Wicked Wednesday: Her daughter’s punishment 2

Claire had just agreed that her daughter, Tara, would be caned in front of the school, probably naked. Her consent wasn’t actually necessary, since it was a school matter, but it was good to have it. 

I said, “I’m glad I’ve got your support. This hasn’t happened in this school before. Well, I’m sure it has, but not while I’ve been here. But it has at other schools I’ve taught in. And parental support does help to get the best outcome for the student concerned. You won’t be allowed in the assembly…”

“Thank god. I’d have to watch her take her caning if I was allowed in, but I’m glad I don’t have to.”

“You can wait in my office while Tara is punished. Afterwards she’ll put the robe back on and we’ll take her straight to you. Her clothes will be here too, so you can help her dress. She’ll have the rest of the day off.”

“Thank you.”

“I think it’ll be a time when she really needs her mother’s support and love.”

She smiled a little sadly. “I love the poor girl. But she hasn’t thought she needs anything from me for some time.”

“She will need you then, and she’ll know it. If you think you need another day with Tara, to re-establish the connection between you, take it. But I expect her back after two days. She should return to ordinary, everyday life as quickly as possible.”

Claire un-crossed her legs and crossed them the other way. “Thank you, sir.”

Then she noticed she’d called me ‘sir’, and looked briefly flustered. “I shouldn’t say this, considering my daughter is about to undergo an ordeal, at least from her point of view. But this is all a great weight off my mind.”

I said, “I’m sorry, Mrs O’Donnell, but I do need to know a little more about what happened and why. When did Tara start acting out?”

“It was after my husband left. That was two years ago. Tara was upset at the time, and then she started to accept it. Or I thought that she had. But now she thinks it’s my fault  that she doesn’t have a father.”

“Doesn’t he visit? Or have her to visit him?”

“He’s gone. He just disappeared one day, as far as I know. I had no warning, and no new address. And he stopped sending money. I don’t know what I did to make him leave me. I don’t know how I fucked it all up.” Now she was crying again. As she shook, the crying became wilder. She was sobbing, distraught. “Fucked it up for me. And … for Tara.”

Wicked Wednesday: Her daughter’s punishment

“Thank you. It’s such a relief. Can I ask what Tara is likely to, well, get?”

“Shoplifting affects everyone in this school. It brings down our reputation, and means that our pupils are less trusted, whenever they go shopping. So Tara will be caned in front of the whole school.”

“I know that corporal punishment is back, here. And I’m glad. I believe it’ll help her settle down again. She’s been acting out, I think they call it, lately. Going wrong. Caned in front of the school? Is there a procedure for that? What happens, exactly?”

“There’ll be a wooden bench at the front of the assembly, with straps for her wrists and ankles. Tara will be at the back of the assembly stage, behind the teachers, while I explain that that a girl has been caught shoplifting, and because that affects everyone, everyone will watch it be dealt with.”

“Oh.My poor silly girl, she’ll hate that. But I can see that she”s let everyone down.” 

“I’m afraid she has. Her example will have some good effects. It’ll scare the daylights out of some of them, mostly girls, and I think there won’t be any more shoplifting for quite a while afterwards. Tara will be called forward. She’ll be wearing a robe, and when she gets to the bench, she’ll take it off.”

“A robe. You mean only a robe? Nothing underneath?”

“Most likely. If Tara owns up quickly, and she’s fullly contrite early, she might get to keep a bra on, possibly even a shirt. But if she lies to me, then, yes, she will be quite naked.”

“Oh. She’s very modest. The boys will see her body. She’ll never forget that.”

“I should tell you that this is the school’s decision, not yours. I don’t need your consent. But do you object to that?”

Claire puffed her cheeks and blew. “Mr Beecham, the truth is that it’s a relief. I’ve been worried sick. I–” She shook her head, distressed. “I don’t know why that girl has done this. But if you can give her a very harsh lesson, that won’t be something on her record, that follows her round for the rest of her life, I’d–”

She put her hand, suddenly, to her face. Her shoulders shook. Tears are not a rare occurrence in this office, and I took out the box of tissues and passed it over.

She smiled, while still crying. “Of course you should do what you think best. And it’ll do Tara the world of good. I’d be so grateful to you. I am now.”

She wiped her eyes then, and blew her nose.

Wicked Wednesday: The Shop-Lifter’s Mother

The following afternoon Mrs O’Donnell, mother of my student Tara O’Donnell, was expected at one-thirty. She believed her daughter had been shoplifting, and she hade agreed to bring me the bag of clothes she’d found under her daughter’s bed.

Mrs O’Donnell turned out to be an older version of her daughter, with the same slightly wide mouth, and California straight blonde hair parted in the middle. She couldn’t have been older than sixteen when she’d had Tara, because she couldn’t be older than her thirty-four now.

Actually, she looked much younger than that. She’d dressed for this meeting in a pale blouse and maroon skirt that must once have been expensive, but both garments were several years old. On the phone she’d mentioned that she did shift work. I guessed that she spent most of her income on her daughter’s education.   

She’d arrived, flustered and apologetic, about fifteen minutes late. It occurred to be that she was the only woman I was likely to see that week who wouldn’t get a spanking for being that late. So I’d smiled pleasantly, partly because of that ridiculous thought, and welcomed her in, accepting from her the bag of clothes that would be the evidence against her daughter.

“Sit down please, Mrs O’Donnell. The armchair.”

“Thank you. And it’s Claire.” She sat and crossed her legs. She had nice legs.

“Claire. Excuse me a moment.” I looked at the collection of clothes. They all still had their labels, and the little sticky-paper price tag. It suggested shop-lifting, but it wasn’t conclusive evidence. Tara could have bought them an simply decided they weren’t right, and be intending to take them back. I’d have to get her to admit to the shop-lifting before I could take action. I buzzed Maddie, and she arrived in a few seconds.

The two women looked at each other. I said, “Claire O’Donnell, Maddie Wizniewski. Maddie, can you take these clothes and lay them and flat, one by one, and take a photograph. Also taking a photo of the label and price on each garment. And then bring them back.”

“Yes, Mr Beecham.” Maddie didn’t really have trouble stopping herself from calling me Master in front of people. It was a problem she had only when she wanted to. She picked up the clothes and left.

I said, “Claire. This is a troubling situation, as you know. But there are two things you should know right now. First, the school will handle this from now on. Both the investigation, and the disciplinary side if it turns out that these were stolen. I’m afraid I agree with you that they were. Tara probably doesn’t have the money for those clothes. And if a boyfriend had bought them for her she’d have taken the tags off and worn them for him. So I’ll expect that we will find they were stolen, and not more than a few days ago.”

Claire looked at me, biting her lip, her eyes nervous. She remembered what it was like to be in trouble in a headmaster’s office. In fact she was still afraid of this headmaster. Of me. I wondered why.  

I continued, “Second, that the police and courts will not be involved. Tara will get a very painful lesson, but she won’t get a criminal record. And not a fine, that would only have to be paid by you.”

Claire nodded. “What would you do?”

 

 

 

 

Masturbation Monday: Tale of the Tawse Part 2: 1

The plane slid wildly across the air like spit on a frypan, buffeted by winds that never let up although they seemed to change direction every few seconds. Other passengers had noticed that we were flying level just above the water, and the wings were only metres – not many of them – from jagged rocks emerging from the seashore. Some of those passengers were crying, and the most irritating were praying loudly.

They were irritating because they were scaring the little girl sitting next to me. Her name was Melinda, and she’d been happy to humor an adult by telling him about dinosaurs, how annoying her best friend Fergie was being, how Jacob Sartorius used to be so cool, but now he was… old.

She was also an expert on clouds: cumulus is lovely, and did I know how to tell cirrus from stratus?

Her mother wasn’t in this conversation; she’d self-medicated with little bottles of whisky and she was currently drooling onto the window. It wasn’t her best look, though it meant her ass, in tight blue jeans, was pointing in my direction. Still, she’d been noticeably pretty, with dark curly hair, when she’d been conscious.

So I was the adult looking after Melinda, and she’d realised, from the praying nutters that many of the adults were losing the plot. Children find that scary.

So I lied: “This is great! It’s like a roller-coaster, only it’s FREE!” 

Melinda wasn’t quite convinced, so I told her that the point of the game was to raise your fist and shout “Whooo!” every time the plane skidded across the harbour. I demonstrated. A game where an adult says you’re allowed to make silly noises is a good game, so Melinda was probably the most cheerful passenger every time she released a triumphant “Whooo!”

I wasn’t quite as sure as Melinda now was that we weren’t all going to die, though I figured the pilot must have landed in Wellington before. Still, a man has his responsibilities, and my fist-pumping “Whooo” was easily the second most cheerful sound. 

When the plane reaches the shore it crosses a road, flies just over an embankment of maybe eight metres, and finds itself level with the runway. Our plane’s tyres hit the ground with a scream, and jolted Melinda’s mom awake. She looked at me suspiciously. Men who play with little girls don’t get a good press.

She frowned, but it was a thinking kind, not the angry one. Melinda was the right kind of happy, so I must be ok. She took the water I held out to her. “Thanks.”

It was a New Zealand accent. I’d picked her as American. 

We were taxiing to the airport, no longer the wind’s toy though it was still blowing. I said, “Welcome home.”

She looked embarrassed. She’d neglected her maternal duties. And our conversation was still subject to passenger noises. The woman in the row ahead of us was still ululating prayers at the top of her voice, and Melinda’s mom poked her from behind, in the shoulder.. The woman looked back at her, incredulously indignant. “I’m thanking the Lord!” She was a fellow American. 

“Then could you do it quieter, please? I’ve got a fuck of a hangover and you, you’re really not helping.” 

So I started to learn things about New Zealand compared to US culture. Praying woman dropped to a mutter, keeping it between her and her lord.

Melinda’s mom looked back at me. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I’m terrible in airplanes. Flying scares me shitless. Seriously. Terrified. I had to get pissed, or I wouldn’t have have been able to stay on board. Seriously. These things have doors, and I’d have been out one of them.”

“Pissed? You had to get angry to stay aboard?”

“Ah. Yank boy. Down here it means drunk. Hey, thanks for keeping Melinda sane. It was my job and I fucked it up. My name’s Ngaire, by the way.” 

She put out her hand. I took it and we looked at each other. She was pretty again. I said, “Freddie.” 

Wicked Wednesday: Her breath is at my discretion

“Good girl,” I said, when Maddie had come, and calmed.

I smacked her bottom affectionately as I walked into the kitchen to pour myself a glass of wine. When I returned I tipped her back onto her ass, so her head was the highest part of her body, and she shuffled forward to take up her position between my knees.

I removed her gag, and turned her vibrator off for the time being. Still hogtied, she lowered her mouth onto my cock. Once I was held wetly, warmly in Maddie’s mouth, and she had closed her eyes to concentrate on following my movements, I edged forward a little to make her take me deeper. 

I pulled my belt out of its loops, running it behind her neck, holding the ends in my hands. Then I pulled her in close so my cock filled her and there was no gasping for breath, only the build-up of saliva that spilled wen I relaxed the tension and she could move her head back and gasp a breath.

She was never really uncomfortable, because I generally allowed her a breath every thirty seconds or so, but she felt the loss of control deeply, throughout her body. It moved her that the moments when she could snatch a breath were at my discretion and not hers. Details always affected her.

The relationship between master and slave hangs on the details, a long sequence of details, and the Master had best pay close attention to them, because his slave will.

Eventually she brought me to orgasm, swallowing as I came. I finished my glass while Maddie, who would have no wine, licked and sucked at my cock. When I was soft, and cleaned by her tongue, I removed the vibrator and untied her.

I pulled Maddie over my lap and spanked her long and hard, as a reward, until she wriggled in the way that said she was close to coming, and she wanted me to know that. I let my hand stray between her buttocks and stroke her cunt, until she gurgled, struggled and then came again. 

Usually Maddie had things to say after a spanking-and-orgasm, but that night she was simply affectionate and silent, as I helped her turn around so she sat on my lap, held in my arms, having her hair and brow kissed.  

At last we showered together, and afterwards I knelt and put soothing lotion on her knees. And we went to bed. Maddie lay on her side, her ass pressed against me, in case I woke up wanting it. I expected I would. I put my arm over her and cupped a breast in my hand. She muttered something incoherent, sometimes, while she slept.

 

 

Wicked Wednesday: Actually, that’s what the dog whip is for

Late that night Maddie struggled on my carpet. She was gagged, and a vibrator buzzed happily in her pussy. She was a pyramid, with her buttocks high, her knees, face and breasts pressed onto the carpet. Her wrists were bound, firmly, to her ankles.

I watched her from my seat, pretending to read a book. Every so often, and unpredictably, I adjusted the intensity of her vibrator, using the box that lay on the table beside me. Maddie was in constant movement. She would have been restless even if it weren’t for that pleasuring, tormenting vibrator: there is simply no comfortable position when you are hog-tied in that fashion.

She shifted, endlessly, her weight from one knee to the other, sometimes taking more weight on her upper body to give her knees a rest. Her inner thighs shone wetly from the fluids from her aroused pussy, and the carpet below her face was wet from the drool escaping from her gapped mouth.

I said, “Come for me, Maddie.”

She sobbed with relief. Then I said, “You have thirty seconds.”

Her buttocks clenched, and her whole body shook, desperate to obey within the deadline. But Maddie is always aware of deadlines, of the seconds passing, and the distraction means she almost never makes it in time.

At thirty seconds I said, “Stop!”

A muffled sound of despair emerged around the gag. She watched my feet as I stood up and went to get my belt, which lay on the table after earlier use that evening. “Oh, Maddie,” I said.

I applied the belt six times to the backs of her legs, taking my time. The leather was loud across her flesh, but she took it is near-silence. She fought to keep herself still and presented for the strokes. Then I strapped her harder across her bottom, and suddenly she was all motion and muffled yelps.

I said, “Now! Thirty seconds, or I’ll use the dogwhip.”

The dogwhip is a small, single-tail lash. Maddie had seen it but not yet experienced it. She’d been extraordinarily good, and careful, whenever I mentioned it. 

I knew from her face when I’d allowed her to touch the slender, pleated-leather whip that it was the implement she most feared.

But she’d been close to orgasm before, and her pain, her helpless, bound status, the vibrator and her humiliation all worked their sexual magic: her eyes closed tightly, then opened wide, at twenty seconds, and her body shook convulsively.

Commencing at twenty-two seconds. I said, “Oh Maddie love. See, you can be a good girl.”

For tonight the dogwhip would stay coiled on its satin pillow.

 

Wicked Wednesday: Does it matter what you want?

Jennifer had just left, walking, it seemed, with her feet about six inches above the floor. Maddie looked at me, expecting orders. Expecting use. 

“All right, Maddie. Bend over, little one.” 

“Yes, Master!” Maddie was enthusiastic, and expecting pain. She liked discipline. She complied, legs apart, ass arched a little up so she was accessible, head down on the table, hands dropped, as if helplessly, over the desk’s further edge. It was too sweet an invitation to insist, so I smacked her hard, twice, getting a low murmur of appreciation, and anticipation.

But I opened the desk draw and took out her glass butt-plug. It belonged to me, and strictly speaking Maddie was property herself, and had no possessions, but that butt plug was reserved exclusively for her. It seemed I’d soon have to buy another, for Jennifer.

I spanked her again, then lubed the plug properly, slid two fingers into her anus and parted them a little, so I could pour some of the lube into that tight passage and let my fingers spread it inside her. Maddie, who wasn’t aware of the plug’s presence, said, “Oh, Master, I love it when you fuck my ass,”

But I smacked her twice more, hard. “Does what you want matter?”

 Her hair shook, frantically. That was a hot thought. “No, Master, not a bit.” 

“Then shut up. I’ll deal with that in a moment.”

I slid the plug into her, getting a little groan when her anal ring stretched around the plug’s thickest part , and a grunt, both relief from pain and another kind of satisfaction, when it it rested, the pink glass jewell pointing at me. She breathed hard for several puffs while she got used to her new occupant. 

“Now get up on the table. Heels on the edge of the desk. Now lean back. Don’t let your ass touch the bed till I say. Hands on the desk, holding yourself up.”

Maddie grunted, and complied. It was, in seemed, hard on the stomach muscles. But I said, “I don’t want to hear from you about what you want, girl.”

I smacked the under slope of her left breast, then the right. Then I smacked her face, left, then right. Maddie only looked at me, desperation in her eyes, wondering what I intended. I tried not to smile at her, but I couldn’t help it, though it reduced the tension. But she was such a good girl.

I took a handful of her hair. “When I’m giving you orders, do I need commentary from you?”

Then was a brief silence. I guessed that she wanted to beg to be punished, but she wasn’t sure if that would count as “commentary”.

She said, “No, Master. Sorry, Master.”

 “Right. Push your cunt forward, so it’s right between your ankles. Knees as far apart as they’ll go. If you your ass so much as touches the table without my permission, it’ll be a very sorry ass. Understood?”

“Master!” She meant she understood what I was telling her to do. Obeying that instruction was hard, but she managed. I tore my shirt off and dropped my pants. There were a few seconds for the condom, and then I touched her, the head of my cock touching the soft and sweetly wet folds on her cunt. Maddie made a sound that was like a sob, but wasn’t one. It was relief.

I said, “Push, little one,” and we moved together. The softness of cunt, it occurred to me, needs the hardness of cock, at least in certain moods, and her need for the harshness of my manner was something similar. It answered a need in her.

At last, because I knew she couldn’t manage much longer, I said, “You can let your ass touch the table now.”

“Oohh.” That was a relief. A few seconds later Maddie looked up, always amazed at something she found in me in these moments. Well, she amazed me. She said, “Ma- Master, please may I come?”

 

Wicked Wednesday: Fuck this ladylike lady up the ass

Jennifer had asked for permission to ask me a personal question. I said, “All right, you can ask. You won’t necessarily get an answer, but you won’t get a spanking for it, either.”

“Sir? Maddie? Sir’s thing gets so big and hard when he punishes me. And when he makes me come, afterwards. But he doesn’t ask me to do anything for him. Though I’d like to. But Maddie… does sir make you please him, once I’ve gone?”

Maddie smiled. “Soon as you’ve gone, Jennifer darling. Sometimes the second after you’ve shut the door.”

“Can I please you the way Maddie does, sir?”

I placed her on her back on the couch, gently, lifted her legs and smacked her bottom. She yelped indignantly, so I smacked her again. She said, “That’s not fair! You said you wouldn’t spank me!”

“That was for one question. You asked a new question.”

She frowned, then nodded. “But?”

“No, Jennifer.”

“But… I’m eighteen! I’m allowed to choose whether or not I do sex things now. I’m legal. And I looked you up. You’re only seven years older than me.”

I nodded slowly, then smacked her bottom again. “You looked me up. To see if it was ok to have sex with me?”

“No, I just looked you up! Well, I suppose I was thinking about sex. It doesn’t feel right to me, that you give me pleasure, and I can’t do the same for you.”

“We’re not equals, Jennifer. I have to look out for you.”

“But why does that mean you can’t let me..?”

“When I punish you, little one, I do get very turned on. But I’d never punish you just for my pleasure. It’s always for your own good. That’d be true even if I didn’t enjoy it. And when I do. So, it’s the same before I let you please me. I’d have to be sure that it’d be good for you, and do you no harm.”

“But I want you, sir! I do know my own mind, and I know that! What if you’re harming me by…” She drew a breath, then blurted, “Not letting me suck your cock?”

 “You were warned about language, Jennifer. And you chose to ignore the warning. The next time you’re in this office, I’m going to spank you for that. Understood?”

“Please sir! I mean, yes of course I should be spanked for speaking like that. But I don’t know any other words! And you do so much for me, sir. How can I not want to please you?”

“You’re allowed to want me, Jennifer. In fact it makes me very happy. And you know that I want you. My cock points at you, whenever you’re in the room, and you know that.”

“You said cock! Is Maddie going to spank you for being rude? Or can I?”

“Did I say I’d spank you? I meant, strap you.” Her smile disappeared. “And I said we’re not equals. I can say what I like. It’s you that has to keep her speech ladylike.”

“Truth is, sir, I want you to fuck this lady, everywhere your cock wants me. I want you to fuck this ladylike lady up the ass. Please?”

Wicked Wednesday: Quick recovery

Maddie returned and draped a blanket over her. “Thank you, Maddie. Thank you for everything, I think. And I hope I didn’t deafen you, with all that screaming while you were holding me down. I know I bawled my head off. Even I thought I was making such a racket.”

Maddie said, “You were fine, sweet little Jennifer. You’re new to discipline, and it is a shock when you start. Though even now I sometimes find myself making more noise than that.”

“Do you? Wow.”

I put my hand on Jennifer’s bottom and squeezed her. Just enough to make her yelp. “I’m afraid I thought the sounds you made were absolutely beautiful. So are your tears, little Jennifer. Like tiny jewels on your face.”

“You enjoy punishing me, sir, don’t you? I don’t mind; you can do that as much as you like, wherever, whenever, however you like. But your … thing: it’s always so hard and big when you’re warming my poor bottom. I know I shouldn’t say that either. But I like that it pleases you.”

“You please me very much. Even when I’m not making you cry, pretty girl.”

“Heh.” She wriggled in closer to my chest. “And you like making me come, I know. That was so cool, sir, what you did when you were punishing me. Getting me ready to come, then giving me more of the slipper. That’s why it was so easy to take.”

I kissed her, and we kept our heads close to each other. Jennifer pulled the blanker round to cover both of us. I said, “Having you turned on before I slipper you helps you to get through it. You still get the same smacks, but your mind, even your body, interpret them differently. Everything feels sexy.”

“Yep. Yep, Sir. Without that I’d have screamed blue murder and tried to run out of the room.”

“Naked?”

“Oh! I would’ve been, wouldn’t I? But getting away would be all I’d be thinking about. Instead, oh, it hurt, sir.  You made me a very sorry girl, and I promise I’m never going to flash myself at anyone. Except you, of course.”

“Of course. You’ll do as you’re told, Jennifer.”

“Oh, I will, sir. But you can’t want to see me naked again anyway. You’ve seen everything I’ve got, now. Maybe that means no more spankings for me! Ever!”

I marvelled at Jennifer, who could recover so fast from a severe punishment, and then risk more by being cheeky. She’d stayed subdued for perhaps five minutes. I hugged her, tight.

But then she was serious again. “Sir? I’ve got a question. It’s a very personal question. Can I have permission to ask it?”

Wicked Wednesday: Obedience, discipline and lotion for Jennifer

A moment later, and Jennifer was again displayed, bent over my desk, naked, her hands held tight by Maddie, in the primal submissive position for discipline or sexual use.

I pressed my sipper against the fullest part of her bottom, and delivered the first stroke, lusty and hard, almost immediately. Jennifer took that one with a grunt, but no scream.

I said, “Now, Miss Perch, it’s time you learned that when I give you an order…”

The second stroke was delivered hard and fast, and delivered to her right cheek. Jennifer waggled her bottom frantically from left to right, the pain clinging to her. She made a high-pitched sound, not a scream, but a musical note.

“I do not–“

The third smack impacted hard and hot on her left side, and Jennifer screamed.

Maddie said, “Tears now, Master.”

“Want questions or complaints from you–”

On the fourth hard stroke, on her right buttock, Jennifer screamed again, her body rocking involuntarily in that ancient dance that punished girls performed for their disciplinarians.

Maddie had to concentrate and use all her force to hold the girl down and in position.

“I want obedience.” Her bottom was a moving target now. I caught her left buttock with the slipper as it rose; the impact sound filled the room. Jennifer wailed and shouted wordlessly. She had not stopped her vocal noises since the fourth stroke.

“You will learn to do as you are told.” The sixth stroke landed across the centre of her weaving and ducking bottom, again catching it on the rise. Jennifer’s song of pain barely changed.

She was already in a world of sensation that was partly but not entirely painful, and she’d stopped reacting much to individual spanks.

I could slipper Jennifer for another hour when she was like this, and though it would raise blisters on her bottom, which I did not want, she wouldn’t really notice. It’d make little difference to her mental state.

I said, “Lotion”, to Maddie, and she passed it. I spread it across Jennifer’s bottom, while she was still rocking up and down in a parody of sexual motion. I said, very quietly, “Good girl, Jennifer, you’re done now. You’ve been very good, and good girls do get looked after.”

She made an appreciative noise as my fingers slid and stroked her. Goosebumps rose on her bottom when I let my fingertips touch her pussy. It was, I thought, time to take Jennifer’s education one step further.