Welcome To Corbin's Bend

by Thianna D

  Thrilled and a little light-headed, he had spanked Joanna progressively harder. A guilty voice spoke in his head, to be sure. He had left his wife's hospital bedside only an hour before, and would return there after this transformation, thanking God for his ability to compartmentalize. But at the moment he told her to take down her jeans and panties. Watching her obey, reach under her hips to unfasten her jeans and pull them down, exposing lacy pink panties then lowering them to her knees, after thirty-eight years of fantasizing to orgasm about that very command, certain he would never say it aloud, and if he ever did, no woman would ever comply, made him even more light-headed, but also sent the thought through his brain like a lightning-bolt: this is who I am.

  Joanna had submitted, if he remembered correctly, to four men before him. Her experience helped him immeasurably. He had said, cuddling her guiltily afterward, learning about the Daddy-dom side of his nature even as he learned aftercare, with her help, "It's not like vanilla sex at all, is it?" Joann had nodded, sagely, with a broad smile on her face. Dunn had felt then that he had begun well.

  He thought about one of his last sessions with Miriam, when he had unexpectedly brought her to "Yellow" with the cane, punishing her for writing something naughty on a social media site that suggested she might be available. He contrasted the lecture he had given Miriam then about his rules for her conduct with the telegraphic instructions he had given Joanna at that first spanking session. The voice was the same: he never raised it. But in the intervening four years he had learned to act the part in a larger way, for his own and his sub's erotic benefit. Hearing Miriam gasp "Yes, sir!" in response to each time he said "Do you understand that rule, young lady?"' was not really fundamentally different from hearing Joanna say, "Yes, sir," the very first time he had said–hardly believing he was saying it–"I think it's time for you to pleasure me with your mouth." But it was definitely hotter–for him, and, he thought, for the young lady.

  “Young lady” was his particular term for a submissive who, whether in reality or in fantasy, belonged to him. He didn’t use it exclusively: “pet”, “slut”, “little whore”, and, above all, “girl” also had power over him, but when he spanked, whether with his physical paddle or the paddle of his imagination, his instructions and admonitions were almost invariably directed to a “young lady”.

  He thought, fondly and, truth to tell, with a growing erection, of the sounds Miriam made when he took her bottom with his cock, and of the way he said "Do you like that, young lady? Do you like getting what you deserve?" He wished that she had responded, even once, to these questions, but the whimpers certainly rewarded him enough.

  From there, around the end of Nebraska, his mind turned to thoughts of what might await him in Corbin's Bend. What impressed him most about the marketing materials he had requested from the web, and then read, with some disbelief, ripping open the envelope while still standing in the doorway of his house, was the way the development’s founders designed it so as to permit the whole gamut of spanking lifestyles while still maintaining a baseline of community practice, above all in the permission, and the apparent normality, of public spanking.

  But what would that mean to him, with his well-formed BDSM habits, exactly? One clause in a brochure had caught his eye: "Married couples and singles of both sexes are explicitly welcome to enjoy themselves in private in whatever way they choose, according to community standards of safe, sane, and consensual sexuality." So, no anal in the streets, but also no judgment from the neighbors if you should forget to draw the blinds one night.

  He couldn't lie to himself–and didn't want to lie to anyone else–about one thing: he was looking for a playmate who might also become a taken-in-hand partner: so taken-in-hand that “slave” wouldn't be an inappropriate term for her, whoever she turned out to be. She must be truly submissive. She must indeed want to be his slave.

  Maybe it was nothing more than a fantasy. Joanna and Miriam had been wonderful presences in his life despite the lack of that submission bond of which he had always dreamt. Whether or not he found what he always thought of as his own true young lady in Corbin's Bend, he felt sure he would find happiness there, if only because he would live with other people sharing a similar lifestyle.

  Three weeks later, he gave his first lecture in the Introduction to Western Civilization course he'd been hired to teach. That was when he first saw Sarah Harshaw, before he knew her name. It was not love at first sight, for either of them. In later years, though, he always remembered the blonde girl in the front row had caught his eye, and that he had wondered whether she might be from Corbin's Bend.

  Chapter 2

  Email from Sarah Harshaw to her friend Susan Lewis:

  Dear Susan,

  So here I am, back at Sandy Ridge. Marilyn (remember her? –my roommate–you met her at my house in April) says Hi.

  So: news. I'm taking Western Civ this semester. I can just hear you say: “You're taking what?” Because I'm about to graduate with a degree in History, right? Stupid requirements–I waited until senior year to get this one out of the way. It seemed like an idiot move to me too. That is, until I showed up for lecture the first day, and saw my professor. He's new at Sandy Ridge. He just moved here from the East Coast. His name is Dr. Dunn, and he's a wonderful, old-fashioned prof. He's also gorgeous in that tweedy almost-middle-aged way, with dark hair that's just going silver at the temples and light brown eyes, and cheekbones so high I worry they might actually hurt him.

  So I, um, asked about him at the history department. He's a widower and moved to Colorado completely alone. Plus, when I told my mom about him, she said he lives in Corbin's Bend, and goes to my parents' church. Also, I'm nearly positive he looked right at me in lecture this morning.

  You know I want to apply to grad school after I get through undergrad here. I think I should ask Professor Dunn to do a tutorial with me, don't you? You never know where that kind of meeting can lead, do you? ;) (Yes, I know I'm very naughty–don't you dare tell Fred!)

  Love,

  Sarah

  “If we are to keep company, Sarah,” said Professor Dunn, “you must understand what sort of relationship you are entering into. I am past the age at which I have any wish to trifle with the more traditional—and for me dishonest—forms of prelude to my erotic pursuits with a girl in whom I have taken an interest. These days, when I accept a girl for a tutorial, I ask her to stipulate in advance that she relinquishes certain rights girls and women tend to regard as essential these days.”

  Sarah swallowed hard. She had certainly not expected this sort of discourse from a professor she planned to seduce, especially when she had her hand on his lap, lovingly and naughtily bringing it to life beneath his woolen trousers, as they sat on the little couch in his office. The professor was supposed to be grateful, not peremptory. That was how she thought these crushes worked.

  And she had been considering whether to bestow on Professor Dunn her ultimate gift, by giving him a little head (a phrase she and her friends liked to throw about to demonstrate their experience, though the little thrill it gave her in fact demonstrated the opposite, she knew) in his office—not letting him go deep or come in her mouth, of course. Just letting him feel what a nubile co-ed can do when she wants with her mouth—the sort of thing that kept her on-again-off-again boyfriend Fred docile, and left her feeling superior, as she delicately removed her lips from his cock and pumped it with her fingers until he spurted all over himself and his dorm room sheets.

  But Professor Dunn’s words had changed things completely, in a way she could not quickly grasp.

  “W-what?”

  “Let’s begin with a little test of your suitability. If you wish to continue this interview, call me ‘sir’, if you please.”

  “What?”

  He looked at her steadily, from a few inches away. He had taken her chin in his hand when he began to speak, right after Sarah had brazenly put her right hand on the front of his pants.

  Suddenly, with a
strange mixture of fear and delight, Sarah realized that she was falling in love with him. She recognized that feeling readily enough. She was twenty-one now, and had been in love half a dozen times at least. The lovely idea that she wanted to know everything about another person, and that she wanted him to know everything about her: that meant that Sarah was falling in love. She found suddenly that she wanted to lie down next to Professor Dunn, and touch him all over while he did the same to Sarah. She, though it made her blush, wanted him to put his hand inside her shirt, under her skirt, inside her underwear, because it would mean that Professor Dunn wanted to do that to her. That delicious feeling Sarah Harshaw knew with some degree of thoroughness, although she was quite surprised to find herself feeling it about her Western Civ professor.

  She had come there with the expectation of having a little fun with him. There was nothing malicious in the impulse, but her experiences with boys, especially with Fred, had left her dissatisfied in a way that made her–and she knew this even as she, for example, put her hand on his crotch–go against her own nature, and try to take control. Really she did it just so someone would be in control, and it wouldn't just be fumbling around and tentatively touching places that one thought were probably erogenous. Her purpose was to enjoy that kind of control over this nice middle-aged man from the East Coast, with his beautiful manners and his kind air and his handsome face. She wanted to give him a blowjob, frankly, because she liked driving Fred crazy that way and she wanted to do the same thing to Dr. Dunn.

  The problem was at the same time she realized she wanted more from him–wanted the aforesaid disclosures, closeness, caresses–she also began to realize the power of this fast-growing attachment was not just in what she had always thought of as the romantic realm. This attachment had some other power, a power she had never actually felt, but only–from time to time–imagined, and then, much more often, avoided thinking about in any detail at all.

  What was it? Well, for starters, it was unfortunately the hottest, sexiest feeling she had ever had in her life, and her loins responded as they never had to a real person before. The romantic stuff was nice, and when Fred─and the two boys she dated seriously before Fred–touched her breasts, and even put their hands in her panties, she very much liked the sensation, and moistened at their touch. One of the ones before Fred had brought her to a climax once that way. Fred never had, and she'd actually grown pretty adept at faking it, or at least at making him think that it was time to take his hand out of her panties. But the problem now confronting her was that what Dr. Dunn said–just his words, only touching her chin–made her panties wetter than they had ever been in her life in the presence of another person.

  Why? What did she want from him? Did she want him to kiss her again? For the first light kiss had been surprisingly quick in coming.

  Yes, but no. She looked into his light brown eyes, waiting patiently for her response to his request that she call him “sir”.

  Dear God. She wanted to call him “sir”, and the thought that she might do that–that really, she was about to do that-made all the muscles around her vulva pulse. She was having a terrible time, in fact, keeping from trying to work her hand down the front of her skirt to touch herself.

  What did it mean?

  She realized, with a shock that made her shudder, that she wanted to belong to him somehow.

  The bottom dropped out of her stomach as she looked into those eyes. And she had a terribly distracting, terribly arousing vision of kneeling in front of him, with hands clasped before her, begging him not to punish her for her forwardness and wantonness.

  Oh, no. She didn't just want to belong to him somehow. She wanted to belong to him in a very specific way, she realized now. That way. The way when he spanked her.

  Sarah Harshaw had not grown up in Corbin's Bend, for the community was so new that no one could yet have grown up there. But if it had existed when she was growing up, her parents almost certainly would have moved there shortly after they married, and they would have raised her in that unique environment. She came from a spanking family. That was not especially unusual in suburban Denver, she supposed. Most of her friends’ parents spanked them from time to time. The difference in the Harshaw family was her parents' dedication to a disciplinary way of life, with hand spanking as the first and strapping as the last boundary-setting practice for Sarah, her brother Jeff, and, most unusually, their mother.

  Sarah remembered when she hadn't known it was unusual, but thought it might be, and she had experimentally–though casually–said at school one day to a group of her friends at the sixth-grade lunch-table, "I hate it when I'm still awake when my dad spanks my mom. It's so embarrassing to listen to that through the wall!"

  Only one of them had looked back with the slightest bit of comprehension; the others had all had mixtures of disgust and shock on their faces, and Sarah had hastily changed the subject, trying to pretend they hadn't heard her say what they thought they'd heard her say.

  That was the same period of her life (and her real reason for bringing it up at school, of course) when hearing that through the wall–the slaps and her mother crying, then the bed knocking against the wall, and sometimes her father speaking in a loud tone she didn't recognize, as if he were giving commands–had started to make her feel funny. She could never understand his words, but not understanding, and imagining, made the funny feeling grow. To her confusion, she often found herself putting her hand under her nightgown between her thighs when she heard it, both unable to stop and ashamed to continue, though she always did, until something simultaneously lovely and shameful happened, and she could drift off to sleep, her parents always quieting down by then.

  The mornings after she heard the spankings, Sarah would scan her mother's face for signs of fear of her father, but every time her mother seemed especially happy, and especially loving towards him, and towards Sarah and Jeff.

  Like most young adults, her first thought in relation to the way her father had run his household–it most definitely was his household–had been to flee as far away from it as humanly possible. He was a good man and, despite the spanking, a gentle man, though perhaps not a gentleman except that he certainly acted polite. What he wasn't was refined, and neither was her mother, and Sarah aspired to refinement. Sarah associated spanking, and domestic discipline with her parents' house: just what she wanted to get away from at college and then, hopefully, beyond.

  Her father refused to pay for any college outside of Colorado, and so her dreams of the Ivy League–which she might well have attained based on her academic record–could not come true. But although she was not above going home on weekends to do her laundry, she had been very happy to be living half-an-hour, and, as far as she was concerned, a whole world, away from Corbin's Bend, and the memories of her childhood in suburban Denver. They were not bad memories; just very different ones from the memories she intended to make for herself now that she was almost on her own. Sandy Ridge College was not in Corbin's Bend, after all. Knowing that she resided half an hour away from her parents reassured her every time she thought of it.

  The idea behind this attempt to give a nice new professor a blowjob had been very much along those lines. It was the kind of thing that, when her parents heard about a classmate doing something like it in high school, would cause them to look at her and Jeff and say, "You know what would happen in our house, don't you?" Her father would nod meaningfully to where the strap hung, in the family room. "That's why we don't have those problems," he would say.

  And Sarah and Jeff would say, "Yes, sir." And Sarah, at least, would think that when she got to college she planned to try that kind of thing, because, really, it didn't sound like something people shouldn't do if both of them wanted to. She had read a great deal by that point and, to their great credit, her parents had not objected to her reading things like the more advanced Judy Blume novels and even the racier kind of science fiction (although Sarah suspected they didn't actually know what lay behind some o
f the covers with people riding dragons or wearing armor).

  So it hadn't been all that long before she'd realized what happened in her parents' room, but despite her growing interest in things like giving blowjobs (which she always did in a refined manner), the basic ickiness of thinking about one's parents having sex–when one finally figures out exactly what it involves–had kept the realm of those muffled spankings completely divorced from the realm of her romantic exploits with boys like Fred. The two things, spanking and romance, inhabited completely different worlds.

  Those worlds had just come together with a crash that had an extraordinarily distracting, and confusing, effect on her Sarah-ness (her private pet name for what her parents had taught her as a child to call her private part).

  Without willing it, Sarah said, in a whisper, “sir... w—what do you mean?”

  Chapter 3

  In a certain important sense, what Dunn was doing could perhaps best be called “bluffing”. That word, however, was not truly accurate, since his heart was sincere in every dominant word he spoke, and every dominant look he gave Sarah. He wanted this. This was why he had come to Corbin's Bend. But he treaded on territory almost completely new to him, at least in reality. She lived in Corbin's Bend–the daughter of his co-parishioners at St. Michael's–and here she was trying to seduce him, and he had the chance at last to try to... to what? To take her in hand, the way a girl from Corbin's Bend should be taken in hand. Presumably.

  Presumably, for of course having grown up in a spanking family didn't make a girl a submissive. In fact, it might mean quite the opposite. And she was his student! What was he doing?