This story didn’t work out how I wanted it to, twisting and turning a lot as I wrote it. I started with no plan apart from how hot being called young lady would be by someone who is about to give me a thorough spanking. I wouldn’t say this exactly involves school-girl role play or age play, but there are hints at that sort of dynamic so if this isn’t your thing feel free to skip this one.
I know I’m not allowed to touch myself, not without her permission at least. I know, but the hot words I’ve just read are powerful and I pull up my skirt with one hand, so I can rub at my clit through my knickers with the other. It’s not enough, and I’m soon pushing the already-damp cotton aside in order to play with myself properly.
“What are you doing girl?”
Her voice is sharp, and I jump. Despite the fact she’s two years younger than me, my girlfriend can make me feel like a silly little girl – especially when she catches me breaking her rules. Part of me loves it and melts, but that doesn’t stop me from blushing with deep embarrassment at being caught.
“Turn around, naughty thing, and hold your hands out. No, don’t try to wipe them on your skirt. Even if there is no tell-tale wetness on them, I will be able to smell your cunt on your fingers if you’ve been touching it. Have you been misbehaving, young lady?”
Part of me wants to shake my head and hide my hands behind my back, but I know that she would find out soon enough. I’ve discovered before that lying to her would mean the punishment would be even greater when she did find proof of my guilt.
Another small, defiant part of me wants to tell her that it is all her fault: she’d left the book on the bed, and she’d told me to go upstairs and wait for her knowing I wouldn’t be able to resist taking a peak. The bookmark had taken me to the middle of a spanking scene, where a headmistress had two schoolgirls bent over the gym horse and was giving them a sharp scolding as she used a leather tawse on to leave marks on first one bottom and then another. Reading it had made my cunt wet and made me want the fantasy on the pages to come true… probably exactly as she had intended.
I knew too that being insolent right now would mean that the ache between my legs would go ignored and unsatisfied. Thus, I hold out my hands, palm-up. She takes them carefully and inspects them thoroughly. I do feel like a naughty school girl about to be chastised by her form mistress. Or head mistress. Or a prefect who’d caught me sneaking out of my dormitory to wank in the evening… I almost get so lost in these thoughts that I forget she’s still in front of me, waiting for an answer.
“Have you been misbehaving, young lady?”
Her gaze is steely, and my voice is small as I reply.
“Go and stand in the corner, girl. Tuck your skirt into your knickers and put your hands on your head.”
I squirm with shame as I do as I’m told. My fingers tremble a little with aroused excitement as I pull up my short skirt and tuck it into the white little-girl knickers she picked out for me to wear this morning. I’m expecting a scolding or a spanking, but instead she just leaves me standing there. My clit throbs and my cunt clenches. She knows that making me wait will let the anticipation build so whatever she does next will feel so much more intense.
She also has the gift silently about our bedroom, so I don’t realise that she’s behind me again until something bites into the flesh of my arse and I squeal.
“Fuck, that stings!”
“Does it? And can you guess what it is?”
Two more strikes leave me gasping for breath, but they give me an idea of the implement she’s yielding.
“Is that my fucking steel rule?”
Another three hits before she replies, and I come very close to taking my hands off my head to rub my reddening arse. Even through my knickers, the blows really hurt.
“Do good girls swear? No, they don’t, and touch themselves without permission either. So, you must be a bad, bad girl. And bad girls get punished… sometimes with the lovely shiny ruler they were using to do their pretty architectural drawings earlier.”
I can hear the grin in her voice as she hits me again. And then again. I whine and writhe, unable to stay still and not try to dispel the stinging pain.
“And you were touching yourself, weren’t you?”
“And you’re a bad girl who is getting even wetter as I punish you, aren’t you?”
I go to shake my head, but suddenly she is close and reaching under the waistband of my skirt.
“You’re soaked,” she whispers – half praise, half admonishment – in my ear. I blush and moan, pushing my burning arse back against the cool denim of her dungarees.
“Bad girl,” she smacks my inner thigh and I quickly stand up straight again. “I haven’t decided how many spanks you deserve yet. But don’t think you’re being let off with just this, young lady. Do you remember what I warned you would happen the next time I caught you masturbating without asking me first?”
I moan with frustration as she strikes me again, but my cunt twitches in glee. I do remember.
Quinn Rhodes (he/him) is a queer, trans, disabled sex writer with vaginismus. He’s a slut and a sex nerd who writes about his adventures in trying to fuck without fucking up. Quinn can usually be found wearing stomp-on-the-patriarchy boots while falling in love every time he fucks.