(All characters in this story are eighteen years of age, or older)
Chapter 3
Let's get this over with
You have to force yourself to meet Mr. Peterson's gaze. You fight the urge to look down at the floor and mumble another pathetic apology.
Who the fuck does this guy think he is? I can take whatever this punk can give me
. Taking a deep breath in a futile attempt to quiet your churning stomach, you answer:
"The... the short one."
Christ I sound pathetic. Pull yourself together, RC!
He raises an eyebrow.
"Er, Mr. Peterson. I'll take the short intense one, Mr. Peterson."
Fuck!
Mr. Peterson nods. "A bold choice, Miss Murray. I do hope this is indicative of your commitment to self-improvement. We shall see. Now, remove your sweatshirt."
Your mouth opens to protest, but you think better of it at the last second. Mind swirling in a mix of anger and excitement, you pull your sweatshirt up over your head and pile it on top of your backpack beside your desk. You're not sure what to do next, so you look at Mr. Peterson expectantly.
"Very good, Miss Murray." Mr. Peterson starts to walk back around to the far side of his desk. "Now place your arms flat on the desk in front of you, palms up."
What the fuck kind of punishment is this? I thought this was supposed to be intense
. Confused, but with a building feeling of dread and anxiety, you do as you're told.
Mr. Peterson opens a drawer in his desk and pulls out what looks like a long, thin stick. "Do you know what this is, Miss Murray?" He starts to walk back around the desk towards you.
Your mouth is suddenly very dry. "I... no, Mr. Peterson. I don't."
"This is called a switch, Miss Murray. In the days when teachers were allowed to properly discipline their students, this was used as an effective tool for corporal punishment."
Why is it so hard to breathe? "C-corporal punishment?"
Mr. Peterson is standing beside you now, forcing you to look up at him. You feel your body trembling.
C'mon RC, quit being such a little girl! You're not scared of this punk!
...right?
"Yes, Miss Murray, corporal punishment. You see, it is important to discipline both mind
and
body. Especially in your case, I believe your behavioral issues stem from a lack of control over your bodily desires."
What the fuck does this guy think he's talking about? He doesn't know me! He doesn't know shit about my... desires...
"Now, Miss Murray, are you paying attention?" He taps the switch against the palm of his hand.
"I..." you swallow to clear the lump in your throat. It doesn't work.
What the fuck is going on with me?
"Yes, Mr. Peterson. I'm paying attention." You can't take your eyes off the long, thin rod in his hands.
"Good, because this is not just a punishment, this is also a lesson. We are going to be working on your discipline even while you are being punished for lacking it. Now, I am going to strike your exposed forearms with this switch, ten times."
Your eyes grow wide and your legs clamp together.
"After each strike, you are to count off the number, while continuing to address me properly. Missing the count, or failing in the proper address, or removing your arms from the desk, will result in us starting over. Do you understand, Miss Murray?"
Your heart feels like it's trying to beat its way out of your chest.
C'mon, RC. You can do this. You're not afraid of this old dweeb and his little stick.
You nod.
"So you are ready to accept your punishment, Miss Murray?"
You force yourself to look up at your teacher. You hate how much your body is trembling, but you're unable to stop. "Yes, Mr. Peterson, I'm ready to... I'm ready to accept my punishment."
He nods. "Good. Then we shall begin. Remember your role."
With no further hesitation or warning, Mr. Peterson brings the switch down across the creamy skin of your forearms. It all happens so fast.
Whistle-crack-PAIN.
"OW! What the
fuck?!
"
Your arms jerk up off the desk. The initial pain only lasted an instant, but you feel a burning throb where the switch hit you, matched by a throbbing in your pussy.
I... I don't understand...
