The School Mistress – Part I – another erotic bedtime story by Catherine

All characters in this story are fictitious and the naughty schoolboy is, of course, over the age of 18. Perhaps if he’d paid more attention to his school work and less attention to his school mistress, he may not have been kept behind…

Some people – older, sophisticated people – might wonder how a school mistress in a boys’ boarding school could afford such sharp Italian suits, such fine hand-made shoes, but the boys in her charge could only watch, entranced. Those same people (cynics, shall we call them?) might wonder what exactly it is she teaches? Perhaps it’s English literature – she does read excerpts from books – literature she calls it. “Smut” those cynics might call it.

On this particular day the boys were not thinking of these things at all. Half of them were barely aware she was even reading to them. They merely drank her in with their eyes, inhaled her fragrance and absorbed her essence through their very pores. It was the last lesson of the day and the warm spring sunshine and the mesmerizing tone of her voice made all the boys feel sleepy. Well, sleepy except for one particular part of their bodies. That part was very much awake! The School Mistress would always wear her hair tightly coiled around her head. The boys would wonder how it would look loose and tumbled around her shoulders. It was the subject of many a masturbatory fantasy as they lay in the dormitory at night. In fact, it would only take one of the boys to mention the School Mistress for all the cocks to stand to attention as the boys lay in their narrow little beds. So it was that some of the daydreaming boys were a little startled when the Mistress asked for a volunteer. One boy in particular was so startled that he quickly took his hand away from his hard little cock (where it had been “resting”) and raised it above his head without even knowing what he was volunteering for. “Congratulations – you’re now the Pickup Monitor” he heard the Mistress say as she smiled at him. “Pickup Monitor? What’s that?” The other boys laughed as the new Monitor’s face turned beet red. “Well,” said the Mistress “If you’d been listening instead of daydreaming, you would know. You must watch me very closely and every time I drop something on the floor you must get down and pick up up for me – think you can manage that?” The boy was fairly certain he could manage the first part, and the second would surely follow. The new Pickup Monitor didn’t have long to wait to begin his duties. The School Mistress dropped a pencil on the floor as she sat on the edge of her desk, reading aloud, and the boy immediately fell to his knees to pick it up. Of course in that position, he couldn’t help but notice her beautiful feet and ankles in their high-heeled stilettos. From there his eyes naturally travelled upward just as, coincidentally, the Mistress crossed her lovely legs. The sight made his already hard cock grow perceptibly and his face reddened. His face and his cock remained in the same state for the rest of the lesson. When the lesson ended, all he wanted to do was to leave and take care of the situation in his pants. However, the School Mistress had other ideas and made him stay after the other boys had left. The other boys whispered to each other – jealous that he’d been singled out and envied him being alone with the Mistress. “Now then you grubby little boy – I saw you looking up my legs when you were picking up that pencil. I hope you’re not going to take advantage of your new position? I hope you’re not going to make a habit of such behaviour? In any case, you must be punished.” “Yes Miss” said the boy, wondering what the punishment might be. The Mistress had a habit of leaving a long, slim cane lying on her desk as she read to the boys. This cane was the stuff of legend. Every boy knew someone, who knew someone who’d been caned by the Mistress and many tales were told about these canings, but no one seemed to have had any first-hand (or should that be bottom?) experience. “I was going to cane you – but that might be a little harsh for a first offence. I’ve decided that instead you will wear these…” With that the Mistress pulled out a pair of very pink and very frilly panties from her desk drawer. “The next time you come to class you will wear these under your uniform – they will remind you of how you must conduct yourself.” The boy swallowed hard. This was bad. This was humiliating. Still, it could have been much worse – no one need know. He was about to turn away when the Mistress spoke again. “Not so fast, young man. I want to see you put them on – just to make sure you don’t disobey me.” “What?” said the boy “You mean you want me to drop my pants and put these on here?” “That’s exactly what I mean!” said the Mistress with a wicked gleam in her eye. The boy’s face reddened even more as he reluctantly dropped his pants. Now the Mistress would see his secret (or not-so-secret) hard-on. As if in response to this thought, his traitorous little cock became even harder at the thought of being seen by the Mistress. The boy hung his head in shame as he struggled to get the frilly panties over his unruly penis as the Mistress coolly watched his every move. He stood there for a moment as she gazed openly at his cock, bulging from the tight panties. “That will do for now” she said “You are dismissed.” The boy quickly pulled on his pants and scampered from the room, breathing a sigh of relief.

If this is your fantasy, or if you’d like to explore some other aspect of femdom, then call me or arrange a text session through sexytexting.com or, if you’d like to indulge in a little informal online chatting, look for me in the chat rooms at communitykink.com. If you just want to hang out with friends, relax and listen to some music and erotic radio, then tune in to The Magic Bus at 10:00 pm EST on Sunday evenings.

Empress Catherine 800-601-6975

http://www.voxerotic.com/main.php?action=show&tease=138

NB: This story was written by little x – a favourite of mine from chat.

“I arrive home to find you on your knees, naked except for a small apron, your head bowed. I kiss the top of your head lightly as I drop my things on the floor next to you. Taking your chin in my hand, I raise your face up to meet my gaze. “It pleases me to see you waiting here just as I have instructed you” I murmur, “but I have had a very hard day so I’m afraid you’re going to have a hard evening”. Still holding your chin, I smile and then slap your face slowly and deliberately once, twice, three times. I see you trying to smile up at me through the tears that have sprung to your eyes and I watch with satisfaction as the redness from my slaps spreads all across your left cheek. “Put my things away and bring me a drink” I tell you as I turn and walk toward the living room. I know the sound of my high heels clicking on the ceramic tile floor gives you a special thrill as you scurry to do as you’re told.

After a very few minutes you reappear next to my chair holding a small tray and offer me my Irish whiskey just the way I like it. Although inwardly I marvel at how quickly you have performed this little service, I arch an eyebrow and demand that you get back on your knees with your face to the floor. After a long delicious swallow of my drink, I stand and walk around to inspect your upturned bottom. I see some faded marks from older punishments and a few distinct reddish lines from the short caning I gave you the day before yesterday. Making my choice quickly, I reach for the black riding crop from among the canes and other implements protruding from the umbrella stand next to my easy chair. Without hesitating, I slash the crop down on your bare backside five or six times in rapid succession. The sudden sharp pain takes your breath away, and you have no time to process the sensation or recover from one blow before the next one lands. I step back and smile as I see red blotches the shape of the spanker tip of my crop appear and then deepen in colour. Among them are three red lines where the braided leather of the rod made its punishing contact with your buttocks. I hear you whimpering softly, but you say nothing. The rush of dominance I feel from inflicting this punishment is so pleasurable that I place the palm of my left hand on the small of your back and bring the riding crop down across your bottom again and again, this time more slowly and deliberately, leaving three or four seconds between the strokes. Although this may seem to the uninitiated like a small kindness, I know that it multiplies your suffering by allowing you to feel the impact of each stroke more fully without giving you enough time to recover from the pain. Now you are crying although you still have not said a word since I began to punish you.

Placing the riding crop back into the stand, I sit back down in my chair and take another sip of my whiskey. “You may rise and thank me, Little One,” I say softly, and I watch with great satisfaction as you stand painfully and wipe the tears from your face before kneeling in front of me and expressing your sincere thanks for the punishment I have inflicted on you. “How else may I serve you, Mistress?” you ask with shining eyes. “My feet require your attention now,” I respond, and you immediately kiss the toes of my black stillettos. “May I take them off for you, Mistress?” you plead. “Of course, darling boy,” I reply. After you remove my high heels, your eyes drink in the luscious spectacle of me raising my skirt high enough to unfasten the garter straps from my black stockings and tantalizingly peel the stockings down my long shapely legs. I drop them in front of you. Your cock, hard ever since your physical punishment began, now rages even harder at the sight. You scoop the stockings up and raise them to your face, breathing in the intoxicating scent for just a second before taking my right foot in your hands and caressing it lovingly. You repeat this act of devotion on my left foot and then you begin the ritual you know I require of you. Slowly and sweetly you kiss and suck each of my toes until you hear me moan out loud with pleasure.

“That was very nice, pet,” I tell you, “and now it is time for the cane. Go and bend over the spanking horse. Would you like me to strap you down, or can you hold still tonight without being bound?” I am pleased to hear you decline the restraints, even though you know my question means that I intend to cane you long and hard, and that your answer means that I will require you to hold your own arse-cheeks apart for me to direct my cane vertically down your tender crack, including your most private little rosebud in the punishment. The combination of your humiliation, pain and submission will be intoxicating for me and perhaps unbearable for you by the time I have finished striping your backside until the welts have merged into a shiny red glow across every inch of your bare bottom. “You may cry all you want, little one, but can you bear it for me without trying to escape?” I ask without expecting a reply. We shall see, I tell myself with another shiver of sexual arousal, and so I begin again…”

little x

If this is your fantasy, or if you’d like to explore some other aspect of femdom – strap-on training , or cuckolding for instance – then call me or arrange a text session through sexytexting.com or, if you’d like to indulge in a little informal online chatting, look for me in the chat rooms at communitykink.com. If you just want to hang out with friends, relax and listen to some music, then tune in to The Magic Bus (my erotic radio show) at 10:00 pm EST on Sunday evenings.

Empress Catherine
800-356-6169
http://www.voxerotic.com/main.php?action=show&tease=138

]]> http://www.strokemistress.com/2009/02/hard-day-hard-night/feed/ 1 http://www.strokemistress.com/2008/10/foot-boy/ http://www.strokemistress.com/2008/10/foot-boy/#comments Mon, 06 Oct 2008 15:10:42 +0000 catherine http://www.strokemistress.com/?p=117 If you’d rather listen than read, just click here…

You’re waiting behind the door when I get home – just the way you’re supposed to. I can see the slight quivering in your body as you take my coat and briefcase.

You ask me the usual banal questions, “How was your day?”, “How was the traffic?”

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