Page 57 of Bought and Enjoyed

“Gentlemen,” Lucas addressed the team, his voice carrying easily through the locker room. “Alice here seems to enjoy being the center of attention. So let’s indulge her, shall we? Feel free to share your thoughts. After all, she embarrassed us all with her little stunt at the press conference.”

There was a moment of silence, then someone spoke up. “Bonjour,Alice,” the voice said, his tone mocking, “I’m Tomas—I’m a midfielder. I must say you look like a very naughty girl who needs a good whipping.”

I whimpered softly around the gag, my face burning with shame. The clinical white bench beneath me suddenly felt like a stage, with me as the reluctant performer.

“Oui,” another voice chimed in. “Perhaps she needs to learn what happens to little sluts who cause trouble for the team.”

Lucas’ hand came to rest on my lower back, his touch both comforting and possessive. “Indeed she does,” he agreed. “And you’re all going to help teach her that lesson.”

I heard the soft whisper of leather through the air, and my heart began to race. I knew that sound—it was Lucas’ martinet. The polished wooden handle gleamed in the harsh fluorescent lighting of the locker room as Lucas held it up for the team to see.

“Ten lashes,” Lucas announced. “One for each of you. If you’d indulge me, my friends, I’d invite you to count Alice’s lashes out loud.”

I tensed, anticipating the first strike. But instead of the sharp sting of leather, I felt Lucas’ hand caressing my bottom, his touch surprisingly gentle.

“Such a pretty little ass,” he murmured. “It’s a shame to mark it up. But you need this, don’t you,ma chère?”

Unable to speak around the gag, I could only nod, my cheeks burning hot.

The first strike came without warning, the leather tails of the martinet biting into my tender flesh. I cried out around the gag, the sound muffled but still audible in the quiet locker room.

“One,” Tomas called out, his voice tinged with a mixture of excitement and awe.

I barely had time to process the burning sting before the second lash fell, slightly lower on my bottom. Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes as the pain bloomed across my skin.

“Two,” another voice announced.

Lucas’ rhythm was relentless, each strike coming just as the pain from the previous one began to peak. I writhed against my bonds, the tape holding firm as I struggled. My muffled cries filled the air, mingling with the sharp crack of leather against flesh and the steady count from the team.

“Three,” another voice called out, as the martinet struck my tender flesh once more. The pain was intense, radiating outward from the point of impact. I squeezed my eyes shut, tears leaking from the corners to trail down my cheeks.

“Four,” came the next count, this voice deeper and accented.

As the fifth lash fell, I forced my eyes open, blinking away the tears that blurred my vision. What I saw made my breath catch in my throat. The team had shed their robes, standing naked around the bench where I lay, bound and exposed. Their muscular bodies gleamed under the harsh fluorescent lights, a sea of tanned skin and rippling muscle.

“Five,” one of them called out, his hand wrapped around his hardening cock.

My eyes widened as I realized what was happening. They were touching themselves, stroking their shafts as they watched Lucas discipline me. The sight sent a confusing mix of shame and arousal coursing through my body.

“Six,” another voice announced, slightly breathless.

I could hear the soft sounds of flesh on flesh as the team pleasured their massive cocks, punctuated by occasional grunts and sighs of growing arousal. The knowledge that these elite athletes were becoming aroused by my punishment was both mortifying and intensely erotic.

“Seven,” came the next count, followed by a particularly hard strike that made me cry out around the gag.

I sobbed openly, my face wet with tears. The pain was overwhelming, each lash feeling like fire across my tender skin. And yet, beneath the agony, I felt something else stirring—a deep, primal arousal that left me breathless. The sight of all those hard penises, those moving hands… the thought of what the team might do to me… what Lucas mightinvitethem to do… it made me so lightheaded I thought I might pass out.

“Eight,” another voice called out, sounding breathless with arousal.

The martinet cracked against my flesh once more, sending shockwaves of pain radiating through my body. I writhed against my bonds, the tape holding firm as I struggled. My muffled cries filled the air, mingling with the sound of flesh on flesh as the team continued to stroke themselves.

“Nine,” came the next count, the voice thick with lust.

I forced my eyes open, blinking away the tears that blurred my vision. The sight before me was overwhelming—a sea of muscular bodies, hands moving rhythmically over impressive erections. Some of the men were openly leering at me, while others seemed almost reluctant, their eyes darting between my exposed form and their teammates.

“Ten,” the final count rang out, followed by the sharpest strike yet.

I screamed around the gag as the martinet bit into my tender flesh one last time. The pain was excruciating, unlike anything I’d ever experienced before. And yet, beneath the agony, I felt an undeniable throb of arousal. My inner walls clenched around nothing, desperate to be filled.

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