I walked towards his office with heat firing in the pit of my stomach. I had been sent with a message, hours before I was to appear before him for my "discipline". Remembering his orders created a volcano brewing inside me. To anyone looking I must have had a fever.
I could feel my skin burning as I knocked and the order to enter sent my stomach to the ground and back. I turned the knob and entered to the soft click of the door behind me. He looked up and went straight back to work; his only indication that he saw me was to point to the desk. I placed the note before me and gathered my skirt in my hands raising it high over my bottom to rest on the desk. My fingers gripped the edges as if preparing for death. I found it easier to close my eyes. After several afternoons of discipline I had found ways of coping with the pain in my backside and closing my eyes to the strikes of the ruler or hand was one. Another was the grip the desk hard enough to break it.
He did not rise but I could feel him reach close and then heard the note being opened. A grunt and then he scribbled something on the piece of paper and folded it again. I waited quietly, motionless, all to please him. If I had my way I would be sobbing and squirming but I knew that he liked to see me still and restrained, taking my punishment proudly and I did so try to do it well.
The touch of his hand on my flesh made me squirm a little, wriggling into it for a deeper touch. He laughed softly to see me press against him, his finger dipping into the tight little slit to rub only once down the length. I whimpered softly, and then flinched as the full force of his hand slapped my ass. His breath on my cheek so warm, so beautiful.
"My sweet wet, child," he cooed in my ear. "Back to class."
I went quickly with the knowledge I would be bent over that desk in a few short hours and his hand would not be so tender.
***
It seemed the ruler flow with extra velocity striking my permanently welted bottom with a sharp sting. Over the past week I had come promptly to his office after classes and displayed my ass to be punished as hard and long as he wished. Each day the amount lessened by just a little, but the intensity did not. He disciplined as he did everything. With purpose and enthusiasm!
Over 30 stokes of the ruler later my tears fell silently on my cheeks. His face was impassive to my plight as it always was.
"Girl, you brought this condition upon yourself by not concentrating in my class. Do not expect your tears to help you." He had said it many times and I believed him. I was living the consequences of my actions. But it was so much more than that. He was bringing from deep within me another Chelsea, a deep sensual girl capable of things I only dreamed of. Things that I had only wished for in my diary.
I placed a soft kiss to the hand that had dealt out my punishment whispering soft thanks for taking the time to improve me and rose, the skirt skimming back down over my backside. Even that small touch was painful. I know the stinging would subside soon but the dull ache never did. Each day it was refreshed with a ruler or hand.
"I shall see you tonight, child. Pack a bag with some toiletries, you shall be staying the weekend." I opened my mouth in surprise but quickly shut it again.
"Yes, Sir," I whispered turning to the door he pointed to, dismissing me.
"And girl," I turned to look to his handsome face, " you shall need no clothes."
I was in turmoil as I rang the bell, the small bag in one hand, the other pressing to my tummy and willing it to stop rolling. He waved me in as always, this time taking the bag from my fingers and placing it on the hall table as I walked into the lounge and took my customary place on the sofa, sitting primly with my knees pressed together , trying not to think about the ache in my backside. The books before me where familiar now, with his writing in the margin, some notes that I was to take particular notice of.
I started reading as he moved around the room, pouring himself and drink and looking down on me. I did not look up from my studies; I knew the rules too well now. Over the short week I had been coming for my "lessons" I had be taught just as many rituals as equations. I was to concentrate on what I was reading, letting nothing else disturb me. I was to listen to his words as they were my gospel. I was to obey instinctively and immediately as he had my complete trust. I was to kneel gracefully like a female should, arch my head back and my mouth slightly parted. I was to display myself with out embarrassment, but eagerly, willingly. I was to express my passion and emotions like a slut. I was to take my punishment with dignity. Each of these things I had done, over and over again.
I completed the reading and quietly closed the book, looking up to him with a soft smile as he began his questions. I answered them quickly and as completely as I could, knowing from his look if I had done well or not. It was best not to panic if I saw a furrow in his brow, as punishment was inevitable, it was a part of my every day and would happen as regularly as the sun rose. He seemed please with the answers, making two strokes on a pad of paper before moving onto the next lesson, a much more complicated topic and five more strokes were added before I was through.
"Crop if you will, child." It was not a request but an order, but such a polite one I could not help but smile as I dropped to my knees and crawled to the corner to fetch the now familiar leather encased rod, wrapping my mouth around it and returning it to him, lifting my chin. My nipples peaked instantly, my body began to quiver and the fear of it pooled into my belly. But along with it came tranquility too. It was the regularity he gave me. He was nothing if not consistent.
"Where shall we place the strips of a girl who can not concentrate today?"
"Where you wish, Sir." I said with a serenity that shocked me.
He smiled and stroked my hair, indicating for me to lie across the sofa. I slide onto it and wrapped my hands above my head, holding onto the arm tight as he parted my thighs wide. "Three strokes for every wrong answer my girl." I blinked at the high number, knowing I would cry and beg, disgracing myself. He saw my distress.
"Something to say, girl?"
"May I be restrained, Sir?" I begged softly, biting my lip. His soft finger pulled it free and ran lightly over my hot brow. He squatted beside me, holding the crop in his palm.
"And why do you need to be retrained today my slut?"
"I do not wish to displease you and struggle too much." He nodded and rose.
The ropes that bound my hands together were tight. The knot he tied gave me one in my belly to go with it. He secured the rope to the bottom of the sofa and moved to each leg pulling it up a little to open me wider and higher. I began to breathe heavily panting through my nose with nervousness. When he was satisfied there was no play in the rope he spoke.
"You will receive fifteen strokes girl. Five on your left thigh," he ran the crop over it and I shivered, "Five on the right," the crop slide over to it and caressed it lightly "and five..." he paused to slide the crop so very slowly up my slit, pressing it in as it came to the throbbing clit, "to your cunt."