A VERY NAUGHTY GIRL, a short story by finch. Date added: 2011-03-27. Times viewed: 71899.
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- Intro: A schoolgirl is taught a very adult lesson by the headmaster. M/F, Humil, D/s, Oral, Spank
I waited in terror outside the headmaster’s office. I had never been in trouble at school before, and I had no idea what to expect. Would he call my parents? Would I be expelled? I looked around the bleak little office but found no comfort. The stern-looking secretaries paid me no attention. Even the view out the window was grey and gloomy. Finally the grey-haired biddy at the desk scowled at me and spoke.
“The Headmaster will see you now.”
I rose and tremblingly walked past her into the office. She looked at me like I was a condemned prisoner and closed the door. Headmaster Stewart sat behind his desk looking at a file which I assumed spelled out my whole life, complete with transgressions. He looked at me briefly over the top of the file and continued reading. Finally he put the file down and gestured toward the hard wooden chair in front of his desk.
“Sit,” he ordered. I did so and he inspected me. I kept my gaze down, embarrassed and frightened. “Headmaster,” all the students called Mr. Stewart, but to some of the older staff he would always be “Major Stewart” after his wartime service. He was something of a legend for sternness and rectitude. Nobody wanted to be called into his office. I had never expected it to happen to me.
“Miss…” he glanced at the file again. “…James.” He continued. “You understand why you were sent to me?”
“Yes, sir,” I said, head still down.
“Explain,” he commanded.
“Well, sir,” I began, “Well, it’s…it’s just, well…er, a dress code violation.”
“Don’t stammer girl!” he said sternly. “Go on.”
“Well, um,” Don’t stammer! I told myself. I cleared my throat. “Sir, my skirt is too short.” I finally got out.
“I see,” he said. “Stand up.”
He rose and walked around his desk. The headmaster was an imposing man, well over six feet tall and broad in the shoulders. He had a strong face and a full moustache that might have earned him a funny nickname were he less intimidating. I stood, quivering, coming barely to his shoulder.
I was acutely conscious of my outfit. Like many of the girls, I took some liberties with the school uniform, which seemed awfully stodgy. I had hemmed the pleated plaid skirt to a more fashionable length, even though school rules said “Skirts shall fall below the knee.” When I wore the sweater at all, it was usually unbuttoned, and I never followed the rule that “Blouses shall be buttoned to the top.” As he walked around me I wished that I had buttoned it for once, as the bit of cleavage I usually showed probably seemed like a canyon from his vantage point. I shifted uncomfortably.
“Be still, girl,” he ordered and I tried to do so.
“Hmph,” he muttered. “Kneel on the floor.”
I knew I was in trouble now. This was the age-old test for skirt length at our alma mater. “When kneeling, skirts shall touch the floor,” the rule book said. I knew mine wouldn’t come close. I knelt, and there were a good six inches between the hem of my skirt and the floor. I was doomed. Mr. Stewart stood over me glowering and I felt even more conscious of my open blouse. The leopard print bra I wore wasn’t precisely against the rules, but I was sure it wouldn’t help.
“Stand up,” the headmaster commanded and I struggled to my feet.
“Miss James,” he began in a deep rumbly voice. “This institution has survived for over three hundred years. Do you know why?”
“No sir,” I whispered, eyes down.
“Because,” he declared, “Because it has an unblemished reputation. A reputation for probity, honesty and character. Because we do not yield to the fashions of the day. Because we hold our students to the very highest standards. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir,” I said in a quaking voice. I could understand why soldiers had leaped to obey his commands. He stood, stroking his chin. I wondered what fate he had in mind for me. The headmaster looked around his office, lined floor to ceiling with books. A rolling ladder hung from a rail to access the upper shelves.
“Miss James,” he said, “Be kind enough to fetch me Plutarch’s 'Lives,’ the Latin version. You’ll find it on the top shelf. I looked around and thought I spied it near the middle of the room at the top. I struggled to move the heavy ladder and began uncertainly climbing. A few steps up I clutched my skirt to my legs with one hand and awkwardly reached for the next step.
“Keep both hands on the rails,” Miss James,” The headmaster ordered. “Safety first.”
Blushing deeply, I did as he said, climbing higher, knowing that he had a clear view up my skirt, and could see that my panties matched my bra. I found the old book on the top shelf, and with difficulty wrestled it free of its companions. It was large and heavy, and quite old.
“Be sure not to drop it, Miss James,” the headmaster said. It’s older than the school, and quite fragile.” I cradled the book awkwardly to my chest as I climbed down, struggling to hold on and keep my balance. I reached the bottom and held it out to him with both hands. He let me stand there for a minute, until my arms began to shake, then took the book. My white blouse was covered with dust and the rusty stains of old leather. I brushed at it, succeeding only in smearing it. The headmaster shook his head in disgust, opened the book, turned a few pages, then read.
“Pauci vitium est satis ut caligo plures vitualis.” He looked at me.
“Can you translate?”
“A few…vices?…er… are…sufficient?...to, er, to…darken…um…many virtues.?”
“Not quite fluent, but correct.” He repeated it.
“A few vices are sufficient to darken many virtues.” He glared at me.
“What do you think this means, Miss James?”
“Well, sir, “I struggled. “I suppose it means that ...no matter how good you are, if you mess up, none of that matters.” He gazed at me silently, then nodded sharply.
“You, Miss James, have messed up.”
“Do you believe that this skirt meets school dress codes?” He asked in a voice of outrage.
“No sir,” I said meekly.
“Remove it!” He thundered.
Remove it? Take off my skirt? Here? I peeked at him to see if he was serious.
“At once!” he commanded, even louder.
I quickly unzipped my skirt and wiggled it down my hips then stepped out of it, grateful that my blouse, dirty as it was, was so long. But he wasn’t finished.
“And this blouse,” he went on. “Is it buttoned to the top?”
“No, Sir,” I whispered.
“No, it is not.” He agreed. “And is it ‘kept clean and tidy at all times’?” He was quoting again from the rule book. I looked down at my blouse, smudged and gaping at the neck. I quailed at what I was sure was coming.
“No, Sir” I said even more softly, my eyes down.
“Remove it!” He thundered once more.
I began unbuttoning my blouse, my fingers shaking so badly that I could barely get the buttons through the little holes. When I got down to my bra, I tried to hold it closed with one hand while unbuttoning with the other, but it was hopeless. I looked up in hopes of a reprieve, but he just glared silently. The curves of my breasts appeared, then the leopard print cups. I blushed, my cheeks and neck glowing scarlet. I finally undid the last button, and when there was no word from the Headmaster, I shrugged it off and let it fall to the floor. I felt so embarrassed standing there in just my bra and panties, the Headmaster staring at me like I was a bug. I wanted to cover myself but somehow it seemed like that would just make things worse.
The headmaster began to walk around me slowly, as if he were stalking game.
“I am reminded of a young woman I encountered on the Serengeti,” he said, his gaze growing distant. “She too wore the skin of a leopard, though hers was apparently from a larger animal than yours. It suited her, it suited her people, it suited the plains of Africa.” He stopped in front of me.
“I do not believe that it suits a young lady of our school.” He stared at me. I looked at the floor, trying desperately to think of an escape. He went on in his commanding voice.
“Do you think so, Miss James?”
“No sir,” I whispered.
“And what do you think you should do about it?” I hesitated, but there was no way out.
“Remove it, Sir?” I barely breathed.
“What’s that? Speak up!” He ordered. I spoke a bit louder in a quaking voice.
“Remove it, Sir?”
“Yes. Yes, I quite agree. Do so at once.” Oh my God.
I slipped a strap down one shoulder, then the other. I was going as slowly as I could, thinking he would change his mind, someone would come in, or I would think of some argument for not stripping naked. Nothing came to me. I reached behind me and unhooked the bra, clasping the sides to my body with my arms, then placed my hands over the cups. I dared a glance at him, but he stared back implacably. Slowly, I lowered my hands, bringing the bra with it, and dropped it on top of my clothes. My breasts were bare to his gaze, my little nipples standing out in the cold. What would he think? I blushed all over. I waited for him to say ‘Stop. Enough,’ but nothing.
I hooked my thumbs in the waistband of my panties and wiggled them loose, slowly pulling them down over my hips, then lower, revealing my almost hairless quim. I heard him grunt, with disapproval I was sure. Finally I pulled them the rest of the way down and stepped out, crossing my arms over my chest. I didn’t dare look at him. Finally he spoke.
“Hmm. An appropriate punishment for such an egregious violation… hmmm.” He looked up.
“How old are you, young lady?” I told him. He seemed surprised.
“I don’t know whether your youth and innocence should favor my indulgence or if it is merely further evidence of your moral abasement,” he murmured. I had no idea what he meant. “At any rate,” he went on, “Not too old for a spanking, I’ll warrant. Come here, young lady.”
A spanking? He sat in his chair as I approached warily. As I came within reach, he took my arm.
“Best take it like a soldier,” he muttered, then pulled me down across his lap. My legs dangled in the air and my hair fell toward the floor. I was struggling for balance when suddenly Whack! I felt a sharp blow to my bottom and cried out.
Whack! He hit me again and tears began to flow.
Smack! It hurt! Smack! Whack! Wouldn’t he stop? I was crying full out now.
Whack! I sobbed out loud, in pain and humiliation. My nose ran. Whack! Whack! Whack!
My bottom burned, and the heat spread through my lower body as he kept striking me with the flat of his hand. I felt a strange sensation as the blows rained down, heat and tingling and something unfamiliar, a kind of pressure that built and built.
Smack! “OH!” I cried.
Smack! “Oh God!”
Smack! “No! Stop!”
Smack! “Don’t! Stop!”
The feeling was spreading, growing, becoming more intense with every stroke. I felt like I had a fever down in my center, like something big was trying to get out of me, something powerful and hot.
Whack! “Don’t! Stop! Oh God!”
Whack! “Don’t stop!”
Whack! “DON”T STOP!”
Whack! “OH MY GOD!”
Whack! “OH MY FUCKING GOOOOOODDDD!!!!”
Something exploded deep inside me, and a sudden flood of wetness spilled from my pussy.
“FUUUCCCKKK!!!” I cried out at the top of my lungs. My insides clenched in a powerful spasm, then relaxed only to spasm again and again. It wasn’t painful, but it was overwhelming, more powerful than anything I had ever felt. I thrashed there on his lap, barely aware that he was even there. Finally, I calmed down, and lay limply across his lap, sobbing softly.
I felt strong hands easing me to my feet. I was shaky, and he held onto me to keep me from falling. I pushed my hair back behind my ears, wiped my nose with my arm and looked up at him. He looked back at me with a wondering expression.
“Dear God,” he said. “Never in my born days…” I couldn’t think of anything to say and just stood there swaying as he looked at me. His eyes roved over my body, taking in my bare breasts, my tear-stained face, and no doubt noticing the fluids leaking down my naked thighs. Seeming to be in a daze, he released me with one hand, holding tightly with the other. His free hand moved to his lap, and I heard his zipper come down. He fumbled in his pants and pulled out his prick. Although I had heard lots of descriptions and seen a few pictures, this was my first ever view in the flesh. I was frightened, disgusted and yet, somehow, intrigued. As he held it in his hand, I could see it move and grow. It was fascinating. His gaze was unfocused as his hand on my shoulder forced me down, until I was on my knees in front of him. His organ was now at full size, much larger than I expected, perhaps because he was such a big man.
“My dear…” he muttered, and his hand moved to the back of my head, pulling me down inexorably. As my face approached his lap, I realized with sudden horror and fascination his intentions. The tip of his dick touched my face, and he arched his back, pushing it against me. It rubbed against my cheek and my nose, and then he found his aim and pushed it harder against my lips. I tried to turn my head but he held it in an iron grip as his organ mashed against my lips. I had no choice.
I opened my mouth and he pushed his dick in with a loud groan. It felt large and heavy against my tongue. It had a musky taste and smell, not unpleasant. I closed my mouth around it and the skin felt surprisingly smooth. He pulled partway out and then pushed it back in and I almost gagged. He repeated the move and my saliva flowed, easing his passage. He groaned again.
The Headmaster began moving in and out of my mouth, his big prick never quite pulling out all the way before pushing back in. His pace grew faster, and I heard his breathing grow rapid and shallow. He seemed to be muttering in Latin and Greek, but I couldn’t quite make out the words. I tried to avoid gagging on his huge organ, now hard and straining. I knew men came in great spurts and I wondered if there was a way to tell when the time was coming and if I should try to pull away or just…what? Swallow it? Spit it out? I didn’t know.
Suddenly he roared and pulled out of my mouth. I looked up at him through my hair as he staggered to his feet. He grabbed my arm and pulled me up after him. His face was flushed and his eyes looked wild. His mouth hung open and out came a desperate-sounding moan as he looked at me then spun me around and pushed me up against his desk. A big hand pushed against my back, forcing me down onto the papers and debris there. My breast smashed against his pen holder and I swept it onto the floor before I felt his weight crushing me into the desk. His big hand fumbled at my bottom and then between my legs, and I felt his big prick follow, sliding hard and wet between my thighs. It pressed against my female opening and I tried to pull away, but he held me fast, his weight crushing me against the desk, my face pressed to one side and my tits squashed beneath me.
He pushed harder and I felt my opening stretch around him, but he was too big, too big and too hard, there was no way he would fit inside me. It was too much, too much, and then he pushed hard and I screamed.
I felt something tear inside and there was a flash of pain. I thought he must stop, but he didn’t, just kept pushing, forcing himself inside me, and I felt his huge hardness forcing itself past my ripped flesh with an agonizing burning sensation. I cried out in pain, but he wouldn’t stop.
The fluids were gushing out of me now, and I didn’t know what was blood and what was…something else. The Headmaster pulled back, and somehow it didn’t hurt quite as much. Then I felt his weight on me again and he forced his way back inside of me. I felt my pussy stretch and stretch, bigger than I thought possible. He was so big! So thick and long and hard!
He began moving in and out of me, fucking me, fucking my pussy like he had my mouth. With each stroke he pushed deeper, and he began moving faster, harder. The pain was miraculously gone now, and there was just a deep throbbing, pulsing, a gathering of energy deep inside me. He pounded into me, gasping behind me, his big hands holding me tight and his heavy body mashing me into the desk. He fucked me harder, and I felt his big balls swing up and smack into my cunt, and it felt good! I began to push back against him with each stroke, wanting to take him in deeper, wanting all of him, wanting it harder, faster. I was wanton, frenzied. His breath was loud and ragged, and my own mixed with whimpers and moans, groans and sighs as we pushed against each other, harder, faster, his big rod pounding into me like a locomotive, irresistible, powerful, so big, so hard…
He roared again and grabbed my hair, pulling my head back. My scalp tingled with energy that spread over my neck and shoulders, across my breasts and down to meet the heat spreading from my loins. I thrashed like a captive animal, making incoherent bestial noises, shoving back against the Headmaster with every thrust. He yanked at my hair and pounded even harder, his organ seeming to grow still larger, harder, more powerful. Faster, faster he drove into me, my fluids flowing around him and down my naked thighs.
The heat grew, blossoming, exploding. He roared again and I felt a burst of hot seed flood my womb as my own Vesuvius erupted. My own screams joined his and we sweated and strained, squeezing every last ounce of pleasure from each other’s tortured bodies. Finally I lay gasping and spent, sprawled naked across the desk. The Headmaster collapsed behind me and I felt his warm seed running down my legs as I lay there quivering.
Finally I struggled upright and turned around. The Headmaster sat in his chair, looking stunned. He looked up at me with wounded eyes. I pulled myself up and sat on the edge of his desk facing him, my womanly parts throbbing with heat and exertion.
“My dear…” he began hesitatingly. “I…I…I don’t know what came over me. I never….can you ever forgive me?” He looked stricken with remorse. I paused a moment thinking, then lifted my feet onto the table and opened my legs.
“I might forgive you,” I said, smiling, “If you do it again.”
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