You moonlight as a punishment guru

The familiar sensation of a grad-student gently sucking your morning stiffy stirs you from your nightly slumber. Whilst the excellent oral skills being demonstrated could never be described as boring, you find your mind wandering to the other girl awaiting you in the cellar. Over the past few months, your fame as a disciplinarian has been spreading beyond the university, thanks in no small part to your students publicizing your sternness on social media (at your request). As a result, you've been able to carve out a niche as an obedience trainer to the daughters of the wealthy. Like the college, you only accept the most attractive young ladies and only on the understanding that you will be inflicting the most rigorous and intense chastisement upon their tender and helpless bodies.

Last night, a petite blonde called Skylark was sent to you to prepare her for adulthood. Only recently turned eighteen, the marks left by her assessment had barely faded, which is exactly how you like it. You recall the pleasant evening you spent demanding increasingly degrading acts of submission from the entitled little princess and punishing her mercilessly for every failure or hesitation. The memory of claiming the maidenhead from her recently-birched cunt provides just the stimulus needed for your student Bethany to bring you to your first orgasm of the day and you surge out of bed, rejuvenated and eager for action.

Skylark (it's hardly her fault she has such a silly name) has spent the night tied to your whipping post, being tormented by the rough points of contact abrading sensitive parts of her anatomy and since you usually give your girls another severe thrashing before sending them home, you delay your ablutions until afterwards, as you tend to work up quite a sweat. The one thing you could do beforehand is use the lavatory, but you sometimes find a full bladder helpful in testing the limits of your guests' obedience and acceptance of your authority.

You throw on a robe and head downstairs to an excellent breakfast prepared by Bethany. She's also fed the teenager in the basement, although the meal she received, whilst nutritious, was calculated to be revolting in the ****. While you eat, your grad-student reports on the status of your suffering guest, revealing the excruciating encouragement she had to inflict to get her to swallow the objectionable slop.

"…then she puked up most of it, but I caught it all in the bowl and made her eat it again, after covering her breasts in bulldog clips and ripping them all off together as you instructed. She threw up in her mouth a few more times, but swallowed it down rather than have me use the retractable pincers. I've given her a good scrubbing with the usual disinfectant, so she should be nice and clean for you as well as leaving her skin very tender indeed."

"Very good," you reply. "I'll see you downstairs after you've cleaned up here." Bethany's frank discourse has done nothing to hamper your appetite and you polish off the last morsels with gusto before making your way to the cellar with a spring in your step. Turning on the light, you see the delicate form of the eighteen year old strapped helplessly to your whipping post, welted from head to toe and positively quivering with either pain or dread, or likely both.