A Beautiful Girl

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Another erotic story from the FLOGMASTER!

Copyright 1985-2016 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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A Beautiful Girl

(*****, M/ff, Severe, nc caning)

An ugly duckling learns about real beauty. (Approximately 3,551 words. Originally published 2004-07.)

The lithe blonde squirmed nervously before the teacher's stern glare.

"Lindsay, I asked you a question. Did you complete the assignment?"

"No sir, I'm afraid I did not."

The silence was so loud the room rang with it. Mouths dropped open throughout the class.

Mr. Jones' voice was ice. "You know what this means?"

"I expect you'll have to beat me, sir."

The teacher took a moment to respond. "Very well. You will see me after class."

"Yes sir." Lindsay's head slumped down in a picture of dejection, but the moment the man's back was turned she flashed her friends a triumphant grin. Sue and Hil stared back, amazed.

"You're wicked!" hissed Hilary, shaking her head.

"Crazy," added Sue.

In the seat behind Lindsay sat an invisible girl. Her name was Lola. She watched and saw everything Lindsay and her friends did, but they never saw her. That was because she was not cool. She was ugly and fat and awkward. She didn't listen to the right music or watch the popular TV shows. She liked horrible subjects like science and hated fun things like fashion. She had no friends. She quietly existed, preferring the role of observer over observed.

Lola was silently processing the previous events, trying to make sense of what she'd witnessed. It made no sense. The beautiful, popular Lindsay, queen of the school, had practically begged to be thrashed. Even stranger, she seemed to be pleased by her actions. Was this Upside-Down-Land? Did the girl _want_ to be caned? Lola didn't understand at all.

When the bell rang, eyes rotated to Lindsay. She sat calmly while everyone else stood quickly to go. She did not move while the room emptied. Outside the classroom, Sue and Hil waited, look at each other nervously. Neither noticed the dark-haired girl watching them.

From inside the room came a sound like a distant gunshot. After a pause the sound was repeated twice more. A final fourth crack was followed by the strangled cry of a young girl in considerable pain. A moment later the door opened and a teary-eyed but smiling Lindsay emerged.

"Well?" asked Sue, breathless.

Lindsay beamed. "He said I had a lovely bum!" she crowed. She glanced around suspiciously, not noticing the lurking Lola. "Come on."

The trio disappeared into a nearby restroom, oblivious to the trailing shadow. There Lindsay quickly posed, leaning forward and lifting the back of her skirt.

She wore thong underwear and the sleek curves of her buttocks were revealed, twin hams of attractive shape and structure. Crossing both cheeks were four dark ruby lines, finger-thick, swelling with rage.

"Wow!" muttered Hil. "Ouch!"

"Did it hurt?" asked Sue.

"Of course it bloody well hurt!"

Lindsay sighed deeply. "But it was worth it. Mr. Jones is such a dream!"

Suddenly things made sense to the peeping Lola. Mr. Eric Jones, Creighton Academy history teacher, was twenty-seven years old, single, and absurdly handsome. Every girl in school had a crush on him. Lola had to admit even she was not immune to the tall man's strong jaw and intense dark eyes. When he passed near her, she couldn't breath properly. Of course he barely knew she existed, but if getting caned was a way to get his attention, that wasn't a bad price to pay. Damn, Lindsay was crazy like a fox.

"He thought your ass was cute?" Hil was saying.

"Oh yes! He made me bend over his desk and lift my skirt and when he saw I was wearing a thong I thought he might hesitate but he didn't. He just said, 'That's a lovely bum to show the world, Miss Lindsay,' and proceeded to thrash me blue!"

"Oohhh," moaned Sue, putting a palm to her forehead. "That's soooo cool!"

For weeks after her caning, Lindsay was insufferable -- at least from Lola's perspective. The girl flaunted before the handsome teacher and didn't care who noticed. She would constantly drop things -- pencils, books, erasers -- and have to bend over in front of Mr. Jones' desk to pick them up. She always bent slowly, with her butt to the teacher, wagging her tush back and forth as she pretended not to be able to find what she was looking for. It made Lola ache to crack a cane across those pert haunches herself.

The worst part was that her ploy was working. Mr. Jones did notice Lindsay, his eyes following her when she moved, and the two seemed to have developed some sort of secret language. The words were normal school English, but extra meaning was hidden beneath the routine phrases.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Jones," she'd say, coming into class with a jaunty hip shift.

"Good afternoon, Miss Lindsay. I trust you'll find _sitting_ more to your liking today?"

"Not a problem, sir. My _seat_ is very _comfortable_."

"Ah yes. Nicely padded, it is."

"Oh dear, I dropped my pencil. Now where did it go? Ah, there it is. I can almost reach it... if I stretch... ah, got it!"

"Please _sit_ down, Miss Lindsay. Or I shall have to take _strict measures_ to encourage your _obedience_."

"Yes sir! Right away sir."

Even the simple act of sitting down was elaborated, giving the male teacher every possible opportunity to notice the sexy teenage girl. Lindsay's wide eyes were oh-so-innocent but the hint of a smile played around her lips. She had fooled no one, especially not Lola, who thought the whole thing was just ridiculous.

But Lola couldn't help being jealous. It was so unfair. Lindsay was so pretty and thin and had such fabulous hair and all the other girls thought she was just so cool. And now she had Mr. Jones wrapped around her miserable little finger. It was just unfair.

It was about a month after her first caning when Lindsay openly defied Mr. Jones in class.

"This is fucking stupid!" she cried, tossing her textbook on the floor. "Why do we have to learn all these stupid dates and shit anyway? It's all ancient history and pointless!"

She was given eight strokes on that occasion, enough to make her walk strangely when she emerged from the classroom, eyes red from crying.

"Oh my poor bum!" she wailed, gripping her rear cheeks and running straight to the bathroom with Sue and Hil and the invisible Lola trailing. In the bathroom she tore off her skirt and placed wet paper towels against her burning nether cheeks. "Hell that _hurt_!" she groaned when she deigned to notice the others.

"Your bottom looks like a hot grill!" exclaimed Hilary, running up to study Lindsay's battered cheeks from close-up. "My God, look at those weals! He really tore into you, Lin."

"Tell me something I don't know."

Sue pushed her way forward. "I thought you said he liked you."

"He does," sighed Lindsay. She shivered. "Today was the most awesome experience of my life. It was like he was telling me how much he loved me with every stroke of that cane!"

"What are you talking about? Look at your ass! You won't be able to sit for a month!"

Lindsay smiled condescendingly at her friend, arrogant teacher to stupid pupil. "Of course he beat me hard. That's because he loves me!"

Even Hil was stunned. "Huh?"

"You fools wouldn't understand. It's a connection we have. He said I have the most beautiful ass he's ever caned. He told me he was going to thrash me _really_ hard, and I told him to do whatever he felt was necessary."

"But--"

"Shut up and let me finish. He only canes the beautiful girls, you know. The more beautiful the harder he canes. Each of these lines is a love poem, a witness to how much he loves me."

In the dark corner, unseen, Lola sucked in her breath. Oh how she wanted a love poem written on her flesh! To have a strong handsome man like Mr. Jones beat her soundly, beyond endurance, telling her with each stroke of agony how much he loved her!

When the girls had left, Lola stared at herself in the mirror. She rarely bothered with such a pointless activity, but today she was desperate. She stared in disgust at the figure in the mirror. The hair was dark and stringy, lifeless and tangled. Her face was full, the petite eyes, nose, and mouth too small for such a large face. Her eyes were like raisins in a ball of dough, she thought.

Then there was her figure, such as it was -- or rather wasn't. A big bag of lumpy potatoes, shapeless and awkward, that's what she was. Her ass was a huge ugly mass of flesh, not a sexy little basketball butt like Lindsay. Who was she kidding? There was no way Mr. Jones would want to cane her. He didn't even want to look at her.

Lola went back to her stall and began to weep. She wept silently for a long time, until she heard the janitor whistling on his rounds. School was long over and she needed to get home.

She waited until it was quiet in the hallway and opened the door, looking both ways. No one was there. She didn't know why she was being so careful. It wasn't like anyone would notice her anyway. She trotted toward her locker.

"Staying late are we Miss Lola?"

The voice froze her blood. Lola didn't need to turn to know who it was. There was no mistaking that stern baritone. It was Mr. Jones.

"Miss Lola, what are you doing at school after hours?"

Lola's tongue dried up. Her eyes stung with tears. Why him? Why now? She was so ugly. How could he even bear to talk to her? Her head went down.

"Uh, sir, I, uh, I..."

A strong hand reached under her chin, lifting her head upward. Lola almost panicked, terror flooding through her as her eyes met the teacher's. But his eyes were kindly, his tone gentle teasing.

"Have you been up to some sort of mischief?"

"I..."

"Wait a minute. Have you been crying?"

"Oh no sir! I, uh--"

"Come with me. Into my office."

The room was only a few steps away. Lola was pulled into it as though by an invisible force. The door shut behind her and Mr. Jones pushed a chair behind her.

"Sit." The command was like a fact, indisputable. Lola sat.

"Now relax. Take a deep breath. Tell me what's going on. Why were you crying?"

"It's nothing sir."

"I'll be the judge of that. Now speak."

Lola tore her eyes from the carpet and glanced up at the man. He was behind his desk, tall and commanding, comfortable and in control. He was smiling kindly. He looked so handsome her heart did a little jitter. For a moment, she almost forgot the image of herself in the mirror. For a moment, she almost thought she was normal.

"Is something wrong at home?"

"No sir, nothing like that."

"Then it's something at school. Did you do poorly on an exam? Break up with your boyfriend? What happened?"

She shook her head. "No, no, it was nothing..."

Boyfriend? He was mocking her, of course. Didn't the whole world know she was the only girl at Creighton Academy who _didn't_ have a boyfriend? Who had _never_ had a boyfriend?

"We are going to stay here until you tell me, Miss Lola. All night if necessary. You will find I am a very stubborn man. I always get what I want."

Lola looked toward the door. It appeared to be very far away.

"I was just... sad, sir," she blurted out finally.

"Sad? What on earth would a girl like you have to be sad about?"

Everything? thought Lola, but she didn't say it. Instead she raised her head. "A girl like me?"

"Yes, an intelligent, talented, beautiful girl who attends the best prep school in the country and has her pick of any Ivy League college she wants. The future's in your pocket, Miss Lola. What on earth would make you sad?"

Lola was bewildered. She couldn't have heard correctly. "I am not beautiful," she muttered.

"Excuse me?"

She shrugged, not repeating the phrase. But Mr. Jones had apparently heard it.

"What makes you think you are not beautiful?"

Lola's cheeks burned. She stared at the books on the wall.

"Miss Lola, look at me."

Slowly, like a team losing at tug-a-war, her head rotated. She kept her eyes down, then that strong hand was at her chin again, lifting her to stare into those beautiful ebony eyes.

"You are a beautiful girl. Listen to me, Miss Lola. You are a beautiful girl. I want you to repeat that. Come on, say 'I am a beautiful girl.' Say it."

Tears streamed from Lola's eyes in an unexpected burst and she tore her chin from his hand, staring at the carpet as her emotions went out of control.

"I can't!" she cried. "I can't!"

"Because you don't believe it."

"Because it's not true!"

"That's a lie!" roared Mr. Jones leaping to his feet. His anger was astonishing. Lola was so shocked she stopped crying.

"That is a *lie*," snarled the teacher furiously. "You are a beautiful girl, a wonderful, talented human being, and I don't want you to ever forget that!"

Lola didn't know what to say. She shook her head. "But--"

"If you lie again I shall thrash you!"

Lola gasped.

Mr. Jones grabbed a cane from the bin by the door and held it up like a sword. "Lying is against school policy, Miss Lola. If you lie I shall be forced to administer immediate punishment. Six of the best!"

"But I'm not lying! I am _not_ beautiful, I am UGLY!"

"That's it. You just earned yourself a sound thrashing, young lady. Over my desk, right now. I will give you something to cry about."

It was like a dream. Somehow Lola found herself bent across the teacher's desk. She felt him raise her skirt, tucking it into her waistband to hold it up and leave her bum exposed. Her face was hot with shame. Oh God, he was staring at her ass!

Bent over, her butt felt obscenely huge. Surely her panties couldn't contain all that blubber. Wouldn't they burst at the seams? Oh Lord, this couldn't be happening. This was impossible, absurd. Surely--

"Ahhhh!" Lola's scream of anguish dwarfed the snapping sound the cane made as it connected with her plump flesh. Before she could react, the rod swished down again. Twin lines of fire throbbed across her bottom. Lola hissed and writhed across the desk.

"I can see I've gotten your attention," said Mr. Jones, his voice stern and cruel. "Good. Now stay in position and don't get up unless you are enjoying this and want extras."

Crack! Snap! Whack!

Lola couldn't believe the intensity of the pain. The thin wooden rod seemed to cut right into her flesh and bury itself there. At first there was nothing, only the pressure against her butt. A fraction of a second later there was a horrible burn, quickly followed by a stinging that continued to escalate in intensity. After a few seconds the pain reached a peak and settled into a throb.

Swish-CRACK!

"Ahhhhrggggg," moaned Lola, writhing helplessly against the desk. Her buttocks were burning, the meat of her cheeks sizzling as though she'd sat on a hot grill. She clutched frantically at the edge of the desk, struggling to hold herself in position.

There was a long pause. Lola panted, staring at Mr. Jones' empty chair in front of her. She waited for the next stroke.

"You have a lovely bum, Miss Lola," said a gentle voice behind her.

Lola shook her head, tears flowing. "Stop mocking me!"

"Six more then!" growled Mr. Jones angrily.

The rod whistled through the air, arriving to a crushing stop against the soft flesh of the sprawled teenager. Lola grunted, moaning at the stinging impact. The cane rebounded, then returned, harder than before.

"Ahh! Please, sir! Have mercy!"

*Snap!* "You are a _liar_ Miss Lola. Liars at Creighton Academy are severely punished." Whack! "Here you will learn to speak the truth or suffer the consequences." Crack! "Are you learning, Miss Lola? Or do you need further lessons?" Swish-CRACK!

"Ahhhhhhhhhh!"

"As I said, Miss Lola, you have a lovely bum. So round and full. I bet this bum can take a lot of punishment. I could cane you all day and all night. I enjoy thrashing beautiful bottoms, little Miss, and I tell the truth when I say it's an honor to cane magnificent cheeks like yours. Shall we continue with six more? I promise I shall make them hurt, draw some really tender purple lines across those perfect orbs."

Lola could only moan, wiggling her tender haunches in her agony. Her vision was blurred by tears, and her mind was growing confused. This hurt so awfully yet it felt so good! Her buttocks blazed but she didn't really mind, not if what Mr. Jones said was true. Did he really like her bum? Would he really like to cane her all night long?

She had to admit, her buttocks felt alive right now. For that matter, _she_ felt alive. Her whole body was alive with experience. This was something she'd never felt before and would never forget. The tremendous pain made her problems seem petty and insignificant. So she was a little overweight, big deal. So she didn't have the Barbie perfect 10 figure, so what? It wasn't like she aspired to be a model or movie star or something silly like that.

"I'm waiting for an answer," said Mr. Jones, tapping the tip of the cane against Lola's tender seat. She squirmed frantically. "Six more or are we done?"

"Sir, please I--"

"Are you beautiful?"

"Sir please!"

"Are you beautiful?"

When Lola didn't answer immediately, Mr. Jones let the cane do the talking. The rod rose and fell, thick weals blossoming across the taut buttocks of the teen. Lola quivered and moaned and cried out as the cane painted her buttocks crimson and purple. She was sobbing when he stopped.

"You've taken eighteen strokes, Miss Lola. That's the most I've ever given any girl in my charge. You're either the most stubborn or most beautiful girl I've ever thrashed!"

Suddenly Lola's mind was clear. The fog vanished. Lindsay's earlier words came back: _He only canes the beautiful girls, you know. The more beautiful the harder he canes. Each of these lines is a love poem, a witness to how much he loves me._

Lola stood up, astonished. Her tears were forgotten. The furious throbbing of her buttocks was forgotten. She stared at Mr. Jones. "You think I'm pretty?"

"I don't think, I know. You are beautiful."

"But I'm nothing like Lindsay. She's so... so thin, and she's got such nice eyes and hair...."

"Lindsay Montgomery is a scrawny, talentless, manipulating bitch," said Mr. Jones firmly. "She'll marry into money, probably a guy from Harvard her family sets her up with, and within a few years they'll be divorced and she'll take half and end up drunk and strung out. By thirty she'll be addicted to plastic surgery in the vain hope of keeping her looking the way she did at twenty because that's all she's got. Take away her looks and she's air."

Lola had to work not to smile widely. "And me?"

"You? You'll graduate from Stanford with honors, make a dozen key discoveries that will revolutionize multiple fields of science, and go on to win the Nobel prize. You'll marry a genuinely nice man, a fellow scientist, you'll have four kids, all geniuses, and you'll die at 98, successful, wealthy, admired, and deliriously happy, with twenty-seven great-grandkids."

"Really?"

"I never lie, Miss Lola." He held up the cane to make his point.

Lola nodded, a tremor of fear coursing through her thrillingly, her hands going to massage her steaming ass.

"I believe you," she whispered. "I _am_ beautiful."

"You have eighteen lines to help you remember that."

"And if I ever forget?"

Mr. Jones' raised his eyebrows. "Well, you can always return to me for a refresher. I never tire of whipping a beautiful bottom."

Lola blushed, but her heart beat faster. Beautiful bottom. What a lovely phrase! Her beautiful bottom was sore and throbbing, but she didn't mind at all. With every movement the soreness reminded her of how beautiful her bottom was.

She stopped at the door. "Sir?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you." For more than you'll ever know, she thought. Tears glistened in her eyes. Mr. Jones smiled at her, the genuine smile of a friend.

"You be good, Miss Lola. I shall see you in class tomorrow."

"Yes sir."

Lola left, her heart singing. To hell with Lindsay and her silly games. Mr. Jones had give her eighteen strokes, more than any other girl! She was special, unique, not a cookie-cutter blonde like Lindsay. Her heart warmed when she thought of it.

Someday Lola would find her own Mr. Jones, a handsome, kind man with a firm hand and a loving heart, who'd make sure she didn't forget how special she was.

Lola could hardly wait.

The End

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