tagBDSMMy First Thrashing

My First Thrashing


My First Time With Another Woman

Hi, I'm Melanie. I'm twenty-one and attending a local college - and still a virgin. I knew that my petite, pixie-like, small-breasted body, and my elfin face, framed by shoulder-length blonde hair, had drawn admiring looks from many boys and men; for that matter, I'd often noticed the looks of other women; especially in the showers after my daily workout in the college facilities.

I keep myself bare of any body hair below my neck, fastidiously removing it from under my arms, on my legs, between my butt cheeks (only peach fuzz there, according to the bikini wax girl at the salon) and, of course, a Brazilian wax for my vulva and perineum.

I reveled in the perfection of my body and looked forward to giving myself to another; I was conflicted, though, as to whether that person should be a boy or a girl.

I had been going to college both as a pastime and also to meet the requirements of my trust. My grandmother had died some years ago, leaving me a sizable trust – well in excess of eight million dollars.

The trust had provided me with an income of $1,000 each week beginning on my eighteenth birthday and continuing until my twenty-first birthday, when I'd received a lump sum payment of over ten million dollars.

It seems that the trust grew substantially while I had been matriculating enjoying a comfortable life style sustained by my weekly stipend.

My birthday had recently passed and through some fancy accounting, I'd received nearly all of this bequest, tax free. I'd never need to work and would want for nothing material for the rest of my life.

As to my sex life, this was definitely an area of my life that could benefit from my attention.

I'd had relatively intimate contact with only one girl.

In high school, I'd invited my best friend to my house one weekend for a sleepover. Vicki was, as the saying goes, cuter than a spotted pup wearing a hat, though it's somewhat immodest of me to say that as we were often mistaken for twins when out and about shopping or whatever.

We'd both celebrated our eighteenth birthdays during this final year of school and I looked forward to going to college in the fall.

My parents had been gone for a weekend getaway and we had access to the liquor cabinet, wine cooler, and some primo weed that I'd stashed for the occasion.

I already said that Vicki was my so-called Doppelganger; so, I guess that makes me more than a little narcissistic as I found myself, for the first time, feeling stirrings of desire for another girl.

To clarify, I mean sexual desire. I didn't want to pair and become 'significant others' or, God forbid, spouses.

I did, though, have thoughts of touching Vicki's body. Beyond thoughts, I'd had a recurring dream of massaging and caressing her body, hopefully delving into her most secret places, giving her pleasure and finding out what it was like to 'experiment' with another girl.

We started the evening with a bottle of my Dad's fine wine, getting a bit giggly from its effect. After we polished off the bottle and decanted a second one, it was time to move to step two of my seduction. It took no coaxing on my part to find us both immersed in bubbles, up to our necks in our backyard hot tub.

Our backyard was surrounded by a well-kept privacy fence so we were able to strip naked and slide into the hot water, our wine glasses on the surrounding table, within easy reach.

I'd also brought the second bottle with us, putting it into a wine bucket, the ice water in the bucket keeping the bottle ready for our refills.

As I looked around the patio, recalling the delicious sight of Vicki's nude body when we'd stripped and pranced to the hot tub, both naked, her proclivity for shaving her pubes also, causing us to appear even more twin-like, my gaze focused on the massage table that my parents used from time to time, giving one another massages, typically both in the nude, often after a soak in the tub.

As if it were a thought that had just occurred, I asked Vicki if she would like a massage, telling her that Dad and Mom often gave each other massages after their soak. I explained that I'd never given a massage but that I'd watched them and thought that I'd be able to rub away sore muscles and such.

Vicki had no reason to suspect any ulterior motive on my part, since we'd often seen each other nude, in the hot tub, swimming naked in our in-ground pool, and in the showers at school after soccer practice.

That being the case, Vicki immediately acquiesced to my suggestion, leaving the tub, her perfection on display for my own private enjoyment, and drying herself with one of the bath sheets stacked next to the tub.

As I also exited the tub, I asked her to get comfortable on the massage table and began drying myself. I had no logical reason to put my clothes back on and I soon found myself standing beside the table, totally nude, preparing to lay my hands on my best friend's nude body, and wondered if she could detect the scent of my arousal that I could feel in my pussy.

I knew that I didn't want to freak her out and resolved to take it slowly. Unfortunately, I took it too slowly or had plied Vicki with a bit too much wine, as she rapidly fell asleep before I'd even finished her back.

The last thing that I remember doing, as she slipped into unconsciousness, was the incredible rush that I'd felt, massaging her inner thighs and grazing lightly against her lips, running my hands over her round buttocks as I'd seen Dad do when he rubbed Mom.

I could feel that Vicki had gotten wet, and I don't mean from the tub, and this caused the level of my own arousal to grow even more.

Wet or not, Vicki had passed out and, although I was tempted to do so, I refrained from caressing her body any further, considering such an action on my part to be akin to 'date rape'.

I was able to help Vicki off of the table and assist her into my bedroom, where she quickly fell into a deep sleep in my king-size bed.

My consolation prize, so to speak, was the treat of spooning my nude body with Vicki's and this was how I fell asleep, content to accept this quirk of fate and satisfy myself with this sensuality – even though we'd been denied the sexuality that I'd yearned for.

Vicki and I woke up, both still nude, both a bit hung over from the wine, and one of us embarrassed.

Not me; I'd thoroughly enjoyed falling asleep with my naked friend in my arms, my breasts in constant contact with her back and my pussy nestled against her round butt cheeks.

Vicki, though, was obviously flustered and sprang from the bed heading to the bathroom to take care of the morning's business.

I stayed in bed while she was in the shower, tempted to join her but intuiting that this would be the wrong move.

Finally, she emerged from the shower, wrapped in a towel, looking around the room for her clothes, obviously having forgotten where she'd discarded them the night before.

As I rose from the bed and sauntered to the bathroom for my shower, I crossed my fingers and toes and suggested,

"Why don't we just stay naked, Vicki? We can catch some rays and enjoy the pool."

This was something that we'd done often in the past and I thought that Vicki would be comfortable with my suggestion.

I wasn't disappointed when she approved of my idea and told me she'd meet me outside after I'd showered.

The day had some high points, such as the time that we spent applying lotion to each other's backs to protect from burning.

As I rubbed the lotion onto Vicki's back, I continued past her waist and massaged it into the silken skin of her backside.

I could sense that she wasn't completely content with this treatment and resisted the temptation to insinuate my fingers between her cheeks.

Those high points were rare, though, and our contact was limited to this relatively innocent (to Vicki) activity.

Beyond the touch, was the treat of spending the late morning and afternoon together, both nude, both sharing this intimacy, anyway, as we frolicked in the pool and basked in the sun on the pool's apron.

As (bad) luck would have it, Vicki's mom called and summoned her home to babysit her two little brothers, her parents having to attend a function that her father had forgotten about.

After that afternoon, fate dictated that there was never an opportune time to pursue my girl-crush, nor to experiment with my so-called 'bi-curious' stirrings.

For that matter, I didn't know if I was bi-sexual or simply a lesbian who'd not self-actualized that scary (at the time) eventuality.

High school graduation came and college arrived. There was only one incident during my senior year of high school that I played and replayed in my daydreaming and during my nighttime dreams.

One of my teachers, Ms. Sims, had attracted me since she'd arrived at our school. A transplant from Great Britain (I would have said simply, England, but she'd made it clear that this short version of her home country was not acceptable to her), she had the British accent and a demeanor that reminded me of the strict young lady of 'The Governess' who'd thrashed poor (?) Richard Lovell in a novel that I'd read often enough to have the paperback falling apart.

When I'd read and re-read the novel, I'd always imagined myself in Richard's place, suffering the thrashing that his Governess so severely inflicted on his naked flesh.

Tall and slender, her breasts were full and her rounded bottom could not be totally concealed by the skirts that she wore.

I fell into instant puppy-love when I first laid my eyes on her and this fixation had proven to cause a painful result.

Caught daydreaming in her class, I'd been ordered to stay after school and report to her classroom.

I wasn't sure what was going to happen but I dreaded what was to come. I'd heard from other students that Ms. Sims used a paddle to apply corporal punishment to unruly boys but I'd never heard of a girl getting paddled.

At eighteen years old, I'd never been spanked and certainly never paddled.

As I thought of these possibilities on my way to her classroom, the school virtually empty as the students and other faculty having vacated the building, my feelings were ambiguous.

On one hand, I feared the paddle; I'd never been even spanked, my parents not believing in corporal punishment.

In spite of that fear, though, was an excitement that I didn't understand. I only knew that my dreams had me naked and submitting to a thrashing from my would-be English Governess, in the person of Ms. Sims.

I could feel the dampness within the small gusset of my g-string and was worried that Ms. Sims would be disapproving if she learned that I was wearing such a garment in school.

As soon as this thought occurred, it was immediately followed by the question, why did I imagine that she would see my underwear?

True, my skirt was rather short but I wasn't doing cartwheels or headstands, so it would be unlikely that my g-string would be visible.

This nonsense, in instant retrospect, was specious. My panties were damp because of the dreams that I'd had where Ms. Sims had spanked me, actually caned me, to be precise.

This vision was what caused my concern that she would see my underwear. She would see me in a g-string if she chose to give me a bare-bottom spanking. Or, if she simply had me raise my skirt for a spanking 'over my panties', she would be confronted by my totally bare buttocks, with only a thin thread of material extending between my cheeks.

The door was closed and I knocked, already worried about what would occur on the other side.

Hearing Ms. Sims' order to enter, I opened the door and, with trembling legs and twitching buttocks, closed it behind me before approaching Ms. Sims who was sitting behind her desk.

"Stand in front of my desk, Melanie. I don't know if you understand why you are here. Let me be explicitly clear.

If you submit to a spanking here and now, your recent behavior will be dealt with and forgotten.

If you don't wish to submit to a paddling, you will be expelled and the school board will need to rule on the expulsion. Needless to say, if you go that route, you won't graduate this year and will need to repeat your senior year.

"What do you wish to do, Melanie?"

"I'll take the spanking, Ms. Sims."

"I want you to understand that I don't paddle over a skirt. I will require that you remove your skirt and also your blouse, as I don't want your blouse hanging down and protecting your bottom. Please remove your skirt and blouse, now."

Although she'd said please, I knew that this was an order and not a request. I'd never expected to have my blouse taken off for my spanking and now realized that not only was I going to catch hell for the g-string but also infuriate her with the fact that my adolescent breasts were without a bra.

This was my standard procedure since my young breasts were what a writer would probably describe as 'perky'. A nice handful for a future lover.

I hoped that my physical attractiveness would somehow mitigate Ms. Sims' shock and approbation over the lack of a bra and the g-string. I didn't have to wait long to find out.

"Good, Lord. What is that you're wearing? Is that a g-string? I can't believe that you would wear such a thing to school and in a few moments I intend to drive that home to you on your bare bottom.

Be advised, Melanie, when I spank I spank to tears; not alligator tears but genuine sobbing. Now get your blouse off and we'll get this over with."

After her reaction to my choice of underwear, I knew without a doubt that I wouldn't exactly make a hit when I took off my blouse and revealed my lack of a bra. Bingo!

"Are you serious, Melanie? No bra? Here's the deal. I was planning on giving you ten swats with the paddle, over your panties.

As I said a minute ago, your choice of underwear ensures that the paddling will be applied to your bare bottom without any protection that would normally be afforded, by even the thinnest of silk.

"Add to this ten the very fact that you chose to wear the g-string, merits another ten swats.

"Next, the lack of a bra, another ten swats. I want you to stand in front of my desk with your elbows on it, bent at the waist, with your legs spread, shoulder-width.

You may cry, as I'm sure that you will, but I expect you to keep your sobbing under control. We are likely the only ones in the building now, but I don't want to hazard an interruption.

I felt terribly exposed and vulnerable, having followed her instructions and now finding myself with my body totally nude, save for a skimpy g-string. I knew that this posture would reveal my vulva, barely contained in the tiny pouch in the front of the g-string. I wondered if Ms. Sims would be able to tell that I shaved my pussy and pubic area.

These mental machinations were abruptly halted by the unbelievable sting of the wooden paddle that Ms. Sims wielded. The first spanking of my life and any eroticism that I'd imagined was removed by that first swat.

Tears were already in my eyes when I heard Ms. Sims speaking to me.

"You will count each swat, Melanie. You will say, two, Ms. Sims, and three, Ms. Sims, and so forth. If you mess up the count I will start over at number one. If you fail to voice a count, that swat will be repeated. You will start at two. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Ms. Sims."

My bottom became a blazing inferno as Ms. Sims continued with my spanking, my paddling, with vigor. Barely would I call out the number before she paddled me again.

I don't know how I got through that paddling but, not that many minutes later, I found myself, still bent over the desk, sobbing like a little girl who's lost her puppy.

I could feel Ms. Sims' comforting, cool hand, stroking my buns gently and talking to me.

I hope that we won't need to repeat this experience in the future."

As I tried to get it together and button my blouse, I somehow intuited that it would be appropriate to speak. With a tear-streaked face and sniffling like a little girl, I looked Ms. Sims in the eye.

"Thank you, Ms. Sims for spanking me. I deserved your punishment."

"You're welcome, Melanie. I hope that you understand that I don't enjoy having to spank you so severely. However, faced with your behavior and immodest dress, I felt that it was my duty. Now, please leave and this will be forgotten, as I promised you."

There was nothing more to say and I had replaced my skirt, blouse and shoes by now so I simply turned and left the classroom, carefully closing the door behind me.

I'd learned something this day. I'd learned that a spanking's pleasure was derived by the anticipation before the event and by the after-glow that I was now feeling as the throbbing and burning in my bottom was being transferred to my pussy. I could feel my juices literally running down my legs.

That was the only time that I was spanked by Ms. Sims, or anyone else for that matter. I had only the memory of baring myself before the object of my affection, and doing penance with my pain – with my tears.

That memory served me well, in my dreams and awake at night, alone, with my fingers bringing me pleasure; but my pleasure was a result of my digital manipulation not more than my bringing to mind my spanking.

The memory of my spanking somehow caused the fantasy of my tear-covered face between Ms. Sims' thighs.

While I thought of her constantly, after graduation, I never saw Ms. Sims again. Until tonight.

I'd heard of this place at my new college's cafeteria, overhearing two girls at a nearby table enthusing about the dancing and drinking and generally festive atmosphere.

I'd never been here, though, and had a bit of difficulty finding it on a little-traveled side street, the only business open at this hour.

I'd arrived shortly after dark and the neon in the front windows seemed inviting and I entered with positive expectations.

My eyes were adjusting to the light and smoky atmosphere. As I walked deeper into the club I realized that the only men here were with each other.

Most of the patrons were women and many of them were partnered on the dance floor while others cuddled in commodious booths along one long wall and the rear wall.

I'd obviously stumbled into a gay club, something I'd never before experienced.

I figured why not stay for a drink and do some people-watching. I was lucky to grab a booth as a couple was leaving and looked for a waitress.

Before long, one approached, took my drink order and returned with the cocktail quickly. As I sat by myself, sipping on my drink, I scanned the crowd to see if I recognized anybody

And, then I saw her; Ms. Sims. She must have caught my vibe because she turned in my direction and stared into my eyes, a broad smile coming to her beautiful face.

I found myself excited as I saw that she was headed to my table and wondered what we'd say. Was she gay? I guess she must be if she's here.

"Melanie? Is that you? What a pleasant surprise. I didn't think that I would see you again; certainly not in a place like this. Do you mind if I join you?"

"Please do, I didn't recognize anybody here until I saw you and would enjoy some company. You look stunning, Ms. Sims."

And, she did. Ms. Sims was wearing calf-high, black leather boots and a black leather mini-skirt above the boots. She had a black leather vest, open, revealing her bare breasts beneath it.

"The last time I saw you, I was paddling your cute little bottom and enjoying your crying. I couldn't comment at the time but I also enjoyed your juices trickling down your inner thighs, the aroma of your arousal driving me to distraction, wishing that I could lick your thighs and between your butt cheeks. Do you think that you would have liked that, Melanie?"

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