A SLAVE'S JOURNAL, CHAPTER 4
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Nothing happened for a minute or so. My every muscle was taut, my breathing rapid, anticipating the cruelest torture with a strange mix of eagerness and fear. But instead what I felt was a caressing touch, as Professor Blackthorne stroked my hair with gentle affection, as though I were a lover or a daughter. He removed my watch and quietly inquired, "You don't have anywhere to be, do you?" I shook my head, eyes lowered, although I did in fact have a lot of studying to do and had to be up early besides. It didn't seem to matter. |
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And then, the spanking resumed. The palm of his hand landed on the soft flesh of my ass, over and over again, reddening my tender skin yet further. This punishment elicited involuntary squeaks and squeals, no matter how hard I tried to be dignified and stoic. And just when I thought I couldn't possibly take it anymore and was going to ask the professor to please stop--I felt a shivery rush pass through my body, and then the pain seemed to sort of melt away. I was so grateful for this reprieve, I rested my head on my hands and felt myself sink into an almost meditative state. It was lovely; the spanks seemed like they were coming from very far away, and their rhythm was strangely soothing. |
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There was a pause, and then the sensation changed. Professor Blackthorne began slapping me gently with something smooth, flat, and hard, smaller than his hand. I snapped out of my daze and tensed up, afraid of this new tool that seemed much more harsh than skin. It was worse. It stung much more. My skin felt raw where it struck. I gasped, and I instinctively tried to move forward, out of reach. "Take deep breaths," he told me, more like a coach than a sadist. I did, and it helped me get through it, although as he ramped up the intensity, this new tool stung so much that I found my eyes tearing up again. I began whimpering softly. I wanted so badly to bear it, not to give in and ask for mercy--though, as I understand now, at that point it was just for ego's sake. |
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And just as I reached my limit (how did he know?), the punishment abruptly stopped. He rubbed my ass, slowly, almost reverentially, no doubt admiring its color. "Kneel at my feet," he said, and guided me so I was facing away from him. Taking the hairbrush, he put it to its intended purpose, and carefully brushed my long hair. No one had brushed my hair since I was a child; a warm feeling of security and calm crept over me. I tried to reconcile these gentle, loving hands with the ones that had caused me such pain moments ago, but couldn't. I couldn't think about it logically; I could only lose myself in the sensation. I closed my eyes and relaxed. |
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When Professor Blackthorne finished brushing my hair, he gently kissed the back of my head. I thought perhaps that was the end, and I prepared myself to get dressed and go home--not that I thought I'd be able to study or sleep. At that point, I was more aroused than I could ever remember being; my pussy was perfuming the entire room with sweet musk. But rather than dismissing me, the professor spoke softly into my hair, his breath tickling me: "You seem a little chilled, my dear. I think I have something that will warm you up. Lie down on the carpet." |
I didn't know what he had
in mind, but I was so horny at this point that I didn't much care. Nevertheless,
I felt a small thrill of fear as I draped my naked body on the floor and watched
Professor Blackthorne to see what he would do.