I wish to preface this story with a very small amount of context. This is an excerpt from an RP but unfortunately the posts that lead up to this were lost in the great hard drive crash of 2015. 
The fox whose perspective this is written from, is Sombra. Sombra is basically a house slave for a Dominant panda known as Maxwell Sinclair. Maxwell is a cold, calculating sadist, who I will further expand upon in some other stories, but this short story is an example of Maxwell deciding to let loose for a bit of fun. The fox did nothing to earn this, he was merely bored, and decided she should entertain him in this fashion.  She also had nipple clamps and a clit clamp on for several hours before these events took place. 
She had been straightening things up around his room; she made his bed, cleaned all of his windows, organized his cologne alphabetically, and made several tiny touches, knowing her astute Masters’ appreciation for perfection. She knew he had been watching her work for some time now. She thought she might entice a small reward from him... his touch, no matter how brief... was the craving that motivated her to cross in front of him with a bit of extra sway to her hip, a graceful slow sultry sort of walk, her eyes trained toward her next cleaning task that she would move to if he were to simply let her pass unmolested. But the sudden grip on her tail makes her entire body freeze. Immediately her mind assumes that he'd taken offense to her play, taking it as a ploy for manipulation. She yelps at the first yank, not because it hurt, but rather due to fear of retribution. She stumbles back as he rises from his chair and begins powerfully walking toward the patio. His grip is unbreakable, already making the middle of her tail throb, with twinges of needle-pain every time her inability to keep up causes a few more hairs of fur to pluck out. Her eyes widen as she is forced to awkwardly stumble backward, both paws holding the base of her tail to try to alleviate soreness from his hard pulling. 
"I- EEK! I was just cleaning, Master! Honest! AAH! Ah! Ow, ow, oow! She inhales through gritted teeth. “Maaasteerrrrr!" On the patio, she finds herself gasping in fear as he pushes her toward the wooden hurdle-like structure. She had assumed it to be a piece of modern art, the wood was expertly polished, the roundness and grooves to it made with beautiful rescission. She finds there is a very slight divot to the wood that seems to fit her back perfectly when she is thrown against it. She catches herself on it but drops her weight to keep from knocking it over, sacrificing the stability of her legs. This makes it all the easier for her Master to kick them open, filling her with more fear as she tries to still herself, already knowledgeable that there is no escape. Max can see her knees quivering when he moves to tie her ankles down. He also notices her bottommost nipples are erect, with the others soon to follow, just above her flat stomach which quickly flutters faster and faster with his breathing the closer he gets in his approach, until he's just about to touch her where it stops entirely, the vixen holding her breath and closing her eyes, bracing for pain until she realizes she is merely being tied down for now. 

She resumes breathing when Max grabs her other ankle and forces it a little wider. The feeling of air rushing along her moist little mound makes her suddenly feel hot and humiliated, a blush filling her face beneath the white fur. When her Master rises, she averts her gaze, ashamed of the arousal he is most certainly already aware of. She forgets that is the least of her worries, but is quickly reminded as his hands roughly bend her back over the wooden beam. The perfectly fitted grooves suddenly make horrifying sense as her Master begins locking her wrists in place as well; creating a constant strain in her abdomen that will only become worse with time. The vixen is already letting loose with pleading whimpers... she sounds like an injured puppy, afraid to pull too much on the bindings due to the strain it puts on her back and abdominals. With the spread position she feels as vulnerable as ever and she cannot help but imagine all of the things he could do to her as she is bound like this. She is already feeling phantom lashes from whipping's past, as well as tingling warmth within her, an involuntary excitement making her peach of a pussy plump up just that extra bit to make her seem ripe for reaping. The beauty of the garden juxtaposes with the terror in her heart, a raw sort of fear that only he seems to be able to activate, the fear of the prey trapped by a superior predator. She can hear him moving, but not well enough to tell what he is doing, not until she hears the tell-tale creaking of unfurling leather. This makes her eyes go wide. “Master...? Master please... please have some mercy... please...? I'll do anything that you deHAAAAAAAUGH!!!” She squeals at the first crack of the whip, her entire body making a restrained spasm as the clamp goes flying in and out of her field of vision, still ringing from the impact, with a sting overtaking her nipple that only seems to get worse with time while blood pumps back into it. "Maaasteerrrrr... EEEEE!" she squeals again, this time at the first lash that makes her breast leap and settle again with a pain that rivals that within her swelling nipple. With each impact after, her squeals turn into shrieks, her ears folded all the way down, her fingers balling and unclenching but remaining rigid while pain is sent reverberating through her breast again and again for ten lashes. She doesn't understand why he seems to have such a vendetta against her top right breast, the entire fleshy orb now ringing with pain, making her feel like her entire breast is caught in some sort of throbbing vice, but when the clamp on her left topmost tit is suddenly sent pinging off, taking off a little bit of skin with it, she realizes the harrowing truth, making her pitiful cries all the more heartfelt.
 This will be his method of nipple clamp removal, with each individual breast getting a full whippings worth of lashes to itself, even while the blood rushing back into them combined with the impacts makes her little teats double up in size, becoming swollen caricatures of a previous form that reflected her latest teenager model. She shakes her head back and forth, wanting no more, wishing she could give up somehow, or take a break. 
“Master!!! PLEASE! A break! A break! Just give me two- KYAAAAAHH!!!” The next nipple clamp is snapped off with the next body shuddering crack of his whip. She knows her fate is sealed, that there will be no mercy afforded to her... but tied up as vulnerable as she is, it is all she can do. Her back aches as she endures the next several lashes, yelping, squealing, and finishing shrieks with sobs as the pain mounts on her chest. The pulling on her straps becomes involuntary by the time he gets started on her bottommost nipple clamps. Though the breasts there are practically non-existent, the flesh beneath is still just as sensitive and even lends a bit of extra surface area for the whip to stroke across her with its natural motion, leaving streaks in her fur that she can only imagine as terrible bleeding from the pain. Bleeding is only confirmed however when she can feel a distinct warmth and wetness surrounding the throbbing streaks of the lashes. Eventually however the pain gets to be too great for her to be able to tell when he has parted her flesh with his whip or not. Every lash feels like it is tearing her open, even if the shuddering titflesh holds, with her now putting her entire body weight on her back, desperately pulling on all four straps holding her down. She knows it is futile, but the panic of her natural feral side demands she escape this brutal torture, something she cannot get control of until the tenth lash has landed on her final blood stained breast. She is shivering somewhat violently.
Her breathing unsteady and simply trying to keep up with how much she wants to cry and whine; she briefly, foolishly, dares to think her torture might be over. Then she remembers one single clamp that has been glaring at her Master this whole time. Her eyes open again, the beautiful colours of the garden now melding into somewhat of an impressionist view as she cannot focus through the pain or see properly through her own tears. But her eyes widen all the same with the realization that the clit clamp is next. She starts shaking her head again... she wants to beg, but words have escaped her at this point. All she can let out is one long heart wrenching howl of a creature trapped in throes of suffering. Then he strikes. Her clit sings with raw pain. She genuinely wonders if it had severed and stayed with the clamp. She cannot tell, but doesn’t have much time to think about it as the next four lashes crack along both sides of her labia, making her plump peach look even riper and fuller, reddening with the first tinges of blood. Her knees and thighs jerk violently as she reflexively tries closing her legs again and again, straining against the restraints, now full on screaming into the garden while the whip cracks over and over. Her cunny is swelling so much so fast, it feels huge, hot, and bloody, almost foreign to her now, as if her cunny had been replaced entirely with a much more sensitive and painful organ. But with his lashes at the centre going deeper and deeper, cutting the sensitive flesh, her pussy opens and widens as if submitting in itself to his will, forced open by the sheer force of his whipping until that final crack... that final heartfelt lash of the whip that finds a bullseye she didn't think possible and makes her see stars with the intensity of her pain. She screams a long and banshee-like scream that echoes through the garden and disturbs birds in trees and bushes. Her entire body writhes in her restraints, unable to still as pain courses through her. She doesn't feel in control of her functions anymore. 
Blood drips steadily... she cannot tell where she has been wounded. Within her mind she pictures herself with all of the skin of her breasts flayed off, and her entire sex swollen, beaten, and bloody beyond recognition. She can't tell how it actually looks, but it’s certainly how it feels. Her breathing is ragged, eyes glossy and dazed when he comes up to feed her a coagulation pill. She barely even notices. She feels broken, inside and out, her conscious mind forced to withdraw at least partially as her suffering went beyond unbearable. After he puts the pill down her throat, a sign that she is still alive and that she gets at least a reprieve from her brutal torture, her entire body goes limp, draped over the post. She suddenly has no energy as her adrenaline starts to wear off, and the stemming blood loss has robbed her of more than that. All she can manage are weak whimpers, barely audible over her quick and unsteady breaths.