Barbara's Fantasy

This story is pure fantasy. In real life practise safe sex. This piece of fiction in no way reflects the author's true ideals or beliefs.

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My fantasy is quite an odd one and stems back to my school days. It's sadomasochistic and lesbian in content, which is a mystery to me because in real-life I'm not like that at all. In fact, apart from the occasional growing-up kind of curiosity about one's own gender, I have never actively sought or desired a lesbian relationship. I also abhor pain and any kind of violence.

I most often use this fantasy just before I go to bed. It has never failed to bring me to orgasm and it always settles me down really well for the night. Here goes:

I'm an 18 year old girl attending an all-girls boarding school back in the fifties when punishment by the use of cane and birch was the norm, although in real life I attended school long after this sort of thing had been abolished.

I am hauled up before the headmistress after I'm caught smoking. I know I'm for it and prepare for the worst. She is a buxom lady of about fifty with her greying chestnut hair pulled back severely off her face and into a tight bun.

To help picture her more clearly in my mind, I invent small details about her appearance. For instance, she wears little make-up and has traces of facial hair which make her face somewhat coarse and masculine. She has a tiny mole just above her top lip. Her lips are thin and cruel looking, down-turned at the corners. She wears a tweedy grey suit, brown stockings and brogues. A sparkly brooch on the lapel of her jacket is her only concession to decoration. She is not physically attractive in the normal sense, to neither man nor woman I'd imagine. But it is this very lack of visual appeal and her officious manner that exerts a certain hold on me.

I'm wearing the standard uniform of the school (gym tunic and navy blue drawers), standing with my hands behind me while Miss Otway (fictitious) interrogates me about my smoking. She reminds me that it could mean my expulsion from the school, which really scares me because I know how devastated my parents will be.

She really goes on at me about the seriousness of this misdemeanour as if I'm 'public enemy number one'. She lectures me on the perils of smoking, where had I got the cigarettes from - who had given them to me? Do I have any more?

Then she begins to humiliate me by asking some very personal and intrusive questions. I feel my face grow hot as she asks me about my period -- whether I have much pubic hair and what colour it is. Do I masturbate? Do I have a boyfriend (something that is strongly discouraged while at the school) and if I have do I let him touch me and where? Do I know what heavy petting is? And so on.

This shocks me but at the same time I find it arousing. I fidget uncomfortably about on my feet. I know she has noticed this by the little flickers of satisfaction at the corners of her mouth. She takes a deep breath, full of self-importance and smugness and I watch her bust swell and strain against her jacket. Her brooch sparkles. She is both scheming and calculating and I feel a curious sense of surrender and helplessness in her presence.

She informs me that she will have to cane me, which will mean the statutory six-of-the-best. At the mention of this I get a distinct tingling between my legs. She stomps across the room, limping slightly (the result of a riding accident when she was a little girl) and fetches a whippy rattan cane from the rack. She turns to face me and flexes the cane.

"I'm going to teach you a lesson you won't forget in a hurry, young lady." She allows herself a thin smile and waits for a reaction. I try to show none. She continues: "Then, depending on how you respond to your punishment, I will make a decision about your further attendance at this school."

My legs go weak at the sound of her voice. She approaches, telling me to tuck my skirt up into my knickers elastic. Then she tells me to lie over the worn padded arm of a heavily upholstered armchair. My skin sticks to the leather and squeaks when I move to make myself comfortable. She waits a moment, watching me. I can feel the tension -- sexual tension.

I realise she is going to allow me to keep my 'navy-blues' on so perhaps it won't be too painful. She stands to the side of me and I await the first stinging blow.

I feel her line the cane up against my bottom and tap it a couple of times, setting herself for the swing. She draws a sharp breath as she takes her arm back, followed by the creak of her shoes as her weight shifts. She lets out a small grunt and I hear the whistle of the cane through the air as she catches me on the right buttock. There is a split second delay before the pain registers and I try to be brave and keep quiet. She waits, allowing me to think about it. Then she strikes my left buttock with equal gusto. I turn my head away from her so she cannot see me biting my lip.

"Look at me young lady," she says.

I turn back to her, forcing my face to hide the pain.

Misinterpreting my resolve for insolence, she pauses from her work and orders me to stand and take down my knickers, which I do. As I step out of them I notice the telltale damp patch inside and doubt whether it hasn't escaped her attention also. I have a thick bush of hair and a well-developed figure for my age and I know she likes what she sees. She smirks.

"Turn around," she says. I obey. I feel her fingers brush over my bottom, resting momentarily on the places where the cane had struck. "Bend over the arm again, young lady. Let's see if we can't improve matters..."

Her next two strokes are lower down, virtually the tops of my legs. I feel the vindictiveness in them, sense her smug satisfaction at their strategic placement. Her breathing quickens. Her gloating eyes feast on my mounting shame.

She pauses for a moment to admire her handiwork. I wonder what the skin of my bottom looks like -- scarlet striped maybe, or just displaying an even pinkish glow? The thought is humiliating, but at the same time exciting.

I feel her hand slip across my backside again, her fingers lingering here and there, pressing on the skin.

"Warming up a bit?" she says, and I nod meekly in agreement. By this time I feel the liquid running from me. I am shamefully -- no... shamelessly, that's it - shamelessly wet.

Once again I hear the rattan whistle, followed by the sharp crack of cane on flesh which echoes around the hard cold walls and the tall ceiling. She gives me the sixth and final one squarely across both cheeks. The weird thing is, instead of smarting pain I get a delicious tingling sensation that commutes itself to my crotch -- like a gentle current of low voltage electricity. There is definite venom in this last stroke. This time I shriek like a cat that's just had its paw trodden on. It is as much through pleasure as pain.

The headmistress yanks my hair, spitefully and says, "Shush, girl, control yourself!"

"But it hurt so, Miss." True enough; but it is also stimulating and uplifting.

"Then I hope that will give you cause for thought, my girl."

She limps across the room, puts the cane back and returns to sit on a hard chair and asks me to come and lie face down across her lap. She then proceeds to caress my bottom and talk to me about why she had to punish me. Her hands feel cool and soothing on my sore, burning bum. They begin to wander, stroking first the backs of my thighs and then the insides, and finally back to my bottom. And all the time she does this she is talking to me in this chiding way she has, telling me off and trying to make me feel guilty.

She begins to curve her fingers around and under, feeling the contours of my cunny, picking through my patch of hair. I try to stop her, but she grabs my wrists and holds them behind my back. "Oh no you don't!" she says and takes the belt off her skirt and ties my arms behind me almost in one smooth movement.

She is skilful and strong. She is capable, despite her disability and knows what she's doing. She then smacks my throbbing bum three more times. "I'll show you how I deal with insolence, God help me!" she hisses.

I struggle, but not too much. Part of me is enjoying this. I am the willing victim of a bitter-sweet seduction.

A wicked thrill flows through me. Where is our little playlet going I wonder -- how will it all end?

Her hand returns to my cunny and she picks up where she left off. Her movements are both deliberate and artful and I am very aroused.

I part my legs - just enough to allow her get her fingers inside me. I know that how she finds me down there will give me away, but I am way past caring about such trivialities. My delicious tormentor knows just how to touch and tease and tickle, knows how to expose and exploit me, lay bare my darkest secrets. She knows if she persists she will in the end get her own way, turning me on more and more, knowing that this is what I secretly crave too.

She touches my clit and it is like a jolt of electricity shooting up through my body, taking my breath away.

"What an easy little madam you are." Her voice is whispery; her breathing makes a deep wheezing sound in her lungs. I smell her hot, slightly sour breath, her cheap scent. Why does it excite me so?

She massages my stiff little bud causing me to tingle all the way up to my stiffened nipples. She is expert with her tantalising caresses. Now her fingers are prodding slyly at my anus. It feels invasive, wickedly naughty.

I don't have the will to resist. Sensation upon sensation is overtaking me like an incoming tide. How deliciously helpless I am, so totally and completely under my tormentor's spell. It is not my fault. I am freed of any guilt because she is to blame, she is the one in control

But I want her to hurt me, to punish me for my sins and relieve me of my guilt. I need her to hurt me. I want the pain that is so much like a thrill. The pain makes me weak and dizzy with wicked pleasure.

I wriggle on her lap. I know she likes it because I can hear her breathing quicken into the raspy, laboured sound. I suddenly realise her finger is trying to seek entrance to my arse. I feel myself resist reflexively. But she is insistent and determined and with a little stab of pain she finally succeeds in breaching me.

I hear my gasp float up towards the ceiling. She clamps her free hand over my mouth while she thrusts deep inside my bottom, wiggling her digit like a fat burrowing worm. This is quickly followed by a second finger, then a third - oh my god!

I feel both my orifices being explored and stretched to the limit, pawed and pulled first one way, then the other. The sensation is exquisite and makes me squirm about on the rough prickly worsted wool of her skirt.

The end is not far off, but do I really want this delicious torture to end?

Her hands pump my two orifices both in unison and alternately, varying the rhythm and increasing the tempo. Her breathing is ragged and under it I hear her whisper: "Come on, come on, give it up for me, you sticky little madam..."

She teases me until I can no longer control myself.

She is remorseless and soon brings me to a shuddering climax which jack-knives my body in half. I mark her skirt with my wetness. She starts to berate me again, calling me a shameless little whore and telling me I'm going to have to pay for soiling her clothing.

She tells me to get off her and stand up straight. Then she tells me what I have to do to make it up to her.

At first I'm shocked and I don't want to do it. She warns me that my educational future depends on it and asks me to think about it for a moment. I tell her I couldn't possibly do such a thing to her, saying that it's disgusting and wicked and anyway, I would feel sick.

In my fantasy I imagine saying this but secretly want to do the thing she desires...

She becomes angry at this, sending a strange flutter through my tummy. She keeps my hands tied and fetches a wooden ruler from her desk. She lifts up my skirt up and whacks the ruler across my tender flesh. Miss Otway comes around and stands in front of me. She looks me straight in the eye and I stare my defiance right back at her, daring her, testing her resolve...

She tells me to stand with my feet apart and runs her hand over the insides of my thighs. "The skin is so soft and tender here," she says. "So sensitive and easy to mark. If I smack you here it will sting for days." She runs her hand up my thigh, across my sex and down the other thigh. "Is that what you want?"

I whisper so she can hear, "Yes, miss." My legs feel weak and trembly. The headmistress then taps me with the ruler between the thighs. "Wider, wider...Come on, feet apart!"

I widen my stance and prepare for the smacks that will most surely make their mark on my creamy skin. "You know this is what you deserve, don't you...you little slut..." And she uses the ruler on the insides of my thighs, quick and successive, criss-crossing in pattern. She pauses and stares at me. Her glare is like a furnace "You are an insolent and wicked individual. You are too full of yourself. I despair of you. There is no hope for you. You will probably go to hell!"

The skin between my legs quickly turns bright red. It is deliciously warm and prickling. She brings the edge of the ruler up to my cunny and parts the labia roughly. Then she slides it deep inside me, making me gasp "Hardly a virgin, are you? You're the worst kind of whore. You've had boys already, haven't you?" As she says this she slides the ruler up and down inside me. "But you've been missing the best thing of all... You've never had a woman, have you?"

"No, Miss."

"I will show you pleasures like you've never known."

"Please Miss Otway, I beg you. I can't do that thing you said. Please don't make me."

"You're hardly the sweet innocent are you -- hardly white as the driven snow?"

"No Miss."

"No, Miss...I think not, Miss." She twists the ruler inside me and I breathe in sharply. "So, tell me then...How many times have you been had?"

"Never, Miss,"

"Oh come on, I bet plenty of rude and disgusting boys have had their cocks in you. And men... dirty...dirty old men...men old enough to be..."

"No Miss, oh please, Miss..."

"Haven't you!"

"No, Miss, honest, Miss."

"Tell me the truth, girl. I want the truth!" And she cruelly twists and jabs the ruler inside me.

"Oh, Miss, please, no... That hurts..."

"Well tell me then...Tell me the truth...Say it..."

"I'm sorry, Miss...Yes, all right...I've had been with a few boys...but not men... I would never..." I nod in surrender and fall to my knees. Tears sting my eyes, but they are not tears of woe. They are tears of abandon and longing.

"Silly girl," she says, coldly, before cracking the ruler across the backs of my calves. I yelp, so she hits me again, harder this time to make her point. "Well..? Are you going to pleasure me, young lady..? Or will I have to expel you with a black mark against your name. What will your parents think?"

The headmistress smacks me smartly across the backs of my thighs. But the sting is no longer a sting. It is more like...like... Like a caress or a kiss.

"I'm waiting for your answer!"

The tension in my cunny begins to build again.

"Yes," I say meekly. Of course I want to please you, Miss,"

"Good. Very well." She makes herself comfortable in the leather armchair, hikes up her skirt and pulls her pants down around her ankles. Then she tells me to come over and kneel between her legs. She takes hold of my hair again and pulls, making my eyes stream water. "Come on, hurry up and be done with it." She parts her thighs and pulls me right up so that my nose is pressing against her tangled pubes.

In this very intimate and compromising position lots of details spring to mind and my fingers are working overtime. I'm close to coming.

Her pubes are coarse and smell of carbolic soap. They tickle my nose and mouth. Her gaping sex is humid and rancid, already slickened by her mounting excitement. Her strong smell reminds me fleetingly of coal dust and dried pee - a powerful sexual odour. It excites me.

I run my hands up over the tops of her nylons, caressing her legs, enjoying the warm friction under my hands. I run my fingers over the little bobble-catch of her suspenders and then come to rest on the warm skin above her stocking tops. I kiss her upper thighs. She lets go of my hair and starts to play with my ears, pinching the lobes, urging me to perform the task she has set for me.

I use my fingers to gently open her. She is sopping. I put my mouth on her. Her excitement makes her smell stronger. I stick my tongue through the matted hair and taste her. The sharp tang excites me more. She brings her knees up to make it easier for me. I feel her thighs close around my ears, blotting out the sounds of the girls in the playground, her laboured breathing, her groans. Her soft skin is in contrast to the coarse nylon texture of her stocking tops. She forces my head into her, urging me to lick her harder by increasing the pressure on my ears. I want give her the orgasm she so desires.

Her clitoris is like a tiny erect penis and I give it a terrible teasing, taking her to the very edge, and then holding back, again and again. And soon her hips are bucking as I finally allow her to come. I feel her sex spasm around my tongue, her vaginal muscles squeezing and pulling. She cries out ecstatically and I swallow her juice, which comes in a syrupy gush, and give myself an auto-orgasm in the process.

Exquisite torture indeed!

End of fantasy.

I've usually masturbated myself to at least two intense climaxes by this time, and with by husband already asleep beside me, I just curl up into a ball and drift right off. Aren't fantasies great?