Chapter 3
1504 Words
“What are you doing, Mackenzie?”
I look up, caught off guard. Ms. Tanner was supposed to be off doing her yoga while I worked on my essay. We've been together for six weeks now, and overall I've been an exemplary student. Well, except for that time I tried secretly texting with Melissa, one of my friends from school.
“I'll teach you to busy your hands with idle activity,” she said, ripping the phone from my hands. When I reached to get it back, she grabbed my fingers, twisted my arm around so that my hand was now palm-up, then she took an old-school wooden ruler and smacked my open hand, over and over and over, each blow stinging worse than the one before.
After a half-dozen such blows, she released me. I fell back to my seat, fighting to hold back tears. My palm was sore for a week, but I learned never to openly defy her, though I still, secretly, rebelled.
That's what brings us to this, today, Ms. Tanner walking in on me unannounced.
Quickly I slide my notebook over my writing pad – yes, she actually makes me use a writing pad, rather than a computer.
She steps over as I slide a hand on my notebook, covering the writing papers. I hold my hand down tightly, desperately trying to keep her from sliding the book off of my essay.
She pulls the ruler from within the folds of her smock, brings it down hard, rapping the back of my knuckles. I pull my hand back, and she quickly slides the book to the side, snatching up the papers with my essay.
I cower, trying to disappear into my seat, as her gaze slides slowly from the paper to me. In the margins of the paper, I'd drawn a sketch of Ms. Tanner, bent over, dress pulled up over her bare ass, with a stick-figure man smacking her ass with a paddle. “Ms. Tan-Her” I had written over the drawing.
“Stand up,” she says.
Slowly, nervously, I slide out from my desk and stand. She grabs my hand, and something happens. A tiny little surge of some strange sensation running through me, a momentary little pang flaring between my legs. I gasp at the sensation, it's unlike anything I've ever felt – almost like arousal. Except I've never, ever been attracted to other women. I mean, I recognize when a woman is good-looking or not, is hot or not, but I've never reacted to another female like this.
It's brief, as she starts walking purposefully, pulling me along, like a teacher holding the hand of a young child, leading me from the school room into a smaller chamber, where she has her small desk and teaching supplies.
On the front of her desk is a small recessed area, the place where most desks have room for a name placard or one of those decorative pen and pencil holders.
“Put your hands on the desk,” she says, motioning to that small recess.
“No,” I say, thinking she's going to whip out that ruler and rap me along the back of my knuckles.
She stands, towering over me, and I am a little afraid of how she's going to respond to my defiance.
“Mackenzie, you will place your hands on the desk this instant, or—”
“Or you'll tell my father?” I blurt. “That's it, isn't it? You have no real power over me. You're only threat is to beat me with that ruler of yours or tell my father, and if you tell him he'll know you can't control me and you're out of a job.”
I gasp at my own loss of self-control, at my own brazenness, but it is the truth. I know it is, and now that it's out there, I have to stand my ground, stay strong, not give into her demands, her intimidation.
She stares down on me, silent for a few moments, then those thick lips of hers slowly spread wide into a smile. No, a sneer.
“Oh, my dear Mackenzie, your father has given me great latitude in bringing you to heel. And that is exactly what I will do.”
With that, quicker than I can react, she grabs my wrists – her grip far stronger than I would have imagined – slamming my hands down on the desk, pushing, forcing my fingers down into the recess.
I cry out when something in there, some mechanism snaps, and I feel little finger-sized cuffs sliding in place, over each of my fingers, pulling tight.
She lets go of me, and I try to pull free, but I'm caught – each of my fingers held firmly, just as surely as if my wrist or arms were bound – she has me.
Ms. Tanner marches around her desk then reaches up and takes a wooden paddle from the wall.
“No, no, no,” I say, head shaking as she walks back around the desk. “You can't...” My voice dies when she grabs my shorts and yanks them down, pulling my panties down with them, my ass now bare and exposed.
“What the f**k?” I cry out, yanking against the finger-cuffs, squirming, trying to turn away from her.
My body freezes when she slaps her hand down on my ass, hard, the blow stinging. She squeezes, and I could swear I hear a tiny little moan slip from down deep in her throat. My own body quivers, a sudden, painful sense of arousal blooming deep inside me. My breath catches in my throat, eyes close, body tensing up.
Then her hand is gone, and within a moment that paddle comes smashing against my bare ass. I cry out, body flinching, another blow, then another, force of the strike reverberating through my body, sting of the wood intense on my ass.
She paddles and paddles and paddles. I scream, I wiggle and squirm, squat down, stand up, climb up on my toes, my body moving wildly, out of control, as she inflicts her corporal punishment. I wail now, weeping, tears running down my cheeks.
Finally, mercifully, she stops. I stand there, crying like a little girl, when she slaps that hand down on my ass again, squeezing my tender, sort ass cheek, leaning over me, her boobs pressing against my body.
“You will learn discipline, you will learn to follow instructions,” she whispers.
“Yes ma'am,” I whisper. “Yes ma'am.”
“Next time, your discipline will be so much worse.”
With that she put the paddle back on the wall, then she left me like that, fingers still cuffed in her desk, my sore, tender ass still bare, shorts and panties down around my ankles. I stood there, weeping at first, my ass on fire, watching the old-style wall clock tick from one minute to the next. Finally, the tears slowed, stopped, the stinging lessened, and then the frustration, anger began to build. Who the f**k did she think she was? This is too far. When she lets me free, things are going to change, I'm not taking this any more.
Finally, after an hour, she did return and release me, with instructions to finish my essay that afternoon. I listened, followed her instructions – though I ended up writing most of us standing up, my ass was so sore – but I had my plan now.
***
* * * *
That night I woke, body coated I sweat. I had been dreaming, details of the dream playing through my mind here, now, my body on fire. I reach down, between my legs, fingers playing along my little slit, as the dream played through my mind – imagining Ms. Tanner, smacking my ass, running her hands along my body – I'm naked in my dream, and she slides one hand up under me, caressing my boobs, while she s****s me with her other hand, each smack sending waves of pain and arousal rolling through my body.
I press against my p***y, fingers slipping in, every muscle in my body suddenly seizing up as o****m gripped me. I slide my fingers back and forth now, my other hand on my boobs, pretending it was Ms. Tanner groping, squeezing, while she smacks my tender, sore, red ass over and over and over.
I gasped, sitting up suddenly, cumming in my bed, moaning, clenching my legs tightly together around my hand, cumming, cumming, cumming.
And then it faded.
I sat there, in my bed, panting, sweating, room illuminated by moonlight filtering in around the blinds, suddenly confused. I've never been so attracted to anyone before, and never a woman. She's just...I don't know, there's something animal-like about her, about the way I feel toward her.
No matter. Tomorrow I'm getting rid of her, getting back to my life. My friends.
***
- Writer
