“I didn’t like that too much either,” he said. “Anything else?”
I shook my head and his eyes opened wide, taking in the reality of how far I was willing to go with our games. He kept his thoughts to himself, as well as his own limits and desires. So I truly had no real idea what might be coming to me when he told me to face the corner and wait.
“Hands behind your back, and nose against the wall. Think long and hard about your failure to wear the proper uniform. And since you think those panties are so cute, you can show them off. Pull up that dress!”
I stood submissively and waited, and feeling the shame of being placed in the corner with my nearly naked bottom on display. Even when I coyly asked for a punishment, it still felt so truly punishing when it was happening. This was a strange reality I didn’t expect before I experienced it for myself.
The professor was walking around, as I heard the creaks in the old floorboards. I wished I knew what he was planning. Then I remembered something. The kitchen windows were right there behind me, and always left open to invite in the sunshine. I imagined people walking by and seeing me in this state of disgrace in the corner, my dress up, my panties on display. His property was large, and the summer’s thick foliage covered the windows well, but part of me could not stop imagining the laughter of passersby, seeing how a naughty housemaid was shamed for her recalcitrance.
Ten minutes had passed before he returned. “Turn around. This is going to be very embarrassing for you, young lady, but you’re going to lose that uniform.”
“Oh please, sir!” I begged, convincingly enough.
“A proper housemaid wears respectable undergarments. You can wear exactly those panties you’ve chosen and nothing more.”
He’d untied my apron and easily removed it, and then I assisted him with my dress by lifting my arms up to the ceiling. The moment my dress slipped over my head, I covered my bare, vulnerable breasts in some genuine embarrassment. They weren’t as large as I’d hoped, and one was a bit smaller than the other, which always made me self-conscious. Don’t get me wrong, I did want his hands on me, but with every lover it’s always been the same. A shyness always overtakes the first moments.
The professor ordered my hands to my sides, and I felt a real trepidation welling up in my heart as I obeyed. My master knew none of this, and simply felt me up eagerly, a soft moan escaping his throat as he explored my naked chest. I paradoxically relaxed right away from his slightly rough treatment, drifting away from my unnecessary uneasiness, and back into our little game.
“Would you like to stay like that all day, Megan? In nothing but those little pink panties? With these on full display?”
“No, sir! Please! I’d be so embarrassed.”
“We’ll see,” he threatened. “Now, let’s see if you’ve learned anything as my housemaid. A good punishment…”
He waved his hand in the air, indicating I finish his sentence. So I answered, “…Fits the crime.”
“Good. And what part of you will be punished for your failure to wear a bra, then?”
I looked away in shame. “My… my breasts, sir.”
“Precisely,” he said. “Sit down on that chair.”
Only a second after I’d taken my seat, the professor had my wrists. He was tying them together, behind the back of the chair. I wouldn’t be able to cover my chest or protect myself at all. It made me squirm my panty-clad bottom against the cool wooden seat. I whimpered out my fear.
“Yes, it’s all well and good to be naughty until it’s time to be punished, hmm, Megan?”
I sighed out my agreement as he bent down to tie each ankle to the legs of the chair. They were placed against the outside of the wooden legs, so that I was spread open before him. The thin pink panties didn’t feel like nearly enough protection of my modesty in this position.
“Look at you,” he chided me.
I looked down, seeing how displayed my body was to him now. My breasts were bared and pushed out slightly for easy access, and my legs were open to him. My quivering clitoris was now only covered by a little bit of silky fabric and nothing more.
He circled me a moment, and I felt the anticipation, wondering how I’d be disciplined this time. Then his hands cupped me gently, feeling me, rubbing the bare skin of my breasts. The pointer fingers of each of his hands then toyed with my nipples, hardening them even more than the shame and the cool kitchen air had already. I helplessly pushed myself against his touch, and sighed contently.
For a long time he just fondled me and simply revelled in the power he had to enjoy my body to his heart’s content. It felt good, not just the physical touch alone, but my own helpless nakedness and my inability to choose where his hands would go and what they might do to me. I moaned softly as he kneaded gently at my chest.
The sensual stroking and rubbing came to a stop. He reminded me that this was a punishment and pinched my nipples then, softly at first, and then a little harder, until I squealed. “Ohh! Oh, ow! Oww!”
That was when he stopped, and he seemed to set the strength of his punishment by my complaints. Once my cries grew sharp enough, he dipped just below the threshold and stayed there. His fingers squeezed me, pulling my nipples a little bit away from my body. I squeezed my eyes shut and whined loudly, yanking my body side to side and trying to pull apart my bound wrists. “Ooh! Oh, please, I’ll wear my bra from now on!”
“I’m glad you’re learning some modesty this morning,” he told me, letting go of my sore nipples. “But your lesson has only just begun.”
His hands continued to punish my chest. At first he pushed down on my breast too hard, squishing it uncomfortably. Then his palms squeezed the whole of my breasts, groping me much harder than I was used to from any man. I moaned and wiggled against my binds, whimpering as he manipulated the fleshiest part of my breasts. “Oooh! Oh please, Professor Brooks! Nooo! I’ll be a good girl!”
He understood my nooo for what it truly was, hearing my whimpering submission instead of actual regret. The painful roleplay was truly testing my resolve, but I was enjoying it immensely. So he knew not to stop.
“I don’t dole out half measures in this household,” he warned me, giving the sides of each breast a couple light spanks with his open palm.
I squirmed and gasped with each spank, and, satisfied with his work, he changed course on my reddening chest again. He practically held all the flesh of both breasts in his tightly squeezed hands. I whined and whimpered and gasped, trying to turn away but being held firm against the chair.
“Are you understanding what happens to naughty girls who disobey the dress code?”
“Yes, sir!” I practically screamed, grimacing.
Letting go, he gave each breast five more solidly stinging swats, each time now catching my highly sensitive nipples. “Ooh! Nooo! Ahh!” I complained in my high-pitched and soft voice. I imagined how I’d look if anyone saw through that kitchen window – like a very well-punished girl. I’d be so ashamed.
The professor took a renewed interest in simply groping me just a touch too roughly again. I squirmed and simply moaned again and again. This part of the punishment was low on pain and high on pleasure, and he knew it, what he was doing to me. Making me pant. He was enjoying it as much as I was, I suspect, feeling his heavy breaths against my neck.
I was throbbing with excitement before long. I tilted my head back and closed my eyes and moaned, falling deep into the fantasy that I was a poor, helpless servant girl being squeezed and prodded and having my breasts molested by my strict master. Who knew what he might do next?
“Oooh,” I sighed.
“This is a punishment, young lady!” he warned me. “And your punishment isn’t over yet.”
“No, sir?”
“You also wore these,” he reminded me, slipping a hand just over the front of my pink panties. His pointer finger easily traveled upwards, right over my clit, aching with the need for release.
It was electric, having waited so long for his touch, and feeling it now. I shuddered and moaned so loudly I still blush to think of it now, how shamefully needy I was for release.
“Please,” I said, in case every single other signal I gave failed to reach him. “Pleeassseeee.”
He stroked me so slowly and softly over my panties, teasing me and punishing me now by prolonging my pleasure. “Please stop?” he joked.
“No!” I said firmly. It made him laugh lightly, and pull the waistband of my panties away from my stomach. He looked down and I shut my eyes again, feeling a proper amount of shame for my master’s inspection of my naked sex. Then I felt his fingers sliding under the flimsy fabric, down over my trimmed mound, and then rubbing firm circles over my most sensitive spot.
In seconds he had me gasping out one moan after another. Pleasure filled my whole being, from the pink heat in my recently punished chest to the feeling of the snug ropes around my wrists and ankles, to the helplessness of melting under a powerful man’s touch… I was quickly heading to a point of no return.
“Oh Megan,” he lamented, “I hope you’ll remember your place. Don’t do anything without permission.”
“Please!” I begged. My vagina had begun to pulse. It was already too late for me. “Please, sir!”
“Wait,” he told me.
At that very second I didn’t wait at all. It gave me no hidden pleasure to be a naughty, disobedient girl, but it was an accident I truly couldn’t prevent. I began to cry out my pleasure as I tensed and orgasmed so hard there was no doubt his fingers could feel every squeeze.
“Bad girl,” he told me, though the softness of his tone gave his true feelings away. “You’ll have to be punished again for that now. Perhaps tomorrow night.”
“Yes, sir,” I said. My head was spinning. Normally I am not that quick to finish, nor do fingers work as well on me as more sophisticated toys. But it was months in the making, this climax of my pleasure. It might have actually been the longest buildup of my life.
He untied me. First my wrists, then he crouched before me to untie my ankles. I could see his own arousal had not been abated.
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