foreverdelayed
22-05-2018, 02:22 AM
I am summoned to his office. Shaking with nerves, I knock on the door.
"Come in."
He is sitting behind his desk, a stern look on his face.
"Right then, young man. I think you know why you're here."
I nod, looking at the floor.
"What's that?"
"Yes," I say.
"Yes, SIR," he says. "You will learn to address me with the proper respect, do you understand?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Right, then," he says. "We may as well begin. First, I want you to strip down to your underwear."
I hesitate for a moment, but realise I have little choice. He watches me in silence as I first take off my T-shirt, then bend down to take off my shoes and socks. When I get to my jeans, I look at him, as though he is going to change his mind. He simply raises his eyebrows at me, so I take off my jeans as well and put them on the floor with my other clothes.
He stands up and begins to walk towards me.
"Hands on your head," he says.
I raise my hands and place them on top of my head. He stands in front of me, an angry look on his face. I can feel myself burning with embarrassment to be standing before him wearing only my underpants.
"I have never," he says, prodding me in my chest and stomach with his finger, "in all my life, been so DISGUSTED." He prods me with enough force to knock me backwards slightly. "Your conduct will not go unpunished. In fact, I'm going to see to it that you get exactly what you deserve."
With that, he walks back to his desk, picks up his chair, and places it in front of me. Then he sits himself down.
"Over my knee," he says.
Mortified, I lower myself down and lean across his lap. Holding me in place with one arm, he places his free hand against the seat of my underpants.
"I'm going to spank your bottom now, young man, and perhaps we'll see if you learn your lesson."
He raises his hand and brings it down against my bottom. I gasp, but he spanks me again, holding me firmly in place.
"You do not," he says, spanking my bottom as he speaks "get to act in such a way without consequences. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Sir," I say.
He stops spanking me and removes his arm from my back.
"Get up," he says. "Stand there. Hands on your head again."
I stand before him once again, my hands on my head.
"I'm sure you are aware," he says, "that a spanking isn't really a spanking unless it's administered to a bare bottom."
I nod.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Yes, Sir."
And with that, he yanks down my underpants.
"Take them off," he says.
The second I step out of my underpants he pulls me back over his knee. Again his arm goes across my back, and he begins to spank my bare backside, much harder now. I writhe and squirm under his blows, but he is strong and determined and angry, and I can't prevent his hand from smacking my bottom time and time again.
"Keep still!" he says. "Keep still and take your punishment – God knows you've earned it."
After what seems like an eternity, he stops beating me, and once again orders me to stand up. I do so, dizzy from my spanking and from being over his knee for so long.
"Well? Have you learned your lesson yet?"
But before I can answer, he slaps me across the face, hard enough to bring tears to my eyes.
"Of course you haven't," he says. He takes hold of my arm and forcibly marches me towards his desk. He all but throws me over it.
"That's it, bend over. Come on. Now, arms out to your side, hold on to the desk and don't move."
I do as he says. He opens one of the desk drawers and takes out a cane. He taps the insides of my legs with it.
"Legs apart," he says. I reach new heights of humiliation as I ease my legs apart until he is satisfied with my position.
"Now then," he says. "It must be very embarrassing for you, young man, to find yourself bent over my desk, with your bare backside on show?"
"Yes, Sir," I reply.
"I should think so. And the best is yet to come. You are now to receive twelve strokes of the cane."
"Yes, Sir," I sigh.
"After each stroke, I want you to count the number out loud, and then say, 'Thank you, Sir. I'm sorry for my behaviour, and it won't happen again.' If you make a mistake, or if you move your hands, the stroke will be repeated. Is that clear?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Then I shall begin."
He taps the cane several times against my buttocks. It feels cruel and heavy against my bare skin. I shudder as he raises the cane and swishes it through the air, then taps it against my bottom a few more times. Then he raises it again, and…
CRACK!
"Ow!" I feel a line of fire spreading across my bottom. "One, thank you, Sir. I'm sorry for my behaviour, and it won't happen again."
He paces to and fro, taking his time, his footsteps loud and heavy on the wooden floor. He taps the cane against my bottom again. Raises it again.
CRACK!
"Ah! Two, thank you, Sir. I'm sorry for my behaviour, and it won't happen again."
"Louder," he says.
And he thus methodically carries out my punishment – three strokes, four, five, all the way up to my allotted twelve strokes. I somehow manage to hold onto the desk the whole time, resisting the urge to let go and try to protect my buttocks.
"Up," he says, when he has finished.
I stand up, my legs like jelly. My head is spinning and I start to rub my buttocks, which feel as though they are ablaze.
"Take your hands off your bottom," he says.
"Yes, Sir."
"On your knees. Hands on your head."
I kneel, and place my hands on my head once more.
"Now, I want you to kiss the cane."
"Sir?"
"Are you deaf, young man? I said I want you to kiss the cane."
He holds the cane in front of my face, and I notice that he is smirking, obviously relishing the power that he has over me. I close my eyes and gently kiss the cane that has tormented my backside for the last few minutes.
"Very good," he says. "Now, do you think you have learned your lesson?"
"Yes, Sir," I say.
"Are you ready to show me that you have learned your lesson?"
"Sir?"
He sighs, obviously impatient with me. "Are you ready to show me," he says, positioning himself in front of me and unbuttoning his trousers, "that you can be obedient after all? I think you know what I mean, don't you, young man?"
"Yes, Sir," I say.
I do.
"Come in."
He is sitting behind his desk, a stern look on his face.
"Right then, young man. I think you know why you're here."
I nod, looking at the floor.
"What's that?"
"Yes," I say.
"Yes, SIR," he says. "You will learn to address me with the proper respect, do you understand?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Right, then," he says. "We may as well begin. First, I want you to strip down to your underwear."
I hesitate for a moment, but realise I have little choice. He watches me in silence as I first take off my T-shirt, then bend down to take off my shoes and socks. When I get to my jeans, I look at him, as though he is going to change his mind. He simply raises his eyebrows at me, so I take off my jeans as well and put them on the floor with my other clothes.
He stands up and begins to walk towards me.
"Hands on your head," he says.
I raise my hands and place them on top of my head. He stands in front of me, an angry look on his face. I can feel myself burning with embarrassment to be standing before him wearing only my underpants.
"I have never," he says, prodding me in my chest and stomach with his finger, "in all my life, been so DISGUSTED." He prods me with enough force to knock me backwards slightly. "Your conduct will not go unpunished. In fact, I'm going to see to it that you get exactly what you deserve."
With that, he walks back to his desk, picks up his chair, and places it in front of me. Then he sits himself down.
"Over my knee," he says.
Mortified, I lower myself down and lean across his lap. Holding me in place with one arm, he places his free hand against the seat of my underpants.
"I'm going to spank your bottom now, young man, and perhaps we'll see if you learn your lesson."
He raises his hand and brings it down against my bottom. I gasp, but he spanks me again, holding me firmly in place.
"You do not," he says, spanking my bottom as he speaks "get to act in such a way without consequences. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Sir," I say.
He stops spanking me and removes his arm from my back.
"Get up," he says. "Stand there. Hands on your head again."
I stand before him once again, my hands on my head.
"I'm sure you are aware," he says, "that a spanking isn't really a spanking unless it's administered to a bare bottom."
I nod.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Yes, Sir."
And with that, he yanks down my underpants.
"Take them off," he says.
The second I step out of my underpants he pulls me back over his knee. Again his arm goes across my back, and he begins to spank my bare backside, much harder now. I writhe and squirm under his blows, but he is strong and determined and angry, and I can't prevent his hand from smacking my bottom time and time again.
"Keep still!" he says. "Keep still and take your punishment – God knows you've earned it."
After what seems like an eternity, he stops beating me, and once again orders me to stand up. I do so, dizzy from my spanking and from being over his knee for so long.
"Well? Have you learned your lesson yet?"
But before I can answer, he slaps me across the face, hard enough to bring tears to my eyes.
"Of course you haven't," he says. He takes hold of my arm and forcibly marches me towards his desk. He all but throws me over it.
"That's it, bend over. Come on. Now, arms out to your side, hold on to the desk and don't move."
I do as he says. He opens one of the desk drawers and takes out a cane. He taps the insides of my legs with it.
"Legs apart," he says. I reach new heights of humiliation as I ease my legs apart until he is satisfied with my position.
"Now then," he says. "It must be very embarrassing for you, young man, to find yourself bent over my desk, with your bare backside on show?"
"Yes, Sir," I reply.
"I should think so. And the best is yet to come. You are now to receive twelve strokes of the cane."
"Yes, Sir," I sigh.
"After each stroke, I want you to count the number out loud, and then say, 'Thank you, Sir. I'm sorry for my behaviour, and it won't happen again.' If you make a mistake, or if you move your hands, the stroke will be repeated. Is that clear?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Then I shall begin."
He taps the cane several times against my buttocks. It feels cruel and heavy against my bare skin. I shudder as he raises the cane and swishes it through the air, then taps it against my bottom a few more times. Then he raises it again, and…
CRACK!
"Ow!" I feel a line of fire spreading across my bottom. "One, thank you, Sir. I'm sorry for my behaviour, and it won't happen again."
He paces to and fro, taking his time, his footsteps loud and heavy on the wooden floor. He taps the cane against my bottom again. Raises it again.
CRACK!
"Ah! Two, thank you, Sir. I'm sorry for my behaviour, and it won't happen again."
"Louder," he says.
And he thus methodically carries out my punishment – three strokes, four, five, all the way up to my allotted twelve strokes. I somehow manage to hold onto the desk the whole time, resisting the urge to let go and try to protect my buttocks.
"Up," he says, when he has finished.
I stand up, my legs like jelly. My head is spinning and I start to rub my buttocks, which feel as though they are ablaze.
"Take your hands off your bottom," he says.
"Yes, Sir."
"On your knees. Hands on your head."
I kneel, and place my hands on my head once more.
"Now, I want you to kiss the cane."
"Sir?"
"Are you deaf, young man? I said I want you to kiss the cane."
He holds the cane in front of my face, and I notice that he is smirking, obviously relishing the power that he has over me. I close my eyes and gently kiss the cane that has tormented my backside for the last few minutes.
"Very good," he says. "Now, do you think you have learned your lesson?"
"Yes, Sir," I say.
"Are you ready to show me that you have learned your lesson?"
"Sir?"
He sighs, obviously impatient with me. "Are you ready to show me," he says, positioning himself in front of me and unbuttoning his trousers, "that you can be obedient after all? I think you know what I mean, don't you, young man?"
"Yes, Sir," I say.
I do.