Thursday, 12 February 2009

The Student


And now an original short story, a newly written Janice story. With some naughtiness in it. Hope you are well out there, Dear Readers, and not being too fed up with the long story. I know some of you like it but some don't.


The sun was setting and she lifted her eyes from her book and stared out through her window. She let her gaze jump from rooftop to rooftop, dance around the chimneys and then take to the sky over the red coloured sea, flying high above the ships of the harbour.


She closed the book that was lying in front of her, put it away on the shelf and switched on two small lamps. It was still light from the window but soon there would be darkness and she needed the electric light, although not much.


She stood in front of the mirror and looked at herself. She took a hairbrush and ran it through her hair. Her hair fell to just below her shoulders, was a little red, a little blond. She gathered it to a ponytail, looked at her profile and nodded.


She took from her wardrobe a black skirt, and a striped long sleeved top. From her drawers she extracted a pair of black cotton knickers and a pair of over the knees, fishnet stockings.


In front of the mirror she watched herself transform. The knickers were tiny, not the minuscule string variety that the teenagers insisted upon believing, they would become the catch of the day. No, these were simple, low rise cotton knickers with no frills.


The fishnet stockings were extravagant but suited the knickers in a way. There were no need for garters or anything, these stayed in place by themselves.


Then she put the top on. She looked at herself and turned this way and that way, studying the shape of her body. The black and white striped top hugged her body tightly. She needed no bra and wore none. It made her breasts look softer and more natural. Some men liked that and some disliked it. Hers were small and proud enough to look better that way.


The neckline was wide and made the top want to come off her shoulders, at least one of them. The question was deciding which one. She pulled at the shirt and let it hang looser on the right side.


Then she donned the skirt. It was short and wide and came to half her thighs, perhaps a tad below half way. It was short but not provocatively short, just enough to allow her to show off her stocking clad legs without showing any bare skin.


She looked at herself and wondered what she saw. She looked ordinary, not sluttish, not held back, an ordinary girl, colours matching, fishnet stockings, a little bit of provocation but nothing too revealing. Her top was tight, hugged her body and anyone looking at her would notice her nipples. That was allowed, no one would be shocked, still a little enticing, and a little embarrassing.


She then put her shoes on, black ballet pumps, almost like slippers. They were no frills shoes, elegant and simple with a tiny little bow on the toes. They swish-swished as she moved over the floor.


From under the bed she extracted the suitcase. She put in on the bed and opened it. The crop was braided in black and white leather and quite sturdy, the two canes, one thicker and one thinner, were supple and hard. Her hands caressed the thick wood of the paddle. It was a sturdy but elegant thing, soft to the touch but heavy and hard, with holes drilled in it. There were some fine and soft ropes. Finally she took the hairbrush from the case. It had a long heavy head, with a flat surface.


She put the suitcase back under the bed and hung the tools on their designated hooks on the wall above her bed. Then she got a glass and a bottle of whine, poured some wine and sat down in the armchair, waiting.


She sipped the wine and looked at her room. It was simple and rough, had wooden floor boards and a worn rug. The wallpaper had been striped in white and gold but time and light had made them lose their lustre. At least the room was warm. She liked it, it was her hideout, her burrow.


He announced his arrival with a violent knock on the door.

'Let me in!' he roared when she didn't answer.

He banged once more on the door.

'Open the door,' he demanded.


She thought of the Queen and the Parliament and smiled to herself as she rose from her armchair.


He knocked on the door once more before she opened it. She stood back and let him in.

'Why didn't you open immediately?'

She didn't answer. He closed the door behind him. He took his coat off and handed it to her. She hung it on a hanger and took his hat and his gloves.


He was dressed in a grey suit, white shirt and dark red satin tie. His shoes were shining. He was a pedant when it came to his shoes.


He walked in and sat down in her armchair. He looked at her wine glass, not emptied. He looked around the room and saw the tools on the wall.


'I want wine.'

She got him a glass, placed it beside him and poured some wine.

'Come here!'

She put down the bottle and stood in front of him.

'Lift your skirt!'

She lifted her skirt.

'Did I tell you to wear those knickers?'

'No, you didn't'

'And you are not wearing heels.'

'No.'

You didn't open the door. You are sloppy.'

'Yes.'

'You know what this means?'

'Yes.'

'What?'

'A punishment.'

'Indeed. I will have to punish you.'

'I understand.'


He sipped his wine, looked at her. She stood in silence.

'Go and get the cane and the ropes, put them on the bed and then get my gloves.'


She did as she was told. His eyes followed her as she softly moved through her room. He likened her to a cat. There was something graceful about her as she stretched her body to reach the ropes.

'Which one?'

'The sturdier one.'

She took the thicker cane from its hook and placed it besides the ropes on the bed.


She got him his gloves.

'The rope.'

She got him the rope.

'Turn around.'

She heard him rise from the armchair and come close to her. He encircled her wrists and tied them together. She felt his gloved hands touch her skin. He was very efficient with the rope. In an instant she was bound, her wrists parallel behind her back.


She felt him sling the rope around her arms, and how it cut into her skin as he pulled it tight. She gasped as she felt her elbows being pulled together. He spun her round and looked at her.


'This is how the Egyptians tied their prisoners, although they weren't bothered to bind the wrists.'

He scrutinised her, standing quite close to her, still.

'You don't have a big bosom, but it looks lovely this way.'

He smiled.


He directed her to the other end of the room, turned her round so that she faced the armchair. He then took hold of her top, pulled it up, up and above her chest, releasing her breasts.


When he thought she was quite exposed he stood back. The top was tight enough to not fall down. He stared at her breasts.

'Now, stand on your toes.'

She rose to the tip of her toes.

'Heels had made this easier. Stay there now.'


He returned to the armchair, took his gloves off and sipped his wine. He smiled and hummed a tune, took the paper from the sideboard and sat back to read.


Occasionally he cast a glance at the woman, standing, facing him, her arms tied behind her, bosom exposed, struggling to stay on her toes.


He took his time, reading, drinking his wine. He spoke to her, telling her of his day, what he had done, whom he had met and talked to, what they had said. Sometimes he asked her about her doings and she promptly replied.


The glass was empty and the paper read through and the man donned his gloves again.

'Come here.'

She walked towards him, gingerly, her feet aching.


He made her stand before him and he reached out and unbuttoned her skirt and let it fall to the floor.

'I like those knickers with lace, you know that. Still you insist on those cotton, boring ones. If you at least could wear string knickers.'

He sighed and took a firm grip on the offending knickers and yanked them down. He pulled them down her legs and down to her feet and she stepped out of them.


He rose to his feet, took a firm grip of her neck and directed her to the bed. There he pushed her down on top of it. She was lying face down with her knees on the floor.


He took the cane from the bed and swished it through the air.

'Do you want to know how many you will get?'

'Yes.'

'You will have to count them then.'


He placed the cane against her bottom and she stopped moving. It appeared to him that she took a deep breath, bracing herself.


He lifted the cane and looked at her. Then he let it fly. It hit her across her buttocks with a sharp report and she jumped. He saw her move her hands, the hands that were still held in place by the ropes.


He studied how a red welt formed on her fair skin.

'The thing about counting was an order.'

'One.'

Then he hit again and she jumped.

Two.'


He took his time. He smiled to himself as he once more placed the cane against her skin.


The third made her jump again and cry out a little.

'Three.'

The fourth made her take a deep breath and slowly wriggle her body. It took some time before she counted out loud.


After she had gasped 'nine' he stopped.

'Do you think you have had enough?'

'I don't know.'

'Do you want me to stop?'

'Yes.'

He replied with a blow of the cane.


The eleventh hit her across the thighs and she dug her face in the mattress and wailed. He smacked his lips and thought that he would direct more of the strokes to the thighs.


'Twenty-four.'

'I am quite done with this now.'

'Thank you.'


He loosened the rope around her wrists and then the one around her elbows. She moved her arms forward, shook her hands a little.


'Now, turn around but stay on your knees.'

She slid down from the bed turning around so that she ended up standing on her knees.


The man had returned to his armchair.

'Now, take the top off, but keep the stockings and shoes.'

She slipped the top from her and was now quite naked.


She let her hands hang by her sides. He saw the red marks from the ropes. He looked at her body, her small breasts and her soft belly. He liked what he saw. She didn't look at him, she lowered her gaze.


'I am in the mood now.'

She approached him on her knees and unzipped his trousers. She helped his member out. He stood to attention and she leaned forward and kissed him.


The man leaned back and closed his eyes as the woman closed her lips on his precious friend. She could hear his breathing getting heavy and a feel a slight trembling.


'Stop!'

She sat back.


The man was staring at her, something wild in his eyes. He rose to his feet, his attentive friend the only part of him that wasn't well dressed.


He pulled her to her feet and shoved her before him to the bed. He pushed her down on it, this time on her back. He took hold of her legs and stepped forward.


He wasted no time. Without further ado he entered her. She closed her eyes and so did he. She listened to his breathing as she felt her body being rocked by his onslaught.


He grunted loudly as he reached his goal. He didn't listen to her sighs. He didn't know if she was after him or before him. He didn't ask her.


He stood in silence for a while, panting. Then he withdrew. He replaced his little warrior and stood back. He looked at the woman, naked on the bed, her legs slightly parted.


He said nothing as he went to the door. The woman rose from the bed and came after him. She was still naked as she handed him his hat and helped him put his coat on. They didn't speak.


He turned to her and leaned forward and kissed her cheek, gently and softly. Then he opened the door and walked out.


The woman turned back and stepped out of her shoes, took off her stockings. She went into the bathroom, took a long shower and then she donned her pyjamas.


Again she stood in front of the mirror and looked at the white flannel with teddy bears on. She hung the cane back on the wall and the ropes. She took the book from the shelf, slipped between the sheets and made sure the light was right for reading.


She opened the heavy book, Calculus, and began to read. She yawned a bit, felt sleepy and wondered if she would be able to pick up any of the formulas she was studying.




7 comments:

Carindom said...

Excellent janice. Though I am not bored with your other serial. But yes this has a different feel to it. Her preparation is almost sensual in itself, her care, her attention to detail and of course her wearing knickers she knows will be the cause of his caning her.

Paul said...

Janice, very nice, different.
I loved the attention to detail as she dressed.
An understated but excellent little story, thank you.
Warm hugs,
Paul.

Ollie said...

Ah, preparation, rather appropriate for a student isn't it?

Nice one Janice

TFP said...

Janice,

A deliciously lovely story. Lets return to 'Surrender'...

Anonymous said...

Dear Janice
I love your cool, matter-of-fact telling of this tale. So many erotic stories are spoilt by what Chekhov called a ‘lack of restraint’ [letter to Maxim Gorky, 3 December 1898], and I wish more writers of erotica would follow the Master’s advice to ‘be more cold... The more objective you are, the stronger will be the impression you make’ [letter to Lydia Avilova, 19 March 1892].
Michael
p.s. If this comment doesn’t get me into Pseuds Corner, I’m going to give up.
p.p.s. I suppose you know Chekhov also wrote a story called ‘The Student’.
p.p.s. Don’t you just hate people who use multiple postscripts?

Mina said...

Janice, a great story. Thoroughly enjoyed reading it.

And, Calculus! Brilliant and how calculating she was too.

Those 'ordinary' people doing naughty things behind closed doors is always intriguing.

Hugs
Mina

Janice said...

Dear Carindom, thank you for your compliment. I will continue like that, to post other blogpost in between the instalments of the longer story. But I ask you to think again about the choice of knickers. Could there be any other reason for her choice, in addition to the one you mention?

Dear Paul, thank you. I love details, I really do and the understating was quite deliberate.

Dear Ollie, you never know what those naughty students are up to these days.

Dear TFP, don't be so impatient. There is a time for everything...smiles.

Dear Michael, I bow my head and blush at your mentioning of the great master, himself, and in a comment to a story of mine. I didn't know he wrote a story called The Student. Not exactly hate, just think it is silly...smiles.

Dear Mina, I like that, Calculus and calculating...smiles. The everyday had to be there, as a frame for it all. Glad you enjoyed it.

Hugs

Janice