She
gripped her bare knees and smoothed down her skirt. When the door finally opened the tear-stained
cheeks of the junior girl appeared, eyes glazed, her mouth partially opened,
still struggling to catch her breath.
The junior girl seemed to have trouble walking, tilting as if her
balance were off as she left the principal’s office.
The
Principal himself appeared in the doorway, his suit coat missing and the
sleeves of his immaculate and starched, white shirt rolled up to the elbows. In one hand he held the strap and the little
school girl could see that the end was soaked, the supple brown leather dark
with moisture. He glanced down at the
little school girl, eyes narrowing.
“And
what are you here for?” he asked darkly.
The little school girl stood nervously, clutching the punishment slip,
her too short skirt making it rather obvious why she had been sent to the
principal’s office. She held out the
paper to him and he read it quickly, and then took a step back to look at her
attire. His mouth turned downward in a
frown and he backed up into the office, motioning her inside.
It was
a bastion of order, the oak desk huge and well organized. A leather blotter stood in the center, while
a computer rested on the credenza behind the desk. There were two chairs in the center of the room,
but along one wall was what the students had taken to calling “the punishment
gallows.” It consisted of a square metal
platform, which served as the counterbalance for an upright metal beam that
reached a full five and a half feet high.
Another beam was clamped to the first, adjustable in height, and had
welded to it a circular brace with two holes, both padded, and both perfectly
sized for a pair of dainty wrists.
The
little school girl’s heart pounded as she stared at the punishment gallows. She swallowed, suddenly wondering whether she
was sane. But she had to know. The rumors, the whispered stories; it was too
much. She glanced up at him as he
studied her.
“Stand
on the square with your hands straight down along your sides, young lady.”
She
nodded and quickly stepped up onto the platform, following his directives. Her fingers touched her bare thighs, just as
she knew they would. She had hemmed the
skirt herself, shortening its depth by a full four inches, totally in violation
of the school’s dress code. Now it
barely covered her bottom and she had noticed a few of the boys glancing back
up at her when she had walked down the stairs.
She knew they were trying to catch a glimpse of what was under her
skirt. The principal shook his head, the
leather strap dangling from his hand.
His eyes went to her shoes and another flutter of nerves sent a wave of
spasms through her. She knew high heels
were also not allowed.
“Heels
and skirt,” he announced. “Arms up, he
told her. She lifted her arms above her
head, slipping them through the metal circle.
The principal tightened the clamps that made it impossible to pull her
hands free. She tested the strength of
the metal gallows, lifting her feet clear of the platform. The steel frame didn’t even creak, supporting
her weight easily.
“It’s
thirty strokes to your bare bottom for the skirt, and twenty to each foot for
the shoes,” the Principal told the little school girl. She closed her eyes, bracing herself. But as the principal shook out the strap, he
noticed the hard tips of her breasts pressing against the fabric of her blouse,
the thin material taut. His eyes
narrowed and he gave her a quizzical look.
“Are
you not wearing a bra, young lady?” he asked.
He extended his hand, placing it gently over her left breast, squeezing
lightly. The little school girl
whimpered as he used a single finger to rub the nipple through the light cotton
blouse. Instantly she felt a surge of
arousal that competed with her fear of the lash. He shook his head. “Not wearing the appropriate underclothes is
also a violation of the student dress code,” he informed her. He slung the strap over one shoulder and
began unbuttoning her shirt, leaving the top button under her small tie closed,
and opening the shirt directly over her breasts.
The
little school girl was well-endowed enough to have respectable sized breasts,
even if they were still a little on the small side. Both apple sized mounds were creamy white and
capped with a tiny pink circle that seemed to beg for attention. Her nipples were still hard and puckered, the
skin of her areola tightened. She sucked
in a breath as the excitement of her predicament overwhelmed her and she could
feel the beginnings of a trickle of moisture against her thigh. It felt as if her breasts were wild doves
straining for freedom and the moment her shirt no longer held them back, they
burst forward in glorious song.
“That
will be an additional twenty strokes,” the principal said quietly. “I can’t believe you were not aware of the
rules.”
The
little school girl looked away from the principal and smiled. She was more than aware of the rules. Everyone was.
It wasn’t the rules that were the
issue, but the rumors regarding punishment.
She had decided she had to find out for herself. Were the consequences of violating the
regulations really what the other students said it was? She had willfully chosen not to wear a bra,
knowing quite well what the prescribed punishment would be. She took a deep breath and arched her back,
pushing her breasts out even more through the opening in her shirt.
“I suppose we can start with your
breasts before moving on to your feet and bottom,” he said stoically. He lifted the leather strap and without
further words swung it hard at the little school girl’s chest. The flexible ribbon bit into her bosom, her
flesh rippling from the blow. She
gasped, the pain and sting of the stroke surprising her. While the blow hadn’t been terrible, it
certainly hurt.
He hit
her again, without giving her time to adjust.
Her head came up, teeth clenched as the strap walloped her, leaving a
second crimson mark across her breasts.
Her chest heaved, pain radiating outward and inward, leaving her
breathless. She pulled herself upward as
the strap struck again, taking all her weight on her arms as another harsh
sting erupted across her bosom. Already she could feel the heat building in her
breasts. Her nipples tightened again
and as the punishment strap continued to beat mercilessly across her body, she
was shocked to find herself getting even wetter between the legs.
The
principal continued to strap her chest, turning the white creaminess of her
skin into strawberry swirl. He worked
methodically up and down her bosom, from the steep slope to the full curve, to
the underside, leaving her young flesh marked.
Finally he finished laying the twentieth stroke right across her nipples
and looked at his work with pride. The
little school girl’s chest was heaving, her mouth open and her eyes
closed. He watched as her hips twitched,
her body swinging back and forth.
“Please
lift your right foot,” he said next.
Trembling, she did as he asked, lifting her foot upward, bending it at
the knee. He grasped her ankle quickly
and with deft fingers removed the offending footwear from her sole. The little school girl had dainty, delicate
toes, each nail painted a light shade of pink that wasn’t quite as naughty as
red, but certainly implied a less than virginal status. Keeping a tight hold of her leg, the
principal brought the strap down across the arch of her foot.
She
jumped at the sudden sting along her sole and her leg twisted. The principal however had expected the
movement and held on tightly. She let
out a hiss as a second stroke landed.
The sting wasn’t as bad as it had been on her breasts however, and she
managed to take the first ten strokes with lips pressed tightly together. Her mind focused first on her still burning
bosom, but as the strap continued to bite into the tender arch of her insole,
she couldn’t help turning her mind downward.
By the fifteenth blow the strap stung and she clenched her teeth,
letting out a pitiful cry. Her toes
curled and her foot writhed, trying desperately to avoid the principal’s
discipline.
He let
her go after the twentieth, the delicate center of her foot raw and as she put
her foot down she discovered that without the high heel shoe, she was forced to
stand on tip toe. The strain made the
pain of her strapping even more intense and as the principal moved around to
the other side, she wondered what she had gotten herself in to. He patted her thigh, his fingers brushing
against the little school girl’s bare skin, clearly indicating the need to lift
her other foot. Still straining, she
lifted her left leg and felt him pull the other offending high heel off,
dropping it behind her.
Again
the strap bit into her skin and while she was able to hold it together through
the first ten blows, by the eleventh she was again straining against her bonds
and the man punishing her. Muscles
tightened throughout her torso as the pain exploded up through her foot. He ignored the balls of her feet as well as
the heel, instead focusing every stroke of the leather strap against the tender
flesh at the center, the arch of her foot, leaving the sole bright red from the
impact. Sting faded to heat and she felt
as if she had stepped into hot coals.
He
dropped her leg and she struggled to balance.
The position she adopted made her welted breasts stand out and for a
moment he stared at her bared chest, merely enjoying the sight of her. Finally he took a deep breath and reached for
her skirt. He began tugging it down.
“You’ll
now receive the thirty strokes to your bottom.
I will remove your skirt, but you’ll be allowed to keep your panties on.
I’ll merely pull them down…” he started to say.
The little school girl knew exactly why his explanation had trailed off,
the plaid skirt now around her knees.
She wasn’t wearing panties.
The
principal’s silence was impressive. He
regarded her quietly and then shook his head.
“I see. That is also against the
rules and will be punished. Thirty
strokes.” The skirt fell around her toes
and he pulled on it, taking her feet out from under her for a moment as he
tossed it aside. He reached forward and
to the little school girl’s shock, touched her between the legs, slipping his
fingers into her slit, testing her wetness.
She moaned, rocking her hips involuntarily as a sudden pleasure burst through
her. It was incredible, wild, humiliating,
and amazing all at the same time. As he
pulled his fingers away they came back covered in cream. He looked at it for a moment and then moved
behind her, out of her field of view.
Quickly,
he put his hand to his mouth, tasting her, sucking each digit clean before
turning and wiping his hand delicately on a towel he kept nearby just for such
an occasion. He moved back to her before
she could suspect and shook out the strap.
Her head hung down, nipples still tiny, hard bumps, a testament to her
arousal. He swung his arm hard and the
leather strap flattened against her rump, forcing her forward with the impact,
leaving an immediate red line that darkened as he pulled back for another
swing.
Her cry
this time was louder and she yelped piteously as he brought the discipline to
her bottom with brutal efficiency. Soon
she was swinging from the crossbeam, her toes dragging along the metal plate as
her body tried to get away. None of that
mattered to the principal, who knew exactly where she was and how she was
moving. Again and again the leather
ribbon blasted across her rear, leaving scarlet whorls against pristine
snow. After ten strokes she was starting
to cry. By twenty they were full
throated sobs, her head turned against her arm.
With just three more strokes to go, he suddenly reached out with his
left hand, driving his fingers between her legs.
She
cried out as he penetrated her, grasping her literally by her sex, his thick
digits digging up into her sodden hole.
His thumb pressed up against her clit and then the strap crossed her
rump again, burning swaths of agony through her body. It was almost too much and she slammed her
hips forward, trying to fuck herself on his hand. It almost worked, the last two strokes
building up her need, blurring the line between pain and pleasure. She felt the dam inside her approach
bursting, the seams tearing, and then he stopped, pulling his hand away and
leaving her ragged and gasping, her teeth clenched tight to keep from begging
him to finish.
He let
her calm down, a cruelty she didn’t understand and didn’t want, as he pulled
out two sets of chains. Each one was
capped on the end with a thick leather sling.
The little school girl felt wrung out as he lifted her left leg again,
setting the sling just behind her knee, only to pull it up wand attach it to
some unseen tether above her. All of her
weight rested on her right foot, the toes extended, her arch aching from both
the position and the bastinado she had received. He moved around her, repeating the process on
her right leg and suddenly she was hanging above the metal plate, bound with
her legs obscenely spread. She glanced
down past her beaten breasts and saw her sex, literally dripping with her need,
leaving tiny wet circles on the steel plate beneath her. She blushed crimson until she realized what
the principal actually intended.
He
stepped up behind her, tucking himself between the gallows upright and her
back. His left hand curved around her,
coming up to cup her breast. His fingers
found her nipple and began pinching it lightly, tweaking and twisting the
tormented nub. His right hand came
forward, the strap doubled in his fist, and he brought it down in a short swing,
curling around her sex, biting her clitoris and leaving a sharp sting along her
labia.
She
writhed in his grasp, unable to free herself and not even sure she wanted
to. It was an involuntary response, her
body’s need to escape the pain, but the undercurrent of pleasure was too much
to ignore and as the leather strap licked at her sex, burning heat and delicate
pain, she heard the striking impact sound of the strap change from a sharp
crack to the sound of leather striking mud.
She thrust her hips forward, opening her legs wider, the belt striking
her sex with dull and muted sounds thanks to the sodden mire of her need.
“Here
come the last two,” he whispered in her ear.
“Make the most of them.”
She
nodded, her chest heaving with desperation, his left hand still twisting her
nipple with brutal turns, pain radiating downward. He swung the leather down, letting it curl
around her mons, flattening the swollen petals and scoring its way across her
sex. Her clit was scarlet and abused and
she let out a harsh cry, her body twitching wildly. He swung again and could tell she still
hadn’t cum.
The
little school girl’s hips swung forward, begging, demanding the strap and the
principal yielded. Another stroke, then
another, and with the fifth extra strike between her legs, the wet leather
curling over her slit, she stiffened, her body trembling with the power of her
orgasm. He continued to fondle her
breast and moved his right hand down between her legs, dropping the strap, his
fingers delving into her wet depths, rubbing her clit. The new touch sent fresh spasms through the
little school girl, spasms she couldn’t control and a second wave of orgasmic
bliss hit her like a brick.
As her
body relaxed, too tired and too hurt to keep up the energy, she slumped in the
restraints, not even trying to support her weight on her toes. Carefully the principal wiped his hands on
his towel, then released her, catching her falling body and setting her gently
down on a nearby chair.
The
little school girl was lost in a sexual daze.
Parts of her ached abominably, but other parts felt amazing. Slowly she came to herself, getting her
respiration under control. He tossed her
shoes and skirt to the floor before her and she began buttoning up her
shirt. She stood, wobbly at first, but
with more stability as her strength returned and her mind cleared. She pulled the skirt up over her scorched
bottom and then slipped her feet into the shoes.
“I hope
you’ve learned your lesson,” the principal said, moving toward the door. “If you violate those rules again not only
will you get the same punishment, but there will be further consequences,” he
explained.
The little school girl nodded,
wiping the tears from her face. With a
small hiccup, she headed to the door. As
she left the office she saw another girl sitting, waiting for her turn, skirt
too short, hard nipples pressed against the thin material of her blouse, right
down to another set of unauthorized shoes.
The little school girl smiled.
She’d learned her lesson all right.
She knew exactly what she would wear to school the next day.
Michael Alexander is the author of "Challenge of Love" a bdsm romance novel now available from Amazon.com!
Stephanie's marriage is in shambles and past events have left her
emotionally and physically stressed. Unsure of her husband's love,
Stephanie enrolls them both, without his knowledge, in a BDSM reality
television game show, hoping that the shock, sex, and intensity of the
competition will bring Mark back to her. But the risks she undertakes
are high, perhaps too high.
Wow... Michael. I hadn't read this before! This is amazing! Thanks for sharing. Can I go to school there?
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