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“This is unacceptable, Miss Culpepper," The principal snapped, slamming the stack of papers down on his desk.
First day teaching here and I'm already in trouble, Liz thought. "Sir, I..."
Mr. Bradley made no movement except to raise a single hand, his palm forward in an unmistakable "that's enough" gesture, which Liz felt compelled to obey.
Liz shuffled her feet uncomfortably, averting her eyes to the floor to avoid Mr. Bradley's gaze.
“Look at me,” came the stern command, and Liz couldn't bring herself not to obey. As her eyes locked with his, the headmaster slowly rose from his chair and walked around the desk to approach her, letting her eyes follow until he was behind her, at which point they snapped back to the front. A faint whimpering sound escaped her lips as he stopped, close enough to her to grasp her. A moment passed in silence, before he calmly instructed her, “palms and elbows, on the desk.”
“Sir?” Liz asked timidly, and the force of his palm against the back of her jeans snapped her back to silence. As her breath caught in her throat, she felt one of his hands on the back of her neck. The fingers slowly worked themselves through her hair, clutching it.
“I said, place your palms, and elbows, flat, on the desk,” he repeated, emphasizing every phrase, and guided her head forward by her clutched hair. A faint “Yes Sir” escaped her as she placed her trembling palms and elbows onto the light, polished wood paneling of the desk, finding her eyes drawn to the “don't make me use my teacher voice” plaque there which she had always found hilarious but which suddenly seemed intimidating. Once she was bent over the desk, the hand that was grasping her hair released its grip and she felt its palm tracing her spine slowly until it was joined at the base of her spine by his other hand.
As the principal slid both hands slowly around her waist to the front of her jeans, he said to her in a soft voice, “I do this for your own good. Remember that, young lady.” With that, she felt her jeans unsnapped, unzipped, and tugged to her ankles in a single swift, forceful motion. “Up onto your toes,” she heard him command as she felt his hands sliding across the now bare flesh of her ass, appraising it as a painter inspects a canvas (not an inaccurate comparison, as she was soon to learn).
Then, she feel the hands withdraw, heard the snap of sleeves being unbuttoned, and heard the rustling sound of them being rolled up. “After each stroke, you're to thank me. Understood, young lady?”
Her breathing was coming in fits, making any response impossible, and after a few seconds she felt his hand closing around the front of her neck and heard him whispering into her ear. “I said, with each stroke, you're to thank me, young lady. Am I understood?”
“Y... yes... Sir,” she stammered.
Standing back up, Mr. Bradley looked down at her, enjoying the way she was visibly trembling now. As he pressed one hand to her shoulderblades, gentle but still strong enough to be inescapable, the other palm struck her with a ferocity that made it whistle through the air on the way to its mark, making her whimper. There was a moment of silence before he asked, “what do you say, young lady?”
“Thank You, Sir,” she gasped as the sting of the blow turned to a mild warmth.
His palm fell upon her again, on the other side.
“Thank You, Sir.”
Again, and again, and again Liz felt the blows of his palm against her bare flesh, each one as fierce as the last, never striking the same area twice in a row. After several minutes, the pace quickened.
“Thank You Sir... Thank You Sir.. Thank You- AH! ...Thank You Sir!” Came her refrain with each stroke. how long will He keep this up? she wondered as the blows kept falling, leaving her entire backside alive with a burning, stinging sensation from one impact after another. Her feet, exhausted from standing on her toes for so long, began to ache. She lowered her heels back to the floor and bent her knees as her body reflexively tried to escape.
“We're not finished yet, young lady,” he corrected er calmly as he place both his ands on her hips, lifting her back to the position she had been in.
“Yes... Yes Sir- AH! Thank You, Sir! Thank You -OWoo my God!” As the pace quickened, Liz was unable to finish the response to one stroke before the next one fell. The rhythmic, staccato “CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!” sound became inaudible as she whimpered with each one. Her trembling hands, which she'd thus far managed to hold in place, now instinctively left the desk and flew behind her to protect her, to no avail. As he seized both her wrists and pressed them against her back with one hand, leaving her cheek against the desk, he placed two, then three, then four final slaps, leaving his hand in place after the last one. As she began to realize it was over, her timorous and rapid breaths finally formed the words “Thank, You, Sir.”
“Thank Me for what, young lady,” Mr. Bradley asked with casual ease as his palm traced over the exquisite red and pink surface that would be a study in blues and purples by morning, making her wince as he traced over raw and sensitive skin.
“Thank You, for... for correcting me, Sir.” As Liz spoke, she felt his hand tracing down the back of her thigh, then moving inside, and back upward. Her legs began to shiver as the longest of his fingers traced the cleft there, and she heard a faint “hmm” of satisfaction from him as he feel the wetness of her anticipation. With an abruptness that made her gasp, he grasped her hair again and stood her back up and the arm that was exploring her thighs was now around her waist, toying with her from in front. As all four fingers slid down between her legs, he whispered into your ear, “you can put your feet flat now, young lady.” As her heels touched the floor again she leaned back against him, weak from the ordeal. The hand that was holding her hair slid down the back of her neck, parting from her skin as it passed over her shirt, pressing against her back and then tracing around to the front where it cupped one of her breasts shamelessly before moving up to her soft and slender neck, at the same time that two of his fingers slid themselves between her now soaked petals below.
As Bradley moved his lips toward Liz's ear and teasingly bit the soft flesh underneath them, his fingers continued sliding into her, out, and in again, in a slow pace that formed a dizzying contrast to the wild pace of the spanking a moment ago. As his nibbling bites became kisses and migrated from her ear down along the sides of her neck, and then the back of it, his fingers continued their dance until she felt a familiar, almost animalistic urge growing. “May I, Sir?”
“Not yet,” the principal answer plainly, continuing to kiss her neck and tilting her chin back to expose more of it. With his fingers he switched to a smaller, circling motion in front, with the tip pressing home against the tiny bud, flitting back and forth against it one minute, tracing circles around it the next. His command of denial was still fresh in er ears, but her trembling body cried out for completion.
“Please, Sir...”
“I said, 'not, yet.'” The words are accompanied by yet another bite, right below her left ear, as his fingers quickened their pace. The hand that was around her neck slid up to her cheek to turn her face toward his and avail himself of the lips above as his fingers continue tormenting the ones below, quickening their pace still. By now they were more vibrating than circling and he had to hold her up to keep her from collapsing.
“Sir..” Liz's word was barely discernible through whimpering moans, “Sir, I.. I can't...” the sentence went unfinished as he tightened his hand again around her neck and whispered an order into her ear.
“Come for me, young lady.”
Her mouth opened as she felt herself shatter, but it was without sound at first as her entire body tightened in that single, explosive moment. Her knees buckled and her hands, which had been clutching the table all this time, began to claw at it savagely as she finally found her voice in a primal, wanton cry of surrender, which rang out across the building until it slowly faded into a helpless whimper, before being punctuated by a swift slap between her legs, making her gasp.
As Liz's breathing returned to normal, the principal unwrapped one arm from around her, tracing the fingers that brought her to climax up to her mouth and slipping them between her lips for her to dutifully suck them clean. “Now get dressed, young lady,” his command came with one last slap upon the red, raw skin that had endured so much just minutes before. The simple task of bending down to pull up her jeans and panties seemed to require an immensity of focus she'd never known before, as the sting from the spanking had now become an acute ache which, coupled with post-coital tremors, left her lost in a world where thought was void and nothing existed but sensation, but she managed. Finally, dressed again, she slowly turned toward him, still propping herself on his desk for support. “Is... Is there anything else, Sir?”
As her principal re-fastened the last sleeve button, he replied “ah, no. No, that will be all.”
Liz nodded slowly, swallowing. “Then, shall I go, Sir?”
Mr. Bradley didn't answer. Returning to his desk, he took a single glance at the stack of papers that had earned Liz this introduction to the faculty's disciplinary policies. Without a second thought, he picked up the stack and flung them out the window. My God, it's been open all this time and everyone heard every minute of that, Liz's face reddened at the thought.
"You're to exit this office on your hands and knees, pick up every one of those papers in your mouth, and not rise to your feet until you've collected all 64 of them to be shredded."
"But Sir," Liz's objection came out in a squeak," won't people see me?"
Bradley leaned back in his chair. "Yes, I suppose the football team will all see, since they're practicing at their field right across the lawn. Their practice ends in 25 minutes so I'd suggest not taking too long about collecting those papers. Coach Beaumont is... well, he's not known for teaching them chivalry."
Liz swallowed hard. "Yes Sir," she whimpered and lowered herself to her hands and knees. "May I go now, Sir?"
Mr. Bradley waved a hand dismissively, his eyes now focused on something on something on his computer screen that was more important than Liz. As Liz turned to crawl toward the door Mr. Bradley's voice stopped her. "Oh, and Miss Culpepper," as Liz turned to face the principal she saw him smiling a knowing smile. "Welcome to Stepford Prep."

Stepford Preparatory Academy