Codes: M/f, caning, school setting, BDSM, real, romantic, consensual, Real Life

Synopsis: Shannon routinely gets into trouble at school, until she finally meets her match, in the form of the school’s librarian. Her lessons eventually extend beyond those the school teaches.

Author’s notes – This story started based on a photo as a task for Qmoq. I enjoyed writing it so much that I’ve continued working on it. There are more chapters to come. I have to thank Q for being the inspiration behind Mr. Quackers.


Lessons from the Librarian

By: Shannon J. Cole

Chapter 1

I hated school. My idea of a good time is not listening to some old geezer or hag drone on and on about English or History. Yawn. Boring! It’s been even worse since I started going to an all girls’ school. There are no handsome boys to flirt with and tease. I always try to make my classes exciting. It had earned me the paddle once or twice, well okay, many times. I found the paddle to be erotic though. None of my teachers had the balls, (and I do mean balls, they were almost all women) to wield it properly.

Oh, I should tell you a bit more about myself. Hello! My name is Shannon J. Cole. Welcome to my story. What would you want to know about me that would be relevant to this story? Yes I know you can’t tell me, as the story is already written. I’m five foot five and a half, blue eyed, have long brown hair and like romantic walks on the beach. Whoops, this isn’t a personal ad. You can ignore the beach part, I prefer the mountains anyway. Oh, have I mentioned that I adore sheep? They really don’t play a major role in this tale, but for any of you crazed fan types out there wish to send tokens and fan mail, include a stuffed sheep. Please? Okay, anyway…

My childhood has very little impact upon this story, except to say that my parents were rarely around. They had little interest in me personally. Their social standing among the community was far more important. I started attending private schools at the age of seven. By the time I was eighteen I was on my eighth school, The W.C. Girls Academy.

My class was in the library. We were supposed to be doing research on Shakespeare or something. Instead I was amusing myself by drawing mustaches and beards on several of the pictures in the books. I had just finished drawing a lovely goatee on some woman’s picture when I felt a tap on my shoulder.

“Buzz off. Can’t you see I’m busy?”

I heard someone clear their throat behind me and put their hand on my shoulder, gripping it hard. My pen dropped down onto the desk and I tried to smile up at Mr. Quackers, the librarian.

Before I continue, I’ll tell you a bit more about him. He is after all, one of the main characters. Mr. Quackers was one of the few men at the school. If I had to guess, I’d say he was in his early to mid thirties. He had a mop of dark brown hair, and gorgeous brown eyes. He was regarded as one of the “easy” teachers, because he rarely raised his voice and had never been known to paddle an unruly student. Most students thought of him as an older “dorky” brother type, who only got loud when he was excitedly talking about his beloved books. His lessons frequently included boring old books and lame jokes.

Now, where was I? Oh yes, when I looked up at him, I saw something I’d never seen before, anger. He gripped my shoulder harder and I cried out. When I did, the grip loosened, but still remained. His eyes bore down into mine as he spoke, “Miss Cole, I am far too angry at you to administer any discipline at the moment. However, I want you to return here when your last class is over. Is that clear?”

My head bobbed up and down in answer, but his free hand caught my chin and held it up so that I had to look in his eyes. “I want a proper answer. Please.”

I stammered out, “Y-yes Sir.” When I had, he let go of me, picked up the book, and returned to his desk. I glanced around at the other girls, many of whom were whispering and pointing. I felt slightly embarrassed, but flashed them my “famous” grin. Leave it to me to get in trouble with the one teacher who was impossible to get in trouble with!

Through my last two classes I couldn’t erase the sight of his eyes from my mind. They were angry, quite angry, but I’d detected something else in there that I didn’t expect, sadness and disappointment. For the first time since I’d been to the school, I felt guilty about having caused trouble.

When my last class of the day ended, I grabbed my books and slowly walked over to the library. I was in no hurry to get there. As I walked, I wondered what type of punishment I would get. I highly doubted it would be the paddle. Mr. Quackers didn’t even seem like the type who would use such an implement, and considering his reputation, I wasn’t worried about getting my butt whomped. What I was worried about was seeing the disappointment. None of my other teachers ever looked at me like that when I misbehaved. They expected it.

As I entered the library, Mr. Quackers looked up from the book he was reading. He put the book down and pointed to a chair, “Sit down Miss Cole.” I quickly sat down on the chair he was pointing to.

“Now,” he walked over towards me, looming down overhead. I couldn’t help but to look down at the floor. He didn’t seem to notice my discomfort as he continued speaking, “I’ve heard about your behavior in other classes, and have always assured the other teachers that you’ve never acted out in mine. I’m extremely disappointed in your behavior.”

He paused and took a moment to look at me as I continued to stare at the floor. I was starting to wallow in self pity when I realized that I had no one to blame but myself. Mr. Quackers cleared his throat and when I looked up, pointed to a table, “I’m quite sure you’re familiar with the position I want you to assume. Panties down, skirt up, hands stretched out.”

I avoided looking at him as I got into position. Even though no one else was watching, I was embarrassed. I suppose that I can admit to you my dear readers, that because Mr. Quackers was one of the few young male teachers, he was often subject of many fantasies by the girls, me included.

When I was fully in position, Mr. Quackers went back to his desk, which was just in my line of vision if I tilted my head slightly. He picked up the book he’d been reading, a cup of tea, and to my shock, a cane. I started to move out of position when I saw the cane, but his swift, “Do NOT move!” jolted me back into place.

He sat down in a chair at the table, placed the cup of tea and cane near my head, and started reading again. I desperately wanted to beg for my punishment so that I could be on my way. What stopped me though was this; here I was, half undressed, in front of an attractive male who (I may have forgotten to mention this) that I had a crush on. Instead I lay there waiting, daydreaming.

I had run through most of my favorite daydream about him, a rather lusty fantasy about being thrown down upon a desk and ravaged, when I heard the clink of his empty teacup being placed on the saucer. He put away the book that he had been reading, and pulled the one I had defaced off the shelf. He placed the book inches away from nose and then picked up the cane.

As he moved into position, my heart was beating wildly in my chest from nerves. I’d never been caned before. I was waiting for the usual lecture but it never came. My ass exploded in pain and I screamed out. I’d never felt anything like it before in my life. It was as though a million yellow jackets had all stung me in a row. My brain wasn’t able to comprehend this fully when the second stroke landed, fresh new pain, just lower than the first.

I tried to jump up, but he was faster than I was, and his free hand pressed down upon the small of my back. I shivered slightly at his touch, but the harshness in his voice reminded me why I was there, “If you move, you will get double.” I groaned into the desk, gripping it so hard that my knuckles turned white. The next stroke was directly where the first had been. I screamed so loudly, the whole campus probably heard.

I screamed again on the fourth and fifth strokes. My world had never known so much pain. I started crying on the sixth. On stroke seven, I cried out, begging him to stop. He showed some mercy then, and paused for a moment. I tried to calm myself down, sniffling at the snot that was running down from my nose. I must have looked like a mess. I couldn’t imagine what my ass looked like.

When my hiccupping sobs had quieted, I felt my skirt tug higher and knew more was coming. I screeched on stroke eight, screamed on stroke nine, and was sobbing again on stroke ten. This was where he paused, and slid the cane along the curve of my ass. I could feel the welts as the cane moved along my skin. I heard him chuckle and say, “And one to grow on!” as the eleventh stroke, which was much harder than all the rest, impacted upon my upturned rear. I howled with pain. I wanted to jump up and snatch the cane out of his hand, but I didn’t. I slumped on the desk crying.

Mr. Quackers patted my head and walked over to his desk. He placed the cane upon a shelf behind it, picked up a jar of something, and then walked back over to where I still lay clutching the desk. I was trying to compose myself, wanting to get out of there, but waiting for permission to do so. He placed the jar on the desk somewhere near my hip.

Now, I knew he was the gentle sort of person, so the punishment I had just received surprised me, but I was even more surprised when I felt his cool hands upon my ass. I had tensed, wanting to jump up and yell at him, but his soothing voice stopped me, “Stay still Miss Cole. This balm will help to ease the pain and help you heal faster.”

I wasn’t sure if I should believe him, but his hands felt good upon my sore skin as they carefully rubbed the balm into the welts. I don’t know how long he would have stood there rubbing my ass had I not moaned in arousal. He stopped touching me when I did, “Stand up, pull up your panties and then sit down on the chair.” As I stood, he avoided my eyes, but added with a chuckle, “Sit carefully.” I would have sworn he was blushing as well.

When my clothes were back in their proper order and I had managed to sit down, sit carefully, ha ha, he pulled a book off one of the shelves and placed it in front of me. It was a book about famous soccer players and I looked up in surprise. He smiled, and I swear it was one of those “shit eating grins” and said, “There’s one more part of your punishment. You will learn how to respect books and use them properly. I want a ten page paper on the life and career of Ferenc Puskas. You will report each day after class until it is finished.”

I nodded, and caught myself mid nod, “Yes Sir Mr. Quackers.”

He smiled at me, “Good girl. Now off you go, and take a pain killer, it will help.”

I blushed and quickly got up, heading for the door. As I reached the door, he called out to me, “Oh, and one more thing Miss Cole.” I turned around, “Yes Sir?”

“From now on, your other teachers will be sending you to me for punishments.”

I turned and raced from the library. My heart was pounding. It terrified me to think about being caned again. However, I wasn’t running because of that. I was running because I didn’t want him to see how embarrassed I was. As I ran, I noticed something. My panties were soaked and my thighs were sticky with arousal. Did I mention I have a kinky streak?

Chapter 2

I noticed a few rapid changes shortly after being caned by Mr. Quackers. Despite trying my best to behave in my classes, it seemed like I was getting in trouble more frequently. I really was trying my best, but my teachers were showing less tolerance. I found that I was being sent for punishment for actions that my teachers had previously ignored. Other students were getting away with passing notes, but if I was, well let me tell you, straight to the library I went.

Thankfully, Mr. Quackers is a fair enough guy, well, for a teacher. He hadn’t caned me again after that first time. Instead my punishments were “more suited to the crime” as he put it. I spent a lot of time dusting off the books and shelves, standing in the corner, or writing. Actually, I felt I learned more from my punishments than my classes. All of my writing punishments were educational in one way or another.

It had been a little over two weeks since I’d been caned and I was getting frustrated with the constant punishments. I was in history class, and Mrs. Wilkens was droning on about some war. The whole lecture was so boring that I fell asleep. I woke when she cracked a yardstick on the desk, “Miss Cole, I’ll not have you sleeping in my class! Go to the library immediately.”

I’ll admit it, I should have complied, but when I’m jarred out of sleep, I’m not the nicest person in the world. I stayed seated in my desk and when Mrs. Wilkens turned around, I muttered, “Kiss my arse you old hag.” I’ve never seen an old woman move so quickly. She whirled around with hatred written across her face.

My arms crossed over my chest defiantly, “I’m not moving. So just go on babbling about whatever it is you were talking about and leave me alone, or better yet, why don’t you retire already? It’s not like anyone is learning a damn thing from your lectures anyway.” I groaned inwardly when she raised the yardstick above her head and braced myself for a blow.

When she lowered her arm and stalked back to the front of the room, I breathed a sigh of relief. My relief was short lived. Mrs. Wilkens picked up the phone on her desk and started dialing, “Yes, Mr. Quackers, Miss Cole is disrupting my class again. Would you kindly come and remove her? Thank you.”

I gulped and slouched further down in my seat. I knew I was in for more than standing in a corner this time. Mr. Quackers arrived within a matter of minutes and as soon as he entered the class and glared at me. I picked up my books and somberly walked over to the door. As we left the room Mrs. Wilkens shot me a triumphant smirk and continued her “attempt” at teaching. (I realize you might disagree, but it’s my story and that’s what I think of it!)

Mr. Quackers said nothing to me as I followed him down the hall to the library. He didn’t need to. My own guilt had already started taking over. Aside from the incident in the library when I’d seen him angry, he always looked sad when I was sent to him. I didn’t understand why.

Once we were in the library, I put my books down and went to “my corner” as he directed me to. As I stood there, I could hear him working, pages turning in books, students asking him for help, and the clicking of a keyboard as he typed. Oh yes, and the always present teacup when he set it back down onto its saucer.

By the time the last bell of the day had rung, I felt as though I was going to fall over. I heard other students leaving the library, and then after silence for about five minutes, he finally called me over. As I stood in front of his desk he handed me a book entitled “World War II and You.” I groaned at the title and asked if he was serious. He nodded, “Dead serious Miss Cole. Sit down and read. I have a meeting to attend, and when I return I want to see that you’ve made an outline of at least the first chapter.”

My personal definition of an outline consists of the chapter title and all of the bolded sections in that chapter. Sometimes I would throw in the occasional term or an important name, but rarely. Mr. Quackers’ definition of one varied quite a bit, a fact I’d learned the week before. He made me redo an outline 4 times until he was satisfied with the content. I took no chances this time, and had barely started on chapter two when he returned.

If it’s possible for someone to age ten years over the course of an hour, then this was the case. Mr. Quackers looked older, tired, his face was drawn and his expression grim. He sat down on the chair next to me and picked up my outline. I glanced over, but continued working on chapter two. He made a few agreeable sounds as he was reading, and I hoped that he was pleased with the outline. I really did not want to have to redo it.

When he placed the papers back down on the table, I stopped writing and looked up. He forced a smile at me, patted my shoulder and got up. I’d opened my mouth to speak, but closed it quickly. Something was going on, and it scared me. I turned in my seat to look at what he was doing.

Mr. Quackers walked unhurriedly to his desk and picked up the box of tissues from it, before returning back to the chair beside me. He placed the tissues in front of me and loosened his tie a bit while clearing his throat. I started to shake in fear and anxiously leaned towards him, needing to know what was going on, “Mr. Quackers, what…”

He interrupted me, “Miss Cole, the meeting I was just at was your expulsion hearing with the board.”

My mouth dropped open and I gasped loudly. I knew I was a troublemaker, but didn’t think I’d caused enough to warrant that! I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes and was grateful for the tissues. My world seemed to stop as I snatched a few tissues from the box and buried my face in them. As I cried, I inwardly yelled at myself to stop. Crying in front of someone was something a baby would do, a weak pathetic baby, and I hate showing any signs of weakness.

When the first set of tissues was completely soaked through with tears, I reached for more, and tried my best to wipe the mascara streaks off of my face. I was intentionally avoiding looking at him, but he was obviously still watching me, “Miss Cole, why do you insist upon wearing that rubbish? You’re a beautiful young woman and you do your best to hide who you actually are from the world.”

Now I was looking at him, “Huh?” He flushed crimson and shook his head, “Never mind. We’ll talk about that later. Now, I have to tell you about the meeting.” I nodded and grabbed more tissues as he continued to speak.

“Your teachers believe that it is in the best interests of the school and the other students if you were expelled. They feel that you do not fit in here, and your troublemaking has proven that. Many of them in fact do not believe you have the intellect to even do well, without the attitude problems.”

My head jerked up in surprise and I started to speak, but he held up his hand, “Let me finish and then you can speak.” I sighed, but closed my mouth.

“Now, I’ve seen the sort of work you are able to achieve when you put your mind and efforts into it. I showed the board the reports and work you have done for me. Your intelligence is no longer in question. Rather, your motivations now are. It is clear that you do not want to be here. However, I was the only one to speak on your behalf. I’ll not waste time going into all of the details, but you have three choices.”

He looked at my face carefully before continuing. I’m sure that it was as pale as it felt. I felt sick to my stomach and wondered if I would throw up. I put my head down on the table to stop the room from spinning. Mr. Quackers patted my back sympathetically before continuing, “Your actions alone caused this Miss Cole. Now sit up, act like an adult, and take the consequences for your behavior.”

It took me a moment before I was able to sit up. I still felt sick, but he was right and what’s worse I knew it. Have you ever been guilt tripped? That’s how I felt at that moment, only worse. Ten times worse. I couldn’t imagine why he would stick up for me. I was chewing on my lip in contemplation as he explained my options.

“Your first choice is to leave the school on your own free will. You’ll have no record of expulsion in your file. The second option is to be expelled, record and everything. Your third choice is to remain in school, but I will take over teaching all of your classes. You will obey my every rule or be expelled. Even I do not have infinite patience. Be forewarned though, the third choice may seem like the easiest, but in fact it will be the most difficult one of all.”

He paused to let the choices sink in. I knew that I really did not have a choice. My parents would disown me if I got kicked out of yet another school. I was afraid of all the stipulations to the third choice, but knew I truly had no other options. I licked my dry lips slowly and tried to speak. The sound emitted certainly wasn’t English, in fact it sounded more like a frog croaking. I cleared my throat and tried again, “I-I chose the third choice. I’m frightened, but I know I have no other real options.”

Mr. Quackers smiled warmly at me. Suddenly he didn’t look so old, though the warm smile was still serious. He stood up and pointed to the table where he’d caned me, “Fetch the cane from the shelf, and get into position with the cane resting in front of your fingertips and wait. I have to go inform the board of your decision.”

I sighed deeply to myself as I stood and watched him walk out of the room. It was odd to have someone care about my future. My own parents didn’t actually care. They only cared that I had wasted their money getting kicked out of boarding school after school. I walked over to his desk and picked up the cane from the shelf. It was surprisingly light for something that left such harsh marks.

I didn’t want to risk being out of position when Mr. Quackers returned and quickly set the cane on the table. I walked around to the side, pulled my panties down to my knees and bent over the table. My palms were sweaty and I dried them on the side of my skirt before flipping it up onto my back and stretching my hands out. If I’d thought I would have to wait long, I was mistaken. Footsteps were headed towards the library. It wasn’t just one set though, it sounded as though there were several people. I could hear voices as the footsteps got closer; Mrs. Wilkens’ voice was loudest of all.

Chapter 3

I wanted to disappear when I heard the group of teachers enter the library. When I heard the sound of chairs being drug closer to me, fainting or death seemed like the best options. Something. Anything. No such luck for me. It was as if my worst nightmare had come true. The teachers were quiet now and I could hear someone walk over to me. My eyes scrunched tightly shut, praying that it wasn’t Mrs. Wilkens.

My prayers were rewarded. It was Mr. Quackers. He picked up the cane and spoke loudly so that everyone could hear him, “All of your teachers are here Miss Cole. After each stroke you are to apologize to a teacher whose class you have disrupted at one point or another this year. When I am finished, you will remain in place until you are told to move. Do you understand?”

I nodded my head, speaking into the desk, “I understand.” Pain ripped through my skull as Mr. Quackers grabbed my pony tail, lifting my head away from the table, “Louder please Miss Cole.”

My voice squeaked and wavered, but I spoke as loudly as I could, trying to disguise my trembling voice, “I understand, Sir.”

“Good, we’ll begin,” he eased my head back to the table and shifted positions. I was envisioning the look of glee on Mrs. Wilkens’ face when the first stroke impacted with my thighs. It threw me off balance for a second, having expected the stroke on my ass, and I almost forgot what I was supposed to say. The pause between the strokes was not for my own benefit and I heard Mr. Quackers tap his foot a few times before I fully recalled what I was supposed to say, “I’m sorry Ms. Alesworth.”

The second stroke landed where my thighs connect to my butt cheeks. I yelped slightly, “I’m sorry Miss Glearson.” Stoke three was in the middle of my ass and I was able to bear that one silently, “I’m sorry Mr. Bower.”

I tried to count how many teachers I had so that I knew how many strokes I would receive. I wasn’t able to concentrate enough between strokes and apologized to my teachers by order of classes. The next stroke was directly above the previous. My toes left the ground and I wanted to kick my legs, “I’m sorry Mrs. Score.”

Stroke five was the worst. It was exactly where the fourth had been. I screamed at the top of my lungs, “I’m sorry Mrs. Wilkens.” I could hear her mutter under hear breath, “I’ll bet you are.” I wanted to smack her. It was bad enough to be on display in such a manner, but her comment made me seethe with anger.

I barely felt stroke six on my thighs. I had to apologize between clenched teeth, “I’m sorry Miss James.” The following stroke was on my ass again, but I still barely felt it. It was as though I had reached a stage where I could feel no pain. I struggled to remember the name of my last teacher of the day, “I’m sorry M-Ms. Blanche.”

My body started to relax when stroke eight left its mark. I screamed loudly. I didn’t understand. I’d apologized to all of my teachers. Who had I missed? I racked my brain and finally shouted out, “I’m sorry!” Mr. Quackers spoke sternly, “Who are you apologizing to Miss Cole?” I didn’t answer right away, still thinking of who I might have missed.

Two more strokes still didn’t help me remember. I was frantic now, crying as I tried to remember. My mind was blank except for the pain. I kept screaming out that I was sorry, but couldn’t direct it to anyone. I took five more strokes and still my mind was blank. It didn’t matter at that point. I was a crying mess and wouldn’t have been able to apologize. I’d screamed myself almost hoarse.

I thought the pain would never end, but after stroke 17, there was a long pause and I heard Mr. Quackers sigh, “I’ve drawn blood.” The cane was dropped onto the table and I could hear the teachers talking amongst themselves. Of course that’s when it “hit me” so to speak. I hadn’t apologized to Mr. Quackers. I tried to speak but started coughing each time.

My mind was exceedingly alert and I wanted to move, to tell Mr. Quackers that I was sorry, but I was in so much pain. Even if I hadn’t been told to stay there, I couldn’t have moved. I could hear chairs scraping against the floor now, and footsteps as my teachers departed.

The library was silent for a few minutes. Someone reentered, and I assumed it was Mr. Quackers. I saw the cane lift up and started sobbing harder than before, trying to form the words to beg for mercy. I was choking on the thick saliva in my throat and gagging as the cane whipped down upon my ass and thighs. Pain surged through my entire body as I attempted to count how many more strokes he was giving me. I lost count somewhere after 20 and blacked out.

Chapter 4

When I awoke, it was to the burning sensation of my ass and thighs. I tried to move, wondering how I’d ended up on the floor, but was too weak to move. My throat was dry and burned when I attempted to speak. It was dark in the library now, and I could hear voices in the distance, but could only make out a few words, like “lucky, scars, infection.” I started crying. I was confused, scared, and freezing cold.

They- the voices I had heard, must have heard me crying because the next thing I saw was Mr. Quackers and the school nurse, Miss Royal both crouching next to me. Both asked how I felt but I could only open my mouth. Miss Royal placed her hand on my forehead, “She’s running a fever.”

Mr. Quackers brushed a few strands of loose hair away from my face. He looked scared and angry. I wanted desperately to ask what had happened, why he had beaten me so savagely for forgetting to apologize to him. All I could do was cry and make gasping sounds. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped away my tears.

Miss Royal sat down on the floor near my head and slowly eased a straw into my mouth, “Drink slowly.” I drank as slowly as I could, but my thirst was too demanding. I coughed and spluttered a few times from drinking too fast. When almost all the water was gone, she had me open my mouth and placed a few pills on my tongue. I gagged on the bitter taste, but was able to swallow them after a few attempts. My head down banged down against the floor as I drifted off into a fevered sleep.

I awoke sometime later as Mr. Quackers placed a cold rag across my forehead. I think I scared him when I gasped and tried to move. I was still very weak, but I couldn’t see Miss Royal around and did not want to be alone with him. I licked my lips and tried to speak, barely able to whisper, “Where’s Miss Royal?”

He looked ancient to me again as he spoke, “She had to leave. I’ve been watching over you. You don’t need a hospital, but you will need rest. How do you feel?”

I couldn’t believe he was asking how I felt. He’d done this! I grew angry and tried sitting up, shrieking when my weight shifted onto my ass. The anger fueled adrenaline in my body allowed just enough strength to spring into a standing position before I wavered and started to fall.

Mr. Quackers grabbed my shoulders and pulled me against himself so that I did not completely fall. He slowly helped me sink down to the floor, still holding me steady, asking again, “How do you feel?”

My voice was hoarse, but full of anger as I spat at him, “How do I feel? You beat me nearly to death you son of a bitch! I didn’t apologize and you took it out on me by beating me!”

Crying in front of him didn’t faze me this time as the tears spilled down my face. I tried to push away, and for a moment thought he was going to let me, but his grip never relaxed. My brain was still silently screaming, telling me to shift away from him, but exhaustion was the victor. He didn’t budge as my head thumped against his shoulder.

I felt like a tiny child as I sobbed, “Why did you continue to beat me, why do you hate me so much? I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’m so much trouble. Please just expel me. Don’t hit me anymore.”

My head felt as though it had been repeatedly bludgeoned with the cane and not my ass. The room started to spin and I mumbled incoherently. I can recall hearing him sniffle, but nothing more after.

Chapter 5

When I awoke next, the first thing I noticed was that I was warm and comfortable. My second thought was that I had no idea where in the hell I was. I remembered being beaten, and feeling terrified of Mr. Quackers, but it all felt as though it had been a dream. My hand slowly reached back and I winced as I felt the open wounds and welts. My head dropped back to the pillow and I mulled over what I could remember. I was still dressed, though my shoes and underwear were gone. A loud snore broke the silence.

Mr. Quackers was sitting in a chair near the bed. He was asleep, head lolled to the side, mouth open, a bit of drool sliding down his chin, and he was snoring. Loudly. I couldn’t help myself. I started laughing. I almost felt bad when he woke up and wiped the drool off his chin with the back of his hand. He smiled sleepily at me, “How do you feel?”

I groaned and blinked a few times, trying to clear the haze in my mind, “Like a truck hit me. Repeatedly. I don’t suppose anyone got the license plate?” He chuckled and moved so that he was sitting on the edge of the bed, “What do you remember?”

I eased over onto my side and looked into his eyes. He looked so caring. I pulled the blanket up over my shoulders and thought for a moment, “I remember the beating, and being scared, and y-you were crying? I thought you were beating me because you were angry. It wasn’t you was it? Where am I?”

He shook his head and sighed, “I would never beat you like that, especially not in anger. I stopped when the cane drew blood and that was supposed to have been the end. You’re at my home. Miss Royal didn’t want you left alone. I said I’d look after you.”

I looked suspicious, “That sounds highly unorthodox. Why would they let you bring me home?” He looked slightly hurt and I quickly added, “Not that I don’t trust you, but, well, well you’re a male teacher. My teacher! Why not the hospital or take me back to my dorm? And who in the fuck beat me?”

Mr. Quackers smiled. It was the first genuine smile I’d seen from him all day. “I’ve always said you were a bright girl!” He looked pleased with himself, “The school allowed me to bring you home because your parents asked if you could stay with a teacher till they could get here. I’m the closest to the school, and in my opinion, the one you’re the most comfortable with.” He paused for a moment, as a blush crept along his cheeks.

I was antsy and feeling bossy as he took his time speaking, “And? And?” He grinned and mocked me slightly, “And, and, your parents know me. Well, not me, but my father. I guess they figure that they can trust me because they know him. Last time I saw your father I was only a child. The school couldn’t send you back to your dorm. You have to be kept an eye on in case your fever spikes. As for who beat you…” His voice trailed off and he looked uncomfortable.

I felt slightly crest fallen. Part of me had hoped he’d shown an interest in me because he liked me as more than just a student, but I chided myself. I was only 18, much too young for him anyway. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, “It was Mrs. Wilkens wasn’t it?” He nodded faintly, confirming my suspicion.

My fist pounded against the bed, first in anger at her, then in anger at myself, “I shouldn’t have called her names. It’s my fault! I shouldn’t have been so terrible!” He reached over and held my hand, “It’s not your fault Shannon. You’d already been fairly punished. What Mrs. Wilkens did was unacceptable.”

My head was swimming again. I felt overloaded by emotions and started crying again. Mr. Quackers rubbed my shoulder as I cried, “Shh, its okay Shannon. You need to rest so that you can heal.” I sniffled and nodded. I was embarrassed but had to ask, “Umm, where’s your bathroom? Oh and why are you using my first name?”

He smiled again, “The bathroom is down the hall, but you’re going to need help walking. You’re going to be weak for at least a day or two. I’m using your name because we’re not in school right now. Think of me as a friend okay?”

I nodded dumbly. My brain was far too overwhelmed to comprehend much. He helped me ease out of bed and steady myself as he guided me to the bathroom. Once in the bathroom I glanced at the seat a few times, “Crud. I’ll never be able to sit on that.” Mr. Quackers nodded and thought for a minute, then lifted the seat, “If you hold your skirt up, and stand over the toilet, you should be able to just pee standing up.”

He started to let me go and I wobbled for a moment before his strong arms hooked under mine. I was blushing furiously, wanting to disappear, “Umm, I don’t think I can stand without falling. Oh god. Damn. I have to go. Close your eyes!” He giggled, yes giggled! I was mortified! It was one of the most humiliating experiences of my life and he was giggling at me. I growled and he finally chuckled, “Okay, closed.”

It took me a minute before I was able to pee, but finally my bladder beat my self consciousness. When I was finished I tried to reach for the toilet paper, but bending even slightly sent shooting pains through my body. I groaned loudly and sheepishly asked if he could hand me some.

After the bathroom ordeal was over with, he helped me back into bed. I insisted that I was fine, but he refused to go lay down, and took up post again in the chair. We stared at each other for a few minutes and I finally said, “Thank you.” He smiled as I closed my eyes. I didn’t fall asleep right away, but relaxed for the first time in hours. I knew I was safe.

Chapter 6

I awoke the next morning feeling stiff as though I’d just run a marathon. Mr. Quackers was no where in sight and I assumed he’d gone to work. I felt stronger and after a few wobbly starts, was able to stand and walk around. I slowly padded into the bathroom. I still felt too sore to sit. Watch out world, there’s a woman out there who’s learned how to use a toilet standing up! I giggled as I went to put the seat down and then shrugged, leaving it up. I tried looking at my rear in the mirror but found it was too high to get a good view. A shower seemed like a good idea. Undressing was slow, but I managed. I got the water running after I found a stack of towels under the sink. .

I wasn’t prepared for the burning I felt when the water cascaded down my butt and thighs. Even though it was cool by my normal standards, on my abused skin the water felt like it was boiling. I avoided the spray as much as I could and adjusted the temperature till the water was cooler. It still hurt, but not as drastically, and I showered quickly. When I was done and carefully wrapped in a towel, I sniffed at my clothes. There was no way I would be able to wear them again. I padded back to the bedroom and hoped he wouldn’t mind if I borrowed something.

I inspected his drawers quickly, feeling like a snoop. My eyes felt like they were going to bulge out of my head when I discovered a pair of handcuffs stashed among the t-shirts. Blushing, I picked them up and closed my eyes, imagining what it would be like to feel the cold metal around my wrists. My stomach growling convinced me to put them away and get dressed. I ended up wearing the baggiest pair of sweat pants I could find and a sports t-shirt. I grabbed a pillow from the bed and went off in search of breakfast.

My knees almost buckled when I started going down the stairs but I was able to steady myself and slowly managed to get down in one piece. I walked around till I found the kitchen, where to my surprise, I found Mr. Quackers. He looked up from his book and smiled warmly, “I didn’t hear you get up. How are you feeling, Shannon?”

“Sore. I hope you don’t mind, I borrowed some clean clothes. No work?” I dumped the pillow onto a chair and carefully eased into it, wincing. He closed his book and stood, “Nope. They gave me the day off to watch you. Can I get you breakfast? I have eggs, fruit, toast, tea…”

I cut him off, “Tea and a banana would be great. By the way, your taste in football teams sucks.” He glared at me and then giggled. It was so funny to hear a grown man giggle and I couldn’t help but go into a giggle fit myself.

When he’d caught his breath, he put the tea kettle on and smirked, “I’m sure the team you cheer for is so much better! You’re probably a loony Cowboys fan.” I smirked back, “No way! Eagles all the way! And at least my team made the playoffs this year!” Mr. Quackers clutched at his heart and pretended to stagger around. I was laughing, nearly doubled over when he said, “So tell me Miss Eagles fan, why did they punt?”

I threw up my hands into the air, “I don’t know! You win. Where’s my tea?” Breakfast was lighthearted and fun. It was a good distraction from my pain and we talked about football the entire time. After eating I tried to wash out my tea cup, but he shooed me away, “Go watch television for a bit. I’ll be in shortly.”

Daytime television sucks. I ended up picking a nature show. When Mr. Quackers entered he was carrying a jar similar to the one I’d seen the first time I’d been caned. I groaned and he shook his finger at me, “You know this will help. Don’t even think of telling me you’ll do it yourself, you can barely move.” I sighed and lay down along the couch. He was exceedingly gentle as he slowly slid the sweat pants down and whistled when he saw the marks.

I shuddered from the pain as he slowly started rubbing the balm in. When one of his nails scraped along my skin I screamed into a pillow and his hands stopped. My breath was ragged but I urged him to continue, to just finish. After a few more minutes of rubbing, I stopped noticing the pain. I was getting aroused by his touches and kept biting my lip not wanting to moan and ruin the moment. Somehow I succeeded and he stopped only when he was satisfied that every mark had been coated in balm.

Mr. Quackers eased the sweatpants back up and I gingerly sat up on the couch. He sat down next to me silently. It felt awkward and I nervously asked, “Umm, if we’re friends in this setting, should I still call you Mr. Quackers?” He shook his head, “No, I think my first name will do, but you’ll have to guess.”

I’d seen his first name in a teacher’s directory, but decided to tease first, “Hmm. Oh I know, your name is Graham.” He shook his head, “Nope try again.” I grinned at him, “Are you sure? You know, Graham, as in Graham Quackers, Graham Crackers!” I giggled at the joke and was rewarded with a pillow to the face.

“Mercy, mercy!” I shrieked, pretending to faint. The pillow stopped hitting me and when I peeked to see if he was looking, he whapped me again on the top of the head. He beat me a few more times with the pillow and I made a silly face, “Okay, okay, a serious answer. Your name is Jonathan. Do you go by Jon? Maybe John Boy? Johnny? Nathan?”

“John Boy? Do I look like some sort of country bumpkin?” He shook his head. The teasing flirt in me was out in full swing, “Well, now that you mention it…” I covered my head with my hands and he pinched my side instead of hitting me with the pillow, “Jon is just fine.”

There was a long pause and we both sat there lost in our own thoughts. I was the first to break the silence, “Are you going to lecture me about my behavior in school?” He looked over at me sadly, “Nope. As of yesterday I’m no longer your teacher. Your parents are headed here to take you home.”

I was stunned. I’d assumed that my parents would check to see how I was and then leave. I liked my school, well somewhat. Honestly, I liked learning from him. He’d gotten through to me and had made me enjoy learning. I also liked him, and somewhere in my mind for brief moments I’d thought that maybe he liked me as well even if he was older. No, not old! I’d never thought him old. He was just older in a nice mature manner, but still goofy and fun.

I sighed loudly and pulled the pillow up to my chest. I was determined not to let him see me cry again. Despite having cried in front of him many times, I hate showing my emotions to anyone. Once you let someone in, I felt that it made you weak and vulnerable. He patted my knee, “I’ve enjoyed teaching you Shannon. I had hoped to teach you more. When you put your mind to it, you are a bright young lady. Never forget that. You can accomplish anything if you really try.”

My heart was racing. I wanted to confess the truth, and I’d just opened my mouth to speak when the doorbell rang. I cursed my luck as Jon went to the door. It was my parents. My mother rushed in, a cloud of heavy perfume trailing behind her. She enveloped me into her perfume drenched aura and hugged me tight, “Don’t worry baby, you won’t have to go to that nasty school anymore!”

I winced as she pushed me into the couch with her hug and pulled away, “Mom, calm down please; I’m really sore. I’m okay, honestly.” I could tell by the look on her face that she didn’t believe me. I looked around for my father and Jon, but the two were still standing at the door talking. My mother started fussing over me and I couldn’t take it. I eased off the couch and walked over to my father.

Dad hugged me around the shoulders, “You okay, kiddo?” I nodded as he continued, “You know kiddo, you’re lucky that Jon works at this joke of a school. You should have told us sooner that they were caning you. I’ll have my lawyer sue any teacher there who’s ever touched you!”

Jon turned pale. I flushed scarlet. My father was still rambling on about taking the school on a “ride they’d never forget”. I tried interrupting him twice before I finally raised my voice, “Daddy!” He stopped plotting the school’s demise and looked at me, “I’m sorry kiddo, I’m sure this is upsetting you.”

I shook my head, “Daddy, until this, I was never punished unfairly.” I looked away in shame. He scowled and directed his fuming at me, “Shannon Jessica Cole, what sort of troubles have you gotten into now?” I stammered but it was Jon who told my father what was going on. He spoke sheepishly at first, his voice gaining confidence as he continued, “Mr. Cole, Shannon has been getting into minor troubles. She’s bored in her classes and I had just agreed to take over her teaching till graduation. I believe that she wasn’t being challenged enough. During the incident, I was the one caning her initially…”

He took a deep breath and my father’s jaw dropped as Jon continued, “I only cane students when they truly deserve it. Shannon did not sustain her injuries from me however. A vengeful teacher took out her anger over a petty fight on Shannon, after she’d already been properly punished. The police have this teacher in custody and she’s undergoing psychiatric testing.”

My father stammered and glared at Jon for a moment before turning back to me. He snorted angrily and I could hear him counting to ten before he continued, “Did you learn your lesson before you were abused Shannon?” I nodded, “Yes daddy I had.”

He looked thoughtful for a moment and finally asked me, “Shannon, do you want to stay at this school? You only have four months till graduation. If you can’t convince me that you won’t get into trouble, we’re leaving.”

I caught Jon’s eye, but he was still pale and his face was emotionless. I could hear my mother yakking away on her cell phone in the living room. What did I want? I didn’t want to leave, but was it for the right reasons? My father was growing impatient and looking at his watch when I made up my mind, “Daddy, I want to stay. I-it was planned that Jo- err, Mr. Quackers would be my only teacher for the rest of the year. I’ve learned a lot from his lessons and I want to stick with this and not quit.”

My answer seemed to satisfy my father. He nodded gruffly at me and turned his attention back to Jon, “Jon, would it be too much inconvenience if I requested that Shannon stay with you for the remainder of the term? I do not want her living in those dorms anymore. Those other girls seem to be a bad influence.”

The paleness in Jon’s face was quickly replaced by a deep blush. He looked terrified, “N-no trouble at all. It would be a pleasure.” My father nodded and pulled out his wallet and handed me money from it, “Good then, it’s settled. Shannon, pay for anything you need. Say hello to your parents for me Jon.” He patted Jon on the shoulder and hollered for my mother, “Come on Silvia, we have to be going now. The plane to Athens won’t wait all night!”

Dad kissed my forehead and walked outside to the waiting limo. My mother came out from the living room, still on her cell phone, gave me one of her “famous” perfumed air kisses and followed Dad to the car. We watched them drive off in stunned silence. When their car was out of sight, Jon closed the door and turned to me, “So those are your parents.”

I rolled my eyes, “Yeah, quite the pair.” Jon’s lip was twitching as he tried not to laugh, “Well meeting them explains a few things!” He darted back and I growled, “Not fair! I can’t chase after you!”

His expression rapidly changed from silly to sober as he walked back over, “Shannon, I…”

I cut him off as I looked down at the floor in shame, “Jon, we both know I deserved the first part of the caning. No one could have anticipated what else was going to happen. Don’t blame yourself. If I had learned my lesson the first time, this wouldn’t be an issue. Can we put this behind us and focus on getting me through the last bit of school? Friends or not, I’d like to graduate.”

He beamed proudly at me and smiled, “Sure thing “kiddo”. I groaned and whapped him with the money my father had given me. Seeing the money reminded me of my father’s “request” and I shook my head, “Look, my father is really demanding. Hopefully I’ll feel better and tomorrow I’ll return to my dorm.” Jon shook his head at me, “Nope. You’re staying here. I said you could and you will.” I sighed but knew that arguing would get me no where fast, “Fine, but take the money at least. Just think of all the books you could buy with it.”

Jon’s eyes lit up at the mention of books as he accepted the money.

Chapter 7

It had been nearly four months since “the incident”. Jon helped me move my things from the dorm while my roommates were in class. I’d simply told them that my father insisted I get an apartment. It was rare that girls in the school were allowed to do so, but not unheard of. When I’d returned to school a few days after my beating, there were rumors flying around, but I refused to deny or confirm any of them. Living with Jon had proven to be fun thus far. He treated me like a friend or kid sister when we were at home, but as a student as soon as we got to school each day.

My “friends” in the school merely shrugged when I’d informed them that I was no longer in classes because I had become a library assistant. I know they didn’t believe me, but it wasn’t a complete lie. In addition to my regular studies, Jon had been teaching me how the library operated. Within a month I was now in charge of putting away all the returned books and occasionally helped the other students find the books they needed.

I’d never been much of a reader, but Jon was teaching me to love written word. For English lit class, he’d had me reading Shakespeare’s plays and writing essays on them. When at home, he’d shown me his personal library and suggested books I might enjoy for entertainment. I’d even taken up writing on my laptop. I didn’t dare show him many of the things I’d written, fearing he would discover my love for “kink and smut”. The work I did show him however, he approved of.

The teachers who observed me could barely believe the change in my personality. I overheard Jon telling one, “She just needed more guidance and control. She truly is a bright young woman if you can keep her from getting bored.”

I still got into minor trouble, though most of my pranks were aimed at Jon. In addition to all of my library duties, I’d also started making his tea throughout the day. This change occurred after he’d gone to fetch a new cup and a bunch of freshmen started using books as spitballs. I’d tried to stop them but because I was only a student, they refused to listen. My most common prank was to put heaping tablespoonfuls of sugar in Jon’s tea even though I knew he hated it. Most of the time he laughed it off and made me drink that cup and fetch him a new one. Occasionally I spent time in the corner for it. He was never truly angry though.

The marks from my beating were almost all faded by this point as well. There were only two left that had scarred, the deepest ones, and those seemed to be fading a bit each week. Jon had taken photos for the police of my marks. They were horrifying to look at and I had only looked once.

I’d had nightmares for a few weeks after the incident, but those had become less and less frequent. I was finally happy and comfortable with my new routines just as graduation snuck up. It hadn’t crossed my mind that after graduation that I would have to move out. The realization hit me the morning of graduation.

My parents had come into town for graduation and they looked so proud of me. I hid my sorrow behind a smile plastered on my face. It was a sweltering day. The school had decided to hold the ceremony outside this year and had rented a giant tent for the affair. The end result was nearly hundred degrees in the tent. The heat didn’t bother me too much, even though most of the other girls complained nonstop.

I was too lost thinking about having to say goodbye. Jon and I had spoken about it briefly that morning, but had decided that we’d talk later. Or, rather, he had decided we’d talk later. I had wanted to get it over and done with.

I was nervous but excited as I stepped onto the stage to receive my diploma. When it was handed to me, I beamed over at Jon, who was sitting with the other teachers. I knew that had it not been for him, I wouldn’t have made it this far. He smiled back at me and gave me a “thumbs up”. I don’t remember much else of the ceremony. As proud as I was that I’d managed to graduate, the looming future was more pressing on my mind.

After the ceremony, my parents found me. My father looked filled to bursting, “Congratulations Shannon. I’m proud that you’ve finally made it. I have a surprise for you. I’ve never told you that you had a trust fund. Surprise kiddo! It became available for you to use the moment you graduated. Congratulations!”

I was shocked. I had always expected that my parents would help me after graduation, but a trust fund was definitely not something I had expected. I was still stunned silent when my mother, the perfume monster, attacked. She pressed her sticky red lips against my cheek and smiled. Mom started to say something, but her ringing cell phone took priority.

A few friends came over to say their goodbyes. They were all headed off for college. I hadn’t applied anywhere yet. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do and had decided that a few years working wouldn’t hurt me. The entire time I kept scanning the crowd looking for Jon, but couldn’t find him anywhere.

I was about to go check the library when my father tapped me on the shoulder, “I wish we could stay kiddo, but we’ve got a flight to Paris in a few hours.” The plaster smile slid back into place as I hugged my father, “Thanks for coming Dad. Tell Mom thanks for me when she gets off that phone of hers.” My father smiled and hooked his arm in my mother’s, leading her off to their car. She waved to me as they left and as soon as their backs were turned I ran off for the library.

The library was dark except for the glow from the computer monitor on the desk, slightly illuminating Jon sitting there. I walked slowly over to him and perched on the edge of the desk, “Are you okay?”

He forced a smile, “I’m okay. I hate crowds.”

I smiled sadly, “Me too. My parents are gone already. Can we go home and talk?” He nodded at me and came around to the front of the desk, pausing to hug me tight before putting his arm around my shoulder and leading me off to the car.

Chapter 8

The car ride home was quiet. I spent most of it staring out the window, trying to collect my thoughts. I was so preoccupied that when Jon pulled into the driveway, I didn’t move. In fact, I didn’t even notice when he got out of the car. It wasn’t till he opened my door that I realized we were home.

Once inside, Jon put on the tea kettle while I went upstairs to get changed. It felt nice to get out of the fancy dress I’d worn for graduation. I slipped into my favorite mesh shorts and an Eagles jersey. I wasn’t going to win any fashion awards, but I was comfortable. After pulling my hair into a ponytail, I trudged back downstairs.

Jon had just finished making two cups of tea when I entered the kitchen. He handed me one and nodded towards the living room, “Couch?” My feet scuffed across the floor as he followed me over to the couch. When we’d settled and both taken tentative sips of tea, he shifted so that he was facing me. I was muttering under my breath about boiling hot tea when I noticed he was looking at me, “Yeah I know, Eagles suck. Why did they punt?” I picked an imaginary piece of lint off my shirt.

We chuckled at the familiar joke and relaxed a bit. I shivered despite it being a warm sunny day and wrapped my hands around the cup, “I… Blah. I’m not sure where to start.” I felt my eyes tearing up and looked away.

Jon scooted closer to me and wrapped his arm around my shoulder. We’d only touched in playful ways before, tickling, light hearted slaps to the arm when goofing around, or the occassional hug when I'd had a rough day. I had never cuddled against him despite every desire in my body wanting to.

It didn’t seem to surprise him when I nuzzled against his shoulder. My eyes closed and I was able to envelope myself in the soft warmth of his body. He smelled wonderful, of soap and fabric softener. When I really concentrated, I found I could smell the scent of his deodorant. I could hear and feel his heart beating as erratically as mine was. I wanted to confess all of the fantasies and feelings I felt for him, but when my mouth opened, I couldn’t. I was too shy to.

Jon placed his teacup on the coffee table and gently cupped my chin in his hand. He tilted my head so that I was forced to look into his eyes. I couldn’t bear to look for long, and averted my eyes. I stammered trying to blurt out what I wanted, no, needed to tell him.

After several attempts that left frustrated tears streaming down my face, I pulled away and retrieved my laptop from the end table. Jon’s eyebrow raised, but he said nothing as I flicked through files till I found one of my kinky fantasies about him.

My hand was shaking as I passed the laptop to him and sat down on the couch, “I-I wrote that. I can’t say how I feel, the words just won’t come out, but if you read that, well, you’ll understand.” He nodded, picking up his cup of tea as he turned his attention to the screen. If it’s possible to stop time, that’s what happened. My heart was racing and the lump of fear in my stomach was growing in size, expanding into my throat. In reality he read for about a minute and then set the laptop down onto the coffee table, along with his tea cup before looking at me.

My heart stopped as he turned to me. Tears were still spilling down my cheeks. There was no way he’d finished the story. I wanted to get up and run away as fast as I could but my body felt paralyzed. Jon cupped my chin again, this time firmly. The tears flowed freely down my face as he stared into my eyes. Then to my surprise, he smiled warmly, “I’ve read it before.”

Now my heart really stopped. I’m sure I turned red, maybe scarlet. He was already red. I felt humiliated and embarrassed, “Wha-wha-what?” He chuckled as he let go of my chin and wrapped his arms around my shoulders in a bear hug. My mind was racing. Had he been snooping around on my laptop? How in the hell had he “read it before”? I was about to ask when he beat me to the punch.

“That fantasy is posted on the BDSM website I frequent. I didn’t know you were the author though. You write well. There are a few typos and some grammatical errors, but it’s a well thought out story. The balance of humor and emotions is perfect.”

Leave it to him to critique my biggest secret! I was rolling my eyes over his analysis of my writing when it dawned on me; we both shared the same secret. I pinched his side and pulled out of his hug, suddenly very talkative and full of questions, “Why aren’t you surprised? Who are you on the site? Did you know that I was a submissive? Stop laughing and answer me darn it or you’re getting my tea dumped on your head!”

He clamped his hand over his mouth as he tried to stop laughing. I growled at him and started to move my tea cup towards his head. Boy was I shocked when he firmly grabbed my wrist and pried the cup out of my hand. It seemed like one fluid movement as he placed the cup on the coffee table and pulled me over his lap, several sharp smacks landing on my upturned rear.

“Ouch, hey! Stop that!” I squirmed, trying to pull away. He held me down, each word accented with a sharp slap, “Then… don’t…. act… like… a… brat!”

After the last slap he let go of me and I scrambled upright, kneeling on the couch next to him. My eyes scanned his face and he grinned back at me as he patted his lap. I couldn’t help but beam as I sat on his lap and snuggled against his chest. It felt natural to have his arms wrapped around me.

“Now then, I’ll answer your questions. I realized you were a natural submissive a few weeks after you came to the school. It may not be obvious to you, but how you reacted to certain commands and directions were fairly obvious to me. You’re clearly the cheeky sort of submissive though.”

He paused when I started giggling, “Me? Cheeky? I’m certain you have me mistaken for someone else!”

Jon roared with laughter. I don’t think I’d seen him laugh quite as hard before. He was still wiping tears from his eyes when he continued, “I’ve read all the stories you’ve posted. Your writing is funny, sexy and intelligent. I was honestly surprised to find that they were written by someone as young as you are. We’ve also spoken once or twice in the chat room as well.”

He giggled, “Thinking about it now though, "sheepishslut" does fit you as a nickname.”

I was grateful that he couldn’t see the blush on my face. I snuggled closer to further hide my red face, “So who are you on the site?”

Jon gently stroked my hair, “Guess.”

I groaned and thought for a minute, “Hmm, I’ve spoken to a lot of people from the site. Oh, I don’t know! Tell me? Please?”

He tweaked my thigh playfully a few times, till I felt like I was going to scream in frustration. I had just opened my mouth to whine when he replied, “You didn’t seem too fond of my favorite hobby when we talked. I’m PegEnthusiast.”

I groaned loudly, trying not to giggle, “Figures. It figures. You KNOW I hate pegs! Lord, of all the luck.” Jon hugged me close as we both absorbed everything. We’d been chatting online for months and neither of us had known it! Finally, only one question remained, “What now?”

He exhaled slowly, caressing my arm as he released me from his embrace, “Kneel.”

Jon’s voice was strict and firm, similar to his “teacher’s voice” but slightly different in a way I couldn’t identify. I obeyed at once, hopping off his lap and quickly kneeling on the floor in front of him. My eyes stared at the tops of his feet as he instructed me, “Hands behind your neck, rest your butt on your heels and stay still.”

I quickly complied as he stood, picked up the tea cups and left the room. My breath was shallow as I quivered holding the position. I’d heard him place the cups in the sink, and then nothing. My mind wandered as I tried to remember all of the conversations I’d had with “PegEnthusiast”. We’d last spoken a few nights before and he had mentioned that he was interested in a submissive friend but didn’t know how she felt about him. I was chuckling to myself over the irony when Jon came back into the room.

“Good girl,” He patted my head and stood looming over me, “What were you laughing about?” I bit my lip and smiled, “Oh, just our last conversation online. Does “PegEnthusiast” know how his submissive friend feels about him?”

Jon knelt down behind me as he grabbed my wrists, moving my arms so that they were pinned against the small of my back. He pressed against me as his free hand grabbed hold of my ponytail, pulling my head back so that my breasts thrust outward. His breath tickled my ear as he growled, “He does now.”

I felt weak, dizzy and breathless, intoxicated with desire. See? I told you I had a kinky streak!

Chapter 9

So there you have it, the beginning of my “practical” experience into the world of BDSM. I felt like a bird that had spent its entire life trapped in a cage. Suddenly I was feeling a rush of freedom wash through my mind, senses and body. As I knelt in place with Jon behind me, my emotions overwhelmed and took control. The happiness within my chest was so vast that I could contain it no longer. My body’s method of release- I started crying, much to Jon’s confusion.

As the tears streamed from my eyes, Jon’s grip on my hair and arms loosened, and then finally released. He gathered me into his arms as I wordlessly cried; not trying to ignore his questions, but unable to respond. Five, maybe ten minutes after I began crying, my body’s quivering died down. My breathing slowly returned to normal, and I was able to explain myself to Jon.

He smiled tenderly as I turned to face him and tried to explain my reaction. My words were jumbled and disjointed as I spoke and after trying for the third time to say that same thing, his finger pressed against my lips, “Shh, Shannon. I know exactly how you’re feeling. I’m just not being girly and crying.”

His smile stretched into a grin as his fingers casually tickled my side. My mouth dropped open into an overly dramatic gasp of mock surprise as my hands slapped playfully at his. I knew I was not overstepping any boundaries from the twinkle in his eye, and suddenly pushed closer, my fingers wiggling and tickling his sides.

In return, he gasped loudly and his tickling started anew. Our bodies squirmed around, legs flailing against the floor, arms darting towards the other’s body, each trying to dodge the other’s advances. Each shriek of laughter from one, resulted in maniacal laughter from the other, till finally Jon had me pinned to the floor. Despite my every attempt to break free and tickle, he was stronger than I and held me firmly.

When I stopped struggling and trying to break free, Jon released his grip on me. He scooped me easily into his arms, surprising me with his strength. My arms wrapped around his neck as he stood, lifting me from the floor. He carried me up the stairs, despite the frequent protests that I could walk myself. When he walked past my room, I knew where he was going and my stomach lurched, suddenly shy and afraid of his intentions.

I needn’t have worried, that I know now, but as he deposited me onto the bed, for the briefest of moments, I was taken back to the last time I had lain in his bed, even though under very different circumstances. My eyes followed him around the room as he walked to the other side of the bed and lay down upon it so that he was facing me. We stared nervously for a few moments before he started speaking, “Shannon, we’re going to move slowly. We’re both still relatively new to this, and I want to learn more. Actually, we’ll both learn, together.”

My head bobbed up and down in agreement, “I think that’s wise. We know a fair bit about each other from having lived together, but there is still so much I don’t know about you.” Jon smiled back at me shyly and my heart melted. I longed to scoot closer and kiss him. Apparently, he was feeling the same because he did exactly that. As our lips met for the first time, I could feel fireworks going off within my body. My veins felt as though they were exploding with fire. His lips were soft against mine, though forceful. My eyes closed instinctively as my lips parted slightly, his tongue brushing past my teeth as the tip of it connected with mine. Our tongues slowly danced around within my mouth and as I readily sucked on his, I could slightly taste the tea he had drunk. As we kissed, my hand moved to his face, softly caressing his cheek, feeling the slight stubble scratch against my palm. My thumb traced along his jaw as his hand gripped my hip firmly, pulling me towards him till our bodies were pressed so tight, a hair couldn’t have wedged between us.

We breathlessly pulled apart reluctantly at the same time, each falling back against the pillows. As I panted and stared at the ceiling, I couldn’t resist giggling, “Slowly huh? That sure didn’t feel slow to me!”

Jon propped himself up on his side, looking down at me. His eyes bore down into mine with tender affection, “By slowly, I mean that we’re not going to just start doing extreme BDSM things, silly. In fact…” He glanced down and blushed. I knew where he was looking and blushed myself. I had felt his erect cock pressing against my groin as we kissed.

“In fact, I don’t plan on touching you sexually tonight, Shannon.” My face fell into a half frown, half pout, “But, why? I-I want to; I’m ready to- to do more. The timing feels so right.” Jon smiled and kissed my forehead, “It does feel right, but I have something else in mind tonight. If we are to be more than friends- lovers as well as dom and sub, then I wish to establish both at the same time.”

I sighed loudly, but nodded. He shook his head and chuckled at me, “Are all submissives as impatient as you?” My laughter was loud, but not quite as loud as the, “Yes!” that burst from my mouth. Jon laughed and rolled his eyes as he grinned at me. There was something secretive about his grin though, and I knew he was thinking something. I was just about to speak, but he beat me to it, “I want you to stay on your back, place your hands behind your neck. Pull your heels up towards your butt and spread your legs. Now please.”

Jon’s voice was back into his strict “almost teacher like” dominant voice. My fingers interlocked behind my head as I watched Jon shift. He moved so that he was sitting cross-legged next to my hip, with his back half turned towards my face. As my legs spread he directed which way to move them, till he was content with their position.

“Now then, you have one order in this. You’re not allowed to move no matter how much you will want to. Ready?”

“Yes, Sir.” My voice was quiet and shy as I watched him. Jon’s arm that was closest to me- his right one, slowly moved till it was hovering a few inches above my mound. I gulped as he slowly lowered it, the fingers curling. He lowered it till his entire hand was cupped around my crotch, still hovering about an inch away. As he held it there, he smiled over his shoulder at me, “Tell me, Shannon what would you like now? Don’t restrict your language or hold anything back. Describe to me your thoughts as though you are writing one of your stories.”

“Sir, I-I wish you would press your hand against my pussy. I wish I were not still fully clothed, I want to feel your fingers run along the edges of my lips.” My eyes closed in concentration as I continued speaking, “I’d like to feel the lips parted and your fingers probing inside of me. My clit is throbbing, wanting to be touched, to feel the pressure of your fingers against it. It’s difficult not to press my hips up against your hand, to wiggle and squirm, just to feel even the slightest brush. If it is possible, I feel as though the center of my entire body, the universe, everything is centered upon my pussy. The arousal within my pussy is so great that I can feel it dripping from me and soaking into my panties, making them cling tightly. This is torture! I just want to be touched! Please, Sir, Jon, please, touch me? I don’t think I can handle another minute of this torment!”

Jon’s hand pulled away slightly, “I’m not going to touch you Shannon. If you are going to be my submissive, you will have to learn to obey and accept my commands and wishes. As much as you want me to touch you, I’ll bet you’re enjoying this torment. Knowing that my hand is so close, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from your pussy, is driving you nuts. More so, you’re becoming more aroused every minute that my hand stays here.” Jon moved his hand closer again as I groaned in frustration.

He teased me for several minutes, moving his hand varying distances from my pussy while I groaned grumpily. As his hand withdrew; Jon turned to face me. His hand skimmed along the surface of my stomach, sending chills up my spine as he did so. I hoped he would keep touching but deep down knew he would not. When his hand hovered above my left breast, I bit down on my lip to prevent myself from crying out in frustration. My nipples immediately hardened, the nubs pushing out from the rest of the breast, begging to be touched. Jon smiled up at me, “I adore the distress on your face. You do not want to disobey me, but you long to feel me touch you. Your body is betraying you without a word, my dear.”

My breath was coming in short gasps now and I tried not to fill my lungs too full and have my breast push against his hand. Jon merely smiled wickedly as he watched me hold my breath, sucking in air each time his hand pulled away slightly. He allowed this pattern to go on for a few minutes before placing his hand on my stomach, causing me to jump and groan as I began to breathe normally. 

Jon softly ran his fingers over my stomach, causing me to giggle slightly at the ticklishness of it. He smiled as I tried not to squirm and then pretended to look shocked, “Oh! I haven’t told you that you could move yet, have I?” He grinned wide as I mock glared back at him, “No you haven’t, and you very well know it! Please, Sir, please! May I move now?”

He nodded and stopped tickling, “Go get dressed for bed and then come back here.” I started to blush and glanced away for a moment, only to look back and see him grinning wickedly. He cleared his throat and tried to chase the laughter from his voice but was only half successful, “Let me guess. You don’t wear anything to bed?”

I bit my lip as the giggling started again, “Correct. I haven’t in years, except when in the dorms.” He smiled, “Then go put on what you would wear if you were in the dorm sleeping and return.” I nodded and scrambled off the bed, half running towards my room. I quickly changed, grabbed the stuffed sheep that I slept with; the sheep that Jon had poked fun at for weeks after I first moved in, before he realized that I slept with it every night.

When I reentered the room, the lights were all out except for one on a nightstand. Jon was sitting on the edge of the bed wearing nothing but a pair of boxer shorts. The sight of his masculine chest with a light coating of hair on it aroused me more. As the door clicked shut behind me, Jon turned and let his eyes roam over my “nightgown”. I was dressed in a tank top and pair of underwear. His eyebrow rose, “THIS is what you wear to bed in the dorms?”

I shrugged as I started walking towards the bed, perfectly aware that the clothing left little to the imagination, “Most of the girls do. It’s not a big deal to us.” He nodded as he slid under the blankets on his side of the bed. Only when I dropped the sheep onto the bed, did he seem to notice that I had brought him along. Jon groaned, “Oh no. No sheep. Not if you want to sleep with me. This is a sheep free bed.”

“Then I guess I’ll have to sleep in my own bed tonight then. You know I sleep with Baasley every night.” Jon let out a loud martyred sigh as he rolled his eyes. I smiled sweetly at him and turned to leave the room. The strict, dominant voice was back as soon as reached for the doorknob, “You are sleeping with me tonight.”

As I slowly turned to face him, I couldn’t help but giggle. “Sounds like Baasley’s staying then!” and proceeded to run over and flop down onto the bed next to Jon. The moment the bed stopped bouncing from my flop; Jon reached over and cupped my chin in his hand. Slightly scared from the look on his face, I bit my lip and whispered, “No Baasley?”

“Baasley may stay for tonight. But Shannon, if I order you to not bring him to bed, you will obey me. This transition will be smoother if you start to obey immediately, even for the little things. I know how much Baasley means to you, and I promise I will never take him away from you permanently. Now, get under the blankets and we’ll go to sleep.”

I slowly slid under the covers, feeling chastised and unsure of how Jon preferred to sleep. I started to assume my normal sleeping position, with Baasley snuggled against my chest when Jon pulled the sheep from my hands and placed him on his chest, “If you’re going to snuggle with a sheep, the least you can do is snuggle with both of us.” The strictness in his voice was gone again, as quickly as it had come.

I couldn’t help but beam as I scooted close, even though I knew that it would be difficult in the future to obey even orders given in his normal tone. My body pressed tightly against his as my head rested on his chest. I grabbed Baasley and placed him behind me on top of the bed, “I think Baasley can manage without me for the moment.”

I felt Jon kiss the top of my head, “Good.” His arm wrapped around me as we snuggled close and slowly drifted off to sleep.

Chapter 10

In all my life, I don't think I've ever slept as soundly as I did the first night nuzzled against Jon. When I woke, for the first few seconds of bleariness, I was sure it had all been a dream. Then I realized that the warmth I felt spooned against my back was not from the blankets, but from Jon.

 

I didn't want to move for fear of ruining that "perfect" moment. I lay as still as I could, watching the dust particles swirl in the air as the morning sun rose in the sky, its rays slipping into the room through the partially drawn curtains. Jon groaned in his sleep, pulling me closer against his body. I could feel his warm breath against the top of my head, the hardness of his erection against my rear as he held me tight.

It was the sort of moment I had only fantasized about in the past. My prior experiences were limited to boys my own age- boys who were more interested in quick meaningless sex without any intimacy. Goosebumps appeared on my skin as I shivered, thinking about all of the possibilities for the future. Sure, we knew each other as friends, and both were interested in exploring D/s together, but could we be more? Would it work?

“Are you cold?” Jon’s gentle voice jolted me from my reverie as he rolled over onto his back.

“No. Why?” I asked, rolling over, my leg draping over his as my head came to rest against his shoulder.

“You shivered.”

“Oh. Yeah, I did. I was… thinking.” My cheeks burned slightly with embarrassment. I wasn’t ready to share all of the budding feelings and hopes that had been flying through my mind.

Thankfully, Jon didn’t ask what I had been thinking about, he simply stroked my hair and kissed my forehead, “Well I’m thinking that I have to use the bathroom.”

My eyes studied Jon as he threw back the covers and rose from bed. I’d admired his body many a time in secret but now I was free to openly ogle him. When he’d left the room, I pulled the blankets back up, nuzzling down into their warmth. My mind quickly relapsed into brief flashes of fantasy and desire.

As I lay in bed, my hand slowly slid down the length of my stomach as it did most mornings. Deftly slipping beneath my panties, the fingers found their target. I was half surprised to feel how wet the soft folds of flesh already were. The tips of my fingers pressed deeper as I starting rubbing, imaging it was Jon teasing me. I had barely begun to tease but my muscles were starting to tense, and I could feel the warm tingle spread up my groin. I had forgotten that I was in his bed; all I could think of was how intense my need for release was.

"Go take your shower and I'll put the tea kettle on." Jon smiled at me from the door way as I jumped and guiltily looked over at him, quickly whipping my hand out from beneath my panties. I untangled my legs from the blankets, and slowly put my feet on the floor. I had been so close to an orgasm that my legs felt rubbery like jelly. Once standing, I blushed and realized how naked I felt in my skimpy nightwear. The night before I had barely given a thought to it; but now with Jon staring at me, my arms crossed in embarrassment as I walked across the room. Instead of moving out of the way when I reached the doorway, he held out his arms and enveloped me into a warm hug. I squirmed a bit, unfolding my arms just enough so that my hands rested on his chest.

As he held me, Jon’s hand leisurely rubbed the small of my back. My sighs of pleasure were abruptly halted with a yelp as he suddenly slapped my ass. When he resumed rubbing as though nothing had happened, my eyes slowly traveled upwards, meeting his for the first time since he’d caught me masturbating. My teeth sunk into my lower lip as his eyes bore down into me, and I felt a small tremor of fear. Was he angry that I had been playing with myself?

I was like a deer caught in the headlights as my eyes followed his. So intense was his gaze that I felt like I would melt. The moment I looked away he quickly slapped my other cheek. My eyes connected with his once more and he commenced rubbing my back as I did so. Even though I had not averted my eyes, Jon rapidly slapped one, then the other cheek and grinned at me, “It’s irresistible, watching the reactions of your face when I slap your rear. What are you thinking?”

“I’m not sure what to think. I’m aroused. I like how the slaps sting and then feel warm and tingly. The rubbing is nice- comforting. But…” My voice trailed off.

“But, what?” Jon slapped my ass again.

“Meep!” I jumped, even though I had been expecting that slap.

“Meep is not an answer. But, what?”

“I-I’m ashamed. Are you spanking me because I was playing with myself? Are you mad at me?”

Jon’s hand stopped rubbing my back and cupped my cheek, tenderly stroking it with his thumb, “No Shannon, I would never hit you because I am angry. That’s abuse and it will never happen. Understand?”

A smile broke across my face as I nodded, “I understand. Why then?”

Jon grinned back, “Because I can and want to.”

Peals of giggles erupted from me as my head shook back and forth. Jon slapped my ass lighter and playfully this time, as he hugged me tight. My arms wrapped around him as I continued to giggle into his chest. His grip tightened and he suddenly picked me up, twirling around as we laughed. When my feet were finally on the floor again and the laughter had subsided, I beamed up at him, “I think I had better go get my shower now.”

Jon nodded and released me from his hug, patting my on the rear as I started to leave the room, “Oh, and Shannon?”

“Yes?”

“From now on, you are not allowed to masturbate, much less orgasm, without my permission.”

My eyes grew wide as my face flushed red and I ran towards my own room to grab my towel.

Chapter 11

If I had thought taking a shower would help to alleviate the arousal I felt- wrong; think again, Shannon. Jon was still moving slow and I knew it, even though he had obviously chosen to display some of his dominance over me already. I knew breaking my habit of masturbating upon waking would be difficult, but I hoped that there would be plenty of other things to fill the void, if I was patient.

After dressing, I went down to the kitchen to find that Jon had already “made” breakfast, so to speak. A banana, muffin and cup of tea sat waiting at my usual place at the table. Jon was just popping the last piece of an orange into his mouth while reading the newspaper. I sat down, wrapping my hands around the cup of tea. He smiled as he chewed and tossed a piece of the orange peel towards the trash can. When it sailed into the can without hitting the edge, he raised his hands as though he’d just scored a touch down.

My eyes rolled as I made a silly face at him, “So what’s the plan for the day?” as I snatched the newspaper from his side of the table.

Jon made a silly face back at me as he placed his cup in the sink. He thought for a moment before replying, “I’m going to go shower now while you eat. After that we can talk a bit more.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

He nodded and ruffled my hair as he passed by me.

As I unpeeled my banana, I couldn’t help but giggle to myself as I realized that I was tempted to lick the banana as though it were certain tempting parts of Jon. I almost felt guilty as my teeth sunk into it while I scanned the newspaper.

My thoughts weren’t on the words in front me. My eyes scanned each line of text but mentally, my focus was on day dreaming about Jon. When I tried taking a bite out of the banana’s now empty peel, I realized just how distracted I had been. Actually, I couldn’t remember a single thing I had just read. I tried tossing the peel towards the trash can, but my aim was horribly off. Sighing as I got up to pick it up, I muttered, shaking my head, “Well the NBA won’t be scouting me anytime soon.”

I ignored the newspaper while eating the muffin, and had enough common sense to fully remove the paper from it before allowing my mind to wander off again. My whole body felt consumed by desire as I thought about Jon. I’d somehow managed to stave off those emotions for months, but now with things unraveling, it felt like the invisible barrier I had kept up was crumbling, and fast. I found my heart beginning to race as I heard Jon’s footsteps on the stairs, every nerve in my body tingling with uncertainty.

Not wanting to delay our talk because I wasn’t finished with breakfast, I quickly stuffing the rest of the muffin into my mouth. I tried washing it down with tea, but the piece was too large and I started to choke. My first instinct was to try and quickly swallow the offending piece of muffin, and force it down, but started coughing and gagging instead. My hands gripped the edge of the table till my knuckles turned whiter than white as I leaned forward trying to hack the piece out. I was surprised and quite grateful when Jon suddenly appeared behind me and cracked his hand hard against my back. Bits of half chewed muffin and saliva shot from my mouth, coating the table. Jon’s arms swiftly hauled me into a standing position as his fists pushed roughly up against the bottom of my rib cage. I gasped for air, coughing as the mushy piece of muffin flew out of my mouth.

I was still coughing as Jon supported me against his chest. He calmly stroked my hair and when I cleared my throat, handed me my tea, “Shannon, do you know how to do the Heimlich maneuver on yourself?”

As I swallowed the tea gratefully, my head bobbed up and down, “I do, honest I do, but in that moment, I just couldn’t think of it.”

Jon smiled gently and cupped the base of my throat between his thumb and first finger, lightly rubbing the skin till I shivered. His tone was serious, but the chuckle he allowed himself at the end made me relax, “Shannon, I’m not into breath play.”

My still tense muscles relaxed a bit more as I laughed, “Good. Neither am I!”

Jon surveyed the crumbs and wad of muffin on the table, “That really is gross looking.”

He moved away from me and put the kettle on as I grabbed some paper towels and began wiping up the mess. Jon watched as I cleaned, “helpfully” pointing out spots where I had missed crumbs.

Each carrying a fresh cup of tea, we made our way into the living room and settled into our familiar spots on the couch. Jon picked my laptop up off of the coffee table and switched it on, “I wanted to talk about our interests. I know some of what you enjoy and don’t enjoy, but I wanted to get a better feel for what sort of things we want to explore together. Have you ever filled out a BDSM Questionnaire?”

“Once, but I think I responded to it based more on fantasies than things I could realistically do.”

I leaned against Jon’s side as I watched him navigate to a website with “BDSM Questionnaires” written across the top of the page. He clicked on a few of the links, quickly dismissing the shorter ones. When he found a lengthy one, he angled his body towards me so that I was forced to sit up and look directly at him.

“You’re grinning. Why does that grin look so wickedly evil?” This only made Jon grin wider.

So naturally, he ignored my question and continued speaking about the questions, “I’ll ask you about a topic, tell me your thoughts on it, and if you have any experience with it.” His left hand moved so that it was inches away from my crotch, the grin never wavering from his face, “Also, tell me if a topic arouses you in particular.”

I gasped and moaned as I fought the urge to squirm, “That arouses me and you know it!”

I was surprised when instead of withdrawing his hand as I’d expected, he firmly cupped my crotch. His voice was warm and husky as he leaned close, licked my earlobe and whispered, “And this? You don’t have to answer; I can feel the dampness seeping through your jeans.”

My head fell back in ecstasy as Jon’s finger wiggled against my slit, putting slight pressure on my clit. Ever the master of the tease, Jon withdrew his hand after a moment, smiled and said, “Lets begin then.”