This almost-poetic pussy whipping is from Beloved Bonds by F.E. Campbell:
Nikola had become stoic. She lay on her back and brought her legs up and back. The warrant officer looped her ankles and pulled to each side until she rested on her shoulders, her bottom reared and her thighs spread to expose the well-thatched labia presumed to be the source of her delinquency. In this obscene posture she was privileged to have a close-up view of her own punishment.
The warrant officer tossed a coin. “Tails!” He nodded at Nikola. “That’s you.” He produced a short whip of many delicate thongs. “This will warm you up nicely, love.”
To watch was awful. It was also fascinating. The young loins took the striations of the whip with shuddering jerks at implacable bonds, the pale dusky skin scoring and welting across the puffed vulva, the ﬂat belly, the creases of the groins, and the tender junction of thighs. Trudy watched, wincingly, in the knowledge her own skin would soon be similarly responding. She was wedded to the post by cords. She could not move away. Her nakedness waited in enforced patience.
“That’s right, m’dear, scream all you want,” Ringbolt magnanimously conceded. “I could gag you if you want. But, actually, we’d prefer you to make a noise so the other little ﬁllies can hear. We want ’em to understand it doesn’t pay to be silly.” He took a deep breath. “Now, let’s see if I can’t get in the crease a bit harder.”
Nikola screamed lustily, her Venus mound aﬂame. Trudy cringed with every blow, longing for it to end. She could picture the girls outside, exchanging nervous glances, shrugging difﬁdently, wondering… Nikola’s vocals would be a stern deterrent to any maiden nonsense in any maiden mind.
“I think we’ll call that enough.” Ringbolt made it sound as though he had bestowed great riches. “Twenty’s a good number. A girl remembers twenty, and you’re a nice colour down there. Never seen a cunt swell any better or take the marks.”