Wicked Wednesday: Maddy’s tears

Maddie waited naked, her hastily discarded dress on the floor beside her, facing my door, on her knees. She’d heard the scene with Jennifer, and she well knew the mood I’d be in. I put the cane on the floor beside her. She knew that wasn’t because I wouldn’t be needing it, but so she could pass it to me when it was time.

I saw that she’d tidied the storeroom beyond any reasonable complaint. There were neat piles of papers, clearly labelled, tidied rows of books, and the boxes made neat stacks on the upper shelves.

When I looked back at Maddie she’d opened her mouth and put her tongue forward, covering her lower teeth and pushing out her lip. The invitation was almost irresistible. She wanted, as she always did, to direct what happened. I stepped forward and slapped her face with my left hand. Her head jolted the the right, then to the left when I repeated the slap, backhanded. 

They didn’t need to be hard slaps, and they weren’t. Their psychological effect on Maddie was what counted. They dropped her, instantly, into submission and a world in which she had no influence on what happened. It was only necessary for her to serve. I grabbed her hair then, unzipped and thrust hard into her mouth, filling her before she had time to gasp for breath. 

She sucked me, running her tongue under my cock, keeping her eyes on mine, as she’d been told. I savoured her warm, wet harbour, and counted to ten. That was as long as she usually took to start worrying about choking. Her eyes showed worry at twelve seconds. I counted slowly to fifteen. 

It wasn’t that she couldn’t hold her breathe; she could manage over a minute. It was that this was the ultimate loss of control for Maddie, and she feared it and desired it at the same time. At eighteen I pulled her, fast, off my cock, and she gasped for air. 

The tears ran down her cheeks, making runnels in her mascara while she fought for air, my cock poised in her mouth for the next thrust.

Then there was no more air, only cock.I pushed against the back of her throat.

Maddie stiffened and fought for control. Eventually she relaxed, and put her hands on my shins, not for support but for affection, while nearly twenty seconds passed. So I withdrew a little, and allowed her the comfort of having her mouth rather than her throat fucked. She sucked and tongued diligently. 

I watched her eyes while hers watched mine. She was happy. And she expected me to come soon. 

Reluctantly, and with seconds to spare, I withdrew from her mouth. I wanted to tell her she was a good girl and had pleased me, and she plainly needed that.

But it would break the mood. I said, “You think this is tidy, Maddie?”

She frowned. “Well, yes, Sir. I thought so.” 

“Well, we’ll see. Your panties are in your desk, I assume?” She’d shed them when I’d had her this morning. She knew I’d disapprove, painfully, if she’d put them back on. 

She nodded. “Yes, Sir.” 

“Fetch.” 

Maddie put her hands on the floor, and crawled to her office.

She knew better than to stand up.

Wicked Wednesday: Beautiful, bell-like, orgasm

I dipped my finger in the oil collected at her anus. “Hmm,” I said. “I’m sure you’ll often find this part of your body lubricated in the future.” 

“Sir?” 

“A man who wants you, Jennifer, will certainly need to take you here.” I pressed my finger down a little, not quite entering but letting her feel her own muscles ready to admit me. Then I spread the oil, moving down into her perineum. Jennifer’s moan was loud, and unambiguously sexual. She was nearly ready.

“But that’s in your future, girl. For now-” 

I resumed stroking her buttocks and thighs, with Jennifer rising and falling under my hands. Her breathing was urgent. She was close. 

At the last second, I reached low on her buttocks and pressed hard, fingers digging into where her sciatic nerves would be. Jennifer sobbed, once, and her body rose briefly from my table. She was silent after that, trying to conceal that deep and perhaps surprising orgasm she’d just had.

I maintained the pressure, and a few seconds later she gave another shudder, and then was still. Her face looked anguished. Her eyes were wet. There were tears on my desk.

I resisted the urge to take her in my arms, kiss her and praise her, and instead resumed kneading her as if nothing had happened. My cock ached, in restrictive clothing. I wanted her so powerfully. 

After a minute I slowed and stopped, and gave her right buttock a pat. “I think that’ll do you, little Jennifer. I’m sure we’ve dealt with any pain.” 

There was no response. Jennifer was still entranced. There was drool as well as tears on my desk. I reached for her shoulder. “Girl.” There were threats, disciplinary threats, in my voice.

She let me help her up. She stood, panties still round her knees, and looked at me, red-faced, wet-eyed. She wiped her mouth. She wore no lipstick. Suddenly she launched herself, threw her arms around my back and kissed me. It was passionate, needy. I was sure it was the first time she’d kissed a man.

I let the kiss last, because it was wonderful and I wanted to treasure it, and it meant she had surrendered to me more than she knew. Yet. She rubbed her breasts against my chest. “Thank you, sir, thank you, thank you!” 

But eventually I smacked her bottom. She remembered where she was. She stepped back. “Sorry, Headmaster. I was – I just wanted to say thank you.” 

Of course I smiled. “You are an incredibly good girl, Jennifer. And sweet-natured. And there’s nothing at all wrong with that.” I spoke with absolute sincerity. These things were true. “Now, the oil’s soaked into your skin, girl, so you can pull your panties up now.”

For some female reason she turned her back for this operation, so that I could watch the slow concealment of the lower half of her bottom. 

When she turned to face me, a smiling girl, her face only slightly flushed, I gave her a piece of paper I’d had Maddie type earlier. She looked at it blankly. “Sir?” 

“That’s a note to Wynetts. The shop your mother bought your uniform. Take that piece of paper to them – they’re expecting you this afternoon – and try on uniforms till you find one you’re comfortable in.” 

“Sir, please. I can’t take-” 

“There’s a school fund for exactly this sort of issue, Jennifer. You can and you will. Get s uniform that looks good. Not like the one you’re wearing now, and not too conspicuously modest either. Just get something so that you look like the other girls. All right?” 

She stepped towards me, then stopped. Propriety had broken out. She said, “I’m glad I kissed you, Sir.” 

I smiled. “Do you want your bottom smacked again?” 

Her face was pure mischief. “Perhaps.” 

So I tried to look stern, and said, “That’s enough of that.” But I couldn’t stop smiling. I took her ear and led her to the door. “Off you go, Jennifer. See me tomorrow morning, in your new uniform.” 

“Yes, Sir.” I resisted the urge to pat her bottom, and shut the door behind her. I sighed, happily. I need release. I needed Maddie, with some urgency. After some thought, I took the senior cane from my cupboard. I had no idea if she’d properly tidied and cleaned the storeroom, and I’d warned of consequences if she hadn’t. She’d be waiting for me, having listened to, among other things, Jennifer’s beautiful, bell-like orgasm. 

I opened the storeroom door. 

Dublin and pain

I’m in Dublin. I had an idea, after my father died earlier this year, that I should go to Ireland, to see where I came from, at least genetically.

Statues commemorating the Irish Potato Fame. The starving, beside the Liffey, in Dublin

Both of my parents were of almost entirely Irish stock. Though the people who were my ancestors left Ireland during or shortly after the Famine, they continued to marry other Irish expatriots over the next several generations. Although there’s the occasional Welshman or Scot in my traceable ancestry, it’s basically all Irish men and women.

I’ve always been grateful to my ancestors for leaving. Ireland is still disfigured by the Catholic Church, essentially a corporation for the enabling and protection of child rapists, and for the torture and enslavement of women, the Magdalene Laundires episode being only one example of this.

I’d been in Dublin for about six minutes when I encountered a march of young women demonstrating for the repeal of Ireland’s stupid, cruel and life-threatening ban on abortion.

I make a lousy nationalist. If I’d been living in Northern Ireland during the Troubles, I’d always have voted to be part of the United Kingdom. Not out of nationalism: I’d don’t give a fuck what Cromwell did to the Irish three hundred-odd years ago. Or the Elizabethans before that. (Both sides seem to have forgotten the Scots invasion, and the land theft, famine and massacres under Robert the Bruce’s brother Edward, because that doesn’t fit the narrative.) 

I’d have voted to be in the UK because I didn’t want to have the cops, directed by the church, tell me what I’m allowed to buy in a bookshop. I’d have wanted to be able to buy contraception, which you could then do in the UK but not Eire. I’d want a woman to be able to get an abortion if she has an unwanted pregnancy. Fuck nationalism: I only care about human rights. 

So it was sobering to be reminded that Eire’s abortion law is still the one dictated by the Church. Rapists, torturers, murderers and their enablers, still claiming moral authority. Sooner that’s dumped into history’s Dead Joke Box the better. 

Anyway, the pain I cause is consensual, intended to help, to lead to pleasure and other kinds of growth, and never to cause harm. Ireland is full of the traces of the domination of an organisation that seeks no consent, and is entirely indifferent to the pain, suffering, harm and death it causes.

 

By the way, I’m thinking about pain because after Eroticon, and after seeing Gretel off on the place back to her native land, I went to Dublin and got a cold. My head hurts. Really hurts. My bones feel like I’ve been beaten up, apparently in my sleep, by the secret police. I need to cough all the time, and it hurts like hell to cough. I’ve got chills. God, I’d love a hot flush. 

On the other hand, I’m outside a pub on Talbot Street, drinking coke and watching pretty girls go by. So … silver linings, that’s what you have to look out for. 

Wicked Wednesday: Rubbing it in

I gazed, awed, at the pink blush of Jennifer’s bottom and thighs. She was still red in the spots I’d concentrated the spanks: the centre of her buttocks and the tops of her thighs.

I took the oil and poured a little trickle onto the upper cleft of her buttocks, where she would be autely aware of the trickle running slowly down, some collecting at her anus, and some trickling lower.

She would want me to rescue her from that trickle when it reached her anus, certainly her cunt. She would want me to touch her.

As if having the same thought, she expelled her breath and moved her feet slightly apart, exposing her pretty, swollen and – I was sure – achingly wet and needy pussy. There was silence for a moment. Tribute not just to the sexual power of our situation, but also to her sheer beauty.

“That’s good, girl, that’s lovely. Your behaviour, I mean.”

“Thank you, sir.” She knew what I’d meant.

I poured a generous helping of oil onto my left hand, put the bottle down and rubbed my hands gently together. I rubbed her bottom gently until most of her bottom and thighs were slippery and shining.

Then I used more force, pressing my thumbs into the centre of her gluteal muscles. Jennifer made a little squeal of relief and pleasure, as I worked on the knots of tension in that gloriously firm and round ball of muscles.

Her upper body flattened entirely onto the desk and her ass rose, surrendering herself entirely to anything I might choose to do with her. Her head was turned so her left cheek rested on the wood. She was smiling, lips slightly parted, and her eyes shone.

I worked my way down to her parted thighs, finding and working on any knots of tension until they were gone. She made little pleasure noises as she relaxed, and I knew those would be the noises I would hear when her need and her nerve had build up to the point where she begged me to fuck her, and I decided she was ready. I resolved to hold off for at least a fortnight, no matter how prettily she begged.

The knots dealt with, I was gentler and more sensual as I stroked and pressed her thighs and bottom on the return. I wanted her to feel, just from my hands, how tender and beautiful I thought she was. She sighed, lost in pleasure, and her left foot again moved a little further to the left.

The trickle of oil running down her cleft had nearly reached her anus. I was sure that she was very aware of the oil’s slow encroachment.

I ignored it, and continued her massage, clasping and kneading her soft, now utterly relaxed, flesh. Jennifer’s sighs and other sounds were more overtly sexual, a young woman being pleasured, and her hips started to move, gently up and down as if being fucked by an invisible lover. Every breath she took was audible now. She was absorbed, and lost. Nothing existed except for my hands, I guessed.

She stilled suddenly. The trickle had reached her anus. “Sir?”

I pulled her cheeks apart, though it wasn’t strictly necessary.

Wicked Wednesday: Jennifer considers “feeling better”

“What do you mean, ‘feel better’? Sir?”

I put my hand on her cotton-cocooned right buttock and squeezed, to remind her that there was nothing to stop her from getting her morning spanking all over again. Jennifer shivered, her soft skin and firm muscles trembling under my hand. She understood that I was threatening to repeat her spanking. But she liked my hand.

 “Some people get spanked regularly and often, Jennifer-” She made a wordless noise, not of protest but of recognition. Jennifer had learned that that was the kind of girl she was. “That’s the world you’re in now. Now, girls like you often need aftercare. And if they’re been good after their spanking they should get what they need. Does that sound sensible, Jennifer?”

There was a pause. She was looking for the trap. But it was hiding in plain sight. Eventually she said, “No, that does sound reasonable, sir.”

“Now, Jennifer. You’ve got a sore bottom, but you’ve been a good girl all day, I’m told. So you can have something that can take the pain away.”

“Sir?” She sounded shocked. Her imagination was, of course, running wild. She was seconds away either from protesting or making some declaration of consent or need. The latter was more likely but I didn’t want her to do that today. She needed more time, to build up a deep and desperate need before I’d let her consent.

“It’s a natural oil mixture, with aloe vera, lavender, arnica and cocoanut oil for vitamin E. It cools the spanked area and takes away most of the pain, and sets about healing the skin. To let you sleep easy, and, well, let you sit down again without it being awkward. It’s for girls who get into trouble a lot but they’re good girls really. Would you like that?”

Nude young woman applying lotion to her bottom

There was a longer pause. Jennifer knew she wouldn’t be applying the mixture herself. That left strong, male hands kneading her flesh, healing the skin I’d hurt earlier that day.

I suspected that would appeal in its own right, and anyway it’d be better than going home with a sore bottom.

Finally and bravely Jennifer said, “Yes, I’d like that. You mean like a massage. I like those.”

I collected the tube of oils from the corner of my desk, where it lived with the pens pencils and felt tips and paperclips. I put a dab on the lowest vertebrae in the small of her back. A subdued, noctural animal sound from Jennifer. She was so needy, so aroused.

I put my fingers in the upper hem of her panties, and pulled them, not down, but away from her skin, revealing a perfect bottom, unlikely to be quite as sore as she’d claimed but still prettily pink from her spanking.

Jennifer groaned. “Oh sir, please. Can you leave my panties up?”

“Have I already seen your bottom, Jennifer? Quite recently?”

“Um. Well, yes, sir. You did. You have.”

“So is it something about your panties, then? Have you got a laptop hidden down there?”

She laughed. “No, sir.”

“So you’re fussing, girl. All right, you can help me. You take them down for me. All the way to your knees, please.”

“Thank you, sir.” Jennifer reached back obediently. The panties came down, slowly, as if she felt it was a gift that should be savoured inch by inch. She pulled the bunched cotton past the fleshiest part of her bottom and tugged them all the way down as instructed.

She was a spanked angel, smelling of musk and almond flour, half naked over my desk.

 

Wicked Wednesday: Jennifer’s pleats and pleas 9: Maddie interlude

When I opened the door Maddie was feeding another ream of paper into the photocopier. I knew the paper drawer had been full to maximum before Jennifer walked into my office, and there was no chance it could have run out. She’d stopped the copier to listen to Jennifer and me.

photocopier-2But she bent steeply at the waist while she lowered the paper into place. She knew the effect that was likely to have on me, and hoped it’d distract me. 

“Well, Maddie. Did you hear everything you wanted. We weren’t talking too quietly for you?”

Maddie didn’t blush. And she looked me in the eyes with the utmost sincerity. “Uh, you were talking? I wasn’t …”

She indicated the photocopier. “I was fixing this…” Then she lost her mock-innocent look and laughed. “Oh, my god, she really got to you, didn’t she?”

I didn’t look down. I knew my erection had to be obvious even through a suit. Once Jennifer had left I’d stopped trying to will it down. Instead I said, “A student being punished is entitled to some privacy. Maddie, did I tell you told to listen in, while a student is being disciplined? Or were you told to keep the photocopier going?”

Maddie stepped closer. I did what I needed to do, and put my hands on her ass and squeezed. A woman, not a girl. Firm in my hands. I spread my fingers on voluptuous rounded womanhood, and said, “Oh girl.”

I meant Maddie, but I don’t think she thought I meant her.

But she only paused for a second before she rubbed her lower belly against my cock. “I don’t think you need to punish another girl. Well, not first. Not just now. And we should talk. But not just now.” She reached between us and took my hard cock in her palm, thumb and forefinger pressing along its length.

“Uh. Ahhh. Haaaaaa.”

photocopy-1Maddie smiled, too smugly. So I held her right shoulder and smacked her with my left, spinning her till she faced the photocopier again. I pushed her down, and pulled up her tight little skirt, easing it up over her ass. Maddie said, “Should we -?”

But I smacked her ass, hard, to stop her talking. I unzipped and freed my erection.

Maddie flattened over the top of the copier while I pulled the gusset of her knickers to the side and pushed my cock between her plump lips, all the way into her.

Whatever she’d heard, when she listened to Jennifer and me, had aroused her too. She was slick and wet, and she sighed with satisfaction when I filled her. She straightened her spread legs and arched her ass up. I couldn’t be slow or careful. I held her down hard with my hand on her shoulder and bucked into her, grunting. As deep and fast as we could.

Maddie reached back and turned the photocopier back on.

badge-ww

Wicked Wednesday: Jennifer’s pleats and pleas 8

I’d suggested to Jennifer that she might want to do a little more, to prove not just to me but to herself that she really was a good girl.

She seemed to accept the principle. But I expected some dramatic and florid ideas were passing through her head, while she tried to stare out my carpet.

“Well, I know a way, Jennifer. You fully earned that spanking you just got.”

I paused and gazed at her, so that she knew something was expected. After the briefest of pauses she nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Correct. But you can gain some real credit with me, if you show you’re ready to learn discipline properly. I think you have some things to own up to, don’t you?”

Jennifer looked beseeching. She wanted to deny it, but I’d already shown too many signs of omniscience. She looked from side to side, then said, in the quietest voice imaginable, “Yes. Sir.”

hand-skirt2“And, you know, you can take punishments that you haven’t earned yet. So that things can be a little easier for you when the time comes?”

She frowned, considering that. It seemed to make sense to her, which, frankly, it didn’t to me. Her thinking was being influenced, as it should, by what her pussy wanted. I said, still very seriously, “That could mean additional spankings, or maybe the strap.”

She looked at me, her face back to its natural color. Something in her had relaxed. I said, “Do you know what a tawse is?” She looked blank. “No, you wouldn’t, I suppose. Anyway, those are options. Think on it.”

The bell rang.

“Ah, end of the first period. You’re done now. You’d better get going — I know you won’t want to be late for another class.” I let the smile get through, this time. I mouthed, silently, the word, “Or.”

She smiled back at me. The ideas implied by that “or” had pleased her. She stood up then, and I walked her to the door, as if she were a parent. But just before I opened the door that led from Maddie’s office to the corridor, and freedom for Jennifer, I touched her back lightly.

hand-skirt1She stopped, perhaps wondering if I would drop my hand to comfort her hurt. Instead I whispered into her ear. “Do think about earning that extra credit, Jennifer. It will be good for you.”

She flushed again. “Yes, sir.” And so I lowered my hand and cupped her left buttock. It was a caress, and she leaned into my hand, liking the contact while not wanting to admit it was happening.I let my hand drift over to hold her right buttock. She was perfectly still, not even breathing. 

After a few soft, sweet seconds I made it a smack. Affectionate, but more like a headmaster’s punishing hand. I smiled at her, and she tilted her head up at me. The idea that we should kiss hung in the air.

Then I opened the door, and patted her bottom one last time. “Hurry to class, now, girl.”

She walked out into the corridor, not looking back.

The photo-copier started again. Maddie had been listening. I frowned. She and I would have words about that. I shut her office door and, after a second’s consideration, locked it. Then I walked over to the photocopy room.

badge-ww

Some bdsm-related reasons why hitting children is a bad idea 13: Summing up and concluding

So 1 in 20 teachers and children are likely to respond sexually to child-beating in schools: what’s wrong with that?

We managed to get rid of this shit...

We managed to get rid of this shit…

That may seem an obvious question, but it’s worth taking it seriously. 

As we know from the Irish and Australian Commissions of Inquiry into child abuse in schools and other institutions, in very authoritarian schools the child-beating scenario too often leads to child rape. 

Why would a ritual which includes removing some of the child’s clothing and always involves forcing the child to present his or her buttocks submissively lead to rape?

It’s because those teachers and other officials experienced it as sexual: beating the child turned them on, and the “corporal punishment” rules put them in a position of enormous power over the child.

One in 20 teachers, assuming that teachers are the same as the rest of us, is sexually attracted to bdsm, and turned on by bdsm situations. This is true whether or not the teacher is aware of their sexual response, and is doing his or her best to suppress it.

Mostly, the one in 20 teachers who interpret and respond to school “spankings” sexually don’t actually rape the child.

Well, it’s always a compulsory sexual act forced on a child by an adult who is likely to find the scenario arousing, even if they try not to. It’s just not rape if you define rape as involving penetration.

It’s still … extremely undesirable.

It’s odd that many parents who would be fearful and irate if a gay sports teacher gave their son a back massage seem to take genuine mistreatment of their children with complete calm.

Awakenings 

When Charles Moser studied a California-based bdsm community he found that about 5% of people currently engaged in the bdsm community had had their interest in bdsm awakened by a physical punishment received in childhood.

That may lead some people to conclude that child-beating is not okay because it increases the number of “perverts” undermining society and having weird street parties. But that’s not my point at all. First, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with being into bdsm. Second, those children will, if they’re not beaten in schools or at home, almost certainly become aware of their sexual interest in some other way.

The real problem is that it’s psychologically harmful for children to be forced to discover an important part of their sexuality, when they’re too young to assimilate it, in a non-consensual setting of guilt, pain and fear.

happyWe all believe that children should not have sexual experiences forced on them by an adult. Sex is something they should discover for themselves, in their own time, as they become able to handle it. It’s time to put that belief into practice, and put an end to child-beating.

In the meantime, in the immortal words of Roger Waters, “Hey! Teacher! Leave those kids alone!”

 

Note

This is the end of a series. The earlier posts, including the statistics behind the conclusion that about 1 in 20 people respond to bdsm scenarios, sets and settings, can be found here:

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

Part 10

Part 11

Part 12

 

 

Some bdsm-related reasons why hitting children is a bad idea 12: Summing up 1

The general case against beating children

There are good non-bdsm reasons for not hitting children. We know that it doesn’t work, that it makes kids more violent, and that there that there are other, more effective ways of disciplining children. That should be enough to end the practice, right there.

But we also know that it operates in a racist way: that children from ethnic minorities are the most likely to be beaten in schools. We also know something that may be marginally more horrific, which is that children with a disability are the most likely to be beaten.

In short, it’s cruel, it’s deliberately degrading, it doesn’t work, and (despite my respect for the teaching profession as a whole) the schools that allow “corporal punishment” have amply demonstrated that they are incapable in implementing it “fairly”, that is, without racism or bias against people with a disability.

It needs to be outlawed. Now.

The bdsm-related case against beating children

The bdsm case against child beating is that ritualised beating, especially on the buttocks, is sexual. Forcing sex acts on a child is sexual abuse. “Corporal punishment” is child-molesting.

Vile book by vile people is all about the child-beating (also punishment starvings). It is implicated in the deaths of three children.

Vile book, by vile people, advocates child-beating (also punishment starvings). It is implicated in the deaths of three children.

People who argue against this usually make two claims. The first claim is that school and parental beatings are different from sexual beatings. Because they hurt too much to be sexual.

All they’re saying is that they don’t know anything at all about sexual spankings. Sexual spankings can be delivered using a paddle or cane, and be far harder than anything that could legally be inflicted in a school.

Doms soon learn that some submissives can have an amazing ability to take and eroticise pain. In my own experience as a dom, the upper limit can be my own squeamishness, and not the submissive’s desires and response. There is no identifiable point at which a spanking is “too hard to be sexual”.

People who say, “Beat children hard and then they won’t be turned on,” are revealing some ugly things about themselves. One of those things is that they don’t have a clue what they’re talking about.  

The other claim is that beating is only sexual for a tiny minority of the population, as if it’s okay if it’s a sexual act in a few cases, because it’s worth it for all the yummy pain, fear and humiliation it inflicts on children.

But their belief, or at least claim, that only a tiny minority of the population is likely to interpret a beating sexually is wrong. That’s a matter of established fact.

About 10% of child-beatings at school are likely to be sexually charged for at least one of the participants, the punisher or the beaten child. So, of the approximate 326,400 child-beatings in US schools, each year, about 32,600 involve an adult or a child who is directly aware, from their own reaction, that this is a sexually charged act.

Tomorrow we’re going to explore a question whose answer seems comically obvious. But it is worth thinking about it: So a significant proportion of both teachers and children are responding sexually to child-beatings in schools: what’s wrong with that?

 

Wicked Wednesday: Jennifer’s pleats and pleas 7

Jennifer couldn’t believe that she’d thanked me for spanking her, but her words still hung in the air. Her face blushed as furiously as her bottom. She squirmed, and her little skirt rode up to the tops of her thighs, exposing that white-cotton gusset between.

The squirming was ... hypnotic

Jennifer’s squirming was … hypnotic

She’d have to stand up to pull the skirt down, and she knew she didn’t have permission. She couldn’t imagine asking for permission. So she could only blush, sometimes looking down and sometimes staring, uncertainly, into my eyes.

I smiled at her. “That’s better. The thing is, Jennifer, you’re a good girl. Really.”

I looked at her. Jennifer was still blushing furiously and trying hard to keep still. But she nodded. She was a good girl.

“Now, you get very good marks, Jennifer.” She squirmed again, her little pussy again flashing whitely between plump thighs. It was the word “marks” that had set her off. I said, “You have a very good record. Your marks, yes, your marks, are very good. You’ve won awards, and you take part in extra-curricular activities. It’s quite clear that achievement is important to you. Isn’t it?”

Jennifer closed her knees tightly. “Yes, sir.” 

“Good. Now, you’ve got a clean slate as far as I’m concerned. You did wrong, you took your punishment bravely. And now there’s nothing on your record. What do you say?”

“Ummm… Thank you, sir.” 

Mr fucking Scary, that's who

Mr fucking Scary, that’s who

“Good girl. Though if you’re late again, I’ll cane you. That’s fair warning. But you, Jennifer, you may be thinking that one spanking isn’t enough to make things right. Not in your own mind.”

I looked at her. Her hands were white. Her thighs trembled, knees slightly apart. It was as though I was looking at her half-naked again. I laid down a card. “In fact, you might prefer to go above and beyond to impress me that you really are well behaved. Wouldn’t you?”

She frowned. I was right, but she hadn’t expected this. “Yes, uh, yes, sir.”

“But you might be at a loss as to how to do so.”

Jennifer watched me, fascinated. Then she nodded, and looked at my carpet again. She’d seen a lot of it, in the last half-hour.

badge-ww