Kinktober 2020 - Day 10

{I wrote this in one day! I hope there's no mess ups that I missed (I'm sure there are). I don't know if this is the same sort of pleasure that other people get from spankings, but this is what I like about them! My favorite thing to be spanked with is a plastic cane that I bought on vacation. It hurts a lot a lot a lot, and leaves some impressive welts. The last time I was spanked with it, I even got some bruises! Anyway, I offer this to you, my lovely perverts, and I hope the ending isn't too weird...}

Abandoned on the steps as an infant, I was raised in the Academy. I wasn't the only orphan there, in fact, most of us had no idea where we had come from. Some hadn't manifested any magical talent until they were older. Everyone agreed they had it worse than those raised from infancy by the crooked old magicians running the place, and that sturdy aging old headmistress that ruled over them. You see, it was easier to take the punishments when you'd never known anything else.

It wasn't difficult to earn a punishment. Something as simple as waking up late could merit several firm smacks from the fleshy palm of whichever witch was playing matron that morning on your bare bottom. I was very familiar with the warm flushed tenderness of a thoroughly thrashed seat.

At first I resented it, hated how I was meant to bare myself to any old hag and how they could wring unwilling tears from me. I rarely regretted what I'd done to deserve the beating, but I did regret that they could make me cry out as if I did.

Over the years, I began to relish the warmth that came from misbehaving. That nice rosy glow that I could feel through my nightgown as I lay in bed made me feel wet in places unreachable by my tears. I took to sleeping in, just to start my day with a smack that would leave me tender all day.

If you tried something worse-sneaking out, meeting with civilians, shirking responsibilities, or fraternizing with other students-well, then you'd have to meet the headmistress in her office. She had a cabinet there, dark and gleaming with menace. If she was feeling kind, she would open the doors and choose a tool from inside. If, however, her heart was hardened against you then you would have to approach this intimidating cabinet yourself.

To an untrained eye, it was as if the headmistress collected sticks and spatulas. Once you'd had your first experience choosing from the cabinet-and the punishment that followed-you knew better. The headmistress had a most impression collection, but nothing within it could be considered a "stick" or a "spatula".

My first peek into the cabinet came when I had set fire to the hen house. The feathered ladies were well away from the place at the time, and it truly was an accident, but once the hay caught I was entranced, and failed to fetch water or help before the small building was engulfed. Nevertheless, the headmistress was livid, and aside from being assigned to assist the carpenter in making a new one, I was to have my first look into the cabinet.

Hanging within, on a row of hooks along the back, were canes and switches. Another row of hooks below had shorter implements; paddles, floggers, whips coiled up to hang neatly. There were other things laid out on the bottom of the cabinet, none of which I had seen before, many quite strange looking, and all with a handle at one end.

I'd been spanked by the headmistress for many years, I was nearly full grown and ready to graduate when I burned down the hen house, which likely contributed to the severity of my punishment. I'd grown accustomed to being spanked with a hand, and my bottom had become tougher. The wetness no longer streamed down my face as she drew back her hand again and again, but now crept down my inner thighs instead. But I'd never been spanked with anything else.

I chose a broad, squat paddle, with holes drilled into it. It seemed fairly harmless, similar in shape and size to a hand-if you didn't count the handle-and I was confident I could withstand such an onslaught. The look on the old lady's face when she saw my choice immediately made me question it.

She had an old overstuffed chair in her office, straight-backed but otherwise round and soft. Over the arm of this chair was where we were to lean to receive discipline. I pulled down my drawers, flipped my skirt and petticoat up over my back, and braced myself on the seat of the chair.

I felt her warm hand on my lower back, and then heard the whoosh of something flying through the air, followed by a loud smack and a bloom of pain on my right cheek. I nearly choked on the sound that came out of me, a startled squawk that I vowed not to repeat just as the whooshing sound came again. With the second smack I grit my teeth, my eyes burning with the sudden tears welling up.

The third and fourth blows created a tight sensation in my throat I had never experienced before, the pain seemed to race up my body and lodge there. For a moment I couldn't breathe. Tears dripped down my face, I sucked my lower lip into my mouth and clamped my teeth on it to prevent any cries from escaping.

After that, I truly regretted choosing the paddle. It was nothing like being spanked with her hand; the headmistress herself experienced no sting from her blows and so used the entire force of her arm to strike me.

When it was all said and done, my bottom was on fire. I spent the rest of the day on tenterhooks, hardly able to sit properly, but unable to do anything else. Never before had sitting at my desk all day been such a trial.

That night when I changed for bed, the other girls in my dorm were shocked to see the state of me. My ass was flushed deep red, with rising purple bruises and a few places where it seemed the blood had welled up through split skin. They cooed over me and applied salve before helping me into bed and tucking me in, each of the twelve gently pressing a kiss to my face before wishing me a good night.

The next morning I decided I wanted to visit the cabinet again as soon as I could sit properly.

I spent the next several weeks helping to rebuild the hen house and scheming what I would do next to get the chance to choose something else from the headmistress' collection.

My opportunity came completely by accident. I'd been meeting with one of the older girls in one of the green houses at night. She was teaching me the best way to pleasure her with my mouth. I'd finally figured out how much teeth to use on her nipples, and how to shape my tongue to lathe her clit, but was now focused on getting as much of my tongue inside her as I could.

Her hands were tangled in my hair, holding me steady and her hips made tiny pulses toward my face. The tang of her was all over my face, in my nose and coating my cheeks, dripping off my chin along with my saliva as I worked her open. I had my eyes closed to better focus on feeling her clench around my tongue, and her thighs were clamped so tightly against my head that I didn't know the door had been opened until she was shoving me away.

I fell to the floor, fully stunned and confused, and looked up to see one of the head magicians glaring down at me. My partner had jumped off the table and pulled her robe tight around her, eyes wide and wet before she turned and fled.

I didn't find out until the next morning that she'd given me up as the culprit. She painted me as the seducer and sole instigator of the acts, and so long as she incriminated me, she was forgiven her lapse in judgement. They never did like me very much at the academy.

That also meant that I would take enough of a beating to discipline not just myself, but her as well. It was the glint of glee in her eyes when the headmistress chose a long thin rod from her cabinet that I decided I was no longer interested in women-at least, as long as the women available were all students like myself.

The rod hurt so much more than the paddle. Rather than a broad swathe of contact, there was a focused line of it. The sharpness of the strokes dug into my flesh. With the paddle I had felt the rebound of my muscle, but the rod allowed no recoil. And where the holes in the paddle had allowed it to fly audibly through the air, the rod was nearly silent, but so much faster. The tough old broad was able to lay twice as many hits upon me, so quickly that I didn't even feel them all until moments later.

I'd had no time to think of smothering my tears or my shouts. I was sure anyone standing in the hall could have heard the way I wailed and beat the cushion beneath me. I wriggled and shifted, but it only made the blows land on places less accustomed to the punishment.

When it was all finished, my face was wet not just with tears but also snot and spit. Flushed and sweaty, panting as if I'd run a mile, I was helped to my feet. Very carefully, I pulled my drawers up, and let me skirts drop back down.

The sharp sting was gone, replaced with a burning that grew exponentially as I was led to the door and made my way down the halls. The rest of my day was meant to be spent in study, thinking not only on the error of my actions, but also my regular applications as well.

I made little progress. My ass was on fire, the soft worn cotton of my underwear as scratchy as burlap against the tenderness. I also couldn't deny that the heat of my cheeks had melted my core, and every shift of my thighs came with the molten gliding feeling between my lips.

I sat for as long as I could, trying to focus on the symbols on the page in front of me. The room was nearly silent, and I was loathe to draw attention to myself with my fidgeting. It wasn't embarrassing that I'd been punished, but if everyone found out I'd liked it so much, I'd never live it down.

After the sun had moved up over the side of the building, I finally stood and requested to be excused to rest in my room. It wasn't secret, that I'd been in the headmistress' office that morning, and so I was allowed to leave.

My bag bounced against my thigh, so close to where I was sore that it slowed me down on my rush to my dorm. The room I slept in was shared with twelve other girls-thirteen being the customary number of witches in a coven-with an attached bathing room.

It was a large communal space, with a privy at one end and an open bathing area at the other. There was a large framed mirror in the center, hung over a long vanity where we all dressed our hair and applied lotions and potions to our faces. The bathing side of the room had many pitchers and bowls, rags and towels and bars of soap all strewn about the ground and shelves.

I quickly stripped down to only my chemise, and tried to get a good look at my rear in the mirror. The skin was bright red, and I could see several large welts that crossed both cheeks. Already there were bruises raising to the surface, dark and purple and somehow quite beautiful. I took a cheek gingerly in each hand and gave them a squeeze, the stinging sensation zipped up my spine and I bit down on a moan.

With every shift I could feel the slide of my pussy lips. Ignoring the mirror, I slid my fingers down, combing through the curls and slipping my middle fingers between my lips. There was so much slick, I whimpered when I easily made contact with my clit, it was hard and sensitive.

I dropped to my knees, one hand behind me, gently prodding my sore bottom with my fingertips while my other hand slid deeper into my pussy. The amount of wetness made every thrust audible, not to mention the little gasps and moans that kept dropping from my lips.

Sweat broke out on my face, the heat from the spanking seemed to light all of me on fire. I leaned forward until my face rested on the cold stone beneath me. A chill raced down my spine and I broke out in goose bumps. I gasped at the prickly sensation it created on my overheated skin.

This was perfect; the coolness on my face allowed everything to be brought into sharper focus. With my ass in the air I continued to work my fingers, catching my clit on every thrust forward, fingertips prodding the aching flesh of my ass with every rock back. It wasn't long before I was on the edge, racing over, and shuddering into a boneless heap on the floor as it washed over me.

My pussy fluttered for several minutes, I could feel slick dripping up my fingers from where they were still buried deep inside me, pooling in the cup of my palm. Once I'd caught my breath I gingerly eased my fingers out of my cunt, bathed with cool water, and put myself to bed. It was the last time I remember having a restful nap.

After that, I generally tried not to visit the cabinet. Every few months I'd begin to feel too big for my own skin, like I had held everything together so tightly that I couldn't relax. It was then that I would find something to sabotage, or some peer willing to meet me in a risky location, or I'd say something I really shouldn't.

I'd always resented the headmistress; that dignified powerful woman, so in control, always able to make me show the tears I couldn't seem to allow myself. I've since found ways to express those feelings-the desire to be held down and disciplined, to be unable to contain my reactions-but I must admit that over time my resentment has turned to fondness.

Though her spankings never taught me the lesson she intended them to, I did learn many things from them. How to turn that edge of pain into a new and more powerful sort of pleasure. It was at the academy that I learned to ride the razor's, to master oneself through letting go and surrendering to something greater. Everything is mutable if you can focus your energies, even a spanking can become an orgasm.