A Teachers Punishment At The Headmasters Hands

I was what you would describe as average, I guess, I scrubbed up well if I needed to but as a primary school teacher I cared little if I impressed people. My work was more important.

If I had to describe my appearance, I’d say I’m pretty average—average height, average build, and average chest size. My hair is chestnut brown, shoulder-length, and well, just average, really. But there’s one thing about me that’s a bit out of the ordinary. You see, my little secret, the one thing that sets me apart, is probably the amount of naughty stories I read online.

Every night when I come home from work to my lonely little flat on the outskirts of Okehampton, I attend to any housework that needs doing. After preparing and eating a small meal then cleaning up, I settle down in front of my computer with a glass of wine and indulge in my passion.

So what does a horny middle-aged woman fantasize about? Well, in my case, it was simply being spanked—well, being naughty and then being spanked. I had never been spanked in my life, so I don’t know where it came from, but just the thought…

In the evenings, I immerse myself in online stories of people being disciplined for their misdeeds. While I tried watching spanking videos, I found them lacking in context and motivation. I wanted to understand why the person was being punished and what they had done wrong. Through the written word, I could imagine the pain and emotions of the character, making the experience more immersive and engaging for me.

After a couple of glasses of wine and a few stories later, I would start to lose my inhibitions and my clothing. Even in my own flat, I was self-conscious about masturbating, which is why I had the wine.

One aspect of my self-care routine was my obsession with smoothness. I couldn’t stand even a hint of pubic hair, so I made a monthly pilgrimage to the city for a full wax. The sensation of smoothness was yet another turn-on for me; I loved the feeling of my fingers gliding effortlessly over my skin.

I would start by simply rubbing my average breasts, tweaking my nipples until my juices started to flow. Then, one hand would slowly move between my legs.

I never used toys. In fact, toys scared me. It had taken me many years to learn that masturbation was not evil, and to enjoy it. Toys were one step too far at the moment.

So there I would sit, at my tiny desk, naked, with my fingers buried in my wet twat, reading stories about naughty girls. I would often find myself wishing that I was the girl in the story, being punished for being so naughty.

I would drag out the experience, savoring every moment. Most times, I wouldn’t even allow myself to cum. It wasn’t the physical climax that I craved, but rather the act of masturbation itself. I wanted to feel raw and sore the next day, a reminder of my sins. Even at work, I would be reminded of my transgressions, a constant source of shame and pleasure.

One evening, as I was opening another bottle of wine, I stumbled across a website I hadn’t seen before: Punishment South West, a site that claimed to help make fantasies a reality. Now this I had to check out. I started by reading some of the stories on the site, which were submitted by potential clients to let this Master H character know what they wanted in their sessions. Could I do that? Could I write a story that was true, about me and what I desired?

I started to think more about it as I carried on with my activity. It was late, I was sore, but I didn’t want to stop, not now, not while I was reading the stories on this website. They were so raw, so visceral, so real.

As morning finally came, I made my way to the bathroom and noticed a burning sensation between my legs. Upon checking in the mirror, I saw that my vagina was bright red and raw from the intense rubbing the night before. I was actually shocked at the sight; I didn’t think I had ever masturbated so hard.

I didn’t think I could face work today, standing there welcoming the kids and their parents—the fathers… Mmmm, the fathers. Wait, where had that come from? I had never thought about any of the parents like that. I found myself calling in sick; I needed time to process what was happening to me. It may have seemed insignificant to most, but I was experiencing feelings I had never had before. I wanted to masturbate again right now, but I couldn’t—I was too sore. It would have to wait. I needed to apply some cream to help the healing process.

I decided to write a story for Master H, the owner of Punishment South West, to see if he would help me. But first, I had to work out what I wanted. ‘Spanking,’ my mind screamed at me. ‘Yes,’ I told myself, but what else? How? Where? How hard? I had so many questions to answer before I could write the story.

I thought about it. Would I want to get naked in front of a stranger? Yes, my brain screamed. Okay, so naked. Did I want a hand spanking over his knee? Again, my brain screamed yes. At this point, I laughed to myself. This was going to be easier than I thought.

So I crafted a simple story. In it, I was the teacher, and he, my boss, the headmaster at my school. A parent had complained about my attitude at the gates that morning and that had landed me in his office. As I stood outside his door, nerves shot through me like electric currents. i stood there twisting and releasing the hem of my skirt over and over. Every tick of the clock echoed in my ears, amplifying my anxiety. Finally, his voice pierced the silence, calling me into his office. With hesitant steps, I entered, feeling like a mouse summoned by a predator. Standing before his imposing desk, I braced myself for what was to come, my heart pounding in my chest.

“You know, Fiona, I like you. I think you’re a good teacher. But your habit of upsetting the parents could cost you everything now,” he said, letting the sentence hang there.

I was in shock. Yes, I had put one of the parents in their place, but he deserved it. I wasn’t that rude, was I? To be honest, I couldn’t really remember; I just flipped.

“I…” I tried to explain, but nothing came out.

“Don’t, Fiona, please just don’t. There is nothing you can say,” he said, looking at me sadly. I could tell where this was going; he was going to fire me.

“Please,” I begged, desperation creeping into my voice. “I’ll do anything. Please don’t fire me. I love this job. I need this job, sir.”

“I have to,” he said firmly.

“Anything, please. I’ll do anything,” I pleaded, the weight of potential loss pressing heavily upon me.

He seemed to pause, contemplating his words carefully. “The father you upset… when I agreed that you should be sacked, well, he mentioned that what you really needed was a good hiding.”

He continued, his tone carrying a mix of concern and resignation. “I could inquire if he was serious. It might be a way to salvage your job, Fiona,” he said sadly.

I was utterly taken aback by his suggestion. Spanking? Me? As a punishment? It felt surreal, almost absurd. Yet, amidst the disbelief, a strange mixture of emotions stirred within me. On one hand, there was a flicker of indignation at the notion of being disciplined like a misbehaving child. But alongside that resistance, there was a curious spark of something else—uncertainty, perhaps even a hint of intrigue. The idea of submitting to such a traditional form of chastisement felt strangely compelling, despite my initial resistance. Could it really be a solution to my predicament, a way to keep my job? The conflicting thoughts swirled in my mind, leaving me torn between disbelief and a strangely tantalizing curiosity.

I found myself agreeing, “Yes, sir, I will do it. You can spank me, as long as I can keep my job.”

“It’s not just my decision. I need to speak to the parent involved and make sure they agree. Go and wait in the outer office until I call you back in.”

With a quick nod, I hurried out of his office, closing the door behind me with a deep breath.

It was a few minutes of nerve-wracking silence until I was called back in. When I entered, the Headmaster was standing behind his desk, motioning for me to sit.

“We have come to an accord, Fiona,” he began. “You are to receive 100 bare-handed smacks on any part of your body. You can select the area. If you can endure all 100, then you may keep your job, for now.”

I nodded rapidly, though the thought of enduring 100 smacks seemed daunting. But my relief was short-lived as he continued.

“However,” he added, his tone grave, “I have been instructed that they must be hard spanks, Fiona. I am not allowed to take it easy on you. The parent also wants proof, so I will have to film the punishment to verify that you endure all of them.”

He looked at me intently. “What is your answer?” he asked firmly.

My eyes fixed on the floor, I mumbled, “Yes, sir.”

“Good. While I am setting up the camera, remove all your clothes and place them on my desk.”

He instantly disappeared out of the office, leaving the door open, expecting me to strip, with the possibility that anyone could walk in. I did as he commanded.

Down to my underwear, I waited in tense silence as he re-entered the room. In his hands, a large camera on a sturdy tripod. My heart raced with each click of the tripod’s legs, echoing through the office. He set it up in the corner, the mechanical sounds intensifying the drama. All the while, he didn’t spare me a second glance, heightening the tension in the air.

With the camera in place, his eyes locked onto mine. “Yes, yes, very good,” he muttered, satisfaction evident in his tone. “I’m glad you waited. We can capture the moment you remove your underwear on film.”

“Now stand directly in front of the camera and when I say action, introduce yourself, tell everyone why you are here and then remove your underwear.

I swallowed hard, nodding in acquiescence as I positioned myself in front of the camera as instructed. His gaze raked over me, leaving a trail of discomfort in its wake. “Well, at least everyone will be able to tell you’re doing this willingly,” he remarked, his finger pointing at my panties. It was then, with a jolt of realization, that I noticed how wet they had become.

My cheeks flushed crimson, and I immediately went to cover my panties when he told me, “Hands by your sides, Fiona. You may begin. Action.”

I took a deep breath, knowing I was doing this to save the job I loved.

“My name is Fiona Thompson, a teacher at Toldean Primary School, and I have been naughty. This is my punishment.”

I slowly started to remove my bra, undoing the hook and dropping it to the floor. I glanced at my boss, appreciation evident in his eyes. He nodded for me to continue.

With a mix of nerves and determination, I hooked my thumbs in my panties and gradually guided them down my legs. As the fabric slipped away, exposing my perfectly smooth nether regions, I couldn’t shake the thrill of anticipation coursing through me. Both my boss and the camera were witness to this intimate moment, capturing every inch of my vulnerability.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his approval sending a shiver down her spine. “Now, turn around, bend over, and put your hands on my desk. Keep your legs straight.”

I complied with his request, positioning myself with my back to my boss and the camera, presenting my bottom as instructed.

“Perfect,” he said, the unmistakable tone of lust creeping into his voice. “Now, spread your legs as wide as you can.”

Once more, I followed his instructions meticulously, picturing the view he must have from behind me.

“Now you get to choose where the punishment smacks will be applied, Fiona,” he said, patting my bottom firmly. Your ass?” His hand lingered on my ass, the smack of his palm against my skin echoing in the room. “Or maybe here?” His fingers traced the contours of my wetness, igniting a fire within me that I struggled to contain, my breath hitching with each teasing stroke.

“Or,” he continued, reaching around, his grip tightening on my breast, “perhaps you’d prefer it here?” The raw desire in his eyes matched the heat of his touch, sending a shiver down my spine as conflicting emotions swirled within me, arousal and uncertainty warring for dominance.

“You choose, Fiona. But remember, once you decide, there’s no turning back.”

For the first time in a while, I was speechless, unsure of what to choose. My bottom would be the easiest to endure, but the thought of my pussy being smacked… It was almost too much to bear, sending a surge of anticipation and apprehension coursing through me. Could I handle it? The mere idea threatened to overwhelm me. If it were fewer than 100, perhaps I would have chosen differently. But I made the decision.

“My bottom, please, sir.”

You can read the rest of this session request, along with many others from Master H’s perspective, by exploring our new Patreon page.