Oxford, 2024.
xxx
Emma Watson undressed and stepped into a fragrant tub filled with steaming hot water and a luxurious scented bubble bath. She settled back and sighed contently, soaking her weary body in the extravagant warmth. She had deserved this reward after what she had just been through on this day and intended to lie here for an hour.
x
Earlier that day.
Emma hurried off to the office of Professor Bell on a promise of an exclusive erotic yarn she might be interested in using to gain extra credits for her Master's. It was near the end of half term and she had hit a writer's block that seemed not to come to an end any time soon. So she was grateful for any ideas. She entered the stuffy room to see the elderly gentleman in his black gown asleep in his chair. She advanced to his desk and tapped his hand.
"Professor? Professor! Pumpy!"
The white-haired fellow stirred and jumped up in his seat.
"There you are. I've been waiting for ages. Do sit. I have read some of your latest work and there are signs of improvement. I especially liked the sex contest tall tale. What was your inspiration for that?"
Emma smiled demurely as she recalled the amazing evening. (See part 4)
"Oh, just a dream I had."
"Well, as you know, I like to give lectures and on the odd occasion, I give practical lessons." (See part 2)
Emma squirmed in her seat and wondered what was coming next.
"Yes. I have a splendid idea for you that would boost your credit ratings.
"Okay."
Bell stared at the famed actress cum model licked his lips and pressed his plump fingers together. The door opened and Emma turned to see the wife of the Dean strut in wearing a long black robe and mortarboard hat.
"Hello, Miss Watson. Long time no see. Bell has informed me that you require some stimulation to get the little grey cells working. Are you aware of role play?"
"Yes."
"Splendid. Here's fun. I shall give a practical right here. Imagine myself playing a wicked school governess and you will be the naughty student. Agreed?"
"I suppose."
Bell bent down behind his desk and retrieved a hook-handled bamboo cane and Emma reared back in her seat with a grimace. He handed it to Jemima with a twinkle in his eye. The Domme tapped his desk with the solid weapon with a look of reproach on her face.
"You've been a naughty girl Watson and Bell has brought your rotten behaviour to my attention. I'm not going into detail but you are a dirty dirty young lady and quite frankly you deserve to be soundly punished with twenty-two strokes of the cane. As the one who gave me the heads up, Bell may remain in the room to observe. Please bend over the desk."
In the space of five minutes, Emma had been put on the spot and her mind raced.
The insistent tap tap tap of the cane in front of her sent a frisson of a thrill through her. This potentially proved to be a good erotic story as long as it didn't hurt. She thought long and hard and got up and bent double over the desk.
"Yes, Mrs. Johnson."
"Discipline is an established practice we have adopted at Oxford for generations. To be regulated, directed if you will, to our way of thinking we do not spare the rod. There are three types of discipline. One is preventive. Two are supportive, and the third as in this case, is corrective. Skirt up."
Emma had dressed that day in a black mini skirt and crop top and used both hands to lift the hem over her backside. Beneath the skirt, she had a pair of white panties that clung to her pert buns perfectly leaving that tantalising bulge of her mons protruding.
Emma heard panting in her left ear as Jemma rubbed the curves of her cheeks through her barely-filled underwear. She was felt up and the thin material was pressed into the warmth of her sex. Having familiarised herself with the contours of Emma's bum the panties were gripped hard so that the gusset strangled her mons, capturing her vulva like it was an untamed beast.
"Knickers down, it will be cane on bared flesh today."
With a backward glance, she pulled them down and exposed her bottom before both drooling perverts.
"Grip the far side of the desk."