky but wiry, with that permanent mischievous spark in his eyes—the one that had gotten him into trouble since he was five.
He stopped dead when he saw her outfit, eyes widening dramatically before narrowing into a smirk.
"Di, seriously? You're going to school looking like that?" Sunny leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms. "Yoga shorts so tight I can see what you had for breakfast. The boys are gonna need oxygen masks in PE."
Komal didn't even turn around fully. She met his gaze in the mirror, unimpressed.
"They're called athletic wear, Sunny. And unlike some people, I actually dress for the job I'm paid to do." She smoothed the t-shirt over her midriff. "You, on the other hand, look like you rolled out of a dumpster. Again."
Sunny clutched his chest in mock offense. "Ouch. Harsh, even for Miss Perfect Discipline. At least my outfit doesn't scream 'I'm here to torture teenagers with burpees and spankings'."
Komal finally turned, hands on hips, ponytail swinging. "Speaking of which... I heard from Principal ma'am yesterday. The school still has the old policy. Spanking included. And guess who gets to administer it now?"
Sunny's grin faltered for half a second before he recovered, laughing it off. "Yeah, yeah. Big scary Didi with a cane. Terrifying. Bet you'll enjoy whacking all those poor girls who talk in class."
He stepped closer, circling her slowly like he was inspecting livestock. "But real talk—those shorts? Criminal. One squat in PE and half the senior boys are gonna need therapy. Or binoculars."
Komal rolled her eyes so hard it hurt. "Keep talking like that and I'll demonstrate proper squat form on your backside right here. With my sandal."
Sunny threw his head back and cackled. "Oh please. You'd probably cry before you landed the first smack. Miss Goody-Two-Shoes can't even scold the neighbor's dog without feeling guilty."
He darted in quick, poking her exposed midriff just above the waistband. "Ticklish much?"
Komal swatted his hand away instantly, cheeks flushing despite herself. "Sunny! Stop being a child. You're eighteen, act like it."
"Make me," he shot back, sticking his tongue out. He grabbed a cushion from the sofa and held it up like a shield. "Come on, Didi. Show me that famous 'serious teacher' glare. The one that makes little kids pee themselves."
She snatched the cushion from him in one swift move and whacked him lightly across the shoulder. "I don't need to glare. I have tools now. Hand. Sandal. Cane. And notes that say 'severe'."
Sunny rubbed his shoulder dramatically even though the hit was nothing. "Wow. Already threatening your own brother. Abuse of power much? Wait till I tell Mom you're planning to cane me on day one."
Komal stepped right up to him, close enough that he could smell her faint citrus body wash. Her voice dropped, calm but edged with steel—the same tone she'd use later in the changing room at school.
"If you get sent to me today—and we both know the odds are high—I won't hesitate. Severe means bare bottom, Sunny. Hand to start, then sandal, then cane. Hard. No mercy. No 'but Didi' whining. You'll count every stroke and thank me after."
For the first time that morning, Sunny's cocky grin cracked. He swallowed visibly, Adam's apple bobbing. The brat facade flickered; underneath was the same boy who'd once cried when she beat him at carrom and refused to speak to her for two days.
He tried to play it off, stepping back with forced laughter. "Pfft. As if you'd actually do it to your favorite little brother. You'd probably give me a love pat and send me back with chocolate."
Komal didn't smile. She just stared, unblinking. "Try me. I've already spanked three girls this morning in my head during practice. You're not special."
Sunny blinked. "Wait... you practiced? On who?"
"On the pillow," she said flatly. "But the motion is the same. And trust me, the cane stings even through fabric in simulation. Bare? You'll be dancing."
He stared at her for a long beat, the teasing energy shifting into something thicker—nervous anticipation mixed with the familiar sibling challenge.
"You're actually looking forward to it, aren't you?" he accused, voice half-laugh, half-disbelief.
Komal tilted her head. "No. But if you earn it? I'll do my job. Perfectly. Because that's who I am." She poked his chest once, hard. "And you're the brat who never learns."
Sunny recovered, flashing that signature grin again, though it was a touch less steady. "Fine. Challenge accepted. I'll be a perfect angel today. No detentions. No notes. You'll be bored out of your mind whacking other people's siblings while I sit pretty in class."
Komal arched an eyebrow. "We'll see. Now go change into your uniform before you're late. And iron it properly this time—no creases like last week."
Sunny saluted mockingly. "Yes, ma'am! Didi!"
As he turned to head back to his room, he paused at the doorway, throwing one last barb over his shoulder.
"But seriously... those shorts? Lethal. If I get sent to you later, at least I'll have something nice to look at while I'm crying."
Komal threw the cushion at his head. It hit with a soft thump.
"Out!"
He ducked inside laughing, door clicking shut.
Komal exhaled slowly, staring at her reflection again. Serious. Composed. In control.
But deep down, a tiny, traitorous flutter stirred in her stomach.
What if he really did get sent to her today?
What if the note said *severe*?
She shook her head, ponytail whipping.
No. He wouldn't dare.
...Right?
The morning sun filtered through the curtains of their modest two-bedroom home in the quiet suburb, casting long golden stripes across the living room floor. It was February and Monday, and the house already buzzed with the usual pre-school chaos.
Komal stood in front of the full-length mirror near the entrance, adjusting the waistband of her tight black yoga shorts. They clung to her athletic thighs and rounded hips like a second skin, ending high on her toned legs. Her white t-shirt was equally unforgiving—stretched taut across her chest and flat stomach, the fabric slightly damp from her quick morning yoga routine. She pulled her long dark hair into a high, no-nonsense ponytail, her expression serious as always: lips pressed into a thin line, brows slightly furrowed. Discipline started at home, even on her first day as the new PE teacher.
Sunny sauntered out of his room still in his pajama shorts and an old faded t-shirt, hair a mess, grinning like he'd already won the day. At 18, he was taller than her now, lanky but wiry, with that permanent mischievous spark in his eyes—the one that had gotten him into trouble since he was five.
He stopped dead when he saw her outfit, eyes widening dramatically before narrowing into a smirk.
"Di, seriously? You're going to school looking like that?" Sunny leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms. "Yoga shorts so tight I can see what you had for breakfast. The boys are gonna need oxygen masks in PE."
Komal didn't even turn around fully. She met his gaze in the mirror, unimpressed.
"They're called athletic wear, Sunny. And unlike some people, I actually dress for the job I'm paid to do." She smoothed the t-shirt over her midriff. "You, on the other hand, look like you rolled out of a dumpster. Again."
Sunny clutched his chest in mock offense. "Ouch. Harsh, even for Miss Perfect Discipline. At least my outfit doesn't scream 'I'm here to torture teenagers with burpees and spankings'."
Komal finally turned, hands on hips, ponytail swinging. "Speaking of which... I heard from Principal ma'am yesterday. The school still has the old policy. Spanking included. And guess who gets to administer it now?"
Sunny's grin faltered for half a second before he recovered, laughing it off. "Yeah, yeah. Big scary Didi with a cane. Terrifying. Bet you'll enjoy whacking all those poor girls who talk in class."
He stepped closer, circling her slowly like he was inspecting livestock. "But real talk—those shorts? Criminal. One squat in PE and half the senior boys are gonna need therapy. Or binoculars."
Komal rolled her eyes so hard it hurt. "Keep talking like that and I'll demonstrate proper squat form on your backside right here. With my sandal."
Sunny threw his head back and cackled. "Oh please. You'd probably cry before you landed the first smack. Miss Goody-Two-Shoes can't even scold the neighbor's dog without feeling guilty."
He darted in quick, poking her exposed midriff just above the waistband. "Ticklish much?"
Komal swatted his hand away instantly, cheeks flushing despite herself. "Sunny! Stop being a child. You're eighteen, act like it."
"Make me," he shot back, sticking his tongue out. He grabbed a cushion from the sofa and held it up like a shield. "Come on, Didi. Show me that famous 'serious teacher' glare. The one that makes little kids pee themselves."
She snatched the cushion from him in one swift move and whacked him lightly across the shoulder. "I don't need to glare. I have tools now. Hand. Sandal. Cane. And notes that say 'severe'."
Sunny rubbed his shoulder dramatically even though the hit was nothing. "Wow. Already threatening your own brother. Abuse of power much? Wait till I tell Mom you're planning to cane me on day one."
Komal stepped right up to him, close enough that he could smell her faint citrus body wash. Her voice dropped, calm but edged with steel—the same tone she'd use later in the changing room at school.
"If you get sent to me today—and we both know the odds are high—I won't hesitate. Severe means bare bottom, Sunny. Hand to start, then sandal, then cane. Hard. No mercy. No 'but Didi' whining. You'll count every stroke and thank me after."
For the first time that morning, Sunny's cocky grin cracked. He swallowed visibly, Adam's apple bobbing. The brat facade flickered; underneath was the same boy who'd once cried when she beat him at carrom and refused to speak to her for two days.
He tried to play it off, stepping back with forced laughter. "Pfft. As if you'd actually do it to your favorite little brother. You'd probably give me a love pat and send me back with chocolate."
Komal didn't smile. She just stared, unblinking. "Try me. I've already spanked three girls this morning in my head during practice. You're not special."
Sunny blinked. "Wait... you practiced? On who?"
"On the pillow," she said flatly. "But the motion is the same. And trust me, the cane stings even through fabric in simulation. Bare? You'll be dancing."
He stared at her for a long beat, the teasing energy shifting into something thicker—nervous anticipation mixed with the familiar sibling challenge.
"You're actually looking forward to it, aren't you?" he accused, voice half-laugh, half-disbelief.
Komal tilted her head. "No. But if you earn it? I'll do my job. Perfectly. Because that's who I am." She poked his chest once, hard. "And you're the brat who never learns."
Sunny recovered, flashing that signature grin again, though it was a touch less steady. "Fine. Challenge accepted. I'll be a perfect angel today. No detentions. No notes. You'll be bored out of your mind whacking other people's siblings while I sit pretty in class."
Komal arched an eyebrow. "We'll see. Now go change into your uniform before you're late. And iron it properly this time—no creases like last week."
Sunny saluted mockingly. "Yes, ma'am! Didi!"
As he turned to head back to his room, he paused at the doorway, throwing one last barb over his shoulder.
"But seriously... those shorts? Lethal. If I get sent to you later, at least I'll have something nice to look at while I'm crying."
Komal threw the cushion at his head. It hit with a soft thump.
"Out!"
He ducked inside laughing, door clicking shut.
Komal exhaled slowly, staring at her reflection again. Serious. Composed. In control.
But deep down, a tiny, traitorous flutter stirred in her stomach.
What if he really did get sent to her today?
What if the note said *severe*?
She shook her head, ponytail whipping.
No. He wouldn't dare.
...Right?
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The school bell for the first period rang just as Komal locked her small office-cum-equipment room in the gymnasium wing. She had already mentally rehearsed the morning: warm-ups for Class 9, volleyball drills for Class 11 girls, then the inevitable trickle of disciplinary cases during the gaps.
Everything felt surreal. Her own school—where she had once been a prefect, always the one reporting misbehavior instead of receiving it—was now her workplace. And her little brother, the perpetual headache in human form, was somewhere in these corridors wearing the same navy-blue blazer and grey trousers she used to iron for him on Sundays.
She pushed the thought aside. Focus.
The first two periods passed in a blur of shouted commands, whistle blows, and the satisfying thud of sneakers on the wooden court. By the time the mid-morning break bell rang at 10:45, Komal was already damp with sweat under her tight white t-shirt, the fabric clinging transparently in places. She wiped her forehead with the back of her wrist and headed toward the small private room attached to the gym—the “Correction Corner,” as the older staff still called it.
Three girls had already been sent during the last period change.
The first note had been mild. A girl was caught passing notes in math. Komal had made her bend over the padded bench, skirt flipped up, white school panties exposed. Ten firm hand spanks, delivered with deliberate pauses so each one sank in. The girl had sniffled by the end but hadn’t cried. Komal had felt nothing but calm professionalism.
The second was regular level: a repeater who’d been cheeky to the history teacher. Hand + sandal. Komal had removed her right flip-flop—the black rubber one with the slight ridge—and delivered twenty stinging swats after the hand portion. The sharp crack echoed off the tiled walls; the girl had kicked her legs and sobbed openly by the fifteenth. Komal had spoken in her low, even teacher voice the entire time:
“Count them aloud. Start again if you miss one. This is what happens when you disrespect staff.”
The third had been severe. A senior girl caught smoking behind the science block. Note said: severe – hand, sandal, cane – 6 cane strokes minimum. Komal had pulled the girl’s underwear down to her thighs without ceremony. The bare bottom was pale and unmarked at first. By the time Komal finished—thirty hard hand spanks that turned the cheeks dark pink, followed by twenty-five with the sandal that raised angry red ovals, and finally six perfectly placed cane strokes that left thin, raised welts—she was breathing harder than during any PE drill. The girl had howled, tears streaming, promising never again. Komal had let her compose herself for a full two minutes before dismissing her with the standard line:
“Pull your clothes up. Go straight back to class. If I see you here again, it doubles.”
She was washing her hands at the small sink when the door opened without a knock.
The assistant peon stood there, awkward.
“Ma’am… another one.”
He stepped aside.
Sunny walked in.
Blazer slung over one shoulder, tie loosened, top button undone, the picture of studied nonchalance. But his ears were pink and his usual swagger was dialed down to about 60%. In his hand: a folded disciplinary note.
Komal froze for half a second—long enough for her stomach to drop—then recovered. She dried her hands slowly on a towel, expression blank.
“Close the door,” she told the peon. “And wait outside.”
The door clicked shut.
Sunny stood in the middle of the small room, shifting weight from one foot to the other. He tried for his trademark grin. It didn’t quite land.
“Hey, Didi. Fancy meeting you here.”
Komal unfolded the note without looking at him yet.
Severe.
Reason: Disrupting assembly + back-talking to Vice Principal + repeated phone use in class despite warnings.
Implement: Hand (40), Sandal (30), Cane (12). Bare. No remission.
Signed: Vice Principal Sharma.
She read it twice.
Then she looked up.
Sunny was watching her face, trying to gauge whether this was still a game.
Komal’s voice came out quieter than she expected. Almost gentle.
“You really did it.”
Sunny shrugged, but the movement was jerky. “Wasn’t planning on getting caught. Bad timing.”
“Bad choices,” she corrected. “Not timing.”
Silence stretched.
He glanced at the bench, then at the thin rattan cane hanging on the wall hook beside her desk—the school-issue one, about 90 cm long, flexible, with a curved handle. Then back at her.
“You’re not actually gonna… I mean… it’s me.”
Komal set the note down carefully.
“I told you this morning. If the note says severe, I do severe. No exceptions. Not even for family.”
Sunny laughed once—short, nervous. “Come on, Di. You’re not a robot. You can’t just—”
“I can. And I will.” She stepped closer. “Because if I give you special treatment, the whole system falls apart. And because you need to learn, Sunny. Really learn. You’ve been coasting on charm and luck for years. Today luck ran out.”
His bravado cracked further. He rubbed the back of his neck.
“Look… I’m sorry, okay? I’ll apologize to Sharma ma’am. I’ll take the week’s detention. Just… don’t do this. Not you.”
Komal’s jaw tightened. Something hot and complicated twisted behind her ribs—anger, protectiveness, duty, and underneath it all, a strange, shameful thread of power.
“No bargaining,” she said. “Pants down. Underwear too. Over the bench. Now.”
Sunny stared at her like she’d slapped him.
“You’re serious.”
“Dead serious.”
He searched her face for any sign of bluff. Found none.
Slowly—agonizingly slowly—he unbuckled his belt. The metallic clink sounded obscenely loud in the small room. Trousers slid to his ankles. He hesitated at the boxers, thumbs hooked in the waistband.
Komal didn’t blink. Didn’t soften.
“Everything,” she repeated.
He swallowed hard. Boxers joined the trousers.
He stood there for a second—exposed, vulnerable, suddenly looking much younger than eighteen—before he shuffled to the bench and bent over it. Hands gripping the far edge. Bottom presented. Pale. Untouched.
Komal picked up the wooden-backed hairbrush she kept on the desk (the school allowed personal implements for hand portion if desired). She didn’t want to use her bare palm for forty; it would hurt her hand more than his bottom.
She stepped to his left side.
“Count every one aloud. Miss one, we start that section again. Understand?”
Sunny’s voice was muffled against his folded arms. “Yes, ma’am.”
The first section began.
The hairbrush landed with a loud, meaty crack.
Sunny jerked. “One!”
By fifteen his voice was already higher, strained.
By twenty-five he was hissing between counts.
By thirty-eight he was kicking his feet against the floor, tears leaking.
“Forty!”
Komal set the brush down. Her right palm was stinging even through the indirect contact.
She slipped off her right flip-flop again—the same one she’d used on the senior girl earlier.
“Now sandal. Thirty.”
Sunny whimpered. “Didi, please—”
“No talking unless counting.”
The sandal cracked across both cheeks—sharper, more bruising than the brush. Each impact left a perfect oval imprint that quickly bloomed red.
He made it to eighteen before the sobs started in earnest.
By thirty he was openly crying, legs trembling, bottom a deep, angry scarlet.
Komal paused only long enough to switch sandals so the left one (slightly warmer from her foot) could do its work symmetrically.
Then came the cane.
She took it down from the hook. Swished it once through the air—sharp whistle.
Sunny tensed, buttocks clenching.
“Twelve,” she said quietly. “You will thank me after each one. If you don’t, we repeat it.”
The first stroke landed diagonally from upper left to lower right.
Sunny screamed.
“One… thank you, Didi!”
The second crossed it.
He bucked.
“Two… thank you, Didi!”
By the sixth his voice was hoarse, body shaking with sobs.
By the twelfth he was a wreck—bottom covered in a neat lattice of raised, purple-edged welts, skin hot to the touch even from a distance.
Komal hung the cane back up.
Silence except for his ragged breathing and occasional sniff.
She crouched beside the bench, voice softer now.
“Get up slowly. Pull your clothes up. Sit on the chair in the corner until the break ends. No rubbing. No talking. Just sit and think.”
Sunny pushed himself upright with shaking arms. Tears streamed down his face. He wouldn’t meet her eyes.
As he gingerly tugged his boxers and trousers back over the blazing skin, he whispered—barely audible:
“I’m sorry, Di. Really.”
Komal didn’t answer right away.
She just watched him limp to the hard wooden chair, wincing with every step, and lower himself onto it with exquisite care.
Only then did she speak.
“Good. Remember that feeling next time you think about disrupting class.”
She turned away to wash her hands again—more to give him privacy than anything else.
Behind her, Sunny sat very still, bottom throbbing, pride in tatters, and—for the first time in years—actually thinking about consequences.
Komal stared at her reflection in the small mirror above the sink.
Serious. Composed. In control.
But her hands were trembling just a little.
And somewhere deep inside, she wasn’t sure whether she hated what she’d just done…
…or whether part of her had needed to do it.
Everything felt surreal. Her own school—where she had once been a prefect, always the one reporting misbehavior instead of receiving it—was now her workplace. And her little brother, the perpetual headache in human form, was somewhere in these corridors wearing the same navy-blue blazer and grey trousers she used to iron for him on Sundays.
She pushed the thought aside. Focus.
The first two periods passed in a blur of shouted commands, whistle blows, and the satisfying thud of sneakers on the wooden court. By the time the mid-morning break bell rang at 10:45, Komal was already damp with sweat under her tight white t-shirt, the fabric clinging transparently in places. She wiped her forehead with the back of her wrist and headed toward the small private room attached to the gym—the “Correction Corner,” as the older staff still called it.
Three girls had already been sent during the last period change.
The first note had been mild. A girl was caught passing notes in math. Komal had made her bend over the padded bench, skirt flipped up, white school panties exposed. Ten firm hand spanks, delivered with deliberate pauses so each one sank in. The girl had sniffled by the end but hadn’t cried. Komal had felt nothing but calm professionalism.
The second was regular level: a repeater who’d been cheeky to the history teacher. Hand + sandal. Komal had removed her right flip-flop—the black rubber one with the slight ridge—and delivered twenty stinging swats after the hand portion. The sharp crack echoed off the tiled walls; the girl had kicked her legs and sobbed openly by the fifteenth. Komal had spoken in her low, even teacher voice the entire time:
“Count them aloud. Start again if you miss one. This is what happens when you disrespect staff.”
The third had been severe. A senior girl caught smoking behind the science block. Note said: severe – hand, sandal, cane – 6 cane strokes minimum. Komal had pulled the girl’s underwear down to her thighs without ceremony. The bare bottom was pale and unmarked at first. By the time Komal finished—thirty hard hand spanks that turned the cheeks dark pink, followed by twenty-five with the sandal that raised angry red ovals, and finally six perfectly placed cane strokes that left thin, raised welts—she was breathing harder than during any PE drill. The girl had howled, tears streaming, promising never again. Komal had let her compose herself for a full two minutes before dismissing her with the standard line:
“Pull your clothes up. Go straight back to class. If I see you here again, it doubles.”
She was washing her hands at the small sink when the door opened without a knock.
The assistant peon stood there, awkward.
“Ma’am… another one.”
He stepped aside.
Sunny walked in.
Blazer slung over one shoulder, tie loosened, top button undone, the picture of studied nonchalance. But his ears were pink and his usual swagger was dialed down to about 60%. In his hand: a folded disciplinary note.
Komal froze for half a second—long enough for her stomach to drop—then recovered. She dried her hands slowly on a towel, expression blank.
“Close the door,” she told the peon. “And wait outside.”
The door clicked shut.
Sunny stood in the middle of the small room, shifting weight from one foot to the other. He tried for his trademark grin. It didn’t quite land.
“Hey, Didi. Fancy meeting you here.”
Komal unfolded the note without looking at him yet.
Severe.
Reason: Disrupting assembly + back-talking to Vice Principal + repeated phone use in class despite warnings.
Implement: Hand (40), Sandal (30), Cane (12). Bare. No remission.
Signed: Vice Principal Sharma.
She read it twice.
Then she looked up.
Sunny was watching her face, trying to gauge whether this was still a game.
Komal’s voice came out quieter than she expected. Almost gentle.
“You really did it.”
Sunny shrugged, but the movement was jerky. “Wasn’t planning on getting caught. Bad timing.”
“Bad choices,” she corrected. “Not timing.”
Silence stretched.
He glanced at the bench, then at the thin rattan cane hanging on the wall hook beside her desk—the school-issue one, about 90 cm long, flexible, with a curved handle. Then back at her.
“You’re not actually gonna… I mean… it’s me.”
Komal set the note down carefully.
“I told you this morning. If the note says severe, I do severe. No exceptions. Not even for family.”
Sunny laughed once—short, nervous. “Come on, Di. You’re not a robot. You can’t just—”
“I can. And I will.” She stepped closer. “Because if I give you special treatment, the whole system falls apart. And because you need to learn, Sunny. Really learn. You’ve been coasting on charm and luck for years. Today luck ran out.”
His bravado cracked further. He rubbed the back of his neck.
“Look… I’m sorry, okay? I’ll apologize to Sharma ma’am. I’ll take the week’s detention. Just… don’t do this. Not you.”
Komal’s jaw tightened. Something hot and complicated twisted behind her ribs—anger, protectiveness, duty, and underneath it all, a strange, shameful thread of power.
“No bargaining,” she said. “Pants down. Underwear too. Over the bench. Now.”
Sunny stared at her like she’d slapped him.
“You’re serious.”
“Dead serious.”
He searched her face for any sign of bluff. Found none.
Slowly—agonizingly slowly—he unbuckled his belt. The metallic clink sounded obscenely loud in the small room. Trousers slid to his ankles. He hesitated at the boxers, thumbs hooked in the waistband.
Komal didn’t blink. Didn’t soften.
“Everything,” she repeated.
He swallowed hard. Boxers joined the trousers.
He stood there for a second—exposed, vulnerable, suddenly looking much younger than eighteen—before he shuffled to the bench and bent over it. Hands gripping the far edge. Bottom presented. Pale. Untouched.
Komal picked up the wooden-backed hairbrush she kept on the desk (the school allowed personal implements for hand portion if desired). She didn’t want to use her bare palm for forty; it would hurt her hand more than his bottom.
She stepped to his left side.
“Count every one aloud. Miss one, we start that section again. Understand?”
Sunny’s voice was muffled against his folded arms. “Yes, ma’am.”
The first section began.
The hairbrush landed with a loud, meaty crack.
Sunny jerked. “One!”
By fifteen his voice was already higher, strained.
By twenty-five he was hissing between counts.
By thirty-eight he was kicking his feet against the floor, tears leaking.
“Forty!”
Komal set the brush down. Her right palm was stinging even through the indirect contact.
She slipped off her right flip-flop again—the same one she’d used on the senior girl earlier.
“Now sandal. Thirty.”
Sunny whimpered. “Didi, please—”
“No talking unless counting.”
The sandal cracked across both cheeks—sharper, more bruising than the brush. Each impact left a perfect oval imprint that quickly bloomed red.
He made it to eighteen before the sobs started in earnest.
By thirty he was openly crying, legs trembling, bottom a deep, angry scarlet.
Komal paused only long enough to switch sandals so the left one (slightly warmer from her foot) could do its work symmetrically.
Then came the cane.
She took it down from the hook. Swished it once through the air—sharp whistle.
Sunny tensed, buttocks clenching.
“Twelve,” she said quietly. “You will thank me after each one. If you don’t, we repeat it.”
The first stroke landed diagonally from upper left to lower right.
Sunny screamed.
“One… thank you, Didi!”
The second crossed it.
He bucked.
“Two… thank you, Didi!”
By the sixth his voice was hoarse, body shaking with sobs.
By the twelfth he was a wreck—bottom covered in a neat lattice of raised, purple-edged welts, skin hot to the touch even from a distance.
Komal hung the cane back up.
Silence except for his ragged breathing and occasional sniff.
She crouched beside the bench, voice softer now.
“Get up slowly. Pull your clothes up. Sit on the chair in the corner until the break ends. No rubbing. No talking. Just sit and think.”
Sunny pushed himself upright with shaking arms. Tears streamed down his face. He wouldn’t meet her eyes.
As he gingerly tugged his boxers and trousers back over the blazing skin, he whispered—barely audible:
“I’m sorry, Di. Really.”
Komal didn’t answer right away.
She just watched him limp to the hard wooden chair, wincing with every step, and lower himself onto it with exquisite care.
Only then did she speak.
“Good. Remember that feeling next time you think about disrupting class.”
She turned away to wash her hands again—more to give him privacy than anything else.
Behind her, Sunny sat very still, bottom throbbing, pride in tatters, and—for the first time in years—actually thinking about consequences.
Komal stared at her reflection in the small mirror above the sink.
Serious. Composed. In control.
But her hands were trembling just a little.
And somewhere deep inside, she wasn’t sure whether she hated what she’d just done…
…or whether part of her had needed to do it.
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