by John Argus
The horrible Ms Beacher glared at Zoe, and then marched around the desk, gripped her by the ear, and pulled her up from the chair. She then stood by impatiently as Steven Erasmus quickly adjusted the young woman’s clothing so her blazer was no longer pinning her arms down to her sides, and smoothed down her skirt.
Ms Beacher then caught her by the ear again, and Zoe gasped and moaned despairingly as she was pulled towards the door, but she did not dare resist.
‘I trust you’ll remain discrete about this, Ms Beacher,’ Erasmus said, somewhat contritely.
Casting him a scornful look, the woman wrenched open the door, letting go of Zoe’s ear to grip her arm instead and force her out into the corridor. ‘I simply cannot believe it,’ she muttered to herself, shaking her head as she marched her prisoner along the corridor.
Zoe looked down at the floor, mortified and ashamed and unable to speak, or to offer up the slightest defence. There was no defence. She had behaved like a wanton tart and been caught doing so. What possible defence could she offer? What possible denial could she make?
Beacher all but flung her into her office, and slammed the door closed behind them. ‘How dare you?’ she growled. ‘How dare you treat the hallowed halls of the Prime Minister’s Office with such contempt? You vile, filthy girl!’
Zoe continued to stare mutely down at the floor.
‘Look at me when I’m speaking to you, young lady.’
Zoe raised her eyes reluctantly, her face burning with embarrassment.
‘I have no alternative but to dismiss you and inform your father and mother of the circumstances which led to that dismissal.’
‘Oh no, don’t, please!’ Zoe begged, utterly horrified by this extra turn of events.
‘I have no alternative,’ the woman insisted resolutely. ‘I cannot condone such lewd behaviour and I cannot keep a girl of such low morals around here.’
‘But you can’t!’ Zoe squealed desperately. ‘You just can’t!’
‘You must be properly punished, and your parents are the only ones who can see to it,’ Beacher said firmly.
‘Please don’t tell them,’ Zoe begged. ‘I’m so ashamed!’
‘Clearly you have no shame.’
‘But I do, I do! I’m so sorry! I can’t think what came over me…’
‘My concern now is that it does not come over you again.’
‘It won’t, I promise!’
‘Clearly you haven’t the necessary self-control to make any such guarantee. Clearly you were not sufficiently disciplined in your youth, and it is not my job to discipline you now.’
‘But please, my father will be so… it would be so horribly embarrassing. I could never look at him again!’
‘Well, the only fitting alternative is that I punish you here, Zoe,’ the woman said thoughtfully, her fearsome mood seeming to soften very slight. ‘Is that what you want?’
‘Oh yes, please, I’ll do anything you say, anything,’ Zoe implored, at last seeing a chink of hope from an awful situation.
‘Will you?’ A smile touched Beacher’s thin lips. ‘Will you do anything?’
‘Yes, I swear,’ she said fervently.
‘There is a method used to discipline unruly schoolgirls,’ Beacher said scornfully. ‘It’s not something to be used on women but on foolish, ignorant girls.’ She moved over to a cupboard, opened the door, and searched about inside. Her hand then emerged holding a long, slim length of wood, which she brandished before Zoe with a nod of satisfaction. ‘Well, are you still eager to be disciplined by me?’
Zoe stared at the thin cane with dawning recognition and trepidation. It was longer than the ones used on her at school, and she suspected her hands were not the intended recipients of the discipline Ms Beacher had in mind. Still, there was no need to even think about it. Anything was preferable to having her father and mother made aware of her awful, sluttish behaviour. ‘Yes, Ms Beacher,’ she eventually said softly, her voice shaking.
‘Very well,’ the woman sounded pleased, ‘then you will bend over the desk.’
Zoe turned reluctantly, and looked at it a moment before stepping closer until the hard edge of its surface pressed against her thighs.
‘Remove your blazer first. We don’t want it getting creased, do we?’
‘No,’ Zoe agreed sullenly, took it off, laid it across the nearby chair, then leaned forward and spread her hands on the desktop, flat and apart for support.
‘All the way,’ the authoritarian instructed.
Obediently, Zoe bent more deeply from the waist, folding her forearms beneath her face and resting her cheek on them.
‘Reach back and lift your skirt up, young lady,’ came the continuing directions.
Blushing furiously, young Zoe obeyed again, peeling the soft material up over her bottom until it was around her hips.
‘Now lower your panties.’
The command mortified her. ‘Must I?’ she whimpered.
‘Of course you must.’ The woman was relentless. ‘It will be far more effective in helping you learn your lesson.’
Ms Beacher was quite right, of course, but Zoe felt even more humiliated as she timidly eased her panties down, baring her bottom. She intended to let them stay just below her cheeks, but they slipped down her slender legs to her ankles, making her feel quite indecently exposed.
‘Now show me your character by remaining silent,’ Beacher commanded.
Zoe closed her eyes and braced herself. She had heard boys speak of being caned, and it had sounded quite awful. Of course, the canes they described had been thicker and firmer than the one Ms Beacher was wielding, which seemed more of a switch than a cane, but she was certain it would hurt terribly nonetheless.
She felt ashamed to be treated like a naughty schoolgirl. She had wanted so much to make a good impression and be respected, and now she lay bent over Ms Beacher’s desk like a bad girl gone to see the headmistress, her panties around her ankles.
And yet there was something quite lewd and exciting about exposing herself in such a way, even something strangely comforting. It reminded her of her childhood, when life was completely governed by her elders and her betters, when there was no need to worry about making something of herself, or trying to make her own way in the world. She felt somewhat comforted, too, that she was exposing herself only on Ms Beacher’s express orders, and that she would now receive the punishment that was her due. She deserved to be soundly thrashed; she had behaved most abominably, like a wicked, wicked girl. Even now as she recalled her actions she felt startled and somewhat awed by how brazen she had been. She wondered how she could possibly have done such things, and then the pleasure returned… the feel of Mr Erasmus’s fingers on her sex, the swelling of his penis in her mouth, the heady air of excitement and passion and wonder as the blood coursed through her veins…
She heard the sound of wood slicing through the air and stiffened, but Ms Beacher appeared to be simply testing the cane’s weight.
‘You will have to gain some measure of control over your body, Quincanon.’
Abruptly, Zoe felt the tip of the cane pushing against her sex. She gasped as it moved gently up and down her vulva, and then eased between her labial lips to saw lightly back and forth.
‘This is the source of your difficulty,’ Beacher stated. ‘This is where those filthy ideas come from, where your wicked desires arise. This,’ she stroked more firmly, ‘is what you must control if you are to behave like a respectable member of society.’
It hurt a little as the cane sawed against her sex, for though the wood was smoothly polished it was angled in against the hood beneath which her clitoris sheltered, and Zoe still felt terribly sensitive down there. Remembering the exhilarating pleasure she experienced as Mr Erasmus touched her there, and rubbed her there, she thought how fitting it wa
s that the next touch her clitoris felt was the wood of the cane that was to punish her for indulging in such indecent sensations.
And yet the pressure of the cane only served to feed the dark sense of excitement she had begun to feel after lowering her panties and bending over the desk. She had never done anything very bad or immoral before today and a part of her exulted in finally having done so. The cane did not exactly feel good, but it did not feel at all unpleasant, either. Zoe thought she must be quite terrible indeed to be experiencing any pleasure at all whilst being punished, and she blushed at the anger and outrage Ms Beacher would exhibit if she suspected what her naughty charge was feeling.
Beacher abruptly jerked the cane back and up, Zoe gasped at the explosion of feeling in her clitoris, and even as she did so, she heard the hiss of displaced air as the cane whipped upwards and then down again to crack viciously against her buttocks. The sound of the impact was muted, but not so the stinging pain that made her cry out and spasm violently beneath it.
‘I said to be quiet,’ Beacher snapped. ‘Stop behaving like a spoilt brat.’ She gripped the back of Zoe’s head, forcing her firmly down over the desk once more, and slapped her hand away from her bottom, where a line of fiery pain now throbbed fiercely.
‘But it hurts!’ Zoe wailed.
‘Of course it hurts. Whatever do you imagine the point of this exercise is if not pain?’ Zoe felt the rounded shaft of the cane slip between her thighs once again and slice between her sex lips. ‘Do you really think we’re here merely so I can see your girlish charms? Now be still and be silent.’
The cane pulled back, and again Zoe gasped softly, bracing herself as it cut through the air and then sliced cruelly into the quivering cheeks of her bottom. She jerked fiercely beneath the impact, but was able to suppress a cry of agony. She merely groaned and pressed her wrist against her mouth as another line of pain began throbbing and stinging across her tender cheeks.
‘Girls like you, Quincanon, must be taught their place in life.’
Zoe bit her lip, preparing for another strike. She had behaved badly, and now she must be punished for it – punished most cruelly. She felt a strangely relaxing sense of martyrdom at the thought, and mentally urged Beacher on.
The cane slashed across her bottom once more and her whole body jerked, tears forming in her eyes as the torment intensified. And yet she experienced an odd sense of satisfaction as well, mingled with determination, because she needed to be punished. Her wanton body needed to feel the torment that was the price of pleasure.
‘You think you can go about flaunting your body at men and seducing them into wicked behaviour without punishment?’ Beacher demanded. ‘Well, think again, young lady.’
Once more the cane cracked across her upraised bottom, and again Zoe’s body quivered and tears filled her eyes as her buttocks throbbed and burned. Yet she embraced the agony, gathering it about her like a mantle and hugging it tightly, revelling in the feel of it consuming her traitorous flesh.
‘It is the temptations of the flesh we must resist,’ Beacher said coldly, stroking the cane back and forth against Zoe’s sex, the shaft pressing up between her soft pubic lips as it moved.
Even through a haze of torment, Zoe could feel her response to the caress of the smooth wood; could feel the heady arousal seeking to spread up through her body. She wanted Beacher to strike her again quickly, but instead the woman continued to move the cane back and forth against her sex.
‘Women in particular have a duty to restrain themselves and suppress the vile urges they feel down there, where wickedness is spawned,’ the older woman went on, and Zoe knew she was right, so very right, for she was feeling such vile urges even now, even while desperately seeking to suppress them. She raised her bottom, trying to pull her sex away from the caress of the cane and draw another blow, and she was rewarded for her effort as the cane hissed back, and then snapped down again, leaving another trail of fire burning across her flaming cheeks.
‘Are you sorry for what you did, Quincanon?’ Beacher urged.
Zoe gasped, unable to speak but nodding fervently as the cane stroked her sex again.
‘Then say so. Say you’re sorry.’
Zoe felt those awful urges towards pleasure and wanted to beg the woman to strike her once more. ‘I – I’m sorry,’ she gasped.
‘Sorry for what, Quincanon?’
‘Sorry I… sorry I was so… so bad,’ she stammered breathlessly.
‘Sorry for doing what, Quincanon?’
Zoe moaned, and then gasped as the cane pressed up hard against her sex. Images of herself with Mr Erasmus filled her head, remembered sensations of excitement and ecstasy as his hands moved over her body, and she felt her nipples hardening and her breasts growing more sensitive where they were pressed against the desktop.
‘Sorry for what, Quincanon?’
‘I’m sorry for letting Mr Erasmus… touch me,’ she moaned.
The cane whipped up and down, hissing through the air and cracking against her flesh.
‘Sorry for what, Quincanon?’ Beacher repeated relentlessly.
The slender weapon stroked her sex again, pushing up between her pubic lips and making her clench her teeth as she resisted the delight blending with the pain. ‘I’m sorry for… for sucking his cock,’ she whimpered.
The cane snapped down and Zoe felt the echo of the impact passing through her lower belly and making her pussy throb.
‘Vile, wicked girl!’
Again the cane slashed across her bottom and she felt the sting even as another strangely delicious muscle spasm moved through her lower belly and into her groin. She thought she could feel her clitoris swelling in response, and for one wild instant imagined it was Mr Erasmus standing behind her, seeing her so lewdly displayed as he punished her for such indecent behaviour.
‘Do not use obscene words in front of me, Zoe Quincanon,’ Beacher reprimanded her further. ‘Your obscene actions were bad enough. You performed fellatio upon him.’
‘Yes,’ she gasped, ‘that’s what I did.’
‘And are you sorry for it?’
‘I’m sorry I performed f-fellatio on Mr Erasmus!’ Her hands turned beneath her so her palms pressed against her breasts, and she squeezed them subconsciously, groaning as another blow made her bottom quiver and blaze.
‘We do not appreciate girls who behave like sluts here, Quincanon,’ Ms Beacher warned her sternly.
The very idea that she was a slut was laughable, and yet it was true, she had behaved like a slut. She felt a wicked elation at the thought, followed by a terrible sense of shame, but then the cane slipped between her thighs again and pressed up into her sex. Her bottom jerked upwards as the thin wood sliced slowly against her furrow, and a wave of indecent excitement flooded her.
The cane cracked across her bottom once, twice, a third, and then a fourth time in quick succession. At each blow both the torment and her arousal grew in strength and intensity, and tears escaped her tightly closed eyes even as her hands squeezed her breasts in time with the dark hunger suffusing her body.
‘If you wish to gift your body to men, young lady, so it can be used as a sexual plaything, then do so elsewhere, for I have no desire to witness your degradation.’
Another blow slashed into her buttocks, then another, and she moaned as pain and pleasure spun and twisted inside her in a maelstrom of sensations.
‘Very well, that is all, you may dress yourself,’ Beacher suddenly announced, and Zoe barely heard her as she experienced a profound sense of relief tinged with disappointment. She straightened up slowly, feeling utterly wrung out. Her hands moved back to cradle her throbbing bottom, and looking down over her shoulder, she glimpsed thin red lines decorating her burning rump.
‘Pull up your panties,’ Ms Beacher said unsympathetically.
Stiffly, Zo
e bent and eased them up her legs. Her buttocks continued to throb painfully, and as the strange excitement ebbed away, she felt a renewed sense of shame that quickly made her smooth her skirt down to cover herself.
‘I trust we will not need to repeat this,’ the woman said.
‘No, Ms Beacher,’ Zoe whispered meekly.
‘Then go back to your desk and concentrate on your work.’
‘Yes, Ms Beacher.’ Grabbing her jacket, Zoe all but fled the office she was so eager to remove herself from the woman’s presence, feeling a deep sense of relief as the cool air in the corridor wafted up her skirt and around her blazing posterior. And she suffered a gratifying sense of rightness, as well. She had done a bad thing, and had been punished for it appropriately, which greatly eased the guilt she would otherwise have felt over her terrible behaviour with Mr Erasmus.
And her behaviour had been terrible. Even as she made her way back to her desk, remembered passion, pleasure and lewdness played through her mind again and again. The thought of his immense penis, remembering how it had felt inside her mouth and the sense of being fully possessed by him, of being selfishly used for his pleasure, made her sex throb and grow warm and heavy again. And as for the fact that he had actually come in her mouth…
She walked by two women standing in the corridor who stared after her as she passed. One was a slim, exotic looking Asian girl with long black hair. The other was a statuesque blonde, and they interrupted their conversation as Zoe hurried away from Beacher’s office.
‘Who on earth is that?’ the blonde asked.
‘That’s the new girl, Zoe something-or-other.’
‘Did you notice her bra seemed to be undone inside her sweater?’
‘Yes, I did. Fancy that.’
‘Well, well, well, I had no idea Beacher swung that way.’
‘Now, Allison, we don’t know that,’ the Asian girl said in a thoroughly unconvincing voice.
‘No, of course we don’t,’ the blonde mused, a mischievous twinkle in her eye.
‘If she did, wouldn’t she have gone after you long before now?’
