by Sarah Veitch
Her mouth watered as profusely as her pussy as she whispered without looking at him. 'Please, teacher.'
He laughed, a harsh guffaw. 'Sluts like you need to suck cock, isn't that right?'
Cindy nodded, keeping her eyes down. He placed both hands on her head, rubbing circles on her scalp, scratching hard, grabbing, pushing her into his rod, which grew harder the closer she got. She let her whole face feel it, her cheek and nose and eyelids rubbing against the skin of his shaft and balls and hair. She buried her nose in the spot at the base of his cock, drinking the damp smell of his balls, the hair tickling her nostrils.
She began to lick and taste, her tongue lapping the clammy, soft skin of his balls. His dick was rock hard now, smooth and dusty pink, the red knob at the end shining. Cindy rolled the tip of her tongue around the gleaming head, tasting the sticky drops of pre-cum there. His hands forced her head down, pushing his cock into her mouth. She opened wide, letting it all the way in, letting it gag her.
She sucked hard and hungrily, her lips hugging tightly around him, taking him in and out of her mouth, feeling his cock press into the back of her throat. She had been wanting this for weeks, staring guiltily at his pants while he lectured and wrote equations on the blackboard. She had seen him around campus before even enrolling in his class, and she had to admit that this - his cock in her mouth and the price she would pay for it - was her only motive. Now she had it, and she wanted to lick it and suck it until it exploded inside her. She wanted to open wider and wider until she swallowed him, until he burst in her mouth.
But he stopped her, pulling her up by the hair until she was looking him in the face. 'Look at you,' he said, touching around her mouth with his fingertips. 'You have teacher's cock all over your face.' Cindy tried to go back down on him, but he held her hair hard. 'You are a bad, bad girl.' Cindy suddenly remembered her body, naked under her dress, and the shame returned in a hot rush through her body.
'Please,' she whispered. He grabbed one of her tits and rubbed it. The nipple hardened in his hand and he pinched until Cindy felt her cunt tingle. 'Please,' she said. 'I'll do a good job.'
He laughed again. Humiliation bloomed like a flower in her heart. She opened to it, knowing that her teacher would do what needed to be done.
He stood up, his erect cock still hanging out of his pants. 'I'm afraid you're a very bad girl, Cindy,' he said. Then he commanded, with that authoritarian slap on the thigh, 'Hands and knees.'
Cindy turned her body around until it faced the other way, leaned over, and placed her hands on the nubby carpet. He walked around and around, looking at her, stopping in front of her, coming just close enough so she stared into the head of his cock. The nearness of it filled her with that hopeless, pitiful longing again. Though she knew it was futile, she leaned forward to take him in her mouth - she wanted to suck him so badly. He pulled away, laughing at her. 'Please,' she said, her head hanging.
'That's no way to punish a slut like you,' he said. He began walking around her again, then she felt his hands pull her dress up to her waist, revealing her bare ass. He laughed out loud. 'See how naughty you are.' His hands caressed her cheeks. She felt how soft they were under his fingers, like the petals of the tulips that bloomed and opened outside her dorm. She began to moan.
One hand smacked her. She felt hot, unbearable shame overtake her and she let it go now, sobbing. 'Please don't hurt me,' she cried, even as she felt herself lifting her ass higher.
When his hand met her cheeks again, first one, then the other, she could feel every inch of his fingers leaving their mark, branding her. The skin of her ass stung and tingled. He grabbed it and squeezed, spanking her again and again, picking up the tempo until his palm fluttered hard on her rear, numbing it, making it alive. She lifted her hips higher, opening her legs wider every time his hand connected with the tender, hot skin of her bum. She imagined how he was marking her, the red welts his palmprint made, and she cried out to him, tears streaming down her face, 'Teach me my lesson.' She lifted her rear end higher still, moving up and down like she was fucking, exposing her wet cunt.
He spanked her stinging butt cheeks with one last burst, a long series of smacks, one immediately following the other. She imagined the movements of his hand, so quick they blurred, like the fluttering of a bird's wings. Then he stopped, caressing the sore skin and squeezing it hard. Cindy bit her lip until she thought it would bleed, suppressing the yelp of pain that gave her so much pleasure. She had already overstepped today. She hoped he would give her another chance. 'You can get up now,' he said. She stood, and lightly brushed her fingers against the skin of her numb, aching bum.
He sat at his desk, dignified and authoritative. Cindy saw that his cock had been put away. She felt a rush of desire, her mouth watering, followed by a hollow sense of desperation. 'Come back tomorrow at the same time,' he said, smiling in the darkness.
'Yes, teacher; she said, and left.
The next day it rained, incessantly and heavily. Cindy skipped all her classes except his. As she entered the auditorium for his lecture, closing up her black umbrella and shaking the raindrops from her yellow coat, she caught his eye.
He peered at her over his glasses, resting serenely on the bridge of his nose, a small smile on his face with the slightest hint of a sneer. Cindy looked at his hand, a piece of chalk rolling between his thick fingers, and nearly swooned.
She didn't even bother to use her umbrella when she left the classroom, avoiding his eyes; and hurried across campus back to her dorm. Rain poured down her head, slipping off her coat and into her galoshes, soaking her to the skin. The cold wet drops found their way to the insides of her thighs, her warm pussy, all bare under her dress.
By the time she closed the door of her room behind her, she was sopping with rain and desire. She leaned against the door for a moment, panting with exhaustion and excitement, remembering what it felt like to have his cock in her mouth. She knew she had been bad yesterday, but someday he would reward her again. Someday, he might even fuck her.
Her thoughts and the anticipation of her meeting with teacher later in the day kept her from being able to accomplish any schoolwork. She spent the afternoon sprawled on her bed, sucking her black dildo and pretending it was teacher's cock, slapping and rubbing it all over her face. It was the biggest dildo she could find, and when she shoved it inside her the pain made her wince. She fucked herself hard with it until she came several times.
The rain subsided as Cindy prepared for her afternoon meeting. She put on her most demure yellow dress, a one piece cotton pullover with a turtleneck and a flared skirt. When she tapped lightly on his door, her skin was fresh and powdery dry, although the sound of his voice saying 'Come!' like a deep, dark bark made her sex moisten.
She entered, closing and locking the door behind her, standing still, waiting for instructions. He was sitting in his leather chair again, at his desk. He'd taken his tie off, and left the top buttons of his dress shirt undone. A shock of white hair emerged from the opening and Cindy felt a thrill as she thought of his age, his power. He was holding something in his hands. It looked like a ball, though it was too dark to say for sure. He looked at it as he spoke, whatever it was, passing it from one hand to the next lazily. 'You were a very bad girl yesterday.' Cindy stayed quiet, trying to be better. He looked at her. 'Very good,' he said. 'You're learning.' He stood up and approached her. 'This will help.'
As he got closer, Cindy saw it was a ball - a ball with leather straps attached to it, meant to wrap around her naughty little head. Her eyes opened wide with a mixture of disappointment and excitement. Ball gags made her drool and sometimes, if she moved enough, even retch a little. Of course she would rather have his cock in her mouth, but at least this meant he intended to punish her adequately. 'You made entirely too much noise yesterday,' he said, pulling on her dress. 'Take this off, and let's see what you have underneath today.'
Cindy slipped out of her flats and lifted the dress over her head, dropping it
on the floor beside her. She stood before him naked and shivering with fear. He laughed at her, pinching her erect nipples. 'Slut,' he said. 'I'll have to take care of you properly.' He spoke with such tender menace in his voice that Cindy let a moan escape from her lips, she couldn't help it. He grabbed her still sore buttock hard and squeezed until she yelped. 'There you go again, you little noisemaker.' He lifted the ball gag to her face. 'Open your mouth.'
She spread her lips as wide as she could. He shoved the black ball into her mouth and attached it around her head. Already she could feel her saliva collecting around it. Teacher pulled at her nipples and said, 'I have just the thing for horny little nipples like these.' He pulled a clamp from each pocket and gently attached them. 'That's not too bad is it?' he asked. Cindy shook her head and he squeezed the clamps until sharp pain shot into her breasts. The ache was excruciating but she willed herself not to move or utter a sound. 'Very good,' he whispered. 'Excellent.' He removed the clamps and massaged each sore breast and nipple with his powerful hands. As Cindy watched them caress her, she thought of the complete mastery in them, how wisely they dealt her punishment and reward, and she felt her cunt swell.
He let her breasts go and said, 'Come with me.' Together they walked across his office and stopped in front of the red velvet couch in one corner. Cindy felt tears of terror well up in her eyes when she saw the whip lying on it, looking like a giant black snake. 'Now, now,' teacher said gently. 'It's for your own good.'
Cindy nodded, tears streaming down her face, over the ball gag, dripping down her neck and tickling her. Her jaw was aching from being open for so long, her nipples stung, and her sore pussy watered, but nothing could compare with the heat that was travelling into her buttocks, anticipating the crack of the whip. 'Get on your knees and hold onto the couch with your hands.' Cindy did as she was told. She felt the skin of her bare ass completely exposed and burning. Her whole body felt tingling and electric as she submitted completely to the will and care of her beloved teacher. As he lifted the whip from its place on the couch with one hand, she saw his big, swollen cock in the other, and she thought she could come just from the sight of it.
She felt a split second of cool breeze, then the whip landed on her creamy cheek. She winced and felt herself gag on the ball, then the whip came down again, lashing her skin, sending adrenaline keening through her whole being. She turned back and saw him pumping his cock with his left hand, his right hand fisted around the whip handle, his arm raised with unequivocal strength, coming down to mete out the punishment she deserved. The whip lashed her in rhythm with his hand wanking his cock, and Cindy lifted her ass each time to meet it, her ass numb and tingling, her heart melting with gratitude, her pussy hot with juice.
He spanked her so good, making her his girl, his slave, his prisoner. They moved together - his hand on his sex, the whip on her bum, her hips rising to meet it - until white liquid exploded from his dick, landing on the sweet welts with which he had marked her. He put the whip aside and she relaxed, rubbing his sperm into her wounds like healing lotion. 'Stand,' he said, breathing hard.
He unbuckled the ball gag and she spit it onto the floor, opening and closing her stiff jaw. He cradled her face in his hands, caressing it gently. 'You were very good today, Cindy.' His cock was still out, a stiff rod protruding from his suit pants. Together they looked down at it. 'Would you like a reward?' he asked.
Cindy nodded, a small nod. He put his cock away. 'Perhaps when you come back tomorrow,' he whispered, handing her the yellow dress and cradling the whip handle in his palm. 'Perhaps.'
'Yes, teacher,' Cindy said, slipping the dress over her head, 'I'll come back, tomorrow.'
Beloved Birch
James Baron
MICHAEL remained proud that he must be one of the favoured few still alive in England who had 'suffered' judicial corporal punishment - 'suffered' probably not being the right word since he'd discovered early in life that he was a hardcore sexual masochist for whom a severely administered whipping was the ultimate in erotic pleasure.
In 1949 he'd deliberately committed an offence which he hoped fervently would result in a merciless birching.
He had discovered his addiction at boarding school where, after lights out, they'd play games, the loser having to take a bare-bottomed thrashing with the buckle end of a leather belt. Michael found the pain produced a warm glow of sex throughout his body. Forced to masturbate in front of them following the whipping, he'd spurt in seconds. At home after his last term, a growing sense of frustration gripped him as his whipping and flogging fantasies mounted relentlessly. He'd no idea how he could turn them into fact. An encyclopaedia had informed him he was a sexual masochist. A history book he had brought from school - by accident? - contained a woodcut of a public flogging in the early eighteenth century. The victim, strapped to a post on a raised platform, was naked from the waist down and being whipped with knotted lashes by a burly fellow, also half naked. A large crowd flocking around the platform was clearly enjoying the spectacle. He would also clatter away on a portable typewriter, shaping excessive fantasies until he could write no longer and had to indulge in extended bouts of savage masturbation.
They say that the Devil has a way with the willing. One Thursday morning, Michael picked up the local rag from the mat and a headline sprang at him like a blow between the eyes. YOUTH, 18, GETS THE BIRCH! Michael raced upstairs into his room, and shut the door. Sinking on to the bed, his hands trembling, he spread the paper out.
A youth of eighteen had been given six strokes for stealing apples from a barrow. On passing sentence, the Magistrate told the Court that he intended to stamp on youth delinquency without mercy and that future youths facing him in the dock would do so at their peril.
Michael's fevered imagination raced into overdrive. The birch! Of course! He'd been thrashed with a belt, and caned - even tried self-flagellation with a dog-leash - but actually to have a birching would put his written fantasies to shame. It would be on his bare bottom, of course, and he could already feel the delicious sting.
There'd be people watching! He read the story again and again, noticing that the youth's name had not been mentioned. Well, that was something. The story said the birching had been carried out in the local police station. Hmm... well, he couldn't walk in and ask for a flogging!
This guy had stolen apples and got six strokes, but that wouldn't be enough! But what could he do to achieve his aim? Nothing big like trying to rob a bank, of course. Something more than stealing apples, though. He paced restlessly to the window and, as the sun glinted on the panes of the small greenhouse at the end of the garden, it dawned on him.
He'd throw a brick through a window in the High Street and not make a run for it! There was always a copper not far off. He'd wait until one got close and then - crash! Eighteen strokes, say - eighteen mercilessly hard strokes delivered by the strong, stern, impersonal arm of the Law.
But the pleasure wouldn't stem only from the whipping - there would be the undressing, the positioning: all the rituals, he imagined, which took place before the first stroke was delivered - and there would be others there to witness his pain and humiliation.
He mustn't, he mused, appear to be relishing the whipping too much - during it, he'd pretend to beg for it to stop, pleading for mercy.
He'd made up his mind: he'd do it on Monday and to hell with the consequences. This was Friday - and from now he'd mortify himself by abstaining from any sexual activity. That way, he'd be fully-loaded for the punishment, his bottom white, the eager flesh strained and ready for the delicious, biting sting of the birch. He would tell his mother nothing. She need never know. Anyway, since his father had left without word, she spent most of the time with a circle of friends from the riding club.
By Monday he was strung to the limit, his aching balls and cock pleading for relief. He bathed very thoroughly, put on a tight pair of underpants and, in a white shirt, school tie and grey suit, made his way furtively to the greenhouse, finding a h
alf-brick, wrapping it in a sheet of old newspaper and stuffing it under his coat.
Luckily his mother was in her bedroom. 'Mama,' he called, trying to keep his voice casual, 'I'm just going into town to the library, won't be long.'
The High Street was busy with pedestrians and shoppers even though it was only just after nine. He selected a window - Rollason's the jewellers, with a huge stretch of plate glass - which he couldn't miss if he tried. He quashed any doubts in his mind as he paced back and forth. He wanted this more than anything: this need, this thirsting desire to be severely punished.
After five or six restless minutes a copper plodded round the corner towards him. When the man was ten yards away, Michael hurled the brick. Glass shattered. Amid the screams of pedestrians and the strident clanging of an alarm bell, the bobby was at him in a trice, grabbing his arm and dragging him away, swearing as he did so. Michael would have crawled, grovelled if he'd had his way.
In the charge room, a sergeant behind a high desk looked up. 'What's this, Bill?'
'This is what this is,' Bill said, pushing Michael forward. 'Caught it heavin' a brick through Rollason's window. Glass all over.'
The sergeant stared down at Michael, tapping a pencil on his palm. 'Is this true?'
'No,' Michael said sullenly. 'It was an accident. This idiot...'
'Careful, son,' the sergeant warned. 'If you don't get a birching for this, I'll eat my helmet.'
'The birch!' Michael thrilled at the words, but managed to utter scornfully, 'Huh - the birch, so what?' But his heart fluttered and his cock was struggling to escape.
He gave his name, address, and age. Then his spirits sank as he was asked, 'Your mother and father at home?'
Michael caught his breath - what was this? 'Er, my father's gone, years ago.'
'Your mother?'
Michael hesitated. 'She's... out.' This was something he hadn't reckoned on.