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Vicki learns a lesson - Part 3
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
VICKI LEARNS A LESSON
Submitted By Mistress Kay
Wednesday
At five minutes before four the next afternoon, Vicki
found herself knocking for the second time on the door of
Jameson's office. Obeying the muffled call for her to come in,
Vicki slipped into the office and closed the door behind her.
Jameson was seated at his desk, poring over a stack of
printed forms. He glanced up when he heard the door click shut.
"Ah, Miss Wilkins," he said, "I'm glad to see you're so prompt.
We'll go downstairs as soon as I finish these, so you may as well
get ready."
Vicki kicked off her sandals and unbuttoned her sundress
and pulled it over her head. Wearing only the emerald green
bikini that had gotten her into this mess, she stood uncertainly
for a moment and then sat down in one of the shabby chairs facing
Jameson's desk.
The chair was covered in a coarsely woven material that
felt scratchy wherever it touched Vicki's skin--and given the
skimpy size of the bikini, that included a considerable
proportion of Vicki's bottom. Her rear was still a little achy
and tender this afternoon, but she'd been able to sit through her
classes without squirming too obviously, she thought. She'd even
managed to sit at the table and chatter through dinner last
night, as though she had no concerns beyond those of any other
graduating senior.
Vicki wondered how today's punishment would be
administered and what it would feel like. Vicki had no doubt
that this afternoon's spanking would hurt, but she hoped it
wouldn't be as much worse than yesterday's as that had been worse
than the day before. The first day would have been a hand
spanking, if she hadn't refused to strip all the way. The second
day was that horrible paddling.
She still couldn't understand why it had hurt so much
more yesterday than it had the day before; with the way Jameson
had pulled the sides of the bikini bottom into the middle of her
behind, she'd been almost as bare the first day as the second.
And unlike the first day's paddling, which had left no marks on
her skin at all, last night and even this morning the skin of her
bottom had been mottled with dozens and dozens of reddish dots,
almost as though she really had been stung by swarm after swarm
of insects, just the way it had felt while Jameson was using the
paddle on her.
Thinking about her mottled bottom reminded Vicki of how
it had looked in the mirror the night before. Excusing herself
after dinner, she had gone to her room, ostensibly to study, but
she'd been careful to lock her door. She had dragged her desk
chair a few feet away from her full-length mirror, and, placing
her pillow over the back of the chair to pad it, she had bent
over the back of the chair, her bottom toward the mirror and her
legs spread. It had been awkward, but she had managed to get a
pretty good idea of how she had looked to Jameson in the
afternoon.
Her rear had still been pretty red then, and she had
stroked and squeezed the widely spread cheeks with both hands.
Her fingers had parted the silky tangle of hair between her
thighs until she could see her secret place clearly. She wished
she knew what to call that place, but the only words she'd
learned, like "vagina", "labia", "clitoris", and so forth,
sounded more like a sex-ed book than like the parts of her body
she'd explored last night. She had overheard bits of giggling
conversations among other girls who used other terms that Vicki
thought probably referred to their secret places, but she wasn't
positive--and she would rather make do with the textbook words
than find out later that she had misunderstood what the other
girls had been talking about.
The fingers of one stroking hand had crept down to spread
her labia, which were damp and slippery inside. The slipperiness
seemed to suck first one of her fingers and then two deep into
her vagina, and within seconds Vicki had found herself first
squirming and then writhing frantically as she bent over the
chair. She had told herself to stop, or at least to go lie on
her bed, but her fingers and her hips were no longer controlled
by her mind. Even when the pillow slid off onto the floor and
the top of the chair back dug painfully into her stomach, Vicki
had been unable to stop her gyrations until violent orgasm had
surged through her, leaving her dangling weakly over the chair.
"All right, Miss Wilkins, let's go." Vicki jumped as
Jameson's voice interrupted her reverie. Blushing, she got to
her feet and tugged at the bikini bottom, which seemed to be
stretched uncomfortably through her crotch. Jameson opened the
back door of his office and led her down the chilly concrete
stairway. He opened the door of the security room and stood to
one side to let her enter first, then closed the door and flipped
the switch on the doorframe.
Without waiting for instructions, Vicki stripped off the
bikini, tossed it onto a chair and turned to face Jameson. He
marveled at how much she had changed in two days. Monday she had
been tearful, pleading, appalled by the thought of being nude in
front of him. Now she had stripped without being told to, and
stood facing him, feet comfortably apart, her arms crossed not to
conceal her tits but to support and display them. He hoped that
her apparent lack of fear didn't mean that she was no longer
afraid of his filing charges against her, because with that fear
would go both his leverage and his safety.
"I trust," Jameson addressed her sternly, "that you
remember the lesson in obedience you received yesterday, and that
you won't force me to repeat it." He stared hard at her, hoping
to see evidence that her attitude wasn't as confident as it
seemed, and was elated to see her body stiffen as she remembered
that final fierce paddling the day before.
"Oh, no," the girl stammered, "I mean, yes, I remember,
and no, I don't want to be spanked like that again, not ever."
Despite the girl's stance, their was a tremor in her voice, and
she shivered as her skin erupted in goosebumps.
"Good," Jameson nodded. "Well, then, today I don't want
to have to touch you."
"You mean you won't, I can, you're not going to spank
me?"
There was eager hope in the voice, but Jameson thought he
detected just a trace of disappointment in the girl's eyes.
"I mean just what I said--I'm not planning to lay a hand
on you. You will stay here, however, and I am certain that you
will be very much aware that I am here also," Jameson responded.
"Come over to the desk. Stand against the front, facing the
chair."
The girl complied quickly, even spreading her feet wide
apart so that he didn't need to force her to do that. "You are
to stay in that position until I tell you to move. You may rest
your arms on the top of the desk if you wish, but you are not to
move your legs. Is that clear?", he demanded.
She nodded and leaned forward until her forearms rested
on the glass desk top. The position thrust her ass back from the
edge of desk provocatively, and it was all Jameson could do to
keep from drooling. He walked around to the back side of the
desk and stooped to open one of the lower drawers, from which he
drew a leather strap about 30 inches long and three inches wide.
He had looked long and hard before he had found it in an
antique store. It was a razor strap, the kind that once had hung
from every barber's chair; they were used to hone the edge of a
straight razor, although many of them found other uses as well,
as Jameson knew from his boyhood and Miss Victoria Wilkins was
about to learn. Although the leather had been abraded and
thinned by tens of thousands of razor strokes, it remained heavy
and exceptionally supple.
"You have learned what wood can feel like, Miss Wilkins,"
Jameson told her as he straightened up and kicked the drawer
shut. "Today you will learn about the feel of leather."
She turned her head to follow the strap as he walked
around the desk and took a position behind and to the left of her
waiting ass. He was pleased to see the mottled appearance of the
previously unblemished skin; yesterday's paddling hadn't left any
major bruises, but each hole in the face of the paddle had left
its own mark each of the dozens of times the paddle had touched
her. He noticed that her upper thighs were marked, too, but his
eyes were drawn inexorably to the tight young pussy they framed.
Despite the chill that had shaken her a few minutes earlier, her
snatch was damp, either with sweat or with something else, and
Jameson again felt the all-but-irresistible urge to run his
tongue over those burgundy surfaces.
The girl was still looking over her shoulder as he raised
the strap. Her asscheeks clenched in anticipation, squeezing the
lips of her cunt together at the same time. "Please," she
whimpered, "don't spank me as hard as yesterday."
"I assure you, Miss Wilkins, that this won't be like
yesterday," Jameson responded as he swung the strap. He was
aiming for the base of her left cheek, but the strap landed two
or three inches higher. The force of the leather impacting on
the girl's bare ass flung her forward against the edge of the
desk, and she cried out with a mixture of pain and surprise. The
knotted muscles in her buttocks relaxed as she rocked back from
the desk, and Jameson lifted the strap to swing it again.
Vicki had watched Jameson pick up the strap and step
behind her with both curiosity and relief. She could see that
the leather was thick and heavy, but she could also tell by the
way it dangled from his hand that it was very soft. She was sure
that it would hurt less than the paddle, probably even less than
a hand spanking.
Even so, when he started to swing the strap toward her
she had felt her rump tighten up, as though hard muscles could
somehow shield her exposed bottom from the leather. It hadn't
done any good--the hissing strap burned her behind, and its
weight and speed drove her forward against the square edge of the
glass desk top.
Before she really had time to think about how much the
leather hurt compared to the paddle, the strap smacked into her
again, this time on the right side of her bottom. She cried out
again, her eyes beginning to fill with tears.
Unlike the paddle, which had burned like fire the instant
it struck, the leather strap only stung a little bit at
first--but the sting seemed to echo around inside Vicki's tush,
growing stronger and stronger as it resonated. She was only
beginning to feel the full effects of the first lash when the
strap bit into her for the third time.
"AIEEE!", Vicki wailed. Jameson had swung the strap
upward, catching her just below the fullest part of her left
cheek, and Vicki could feel the whole mass of her left buttock
lift and then fall back as the hissing leather coursed over it.
The next stroke came straight down on the upper surface of the
same cheek, and her knee buckled as she howled with pain.
Another upward swing of the strap brought her back to her toes.
Tears streaked Vicki's face and dripped from her chin to
splash on the glass desk top as the scourging continued. She
wanted desperately to obey Jameson's command that she stay in the
same position, to avoid making him angry again, but each lash
seemed to magnify the hurt of each of the previous ones as well
as adding its own. Finally, Vicki could stand it no longer, and
let herself be driven to the side by a horizontal stroke of the
razor strap.
"I didn't tell you to move, Miss Wilkins," Jameson
thundered.
"I know, I'm sorry," Vicki cried. "I just can't help it,
it just hurts too much! Please, I beg you, just spank me with
your hand."
"We've already discussed the rules, Miss Wilkins. If you
don't have enough self-discipline to do as I tell you, then I'll
have to restrain you." Jameson dropped the strap onto the
surface of the desk and walked around it. He rummaged in the
drawer from which he'd taken the razor strap and emerged with
several short strips of leather. They had metal buckles and
looked, Vicki thought, like extra-wide dog collars.
"Get back where you were," Jameson ordered curtly. Vicki
slunk back to the middle of the front edge of the desk. Jameson
seized her right ankle roughly and jerked it sideways until her
foot slammed into one of the short legs that supported the front
of the desk, then whipped one of the dog collars around her ankle
and the desk leg and buckled it tightly. He repeated the process
with her left ankle, then stood up, walked to the back of the
desk pulled the chair out and sat down.
Vicki kept her eyes downcast. She was afraid to look at
him. She wondered why he wanted to rest, but she was sure that
he was going to do something awful to her for disobeying again,
and now she couldn't run away to stop the pain, even for a few
seconds--although maybe that was just as well, she thought. At
least she wouldn't be able to do anything to make him angrier.
Her thoughts were interrupted when Jameson jerked her
left arm toward him, bending her forward across the desk. Vicki
flinched as her left nipple touched the cold glass surface of the
desk, but he held her hand tightly while he buckled another of
the leather straps around her forearm. He must have run the
strap through some kind of ring on the back edge of the desk,
because her arm was now immobilized. Just as quickly she found
her right arm fastened tightly, separated from the left by a
couple of feet.
The position was extremely uncomfortable. The front edge
of the desk top bit deeply into the fronts of Vicki's thighs,
just below her crotch, and both arms were forced just as
painfully against the back edge. Her breasts just grazed the top
of the desk, but her nipples had hardened and elongated so much
from touching the cold glass that no matter how she squirmed, she
was unable to draw her body up enough to avoid the contact.
"I'm sure you wish now that you had stayed in position,
Miss Wilkins," Jameson remarked as he stood up, "and you'll wish
it even more before we're through today. But I'll help you keep
your mind off the little discomforts you're feeling now." He
lifted the razor strap from the desk and walked behind her.
Vicki felt more terrified than she had at any time since
she had first been taken to Jameson's office. With all of the
spankings she'd had up till now, she'd at least been able to see
him, or feel when he lifted his arm. But now all she could do
was look down at the desk, knowing that Jameson was somewhere
behind her, not touching her but about inflict enormous pain on
her helpless bottom.
Jameson wasn't surprised that the girl had to be
restrained. He doubted that he could have held still, when he
was her age, for the kind of strapping she was getting--or could
now, for that matter. Not that he'd had any recent experience.
The last time he'd had a real licking with a razor strap was
probably when he was about 13, but he doubted that it felt much
different at any age. The leather was really deceptive; it
seemed soft and harmless, but with the right kind of muscle
behind it, the strap could be about as painful as anything.
Except a cane, of course--but that was for tomorrow.
He surveyed his trembling target. The girl's legs
weren't spread quite as wide as he would have liked, but there
was nothing but the inner legs of the desk to which he could have
tied her ankles, and he could see a small rectangle of the desk
framed by her thighs and her tantalizing little cunt. The girl
would have been more comfortable if her waist and the desk top
had been at the same height, but he doubted that she would notice
her stiff back after another few minutes. She wouldn't be able
to move much forward or backward or up and down, but she had
enough slack for some sideways movement, and Jameson guessed
there would be plenty of that as soon as she felt the strap
again.
The luscious asscheeks were already marked with some wide
pink stripes from the initial 15 or 18 lashes, as though a
painter had begun outlining a picture on canvas. Now it was time
to begin filling in the blank spots. Jameson grinned at the
analogy as he selected an unmarked area on the right cheek and
raised the razor strap.
His aim was good. The strap landed high on the outer
surface of the girl's right asscheek. She gave a sharp cry of
pain and swung her hips hard to the left in a vain effort to
dodge the force of the heavy leather. Jameson gave her a
backhanded swat that cut across the middle of both cheeks,
provoking another scream and a swing of hips back to the right.
Jameson continued thrashing the helpless buttocks,
changing the direction and rhythm of his swings at random. After
a series of downward diagonal slashes, alternating left and
right, that had the girl howling and begging, he stopped for
several seconds, watching her hips twitch and jump within the
limits of her bonds as she tried to anticipate where the strap
would bite into her next, and then launched a new series of
horizontal and upward strokes. By the time the strap had slapped
down 25 or 30 times the girl was sobbing uncontrollably, crying
out only at every third or fourth lash, and Jameson decided it
was time to give her a rest.
"Five minutes," he told her, tossing the strap onto the
top of the desk beside her. The girl gave a long, shuddering
groan.
"Please," she implored, "no more. I've learned my
lesson. Even without the first spanking, I would never have
taken anything again. You just keep hurting me more and more,
for no reason."
Jameson didn't respond, and Vicki knew he wasn't about to
change his mind. In fact this spanking wasn't as bad as the one
yesterday had been, but she hoped that if he thought she found
this even worse, he might not whip her too much more.
The strap did hurt, of course--it hurt a lot! But it was
nowhere near as bad as that awful paddle; if she had to choose
between ten spanks with the paddle and twenty with the strap,
she'd choose the strap in an instant. Besides, when he wasn't
actually using it, like now, the memory of the way the strap kind
of curled around her bottom made her wish she could touch her
secret place the way she had after the spanking ended yesterday.
The thought reminded her of the way her secret place had
looked in the mirror last night, and then of the view Jameson
must have of it now, and a sudden thought alarmed her. Thank
goodness he hadn't hit her there with the leather strap--that
would have to hurt something awful! Vicki wished she could stand
up straight, or close her legs, or do something to protect that
part of her body. Suppose he let the strap hit her there, even
by accident! She began to struggle against her bonds with all
her strength.
"Getting restless for some more, are you, Miss Wilkins?",
Jameson asked mockingly. He lifted the thick strap from the
desk.
"Oh, no, please, no more," Vicki entreated. She clenched
the muscles in her bottom as tightly as she could, trying
unsuccessfully to protect the most sensitive part of her body
from the blow she knew was coming. She heard the hissing of the
leather a split second before she felt it. To her dismay, the
strap cut across the very tops of her thighs, barely touching the
lower edge of her bottom, only millimeters from the area she was
trying to shield.
"NO!", she shrieked. "Don't spank me down there,
please." The strap snapped across the inside of her left thigh,
midway between crotch and knee, and then again, an inch higher on
the inner surface of her right thigh. Vicki screamed and twisted
frantically in the restraints, finally standing on her toes as
the lashes crept inexorably higher.
Just as Vicki was concluding that the next stroke would
to prove her worst fears accurate, and hoping that she would
faint quickly from the pain, Jameson decided that he had
tormented her enough and lashed her instead across the fullest
part of the left side of her bottom. He repeated the same stroke
several times, and Vicki cried out with each, but her cries
reflected relief more than pain.
Vicki continued rolling and swinging her hips, managing
occasionally to avoid at least part of the force of the prolonged
strapping. Her cries were real, but so was her sense of reprieve
now that Jameson was concentrating the lashes on her behind. She
could even make herself think about going home and reliving
today's spanking in the privacy of her room.
Finally Jameson stopped and dropped the strap beside her
on the desk. This spanking had gone on at least as long as the
previous days', and Vicki waited for him to begin unbuckling the
dog-collar straps to let her go. She was startled by his voice.
"We would be through for the day, Miss Wilkins, if you
had not forced me to restrain you. As it is, however, we will
take a short break and then I will have to give you another
lesson in obedience."
Remembering how terribly that final flurry of spanks had
hurt the day before, Vicki began to plead. "You might as well
relax and save your breath, Miss Wilkins," Jameson interrupted
her.
Vicki fell silent, trying to focus on the pain in her
wrists and her lower back as a distraction from the throbbing in
her bottom, which she knew would get a lot more intense before
she could leave. At least the glass was no longer cold where her
breasts touched it; her body heat had long since eliminated that
discomfort.
She tensed as she heard the razor strap slide across the
desk. Much as she wished this spanking were finally over, it
hadn't been as bad as yesterday's, and no matter what Jameson did
now, it couldn't possibly be as painful as when he'd bent her
over his leg and used the paddle on her. Vicki closed her eyes
and tried to force herself to relax.
The strap swung straight upward, raking across the tender
flesh between the halves of her bottom. Vicki howled with pain
and renewed terror. Lunging from side to side she tried to make
the lashes land on the muscular facets of her bottom, but Jameson
unerringly caught the inner face of first one cheek and then the
other, spreading them wide apart and raising new crimson stripes
with stroke after stroke, each one slightly lower than the last.
Vicki yelled at the top of her lungs for Jameson to stop,
but she felt a sickening certainty that this time he would not
relent--that the end of the strap would reach lower and lower
until it touched her labia, and lower yet until it curled
completely around her secret place. Still she struggled and
writhed, until her wrists and the fronts of her thighs were raw
from rubbing against the edge of desk top and her nipples had
left long streaks of sweat on the glass top of the desk.
When it finally came Vicki felt almost numb, as though
she'd been struck by a small bolt of lightning. The strap flew
upward, searing the insides of her thighs before it cupped her
secret place. She could feel the very tip of the leather curl
against her pubic bone. She thought it hurt, probably hurt
unimaginably, but it was hard to tell because of the tingling
surge of electricity that rushed through her body.
The strap began teasing her, slapping fiercely at the
sensitive areas between the cheeks of her bottom and then
returning, without warning but with equal severity, to fling
itself against the outer folds of her secret place. Her brain
reeling with the confusion of signals her nerves were sending,
Vicki could manage no more than a strangled gasp of a cry at each
stroke.
Jameson gave her a final lash that covered an area as
wide as the strap from mid-thigh to coccyx, and then let the
strap dangle in front of him. He didn't know exactly what to
make of the last few minutes; the girl had seemed earlier to be
absolutely terrified that he might whip her pussy, but when he'd
laid the strap on her all her fuses seemed to blow at once.
Either she'd liked it, which seemed hard to imagine, or else he'd
really hurt her.
That thought troubled him, though not because he was
concerned about the girl's pain--she had that coming. Jameson
was worried first that she might decide to tell someone, which
could mean a great deal of trouble for him, and second that she
might not show up for the remaining sessions, which would be a
major disappointment. Maybe he'd better look at the videotapes
as soon as she left, and see if he could tell any more about what
had happened.
Jameson walked around to the back of the desk, opened the
drawer and tossed the razor strap inside. Then he unbuckled
first one of the girl's arms and then the other. She groaned and
began massaging her wrists. Good--that didn't seem like the
response of someone who'd really been driven round the bend. He
stood up and went to release the ankle straps.
He had just unbuckled the second strap when the girl
stretched her legs wide apart, slid her feet back and flattened
her torso on the desk top with a groan. From his kneeling
position, Jameson found himself looking past her red-streaked
thighs to her spread-lipped pussy. He felt himself hardening,
and slipped a hand into his pocket to adjust the position of his
cock as he got awkwardly to his feet.
"You can't stay here today," he told her gruffly. "I
have to leave the store for a while, and this room must be
locked."
Vicki slid backward off the desk top with a groan. She
had hoped to spend a few minutes alone in the security room, the
way she had yesterday, but things would have to wait until she
got home. She eased the lower part of the bikini over her aching
bottom, slipped into the top, and followed Jameson up the drafty
stairs to his office.
Jameson watched her put on her street clothes over the
sweat-stained bikini. "I'll see you at four tomorrow, Miss
Wilkins."
Vicki nodded and left his office, her feelings still
confused. She ached all over, her joints from the awkward
position in which she'd been tied, her poor bottom from the
spanking she'd received, and her secret place from both the
strapping and from the tingling shocks that had convulsed her.
She knew that she would spend a long time this evening reviewing
today's session in her mind.
THE END
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