index


Message-ID: <62988asstr$1402657804@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: The Bawdy Bloke <john@bawdybloke.com>
User-Agent: Mozilla/5.0 (Windows NT 6.1; rv:24.0) Gecko/20100101 Thunderbird/24.6.0
MIME-Version: 1.0
Content-Transfer-Encoding: 8bit
NNTP-Posting-Date: Thu, 12 Jun 2014 23:50:34 UTC
Bytes: 9295
Subject: {ASSM} Lecturing with Mistress Ceri (FDom, public, university)
Lines: 163
Date: Fri, 13 Jun 2014 07:10:04 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

Please drop me a line of feedback, or leave a comment on my blog at 
http://bawdybloke.com/spank-z-fiction-lecturing-mistress-ceri/
Thanks
* * * * *
I have, what people commonly term, a fucking horrible job.

Certainly explaining my profession to other people, or even insurance 
companies, always garners giggles and confused mutterings. It's silly 
and immature from them, but something I have to live with. The wages are 
good, it pays my bills; at least I am not a moral vacuum and work in 
banking. Or politics.

Instead I work in education. My job is at a private University; situated 
in the secluded countryside near a Northern British city. Few outside 
the niche community know we exist, but there is a steady stream of 
students desperate to join the courses and further themselves.

I work, not in an academic university but at BDSM College: we teach 
dominants and submissives everything they need to know to have a 
fulfilling sex life: in couples, groups or singles. There are courses in 
everything from RACK/SSC to Shibari rope bondage, from safe knife play 
to exploiting the mind. As I said, everything!

I am a submissive; I got the job after my wife made me apply for it, and 
have been teaching courses for four years. Often I work with other 
lecturers, sometimes alone. But it is Physical Punishment 101 that 
evokes dread: the students love it, and it is a highly popular course.

It's held in the "Miss Whiplash Memorial Lecture Theatre," underneath 
the giant statue of two people - a knife-wielding dominant, and a 
bullwhip-cracking dominatrix - that dominated the plaza at the centre of 
the University.

The room holds over fifty people, and it's not unusual for it to be 
mostly full for the course. It's an early start at 09:30, and all the 
young students file into the room looking bright, enthusiastic and full 
of energy: that's never a good sign.

The lead lecturer, a Mistress Ceri, always has her two naked assistants 
(in this case myself and Paula) facing the wall as the students arrive, 
and encourages everyone to warm our buttocks with a smack. "You should 
never attempt a spanking without a warm-up exercise," she'd bark as 
student after student signalled their arrival to the lecture theatre 
with a couple of firm spanks on bare asses.

It hurt; saying "thank you," as they did it hurt just as much. Holding 
onto the brickwork as my buttocks glowed with their combined pelts. 
Paula had it just as bad, her dainty rear caused her to squeal in pain 
as a brutish man slapped her ruddled behind, and I shot her a 
sympathetic look.

I knew what would happen; we both did. Encouraging sadists was a 
dangerous game and one squeal was all it took. Suddenly there was an 
unspoken competition between them: who could make her squeak the 
loudest. Every spank got firmer, louder, more painful. I would see her 
fighting back the tears, and screwing up her face as trainee dominant 
after trainee dominant sized up her gorgeous arse with battering hits.

I had it too, if they were smacking Paula hard they had to apply the 
same force to me; my skin could take it: I had more fat to absorb the 
energy behind their palms, but the evil giggling of the ladies, many of 
them ten or fifteen years young than me, as they stepped into their 
smack stung my pride and my abused arse.

But it was just the start; in fact, it was the start of the course. Many 
of the trainee dominants still had an unhealthy lack of respect towards 
the submissive role and understanding towards smacking in general. As 
the courses progressed that arrogance would be honed and they would 
appreciate that spanking subs was not always about how hard they could 
pelt me, or Paula, but inflicting control and punishment.

But these were early days, and Mistress Ceri knew that over-exuberance, 
ignorance and a mistaken understanding of BDSM would lead to some 
painful bums, and that was a small price to pay. Well a price for Paula 
and I to pay; we called it the 50 Shades Effect!

After everyone was present, and sat in the lecture theatre, Paula and I 
would be summoned to the front of the room; it was an imposing venue 
with Tudor wooden struts lining the ceiling. They called it atmospheric, 
but it a delightful place to naked in the summer with the cool breezes 
squeezing through the historic building and being at the front of the 
grand, noble room.

Mistress Ceri started the lecture, as Paula and I massaged our bottoms; 
it caused some murmuring, but our lecturer was a disciplinarian and 
chattering students were warned about their conduct with a swish of a 
cane and a glare of the eyes; that stopped most of the talking.

And then, after fifteen minutes it came to the practical. There is 
little point in talking about a spanking without getting the young men 
and ladies to try their newly acquired skills on a couple of subject 
submissives. Obviously, as the course progressed, we would merge the 
practicals between the subs and the doms, but for the first few weeks, 
they didn't trust the group in front of me with the delicate bottoms of 
paying students.

Of course, we knew that the Halls of Residence was a haven for BDSM 
experimentation and several subs would turn up to my lectures with 
bloodied posteriors and broad smiles, but the University wanted lecture 
theatre discipline to be carried out on "professional" submissives.

Which was how Paula and I were leaning over futons, staring at each 
other as the students formed an orderly queue and took a cane from our 
teacher. I heard the swishing behind me as they practised swinging the 
wooden rod in the air. My loins always tingled at the prospect, waiting 
for the first strike of a student on my pink backside.

It was warmed nicely from the spanking and just as Mistress Ceri had 
shown them, the first students stepped forward and brought a firm strike 
across our rears.

I couldn't help it: I cried in pain, just as Paula screeched. I swore 
loudly, glancing behind me as the eighteen year old stood proudly, 
holding the cane as if she was ready to strike again. It was too hard 
for a first hit, and Mistress Ceri told her so.

"Work up dear," she simpered. "We have all morning here so work up to 
that strike."

The denim-clad student lined up her cane again and I closed my eyes: not 
able to watch the petite beauty pelt my arse. I tensed my buttocks, 
waiting, squeezing the cushion on the futon as she grunted and lashed 
the wooden rod against my skin, slashing my patchy skin with devastating 
power.

I yelled, only this time Mistress Ceri was satisfied. "Good, you're 
punishing him, make him feel your rod."

Paula was having a harder time: the boys wanted to work her bottom, and 
the firm swipes on her bruised bum was having tears rolling down her 
cheeks. I knew from personal experience, her pussy would be sodden, and 
if any of the dominants had promised her a rough fucking after the 
lecture, then they would be having all their Christmases at once.

She was dynamite in the sack, but the naivety of inexperience meant that 
the men were merely happy to pelt her peachy rear without realising that 
we were submissives because we liked it.

We got off on it; there was nothing bad about a queue of girls lining up 
to discipline me. There was nothing bad about my body singing in pain 
and endorphins as sexy dominatrixes practised on my skin, on my body and 
my arousal. There was nothing bad about it at all, and if any of the 
girls had bothered to look, they would have seen a rampant erection from 
the first strike.

I may have yelled, cried and squealed, but inside my heart was 
somersaulting with glee; every cane, every smack, every touch was soaked 
with pain and yet caused an avalanche of excitement.

And sure, I was never going to enter subspace by being relentlessly 
beaten for two hours, but I was floating on heaven as the last girl 
finished her final strike on my bum.

They'd broken three of the wooden rods on us, a new record, and blood 
was splattered on the floor, but I had a smile a mile wide on my face.

So did I say I had a horrible job? My mistake. I just had twenty-odd 
young ladies cane my bottom, I am going to be tortured by wax at midday, 
bound at half-past-two by a scorchingly hot Mistress Olivia and then I'm 
taking a bunch of subs for their Bukkake exam.

To some people, I have a horrible job. To me, my job is fucking 
fantastic! Who wants an application form?

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
| alt.sex.stories.moderated ------ send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com>|
| FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html> Moderators: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
|ASSM Archive at <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org>   Hosted by <http://www.asstr-mirror.org> |
|Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d; look for subject {ASSD}|
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+