Simple Lesson

It would be a Simple Lesson. Sharon Hill had distinctly heard her Philosophy Professor say those words. Despite what he’d said, she HAD been listening in class. She wasn’t really daydreaming. Well, she was. But it was about him, the dreamy man with the husky features, standing at the head of the classroom, his booming voice touching every molecule in her body, all the way down to her soul. She had been fantasizing, to tell the truth.

Bondage, discipline, being his slave; the fantasies actually rotated during different days. Rainy days, she imagined waiting on him wearing nothing but a slave’s collar. Sunny days caught her daydreaming of being tied between two trees and him having his way with her. Reg Peters was his real name. Reg - such a dreamy name - was it short for Reggie or Reginald? She’d never dared to ask. She was that in awe of him. In awe? Hell, she downright flooded her panties every time she whiffed his Old Spice.

But it was during one of those in-between days that she’d been ‘caught’. Rain threatened, but never came; so it was oppressingly hot and humid. Sticky weather is not good for fantasizing about large, burly men with beards doing who-knows-what to her body. So for the Prof to even suggest that she was daydreaming then, was - well, it was preposterous. All her protests had fallen on deaf ears, though.

Sharon reported to Butcherman’s Hall, as instructed. What an aptly named building, Sharon thought as she slipped inside the heavy oak door and into a barely-lit hallway that seemed to stretch away from her ad infinitum. The stories she’d heard of this place once being a slaughterhouse made her shudder every time she walked past it. But now, INSIDE it? She should be scared out of her gourd. But no! Her nipples were hard, harder, hardest. Sharon shook her shoulder-length brown tresses at the next sensation she experienced: she was getting wet.

The note had said, “Room 1615. Wear the following clothing only: white drawstring pants; white cotton panties; hooded sweatshirt or fleece top; white socks, white sneakers.” Most of the clothing she’d already owned. She was lucky to borrow the white pants from a dorm-mate. The first set of rooms said 2112 on the right side and 1313 on the left. It would be a long walk.

After about twenty sets of rooms, Sharon began to hear noises in some of the rooms she passed. Laughter in one, screams in another, some kind of smacking sound in yet another. Soon, the sounds meshed together as one. Against her better judgement, Sharon continued walking towards her appointed room number.

1651. She was getting closer. She turned to look back and literally could NOT see the end of the corridor she’d just walked through. By the time she got to 1615, Sharon’s legs were tired. In fact, her whole body was exhausted. If she’d had any ideas about trying to escape, she’d better think again. Someone with more stamina would easily catch her now. She tried the door knob and was surprised when it did NOT open. There had also been a time written on the note. Sharon peered at it again.

“Ten a.m.” Shit. Her watch showed ten-fifteen. She knocked. But the sound was muffled. She banged on it with the side of her fist. Still nothing. Frantic, she looked for a button to push, something to ring, ANYthing! Her fingers were pressing the entire door now, looking for a secret entrance. She never heard (nor saw) him come up behind her.

Two things happened very quickly. First, Reg’s hands encircled Sharon’s body; one around her waist, the other up by her mouth. Second, just before he grabbed his unwary student, he flipped the switch that automatically opened room 1615's door. He nuzzled her neck with his bearded chin and blew a hot breath into her ear. As expected, the young woman melted in his arms. Reg held her waist more tightly, in an effort to keep her standing. Then he quick-walked her into the room, pressing his knees against her thighs.

Sharon was decidedly shorter than her Professor. Where he was a few inches over six feet tall, she was a few short of five feet. Once the door closed behind them, Sharon realized just what sort of room she was in. Originally designed to be a music practice room, it’s walls, ceiling and even the floor, were covered in sound-absorbing cones. Behind the cones were corkboard.

“You’re late,” Reg shouted. But the sound barely carried in the room, so Sharon didn’t hear it as a shout. She looked around the room and her eyes widened as she took in the fixtures in the far corner. “That’ll cost you extra!”

Reg walked past her, towards that interesting corner. So Sharon followed. She watched him pick up two leather belts that each had a smaller belt attached to it. Curious, Sharon stepped up beside him and asked what they were. She was delighted to hear him say he’d show her! But first, she had to take a small spanking.

“Is that my Simple Lesson, Sir?” she asked. Then she stammered. Her voice had barely come out as a whisper. But as her eyes pleaded with the tall figure, she saw the husky man nod his agreement. Sharon breathed a heavy sigh of relief. A small spanking? She could take that. Gladly. That was indeed a Simple Lesson. But then, and only then, would he show her what those leather belt things did. Even though she knew she was here for some sort of punishment, Sharon was determined to get into bed with her Professor tonight.

He led her to what could only be described as a doctor’s office examination table. It came complete with the roll-out paper that covered most of its surface. It was shorter than most tables though. Reg sat down on one of those standard-issue rollable stools and patted the table to his left. Sharon reluctantly stepped closer and then gasped as Reg released the drawstring and let her pants fall to her knees. Reg’s right hand then pressed against her ass. His left hand was already lying palm-up on the corner of the exam table.

Sharon’s panty-covered sex was now pressed up against Reg’s palm. It wasn’t pressing hard, by any means, but it was there. She had no idea how that would accomplish anything, but she was willing to let his hand tickle her. If that was what he wanted to do. Suddenly, his mouth opened and something sounding all medical-ish came out of his mouth. But it really wasn’t all that technical.


“You will take this small spanking like a good girl. Each time you lean forward to evade my spanking palm, you will come in contact with my stationary palm. I trust you will inform me of your intent to orgasm, BEFORE it occurs? If not, Ms. Hall, I’m afraid we’ll just have to schedule you for further sessions in this room,” he rambled. Sharon wasn’t sure what further sessions would do, but she sure as hell didn’t want to have to walk all this way down here again. She was intent on avoiding this place from now on.

The Professor pressed against her back now, making Sharon bend over at the waist. He told her to clutch the sides, as far up as she could reach. But when she did that, she pressed her moistening lips harder against his hand.

SWAT.

The first blow stung. But it was only a surprise, Sharon thought.

SWAT. SWAT.

Those two were mere greetings, she imagined. He’s just warming up my skin.

SWAT. SWAT. SWAT. SWAT.

When he didn’t stop; when the rhythm that was intense from the get-go didn’t let up; that’s when Sharon had second thoughts. His hand had felt quite soft at first. But as the swat-swat-swat-swat-ting continued unimpeded, Sharon found herself pressing against his bottom hand a lot more often. There was no escaping the raining blows against her once-white cheeks.

OH! Did one of those blows send her straight into his hand? And was his hand extended? Something - no - two somethings had pressed against her lips. One almost slipped in her folds. Swat, swat, swat, swat, swat, he kept on striking her. Only now did some sort of little yelp escape Sharon’s lips. She’d been good until now. And truthfully, the sounds were being generated more by the hand beneath than the hand on top.

What had started out as an urgent need to escape the spanking hand, soon turned into its opposite number. The short woman was sweating now. Her backside was on fire. But her pussy was even hotter; and wetter too.

The Professor finally stopped. But Sharon’s ass kept on pushing out and in, out and in. It was obvious she was humping the man’s hand. On one of her downthrusts, Reg placed his spanking hand against her reddened cheeks and pushed. He squeezed and kneaded the sore flesh, finally getting Sharon to utter a word.

“You!” she said, as she was nearing orgasm. “I’m going to come!”

“Thanks for the warning. Five words used, when three would have sufficed,” he admonished her. “You could have simply said, “Sir? I’ll climax.” And things would have been just fine. You will have to endure five from the tawse then. Go fetch it from the wall.”

Sharon reached down to pull up her pants, but he said, “Leave them there.” So she padded to the far wall and took down the red-leather slapper. She shuddered slightly as she took the double-leather-ended device back to her Professor. It seemed so flimsy in her hands.

Upon her return, she was urged to take down her panties. Then she was bent over the exam table again, that nasty hand sitting there waiting for her.

“This is device was originally intended for use in Corporal Punishment. Origins of its use are found in Scotland, but also in some cities in England. It consists of a strip of leather with one end split into a number of tails. This particular item has just two tails. It has since been adopted as the number-one choice among College Professors as the best in ass spanking. You will feel a double-slap sensation as it lands. I’ll demonstrate,” he said. His right hand raised up and came down swiftly, landing the blow across both cheeks. SPLATTT. The leather landed first, closest to the handle, and the flesh rebounded back in its first sensation of searing pain. Then the tawse rippled on down to the double-tipped end and seemed to attack Sharon’s sore ass with tiny little cat-tails.

“OWWWW,” Sharon yelled. But she knew better than to say any more. That had hurt like a bear! She’d never sit in his class again and fantasize about being his slave. She’d be lucky to survive today’s session. The brunette was pretty damned sure she’d not do THIS again.

“Five is the total. You will count. After each blow lands, you will say: One, Sir. I deserve more,” he demanded. “And so on...until we reach the number you truly deserve. Because you and I both know, it isn’t five.”

Sharon didn’t like the sound of his voice now. Yes, it was still deep and commanding. But now, it was more authoritative than she’d prefer. Sure, her nipples were still rock-hard and her pussy was still oozing. But she could chalk that up to her being so damned horny these days.

SPLATTT.

That was a very strong blow, but the sound was muffled by the room’s accoutrements.

“One, Sir. I deserve more,” Sharon moaned. That one hurt worse than the introductory one had. In fact, he may have tricked her into believing this tawse was next-to-nothing on his ‘test run’.

SPLATTT.

“Two, Sir. I deserve more,” she said, not quite sure she could make it to five. Where his hand had hit only one broad spot, this leather bitch was slapping her in multiple spots, from one side of her ass to the other.

SPLATTT.

“Three, Ssssssirrrr,” she said through clenched teeth. “I d-d-d-d-d-eserv-v-v-v-ve m-m-m-more!” Tears were streaming down her face now. She was not going to make it. But just as she had that thought, she felt his fingers invading her sex. Her wetness had only made it easier for him. How in the world was she getting so wet from this, this sensual spanking? And the heel of his hand was now rubbing her throbbing hard clit.

SPLATTT.

“Ffffffffffffffffffffffourrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr, Sir!” Sharon cried. She knew she deserved more. “Ccccccccccccccccccccummmmmmmmmmminggggggggggg!” she cried. The man’s fingers were soaked with her juices. Humping his hand, Sharon yearned to take something harder and bigger in there. But she had to live with what she had, for the moment. “I deserve more!” she finally finished, after the first wave of orgasmic pleasure had passed.

Neither one of them could deny that Sharon deserved more. But at this point, neither were sure which “more” she was referring to. There was only one way to find out, Reg knew.

SPLATTT.

“Ffffffffffffffffffffffiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiivvvvvvvvvvvvvvve, SSSSSSSSSSIRRRRR!”

Sharon slid off the table to the floor in a puddle of pleasure. The cold tile felt wonderful against her hot buttocks. She lay panting for some time, unaware of the Professor staring down at her.

“You deserve more, you know that, right?” he finally spoke as she stirred from her reverie.

“Yes Sir!”