Another erotic story from the FLOGMASTER!Copyright 1995-2009 by the Flogmaster. All Rights Reserved. Free distribution via electronic medium (i.e. the internet or electronic BBS) is permitted as long as the text is _not_ modified and this copyright is included, but _no_ other form of publication is allowed without written permission. This document _may_ contain explicit material of an ADULT nature. ***READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!*** Anything offensive is your own problem. This story is for **entertainment** purposes only, and it does _not_ necessarily represent the viewpoint of the author or the electronic source where this was obtained. All characters are *fictional* -- any resemblance to real people is purely coincidental.
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Back to School II
(***, F/f, Intense, Teen slippering and caning)
Erin learns she's back at school. (Approximately 756 words. Originally published 1998-02.)
The memories of schoolchildren are short. It seemed especially so in my case. Just a few weeks of being gone for the holidays and I'd forgotten all the lessons of the first term.
I awoke early on Monday, the first school day of the new year. I raced to Ariana's quarters to assist her, and she reminded me of my position with a dozen of the slipper on each cheek. She did it on the bare, slowly and deliberately, with me stretched out flat upon her bed. I went to breakfast with my bum stinging and sore, and that was just the beginning.
In Miss Shlemple's class I was twice reprimanded for whispering to my friend Lenora, who I hadn't had a chance to talk to yet since returning from the break. Miss Shlemple glared at me once, then verbally told me off, and finally, when I still hadn't gotten the message, ordered me to the front of the room.
As I nervously made my way toward her desk she opened a drawer and took out a large plimosol. Terrific. More slippering. At her command I bent across her desk with my arse pointed at the class. She lifted my skirt and began a thorough walloping of my bottom. My regulation panties might have protected my bottom from prying eyes, but they did nothing to protect me from the fierce sting of that leather shoe!
After six on each cheek I was fidgeting and my eyes were watering. "Thank you, Ma'am," I said when she'd finished. I started to rise.
"Did I say I was done?" she cried. "Get back in position!" With that she gave me two gratuitous smacks that made me jump.
"Ooh, please, Ma'am!"
"Be silent," she ordered, and proceeded to deliver a sound spanking to the backs of my legs. This stung terribly, and I began to grunt and even yelp at the blows. My bare thighs were so sensitive it felt like she was pressing hot coals against my skin. I could not stop from crying, at least a little bit.
"There, that does it. You may return to your seat, Miss O'Grady. I hope you have learned your lesson."
Sniffling, I made my way back to my chair dreading the thought of sitting on my sore bum. My legs and bottom burned. I was miserable.
My next class came and went, and lunch passed more or less uneventfully. But later, I ran into Mrs. Wizler. Not literally, of course, but I could have. I was late for history and she caught me running. Now the normal punishment for running indoors is lines, or perhaps the slipper. When Mrs. Wizler dragged me by the ear to her office this was what I expected, and I wasn't happy about it. My bottom was already well slippered and more just did not fit into my plans.
But Mrs. Wizler did not fetch the slipper--she fetched the cane! Horror of horrors, I was to be caned! I watched her in total astonishment as she came forward, bending the cane almost in half.
"Over the desk," she ordered. "And take down your knickers."
Oh, I was to be caned and on the bare! How could it get any worse?
"Hmmm," said Mrs. Wizler, making it worse, "you seem to have been the recipient of discipline previously today. I am not surprised. I had planned to give you four, but since you seem to be in need of a stern reminder that you are at school and no longer on vacation, it shall be six."
Then came the dreadful swish-CRACK that always chilled me. Again and again, hot lines of searing flame across my naked arse. I yelped and pleaded and finally wept. It really really hurt and at first I was very angry because I didn't feel I deserved the cane for simply running down a corridor. But soon, after the fourth stroke, I felt my fear leave me. The pain had peaked and I relaxed slightly. I realized that indeed, Mrs. Wizler was correct--I was a school now, and caning was a part of school. "You shall simply have to learn to accept it," I told myself.
When it was done, Mrs. Wizler put away the cane and came to me, still bent across the desk, and kissed my forehead. "Welcome home," she said, and I sighed deeply and nodded. It felt good to be home.
More to come next week!