And—my feed just ended.

Wow.

Folks, that was an event.

2:58am
Madam is thanking her guests, saying a few final words.
Sounds like they are moving to another room for nightcaps.
The event is winding down.
I can just barely see duckie between people shifting around—he keeps getting blocked by movement, but I catch glimpses.
He looks exactly like what he is—
A man who was just beaten by a room full of women.

2:55am
And that’s it.
It’s over.
Madam steps back, letting the flogger fall to her side as she looks out at the room.
She is smiling.
She is thanking everyone, talking about what a good job duckie did, how proud she is of him.
The audience is clapping, murmuring their approval.
Meanwhile, Jessica and the other subs are up on stage, surrounding duckie.
It looks like—yep, Jessica just pulled the plug out.
I bet he is relieved.
The other subs are undoing his restraints, working quickly to free him from the sawhorse.

2:53am
She starts.
The first strike lands across his back, the long tails wrapping slightly around his ribs.
Then another. And another.
She is moving fast.
Her control is insane—every swing is fluid, precise, effortless.
She doesn’t pause.
duckie’s voice is coming rapid-fire, barely keeping up as the blows fly by.
"Twenty!"
She is spinning, twisting with each swing, the flogger whipping across his shoulders and back.
"Thirty!"
It’s a blur of motion—she moves like a ninja with those things.
"Forty!"
duckie is drenched in sweat, breathing hard, but still counting.
"Fifty-four for Madam, thank you, Madam!"

2:52am
duckie is down to the final stretch.
Only 54 more to go.
Madam is reaching for the last implement—a flogger.
This one is different—the falls are long, strikingly elegant, black and white, almost flowing as she lifts it.
She gives it a quick snap in the air, letting the strands spread, before she steps back into position.

2:50am
The fourth woman steps up.
She starts slow, landing gentler hits—until the last five.
She changes it up completely.
The final five come down hard.
duckie’s eyes fly open—I think they’re about to pop out of his head.
But he gets the numbers out.
"Twenty-five for Mistress, thank you, Mistress!"
And now—the paddle is back in Madam’s hands.

2:48am
The third woman takes the paddle.
She isn’t nearly as rough. She’s taking it easy on him.
Each hit is measured, controlled—duckie still reacts, but the strain in his voice is less.
Twenty-five strikes.
She passes it on.

2:44am
Next up is Cook.
The woman who runs the kitchen.
duckie is actually afraid of her.
She lifts the paddle, doesn’t hesitate.
The first strike is brutal.
duckie’s whole body jerks.
He screams.
But he keeps counting.
"Five! Thank you, Mistress!"
"Ten! Thank you, Mistress!"
She is putting everything into these hits. His ass is already raw, and she is not going easy.
Fifteen.
He is shaking now, voice trembling.
Twenty.
Still counting, but his breath is catching between numbers.
Twenty-five.
I think she’s stopping—but no.
She keeps going.
Another. And another.
duckie is struggling now, desperately trying to keep up with the count.
Forty-five.
Fifty.
Finally—she hands the paddle over.
His ass is going to be black and blue.

2:41am
Madam just called for the ladies who want to participate.
Four of them are already on stage.
She is handing the first woman the paddle.
This one knows exactly what she’s doing. She steps up, adjusts her stance, grips the paddle firmly.
And then she starts.
Each smack is clean, precise.
duckie doesn’t waver—he keeps the count steady, his voice still holding despite everything.
She lands twenty-five sharp strokes, then passes the paddle to the next.

2:36am
The leather strap is gone.
Madam is reaching for something new—a wooden paddle.
duckie knows what’s coming next.
She raises it high—and brings it down.
The crack is louder, sharper. The flat, unyielding wood slaps across his already tender, reddened ass.
He barely gets the first number out before the next strike lands.
"One! Thank you, Madam!"
Another.
"Two! Thank you, Madam!"
The plug is making itself known now.
duckie’s breathing changes—shorter, sharper. His voice starts to shake with every count, his body reacting to the pressure inside him.
Twenty hits in.
His fingers grip tight, his legs flex, but he keeps counting.
Thirty.
His voice is breaking, but he isn’t stopping.
Forty.
He is screaming through the numbers now.
Fifty.
"Fifty for Madam, thank you, Madam!"
And then Madam smiles—just a small, knowing expression.
She reaches down and twists the base of the plug.
duckie jerks against the restraints.
She just turned it on.
It’s a vibrator.
And now, everything is different.

2:31am
She is holding a long, thick leather strap now, looping it through her fingers, letting it flex and stretch before she snaps it through the air.
The first strike lands—a deep, resonant thwack across duckie’s upper back.
He doesn’t hesitate.
"One, thank you, Madam."
Another. And another.
She is building a rhythm, each strike landing in the same general space, layering the impact.
duckie’s muscles flex beneath every hit, but he doesn’t falter.
"Twenty-five, thank you, Madam."
The strap is heavier than a whip, broader than a cane—it’s meant to cover surface area, to bruise deep.
She keeps going, all the way to fifty.
The last stroke lands.
"Fifty for Madam, thank you, Madam."
He is breathing hard, but his voice is still strong.

2:28am
Madam is picking up something now.
It’s unmistakable.
The glint of black silicone, the shape, the size—an anal plug.
One of the assisting subs is already moving, taking a bottle of lube and slicking up duckie’s posterior, working the preparation in with smooth, practiced motions.
duckie is still bent over the sawhorse, restrained, his body already marked from everything he’s taken so far.
And now—Madam is pressing the plug against him.
She isn’t teasing, isn’t making a show of it. She’s just pushing it in.
duckie inhales sharply. His fingers twitch against the restraints, but he takes it without hesitation.
The plug is in.
Madam is already moving on.
She announces the tally—duckie has taken 319 strokes so far. 279 remain.
And she’s getting to work.

2:26am
While Jessica is tending to duckie, the other subs are moving.
They are stepping onto the stage, carrying in new items.
One by one, they place them down before Madam, carefully setting them in a neat arrangement.
I can’t see everything yet, but there are several objects—leather, wood, metal.
Madam has her pick of the next round.
duckie is still bent over the sawhorse, restrained, waiting.
Jessica is finishing her exam.
The next phase is about to begin.

2:24am
Jessica steps forward again, moving quickly to check on duckie. She is running her hands over his body, pressing into the muscles, checking for signs of strain.
She leans in close, speaking quietly to him, watching his reactions.
No shaking his head this time. He is listening, nodding slightly as she works.
She takes a cloth, dabbing at the more tender spots, inspecting his skin.

2:21am
Madam is back into rhythm, delivering the remaining strokes for Zeek’s punishment.
She is keeping the strikes steady and precise, landing them on his shoulders, back, and thighs, avoiding the areas Jessica pointed out earlier.
duckie is locked in, counting out each blow, his voice tight but unwavering.
Seventy.
Seventy-five.
The last few come slower, more deliberate—one at a time, letting him feel each one fully.
Eighty.
Eighty-one.
Eighty-two.
The final stroke lands with a crisp, biting snap.
"Eighty-three for Zeek, thank you, Madam."
And just like that, Zeek’s punishment is done.

2:19am

She is still swinging, but now her focus has shifted.

Instead of targeting his ass, the strikes are landing everywhere else.

His shoulders. His upper back. The backs of his thighs.

Every strike is deliberate.

duckie is keeping count, still locked into his task.

Zeek’s punishment isn’t over yet.

2:17am
Jessica steps in midway through the set.
She moves in close, speaking to duckie quietly. He isn’t shaking his head no this time—he is listening.
She is wiping him down now, moving carefully over his skin, checking spots. She gestures to Madam, pointing out a few specific marks on his ass.
Madam is listening, nodding.
Then she resumes.

2:12am
Eighty-three lashings for Zeek.
She is switching techniques now, changing the tempo.
The first lash lands hard. duckie’s fingers tighten where he’s bound.
Then the next.
She isn’t just whipping mindlessly—she is placing each strike, making sure every hit serves its purpose.
duckie is still calling them out. Still holding firm.

2:09am
Forty-four lashings.
Madam got right to it—short, sharp, quick strikes.
The first one snaps down. duckie calls it out immediately.
The next follows almost instantly.
She is keeping a fast pace, landing each one with clean precision. No wasted movement.
He is staying focused, keeping up with the count. Not slipping, not faltering.
Just like that, she finishes Shawn’s set.
Now onto the next.

2:07am
duckie is being positioned over a sawhorse.
He doesn’t resist—just moves with them, settling in place as they secure him down. His chest is pressing against the padded top, arms strapped down in front, legs locked apart in the back.
At least he isn’t standing anymore.
But he’s completely exposed again.
Madam is ready.
Next up—Shawn’s punishments.