Whenever my intern misses his target he will loose his trousers and i will hold my metal rules between his legs and give 10 sharp strikes to his scrotum and that magically teaches him the lesson. Indian men are so easy to break and they deserve good punishment.
"You missed the target, Rohan," she said, her voice a low, dangerous hum. "And in my office, every missed target carries a very specific tax."
She sank back, She didn't reach for a crop; instead, she picked up a heavy, cold stainless steel ruler from her desk.
"Trousers down," she commanded. "You won't be needing the dignity of a suit while I'm correcting your incompetence".
Rohan obeyed instantly, his eyes fixed on the floor. Natasha positioned herself behind him, the metal of the ruler glinting under the fluorescent lights. She reached between his legs, measuring her aim with clinical precision.
"Indian men are so easy to break," she whispered in his ear, a melodic and dangerous laugh escaping her lips. "You deserve to feel the full weight of your failure. Ten strikes. Count them."
CRACK.
The first strike of the metal ruler against his scrotum sent a shock through his frame, his body arching in a spasm of agony.
"One... Mistress!" he gasped.
By the tenth strike, he was sobbing, his pride completely dismantled. Natasha tossed the ruler back onto her desk with a sharp clack.
"There," she purred, smoothing her dress. "It's amazing how a little cold steel magically teaches the lesson that a merger brief couldn't. Now, get dressed. You have targets to hit, and my patience is a limited resource".
