If Only
THANKS to Monty for reminding me about Murphy's Law.
Warning: If you think that the description of a young woman dreaming of a spanking might disturb you, don't read any further. Also you can find some weird phrasing, as I didn't have it beta-read. Well, sorry!
Archiving: Yes to the Persuaders Archives, everyone else - be nice and ask first.
Story Summary: Be bad - pay the price... what else can a girl dream of?
Feedback: Pretty please! dlharon@excite.com
Story Summary: A young girl is instinctively struggling against the rules... Her teacher is there to help her grow up, learning something himself in the process.
[I've been running a fever all day, but still dragged myself to classes - some would say, out of stupidity, but as I put it - out of sense of duty. Me, the dutiful one. As I was rummaging through my bag before the class, I found out that the home assignment left where I last saw it - on my desk, at home. And I was hoping to work on my grade today! I almost cussed, but my throat was too sore to talk too much. So I just hid away on the last row, popped a mint drop
into my mouth and let the real world drift away as I dreamt about a cup of hot tea and my inbox that would be full of messages when I return... Maybe even a message from _him_, so what if _he_ had to be offline for past two weeks?
I was rudely awakened ten minutes into the class. The teacher wanted to see my
assignment.
"I - ah - I'm afraid I forgot it at home," I said as hoarsely as I could. No teacher in her right mind would frown on the girl this sick for forgetting her assignment. "But I remember it pretty well and can recount." I added even more hoarsely, and coughed.
"Yes, please," the teacher said, not commenting on the forgotten assignment, and I stepped forward to dive into the intricacies of the environmental law.
I came back to my hiding place in the last row feeling decidedly unwell. I unwrapped one more mint drop and closed my eyes, half sleeping, half raving.
I wished I just stayed at home. Acting for the teacher apart, I was sick. Why did I have to come here, especially since I didn't have a good sense to check if I had my paper with me?
Well, at least I didn't get spanked for leaving it at home. I smiled. I wouldn't mind to be spanked, not at all. Certainly, not by this silly girl that tries to pass for a teacher; I don't let just anyone into my fantasies, now do I?
I remembered what _he_ said once. Early into our online friendship I was whining about how it was so hard to stay motivated through the school year... _His_ words came, and I could sense _him_ laughing behind the black letters on the white screen: "Oh, my, girl. Wish you lived here. I'm known for providing motivation to young ladies... You *would* study, believe me."
I sighed dreamily and rolled candy in my mouth. What if I had to come back home to _him_? What if I didn't live thousands miles away, and had to report to _him_? Too good to be true. Never too good to dream of.]
As I get off my bike I can see the light in his window. He's home early - unlike me. All the way from the University I was trying to decide - to tell or not to tell. Forgetting the paper was stupid, and not something you are supposed to do if you don't want to lose scholarship... but nothing happened! I got a good grade, and no one thought about it twice.
If I tell him, he'll spank me. If I don't tell and he finds out...
[I, the real me daydreaming on the last row, understood full well that he'd never find out if I didn't tell him. But that's why we call it fantasy!]
I don't like to be spanked for real reasons. I don't like to see him in his judge mode, not really angry - but ready to punish nevertheless. Ready to forgive immediately after the spanking - but fully intended to make me feel every smack.
When we play, I droop in delight as he acts out his part of a strict, no-nonsense schoolmaster. He is scary and intimidating - and I love every second of it.
When he punishes me for real, he doesn't act much, but can make me fidget with just one look, just slightly shaking his head in reproach. He takes away my safeword for these punishment spankings - not that I'm ever tempted to use it, but the feeling of vulnerability overwhelms me as I think that *once*, when I make him *really* angry... He knows my limits too well. He can easily spank me beyond them - and then some more.
I still decide to tell him. We agreed upon it at the very beginning, when I first came to live with him and his family - I must always be honest with him, or he wouldn't be able to help.
And I need his help to stay motivated, don't I?
"Come in!" he calls, when I knock on his door, and smiles when I enter. "Had a good day?"
I nod, suddenly wavering.
"Where have you been for so long, I thought we could all go out tonight."
Indeed, I was slow on my rout home. I hoped to come back after him, to give him some time to eat and rest... calm down if someone ticked him off at work.
"Just took a long road," I say, gathering up courage.
But he already sees something in my face, and sternly asks: "What?"
"Are you gonna get mad?" I ask, smiling weakly.
"Dogs get mad. Out with it, young lady."
I look down on toes of my white sneakers and reluctantly confess: "I forgot my home assignment on my desk today."
"And?" he prompts.
"And nothing," I shrug with the sigh. "Had to recite that report by heart. Got an A."
"Well done," with a smile he rises from his desk and gives me a hug. He's such a great hugger. Every girl in our little online community who has ever played with him says so. I hug him back, smiling at his praise, hoping for a moment that getting a good grade is going to save my bottom for much more enjoyable pastime... But he knows what I'm thinking. He takes my shoulders and holds me away, examining me from hair to toe. "But what possessed you to have forgotten your paper? Don't you have at least half of your mind concentrated on the studies when you leave in the morning?"
I wince. The question is purely rhetorical, it was meant to inform me that he's not letting me slide.
"Was there any particular reason for you to forget your paper, young lady?"
"No, sir," I respond politely. There are times to tease him and there are times to call him 'sir'. Now is one of those times. "No reason. But everything turned out fine..."
"Save your excuses for later. We'll talk after tea." He informs me and lets go of my shoulders. "Now go to your room until I call you."
His tone is cold, and as always I feel a pang of anxiety.
"Are you angry?" I ask just in case. Of course, there's no real reason for him to be angry, but still...
He shakes his head, his face serious but eyes smiling.
"I'm not angry. But you do have to pay the price of carelessness, my dear."
"So, are you going to spank me?"
Here he smiles. Broadly, from ear to ear.
"Oh, yes. I am."
He sends me on my way with a smack.
[I was awakened from my fantasy by the fact that the mint drop had melted in my mouth, so I took a new one. It was cold in the room, and I muffled myself up in my neighbour's big jacket, dully noting that the class wasn't even half over. It was OK with me, I'd have enough time to get a spanking from _him_.
To anyone who'd look at me at that moment it would look like the girl on the last row was totally engrossed with studying her own thighs, tightly wrapped in old blue jeans. In truth I was just staring into space, my forehead on the desk surface, trying to decide what _he_ would use on me. It was a hard task. I'd have to ask _him_ when _he_ was back online.]
Despite my desire to act for him a little, I don't squirm all the way through the supper.
Even if I'm wincing inwardly every time he looks at me, I don't want all his family to know I'm in trouble. At the table he announces his idea for everyone to go for a little walk together... after he and I take care of some little business. They don't mind, as long as the business doesn't take long, for it's getting dark early these days. It won't take long, he assures.
"Let's talk in my study, OK?" he says to me casually as I put my cup down. The butterflies in my tummy stretch their wings. I hush at them and nod.
"After you, my lady," he extends his hand and bows slightly, as I pass him by on my way to the stairs. It could be funny if I hadn't been so worried.
His study is a nice place to be... even if your bottom is going to be smacked for punishment. I like being around him anywhere, but when we are alone in his study I get a feeling that I have him for myself, don't have to share him with anyone... which is not exactly the case, but I like this illusion.
He leans back against his table, and I stand in front of him - just as he likes: hands at my sides, back straight, looking him in the eyes. Whenever we act out our favourite headmaster/schoolgirl scene, he demands that I stand like this - and I never do, trying hard to earn those delicious extra strokes. Whenever he punishes me for real, I freeze in this position up until the moment he tells me to move, not daring to test his patience when he is about to make me feel his displeasure.
"Well, we're here again," he says, studying me.
"Yes, sir."
"I'm very pleased that you decided to tell me about your wrongdoing, Haron. And I am also very pleased that you got an 'A' today even though you didn't have you homework with you." he pauses, and studies me again.
He is an expert of pauses; just like a prominent actor, he likes his audience ripe and ready - and at the moment his audience is already practically at his feet. Well, almost.
"However," he speaks again, "you won't always be so lucky if your mind doesn't
accompany your body when you go to classes. What, pray tell, were you thinking about when you were getting out of the house today?"
I do everything I can to not drop my eyes. Of course, I was thinking about him. We played such a great scene yesterday, so kind, and emotional, and so very intense; I dreamt about it all night, and couldn't wait to get to the University computer room to tell my friends about it... but some things he doesn't have to know. I have some dignity left in me, no matter what certain people could think.
My voice even, I say: "I don't remember, sir. I think I was anxious not to be late."
The answer satisfies him, as it gives him an opportunity to go on with the lecture.
"And weren't you anxious about doing well today?"
"Uh - yes, sir. And I did do well."
"Yes, you did. But you were on the verge of failing."
"I wasn't," I say indignantly.
"Silence, girl. It's not in your best interests to argue with me."
I bite on my tongue, mentally kicking myself. Indeed, I'd better not argue. Surely he won't make a demonstration out of this stupid matter, better not to push him.
He circles me in silence, as if checking whether I still feel like arguing. He stops behind my back and speaks: "Are you familiar with Murphy's Law, Haron?"
"I don't think so, sir." I say, eyes focused on the wall in front of myself.
"Everything that can go wrong, will go wrong," he recites, still behind me. I itch to turn to him, but know better than that... boy, it's hard to keep position. He knows it. He loves it. I'd love it too if it was a scene. "How do you think it applies to our situation here?"
"I'm not sure it does, sir," I reply, certain that he'll explain it to me very soon.
"Yes, it does, my girl. Things can go terribly wrong for a young lady who doesn't pay enough attention to her studies; they can and they will. Several times you can get away with forgetting your books and assignments, but one day things will go wrong... and nothing will save you."
"You are scaring me," I whisper.
"Good! Maybe if you are scared you will concentrate on what you are doing instead of the dream world."
He is walking in circles again, lecturing me all the time. It's getting difficult to stay still, as his words start to sink in; the seriousness of my offence is now showing in all its magnitude.
It seemed a silly reason to be spanked just half hour ago, but looking at it his way, I'm heading to the catastrophe if I don't change my ways.
"You can't rely upon your luck all the time, Haron. You must work against the Law of Murphy. I don't only mean studying, because I know that you try hard there, but you must pay attention. No, don't look away, look me in the eyes... Right... Really pay attention to what you are doing, young lady, because walking in the clouds will lead to a smashed nose as you walk into trouble."
I had tears in my eyes when he started to speak, and now they are rolling down my face. I rarely cry when we play, but at this punishment sessions he doesn't even have to spank me to reduce me to tears.
"Am I understood, young lady?" he asks as he stops in front of me.
"It's not fair," I weep. "You talk about the catastrophe, when all I did was forget some stupid assignment."
"Weren't you listening at all just now?" he asks quietly and dangerously. He's so dangerous when he's quiet. "Did I explain the perils of your ways to the ceiling? I see that you do have a problem with paying attention."
"I listened," I sniffle miserably.
"Did you, indeed? Then why don't you repeat to me why forgetting your assignment at home is dangerous?"
Word by painful word I recite his lecture to him. That's where I get first couple of swats for fidgeting. That's where he threatens to strap my hands if I move them again. That's when he makes me say that I do, indeed, deserve to be punished for today's offence - and what is important, he makes me believe in it.
That's where he scares me so much that I plead with him to let me off. Just once. Just this once, and I'll never forget anything again, ever.
"Now, now," he says, patting my shoulder. "You know it doesn't work like this. You have made your bed, dear girl, and you are going to have to sleep in it."
"Yes, sir," I say with a sigh.
"And you are going to take this punishment from me, won't you?"
"Yes, sir."
"You have once given me the right to punish you when I see fit, and I think it's about time. Fetch me my cane."
"What?"
I stare at him. He just caned me yesterday, in our delicious school scene, and though he applied a generous amount of some gel to my bottom right after the scene, the weals are still there. They don't hurt, but they are there, for Heaven's sake!
"Go on!" he urges me. "We have to get it over with the faster the better, everyone's waiting for us to go for a walk. How else can I make sure that you feel your punishment? My cane, now."
I don't argue any farther. He is known for adding the strokes for hesitation. I reach behind the bookcase and bring him the cane he has left there before going to the supper.
"Thank you, young lady. Now, please, panties down, and touch your toes." He sounds business-like.
I clench my teeth and peel down my panties. I hate exposing myself in front of him. I'll never get used to it. When we play, he respects my privacy; and I always keep my underwear up. Punishment spankings, however, are always delivered on the bare - it is the law he had laid down right from the start. One more reason for me to try to avoid punishments from him.
As I bend over, my short jean skirt rides up so high that there's no need to even pull it up... he does it, though, as a symbol of the punishment starting.
"You will get four strokes," he announces, forcefully slicing the cane through the air. "I think that must be enough. Two are for forgetting your paper. That was a silly thing to do, you know how I feel about silliness. The other two are to help your memory in the future."
The cane swishes in the air again. I can't decide whether he is loosening his wrist or just playing on my nerves.
"You know the rules. Move from the position, and you get extra. You don't have to count. Ready?"
"Yessir," I squeak, my knees trembling.
It would be so much easier if he let me grip the far edge of the table... It would be easier, that's why he makes me keep such an awkward position.
He taps the cane on my bottom, indicating the area of the stroke, and suddenly the cane is drawn back and brought back down, the force of the stroke bringing me on tiptoes. Then, as the implement springs back, the pain registers on my brain, and my mouth shapes a silent "O". The stroke reawakens the welts from the previous night, and I start to feel each and every one of them. I squeeze my eyes tight.
"This was number one," he says. "I'm sorry I have to cane you again on top of what you got yesterday... but yesterday I had no way of knowing you would have to be punished today. Then it was pleasure. Now it is punishment. You know you deserve it."
The cane returns to tap my bottom. Light taps on where he is going to strike... though I know he sometimes hits at absolutely different place, just to keep me alert.
I hear the swish, and a new stroke cuts into my bottom. I stand on tiptoes again, the only thing that keeps me from falling over. The pain builds up, I'm on the verge of starting to wiggle my bottom trying to shake the pain off... the only thing that keeps me from doing it is the fact that I'm bare from the waist down.
"Number two, young lady," he says, slapping the cane against his palm ever so lightly.
"These were for forgetting your paper. And *don't* wiggle your buttocks in front of me, little girl."
I blush hard. I didn't mean to do it. No way. I'm by no means an exhibitionist. But it hurts... hurts... hurts! I've managed not to cry out so far. When we play, I always yell and beg - he likes it, I like it, it's such a nice appetiser to the main dish of the scene. When I'm being punished, though, I try to stay quiet for as long as I can - just to let him know how seriously I take it.
He is tracing his finger along the fresh welts. "Oh, my," he says, "these are good. I think I'll have a very sorry young lady here by the time we are finished. Won't I?"
"Yes, sir," I hiss, burning with embarrassment, as he leads his finger along the weals.
"Very well. Let's continue then, shall we?"
The cane glides up and down my bottom, choosing the place to bite. Then it stops right in the crease between my buttocks and thighs.
"Not there," I moan.
"Yes, there. You brought it on yourself, my girl. Now I want to make sure nothing like this ever happens again."
He brings the cane down, hard. I shriek - first from terror, then from pain. I nearly jump up to clutch my bottom in hands, or grab his wrist and make him stop - but I'm not crazy yet. Not crazy enough. I just let out little pitiful "owwws", steeping in pain.
"Oww is right, young lady," he says in lecturing tone. "It hurts, doesn't it? Now, brace yourself, there's one more to go."
And he strikes again without any preparation - right on top of the previous stroke, on my tender crease.
I scream with pain and shoot up in the straight position, then I realise how terrible a violation I've just committed and bend over again, babbling: "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I didn't mean it!"
"That's OK," he says quietly and soothingly. "You took it well. You can stand up now."
I straighten up, crying, and go right into his open arms, hiding my face in his chest.
"Now, now," he whispers, caressing my hair, pressing me to his chest. "You are a good girl. Good little girl. It's over now. Shhhhhh... That's OK." He hold me as I cry, and never stops reassuring me that I'm a good little girl, and he is very proud of me - I need his reassurance so bad that I drink his every word like my life depends of it.
Gradually I calm down...
[...and come to my senses at my desk.
When I raised my head, it was still cold, my throat still hurt, and amazingly the class was still not over. But I felt much, much better. Decidedly better. Like I had really talked to _him_. I need to tell _him_ about this fantasy when _he_ gets back from this goddamn trip that makes me miss _him_ so much. Maybe one day, when we meet...]
THE END