Miss Poynter F-M

[justpecause]

Learning that Miss Poynter would be my 13-year old daughter’s next teacher delighted me. She was my favorite instructor when I attended Victory Church of God’s excellent Academy of Education seventeen years ago. Miss Poynter was strict and brilliant, and we developed a special friendship from her teaching me science beyond the Academy’s curriculum during many after-school sessions. Although I knew she still instructed there, I hadn't thought of her for years. So I found her email address, we wrote back and forth and mutually arranged to meet the next Saturday at her on-campus home. Presumably, perhaps superficially, it was to enhance my girl’s student-instructor relationship but mostly I wanted to see my old friend.

I drove up her long driveway, parked, and marveled at the lovely back-woods setting that surrounds her cozy old cottage. We greeted in her foyer, hugged, and then sat in her living room, sipping green tea. In less than a minute I was reminded of her characteristic commanding demeanor that always seemed to warm me. I’d always addressed her as “Miss Poynter.” I never knew her first name but from now on am instructed to call her Margaret. We chatted about the good old days for hours with no mention whatsoever about my daughter attending her upcoming class.

Finally I brought up something that had piqued my curiosity about Miss Poynter but never dared to ask back when I was her student, and suggested, “Margaret, were you aware of some of the tales that were rumored about you?” Expecting surprise and maybe confusion, her eyes actually lit up and she replied with, “I can imagine, why?” I went on to reveal that more than one of my friends had claimed stories about her punishing certain boys. “Harshly, Margaret.”

Miss Poynter replied, “you don’t have to worry, William, corporal punishment is not allowed without special parental request. Girls may not be punished under any circumstances, plus I never punished girls even when it was allowed.

“I know, I know, Margaret, but still I’m so curious. You never punished me or any of my friends but we heard stories about you.”

“William, you were an angel and never misbehaved.”

“Yes I did, I just never got caught.” She laughed, and I went on: “So it’s true? They said there was screaming, bruises, and that you were so wicked.”

“Of course it’s true, I've always been a strict disciplinarian. And those were bad, nasty boys who deserved and sorely needed correction.”

“Wow, Margaret, I never knew and didn't believe the stories but was always so curious about it. Do you still punish boys now?” Miss Poynter went on to explain that a few parents still encourage corporal punishment and revealed that she punishes more adult men who request her disciplinary services than she does the Academy students. Her punishing adult men confused, and astonished me. It excited me.

I’ll never understand why it excites me, it makes no sense, but Miss Poynter lit my blood on fire without even trying or knowing. Part of me didn't want her to see my embarrassing interest and curiosity and yet I couldn't diverge. “Margaret, I never got punished as a child. For anything. At least not spanked.” Miss Poynter sat back calmly to listen. Her face was soft but I saw her eyes gleam. And then I couldn't help let it out. “But I've imagined it and thought about how it must be for boys who have to go through it. I’m so curious.”

Miss Poynter scooted to the front of her chair, leaned her upper body forward to me to inquire as if surprised that I might want her involvement: “William, do you want me to show you?”

I so wanted her to but was embarrassed that I did. I hesitated and fidgeted. I couldn't think how to answer. So she relieved my awkward fluster and cut in: “You've done nothing wrong to warrant a punishment but I understand your curiosity, it’s natural. William, you are my valued friend, my all-time favorite student. It’d bring me joy to take you through the motions perhaps just far enough to satisfy your lovely curiosity.

Miss Poynter wasn't a highly attractive woman even 17 years ago. She’s plain-faced and lacks the curvaceous body I typically marvel in women who turn me on. I've fantasized sex with many older women but Miss Poynter never aroused me. Until right then. My brain raced with excitement and conflict on multiple levels. Should getting punished relate to sex? Why would it? But my erection was rock hard. I still didn't know to act or what to say next but I managed to reply. “Yes, Ma'am, would you please show me?”

Miss Poynter knew to take the floor and began carefully explaining more about punishment. She taught me some of its fundamentals with her familiar demeanor; not exactly forceful but with conviction. I sat before her and learned that the discipline should be a mutual effort, that it’s important for her subject to understand and agree that he needs it to cure lousy behavior and that he must associate its pain with the behavior. She pointed out that we all get over physical pain so easily that it’s nearly forgotten in short order. Misbehavior is almost always a habit not easily broken. “William, the rumors you heard so many years ago about the screaming and bruising were true. I have to overcome the tendency to forget and dismiss insignificant pain. It’s my obligation to make sure it translates into the behavior change I want. So, William, before the punishment, I would work with you and use humiliation to help you realize the severity in your bad habit and persuade your understanding that changing it will make you a better person.”

And then, likely because Miss Poynter figured that I’m not actually receiving “punishment,” she confided in me what should have made me run away but instead wound up feeding my ultimate addiction. She revealed that she loves to punish and that the harsher she does the more it heightens her euphoric high. Smiling, she admitted, “William, I’m sadistic by nature. She explained that she needs to persuade him to agree and entitle her with the right to violate his threshold because that’s what turns her on.

Wondering then if making him a superior person is valid, I asked her if the punishments really cure poor behavior? “Sometimes. Sometimes not,”

Well, I didn't care if it does or doesn't and anyway she’s not going to really punish me today, she’s only going to go through the motions. I was so excited and felt pre-cum oozing from my rock hard cock inside my trousers as I sat and mentally processed. That getting spanked, hurting at least some while knowing she enjoys doing it to me, intoxicated me and my curiosity did more than escalate. With obvious excitement, I asked a flurry of questions: “Margaret, how do you administer the spanking? Do you use implements? A paddle, a belt? What is your method?”


“William, I have many methods and use several implements. I’m not going to really punish you, but why don’t you let me give you a taste. Go over to the hutch, open the middle drawer, and bring both the paddles to me.”

I turned to view that wooden hutch across the living room, stood, and felt my legs shaking when I walked over to open the drawer. I stood viewing the drawer while trying to gather impossible thoughts that were really emotions. Embarrassment, fright, anticipation, and thrill filled my brain at once, and they escalated with my slow walk back to Miss Poynter who’d already moved her soft leather chair back and out of the way where she’d replaced it with the wooden strait-back chair that she’d dragged over from the adjoining dining room. Sitting, slightly scooched forward, her own back seemingly strait as the chair’s, Margaret pointed her right forefinger down to a spot on the floor, just left of her knees where I obediently landed both my feet, stopped, looked down into her eyes and said, “Yes Margaret.” Margaret replied back to me: “William, you will address me as Miss Poynter.” I didn't just yet, I was silent.

She reached with both hands to unbuckle my belt and swiftly pulled my trousers down to let them fall to my ankles. I didn't know she’d do that. “Miss Poynter, I’m so sorry.” My hard prick standing strait up nearly popping out of my jockey shorts was only part of what mortified me. The front of my briefs were drenched in pre-ejaculatory sperm. She saw, she was looking, I was so close, but Miss Poynter didn't say a word and didn't seem to care. Swiftly, she pinched the elastic band just left and above my dickhead with her left hand, slid her right thumb between the elastic and my left hip and carefully pulled my jockeys down my thighs and bent at her waist to push them all the way to my ankles to join my pants and quickly returned to her chair-sit position. She moved faster than my brain could process the humiliation and all the other exciting emotions. I felt her hand push my back as I was told to bend over. I bent over to put the front of my hips and by ridiculously hard prick down onto her lap that was covered by her long skirt that I knew would get stained. I also knew she either didn't care. My bare ass was in place and Miss Poynter had two nasty black wooden paddles. I squirmed.

I felt her hand, not the paddle I’d expected. She was feeling me up more than caressing me. It seemed more like a violation than being caressed. But it lasted three short seconds until she began to instruct. “William, this is easy and exciting for you. If I remember correctly, your curiosity was to know how real punishment would be. And so, I want you to think and imagine how it would be bringing me these paddles and bending over me as if you were about to take real punishment. William, I will swat you with the paddle, and I want you to count each swat beginning with ‘one.’ It won’t hurt at first but I will hit you a little harder each strike. I’ll keep paddling you so long as you keep counting. When you feel that your curiosity is satisfied, just stop counting and I’ll stop paddling you and then it will be over.

“Yes, Ma'am, I mean Miss Poynter.”

She landed the paddle across both cheeks easy, just as she said. I loved it and I think it made more pre-cum ooze onto Miss Poynter’s skirt. Audibly, I responded with “One,” and immediately felt the second swat, and just like she told me, a little bit harder but it didn't hurt at all, and I loved it more than the first. “Two,” I returned as if to tell Miss Poynter to please give me the third swat as fast as you can. She did and it was a little harder, enough that I felt slight sting which excited me so much my voice trembled in euphoria as I ordered up the next hit: “Oh Three, Miss Poynter.” Nos. 4, 5, and 6 gained intensity as she hit me harder and harder and it wasn't until Number-7 that my bottom really hurt badly and on No. 7 was the first time I considered ending this wonderful spanking. But hat’s when I processed about Miss Poynter’s enjoyment. Realizing she knew I now hurt, I realized that from now on, it’s Miss Poynter who gets to enjoy. My bottom was red, she’d conveyed that to me, and it was starting to feel raw. Number eight was going to hurt much but instead of stopping, knowing it would excite her made me need to take it and so I let her hear me:, “Seven, Miss Poynter, Seven!”

She hit me harder and it both stung and throbbed and made me reflexively moan out loud. I stiffened my legs to point my feet up and back and flung my arms forward, and flailed my body and my dick helplessly against Miss Poynter’s lap. I knew she enjoyed what she thought would probably be her final swat. In the next 3 seconds I asked myself if I could take another. Yes, because not only would that turn her on, I’d impress Miss Poynter by suffering for her sake. “Ohh, Miss Poynter, Eight. Eight.”

I knew she enjoyed the cry in my voice. I waited about 20 seconds, anticipating and flinching to nothing until finally I felt her body jerk to use more muscle power than just her arm and hand to deliver the downward strike that beat my ass so badly, I screamed with each next breath. I jerked my legs out and back, pounded my fists down onto the carpet, and flailed involuntarily as I cried out with continued screaming for what felt like hours but was really about a minute. Miss Poynter was rubbing my bottom when I began to calm down. Maybe she was feeling it up before, I wasn't sure. And then I heard her whisper to me, “thank you, William” in the most loving tone I ever heard from anyone.

Could I give her just one more? Fuck no! It would hurt so badly, why would I take this ridiculous thing any further. But as she kept rubbing me and the throbbing and stinging subsided more with each second, that helpless thrill in knowing hers made me realize that I was about to count for Miss Poynter. I knew the consequence would be dreadful and yet I was stricken with euphoria somehow caused by the thrill which my suffering would give her. We’d waited so many minutes; I hadn't counted yet and realized that if I don’t now she’ll take me off her lap to end it. “Nine. Miss Poynter, Nine please.”

“William” she spoke softly with a seduction I’d not heard before. Not from Miss Poynter, not from anyone. “I’ll give you another chance about No. 9 because from now on, it’s not just one number nine, it will be 9, 10, and 11, and you will take them in rapid succession.” Still bent over with my face close enough to the floor to count carpet fibers, with my ass draped over her lap, she continued rubbing my hot, red, and raw ass cheeks, and she went on: “Take a minute to decide, and if you still need to satisfy your wonderful curiosity, then give me Number Nine again. Do you understand, William?” She’d emphasized the word ‘wonderful.’ We both knew it was her sadistic thrill that addicted me and she knew how to work my addiction to her benefit. The euphoric thrill it gave me felt better than my spanking hurt; at least now that it stopped hurting, I thought so.

I didn't take any minute, I took two more seconds, “Miss Poynter, NINE. Nine, Ten, Eleven.” And I shook in anticipation because I knew I was in for terrible wickedness that Miss Poynter’s seductive voice inflection would not save me from.

Miss Poynter wound up and swung her nasty paddle down with all her might, again using her whole body to deliver the force that made me feel the blow penetrate down deep into my muscle tissue all the way to my pelvic bones. She repeated with the same force immediately and the only reason it wasn’t any harder was because she was hitting me as hard as she was physically capable of. And then the third swat came when I was already screaming louder than I ever heard anyone scream in my life. I flailed jerking my ass up and down, pounding my fists down, jerking my legs out, up and back, screaming and screaming pathetically, reflexively and repeatedly with each breath. None of my reaction seemed to dispel the horrible pain that wouldn't go away. Not for minutes, and I cried and kept screaming until my voice was hoarse. I didn't cry tears to stream down my face but I knew I sounded pathetic. Once I could start thinking again, I began to wonder why she’s so mean and it took me another minute to know how empty that thought was. I asked for it and I did because I wanted to impress her and turn her on. Whereas I still hated myself for that, I’d stopped hating her for such punishment. In the next minute I realized she was rubbing my throbbing purple ass-cheeks with some sort of lotion and in the next I regained the consciousness that she was feeling me up and this time she was running her fingers up and down inside my ass-crack where I didn't think she belonged. In another minute I knew she belonged wherever she wanted to go. I wanted her to rub my anus but she didn't and finally she directed me up and off of her lap.

I got up shaking, this time not from embarrassment and anticipated excitement, but because I’d been beaten, I still hurt, and was in a low state of shock. Margaret stood up too and, still panting, I looked at her. I looked in her eyes that revealed her entrance. I could see she loved what she got to do to me. Realizing I enchanted her made me stop shaking. It made me proud and I was suddenly glad. And then I loved that my ass burned, stung, and throbbed with every heartbeat. Although still nude down from my waist to the trousers and jockey shorts around my ankles, I was no longer erect. It no longer embarrassed me. I stepped awkwardly forward, wrapped my arms around Margarot’s shoulders to hug her. She accepted and wrapped me with her right arm but landed her right hand onto my testicles and fondled them with her fingers and her hand. Again, Miss Poynter confused me but I liked it, even for its obvious inappropriate exploitation. I liked it so much and remained embraced with her, getting my balls felt up several seconds until she released them and softly pushed me away, looked across the living room and whispered, “William, go home now.”

Driving home back to my real life, my loving wife and my teenage daughter, I began to wonder what the hell I just did. What was wrong with me? I contemplated how to make certain my bruised ass cheeks would go undiscovered. It took two miles of driving time before I knew damn well I’d call upon Miss Poynter again. Soon.

[kenowk]

Lovely thank you

[hairbrushedhubby]

A very good story and well told, let's have more from you.

[darkenergy]

superb

[justpecause]

thank you 3 for your comments!

[dwest48]

thank you well told

[Switchbott]

I love it, I hope the relationship continues as they satisfy each other's needs.

[Otkmike777]

Very good!!