September 1, 2011

Lessons

Posted in stories tagged at 4:33 am by littlesubmissions

“Tsk, tsk, tsk.” She shook her head, looking at him from atop the costume glasses. “You missed three out of the twelve, I’m afraid. Come up here.”

He disentangled himself from the desk and moved toward her, flushed with warmth and anticipation.

He moaned as her hand caught his hair, forcing his face flat against her own desk. The wood felt cold and smooth against his cheek, and he could feel his breath coming out in excited gasps as she forced his pants roughly down to his knees. “Twenty-five percent wrong, so it will be twenty-five swats. You will count.”

There was eagerness and heat in her own voice, and she didn’t wait for an answer before slapping the wooden paddle into his ass. He jumped, but remembered to count, and she measured them out, savoring the sensation of the paddle crashing into his body, watching his skin turn red as capillaries broke, watched him tremble and listened to his words echo the sharp crack.

“Twenty-five…” He felt the vibration reverberate through his body, traveling through the water in his blood, exciting nerve endings and teasing skin and tissue. He kept his face on the desk, hoping she’d continue, eyes half closed.

“Go back to your seat.” She sat on the desk, her hand trailing along the surface, trying to feel the warmth left by his body as he scrunched himself back into his chair.

“We will continue with your math lesson. You will do your best.”

He nodded, pushing his ass down hard into the chair, trying to recapture the feeling of being beaten.

“What is 5 x 6?”

“22.” The word hung in air, a pregnant silence as she stared at him, expression blank and eyes flat.

“I expect your best effort. If you’re going to answer wrong deliberately, it defeats the purpose of the exercise, and we will stop immediately.” It wasn’t her play voice anymore, she wasn’t teasing or tormenting, just stating facts. “What is 5 x 6?”

“30. Sorry.”

She nodded, and gave him a slight smile. “Better.” He flushed, again feeling the warmth of pleasing her, anticipating more pain and pleasure. “What is 2 + 9?”

“11.”

“What is 9 – 0?”

“9.”

“Nobody likes a know it all. For showing up your peers, you will be punished. Come here.”

He pulled himself out of the desk, and moved back to the front of the classroom. He tried to hide his eagerness, but moved with her as she shoved his head back down.

“30 + 11 + 9 is 50. What a coincidence, I do love round numbers. Now, Mr. Smarty Pants, since being a know it all is what got you into this predicament, I don’t think we’ll have you do any counting.”

Hard wood smacked into his skin again, over and over. His body rocked, and his thoughts turned into a jumbled haze of pain and pleasure, alternating, the shock of wood transforming his flesh, the roll of his hips against the desk, her presence beside him.

She drove the paddle into him again and again, not bothering to keep count. Just hitting him until she could see his expression glaze over, the warm, peaceful face he wore when the pain turned into pleasure and endorphins and serotonin took over.

He sagged when she stopped, and she pulled him upright by his hair. His pants still around his knees, he looked at her, tears and snot streaking his face.

“Have you learned your lesson?”

He nodded, his breath still coming in short jerks.

“So you know what you did wrong?”

He swallowed hard, and continued nodding.

“I told you no one likes a know it all. Back over the desk.”

He sank down, slowly, trying to decide if he needed to stop.

The dull thud of pain continued, the color of bruised flesh deepened and got darker. The pain was more intense, pushing him further and deeper, his body twitching and breathing like a puppet with half its strings broken.

She beat him again, and he tried to force his breathing to be stable, to focus on the pleasure and not the pain, to smell her near him, to hear the sound of her breath and match his own breathing to hers. To ignore the cumulative effect of the pain, to imagine the pleasure in watching the bruised flesh heal.

His body was still twitching, trying to roll with the force of the blows as she hauled him back up by his hair. “Have you learned your lesson?” He stared dully as she snapped her fingers in front of him, and asked again. “Have you learned your lesson.”

The thoughts sifted through his brain, and his words were slow, confused. “Don’t know.” He shook his head, the hair twisting and pulling in her grip. “I don’t know, please tell me.”

She felt hot pangs of pleasure through her body, and nodded, her breath quickening again. “Good answer. Get down on your hands and knees.”

He let himself fall to the floor, letting gravity take him where she had ordered. His pants bunched around his knees as she stepped around him, and the air felt impossibly cool against his burning skin. The familiar sensation of her grabbing his balls and jerking them back, wood surrounding them, the whirl of metal threads spinning against each other, and some part of his brain sighed as she locked him into the humbler.

She pushed him forward, putting tension on the curved pieces of wood, pulling it taught against his legs as he felt his brain getting fuzzy again. A legal pad and pencil slapped into the floor in front of him, and he heard her voice behind him.

“100 times. Write I have learned my lesson when my ma’am says I have learned my lesson 100 times.”

He sank down to his elbows, shoving the pad in front of him and picking up the pencil. Warm and bruised and restrained and free.

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

2 Comments »

  1. Mike said,

    I love it when you are writing, your mind working. Thanks for the lovely images.

    • littlesubmissions said,

      You’re welcome, thank you for reading and commenting.


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