This is a brief piece of fiction. It was started off as a writing assignment by "n" who was unable to finish it. This piece also provided "j" with the first opportunity to practice the art of editing. But if there are defects in the story they are solely the fault of E.E. Norcod who is always to blame for things that go wrong. Any resemblance to anyone, living or dead exists only in the mind of the reader.

Part One

The Walk

I am fuming as I walk toward the math building across the cool dark campus. I should be at the best party of the fall but instead I have to meet for some sort of a bizarre tutorial session with my creepy Calculus instructor. Ok, I have to admit that I didn't study as intensely for that first exam as I should have. But I don't think it was fair to take all of those points off for not showing the intermediate steps in the derivations. Shit! That fall wind blew right up my short skirt and without any undergarments – no panties or pantyhose – it is shockingly cold. All I have on beneath this black sheath dress is a black tricot half-slip and that is not that much protection. Ordinarily I would not wear a slip with a dress this short but ordinarily I would have on panties and pantyhose. And this slip is not working all that well at keeping my skirt from riding up. When this damn dress rides up it shows a whole bunch of damn slip hem and I bet that the tops of my stockings are showing. And probably not just stocking is showing but a flash of naked thigh as well. Damn, damn, damn it's cold.

My heels click and clack furiously on the cobblestone pathway as I finally approach my destination. The big old Live Oak trees cast really weird shadows in the sodium vapor lights and I glance over my shoulder to see if anybody is following me. How did I get myself in this situation? I pull down the hem of my dress once again, self conscious of my nakedness underneath. Still, if a little spanking is all it will take to get out of this academic mess, I can handle it. No big deal. Ok, I'm finally here and I don't think any of my friends have seen me. The door at the back of the building is old and it looks like it is rarely used. On my first attempt to unlock it I drop the key that I found in my mailbox yesterday. God Damn Son of a Bitch, Fuck! am I nervous. Ok, I hate to admit it, but I am scared, real scared. Without thinking I bend over to grope for the key. Only then do I realize that if anybody is looking I am giving them the 'beaver shot' of the semester with this short skirt and my unclad bottom. I squat down and eventually, OK, my fingers find the key. I fumble as I work the key into the lock. Finally, with a good deal of pressure, the key turns. The door opens with a creak into a dimly lit stairwell which descends into darkness. My heels click and clack on the stone steps as I wobble down on feet unfamiliar with descending stair in really high heels.

It is pitch black at the base of the stairs. I run my hands along the wall in search of a light switch in the usual place. No luck. Suddenly, a very low wattage fluorescent light palely flickers to life. I let out a short yipping scream and clutch the hem of my all too short skirt as He appears right in front of me. He looks pretty creepy by day, six foot four inches with long arms. He is all massive shoulders, pot belly and sagging ass in the oblique dim light. He never seems to be clean shaven and His reeking breath can sicken you from half way across the classroom. And in the dimly lit basement He looks a lot worse. He looks extremely pleased with himself. "I'm glad you took me up on my little offer my dear." he gloats with a smug smile on his pitted face. "Follow me." he commands and He begins to walk with that particular squat waddle of His down the hallway. I walk down the hall, clicking and clacking, holding the hem of my dress, thinking of the nakedness of my down-under and dreading the ordeal to come.

I've disliked Him since the first day of class when I laid my unfortunate eyes on him. No matter where I would sit in the lecture hall, it seemed like His eyes were finding me. His mouth would be lecturing about Calculus but His eyes would be telling me something else. Those pig eyes would be stripping away clothing. Normally, being oriental and naturally small breasted, I don't wear a bra. But when ever He gets the chance He calls me up to the front of the room to work an integral at the blackboard. I can feel those pig eyes stripping off my tee shirt and tweaking my nipples. I started wearing one of the only two bras I own to calculus class. I suspect that He must mentally do that to all of us but somehow I seem to feel it more acutely than the others. Each day, the first class slot after lunch, my stomach roils as I sit in that overheated classroom.

As I clicked and clacked my way down that seeming endless terrazzo basement corridor I think of that first exam. That exam was a mental agony the likes of which I have never experienced before in my life. As I sit there in the blond wooden chair-desk, I can feel His eyes undressing me. He is stripping off my jeans and lifting off my tee shirt. He is unhooking my bra and slowly pulling down my panties. I can even feel Him slipping off my shoes and pulling off my socks. I look at the exam paper and the numbers started swirling around. I can even feel His eyes probing into my most private places, stroking my clitoris and my inner labia. He is poking into my vagina and anus. Five minutes into that exam I am sweating, salivating and I feel sick to my stomach. And strangely, my genitals are becoming hot, tumescent and wet. I can feel the wetness seeping into my panties. I swallow hard but I can not keep the equations from moving across the page as all my mind can focus on is my clitoris. My genitals seem to be on fire. That one hour exam seems to last the entire afternoon and I swear it is getting dark when He says "TIME". I throw my one-third-complete paper at him, run into the lavatory, fling open the door to the stall and, covered in sweat, heave my completely undigested lunch into the commode. And when I can heave no more, I finally get around to latching the door of the stall. I pull my jeans and sodden panties all the way down to my ankles and sit on the commode, my sweat soaked tee shit clinging to my chest and back. And I masturbate with an urgency I had never felt before. I don't just stroke my clitoris with my right hand but in a frenzy I rub my labia as well. Such is my abandon that finally I stick three fingers of my right hand into my vagina and crank away like hell. I am sure that anyone walking into the ladies washroom must hear my moans and thrashing but I am uncaring of my environment. Such is my need. And the worse part of it is, that now, as I hobble on my high heels down this dark basement hallway, my genitals are starting to swell and burn again with the same intensity.

As I wobble down the hall on my shaky ankles, I am reliving the next day after that exam. I approach the bulletin board across from the lecture hall with trepidation. Oh god, there it is, my student number and my grade. 273-48-3321 and 51, highlighted in red. Three other student numbers are also highlighted, three other girls I later find out. And down at the bottom of the page is written in red ink, "The four students whose grades are posted in red are to see me immediately after the lecture today". I have the lowest grade in the class but there are four of us down there in the fifties. And that god-damned exam wet pussy bothers me still. I hate Him with a passion that goes beyond words. The four of us stand silently outside His office at two o'clock that afternoon. A silent, sweating line. Since I had the lowest grade, I have to wait until after the other three girls. I don't remember them well except that two are blond and real cute and the third is, like me, an Oriental. But my stomach is churning too much to really do much thinking. These thoughts and memories fill my mind as I click and clack after Him this evening. Him and His lumbering gait. Down that damn dim basement hall toward that inevitable room where my 'tutorial' awaits. What I expect will be a tutorial in pain and humiliation. He said I need tutoring in math. That afternoon He asked "Will I accept it?" Of course I will, what choice do I have? That afternoon as I sit there in His cluttered hole of an office, my genitals start to inflame again. He says the tutorials were very strict. I say "no problem". What choice do I have. He says He will e-mail me with the details, times, conditions, requirements, preparations. When I left the office I once again run to the ladies room. At least this time I don't vomit. But the crotch of my panties are soaking once again. And once again, in a frenzy, I masturbate. And now this evening I am walking behind him down this hall and my pussy is starting to drip. Once again I pull down that god-damned fucking hem of this all-too-short skirt of this tight black son-of-a-bitchin black sleeveless cocktail dress. And the worst thing of all is that I can feel the juice from my privates on the naked inner surface of my thighs.

This is a brief piece of fiction. This section started off as a writing assignment by "n" whereas E.E. Norcod just polished it up. Any resemblance to anyone, living or dead exists only in the mind of the reader. But the fantasy may be familiar to anyone who has ever sat next to a girl in collegiate calculus.

Part Two

The Room

After the long terrifying walk down the corridor lined with endless similar-looking institutional metal doors He stops in front of a door marked B.122. I am so startled I run up into Him and am amazed at how solid He is. I bounce off, lose my balance on my high heels and tumble to the floor in a jumble of arms and legs. This reveals a large expanse of skin above the tops of my black nylons and I am sure that it also reveals my lack of undergarments. He pulls out a large ring of keys, selects one, and inserts it into the knob of Room B.122. As the door swings open He reaches down and plucks me upright as if I was as weightless as the leaves now falling from the Red Oak trees by the dorms. We enter a huge storage room as He flicks the light switch, turning on the single dim naked incandescent bulb in the ceiling at the far end of the room. Then He roughly slides the heavy rusted bolt in the door behind us. The room is filled with shelves and shelves of cardboard file boxes – the remains of three decades of old final exams, probably filed in anticipation of the Second Coming. There is a metal desk and metal closet in one of the far back corners. On the floor next to the desk is the vase filled with crape myrtle shoots that I saw in His office the other day. That was the vase I focused on the other day in His office when He told me how strict the tutorials are. About how C.P. is used on recalcitrant, stupid, willful girls. If I was scared then it was nothing compared to my fear now. I suspect that this is going to be more than 'a little spanking'. "Just so you don't get any ideas, little bitch, several of my very close female friends know that I'm meeting with you tonight. They are prepared to supply me with a most concrete alibi." I tell him "You wouldn't dare to actually harm me. I'll have you brought up on charges of moral turpitude and you will never get a job in academia again". He is on me in an instant. His hand grips my hair and I feel my head pulled painfully back. "First of all, bitch, it has been tried before and nobody on this campus is going to fuck with me. Try that shit and the next thing you know you will be back down here for a session that will last days and not hours." Then He grabs my two wrists together in His massive right hand, raises my arms up and delivers a truly nasty, very hard slap to my backside. With that He says "Now for the ground rules. You will not speak while in this room unless you are told to." Another slap stings my backside "You will follow all commands quickly and silently." Another slap to my butt. "If you are not obedient in every detail, the deal is off. You get the big F in Calculus, you lose your scholarship, you are expelled from this college, the whole nine yards". A fourth slap stings me. "Do not presume that you have control of the situation bitch, you do not." Another blow to my behind and the tears start to well up in my eyes. "In this room, you have control of nothing." His right hand hits me a sixth time. "However, you are free to leave if you wish, but we both know what that would mean." Slap seven, this is really hurting. "Now, I hope you are going to have less trouble learning the rules I have just laid forth than you do with simple derivatives." He slaps my bottom an eighth time as He releases my hands. My hands instantly spring back to my behind and I rub vigorously. I was never really ever spanked as a child and certainly as a teenaged girl no one would ever dare lay a hand on me. I am too shocked to even screech out. I am dumbfounded. And my pussy is running.

I am terrified at this unexpected turn of events. I was under the assumption that I could haughtily grant Him His wish to spank me. I can see now that the situation is evolving into something quite different. I stammer out a "yes sir..." and He pushes me out to the middle of the floor. "Good. We will proceed", He says, and sits down behind the desk. I try to stand confidently as His eyes roam over every part of my body. But it is real difficult to stand confidently on shaking ankles and knees wearing too highly elevated high heels. Not when you are beneath the steady gaze of His beady eyes with a wet pussy. I am feeling very vulnerable, I anticipated a spanking and He has already spanked me. But this is developing into something more. Something much more serious. My black, sleeveless cocktail dress seems completely inadequate to shield me from His stare and now I really miss the psychological comfort that a pair of panties, a bra and pantyhose would offer. This thin dress, half slip and pair of black nylon stockings makes me feel worse than naked. He pulls a sheaf of papers out from a drawer. "This is your test. It stinks. It is the lowest in the class. Before you are to be taught calculus, your arrogance must be disciplined. You are a bright girl and i have little doubt that once you have submitted to my ways, you will eventually pass this class. Tonight, I plan to provide you with lessons of another sort." I blink stupidly at his statement stammering out "I don't understand." I am now terrified out of my mind, this is developing into something much worse than I ever bargained for. "Obviously you don't understand bitch. And you have forgotten that I told you that you were not to speak in this room unless ordered to." He says as He comes out from behind the desk. Summoning all my courage in the way that they taught us in our assertiveness training class, I say to Him calmly "Stop calling me a bitch, you asshole." He steps up to me and once again grabs my hands by the wrists pinioning my two hands in His left hand. But this time instead of hitting me with His right hand He pulls me over His knees. Before I know it He has raised the hem of my dress and my half slip. Now my naked behind is exposed to his gaze. Half a dozen blows now rain down on my bare butt. And now it is not just the pain. It is the degradation and humiliation of being held, bare assed and beaten. Then His right hand goes between my legs grabbing my labia between His thumb, forefinger and middle finger. He gives my wet genitals a wrenching squeeze and I see before my eyes. I scream and start kicking and wrenching my body about. He finally lets go and I drop to my knees as the breath leaves my body. I am beginning to realize that He is very serious. I close my eyes, and resolve to get through this as quickly as possible.

I stand up slowly. He returns to His seat behind the desk. Looking at me, and holding one of the shoots of crape myrtle in His hands he commands "remove the dress, bitch." He makes sure to accentuate the last word. This is worse than the exam. The room is starting to spin around me. I would have thought that my mouth would be dry but my saliva is running wild and I am having to swallow hard to keep up with it. My hands are sweating and my face is flushed. Oh my God, this man is nuts and am I scared. Now, I've always been a bit of an exhibitionist and at parties have enjoyed taunting the guys by showing a bit of skin. But I was the one in control under those conditions. Early on I had thought that perhaps I could turn the situation around by arousing his desires to the boiling point and then denying him any type of relief. But now it looks like I am the one being controlled. I unzip the dress and it falls down around my feet leaving me naked but for my half slip, nylons and high heeled shoes. My hands instinctively go to cover my tiny breasts. "Drop the hands to you side, bitch" He instructs threateningly and continues, "and turn around slowly bitch." Scared, but with my slit oozing slippery, slimy juice, I comply. How you can be so scared and yet so turned on, I cannot comprehend. He mutters, "Keep turning, hands at your sides, very nice. very, very nice, now remove your slip." I gulp and whisper "But sir if I do I will be naked." He smiles, "That is the idea, bitch" and flicks the crape myrtle switch up and down onto his palm. Turning my back to him I place my thumbs on the sides of my hips, hook them into the elastic waist band of my slip and ease the filmy black undergarment over my hips. I squat down a bit and once the slip is below my knees I step out of it, trying to expose myself as little as possible. And trying to absolutely not reveal any inner thigh dripping with secretions. He runs his eyes over my stripped body and remarks. "Your ass is starting to ripen before my very eyes. I've had my sights on you for quite some time. I knew exactly what you were the minute you walked into my first lecture. You are destined by nature to be a Paintoy and a Fucktoy. Like all oriental bitches you are short on tit but long on pussy. And like all oriental bitches you have a broad ass that just cries out to be beaten. I will mold you and shape you. Pain and humiliation will be your lot until you learn to be absolutely submissive to my will. Tit, asshole and pussy will be mine. Mouth and buttocks. Yes even feet and nostrils will serve me. Until you become slave to my every wish, you will know nothing but beatings and piercings and brandings and wrenchings of limbs. And do you know what will be the worst part of all of this. In time, bitch, you will come to love your slavery."

Never in my life have I been so scared and felt so out of control. My pulse was pounding in my head and my racing heart was pounding in my chest. The flush was spreading from my face down onto my chest and the heat was welling up from my stung buttocks. And worst or all, fluid was pouring out of my vagina.

This is a brief piece of fiction. These parts were written by E. E. Norcod to finish off the story that 'n' began. The Rev. Norcod wrote the following chapters using first person singular, past tense which he is far more comfortable writing in than the first person singular present tense that 'n' preferred.

Part Three

The Pot

As his eyes fondled me he asked "Did you prepare yourself as I instructed in my e-mail?" His eyes focused themselves on my pubic area and I felt it was superfluous to point out to him that I had depilated my pudendum. "Before I came I bathed. I administered an enema to my self. I evacuated my bowels" I replied. He grunted and commanded "Bend over, spread your feet thirty inches apart and grab your ankles." I dreaded what I suspected was coming but I complied. I knew that I was making obvious my state of sexual arousal but I didn't know what else to do. I was no longer in control of the situation and was helpless before his overwhelming animal brutality. He squatted behind me and spread the cheeks of my red tender buttocks with his thick fingers. OH SHIT he could see everything. As my humiliation deepened, my arousal increased. As he ran his horny right forefinger over my dripping labia he remarked "Hot little bitch aren't you". I whimpered softly "Please, please don't hurt me". He moved his finger over to stroke the inner aspect of first my left and then my right thighs saying "Pussy, pussy, pussy, hot little pussy." I gagged as he spread the drippings uniformly over the skin right down to the stocking tops. I would have thrown up but I had wisely foregone supper. Then he started running his finger up and down across my privates starting at the top of my slit and going all the way down to my anus, spreading my arousal goo from one end to the other. "Nice, nice, nice bitch" he muttered. Deeper and deeper he probed each time he went from top to butt hole. My arousal was becoming unbearable and my knees started to shake. It must have been the fourth or fifth time around before he actually began entering my vaginal cavity proper with his finger. And then he pulled it out and forced in into my anal ring. Not really past it but just into it. Boy was he taking his time in fondling me. He could see that my sexual arousal was becoming so extreme that I was on the edge of an orgasm. My knees were shaking so much I could hardly maintain my bent over posture and was in danger of falling over. Then he stopped and I wanted to scream. He off-handedly remarked, "Bitch did a good job of shaving her pussy. Not even any hair around her asshole. Good little pussy."

"OK you slant-eyed bitch," he insulted. "Squat on the pot over there and piss." He pointed to a blue enamel twenty quart cooking pot with a matching lid in the corner of the room. I went over to it, facing into the corner and removed the lid. "Stop bitch. Turn around. Face outwards." he instructed. I knew that resistance was futile and complied. Then the strangest thing happened. I hadn't urinated since leaving my dorm room and my bladder was full, but when I squatted I couldn't pee. Whether it was the humiliation and embarrassment or whether I was paralyzed by fear I don't know. But I couldn't go. I just squatted there and tried to let go but couldn't. I rested my thighs on the edges of the pot and balanced precariously there but I couldn't relax enough to urinate. He picked up his switch off the desk and sauntered over, flicking it back and forth ominously. He began to rub it oh so lightly over my back. Again I found this paradoxically arousing. Then he used the switch to tickle my sides. I began to giggle and all at once I started to urinate. And I peed and I peed and I peed. And the more I peed, the more embarrassed I became, turning from mere red-faced to absolutely crimson.

When I was done emptying my bladder I looked around for something to wipe the last few drops of urine off my perineum with. He saw me and commanded "Use your hand, that right, wipe your pussy with your right hand. Good bitch. Now put your wet fingers in your mouth and lick them clean." Despairingly, I did as he commanded. I had no choice. While still squatting I put my first three fingers in my mouth and sucked. And gagged. I fell forward onto my forearms and retched. Nothing would come up. I had the dry heaves. But with elbows next to knees and face to the floor I tried to throw up. Nothing, not even mucous. The bastard laughed and swatted my behind smartly with his switch. "I didn't give you permission to puke, did I bitch. Cover up your piss pot and get up." Still beet red in the face, I did as he commanded. He certainly understood how to inflict maximal embarrassment and humiliation.

Part Four

The Switch

He tapped me on the shoulder with his switch to get my attention and using its tip he herded me over to the desk. It was a standard grey Steelcase, double-drawer desk. You have probably seen a million of them in your life. But I will never forget that desk as long as I live. It had one of those vinyl top surfaces, hard vinyl, cold vinyl. He directed me over to a corner of the desk. I eyed the bright steel rim that bridged between the grey streaked vinyl covering the top and the grey steel side edge. I automatically calculated the contact angle between that strip of stainless steel and the crease of my lap and the shaved triangle of my mons. He bade me stretch out across the desk diagonally. As he bent me over, the first thing that touched that cold surface were my breasts. Not large breasts but sensitive breasts. The minute my nipples touched that cold vinyl they instantly became engorged and turgid sending a frisson of sexual excitement through my body. As I adjusted myself according to his instructions, the cold steel touched my pubic triangle and the front of my thighs, increasing my arousal. OH SHIT this was starting again. I don't know if I can stand another cycle of unrequited sexual stimulation to the edge of a climax and then be denied an orgasm. Splaying out my arms and grasping the sides of the desk only served to jam my tense nipples and sensitive pubes more tightly into that cold grey desk. How am I going to take this?

Then just as my arousal was peaking I heard that sound for the first time - the whistle as the switch, employed with consummate skill, came down upon my buttocks. Since this was my first time and I was preoccupied with my tits and my pussy, the sound had no significance to me. I will never again hear that type of swishing whistle and not clench my buttocks. The crape myrtle wand landed evenly across both of my unsuspecting butt cheeks, exactly half way between the crease where my buttocks joined my thighs and my belt line. Oh my God what that first stroke felt like! At first, it was like an electrical shock then it was like a hot coal being drawn across my skin. I shrieked, stood up, clapped my hands to my behind, turned around to face my tormenter and screamed "NO! You can't do this, you can't hurt me like this." As I shouted at him the fire in my buttocks only became greater. Up until this point in my life I had never felt pain like this. This was not the sharp twinge of a turned ankle or the dull ache of an athletic injury. This was fire. This was unbearable. He smiled at me and stood there tapping the switch into his left palm and said "It appears that my little half Chinese, half Japanese bitch has absolutely none of the stoicism and self control ascribed to her race. What's the matter bitch, can't take a little spanking. This is just the beginning, you have a long way to go before you leave this room. This switch is going to become very familiar to you before this evening is over."

I reacted without really thinking. I spat in his face, grabbed the switch from his hand, broke it in two over my knee, and naked as the day I was born I ran on my high heels for the door. "SHIT" I exclaimed as I struggled with the massive, rusty bolt. "OH FUCK" I blurted when his massive right hand smacked into the right side of my head spinning me around. Stunned, I said nothing as he grabbed my left hand and then yelped with pain as he twisted my left forearm up behind my back. I suspect that he had dealt with this situation before. He frog marched me back to the desk but stopped in front of the grey metal closet. Switching his grip on my wrist from his right hand to his left, he then opened the door and extracted four pieces of white nylon rope. Each of these was about three eights of an inch thick and perhaps six feet long. Shit, I know what is coming now. It was a good thing I had just emptied my bladder because I could feel it go into spasm in reaction to my fear. Back over the desk I went, held down by what I can only describe as a massive paw while my right hand was bound by a loop spliced into the end of the rope. I marveled at how he was able to hold me down and at the same time secure my arms. Practice, I guess. My kicking and screaming goes unanswered. I am sure he has chosen this time carefully. Security must have just finished their final round of the night. I sure no one will pass down that corridor much before five or six in the morning. And given that tomorrow is Saturday, maybe not even then. This fucker really knows what he is doing. Now it is my ankles that are being tied to the leg of the desk. I am in really deep shit.

It is only when I am bound hand and foot that he speaks again. "Well my little bitch, I think we know who is in control now. I love it so much when a girl struggles, I so love it when I can see you helplessly squirm. I am not actually angry with you. In fact I was hoping you would do this. It makes the training so much more fun. I hope that you realize that I have a large number of switches. I try not to break them over the behinds of naughty little girls but sometimes it happens. That's why I have lots of extras." He went over to the vase and selected another wand. At this point my terror increased to the point where I felt my bowels loosen. But so thorough had my preparatory enema been that all that emerged from my anus was a long low fart. I banged my head against the vinyl of the desk top and sobbed and screamed. "There, there he crooned, don't make such a fuss, you might hurt yourself. You must remember, slow and steady, slow and steady, that's how I like it done. Here, I don't want you to bite your tongue." He put a piece of leather into my mouth. Just like the leather bones they sell in the grocery store. The type you give to your dog to chew on. Well this was not beige, hard and new. It was brown and the leather was fairly soft and more than a bit moist. I wondered who or what had been chewing on it, his dog or another girl being tortured. I gagged and tried to spit it out but he secured it into my mouth with a couple of pieces of white string already tied to the ends.

Then I heard that whistling sound. In all the struggling I had forgotten about everything but the struggle. Now I remembered that whistling sound. And I knew what was coming. Electricity and fire was coming. I stiffened my body in anticipation of the blow but nothing could prepare me for the pain. FUUCCK! Oh No, Oh No. I squirmed and thrashed but still it hurt. I twisted my hands and pulled as hard as I could but all I succeeded in doing was to abrade my wrists. He, the supreme sadist, was in complete control. He just waited until my gyrations ceased and then I heard that swooshing whistle again. Bound over as I was, I couldn't turn my head far enough around to see where the three blows had landed. But I was pretty sure that there were three parallel lines of fire arranged with mathematical precision across my ass. And I swore that he had peeled the skin off with each stroke. My backside must be bleeding, he must have torn my skin. I will get him back if it is the last thing I do. There is no way he is going to get away with this. Then that sound and then the pain. Oh My God I cannot endure this. Four blows but it seems as if he has been beating me all night. He takes his time and seems to know just how long it takes for the pain from a single stroke to become maximal and then he strikes again just when the sharpest pain is beginning to come down. Oh Shit, that was the fifth, how much longer can this last. Oh No, Oh No, Oh No, six. My bladder is in complete spasm.

Then he stopped. He stopped and lightly, ever so lightly ran his switch up and down over my ass, just barely touching the skin. I could feel the wand bumping up and down as it passed over the ridges of the welts emerging from the skin of my backside. It was curious that I could barely feel the passage of the switch. It seemed that the discrete sensations of my buttocks were subsumed into one single throbbing area of pain. The throbbing seemed to grow with each passing minute and he must have toyed with my skin for five minutes. All so lightly he stroked my behind, just the barest touch. All of this had been done with him standing by my left side. I had never really noticed that he was right handed, it is just something you automatically assume. But then he walked over to my right side and shifted the switch to his left hand. I watched with fascination as he took several practice cuts through the air with the switch. I hadn't really had much of a chance to examine it closely up until now. And one part my mind seemed detached and dispassionate and considered the switch from a rationalist point of view. Maybe just over thirty inches long, Perhaps the thickness of my forefinger at its base. It tapered to no more than two millimeters at its tip. It was so light that it looked like some sort of a funny toy in his hammy hand. How clever, he must be ambidextrous. Then that terrible sibilant whistle came and the reptilian part of my brain started screaming "Watch out, brace yourself, here comes the pain" and the rational part of my brain went away.

Six times he hit me, six times he struck me from the left. This was worse than before. When he started the globe of my buttocks was covered with fire. But there were probably valleys in between the hills of the parallel welts. He was now filling in the valleys. He was striking skin that was already aflame and Oh Gawd did it hurt. Much worse than before. And boy did he take his sweet fucking time. He knew I wasn't going anywhere. He knew exactly how tight to tie me. Not too tight so that the circulation to my hands was cut off but secured so that I might squirm and wiggle but not dodge the blows. And Oh My Fucking Gawd did those six strikes hurt. I was sure that at this point my buttocks must be fiercely bleeding.

Then it happened. Somewhere during those six blows I became aware of that familiar throbbing in my loins. He was going so slow. Even slower than the first six. And in between the electric jolts of the switch striking, during the fire, I became aware of my arousal. NOOOH! I thought, you can't be doing this to me, you can't be arousing me like this. And then the blow hit. Just above the crease where the buttocks join the thighs was where he hit me. And the electricity started coursing through my vagina. I swear I could feel the jolt entering the cervix of my uterus. He hit me again, just above that spot and I started the climb to orgasm. And then he stopped. And I screamed and twitched and rubbed my pubes into the corner of the desk and tried to wipe the surface of the vinyl with my swollen nipples. And it wouldn't come. I couldn't climax. I pressed my face into the desk and cried as I have never cried before. I just laid there and sobbed. And every muscle in my body ached with the tension. And nothing would come. And he knew it, and the bastard new it, and the son-of-a-bitchin bastard knew it. He knew that he had taken me, by his beating, to the edge of an orgasm and then snatched it away. How could he know? How could he know! He went over to the desk chair and sat down, tapping the switch in his hand, watching the clock on the wall and whistling an aria from a Mozart opera. One of the lesser operas, maybe 'Cosi Fan Tutti'. I couldn't remember which. Whistling that damned fucking song for fifteen minutes.

Then he came over to me and stroked my short black hair. "Having fun" he said. "I am. I hope that you appreciate the sensitive way in which I am beating you. You know, you should realize by now that resistance is futile. You are no longer in control. You can't control your bladder, you can't control your bowels. Your limbs twitch and you caterwaul like a baby. You need to learn to just relax, kick back and enjoy it. Who knows, you may even come to like it. Maybe even to need it. Who know, before long you may even come to me begging for it. That's when you have become a real pain slut. I think that you have the makings of a real pain slut in you, you know."

Then he walked over to the vase, tossed his old switch on the floor and selected a new one. He was still whistling that fucking Mozart when he walked over to my left side with the fresh switch in his right hand and said. "Young lady, do you realize that there is such beautiful ivory white skin between your buttocks and the tops of your black stockings. I really think that it needs some stimulation don't you." My conscious mind was marveling at what he was saying but the reptilian centers of the basal ganglia in my brain stem were once again screaming. They knew what was coming. Except it wasn't quite the same this time around. As he beat the backs of my upper thighs, changing sides every three strokes this time, one part of my brain was searching for that which I had felt earlier. It was desperately searching for that wall to climb. And then, somewhere in the pain I found it and got one leg over it. And then I was straddling that wall and riding it. And it started in my vagina and it consumed my genitals with fire and my uterus started cramping and my whole body convulsed. And I went into another world and stayed there until he stopped beating me. And then I climbed down off the wall. I had never been there before. I think I was screaming like some sort of animal and shaking like a leaf. It must have been fifteen or twenty minutes before I became human again. He patiently waited.

Part Five

The Mirror

He began "Well my little Oriental crossbred bitch, you are becoming an actual pain slut. That was quite a little trip you took back there. Did you shoot the moon or travel to the stars. You certainly left this world without a doubt. Well it is time to vary the games we play." With that he went over to steel cabinet and pulled out a mirror, just a plain wooden framed mirror about one foot by a foot and a half. He took out of the bottom of the closet a three foot step ladder, went over behind me and climbed the little ladder. Then by craning my head around as hard as I could I saw what he was doing. He was hanging the mirror from one of the numerous pipes that criss-crossed the ceiling of the storage room. As he adjusted, it I could see my backside. I was simultaneously impressed and appalled. I expected that skin of my thighs and buttocks would be cut into ribbons by the two dozen or so strokes that had hit them. But that was not so. What I saw was the work of a master and I was horrified by it. From my waist to the top of my stockings and from one side of my hips to the other side was basically one gigantic, continuous bruise. At the very edges and down my crack it was red. Bright crimson red. But overlying this red were giant swollen purple wheals. The whole thing more or less had the appearance of raw hamburger. Here and there little strips of the outer surface of the skin were detaching but there was not any actual bleeding. At most there was the seeping of a little clear fluid from the blistered surface. This is what my rational mind saw and it was appalled at the hyper rational precision with which the flogging had been administered. Hard to believe. But my reptilian brain knew better. I had been beaten beyond the imagining of my rational mind. I had been beaten back into savagery. I was no longer Homo sapiens . I was something back in the cave. Irrational, animal.

Then he untied my ankles and I kicked my legs in the air to drive out the cramps that had accumulated while I struggled. I gazed at my ankles in amazement. Despite my struggles against my bonds I had not torn my stockings. Tough hose, a tribute to modern polymer chemistry. Then he spread my knees and stood in back of me. To my horror he then undid his belt and dropped his pants. He was going to take me sexually. I wasn't sure whether he was going to simply rape me or rape and sodomize me. It was so weird, I had detached myself and my mind was up there near the ceiling dispassionately looking down at the body with the blistered behind splayed across the table below. Hey, what's going on here. Going to be a wild fucking movie. I was floating up there on a cloud of pain. Well my pussy was certainly wet enough from my evening-long arousal so that at least it wasn't going to be a dry fuck. Oh shit. He was fingering my asshole, looks like an ass fucking for me tonight.

It was amazing. I had only had penetrative sexual intercourse three times in my life. Ordinarily if some guy tried to sodomize me I would have fought him to the death. But right now I was mentally too fucked up to care. Truly mind fucked. It was only when he was about half way through that I realized that his banging into my backside was hurting my beaten-to-shit rear end. My response to this was to moan a bit but I didn't even care enough to buck. Eventually he ejaculated, I could have cared less. I could now see that he had too purposes in mind when insisting on my bowel preparation. He didn't want me losing control and defecating on the floor while being beaten. But neither did he want a shitty stick. Finally he untied my wrists and I curled up on the desk in a fetal position and softly sobbed. I don't really remember what happened the rest of the night. Except, I do dimly remember the searing pain of the branding iron, burning the upside-down triangle into the flesh of my naked pubes.

Part Six

The Dorm

The next weekend my mother drove up from the big city. I really didn't expect to see her, late that Saturday morning. She took me out to lunch at the nicest restaurant in this crummy little college town. I really appreciated seeing her. One part of me wanted to tell mom about what happened to me the preceding weekend. One part of me was still in shock. I had not gone to the Dean of Women immediately after he had dropped me off at my dorm in the wee hours of the morning. I hadn't even gone to the Health Service on Monday morning for care of my broken and battered ass. I just put on the cream that he gave me and lay naked in bed on my belly Saturday and Sunday until my roommate came back. Yah, that week I spent a lot of time in bed on my belly and as little time sitting as I could. I did manage a couple of quick exchanges on Monday with the other Oriental girl in my Calculus class. Yah, things went about the same way with her on Saturday morning. I noticed that the two round-eyed blonds weren't sitting too comfortably but I didn't feel like sharing anything with them right now. By Saturday morning I could sit. Not comfortably, but I could sit and not be in too much pain. And after a week I could walk without any pain at all. It will probably be another week before all the pain is gone and I'll bet that the bruises take at least a month to completely go away. After a week they were still black and blue in the center and mottled yellow around the edges. I really wanted to share my experience with my mom, to see what she thought, to get her advice, to ask what she would do in my place. But I couldn't bring my self to do it. Because, you see, it isn't just the blackmail that keeps me silent and compliant. Something changed in me that Friday night. Something was uncovered that was deeply disturbing. Way beyond fear of flunking Calculus, losing my scholarship and getting kicked out of school. Something visceral emerged in that room, bound to that desk, under the switch. More than a butt beaten until it was just beginning to bleed. Beyond sodomy.

At lunch I gazed into my mother's eyes looking for answers. She was strange that day. Not reserved at all. Chatty, almost giddy like a girl. I assumed that it was due to being back at her old Alma Mater and being with the daughter that she hadn't seen in six weeks. Of course she asked how I was doing. I said I was getting A's in everything except Calculus. I really didn't know why they made students with my major take Calculus since it really didn't contribute a thing to a Liberal Arts degree. Besides, I just don't seem to have a head for math and the instructor was a true ogre. Mom looked me in the eye and said that you could learn a lot about life from Calculus. She got real serious. She said that she was on the Board of Reagents of the University and that she was one of those who were most adamant that girls with my major be exposed to higher mathematics. The waiter brought our fish and refreshed our wine glasses with that superb primier cru Chablis. Then mom started to babble and chatter again and I'm not sure that she heard another word I said. My roommate was down in the big city again this weekend. After lunch mom and I walked around campus for at least an hour and a half enjoying the fall sunshine and shadows. Then we went to my room in the dorm and each of us laid on one of the beds on our bellies and just chatted very quietly for an hour before we fell asleep for a deep, drooling nap. It was five o'clock before we got up, my mom a bit startled and disoriented. Then I asked her what was up for this evening. She said that she had plans to meet some old friends that evening, chums from her undergraduate days. She hoped that I wouldn't mind making my own plans for after an early supper. And, oh, could she crash here in my room since my roommate would not be here tonight. Without thinking, I gladly assented.

After a light supper, mom went into the bathroom to prepare herself for what I was now coming to regard as a somewhat mysterious assignation. After she had drawn the water for her bath, mom came out clad only in her bathrobe and seemed upset. She explained that she was meeting with some old friends that night, some of her college classmate and her former math instructor. She met with them about once a year to revisit the old times when she was a nineteen college girl rather than a thirty-nine year old matron. Well, she said blushing beet red, she had a condition that she had never told me about that required her to take enemas at certain rigidly specified intervals and tonight was one of those times. The problem was that she was so excited and nervous about seeing me, and seeing her old girl friends that her hand was shaking too badly to insert the nozzle of the enema. She was obviously embarrassed to death, flushed and shaking. Could I give her a hand? Oh, mom, I said, giving her a big hug, I will be glad to help. After all, you wiped my poopy bottom for almost two years. What have two grown women to be ashamed about.

We went into the bathroom, the two of us. Mom said that dorm bathrooms are so much nicer now. In her time, in this very dorm, it was four girls in two bunk beds to a room which only had a crummy sink with a crummy mirror and a commode and a dinky shower. Now it is two girls to a room with a nicer bathroom than at home and a real bathtub. A big four quart enema bag hung was already hung from the shower rod when we entered the room. Mom tried hiking up her robe and bending over the tub. Unfortunately, she was stiff and shaking and trying to keep the robe out of the bathwater. I told her, mom, just take the robe off and bend over the tub. Even so, I was a bit shocked, never having seen my mother naked before. But she knelt on the rug in front of the tub, bent over to lean on the tub's edge and spread her knees to about two feet apart. Like me, mom has what I would call a sturdy ass. Not fat but enough there for most purposes. I spread her quaking ass cheeks with one hand and slowly and carefully inserted the unusually large, well lubricated, black plastic enema nozzle into her anus. It was while spreading her cheeks that I noticed that the surface of her buttocks was covered with innumerable fine linear scars. Many of them looked like they were from decades ago but there were some that might have been no more than a year or so old. And the scars went from side to side just like the strokes of a switch. Once the enema tube was inserted and I released the stopcock, I left her to her purging.

About an hour later she came bouncing out of the bathroom, stark bonkers naked but in unaccustomed high spirits. The bowel evacuation and bath, shampoo and blow dry seem to have worked a miracle on her for the shakiness has disappeared. She stood in front of the mirror, hands underneath her sagless breasts admiring how well preserved her charms were. She said it was an advantage that we small-breasted Oriental women had. We age well. She said that her old roommate, now the Dean of Women would be there tonight and perhaps the President of the University would drop by. All the old girls and their favorite math professor. Mom babbled on commenting on how the Dean of Women had massive breasts that sagged down to her navel when unsupported. Then, in the reflection in the mirror, I noticed that mom had shaved the hair from her pubic delta. And there was a faded but still prominent scar - an upside down triangle branded into her mons veneris. As she stepped into her red panties and pulled them up, mom admired how slim her waist still was. She commented that she wasn't even going to need a bra tonight as she slipped on a beautiful red silk dress that I had never seen before. The long sleeved bodice was closely fitted but the skirt was full. She put on black, self supporting hose and red shoes with higher heels than I could ever imagine my mom wearing. Then she pulled up a full crinoline petticoat and twirled until the dress and petticoat swirled up and outward. She looked at least ten years younger. As mom put on a medium length string of pearls I was frankly jealous of her. I gave her the spare key to the dorm room and told her that I was going to retire early tonight. Just let herself in quietly and go to sleep. I would probably already be deep in the arms of Morpheus by the time she returned. Mom skipped out the door saying that she felt like a college girl all over again and whistling a snippet of Mozart. As she walked out, I asked her what the tune was and she said it was the first act trio for soprano, mezzo-soprano and alto from 'Cosi Fan Tutti'. Or in English, 'All Women Are Alike' or 'They All Do It' or 'So Do They All'.

I decided that I already had all the answers to any questions that I going to ask my mother. I turned on my computer and checked my e-mail, replying affirmatively to the one critical memo I had gotten that afternoon. Then I showered, brushed my teeth and I changed into the tee shirt that served me for a nightgown. Turning out the light I crawled into my bed. I could finally lie on my back without too much discomfort. I wiggled my ass and spread my thighs flexing and stretching. Then I ran my hands over the surface of those buttocks that were now no longer smooth and I thought about the e-mail from HIM. I was scheduled for another Calculus tutorial next Friday night. This time it would be a joint tutorial session with another student who also had unacceptably low grades. I made a bet with myself that it would be the other Oriental co-ed rather than one of the busty blonde bimbo's. It took me over two hours before I fell asleep. Images of the Dean of Women's tits kept running through my mind alternating with fantasies of the blond busty bimbo's being beaten. "So do we all".

FINIS