Professor’s Discipline

Reader Advisory: This story is for mature audiences only and features intensely erotic situations, sexy alpha males and BBWs, taboo teacher/student relations, discipline, spanking, humiliation, submissiveness and dominance. All characters are 18 or older.

Joanna Michaels has always found ways of weedling what she wants out of the people around her, and when she arrives in college it doesn’t look like that’s going to have to change. But her easy ride runs out when her professor Peter Andrews notices her flirting with a classmate only to copy his course work. The handsome professor decides it’s time to teach her a little personal responsibility and maybe show the flirtatious young woman just what a man who actually knows how to handle her charms looks like.

Excerpt:

“You know, Professor,” I begin, “I understand why you have me cleaning the classroom. I’m really learning a lesson. But as for talking to Tom, I really don’t understand why that’s so necessary. How do you know I don’t like him?” I find myself blushing deeper crimson. “I mean, he’s not the single most handsome man I can think of,” I say, “but a girl’s gotta take what she can get, right? Sometimes I just get lonely, don’t you?” I wince slightly as I hear the last words come out of my mouth. That may have been taking it too far.

“That’s a very interesting perspective, Joanna,” he says in a neutral voice. “But surely if you cared about him you wouldn’t be manipulating him into giving you his work when he clearly didn’t want to.”

I let out an exaggerated sigh. “But Professor,” I say, “is it really that simple? Sometimes you need something from someone and you’re in a position to offer a sort of trade, right? A little affection to help get someone off the hook?” I’ve definitely warmed to my audience. This all has to be having an effect.

He sits back and considers me for a long moment, taking me in – all of me. The blush in my cheeks deepens still further as I find myself increasingly self-conscious.

“What are you doing, Joanna?” he asks. “Why do you think it’s appropriate to act this way? Or dress this way?” He makes a vague gesture.

I draw back slightly. This isn’t the reaction I expected. “Like what, Professor?”

“You – playing the slut to get what you want. Do you think I’m some kid who’ll go weak-kneed if you smile at me with your ***s hanging out?”

“What are you talking about, Professor?” I ask as innocently as I can, my heart beginning to hammer. He seems angry. It occurs to me I could get in legitimate trouble for this.

“What am I talking about?” he asks. “I’m talking about this.” He grabs the loose flap of cloth of my partially open blouse and shakes me by it, inadvertently pulling apart the other buttons in the process. The garment falls open. If it weren’t obvious enough already that I’m not wearing a bra, it’s pretty fucking obvious now. I look down and then back up at him in shock, forgetting to cover myself.

He draws in a sharp breath as my sudden nakedness catches us both by surprise.

Notice: This title includes themes and passages that have been adapted from Jessica Whitethread’s Caught By My Professor with full consent of the original author.

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My Student’s Upper Hand

Reader Advisory: This story is for mature audiences only and features intensely erotic situations, sexy alpha males and BBWs, taboo teacher/student relations, discipline, spanking, humiliation, submissiveness and dominance. All characters are 18 or older.

If she’s being honest, Katie Beckman sometimes enjoys jerking around the male college students in her classes … but when she goes too far with her bad marks, she finds out there’s someone in her class who won’t get pushed too far. Robert, an undergraduate after completing his military service, has discovered a dirty little secret that Katie will do anything to keep from getting out into the open. He’s willing to keep this secret between them, but he wants to be sure that still gets the punishment she so very much deserves.

Excerpt:

“Of course I can,” he said. He delivered another stinging slap and I moaned pitifully. My palms pressed at the floor and I wriggled again on his lap. I could feel the jiggling redness in my ass. I could feel his eyes taking in the humiliating sight.

And then I gasped from surprise, not pain. His hand was wandering along the inside of my broad thigh. His strong fingers were approaching … I could feel him kneading at my sensitive skin.

“My God,” he said. “Look at how wet you are.”

“I’m not!” I squealed in protest.

“No? You’re positively dripping. I’ve never seen anything quite like this.”

I clamped my legs together in mortification, but the discovery had been made.

“Well, well,” he said to himself. “What a dirty, dirty girl you are. Here I thought I was punishing you, and instead you’ve been enjoying every minute of it.”

“That’s not true!”

“I can tell when you’re lying, Katie. I can feel you get all tense. You don’t have any secrets from me. You like nothing better than getting a good spanking. You probably know how much you deserve it.”

I kicked at the floor in impotent humiliation. Why had my body betrayed me like this?

I gasped again as his fingers returned to their previous exploration. They moved between my thighs and rubbed between my swollen lips, spreading the juices I had so uselessly denied were there. Another moan escaped from my mouth and I clamped my jaw shut. It felt so good and I wanted it so badly, but it was just so positively humiliating to admit it, even to myself.

“Please,” I moaned, although by now even I didn’t know whether I was begging him to stop or begging him to continue.

“Naughty little professor,” he said as he fingered me. “Breaks the rules and turned on by the punishment. How am I to handle this?”

Evidently he decided that he just needed to spank me harder.

Notice: This title includes themes and passages that have been adapted from Jessica Whitethread’s Disciplining the Teacher series with full consent of the original author.

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Yielding Curves: Final Control

Reader Advisory: This story is for mature audiences only and features intensely erotic situations, BBWs and alpha males, bdsm play, discipline, spanking, humiliation, multiple partners,submission and dominance. All characters are 18 or older.

Victoria has been in Master’s house for almost a week now: doing her best to live up to his expectations and being brought back into line when necessary. Things have started to get intense, and in her struggle to make sense of her growing feelings Jessica has made a misstep that will earn her the sternest punishment of all, and once again in front of the whole household.

But despite his strictness, her master is not a vindictive man. When debts have been paid, what he really wants is some time alone with her to begin to understand what exactly he feels for his new eager and ever tempting submissive.

Excerpt:

I turned just enough to catch how her face fell and reddened at the news. “I…” she began, but trailed off.

“Up here.”

She drew a breath and stood. The legs of her chair made a scraping sound against the hardwood of the floor and she winced.

“Here,” he repeated unsympathetically, pointing to a spot at the head of the table.

She moved into place on unsteady legs and then turned back to regard us – the audience of her humiliation and punishment – with that blushing face. She reddened very attractively, I noticed with slight envy. Her cheeks took on a very soft glow and her eyes stayed very round as she watched Master.

“Tell me,” he said to her as she stood at attention.

“Tell what, sir?” she asked.

“Why did you fail the inspection?”

“I – I don’t know, sir. I didn’t know I had until you told me.”

“You know, Mary-Anne, I don’t really believe you.”

She looked at the ground, flustered and stammering. After a few seconds she fell silent and she closed her eyes. Master watched her coolly. Another moment ticked by and then she opened her eyes and raised them to meet his.

Notice: This title includes themes and passages that have been adapted from Jessica Whitethread’s His to Train: Exclusive Discipline with full consent of the original author.

Find it on Smashwords, Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Google Play or another online marketplace of your preference.

Yielding Curves: Pushing Boundaries

Reader Advisory: This story is for mature audiences only and features intensely erotic situations, BBWs, bdsm play, discipline, pain play, bondage, submissiveness and dominance. All characters are 18 or older.

It’s been three days since Miranda arrived at the master’s house, but when looking back on them she remembers only a whirlwind of new experiences that overwhelm any sense of time. In only that short period it has fulfilled all the lofty hopes that brought her here, but it has awakened new deeper, secret hopes as well. In quiet moments, she even dares to think that it is special to the master, too, even as experienced and worldly as he is. As together they delve ever deeper into the submissive dominant relationship and push at the boundaries of what she thought herself capable of and comfortable with, the promises that they would not become too attached begin to erode. In the heat of the moment – and the moments get very hot indeed – who can say what will be said and what plans may be changed to address these unexpected feelings?

Excerpt:

He had lowered himself so that he was sitting on my thighs, his skin against mine and the thick muscles of this buttocks against my soft flesh. His hand rested on my hip as he continued to hold my face towards his with his other hand. It was a symbolic gesture. I could never have looked away now. He was praising me for things I had never known about myself, but now that he had said them and said that he liked them, I couldn’t bear the thought of being any other way. So I looked at him, submissive and patient for him to do what he clearly wanted to so badly.

He produced a match from his pocket, struck it, and lit the candle before setting it aside on the floor. The clean scent of its smoke infused the air.

“Do you trust me, Victoria?” he asked.

“Yes, Master.”

“Good,” he said. “That’s good. Because this isn’t something I would do with just anyone.”

“I trust you, Master,” I repeated. But even so, my chest felt tight.

He laid a hand on my on the pale, sensitive skin of my stomach. He could feel my slight trembling. He could see the trepidation that, in spite of my need to please and be brave and be open-minded, I could not shut out entirely.

“If it becomes too much for you, I want you to tell me,” he said. “I want you to say so, alright? I want you to say ‘Awry.'”

“Awry,” I repeated.

“This is a safe room,” he said, “where two people who trust each other can explore things that they would not do with other people.”

I watched him, still at a complete loss for what was about to happen. I pulled lightly at my wrists. The bondage I understood. The bondage I liked. But it also made what was coming all the more terrifying, whatever it was. But I was grateful that he was speaking this way with me. It reminded me why I was not, in my conscious mind, afraid.

Notice: This title includes themes and passages that have been adapted from Jessica Whitethread’s His to Train: Flirting with Boundaries with full consent of the original author.

Yielding Curves: Household Discipline

Reader Advisory: This story is for mature audiences only and features intensely erotic situations, BBWs, bdsm play, discipline, public spanking, submissiveness and dominance. All characters are 18 or older.

Victoria’s first hours in her new master’s house have been intense ones, but she knows they have only scratched the surface. Before she has done little more than catch her breath, it’s time to meet the other submissives in the master’s household and learn just exactly what she has gotten herself into. Far from being allowed to wade in slowly, Victoria’s initiation into this tight little community will mean getting tossed directly into the center of its many different flavors of discipline and power play. By the time her first morning has come to a close, she will have a lot more to think about than why there isn’t a number on the mailbox.

Excerpt:

“Yes, Master,” several of them agreed and the others nodded obediently.

“Her shorter time here makes it all the more important that her experience is a positive one.”

Again they agreed, smiles breaking onto some of their faces. I could feel excitement rising in the room.

There was a slight teasing note in Master’s voice. It was as though he and the women at the table were in on an inside joke, as though they all knew what was coming and Master was being deliberately slow in getting to it: tantalizing them under the guise of introducing me.

Slowly, Master strode to the head of the table, a hand stroking his chin and that infectiously mischievous smile on his lips.

“For those of you who haven’t heard,” he went on, “Victoria and I encountered each other at her audition for the Tremboix Society. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes, Master,” I agreed.

He nodded, his hands splayed lazily on the wooden table and his eyes closed. “Quite a performance.”

A slight rustling passed through his audience.

When he reopened his eyes, they fell as though by coincidence upon a small spiral-bound notebook lying in the center of the table which I had not noticed.

“And what’s that? The Log?” he said as though surprised.

He reached out one hand and drew it towards him. A collective shiver along the table confirmed that whatever had everyone so on edge had a great deal to do with that unremarkable little book. He licked a finger, drew it open, and flicked through several pages.

“My goodness,” he said. “Look at this. Would you look at this. Four days I’m away and you ladies acquire a rap-sheet like this?” He tutted softly, turning a page back and then forward again. “Now I understand the nervousness. We have some serious accounts that need settling, don’t we?”

The sighs and shivering had stopped. He now commanded the room in utter silence.

“Who was my record keeper this week?” he asked.

“Me, Master,” a blonde woman seated two down from the end answered him. She had long, elegant limbs and a delicate face that was fixed in an expression of nervous expectation: a strange mixture of dread and excitement. Even sitting down she was two inches taller than the women to either side of her, and her pale skin was flushed.

Master shook his head and tutted again. “Naomi, Naomi, Naomi. All this happens when I leave you in charge?”

Naomi seemed to be holding her breath.

Master looked at her paralyzed, blushing form. “That’s ten spanks, isn’t it? For a house poorly run?”

Around the table the women nodded in confirmation.

“Would you come up here, please, where everyone can see you?”

Naomi rose carefully from her chair and made her way around the table. Master took his own chair and turned it around so that the back of it faced the room.

Naomi stopped beside him and stood waiting with nervous hands clasped over her bare stomach.

“Apologize to everybody, please. They are going to be punished because you couldn’t keep them in line. If you had done your job, none of this would be necessary.”

She turned and faced the onlookers. “I’m sorry,” she said in a weak voice. “I should have been better.”

She seemed to include me in her apology. Not yet understanding what that meant, I took it to be flattering. Already I was a part of something.

Notice: This title includes themes and passages that have been adapted from Jessica Whitethread’s His to Train: First Discipline with full consent of the original author.