Arguing

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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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Arguing

(*****, F/f, Intense, nc caning)

A girl gets an expected bonus for arguing. (Approximately 497 words. Originally published 2009-08.)

I trembled as Mrs. Horn, the riding instructor, took out her switch. It was three feet of cold ivory covered with tough black leather. It stung like a bitch.

"It shall be four strokes."

The words were like a slap to my face. Four strokes with that beast? I wouldn't be able to sit for day, at least. My buttocks quivered. The weals would be awful, thick pulsing things that ached for days and hurt every time you moved.

"Ma'am, use the cane, please."

Her petite bird-like head cocked as she looked at me coldly. "Trousers down."

Horror reddened my cheeks. Four with the switch on my bare bum? Heavens, could this day get any worse? Tears blurred my vision.

"Please Mrs. Horn, my riding pants are thread thin. They offer no protection."

The woman opened her mouth to disagree, then paused. To my surprise, she shrugged. "Let me see. Bend over."

I bent, the slacks tightening across my rump. I was practically poured into them normally, so bent over they really gripped my flesh tautly. Every curve and bulge was obvious. They were tights, really. I shivered, imagining the hard quirt lashing into my precious mounds.

Mrs. Horn smiled. "Four, across your trousers."

"Thank you, ma'am," I breathed, biting my tongue at the absurdity of thanking my chastiser for the agony she was about to inflict.

The switch left an excruciating band of pure white-hot pain. I screeched helplessly as the hard crop whipped into me again. Tears stung my eyes but I controlled my screams. Again it caught me, this one low, just above the thighs. The flesh was especially tender there, and I writhed in misery as I offered my rump for the final blow.

When the red mist blinding me had cleared, I slowly stood, my buttocks squirming with throbbing pain. I could feel the four distinct weals rising thickly across my ass. My palms were slick with sweat and I felt like I hadn't breathed in a week.

"T-thank you, ma'am," I managed weakly.

"Did that hurt?" She asked the question innocently, as though she didn't know.

"Yes Ma'am. Very much."

"Good. Then perhaps you will listen when I order you to take down your trousers."

The air in my lungs turned to ice. I couldn't breath, couldn't move. My eyes bulged as I stared at the woman in astonishment.

"Ma'am?" I managed finally.

"Four, on the bare."

"But Ma'am, you just--"

"You asked for those. They do not count as your punishment."

My head swirled. This was impossible. Dimly, I sensed my hips shifting from side to side as I drew down my riding pants. The pit in my stomach reminded me I'd never get them back up. Like removing a shoe when you sprain an ankle, the swollen flesh won't let you put it back on. I'd have to return to the dorm butt naked.

There was nothing to do but bend over and wait.

The End

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