Amy Goes To College: Chapter 1 Amy’s college life gets off to a spanking start

This story messes around with the college bad girl idea.

No deep meanings here, just a sex romp focused around a narcissitic young woman with a high sex drive and a college administration that seems to be up to no good.

Enjoy and let me know if you like it.

Amy goes to college

Chapter 1 Amy’s college life gets off to a spanking start

© Mike Kimera 2004



Subject: Confidential encrypted mail: Our new slut is primed.

Ok, so you did it again, Naomi. I’m talking about Amy Farmer of course. You really know how to pick them don’t you, my dear?

I wonder how many university admissions offices have a slut-spotter as good as you?

Of course, your preference for young girls is a strong incentive to hone your skills. You must have been creaming your panties when you interviewed Amy. Did you cross your legs and squeeze your thighs together? Were you able to concentrate on her banal answers to your questions or where you distracted by thoughts of working on her until she would accept your fist up her arse and still try to smile?

I’d read her profile of course: promiscuous delinquent, poor discipline record, big tits, heart shaped arse, and a pysch score that puts her libido in the upper decile: but it wasn’t until I met her in the flesh, and very nice flesh it is too, that I understood the low cunning, the spite and the arrogance that power her. She’s perfect for what we have in mind. We’ll run the little bitch through our mazes and she’ll think it’s all her own doing.

God, I love my job.

Who’d have thought that leaving Oxford behind (albeit not entirely voluntarily) and taking up the job of college Dean is this excuse for a university would have so many fringe benefits?

Are you sitting comfortably, my dear? Lock your office door, spread your luscious legs and find your toy of choice. I’m going to tell you all about my afternoon with Amy.

You’ve seen that “fuck me if you can” strut that she uses when she prowls around campus: all tossed hair, jutting tits, and swaying butt? It makes me want to hogtie her, tape one of your big “massage” Hitachi wands across her cunt and leave it there until the battery runs out.

But I digress.

Today, Ms Sluttorial Elegance excelled herself. She was wearing a tiny “catholic schoolgirl” plaid skirt, a thin white blouse a size too small and black bra and panties. I think she’s been watching Tatu videos. The look was so appropriate for what I had in mind that I decided that today should be the start of Amy’s extracurricular tuition.

As you know, the bitch is a pot-head, and I knew she wouldn’t make it through the morning without a hit. I had Mendez track her. I’m sure he enjoyed making the cameras zoom in on her over-displayed flesh, although the phallic symbolism of the extending camera would have been lost on his Neanderthal mind.

Do you think he ran his thumb down his erection as he watched her? Did he perchance, imagine ways to use her as our plans unfold? For one of such mediocre intellectual ability, our Head of Security can be surprisingly inventive. Do you remember the creative use he made of his nightstick with our last slut? Of course you do, you were sitting on her face at the time, as I recall.

Dearest Amy is not entirely stupid; she picked a deserted spot to get high; which was very convenient for us of course.

Mendez gave her time to get a buzz on and then he arrested her.

Poor little Amy, the nasty chief of campus security cuffed her hands behind her back, put her in his car and drove her to the Dean’s office. You know, that eccentric British Dean who has such a fearsome reputation for discipline and a well publicised policy of zero tolerance for substance abuse. How I enjoy the impression that I make, especially when most of it is false.

My new secretary, (another miraculous find of yours by the way. Mrs Almeda dresses like a Sunday school teacher, is almost old enough to be my mother, wears a wedding ring on her finger and a cross at her neck, won’t look me in the eye, even when she has my cock in her mouth; but she’ll do things most whores would blush at and do them promptly and obediently. She doesn’t enjoy them much it seems, but that just adds a spice to the dish. I wonder what hold you have over her? I have a nasty suspicion that somehow I am her punishment – your personal equivalent of a community service sentence perhaps– but I digress yet again – back to little Amy’s awful afternoon.) let them into my office as if the sight of a handcuffed co-ed dressed up as jailbait and smelling of marijuana was an everyday part of our office routine. If only it were so.

“You have visitors, sir,” she said and closed the door behind her on her way out.

Mendez pushed Amy further into my office. I had a splendid view of her tits bouncing as she struggled keep her balance.

“She was doing drugs, Mr Shaw. Shall I call the police?”

Sometimes that’s all the threat we need to get them in tears, but it didn’t work with Amy.

“Yeah, call the police.” Amy said, turning to face Mendez and flashing her panties at me in her haste, “and I’ll tell them about the perverted college rent-a-cop who cuffed me and then felt me up.

Mendez reached for his nightstick but I stopped him with a glance.

Standing behind Amy, I said, “Is this true, Mendez?”

I placed my hand on Amy’s shoulder, my fingers apparently accidentally brushing her bra strap. The heat of her made me instantly hard.

Mendez grinned. Amy looked confused. Then she noticed that my hand was still on her shoulder. Her little pot-fuddled brain was slowly working out that something was wrong.

“You can leave us now, Mendez. Ms Farmer and I have things to discuss.”

Mendez gave Amy a leer that would have curdled milk and then left.

I let go of Amy and leant back against my desk.

“Hey, wait,” Amy shouted as Mendez closed the door behind him. She turned to face me “He’s got the keys to these cuffs,” she said.

I stayed silent and studied her.

As you know I like to keep my office at a cool, nipple-stiffening temperature. A Dean has to give advice to so many young women and in our wonderful desert location, so few of them dress for the cold. I find it heart-warming to have such a responsive student body. Or do I mean bodies?

I watched with interest as Amy adjusted to the temperature. Her nipples are short but unusually wide. Better suited to a stud piercing than nipple rings I think. Two of those nice fat silver studs that look like little dog-bones. They keep the nipple lifted and provide convenient places for attaching weights and chains. Sigh… the expertise a man acquires in the course of his career.

Amy followed my gaze and ended up staring stupidly at her own tits. A perfect look for her I thought.

“You are in trouble, Ms. Farmer. Your academic record is mediocre at best; you’ve already been expelled from two schools. On the last occasion I believe you should count yourself lucky not to have been charged with arson.”

Poor little handcuffed Amy looked more disturbed by the threatening tone of my official persona than she had been at being mauled by Mendez. That speaks volumes as to the nature of the girl, don’t you think.

Just when it is dawning on her that this might be a disciplinary hearing and that she might be sent home, I let our precious sluttling off the hook.

I looked her up and down, taking in every curve and every hollow. With my eyes still lingering on those stubby little nipples, I said, “You have been a very bad girl, Amy.”

Amy smiled then; she thought she had it all figured out. She was back on familiar territory and snapped into role immediately.

“I didn’t mean to be bad, sir”, she pouted. “Mostly, I’m very, very, good. Or so they tell me.”

She walked towards me as she said this, head down, looking up at me from under her fringe, breasts jutting out because her hands were so tightly bound behind her; wanting me to think that she was a submissive little miss.

When she reached me, Amy rested her cunt against my thigh, her breasts against my chest, looked up at me and said, “If you take these handcuffs off, I’ll try to show you how good I can be, sir.”

I gave her a second or two to register my erection, long enough for her to think she was going to fuck her way out of trouble, then I pushed myself off the edge of the desk, letting her fall past me and onto the desk.

Amy struggled to stand. I put the palm of my hand between her shoulders and pushed until her fat tits where squashed against my desk.

“Ms Farmer, I do believe that you have compounded your original offence by offering sexual services in order to avoid being disciplined.”

Amy tried to push up off the desk, but with my hand on her back and her hands cuffed behind all she succeeded in doing was spreading her legs a little.

“LET. ME. UP!” she spat.

So much for submissive little Miss.

“If I let you up Ms Farmer, it will be to expel you. Is that what you want?

Amy stopped struggling.

“You didn’t answer my question, Ms Farmer. Do you want me to let you up off my desk?”


“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you. Please don’t mumble.”


“’No’ what?”

There was a pause. This was where I would know if I had her.

She worked it out.

“No I don’t want to get up off your desk… sir.”

I let go of her then. Staying behind her, I said, “I am the Dean of this College and it is my job to instil discipline. Discipline is very important don’t you think?”

I waited. She didn’t need further prompting.

“Yes, sir. Discipline is important, sir.”

“I think,” I said, flipping Amy’s parody of a skirt up over her back, “that if we handle this privately…” I slid the flat of my hand over her right buttock. “We can put the whole matter behind us.”

My fingers hooked the top of Amy’s provocative black panties. “Do you agree, Ms. Farmer?”

I swear I could smell her cunt. The little bitch was angry but she was horny angry, my favourite kind.

“Yes. I agree. Sir.”

I was so tempted to rip those panties off, rub them across her drizzling cunt, stuff them in her mouth and ream her arse but I resisted. I didn’t want to land that fish yet, I just wanted to plant the hook in its mouth and let it run until it was tired. Very sporting of me don’t you think?

I did rip off the panties of course. I had to gag the bitch with something.

She pretended surprise but she spread her legs a little wider, waiting for me to fuck her, daring me to really.

I made her wait.

When she started to turn her head to see why nothing had happened, I hit her hard across the right buttock.

Her gasp of surprise was gratifying, even through the gag.

I hit her again, five or six rapid blows delivered with all the strength I could muster. I stopped because my hand stung and I needed to catch my breath.

Little Amy was having difficulty breathing. I doubt she’d ever felt real pain before, not the kind of pain the savages your consciousness like a dog shaking a rabbit, not the kind that leaves you aware of nothing but its presence and your overwhelming desire for it to leave.

Gently I slid my hand over the warmth of her spanked skin. She was pink rather than purple but we had only just started. I am an atheist as you know, but I am still willing to learn from Christianity, I decided to turn to her other cheek. This one was slightly further away, so I pulled her hip up against my erection, held her down with one hand and bent to my task.

These blows were hard but slow, each one producing a mighty slapping sound, the sound of one hand clapping, followed by a low grunt from Amy. She sounded like a woman tennis player delivering a strenuous serve. I wondered if she grunted like that with every fuck stroke when she is taken from behind.

After the first dozen slaps, I picked up the pace, until the sound was more like rapid applause and Amy’s grunts had stretched out into one long moan of protest.

I stopped. Amy’s legs were trembling. One side of her arse was the shade of ripe plum. She was still moaning although the blows had ceased. It seemed to me that she was trying to find an angle to rub her clit against the desk. The slut was trying to get off.

I pulled on the handcuffs and yanked her to her feet. Her eyes were filled with tears and snot was running from her nose, but the flush on her neck and the lust in her eyes declared her arousal.

I had stopped just in time.

“Let that be a lesson to you, Ms Farmer,” I said, pulling the panties from her mouth and using them to wipe her eyes and nose.

Anger replaced lust in her eyes then. I could see she wanted to swear at me just as soon as she had the moisture in her mouth to do so.

“Now, Ms. Farmer. Be polite or all this will have been for nothing and I will have to expel you after all.”

She glared at me but she said nothing.

“Turn around, Ms. Farmer.”

She wanted to ask a question but thought better of it.

When she obeyed, I asked her to bend over. Then I stood so close to her that the back of her thighs pressed against the front of mine.

“You’ve had your punishment now, Amy. It’s time for your reward. Do you know what I’m going to do now, Amy?”

There was a pause. She leant back against me a little and said, “Yes, sir.”

“Do I have your consent?”

“Yes, sir”. Her voice was husky. She wanted so much to get off that she was willing to be fucked by the man who’d just turned her arse into tenderised steak.

“Good.” I said. I leant forward, pushing up against her sore arse, and unlocked the handcuffs.

“You can go now, Ms. Farmer.” I said stepping away from her and moving towards the door.

When I looked back, Amy was only just starting to stand upright. She’d stayed bend over, waiting for my cock, and she couldn’t believe that her cunt was still empty.

I smiled at her and Amy finally figured out that she wasn’t going to get off.

Before she could express her rage, I opened the door and said, “I need you in my office please, Mrs. Almeda”

Mrs Almeda entered, eyes downcast as usual.

“Ms. Farmer is just leaving,” I said, more to Amy than to my secretary.

Amy started to flounce out of the room, then seemed to notice that she wasn’t wearing any panties under her alleged skirt and slowed down a little as she passed Mrs Almeda, then she broke into a run.

I must prompt Mendez to find the surveillance tape of her exit; it should be good to look at in slo mo.

With Amy gone I was left with nothing but Mrs. Almeda and my erection.

What a happy coincidence.

“Strip, Mrs. Almeda, then bend over and grasp your ankles,”

She undressed with quiet efficiency and then assumed the position. She really is a remarkably supple woman.

I knew she wouldn’t be able to hold the position for long but she wouldn’t need to.

When I unzipped, my cock virtually reared with excitement.

I reached down and pushed Amy’s panties into Mrs Almeda’s mouth, then I spread her arse cheeks.

The anal beads I’d slid in earlier were only detectable by the little pullring sticking out of my secretary’s arse. I pulled on it like it was a ripcord on a parachute and all six beads came out in rapid succession. Mrs Almeda said something in Spanish that sounded colourful but not polite.

I pressed down on her hips to make her bend her knees a little and then I pushed into her arse, holding onto her hips so that she wouldn’t fall and leave my cock in mid air.

The beads had left her arsehole tight but welcoming. It took no more than dozen strokes and all the tension of the afternoon flowed into Mrs Almeda’s bowels.

When I was done, Mrs Almeda fell to her knees and waited for me to remove Amy’s panties so she could suck my cock clean.

Did you teach her that, Naomi dear? If you did, it was very thoughtful of you.

While Mrs Almeda’s mouth did what it does best, I mentally reviewed the session with Amy. I decided it had gone well. The girl has potential. And what an arse. Just the memory of it under my hand was enough to get me hard again.

Mrs. Almeda took that in her stride of course. Well actually she took it down her throat but you know what I mean.

I’m a generous man by nature, so I gave Mrs. Almeda the rest of the day off and set about writing you this email.

I’m certain we’ve found our candidate for this year. The next move is up to her but I’m sure come up with something interesting.

Best Regards


The Cellar

“The Cellar” is a very early story of mine. It’s more a scene than a story. Back then, I hadn’t learnt how to write dialogue and a plot was a luxury I felt I could do without. I offer it here because, whatever it may lack in craft, it makes up for in the sheer energy of brutal desire. When I wrote it I wondered what had become of me to have such things in my head. This was not the way I was brought up to regard women.

After it appeared on ERWA, I  got a few mails from women who told me that, on certain nights, when the need was strong, they shivered at the thought of being in this Cellar.

It got me thinking about the gap between what we are happy to imagine and what we would actually want to do and what this says about desire.


The Cellar

My hand hurts from spanking you. On one cheek. Not red now. Starting to turn blue black. Fifteen minutes of punishment. Hard, large hand with all my weight behind it. Your face is covered in tears and snot. Your hands, each tied to the elbow of the other arm, open and close with spasms of pain. You whimper because you can no longer scream. You have made my cock hard against your naked belly.

I lay you down on the cold wet stone flags of the cellar. You strain to keep your butt off the floor. I put my boot on your clit and grind you onto the stone. I slip the tip of my pointed boot into your cunt. Even now you can’t resist fucking it.

I kneel between your legs and tell you to be very, very still. My razor, open blade not safety, slides over your pussy, kissing the edges of your clit. No lubrication other than your sweat. The blade is so sharp that, if I were to cut you, it would be seconds before you noticed and even then the trickle of blood would be your first indication. Despite the pain from your bruised butt you lay flat and still on the flagstones.

So smooth, your skin.I test the lack of stubble with my tongue but avoid giving you the satisfaction of having your clit licked. Your cunt snatches at my tongue, pleading for attention. You know better than to speak.

Your eyes widen as I reach for the rope that will tie your legs to the rings in the flagstones. You are split, newly shaven, moist and swollen.

When the riding crop hits your mound your scream surprises even you. You bounce on your sore arse, unable to believe the pain. Again. Again. Again.

Red welts rise, making chevrons pointing to your clit. A final, vicious, slice through the air ends with the tip of the crop connecting with your clit.

It takes several seconds before you stop twitching.

I kneel, lift your buttocks off the floor, your shoulders still on the ground, your legs stretched by the ropes. You are trembling. Yet, pain-slut that you are, your cunt is wet as I slide into it.

My hips move rapidly, pounding your abused mound. In minutes I am ready to come I pull out and rest my cock on your clit as ropes of white cum spray up your belly.

I wipe my cock on your thighs.

I watch you from the top of the stairs. You are still humping air, seeking release, as I turn out the light and close the door behind me.