Creative Composition
Chapter 1: The First Day

Caution: This Coming of Age Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including mt/Fa, Consensual, Romantic, Heterosexual, Fiction, First, Oral Sex, Masturbation, Petting,

Desc: Coming of Age Sex Story: Chapter 1: The First Day - It was a class in creative writing, taught by the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. He had to express himself to her, and what better way than through the written word?

She was, without any doubt in my young mind, the most beautiful woman I had ever seen in the flesh ... well, so to speak. She was standing not eight feet away from me, speaking to the group of mostly bored teenagers assembled in Room 315 for the 9:45 Creative Composition class.

I had no idea why I was in this class. I had signed up for it because my parents required that I learn to be 'literate in the written word', as my father put it. He was a big-time corporate attorney, and sat on the boards of several companies, whatever that meant. All I knew was that he was always being called upon to give speeches at expensive dinners, so maybe he thought I should follow in his footsteps.

But ... back to the present, and the vision in front of me. She had the most amazing red hair. Long, straight, cascading down her back almost to her waist. The waist itself was fairly small, especially given her height; in heels, she was still several inches shorter than me, so I'd guess she was about five and a half feet tall without her shoes.

Her nose was straight, dusted with a few freckles, and her eyes were deep green, not washed out, but they also sparkled, as if there was some joke she was laughing at but that no one else got. She had full lips, and didn't seem to be wearing much lipstick, or even much makeup at all. As I looked down her body, I could tell that her breasts were quite large, but at my age I had no idea about cup sizes. I just knew they would overflow my hands if I ever had the chance to hold them. When she turned to write on the board, I could see that her ass was round, and tight, and didn't move very much as she wrote. I thought she must exercise fairly regularly.

She was describing our first assignment, and explaining that this course would be marked solely on the effort that we put into writing, and the quality of the work that we produced. What would matter, at least initially, was not the topic, but the way we addressed it, and presented it in our writing. Later on, we would have to write compositions that dealt with specific topics. Some of these would be creative, and some would be technical, and for those the style of presentation would be graded, as well as the correctness of any factual material we presented.

I finally tuned in fully when she turned to face us all, and raised her voice slightly. "Your first assignment has no specific topic. I want you to write a story. It needs to be long enough to convey the image you want the reader to see, and maybe to feel. Remember that story-telling is all about stimulating the reader's imagination. Use whatever number of words that you feel are necessary to do that. The best way to tell is to read it over as if you were seeing it for the first time. If you can see the scene, and any characters, and understand the whole story, then you have probably hit the mark.

"This first assignment is due on Friday, which will give me the weekend to read them all and grade them. I expect you to use good grammar, at least where it belongs. If you're writing hillbilly dialogue, then I'll accept odd spellings and expressions as long as it fits with your story."

She went on to give a lesson on the structure of a story, and to provide an initial introduction to things like the beginning, middle, and conclusion of any written work. Words like 'climax', 'anti-climax', 'antagonist', and 'protagonist' were getting thrown around. Of course, whenever she said 'climax', there were a few laughs and giggles in the room. She managed to stare down a few people, and I could see that she was pretty good at controlling a room, even given her age and her looks. While she didn't get into any details about how to write dialogue, she did talk about making the dialogue believable, and to ensure that it flowed like a normal conversation.

I didn't really listen to much of what she was saying. I spent the majority of the class just watching her, while trying to make it look like I wasn't. I watched the sway of her breasts, and the way the fabric of her blouse would tighten across them when she moved her arms in a certain way, or especially when she took a deep breath. I watched the way the muscles of her ass worked at her skirt as she walked back and forth, or when she turned to write on the board. I watched the way her hair moved, and marvelled at its rich colour, and how thick and clean and lustrous it looked, and thought about how it would feel in my fingers or splayed across my bare chest.

As the class ended, I took a last, lingering look at her rear. She was bent over her desk, signing a form for one of the other students, and her ass was prominently displayed, the material of her skirt tight across it. I had a fleeting thought about what it would feel like under my hand, and the plot for my first story began to evolve in my mind.

That night, safe in my room, hunched over my desk, I finally started to put words to the thoughts that had been chasing each other in my mind all afternoon. I was surprised at how easily those words moved from my brain to my fingers to my laptop. I could barely keep up with the flow of thought and was constantly having to slow down to make sure that I got everything out in the right order. The story seemed to be yelling for attention, demanding to be written, and I was simply the conduit.

Everything just seemed to fall into place as the words came out. I described things I had only ever thought about, but I could picture the main characters in my mind; I knew how I wanted them to be seen, and heard, I could hear their words as they spoke, and I could feel the rhythm of their verbal interaction.

The story wasn't due until the end of the week, but I finished writing it within hours, neglecting my other homework. I knew I might need to pay a price for that with my other teachers, but getting these words down just seemed so much more important than any of my other assignments. My other concern was whether I would be suspended, or even expelled, for turning it in.

As I read it over once it was complete, I found myself masturbating before I was even a third of the way through it. By the climax, I was having my own climax of a different form, as my cum shot into the dirty t-shirt I had grabbed off the floor. When I finished the final few sentences, I knew I had written one of the hottest scenes I had ever read, but didn't know if I should ever let it be seen by anyone outside of my room.

The Punishment

She stood before me, naked, only her hair covering part of one breast. She was otherwise deliciously visible to me. Her sex was covered by a curly tuft of hair the same colour as that on her head, which was itself flame-red, long, and lustrous. It cascaded nearly to her waist, and shimmered with her movements.

She was trembling, afraid of me, afraid of what I might do to her. I had the power to hurt her, and she was certain I was about to do that, to punish her, all for the transgression of having spoken out of turn earlier that day. Whatever was to happen to her, she was powerless to prevent. Her hands were restrained behind her, her wrists encircled by leather cuffs that were themselves clipped together.

When she was first brought before me, she had struggled against her bonds before realizing that it was futile. That struggle had left her hair as it now was, partially covering her. Her other breast was near perfection, full and round, its nipple standing proudly and tilted slightly upward. I moved in front of her, ignoring her slight whimper of fear, and reached out to move her errant hair behind her, exposing both of her breasts to my gaze.

The sight held my attention for long seconds as I compared these twin beauties. One was very slightly larger, and hung lower than the other, which made them anatomically perfect. I put out a finger to touch the very tip of a nipple, and she hissed in a breath as it made contact. Her back arched ever so slightly in an involuntary motion as her breast tried to increase the pressure of the touch.

I smiled, and decided to indulge the automatic reaction of her body. I took the nipple between my thumb and index finger, gently at first, and rolled it back and forth. That same automatic reaction occurred, as she also drew a sharp breath. When the nipple had hardened, I squeezed it harder, and heard her whimper once more.

Our eyes met, and I said, "You have a lovely body. It seems that it is also very sensitive. It is a shame that you refuse to give it to me willingly. You know that I must punish you for what you said earlier. I am not punishing you for refusing me your body; we will deal with that at a later time."

I stared into her eyes for a minute, relishing their deep emerald colour, and seeing tiny flecks of gold in their irises. I also saw fear in them, as their pupils widened in response to my steady gaze. "Are you prepared for your punishment? Will you accept it without struggle?"

She held my gaze, but her lower lip trembled, and her breasts moved as the tremors of fear went through the rest of her body. "Please ... please don't hurt me ... I beg you." A flush spread over her body, and her legs rubbed against each other as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other.

I took her other nipple in my hand, holding the two of them and tugging on them slightly to focus her attention. What I really wanted to do was to take those gorgeous breasts in my hands and squeeze them until she moaned, but I was here to punish her, not to bring her pleasure ... yet.

"If you take your punishment well, then there will be no need to hurt you, beyond what the punishment requires. If you take it properly, it will be a very personal example of the kind of treatment you can expect while you are my slave." I paused to let her comprehend my words while I continued to play with her nipples, ensuring that she knew that I controlled her body, and she was helpless before me.

"On the other hand, if you attempt to escape, or struggle, or damage yourself, then I will have no choice but to have you restrained, and your punishment will become much more painful, and very impersonal. It may even be inflicted by someone else, rather than me." I paused again, to let that sink in, then gave her nipples a squeeze that made her gasp, and raise her face to look at me.

"Which shall it be? Will you take your punishment as a woman of character, or will I need to have you tied to a bench, or a post?"

In the barest of whispers she said, "I will take your punishment, sir. There will be no need to tie me."

"Excellent!" I moved my hands to cup her breasts, then gave each of them a small squeeze. "I would have hated to hurt these beautiful parts of you." She gasped somewhat loudly and I heard her whimper a little, then I released the breasts and stepped back from her.

One of my other slaves had brought in a chair for me to use. There was nothing special about it, although my captive may have found it menacing. It was a simple, straight-backed wooden chair with no arms. It was well-constructed from hardwood, and would be described as sturdy in any furniture catalogue. I moved to stand beside it, then beckoned her over.

I moved behind her, and unclipped her cuffs from each other, then moved her hands in front of her, and clipped them together once again. She watched calmly as I sat in the chair, then pointed to a spot on the floor beside me. She obediently moved to stand where I had indicated, and I thought for the first time that she might accept her punishment without the need for further restraint.

"Bend over my lap, and put your hands on the floor on the other side of me, if they will reach that far." She didn't move, but an idea of what might be about to occur must have moved through her mind, for the way that her face showed her reaction.

I looked up at her, very calmly. "You said you would take your punishment properly. Do I need to call for assistance, and have you restrained?"

She shook her head, almost violently, and I saw a cast of fear on her features. I waited for a few seconds, then sighed as I prepared to call my assistants. She suddenly reacted to the sound of my exhalation, and bent forward, at first putting her hands on my thigh, then lowering them as her hips met my leg.

I helped her get positioned, waiting for her to put her fingertips on the floor in front of her, and settling her hips just on my other leg. The round curves of her ass became the highest point of her body, and her breasts hung just past my other thigh. I placed a hand on that wonderfully firm rear, and caressed it lightly over all of its surface, feeling it trembling under my hand.

"You have probably deduced that you are about to be spanked. Normally, I would make you count the strokes, and ask for each one as you receive it. Since this is the first time that you are being punished, I will not require those tasks of you. However, I am also not going to tell you how many times I will strike you. I alone will decide when you have had enough."

I let my statement sink in while I rubbed her ass and occasionally stopped to squeeze it. Without warning, I raised my hand and brought it down smartly on the right cheek of her rear. I felt it compress and bobble under my hand, and saw it turn white, then deep pink when I raised my hand. Before she could react to the pain of the first strike, my hand flashed up and down once again, this time impacting the left side of her ass with the same results on her skin.

The pain of the first strike reached her just as the second strike was landing, so her first scream was intensified as it broadened to include the second stroke. Her breathing hitched, and her hands left the floor to try to cover her rear, before she remembered that her hands were joined in front of her, leaving her poor rear defenseless.

"Put your hands back down, or you're likely to fall and hurt yourself."

"Please, sir ... it hurts ... it hurts." Her protests did not sway me. This was, after all, a punishment and such noise was to be expected.

"I know it does, but then punishment is supposed to be painful, is it not?" There was no answer from her, beyond some whimpering, so I repeated the blows with the same speed, the same force, and almost the same result, as she screamed again, then trailed off into more whimpering.

My handprints on her rear were clearly visible, and stood out harshly in contrast to the milky-white tone of her flesh. I fell into a rhythm, working from one part of each globe to another, and then switching to the other cheek. Her screaming had fallen off to loud sobs, but she was still grunting with the arrival of each blow.

After her bottom had achieved an even dusky pink colour, I changed tactics and stopped to caress the now-warm skin. She made no complaint at first, but tried to flinch away from me when my fingers trailed into the crevice between the cheeks. As my fingers approached her pussy, I could feel the moist heat from it before I even touched it. She tried to close her legs before I could caress the wet folds, and I pinched the top of her thigh as a warning.

She gave a little yelp in response, but her legs fell open once more, and I dragged my middle finger very slowly through her labia, noting that they seemed to be somewhat engorged, and already wet. I let the bump of her clitoris slide across the pad of my finger, feeling her tremble in response, but with no other reaction.

Lest she start to think that the punishment was about to end, I set up a rapid-fire series of lighter, but still painful blows, walking my hits across her left cheek from the top of her thigh to almost the small of her back. She was sobbing before I had finished half of my work, so I knew that I was reaching to her core. I followed this up with a series that started at the top and went to her thigh, but this time on the right side of her rounded rear. She continued to cry all through it, and was still crying when I stopped, and once again began to caress the now-red skin.

Her reaction to my touch told me how sensitive her skin was becoming, but I noticed that she was also trying to lift her rear just a little, especially when I once again began to trail my fingers through the divide between the globes. I shocked her when one fingertip circled the pucker of her anus, but she surprised me when she actually tried to raise her rear after a moment to put more pressure on my finger, trying to increase the sensation I was causing.

I smiled to myself as I recognized the first signs of arousal in her reaction; I knew that she was starting, ever so slightly, to connect the pain and the potential pleasure. I wasn't sure how far I could move her in this direction, but I was looking forward to the attempt.

My next series of blows began just at the crease where her buttocks met her thighs, and then continued inward onto her inner thighs. This was very tender flesh, and she reacted loudly to the harsh treatment. At the same time as she was sobbing over the pain, she was also squirming in arousal, and I could feel her grinding herself onto my leg. She had pulled her legs in slightly, raising her rear to meet my hand, and I smiled at the combination of these reactions.

She stopped crying quite quickly as the pain simply added to her arousal, but I could hear her whimpering, and moaning softly as I stopped spanking and once again started caressing the flesh of her globes. I was fairly certain that she was highly aroused, and this was confirmed when I took hold of a breast with my left hand and squeezed it firmly. She was moaning, and mumbling, "Please ... please ... please..." under her breath.

I moved my right hand to once again direct my fingertips between her cheeks, aiming directly for her very wet labia. In one swift move, I slid two fingers all the way into her core, and brought my thumb onto her anal ring, rubbing it firmly. The reaction was immediate as she screamed into an orgasm, and began to convulse on my lap. I used my left hand to hold her in place by one breast, and my right hand to keep her on my lap so she wouldn't fall on the ground.

I worked the fingers in and out of her, and circled her anal ring with my thumb, stimulating all of the nerves there. As her orgasm began to subside slightly, I moved my hand lower to find her rampant clitoris, and grasped it between my thumb and index finger. When I squeezed it, she screamed again and launched into another orgasm. I stretched that one by rubbing her clit quite firmly, and I was fairly certain that a third orgasm followed before I finished.

My leg was soaked with her juices, and the air was redolent with her scent, a heady mix of her in the midst of an orgasm. Just that scent was enough to bring me to full erection; she could feel it under her belly, and I felt her rubbing against it almost involuntarily.

I helped her off my lap, and she curled onto the ground at my feet, then put her hands between my thighs, reaching for my hard cock. When I grabbed her hands to stop her, she looked up with a puzzled expression. "Does my Master not wish me to finish him, with my mouth or my body?"

I was surprised that she was offering herself to me in this manner, especially since she had earlier refused me the use of her body. "You do not know how much I wish to use your magnificent body, but you have refused it to me already once today. You still have a punishment coming for that offense. Do not compound your crime by offering yourself to me now, just after you have been punished. When it is truly time for me to take you, and to use your body, you will offer it to me willingly, and without the inducement of any punishment. That time has not yet arrived."

I signaled to my assistants to take her back to the slave quarters, where she would be bathed and fed, but would not receive any clothes, since I had given instructions that she be kept naked. I had also let it be known that she could be played with by any of the other slaves, but she was not permitted to achieve any release. I wanted her to always be on the edge of an orgasm, but only I was to have the privilege of granting such a boon.

— The End —

Every night for the rest of the week, I re-read my story, and every night I ended up masturbating to it, while thinking about my teacher. I didn't change any of the story, although I did correct a few typos before I printed it out on Thursday, and packed it with my books for the next morning.

Friday morning, and there she was again, just six feet in front of me. I could feel myself blush every time I made eye contact with her. All I could see was her, naked, just like in my story, and I could feel an erection starting in my jeans.

I did my best to avoid making any further eye contact for the remainder of the class until finally it was time to turn in our first stories. As I approached her desk, I had a sudden panic attack, and knew that I couldn't give this to a teacher. She would have me expelled, or even worse—she would declare me a pervert and I would be sent to prison.

As I stood before her desk, paper in hand, frozen in indecision, she reached over and plucked it from my fingers, adding it to the pile in front of her without even looking at me. I didn't react for a moment, then felt someone beside me trying to reach the desk, and I finally lurched off to the hallway, knowing I had to get to my next class, also knowing that this would be the last day of my academic career, because of that story.

I barely slept the entire weekend, dreading the arrival of the police at my door, trying to explain to my father that I really wasn't a pervert, or a sex maniac. Strangely, nothing happened, other than my mother worrying that I looked a little out of sorts, and concerned that I might be coming down with something.

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