The curtains, too thin to be fully effective, gave the room a warm yellow light as the early morning sunlight made them glow. It took Helen a moment or two to remember where she was but, there, right next to her, was Sam, still sleeping soundly. She cast her mind back to the previous night when, time and time again, she and Sam had explored each others bodies, finding new ways to touch, new ways to feel, new ways to share. She felt an overwhelming desire just to fling the curtains and windows wide and shout, to tell the whole world just how good it had been.
This joy, however, was brought up short by the thought of what would happen were she to actually do that. She knew only too well how some people felt, even in these modern liberated times; how she would never be able to face her parents or her preacher were she to admit what she had just done. And with that thought back came all the doubts, all the uncertainties, but, if this was wrong then Sam was wrong, Sam who had shown nothing but care and concern, sympathy and understanding. All her old beliefs had been shaken to the core, the rights and wrongs turned upside down. She could hear the preacher's words in her head and they sounded like a diatribe of a hateful old man whereas Sam, sweet Sam, was just the opposite. She snuggled back down under the covers and lay still, watching her new found lover sleep.
Helen must have drifted off again because the next thing she knew was being woken by a kiss from Sam.
"Good morning, sleepyhead. Did you sleep well?" Sam asked.
"Like a log." Helen replied contentedly cuddling up to Sam and returning the kiss.
"Good because it's time to start his morning's lesson. I'll have breakfast in bed, tea and toast. You can make some for yourself as well if you want. Off you go."
"Ok." Helen slipped out of bed, grabbed Sam's dressing gown from behind the door and went down to the kitchen. It didn't take long before she had a tray all laden with teapot, cups, milk, toast and butter and was returning upstairs to the bedroom. She pushed the door open went in and put the tray down on the dressing table. Sam, who was now sitting up in bed, smiled sweetly at her.
"My, oh, my. We have got a lot to learn, haven't we?" Sam said sweetly. "Let's see if we can work out all the things you got wrong."
"Wrong?" Helen echoed.
"Oh, yes," Sam continued. "I seem to recall that last night we agreed that you needed training, that I'm the teacher, and you're the pupil. Do you remember?"
"Yes, I remember," Helen replied anxiously.
"Yes, what?" Sam demanded.
"Yes...err... Miss," Helen returned after some thought.
"That's better, but you've failed to address me properly several times already this morning and that alone deserves a good spanking. And you can add to that wearing my dressing gown without my express permission and failing to curtsey. All in all I reckon twelve smacks ought to do the trick." Sam seemed amused by the prospect.
"Twelve smacks, Miss?" Helen wasn't at all sure about this.
"Yes, and it will be more if you don't get that dressing gown off right now." Sam snapped.
Helen quickly took off the dressing gown and hung it up on its hook on the back of the door. Then she turned back towards the bed and gave a nervous bob in an attempt at a curtsey.
"That's better. Now, pass me my tea and toast before it gets cold and come over here and stand next to the bed."
Helen handed Sam her breakfast, adding another attempt at a curtsey for good measure. Sam told Helen to stay standing beside the bed; idly she brushed her fingers through Helen's pubic hair commenting on how bushy it was, how it needed a good trim. She chided Helen for slouching, telling her to stand up straight with her arms clasped behind her back and her feet slightly apart. Being stood like this, with the semi-formal pose, the enforced silence whilst being critically examined and found wanting was horribly reminiscent of her school days, of being called before the headmistress and this was reinforced by the knowledge that she was awaiting chastisement. Was it this, or Sam's busy fingers that was turning her on, making her so hot and bothered?
Whilst Sam was drinking her tea and eating her toast with one hand her other still played idly at Helen's groin, gently teasing open her labia and probing within. For Helen this casual familiarity, having someone touching her in the most intimate way possible with no control, no way of stopping them, was striking a chord deep within her. The very way she was stood, stark naked, the position of her arms thrusting out her breasts, her open legs emphasising the availability of her sex, ran counter to every shred of modesty within her and she had to fight an overwhelming desire to cover herself but, as she was under orders, she was forced to stand like this and the threat of further spanking were she to refuse was somehow adding to the thrill, It wasn't just the fact that Sam was undoubtedly skilled with her fingers that was turning her on, it was as much about the fact her fingers were there in the first place. Whichever, not being made of stone, she couldn't help but respond and, somewhat against her better judgement, she found herself pushing her hips forward.
"It looks like someone's getting turned on," Sam commented lightly. "Do you like this? Do you like me playing with you?"
"Yes, Miss," Helen admitted in little more than a whisper.
"Do you want me to continue?" Sam asked.
"Yes, yes please, Miss."
"In which case I think you ought to play with your nipples. I shouldn't have to do all the work." Sam's forefinger, sliding smoothly through the increasingly lubricated folds of Helen's vagina was concentrating more and more on the area around the clitoris, making delicious little circular motions.
Helen reluctantly brought her hands up in front of her and cupped her breasts. This was far more difficult; it's one thing to submit to the ministrations of a captor, it's another to actively participate. This went hard against everything that she had been taught as a girl; touching yourself for sexual gratification was so wrong...
"Come along." Sam reproached. "Do it properly and stop hiding your breasts. I want to watch."
Their eyes locked and, as if mesmerised by Sam, Helen moved her hands so that her nipples were grasped between the tips of her thumbs and index fingers. The tension within her, the stark contrast between the shame at acting so brazenly and the delicious feelings it was engendering, was pushing Helen rapidly towards a climax; she could feel her legs shaking, her heart pounding; she was getting short of breath...
"Ok, that's enough. Stop now," Sam said briskly.
"Please... I..." Helen stuttered.
"Get those hands off your tits and behind your back -- now!" Sam barked. Helen hurried to obey.
"Right, I think it's about time we got on with your spanking." Sam slipped out of bed, went over to her dressing table and sat down on the chair in front of it. "Come along now, over my knee."
It was a bit awkward in the crowded bedroom but Helen wasn't going to back out now and, guided by Sam, she lay down across her lap. As Sam arranged her to her own satisfaction, taking her wrist and clamping it in the small of her back, Helen was finding that the line between reality and fantasy was getting blurred. Part of her, most of her, knew she was a grown woman, that this was some sort of sex game that Sam had initiated. However a growing part of her had reverted to childhood; she was that naughty little girl powerless at the hands of her teacher. She could feel Sam's hand rearranging her, getting her settled and, in her mind, it was as if her skirt was being lifted, her panties pulled down. Her face burned with embarrassment, the embarrassment of being exposed, of being in the undignified position due to the penitent. All this added to the confusion of emotions that roiled within her, she was both scared and excited, she wanted to stop, this had gone far too far, but, for all her fears, she knew she needed to feel the punishment; she'd been a naughty girl and only a well smacked bottom could provide redemption.
She felt Sam lean forward, taking something off the dressing table and then, without any warning, the firm thwapp as the first blow landed across her buttocks. Sam wasn't pulling her punches and the shock of the pain made Helen jerk and only the firm grip of Sam's hand around her wrist stopped her from falling. However she had hardly registered this before the second blow fell, and the third, and the fourth.
As Helen bucked and writhed across Sam's lap she was so deep into her role that she never once thought of protesting. The pain was sharp, intense, not unbearable but enough to make her tears fell freely as she begged for forgiveness and promised she'd be good in future. But these were the tears of a child, a little girl across her teacher's lap and she never expected her entreaties to be heard, let alone acted upon.
At last it was over and, for a moment or two, neither woman moved, Helen was still crying and trying to get her breath back and Sam just held her, allowing her to recover. Then Sam, released Helen's wrist, reached forward again and Helen felt a soothing coolness as Sam eased some sort of cream across Helen's battered flesh.
