BORN TO BE SPANKED
Carissa lived within walking distance from the church, but Sandra drove them both the short way to yet another unpredictable adventure.
This was not the first time Sandra had been given to another woman for a few hours or even a weekend. There had been many adventures where Sandra was led willingly into the naughty world of kink and submission.
Sandra flashed back to the first time she was given as a gift in her sophomore year:
I came home from school on a Friday, exhausted after taking two midterms. My brain was fried, and I desperately needed some sleep. I crawled into bed for a nap a little after three and had a rejuvenating sleep until being awakened by Mariah.
“Wake up, slut,” she instructed.
I groggily opened my eyes and was surprised to see it was already eight fifteen. I yawned and said, “Wow, I really slept.”
“Good,” Mariah said, before hinting of something naughty, “because I doubt you’ll get much more sleep tonight.”
“What are your plans for tonight, Mistress?”
“We have separate plans. I have a date tonight, and so do you,” Mariah informed me.
“I do?” I asked, still shaking off the cobwebs.
“Well ‘date’ may be a misleading term. I’m lending you to a friend of mine for the night,” she said nonchalantly, as if she were lending a t-shirt to someone.
“You what?” I asked, bolting upright.
“Is there a problem?” Mariah asked in a tone saying there’d better not be.
“No,” I held in a sigh, “it’s just that I’m really tired after my midterms.”
“So is Sheila,” Mariah said, “and she still has all the grading to do.”
“Who’s Sheila?” I asked cautiously.
“Professor Moore,” Mariah replied nonchalantly.
“She knows about us?” I asked, mortified. Professor Moore was my Shakespearean Literature professor, who was on a one-year exchange from London. I adored her as a professor.
“She knows I’m a domme and she knows I’m sending over a submissive to be her plaything for a night,” Mariah said.
“She doesn’t know it’s me?” I asked, my head spinning, desperate to find a way out of this.
“She’ll know in forty minutes. I left an address on the table and you’re to be there at precisely nine o’clock.”
“Please, not our Professor,” I attempted to wheedle Mariah into being more rational.
“Tonight she isn’t your professor but your mistress,” Mariah countered casually. “Now get ready to go please her.”
I obeyed; knowing the tone of Mariah’s last sentence meant the conversation was done. Once I was dressed, I picked up the card and looked back to Mariah, hoping for a last moment reprieve that wasn’t forthcoming. I drove to the address, and once I arrived at the typical suburban bungalow, I paused. Every other time I’d been ordered to do something Mariah had been there with me, but flying solo like this was new, uncharted territory.
I looked at the time, sighed, I was a single minute early, and dressed in a black and white checkered skirt, beige thigh highs, a white blouse, and a black jacket. I obeyed the most challenging order from my mistress yet as I walked to the front door. After a brief hesitation… What if I don’t obey the order? The thought not taken seriously, I knocked on the door.
A moment later the door opened and I was staring at the startled face of my professor. “Sandra?” she gasped, her English accent making my name sound like ‘Sahndrah’ so sexy that I began to look forward to what was likely to come.
“Yes, Professor Moore, or rather Mistress Moore if I may call you that. My Mistress Mariah sent me over, and I’ll be happy to do whatever you may require of me,” I explained, dispelling any doubt about why one of her best students was standing on her doorstep.
“I can’t believe it’s you,” the brunette Brit said.
I felt the urge to prove myself, to reassure the professor, who was clearly taken aback by it being me. But first I had to get us inside, and the professor appeared too stunned to be able to accomplish that on her own. “Professor Moore, may I come in?” slipping back into a student’s role for a moment.
“Of course you may Sandra,” the professor said absently, still coming to grips with the identity of the submissive plaything Mariah had sent her.
As soon as the door was closed, I fell to my knees and felt a light gush coming out of my cunt as I shifted from respectful to determined in an instant. Looking way up at the flabbergasted older woman’s face, I offered again, “I’m here to serve you Mistress Moore.”
“Oh my,” the Professor said, overwhelmed by the reality of the offer. She nevertheless assumed a horny grin.
Going onto the aggressive for the first time ever I said, “Professor, I’ve fancied you for a long time. It will be my great pleasure to serve you tonight and I repeat, I’ll do anything you wish.”
The professor looked down at me apparently seeing a pretty co-ed, who looked completely adorable on her knees, her sweet eyes looking up at her eagerly. “Please call me Sheila, Sandra.”
“Yes, Mistress Sheila,” Sandra agreed.
Sheila pulled me up from my knees and said, “I wasn’t expecting it to be you.”
“Who were you expecting?” I asked, suddenly feeling crestfallen that my Professor didn’t consider me good enough.
“Honestly?” the older woman asked, showing her own insecurity.
“If you please, ma’am.”
“Some dumb blonde bimbo,” Professor Moore answered, “not someone as sweet as you.”
“You weren’t hoping for someone like me?” I asked pitifully, wounded by the disappointment my professor seemed to feel.
The professor urgently tried to rephrase that. She could see it had hurt me. “I meant, my dear, that I didn’t expect someone as intelligent and sweet. Trust me, this is a most pleasant surprise.”
I felt all warm and gooey inside at hearing the new and improved version of my professor’s attitude towards me. Nothing made me happier than being wanted. “Thank you, Mistress Sheila.” Sensing Sheila’s cautious reserve and knowing what she would have expected from the blonde bimbo she wasn’t getting, I took the initiative; I stood up, took my Shakespearean Literature Professor in my arms and kissed her. Not aggressively, I knew my place, but earnestly enough that she’d know I meant it.
The professor was briefly surprised, but opened her mouth for my tender kiss. Her uncertainty and even timidity told me she hadn’t been intimate in quite a while, and my willing human contact seemed to warm her completely. She opened her mouth and used her tongue to explore mine. The kiss lasted several minutes, as neither of us wanted it to end, and neither of us knew exactly what to do next.
Finally, it was I who broke the kiss and asked, “Can we go somewhere more comfortable, Mistress?” Interesting I had to remind her of her place above me in the hierarchy. I’d never had to do that with Mariah.
“Of course,” the bewildered and horny British woman responded, taking my hand and leading me up the stairs and to her bedroom. “Is this better?” she flirted, gradually becoming comfortable with having a girl, an avowed tart no less, in her house.
“Much better,” I flirted back, with a smile dripping with hunger.
Once on the bed, Sheila’s curiosity got the better of her. “I have to ask. How did you end up like this?”
I felt comfortable and relaxed with this professor who had never been anything but kind to me, so I joked, “You mean how did I become a submissive lesbian to my roommate?”
“Well yes, I guess that’s precisely what I’m asking, although I wouldn’t have phrased it quite so boldly. This role doesn’t seem to be in your character,” the Professor assessed, even as her hand moved to my stocking-clad leg.
I briefly squeezed her hand to reassure her it was welcome where it was before launching into my entire story, at least in essence, and she listened, captivated by each word. But now I had a question for her: “How did I end up here tonight? Not that I’m complaining.”
“You mean how did your British Shakespearean Lit prof end up requesting a submissive plaything for the evening?”
“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m asking,” I joked, my hand now settling itself on Sheila’s leg.
“Strange story, actually,” The older woman mused. “Although I guess somewhat similar to how Mariah started with you. Mariah came into my office after class a few days ago and bluntly asked if I was a dyke. I told her I wasn’t even though I am, but she peppered me with reasons why I must be, until I admitted it and then she just said, ‘thanks for the information’ and left. The next day I requested to see her after class, as I’d barely slept, worrying about our bizarre conversation. She promised to keep my secret and said as a gift, she would send over one of her submissives for the evening on Friday. Initially I refused the offer but she insisted, saying I was her favourite prof and she had the perfect little ‘slut’ for me, her word. I continued trying to refuse, but she insisted, I finally caved, and here we are.”
“She didn’t try making you her sub?”
“No.”