This story is based on a single Tweet from Magdalene St. Michaels to me following my review of Lesbian Guidance Counselor 3 in which I suggested that she wasn’t someone I’d want to get on the wrong side of. Here’s the tweet:
“@mstrhole What can I say? Another fine review yet again. You’d better not X me or I’ll take you over my knee and who knows what might happen.”
This got my imagination going and I decided to write a story based on the idea of being bent over Magdalene’s knee. Hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing and imagining it.
Mother Magdalene Hands Out Discipline
Mother Magdalene was known as a harsh disciplinarian in a school where discipline was a way of life. No one wanted to be the focus of her attention when she sought to make an example of misbehavior. The cries coming from her office were well known and, generally, a deterrent to poor behavior. The fact that these “cries” were electronically produced was a highly guarded secret of the Head Mistress.
It is significant, I think, that demographically her victims have always skewed quite heavily toward young men and women in their final form. These were 18-year-olds in their last lap of the academic course – at least as far as Our Mothers Academy (operated by Our Mothers of Negotiable Virtue, a minor order) was concerned. Those young men and women who had received private discipline from Mother Magdalene always emerged from her office with thoughtful smiles on their faces which most mistook for the introspection shown by the truly repentant upon renewal of their piety. Within the fraternity/sorority of those who had been initiated into the not-so-gentle suasions of Mother Magdalene an entirely different truth was known. Known but never spoken.
Young John, however, knew nothing of this. Placed in the school by his parents after 11 years of indifferent education at a series of expensive, but, sadly, all-to-lenient, private schools, he was totally unprepared for the culture at Our Mothers. And, so, inevitably, he found himself sitting on a hard backed chair in the hallway just outside Mother Magdalene’s office. He’d broken several rules, some of them through ignorance but mostly he’d broken them because they prevented him from doing what he wanted, which mostly consisted of playing video games and surfing the net for porn.
Since he hadn’t been interested in making friends at the new school no one warned him not to cross Mother Magdalene. His biggest transgression had been to talk back to her when she chastised him for not paying attention in her class. Knowing smiles rippled through the room as “the look” crept into Mother Magdalene’s countenance and her gaze focused on John.
“I’m sure I didn’t hear you properly Mr. Hole,” She cooed in a voice like oil on water, her low purr as clear a danger signal as the buzzing rattle of a diamond back. “Would you mind repeating what you said just now, please?”
“I said,” said John Hole, oblivious to the end, “this is a stupid assignment and I’m not doing it.”
“I see,” purred Mother Magdalene. “In that case, we’ll have to find an alternative assignment for you; one that befits a young man of your talents.” Her voice clearly communicated that what she was saying was completely opposed to what she meant. But John Hole didn’t know when to stop digging and responded with the one word that both sealed his fate and changed his life.
This time there was an audible and collective gasp from the rest of the class and for the first time, young Mr. Hole began to suspect that everyone else knew something which he did not and that this ignorance was about to drop on him like a pallet of rectangular ceramic building materials.
“Mr. Hole,” Mother Magdalene said, the purr has gone, her voice now a steel blade cooled to a temperature normally only found in outer space, “you will present yourself at my office within five minutes of the closing bell. Do you understand me?”
“Yes,” he replied.
“Yes, Mother Magdalene.”
“I don’t think you understand me now as well as you will later on,” Mother Magdalene said in a voice as final as an asteroid impact.
Judging by the reaction of his classmates John correctly inferred that he was deep in the cacky again and wondered what his parents would say when he got tossed out of yet another school. That he had completely misread the situation did not occur to him until much, much later.
John was what Louis L’Amour would have described as a “well set up” young man. Six feet tall and about 185 lbs, John had a thick mane of rich brown hair with a natural curl that made him the envy of most of the girls in the school. He had a pleasant face, piercing blue eyes, and a pair of lips that must be described as sensuous there being no other word so apt. His quick tongue often ran well ahead of his above average brain and the sharpness of his humor had been troubling to all who knew him since he could speak in the tongues of men. John found school boring because his well above average I.Q. of approximately 158 required much more stimulation than the normal classroom could provide.
None of that matters a whole lot here. John was a good looking young man, vibrant and healthy, rosy of cheek and clear of eye. He was attractive to girls until he spoke in that sharp tongued way of his and the fact that he was so clearly the brightest boy in the class won him no friends either. That was another reason no one had warned him not to cross Mother Magdalene.
And, so, he found himself sitting on a hard backed chair in the hallway outside Mother Magdalene’s office imagining the dressing down he was about to get. Nothing he imagined could have prepared him for what followed.
“Mr. Hole, you may come in now,” Mother Magdalene said, beckoning him into her chambers when an imperious wave of her hand, her voice cold as outer space, her expression scarcely warmer. Had he been willing to look her in the eye he would have seen a fierce hunger there, for which he would have had no explanation. The room she invited him into was a typical office vestibule minus the receptionist. Nothing ostentatious or overly decorative; a desk, a couple of chairs, and against the far wall, an ancient Italian style leather sofa that looked to be about 8 feet long and a hundred years old.
Magdalene went and sat down on the sofa, her feet together. She wore the full regalia of her order, the Mothers of Negotiable Virtue, complete with a freshly starched white coif. John stood in the center of the room not sure what he was supposed to do. Mother Magdalene said nothing. John was about to ask what he was supposed to do when she spoke a single word.
“Are you deaf as well as insolent boy? I said strip. Take off your clothes. You may fold them and place them on that chair.”
John was scared and angry. Strip? Like hell he would. The old bat.
The next thing he knew he was writhing on the floor in pain. Mother Magdalene had a taser and she knew how to use it. His entire body hurt and he couldn’t move. Mother Magdalene could though and did, moving to his side and expertly stripping him naked before fastening his wrists and ankles with short lengths of soft cotton rope. He lay there on the floor for a few moments recovering from the taser stun.
“On your knees,” Mother Magdalene said, pulling him up to his knees.
She resumed her place on the sofa.
“Now, crawl over to me and place yourself over my lap. NOW!”
The last word lashed him like a whip and he struggled to obey, not wishing a repeat of the taser. He nearly fell on his face a couple of times trying to get to the sofa but he made it and with some difficulty managed to haul himself up and sort of across her knees. She grabbed him under the thighs and armpits and positioned him so that his ass was sticking up from her lap. John’s face was in the leather of the sofa. His crotch was rubbing against the stiff cotton/wool of Mother Magdalene’s habit. He felt her warm hand rest on his naked buttocks and got an immediate erection.
“Fuck!” he thought. “Now I’m a goner for sure.”
The last thing he expected to hear was Mother Magdalene’s deep throated chuckle. The next thing he experienced was a stinging pain as her right palm connected with his right buttock.
“You’ve (SMACK!) been (SMACK!) a (SMACK!) very (SMACK!) naughty (SMACK!) boy (SMACK!)” Mother Magdalene said, her words punctuated with resounding slaps against John’s unprotected ass. “Naughty (SMACK!) boys (SMACK!) deserve (SMACK!) punishment,” she continued. Her voice was a quiet purr now – almost matter of fact.
John was whimpering in pain and humiliation. His humiliation was doubled by the fact that his cock had remained stiff as a poker throughout the ordeal. Every slap on his ass had gone straight to his groin and been converted to pleasure by the time it reached his penis.
Mother Magdalene didn’t speak for a while but continued to rain blows on John’s rapidly reddening ass cheeks. She soon had him sobbing. John had never experienced any sort of corporal punishment before, his parents being the type who placed such things in the category of “violence against children” and never practiced it. She knew she had to stop soon or the poor boy would fall hopelessly in love with her – it had happened before.
.... There is more of this story ...