Back in 2007, this blog presented a selection of the “Best of the Kinky Rest” – a round-up of favourite posts from other blogs in the past twelve months. Having repeated the exercise each year since, it’s now become something of an August tradition here.
This year’s selection is slightly smaller than most – comprising just six pieces, which I’ll be alternating with my own usual posts over the coming days. I hope you enjoy them!
And it now gives me great pleasure to introduce the first of this year’s selection, from Abby Williams’ “Little Red Schoolhouse” in February, inspired by memories of her favourite college professor.
I have a recurring dream in which I am walking down a school hallway, sometimes one I remember from high school, sometimes one from college, when I realize that I’ve forgotten to attend one of my classes all semester and am now sure to fail.
One lazy Saturday afternoon, my hand idling between my thighs, I unexpectedly remembered this scenario. I then began to imagine the scene in which the grade might be saved.
A female student stands in the small, dimly lit office… It’s evening, the sun already set and the violet clouds outside the two small narrow windows of the office turning to plum as night sets around the campus. She’s come to him after hours in hopes of winning a battle she could not win in the usual light of day. She faces the broad wooden desk…
“You forgot to come to class all semester?” asks the professor, though I know now it’s not the man I remember, nor any man I have known since then, though his voice reminds me of Mr. Williams, as does his lilting, laughing tone…
The story unfolds: she wants to make up for it, she wants to do the classwork. She wants to pass the class and graduate on time. He wants to let her, to give her a chance to do an intensive study version of the class in the last two weeks before finals, but this isn’t the lesson she should learn on her way out the doors of the Ivory Tower and into the real world.
She asks, “What can I do to change your mind?”
“Action and inaction both have consequences. What grade do you want from this class?”
“An A,” she answers, indignation unavoidable. “I need an A to maintain my 4.0… I’m not about to lose my average now. What do I need to do?” She leans forward. Her cleavage is visible, her dark hair falls around her face, she bites her lip while looking up from under the wave of hair, meeting his eye…
He makes her a proposition: that she must pass the period of intensive study – but that her final grade will also depend on the punishment she is willing to accept.
She, like me at that age, is the first of her family about to graduate a four-year college. This is not the moment to lose hope. He points to the chair at the side of the room. “You may fold your clothes and leave them there. Then you may bend over the desk.”
She imagines walking at graduation but not receiving her diploma. Her family left wondering in the bleachers why her name was never called. “I accept.”
The first stroke causes her to see a flash of white behind her closed eyes. Her jaw is clenched so tightly that she realizes she hadn’t cried out. As the second lands, she squeals, not quite the sound she’d been hoping she would make. He allows her a moment to compose herself, then whips her firmly and steadily, allowing her a cry or even, once, a howl, but never attempting to make her scream.
Do read the rest of the post: it really is unbelievably hot. And a worth first entry in this year’s selection.
..Thanks for directing me towards another fab place to read the stuff I love Abel.
Hot! For me, the strange thing about it is that it would not have worked very well for me as a well thought-out story. The setup seems simply too far fetched and, as a matter of personal preference, I’m not fond of sessions where a whole series of implements gets used.
However, fantasies do not always conform to one’s idea of good spanking fiction. As a fantasy this one works like a charm, and the post gives rare and very clever insights into how spanking fantasies can work: the recurring “school hallway” dream as a trigger, the observer’s perspective, the cameo of the author’s very own barber strop, the sudden pause when you “zoom out” of it to ponder the replay value of your own fantasy and those moments of identification (“I grin along with her”).