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A green-haired girl in a short blue skirt stands defiant at the gate, clutching her sword like it’s her last lifeline. The commander doesn’t care about her attitude or her weapon — she’s breaking protocol and she’s about to pay for it. First comes the inspection, then the paperwork rejection, then the real punishment. She’s dragged into the courtyard, skirt hiked up, bare ass exposed to the crisp air. The first slap echoes off the stone walls — sharp, loud, and brutal. She squirms, cries out, tries to twist away, but the commander holds her down tight. Each smack leaves a red mark, deeper than the last. By the fifth, she’s whimpering, legs shaking, begging for mercy she won’t get. The commander doesn’t stop until her ass is glowing, swollen, and dripping with sweat. No gentle buildup — just raw, punishing discipline from start to finish. This isn’t playtime. It’s domination. And she’s completely at the mercy of someone who knows exactly how to make her scream.