Roommates

Continued from: Boardrooms & Bedrooms

If you remember, during the last post, my ears perked up like a deer, when young Skylar casually made a comment about spanking her roommate in university. That's right, this Skylar, the Librarian, with absolutely no experience in BDSM: 

My mind spun a visual of two giggling 19-year-olds with tequila on their breath, tickling and wrestling on their single beds after the bar. A couple smacks on the bum for one of them being too drunk, followed by a pass-out and the promise of a hangover the next morning. 

"No, it was for REAL." Skylar corrected, and began to tell me the whole story. 

By the end of her tale my mouth was dry, my jaw was on the floor, and the butterflies in my tummy were raging like a storm. 

Skylar has published papers, written a doctoral thesis and obviously reads like a fiend. She is very well-written and well-spoken. I thought I would ask her to write this one herself, she reluctantly agreed. Take it away, Sky. 

*************************

I remember the day we met like it was yesterday. I had just finished unpacking my bags in our shared dorm room, my muscles aching from the effort of lugging my belongings up three flights of stairs. As I stood there, surveying my already cluttered space, the door swung open and in walked this vision of exotic beauty. 

"Hi, I'm Eesha Patel," she said in a subdued tone. 

Eesha was petite, with long, raven-black hair. Her almond shaped eyes were green, framed by impossibly long lashes, and her lips were set in a shy smile. She was dressed simply, in jeans and a loose t-shirt.

I introduced myself, exchanging pleasantries and discussing our fields of study. Eesha was going to be a doctor. I could sense a tension in her, a coiled energy that seemed at odds with her gentle demeanour.

Over the next few months, as we settled into our routines, I noticed small things about Eesha. The way she would bite her lip when in deep thought, the nervous habit of twirling a lock of hair around her finger when stressed. She confided in me about her struggles with the demanding course load, her fear of falling behind. 

One day, in our second semester, Eesha burst into our room, her face flushed with anger and disappointment. She slammed her backpack onto her bed, sending papers flying everywhere. I looked up from my computer, startled by the sudden commotion. 

"What's wrong?" I asked, concern etched on my face. Eesha turned to me, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. 

"I failed," she whispered, her voice trembling. 

"Failed? But you're one of the top students at this entire university!" I protested, rising from my bed to comfort her. 

Eesha shook her head vehemently. "No, you don't understand. I got an 86 on my biochemistry exam."

I frowned, confused. "But that's a great mark. What's the problem?" 

Eesha sank onto her bed, her shoulders slumping. "In my family, anything less that a 90 is considered a failure. If my parents knew..." She trailed off, a shudder running through her body. 

"When I was younger, if I ever brought home a grade like this, my mother...my father would..." She hesitated, her cheeks flushing a deeper shade of red. "They would punish me," she admitted in a rush, her gaze fixed on the floor. 

I stared at her, shock and something else, something darker and more thrilling, coursing through me. "Like…Spank you? For getting a B+?" 

Eesha nodded miserably. 

"I know it sounds crazy, but it's how I was raised. The fear of disappointing them, of facing that punishment...it drove me to excel. And now, here I am, failing without that motivation. 

The next evening, as we prepared for bed, the atmosphere in our room was thick with tension. Eesha moved silently, her movements jerky and uncertain. She was dressed in a simple tee and sleep shorts, as I was. 

She climbed into bed and paused, her hand trembling as she reached for something on her nightstand. Slowly, she turned to face me, her eyes downcast, her cheeks burning with embarrassment. In her hand was the crumpled test paper, the damming 86 circled in angry red ink. Without a word she held it out to me, her arm shaking slightly. I took the paper, smoothing it out on my lap, my heart pounding in my chest. 

When I looked up, Eesha had sunk to her knees beside my bed, her head bowed low. "Please," she whispered, her voice barley audible, "I need you to punish me. Like my parents would. I deserve it for failing." 

I stared at her, my mouth suddenly dry, my palms sweating. The sight of her, so vulnerable, so desperate, ignited something within me. A darkness I had always known lurked beneath the surface, waiting for the right moment to emerge. I swallowed hard, my gaze flicking from the test paper to Eesha's trembling form. 

I sat up straighter on my bed, the test paper crumpled in my fist. 

"Eesh, I...I wouldn't know what to do," I admitted, my voice wavering. "I've never done anything like this befo…" But even as the words left my mouth, Eesha stood and remained silent, hooking her thumbs into the waistband of her pajama shorts. With agonizing slowness, she slid them down to her ankles, then completely off her socked feet. 

Then, in one fluid motion, she gripped the hem of her t-shirt and pulled it up, exposing the smooth expanse of her tummy and lower back. Before I could utter another word, she had draped herself across my lap, her body warm and pliant against mine. 

My hand hovered above the rounded globes of her bare bum, trembling slightly, as I fought the urge to caress her. Eesha's Sobs filled the room and I knew I couldn't deny her this, we had become such great friends over the past months. 

"Please Skylar," she wept, her voice raw with desperation. "Punish me, hard! I need it...I deserve it."

Goddess Sky

nee:

Dr. Skylar St. Germaine 

Continued in: Doctor Patel