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"No, Miss Heath," I managed to answer as I stood there, trying not to show the tell-tale motions of a girl who now was becoming close to desperation in my need. "Well," I answered, gaining confidence and feeling that the problem was under control at least for now if I tried to concentrate on the class discussion, "we do know from Joyce's letters that he had an inordinate interest in those kinds of things." The demure, severe-smiling teacher put her hand around my shoulder and letting her own auburn hair flip past my face, said very quietly, "Come with me so we can take care of your little problem."
With your right hand, you rub my ass, anticipating the spanking and the feel of your palm striking my tender bottom. You tease my clit, flicking your fingers back and forth a few short times, then you pull your hand back to my ass again. I can’t imagine what is coming next, but I am beginning to learn to do what you tell me, and no matter how embarrassing this position is, at least it’s not painful, except for the way my ass stings from the spanking I’ve gotten so far. I can feel your weight on the foot of the bed between my legs, but I don’t know what’s going to happen next.
In the living room, I stood before him with my eyes lowered in submission and he took the proffered paddle, scooting out to the edge of the sofa so that his long-muscled thighs provided a perfect platform for my punishment. So with my long dark hair hanging down like a curtain around my face, my hands flat on the floor, my legs spread wide, my gorgeous round derriere pointed up in the air, and my throbbing mound pressed against his hard thigh, I braced myself for my punishment. Still over his knee in my most vulnerable state, the breeze through the bay window doing little to cool my blazing ass, I said, “Thank you for my spanking, sir.”