Hello, this is my first post here and I'm hoping I'm doing it right. I have a book written in this same universe (maybe it's the one we live in!): The Spanking Team https://books2read.com/u/mdkreE
I also have a patreon of illustrated stories: https://www.patreon.com/Sanzas
The Spanking Team [ 20+, ff, spanking, humiliation, enema, masturbation ]
Set in a version of “the real world,” Aimee and her roommate want to join the FoxTails Girl’s College Spanking Team--a ‘club’ they’ve only heard rumors about!
All characters over the age of 18
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Aimee stood before the door of Professor Parson’s office in her t-shirt and shorts. She was about to knock, having gotten the private list of “special” office hours of the faculty sponsor of the Foxtail College Spanking Team. She drew in a deep breath, and when her phone’s timer clicked over to 3 PM exactly, she let out the breath slowly, and knocked. It sounded loud in the quiet 4th floor of the Language Arts building.
Nothing--moments passing--then: “Come.”
Professor Pearson’s voice was clear and even. It had an edge that Aimee Trayer recognized full well as the voice of maternal authority. She gripped the handle, and opened the door. The office inside had a clean scent of air freshener. It was a large affair, tastefully decorated and had a comfortable sofa with a throw-rug over it. The professor, middle aged and trim and dressed in understated wealth, she wore a gray cashmere sweater with faint hints of gold, gleaming from her ears. She was pretty and had bright pale eyes--but her smile was thin and didn’t touch the corners of her eyes. She looked Aimee over with a scrutiny that made the girl squirm.
She stood at the door, feeling badly under-dressed. On Professor Pearson’s wall, behind her desk, was an 18” hardwood paddle. It had rounded edges and a polished grip that looked fitted for her hand. Aimee swallowed: she was definitely in the right professor’s room.
Mrs. Pearson’s eyes softened and she waved the freshman in, gesturing for her to close the door behind her.
“You can sit,” she said. The slim girl eased into one of the two chairs set before her desk. Mrs. Pearson took a sip of the tea she had by her terminal and then, after a pause, she returned her eyes to the girl’s. “I have special office hours right now,” she said. “I teach mostly juniors and seniors so I don’t think you’re in any of my classes. What is it you wanted to see me about?”
She asked it nicely--gently, even--but the reality was that if Aimee was here then they both knew full well what it was about: however she was the elder professor and she was going to make the girl say it.
“I want permission to join the Foxtails--the--the--” her eyes flicked to the paddle, and her face colored, “--the Spanking Team.” Her last two words were a whisper. It was well known--very well known--that Foxtail Girl’s College and its brother school, Foxtrot University (the boy’s school) were part of a large network of schools that engaged in a deep and detailed use of corporal punishments for misbehaving students. While misbehavior was explicitly dealt with through a number of potential intricate punishments, they were almost always carried out in private.
Most freshmen had never seen a spanking--or other punishment--but they all knew quite well that they happened. While the legends of the “Punishment Perches,” metal poles with a 1.5” metal beam sticking out that an unlucky girl would straddle, her hands bound to cross beam behind her back so her feet dangled and her entire weight was trapped on the small beam, quickly becoming a terrible, intimate discomfort were true (they were located in the faculty bathrooms in three buildings), Most girls, unless unlucky (and bad) enough to be sentenced to one, would never see them. Even if a student was in the faculty washroom for some reason, and even if they were occupied, the perches worked wonderfully through clothing--and even while pants were usually taken down due to the schools aversion to girls wearing them, all an observer would likely see was an intensely uncomfortable,miserable girl waiting her time out, probably sniffling or even sobbing.
The Spanking Team, however . . . was something else. It was listed in the Student Disciplinary Handbook as “Intramural Punishment Assignment” and it was commonly said to only be used on the worst of the worst offenders,
Mrs. Pearson, as the team sponsor, knew that wasn’t strictly true: a good number of the team’s participants--the “--ees” were assigned to it because a faculty member had a particular interest in the student, generally a positive one (not that it would ever seem that way at the time)
Mrs. Pearson, looked the girl over again, noting her pale skin, her young, athletic body--not great musculature--but that could be worked on. The girl was cute--she’d be fetching in a soft puddle of tears! She sat forward.
“What was that, girl?” she asked--careful not to make her voice too sharp. She did want the girl in question embarrassed and uncomfortable--not frightened off! She watched the poor thing squirm and made a mental note of how wet her panties were . . . at some point.
“I--I--” the girl swallowed hard--now her face was an appealing bright pink. She blinked rapidly. Her hands gripped the chair. Mrs. Pearson mentally cheered her on: you can do it! “I wanted to apply to--to the Foxtails spanking team.” she said--her voice was only a bit louder--but it was an improvement.
Mrs. Pearson nodded, as though considering this request.
“What do you know of it?” she asked, as a dubious interviewer.
“I--I--uh--my mother was on it--I think,” she said.
“Oh! A legacy!” Mrs. Pearson let a bit of laughter creep into her voice. “Did she tell you that often during your upbringing?”
“I was mostly raised by my aunt since my mom and dad got --uh--assigned overseas to Dubai--” the girl was still blushing--but she was picking up confidence. “I mean, she . . . said some things--told me . . . a little. But I wanted to join if . . . I could.” Given the current state of the world for the past two decades, Mrs. Pearson wasn’t at all surprised that a family wouldn’t want to take three young daughters to Dubai no matter how well the job paid.
Now, Mrs. Pearson’s smile did reach her eyes. “I take it you did not get your bottom warmed often growing up?”
“A little--my mother--and father--insisted that my aunt spank my sisters and I,” she said, blushing less intensely now. “But--when my mom and dad came back, we did . . . get it. Some,” she said.
Mrs. Pearson considered. “And so, what do you know? Out with it--also introduce yourself.”
“Aimee Trayer, ma’am,” the girl said, swallowing. “I know it’s--the school has a team--the Fox Tails--the, uh, the ‘--ers’ as in spank-ers. And it assigns girls who’ve broken the rules to be the, uh ‘--ees’?”
Mrs. Pearson nodded.
“The events have . . . a . . . I understand it’s pretty, uh, sound?”
“We use the term ‘sound’ rather than severe--although both would apply,” Mrs. Pearson said.
“There’s scoring?” She wasn’t sure.
Mrs. Pearson nodded. “There is scoring, yes. The ‘--ers’ are generally juniors and seniors although there is a varsity contingent of sophomores. The events are private--limited attendance--but they take place between two schools, sometimes three, where a school’s team tries to induce the ‘--ees’ from another school to ‘fault,; cover up, yowl, break position, and so on.”
“Spanking takes place in generally 4-6 rounds depending on the competition where each ‘-ee’ is assigned an ‘-er’ from another school and it’s the spankers job to apply a selected implement a specific number of items, to a specific location--almost always the buttocks and thighs . . . but other locations are in use in some cases. The judges are VERY strict about how the punishment is dealt out.”
“If blows are deemed too harsh or hard, the ‘-er’ may be docked points or even disqualified. The punishment is intended to be quite sound--and very unpleasant--but not beyond that limit. It’s also . . . extremely humiliating. Most ‘-ees’ find the humiliation element the worst.”
She smiled at that. It was also one of the cited reasons when a former ‘-ee’ wanted to join the team--a somewhat rare, but certainly not unheard of event.
Aimee nodded, uncomfortably. “I guess that matches what I’d heard, Miss.”
Mrs. Pearson considered. Then: “Do you know how one applies to the team?”
“I was told I’d need to ask you,” she said. “I . . . spoke with my dorm RA who pointed me to the Foxtail Service club and . . . a junior--Stephanie Cross--told me to see you.”
She looked like she was giving away confidences. She wasn’t: Mrs. Pearson knew Stephanie well and approved of her sending the brave freshman to her.
“I see. Yes, that’s the first step. It isn’t the last.”
“What is the next step?” Aimee asked, shifting nervously.
“Well, the next step is to be assigned a Big.”
“A Big?”
“Like a ‘Big Sister.’ We don’t have Greek Sororities at Foxtail--but we do have a sisterhood system, just a little less . . . public. If I approve you, there will be a selection process: you won’t know what it is, but one of the girls on the team will select you as her ‘Little.’ It’s her job to look after you--to teach you the . . . culture, I suppose that we teach her.”
“It’s an intimate relationship and one that can, and often does, last far outside of the school. She will guide you through the basics--teaching you the language, the underlying skills, and the secrets, I guess.” The older woman smiled.
She’d made the last part--the word ‘secrets’--sound theatrical, overdone--but, oh, there WERE secrets, weren’t there? There were secrets that the young woman would be quite astonished to learn! Still, that road would be long and unpleasant.
“In addition to having a Big, you will also have to attend a year of meets . . as an --ee.”
Aimee’s eyes went wide. “As--as a--”
“Oh yes. More meets than most malefactors would be sentenced too. It’s a VERY hard year. Lots of tears, a good deal of tantrums--your Big has to agree to let you quit and she’s not to make it easy, so yes: you will understand quite well what the ‘-ees’ are going through.”
Aimee looked stricken and her wide eyes sparkled--but Mrs. Pearson knew well enough to know there was interest--fascination even--as well as fear. She would take the first steps--and then, when it was too late to simply quit, she would be gently guided through the ordeal by a caring, if strict ‘Big Sister.’ Mrs. Pearson’s own memories were colored with the illicit nights spent with her head between her ‘Big’s’ thighs, tasting the imperious girl’s lubrication, her face shining with it. Warm--hot--memories of a strap on and the ‘good’ pain it caused! Florid memories of private humiliations for the Littles with intricate ceremonies that left them sore, sobby, and for the lucky few, satisfied.
“It’s quite a journey--and not one to be taken lightly--but I can tell you that with a goodly number of graduates from the program, you will find that almost all--if not all--find that it was one of the best and hardest decisions they ever made. I presume it would be for you too.”
Aimee, gulped as Mrs. Pearson took another long sip of her tea.
“Would you . . .” Aimee said, her voice small but clear, “accept me?”
Mrs. Pearson smiled, setting down her cup.
“I will,” she said. “Yes. But I want you to be aware that shorts and a t-shirt are NOT suitable garments to wear to a senior professor’s office hours.”
Aimee blanched--probably more at the thought of having given offense than at the reminder. Still, when her eyes flicked to the paddle on the wall in dawning realization, Mrs. Pearson laughed. “I’m not going to paddle you, hon. That’s a rather hard piece of wood--you’d think I was executing you. No--I am going to teach you a lesson--and it won’t be pleasant--but it’ll be more embarrassing than painful.”
That relieved the girl until she learned that it was, well, pretty intensely embarrassing and, paddle or no, quite painful!
The College Spanking Team Part 01
Re: The College Spanking Team Part 02
Aimee’s Interview Spanking
Aimee sat at one of the tables in her dorm’s nearly empty common area. She wore her shorts and t-shirt and hunched over the mug of microwave hot chocolate that Rebecca had made for her, when she’d returned, sniffly and red-faced, looking like she’d been thoroughly wrung out. Rebecca had looked at Candace and they’d quietly helped her onto the dorm bed and peeled down the shorts. Under them, her buttocks were lightly pink--showing signs that Candace reported with authority were a spanking. A hand-spanking, she thought--nothing ‘too bad.’
Aimee had groaned into the pillow. Now, thirty minutes and a trip to the bathroom later, she was as ready to talk as she was going to be.
“She said I was in,” Aimee said quietly. The room was bright and spare--four tables with some miss-matched chairs, a microwave and a refrigerator on a yellow kitchen countertop. It was the most private of conversations--but they were alone.
“So--she . . . it’s true?” Rebecca wasn’t as certain as Candace and Aimee. She knew the Foxtail school was . . . bad . . but the Spanking Team, might even be worse than the rumors said.
Aimee nodded. “It’s true--I’m sure of it--and the only way in is to . . . join up--right at the . . . bottom.”
Rebecca stood and strode across the room to the cupboard to get her own mug, more hot chocolate mix provided from her bag.
Candace reached out and took Aimee’s hand. Sympathetic--but her eyes gleaming with intense interest. “Are you going to join?”
Aimee looked back, meeting her gaze. She was clearly shaken--whatever Ms Pearson had done to her had a terrible impact. There was also no doubt: she nodded.
Candace pursed her lips. “If I go and apply, think she’d .. . take me?”
“I don’t know,” Aimee said, looking her friend and dorm-mate over. “I think so?”
Candace looked down at her lap. Aime’s pale hand squeezed her brown one gently.
“Would she punish me too?”
Aimee considered. “She said I was under-dressed for an office hours conference--but . . . yes,” she nodded, the blush still evident. “I think if you go and apply you’re going to get it.”
Rebecca was coming back carrying her mug.
“What DID she do to you?” Both girls absolutely HAD to know.
Aimee shifted forward, wincing slightly (she was still a bit sore, despite Candace’s assessment of a very minor spanking)
“She made me undress--everything--and it was . . . worse than I thought it would be!”
The girls nodded, Candace still holding her hand.
“She . . . checked me--hymen--and . . . my hair” Aimee blushed painfully and glanced down at her lap, indicating she meant hair on the pubic curve between her thighs! “--she called it my fur--she said that the Foxtail girls didn’t keep any body hair at all--like swimmers. I was nearly in tears from undressing and having her finger up in me! She gave me a yank on my ‘fur’ and told me it was going to come off right then!”
Rebecca’s eyes widened--but Candace was less shocked.
“She had pads--like for paper-training puppies and she put one on the floor and made me lay down on it with my legs… apart like she was going to put a diaper on me or something!” The breathless expression on her face communicated the complete lack of dignity the awful position had afforded!
“Ohh--” Candace’s other hand went to her stomach. Rebecca looked positively stricken.
Aimee was silent for a moment, looking away as the memory of the shame tortured her, but then she continued, maybe deciding that however humiliating the details were, she might feel better if she shared them. “She had something like one of those home wax-kits--but . . . different? She started it up and she put it all over me down there--front--back--everywhere.
Rebecca looked bewildered and perhaps horrified. “B-back--?”
There was more shame; the after image of the scalding shame Aimee had felt when the woman had made her pull her legs back more, separating her buttocks so she could see between them and found soft, thick strands around the anal opening! “Between my--” she stopped, and couldn’t say more, but Rebecca made a little noise of horror indicating she understood and Aimee could continue.
“When she pulled it, it was like--it hurt! And it was intended to hurt! She told me that the depelation was handled as part of the punishment when it was applied and that if I regrew it, my Big would make a point of cleaning me down there!”
The girls both sat silent, in contemplative astonishment the humiliation Aimee was relating and when Aimee sniffled, Candace moved to sit closer and rubbed her back comfortingly. She offered Aimee a tissue from her purse and Aimee gratefully took it but she composed herself.
“I was in tears by the time she was finished--she stripped everything off--and then--then she sent me OUTSIDE her office to stand with my nose against the wall until she came for the spanking.”
Rebecca gasped, her hand covering her mouth, her eyes huge with the horror of the scenario. “Naked?” Impossible!
Now the words caught in her throat and Aimee could only nod. Yes. Naked. More naked than she’d ever been! The removal of her ‘fur’ had left her exposed in a way she couldn’t quite explain or endure and Professor Parson’s casual authority had left her feeling powerless to assert any boundaries at all! “She j-just marched me out there,” Aimee moaned.
“Wh-when I started crying and begged her not to make me, she said I needed to learn to be obedient--and k-keep myself clean down there!”
Oh! Rebecca moaned in agonized sympathy for hearing that kind of scolding from a woman who’d just been so intimately dominant over her private area. Unbearable!
It had been!
“Wh-when I pulled away -- I didn’t mean to! I just--I c-couldn’t bear to go out--she spanked me!”
Oh! The girls stared, but Aimee looked away. “Just one swat,” she said quietly. “Right in the center! She b-bent me forward and--” she swallowed and shivered. “I didn’t give her any more trouble after that,” she confessed.
It had been a complete, shameful surrender.
Candace rubbed her comfortingly. “Of course not,” she agreed. No one would have.
“Sh-she put my hands up on top of my head--” Aimee moved her arms to show them the ridiculous-making, powerless position, “and she made me stand real close to the wall and then bend forward so my nose touched it!” She wasn’t sure how to describe it to them--how every little detail took more and more of her hard-earned adult dignity and composure, leaving her pulsing in shame and embarrassment so intense, it felt like a tangible fluid in her body!
“I was crying,” she wanted them to know! “W-whimpering! Making noise! I couldn’t hold it in! And she was so satisfied! Like that was exactly how she wanted me! She gave me another spank!” Oww! “And t-told me I better not move and better be exactly like that when she came for me!”
Aimee had promised she’d obey. She hadn’t dared otherwise, and it didn’t matter if she was cooking in an inferno of humiliation--the inflamed hand-print on her buttocks made the idea of risking more and worse unthinkable.
The girls had both moved in protectively, their hands soft and comforting on Aimee’s hair and back and arms, stroking and petting as their friend squirmed and sniffled, punished further as she related her ordeal. They could both easily imagine how vulnerable and dominated she must have looked and awful the torment and shame had clearly been.
“Did anyone see?” Rebecca asked, breathless.
Candace, however, shook her head. “No one did, right? It’s a faculty floor?”
Aimee nodded, misty eyed again. “No one came by--but it was HORRIBLE.”
“She likely knew it was safe for you,” Candace said, giving her hand a squeeze.
Rebecca looked appalled and infuriated--and far less convinced. “There’s no way she could have known that!”
Candace just shrugged. She gave Aimee’s hand another squeeze. “Go on--”
“Finally--after forever!--She came out and she walked me d-down the hall to the bathroom. It’s a big bathroom and she took me in, and we--” she sniffled. “We walked down to the big stall. Inside she sat down and had me stand in front of her, hands still on my head, and she had me spread my legs. She … took some toilet paper and wiped me--my--my front,” Aimee said, her voice quivering.
Rebecca looked horrified but Candice nodded understanding. Aimee was unable to give words to the awful, unbearable truth--that she had been lubricated. “It was bad--I couldn’t help it--my body just--” she trailed off. Candace squeezed her hand again.
“I know--” said Candace. “It happens sometimes.”
“It always seems to happen to me,” Aimee said miserably. “I could have curled up into a ball and sobbed if I’d been allowed to.”
“What did you do?” Candace asked. Rebecca, although horrified, leaned in.
“I stood there, sniffling like a teenager. Then she told me to sit on the toilet and pee.”
Rebecca gasped, almost spilling the hot chocolate on herself.
“I . . . c-couldn’t! At first--I--oh! I just--she wouldn’t let me bend forward or huddle or anything! Or move my hands! I had to sit straight up and keep my stupid hands up there and she made me spread my knees apart! Wide!” They could see resentment boiling out now. Every little detail was designed to enhance the humiliation and they worked meticulously!
“Eventually I did. It wasn’t easy--she was patient, I guess. She stroked my hair.”
“UGH!” Rebecca looked like she might storm out of the common room--but she didn’t.
“Finally I did it--she got me up, sat back down, and put me over her lap--wet.”
“She didn’t let you wipe?!?” Rebecca nod did stand up. Her eyes were alight with furious indignation.
Aimee shook her head. “No. It wasn’t THAT bad--but it was--it was bad. Then she spanked me. It . . . hurt.”
Candace nodded. “It does hurt,” she said softly. “It’s punishment--that’s the point.”
Aimee nodded.
Rebecca looked at the two of them. “I’m . . . I’m going to see if there’s anything in the student paper archives about this Spanking Team thing,” she said. “They can’t just--just do that.”
Candace regarded her. “They can--you knew when you went to Foxtail, that they’re in the club.”
“I didn’t know they--they--would have you--” she gestured.
“You didn’t know there’d be humiliation as part of the experience--extra humiliation, including the humiliation of being spanked?”
“No!”
Candace looked at her, levelly. Aimee, roused from her memory, looked at Rebecca too.
“I have to know if there are protests,” Rebecca said softly. “There must be protests--must have been.”
She turned and left. Candace watched her go.
“Did Miss Pearson tell you not to say anything?”
“She said that entry is private and for the applicant only,” Aimee said.
“So you weren’t supposed to tell us that, I guess.”
“I guess not,” she said, uneasily. “What are you going to do?”
“Go and apply,” Candace said. “Your mom was a legacy--but you were raised by your aunt. My mom was a legacy at Elviren Girl’s. She was definitely on the team there. I didn’t hear much about it growing up--but I did feel it. Anyway, Foxtail is said to have one of the best teams--so I went here. I’m going to apply.”
“You’re not going to tell her I said anything?” Aimee asked nervously.
Candace laughed. “No--but I will probably dress more professionally.”
Aimee gave a short choked laugh.
# # #
Candace’s Interview
Candace navigated from the elevators around the desk area that was neatly organized, spotlessly clean, and empty. The words LANGUAGE ARTS in 8” metal letters on the wall mark the purpose of the building. Everything else was soft curves and tasteful furniture. She was dressed for an internship interview. A cropped tan blazer over a dark blouse and a skirt at knee length. She wore brown tights under the skirt. She finished it with vegan leather ankle boots since she didn’t have a set of heels at college.
She knew she was properly attired--but she also knew, more than Aimee, what she was getting into. Her mother had refused to give details about the teams--but she’d made it clear that Candace, if she was to go to one of the schools that had one, was to apply for it.
Candace’s mother was an expert disciplinarian. She would prepare a hot bath to soak and soften the buttocks. Each member of the household had a set of “I’m-In-Trouble” pajamas they were to change into before the ordeal. The pajamas announced what was going to happen and they might eat the family dinner so dressed, their siblings watching them with undisguised interest!
The house Naughty Stool, still in full use and on full display had a hard wood seat that Candace’s mother had covered with a layer of hemp organic cotton knit fabric. It was miserably itchy and, of course, the user of the stool sat bare on it with a flamingly sore bottom.
Candace had felt the use of a wooden spoon (Ouch!) against her vulva (DOUBLE OUCH!!!) laying in bed in the diaper position (HUMILIATION) with a carefully arranged pillow under her hips to perfectly elevate the target zone. The spanks were light, the scolding and lecture awful, and she’d been near instantly reduced to tears.
She vividly remembered each and every one of her punishments and her older sister had warned her not to “touch herself” immediately after a punishment because “Mom is on to that.”
Without the warning, she’d have been caught with her moistened fingers on or around her clit. The unsatisfied arousal, for several hours, was an additional layer of punishment in an area for which was already crackling with it!
Mrs. Pearson’s door was open and Candace drew in her breath as she made her way down the hall. She could hear the soft sounds of discussion. She decided she would wait outside, quietly, until the conversation stopped--but what she heard, when she got close, made her ears prick up.
“ . . . and we also have three prefects from Foxtrot who the admin has asked to include in the next Meet.”
“Mmm. Have you checked that with Cassi?” Mrs. Pearson asked, her voice indicating she wasn’t entirely comfortable with the request. Foxtrot was the BOYS school, next door, but separated from Foxtail.
“It’s an administrative request,” the other woman, younger, said. “I thought I’d check with you.”
Professor Pearson made a soft hrrmph sound and paused to reply.
“Send me their records link. I’ll approve each of the boys separately. Also: I want them in cages for the meet. With rubber sheeting. I don’t want any erections or spotting. It’ll be uncomfortable for them--but that’s my requirement.”
“Yes, Professor,” the other said.
“Next,” Mrs. Pearson called out and Candace jumped. She was calling for the next person, dismissing the girl in front of her.
A tall, somewhat awkward looking blonde who was clearly a student stepped out of the office looking relieved and, perhaps slightly out of breath. She adjusted her skirt as she passed Candace, meeting her eyes.
“Next!” Professor Pearson said again, more intensely.
Ugh. The girl nodded Candace towards the door with a ‘you better go’ look,’ and Candace made herself move.
Professor Pearson was cleaning her paddle with a soft cloth. Had it been used? Just now--before Candace got here? She entered, coming to a kind of attention, head up, standing straight, hands clasped behind her back, before the professor.
The professor looked her over and gave her a surprisingly gentle smile.
“Well, someone’s had posture training,” she said, clearly approving. “And you decided on proper dress! Well, I guess you young girls can learn!”
Candace felt a shudder inside her--did the professor KNOW she’d talked with Aimee? Professor Pearson stood and stepped around her large desk, gesturing to the seating area with a sofa, a coffee table, and some comfortable looking chairs.
Candace moved to follow. She saw, with a start, that the heavy wooden coffee table had restraint cuffs tucked under it. She sat far more heavily than she intended in the chair, and watched Professor Pearson sit elegantly, folding her hands in her lap.
“To get it out in the open,” said Professor Pearson, “what are you here for?”
“I am Candace Larson, ma’am--and I am asking you to evaluate me for the Foxtail Spanking Team.” She had to swallow a couple of times during her speech, but she got it out mostly in a level voice.
Mrs. Pearson was patient and waited for her to finish before nodding. “Good girl,” she said--and despite herself, Candace smiled at the warmth of the compliment. “I suppose you know from your roommate what that entails?”
Candace blinked several times--Aimee would get in trouble for having shared the information--her roommate--and if she admitted to that, would she be betraying Aimee?
The silence got more and more uncomfortable, and finally, unable to meet Mrs. Pearson’s gaze, she looked down.
“She--I heard--that I have to join for the freshman year as a spankee,” she said.
Mrs. Pearson nodded. “That is true,” she said. “And that you will be under the tutelage and care of a ‘Big’--a girl on the team who will look after you and guide you.”
“Yes ma’am.”
“Did your roommate tell you about that?”
Candace paused. “I heard that, yes ma’am.”
Now Mrs. Pearson smiled. “Be a dear and go to my drawer there and fetch the slipper.”
Oh! Candace stood--now, her mind reeling from the request! Was she going to be rejected? Would Aimee? She knew what fetching an implement meant!
She stood, formulating an apology, but Mrs. Pearson spoke before she had anything. “Go on, Candace, fetch the slipper. You’ll see it. You aren’t being rejected for the team. Almost everyone struggles with things like this.”
Despite the flip-flops her stomach was doing, the words did ease her panic somewhat and she crossed the floor, squatting down and opening the drawer. Inside were a variety of things that made her blood run cold.
Fleet enema boxes and a large traditional enema kit and bladder, packs of pads, tampons, and brightly colored pull-up diapers. There were two gleaming plastic speculums in cases, boxes of rubber gloves, and some tubes of pastes and unguents. There were also a couple of additional paddles, a tawse, a leather strap stored with a couple of oils, and--there below, a slipper,. It was older,with a floral pattern on the top, the bottom of it smooth rubber. She took it, closing the cabinet quickly, and standing.
She felt a faint dizziness as she stood--her reflection caught in one of the anodyne framed pictures on the professor’s wall showed her looking slightly pale--wan--certainly not at her best, despite her fine dress.
Mrs. Pearson nodded encouragingly, like she was coaxing a scared kitten.
“Bring it here,” she said gently.
Candace did.
“Go ahead and get your boots off and your tights and panties down,” she said, again, in a coaxing tone of voice.
Candace handed over the slipper, and then slipped her feet out of her boots and then moved to take off her socks.
“Keep those on, hon,” the professor said. “Just take the tights off.”
Candace fumbled with her tights and drew them down, turning them inside out. Her panties had a darker moist stain in the middle of the gusset. She was lubricating. She quickly drew the clothes over her socks and, after a moment, feeling heat on her cheeks and ears, folded them quickly placing them behind her. Her skirt still covered her region.
She stood there, nervous and anxious, chewing her lower lip.
“Now,” Mrs. Pearson said, with that cat-like smile, “I’m going to ask you a few questions and you’re not going to lie to me. Understood?”
“Yes ma’am,” Candace said, gulping.
Mrs. Pearson nodded.
“Who told you about the process for joining the Spanking Team?” she asked. She asked it warmly--but Candace was stricken.
Oh! If she told, would Aimee be rejected? If she didn’t, clearly Mrs. Pearson knew the answer.
“Aimee Trayler, ma’am,” Candace said. Then: “Please--please, don’t cut her from the team. I knew she was going to ask, we’d talked about it. I think she felt she had to tell me something.”
“Relax, Candace, no one is getting cut from the team. She will, of course, have some consequences for talking--but you girls are at Foxtails to learn things, no?”
“Y-yes miss,” Candace sounded, the relief of not having utterly betrayed Aimee rushing through her.
“Good! Now, when and where have you masturbated since coming to Foxtail?”
Candace’s rush of relief was replaced with an icy chill of alarm. She’d been resolving herself not to lie--to just come clean about everything--but this--oh, mercy!
School had started three weeks ago, and she had, in fact, masturbated several times. In the dorm bathrooms the stalls were hideously door-less explicitly to prevent such things. In the close quarters of the dorm room, she’d been circumspect lest her new roommate catch on. But she hadn’t been able to hold out. She’d done it several times--far too many, she realized now.
“I . . .” she spoke thickly, “have . . . done it,” she said, “in the Mason Library--second floor--in the bathrooms.” She finished, feeling like a lead weight was dropping through her stomach.
“How many times a week?”
“Once--” She said, then, in a moment of panic, “n-no, I mean--ohhhh--f-five times a week,” she said in absolute, humiliated misery. “I’ve done it . . . a lot,” she said wretchedly. “Please don’t tell my parents.”
Mrs. Pearson laughed. “Candace,” she said gently, “In this capacity I’m acting as your mother in absentia! I presume you masturbated on the toilets?”
Ugh! “Y-yes miss, I did.” She felt a torrent of shame flood her body. How dirty that was. How demeaning. How utterly immature.
“Foxtail can be pretty overwhelming for many of our girls. Although we don’t have public discipline, the atmosphere is fairly saturated with it, isn’t it?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Candace said.
“Knowing it’s happening, even if you don’t see it gets to you. It’s getting to you right now.”
Candice was desperately grateful she was allowed to stare at her feet and not answer.
“Of course masturbation is forbidden on campus--which means we’ll want to address it--and, importantly, your Big will be notified to keep an extra eye on you.”
Oh---ughhhhh. But she nodded. At least it didn’t sound like Ms. Pearson was going to tell her mother what she’d been doing--that would have been intolerable!
“Okay! Good. Last question, after we have our spanking for masturbation, would you be inclined to go and touch yourself?” She smiled, clearly knowing the answer.
“Yes, miss,” she said, head dropping. She had long straight black hair, tamed with a product that her mother ordered from a catalog. It dangled about her face. She sniffled.
“Good! That was nicely honest, Candace. So we’re NOT going to do that, are we?”
“No miss,” she agreed. The thought--right now--of her fingers going between her legs seemed unbearable. She’d never do it again!
“I’ll see to it,” assured Mrs. Pearson. “Okay, skirt off, and over my lap.”
Candace did, now sunk into the familiar misery of the process. Mrs. Pearson bent forward and took the folded tights and panties, unfolding the panties and turning them inside out.
“Put your nose in the wet spot,” she said, placing the panties, gusset out, on the cushion. “I want you to smell your own excitement while we have our spanking.”
Ew. “Yes ma’am.” She climbed over Mrs. Pearson’s lap, feeling the woman’s toned thighs under her. A brief adjustment got her face down, nose in the moisture, hands stretched out, bottom lifted. I’m having my ‘nose rubbed in it,’ she thought. Literally. It was intended to feel miserably degrading and humiliating and it did! The scent of her discharge was faint but it stung her pride and filled her with a torturing self-consciousness that was a merciless punishment all by itself!
If fleeing had been allowed, she thought she would have! Right now. Instead she sniffled, fighting tears and waves of resentment!
“Good positioning,” Candace said. “Your mother did a good job.”
“Thank you miss,” she murmured, slightly muffled by the cushions and the panites.
She felt the sole of the slipper caress her buttocks.
“This will be loud--and sharp. The sound is generally more frightening than the pain--but it does smart. As intended,” she said. “I’m going to give you your age in spanks. I’m not restraining you--I expect you to keep position through it. Tears and yips are fine. Begging or swearing isn’t. Breaking position certainly isn’t. I want to be clear: I’m NOT treating you as a ‘big girl.’ You’re a freshman girl who masturbates on the potty. I AM, however, giving you a punishment you ought to be able to take without faulting. You understand?”
“Yes, miss,” she murmured. The humiliation--the feel of the air on her bare bottom--the warmth of lubrication in her nethers--it was all crushingly humiliating and her body cried out for relief or mercy.
POW! The first swat landed with a thunderous hollow sound. Candace yowled. Certainly they could hear THAT through the whole building. Her hands flew back but she stopped them before they crossed the small of her back.
“OW! OWWWWW!” she moaned. Oh, Oh--nineteen of these!? It’d kill her! Surely.
“Hold position, girl,” Mrs. Pearson commanded. POW! POW! POW! The three spanks--left, right, center--landing directly on her anal cleft, was like three electrical shocks. She was waxed--her mother had advised it--before coming to school. She hadn’t liked it, but now she was glad she had since the idea of having Mrs. Pearson denude her as she had Aimee, was unbearable!
She gasped in the after-shock pain of the spanks. Then: POW-POW-SMACK! Three more, left, right, center, and her buttocks quivered under the chastisement! She let out humiliating mews of pain and tears flowed. The hand of Mrs. Pearson rubbed her bottom briefly. Candace was appalled with herself, needing the comforting after only seven smacks! Her mother would be so disappointed--but somehow, getting this in an office--at college--was far worse than in her own bedroom, over her mother’s lap.
A sob broke through, and her embarrassment crested.
POW! POW! POP! The sound of the slipper echoed off the walls. She couldn’t hold back the cries from each smack--the burning, sparkling smarting across her buttocks. She gasped back tears, unable to get herself under control
“More than half way, Candace.” Mrs. Pearson encouraged her.
POW POW POW POW! The blows came lower: her sit-spot, the rear and inside of her thighs. The smooth surface of the slipper kissed her there and she shrieked. Her hands gripped the cushions and her lips parted as she howled into the panties. She could smell and faintly taste, her own discharge--the humiliation was thick within her. The blazing in her rear drove her closer and closer to the breaking point.
POWW! The smack landed across both cheeks and her hips gave a slight buck at the hit. She moaned--tears and sobs rushing out.
Mrs. Pearson rubbed her buttocks, the comfort coming in precisely before the sensation drove her to wriggle off the professor’s lap!
She sobbed, gasping and blubbering.
POW! POW! Two more, left and right.
“Auuggiah! Aaahhhhh!” two throaty cries.
“One more,” Mrs. Pearson said gently. “Be brave!”
WHAP! This landed low so that the slipper’s surface just barely kissed the swollen bulge of her labia.
Candace screamed, and wriggled as Mrs. Pearson gathered the weeping girl in her arms, and held her. Twenty minutes later, Candace had completed her corner time, hands on her heads, squirming. Her thighs were slick with lubrication. Her sex was swollen and open--the signs of arousal horrifically clear.
As she was facing the wall, the professor couldn’t see her erect nipples and clitoris--but she knew, agonizingly, that the professor was aware of them. Her skirt was beige colored and bore a damp region which had lain under her vagina. She had leaked on her disciplinarian’s clothing. She sobbed, almost controlling herself and then breaking down into more tears at every juncture.
When Professor Pearson moved up behind her, cupping a hand to her buttocks, she whimpered.
“Time’s up, Candace. Come over here.” She heard a faint reluctance in the woman’s tone indicating what was coming next wasn’t easy. “We need to talk about your reaction, don’t we?”
The best Candace could muster was a soft, wretched whimper. Mrs. Pearson walked her back to the sofa and sat while she positioned Candace standing in front of her, facing her. She guided the girl’s hands back behind her back, wrists crossed behind her. Then she set about rolling up the girl’s blouse so it hung above her naval. The position exposed the curve of her sex, the vertical slit of pink, inflamed skin visibly wet.
“We’re going to end up touching here,” the woman gently, tenderly, let her fingers move to Candace’s sex and the younger woman moaned despite desperately commanding herself not to respond!
Mrs. Pearson nodded in satisfaction. “I know some part of yourself thinks it’s impossible! That you’d never ever do it again!” she sighs. “But I think we both know better. Your area has a hold on you you can’t break, Candace. You need help--like a lot of young ladies do--structure… and discipline.”
The device was a fabric panty with a thick, almost one inch pad in the gusset filled with a gel. While some parts of the material were stretchy, others weren’t. Mrs. Pearson attached it at her hips, sliding hard plastic clips together and they locked with a loud snap. The waistline of the panty was a kind of uncompromising weave that now locked around her waist and would prevent getting the panties down.
“Your RA can undo them,” said Mrs. Pearson. “The pad is highly absorbent in case of an accident--but I recommend you go to your dorm-mother for bathroom needs. She will unlock them, watch you, and then re-lock them. You’ll wear them for three days to ensure you don’t touch yourself. Understood?”
Candace, blinked through tears, her chin lightly touched to look up into Mrs. Pearson’s face. She nodded, “Yes’m.”
“Good girl. Being on the Spanking Team will be quite trying--it’s intended to be. It shall be worth it, I assure you.” She gave Candace a light kiss on the temple.
“Now, off with you. You can tell Aimee that she’s got a punishment coming for talking--but both you girls are on the team.”
Candace dressed, her buttocks still smarting, her sex now throbbing with unmet desperation for attention. She did feel like she needed to pee--but she wasn’t going to ask Mrs. Pearson to see to her--that was too embarrassing to contemplate!
She waddled out, the thick gusset of the panties feeling diaper-like under her skirt.
# # #
Aimee’s Research
“Can’t,” Aimee told Rebecca. They were going to get coffee before her next Freshman Lit. “I need to study.”
Rebecca gave her a look that was half eye-roll and half warning, but didn’t otherwise challenge her. There were, after all, the rest of the Lit group present who had no idea what was going on. “Well, see you there,” she said.
“Yep. See ya.” Aimee nodded and waited for the girls to head off to the Campus Bean. When they were gone, Aimee turned and walked, going from a nonchalant stroll to a rushing ‘power walk’ that she was terribly afraid gave her away.
Alone time in the middle of the day was a precious and limited resource. There were things she couldn’t do--that she had to do!--in the bathrooms or the showers, that were only possible alone in her dormitory. Every minute wasted on the campus sidewalk was a minute she needed to take care of the ruthless tension her experience in Mrs. Pearson’s office had ignited in her.
She was up the stairs, down the hall, and to her dorm room door, breathing a little hard, blushing with the mortifying fear that someone would look at her and think, ‘There goes a girl rushing to masturbate.’
Was it obvious? She assured herself no one could tell! Why would they assume something like that…? Did her face betray it? Or the faint tension with which she walked?
A wretched combination of eagerness and annoyance drove her to her bed, climbing into it, drawing down her shorts and underpants and then moving her hand to the feverish, needy split between her thighs. There she stopped and closed her eyes, and breathed.
She lay with her legs as wide apart as the narrow twin bed would allow -- one up against the wall. The more exposed and vulnerable she felt, the more powerful it was, the more satisfying. Urgency and tension flared down there, but instead of moving her fingers quickly to resolve it, she forced herself to be still.
Aimee closed her eyes and let her mind focus on the tight pulse of sexual ‘itch’ she’d been suffering every day since her ‘interview.’ She would awaken from feverish, half-remembered dreams, and the itch was there.
She would shower and dress, constantly aware of the annoying need kindling in her private region. Instead of going away when she was out of the dorm, she found her mind sliding to memories of her humiliation in Mrs. Pearson’s office. One moment she’d be in a lecture hall, listening to a history seminar and the next, she’d be remembering the helpless, awkward naked position as she waited in the hall! Or the crushing, infuriating shame of the Professor wiping leaked lubrication from her private opening!
She’d taken to wearing panty liners, since the alternative was to change underpants in the bathroom and torment herself with the thought of someone noticing how distracted, overheated, and wet she was!
There was the spanking, itself. Naked, powerless, defeated and controlled, she’d felt helpless and overwhelmed, across the lady’s lap. Each swat exploded with a burning flash of heat and an emotional shriek of humiliation. Her tears had further undermined her; she’d felt emotionally out of control, melting down and sobbing as she was spanked. The woman had effortlessly unwound her!
Aimee felt these memories ought to have pushed her to run away! They should have strengthened a resolve to quit the team! Or even transfer schools! They should have, but instead, they tortured her in a different way. First and foremost, they demanded she address the tension and pressure they created. And secondly, they inflamed her curiosity about the Spanking Team and the girls on it.
Now, alone in her dormitory, she could address both needs at once. Her hand lingered lightly between her legs, touching her shameful places, feeling little bodily shrieks of pleasure as her sex demanded she rub harder and faster -- and a sense of wicked satisfaction as, instead of doing so, she opened her phone.
She was looking for information on the Foxtail Spanking Team--but not looking specifically from Foxtail accounts. Her hand rested beside her exposed vulva as she intentionally ignored the naked organ’s insistent demands. Suffer, she told it nastily. Being unable to address the frustrating itch was intolerable in a lecture hall. Here, the special torture perversely hightened her enjoyment of her ‘private study time!’
She focused on her phone; there were two types of search results about the punishment regime.
The first were a variety of complaint posts from those subject to those punishments and some fairly lurid stories that she didn’t know whether to believe or not.
One girl complained about the use of a hot pepper inserted into her vagina prior to a caning! She didn’t describe it in detail, but it sounded like she considered herself something of a ‘tough girl’ and had intended to ‘take’ the caning -- something that was completely impossible with the chemical burn in her most delicate channel! It sounded like she’d melted into a sobbing puddle in front of her teachers!
Another student wrote about a paste rubbed over her anus that caused intense merciless itching. She was looking for emotional support and comfort because the memory of her punishment was still tormenting her weeks later. She described the mortifying torture of being spanked first -- hard enough and long enough to leave her stinging and sore and close to tears -- and then she was made to put on tights that pressed her buttocks together, the pressure and heat turning what had been ‘discomfort’ into an ‘emergency!’ On top of that the young woman--who had found tears impossible to hold back at that point--had been made to pull on tight jeans that were fastened closed with a thick leather belt and a padlock!
Crying had turned into teary begging for mercy, but the teachers had denied even her most degrading supplications and she had suffered through the rest of the day unable to get any relief between her buttocks. She limped back to the admin building, contrite and completely humbled. By the time she returned before her punishers, she had been utterly defeated, confessing all her contrition and asking meekly and without pride to be allowed to undress so the awful, sizzling paste could be removed.
Both of those stories horrified and even infuriated Aimee, and yet the thought of girls like her stripped of their dignity and made to submit despite their awful desire to assert themselves made her sex scream for attention and she was unable to fully deny it.
She started petting her wetting slit, running her fingers along the pulsing opening, even starting to touch her clitoris, making her gasp and squirm. Still, she refused to fully indulge it. Not yet, she thought at that little beacon of urgency. She wasn’t ‘ready’ yet -- there was more to learn!
The Team itself was mostly mentioned obliquely. There were no first-hand accounts she could find from anyone who had been sent to a “Meet.” Friends of team members spoke on behalf of their punished compatriots, describing outrage that they had been laid up for ‘days’ after a session and reporting that they were being “silenced” about the event’s details.
It seemed that while there were not good accounts of a Spanking Team meeting. Based on what their friends said, it sounded like, for many subjects, they changed their approach to school, knuckling down and limiting their more frivolous pursuits. There were also some ominous reports of those sent getting into more serious relationships--some same sex, most traditional--with students considerably higher in the school’s hierarchy..
The girls sentenced to the spanking team were more obedient, more disciplined. Better behaved. Thinking about that and imaging Rebecca, Candace, or herself experiencing those effects against their wills and their natures made her squirm and forced her fingers to work harder.
Aimee’s legs spread wider and her fingers moved in small, insistent circles on the erect little nub of her clit. She felt an orgasm, powerful and insistent, starting to build.
She continued seeking information. Spanking Teams were, for the most part, a girl’s school affair.There were boy’s schools and mixed schools in the network (as far as she could tell: there was nothing official) but there were conjectures that girls would wind up engaged to boys who it was speculated, had been the -ers on their team (to their -ees).
The intimacy of the relationship between spanker and spankee seemed like fertile ground for romance to flourish. The thought of going over a boy’s lap--of her buttocks and the dark crescent between them, under them, being seen by a young man made her whimper. How was it that the worse the humiliation, the wetter and more eager her opening became!? What was wrong with her!?
The other reports were far more positive about the punishment policies. These were social media posts from mothers who felt their daughters had benefited greatly--and there were some collections of posts from graduates of the specific schools that hypothesized the girls were Spankers on the teams.
These compilations showed girls hanging with their friends (Instagram pictures) with a focus on their backsides and in-jokes or smiling laughter about something not-quite-clear. Apparently, the girls in that elite sorority got access to a network of especially good jobs and starting roles at the companies they applied to. This was seen as both a wonderful opportunity for committed young women and hideously unfair by their detractors.
Aimee looked at a particularly focused picture of a bikini-clad bottom, the brightly smiling latina bent forward, looking back over her shoulder at the camera. She was about to dive into a sparkling pool of water in some exotic country she was vacationing to. The picture showed faint hints of cleft on her rear and a depression of camel toe visible from behind her. There was a lack of dignity to the picture and a blush in the girl’s cheeks and eyes that made Aimee somehow sure she had been ordered to assume the position. An act of dominance that at once amused her, aroused her, and very obviously embarrassed her.
Another picture was three girls standing together arm in arm at an upscale bar somewhere in the city. They were smiling brilliantly, and she could see that their hands cupped the center girl’s buttocks. The girl’s rear, cloaked in a blue dress, was visible in a reflection and the other’s hands were visible cupping and holding her nates. The position wasn’t otherwise overtly sexual but there was something in the center-girl’s smile that suggested embarrassment and discomfort as well as high spirits camaraderie. A girl under the domination of her two Sisters, even in public. She imagined them teasing her about what fate awaited her up in the hotel room above, making her blush and squirm as she considered the ordeals in her future!
There were pictures of “sorority paddles” decorated with multiple colors and designs. Although mostly meant for the Greek sororities, they were clearly given out in the “Spanking Team Schools.” She looked at them, her eyes tracing the interesting designs and hearts and spirals. What would it be like to face a girl a little older than her with the authority to use something like that!? How effortlessly could a few strokes from such an instrument break her?
The thought of herself, bent over, presenting her buttocks to something so ‘sound’ robbed her of the rest of her self control and she moaned and closed her eyes, letting her fingers go as they pleased, polishing he exposed clitoris mercilessly as they drove her toward orgasm.
Her naked legs squirmed, her hips rolled obscenely. The orgasm was coming like a freight train, unstoppable now, and she let her mind search for the scenario that would carry her over the edge. On other days it had been Mrs. Pearson spanking her--a powerful memory that had her hips bucking in time with the remembered swats as she came. She also used stories she had read--being dominated by powerful young women ahead of her in school, or even fantasies about being spanked by a young man from a nearby institution--the more intolerable and devastating, the better!
But this afternoon, her imagination took her to her friend, Candace. Candace whose sexual disgrace over Mrs. Pearson’s lap had been so intense and complete she had been locked in restrictive ‘chastity pants’ so powerful she needed supervision to remove them to pee!
She cared deeply for the girl and experienced outrage and pity on her behalf… but here, alone in her dormitory, legs spread, her naked sex pressed forward into her working fingers, the utter degradation of Candace’s caged condition thrilled her.
Oh, how dreadful was it to be unable to relieve the diabolical itch Candace must be suffering?! She tried to imagine what it would be like to need to orgasm so badly and to find herself unable to--it would be utterly maddening. Devastating. She knew that was the case--since her interview, Candace had been visibly uncomfortable. Pissy. Squirmy. Embarrassed dreadfully by her situation and dreading that anyone would know!
Her trips to the bathroom required a stop at the RA’s door… Aimee tried to imagine the complete indignity her friend faced having to ask permission and the, even worse, having to present herself to have the infernal device removed.
The thought of having her locking panties examined by an authority, the level of lubrication and discharge observed was withering! Aimee was sure she would die of embarrassment if anyone saw her own inflamed region… How much worse must Candace’s be!?
And the complete humiliation must build and build with no ‘afternoon study session’ to relieve it!
As her own orgasm (every bit as forbidden as Candace’s) rose in her, she imagined her friend laying face up, her knees pulled back and spread so that every private, shameful part of her was on display and no hope of hiding was given. She imagined Candace breathless with self-consciousness and merciless embarrassment as she was examined, scolded for being wet and dirty--forced to endure an intimate, degrading cleaning that was a mix of hygiene, punishment and teasing masturbation!
But what she held out for, holding her orgasm until it was unbearable to do so, for was the awful, image of the woman in charge seeing how utterly desperate poor Candace was to cum, how utterly subdued and defeated by her own need she was… and then, without mercy, closing the chastity panty over that sweltering, begging organ, consigning it back to utter frustration!
It was the thought of Candace’s utter sexual misery and erotic despair that thrilled her over the edge. I’m sorry, Candace, she thought as she pulled her pillow over her face and screamed into it, her own organ exploding with orgasm and relief!
The white-hot images of Candace moaning and crying, her fingers touching the curve of the chastity pants, seeking any possibility of comfort or relief for the suffering organ under them… and finding nothing! She imagined Cadace’s hips moving in a helpless, involuntary thrust as her body demanded release… degrading and humiliating herself in defeat… and it was all the more delicious because she was sure these images were real.
Aimee lay sprawled, gasping, chest rising and falling as if she’d just run a race! The awful itch, urgency and pressure were gone. Not completely, maybe--they were still there in the background, tempting her to continue her research and have a second ‘session!’ It was tempting--there was so much more she could discover… explore. But now, after her release, the thought of what might happen if she were caught terrified her instead of tantalizing her.
The thought of Mrs. Pearson extracting her masturbation practices from her was unbearably awful in a way that scared her and forced her to forgo it. Which was fortunate, for she was dressed, and mostly presentable, when there came a knock at the door.
Her head snapped up: it was Rebecca.
“Hey,” she said, coming in. “Carley asked me to come over here tonight.”
Carley was the Resident Assistant.
“What? Why?” Aimee asked.
“Because we’re friends and Candace is in trouble. Plus, I think she didn’t want you in bed alone?”
“What got her in trouble?” Aimee’s face was flushed from the suggestion Carly thought she would masturbate if given the chance! The worst part was that it was humiliatingly accurate.
“Something in the bathroom,” Rebecca said. “She’s taking Candace somewhere.”
“Oh--ugh.”
Rebecca nodded, grimly. That seemed . . . bad.
It was also frustrating. Aimee closed the laptop and set it aside.
“I was about to go to sleep anyway,” she said, annoyed.
Rebecca climbed into Candace’s bed. “I hope Candace is okay,” she said.
“Me too,” said Aimee, her imagination’s versions of what might be happening to her friend, however were hot and torrid and hounded her as she closed her eyes and shifted uncomfortably in the bed.
She lay awake, the constant need to relieve the tension in her sex, a reminder of everything about herself that was embarrassing or shameful. She couldn’t deny it though--over the minutes in the darkness, her hand crept under the waistband of her pajamas and she rubbed gently and moved her hips slightly, until the bed gave the softest of creaks, and mortified, she gave up.
END REDDIT Part 3
# # #
Candace’s Lesson
The student clinic was a thirty-minute walk across campus. When Aimee got there, the woman at reception looked a little skeptical but then Aimee explained she was there to sign her friend out, and her demeanor changed. “Oh--Miss Larson. Right this way.”
There was a smirk in the woman’s eyes and tone that told Aimee that this was Team Business. “Your friend required a little special treatment,” the woman was walking her back to a door marked ‘Private.’ “We like to make sure a girl who’s been through that sort of thing has friends available for emotional support.”
Her amusement told Aimee that this was true--but also that the lady was pleased to anticipate Candace’s embarrassment at having her situation observed by a peer. The policy was both to support Candace--and to enhance her humiliation!
“Is she okay?” Aimee couldn’t help worrying.
“She had some obstinance to get over,” the nurse informed her. “She’s doing fine now. Let’s hope she learned her lesson!”
Candace lay on a low bed in a semi-private alcove back near the nurse’s station. She was laying on her side, wearing nothing but an open-backed hospital gown that made a display of a bright-red paddled pair of buttocks to anyone who walked by. Worse, Aimee thought, one leg was pulled up and the sight of her sexual cleft took Aimee’s breath away.
In her fantasy, earlier in the afternoon, she had imagined Candace’s frustrated region as swollen and damp, but the truth was even more extreme! She was flushed, the tender, shaved skin was lightly irritated from being trapped in the chastity pants, and her face radiated a long night of misery.
Aimee brought her hand to her lips and realized how wide and shocked her eyes were. A long afternoon imagining Candace’s humiliation and suffering had not prepared her for this--but it was even worse.
“Candace--oh--sweetie!” Aimee rushed in, feeling the humid scent of Candace’s sweat, tears, and sexual arousal envelop her as she came to the whimpering girl’s side and knelt at the bed. Candace’s face, red, puffy, streaked with tears both fresh and stale turned to her and she was at once mortified and relieved.
For in addition to the ruddy punishment on her cheeks, Aimee could see the black, rubbery flange of a thick retention plug blossoming from between her spread, spanked buttocks.
She embraced Candace, smelling her, feeling her quiver as she was held.
“Your friend was having trouble moving her bowels under supervision, so she’s been given an enema to help her get over her bathroom modesty.”
Candace moaned and buried her face in Aimee’s chest. Aimee felt the girl squirm and whimper in serious distress. Her flat, athletic belly was slightly pushed out from the hideous pressure inside. She needed to go desperately, and had for hours. They were making her hold it until someone was present.
Aimee found herself breathlessly impressed at the quality of the humiliation. She looked up at the nurse and nodded grimly. “Can she go now, miss?”
“I think she’s ready.” The nurse smiled. “We’ve cooked enough, haven’t we, Candace?”
Moan! Candace nodded vigorously! Yes, ma’am! I’ve learned my lesson!
It took another few minutes. Aimee sat beside Candace and held the girl’s hand as her friend squirmed in increasing desperation. The potty that was brought over was a kind of wheel-chair with an open seat. Candace’s gown was rolled up -- more than necessary, Aimee thought -- and she was helped to move from laying on her side, to sitting on it.
Oww! She was spanked red, and sitting hurt, but that was part of the lesson and when the plug was deflated, no force on earth could keep the thick oil in her. Candace moaned and then wailed and arched her body, bearing down with all her strength as her body rebelled against the alien substance and she pushed it out in powerful, shattering bursts.
The nurses watched, scolding Candace mildly--reminding her she had brought this disgrace on herself by refusing to handle her bathroom responsibilities in a more ‘mature’ manner. Aimee couldn’t imagine ever looking anyone in the eye again if she had been subjected to this kind of humiliation, but she also found she agreed with the nurses that Candace had brought it on herself… the poor thing was obviously suffering, but wasn’t that understandable?
Candace had to sit on the toilet chair, legs spread for a little over an hour. Periodically, the nurses had her bend forward and place her palms on the floor to examine her anus.
“The solution is PH-balanced so it won’t leave your anus raw” they said, clearly proud of their chemistry. “It will cause little bowel spasms for a day or so--you’ll walk saddle-legged! It’ll help you remember the lesson!”
Candace gripped Aimee in a tight hug, whimpering against her.She let out little sexual-sounding gasps periodically as more of the enema solution found its way to her aft.
“Next time we’re told to go potty,” intoned the nurse, “what are we going to do?”
“Go,” moaned Candace. Aimee thought her low tone of distress sounded like that of a girl in the process of being fucked!”
“Good girl,” the nurse said. “Even if it’s embarrassing and we’re being watched?”
“Yes, miss,” groaned Candace.The nurse smirked.
“Like we’re doing right now with our friend right here, yes?”
Candace’s eyes flickered to Aimee’s and then closed to slits as her bottom moved again.
“Yes, miss,” she whimpered.
“When we see our Residence Assistant we’re going to apologize for our defiance, aren’t we?”
Ohhh--Candace’s chest heaved. She nodded weakly. “Yes, miss, I will--”
“Good. Make sure your apology is humiliating. If Ms.Carly isn’t sufficiently impressed with it, she can just take you back here for another go!” She patted a groaning Candace on the head.
Later, her tears cleaned up, they walked together across the quad. True to the nurse’s word, her gait was visibly off. She clearly had a constant low-grade discomfort back there.
“What happened, exactly?” Aimee asked, finally.
“I have to ask fucking Carly to pee,” Candace said darkly. “Usually during the day, I try to go to the Language Arts building and ask the secretary girl to . . . open me. If I can. She’s usually pretty busy so there isn’t as much spectacle.”
Carly, however, LOVES making a production out of it. I can’t WAIT to move out of her dorm! Last night, she asked when I last poo’d and I told her it was earlier that day. She . . . must be getting notified because she knew it wasn’t--she ordered me to do it in front of her.”
“I told her I couldn’t--I didn’t need to! We argued.” Her voice lowered. “She won. She has a little fucking calendar on her wall with a little star for each day for going in front of her. I also now have to do mornings with her--and she has fucking high fiber tea I’m drinking daily.”
“Eeeuugh,” Amiee growled. The humiliation was off the charts. “In the mornings the bathrooms are going to be FULL of people!”
“I know,” moaned Candace. “I don’t know how I’ll survive this! She says if I’m a very good girl and show proper ‘contrition and submission’ I’ll get to ‘go potty in her room in the mornings. Apparently, she has something there. I bet it’s a ‘training potty.’”
“I wouldn’t put it past her,” Aimee said. “You think she’s being extra awful to you because you’re . . . black?”
Candace shook her head. “No--I don’t know. I think she’s just a bitch who gets off on humiliation.”
Aimee blushed. She was doing the same--she thought that Candace, in the chastity panty was likely feeling it too--but unlike Aimee, she had no chance at all to do anything about it!
Aimee sat at one of the tables in her dorm’s nearly empty common area. She wore her shorts and t-shirt and hunched over the mug of microwave hot chocolate that Rebecca had made for her, when she’d returned, sniffly and red-faced, looking like she’d been thoroughly wrung out. Rebecca had looked at Candace and they’d quietly helped her onto the dorm bed and peeled down the shorts. Under them, her buttocks were lightly pink--showing signs that Candace reported with authority were a spanking. A hand-spanking, she thought--nothing ‘too bad.’
Aimee had groaned into the pillow. Now, thirty minutes and a trip to the bathroom later, she was as ready to talk as she was going to be.
“She said I was in,” Aimee said quietly. The room was bright and spare--four tables with some miss-matched chairs, a microwave and a refrigerator on a yellow kitchen countertop. It was the most private of conversations--but they were alone.
“So--she . . . it’s true?” Rebecca wasn’t as certain as Candace and Aimee. She knew the Foxtail school was . . . bad . . but the Spanking Team, might even be worse than the rumors said.
Aimee nodded. “It’s true--I’m sure of it--and the only way in is to . . . join up--right at the . . . bottom.”
Rebecca stood and strode across the room to the cupboard to get her own mug, more hot chocolate mix provided from her bag.
Candace reached out and took Aimee’s hand. Sympathetic--but her eyes gleaming with intense interest. “Are you going to join?”
Aimee looked back, meeting her gaze. She was clearly shaken--whatever Ms Pearson had done to her had a terrible impact. There was also no doubt: she nodded.
Candace pursed her lips. “If I go and apply, think she’d .. . take me?”
“I don’t know,” Aimee said, looking her friend and dorm-mate over. “I think so?”
Candace looked down at her lap. Aime’s pale hand squeezed her brown one gently.
“Would she punish me too?”
Aimee considered. “She said I was under-dressed for an office hours conference--but . . . yes,” she nodded, the blush still evident. “I think if you go and apply you’re going to get it.”
Rebecca was coming back carrying her mug.
“What DID she do to you?” Both girls absolutely HAD to know.
Aimee shifted forward, wincing slightly (she was still a bit sore, despite Candace’s assessment of a very minor spanking)
“She made me undress--everything--and it was . . . worse than I thought it would be!”
The girls nodded, Candace still holding her hand.
“She . . . checked me--hymen--and . . . my hair” Aimee blushed painfully and glanced down at her lap, indicating she meant hair on the pubic curve between her thighs! “--she called it my fur--she said that the Foxtail girls didn’t keep any body hair at all--like swimmers. I was nearly in tears from undressing and having her finger up in me! She gave me a yank on my ‘fur’ and told me it was going to come off right then!”
Rebecca’s eyes widened--but Candace was less shocked.
“She had pads--like for paper-training puppies and she put one on the floor and made me lay down on it with my legs… apart like she was going to put a diaper on me or something!” The breathless expression on her face communicated the complete lack of dignity the awful position had afforded!
“Ohh--” Candace’s other hand went to her stomach. Rebecca looked positively stricken.
Aimee was silent for a moment, looking away as the memory of the shame tortured her, but then she continued, maybe deciding that however humiliating the details were, she might feel better if she shared them. “She had something like one of those home wax-kits--but . . . different? She started it up and she put it all over me down there--front--back--everywhere.
Rebecca looked bewildered and perhaps horrified. “B-back--?”
There was more shame; the after image of the scalding shame Aimee had felt when the woman had made her pull her legs back more, separating her buttocks so she could see between them and found soft, thick strands around the anal opening! “Between my--” she stopped, and couldn’t say more, but Rebecca made a little noise of horror indicating she understood and Aimee could continue.
“When she pulled it, it was like--it hurt! And it was intended to hurt! She told me that the depelation was handled as part of the punishment when it was applied and that if I regrew it, my Big would make a point of cleaning me down there!”
The girls both sat silent, in contemplative astonishment the humiliation Aimee was relating and when Aimee sniffled, Candace moved to sit closer and rubbed her back comfortingly. She offered Aimee a tissue from her purse and Aimee gratefully took it but she composed herself.
“I was in tears by the time she was finished--she stripped everything off--and then--then she sent me OUTSIDE her office to stand with my nose against the wall until she came for the spanking.”
Rebecca gasped, her hand covering her mouth, her eyes huge with the horror of the scenario. “Naked?” Impossible!
Now the words caught in her throat and Aimee could only nod. Yes. Naked. More naked than she’d ever been! The removal of her ‘fur’ had left her exposed in a way she couldn’t quite explain or endure and Professor Parson’s casual authority had left her feeling powerless to assert any boundaries at all! “She j-just marched me out there,” Aimee moaned.
“Wh-when I started crying and begged her not to make me, she said I needed to learn to be obedient--and k-keep myself clean down there!”
Oh! Rebecca moaned in agonized sympathy for hearing that kind of scolding from a woman who’d just been so intimately dominant over her private area. Unbearable!
It had been!
“Wh-when I pulled away -- I didn’t mean to! I just--I c-couldn’t bear to go out--she spanked me!”
Oh! The girls stared, but Aimee looked away. “Just one swat,” she said quietly. “Right in the center! She b-bent me forward and--” she swallowed and shivered. “I didn’t give her any more trouble after that,” she confessed.
It had been a complete, shameful surrender.
Candace rubbed her comfortingly. “Of course not,” she agreed. No one would have.
“Sh-she put my hands up on top of my head--” Aimee moved her arms to show them the ridiculous-making, powerless position, “and she made me stand real close to the wall and then bend forward so my nose touched it!” She wasn’t sure how to describe it to them--how every little detail took more and more of her hard-earned adult dignity and composure, leaving her pulsing in shame and embarrassment so intense, it felt like a tangible fluid in her body!
“I was crying,” she wanted them to know! “W-whimpering! Making noise! I couldn’t hold it in! And she was so satisfied! Like that was exactly how she wanted me! She gave me another spank!” Oww! “And t-told me I better not move and better be exactly like that when she came for me!”
Aimee had promised she’d obey. She hadn’t dared otherwise, and it didn’t matter if she was cooking in an inferno of humiliation--the inflamed hand-print on her buttocks made the idea of risking more and worse unthinkable.
The girls had both moved in protectively, their hands soft and comforting on Aimee’s hair and back and arms, stroking and petting as their friend squirmed and sniffled, punished further as she related her ordeal. They could both easily imagine how vulnerable and dominated she must have looked and awful the torment and shame had clearly been.
“Did anyone see?” Rebecca asked, breathless.
Candace, however, shook her head. “No one did, right? It’s a faculty floor?”
Aimee nodded, misty eyed again. “No one came by--but it was HORRIBLE.”
“She likely knew it was safe for you,” Candace said, giving her hand a squeeze.
Rebecca looked appalled and infuriated--and far less convinced. “There’s no way she could have known that!”
Candace just shrugged. She gave Aimee’s hand another squeeze. “Go on--”
“Finally--after forever!--She came out and she walked me d-down the hall to the bathroom. It’s a big bathroom and she took me in, and we--” she sniffled. “We walked down to the big stall. Inside she sat down and had me stand in front of her, hands still on my head, and she had me spread my legs. She … took some toilet paper and wiped me--my--my front,” Aimee said, her voice quivering.
Rebecca looked horrified but Candice nodded understanding. Aimee was unable to give words to the awful, unbearable truth--that she had been lubricated. “It was bad--I couldn’t help it--my body just--” she trailed off. Candace squeezed her hand again.
“I know--” said Candace. “It happens sometimes.”
“It always seems to happen to me,” Aimee said miserably. “I could have curled up into a ball and sobbed if I’d been allowed to.”
“What did you do?” Candace asked. Rebecca, although horrified, leaned in.
“I stood there, sniffling like a teenager. Then she told me to sit on the toilet and pee.”
Rebecca gasped, almost spilling the hot chocolate on herself.
“I . . . c-couldn’t! At first--I--oh! I just--she wouldn’t let me bend forward or huddle or anything! Or move my hands! I had to sit straight up and keep my stupid hands up there and she made me spread my knees apart! Wide!” They could see resentment boiling out now. Every little detail was designed to enhance the humiliation and they worked meticulously!
“Eventually I did. It wasn’t easy--she was patient, I guess. She stroked my hair.”
“UGH!” Rebecca looked like she might storm out of the common room--but she didn’t.
“Finally I did it--she got me up, sat back down, and put me over her lap--wet.”
“She didn’t let you wipe?!?” Rebecca nod did stand up. Her eyes were alight with furious indignation.
Aimee shook her head. “No. It wasn’t THAT bad--but it was--it was bad. Then she spanked me. It . . . hurt.”
Candace nodded. “It does hurt,” she said softly. “It’s punishment--that’s the point.”
Aimee nodded.
Rebecca looked at the two of them. “I’m . . . I’m going to see if there’s anything in the student paper archives about this Spanking Team thing,” she said. “They can’t just--just do that.”
Candace regarded her. “They can--you knew when you went to Foxtail, that they’re in the club.”
“I didn’t know they--they--would have you--” she gestured.
“You didn’t know there’d be humiliation as part of the experience--extra humiliation, including the humiliation of being spanked?”
“No!”
Candace looked at her, levelly. Aimee, roused from her memory, looked at Rebecca too.
“I have to know if there are protests,” Rebecca said softly. “There must be protests--must have been.”
She turned and left. Candace watched her go.
“Did Miss Pearson tell you not to say anything?”
“She said that entry is private and for the applicant only,” Aimee said.
“So you weren’t supposed to tell us that, I guess.”
“I guess not,” she said, uneasily. “What are you going to do?”
“Go and apply,” Candace said. “Your mom was a legacy--but you were raised by your aunt. My mom was a legacy at Elviren Girl’s. She was definitely on the team there. I didn’t hear much about it growing up--but I did feel it. Anyway, Foxtail is said to have one of the best teams--so I went here. I’m going to apply.”
“You’re not going to tell her I said anything?” Aimee asked nervously.
Candace laughed. “No--but I will probably dress more professionally.”
Aimee gave a short choked laugh.
# # #
Candace’s Interview
Candace navigated from the elevators around the desk area that was neatly organized, spotlessly clean, and empty. The words LANGUAGE ARTS in 8” metal letters on the wall mark the purpose of the building. Everything else was soft curves and tasteful furniture. She was dressed for an internship interview. A cropped tan blazer over a dark blouse and a skirt at knee length. She wore brown tights under the skirt. She finished it with vegan leather ankle boots since she didn’t have a set of heels at college.
She knew she was properly attired--but she also knew, more than Aimee, what she was getting into. Her mother had refused to give details about the teams--but she’d made it clear that Candace, if she was to go to one of the schools that had one, was to apply for it.
Candace’s mother was an expert disciplinarian. She would prepare a hot bath to soak and soften the buttocks. Each member of the household had a set of “I’m-In-Trouble” pajamas they were to change into before the ordeal. The pajamas announced what was going to happen and they might eat the family dinner so dressed, their siblings watching them with undisguised interest!
The house Naughty Stool, still in full use and on full display had a hard wood seat that Candace’s mother had covered with a layer of hemp organic cotton knit fabric. It was miserably itchy and, of course, the user of the stool sat bare on it with a flamingly sore bottom.
Candace had felt the use of a wooden spoon (Ouch!) against her vulva (DOUBLE OUCH!!!) laying in bed in the diaper position (HUMILIATION) with a carefully arranged pillow under her hips to perfectly elevate the target zone. The spanks were light, the scolding and lecture awful, and she’d been near instantly reduced to tears.
She vividly remembered each and every one of her punishments and her older sister had warned her not to “touch herself” immediately after a punishment because “Mom is on to that.”
Without the warning, she’d have been caught with her moistened fingers on or around her clit. The unsatisfied arousal, for several hours, was an additional layer of punishment in an area for which was already crackling with it!
Mrs. Pearson’s door was open and Candace drew in her breath as she made her way down the hall. She could hear the soft sounds of discussion. She decided she would wait outside, quietly, until the conversation stopped--but what she heard, when she got close, made her ears prick up.
“ . . . and we also have three prefects from Foxtrot who the admin has asked to include in the next Meet.”
“Mmm. Have you checked that with Cassi?” Mrs. Pearson asked, her voice indicating she wasn’t entirely comfortable with the request. Foxtrot was the BOYS school, next door, but separated from Foxtail.
“It’s an administrative request,” the other woman, younger, said. “I thought I’d check with you.”
Professor Pearson made a soft hrrmph sound and paused to reply.
“Send me their records link. I’ll approve each of the boys separately. Also: I want them in cages for the meet. With rubber sheeting. I don’t want any erections or spotting. It’ll be uncomfortable for them--but that’s my requirement.”
“Yes, Professor,” the other said.
“Next,” Mrs. Pearson called out and Candace jumped. She was calling for the next person, dismissing the girl in front of her.
A tall, somewhat awkward looking blonde who was clearly a student stepped out of the office looking relieved and, perhaps slightly out of breath. She adjusted her skirt as she passed Candace, meeting her eyes.
“Next!” Professor Pearson said again, more intensely.
Ugh. The girl nodded Candace towards the door with a ‘you better go’ look,’ and Candace made herself move.
Professor Pearson was cleaning her paddle with a soft cloth. Had it been used? Just now--before Candace got here? She entered, coming to a kind of attention, head up, standing straight, hands clasped behind her back, before the professor.
The professor looked her over and gave her a surprisingly gentle smile.
“Well, someone’s had posture training,” she said, clearly approving. “And you decided on proper dress! Well, I guess you young girls can learn!”
Candace felt a shudder inside her--did the professor KNOW she’d talked with Aimee? Professor Pearson stood and stepped around her large desk, gesturing to the seating area with a sofa, a coffee table, and some comfortable looking chairs.
Candace moved to follow. She saw, with a start, that the heavy wooden coffee table had restraint cuffs tucked under it. She sat far more heavily than she intended in the chair, and watched Professor Pearson sit elegantly, folding her hands in her lap.
“To get it out in the open,” said Professor Pearson, “what are you here for?”
“I am Candace Larson, ma’am--and I am asking you to evaluate me for the Foxtail Spanking Team.” She had to swallow a couple of times during her speech, but she got it out mostly in a level voice.
Mrs. Pearson was patient and waited for her to finish before nodding. “Good girl,” she said--and despite herself, Candace smiled at the warmth of the compliment. “I suppose you know from your roommate what that entails?”
Candace blinked several times--Aimee would get in trouble for having shared the information--her roommate--and if she admitted to that, would she be betraying Aimee?
The silence got more and more uncomfortable, and finally, unable to meet Mrs. Pearson’s gaze, she looked down.
“She--I heard--that I have to join for the freshman year as a spankee,” she said.
Mrs. Pearson nodded. “That is true,” she said. “And that you will be under the tutelage and care of a ‘Big’--a girl on the team who will look after you and guide you.”
“Yes ma’am.”
“Did your roommate tell you about that?”
Candace paused. “I heard that, yes ma’am.”
Now Mrs. Pearson smiled. “Be a dear and go to my drawer there and fetch the slipper.”
Oh! Candace stood--now, her mind reeling from the request! Was she going to be rejected? Would Aimee? She knew what fetching an implement meant!
She stood, formulating an apology, but Mrs. Pearson spoke before she had anything. “Go on, Candace, fetch the slipper. You’ll see it. You aren’t being rejected for the team. Almost everyone struggles with things like this.”
Despite the flip-flops her stomach was doing, the words did ease her panic somewhat and she crossed the floor, squatting down and opening the drawer. Inside were a variety of things that made her blood run cold.
Fleet enema boxes and a large traditional enema kit and bladder, packs of pads, tampons, and brightly colored pull-up diapers. There were two gleaming plastic speculums in cases, boxes of rubber gloves, and some tubes of pastes and unguents. There were also a couple of additional paddles, a tawse, a leather strap stored with a couple of oils, and--there below, a slipper,. It was older,with a floral pattern on the top, the bottom of it smooth rubber. She took it, closing the cabinet quickly, and standing.
She felt a faint dizziness as she stood--her reflection caught in one of the anodyne framed pictures on the professor’s wall showed her looking slightly pale--wan--certainly not at her best, despite her fine dress.
Mrs. Pearson nodded encouragingly, like she was coaxing a scared kitten.
“Bring it here,” she said gently.
Candace did.
“Go ahead and get your boots off and your tights and panties down,” she said, again, in a coaxing tone of voice.
Candace handed over the slipper, and then slipped her feet out of her boots and then moved to take off her socks.
“Keep those on, hon,” the professor said. “Just take the tights off.”
Candace fumbled with her tights and drew them down, turning them inside out. Her panties had a darker moist stain in the middle of the gusset. She was lubricating. She quickly drew the clothes over her socks and, after a moment, feeling heat on her cheeks and ears, folded them quickly placing them behind her. Her skirt still covered her region.
She stood there, nervous and anxious, chewing her lower lip.
“Now,” Mrs. Pearson said, with that cat-like smile, “I’m going to ask you a few questions and you’re not going to lie to me. Understood?”
“Yes ma’am,” Candace said, gulping.
Mrs. Pearson nodded.
“Who told you about the process for joining the Spanking Team?” she asked. She asked it warmly--but Candace was stricken.
Oh! If she told, would Aimee be rejected? If she didn’t, clearly Mrs. Pearson knew the answer.
“Aimee Trayler, ma’am,” Candace said. Then: “Please--please, don’t cut her from the team. I knew she was going to ask, we’d talked about it. I think she felt she had to tell me something.”
“Relax, Candace, no one is getting cut from the team. She will, of course, have some consequences for talking--but you girls are at Foxtails to learn things, no?”
“Y-yes miss,” Candace sounded, the relief of not having utterly betrayed Aimee rushing through her.
“Good! Now, when and where have you masturbated since coming to Foxtail?”
Candace’s rush of relief was replaced with an icy chill of alarm. She’d been resolving herself not to lie--to just come clean about everything--but this--oh, mercy!
School had started three weeks ago, and she had, in fact, masturbated several times. In the dorm bathrooms the stalls were hideously door-less explicitly to prevent such things. In the close quarters of the dorm room, she’d been circumspect lest her new roommate catch on. But she hadn’t been able to hold out. She’d done it several times--far too many, she realized now.
“I . . .” she spoke thickly, “have . . . done it,” she said, “in the Mason Library--second floor--in the bathrooms.” She finished, feeling like a lead weight was dropping through her stomach.
“How many times a week?”
“Once--” She said, then, in a moment of panic, “n-no, I mean--ohhhh--f-five times a week,” she said in absolute, humiliated misery. “I’ve done it . . . a lot,” she said wretchedly. “Please don’t tell my parents.”
Mrs. Pearson laughed. “Candace,” she said gently, “In this capacity I’m acting as your mother in absentia! I presume you masturbated on the toilets?”
Ugh! “Y-yes miss, I did.” She felt a torrent of shame flood her body. How dirty that was. How demeaning. How utterly immature.
“Foxtail can be pretty overwhelming for many of our girls. Although we don’t have public discipline, the atmosphere is fairly saturated with it, isn’t it?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Candace said.
“Knowing it’s happening, even if you don’t see it gets to you. It’s getting to you right now.”
Candice was desperately grateful she was allowed to stare at her feet and not answer.
“Of course masturbation is forbidden on campus--which means we’ll want to address it--and, importantly, your Big will be notified to keep an extra eye on you.”
Oh---ughhhhh. But she nodded. At least it didn’t sound like Ms. Pearson was going to tell her mother what she’d been doing--that would have been intolerable!
“Okay! Good. Last question, after we have our spanking for masturbation, would you be inclined to go and touch yourself?” She smiled, clearly knowing the answer.
“Yes, miss,” she said, head dropping. She had long straight black hair, tamed with a product that her mother ordered from a catalog. It dangled about her face. She sniffled.
“Good! That was nicely honest, Candace. So we’re NOT going to do that, are we?”
“No miss,” she agreed. The thought--right now--of her fingers going between her legs seemed unbearable. She’d never do it again!
“I’ll see to it,” assured Mrs. Pearson. “Okay, skirt off, and over my lap.”
Candace did, now sunk into the familiar misery of the process. Mrs. Pearson bent forward and took the folded tights and panties, unfolding the panties and turning them inside out.
“Put your nose in the wet spot,” she said, placing the panties, gusset out, on the cushion. “I want you to smell your own excitement while we have our spanking.”
Ew. “Yes ma’am.” She climbed over Mrs. Pearson’s lap, feeling the woman’s toned thighs under her. A brief adjustment got her face down, nose in the moisture, hands stretched out, bottom lifted. I’m having my ‘nose rubbed in it,’ she thought. Literally. It was intended to feel miserably degrading and humiliating and it did! The scent of her discharge was faint but it stung her pride and filled her with a torturing self-consciousness that was a merciless punishment all by itself!
If fleeing had been allowed, she thought she would have! Right now. Instead she sniffled, fighting tears and waves of resentment!
“Good positioning,” Candace said. “Your mother did a good job.”
“Thank you miss,” she murmured, slightly muffled by the cushions and the panites.
She felt the sole of the slipper caress her buttocks.
“This will be loud--and sharp. The sound is generally more frightening than the pain--but it does smart. As intended,” she said. “I’m going to give you your age in spanks. I’m not restraining you--I expect you to keep position through it. Tears and yips are fine. Begging or swearing isn’t. Breaking position certainly isn’t. I want to be clear: I’m NOT treating you as a ‘big girl.’ You’re a freshman girl who masturbates on the potty. I AM, however, giving you a punishment you ought to be able to take without faulting. You understand?”
“Yes, miss,” she murmured. The humiliation--the feel of the air on her bare bottom--the warmth of lubrication in her nethers--it was all crushingly humiliating and her body cried out for relief or mercy.
POW! The first swat landed with a thunderous hollow sound. Candace yowled. Certainly they could hear THAT through the whole building. Her hands flew back but she stopped them before they crossed the small of her back.
“OW! OWWWWW!” she moaned. Oh, Oh--nineteen of these!? It’d kill her! Surely.
“Hold position, girl,” Mrs. Pearson commanded. POW! POW! POW! The three spanks--left, right, center--landing directly on her anal cleft, was like three electrical shocks. She was waxed--her mother had advised it--before coming to school. She hadn’t liked it, but now she was glad she had since the idea of having Mrs. Pearson denude her as she had Aimee, was unbearable!
She gasped in the after-shock pain of the spanks. Then: POW-POW-SMACK! Three more, left, right, center, and her buttocks quivered under the chastisement! She let out humiliating mews of pain and tears flowed. The hand of Mrs. Pearson rubbed her bottom briefly. Candace was appalled with herself, needing the comforting after only seven smacks! Her mother would be so disappointed--but somehow, getting this in an office--at college--was far worse than in her own bedroom, over her mother’s lap.
A sob broke through, and her embarrassment crested.
POW! POW! POP! The sound of the slipper echoed off the walls. She couldn’t hold back the cries from each smack--the burning, sparkling smarting across her buttocks. She gasped back tears, unable to get herself under control
“More than half way, Candace.” Mrs. Pearson encouraged her.
POW POW POW POW! The blows came lower: her sit-spot, the rear and inside of her thighs. The smooth surface of the slipper kissed her there and she shrieked. Her hands gripped the cushions and her lips parted as she howled into the panties. She could smell and faintly taste, her own discharge--the humiliation was thick within her. The blazing in her rear drove her closer and closer to the breaking point.
POWW! The smack landed across both cheeks and her hips gave a slight buck at the hit. She moaned--tears and sobs rushing out.
Mrs. Pearson rubbed her buttocks, the comfort coming in precisely before the sensation drove her to wriggle off the professor’s lap!
She sobbed, gasping and blubbering.
POW! POW! Two more, left and right.
“Auuggiah! Aaahhhhh!” two throaty cries.
“One more,” Mrs. Pearson said gently. “Be brave!”
WHAP! This landed low so that the slipper’s surface just barely kissed the swollen bulge of her labia.
Candace screamed, and wriggled as Mrs. Pearson gathered the weeping girl in her arms, and held her. Twenty minutes later, Candace had completed her corner time, hands on her heads, squirming. Her thighs were slick with lubrication. Her sex was swollen and open--the signs of arousal horrifically clear.
As she was facing the wall, the professor couldn’t see her erect nipples and clitoris--but she knew, agonizingly, that the professor was aware of them. Her skirt was beige colored and bore a damp region which had lain under her vagina. She had leaked on her disciplinarian’s clothing. She sobbed, almost controlling herself and then breaking down into more tears at every juncture.
When Professor Pearson moved up behind her, cupping a hand to her buttocks, she whimpered.
“Time’s up, Candace. Come over here.” She heard a faint reluctance in the woman’s tone indicating what was coming next wasn’t easy. “We need to talk about your reaction, don’t we?”
The best Candace could muster was a soft, wretched whimper. Mrs. Pearson walked her back to the sofa and sat while she positioned Candace standing in front of her, facing her. She guided the girl’s hands back behind her back, wrists crossed behind her. Then she set about rolling up the girl’s blouse so it hung above her naval. The position exposed the curve of her sex, the vertical slit of pink, inflamed skin visibly wet.
“We’re going to end up touching here,” the woman gently, tenderly, let her fingers move to Candace’s sex and the younger woman moaned despite desperately commanding herself not to respond!
Mrs. Pearson nodded in satisfaction. “I know some part of yourself thinks it’s impossible! That you’d never ever do it again!” she sighs. “But I think we both know better. Your area has a hold on you you can’t break, Candace. You need help--like a lot of young ladies do--structure… and discipline.”
The device was a fabric panty with a thick, almost one inch pad in the gusset filled with a gel. While some parts of the material were stretchy, others weren’t. Mrs. Pearson attached it at her hips, sliding hard plastic clips together and they locked with a loud snap. The waistline of the panty was a kind of uncompromising weave that now locked around her waist and would prevent getting the panties down.
“Your RA can undo them,” said Mrs. Pearson. “The pad is highly absorbent in case of an accident--but I recommend you go to your dorm-mother for bathroom needs. She will unlock them, watch you, and then re-lock them. You’ll wear them for three days to ensure you don’t touch yourself. Understood?”
Candace, blinked through tears, her chin lightly touched to look up into Mrs. Pearson’s face. She nodded, “Yes’m.”
“Good girl. Being on the Spanking Team will be quite trying--it’s intended to be. It shall be worth it, I assure you.” She gave Candace a light kiss on the temple.
“Now, off with you. You can tell Aimee that she’s got a punishment coming for talking--but both you girls are on the team.”
Candace dressed, her buttocks still smarting, her sex now throbbing with unmet desperation for attention. She did feel like she needed to pee--but she wasn’t going to ask Mrs. Pearson to see to her--that was too embarrassing to contemplate!
She waddled out, the thick gusset of the panties feeling diaper-like under her skirt.
# # #
Aimee’s Research
“Can’t,” Aimee told Rebecca. They were going to get coffee before her next Freshman Lit. “I need to study.”
Rebecca gave her a look that was half eye-roll and half warning, but didn’t otherwise challenge her. There were, after all, the rest of the Lit group present who had no idea what was going on. “Well, see you there,” she said.
“Yep. See ya.” Aimee nodded and waited for the girls to head off to the Campus Bean. When they were gone, Aimee turned and walked, going from a nonchalant stroll to a rushing ‘power walk’ that she was terribly afraid gave her away.
Alone time in the middle of the day was a precious and limited resource. There were things she couldn’t do--that she had to do!--in the bathrooms or the showers, that were only possible alone in her dormitory. Every minute wasted on the campus sidewalk was a minute she needed to take care of the ruthless tension her experience in Mrs. Pearson’s office had ignited in her.
She was up the stairs, down the hall, and to her dorm room door, breathing a little hard, blushing with the mortifying fear that someone would look at her and think, ‘There goes a girl rushing to masturbate.’
Was it obvious? She assured herself no one could tell! Why would they assume something like that…? Did her face betray it? Or the faint tension with which she walked?
A wretched combination of eagerness and annoyance drove her to her bed, climbing into it, drawing down her shorts and underpants and then moving her hand to the feverish, needy split between her thighs. There she stopped and closed her eyes, and breathed.
She lay with her legs as wide apart as the narrow twin bed would allow -- one up against the wall. The more exposed and vulnerable she felt, the more powerful it was, the more satisfying. Urgency and tension flared down there, but instead of moving her fingers quickly to resolve it, she forced herself to be still.
Aimee closed her eyes and let her mind focus on the tight pulse of sexual ‘itch’ she’d been suffering every day since her ‘interview.’ She would awaken from feverish, half-remembered dreams, and the itch was there.
She would shower and dress, constantly aware of the annoying need kindling in her private region. Instead of going away when she was out of the dorm, she found her mind sliding to memories of her humiliation in Mrs. Pearson’s office. One moment she’d be in a lecture hall, listening to a history seminar and the next, she’d be remembering the helpless, awkward naked position as she waited in the hall! Or the crushing, infuriating shame of the Professor wiping leaked lubrication from her private opening!
She’d taken to wearing panty liners, since the alternative was to change underpants in the bathroom and torment herself with the thought of someone noticing how distracted, overheated, and wet she was!
There was the spanking, itself. Naked, powerless, defeated and controlled, she’d felt helpless and overwhelmed, across the lady’s lap. Each swat exploded with a burning flash of heat and an emotional shriek of humiliation. Her tears had further undermined her; she’d felt emotionally out of control, melting down and sobbing as she was spanked. The woman had effortlessly unwound her!
Aimee felt these memories ought to have pushed her to run away! They should have strengthened a resolve to quit the team! Or even transfer schools! They should have, but instead, they tortured her in a different way. First and foremost, they demanded she address the tension and pressure they created. And secondly, they inflamed her curiosity about the Spanking Team and the girls on it.
Now, alone in her dormitory, she could address both needs at once. Her hand lingered lightly between her legs, touching her shameful places, feeling little bodily shrieks of pleasure as her sex demanded she rub harder and faster -- and a sense of wicked satisfaction as, instead of doing so, she opened her phone.
She was looking for information on the Foxtail Spanking Team--but not looking specifically from Foxtail accounts. Her hand rested beside her exposed vulva as she intentionally ignored the naked organ’s insistent demands. Suffer, she told it nastily. Being unable to address the frustrating itch was intolerable in a lecture hall. Here, the special torture perversely hightened her enjoyment of her ‘private study time!’
She focused on her phone; there were two types of search results about the punishment regime.
The first were a variety of complaint posts from those subject to those punishments and some fairly lurid stories that she didn’t know whether to believe or not.
One girl complained about the use of a hot pepper inserted into her vagina prior to a caning! She didn’t describe it in detail, but it sounded like she considered herself something of a ‘tough girl’ and had intended to ‘take’ the caning -- something that was completely impossible with the chemical burn in her most delicate channel! It sounded like she’d melted into a sobbing puddle in front of her teachers!
Another student wrote about a paste rubbed over her anus that caused intense merciless itching. She was looking for emotional support and comfort because the memory of her punishment was still tormenting her weeks later. She described the mortifying torture of being spanked first -- hard enough and long enough to leave her stinging and sore and close to tears -- and then she was made to put on tights that pressed her buttocks together, the pressure and heat turning what had been ‘discomfort’ into an ‘emergency!’ On top of that the young woman--who had found tears impossible to hold back at that point--had been made to pull on tight jeans that were fastened closed with a thick leather belt and a padlock!
Crying had turned into teary begging for mercy, but the teachers had denied even her most degrading supplications and she had suffered through the rest of the day unable to get any relief between her buttocks. She limped back to the admin building, contrite and completely humbled. By the time she returned before her punishers, she had been utterly defeated, confessing all her contrition and asking meekly and without pride to be allowed to undress so the awful, sizzling paste could be removed.
Both of those stories horrified and even infuriated Aimee, and yet the thought of girls like her stripped of their dignity and made to submit despite their awful desire to assert themselves made her sex scream for attention and she was unable to fully deny it.
She started petting her wetting slit, running her fingers along the pulsing opening, even starting to touch her clitoris, making her gasp and squirm. Still, she refused to fully indulge it. Not yet, she thought at that little beacon of urgency. She wasn’t ‘ready’ yet -- there was more to learn!
The Team itself was mostly mentioned obliquely. There were no first-hand accounts she could find from anyone who had been sent to a “Meet.” Friends of team members spoke on behalf of their punished compatriots, describing outrage that they had been laid up for ‘days’ after a session and reporting that they were being “silenced” about the event’s details.
It seemed that while there were not good accounts of a Spanking Team meeting. Based on what their friends said, it sounded like, for many subjects, they changed their approach to school, knuckling down and limiting their more frivolous pursuits. There were also some ominous reports of those sent getting into more serious relationships--some same sex, most traditional--with students considerably higher in the school’s hierarchy..
The girls sentenced to the spanking team were more obedient, more disciplined. Better behaved. Thinking about that and imaging Rebecca, Candace, or herself experiencing those effects against their wills and their natures made her squirm and forced her fingers to work harder.
Aimee’s legs spread wider and her fingers moved in small, insistent circles on the erect little nub of her clit. She felt an orgasm, powerful and insistent, starting to build.
She continued seeking information. Spanking Teams were, for the most part, a girl’s school affair.There were boy’s schools and mixed schools in the network (as far as she could tell: there was nothing official) but there were conjectures that girls would wind up engaged to boys who it was speculated, had been the -ers on their team (to their -ees).
The intimacy of the relationship between spanker and spankee seemed like fertile ground for romance to flourish. The thought of going over a boy’s lap--of her buttocks and the dark crescent between them, under them, being seen by a young man made her whimper. How was it that the worse the humiliation, the wetter and more eager her opening became!? What was wrong with her!?
The other reports were far more positive about the punishment policies. These were social media posts from mothers who felt their daughters had benefited greatly--and there were some collections of posts from graduates of the specific schools that hypothesized the girls were Spankers on the teams.
These compilations showed girls hanging with their friends (Instagram pictures) with a focus on their backsides and in-jokes or smiling laughter about something not-quite-clear. Apparently, the girls in that elite sorority got access to a network of especially good jobs and starting roles at the companies they applied to. This was seen as both a wonderful opportunity for committed young women and hideously unfair by their detractors.
Aimee looked at a particularly focused picture of a bikini-clad bottom, the brightly smiling latina bent forward, looking back over her shoulder at the camera. She was about to dive into a sparkling pool of water in some exotic country she was vacationing to. The picture showed faint hints of cleft on her rear and a depression of camel toe visible from behind her. There was a lack of dignity to the picture and a blush in the girl’s cheeks and eyes that made Aimee somehow sure she had been ordered to assume the position. An act of dominance that at once amused her, aroused her, and very obviously embarrassed her.
Another picture was three girls standing together arm in arm at an upscale bar somewhere in the city. They were smiling brilliantly, and she could see that their hands cupped the center girl’s buttocks. The girl’s rear, cloaked in a blue dress, was visible in a reflection and the other’s hands were visible cupping and holding her nates. The position wasn’t otherwise overtly sexual but there was something in the center-girl’s smile that suggested embarrassment and discomfort as well as high spirits camaraderie. A girl under the domination of her two Sisters, even in public. She imagined them teasing her about what fate awaited her up in the hotel room above, making her blush and squirm as she considered the ordeals in her future!
There were pictures of “sorority paddles” decorated with multiple colors and designs. Although mostly meant for the Greek sororities, they were clearly given out in the “Spanking Team Schools.” She looked at them, her eyes tracing the interesting designs and hearts and spirals. What would it be like to face a girl a little older than her with the authority to use something like that!? How effortlessly could a few strokes from such an instrument break her?
The thought of herself, bent over, presenting her buttocks to something so ‘sound’ robbed her of the rest of her self control and she moaned and closed her eyes, letting her fingers go as they pleased, polishing he exposed clitoris mercilessly as they drove her toward orgasm.
Her naked legs squirmed, her hips rolled obscenely. The orgasm was coming like a freight train, unstoppable now, and she let her mind search for the scenario that would carry her over the edge. On other days it had been Mrs. Pearson spanking her--a powerful memory that had her hips bucking in time with the remembered swats as she came. She also used stories she had read--being dominated by powerful young women ahead of her in school, or even fantasies about being spanked by a young man from a nearby institution--the more intolerable and devastating, the better!
But this afternoon, her imagination took her to her friend, Candace. Candace whose sexual disgrace over Mrs. Pearson’s lap had been so intense and complete she had been locked in restrictive ‘chastity pants’ so powerful she needed supervision to remove them to pee!
She cared deeply for the girl and experienced outrage and pity on her behalf… but here, alone in her dormitory, legs spread, her naked sex pressed forward into her working fingers, the utter degradation of Candace’s caged condition thrilled her.
Oh, how dreadful was it to be unable to relieve the diabolical itch Candace must be suffering?! She tried to imagine what it would be like to need to orgasm so badly and to find herself unable to--it would be utterly maddening. Devastating. She knew that was the case--since her interview, Candace had been visibly uncomfortable. Pissy. Squirmy. Embarrassed dreadfully by her situation and dreading that anyone would know!
Her trips to the bathroom required a stop at the RA’s door… Aimee tried to imagine the complete indignity her friend faced having to ask permission and the, even worse, having to present herself to have the infernal device removed.
The thought of having her locking panties examined by an authority, the level of lubrication and discharge observed was withering! Aimee was sure she would die of embarrassment if anyone saw her own inflamed region… How much worse must Candace’s be!?
And the complete humiliation must build and build with no ‘afternoon study session’ to relieve it!
As her own orgasm (every bit as forbidden as Candace’s) rose in her, she imagined her friend laying face up, her knees pulled back and spread so that every private, shameful part of her was on display and no hope of hiding was given. She imagined Candace breathless with self-consciousness and merciless embarrassment as she was examined, scolded for being wet and dirty--forced to endure an intimate, degrading cleaning that was a mix of hygiene, punishment and teasing masturbation!
But what she held out for, holding her orgasm until it was unbearable to do so, for was the awful, image of the woman in charge seeing how utterly desperate poor Candace was to cum, how utterly subdued and defeated by her own need she was… and then, without mercy, closing the chastity panty over that sweltering, begging organ, consigning it back to utter frustration!
It was the thought of Candace’s utter sexual misery and erotic despair that thrilled her over the edge. I’m sorry, Candace, she thought as she pulled her pillow over her face and screamed into it, her own organ exploding with orgasm and relief!
The white-hot images of Candace moaning and crying, her fingers touching the curve of the chastity pants, seeking any possibility of comfort or relief for the suffering organ under them… and finding nothing! She imagined Cadace’s hips moving in a helpless, involuntary thrust as her body demanded release… degrading and humiliating herself in defeat… and it was all the more delicious because she was sure these images were real.
Aimee lay sprawled, gasping, chest rising and falling as if she’d just run a race! The awful itch, urgency and pressure were gone. Not completely, maybe--they were still there in the background, tempting her to continue her research and have a second ‘session!’ It was tempting--there was so much more she could discover… explore. But now, after her release, the thought of what might happen if she were caught terrified her instead of tantalizing her.
The thought of Mrs. Pearson extracting her masturbation practices from her was unbearably awful in a way that scared her and forced her to forgo it. Which was fortunate, for she was dressed, and mostly presentable, when there came a knock at the door.
Her head snapped up: it was Rebecca.
“Hey,” she said, coming in. “Carley asked me to come over here tonight.”
Carley was the Resident Assistant.
“What? Why?” Aimee asked.
“Because we’re friends and Candace is in trouble. Plus, I think she didn’t want you in bed alone?”
“What got her in trouble?” Aimee’s face was flushed from the suggestion Carly thought she would masturbate if given the chance! The worst part was that it was humiliatingly accurate.
“Something in the bathroom,” Rebecca said. “She’s taking Candace somewhere.”
“Oh--ugh.”
Rebecca nodded, grimly. That seemed . . . bad.
It was also frustrating. Aimee closed the laptop and set it aside.
“I was about to go to sleep anyway,” she said, annoyed.
Rebecca climbed into Candace’s bed. “I hope Candace is okay,” she said.
“Me too,” said Aimee, her imagination’s versions of what might be happening to her friend, however were hot and torrid and hounded her as she closed her eyes and shifted uncomfortably in the bed.
She lay awake, the constant need to relieve the tension in her sex, a reminder of everything about herself that was embarrassing or shameful. She couldn’t deny it though--over the minutes in the darkness, her hand crept under the waistband of her pajamas and she rubbed gently and moved her hips slightly, until the bed gave the softest of creaks, and mortified, she gave up.
END REDDIT Part 3
# # #
Candace’s Lesson
The student clinic was a thirty-minute walk across campus. When Aimee got there, the woman at reception looked a little skeptical but then Aimee explained she was there to sign her friend out, and her demeanor changed. “Oh--Miss Larson. Right this way.”
There was a smirk in the woman’s eyes and tone that told Aimee that this was Team Business. “Your friend required a little special treatment,” the woman was walking her back to a door marked ‘Private.’ “We like to make sure a girl who’s been through that sort of thing has friends available for emotional support.”
Her amusement told Aimee that this was true--but also that the lady was pleased to anticipate Candace’s embarrassment at having her situation observed by a peer. The policy was both to support Candace--and to enhance her humiliation!
“Is she okay?” Aimee couldn’t help worrying.
“She had some obstinance to get over,” the nurse informed her. “She’s doing fine now. Let’s hope she learned her lesson!”
Candace lay on a low bed in a semi-private alcove back near the nurse’s station. She was laying on her side, wearing nothing but an open-backed hospital gown that made a display of a bright-red paddled pair of buttocks to anyone who walked by. Worse, Aimee thought, one leg was pulled up and the sight of her sexual cleft took Aimee’s breath away.
In her fantasy, earlier in the afternoon, she had imagined Candace’s frustrated region as swollen and damp, but the truth was even more extreme! She was flushed, the tender, shaved skin was lightly irritated from being trapped in the chastity pants, and her face radiated a long night of misery.
Aimee brought her hand to her lips and realized how wide and shocked her eyes were. A long afternoon imagining Candace’s humiliation and suffering had not prepared her for this--but it was even worse.
“Candace--oh--sweetie!” Aimee rushed in, feeling the humid scent of Candace’s sweat, tears, and sexual arousal envelop her as she came to the whimpering girl’s side and knelt at the bed. Candace’s face, red, puffy, streaked with tears both fresh and stale turned to her and she was at once mortified and relieved.
For in addition to the ruddy punishment on her cheeks, Aimee could see the black, rubbery flange of a thick retention plug blossoming from between her spread, spanked buttocks.
She embraced Candace, smelling her, feeling her quiver as she was held.
“Your friend was having trouble moving her bowels under supervision, so she’s been given an enema to help her get over her bathroom modesty.”
Candace moaned and buried her face in Aimee’s chest. Aimee felt the girl squirm and whimper in serious distress. Her flat, athletic belly was slightly pushed out from the hideous pressure inside. She needed to go desperately, and had for hours. They were making her hold it until someone was present.
Aimee found herself breathlessly impressed at the quality of the humiliation. She looked up at the nurse and nodded grimly. “Can she go now, miss?”
“I think she’s ready.” The nurse smiled. “We’ve cooked enough, haven’t we, Candace?”
Moan! Candace nodded vigorously! Yes, ma’am! I’ve learned my lesson!
It took another few minutes. Aimee sat beside Candace and held the girl’s hand as her friend squirmed in increasing desperation. The potty that was brought over was a kind of wheel-chair with an open seat. Candace’s gown was rolled up -- more than necessary, Aimee thought -- and she was helped to move from laying on her side, to sitting on it.
Oww! She was spanked red, and sitting hurt, but that was part of the lesson and when the plug was deflated, no force on earth could keep the thick oil in her. Candace moaned and then wailed and arched her body, bearing down with all her strength as her body rebelled against the alien substance and she pushed it out in powerful, shattering bursts.
The nurses watched, scolding Candace mildly--reminding her she had brought this disgrace on herself by refusing to handle her bathroom responsibilities in a more ‘mature’ manner. Aimee couldn’t imagine ever looking anyone in the eye again if she had been subjected to this kind of humiliation, but she also found she agreed with the nurses that Candace had brought it on herself… the poor thing was obviously suffering, but wasn’t that understandable?
Candace had to sit on the toilet chair, legs spread for a little over an hour. Periodically, the nurses had her bend forward and place her palms on the floor to examine her anus.
“The solution is PH-balanced so it won’t leave your anus raw” they said, clearly proud of their chemistry. “It will cause little bowel spasms for a day or so--you’ll walk saddle-legged! It’ll help you remember the lesson!”
Candace gripped Aimee in a tight hug, whimpering against her.She let out little sexual-sounding gasps periodically as more of the enema solution found its way to her aft.
“Next time we’re told to go potty,” intoned the nurse, “what are we going to do?”
“Go,” moaned Candace. Aimee thought her low tone of distress sounded like that of a girl in the process of being fucked!”
“Good girl,” the nurse said. “Even if it’s embarrassing and we’re being watched?”
“Yes, miss,” groaned Candace.The nurse smirked.
“Like we’re doing right now with our friend right here, yes?”
Candace’s eyes flickered to Aimee’s and then closed to slits as her bottom moved again.
“Yes, miss,” she whimpered.
“When we see our Residence Assistant we’re going to apologize for our defiance, aren’t we?”
Ohhh--Candace’s chest heaved. She nodded weakly. “Yes, miss, I will--”
“Good. Make sure your apology is humiliating. If Ms.Carly isn’t sufficiently impressed with it, she can just take you back here for another go!” She patted a groaning Candace on the head.
Later, her tears cleaned up, they walked together across the quad. True to the nurse’s word, her gait was visibly off. She clearly had a constant low-grade discomfort back there.
“What happened, exactly?” Aimee asked, finally.
“I have to ask fucking Carly to pee,” Candace said darkly. “Usually during the day, I try to go to the Language Arts building and ask the secretary girl to . . . open me. If I can. She’s usually pretty busy so there isn’t as much spectacle.”
Carly, however, LOVES making a production out of it. I can’t WAIT to move out of her dorm! Last night, she asked when I last poo’d and I told her it was earlier that day. She . . . must be getting notified because she knew it wasn’t--she ordered me to do it in front of her.”
“I told her I couldn’t--I didn’t need to! We argued.” Her voice lowered. “She won. She has a little fucking calendar on her wall with a little star for each day for going in front of her. I also now have to do mornings with her--and she has fucking high fiber tea I’m drinking daily.”
“Eeeuugh,” Amiee growled. The humiliation was off the charts. “In the mornings the bathrooms are going to be FULL of people!”
“I know,” moaned Candace. “I don’t know how I’ll survive this! She says if I’m a very good girl and show proper ‘contrition and submission’ I’ll get to ‘go potty in her room in the mornings. Apparently, she has something there. I bet it’s a ‘training potty.’”
“I wouldn’t put it past her,” Aimee said. “You think she’s being extra awful to you because you’re . . . black?”
Candace shook her head. “No--I don’t know. I think she’s just a bitch who gets off on humiliation.”
Aimee blushed. She was doing the same--she thought that Candace, in the chastity panty was likely feeling it too--but unlike Aimee, she had no chance at all to do anything about it!
Re: The College Spanking Team Part 01
Aimee Gets Tapped
The “Tap” came for Aimee about four hours later in the student center. She was in the quiet study lounge with comfortable nooks and stern posters showing bespectacled women holding up fingers to their lips. She was reading through her history homework when someone put a hand on her shoulder.
She looked up. Two girls--upperclassmen--were standing there behind her. One had a tablet she was clicking something on. The other was a gorgeous, surprisingly tall, blonde. She smiled brilliantly at Aimee.
“Aimee Trayer?” She asked. Her voice was normal--something that could get you reprimanded in the quiet lounge. Clearly she wasn’t concerned.
“Yes?” Aimee said, momentarily thrown.
“Good! Come with me. We have an appointment.”
Aimee paused for a moment, feeling an electric chill through her. Was this it? Was this the Foxtails Team?
She pushed back and shoveled her book into her backpack.
She got up, quickly, checking her space (leaving a mess could also get you reprimanded).
The girl with the tablet nodded to her friend, apparently closing out whatever program she was running.
The tall girl nodded ushering Aimee towards one of the doors. She moved across the room, feeling the prefect-on-duty’s eyes follow them. Out through the door and into the hall, she paused to turn, questions racing through her mind.
“We have a private room reserved up here,” said the tall girl. “I’m Cassandra--Cassi. I’ll explain everything there.” Her voice was friendly, maybe even bubbly. The other girl leaned in and said something softly to Cassi and the taller girl waved her off. Cassi set off and Aimee followed behind her. Up a flight of stairs and down a quiet, carpeted hall with doors with letters marked by them. Private Room D opened with Cassi’s student card and she stepped in, turning to let Aimee enter. Aimee stopped at the threshold.
It was a small meeting room with a round table in the middle, a couple of tall cabinets, a TV and video player on a cart against one wall. Cassi stepped around and pulled a chair out.
“Sit here,” she said. She flashed her brilliant smile at Aimee. Aimee paused--and then came forward and, with some trepidation, slid into the seat.
Rather than taking her own seat, Cassi put her hands gently on Aimee’s shoulders. “Watch this,” she said. “Then we’ll talk.”
Aimee watched the screen come on, the ancient VCR coming to life. It had been on when they’d walked in. Now it was playing.scan-lines and static played on the screen. Block letters read RECOVERY.
The sound was turned down, but Aimee could hear a chorus of sobs, whimpers, and moans.
The camera swung from a tan wall to what was a locker-room. There were pallets on the floor with girls--naked from the bottom of crop-top shirts down to socks and sneakers lay on their stomachs, sobbing into their arms. Girls wearing orange and red cheerleader style outfits and white nurses caps were moving about, tending to the girls. They had been punished. Their buttocks were swollen--but not uniformly.
Some had crisscrossing marks of welts. Others had blotchy red and pink marks over the crest and down their thighs, wrapping the backs and inner areas. Buttocks showed bruising,One girl had bare feet and Aimee could see faint pink lines across the soles. A nurse girl was applying medicine from soaked swabs held in clamps along “train-tracks” lines of bruising and welts, Aimee thought must have come from a cane.
In a tiled bathroom, two nurses held a punished girl so she could urinate into a bedpan. The girl moaned as she peed, and Aimee could see her vulva was swollen--angry red. The girl looked up, the camera capturing a misery so intense she didn’t seem to care about being filmed! Aimee held her breath.
The video stopped.
Cassi drew Aimee’s hair back gently gathering it. “These are the -ees after a meet. You can see it’s been quite a trial for our spankees--and while, for most of them, the worst is over, the entire ordeal isn’t done yet. You’re going to be on that floor several times over.” She stroked and straightened Aimee’s hair from behind.
“It won’t be fun--but I’ll be taking care of you as your Big.”
Aimee felt a warm shock through her--her Big! She turned, looking up at Cassi, this time looking into the girl’s eyes (sparkling blue), her bright face and warm smile. Aimee felt her nethers clench and she felt like she was far younger and more awkward than this tall, beautiful, mature looking young woman!
Cassi smiled sympathetically at her. “You’re my Little,” she said. “You’ve applied for a sisterhood and been accepted.” She bent down and kissed Aimee on the lips. Aimee could smell the clean scent of the older girl and get hints of the tastes of her lip-gloss. She swallowed.
“Your Little,” Aimee repeated.
Cassi nodded! “My little! Which means, I get to order you to do things and you have to do them! Or else face consequences. We take our responsibilities and hierarchy very seriously! It takes some getting used to--you’ve been thinking you’re out on your own, becoming a Young Adult in pursuit of your own destiny--but the path you’ve chosen means you’re going to be under my supervision for the next two years!
Cassi’s smile suggested she found the information both appalling and delicious in equal measure. “I can tell you I had issues with my own Big! Dire ones! But now we are the best of friends, and when I leave Foxtail, I will join her again!”
Aimee nodded, more in acceptance than agreement. “Yes . . . ma’am?”
Cassi grinned. “It’ll work--we have other terms we’ll get to, for now, I want to welcome you to the Foxtail Spanking Team. Please disrobe.”
Aimee startled. “Dis-disrobe? Cassi--”
“Everything off!” she laughed. “I want to see my full Little, my new pair of buttocks, my vagina! My new nipples!” She clapped her hands, shockingly loudly in the small room. Aimee stood, and began to reluctantly remove her clothing.
Cassi watched with a mix of amusement and judgmental impatience. When Aimee stood in her panties, arms covering her breasts, Cassie nodded encouragingly.
“If you want to leave those up,” she said with mock indulgence, “I will have a special treat of a lesson for you.”
Aimee groaned and took them down. She realized she felt dreadfully self-conscious--painfully aware of every small imperfection and blemish… how inadequate her toning and skin care was compared to the magnificent Cassi! And jealous! And resentful! Cassi was enjoying this completely, thrilled at the authority she had over her Little! Uhhh!,
Cassi’s smile widened. She came forward, running her fingers from Aimee’s collarbone, over her shoulders, and down her arms. Her hands moved down Aimee’s bare soft skin below her ribs and down to her hips. She shuddered.
“It’s okay to be a little scared,” Cassi said. “Meeting your Big is a . . . significant step. And being on the Foxtails is wonderful--but, there;s going to be a lot to cry about too! You cried for Professor Pearson, didn’t you?”
The little dig was meant to humiliate her and it did. Amiee imagined Mrs. Pearson reporting that New Girl Aimee had blubbered under her punishment and all the authoritative girls being so satisfied with how much fun a weak and emotional girl would be to toy with!
Now Cassi stood close, her blouse against Aimee’s bare breasts, her hands encircling Aimee to each grip a buttock, her fingers within Aimee’s rear cleft.
“Y-yes,” Aimee said, a flush of shame on top of her embarrassment.
“You must have been fetching,” Cassi praised her. Her hands pulled and Aimee was drawn in closer. Blushing, Aimee looked away, her head against Cassi. “Turn so I can kiss you--always make yourself available to me,” Cassi purred.
Aimee’s discomfort was hard to pin down. She wasn’t . . . she wasn’t repulsed by Cassi--but the girl’s dominating claim on her made her bristle! She didn’t want to just give in like that--and the video of the -ees after their ‘meet’ had unsettled her.
They’d suffered real punishment! That wasn’t just a friendly sleep-over game or even the sharp, painful, but mostly humiliating correction Mrs. Pearson had administered!
She turned her head away. “I’m not--I’m not like that,” she stammered.
Cassi laughed. “In the olden days, apprentice boys were expected to give their bottoms up to their masters. They weren’t expected to like it!” She turned Aimee’s head back to her and again kissed her on the lips. Aimee felt naked and off balance--she did allow the kiss, returning it. The condition of her waxed pussy made her feel especially vulnerable.
Cassi pulled her head back, hands still gripping Aimee’s buttocks, eyes still sparkling with delight.
“We’ll work on the kissing,” she said. “Now, we have something else to do.” She took Aimee’s hand. “Come--”
“My clothes!” Aimee was horrified--”I’m naked!”
“You are going to be naked a good deal of the time,” Cassi said. “Littles have been walked across campus, nude and leashed. If you want, I could do that to you now!”
Aimee gasped at the thought--but she let Cassi lead her out into the hall. It was quiet and empty. Aimee was terrified they would turn towards the stairs but they continued further down the hall to another door with a black coating over the inside of its rectangular window.
Cassi opened it, and like a seal breaking, she heard loud, wet sobs. Cassi led her in. The sobbing girl was more than curvy--she was outright fat--and she had two tattoos--a curly one on the small of her back, and what looked like a rose on her inner thigh. She was nude, bound over a padded ottoman-like device, and her ample buttocks and thighs were crisscrossed with fine red lines of tiny welts.
Two dressed girls sat by her, one pushing the pointed toe of her heels into the blubbering girl’s vagina. Aimee could smell an awful fish-scent.
Tattoos were forbidden at Foxtail, Aimee stared at the girl. “This miserable moppet is Tanya, on loan from the Farburry Correctional System,” said one of the seated girls by way of introduction. “The judge assigned her some sisterly counseling and support so she’ll be joining us for Meets and other events!
The other girl--the one with her shoe casually violating Tanya--gave her a little kick as she pulled her foot back and leaned forward to rub a small pinch of salt in her palm over the glistening marks of the lash.
Tanya howled and the first girl moved forward to stroke her hair,
“We’re improving!” she told the wailing girl, warmly. To Cassi, “Last time there were all kinds of swear-words! The mouth treatment seems to have worked!”
More wails from Tanya.
“We’ll have to address the smell though,” said the girl. “The correctional facility doesn’t enforce hygiene as much as it should!” The cries were mixed with a new rush of tears and both girls turned to Cassi and Aimee,
“Your Little?” the one with the salt asked.
“My Little!” Smiled Cassi brightly. She rubbed her hand down Aimee’s back to her bottom. “Isn’t she adorable?”
They laughed and agreed, ignoring the heavy girl’s moans.
“A getting-to-know-you spanking?” The girl with the salt asked.
“I think my Little needs a lesson in her own nature,” Cassi said, her hand rubbing up and down Aimee’s spine. The close attention felt wonderful despite the humiliation, violation and exposure. “We can do it over here--we have bird-cage liner?” She laughed.
“Plenty,” said salt-girl. Her shoe with its pointed toe had found its way back to the wet spread of Tanya’s vagina and was nosing into her private channel again.
Cassi placed her hands on Aimee’s shoulders and turned her towards where another set of chairs. On the table was a stack of folded newspapers--the campus Fox Trail. Cassi guided the girl to an armless chair and sat.
“Over my lap,” she said, her voice inviting, perhaps even comforting. Aimee wasn’t comforted, but she lowered herself and climbed over the girl’s lap. She heard a loud report and a yowl from the fat girl. The two Spanking Team Spankers were applying something unpleasant to her anatomy. She heard them giggle as they spoke quietly to their prey.
“We have rules about positioning for over a lap--well, for everything, really. Our FoxTails are held to a high standard! Hands out straight, off the ground. Now, arch your back to push your bottom up. Good!”
She patted Aimee’s bottom. “Now roll your hips a little--pout that cute little bottom out--pout it! Someone behind you should be able to see your peach clearly!”
Aimee gasped in humiliation, but did as she was told.
“Now, spread those thighs. I should be able to reach down and touch your intimate places. I should have a clear view of your anus!”
That got an actual moan. She could hear the soft yelps of the heavy girl--and the sound of snuffling pleading.The sound of spanks was soft and intermittent--but whatever she was suffering, it sounded . . .. bad--and intimate.
“Okay! Now, I’m going to give you 12 spanks--and then we’ll see!”
“S-see what?”
“See what, Big?” Cassi coaxed, rubbing her buttocks.
“S-see what, B-big?” she asked.
“How my Little is doing.” Cassi’s elegant hand rubbed gently at Aimee’s buttocks. “Don’t fret, there may be tears, but I’ll see you through it. Trust me, you’re getting a better initiation than Little Candace! Her Big is your RA--Carly! And she’s getting a long, lush lesson on who is in charge of her vagina and how embarrassing it is to need adult supervision to use the potty!”
Ugghhh! Aimee winced thinking of the awful procedure in the clinic but still feeling pleased and satisfied Candace was getting what she needed. Oh… would people feel the same thing about her humiliation?!.
She didn’t have much time to think about it. The spanking began.
Pow! Pow! The swats landed crisply with a slightly cupped hand. She winced and gasped--they weren’t over-hard but her backside felt unusually tender. The embarrassment of the position--the feeling of exposure and vulnerability amplified the discomfort!
Pow! Pow! Pow! POW! Left and right, the blows becoming steadily harder. Her buttocks quivered. She gasped in pain, her hands stretched out, quivering as she held position.
POW! POW! A hard slap to each buttock and she felt breath exit her lips. Fingers glided down the crest of her bottom, along the top curve of her anal cleft. The caress gave her shivers.
“Two more!” WHAP! WHAP!
That drew a small cry. Tears stung her eyes--more from the helplessness and the intense humiliation than the pain--but the pain was what made her state unendurable--the injury to which the insult of her position was added. She sniffled.
“Stand up!” Cassi commanded. “Hands to the small of your back. No rubbing!”
Aimee struggled up--she was awkward. A glance at the heavy girl showed one of the two had something in her hand that was being inserted, slowly into the tied girl's vagina. The other one knelt by her head, stroking her hair and speaking comfortingly to the sobbing girl.
Cassi stood and stepped over to where the campus newspaper was staked. She took one and extracted the top, thin newsprint.
She placed it on the cushion of a chair.
“Sit--right in the center of the seat.”
Aimee looked at the newsprint. Birdcage liner. She glanced at Cassi as she sat. The spanking had certainly smarted--but sitting on a cushioned chair wasn’t a trial. The newspaper wasn’t comfortable--but it wasn’t painful.
Cassi took a small hourglass--looking like something from a board game, and set it on the table so that white sand fell. About . . . 30 seconds?
“When that is up, you’re to stand, and we’ll see if we’re done with this part!”
“Yes, Big,” Aimee said. Cassie smiled brilliantly!
“My Little is learning!” She tousled Aimee’s hair. “During a meet, you’re to take your punishment as stoically as possible. Tears are fine. Sniffles are fine. The judges may mark down anything more--but outside of actual yowls and loud cries, you won’t ‘fault.’ Breaking position WILL get a fault and you don’t want that!
“If you bear up your punishment well, you’ll be returned to the queue to await your next spanking. The -ees may certainly HATE the FoxTail team, but we ensure they ALL want to win for their school! We -ers can be quite motivational! So keep that in mind when I’m chastising you: you want to bear it well--wear it well, as we say. There are plenty of other punishments than just spankings. You’ll learn a lot of them. Okay--up, Little! Stand!”
Aimee stood, and to her horror, the paper came with her! The moisture--the lubrication from her vagina had wet the newsprint, and it stuck, rising with her making a horrid crinkle sound in the waiting silence.
“Oh no, Little!” Cried Cassie in mock horror. “Our vagina is enthusiastic about our spanking! I guess we have to keep going to see how much she wants. Surely she’ll dry up when the discomfort gets bad enough . . . won’t she?”
The stunning humiliation blasted through Aimee’s composure like a wrecking ball. The paper was taken away, laid out so the wet spot was visible, and over her Big’s lap she went. Now the spanks came faster--not really harder--but hard enough--she gasped and moaned and cried--tears flowed.
She sat again, and Cassi was delighted when, again, an even bigger wet spot drew the newsprint up with her.
She moaned the third time and sobbed in Cassi’s arms--Cassi however, put her through it a couple more times--the damp spot getting wider and wider.
Weeping, she was held by Cassi as a girl photographed her “newsprint butt,” where the lubrication had drawn enough of the ink to leave legible elements of the paper marked on her pink-red curves.
She wept, and was comforted by her Big.
“Now the real fun begins,” Cassi said.
The “Tap” came for Aimee about four hours later in the student center. She was in the quiet study lounge with comfortable nooks and stern posters showing bespectacled women holding up fingers to their lips. She was reading through her history homework when someone put a hand on her shoulder.
She looked up. Two girls--upperclassmen--were standing there behind her. One had a tablet she was clicking something on. The other was a gorgeous, surprisingly tall, blonde. She smiled brilliantly at Aimee.
“Aimee Trayer?” She asked. Her voice was normal--something that could get you reprimanded in the quiet lounge. Clearly she wasn’t concerned.
“Yes?” Aimee said, momentarily thrown.
“Good! Come with me. We have an appointment.”
Aimee paused for a moment, feeling an electric chill through her. Was this it? Was this the Foxtails Team?
She pushed back and shoveled her book into her backpack.
She got up, quickly, checking her space (leaving a mess could also get you reprimanded).
The girl with the tablet nodded to her friend, apparently closing out whatever program she was running.
The tall girl nodded ushering Aimee towards one of the doors. She moved across the room, feeling the prefect-on-duty’s eyes follow them. Out through the door and into the hall, she paused to turn, questions racing through her mind.
“We have a private room reserved up here,” said the tall girl. “I’m Cassandra--Cassi. I’ll explain everything there.” Her voice was friendly, maybe even bubbly. The other girl leaned in and said something softly to Cassi and the taller girl waved her off. Cassi set off and Aimee followed behind her. Up a flight of stairs and down a quiet, carpeted hall with doors with letters marked by them. Private Room D opened with Cassi’s student card and she stepped in, turning to let Aimee enter. Aimee stopped at the threshold.
It was a small meeting room with a round table in the middle, a couple of tall cabinets, a TV and video player on a cart against one wall. Cassi stepped around and pulled a chair out.
“Sit here,” she said. She flashed her brilliant smile at Aimee. Aimee paused--and then came forward and, with some trepidation, slid into the seat.
Rather than taking her own seat, Cassi put her hands gently on Aimee’s shoulders. “Watch this,” she said. “Then we’ll talk.”
Aimee watched the screen come on, the ancient VCR coming to life. It had been on when they’d walked in. Now it was playing.scan-lines and static played on the screen. Block letters read RECOVERY.
The sound was turned down, but Aimee could hear a chorus of sobs, whimpers, and moans.
The camera swung from a tan wall to what was a locker-room. There were pallets on the floor with girls--naked from the bottom of crop-top shirts down to socks and sneakers lay on their stomachs, sobbing into their arms. Girls wearing orange and red cheerleader style outfits and white nurses caps were moving about, tending to the girls. They had been punished. Their buttocks were swollen--but not uniformly.
Some had crisscrossing marks of welts. Others had blotchy red and pink marks over the crest and down their thighs, wrapping the backs and inner areas. Buttocks showed bruising,One girl had bare feet and Aimee could see faint pink lines across the soles. A nurse girl was applying medicine from soaked swabs held in clamps along “train-tracks” lines of bruising and welts, Aimee thought must have come from a cane.
In a tiled bathroom, two nurses held a punished girl so she could urinate into a bedpan. The girl moaned as she peed, and Aimee could see her vulva was swollen--angry red. The girl looked up, the camera capturing a misery so intense she didn’t seem to care about being filmed! Aimee held her breath.
The video stopped.
Cassi drew Aimee’s hair back gently gathering it. “These are the -ees after a meet. You can see it’s been quite a trial for our spankees--and while, for most of them, the worst is over, the entire ordeal isn’t done yet. You’re going to be on that floor several times over.” She stroked and straightened Aimee’s hair from behind.
“It won’t be fun--but I’ll be taking care of you as your Big.”
Aimee felt a warm shock through her--her Big! She turned, looking up at Cassi, this time looking into the girl’s eyes (sparkling blue), her bright face and warm smile. Aimee felt her nethers clench and she felt like she was far younger and more awkward than this tall, beautiful, mature looking young woman!
Cassi smiled sympathetically at her. “You’re my Little,” she said. “You’ve applied for a sisterhood and been accepted.” She bent down and kissed Aimee on the lips. Aimee could smell the clean scent of the older girl and get hints of the tastes of her lip-gloss. She swallowed.
“Your Little,” Aimee repeated.
Cassi nodded! “My little! Which means, I get to order you to do things and you have to do them! Or else face consequences. We take our responsibilities and hierarchy very seriously! It takes some getting used to--you’ve been thinking you’re out on your own, becoming a Young Adult in pursuit of your own destiny--but the path you’ve chosen means you’re going to be under my supervision for the next two years!
Cassi’s smile suggested she found the information both appalling and delicious in equal measure. “I can tell you I had issues with my own Big! Dire ones! But now we are the best of friends, and when I leave Foxtail, I will join her again!”
Aimee nodded, more in acceptance than agreement. “Yes . . . ma’am?”
Cassi grinned. “It’ll work--we have other terms we’ll get to, for now, I want to welcome you to the Foxtail Spanking Team. Please disrobe.”
Aimee startled. “Dis-disrobe? Cassi--”
“Everything off!” she laughed. “I want to see my full Little, my new pair of buttocks, my vagina! My new nipples!” She clapped her hands, shockingly loudly in the small room. Aimee stood, and began to reluctantly remove her clothing.
Cassi watched with a mix of amusement and judgmental impatience. When Aimee stood in her panties, arms covering her breasts, Cassie nodded encouragingly.
“If you want to leave those up,” she said with mock indulgence, “I will have a special treat of a lesson for you.”
Aimee groaned and took them down. She realized she felt dreadfully self-conscious--painfully aware of every small imperfection and blemish… how inadequate her toning and skin care was compared to the magnificent Cassi! And jealous! And resentful! Cassi was enjoying this completely, thrilled at the authority she had over her Little! Uhhh!,
Cassi’s smile widened. She came forward, running her fingers from Aimee’s collarbone, over her shoulders, and down her arms. Her hands moved down Aimee’s bare soft skin below her ribs and down to her hips. She shuddered.
“It’s okay to be a little scared,” Cassi said. “Meeting your Big is a . . . significant step. And being on the Foxtails is wonderful--but, there;s going to be a lot to cry about too! You cried for Professor Pearson, didn’t you?”
The little dig was meant to humiliate her and it did. Amiee imagined Mrs. Pearson reporting that New Girl Aimee had blubbered under her punishment and all the authoritative girls being so satisfied with how much fun a weak and emotional girl would be to toy with!
Now Cassi stood close, her blouse against Aimee’s bare breasts, her hands encircling Aimee to each grip a buttock, her fingers within Aimee’s rear cleft.
“Y-yes,” Aimee said, a flush of shame on top of her embarrassment.
“You must have been fetching,” Cassi praised her. Her hands pulled and Aimee was drawn in closer. Blushing, Aimee looked away, her head against Cassi. “Turn so I can kiss you--always make yourself available to me,” Cassi purred.
Aimee’s discomfort was hard to pin down. She wasn’t . . . she wasn’t repulsed by Cassi--but the girl’s dominating claim on her made her bristle! She didn’t want to just give in like that--and the video of the -ees after their ‘meet’ had unsettled her.
They’d suffered real punishment! That wasn’t just a friendly sleep-over game or even the sharp, painful, but mostly humiliating correction Mrs. Pearson had administered!
She turned her head away. “I’m not--I’m not like that,” she stammered.
Cassi laughed. “In the olden days, apprentice boys were expected to give their bottoms up to their masters. They weren’t expected to like it!” She turned Aimee’s head back to her and again kissed her on the lips. Aimee felt naked and off balance--she did allow the kiss, returning it. The condition of her waxed pussy made her feel especially vulnerable.
Cassi pulled her head back, hands still gripping Aimee’s buttocks, eyes still sparkling with delight.
“We’ll work on the kissing,” she said. “Now, we have something else to do.” She took Aimee’s hand. “Come--”
“My clothes!” Aimee was horrified--”I’m naked!”
“You are going to be naked a good deal of the time,” Cassi said. “Littles have been walked across campus, nude and leashed. If you want, I could do that to you now!”
Aimee gasped at the thought--but she let Cassi lead her out into the hall. It was quiet and empty. Aimee was terrified they would turn towards the stairs but they continued further down the hall to another door with a black coating over the inside of its rectangular window.
Cassi opened it, and like a seal breaking, she heard loud, wet sobs. Cassi led her in. The sobbing girl was more than curvy--she was outright fat--and she had two tattoos--a curly one on the small of her back, and what looked like a rose on her inner thigh. She was nude, bound over a padded ottoman-like device, and her ample buttocks and thighs were crisscrossed with fine red lines of tiny welts.
Two dressed girls sat by her, one pushing the pointed toe of her heels into the blubbering girl’s vagina. Aimee could smell an awful fish-scent.
Tattoos were forbidden at Foxtail, Aimee stared at the girl. “This miserable moppet is Tanya, on loan from the Farburry Correctional System,” said one of the seated girls by way of introduction. “The judge assigned her some sisterly counseling and support so she’ll be joining us for Meets and other events!
The other girl--the one with her shoe casually violating Tanya--gave her a little kick as she pulled her foot back and leaned forward to rub a small pinch of salt in her palm over the glistening marks of the lash.
Tanya howled and the first girl moved forward to stroke her hair,
“We’re improving!” she told the wailing girl, warmly. To Cassi, “Last time there were all kinds of swear-words! The mouth treatment seems to have worked!”
More wails from Tanya.
“We’ll have to address the smell though,” said the girl. “The correctional facility doesn’t enforce hygiene as much as it should!” The cries were mixed with a new rush of tears and both girls turned to Cassi and Aimee,
“Your Little?” the one with the salt asked.
“My Little!” Smiled Cassi brightly. She rubbed her hand down Aimee’s back to her bottom. “Isn’t she adorable?”
They laughed and agreed, ignoring the heavy girl’s moans.
“A getting-to-know-you spanking?” The girl with the salt asked.
“I think my Little needs a lesson in her own nature,” Cassi said, her hand rubbing up and down Aimee’s spine. The close attention felt wonderful despite the humiliation, violation and exposure. “We can do it over here--we have bird-cage liner?” She laughed.
“Plenty,” said salt-girl. Her shoe with its pointed toe had found its way back to the wet spread of Tanya’s vagina and was nosing into her private channel again.
Cassi placed her hands on Aimee’s shoulders and turned her towards where another set of chairs. On the table was a stack of folded newspapers--the campus Fox Trail. Cassi guided the girl to an armless chair and sat.
“Over my lap,” she said, her voice inviting, perhaps even comforting. Aimee wasn’t comforted, but she lowered herself and climbed over the girl’s lap. She heard a loud report and a yowl from the fat girl. The two Spanking Team Spankers were applying something unpleasant to her anatomy. She heard them giggle as they spoke quietly to their prey.
“We have rules about positioning for over a lap--well, for everything, really. Our FoxTails are held to a high standard! Hands out straight, off the ground. Now, arch your back to push your bottom up. Good!”
She patted Aimee’s bottom. “Now roll your hips a little--pout that cute little bottom out--pout it! Someone behind you should be able to see your peach clearly!”
Aimee gasped in humiliation, but did as she was told.
“Now, spread those thighs. I should be able to reach down and touch your intimate places. I should have a clear view of your anus!”
That got an actual moan. She could hear the soft yelps of the heavy girl--and the sound of snuffling pleading.The sound of spanks was soft and intermittent--but whatever she was suffering, it sounded . . .. bad--and intimate.
“Okay! Now, I’m going to give you 12 spanks--and then we’ll see!”
“S-see what?”
“See what, Big?” Cassi coaxed, rubbing her buttocks.
“S-see what, B-big?” she asked.
“How my Little is doing.” Cassi’s elegant hand rubbed gently at Aimee’s buttocks. “Don’t fret, there may be tears, but I’ll see you through it. Trust me, you’re getting a better initiation than Little Candace! Her Big is your RA--Carly! And she’s getting a long, lush lesson on who is in charge of her vagina and how embarrassing it is to need adult supervision to use the potty!”
Ugghhh! Aimee winced thinking of the awful procedure in the clinic but still feeling pleased and satisfied Candace was getting what she needed. Oh… would people feel the same thing about her humiliation?!.
She didn’t have much time to think about it. The spanking began.
Pow! Pow! The swats landed crisply with a slightly cupped hand. She winced and gasped--they weren’t over-hard but her backside felt unusually tender. The embarrassment of the position--the feeling of exposure and vulnerability amplified the discomfort!
Pow! Pow! Pow! POW! Left and right, the blows becoming steadily harder. Her buttocks quivered. She gasped in pain, her hands stretched out, quivering as she held position.
POW! POW! A hard slap to each buttock and she felt breath exit her lips. Fingers glided down the crest of her bottom, along the top curve of her anal cleft. The caress gave her shivers.
“Two more!” WHAP! WHAP!
That drew a small cry. Tears stung her eyes--more from the helplessness and the intense humiliation than the pain--but the pain was what made her state unendurable--the injury to which the insult of her position was added. She sniffled.
“Stand up!” Cassi commanded. “Hands to the small of your back. No rubbing!”
Aimee struggled up--she was awkward. A glance at the heavy girl showed one of the two had something in her hand that was being inserted, slowly into the tied girl's vagina. The other one knelt by her head, stroking her hair and speaking comfortingly to the sobbing girl.
Cassi stood and stepped over to where the campus newspaper was staked. She took one and extracted the top, thin newsprint.
She placed it on the cushion of a chair.
“Sit--right in the center of the seat.”
Aimee looked at the newsprint. Birdcage liner. She glanced at Cassi as she sat. The spanking had certainly smarted--but sitting on a cushioned chair wasn’t a trial. The newspaper wasn’t comfortable--but it wasn’t painful.
Cassi took a small hourglass--looking like something from a board game, and set it on the table so that white sand fell. About . . . 30 seconds?
“When that is up, you’re to stand, and we’ll see if we’re done with this part!”
“Yes, Big,” Aimee said. Cassie smiled brilliantly!
“My Little is learning!” She tousled Aimee’s hair. “During a meet, you’re to take your punishment as stoically as possible. Tears are fine. Sniffles are fine. The judges may mark down anything more--but outside of actual yowls and loud cries, you won’t ‘fault.’ Breaking position WILL get a fault and you don’t want that!
“If you bear up your punishment well, you’ll be returned to the queue to await your next spanking. The -ees may certainly HATE the FoxTail team, but we ensure they ALL want to win for their school! We -ers can be quite motivational! So keep that in mind when I’m chastising you: you want to bear it well--wear it well, as we say. There are plenty of other punishments than just spankings. You’ll learn a lot of them. Okay--up, Little! Stand!”
Aimee stood, and to her horror, the paper came with her! The moisture--the lubrication from her vagina had wet the newsprint, and it stuck, rising with her making a horrid crinkle sound in the waiting silence.
“Oh no, Little!” Cried Cassie in mock horror. “Our vagina is enthusiastic about our spanking! I guess we have to keep going to see how much she wants. Surely she’ll dry up when the discomfort gets bad enough . . . won’t she?”
The stunning humiliation blasted through Aimee’s composure like a wrecking ball. The paper was taken away, laid out so the wet spot was visible, and over her Big’s lap she went. Now the spanks came faster--not really harder--but hard enough--she gasped and moaned and cried--tears flowed.
She sat again, and Cassi was delighted when, again, an even bigger wet spot drew the newsprint up with her.
She moaned the third time and sobbed in Cassi’s arms--Cassi however, put her through it a couple more times--the damp spot getting wider and wider.
Weeping, she was held by Cassi as a girl photographed her “newsprint butt,” where the lubrication had drawn enough of the ink to leave legible elements of the paper marked on her pink-red curves.
She wept, and was comforted by her Big.
“Now the real fun begins,” Cassi said.
Re: The College Spanking Team Part 01
Aimee’s Private Study Time
“Can’t,” Aimee told Rebecca. They were going to get coffee before her next Freshman Lit. “I need to study.”
Rebecca gave her a look that was half eye-roll and half warning, but didn’t otherwise challenge her. There were, after all, the rest of the Lit group present who had no idea what was going on. “Well, see you there,” she said.
“Yep. See ya.” Aimee nodded and waited for the girls to head off to the Campus Bean. When they were gone, Aimee turned and walked, going from a nonchalant stroll to a rushing ‘power walk’ that she was terribly afraid gave her away.
Alone time in the middle of the day was a precious and limited resource. There were things she couldn’t do--that she had to do!--in the bathrooms or the showers, that were only possible alone in her dormitory. Every minute wasted on the campus sidewalk was a minute she needed to take care of the ruthless tension her experience in Mrs. Pearson’s office had ignited in her.
She was up the stairs, down the hall, and to her dorm room door, breathing a little hard, blushing with the mortifying fear that someone would look at her and think, ‘There goes a girl rushing to masturbate.’
Was it obvious? She assured herself no one could tell! Why would they assume something like that…? Did her face betray it? Or the faint tension with which she walked?
A wretched combination of eagerness and annoyance drove her to her bed, climbing into it, drawing down her shorts and underpants and then moving her hand to the feverish, needy split between her thighs. There she stopped and closed her eyes, and breathed.
She lay with her legs as wide apart as the narrow twin bed would allow -- one up against the wall. The more exposed and vulnerable she felt, the more powerful it was, the more satisfying. Urgency and tension flared down there, but instead of moving her fingers quickly to resolve it, she forced herself to be still.
Aimee closed her eyes and let her mind focus on the tight pulse of sexual ‘itch’ she’d been suffering every day since her ‘interview.’ She would awaken from feverish, half-remembered dreams, and the itch was there.
She would shower and dress, constantly aware of the annoying need kindling in her private region. Instead of going away when she was out of the dorm, she found her mind sliding to memories of her humiliation in Mrs. Pearson’s office. One moment she’d be in a lecture hall, listening to a history seminar and the next, she’d be remembering the helpless, awkward naked position as she waited in the hall! Or the crushing, infuriating shame of the Professor wiping leaked lubrication from her private opening!
She’d taken to wearing panty liners, since the alternative was to change underpants in the bathroom and torment herself with the thought of someone noticing how distracted, overheated, and wet she was!
There was the spanking, itself. Naked, powerless, defeated and controlled, she’d felt helpless and overwhelmed, across the lady’s lap. Each swat exploded with a burning flash of heat and an emotional shriek of humiliation. Her tears had further undermined her; she’d felt emotionally out of control, melting down and sobbing as she was spanked. The woman had effortlessly unwound her!
Aimee felt these memories ought to have pushed her to run away! They should have strengthened a resolve to quit the team! Or even transfer schools! They should have, but instead, they tortured her in a different way. First and foremost, they demanded she address the tension and pressure they created. And secondly, they inflamed her curiosity about the Spanking Team and the girls on it.
Now, alone in her dormitory, she could address both needs at once. Her hand lingered lightly between her legs, touching her shameful places, feeling little bodily shrieks of pleasure as her sex demanded she rub harder and faster -- and a sense of wicked satisfaction as, instead of doing so, she opened her phone.
She was looking for information on the Foxtail Spanking Team--but not looking specifically from Foxtail accounts. Her hand rested beside her exposed vulva as she intentionally ignored the naked organ’s insistent demands. Suffer, she told it nastily. Being unable to address the frustrating itch was intolerable in a lecture hall. Here, the special torture perversely hightened her enjoyment of her ‘private study time!’
She focused on her phone; there were two types of search results about the punishment regime.
The first were a variety of complaint posts from those subject to those punishments and some fairly lurid stories that she didn’t know whether to believe or not.
One girl complained about the use of a hot pepper inserted into her vagina prior to a caning! She didn’t describe it in detail, but it sounded like she considered herself something of a ‘tough girl’ and had intended to ‘take’ the caning -- something that was completely impossible with the chemical burn in her most delicate channel! It sounded like she’d melted into a sobbing puddle in front of her teachers!
Another student wrote about a paste rubbed over her anus that caused intense merciless itching. She was looking for emotional support and comfort because the memory of her punishment was still tormenting her weeks later. She described the mortifying torture of being spanked first -- hard enough and long enough to leave her stinging and sore and close to tears -- and then she was made to put on tights that pressed her buttocks together, the pressure and heat turning what had been ‘discomfort’ into an ‘emergency!’ On top of that the young woman--who had found tears impossible to hold back at that point--had been made to pull on tight jeans that were fastened closed with a thick leather belt and a padlock!
Crying had turned into teary begging for mercy, but the teachers had denied even her most degrading supplications and she had suffered through the rest of the day unable to get any relief between her buttocks. She limped back to the admin building, contrite and completely humbled. By the time she returned before her punishers, she had been utterly defeated, confessing all her contrition and asking meekly and without pride to be allowed to undress so the awful, sizzling paste could be removed.
Both of those stories horrified and even infuriated Aimee, and yet the thought of girls like her stripped of their dignity and made to submit despite their awful desire to assert themselves made her sex scream for attention and she was unable to fully deny it.
She started petting her wetting slit, running her fingers along the pulsing opening, even starting to touch her clitoris, making her gasp and squirm. Still, she refused to fully indulge it. Not yet, she thought at that little beacon of urgency. She wasn’t ‘ready’ yet -- there was more to learn!
The Team itself was mostly mentioned obliquely. There were no first-hand accounts she could find from anyone who had been sent to a “Meet.” Friends of team members spoke on behalf of their punished compatriots, describing outrage that they had been laid up for ‘days’ after a session and reporting that they were being “silenced” about the event’s details.
It seemed that while there were not good accounts of a Spanking Team meeting. Based on what their friends said, it sounded like, for many subjects, they changed their approach to school, knuckling down and limiting their more frivolous pursuits. There were also some ominous reports of those sent getting into more serious relationships--some same sex, most traditional--with students considerably higher in the school’s hierarchy..
The girls sentenced to the spanking team were more obedient, more disciplined. Better behaved. Thinking about that and imaging Rebecca, Candace, or herself experiencing those effects against their wills and their natures made her squirm and forced her fingers to work harder.
Aimee’s legs spread wider and her fingers moved in small, insistent circles on the erect little nub of her clit. She felt an orgasm, powerful and insistent, starting to build.
She continued seeking information. Spanking Teams were, for the most part, a girl’s school affair.There were boy’s schools and mixed schools in the network (as far as she could tell: there was nothing official) but there were conjectures that girls would wind up engaged to boys who it was speculated, had been the -ers on their team (to their -ees).
The intimacy of the relationship between spanker and spankee seemed like fertile ground for romance to flourish. The thought of going over a boy’s lap--of her buttocks and the dark crescent between them, under them, being seen by a young man made her whimper. How was it that the worse the humiliation, the wetter and more eager her opening became!? What was wrong with her!?
The other reports were far more positive about the punishment policies. These were social media posts from mothers who felt their daughters had benefited greatly--and there were some collections of posts from graduates of the specific schools that hypothesized the girls were Spankers on the teams.
These compilations showed girls hanging with their friends (Instagram pictures) with a focus on their backsides and in-jokes or smiling laughter about something not-quite-clear. Apparently, the girls in that elite sorority got access to a network of especially good jobs and starting roles at the companies they applied to. This was seen as both a wonderful opportunity for committed young women and hideously unfair by their detractors.
Aimee looked at a particularly focused picture of a bikini-clad bottom, the brightly smiling latina bent forward, looking back over her shoulder at the camera. She was about to dive into a sparkling pool of water in some exotic country she was vacationing to. The picture showed faint hints of cleft on her rear and a depression of camel toe visible from behind her. There was a lack of dignity to the picture and a blush in the girl’s cheeks and eyes that made Aimee somehow sure she had been ordered to assume the position. An act of dominance that at once amused her, aroused her, and very obviously embarrassed her.
Another picture was three girls standing together arm in arm at an upscale bar somewhere in the city. They were smiling brilliantly, and she could see that their hands cupped the center girl’s buttocks. The girl’s rear, cloaked in a blue dress, was visible in a reflection and the other’s hands were visible cupping and holding her nates. The position wasn’t otherwise overtly sexual but there was something in the center-girl’s smile that suggested embarrassment and discomfort as well as high spirits camaraderie. A girl under the domination of her two Sisters, even in public. She imagined them teasing her about what fate awaited her up in the hotel room above, making her blush and squirm as she considered the ordeals in her future!
There were pictures of “sorority paddles” decorated with multiple colors and designs. Although mostly meant for the Greek sororities, they were clearly given out in the “Spanking Team Schools.” She looked at them, her eyes tracing the interesting designs and hearts and spirals. What would it be like to face a girl a little older than her with the authority to use something like that!? How effortlessly could a few strokes from such an instrument break her?
The thought of herself, bent over, presenting her buttocks to something so ‘sound’ robbed her of the rest of her self control and she moaned and closed her eyes, letting her fingers go as they pleased, polishing he exposed clitoris mercilessly as they drove her toward orgasm.
Her naked legs squirmed, her hips rolled obscenely. The orgasm was coming like a freight train, unstoppable now, and she let her mind search for the scenario that would carry her over the edge. On other days it had been Mrs. Pearson spanking her--a powerful memory that had her hips bucking in time with the remembered swats as she came. She also used stories she had read--being dominated by powerful young women ahead of her in school, or even fantasies about being spanked by a young man from a nearby institution--the more intolerable and devastating, the better!
But this afternoon, her imagination took her to her friend, Candace. Candace whose sexual disgrace over Mrs. Pearson’s lap had been so intense and complete she had been locked in restrictive ‘chastity pants’ so powerful she needed supervision to remove them to pee!
She cared deeply for the girl and experienced outrage and pity on her behalf… but here, alone in her dormitory, legs spread, her naked sex pressed forward into her working fingers, the utter degradation of Candace’s caged condition thrilled her.
Oh, how dreadful was it to be unable to relieve the diabolical itch Candace must be suffering?! She tried to imagine what it would be like to need to orgasm so badly and to find herself unable to--it would be utterly maddening. Devastating. She knew that was the case--since her interview, Candace had been visibly uncomfortable. Pissy. Squirmy. Embarrassed dreadfully by her situation and dreading that anyone would know!
Her trips to the bathroom required a stop at the RA’s door… Aimee tried to imagine the complete indignity her friend faced having to ask permission and the, even worse, having to present herself to have the infernal device removed.
The thought of having her locking panties examined by an authority, the level of lubrication and discharge observed was withering! Aimee was sure she would die of embarrassment if anyone saw her own inflamed region… How much worse must Candace’s be!?
And the complete humiliation must build and build with no ‘afternoon study session’ to relieve it!
As her own orgasm (every bit as forbidden as Candace’s) rose in her, she imagined her friend laying face up, her knees pulled back and spread so that every private, shameful part of her was on display and no hope of hiding was given. She imagined Candace breathless with self-consciousness and merciless embarrassment as she was examined, scolded for being wet and dirty--forced to endure an intimate, degrading cleaning that was a mix of hygiene, punishment and teasing masturbation!
But what she held out for, holding her orgasm until it was unbearable to do so, for was the awful, image of the woman in charge seeing how utterly desperate poor Candace was to cum, how utterly subdued and defeated by her own need she was… and then, without mercy, closing the chastity panty over that sweltering, begging organ, consigning it back to utter frustration!
It was the thought of Candace’s utter sexual misery and erotic despair that thrilled her over the edge. I’m sorry, Candace, she thought as she pulled her pillow over her face and screamed into it, her own organ exploding with orgasm and relief!
The white-hot images of Candace moaning and crying, her fingers touching the curve of the chastity pants, seeking any possibility of comfort or relief for the suffering organ under them… and finding nothing! She imagined Cadace’s hips moving in a helpless, involuntary thrust as her body demanded release… degrading and humiliating herself in defeat… and it was all the more delicious because she was sure these images were real.
Aimee lay sprawled, gasping, chest rising and falling as if she’d just run a race! The awful itch, urgency and pressure were gone. Not completely, maybe--they were still there in the background, tempting her to continue her research and have a second ‘session!’ It was tempting--there was so much more she could discover… explore. But now, after her release, the thought of what might happen if she were caught terrified her instead of tantalizing her.
The Mrs. Pearson extracting her masturbation practices from her was unbearably awful in a way that scared her and forced her to forgo it. Which was fortunate, for she was dressed, and mostly presentable, when there came a knock at the door.
Author's Note: I have a book set in this world https://books2read.com/u/mdkreE
Also a Patreon with illustrated stories: https://www.patreon.com/Sanzas
“Can’t,” Aimee told Rebecca. They were going to get coffee before her next Freshman Lit. “I need to study.”
Rebecca gave her a look that was half eye-roll and half warning, but didn’t otherwise challenge her. There were, after all, the rest of the Lit group present who had no idea what was going on. “Well, see you there,” she said.
“Yep. See ya.” Aimee nodded and waited for the girls to head off to the Campus Bean. When they were gone, Aimee turned and walked, going from a nonchalant stroll to a rushing ‘power walk’ that she was terribly afraid gave her away.
Alone time in the middle of the day was a precious and limited resource. There were things she couldn’t do--that she had to do!--in the bathrooms or the showers, that were only possible alone in her dormitory. Every minute wasted on the campus sidewalk was a minute she needed to take care of the ruthless tension her experience in Mrs. Pearson’s office had ignited in her.
She was up the stairs, down the hall, and to her dorm room door, breathing a little hard, blushing with the mortifying fear that someone would look at her and think, ‘There goes a girl rushing to masturbate.’
Was it obvious? She assured herself no one could tell! Why would they assume something like that…? Did her face betray it? Or the faint tension with which she walked?
A wretched combination of eagerness and annoyance drove her to her bed, climbing into it, drawing down her shorts and underpants and then moving her hand to the feverish, needy split between her thighs. There she stopped and closed her eyes, and breathed.
She lay with her legs as wide apart as the narrow twin bed would allow -- one up against the wall. The more exposed and vulnerable she felt, the more powerful it was, the more satisfying. Urgency and tension flared down there, but instead of moving her fingers quickly to resolve it, she forced herself to be still.
Aimee closed her eyes and let her mind focus on the tight pulse of sexual ‘itch’ she’d been suffering every day since her ‘interview.’ She would awaken from feverish, half-remembered dreams, and the itch was there.
She would shower and dress, constantly aware of the annoying need kindling in her private region. Instead of going away when she was out of the dorm, she found her mind sliding to memories of her humiliation in Mrs. Pearson’s office. One moment she’d be in a lecture hall, listening to a history seminar and the next, she’d be remembering the helpless, awkward naked position as she waited in the hall! Or the crushing, infuriating shame of the Professor wiping leaked lubrication from her private opening!
She’d taken to wearing panty liners, since the alternative was to change underpants in the bathroom and torment herself with the thought of someone noticing how distracted, overheated, and wet she was!
There was the spanking, itself. Naked, powerless, defeated and controlled, she’d felt helpless and overwhelmed, across the lady’s lap. Each swat exploded with a burning flash of heat and an emotional shriek of humiliation. Her tears had further undermined her; she’d felt emotionally out of control, melting down and sobbing as she was spanked. The woman had effortlessly unwound her!
Aimee felt these memories ought to have pushed her to run away! They should have strengthened a resolve to quit the team! Or even transfer schools! They should have, but instead, they tortured her in a different way. First and foremost, they demanded she address the tension and pressure they created. And secondly, they inflamed her curiosity about the Spanking Team and the girls on it.
Now, alone in her dormitory, she could address both needs at once. Her hand lingered lightly between her legs, touching her shameful places, feeling little bodily shrieks of pleasure as her sex demanded she rub harder and faster -- and a sense of wicked satisfaction as, instead of doing so, she opened her phone.
She was looking for information on the Foxtail Spanking Team--but not looking specifically from Foxtail accounts. Her hand rested beside her exposed vulva as she intentionally ignored the naked organ’s insistent demands. Suffer, she told it nastily. Being unable to address the frustrating itch was intolerable in a lecture hall. Here, the special torture perversely hightened her enjoyment of her ‘private study time!’
She focused on her phone; there were two types of search results about the punishment regime.
The first were a variety of complaint posts from those subject to those punishments and some fairly lurid stories that she didn’t know whether to believe or not.
One girl complained about the use of a hot pepper inserted into her vagina prior to a caning! She didn’t describe it in detail, but it sounded like she considered herself something of a ‘tough girl’ and had intended to ‘take’ the caning -- something that was completely impossible with the chemical burn in her most delicate channel! It sounded like she’d melted into a sobbing puddle in front of her teachers!
Another student wrote about a paste rubbed over her anus that caused intense merciless itching. She was looking for emotional support and comfort because the memory of her punishment was still tormenting her weeks later. She described the mortifying torture of being spanked first -- hard enough and long enough to leave her stinging and sore and close to tears -- and then she was made to put on tights that pressed her buttocks together, the pressure and heat turning what had been ‘discomfort’ into an ‘emergency!’ On top of that the young woman--who had found tears impossible to hold back at that point--had been made to pull on tight jeans that were fastened closed with a thick leather belt and a padlock!
Crying had turned into teary begging for mercy, but the teachers had denied even her most degrading supplications and she had suffered through the rest of the day unable to get any relief between her buttocks. She limped back to the admin building, contrite and completely humbled. By the time she returned before her punishers, she had been utterly defeated, confessing all her contrition and asking meekly and without pride to be allowed to undress so the awful, sizzling paste could be removed.
Both of those stories horrified and even infuriated Aimee, and yet the thought of girls like her stripped of their dignity and made to submit despite their awful desire to assert themselves made her sex scream for attention and she was unable to fully deny it.
She started petting her wetting slit, running her fingers along the pulsing opening, even starting to touch her clitoris, making her gasp and squirm. Still, she refused to fully indulge it. Not yet, she thought at that little beacon of urgency. She wasn’t ‘ready’ yet -- there was more to learn!
The Team itself was mostly mentioned obliquely. There were no first-hand accounts she could find from anyone who had been sent to a “Meet.” Friends of team members spoke on behalf of their punished compatriots, describing outrage that they had been laid up for ‘days’ after a session and reporting that they were being “silenced” about the event’s details.
It seemed that while there were not good accounts of a Spanking Team meeting. Based on what their friends said, it sounded like, for many subjects, they changed their approach to school, knuckling down and limiting their more frivolous pursuits. There were also some ominous reports of those sent getting into more serious relationships--some same sex, most traditional--with students considerably higher in the school’s hierarchy..
The girls sentenced to the spanking team were more obedient, more disciplined. Better behaved. Thinking about that and imaging Rebecca, Candace, or herself experiencing those effects against their wills and their natures made her squirm and forced her fingers to work harder.
Aimee’s legs spread wider and her fingers moved in small, insistent circles on the erect little nub of her clit. She felt an orgasm, powerful and insistent, starting to build.
She continued seeking information. Spanking Teams were, for the most part, a girl’s school affair.There were boy’s schools and mixed schools in the network (as far as she could tell: there was nothing official) but there were conjectures that girls would wind up engaged to boys who it was speculated, had been the -ers on their team (to their -ees).
The intimacy of the relationship between spanker and spankee seemed like fertile ground for romance to flourish. The thought of going over a boy’s lap--of her buttocks and the dark crescent between them, under them, being seen by a young man made her whimper. How was it that the worse the humiliation, the wetter and more eager her opening became!? What was wrong with her!?
The other reports were far more positive about the punishment policies. These were social media posts from mothers who felt their daughters had benefited greatly--and there were some collections of posts from graduates of the specific schools that hypothesized the girls were Spankers on the teams.
These compilations showed girls hanging with their friends (Instagram pictures) with a focus on their backsides and in-jokes or smiling laughter about something not-quite-clear. Apparently, the girls in that elite sorority got access to a network of especially good jobs and starting roles at the companies they applied to. This was seen as both a wonderful opportunity for committed young women and hideously unfair by their detractors.
Aimee looked at a particularly focused picture of a bikini-clad bottom, the brightly smiling latina bent forward, looking back over her shoulder at the camera. She was about to dive into a sparkling pool of water in some exotic country she was vacationing to. The picture showed faint hints of cleft on her rear and a depression of camel toe visible from behind her. There was a lack of dignity to the picture and a blush in the girl’s cheeks and eyes that made Aimee somehow sure she had been ordered to assume the position. An act of dominance that at once amused her, aroused her, and very obviously embarrassed her.
Another picture was three girls standing together arm in arm at an upscale bar somewhere in the city. They were smiling brilliantly, and she could see that their hands cupped the center girl’s buttocks. The girl’s rear, cloaked in a blue dress, was visible in a reflection and the other’s hands were visible cupping and holding her nates. The position wasn’t otherwise overtly sexual but there was something in the center-girl’s smile that suggested embarrassment and discomfort as well as high spirits camaraderie. A girl under the domination of her two Sisters, even in public. She imagined them teasing her about what fate awaited her up in the hotel room above, making her blush and squirm as she considered the ordeals in her future!
There were pictures of “sorority paddles” decorated with multiple colors and designs. Although mostly meant for the Greek sororities, they were clearly given out in the “Spanking Team Schools.” She looked at them, her eyes tracing the interesting designs and hearts and spirals. What would it be like to face a girl a little older than her with the authority to use something like that!? How effortlessly could a few strokes from such an instrument break her?
The thought of herself, bent over, presenting her buttocks to something so ‘sound’ robbed her of the rest of her self control and she moaned and closed her eyes, letting her fingers go as they pleased, polishing he exposed clitoris mercilessly as they drove her toward orgasm.
Her naked legs squirmed, her hips rolled obscenely. The orgasm was coming like a freight train, unstoppable now, and she let her mind search for the scenario that would carry her over the edge. On other days it had been Mrs. Pearson spanking her--a powerful memory that had her hips bucking in time with the remembered swats as she came. She also used stories she had read--being dominated by powerful young women ahead of her in school, or even fantasies about being spanked by a young man from a nearby institution--the more intolerable and devastating, the better!
But this afternoon, her imagination took her to her friend, Candace. Candace whose sexual disgrace over Mrs. Pearson’s lap had been so intense and complete she had been locked in restrictive ‘chastity pants’ so powerful she needed supervision to remove them to pee!
She cared deeply for the girl and experienced outrage and pity on her behalf… but here, alone in her dormitory, legs spread, her naked sex pressed forward into her working fingers, the utter degradation of Candace’s caged condition thrilled her.
Oh, how dreadful was it to be unable to relieve the diabolical itch Candace must be suffering?! She tried to imagine what it would be like to need to orgasm so badly and to find herself unable to--it would be utterly maddening. Devastating. She knew that was the case--since her interview, Candace had been visibly uncomfortable. Pissy. Squirmy. Embarrassed dreadfully by her situation and dreading that anyone would know!
Her trips to the bathroom required a stop at the RA’s door… Aimee tried to imagine the complete indignity her friend faced having to ask permission and the, even worse, having to present herself to have the infernal device removed.
The thought of having her locking panties examined by an authority, the level of lubrication and discharge observed was withering! Aimee was sure she would die of embarrassment if anyone saw her own inflamed region… How much worse must Candace’s be!?
And the complete humiliation must build and build with no ‘afternoon study session’ to relieve it!
As her own orgasm (every bit as forbidden as Candace’s) rose in her, she imagined her friend laying face up, her knees pulled back and spread so that every private, shameful part of her was on display and no hope of hiding was given. She imagined Candace breathless with self-consciousness and merciless embarrassment as she was examined, scolded for being wet and dirty--forced to endure an intimate, degrading cleaning that was a mix of hygiene, punishment and teasing masturbation!
But what she held out for, holding her orgasm until it was unbearable to do so, for was the awful, image of the woman in charge seeing how utterly desperate poor Candace was to cum, how utterly subdued and defeated by her own need she was… and then, without mercy, closing the chastity panty over that sweltering, begging organ, consigning it back to utter frustration!
It was the thought of Candace’s utter sexual misery and erotic despair that thrilled her over the edge. I’m sorry, Candace, she thought as she pulled her pillow over her face and screamed into it, her own organ exploding with orgasm and relief!
The white-hot images of Candace moaning and crying, her fingers touching the curve of the chastity pants, seeking any possibility of comfort or relief for the suffering organ under them… and finding nothing! She imagined Cadace’s hips moving in a helpless, involuntary thrust as her body demanded release… degrading and humiliating herself in defeat… and it was all the more delicious because she was sure these images were real.
Aimee lay sprawled, gasping, chest rising and falling as if she’d just run a race! The awful itch, urgency and pressure were gone. Not completely, maybe--they were still there in the background, tempting her to continue her research and have a second ‘session!’ It was tempting--there was so much more she could discover… explore. But now, after her release, the thought of what might happen if she were caught terrified her instead of tantalizing her.
The Mrs. Pearson extracting her masturbation practices from her was unbearably awful in a way that scared her and forced her to forgo it. Which was fortunate, for she was dressed, and mostly presentable, when there came a knock at the door.
Author's Note: I have a book set in this world https://books2read.com/u/mdkreE
Also a Patreon with illustrated stories: https://www.patreon.com/Sanzas
Re: The College Spanking Team Part 01
Aimee looked out of the windows of the school bus. She wore bright red high cut micro-mini shorts and an orange t-shirt with the FoxTails seal on it. She sat in the back with 8 other girls--including Tanya, an overweight girl who wasn’t a FoxTails student but was from a nearby young women's correctional facility who’d been loaned to the FoxTail’s Spanking Team.
Across from her, in silence, sat Candace, Aimee’s friend, who was also a FoxTail’s team applicant. To join the private but prodigious Spanking Team, the process was straightforward: Apply to the Faculty Sponsor, get “adopted” by a “Big Sister” on the team, and then you would have to attend all the Spanking Team “meets” for the year. That last part would prove the hardest.
Aimee’s heart was in her throat. She had been dressed out by Cassi, her Big Sister on the team or just her ‘Big,’ in the shorts and t-shirt and her ankle socks and sneakers. Now she rode in silence with the rest of the --ees. That was, as in, “Spankees.” The SpankERS were up front, laughing and talking. They were dressed like cheerleaders (the girls) plus three tall, handsome boys from the FoxTrot University (the boys school).
They were in high spirits, unlike the -ees in the back who were squirming uncomfortably in wretched silence. One girl, a pale red-head had already broken the no-talking rule, and wore a dog’s muzzle fastened onto her head with a muffle stuffed in her mouth so she both looked ridiculous and could only make soft plaintive noises. It was just after dark and the lights were on. Aimee’s stomach did a flip as the bus smoothly moved to an exit ramp and down, back into “civilization” again.
The venue was a high school gym. She could see the dark shapes of the otherwise closed school buildings. It wasn’t a ritzy area--even though FoxTails (and presumably, the other school they were competing against) was fairly exclusive. There was already one bus stopped in front of the two-story, looming gymnasium and Aimee could see several women--older than the college girls--in what looked to her like actual uniforms with jackets in pale pink and with insignia and actual epaulettes with understated filigree.
The bus’s brakes hissed to a stop and the on-board faculty member, the stern (if young, and pretty) Ms. Anderson, stood and clapped once for attention.
“--ers will exit the bus and move to the ready area. Ees will stand in a line, place your hands on the hips of the girl before you and wait to be called forward. There will be no talking and no disruption. You--” she addressed the spankees, “are all under punishment, and silence and contrition is expected. Tears will come later, I assure you. Now! Stand and assemble into your queue!”
The last was with a snap, and Aimee slid out of her seat and stood. Candace was in front of her and Aimee placed her hands on her friend's hips. Someone behind her was whimpering softly, but she didn’t dare turn her head.”
Candace, like Aimee, wasn’t exactly “sentenced” to the Intramural Spanking Team: both of them had applied to become ‘--ers.’ It turned out that in addition to getting a ‘Big’--a ‘Big Sister’ who was already on the team, you also had to attend a year of “meets.” This would be the first one, and they were both dreading it.
Of course life under her ‘Big’ hadn’t been comfortable either. Candace was constantly walking saddle-legged as her Big, their Residential Assistant, Carly, had decided that her ;Little,’ Candace, would benefit from receiving enemas on a weekly basis as a ‘maintenance’ punishment, and had administered several with unusual fluids that had Candace feeling an oozing discomfort back there.
The ‘ers’ had exited in high spirits and now, Ms. Anderson ordered the ‘ees’ forward, with a stern snap of her fingers. The spankees shuffled forwards and stepped down out of the bus, their hands on the hips of the girls ahead of them. Off the bus, the air was slightly brisk, and they could hear the sounds of city streets around them. One of the uniformed women took the first girl and directed her to follow.
The queue moved after her, somberly walking into the school and down the empty halls. The door to the gym was open with a WELCOME FOXTAILS sign posted. They filed in and moved into the directed locker-room.
Inside were three of the FoxTails Spankers, including Carly and Cassi, and three of the older uniformed women.
“Spankees,” said Cassi, standing on a wooden bench. “Come in and take seats where you’re directed. I’ll explain everything. Move it--move it,” she said, waving them in. Aimee and Candace turned to face the girls who were grinning with anticipation.
“Sit!” she ordered. They sat. “When I order you to disrobe, you will remove your shorts and panties--they will come straight off and will go into the brown paper bags in front of you. You will then sit. I want all of you to hold hands with the girl next to you!”
The girls reached out and took each other’s hands.
“Carly is handing out leg-warmers. Once you are bare-bottomed, you will put them on. We have them in FoxTail’s colors and in addition to keeping your legs warmed, you’ll be showing off your school spirit. It’s our spankees look!”
The girls squirmed listening to her as Carly came by placing two leg warmers next to each paper bag.
“Okay! Disrobe! Dress out!” Cassi commanded.
Now there were little sounds--soft moans, whimpers--sniffles. Carly squirmed as her shorts and panties came down. She toed her sneakers off and removed them, putting them into the bag. She moved quickly, not wanting to be last, but also in a hurry to obey before the torment of her dignity paralyzed her! The red head was sobbing softly into her muzzle, as Carly stood behind her, unbuckling it.
She pulled the leg-warmers on--they came up her bare legs to the knees--and they were thick. The t-shirt stopped before her hips, ensuring that her region was bare. All the girls had been thoroughly waxed and she felt intensely nude and vulnerable.
Her emotions had been building and fraying since last night, and it had gotten worse during the endless ride here. Resentment, anxiety, and embarrassment created a miserable stew in her stomach that seemed desperate to come out as sobbing cries. It took one look at the whimpering red-haired girl to know that a crying spankee would get extra attention--and not the comforting kind!
Cassi stepped back up. “Anyone still working on it will get a little extra!” she grinned--this was FUN for her. Aimee’s face flushed with anger and humiliation!
“Okay, girls, here are the rules. You will form up and follow the leader--Carly--out onto the floor. You will form up in a row of four and five, about three feet apart. You will stand with your legs shoulder length apart, hands behind your back, head up, tits out. The judges will be at a table in front and our other team, the Tamer Finishing Academy girls, will be to your left.”
“We’ll begin with some warm-up easy exercises and stretches. You will be graded on these--the Judges and our own proctors are playing attention. If you aren’t participating and giving it your best effort and we think so, you’ll get the disgrace punishment--which you don’t want. I’ll go into that in a moment!”
She smiled brightly! She was enjoying this. The bare bottomed spankees shifted uncomfortably on the wooden benches.
“As for the spanking itself, it’ll work like this: you’ll be put into a line for the FoxTails and the Tamer Spankees will be put into a line as well, next to you. When the buzzer goes off, the first girl in each line will hustle to the designated areas on the floor with two colored circles. You put one foot in each circle about double shoulder length. Hands on your head. Now, after the first round, you’ll be sore--you might even be crying--but you will get on that line, in the ready stance!”
“The Judges will call out an implement, and a location--and possibly a position. There will be a set of elements for you to straddle or bend over or otherwise put yourself on. You will HUSTLE to the indicated location and get in position. It might be as simple as “The Lunge Position” or over a Spanker’s lap--but whatever it is, you will move and get there. Being the last girl in position is points off!”
“Once you’re in position, the spanking will commence. Now, you all deserve this--it’s guaranteed to be unpleasant, but you are expected to take your punishment! Even if you’re sore--even if you’re sobbing--you are expected to get in position. There will be helper girls standing by and if you need help, it’s a few points off--but not too bad. We expect this to be hard for you--but if you are defiant? That’s a lot of points off--or even a trip to the disgrace box!”
“So we aren’t going to be defiant, are we girls?”
She waited in the silence.
“No, Miss,” Aimee said, in an embarrassingly squeak voice. The other spankees similarly intoned.
She nodded. “When you are spanked, you will go to the back of the line where helper-girls may administer some assistance--but, again, it’s expected to hurt: it’s punishment!” Her bright smile made Aimee wince. Ohh--she was decidedly enjoying this.
“When you are being chastised--spanked--you will be marked off for faulting. The Spanker may get points off for technique--including hitting too hard--but that’s not YOUR call to make! But for YOU, screaming too loudly, breaking position, and especially covering up or, even worse, getting out of the spanking or fighting, will be a serious fault. That’s a lot of points off for the team and, if it’s bad enough, you go to--you guessed it--the disgrace box!”
“So your job--and you are representing FoxTails, even as bad little girls, we expect school spirit and deportment out of you. This is going to be humiliating, uncomfortable, painful, and over all, highly unpleasant: it’s punishment and you all deserve it! But, I expect you to do your part for FoxTails--and tonight that means being disciplined with a moderate amount of school pride and school spirit!”
“We’re going to show that our bad little girls are better than the Tamer bad little girls! Aren't we?”
Now Aimee managed a stronger “Yes Miss!”
“Good brown-nosing, Spankee,” Cassi said--and Aimee shut her mouth, blushing badly. “Some of you may get a chance to learn why it’s called ‘brown nosing’! There’s two more things you need to be aware of: whichever team wins the match, based on the judge’s score, they get to punish the losing team--it’s pretty bad and I don’t want to be naked over a Tamer girl’s lap! Since we have some . . . after-meet authority over your punishments, I want you all to understand that YOU don’t want that either!”
“I also want to explain the disgrace box.” She came forward and sat down, facing them, her cheerleader’s skirt around her in contrast to their bare bottoms.
“Both schools have one--and they’re all a bit different--but FoxTails’ is the envy of the entire circuit. If you’re defiant or in the judge’s opinion faulting to try to sink the school, you’ll go to the disgrace box--there you’ll be bound snugly over a foam wedge and you’ll meet Miss Epharam’s little wonder! She was the first Spanking Team faculty sponsor and she introduced us to her Punishment Paste! Most meets go smoothly without anyone being sent to the disgrace box--but when it happens, the girl in question gets a Second Meet signed up for--and, trust me, girls: no one goes to the disgrace box twice!”
“We’re going to show you a 90 second film clip of a girl in the disgrace box--the actual film lasts almost 90 minutes--but as you’ll see, ninety seconds is enough for you to get the lesson.”
There is a click--the lights are turned off and a rectangle of a film projector appears on the beige wall. Aimee could hear the fluttering clicks of the film running. She squirmed. A girl, in the same uniform was standing facing a fully dressed stern woman, who was clearly livid with her. The older woman took a draught and, holding the college-girl’s nose poured it--forcing it down her throat. The girl flexed and coughed and gagged, bubbles around her lips and running down her chin.
“The drought paralyzes the vocal cords for an hour or so,” Cassi said. “So we don’t have to gag her to stop her from making noise. We mix it with a little soap for taste--or, if you swear, a lot of soap for an added lesson.”
The girl was laid down over a padded pallet. Her wrists were out in front, cuffed by thick, fur-lined leather cuffs with heavy inch-long chains to nails embedded in the wood. A padded bar about 6” above the rest of the pallet ran under her hips, raising them. And her ankles were similarly cuffed by two cheerleader-dressed FoxTail girls squatting and working efficiently. The girl on the trestle looked surly and scared and furious. Her buttocks were a mess of swollen reds and bruises. It was painful to look at--but she was clearly radiating defiance.
Once affixed, one of the senior, uniformed officers stepped forward and opened a stoneware basin. She wore rubber gloves--thick--over her hands and she lowered herself by the aft of the captive girl. She said something the silent film didn’t catch and then dipped fingers into the pot.
“We no longer use . . . “ Cassi said, softly. “That much.”
She came out with a thick dollop of a tan goop. From her expression on opening the container, it was clear the smell was an assault. She held the container and the goop on her fingers well away from her.
“She’s wearing medical rubber gloves under the dish-washer gloves,” Cassi said. “She really doesn’t want it on her--even her fingers.”
The woman then, took her other hand and spread the girl’s cheeks, smearing the good from the crack of her ass at the top, down, thickly over her anus and then across her taint, working a good thick layer of it between her labia and into her vagina. The girl’s head snapped up and she strained to look back as the woman, took another small amount from the bowl and with practiced skill did something to the top of her sex.
“She’s pulling back the clitoral hood,” Cassi said, her voice indicating she found this touch horrible despite herself, “to get it under the hood and over her clit.”
The woman seemed to move her fingers in a small circle, rubbing it in.
“Also her urethra--her pee hole,” Carly said, also appalled at this. “We don’t always do that either.”
“The woman replaced the lid and stepped back, holding the soiled glove out to the side where a helper-woman wearing rubber gloves herself, stripped it off and into a bag like it was toxic waste. On the trestle the girl was fighting not to cry and coughed once or twice. Then she stopped. She held still for a moment--before she started to try to slither!
She moved her pelvis back and forth frantically over the padded leather that boosted her aft up high. Her buttocks swayed and then clenched and unclenched wildly as she sought relief from the assault.
“The itch,” said Cassi, “is unbearable--absolutely intolerable--and she’s going to wear it for ninety minutes .” The girl’s lips parted--she was calling out--and then, in panic, realizing her voice was nothing but a whisper, began to thrash. The padded cuffs and wooden surfaces held her firmly and she bucked and shimmied and her sex clenched and unclenched like she was doing kegel exercises.
The audience gasped as a spurt of golden urine splashed from her sex and she thrust wildly, like she was having sex. Her head shook--NO!NO!NO! She turned to look at the camera--horror on her face, eyes huge, wet, and pleading. The movie stopped.
“She soiled herself not long after that,” Cassi said. “It’s not uncommon. You don’t want to go to the disgrace box. The Young Woman’s Polytechnic Center uses a TENS unit-like device with probes for the anus and vagina to deal out shocks--and their girls find it preferable every time to the paste.”
Silence filled the room.
BZZZNNNNTTTT! A buzzer sounded.
“Two minute warning,” said one of the uniformed women.
“Everybody up, ass-to-cunt, Spankees--I want to see you moving! Show those judges and the Tamer Team our school spirit!” She clapped her hands loudly! “Go! Go! Go!”
Aimee, feeling shocked by the video, felt as though she might cry--but she moved into the line, Candace right behind her. She felt her friend's bare skin against her buttocks.
“Good luck,” whispered Candace in a shaky voice that indicated she might not be so far from tears either.
The door opened and the lead girl, in the FoxTail cheerleader’s uniform--a Spanker--led the bare-bottomed girls out into the room between lockers and up the stairs and through the double doors into the indoor arena.
# # #
Candace moaned when she saw the room. Madonna’s Hanky Panky was playing over the loudspeakers and while Candace didn’t recognize it, it was clear the female singer was enthusiastic about being spanked. It was insult to injury!
On one side the bleachers were out and there were . . . a bunch of people in them--what looked like parents or maybe faculty members--no uniforms but older men and women with a few teenagers here and there (staring with wide eyed horror and wonder) and college girls--student government types who were clearly eager for the event!
A woman in a girl’s volleyball outfit with a cap on and a whistle around her neck stood in the center and behind her a large long table with three older people--the judges--two women in their 50’s and a man. They looked stern, and severe as the line wound from the door, the lead bare girl, whimpering as she sought to follow the quickly jogging lead-girl.
The lead girl pointed and indicated the line was to go there. She counted off five girls and then pointed to the last four. Candace turned and moved down, lining up behind the girl in front--then moving slightly as there were only four girls in this row.
To the group’s right was a leotard-clad young woman who was assuming the feet apart, hands on her head position, back straight, chin up, tits, as Cassi had said, out. But she wasn’t nude! Candace’s vagina was visible between her thighs. Her labia were exposed--there was no hair--no fur--anywhere down there. The judges looked at the group over their spectacles and it was clear THEY felt the girls on the floor were all bad-girls who certainly had it coming.
The singer was saying that her “bottom hurts just thinking about it” when the door behind them opened again and the Tamer girls came out. They had green and yellow colors and the shirts had a sequined whip on the front. They looked wide-eyed and teary and they dashed out, frantically following their own lead girl who ran a similar pattern to the other side. They were slightly slower in getting into position and the girl off to the side had to manually reposition a couple of girls, landing a solid slap on their buttocks.
However, all too fast, the Tamer girls were lined up and from both doors, the -ers came dashing out. One of them even turned a cartwheel across the floor. They were smiling brilliantly and waving to the crowd. Candace could see the Foxtrot boys--three of them, in male-cheerleader uniforms--looking lean and handsome as they took position with the girls. She blushed intensely--her bottom--her entire naked ass--was visible to them. She couldn’t cover it--couldn’t hide it--and soon it would be spanked! She could feel the crushing embarrassment of the exposure.
Her slim body was exposed--the private parts on obscene display. Blush rose in her face, her neck, her ears, her buttocks. Her dark skin might hide a little of it--but it was still obvious: the spankees were bathed in awful humiliation. She felt like she had to pee. Before them, to either side of the judges, the spankers were assembling the disciplinary furniture that would be used to restrain or position and display the spankees.
The girls in spandex had moved before each group of girls and the woman with the whistle was beginning to call out the exercise routine.
“Legs double-shoulder-length,” called out the woman. “Palms on the floor! Stretch.” The spandex girl, demonstrating, elegantly placed her palms on the floor. Someone to her left and several girls in the Tamer group burst into tears. There were plenty of people behind them--the uniformed women setting up the restraining couches for the disgrace boxes, Spankers gathering implements and setting up tables to the sides to display them.
Candace went down, tears stinging her own eyes--she was displaying EVERYTHING. Ohh! OH!! This was horrible. Their bottoms were facing away from the bleachers, but she still whimpered with the humiliation of the exposure.
“And up!” the coach commanded. They placed their hands together between their breasts and began a dynamic stretch of lifting one knee to their chest and then the other. The heavy girl--Tanya--from the correctional facility, was blubbering. She held her hands to her face and limply tried to keep up. She wasn’t doing a very good job of it.
“Someone give fatty a spank!” demanded the coach girl, her voice harsh and sharp. This made the poor girl wail more loudly. One of the boys stepped over, placed a hand on her shoulder and his other hand landed on her ample buttocks with a thunderous slap. She shrieked! He smacked her again! A solid spank to her rear. Flesh rippled. She moaned.
“Squats!” Called the coach. “Get those bottoms down!” The spandex girls, their legs widely spread, began to lower themselves--deep squats, knees apart. It was awful, even for the clothed girls--for the bare girls, tears spilled. To her left, Aimee was whimpering and further, there were a few Tamer Academy girls getting their own loud slaps to their buttocks for failure to keep up. It seemed both teams had boys on them and the boys were tasked with the present spanking chores.
They did three squat-thrusts. Candace could feel the air of the room on her private areas. She whimpered. Tanya was snuffling and sobbing ahead of them. All the girls had some degree of body-shame--but the college girls were mostly athletic and thin. For poor Tanya it must have been staggering. The coach blew her whistle and everyone came back to standing.
Aimee looked misty-eyed. Candace as well--ohh, oh, this was horrible! It was mortifying!
“Line up, spankees!” demanded the coach. The spandex ‘leader girls’ moved to the side and the spankees, already looking drenched with blush and near-tears, Candace turned and fell in line behind the forming line of bare-bottomed girls. Both groups of Spankees had formed up into lines on either side of the coach.
Now she saw the yellow sticky-backed circles on the floor. They were about 8” in diameter and perhaps 2’ apart.
That’s where our feet go, Candace thought with dread. The spandex girls had taken position--their lean bodies standing, legs apart, feet in the center of each circle. Their backs were straight, their hips slightly cocked to push their buttocks out. Their hands lay on the tops of their heads, demonstrating how they were to stand.
“Welcome FoxTails and Tamer Finishing Academy Spanking Teams,” called out one of the uniformed women, holding a wireless microphone. “We are here to continue the tradition of introducing our bad little spankees' bottoms to discipline!”
She introduced the judges, thanked the audience, and gave the names of both Spanking Teams’ captains. There was applause from the bleachers.
“We are doing six rounds this evening so we’re going to have eighteen extreme sore bottoms by the end of this. I’m sure all our disciplinarians are looking forward to the application of well earned punishment!”
“We have a Florence-Hawley incremental punishment scale for tonight with a randomized series of implements and some specified locations. Other positions and the use of restraints will be up to the individual disciplinarian.”
“Our videographers are Ms. Emma Stone and Ms. Alice Richter, and our photographers are Ms. Nancy Fisher and Ms. Elizabeth Cole.”
There were moans from the spankees. Candace saw two girls with a video camera playing over them and another with a professional camera. There were several large TVs that came to life with their pictures. There were gasps as the sorry image of the girls came into views and they saw their own naked regions. Candace almost covered herself as did others--but no one did.
She was horrified to see her nether-lips swollen---Aimee’s were worse. It was clear most of the Spankees were displaying humiliating arousal!
“I don’t consent,” moaned Tanya in misery! “You can’t film me!”
“You consented when you signed papers at the correctional facility,” said the woman. There were actual snickers from the crowd. “For that matter, the rest of you consented when you signed up for your respective schools. Please administer five additional spanks to our recalcitrant girl.”
The boy stepped forward, he had a stern look on his face, but his voice was gentler. “This way, with me,” He said. “It’s only five,” he said softly so Candace barely heard it. “Cooperate,” he suggested.
The girl was weeping as she was brought to the center and turned to face her fellows. He directed her to spread her feet, and place her palms on the ground.
“I need to pee,” she moaned.
“If you do, they’ll send you to the disgrace box,” he warned. “Hold it--I know you can.” His voice was encouraging. She bent over, her body quivering with tears.
Her bottom, her pussy, was facing the crowd and the judges. It was plump and ruddy. There were some slightly rashy and discolored areas. Candace thought she would have collapsed to the floor if it were her.
“This is a cleft-spanking,” the boy announced. He was extremely fit--handsome--powerful. “The spanks will be applied to the lower curve of your bottom, but some of the spank will land on your labia. I will count--you are to hold position and your bladder.”
He paused, and the sound of her sobs was well audible in the auditorium. “Spanking commences.”
He lay his hand over her rear curve, his fingers reaching over her taint to her lips. Candace’s stomach fluttered. She squirmed. The boy touching her like that . . . would be electric!
POW! The spank echoed. Tanya let out a cry. “Ow!”
The judges looked unimpressed.
There were cameras on the judge’s table and the camera girl had moved to get a view of Tanya’s face with her hair dangling. She was horrified, red faced--wincing and sobbing. Other views showed fatty areas of the buttocks and labia quiver from the smack.
The crowd was rapt.
“One,” the boy said. “Be brave, Tanya.”
Her whimper was loud.
Pow. Pow. The two spanks were about half as hard as the first one. Tanya jumped at each one--but she didn’t wail. The close up on her sex showed her vagina quiver and the skin where his fingers touched her sex, they pinkened slightly.
“Two, Three,” counted the boy. “Two more, hon. You’re doing well.”
Candace was certainly not sure the girl was ‘doing well’--but the Spanker’s kindness and encouragement made her heart flutter. The warmth in her lower region increased. She could imagine sobbing in his arms--bawling and being comforted.
Pow! Pow! Tanya yelped at the last one. “Ow!” she gasped loudly.
The judges made marks on their sheets. She’s being scored, Candace thought with alarm. We’re losing! She wasn’t sure what would happen to the group if they lost--but she was certain her Big, Carly, would have quite a bad reaction!
“You may stand,” the boy said. “Return to your line and try not to be defiant. You very well could be sent to the disgrace box,” he said. “You don’t want that.” He rubbed her shoulder. “Neither do I.”
Candace’s sex clenched. She actually felt a quiver of envy: would she WANT to be touched by the boy like that? Even after the terrible humiliation? Especially after that terrible humiliation. She held her breath, as Tanya was marched back to line.
“First miscreants,” intoned the male judge. The two girls moved forward, the FoxTail girl actually jogged to the circles, arriving first, and put her hands behind her head.
“Good spirit!” called someone from the crowd, and Candace saw cheers from the FoxTail -ers. They were quieter but well picked out on film. A close up focus showed the girl was blushing terribly and blinking--but she held her posture, even as her spread legs terribly showed off her sex.
The other girl was fidgeting--tears sparkled in her eyes. Her feet weren’t centered on the circles--they were too close and sticking out on the floor. One of the video-girls caught that.
The judge pressed a button on his laptop.
“First sound: Hand spanking applied to the saddle area. Forty strokes, sound. Position and restraints determined by disciplinarian.”
The coach girl blew a hard shrill on her whistle, and one cheerleader from each side sprinted off the line to move to her subject.
“Face the rear,” the FoxTail spanker told her girl--the Tamer girl. “Elbows pushed into your knees--stick your bottom out. Arch slightly, and roll your rear to present a proper target.”
The girl gasped but she moved into position, facing the line so, again, her bottom was facing the crowd. Bent over, in a position almost like a football player, her aft was obscenely visible. Her face was red with embarrassment. Tears ran down her face.
The FoxTail Spankee had her legs widened and her palms on the ground. She was quiet and quivering. The Tamer Spanker was quietly scolding the FoxTail Spankee and Candace could hear soft but cutting if jovial whispers.
Both girls placed their left hands on the small of their subject’s back and saluted each other. Then they raised their right hands, and they began. The reports were loud and echoed slightly. Both girls gasped and jumped. The Tamer girl’s position seemed worse--and when the FoxTail Spanker smacked the inner thighs of her Spankee, she made soft noises. Both girls withstood their spanks--but there were visible red marks on their bottoms and thighs--backs and inside. It looked painful. They were sent to run, sniffling and sobby back to the rear of the line.
Candace, breath held, moved forward.
“Next!”
The line moved forwards. Candace saw there were no boys on the Tamer school team--just mean girls--and she didn’t know which Spanker she would get--but she could make out some she didn’t want. Only one of the Tamer Spankers was black as she was. The girl looked imperious. She hoped she didn’t draw her--but she had a sinking feeling she might.
It was her turn. She stood, watching the girl who’d just been spanked jog tearfully back to the rear of the line.
“Next!”
Candace, her heart in her throat, jogged forward to the circles, spread her legs, pushed her buttocks and titis out, and put her hands on her head. It was breathtakingly awful and she saw with a horrid, sinking feeling the other dark skinned Tamer Academy spanker sprint from her line to come to her side.
“Okay, little bitch,” said the Tamer Spanker softly, “you’re going to cry for me. I want to have you fault, and go to the disgrace box!” Candace let out an awful little sob.
“On your knees, bottom and wet cunt facing the crowd! You’ll lift your ass up as high as you can and get your knees well apart! Show the judges your lubrication! Show them what a slut you are!”
Candace actually moaned softly as she adopted the position.
The girl stroked the small of her back--a surprisingly tender touch. Candace quivered.
POW! POW! POW! The spanking began. Candace squeezed her eyes shut, clamping her teeth together. The smacks hurt and her skin jiggled constantly under the blows. The Spanker applied her hand to each buttock and the thighs with surprising force. It hurt--and the smarting rose--and rose--she gasped.
She could hear the tears in her breath. It was awful! POW! POW! POW!
“Ow,” she mouthed--she mouthed it silently and did her best to hold on to her already tattered composure!
POW! POW! POW! “Oh!” a soft, hurt little cry--not enough to fault. Hot tears spilled down her face.
WHAP! A particularly hard strike across her bottom.
Then, softly, “That’s it, little slut,” the Spanker said in a whisper. Despite the cutting word used, her voice was far kinder. “Back to the line with you!”
Candace, her cheeks shining as she rose, scrambled.
Across from her, in silence, sat Candace, Aimee’s friend, who was also a FoxTail’s team applicant. To join the private but prodigious Spanking Team, the process was straightforward: Apply to the Faculty Sponsor, get “adopted” by a “Big Sister” on the team, and then you would have to attend all the Spanking Team “meets” for the year. That last part would prove the hardest.
Aimee’s heart was in her throat. She had been dressed out by Cassi, her Big Sister on the team or just her ‘Big,’ in the shorts and t-shirt and her ankle socks and sneakers. Now she rode in silence with the rest of the --ees. That was, as in, “Spankees.” The SpankERS were up front, laughing and talking. They were dressed like cheerleaders (the girls) plus three tall, handsome boys from the FoxTrot University (the boys school).
They were in high spirits, unlike the -ees in the back who were squirming uncomfortably in wretched silence. One girl, a pale red-head had already broken the no-talking rule, and wore a dog’s muzzle fastened onto her head with a muffle stuffed in her mouth so she both looked ridiculous and could only make soft plaintive noises. It was just after dark and the lights were on. Aimee’s stomach did a flip as the bus smoothly moved to an exit ramp and down, back into “civilization” again.
The venue was a high school gym. She could see the dark shapes of the otherwise closed school buildings. It wasn’t a ritzy area--even though FoxTails (and presumably, the other school they were competing against) was fairly exclusive. There was already one bus stopped in front of the two-story, looming gymnasium and Aimee could see several women--older than the college girls--in what looked to her like actual uniforms with jackets in pale pink and with insignia and actual epaulettes with understated filigree.
The bus’s brakes hissed to a stop and the on-board faculty member, the stern (if young, and pretty) Ms. Anderson, stood and clapped once for attention.
“--ers will exit the bus and move to the ready area. Ees will stand in a line, place your hands on the hips of the girl before you and wait to be called forward. There will be no talking and no disruption. You--” she addressed the spankees, “are all under punishment, and silence and contrition is expected. Tears will come later, I assure you. Now! Stand and assemble into your queue!”
The last was with a snap, and Aimee slid out of her seat and stood. Candace was in front of her and Aimee placed her hands on her friend's hips. Someone behind her was whimpering softly, but she didn’t dare turn her head.”
Candace, like Aimee, wasn’t exactly “sentenced” to the Intramural Spanking Team: both of them had applied to become ‘--ers.’ It turned out that in addition to getting a ‘Big’--a ‘Big Sister’ who was already on the team, you also had to attend a year of “meets.” This would be the first one, and they were both dreading it.
Of course life under her ‘Big’ hadn’t been comfortable either. Candace was constantly walking saddle-legged as her Big, their Residential Assistant, Carly, had decided that her ;Little,’ Candace, would benefit from receiving enemas on a weekly basis as a ‘maintenance’ punishment, and had administered several with unusual fluids that had Candace feeling an oozing discomfort back there.
The ‘ers’ had exited in high spirits and now, Ms. Anderson ordered the ‘ees’ forward, with a stern snap of her fingers. The spankees shuffled forwards and stepped down out of the bus, their hands on the hips of the girls ahead of them. Off the bus, the air was slightly brisk, and they could hear the sounds of city streets around them. One of the uniformed women took the first girl and directed her to follow.
The queue moved after her, somberly walking into the school and down the empty halls. The door to the gym was open with a WELCOME FOXTAILS sign posted. They filed in and moved into the directed locker-room.
Inside were three of the FoxTails Spankers, including Carly and Cassi, and three of the older uniformed women.
“Spankees,” said Cassi, standing on a wooden bench. “Come in and take seats where you’re directed. I’ll explain everything. Move it--move it,” she said, waving them in. Aimee and Candace turned to face the girls who were grinning with anticipation.
“Sit!” she ordered. They sat. “When I order you to disrobe, you will remove your shorts and panties--they will come straight off and will go into the brown paper bags in front of you. You will then sit. I want all of you to hold hands with the girl next to you!”
The girls reached out and took each other’s hands.
“Carly is handing out leg-warmers. Once you are bare-bottomed, you will put them on. We have them in FoxTail’s colors and in addition to keeping your legs warmed, you’ll be showing off your school spirit. It’s our spankees look!”
The girls squirmed listening to her as Carly came by placing two leg warmers next to each paper bag.
“Okay! Disrobe! Dress out!” Cassi commanded.
Now there were little sounds--soft moans, whimpers--sniffles. Carly squirmed as her shorts and panties came down. She toed her sneakers off and removed them, putting them into the bag. She moved quickly, not wanting to be last, but also in a hurry to obey before the torment of her dignity paralyzed her! The red head was sobbing softly into her muzzle, as Carly stood behind her, unbuckling it.
She pulled the leg-warmers on--they came up her bare legs to the knees--and they were thick. The t-shirt stopped before her hips, ensuring that her region was bare. All the girls had been thoroughly waxed and she felt intensely nude and vulnerable.
Her emotions had been building and fraying since last night, and it had gotten worse during the endless ride here. Resentment, anxiety, and embarrassment created a miserable stew in her stomach that seemed desperate to come out as sobbing cries. It took one look at the whimpering red-haired girl to know that a crying spankee would get extra attention--and not the comforting kind!
Cassi stepped back up. “Anyone still working on it will get a little extra!” she grinned--this was FUN for her. Aimee’s face flushed with anger and humiliation!
“Okay, girls, here are the rules. You will form up and follow the leader--Carly--out onto the floor. You will form up in a row of four and five, about three feet apart. You will stand with your legs shoulder length apart, hands behind your back, head up, tits out. The judges will be at a table in front and our other team, the Tamer Finishing Academy girls, will be to your left.”
“We’ll begin with some warm-up easy exercises and stretches. You will be graded on these--the Judges and our own proctors are playing attention. If you aren’t participating and giving it your best effort and we think so, you’ll get the disgrace punishment--which you don’t want. I’ll go into that in a moment!”
She smiled brightly! She was enjoying this. The bare bottomed spankees shifted uncomfortably on the wooden benches.
“As for the spanking itself, it’ll work like this: you’ll be put into a line for the FoxTails and the Tamer Spankees will be put into a line as well, next to you. When the buzzer goes off, the first girl in each line will hustle to the designated areas on the floor with two colored circles. You put one foot in each circle about double shoulder length. Hands on your head. Now, after the first round, you’ll be sore--you might even be crying--but you will get on that line, in the ready stance!”
“The Judges will call out an implement, and a location--and possibly a position. There will be a set of elements for you to straddle or bend over or otherwise put yourself on. You will HUSTLE to the indicated location and get in position. It might be as simple as “The Lunge Position” or over a Spanker’s lap--but whatever it is, you will move and get there. Being the last girl in position is points off!”
“Once you’re in position, the spanking will commence. Now, you all deserve this--it’s guaranteed to be unpleasant, but you are expected to take your punishment! Even if you’re sore--even if you’re sobbing--you are expected to get in position. There will be helper girls standing by and if you need help, it’s a few points off--but not too bad. We expect this to be hard for you--but if you are defiant? That’s a lot of points off--or even a trip to the disgrace box!”
“So we aren’t going to be defiant, are we girls?”
She waited in the silence.
“No, Miss,” Aimee said, in an embarrassingly squeak voice. The other spankees similarly intoned.
She nodded. “When you are spanked, you will go to the back of the line where helper-girls may administer some assistance--but, again, it’s expected to hurt: it’s punishment!” Her bright smile made Aimee wince. Ohh--she was decidedly enjoying this.
“When you are being chastised--spanked--you will be marked off for faulting. The Spanker may get points off for technique--including hitting too hard--but that’s not YOUR call to make! But for YOU, screaming too loudly, breaking position, and especially covering up or, even worse, getting out of the spanking or fighting, will be a serious fault. That’s a lot of points off for the team and, if it’s bad enough, you go to--you guessed it--the disgrace box!”
“So your job--and you are representing FoxTails, even as bad little girls, we expect school spirit and deportment out of you. This is going to be humiliating, uncomfortable, painful, and over all, highly unpleasant: it’s punishment and you all deserve it! But, I expect you to do your part for FoxTails--and tonight that means being disciplined with a moderate amount of school pride and school spirit!”
“We’re going to show that our bad little girls are better than the Tamer bad little girls! Aren't we?”
Now Aimee managed a stronger “Yes Miss!”
“Good brown-nosing, Spankee,” Cassi said--and Aimee shut her mouth, blushing badly. “Some of you may get a chance to learn why it’s called ‘brown nosing’! There’s two more things you need to be aware of: whichever team wins the match, based on the judge’s score, they get to punish the losing team--it’s pretty bad and I don’t want to be naked over a Tamer girl’s lap! Since we have some . . . after-meet authority over your punishments, I want you all to understand that YOU don’t want that either!”
“I also want to explain the disgrace box.” She came forward and sat down, facing them, her cheerleader’s skirt around her in contrast to their bare bottoms.
“Both schools have one--and they’re all a bit different--but FoxTails’ is the envy of the entire circuit. If you’re defiant or in the judge’s opinion faulting to try to sink the school, you’ll go to the disgrace box--there you’ll be bound snugly over a foam wedge and you’ll meet Miss Epharam’s little wonder! She was the first Spanking Team faculty sponsor and she introduced us to her Punishment Paste! Most meets go smoothly without anyone being sent to the disgrace box--but when it happens, the girl in question gets a Second Meet signed up for--and, trust me, girls: no one goes to the disgrace box twice!”
“We’re going to show you a 90 second film clip of a girl in the disgrace box--the actual film lasts almost 90 minutes--but as you’ll see, ninety seconds is enough for you to get the lesson.”
There is a click--the lights are turned off and a rectangle of a film projector appears on the beige wall. Aimee could hear the fluttering clicks of the film running. She squirmed. A girl, in the same uniform was standing facing a fully dressed stern woman, who was clearly livid with her. The older woman took a draught and, holding the college-girl’s nose poured it--forcing it down her throat. The girl flexed and coughed and gagged, bubbles around her lips and running down her chin.
“The drought paralyzes the vocal cords for an hour or so,” Cassi said. “So we don’t have to gag her to stop her from making noise. We mix it with a little soap for taste--or, if you swear, a lot of soap for an added lesson.”
The girl was laid down over a padded pallet. Her wrists were out in front, cuffed by thick, fur-lined leather cuffs with heavy inch-long chains to nails embedded in the wood. A padded bar about 6” above the rest of the pallet ran under her hips, raising them. And her ankles were similarly cuffed by two cheerleader-dressed FoxTail girls squatting and working efficiently. The girl on the trestle looked surly and scared and furious. Her buttocks were a mess of swollen reds and bruises. It was painful to look at--but she was clearly radiating defiance.
Once affixed, one of the senior, uniformed officers stepped forward and opened a stoneware basin. She wore rubber gloves--thick--over her hands and she lowered herself by the aft of the captive girl. She said something the silent film didn’t catch and then dipped fingers into the pot.
“We no longer use . . . “ Cassi said, softly. “That much.”
She came out with a thick dollop of a tan goop. From her expression on opening the container, it was clear the smell was an assault. She held the container and the goop on her fingers well away from her.
“She’s wearing medical rubber gloves under the dish-washer gloves,” Cassi said. “She really doesn’t want it on her--even her fingers.”
The woman then, took her other hand and spread the girl’s cheeks, smearing the good from the crack of her ass at the top, down, thickly over her anus and then across her taint, working a good thick layer of it between her labia and into her vagina. The girl’s head snapped up and she strained to look back as the woman, took another small amount from the bowl and with practiced skill did something to the top of her sex.
“She’s pulling back the clitoral hood,” Cassi said, her voice indicating she found this touch horrible despite herself, “to get it under the hood and over her clit.”
The woman seemed to move her fingers in a small circle, rubbing it in.
“Also her urethra--her pee hole,” Carly said, also appalled at this. “We don’t always do that either.”
“The woman replaced the lid and stepped back, holding the soiled glove out to the side where a helper-woman wearing rubber gloves herself, stripped it off and into a bag like it was toxic waste. On the trestle the girl was fighting not to cry and coughed once or twice. Then she stopped. She held still for a moment--before she started to try to slither!
She moved her pelvis back and forth frantically over the padded leather that boosted her aft up high. Her buttocks swayed and then clenched and unclenched wildly as she sought relief from the assault.
“The itch,” said Cassi, “is unbearable--absolutely intolerable--and she’s going to wear it for ninety minutes .” The girl’s lips parted--she was calling out--and then, in panic, realizing her voice was nothing but a whisper, began to thrash. The padded cuffs and wooden surfaces held her firmly and she bucked and shimmied and her sex clenched and unclenched like she was doing kegel exercises.
The audience gasped as a spurt of golden urine splashed from her sex and she thrust wildly, like she was having sex. Her head shook--NO!NO!NO! She turned to look at the camera--horror on her face, eyes huge, wet, and pleading. The movie stopped.
“She soiled herself not long after that,” Cassi said. “It’s not uncommon. You don’t want to go to the disgrace box. The Young Woman’s Polytechnic Center uses a TENS unit-like device with probes for the anus and vagina to deal out shocks--and their girls find it preferable every time to the paste.”
Silence filled the room.
BZZZNNNNTTTT! A buzzer sounded.
“Two minute warning,” said one of the uniformed women.
“Everybody up, ass-to-cunt, Spankees--I want to see you moving! Show those judges and the Tamer Team our school spirit!” She clapped her hands loudly! “Go! Go! Go!”
Aimee, feeling shocked by the video, felt as though she might cry--but she moved into the line, Candace right behind her. She felt her friend's bare skin against her buttocks.
“Good luck,” whispered Candace in a shaky voice that indicated she might not be so far from tears either.
The door opened and the lead girl, in the FoxTail cheerleader’s uniform--a Spanker--led the bare-bottomed girls out into the room between lockers and up the stairs and through the double doors into the indoor arena.
# # #
Candace moaned when she saw the room. Madonna’s Hanky Panky was playing over the loudspeakers and while Candace didn’t recognize it, it was clear the female singer was enthusiastic about being spanked. It was insult to injury!
On one side the bleachers were out and there were . . . a bunch of people in them--what looked like parents or maybe faculty members--no uniforms but older men and women with a few teenagers here and there (staring with wide eyed horror and wonder) and college girls--student government types who were clearly eager for the event!
A woman in a girl’s volleyball outfit with a cap on and a whistle around her neck stood in the center and behind her a large long table with three older people--the judges--two women in their 50’s and a man. They looked stern, and severe as the line wound from the door, the lead bare girl, whimpering as she sought to follow the quickly jogging lead-girl.
The lead girl pointed and indicated the line was to go there. She counted off five girls and then pointed to the last four. Candace turned and moved down, lining up behind the girl in front--then moving slightly as there were only four girls in this row.
To the group’s right was a leotard-clad young woman who was assuming the feet apart, hands on her head position, back straight, chin up, tits, as Cassi had said, out. But she wasn’t nude! Candace’s vagina was visible between her thighs. Her labia were exposed--there was no hair--no fur--anywhere down there. The judges looked at the group over their spectacles and it was clear THEY felt the girls on the floor were all bad-girls who certainly had it coming.
The singer was saying that her “bottom hurts just thinking about it” when the door behind them opened again and the Tamer girls came out. They had green and yellow colors and the shirts had a sequined whip on the front. They looked wide-eyed and teary and they dashed out, frantically following their own lead girl who ran a similar pattern to the other side. They were slightly slower in getting into position and the girl off to the side had to manually reposition a couple of girls, landing a solid slap on their buttocks.
However, all too fast, the Tamer girls were lined up and from both doors, the -ers came dashing out. One of them even turned a cartwheel across the floor. They were smiling brilliantly and waving to the crowd. Candace could see the Foxtrot boys--three of them, in male-cheerleader uniforms--looking lean and handsome as they took position with the girls. She blushed intensely--her bottom--her entire naked ass--was visible to them. She couldn’t cover it--couldn’t hide it--and soon it would be spanked! She could feel the crushing embarrassment of the exposure.
Her slim body was exposed--the private parts on obscene display. Blush rose in her face, her neck, her ears, her buttocks. Her dark skin might hide a little of it--but it was still obvious: the spankees were bathed in awful humiliation. She felt like she had to pee. Before them, to either side of the judges, the spankers were assembling the disciplinary furniture that would be used to restrain or position and display the spankees.
The girls in spandex had moved before each group of girls and the woman with the whistle was beginning to call out the exercise routine.
“Legs double-shoulder-length,” called out the woman. “Palms on the floor! Stretch.” The spandex girl, demonstrating, elegantly placed her palms on the floor. Someone to her left and several girls in the Tamer group burst into tears. There were plenty of people behind them--the uniformed women setting up the restraining couches for the disgrace boxes, Spankers gathering implements and setting up tables to the sides to display them.
Candace went down, tears stinging her own eyes--she was displaying EVERYTHING. Ohh! OH!! This was horrible. Their bottoms were facing away from the bleachers, but she still whimpered with the humiliation of the exposure.
“And up!” the coach commanded. They placed their hands together between their breasts and began a dynamic stretch of lifting one knee to their chest and then the other. The heavy girl--Tanya--from the correctional facility, was blubbering. She held her hands to her face and limply tried to keep up. She wasn’t doing a very good job of it.
“Someone give fatty a spank!” demanded the coach girl, her voice harsh and sharp. This made the poor girl wail more loudly. One of the boys stepped over, placed a hand on her shoulder and his other hand landed on her ample buttocks with a thunderous slap. She shrieked! He smacked her again! A solid spank to her rear. Flesh rippled. She moaned.
“Squats!” Called the coach. “Get those bottoms down!” The spandex girls, their legs widely spread, began to lower themselves--deep squats, knees apart. It was awful, even for the clothed girls--for the bare girls, tears spilled. To her left, Aimee was whimpering and further, there were a few Tamer Academy girls getting their own loud slaps to their buttocks for failure to keep up. It seemed both teams had boys on them and the boys were tasked with the present spanking chores.
They did three squat-thrusts. Candace could feel the air of the room on her private areas. She whimpered. Tanya was snuffling and sobbing ahead of them. All the girls had some degree of body-shame--but the college girls were mostly athletic and thin. For poor Tanya it must have been staggering. The coach blew her whistle and everyone came back to standing.
Aimee looked misty-eyed. Candace as well--ohh, oh, this was horrible! It was mortifying!
“Line up, spankees!” demanded the coach. The spandex ‘leader girls’ moved to the side and the spankees, already looking drenched with blush and near-tears, Candace turned and fell in line behind the forming line of bare-bottomed girls. Both groups of Spankees had formed up into lines on either side of the coach.
Now she saw the yellow sticky-backed circles on the floor. They were about 8” in diameter and perhaps 2’ apart.
That’s where our feet go, Candace thought with dread. The spandex girls had taken position--their lean bodies standing, legs apart, feet in the center of each circle. Their backs were straight, their hips slightly cocked to push their buttocks out. Their hands lay on the tops of their heads, demonstrating how they were to stand.
“Welcome FoxTails and Tamer Finishing Academy Spanking Teams,” called out one of the uniformed women, holding a wireless microphone. “We are here to continue the tradition of introducing our bad little spankees' bottoms to discipline!”
She introduced the judges, thanked the audience, and gave the names of both Spanking Teams’ captains. There was applause from the bleachers.
“We are doing six rounds this evening so we’re going to have eighteen extreme sore bottoms by the end of this. I’m sure all our disciplinarians are looking forward to the application of well earned punishment!”
“We have a Florence-Hawley incremental punishment scale for tonight with a randomized series of implements and some specified locations. Other positions and the use of restraints will be up to the individual disciplinarian.”
“Our videographers are Ms. Emma Stone and Ms. Alice Richter, and our photographers are Ms. Nancy Fisher and Ms. Elizabeth Cole.”
There were moans from the spankees. Candace saw two girls with a video camera playing over them and another with a professional camera. There were several large TVs that came to life with their pictures. There were gasps as the sorry image of the girls came into views and they saw their own naked regions. Candace almost covered herself as did others--but no one did.
She was horrified to see her nether-lips swollen---Aimee’s were worse. It was clear most of the Spankees were displaying humiliating arousal!
“I don’t consent,” moaned Tanya in misery! “You can’t film me!”
“You consented when you signed papers at the correctional facility,” said the woman. There were actual snickers from the crowd. “For that matter, the rest of you consented when you signed up for your respective schools. Please administer five additional spanks to our recalcitrant girl.”
The boy stepped forward, he had a stern look on his face, but his voice was gentler. “This way, with me,” He said. “It’s only five,” he said softly so Candace barely heard it. “Cooperate,” he suggested.
The girl was weeping as she was brought to the center and turned to face her fellows. He directed her to spread her feet, and place her palms on the ground.
“I need to pee,” she moaned.
“If you do, they’ll send you to the disgrace box,” he warned. “Hold it--I know you can.” His voice was encouraging. She bent over, her body quivering with tears.
Her bottom, her pussy, was facing the crowd and the judges. It was plump and ruddy. There were some slightly rashy and discolored areas. Candace thought she would have collapsed to the floor if it were her.
“This is a cleft-spanking,” the boy announced. He was extremely fit--handsome--powerful. “The spanks will be applied to the lower curve of your bottom, but some of the spank will land on your labia. I will count--you are to hold position and your bladder.”
He paused, and the sound of her sobs was well audible in the auditorium. “Spanking commences.”
He lay his hand over her rear curve, his fingers reaching over her taint to her lips. Candace’s stomach fluttered. She squirmed. The boy touching her like that . . . would be electric!
POW! The spank echoed. Tanya let out a cry. “Ow!”
The judges looked unimpressed.
There were cameras on the judge’s table and the camera girl had moved to get a view of Tanya’s face with her hair dangling. She was horrified, red faced--wincing and sobbing. Other views showed fatty areas of the buttocks and labia quiver from the smack.
The crowd was rapt.
“One,” the boy said. “Be brave, Tanya.”
Her whimper was loud.
Pow. Pow. The two spanks were about half as hard as the first one. Tanya jumped at each one--but she didn’t wail. The close up on her sex showed her vagina quiver and the skin where his fingers touched her sex, they pinkened slightly.
“Two, Three,” counted the boy. “Two more, hon. You’re doing well.”
Candace was certainly not sure the girl was ‘doing well’--but the Spanker’s kindness and encouragement made her heart flutter. The warmth in her lower region increased. She could imagine sobbing in his arms--bawling and being comforted.
Pow! Pow! Tanya yelped at the last one. “Ow!” she gasped loudly.
The judges made marks on their sheets. She’s being scored, Candace thought with alarm. We’re losing! She wasn’t sure what would happen to the group if they lost--but she was certain her Big, Carly, would have quite a bad reaction!
“You may stand,” the boy said. “Return to your line and try not to be defiant. You very well could be sent to the disgrace box,” he said. “You don’t want that.” He rubbed her shoulder. “Neither do I.”
Candace’s sex clenched. She actually felt a quiver of envy: would she WANT to be touched by the boy like that? Even after the terrible humiliation? Especially after that terrible humiliation. She held her breath, as Tanya was marched back to line.
“First miscreants,” intoned the male judge. The two girls moved forward, the FoxTail girl actually jogged to the circles, arriving first, and put her hands behind her head.
“Good spirit!” called someone from the crowd, and Candace saw cheers from the FoxTail -ers. They were quieter but well picked out on film. A close up focus showed the girl was blushing terribly and blinking--but she held her posture, even as her spread legs terribly showed off her sex.
The other girl was fidgeting--tears sparkled in her eyes. Her feet weren’t centered on the circles--they were too close and sticking out on the floor. One of the video-girls caught that.
The judge pressed a button on his laptop.
“First sound: Hand spanking applied to the saddle area. Forty strokes, sound. Position and restraints determined by disciplinarian.”
The coach girl blew a hard shrill on her whistle, and one cheerleader from each side sprinted off the line to move to her subject.
“Face the rear,” the FoxTail spanker told her girl--the Tamer girl. “Elbows pushed into your knees--stick your bottom out. Arch slightly, and roll your rear to present a proper target.”
The girl gasped but she moved into position, facing the line so, again, her bottom was facing the crowd. Bent over, in a position almost like a football player, her aft was obscenely visible. Her face was red with embarrassment. Tears ran down her face.
The FoxTail Spankee had her legs widened and her palms on the ground. She was quiet and quivering. The Tamer Spanker was quietly scolding the FoxTail Spankee and Candace could hear soft but cutting if jovial whispers.
Both girls placed their left hands on the small of their subject’s back and saluted each other. Then they raised their right hands, and they began. The reports were loud and echoed slightly. Both girls gasped and jumped. The Tamer girl’s position seemed worse--and when the FoxTail Spanker smacked the inner thighs of her Spankee, she made soft noises. Both girls withstood their spanks--but there were visible red marks on their bottoms and thighs--backs and inside. It looked painful. They were sent to run, sniffling and sobby back to the rear of the line.
Candace, breath held, moved forward.
“Next!”
The line moved forwards. Candace saw there were no boys on the Tamer school team--just mean girls--and she didn’t know which Spanker she would get--but she could make out some she didn’t want. Only one of the Tamer Spankers was black as she was. The girl looked imperious. She hoped she didn’t draw her--but she had a sinking feeling she might.
It was her turn. She stood, watching the girl who’d just been spanked jog tearfully back to the rear of the line.
“Next!”
Candace, her heart in her throat, jogged forward to the circles, spread her legs, pushed her buttocks and titis out, and put her hands on her head. It was breathtakingly awful and she saw with a horrid, sinking feeling the other dark skinned Tamer Academy spanker sprint from her line to come to her side.
“Okay, little bitch,” said the Tamer Spanker softly, “you’re going to cry for me. I want to have you fault, and go to the disgrace box!” Candace let out an awful little sob.
“On your knees, bottom and wet cunt facing the crowd! You’ll lift your ass up as high as you can and get your knees well apart! Show the judges your lubrication! Show them what a slut you are!”
Candace actually moaned softly as she adopted the position.
The girl stroked the small of her back--a surprisingly tender touch. Candace quivered.
POW! POW! POW! The spanking began. Candace squeezed her eyes shut, clamping her teeth together. The smacks hurt and her skin jiggled constantly under the blows. The Spanker applied her hand to each buttock and the thighs with surprising force. It hurt--and the smarting rose--and rose--she gasped.
She could hear the tears in her breath. It was awful! POW! POW! POW!
“Ow,” she mouthed--she mouthed it silently and did her best to hold on to her already tattered composure!
POW! POW! POW! “Oh!” a soft, hurt little cry--not enough to fault. Hot tears spilled down her face.
WHAP! A particularly hard strike across her bottom.
Then, softly, “That’s it, little slut,” the Spanker said in a whisper. Despite the cutting word used, her voice was far kinder. “Back to the line with you!”
Candace, her cheeks shining as she rose, scrambled.
Re: The College Spanking Team Part 01
Aimee looked out of the windows of the school bus. She wore bright red high cut micro-mini shorts and an orange t-shirt with the FoxTails seal on it. She sat in the back with 8 other girls--including Tanya, an overweight girl who wasn’t a FoxTails student but was from a nearby young women's correctional facility who’d been loaned to the FoxTail’s Spanking Team.
Across from her, in silence, sat Candace, Aimee’s friend, who was also a FoxTail’s team applicant. To join the private but prodigious Spanking Team, the process was straightforward: Apply to the Faculty Sponsor, get “adopted” by a “Big Sister” on the team, and then you would have to attend all the Spanking Team “meets” for the year. That last part would prove the hardest.
Aimee’s heart was in her throat. She had been dressed out by Cassi, her Big Sister on the team or just her ‘Big,’ in the shorts and t-shirt and her ankle socks and sneakers. Now she rode in silence with the rest of the --ees. That was, as in, “Spankees.” The SpankERS were up front, laughing and talking. They were dressed like cheerleaders (the girls) plus three tall, handsome boys from the FoxTrot University (the boys school).
They were in high spirits, unlike the -ees in the back who were squirming uncomfortably in wretched silence. One girl, a pale red-head had already broken the no-talking rule, and wore a dog’s muzzle fastened onto her head with a muffle stuffed in her mouth so she both looked ridiculous and could only make soft plaintive noises. It was just after dark and the lights were on. Aimee’s stomach did a flip as the bus smoothly moved to an exit ramp and down, back into “civilization” again.
The venue was a high school gym. She could see the dark shapes of the otherwise closed school buildings. It wasn’t a ritzy area--even though FoxTails (and presumably, the other school they were competing against) was fairly exclusive. There was already one bus stopped in front of the two-story, looming gymnasium and Aimee could see several women--older than the college girls--in what looked to her like actual uniforms with jackets in pale pink and with insignia and actual epaulettes with understated filigree.
The bus’s brakes hissed to a stop and the on-board faculty member, the stern (if young, and pretty) Ms. Anderson, stood and clapped once for attention.
“--ers will exit the bus and move to the ready area. Ees will stand in a line, place your hands on the hips of the girl before you and wait to be called forward. There will be no talking and no disruption. You--” she addressed the spankees, “are all under punishment, and silence and contrition is expected. Tears will come later, I assure you. Now! Stand and assemble into your queue!”
The last was with a snap, and Aimee slid out of her seat and stood. Candace was in front of her and Aimee placed her hands on her friend's hips. Someone behind her was whimpering softly, but she didn’t dare turn her head.”
Candace, like Aimee, wasn’t exactly “sentenced” to the Intramural Spanking Team: both of them had applied to become ‘--ers.’ It turned out that in addition to getting a ‘Big’--a ‘Big Sister’ who was already on the team, you also had to attend a year of “meets.” This would be the first one, and they were both dreading it.
Of course life under her ‘Big’ hadn’t been comfortable either. Candace was constantly walking saddle-legged as her Big, their Residential Assistant, Carly, had decided that her ;Little,’ Candace, would benefit from receiving enemas on a weekly basis as a ‘maintenance’ punishment, and had administered several with unusual fluids that had Candace feeling an oozing discomfort back there.
The ‘ers’ had exited in high spirits and now, Ms. Anderson ordered the ‘ees’ forward, with a stern snap of her fingers. The spankees shuffled forwards and stepped down out of the bus, their hands on the hips of the girls ahead of them. Off the bus, the air was slightly brisk, and they could hear the sounds of city streets around them. One of the uniformed women took the first girl and directed her to follow.
The queue moved after her, somberly walking into the school and down the empty halls. The door to the gym was open with a WELCOME FOXTAILS sign posted. They filed in and moved into the directed locker-room.
Inside were three of the FoxTails Spankers, including Carly and Cassi, and three of the older uniformed women.
“Spankees,” said Cassi, standing on a wooden bench. “Come in and take seats where you’re directed. I’ll explain everything. Move it--move it,” she said, waving them in. Aimee and Candace turned to face the girls who were grinning with anticipation.
“Sit!” she ordered. They sat. “When I order you to disrobe, you will remove your shorts and panties--they will come straight off and will go into the brown paper bags in front of you. You will then sit. I want all of you to hold hands with the girl next to you!”
The girls reached out and took each other’s hands.
“Carly is handing out leg-warmers. Once you are bare-bottomed, you will put them on. We have them in FoxTail’s colors and in addition to keeping your legs warmed, you’ll be showing off your school spirit. It’s our spankees look!”
The girls squirmed listening to her as Carly came by placing two leg warmers next to each paper bag.
“Okay! Disrobe! Dress out!” Cassi commanded.
Now there were little sounds--soft moans, whimpers--sniffles. Carly squirmed as her shorts and panties came down. She toed her sneakers off and removed them, putting them into the bag. She moved quickly, not wanting to be last, but also in a hurry to obey before the torment of her dignity paralyzed her! The red head was sobbing softly into her muzzle, as Carly stood behind her, unbuckling it.
She pulled the leg-warmers on--they came up her bare legs to the knees--and they were thick. The t-shirt stopped before her hips, ensuring that her region was bare. All the girls had been thoroughly waxed and she felt intensely nude and vulnerable.
Her emotions had been building and fraying since last night, and it had gotten worse during the endless ride here. Resentment, anxiety, and embarrassment created a miserable stew in her stomach that seemed desperate to come out as sobbing cries. It took one look at the whimpering red-haired girl to know that a crying spankee would get extra attention--and not the comforting kind!
Cassi stepped back up. “Anyone still working on it will get a little extra!” she grinned--this was FUN for her. Aimee’s face flushed with anger and humiliation!
“Okay, girls, here are the rules. You will form up and follow the leader--Carly--out onto the floor. You will form up in a row of four and five, about three feet apart. You will stand with your legs shoulder length apart, hands behind your back, head up, tits out. The judges will be at a table in front and our other team, the Tamer Finishing Academy girls, will be to your left.”
“We’ll begin with some warm-up easy exercises and stretches. You will be graded on these--the Judges and our own proctors are playing attention. If you aren’t participating and giving it your best effort and we think so, you’ll get the disgrace punishment--which you don’t want. I’ll go into that in a moment!”
She smiled brightly! She was enjoying this. The bare bottomed spankees shifted uncomfortably on the wooden benches.
“As for the spanking itself, it’ll work like this: you’ll be put into a line for the FoxTails and the Tamer Spankees will be put into a line as well, next to you. When the buzzer goes off, the first girl in each line will hustle to the designated areas on the floor with two colored circles. You put one foot in each circle about double shoulder length. Hands on your head. Now, after the first round, you’ll be sore--you might even be crying--but you will get on that line, in the ready stance!”
“The Judges will call out an implement, and a location--and possibly a position. There will be a set of elements for you to straddle or bend over or otherwise put yourself on. You will HUSTLE to the indicated location and get in position. It might be as simple as “The Lunge Position” or over a Spanker’s lap--but whatever it is, you will move and get there. Being the last girl in position is points off!”
“Once you’re in position, the spanking will commence. Now, you all deserve this--it’s guaranteed to be unpleasant, but you are expected to take your punishment! Even if you’re sore--even if you’re sobbing--you are expected to get in position. There will be helper girls standing by and if you need help, it’s a few points off--but not too bad. We expect this to be hard for you--but if you are defiant? That’s a lot of points off--or even a trip to the disgrace box!”
“So we aren’t going to be defiant, are we girls?”
She waited in the silence.
“No, Miss,” Aimee said, in an embarrassingly squeak voice. The other spankees similarly intoned.
She nodded. “When you are spanked, you will go to the back of the line where helper-girls may administer some assistance--but, again, it’s expected to hurt: it’s punishment!” Her bright smile made Aimee wince. Ohh--she was decidedly enjoying this.
“When you are being chastised--spanked--you will be marked off for faulting. The Spanker may get points off for technique--including hitting too hard--but that’s not YOUR call to make! But for YOU, screaming too loudly, breaking position, and especially covering up or, even worse, getting out of the spanking or fighting, will be a serious fault. That’s a lot of points off for the team and, if it’s bad enough, you go to--you guessed it--the disgrace box!”
“So your job--and you are representing FoxTails, even as bad little girls, we expect school spirit and deportment out of you. This is going to be humiliating, uncomfortable, painful, and over all, highly unpleasant: it’s punishment and you all deserve it! But, I expect you to do your part for FoxTails--and tonight that means being disciplined with a moderate amount of school pride and school spirit!”
“We’re going to show that our bad little girls are better than the Tamer bad little girls! Aren't we?”
Now Aimee managed a stronger “Yes Miss!”
“Good brown-nosing, Spankee,” Cassi said--and Aimee shut her mouth, blushing badly. “Some of you may get a chance to learn why it’s called ‘brown nosing’! There’s two more things you need to be aware of: whichever team wins the match, based on the judge’s score, they get to punish the losing team--it’s pretty bad and I don’t want to be naked over a Tamer girl’s lap! Since we have some . . . after-meet authority over your punishments, I want you all to understand that YOU don’t want that either!”
“I also want to explain the disgrace box.” She came forward and sat down, facing them, her cheerleader’s skirt around her in contrast to their bare bottoms.
“Both schools have one--and they’re all a bit different--but FoxTails’ is the envy of the entire circuit. If you’re defiant or in the judge’s opinion faulting to try to sink the school, you’ll go to the disgrace box--there you’ll be bound snugly over a foam wedge and you’ll meet Miss Epharam’s little wonder! She was the first Spanking Team faculty sponsor and she introduced us to her Punishment Paste! Most meets go smoothly without anyone being sent to the disgrace box--but when it happens, the girl in question gets a Second Meet signed up for--and, trust me, girls: no one goes to the disgrace box twice!”
“We’re going to show you a 90 second film clip of a girl in the disgrace box--the actual film lasts almost 90 minutes--but as you’ll see, ninety seconds is enough for you to get the lesson.”
There is a click--the lights are turned off and a rectangle of a film projector appears on the beige wall. Aimee could hear the fluttering clicks of the film running. She squirmed. A girl, in the same uniform was standing facing a fully dressed stern woman, who was clearly livid with her. The older woman took a draught and, holding the college-girl’s nose poured it--forcing it down her throat. The girl flexed and coughed and gagged, bubbles around her lips and running down her chin.
“The drought paralyzes the vocal cords for an hour or so,” Cassi said. “So we don’t have to gag her to stop her from making noise. We mix it with a little soap for taste--or, if you swear, a lot of soap for an added lesson.”
The girl was laid down over a padded pallet. Her wrists were out in front, cuffed by thick, fur-lined leather cuffs with heavy inch-long chains to nails embedded in the wood. A padded bar about 6” above the rest of the pallet ran under her hips, raising them. And her ankles were similarly cuffed by two cheerleader-dressed FoxTail girls squatting and working efficiently. The girl on the trestle looked surly and scared and furious. Her buttocks were a mess of swollen reds and bruises. It was painful to look at--but she was clearly radiating defiance.
Once affixed, one of the senior, uniformed officers stepped forward and opened a stoneware basin. She wore rubber gloves--thick--over her hands and she lowered herself by the aft of the captive girl. She said something the silent film didn’t catch and then dipped fingers into the pot.
“We no longer use . . . “ Cassi said, softly. “That much.”
She came out with a thick dollop of a tan goop. From her expression on opening the container, it was clear the smell was an assault. She held the container and the goop on her fingers well away from her.
“She’s wearing medical rubber gloves under the dish-washer gloves,” Cassi said. “She really doesn’t want it on her--even her fingers.”
The woman then, took her other hand and spread the girl’s cheeks, smearing the good from the crack of her ass at the top, down, thickly over her anus and then across her taint, working a good thick layer of it between her labia and into her vagina. The girl’s head snapped up and she strained to look back as the woman, took another small amount from the bowl and with practiced skill did something to the top of her sex.
“She’s pulling back the clitoral hood,” Cassi said, her voice indicating she found this touch horrible despite herself, “to get it under the hood and over her clit.”
The woman seemed to move her fingers in a small circle, rubbing it in.
“Also her urethra--her pee hole,” Carly said, also appalled at this. “We don’t always do that either.”
“The woman replaced the lid and stepped back, holding the soiled glove out to the side where a helper-woman wearing rubber gloves herself, stripped it off and into a bag like it was toxic waste. On the trestle the girl was fighting not to cry and coughed once or twice. Then she stopped. She held still for a moment--before she started to try to slither!
She moved her pelvis back and forth frantically over the padded leather that boosted her aft up high. Her buttocks swayed and then clenched and unclenched wildly as she sought relief from the assault.
“The itch,” said Cassi, “is unbearable--absolutely intolerable--and she’s going to wear it for ninety minutes .” The girl’s lips parted--she was calling out--and then, in panic, realizing her voice was nothing but a whisper, began to thrash. The padded cuffs and wooden surfaces held her firmly and she bucked and shimmied and her sex clenched and unclenched like she was doing kegel exercises.
The audience gasped as a spurt of golden urine splashed from her sex and she thrust wildly, like she was having sex. Her head shook--NO!NO!NO! She turned to look at the camera--horror on her face, eyes huge, wet, and pleading. The movie stopped.
“She soiled herself not long after that,” Cassi said. “It’s not uncommon. You don’t want to go to the disgrace box. The Young Woman’s Polytechnic Center uses a TENS unit-like device with probes for the anus and vagina to deal out shocks--and their girls find it preferable every time to the paste.”
Silence filled the room.
BZZZNNNNTTTT! A buzzer sounded.
“Two minute warning,” said one of the uniformed women.
“Everybody up, ass-to-cunt, Spankees--I want to see you moving! Show those judges and the Tamer Team our school spirit!” She clapped her hands loudly! “Go! Go! Go!”
Aimee, feeling shocked by the video, felt as though she might cry--but she moved into the line, Candace right behind her. She felt her friend's bare skin against her buttocks.
“Good luck,” whispered Candace in a shaky voice that indicated she might not be so far from tears either.
The door opened and the lead girl, in the FoxTail cheerleader’s uniform--a Spanker--led the bare-bottomed girls out into the room between lockers and up the stairs and through the double doors into the indoor arena.
Across from her, in silence, sat Candace, Aimee’s friend, who was also a FoxTail’s team applicant. To join the private but prodigious Spanking Team, the process was straightforward: Apply to the Faculty Sponsor, get “adopted” by a “Big Sister” on the team, and then you would have to attend all the Spanking Team “meets” for the year. That last part would prove the hardest.
Aimee’s heart was in her throat. She had been dressed out by Cassi, her Big Sister on the team or just her ‘Big,’ in the shorts and t-shirt and her ankle socks and sneakers. Now she rode in silence with the rest of the --ees. That was, as in, “Spankees.” The SpankERS were up front, laughing and talking. They were dressed like cheerleaders (the girls) plus three tall, handsome boys from the FoxTrot University (the boys school).
They were in high spirits, unlike the -ees in the back who were squirming uncomfortably in wretched silence. One girl, a pale red-head had already broken the no-talking rule, and wore a dog’s muzzle fastened onto her head with a muffle stuffed in her mouth so she both looked ridiculous and could only make soft plaintive noises. It was just after dark and the lights were on. Aimee’s stomach did a flip as the bus smoothly moved to an exit ramp and down, back into “civilization” again.
The venue was a high school gym. She could see the dark shapes of the otherwise closed school buildings. It wasn’t a ritzy area--even though FoxTails (and presumably, the other school they were competing against) was fairly exclusive. There was already one bus stopped in front of the two-story, looming gymnasium and Aimee could see several women--older than the college girls--in what looked to her like actual uniforms with jackets in pale pink and with insignia and actual epaulettes with understated filigree.
The bus’s brakes hissed to a stop and the on-board faculty member, the stern (if young, and pretty) Ms. Anderson, stood and clapped once for attention.
“--ers will exit the bus and move to the ready area. Ees will stand in a line, place your hands on the hips of the girl before you and wait to be called forward. There will be no talking and no disruption. You--” she addressed the spankees, “are all under punishment, and silence and contrition is expected. Tears will come later, I assure you. Now! Stand and assemble into your queue!”
The last was with a snap, and Aimee slid out of her seat and stood. Candace was in front of her and Aimee placed her hands on her friend's hips. Someone behind her was whimpering softly, but she didn’t dare turn her head.”
Candace, like Aimee, wasn’t exactly “sentenced” to the Intramural Spanking Team: both of them had applied to become ‘--ers.’ It turned out that in addition to getting a ‘Big’--a ‘Big Sister’ who was already on the team, you also had to attend a year of “meets.” This would be the first one, and they were both dreading it.
Of course life under her ‘Big’ hadn’t been comfortable either. Candace was constantly walking saddle-legged as her Big, their Residential Assistant, Carly, had decided that her ;Little,’ Candace, would benefit from receiving enemas on a weekly basis as a ‘maintenance’ punishment, and had administered several with unusual fluids that had Candace feeling an oozing discomfort back there.
The ‘ers’ had exited in high spirits and now, Ms. Anderson ordered the ‘ees’ forward, with a stern snap of her fingers. The spankees shuffled forwards and stepped down out of the bus, their hands on the hips of the girls ahead of them. Off the bus, the air was slightly brisk, and they could hear the sounds of city streets around them. One of the uniformed women took the first girl and directed her to follow.
The queue moved after her, somberly walking into the school and down the empty halls. The door to the gym was open with a WELCOME FOXTAILS sign posted. They filed in and moved into the directed locker-room.
Inside were three of the FoxTails Spankers, including Carly and Cassi, and three of the older uniformed women.
“Spankees,” said Cassi, standing on a wooden bench. “Come in and take seats where you’re directed. I’ll explain everything. Move it--move it,” she said, waving them in. Aimee and Candace turned to face the girls who were grinning with anticipation.
“Sit!” she ordered. They sat. “When I order you to disrobe, you will remove your shorts and panties--they will come straight off and will go into the brown paper bags in front of you. You will then sit. I want all of you to hold hands with the girl next to you!”
The girls reached out and took each other’s hands.
“Carly is handing out leg-warmers. Once you are bare-bottomed, you will put them on. We have them in FoxTail’s colors and in addition to keeping your legs warmed, you’ll be showing off your school spirit. It’s our spankees look!”
The girls squirmed listening to her as Carly came by placing two leg warmers next to each paper bag.
“Okay! Disrobe! Dress out!” Cassi commanded.
Now there were little sounds--soft moans, whimpers--sniffles. Carly squirmed as her shorts and panties came down. She toed her sneakers off and removed them, putting them into the bag. She moved quickly, not wanting to be last, but also in a hurry to obey before the torment of her dignity paralyzed her! The red head was sobbing softly into her muzzle, as Carly stood behind her, unbuckling it.
She pulled the leg-warmers on--they came up her bare legs to the knees--and they were thick. The t-shirt stopped before her hips, ensuring that her region was bare. All the girls had been thoroughly waxed and she felt intensely nude and vulnerable.
Her emotions had been building and fraying since last night, and it had gotten worse during the endless ride here. Resentment, anxiety, and embarrassment created a miserable stew in her stomach that seemed desperate to come out as sobbing cries. It took one look at the whimpering red-haired girl to know that a crying spankee would get extra attention--and not the comforting kind!
Cassi stepped back up. “Anyone still working on it will get a little extra!” she grinned--this was FUN for her. Aimee’s face flushed with anger and humiliation!
“Okay, girls, here are the rules. You will form up and follow the leader--Carly--out onto the floor. You will form up in a row of four and five, about three feet apart. You will stand with your legs shoulder length apart, hands behind your back, head up, tits out. The judges will be at a table in front and our other team, the Tamer Finishing Academy girls, will be to your left.”
“We’ll begin with some warm-up easy exercises and stretches. You will be graded on these--the Judges and our own proctors are playing attention. If you aren’t participating and giving it your best effort and we think so, you’ll get the disgrace punishment--which you don’t want. I’ll go into that in a moment!”
She smiled brightly! She was enjoying this. The bare bottomed spankees shifted uncomfortably on the wooden benches.
“As for the spanking itself, it’ll work like this: you’ll be put into a line for the FoxTails and the Tamer Spankees will be put into a line as well, next to you. When the buzzer goes off, the first girl in each line will hustle to the designated areas on the floor with two colored circles. You put one foot in each circle about double shoulder length. Hands on your head. Now, after the first round, you’ll be sore--you might even be crying--but you will get on that line, in the ready stance!”
“The Judges will call out an implement, and a location--and possibly a position. There will be a set of elements for you to straddle or bend over or otherwise put yourself on. You will HUSTLE to the indicated location and get in position. It might be as simple as “The Lunge Position” or over a Spanker’s lap--but whatever it is, you will move and get there. Being the last girl in position is points off!”
“Once you’re in position, the spanking will commence. Now, you all deserve this--it’s guaranteed to be unpleasant, but you are expected to take your punishment! Even if you’re sore--even if you’re sobbing--you are expected to get in position. There will be helper girls standing by and if you need help, it’s a few points off--but not too bad. We expect this to be hard for you--but if you are defiant? That’s a lot of points off--or even a trip to the disgrace box!”
“So we aren’t going to be defiant, are we girls?”
She waited in the silence.
“No, Miss,” Aimee said, in an embarrassingly squeak voice. The other spankees similarly intoned.
She nodded. “When you are spanked, you will go to the back of the line where helper-girls may administer some assistance--but, again, it’s expected to hurt: it’s punishment!” Her bright smile made Aimee wince. Ohh--she was decidedly enjoying this.
“When you are being chastised--spanked--you will be marked off for faulting. The Spanker may get points off for technique--including hitting too hard--but that’s not YOUR call to make! But for YOU, screaming too loudly, breaking position, and especially covering up or, even worse, getting out of the spanking or fighting, will be a serious fault. That’s a lot of points off for the team and, if it’s bad enough, you go to--you guessed it--the disgrace box!”
“So your job--and you are representing FoxTails, even as bad little girls, we expect school spirit and deportment out of you. This is going to be humiliating, uncomfortable, painful, and over all, highly unpleasant: it’s punishment and you all deserve it! But, I expect you to do your part for FoxTails--and tonight that means being disciplined with a moderate amount of school pride and school spirit!”
“We’re going to show that our bad little girls are better than the Tamer bad little girls! Aren't we?”
Now Aimee managed a stronger “Yes Miss!”
“Good brown-nosing, Spankee,” Cassi said--and Aimee shut her mouth, blushing badly. “Some of you may get a chance to learn why it’s called ‘brown nosing’! There’s two more things you need to be aware of: whichever team wins the match, based on the judge’s score, they get to punish the losing team--it’s pretty bad and I don’t want to be naked over a Tamer girl’s lap! Since we have some . . . after-meet authority over your punishments, I want you all to understand that YOU don’t want that either!”
“I also want to explain the disgrace box.” She came forward and sat down, facing them, her cheerleader’s skirt around her in contrast to their bare bottoms.
“Both schools have one--and they’re all a bit different--but FoxTails’ is the envy of the entire circuit. If you’re defiant or in the judge’s opinion faulting to try to sink the school, you’ll go to the disgrace box--there you’ll be bound snugly over a foam wedge and you’ll meet Miss Epharam’s little wonder! She was the first Spanking Team faculty sponsor and she introduced us to her Punishment Paste! Most meets go smoothly without anyone being sent to the disgrace box--but when it happens, the girl in question gets a Second Meet signed up for--and, trust me, girls: no one goes to the disgrace box twice!”
“We’re going to show you a 90 second film clip of a girl in the disgrace box--the actual film lasts almost 90 minutes--but as you’ll see, ninety seconds is enough for you to get the lesson.”
There is a click--the lights are turned off and a rectangle of a film projector appears on the beige wall. Aimee could hear the fluttering clicks of the film running. She squirmed. A girl, in the same uniform was standing facing a fully dressed stern woman, who was clearly livid with her. The older woman took a draught and, holding the college-girl’s nose poured it--forcing it down her throat. The girl flexed and coughed and gagged, bubbles around her lips and running down her chin.
“The drought paralyzes the vocal cords for an hour or so,” Cassi said. “So we don’t have to gag her to stop her from making noise. We mix it with a little soap for taste--or, if you swear, a lot of soap for an added lesson.”
The girl was laid down over a padded pallet. Her wrists were out in front, cuffed by thick, fur-lined leather cuffs with heavy inch-long chains to nails embedded in the wood. A padded bar about 6” above the rest of the pallet ran under her hips, raising them. And her ankles were similarly cuffed by two cheerleader-dressed FoxTail girls squatting and working efficiently. The girl on the trestle looked surly and scared and furious. Her buttocks were a mess of swollen reds and bruises. It was painful to look at--but she was clearly radiating defiance.
Once affixed, one of the senior, uniformed officers stepped forward and opened a stoneware basin. She wore rubber gloves--thick--over her hands and she lowered herself by the aft of the captive girl. She said something the silent film didn’t catch and then dipped fingers into the pot.
“We no longer use . . . “ Cassi said, softly. “That much.”
She came out with a thick dollop of a tan goop. From her expression on opening the container, it was clear the smell was an assault. She held the container and the goop on her fingers well away from her.
“She’s wearing medical rubber gloves under the dish-washer gloves,” Cassi said. “She really doesn’t want it on her--even her fingers.”
The woman then, took her other hand and spread the girl’s cheeks, smearing the good from the crack of her ass at the top, down, thickly over her anus and then across her taint, working a good thick layer of it between her labia and into her vagina. The girl’s head snapped up and she strained to look back as the woman, took another small amount from the bowl and with practiced skill did something to the top of her sex.
“She’s pulling back the clitoral hood,” Cassi said, her voice indicating she found this touch horrible despite herself, “to get it under the hood and over her clit.”
The woman seemed to move her fingers in a small circle, rubbing it in.
“Also her urethra--her pee hole,” Carly said, also appalled at this. “We don’t always do that either.”
“The woman replaced the lid and stepped back, holding the soiled glove out to the side where a helper-woman wearing rubber gloves herself, stripped it off and into a bag like it was toxic waste. On the trestle the girl was fighting not to cry and coughed once or twice. Then she stopped. She held still for a moment--before she started to try to slither!
She moved her pelvis back and forth frantically over the padded leather that boosted her aft up high. Her buttocks swayed and then clenched and unclenched wildly as she sought relief from the assault.
“The itch,” said Cassi, “is unbearable--absolutely intolerable--and she’s going to wear it for ninety minutes .” The girl’s lips parted--she was calling out--and then, in panic, realizing her voice was nothing but a whisper, began to thrash. The padded cuffs and wooden surfaces held her firmly and she bucked and shimmied and her sex clenched and unclenched like she was doing kegel exercises.
The audience gasped as a spurt of golden urine splashed from her sex and she thrust wildly, like she was having sex. Her head shook--NO!NO!NO! She turned to look at the camera--horror on her face, eyes huge, wet, and pleading. The movie stopped.
“She soiled herself not long after that,” Cassi said. “It’s not uncommon. You don’t want to go to the disgrace box. The Young Woman’s Polytechnic Center uses a TENS unit-like device with probes for the anus and vagina to deal out shocks--and their girls find it preferable every time to the paste.”
Silence filled the room.
BZZZNNNNTTTT! A buzzer sounded.
“Two minute warning,” said one of the uniformed women.
“Everybody up, ass-to-cunt, Spankees--I want to see you moving! Show those judges and the Tamer Team our school spirit!” She clapped her hands loudly! “Go! Go! Go!”
Aimee, feeling shocked by the video, felt as though she might cry--but she moved into the line, Candace right behind her. She felt her friend's bare skin against her buttocks.
“Good luck,” whispered Candace in a shaky voice that indicated she might not be so far from tears either.
The door opened and the lead girl, in the FoxTail cheerleader’s uniform--a Spanker--led the bare-bottomed girls out into the room between lockers and up the stairs and through the double doors into the indoor arena.
Re: The College Spanking Team Part 01
Candace moaned when she saw the room. Madonna’s Hanky Panky was playing over the loudspeakers and while Candace didn’t recognize it, it was clear the female singer was enthusiastic about being spanked. It was insult to injury!
On one side the bleachers were out and there were . . . a bunch of people in them--what looked like parents or maybe faculty members--no uniforms but older men and women with a few teenagers here and there (staring with wide eyed horror and wonder) and college girls--student government types who were clearly eager for the event!
A woman in a girl’s volleyball outfit with a cap on and a whistle around her neck stood in the center and behind her a large long table with three older people--the judges--two women in their 50’s and a man. They looked stern, and severe as the line wound from the door, the lead bare girl, whimpering as she sought to follow the quickly jogging lead-girl.
The lead girl pointed and indicated the line was to go there. She counted off five girls and then pointed to the last four. Candace turned and moved down, lining up behind the girl in front--then moving slightly as there were only four girls in this row.
To the group’s right was a leotard-clad young woman who was assuming the feet apart, hands on her head position, back straight, chin up, tits, as Cassi had said, out. But she wasn’t nude! Candace’s vagina was visible between her thighs. Her labia were exposed--there was no hair--no fur--anywhere down there. The judges looked at the group over their spectacles and it was clear THEY felt the girls on the floor were all bad-girls who certainly had it coming.
The singer was saying that her “bottom hurts just thinking about it” when the door behind them opened again and the Tamer girls came out. They had green and yellow colors and the shirts had a sequined whip on the front. They looked wide-eyed and teary and they dashed out, frantically following their own lead girl who ran a similar pattern to the other side. They were slightly slower in getting into position and the girl off to the side had to manually reposition a couple of girls, landing a solid slap on their buttocks.
However, all too fast, the Tamer girls were lined up and from both doors, the -ers came dashing out. One of them even turned a cartwheel across the floor. They were smiling brilliantly and waving to the crowd. Candace could see the Foxtrot boys--three of them, in male-cheerleader uniforms--looking lean and handsome as they took position with the girls. She blushed intensely--her bottom--her entire naked ass--was visible to them. She couldn’t cover it--couldn’t hide it--and soon it would be spanked! She could feel the crushing embarrassment of the exposure.
Her slim body was exposed--the private parts on obscene display. Blush rose in her face, her neck, her ears, her buttocks. Her dark skin might hide a little of it--but it was still obvious: the spankees were bathed in awful humiliation. She felt like she had to pee. Before them, to either side of the judges, the spankers were assembling the disciplinary furniture that would be used to restrain or position and display the spankees.
The girls in spandex had moved before each group of girls and the woman with the whistle was beginning to call out the exercise routine.
“Legs double-shoulder-length,” called out the woman. “Palms on the floor! Stretch.” The spandex girl, demonstrating, elegantly placed her palms on the floor. Someone to her left and several girls in the Tamer group burst into tears. There were plenty of people behind them--the uniformed women setting up the restraining couches for the disgrace boxes, Spankers gathering implements and setting up tables to the sides to display them.
Candace went down, tears stinging her own eyes--she was displaying EVERYTHING. Ohh! OH!! This was horrible. Their bottoms were facing away from the bleachers, but she still whimpered with the humiliation of the exposure.
“And up!” the coach commanded. They placed their hands together between their breasts and began a dynamic stretch of lifting one knee to their chest and then the other. The heavy girl--Tanya--from the correctional facility, was blubbering. She held her hands to her face and limply tried to keep up. She wasn’t doing a very good job of it.
“Someone give fatty a spank!” demanded the coach girl, her voice harsh and sharp. This made the poor girl wail more loudly. One of the boys stepped over, placed a hand on her shoulder and his other hand landed on her ample buttocks with a thunderous slap. She shrieked! He smacked her again! A solid spank to her rear. Flesh rippled. She moaned.
“Squats!” Called the coach. “Get those bottoms down!” The spandex girls, their legs widely spread, began to lower themselves--deep squats, knees apart. It was awful, even for the clothed girls--for the bare girls, tears spilled. To her left, Aimee was whimpering and further, there were a few Tamer Academy girls getting their own loud slaps to their buttocks for failure to keep up. It seemed both teams had boys on them and the boys were tasked with the present spanking chores.
They did three squat-thrusts. Candace could feel the air of the room on her private areas. She whimpered. Tanya was snuffling and sobbing ahead of them. All the girls had some degree of body-shame--but the college girls were mostly athletic and thin. For poor Tanya it must have been staggering. The coach blew her whistle and everyone came back to standing.
Aimee looked misty-eyed. Candace as well--ohh, oh, this was horrible! It was mortifying!
“Line up, spankees!” demanded the coach. The spandex ‘leader girls’ moved to the side and the spankees, already looking drenched with blush and near-tears, Candace turned and fell in line behind the forming line of bare-bottomed girls. Both groups of Spankees had formed up into lines on either side of the coach.
Now she saw the yellow sticky-backed circles on the floor. They were about 8” in diameter and perhaps 2’ apart.
That’s where our feet go, Candace thought with dread. The spandex girls had taken position--their lean bodies standing, legs apart, feet in the center of each circle. Their backs were straight, their hips slightly cocked to push their buttocks out. Their hands lay on the tops of their heads, demonstrating how they were to stand.
“Welcome FoxTails and Tamer Finishing Academy Spanking Teams,” called out one of the uniformed women, holding a wireless microphone. “We are here to continue the tradition of introducing our bad little spankees' bottoms to discipline!”
She introduced the judges, thanked the audience, and gave the names of both Spanking Teams’ captains. There was applause from the bleachers.
“We are doing six rounds this evening so we’re going to have eighteen extreme sore bottoms by the end of this. I’m sure all our disciplinarians are looking forward to the application of well earned punishment!”
“We have a Florence-Hawley incremental punishment scale for tonight with a randomized series of implements and some specified locations. Other positions and the use of restraints will be up to the individual disciplinarian.”
“Our videographers are Ms. Emma Stone and Ms. Alice Richter, and our photographers are Ms. Nancy Fisher and Ms. Elizabeth Cole.”
There were moans from the spankees. Candace saw two girls with a video camera playing over them and another with a professional camera. There were several large TVs that came to life with their pictures. There were gasps as the sorry image of the girls came into views and they saw their own naked regions. Candace almost covered herself as did others--but no one did.
She was horrified to see her nether-lips swollen---Aimee’s were worse. It was clear most of the Spankees were displaying humiliating arousal!
“I don’t consent,” moaned Tanya in misery! “You can’t film me!”
“You consented when you signed papers at the correctional facility,” said the woman. There were actual snickers from the crowd. “For that matter, the rest of you consented when you signed up for your respective schools. Please administer five additional spanks to our recalcitrant girl.”
The boy stepped forward, he had a stern look on his face, but his voice was gentler. “This way, with me,” He said. “It’s only five,” he said softly so Candace barely heard it. “Cooperate,” he suggested.
The girl was weeping as she was brought to the center and turned to face her fellows. He directed her to spread her feet, and place her palms on the ground.
“I need to pee,” she moaned.
“If you do, they’ll send you to the disgrace box,” he warned. “Hold it--I know you can.” His voice was encouraging. She bent over, her body quivering with tears.
Her bottom, her pussy, was facing the crowd and the judges. It was plump and ruddy. There were some slightly rashy and discolored areas. Candace thought she would have collapsed to the floor if it were her.
“This is a cleft-spanking,” the boy announced. He was extremely fit--handsome--powerful. “The spanks will be applied to the lower curve of your bottom, but some of the spank will land on your labia. I will count--you are to hold position and your bladder.”
He paused, and the sound of her sobs was well audible in the auditorium. “Spanking commences.”
He lay his hand over her rear curve, his fingers reaching over her taint to her lips. Candace’s stomach fluttered. She squirmed. The boy touching her like that . . . would be electric!
POW! The spank echoed. Tanya let out a cry. “Ow!”
The judges looked unimpressed.
There were cameras on the judge’s table and the camera girl had moved to get a view of Tanya’s face with her hair dangling. She was horrified, red faced--wincing and sobbing. Other views showed fatty areas of the buttocks and labia quiver from the smack.
The crowd was rapt.
“One,” the boy said. “Be brave, Tanya.”
Her whimper was loud.
Pow. Pow. The two spanks were about half as hard as the first one. Tanya jumped at each one--but she didn’t wail. The close up on her sex showed her vagina quiver and the skin where his fingers touched her sex, they pinkened slightly.
“Two, Three,” counted the boy. “Two more, hon. You’re doing well.”
Candace was certainly not sure the girl was ‘doing well’--but the Spanker’s kindness and encouragement made her heart flutter. The warmth in her lower region increased. She could imagine sobbing in his arms--bawling and being comforted.
Pow! Pow! Tanya yelped at the last one. “Ow!” she gasped loudly.
The judges made marks on their sheets. She’s being scored, Candace thought with alarm. We’re losing! She wasn’t sure what would happen to the group if they lost--but she was certain her Big, Carly, would have quite a bad reaction!
“You may stand,” the boy said. “Return to your line and try not to be defiant. You very well could be sent to the disgrace box,” he said. “You don’t want that.” He rubbed her shoulder. “Neither do I.”
Candace’s sex clenched. She actually felt a quiver of envy: would she WANT to be touched by the boy like that? Even after the terrible humiliation? Especially after that terrible humiliation. She held her breath, as Tanya was marched back to line.
“First miscreants,” intoned the male judge. The two girls moved forward, the FoxTail girl actually jogged to the circles, arriving first, and put her hands behind her head.
“Good spirit!” called someone from the crowd, and Candace saw cheers from the FoxTail -ers. They were quieter but well picked out on film. A close up focus showed the girl was blushing terribly and blinking--but she held her posture, even as her spread legs terribly showed off her sex.
The other girl was fidgeting--tears sparkled in her eyes. Her feet weren’t centered on the circles--they were too close and sticking out on the floor. One of the video-girls caught that.
The judge pressed a button on his laptop.
“First sound: Hand spanking applied to the saddle area. Forty strokes, sound. Position and restraints determined by disciplinarian.”
The coach girl blew a hard shrill on her whistle, and one cheerleader from each side sprinted off the line to move to her subject.
“Face the rear,” the FoxTail spanker told her girl--the Tamer girl. “Elbows pushed into your knees--stick your bottom out. Arch slightly, and roll your rear to present a proper target.”
The girl gasped but she moved into position, facing the line so, again, her bottom was facing the crowd. Bent over, in a position almost like a football player, her aft was obscenely visible. Her face was red with embarrassment. Tears ran down her face.
The FoxTail Spankee had her legs widened and her palms on the ground. She was quiet and quivering. The Tamer Spanker was quietly scolding the FoxTail Spankee and Candace could hear soft but cutting if jovial whispers.
Both girls placed their left hands on the small of their subject’s back and saluted each other. Then they raised their right hands, and they began. The reports were loud and echoed slightly. Both girls gasped and jumped. The Tamer girl’s position seemed worse--and when the FoxTail Spanker smacked the inner thighs of her Spankee, she made soft noises. Both girls withstood their spanks--but there were visible red marks on their bottoms and thighs--backs and inside. It looked painful. They were sent to run, sniffling and sobby back to the rear of the line.
Candace, breath held, moved forward.
“Next!”
The line moved forwards. Candace saw there were no boys on the Tamer school team--just mean girls--and she didn’t know which Spanker she would get--but she could make out some she didn’t want. Only one of the Tamer Spankers was black as she was. The girl looked imperious. She hoped she didn’t draw her--but she had a sinking feeling she might.
It was her turn. She stood, watching the girl who’d just been spanked jog tearfully back to the rear of the line.
“Next!”
Candace, her heart in her throat, jogged forward to the circles, spread her legs, pushed her buttocks and titis out, and put her hands on her head. It was breathtakingly awful and she saw with a horrid, sinking feeling the other dark skinned Tamer Academy spanker sprint from her line to come to her side.
“Okay, little bitch,” said the Tamer Spanker softly, “you’re going to cry for me. I want to have you fault, and go to the disgrace box!” Candace let out an awful little sob.
“On your knees, bottom and wet cunt facing the crowd! You’ll lift your ass up as high as you can and get your knees well apart! Show the judges your lubrication! Show them what a slut you are!”
Candace actually moaned softly as she adopted the position.
The girl stroked the small of her back--a surprisingly tender touch. Candace quivered.
POW! POW! POW! The spanking began. Candace squeezed her eyes shut, clamping her teeth together. The smacks hurt and her skin jiggled constantly under the blows. The Spanker applied her hand to each buttock and the thighs with surprising force. It hurt--and the smarting rose--and rose--she gasped.
She could hear the tears in her breath. It was awful! POW! POW! POW!
“Ow,” she mouthed--she mouthed it silently and did her best to hold on to her already tattered composure!
POW! POW! POW! “Oh!” a soft, hurt little cry--not enough to fault. Hot tears spilled down her face.
WHAP! A particularly hard strike across her bottom.
Then, softly, “That’s it, little slut,” the Spanker said in a whisper. Despite the cutting word used, her voice was far kinder. “Back to the line with you!”
Candace, her cheeks shining as she rose, scrambled.
# # #
Aimee could see her friend had cried--the spanking looked hard and awful! She’d also seen that after each round the photographer took a focused picture of the girl’s bottom. The idea was unfathomable. Now she was up.
She sprinted forwards. Her bare region felt impossibly nude under the lights. The position--legs apart, bottom pouted out, hands in her hair, was horrid. She felt flashes of heat-waves over her face and couldn’t look into the crowd without cringing. Her sex and bottom was clenched and she wanted to close her legs and cover her breasts (and their erect nipples) more than anything she’d ever wanted!
The Tamer Academy girl had sprinted up beside her, carrying a wooden chair. She sat the chair before Aimee and cupped a hand on her bare bottom.
“I’m Emily! I’m your Spanker today! I want you to fault and cry and maybe get sent to the disgrace box, hon--but it’s not personal.” She bent in to kiss Aimee on the temple. “Rising view,” she called out to the camera girl who dropped to one knee, pointing the camera up at Aimee’s bottom. Aimee’s eyes widened as she saw her aft come into view on the big screens!
“Pick up your foot and put it on the chair. Turn your foot out to open up. I’ll spank a little harder if you put your hands on the chair back for balance--but I don’t want you to fall or lose your balance.”
Aimee sniffled, and raised her foot. The position spread her horribly. On the screens facing her she could see the moisture of her vagina, the dark skin around her anus. Her eyes widened as they filled with tears.
“Good girl,” enthused Emily. “You can have a cry. Do try not to fault from a hand spanking. If you’re VERY good,” she giggled, “Mistress Emily might just spank you to orgasm!”
Aimee yelped at the indignity of the words, their soft, kind delivery making them all the worse. Emily placed her hand on Aimee’s stomach, under her belly button, holding her gently. Then it started.
POW! POW! SPLAT-SPLAT--POW! The spanks came up from underneath, the spanking hand cupping the curve of her expressed bottom and despite herself she yelped at the intimate blows.
“Fault!” said one of the female judges and she gasped in shame and horror.
“Hold tight, honey,” said Emily. “I’m going to spank your naughty bottom harder now.”
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! The spanks landed--indeed they were harder, and while she was still alternating and allowing some of the spanks to hit areas of Aimee’s thighs, they did explicitly overlap! The pain was bad--the humiliation and indignity, though--unbearable!
She gasped through tears--her intimate skin sang with the smarting punishment.
She NEARLY reached down to cover herself, but the punishment was over.
“All done,” Emily whispered. “I’ll fault you later tonight. Hopefully, you won’t have to go to the disgrace box!” Aimee, sobbing softly, got back into line.
It seemed to move more quickly now, as the first “round” of spankings was completed. Candace was ahead of her and she watched the next round--this one was a heavy one! The Spanker posted with a rattan carpet beater and the girl’s bent over, feet spread, palms flat, legs slightly bent, bottoms, as always, pushed out. The Spanker bounced the tool off the subject’s proffered orbs.
Clearly it hurt! Tanya collapsed after 7 out of 12, and was ruled a fault and placed over a trestle to take a good deal more. It, again, wasn’t bad enough to send her to the disgrace box. She would take double the number left after her fault.
A Tamer school girl also yelped, breaking and holding her bottom and sobbing. She got a fault as well and was due, now not 12, but 16 in addition to the 4 she’d taken.
Oww, Aimee thought, miserably. Candace ran forward, coming to position on the circles. Aimee could see the faint results of the spanking on her buttocks. Nothing bad--but those slaps HAD hurt! The Tamer Spanker came jogging up. Equally dark skinned, she took the ornate looking carpet beater and gave Candace the instructions to spread and bend.
Aimee was horrified to see the swollen size of her pussy--it looked obscenely big!
The two Spankers saluted each other and--WHAP!
Neither Spanker wound up like with a baseball bat--but rather positioned herself to the side and, keeping their spanking arm more or less straight, turned their hips to draw it back. When they snapped their hips around, it struck. There wasn’t much sound either--the carpet beater was a beast of an implement. It raised dark red curves on the skin. The sound of the carpet beater wasn’t the hollow smack of a cupped-hand spanking but it was intimidating. Around the red marks, the skin bruised. The skin, pinkened from the hand spanking, seemed especially vulnerable to bruising. The effects were shockingly visible!
Aimee, however saw the Tamer girl add an expert flick of her wrist to the blow, and Candace cried out, her legs almost buckling--she reached back to cover herself, Aimee could see the camera girl zoomed in on her face, capturing her expression of hurt outrage as she turned to look up at the spanker.
“Position!” snapped the spanker and Candace, a loud sob escaping her lips, struggled back.
“Fault!” Declared the female judge.
The spanker’s hips swiveled and again she snapped forward like a martial arts master. That same wrist flick, causing the carpet beater to bite deep.
“OHHH!” Candace yowled and her position, again, folded--or almost did.She recovered, whimpering--but it wasn’t enough.
“Fault!” The judge said. There were murmurs in the crowd. The spanker leaned in over the quivering girl to say something and Aimee could hear mewling sobs from her friend.
Now, with a call from the spanker, a trestle was wheeled over and positioned before a crying Candace. The spanker patted her bottom with the carpet beater--it was already starting to swell, and the girl yelped and, struggling, climbed over. The helper girls affixed her wrists and then ankles.
“Call for additional!”
The Judges conferred. “Same round, additional. Twenty spanks!”
The spanker flashed a brilliant, predatory smile. Candace moaned audibly.
WHAP! Candace was bent at the waist, rear high, head down. The camera girl knelt to capture her split sex and bottom and her snotty face. When the carpet beater struck, she quivered top to bottom--she managed to grit her teeth--but then: WHAPP! The carpet beater struck again--and again--and--”AUUUUHH!! S-stop--please!” she moaned. Her voice and her will had broken entirely and she sobbed.
“Fault,” the judge called out nastily.
WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAPP!! “OOHHH!!” Another wail. Ohh--it had to HURT. Aimee could see bruises blossoming on the dark skin. POW! POW! POW! A weeping sob.
“Fault. Fault.” The judge’s tone dripped with condemnation.
The spanker bent forward, theatrically addressing her charge, speaking softly, it was clear to Aimee she was scolding or lecturing or even taunting Candace.
Candace nodded, her face a wet mask of tears.
WHAPP! Candace flexed but held quiet. WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! Spank! Spank! Spank! These came less severely, even as one of the helper-girls dashed over, calling a brief time-out to inspect Candace’s bottom. The woman had rubber medical gloves on and separated the buttocks, her fingers examining the dark-colored marks appearing. Satisfied, she stepped back, giving a signal to continue.
Whap. Whap! Whap. A loud sob burst out of Candace’s mouth--but it was quickly swallowed and the judge, although scowling, was silent.
WHAP! Candace went stiff, head flying up, feet jiggling in the restraints--but the count was over. As they got her up, she was walking with difficulty. Aimee looked across the divide and saw a pale puddle of urine on the floor under where the Tamer girl had gotten their own licks.
Aimee had to dash forward to take position on the circles.
“I’ll keep the trestle!” Emily sounded thrilled. “Over you go, sweetheart!”
Aimee despised the pleased smugness of Emily, but she knew better than to argue and she climbed over.
Again the helper girls applied the restraints. They were supple and snug--but once fastened, she was stuck, bent over the padded bar, wrists and ankles spread, hair dangling. Her spanked bottom upmost.
Emily bent to whisper in Aimee’s ear. “The girl ahead of you might get disgraced,” she said with cheer. “I wouldn’t mind seeing you both get it!” She said this sweetly. “But to make it through this, just don’t yowl too loud. We don’t spank as hard as we can, after all!”
Aimee could see that the other side also had a similar trestle set up. Apparently the Tamer Academy girls were unable to maintain position either.
Emily patted Aimee on the bottom. She stepped back to position.
WHAP! Bent over the trestle, the spank sounded thunderously loud as pain blossomed in her bottom. Her lips parted and she gasped loudly--but she, barely, managed not to yelp. WHAP! She gasped. Oh! It hurt--the spank was shocking! She gasped--the hurt was intense. Her buttocks screamed with vulnerability. Aimee would have covered herself immediately if she weren’t restrained.
WHAP! Now a horrid wet sob bubbled out past her lips. Moaned softly. Emily patted the implement against her buttocks. She felt the ratan curves of the carpet beater kiss her there. Ohhh! She gulped air and pushed her mouth closed right in time.
WHAP! She let out a loud gasp--and then it broke into a bubbling stream of sobs. She was crying thickly when the next one came: WHAP! Now she did howl.
“Fault.” She heard the judgmental voice of the female. She cried, snot and drool from her nose and mouth. OW! OW! OWWWWW!! She tried to cover herself, to protect her buttocks. SMACK! A softer blow, but one that still bought a cry out.
It was a softer cry and she was listening for the ‘Fault’ when: Smack. Her buttocks screamed with the smarting pain. She thrashed and squirmed to try to get away. Smack! Emily was, she realized with alarm, taking it easy on her. The carpet beater bounced lightly on her buttocks. Whap! Taking it easy or not, her body bucked as she tried with all her might to crawl off the trestle. She was crying freely now--but, it seemed, at a low enough level that she wasn’t getting faulted for it.
“Two more, sweetie,” Emily said in a light enough voice that it was possible she actually meant it kindly. Aimee gulped--POW! SMACK! Her world exploded in bright sparks of pain as Emily dealt two smacks in rapid succession to her buttocks. She gave a loud yelp--and by only a tremendous effort managed to choke down more gasping yowls.
“Fault.” The judge’s voice came through her tears and she moaned and quivered.
The nurse-girl inspected her buttocks as the helper-girls undid the restraints. Emily squatted by her head and brushed back her hair.
“Not bad, cupcake,” she said. “You’re going to be SO adorable reduced to a puddle.” She kissed her and then helped her unsteadily to her feet. A mere touch, not even a pat or a light spank on her bottom, and Aimee, tears flowing, hustled to the back of the line.
On one side the bleachers were out and there were . . . a bunch of people in them--what looked like parents or maybe faculty members--no uniforms but older men and women with a few teenagers here and there (staring with wide eyed horror and wonder) and college girls--student government types who were clearly eager for the event!
A woman in a girl’s volleyball outfit with a cap on and a whistle around her neck stood in the center and behind her a large long table with three older people--the judges--two women in their 50’s and a man. They looked stern, and severe as the line wound from the door, the lead bare girl, whimpering as she sought to follow the quickly jogging lead-girl.
The lead girl pointed and indicated the line was to go there. She counted off five girls and then pointed to the last four. Candace turned and moved down, lining up behind the girl in front--then moving slightly as there were only four girls in this row.
To the group’s right was a leotard-clad young woman who was assuming the feet apart, hands on her head position, back straight, chin up, tits, as Cassi had said, out. But she wasn’t nude! Candace’s vagina was visible between her thighs. Her labia were exposed--there was no hair--no fur--anywhere down there. The judges looked at the group over their spectacles and it was clear THEY felt the girls on the floor were all bad-girls who certainly had it coming.
The singer was saying that her “bottom hurts just thinking about it” when the door behind them opened again and the Tamer girls came out. They had green and yellow colors and the shirts had a sequined whip on the front. They looked wide-eyed and teary and they dashed out, frantically following their own lead girl who ran a similar pattern to the other side. They were slightly slower in getting into position and the girl off to the side had to manually reposition a couple of girls, landing a solid slap on their buttocks.
However, all too fast, the Tamer girls were lined up and from both doors, the -ers came dashing out. One of them even turned a cartwheel across the floor. They were smiling brilliantly and waving to the crowd. Candace could see the Foxtrot boys--three of them, in male-cheerleader uniforms--looking lean and handsome as they took position with the girls. She blushed intensely--her bottom--her entire naked ass--was visible to them. She couldn’t cover it--couldn’t hide it--and soon it would be spanked! She could feel the crushing embarrassment of the exposure.
Her slim body was exposed--the private parts on obscene display. Blush rose in her face, her neck, her ears, her buttocks. Her dark skin might hide a little of it--but it was still obvious: the spankees were bathed in awful humiliation. She felt like she had to pee. Before them, to either side of the judges, the spankers were assembling the disciplinary furniture that would be used to restrain or position and display the spankees.
The girls in spandex had moved before each group of girls and the woman with the whistle was beginning to call out the exercise routine.
“Legs double-shoulder-length,” called out the woman. “Palms on the floor! Stretch.” The spandex girl, demonstrating, elegantly placed her palms on the floor. Someone to her left and several girls in the Tamer group burst into tears. There were plenty of people behind them--the uniformed women setting up the restraining couches for the disgrace boxes, Spankers gathering implements and setting up tables to the sides to display them.
Candace went down, tears stinging her own eyes--she was displaying EVERYTHING. Ohh! OH!! This was horrible. Their bottoms were facing away from the bleachers, but she still whimpered with the humiliation of the exposure.
“And up!” the coach commanded. They placed their hands together between their breasts and began a dynamic stretch of lifting one knee to their chest and then the other. The heavy girl--Tanya--from the correctional facility, was blubbering. She held her hands to her face and limply tried to keep up. She wasn’t doing a very good job of it.
“Someone give fatty a spank!” demanded the coach girl, her voice harsh and sharp. This made the poor girl wail more loudly. One of the boys stepped over, placed a hand on her shoulder and his other hand landed on her ample buttocks with a thunderous slap. She shrieked! He smacked her again! A solid spank to her rear. Flesh rippled. She moaned.
“Squats!” Called the coach. “Get those bottoms down!” The spandex girls, their legs widely spread, began to lower themselves--deep squats, knees apart. It was awful, even for the clothed girls--for the bare girls, tears spilled. To her left, Aimee was whimpering and further, there were a few Tamer Academy girls getting their own loud slaps to their buttocks for failure to keep up. It seemed both teams had boys on them and the boys were tasked with the present spanking chores.
They did three squat-thrusts. Candace could feel the air of the room on her private areas. She whimpered. Tanya was snuffling and sobbing ahead of them. All the girls had some degree of body-shame--but the college girls were mostly athletic and thin. For poor Tanya it must have been staggering. The coach blew her whistle and everyone came back to standing.
Aimee looked misty-eyed. Candace as well--ohh, oh, this was horrible! It was mortifying!
“Line up, spankees!” demanded the coach. The spandex ‘leader girls’ moved to the side and the spankees, already looking drenched with blush and near-tears, Candace turned and fell in line behind the forming line of bare-bottomed girls. Both groups of Spankees had formed up into lines on either side of the coach.
Now she saw the yellow sticky-backed circles on the floor. They were about 8” in diameter and perhaps 2’ apart.
That’s where our feet go, Candace thought with dread. The spandex girls had taken position--their lean bodies standing, legs apart, feet in the center of each circle. Their backs were straight, their hips slightly cocked to push their buttocks out. Their hands lay on the tops of their heads, demonstrating how they were to stand.
“Welcome FoxTails and Tamer Finishing Academy Spanking Teams,” called out one of the uniformed women, holding a wireless microphone. “We are here to continue the tradition of introducing our bad little spankees' bottoms to discipline!”
She introduced the judges, thanked the audience, and gave the names of both Spanking Teams’ captains. There was applause from the bleachers.
“We are doing six rounds this evening so we’re going to have eighteen extreme sore bottoms by the end of this. I’m sure all our disciplinarians are looking forward to the application of well earned punishment!”
“We have a Florence-Hawley incremental punishment scale for tonight with a randomized series of implements and some specified locations. Other positions and the use of restraints will be up to the individual disciplinarian.”
“Our videographers are Ms. Emma Stone and Ms. Alice Richter, and our photographers are Ms. Nancy Fisher and Ms. Elizabeth Cole.”
There were moans from the spankees. Candace saw two girls with a video camera playing over them and another with a professional camera. There were several large TVs that came to life with their pictures. There were gasps as the sorry image of the girls came into views and they saw their own naked regions. Candace almost covered herself as did others--but no one did.
She was horrified to see her nether-lips swollen---Aimee’s were worse. It was clear most of the Spankees were displaying humiliating arousal!
“I don’t consent,” moaned Tanya in misery! “You can’t film me!”
“You consented when you signed papers at the correctional facility,” said the woman. There were actual snickers from the crowd. “For that matter, the rest of you consented when you signed up for your respective schools. Please administer five additional spanks to our recalcitrant girl.”
The boy stepped forward, he had a stern look on his face, but his voice was gentler. “This way, with me,” He said. “It’s only five,” he said softly so Candace barely heard it. “Cooperate,” he suggested.
The girl was weeping as she was brought to the center and turned to face her fellows. He directed her to spread her feet, and place her palms on the ground.
“I need to pee,” she moaned.
“If you do, they’ll send you to the disgrace box,” he warned. “Hold it--I know you can.” His voice was encouraging. She bent over, her body quivering with tears.
Her bottom, her pussy, was facing the crowd and the judges. It was plump and ruddy. There were some slightly rashy and discolored areas. Candace thought she would have collapsed to the floor if it were her.
“This is a cleft-spanking,” the boy announced. He was extremely fit--handsome--powerful. “The spanks will be applied to the lower curve of your bottom, but some of the spank will land on your labia. I will count--you are to hold position and your bladder.”
He paused, and the sound of her sobs was well audible in the auditorium. “Spanking commences.”
He lay his hand over her rear curve, his fingers reaching over her taint to her lips. Candace’s stomach fluttered. She squirmed. The boy touching her like that . . . would be electric!
POW! The spank echoed. Tanya let out a cry. “Ow!”
The judges looked unimpressed.
There were cameras on the judge’s table and the camera girl had moved to get a view of Tanya’s face with her hair dangling. She was horrified, red faced--wincing and sobbing. Other views showed fatty areas of the buttocks and labia quiver from the smack.
The crowd was rapt.
“One,” the boy said. “Be brave, Tanya.”
Her whimper was loud.
Pow. Pow. The two spanks were about half as hard as the first one. Tanya jumped at each one--but she didn’t wail. The close up on her sex showed her vagina quiver and the skin where his fingers touched her sex, they pinkened slightly.
“Two, Three,” counted the boy. “Two more, hon. You’re doing well.”
Candace was certainly not sure the girl was ‘doing well’--but the Spanker’s kindness and encouragement made her heart flutter. The warmth in her lower region increased. She could imagine sobbing in his arms--bawling and being comforted.
Pow! Pow! Tanya yelped at the last one. “Ow!” she gasped loudly.
The judges made marks on their sheets. She’s being scored, Candace thought with alarm. We’re losing! She wasn’t sure what would happen to the group if they lost--but she was certain her Big, Carly, would have quite a bad reaction!
“You may stand,” the boy said. “Return to your line and try not to be defiant. You very well could be sent to the disgrace box,” he said. “You don’t want that.” He rubbed her shoulder. “Neither do I.”
Candace’s sex clenched. She actually felt a quiver of envy: would she WANT to be touched by the boy like that? Even after the terrible humiliation? Especially after that terrible humiliation. She held her breath, as Tanya was marched back to line.
“First miscreants,” intoned the male judge. The two girls moved forward, the FoxTail girl actually jogged to the circles, arriving first, and put her hands behind her head.
“Good spirit!” called someone from the crowd, and Candace saw cheers from the FoxTail -ers. They were quieter but well picked out on film. A close up focus showed the girl was blushing terribly and blinking--but she held her posture, even as her spread legs terribly showed off her sex.
The other girl was fidgeting--tears sparkled in her eyes. Her feet weren’t centered on the circles--they were too close and sticking out on the floor. One of the video-girls caught that.
The judge pressed a button on his laptop.
“First sound: Hand spanking applied to the saddle area. Forty strokes, sound. Position and restraints determined by disciplinarian.”
The coach girl blew a hard shrill on her whistle, and one cheerleader from each side sprinted off the line to move to her subject.
“Face the rear,” the FoxTail spanker told her girl--the Tamer girl. “Elbows pushed into your knees--stick your bottom out. Arch slightly, and roll your rear to present a proper target.”
The girl gasped but she moved into position, facing the line so, again, her bottom was facing the crowd. Bent over, in a position almost like a football player, her aft was obscenely visible. Her face was red with embarrassment. Tears ran down her face.
The FoxTail Spankee had her legs widened and her palms on the ground. She was quiet and quivering. The Tamer Spanker was quietly scolding the FoxTail Spankee and Candace could hear soft but cutting if jovial whispers.
Both girls placed their left hands on the small of their subject’s back and saluted each other. Then they raised their right hands, and they began. The reports were loud and echoed slightly. Both girls gasped and jumped. The Tamer girl’s position seemed worse--and when the FoxTail Spanker smacked the inner thighs of her Spankee, she made soft noises. Both girls withstood their spanks--but there were visible red marks on their bottoms and thighs--backs and inside. It looked painful. They were sent to run, sniffling and sobby back to the rear of the line.
Candace, breath held, moved forward.
“Next!”
The line moved forwards. Candace saw there were no boys on the Tamer school team--just mean girls--and she didn’t know which Spanker she would get--but she could make out some she didn’t want. Only one of the Tamer Spankers was black as she was. The girl looked imperious. She hoped she didn’t draw her--but she had a sinking feeling she might.
It was her turn. She stood, watching the girl who’d just been spanked jog tearfully back to the rear of the line.
“Next!”
Candace, her heart in her throat, jogged forward to the circles, spread her legs, pushed her buttocks and titis out, and put her hands on her head. It was breathtakingly awful and she saw with a horrid, sinking feeling the other dark skinned Tamer Academy spanker sprint from her line to come to her side.
“Okay, little bitch,” said the Tamer Spanker softly, “you’re going to cry for me. I want to have you fault, and go to the disgrace box!” Candace let out an awful little sob.
“On your knees, bottom and wet cunt facing the crowd! You’ll lift your ass up as high as you can and get your knees well apart! Show the judges your lubrication! Show them what a slut you are!”
Candace actually moaned softly as she adopted the position.
The girl stroked the small of her back--a surprisingly tender touch. Candace quivered.
POW! POW! POW! The spanking began. Candace squeezed her eyes shut, clamping her teeth together. The smacks hurt and her skin jiggled constantly under the blows. The Spanker applied her hand to each buttock and the thighs with surprising force. It hurt--and the smarting rose--and rose--she gasped.
She could hear the tears in her breath. It was awful! POW! POW! POW!
“Ow,” she mouthed--she mouthed it silently and did her best to hold on to her already tattered composure!
POW! POW! POW! “Oh!” a soft, hurt little cry--not enough to fault. Hot tears spilled down her face.
WHAP! A particularly hard strike across her bottom.
Then, softly, “That’s it, little slut,” the Spanker said in a whisper. Despite the cutting word used, her voice was far kinder. “Back to the line with you!”
Candace, her cheeks shining as she rose, scrambled.
# # #
Aimee could see her friend had cried--the spanking looked hard and awful! She’d also seen that after each round the photographer took a focused picture of the girl’s bottom. The idea was unfathomable. Now she was up.
She sprinted forwards. Her bare region felt impossibly nude under the lights. The position--legs apart, bottom pouted out, hands in her hair, was horrid. She felt flashes of heat-waves over her face and couldn’t look into the crowd without cringing. Her sex and bottom was clenched and she wanted to close her legs and cover her breasts (and their erect nipples) more than anything she’d ever wanted!
The Tamer Academy girl had sprinted up beside her, carrying a wooden chair. She sat the chair before Aimee and cupped a hand on her bare bottom.
“I’m Emily! I’m your Spanker today! I want you to fault and cry and maybe get sent to the disgrace box, hon--but it’s not personal.” She bent in to kiss Aimee on the temple. “Rising view,” she called out to the camera girl who dropped to one knee, pointing the camera up at Aimee’s bottom. Aimee’s eyes widened as she saw her aft come into view on the big screens!
“Pick up your foot and put it on the chair. Turn your foot out to open up. I’ll spank a little harder if you put your hands on the chair back for balance--but I don’t want you to fall or lose your balance.”
Aimee sniffled, and raised her foot. The position spread her horribly. On the screens facing her she could see the moisture of her vagina, the dark skin around her anus. Her eyes widened as they filled with tears.
“Good girl,” enthused Emily. “You can have a cry. Do try not to fault from a hand spanking. If you’re VERY good,” she giggled, “Mistress Emily might just spank you to orgasm!”
Aimee yelped at the indignity of the words, their soft, kind delivery making them all the worse. Emily placed her hand on Aimee’s stomach, under her belly button, holding her gently. Then it started.
POW! POW! SPLAT-SPLAT--POW! The spanks came up from underneath, the spanking hand cupping the curve of her expressed bottom and despite herself she yelped at the intimate blows.
“Fault!” said one of the female judges and she gasped in shame and horror.
“Hold tight, honey,” said Emily. “I’m going to spank your naughty bottom harder now.”
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! The spanks landed--indeed they were harder, and while she was still alternating and allowing some of the spanks to hit areas of Aimee’s thighs, they did explicitly overlap! The pain was bad--the humiliation and indignity, though--unbearable!
She gasped through tears--her intimate skin sang with the smarting punishment.
She NEARLY reached down to cover herself, but the punishment was over.
“All done,” Emily whispered. “I’ll fault you later tonight. Hopefully, you won’t have to go to the disgrace box!” Aimee, sobbing softly, got back into line.
It seemed to move more quickly now, as the first “round” of spankings was completed. Candace was ahead of her and she watched the next round--this one was a heavy one! The Spanker posted with a rattan carpet beater and the girl’s bent over, feet spread, palms flat, legs slightly bent, bottoms, as always, pushed out. The Spanker bounced the tool off the subject’s proffered orbs.
Clearly it hurt! Tanya collapsed after 7 out of 12, and was ruled a fault and placed over a trestle to take a good deal more. It, again, wasn’t bad enough to send her to the disgrace box. She would take double the number left after her fault.
A Tamer school girl also yelped, breaking and holding her bottom and sobbing. She got a fault as well and was due, now not 12, but 16 in addition to the 4 she’d taken.
Oww, Aimee thought, miserably. Candace ran forward, coming to position on the circles. Aimee could see the faint results of the spanking on her buttocks. Nothing bad--but those slaps HAD hurt! The Tamer Spanker came jogging up. Equally dark skinned, she took the ornate looking carpet beater and gave Candace the instructions to spread and bend.
Aimee was horrified to see the swollen size of her pussy--it looked obscenely big!
The two Spankers saluted each other and--WHAP!
Neither Spanker wound up like with a baseball bat--but rather positioned herself to the side and, keeping their spanking arm more or less straight, turned their hips to draw it back. When they snapped their hips around, it struck. There wasn’t much sound either--the carpet beater was a beast of an implement. It raised dark red curves on the skin. The sound of the carpet beater wasn’t the hollow smack of a cupped-hand spanking but it was intimidating. Around the red marks, the skin bruised. The skin, pinkened from the hand spanking, seemed especially vulnerable to bruising. The effects were shockingly visible!
Aimee, however saw the Tamer girl add an expert flick of her wrist to the blow, and Candace cried out, her legs almost buckling--she reached back to cover herself, Aimee could see the camera girl zoomed in on her face, capturing her expression of hurt outrage as she turned to look up at the spanker.
“Position!” snapped the spanker and Candace, a loud sob escaping her lips, struggled back.
“Fault!” Declared the female judge.
The spanker’s hips swiveled and again she snapped forward like a martial arts master. That same wrist flick, causing the carpet beater to bite deep.
“OHHH!” Candace yowled and her position, again, folded--or almost did.She recovered, whimpering--but it wasn’t enough.
“Fault!” The judge said. There were murmurs in the crowd. The spanker leaned in over the quivering girl to say something and Aimee could hear mewling sobs from her friend.
Now, with a call from the spanker, a trestle was wheeled over and positioned before a crying Candace. The spanker patted her bottom with the carpet beater--it was already starting to swell, and the girl yelped and, struggling, climbed over. The helper girls affixed her wrists and then ankles.
“Call for additional!”
The Judges conferred. “Same round, additional. Twenty spanks!”
The spanker flashed a brilliant, predatory smile. Candace moaned audibly.
WHAP! Candace was bent at the waist, rear high, head down. The camera girl knelt to capture her split sex and bottom and her snotty face. When the carpet beater struck, she quivered top to bottom--she managed to grit her teeth--but then: WHAPP! The carpet beater struck again--and again--and--”AUUUUHH!! S-stop--please!” she moaned. Her voice and her will had broken entirely and she sobbed.
“Fault,” the judge called out nastily.
WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAPP!! “OOHHH!!” Another wail. Ohh--it had to HURT. Aimee could see bruises blossoming on the dark skin. POW! POW! POW! A weeping sob.
“Fault. Fault.” The judge’s tone dripped with condemnation.
The spanker bent forward, theatrically addressing her charge, speaking softly, it was clear to Aimee she was scolding or lecturing or even taunting Candace.
Candace nodded, her face a wet mask of tears.
WHAPP! Candace flexed but held quiet. WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! Spank! Spank! Spank! These came less severely, even as one of the helper-girls dashed over, calling a brief time-out to inspect Candace’s bottom. The woman had rubber medical gloves on and separated the buttocks, her fingers examining the dark-colored marks appearing. Satisfied, she stepped back, giving a signal to continue.
Whap. Whap! Whap. A loud sob burst out of Candace’s mouth--but it was quickly swallowed and the judge, although scowling, was silent.
WHAP! Candace went stiff, head flying up, feet jiggling in the restraints--but the count was over. As they got her up, she was walking with difficulty. Aimee looked across the divide and saw a pale puddle of urine on the floor under where the Tamer girl had gotten their own licks.
Aimee had to dash forward to take position on the circles.
“I’ll keep the trestle!” Emily sounded thrilled. “Over you go, sweetheart!”
Aimee despised the pleased smugness of Emily, but she knew better than to argue and she climbed over.
Again the helper girls applied the restraints. They were supple and snug--but once fastened, she was stuck, bent over the padded bar, wrists and ankles spread, hair dangling. Her spanked bottom upmost.
Emily bent to whisper in Aimee’s ear. “The girl ahead of you might get disgraced,” she said with cheer. “I wouldn’t mind seeing you both get it!” She said this sweetly. “But to make it through this, just don’t yowl too loud. We don’t spank as hard as we can, after all!”
Aimee could see that the other side also had a similar trestle set up. Apparently the Tamer Academy girls were unable to maintain position either.
Emily patted Aimee on the bottom. She stepped back to position.
WHAP! Bent over the trestle, the spank sounded thunderously loud as pain blossomed in her bottom. Her lips parted and she gasped loudly--but she, barely, managed not to yelp. WHAP! She gasped. Oh! It hurt--the spank was shocking! She gasped--the hurt was intense. Her buttocks screamed with vulnerability. Aimee would have covered herself immediately if she weren’t restrained.
WHAP! Now a horrid wet sob bubbled out past her lips. Moaned softly. Emily patted the implement against her buttocks. She felt the ratan curves of the carpet beater kiss her there. Ohhh! She gulped air and pushed her mouth closed right in time.
WHAP! She let out a loud gasp--and then it broke into a bubbling stream of sobs. She was crying thickly when the next one came: WHAP! Now she did howl.
“Fault.” She heard the judgmental voice of the female. She cried, snot and drool from her nose and mouth. OW! OW! OWWWWW!! She tried to cover herself, to protect her buttocks. SMACK! A softer blow, but one that still bought a cry out.
It was a softer cry and she was listening for the ‘Fault’ when: Smack. Her buttocks screamed with the smarting pain. She thrashed and squirmed to try to get away. Smack! Emily was, she realized with alarm, taking it easy on her. The carpet beater bounced lightly on her buttocks. Whap! Taking it easy or not, her body bucked as she tried with all her might to crawl off the trestle. She was crying freely now--but, it seemed, at a low enough level that she wasn’t getting faulted for it.
“Two more, sweetie,” Emily said in a light enough voice that it was possible she actually meant it kindly. Aimee gulped--POW! SMACK! Her world exploded in bright sparks of pain as Emily dealt two smacks in rapid succession to her buttocks. She gave a loud yelp--and by only a tremendous effort managed to choke down more gasping yowls.
“Fault.” The judge’s voice came through her tears and she moaned and quivered.
The nurse-girl inspected her buttocks as the helper-girls undid the restraints. Emily squatted by her head and brushed back her hair.
“Not bad, cupcake,” she said. “You’re going to be SO adorable reduced to a puddle.” She kissed her and then helped her unsteadily to her feet. A mere touch, not even a pat or a light spank on her bottom, and Aimee, tears flowing, hustled to the back of the line.
Re: The College Spanking Team Part 01
The twenty blows with the carpet beater left Candace weeping and in blazing pain. When she tried to hold her bottom, one of the watcher girls slapped her hands away.
“No rubbing!”
Candace moaned in pain and disgrace. Her buttocks felt swollen, hot--hurting. She was leaking tears--the humiliation of the entire event was still bitingly present and her fury at her Spanker was overwhelming.
“I can smell your kitty,” the girl had said, whispering to her. “You’re quite the spanking slut, aren’t you? You’re really going to enjoy this! You’ll masturbate to me a month from now.”
She’d cried out in intense shame at the suggestion that her sex smelled. She could feel the heat there--the humiliation wasn’t helping. It might only be a defensive reaction to the nudity and the corporal punishment--but she knew she WAS lubricating.
The taunts hit home and she sobbed. When the powerful blows from the carpet beater came, she had yowled--faulted again and again--and then, reduced to tears, gotten even more. Now her walking was a horrid bolt of pain when she stretched her skin. She didn’t think she could fit into a normal pair of her panties. Now, all too fast, she was moving up again. It was hard to follow the ‘action.’ Someone on the other side had wet the floor. Almost all the girls were sniffling--some were outright crying.
“Six cane blows, medium cane,” said the male judge. “Target the buttocks. Then 12 slaps with a soft-tongue type four leather lash---short--to the vulva. Presumed diaper position but up to the disciplinarian.”
To the vulva!? Candace couldn’t believe she’d heard that right. Ahead of her, Tanya, her buttocks livid and quivering, limped to where a different trestle was positioned for her to bend over, presumably one better for the cane. She was strapped in and the Tamer girl twirled a cane theatrically and then laid it on Tanya’s already reddened orbs.
SMAK! SMAK! SMACK! “AAHHH!! FUCKING BITCH!!!”
Tanya howled. Her body fought the restraints. She wailed. The lines of the cane--bright red with bruises already forming around them marked across her rear. She was quivering.
“Team Captain call.”
Everyone looked to the captain girl of the FoxTails team who was watching the girl moan.
She made a motion with her hands--a square.
“Disgrace box,” said the male judge. “Points lost for FoxTail.” Murmurs sped through the crowd and on the sidelines. Aimee looked with alarm as two of the boys were escorting a weeping Tanya back towards the far side of the gymnasium--she could see the thickly padded pillows with strong restraints--the disgrace box. They had been changed since the movie was taken--making the bed a larger, fluffier platform.
“Don’t look,” said one of the FoxTails moving down the line. “She’s going to suffer grandly. Focus on your own ordeal. Don’t insult the spanker. Try not to fault.”
Aimee looked away--but looked back when she heard Tanya’s voice rise in wails. She’d had her mouth held open and the quieting formula poured in. She’d swallowed enough and now was coughing and bawling. The sound--the sound was getting softer.
“Eyes front,” said the FoxTail girl and Aimee turned back. She was watching Candace moving to the ready line when she smelled a sharp and undeniably sexual smell from behind. Again, she looked and saw one of the older women kneeling between Tanya’s spread legs, applying the goop between her buttocks. The scent of it was frightening. It was musky, sharp, and vaginal. It made her quiver.
# # #
Candace was bent over the trestle. Her Spanker had run her hands gently over her buttocks which had been savaged by the carpet beater. Now, quaking in pain, she was focused on what was coming: The cane. And what was to come--the strap--to her--to her vulva.
“You’re going to squeal for me,” said the spanker. “I’m going to enjoy hearing you yowl like a cat in heat--and then I’m going to strap your pussy!”
“Uhnnnhh--” Candace knew better than to say anything--but she groaned in the grip of shame and anger--a watery anger, washed out by the tears.
The Spanker’s finger slipped down between her lips into her vagina.
“UHNNHH!! MISS!” the invasion--the violation--was alarming and she flexed in the restraints. SLAP! The Tamer girl’s spank slapped across Candace’s buttocks. She gasped.
“Pre-spanking,” said one of the judge-women. “Points off, Spanker.”
The Spanker stepped around and squatted down near Candace’s face. “I’m allowed to touch you there--in your anus--down your throat,” she cooed. “You’re to submit, princess. You’re my bitch.” She grinned. “Your fat friend is going to poop herself soon. She’s peed already back there. If you fault badly enough, you can join her in making a mess! That’ll be fun!”
Candace bit back the worst of her sobs, but she was crying now and couldn’t control herself to stop! The Spanker stepped to the side. Candance did what she could to brace herself and--SSAAAK! The cane lashed deep into her buttocks. She yowled at the top of her lungs as the pain shot through her. Panting, hard she sobbed. She was aware of the medic girl examining her and a swab with a stinging fluid was applied over the searing line of pain. She cried out again, moaning. Another helper took her blood pressure.
The nurse girl knelt by her head, lifting her chin. “Over powered,” she said. “No fault. You’re still cleared for continued punishment. Spanker-Fault,” she called out. Candace moaned.
Swack. “Aieee!!” Swack! “AAHH--OHHH!” Swack! “Ohh--MERCY!” Candace bawled and she heard the spanker laugh softly.
“You’re fun to punish,” the spanker said. “So vocal! I hope you moan like that when you’re being fucked! Speaking of that, I’m going to spank your pussy now. I have a feeling the boys in your life are going to know your cunt is made for being spanked!”
Candace was repositioned on her back, looking up. She was slightly tilted so her head was lower than her rear and her legs were spread wide--the diaper position. The stretch hurt her buttocks and one of the nurse girls was applying a briskly cold fluid over her sex. She looked up into the face of the Tamer Academy spanker who was smirking down at her from between her legs.
She held a black leather slapper in her hands and regarded Candace’s bare pussy with undisguised smug glee.
“You better concentrate on getting that clit back under her hood before I kiss her!”
Candace sobbed. The nurse girl rubbed the fluid in. “Your vulva can take it,” she said to Candace. “It’s going to hurt quite a lot, which is the point---but, you can cry or even holler from this without faulting--just don’t swear or pee or anything. Keep in mind that you deserve this.”
She stood and moved back. Candace could hear her opposite number on the FoxTails side weeping piteously. Face up with her legs spread, even with the pain roiling in her buttocks, she could feel the hardness of her erect nipples. She was in the grip of terrible arousal and her disciplinarian knew it!
Candace stared up at the spanker, her naked vulva held under the waiting strap. She caught a glimpse of the shared salute and then the Tamer Academy girl slapped the leather down with a sharp crack against her sex!
She howled and pulled at the restraints, again to no effect. SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! The spanker had a good rhythm going, and Candace’s pussy quivered and jiggled under the slaps! She bawled and moaned--she sobbed! There was a short break called and she could hear her counterpart blubbering as well.
The Spanker’s fingers plied gently into the folds of her labia, feeling the wetness there. Her middle finger found the stinging nub of her erect clitoris and rubbed gentle circles around it. Candace, both violated and humiliated and degraded gasped.
“Stop,” she moaned, her voice a hoarse whisper.
“Stop ‘MISTRESS.’” corrected the Spanker softly.
Uhnnh--”Stop, mistress--Please,” Candace begged.the gentle circles continued. “Ohhh--”
“Tell mistress your cunt needs to be spanked!” The Spanker said, grinning--it was an intimate smile.
“MyCuntNeedsToBeSpanked,” Candace moaned. The whisper-light circles around her intimate nexus, amid the sea of smarting pain was overwhelming--she realized with sudden dread she not only could orgasm from this, she wasn’t that far from it!
The idea was intolerable and, at the same time, she was desperate for it. Looking up into the hot, wicked eyes of her Spanker, she felt insignificant, tiny--bad--and --ohhh---a sexual moan burst from between her lips bringing an avalanche of humiliation behind it.
The coach girl blew her whistle, and the break was over! Pow! Pow! Pow! Whap! Pop! Candace was breathless as her Spanker ran the leather tongue gently over her swollen mound of pain. Her opposite number had broken completely, begging wildly for mercy and accruing faults.
Candace realized the round was over as she was being unshackled and eased up. The helper girls cuffed her wrists behind her, to keep her hands off her pussy. She waddled, unable to walk well back around towards the line. Tanya, the heavy girl, struggled on the pillow, the intolerable itching paste clearly having its way with her--utterly.
Her body quivered and jiggled slightly as she struggled with spent strength, trying to free herself from the restraints. There were two of the Tamer Academy Spankees in their own disgrace box. She could see them tied in strict bondage with anal plugs jutting from their buttocks, pink lights glowing and flashing on them. The girls thrashed when the lights lit and thrust their hips in a vain attempt to dislodge the devices.
Candace could believe it wasn’t as bad as the itch--but it surely didn’t look like fun!
She moved in, sobbing softly as she heard Aimee’s wails crest and the sharp sounds of the cane.
“No rubbing!”
Candace moaned in pain and disgrace. Her buttocks felt swollen, hot--hurting. She was leaking tears--the humiliation of the entire event was still bitingly present and her fury at her Spanker was overwhelming.
“I can smell your kitty,” the girl had said, whispering to her. “You’re quite the spanking slut, aren’t you? You’re really going to enjoy this! You’ll masturbate to me a month from now.”
She’d cried out in intense shame at the suggestion that her sex smelled. She could feel the heat there--the humiliation wasn’t helping. It might only be a defensive reaction to the nudity and the corporal punishment--but she knew she WAS lubricating.
The taunts hit home and she sobbed. When the powerful blows from the carpet beater came, she had yowled--faulted again and again--and then, reduced to tears, gotten even more. Now her walking was a horrid bolt of pain when she stretched her skin. She didn’t think she could fit into a normal pair of her panties. Now, all too fast, she was moving up again. It was hard to follow the ‘action.’ Someone on the other side had wet the floor. Almost all the girls were sniffling--some were outright crying.
“Six cane blows, medium cane,” said the male judge. “Target the buttocks. Then 12 slaps with a soft-tongue type four leather lash---short--to the vulva. Presumed diaper position but up to the disciplinarian.”
To the vulva!? Candace couldn’t believe she’d heard that right. Ahead of her, Tanya, her buttocks livid and quivering, limped to where a different trestle was positioned for her to bend over, presumably one better for the cane. She was strapped in and the Tamer girl twirled a cane theatrically and then laid it on Tanya’s already reddened orbs.
SMAK! SMAK! SMACK! “AAHHH!! FUCKING BITCH!!!”
Tanya howled. Her body fought the restraints. She wailed. The lines of the cane--bright red with bruises already forming around them marked across her rear. She was quivering.
“Team Captain call.”
Everyone looked to the captain girl of the FoxTails team who was watching the girl moan.
She made a motion with her hands--a square.
“Disgrace box,” said the male judge. “Points lost for FoxTail.” Murmurs sped through the crowd and on the sidelines. Aimee looked with alarm as two of the boys were escorting a weeping Tanya back towards the far side of the gymnasium--she could see the thickly padded pillows with strong restraints--the disgrace box. They had been changed since the movie was taken--making the bed a larger, fluffier platform.
“Don’t look,” said one of the FoxTails moving down the line. “She’s going to suffer grandly. Focus on your own ordeal. Don’t insult the spanker. Try not to fault.”
Aimee looked away--but looked back when she heard Tanya’s voice rise in wails. She’d had her mouth held open and the quieting formula poured in. She’d swallowed enough and now was coughing and bawling. The sound--the sound was getting softer.
“Eyes front,” said the FoxTail girl and Aimee turned back. She was watching Candace moving to the ready line when she smelled a sharp and undeniably sexual smell from behind. Again, she looked and saw one of the older women kneeling between Tanya’s spread legs, applying the goop between her buttocks. The scent of it was frightening. It was musky, sharp, and vaginal. It made her quiver.
# # #
Candace was bent over the trestle. Her Spanker had run her hands gently over her buttocks which had been savaged by the carpet beater. Now, quaking in pain, she was focused on what was coming: The cane. And what was to come--the strap--to her--to her vulva.
“You’re going to squeal for me,” said the spanker. “I’m going to enjoy hearing you yowl like a cat in heat--and then I’m going to strap your pussy!”
“Uhnnnhh--” Candace knew better than to say anything--but she groaned in the grip of shame and anger--a watery anger, washed out by the tears.
The Spanker’s finger slipped down between her lips into her vagina.
“UHNNHH!! MISS!” the invasion--the violation--was alarming and she flexed in the restraints. SLAP! The Tamer girl’s spank slapped across Candace’s buttocks. She gasped.
“Pre-spanking,” said one of the judge-women. “Points off, Spanker.”
The Spanker stepped around and squatted down near Candace’s face. “I’m allowed to touch you there--in your anus--down your throat,” she cooed. “You’re to submit, princess. You’re my bitch.” She grinned. “Your fat friend is going to poop herself soon. She’s peed already back there. If you fault badly enough, you can join her in making a mess! That’ll be fun!”
Candace bit back the worst of her sobs, but she was crying now and couldn’t control herself to stop! The Spanker stepped to the side. Candance did what she could to brace herself and--SSAAAK! The cane lashed deep into her buttocks. She yowled at the top of her lungs as the pain shot through her. Panting, hard she sobbed. She was aware of the medic girl examining her and a swab with a stinging fluid was applied over the searing line of pain. She cried out again, moaning. Another helper took her blood pressure.
The nurse girl knelt by her head, lifting her chin. “Over powered,” she said. “No fault. You’re still cleared for continued punishment. Spanker-Fault,” she called out. Candace moaned.
Swack. “Aieee!!” Swack! “AAHH--OHHH!” Swack! “Ohh--MERCY!” Candace bawled and she heard the spanker laugh softly.
“You’re fun to punish,” the spanker said. “So vocal! I hope you moan like that when you’re being fucked! Speaking of that, I’m going to spank your pussy now. I have a feeling the boys in your life are going to know your cunt is made for being spanked!”
Candace was repositioned on her back, looking up. She was slightly tilted so her head was lower than her rear and her legs were spread wide--the diaper position. The stretch hurt her buttocks and one of the nurse girls was applying a briskly cold fluid over her sex. She looked up into the face of the Tamer Academy spanker who was smirking down at her from between her legs.
She held a black leather slapper in her hands and regarded Candace’s bare pussy with undisguised smug glee.
“You better concentrate on getting that clit back under her hood before I kiss her!”
Candace sobbed. The nurse girl rubbed the fluid in. “Your vulva can take it,” she said to Candace. “It’s going to hurt quite a lot, which is the point---but, you can cry or even holler from this without faulting--just don’t swear or pee or anything. Keep in mind that you deserve this.”
She stood and moved back. Candace could hear her opposite number on the FoxTails side weeping piteously. Face up with her legs spread, even with the pain roiling in her buttocks, she could feel the hardness of her erect nipples. She was in the grip of terrible arousal and her disciplinarian knew it!
Candace stared up at the spanker, her naked vulva held under the waiting strap. She caught a glimpse of the shared salute and then the Tamer Academy girl slapped the leather down with a sharp crack against her sex!
She howled and pulled at the restraints, again to no effect. SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! The spanker had a good rhythm going, and Candace’s pussy quivered and jiggled under the slaps! She bawled and moaned--she sobbed! There was a short break called and she could hear her counterpart blubbering as well.
The Spanker’s fingers plied gently into the folds of her labia, feeling the wetness there. Her middle finger found the stinging nub of her erect clitoris and rubbed gentle circles around it. Candace, both violated and humiliated and degraded gasped.
“Stop,” she moaned, her voice a hoarse whisper.
“Stop ‘MISTRESS.’” corrected the Spanker softly.
Uhnnh--”Stop, mistress--Please,” Candace begged.the gentle circles continued. “Ohhh--”
“Tell mistress your cunt needs to be spanked!” The Spanker said, grinning--it was an intimate smile.
“MyCuntNeedsToBeSpanked,” Candace moaned. The whisper-light circles around her intimate nexus, amid the sea of smarting pain was overwhelming--she realized with sudden dread she not only could orgasm from this, she wasn’t that far from it!
The idea was intolerable and, at the same time, she was desperate for it. Looking up into the hot, wicked eyes of her Spanker, she felt insignificant, tiny--bad--and --ohhh---a sexual moan burst from between her lips bringing an avalanche of humiliation behind it.
The coach girl blew her whistle, and the break was over! Pow! Pow! Pow! Whap! Pop! Candace was breathless as her Spanker ran the leather tongue gently over her swollen mound of pain. Her opposite number had broken completely, begging wildly for mercy and accruing faults.
Candace realized the round was over as she was being unshackled and eased up. The helper girls cuffed her wrists behind her, to keep her hands off her pussy. She waddled, unable to walk well back around towards the line. Tanya, the heavy girl, struggled on the pillow, the intolerable itching paste clearly having its way with her--utterly.
Her body quivered and jiggled slightly as she struggled with spent strength, trying to free herself from the restraints. There were two of the Tamer Academy Spankees in their own disgrace box. She could see them tied in strict bondage with anal plugs jutting from their buttocks, pink lights glowing and flashing on them. The girls thrashed when the lights lit and thrust their hips in a vain attempt to dislodge the devices.
Candace could believe it wasn’t as bad as the itch--but it surely didn’t look like fun!
She moved in, sobbing softly as she heard Aimee’s wails crest and the sharp sounds of the cane.
Re: The College Spanking Team Part 01
Aimee knelt, head bowed, drooping, on the ready line. Her hands were cuffed behind her and her sex and bottom absolutely sang with a collage of different intimate pains. She had mewled throughout the pussy-spanking, Emily coaxing her to maintain composure and praising her tenuous grasp on the required decorum.
She felt utterly defeated. An awful, warm humiliation coursed through her. The tingles of gratitude she felt for her Spanker were sharp edges of awful emotion.
The vaginal spanking had been awful and she’d cried hard. Now, her sex feeling swollen and lightly bruised, she knelt, her legs feeling weak, her head hung. The whistle! She staggered up and waddled as best as she could towards the spanking area. Emily had hurried up. She held in her hands a small whip. It had a plastic handle and then a gel-filled rubber lash that tapered to a point. She grinned. “We get to choose the implement for this last part,” she said. “This leaves nice, tight lines of welts! Great staying power--you’ll feel them for days! And it’s a crisp, sharp sting!”
The girls were binding Aimee’s hands to the top of an A-frame. The enthusiasm of the Spanker was infuriating--hot--appalling--she swallowed hard, tear-tracks gleaming on her cheeks and down to her chin.
“I’m doing your bottom--we don’t want to ignore that! And your thighs--we get a good lick with a bite from inner to back!”
She rubbed the intimate target areas with her hand, drawing a soft moan from Aimee. Emily patted her there--gently. “Don’t over-bawl and you’ll be okay.” She stepped back.
SZAT! The lash licked across her buttocks and she cried out--it was a new sense of pain: a terrible sting across her buttocks which were already screaming with punishment! Emily criss-crossed Aimee’s buttocks and then stepped back with a sort of dance-step to lash her inner thighs! The lash licked under her buttocks and snapped across her thighs.
She sang out, yowling--she heard the judge call out faults--but she couldn’t help it. Then, finally, she was sobbing limply as the girls unshackled her.
“Your punishment’s over baby,” Emily said, as she laid on a yoga mat, her disciplinarian applying a cream that felt fantastically cool to her bottom. They gave her a small pillow, and she sobbed into it.as Emily sat by caressing her. They brought her pedialyte to drink.
“You’ll get something for the pain--but later, sweetness,” Emily cooed. “For now you’re to sit with it. It was quite an ordeal,but you took it well and you’ll be granted full credit for having served your punishment.”
Her fingers traced the lash marks and Aimee blubbered against her.
“You have a cute little bottom,” Emily said approvingly. “You won’t have trouble pulling a good boyfriend with that!” When Aimee moaned at that, she laughed. “I don’t mind the regular maintenance spankings but I sure don’t like the punishment ones. We both know that a spankable bottom is a good resume!”
They gathered her up and moved the spankees to the locker rooms where they were further treated with medications that stung--but where the warm air and the relief of the ordeal being over, left them laying face down--but no longer bawling.
Aimee could see Tanya sleeping on the restraint pallet, her breasts rising and falling with slow deep breaths. The room smelled heavily of girl’s lubrication and sweat and tears. She learned that while it had been closer than the FoxTails would have liked, they had won.
# # #
Candace’s face glistened with her tears, and the juices of her disciplinarians’ pussy. After a final, harrowing slippering, she had ended the Meet in a puddle of tears and moans. She’d been told by Carly that her Spanker was nationally ranked near the top of the lists and Miss Karvaline’s choice of her as a Spankee had been quite impressive--even more so that she’d managed to even modestly take the punishment without being sent to the disgrace box was considered impressive.
She also learned that the imperious Ms. Karvaline wanted her in the temporary private chambers. She wasn’t given a choice: they held her over a bedpan to pee and then gently patted her dry, helped her through one of the doors into a section of offices that had been repurposed with privacy for the Tamer Academy Spankers.
Claire Karvaline had applied a lidocaine cream that brought Candace such a degree of relief that she wept anew from it.
“I want to explain something to you,” she said, far less threatening when she reclined on cushions, still dressed save for her panties which had been removed so that Candace could lick and suck her between her thighs.
She languidly held a riding crop that she stroked over Candace’s still-swollen curves. “You’re going to be entering a world you know little about. I’m sure you were raised strictly--but you are going to be a prize and that comes with opportunities and challenges!”
She gave Candace’s bottom a sharp little spank with the crop that drew a gasping moan from her.
“First thing: Tell your Big you need tons more practice eating cunt. It doesn’t matter if you like it or not--in fact, it’s probably better if you don’t. Some of my finest orgasms have come from girls for whom my pussy was a punishment. By the same, if you enjoy eating a mistress out, it’s going to be a good long time before you get to enjoy your own clit and my kittens know they aren’t having any of their own orgasms for at least their first year.”
Candace moaned at that: with the dousing of the pain had come an arousal so terrible, her own sex demanded her attention with the potency of a tyrant. The unwelcome taste and smell of Kavavline wasn’t so much as unpleasant as it was utterly degrading: the girl had effortlessly dominated her with breath-taking touches of cruelty. Now she was struggling to make her tormentress cum!
“The way your next years will work,” Karvaline said, “You will be a slave--your Big, your mistress. You’ll have little say in what happens to you or your body.” She stroked Candace’s hair gently as Candace’s tongue lapped her clit.
“The way you will show your worth is how elegantly you submit yourself. You may think yourself dominant--but when you see an opportunity to lower yourself in the service of another, you will take it--when your Big is cruel, you’ll thank her. When a boy’s cock isn’t washed or his ass smells of sweat, you’ll give him a tongue bath. A punishment from a superior--even if not fully earned--is a gift.”
She rolled over, elegantly lifting her hips so that Candace’s mouth now addressed her anus. Candace, as she moved into the Spanker’s intimate rear cleft, saw a small dime-sized mark, slightly raised on the lower curve of her right buttock--a scar? A brand.
“I thought,” said Ms. Karvaline, “that I could bully my way through the first bits--the hard bits--but I learned differently. What I learned--the hard way--and you’ve not tasted hard yet, kitten--was that my power, where I had it, came from submission. A girl I liked? I see to it that she disciplined me. A boy I didn’t care for? Excellent behavior--but I wouldn’t push into the more degrading stuff unless led there.”
“I knew I was proud--but I thought--get your tongue in my anus, spankee!” she snapped, “I thought it was quiet--that the others didn’t know. I was wrong about that! Better--taste mistress! They saw through me so well, I may as well have been glass!
“You are a very appealing trainee,” said Ms. Karvaline, gasping slightly. “You will do well--but I see that same pride in you that I saw in myself. So I don’t blame you at all for resenting your spanking--but my promise to you is that if I get a chance to have you again, kitten, I’m going to be beastly with you!”
She laughed and spread her legs wider ordering a worn out Candace to keep at her anus until they came for her.
--END
If you enjoyed this, let me know. Also, consider taking a look at my other materials (all of which are similar). I have a book published in this world, but also some similar BDSM "Lovecraftian" stories (and a couple of books) as well as some science fiction style stuff (with the same vibe)
I have a book set in this world https://books2read.com/u/mdkreE
Also a Patreon with illustrated stories: https://www.patreon.com/Sanzas
She felt utterly defeated. An awful, warm humiliation coursed through her. The tingles of gratitude she felt for her Spanker were sharp edges of awful emotion.
The vaginal spanking had been awful and she’d cried hard. Now, her sex feeling swollen and lightly bruised, she knelt, her legs feeling weak, her head hung. The whistle! She staggered up and waddled as best as she could towards the spanking area. Emily had hurried up. She held in her hands a small whip. It had a plastic handle and then a gel-filled rubber lash that tapered to a point. She grinned. “We get to choose the implement for this last part,” she said. “This leaves nice, tight lines of welts! Great staying power--you’ll feel them for days! And it’s a crisp, sharp sting!”
The girls were binding Aimee’s hands to the top of an A-frame. The enthusiasm of the Spanker was infuriating--hot--appalling--she swallowed hard, tear-tracks gleaming on her cheeks and down to her chin.
“I’m doing your bottom--we don’t want to ignore that! And your thighs--we get a good lick with a bite from inner to back!”
She rubbed the intimate target areas with her hand, drawing a soft moan from Aimee. Emily patted her there--gently. “Don’t over-bawl and you’ll be okay.” She stepped back.
SZAT! The lash licked across her buttocks and she cried out--it was a new sense of pain: a terrible sting across her buttocks which were already screaming with punishment! Emily criss-crossed Aimee’s buttocks and then stepped back with a sort of dance-step to lash her inner thighs! The lash licked under her buttocks and snapped across her thighs.
She sang out, yowling--she heard the judge call out faults--but she couldn’t help it. Then, finally, she was sobbing limply as the girls unshackled her.
“Your punishment’s over baby,” Emily said, as she laid on a yoga mat, her disciplinarian applying a cream that felt fantastically cool to her bottom. They gave her a small pillow, and she sobbed into it.as Emily sat by caressing her. They brought her pedialyte to drink.
“You’ll get something for the pain--but later, sweetness,” Emily cooed. “For now you’re to sit with it. It was quite an ordeal,but you took it well and you’ll be granted full credit for having served your punishment.”
Her fingers traced the lash marks and Aimee blubbered against her.
“You have a cute little bottom,” Emily said approvingly. “You won’t have trouble pulling a good boyfriend with that!” When Aimee moaned at that, she laughed. “I don’t mind the regular maintenance spankings but I sure don’t like the punishment ones. We both know that a spankable bottom is a good resume!”
They gathered her up and moved the spankees to the locker rooms where they were further treated with medications that stung--but where the warm air and the relief of the ordeal being over, left them laying face down--but no longer bawling.
Aimee could see Tanya sleeping on the restraint pallet, her breasts rising and falling with slow deep breaths. The room smelled heavily of girl’s lubrication and sweat and tears. She learned that while it had been closer than the FoxTails would have liked, they had won.
# # #
Candace’s face glistened with her tears, and the juices of her disciplinarians’ pussy. After a final, harrowing slippering, she had ended the Meet in a puddle of tears and moans. She’d been told by Carly that her Spanker was nationally ranked near the top of the lists and Miss Karvaline’s choice of her as a Spankee had been quite impressive--even more so that she’d managed to even modestly take the punishment without being sent to the disgrace box was considered impressive.
She also learned that the imperious Ms. Karvaline wanted her in the temporary private chambers. She wasn’t given a choice: they held her over a bedpan to pee and then gently patted her dry, helped her through one of the doors into a section of offices that had been repurposed with privacy for the Tamer Academy Spankers.
Claire Karvaline had applied a lidocaine cream that brought Candace such a degree of relief that she wept anew from it.
“I want to explain something to you,” she said, far less threatening when she reclined on cushions, still dressed save for her panties which had been removed so that Candace could lick and suck her between her thighs.
She languidly held a riding crop that she stroked over Candace’s still-swollen curves. “You’re going to be entering a world you know little about. I’m sure you were raised strictly--but you are going to be a prize and that comes with opportunities and challenges!”
She gave Candace’s bottom a sharp little spank with the crop that drew a gasping moan from her.
“First thing: Tell your Big you need tons more practice eating cunt. It doesn’t matter if you like it or not--in fact, it’s probably better if you don’t. Some of my finest orgasms have come from girls for whom my pussy was a punishment. By the same, if you enjoy eating a mistress out, it’s going to be a good long time before you get to enjoy your own clit and my kittens know they aren’t having any of their own orgasms for at least their first year.”
Candace moaned at that: with the dousing of the pain had come an arousal so terrible, her own sex demanded her attention with the potency of a tyrant. The unwelcome taste and smell of Kavavline wasn’t so much as unpleasant as it was utterly degrading: the girl had effortlessly dominated her with breath-taking touches of cruelty. Now she was struggling to make her tormentress cum!
“The way your next years will work,” Karvaline said, “You will be a slave--your Big, your mistress. You’ll have little say in what happens to you or your body.” She stroked Candace’s hair gently as Candace’s tongue lapped her clit.
“The way you will show your worth is how elegantly you submit yourself. You may think yourself dominant--but when you see an opportunity to lower yourself in the service of another, you will take it--when your Big is cruel, you’ll thank her. When a boy’s cock isn’t washed or his ass smells of sweat, you’ll give him a tongue bath. A punishment from a superior--even if not fully earned--is a gift.”
She rolled over, elegantly lifting her hips so that Candace’s mouth now addressed her anus. Candace, as she moved into the Spanker’s intimate rear cleft, saw a small dime-sized mark, slightly raised on the lower curve of her right buttock--a scar? A brand.
“I thought,” said Ms. Karvaline, “that I could bully my way through the first bits--the hard bits--but I learned differently. What I learned--the hard way--and you’ve not tasted hard yet, kitten--was that my power, where I had it, came from submission. A girl I liked? I see to it that she disciplined me. A boy I didn’t care for? Excellent behavior--but I wouldn’t push into the more degrading stuff unless led there.”
“I knew I was proud--but I thought--get your tongue in my anus, spankee!” she snapped, “I thought it was quiet--that the others didn’t know. I was wrong about that! Better--taste mistress! They saw through me so well, I may as well have been glass!
“You are a very appealing trainee,” said Ms. Karvaline, gasping slightly. “You will do well--but I see that same pride in you that I saw in myself. So I don’t blame you at all for resenting your spanking--but my promise to you is that if I get a chance to have you again, kitten, I’m going to be beastly with you!”
She laughed and spread her legs wider ordering a worn out Candace to keep at her anus until they came for her.
--END
If you enjoyed this, let me know. Also, consider taking a look at my other materials (all of which are similar). I have a book published in this world, but also some similar BDSM "Lovecraftian" stories (and a couple of books) as well as some science fiction style stuff (with the same vibe)
I have a book set in this world https://books2read.com/u/mdkreE
Also a Patreon with illustrated stories: https://www.patreon.com/Sanzas
Re: The College Spanking Team Part 01
I also have:
A Knight of the Third Riding: https://books2read.com/u/mgJxy7
Fantasy in a similar theme.
An Uncomfortable Future: https://books2read.com/u/4EgN5o
A collection of Science Fiction stories with a similar vibe.
Two "Lovecraftian" stories with similar feel:
The Lemurian Expedition: https://books2read.com/u/mlpnYY
The Lemurian Codec: https://books2read.com/u/bQGGnw
This is a link to my Deviant Art page which has some of the images from the illustrated comics on my patreon: https://www.deviantart.com/sanzas01
A Knight of the Third Riding: https://books2read.com/u/mgJxy7
Fantasy in a similar theme.
An Uncomfortable Future: https://books2read.com/u/4EgN5o
A collection of Science Fiction stories with a similar vibe.
Two "Lovecraftian" stories with similar feel:
The Lemurian Expedition: https://books2read.com/u/mlpnYY
The Lemurian Codec: https://books2read.com/u/bQGGnw
This is a link to my Deviant Art page which has some of the images from the illustrated comics on my patreon: https://www.deviantart.com/sanzas01