RLS 06: Model

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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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About the REAL LIFE SPANKING Series

The RLS Series is a collection of _real-life_ stories retold by the Flogmaster. Names and places have been _changed_ to protect the naughty. All are based on the personal memories of individuals and are written in the first person. Literary license may have been taken for a more dramatic presentation.

Please send me your spanking experiences! I will rewrite and publish the most interesting as part of the RLS series. Your anonymity _will_ be preserved. The Flogmaster

Model

(****, M/f, Intense, n/c caning, masturbation)

A teenage model tells about a memorable caning and her unusual experiences afterward. (Approximately 4,590 words. Originally published 1995-10.)

Hi. My name is Shauna. I'm seventeen, pretty, with short blond hair, blue eyes, and a trim figure. I'm a model. I've done stuff for local television and several catalogs. I'm not an airhead, like most people think models are. I really work hard on my modeling and I'm very professional, but I am still planning on going to college and getting a degree. I'm not sure in what yet, but I know that education is important.

This particular incident I'm writing about happened about three weeks ago. It was one of the strangest experiences I've ever had, but of course, I am rather young and naive and I have not had a great deal of practice with sex. I'm sure in the future I'll learn even more wonderful things about life and pleasure, but for now, this is tops.

Strangely enough this whole started with Mary Ellen Garsey breaking up with Bobby Walton, the captain of the football team. (I blame this first part on her, of course.) That opened the door for me, you see. I've been wanting to get my hands on Bobby's tight ass since the eighth grade. So I started flirting with him and trying to get his attention. Sure enough, he noticed me, and being on the rebound and all, we went out.

Well, to make a long story short, it didn't work out. We had great sex, sure, but that was about it. In the meantime, however, I was so involved with Bobby I completely neglected my history class. History is not one of my favorite subjects. We had a big test coming up and I was weeks behind. I just knew I would flunk and if my parents found out they'd restrict my modeling. They were nervous enough as it was. Maintaining good grades was mandatory or they'd think modeling was interfering with my education.

So I cheated. I'm ashamed of it now. I know I shouldn't have done it. I _really_ shouldn't have done it. I had no real idea how to do it, of course, since I'd never done that kind of thing before. I made this little sheet of dates and facts and was cruising along pretty good on the test when suddenly I realized there was a shadow across my desk and I looked up to see Mr. Meriweather looking down on me.

"Using some extra help, there Shauna?" he asked. Mr. Meriweather is like this old geezer with a beady eyes and this huge glasses and a funny walk. Everybody jokes about him. He's like fifty and never had a woman. It's obvious. He still has pimples, too. I think he resents me because I'm pretty. He didn't even give me the chance to explain. Before I could open my mouth (and I open my mouth pretty quick, mind you) he had me warming my buns in the principal's office.

Unfortunately I do mean that literally. I was given six wacks with "Mr. Education," the thick wooden paddle Mr. Eaderly keeps hanging on the wall behind his desk. I had to sign it too, which hurt more than the paddling. But I did notice Mary Ellen Garsey's name on the paddle, which was a juicy bit of gossip no one knew about. I wondered when and why she'd gotten it.

Afterwards I sat in the waiting room, fidgeting as my bottom was a little uncomfortable, waiting for my mother to pick me up. At ten minutes to three my father showed up. Uh oh. _Big_ trouble. He took off work and everything. I suddenly saw my summer vacation plans turning to mud.

My father didn't say a word to me at school or the whole way home. He's a great guy, but rather a stickler for the letter of the law. I knew I'd really done it this time. His father, my grandfather, is a Colonel in the Army. He was stationed in London for years and my Dad basically grew up in England. Unfortunately for my brother and I, Grandpa picked up a few British disciplinary techniques and taught them to my father. My father, in turn, insists on passing this valuable knowledge to his children.

In a closet in Dad's office at home there is a "Mr. Education" of his own. Only this one you don't have to sign. There'd be no way. It's a quarter-inch thick piece of bamboo cane, about a yard long, and it'll practically split your ass open. I've never felt so much pain in all my life as the couple of times he'd used it on me. I sank low in the car seat as I saw my father's black face. He was going to use the cane, no doubt about it.

I tried desperately to think of a way out of this. Was there some other punishment I could offer? Perhaps the summer trip? I didn't want to but it seemed worth a try.

"Daddy," I began cautiously, "I'm really, really sorry. I feel terrible. I know you are going to punish me and I understand, I really do. I was thinking, though, that maybe a good punishment would be to ground me this summer. Cancel that trip to Europe Monica and I were planning on taking. I know I've been planning and looking forward to it for almost a year, but I think this deserves real punishment."

His face was a mask. Then he glanced at me and smiled. It was not a fun smile. "I agree, darling, you _have_ done it this time. I've never been so ashamed of you in my entire life! Cheating! Why if that isn't the worst goddamned sin I ever heard. A disgrace to our family, that's what you are!" I winced at this. We were forever being lectured on "upholding" the family honor. I think Daddy still half expects my brother and I to go to West Point. He's dreaming, of course, but he does expect us to live up their honor code.

"I think we will cancel that trip, girl, but don't even begin to think you'll escape a caning. I have half a mind to cane you every day for a week!" I gasped at this horrible news. My plan had backfired. Now I would lose my summer and still get caned.

"Please, Daddy," I begged, "one or the other, not both. I-I'll take the caning if I can go to Europe."

"You'll take the caning one way or the other, girl. Now get inside and go to your room!" He parked the car and I ran to my room and shut the door. I fell on my bed and cried and cried. I felt so miserable. Any minute I expected to hear him knock and see him come inside with that horrible cane.

I wondered how many strokes he would give me. I couldn't begin to imagine. Josh had gotten ten once, when he and another boy were fighting at school and Josh lied about it. Four for fighting and six for lying. The two times I'd felt the cane had only been three strokes each, and I had cried for hours. It had been, let's see, three years since my last one. I was older now, maybe it wouldn't hurt so much. But I didn't really believe that.

It seemed like only minutes had passed when I heard that dreaded knock. I stared at the clock and was surprised to notice it was almost eight o'clock. Daddy came in but he wasn't holding the cane. This confused me but I tried to pretend I hadn't noticed. No sense in giving him ideas.

"Let's talk, Shauna."

"Sure."

He sat on the bed beside me. "I've talked this over with your mother and we are of one mind on this. No discussion. Here is what we are going to do. I called and talked with your history teacher, a Mr. Meriweather--a very nice man, by the way--and he says you are very far behind in your history but if you work really hard the next month you will be able to catch up before the end of the year. He is willing to tutor you, Shauna. Isn't that generous?"

Yeah, right, I thought. He just wants to get his hand up my skirt. But I smiled and didn't say anything.

"Your mother has informed me that you have a job tomorrow. The contract won't let you get out of it so you'll have to go. But for the next three Saturday's after that you will spend the day at school with Mr. Meriweather.

"Now, Shauna, if--and I do mean _if_--you pass your history class, you _will_ be allowed to go to Europe this summer. If not, well, you'll be in summer school. Mr. Meriweather teaches a class."

"You mean I _can_ go to Europe?"

"If you pass history."

"No problem. I'll study night and day."

"And Saturdays."

I cringed. "And Saturdays."

"Now about the caning--"

My heart stopped. "C-caning?"

"Yes. I told you that you would not escape it. You won't. Now personally I think I should bend you over and give you about fifty strokes right now, but that would be too much for you, though certainly not less than you deserve.

"Instead your gentler Mother has convinced me to do something else. So here is what we are going to do: I will not cane you tonight. Instead, I want you to ponder your sin in public, during the day. So tomorrow morning when you get up you will receive six strokes. Throughout your modeling tomorrow you will be sore and will remember what you did to earn those strokes. Do you understand?"

I understood but I didn't like it. I didn't like it at all. I nodded.

"Further, you will receive another caning each of the next three Saturdays before you go to the school to study with Mr. Meriweather. That will be four canings over four weeks for a total of twenty-four strokes. Isn't that fair?"

My mouth had gone dry. I stared at my father and tears came to my eyes I as thought of what he was saying. I wanted to believe there was someway out of this but I could see by his face that there was no discussion. If I opened my mouth now I surely either get more of the cane or my trip canceled. I nodded. "T-Thank you, Daddy. I-I am _really_ sorry."

"I know, dear," he said softly. "I'll see you at six o'clock, Shauna. You'd better get some sleep."

It seemed my alarm had barely gone off when my father was knocking on my door. Wasn't he the eager beaver. Even though I wasn't at all eager for what was to happen, I let him in quickly so that we could get this over with.

"Good-morning, honey," he said brightly.

"Yeah, right," I muttered staring at that horrid cane.

"You know the position. Six strokes."

Nodding, I took a deep breath and prepared to bend over. Could I risk it? "Daddy, please... d-does it h-have to be, uh, b-b-bare?"

"Yes, dear. Now get in position."

I sighed and quietly slid my pajama bottoms down to my ankles. I wasn't wearing any panties. I stepped out of my pjs and bent over and grabbed my ankles trying to keep my legs straight. While I was bent over my pajama top pulled up and didn't protect my bottom at all.

"Good. Here goes."

Crack! The first stroke was like a gunshot. The searing pain took my breath away. Tears flooded out of my eyes even though I had sworn to myself I would not cry. Crack! The second was worse than the first, though I didn't see how that was possible. It felt like a red-hot poker was touching my skin. I cried and my whole body trembled. I did not see how I could take six of these.

Crack! Crack! Crack! Strips of red hot fire across the cheeks of my ass. I couldn't breathe. After the third one the pain wasn't greater, just longer. It didn't seem to want to stop. CRACK! It took all my strength to hold still during that last one.

"You may rise," said my father, but his voice was a million miles away. As I slowly rose I was painfully aware of how stiff I was. Every nerve of my body was on edge and I was sweating like a pig. My ass burned and I could actually feel the individual strokes throb.

My father left and I couldn't hurry fast enough to get into the shower. I spent a good half hour in there, running water all over my bottom. It hurt, especially when the water was hot, but it hurt even more when the water wasn't soothing the welted skin.

By 7:15 a.m. I was on my way to the studio. I arrived promptly at 7:30 and went directly to make-up. I swallowed my pride and sat down firmly on my raw bottom, ignoring the discomfort.

At a quarter after eight all of us girls were dressed and ready and we were driven to the mall. We gathered at the display in front of "Fashion Corner" and the art director got us into our poses. We would have two-hour shifts offset with half-hour breaks. Living models. Not the most glamorous way to make a living, but it can lead to other jobs. And the pay is better than flipping burgers like some of my friends.

"Are you all right, Shauna?" asked Melody, one of the other models. She's a blonde too, with long hair I would kill for, but she's definitely an airhead. We worked on a catalog together last summer. "You seem a little pale."

"I'm fine," I whispered. "Just a little sleepy." We had to be quiet then because the mall was opening and we had to be statues.

I don't know if you've ever been a living model, but it's hard work. You have to stay still for two whole hours. You can't even scratch or stretch your muscles, either. Then you've got the audience: jerks who goof off in attempts to make you laugh, school friends who try to start up conversations, and little kids who are frightened by seeing a mannequin suddenly move.

For me, that Saturday was the most incredible experience of my life. It started building up in the morning. The first two hours usually isn't all that bad, but my buttocks were throbbing and aching something fierce. I fidgeted all morning, drawing several reprimands from Mrs. Carmichael, the store owner. My outfit was this short pleated skirt thing (very passe in my opinion), so I was wearing these thick dark cotton panties since white ones might be noticeable (we were on a stage and the skirt only came to mid-thigh). The panties made my bottom itch and they were so thick I was conscious of a bulge between my legs. It made me rather horny, and I wished I could rub myself there, but of course I was in a window display with dozens of mallrats watching me.

I was incredibly relieved to take a break for lunch and quick trip to the restroom where I tried to satisfy myself a little, but the room was noisy and crowded and I couldn't get off with all those people watching. I went back on at twelve thirty for the next shift even more unsatisfied than in the morning.

Immediately after lunch the mall is a madhouse. There are so many people it is insane. For a while I was so bored I tried counting the people who past but I lost count after just a few minutes at around 350 people. I grew restless again, my mind wandering to the slight tingling between my legs and the sort of buzzing warmth of my rear.

I thought back to the caning of the morning and my cheeks flamed red. How could I still be spanked like that? I'm seventeen, for God's sake! I thought of that furious burrowing pain from each stroke that made me want to shriek and I shivered, startling a little boy standing with his mother. I blushed again as the mother scolded the boy who had begun to scream and point at me. Good thing she hadn't known what I was thinking about!

The more I tried _not_ to think of the caning, the more I thought of nothing else. I could almost hear the swish of each stroke followed by the gunshot-like crack. I trembled, thinking that next week I was to receive another one. And the two weeks after that, too! Tears came to my eyes as I thought of it, bending over while half-naked to receive the strokes.

I pictured myself at home, standing near my bed, while my father caned my naked buttocks. Suddenly I had a vision of taking my caning at the mall, right here in this window, my father putting on a show for everyone to watch! The thought horrified me, and yet I was intrigued. There was something powerfully erotic about being punished in public, especially being punished in the nude.

I was surprised to realize how aroused I was. My sex was pulsing with little surges of desire and I felt a tinge of moisture on my panties. The idea was turning me on! I thought about it some more, feeling more and more desire between my legs, a soft smile coming to my lips unbidden.

Oh, how I ached to touch myself. I tried to tighten the muscles in my crotch and just wiggle enough to generate _some_ friction down there, and it helped slightly, but not for long. I was so horrified by the idea that someone would see what I was doing that I couldn't move. No matter how badly I wanted it I couldn't allow myself to move.

So I suffered. I stood there like a statue and suffered silently, my panties becoming damp and then wet with my desires. I could feel every trickle of moisture down there and each droplet seemed to take like an entire hour to dribble down. I felt like crying I was so frustrated. Combined with the tingling skin of my bottom I felt like everything below my waist was on fire. The panties felt too tight and the welts on my ass seemed to swell and pulse in time with the surges from my sex. My heart was beating wildly, too, and I could hardly breathe.

Everyone was watching me, too, and I wanted to scream. There was small crowd in front of our display, which wasn't all that uncommon, but this time they were all looking at me. I flushed brilliantly, thinking that everyone there knew exactly what I was doing.

But how could they? Could they read minds? I wasn't moving--I was a still as a rock. Could they see it on my flushed face? Could they see little shocks of pleasure flashing across my eyes? I desperately tried to hold my smile as neutral as possible and froze every muscle in my body as people whispered to each other and several pointed at me.

Oh, this was unbearable! Instead of the crowd distracting me, I became even more aroused. I _had_ to move. I shifted slightly, moving the balance of my weight from my right leg to my left. This helped some, as there was a little friction in the movement, but if I had had my will I would have been shifting right and left like that two or three times a second!

Then I saw Joel Cook. He was with his friends Eric and Simon, and of course as soon as they saw me, they headed over. My face flushed with shame and I did my best to ignore them.

Joel and I had gone out together for a few months about a year ago. We'd broken up on my insistence. I really like him and thought he was fabulously sexy, but he seemed more interested in dating me because I was popular, not because he really liked me or anything. Unfortunately, he took the break-up as a personal insult and has treated me rudely ever since.

As Joel approached, I found myself staring at his crotch. I couldn't help myself. In my present condition I found it fascinating, a living snake writhing under those tight jeans. I wanted it inside me so much because I knew how it would satisfy me.

But Joel wasn't there to help me. He was there to make me even more miserable. He and his friends pushed their way right to the front of the crowd and proceeded to laugh and make faces at me. They got Melody to giggle, finally, but I was far too distracted to even smile. Sweat beaded on my head and poured down my back, tickling me in the most frustrating manner. My mouth went dry and the swelling desire between my legs increased. My bottom ached and tingled so peculiarly I wished someone would smack me good so it would just hurt instead of driving me crazy.

Suddenly it happened. I blush to remember it. I was standing there in window, frozen in position and doing my best to ignore Joel's fishmouth face, when some kind of damn burst. A deep shudder passed through me and I couldn't help but close my eyes and lean my head back. I somehow managed to keep my hands on my hips in the saucy pose I was required to maintain, but I couldn't refrain from a single, dramatic pelvic thrust.

It came so unexpectedly I didn't have a chance to stop it. A sudden thrust and then everything fell through and I came with a wave of stupendous bliss. For about three full seconds I forgot about Joel, about the crowd staring at me, the mall, my father, the caning, everything. For that fraction of an instant I was lost in heaven, living a dream, totally at peace, an unshamed smile on my lips and quiet tears in my eyes.

Then it was over, and I was again standing in a storefront window in the center of a very large mall, a crowd of about fifty people staring at me, my face a deep red as I realized my panties were soaked. I froze in terror as a droplet of moisture trickled down my leg. It tickled so badly it was painful, but I couldn't move.

Joel was looking about with a strange expression on his face, the gleam in eye telling me he strongly suspected what had just happened. Perhaps he remembered our sex and the way I reacted, I don't know. He looked both astonished and puzzled, and I saw him glance around as though to confirm from the expressions of others that he had really witnessed what he had just seen.

But no one else seemed to have noticed anything much, other than a few adults I saw giving me strange looks. They glared at Joel and I suspected they thought my movement had been some sort of obscene gesture at him. Perhaps they thought we were lovers, I don't know.

I will say that I have never been more embarrassed or ashamed in my entire life than at that moment. To orgasm in public like that! I shiver just to think of it. But at the same time, there was something so powerful, so devastating about the experience (perhaps _because_ it was done in public in such a restrained manner), that I seriously doubt I will ever discover something to match it. It was something so humiliating I would never wish for it to happen, and yet after the fact I relish it, and I am glad that it happened.

That night I spent half the night playing with myself, unable to satisfy my passions. Every thought of my father's cane, of standing nude in the mall in front of all those people, of Joel's mouth open in astonishment, brought me to violent orgasm. I couldn't believe it. I'd never been one to masturbate that much, but something about the caning and the aftermath in the mall turned me into a shameless hussy. I felt a would have humped my father's cane I was so horny!

* * * * *

Well, the next weekend I got the cane again, as promised. At nine o'clock I found myself knocking on the door to Mr. Meriweather's classroom, my buttocks stiff and burning. The teacher put his chair much too close to me as he opened my textbook and showed me which sections we'd be covering over the next three weekends.

His hand touched mine occasionally as he spoke. Normally I would have been repulsed, but I was so sore and confused my mind welcomed any gesture of kindness. So I smiled sweetly at him and wished he was dead, so I could be alone and concentrate on something much more important. Instead I had to wait until late afternoon when he let me go after assigning me two whole chapters to read before the next session.

That was two weekends ago, and tomorrow I will have my last session with him. He really isn't so bad, especially compared to a caning. Tomorrow I will receive another six strokes and I am both frightened and excited. It's strange but I even feel a tad disappointed, because this will be my last caning.

The last couple of canings were very different from the first one, the day I went to the mall. The more recent ones hurt just as much, if not more, but somehow these aroused me. I remember feeling a shiver of desire when I dropped my pajama bottoms and bent my bare buttocks toward my father. The marks from the previous caning had almost completely faded, though they were there if you looked closely, which he did. His comment sent chills down my spine.

I was afraid, but all I could think about was pretending we were in the mall, and I was totally naked. Everyone was watching us, including Joel, who's jeans were so tight I could totally see the shape of his hard cock. After the first few strokes I pictured Joel naked and bent over beside me, waiting his turn at the cane, which _I_ would administer. I saw his face go gray when I took up the cane and I gave him a good slice. As my father caned me hard I mentally caned poor Joel, enjoying the way he yelped and winced.

During my third caning I imagined Joel and then Mr. Meriweather getting caned, but I didn't think of him as being naked. Ugh. Tomorrow I have already decided to cane Mary Ellen Garsey and Bobby Walton, since they are to blame for this whole mess to begin with. Just thinking about that is making me hot. Oooh, I'd _love_ to see them caned. Together, too, so they could watch each other. That'd be even better.

Well, I'd better go to bed now. I've got to get up early in the morning. Since this is my last session I'm sure my father will make it extra memorable. My stomach is turning just thinking of it, and yet, well, I am wet again. (Trust me, I am blushing.) Good night.

The End

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