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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(****, M/f, Severe, nc spanking, caning)
An orphan girl falls in love with her strict teacher. (Approximately 1,860 words. Originally published 2007-01.)
The question reverberated around the room and my heart froze in mid-beat. I stared up at the pretty Miss Haven. The whole world waited for my answer.
It is strange, the way things change. Just two months ago I hated this woman. The death of my mother and baby sister in a car crash left me suddenly alone, thrust into an obscure boarding school where my rebellious behavior was absolutely not permitted. Within an hour of my arrival I'd earned my first thrashing, six with the slipper from none other than Miss Haven. My furious non-cooperation escalated that mild slippering into a full caning, and after four with the teacher's rattan across my recalcitrant seat I was subdued. Cowed, but not beaten. Miss Haven and I were officially at war.
Both of us were stubborn, but it was my bum that took the damage. Nearly every day she bent me over for something or another, and thrashed me with a slipper, strap, or cane. The fierce beatings hurt abominably, but I didn't dare let her know that. I remained as defiant as ever, though my belly went cold at the thought of the licking to come.
Gradually the teacher and I came to an understanding. I quickly learned that she was as tough as she was beautiful, and when she thrashed you, you felt it. Six from her was like nine from any other teacher. Even the Head didn't cane as hard. But I also learned that she was fair. If you did your schoolwork, obeyed the rules, and were polite, she kept her part of the bargain and didn't need to cane you. On the other hand, if you disobeyed, you could expect the strictest of punishment.
This was during my "life is unfair" phase and it was her severe but judicious discipline that brought some needed order to my life. I was angry at the world for taking away my family and I really needed some strict boundaries. I pushed those boundaries to the limit and paid the price with a striped bottom, but that was okay. I learned, and it felt good to have something reliable in my life.
I think it was about two weeks before summer break when I realized I was in love with Miss Haven. She'd asked me to stay after class and I knew she was going to beat me. My assignment had been woefully incomplete and I suspected this would be a serious session of discipline. However, instead of being angry or even afraid, I felt strangely content. All was right with the world when Miss Haven was there to mete out appropriate justice.
Sure enough, after the class had been dismissed, Miss Haven announced that I deserved to be punished. I ruefully looked at the long cane on her desk and wondered if it would be six or nine. Judging from the tone of her lecture, I figured nine. Nine tight ones, no doubt, coming from her.
I was already getting into caning position when she surprised me, leading me across her lap for a long spanking to my bare bottom. Though it didn't hurt especially, it was humiliating being spanked like a child. The spanking also took forever. I'd have much preferred a good six with the cane and be done with it. She seemed to know that and purposely took her time slapping my bum to a scarlet hue.
At first I was just anxious for it to be over so I could get on with my day. After about five or six minutes, the spanking began to be uncomfortable, and I fidgeted, wondering just how long this little episode was to last. Another five minutes passed with increasing discomfort and suddenly I became quite concerned. My bottom felt like was sitting on a hot stove and I really wanted to get off. But Miss Haven showed no signs of stopping.
"Please Miss!" I finally gasped. It felt like I'd been over her lap for an hour. Each stinging slap was intense and I felt humiliated that a mere spanking was making me so uncomfortable. "I'll be good, Miss, I promise!"
"Please be quiet while I'm spanking you."
I endured in silence for another minute or so, the spanks descending steadily all over my sore rump, high, low, left, right, middle. It was machine-like and ridiculous, and I couldn't hold myself.
"Please, I'd rather have the cane than this!" I snapped.
"You need this," she said firmly. Her slaps continued unabated and I groaned and writhed in frustration.
"You're a naughty girl and deserve a long, hard, bare bottom spanking. A caning's too easy for you. You need a severe lesson."
I had no doubt she was right, but that knowledge didn't make my situation any less difficult to endure. Still, I had to admire her verve and determination. She'd set out to spank the naughtiness out of me and she was succeeding admirably. I wondered how much naughtiness was left. Surely I'd been spanked enough?
But the spanking continued, on and on. The woman had amazing stamina. I finally began to cry, not because of the pain but simply because of the endlessness of the punishment. Once the door opened the tears just flowed and I sobbed. A couple of minutes later I realized I was crying for my mother and sister as much as anything else. I hadn't cried for them in months. Now I cried willingly, just sobbed my heart out, and I felt better.
Miss Haven then paused in her spanking, her heavy hand resting against my steaming bottom. I gasped for air, panting, and lay there unmoving as she massaged my sore rump.
"There, there," she whispered. "You needed that, didn't you dear."
"Th-thank youuu," I moaned, and I knew I was in love with the pretty teacher. It was like I'd never seen her clearly before. As I sat back, my butt hot against my heels, I looked up at her like she was an angel. Her long blond hair was so lovely, her thin lips and chiseled nose perfectly elegant. Her blue eyes were moist with her own tears and when she smiled at me I felt like I would burst with happiness.
That perfect moment held for a long time, time just frozen in perfect bliss, then it vanished so suddenly I wondered if I'd only imagined it.
Miss Haven stood before me flexing the lean cane. "Shall we get your caning over with?" she said with schoolteacher formality.
Suddenly all was clear to me. I looked into her prim, emotionless face and knew that she loved me. It was unspoken, of course, just as much as mine. It was not something that could be said out loud. We had to speak in other ways. Other ways such as the long limb of rattan she held in her hands.
I stood to my feet and nodded. My knickers were on the floor -- apparently I'd kicked them off during the long spanking though I didn't remember doing that -- so all I had to do was lift my skirt to bare my bum for the rod.
There was a whisk of air and a dry thunk as the cane crashed across my backside. Instantly a sharp sting flooded my haunches with fire. I waited patiently, not moving, as the stroke was repeated twice more.
My bottom was tingling nicely now, a bright blaze of building agony. As the beating continued, steadily and with unerring accuracy, I knew that I could expect no mercy from Miss Haven. But to my surprise, I realized that I loved that about her. I didn't want her mercy, her mocking concern. No, I wanted her genuine love. I wanted the intense pain of her strictest discipline for that was the ultimate proof that she cared.
After the ninth stroke I was truly uncomfortable and desperate for the thrashing to end. This was the tightest caning I'd ever endured, every stroke so hard as to shock the breath from my body. When the tenth arrived I couldn't help but let out a little whimper of despair, a desperate plea for mercy. I was not surprised when Miss Haven didn't grant it, nor when the eleventh was placed cruelly low, across the back of my upper thighs where the stretched skin is impossibly tender. I yelped and wiggled my bum frantically.
"Just one more," whispered the teacher, and I held my pose and my breath.
The stroke was a fierce one, above my thighs but low across my bum, and it felt like I'd been sliced with a knife. For a long ten seconds I couldn't breath, then I hissed frantically as the terrible pain assaulted me. It felt like she'd put hot pepper in that stroke, for the sting seemed to get worse as the seconds dragged on.
"All right, Jules, you may rise."
Slowly I stood, feeling like it had been a year since I'd last been upright. My head swirled and I felt dizzy. My buttocks throbbed unbelievably. I could hardly believe I'd been subjected to such fierce discipline and survived.
As I stood there before my teacher, my bottom burning with the hot stripes of her cane, I felt a surge of pride and -- strangely -- contentment. It wasn't so much that I'd endured her beating, but that she'd beaten me. I felt privileged to be beaten by such a woman. I felt privileged to feel her love.
When she smiled at me it was as more than teacher to student, though none but myself could have seen it. My heart thrilled with her scornful tone.
"I hope that has taught you a severe lesson. If not, we shall repeat this tomorrow."
"Yes, ma'am," I said obediently, unsure if I was agreeing that it had been a superb lesson or on a repetition on the morrow -- but the truth was that I didn't really care which.
She dismissed me then and I walked out of her classroom on angel's wings. I had never been so happy, never so content, never felt so loved.
It is strange, the way things change. Two months earlier I'd hated that woman. Now I adored her.
So when she posed the question, there was no question of my answer. I knew what it meant. I knew I could expect no mercy. I knew she'd be most strict with me, that I'd be forced to work hard all summer, and that no matter how hard I tried she'd find faults with my work and I'd be subject to her fierce discipline. She'd bare my bottom and spank me humiliatingly across her lap. She'd strip me naked and thrash my bare bum until it was striped like the American flag. I'd probably be beaten every day of summer vacation. She'd spank me for breakfast, paddle me after lunch, and cane me before supper. Instead of sitting comfortably at home, bored with television and sweet drinks and romance novels, I'd be slaving as her assistant, my bum constantly itching and sore.
It would be an honor. I could hardly wait.