When Warren sneaks into Murphytown's building, she finds herself in a light purple-colored room with baby things in it. 'Must be Lucy's room,' she thinks. "You can't be in here," says a voice behind her. Warren turns around and eyes up the lady. "You—" The lady says before pulling out a gun and shooting a few rounds in Warren's direction. She misses each time. Warren knocks the gun out of her hand before driving her machete into her stomach. "Murphy loves you," she says with a mouthful of blood. When the lady drops to the floor, Warren makes quick work of cutting open her skullcap and taking out her brain. She quickly hides the brain behind her back when she hears a noise in the hallway.
She leaves the room to find Murphy in a room with a chair, safe in it, looking out a window. "Warren, what're you doing here?" Murphy asks, turning around, surprised to see her.
"Sit down," she demands. He doesn't. "No." He shakes his head. "You're not the boss of me anymore." He says that statement is very matter-of-fact.
"Sit down," she repeats. Not wanting to fight with her, he sits down on his throne. "What on this dying earth are you thinking you can accomplish here with these mind-controlled zombie blends?" She asks, more disappointed than anything. Murphy snorts in amusement. "Why, I'm saving lives. With a little Murphy juice, all your fears will go away," he says very proudly. "I have one for all of you, too," he says with a smile. Warren doesn't smile. "No, I'd rather die than take that vaccine. I like having my own freedom, thank you." Murphy is about to make some snide remark about being "too dramatic" when he smells something addicting. He begins suddenly sniffing the air. She smiles. "I want you to stop this madness and let my doctor make a vaccine from your blood," she says with a smug look on her face.
Murphy shakes his head, getting a little more control before losing it again. He covers his mouth and nose with a hand as he leans back in his chair, "What do you have?" he asks with a clouded mind. "Oh, this?" she questions as she brings out a brain from behind her back. Murphy licks his lips and stares at it like it's the last cigarette on the planet. He begins drooling, so he gulps it all down.
She moves it around. His eyes follow it. She comes closer but places the brain in the safe. "Stay seated while I'm speaking," she says. He nods. "You'll get your treat once you've received your punishment," she says with her hands behind her back. Murphy gulps. 'He doesn't like where this is going, but...she is really hot right now. Screw that. She always is. Especially when she's in boss mode, what she'll do to me won't be that bad, right?' he thinks, hopefully. "Get up and lay yourself across my lap," she commands. He does as he's told. He waits patiently on his knees on the ground as she goes to sit down on his throne. "Up." He wants to, but his mind wanders over to the juicy brain sitting in the safe. Saliva pools inside his mouth as he thinks about taking a big bite of it. "Ah ah. Look at me," Warren says. He turns back to look at her with big, hungry eyes. "Up," she demands more forcefully this time. He obliques like he's in some trance. He awkwardly drapes himself across her lap. His hands touch the ground while his knees are bent at an uncomfortable angle.
"There you go," she coos. There's a few seconds of silence before he feels a slap to his behind. The sudden contact makes him gasp. He covers his mouth with wide eyes. She smacks him again. "You've been a bad boy, Murphy. A very bad boy," she says, smacking him again. Murphy's fingernails dig into the chair's wood lightly at the feeling. It's not bad...just different. "This isn't going to work," she says. "Get up and pull your pants down," she demands. This command makes his heart skip a beat. Murphy gets off of her lap. "I'm not a child, Warren—" She leans down, grabbing his jaw and forcefully making him look her in the eyes. "Then stop acting like one throwing a tantrum," she scolds. He gulps, looking into those serious and scary dark pools. He nods. "Do it."
She lets go of his face, pushing it away a little. He unbuckles his belt and pushes them passed his ass. His face heats up a bit. He's a grown man, for crying out loud. Why is he obeying her and submitting himself to this humiliation? "Up." She pats her lap. He nervously gulps. 'Today would've been a great day to wear underwear, huh?' he thinks, feeling even more embarrassed, but he gets up onto her lap anyway. This time, his bare ass was exposed to the air. Warren's hand comes down on his ass with a loud smack. Murphy jolts and lets out a gasp before mumbling something. This shock of the initial smack makes him...feel funny. "Did I say you could speak?" she asks. "You didn't tell me," he says. "Well, I'm telling you now," she says before smacking his ass again. Her hand comes down on his bare ass again and again and again until Murphy's panting out and gripping the wooden legs like they're like support.
With this last slap, he accidentally jerks his crotch on her leg. He needs to get some friction down there. 'That felt good,' he thinks. It's killing him. "Naughty boy." Warren's voice carries out past the ringing in his ears. "You're getting off on this?" she asks, touching his lower back and pinching the flesh. It makes Murphy flinches a bit. "Getting off on getting your bottom smacked. This is supposed to be your punishment, Murphy—" She gets cut off by Murphy. "I know! I just...can't help it, okay?" he shamefully admits, feeling heat rush to his face.
Her hand touching the skin on his lower back feels electric and something. "I'm sorry," he apologizes wobbly. Warren smirks. "That's more like it," she says with a snack at the end. Murphy lays out a moan without realizing it. "Count," she demands. "Hah..." He breathes out. "How—how many?" he asks.
"Well, let's see." She hums while pausing to think. "How many times did you run off?... How many times did we have to save your ass when you ran?... How many times did you do something stupid since New York? Hmm?" He ponders the question but can't really think about it. "A lot..." he admits, feeling guilty.
"How many do you think I should do?" she asks. This is a trick question. "Dealer's choice?" he says. She smacks his ass. "Good boy, Murphy." The praise goes right to his head. He wants to be a good boy for her. "Thirty is a good number, don't you think?" "Thirty—" Murphy says before getting his ass smacked in response.
"Try that again."
"Y—yes, ma'am."
"Count," Warren says.
She smacks his ass. He counts in his head. 'One,' he thinks.
"Out loud," she reminds. "One."
"There you go." She smacks his ass again and again and again.
"Two—three!... Four," he breathes out. He's still rutting on her leg with every smack. She smacks him five more times, all in a row. "F—five... Six. Seven. Eigh...eight. N—nine..." Murphy pants out, feeling himself already leaking.
*Smack*
"Ten," he lets out. There's a few tears in his eyes from the pain. He feels like he's been stung by some bees.
Five quick smacks come down on his ass. It jiggles each time she smacks it. Murphy moans softly. "Eleven... Twelve... Th—thirteen—four—fourteen. Fif—hah—fifteen," he moans out. "Halfway there," Warren says. He doesn't nod, nor does he do anything to acknowledge that she said anything. Two more come down. His eyes roll in his head a little. "Six...sixteen. Sev... seventeen." Without a pause, she does five more in a row. Leaving Murphy moaning like a bitch it heat. "Eigh—een. Nine-teen... Twen...twenty. Twen—ty—one... Twenty-two... Twenty-three—ah!" She smacks down, not bothering to wait for him to recover. "Twenty-four." Murphy has tears leaking from his eyes with how raw his ass feels. The trail goes down to his jaw, leaving his face feeling hot and wet. Two more in a row. " Twent...twenty-five... Twen—twenty-six." Murphy's legs are shaking from the awkward position he has been in for the entirety of this activity—punishment. He's getting close. He can feel it. He's really leaking down there. With the slight friction, he can get, of course.
*Smack*
"Twenty-seven," he sighs out.
*Smack*
"Twenty-eight!"
*Smack* This one is harder than the others before it.
"Twenty-nine," he moans—practically sobs out.
*Smack.*
This one is the hardest. Murphy moans out the number "Thirty." He didn't cum much, to his disappointment. He lies there, absolutely exhausted and without a big finish. "Sit up," Warren says. He slinks to the floor but can't stand up. He wipes away his tears, and she removes her shoe and sock. 'What's—' he thinks. With a confused, glassy look, he glances up at her. She, with her toes, takes his dick from his pants and begins stroking it between the big toe and the second one to that. Murphy moans out. He leans into her leg and ruts it with his head resting on her knee. She hasn't said a single word since starting this stroking. Murphy bucks his hips faster now that his dick is free. When he finally cums, it's with a shuddering gasp as his body shakes uncontrollably.
"Good boy," Warren says with her head resting on her hand on the chair's arm. "I think someone deserves their reward after taking their punishment so well." Murphy nods up at her with the cutest look.