A Whipping for the Professor

"I'm sorry I missed the test, Professor. Please let me take a makeup."

"You know my policy on makeup tests, Laura. If you won't bother to come to class to take a test, I'm not going to waste my valuable time giving you a makeup test."

"But Professor, I'm working two part-time jobs to pay my tuition. I was so exhausted from work that I didn't hear the alarm go off."

"You want this very badly, don't you Laura?"

"Yes, Professor. Please give me a break. I need this course to get my degree."

"Very well, Laura. Be at my house promptly at eight this evening and I will give you a makeup test. Here is the address."

I was working on a degree in Business Administration at a State university in the Midwest. Professor Blake was my Statistics professor. He was a handsome man in his early forties with wavy black hair, a sparkling smile, and a British accent that he had picked up while a student at Oxford.

I was twenty at the time. My parents were hard-working farmers who barely eked out enough to support themselves let alone put a daughter through college. Nevertheless, I was determined to be the first in my family to earn a college degree. My high school grades had been good enough to garner a few minor scholarships, but they didn't get me very far. To make up the difference, I worked my ass off waiting tables and cleaning offices. I was breaking under the strain and would not have lasted much longer if it had not been for Professor Blake.

I think I should describe myself before I continue. At the time, I was a tiny thing no more than five foot two and a hundred and five pounds. I must have been pretty because all through high school the boys chased me like a pack of hounds after a fox. My long blond hair fell past my shoulder blades. Blessed with straight, even teeth, I considered my smile to be my best asset. My tits nicely filled out a 36C cup. My friends reproached me about my long stride, a byproduct of my hectic schedule. If you still can't picture me, visualize teen-age witch Melissa Joan Hart and you will be very close.

I arrived at Professor Blake's two-story brick townhouse promptly at eight and was ushered in by a handsome matron in her forties. "Well, he certainly knows how to pick them," she said, as she looked me up and down. "I'm his wife Marsha, dear. I'm sure that you are going to find this very strange, but, if you go along with it, I assure you that you will be rewarded."

Things were not going the way I expected. I assumed from the moment that Professor Blake offered to give me the makeup exam at his house that I would have to have sex with him, and I was prepared to do so, but I had not expected to be met at the door by his wife. My heart raced at the possibility of a threesome. Marsha was my mother's age, but, unlike my mother, her looks had not been ravaged by years of hard work on a farm. She was a fine-looking woman with a voluptuous figure. I had never been with a woman, but I was eager to try. If it came down to it, Marsha would be a good place to start.

The saucy matron led me down a narrow staircase to the basement. I was flabbergasted by what I saw there. The spacious room had been outfitted as a torture chamber. Whips, paddles and canes hung from hooks on the walls. Other hideous instruments were arranged neatly on tables. My eyes widened at the sight of clamps, masks, gags, shackles, and other diabolical instruments. I spun on my heel and headed back up the stairs.

"Wait, these aren't for you, dear," Marsha said. "They are for him. Please come back. You will have the time of your life."

I paused for a moment and pondered my situation. I desperately needed that makeup test. It was a big part of my grade. If I didn't take it, I would fail the course, and then I might as well pack my bags and go back to the farm. I would marry some hick and end up like my mother, an old woman before her time. I turned and went back down the stairs.

Professor Blake was waiting in the shadows. He came toward me with something in his hand. As a country girl, I had done my share of horseback riding. I immediately recognized it as a riding crop. He handed it to me and said, "Thank you for coming, Mistress. I am not worthy of you but I beg you to make me so. Please punish me for being such a swine."

The professor dropped his pants and bent over a table. I stood for a long time and stared in disbelief at his girlish ass. "Beat him, child," Marsha said. "Put a glow on those sallow ass-cheeks. Trust me, it will make you feel good."

I could not help but giggle as I gave his ass a playful tap. Marsha laughed derisively. "Do you call that a stroke? Lay into him, dear. Mark his ass. A blow that doesn't leave a mark is not a blow." I gave him another stroke that was hard enough to make his cheek quiver. "That's more like it, dear," Marsha said. "But it should be twice as hard."

I put all of my strength into the next stroke. Marsha was right; it did feel good! The professor let out a ghostly groan and came up on his tiptoes. "BRAVA!" Marsha shouted. "Now you're getting the idea, dear." I gave him another, and another, and another. The wetness of my pussy correlated directly with the redness of his ass. I was getting turned on!

I got a shock when I glanced over at Marsha and saw that she had shed her clothes. "I think it's time we all got naked," she said. "My husband is yours to do with as you see fit. Beat him and humiliate him. Give or withhold sex from him. I have beaten him so many times that it no longer gives him pleasure. He needs fresh doms from time to time. I can see that you have the makings of a good one. One word of advice - never call him by his name or title. Scum, pig and worm are appropriate, but I'm sure you can think of others."

Marsha was a bit on the stocky side but still a very tasty dish. Her big, round tits rode high on her chest. She could have lost a few pounds around the waist, but that minor defect did little to mar her beauty. Her cunt was adorned with a full bush of black hair.

"GET YOUR CLOTHES OFF, YOU WORM!" I shouted. I could not suppress a giddy laugh. My outburst had had a touch of authenticity. I was no longer quite faking it. Marsha rushed forward to help me undress. "I'll have you fitted out like a proper dom in no time," she said. Her hands were all over me as my nubile body was exposed. I stopped competing with her and let her strip me.

The Professor stood naked before me with his head bowed. He had a superb body. His broad, muscular chest was covered with a thick carpet of hair that thinned across his belly and thickened again in the pubic region. An enormous cock nine inches in length stuck out from the pubic bush. I had never seen such a magnificent fucker. The head was the size of the apples that I had picked from the trees back on the farm. My cunt was not deep enough to take it all - no cunt was - but what fun it would be to try!

Marsha cinched a black girdle around my narrow waist to make it even narrower. The garment accented my full tits and the flare of my hips. Glossy black knee-high boots completed my outfit. I stood in front of a mirror and admired myself. For the first time in my life, I felt in control of my destiny.

"You are the best yet," Marsha said. "You'll make a superb dominatrix. I made an excellent living beating men, and you will, too, if you choose to do so. Your training will begin now. You have everything you need. Enjoy yourself, darling." She kissed me directly on the lips. It wasn't like any kiss I had had from men. It was soft and warm. Our tongues touched briefly before I pulled away. There was no doubt in my mind that Marsha would be my first lesbian lover.

Marsha pressed a button on the wall and a rope with two manacles hanging from it descended from the ceiling. "I suggest you string him up first," Marsha said. "That's always a good place to start." I ordered my slave to stand beneath the rope. As I placed the manacles on his wrists, his enormous cock brushed my belly. I took the fat member in my hand and rubbed the wet tip up and down my slit and across my swollen clit. "Oh, thank you, Mistress," he whimpered. That earned him a slap across the face. "You will not speak unless spoken to, slave. Do you understand?"

I fetched a set of nipple clamps from the table and tried to attach them to his nipples. Nothing turns me off faster than small nipples on a man, so I was pleased to see that his were as big as my own. "You have to get them hard first, dear," Marsha said. "Let me show you how." She picked up the riding crop that I had used earlier and gently stroked the leather tip up and down across her husband's nipple. She suddenly drew the crop back and landed a stinging blow directly on the nipple. She repeated that several times until her husband's nipple had swollen to an inch in length. I quickly placed the clamp on the brown nub and screwed it down until he sucked in his breath and gritted his teeth. I took the crop from Marsha and tortured the other nipple the way she had shown me. The professor's manly chest was soon adorned with two steel clamps connected by a slender chain.

I cinched a dog collar around his neck and a smaller collar around his cock and balls. I roughly shoved a red ballgag into his mouth and tightened the straps at the back. "May I suggest leg weights, dear?" Marsha said. "They will keep him from flailing about to ease the pain of the whipping." I strapped the twenty-pound weights to his ankles and pressed the red "ON" button on the wall. The Professor hung suspended a foot above the floor, totally at my mercy.

I took Marsha's hand and led her in front of her husband. We kissed and fondled each other's breasts and pussies for a few minutes. My slave's cock throbbed as he watched. I took a cat-of-nine-tails whip from a hook in the wall and took aim on my slave's ass. Because of the leg weights stretching his body, he wasn't able to dodge the blow. A shudder ran up his body and a loud groan somehow managed to get around the gag. I whipped the Professor's back and ass until it was decorated with thin red stripes from his shoulders to his knees. Marsha sat with a smile on her face and masturbated with her fingers as she watched me beat her husband.

When I was too tired to continue the beating, I lowered the Professor to the floor and ordered him to stretch out. "If you try to touch me you will regret it, worm," I said. I squatted over him and slowly impaled myself on his enormous cock. "BRAVA! BRAVA! Now you are getting the idea, dearest," Marsha said. "When you make use of his cock he must never be in charge. You must always dominate him."

The Professor's enormous cock stretched my cunt like it had never been stretched before. As I smothered the thick fucker with my flesh, I considered the possibility of a normal sexual relationship with the handsome man. It would have been wonderful to have him above me, fucking me the way men were meant to fuck women. But that wasn't what he wanted. I had to concentrate on my goal of passing his course. I fucked him until I was on the verge of an orgasm, then stopped. I feared that if I lost my horny edge, I wouldn't be able to carry on.

I had my eye on a sinister device near one wall that I recognized as a set of stocks. There were actually two sets, one for the neck and wrists, and the other for the ankles. A thick wooden dowel at the top of two posts served to keep the victim bent forward at a ninety-degree angle. I soon had the Professor securely in bondage.

As I picked up a strap-on dildo from the table, Marsha hurried forward. "That's an excellent choice, dear. Let me help you with that. It can be a little tricky to put on. Do you see the rubber spikes on the base? They will make every nerve in your beautiful pussy come alive. Now hold it in place and I will tighten the straps." I held the base of the dildo to my clitoral region as Marsha cinched the straps down.

After thoroughly greasing the dildo, I approached the Professor and said, "Now, it's my turn to fuck you, slave." Marsha spread her husband's ass-cheeks to expose his wrinkled hole. I placed the plum-sized bulb against it and applied pressure. I watched with fascination as the tiny opening stretched to accommodate the fake cock. "Oh, Mistress, please stop. It hurts." That little outburst earned him a stinging slap on his ass-cheek. "Pay no attention to him, dear," Marsha said. "He will soon be begging you not to stop."

I didn't stop pushing until the entire dildo disappeared into his gut. Marsha was right. As I pumped the rubber cock in and out, my slave groaned and said, "Oh, yes, Mistress, fuck me harder. It feels wonderful." Each time the bastard opened his mouth, I gave his ass a hard spank. The round cheeks were soon as red as beets.

"You know something, worm? I've changed my mind about that makeup test. I've decided that I don't want to take it after all. Instead, you are going to save us both a lot of trouble and give me an "A". Is that clear?"

"Oh, yes, Mistress, whatever you say. Just don't stop fucking me." Just as Marsha had promised, the tiny rubber spikes on the base of the dildo were digging into the most sensitive spot on my body. Each time I drove into the pig, I had a mini-orgasm. Then finally, after several hundred thrusts, I had the big one. It was so intense that the only way I could stay on my feet was to bend forward until my tits flattened against the Professor's striped back.

I left the Professor in the stocks and curled up with his comely wife on a blanket directly in front of him. Watching us kiss and fondle with no way to join in must have been the sweetest torture. "Sometimes when he gets fucked he shoots his load without any stimulation of his cock, but so far he has managed to hold it in," Marsha said. "When he does go off, it will be a messy one."

After a brief rest, my enthusiasm for what I was doing returned with a vengeance. I spotted a low stool along one wall next to a bed, and above it a pair of manacles hanging from a hook set in the wall. I released the professor from the stocks and ordered him onto the stool. Standing on a chair, I strapped the manacles to his wrist. I gave the stool a yank and the professor was left dangling with his enormous cock throbbing in front of him. I used the cat to stripe his chest and belly, and then tied a cord around his nuts.

Marsha must have been reading my mind. She came toward me with a fresh dildo strapped to her pussy. I lay on the bed, spread my legs and invited her to partake of the honey that trickled from my honey pot. Her long tongue snaked out and squirmed its way into my fuck-hole. She licked every inch of my pussy. A combination of sucks and licks on the clit sent me over the edge. As I came, I yanked the cord attached to the Professor's balls. He and I moaned together but for different reasons.

Marsha mounted me and drove the rubber dick into me. She speared me again and again as deftly as any man ever had. I yanked the Professor's balls each time I came. As he watched his wife and I cum together, he let out a long groan and released his pent-up load. Without any stimulus to his cock, the masochist launched the most spectacular cum-shot that I had ever seen. My God, it was a deluge! Spurt after spurt rained down on us. In mid-orgasm, I was too befuddled to count the spurts, but there must have been at least a dozen.

That ended my first session as a dominatrix. The Professor gave me an "A" for the makeup test that I never took. He insisted that I show up for the rest of his tests so no one would get suspicious, but, no matter what my real grade was, I always got an "A" in exchange for an S&M session.

I soon acquired a taste for wielding a whip. Although Marsha was no longer in the business, she still had connections in certain circles. She put me in touch with the right people and allowed me to use her torture chamber to "entertain" them. You would be surprised to learn how much some men will pay to be whipped by a beautiful young woman. My grades improved as soon as I gave up my grueling, low-paying jobs. I eventually graduated with a degree in Business Administration, and, thanks to the kinky professor and his wife, a new career. I make far more money as a dominatrix than I would have ever made in business.