{I wrote this in one day! I hope there's no mess ups that I missed (I'm sure there are). I don't know if this is the same sort of pleasure that other people get from spankings, but this is what I like about them! My favorite thing to be spanked with is a plastic cane that I bought on vacation. It hurts a lot a lot a lot, and leaves some impressive welts. The last time I was spanked with it, I even got some bruises! Anyway, I offer this to you, my lovely perverts, and I hope the ending isn't too weird...}
Abandoned on the steps as an infant, I was raised in the Academy. I wasn't the only orphan there, in fact, most of us had no idea where we had come from. Some hadn't manifested any magical talent until they were older. Everyone agreed they had it worse than those raised from infancy by the crooked old magicians running the place, and that sturdy aging old headmistress that ruled over them. You see, it was easier to take the punishments when you'd never known anything else.
It wasn't difficult to earn a punishment. Something as simple as waking up late could merit several firm smacks from the fleshy palm of whichever witch was playing matron that morning on your bare bottom. I was very familiar with the warm flushed tenderness of a thoroughly thrashed seat.
At first I resented it, hated how I was meant to bare myself to any old hag and how they could wring unwilling tears from me. I rarely regretted what I'd done to deserve the beating, but I did regret that they could make me cry out as if I did.
Over the years, I began to relish the warmth that came from misbehaving. That nice rosy glow that I could feel through my nightgown as I lay in bed made me feel wet in places unreachable by my tears. I took to sleeping in, just to start my day with a smack that would leave me tender all day.
If you tried something worse-sneaking out, meeting with civilians, shirking responsibilities, or fraternizing with other students-well, then you'd have to meet the headmistress in her office. She had a cabinet there, dark and gleaming with menace. If she was feeling kind, she would open the doors and choose a tool from inside. If, however, her heart was hardened against you then you would have to approach this intimidating cabinet yourself.
To an untrained eye, it was as if the headmistress collected sticks and spatulas. Once you'd had your first experience choosing from the cabinet-and the punishment that followed-you knew better. The headmistress had a most impression collection, but nothing within it could be considered a "stick" or a "spatula".
My first peek into the cabinet came when I had set fire to the hen house. The feathered ladies were well away from the place at the time, and it truly was an accident, but once the hay caught I was entranced, and failed to fetch water or help before the small building was engulfed. Nevertheless, the headmistress was livid, and aside from being assigned to assist the carpenter in making a new one, I was to have my first look into the cabinet.
Hanging within, on a row of hooks along the back, were canes and switches. Another row of hooks below had shorter implements; paddles, floggers, whips coiled up to hang neatly. There were other things laid out on the bottom of the cabinet, none of which I had seen before, many quite strange looking, and all with a handle at one end.
I'd been spanked by the headmistress for many years, I was nearly full grown and ready to graduate when I burned down the hen house, which likely contributed to the severity of my punishment. I'd grown accustomed to being spanked with a hand, and my bottom had become tougher. The wetness no longer streamed down my face as she drew back her hand again and again, but now crept down my inner thighs instead. But I'd never been spanked with anything else.
I chose a broad, squat paddle, with holes drilled into it. It seemed fairly harmless, similar in shape and size to a hand-if you didn't count the handle-and I was confident I could withstand such an onslaught. The look on the old lady's face when she saw my choice immediately made me question it.
She had an old overstuffed chair in her office, straight-backed but otherwise round and soft. Over the arm of this chair was where we were to lean to receive discipline. I pulled down my drawers, flipped my skirt and petticoat up over my back, and braced myself on the seat of the chair.
I felt her warm hand on my lower back, and then heard the whoosh of something flying through the air, followed by a loud smack and a bloom of pain on my right cheek. I nearly choked on the sound that came out of me, a startled squawk that I vowed not to repeat just as the whooshing sound came again. With the second smack I grit my teeth, my eyes burning with the sudden tears welling up.
The third and fourth blows created a tight sensation in my throat I had never experienced before, the pain seemed to race up my body and lodge there. For a moment I couldn't breathe. Tears dripped down my face, I sucked my lower lip into my mouth and clamped my teeth on it to prevent any cries from escaping.
After that, I truly regretted choosing the paddle. It was nothing like being spanked with her hand; the headmistress herself experienced no sting from her blows and so used the entire force of her arm to strike me.
When it was all said and done, my bottom was on fire. I spent the rest of the day on tenterhooks, hardly able to sit properly, but unable to do anything else. Never before had sitting at my desk all day been such a trial.
That night when I changed for bed, the other girls in my dorm were shocked to see the state of me. My ass was flushed deep red, with rising purple bruises and a few places where it seemed the blood had welled up through split skin. They cooed over me and applied salve before helping me into bed and tucking me in, each of the twelve gently pressing a kiss to my face before wishing me a good night.
The next morning I decided I wanted to visit the cabinet again as soon as I could sit properly.
I spent the next several weeks helping to rebuild the hen house and scheming what I would do next to get the chance to choose something else from the headmistress' collection.
My opportunity came completely by accident. I'd been meeting with one of the older girls in one of the green houses at night. She was teaching me the best way to pleasure her with my mouth. I'd finally figured out how much teeth to use on her nipples, and how to shape my tongue to lathe her clit, but was now focused on getting as much of my tongue inside her as I could.
Her hands were tangled in my hair, holding me steady and her hips made tiny pulses toward my face. The tang of her was all over my face, in my nose and coating my cheeks, dripping off my chin along with my saliva as I worked her open. I had my eyes closed to better focus on feeling her clench around my tongue, and her thighs were clamped so tightly against my head that I didn't know the door had been opened until she was shoving me away.
