Paddled by the Teacher Page 3

  When the third and final swat lands on each cheek, I’m still yelling, and tears run down my face. Nothing I imagined prepared me for this. Not even close. He croons soft words I barely comprehend. His caresses on my bruised ass are soft, but they don’t ease the pain. They prolong it. I try to get away again, but he still has me held firmly against his body.

  “We’re almost done. I am so proud of you, Chelsea. I wish you could see your luscious, curvy ass right now. It’s pink and puffy. So beautiful.” The tone of his voice is one a person would use when speaking to a lover. It mesmerizes me with its softness and awe. He’s worshipping my body, the way I used to fantasize a man would.

  Once I’m free to move, the ability to do so is more of a disappointment than a welcome relief. I sit up, testing the fabric against my sore ass cheeks. It’s not a terrible sensation, but the pressure is a constant reminder of what he has done to me.

  After I’m sure I won’t become dizzy again, I dare to glance into his eyes. His face is flushed, and a fine sheen of sweat covers his exposed skin. “What did you think?”

  “Intense, but pleasurable.”

  “I hadn’t intended to begin with a punishment.”

  “I know. That’s my fault.”

  “No.” He shakes his head. “No blame was implied, and I’m not looking for an apology. I would like to begin again, softer, with the purpose of building up to your absolute limits.”

  After what he just did, I believe I can take anything he dishes out, but stop myself from saying so.

  “First, though, tell me what you recall about safewords.”

  “I use them when I need you to stop, am afraid or unsure, or want to clarify something.”

  “Very good. We’ll use red and yellow. Red stops the scene immediately. Use yellow for anything else. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “Hydration is important during impact play. I’m wounding your skin, so we treat this like any injury.” He rises again, and there’s no way to miss the impressive bulge in the front of those leather pants before he turns to walk across the room. My pussy contracts again as I imagine that cock inside me. Will this really end in sex? Is this finally the night I discover what that’s supposed to be like? Without mocking or laughing?

  Once he returns, he hands me a bottle of water and I drain it. I hadn’t realized how thirsty I was. He drinks half of one, placing that and several unopened bottles on a table behind the sofa. I admire his ass as he walks toward the armoire again. He’s left Satan’s paddle on the table with the bottled water. Although part of me is excited that he might use it on me again, I’m eager to discover what else he has planned for me.

  After making a show out of perusing the items once more, he selects a strap and a thick, leather flogger with tiny beads along the falls. It’s difficult to sit still as I eye the two newest toys he carries over. Clearly, my expectations of nothing more than a forceful open-handed spanking were amateurish. I’m in the big leagues.

  A warm glow spreads through my body as I contemplate that fact. If all the guys who looked right through me or laughed at me in junior high and high school could see me now…

  “What are you thinking, Chelsea?” He sits beside me again. The heat from his body is palpable, and I want desperately to touch him one more time.

  “Truthfully? I was reveling in the fantasy of rubbing this in the faces of all those boys in school who hurt me with their cruelty, or who dismissed me at first glance.”

  He nods slowly, rising after a few seconds. This time, he crosses to the dresser and opens a drawer near the bottom, removing a small photo album like the kind people used to put pictures developed from film into. I’m surprised when he brings it over and opens it, because the pictures are old and I suspect he’s in them.

  “Can you guess which one of these boys is me at age ten?” The photograph shows a family, standing in a yard with tall trees in the background. From their clothing, I place the year in the mid to late nineteen-eighties. There he is. That has to be him, taller than the others, slim, and wearing a confident smile.

  I point. “That’s you.”

  “Wrong. That’s my brother, Brian. He’s two years older than me.” He indicates an overweight, miserable-looking kid on the end, half-hidden behind his mother. “That’s me.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “I’m not.” He turns a few pages and points again toward a young teen who has lost some of the pudginess, and whose features are more angular. But he still doesn’t look anything like he does now.

  “This is me at fourteen. My father died of a heart attack when I was eleven. He ate what he wanted, smoked five packs a day, and his idea of exercise was pushing the buttons on the TV remote. It scared me half to death when he died. I started eating better, and I began to exercise.”

  “I’m so sorry about your father.”

  “Thank you. My point in showing you this was so that you understand I do know what it feels like to be that kid. Ignored by girls, laughed at, mocked for my looks. You can’t tell in this picture, but my skin was a mess at this age. The doctors blamed it on stress. Told me to stop over-exercising, and to eat a variety of foods.”

  “You’re certainly in fabulous shape now.”

  “I stay this way because living this lifestyle requires me to be in top physical form. It takes strength to throw a flogger for an hour. I need to be able to carry a submissive if needed, and to untie knots or ease her down from a cross in a hurry, if she’s in trouble. That takes physical strength and supple joints.”

  “I never looked at it that way before.”

  “I don’t want you to think I keep myself in such great shape purely for vain reasons.”

  “I suppose I’ve grown used to looking for the person inside, because that’s all I ever had to offer anyone.”

  “I get that. I lived it until I was in my early twenties, and my body finally began to put on some serious muscle. Our outer shells are only that, Chelsea. What attracts me to a specific person is the beauty inside. I know it sounds clichéd, but that’s only because it’s true. I’ve met scores of beautiful women, and just as many whom society wouldn’t even label nice-looking. Their looks mean nothing if their hearts are dark or cruel. Those qualities shine through, and mar physical looks or a body that’s in peak form.”

  I swallow hard as his words sink in. “What do you see when you look at me?”

  “A beautiful, sexy woman, inside and out. A shy woman who has been through pain and disappointment. A woman who has held fantasies inside for years, and who would now like to explore those fantasies in a safe environment. One where she isn’t judged for them, or for her body.”

  As yet more tears spill over my lashes, I’m embarrassed. Am I to spend this night crying every time he says something wonderful and evocative?

  “I’ve made you cry again.” He wipes them away, gently.

  “No,” I whisper. “It’s not you. It’s everything you said. You hit so close to the truth, and now I understand why. You lived it, too.”

  “Exactly. I’ve had fantasies, too. Of dominating women, but not hurting them. Of tying them up and hearing them beg me to whip them, hit them, and take them. I didn’t understand any of it until I found Dakar Garcia and Asa Baker, the other two Doms who co-own this club. I didn’t know this lifestyle existed, or that there were other people who shared my needs.”

  “I thought I was a freak, wanting to be spanked and forced to submit. I was convinced there was something wrong with me, so I never told anyone.”

  “That is more common than you can imagine. But you’re in a safe place now, Chelsea. We both are. In here, we are free to explore every aspect of that side of our personalities. No one will judge us, mock us, or laugh at us.”

  “That’s what I’ve been waiting for my entire adult life.”

  Our gazes lock for long moments, and I’m barely breathing. When he leans in to kiss me, my heart soars with happiness and desire so strong, I stop trying to cont
ain it. It’s time to open that cage and let the bird fly free. Finally!

  Chapter Five

  His lips move in practiced ways over mine, forcing loud moans from my throat. My hands caress his arms, his back, and those leather pants. I’ve never been so bold with a man, and it’s liberating. I brush my hands over his rock-hard thighs and now he’s moaning as he pushes his tongue between my lips.

  I spread my legs, wanting him inside me, needing his touch. But instead he’s unbuttoning my schoolgirl blouse, slowly, lazily, as if we have all the time in the world. My entire body is on fire for this man, and he knows it. His kisses are deliberate, and so perfect in their execution that I’m floating now. I couldn’t stop this if I wanted to. And I don’t want to. Not even close. I will give this man anything he asks for.

  He releases the kiss long enough to remove my blouse, tossing it onto the floor. Strong hands grasp my breasts through the bra. “You have amazing tits, Chelsea.” His thumbs brush my nipples, and even through the fabric it has an erotic effect. No one has even done that to me before. I gasp as jolts of electricity travel straight to my throbbing clit.

  “Do you like that?”

  “Yes.”

  That heart-stopping grin spreads over his face, and I tense, anxious to discover what he has planned. He dips his head and gently bites one nipple, then the other, back and forth, until I’m certain I will lose my fucking mind from need.

  “Wonder how you’d like clamps?”

  “What?” The image that word conjures up is barbarous.

  “This is what they feel like. Slight pressure, like a tiny nip that doesn’t let up.” He returns to the alternate biting, increasing his hold on each one until I’m squirming against him and whimpering. It strikes me that my bare groin is touching the sofa fabric, and I am very wet now. Will he mind?

  “I may try them later.” He lifts his head and reaches around me, unhooking the bra. “But for now, you came here for a specific purpose. It’s time we got to it.”

  After he removes my bra, my first instinct is to cross my arms over my breasts, but the awe on his face stops me. No one has ever looked at them like this.

  “Wow. Magnificent. Yes. Definitely need to try clamps later.” He takes them in his hands again, and the shock of bare skin against skin forces a loud moan from me.

  “I could get lost in these. You’re very distracting, Chelsea.” He dips his head again, but instead of biting the nipples this time, he licks them, with long, slow strokes that have me clutching his hair and crying out in pleasure.

  “You make it very hard to hold back.” His voice is gruff, like he has a frog in his throat.

  “Then don’t. Don’t hold back.”

  A dark, dangerous expression graces his face, and I shiver. “Chelsea, you’re not ready for that yet. I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “But I want that. All of it.”

  He cups my face, and desperation fills his eyes. “You shall have it, but not now. Not yet. We have to work up slowly. Time for your first real spanking, Chelsea. Do you recall your safewords?”

  “Yes.”

  “Say them.”

  “Yellow and red.”

  “Good girl. Stand up.”

  This request surprises me because I had assumed he’d put me over his knee again, but instead he takes my hand and leads me toward a spanking bench. I let out a soft exhale and smile. As intimate as it was to be held down over his knee, the sight of this bench is more exciting. Real bondage furniture, and I’m going to be draped over it. Exposed and naked, submitting to an actual Dom. I’ve waited so long for this!

  “May I use the restraints?”

  “Yes.” It wouldn’t be half as much fun without them. I don’t want to be able to get away. Not unless I safeword.

  “Excellent.” He helps me lie over the leather pad, adjusting my body until my lower torso is supported and there are no pressure points. “I want you comfortable, Chelsea. The only pain I want you to feel is on your gorgeous ass.”

  It’s on the tip of my tongue to make a comment about my ass and its size, but I stifle it. Pride swells within me as I hold back. I’ve passed that test with flying colors. Slade adjusts the pads underneath my outstretched arms and head until they’re supported as well. My breasts hang loose, and my ass and pussy are exposed. There are pads at the front of my knees, so although I’m half-kneeling, half-standing, there is no pressure on the joints. It’s an ingenious design.

  “Are you comfortable, Chelsea?”

  “Very.”

  He caresses my hair, moving his hand down my back, along my ass crack, and underneath to my sopping wet pussy. A soft chuckle reaches my ears. “And quite ready. Once more, tell me your safewords.”

  “Red stops the scene. Yellow for everything else.”

  “I’ll be monitoring you as well, but it’s important you use them. You are never wrong to safeword. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good girl.” He moves his hand along my left side and brushes it across my breast. “I’m ready, too.”

  I hear a zipper and try to turn my head, but he’s stepped out of my line of sight. Has he taken off the pants? I want to see him, but the soft footfalls on the carpet are behind me, and my head only turns right or left on the pad. With my arms outstretched and held down by the wrists, it’s too much of a stretch to glance over my shoulder.

  At first, his swats against my ass cheeks are open-handed and light. Almost teasing, as if he’s playing with me. Lulling me into a false sense of security.

  “Your ass is bruised from that paddling already. Maybe I should stop now?”

  “Please don’t.” I smile because I recognize this is a game now. He wants me to beg for it, and I’m more than happy to do so. I’ve never been so aroused in my life. This is everything I had hoped it would be, and so much more.

  “If you say so.” Now, the smacks become serious. He hits me with his full strength, still using only his hand. I don’t know how he is dealing with this. It must hurt him, too. The sharp sound of each swat is accompanied by a soft grunt from him, and a loud whimper or a moan from me. Like a cadence, marking time for this delicious, decadent dance.

  One cheek after the other, in slow succession, the swats build on one another until the pain is intense and exhilarating. The longer he spanks me, the more I want. The combination is intoxicating. I’m moaning louder now, flexing my fingers and curling my toes with each hit. His breathing is audible. The scent of his musk is more detectable with each minute of this deliciousness.

  “Time for a break, Chelsea. By the way, yellow is for if you have to pee, as well.”

  The sense of disappointment when he stops is overwhelming. “I don’t, but thank you for letting me know.”

  He caresses my face. “Lift your head a bit and drink.” A bottle of water with a straw, placed at precisely the correct angle, is held to my lips. I take a long drink. He drains another bottle of water, and as he places mine and his empty one on a nearby table, I finally get a good look at his naked lower body.

  Holy. Sweet. Jesus. His ass and thighs are as hard and muscled as I had imagined. His cock is beautiful. Not too large, but definitely not small, it points toward me as he turns around. I’m embarrassed as hell to be caught staring at it.

  “What do you think?”

  The comment makes me giggle, because it’s such a guy thing to ask. “You’re beautiful.”

  “I’m glad you think so. Ready for the next phase of your spanking?”

  “Yes.” He surprises me with a deep kiss, tongue and all. I can’t move, which only heightens the intensity of it. I’m panting when he releases it, and the grin he gives me is sexy and wicked.

  “You are a lot of fun, Chelsea.”

  “So are you.”

  “You might not think so after this.” I have no clue what he picks up because the table on which he placed the implements is behind me, but I hear the swoosh of it microseconds before the thick falls with the beads on them la
nds across both ass cheeks.

  “Oh, fuck!”

  A loud, hearty laugh fills the room. “Finally. She can swear. Chelsea, I am so proud of you right now.”

  “Glad to know you don’t mind. That hurt!”

  “It was supposed to.” He brushes the leather against my skin. “Too much? Your call.”

  “May I think about it for a second or two?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Sweat breaks out where my skin touches the pads, and along my hairline. This is what I’ve waited for. I’m here to find out how much I can take. He gave me three really hard swats on each side with Satan’s paddle, for fuck’s sake. Surely, I can take a flogging with leather and tiny beads. At least a few more swats. It’s intoxicating to imagine him pushing me right to my limits with each implement.

  “I’m ready.”

  He brushes the floggers against my pussy, and I moan loudly. “How many more would you like?” That voice! Soft, teasing, filled with humor. He’s in his element. He knows exactly what he’s doing to me.

  “Your call. I’ll safeword when I’ve had enough.”

  “Oh, Chelsea … do you have any idea what hearing you say that does to me?” Instead of more swats with the flogger, a hot tongue is on my pussy from behind. I gasp as he licks my labia, swirling the tip of his tongue over my clit.

  “Oh, God … please…”

  The only answer is a finger, sliding slowly into my wetness. He moves it in and out at precisely the right speed and rhythm, massaging a spot inside that sends contractions fluttering against my clit. When his tongue lands on that bud, pressing harder and harder, flicking across it in time to the movement of his finger, I cry out loudly as the most intense climax I’ve ever experienced washes over me.

  No one has ever done this to me. I’d read about it in books, read studies in journals, and listened to women talk about it, but this is my first time. The orgasm is still going. Tears run down my face and stain the pad underneath. I’m aware of words coming out of my mouth, but the syllables I utter make no sense.