Authors: Emily Tilton
Because prospective professors weren’t supposed to want to be spanked. Above all, they weren’t supposed to want to feel a man’s firm hand.
“What if I said,” I began, experimentally, “that I want a weekly exemption from rule one? Not that I think I’ll ever take that exemption. But just to know that I carved out some sort of space for Chloe within the rules…”
“And what happens,” he asked, “when you’ve used your weekly exemption and then you don’t feel like being spanked, but I think it’s time for you to go over my knee? Are you going to negotiate for a second exemption?”
I thought. “No,” I said at length, “I wouldn’t, even if I took the first exemption which I can’t imagine I would ever take. This isn’t actually about getting out of rule one. It’s about knowing that I have a stake in the border between consent and non-consent.”
That took him aback. I was extremely gratified that I had found a dimension of the question he had apparently not thought of.
“Alright,” he admitted, “that’s very interesting. Let me promulgate a draft of a prospective rule five. For your comment, not for your approval. Rule five: ‘Once a week, Chloe may abrogate one of rules one through four, with proper notification to her master, and on the understanding that no other exemptions are possible under this rule’.”
“Rule five,” I said thoughtfully. “I like it.”
“I do too,” he said.
Somehow those three words released the knot of my complicated, impossible to sort out feelings about Geoffrey and domestic discipline. Having him endorse my idea—perhaps silly on the face of it—of a weekly exemption, suddenly seemed to make all the difference in the world. Somehow it persuaded me that he could be both my master and my partner: maybe someday my partner in several different ways. I felt a grin break out on my face, and I saw one spread across Geoffrey’s to echo it. “Persuade me the other way now?” I asked quietly, and a little mischievously.
“By all means,” he said, “but not until after dessert.”
I pouted. “Are you seriously going to waste your exemption on this?” he asked, the light of mischief in his own eyes. “I may have to let you feel my firm hand for wasting your exemption on something frivolous.”
I laughed. “That’s not fair!” I said. “I don’t think you can spank me for taking my exemption.”
“Oh, I think I can.” He got up and moved toward the crèmes brûlées.
“No,” I said, “that’s my job, sir.” I was a little surprised to find that I really meant it. I was desperate to serve him. I cleared the plates and dishes and then spent a few minutes making sure that dessert was presented in the elegant style that might have been expected at a 50’s dinner party. Every so often I would look up into Geoffrey’s eyes where he sat at the table, an amused smile on his face. I blushed every time our eyes met.
“I love you,” he said.
“I love you, too,” I replied. I put the crèmes brûlées on the table at last. “So,” I said, “playing house. Does it mean crème brûlée every night?”
Geoffrey laughed long and hard. “I suppose it could,” he said, “if that’s what you wanted. And you made it.”
I pouted again. “Can’t Chloe’s rule number one be crème brûlée every night?”
He looked into my eyes, very serious all of a sudden. “I’ll joke about that with you, Chloe, as long as we both understand something.”
“Chloe doesn’t get any rules,” I whispered. “I know. Oh God, sir, please spank me now.” I was positively flowing into the blue cotton panties I had worn because the safeword had not yet been rescinded when I was getting dressed. My need to have his hand on my backside seemed like an abyss of longing.
Geoffrey was silent for a moment. I saw him set his jaw and narrow his eyes, and suddenly I thought that perhaps I had been rash in asking for a spanking, because I remembered that I had a punishment coming.
“Dessert will wait,” he said. “It’s discipline time. Please go to the living room and put my spanking chair in position. Then, please get the wooden paddle and lay it on the little table next to the chair. After that, you may remove your skirt and lower your panties to your knees and wait in front of the chair with your hands behind your head, with your back to me so that I can admire your lovely bottom. You have quite the spanking coming for your disrespect at Mistral and your failure to let me explain myself.”
“Yes, sir,” I said. As I did his bidding, I thought about the way things had transpired. I felt that I had made the decision, but I was at a loss to figure out when. Perhaps, indeed, the decision I had thought was there was no decision at all. I had come to Geoffrey’s house thinking that if he could convince me that he was egalitarian in his soul, that was all I needed. But had he really convinced me, or had I known it all along, or was I now pretending that I had been convinced, without actually having been convinced at all? The naked girl who was preparing the living room for her spanking, who would certainly be asked, very soon, to worship her master’s cock, who was hoping to have that same cock in her ass later, was she fooling herself?
One shining reply seemed to glow in my heart:
I trust him to lead me.
The living room really being only a part of the enormous space that the kitchen and dining-room shared, I could feel his eyes on my naked backside as I made the preparations he had commanded. I knew he was doing nothing but admiring my bottom, but he left me standing there next to the spanking chair for at least two minutes. Then I heard him get up.
I heard him push his chair back into place under the table and move slowly across the floorboards. A tingling at the thought of the punishment spanking I was about to receive seemed to spread up and down my legs and across my belly and over my breasts; when was he going to touch me? Where was he going to touch me? How hard would he spank me tonight?
His hand was on my bottom, gently, just holding me there. His mouth was at my ear. “Mine,” he whispered. The hand rubbed, softly, then more firmly. I moaned, trying hard to hold my position and almost succeeding.
Geoffrey moved to the spanking chair, with its high back and solid wooden seat. He reached out and pulled me to him and over his lap. Then, to my surprise, he shifted me so that my legs were splayed open around his knee, and I was utterly exposed, my panties, now stretched to their utmost, still binding my knees.
“You embarrassed me, young lady,” he said. “I hope you find this position as embarrassing as you should.”
“Yes, sir,” I said.
He rubbed my right bottom cheek, then my left bottom cheek, then between them, my bare, aching pussy. “Unh, oh, sir… please…”
“Naughty wet cunt,” Geoffrey said matter-of-factly and began to spank me, hard.
From the beginning it was clear that he wanted to make sure I knew I was being punished for my conduct, both because of how hard he was spanking—and without let up or pause except, after a minute, to get the paddle—and because of the lecture he was delivering as his hand, and then his paddle, rose and fell with a relentless rhythm—two on the right, then two on the left, over and over and over—that quickly had me crying at the pain of my chastisement. My arousal was soon gone in the immediacy of the rapid, burning spanks, and only the pain and the humiliation were left behind.
“Chloe Revkin, you were a very bad girl, and now you are paying for it. I hope that this paddling will teach you not to speak out of turn, and above all, never to address me with such language again.”
“Yes, sir!” I wailed, my head hanging down over the side of the chair as I grasped the legs of the chair to try to distract myself from the pain. In the strength and rapidity of the paddle strokes, in the loudness of the sound they made on my poor bottom, I felt his mastery of me and his guidance in a way that took me by surprise.
“You need to remember that you have agreed to live by my rules and that disobedience will always have serious, painful consequences.”
“Yes, sir.”
Suddenly, unexpectedly, Chaser’s song came into my head: baby needed to know that Geoffrey would always spank her, to teach her to be a better girl for him—and much more importantly, for herself.
I was sobbing, but Geoffrey kept paddling me, teaching me that he would decide when I had enough. I felt myself go limp and heard my sobs turn to little whimpers.
Geoffrey spoke again. “You have a long night of obedience-training coming” (that was a phrase he hadn’t used before, and it sent a jolt through my pussy, but the spanking was so hard that there was still no arousal) “but it begins, now, as it should, with the just punishment of a naughty bottom.”
One more tremendous blow of the paddle, and I heard it put back on the table, and Geoffrey began to rub my blazing backside with lotion, carefully avoiding my pussy, while I whimpered and said, over and over, “Thank you, sir.”
Then he raised me up and stood up himself and led me to the couch. He took me on his lap the way he had all those months ago, when I had my very first spanking. It amazed me to think that I had thought that it had hurt, considering that my backside hadn’t even been red that night, but I knew from the soreness I felt now I would have bruises in the morning. I realized that I had at last truly been punished, and I was suddenly terribly proud, and then I realized that the pain was now, finally, beginning to radiate through my pussy as I shifted uncomfortably in my master’s lap.
He held me tight as I shed my final tears, and said, “Okay?”
I nodded. “Now
this
is aftercare,” I said, smiling up at him.
“And you’re not at all horny, are you?”
I looked down. “Well… even if I were… a little…”
“You’re right,” he said. “Aftercare is the most important thing.”
I nodded emphatically. He squeezed me tightly again.
“So…” I said. “Now that that’s obvious, sir, would you please start my obedience-training?”
He laughed. “I think I could see my way to doing that,” he said. “Why don’t I go have my dessert. You’ll have yours… later.” He had a mischievous look in his eye that made me scramble to me feet, wincing only a bit at the pain from my punished rear end.
Geoffrey got up and walked to the table, leaving me by the couch, still with my panties around my knees. He sat down where his crème brûlée was waiting for him. He seemed to be ignoring me completely. I watched him break through the glassy, sugary top of his crème brûlée with his spoon. He dug in just a little ways and lifted the spoon to his mouth. Before he tasted the mouthful, though, he stopped suddenly and said, with the spoon of crème brûlée still hanging in front of his mouth, “Indeed, Chloe, I think I have a lovely idea. I’ve had a rather stressful week, and I should like to have your help in relaxing.” His eyes turned from the spoonful of custard with its little shards of sugar glass, to my eyes. I tried to give him a subservient and expectant look back.
“Yes, I think you’ll have your dessert later. Or rather, you’re going to have two desserts this evening.”
A twin wave of love and submission swept through me as I realized that he was really playing again at last.
“Pull up your panties and come over here and stand in front of me, please, young lady,” he said.
Feeling the lovely fluttering feeling more strongly than I had in months, I obeyed as he pushed his chair around so that he had his dessert at hand to his left, but the space in front of his chair, next to the table, was vacant and waiting. I clasped my hands in front of me and looked into his eyes, waiting for his next command.
“I think you had better take off your clothes,” he said and took the first spoonful of crème brûlée into his mouth. “Yum,” he continued. “I think you’ll enjoy it when you’re allowed to have yours. But you have a bigger morsel coming first.”
Slowly I had begun to comply with his order, first pulling my white T-shirt over my head. Geoffrey swallowed a spoonful of custard and said, “The bra next, please. I very much want to say hello to those lovely breasts.” With this order, too, I silently complied. I reached back to unhook the modest polyester bra and shrugged it off in front and let it drop.
“Come here a moment,” Geoffrey said. “Between my knees please. Hands behind your head.”
As I moved to the specified position, I felt my panties growing ever damper.
I watched Geoffrey take a little more crème brûlée on his spoon, wondering what he was planning. When I saw the spoon coming towards my chest, I had a moment of confusion, but then he put a dollop of the custard right above my nipple on the right, and then on the left. Then his arm was around my waist and he was pulling me possessively towards him with his right hand while with the left he seized my breasts one after the other and licked the crème brûlée off them, running his tongue round and round each nipple until I thought I would faint. My pussy cried out for attention that I knew it wasn’t going to get for quite a while.
At last, he released me and said, “Alright, let’s get on with this then. Step back, please.” I did, and he said, “Remove your panties, please. Right now.”
I fumbled with the waistband, so intoxicated was I with the scene. But at last I had my thumbs in my panties and I was lowering them to the floor, blushing furiously both at the thought of being exposed and at the thought of what I would now be made to do. In the meanwhile, Geoffrey had stood and unbuckled his belt, unbuttoned his pants, lowered them and his boxers to the floor, and then had sat back down.
“On your knees, if you please,” he said. I obeyed, gratefully, more lustful for the sight of his cock then I ever had been before. Somehow it seemed that I was at last being taken in hand, no longer on a provisional basis, but for my foreseeable future. My master was delivering his cock over into my care, and I had my heart set on showing him how good a decision he had made.
There it was, rising from his lap where he had extended himself by pushing his backside forward in his seat and stretching out his legs. There was its beautiful little nest of dark hair, with one or two gray ones making me feel like I was under the authority of a wise, older man. I bent my head and gave its tip the salute of respect that I knew Geoffrey liked so much. Then I opened my mouth and took him very, very deep, the way he had taught me. He groaned and then said those best of words, “Good girl.” I released his cock from my mouth and bent down further to lick it from bottom to top.