Strapped

[petermcwade]

An Appointment with the Dean

Cheryl was late. The freshman clutched her books to her bosom as she scurried across campus.
“Darn,” she thought, “why did I have to wear such high heels?”

A line from her poetry class kept playing through her mind, “Vanity, vanity, pull down thy vanity.” 
Cheryl knew that more than her vanity would be lowered when she reached the Dean's office.

Strict corporal punishment was the policy at St. Sebastian’s College. That was one of the reasons Cheryl’s father had chosen it. The other: punishments were always given on the bare.


When Cheryl arrived at the Dean’s office she knocked and, on command, entered. Approaching Dean Brigg’s desk with reticence, Cheryl stood before the man who was to be her judge, jury, and executioner.


Although this was Cheryl’s first visit to Dean Briggs, she knew what to expect. The Dean’s ideas on discipline were well known to parents and students alike.


Dean Briggs was polite, but brusque: “Cheryl, you’re late. It’s unfortunate that our first meeting has to be official. I must say, it’s been some time since the proctors have reported a girl on her first week here. Still…”
His voice trailed off. It seemed his sense of chivalry was momentarily at war with his duty.

“Young lady,” he continued, “you are here to receive a bare-bottom strapping. Prepare yourself. Skirt and panties off.”


Cheryl wiggled her out of her tight fitting skirt and obediently stepped out of her panties -- just as she did at home when her dad was preparing to “teach her a lesson” with that nasty, whippy cane.

Boys considered Cheryl “cuddly”, which was among the reasons her father insisted she attend an old-fashioned, no-nonsense all girls school.


There was no doubt, the Dean thought, the girl was sensuous, even beautiful. But after having contemplated the intimacy he now commanded, the Dean picked up the well-worn leather strap.


“Hold out your hand,” Cheryl, “I always like to give my girls a taste of what is to come.”


Cheryl held her hand straight out, blinking nervously as her punisher carefully measured his first stroke. 

It came with a sudden rush, and Cheryl felt a burning sensation right across her fingers and palm. She gasped, but like a well-trained girl she kept her hand stretched out.


Stroke after stroke smacked across the quivering girl’s palm, and tears began to well up in her eyes. After she had taken a half dozen, she knew just how much that horrid strap was going to burn and sting when it caressed her fanny.


“Right, change hands, Cheryl. Let’s distribute heat proportionately.”


Cheryl quickly obliged. 
Just as the strap was about to descend, a whiff of cool air caressed her naked backside. Cheryl squirmed at the thought of her bottom being thrashed. Very soon Cheryl’s bare bum would be burning hot -- roasting, in fact. And she knew there was no way to avoid it.


The pain stung Cheryl’s palm again as she watched that perfectly nice Dean Briggs purposefully raise the strap again. Cheryl did not want to look; yet she wanted to be prepared for the stroke. As she saw it coming she quickly closed her eyes, trying to block out the pain. But pain was on the menu. 
Four more stingers were delivered to her left hand before she was marched over to the wall bracket and had her wrists fastened.


Dean Briggs stepped back and contemplated the bare bottom he was about to strap. Full. Inviting. Luscious. The Dean envied Cheryl’s father the repeated opportunities he had to keep his daughter’s buttocks stripped and tender.


The Dean took off his glasses and gave them a wipe with his hanky. Soon he would offer naughty-miss-college-girl the same hanky to wipe away her tears. As soon, that is, as he was finished leathering her cute, curvaceous tail.


All Cheryl could think of was that there was no escape. She was going to get a licking. She was going to sob, to cry, to howl. She was going to be sore and sorry....


SMACK!
 “Ughhhhh!”
 How could she have actually wished for it to start. She braced for the next stroke. 
SMACK! 
Cheryl pressed her hips to the wall. But it made no difference. 


SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

Cheryl was dancing on the spot. She jumped up and down. She was trying to retain her composure. She was trying not to cry. She was trying to survive, but the strap was doing its job.


“Yes,” Dean Briggs thought to himself, “this is just what the girl needs.”

Meanwhile the strap kept exploding across Cheryl’s backside.


SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!


By the twentieth stroke the poor 19-year-old was feeling well whipped. 
 She was frantically twisting.... 
And struggling.... 
 Clad only in her form-fitting sweater, and her garter belt and stockings, and her new high-heeled shoes that were about to be kicked off, she emptied her lungs as the Dean swiped the strap across her cheeks.


Cheryl continued to writhe and jerk with each nasty swipe of Dean Brigg’s punishment strap, howling with each as he laid them on with slower and more deliberate care.


Dean Briggs always appreciated the point at which he could inspire cries from a young lady. That was the truest indication that a lesson worth learning was being taught.


SMACK! Aggggghhhhhhhhh.... 
SMACK! Aggggghhhhhhhhh.... 
SMACK! Aggggghhhhhhhhh.... 
SMACK! Aggggghhhhhhhhh.... 
SMACK! Aggggghhhhhhhhh....


Cheryl’s gyrating bottom was a reddened and roasting testimony to the effectiveness of corporal punishment. Her fanny shivered and shook as Dean Briggs applied each lovely new weal. 
Cheryl’s frantic and utter distress was a testimony to the Dean’s methods. 
 But there was still more to come.


SMACK! Agggggghhhhhhh... 
SMACK! Agggggghhhhhhh...


At the 35th lash Cheryl broke town. The once confident young lady let loose a stream of tears. The screams trailed off. The chastened one now was sobbing rather than wailing.


SMACK. SMACK. SMACK. SMACK. SMACK. SMACK.


“You still have four strokes to go,” Cheryl, “but so far you have done very well. I’m proud of you. And I’m sure your father would be pleased. There is no doubt about the benefit of the canings you received at home. Tell me, young lady, how has this strapping compared with the canings your father administers?”


Cheryl whispered her reply. She believe the cane cut more sharply than the strap, was “ouchier”, but with the extra strokes of the strap all hidings were equally awful.


Dean Briggs gently patted the raw, red rump of the well-trussed delinquent. He gently rubbed her hair and kissed the back of her head. 


“We’re almost done, Cheryl.”


“Thank you, Daddy, thank you.”

The crying little lady immediately recognized her mistake. It was almost as embarrassing as her licking. “Oh, God,” she wondered, “Did he notice?”

The Dean chuckled -- to himself. He took a strand of the girl’s hair and wrapped it around his fingers and gave it a good slow yank. And with his other hand raised the strap.

“Please, Sir, no more. I’ve had enough. No more, Sir, please, Sir, my bum is on fire.”


“Well,” Dean Briggs answered, “let’s just stoke it a tiny bit more, shall we?”


‘Nooooooooooooooooooo...”


CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!


The strap felt as if it were scorching the skin off her unspeakably tender cheeks.


“Well, Little Miss, this has been an extremely successful session, don’t you think?”


Cheryl could barely offer a meek, “Yes. Yes, Sir.”


As the Dean untied her wrists he reminded her, “There is still the matter of your tardiness.”


At this Cheryl burst back into tears.


“Don’t worry, Dear. We can attend to that next week. Say, same time?”


Horrified but still relieved, Cheryl murmured a barely audible, “Thank you, Sir. Yes, Sir.”


“In the meantime,” the Dean added, “we have the not inconsiderable matter of you showing me your gratitude for having given you the whipping you richly deserved.”


As he spoke, the Dean guided Cheryl onto the floor so that she knelt in front of him, knees slightly apart. 
As he unzipped his trousers, he nodded and said softly but firmly: “You may begin, Cheryl….”

[jennybaby71]

mm yes sir