Sarah’s Tutoral by Emily Tilton
Professor John Dunn could hardly believe he got the job offer from Sandy Ridge College. True, he had been confident his credentials would prove satisfactory to the search committee and the administration of the college (how could they not, seeing as he was coming from an Ivy League university?), but when he thought of the reason why he had applied to such a small?though well-respected?institution as Sandy Ridge in the first place, the realization of his fantasies in this job offer still seemed incredible. Indeed, his job application had seemed almost a joke in comparison to the approval process for Corbin’s Bend.
He was going to live in Corbin’s Bend. Goodness help him, he started to become tumescent even as he read the letter from Brent Carmichael, the president of the town’s residents’ organization.
He didn’t have much to pack. Dunn, a widower with no children (he and his late vanilla wife, a colleague in the classics department, had decided early in their courtship, twenty years before, that having children would distract them from making the mark on the academic world they?she, really?so desperately wanted to make), had only his library and an old desk he wanted to take along; he didn’t even have many clothes to pack.
It helped that Sandy Ridge, an affluent institution, to suit its clientele coming mostly from the wealthiest suburbs of Denver, offered him a generous housing subvention and even a signing bonus to buy a few new things. Dunn’s sizable personal fortune, inherited from his banking forbearers, would also come in very handy?together with the subvention, it had permitted him to buy into Corbin’s Bend with enough equity to secure a sizable two-bedroom house.
Dunn surveyed the sum total of the property the moving company was about to load onto the truck. Then he looked down at a certain special duffel bag that lay at his feet, which would not go with the movers. He had already begun to think of that bag as his “Corbin’s Bend Bag.” In it he stored various things he felt sure he would soon find more consistent use for, at last. Looking at the bag, he could see one of those things?maybe the most important of them? outlined by the black fabric of the duffel: a long, thin, and flexible rattan cane. The thought of employing it on a deserving, bare female backside, in far off Colorado, made him smile.
Still smiling, he met the movers, signed their paperwork, and climbed into his car for the long drive west.
On his journey, Dunn had a good deal of time for reflection. He supposed he should consider the grave task of preparing to educate the undergraduates of Colorado, but after fifteen years at the job in a much more august sort of a place than Sandy Ridge, he judged himself up to the task. Thus, he excused himself for spending most of his mental energy thinking about his spanking-related pursuits, lost in a reverie of planning the scenes he might now have the leisure to enact, and?more importantly?the partners with whom to enact them.
Dunn’s interest in spanking, and in some of the more advanced (as Dunn thought of them) areas of dominance-and-submission, was lifelong, but only in the final two years of his marriage. Desperate for relief from caring for a dying wife with whom he had never been sexually compatible, he made his first fumbling attempts to pursue it outside the physical bounds of his hand and computer screen. Outwardly, his demeanor did not appear dominant in any sense, really, and this softness of affect made his initial forays?meetings with women who listed themselves on one or another website as submissive?even more difficult. He was not an alpha male, at least to the subs who seemed to pant after alpha males thought of those herd-leading stallions of men. That had meant his first tentative steps into “the lifestyle”?a way of thinking about it that still seemed strange to him four years later?had been even more tentative than Dunn thought they must be for most new dominants.
* * * * *
He’d had two BDSM liaisons in the four years since he started practicing. (Dunn thought of “practicing BDSM” both as doing it in the real world and as working to improve his skills.) Over the course of the three months during which Dunn and Miriam had played frequently, it became clear that she didn’t take it as seriously as he did, and she didn’t think deeply about it at all.
Dunn and Miriam had never formally broken off their relationship. That relationship had consisted of Dunn coming to Miriam’s apartment (once a week, in the beginning) to discipline her and then to enjoy her submissive erotic favors. The last time, which had occurred after a gap of two months during which they hadn’t communicated at all, for no other reason than that they both claimed to be busy, had occurred several months before he received the offer from Sandy Ridge. When the letter arrived, Dunn had taken Miriam out to dinner to tell her that he planned to leave, and to tell her about Corbin’s Bend. Miriam had professed happiness for him very convincingly, and said (more perceptively, really, than Dunn had thought her capable of), “I think that’s probably what you need, John.”
Although it they had spelled it out as a rule in her “Affidavit of Submission”, she had never called him “sir” consistently. He was happy enough to spank her for it during their sessions, but this failure had always irritated him. As far as he could tell, Miriam did it without intending to provoke discipline, but simply because she couldn’t be bothered to remember. Certainly now, though, he thought, wasn’t a time to insist, let alone to start a disciplinary scenario. That was probably a good bit of the problem. He needed a partner whom he felt compelled to pull out of a restaurant and take to the car for a spanking. Miriam had continued, “I mean, you’re not a leather guy, or anything, but you really do need to live it. I like to pretend, but it doesn’t go as deep for me as it does for you, I’m pretty sure.”
It did go deep for him. Somewhere around Iowa, he began to go over, in his mind’s eye, all the scenes he had played with Joanna and Miriam, critiquing his performance as a Dominant and thinking about the new possibilities about to open for him in Corbin’s Bend. He remembered what it felt like to have Joanna’s bottom under his hand for the very first time, after he had said, in a voice that sounded strange in his ears then?soft, but not tentative despite the slight quaver in it (he had no quaver now), “I think you’d better get over my lap, you naughty girl.”
Joanna had started to pull down her jeans then, but he had had the presence of mind to stop her and to say, “I’ll tell you when to do that.” In a certain sense, his life had begun at that moment, when he saw the look in her eyes that made him think that he probably was, after all, as he had thought since he could remember thinking about anything, a natural at this.
Thrilled and a little light-headed, he had spanked Joanna progressively harder. A guilty voice spoke in his head, to be sure. He had left his wife’s hospital bedside only an hour before, and would return there after this transformation, thanking God for his ability to compartmentalize. But at the moment he told her to take down her jeans and panties. Watching her obey, reach under her hips to unfasten her jeans and pull them down, exposing lacy pink panties then lowering them to her knees, after thirty-eight years of fantasizing to orgasm about that very command, certain he would never say it aloud, and if he ever did, no woman would ever comply, made him even more light-headed, but also sent the thought through his brain like a lightning-bolt: this is who I am.
Joanna had submitted, if he remembered correctly, to four men before him. Her experience helped him immeasurably. He had said, cuddling her guiltily afterward, learning about the Daddy-dom side of his nature even as he learned aftercare, with her help, “It’s not like vanilla sex at all, is it?” Joann had nodded, sagely, with a broad smile on her face. Dunn had felt then that he had begun well.
He thought about one of his last sessions with Miriam, when he had unexpectedly brought her to “Yellow” with the cane, punishing her for writing something naughty on a social media site that suggested she might be available. He contrasted the lecture he had given Miriam then about his rules for her conduct with the telegraphic instructions he had given Joanna at that first spanking session. The voice was the same: he never raised it. But in the intervening four years he had learned to act the part in a larger way, for his own and his sub’s erotic benefit. Hearing Miriam gasp “Yes, sir!” in response to each time he said “Do you understand that rule, young lady?”‘ was not really fundamentally different from hearing Joanna say, “Yes, sir,” the very first time he had said?hardly believing he was saying it?”I think it’s time for you to pleasure me with your mouth.” But it was definitely hotter?for him, and, he thought, for the young lady.
“Young lady” was his particular term for a submissive who, whether in reality or in fantasy, belonged to him. He didn’t use it exclusively: “pet”, “slut”, “little whore”, and, above all, “girl” also had power over him, but when he spanked, whether with his physical paddle or the paddle of his imagination, his instructions and admonitions were almost invariably directed to a “young lady”.
He thought, fondly and, truth to tell, with a growing erection, of the sounds Miriam made when he took her bottom with his cock, and of the way he said “Do you like that, young lady? Do you like getting what you deserve?” He wished that she had responded, even once, to these questions, but the whimpers certainly rewarded him enough.
From there, around the end of Nebraska, his mind turned to thoughts of what might await him in Corbin’s Bend. What impressed him most about the marketing materials he had requested from the web, and then read, with some disbelief, ripping open the envelope while still standing in the doorway of his house, was the way the development’s founders designed it so as to permit the whole gamut of spanking lifestyles while still maintaining a baseline of community practice, above all in the permission, and the apparent normality, of public spanking.
But what would that mean to him, with his well-formed BDSM habits, exactly? One clause in a brochure had caught his eye: “Married couples and singles of both sexes are explicitly welcome to enjoy themselves in private in whatever way they choose, according to community standards of safe, sane, and consensual sexuality.” So, no anal in the streets, but also no judgment from the neighbors if you should forget to draw the blinds one night.
He couldn’t lie to himself?and didn’t want to lie to anyone else?about one thing: he was looking for a playmate who might also become a taken-in-hand partner: so taken-in-hand that “slave” wouldn’t be an inappropriate term for her, whoever she turned out to be. She must be truly submissive. She must indeed want to be his slave.
Maybe it was nothing more than a fantasy. Joanna and Miriam had been wonderful presences in his life despite the lack of that submission bond of which he had always dreamt. Whether or not he found what he always thought of as his own true young lady in Corbin’s Bend, he felt sure he would find happiness there, if only because he would live with other people sharing a similar lifestyle.
Three weeks later, he gave his first lecture in the Introduction to Western Civilization course he’d been hired to teach. That was when he first saw Sarah Harshaw, before he knew her name. It was not love at first sight, for either of them. In later years, though, he always remembered the blonde girl in the front row had caught his eye, and that he had wondered whether she might be from Corbin’s Bend.
Leading the Way by Constance Masters
“Are those earrings part of your uniform, Avery?” Zach asked, peering at his daughter in the rear mirror as they drove home at the end of the school day.
“They’re just tiny, Daddy.”
“That’s not the question I asked you.”
“No, Daddy, but I hate this uniform. There’s not a pretty thing on it. It’s so? dark blue.”
“It’s a uniform, Avvy, not a fashion statement. Rules are rules and they apply to you, the same as everybody else. I don’t think Momma would have let you wear them.”
“She didn’t,” Jordan piped in. “She hid them in her pocket and then put them?”
“I hate you, Jordan!” Avvy cut Jordan off.
“Hey!” Zach called out as he pulled the car into the driveway. “Both of you be quiet this minute. Avery? That was very naughty of you to break the school uniform rule and to sneak things past your Momma, we’ll talk about that later.”
Jordan gave her sister a smug smile.
“Jordan, you can lose that look, too. What Avery did was none of your business and gloating because someone else is going to get into trouble may just get you in trouble as well.”
“That’s so not fair. Bimbo,” she mouthed behind her hand.
Zach shook his head. Jordan had to have the last word. “Change that may get in trouble to a will get in trouble.”
“This isn’t fair, Daddy,” Avery whined. “You only found out because you’re a teacher at the school. No one else has to take their parents with them every day.”
“Diddems. You’re such a baby sometimes and you’re supposed to be the oldest,” Jordan said. “I love that you teach at our school, Daddy.”
“I do, too, but you’re still in trouble, Jordan.”
Finally deciding to cut her losses, Jordan jumped out of the car and slammed the door, letting the final bang satisfy her need for power.
Zach locked the car and lowered the garage door. He smiled to himself. Little hiccups like that little argument were about as bad as it got these days. A far cry from the way it was before they moved to Corbin’s Bend. That had been a nightmare. He’d worked all day in a school where it was hard to decide what was worse about the students: their inappropriate dress, their filthy mouths or their total lack of respect for their free education. There was the odd little treasure that made it all worthwhile, but mostly, it had depressed him. Home hadn’t been any better. Luckily they’d moved to this place and it saved them. They had a lovely home in an ordered neighborhood and most of all, the one thing he wanted for his family, peace.
* * * * *
Erin was pleased to see her girls as they flounced into the house obviously carrying with them some argument that had started in the car. She envied their childish self-centered personas. As the mother, she held her shit together so to speak, to think of the greater good of the family. She kept a clean house, well mostly. She could throw together a decent meal.
“Mom! Are you even listening?” Avery whined.
“Of course I am,” Erin said, touching her daughter’s cheek softly. “If you took the risk of sneaking your earrings to school when you knew it was against the rules then you have to accept the consequences.”
“If you wrote a letter and told them I needed to wear them then they’d give them back.”
“You are such a dummy, Avvy,” Jordan said. “Have you forgotten that Dad works at that school? He has lunch with your teacher!”
“Mom! Tell her to mind her own business!”
“Well, he does!”
“You shut up!”
Avery closed her eyes and took a big breath but when she opened them the argument about nothing really was still continuing. “That’s it! Go to your rooms and do your homework. You can come out for a snack in half an hour.”
“No way!” Jordan said. “Isn’t starving your children against the law or something?”
“Jordan, you heard me. Stop arguing and just go! Both of you, go!” Erin didn’t like it when she raised her voice. It meant she’d let them get the better of her.
The door creaked open and Zach appeared. “Girls, you heard your mom, move,” he said, and just like that they scuttled away to their rooms.
“How do you do that?” she asked, turning to face the kitchen cabinets to finish putting away the clean dishes. That and to hide the tears that were welling in her eyes. Things had gotten to her that day and the girls’ petty argument had finished her off.
Zach wasn’t saying anything and that meant one thing, that he’d already made up his mind that something was wrong. “I’m fine.” Well the silence and the fact that he was moving closer to her.
“You don’t sound fine.”
Erin wanted to run but there was nowhere to run to, even if she did get past the large man that was waiting for an answer. “It’s just the girls bickering…”
Great one Erin, throw your children under the bus, she thought bitterly. “No, that’s not it.”
“Shh, it’s okay.” Zach wrapped himself around her, holding her to him tightly while she melted into a puddle of tears. “Hey, this isn’t like you. What’s brought this on?” he asked finally when her breathing settled and she started to pull away.
Embarrassment was now added to the list of Erin’s overflowing emotions and she just wanted everything to be normal. “I guess I’m just hormonal,” she said hoping the words would scare her husband off the track.
“Don’t do that.”
“Don’t do what?”
“Don’t try to put me off. You’re my wife and I love you and I know when you’re upset. I just need to know why.”
“Just for once, can’t I just be upset because I am?” She knew her voice was rising, but she couldn’t help it. She didn’t even know why she was being so stubborn.
“Did something happen today that was out of the ordinary?”
Erin rolled her eyes dramatically. She should have known she couldn’t put anything over her on husband. He was a sixth grade teacher that used to teach in the city. Interrogation and intimidation were part of his list of life skills. “I went to school for the fundraising meeting and the moms froze me out.”
“What do you mean they froze you out?”
“They didn’t talk to me, Zach. I just sat there in the back and they pretended I wasn’t there.”
“Are you sure? I mean I’m not saying that I disbelieve you. I’m just saying that I’m surprised. Did you try to talk to them?”
“You think it’s my fault.”
“I didn’t say that. I asked you if you’d tried to start a conversation.”
“How could I when they were all talking about their shared lives, lives that I have no part of? They were talking about stuff they’ve done together and stuff they have coming up. They didn’t even see me. It’s always like that.”
“No, you don’t see.”
“Look, I’m glad you’re talking to me about what’s worrying you, but I’m warning you, your attitude is slipping, you need to watch your tone.”
“I’m sorry. It’s just frustrating. You have friends and work colleagues, even the girls have friends. I have nobody. Okay, that sounded mean. You know how much I love my family, but I miss my old life. I miss my friends.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this earlier, honey? I could have done something to help you. Tea?” he said holding up a cup.
Erin shrugged, a cup of tea would be nice, but it usually came with a complimentary lecture.
Zach passed his wife her steaming cup and sat opposite her at the kitchen counter. “You told me you were happy, Erin.” He waited a second but she didn’t respond so he kept going. “You should make more of an effort to see Diana. That’s why we were given the mentors when we moved here, to make settling in easier.”
“When she’s called I always seem to have something on.”
“Oh. Like what exactly?”
“I don’t know, stuff.”
“You have to make time for important things and you would have done if you’d wanted to.”
Erin sipped her tea.
“You didn’t want to Erin, why?”
“I didn’t like it.”
“You didn’t like what exactly?”
“Having someone else to answer to.”
“It wasn’t like that. It was someone to talk over your concerns with.”
“I don’t have any concerns. I’m happy with the way things are with us. I don’t have to talk about the intimate details of our marriage with a perfect stranger in order to make us work. What I need is some fun, some friends.”
“Okay, I hear you and I feel terrible that I’ve been happy while you’ve been miserable. I feel even worse that I didn’t notice. You need help to fit into Corbin’s Bend I can see that now, but in order to make that happen I think we need to talk to our mentors. We can do it together if you like.”
“I don’t like. So all three of you can gang up on me? No thanks.” Erin didn’t get why Zach thought it was necessary to ask other people how to fix everything. It was one thing to ask Brent to come and help with something that needed fixing in the house, but to go to a perfect stranger and explain that your wife was a loser that no one liked was embarrassing. To sit in a group of three all discussing how they could make you less of a loser was worse.
Zach didn’t raise his voice but he gave her the look. “Well we can’t leave things like this. I’ll make arrangements for us all to meet.”
“You can make arrangements for yourself, but don’t bother for me, I’m not going.” Erin knew she was getting herself into trouble, but at that very moment she didn’t care.
“You know very well that is not your decision to make.” Zach’s eyes didn’t leave hers.
“That’s not fair! I’m upset! Now’s not the time to throw around your head of house crap!”
Zach was around to her side of the counter in a second. He lifted her from the stool and stood her before him as easily as he would have a child, despite the fact that she was a grown woman. “Take your little butt into that bedroom and stand in the corner and think about what you just said.”
“I have to make dinner.” That last statement was both lame and clutching at straws she knew, but it was all she could come up with on the spur of the moment.
“Dinner will wait. Now go.” He set her moving with a smack to the back of her jeans.
* * * * *
Zach could have kicked himself as he watched his wife disappear into their room. How could he have let this happen? Talk about sleeping on the job. He should have insisted that she didn’t put Diana off when she tried to contact her. His own mentor, Diana’s husband Rick, had tried to warn him that it was too soon for Erin to break out on her own but things had seemed fine. They had hadn’t they? He racked his brain for proof or for clues, something that he should have noticed. Things that were not as they should have been, but he came up empty, Erin had hidden her unhappiness well and he’d let her. He could have headed this off at the pass if he’d been paying attention, he was sure of it. It was time he stepped up.
Zach closed the door gently behind him. After checking on the children and making sure they knew they were to stay in their rooms until they called, he had come in search of his wife. He stood with his back to the door admiring the sight of Erin while he judged her mood. Not repentant, that was for sure. Her back was stiff, her arms were folded and although she had stripped down to her panties as she was supposed to when in trouble, that and the fact that she was actually in the corner, were the only things that were submissive about her stance. That was his Erin, prideful for as long as she could get away with it.
“Can we just get on with it please?” Erin said from the corner.
“Oh, we most certainly can.” Zach took up a spot on the end of the bed. “Seeing as how you’re so eager, you can pick up your hairbrush from the dresser on your way over.” She did so but he could tell that it took everything she had to make her feet move without stomping.
“I’m sorry,” she tried once she was standing before him hairbrush in hand.
“Really? You don’t look very sorry. You look like you’re angry with me.”
“I don’t want to talk to Diana. If you loved me you wouldn’t make me.”
“Oh, you’re pulling out all the stops today. First you try stubbornly telling me no. Then you give me attitude and your last-ditch effort is emotional blackmail. I do love you and that’s precisely why I want to help you, which I’m going to whether you want me to or not.” Zach pulled her panties down and waited for her to step out of them, noticing that she was getting sorrier by the second.
“What if the girls come in?” she tried as he took her arm.
“The lock’s on and you know they wouldn’t open a door without knocking, after being told to stay in their rooms. Now stop stalling, bend over my knee.” He knew she would rather he just bent her over his knee but her attitude had made this a lesson in submitting as well. He ignored the pleading eyes. “Don’t make me count, you’ll get extras.”
“Please I’ll be happy,” she almost whimpered.
“That’s not fair! I was just talking to you.”
“You were bargaining with me, two.”
“Stop counting, please, Zach!”
“Okay, okay.” She practically threw herself over his knee.
He brought his hand down hard on her right cheek, waiting a few seconds for the color to rise to the surface in shape of his handprint. Another followed on the other cheek.
“Ow! Zach!” she whined, trying to wriggle away from his hand.
“Erin, I don’t want you to act happy,” he said as he found a steady rhythm, punctuating each word with a smack. His hand clapped noisily off her rapidly coloring bottom.
“Please, Zach, you’re doing it too hard!” She kicked her legs wildly, trying to dodge his punishing hand.
“You know how this family works,” he said with another round of spanks to both cheeks. “You wanted to live in a DD marriage.”
“I know, I know. I’m sorry!” she wailed.
“You don’t get to decide when or if you are going to so as your told.” Her bottom was getting very hot and quite pink so he stopped for a second to let her get her breath. “You don’t ever tell me no.” He started the spanking again, but slower and slightly softer. It was enough on an already burning bottom, Erin’s face crumpled.
“I was angry. I’m sorry.”
“I know, but what you said was very disrespectful and you hurt me. I don’t flaunt the fact that I’m head of house, it’s a responsibility that I take very seriously and something that I thought we were in agreement about.”
“We are!” Erin was crying hard now.
Zach was sure her tears had more to do with true repentance than pain now. She’d taken harder spankings than this one plenty of times. He stopped, helped her to stand and pulled her into his arms.
“I’m so..rry.” She sobbed into his shoulder.