My Sweet Degradation (20 page)

‘Well, I am glad. You see, Samantha, disciplining a young lady is not just about pain, you know.'

Samantha's mouth opened and she gasped as two fingers carefully work their way into her wet pussy.

‘No, not at all,' the woman went on, her voice almost hypnotic. ‘It's about showing her the kind of thing she might be permitted to enjoy if only she chooses to behave...' Samantha shuddered and released a long moan in unison with the sensation of Miss Grant gently fucking her with expert fingers, ‘...as much as it is about denying her when she's bad. I could very easily just stop your punishment right now...'

‘Oh no, please,' Samantha quickly gasped, the idea alone a cruel torment.

‘Or I could offer you more if you were to promise to be a better pupil in the future?'

Samantha noticed how Miss Grant had ceased spanking her, and now only soothed her aching flesh with deep, circular rubs of a thumb. ‘Oh yes, please,' she pleaded.

‘Of course, Samantha, if that is what you want. But I need to know you're a good girl now. Are you a good girl?'

‘Yes... yes I am, I promise,' came her pleading response.

‘Yes
what
, Samantha?' the discipline officer prompted.

‘Yes, miss... sorry, miss. I'm a good girl now, miss, I promise.'

‘All right then, if you say so, and perhaps you do deserve a little treat now, but before I give it to you, you need to know one thing. This punishment is only ever given once to naughty girls. Thereafter it is occasionally awarded to those young ladies who display a certain level of maturity and who find themselves with a particular need. Is that understood?'

‘Yes, miss,' Samantha gasped, furrowing her brow and pushing back her hips so that the discipline officer's fingers were forced to enter her still deeper.

‘Very good,' the woman purred. ‘And I must say, we do have a remarkable success rate here at Saint Hilda's, where persuading wayward girls to change their ways is concerned.' And with that Miss Grant proceeded to work her manicured fingers in and out of Samantha's wet pussy with an increased intensity, sliding her free hand around a thigh and using soft fingertips to caress her clit.

‘Oh, God!' Samantha cried as shivering thrills shot through her over and over again. She drew rapid breaths through flaring nostrils, her legs suddenly weakening, and released a long, constricted squeal from the back of her throat. She panted and gasped. For some reason she found herself wanting to express the intensity of her passion through profanities, but at the same time she knew she'd promised to behave like a good girl now, and the possibility that the discipline officer might cease her special treatment, should Samantha start swearing, was one far too appalling to risk.

And then all rational thought was gone. Samantha's orgasm suddenly exploded with a blinding energy. It seized her body completely, caused her muscles to tense, a tingling energy sparking to her fingertips and toes. She slumped against the marble mantelpiece for support, fearing she might collapse at any moment; such was the exhausting intensity of her surrender.

It was as powerful a climax as Samantha had ever experienced, yet in time it moved into a second phase where she found herself releasing sobbing moans to the sensation of a softer, warmer state of bliss. Once more she focussed on Miss Grant's expert caresses, and the way she continued to stimulate her pussy, only very gently now.

Eventually it was over and Samantha released a shuddering exhalation as the discipline officer's fingers slipped away. She just stood there, far too ashamed to open her eyes, breathing deep, relaxing breaths while her heartbeat slowly began to settle. She felt the soft caress of her panties being carefully drawn up her thighs, of her skirt being pulled down and straightened with efficient hands.

As Miss Grant carefully helped Samantha away from the fireplace, soothing her tired arm muscles as she moved them to her sides, she spoke with her usual confident tone.

‘Well done, Samantha,' she said. ‘I have a good feeling about you. I don't expect to hear that you've been misbehaving ever again, and if I do I have many other punishments at my disposal, but none in quite the same vain as you've experienced here today.'

A finger stroked Samantha's flushed cheek, and she opened her eyes to meet Miss Grant's stare.

‘I may be the discipline officer here at Saint Hilda's, but I'm not all bad,' she said. ‘As you've discovered, I am quite capable of administering both pain
and
pleasure, and I'm happy to offer either depending on circumstances. From time to time you will be called to my office so we can review your progress, and appropriate punishments or rewards may be offered. And let me tell you, my good girls always leave those meetings with a smile on their faces. Is that understood?'

Samantha nodded shyly. ‘Yes, miss,' she said politely.

Miss Grant smiled that beautiful smile and Samantha felt her heart skip one last time. ‘Good girl,' she said, taking Samantha's hand in her own. ‘Now, run along and I'll look forward to seeing you again very soon. And Samantha,' she added, peering over her glasses a little more sternly, ‘no more cigarettes, please. Smoking is such an unattractive trait in a young lady.'

Samantha offered a brief nod by way of response, and the discipline officer gave Samantha's hand a gentle squeeze.

‘Oh, and help yourself to a lollypop on your way out. I know very well that you want one really.'

‘Thanks, miss,' Samantha replied, stepping to the desk on shaky legs and picking out a pink and yellow lolly from the jar.

As she popped it between her lips, tasting the sugary, strawberry goodness slip across her tongue, she walked towards the heavy oak door and reached for the handle. She turned to take one last look towards the discipline officer, but she was once more facing away, once more staring out of the large window at the playing fields beyond, and Samantha considered that it might not be such a bad thing to at least try and be a good girl. Well, for a little while, at least.

 

 

 

Once upon a time, in a land far away, lived a beautiful young lady by the name of Little Red. Red wasn't her real name of course, and it had been many years since you could fairly describe her as being ‘little', but it was what everyone had called her since the first soft fuzz of fiery red hair had appeared on her head as a babe in her mother's arms. There were only a few left in the village who could actually remember her real name, and even Red herself would have to think hard on it if ever she wished to be reminded.

As a child she had hated her red hair, as the boys in the village would pull at it and call her cruel names like ‘carrot-top' and ‘copper-knickers'. During her journey towards adulthood, however, its tone had progressively softened until it settled into a rich, lustrous auburn, which she would take great care over washing, scenting and brushing until it shone like a polished horse chestnut.

It wasn't only her hair colour that changed over those years either, as Red blossomed into an extremely attractive young woman. And those very same boys who had once teased her would now find themselves tongue-tied and awkward when in her presence.

Yes, Red was by far the prettiest young woman in the village. Beyond the long, silky-soft hair that now fell well below her shoulders, she had eyes as deep and as green as a millpond at sunset, a laugh that could melt the iciest of hearts, and lips full, soft and utterly enticing.

Red's body had developed too and was now as ripe and as juicy as a late summer pear. She was long in the leg and slim around the waist, she had curves just where they counted, and she'd been further blessed with a fine pair of breasts that were the envy of every woman over a certain age, and were often discussed in the smoke-filled corners of hostelries for many miles around.

Although Red's family owned a handsome, dapple-gray draught, a dairy cow named Thistle, three goats and a good dozen or so hens, times could be hard and her father kept a tight grip on the purse strings. This, much to Red's displeasure, meant that there was rarely money left over for little luxuries and what clothes she owned had been patched, darned and handed-down several times over. Consequently Red had become something of an expert with needle and thread, and although she always tried to look her very best, there was only so much even she could do to adjust a dress, a skirt or a blouse that she had simply grown out of two years prior. Thus her clothes would be that little bit tighter and that little bit shorter than was perhaps decent in a young lady of Red's shapely dimensions – a fact that was rarely complained about by the young men of the village.

Now, although Red was hardworking, intoxicatingly beautiful and generally kind of heart, she was not always the picture of innocence I may have led you to believe. She had never actually been with a man, of course, yet that certainly did not stop her from thinking about it. In fact, over the last few years Red would find herself imagining that very thought several times a day. And when that strange tingling sensation would take a hold of her senses, she was not at all averse to skulking away to the meadow – where the long lush grass would conceal her presence – so she could lie down on her back, lift up her skirt, and allow her hands to slip down between her thighs. Red would return to the farmhouse some time later, rosy-cheeked and with a look on her face that would have her mother worrying that Little Red had caught a chill.

She was an inquisitive girl, and over the years had become quite a student of the male physique. She'd obviously paid quiet attention to her older brothers as they grew from boys into men, and on several occasions had secretly observed the village lads as they washed naked in the stream. But by far her favourite lessons were learnt when she would creep out of the house late on a Friday night to peer through the windows of the old bunkhouse where the farmhands resided. Once there she would watch what the occupants got up to with the local girls they would bring home from the hostelries, drunk and full of amorous intent.

Red was a farm girl and therefore no stranger to the rutting of beasts, but at first it shocked her to witness sexual congress between a man and a woman. She had been surprised by the change in a man's
thing
– as she'd first known it called – as it grew from soft to hard, but soon she began to marvel at such magic and to wonder how it might feel if she were the one to offer it a tender caress. She would memorise the vulgar words she'd heard gasped in the throes of passion, and would take secret pleasure in repeating them aloud to herself when no one was there to hear.

Red had watched in awe as the village sluts took stiff cocks into their mouths, and how they would suck on them until the men would cry out and spill their sticky white cum across their chests. She had watched them fuck in all kinds of positions and had even seen a man use his tongue to lap a young lady's pussy – a young lady who, incidentally, looked an awful lot like the vicar's daughter.

That had been her absolute favourite new word; ‘pussy'. She thought it so fitting, as she'd discovered her own to be just as soft and just as tender as a newborn kitten. On those nights when she would observe the farm workers at play she would inevitably find her own palm sliding beneath her nightshirt, where it would tease her clit in just the way she liked while she imagined it was
she
in there with them and that it was
her
body they were making use of. Soon enough Red would be forced to bite hard against a knuckle so as to stifle the cries of pleasure she'd unfailingly release before she would dash back across the darkened yard and quickly on up to bed.

Poor Red longed to experience a man for herself. While her friends would giggle and pull faces at how disgusting it all sounded, Red's eyes would mist over and she'd dreamily imagine how sweet it would be to close her lips around a gentleman's big hard cock and to suck on it until he was forced to groan with the pleasure she had bestowed.

There was one experience that Red dreamed about more than any other, however; more even than having her pussy licked by a handsome farm boy. Red desperately wanted to feel a man inside her. She wanted to experience the sensation of her pussy being stretched by a rigid shaft as it pushed slowly inside. She wanted to feel it consume her body entirely so that she'd be forced to cry out like all those women she had secretly observed. Poor Red desperately wanted to experience the joy in being fucked good and hard, but alas she was not married and nor was her father looking to find her a suitor for a good while yet – it was simply too useful for him to have an extra pair of hands around the farm – and so, for now, she just had to make do with the pleasure of her fingers and the occasional candle she would steal away when mother was not looking.

Now, I must warn you not to feel too sorry for Little Red, as in all honesty she couldn't always be described as being a ‘good girl'. You see, over time she had become something of a tease. It began quite by accident one Saturday evening when she was called down to the kitchen by her mother for her turn in the tub. Red loved bath night and once mother had disappeared up to her room she would light as many candles as she could lay her hands on, hang a freshly laundered nightshirt in front of the stove and pull off her clothes before sliding naked beneath the warm water.