One Bad Turn Deserves Another 2
Introduction:
After part one….. I had to find out where it was going to…… but I had a pretty good idea!
The caning I received from MIss Clark did really shock me and the memory has remained with me in absolute clarity ever since. In adult life, I have imagined the sort of events which took place in the previous story many times, but have only now got round to writing about it. Curiously, writing this story actually made me quite excited and so I decided to write this sequel in which a sort of logical conclusion is reached. After all looking at some of the photo sets, commonly available on such sites as XNXX, it is not so rare to find teenage boys servicing much older ladies……. is it? Looking back on those distant events, Miss Clark WAS a spinster and certainly used her cane everytime she had an excuse to use it and it may well have been the case that she DID derive sexual gratification from it….. she may even have used it on herself in the privicy of her own home…….. after all, I don’t know that she didn’t…….. and that’s all the excuse I need for this!
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When Pete, Charlie and myself made our way down our former teacher’s driveway and jogged back to school, I knew that I should have to return to her house. It was when we’d returned to school, and discussed the afternoon’s events in the changing rooms and when we were in the showers, that I made up my mind that I’d go back as soon as we’d gone our separate ways home. I knew I wasn’t expected home until mid evening as I frequently stayed late on games days to chat with team mates. So it was that a couple of hours after leaving that particular house on that housing estate, I found myself once again walking up the path to the front door.
I rang the doorbell, and after a minute or so, the door opened and once again I looked into the eyes of my former teacher. Those eyes registered a mixture of fury and fear as she saw me and she tried to slam the door shut but I jammed my foot in the doorway and grabbed hold of the open edge of the door.
‘What do YOU want?’ she asked, ‘just go away and leave me alone’, and then glancing to the side and behind me, ‘are you on your own this time?’ I assured her that I was and she relinquished her hold on the door and let me push it open.
She was standing in the hallway in a sort of pink, knee length, satiny bath robe which she belted up tighter as she saw me looking at it. Leaving the door open, she turned her back on me and walked into the lounge. I followed her. The curtains were still closed although it was still quite light outside. We stood awkwardly together in the middle of the room. She indicated that I should sit down.
‘After you, Miss Clark’ I said politely. She looked at me with a strange expression on her face; almost a smile but not quite,
‘Talk sense, Richard; it’s not something I shall be wanting to do for some time… and I thought we got onto first name terms, this afternoon’. I really didn’t know what to say to this!
She turned her back to me and lifted the bath robe, leaning slightly forward with her legs together. She pulled the robe up to her lower back. ‘Take a look at your work’ she said, and I could hear that much of the strain had gone from her voice. To a small degree, she had taken control of the situation.
‘Let me ask you something’ she said, ‘this afternoon, when you were beating me, I got the impression that you became aroused…….. you had a ‘hard on’……. I think you call it… was that so?’
I nodded my agreement and as it was getting apparent, I admitted that it was starting to happen again.
She then started to tell me something which astounded me at the time but which now in later uears I accept as quite normal. It also meant that I grew up considerably in the next hour or so, although I already thought myself quite mature!
She began by asking me if, when I had been beaten by her back in junior school, I experienced any sexual feelings. I told her ‘No’ and said my only reaction had been one of total fear. She asked me if I’d been beaten at the school I now attended and when I told her ‘Yes’ she became very attentive and asked me for details. She also asked if I’d experienced any form of arousal at these punishments and I’d told her ‘No’. I told her of the times I’d been caned and slippered (all punishments at my senior school were administered on the trousered bottom with either a slipper… a very thinly soled gymn shoe… or a cane). As I told her of my canings and slipperings I could see that she was much more than casually interested and further noticed that she was pressing her thighs together as though she was desperate for the toilet.
When I had finished telling her of my beatings since her days, she began to tell me things which made my penis stiffen between my thighs and I had to lean forward on the sofa to conceal it. She told me that twenty five or so years previously, she had had a ‘boy’ friend who had enjoyed being beaten. More than ‘enjoyed’ it, he had needed it and they had conducted a ritual when together, of her treating him as a schoolboy and severely beating him, usually on his bare bottom. This had caused him to be massively aroused and sometimes had orgasmed before they had had a chance for him to penetrate her. I couldn’t believe she was telling me this! She had discovered a need to beat him and been happy to oblige. He had never asked for a role reversal and she confessed that until that afternoon she had never realised how strong that submissive role had been latently there within her.
She confessed that there had been times when she had caned someone and had come home and brought herself off just thinking about it and sometimes, she had hit herself with a stick or slipper or something to try to bring these feelings on, but it had just not been the same. That afternoon, however had been a revelation, but it had taken a long time for her to realise it and her first reaction had been to want to get me into a position where she could reduce my backside to bloody shreds.
I asked her how she felt at that moment and glancing down at me sitting on the edge of the sofa, she asked me how I felt. When I didn’t immediately answer or look up, she pushed me back on the sofa and lifted my hands from my crotch, revealing a throbbing bulge in my trousers. ‘I should imagine, that’s painful’ she said.
For answer, I got to my feet and grabbing her hand pulled her towards the staircase and dragged her upstairs. I already knew where her bedroom was and it didn’t take long to find the bathroom, where I found a large bath towel which I placed on the bed. Pulling her into her bedroom, undoing the robe, taking it off and dropping it on the floor, I pushed her face down on the towel and having collected a jar of cold cream from her dressing table and removed my shoes, grey flannel trousers, tie, shirt and socks, knelt on the bed beside her.
I gazed for a long minute at the swollen and bruised buttocks and upper thighs; at the ridged welts where the cane had impacted on her cheeks; at the angry broad crimson stripes where the belt had cut her; at the blood suffused patches where hairbush and leather soled slipper had beaten her and at the stray flecks of blood still scattered across her rump even though I imagined that she must have showered during the time she’d been alone following our departure. I looked at her hands each having received six strokes of the cane which had produced swollen fingers and wondered how she’d managed to unclip her suspenders from her stockings and undo her bra when we’d gone.
I had a sudden urge to see her breasts and rolled her onto her back. She didn’t complain although the pain was probably excrutiating. Her breasts were quite large and heavy, probably in the region of 40DD and her nipples and surrounding skin, dark brown in colour. I couldn’t help but notice that these nipples were like rock hard bullets straining from the breasts as if they wanted to fly up to the ceiling. I was surprised at her forest of very dark brown pubic hair, the same as that on her head, as I’d more or less assumed that she dyed that, but unless she was remarkably thorough in this field, I saw that it all must be natural. She reached up and took hold of my cock through my underpants and I almost lost control, but I pulled back and stepped out of my pants and rolled her back on her stomach again.
I dipped my fingers in the cold cream and smeared some onto her bottom and started to caress it into her flesh. Those glowing orbs soon began to glisten in the light from the bedside reading lamp which I had switched on. The small amount I had started with soon became absorbed and I gave her a second helping, some of which found its way between her buttocks making it necessary to put my fingers down there and knead it into the flesh between arsehole and cunt. My fingers must have strayed at times into areas of greater sensitivity judging from the convulsive jerks from her body and sharp intakes of breath.
I took another two fingers full and applied it directly to her widely gaping cunt, which even before the cream application was glistening stickily and I could smell that musky cunt odour I’d experienced while I was beating her. I applied the cream between inner and out labia and finally moved a cream laden finger inside her vagina. Judging by her reaction, I think it had been years since anyone had finger fucked her and by the size of her cunt I think she’d been using a very large dildo indeed! I was able to push three fingers inside her with ease. Moving my fingers up to her clit almost caused her to leap off the bed but I held her down and with her thighs straining and her legs apart I rubbed her a little across that hard little pink bud.
I had fucked my girlfriend many times but she had never let me fuck her up the arse but this was an experience I was determined to have this afternoon. I told Edith what I wanted and she raised no objections. I think that this was not probably her first time at this activity!
Recovering some of my domination from the afternoon, I ordered her onto her knees and having smeared a large dollop of cold cream onto my right forefinger, I inserted it to the knuckle up her anus and reamed it round and round. I creamed the middle finger as well and inserted both into her bottom and then having smeared even more on the shaft and head of my cock proceded to insert it through the ring of muscle which was her sphincter and push it up her arsehole. I reached underneath and frigged her clit in time with my thrusts inside her rectum. My other hand either pawed at her breasts and nipples or grabbed her swollen bottom and dragged the nails across her buttocks.
I could feel myself on the verge of cumming so I pulled out and quickly placed myself across the width of the bed so that I could push the head of my cock into her mouth. She wasn’t expecting this so I grabbed hold of a fistful of her hair and jerked her head back and when my cock slid into her open mouth I rammed her head forward so that the glans must have bounced off her tonsils. She did actually gag and struggled briefly because that cock had just come out of her own arsehole, but I was too strong for her and anyway after half a dozen or so thrusts I came, spurting my thick creamy juces down her throat in three or four spasmodic jets. She swallowed it all. Either that or suffocate.
Afterwards we lay together until I noticed the time and said I had to run for the bus as I was now going to be very late home. She asked me if I would shower with her and I did this and then we both got dressed. I noticed that she wore no knickers and put on very loose clothing!.
She got her car out and sitting on a soft cushion (!) drove me to my parents’ house on the other side of town, stopping at the end of the street rather than outside the house. Before I got out she asked if I intended to tell the others what had happened after school. I assured her that I wasn’t. She asked if I was going to tell others whom she had taught where she lived. I assured her that this was also not going to happen. I asked her if she was going to tell my Head Master how I had spoken to her. She told me that if anyone was going to cane me in the future, it would be her and I told her that if she tried those sort of tricks, I would give her a thrashing which would make the afternoon’s adventures seem like a light tapping. I promised her at least 100 strokes of the cane in addition to the slipper, belt, wooden spoon, ruler hairbrush and anything else which took my fancy.
Her answer was one word, ‘When?’
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