A schoolgirl spanking story 10

I’m taking a break from the Raylene story. This is something different; it’s a riff on one of the most common bdsm fantasy scenarios. It’s not my usual style, because these things have a specific style of their own. It’s a sort of genre exercise. It’s the last, or most recent, instalment of a series I wrote on request a while back. I didn’t get round to posting it at the time.

You can find the first nine episodes under the tag “Cindy’s school story”. And you can find some discussion about the special diction, and the sexual politics, of schoolgirl spanking stories, under the tag “schoolgirl spanking stories”. 

Schoolgirl spanking story

The Master pushed his chair away from his desk. He looked up at Cindy and patted his thighs, indicating where she was to place her body. 

Cindy walked round the desk, and stood beside him. He smiled. “I suppose you haven’t done this before. You’ll get used to it soon enough. Bend at the waist, and lie over my lap so that your bottom is the highest part of your body.”

Cindy bit her lip. This was exquisitely personal. She knew she was blushing furiously. And she knew that any delay would be dangerous. He’d said that if she didn’t do as she was told he’d take her out into the corridor, naked as she was, and cane her where people could watch. Would he carry out that threat? She didn’t doubt it for a second.

spanks teachShe bent over his knee quickly, and put her hands on the floor on the far side of his chair. Feeling intense shame, she lowered her weight onto his lap, knowing she was giving him a view of her entire body. She had to wriggle forward a little to get her bottom right up as he’d ordered her. She felt his thing then, hard, pressed against her side.

 But his voice was calm. “Good girl. Now open your legs. Feet right apart, wide as you can.”

Cindy moved her feet about half a meter apart. She was aware of her pussy, wetter than she wanted him to see. And she knew her other, tighter, hole was exposed to him. With a little gasp of dismay, she tried to move her feet just a centimeter or two closer.

“Stupid girl!” The Master’s hand landed on the back of her right thigh, hard and sharp. The sound of the smack seemed to fill the room, like a pistol shot. Cindy gasped, but managed not to cry out.

“Get your legs apart, girl.” He smacked her left thigh, just as hard. Cindy writhed, biting her lip.

Another hard smack landed, and Cindy couldn’t hold it in any longer. “Yeeeow! Oh, Sir! Ow!”

His voice was harsh. “You are not allowed modesty in this room.” The smacks continued, and Cindy cried out each time she felt his hand, landing hot and hard on the backs of her thighs. 

spanks teach 2After twelve spanks he stopped, though Cindy still flopped on his lap like a caught fish. She cried like a baby. The strapping she’d taken that morning, bending over his desk, had hurt more, she guessed. But it wasn’t so shameful and intimate as being spanked naked over his knee, while she writhed and shook all her most private, feminine parts under his nose.

But he slipped his hand between those glowing, smarting thighs and stroked her pussy, slipping one finger between her lips, stroking up, then down, just inside. Cindy wanted more, but she knew she wasn’t allowed to speak. If she asked for anything, she’d just get her thighs smacked again.

So she sighed and let him pleasure her, too excited to worry about what he must think of her, a girl who got wetter the more he punished her. Her pain was forgotten, or rather it had turned into pleasure.

spanks teach 1Then he stopped suddenly, and pressed the lips of her pussy between his thumb and forefinger. Cindy breathed hard. It should hurt, she knew, but everything, every touch felt good. 

He pressed his thumb lightly against her little hole. Cindy squealed. But she fought the urge to close her legs. She arched her bottom up for him, to show she was a good girl.

She heard him grunt, pleased with her. “When I punish you, Cindy, you won’t have any modesty, so you can forget about being shy.”

“Yes Sir. I’m sorry. I’m just not used to … Well, the things you do to me.”

“Perhaps the best thing for you is to think that when you’re with me this pretty little pussy doesn’t belong to you. Actually you belong to the school, while you’re here. Your whole body, all of it,” – again that pressure on her little hole; this time she did not squeal – “is school property. Do you understand?”

“Sir?” But he would only smack her harder if she argued. Anyway, in a sense it was true. The school was in loco parentis, and if he was in charge of the school, he was in charge of her. She was his, and she was helpless. “Yes, sir.” 

“Good. You’re a silly, ignorant girl, with a lot to learn. And I find I even have to teach you to do as you’re told.” He pushed his thumb harder against that littler hole. Cindy could feel herself about to open. The idea terrified her. But she was also too frightened to resist him. Mercifully the pressure relented. “And the first thing you need to understand is that you do as I tell you. What do you need me to teach you?”

“I need you to teach me to do what you tell me, Sir.” Cindy opened her legs as wide as she could, now. She wanted him to be proud of her. 

“Then you’re a good girl. Though it always seems to take you a spanking or two before you remember that. Now, keep your hands and toes touching the floor, and your bottom arched just like that. We’re going to begin your spanking properly now.”

And he put his hand on her bottom and rubbed her affectionately. But she knew that the next time his hand landed on her bottom, it was going to hurt, and that he wouldn’t stop until she was bright red and hot. Cindy whimpered.

Humiliation of an ex-Nazi submissive 46: staying brave

Raylene, decorated with two broad red bands across her bottom, her upper body supported by her forehead pressing against the stair, turned her head slightly, wanting to look at me. She said, “One, thank you, sir.”

I was touched. I hadn’t told her to count the strokes. She wanted to make this harder for herself.

40ffishI cupped my hand on her nearer, left buttock, feeling the cool of her pale skin, where the razor strop hadn’t yet heated her. Raylene edged her body over, trying to tough me with her hip. I rewarded her, stroking her vertically between her buttocks, getting my fingertips wet with her arousal. Raylene shivered.

I pushed my fingers a little further inside. “You really want to be fucked, don’t you?” The first time I’d asked that I’d meant to humiliate her a little, since nice girls weren’t supposed to say that sort of thing, and she hadn’t yet been fully comfortable with revealing her submission to me. This time I meant it with affection. And appreciation. Lust is good.

It turned out Raylene wasn’t speaking just then. I took her grunt as heartfelt agreement, and stroked her cunt again, fingers a little deeper inside. The grunt became a moan and rose in pitch.

I smacked her affectionately, but hard. “Good girl. You’re being brave. Now I want you to stay brave.” 

I raised the strop over my shoulder, and contemplated my target. The strokes would start crossing each other soon. But for now there was still virgin territory to colour in, the soft and sensitive skin of the undercurve of Raylene’s buttocks, an inch or two above the crease of her thighs. 

I put my free hand on Raylene’s back to steady and, I hoped, comfort her. And, aiming low, I swung the strop again.

E[lust] 69: that sweet number…

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 In This Issue…

Elust #69

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Welcome to Elust #69

The only place where the smartest and hottest sex bloggers are featured under one roof every month. Whether you’re looking for sex journalism, erotic writing, relationship advice or kinky discussions it’ll be here at Elust. Want to be included in Elust #70? Start with the rules, come back May 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

 

~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

Bully for you
Watching Me
Red in Tooth and Claw

~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

He’s Got Her
Subject/Object/My Desire

~ Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

Waiting with Snowdrops

Erotic Non-Fiction

Nothing Really Matters
Njoying Myself
He’s beautiful
Humiliation of an ex-Nazi submissive 39
His Beauty Shatters Me
Vacation Got Off To A Slow Start
After Party On My Own
dénouement
My Life Erotic: “The Bad Man”

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

Questions We’re Actually Embarrassed to Ask
Distance
Ignorance & Misconception – Scary Combination

Poetry

Laced Up – a Lusty Limerick

Erotic Fiction

Our First Time
The EuphOff
the auction
the conductor
Habla con ella

Writing About Writing

My Filthasaurus

Thoughts & Advice on Kink & Fetish

On Corsets
Consent: A play in one act
Playing hate: topping in a degradation scene
Corsets and Kink
What I Love About Pinching

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Humiliation of an ex-Nazi submissive 45: the razor strop’s work

Raylene had placed herself back in position. After a second she arched her back even further, so that her bottom, now decorated with two broad, parallel red stripes, offered itself in abject invitation for more of the same. Pain, please.

Her cunt, likewise presented, made a slightly different invitation.

Raylene waited for me to hurt her again. Her low moan had fallen away. She was breathing audibly, but more or less normally. 

I had now swung a razor strop, in earnest, exactly twice. I’d learned that its weight to some extent dictates how hard it’s going to land. It’d be difficult to swing the thing lightly without it being obvious that I was trying to spare her, to fake her beating.

I was certain that she’d be disappointed if she detected me trying to do that. So Raylene’s first beating was going to be a dramatic event. She might think of the events in her life as having happened before this afternoon, or after it.

When I’d set out the rules to Raylene, I’d been savagely excited by my promise to give her extra strokes across the backs of her thighs if she took too long to get herself back in position.

I’d imagined her desperation to obey me, to please me and avoid further punishment. I’d hoped she’d fail, so I would deliver those two biting lashes across her thighs. And I’d imagined Raylene’s cries of pain and repentance, and her struggle to  place herself properly for the next stroke, so it would be counted. 

I knew, with no doubts at all, that she’d submit to that discipline, and that I would savour the sweetness of it, of that inner “give” that Raylene would feel and I would read in her movements.

cryingMy cock was uncomfortably constricted. I’d decided I’d stay clothed and formal until it was time to fuck her. But I wanted to be in Raylene, pressed against the red heat of her ass, and savouring the sleek wet comfort of her cunt. I wanted the physical and psychological warmth of comforting and ruling a surrendered girl. We needed to fuck, and soon.

But now that I’d actually started I was on Raylene’s side. If she did waste any time in getting herself back in place I would certainly deliver those promised extra punishment strokes to her thighs. I would make them hard, to teach that lesson quickly and indelibly, and I’d enjoy that teaching.

But still, I also hoped that I wouldn’t need to give any extra strokes. Doms change sides, once a flogging has begun. Or I do, anyway. I was with Raylene now, hoping she’d find the physical courage and the pleasure in submission to get through this with no faults, and no faltering.

Humiliation of an ex-Nazi submissive 44: the flogging on the stairs

stropped4The crack of the strop’s impact across poor Raylene’s buttocks was almost as shocking as the noise of that first stroke I’d given her, back in the kitchen.

Raylene was still for a whole second, eyes wide.

Then, stung unbearably, she began to buck her hips like a jolted rockinghorse, while the second stripe formed across both cheeks, broad and likely to be as bright as its predecessor.

She shook her head in furious denial, though she kept her forehead on the step and her hands behind her neck. She cried out, “Aaaaaaaaaaaa”, high-pitched and gritty.

I said, “That was one.” That was a warning, a reminder that she had to get back in position. The ritual demanded it.

Raylene stilled herself somehow, and straightened her legs again. Her cry, that long, breathy “aaaaaaaaaa”, continued, but quieter now, a moan to herself alone. She straightened her strong legs and arched her back, presenting herself for me.

She was back in position. I had no idea how many seconds had passed since I’d strapped her. But I said, “Good girl. You were quick. And brave. And good. We’ll make it.” I raised the razor strop again.

Humiliation of an ex-Nazi submissive 43

Silence continued. A cruel man might have insisted that Raylene declare her readiness to be flogged. I was a cruel man, at that moment. Still, mercy and cruelty fluctuate by microseconds, and when I spoke the words were kinder than the savage excitement that I felt. “Well, we’re going to begin. Just be a good girl and you’ll be fine.”

“Fine! Oh fucking HAH! I mean, yes, Sir. Yeah, I’ll be totally fine. Right.”

Raylene had every right to be sceptical, and I liked that she could mock me, even in that position. She was brave, though I already knew that. “Well, of course you’re going to get a sore arse, love. But I mean you’ll be okay. I’ll look after you.”

I knew what that meant, that if she accepted my dominance and her submision to it, then she could allow me to guide and support her through the pain. And if she did that, then she really would be fine. I had no idea what Raylene thought it meant. She said nothing, but she moved her left foot a little wider, so her stance was a little steadier. I took that as a sign of acceptance, and probably all I was going to get without being needy or a bully.

I raised the strop, feeling the leather hanging over my shoulder. The cruelty, the desire to hurt her, was now leading. “So, give or take this or that, would you say you were ready?”

stropped strumpet“No seriously, Jaime, you’ve got to be…” Raylene sighed patiently. “Ahhh. Yes, Sir.”

I aimed for a segment of round, sexy and charming girl-flesh a little higher on her bottom than that first stroke I’d delivered. It still blazed a red stripe across her arse.

I swung the strop in a wide horizontal arc, letting the strength of its impact be guided largely and lazily by its own solid weight.

Humiliation of an ex-Nazi submissive 42

 All this waiting was torturing Raylene. Since I was feeling cruel, and enjoying her fear and excitement, I didn’t start her flogging. It was time for one of the ritual pre-strapping lectures. “Raylene, this is going to hurt you, but I want you to stay in this position. Bottom up high, presented, legs apart and straight, hands behind your neck. Just like you are now. Is that understood?”

 Raylene’s face turned, if anything, even redder. “Yes Sir.”

Wide stance.

Wide stance.

 “You won’t be able to help moving when you get this strop across your arse, but you must get straight back into position. Present yourself exactly like you are now, with your legs apart, ass up, ready for the next stroke.”

 “Okay. Oh! Sorry, I mean, yes, Sir.”

“And you get your ass up quickly. If you take too long I’ll repeat the stroke. And I’ll add an extra smack across the back of your thighs. Those really hurt. Do you understand?”

 “Yes. Well, no: how long is taking too long?”

“Um. It varies a bit cause I’ll try to be vaguely fair about it. If it’s a hard stroke you get a couple of seconds of extra time. But if I think you aren’t trying your very hardest, then you’ll know about it. Just make sure you get back into position quickly.”

Raylene said nothing. I smacked the strop, not too hard, across the fleshiest part of her buttocks. Raylene neither moved nor moaned. That hard stroke I’d given her, a few minutes ago, had set a high standard, and she knew this one wasn’t going to count as a stroke. “You were supposed to say, Yes, Sir.”

“Well it’s hard, Jaime! Yeah, I’ll get back into position. Sir.”

I nodded, not that she could see me. “Good girl. You ready?”

Her right thigh muscle twitched again; that butterfly, under her skin, was trembling. Raylene said nothing. I counted slowly to ten, letting her wait.