Other Institutions: Ansonia Academy: Program 2

Measure twice, initiation, erotica, first punishment

"In the morning, I knocked very early and waited until she opened the door. I had awoken her. Her hair tousled, sleepy-eyed, wearing her new robe, she looked fabulous, oblivious that the sheer robe and the morning light streaming through the large windows behind her showed clearly that she wore no pajamas. Being half-awake made her even sexier. I explained that it was Ansonia policy to personally wake students on their first day of class.

"Thank you, Headmaster."

"You're welcome. I'll be back this afternoon after your swim period to begin our Women's Lit and Women in Film studies."

That afternoon, we spent fifty minutes on D.H. Lawrence. Before moving on to film, I recommended a break. "The senior girls didn't include any pajamas, lingerie or swimwear in your welcome bag because you left your measurements blank on your application. Why?"

She blushed. "I haven't measured myself for six months, and I've. . . developed. So I don't really know."

"Alright, let me see the swimsuit. Go put it on." She returned in a couple of minutes wearing an unflattering bikini with a loud pattern, head depressed in embarrassment. The full cups and wide cut panties covered way too much of her satiny skin.

"Well, that won't be hard to improve upon. Come along." We went into the bedroom together. "Stand at the foot of the bed and remove that horrible bikini." She looked at me, confused and flustered. "Miss Slatter," I said, feigning irritation, "we do things properly at Ansonia. No half measures. I've measured plenty of girls, it's no big deal, and your lingerie and swimwear will be beautiful, so we need to get it right. Fine clothing is expensive, and I know you'll look fabulous in it. Besides, your back will be turned to me. And I can assure you, I've seen plenty of bottoms during disciplinary sessions."

She stood in front of the bed's railing, tense. "We don't have all day," I said, reaching out and unclasping the top. Awkwardly, she drew the straps off her shoulders and pulled the big cups off her breasts, throwing the top on the bed. Impatiently, I grabbed the panties and pulled them down to just above her knees, a humiliating place to leave them. I could her breathing deeply with embarrassment. I began to grow harder the moment her tight, gorgeous young ass came into view.

"Damn, I forgot the tape measure. It's in my jacket at the dining room table. While I get it, remove those stupid panties. Then, to make it easy to measure you, raise your arms to horizontal and hold onto the bedposts for support." The tape measure was really in my pocket, but I wanted to give her a minute's privacy to adjust to the idea of being nude and assuming a posture.

I walked out, looking behind me as she grudgingly shuffled her legs and feet till the panties dropped to the floor. I pretended to shut the bedroom door behind me, but the bedroom and bathroom doors had been precisely hung to slowly swing open. Once the door had reopened, I watched as she raised her arms and grasped the bedposts. She was magnificent.

I walked back in and pulled a small metal tape measure out of my pocket. "Very good," I said. Rather than a supple fabric measure, I had chosen this one because the stiff metal would be uncomfortable and also cold on her breasts and nipples. Without touching, I stood behind her and lifted the measure over her head, resting it on her lovely breasts.

"Oh!" she said, startled by the cold metal. I dragged the measure down her breasts till it was hanging in front of her huge nipples, now hardening and pulled until the metal pressed against the nipples. "Uh," she said, but made no complaint as I drew the ends together over her spine and muttered about doing this accurately. Then I pulled harder, the metal pressing harshly into her nubbins and beginning to compress her breasts. I could tell it hurt, but she made no complaint, just uttered "Uhhh."

"I've got it now, 35." I released the tape and her breathing relaxed. Then I proceeded with her slim waist and gorgeous hips. "There, that wasn't so hard, was it?" I asked.

"No sir."

"You may lower your arms." I advised her to study hard and we'd see each other tomorrow.

"Thank you sir," she said as I left. When I brought the new clothing a few days later, she squealed with delight and kissed me on the cheek. She loved the bikini, in white to contrast her tawny skin and daringly cut for her. The lacy pastel panties, in blue, pink, yellow, green and orange, were all bikini cut and the bras, in matching pastels, were all half cup with plenty of lace.

An interesting detail is that none of the lace on either the bras or panties covered much of a girl's privates. But Janice fell in love with them before she noticed that revealing design detail, and then shrugged it off as being a French style thing. The baby doll nighties were as revealing as her sheer bathrobe, in pastels to match the bras and panties. Each bra and panty set included matching stay-up stockings. "Ooohh, stockings too!" she said. "Would you like to see me model the bikini?" she asked eagerly.

"What a sweet idea. Please. But why don't you take a quick hot shower, so you can see if the fabric and fit are comfortable when wet." She cocked her head, thinking this was an unusual request, but since I gave two logical reasons, she acquiesced. When she stepped out of the shower, the mirror had completely fogged, so she wrapped a towel around her and returned to the living room.

When she returned, she was a sight, shiny black hair dripping, her skin a healthy complexion, smiling as she pretended to be a runway model walking back and forth in front of me. I chuckled and applauded. She unwrapped the towel as a slow tease, placing one leg behind her in a cute curtsy. It was obvious that she was becoming prouder of her body and less self-conscious about showing it. "You look lovely," I said. The innocent girl had no idea that the thin white fabric had been chosen because it became virtually transparent when wet.

I unabashedly stared at the heavy 35C tits capped with the dark aureole and even darker, stiff nipples, plain as day. "Does it fit and is it comfortable? I hope so, because you look ravishing." I was specifically referring to her thick labia, pressing against the soaked, transparent material.

"It feels tight all over, sir, but I like it too much to let it go." I should hope it was tight, since it was intentionally a size too small for her voluptuous body. "Of course, it's a lot briefer than what I'm used to."

"Alright, put your towel back on, take it off and I'll hang it to dry while you get dressed." She was becoming used to my odd requests, and this seemed harmless, so she obeyed, contorting herself underneath the towel, and handed me the wet pieces. Good, I had prevented her from seeing her tits and pussy exposed in one of the bedroom mirrors.

Over the next weeks, Janice liked her teachers, was doing well in her classes, and with a daily workout schedule, was losing her tiny amount of body fat. I made sure that she called and e-mailed her mother frequently. She seemed cheerful, well adjusted and content to not have friends on-campus, which suited me perfectly. Like anyone else, she attended various concerts and other events, but didn't hang out in the student union.

We proceeded with her tutorials. At first she'd sit in a chair while I was on the couch, but that immediately proved to be impractical when we studied art books and watched DVDs, so we sat together on the leather sofa.

She was excited by the pioneering sexual frankness of D.H. Lawrence, and bought a vintage 1920s dress at an off-campus boutique that she wore without bra or panties during our sessions. It was a virginal, risqué look, since the dress had areas of revealing lace. Janice explained that she'd always loved wearing costumes, and I took this as a good sign, since soon enough she would be wearing nothing but a black silk bustier, or a white waist cincher, or a brocade underbust corset with heels, or a bondage leather harness, or black ropes binding her luscious tits and pussy lips so they bulged.

She watched "The Unbearable Lightness of Being" several times. After the first viewing, Janice idolized the character Lena Olin played and was so turned on by the scene with Olin wearing a black bowler and lingerie, that she bought a black lace bra and panty set at an expensive lingerie boutique in town. She even bought a bowler at the store where she'd purchased the 1920s dress. The second time, she watched clad in just hat, bra and panties. Once the sex scenes began, it didn't take long for her to masturbate herself to multiple orgasms.

After "The Unbearable Lightness of Being" her syllabus featured "Tie Me Up! Tie Me Down!" She was fascinated by the bondage bed scenes with Victoria Abril and watched them repeatedly, always bringing herself off.

Her art course progressed as well. After the controversial photography book of teen nudes, we studied Helmut Newton's work. Fascinated by the nude scenes with bondage gear, she asked lots of questions, trying to hide an excitement that was charmingly obvious.

She began frequenting BDSM sites on a daily basis, bookmarking sites for erotic clothes and bondage gear, and reading stories filled with harsh scenes of domination, sucking and fucking.

During this period, she also received another gift bag, also ostensibly from the caring but invisible and anonymous senior girls. This assortment contained a small black vibrator that, along with the earlier dildos, quickly saw nightly use. Despite this frequent self-pleasuring, it was clear that, being highly sexed, her level of frustration was increasing weekly.

One evening I indulged her pleading and permitted her some dessert sherry. She quickly guzzled four glasses till I admonished her to stop. She said she figured that I wasn't married, and assumed I didn't have a girlfriend either. I explained that I was a lot like her, independent and highly selective, preferring females not my own age. She explained that she wanted to do something for all my kindnesses. "That's not necessary," I said. "Because I'm so selective, I prefer buying things for myself. And there aren't any objects that I want. I prefer gifts of a non-material nature."

"Headmaster, I know that you like me, since you're always complimenting me, saying how hot and sexy I look. . . ." I said nothing. "And I know you get excited when I'm wearing a costume, or showing off half-dressed, because I see the. . . hardon in your pants."

"This kind of talk is inappropriate, Janice."

"I may not have a lot of experience," she continued, ignoring me, "but those two boys at the mall said I gave them the best hand job ever. And they couldn't wait for me go down on them with oral sex."

"Miss Slatter, please get to the point."

"I want to give you pleasure," she stubbornly insisted, and pushed away the coffee table, slid off the couch and knelt on the floor.

"I think you better stop right there, young lady," I said, softly but sternly. As if deaf, she moved between my legs and spread her knees as wide as she could.

"Headmaster, I'm begging you to let me show you. I'd like to give you a hand job. You'll see I'm not just good at studying and scholarships."

"What has gotten into you?" I asked—but made no move to stop her.

She began undoing her tight blouse and shrugged it off her shoulders. The tops of her exquisite tits, heaving with arousal, were exposed above the skimpy half bra, framed by pale blue lace. "Maybe I can convince you by showing you some skin? Don't you like seeing my breasts? Don't all men like seeing this? I like showing you."

"Miss Slatter, what do you think you're doing?" I hissed. She didn't pause for a moment, just unzipped and removed her skirt, showing the sexy lace tops of her blue stay-ups and tiny bikini panties.

"Turning you on, Headaster. Look at your pants." My enormous hard-on was indeed tenting my slacks. "And I can touch myself." One hand caressed a breast while the other poked inside the tight small panties.

"I said that is enough!" I said, fiercely, but she leaned forward and brazenly began unbuckling my belt, her breasts brushing against my knees.

"If you don't stop, I'll be forced to punish you," I warned, but she tugged my pants down to my ankles.

"Look, I even have lubricant for your cock," she announced proudly and pulled a bottle of lube out of a skirt pocket.

"I'm warning you for the last time." She just laughed saucily and leaned forward to remove my boxers. I had strung out the scene as long as possible. Now she would receive her first major punishment, in tandem with agonizing pleasure, and understand who was the master and who the submissive.

A second before my raging cock sprang free, I grabbed the hair at the top of her head and jerked it up. "Owww!" she yelled, her momentum interrupted, squeezing those sexy lips together in a full-blown pout. I pushed her back till she was leaning on the coffee table and stood, kicking my pants from my feet and ankles. She must have thought I was going to make her suck me, because a flicker of fear passed across her face.

"Get up." Once she stood, I grabbed her bicep and led her to the closest dining room chairs. They had been designed to a perfect height, her groin, as was proved when I pushed the small of her back down over the leather chair top.

"Are you going to spank me?" I laughed, pulling four cuffs and a tawse from the dining room table drawer and fastening them to her wrists and ankles.

"Spanking is for children." I tied her wrists to rings at the bottom of each chair leg. "No, you were warned multiple times," I reminded her, tying off the ankle bindings. "You will be punished with a leather tawse."

"What's that?" she asked as I stripped off her blue panties, leaving her long legs framed in the frilly stockings.

"It's like a small paddle, but the thick leather is a bit flexible." I placed the tawse on the chair seat, inches from her face, and let her smell the pungent leather as I gazed at her pouting pussy lips, so thick and low-hanging, below a gorgeous dark rose ring of slightly puckered skin. Her slit was already damp. "You wouldn't want to embarrass yourself by yelling, so put this in your mouth." She opened her meaty lips and I inserted the panty, wet with her juices. It hardly filled that wide slash of a mouth, but would muffle her cries.

I struck her back first. She moaned but never screamed. When finished, I returned the instrument of her punishment to the chair and massaged a soothing oil onto her back, explaining that I regretted the necessity for harsh punishment, but the crop or cane would have been far worse. She groaned as my strong fingers worked the oil into her inflamed skin, constantly moving her torso in excitement. I retrieved the tawse and laid into her thighs. She grew even more excited, hips and thighs twisting alluringly, cunt juices now glistening from her labia. I repeated the oil-based massage.

It was time to alter the technique. I beat her tight ass harder than her back and thighs, until it bloomed with red mottling. But after every hit, I massaged the spot with oil. So every moment of pain was contrasted with a moment of relief. She sniffled but never begged for mercy, her pelvis pumping back and forth against the leather chair.

After a half dozen blows, I struck the thickly hanging lips. This time she screamed, as much in shock as in pain. "Oh my God, please Headmaster, don't whip my pussy!" she desperately implored until I replaced the tawse with my oiled fingers, rubbing the outer lips. "Ohhh, oh yes, ummm" she moaned, for the pleasure/pain switch had been thrown.

The second hit was further down, but she didn't scream, hoping for relief, which I quickly applied. "Oh God," she uttered as I stroked the length of the engorged lips till the oil mixed with cunt juice dripped onto the floor.

I dropped the tawse down in front of her face so she would be forced to smell her cunt juice mixed with the oil. "Open your legs wider." Did she guess what was next? She moved her limber feet apart and I pushed a pillow from the couch under her belly, exposing more of her mons. Instead of striking the final spot, I soaked my fingers and gently stroked the hood of her fat, protruding clit. She screamed in unbridled joy, thrusting her groin back at me, hips swiveling with craving for release. "Yes!" she cried. "Please, please!" But I had stopped. In the stillness, she realized what was coming.

"Oh God, please, not that!" Frenziedly, she pulled at her wrist bonds, but the heavy chair barely moved. I pushed back the flaps of the hood and squeezed the engorged clit itself. The incredible sensation was now mixed with fear. I pumped her entire fat shaft harder and faster as she ascended toward a fearsome orgasm, mumbling, thrashing and gyrating in her bondage. On the brink, I savagely struck the defenseless, exposed clit a half dozen times.

Her entire body seemed to lift off the chair, muscles and tendons stretched tautly, as her head jerked back in an extreme climax that even impressed me, savagely jerking her pelvis up and down until, over the space of a minute, she slowed down and hung limply.

I pried the saturated panties out of her slack mouth, fixed myself a drink and admired the sweat-drenched and greasy body, spotted with the evidence of her discipline. I already knew she was a budding exhibitionist, so she didn't say a word when I spent several minutes photographing her prostrate form from a number of angles, including close-ups of her inflamed, swollen clit and raw red cunt lips.

Refreshed, I was ready for the final portion. I yanked up Janice's head and held a glass of sherry at her lips, which she downed. "Thank you Headmaster," she croaked hoarsely.

"Will you defy me ever again?"

"She shook her head. "No sir. Could you untie me now?"

"I can untie your hands." I undid her wrist straps, which she immediately rubbed. The skin was tender from when she strained against the ties during her orgasm. I moved the pillow from her belly to the edge of the table and lifted her head until her forehead rested on the pillow. She was confused.

"Sir, will you untie my legs now?"

"No Janice, because your lesson in obedience is not yet over."

"Wha?" she asked groggily.

"Since you insisted on playing with not only your pussy but also your tits, they will be thrashed as well." There was silence while she weighed the consequences of resistance, realizing that I might also give her a second orgasm.

"Yes, Master." it was the first time she had used the abbreviation of my complete title, Headmaster. We had entered a new chapter. I unclasped the pretty bra and drew it off her, enjoying the spectacle of her heavy tits hanging down between the table edge and chair back.

"Do I need to gag you again?"

"No sir." I went to her bedroom, opened the night table drawer, and removed her dildo. Back in the dining room, I inserted it between her raw and tender cunt lips. She sighed with pleasure and began humping her mons against the chair as I smacked her pendulous tits very hard, alternating each hit with a caress of or stroke of the heavy orbs. Almost immediately, she entered "sub space" and loved every moment.

Soon her oiled tits were so wet that the liquid ran down her long nipples and dripped onto the chair seat. I regretted that there was too little space between the sensitive bottom side of her tits and the chair surface with which to swing the tawse. Oh well, some other time. Moreover, I longed to clamp and weight her huge nipples, but I knew that the Program took time and could not be successfully rushed. It followed a gradual timetable and I especially would not risk anything, considering the spectacular specimen I was brutalizing and pleasuring.

But between each slam of the tawse into her tits, I did begin kneading, squeezing, bending and stroking her nipples, which immediately made her pre-orgasmic. When she was on the brink, grinding and twisting the dildo into the chair, I applied the tawse directly to her nipples, watching the tit globes ripple and shake with the agonizing impacts. Finally, she screamed, but it was brief, because she came in another imposing frenzy, her head whipping back and forth as drops of sweat flew off.

When she had stopped, I dropped my shorts, twisted her lax head to face me, and shoved my cock into her limp mouth, fucking her face for only a minute or two before I spurted a long-waiting flood of jism into her. When the tenth spurt had shot into her, I released her head, which flopped down. My cum had accumulated in a pool on the roof of her mouth. Since her head and torso were upside down, the roof was the lowest portion. I watched as her tongue extended down into the hot cum and swirled around in it, savoring the taste, the only movement her exhausted cum slut of a body could muster. After photographing her again, with special attention to the pendulous tits and dripping nipples, I staggered down to my apartment, leaving her hanging over the chair.

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