The Ashworth Females
The story that follows is purely imaginary.
The characters portrayed in this tale are all mere figments of the author's imagination. If you're uncertain about this, let me clarify.
They aren't real, they've never existed in reality, and they never will. Any resemblance to any individual, whether through name or description, is completely unintentional and coincidental.
The writer does not endorse or condone the behaviors depicted in this story and believes that physical and mental punishments, as presented, should never be inflicted on anyone other than in the realm of fiction.
Whenever the term "girl" is used, it's a derogatory label used for an adult woman at the age of 18 or more.
All individuals mentioned in this work of fiction are above the age of 18.
A small disclaimer: I'm not very efficient with tags and categories, so if some things seem off, then hopefully it'll be a learning experience for me.
If you don't like where my imagination leads, then the blame lies with you for reading it.
The Ashworth Women.
For Jane Ashworth, the June day was perfect, with a pleasant breeze and a sky filled with blue. She might have been enjoying lunch by the river. She even wore her favorite 50s-style summer dress, which had a full petticoat. The puffy bodice showed off her ample cleavage. The light pastel blue complemented her eyes, always helping to lift her spirits and draw admiring looks.
However, her lunch plans were abandoned due to a phone call.
Instead, she sat awkwardly, her face flushed, as Dr. James McClure, Headmaster of her daughter's college, shuffled papers on his desk.
Jane had met him several times, and she found him engaging, stylish, and highly supportive of her daughter and the college - not to mention a great help to her. However, this wasn't a pleasant meeting.
He began solemnly, "I won't beat around the bush or even try to sugarcoat this, but Hannah has left me with no choice but to expel her immediately."
He paused dramatically, "I'll have to inform the university that her exam results are now void. I'll also have to take back my letter of recommendation. Undoubtedly, they'll drop their offer of the full scholarship. It's such a pity; she had so much potential, and I can't help but feel bitterly disappointed after all the effort we put into nurturing her potential, especially when Jared passed away."
Jane bit her lip, "Is all this really necessary, Headmaster, when this is her entire future at stake? It'll wreck her."
"I understand your concerns, Mrs. Ashworth, but cheating in her finals is unacceptable; she only has herself to blame. What else am I supposed to do?"
Jane's lips trembled, "Are you saying that the way Miss Foster dealt with these situations is now outdated? Haven't we lost our minds in this enlightened era?"
The Headmaster smiled unexpectedly, appreciating Jane's new attitude and her suggestion, "Ah, yes, the infamous Foster Regime; of course, you realize that this is 1971, a new age free of these archaic tactics. Unfortunately, it's all in the past."
Jane's heart raced with hope when she heard the Headmaster's tone, "Perhaps we can trudge through some ancient traditions? What if I promise, Headmaster, that after our conversation with Hannah, she'll agree, without any resistance?"
"Mrs. Ashworth, I sympathize with the gravity of your daughter's actions and the impact on her future. But it's no longer an option to use physical punishment given her age, and I can't ask her to submit to it. She's an adult now, and according to the law, she has the right to make her own decisions. You'll both return to my office at 4:30 PM exactly. I'll draft a consent form for you both to sign, and once done, I'll cane her bare buttocks as punishment. She'll have to undergo this treatment again in ten days. On the second day, she'll be allowed to retake her exam under my supervision, but only if she passes. Otherwise, she'll be removed from St. Magdalene's."
"I understand, Headmaster, and I'm sure Hannah, once she comprehends the consequences of her actions, will agree without any fuss."
Jane left his office with a sense of determination and hope.
Hannah's legs trembled as her mother led her to the principal's office.
She felt quite uncomfortable after her mother had forced her to bend over and spank her bottom. She heard her mother saying things about the consequences of getting caught with the cheat sheet.
Hannah never imagined her whole future would disappear so quickly over a small piece of paper.
Now, she was scared.
Her mother knocked on the door, politely.
The door opened, revealing a very stern-looking principal. He stood aside as the two women entered the study.
Once inside, they heard the door close behind them and the unmistakable sound of the lock clicking.
Hannah had never seen the principal looking so serious before. He was standing in the centre of the room, his arms crossed, looking like a statue.
His desk was empty except for a single sheet of printed paper and a fountain pen.
He spoke, sounding sad, "Hannah Ashworth, you cheated in your final exam, and I'm sure your mother has explained the consequences of such actions.
You now have one chance, and only one.
I chose this time because it's the day students have left. The boarders are all in their homerooms in the South Wing. So there's no chance we'll be seen or heard.
If you and your mother both sign this paper, you will receive your first punishment today.
Matron is here as my witness, and your mother will stay.
Your punishment will be in the form of 16 strokes of the cane on your naked buttocks, the first 8 immediately.
Then, you will receive a further 8 in 10 days. Only then, and provided that your resit exam has been deemed acceptable, will your exam results be confirmed.
Remember, I know how to use a cane, and it will hurt a lot. It'll probably be the worst thing that's ever happened to you, but that's the whole point. Just remember, you can endure it, and it won't kill you.
Keep in mind, your entire future is at stake."
Hannah started to cry, which was unusual for her; the sense of impending doom was new to her. Without reading the paper, she grabbed the pen and signed it.
Her mother stepped forward and took the time to read the four paragraphs, sighing heavily and signing the paper with a sad look at her daughter.
The principal collected the signed agreement, checking the signatures before folding it carefully and putting it away.
"Hannah, you will take off your skirt and underwear, bend over the desk, leaning as far over it as you can, and grasp the edge on the far side. You will maintain this position, or the stroke won't count, and it will be repeated as many times as necessary."
The college's summer uniform consisted of a white, cap-sleeve, open neck blouse, a knee-length, box-pleated dark grey plaid skirt, white socks, and flat black court shoes.
Nervously, Hannah took a few deep breaths and began removing her skirt.
She felt embarrassed as she folded it before placing it on a chair. The next step was even more difficult; taking her regulations white underwear down was terrifying. After hesitating, she pushed them down and off, throwing them on top of her skirt.
She stepped toward the desk and assumed the required position, feeling vulnerable and deeply ashamed.
She felt the principal's hand on her back. "Lean further over the desk, feet together." Hannah shuffled to comply, feeling mortified; everything was on display, and the principal was definitely getting a good view of her bottom.
Hannah felt a light tap on her lower cheeks, followed by a sharp hissing sound as the cane descended, landing perfectly across the centre of her buttocks, driving into the tender flesh and forcing her forward, putting her legs wide apart. Her eyes bulged in terror. She screamed in pain and shock. Her senses reeled; she couldn't imagine anything so agonising.
Her scream echoed around the room, sounding frantic and desperate.
The principal had heard it before and prepared the next stroke. He snapped his wrist and thwack. The unforgiving cane against the sensitive skin produced another scream of agony.
It all got to be too much, and she shot up, both hands reaching back to rub her sore bottom.
The order was brief and firm: "Get back down, now! You will get that again."
"No, please, sir, it hurts too much!"
The headmaster replied, "Very well, girl, get dressed and leave, taking your expulsion letter with you on the way out. That'll be the end of your future here." Turning his back, the headmaster left the room.
A realisation hit Hannah, "No, sir, please sir, I didn't mean it. I'll be a good girl; just watch." She bent back down over the desk, her body trembling from head to toe, desperately hoping the nightmare would stop.
"Matron, would you be so kind?" The headmaster asked quietly.
Without a word, Matron walked to the desk's edge and grabbed Hannah's wrists tightly.
Hannah's eyes flew open to see the green eyes of Matron. With her petite frame, red hair and athletic build, Leslie Stuart was around the same age as any other staff member. Every girl in the school whispered about her, calling her "Lezi-les," because she was rumored to be a lesbian.
Her soft Scottish accent made it seem almost like a lullaby. Knowing Hannah was frightened, she said reassuringly, "Hannah, look at me; focus on my eyes. You can do this. I believe in you."
The headmaster nodded approvingly at Matron before he examined the now-reddened bottom of the girl on the desk.
"We'll start again," he said, lifting the thin, smooth cane. He watched as a streak of white fire turned red. "One," he muttered, ignoring the girl's cries. "Two..." The cane flashed again, joining the first lines on Hannah's bottom.
Biting her lip, Hannah concentrated on the confident, calm green eyes.
The cane was worse than any punishment she'd ever experienced, and just as she thought it couldn't get any worse, the cane hit her once more, scoring low along the top of her thighs.
Her eyes filled with tears and she was filled with agony. Red burning, scorching her flesh deeply.
Her throat was raw from her screams and sobs.
Finally, the last strike came. Hannah couldn't remember the pain ever ending.
When she realised the strikes had stopped, she felt Matron's cool hand on her cheek. "You've done well, my brave girl."
With great effort, Hannah stood, her legs shaking and her breathing shallow.
"Go with Matron to the infirmary," the headmaster instructed, and the two young ladies left quietly.
~~oOo~~
Jane Ashworth stayed still, watching her daughter's punishment.
She reckoned she had to be rational - the level of pain Hannah hadn't been prepared for and hadn't faced before was necessary to help her redress her future.
However, Jane was very different. She'd had plenty of experience with discipline in her youth, attending St Magdalena's, where she'd been the victim of many stern punishments from Miss Foster. Now in her thirties, she craved discipline and the feeling of a well-delivered cane.
Her husband was a similar character: strict but loving.
She watched Dr. Clure cane Hannah, noting his skill and how the cane moved. Turning to the headmaster, she didn't respond, but his eyes locked with hers. She felt a need, nearly a tingling sensation coursing through her legs and bottom. She took in a deep breath, noticing her body's response.
Breaking eye contact, she fingered the first button of her dress. [Paraphrased] Risen from Distress: A Tail of Instruction for the Learning of Pain and Deference. "No, please, sir, it hurts too much!" The instructing superior replied, "Very well, girl. You must depart swiftly, bearing your discharge notice for the way out, concluding this section of your life." Turning his back, he exited the study.
She lifted her gaze once more. The Headmaster was deliberating on his next action. His eyes held an air of curiosity and attentiveness, with the faintest hint of a half-smile forming on his lips.
"Headmaster," she said as she deftly unbuttoned the first button on her blouse. "In my opinion, you should employ your considerable proficiency with the cane on another Ashworth's backside." She remarked, her fingers finessing the second button tag. "Discipline has been absent from my life since my darling Phillip passed away, and I deeply miss it."
There was a catch in her voice, but she persisted. "Witnessing your competency and zeal for employing the cane, I would be ecstatic if you would fulfil my desire." The third and final button came undone, enabling the straps to fall down her arms.
Dr McClure drew in a deep breath. He had hoped but not expected that Jane Ashworth's particular predilections might emerge. He knew her maiden name and, after perusing his predecessors' punishment records, he was aware of how frequently Mrs Foster had chastised her.
He smiled warmly, nodding his head once. "The honour would be mine, Mrs Ashworth, and I feel that a visit from the senior cane would be merited."
Jane smiled charmingly. "Thank you, Headmaster, it's been far too long." She continued, and then she swivelled her hips, her summer dress falling to the floor. She gathered the garment up and folded it meticulously.
James McClure was transfixed; he had always admired Jane Ashworth, and here she was in his office, partially naked, displaying a figure many women her age could only aspire to. She stood in her exquisite pink underthings, with seamed stockings and suspenders.
He could scarcely imagine a more enticing sight and even noted how her French-cut knickers adorned her suspenders.
He averted his eyes, advancing towards the tower-like cabinet obscured by a lengthy curtain. This cabinet was home to his outerwear, umbrellas, and other items. It also contained a rather long, slim leather case, which he extracted.
Selecting his preferred implement, he extracted the senior cane from the case.
The senior cane is exquisitely crafted from Dragon Cane. A cane that is far superior to any other. It's a straight, ultra-smooth length, and the top is swathed in a red hemp cord, providing a non-slip hand grip. From the handreel, it extends to a yard tench, thinning gradually from one inch thick at the handle to barely half an inch at the tip.
He carefully picked up a cloth and, with practised ease, polished the entire cane, ensuring it remained devoid of any nicks or burrs.
Satisfied, he turned towards the fortunate vision that was Mrs Jane Ashworth.
She smiled approvingly. "I do believe a dozen would be advantageous, Headmaster."
Dr McClure grinned knowingly. "A dozen on bare flesh it is, assume the position."
The last remark was intended to regain control, but in truth, Jane Ashworth was in control.
He watched, captivated, as, with a deliberate swivel of her hips, she turned, bending as she lifted the waistband of her knickers and lowered them.
The exquisite material slipped down, revealing her glorious backside, accentuated by suspenders and stocking tops.
She stepped out of her knickers, and eagerly took the couple of steps required to assume position across his desk. She wriggled her hips, keeping her ankles together.
Dr McClure circled behind his subject, admiring how feminine and tantalising she was. She boasted a narrow waist and shapely legs clad in dark nylon, highlighting the ideal pear-shaped rump. Her backside presented so alluringly, begging for a scathing and expert caning to subdue its insubordination.
It was unquestionably an outstanding target, a backside designed for a comprehensive thrashing and meriting his best efforts.
Throughout the years, he had learned to focus completely, refusing to allow the obvious distractions from the female form to distract him from his task. He enjoyed what he did and took great pride in it. He extended his arm, unleashing the first searing stroke that hissed and stung across Jane's perfect, creamy skin.
The flesh shrank to a bone-white hue before immediately springing back, transforming to red, then blue.
Jane grunted, clenching her fists, her hips jerking from side to side, a movement that resulted in her bottom jiggling. "One, thank you, Sir. May I please have another?" Her voice rang strong and unwavering.
James McClure exulted in delight, his arm whipping down again. The sound echoed in the room as Jane's bottom quivered.
"Two, thank you, Sir. May I please have another?"
The cane lashed savagely into her sensitive flesh again and again, each stroke eliciting the same request for another.
Jane's salty tears fell onto the desk, yet her body craved more. Each stroke brought such intense agony, the pain spreading inwardly, yet as the torment intensified, so did the ecstasy of alleviation.
She could visualise the raised, angry lines left by the rod, lines that burned like fire yet offered solace and release, purging the pain of loss she clung onto so desperately.
Mr. McClure gazed at the perfectly arranged crimson steps on Jane's cheeks. He felt immense pride for accomplishing a task well done. Twelve forceful, purplish-crimson swells, uniformly distributed from the peak of her cheeks to that achingly painful juncture between her cheeks and thighs.
Involuntarily, his hand reached out, caressing what he had created, tracing each line, relishing the way Jane's bottom quivered at his touch.
He became aware of Jane's motion, and her head turned to face him. A fascinatingly curious expression adorned her eyes, blended with an enticing undertone.
She spoke in a hushed, needful tone, "Mr. Headmaster, I believe that the rather substantial rigidity in your trousers deserves to be released and utilized for a purpose?"
Without hesitation, he set down his cane. He unfastened the waistband on his trousers, pulling them down along with his underwear to expose his rigid member.
Jane had assessed him accurately; it was large, long, and thick, exactly the kind of combination she preferred; even larger than her late husband, she thought, as she spread her legs, wriggling her bottom to entice him.
Jane required no foreplay; she was already trembling in anticipation, wet, lubricated for the entry she yearned for.
She felt his manhood drag over the crevice of her bottom cheeks. His hardness and warmth captured her attention. She shuddered in excited anticipation as his powerful hands pulled her backward. He bent his knees, pushing on her thighs, positioning himself directly behind, close and personal, then, slowly, he pushed firmly but gently into her.
"Oh, Mr. Headmaster," Jane cried out, as she was stretched wide, "You are so wonderfully large... display no mercy!" she moaned as she tightened her sex muscles around the solid, scorching shaft.
This was what she desired, large and merciless as he forced his cock into her. She assimilated and accommodated his penile masterpiece, its thickness, its length; she felt stuffed.
Then he was wholly within her, bottomed out; she could feel the heat from his thighs, feel his dense, wiry pubic hair pressing deep into her bottom cheeks, leaving a tingling sensation; she acknowledged that the head of his cock must be touching her cervix. He withdrew, maintaining a short pause, then pushed in one forceful, smooth movement.
Jane was in paradise; the sensation of profound, soul-consuming pleasure and utter fullness she now experienced bewildered her.
Jane screamed with ecstasy, her body impaled on his divine cock; he withdrew again, then pushed forward, establishing a steady rhythm of long, deep thrusts, each deep intrusion eliciting a response from her quivering, thrashing body.
His thrusts grew faster and more forceful, each deep invasion producing an equal reaction from her shuddering, shaking physique. His strong hands slapped her already tender bottom cheeks.
Upon initial penetration, Jane had climaxed. Under the brutal force of his thrusts, she was building toward something monumental.
Streaks of fire danced across her skin as if she had come to life and been possessed, and then suddenly, she exploded in a tidal wave, loudly screaming and thrashing below him. It felt as if a dam had broken, her whole body shaking. She had nothing to hold onto but the air and the edge of the desk, and tears streamed uncontrollably from her eyes as she gasped for breath, grasping at whatever air her lungs could swallow.
"Oh!" His roar blended with his gasped "oh" as he lunged forward, collapsing on top her back. Then she felt his member swelling even larger, harder and erupting with hot, viscous semen, releasing itself into her.
They both remained motionless, their respiration calming down until she felt him shift his weight, "Good girl." His voice was soft, almost a whisper. He kissed the top of her head as she rose to rest against his chest.
Hannah felt a warmth building inside her as she listened to Leslie's calming voice and felt her hands on her hurt backside.
Leslie's words were making her feel better and better.
"Do you feel more sensitive, Hannah? You might even be a bit aroused," Leslie asked.
Hannah bit her lip, yes, she did feel that particular sensitivity, and she noticed her breathing had changed, becoming shallower and faster.
She had this desire to play with a certain body part that she had recently discovered but had resisted.
Leslie's hand was now softly caressing her bottom and thighs, causing a pleasant tingling sensation on her skin.
Then Leslie instructed her to turn over and lie on her back, relax, and trust her, listen to her voice, and let go of all the pent-up stress.
Hannah didn't hesitate. She flipped over, and surprisingly, her bottom didn't hurt the way she expected, and she didn't feel weird or uncomfortable in Leslie's presence.
Leslie hovered over Hannah, studying her face and eyes. Her hand casually touched the tops of Hannah's thighs and stomach.
Leslie gave her gentle advice, helping her deal with her first caning experience.
Hannah clung to Leslie's reassuring words as they circled in her mind.
She could feel the warmth radiating from her bottom, pressing into the couch's leather and sending tingly sparks through her body. These sparks had the same delightful softness. Hannah achieved a state of total relaxation, finding comfort and sensual satisfaction in Leslie's voice and words.
Leslie was talking about caning, pleasure, and rewards, trust, and relief, letting go.
All the physical shock she had initially suffered had vanished.
She felt safe and cared for, her eyes closed as she drifted into a dream.
Then Leslie's fingers found her sensitive pleasure spot, beginning to explore, circle, and stimulate it. Moments later, Hannah's body arched back, and an overwhelming wave of pleasure swept through her body as she reached orgasm for the first time.
All along, Leslie's soft, soothing voice continued to encourage and praise her.
Hannah collapsed, filled with a sense of euphoria she had never experienced before. She opened her eyes and looked up at the gentle green gaze staring down at her.
"You did a good job, my beautiful woman," Leslie whispered, "You are such a precious gem. You are so bright and clever, so pretty, but why did you need the cheat sheet? You are so much better than that?"
Hannah cried, desperate to confess and release her shame.
Perhaps it all happened too quickly, the harsh punishment, the intense pleasure. Desperately, she took this opportunity to accept Leslie's trust and support.
"M... my boyfriend left me. I was so heartbroken I couldn't study, couldn't focus, and Charlotte handed me the cheat sheet at the last minute, but I didn't use it, I swear," Hannah sobbed.
"But you are a fantastic person. Why would he dump you?"
"I... I think it was because I'm deformed," Hannah hesitated.
"'Deformed'? What do you mean?" Leslie questioned.
"I've believed that ever since my eighteenth birthday. My boyfriend kept pushing me to have sex with him. Eventually, I gave in, thinking, 'what the point?' Anyway, my mom was gone, and he came over. After some necking, I took off my blouse, and everything went wrong. He pushed me away and stormed out of the house."
Leslie hugged the sobbing girl, comforting her with soothing caresses. "Hannah, please trust me. Let's see what's causing your concern."
Hannah, still emotional, slowly removed her shirt, revealing a tightly wrapped cloth around her chest. Leslie carefully took the cloth off.
When it completely fell away, Leslie was astonished to see Hannah's breasts were large and flawlessly shaped.
"Hannah, your breasts are incredible; they are perfect, so beautiful. You are not deformed," Leslie said.
"Why would my boyfriend get angry with me?"
Leslie thought for a moment. In the larger cities, there had been a transformation in sexual knowledge and experience. But here in the more rural areas, they were catching up. The '60s, known as the swinging era, were all about metropolitan life.
"I believe your so-called boyfriend came prematurely in his underwear because he got aroused too much. He probably got embarrassed and upset."
Yes, young men are quite full of themselves and usually lack control or experience. Here, join me.
She guided Hannah away from the couch and stood in front of a full-length mirror.
Hannah couldn't help but admire her own figure, and the woman standing behind her remarked, "Hannah, take a good look at yourself. You are astonishingly attractive." Admired the naked girl, "Your slim hips, flat stomach, and beautifully formed breasts with not a trace of sagging. Not to mention your blonde hair and blue eyes. You are every young man's desire and every woman's envy."
Hannah spoke quietly, almost ashamed, "I don't have much experience. I hoped to have some, but that didn't happen. Do you genuinely think I am attractive?"
"Absolutely. And never forget that. Tomorrow morning, during your free period before lunch, I'll take you to meet a friend who designs and creates custom lingerie. We'll find you the most comfortable yet sexy bras," Leslie suggested.
"Okay...", whispered Hannah, happy to be able to spend more time with Leslie.
"Good, now there's a college tracksuit on that chair. Put it on as your mother will be here soon. Leave your old uniform here, and I'll get it cleaned and pressed for you," she instructed.
~~oOo~~
It was getting late, and Dr. James McClure settled into his favorite armchair. Sitting in the dimly lit living room, the music by Miles Davis filled the air.
Reviewing all that had happened that day, it was a day filled with surprises.
His peaceful moment was interrupted by Leslie's calming voice: "Good evening, Sir. Have you had a good day?"
He looked up surprised and beaming, "My day has improved tremendously with your presence. A day that has been a surprise in the most pleasant way. You take my breath away, Leslie, truly."
Leslie's movements were accompanied by a sultry dance, keeping her with both of her legs extended, moving them seductively. She wore a black lacy camisole top barely hiding her young breasts and matching shorts that lay on her hips.
She noticed the doctor observing her, so she smiled, "Good, because I need some maintenance. First, can I ask, was it Mademoiselle Charlotte Thomas, the invigilator, who revealed we had the crib sheet?"
"Yes, James said, "Apparently, she was informed by Charlotte Thomas."
Leslie thought for a moment, "I see, because Hannah didn't create the crib sheet. It was Miss Thomas who prepared it and passed it on to her."
A frown crossed his face: "In that case, we should deal with Charlotte Thomas."
"I like that idea. Instead, Hannah is an enchanting girl, shy and naive but not unscrupulous. She was framed. Now, can you help me with this?" She gestured at her black lacy shorts, her fingers moving to the waistband.
The doctor smiled, "Of course, my dear. Shall we begin there?"
She slid down effortlessly from his lap, offering no resistance as she assumed her position.
The doctor gently caressed her from her back to her knees with his fingers, drawing sensual and relaxing lines. "My day has taken a pleasant turn; you are a delight, Leslie," he said.
He lifted his hand, his fingers gently coaxing her to raise her hips, allowing the shorts to slide down. With each crinkle, her bottom jiggled teasingly, adding to his anticipation.
His eyes examined her heart-shaped bottom, perfectly formed, and knew the array of colors her bottom would transform into from the initial swat.
He admired this alluring, intelligent girl who had been a part of his life for years, her best friend's daughter.
He raised his hand, and his palm met her left cheek with an astonishing force, hitting her with remarkable ferocity. "One," he commanded.
Leslie winced, gasped, and instantly obeyed, "Two, Sir."
His hand struck with renewed force, delivering a slap that vigorously shook her bottom. "Three, Sir."
He lit up with enjoyment, pleased by the sound each of his spanks made. He loved this playful girl, his Leslie.
Leslie relished the painful sting, as the surge of adrenaline and emotions coursed through her body, settling into the warmth of her burning cheeks. Her arousal built up, and unbidden, raunchy thoughts invaded her head. "Three, Sir," she whimpered as another smack landed, this one more forceful than the one before. The sharp blow sent a wave of heat coursing through her pelvis and up to her stomach.
The warmth between her thighs intensified with each passing second, her abdomen rapidly tightening as the slick, hot wetness flowed unabated.
"Four, Sir," she gasped out, urging him to continue, relishing the sting of each blow.
He pause, taking the time to admire the lovely sight of her glowing, heated bottom. Leslie knew that this spanking was different, slower, and more sensual. She was fully aware of her arousal and felt no shame in her rising excitement.
Another smack, harder this time, making her almost forget to count. "Five, Sir," she managed to stammer, her voice shaking with every smack he landed on her flaming cheeks.
With each strike, her excitement heightened, her face burning with a deep, red blush. She could feel the wetness trickling down her thigh, and her heart fluttered in her chest.
Another pause, and he continued admiring her burning bottom. His fingers traced delicate patterns on her flesh, seemingly attempting to soothe the sting away.
Leslie felt the heat from her aching buttocks radiating outwards, but the ache within her reigned supreme, a ballooning throb threatening to explode. "Six, Sir," she cried out, her voice now filled with desperate desire.
More smacks followed, the intensity growing with each one. She could feel her body responding to every spank, her hips bucking involuntarily in anticipation. "Seven, Sir. Eight, Sir," she called out, her voice barely audible over the rising torrent of her pleasure.
Her breath quickened, every shallow inhale accompanied by a sharp exhale, and she struggled to keep track of the smacks. He resumed spanking her bottom while paying extra attention to the sweet spot between her soft thighs and burning buttocks. "Nine, Sir," she groaned, her voice sounding more like a moan.
Her eyes began to well up, tears stinging them as the pain overwhelmed her. At this point, she barely recognized her own voice. The last smack landed, a hard one at that, and she crumbled, unable to hide her anguished cries.
"Ten, Sir," she nearly wailed.
The spanking ceased as suddenly as it had begun, and she could feel his gentle touch caressing her sensitive flesh. Then, without warning, "Eleven, Sir," she panted. She locked onto the rhythm of his hand, bucking her hips at every strike, her sobs becoming half-formulated moans.
She could hardly keep track of the smacks, but the pain became secondary to her dreams of passion. With each stroke, her mind exploded with vivid images of a world where nothing mattered but her and James. "Twelve, Sir," she cried out, her voice growing hoarse as the pleasure intensified.
At fifteen, he stopped. Her heart pounding, she sagged in his arms, giving in to the sweet release she'd been craving, her body trembling and convulsing under his touch. "You're a bad girl," James said, his voice low and seductive. She sighed, softly nodding, drenched in sweat. "Yes, Sir," she whimpered, "Whatever you want, Sir."
Wrapped in his protective embrace, she drifted off to sleep, lulled by the lovemaking, her body quivering from the constant tension.
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