Amy Got a Spanking E-Book

Claire Reigns

• Herausgeber: Claire Reigns
• Kategorie: Erotik
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2016

Beschreibung

18-year-old Amy is a freshman at the music conservatory. She waits expectantly for her guitar lesson with the great Maestro Alejandro. But what she hears emanating from his studio is new to her: it almost sounds like wood striking tender young flesh followed by ecstatic female whimpering. Does she dare enter? What is she willing to endure to please her powerful, male teacher? Could she come to love the pain? An excerpt from the book: Then he laid me over his lap. This new position felt strange. I was looking at the floor and the blood rushed to my head. I could feel him lift up my little skirt. I sensed his eyes wandering over my soft, pink panties. I could feel his hands expertly exploring my butt cheeks, running over them, feeling the cottony material. He massaged my buttocks, felt each muscle, tried to relax the tension I held in them. “You understand this is for your own good?” His palm came down firmly on one butt cheek. “Yes,” I quivered. “You understand you made mistakes?” He spanked me again, this time on the other cheek. “Yes.” He spanked again, this time each cheek one after the other and much harder this time. “How many mistakes?” He struck again, the force increasing with each swat of his talented-soaked hands. I was trying to speak but I was focused on my irritated bottom. I thought about how red it must be getting. “How many?” he demanded. He struck again. “Eight!” I cried out. The cottony panties cushioned the blows for me a bit. Still plenty of force was getting through and my skin was starting to burn down there. “That's correct. Eight mistakes.” He rubbed my bum through the layer of cotton. It irritated me a bit but it was less painful than the strikes. I focused on the deep massage he was giving my butt muscles now. It felt so nice. A welcome change. I relaxed just a bit. Now the strikes can swiftly and far more forcefully. I was caught off guard. Two powerful spanks, one on each half of my meaty, round bottom. I let out a little cry. He massaged my bum again. “You're doing very well.” He worked his hand down in between my buttocks. “But you are not to speak again until instructed to do so.” Maestro took me by the arms and put me on my feet. I was weak in the knees and thought I might keel over. So many new feelings were pulsing through me. I was not used to the pain and the new sensations it had triggered in me. There was an excitement in this. An arousal I didn't understand and didn't want to accept. I ruminated on all the stings he had given me. Thought about the warm glow that started forming inside me, somewhere between the pit of my stomach and my red, shiny ass cheeks. It had pulsed through my privates and then through every nerve in my body. As he had reddened my succulent round bottom and tasty thighs I had to admit something: I was enjoying this. (End of excerpt) Adult content warning: Contains graphic depictions of an 18-year-old girl being spanked by a powerful older man.

Leseprobe

Amy Got a Spanking

by Claire Reigns

copyright 2013 Claire Reigns

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to people living or dead is entirely coincidental. Licensed material is being used for illustrative purposes only and any person depicted in the licensed material is a model.All characters depicted are consenting adults at least 18 years of age.

A excerpt from the book:

Then he laid me over his lap.

This new position felt strange. I was looking at the floor and the blood rushed to my head. I could feel him lift up my little skirt. I sensed his eyes wandering over my soft, pink panties.  I could feel his hands expertly exploring my butt cheeks, running over them, feeling the cottony material. He massaged my buttocks, felt each muscle, tried to relax the tension I held in them.

“You understand this is for your own good?” His palm came down firmly on one butt cheek. “Yes,” I quivered. “You understand you made mistakes?” He spanked me again, this time on the other cheek. “Yes.” He spanked again, this time each cheek one after the other and much harder this time.

“How many mistakes?” He struck again, the force increasing with each swat of his talented-soaked hands. I was trying to speak but I was focused on my irritated bottom. I thought about how red it must be getting. “How many?” he demanded. He struck again. “Eight!” I cried out. The cottony panties cushioned the blows a bit. Still plenty of force was getting through and my skin was starting to burn down there.

“That's correct. Eight mistakes.” He rubbed my bum through the layer of cotton. It irritated me a bit but it was less painful than the strikes.  I focused on the deep massage he was giving my butt muscles now. It felt so nice. A welcome change. I relaxed just a bit.

Now the strikes can swiftly and far more forcefully. I was caught off guard. Two powerful spanks, one on each half of my meaty, round bottom. I let out a little cry.  He massaged my bum again. “You're doing very well.” He worked his hand down in between my buttocks. “But you are not to speak again until instructed to do so.”

Maestro took me by the arms and put me on my feet. I was weak in the knees and thought I might keel over. So many new feelings were pulsing through me. I was not used to the pain and the new sensations it had triggered in me. There was an excitement in this. An arousal I didn't understand and didn't want to accept.

I ruminated on all the stings he had given me. Thought about the warm glow that started forming inside me, somewhere between the pit of my stomach and my red, shiny ass cheeks. It had pulsed through my privates and then through every nerve in my body. As he reddened my succulent round bottom and tasty thighs I had to admit something: I was enjoying this.

Amy Got A Spanking

I was used to waiting for my music lesson. I had been studying classical guitar practically my whole life. But as I sat in the hallway of the music conservatory as an 18-year-old freshman, something was different.

I was certainly excited to study with my idol, the great virtuoso Maestro Alejandro. But the sounds I heard emanating from his studio were not the sounds I was used to hearing. Not the notes of Bach or Villa-Lobos played by a student. What I thought I heard was the sound of wood striking flesh -  followed by what I could only describe as a deep, feminine whimper.

That was absurd, of course. I dismissed my false perception as simply my own nervousness at finally meeting the great Maestro. He was very sought after as a performer and highly regarded as a teacher. His students had gone on to big things and were known for their disciplined approach and technical perfection. I knew he was someone who would challenge me and help me reach my full potential.

The door opened and Tania, a beautiful young student, emerged. I recognized her immediately. She was graduating this year and all the other students looked up to her as the best in the conservatory. I did notice something odd, though. It appeared as if she had been crying. Yet she did not seem upset. In fact she had an expression of deep satisfaction on her face. She was practically glowing.

I also noticed that she walked a bit gingerly, as if her little skirt and whatever she wore underneath might be rubbing her the wrong way. She gave me a glance and a knowing look. I can't say it was exactly a smile. More a look of recognition. Perhaps she saw herself in me, four years earlier, nervously waiting in the hall for her own first lesson with Maestro.

“Amy.” Maestro's deep resonant voice came from the studio. I picked up my guitar case and entered sheepishly.

I had seen him perform many times and indeed felt his charisma even in the back row of the  concert hall. Now to be in his presence, to be so close to him, was nearly overwhelming.  “Play something for me, Amy.” “Yes, Maestro.” My voice cracked a little. His eyes were penetrating my very soul. I nervously unpacked my guitar and tried to tune. My little hands were shaking!

I played some Bach as Maestro watched me carefully. My mind and heart were racing as I tried my best to maintain my composure. I made a few small mistakes but felt pretty good about myself as I finished. I had dared to play for my idol and now I waited nervously for his assessment.

He stared at me a long while. I wasn't sure what to do but his gaze made me avert my eyes. “How committed are you to your music, Amy?” “I love it with all my heart.”

“It doesn't come through in your playing. You seem to have potential. But I'm not convinced you will ever reach it.” Those words stung. Couldn't he see how much I loved the guitar? I had devoted years to my art.

“You have heard Tania play?” “Yes. She's amazing,” I gushed. “Well, Amy, I see in you the same potential.” That made me feel better. “But the question is how do we release it? How do we mold you into a great artist? What are you willing to do to get there?”

I wanted to be a great guitarist more than anything. “I will do whatever it takes.” Maestro smiled at me. “That's what I hoped to hear. That's exactly what Tania said to me four years ago.” Oh, this was great! Maestro would be taking me under his wing. What more could you want from a mentor?

“I counted 8 mistakes in your rendition of the Bach. In order for you to remember to avoid these mistakes it will be necessary to correct you. And to do so in a manner that you will never forget. Come here my child. Put down your guitar and come here.”

I complied with his instructions. He took me by the arm. “Sit here, here on my knee.” This seemed like a strange request but I wanted so much to blossom, to reach my potential, I didn't think about it much. I sat on his knee. My short little skirt barely covered my bottom so it was mostly my soft, cottony, pink panties that rested on the stylish trousers that covered his knee.

He now picked up a simple wooden ruler from his desk. He showed it to me, asked me to feel it. I ran my fingers over its wooden surface. It seemed light, insubstantial. But I was about to learn that my assessment of it was far from accurate.

“Five strikes for each mistake.” Strikes? What was he talking about?

Maestro pulled my skirt up to reveal my creamy, tender thighs. He laid the flat part of the ruler there and rubbed it over my skin. He tapped it lightly there. Now a bit harder. Then, without warning...

SMACK! He hit my thigh with the ruler! I wanted to get up and run away but he had his arm around me and kept me in place. I think I was in shock. SMACK again on the other thigh. Was this  really happening?

I looked into his eyes, wanted to cry out in protest. His whole attention was on my thighs and he rubbed each with his powerful hand. I had seen his deep focus and concentration displayed before but only on stage. Only now he was directing it to my little thighs.

He struck again, once on each of them, a bit harder. He paused to rub my muscles again. The rubbing helped a little but it still really stung. Why was he doing this? Now 2 more strikes on each thigh in rapid succession made me yell and want to jump up. I almost did.

He relaxed his grip on my waist. I was free to run away now...but I didn't.  Some unseen force kept me on his knee soaking in every bit of the sting he had sent into my nerve endings. I was unaccustomed to the pain. I had been annoyed by it at first. How did I feel about it now? I was no longer sure.

“Do not resist.” He looked into my eyes now. I tried to take his advice as I prepared for more strikes. The ruler was gently traveling over my leg again. Light little taps as he toyed with me. The  skin on my thigh was bright pink. When would the next strike...

Maestro struck again, this time even harder. Then the other thigh. I didn't resist the pain this time and felt for the first time an energy attached to the discomfort. I felt the pain, yes, but now it began to awaken in me something new. I squirmed on his knee and ground those pink panties that covered my cute little behind into his powerful leg muscles. I felt a tingle deep inside.

He rubbed my back. Soothing. “You're doing very well.” I tried to smile at him but it was hard to manage. My legs still stung. “You've made a good start. Come, now.” He took me by the arm and stood me up. Then he laid me over his lap.

This new position felt strange. I was looking at the floor and the blood rushed to my head. I could feel him lift up my little skirt. I sensed his eyes wandering over my soft, pink panties.  I could feel his hands expertly exploring my butt cheeks, running over them, feeling the cottony material. He massaged my buttocks, felt each muscle, tried to relax the tension I held in them.

“You understand this is for your own good?” His palm came down firmly on one  butt cheek. “Yes,” I quivered. “You understand you made mistakes?” He spanked me again, this time on the other cheek. “Yes.” He spanked again, this time each cheek one after the other and much harder this time.

“How many mistakes?” He struck again, the force increasing with each swat of his talented-soaked hands. I was trying to speak but I was focused on my irritated bottom. I thought about how red it must be getting. “How many?” he demanded. He struck again. “Eight!” I cried out. The cottony panties cushioned the blows a bit. Still plenty of force was getting through and my skin was starting to burn down there.

“That's correct. Eight mistakes.” He rubbed my bum through the layer of cotton. It irritated me a bit but it was less painful than the strikes.  I focused on the deep massage he was giving my butt muscles now. It felt so nice. A welcome change. I relaxed just a bit.

Now the strikes came swiftly and far more forcefully. I was caught off guard. Two powerful spanks, one on each half of my meaty, round bottom. I let out a little cry.  He massaged my bum again. “You're doing very well.” He worked his hand down in between my buttocks. “But you are not to speak again until instructed to do so.”

Maestro took me by the arms and put me on my feet. I was weak in the knees and thought I might keel over. So many new feelings were pulsing through me. I was not used to the pain and the new sensations it had triggered in me. There was an excitement in this. An arousal I didn't understand and didn't want to accept.

I ruminated on all the stings he had given me. Thought about the warm glow that started forming inside me, somewhere between the pit of my stomach and my red, shiny ass cheeks. It had pulsed through my privates and then through every nerve in my body. As he reddened my succulent round bottom and tasty thighs I had to admit something: I was enjoying this.

He pulled my attention back to the matter at hand as he bent me over his desk. He made me stretch my arms out in front of me to dangle over the far edge.“You're going to want to try to block the strikes with your hands. You must resist this instinct. You must always protect your hands. No matter where the strikes meet your tender young flesh.”

He pulled the bottom ridge of my pink panties up to  the waist band revealing more of my smooth, nubile skin. He ran his hand over this newly exposed area of my buttocks. I thought about all the blood rushing to my skin there, making it grow pinker and pinker and now redder and redder. I worried about what would be next.

He pulled the bottoms up more now, giving me a firm wedgie. He pulled them up harder still and their material pressed firmly against my asshole and even up into the folds of my slippery bald pussy. “There, that's better. I can get at your young flesh more directly now.” He smacked one cheek with his palm and I let out a small cry. “Silence. That one doesn't even count.” The firmness of his voice made me disappointed in myself for reacting.

He picked up the ruler again, flexed it a bit. Now he rubbed it against my buttocks and tapped them lightly. “No, no. This will not do.” He put the ruler back on his desk and paced around me, carefully observing my reaction. What did he have in mind? My bottom was red and stinging. Surely this must me the end of the lesson. I watched him go to the corner and pick up a wooden yard stick. Oh, no!

Maestro tapped the stick on my buttocks gently, playfully. He rubbed the flat side all over my skin. He was introducing it to me. A painless greeting from its woody surface to my tender naked skin. Now he pulled it back, swung it through the air. He wanted me to hear it. Hear what was coming.

I looked back at him. “Do not look at me, young lady. Look straight ahead. Knowing when the strikes are coming will only hold you back in your development.” I looked ahead and waited. I could hear him swing it around, warming up for what was about to happen.

Things got very quiet. I could hear my rapid breathing and heart beat. When would he...

SMACK!! The yard stick struck my bottom and the sound resonated through the studio. The strike was broader and the pain deeper than the ruler or his hand.  But I sensed he was just testing me, holding back. And the next strike proved it. It was harder and made me jump a bit. Now he whipped it through the air again so I could hear it, faster this time as if to prepare me for what was coming.

The next two strikes came in rapid succession and he swung the yard stick much quicker. I let out two grunts in response. “You must remain silent.” How could I? The pain must go somewhere. Another strike on my luscious tushy sent me squirming. I suppressed my cry, kept it inside. Another strike, this time harder and again I held it inside. Easier this time, even though the stick struck harder and deeper.

Another and another and another. The strikes came now, each more intense than the one before. I sent the pain deeper and deeper. It was easier now and each time I did my pleasure became deeper and deeper. One final SMACK on my tender cheeks sent a shudder through me. I couldn't help but let out a deep sigh.

Maestro stopped for a moment. Surely this must be the end! He went to his desk and calmly took a sip from his coffee mug as he watched me. How could I stand another strike from the yard stick? I watched in morbid fascination as he went to my guitar case and detached my shoulder strap. What could he be up to? I was about to find out.

He pulled at the strap sharply from both ends, checking its strength. He then waved it around expertly. It wasn't a whip but he controlled it as if it were.

“We are now done with the warm up. Now, the pain begins.” Oh my god! “Therefore I give you permission to release the pain through vocalization. If you feel the need to. As you advance you may no longer feel the need.” I was terrified now. How could I stand any more? He swung the strap around, whipping it through the air, putting me right on edge.

He paused only to pull my pink panties out of my ass crack and pussy and slide them gently down to my ankles. I was completely exposed to him now. He resumed, swinging the strap violently through the air.

The first strap strike came. This was far worse than even the yard stick. The burning spread from the point of contact and radiated outward. Another strike. Even worse. I was starting to distance myself from the pain now. Another strike made me sigh a little. The pain was still there. It was actually getting worse. But a kind of euphoria arose out of the pain and co-existed along side it.

He  whipped the strap through the air again. I was less afraid of it now. Another strike. My buttocks screamed but I ignored it and only grunted.  Another strike even harder that made my whole body jump. I did my best to stay in position. I did not want to disappoint Maestro.

He whipped it past my face and that made me flinch. He wouldn't hit me there, would he? I didn't think so but now I was focusing on the possibility. The next two strikes were even harder. I should have been screaming but I was still remembering the strap whipping past my head. Another strike returned my attention back to my bum and I let out a “yip” like a small dog.

My canine-like cry seemed to get his attention because he gave me two more licks in rapid succession that sent my mind spinning in circles and brought the mixture of pain and pleasure that ripped through my body to a height I didn't think possible. I gave off a couple reflexive “yips” to these strikes as well.

He stepped back now but continued to whip the guitar case strap through the air. I tried to pull myself together. I was nearly hyperventilating and I thought my heart would pound itself loose from my chest. My little ass burned so much!

He swung it around now, nearer and nearer my face. I wanted to trust him that he would not strike me there. He would never strike me in the face. But not even my deep trust of him could stop my body from reflexively flinching every time the strap whipped past my ear. Closer and closer and closer.

 I focused my attention more and more on the strap. Hypnotized by it. I forgot all about my tender bottom and all the pain I had down there. I was only worried about the strap, closer and closer to my face.

Maestro sensed the exact moment when I completely and utterly overlooked the possibility of another strike to my very raw, very red ass cheeks.  And in that moment, inside myself, I let down my guard and was instantly totally unprepared for even the possibility of a strike down there. He saw me do it, somehow he saw me relax just the slightest bit deep inside my mind.

Then, upon seeing this, he swung the strap with furious force and pin point accuracy and  landed it at the most painful point imaginable on my tender young hinder.

It was so unexpected I couldn't even comprehend it at first. When I did, I let out a screaming cry.  A kind of “Ouch!!!” but unintelligible to a human ear. The pain raged through me like a torrent. My heart pounded out of my chest. Then an even greater wave of pure ecstasy coursed through me and nearly exploded my brain.

Now I understood why they called him Maestro. It had nothing to do with playing the guitar.

Maestro now observed my bottom, checked the details of the red welts he had just placed there. I tried to settle myself. Could there be more? I wasn't sure I could take any more. This had been perfect. He had taken me right up to the brink of what I could handle and the held me, dangling, over the edge.

He put his hand gently on my welts and rubbed them. Was he trying to soothe me? It was making the pain worse as far as my nerve endings were concerned. But in my heart he was making me better. His magnificent hands, so much talent coursing through them, were gently rubbing all over my buttocks.

He planted a single delicate kiss on the shiny, burning flesh of my ass cheek that sent an uncontrollable quiver moving through my body. Through my core and down each limb. I had kissed plenty of boys before but I would always remember this as my first kiss.

I knew now that this was the end of my lesson. It would take a few days to process all that had happened and all that I had learned about myself. I needed to somehow prepare myself for the next one, uncertain of what Maestro might have in store for me.

I pulled up my cottony panties, put my guitar in its case, reattached its lovely, magnificent strap. I would never look at that simple guitar case strap in the same way again.

My eyes met Maestro's gaze. There was no need to say anything.  We each had our place in this exchange. And now I knew mine.

As I walked out, my panties rubbed gently against my red, red bottom and intensified the soreness and burning. I didn't mind now. I liked it. No. I loved it. My world had changed and I knew now that I would never be a great guitarist because I now no longer desired perfection. I wanted to be imperfect because I knew only by being bad would I receive the punishment I so desperately craved.

Virginia, Maestro's next student, waited in the hall. I knew from the look on her face that she had not yet received a correction from him. She looked at me as I had looked at Tania. She saw my teary yet satisfied eyes. She saw the red marks on my tender young thighs. She saw the way I moved gingerly because of my fiery, irritated bottom. And I didn't mind it one bit.

I walked down the hall savoring every delicious bit of lingering pain and dreamt of my next lesson with Maestro Alejandro.

###

Claire Reigns is a writer of erotic fiction interested in exploring the more subtle, psychological aspects of control and power exchange. Her list of ever expanding interests includes light bondage, paddling, humiliation, embarrassment and forced exposure/nudity. 

Claire believes in scratching every itch. She suggests that you do the same.