emerson learns his place

F/m spanking fetish. Still cerebral but now with some sexual content. Third instalment in a series. Thank you again so much for your feedback and ratings.

----------------------------------

Emerson stood in Ms. Hartford's living room for the third time. A moment ago, he had to knock on her door and ask politely and submissively for his maintenance spanking. The blush of his shame still crept across his face even though he'd asked for a spanking twice before. It never, ever got easier to ask for that, standing outside. And today things would be a bit different based on their recent email exchanges.

Ms. Hartford tapped at his paperwork, including one new consent form, rereading. Like last time, he'd only filled certain boxes with a red X - his hard limits. He was far too aroused the night he did that form, though. His curiosity left far more open boxes than he might have done with the clarity of being recently spent.

Emerson didn't speak. He waited. Each time he entered this living room he was slightly more submissive than the last. Now he stood there, eyes down, hands clutched anxiously behind his own back. Ms. Hartford had that effect on him.

"Really, Emerson?" she tapped the paper again. "You left the boxes for the severe belt whipping and severe paddling unchecked?"

"Yes, ma'am?" he asked, as though not sure himself. Did he?

"You barely survived the hairbrush last week, young man. You could have simply stuck with the light paddling or light belt whipping for just a taste. I sure hope that you're taking my forms seriously and reading each box."

"Yes, ma'am! I promise."

"We'll see," she said. "So... for today, you've told me that you wanted a little help making sure you do well in university. Yes?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Tell me more."

"I procrastinate. I usually wait until the last day to write papers. I don't get enough sleep. Just not being responsible enough in general, ma'am."

"You need some firm rules and reminders to focus. Now, I'm sure you've never gotten a maintenance spanking before, have you?"

"No, ma'am," he said. He'd only ever been spanked twice in his life so far, and both times by Ms. Hartford herself.

"It's more than just a reminder of the consequences. It's also more than just a spanking. It's a reminder of your place. Where is your place, Emerson?"

He bit his lip. Where was his place? "Over your lap, ma'am?"

She smiled, whether he was wrong or right about that answer, she at least smiled. "Over my lap is one good place for you, yes. Other clients lay over a table, bend over to grab their ankles, or go over the back of a chair. You've only ever been spanked over my knees, twice now, and you're going to be over my knees again today. Why is that?"

He shook his head, ashamed and confused. It was so childish to keep getting put over her lap. He didn't realize some of her other clients didn't get spanked the same way he did.

"You don't know? Let's figure it out. Come here."

This time she led him to the couch instead of the bar stool. He followed without complaint. The last time he was here on the couch, she massaged his smarting bottom with lotion. The reminder of it began to arouse him. It was bad timing for that, right before he had to place his hands on his head to allow her to undress him.

She took a seat on the center cushion of the couch, slowly unbuttoning his pants, then unzipping. All he could do was stand still and watch as his pants were lowered to his ankles. "Today we're focusing on discipline and control."

"Yes, ma'am," he said. Her hands brushed against his erection, over his underwear. He sucked in a shaky breath of pleasure.

"Did you do everything I asked in our email exchange, young man?"

"I did, ma'am," he said.

"Let's see if you remembered to shave, then," she said, pulling the waistband of his underwear away from his stomach. She slid a hand under the waistband to feel. "Oh, what a good boy."

Now he moaned, arching his back, closing his eyes. Her fingers brushed the smooth, shaven skin of his groin. So far, her fingers never so purposefully touched him here. She'd grazed once or twice, in the midst of undressing or dressing him. Never was she so deliberate, feeling him, exploring him with her soft fingers. His toes curled against the carpet from her touch, at once pleasurable and humiliating.

"Are we learning something about control?" she asked.

"Ahh," he said, and then whimpered in pleasure.

The hairlessness was shameful, by itself. He could feel his newly bare naked skin under his clothes when he walked over to her house. It was a constant reminder that he was just a submissive young man who had to do what Ms. Hartford said, or get his bare bottom smacked worse than it would be already. It also removed any privacy at all for his genitals. When she tugged his underwear down, he was more on display than ever before. His erection twitched before her, horizontal to the floor.

She tsk'd him. "No control at all."

He bit his lip, blushing at his errant penis, giving away his innermost feelings for Ms. Hartford and her punishments. "I'm sorry, ma'am."

She stroked just one teasing finger up and down his shaft. It was the context that got to him, making him pulsate helplessly against her finger. She had no real interest in the organ she stroked; she only wanted to embarrass him for his excitement. "And did you obey me by not pleasuring yourself for the past three days?"

He gave a low groan from just the one finger rubbing him, which should have been proof enough. But he submissively whispered, "Not in three days, ma'am."

"I can tell. Now, where's your place, Emerson?" she asked.

"Over your lap, ma'am," he answered, as he bent over to lay just there. His bottom was raised up over her right thigh, his head and feet cradled by the other two couch cushions. His erection was pressed between her thigh and his own stomach. The patterned dress she wore today was silky against him.

She rubbed her hand in circles over his bottom. Her other hand reached for his, pulling his arm behind his back. She held it there gently. "Let's revisit the question of why you keep getting put over my knees."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Be completely honest with me, and yourself. How do you feel?"

He squirmed against her lap. "Very, very embarrassed, ma'am. Childish. Vulnerable."

"And?"

Emerson thought about it. It felt good to be here, even though it was so shameful. "Safe," he answered in a tiny whisper.

"That's right. You feel safe and secure here, even if you're screaming and crying while getting a spanking. You have a deep need to be right here, over my knees," she said. Her hand pat his bottom, but didn't spank just yet. The anticipation was beginning to get to him, making him wiggle a little. "You need someone to take charge of you, don't you, Emerson?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Because you're not taking proper charge of yourself, or your schooling."

With that, she began his spanking, leaving a couple of seconds for it to sink in between each smack. He winced and gasped with every sound spank. Each one pushed him slightly forward, rubbing his erection against her silky smooth dress. The effect was a mingled pain and pleasure so intense that he began to lose himself in the feeling.

SMACK!

He moaned. He clutched her hand tightly.

SMACK!

This time he was pushed forward rather far, his backside burning. Her hand was firm and flat like he imagined a paddle, giving him solid swats.

SMACK!

He finally cried out with this one. It was an, "Aah!" sound as though he were surprised from the pain, even though he'd gotten over a dozen by now. It was building up on him. Spanks over an already sore and burning bottom only served to intensify the pain.

Five more like this, slow and strong and methodical, and she paused to rub. "Last time you were here, I asked you to go home and call your sister and parents and apologize while your bottom still stung. Be honest: Did you?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"And how did that feel?"

"Humiliating, at first, but good afterwards. They all forgave me, but my parents were very disappointed." He felt the shame of it again, the way he squirmed on the wooden desk chair where he sat. Even with all his clothes on he felt exposed, blushing continuously through both phone calls.

"Good. Your spanking with the hairbrush was very sound, and you have virtually no tolerance for pain. I'm sure it had an impact. If you fail a test or a paper due to your irresponsibility it will be even worse than that. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, ma'am."

She gave him a dozen swats before he could get too comfortable. His whole body jolted forward and settled back with each smack. Under him, his erection still insisted on being present throughout the punishment. It had been ignored for too long for a twenty-year-old student. It was also far too exciting being right here, soundly spanked by a woman so attractive and strict.

She gave him another short break. His warm bottom was temporarily ignored as she spoke to him. He shifted in her lap.

"Let's talk about why you're here today, Emerson. Why you're getting your bottom warmed and why it might be getting much more severely spanked in the future. You're not doing as well as you could be in school."

"Yes, ma'am."

She punctuated his admittance of fault with a sound ten spanks in a row, faster and sharper than the ones before. Emerson howled a little at the last. He tried to cover his bottom with his feet, bending his legs all the way back, a trick he'd used before. Ms. Hartford instantly recognized it for what it was, and swung his legs off the couch to pin them down between her thighs.

His erection twitched again at this. Now it was pressed even more snuggly against her leg. The way she'd just so swiftly ended his feeble attempt at regaining control only aroused him further. His body was bound by hers. Face down, arm back, legs pinned; he was at such a disadvantage that his only hope for leniency would be full obedience.

For his naughty attempt at blocking, she spanked him soundly and rapidly. Her hand delivered a volley of two dozen or more smacks. Pinned down as he was, his struggles were devolved into mere flinches and spasms. His continuous cries of pain were only broken up by attempts at apologizing.

"You do not try to block me during your spankings, Emerson."

"Yes, ma'am!" he yelled. He was so used to yelling at this point, he even yelled that.

"Now let us get back to the point at hand. You're struggling. You need someone older and wiser to guide you. Let's start with this: What time do you sleep?"

"One or two, ma'am."

"Awful," she said. If she only knew that it was sometimes even three. "This is why you're in trouble. Don't you think eleven would make a better bedtime?"

He sulked. Eleven. Was he in high school again? His sulky silence earned him a peppering of light and stinging swats. "Ow! Ow! Aahh! Midnight, ma'am?" he bargained.

She was evidently not there to bargain. His proposal earned him another round of sound spanks, stinging and burning at a level that now made him gasp out broken cries.

"Eleven, ma'am! Eleven!" he cried out.

"Good boy. Eleven."

She rubbed him, soothing him.

"I want you to be in bed at eleven, lights out, no phone, as if I put you to bed myself. Do you understand me?"

The way she spoke to him made his erection pulse with renewed enthusiasm. She was dictating every night of his life in the near future. She was going to almost be there with him in his bed, dominant and strict and present and in his mind. "Yes, ma'am. I understand."

She continued rubbing, and now it was almost sensual, a little squeezing at his fleshy bottom. He moaned, helplessly, and rocked his hips back and forth twice. She swatted at him thrice for that cheeky move. He longed so much to be touched, he could hardly help it.

"Furthermore, as a constant reminder to not procrastinate, you'll continue keeping yourself clean shaven, even if you aren't on the way to see me. When you dress, shower, or touch yourself, you're going to remember that there's someone in charge of you. There's someone to answer to if you earn a poor mark."

"Yes, ma'am," he said. She was driving him wild with these rules. He bit his own fist in an attempt to stifle an inopportune moan of pleasure.

"I'm going to give you a firm taste of what will happen should you come to me after having disobeyed your rules, or worse, with a low grade on a test or paper."

She began to smack him hard and fast. Not even a second passed between each good spank. He was back to squirming, yelping, and desperately trying to break free as searing spanks lit up his bottom. She got the backs of his legs, the whole of both cheeks, and the last dozen landed soundly on his sit-spot. Emerson bucked against her thigh, growing more and more stimulated despite his best efforts to calm himself.

"I promise I will be so good!!" he yelled. "Please! Please! I will be good, ma'am!"

She stopped not long after his promise. His whole backside was burning hot and tingling. He felt a small wet spot under him, and shuddered from the intense shame of it. He'd gotten so aroused that he'd leaked pre-cum on her dress.

She noticed, as well. "You have no control of yourself at all, do you?"

"I'm so sorry, ma'am."

Ms. Hartford let his legs go, but he was not allowed up. She kept him over her knees, with his legs back on the couch, not pinned. She then let go of his hand and put it over his head with his other.

"I'm going to teach you some control right now. Lay completely still and do not clench that bottom. You will accept all your final spanks without a fight. Show me how obedient you can be when you put your mind to it, Emerson."

He closed his eyes, and willed himself still, completely unfettered. Two spanks in a row slightly bucked his body forward, his stiff penis rubbing into her thigh again. He moaned. But he stayed still.

With the next three spanks it became clear that Ms. Hartford wasn't going very hard on him. Her palm smacked him in just such a way that his bottom was warmed nicely, but not severely. Each smack propelled him slightly forward, rubbing his twitchingly erect dick into her again and again. His gasp from every new spank would immediately be followed with a sigh or moan of pure pleasure. Her speed began to increase, and he felt waves of pleasure rock him, his muscles starting to go stiff. He gripped a throw pillow in front of him just to have something to hold onto. "Oooh!" he moaned. "Oh!"

"Don't you lose control, Emerson."

His erection thrust helplessly against her silky dress, only increasing his forbidden pleasure. He no longer cried out at all in pain, as every sound from him now signalled that he'd begun reaching the point of no return. "Ma'am! Aaangh! Ooh! Please!" He gasped out his excitement and squeezed his eyes shut, grabbing the pillow in his hands as tightly as he could.

"Not on my lap, young man. Hold it until I'm done spanking you."

"Ooh! Oh GOD! Aaahhh!" he cried out, the waves of pleasure already building, rippling through him. Her rapid spanks forced his sex against her silky thigh very rhythmically, his moans intense and frantic.

"If you show some control and last one more minute, I'll turn you over and pleasure you," she promised.

The spasms started right then. Her promise only served to drive him right over the edge. He cried out his sudden ecstasy loudly and freely, unable to hold out a second longer. Every muscle in his body went rigid at once. "Ah! ANGH! NO! AAH!! I'M SORRY! AAAAAAAH!" Spurt after spurt left him and soaked right into her dress. Once he'd finished, he fell completely limp, hot all over, gasping, and dizzy.

Everything froze. Ms. Hartford stopped her spanking after he'd gone limp. For a moment she let him lay there and recover. He could only feel his own pounding heart, his sore bottom, and the humiliating giant wet spot just under him. His head felt light. He was mortified.

"I'm so sorry, ma'am," he said meekly.

She only sighed.

He flopped his head down on his arm, hiding his eyes with the crook of his elbow.

After a while, of letting him wallow in his shame, she ordered him up, facing the wall. Her dress was soaked, and she smacked him hard on his exposed bottom on the way upstairs to change. He spent his corner time quietly panicking in his mind.

When she returned, changed, she cleaned him with a damp washcloth, forcing him to keep his hands up and away as she worked. It was slightly rough, but could have been worse. He winced with each stroke of the washcloth against his overly sensitive dick.

"Well, I guess I can't expect miracles," she said. "You're still learning about control, and it's okay. Everyone makes mistakes. But, I keep my promises. You will be punished for your accident. I am also going to use this moment to teach you a good lesson about filling out my forms with the utmost care and attention. A very good lesson, young man, that you will not soon forget."

She took him by the wrist. He thought he might die as he was marched to a small table, put there near the back of her living room for the sole purpose of spanking naughty bottoms. He'd never been put over the table before. She lay a rolled up towel right in front of him.

"Bend over the towel. Grab the other end of the table."

Emerson began to shake. With a soft penis, those severe punishments seemed as bad as Ms. Hartford said they'd be. He realized she was right. He had no pain tolerance at all, but it was almost more embarrassing now to back down.

She showed him the wooden school paddle. It was thick and long enough to smack his whole bottom at once. He shuddered. The towel under him propped his bottom up nicely for her, ensuring she'd have a great target to aim that wicked looking paddle.

"New safe word, Emerson. Safe phrase, more like. When you've had enough... when you fully regret your flagrant disregard for my checkbox and severity system... you're going to say: Please put me back over your lap where I belong, ma'am. And I promise that I will immediately end your paddling. But you're going to ask for it, just like that."

Emerson almost said it right then and there, but he wanted to protect what little was left of his pride. There was a slight chance it wasn't as bad as she implied. The next thing she did, though, seemed to go against his faint hope.

She put soft cuffs around his wrists, hooking them to something just around the back of the table. Then she did the same to his feet, spreading his legs wide, each ankle bound to opposing legs of the table. He lay terrified before her, spread, bottom upturned, and embarrassingly on display.

The paddle lay flat against him, and he squeezed his eyes shut. Ms. Hartford raised it and touched him twice, as though taking aim. The next thing he felt was the most intense stinging thud his bottom had ever experienced before. He screamed out a cry without even meaning to. It just happened, an automatic reaction to the throbbing pain.

The heat from that one crack of the paddle built up on him over the next few seconds, filling his whole backside with a sore, aching pain. He tugged at the cuffs around his wrists, trying absently to rub his distressed bottom.

"Two days ago I gave a man eighteen. Let's see how much you can take."

"No, please!" he cried out. "I'm so sorry! I'll pay attention to the forms, ma'am! I should have said light! I should have only said light!!"

"You know the exact thing you need to tell me. Do you want to say it, now? I'll give you five seconds."

He was too embarrassed to be the guy who only took one real spank of the paddle. She normally didn't spank as hard as that first hit, he reckoned. She was purposefully just making a point.

CRACK!

The pain was white hot. He cried out in shock. His arms yanked back again, attempting to massage the sting away. They were caught instantly in the cuffs, going only a centimetre before he hit a wall of resistance. "PLEASE!" he begged. Tears were already forming in his eyes. "Noooo!"