A Very Unusual Present to Myself

Chapter Two-1

Chapter Two

All My Dreams Have Arrived Today

& My Train Trip To Dread

The day has finally arrived and dutifully I wake to the screech of my alarm clock. Today I will attend upon Sir; I am as ready mentally for the trial ahead as I can be. Unfortunately, my stomach is not, it is in free fall as a growing fear of what I have arranged to receive hits me. My uniform is hanging in my wardrobe, all neat and complete, even down to a rather un-sexy pair of white panties, and suitable socks. These he has demanded in a flurry of last second E-Mails, last night, stating that I attend dressed in my full school uniform and that includes my school socks and pants, which I never would consider wearing now-a-days, I being a sophisticated twenty-one year old. Orders are orders for me to obey, or at least they are today.

I get up, shower, taking my time, but soon the clock demands that I dress. The towel I am wearing as I sit on my bed looking at my school clothes all innocently hanging against my wardrobe door, has to go. With a quick tug, it tumbles to the bed, leaving me naked. A glance down shows everything I have, which as a package is not too bad really. My breasts are quite perky and to my horror my n*****s are already erect. I have a slim stomach with only the slightest of bulges; and a thick bush of shaggy hair to hide my maidenly charms.

Already I can feel that part of my body is getting very hot and quite damp. I stand up, reaching out, removing the hanger from the wardrobe laying my ordered clothes out ready for dressing. With a final deep sigh of resignation I take up the large pants and pulled them on, making sure that they seat comfortably. Next I put on a matching white quite plain bra, and swiveled it into place; thus hiding my erect n*****s from my sight. Then for the blouse, again white and buttoned up to my neck; all prim and proper.

My old Headmistress would have been surprised but pleased, as I had always had the top buttons open. Today I decide to look as smart and compliant as possible. I clearly remember the last line of Sir’s punishment list and want to avoid receiving any extra discipline, as I think I am in enough trouble already. The skirt is black, knee length and pleated slightly. The socks are white and fit tight around my calves; so I have grown a little I realize. That only leaves my shoes, black, clumpy lace ups, the perfect school shoes. I look at myself in my full-length mirror, staring at the smart young woman looking back at me. Both of us, me and my reflection, knowing that soon I will be suffering because of my confession. Probably I will not look to sir as though butter will not melt in my mouth, but right now I sort of do.

I pull on a rain Mack which covers most of what I am wearing not strictly what Sir will expect I am sure but I have decided that I will remove it once I am on the train. The bus ride to the train station goes well, eight in the morning on a Saturday the buses are quite empty. There is only an old man sitting half-way down the bus, I can feel him watching me, perhaps wondering where his youth went, and then again more likely thinking, if only.

I decide that wearing the Mack is directly and deliberately being naughty so I take it off, making sure that the old man notices; well I can give him a treat of sorts. That also goes for the bus driver as I flounce off the bus, right outside of the train station. I half turn, grinning at both and with a casual wave I depart; little do they know what I am departing to do, but I bet they would both approve.

The station platform is almost empty, that is but for two women standing at the far end. They glance at me, one smirks saying something to her companion and then they both studiously ignored me from then on. The train is on time, and once I have boarded and having placed my carryall on the floor, which contains my purse phone along with a folded up Mack I try to relax. I should point out that for safety reasons I have left a letter under my laptop at home detailing exactly where I am going, not that I think there is any real danger from Sir, except to my bottom. All the same, and as mum always says, ‘safety first, stay in touch and let us know where you are, so if something happens we will at least know where to start looking for you.’

I arrive in the city an hour and a half early so I seek out a coffee-bar and have a toasty and drink; prior to hailing a taxi and giving the address I need to go to. Eighteen minutes later, I am on the outskirts of the city, standing at the gatepost of a drive which leads up to a large old looking house. In there I hope that I am soon to meet my fate, the butterflies react perfectly, grabbing and twisting at my guts in fear.

Taking a deep breath I approach the wooden front door and reach hesitantly out for the bell. It is one of those pull type, a single tug brings to my ears the distant clang of a bell ringing. Too late now girl, I say to myself as I wait for the door to open. Too bloody late now I repeat. The door opens revealing a tall thin man, standing upright and stiff looking in the doorway, looking down at me from nearly a foot higher than I am standing on his drive.

“Ah yes, Carol, I believe you have something for me?”

I panic for a second, crouch down quickly reaching into my bag, I remove the letter containing the first installment of one hundred pounds; exactly as he has specified. Inside the envelope with the letter is a note signed and dated today by me, giving him permission to apply any discipline to me and in any way that he sees fit, just so he knows that what ever he inflicts on me is still ok. I stand up, my head slightly bowed as I hold out the envelope to him with my hand trembling slightly.

“Thank you, Carol, remain there please.”

He shuts the front door, not with a slam of apparent disgust, but smoothly and quietly; as though I am nothing of any importance to him. Leaving me outside waiting on his doorstep, my butterflies now take full reign.

The instant feeling of being under his complete control, coupled with the humiliation of being made to wait hits me hard. Let alone the feeling of standing outside his front door dressed as some parody of a schoolgirl, I realize this is exactly his intention for me to feel, suddenly I realize exactly what he has done to me. I have become the schoolgirl waiting desperately, feeling scared outside of the Headmistresses office. I glance around nervously, turning left then right, then around. My eyes meet those of an old man passing the distant gate; he is looking back at me. He stops, probably in shock as he sees me; little can he realize what a pathetic naughty girl he is looking at. He probably only sees an attractive if slightly oddly dressed young woman. I smile at him; he looks away and scurries off about his business. Behind me, the front door opens once more.

“What do you think you are doing, girl? I told you to wait there, not look about and twist and turn. When I say wait there, I mean exactly there, exactly as you are; with no movement, no nosiness, just obedience. This will never do, you need to have a lesson in obedience!”

He seems cross; as I turn to face him our eyes meet and lock on each other. Nothing matters to me right then other than the fact that I have Sir before me, and he is clearly annoyed with me. For causing him that annoyance with my disobedience, I am sure to pay a very steep price. Already I have been naughty in both of our eyes, though un-intentional in mine.

“Kneel down!”

I kneel, feeling the gravel digging into my knees.

“Hands behind your back, girl!”

I instantly respond, my hands flying behind my back, clamping together, waiting and wondering what he intends to do to me next.

“Now wait there until I am ready to attend to you!”

Attend to me, the echo and barely concealed threat of his words rotates through my thoughts. Swamping out everything else as he again shuts the front door in my face, and once more vanishes from my sight. Leaving me this time determined to remain exactly as he has ordered me, and all without him so much as touching me even once.

I look forward and up waiting for the door to open again, time drags on. I wondered what the old man who had seen me earlier would now make of me, if in returning he stops and looks along this driveway.

Now he will see a naughty young woman under discipline, there cannot be any other interpretation he can make. I hope that he does return and does see me, even though I will not see him. The humiliation begins to bloom, much like a rose under glass as I picture what I will look like to him. Will he stop and just watch to see what is going to happen, or will he do something else. What that might be, I do not have a clue, but just the thought of him wanting to do something else has already made me dampen my panties in excitement.

The front-door opens just then, disturbing my budding erotic fantasy.

“Enter, girl!”

He stands aside revealing a long passageway with stairs to the left hand side. A wooden door, a closed wooden door acts as a barrier at the far end of the hall; shutting me off from what awaits there. I get up from my kneeling position; I cannot resist taking a quick glance over my shoulder in the hope of seeing the old man standing at the gate. He isn’t there, but in my mind he had been, and I hope that he had enjoyed seeing my humiliation. I enter Sir’s home, being careful to squeeze past Sir, the door closes behind me with a terrifying click of finality, I have arrived and I am helpless now.

“Turn right, girl!”

His whole tone is somehow neutral, as though he has said such things to girls like me many times. He probably has, I realize as I enter into the front-room of his home. The furniture is sparse, austere in feel, but practical as an office. An old deep rich black desk stands in the bay window, a chair behind it. In front of that desk, closest to me is a straight-backed wooden seated chair.

“Sit, girl!” He points toward the wooden one.

I take the hard chair whilst he walks around the desk and sits down. On the table is a printout of my E-mail to him, the one containing my soul felt admission of guilt. In addition, the envelope I had handed to him, the one containing exactly one hundred pounds in crisp new ten-pound notes is there. I had thought tens would look more impressive, now I realize that my being able to impress him will have little to do with any pathetic little showy props.

He picks up the print out, flicking the money and envelope into an open draw with evident contempt as he looks across at me. I cannot meet his eyes, so ashamed do I feel sitting before him. Somehow, I feel as though I have betrayed him by my behavior. This powerful feeling amazes me as we have never met before, why do I feel so, well, what can I say other than naughty and culpable.

“So this is what you consider acceptable behavior from a young lady, is it?” he demands.

I remained looking down not trusting my voice to reply.

“Well, girl, answer me!”

“No.”

“No, what?”

With a quick gulp I recognize my mistake and repeat clearly, after tilting my head up briefly to glance across the bare expanse of his desk.

“No, Sir,” I say, then my head lowers again showing my discomfort, hiding my fear and yes, shame.

“You appear to have enough about you to accept that you have been disgusting, and have sought to confess and accept punishment for your crimes. Is that correct girl; are you ready to accept your punishment, to pay your due penance?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good, than I can see no reason why we should not proceed, can you?”

“No, Sir.”

“Stand up, hands behind your back.”

His commands fill the air between us, I jump up as though given an electric shock and with my hands flying behind my back. I look down still unable to face him, he is my judge, jury and executioner, and I am his culprit. I am feeling fully now the fear that all naughty girls throughout time have felt, as they await sentence for their behavior.

He holds my detailed confession, reading it whilst effectively ignoring me. Then once he is finished he looks up, leaning back into his chair, considering carefully, before finally speaking.

“According to this confession, a friend of yours, another girl found an adult magazine, dealing with the subject of naughty girls getting bound and punished, is that correct?”

“Yes, Sir.” I wonder if he can hear the quaver creeping into my voice.

“This girl then passed the magazine around your gathered friends and eventually it arrived at you.”

“Yes, Sir, it did.”

“You took the magazine and presumably looked at the cover quite carefully, didn’t you?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Did you see the clearly printed warning stating eighteen years or over, not for minors, etc., so you knew right then that it was an adult themed magazine?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“So you decided to open and glance through this magazine, what did you see?”

“Umm,” I hesitated not wanting to tell him what I had seen, but knowing that he was going to insist.

“Well, girl?”

“There were lots of pictures of girls bent over getting smacked or worse!”

“Those pictures interested you, did they not?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“So let me see, you knowingly decided to indulge in reading pornographic material, not something I am sure that your parents might approve of, even though it was legal for you to read, is that the case, girl?”

The emphasis on that simple word ‘girl’ is getting more and more positive. He is waiting for me to speak, sitting there in his chair with his hands steepled before him. Knowing full well that I am about to confess to letching at the pictures. He understands that I have little choice but to face up to my feelings of guilt, and knowing I am sure, exactly what he intends to do so that I may make reparations for my confessed offences. I did not even realize that I had committed this moral offence, but he did, and now I do, and I accept my crime of letching.

“Yes, Sir, I knew I was being naughty, well sort of!”

“Sort of, girl, you either were or you were not being naughty, which is it?”

He has forced me to the point of confession, and so easily. I confess as I have no other option.

“Yes, Sir, I was deliberately naughty but only because I wanted to look at the pictures and read the girls’ stories.”

“Now we are getting somewhere, girl. What happens to naughty girls?”

I know the answer to this one, so sucking in a deep breath I say.

“They get punished, Sir!”

“This first offence is not too serious seeing that you were of an age to read such material, but still it warrants punishment because I believe you realized that your parents would not approve of you doing so. I have decided that a sound spanking is called for, would you agree that a spanking is both fair and just girl, considering the offence committed?”

“Yes, Sir.”

He is going to spank me, something happens as I say ‘Yes Sir’, a deep throb rips through my stomach, emanating from my secret place. I am about to be spanked for the very first time, just as all the naughty girls in my magazine were spanked. He stands up and walks around the desk; he is now sitting himself on the chair I have so recently vacated.

He points to a spot on the floor next to him, half a turn and two steps later I am standing looking down at his trouser covered thighs.

“Bend over, girl.”

Such a simple sentence, ‘bend over, girl’. I bend, lowering myself hesitantly across his lap. His legs protrude outward below me; they are long, spindly, and somewhat spidery. His body is short in proportion to his legs, but the effect when he stands is that he is tall. How hard am I going to get spanked I wonder, as I deliberately wiggle further across his lap. Will it be on the bare like in the magazine, or will he settle for spanking me over my skirt?

I am soon to realize that he will always administer punishments in the most effective and humiliating way. He used his legs, jiggling my bent body into a more comfortable position for him, not for me. I feel his fingers touch the hem of my school skirt and slowly lift it, before neatly folding it upward across my back to reveal my panty clad bottom to him. Those same fingers slip into the waistband and slowly pull my panties down until they reveal my lilywhite, totally unblemished, and I hope highly spankable virginal buttocks to his gaze, and soon his hand.

He pats my neatly presented buttocks, much like an owner pats an obedient dog. The electricity of arousal explodes from my soaking quim, as I await my first ever dose of corporal punishment. My very first spank when it arrives is no gentle introduction, his hand thrashes down, his palm slaps my flesh right in the center of my right cheek; and then it departs. I need not have worried it soon returns, and my first spanking is underway. The pain explodes as my bottom jerks, I gasp out, only to be told to remain silent; some hope as he tattoos my buttocks. Slap follows slap, drifting and covering every inch of my bare bottom. His fingers piteously lash at my crease and thighs, catching me unaware, as like all punished girls I writhe through my discipline.

This, my first spanking, is by definition a fine, soundly administered, perfectly applied application of the spankers art. There is no doubt in my mind as to its perfection and effect. I receive forty or so very hard slaps, and by the sixth I am biting my lip, and beginning to feel the first trace of a wail of despair. I try to bite back my cries, I even succeed until he has given me my first dozen spanks, but then my wails burst from me.

They do nothing to slow or reduce my spanking though; he has set a target I think. He is as dedicated as he is strict, and so my poor bottom is going to receive each and every single pain inducing slap, each tenderizing loving kiss his target demands of me.

Sir finally finishes administering my first spanking and then he orders me to my feet. Following up on his instruction by sending me to the far corner of his office, where he makes me tuck up my skirt whilst keeping my knickers around my thighs, at half-mast. Once satisfied with my obedience and position he returns to his desk and the papers he removes from within it. My humiliation floods my thoughts as I stand looking at the blank wall, knowing that he might be looking at my rosy bottom cheeks.

Finally, he calls me back to his desk; I hobble over trying to hold my panties around my knees, mortified at the thought of them dropping to hobble my ankles. The pain, or rather the smarting of my spanking has faded quite a lot, but not completely as I halt before him, wondering what next. On the desk before him, resting all innocent but out of place is a single leather soled slipper. I gulp at its presence, the slipper fills my thoughts, and my bottom twitches slightly as my muscles contract in expectation.

“Now then let’s see what you did next, young lady.”

I straighten up slightly, not daring to meet his eyes, waiting, unable to say anything as my mouth feels so dry.

“After you opened the magazine and saw the contents did you immediately pass it on, or did you read through it?”

“I flicked through it looking at the pictures, Sir.”

“You looked at the pictures, you studied the naughty girls and boys being spanked and tied up, was that when you decided to keep the book?”

“Yes, Sir, I wanted to read it in more detail because it interested me.”

“So what happened next, presumably you had to pass it around.

“Yes, Sir, Stella wanted a look after me, and then there was some laughter about the content, and then we had to go home.”

“Your friends found the content funny, but you didn’t, did you?”

“No, Sir.”

I could feel my cheeks getting hot and I don’t mean my bottom cheeks, they were finally cooling down after my spanking.

“How did you obtain the magazine, and what did you do with it once you had it?”

“Umm, I…”

I took a deep breath, he is going to get the truth out of me and I realize that to say anything that is not true to him will make my presence, and first real disciplining, a complete waste of his and my time. So I take that breath and gush out my whole torrid confession.