Friday, October 12, 2012
Schoolgirl Come-uppance
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| Mischeivous Ellie |
I am in a music shop one day, looking
through CDS, when my attention is distracted by a very attractive young woman
in her mid twenties, slim, with full breasts and an achingly cute bottom only
just covered by a wispy cotton summer skirt. There is something vaguely
familiar about her. She becomes aware of me watching her and glances up at me,
smiles and says “Hello Mr Bailey!”
“Ellie Gibson!” I exclaim.
“That’s me, sir. Still staring at my
breasts I see,” she says with a laugh.
“Still being cheeky,” I reply.
We go and get a coffee and chat about old
times – specifically my English classes when she was sixteen years old. I
remind her of all the notes I used to catch her writing, most of them saying
things like “Mr Bailey keeps staring at my bum!” Then she declares: “Do you
remember that time you kept me behind for messing about and you said I was
lucky you weren’t allowed to do what you wanted to do.”
I recall that afternoon like it was
yesterday: me sitting perched on the side of my desk, arms folded, Ellie
shuffling in front of me with a surly look on her face.
“Tell me sir,” she now asks, sipping her
coffee, “what was it you wanted to do to me?”
I laugh. “That’s a dangerous question.”
“I like danger. Tell me.” She looks at me
with flashing eyes, as if challenging me.
“Actions speak louder than words,” I
reply. “Finish your coffee.”
We drain our cups, then I take her firmly
by the elbow and lead her out of the coffeehouse. My apartment is only a five
minute walk away. “Why are we going to your apartment?” she asks. I don’t reply.
I slip my hand down her back and around her waist, my hand nestling just above
her left buttock, pressing gently to propel her along. I can feel a quiver to
her warm flesh under the thin fabric of her dress.
“I better warn you, I’m not going to let
you fuck me,” she says.
I give you a sharp little slap on her
bottom.
“Hey!”
“You haven’t changed, have you Ellie?” My
voice is strong and steady, rebuking. Under my cool exterior I feel a rush of
elation at the thought of what I am about to do. I sense she has a inkling of
what lies in store, although I’m confident that she has no idea of the severity
of what awaits her.
We walk up to my first floor apartment in
silence. I send her through to the living room as I unset the alarm. When I
join her she is admiring the furniture and fittings of my chic city flat.
“Wonderful apartment,” she says.
“Shut up!”
She seems surprised by the sternness of my voice, and shuffles from one foot to
the other, clearly fearful. “I think I ought to leave,” she stammers.
“I’ll decide when you leave, young lady.”
I push her and she falls backwards onto my sofa. I stand over her and lean
forward, almost nose to nose and say in a tone of controlled anger: “You, Miss Gibson, we were the rudest, most
ill-mannered girl it was ever my misfortune to teach. You were disobedient, you
never concentrated, you spread nasty rumours –about me in particular. You spent
all my lessons at the back of the class giggling and distracting others. You
behaved like you were untouchable, above the law. Didn’t you?”
“Yes sir,” she mumbles.
“Now, all these years on, you’re still
just as cheeky and mischievous. When was the last time someone put you over
their knee and spanked you?”
She hesitates, then replies, “When I was
18, sir.”
“Eighteen!” I feign incredulity. “Are you
married?”
“I’ve got a boyfriend.”
“And does he never pull down your pants
and give your cheeky little bottom the walloping it deserves?”
“N-no sir.”
“Well then,” I say, sitting down beside
her, “it’s a good I’m here to put that right.”
I yank her sharply across my lap,
positioning her so that her cute bottom is raised over my knees and immediately
start spanking her with sharp rapid
slaps – SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK. She’s surprised by the
suddenness and vehemence of the spanking, crying out “Ow! “Oh!” “Sir” “Don’t”
as the spanks keep coming.
Her light skirt is little more than a
chiffon of material folding around her bum. After a couple of dozen sound
smacks I pause, take the hem of your skirt and flip it up around her waist,
exposing her delectable bottom spilling out of an alluring pair of little white
lace knickers. Her bum cheeks are already glowing nicely.
She anticipates my next move and reaches
a hand behind her, trying to protect her vulnerable rear. “Please sir, no!” she
cries.
I grab her wrist and twist her arm away,
trapping it in the small of her back.
“Don’t waste your breath pleading,” I
inform her. “I have waited ten years to do this. Nothing can save you from your
fate, my girl.”
With one mighty tug I rip her panties
down, snapping the elastic. I feast my eyes on her wondrous bare backside,
already very rosy. After all those years of putting up with her bare-faced
cheek, at last, those bared faced cheeks are at my mercy.
I raise my hand high in the air and
repeat my words from the coffee house. “Actions speak louder than words.” Then,
tightening my grip so that she cannot wriggle free, I start to tan her bottom –
SPANK! SPANK! SPANK! SPANK! SPANK! SPANK! SPANK! SPANK! – with all the forceful
vigour I can muster. Her cries ring out but I keep on spanking – SPANK! SPANK!
SPANK! SPANK! SPANK! SPANK! SPANK! SPANK! SPANK! SPANK! – bringing my hand down
on her reddening rear with a ferocity that surprises even me. I continue until
her yells and screams have turned into exhausted little gasps of pain. By now
her poor little bottom is redder than beetroot.
Finally I stop. She lies limp and sobbing
cover my knees. “Have you learnt your lesson young lady?” I ask.
“Yes,” she replies meekly.
I pretend not to hear and give her one
more ginormous SPANK!!!!!!!!!!!
“Yes sir,” she blurts out.
“Good.”
I roll her off my knees and she tumbles
to the floor. She winces as her livid little bottom grazes the prickly Persian
rug on the floor.
She gingerly gets to her feet, rubbing her bum, clearly in great discomfort.
She twists round, trying to look at her blazing buttocks. “What am I going to
tell my boyfriend when he sees my arse like this?” she asks.
“Tell him the truth, Ellie – tell him
that finally someone has been man enough to give you the spanking you so richly
deserve.”
“I’m not saying that!” she says with a
dry laughs. “He wouldn’t understand.”
I place my hands on her shoulders. “The
important thing is that we understand. I expect to see you here at six o’clock
every Friday. You will tell me what you’ve been up to during the week, and if
you’ve been a naughty girl I shall spank your bare bottom just like I did
today. Agreed?”
She hangs her head. “Yes sir. Thank you
sir.”
“OK, you may go home now.”
She picks up her tattered knickers.
I reach out my hand and say “I’ll take
those.
“I can’t walk down the road with no
knickers,” she protests, “people will see my smacked bottom!”
“Give them!”
She hands me her panties,. “This is so
embarrassing,” she says as she tugs down the hem of her skirt as she leaves.
But there’s a little smile on her lips as she leaves.
I stand at my window and watch her
striding down the street, a gentle breeze wafting around the hem of her flimsy
skirt. Ever the drama queen, and always eager to shock, she makes little effort
to keep her bright red bottom under wraps. I wonder if she’ll be so cheeky when
I introduce her to the hairbrush, the slipper, the belt and, it wouldn’t
surprise me, the cane. There is a lot of misbehaviour to be addressed.
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