The Girls College Ch. 08

"Yes, Miss," he answered. He had stopped sobbing but his eyes were still red and so was his bottom. She nodded.

"I want you to start running on the spot," she commanded. Paul looked at her for a brief second, quizzingly. "You heard me, run on the spot! Until I tell you to stop!"

He sighed again and hesitantly started to run on the spot. The woman stood up from the chair and started to circle him.

"Lift your knees higher!" she shouted. "You're not stopping until I am satisfied!"

His soft penis swung around inside of the white panties he was wearing as he continued to run on the spot. It didn't take long before he started to sweat and pant.

"You're knackered and you've only been going for a minute!" shouted Miss Brooke Johnson, slapping his bottom hard, reminding him of how much it already hurt. "I said run, not jog!"

He was struggling to stay upright as the second minute passed, his panting becoming heavier and more frequent as the shoes on his feet pitter-pattered against the hard concrete floor below him. Each time she circled him he would receive a sharp slap to his rear, the task wasn't only tiring but also painful. He could feel the sweat dripping down his forehead and from under his arms, and soon he started to have trouble breathing.

"Stop!" she commanded, and Paul did not run an extra step. The top of his body collapsed forward, his hands grasped his knees as he panted. Miss Johnson couldn't resist to slap his bottom one more time, it was presented so nicely to her as he bent over out of exhaustion. "Down on the floor, lay on your back."

Paul wanted to protest, but he was too tired. He was still panting as he slowly planted his burning panty-encased bottom down onto the cold floor and leaned backwards until he lay flat on the floor.

"Bend your knees," ordered Miss Brooke Johnson from above him, and he obeyed. She took a step forward and stood with the round toes of her wedged shoes on Paul's toes that were dressed in the red flats. He hissed as the toes of her shoes dug into the toes of his own. "I presume you know how to do a sit-up, dear?"

"Yes, Miss," he mumbled through his deep panting.

"Very good," she said, grinning down at the boy. "I want you to do fifty of them."

"Please, Miss, can I rest?" he begged, he was definitely not going to do fifty in his current state.

"Do you want a good education, dear?" she asked, shifting her weight onto her toes so that they dug even deeper into Paul's feet. He groaned, nearly screamed, in pain. "Fifty."

He crossed his arms over his hairless chest and took a deep breath before doing his first.

"One," she counted.

It took more effort to get through his second, third and fourth.

"Four,"

He had started panting heavily again after ten, he doubted if he'd even reach twenty.

"Faster, you have forty left!"

He mustered up enough stamina to complete the next five in quick succession.

"Fifteen,"

Paul continued with difficulty, he had his eyes closed tightly and tried to focus as hard as he could on completing each individual sit-up. He hadn't ever been very fit at school, and was never permitted to do any sports by Matron Sophia.

"Twenty-five,"

He was halfway now, but his back felt like it was about to break in half. Sweat was pouring down his forehead and the sides of his upper body. He could feel his feet get slippery inside of the tight-fitting ladies' flats.

"Thirty,"

Miss Johnson could see that he was now struggling to breathe, but this didn't faze her in the slightest.

"Thirty-five,"

Tears were forming in the corners of his eyes again.

"Forty,"

He tried to beg her for mercy, but he struggled to speak throughout his desperate breaths.

"Forty-five,"

Each sit-up was torture to his entire upper body. He could feel it from his stomach to his neck now.

"Forty-nine,"

Paul was way past fatigued. The last one was by far the toughest, as he slowly curled upwards and heard her count.

"Fifty,"

He collapsed backwards, his body hitting the floor with a loud thump. Miss Johnson smirked as she bent down between his legs and took the red shoes from his feet. As she looked down at them she could see the soles glistening from his sweat. A very pungent odour shot from his feet into her nostrils as she removed the shoes. She walked over to the chest of drawers and opened the top one. From it she took a roll of grey duct tape.

"Sit upright," she commanded as Paul heard the heels of her shoes once again circle him. He was struggling to find his breath and laid flat on the floor for a few more seconds before managing to force himself upright again. The woman crouched down behind him and he saw the shoe that had been on his right foot just a minute ago being placed in front of his face with the inside towards him. His own foot odour filled his nostrils and he choked, it was a horrible scent.

Miss Johnson held the shoe in place and placed the tip of the tape on the bottom of it. The duct tape was put around Paul's head several times so that he was forced into breathing exclusively his own odour. His nose touched the slightly damp sole of the shoe as it was taped into position. The smell was horrible, worse than any of the girls' feet that he had been forced into smelling the previous day. It almost made him nauseous.

"How do your feet smell, dear?" asked Miss Johnson, before cackling to herself. Paul shook his head. "Oh, you don't like it? Too bad!"

The shoe fit perfectly across his nose and mouth without completely obstructing his vision. He saw Miss Johnson sit atop the wooden chair once more, holding the other red shoe in her right hand.

"Come on, dear," she said. "Across Miss Johnson's lap!"

*****

Paul found himself bent over the sadistic woman's lap once more; he was still fatigued from the brief yet exhausting exercises she had put him through. The red shoe was still taped in front of his face, forcing him to inhale only his own pungent odour. Miss Johnson had once again pulled down his white panties just far enough to expose his whole firm bottom.

Without warning, Miss Johnson raised the flat in her right hand high and brought it down onto her subject's bum. He screamed at the sharp pain that the strike produced on his, already bright red, bottom.

She brought it down again. And again. And again. Each strike was delivered with pinpoint accuracy, she was like a machine. Paul wailed under the flat taped to his mouth, begged for her to stop. She ignored him, continuing her perfect torment of the poor young man across her lap.

Five. Six. Seven. Eight. The flexible ballet flat proved so much more painful than the palm of her hand. Paul was crying after the tenth strike, which turned into hysterical crying by fifteen.

Sixteen. He had started screaming now, begging, sobbing, and squirming. His struggling didn't impress Miss Johnson, as she had explicitly told him earlier not to struggle, so she decided to up the speed. Soon the sole of the red flat was slapping his buttocks at a similarly fast pace to her hand earlier. The scent of his right foot was overwhelming; he was choking on his own sweat now. Her left arm was pinning his hands to his back, so there was nothing he could do about the horribly painful strikes to his rear end.

Twenty-five strikes had passed, and he could feel welts start to appear on his buttocks. Miss Johnson kept on spanking him, not stopping for a second as he continued to scream and struggle.

"Don't struggle! I told you not to struggle!" she shouted at him as the flat came down on his bum again. He knew what he was doing would only anger her more, but his shaking and struggling was beyond his control at this point. "If you keep struggling, I'll have no choice but to beat you harder!"

He tried his best to keep still for her, even though he knew it would be hard. Strikes were still raining down onto his bottom at an unbearable pace. He lost count after thirty-five, they were too fast and he was in too much pain to count. However Miss Johnson didn't stop counting, and after fifty the boy was completely out of control.

She delivered five more strikes, knowing that the boy might lose consciousness if she went for too long. She threw the shoe to the side and violently rubbed across the boy's swollen buttocks, making him scream louder. Tears were flowing from his eyes and down the sides of the shoe that was taped to his face. He was shaking and struggling to breathe. She pressed the shoe tightly against his face, making sure that no fresh air made its way to his nostrils. She could feel the tears flowing down the sides of the ballet flat as her fingers were soon covered in the boy's tears. She wiped off her hand on his back. Allowing him to calm down she once again shoved him off her lap and he fell on the hard floor.

"Take the shoe off your face, you look like an idiot," she said, laughing at how ridiculous he looked. Still overwhelmed by the scent of his own foot, although it had started to dissipate, he furiously tore the flat off his face, screaming again as the tape pulled out a few of his hairs. He threw it aside and sat on the floor, his legs crossed, looking down at his silk-covered crotch. Paul was still sobbing profusely, his face was blood red and strings of saliva were coming from his mouth.

"There's no need for a tantrum, dear," she cooed, crossing her left leg across her right as she looked at the distraught young man before her. "Go fetch me the largest wooden paddle from the rack next to the spanking bench."

Paul lost it.

"Please Miss! I can't take any more!" he screamed at the top of his lungs, falling forward at the woman's feet. "I can't! It's too much, I can't take more! Please!"

"Kiss my shoes," she said, calmly, as the boy sobbed at her feet. He looked up at her with his blood red eyes. He bent forward again and laid two shaky kisses on each of Miss Brooke Johnson's shoes. "I hope you're done with your fit now. I still don't have my paddle."

He fell to his side, drowning in his own tears. He slowly struggled up and lumbered to the rack on the wall that contained several sadistic instruments. On the far right, above a riding crop and below a cat o' nine tails, was the paddle that she had requested. It was much larger than the Headmistress's wooden paddle that he had been hit with the previous day, and he reached out a shaky arm towards it. His small hand wrapped around its handle as he slowly took it from the rack.

Paul turned around and stumbled back to Miss Brooke, and for a brief second he considered hitting her over the head with the large paddle in his hand.

*****

"Relax, dear," cooed Miss Brooke Johnson from behind him. "Breathe."

Paul was bent over Miss Johnson's wooden spanking bench, his wrists and ankles were restrained with harsh leather cuffs. He was panicking, desperately squirming in his restraints.

"Okay, I'm only going to administer thirty strikes to your bottom with the paddle," she said, as if it would make a difference. "You ready?"

CRACK!

He screamed hysterically.

"I guess not!" she laughed as she brought the paddle down a second time.

CRACK!

"Keep breathing for me, dear,"

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

Paul was screaming as loudly as he could, tears were falling onto the concrete floor beneath as he fought his bonds and sobbed.

CRACK! CRACK!

"PLEASE! PLEASE STOP!" he shouted out of desperation, albeit to no avail.

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

Soon she built up a rhythm with her strikes, but the boy just wouldn't cooperate. His screams were so loud she could barely hear herself think and he wouldn't stop squirming and struggling. She stopped after the twentieth strike.

"Okay, that's enough screaming now," said Miss Brooke, her heels furiously tapping against the hard floor as she walked around behind Paul.

She appeared in front of him, her facial expression was one of deep anger. In her right hand was a black ball gag with a leather harness and in her left were Paul's crumpled up white panties that she had pulled down before bending him over the bench.

"Open your mouth!" she commanded, but the boy was too hysterical to obey. A hard slap landed against his left cheek and he wailed. "I said, open your mouth!"

Clearly in a state of panic, he just continued to stare blankly at her as he sobbed. She reached forward and wrenched open his jaw, stuffing the crumpled up white panties in his mouth and keeping them in there as she stuffed the ball gag in also, fastening the harness behind his head. Paul's sobbing had nearly completely been silenced.

She smiled at the boy, now with a leather harness around his head and a ball gag in his mouth, before retaking her position behind him.

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

The boy tried to scream in pain, but his screams were muffled by the panties stuffed in his mouth.

"What's that, dear?" she asked sadistically. "You can't scream anymore? Poor thing!"

Once again Miss Johnson fell into her rhythm, Paul desperately trying to scream through his gagged mouth. She had gone way past her promised amount of thirty, and soon Paul was in the worst state of pain he had been in so far. His bottom felt like it was going to explode, it was burning and sharp pains were present all around from the welts that had risen.

Miss Brooke knew that she would soon meet his limit, but she was sure as hell going to push him all the way. She didn't stop insulting him, laughing at him, screaming at him, for even a second. She wanted to make sure he knew who was in charge; she wasn't going to hold back.

Paul felt close to passing out, it was becoming increasingly hard to catch his breath after each strike; Miss Johnson's constant reminders to breathe didn't help either. The crumpled underwear and ball gag in his mouth kept him from taking deep breaths through his mouth, forcing him to exclusively breathe through his nose.

"Just ten more," said Brooke, seeing that he would surely not be able to take much more of this.

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

More muffled screaming.

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

Things were starting to become black, making him panic even more

"Breathe you idiot!" shouted Miss Brooke.

CRACK! CRACK!

Almost there.

CRACK! CRACK!

His tensed body collapsed as the final strike was administered. Miss Johnson hurried to the boy's head and quickly undid the harness of the gag. Pulling it from his mouth, she saw he had gone from blood red to dangerously pale. She shook her head as the white panties, covered in his saliva, fell to the floor. From the pocket of her black blazer she took a tissue and brought it to Paul's mouth. She patted all around his drooling mouth, he was panting like a sick dog. After all his saliva and tears had been dried up she walked back to the drawers.

He didn't know what she was doing, and neither did he care. He was just glad to finally be able to catch his breath without having to panic about being spanked. Tears continued to flow from his eyes as he was still in a great amount of pain.

Paul instinctively wailed as a cold, slippery palm touched his right buttock and started to rub across his welts. He cooled down a bit as he realized what was happening.

"See? I can be nice too," said Miss Johnson as she rubbed the soothing lotion into Paul's battered behind. "Does it feel good, sweetie?"

"Yes, Miss," he said, gulping deeply as he spoke. The lotion felt so nice on his bottom, he wished it would last forever.

"Unfortunately for you, we are not completely finished yet," she said, finishing with his right buttock and switching to his left. "I am still supposed to give you two more beatings, but I'll only give you one because I've nearly seen everything I wanted to. Then we need to check inside of your bottom, which won't take too long I hope."

His deep sigh conveyed that he was demotivated.

"Your next beating might be a bit more intense, so I want you to try and be as relaxed as possible for me," Miss Johnson mentioned, digging her thumbs deeply into Paul's buttocks, making him groan. "This time I hope you'll stop squirming, otherwise I'll have to make it even worse. You wouldn't want your panties back in your mouth, would you?"

"No, Miss, please not," he begged.

"It's okay, I won't stuff them in your mouth unless you disobey me," she said. "It's pretty clear that Matron Sophia went quite soft on you when it came to discipline, hmm?"

"No, Miss,"

"Were you her favourite? Was she scared of hitting you?"

"No, Miss, she hit me,"

"How were you punished?"

"She would take me over her lap and hit me with a belt, Miss,"

"And how many strikes would you have to take?"

"Sometimes ten, sometimes twenty, Miss,"

Miss Johnson chuckled.

"Clearly she didn't hit you hard enough, otherwise you wouldn't have been such a pussy," she said, her sweet voice had faded away now. The boy felt himself blush.

Paul exhaled deeply through his mouth as Miss Johnson's soft hands left his bottom, knowing that his last beating was closing in.

"I'll show you how to hit with a belt," said Miss Brooke, picking something off the rack on the wall. "Remember to keep breathing, try not to squirm."

He unexpectedly felt the first strike land on his lower back; it took a second for the pain to sink in. When it did, the reaction was immediate. Paul screeched at the sting of the belt that ran up his spine. The next strike landed on his bottom and he was reminded of his welts, even though they had been treated. The third strike hit the sole of his right foot, the fourth hit the sole of his left. Paul started sobbing.

"Four strikes and you're already crying?" teased Miss Johnson, bringing down the belt onto his back again, making him scream again. "You're taking twenty more; I'd save the tears for later!"

She was indeed more skilled with the belt than Matron Sophia, he thought.

The next strike hit his left sole; she let the horrible pain sink in before lifting it up and bringing it back down, whistling through the air, cracking against his lower back again. A scream of utmost pain filled the large, cold room as the belt stung his spine. Noticing that he had curled his toes, she aimed the following strike at the sole of his right foot.

CRACK!

The belt landed on his welt-covered bum.

"Poor boy, it must be humiliating to cry so loudly in front of a beautiful lady like myself, hmm?" she continued teasing him.

"Ye- Yes, M- M- Miss," he stuttered through his sobs.

CRACK!

The second strike in a row to his behind.

"Your red little bottom is so adorable,"

"PLEASE STOP! PLEASE, MISS!"

CRACK! CRACK!

Each of his feet received a strike.

"Don't shout so nastily at me, boy,"

For a few consecutive strikes she focused solely on his buttocks, before striking his lower back harder than before. A near-demonic screech shot from his mouth. Miss Johnson just smirked, ever sadistically. Three strikes to his left sole, three to his right. Both of his soles were glowing bright red now, she knew they might start bleeding if they took more strikes. Besides, why should she waste her last few strikes on the boy's feet?

Paul's sobs had completely transitioned into screams. His entire body was shaking and the spots that Miss Johnson had hit were all bright red and swollen. Miss Johnson paused for a few uncomfortable seconds, letting all the horrible stinging pain sink into Paul's body.

The belt was raised up high above her head; it whistled down and hit his blistered bottom. Before the pain could sink in fully, the next strike hit him on the same place, ridiculously accurate and extremely painful. Paul's pleads were ignored, and the twenty-fifth strike hit the painful on his lower back, producing the worst pain he had gotten from any strike he had received so far. His back felt like it had been split in half as the sting ran up his spine.