Old Fashioned Discipline


I've written a school girl fantasy I think most spankos can relate to. It's one of my first and it's been embellished for the story here. It's simple and straightforward and does become quite explicit (including anal punishment) so bear that in mind as you read.

Old Fashioned Discipline, A Schoolgirl Fantasy

The choice was mine.

There was a cold chill in the air as the classroom fell silent aside from the sniggering giggles of a few of the boys. At least the girls had the courtesy to remain silent, to at least pretend they did not wish to see me bent over the Headmaster's desk, have my skirt raised and my bottom strapped. The image of the last girl came to mind, her expression still clear as day as she faced the classroom, gripping the desk, waiting for the next stroke of the Headmaster's strap.

"I'll take my punishment after school, Sir," I said without hesitation. There was an audible sigh of disappointment from behind me and that at least gave me some satisfaction even as I knew my punishment would be much worse for choosing to be punished in relative privacy.

"Very well then," he said, then carried on with the lesson while my eyes fixed on the clock. Three hours before my spanking. Three hours to anticipate.

* * * *

The bell rang, signaling the end of the day. My best friend rose slowly, squeezing my hand in support. I barely looked at her but attempted the smallest smile. The other students slowly filed out, some giggling as they passed me while I remained seated until I was called.

Once the last student had left and the door of the small schoolhouse slammed shut, I looked up. The Headmaster wrote something in a notebook, closed it, then turned his attention to me, his expression quite serious.

"You may lock the door and come here," he said, opening a drawer and clearing his desk in preparation.

My legs somehow carried me to do just that, making sure on my way to the front of the classroom that all the curtains were also drawn so no eager eyes would bear witness to my humiliation.

I stepped up to the platform upon which his desk was set. The Headmaster stood with his back to me, studying the two different straps that hung beside the chalkboard. After what felt like hours of deliberation, he chose one, a well used, flexible strap that I'd felt only once before, and turned to me.

"You know that as you chose not to take your punishment before the class, this strapping will be administered on your bare bottom and you will receive double the strokes."

At eighteen, I did not relish having my bottom bared to be spanked, but the word double was what caught my attention. "Double, Sir?" I asked. I had not known that. The Headmaster had replaced our usual teacher for the week and this was not our teacher's policy.

He looked me over from head to toe. "Double, which will bring your count to forty strokes."

"Forty?" I asked, unbelieving. The most I'd heard of anyone taking was twenty and those were the boys.

He simply nodded and tested the strap against his palm. I swallowed. "Bend over the desk now please. Raise your skirt and take your panties down."

"Forty Sir?"

"You do not wish to make it forty-five, do you?" he asked, gesturing for me to get on with it.

I had no choice, I had already decided and it was too late to go back now. I moved to face the desk and slowly bent my torso over it. I then reached back and lifted the short uniform skirt, glancing once more at him, at the strap he held, before lowering my plain white cotton panties to just beneath my bottom. I then extended my arms to grip the sides of the desk, ready for punishment.

I looked straight ahead so I did not see but heard his footsteps as he approached me. He did not hesitate to push my skirt higher and my panties lower so that they slid to pool around my ankles. He then tapped my inner thigh, signaling for me to spread my legs wider, as wide as possible with my panties as they were. His large hand was on my bottom then, testing first one, then the other cheek.

I knew the humiliation of my position would soon be overshadowed by the sheer pain of the strap, but the attention he paid to that part of me only served to arouse, even as I anticipated the very first searing stroke.

He stepped to the side of me, keeping one hand on my low back. "You'll not rise and you'll remain silent, is that understood?"

"Yes, Sir."

I braced myself. It was a heavy moment before I heard it, the sound of leather moving air before it connected with my bottom. I squeezed my eyes shut, gripping the desk harder. The pain was unbelievable. He did not begin slowly or with any hint of gentleness. There was no preparation, only punishment. He struck again.

"Aay!" I couldn't help calling out. He said nothing, simply brought the strap down again, then again, piling strokes in one spot across the fleshiest part of my bottom until I thought I would die from the pain of it.

"That was six, my dear. Take a breath and we'll continue."

Only Six?

He gave me some moments, his hand ever present on my back. I knew he would wait for me before he began again. I needed to get this over with fast.

"I'm ready Sir," I said.

Without a word, he struck. This one landed below the spots he'd hit earlier, catching me at the crease between my buttocks and my thighs.

"Oh!" I hated that spot. It hurt the worst and he knew it because the next five came fast and hard on that very same place. "Please Sir!" I begged, mentally having counted out twelve, knowing I had twenty-eight to go. I was desperate, there was no way I could take forty of these.

"Six more before we pause. Breathe." His hand pushed on my back, telling me there would be no reprieve before he administered the next viscous set. He spread these out over my bottom and upper thighs and tears were streaming down my face by the time he paused again. "That brings us to eighteen. Remain as you are," he said before stepping away. I turned to watch what he would do, grateful for the pause but also knowing when he began again, how tender my bottom would be, how much worse the strokes would feel - if that were possible.

He opened a drawer took something out, but I did not see what it was before he pocketed it. He then returned to me and lay the weight of the strap against my low back. He took my buttocks in his hands, examining the welts, lifting my cheeks. I gasped when I felt him spread them apart, his fingers close to my most private places.

"Shh…" he said. "I must examine you. Make certain you can take the twenty-two you are still due."

Twenty-two to go! I glanced back at him. He was young, our Headmaster, in his early thirties and handsome in a cruel sort of way. "Sir, is there no other way? I don't think I can take so many more." I swallowed when, with his eyes on mine, he spread my cheeks wider and his thumb came dangerously close to my bottom hole. He held it there, his eyes on mine, testing me perhaps?

After a moment, he picked up the strap. "Another set of six," he said.

I turned forward, wondering what I was suggesting. Reestablishing my grip on the desk, I took a deep breath. "Ready, Sir."

The first of this set nearly had my knees buckling beneath me. He struck the tops of my thighs and since the brief pause, the pain was worse, my skin too sensitive now. I don’t know how I took the next five he brought down. All I knew was that I was whimpering when he paused, one of his hands again on my bottom, spreading me. But when his thumb came to rest over my bottom hole this time, I stopped breathing altogether.

"Perhaps forty is too many strokes for such a tender girl," he said, his finger rubbing gently along that tight ring.

Foreign sensations assailed me and I had to remind myself to breathe when next he began to rub a warm cream all along that very private place.

"Sir?" I asked, daring a glance back.

His eyes were fixed on my bottom as he worked the cream in. I remained silent until he met my gaze. "Perhaps there is another way you can be punished," he said.

I simply nodded, willing to do anything to escape the strap and not altogether disliking what he was doing to me at the moment.

"Face forward please," he said, laying the strap just in front of my face. At a nudge by his foot, I stepped out of my panties and widened my stance so he stood between my legs. I felt that warm cream being poured onto my low back and slowly, his fingers worked it down my cleft and over the now waiting hole. He worked it slowly, almost tenderly and it wasn't long before I opened for him and he was able to slide one finger inside me. I think I moaned then, the sound that came from my throat foreign to me as he continued his ministrations. A second finger joined the first and after a while, I heard the zipper of his pants and felt the head of his cock pressing against the hole his fingers had just vacated.

"Oh!" I called out, attempting to rise at this larger intrusion.

"Down, girl," he said, pressing me to the desk. "If you prefer the strap…"

"No Sir! Not the strap again!"

His hands gripped my bottom cheeks and spread me wide. I gripped the desk harder and tried to relax as he pushed himself inside me. There was pain, a burning sort of pain, but he moved slowly, giving me time to adjust as he pushed deeper and deeper until finally, he was fully seated, every inch of his cock buried deep inside my ass. It was a moment, then two and I found myself arching my back and lifting my hips to him. At that moment, he slapped my ass hard. "This is punishment, not for your pleasure girl," he said. But somehow the punishment and the pleasure were confused and both very present as he pulled slowly out then pushed in again, and again. His movements came faster and it took all I had not to reach back and touch myself as I felt his cock growing inside me and heard his sounds of utter pleasure. And when he stilled and I felt his pulsing release deep inside my ass, I couldn’t help myself and reached for my swollen clit, rubbing myself to an orgasm that matched his own in intensity.

We were both out of breath when he pulled out of me. I remained as I was, as I knew he would want me to. I listened to him zip his pants and watched when he replaced the strap on its hook.

"You may straighten," he said, "but keep your skirt raised." I knew the next part, it was perhaps the most humiliating. With my arm at my back, I kept my skirt raised and looked at him. He gestured to the corner I should go to and I went without a word, my nose to the wall, my red striped bottom on display, his seed still inside me, while he resumed his seat at the desk and began to mark the next papers.

6 comments:

KIM TALBOT said...

My my my. I liked this. Thank you.

Pat Burton said...

Loved it!!

Melody Wright said...

Nice!

Chloe Thurlow said...

They are both out of breath - AND ME TOO. I have tingles in all the right places and will not be able to concentrate for the rest of the day. I am unsure whether or not to say thank you. - http://www.chloethurlow.com/2014/08/spanking-girls/

Joseph Stevens said...

Brilliant. I felt everything....

Earnest Stewart said...

Got her sweet little ass strapped and pounded, but good.