Bellport Hotwives

Bellport Hotwives Pt. 1 - Disciplined By The Dean

Cuckolds and hotwives on a prestigous college campus...yes please. If you enjoy those themes along with a little bratty BDSM. You'll probably enjoy this one. If cuckold stories make your blood boil, this isn't the fictional escapist erotica for you.

💋Mona

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Bellport University was a prestigious establishment, renowned for its many high-achieving alumni across a broad range of disciplines, not to mention its professional athletes. For young students, it was exactly the type of school one clawed tooth and nail to get into, knowing life would be better as a Bellport alumnus.

Hundreds of hours of studious preparation were required to pass the rigorous entrance exams. That, or a generous donation to the school's building fund, had been known to sway the faculty.

It was the latter that was responsible for Brad's presence on campus. He'd never had much money. Fortunately, his wife Petra was from a wealthy local family who had been willing to make the contribution in order to avoid telling their snobbish friends that their daughter was attending a community college.

Nothing but Bellport for their precious girl. It was also little wonder that Petra was something of a spoiled brat. But Brad didn't care. Petra was sex on legs, and her lithe form and perfectly round ass deserved to be spoiled. Petra was a brunette with blown-out ring curls, a small but impossibly perky bust, and a smile that had captured Brad's heart.

He'd courted her until she'd given in and agreed to marry him, and their families couldn't have been happier. Brad's parents were nowhere near as wealthy as the Vandercamps, but that just meant Petra didn't need to waste as much time explaining why they were going to do things her way.

And Brad didn't protest. As long as Petra was in his bed, life was perfect. Two twenty-year-olds living on campus and enjoying their newlywed bliss.

Until one Monday morning when they were summoned to Dean Radison's office a little after 9:00 a.m.

The Dean sat behind his large timber desk. The wood was old and worn, no doubt a fixture of the office for the last century. It matched the rich paneling on the walls and spoke of class and refinement.

Dean Radison was tall, a little over six feet, and wore a suit and tie. His hair was dark but shot through with grays, the only sign that the Dean was approaching sixty.

"Brad, Petra, take a seat." He pointed at the chairs before his massive desk. "That will be all, Mrs. Gunthrop. Please hold my calls. We aren't to be disturbed."

His aging secretary nodded as she backed out of the office and closed the door behind her.

"What's all this about?" Petra asked, her nose turned up. "I was in class, you know."

Brad reached across and placed his hand on his wife's arm. "What Petra means, sir, is how can we be of assistance?"

The notion that Petra might do something to help someone else was an entirely distasteful prospect. She was the one who ought to be served. After all, she was a Vandercamp.

Dean Radison ignored Brad altogether, his eyes focused on Petra.

"I remember well your mother's time here, Petra," the Dean began. "She started out every bit the entitled brat you are, but we soon taught her the Bellport way."

"How dare you speak about my mother that way." Petra pointed a finger at the Dean. "My family's money helped build this school."

"I'm aware, Petra. Which makes it all the more embarrassing that you're about to be expelled from it. Both of you, actually. I'm going to need you to pack your room and be off the premises by 5:00 p.m."

"Expelled?" Brad gasped. "For what?"

The Dean reached into his drawer and pulled out an envelope. Slowly he slid three printed pictures onto the desk before him. Each of them showed Brad and Petra dancing and drinking at a local party. Brad remembered the night well. It was the previous Friday night, and it had been a particularly good night.

Petra had gotten herself so tipsy and worked up they'd done it in the back seat before leaving the party.

"Underage drinking," the Dean replied. "A crime in this great state and a breach of the school's honor code. You're both going to need to finish your education elsewhere."

Underage drinking? Brad couldn't believe his ears. Everyone drank here. Bellport might have been prestigious, but money meant mischief, and alcohol was the least of what happened behind closed doors on and around campus.

"Sir, please, you can't. I'll do anything."

Petra stared at the Dean, her dainty fists gripping the armrests of her chair. "You wouldn't dare."

"I can and I will." The Dean smiled. There was malice in his grin. It was almost as if he was enjoying himself. "Of course, the Dean can always exercise his professional judgment to vary the school's disciplinary protocols. I just worry that they might be a waste of time in this instance. I fear I'm looking at a lost cause."

"No, sir," Brad stammered. "We'll do anything."

"Eat my ass." Petra held up her hand, examining her manicure. "My parents would never allow you to expel me."

The Dean leaned back in his chair.

"Brad, report to the ground staff. You'll be assisting them in mulching the gardens today. If you work hard, I'll forget this little indiscretion ever took place."

Brad rose to his feet and stopped. "What about Petra?"

"This little brat?" The Dean scorned. "We'll see if a little time to think doesn't bring about some genuine contrition. She'll see you this evening."

Brad shot Petra a pleading look. "Don't be stubborn, baby. It's not worth it."

Petra scoffed, and Brad slunk out of the office. Unfortunately, his young wife just didn't know how to pick her battles. It was likely her parents' fault. Brad just hoped they both didn't pay the price for her pride.

He slunk out of the office and closed the door behind him.

Petra shook her head. Brad was about to spend all day doing menial work. Had she taught him nothing? All he had to do was hold his ground. What was this crusty old dean going to do to them?

Nothing.

"Are we done here?" Petra folded her arms. "If I miss any more classes today, I'm going to tell my father, and the board will have your job."

The Dean stroked his chin. "I see you're going to be a challenge, Ms. Vandercamp. Perhaps I should have started with the carrot rather than the stick."

He reached into his suit coat and pulled out a card. "Please accept this gift card as a token of my apology. You can use it anywhere on campus. Why not take Brad out to dinner, or buy yourself something from the commissary?"

Leaning forward, the Dean set the gift card just beyond the steel placard that ran in a band along the front of his desk.

"It's good to see you know where your bread is buttered," Petra laughed. "I'll get you trained yet, Radison."

She reached forward, her slender fingers closing around the gift card. So much for being expelled. She was going to need to show Brad how to handle these types of authority figures.

The moment her hand passed over the steel band, there was a whir. The steel band segmented, and two pieces snapped into place around Petra's slender wrist.

"What the fuck?" Petra squealed as her hand stopped shy of the gift card.

"Language!" Dean Radison replied calmly as he opened his drawer and removed a wooden ruler.

Petra reached for the steel band clamped around her wrist, only for another to snap into place around her left wrist.

What had appeared to be a solid placard of steel was revealed to be an entire series of smaller pieces of steel moving independently on some sort of tracked device. The steel restraints slid apart until they were the width of her shoulders.

"I'm surprised your mother didn't warn you about Bellport's disciplinary protocols. She was also a prissy little princess when she showed up. Fortunately, we whipped her into shape."

"Whipped?" Petra's voice rose an octave. "If you touch me, I'll have you arrested."

The Dean smiled. "You signed the honor code, didn't you?"

"Yes, of course," Petra stammered. "But it didn't say anything about this."

"First lesson, Petra. Always read the fine print. Serious breaches of the honor code are subject to discipline at the Dean's discretion."

Petra tried to pull her hands out, but the restraints were simply too tight. "Wait, you can't."

The Dean lifted a pair of padded restraints from the drawer and circled the desk. She wished she'd paid more attention to the old desk before she'd reached over it. The front of it was scarred and pitted, like it had been kicked.

The Dean peeled back the edge of a rug and lifted a wrought-iron ring set in the floor behind her right leg. He passed the restraint through it and fastened it around her right ankle. Petra tried to struggle, but with her wrists firmly locked in place, she couldn't move.

The Dean pulled her left ankle out until it was wider than her shoulders and fastened it to a second ring set in the floor.

"This is the position, Petra," the Dean instructed. "Until you've been suitably trained, we'll use the restraints. When you're told to assume the position, this is what is expected of you. Do you understand?"

"Fuck you," Petra hissed.

"All in good time," the Dean tutted. "In the meantime, we're going to need to deal with that potty mouth."

The Dean stood behind her.

"Of course, I wouldn't do anything without your consent, Petra, so I'll give you a choice."

"What choice? You've tied me to the desk." Petra struggled ineffectually against the restraints.

"You can submit to me, just like your mother did twenty years ago. Or I can release you and you can go. You'll be expelled, of course. Brad too. Bellport isn't for quitters. Are you a quitter, Petra?"

Petra dug in her heels. Quit? And go home in shame. Quit and have to tell her parents she'd flunked out of Bellport in less than a year. Her mother and father would be intolerable. She couldn't face them.

She also couldn't leave until she knew more about her mother's mischief. It was clear she'd been the subject of discipline too. Perhaps if she stayed, Petra might finally gain some leverage she could use against her mother.

"I'm no quitter," Petra spat defiantly. "Do your worst."

The Dean rested his hand on Petra's waist. "Brats don't last at Bellport, Petra. But obedient girls are rewarded."

"Whatever." Petra shrugged. The position of her hands and legs forced her to bend at the waist, leaning forward over the desk.

The Dean reached down and lifted the hem of her skirt, flipping it up over the curve of her ass and revealing the lacy white briefs she was wearing. They had a little too much coverage for the Dean's purposes. Hooking a finger beneath the thin fabric at each side of her waist, Dean Radison drew them together, hiking the fabric up until it was riding high between the firm flesh of her ass and both cheeks were on full display.

"Ahh," Petra groaned, her cheeks flushing red with embarrassment. "You can't treat me like this."

"Say it," the Dean's lips whispered against her ear.

When Petra didn't reply, the Dean lifted the wooden ruler off his desk and, without hesitation, brought it down on her ass.

Smack.

"Ahh," Petra gasped. "What the fuck?"

Smack. Smack. Smack.

The Dean was relentless. Each rise and fall of the ruler landed it smartly on a different part of her tight, married ass.

"Say it," the Dean moved the ruler slowly over her right cheek.

Petra was a stubborn brat, but she wasn't stupid. She knew what the Dean wanted but was proud. Giving in was not in her nature, but the alternative hardly seemed worth the price her tender ass was paying.

"Brats don't last at Bellport, but good girls are rewarded."

"Excellent!" The Dean praised her sudden change of heart. "Now we need to work on that potty mouth of yours. Coarse language should only be used when you're being a naughty little slut."

"A what?" Petra's leg shook.

The Dean ran the ruler over her left cheek. "A naughty little slut."

Without warning he pulled her panties down to her knees, which was as far as they'd go with her legs splayed out. Placing one hand on either side, the Dean pulled until the flimsy fabric tore in half.

Petra gasped. "Shit."

Spank. Spank. Spank.

This time it was his bare hand, twice on one cheek, once on the other. His big hand covered even more of her supple flesh than the ruler had.

"Ahhhh," the gasp dissolved into a moan on the third spanking.

"There we go." The Dean chuckled as he cupped her ass. "I think we found her."

"Who?" Petra asked, her head still swimming in a mix of pain, embarrassment, and, much to her own surprise, arousal. She could feel herself getting wetter as the Dean humiliated her.

No one had ever treated her like this. They tended to beg, plead, or otherwise try to earn her favor. Brad had always worshipped the ground her slender legs walked on.

"The naughty little slut." The Dean smiled. "I've found there's almost always one beneath the brat."

"What do you want from me?" Petra asked.

"I want to let her out to play." The Dean replied. "I like to play. Do you, Petra?"

"I'm married," Petra whispered. It was a weak excuse, and even she didn't believe it as the words trickled out of her mouth. She just didn't understand the slow bead of arousal seeping down her thigh.

"I don't care." The Dean's voice was firm. "Most of my favorite toys have been."

Obedient girls, naughty sluts, toys. The Dean had seemed old to her when she'd first walked into the office. Now he seemed in control, confident, powerful, untouchable.

"I think I might like to play," Petra's voice was soft but had the slight warble of excitement as she felt her lips betray her.

"Then tell me what you are, and we'll begin."

Petra drew a deep breath. Her cheeks were flushed with arousal and embarrassment. She'd never been so vulnerable, exposed, or excited.

"I'm a naughty little slut," Petra answered.

The Dean walked around her, his eyes appraising every inch of her.

"Not yet," his lips rose into a smile. "But you will be."

He paused, and Petra could feel his presence as he lingered behind her.

The Dean cleared his throat. "I believe your exact words were... Eat my ass."

Petra trembled in her restraints. Her words, uttered in haste, echoing back to her as the Dean laughed behind her.

"Is that what you want, Petra? Someone to eat that tight little ass of yours? I must admit, it's exquisite. The real question is, what would that do for you?"

He let the question linger a moment before bringing his hand down on her cheek.

Spank.

"Ahh," Petra groaned, her moan a sweet simmering of pain and pleasure.

"Bound and at the mercy of a man three times your age." He moved behind her, and she knew that he was right. She couldn't move, even if she wanted to. The restraints binding her to the timber desk and floor were immovable.

Worse still, she'd chosen this. The fact her humiliation was starting to arouse her was a problem Petra was yet to conceive a solution to.

The Dean of Bellport University knew exactly what he was doing. Petra couldn't help but think that somewhere out on the campus her husband was enduring his punishment, day-laboring with the maintenance crew.

While she was doing... well, she didn't know what to call this. But she knew Brad would not be pleased. They had been married less than a year, and she was wondering what it would be like for the Dean to do exactly what he'd threatened.

Her torn panties rested on the desk, her white button-down blouse was tucked into her skirt (which had been flipped up onto her back to expose her ass). Most men seemed to think it was her best feature. The Dean clearly agreed, as he'd been fixated on it since this bizarre disciplinary session had begun.

She couldn't see him, but she heard his knees hit the floor.

He gripped one of her cheeks in each hand and spread them.

"Oh God," she gasped, her cheeks flushing with nervous anticipation.

The Dean said nothing, but Petra soon felt the warmth of his tongue teasing at her labia. Her leg trembled as he licked away from her clit, his tongue dancing over the soft, sensitive skin before finding her forbidden hole.

She'd never let Brad near it, but as the Dean's tongue probed her she was starting to wonder why. His invasion was sending sparks of excitement firing through her body. She felt so helpless and humiliated, but the illicit nature of the exchange was also taboo, exciting, and undeniably thrilling.

She tried to resist but found herself thrusting her ass back into his tongue, willing it to explore further. Then suddenly it stopped.

"Wh-what," she stammered. "Why did you stop?"

The Dean stood behind her. He was so close she could feel what she could only imagine was his tented slacks pressing between her thighs. Petra looked down only to find the bulge was bigger than it had any business being.

"Because I can," the Dean replied. "But do not panic. We're just getting started."

Petra wasn't sure why, but his words made her feel relieved, almost glad. Strangely fearful that he might not finish what he started.

The Dean placed his huge hands on her hips, rubbing his obscenely large bulge back and forth between her thighs and against her soaked lips.

His methodical movements were driving her crazy.

"Please..." Petra whispered. "Do it. Fuck me."

"There she is," the Dean gloated. "We found her. The slut beneath the brat. Five minutes and you're already begging me to use your married pussy. What would Brad think?"

Petra panted like a slut in heat as the Dean moved his hand down to her exposed pussy. With two fingers he spread her wide. With his middle finger he placed it on her engorged clit and began to stroke back and forth.

"Fuck," Petra hissed. "I don't know... and I don't care. Please just do it."

"Why should I?" The Dean asked as his other hand slid up her stomach to cup her breast. Even through her bra, she could feel his strong, relentless palm grinding against her nipple.

She knew the answer without being told, in spite of the fact she wasn't thinking very clearly at all. Her whole body seemed focused on the arousal coursing through her system. Only a day ago her position would have been unthinkable.

"I'll be good," Petra begged. "I'll be good when you want me to be good, and I'll be a naughty slut for you too. Anything you ask, please don't stop."

The Dean ceased fingering her clit and instead slid two meaty fingers inside her. The sensation almost forced her over the precipice.

Once. Twice. They explored her depths, and then they were gone.

Petra almost sobbed as they were withdrawn, but before she could speak they were in her mouth.

"We wouldn't want to make a mess of this pretty blouse." The Dean tutted as she sucked and slurped her own arousal off his fingers. "That's a good girl."

Her cheeks burned with shame as her pride was trampled into the carpet. She would do anything for her release. She knew it, and she knew that the Dean knew it.

The question was, how far was he going to push her?

The thought excited and terrified her all at once.

When her fingers were clean, the Dean cupped both her perky breasts and squeezed. They were on the smaller side, which normally didn't bother her, but as the Dean's massive hands pawed at them she wished they were larger.

All of her endowment was in her ass, which most men seemed to appreciate, but as the Dean toyed with her, she wanted nothing more than to please him. After all, good girls got rewarded.

His hands moved down her blouse, unbuttoning as he went. He didn't ask. He didn't need to. She'd have done it herself if her hands were free, just to feel them against her bare chest. The Dean unbuttoned it completely, pulled it out of her skirt, and slid it down her shoulders to her elbows, where it rested by virtue of her restraints but exposed a whole lot more smooth flesh for the Dean to explore.