Kathy Andrews - Disciplined mother

"What kind of animal are you?" Carla Henniger stared with mounting terror at the big man, her fingers pressed against her lips while her eyes rounded. This hadn't been at all what she'd expected. Why had he hit her? Drawing one hand up to her cheeks, she felt the burning still on her flesh. A tear rolled from one eye as she backed away, shaking her head from side to side.

"Don't… don't touch me! Don't come near me, or I'll scream for the police!"

Looking around, the attractive woman searched for a way out – any way. This interview hadn't gone well at all. And to think she'd thought about entering her daughter in this hellhole of a private school!

"Come on Mrs. Henniger. Or should I call you Carla? I think we're going to get to know each other well, Carla."

The tall, blonde, attractive woman backed away, shrinking from Mike Appleton's hand. He had hit her, struck her across the face while laughing at her. Where was the rest of the staff? What had happened to them? He had taken her on a tour of the private girls' school here in the deserted back country, ten miles east of San Bernardino, stressing the institution's policy of strict discipline coupled with fine academics.

Carla had thought it strange that the few girls she saw walked in two's and seemed to shy away from her as she approached them. There weren't the usual high-spirited athletic activities going on as at other schools. Still, Carla thought that a somber atmosphere was just, what her daughter needed – something that would tame what she thought were some dangerous tendencies toward delinquency. But this – this maniac had cornered her in his office alter the tour, locked the door and then made obscene suggestions. When she refused and indignantly demanded to be let go, he had struck her, backhanding her across the left cheek. Carla stood there stunned, not believing he had hit her. No one had done that, not even her father when disciplining her! And now this complete stranger had struck her and was even sneering at her!

"Help! Help me! Somebody, please!" Carla cried, turning her head and calling out until her throat hurt.

No one. He had timed this perfectly, ensuring the administration building was empty before approaching her. He took one step, holding a hand out to her.

Again, Carla shrank away, holding both hands to her tits while pressing her full, firm ass against the wall. She could hear the steady ticking of the wooden-framed clock above her as if it were telling her to run. Her flesh crawled as she again stared at the door behind the tally dark-haired chief administrator. He was pulling off his tie now, opening his shirt, revealing the hairs on his chest while still approaching her. That look in his eyes – those black pools of utter depravity! Never before had Carla felt as trapped, as helpless as she did flaw.

"You're wasting your breath and my time," Mike said, shrugging off his jacket, then rolling up the sleeves of his white dress shirt.

"No, oh no," she whimpered, her voice seeming to shrink inside her.

"There. Now, that's better," Mike said, smiling at her. "A mother should always find out about the school her daughter's going to attend. And the best way to do that," he said, his smile fading somewhat, "is to experience the same lessons…"

"Lessons?"

"Just that. You'll learn the obedience you want your daughter to study. And you'll do it right, or we'll try again."

"No!"

Mike threw himself on top of her, his feet kicking her ankles apart while his hands ripped at her blue cotton print dress. Carla was frantic, her mind going blank as she felt his fingers tearing at the material. His lips were on her throat, sucking hard, his teeth nearly breaking her, skin. There were times when he gathered strands of her hair in the fist of one hand, jerking her head back, the pain forcing her jaws to part. She screamed the shriek of the damned, the pain knifing through her body. Then he let go, his finger groping for the zipper of her dress, tearing it down, opening the drew, then pulling it from her slender shoulders. She felt the drag of the material over her arms, her thighs, her feet. Flinging her hands around her tits, Carla managed to break away from him, scooting behind his desk and gripping auto the high-backed leather chair.

"Help! Police! Oh God, God, why doesn't someone come here?"

Tears blinded Carla as she rushed from behind the desk for the door. Stretching out his right foot, Mike tripped the fleeing woman, sending her crashing facedown onto the blue carpeted floor.

"Uhhhhhh!"

The fall temporarily stunned Carla. She lay there, her hands out in front of her, in left cheek pressed against the floor while her legs were wide apart. Reaching down, he unbuckled his wide black leather belt, pulling it from his trousers and wrapping the buckled end so tightly around his knuckles they whitened.

Carla began coming to, bracing her arms on either side of her body while pushing up. She knew she had to escape. She knew she had to run from this madhouse or something terrible would happen to her and her daughter Krystal. Somehow, she managed to get to her hands and knees, shaking the loose hair from her face. Where was Mike? She couldn't see him for the moment. Then, looking up, Carla stiffened. She saw his shadow on the wall in front of her. One hand was raised, cocked over her body while a slender shadow hung down from his fingers.

"No!"

She could hear the leather hiss through the air. With a sharp laugh, he brought it down across her round firm asscheeks, the leather slicing into the nylon right over her ass crack. Carla flung her head back, her hair sweeping over her throat and shoulders as a scream ripped from her throat. She pitched forward, her arms collapsing under her.

"That's good," Mike said approvingly, scratching his thick, well-trimmed beard. Carla whimpered, feeling the flesh of her asscheeks stinging with the hard blow.

"Very good. Now let's try it again."

Once more the belt hissed through the air, arcing down, the beveled tip biting into her ass flesh and making the woman scream for mercy. Again and again, the belt slashed across her ass, the blows forcing her panties to ride up until the legbands was up against her groin.

Mike stepped forward, pressing the toe of his black engineering boots into her asscrack, wiping the translucent nylon into her shiner. Carla gagged, stretching out her hands once more and trying to pull her body forward, away from the big stud. He moved his foot, kicking her with his heel.

"Over. Onto your fuckin' ass!" he growled, dropping all pretense at civility.

With a great effort, the panting, sobbing woman rolled onto her spine, cupping her hands instinctively over her cunt. Mike brought the toe of his left boot around once more, kicking away her fingers, staring at her blonde cunt bush barely visible through her panties.

Carla trembled, feeling as if she were on an operating table, an experiment, something to be toyed with then thrown away like a useless, filthy piece of trash. Mike brought one foot up and drew it over her cunt. Rubbing his toe against her right inner thigh, he moved it up until the boot was wrinkling the damp material into her cunthole. Carla stiffened, writhing her shoulders against the carpet until it scratched her uncomfortably. She felt the nylon scraping over her cuntal walls, felt the pressure of that hard, leather-booted toe pressing into her pussy. It was awful, unbelievable that this was happening to her! The incident numbed her mind. This was the sort of thing that happened to other people, victims you read about in the papers and wondered how on earth they ever got into those situations.

"Uhhhhh!"

Mike kicked her knees apart, stepping back while doubling the belt in his right hand. He tapped it gently, teasingly against his kneecap, watching as the woman shivered. Carla could almost feel the kiss of the belt against her skin now as it rubbed up against his trousers. With a quick move of his arm, Mike brought the leather dawn hard, smacking it dryly against her exposed belly.