Fantasies of a Young Dominatrix

It was quite uncommon for American university students, but he was wearing a tie and a blue sports coat. Perhaps I had been influenced by images of English boarding schools where the students had to dress like that for all occasions.

That brings up a question: as a professor, how old was I supposed to be in this scene? I never pinned my age exactly, but I must have been in my early thirties. Yet I looked pretty much as I do now at the age of twenty-one. Like dreams, fantasies can have such incongruous elements in them.

As I mentioned, I had my legs spread out and one foot on a coffee table or something similar. That position offered Paul a fine view right under my skirt, past the straps and garter, to the crotch of my panties. That garment had gossamer-thin cloth and my pubic hair was visible through it.

When Paul walked into the room, I could tell he was trying to avoid looking at those delectable feminine undergarments. Yet I saw his eyes briefly flick down to notice what was under my dress. Any man would have done the same thing, but I rebuked him for it.

"Young man, kindly keep your eyes to yourself. Do not try to peer up under my dress."

In the real world, he would have been justified in saying, If you don't want me to look, then don't display yourself like that. In this scenario, however, I had full authority over him and I could do whatever I wanted.

Thus he replied, "Yes, ma'am, I'm sorry about that." I hadn't invited him to sit down, so he remained standing there with his hands folded in front of himself.

I sighed heavily and put my left foot down on the floor. There was no point in inflaming his lust anymore just to humiliate him. He'd be getting plenty of humiliation from me shortly. I leaned forward a bit and said, "So, D'Amato, I think I know exactly why you are bothering me here today." I must have been influenced again by the English school practice of calling students by their last names.

He responded, "You do, ma'am?"

"Of course, we both know that your final paper is overdue. You don't have it with you, so I assume you are still working on it."

He launched into an explanation, "You see, professor, I have been having trouble with..."

I raised my hand and cut him off. "Do not give me any of your lame excuses." I couldn't leave it at that. "Being three days late with your paper is completely inexcusable." At that point, I crossed my legs, and my hem rode up enough to give a peek at one of my black stocking straps. As I said, the dress was quite short.

Paul was discombobulated at not being allowed to finish his explanation. All he said was, "Yes, professor, I know."

"Well, since you made an appointment to see me today, what is it that you expect me to do?"

That time I let him say his piece. "Professor Meara, I would be most grateful if you could give me an extension of the deadline or if necessary, mark my grade as incomplete until I can finish it."

"You really are a cheeky little brat, aren't you? You have some fucking nerve coming in here and requesting an incomplete. I'd be well within my rights to just fail you now, on the spot."

"Professor, give me a chance, I'm sure I can finish it in..." I could see that he was trying to calculate how much more time he was going to ask from me. He decided. "Two more days, I promise, and I can have it done."

I shook my head and made a clucking sound, "D'Amato, I am a professor here, and yet you have the gall to try to negotiate with me?"

He was very worried now, "Please don't fail me, I've never failed a course here before."

"There's always a first time for everything." I looked away from him and put on an expression as if I was considering the issue. In fact, of course, I had already decided on what the outcome would be.

Finally, I said, "I will consider an extension for you -- two days, only -- but first, you must accept a punishment from me." That was a line I often used on clients pretending to be wayward students.

"Thank you, ma'am, I am so grateful that you gave me this opportunity."

I simply said, "You haven't heard what the punishment is yet."

He fumbled around for a response. "Well, no, I don't know yet."

I had shrewdly laid the cane on my desktop where it wouldn't be noticeable. Now I leaned back and picked it up, holding it across my lap. One end of the implement was bent into a curved hook. Again, I had been influenced by British customs.

"D'Amato, do you know what this is?"

"It's a cane, I suppose."

"Very perceptive. It's merely a junior cane, thirty inches of rattan, but it can be quite effective. Do you know what I'm going to do with it?"

He probably got the gist of it but he said, "No, ma'am, I'm not sure."

"You see, D'Amato, I'm going to offer you a choice. If you accept my, punishment, I will vigorously thrash you on your buttocks with this. For the first six strokes, you will be bent over and the cane will be applied to the seat of your trousers. Make no mistake, those pants you are wearing now will offer you no protection. That's only the first part of your discipline. Do you understand everything so far?"

Paul was looking quite nervous now. "Yes, I understand perfectly ma'am."

"Then, you will lower your trousers and drawers, and I will give you ten more on your bare behind. I believe all that is what is called a proper 'corporal punishment.' "

I was wondering if his fear was causing a twitch in his behind. A few people, both males and females, reported that happened to them as they considered the beating to come. In fact, it had happened to me too at times.

Yet some of them also mentioned that they would feel a perverse anticipation about what was going to happen to them. Men might get an erection during the proceedings, while women would get damp in their pussies. Both sexes might then have had an urgent need to masturbate as soon as possible afterwards.

Thus, I would be able to tell from the state of Paul's cock if he was that kind of person. As for myself, I admit that I would often feel tingles in my own crotch when dominating a man.

I got up and added one more statement, "Now, D'Amato, if you don't relish the idea of being caned, you can simply fail the course -- right now. Don't take too much time deciding." I swished my cane through the air. "Maybe you should be a man about it and not wimp out. And I will then give you those two days to complete your paper."

My appeal to his manhood must have gotten through to him. "Yes, professor, I will take the caning as you recommended. Once it's over, I won't have to worry about falling the course."

"A wise choice, assuming you truly finish the paper. All right, then let's get to it. Go over to that armchair, and bend over it. Keep your head low and grip the back of it to steady yourself. And get your ass up nice and high."

The chair was off to my left, against the wall. Paul dutifully went over there and got into position. I was right behind him, holding my cane up and out with my right hand.

I assessed what I had to do. "D'Amato, your behind looks a little on the thin side, but I think you will survive it." I lifted the tail of his jacket and used my left hand to give him a firm smack on each butt cheek. "That's just a little warm-up."

"Yes ma'am."

Then I ran the side of my cane gently along his hindquarters, and he flinched at the feel of the wood on him. "Now, you may cry out as long as it isn't excessive, but please don't try to get up. If you keep a tight grip on the chair, that should help you stay in place."

I continued moving the cane along his backside, lining it up for the first strike. "Whatever meat you have on you is right about here, so I'll start with that."

At first, I just tapped him a couple of times, then I lifted my implement and give him a moderately hard blow. I saw the dent in the cloth of his pants and I knew his behind underneath was getting marked too. He made a sound, something like "Ah-h-h," but it wasn't too loud.

After a few seconds to let that stroke settle in, I hit him again. That time he yelped louder, and he stood up and grabbed his ass to comfort himself.

"D'Amato, stay in position. I know it hurts; it's supposed to." Man, that was such a cliche. "Haven't you ever been spanked or whipped by anybody before, even by your parents?"

"No professor, I never have."

"So this is a new experience for you. As you can see, it takes some self-control to receive this and maintain an honorable demeanor. Really grip that chair as I suggested before."

He controlled himself for the next four, although he yelled when hit and he was breathing heavily between strokes.

"You're taking this pretty well, D'Amato. We're almost finished with the first part."

I stopped after six and gave him a few moments to recover. He sank to his knees and grabbed his behind again. After a bit, I said, "Now, get up and drop your trousers below your knees; your drawers too."

He looked back at me as if he was hoping for a reprieve, although none was forthcoming. I just smiled at him and shook my head. When his clothes were down, I said, "Now, bend over as you were before. Remember, take it bravely, and don't falter during the next ten."

"You said ten more?"

"That's right, and I intend to do it, so don't do anything foolish to disrupt my rhythm."

I briefly checked the state of his backside. Six red lines went across his body; I was impressed with my accuracy. Also, with his rear exposed, his balls were now plainly visible to me. That I didn't mention, but I wondered if he was excited or humiliated by having his genitals exposed like that. Possibly it was a combination of both, but I would find out his attitude about it soon enough.

Paul held his position pretty well during the next five cane strokes, but after that, he started to squirm a bit. His hips would move forward as the cane hit him, and then he'd push his butt back out to receive the next one. He yelped each time one landed on him.

Yet he did an admirable job of taking his discipline, but I didn't comment on it; he was simply doing what was expected of him.

Then I was done, and I gave him about a half-minute to compose himself. Paul was lying on the cushion of the chair, with his knees on the floor, breathing heavily and gingerly touching his own rear end. Sixteen close stripes went across his bottom, and the flesh between them was bright pink.

At least he didn't sob; I had seen a few male students do that after the kind of solid thrashing that he had gotten.

"Get up, stand facing the wall, and put your hands on top of your head. And leave your pants down." He slowly stood and shuffled over to the wall to the left of the chair. I quietly moved next to him and looked down. As I had suspected, he did have a huge erection. He must have been embarrassed because he refused to look at me.

"You dirty boy, you got stiff during your punishment."

"I'm sorry, professor, I couldn't help it."

"A likely story. I'm sure you would like to put it into some girl right now, but your own hands will have to suffice. You'll probably go into a restroom as soon as you leave here."

He didn't want to admit it. "I'm not sure about that ma'am."

"Oh, don't bullshit me. I know you're going to do it, and I'll be in your filthy thoughts as you jerk yourself."

During the caning, I too had become sexually aroused as would usually happen when beating a male student. The sight of his stiff cock made me even more turned on, and I could feel the dampness seeping into my panties.

Well, Professor Meara, why don't you seduce this guy right now, on the spot? It would be so easy to take his hand and lead him to my desk. In a few seconds, after I had removed my underwear, I was sure he'd be banging me intensely as I sat on the edge and he stood between my legs, his cock deep inside me.

As tempting as it was to fuck him, I knew it would diminish my standing as a professor in his eyes. Thus I'd have to satisfy my own lust after he left. It was a purely physical desire and I had no interest in him as a lover. We both might enjoy it, but then I'd have to dismiss him and act as it had never happened if I ever saw him again. Even if he dropped his paper into my mailbox, he'd be around the campus for two more years.

Oh, the sacrifices I have to make for academic integrity. I refused to degrade myself by balling one of my students.

I brusquely said, "Get your clothes together and get out of here. And have that paper by the end of the day after tomorrow. Just put it in my mailbox before five P.M."

"I'll have it done. Thank you, Professor Meara."

I snapped at him, "Don't say anything, just go already."

I was upset, horny, and angry at the same time. It didn't have anything to do with him. Instead, it was caused my own conflicted feelings about using this episode to indulge my fetishes and then pulling back from the verge of ending it with a bout of sexual intercourse.

When Paul was gone, I went over to the door and locked it. Within two minutes I was lying on my desktop while shoving a dildo in and out of myself. (I kept one handy at the bottom of a desk drawer.) The orgasm that resulted was intense.

*****

When I came back to reality, I was lying on my living room couch, recovering from said orgasm. As I relaxed, I wondered why I had invented that particular storyline. Of course, among the notable aspects of domination were the bizarre things I said during a session.

It had been nearly two years since I had dumped Paul, and he had long since moved on to new girlfriends. I still knew him because he was on the same college newspaper with me. He had invited me to join when we were both starting our sophomore years and we were now seniors.

He had never been in any of my later fantasies until I made him the subject of those punishment stories. Maybe imagining him was a kind of hook to make my story believable to myself. It certainly had a lot to do with the kind of power and authority I was able to wield as a dominatrix.

Except, I had no lover during that fall of 1976. Frankly, I was lonely. My money and my new apartment did not make up for that.

I was struck by the irony that any legitimate job I got after graduation would probably not pay enough for me to afford the rent at that place. Surely I would have saved up a significant amount of money by then, but I didn't want to blow it all on housing. It wasn't that important for me to live in Manhattan.

Yet I still found my fantasy to be an interesting one. My clients paid for their pain and humiliation. In my university scenario, Paul had received all that from me, but he was compelled to do it by the circumstances I had imposed on him.

In reality, when we had played BDSM games, he had enjoyed it all too. We had been, for four months, two switches in love. As Gilda had said, could anything be sweeter?

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