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TOUCHING HER TOES

by Frank Martinet


Confusion

When the principal's secretary buzzed to tell him Peyton Long was there to see him, John's heart did flip-flops of confusion and he cursed. Why did life have to be so complicated?

There was certainly no confusion down below. His loins stirred with undeniable excitement despite his attempts to suppress it. Just thinking that in mere seconds the young beauty would be walking through his door had his cock swelling uncomfortably in his pants.

What was it about the girl that affected him so? Granted she was gorgeous - an elegant face with startling green eyes, straight brown hair long enough to cover those perfectly shaped and forbidden breasts, and that wonderfully tender smile - but he saw dozens of pretty girls every day. It was part of his job. Why was Peyton so special? Why did she make him lose control the way no other girl could?

With all the others he was a merciless rock. He was 'Mean Meaney', the strictest vice-principal in the long history of Knights Preparatory. He was renowned for the length of his cane and his willingness to use it. No heart-shaped face, puppy dog eyes, tears, or curled lower lip would slow his cane. No pleas, excuses, financial gifts - or offers of sexual favors - were accepted. When you were sent to John Meaney, he caned you hard and you slunk from his office in tears.

There was a gentle tap on his door and it swung open. John caught his breath. Peyton wore a light spring dress of white with a denim jacket that managed to be casual and elegant at the same time. She looked as delicious as a picnic, and he felt a surge of forbidden desire. He locked his jaw in a grim expression and rose stiffly, his frown dour and his eyes like knives.

"You again?" he spat. "Didn't I just thrash you two weeks ago?"

"I'm sorry, sir," Peyton said humbly, her face hot with pink shame. She bowed her head low. "Principal Lemasters said you may discipline me additionally if you feel it is appropriate."

"Ah, did he now."

John took the scarlet punishment form from the girl and studied it. It stated her name (Peyton Long), age (18), crime (absenteeism), and the recommended correction (12 strokes).

"Then we will add on six for being a perpetual offender," he growled, throwing the note in feigned disgust onto his desk. Inside, he was thrilled. Last time it had been a mere eight for being off school grounds at lunch without permission. He'd managed to up that to ten, but how he'd longed to truly beat this young lovely. She took the cane so well, brave and composed, without all the fuss of most girls, and her fully mature bottom was a joy to punish. He could hardly wait to administer a stout eighteen!

It was a somber Peyton who removed her jacket and folded it neatly into a stack by the door. She looked slender and young in her outfit, though her hips were broad and the back of her dress hung well away from the back of her legs as she stood before the familiar wooden trestle. At John's nod she went forward across the leather padding and he carefully strapped her wrists to the restraints below. Next he secured her ankles, and then came the moment he couldn't help but enjoy.

The gauzy white of the dress lifted like air and folded onto her back where he fastened it under the wide belt across her middle. She was now immobile and utterly in his possession, a temptation that was so sweet it was pure torment. Before him was the vision of those perfect orbs, straining snowy knickers so tight they were sheer skin. John tore his eyes away and ran to the cabinet to fetch his longest and stiffest rod, not consciously aware of the symbolic irony of his selection as he tried to think clean thoughts and reduce the monster between his legs.

Returning with the swishing cane, he heard Peyton's plea. "Please sir, will you let me off a few strokes... if... if I let you take down my panties?"

"Are you attempting to bribe me, Miss Long?"

"Oh! Of course not, sir."

"You know the board doesn't permit caning on the bare bottom."

"I won't tell anyone, sir. Just let me off three. Make it fifteen."

"That is definitely an attempt to bribe me. An extra six for attempted subornation!"

Peyton gasped. "Sir, no!"

John gave her a moment to contemplate the horror of two dozen stingers and then relented. "I'll tell you what. I'll let you off the six, but you'll take the full eighteen on the bare."

"Yes sir," the girl sobbed. "Thank you, sir."

Eagerly, yet with an inner sense of shame, for this was wrong, so very wrong, John approached those nervous hips. He grasped the silky undergarment and drew it downward. He wanted to take his time and luxuriate in the pleasure, but he didn't dare. This was a formal punishment, and he wasn't supposed to be enjoying himself. He forced himself to be calm and professional, lowering Peyton's panties to her knees with all the disassociation of a doctor. Yet he couldn't deny the glorious sight of all that golden flesh. The proud cheeks jutted forth with youthful impertinence, the firm rounds mocking him with their sleek and graceful perfection.

Angry at himself for his illicit desires, John backed off and raised the wicked yellow rod. He swung it cruelly with all his vigorous strength. The stick snapped against the soft flesh which quivered with violent spasms. Peyton hissed between clenched teeth. A glowing bar of crimson stained the honey-colored flesh.

"One," muttered John, stepping back in preparation of the next stroke. With satisfaction and pride, he watched Peyton's hips churn as the pain seeped through them. The cut had been sound and true, perfectly horizontal and full across both cheeks. She was feeling it, he thought.

Unfortunately, he was feeling it too, for her stirring movements were arousing a desire that threatened to explode. With her undergarment down, he could clearly see the shadowy gap between her legs. He'd tried not to look there, but he'd glimpsed the thick pink lips and now they haunted him. She was undoubtedly tight back there, he thought. Not a virgin - a girl who looked like her was surely sexually active - but still teenage tight. She was eighteen, technically legal. It wouldn't be rape if she agreed, and he was confident she would agree, if he reduced her sentence. How much was it worth to him? Six strokes off? Ten?

Growling, he shook off the absurd idea and lashed forward with the cane. In a blind fury he beat Peyton hard and fast, landing six vicious cuts in a minute. She lay twitching and churning, low moans and bitter sobs emerging from her mouth. Her buttocks were crossed with pink and purple lines, thick and swelling. Peyton's legs parted in her writhing, and he caught forbidden peeps of those chubby lips between her chubby rump. A tiny tongue protruded, the tip glistening with dew, and John almost swooned.

She was turned on! He could hardly believe it. The raised welts across her naked flesh were furious purple and had to be agonizing, yet she was excited. This sweet, innocent teen was aroused by stern thrashing. The idea was so inspiring he itched to take her right then, over the trestle. His cock was an iron pole, ready and eager. He could slip it into her from behind. She'd love it. She was ready and wet and waiting.

But John didn't dare. It was wrong, so very, very wrong. She might be eighteen and technically an adult, but she was still a pupil and he the authority figure. He would lose his job if caught, and his dignity if not. How could he live with himself knowing he'd violated his most sacred trust? It was his job to correct improper behavior and that meant he had to behave lest he be a hypocrite.

Furious, he thrashed the broad buttocks like he'd never thrashed a girl before. He put all his strength into it, every blow of stunning force. After just three he was panting, and after two more he had to stop and rest. Peyton needed a break as well, judging by her shuddering sobs. Her buttocks were practically black.

"How many is that?" he snapped.

"I... I don't know, sir. I wasn't counting."

"Then we'll have to start over from the beginning, I suppose."

"What? You can't do that! That's not fair!"

"What's the count, then?" His voice was cruel-hard. "Get it too high and we'll start from the beginning."

There was a long pause. Then, tentatively, Peyton whispered, "Ten, sir?"

"Close enough. Eight to come."

"Yes sir," came the meek reply, and her acquiescence made him hard. Why did she have to be so accommodating? Did she know how sexy he found that?

He drove the cane deep into her flesh. At her scream, blood pounded through his being. He felt strong and alive and victorious. His cock was huge, a baseball bat. He ached to put it somewhere dark and tight.

Another stroke. He was delirious with desire. He couldn't control himself. He had never seen a sexier woman than these naked well-caned hips before him. Fuck the job. Fuck the rules. Fuck the universe.

"Peyton," he growled, his voice urgent. "How would you like me to let you off the final five?"

"Oh yes sir! Please. Thank you!"

"You'll need to promise you won't tell."

There was a dull silence, then Peyton's head bobbed up and down vigorously. "Yes sir! Not a problem, sir. I'll never tell. Take me now!"

He did. There was no holding him back now. His pants dropped and his cock emerged, a giant snake seeking a home. He plunged it into her, deep into that wet and hungry hole, and she squeezed him so lovingly he instantly burst. It was over almost before it began and the relief was intense.

"No!" she shouted when he made to withdraw. "No, please! You can't leave me like this. Fuck me, please!"

Cruel desire consumed John. He leaned into her, pressing heavily against her welted buttocks, making her moan. "Then we'll finish the caning," he said. "Six more to come."

"Yes, fine, just don't leave me like this!"

He was still rock hard and it did not take much effort for him to be ready again. This time it was slower, with the rough in and out that provided her with the stimulation she craved. Soon she bucked under a massive orgasm, and then another, and a moment later, a third. Her buttocks squeezed his cock and he spurted, unable to hold out any longer, and it was over.

The final six with the cane were pure punishment. Peyton wept and John cursed his folly. How could he have been so stupid? To risk his career for a few seconds of pleasure? He took out his anger on Peyton's ass, striping the rump purple with welts.

He left her in nude misery on the trestle, unable to risk freeing her yet. He feared her reaction. Now that it was over, perhaps she would regret her impulsiveness? Would she threaten to turn him in? She had him. His seed was foolishly inside her, evidence of his stupidity. He was an idiot. He was her slave, now. She could control him.

"Mr. Meaney?" Her voice was soft and weepy. "May I be let up now?"

"In a minute. We, uh, need to figure this out."

"Figure what out?"

"This! What just happened here."

There was a silence. Then: "Nothing happened, sir."

"Nothing?"

"You caned me as required. That's it."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure."

Relief flooded through the vice-principal, but it was only temporary. He still felt like crap. He'd wronged her and he knew it.



© Frank Martinet
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