After School

It's the end of the school day. Everyone else is piling out of the door, headed for home. Not you though. You received a note requiring you report to my office after the final bell. You're not sure why the deputy head wants to see you, but it's unlikely to be anything good. You don't think you've broken any rules, but you're still nervous.

You enter my outer office to find my secretary Miss Jenkins packing up for the day. You proffer the note which she scans quickly. It's a simple enough message.

"Wait here please."

Knocking softly on the inner door she slips through and you hear the murmur of our voices. You stand in the middle of the room, smelling the polish used on the wooden panelling, shuffling your feet nervously. Then the door opens wide and Miss Jenkins stands aside to let you pass.

"Come in please."

I sit behind my desk, waiting for you to enter. I'm glad to see you swallow nervously. Perfect. I always had you down as one of the shy nervous ones. Plus there's the effect of being in this room. Pupils never normally come in here, normal matters are dealt with in the outer office. Ignoring you for a moment I exchange pleasantries with Helen and wish her a safe drive home. Talking around you as you stand between us adds to your nervousness. She leaves, closing the door firmly behind her, and I turn my attention to you.

I explain in simple terms why you are here. Your work has been substandard this year. Several of your teachers have commented. You seem to be distracted in class. It is becoming a cause for concern.

"This is nothing too unusual." I carry on "Since we started admitting girls to the sixth form there's always a bit of an adjustment period. Some boys start trying to impress the girls, acting the goat and disrupting classes. Others go all tongue-tied, embarrassed and mute. Usually it passes. The first type calm down after a detention or two, the second tend to get used to these strange new beings soon enough and start treating them like ordinary people. You however show no signs of improvement. The first round of modules are coming up and your work is simply not up to standard." I let that hang between us, you still appear a bit nonplussed.

"I've been finding the A-level work a bit harder than I expected Miss but..." I cut you off with a raised palm

"That may be the case for some students. Normally this would have been a quiet word from your Academic advisor, an offer of help to get you back on the right track. But then there were these."

It's reveal time, hit you with it whilst you're still unsure of yourself, keep you off balance. I open my desk drawer and remove a pair of glossy magazines. You recognise them immediately and your heart races. They had been hidden in your locked desk.

I let the shock sink in. Your eyes widen a little, your face blanches white, then burns deep red. I can only imagine the searing flash of fear and surprise that just shot through you, the adrenaline spike you just experienced. it looks like I've judged this one nicely. I keep going.

"Do you really think that magazines like this are appropriate?"

I open them on the desk and turn them around to face you.

"Is this what real women look like with their airbrushed silicone bodies and collagen plumped lips?"

I maintain a steady stream of rhetorical questions, giving each one just enough time to make you squirm before asking the next, brushing past your stuttering attempts at excuses and denials.

"Is this what you masturbate to?"

Your eyes actually flick up to meet mine at that one. You never expected to hear a teacher say that. In fact all of this is rather odd. You can understand being in trouble for being caught with porno mags but why am I leafing through the pages, showing you the girls? I stand and walk around the desk and turn to a page of stories.

"Is this how you think women should act?" I read an excerpt.

"They held me down and ripped my knickers off, I wanted them both." A steady, judging look, another excerpt "Cum for me baby, I cried, I need your cum. Cum on my tits."

"Is this what arouses you? Wanton profligate women throwing themselves at men, begging to be used in the most degrading ways? Is this how you imagine your mother acting with your father? Should I share this with them? Let them know their son spends his day wanking and dreaming about abusing women rather than doing his revision?"

"No Miss, please!"

There's an edge of desperation in your responses now. I hope I haven't ruined it by mentioning your parents but I need the outside threat to clinch this deal. I soften my tone a little, replace the magazine on the desk top, open at the centrefold where you can't fail to miss it.

"It is true that it would be a shame to distress them with this. I'm sure they don't want to find out that their son is a pervert. If you're willing to accept punishment then we can deal with this here at school"

You agree instantly, your relief almost palpable. I'm relieved too, but careful not to show it. This is all going according to plan.

"Stand here." I indicate a spot in front of the desk and you move forward. I leave you there, staring down at the evidence of your crime. Behind you I shrug off my suit jacket and hang it on the stand by the door. I want a little more freedom than its cut permits. There is a heavy dresser against the rear wall and its long drawer is my next stop. It contains a selection of items but I know which one I want. I pick out the ferula, a length of whalebone, encased in leather. Handle and all it's about 9 inches long. A thrill of anticipation runs through me.

"Hands out."

I return to stand alongside you before the desk. In my sensible heels I'm not quite as tall as you, but there's no doubt who is in charge.

"Miss?" there's a questioning note in your voice. Corporal punishment has been outlawed for years. However, your raise your hands from the elbow

"Did you say you were willing to accept my punishment?"

"Well yes Miss, but what.."

"It's a simple choice. We can deal with this here and now, and that will be the end of it. or we can take it to the next step." I pause. Your hands don't drop and I take that as permission.

"Palms up."

I take your right wrist firmly in my left hand, holding it over the desk, over the magazines. The evidence of your depravity in full view as I administer punishment. Raising the ferula I bring it down sharply onto your right hand.

CRACK!

A carefully angled blow allows one to strike both palm and fingers at the same time. You yelp and try to withdraw your hand, but my grip holds you fast.

"Quiet!" I snap it out as an order. "I will have you silent for this."

It's the shock more than the pain with the first one, at least with the ferula. The first blow merely numbs the hand. You draw a deep breath. I release your right wrist and reach across you to grasp the other. The left hand takes my second blow.

WHAP!

Again you flinch, but apart from a hiss of indrawn breath you stay silent. Good enough. I release your left wrist and you let your hands drop.

"What do you think you're doing!" I am as stern as I can manage. You look at me in fear. "Ferulas are traditionally administered in threes. Your impertinence has earned you an extra three. Hands out"

This is a possible sticking point, but I have the right victim. Your hands extend across the desk again and the punishment continues.

CRACK!

The pain will be setting in now. It's not the pain of a cut, or a smacked bottom. The ferula creates a deep bone ache that grows exponentially. The left hand again

CRACK!

The time between strokes allows the initial shock to wear off and the heat and swelling to begin. I pause before the last two, drawing them out.

"Now I hope that this serves to focus your mind on your studies."

WHAP!

I have to keep a firm grip on your wrist this time. The third one on already bruised flesh obviously hurts. Time to focus your attention back on the magazines. I reach for your left wrist a final time and press myself closer, as though I have trouble stretching across you. It's all a ploy to make sure your right forearm is pressed against my blouse, resting against the lower half of my breasts. I'm not wearing a bra for this and you give a little shiver of your own. I doubt you have any knowledge of bras but the touch of soft flesh through cotton seems to have gotten your attention. Again, I use a softer tone.

"There is nothing wrong with being attracted to girls. There is nothing wrong with sex, however this." here I use the ferula to indicate the magazines "Is unrealistic, and harmful. It also appears to be distracting you from your studies. There will be time enough to learn about women later."

CRACK!

The last one. I release your wrist and step way.

"Hands by your sides."

The pain will continue to grow for a minute or two and then take a couple of hours to fade. I return to my chair and sit down, letting you experience the ache fully. Studying you I am secretly delighted - there are tears in the corners of your eyes, and yes! a distinct swelling in your groin. I can feel my own nipples hard against my blouse, and I'm sure the sight of them is doing nothing to suppress your arousal.

"It is traditional to thank me now."

You look startled but you're not about to grow a backbone now the punishment is over.

"Yes Miss, Thank you Miss."

"It was my pleasure." I have never said a truer word. "You may go now, and I trust we shan't have to discuss these matters again."

You thank me again, and make your way from the room. I can see from the way you struggle with the round doorknob that I've done my job well. Your hands will be stiff and sore for a while yet. I hear you leave the outer office and carefully lock my door before returning to the desk and slipping my hand down the front of my skirt. Being in control is such a turn on, but best of all I can imagine the final act of our little drama. I know for sure that instead of rushing off home, your first act will be to head to the boys toilets. Safely deserted after school you can be alone there.

I tease my clitoris as I imagine you freeing your hard cock from your underwear and stroking it. Your hands hurting with every movement. I know men however. Turn you on enough and you'll sacrifice anything for that orgasm. Will you groan with the pain of your palms, or are you moaning in lust? I know which I'm doing. My breathing comes faster as I bring myself to the edge. I can see you now panting, trousers around your ankles, thrashing away at your cock. My excitement builds as I imagine your gasping breaths, then I cry out my own joy and thrust three fingers into my hole as I see your spunk spurting out between your swollen fingers, bathing your sore knuckles with your own lotion.