Monday, September 16, 2013

The Little School Girl - Michael Alexander

She sat nervously in the chair outside the principal’s office, a glass encased room, the occupants hidden from view by dark blinds that seemed to rattle against the windows.  The little school girl couldn’t see into the schoolmaster’s lair, but she could listen and the sounds of someone’s pitiful cries, the sharp crack of the leather strap, seemed more concrete and real than if she had been forced to watch.  She stiffened in her seat as the sound of the strap changed to a wet slap that elicited an even more fervent cry.
                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!

 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.

1 comment:

  1. Wow... Michael. I hadn't read this before! This is amazing! Thanks for sharing. Can I go to school there?


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