Punishment of the Heavenly Punisher

The sky above the Immortal Clouds Sect was a canvas of pristine blue, interrupted only by the drifting clouds that gave the sect its name. On the peak of the main mountain, the training grounds buzzed with the energy of dozens of female cultivators in black and white Daoist robes, their swords tracing arcs of light as they practiced formations. The air smelled of jasmine and spiritual herbs, and the distant sound of a waterfall provided a serene backdrop. But serenity was a fragile thing in the cultivation world.

Xuanfa descended from the heavens like a bolt of black lightning. He landed at the sect's entrance gate, the stone tiles cracking beneath his feet. His black training clothes clung to his muscular frame, and his face was a mask of cold indifference. He did not announce himself. He simply stood there, hands clasped behind his back, waiting.

The two disciples guarding the gate—young women with Core Formation cultivations—exchanged glances before stepping forward. The taller one, her hair in a bun, spoke with forced politeness. "Senior, this is the Immortal Clouds Sect. May we ask your purpose?"

Xuanfa's eyes, dark as obsidian, swept over them without interest. "One of your disciples offended me. I have come to collect recompense."

The shorter disciple's hand drifted toward her sword hilt. "What offense? Who?"

"A yellow-robed Core Formation disciple, on the eastern market road of Canglan City. She spilled my tea and called me a brute." Xuanfa's voice was flat, devoid of emotion. "I let her go, but I do not forget."

The taller disciple's face paled. She knew the yellow-robed disciple—a girl named Cui'er, barely two hundred years old, still learning to control her temper. "Senior, that was an accident. We can offer spirit stones, a treasure—"

"No." The word cut through the air like a blade. "I will spank every female cultivator in this sect until their bottoms are red and swollen. That is my recompense."

The disciples gasped. The shorter one drew her sword, the steel singing as it left the sheath. "You dare—"

She never finished. Xuanfa's finger moved—a simple flick of his index finger, and a beam of black energy struck her wrist. Her sword clattered to the ground, and she cried out, clutching her hand. The taller disciple stepped back, fear flickering in her eyes.

"Go fetch your sect head," Xuanfa said. "I will wait."

Within minutes, the entire sect was in an uproar. Disciples fled deeper into the mountain, alarm arrays blared, and the air shimmered as defensive formations activated. Xuanfa walked slowly through the main courtyard, his footsteps deliberate. He passed a group of Nascent Soul disciples who scrambled out of his way. One of them, a girl with twin buns, tried to flee—but Xuanfa caught her arm, spun her around, and delivered a single sharp slap to her backside. The impact echoed like thunder. The girl yelped, tears springing to her eyes, and stumbled away clutching her bottom.

"That is a sample," Xuanfa said to the empty courtyard. "There will be more."

The ground shook. A brilliant white light descended from the main hall, coalescing into the form of a woman. Shen Mengyue stood before him, her waist-length black hair flowing in an unseen wind, her black and white Daoist robes billowing. Her face was a perfect blend of purity and allure—fair skin, full lips, eyes that could freeze a man's heart or melt it. She held a long sword, its blade etched with runes that glowed softly.

"Xuanfa, the Heavenly Punisher." Her voice was cool, controlled, but there was a tremor beneath it. "I know of you. I know what you do. But you will not do it here."

Xuanfa's expression did not change. He looked at her as one might look at a stubborn child. "You are Shen Mengyue. Mahayana Middle-stage. Sect head of the Immortal Clouds. You are not my equal."

"I am the protector of this sect," she said, raising her sword. "If you wish to harm my disciples, you will have to go through me."

"Then I will."

Shen Mengyue attacked first. Her sword became a meteor, a river of light that split the sky. She was fast—blindingly fast—her movements a dance of grace and lethal precision. The air around her blade hummed with the power of the Mahayana realm, each strike capable of leveling mountains.

Xuanfa did not draw a weapon. He raised his right hand, index finger extended, and met her sword with a single point of energy. The clash sent a shockwave across the courtyard, shattering tiles and uprooting trees. Shen Mengyue's eyes widened. She had used seventy percent of her strength in that strike. He had blocked it with one finger.

She pressed on, launching a flurry of attacks—horizontal slashes, vertical cleaves, thrusts aimed at his heart and throat. Her sword was a living thing, and she commanded it with the skill of centuries. Xuanfa moved like a shadow, swaying, sidestepping, deflecting each blow with his fingertip. He did not strain. He did not even seem to breathe hard.

"You are using seventy percent of your power," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I am using seventy percent of mine. Let us see if your pride holds."

He struck. His finger pressed forward, and a beam of black energy shot forth, faster than sound. Shen Mengyue raised her sword to block, but the force was immense. She was thrown backward, her feet carving trenches in the stone as she skidded across the courtyard. Her arms ached. Her spiritual energy churned.

She grit her teeth and launched herself again, this time using all her power. Her sword blazed white, and the air around her screamed. She became a comet of righteous fury, hurtling toward Xuanfa.

He met her with two fingers.

The collision was cataclysmic. The ground beneath them cratered, and the main hall's roof collapsed inward. Shen Mengyue felt her sword arm go numb. Her technique shattered. She was falling, tumbling through the air, and then she hit the ground hard, the breath knocked from her lungs. Her sword skittered away, clattering against a broken pillar.

She lay on her back, her robes torn, her hair spread across the debris. Her body screamed in protest. She tried to rise, but her legs would not obey. She had not been beaten like this in three hundred years.

Above her, Xuanfa lowered his hand. He walked toward her, his steps measured, unhurried. His face was still cold, but there was something in his eyes now—a glint of anticipation.

Shen Mengyue's heart pounded. She knew what he was going to do. She had heard the stories: the Heavenly Punisher who spanked women until they cried, until they submitted, until they became his slaves. She had never believed it could happen to her. She was the sect head of the Immortal Clouds. She was Mahayana Middle-stage. She was untouchable.

But she was on the ground, and he was walking toward her.

"Please," she said, the word escaping before she could stop it. "Spare my disciples. Take me. I will accept punishment."

Xuanfa stopped a few feet away. He looked down at her, his shadow falling over her face. "You will not be spared, sect head. But you will be the first."

He reached down and grabbed her by the collar of her robe. With one effortless motion, he tore the fabric away, leaving her naked from the waist down. Her legs were pale, smooth, and trembling. He turned her over, pressing her face into the rubble, and positioned her body so that her bare bottom faced the sky.

Shen Mengyue closed her eyes. Tears of humiliation and fury welled up, but she refused to let them fall. She would endure this. For her sect.

Xuanfa raised his hand.

The first spank echoed across the shattered courtyard like a thunderclap.

Half a year had passed since Li Que became Xuanfa's female slave. The routine was etched into her bones now—daily kneeling at dawn, presenting her bare buttocks high in the air for the Heavenly Wooden Board's two hundred strokes. She no longer cried out after the first month. Pain was simply pain, and she had learned to accept it as part of her existence.

Beside her, Lin Qiaoxin knelt in the same position, her twin tails brushing the floor as she bowed forward. The young genius had adapted even faster than Li Que, her playful nature finding amusement even in suffering.

"You're raising your ass too high again," Lin Qiaoxin whispered, a hint of her usual mischief in her voice despite the circumstances. "Master likes symmetry."

Li Que adjusted slightly, her athletic thighs trembling from the strain of holding the position. "Shut up and count."

The Heavenly Wooden Board materialized above them, a slab of divine wood inscribed with golden runes that glowed with each strike. It descended with mechanical precision—WHACK—against Lin Qiaoxin's left buttock, leaving a red imprint. WHACK—against Li Que's right. The rhythm was relentless, unwavering, exactly two hundred strikes each, alternating so neither could rest.

WHACK. WHACK. WHACK.

After the punishment, they crawled beside Xuanfa's meditation mat, their leashes trailing on the floor. Li Que still felt the burn of humiliation every time she had to move on hands and knees like a beast, but she had long since accepted her place. The strong ruled the weak, and Xuanfa was stronger.

Xuanfa sat cross-legged, his black training clothes immaculate, his cold eyes fixed on some distant point beyond the pavilion walls. He did not acknowledge them when they knelt and pressed their foreheads to the floor.

"Master," Lin Qiaoxin said, her voice bright despite her position, "may we ask a question?"

Xuanfa's gaze shifted to her, and she felt the weight of his attention like a physical force. "Speak."

"What pleases you most in this world?"

The question hung in the air. Xuanfa was silent for a long moment, his fingers tracing patterns of power in the space before him. When he spoke, his voice was flat, matter-of-fact.

"Watching female cultivators being spanked and tormented. The pain they suffer makes me stronger in both mind and cultivation."

Li Que's breath caught. She had suspected as much, but hearing it confirmed sent a shiver through her naked body. Lin Qiaoxin, however, seemed pleased.

"Then we have an opportunity, Master," Lin Qiaoxin said, lifting her head slightly. "The entire cultivation world knows that Shen Mengyue was stripped and spanked in her own sect hall. But they don't know about us yet. Not that we've become your female slaves."

Li Que raised her head as well, her red hair falling across her face. "Let us help you make a statement. A grand one."

Xuanfa's eyebrow lifted fractionally. "Explain."

Lin Qiaoxin's eyes sparkled with conspiratorial delight. "Lead us crawling like dogs on leashes to the highest terrace in Wuling City. Have Shen Mengyue's disciples bring her there on her own leash. The three of us will kneel side by side, upper bodies bowed forward, lower bodies lifting our plump bottoms high. You summon Heavenly Wooden Boards to spank all three of us automatically. Our bottoms beaten until completely destroyed—to the point where even Mahayana cultivators need a week to recover."

"She means," Li Que interrupted, her pride warring with her submission, "that after our buttocks are ruined, you spread our legs wide and whip our bottom clefts severely. Anus, vulva, everything swollen. Then anal hooks inserted into our red and swollen anuses, and we hang there for a week of public display."

Xuanfa's cold mask cracked into a thin smile. It was not a pleasant expression.

"You would suggest your own public humiliation?"

"We exist for your pleasure," Li Que said, the words bitter on her tongue but necessary. "If this pleases you, it is our purpose."

Xuanfa studied them both for a long moment, his eyes moving from Lin Qiaoxin's youthful face to Li Que's athletic form. "I accept your proposal. But first, I want to try a new punishment."

He rose from his meditation mat, his robes flowing around him. "Kneel. Lift your bottoms. Spread your anuses with your own hands."

Li Que and Lin Qiaoxin exchanged a glance before complying. They positioned themselves shoulder to shoulder, foreheads touching the floor, buttocks raised high. Their hands reached back, fingers finding their target, and they pulled their cheeks apart, exposing the tender openings to their master's view.

Xuanfa produced a golden vial, its surface warm to the touch. "Divine ginger. Harvested from the Heavenly Poison Peaks, ground into juice by thunder tribulation lightning. It will feel like a red-hot iron rod being inserted into your intestines."

He uncorked the vial, and the sharp, burning scent of ginger filled the air. He tipped it first over Lin Qiaoxin's exposed anus, pouring a steady stream of the liquid into her channel. Lin Qiaoxin gasped, her body convulsing as the ginger juice entered her. Her cry was muffled against the floor.

"The heat," she whimpered, "it's so hot—it feels like my intestines are melting—"

"Silence," Xuanfa said, turning to Li Que. He repeated the process, pouring the divine ginger juice into her anus. Li Que bit her tongue to keep from screaming. The sensation was excruciating—a burning, searing heat that spread through her bowels, making her entire lower body feel as if it were being consumed by fire.

Her hands trembled but she kept her cheeks spread, knowing better than to disobey.

Xuanfa capped the vial and stepped back. "The Heavenly Wooden Board punishment is approaching. Two hundred strokes each. You are not to lose control and spray intestinal fluid, or the punishment will be doubled."

Li Que's heart lurched. The pressure in her bowels was already building, the ginger juice creating an urgent, burning need to expel it. She clenched her sphincter muscles with all her might, her body shaking from the strain.

"I—I can't—" Lin Qiaoxin's voice cracked.

"Then you will receive four hundred strokes," Xuanfa said calmly.

The Heavenly Wooden Board materialized above them. This time, it was larger than usual, its golden runes pulsing with barely contained power. It began to descend in a rhythmic motion, striking Lin Qiaoxin first.

WHACK.

The board connected with her left buttock, and the sound echoed across the terrace. Lin Qiaoxin's body jerked forward, and Li Que heard her sharp intake of breath. The ginger juice burned more intensely with the impact, the shockwaves traveling through her bowels and making the liquid slosh inside her.

WHACK.

Li Que's turn. The board struck her right buttock, and the pain was unlike anything she had experienced in her six months of punishment. The blow was heavier, the ginger juice amplifying every sensation. Her anus clenched involuntarily, fighting to keep the liquid contained, but the pressure was immense.

WHACK. WHACK. WHACK.

The strikes came faster, alternating between them. Li Que lost count after twenty. Her entire focus was on keeping her muscles tight, on not allowing the ginger juice to escape. Sweat dripped from her forehead onto the floor. Her legs trembled violently, her thighs burning from the effort of holding her position.

Beside her, Lin Qiaoxin was faring worse. The younger cultivator was sobbing openly, her body wracked with spasms. "I can't—I'm going to—"

"Hold it," Li Que hissed through gritted teeth. "Hold it or we both suffer."

WHACK. WHACK. WHACK.

By the fiftieth stroke, Li Que's buttocks were a mess of red welts and broken skin. The ginger juice felt like molten lava inside her, the need to release becoming overwhelming. Her sphincter was on fire, every nerve screaming for relief.

WHACK. WHACK. WHACK.

The hundredth stroke landed, and Li Que's vision went white. She could feel the liquid pressing against her anus, demanding escape. She clenched harder, her entire body crying out in protest.

WHACK. WHACK. WHACK.

At the one hundred and thirtieth stroke, Lin Qiaoxin broke.

A wet, spraying sound filled the air as the ginger juice erupted from her anus, splattering across the floor in a golden stream. The liquid carried a thick, foul odor as it mingled with the remnants of her intestinal lining. Lin Qiaoxin collapsed, her body shuddering violently as she emptied herself completely.

"The punishment is doubled," Xuanfa said, his voice devoid of sympathy. "Four hundred strokes for Lin Qiaoxin."

The Heavenly Wooden Board did not pause. It continued its relentless assault, striking her ruined buttocks with renewed force. Lin Qiaoxin screamed, her voice raw and broken, her body no longer able to maintain its position.

Li Que watched in horror, and in that moment of distraction, her own control slipped. The pressure in her bowels became unbearable, and with a sound like tearing fabric, the ginger juice forced its way out of her. It burned as it exited, a thick, pungent fluid that stained the floor between her knees.

Her face flushed with shame as the liquid continued to pour out, her body betraying her completely. She had been so close. So close to enduring the full two hundred. But the ginger juice had been too much, the searing heat too intense, the pressure too great.

"Li Que," Xuanfa's voice was cold, "double punishment for you as well. Four hundred strokes."

The Heavenly Wooden Board descended on her buttocks without mercy. WHACK. WHACK. WHACK. Each strike landed on already abused flesh, sending shockwaves of agony through her body. The ginger juice inside her, now mostly expelled, no longer burned, but the shame of her failure burned hotter than any spice.

She counted the strokes as they fell, her mind going numb after the first two hundred. Her buttocks were no longer identifiable as human flesh—they were a mass of purple-black bruises, open wounds, and blood. The divine ginger juice had sensitized her internal tissue, and now every strike sent pain radiating through her entire lower body.

WHACK. WHACK. WHACK.

Lin Qiaoxin had stopped screaming. She whimpered with each strike, her body barely responding. Her youthful buttocks were destroyed, the pale skin now a canvas of destruction.

WHACK. WHACK. WHACK.

At stroke three hundred and fifty, Li Que began to drift. The pain was too much, too constant, too overwhelming. She thought of her proud days as Vice Head of the Vermilion Bird Sect, of the battles she had won, of the respect she had commanded. Now she knelt here, naked, her anus still leaking ginger juice, receiving punishment like a disobedient child.

WHACK. WHACK. WHACK.

The final strokes fell in a blur. By the time the Heavenly Wooden Board vanished, Li Que could not move. She lay on the floor, her ruined buttocks exposed to the air, the pain a constant, throbbing presence that consumed her entire being.

Xuanfa stepped forward and nudged her with his foot. "You will recover in time for the public display in Wuling City. Rest for now."

Li Que could not even nod. She simply lay there, tears streaming down her face, the taste of defeat bitter on her tongue. She had failed. She had lost control. And now she would be displayed like an animal, her destroyed buttocks and swollen cleft on show for all to see.

But even in her pain, even in her shame, a part of her understood. This was her purpose now. She existed to suffer for Xuanfa's pleasure, to be tormented so that he could grow stronger. And she had chosen this path, had submitted willingly to a master stronger than herself.

As she drifted into a pain-filled sleep, she felt Lin Qiaoxin's hand reach out and grip hers. The young genius was still conscious, her body trembling against Li Que's side.

"We'll make him proud," Lin Qiaoxin whispered, her voice hoarse from screaming. "At Wuling City. We'll make him proud."

Li Que closed her eyes and let the darkness take her, the mem

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The morning sun cast long shadows across the cobblestone streets of Wuling City as Xuanfa strode through the main gates, his black training clothes immaculate against the dusty thoroughfare. In each hand, he held a leather leash that connected to the collars around the necks of two naked women crawling on all fours beside him.

Lin Qiaoxin's twin tails bounced with each movement, her youthful face flushed with a mixture of excitement and barely concealed agony. Li Que's red hair hung forward, her proud athletic form trembling as she struggled to maintain her crawling pace. Their bare breasts swayed beneath them, and their raised bottoms—covered in vivid purple and black bruises from previous punishments—caught the morning light.

"Heaven above," whispered a merchant, dropping his basket of vegetables. "Those are cultivators. Real cultivators."

The street began to fill with onlookers. Men, women, children, merchants, beggars, and fellow cultivators all stopped to stare. Some gasped. Others covered their children's eyes. A few leered openly at the beautiful naked bodies crawling through their midst.

Lin Qiaoxin's bottom bore the marks of dozens of spankings, the skin crisscrossed with red welts that had only begun to fade into deep purple bruises. Li Que's athletic posterior showed similar damage, though the wounds were fresher, angrier. The contrast between their ruined flesh and the perfect curves of their unmarked thighs and waists made the spectacle even more obscene.

"Look at their faces," muttered a young man. "They're... they're smiling. But they're crying too."

Indeed, Lin Qiaoxin's lips were curved in a dreamy smile, but tears streamed down her cheeks. Li Que's jaw was clenched, her eyes squeezed shut, but a thin line of drool escaped her lips.

What the crowd could not see was the ginger juice that filled their intestines.

Xuanfa had prepared the mixture himself—fresh ginger root pressed into a fine paste, mixed with chili oil and a touch of spiritual essence to ensure it would not digest. Using a small funnel and a rubber tube, he had filled their rectums to overflowing before leaving the inn that morning.

Now, as they crawled, the spicy liquid shifted within them. Each movement of their hips caused the ginger juice to slosh against sensitive inner walls. The burning sensation was constant, relentless, building from a dull ache to a searing fire that spread through their entire lower bodies.

Lin Qiaoxin's fingers dug into the cobblestones as another wave of burning clenched her insides. She felt her anus contract involuntarily, trying to expel the irritant, but the pressure only forced more of the ginger paste deeper into her channels. Her thighs quivered. Her breasts swayed. She let out a soft moan that she quickly disguised as a cough.

"Keep moving," Xuanfa said, not looking back. His voice was flat, cold, carrying no emotion.

Li Que forced herself forward, her toned arms shaking. The ginger juice was worse than any spanking she had endured. It was not a pain that came from without; it was a fire that lived inside her, in the most intimate part of her body. She could feel it coating her inner walls, seeping into every fold and crevice. Each breath she took seemed to fan the flames higher.

She remembered her defeat—how Lin Qiaoxin had trapped her in a formation, how Xuanfa had appeared and casually defeated her strongest techniques with a single finger. She remembered kneeling before him, offering her submission. This was what submission meant. This was the price of serving a master who was truly worthy.

And she found she did not regret it.

The procession continued through the main street of Wuling City. Hundreds of people had gathered now, lining the road on both sides. Some pointed. Some laughed. Some looked away in shame. A few cultivators in the crowd recognized the women and gasped.

"Is that Lin Qiaoxin? The array genius?"

"No, look at the red-haired one. That's Li Que, vice head of the Vermilion Bird Sect!"

"And the man leading them... that's Xuanfa. The one who stripped the Mistress of the Immortal Clouds Sect naked and spanked her in front of the entire cultivation world."

The whispers spread like wildfire. News of Shen Mengyue's humiliation had already reached every corner of the realm. Now here were two more cultivators being led through the streets like dogs, their naked bodies on display for all to see.

At the end of the main street stood a raised stone terrace where public announcements were made. Wooden steps led up to a flat platform large enough to hold a hundred people. Today, it would hold far fewer.

As they approached the terrace, Xuanfa saw that Shen Mengyue was already there.

She was crawling up the steps, naked, led by her own disciple with a dog leash attached to a leather collar around her neck. The disciple—a young woman named Bai Xiu—tugged gently at the leash, guiding her former sect master up the rough stone stairs.

Shen Mengyue's waist-length black hair dragged through the dust. Her fair skin was covered in a thin sheen of sweat, and her breasts swayed heavily with each crawling movement. Behind her, a crowd followed, growing larger with every step.

The Mistress of the Immortal Clouds Sect. The most respected female cultivator of her generation. Crawling naked through the streets of Wuling City.

Shen Mengyue's mind was a storm of agony and shame.

She remembered the day Xuanfa had first appeared at her sect. She remembered his cold eyes, his casual demeanor, the way he had defeated her strongest sword techniques with a single finger. She remembered being thrown over his knee, her robes torn away, his hand coming down on her bare bottom again and again.

She remembered the sound it had made. The crack of palm against flesh. The way her disciples had watched in horror. The way she had cried—she, the Mistress of the Immortal Clouds Sect, reduced to tears over a grown man's lap.

And now this.

She crawled up the steps, her knees scraping against the rough stone. Her disciple—her own disciple, whom she had trained since childhood—pulled her leash forward. Shen Mengyue could feel every pair of eyes on her body. Hundreds of them. Thousands. All watching the most powerful woman in the Eastern Realm crawl like an animal.

Why was she doing this?

Because Xuanfa had promised that if she submitted completely, publicly, without reservation, he would not destroy her sect. He would not kill her disciples. He would not burn the Immortal Clouds Sect to the ground as he had done to the Black Wind Sect.

She had seen what happened to those who defied him. The Black Wind Sect had refused to kneel. Their sect master had laughed at Xuanfa's demands. Within a week, the sect was nothing but ash and scattered bones.

So she crawled.

She crawled because she was a coward. Because she loved her sect. Because she would rather humiliate herself a thousand times than watch her disciples die.

But oh, the shame.

The shame of her bare breasts dragging across the stone. The shame of her naked bottom raised high, displaying the bruises that Xuanfa had left on her the night before. The shame of knowing that every single person in Wuling City was looking at her most private places.

A young man in the crowd let out a low whistle. "Look at that ass," he said. "Even bruised, it's perfect."

Shen Mengyue's face burned. She wanted to summon her sword. She wanted to kill every person who looked at her. She wanted to die.

But she kept crawling.

When she reached the top of the terrace, she knelt, her head bowed, her hair falling around her like a curtain. Bai Xiu handed the leash to Xuanfa without meeting her former master's eyes.

"Good," Xuanfa said. He attached Shen Mengyue's leash to a hook on the stone floor. Then he turned to Lin Qiaoxin and Li Que. "Up."

The two women crawled up the steps. Their bottoms bobbed with each movement, the bruises on their flesh catching the light. As they moved, the ginger juice shifted inside them, causing Lin Qiaoxin to gasp and Li Que to grit her teeth.

At the top of the terrace, Xuanfa attached their leashes to the same hook. Now all three women knelt in a row, their naked bodies on display for the thousands who had gathered below.

Xuanfa stepped forward, raising his hand. The crowd fell silent.

"People of Wuling City," he said. His voice carried easily, sharp and clear. "You see before you three cultivators. Lin Qiaoxin, the genius array master. Li Que, the vice head of the Vermilion Bird Sect. And Shen Mengyue, the Mistress of the Immortal Clouds Sect."

Murmurs rippled through the crowd. Even those who had not recognized them now understood.

Xuanfa continued. "These women have submitted to me. They have acknowledged that I am their master, their owner, their superior in every way. Today, they will receive punishment for their past arrogance."

He gestured, and three wooden boards appeared in the air beside him. They were long, flat pieces of dark wood, each covered in spiritual runes that glowed with a faint blue light. He waved his hand, and the boards floated toward the kneeling women.

"Assume the position," Xuanfa commanded.

Lin Qiaoxin and Li Que moved immediately. They bent forward, pressing their upper bodies against the cool stone of the terrace, their arms stretched out in front of them. Their bottoms lifted high into the air, presenting their bruised flesh to the thousands watching below.

Shen Mengyue hesitated. For a moment, she considered refusing. For a moment, she considered summoning her sword and fighting, even if it meant death.

But then she saw Xuanfa's eyes. They were cold, empty, patient. He would give her this one hesitation, but he would not give another.

Slowly, painfully, she bent forward. She pressed her forehead against the stone. She raised her bruised bottom into the air.

The three women knelt in a perfect line, their upper bodies pressed to the ground, their bottoms high and exposed. Their breasts pressed against the stone. Their thighs trembled. Their anuses and vulvae were fully visible to the crowd below.

Xuanfa nodded. The three Heaven Wood Boards moved into position behind the women.

The first strike fell on Lin Qiaoxin.

The board came down with a crack that echoed through the entire city square. Lin Qiaoxin's body jerked forward. A bright red handprint appeared on her purple-black bottom. She let out a sharp gasp, her hands clenching into fists.

The board rose again. This time, it struck Li Que. The crack was louder, the impact harder. Li Que's athletic body bucked, her red hair flying. She made no sound, but her fingers dug into the stone.

The third strike landed on Shen Mengyue.

Pain exploded through her body. The board seemed to be made of something harder than wood, something that carried spiritual force behind every blow. She felt her skin split, felt blood well up, felt the tears start streaming down her face.

She counted the strikes as they fell.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

Each blow was perfectly aimed. Each blow landed on a different part of her bottom, ensuring that the damage spread evenly across both cheeks. The board never hit the same spot twice. It moved methodically, systematically, covering every inch of flesh.

Ten. Twenty. Thirty.

The crowd watched in stunned silence. Some had covered their eyes. Others leaned forward, unable to look away. Merchants had abandoned their stalls. Children had been hurried away by their mothers, but the adults stayed.

Forty. Fifty.

Shen Mengyue's bottom was no longer recognizable. The skin had split in a dozen places, and blood ran down her thighs, pooling on the stone beneath her. Her cries had become sobs, her body shaking uncontrollably. She could feel the spiritual force in the board healing her wounds slightly between strikes—not enough to stop the pain, but enough to ensure that the beating would last.

Sixty. Seventy.

Lin Qiaoxin's bottom was as ruined as Shen Mengyue's, but the younger woman

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The morning sun crept over Wuling City, casting long shadows across the main square where three women hung suspended from iron hooks. The hooks pierced their anuses, chains running up to a wooden frame that had become their world for seven days. The crowd that gathered daily had thinned, but enough remained to witness the final moments of their punishment.

Shen Mengyue's body trembled with exhaustion. The pain in her bottom had become a constant companion, a burning ache that never faded. But worse than the physical torment was the knowledge that every soul in Wuling City had seen her naked, exposed, debased. Her tears had dried long ago, leaving only a hollow shame that gnawed at her core.

Beside her, Lin Qiaoxin swung gently on her hook, humming a tune she'd made up during the week. "Almost over," she said cheerfully. "I wonder what Master has planned for us next."

Li Que, hanging on the other side, snorted. "Whatever it is, it'll be better than this. My backside is numb."

"Yours too? I can't feel mine at all anymore." Lin Qiaoxin laughed. "Though I suppose that's not entirely a bad thing."

Shen Mengyue said nothing. She couldn't understand how they could joke, how they could accept this humiliation so readily. They were slaves now, bound to the Heavenly Punisher. She would rather die than submit.

But as the sun reached its zenith, chains rattled and the three women began their slow descent. The hooks withdrew from their bodies with agonizing slowness, and Shen Mengyue bit her lip to keep from screaming. When her feet finally touched the ground, her legs gave out. She collapsed onto the cold stone, her body wracked with sobs.

A shadow fell over her. She looked up to see Xuanfa standing before her, his black training clothes immaculate, his face expressionless. Behind him, the crowd had grown silent, waiting.

"You have endured your punishment," Xuanfa said, his voice carrying across the square. "The debt for your offense is paid."

Shen Mengyue's heart leaped with hope. Perhaps she could return to the Immortal Clouds Sect, could rebuild her life—

"I offer you a choice," Xuanfa continued. "Enter the Heavenly Realm of your own volition. Become my female slave. Serve me for eternity."

The hope shattered. Shen Mengyue scrambled to her knees, tears streaming down her face. "Please, Heavenly Punisher, I beg you. I have been humiliated enough. My disciples saw me spanked, the entire city has seen me naked and hanging. Please have mercy. I only offended you once, and I have paid for that offense. Let me return to my sect."

Xuanfa's eyes narrowed. "Obstinate."

He raised his hand, and two figures moved forward. Lin Qiaoxin and Li Que, naked as Shen Mengyue, approached with matching grins. Lin Qiaoxin carried a clay jar, and Li Que held a funnel and tube of bamboo.

"What are you doing?" Shen Mengyue tried to back away, but an invisible force seized her body. She found herself kneeling, her bottom raised high in the air, her anus exposed. She struggled, but could not move, could not even close her legs.

"This is ginger juice," Lin Qiaoxin said cheerfully, holding up the jar. "Freshly squeezed. Master says it helps with inflammation, but I think he just likes watching us squirm."

Li Que knelt behind Shen Mengyue, her hands spreading the woman's cheeks apart. "Don't fight it. It only makes it worse."

"No, please, no!" Shen Mengyue screamed as the bamboo tube was inserted into her anus. She felt the cold liquid enter her intestines, felt it spread and burn. Ginger juice, she realized. It burned like fire, a searing pain that made her vision go white.

"That's the first dose," Xuanfa said calmly. "Now, punishment for refusing my offer. You will receive one hundred strokes of the Heavenly Wooden Board. For each stroke, you will say, 'Thank you, Heavenly Punisher Xuanfa, for spanking me.' If you fail to speak, you will receive another dose of ginger juice."

Two wooden boards appeared in Lin Qiaoxin and Li Que's hands. They were made of dark wood, heavier than they looked, imbued with spiritual energy.

"Ready?" Lin Qiaoxin asked, positioning herself beside Shen Mengyue's raised bottom.

Li Que took the other side. "Let's begin."

The first stroke came from Lin Qiaoxin. The board slammed into Shen Mengyue's right cheek, and she screamed. The pain was far worse than anything she had experienced in the past week. The board seemed to amplify every sensation, to send waves of agony through her entire body.

"Thank you, Heavenly Punisher Xuanfa, for spanking me," she gasped out, remembering the alternative.

Li Que's stroke hit her left cheek, and she screamed again. The board was harder, heavier, designed to inflict maximum pain.

"Thank you, Heavenly Punisher Xuanfa, for spanking me!"

They developed a rhythm. Left, right, stroke after stroke. Shen Mengyue's bottom turned red, then purple, then black. The skin split in places, and blood welled up. But she continued to speak, continued to thank her tormentors, because she could not bear another dose of ginger juice.

By the fiftieth stroke, her voice was hoarse. By the sixtieth, she could barely form words. The board hit, and she managed to whisper, "Thank you... Heavenly Punisher... for spanking me."

Xuanfa watched, unmoved. "Continue."

At the seventieth stroke, Shen Mengyue broke. She sobbed, tears mingling with blood on the stone floor. "Mercy, please mercy! I will serve you, I will be your slave, only stop! Protect my sect, do not harm my disciples, and I will submit!"

Xuanfa raised his hand. The boards stopped. "You accept my terms?"

"Yes, yes, I accept! I will be your female slave, only stop the pain!"

Xuanfa's lips curved into a slight smile. "Very well. I will protect the Immortal Clouds Sect and its disciples. You are now mine."

He waved his hand, and a portal opened behind him—a swirling gate of golden light. The Heavenly Realm. Shen Mengyue felt herself lifted, felt chains of spiritual energy wrap around her, drawing her through the portal. Lin Qiaoxin and Li Que followed, laughing and chattering.

The Heavenly Realm was beautiful. Green hills, crystal streams, pavilions of jade and gold. But Shen Mengyue had no time to appreciate it. As soon as they entered, a heavy collar materialized around her neck, identical to those worn by Lin Qiaoxin and Li Que. It was cold against her skin, and she felt it lock into place. A slave collar.

"You know the rules," Xuanfa said, standing before her. "The spanking owed to your master. Two hundred strokes of the Heavenly Wooden Board."

Shen Mengyue nodded, tears still falling. She had heard the stories from Lin Qiaoxin and Li Que, had seen their whipped bottoms. She knew what was required. Taking a deep breath, she knelt on the soft grass. She leaned forward, placed her hands on the ground, and raised her bottom high in the air, as high as her trembling limbs could manage.

"Please, Master, punish your slave," she said, her voice barely a whisper.

Xuanfa watched as Shen Mengyue presented her bottom. The skin was already broken, bruised, bloodied. He took the Heavenly Wooden Board from Lin Qiaoxin and weighed it in his hand.

"You will count each stroke. You will thank me after each."

"Yes, Master."

The first stroke landed with a crack that echoed across the hills. Shen Mengyue screamed, her body jerking forward, but she held her position.

"One! Thank you, Master, for spanking me."

The second stroke split the skin on her left cheek. Blood spattered the grass.

"Two! Thank you, Master, for spanking me."

Xuanfa was methodical, relentless. Each stroke fell with precision, covering every inch of her bottom. He started at the top, worked his way down to the sit spots, then moved to the thighs. The board rose and fell in a steady rhythm.

Shen Mengyue lost count around fifty. She just screamed and thanked, screamed and thanked. Her bottom was a ruin of torn flesh and black bruises. The pain was so intense that she could not think, could not feel, could only exist in the moment of each stroke.

"Seventy-three," Xuanfa said, his voice distant. "Thank me."

"Seventy-three," she sobbed. "Thank you, Master, for spanking me."

"Seventy-four."

The pain was too much. She tried to crawl away, to escape, but an invisible force held her in place. The board kept falling.

"Seventy-four," she cried. "Thank you, Master, for spanking me!"

By the hundredth stroke, she could not speak anymore. Her voice was gone, her throat raw from screaming. But Xuanfa did not stop. He made her whisper, made her mime the words, made her write them in the dirt with her fingers. He would not let her fail.

At the hundred and fiftieth stroke, the board broke. Xuanfa held the splintered wood for a moment, then tossed it aside. "Bring another."

Li Que produced a new board, identical to the first. Xuanfa resumed.

Finally, the two hundredth stroke fell. Shen Mengyue collapsed, her bottom a bloody mess. She lay on the grass, unable to move, unable to speak. But she had survived.

Xuanfa stepped back and waited. Minutes passed. Slowly, painfully, Shen Mengyue pushed herself up. She crawled to her knees, then to her feet. She stood before him, naked, collared, broken.

Her hand moved up to the slave collar, touching it. Then she knelt, slowly and deliberately, her knees pressing into the soft grass. She prostrated herself, her forehead touching the ground.

"Yue Nu voluntarily becomes master's female slave," she said, her voice hoarse but clear. "And is willing to accept all punishment."

She raised her head, meeting Xuanfa's eyes. There was no defiance left in her gaze, only the quiet acceptance of her new reality.

Xuanfa nodded once. "Rise, Yue Nu. Your training begins tomorrow."

Behind her, Lin Qiaoxin and Li Que cheered. "Welcome to the family, Yue Nu!" Lin Qiaoxin said, rushing forward to embrace her. "Don't worry, it gets easier."

Li Que snorted. "No, it doesn't. You just get used to it."

Shen Mengyue said nothing. She looked up at the sky of the Heavenly Realm, a sky that would be her prison for eternity. She thought of her sect, safe now. She thought of her disciples, ignorant of her fate. She thought of everything she had lost.

And then she forgot to think at all, because a wave of pain crashed through her bottom, and all she could do was scream.

One hundred years had passed since Xuanfa established his dominion over the Heavenly Realm. The once-unchallenged cultivators of the lower realms now knelt before him, their pride shattered as thoroughly as their dignity. In the great hall of his palace, a row of thirty or so plump, fair bottoms was raised high, trembling in anticipation of the punishment to come. These were no ordinary women—they were the heads of major sects, elders of ancient lineages, genius rogue cultivators who had never known defeat, and noble daughters of prestigious families. All had been captured by Xuanfa, their bodies stripped bare, their bottoms spanked with Heavenly Wooden Boards until they cried and begged to become his female slaves.

Behind this row of vulnerable flesh stood three naked figures, their bodies a testament to years of discipline and submission. Lin Qiaoxin, once the playful and mischievous rogue cultivator, now stood with a serene smile on her face. Her twin tails of black hair had grown longer, cascading down her back, but her youthful face still held that hint of playful mischief. Her figure was slender and well-proportioned, her breasts pert and firm, her waist narrow. But it was her bottom that drew the eye—a plump, round mound of flesh, colored a deep purple-red from countless spankings. The bruises were layered upon each other, forming a pattern of discoloration that spoke of hundreds of thousands of strokes. Yet her muscles were relaxed, her posture perfect.

Beside her stood Li Que, the former vice head of the Vermilion Bird Sect. Her tall, athletic body was taut with muscle, her red hair tied in a high ponytail that swayed with her movements. Her breasts were firm and athletic, her waist strong, her thighs powerful. And her bottom—a magnificent curve of muscle and fat, now painted in shades of purple and black. The bruises were deepest at the crown of her cheeks, where the Heavenly Wooden Boards had landed most often. She stood with an air of pride, even in her submission, her chin held high as she instructed the new slaves.

And then there was Shen Mengyue, the former head of the Immortal Clouds Sect. Her waist-length black hair hung loose, framing a face that was both pure and enchanting, seductive and innocent. Her body was that of a mature woman, full and generous, with curves that drew the eyes of all who saw her. Her breasts were heavy, her hips wide, her thighs soft. And her bottom—a plush, pillowy expanse of flesh that had been beaten into submission. The bruises on her bottom were the most vivid, a deep purple that seemed to glow against the pale skin of her thighs. Her posture was perfect, her head held high, her eyes calm.

"Lift your bottoms higher," Lin Qiaoxin said, her voice carrying a note of cheerful command. She walked along the row of raised bottoms, tapping each one with a small wooden paddle. "Relax your muscles. If you tense up, the boards will hurt more. You must learn to accept the pain, to let it flow through you. Only then will you earn Master's approval."

Li Que joined her, her voice sharp and commanding. "Do not think of yourselves as the powerful cultivators you once were. You are slaves now. Your only purpose is to serve Master and to receive his punishment. The more you resist, the more you will suffer. Submit, and you will find peace."

Shen Mengyue moved with a grace that belied her submissive role. Her voice was soft, yet it carried a weight of authority. "We have all been where you are now. We know the shame, the pain, the humiliation. But we have also learned the joy of surrender. Master is just. He punishes us because he cares. Accept his discipline, and you will find a new purpose."

The new slaves whimpered and sobbed, their bottoms quivering in the air. Some were young, their skin unblemished save for a few faint red marks from earlier punishments. Others were older, their bodies marked by years of cultivation but now bare and vulnerable. All of them had been stripped of their robes, their modesty torn away, their bottoms raised high for the Heavenly Wooden Boards.

Suddenly, a presence filled the hall. The air grew cold, and the light dimmed. Xuanfa appeared, his black training clothes immaculate, his face cold and handsome. He looked upon the scene with a gaze that held no emotion, only a hint of satisfaction. The three women who had been instructing the new slaves instantly reacted.

Lin Qiaoxin dropped to her knees, her head bowed, her hands placed flat on the floor in front of her. She then lowered her head onto her hands, and lifted her purple-red, swollen bottom high in the air. The movement was fluid, practiced, a posture she had assumed countless times.

Li Que followed suit, her tall, athletic body folding into the same pose. Her bottom rose high, the bruises on her cheeks catching the light.

Shen Mengyue completed the trio, her plush bottom lifting as her head touched her hands.

"Master," they said in unison, their voices humble and submissive. "We are instructing our new sisters. Does Master wish to watch Xin Nu/Que Nu/Yue Nu's punishment? Rest assured, we will do our best to endure until the end and not spoil Master's pleasure."

Xuanfa's eyes swept over them, then nodded once. He said nothing, but his presence was enough. The three women knew what was expected of them.

Without hesitation, each of them reached back with both hands and spread their anuses. The action was smooth, practiced, a signal of their complete submission. In the air above them, syringes filled with ginger juice appeared, their needles gleaming. The syringes descended, and the three women felt the cold metal press against their most private orifices. Then the liquid flowed in, hot and burning, filling their bowels with a fire that spread through their entire bodies.

Lin Qiaoxin gasped, her breath catching in her throat. The ginger juice was always a shock, a sudden burst of heat that made her want to clench and scream. But she held herself still, her fingers still holding her anus open, letting the liquid fill her completely.

Li Que grunted, her muscles tensing for a moment before she forced them to relax. The burning was intense, a fire that seemed to consume her from the inside. She had learned to accept it, to let it flow through her, but it never became easy.

Shen Mengyue closed her eyes, a soft moan escaping her lips. The ginger juice was a familiar pain, one she had endured many times. She let it wash over her, her body trembling slightly as the liquid settled deep within her.

When the syringes were empty, they withdrew. The three women remained in their positions, their anuses still spread, their bottoms raised high. The ginger juice burned inside them, a constant reminder of their submission.

Then the Heavenly Wooden Boards appeared. Six of them, each one a flat plank of wood inscribed with runes that glowed with a faint light. They hovered in the air, then slammed into the three raised bottoms with a sound like thunder.

*WHACK!*

Lin Qiaoxin screamed, a sharp cry that was both pain and pleasure. The board struck her right cheek, the impact sending shockwaves through her entire body. The ginger juice inside her sloshed, the burning intensifying. She forced herself to stay in position, her hands still on the ground, her bottom still high.

*WHACK!*

Another board struck Li Que, this time on her left cheek. She grunted, her body jerking, but she held her position. The pain was immense, a white-hot fire that spread from her bottom through her spine. But she had endured worse. She would endure this.

*WHACK!*

Shen Mengyue's board struck her full on the crown of her bottom, the impact crushing her flesh against her bones. She let out a long, shuddering cry, her fingers digging into the floor. The ginger juice burned inside her, and she could feel her body struggling to contain it. But she would not let it leak. She would not fail.

The boards continued to strike, each blow precise and powerful. The three women's bottoms bounced and quivered with each impact, the purple-red bruises darkening further. The sound of wood slapping flesh echoed through the hall, mingling with the screams of the three women.

*WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!*

"One hundred!" Lin Qiaoxin called out, her voice strained.

*WHACK!*

"One hundred and one!" Li Que shouted, her teeth gritted.

*WHACK!*

"One hundred and two!" Shen Mengyue gasped.

The boards did not relent. They struck left and right, sometimes both cheeks at once, sometimes alternating. The three women's bottoms were now a mass of purple and black, the skin broken in places, tiny droplets of blood appearing. But still they held their positions, their anuses still spread, the ginger juice still burning inside them.

*WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!*

"Two hundred!" Lin Qiaoxin cried.

*WHACK!*

"Two hundred and one!" Li Que growled.

*WHACK!*

"Two hundred and two!" Shen Mengyue sobbed.

The pain was beyond comprehension. The Heavenly Wooden Boards were not ordinary tools—they were enchanted to cause maximum pain, to reach deep into the soul and wrench out every ounce of suffering. The three women's bodies were wracked with spasms, their muscles twitching, their eyes wide and unfocused. But they did not break. They did not let the ginger juice escape. They held themselves open, accepting every blow, every moment of agony.

*WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!*

"Two hundred and ninety-nine!" Lin Qiaoxin screamed.

*WHACK!*

"Three hundred!" Li Que roared.

*WHACK!*

"Three hundred! complete!" Shen Mengyue breathed.

The boards vanished. The three women collapsed forward, their bodies trembling, their bottoms a raw, bloody mess. But they did not fall. They forced themselves back into their kneel, their heads bowed, their bottoms still raised but now quivering uncontrollably.

"Three hundred strokes completed," they said in unison, their voices hoarse. "No ginger juice leaked out. Is Master satisfied?"

Xuanfa looked upon them, his face expressionless. Then, almost imperceptibly, he nodded. A flicker of satisfaction crossed his eyes before vanishing.

The three women let out a collective sigh of relief. They had endured. They had not failed.

Xuanfa turned his gaze to the new slaves, who had watched the entire punishment in silent horror. Their bottoms were still raised, but now they trembled even more, knowing what awaited them. Xuanfa smiled, a cold, cruel smile.

"Soon," he said, his voice like ice. "Soon you will learn the same lesson."

He walked away, his mind already turning to the future. There were so many more high-level female cultivators in the lower realms who had yet to taste the Heavenly Wooden Boards. He imagined their plump, fair bottoms raised high, their screams echoing through his hall. The thought brought a rare flicker of pleasure to his cold heart.

And then there was the matter of the new sect. He would establish the Spanking Phoenix Sect, with these female slaves as its elders. They would attract new disciples, and those disciples would be trained in the art of submission. The sect would spread across the Heavenly Realm, and beyond. His reach would expand, and his pleasure would never end.

Xuanfa's smile deepened as he walked into the shadows, leaving behind the scent of ginger juice and the sound of sobbing women.

The morning sun cast long shadows across the newly built main hall of the Spanking Phoenix Sect. The mountain peak, rich in spiritual energy, hummed with power as disciples gathered in the courtyard below. They stood in neat rows, their naked bodies exposed to the elements, breasts and buttocks bare for all to see. Some shivered despite the warmth, while others stood proud, having chosen this path willingly.

Xuanfa emerged from the hall's shadows, his black training clothes stark against the polished stone floor. In his left hand, he held three leather dog leashes. Behind him, crawling on all fours, came Lin Qiaoxin, Li Que, and Shen Mengyue.

The disciples gasped.

Lin Qiaoxin's twin tails bobbed as she crawled forward, her naked form gleaming under the sun. A black leather slave collar encircled her neck, attached to one of the leashes. Her small breasts swayed with each movement, and her bottom, already a deep purple from previous punishments, twitched with anticipation. She grinned up at the watching disciples, not an ounce of shame in her eyes.

Beside her, Li Que moved with athletic grace, her red ponytail swinging. Her muscular thighs and firm buttocks bore the marks of countless battles and beatings. The slave collar matched Lin Qiaoxin's, but her posture spoke of pride rather than playfulness.

Shen Mengyue brought up the rear, her waist-length black hair trailing on the ground. Despite her nakedness, despite the collar, despite crawling like an animal, she maintained an air of dignity. Her mature curves, her fair skin, everything about her screamed elegance even in degradation.

Xuanfa stopped at the top of the stairs leading to the main hall. He turned, his cold eyes sweeping over the assembled disciples. They fell silent immediately.

"Today," he announced, his voice carrying across the courtyard, "we reward merit."

The disciples exchanged confused glances. Rewards? They had heard rumors about the Spanking Phoenix Sect's peculiar methods, but seeing was believing.

Xuanfa tugged the leashes. "Xin Nu, Yue Nu, Que Nu. Come."

The three female slaves crawled forward, positioning themselves at the edge of the stairs where all could see. They knelt, then leaned forward, pressing their chests to the cool stone and lifting their bottoms high into the air.

The disciples stared at the three raised buttocks. Lin Qiaoxin's purple-marked bottom, Li Que's scarred but firm one, Shen Mengyue's pale and perfect one. Each presented itself willingly, without hesitation.

"For contributions in formations," Xuanfa said, looking at Lin Qiaoxin, "thirty strokes of the Heavenly Wooden Board."

"For managing the sect's affairs," he continued, shifting his gaze to Shen Mengyue, "thirty strokes."

"For defeating the provocateur," he finished, his eyes landing on Li Que, "thirty strokes."

Three wooden boards materialized in the air, each as long as a forearm and as wide as a hand. They glowed with faint spiritual energy, hovering behind each raised bottom.

"Master," Lin Qiaoxin called out, her voice cheerful, "may I say something to the disciples before we begin?"

Xuanfa nodded once.

Lin Qiaoxin twisted her head to look at the gathered women below. "Hey, new girls! Watch closely! This is what happens when you do well! See how happy I am?" She wiggled her purple bottom. "Thirty strokes, and I'll be able to sit on clouds for a week! Worth it!"

A few disciples tittered nervously.

The first board swung.

*CRACK*

Lin Qiaoxin's bottom jiggled violently. A fresh red mark appeared across the purple. She squealed, but it was a happy sound. "Ooh! That's a good one! Master, your aim is perfect today!"

*CRACK*

Another strike landed an inch below the first. Lin Qiaoxin's legs trembled, but she kept her bottom lifted high.

"Disciples!" Shen Mengyue called out, her voice strained as she awaited her own punishment. "Cultivate diligently! Train hard! One day..." The board behind her swung. *CRACK*. She gasped, her body shuddering. "...one day, you too may receive this honor!"

*CRACK* *CRACK* *CRACK*

The boards fell in rapid succession. Lin Qiaoxin's bottom turned from purple to a mottled red-purple-black. Shen Mengyue's pale skin blossomed with crimson welts. Li Que's muscular buttocks clenched and released with each blow, but she made no sound.

"Que Nu," Xuanfa said, "you fought well today. Describe your opponent's bottom for the disciples."

Li Que's voice came out steady despite the beating. "Soft. Pathetic. She screamed like a wounded beast when the first blow landed. Her cultivation meant nothing when faced with true punishment."

*CRACK*

She grunted, her fingers digging into the stone floor. "Her bottom was pale. Unmarked. Untrained. She had never known a master's discipline."

"Indeed," Xuanfa said. He raised his hand, and the boards stopped. "Bring the provocateur."

Two disciples, naked like the others, dragged a struggling woman from the side of the hall. She was tall, with raven-black hair and furious golden eyes. Her robes had been torn away, leaving her as exposed as everyone else.

"I am Murong Ying, head of the Heavenly Phoenix Sect!" she roared. "You cannot do this! My sect will—"

"Your sect has already been informed," Xuanfa interrupted calmly. "They chose not to intervene."

Murong Ying's face paled. She struggled harder, but the disciples held her firm.

"Kneel," Xuanfa ordered.

"I will not!"

Xuanfa flicked his finger. Spiritual energy slammed into Murong Ying's knees, forcing them to buckle. She crashed to the ground, her naked bottom landing on the stone.

"Assume the position," Xuanfa said.

"Go to hell!"

Lin Qiaoxin, still maintaining her kneeling-leaning posture, giggled. "Oh, I remember being like that. It's easier if you just accept it."

Murong Ying spat at her. The spittle landed on Lin Qiaoxin's cheek. Lin Qiaoxin just laughed, licking it off her face.

"Mmm, master's reward tastes sweet today!"

Several disciples retched.

Xuanfa walked behind Murong Ying. He grabbed her hair, forcing her to bend forward until her chest touched the ground. Her bottom rose, proud and defiant.

"Your arrogance requires correction," Xuanfa said. "You will take fifty strokes. Then you will be hung at the mountain gate for three days as a warning."

"You wouldn't dare!"

The Heavenly Wooden Board appeared behind Murong Ying's bottom. It was larger than the others, crackling with energy.

*CRACK*

Murong Ying screamed.

The sound echoed across the courtyard. Her pale bottom instantly developed a red handprint-shaped welt. She tried to scramble away, but Xuanfa held her in place.

"Stay," he commanded.

"I'll kill you! I'll—"

*CRACK*

Another scream, higher this time. Tears began to form in her eyes.

Lin Qiaoxin cooed sympathetically. "Aww, first time? It hurts so good, doesn't it?"

"Shut up!" Murong Ying sobbed.

*CRACK* *CRACK* *CRACK*

The board fell mercilessly. Murong Ying's bottom turned from red to purple, from purple to black. Her screams turned to cries, her cries to whimpers.

"Please," she begged after thirty strokes, "please stop. I'll do anything. I'll leave. I'll never come back."

Xuanfa ignored her. The board continued its work.

Li Que watched with cold satisfaction. "Your bottom is softer than the board," she remarked. "That's why it hurts more."

"You... you demon..." Murong Ying gasped between blows.

"I'm a slave who knows her place," Li Que replied. "That's why I'm being rewarded instead of punished."

Forty strokes. Murong Ying's bottom was a ruin of welts and blood. She no longer screamed; she simply cried, her body shaking with each impact.

Fifty.

The board disappeared. Murong Ying collapsed, sobbing into the stone floor.

Xuanfa gestured, and a disciple approached bearing a long, curved metal hook. The anal hook gleamed in the sunlight, its end sharp and cruel.

"No," Murong Ying whispered. "No, please. Not that."

"Your sect chose not to save you," Xuanfa said. "You are now property of the Spanking Phoenix Sect. All property is marked."

The disciple knelt beside Murong Ying, spreading her cheeks. She screamed again as the hook entered her, its cold metal filling her. A chain attached to the other end would be used to hang her.

"Disciples," Xuanfa announced, turning to address the crowd, "let this be a lesson. The Spanking Phoenix Sect rewards loyalty and punishes pride. Serve well, and you may one day earn the honor of public spanking. Defy, and you will hang."

He looked at his three female slaves. Their bottoms were thoroughly beaten, but they still held the position, unwavering.

"You may rise," he said.

Lin Qiaoxin scrambled to her feet immediately, bouncing on her heels despite the pain. "Master, that was wonderful! Can we do it again tomorrow?"

Shen Mengyue rose more gracefully, her face flushed with a mixture of pain and pleasure. "Thank you for the discipline, master."

Li Que stood, her expression impassive. "Thank you, master."

Xuanfa dismissed them with a wave. "Return to your duties. Que Nu, escort the new addition to the gate."

Li Que nodded. She grabbed the chain attached to Murong Ying's anal hook and began dragging the weeping woman toward the mountain entrance.

"Wait," Lin Qiaoxin called after them. She limped over to Murong Ying, leaning down to whisper in her ear. "Don't worry. It gets better. Eventually, you'll learn to love it. All of master's slaves do."

Murong Ying's only response was another sob.

Lin Qiaoxin patted her ruined bottom gently, making her yelp. "See you at the gate! I'll bring you some spiritual water later. You'll need it!"

She bounced away, her twin tails bobbing, her beaten bottom jiggling with each step.

The disciples watched in stunned silence. This was their sect now. This was their reality. Naked bodies, cruel punishments, and rewards that felt like torture.

But as Xuanfa had said, those who endured, those who served, would eventually receive their master's discipline.

And some, like Lin Qiaoxin, had come to crave it.

The morning sun cast long shadows across the sprawling grounds of the Spanking Phoenix Sect. The sect's main square, carved from white stone that glittered like fresh snow, could hold ten thousand cultivators with ease. Today, it held only one thousand—a small number by any sect's standards, but each woman present had chosen this path with full knowledge of what it meant.

They stood in perfect rows around the perimeter of the square, naked as the day they were born. Their heads were bowed, hands clasped behind their backs, breasts exposed to the cool mountain air. Each woman's buttocks bore the marks of discipline—some fresh and red, others faded to pale silver scars. They had earned those marks through dedication to their master's will.

The square fell silent as Xuanfa emerged from the main hall. He wore simple black training clothes that did nothing to hide his powerful frame. His face remained impassive, cold eyes sweeping across the assembly of bare female flesh. In his left hand, he held three leather leashes that trailed behind him like the tails of some great beast.

Behind him, crawling on hands and knees, came the three highest-ranked female slaves of the sect.

Shen Mengyue led the procession, her waist-length black hair sweeping the ground as she moved forward on all fours. Her pale skin gleamed with a light sheen of sweat from the exertion of crawling. Though her face remained composed, her eyes held that mixture of shame and devotion that Xuanfa had cultivated in her over countless punishments. Her full breasts swayed beneath her as she crawled, nipples brushing against the cold stone with each movement.

Behind her came Lin Qiaoxin, her black twin tails bouncing with each crawling step. Unlike Shen Mengyue's solemn demeanor, Lin Qiaoxin's lips curved in a mischievous smile as she crawled. She had long since accepted her position and found a perverse joy in it. Her youthful, well-proportioned body moved with an almost playful energy, as if she were playing a game rather than participating in a solemn ceremony.

Li Que brought up the rear, her red hair tied in a high ponytail that swung like a banner. Her athletic frame rippled with muscle as she crawled, her proud face set in a mask of stoic acceptance. She had been defeated in combat, and she had submitted. The Vermilion Bird Sect's former vice head now crawled on hands and knees before her master, her pride reshaped into something new.

The three women crawled across the entire length of the square, passing between the rows of naked disciples who watched with a mixture of awe and fear. Some of the newer disciples trembled at the sight of such powerful cultivators reduced to crawling animals. The more experienced ones simply watched with understanding—they knew their own turn would come.

Xuanfa stopped at the center of the square, where a raised platform of polished obsidian stood. He turned and gave the leashes a gentle tug. The three women crawled up the platform's steps and positioned themselves beside him, kneeling with their thighs spread and their hands resting on their thighs. Their breasts hung forward, and their buttocks rested against their heels.

The disciples in the outer ring shifted their formation, forming a perfect circle around the platform. Then, from the side entrance, fifty women crawled forward on hands and knees. These were the female slave elders—the most senior disciples who had proven their devotion through countless punishments. Among them crawled five newcomers, their movements still awkward and uncertain, slave collars of black iron gleaming around their necks.

The fifty women arranged themselves in five rows of ten at the base of the platform, kneeling with their foreheads touching the stone. Their bottoms were raised, presented to the assembly and to the sky above.

Lin Qiaoxin rose to her feet, her naked body on full display. She walked to the front of the platform and raised her arms. The thousand disciples fell silent.

"Sisters," she called out, her voice carrying across the square with the aid of her cultivation. "Today, we gather to affirm our purpose. Let me speak of our sect's founding."

She turned and gestured toward the center of the platform, where a wooden rack stood. Upon it hung an array of paddles, straps, and boards—the Heavenly Wooden Boards of the Spanking Phoenix Sect. The sacred implements were carved from spirit wood harvested from the mountains, blessed with formations that made each strike resonate with cultivator's soul.

"We do not worship ancestors," Lin Qiaoxin continued. "We do not worship divine artifacts. We worship these." She picked up a paddle carved from crimson bloodwood and held it high. "These are our scriptures. These are our teachers. Through them, we learn humility. Through them, we learn devotion. Through them, we transcend our pride and become worthy vessels for our master's will."

Li Que rose next. She walked to the rack and selected a broad leather strap, running her fingers along its surface. "The name 'Spanking Phoenix' comes from our transformation," she said, her voice steady and proud despite her words. "The phoenix must be consumed by flame before it can rise anew. We must be consumed by discipline before we can achieve our true potential. Every strike of the board burns away our arrogance, our selfishness, our weakness. What remains is pure dedication."

She turned to face the assembly, strap still in hand. "As female slaves, our duty is absolute. We accept all humiliation from our master. We accept all punishment from our master. No matter how shameful, no matter how painful, we endure with grace and gratitude."

Shen Mengyue rose last. She walked to the rack with measured steps, her naked form radiating dignity despite her vulnerability. She selected a paddle of white jade, cool and flawless. Her voice was soft but carried clearly.

"Without the master's permission, we crawl," she said. "We do not rise to our feet. We do not speak unless spoken to. When we greet the master, we kneel and lift our bottoms high, presenting the marks of our discipline as proof of our devotion."

She demonstrated, lowering herself to her knees on the platform and bending forward until her forehead touched the stone. Her bottom rose high, fully exposed to the assembly, the pale skin of her cheeks bearing the faint traces of previous punishments.

The thousand disciples followed suit, dropping to their knees and lifting their bottoms. The five rows of female slave elders at the base of the platform had already assumed this position and maintained it perfectly.

Xuanfa had not moved from his position. He stood with his arms crossed, watching the sea of raised buttocks with cold satisfaction.

The three elders rose and returned to their kneeling positions beside him.

"Now," Lin Qiaoxin said, her playful tone returning, "let us share what we have learned with our younger sisters."

For the next hour, the three women took turns speaking. They explained cultivation techniques that focused on circulating qi through the body's lower dantian, a method that made spankings more intense but also accelerated cultivation. They taught breathing exercises to endure punishment. They advised on how to present oneself during discipline—the proper angle of the bottom, the correct way to cry out in pain while maintaining submission, the art of begging for more strokes without actually wanting them.

Shen Mengyue spoke of dignity in submission. "Many of you were proud sect leaders, powerful cultivators, respected elders," she said. "I was the head of the Immortal Clouds Sect. I commanded thousands. Now I crawl on hands and knees, and I am happier than I have ever been. Why? Because I have found my true purpose. Pride is a cage. Submission is freedom."

Li Que spoke of strength. "I believed I was invincible at my cultivation level," she said. "I was humbled through defeat. But I did not break. I transformed. The strength I had was redirected from serving myself to serving my master. Now I am stronger than ever."

Lin Qiaoxin spoke of joy. "This is supposed to be fun, sisters!" she laughed. "Yes, it hurts. Yes, it's shameful. But there is a profound joy in letting go of all pretense, in accepting your place, in pleasing your master with your suffering. Embrace it. Laugh through the pain. That is the true secret."

When the teachings concluded, Xuanfa stepped forward. He raised his hand, and a thousand small jade bottles floated through the air, each landing before a kneeling disciple. "Pills to advance your cultivation," he said, his voice cold and flat. "Take them."

The disciples obeyed, consuming the pills. A wave of spiritual energy rippled through the square as a thousand cultivators felt their power surge.

Xuanfa raised his hand again, and twenty items—various magical artifacts—flew to the most outstanding disciples. A bracelet that enhanced formation casting landed before a young woman in the front row. A sword that hummed with spiritual energy fell into the hands of a former Nascent Soul elder. A ring that could store three times the normal amount of qi dropped before a middle-aged cultivator who had shown exceptional devotion.

All of them kowtowed, their bottoms still raised.

Xuanfa turned his attention to the five new female slaves who knelt among the fifty elders. They trembled visibly, a mixture of excitement and terror on their faces.

"Come," Xuanfa commanded.

The five women crawled forward on hands and knees, their movements awkward but earnest. They arranged themselves at the foot of the platform, foreheads touching the stone, bottoms presented.

Xuanfa descended the platform and walked among them. He examined each one in turn, running his hand over their raised buttocks, feeling the texture of their skin. They shivered at his touch.

"You have been chosen because you showed exceptional promise," he said. "Your cultivation will advance under my guidance. But know this—your bottoms will never know peace. Every day, you will receive punishment. Every day, you will be reminded of your place."

The women nodded, their voices muffled against the stone.

Xuanfa produced five slave collars from his storage ring. They were identical to the ones worn by the fifty elders—black iron bands inscribed with formations that would bind the wearer's cultivation, making them vulnerable and obedient. He fastened a collar around each woman's neck.

The collars glowed briefly before settling into place. The five women gasped as their cultivation was bound, their power sealed just beneath the surface. They were still strong, still capable of using their abilities, but only at the master's permission.

"Crawl to your sisters," Xuanfa ordered.

The five new slaves crawled on hands and knees to the back row of the fifty elders, finding their positions. They lifted their bottoms high, the new collars gleaming around their necks, their cheeks flushed with the first true acceptance of their new lives.

Xuanfa returned to the platform. He raised his hand, and the sky above the square darkened.

The Heavenly Wooden Boards descended from the void.

There were fifty of them, each identical—three feet long, four inches wide, made from spirit-soaked oak that had been blessed and cursed in equal measure. They moved as if alive, hovering behind each of the fifty female slave elders.

"Discipline," Xuanfa announced. "Two hundred strokes. Do not move. Do not avoid. Do not use qi to shield yourselves. Accept fully."

The elders braced themselves. The new slaves among them trembled violently.

The first stroke fell.

*CRACK*

Fifty boards struck fifty bottoms simultaneously. The sound was deafening, echoing across the square like thunder. Fifty women cried out in unison, their bodies jerking forward from the impact.

Red marks bloomed across pale buttocks.

*CRACK*

The second stroke landed. The fifty women cried louder, their voices rising in a chorus of pain and submission.

*CRACK

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The main hall of the Immortal Clouds Sect lay in shattered silence. Debris from the collapsed pillars scattered across the jade floor, and the faint scent of ozone still lingered from the earlier clash. Xuanfa stood at the center, his black training clothes unruffled, his cold eyes sweeping across the assembled female cultivators who trembled behind their fallen sect leader.

Shen Mengyue lay crumpled several zhang away, blood trickling from the corner of her mouth. Her sword lay broken beside her, its fragments reflecting the dim light filtering through the ruined roof. She struggled to rise, but her cultivation had been sealed by a single finger technique from Xuanfa, leaving her as weak as a mortal.

“The Immortal Clouds Sect has defied me,” Xuanfa said, his voice flat and devoid of emotion. “As punishment, all female cultivators of this sect will receive a thorough spanking on their bare bottoms. One hundred strikes each, administered immediately.”

Gasps and sobs rippled through the gathered disciples. The youngest among them, a girl no more than sixteen with tear-streaked cheeks, clutched her robes and wailed. “Please, Senior Xuanfa, we beg your mercy!”

Xuanfa’s eyes narrowed. “Mercy is earned through submission, not tears.”

Shen Mengyue finally pushed herself upright, her waist-length black hair matted with dust and blood. Despite her weakened state, her gaze held a fragile defiance laced with desperation. She could not bear to watch her disciples suffer such humiliation. They had joined her sect seeking protection and cultivation guidance, not to be stripped and punished before their peers.

“Stop,” she said, her voice hoarse but steady. She forced her knees to bend, lowering herself to the ground in a formal kneel. Her forehead touched the cold jade floor. “I alone am responsible for the sect’s defiance. I ordered the resistance. Punish me instead. Spare my disciples.”

Xuanfa’s lips curved into a faint, cold smile. He walked toward her, his footsteps deliberate, echoing in the silent hall. “You would take their punishment upon yourself? Do you understand what that means?”

“Yes.” Shen Mengyue did not lift her head. “Whatever you decree, I will bear.”

“Very well.” Xuanfa stopped before her. “But if only you are punished, it will be severe. You will receive two hundred strikes of the Heavenly Wooden Board on your bottom every day, divided into morning and evening sessions. The punishment will be carried out here, in the main hall, before all your disciples. It will continue for thirty years.”

The color drained from Shen Mengyue’s face. Thirty years. Two hundred strikes each day. Though her cultivation would heal the physical wounds overnight, the pain was real—raw, searing, unforgettable. The Heavenly Wooden Board was no ordinary implement; it was a spirit artifact designed to inflict maximum suffering without permanent damage. Each strike would feel like a mountain falling on her flesh, magnified by the spiritual pressure embedded in the wood.

Yet she had no choice. If she refused, her disciples would suffer the same fate, and she knew Xuanfa would not hesitate to make good on his threat.

“I agree,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

“Good.” Xuanfa raised his right hand and pointed a finger at her. A thin beam of light shot forth, and in an instant, the black and white Daoist robes she wore dissolved into countless threads of light, scattering like startled fireflies. She was left completely naked, her fair skin exposed to the gasps and averted gazes of her disciples.

Shen Mengyue’s body was a study in contrasts—her skin smooth and pale as jade, yet carrying the subtle firmness of a cultivator who had tempered her flesh through centuries of training. Her waist was slender, curving into hips that were round and full, the kind that invited both admiration and desire. Her breasts were ample, shaped like ripe peaches, their tips a soft rose against the cream of her skin. Her thighs were long and shapely, tapering to delicate calves and small feet. The thatch of dark hair between her legs was neat and tidy, a stark contrast to the vulnerability of her posture.

Tears welled in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She would not give Xuanfa the satisfaction of seeing her weep.

“You are forbidden to wear clothes from this day forward,” Xuanfa announced, his voice carrying through the hall. “Your body is now a symbol of your submission. Every disciple will see what happens to those who defy the Heavenly Punisher.”

Then he raised his hand again, making a subtle gesture. Immortal energy gathered around Shen Mengyue, lifting her and forcing her into a humiliating position. Her upper body bent forward until her chest nearly touched the ground, while her knees remained planted on the jade floor. Her bottom rose high in the air, presented to all present like an offering. The position exposed every curve and crevice of her most intimate areas, leaving nothing to the imagination.

Two Heavenly Wooden Boards materialized out of thin air, hovering on either side of her raised posterior. They were dark brown, veined with golden runes that pulsed with a faint light. Each board was about the length of an arm, thick and solid.

“Begin,” Xuanfa commanded.

The board on the right swung back and then struck her left buttock with a sound like a thunderclap. Shen Mengyue gasped, her body lurching forward, but the immortal energy held her in place. A vivid red mark bloomed across her pale skin.

The left board followed, striking her right buttock with equal force. This time she bit her lip, a small whimper escaping her throat. Tears finally spilled down her cheeks, but she made no sound of protest.

The disciples watched in horrified silence. Some covered their mouths, others turned away, but none dared leave. They were bound by Xuanfa’s decree to witness the punishment from start to finish.

Each strike landed with merciless precision, alternating between the two boards. The Heavenly Wooden Boards did not tire, did not slow. They maintained a steady rhythm—strike, pause, strike—each impact driving deeper into Shen Mengyue’s flesh. Within thirty strikes, her bottom was a patchwork of red, purple, and angry welts. By the fiftieth, the skin had broken in several places, thin lines of blood trickling down her thighs.

Shen Mengyue’s body trembled violently, sweat mixing with tears and blood. She clamped her teeth together so hard she tasted copper. Her knuckles were white where she clutched her own arms, her nails digging into her skin.

Xuanfa stood a few paces away, his arms crossed, watching with an expression of cold satisfaction. “A hundred down,” he said, his tone conversational. “One hundred more to go. Let this be a lesson to all who would stand against me.”

The boards continued their relentless assault. By the hundred and fiftieth strike, Shen Mengyue’s sobs could no longer be suppressed. She cried openly, her body convulsing with each blow, her voice raw and broken. Her bottom was a ruin of blood and torn flesh, the once pristine skin now a testament to her sacrifice.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the boards stopped. The two hundredth strike had landed. For a moment, there was silence, broken only by Shen Mengyue’s ragged breathing and the quiet weeping of her disciples.

Then the immortal energy released her, and she collapsed onto the floor, her naked body trembling, her face pressed against the cold jade. She did not move, did not speak, her consciousness teetering on the edge of darkness.

Xuanfa turned and walked toward the broken entrance of the hall. “Tomorrow morning, the same time,” he said without looking back. “I will return to ensure the punishment is carried out as decreed. Do not disappoint me again.”

He vanished, his presence gone as if he had never been there. But the memory of what had occurred—and the promise of what was to come for thirty long years—lingered like a stain that could never be washed away.