Chapter 33: The Spanking

Gima was like a leaf in the wind. With a gentle, almost casual push from George, she fell face-first onto the soft, yielding feather bed.

Since it had come to this, Gima gave up her useless, and frankly, quite undignified struggles. She propped herself up on her elbows, held her head high, and stared straight ahead at the wall, facing her impending spanking with the stoic dignity of a true Demon Lord about to be executed. This was the best, and only, form of resistance left to her. This was her final stand for her Demon Lord pride.

“Go on, do it,” she said faintly, her voice a perfect imitation of noble resignation. “I lost the bet, and I’ll accept the punishment.”

“It’s good that you can admit your mistakes and are willing to change,” George said, sounding pleased.

“As long as you’re happy,” she muttered sarcastically.

A series of unsettling sounds came from behind her, each one making her flinch. First, the sharp clank of iron gauntlets being placed on the desk. Then, her skirt was lifted, the hem falling beside her face like a curtain on a tragic play. The next moment, she felt a sudden coolness on her butt, followed by the soft, intimate rustle of silk stockings against fabric as her panties were pulled down.

Gima could even feel George’s focused, oppressive gaze fixed on her exposed body. A wave of goosebumps rose on her skin.

Although she had mentally prepared herself for this, waves of pure, unadulterated humiliation continuously assaulted her mental defenses. Gima’s hands couldn’t help but grip the fiery red bedsheets, wrinkling them into tight knots.

“It’s starting now. Get ready. I’ll count to three,” George said, his voice calm and steady.

Bring it on, you bastard! I am a magnificent Demon Lord! I have slaughtered my way through the demon realm for fifty long years! You think I’m afraid of a little spanking? Can it possibly hurt more than being cut by a sword, pierced by a spear, or burned by holy fire?

Gima continued to hold her head high, preparing to look down on the impending corporal punishment with the utmost contempt.

“Three!”

Her tail was gently pinched between two fingers and moved to the side, out of the way.

“Two!”

Gima prepared to let out a contemptuous snort to show her absolute disdain for this childish display.

“One!”

SMACK!

As soon as his voice fell, a crisp, loud sound echoed through the room. Her little bottom first felt a shocking coldness, then a fiery, stinging heat.

It’s… manageable. Barely.

Before Gima could have any other thoughts, the second, third, and fourth slaps landed in quick, brutal succession.

It hurts much more than I thought! It hurts! It hurts!

She wanted to escape.

No! I am a Demon Lord! I will not run!

Gima forcefully suppressed the shameful thought of running away. But her proudly held head drooped. She gritted her teeth, her hands almost tearing the bedsheets to shreds. Tears began to well up in her eyes, blurring everything into a watery mess.

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

George’s hands were large and calloused. With each slap, Gima felt as if her poor, innocent butt was about to be torn to shreds.

At first, she had the presence of mind to count the slaps. But soon, her little head was almost completely filled with the fiery, stinging sensation. The remaining empty space in her brain was filled with the profound, soul-crushing shame of being punished by her sworn enemy. She forgot how many slaps were left. It felt endless, unbearable, an eternity of pain and humiliation.

“It hurts!”

She pushed herself up with her hands, rolled over, and tried to escape. But the next moment, she was pressed firmly back down onto the bed. Gima’s legs thrashed wildly, but they were quickly and effortlessly pinned down by George’s leg. She felt as if she were tied to the bed with iron bars, unable to move, only able to endure the beating.

For a moment, she was so desperate that tears were about to fall.

I am a Demon Lord! I cannot make a fool of myself! I will not cry!

She held back her tears with all her might.

SMACK!

The long-awaited sound of a slap rang out once more, this time seeming to hurt even more than the last.

The pain was so intense that Gima finally couldn’t hold back. Tears streamed down her face, her small mouth opened, and she actually started to cry.

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

“Wuwuwu…”

The sound of sharp slaps and low, pitiful sobs intertwined.

Finally, the slapping stopped, and the restraint on her body was released.

Gima’s eyes were red and swollen. It felt as if ten thousand years had passed. Her butt was on fire. She wiped her face and found it was covered in tears. Her face was hot enough to warm her hands, and the bedsheet beneath her was wet with her tears. Gima instantly felt that her Demon Lord dignity had been shattered into fine, miserable sand.

If it had ever existed in the first place.

Gima gritted her teeth. In a fit of pure, unadulterated anger, she pushed herself up from the bed and glared fiercely at her greatest enemy. But as soon as she was on her feet, the movement agitated her reddened, throbbing butt, and a more intense, fiery pain shot to her head. The pain made her tear ducts act up again, and more tears welled up. She couldn't help but let out another pathetic sob, completely devoid of any fierceness.

George patted her head and said softly, “This is for your own good, so you don’t stray from the path of redemption. Don’t do it again. Now, let me heal you.”

There won’t be a next time! Next time, I’ll twist your head off! I’ll make you regret ever treating me like a little kid!

Gima wiped the tears from the corner of her eyes, her gaze turning fierce. She was just about to give George a silent, murderous warning glare when her butt suddenly warmed. A pleasant, warm current flowed from George’s hand into her fiery bottom. Wherever the warm current went, it drove away all the stinging pain. And the pleasure that had been masked by the pain was now, all at once, revealed. Gima felt a wave of pure, unadulterated comfort wash over her.

A comfortable, tingly sensation rushed to her head, softening Gima’s fierce gaze. She felt a strange, powerful impulse burning in her chest, and her whole body felt warm and fuzzy.

So good… so comfortable… what is this impulse? What is happening to me?

In that instant, Gima wanted to dig a hole and crawl into it.

She had forgotten. Pain produces endorphins, which bring a strange sense of pleasure. And for a succubus, this effect was amplified a hundredfold.

George withdrew his hand. “Alright. All better now.”

Gima bit her lip, her face burning, and quickly pulled up the panties that were still tangled around her ankles, getting herself dressed.

“I won’t do it again next time.”

She tried her best to use a calm, flat tone, but she couldn’t help but choke up a little at the end.

“I don’t want to have to spank you again either.”

There won’t be a next time!

Gima was burning with a righteous, vengeful anger. She was absolutely determined that when she became strong again, she would spank George once, just to reclaim her shattered Demon Lord dignity.

“You went to the Fellen Brothers Bank this morning,” George said, cutting straight to the chase. “What kind of trouble did you run into?”

Gima sat on the soft bed, the warm, pleasant feeling on her butt not yet completely gone.

Hmmm... It really is quite comfortable. She tried her best to suppress this terrible, horrifying thought, silently chanting in her heart, I must dismember the damn virgin, and then personally chew every single piece of his flesh.

After chanting it ten times, Gima finally managed to suppress the terrible thought. She took the towel George handed her, wiped the tears from her face, and said truthfully:

“I suspect the Great Good Master has long been in collusion with the Fellen Brothers Bank. He is obsessed with the Demon Lord’s treasure vault and will definitely not let go of his account. He’s just waiting for someone to come and open the vault for him.”

Although Gima would have loved for George to walk into the minefield and be blown to smithereens, since he had already discovered that she had gone to the bank first, it was better to warn him, lest he find out she had ill intentions.

“So you were caught?”

“Almost. I saw that things were not looking good and ran away.”

George asked Gima for the details of how she had escaped. Gima told him everything, only hiding the fact that she had used her supernatural abilities to do it.

“You were lucky this time. Don’t do such a dangerous thing again in the future, you understand? Salem City is very dangerous for you.”

“Mmhmm.” Next time, I’ll definitely trick you into walking into the minefield first.

After asking a few more questions, George said, “You’re probably right. The Great Good Master is greedy by nature. He will definitely keep a close eye on the Demon Lord Kima’s treasure vault.”

Afraid that George would give up, Gima quickly revealed her brilliant plan:

“Here’s what we do. We first hire a boat at the wharf, then hire a group of people to help us withdraw the money from the bank. After we get the money, we’ll take it to the wharf, but we’ll switch the packages midway to mislead the Great Good Master. You can protect them in secret, without showing your face. That way, our identities won’t be exposed.”

“It’s very troublesome and requires a lot of preparation.”

“We can persuade others to help.”

Gima said quickly. She planned to use her supernatural abilities in coordination with George. There was no shortage of greed in Salem City.

“I don’t want to use other people as my scapegoats.”

Why are you so stupid!

“Then should I just die? Is that what you want?” Gima said angrily.

As soon as her words fell, George knocked Gima on the forehead. “Please be good. Actually, there’s a much simpler, and much kinder, way.”

“And what would that be?”

“I’ll go withdraw the money myself. Right now.”

“Huh?” Gima looked at George strangely. “But I’ve already alerted the enemy. If you go now, the Great Good Master might have already prepared a thousand soldiers in ambush, crowding the canals, just waiting for you to fall right into their trap. Even if you manage to fight your way out, you’ll be discovered.”

“You dumb dumb,” George said simply. “How long has it been since you went to the bank?”

“Almost two hours.”

“That’s enough. He won’t have time to react, let alone set up any complicated traps,” George said with a confident air. “He probably just found out that someone went to the Fellen Brothers Bank to withdraw money and is still trying to guess whether his old friend has been resurrected, and what the background of the person withdrawing the money is.”

“After all this time since the Demon Lord’s death, it’s impossible for him to be constantly monitoring the Fellen Brothers Bank 24/7.”

Gima immediately understood what George meant.

She had been too suspicious. She had overestimated the Great Good Master’s reaction speed. This wasn’t the 21st century, with advanced political systems, high efficiency, and rapid departmental responses.

“But you’ll be exposed,” Gima pointed out another problem. “You still have to attend that banquet. Aren’t you afraid of being recognized?”

“Makeup,” George said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

He took a bulging brown cloth bag from his backpack. This ordinary-looking bag was actually an extra-dimensional space bag made by the mages of the Holy Sanctuary. He walked to the desk, untied the rope at the mouth of the bag, and took out items one by one, placing them neatly on the desk.

Gima went over to look curiously and saw bottles and jars, and a neat, professional assortment of various types of beards in a wooden box.

Gima was shocked. “You… you know how to do makeup?”

“Is that strange?”

“Aren’t you a Paladin?” Shouldn’t you just go and withdraw the money openly and honestly, with the power of justice on your side?

“Is there a rule that says Paladins can’t wear makeup?” As George spoke, he took the bottles and jars, poured out some sticky liquid, mixed it into a dark color, and expertly smeared it on the back of his hand, creating a natural-looking, sun-kissed dark skin tone.

So professional, Gima thought with a strange sense of admiration.

“Take some money and hire a carriage,” George said, taking out two gold coins. “Just any old carriage. We don’t need a coachman.”

“Oh.”

Gima nodded and took the gold coins.

Thirty minutes later, in a remote alley in the White Sand District, Gima sat in the driver’s seat of a plain carriage. She didn’t know how to drive. The one pulling the carriage was George’s celestial mount. The carriage was parked in a relatively secluded, out-of-the-way alley.

“Alright, I’m done,” George’s voice came from inside the carriage.

Gima looked back and saw a dark-skinned, thick-browed, big-eyed man jump out of the carriage. He was wearing commoner's clothes, with a longsword at his waist, and a prominent, and very convincing, beer belly. After looking at him for a few seconds, Gima finally found some faint resemblance to George in his facial features.

“George?”

“Mm,” George said, his voice now a low baritone. “Wait for me here. I’ll be right back.”

Looking at George’s retreating back, Gima suddenly felt that she, who was not good at makeup, should have passed the title of Demon Lord to George long ago.

After George’s back disappeared around the corner, time passed with excruciating, boring slowness.

Gima and the celestial warhorse had a staring contest. She looked at the intelligent warhorse’s strong hind legs and had to suppress the powerful urge to pull out its hair for revenge. A demon and a horse stared at each other for a long, long time before Gima finally spoke:

“You’re a snitch. A dirty, rotten snitch.”

“Moo.”

The warhorse made a sound like an old, unimpressed cow.

As soon as its voice fell, a rough male voice came from the corner ahead:

“Are you following us?” 

“I’m not.”

“Liar.”

“Ouch, you’re hitting me—Help!”

The sound of a body falling heavily to the ground was heard, along with the terrified, high-pitched braying of a donkey.

George?

“Miss Donkey, could you please help me carry something?”

Gima quickly jumped down from the carriage. She suddenly remembered, with a jolt of horror, that she had forgotten to tell him that the one following her was a long-eared, and probably very dangerous, donkey.