Madeline Trains The Professor

Call me Professor. Madeline does; everyone does. I'm retired now, so I'm not really a professor any more, but I've been called that for so many years that I don't even think about correcting the youngsters when they use that salutation.

I was manning the desk as a volunteer for the free, walk-in tutoring clinic over at the student union when she first approached me. I watched her march towards me with her arms folded across an eight-hundred page text book pressed tightly onto her breasts about nipple high. My eyes drilled directly through all eight-hundred pages and stopped at what I was certain must be two hardened nipple-buds beneath her thin tank top.

"I need help with this trigonometry stuff," she said, "but I can't even begin to talk about it here." She brushed a dangling lock of hair back away from her puffed-up eyes and stood with her clenched left fist folded back against her hip.

"And why is that," I said. "I mean I understand why you might need help with trigonometry, but why can't we talk about it here at the walk-in facility?"

"It's my boyfriend, Professor. I gave him the brush off last week but he just isn't getting the message. I told him, look, I'm at my peak right now and I've got to experience as much of life as possible before it passes me by. You know what I mean Professor?"

Did I know what she meant? She was an eighteen year old college coed on a campus full of horny men. She had the body of a pubescent pole dancer and the mouth of a blow-up fuck-me-doll and she was worried that life was going to pass her by.

"Yes, I understand completely," I said, "what do you suggest?"

Her eyes focused on the toes of her left tennis-shoe as she ground it into the linoleum floor tile. "Well," she said, "my aunt has a house just off campus and she lets me study there in the afternoons. She's never around because she works the day shift at the hospital and it would be very private and quiet there."

What could I say? I knew this was going to lead to trouble but hey, I was the guy whose life was passing him by - I had to go for it. I grabbed my wrist to check my pulse and felt my chest tighten. "OK," was my suave, debonair response.

She grinned as she set down the folded note with her address on it. "One o'clock tomorrow afternoon," she said.

My mouth gaped open as I watched her twirl and march briskly back out of the room. I couldn't keep my leering eyes from following her haunches as they swayed hypnotically, left, right, left, right, and out the door. What had I gotten myself into I wondered.

_________________________________

It took only six sessions to get to the point we're at now. I know, it sounds like a long time but really, in the total scheme of things, what are six little weeks.

"Are you ready, Professor?" Madeline asks.

Ready? Are you kidding. I've been ready all day. I've been ready since I almost tossed off a wet dream this morning when I woke up to find my cat licking my face. I've been ready since ten minutes after our last session ended a week ago. Am I ready? Of course I'm ready!

"No, I'm not quite ready, could I have a minute, please?"

"Of course, Professor, we don't want to begin until we've established the proper framework, do we," she says.

Framework? You come over here and bend over this table and flip up your pretty, pleated, school-girl skirt and show me those pink panties and that perfect, peach shaped butt and then we can talk about proper frameworks. How does that sound miss goody-two-shoes.

"Right, Miss Madeline," I say. "Thank you for your patience - we both know how important it is to begin in the proper framework."

"Absolutely, Professor. We've come a long way in just six short sessions. I'm so proud of us. But we really need to get started soon. My aunt will be home in less than three hours and you know how long it took us last time."

"I know," I say, "but that was because we took a break in the middle of our session and had a glass of wine on the back porch and then came back to finish."

"That's exactly right, Professor," she says, "and I have every reason to believe that we will be needing a similar break again this week. I mean really Professor, the sessions are getting quite intense and you no longer possess the stamina of a younger man."

"Thank you for pointing that out Miss Madeline. All right, I'm ready now!"

"Good for you, Professor, and such enthusiasm. My goodness! I'll begin as soon as you ask for the first two."

Ask? I hate having to ask. Why can't she just give them to me? It's so embarrassing, so humiliating to have to ask a young college coed to spank your ass.

"Please Miss Madeline, may I have two of your best."

"Well, that's a beginning Professor, but you know that's not how we talked about it. Full verbalization, Professor, you know how important that is. Two nice swift ones, then please try again."

She grins as she swings the leather slapper with full force: a forehand and a backhand. She wants me to try again, that's what she says, but I know what she really wants. She wants me to embarrass myself; to humiliate myself by freely confessing my most shameful intimate behaviors.

"I'm a compulsive masturbator," I say, "I should be spanked for lacking the self discipline to control my nasty urges."

"That's better Professor, but you know those aren't the words you've been taught to use. Six more, then try again please."

Three more forehand-backhand combinations. They're starting to sting like the dickens.

"Alright, alright," I say, "I'm a willie-wanker, a jerky-boy. I pound my pud, spank my monkey and polish my flute. I need you to supervise my disgusting jerk-off sessions and only give me permission to cum when I've earned the privilege. Is that enough of the vernacular for you?"

"Now don't get testy, Professor. You know you need this. You want it, you deserve it and I'm going to give it to you. Eight very hard ones, Professor, all forehands, but I'll space them out so that you'll have time to relax and breathe between each one. You see, I've learned also over the last six weeks. I know how desperately you want to please me and take the best I can give, but you need time to compose yourself between each swat in order to make your best efforts. Isn't that right, Professor?"

How has she gotten to know me so well is just six short weeks. I did want desperately to please her; to earn her approval and respect by demonstrating the depths of submission I was willing to stoop to just for a moment of her attention.

"I'm doing this for you, Professor, because I know it's what you want - what you need."

I breathe deeply between each stroke. With each inhale, I smell the perfumes of a ripe young female, waiting to be pleasured. They are the same smells that greet a man when he first walks through the doors at Victoria's Secret. With each exhale I try to refocus my mind by thinking up story titles: "Zen and the art of discipline spankings;" "Behavior modifications for wussy -wankers." Finally they're over; both cheeks are filled with the heat of my submission.

"I think we're up to sixteen now Professor. Your bottom is glowing a nice shade of pink. Do you think I can get it to match my panties before we get to twenty?"

Four more like that? I don't think I can take it. I hate pain. I wonder if she knows that I hate pain?

"Yes, spank me please. Hurt me. Let my tears demonstrate the depths of my commitment."

"I'll try, Professor, but you know it's not easy to make a man your age shed a tear. Eight more, then I want to try something new."

"You are a princess, Madeline. In fact, the name Madeline is Gaelic for little princess."

"Is that true, Professor, or did you just make it up?"

"Sixty-six percent of all statistics are made up on the fly, Miss Madeline. Making things up is a long honored tradition - it's called politics."

"Here they come now, Professor." Left, right, left, right. "Go ahead and scream if you want to. Beg, cry, whatever. I won't think any less of you. In fact, I will admire you all the more for it. To stand there bent over my aunt's kitchen table and take a spanking so severe that it brings tears to your eyes and howls to your voice, that really is the ultimate expression of respect isn't it? You must be very strong and brave - or is it just that you love the pain?"

Left, right, left, right.

Those last four were almost unbearable. I don't think I could have endured them without the knowledge that they were delivered with such concern and compassion.

"You've gotten to know me so well that you spaced them out perfectly. Thank you for being so understanding."

"You're welcome, Professor. Now for a change of pace, I'm going to give you four more that will leave you nicely marked. I bought a new quirt that is thin and whippy. It will leave four beautiful criss-cross marks right at the center of your puffy cheeks."

"Please Miss Madeline, you can't mark me! You know I'm leaving next week for ten days in Mexico with the campus archaeology club. We fly to Cancun, then travel five hours by bus to the Mayan city of Coba where we'll be helping with a dig."

"And you're concerned about what, Professor, that the marks will show when you go skinny dipping in the Golf of Mexico with all those hormone-heightened spring-break girls-gone-wild? In your dreams, Professor. The only surf you're going to share with those girls is on one of those web tease-sites you waste your time on late at night."

"Please Miss Madeline, I'm only thinking about the amount of time I'll be sitting on the plane and then on the bus. Isn't there some alternative that would be equally compelling. I do sincerely appreciate your efforts in modifying my compulsive behaviors."

"There you go again with the ten dollar words. Alright, I'll whip your dick and your balls instead of marking you, is that what you'd like?"

"My balls? Not too hard, right?"

"I'll whip as hard as I feel like won't I Professor? And you'll have to beg me to do it. That's the deal Professor, take it or leave it."

"All right Miss Madeline, what ever you say. You're in charge."

"Yes I am, and just so you remember it, I'm going to give you some homework assignments to complete while you're in Mexico."

"Homework assignments? I haven't had any homework assignments since I was a teenager."

Ah, those were the days, peaking up from under the bleachers during the cheerleaders practices.

"Just something to maintain your arousal, as if all those coeds in their skimpy, fetishistic daisy-dukes won't be enough. I doubt that you'll be arrested, but you will no doubt find these assignments thoroughly humiliating."

"Oh Miss Madeline, you understand me so well. Thank you for taking the time to train me to be a better man."

"It's only fair, Professor. After all, I'm now getting an 'A' in Trigonometry. I've put together just a few simple activities to remind you that the coed back home is the one who owns your orgasms and that you're not allowed any nasty jisms no matter where you are without my express permission."

"It's a ten day trip Miss Madeline. I've never gone that long before. Even a man my age needs his relief."

"Men, all they dream about are their orgasms. Ten minutes after they pop one off, they're already thinking about where the next one is coming from. I'll bet if I bent over that window sill and let you stick it to me from behind, you'd be staring out the window looking for your next conquest before your jizz even started dribbling down my thighs."

Wrong on that one, sweetheart. I'd be down on my knees, licking it up before it dribbled down your thighs.

"I'm sure you're right, Miss Madeline. Men are animals; they should be horsewhipped regularly just to keep them in line."

"Of course they should, but you're lucky you found me, rather than one of those man-hating bitches that just wants to get even for every abuse they've ever suffered from a man."

"As I've said, Miss Madeline, you're a princess."

She pokes her finger into the center of her cheek and twists while smiling demurely, "Yes, I guess I am, aren't I," she says. "All right my dear, let's move on to a little 'corner time' before we hit the books."

Corner time! I love corner time; I hate corner time. It's the most god-awful, wonderful, frustrating experience a man can endure.

"Go ahead Professor, start with one-hundred long slow ones. All the way out to the tip, then all the way back until your fist presses into your balls."

I assume the standard corner-time posture without complaint. Each foot spread twenty inches out along the perpendicular axis projecting from the common vertex at the corner of the room and forming a perfect right triangle with a hypotenuse of just over twenty-eight inches. Forehead pressed into the corner and knees bent liberally until they press against their respective walls, leaving maximum exposure to my unprotected genitals.

As directed, I commence the long slow strokes of the first hundred with my right hand while pressing down and back on my balls with my left hand.

"It must be difficult for you, Professor, maintaining such an exposed posture when you know full well that I'm about to discipline your balls. How brave and courageous you must be."

I grit my teeth and brace for the impact that I know is coming - but it never comes. Then, finally, the tip of the slapper slides gently under my balls and presses them up into my scrotum as if they're being weighed.

"Are your balls full today, Professor? Have you avoided any nasty accidents during this past week?"

I focus on maintaining both pace and distance with my strokes while trying to answer her questions as honestly as possible.

"I'm sure my balls are quite full today, Miss Madeline. I almost had two separate accidents this week but I stopped myself both times. Only a few drops oozed out and I assure you there was no pleasure associated with those minor spills."

"Good boy, Professor. As I've explained, taking yourself as close as possible to the edge, without going over, is the key to controlling your nasty perversions. And what did you do with the drops that leaked, Professor?"

"As you've instructed, Miss Madeline, I licked them off my fingers. I haven't yet acquired a taste for semen but I trust you when you tell me that it will develop eventually."

"I'm sure it will, Professor. I personally developed a taste for cum this summer in the back seat of my boyfriend's car. Boy's his age are so needy and demanding, if you know what I mean, Professor. Of course, that was before I realized I could keep him just as satisfied by encouraging him to use his own hand on himself. Then I started making him ask for permission for his cummies and by the end of the summer he was so pussy-whipped that it just wasn't fun for me any more and I had to move on."

I closed my eyes and visualized Madeline in the back seat of my car, her cheeks concaved and her perfect, round, red lips sucking on the head of my dick. Before I knew it, my pace had quickened and my strokes had shortened.

Whack! The slap up between my legs connected perfectly with my dangling testicles.

"Stay focused, Professor. I'm going to whip your balls now, then we'll do the dick whippings. Go ahead when you're ready, Professor."

Go ahead she says, that's all, but I know what she wants. She wants me to beg her to whip my balls. What kind of a lunatic must I be to be bent over in the corner about to beg an eighteen year old college freshman to whip my balls. Sure, she's cute. She's even more than cute. She's hot. She's a fox. She's a babe. But is that any reason for a retired professor emeritus to be begging to have his balls whipped?

"Please, whip my balls. Make them sting so that I can remember when I have an orgasm that it flows from the hand of my goddess-masterbatrix and from the grace and goodness of her heart."

The pain is excruciating, but I hunker my forehead down another inch on the wall, allowing me to bend further at the knees and push my balls back in further submission to my goddess.

"Good boy, Professor. Now give me fifty short fast ones, then another fifty long slow ones. Keep alternating like that till you get to the edge. You know what to do then, don't you Professor?"

I knock out the first fifty short ones with practiced concentration, then start in again on the fifty long ones. Just as I hit my stride, I hear the door to the freezer open, then, a moment later, a tin pie plate clanks as it lands on the table top. I know immediately what it is and my dick moves another twenty degrees towards the ceiling in response.

A few more strokes and I'm finally there - that transcendental neither region that lies just before the point of no return. I knew what I have to do - I have to ask. I know what the answer will be, but I have to ask anyway.

"Please Miss Madeline, please may I have a nasty cummie. Please may I shoot my jism and then lick it up for your amusement?" I know what the answer will be and I tear my hand away from my dick before she can even open her mouth.

"No silly, you know it's not time for any cummies yet. Turn around now and let's do your dick whippings."