The Punishment of Xuanfa, the Celestial Punisher

The world of cultivation stretched across an endless expanse of mountains, rivers, and ancient forests, where the air thrummed with spiritual energy. Cultivators walked paths of power, climbing from Qi Refining through Foundation Building and Core Formation to the lofty realm of Nascent Soul, with Nascent Soul Perfection standing as the pinnacle of mortal achievement. Yet this world held a peculiar imbalance: female cultivators outnumbered males by a wide margin, and those men who did cultivate often wielded disproportionate strength. Among them, a few possessed the ability to bind women as their female slaves through a specific, humiliating act—spanking their bare buttocks until red and swollen. This act forged a spiritual contract that accelerated cultivation for both parties, but most female cultivators loathed the practice, viewing it as a degradation of their autonomy.

No one embodied this practice more ruthlessly than the man known as the Celestial Punisher, Xuanfa. His original family name had been lost to time and violence. He wore simple black training clothes that did little to conceal his muscular frame, and his face was cold and handsome, with sharp eyes that held no warmth. At the Perfection-stage Nascent Soul, he was one of the strongest beings in the world. His fighting style relied on finger techniques—a flick of his hand could send a blade of qi slicing through the air, or a single pointed finger could explode a Core Formation cultivator's dantian. He spoke rarely, and when he did, his words were absolute. He loved one thing above all: spanking women's bottoms, reducing proud female cultivators to weeping, trembling creatures under his palm. He kept his promises without fail, and he followed through on every word he uttered.

Today, a disciple from the all-female Immortal Cloud Sect had committed an offense against Xuanfa. The details were trivial—a clumsy insult, a misdirected spell, a failure to show proper deference—but Xuanfa did not overlook slights. He traveled across a thousand li in a single hour, alighting at the gates of the Immortal Cloud Sect like a shadow of doom.

The sect's mountain was shrouded in mist, its peaks adorned with pavilions and waterfalls. Disciples in white and black Daoist robes bustled about, tending to spirit herbs and meditating in secluded groves. The moment Xuanfa's presence registered—an aura of immense, crushing power—the disciples froze. Some screamed. Others scrambled to alert the sect leader.

Shen Mengyue was in her private meditation chamber when the frantic knock came. She rose from her cushion, her long black hair flowing down her back like a waterfall of ink. Her face was ethereally pure, with full lips and eyes that held both the innocence of a young woman and the seductive depth of a mature woman. Her figure, clad in black-and-white Daoist robes, was elegant and refined, yet beneath the fabric lay curves that could drive men mad. She was the leader of the Immortal Cloud Sect, a mid-stage Nascent Soul, and she wielded her sword with grace and power. But her true strength lay in her will—she would protect her disciples with her life.

"Aunt Mengyue!" A young disciple burst through the door, tears streaming down her face. "The Celestial Punisher has come! Disciple Xue bumped into him in Cloudrest City, and she said something disrespectful in her panic. Now he stands at our gate, saying he will spank every female cultivator in the sect until our bottoms are red and swollen!"

Shen Mengyue's blood ran cold. She knew of Xuanfa by reputation—a man without mercy, without pity. She had heard stories of entire sects of female cultivators reduced to sobbing wrecks, their pride shattered under his relentless palm. She had hoped never to face him. Now that hope was dust.

"Gather all disciples," she said, her voice steady despite the turmoil inside. "Send the youngest and the core formation disciples to the rear mountain escape tunnels. I will face him alone."

"Aunt Mengyue! You can't! He's a Perfection-stage Nascent Soul!"

"I know." Shen Mengyue's hand went to the hilt of her sword. "Go. That is an order."

The disciple fled. Shen Mengyue closed her eyes for a single breath, centering her qi, then strode out of the meditation chamber and through the winding halls of the sect. She emerged at the main gate, a vast stone arch carved with clouds and cranes. Disciples had scattered, leaving the courtyard empty save for a single figure.

Xuanfa stood in the center, hands clasped behind his back. His black training clothes clung to his body, highlighting broad shoulders and a lean waist. His handsome face showed no expression, his dark eyes fixed on her with the patience of a predator who knew its prey had nowhere to run.

"Sect Leader Shen," he said. His voice was low, resonant, utterly cold.

"Celestial Punisher Xuanfa," she replied, gripping her sword. "I understand my disciple offended you. I apologize on her behalf. Whatever compensation you require, name it. But leave my sect in peace."

Xuanfa's lips twitched—not a smile, but the barest hint of amusement. "Compensation? I require satisfaction. The Immortal Cloud Sect has one hundred and twenty-three female cultivators above Foundation Building. I will spank each one until her bottom is crimson and her spirit humbled. After that, I will consider the matter closed."

"That is unacceptable." Shen Mengyue's voice sharpened. "I will not allow you to debase my disciples."

"Then stop me."

Shen Mengyue did not hesitate. Her sword flew from its sheath, a blade of blue-white light that hummed with her qi. She launched herself forward, her form blurring, and struck with a series of rapid slashes—each one aimed at his vital points. Xuanfa did not draw a weapon. He raised his right hand and flicked his middle finger. A thin, razor-sharp qi blade met her sword and deflected it. She recovered instantly, spinning into a horizontal sweep. He sidestepped, then tapped her wrist with his index finger. A shock of numbing energy shot through her arm, and she almost dropped her sword.

She retreated, breathing hard. He had not even moved his feet.

"You are mid-stage Nascent Soul," he said, as if commenting on the weather. "Impressive for a woman. But against me, you are a child waving a stick."

Shen Mengyue gritted her teeth and unleashed her full power. Her sword danced in a storm of light, each strike carrying the weight of her sect, her disciples, her pride. She forced him to step back. Once. Twice. She pressed the attack, her robes whipping around her, her hair flying in wild strands. For a moment, she believed she could win.

Then Xuanfa raised both hands, fingers threaded together, and parted them with a single snap. A wave of pressure erupted from his body, slamming into her like a physical wall. She flew backward, tumbling across the stone courtyard, and crashed into the base of the gate. Her vision swam. Her sword clattered away, out of reach.

She tried to rise, but her limbs would not obey. Her dantian ached, her qi circulation disrupted. He had not even used thirty percent of his strength, she realized with horror. He had toyed with her, measured her, and now discarded her like a broken toy.

Xuanfa walked toward her, his footsteps slow and deliberate on the stone. His shadow fell across her body. She looked up at him, her heart hammering against her ribs, her breath coming in ragged gasps. His eyes held no triumph, no anger—only cold, patient purpose.

He stopped a foot away, looking down at her prone form. "You fought well," he said, the words devoid of warmth. "But you lost. Now, I will collect what I came for."

Shen Mengyue's hand moved instinctively, reaching for her fallen sword. A flick of his finger, and a qi blade sliced through her sleeve, pinning the fabric to the ground. She froze.

"Your disciples will watch," Xuanfa continued, "as I spank their leader's bare bottom until it is red, swollen, and thoroughly humbled. Then I will move to the next, and the next, until every woman in this sect knows her place."

Terror gripped Shen Mengyue—not for herself, but for the innocent disciples hiding in the rear mountains. She opened her mouth to bargain, to plead, to threaten.

Xuanfa crouched, his face now level with hers. His hand came up, and with terrifying gentleness, he brushed a strand of hair from her cheek.

"Do not waste your words," he said. "I keep my promises."

He stood, and his hand moved to the collar of her Daoist robe. Shen Mengyue's breath caught. She knew what came next. And she was powerless to stop it.

Fifteen years had passed in the Xuantian Realm, yet time moved differently for those bound to the Spanking Phoenix Sect. For Li Que, each day had become a ritual of submission, her proud spirit tempered by the relentless cycle of cultivation, punishment, and healing. She no longer flinched when the heavenly dao board descended upon her upturned bottom. The pain had become a familiar companion, a constant reminder of her place in Xuanfa's world.

Every morning began the same. Li Que crawled on all fours from her sleeping mat, the leather leash around her neck trailing behind her. Beside her, Lin Qiaoxin rose with a playful grin, her twin ponytails bouncing as she stretched her naked body. Together, they made their way to Xuanfa's training hall, where they knelt before their master, bottoms raised in silent greeting.

Xuanfa sat upon a black stone throne, his black training clothes immaculate, his cold eyes scanning the two women before him. "You have adapted well," he said, his voice flat.

Li Que lifted her head, her red hair falling across her face. "We have, master. The heavenly dao board has become an old friend."

Lin Qiaoxin giggled, her youthful voice carrying a hint of mischief. "An old friend with a very hard hand."

Xuanfa's lips did not move, but a flicker of approval passed through his eyes. "Speak your mind."

Li Que exchanged a glance with Lin Qiaoxin. They had discussed this many times during their quiet moments, when the pain of punishment faded and their minds cleared. Now was the time.

Li Que spoke first. "Master, we wish to ask you something."

"Ask."

"What do you like most?" Lin Qiaoxin asked, her voice innocent but her eyes sharp.

Xuanfa leaned back on his throne, his finger tracing a slow arc in the air. "I most like watching female cultivators being spanked and tormented. The suffering they endure makes me stronger in both mind and cultivation."

Li Que nodded. "Then we have a suggestion."

Lin Qiaoxin's grin widened. "The entire cultivation world already knows that the Immortal Cloud Sect leader was stripped naked by you and is kneeling at the sect hall entrance, raising her bottom for the board. But not everyone yet knows that the formation genius Lin Qiaoxin and the Vermilion Bird Sect deputy leader Li Que have become your female slaves."

Li Que continued, "We propose that you lead us, both naked and crawling like dogs on leashes, to the highest terrace in Wuling City. Have Shen Mengyue's disciple lead her by a dog leash to the same terrace. The three of us will kneel in a row, upper bodies bent forward, lifting our plump buttocks high. Then you summon the heavenly dao board to automatically spank all three of us."

Lin Qiaoxin's eyes sparkled. "We want our bottoms beaten to a pulp. So badly that even cultivators need a week to recover. Then our legs will be forcibly spread open, and our butt cracks severely whipped with a whip, ensuring our anuses and vaginas are swollen. Then anal hooks will be inserted into our three swollen anuses, and we will be hung for public display for a week."

Li Que added, "This will surely make you happy, master."

Xuanfa was silent for a long moment. His cold gaze swept over them, assessing, calculating. Then he nodded. "I agree to your plan. It will be done."

Lin Qiaoxin clapped her hands in delight, but Xuanfa raised a finger, silencing her.

"However," he said, his voice dropping, "I wish to try some new punishments first."

Li Que's heart quickened, but she kept her face impassive. "We are ready, master."

Xuanfa stood, his black robes flowing around him. "Kneel on the ground. Raise your bottoms. Spread your anuses open."

Li Que and Lin Qiaoxin obeyed without hesitation. They positioned themselves side by side, their upper bodies bent forward, their buttocks lifted high. Their hands reached back, fingers spreading their cheeks apart, exposing their anuses to Xuanfa's gaze.

Xuanfa walked to a cabinet at the side of the hall and retrieved a ceramic jar. He opened it, and a pungent smell filled the air—ginger, but sharper, more potent. Magical ginger roots, crushed and squeezed into a thick, amber juice.

He approached Lin Qiaoxin first. "You will feel a burning sensation. Do not resist."

Lin Qiaoxin's playful demeanor faltered for a moment, but she nodded. "I understand, master."

Xuanfa tipped the jar, pouring a stream of ginger juice into Lin Qiaoxin's anus. The liquid was warm, almost hot, and it seeped deep into her intestines. Lin Qiaoxin gasped, her body tensing. The burning started slowly, a gentle warmth that quickly intensified into a searing fire. It felt as if a red-hot iron rod had been shoved into her anus, spreading through her bowels. She bit her lip, her knuckles white as she gripped her own cheeks.

"Stay still," Xuanfa said, his voice calm.

He moved to Li Que and repeated the process. The ginger juice poured into her anus, and Li Que's proud spirit screamed inside her. The pain was unlike anything she had felt before. The heavenly dao board was a blunt force, a punishment she had learned to endure. But this—this was a burning invasion, a fire that consumed her from within. Her anus clenched and unclenched involuntarily, trying to expel the liquid, but it only pushed it deeper.

Lin Qiaoxin whimpered beside her, her body trembling. "It burns, master. It burns so much."

Xuanfa set the jar aside and returned to his throne. "That is the purpose. You will now receive your daily two hundred strokes of the heavenly dao board. During the beating, you must not lose control and spray intestinal fluid. If you do, the punishment is doubled."

Li Que's eyes widened. The ginger juice was already causing her intestines to cramp. Holding back the fluid while being beaten would be nearly impossible.

Lin Qiaoxin let out a shaky laugh. "You really know how to make things interesting, master."

Xuanfa raised his hand, and the heavenly dao board materialized in the air above them. It was a slab of black stone, ancient and heavy, inscribed with runes that pulsed with power.

The first stroke fell on Lin Qiaoxin's bottom. The crack echoed through the hall, and Lin Qiaoxin cried out, her body jerking forward. Raw, searing pain—the board had always hurt, but now, with the ginger burning inside her, it was agony. Every nerve in her bottom was already on fire, and the board added a new layer of torment.

The board swung down on Li Que's bottom. The impact knocked the breath from her lungs. Her anus clenched violently, and a wave of nausea washed over her. She could feel the ginger juice shifting inside her, threatening to escape. She bit down on her lip, drawing blood, and forced herself to hold.

Stroke after stroke fell. Ten strokes. Twenty. The board was relentless, each blow landing with precision, turning their bottoms from pale to pink to a deep, angry red. The ginger burned hotter with every impact, as if the board was pounding the liquid deeper into their intestines.

Lin Qiaoxin was the first to break. At the thirty-second stroke, a shudder ran through her body. Her anus spasmed, and a stream of ginger-tinged intestinal fluid sprayed out, splattering onto the floor. She let out a sob of shame and pain.

Xuanfa's voice was cold. "Double punishment. Four hundred strokes now."

Lin Qiaoxin's head dropped. "Yes, master."

Li Que held on for forty-seven strokes before her body betrayed her. The burning had become unbearable, her intestines cramping so hard she could barely breathe. A violent contraction seized her, and she expelled a flood of fluid, the ginger juice mingling with her own waste. She screamed in frustration, her pride shattered.

Xuanfa's voice was flat. "Double punishment. Four hundred strokes."

"Yes, master," Li Que whispered.

The board continued. Four hundred strokes each. The pain blurred together, a continuous wave of fire and impact. The ginger did not fade; it grew stronger, the burning sensation spreading to every corner of their intestines. Their bottoms, already swollen and raw, became a mass of bruises and welts. The board would rise, pause, and fall, each stroke landing with surgical precision.

Lin Qiaoxin's cries turned into incoherent babbling. She had lost all sense of time, her mind consumed by the dual torment of fire and beating. Her anus was a gaping, swollen hole, the ginger juice still leaking out in small, painful bursts.

Li Que fared little better. She clung to consciousness through sheer will, her body trembling with each stroke. She could hear the board humming in the air, a sound that had become synonymous with pain. Her bottom was a ruined landscape of red and purple, the skin stretched taut over the swelling beneath.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the board stopped. Xuanfa waved his hand, and it vanished.

The silence was broken only by the ragged breaths of the two women. They lay on the floor, their bodies limp, their bottoms elevated from the sheer mass of swelling.

Xuanfa stood and walked to them. He looked down at Lin Qiaoxin, then at Li Que. "You performed adequately. The ginger will remain in your intestines for three more hours. Use that time to reflect on your failure to control yourselves."

He turned and walked away, his black robes trailing behind him.

Lin Qiaoxin let out a weak laugh. "Three more hours of this? I might die."

Li Que closed her eyes, the burning still raging inside her. "No, you won't. We've survived worse."

"Have we?"

Li Que did not answer. She lay there, feeling the fire spread through her, the pain of her beaten bottom pulsing with every heartbeat. The heavenly dao board had done its work. Her bottom was a swollen, bruised mass, so tender that even the air touching it sent shivers of pain through her body.

But the ginger continued to burn, a constant reminder of her failure. She focused on the pain, letting it sharpen her mind, strengthen her resolve. She had chosen this path. She would endure it.

Beside her, Lin Qiaoxin whimpered softly, her hand reaching out to grip Li Que's. Li Que squeezed back, a silent gesture of solidarity.

They lay there, naked and broken, their bottoms raised in submission, the ginger burning in their intestines. The afternoon sun streamed through the windows, casting long shadows across the hall. Outside, the sounds of the Spanking Phoenix Sect continued, indifferent to their suffering.

And in the distance, the highest terrace of Wuling City waited. Tomorrow, they would be led there, crawling on leashes, to kneel beside Shen Mengyue and offer their bottoms to the world.

That morning, Xuanfa strode through the gates of Wuling City with a leash in each hand. The leashes were black leather, gleaming with a faint oil sheen, and they attached to delicate silver collars wrapped around the throats of Lin Qiaoxin and Li Que. The two women crawled behind him on all fours, their naked bodies bare to the world. Lin Qiaoxin’s twin low ponytails brushed the dusty cobblestones as she moved, her youthful curves on full display, the red of her former dress now just a memory. Li Que’s athletic frame swayed with each step, her red hair hanging in a high ponytail that swayed like a flame. Their bottoms were not pristine; faint pink stripes from previous punishments crisscrossed their cheeks, a testament to Xuanfa’s discipline.

The streets of Wuling City were crowded with merchants, disciples, and common folk. As Xuanfa walked, heads turned. Eyes widened. Whispers erupted like a swarm of bees. “Look at that—are those cultivators?” someone gasped. “Naked as the day they were born!” another said. “And the marks on their buttocks… such discipline.” The two women crawled obediently, their faces serene, but inside, a different torment raged. Their intestines were packed with ginger juice, thick and pungent, injected before they left the Spanking Phoenix Sect. The spicy liquid burned and clawed at their innards with every movement, sending sharp, stabbing waves of heat through their bellies. Lin Qiaoxin’s eyes watered, but she kept a playful smile on her lips. Li Que gritted her teeth, her pride warring with the agony. Where no one could see, their knees trembled, and the muscles in their thighs quivered as the ginger juice burrowed deeper. But they crawled on, loyal dogs at their master’s feet.

Behind them, another spectacle unfolded. Shen Mengyue crawled on the ground, a leather dog leash around her neck held by a young female disciple of the Immortal Cloud Sect. The disciple’s face was red with shame, but she obeyed Xuanfa’s orders. Shen Mengyue’s naked body was a vision of ethereal beauty—her waist-length black hair trailed in the dust, her pale skin gleaming under the midday sun. The perfect curves of her breasts and the generous swell of her buttocks drew every eye. Crowds gathered along her path, a tide of onlookers pushing closer. “The leader of Immortal Cloud Sect!” a man cried. “Shen Mengyue! Crawling like a beast!” Laughter and jeers mixed with gasps of disbelief. Shen Mengyue’s heart pounded in her chest. Humiliation worse than death. She had once commanded respect, led thousands of disciples, wielded a sword that could split mountains. Now she was nothing but a spectacle, a lesson in submission. Tears welled in her eyes, but she forced them back. She would not give them the satisfaction. Yet each step was agony, each cobblestone a reminder of her fall. The disciple tugged the leash, and Shen Mengyue pressed her forehead to the ground, crawling faster. She could feel the eyes of the crowd like knives, cutting away the last shreds of her dignity.

The three women converged at the central terrace of Wuling City. A wide stone platform rose three feet above the ground, flanked by marble pillars and carved with ancient runes. Xuanfa stood at the center, his black training clothes stark against the pale stone. He turned as Lin Qiaoxin and Li Que crawled to his feet, then Shen Mengyue joined them. The disciple handed the leash to Xuanfa and retreated. The crowd pressed in, hundreds of faces eager for the next act.

Xuanfa raised a hand. “Today, I will discipline these three women publicly. Their buttocks have known my hand, but now they will know the heavenly dao board and the whip. Let all witness the price of defiance and the reward of submission.” His voice carried across the square, cold and clear.

Lin Qiaoxin and Li Que exchanged glances, a spark of joy in their eyes. They had earned this—a chance to prove their devotion. Shen Mengyue’s soul sank. She knelt, her body trembling.

Xuanfa gestured. “Kneel in a row. Bend forward. Lift your buttocks high. Present them to the sky.”

The three obeyed. Lin Qiaoxin knelt on the left, Li Que on the right, and Shen Mengyue in the center. They pressed their upper bodies to the stone, arms stretched forward, and arched their backs. Their plump buttocks rose, cheeks parted slightly, revealing the delicate folds between. The crowd leaned in, eager eyes drinking in the sight.

Xuanfa closed his eyes and raised his right hand. A pulse of spiritual energy rippled through the air. Above them, the clouds parted as a dark wooden board materialized, floating silently. The heavenly dao board—ancient, black, edged with golden runes that pulsed with light. It hovered at hip height, angled to strike each buttock in turn.

“Begin,” Xuanfa said.

The board descended. A sharp *crack* echoed across the square as it smacked into Lin Qiaoxin’s right cheek. She gasped, but her body remained still. The board rose and fell again, this time on Li Que’s left buttock. *Crack*. Li Que grunted, her fingers digging into the stone. Then the board struck Shen Mengyue. *Crack*. Tears sprang to her eyes, but she bit her lip.

The board swung faster. *Crack. Crack. Crack.* It struck each woman in sequence, never pausing. Lin Qiaoxin’s cheek reddened, then deepened to crimson. The board beat a rhythm of punishment, each blow flattening the flesh, then bouncing back to leave a dark bruise. Li Que’s athletic buttocks took the punishment with muscle tensing and relaxing, but soon the skin split in tiny cracks, weeping blood. Shen Mengyue sobbed silently as the board worked her pale cheeks into a raw, pulpy mess.

The crowd counted the strikes, murmuring. Some watched with morbid fascination, others with pity. But Xuanfa showed no mercy. Fifty strikes. Then a hundred. The board did not slow. Lin Qiaoxin’s bottom was no longer two cheeks but one mass of bruised, broken flesh, purple and black with streaks of red. Li Que’s strong glutes now quivered uselessly, the skin split wide in places, exposing the muscle beneath. Shen Mengyue’s once elegant buttocks were a horrifying sight—swollen, weeping, the skin hanging in shreds. The board smacked directly onto the gaping wounds, sending jolts of fire through her nerves.

Two hundred strikes. The board paused. Xuanfa opened his eyes. “The first phase is complete. Their buttocks are beaten to a pulp. Even cultivator healing will require a week to restore them.” He stepped forward and examined each bottom. Lin Qiaoxin’s was a misshapen ruin, yet she smiled through her pain. “Thank you, master,” she whispered. Li Que nodded, gritting her teeth. “We serve willingly.”

Shen Mengyue only wept.

Xuanfa raised his hand again. “Now, spread their legs and whip their butt cracks.”

Two female attendants stepped forward from the crowd—disciples of the Spanking Phoenix Sect who had accompanied Xuanfa. They gripped each woman’s ankles and pulled their legs wide apart, forcing their thighs to open. The spread exposed the tender perineum, the dark pink of their anuses, the glistening folds of their vaginas. The buttocks, now black and swollen, no longer concealed anything. Every secret was laid bare.

Xuanfa summoned a nine-tailed whip made of thin, braided leather. The tails were fine, almost like wire, tipped with tiny barbs. He cracked it once, and the sound snapped through the square. Then he stepped behind Lin Qiaoxin.

“For your eagerness, I reward you with the whip,” he said, and brought the tails down directly across her exposed anus.

Lin Qiaoxin screamed, a mix of pain and pleasure. The barbs caught the tender rim, tearing tiny strips of skin. Blood welled up. The whip rose and fell, each stroke targeting her puckered entrance. *Crack!* It split the anal cleft, slashing across the opening. *Crack!* It bit into her labia, the barbs scraping the inner petals. *Crack!* She bucked, but the attendants held her fast. After twenty strokes, her anus was a swollen, bleeding ring, her vagina puffy and raw.

Xuanfa moved to Li Que. She braced herself, proud even now. The whip sung through the air and lashed her anal crack. Li Que grunted, her body jerking. The barbs sank deep, pulling the soft tissue. She bit her tongue, tasting blood. *Crack!* The whip split the delicate skin between her anus and vagina. *Crack!* It wrapped around her vulva, the barbs tearing at the labia minora. Thirty strokes later, her anus was a tiny, swollen knot, her vaginal lips black with blood.

Then Shen Mengyue. She trembled, knowing what was coming. The whip descended. *Crack!* It lashed across her taut anal opening, and she shrieked. The barbs embedded, ripping out as the whip lifted. Blood poured down her thighs. *Crack!* Another stroke, this one splitting her vagina’s entrance. She sobbed, her body convulsing. *Crack!* The whip struck again and again, until her anus was a gaping, bloody hole, her vagina a raw, swollen slit. Fifty strokes. She hung limp, supported only by the attendants.

Xuanfa put away the whip. “Now, the final punishment. Anal hooks. You will be hung for a week, suspended for all to see.”

From his storage ring, he produced three curved metal hooks, each as thick as a finger, made of polished iron, with a ring at the blunt end for a chain. The sharp point was curved and barbed, designed to be inserted into the anus and locked in place. Lin Qiaoxin’s eyes lit up. Li Que nodded firmly. Shen Mengyue’s face went white, but she had no energy left to resist.

The attendants lifted each woman by the hips, tilting their pelvises up. Xuanfa approached Lin Qiaoxin first. He pressed the tip of the hook against her swollen anus. The flesh was tender, bruised, but he pushed. The hook slid in, stretching the torn ring, scraping against the inner walls. Blood trickled down the curve. Lin Qiaoxin gasped, her eyes widening. The barbs caught, locking the hook in place. Xuanfa attached a thin chain to the ring, then hoisted her off the ground. Her feet dangled, her full weight now suspended by the hook inside her. She swayed, pain lancing through her abdomen, but she smiled. “I serve, master.”

Li Que was next. The hook entered her anus with a wet sound, the barbs engaging. She cried out, her body straining. Xuanfa lifted her, and she spun slowly, the chain creaking.

Finally, Shen Mengyue. He pressed the hook against her torn anus, and she felt the cold metal touch the deepest part of her. He pushed, and she screamed, a raw, animal sound. The hook sank deep, scraping her internal walls, and the barbs locked. He lifted her, and her body hung limp, tears streaming down her face. She could not even sob. The humiliation was absolute. Every eye in the city watched her swing, her body on display, her most intimate parts invaded and exposed.

Xuanfa stepped back. The three women hung from the chains attached to a beam above the terrace, their bodies swaying gently. Their legs dangled, their arms limp. The crowd stared, some pointing, others whispering.

Lin Qiaoxin looked at Li Que and forced a grin. “We did it. For master.”

Li Que nodded, her eyes closed. “Worth it.”

Shen Mengyue only hung, her spirit crushed. She had been the leader of the Immortal Cloud Sect. Now she was a public spectacle, hung by a hook in her anus, her broken bottom and exposed sex on display for a week. She wanted to die. But death was not allowed. She would serve her penance, and when it was over, she would crawl back to Xuanfa, because there was nothing left for her but submission.

The sun passed overhead, and the square slowly emptied, but the crowd never fully disappeared. Guards were posted to ensure no one helped the women. The week had begun. Lin Qiaoxin and Li Que hung with a strange peace, their pain a badge of honor. Shen Mengyue wept into the silence, her tears falling to the stones below, joining the blood that dripped from her ravaged body.

The long week had stretched into an eternity of agony and shame. Each day, each hour, each minute had been a fresh torment for the four women hanging from the anal hooks in the main square of Wuling City. For Shen Mengyue, it was a spiritual death by a thousand cuts. The pain in her anus was constant, a burning, tearing ache that never eased, but far worse was the humiliation. She had been stripped naked before the entire city, her most private part exposed and violated by the cruel hook. And all around her, the people of Wuling City had gathered day after day, pointing, whispering, laughing. Some had even brought their children to gawk at the former sect leader of the Immortal Cloud Sect, now reduced to a spectacle.

Lin Qiaoxin and Li Que, hanging on either side of her, had borne the same punishment with a far lighter heart. They had already accepted their role as female slaves. They knew that this was a lesson, a trial, a step on the path to serving their master. Lin Qiaoxin, her twin ponytails limp and tangled from the week's ordeal, had even managed to crack a joke or two in the first few days, though her voice had grown hoarse by the end. Li Que, her red hair now a wild mess, had held her proud head high, refusing to show weakness even as the hook twisted inside her.

Fei, the dragon demon lord, hung a little apart from the others. Her golden eyes were closed, her face serene. She had endured worse in her long life. The hook was merely a tool, and the humiliation was merely a game. She knew that this was only the beginning; Xuanfa would not break her so easily. She would yield only on her own terms, and only when she chose to do so.

On the seventh morning, as the sun rose over the walls of Wuling City, a group of disciples of the Spanking Phoenix Sect entered the square. They moved with practiced efficiency, releasing the chains from the iron beams and lowering the four women down from the hooks. The removal of the hooks was a fresh agony, a searing pain that made Shen Mengyue cry out despite herself. Blood trickled down her thighs as she was set on her feet, but her legs gave way immediately. She collapsed to her knees on the cold stone, trembling.

The disciples did not offer her any comfort. They simply stood aside, and a moment later, Xuanfa appeared.

He walked through the crowd of onlookers, his black training clothes immaculate, his face as cold and impassive as carved jade. The crowd parted before him like water before a blade. He stopped in front of the four women, his eyes scanning each of them in turn. When his gaze fell upon Shen Mengyue, she felt a chill run down her spine.

"Shen Mengyue," he said, his voice flat and without emotion. "A week has passed. Have you considered my proposal?"

Shen Mengyue raised her head. Her face was pale, her eyes red-rimmed from tears and lack of sleep. She had considered little else during that terrible week. The thought of becoming his female slave, of being subjected to his whims and punishments for the rest of her life, had filled her with dread. But the alternative was more of this—more humiliation, more pain, perhaps even death.

"Celestial Punisher," she said, her voice hoarse, "I beg you to show mercy. My offense against you was a mistake born of ignorance. I swear to you now that I will never oppose you again. Let me return to the Immortal Cloud Sect, and I will spend the rest of my life in repentance."

Xuanfa's expression did not change. "You misunderstand the nature of my punishment," he said. "It is not a matter of repentance. It is a matter of submission. You have not yet submitted to me. You have merely endured what I have inflicted upon you. There is a difference."

"I have endured enough!" Shen Mengyue cried out, her voice breaking. "Please, Celestial Punisher, I am not like them! I do not wish to be your slave!"

She gestured at Lin Qiaoxin and Li Que, who were kneeling on the ground, their heads bowed. They did not react to her words. They had already made their choice.

Xuanfa gave a short, sharp snort. "Stubborn," he said. Then he turned and walked away.

Shen Mengyue watched him go, a flicker of hope igniting in her chest. Had he relented? Would he let her go?

But then Lin Qiaoxin and Li Que rose to their feet. They moved to either side of Shen Mengyue, each taking one of her arms. Lin Qiaoxin's grip was firm but not unkind. Li Que's was cold and detached.

"What are you doing?" Shen Mengyue demanded, trying to pull away. But she was weak from the week's ordeal, and they were not. They forced her down onto her hands and knees on the stone floor, then spread her legs apart. Shen Mengyue struggled, but invisible bonds wrapped around her limbs, forcing her into the familiar kneeling position with her bottom raised high. The position of complete submission.

"Shen Mengyue," Xuanfa's voice came from behind her. She twisted her head to look. He had returned, and in his hands he held a large clay jar. "You have refused my offer. Now you will learn the price of your stubbornness."

He uncorked the jar. The smell of ginger, sharp and pungent, filled the air. Shen Mengyue's eyes widened in terror. She knew what was coming.

"No! Please, no!" She thrashed against the invisible bonds, but they held her fast. Lin Qiaoxin and Li Que knelt down beside her. Lin Qiaoxin reached between her legs and gently, almost tenderly, spread her buttocks apart. The gesture was intimate, invasive. Shen Mengyue screamed.

Xuanfa walked up behind her. He tipped the jar, and a stream of thick, dark ginger juice poured out, splashing against her anus. The liquid was warm, almost hot. It trickled down her crack, seeping into her opening. Shen Mengyue gasped at the initial sensation, but then the fire began.

The ginger juice burned. It was a hot, searing pain that seemed to eat its way into her flesh. It radiated outward from her anus, spreading through her entire backside, up her spine, down her thighs. It was worse than the anal hook. It was worse than any spanking she had ever endured. She screamed, a long, high-pitched shriek of pure agony.

"Spread her open," Xuanfa commanded. "I want it all inside her."

Lin Qiaoxin and Li Que obeyed. They pressed their thumbs deeper into her flesh, stretching her anus wide. Xuanfa poured more of the ginger juice directly into her, filling her intestines with the burning liquid. Shen Mengyue bucked and writhed, but she could not escape. She was pinned in place by the invisible force.

When the jar was empty, Xuanfa stepped back. Lin Qiaoxin and Li Que released her, but the invisible bonds remained. Shen Mengyue collapsed forward, her forehead pressing against the cold stone. She was panting, tears streaming down her face. The fire inside her would not stop.

But the punishment was not over.

Xuanfa reached into his sleeve and produced two palm-sized wooden boards. They were made of a dark, polished wood, their surfaces etched with intricate runes. He tossed them to the ground before Lin Qiaoxin and Li Que.

"Each of you take a heavenly dao board," he said. "You will strike Shen Mengyue's bottom one hundred times each. And for each stroke, she will say, 'Thank you, Celestial Punisher Xuanfa, for spanking me.' If she fails to speak, you will stop and I will pour more ginger juice into her."

Lin Qiaoxin and Li Que each picked up a board. The wood felt warm and alive in their hands. Lin Qiaoxin grinned. Li Que's lips curved into a thin, cruel smile. They had both been subjected to the heavenly dao board before. They knew its bite. They were eager to share its lesson.

"Begin," Xuanfa said.

Lin Qiaoxin stepped forward first. She raised the board high over her head, then brought it down with all her strength. The board cracked against Shen Mengyue's right buttock, leaving a red, angry welt in its wake. Shen Mengyue screamed, the sound muffled by the stone floor.

"Speak," Lin Qiaoxin said, her voice light and teasing. "Or I'll have to tell master you need more ginger juice."

Shen Mengyue gasped for air. Her entire body was trembling. "Th-thank you, Celestial Punisher Xuanfa, for spanking me," she managed to choke out.

"Good girl," Lin Qiaoxin said. She struck again, a sharp, precise blow that landed just below the first. "And again."

"Thank you, Celestial Punisher Xuanfa, for spanking me," Shen Mengyue said, her voice strained.

Li Que took her turn. She was not as playful as Lin Qiaoxin. She was efficient, methodical. Her board landed with a flat, heavy thud that made Shen Mengyue's entire body jerk. The welt spread, turning from red to purple.

"Speak," Li Que said coldly.

"Thank you, Celestial Punisher Xuanfa, for spanking m-me," Shen Mengyue sobbed.

The spanking continued. Lin Qiaoxin and Li Que took turns, each stroke landing with precision and force. The heavenly dao board was not an ordinary implement. It carried a hint of Xuanfa's own power, a touch of his spiritual energy that made each blow feel like a hundred. The pain was not merely physical; it was spiritual, deep, penetrating. It reached into Shen Mengyue's very soul.

By the fiftieth stroke, Shen Mengyue's bottom was a mess of welts and bruises. The ginger juice still burned inside her, a constant fire that made each blow feel like a brand. She could barely speak, but she forced the words out, knowing that the alternative was worse.

By the sixtieth stroke, she broke.

"Stop! Please, stop!" she screamed. "I submit! I will become your female slave! Just stop!"

Lin Qiaoxin and Li Que paused. They looked at Xuanfa.

Xuanfa walked around to face Shen Mengyue. He looked down at her, his expression unreadable. "You will become my female slave?"

"Yes!" Shen Mengyue said, her voice desperate. "On one condition. You must promise not to harm the disciples of the Immortal Cloud Sect. And you must protect the sect from any threats."

Xuanfa considered this for a long moment. Then he nodded. "I agree."

He raised his hand, and a swirl of spiritual energy surrounded them. The world dissolved into a blur of light and color, and then they were standing in a vast, open space. The Xuantian Realm. A sky of impossible colors stretched overhead, and the ground beneath their feet was soft grass, impossibly green.

Shen Mengyue felt a weight around her neck. She looked down. A slave collar, identical to the ones worn by Lin Qiaoxin and Li Que, had materialized around her throat. It was cold and heavy against her skin.

"Now," Xuanfa said, "you will receive your initiation as my female slave. Two hundred strokes of the heavenly dao board. You will count each one. And you will not stop until I say you are finished."

Shen Mengyue's heart sank. But she had made her choice. She had accepted her fate.

She knelt down on the grass. Then, with a deep breath, she lowered herself onto her hands and knees. She raised her bottom high, presenting it to Xuanfa. The gesture felt familiar now, almost natural.

"Begin," Xuanfa said.

He took the heavenly dao board from Lin Qiaoxin. He walked behind Shen Mengyue. He raised the board.

The first stroke fell like thunder. The board struck her left buttock, right at the crest. The impact sent a shockwave through her entire body. Shen Mengyue gasped, her hands clenching in the grass.

"One," she said, her voice shaking.

Xuanfa struck again. The board hit her right buttock, lower this time, catching the tender flesh where the cheek met the thigh.

"Two."

Again and again he struck. The heavenly dao board fell in a steady, deliberate rhythm. Each blow was precise, calculated. They fell in a pattern, a map of punishment on her skin. The welts rose, then burst into bruises. The skin turned from red to purple to black.

Shen Mengyue's count became a litany. "Twenty-three... twenty-four... twenty-five..." Her voice grew hoarse, then cracked into a sob. Tears streamed down her face, but she did not stop. She could not stop.

The ginger juice inside her had not faded. It burned hotter than ever, a constant fire that seemed

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One hundred years had passed since Xuanfa first descended upon the Xuantian Realm. In that time, his name had become a whispered terror and a roaring legend across every sect, every hidden valley, every mountain peak where cultivators gathered. The Spanking Phoenix Sect had grown from a single chamber into a sprawling compound of white jade halls and crimson pillars, but its true purpose remained unchanged: punishment, submission, and the unyielding application of the heavenly dao board.

Inside the main punishment hall, a long row of kneeling figures stretched from the dawn-lit eastern wall to the shadowed western one. Thirty female cultivators, each stripped bare, each with their upper bodies pressed flat against the cool stone floor, presented their raised buttocks to the empty air. Their skin ranged from pale as winter snow to warm as sunlit honey, but every pair of cheeks bore the same vivid marks of recent chastisement—angry red stripes, purple bruises, and the lingering swell of fresh welts.

These were not ordinary women. Among them stood the sect leader of the Azure Lotus Sect, a mid-stage Nascent Soul cultivator who once commanded a thousand disciples. Next to her knelt the formation genius of the Southern Wastes, a woman who had devised arrays that could trap even a Nascent Soul elder. Farther along crouched the proud daughter of the Heavenly Blade Family, whose father was a late-stage Nascent Soul patriarch. They had all been lofty, untouchable, proud. Now they raised their beaten buttocks high, trembling as they awaited the next descent of the heavenly dao board.

Behind this row of thirty plump, downturned bottoms stood three naked figures. Their beauty was of a different order—not merely polished by cultivation, but honed by a century of daily punishment, submission, and increasingly intimate service to their master. They were the original slaves, the first to be broken, and they had become the instructors of all who came after.

Xin-slave Lin Qiaoxin stood at the left. Her black hair, once tied in twin low ponytails, now hung loose past her waist, the ends brushing the tops of her bare thighs. Her face still held its youthful roundness, but her eyes had deepened with a knowing, playful light. Her slim figure remained athletic, her breasts small and firm, her waist narrow, her hips curved just enough to give her punished buttocks a prominent, rounded contour. Those cheeks, however, were no longer the pale skin of a rogue cultivator genius. They were a deep, uniform purple-red, the color of an eggplant left too long in the sun, crisscrossed with faint white scar lines that spoke of tens of thousands of heavenly dao board strikes. Despite the damage, her posture was perfect—back arched, bottom up, muscles relaxed but ready.

Que-slave Li Que stood in the center. Her red hair, still tied in a high ponytail, fell like a banner of flame down her back. Her athletic body was more defined than ever, with powerful shoulders, toned arms, and thighs that could crush stone. Her buttocks, too, were a testament to her punishment history—larger and more muscular than Lin Qiaoxin's, but just as thoroughly darkened. The purple-black hue spread from the top of her cleft down to the underside of each cheek, where the skin met her upper thighs in a sharp line of demarcation. Her posture radiated the same pride she had always possessed, but now that pride was channeled into being the best at enduring pain.

Yue-slave Shen Mengyue stood at the right. Her waist-length black hair swayed gently as she moved, each strand catching the light like silk. Her skin was still fair, but the ethereal purity she had once possessed was now layered with a mature, seductive aura that came from a century of total exposure. Her body was fuller than the other two—breasts that were heavy and rounded, hips that flared wide, a waist that cinched in dramatic proportion. And her buttocks, the largest and most punished of the three, were a dark, glossy purple, almost black in the shadows, with a sheen that came from the constant application of healing balms after each session. She moved with the grace of a sect leader, even now, even naked, even with her bottom raised in instruction.

"Higher, number twelve," Shen Mengyue said, her voice cool and gentle. She reached out and tapped the upturned bottom of a younger cultivator, a woman from the Thousand Peaks Sect. "You're clenching. Relax the glutes. The board will hurt less if you give it soft flesh to strike."

Lin Qiaoxin giggled, her voice light and musical. "And don't forget to breathe. If you hold your breath, the pain concentrates in your head. Let it flow down into your bottom. Accept it. The board is your master's gift."

Li Que said nothing, but her eyes swept over the line with the cold appraisal of a drill instructor. When she saw a pair of cheeks trembling, she stomped her foot, and the sound echoed through the hall. "Stop shaking. You'll throw off the rhythm. The heavenly dao board descends in sequence. If you jump, you'll break the pattern and earn extra strokes."

The thirty cultivators whimpered but held still. Their butts, a mixture of pale white, rosy pink, and freshly striped red, pointed to the ceiling like a field of ripe fruit waiting to be harvested. The three original slaves walked behind them, adjusting angles, patting taut skin, murmuring encouragement and correction.

Suddenly, the temperature in the hall dropped. The air grew heavy, charged with an invisible pressure that made the thirty new slaves gasp and press their faces harder against the floor. Lin Qiaoxin, Li Que, and Shen Mengyue felt it too, but instead of fear, their bodies responded with instant, practiced submission.

Xuanfa appeared at the entrance of the hall. He wore his black training clothes, simple and unadorned, but cut to accentuate his lean, powerful frame. His face was cold, handsome, expressionless. His eyes swept over the scene, lingering on the row of raised buttocks, then moving to his three slaves.

Without a word, the three women dropped. They lowered themselves to their knees in perfect unison, placed their palms flat on the ground, and bowed their heads until their foreheads nearly touched the stone. Then, as one, they arched their backs and raised their purple-red, well-spanked buttocks high into the air, presenting themselves in the posture they had assumed ten thousand times.

"Master," Lin Qiaoxin said, her voice cheerful despite her position. "We are instructing our new sisters. Are you here to watch the punishment of your Xin-slave?"

"Master," Li Que said, her tone firm, "we will not disappoint you. Are you here to watch the punishment of your Que-slave?"

"Master," Shen Mengyue said, her voice soft and reverent, "rest assured, we will endure to the end and not spoil your fun. Are you here to watch the punishment of your Yue-slave?"

Xuanfa did not speak. He walked slowly down the center aisle, his footsteps silent on the stone. He passed the row of thirty kneeling women, their buttocks trembling as he drew near. He stopped directly in front of his three slaves. He looked down at the three upturned bottoms, each a masterpiece of punishment artistry, each a testament to his craft.

He nodded once.

The three women did not hesitate. They each reached behind them, their fingers finding the familiar place between their punished cheeks. They spread their anuses open, pulling the skin taut, exposing the sensitive pink interiors to the air. Their hands held the position steady, as they had done countless times before.

Above them, the air shimmered. Three syringes materialized, each filled to the brim with a viscous, amber liquid—ginger juice, concentrated and potent. The syringes descended, their tips aligning with the three exposed openings. Then, without ceremony, they plunged forward.

The three women gasped. The ginger juice flooded into their intestines, hot and sharp, spreading through their internal passages with a burning tingle. They clenched their muscles instinctively, holding the liquid inside, feeling the heat radiate outward into their lower bellies and down into their already-sore buttocks. No drop leaked. They had learned this skill over a century of practice.

Xuanfa raised his hand. Six heavenly dao boards materialized in the air, each one a slab of white jade engraved with golden runes, humming with the power of the heavens. They arranged themselves in two rows of three, hovering behind the three slaves, angled to strike with maximum force.

The first stroke fell.

*CRACK.*

The board smashed into Lin Qiaoxin's right cheek, flattening the purple flesh, sending a shockwave through her entire body. She let out a cry—high, sharp, with a note of pain that bordered on pleasure. Her body bucked, but her hands stayed behind her, her anus remained open, her ginger juice held.

*CRACK. CRACK.*

Two boards struck Li Que simultaneously, one on each cheek. The sound was like thunder splitting stone. Her muscles tensed, then relaxed. She grunted, a low, guttural sound that escaped through gritted teeth. Her ponytail whipped as her head snapped back, but she held her position.

*CRACK. CRACK. CRACK.*

Three boards rained down on Shen Mengyue's larger buttocks, one after the other, striking the same spot—the sensitive curve where the cheek met the thigh. Her body quivered, her skin rippled, and a moan escaped her lips, half pain, half something deeper. Her eyes glazed over, but she did not spill a single drop of ginger juice.

The boards did not stop. They struck in a relentless rhythm, six strokes per cycle, alternating between the three women. Left cheek. Right cheek. The tender undercurve. The upper swell. The crease where buttock met spine. Every inch of their punished bottoms received attention.

Lin Qiaoxin's youthful face contorted with each impact, her playful demeanor replaced by raw endurance. Sweat beaded on her forehead, ran down her cheeks. Her cries grew louder, more ragged, but she never let go of her spread position.

Li Que's athletic body absorbed the punishment like a warrior taking blows in battle. She did not scream, not loudly. She hissed, she grunted, she bit her lower lip until it bled. Her pride demanded that she take every stroke without breaking form.

Shen Mengyue, the most mature and the most punished, let her reactions flow freely. She cried out, she whimpered, she arched her back further, presenting her bottom as if offering it as a sacrifice. Her moans were melodic, almost musical, weaving into the rhythm of the boards.

*CRACK. CRACK. CRACK. CRACK. CRACK. CRACK.*

The strokes continued. Fifty. One hundred. One hundred and fifty. The purple-red of their buttocks darkened to a bruised black-purple, the skin swelling visibly with each impact. The ginger juice inside them grew hotter, spreading its fire through their bowels, making every nerve in their lower bodies scream.

Two hundred. Two hundred and fifty. The boards struck faster now, a blur of white jade and golden light. The women's bodies shook violently, their breaths coming in ragged gasps. But they held. They held their positions, held their anuses open, held their ginger juice inside.

Two hundred and eighty. Two hundred and ninety. The three women were now drenched in sweat, their hair plastered to their faces, their bodies trembling from exertion. The boards rose for the final set of ten.

*CRACK. CRACK. CRACK. CRACK. CRACK. CRACK. CRACK. CRACK. CRACK. CRACK.*

The last ten strokes landed in rapid succession, a barrage that made the air ring and the stone floor vibrate. The three women screamed—a unified cry of pain, relief, and triumph. Then the boards vanished.

Silence fell.

The three slaves remained in their kneeling positions, their bodies shuddering, their buttocks dark and swollen, their anuses still spread. Slowly, they relaxed their hands, letting their cheeks close. They inhaled deeply, then exhaled.

"Three hundred strokes done," Lin Qiao

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The morning mist clung to the mountain peaks of the Spanking Phoenix Sect like a gossamer veil, the air thick with spiritual energy that shimmered in the early light. Xuanfa stood at the entrance of the sect hall, his black training clothes stark against the pale stone, his expression an unreadable mask of cold authority. In his hand, he held three leather leashes, each attached to a slave collar around the necks of Lin Qiaoxin, Li Que, and Shen Mengyue. The three women crawled behind him on all fours, their bodies completely naked, their buttocks already bearing the deep purple and red hues of previous punishments. The slave collars glinted dully in the sunlight, a constant reminder of their submission.

A crowd of female disciples had gathered below the sect hall steps, their naked bodies a sea of pale skin and eager eyes. They stood in orderly rows, their hands clasped behind their backs, their gazes fixed on the scene before them. The Spanking Phoenix Sect was unlike any other cultivation sect in the Xuantian Realm; here, robes were forbidden within the sect grounds, and every disciple went about their tasks bare, their bodies open to the elements and the eyes of their peers. It was a test of humility, a stripping away of pride, and for those who wished to advance in cultivation, a necessary step toward the ultimate submission that Xuanfa demanded.

Xuanfa stopped at the top of the steps and turned to face the assembled disciples. His voice, cold and penetrating, carried across the clearing. "Today, we gather to recognize the merits of three female slaves. Xin-slave has excelled in teaching formations, Yue-slave in managing sect affairs, and Que-slave in defeating a challenger who dared to question our sect's authority. In accordance with our traditions, they shall be publicly spanked as a reward and a lesson."

The three women crawled forward, their movements practiced and obedient. Lin Qiaoxin's twin ponytails swung with each step, a playful grin on her face despite the grim occasion. Li Que's red hair was tied high, her athletic body tense with anticipation, her pride evident in the set of her jaw. Shen Mengyue moved with grace, her waist-length black hair brushing against the stone, her expression serene yet hinting at the sorrow of her fallen dignity.

Behind them, another woman was forced to kneel, her body stripped naked and trembling. Murong Ying, the leader of the Heavenly Phoenix Sect, glared at the crowd with defiant eyes. Her cultivation was mid-stage Nascent Soul, and she had come to challenge the Spanking Phoenix Sect out of disdain for its practices. Li Que had defeated her in combat, and now she knelt beside the three female slaves, her arms bound behind her back, her knees pressing into the cold ground.

"You will all assume the position," Xuanfa commanded.

The four women obeyed. Lin Qiaoxin, Li Que, and Shen Mengyue lowered their chests to the ground, arching their backs and raising their buttocks high into the air. Their legs were spread, their most private parts exposed to the watching disciples. Murong Ying hesitated, her face flushing with shame and rage, but a flicker of Xuanfa's finger sent a pulse of spiritual pressure through her, forcing her into the same humiliating posture. Her teeth clenched, but she complied.

From the heavens, four heavenly dao boards descended—smooth, flat slabs of jade-like material, each glowing with a faint, oppressive light. They hovered above the four raised buttocks, awaiting their master's command.

Xuanfa raised his hand and let it fall. "Begin."

The first board struck with a thunderous crack, landing squarely on Lin Qiaoxin's round bottom. The impact sent a shockwave through her body, flattening her breasts against the ground. She let out a yelp, but her voice was laced with amusement. "Ooh! Master, that one was lovely! But I think my disciples deserve to hear a bit more enthusiasm. What do you say, little ones? Does your elder's spanking sound sweet enough?"

The disciples below murmured among themselves, some covering their mouths to stifle giggles, others staring wide-eyed at the spectacle. The board struck again, and Lin Qiaoxin's bottom jiggled, the red handprints overlapping into a deeper shade. She cried out again, but her tone remained playful. "Ah! That's the spot! Master knows exactly where to land strokes. I hope you're all taking notes—this is what dedication looks like!"

Next to her, Li Que received her first blow. The board slammed into her muscular posterior with a sharp smack that echoed across the courtyard. She grunted, her body tensing, but she refused to cry out. Her voice was steady, almost mocking. "Is that all? I've felt stronger slaps from a spanked child. The heavenly dao board must be holding back."

Xuanfa's cold voice drifted down. "The board strikes true to the prisoner's resistance. You will not find it so easy."

A second blow landed, harder this time, and Li Que gasped, her knuckles whitening as she dug her nails into the stone. "Hmph. Still tolerable." Her eyes flicked sideways to Murong Ying, who had just received her first stroke and let out a choked scream. "Tsk, tsk. The Heavenly Phoenix Sect leader has a bottom softer than her words. It won't hold out long."

Murong Ying's face burned with humiliation. Her pride warred with the searing pain radiating from her buttocks. "Shut your mouth, you degenerate dog!" she snarled, but the next stroke cut off her words, forcing a sharp sob from her throat.

Shen Mengyue's turn came. The board struck her with measured force, and she whimpered, her body shuddering. But she lifted her head, her voice gentle and encouraging as she addressed the disciples. "Do not be afraid, little ones. This is the path of cultivation. To endure one's master's punishment is to strengthen one's spirit. Work hard in your training, and one day you too may receive such a reward."

The disciples shifted uneasily. Some looked away, unable to bear the sight of their usually dignified elders being beaten like misbehaving children. Others watched with a mixture of fascination and fear.

The boards continued to fall, each stroke precise and devastating. Lin Qiaoxin's bottom was now a mass of crimson, the skin burning hot, but she kept up her banter. "Oh! Oh! Master, you're spoiling me! I can feel the spiritual energy seeping into my meridians with every smack! No wonder we call it cultivation!" She winked at a disciple in the front row. "Don't be shy, little one. Come closer. You can see the marks better from here. They're quite artistic, don't you think?"

Li Que's grunts grew louder as the blows intensified. She no longer tried to hold back her voice, but her words remained taunting. "Heh... your board is relentless, but my bottom is harder than any slab of jade. I've survived wars and beast tides. This is nothing." Yet sweat beaded on her forehead, and her legs trembled.

Shen Mengyue's cries became more desperate, but she fought to maintain her composure. "Cultivation is not about avoiding pain, but embracing it as part of the journey. Remember that, my disciples. Obedience and diligence will lead you to greater heights."

Murong Ying broke first. The fourth stroke sent a wave of agony through her body, and she screamed, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Stop! Please, stop! I yield! I yield!" Her voice cracked, and she sobbed openly, her pride shattered. "I'll do anything! Just stop!"

Xuanfa's voice was flat. "The punishment continues until its purpose is fulfilled. You are not yet ready to yield."

The boards struck again and again. Twenty strokes, then thirty. Lin Qiaoxin's playful screams turned into genuine cries, but she still managed a choked laugh. "Master... you've outdone yourself... my bottom feels like it's been through a tribulation..." Her body shook, but she kept her bottom raised high, obeying the command.

Li Que's breathing was ragged, her words lost in gasps. "If... if I survive this... I'll make a hundred female cultivators... kneel before you..." A particularly hard blow made her yelp, and she bit her lip to stifle further complaints.

Shen Mengyue had stopped speaking, her sobs muffled against the ground. But she never lowered her bottom, her body accepting each stroke with a trembling dignity.

Finally, after fifty strokes, Xuanfa raised his hand. The heavenly dao boards stopped and vanished into mist.

The four women lay panting, their buttocks a mottled mess of purple, red, and black. The disciples stared in silence, some with tears in their eyes, others with awe.

Xuanfa stepped forward and gestured to two burly female disciples. "Take Murong Ying. Hang her by an anal hook at the mountain gate. Let all who enter see the fate of those who challenge the Spanking Phoenix Sect."

Murong Ying's eyes widened in terror, but she was too weak to resist as she was dragged away. Her pleas faded into the distance.

Lin Qiaoxin slowly pushed herself up, a weary grin on her face. "Master, that was a memorable reward. I think my disciples learned a valuable lesson today."

Li Que stood clumsily, wincing as she shifted her weight. "It was... educational."

Shen Mengyue rose with grace, despite the pain. She bowed her head. "Thank you for your teaching, master."

Xuanfa turned and walked back into the sect hall without another word. The disciples slowly dispersed, their minds filled with the sight of their elders' suffering and the promise of their own future punishments.

At the mountain gate, Murong Ying hung suspended, a curved hook piercing through her core and anchored to the lintel. Her arms and legs dangled limply, her body exposed for all to see. The wind blew, and she wept in silent shame, a warning to any who dared defy the Spanking Phoenix Sect.

The Spanking Phoenix Sect had grown to one thousand disciples. For any other sect, a thousand members would be a modest number, but for a sect that required its female members to bare their most private shame and accept corporal punishment as a matter of daily practice, it was a remarkable achievement. Xuanfa stood atop the central platform of the sect grounds, his black training clothes stark against the pale stone, his expression as cold and unreadable as jade.

"Tomorrow," he announced to the gathered disciples and elders, "we shall hold the grand sect ceremony."

The announcement rippled through the ranks of kneeling women. Some trembled with anticipation. Others with fear. All of them knew what such a ceremony would entail.

The morning sun rose blood-red over the sect grounds. Disciples arranged themselves in concentric circles around the central platform, naked as the day they were born, their heads bowed, their hands clasped behind their backs. The outer perimeter held the newest members, those still unused to exposure. Further in stood the more experienced disciples, their bodies carrying the faded marks of past punishments.

The elder female slaves crawled into position. Fifty women, their bodies bearing the scars of countless sessions with the heavenly dao board, moved on hands and knees like the obedient dogs they had become. They formed a semi-circle at the base of the platform, then knelt, their backs straight, their heads raised to face their master.

Xuanfa descended from the main hall, a leash in each hand. Three leashes. Three women. Lin Qiaoxin crawled at his left, her twin ponytails bouncing with each movement, a playful smile on her youthful face despite her nakedness. Li Que moved at his right, her red hair now loose about her shoulders, her athletic frame gleaming with oil she had applied that morning to honor her master. Shen Mengyue came last, crawling directly behind Xuanfa, her waist-length black hair trailing on the ground like a silken river.

The three reached the platform. Xuanfa released their leashes. They knelt beside him, their positions fixed—Lin Qiaoxin to his left, Li Que to his right, Shen Mengyue slightly behind and between them.

"Sect ceremony begins," Xuanfa said, his voice carrying across the silent assembly. "Lin Qiaoxin. Explain."

Lin Qiaoxin rose to her knees, her voice bright and clear. "Most sects pay homage to their founders. They honor artifacts of power, ancient texts, the spirits of ancestors who carved paths through the cultivation world." She paused, her smile widening. "The Spanking Phoenix Sect pays homage to the tool of our transformation."

Four disciples carried forth the heavenly dao board. It was not the small practice board used for minor punishments, but the grand ceremonial board—three feet long, six inches wide, two inches thick, carved from the wood of a thousand-year-old spiritual tree. Its surface was smooth from use, dark with the absorbed essence of countless spankings.

"The sect was founded," Li Que continued, her voice proud despite her position, "because Master Xuanfa recognized that the path to true cultivation runs through discipline. Through humility. Through the acceptance of pain and shame as tools for growth."

Shen Mengyue lifted her head, her ethereal beauty undimmed by her nakedness. "The name 'Spanking Phoenix' comes from the belief that we rise from the ashes of our former pride. A phoenix must be burned before it can be reborn. We must be punished before we can ascend."

The three women spoke in unison: "All female slaves of the Spanking Phoenix Sect accept these duties. To accept all humiliation from our master. To accept all punishment from our master. No matter how shameful the position. No matter how painful the blow. We crawl like dogs. We do not stand without our master's order. When paying respects to our master, we kneel and raise our scarred bottoms high."

As one, the thousand disciples knelt. As one, they bent forward, lifting their posteriors toward the sky. Row after row of raised bottoms, some still smooth, some bearing the marks of previous discipline, all offered in submission.

Xuanfa nodded once. "Lessons," he said.

For the next hour, Lin Qiaoxin, Li Que, and Shen Mengyue imparted their knowledge. They spoke of cultivation techniques that strengthened the body's resilience. They taught methods of channeling spiritual energy to speed recovery from punishment. They shared insights into how to position the body during discipline—not to avoid pain, but to accept it in a way that pleased the master more.

"When the board falls," Shen Mengyue said, her voice carrying wisdom born of experience, "do not tense. Relax into the blow. Let the energy of the strike flow through you rather than against you. Cry if you must. Scream if the pain demands it. But never shift away. Never attempt to evade."

Li Que added, "The master watches. He sees every flinch, every attempt to protect yourself. A true female slave welcomes the punishment. She opens herself to it completely."

Lin Qiaoxin giggled. "And if you want to earn extra favor, wiggle your bottom between strokes. Let the master see that you are eager for more."

The disciples listened. The elder female slaves nodded, remembering their own lessons.

Xuanfa raised his hand. From his storage ring, thousands of jade bottles materialized, floating above the assembly like a constellation of green stars. "Elixirs to aid cultivation. One for each disciple."

The bottles descended, landing gently before each kneeling woman. Then more objects appeared—glowing rings, bracelets, hairpins, and belts. Magical artifacts of considerable power.

"To those who have shown exceptional dedication," Xuanfa said, "these artifacts will aid your path."

The artifacts distributed themselves, finding their way to the most deserving—disciples who had never missed a punishment session, who had endured the harshest discipline without complaint, who had crawled when ordered, knelt when commanded, and never once questioned their master's authority.

"Now," Xuanfa said, "the selection."

Five women separated themselves from the main assembly. They were not elders, not disciples who had been with the sect long. They were applicants—female cultivators who had heard of the Spanking Phoenix Sect and come willingly to offer themselves as female slaves. They had passed the initial tests. They had demonstrated their willingness to submit.

Xuanfa examined them. A tall woman from the northern plains, her skin tanned by sun and wind. A pale scholar who had been a formation master before she abandoned her sect. A beauty with silver hair and eyes like winter ice. Two sisters from a coastal clan, their bodies identical in form.

"You understand what this means," Xuanfa said. It was not a question.

"We understand, Master," the five said in unison.

Xuanfa gestured. Five slave collars materialized, forged from dark iron and inscribed with binding runes. They floated to the five women, who bowed their heads and accepted the collars. The metal clicked shut around their throats. The runes flared once, then dimmed.

"Kneel," Xuanfa commanded.

They knelt.

"Crawl to the elder positions."

They crawled, their movements awkward at first, then smoother. They took their places among the fifty elder female slaves, their raised bottoms now part of the offering.

Xuanfa looked out over the assembly. "The punishment of the female slave elders. Two hundred strokes. Heavenly dao board."

The boards appeared. Not one, but fifty—each a spiritual construct identical to the ceremonial board, manifesting in the air above each kneeling elder. The boards hovered, waiting.

"Begin."

The first stroke fell. Fifty boards descended as one. The sound was like thunder, a single unified crack that echoed across the sect grounds. Fifty female voices cried out, some in sharp gasps, others in full screams.

The second stroke. The third. The fourth.

The elders held their positions. Some wept. Some trembled. Some bit their lips until blood came. But none shifted. None lowered their bottoms. None tried to evade the descending boards.

By the fiftieth stroke, the first discoloration appeared. By the hundredth, the skin of every elder's bottom had turned deep red. By the hundred and fiftieth, the red had given way to purple, and the purple to the first hints of black.

The five new slaves screamed the loudest. Their bodies were not yet accustomed to such punishment. But they held. They remembered Shen Mengyue's words—do not tense, relax into the blow.

At the two hundredth stroke, the boards vanished. The elders remained kneeling, their breath ragged, their bodies shaking. But they held their position. Bottoms still raised. Still offered.

"Do not rise," Xuanfa commanded. "Remain. Watch. Learn."

The elders would not have been able to rise anyway. Their bodies had been pushed to the limits of endurance. But they watched. They watched as the three great elders—Lin Qiaoxin, Li Que, Shen Mengyue—crawled forward to the center of the platform.

Lin Qiaoxin's youthful face was flushed with excitement. Her twin ponytails had come loose, and her black hair fell about her shoulders. Her body was slim and well-proportioned, her breasts small but firm, her hips curving sweetly. The skin of her bottom still bore the faint marks of her last punishment, pink lines that had not quite healed.

Li Que knelt beside her, her tall athletic form a contrast to Lin Qiaoxin's slimness. Her muscles were defined, her shoulders broad, her waist narrow. Her bottom was high and firm, the cheeks round and powerful. Scars from a hundred punishments crisscrossed her skin, but she wore them like badges of honor.

Shen Mengyue came last. She was beauty incarnate—waist-length black hair that cascaded down her back, skin so fair it seemed to glow, features that combined ethereal purity with seductive allure. Her body was curves and grace, her breasts full, her hips wide, her bottom the most perfectly shaped of all—two round globes that had been punished more times than any woman present, yet still remained beautiful.

The three knelt before Xuanfa. They kowtowed three times, their foreheads touching the stone. Then they knelt properly—knees apart, backs straight, shoulders squared. And then they bent forward, reached back with both hands, and spread their buttocks wide.

"Master," Shen Mengyue said, her voice steady despite her position, "we welcome your punishment. Five hundred strokes of the heavenly dao board. We do not count them. We do not beg for mercy. We accept whatever discipline you deem appropriate."

Lin Qiaoxin added, her voice carrying its usual playfulness, "And if Master wants to go past five hundred, I won't complain."

Li Que said nothing. She simply raised her bottom higher, her body language speaking louder than words could.

The boards materialized. Three boards, each hovering above one of the three great elders. They were larger than the others, carved from deeper spiritual wood, inscribed with runes that glowed with power.

Xuanfa raised his hand. The boards rose.

He lowered his hand. The boards fell.

The sound was different from the previous punishment. It was deeper. A crack that resonated in the bones of everyone watching. The three women cried out—Lin Qiaoxin's sharp yelp, Li Que's grunt, Shen Mengyue's musical cry of pain.

The boards rose and fell again. And again.

"Does it hurt, Qiaoxin?" Xuanfa asked.

"Y-yes, Master!" Lin Qiaoxin's voice was high and trembling. "It hurts so good!"

"When it hurts too much," Xuanfa said, "you may beg me to stop."

"Never, Master!" Lin Qiaoxin's hips wiggled. "I will take every stroke! Every single—ahh!" Another stroke cut her off.

Li Que bore her punishment in silence, her jaw clenched, her hands gripping her spread cheeks. But her body betrayed her—the trembling of her thighs, the trembling of her lips pressed together against the pain.

"Li Que," Xuanfa said. "Do you regr

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In the vast square of the Spanking Phoenix Sect, the morning sun cast long shadows across the stone tiles. A figure was bound with gleaming demon-binding ropes, completely naked, kneeling with her bottom raised high in the air. It was Fei, the magnificent dragon clan demon lord.

Her flowing fiery red hair cascaded down her back like a waterfall of flame, pooling on the ground around her knees. A pair of exquisite golden dragon horns rose proudly from her head, catching the sunlight and glinting with otherworldly splendor. Her golden eyes, usually filled with confidence that looked down upon all beings, now held a complex mixture of defiance and suppressed pain. Her body was perfectly proportioned, with curves that spoke of both power and grace. Her skin, smooth and unblemished, bore the faint marks of countless punishments from days past.

Fei had led the demon army to attack Wuling City, only to be captured by Xuanfa together with Lin Qiaoxin, Li Que, and Shen Mengyue. Bound with demon-binding ropes and brought to the Spanking Phoenix Sect, she received the most severe buttocks punishment daily. Every day, she was spanked five hundred strokes with the heavenly dao board, then one hundred strokes with steel whips and boards formed by Lin Qiaoxin's formation, one hundred strokes with Shen Mengyue's sword qi, and one hundred strokes on her butt crack with Li Que's flame-infused whip. At night, she was hung by an anal hook all night, her body suspended in agony until dawn.

A new day dawned, and Fei's punishment was about to begin. The square was empty except for the bound demon lord and the instruments of her torment laid out on a nearby table. The heavenly dao board, a flat piece of dark wood inscribed with ancient runes, gleamed with an ominous energy. The steel whips and boards formed by Lin Qiaoxin's formation sat nearby, their surfaces cold and unforgiving. Shen Mengyue's sword qi had been crystallized into thin blades that could be wielded like instruments of punishment. Li Que's flame-infused whip crackled with residual heat.

Xuanfa walked into the square, his black training clothes stark against the pale stone. His face was cold and handsome, his expression unreadable. He stopped a few feet from Fei, his eyes scanning her bound form with clinical detachment. "Demon Lord Fei used to look down on all beings. How does it feel to have your bottom raised for spanking now?"

Fei chuckled, the sound low and resonant despite her position. Her golden eyes met his, unyielding. "The winner is king, the loser is outlaw. This one's strength is insufficient and I lost, so I am at your disposal. Although your methods hurt, I can still endure them somewhat. I look forward to the day when the Celestial Punisher Xuanfa's methods can beat my bottom to a pulp and make me completely submit."

Xuanfa's lips twitched, the ghost of a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "We shall see."

He stepped back, and Lin Qiaoxin, Li Que, and Shen Mengyue entered the square. They were dressed in their usual attire, their faces set with determination. Lin Qiaoxin's twin low ponytails bounced as she walked, her youthful energy undimmed. Li Que's red hair was tied in a high ponytail, her athletic form radiating barely contained power. Shen Mengyue's black-and-white Daoist robes flowed around her, her waist-length black hair rippling like a river of ink.

Lin Qiaoxin approached the table and picked up the heavenly dao board. She weighed it in her hands, feeling its heft and the energy that pulsed within it. "Ready, Fei?" she asked, her voice light but carrying an edge of seriousness.

Fei took a deep breath, her body tensing. "Do your worst."

Lin Qiaoxin raised the board and brought it down with a sharp crack. Fei's body jerked, a gasp escaping her lips. The board struck again and again, each impact sending shockwaves through Fei's flesh. Her bottom, already marked from previous punishments, quickly reddened under the assault. Lin Qiaoxin counted each stroke aloud, her voice steady.

"One hundred and thirty-two... one hundred and thirty-three..."

Fei's hands clenched into fists, her golden eyes squeezing shut as the pain built. The heavenly dao board was no ordinary instrument; it carried the weight of celestial judgment, each stroke feeling like a mountain falling on her rear. Her body began to tremble, sweat beading on her skin and trickling down her back.

"Two hundred and forty-seven... two hundred and forty-eight..."

Fei let out a sharp cry, her breath coming in ragged gasps. "Ahh... ahh... good... good strokes..."

Lin Qiaoxin paused, glancing at her. "What was that?"

Fei opened her eyes, a wild grin spreading across her face. "I said good strokes. Is that a problem?"

Lin Qiaoxin shrugged and continued. "Three hundred and eighty-one... three hundred and eighty-two..."

By the time she reached five hundred, Fei's bottom was a deep shade of crimson, hot to the touch and throbbing with pain. But she held her position, her spirit unbroken. Lin Qiaoxin set the board aside and gestured to the steel instruments.

"Now for the formation."

Lin Qiaoxin's hands moved in complex patterns, and a shimmering array of light appeared in the air. From it emerged steel whips and boards, their surfaces etched with glowing runes. They moved on their own, striking Fei's bottom with precision and force. The whips lashed across her cheeks, leaving thin red lines that quickly swelled. The boards slammed into the same area, compressing the already tender flesh.

Fei's cries grew louder, more animalistic. "Ahh! Yes! More! Harder!"

Lin Qiaoxin raised an eyebrow but didn't stop. The formation worked its way through one hundred strokes, each one landing with brutal efficiency. By the end, Fei's bottom was a mosaic of red and purple, the skin stretched taut over swollen tissue.

Shen Mengyue stepped forward, her sword drawn but sheathed. Instead, she called upon her sword qi, shaping it into thin blades that floated around her. With a gesture, they shot towards Fei, slicing across her bottom with razor-sharp precision. Fei screamed, her body arching against the ropes that held her.

"Ahhh! That... that stings!"

Shen Mengyue's expression remained cool, her movements precise. The sword qi blades struck one hundred times, each one leaving a shallow cut that beaded with blood. Fei's bottom was now a mess of welts, bruises, and cuts, but still she held her position.

Finally, Li Que stepped forward, her flame-infused whip crackling with heat. She cracked it once, the sound echoing across the square. "You've held up well, demon lord. But let's see how you handle this."

She flicked her wrist, and the whip lashed across Fei's butt crack with a sharp snap. Fei howled, her body convulsing. Li Que didn't relent, delivering one hundred strokes in rapid succession, each one targeting the most sensitive part of Fei's anatomy. By the end, Fei was panting heavily, her forehead pressed against the cool stone of the square.

"Damn... you... all of you..." Fei muttered, but there was no malice in her voice. Only a grudging respect.

Lin Qiaoxin stepped forward, a look of admiration on her face. "Fei's body is incredible. She can take so much punishment without breaking."

Li Que nodded, her eyes narrowing. "Her dragon heritage gives her remarkable resilience. I've never seen anyone endure so much without collapsing."

Shen Mengyue approached Fei from behind, a curved metal object in her hand. It was an anal hook, polished to a mirror shine. She applied lubricant to the tip, then gently pressed it against Fei's anus. Fei tensed, but didn't resist. With careful precision, Shen Mengyue inserted the hook, guiding it until it was secure. She then attached a chain to the hook and hoisted Fei into the air, suspending her by the buttocks.

Fei let out a low moan, her body swaying slightly as she hung. "It's your turn now, isn't it?" she said, her voice strained but teasing.

Lin Qiaoxin grinned. "Yes, and we're looking forward to it."

The three women knelt in a row on the stone tiles, their clothes removed so they were completely naked. Lin Qiaoxin bent forward, presenting her bottom to the air. Li Que did the same, her athletic form taut with anticipation. Shen Mengyue lowered herself as well, her graceful curves on full display.

Xuanfa returned to the square, a heavy paddle in his hand. He looked at the three women, his expression unreadable. "You know the punishment. One hundred strokes each."

Lin Qiaoxin's cheeks flushed with eagerness. "Yes, Master."

Li Que's voice was steady. "I'm ready."

Shen Mengyue's tone was soft but firm. "Please begin."

Xuanfa approached Lin Qiaoxin first. He raised the paddle and brought it down with a resounding smack. Her bottom jiggled under the impact, a sharp cry escaping her lips. "Ah! Thank you, Master!"

He delivered stroke after stroke, each one landing with precision. Lin Qiaoxin's bottom turned pink, then red, then a deep crimson. But she didn't flinch, instead letting out cries of pleasure mixed with pain. "Yes! More! Harder!"

Xuanfa moved to Li Que. Her bottom was firm, her muscles tensed. The paddle left deep red marks on her skin, but she remained still, her breathing steady. "Again," she said, her voice carrying a hint of challenge.

Xuanfa obliged, hitting her with increasing force. Li Que gritted her teeth, her pride refusing to let her show weakness. But her body betrayed her, her knees wobbling slightly by the fiftieth stroke.

Finally, Xuanfa faced Shen Mengyue. Her bottom was pale and unblemished, a stark contrast to the other two. He brought the paddle down with a sharp crack, and she let out a soft gasp. "Thank you, Master."

He continued, his strokes methodical and precise. Shen Mengyue's bottom soon matched the others, a deep shade of red that glistened with sweat. She closed her eyes, her body swaying slightly with each impact.

When the punishment was done, the three women remained kneeling, their bottoms throbbing with pain. Lin Qiaoxin smiled through her discomfort. "That was wonderful."

Li Que nodded, her voice gruff. "You didn't hold back."

Shen Mengyue said nothing, but her cheeks were flushed with a mixture of pain and satisfaction.

Meanwhile, in the Xuantian Realm, Xuanfa stood before a forge, the heavenly dao board resting on an anvil. He gathered rare materials, their energy pulsing with power. He began to upgrade the board, his hands moving with practiced skill. Each enhancement made the board heavier, more potent, more attuned to pain.

The next punishment instrument would be different, he thought. It would make Fei cry and scream, break her spirit completely.

He smiled, a cold glint in his eyes. The game was far from over.