Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32
(All characters in this story are eighteen years of age, or older)
Chapter 3
Let’s get this over with
You have to force yourself to meet Mr. Peterson’s gaze. You fight the urge to look down at the floor and mumble another pathetic apology. Who the fuck does this guy think he is? I can take whatever this punk can give me. Taking a deep breath in a futile attempt to quiet your churning stomach, you answer:
“The… the short one.” Christ I sound pathetic. Pull yourself together, RC!
He raises an eyebrow.
“Er, Mr. Peterson. I’ll take the short intense one, Mr. Peterson.” Fuck!
Mr. Peterson nods. “A bold choice, Miss Murray. I do hope this is indicative of your commitment to self-improvement. We shall see. Now, remove your sweatshirt.”
Your mouth opens to protest, but you think better of it at the last second. Mind swirling in a mix of anger and excitement, you pull your sweatshirt up over your head and pile it on top of your backpack beside your desk. You’re not sure what to do next, so you look at Mr. Peterson expectantly.
“Very good, Miss Murray.” Mr. Peterson starts to walk back around to the far side of his desk. “Now place your arms flat on the desk in front of you, palms up.”
What the fuck kind of punishment is this? I thought this was supposed to be intense. Confused, but with a building feeling of dread and anxiety, you do as you’re told.
Mr. Peterson opens a drawer in his desk and pulls out what looks like a long, thin stick. “Do you know what this is, Miss Murray?” He starts to walk back around the desk towards you.
Your mouth is suddenly very dry. “I… no, Mr. Peterson. I don’t.”
“This is called a switch, Miss Murray. In the days when teachers were allowed to properly discipline their students, this was used as an effective tool for corporal punishment.”
Why karabük escort is it so hard to breathe? “C-corporal punishment?”
Mr. Peterson is standing beside you now, forcing you to look up at him. You feel your body trembling. C’mon RC, quit being such a little girl! You’re not scared of this punk!
…right?
“Yes, Miss Murray, corporal punishment. You see, it is important to discipline both mind and body. Especially in your case, I believe your behavioral issues stem from a lack of control over your bodily desires.”
What the fuck does this guy think he’s talking about? He doesn’t know me! He doesn’t know shit about my… desires…
“Now, Miss Murray, are you paying attention?” He taps the switch against the palm of his hand.
“I…” you swallow to clear the lump in your throat. It doesn’t work. What the fuck is going on with me? “Yes, Mr. Peterson. I’m paying attention.” You can’t take your eyes off the long, thin rod in his hands.
“Good, because this is not just a punishment, this is also a lesson. We are going to be working on your discipline even while you are being punished for lacking it. Now, I am going to strike your exposed forearms with this switch, ten times.”
Your eyes grow wide and your legs clamp together.
“After each strike, you are to count off the number, while continuing to address me properly. Missing the count, or failing in the proper address, or removing your arms from the desk, will result in us starting over. Do you understand, Miss Murray?”
Your heart feels like it’s trying to beat its way out of your chest. C’mon, RC. You can do this. You’re not afraid of this old dweeb and his little stick. You nod.
“So you are ready to accept your punishment, Miss Murray?”
You force yourself to look up at your teacher. You hate how much your body is trembling, but you’re osmaniye escort unable to stop. “Yes, Mr. Peterson, I’m ready to… I’m ready to accept my punishment.”
He nods. “Good. Then we shall begin. Remember your role.”
With no further hesitation or warning, Mr. Peterson brings the switch down across the creamy skin of your forearms. It all happens so fast. Whistle-crack-PAIN. “OW! What the fuck?!”
Your arms jerk up off the desk. The initial pain only lasted an instant, but you feel a burning throb where the switch hit you, matched by a throbbing in your pussy. I… I don’t understand… You can’t stop staring at the angry welt on your arms that grows redder with every breath.
Mr. Peterson’s heavy sigh breaks you out of your reverie. “Come now, Miss Murray. Were you paying attention to the instructions or not?”
Unable to look away from the mark on your skin, you blurt out an answer. “Yes! Yes, I was paying attention. Er, Mr. Peterson. I’m sorry.” Your voice has none of its usual confidence, its fire. I sound like a total loser.
“So what happens now, Miss Murray?”
You close your eyes and take a deep, shuddering breath. Slowly laying your arms back down on the desk, you answer, “We start over.”
“Very good, Miss Murray. Now open your eyes.”
You comply, just in time to see the switch come down on your arms again.
Whistle-crack-PAIN “Ah! One, Mr. Peterson.”
Whistle-crack-PAIN “Hng! Hahhh… two, Mr. Peterson.”
Whistle-crack-pain “Mmn. Three, Mr. Peterson.” It still hurts, but you’re getting used to it.
Whistle-crack-pain “Four, Mr. Peterson.” You can do this.
Whistle-crack-pain “Five, Mr. Peterson.” This is nothing. You can take this. No sweat.
“You’re doing very well, Miss Murray. For the last five we will increase the intensity.”
You’re about to ask what marmaris escort he means, but before you can get the words out whistle-CRACK-PAIN “HAAANGH! GAH! Hnnnnnnggg…” Tears well up in your eyes and it takes all of your willpower to keep your arms down on the desk. You suck in a breath through your teeth. “S-six, Mr. Peterson.”
Whistle-CRACK-PAIN “FUuu… haaanh… seven, Mr. Peterson.” The marks on your skin are captivating you. You can’t believe he’s making such an impact on your body.
Whistle-CRACK-PAIN “MMMnnn… eight, Mr. Peterson.” Your arms are on fire, but the heat isn’t painful. It feels… good.
Whistle-CRACK-PAIN-pleasure “Haaaanh… nine, Mr. Peterson.” The heat is spreading through your whole body. You feel tingly. You squeeze your legs together to relieve the pressure in your pussy. Why… why does my pussy…?
Whistle-CRACK-PAIN-PLEASURE “FFFfwaaahhhh… haaaaannnh…” You’re shaking. You feel like the heat from your forearms has filled your entire body, threatening to burst out of you. Nowhere is that feeling stronger than your crotch. Your pussy throbs in time with the angry red welts on your arms. Your clit is buzzing. You know your panties are soaked. You feel like you’re on the edge of a deliriously powerful orgasm. Why… how…?
“Miss Murray?” Mr. Peterson’s voice is cool, calm, collected. Everything you aren’t right now.
You look up at him, eyes wet, breaths hot and shallow, cheeks flushed. You don’t understand what’s happening to you, but something in his icy demeanor causes the heat inside you to flare… and also promises answers. “T-ten.” You take a deep, shuddering breath. “Mr. Peterson.”
He gives you a small smile, and despite yourself you feel giddy with relief. What the fuck is happening to me?
“Very good, Miss Murray. In spite of your initial failure, you handled that quite well.” He stops smiling, and something inside you suddenly, desperately wants him to smile at you again. “Now, how are you feeling?”
You rub at the welts on your arms and squeeze your legs together as you try to catch your breath. How can you answer that question? Do you even know what you’re feeling right now?
Aside from the burning arousal, of course.
Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32
