The Floundering Undergrad, Part
II
story codes: MF, Spanking


The Floundering Undergrad, Part II
by Don Frank



During the week, Amy worked diligently on her paper, and by the next
class (on campus) had a good outline, some draft material, and a
number of questions for me.  I suggested that we discuss things over
a cup of tea at my place.

I took out my red pen and offered a few minor editorial changes, but
for the most part was extremely pleased with the results.  "Thou hast
redeemed thy lost opinion, Amy.  Now, can you cite the reference?"

"Uh . . . It's Shakespeare, but . . .  I don't remember."

I smiled, and spoke with a surprising gentleness.  "Actually, you do,
Amy.  I know for a fact that you do.  But your work has been somewhat
undisciplined, which is why you don't quite recall."

"My work picked up a lot this week," she replied.  "In all my classes."

"I am glad to hear it.  But I still want you to cite the reference," I stated,
a little more resolutely.

Amy frowned.  "Is it KING LEAR?"

"Do not take stupid guesses!" I snapped.  "Now, if you don't
remember, we'll have to go into my office for some more discipline
until your memory improves."  I motioned towards the door.

Yes, I knew she was a little ambivalent about what would follow -- both
excited and embarrassed.  Once inside, she faced me.  "Shall I get
the paddle?"

It was now time to begin the cerebral Domination.  A less
sophisticated Dom or an S/M Top would miss the subtlety of the
situation.  I would get her to admit what I already knew.  "Do you want
to?  Did you enjoy it?" I asked.

Ah, how that blush aroused me!  I knew, and I think that she knew that I
knew!  "Well . . ."

"Let me guess.  From the body language and other obvious
barometers, I'd say that you actually found those whacks rather
enjoyable -- and particularly enjoyed having the salve rubbed in
afterwards.  True?"

The mild blush from my last question now gave way to beet red.  
"Well, yeah, I --"

At this point in cerebral Domination, it is imperative to articulate
everything vital to the power dynamic.  She had to be told that I was
aware of the power and control I held over her.  With that in mind, I
kept up the questioning:  "And while you didn't mind getting it on your
bare ass, you were a little uncomfortable about being stark naked in
front of me.  Also true?"

She was definitely blushing even more, and I reveled in the power I
had over the capillaries in her face!  "Are you ashamed of your body,
Amy?"

"Oh, no, Sir!" she protested.  "Not at all."

"Then why did you work so hard not to deny me a good view of the
frontal nudity?  Why did you walk sideways to avoid being seen?  Why
did you try to render yourself modest with the towel when I told you to
meditate?"

There are those who may find this borders on the abusive, although I
should argue that I had still not crossed that line.  Nevertheless, a
colleague later wrote, "What you did here is like potty-training a puppy
by rubbing its face in the mess when it pees on the floor!"  I politely
retorted that I understand cerebral Domination extremely well, and that
the particulars are open to subjective evaluation.

"Well . . . it's just . . . I . . . I mean, like, uh . . . you know!"  Ah, the way
students -- even the ones at good schools -- talk these days!

"Do you trust me?"  Of course, she trusted me.  Otherwise, she would
never have permitted this Domination to take place.

"Oh, yes, Sir!"

"Do you think I'll try to rape you or take advantage of you?"  Take
advantage of her?  Wasn’t that exactly what I was doing -- and exactly
what she wanted me to do??

"Absolutely not!"

"And do you understand that whatever I do to you, I do for the sake of
discipline -- to help you snap out of an intellectual torpor which
threatens to compromise your academic career?"  O. K.  I was laying
it on a little too thickly here, belaboring the obvious!  I admit it!  I
enjoyed it!

She wouldn't look me in the eye, but she nodded her head in the
affirmative.

"Put on the dog collar," I commanded.  She reached into the top right
drawer, took it out, and put it on.  "The reference?" I asked.  She
shook her head.

"Take off your shoes and socks!" I ordered.  In a moment, she stood
in front of me in bare feet.  "The reference?"

"I'm sorry, Sir, but I just . . ."

"Take off your shirt!"  She faced me in her bra.  "Now do you
remember?"

"Sir, this isn't fair!  I'll be stark naked, and I still won't remember!"

"We shall see.  Take off your pants."

I could see a flush in her cheeks as she placed her pants on the desk.  
"The reference, Amy?"

"Can you at least give me a hint?" she cried.

"Take off either your bra or your undies -- I don't care which!"

Now, this precipitated a curious crisis of modesty.  Since Amy, unlike
a high percentage of women these days, did not shave her pubic hair,
her thick bush concealed her vagina.  She hesitated, but then
removed the underwear.  The removal of her bra would have been
even more invasive.

"Please," she pleaded.

"You don't want to be completely naked in front of me?" I asked.

"No, Sir.  Can't you just paddle me and be done?"

"Strip bare!" I ordered, by way of reply.

And here’s the interesting thing.  She stood in front of me, clearly
excited, but no less clearly embarrassed.  She held her hands and
legs in such a way as to minimize the exposure, and tried to turn
somewhat away from me.

I went over to the couch and pulled it out, placing a sheet over the
futon.  I motioned to her to sit down.  "I shall give you exactly 60
seconds to cite the reference.  If you cannot, at the end of that time,
you will be ordered to kneel, and you will be spanked.  'Redeemed thy
lost opinion!'  Think, Amy!!"

But for whatever reason, she couldn’t even venture a guess.  I looked
at my watch, then back at her and nodded my head.  She knelt before
the futon and awaited the assault.  I touched her buttocks gently, and
then -- Whack!  It was not my hands that nailed her; it was a strap.  
Amy was surprised.  The belt was wide, and the leather was well
used, but even so, the blows hurt!  Four . . . five . . . six.  To her relief, I
stopped.  Then, seconds later, she felt the salve as I rubbed it in -- so
gently, and with such tenderness.

"The reference, Amy?" I asked again.

"I'm sorry, Sir.  I haven't read all of Shakespeare's plays."

I whacked her again with my bare hand, fairly hard.  She jumped.

"You read this one!" I corrected her.  "In my class!"

Her mind whirled.  "But I took two Shakespeare seminars with you,
Sir!" she cried.  "Was it OTHELLO?  MACBETH?  THE TEMPEST?"  
Her mind raced, but it was not at all focused.

"Up on the futon, and on your back!" I commanded.

Her ass still stinging, Amy didn't dare beg for mercy.  But what could I
be planning next?  Instinctively, she crossed her arms across her
breasts and brought her legs together.  She noticed my frown, and
blushed.

My arousal was extreme, and I had to turn away.  I walked to the desk
and reached into the drawer, then approached the futon carrying
cords with me.  I grabbed her left arm and tied it to the top corner of
the futon.  I grabbed her right arm and tied it to the opposite corner.  I
took her legs and spread them apart at not too severe an angle, but
certainly enough to leave her feeling . . . well, let's just say, "exposed."

"Close your eyes!" I ordered.  Reluctantly, she obeyed.  "The
reference?"

She shook her head, wondering what I'd do next.  "I'm going to leave
the room for a few minutes, Amy, but shall be back anon.  I want you to
contemplate your nakedness."

"Is it from HAMLET?"  she shouted as I closed the door behind me.

The door re-opened. "And keep your eyes closed!" I admonished.

Time passed.  The thought of my power over her almost caused me to
climax on the spot.  She was submitting, completely and totally.             

Eventually, I returned, but Amy’s mind had certainly not been focused
on Shakespeare.   I approached the futon slowly.  Then, without
warning, I began to tickle her -- and discovered that she was VERY
ticklish.  Suddenly, I stopped.  "Open your eyes, Amy," I said softly.  
She did, and to her amazement, I draped her with a towel.  "You
remember, don't you?"

"HENRY THE FOURTH, PART ONE, Act V -- where Prince Hal
rescues the King from Douglas!" she exclaimed with absolute
certainty.  "And thanks for the hint, Sir."

"You are correct," I said, with a huge smile on my face.  "But, what
hint?"

"Oh, Sir --  'Anon'?  You'd be back 'anon'?  That's the scene with
Francis, when Poins and Hal start giving him orders.  So, of course, it
was Prince Hal, who redeemed himself."

Without a word, I began releasing her bonds.  "Get dressed, Amy," I
instructed.  And, as she stood up, I gave her buttocks one last slap --
though a rather playful, gentle slap when compared with the others!  
"Keep up the good work, and I'll see you next week," I said when she
had dressed.  She smiled, and we said good-night.


To be continued...

Chapter One

© 2007 Don Frank

Please visit Don's site http://cerebraldomination.blogspot.com/