Linhardt sat on his bed with his back against the wall, knees drawn up to his chest. He wished he could take a nap while he waited, but his heart was beating too quickly to allow his body to relax, which was a very strange phenomenon for him.
"Anticipation is nearly always worse than the event itself," he muttered to himself, but did not find much comfort in the phrase. He was confident that the event itself would be terribly unpleasant.
A knock on the door brought his head up, and he called "Come in," in a soft, melancholy voice.
Byleth entered, and Linhardt shrunk further into himself when he saw the crop in his hands. It was what he had expected, but it still sent a shiver down his spine.
Sighing, Byleth sat on the edge of the bed and regarded Linhardt, his features softening at the boy's sorrowful expression.
"I don't believe there is much more to discuss," he began gently, "Is there anything you would like to say, or to ask me?"
Linhardt shook his head, "I-I know what we did was wrong... and... and I'm sorry."
"Good," Byleth praised, "That is an excellent start, Linhardt."
Byleth stood and beckoned for Linhardt to follow suit, which he did, slowly. Byleth took Linhardt's pillow and set it on the edge of the bed, then indicated it with his hand as he spoke.
"Please drop your trousers and bend over the bed," the softness was gone from his voice, and his glare was stern, "You will take thirty strokes."
"W-what?" Linhardt's eyes popped open and his jaw dropped, "But… th-thirty?"
"I take your life very seriously," Byleth stated, gazing steadily back at his shocked student, "I will not have you throwing it away so foolishly. Now, bend."
Linhardt stood frozen for a moment before hanging his head with a murmured "Yes sir..."
He bared himself and bent over, burying his head in his folded arms. Byleth guided him to reposition with his hips up further on the pillow, lifting his knees farther from the floor and making his ass stick straight up. He accepted the position with a shudder, but no complaint.
With his student in position, Byleth saw no reason to delay the punishment any further. He picked the crop up from where he had set it on the bed and whipped it smartly across the top of Linhardt's bottom, eliciting a little gasp from the boy. Continuing at a steady pace, he gave each stroke a chance to settle in before bringing the next one down.
Linhardt winced as each stroke snapped against his exposed backside, leaving behind a line of fire that burned into his skin. He would never understand how such a simple tool could hurt so much.
Tucking his head further into his arms, he whined softly, then yelped at a particularly vibrant stripe across the middle of his ass.
There was no tension in Linhardt's body, and he did not fight or kick at all as he accepted the whipping. He did begin to squirm slightly as the stinging in his ass continued to build, and his legs bent and straightened along with the little gasps and whimpers that tumbled from his mouth. Tears that had been gathering in his eyes began to fall, and he cried unfettered as the crop continued to fall with a terrible snap.
After what felt like ages, Byleth paused for a moment and considered the sobbing form of his student. He still had not shown any resistance, but his squirming had increased in urgency along with the increasingly painful state of his backside.
"Linhardt, you have five more."
The boy only sobbed in response.
"I think you will be more careful to obey me in the future, and not deal so recklessly with your life, hmm?"
"Y-yes-y-es s-sir!" Linhardt groaned, "Will n-never... n-ev-er dis-disobey again..."
"Good boy," Byleth accepted the promise as an expression of remorse, though he doubted its accuracy.
Adjusting his position to rest one leg on the bed, Byleth half-sat beside his student and pressed his hand into the boy's back. These last five were going to be rough; he had covered Linhardt's entire backside with the first twenty-five strokes, and there was nowhere on his ass that had not already been whipped.
Byleth set his jaw and swung the crop down, snapping it across the middle of the boy's bottom.
"Ahaah!" Linhardt wailed, clutching the bedding with both hands and arching his back. As the next stroke landed across the tops of his thighs, his body twisted under Byleth's restraining hold. The crop felt like pure fire as it cracked down for the third time across already-welted skin. Linhardt cried into the mattress, jerking and writhing with the final two strokes.
Byleth let the crop fall to the floor and sat himself fully on the bed next to his crying student. Sobs shook Linhardt's body in irregular spasms, and Byleth ran his hand gently up and down the boy's back.
"It's done, Linhardt; shhh, you were very good," Byleth crooned "Hush now, it's over. I am proud of you."
Linhardt lifted teary eyes to his professor, and managed a small smile. Then, his eyelids quickly drooped, and he was asleep in a matter of seconds.
Shaking his head, Byleth adjusted the boy so he was lying fully on the bed. He left him unclothed, since he was in his own room and anything touching his well-punished skin right now would be terrifically uncomfortable.
The door closed softly behind him, and he sighed, leaning up against it.
That was one down, and three more to go. What an evening he had before him.