anarchistic_masochist
26-06-2010, 01:13 AM
Here is the next instalment of what is proving to be a very popular story! As I said in the Pt 4 thread, this chapter has a strong BDSM element. My imagination is truly twisted! I hope you good people will not find it too extreme.
There she was, bent prostrate over Mr. Tennant’s desk, her opened legs affording the gloating sadist more than a glimpse of the innermost secrets of her femininity. Something deep and primal was stirring within her; she had now atoned for her foolishness and she felt as if the slate was now wiped clean. She had, what one would call a schoolgirl crush on the 37 year old teacher, and it was not so much the pain or the caning that had had her in floods of tears only moments ago, it was the fact that he was ashamed and disgusted with her. A masochistic desire to reconcile with and to suffer for him ignited a fire, which the results of her now obvious arousal sought to extinguish. And now this dirty disciplinarian was privy to her innermost thoughts! She whined like a wounded puppy at the thought.
If Mr. Birch had been alone with the girl, he would have taken great delight in stroking her hot, throbbing bottom, brushing those moistened lips, perhaps plunging his fingers into her silken cleft…but no, he could not risk such gross misconduct with Mr Tennant present. No matter. He could still obtain considerable gratification from making her howl.
He took considerable time in lining up his first strike. Mr. Tennant could only watch horrified and helpless as Myra’s well-welted backside quivered under Mr. Birch’s lascivious gaze. The dragon descended, and Myra screamed, as if her soul was being torn asunder. Shaking and sobbing, she begged for mercy. “Please….Sir….please! Please stop!!” The Headteacher’s lip curled with contempt, as he totally ignored her, striking her nates once again. Mr. Tennant noticed that her buttocks had started to bleed. This truly was excessive and totally unnecessary. “Mr. Birch, I must protest! Stop, for Christ’s sake! She’s bleeding!” he shouted, trying to be heard over Myra’s agonised screaming. The monster leered, “what’s that, Mr. Tennant? I can’t hear you!” He turned to the now wretched excuse for a girl that was still bent prostrate across Mr. Tennant’s desk: “QUIET, GIRL!!” She continued to sob. Cra-aack went the cane, re-igniting her anguish. “I SAID SHUT UP!!!” He threw down the dragon in temper and ordered Myra to take off her knickers. Wincing, she complied. He then snatched the pants off her. “Open your mouth!” he barked. Blindly, she did so, and to Mr. Tennant’s utter disbelief, he stuffed them into her mouth! “Maybe, that will keep you quiet!” he scoffed, and pushed her back over the desk. Myra automatically widened her legs, as before. “What the hell are you doing?!” Mr Tennant was distraught. “For the love of God, stop!”
“Oh no, my liberal friend; I’ve only just begun!” He picked up the cane and took a couple of practice “swooshes.” Myra’s distress was still very obvious, albeit muffled by her own knickers. Three more full-blooded cracks left their lines of fire across Myra’s buttocks. Each strike was timed and aimed with precision. Myra had gone beyond pain; she felt dizzy and sick. I’m going to pass out, she thought. Mr. Birch totally disregarded the fact that Myra was on the brink of unconsciousness, and that her bruised and battered backside was in dire need of medical attention. He turned to the appalled House Master:
“I hope you’ve found my lesson in discipline instructive, Mr Tennant.” He threw down the cane a second time and strode out, slamming the door behind him.
There she was, bent prostrate over Mr. Tennant’s desk, her opened legs affording the gloating sadist more than a glimpse of the innermost secrets of her femininity. Something deep and primal was stirring within her; she had now atoned for her foolishness and she felt as if the slate was now wiped clean. She had, what one would call a schoolgirl crush on the 37 year old teacher, and it was not so much the pain or the caning that had had her in floods of tears only moments ago, it was the fact that he was ashamed and disgusted with her. A masochistic desire to reconcile with and to suffer for him ignited a fire, which the results of her now obvious arousal sought to extinguish. And now this dirty disciplinarian was privy to her innermost thoughts! She whined like a wounded puppy at the thought.
If Mr. Birch had been alone with the girl, he would have taken great delight in stroking her hot, throbbing bottom, brushing those moistened lips, perhaps plunging his fingers into her silken cleft…but no, he could not risk such gross misconduct with Mr Tennant present. No matter. He could still obtain considerable gratification from making her howl.
He took considerable time in lining up his first strike. Mr. Tennant could only watch horrified and helpless as Myra’s well-welted backside quivered under Mr. Birch’s lascivious gaze. The dragon descended, and Myra screamed, as if her soul was being torn asunder. Shaking and sobbing, she begged for mercy. “Please….Sir….please! Please stop!!” The Headteacher’s lip curled with contempt, as he totally ignored her, striking her nates once again. Mr. Tennant noticed that her buttocks had started to bleed. This truly was excessive and totally unnecessary. “Mr. Birch, I must protest! Stop, for Christ’s sake! She’s bleeding!” he shouted, trying to be heard over Myra’s agonised screaming. The monster leered, “what’s that, Mr. Tennant? I can’t hear you!” He turned to the now wretched excuse for a girl that was still bent prostrate across Mr. Tennant’s desk: “QUIET, GIRL!!” She continued to sob. Cra-aack went the cane, re-igniting her anguish. “I SAID SHUT UP!!!” He threw down the dragon in temper and ordered Myra to take off her knickers. Wincing, she complied. He then snatched the pants off her. “Open your mouth!” he barked. Blindly, she did so, and to Mr. Tennant’s utter disbelief, he stuffed them into her mouth! “Maybe, that will keep you quiet!” he scoffed, and pushed her back over the desk. Myra automatically widened her legs, as before. “What the hell are you doing?!” Mr Tennant was distraught. “For the love of God, stop!”
“Oh no, my liberal friend; I’ve only just begun!” He picked up the cane and took a couple of practice “swooshes.” Myra’s distress was still very obvious, albeit muffled by her own knickers. Three more full-blooded cracks left their lines of fire across Myra’s buttocks. Each strike was timed and aimed with precision. Myra had gone beyond pain; she felt dizzy and sick. I’m going to pass out, she thought. Mr. Birch totally disregarded the fact that Myra was on the brink of unconsciousness, and that her bruised and battered backside was in dire need of medical attention. He turned to the appalled House Master:
“I hope you’ve found my lesson in discipline instructive, Mr Tennant.” He threw down the cane a second time and strode out, slamming the door behind him.