C is for Caning

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Group Sex

I’m standing outside the university wearing my backpack and a paper in my hand. My skirt is shorter than I would have normally worn to school – I’ve been tugging at it all day trying to be modest when I sat down, but you picked it out for me to wear and I obeyed and pushed through my embarrassment to please you. I’m biting my lip and shifting my weight nervously. I see your car pull up to the curb in front of me and I walk around to the passenger’s side, not able to meet your eyes through the window. As i get in, I lift my skirt up so that my bare ass is touching your leather seats. I put my backpack in the back seat and sit with my legs open, just as you taught me to do.

By this point, you have taught me many lessons and my behavior has become nearly automatic – I rarely forget my lessons because I know what happens when I do. A bruised ass I can take, but hearing disappointment in your voice burns me to the core. I work hard never to hear that tone from you. Today, however, I know I’m going to hear it and I’m already choking on my emotions.

I kiss you deeply hello, then return my eyes toward my feet.

“Well, kitten, did you get your test back today?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“And?” You are aware of my demeanor, and your tone reflects it. Your voice is deep and solid – unwavering in its strength. I hand you the folded paper in my hand in response.

You unfold it and read the grade at the top. A long sigh escapes you. You read my professor’s note along the margin out loud for my benefit. Even though I have read it a dozen times already walking from the classroom to the curb, I listen with my eyes closed; concentrating on the emphasis you put on the words, my throat closing around a solid rock of emotion – of shame. “‘Your ideas are interesting and innovative but your delivery is poor. The grammar and structural mistakes distracted me from appreciating your thesis – however clever it might have been.’ You got a C. Your sloppy work earned you a C.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“I’m not happy, Erin.”

I cringe. You used my real name. Not the loving pet name you gave me, but the ordinary name everyone else uses.

“Yes, Sir.”

You start the car and pull away from the curb. Your silence is deafening. After a few minutes of letting me stew, you ask me what happened.

“I didn’t have enough time to clean it up, Sir.”

“Why not? How long did you have to do this assignment?”

“A week, but I put it off until the last minute.”

“Why did you do that?”

“I wanted to go out with my friends.”

I glance up from my shoes briefly to see your cheeks flushed and your jaw clenched in anger and disappointment. I go back to fiddling with the edge of my skirt nervously. “I’m sorry, Sir.”

“Yes. You will be.”

We arrive at your house and I wait until you open the car door for me as you taught me to do. You help me out of the car and I walk a step behind you up the walk to the door. You unlock it and hold it open for me. Before I get four steps in I feel your hand grab a handful of my hair and pull it back, leading me firmly to the dining room table. I gasp and skip steps to keep up with you. You push me face down onto the table so that I am bent over the edge. You don’t have to tell Anadolu Yakası escort me to stay. I stay exactly where I am as I listen to you go to the other room to get rope and cuffs. When you return you place the cuffs around my wrists and tie them to the table legs so that I am stretched out over the table. You do the same to my ankles, and place a spreader bar between my knees. My thighs are already trembling from being spread so far and from the fear of what I am about to endure.

You stand behind me and rake your nails over my thighs and ass, lifting up my skirt as your hands move up my body. I feel you press your hard cock against my ass and pussy through your pants. I moan and squirm.

“You want that, don’t you slut?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Have you earned it?”

“No, Sir.”

“Hmm. What have you earned?”

I hesitate for a second and it costs me a sharp slap on the ass. “What. Have. You. Earned?”

“Punishment, Sir.”

You walk around toward my head and slam the paper down on the table in front of me. I whimper and pull at the cuffs.

“Look at the paper!” You lift my head up by my hair, pulling it out of my face so that I can see. “I want you to count how many marks are on this paper. One at a time, out loud. Understand?”

“Yes, Sir.”

With that you return to my exposed ass. I hear the unmistakable clank of bamboo cane as you retrieve it from a bag. “Begin.”

“One.” I whisper horsely. I feel the cane land on the bottom of my ass near my thigh. You aim right for that crease, so that it hurts whether I’m sitting or standing.


“Two.” I say a little louder.

Another hit lands on the other cheek, and pushes the table forward a good inch. I cry out and grasp the ropes in my hands.

“Three.” Another wack reddens my ass.

With each count, I receive a new mark with the bamboo cane. You run your hand over my ass and I can feel by your touch where the welts are going to appear in the next hour. Instinctively, I try to push my legs together, but the spreader bar pushes back, and after a while my legs are cramping and sore. After the twentieth hit, I break. My eyes well up and spill over with tears. They fall onto the paper in front of my face and I can’t read through them anymore. I sob my apologies to you. “Please! I’ll do better next time. I won’t put it off ’til the last minute. Please, Sir!”

Another whack hits my already bruised ass. “Are you going to forget what your priorities are again?”

“No, Sir… I promise I won’t.”

“What are your priorities?” Another whack.

I cry out loudly. “School, Sir.”

Another whack hits on an already sore spot and makes me nearly jump off the table.


“Serving you, Sir.”

I cringe, awaiting the next hit with the cane. It doesn’t come.

“Good girl.”

Those two words lift and what feels like a ton of weight from my shoulders, and I collapse, sinking into the table with a heavy sob. I feel your fingertips softly caressing the black and blue spots on my ass. You run your hand up my back to my hair, pushing my sweating red locks from my face and running your fingers through it. You keep one hand in my hair, your fingers Anadolu Yakası escort bayan intwined in my locks while you unhook the cuffs from the rope with the other hand. You make sure to keep that one hand gently on me at all times, knowing that after a harsh punishment, I need your touch to keep from sinking into sub-drop – that sharp drop in my emotions after the rush of adrenaline has ended. You unhook my ankles, wrists and the spreader bar from my legs before gently lifting me up my shoulders. I stand with my face buried into your chest, hiccuping and sniffling while you wrap your arms tightly around me and kiss the top of my head.

With your arms supporting me and keeping my knees from buckling, you lead me to the bed and lie me down. You lie down with me and I wiggle into the nook of your arm, resting my head on your shoulder. As I come down from the adrenaline high and I can think a little more clearly, I start to cry again. This time not in pain, but because of my overwhelming regret for disappointing you. You hush me and speak to me in soft, paternal tones.

“Don’t cry, kitten,” you say as you wipe my tears.

“I’m sorry I disappointed you.”

“No, I am very proud of you, kitten.”

“You are?”

You lift my chin and look me straight in the eyes. “Yes. I am. You made a mistake. You took the consequences, and you learned from it. Right?”

“Yes, Sir.”

You smile warmly at me and kiss me gently on the lips. “Let’s see your ass, baby, turn over.”

I turn over on my stomach and let you examine your work.

“Hmm… that’s going to hurt later,” you laugh and kiss my bruises lightly. Your fingers run across my welts and in between my legs to my pussy. “And you’re wet…”

I blush and hide my face in my hands. “Yes, Sir.”

“Getting your ass beat made you cream yourself, didn’t it kitten.”

I moan and squirm as your fingers explore the lips of my pussy. “Yes, Sir.”

“Do you want my cock, baby?”

I look back and smile at you. My eyes telling you what I am too embarrassed to say.

“Oh..haha… you want my cock but you want my mouth even more, don’t you kitten.”

I nod shyly at you.

You push my hip and I turn over, gasping when my ass touches the bed. It makes you smile. You spread my legs and caress and kiss the insides of my thighs until I’m writhing on the bed, pushing my hips up to meet your mouth. “No kitten, be patient.”

I stop moving my hips. I’m embarrassingly wet – so eager to feel your tongue swirling around my clit. My juices drip from my pussy. I feel your fingers teasing my pussy lips and sliding my own wetness down to my asshole. I arch my back and let out a low moan as you rub your fingertip against it. Your fingers slide back up and spread my pussy apart. I blush at how exposed I am to you, and squirm on the bed. I find myself holding my breath waiting for your tongue. I feel your fingers slide into my soaked pussy. You wiggle them around, feeling the soft, hot walls of my pussy and making my muscles contract tightly around your fingers. You angle your fingers up so that you press firmly against my g-spot. I gasp sharply and my legs begin to tremble. Now I am nearly in a panic to feel escort bayan your mouth on me.

“Please will you put your mouth on me, Sir?”

“Kitten… you can ask better than that… show me what a slut you are.”

I moan and blush bright red. “Please, Sir.” I hesitate.


“Please, Sir, I want your tongue on my clit. I want to cum all over your fingers and mouth. Will you let me cum, Sir, please?”

“Good girl.” With that, you flick your tongue lightly against my clit, making me jump with each touch. My pussy aching and clamping down on your fingers. After a few more teasing licks you press your mouth around my clit, licking and sucking it while you massage my g-spot with your fingers.

“Oh my god, Sir!” I moan at a near scream. The combination of both sensations – the firm massage of my g-spot and your tongue attacking my clit – brings me to the edge of orgasm within just a couple of minutes. “Please, Sir, may I cum now, please?”

“No.” You continue your pleasure torture of my pussy as I squirm and fuck myself on your fingers.

“Please Sir… Please may I cum… I can’t hold it anymore.”

“Hmm you are a greedy little slut aren’t you? You want to cum already.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“What are you, kitten?”

I grab the sheets beneath me in attempt to hold back the waves of orgasm. You have me at the point where I will say almost anything for relief and you love using that to get me to say things I would otherwise be too embarrassed to say.

“Your slut, Sir.”

“What kind of slut, kitten?”

“Your horny, dirty slut, Sir.” Even now the words are hard to say and my face burns red.

“You are such a good girl. You want to cum now, princess?”

“God, yes, Sir, please may I cum? Please? Please!”

“Yes, cum now baby.”

Before you can finish saying “yes” I scream and arch my back in orgasm, ejaculating wetness into your mouth and around your fingers. You feel the walls of my pussy contract in waves, as if it was enticing your fingers deeper into my hole. I thrash on the bed as I peak, and you fuck me even harder through my orgasm. You keep finger fucking me hard and licking and sucking my clit as I come back down, panting. But you are relentless. Before that orgasm has completely subsided I peak again, pouring juices around your fingers. My pussy feels hot enough to burn your fingers and I scream as waves pulse from my toes up through my body and out my fingertips and back down again. My bruised ass completely forgotten in my wild furry of orgasms, I peak a third time and float into sub-space. All that exists in that moment are carnal pleasure and gratitude. As I come down I mumble nearly incoherent praise and thanks for allowing me such pleasure.

You lie over me and swirl my own wetness around my tongue with yours in a sticky, sweet kiss. You collapse to my side and I snuggle in close to you, not caring that we are both covered in sweat and sex. After a few minutes you hear my breathing slow.

“Are you forgetting something, kitten?”

I hum a yes and get up onto my knees, kneeling on my haunches with my head down and my palms facing up on my thighs. I hear the clink of metal and then feel the leather collar around my neck. You buckle it gently and lock it into place.

“Now you can sleep, kitten.”

I smile and look intently into your eyes. “Thank you, Sir.” My eyes tell you I mean more than the orgasm. My eyes thank you for your guidance, for expecting my best, and for the care you take in molding me into your perfect slave.

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