Punishment of a Naughty Schoolgirl

Imagine you are 18 years old in an all-girls school. Plaid skirts, white blouses (and mandatory white bras), knee-length white socks, and black MaryJanes are the outfit you must all wear. With no boys around, obviously, boys are the number one topic of conversation.

One Monday, after you and your friends had had a slumber party over the weekend, you are sitting in class day dreaming about the hot subject that had dominated Saturday night's slumber party - sex, and particularly, some of the 'other' kinds of sex that you've only dreamed about. All of the girls claimed to have jerked off boys before - boyfriends, neighbors, even one who claimed she caught her brother and helped him - and you went along, though you'd never even seen a live, naked penis. A few girls said they'd done more than that, two said they'd actually had sex, though their casual demeanor led you to believe that they were putting everyone on, and one girl said she'd put a guy's penis into her mouth and sucked on it! "Eww! That's gross!" asked one of your friends. Wouldn't it taste like pee?

"No, stupid, it isn't the same, and doesn't come out of the same hole, even." Came the reply - making you again suspect that girl's honesty. Late in the night, as the talk was getting more and more interesting (and more exciting, as the girls kept slipping, one by one, into the bathroom - to pleasure themselves as you suspected, having excused yourself to do more than once...), the girl who's house you were staying at, produced a slick, glossy magazine, whose brightly colored cover showed a woman with a thick, hard cock in her mouth, while she straddled another man, his cock deep between the folds of her pussy lips. Looking at it, and passing it around, caused your arousal to approach a blood lust; you felt your mouth go dry, your heartbeat you could hear in your head, and your pussy felt so wet you thought you could smell it (though what you were obviously smelling, was the scent of all the young girls in the room - their young and inexperience vaginas eagerly oozing their own sexual excitement and want).

You flipped page after page of raw sex: oral sex, with hot tongues flicking across erect clits or circling huge, purple cock heads; penetration, with men on women, or the opposite, doggy style sex, and with the women's lust-filled eyes looking into the men hotly fucking their cunts; anal sex - the most mind blowing of all to you, as you looked at a man's thick shaft, apparently splitting a woman's butt, and the ring of muscles wrapped around his cock looking unlike her snatch, you knew what it was. Several girls couldn't believe when they saw it, that this was her behind. Many pictures were studied, theories offered as to the pain - and why do it? But the next time you went "to the bathroom" you explored your own anus - while your other hand pleasured your lightly haired pussy. You found your ass muscles to be bumpy, the hole itself a puckered, rough circle of pleasure, as you found some lotion to allow your fingertip to glide across it's surface. Holding your breath, you lightly pressed a fingertip into your own ass, and found an unspeakable pleasure in the inner ring of the same muscles, and you came almost at once, having to fight to restrain a scream of pleasure.

Shaking to your core, you felt your ass grip your own finger, like it had it's own mind - it's own needs. You washed up with trembling hands and slipped out the door, rejoining the group that (mercifully!) was too caught up in the magazine to notice your florid, damp face, or glazed eyes.

Now, on Monday, as you open up your desk to start your after-lunch class, you stop, frozen, and terrified. The magazine, with which you'd been entrusted, and had brought hear to school - was missing. You paw through your desk, desperately trying to deny what you fear most - that the magazine is gone! And where could it be? Your friend will be furious, and moreover how could any of you replace it? Who would know where to buy such a magazine, and who would dare buy it? Or whom could you even ask to do so?

Just as you begin to panic, your breath low and sharp, your friends begin calling you. "Kathy! What's wrong?" you look up, eyes wide, at the teacher standing a few feet away. "Miss Rogers. I asked you to take this note to the principal." You look at the paper, realizing instantly that it is a summons to the office. Your head is light and your stomach feels like lead - and already is churning and hurts badly. You feel already exposed, dreading the worst. Were you turned in? Did someone see the magazine in your desk? Who will find out? What will your parents be told? In shame, fear, and hollow sorrow, you find your feet somehow, and accept the slip from your teacher, leaving the room silently and hearing the clack of the door lock sealing you off from your friends.

The hallways seems miles long to your frightened eyes - the principals office, unfortunately lies at the end of the hallway - directly in your line of sight, and it looms larger and larger with every step. Your feet drag on the linoleum, scuffing hollowly in the empty, echoing hall. The knob on the door to the office - so innocent only yesterday, when you picked up a form to sign up for the museum field trip - now is the doorway to a prison, a dungeon.

The cat-eyeglassed secretary looks over her sequined lenses at you, her eyes showing no compassion, no judgment - if only she'd give you a sign, any sign - as she directs you to sit in the wooden chair opposite her, beneath the huge old clock, ticking the day's time endlessly with it's ancient mechanical precision. You look up at the black knob under the clock's body, trying to lean forward to check the time, when my office door opens with a clatching of door mechanism and a sharp whine of the hinge. "Mrs. Durstin, did you call - Oh, there you are." You turn to the sound of the voice, and see a tall, dark haired man standing at the principal's door. Is this a policeman? A detective? Someone from social services? "Miss Rogers, come in here please."

You rise to my call, walking with the same slow footed, heart pounding fear that has accompanied you since you discovered the absence of the magazine. How long has it been? Five minutes? Have you been through such fear and torture for so little time? You aren't even aware of passing Mrs. Durstin, nor of walking through my door - only of the finality of the door latching behind you.

"Please sit down Miss Rogers." I am all business as I walk past you, clean hands extending from crisp shirt cuffs, knuckles even and not too large for my masculine hands. My slacks are well laundered and neither baggy nor tight, but you're not in any mood to evaluate me, only to try to keep me from evaluating you too harshly. Not knowing what's happening, your mind wants to plead with me - but for what? Against what? Because of what? Not knowing is the ultimate fear - it robs you of any ideas of how to behave, what to do...

"I took over the position of principal of this institution under somewhat of a - well a fear, by some of the school board, that I wasn't really the man for the job. Many in this community feel that only a family man can understand young people at all. I think that's not really an issue - do you?" You can only nod, realizing I'm asking for an opinion from you. Your fear is momentarily replaced by curiosity - curiosity for what I'm going to talk to you about.

"Principal Schaffer WAS this school for the past 28 years. His record was spotless, and I needn't tell you what a position that put me in; he a father, a grandfather, presiding over nearly three decades and two generations of this district - and me, with just two years since my graduation from Princeton."

"But I'm here, and I'm determined to make the best of it. And of course, the best of it, is how you young ladies turn out - well educated certainly, but also mature, kindly toward others, interested in continuing your education, observing of societies laws and rules, and... well, you understand what we mean - we want to produce well-rounded young women."

As I finish, you look at my eyes, and as I look back at you, my gaze searching you out, you suddenly look down at your toes, ashamed of having failed the standard that I've just laid before you - having partaken of the forbidden fruit, you gorged yourself on it's flesh, allowed it's juices to run down your naked body, and rubbed it's empty skin over your shameful wicked soul.

"Is there anything you'd like to ask of me?" Your eyes jump up to mine. He doesn't know? Of COURSE he doesn't? A FRIEND must have borrowed the magazine - perhaps Janice took it back during lunch, yes - YES! That must be it; I brought you down here to introduce myself! You feel like laughing at your own fear, your elation crowding out the fear that had just filled every atom of your body. You feel light headed, bubbly, and ready to giggle at any silly thing I might say or do.

Still looking warmly into your eyes, I rise up, your eyes following mine as I step around the desk toward your chair. "Okay, if you have nothing for me, I guess I can let you get back to class -

"Just one thing Miss Rogers ..."

"Where did THIS come from?"

Your heart drops through the floor as you hear the firm slap of a slick backed magazine hit my desk. Looking with fear-rimmed eyes, you see the evidence of your shame and terror on my desk. The lurid pictures, the women with men's penises - in their mouths! In their vaginas! In their bottoms! You'd never noticed before, how much of the sex was right there on the cover, along with those nasty words splashed in pinks, blues, and purples across the pictures. And right there at the bottom, "Must be 18 years of age to purchase" - could you be arrested for having this? You feel like you have to pee suddenly, but your mouth is too dry to even as - as if you'd even have the courage to request anything.

"I don't know if anything like this was ever found during Principal Shaffer's time" I go on to say, "And I'm not sure how he would have dealt with it - harshly, I imagine; he was a man who believed in young ladies learning what lines NOT to cross, as well as what would happen if they crossed them."

As I say these things, you realize what I must be talking about; all the girls have been told horror stories of being paddled in the office. No girl you know has ever felt it, but everyone fears it, and those who have been so punished always leave school in tears of pain and humiliation. None are ever called back for the same punishment. You watch as I reach across the desk to open the magazine. 'No! Not this', you want to cry out - 'don't look at those things! I'm sorry I ever looked at them, it isn't mine, I won't ever look at these things, I won't ever bring something like that again, I, I, I...' your mind fails you, nothing could come out right anyway. 'But please Mr. O'Neill - don't look at those things! They're so embarrassing, you shouldn't even know they exist; only my girlfriends and I were curious, and we...' Again, your mind fails you, and you can only watch, ready to sob, as I turn the pages, revealing picture after picture of nasty acts, naked bodies, abject human lust.

"You are apparently missing something at this school - we must not be reaching you and teaching you want you need to know." you hear me say, my voice seemingly not even in the room with your head.

"Will you stand up, please, Miss Rogers. And face my desk."

This is it - the one thing in life you fear above all others; the possible pain is nothing to the humiliation, which is itself nothing compared to the knowledge of what you've done - you've failed, you've done something so bad that you can't be talked to like an adult, but must be treated like a child.

"Bend over the desk, Miss Rogers - you may place your hands on the desk to steady yourself."

You obey, not even aware that you're doing it consciously, as I place the book - your crime and it's only evidence - in front of you, turned to a page of wanton sexual orgies. Women are licking other women's vaginas, the act pleasing and giving pleasure back, while men's penises - long and thick - are pressed deeply into open, hungry mouths, or the wet lips of open, smooth (shaved?) vaginas - or worse yet, deeply into tight bottoms. You'd heard all about the paddling; the bending over the desk, the sound of the paddle being removed from a closet, the torturous sound of it's wooden face being slapped against the principal's open palm. To gauge it's ability to cause pain? To bring pain with the sound of the spanking to come? At this point, you can think of nothing; your shame is before you, your punishment walking up behind you on grey-trousered legs.

As your teary eyes squeeze shut, and your body steels itself for the pain - how much will there be? You've been spanked before, but not by a man, and not with the paddle. How hard will I hit your bottom? How many times? For this awful thing you've done - who has ever done something so wicked before? You suddenly are aware of a change; your plaid skirt is being - lifted? You NEVER heard this? The cloth is gathered at your lower back, now only your white panties can protect you! Oh no, this can't be happening - how much worse the sting! The sharp, slapping of the hard, painful paddle upon you panty-clad bottom will now be!

But wait! Now your PANTIES are being pulled, slowly, down! You feel as my finger hooks under the elastic, and with one hand the stretchy cotton is being slid down over your hips, over your bottom, your cheeks feeling the circulating air of the room. Will I spank your naked behind with the paddle? Through your fear and desperation comes a new feeling; your bare bottom is exposed to me! - And yet this shame, this humiliation, this revelation of your nakedness to my eyes is not so scary; your heartbeat is not a frightened one, but somewhat like the feeling of fingering that little button at the top of your vagina in the bathroom; your other fingers pulling the slight lips apart and holding the hood of skin out of the way, to find that red/pink nub that felt sooooo good as you rolled it around. Yes, the feeling of being - undressed - feels almost like that.

SLAP! The shock of the first blow forces a squeal from your throat, followed by a whimper of surprise, mild pain (very, very mild) and the shock of realizing that my hand has just spanked you... moreover, my hand is still on your little bottom, pressed against it. You feel it swiftly pull back and SLAP! Strike you again - though, not so hard as before, and now, it is almost imperceptibly RUBBING your naked cheeks. Drawing back slowly, my fingers caressing your nakedness, I lightly spank you again, this time fully exploring your cheeks with my warm hand, my strong, curious fingers. You feel me start at the top of the crack, and - my goodness! - run a slow, gentle finger down between your cheeks.

Your eyes close, and you all but moan, as my finger stops at your anus; the muscles trembling with anticipation of the pleasure that you already know a finger can bring them. You feel me pry your cheeks apart! As my fingers reach between your legs, stroking your inner thighs up and down from your knees (which are now starting to wobble, with a passion that you cannot begin to understand or gauge) up to your little vagina, it's lips wet and wanting. My fingers stroke your lips, as you sigh unexpectedly - accepting pleasure far beyond anything you could have (or have) given your own self. Is this what a man can do to a woman? If this is what fingers can do - what about the other things you've seen in the book?

You feel me reach over you, and you see my hand - fingers wet and fragrant from your budding sensuality - as I flip through the book to a certain page. There, in full view, is a woman with her legs spread before the camera, as a man kneels down in front of her and is licking her right where you know to stroke yourself. This is like oral sex that your friends bragged about giving a guy - only the guy is doing it to the woman. You feel your legs being spread apart, as I lift first one foot then the other out of your panties and spread your legs wide, your bottom opening up so that you feel air on your tiny bottom and the exposed ring of your anus muscles.

You feel hot breath between your legs, on your wet vagina, and even caressing your bottom-hole. My fingers spread your thighs and cheeks and as you feel my breath, you can imagine what I can see! You're totally exposed to me - nothing is hidden, nothing! The knowledge takes your breath away and leaves you light headed with - fear? No. Shame? Definitely not. Excitement? Yes, absolutely YES! You feel my rough tongue - ('His tongue?! He's licking me like that girl in the magazine!') Like a wonderful dream from which you don't want to awaken, you hold your breath to keep the dream in front of you; the spell a bubble you fear bursting. My fingers pull your lips apart - just like you once did! Only with greater practice and my tongue feels manifold times better than your own finger - whose actions you control, and whose pleasures you anticipate. You feel a light flickering, like a hummingbird's wings, as my tongue flutters over your button, and you gasp, and close your eyes concentrating on the sensation.

You know what's going to happen - you're going to have that feeling that you only rarely are even able to give yourself - only it's coming upon you so fast, so strong, like a predator overtaking you. You want to warn me about what your body will do in a few moments, but can only rock back and forth, your brow knit in concentration, your whole body tense as a coiled spring, as the sensations steal into your muscles, overtake your nerves and uncouple your mind and thoughts. In an instant, it happens, and your body bucks against my desk, your back arching, teeth bared against pink lips, hair flying as your head snaps back. Your body rocks and convulses as your bottom unconsciously drives back against my hot, wet, pleasing mouth. A second wave hits, and your breath hisses out until it finds a voice, and you manage to squeal your pleasure and uncontrollable sensations even as my tongue darts into your vagina, and one finger strokes your bottom-hole.

Your body begins to shake with the sensations; you move your feet to get better leverage and lean over further to bring your - ass? Can you think of it as such? - closer to my face. You feel your - pussy, that's the word your mind wants to use, your pussy - being ravaged by my talented tongue. You drop to your forearms on the desk; looking at the magazine, and you flip it's pages, finding what you want - the picture of a woman and man both doing what I'm doing to you. His tongue stroking her "clit" as it says, while she takes his, his, his HARD COCK deep into her throat. Your mind echoes with the sound of these words; cock, pussy, ass, clit - and "fucking"...

Your mental reverie is broken by a stronger, more powerful orgasm hitting your naked cunt - you feel my fingers stroking the baby-fine hair of your young pussy, and you love the feeling that you have hair to offer at all. Your breath hisses as you chance saying the magic words right; "Yes, Mr. O'Neill - I love you licking my pussy" you softly purr, your voice throatier than you'd have expected, "you're making me cum over and over and over..."

I break from my efforts, and you feel me nip at your cheeks with my teeth, causing a sexy giggle to come from your throat. My voice, as I speak, is heavy, passionate, and irresistibly sexy. "Here I thought I was teaching you something; I thought, when I found that magazine, that his school wasn't properly attending to - certain areas of your education properly." You look over your shoulder, your hair tousled, wild-girl sexy. Your skirt hiked up to your waist and your legs and ass - not to mention your hot, wet cunt - all open to me, and slick with my saliva and your pussy juices.