Miss Noble Ch. 01

She'd turned slightly on the couch to face me more directly after I'd retreated to the far corner. Her right foot was still on the floor, but her left leg was back against the cushions, her knee bent. The shorts she was wearing were pulled tight against her, and as I flicked another quick glance at her, I saw that the material of the shorts had pulled up against her mons. They were made from a soft material, probably cotton, and had likely been washed many, many times over the years. They fit her like a second skin, at that moment. Two words suddenly skittered across my mind: "Camel Toe."

And then I was recalling a late-night conversation I'd overheard as my older sister was on the phone with a girlfriend when she'd first gotten hove from college back at the beginning of the summer. Phoebe has always shared many of my features, although she is most definitely and attractively feminine in appearance. We both have dark eyes, and thick, dark hair—which she's always worn very short—and an expressive face with a strong jaw—but while I'm just over six feet tall and fairly muscular due to an active sports interest, she's about five feet four, and exceptionally well-toned. My muscles bulged, but hers were sleek. She'd been involved in girl's gymnastics from an early age, and lettered in gymnastics during her years in high school. Her slim curves include a narrow waist, trim hips, a tight round behind, and mid-sized, perky breasts that had matured early on. In sixth grade, she'd lamented to our mother that if her boobs grew much bigger, she'd be too top-heavy to compete against the other, skinnier girls. During her high school years, she'd gotten into the habit of lounging around in brightly-colored boy's boxer shorts and tank tops. But during her freshmen year at college, she'd apparently cultivated a more Gothic appearance. Her hair, already dark, was now jet black, and her customary tan was gone. She'd always worked hard to maintain a tan even during the winter months by going to tanning salons, but now her skin was milky white, and provided an even greater contrast to her hair and dark eyes. That night, as I passed by the doorway to her bedroom, I'd caught a glimpse of her in yet another black sports bra and matching black bikini panties. I slowed down to take in the view and then paused as I heard her end of the phone conversation.

"...So there I am, stuck in this lecture, and this T.A, is like, SO hot, right? And then I did it! I started getting myself off right there, in the third row, and he's like, got NO clue that I'm going to cream myself, okay? ...What? ...You know, you just get the seam of your panties over your clit and kinda grind your hips a little? ...Come ON! You've never done it? No way... HAH! Slut! Well, try wearing panties once in a while! ...Hell yeah, you can get off, girl. Like the Fourth of July! That seam rubs your kitty, and gets you hotter and wetter, and it starts to feel like you're gonna pop, like a balloon, and you can't, you know, like, actually touch yourself with your hands, so that makes it feel even MORE naughty, you know? ...Oh, HELL yeah, I came. Good thing I had my sweater to tie around my waist, 'cause I know I had a wet spot there when I was done! And after all that, my poor little panties must have looked like a damp little Camel Toe!!"

She couldn't have seen me, but maybe she sensed my listening. I heard her pad toward the doorway, and froze. Then, her giggling became muffled as she closed her bedroom door, and I missed the rest of her conversation. And as that memory flashed by me in an instant, I glanced down at the material of Miss Noble's shorts. They'd seemed pretty loose fitting when she'd first invited me inside her apartment, but at some point as she squirmed about, they'd been pulled taught against her. And as I glanced at her again, unable to help myself, amidst the light grey material of the shorts there was a noticeable dark spot right over her pussy. Her damp little Camel Toe...

I wrenched my eyes away, but I suspected she'd noticed where I'd looked. She let the silence continue for another minute or so, then she slowly stood up, adjusting her shorts as she did so.

"Jeremy, before I can help you with your problem, I'd like to see some kind of demonstration that your remorse is genuine. If you really are prepared to accept responsibility for your actions—within reason, of course—then I see no reason why you shouldn't accept some form of punishment now. What do you think would be appropriate?" She crossed her arms and tapped at her chin with one finger.

"Um... I don't know, Miss Noble. I, uh, could pay restitution for the things I did actually take," I told her. I was scrambling to think of what could convince her, while at the same time, trying to keep my mind off what I had just observed. I didn't know where she was going, but as long as she didn't throw me out, or even worse: call my mother, or anyone else, and tell them what I'd been up to—both at work, and here in her condo... I was ready to say or do anything she proposed. I was truly desperate at this point.

"Well, that's very mature of you, Jeremy, but I think that's something you should do at a minimum. I'm wondering what you might do, which you don't 'have to' do, to demonstrate your sincerity."

"I could, uh, do some sort of community service? Like, clean up around the school, on my own time?"

"That's one possibility, Jeremy. But we have custodians to do that sort of thing. They get paid to do it, and while I suppose they could be paid to supervise you while you worked for them, that's not much more than an inconvenience for you, is it?"

"I wish I know what I could tell you, Miss Noble, but..." I was stumped. I didn't know what she wanted me to suggest.

"Well, I know that the days of corporal punishment are long gone, but..." She let her voice trail off.

"Corporal punishment? You mean like, spankings?" I was so startled that I forgot to keep my eyes on my lap. My head jerked up to look at her, and I could see what seemed to be satisfaction on her face."

"Yes. A spanking. What a fine idea, Jeremy! After all, a young man of eighteen is long past having to submit to a forced spanking. To see you voluntarily submit to such a demeaning, and painful, punishment would go a long way toward proving to me that you really do feel sorry for what you've done. And that you really do accept responsibility for what you've done." She clapped her hands together excitedly. She actually clapped her hands.

This was so surreal.

She left the room for a moment, and returned with something hidden behind her back. She sat down on the loveseat opposite the sofa I was still sitting on, and then seemed to take on an authoritative air.

"Stand up, Jeremy, and come over here," she said, pointing to a spot in front of her.

I did as she instructed, and clasped my hands together in front of me, in a position I hope looked sufficiently submissive. I didn't know exactly what was going to happen, but I know my options were distinctly limited.

"Now, Jeremy, I need for you to ask me to do this. I don't want there to be any doubt that this is your decision, and that I'm not 'forcing' you to do something against your will."

The idea almost made me smile. Here was this diminutive woman, a foot shorter than me, and half my weight, and she was suggesting that 'she' could force 'me' against my will. The only thing that kept that smile off my face was the drama of the situation.

"No ma'am. Of course not. I want to show you that I'm serious about my remorse over all of this, and if getting spanked will do that, then I'm willing to let you do it." She looked at me expectantly, waiting for me to continue. "Um. Miss Noble, will you please spank me?"

"Jeremy, I want to believe you, and this will go a long way to convincing me. If you want me to spank you, I will. Now, how do you think we should proceed?"

"Proceed?" I was again at a loss for words. I didn't know what she was getting at.

"How shall you receive your spanking, young man?"

"Oh! I could, um, bend over, and let you, I don't know, spank me?"

"Jeremy..." She sounded deeply disappointed. "You are not building a strong argument for your sincerity. I think you can do better than that, don't you?"

She'd kept her hands clasped loosely in her lap as she sat in front of me. The hand on top slowly moved forward and softly patted her knee.

"Your knee?"

"Over my knee, you mean? What a brilliant suggestion, Jeremy!" She smiled brightly. It seemed so incongruous on her face, given the situation, that I was at a momentary loss for words. She seemed to light up, all of a sudden. "Right over my knee, like a naughty young boy! Come and take that position now, Jeremy."

I found myself shuffling forward, and awkwardly bent over her lap. I braced my hands against the arm rest of the loveseat, and lowered my head in shame. I waited, but nothing happened.

"What are you doing, Jeremy?"

"Ma'am?" I asked.

"I thought you said you wished to be spanked over my knee. Why are you crouched over like that? What are you waiting for?"

I felt my face warm up as a blush suffused it. I was finally understanding what she meant about 'demeaning' punishment. I cautiously lowered myself until I was draped over her lap. I was not tall enough for my own knees to remain on the floor, so I was hanging over her lap, my feet and my hands braced on the floor. I again waited for the first blow to come. And waited.

"Jeremy, I am beginning to doubt that you feel any genuine remorse at all. What kind of spanking do you think you're going to get? A few taps over your jeans? Do you really think that's sufficient?"

"Ma'am?"

"Your pants, Jeremy. I'm not about to spank you over your pants. What kind of spanking would that be, do you think?"

Oh my god. I hadn't thought it could get any more embarrassing, but I'd been proven wrong yet again.

I slid off her lap, and climbed to my feet, trying desperately to avoid any sort of eye contact. I unbuckled my belt and then unzipped and lowered my pants down to my knees. I was struck suddenly by the thought of my mother reminding me to always wear clean underwear—'just in case'—and barely managed to restrain the hysterical laughter that would have doomed me. I again turned to return to my place over her lap when she stopped me.

"Pants all the way off, Jeremy. Fold them, and place them on the table, there."

My mortification was finally complete. I froze, for a moment, and then mechanically kicked off my shoes, and slid my pants all the way off. I folded them neatly, and laid them on the coffee table. Almost as an afterthought, I neatly placed my loafers together on the floor below the coffee table. I was moving on autopilot now. I hesitated until she again patted her lap, and then repositioned myself over her. I could feel her smooth legs against my own.

"Jeremy," she said, softly. "I want you to know that this is very brave of you to do. You don't have to do this, and the fact that you're willing to speaks quite loudly of your sincerity. But you should know, that this is not merely symbolic. I'm going to spank you soundly. This is your last chance to back out now. Although you must know, if you do that, you'll have to leave immediately, and without any support from me in your crisis." She waited a long moment, and then asked, "Shall I proceed?"

"Yes, ma'am," I responded in a voice barely louder than a whisper.

With that, she rested both of her hands on my hips, and hooked them in my underwear. I froze as it suddenly became clear what was about to happen. I tensed, but otherwise remained as motionless as possible. Then I felt her pull my boxer-briefs down over my ass, exposing the bare skin to her. She tugged them down until they were well below my cheeks. In fact, if she'd lowered them much further, she'd have exposed my front side as well.

Oh no! No!! I squeezed my eyes shut, but it was too late! Just the thought of it was enough! I had the mental image of my bare cock and balls lying over her lap, on her smooth, creamy thighs, and my traitorous cock twitched! The cotton material of my briefs were drawn tight around it beneath me, for the moment, restricting it from moving or growing too much, but I could only pray for that to not change!

After she'd pulled my underwear down as far as she'd wanted, she paused again. I could sense her reaching behind her for something. I strained my ears, keeping my eyes firmly closed, and my head down.

A sudden whistling sound was the only warning I had before fire exploded on my ass.

SMACK!

I almost leapt up at the pain. It was only her hand pressing downward on my shoulders that kept me in place.

"Don't move, Jeremy. Keep your hands on the floor in front of you, and your feet on the floor behind you. If you lift your hands. If you move off my lap, you will fail this test. Do you understand me, Jeremy?"

I nodded.

"Tell me, Jeremy," she demanded.

"I understand, Miss Noble. I won't move until you tell me to."

Without another word, she struck me again. SMACK! My head arched up, although I kept my eyes closed, and I dug my fingers into the thick weave of the rug they rested on.

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

She alternated cheeks, and avoided a rhythm to keep me off-guard. Sometimes she'd smack the same cheek several times in a row, to the point that I was silently begging her to strike the other one. Sometimes she'd spank me low on my ass, almost on top of my lowered underwear, and at other times, she'd aim higher, spreading the blows around until I was certain my entire ass was glowing an angry, even red. I gave up any pretense of toughness, and felt scalding tears roll down my face for the second time that evening.

And then, when I thought that I could get through it... That it was almost unbearably painful, but nearly over... I felt it. I felt my cock, my traitorous, traitorous cock, begin to twitch again.

I struggled to remain still, but she was raining blow after blow after blow on my poor, tortured ass, and my hips were involuntarily jerking with each one. The effect meant that I was subtly humping Miss Noble's legs. And that humping motion meant that my cock was slowly but surely growing, and expanding inside it's confinement in my bunched up underwear. I was sorely tempted to slide off her lap and take the resulting lecture about 'failing my test', but Miss Noble spoke for the first time since she'd began the spanking.

"Stay down!" She growled. I hoped she was speaking to me, and not (as a small part of my brain feared) to my cock, which was definitely NOT staying down. I resolved myself to see the punishment through. She might be disgusted with me for getting a hard-on during the procedure, but at least I'd have the satisfaction of knowing that I'd not quit. I was going to weather this punishment, no matter how bad it got.

The spanking went on and on. I'd tried to keep count, at first, but I'd long since lost count. If I'd been forced to hazard a guess, I would have estimated that I'd received well over a hundred spanks. By now, my cock was fully engorged, and there was absolutely no way she could have not felt it digging into her soft thighs.

And then, as abruptly as she'd started the spanking, she stopped. Without any warning, the blows stopped coming. I remained, panting, over her lap, waiting to hear her harangue me for getting an erection during the punishment that had, at one point, seemed to be lasting for hours. ...But she said nothing. I could hear her breathing quite heavily as well. And it occurred to me that she'd just had quite a workout blistering my ass. She dropped the source of my punishment on the floor beside me. It was a woman's sandal. She'd spanked me with one of her sandals.

"Were you keeping count, Jeremy?" She finally gasped, when she'd gotten her breathing somewhat under control.

"No ma'am," I rasped out, trying to keep my voice from cracking. I added, "I did... at the beginning... but I lost count..."

"You told me you'd taken one hundred dollars worth of merchandise, perhaps. No more than one hundred and fifty," she replied. "That was one hundred and fifty blows." She took a deep breath and let it out. "As far as I'm concerned, your sincerity on that account is no longer in question. But there is a new issue to deal with." She took a second deep, deep breath, and then I felt her hands tugging on my underwear again. She whispered, "Lift your hips, Jeremy."

Now, my mortification was complete. I finally understood the true meaning of the word. 'To feel mortified: To wish one's self dead.' At that moment, if 'embarrassment' was a country, then I was on a completely different planet called 'far, far passed embarassed'. I was still on autopilot at this point, so I simply complied. I lifted up my hips and felt her slide my underwear down below my knees, and all the way down to my ankles. One foot at a time, she raised them and slid the underwear all the way off.

My hard-on was now lying against the hot, silky bare skin of her legs. I felt one hand slide under my hips to cautiously touch the throbbing traitor between my own legs, then direct it down between her thighs as she gently but firmly pushed my hips down with her other hand. As I settled my weight back onto her lap, my cock, which was so hard it was almost numb, was drooling precum between her thighs and onto the back of her calves.

"That one hundred and fifty was your punishment, Jeremy," she whispered. Then her thighs came together tightly to encase my stiff cock in a velvety embrace. "But here's your reward."

And with that, she brought from behind her a second object. It was a tube of some kind of cold cream, or ointment. She gently smoothed some of it onto my burning ass. She carefully spread it around, caressing it onto both cheeks, over all the area that was screaming from my spanking, and then into the crack of my ass. With her left hand, the hand that had held that sandal during my spanking, she stroked and caressed me, dipping her fingers down from time to time to flutter over my exposed testicles, and then back up to circle my asshole. This continued for several minutes, and during that time, I held myself rigidly still, not sure of what she wanted from me. What she wanted for herself.

Then she told me, "And this, Jeremy, is my reward. This is for ME!" And her right hand, the hand that had kept my shoulders pressed down during my spanking landed on my already stinging left ass cheek with a SLAP! sound.

I jerked when the blow landed, inadvertently fucking her thighs in the process.

"Oh yes. Hump my lap, Jeremy. Go ahead."

In no particular hurry, she slapped my right ass cheek, and I again drove my cock forward between her thighs. My precum was making them slippery, as was the sweat that had begun to accumulate there. The pain from her bare hand striking my already abused ass was much less than it had been when the source of the pain had been her sandals. Her hand was so small, and it spread out the impact of the spanking she was now administering. And it had to sting her unprotected skin as well, which limited how hard she could strike me.

"Come on, Jeremy, hump me!" She commanded.

I began slowly, cautiously, to slide my cock in and out of the silky embrace of her legs. Just a small amount at first, but from time to time spurred on by yet another bare-handed spank. I slowly build up speed, and began to apply deeper in and out strokes. And as I did, her left hand continued to slide around over my balls, and my asshole. Then she penetrated my rectum with a fingertip. I froze, not sure of what to do, but a forceful slap on my ass-cheek indicated I was to continue to plow her surrogate pussy. And while I resumed my thrusts, she began thrusting her finger at the same tempo into my asshole. My hips would rise, and her finger would delve deeper. I'd plunge down again, and she'd pull back slightly. My hips would rise again, and again she'd wriggle her finger into my ass all the way to her knuckles.