time I thought of it only as a form of affection for my teacher. At that moment I loved Miss Hilde with a frightening intensity.
'This nice little table is just right for you, Euphemia.' I'll swear it was instinctive: I knew what to do. I draped my slight nudity upon the shining surface of the narrow table she had pulled to the center of the big room. My legs dangled over the end. My breasts were only just beginning, but when my nipples frictioned on the wood they sent an urgent signal to the fire between my legs. I had become a quivering nymphet. I have wondered since if Miss Hilde had the whole thing especially made, I fitted it so perfectly. The contoured pad beneath my hips was a surprise, but it too fed the fire. When my ankles were strapped to the back legs they were well clear of the carpet and left me slightly open. This openness was emphasized when the big strap went over the small of my back and was tugged tighter and tighter until I gasped. The effect was to make my pert small bottom rear itself demandingly upon the pad and to cause my puss to peek out backwards. I could not see it, but when Miss Hilde fingered it lovingly from the rear I knew for sure where it was. I didn't have a lot of hair then, just pouting lips.
'I do think it's best to have everything nice and tight, don't you dear.' She kissed the back of my neck. The touch of her lips, coupled with the new strange immobility of my person below my waist and the thrust of the pad, just about drove me into incoherence. But I came up brightly with: 'Oh, it's lovely, Miss Hilde. I can't move… down there.' Once again Miss Hilde's wise fingers explored my protruding quim, entering its engorged lips. 'Oh, naughty, naughty!' she exclaimed archly. 'Such a wet little girl!' I almost exploded. She walked around the table and me several times as though assessing her work and my plight. I expect she was simply gloating and savouring the delectable tidbit I must have been. I got kissed again.
'Do you think I should tie your hands, dear?' I was tremendously flattered by being consulted in so momentous a decision. Actually, Miss Hilde was just musing aloud.
'I think just as you are to start with, Euphemia. Are you ready now to have your dear little bottom caned?'
'Yes, please.' It sounds a bit absurd now. We were so damn formal and correct. But the tone of our voices spoke more than the words. Hers was husky with emotion, mine palpitated and quavered with more vivid awareness than I had known existed. I remember the moment so well. I was surprised my hands weren't tied. I didn't know what to do with them, so I put one on top of the other beneath my cheek like small warm pillows. I was bursting with an exquisite suspense. How much would it hurt! Would I bleed! The possibility it might be more than I could bear never entered my mind.
'It's so different from having your hands caned, dear.' The searing cut took me into a new world of pain and sensation. Square across my taut twin curves it split me into orgasm. I did not know what an orgasm was then, it seemed no more than a transcendent part of the glory Miss Hilde had the power to bestow, a glory beyond anything I had ever dreamed of. I reared against the buckle round my waist, more in a need to give my climax free rein than in agony. My moan was of an ultimate ecstasy. My small fists clenched upon the table beneath my back-flung head. I did not know it but I had become a woman. Everywhere in the story of me there is the whip. I think to go on and on about it is a bore, not for me but for you. Miss Hilde caned my bottom with her own cruel artistry until I screamed. Then she tied my hands down to the front legs and gagged me. I did not mind. I adored it all. The gag was cute so that we laughed over popping the ping-pong ball in my mouth and sealing my lips with the wide adhesive. It kept me adequately quiet in deference to the demands of apartment dwelling. Even when I longed to scream I knew it wise that I did not. It could be said I was the victim of a woman's lust, but between us there arose a complicity cemented without words. Each of us knew we had discovered the end of the rainbow. Even the second phase of my unearned 'punishment' that was not a punishment at all did nothing to dampen the erotic fire that sustained me through the pain.
'You are a wonderful, wonderful girl, Euphemia.' Miss Hilde's voice positively throbbed with happiness. 'It is time now to really punish you. You do want me to, don't you?' The moment the loving fingers peeled away my gag I spit out the celluloid ball and gasped ardently: 'Yes, oh yes! Oh, Miss Hilde, you're so good to me.' I was utterly sincere, utterly hers, loving her in a way I had never known love in all my eleven years. The bitter and awful scald of my caned bottom was instantly forgotten in the fresh promise of erotic fulfillment.
'It is a punishment for big girls.' I swelled with pride and, I suppose, lust.
'You will be tied more beautifully, dear.' What a wrenching of the heart it was to be set free! I parted from my bonds with sorrow, looking in awe at the red indentations on my wrists. But I was a'quiver with expectation.
'Sit on the floor, Euphemia.' I watched the tight buckling of the leather anklets with fast beating heart. I was seeped in happiness. The black bands held all the beauty of costly jewels. I was to be punished as a 'big girl', but how were big girls punished? I was soon to know.
'I don't want anything ordinary for you, Euphemia, you have become so very special. Don't be frightened. Just trust me.' I would have trusted Miss Hilde with my life. I watched the ropes come down from the small pulleys in the ceiling and wondered only how she had got them there. When the hooks slipped into the rings of my anklets I could put two and two together, but thought of retreat never entered my mind. I helped all I could with the replacement of my gag, my eyes sparkling into Miss Hilde's that were so very close as she worked on me. I was kissed. When my feet were spread and raised by the tautening ropes I knew only a tremendous sense of being female, a oneness with the woman who had caned me. Since my hands were still free I was able to ease my transformation from horizontal to vertical. My gag got a stern test in those first moments when I swung free of the carpet, but I had no thought of tearing at it, my fingers were busy seeking a tenuous contact with the floor. Miss Hilde mischievously raised me to where I could touch it with one finger only.
'A strap over your gag, dear, just in case-' It was broad and tight and pliant. My fingers would not easily loosen its buckle at the back of my neck. They did explore but were gently slapped away.
'I would tie your hands, dear, but I'm curious to see what you will do with them.' To me, at the age of eleven, a whip was just a name. I surveyed the one now in Miss Hilde's hand with wide-eyed curiosity. I was more concerned with the exposure of my pubes. I was sure it must be proper for me to be to be so spread, just so long as it was a teacher who had done it to me. But I was not sure if mother would approve. I adored it. I went into writhing orgasm again when Miss Hilde artfully cupped my wet lips and kneaded them. The whip took me into a new enchantment of sensation. Miss Hilde used it on my back and waist, and for the first few blows the frightening new pain did not more than prolong my contortions as though the orgasm went on and on. Whilst I could wriggle and bend and buck, my widely spread legs prevented me changing my basic position. I was totally available. Miss Hilde whipped me with care and artistry. The lash curled on my slenderness and, often enough, licked at my breasts. But they were not sufficiently developed to provide a hazard. I am sure my hands were erotically entertaining for the woman with the whip. They sought my wounds, they sought the floor, they waved in frantic acknowledgement of agony. Once they flew to the buckle of my gag, but were thereafter dissuaded from such tampering by a vicious slash of the cutting thong into the cleft of my sundered thighs. I screamed in pain and amazement that a girl be whipped upon her puss. The gag muted the peal of anguish, but the message was clear. My hands heeded it, their frantic frustration was total. The fear came gradually with the rhythm of the scorching strokes. Not fear of Miss Hilde or of the whip, but fear that my fire would die and its glory depart. I think my complete helplessness and the upside down exposure alarmed me in the same manner as a fish must be astounded to find itself hauled up on dry land. It was then that Miss Hilde received my full, but unconscious, gift of writhings and twistings and the clutching of hands which I wish now I could have witnessed myself. I put on quite a show. No matter what I did, the whip cut me. I could not escape it, but in a purely primal instinct I tried, oh how I tried! When I knew I would die, the lashes stopped, a strong firm tongue entered my puss-lips. I did not recognize what was happening to me at first, only that I was ablaze with something far too beautiful to understand. Within seconds I longed only that the glory and the whip go on forever. With Yolanda it does. Forever and ever… I'm terribly lucky. It is Yola's cords upon my elbows that dissolve my misty memories of Miss Hilde. They are now hurting me enough to gain my full attention. I cannot see them but I know how deeply they must be embedded in my skin. I twist my shoulders fretfully against the strain, my eyes rove for some expedient by which I may gain release, hopelessly of course. I always go through these motions, it is instinctive. But I cannot get loose, I know I can't. I am tied for sure. I will have to endure the punishment of my corded elbows. It has now reached an intensity of pain that contributes nothing to the warmth between my legs. I just hurt, and I wish it was not happening to me. When the light fails I will cry. By darkness there has been no Yola and no supper. I have been a bad girl. Bad girls do not eat much when chained in dungeons. Before total gloom possesses me I amuse myself by walking to the length of the chain on my ankle and then contorting and stretching to see if I can hook a toe in the blanket. But my most painful striving leaves me many feet
