Jenny Takes Charge

Since I was getting no financial support from my parents, still angered by my insistence on going off to college on my own, and out of state, I had to take on several part-time jobs, combining them with my scholarship stipend so that I could meet my tuition and other living expenses. This made it tough on me, a lot tougher than on some of the well-off co-eds who had no such financial concerns. I didn't let that make me angry or resentful, though. That's just the way the chips fell. And I was doing what I wanted to do, finally becoming independent and educating myself how and where I wanted. But it did make it hard to keep up with my course work. Sometimes, especially when I had to work at night and then come back to the dorm or the library to do some school work, I'd be so exhausted in the mornings that I could hardly keep my eyes open in class.

And my assignments would occasional suffer as a result, as I tried, but sometimes failed to get them in on time. That was the case with an assignment I had for a French literature course I was taking which I submitted a day after deadline. I knew Madame Dumont, my French lit prof, a very stern sort, would be displeased. And so when I submitted my assignment a day late, she said she wanted to see me in her office later that afternoon. She had a very severe expression, and I knew she was unhappy with my performance in her class, particularly with my tardiness in completing assignments.

I counted the hours, dreading the moment I'd step into her office. I knew she'd rebuke me sharply. That I could take. But what I feared was how the late submission would affect my grade. I had to be very careful about my grades, because my scholarship depended on keeping up a certain grade point average.

I took a deep breath as I knocked on her door.

"Entrez," I heard her say and entered.

She wasn't alone. This grad student who was her assistant, Jean-Pierre, was in there with her. He was actually the one who graded exams and papers. Jean-Pierre had come here from France to do advanced studies. He was this very cute guy, about twenty-five, I'd say, but definitely a fag, a very French fag. I didn't care for him especially. He'd scribble these catty, sarcastic comments on my assignments which really annoyed me.

"Hi Jean-Pierre," I said nonetheless. He did, at least, ask us to call him by his first name.

"Hello, Jenny."

"Now, Jenny, I need to talk to you," Madame Dumont said, looking at me with that stern gaze of hers. I'd found her intriguing. She was French but had lived in the U.S. for so many years that by now she spoke English with only a slight accent. She was in her mid or late thirties I'd guess, maybe even forty, and, supposedly, went through a very bitter divorce earlier in the year. Her husband, another professor here at the University, was said to have run off with a young stripper in a scandal that rocked the campus

Madame Dumont was a svelte, elegant woman, really very good-looking, a brunette with short hair. She was severe but very chic, with crisply polished nails, a perfect shade of lipstick, and she wore exceptionally fashionable clothes. My roommate Fiona and I would often remark that Madame Dumont was just about the best dressed woman on campus. We'd also sometimes fantasize about whether she was a closet lesbian, even though she had been married.

"Jean-Pierre and I were just going through some papers, so don't mind him," she began as I braced myself for it. "Listen, Jenny this is the third time an assignment of yours has been late. And now I'm afraid we're going to have to drop the grade on this one substantially. You can't make a habit of being repeatedly tardy handing in your work."

I panicked. A lowered grade on this paper, which counted as a quarter of my grade for the course, would bring the course grade down. And that could bring my grade point average down to where my scholarship might be jeopardized.

"Oh please, Madame Dumont, is there any other way?" I begged, explaining my plight. She was sympathetic, knowing how much harder it was for me, a scholarship student holding down several part-time jobs, than it was for others.

"I understand your situation, Jenny," she said evenly. "But I feel it's necessary that you somehow be punished. Your repeated transgressions cannot be ignored."

"Punished?" I asked, my mind racing.

"Yes, punished," she repeated. "If you have any suggestions about what might constitute a suitable punishment, I'd be happy to entertain them. I'm willing to listen."

I was taken aback by this opportunity to actually suggest a punishment for myself. I thought about it. Recently, for this course, we'd been reading some of the works of the Marquis de Sade in the original French, and class discussion had focused on the kinky sexual practices of the eighteenth century French aristocracy. It made some of the students in my class blush when we spoke of such themes, but it only delighted me, an unabashed sex freak to the core. And then I thought of my roommate Fiona and how she yearned to be spanked, and how I had come to love spanking her. I wondered if Madame Dumont, who told us she had gone to an all-female boarding school, also played secret spanking games with her classmates in her youth.

And so I thought I'd take a chance.

"Maybe you could spank me?" I said.

"Spank you?" she said, a little stunned, but I noticed a small smile creep up on her face, softening the severity of her expression.

"Yeah, you know, give me a good spanking, like in that novel we've been reading," I said. In fact, we'd been reading a novel where spanking figured prominently. In that novel debauched noblemen and young chambermaids took delight in spanking and otherwise punishing and humiliating one another.

"What do you think, Jean-Pierre? Do you think that would be a suitable punishment for Jenny?" she asked her assistant.

"If you think so, Madame Dumont, then it would," he said rather meekly.

"Well alright, Jenny," she said, with a bright smile, tapping her knees. "Let's give you a spanking then."

Madame Dumont almost always wore very short skirts over black stockings, and today was no exception. Now, sitting down with her skirt drawn up, her shapely legs were exposed to her thighs. I draped myself over those legs, over her lap. I usually wear jeans to class, but this day I happened to be wearing a skirt. So that, of course, made it very convenient. As I stretched myself out over Madame Dumont's knees, waiting, I suddenly became very aroused. With Fiona it was a one-way street. It was her fantasy for me to be the one to spank her; it wouldn't have worked for her to spank me. But sometimes, as I'd be tenderizing her pale, freckled bottom, turning it from the color of milk to the color of strawberries, I'd imagine myself in her place, with someone eagerly reddening my butt! Now that was about to happen.

I looked up to see Jean-Pierre sitting opposite me, in his chair, appearing a little nervous. If Jean-Pierre were a straight guy I probably wouldn't have been willing to be spanked right in front of him like this. But since he was a queer, I somehow didn't mind. In fact there was something even a little exciting about having him watch, getting spanked in front of this rather cute and boyish young man, knowing he was a faggot.

"How should we do this?" Madame Dumont asked now that I was helplessly draped over her. Would she spank me over my skirt? Or would she dare lift up my skirt, and even pull down my panties, I wondered? She may have thought that to be somewhat presumptuous, as my Professor, even if that was what she desired. So I thought I'd make the choice for her.

"I think a bare-bottomed spanking might be in order," I said, craning my neck back to look at her.

"Yes, I think so too," she said, obviously very pleased with that option. Now she lifted up my skirt and pulled my panties down around my knees, exposing my bottom to her view. And to Jean-Pierre's. I looked over at Jean-Pierre who was now blushing and squirming in his chair as he witnessed the start of this outrageous spectacle.

"You've been bad, Jenny," she purred now, resting her hand on my buttocks, caressing them. "Not completing your assignments, neglecting your responsibilities."

Madame Dumont had lovely, elegant hands, with long, perfect fingers and somehow to have one of those hands resting on my butt excited me immensely.

"So now I fear you must be punished."

She lifted her hand, then brought it down sharply as I felt the sweet sting of its impact on the taut, smooth skin of my buns. This was really new to me, being spanked. My parents never spanked me, so now I reveled in the brand new sensations as Madame Dumont repeatedly brought her hand down on my quivering flesh. Immediately I could understand why Fiona enjoyed this so much. There's something deliciously appealing about being helplessly draped over someone's lap, bottom up and exposed, feeling the sharp sting.

Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack!

I loved the feel of it and the sound of it and I couldn't help squirming and wiggling as I took in the sensations. I think Madame Dumont realized I was appreciating, even enjoying my punishment. And she didn't mind. In fact, from the pleased, excited look she had on her face when I glanced back at her, I'd say she had hoped I'd get a twisted sort of pleasure from my punishment.

She would spank me ten or so times, then stop, lovingly massaging my tender buns before proceeding, taking her time, enjoying it, making sure I enjoyed it too.

"Spank my naughty little bottom," I said in a sing-song voice. "Show me how bad I've been."

Those were now not merely punishing hands, those were erotic hands. I sensed that from the moment Madame Dumont rested her hands on my buttocks, caressing them lovingly before she began her onslaught.

I looked over at Jean-Pierre and was stunned to see a very noticeable swelling in the crotch of his pants. I'm sure Madame Dumont noticed it too. Jean-Pierre was gay, I was certain, but here he was obviously getting aroused by this spectacle.

"Jean-Pierre's a faggot, Jenny," Madame Dumont said. "You know, a queer. He only likes boys, or so he claims. But I've made him see that women are the superior sex. He can be very, very bad too sometimes, and I have to punish him severely. That's why he has that big erection in his pants now. Seeing me spank you like this is getting him thinking about the next time I'll be spanking him."

She laughed as I looked at Jean-Pierre, whose face was now an even deeper shade of red.

"See, Jean-Pierre's not as queer as he thinks," she continued. "He's learned that a woman can excite him terribly. But only if he can be her slave, find himself at the whim, at the mercy of her desires, isn't that right, Jean-Pierre?"

"Yes, that's right, Madame Dumont."

"Why don't you take out your cock and show it to us?" she said.

He hesitated a moment, looking at me with nervous eyes, stunned, no doubt, to be asked to expose it to me like this. But then he obeyed, taking it out of his pants. Wow! Jean-Pierre had himself a big one. Looking at it, I couldn't help thinking of all the studs who'd probably swallowed it.

Madame Dumont now moved her hand away from my buttocks and down between my legs, feeling my pussy, which was soaked!

"Does the sight of Jean-Pierre's big, queer cock excite you, Jenny?" she asked.

"Not as much as much as the feel of your hands tenderizing my bottom, Madame Dumont," I said, turning to look at her, with a sassy, seductive grin on my face, I knew. "Or, now, the feel of your fingers in my cunt."

She smiled at me, very pleased with my answer.

"Maybe you'd enjoy watching me punish Jean-Pierre, Jenny?" she asked. "Why, maybe you'd even like to help me punish him?"

I stared over at him, giving him a wicked smile, eyeing that cock which I think he was afraid to touch without getting further permission.

"Yeah, that could be fun," I said.

"Good!" Madame Dumont said, obviously very pleased to now have me as an accomplice, especially after she'd had ample opportunity to punish me herself.

So now as she nudged me, I lifted myself off of her lap, realizing I had my panties wrapped around my knees.

"Should I leave them on or take them off?" I asked my Prof.

"I think you should take them off," she said. "And perhaps your skirt as well."

"And maybe my top too?" I said, suddenly pulling off my sweater as Madame Dumont gazed, slack jawed, at my awesomely firm young breasts. Next the panties came off, then my skirt. I now stood there only in a pair of running shoes and white crew socks. But I thought I'd leave them on, figuring that to Madame Dumont that All-American, socks-and-sneakers look would be appealing. Which from the glazed look of her eyes, I think it was.

I realized what an exhibitionist I'd become, totally comfortable being naked now in front of my Prof and her Grad assistant, his big dick poking out of his pants.

Madame Dumont picked up my panties, seeing that the crotch was wet, then she flung them at Jean-Pierre.

"Here, Jean-Pierre, smell these," she told him. "That's what the superior sex smells like."

He sniffed them awkwardly, curiously aroused, I could see. At Madame Dumont's mercy, poor Jean-Pierre was probably wondering just who and what he was, sexually speaking.

"Now I want you to undress, Jean-Pierre," she told him. "And take everything off."

Silently, he quickly stripped off all his clothes, standing there before us as naked as the day he was born, his big cock rising. Jean-Pierre may have been queer, but he sure was cute. And he had a great bod, but then I'd always heard that gay guys really like to work out and take care of their bodies.

Madame Dumont reached into her bag and took out a set of keys, then opened a locked drawer in her desk.

"This is where I keep some very special toys that Jean-Pierre likes to have me use on him, isn't that right, Jean-Pierre?"

"Yes, Madame Dumont," he whispered meekly.

"Here's one," she said, pulling from the drawer a paddle that looked like it was made from stiff black leather.

"I know Jean-Pierre has made some very cutting, rather insensitive comments on assignments he's returned to you, Jenny. They probably hurt your feelings and made you angry with him," she said. "And I'm sure you've had fantasies of getting back at him for such harsh insensitivity on his part, isn't that true?"

"As a matter of face it is, Madame Dumont," I told her. "You've read my mind."

"Well maybe you should beat his helpless, pathetic ass, then!" she hissed, handing me the paddle. "Jean-Pierre! Bend over!"

He bent over, his smooth, muscled buns exposed and vulnerable.

"All the way, hands on your knees!" she snapped as he obeyed.

Suddenly, the thought of paddling his cute, queer ass excited the hell out of me! I'd really gotten to enjoy spanking Fiona, But I never spanked or whipped a guy's ass before. Now here was Jean-Pierre, bending over and offering it to me.

"This is for you, Jean-Pierre," I said, snapping the paddle against his hard buns, which instantly reddened from the impact. "This is for being so snide and nasty."

"Oui! Beat that ass!" Madame Dumont urged, "These queers really can be much too snide sometimes."

Now I just stood behind him and paddled his ass, paddled it fiercely, really caught up in it, listening to him wince as he felt the sharp sting of my blows. Madame Dumont now unbuttoned her own silk blouse, revealing breasts partly concealed in a half-bra, the nipples also only partly showing. Then she took off her skirt. I was stunned to see her wearing a bright red garter belt to which her black stockings were attached. On her feet were a pair of richly stylish Italian heels.

"I think we'll take these off too," she said, pulling down the red panties that obviously matched her garter belt. I gazed at her exposed pubic patch, a dark, striking 'V'.

Now, as I kept paddling Jean-Pierre's bottom, Madame Dumont reached around to take hold of his cock.

"Oh my, the poor boy is excited!" she said, "Take a look at how hard he is."

Now I reached around to feel his rigid penis myself, oddly aroused to be handling a faggot's cock, thinking of all the nasty places it had probably been.

"Would you like a turn now, Madame Dumont?" I said, offering her the paddle. "After all, Jean-Pierre is your own personal pet."

"Oh, I spank and paddle and whip his poor little bottom all the time," she said, waving me off. But then she took the paddle from me. "Sure, why not. I'll have a go at him too."

Now I watched as Madame Dumont paddled his ass, much more ruggedly than I had dared, the blows coming down ferociously.

"Oooooooooh.... owwwww...." he cried out, squirming.

"Shut up and take it! Take it like a man! Not like a little pansy," she told him.

My eyes scanned their bodies as she stood behind him, turning his buns a vivid shade of deep pink. Clad now only in garter and half-bra, hose and high heels, Madame Dumont looked strikingly svelte and graceful and elegant... and extremely kinky!

I stepped behind her and slid my hand between her legs, as she craned her neck to look at me, her eyes sparkling with arousal.

"Oh my, that feels tres good," she purred, as I explored the thoroughly moist center of her femininity. I'd never been intimate with an 'older' woman like this, and Madame Dumont, well into her thirties, was almost old enough to be my mother.

Now she finally dropped the paddle and went back to the drawer she had opened, removing from it a pair of handcuffs!

"Let's put these on him now, shall we?" she said, cuffing his wrists behind his back. "The little queer loves to be restrained."

She went back to the drawer and took out what I could see was a jar of shortening, the type my mom used when she prepared apple pies. Then she brought out something else. I knew what it was right away, even though I had never really seen one. You see them used in porn films sometimes and they're called 'buttplugs'. I was certain what Madame Dumont had in mind for that plug as I watched her dip it into the jar of shortening.

"Could you hold open his buttocks for me, ma cherie?" she asked as I gladly spread them apart, exposing his hole. Peering into his crack, I imagined all the hard dicks that had probably been forced up that unassuming little hole.

"Here we go," she said, shoving the plug right inside him. "Jean-Pierre loves it up the ass, don't you, dear boy?"

"He's not the only one," I said, unable to restrain myself.

"I wish I had known that when I had you over my lap, dear," she said. "I would have made a point of getting between those pretty buttocks of yours after I got them all nice and pink."

"Well, there's still time for that," I said suggestively.

She smiled, her eyes glazed over with lustful ambitions.

Now she went back into the drawer again, and this time what she pulled out made my jaw drop. It was a dildo, a dildo you strapped on, I could see. But this was no ordinary dildo, it was obscenely, monstrously huge! I'd used dildos before, my sister turned me on to them. But I'd never seen one nearly as big this one. And certainly had never seen a cock so big. It must've been close to a foot long, and thick, too!

"Here, why don't you keep beating his ass while I put this on," she said, handing me the paddle again.

He bent lower as I approached, looking down at the black base of the plug sticking out between his buttocks, buttocks which I now again began to paddle. This time I beat his buns harder, taking my cue from Madame Dumont.

"Tres bien!" she said approvingly as she watched me paddle his bottom to submission. "Give it to him!"