Chapter 1: The First Day

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.

Chapter 2 »