The Principal's Officebyanalasis©
It is with great trepidation that I approach the principal's office, fearing the worst. I know I am to be punished; part of me dreading what is to come but, deep down, I tingle with excitement and quiet anticipation.
I am in my senior year in High School and only have dim memories of earlier childhood spankings.
The principal, a dour Scot, named McKinnon, is rumored to be harsh when it comes to punishment, relentless in administering cruel canings, invariably on the "bare".
So it is with some dread, I approach his door. Knocking quietly and, receiving no answer, I knock again, louder this time, and am bade to enter
Nervously, I enter, where Mr. McKinnon awaits, stern of face, frowning, but, then a look of surprise crosses his face, seeing who was his next candidate for discipline, since I have, so far, been a model student. He then smiles and motions me forward to his desk.
Laid out upon his desk are a cane, expected, but an open jar of white cream, a basin of water, washcloths and towels, do surprise me. Thinking they are to ease a sore backside after punishment, I give them no further thought.
His voice becomes husky, as he says "Let us move this along. Assume the position!" So I bend over the desk, thankful that, at least temporarily, I retain my pants and shorts.
Thinking it might go easier for me if I volunteer, I hesitantly ask "Should I lower my pants?" His immediate response of "No' takes me by surprise; pausing he again says "No," then adds what I most fear "Remove everything from the waist down, shoes and socks included."
I know that humiliation is part of the punishment but this latest command brings a flush to my cheeks; fighting back tears, I start to comply. Awkwardly, I begin to strip, first shoes and socks, then pants and underwear. I was about to resume my position over the desk when he lightly touches my shoulder, restraining me. My final humiliation now takes place as he orders me to remove my last items of clothing, saying 'Your tie and shirt may impede the strokes of the cane and that would never do," adding enigmatically, "and besides their removal may enhance what comes after!' Undoing my tie, and then removing my shirt, I feel vulnerable, totally exposed to his unflinching gaze.
"You may now resume the position." I once again embrace the desk, legs spread, back arched and knees slightly bent, presenting myself for punishment. With a note of petulance, as if I had been the cause of the delay, he states "So we are finally ready. Prepare yourself," and so my chastisement at last begins.
The first two strokes are not harsh, one high, just below the spine, the next one low, just above the thighs. Although painful, he knows what he is doing, marking the upper and lower limits of my coming ordeal.
He proceeds with measured intent, each stroke laid carefully on my tender buttocks.
As blow after blow is delivered with cold severity, the pain increases, each stroke building upon the last. I refuse to cry out, fearing it would unman me, biting back the urge, as the tears start in my eyes. Through a mist of pain, I hear him say "Lift your bottom to the cane. Protrude!" Involuntarily I respond, pushing back to receive the next stroke.
The intensity of the strokes increase, until all becomes a blur, as my distress melds into discomfort, then the beginnings of enjoyment. Gradually the pain recedes, replaced by a warm glow, the sound of the cane now sings only in my head as a quickening arousal takes hold. Involuntarily, my prick hardens and begins to rise, as if taking its own intimate pleasure from the cane.
Mr. McKinnon notices my arousal. Reaching forward, he fondles me briefly and says "You may touch yourself. Your very arousal may ease you into the final part of your punishment." There is that enigma again, but I cannot focus and, once again, let it slip from my mind.
So I stroke to the rhythm of the cane, until admonished to slow, fearing I might finish too soon.
I must have drifted off or removed to some limbo between pleasure and pain, until Mr. McKinnon's harsh voice brings me back from my reverie, reminding me that I am only half-way through my punishment.
With relentless strife, he continues to wield the cane but, eventually, I feel a slowing, as if his zeal is waning. The caning stops, the silence that follows hangs heavy, taut in anticipation.
"Now we get to the final part of your punishment?", but there is a question in his voice.
Behind me I hear the sound of a zipper being drawn down, the rustle of pants being lowered. Suddenly I understand his true intent. The cream was never meant to cool a tortured backside but, rather to ease the penetration of a virgin ass. I shudder in apprehension, fearing, yet wanting, what is to come.
Raising me up, he turns me round and gazes into my eyes. He sees acceptance and resignation there before he points to the jar of cream. I know what is expected of me; taking a glob of the rich white cream, I lather his cock, rubbing it well in, stroking him from the tip to his pendulous balls; the dark veins stand out in sharp contrast to the white cream.
It is then I notice a pearl of liquid on the tip; it seems natural to bend down and lick it off, a brief foretaste of things to come. He is well endowed, but I am relieved to note that, although long, it is not that thick and maybe I can tolerate it.
He seems disappointed that I cease my ministrations so soon; brusquely he puts out his hand to me and I dab a generous portion of the thick cream on his fingers and palm.
Then he turns me to face the desk again and, in a thick voice, commands that I present myself in a lewd manner, asking to be taken. The very crudity of his words shocks me but, also, sends a chill of excitement through my whole body.
I comply, at first reluctantly, then more willingly, as anticipation and hunger take hold. He applies the cream thickly, rubbing it in deeply, stimulating yet calming.
For such a harsh taskmaster, he is a surprisingly gentle lover; slowly he rubs back and forth in my crease, pausing at my entrance, to massage it with his tip and then continue with his sensuous caress. Several times he begins my penetration, only to withdraw and continue as before.
I don't know how long this lasts, but it seems a long time, until he finally begins his determined entry. His initial advance meets no resistance until he reaches my sphincter, which denies any further passage. Soothingly, I hear "Relax. Open yourself to me." I consciously loosen, desperately wanting to facilitate his passage; sliding past my sphincter and meeting no further obstacles, he advances to my very core. There he pauses and lingers, before he begins his long slow withdrawal. Unhurried, he starts another gradual advance, but now I am more compliant, wanting it to continue, wanting it to last.
At first my invasion is painful, but his assured thrusts and leisurely withdrawals, soon have me gasping with desire, hungry for more. He is obviously experienced, since he never forces, but gently probes, slowly working his way deep inside me, passing each obstruction, penetrating ever farther. Then begins a slow rhythm, increasing in tempo, as his excitement rises, his thrusts harder and longer.
I am totally impaled, riding out a storm of emotions never known before. I am being filled and fulfilled.
And thus he rides me, like the master he is, ever relentless and in control, sometimes at a gallop, then slowing to rein in my growing urgency, most often at a graceful and steady pace.
Then his hand moves forward, grasping my own, slowing me to match his thrusts, but adding another dimension to my increasing need. He continues for some time, bringing me to greater heights than I have ever known before, slowing to hold back, urging me forward but refusing to give me release.
My hips involuntarily move backwards to meet his every thrust, as he presses harder and deeper, his balls slap, slapping against my tender ass.
I sense he is about to climax as his thrusts quicken, becoming more urgent, his hand more insistent on my prick, thus hastening both our movements. Then, I feel my own need for relief rising, demanding immediate satisfaction.
He continues to masturbate me, urging me on, until, groaning with pleasure I come in wild long spurts, my semen plashing the side of the desk, slowly sliding down, to pool in stringy globules on the floor.
As I begin to ejaculate, I feel his first shuddering eruption inside, spasm after spasm shake me as he jets deeply within, bathing me in rich fluids. Then my ass takes hold, as it begins to contract of its own volition as intense waves roil through me, contractions deeply insistent, clenching the very prick that holds me in thrall, restricting yet enhancing the instrument of my pleasure.
His urgent throbs continue, since he is not quite done; although his movements slow; I feel the echo of his spasms, long after they have ceased. Finally he subsides and slowly retreats, to withdraw, leaving me with a sense of emptiness and loss.
He seems a gentler and kinder person now, as we both take breath and warm ourselves in the glow of post-coital bliss
I finally get to more thoroughly tend his cock, first washing and drying it, then kissing it tenderly, appreciating the service it has rendered. I view it differently now, not as an instrument of punishment but rather of pleasure. I briefly take him in my mouth and would have continued, but he is already sated and seems disinterested now.
His voice emerges suddenly, as he asks "Have you ever been ridden before laddie, well and truly ridden, as you have just now?"
At first his words don't register, his thick Scottish accent obscuring his meaning. Then it dawns on me, as I shake my head in wild protest, acknowledging that I have never experienced anything like this before. Seeming satisfied he nods, a wry smile upon his face.
He then bathes and applies cream to my abused ass and helps me dress, sending me on my way. He smiles again as I pass into the corridor, to make my tender way back to the classroom. I gingerly walk the corridor, knowing I will transgress again, to regain that inner sanctum, the principal's office.