The Punishment of Venerable Xuan Fa

The world of cultivation stretched across vast continents, where the spiritual energy of heaven and earth flowed like rivers through the veins of the land. Cultivators strove from Qi Refining to Foundation Establishment, from Core Formation to Nascent Soul, and finally to the pinnacle of Nascent Soul Great Perfection. Among the countless sects and wandering cultivators, a peculiar truth governed the relations between the sexes: male cultivators were few but mighty, and they possessed the strange ability to turn female cultivators into their female slaves by spanking their bare buttocks. This act, though despised by most women, accelerated cultivation for both parties. It was a law of this world, as immutable as the cycle of day and night.

Venerable Xuan Fa, whose original name had long been forgotten, was a man who reveled in this law. He wore black training clothes that clung to his muscular frame, his face cold and handsome as a blade fresh from the forge. His realm was Nascent Soul Great Perfection, placing him among the strongest under the heavens. He rarely showed expression, and when he spoke, his words were as sharp as the finger techniques he used in battle. He loved nothing more than the sound of a firm palm meeting a soft, yielding bottom—the sharp crack echoing through the air, the shudder of the recipient, the reddening of pale skin.

Today, a trivial incident had brought him to the gates of the Celestial Mist Sect, an all-female sect nestled among the misty peaks of the Azure Cloud Mountains. One of their disciples, a brash young woman in the Foundation Establishment stage, had accidentally bumped into Xuan Fa at a market fair and spilled wine on his robes. She had apologized, but Xuan Fa was not a man who accepted apologies lightly. He had looked at her with those cold, piercing eyes and said only: “Your sect will pay for your clumsiness.”

Now he stood before the sect’s grand entrance, a massive gate carved from white jade and inlaid with spiritual crystals. The mist swirled around him, but his presence was like a rock in a stream—unmoving, unyielding. Two female guards at the gate, clad in white and black Daoist robes, drew their swords, their faces pale.

“Venerable Xuan Fa,” one of them stammered, “the Celestial Mist Sect has no quarrel with you. The disciple who offended you has been punished—”

“I will do the punishing,” Xuan Fa interrupted, his voice flat and cold as a winter wind. “Tell your sect leader to come out. Or I will enter and begin the spanking immediately.”

The guards exchanged terrified glances, then one of them turned and fled into the sect. The other stood trembling, her sword shaking in her hand. Xuan Fa ignored her, his gaze fixed on the misty path beyond the gate. He could feel the spiritual energy of the sect’s members—dozens of women, all in the Core Formation or Nascent Soul stages. The sect leader, Shen Mengyue, was at Nascent Soul mid-stage. Strong, but not strong enough.

Minutes passed, and then a figure emerged from the mist. She walked with the grace of a willow swaying in a gentle breeze, her waist-length black hair flowing behind her. Her Daoist robes, black and white, accentuated her form—a perfect balance of ethereal purity and seductive allure. Her skin was fair as jade, and her eyes held both the coldness of a sword and the warmth of a mother’s love. This was Shen Mengyue, sect leader of Celestial Mist Sect.

She stopped ten paces from Xuan Fa, her hand resting on the hilt of her sword. “Venerable Xuan Fa,” she said, her voice calm but carrying a tremor of tension. “The disciple who offended you has been expelled from the sect. Is that not sufficient?”

Xuan Fa tilted his head, a faint hint of amusement flickering in his cold eyes. “Expelled? That is too light a punishment. I came here to spank every woman in your sect until their bottoms are bruised and raw. Your disciple’s offense is merely the excuse.”

Shen Mengyue’s eyes widened, and her hand tightened on her sword. “You cannot be serious. We are an all-female sect. We have done nothing to provoke your wrath.”

“You exist,” Xuan Fa said simply. “That is enough.”

He raised his hand, and a finger flicked outward. A beam of spiritual energy shot forward, striking the ground at Shen Mengyue’s feet. The earth exploded, and she leaped back, her sword drawn in an instant. The blade hummed with spiritual energy as she assumed a defensive stance.

“I will not let you harm my disciples,” she said, her voice firm despite the fear in her eyes.

“Then fight,” Xuan Fa said. “I will use seventy percent of my power. If you can last ten minutes, I will spare your sect. If not…”

He did not finish the sentence, but the meaning was clear.

Shen Mengyue attacked first. She was fast, her sword tracing arcs of light in the air as she closed the distance. Xuan Fa remained still, his fingers moving in a blur. He did not dodge or block; he simply struck at her sword with his fingertips. Each touch sent a shockwave through the blade, and Shen Mengyue felt her arms go numb.

She tried to circle around him, but his movements were precise, economical. He deflected her attacks with ease, his face betraying no effort. After a minute of intense combat, Xuan Fa decided he had seen enough. He sidestepped a thrust, and his hand shot out, grabbing her wrist. He twisted, and she cried out as her sword clattered to the ground. A palm strike to her chest sent her flying backward, and she crashed to the ground, the wind knocked out of her.

Before she could rise, Xuan Fa was upon her. He placed a foot on her back, pressing her face into the dirt. She struggled, but his power was overwhelming. He had used only seventy percent of his strength, and she was completely outmatched.

“You fought well,” Xuan Fa said, his voice devoid of emotion. “But not well enough.”

Shen Mengyue turned her head, looking up at him with fear in her eyes. “Please… do not hurt my disciples. I will accept any punishment myself.”

Xuan Fa’s lips curled into the faintest hint of a smile. “Any punishment? Then you will not mind this.”

He released her and stepped back. Shen Mengyue scrambled to her knees, but Xuan Fa raised his hand, and a burst of spiritual energy ripped her robes away. She gasped, her body now completely exposed, her pale skin glistening in the misty light. She tried to cover herself, but her arms were pinned by his spiritual pressure.

“Since you resisted,” Xuan Fa announced, his voice carrying across the entire sect, “the Celestial Mist Sect shall receive one hundred spanks with the Mystic Spanking Board every day for three years. Starting now.”

He flicked his wrist, and a flat wooden board appeared in his hand. It was black, inscribed with runes, and hummed with spiritual energy. Shen Mengyue’s eyes filled with tears, but she did not beg. She was a sect leader, and she would endure for her disciples.

Xuan Fa stood behind her, and with the first swing of the board, a sharp crack echoed through the misty peaks. Shen Mengyue’s body jolted, and a red mark appeared on her fair buttocks. She bit her lip, refusing to cry out. The board fell again, and again, each strike more brutal than the last. After ten strikes, her bottom was a deep, angry red. After twenty, she could not hold back a whimper. After fifty, she was sobbing openly, her body shaking with each blow.

Xuan Fa counted each strike with cold precision. When he reached one hundred, he stopped. The board vanished from his hand, and he looked down at Shen Mengyue, who lay trembling on the ground, her buttocks black and blue, bruised beyond recognition.

“That is the first day,” he said. “Tomorrow, I will return. And the day after. For three years.”

He turned and walked away, disappearing into the mist. Behind him, the Celestial Mist Sect fell into silence, broken only by the weeping of their sect leader.

Fifteen years had passed in the Xuantian Realm since that day in Wuling City. Li Que no longer flinched when she knelt beside Lin Qiaoxin every morning, raising her plump buttocks high in the air. The Heavenly Dao Spanking Board had become as routine as breathing—two hundred strikes, delivered with precision, without mercy. The pain had once made her bite through her lip, but now… now something had changed.

She couldn't pinpoint when it started. Perhaps it was the tenth year, or maybe the twelfth. But lately, when the board slammed into her upturned cheeks, a strange warmth bloomed deep in her belly. A shiver that wasn't entirely agony. Her breath would catch, not from pain alone, but from something else—something she dared not name.

Beside her, Lin Qiaoxin knelt in perfect form. Her twin tails had grown longer over the years, brushing the small of her back as she bowed forward, presenting her naked body to their master. Her buttocks, like Li Que's, bore the marks of daily punishment—faint red striations that never fully faded before the next session.

Li Que stole a glance at her fellow slave. Lin Qiaoxin's eyes were closed, lips parted slightly, a soft sigh escaping with each impact. Was that pleasure on her face? Or just resignation? Li Que's cheeks burned. She wanted to ask, but the words stuck in her throat like thorns.

The board finished its hundredth stroke. A brief reprieve. Li Que shifted her weight, feeling the lingering heat in her rear. She caught Lin Qiaoxin's gaze. The mischievous girl winked—a quick, knowing flicker of her eyelid. Then she pressed her finger to her lips, as if sharing a secret.

Li Que's heart hammered. She knows. She understands.

After the punishment ended, they crawled to Xuan Fa's feet, still on all fours. Their master sat on his black stone throne, legs crossed, fingers tracing idle patterns in the air. His face betrayed nothing—cold, handsome, utterly unreadable.

"Master," Li Que said, her voice steadier than she expected. "We have a question."

Xuan Fa's gaze drifted down to her. "Speak."

"What do you like most?" Lin Qiaoxin asked, tilting her head. Her tone was light, almost playful, as if they were discussing the weather. "You punish us every day. You watch others suffer. What brings you the greatest joy?"

A ghost of a smile touched Xuan Fa's lips. "Watching female cultivators suffer," he said. "Their pain strengthens my mind. Their pleas sharpen my cultivation. The more they writhe, the stronger I become."

Li Que and Lin Qiaoxin exchanged a glance. Then Li Que spoke again. "Master, there is an opportunity. The entire cultivation world knows the Celestial Mist Sect's leader was stripped and spanked before her own hall. But they do not know that formation genius Lin Qiaoxin and Vermilion Bird Sect's vice leader Li Que have become your slaves. Not yet."

Lin Qiaoxin nodded eagerly. "Imagine this, Master. You lead us—naked, crawling like bitches—to the highest terrace of Wuling City. Everyone will see. But that's not all. Have Shen Mengyue's disciples leash her like a dog and drag her there too. The three of us will kneel in a row, upper bodies on the ground, buttocks raised high. You summon the Heavenly Dao Spanking Board to punish all three at once. Beat our buttocks until they are thoroughly bruised—so badly that even cultivators need a week to heal. Then force our legs apart and whip the cracks between our cheeks until our anuses and vaginas are swollen. Finally, insert anal hooks into our swollen holes and hang us for a week of public display."

Li Que added, "That would surely please you, Master. The world will witness your power. The humiliation of three Nascent Soul cultivators will echo through the ages."

Xuan Fa's eyes narrowed. The ghost of a smile widened. "A bold proposal. I accept."

But before they could rise, he raised a hand. "First, I wish to play a new punishment."

Li Que's blood ran cold. Lin Qiaoxin's playful expression flickered with unease.

"Kneel," Xuan Fa commanded. "Raise your buttocks. Spread your anuses open."

They obeyed without hesitation. Li Que pressed her forehead to the cold stone floor, reaching back with both hands to grip her own cheeks and pull them apart. The cool air kissed her exposed hole. Beside her, Lin Qiaoxin did the same, her fingers trembling slightly.

Xuan Fa produced two jade bottles. He uncorked one, and the sharp, biting scent of ginger filled the air—but this was no ordinary ginger. It was divine ginger, grown in the spiritual soil of the upper realms, its essence concentrated a thousandfold. He poured the golden juice into a thin, long-necked funnel.

"Hold still."

The funnel's tip pressed against Li Que's anus. She gritted her teeth. The cold metal slid inside her, deeper than she expected. Then the ginger juice flowed.

The pain struck like lightning. It was as if a red-hot iron rod had been thrust into her bowels. The ginger burned—no, not burned. It seared, it clawed, it twisted inside her, setting every nerve ablaze. Li Que's vision went white. A scream tore from her throat, raw and broken. Her fingers dug into the stone floor, cracking it. She convulsed, fought the urge to clench, to force the liquid out. But she knew better. Master's orders.

Beside her, Lin Qiaoxin was not so controlled. The young girl howled, thrashing, her legs kicking wildly. "Master! Please! It burns! It burns so much!"

Xuan Fa watched, unmoved. "Endure."

The funnel withdrew. The ginger juice settled deep in their intestines, spreading its fire through every inch of their internal passages. Li Que's stomach cramped. She felt sweat pour down her forehead. Her anus clenched and relaxed involuntarily, each spasm sending fresh waves of agony through her core.

Then the Heavenly Dao Spanking Board materialized above them.

"Today's punishment is twofold," Xuan Fa said calmly. "You will receive two hundred strokes each. But there is a condition: you must not lose control. If you spray intestinal fluid during the spanking, the punishment will be doubled. Understood?"

"Yes, Master," they gasped in unison.

The board descended.

*Thwack!*

The first strike landed on Li Que's right cheek. The pain of the spanking merged with the burning in her bowels. Her entire being became a furnace of suffering. She bit her tongue to keep from screaming, tasting blood.

*Thwack! Thwack!*

Two more strikes. The ginger juice sloshed inside her with each impact. She felt the pressure building at her anus—a desperate, agonizing urge to release. She squeezed her sphincter tight, fighting the reflex. Tears streamed down her face.

Beside her, Lin Qiaoxin was losing the battle. Her buttocks jiggled under the board's assault. A thin trickle of golden fluid escaped her anus, running down her thigh. She whimpered. "No, no, no, no…"

*Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!*

The board was relentless. Li Que counted the strokes through a haze of torment. Ten. Fifteen. Twenty. Her anus was a taut ring of muscle, clamped shut with all her might. But the ginger burned, and each slap of the board sent shockwaves through her abdomen.

At stroke twenty-three, she felt the seal break. A hot gush of ginger juice sprayed from her anus, splattering onto the stone floor. The shame was almost worse than the pain. She collapsed forward, sobbing.

Xuan Fa's voice was ice. "You have failed. Punishment doubled to four hundred strokes. Both of you. You will learn control."

Lin Qiaoxin had already broken. A puddle of ginger fluid pooled beneath her. She was crying openly, hiccuping, her body shaking. "I'm sorry, Master. I'm sorry."

Xuan Fa made no reply. The board continued.

*Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!*

Fifty strokes. One hundred. The burning in their intestines intensified as the ginger spread deeper, coating their colon walls. Li Que's mind fragmented. She was no longer a proud cultivator, no longer a vice leader. She was just a body, a canvas for pain. The board pounded her buttocks until they swelled, until the skin split in places, until every nerve was raw and exposed.

But beneath the agony, that strange warmth flickered again. A tingle in her clit, a flutter in her belly. She despised herself for it. Yet she could not deny it.

At stroke three hundred, she lost control again. Another spray of ginger juice burst from her, this time mixed with blood. The board paused.

Xuan Fa approached. He knelt beside her, his cold fingers tracing the split skin of her buttocks. "Disappointing. But entertaining."

He stood. "The punishment continues. Four hundred strokes, as promised. Then we will prepare for the terrace. Your suffering will please me greatly."

Li Que heard Lin Qiaoxin laugh through her tears—a broken, hysterical sound. "At least… at least we'll be hung up together…"

The board resumed.

*Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!*

By the time the four hundred strokes ended, Li Que could no longer feel her buttocks. They were a single, pulsing mass of meat, battered beyond recognition. Her anus was swollen shut, the ginger juice still burning inside her. She lay in a pool of her own fluids, gasping.

Lin Qiaoxin was in no better state. Her twin tails were matted with sweat and tears. She crawled to Xuan Fa's feet, pressing her forehead to his toes. "Does this please you, Master?"

Xuan Fa looked down at them. For a moment, something like satisfaction flickered in his eyes. "It does. Now rest. Tomorrow, you will crawl through Wuling City. And Shen Mengyue will join you."

Li Que closed her eyes. The pain was infinite. But deep inside, that secret warmth whispered: this is who you are now. And you love it.

The morning sun cast long shadows across the cobblestone streets of Wuling City as a hush fell over the bustling marketplace. Merchants ceased their haggling, children stopped their games, and even the stray dogs that usually fought over scraps froze in place. Every eye turned toward the main gate, where a figure in black training clothes strode forward with the unhurried confidence of a predator entering a pen of sheep.

Xuan Fa held two leather leashes in his right hand, their metal clasps glinting in the daylight. The leashes trailed behind him, attached to collars that encircled the necks of two naked women who crawled on all fours at his heels. Lin Qiaoxin, her twin tails bouncing with each movement, kept her head low but her eyes bright with a strange eagerness. Li Que, her red hair spilling over her shoulders, moved with the stiff grace of a warrior forced into submission, her jaw clenched but her pace obedient.

The crowd gasped and whispered as the two women came into full view. Their bodies, bare to the world, were adorned with the marks of recent punishment—angry red welts and deep purple bruises covered their buttocks, the skin so thoroughly beaten that even the most modest observer could not look away. The bruises painted a picture of relentless discipline, each stripe and patch telling a story of countless strikes that had left the flesh swollen and tender.

“By the heavens, is that the rogue cultivator Lin Qiaoxin?” a man whispered to his companion.

“And Li Que, the vice sect leader of Vermilion Bird Sect! What has happened to them?”

Lin Qiaixin lifted her head briefly and flashed a playful smile at the onlookers, as if enjoying the attention. Li Que remained stoic, her eyes fixed on the ground before her. But neither woman spoke, for their mouths were dry and their bodies trembled for reasons the crowd could not see.

Deep within their intestines, a burning sensation radiated outward, sharp and relentless. Ginger juice, concentrated and potent, had been forced into them hours ago, and now the fiery liquid churned in their guts, sending waves of agony through their abdomens. Every crawl, every movement of their hips as they dragged themselves forward, caused the liquid to slosh and spread, intensifying the burn. Their anuses clenched and unclenched involuntarily, trying in vain to expel the torment, but the ginger juice had been sealed inside with a minor spell that prevented any release. They could feel the heat rising, spreading upward into their stomachs, making their entire core feel as if it were being roasted from within.

Despite the agony, Lin Qiaoxin’s lips curled into a small smile. This is for master, she thought. Every bit of pain is an offering to him. Li Que, too, forced herself to move forward, her pride slowly transforming from rebellion into devotion. Pain was a language she understood, and Xuan Fa spoke it fluently.

The crowd parted as they made their way through the main thoroughfare, heading toward the central terrace where public announcements were made. But before they reached their destination, another commotion drew the people’s attention from the opposite direction.

A procession of disciples from the Celestial Mist Sect emerged from a side street, their faces grim and downcast. At their head, two female disciples held a leather leash that trailed behind them. And at the end of that leash, crawling on her hands and knees, was Shen Mengyue.

The sect leader of Celestial Mist Sect, once a figure of grace and authority, was now completely naked. Her waist-length black hair spilled over her back and shoulders, partially obscuring her face, but her body was fully exposed to the gawking crowd. Her fair skin, usually glowing with cultivation energy, now seemed pale and clammy. Her breasts swayed with each crawl, her hips rolling in a rhythm that drew every male gaze in the vicinity. And on her buttocks, like the two women ahead of her, fresh bruises marked the skin—purple and black patches that covered every inch from the top of her thighs to the small of her back.

Shen Mengyue’s mind screamed in silent torment. This is worse than death, she thought, her fingers scraping against the rough cobblestones as she crawled. A thousand times worse. I am the sect leader, the guardian of Celestial Mist, a Nascent Soul cultivator who has faced down demons and bandits. And now I crawl through the streets like an animal, my nakedness bared to every commoner and cultivator in Wuling City.

She could hear the whispers, the gasps, the snickers. Children pointed and asked their mothers why the lady had no clothes. Men leered, their eyes drinking in the sight of her exposed body. Women covered their mouths, some in shock, others in barely concealed delight at her fall from grace.

“That’s Shen Mengyue! The one who was spanked bare-bottomed by Venerable Xuan Fa!”

“I heard she was caught spying on him. Serves her right, the arrogant sect leader.”

“Look at those bruises! He must have beaten her soundly.”

Shen Mengyue’s cheeks burned with shame. Tears welled in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She would not give them the satisfaction. Yet, each step forward felt like a knife twisting in her heart. Her disciples, the very people she had protected and nurtured, were now leading her like a dog. She had failed them. She had failed herself.

She thought of the serene halls of Celestial Mist Sect, the quiet gardens where she used to meditate, the respect she commanded from her peers. All gone. Destroyed by that cold, ruthless man who had stripped her not just of her clothes, but of her dignity.

How did it come to this? she wondered, her mind drifting back to the moment she had decided to spy on Xuan Fa. She had thought herself clever, thought she could uncover his secrets and use them against him. Instead, she had uncovered only her own vulnerability. He had caught her, bound her, and then—

Her buttocks throbbed with phantom pain as she remembered the feel of his hand against her bare flesh, the sharp slaps that echoed in his private chamber, the way he had forced her to count each stroke as he delivered a hundred, two hundred, three hundred blows. She had lost count somewhere around four hundred, her mind dissolving into a haze of pain and humiliation. And when it was over, he had left her naked and trembling on the floor, her buttocks a mass of bruised flesh.

But that was only the beginning. Now, she was being paraded through the city like a trophy, her shame on display for all to see.

The two processions converged at the foot of the central terrace. Xuan Fa stood at the top, his arms crossed, his expression as cold and unreadable as a winter sky. Lin Qiaoxin and Li Que crawled up the steps on all fours, their naked bodies glistening with sweat from the ginger juice torment. Shen Mengyue followed, her disciples releasing the leash as she began the climb.

The terrace was a large, raised platform of white stone, usually used for announcements and festivals. Today, it would serve a different purpose. A crowd had gathered around its base, hundreds of people craning their necks to see what would happen next.

Xuan Fa waited until all three women were at his feet. He looked down at them, his gaze sweeping over their bruised buttocks, their bare bodies, their lowered heads. Then he spoke, his voice carrying across the square without effort.

“Citizens of Wuling City, you witness before you three cultivators of the Nascent Soul realm who have been punished for their transgressions. They have been stripped of their rank, their dignity, and their clothing. Today, they will receive further correction.”

A murmur rippled through the crowd. The three women remained still, their bodies trembling.

“Kneel in a row,” Xuan Fa commanded. “Upper bodies on the ground. Lower bodies raised.”

Lin Qiaoxin was the first to comply. She positioned herself on the cold stone, her chest pressed flat against the terrace, her arms stretched forward, and her buttocks lifted high into the air. The movement caused the ginger juice in her intestines to shift, sending a fresh wave of burning pain through her abdomen. She gasped but maintained her position.

Li Que followed, her movements stiff but precise. She placed her knees wide apart, bent forward until her forehead touched the stone, and raised her hips until her buttocks were the highest point of her body. The bruises on her bottom seemed even darker in the daylight, the skin swollen and tender.

Shen Mengyue hesitated. Her heart pounded in her chest, and her hands trembled as she lowered herself to the ground. This is the ultimate degradation, she thought. To be displayed like this, my most private parts exposed to the world. But she had no choice. The leash was gone, but the invisible chains of Xuan Fa’s power held her tighter than any rope. Slowly, painfully, she assumed the position, her face pressed against the stone, her buttocks rising high, her anus and vagina fully visible to anyone who cared to look.

The crowd gasped and pointed. Some laughed. Others watched in stunned silence.

Xuan Fa raised his hand, and a shimmering object materialized in the air before him. It was a wooden board, wide and flat, with a surface that glowed with faint spiritual energy. The Heavenly Dao Spanking Board, a tool of punishment imbued with the principles of justice and discipline. It hovered above the three women, rotating slowly as if surveying its targets.

“Three hundred strokes each,” Xuan Fa announced. “You will count them all.”

The board descended.

The first strike fell on Lin Qiaoxin’s buttocks with a sharp crack that echoed across the square. Her body jerked forward, and she let out a choked cry.

“One,” she gasped, her voice strained.

The board rose and fell again, this time on Li Que’s right cheek. The sound was solid and wet, the wood compressing the already bruised flesh. Li Que grunted, her knuckles whitening against the stone.

“One,” she growled.

The third strike landed on Shen Mengyue’s bottom. Pain exploded through her, white-hot and searing. Her entire body convulsed, and she bit her lip to keep from screaming.

“One,” she whispered, the word barely audible.

The Heavenly Dao Spanking Board did not pause. It struck in a relentless rhythm, each blow targeting a different spot on the women’s buttocks. The wood was imbued with a property that made it heavier and harder with each swing, the force increasing with every stroke. By the fiftieth blow, the skin on all three bottoms had split in places, thin lines of blood trickling down their thighs. By the hundredth, the flesh was so thoroughly mashed that the bruises merged into a single, uniform purple-black mass.

Lin Qiaoxin counted aloud, her voice growing hoarse but never stopping. She thought of Xuan Fa, of being his female slave, of the pleasure that came from his approval. Each stroke was a gift, a sign that he cared enough to discipline her. She welcomed the pain, embraced it, let it wash over her like a purifying fire.

Li Que counted with gritted teeth, her pride slowly dissolving with each blow. She had been the strongest, the most arrogant, and now she was being reduced to this. But instead of anger, she felt a strange release. The pain was a crucible, and she was being forged anew. She would emerge from this as something different, something devoted.

Shen Mengyue counted through sobs. The tears she had held back now streamed freely down her face, soaking the stone beneath her. The pain was unbearable, a relentless assault on her body and her spirit. Her buttocks were beyond recognition, a swollen, bleeding mess that felt as if it had been pounded into raw meat. She could barely move her legs, and every breath sent fresh agony through her lower body.

By the two hundred and fiftieth stroke, the board was striking with the force of a Nascent Soul cultivator’s full-powered slap. The impact shook the entire terrace, and the crowd flinched with each blow.

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The week stretched into an eternity. Each hour was measured not by the sun or moon, but by the grinding ache that radiated from Shen Mengyue's anus—the relentless pull of the iron hook suspending her naked body above the crowded square of Wuling City. Her arms were bound behind her back, her legs spread wide, and the cold metal burrowed deep inside her, holding her aloft like a slab of meat on a butcher's hook. The pain was a constant, burning fire, but it was the eyes that truly destroyed her.

Every day, from dawn until the torches were lit, the crowd gathered. Cultivators from a dozen sects, mortal merchants, beggars—they all came to gawk at the once-proud Sect Leader of the Celestial Mist Sect, her bare breasts swaying, her shaved mound fully exposed, the dark crack of her anus gripping the hook for all to see. She had heard the whispers, the snickers, the crude jokes. Some threw rotten vegetables. Others simply stared in silence, their gazes like brands on her skin.

Lin Qiaoxin hung to her left, suspended by an identical hook. The young rogue cultivator's twin tails were limp and tangled, her usual playful smile gone, replaced by a vacant, enduring expression. She had long since accepted her place. When she caught Shen Mengyue's eye, she offered a weak shrug, as if to say: *This is what we are now.*

Li Que hung to her right. The tall, red-haired woman's athletic body was taut with strain, but her eyes burned with a fierce, defiant pride—not against Xuan Fa, but against the humiliation itself. She refused to break. She had chosen this path willingly, and she would walk it with her head held high, even as her anus bled and the crowd jeered.

But Shen Mengyue was not like them. She had not chosen this. She had been stripped, shamed, spanked, and now displayed like a common whore for the entire cultivation world to see. The spiritual humiliation was a poison that seeped into her soul. Every time a disciple of the Celestial Mist Sect passed through the crowd—their faces twisted in shame or pity—she wanted to die. She wanted to shatter her own dantian and end it all. But the shackles of Xuan Fa's qi locked her cultivation base, leaving her nothing but a fragile, naked woman at the mercy of the crowd.

The day and night blurred. She lost count of the number of times she wept, the tears mixing with the grime on her cheeks. Her arms screamed from the strain of being bound. Her legs trembled from being spread so wide for so long. And her anus—the hook seemed to have become part of her, a permanent intrusion that pulsed with every heartbeat.

On the fifth day, a group of rogue cultivators gathered below her and began to debate her body's merits in loud voices, as if she were livestock at an auction.

"Look at those tits—still firm, but she must be three hundred years old. How do they hold up?"

"Must be the qi. A Nascent Soul woman's flesh is resilient."

"I'd like to see her bend over. Bet that ass is still plush."

Shen Mengyue closed her eyes and retreated into the darkest corner of her mind. She felt herself fracturing. The proud Sect Leader, the cold and gentle master, the woman who had guided her disciples for centuries—she was being peeled away layer by layer, leaving only a raw, quivering core of shame.

Lin Qiaoxin heard the comments too. She forced a tired grin and called out, "Hey, if you're that curious, just ask to touch. The Venerable might let you for a price."

The rogues laughed. Shen Mengyue wanted to kill Lin Qiaoxin for that remark, but she had no strength left for anger.

On the seventh day, just as the sun began to set, the iron hooks came loose simultaneously. Without ceremony, the three women dropped from the air and landed hard on the stone platform—knees first, then hands, their bodies crumpling. Shen Mengyue gasped as the sudden withdrawal of the hook sent a fresh wave of pain through her ravaged anus. She collapsed onto her side, trembling, her legs unable to close, her hole gaping and raw.

Then the air grew cold. The temperature in the square plummeted, and the crowd fell silent.

Xuan Fa appeared before them as if he had always been there. He wore his black training clothes, his expression as impassive as carved jade. He looked down at Shen Mengyue's sprawled, naked form with the cold assessment of a predator examining prey.

"Get up," he said. "Kneel."

Lin Qiaoxin and Li Que scrambled upright at once, falling into the kneeling pose with buttocks raised—a posture they had both memorized. Shen Mengyue was slower. Every movement sent agony through her abused orifice, but she forced herself to her knees, then lowered her chest to the ground, her bottom presented to him out of raw instinct.

Xuan Fa walked around her slowly. His footsteps were silent, but she felt his presence like a blade at her throat.

"Shen Mengyue," he said, his voice flat. "You have been punished for your offense. You have been shamed before the world. Now, I offer you a choice."

She lifted her head slightly, tears still wet on her cheeks.

"Enter the Xuantian Realm willingly," he continued. "Become my female slave. Serve me as Lin Qiaoxin and Li Que do. In return, your Celestial Mist Sect will be under my protection. No harm will come to them."

Shen Mengyue's heart seized. A slave. An eternal servant. To be owned body and soul by the man who had humiliated her, tortured her, broken her. She shook her head, tears flowing anew.

"Please, Venerable Xuan Fa," she begged, her voice cracking. "I have been punished. I have endured the spanking, the stripping, the hanging. I accept that I offended you. I beg for leniency. Let this punishment be enough. Do not make me a slave. I cannot—I cannot bear it."

Xuan Fa's eyes narrowed a fraction—the only sign of his displeasure. "Incorrigible," he said, the single word carrying the weight of a death sentence.

He snapped his fingers.

Lin Qiaoxin and Li Que moved before Shen Mengyue could react. They each grabbed one of her thighs and pulled her legs apart, forcing her back into the kneeling, buttocks-raised position she had just assumed. Shen Mengyue struggled, but she was exhausted, her cultivation sealed, her anus still bleeding.

"No—please—!"

Li Que held her left thigh firmly. Lin Qiaoxin kept her right. Together, they spread her buttocks open with their fingers, exposing her raw, gaping anus to the evening air. The crowd in the square gasped and leaned forward, eager for the next spectacle.

Shen Mengyue's mind reeled. She had been spanked, stripped, and hung. She thought she had endured the worst. But when Xuan Fa produced a large clay jar filled with a pungent, yellow-brown liquid, a primal terror seized her. The smell of ginger—freshly ground, potent, burning—filled her nostrils.

"No," she whispered. "No, please, not that. Venerable, please—"

Xuan Fa ignored her pleas. He uncorked the jar and tilted it, letting a stream of ginger juice drip onto a clean cloth. Then he knelt behind her, his presence looming.

"Shen Mengyue," he said calmly, "you will learn that I keep my word. You offend me, I punish you. You refuse my offer, I break your will."

He pressed the soaked cloth against her anus. The contact was like lightning. The ginger juice seeped into the torn, raw tissue of her anal canal, and the burning began. It was a fire that climbed into her intestines, spreading, igniting every nerve. Shen Mengyue screamed—a high, agonized wail that echoed across the square. She thrashed wildly, trying to buck him off, but Lin Qiaoxin and Li Que held her fast, and an invisible force—Xuan Fa's qi—slammed into her, forcing her body back into the perfect kneeling pose, her buttocks raised, her anus exposed.

"Hold her still," Xuan Fa ordered.

Lin Qiaoxin and Li Que dug their fingers deeper into her flesh, spreading her anus wide. Xuan Fa tilted the jar further. A stream of thick, burning ginger juice poured directly into her gaping hole, flooding her intestines. The pain was beyond anything she had experienced—the spanking was a mild sting compared to this. It felt as if her insides were being flayed with hot needles, as if liquid fire was coursing through her bowels. She tried to clench, to expel it, but her muscles had no strength left. The juice seeped deeper, coating every sensitive fold.

She screamed until her voice cracked. She vomited bile onto the stone. Her vision blurred with tears and sweat.

When the jar was empty, Xuan Fa set it aside. "Now," he said, "the second lesson."

He reached into his storage ring and produced two objects: flat wooden boards, polished smooth, each inscribed with faint golden runes. He handed one to Lin Qiaoxin and one to Li Que.

"The Heavenly Dao Spanking Board," he said. "It does not injure the flesh beyond healing, but it delivers a pain that reaches the soul. You will spank her. One hundred strokes each. For every stroke, she must say, 'Thank you, Venerable Xuan Fa, for spanking me.' If she fails to speak, you pour more ginger juice."

Lin Qiaoxin's eyes lit up with a mischievous, almost cruel gleam. Li Que's lips curled into a cold smile. They both had suffered under this board. They knew its sting. And now, they were the ones wielding it.

Shen Mengyue was still writhing from the ginger fire in her bowels when the first stroke landed.

*CRACK!*

The board struck her right buttock with a sound like thunder. The pain was exquisite—a deep, shocking blast that radiated through her entire pelvis, up her spine, into her skull. It was worse than the spanking in her courtyard. Worse than the hanging. It was a pain that scraped the soul.

"Thank you, Venerable Xuan Fa, for spanking me," she blurted out, her voice ragged.

*CRACK!* The left buttock.

Again. Again.

Lin Qiaoxin was enthusiastic, putting her full strength into each strike. She sang a little tune as she worked. Li Que was more methodical, her red ponytail swaying as she delivered precise, punishing blows. The boards rose and fell in a steady rhythm: *CRACK-CRACK-CRACK-CRACK-CRACK.*

Shen Mengyue's buttocks turned from pale to pink to red to a deep, angry crimson. The skin began to swell, the heat radiating from her flesh. Each stroke made her jolt forward, but Lin Qiaoxin and Li Que held her in place, their fingers still spreading her anus, forcing the ginger juice to dribble out in slow, agonizing drips.

"Thank you, Venerable Xuan Fa, for spanking me," she gasped after each blow. The words became a litany, a prayer, a curse.

At stroke fifty, her voice broke. "Please—please stop—I can't—"

*CRACK!* Lin Qiaoxin struck harder.

"Say the words," she chirped. "Or do you want more ginger?"

"No!" Shen Mengyue screamed. "Thank you, Venerable Xuan Fa, for spanking me!"

Seventy strokes. Her bottom was a ruin of purple and black bruises, the skin split in places, blood beading on the surface. The Heavenly Dao Spanking Board did not damage the flesh beyond healing, but it did not prevent the blood from rising. The pain had transcended physical sensation—it was a white-hot ocean that drowned her mind.

Ninety strokes. Shen Mengyue's resistance crumbled. She wept openly, her face pressed to the cold stone, her voice a broken whisper. "Thank you, Venerable Xuan Fa, for spanking me... thank you... thank you..."

One hundred strokes. She collapsed, barely conscious.

Lin Qiaoxin and Li Que stepped back, breathing hard, their arms aching. They looked to Xuan Fa.

Shen Mengyue lay in a heap, her ruined buttocks raised slightly from the stone, the ginger juice still seeping from her gaping anus. She was broken. The Sect Leader of the Celestial Mist Sect was gone. What remained was a raw, quivering mass of pain and submission.

Xuan Fa knelt beside her and lifted her chin. Her eyes were glassy, unfocused.

"I ask you again," he said softly. "Will you enter the Xuantian Realm and become my female slave? I will protect your sect. I will not harm your disciples. I will keep my word."

Shen Mengyue stared at him through a haze of agony. She thought of her d

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A hundred years had passed in the Xuantian Realm, and the world had changed in ways none could have foreseen. In a vast courtyard carved into the side of a floating mountain, rows of white, plump buttocks gleamed under the pale sunlight. They were raised high, stretched taut, each pair belonging to a female cultivator who had once been renowned across the land.

There were about thirty of them, all naked, all kneeling with their faces pressed to the cool stone floor. Behind each woman floated two Heavenly Dao Spanking Boards—flat, polished slabs of jade inscribed with ancient runes that pulsed with a soft golden light. The boards swung back and forth with mechanical precision, slapping down onto the raised buttocks with rhythmic force. The sound was a steady, wet crack that echoed across the courtyard: *thwack, thwack, thwack*. Each impact left a fresh pink handprint, then a deeper red, then purple. Some of the women whimpered. Others sobbed quietly. A few had already passed out, only to be revived by a sharper, harder strike.

These women had been sect leaders, elders, rogue cultivation geniuses, daughters of powerful families. They had once commanded armies of disciples, wielded ancient artifacts, and walked the path of immortality with pride. Now they were nothing but slaves, their dignity stripped away along with their robes, their bottoms offered up to the Heavenly Dao Board as punishment for their defiance.

But the most striking figures in the courtyard were not the punished women. They were the three who stood behind the row, naked themselves, their bodies glistening with a light sheen of sweat. They were the instructors.

Xin Nu, once known as Lin Qiaoxin, stood on the left. Her black hair was still tied in twin tails, but there was no playfulness left in her eyes. Her body was youthful and slender, her breasts small and pert, her waist narrow. Her buttocks, however, were a testament to centuries of punishment—a deep, purplish-red that covered every inch of her plump cheeks. The skin was smooth but mottled with scar tissue, crisscrossed with the faint white lines of healed split skin. When she moved, the muscles in her bottom flexed, showing how well trained she had become.

Que Nu, once Li Que, stood in the middle. Her red hair was still tied in a high ponytail, and her athletic build was as firm as ever. Her shoulders were broad, her back strong, her legs powerful. Her buttocks were larger than Xin Nu's, muscle packed with fat, and they bore the same purplish-red hue from countless beatings. But on her right cheek, a circular brand had been burned in—the mark of Xuan Fa's ownership. Her face was proud, but her eyes held a deep submission.

Yue Nu, once Shen Mengyue, stood on the right. She was the most beautiful of the three, her waist-length black hair cascading down her back, her skin fair and flawless except for her buttocks. They were a deep, angry red, almost black in some places, with lines of scar tissue that ran in parallel stripes. Her figure was the most womanly: full breasts that swayed as she walked, a narrow waist, and hips that curved out generously. Her face was serene, cold, but the marks on her bottom told a story of relentless discipline.

The three women moved among the row of raised bottoms, inspecting each one. Xin Nu tapped a buttock with her finger. "Higher," she said. "Relax your muscles. If you tense up, the board will hurt more." Her voice was flat, devoid of her former cheerfulness.

Que Nu walked behind a trembling woman and placed her hand on the small of her back, pressing her down. "Keep your legs spread. The board needs full access. Don't be shy—you've been bare for a hundred years now." She smirked, but there was no warmth in it.

Yue Nu said nothing. She simply looked at each woman's bottom, nodded, and moved on. When she saw a woman whose cheeks were not uniformly colored, she decided that woman would get extra strokes later.

Suddenly, a faint pressure filled the courtyard. The air grew heavy, and the temperature dropped. The three instructors immediately stopped moving. They turned toward the entrance of the courtyard, where a figure in black training clothes stood. He was cold, handsome, with eyes like chips of obsidian. Xuan Fa had arrived.

The three women dropped to their knees in perfect unison. Their movements were fluid, practiced, having done this countless times over the century. They lowered their heads until their foreheads touched the ground, placed their hands flat on the stone, and then raised their hips high, presenting their purplish-red buttocks to him. It was the most familiar gesture of submission.

"Master," they said together, their voices soft and respectful. "We are instructing our new sisters."

Xuan Fa walked slowly down the line of kneeling women. The other female slaves—the new ones—did not dare to look up. They heard his footsteps, felt his presence, and trembled. The Heavenly Dao Boards continued to strike their bottoms, but the rhythm seemed to quicken under his gaze.

Xin Nu spoke first, her voice steady. "Is Master here to watch the punishment of Xin Nu?"

Que Nu followed. "Rest assured, we will endure to the best of our ability and not spoil Master's fun."

Yue Nu finished. "Yue Nu is ready for whatever Master commands."

Xuan Fa stopped behind them. He did not speak, but a faint smile touched the corner of his mouth. He nodded once.

The three women moved instantly. They reached back with both hands, fingers digging into their own buttocks, and spread their anuses wide. The flesh opened, revealing the dark, puckered insides. Above each of them, a syringe materialized, filled with a viscous amber liquid—ginger juice, freshly pressed and potent. The syringes descended, their tips sliding into the women's anuses with practiced ease, and the plungers depressed. The liquid poured into their intestines, warm and biting, filling them until they felt pressure deep inside. The three women did not flinch. They held the position, letting the ginger juice settle, knowing that any leakage would be punished with additional strokes.

Above them, six more Heavenly Dao Boards appeared—two for each woman. These boards were larger, thicker, and inscribed with deeper runes that glowed a fierce orange. They floated into position, ready to strike.

The punishment began.

The first board crashed down onto Xin Nu's bottom. The sound was a brutal crack that echoed across the courtyard. Her cheeks jiggled, then compressed, and a sharp breath escaped her lips. The second board struck Que Nu, then the third hit Yue Nu. The boards did not wait. They swung in alternating patterns, left and right, full force, hitting the same spots over and over.

*Crack. Crack. Crack.*

The skin on their buttocks reddened further, turning from purple to a deep blackish-red. Each impact sent a shockwave through their bodies, shaking their breasts, their thighs. The ginger juice inside them burned, mixing with the pain to create something that was both agony and ecstasy.

Xin Nu's eyes were closed. She bit her lower lip, but a soft moan escaped her throat. Her body swayed with each blow, but she kept her hips high, her anus spread wide. She remembered when she had first been punished like this—a century ago, when she was still Lin Qiaoxin, fiery and rebellious. Now she had learned to accept it. To welcome it. The pain was a reminder of her place, of her Master's power.

Que Nu's breath came in ragged gasps. She had always been proud, believing herself invincible. But Xuan Fa had broken her, remade her, and now she craved the discipline. The boards struck her, and she felt the heat spread from her bottom to her core. Her body ached for more.

Yue Nu remained silent, but tears streamed down her face. Not from pain—she had long since stopped crying from pain. These were tears of submission, of pouring herself entirely into the punishment. She had been the leader of Celestial Mist Sect, a proud and honored figure. Now she was Yue Nu, and she was grateful for it. The boards hit her, and she felt the ginger juice slosh inside her, and she concentrated every muscle in her body to hold it in.

*Twenty. Forty. Sixty.* The boards struck rhythmically, each blow harder than the last. The skin on their bottoms split in places, thin lines of blood seeping out, but the boards did not care. They continued to strike, splattering the blood across their cheeks.

*One hundred. One hundred twenty. One hundred eighty.* The three women's bodies were trembling violently now. Their moans had turned into cries—high-pitched, shuddering wails that mixed pain and pleasure. The ginger juice was at its peak, burning their insides, making them feel as if they were on fire. Yet they did not release it. They could not.

*Two hundred twenty. Two hundred sixty. Two hundred ninety.*

The final strokes came. *Crack. Crack. Crack.* The boards struck three more times, then faded away, their runes dimming. The three hundred strokes were complete.

The three women remained in position, their buttocks a mess of purple, black, and red, their skin weeping blood, their anuses still spread wide. They were breathing hard, but they had not broken position. Not a single drop of ginger juice had leaked onto the ground.

Xin Nu spoke first, her voice hoarse but clear. "The three hundred strokes are done. Not a drop of ginger juice leaked out. Is Master satisfied?"

Que Nu followed, her words heavy with exhaustion. "Que Nu reports the same. No leakage."

Yue Nu's voice was barely a whisper. "Yue Nu also. Master, are you satisfied?"

Xuan Fa stood behind them, his arms crossed. He studied their bottoms, the way the blood pooled in the creases, the way their bodies still trembled. He nodded slowly. It was a small nod, but it meant everything to them.

He turned to look at the row of new slaves still being punished. Many had stopped, their boards floating in midair, waiting. They had watched the spectacle—the three hundred strokes, the ginger juice, the brutal submission. They understood now what they were in for.

Xuan Fa's mind wandered. He thought of the Xuantian Realm, of all the powerful female cultivators he had not yet captured. The sect leaders of the Heavenly Blossom Sect, the three elders of the Ancient Sword Pavilion, the arrogant genius from the Azure Dragon Clan. Their bottoms were still white, still untouched. He could already imagine the shrieks of agony, the way they would raise their plump cheeks to accept his spanking, the way they would eventually kneel and spread their anuses for the ginger juice.

He thought of his vision. The Spanking Phoenix Sect. A new order, built on discipline and submission. These thirty female cultivators would be the first elders, each one a testament to his power. They would recruit new disciples, teach them obedience, and spread the fear of the Heavenly Dao Board across the land.

He smiled. It was a cold smile, but it held the warmth of satisfaction.

"Very well," he said to his three female slaves. "You have performed adequately. You may rest."

The three women lowered their hips, letting their bottoms finally rest on the ground. They remained kneeling, heads bowed, waiting for his next command.

Xuan Fa turned and walked out of the courtyard, his black training clothes fluttering in the wind. He had work to do. There were still so many beautiful, plump buttocks in the world that needed to be punished. And he was just getting started.

The Spanking Phoenix Sect rose from the mist-shrouded peak within days, its name carved into a jade stele at the mountain gate. Xuan Fa had chosen the location with care—a spirit-rich mountain where qi flowed like rivers, perfect for nurturing disciples. The sect hall stood at the summit, its black stone walls gleaming under the sun, flanked by training grounds and formation arrays humming with power. The three female slaves who had once been sect leaders and proud cultivators now held high positions: Lin Qiaoxin, Grand Elder of Formations, teaching the intricate patterns that trapped and enhanced; Li Que, Grand Elder of Combat, drilling disciples in the art of war; Shen Mengyue, Grand Elder of Internal Affairs, managing the daily operations with a cold efficiency that belied her nakedness.

Every female disciple who joined the Spanking Phoenix Sect did so knowing the price. They wore no clothes, their bodies bared to the gaze of all, and they learned from the female slave elders who crawled on all fours, slave collars glinting around their necks, buttocks permanently stained in shades of purple and black from repeated punishment. The shame was immense, but the cultivation resources were vast, and the teaching was unparalleled. Some came for power, others for desperation, and a few—a very few—came because they had nowhere else to go. The distinction was clear: disciples were simply naked, while the elders were completely naked, collared, crawling, and beaten. To become an elder was to become Xuan Fa's slave, and that path required both merit and surrender.

On this day, the sect gathered before the main hall. Disciples lined the stone steps, their bare bodies shivering in the mountain breeze, eyes fixed on the platform where four figures knelt. Xuan Fa stood at the center, his black training clothes immaculate, his face a mask of cold indifference. In his hands he held three leather leashes, each attached to a slave collar around the neck of a kneeling woman. Lin Qiaoxin knelt on his left, her twin tails hanging forward, her youthful face alight with a mischievous grin despite the occasion. Li Que knelt beside her, her red hair pulled back in a high ponytail, her athletic frame tense with anticipation. Shen Mengyue knelt on his right, her waist-length black hair spilling over her shoulders, her expression serene and accepting. Behind them, another woman knelt—naked, trembling, her hands bound behind her back. Murong Ying, sect leader of the Heavenly Phoenix Sect, had come to challenge Xuan Fa's authority and had been defeated by Li Que. Now she knelt in humiliation, her pride shattered, her body bared to the jeering crowd.

Xuan Fa's voice cut through the murmurs like a blade. "Xin Nu has made contributions in teaching formations. Yue Nu has managed the sect with diligence. Que Nu has defeated a challenger and protected our mountain. For their merits, they shall receive a public spanking—the highest reward this sect can bestow."

The disciples gasped. A public spanking was a strange reward, but they had learned that in the Spanking Phoenix Sect, humiliation was a form of cultivation. To be beaten before the entire sect was to be honored, to be marked as worthy of the master's attention. The three female slaves knelt obediently, their bodies turning to present their buttocks high in the air. They propped themselves on their hands, backs arched, faces pressed to the cold stone. Their bare bottoms gleamed in the sunlight, pale and unblemished except for the lingering redness from previous punishments.

Beside them, Murong Ying was forced into the same position by a disciple who grabbed her hair and shoved her face down. She struggled, her muscles straining against the ropes, but she was held fast. Her buttocks, still pale and untouched, quivered with fear and rage.

Xuan Fa raised his hand, and four slabs of dark wood materialized in the air above them—the Heavenly Dao Spanking Boards. Each board was carved with runes that pulsed with crimson light, and they hovered with a malevolent purpose. At his gesture, the boards descended.

The first strike landed on Lin Qiaoxin's bottom, and the crack echoed across the mountain. She let out a sharp gasp, but her voice was light and playful. "Oh, that's a good one! Master, you've really improved your aim. The disciples should take notes—this is how a proper spanking is done!"

The board struck again, and again, alternating between the three slaves. Each blow left a bright red handprint-shaped mark on their flesh, and the pain was exquisite—a burning, spreading fire that consumed the nerves and demanded submission. Lin Qiaoxin's cheeks jiggled with each impact, and she kept up a stream of cheerful commentary. "See, disciples? This is what happens when you do well. You get rewarded with the board! If you do poorly, you get spanked in private. So really, this is the better option. Trust me, you want this!"

Li Que grunted as the board slammed into her athletic bottom. Her red hair whipped with the force, and she gritted her teeth, but her voice was sharp and arrogant. "Hah! That's nothing. I've trained for worse. But Murong Ying over there—look at her. Her ass is soft as a baby's. She's going to break before the first round is done."

Murong Ying screamed as the board struck her for the first time. The pain was unlike anything she had felt in battle—it was raw, humiliating, and relentless. She had expected a fight, a duel of swords and spells, not this degrading punishment. "Stop! I am a sect leader! You cannot—" The board cut off her words with another brutal smack, and she sobbed, her body jerking forward.

Shen Mengyue, kneeling beside her, took her own punishment with quiet dignity. The board left deep red welts on her fair skin, and she whimpered softly with each blow, but she did not cry out. Instead, she spoke to the disciples in a voice that was warm despite the pain. "Do not be afraid, children. This is the path of cultivation. To endure is to grow. To accept the master's punishment is to accept his guidance. Practice hard, and one day you too may be honored with a public spanking."

The boards rose and fell in a steady rhythm. The disciples watched in horror and fascination. Their usually responsible elders, who taught them formations and combat and managed the sect with gentle efficiency, were now weeping and screaming under the board. Yet they never flinched. They held their positions, buttocks raised high, taking blow after blow. The flesh of all four bottoms turned from pink to red to a deep, angry purple. Welts rose in parallel lines, and the pain was so intense that Murong Ying's legs gave out, forcing a disciple to hold her in place.

Lin Qiaoxin twisted her head to look at the crowd, a grin on her pain-twisted face. "Hey, you there—the one with the freckles. You're not practicing your formations enough. I can tell. After this, I'm going to test you, and if you fail, you'll get a private lesson from the board. So study hard!"

Li Que laughed through gritted teeth. "Murong Ying, your screams are pathetic. A real cultivator takes the board like a warrior. Are you a warrior or a whining child?" She grunted as another blow connected. "Your ass is turning the color of a ripe plum. Suits you."

Murong Ying could barely form words. Tears streamed down her face, and her pride crumbled with each strike. "Please... I yield... I yield..."

But the boards did not stop. They continued until every inch of their buttocks was covered in bruises and welts, until the flesh was so tender that even the slightest touch would send waves of agony through their bodies. Then, finally, Xuan Fa raised his hand, and the boards vanished.

The three slaves remained kneeling, their bodies trembling, their breath ragged. Lin Qiaoxin managed a weak laugh. "That was fun. Can we do it again tomorrow?"

Li Que snorted. "Speak for yourself. My ass is on fire."

Shen Mengyue bowed her head. "Thank you, Master, for this honor."

Murong Ying lay collapsed, her body shaking with sobs. Xuan Fa gestured, and a disciple brought forward a gleaming anal hook—a curved metal device designed to hang a body from a chain. Without ceremony, the disciple forced Murong Ying's legs apart and inserted the hook. She screamed as it entered her, the pain fresh and overwhelming. Then a chain was attached to the hook, and she was lifted, hoisted into the air until she dangled upside down from the mountain gate, her beaten bottom exposed to all who entered.

The disciples stared in silence. The Spanking Phoenix Sect had its first public display.

Xuan Fa turned and walked back into the hall, his three female slaves crawling behind him on all fours, their bruised buttocks swaying with each movement. Behind them, Murong Ying wept and struggled, but the hook held her fast, and the mountain breeze chilled her bare, beaten flesh. The lesson was clear: in the Spanking Phoenix Sect, merit brought reward, and defiance brought display.

The morning sun cast long shadows across the training grounds of the Spanking Phoenix Sect. Disciples in their black and red robes moved with practiced discipline, but today their focus was divided. Whispers spread like wildfire through the ranks as a familiar procession emerged from the main hall.

Xuan Fa walked first, his black training clothes immaculate, his expression as cold and unreadable as carved jade. In his left hand, he held three leather leashes that gleamed with oiled care. Behind him, crawling on all fours, came three naked women whose faces were known to every disciple present.

Lin Qiaoxin giggled as she moved, her twin tails bouncing with each crawl. Her youthful body, bare to the morning air, showed no shame—only a playful contentment. Behind her, Li Que’s athletic frame moved with athletic grace, her red high ponytail swaying. She kept her chin up, meeting the eyes of any disciple brave enough to hold her gaze. Last came Shen Mengyue, her waist-length black hair trailing on the ground, her ethereal beauty somehow undimmed by her position. She moved with quiet dignity, as if crawling naked on a leash was the most natural thing in the world.

The disciples parted to let them pass. Many had seen this sight before—dozens of times, in fact—yet the shock never fully faded. These three women were the grand elders of the sect, the ones who taught them formations, sword techniques, and cultivation principles with patient care. To see them now, crawling like docile bitches behind their master, was a lesson no one could forget.

Lin Qiaoxin tilted her head back, catching the eye of a young female disciple who had paused mid-stride. “Hehe, Master, Xin Nu’s disciples are watching,” she said, her voice carrying a teasing lilt.

Li Que snorted, not breaking her crawl. “Haven’t they gotten used to it yet? We do this every week.”

Shen Mengyue added calmly, her voice smooth as still water, “Some of them may become Master’s female slaves if they perform well. They should watch and learn.”

Xuan Fa stopped in the center of the training ground, where a large stone platform stood. He turned, giving each of his female slaves a measured look. The leashes went slack as he said, “Do you remember how you became my female slaves?”

Lin Qiaoxin’s eyes lit up. She scrambled to sit on her heels, her hands clasped in front of her chest like an eager student. “Xin Nu remembers! Master appeared directly before me in that wilderness, when I was still a carefree rogue cultivator. You forcefully said I had to become your slave. I was unwilling, of course—tried to be clever, tried to escape. But Master just pulled down my skirt and spanked my perky bottom hard. It hurt so much! I cried and cried. Under Master’s coercion and persuasion, I became your slave.” She giggled again. “Best decision I ever made, really.”

Li Que’s expression hardened, but there was no anger in it—only the grudging respect of one who had been thoroughly bested. “Que Nu remembers. I led the Vermilion Bird Sect to attack Taiqing Palace. I thought myself invincible at the same realm. Then Xin Meimei, taught by Master, defeated me with her formation. She spanked my bottom with it—humiliated me in front of my own disciples. Then Master came.” She paused, her jaw tightening briefly. “You inserted a ginger stick into my anus, then hung me from an anal hook for public display. I, not knowing my place, challenged you. You defeated me in one move. Then I obediently became your female slave.”

Lin Qiaoxin clapped her hands. “Sister Que, if your bottom itches, Xin Nu can always use the formation to spank you again.”

Li Que shot her a flat look but said nothing.

Shen Mengyue spoke next, her tone carrying the weight of memory. “Yue Nu remembers. After being punished with Xin Meimei and Que Meimei in Wuling City, I had the audacity to refuse Master’s gracious offer to take me as your slave. Master gave me a ginger enema—a thorough one—and had Xin Meimei and Que Meimei spank my ungrateful bottom left and right with the Heavenly Dao Board. I cried and cried, and then I cried some more. And then I obediently became your female slave.”

Xuan Fa’s lips curved into a faint, cold smile. “And now? How does it feel to be spanked as a female slave?”

Lin Qiaoxin answered first, her voice cheerful and bright. “Although Master’s Heavenly Dao Board hurts like hell, Xin Nu’s bottom now loves being spanked by Master. Every day it gets spankings and is happy as can be!”

Li Que spoke with firm certainty. “Que Nu was defeated by Master and taken as a slave. I should obediently accept all humiliation and punishment from Master. Que Nu’s bottom must be spanked every day as punishment.”

Shen Mengyue nodded calmly. “Yue Nu was ungrateful to refuse Master’s kindness in taking me as a slave. That fault must be repaid by having my bottom spanked every day.”

Xuan Fa laughed—a rare sound that sent a shiver through the watching disciples. “You three have quite the awareness.” He reached into his spatial ring and withdrew the Heavenly Dao Spanking Board. It was a flat piece of dark jade, inscribed with countless runes that glowed faintly. The board was wide, almost as long as his forearm, and humming with a spiritual energy that promised pain. “Today’s punishment: each of you will receive two hundred spanks with this board. Right here, on this stone platform, for all to see.”

The three women did not hesitate. They crawled onto the platform, positioning themselves in a neat row. Each knelt, then leaned forward, pressing their foreheads to the cool stone. Their buttocks rose high into the air, presented perfectly.

Lin Qiaoxin wiggled her hips slightly. “Ready, Master!”

Li Que held still, muscles tense. Shen Mengyue closed her eyes, her breathing steady.

Xuan Fa stepped behind them. He raised the Heavenly Dao Board. The first stroke landed on Lin Qiaoxin’s right cheek with a sharp *crack* that echoed across the training ground. Her body jolted, a bright red mark blooming instantly on her pale skin. She let out a short gasp, then giggled. “It’s warm today, Master!”

He struck again—*crack*—on the same spot. The giggle turned into a whimper. On the third stroke, she cried out, her fingers clenching against the stone.

Xuan Fa moved to Li Que. The board came down hard on her left buttock. She grunted, her body absorbing the blow, but her eyes narrowed. The second stroke made her hiss through clenched teeth. By the third, she was breathing heavily, a thin sheen of sweat on her back.

Then Shen Mengyue. The first stroke painted a red line across her flawless flesh. She made no sound, only a soft intake of breath. The second stroke followed, and the third. Her knuckles turned white against the stone, but she did not cry out.

Stroke after stroke, the rhythm became mechanical. Lin Qiaoxin had stopped giggling by the thirtieth stroke. Her bottom was a mottled red canvas, each welt rising and overlapping. She sobbed openly, tears dripping onto the stone. “It hurts, it hurts, it hurts,” she chanted, but she did not move.

Li Que took her strokes in silence, her body trembling with each impact. Around the hundredth whack, a single tear escaped her eye, and she bit her lip hard enough to draw blood.

Shen Mengyue lasted until the hundred and fiftieth. Then a sharp cry escaped her—a pitiful sound that made several disciples look away. Her bottom was deep crimson, almost purple in places. She panted, her hair sticking to her damp face.

Xuan Fa did not relent. Each stroke was precise, deliberate, and full of power. The Heavenly Dao Board glowed brighter with every hit, leaving behind not just pain but a deep, lingering heat that would stay with them for hours.

At exactly two hundred strokes each, he stopped. The air was filled with the sound of ragged breathing and quiet sobs.

The three women remained in position, their buttocks raised and welted, no longer a smooth mound but a mass of red, swollen flesh. Lin Qiaoxin sniffled. Li Que’s shoulders heaved. Shen Mengyue’s entire body shook with silent weeping.

Xuan Fa put the board away. “You may lower yourselves.”

They collapsed, lying flat on the stone, too sore to move. But after a moment, they pushed themselves up onto their knees, then into a proper kneeling position.

Xuan Fa looked down at them. “In a while, there will be a grand ceremony for the Spanking Phoenix Sect. The highlight will be a five-hundred-stroke spanking for the three of you. Prepare yourselves.”

Lin Qiaoxin, Li Que, and Shen Mengyue pressed their foreheads to the stone in perfect unison.

“Thank you, Master,” they said together, their voices raw but sincere.

The disciples watched in silence as their grand elders knelt there, naked and punished, yet somehow content. And they knew that soon, they would watch again—five hundred strokes this time, for all the sect to see.

The morning sun cast long shadows across the sprawling grounds of the Spanking Phoenix Sect. A thousand female cultivators stood in perfect formation, their naked bodies gleaming under the pale light. They had come from every corner of the cultivation world—some former sect leaders, others rogue cultivators, all united by their submission to one man. Their breasts hung exposed, their thighs pressed together, and their buttocks—each marked with varying degrees of red and purple—bore witness to the price of their devotion.

At the center of the compound, a raised platform of white jade stood, carved with intricate phoenix motifs. Around it, the outer perimeter was lined with the disciples, their heads bowed, hands clasped behind their backs. Not a single whisper broke the silence. The air itself seemed to hold its breath.

Then came the sound of leather against stone.

From a narrow path between the kneeling rows, fifty female slave elders crawled into the center. Their movements were slow, deliberate, each one keeping her face close to the ground, her buttocks raised high behind her. They had been stripped of all dignity long ago, and now they moved like the beasts they had become—on hands and knees, their collars gleaming with the sigil of the sect. When they reached the space before the jade platform, they arranged themselves in neat rows, each one kneeling with her legs spread wide, her palms flat on the ground, her forehead touching the cool stone. Then they raised their buttocks, presenting them to the empty sky.

The disciples in the outer ring tightened their stances. Some trembled. Some bit their lips. All knew that soon, their own buttocks would be offered to the same fate.

Xuan Fa emerged from the main hall, his black training robes flowing like shadow. In his left hand, he held three leather leashes, each attached to a collar of polished obsidian. Behind him, on hands and knees, crawled Lin Qiaoxin, Li Que, and Shen Mengyue.

Lin Qiaoxin’s twin tails bounced with each crawl, her red hair falling over her shoulders. Her skin was pale and smooth, her small breasts swaying beneath her, and her buttocks—still bearing faint pink marks from previous punishments—moved with the rhythm of a playful kitten. She even let out a soft giggle as she crawled, earning a glance from Xuan Fa that silenced her immediately.

Li Que crawled with the stiffness of a proud warrior forced to bow. Her red hair, tied in a high ponytail, swept the ground. Her athletic body was taut, every muscle defined, and her buttocks—more muscular than the others—were a testament to her physical strength. She did not look up, did not smile. Her jaw was set, her eyes fixed on the ground ahead. She had chosen this, and she would endure it with pride.

Shen Mengyue crawled last. Her waist-length black hair trailed behind her, pooling on the stone like ink. Her body was a perfect union of youth and maturity—full breasts, narrow waist, hips that curved into a soft, round bottom. Her skin was like cream, unmarked except for the faint scars of previous punishments that had long since healed. She moved with grace, even on her hands and knees, her eyes downcast, her lips pressed into a thin line. Of the three, she carried the weight of her former dignity the heaviest, but she carried it nonetheless.

Xuan Fa walked to the center of the jade platform. He gave a gentle tug on the leashes, and the three women crawled up the steps, their knees scraping against the white stone. When they reached the top, they stopped, and Xuan Fa turned to face the gathered sect.

“Kneel,” he said, his voice low and cold.

The three women knelt beside him, their buttocks resting on their heels. Then, as if by practiced motion, they each raised their buttocks high, pressing their chests to the ground, their arms stretched forward. They knelt like dogs awaiting a command.

The disciples in the outer ring followed suit—a thousand naked women dropping to their knees, raising their scarred buttocks to the sky. The sight was both beautiful and terrifying, a sea of pale flesh and red marks, all bowed before a single man.

Xuan Fa nodded. “Begin the sect ritual.”

Lin Qiaoxin was the first to speak. She lifted her head, her playful eyes scanning the crowd, but her voice was serious. “In most sects, we worship our founder or a sacred artifact. But the Spanking Phoenix Sect worships the Heavenly Dao Spanking Board.” She reached into the air, and a wooden board materialized in her hand—plain, unadorned, but humming with spiritual power. “This is the tool of our discipline, the source of our cultivation, and the symbol of our submission.” She held it up, and the thousand disciples kowtowed, their foreheads touching the ground.

Li Que took over, her voice flat but firm. “The sect is named Spanking Phoenix because the phoenix rises from the ashes. We do not rise through pride or defiance. We rise through submission and pain.” She paused, letting the words sink in. “We are the ashes. The master’s hand is the flame. Through punishment, we are reborn.”

Shen Mengyue’s voice was softer, but it carried across the silent compound. “All female slaves must understand their duty. You will accept every humiliation and every punishment from the master, no matter how shameful or painful. You will crawl without the master’s permission to stand. When greeting the master, you will kneel and raise your buttocks high, that he may see the scars of your devotion.”

The disciples murmured their acknowledgment, a chorus of “Yes, Master” that echoed through the grounds.

Then the three women turned to face the gathered elders and disciples. Lin Qiaoxin clapped her hands, and a faint smile returned to her lips. “But it’s not all pain. We also share cultivation insights and techniques!” She launched into a lecture on the use of spiritual energy during punishment, explaining how to channel the pain into cultivation breakthroughs. Li Que followed with a discourse on maintaining focus during punishment, emphasizing that a wandering mind only prolongs the agony. Shen Mengyue spoke last, her voice calm and clear, teaching the elders how to position their bodies during punishment to please the master more—how to arch the back, how to spread the legs, how to cry out in just the right way to earn the master’s pleasure.

The disciples listened intently. Many took notes on jade slips. Some shifted their weight, their buttocks still raised, their thighs beginning to ache.

When the teachings were done, Xuan Fa stepped forward. He raised a hand, and from his storage ring, a stream of pills flew out, each one glowing with a soft blue light. They scattered like rain, landing in the outstretched hands of every disciple. “Cultivation-assisting pills,” he said. “Take them at the next dawn.”

Then he reached into the air again, and five magic artifacts materialized before him—a bracelet of woven silver, a bell that chimed with every breeze, a small jade seal, a mirror that reflected nothing, and a whip woven from phoenix feathers. “Five exceptional disciples have been chosen as new female slaves.”

The five women stepped forward from the outer ring. They were young, their bodies trembling as they crawled up to the platform. Their faces were a mix of joy and terror—joy at the prospect of advanced cultivation, terror at the thought of their buttocks being beaten raw. One by one, Xuan Fa placed obsidian collars around their necks. The collars clicked shut, and the women shivered. They immediately dropped to their hands and knees, crawling to join the row of elder female slaves.

Now there were fifty elders, kneeling in five rows of ten, their buttocks raised high. Xuan Fa stood behind them, and with a wave of his hand, the air shimmered. From the void, countless Heavenly Dao Spanking Boards materialized, each one hovering behind a particular woman. The boards were identical—wooden, smooth, humming with power.

“Two hundred strokes each,” Xuan Fa said. “Endure, or be expelled.”

The boards swung.

The first impact was a thunderclap that echoed across the sect. Fifty wooden boards struck fifty buttocks at the same time, and fifty cries of pain rose into the air. The sound was deafening—a symphony of flesh meeting wood, of women screaming, of boards pounding rhythmically.

The new female slaves screamed the loudest. Their buttocks had never been so thoroughly beaten. The first stroke left red lines across their pale skin. The second brought deeper crimson. By the tenth stroke, their cries turned into sobs. By the twentieth, they were wailing, their bodies arching, their fingers scratching at the stone. But not one of them tried to dodge. They had sworn their submission, and they would keep it.

The elder female slaves endured with practiced stoicism. Some bit their lips bloody. Some pressed their foreheads to the ground and dug their nails into their palms. A few let out sharp gasps with each blow, but they held their positions, their buttocks raised high, offering themselves to the boards.

The boards did not relent. They struck with precision, covering every inch of each buttock. The women’s flesh rippled with each impact, turning from pink to red to purple to black. Blood welled up in thin lines where the wood had split the skin. Some women screamed their masters’ names. Others begged for mercy, but their mouths formed the words even as their bodies shook.

Forty strokes. Eighty. One hundred and twenty. The boards moved faster, the sound becoming a continuous roar. The women’s bodies writhed, but their buttocks stayed raised. They were slaves. They knew their place.

At two hundred strokes, the boards vanished. The women collapsed, their buttocks a shredded mess of welts and blood. Some wept openly. Others lay still, their breath ragged. The new female slaves could barely move, their behinds so swollen that they could not close their legs. But they forced themselves back into position—kneeling, buttocks raised, awaiting the master’s next command.

Xuan Fa walked among them, his eyes scanning the damage. He nodded once. “Acceptable.”

Then he turned to the three women still kneeling on the platform. Lin Qiaoxin, Li Que, and Shen Mengyue had watched the entire punishment without flinching. Now they rose, crawled to the center of the platform, and knelt before Xuan Fa.

Lin Qiaoxin’s body was slim and youthful, her breasts small and perky, her waist narrow, her hips rounding into a soft, plump bottom. Her twin tails swayed as she kowtowed, pressing her forehead to the ground three times. Li Que knelt with the posture of a soldier, her shoulders square, her muscular arms set, her buttocks—firm and toned—raised high through the curve of her back. Shen Mengyue was a vision of pure grace, her black hair spilling around her, her white skin glowing under the sun, her full breasts pressing against the stone, her hips raised in a perfect curve that showcased the roundness of her buttocks.

All three spoke as one: “We submit to the master’s punishment. Five hundred strokes of the Heavenly Dao Spanking Board. Please, master, do not spare us.”

Xuan Fa gave no reply. He raised a hand, and three boards materialized, larger than the ones used on the elders. These boards hummed with a deeper energy, their surface etched with runes that glowed red. He positioned one behind each woman.

“Begin,” he said.

The first stroke struck Shen Mengyue’s left buttock. The sound was a crack of thunder, and her entire body jerked forward. A red mark bloomed instantly, deep and angry. She let out a sharp gasp, but she did not cry out. She gripped the stone, her fingers white, and held her position.

The second stroke struck Lin Qiaoxin’s right buttock. She yelped, a high-pitched sound, then giggled through the pain. “Master, that one tickled!” Another stroke hit her other cheek, and she moaned, her body shaking. “Okay, maybe not tickled.”

Li Que received her first stroke in perfect silence. Her buttocks were dense with

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