Writing Class F/M
After I finished high school, I went to college because I wanted to become a newspaper reporter. I liked working with people and I liked getting the facts correct on events that happened in the community. So I entered college and took a lot of journalism classes. Most of the classes I really enjoyed and I had a very high grade point average. I made the Dean’s list every semester and everything was going great.
Then I had to take a class called “Writing Great Literature”. We studied the great written works throughout the centuries and then we had to write short stories and chapters for a book. This was a class that I had to pass to receive my degree in Journalism.
Anyway, I was used to writing just the facts but this class required you to write with feelings. My instructor didn’t think my stories displayed feelings for the characters, so she gave me failing grades on my stories. Since I needed to pass the course, I met in her office after class one day.
“I really need to pass this course!” I told Miss Smith.
“I realize that, but I am only giving you the grade you deserve.” Miss Smith said. “It seems like you have no feeling about anything. You need to change the way you write.”
“I have lived a sheltered life and have spent all of my studying to become a newspaper reporter. What can I do to get a passing grade?” I said.
“I have a good friend who used to teach writing in Europe and she is in the United States at this campus right now. I think she could help you out. You could visit her and write stories as extra credit, and you could use her as a mentor. Would you be interested?”
“I’d be happy to write more stories for extra credit, if that means that I would pass the class.” I said. “But would she be able to teach me about feelings?”
“I am certain that you would be able to have more feelings for your characters, once she tutors with you. Should I give her a call?” Miss Smith asked.
“Please give her a call right now. I will do anything necessary to pass in this class.” I said.
Then Miss Smith called her on the phone. I could tell by her conversation that they were good friends and had worked together at one time. Miss Smith interrupted her telephone conversation to ask me, “Would you have the time, right now, to see her in her office?”
“Sure, just tell me where to see her. I’ll be right there!” I said.
Miss Smith talked to her on the phone a little longer with her and then handed me a piece of paper. It had her friend’s address and phone number. “Hurry up. She will be waiting for you.”
Her name was Elizabeth Hamilton, and her office was just across the street. I knocked on her office door and a very pleasant voice said, “Please come in.”
A woman greeted me in her thirties and she was wearing a small leather dress and a white blouse. Her office was small and had a large wooden desk.
“Have a seat so we can talk.” I sat down and she seated herself behind her desk. “Miss Smith tells me that you are a very good student but you are having problems in her class. She told me about you and I think I can help you. Would you be willing to do as I say? I would make it possible for you to pass her class.”
“I need to pass her class to graduate, so I would be willing to do about anything.” I said.
“According to Miss Smith, you write like you have no feelings. I can make sure that you have feelings and emotions in your writing. I will do it by letting you experience an event, and then you can write about your experience. Would you be willing to work with me?”
“Sure,” I said. “Can we start now?”
“Follow me to the basement, so that we can start your first experience.” Then we left her office and went down two flights of stairs. “The university set up a special room for me that is very private and soundproofed. That way there will be no interruptions.”
When she opened the door to the room and turned on the light, I was surprised at what I saw. The room was carpeted and had many hooks on the wall. Each hook either had a paddle, cane, or other spanking implements, plus various restraints. On the floor was various odd shaped wooden furniture that I had never seen before.
“Where I come from, students are spanked and caned while in school, and even in college.” She said. “It helps the students concentrate on their studies and it also helps with their behavior in class. A spanking and caning can be very embarrassing and sometimes painful. I would like you to have this experience and write about it. You don’t have to go through with this. You have a choice of this or fail your writing class.”
“This looks very scary to me, but I need to pass Miss Smith’s class, so lets proceed.” I said.
“Very good.” She said. “I will talk you through everything and help you feel emotions for your story. So first, take off your shirt.” As I took off my shirt, she went over to the wall and grabbed some items.
“Now put your hands behind your back and from this point on, only speak when spoken to and call me ma’am. Is that clear?” She said.
“Yes, ma’am.” I felt cuffs on my wrists and my hands were now bound behind me.
“I will now take off the rest of your clothing, starting with your shoes and socks. So please raise up one foot for me.” She said.
This situation started to become very embarrassing for me. After my shoes and socks were taken off, she took off my belt and unzipped my jeans. I had to stand still as she slowly slid my jeans down my legs and then she folded them and put them with the rest of my clothing. Now I was standing before a woman who I had just met in my shorts. I couldn’t help it but I had a growing erection. It made a very obvious tent in the front of my shorts. Then, without saying a word, I felt her fingernails in the waistband of my shorts and they were slid off my body.
“How does it feel to be standing completely naked before me? Remember your feelings and put them in your story. Many feelings must be going through our body since you don’t know what is going to happen next. Also, by the fact that you have an erection, you must also be sexually excited.” She said.
I was now acutely aware of her perfume, her smooth voice with a British accent, and the fact that I was now completely naked and under her complete control. She grabbed me by my penis and led me over to a stool with many straps on it.
“Please bend over the stool and spread your legs. I will start you out with a mild paddle spanking, and will not secure you unless you move about a lot.” She said. I felt her hand on the middle of my back as I was bent over. She even disconnected my wrist cuffs, and allowed me to grip the legs of the stool. There was a slanted mirror in front of the stool, so that I was able to see what she was doing behind me. She walked to the wall and took down several paddles and placed them on the floor next to my head.
“These are the paddles that I will use on you. Spread your legs a little further apart for me.” As I spread my legs, I was very aware of my penis and balls dangling down between my legs. Then she grabbed a round leather paddle and stood in back of me. “When was the last time you were spanked?”
“I think I was twelve years old. I was spanked for not doing my homework.” I replied.
“Who spanked you and were you spanked on the bare?” She asked.
“My dad was an over the road salesman, so my mom spanked me. She would take down my pants but I was always spanked on my underwear.” I replied.
“I always like to spank on the bare. It allows me to see how my spanking is affecting you. Prepare yourself, your spanking is about to begin.” She said.
Then she started to spank me. First one cheek then the other. She also started fairly soft and then paddled me harder and harder as she spanked me. After a few spanks, she would put her hands on my bare bottom and rub my cheeks. This made me feel sort of funny, because I was feeling both the pain of her paddle and the pleasure from her hands.
“You bare bottom is now changing from white to a nice shade of pink. When I am finished with your spanking, your bottom should be a nice shade of red.” She said. “Now stand up and follow me to the next part of your spanking.”
She led me to the wall where there was a large wood structure in a shape of an X. Grab the upper rings with your hands and spread your legs. Now I was against the wooden X, with my arms spread wide above me and my legs spread wide apart.
“You have taken your spanking very well so far, but now you will be able to feel the sting of a paddle with holes in it.” Then she held the paddle next to my face. The paddle was about a foot long, one-half inch thick, and had then large holes in it. “Remember how it feels and write about it in your story”.
This paddle really warmed up my poor naked bottom and really stung. I was also feeling both pain and pleasure because after every three or four swats of the paddle, she would rub my bottom, and sometimes she would softly hit my dangling penis and balls with the paddle.
“Your bottom has turned a nice shade of red. But for the last part of your spanking, you will receive six strokes of the cane.” She led me to a chair and had me bend over it. “In my country, a cane is administered for punishment from when you are a child until you are full grown. Couples also cane each other to keep their marriages alive and well. So please bend over and stay in position, and count each stroke and say ‘Thank you, ma’am’. If you forget to count or say thank you, the stroke will not count. Are you ready?”
I didn’t know what to expect, so I said, “I am ready.” I heard a bunch of whistling sound and a tap on my bottom, then…
SWAT! I had never felt anything like this before. It felt like a hundred bees had stung me in a straight line. Or it felt like a red-hot iron had rubbed against me in a straight line. I instantly stood up and rubbed my poor naked cheeks.
“Now I know for sure you felt something.” She said. “That stroke didn’t count because you forgot to count and say thank you. Also, since you stood up, I would normally add another two strokes. But since this is your first spanking with the cane, I will give you only six more strokes of the cane.”
I had heard that the cane really hurt from stories I had read, but I never expected this. But I bent back down, and anticipated the next stroke. I felt a tap of the cane, heard the whistle.
Although it really stung, I stayed in position and said, “One. Thank you, ma’am.”
Tap, whistle, SWAT!!! “Two. Thank you, ma’am.” I wasn’t sure if I could take four more strokes from the cane. My whole poor naked bottom felt on fire.
Tap, whistle, SWAT!!! “Three. Thank you, ma’am.” It was now taking all my concentration to stay in position.
Tap, whistle, SWAT!!! “Four. Thank you, ma’am.” I wanted this to end, but I needed to take this caning to get a passing grade in my class.
Tap, whistle, SWAT!!! “Five. Thank you, ma’am.”
“You have taken the caning very well.” She said. “Only one stroke left. Please stay in position until I say you can stand.”
Tap, whistle, SWAT!!! “Six. Thank you, ma’am.” Then I felt her hands all over my poor hurting naked bottom.
“You should be proud of yourself. There are seven parallel welts, evenly spaced, across you red bottom. You will probably feel this for a few days.” She said. “Stay in position and I will rub some lotion on you to cool you down.”
She walked across the room and came back with a tube of lotion. Then I felt the coolness of her fingers on my welts and my red-hot bottom. I felt funny because her hands were all over me, even between my legs on my penis and balls. I was still in pain from the caning but also experiencing the pleasure from her hands. Then she suddenly stopped.
“You can stand up and get dressed now.” She said. “I will expect you to write a story about what happened, and hand it in to Miss Smith’s class within two days. Please express your feelings you felt during the spanking. If you need to write another story, I can always give you another spanking.”
I got dressed and wrote this story. I hope I don’t need to write another story to get my degree.