Chapter 1
Cindy was a teacher. A temporary teacher at that. She currently worked at an upper-class school where she encountered room after room of overly entitled young boys. The worst of all seemed to be the upper-class of eighteen to nineteen year-old brats. They were entitled and spoiled and very disruptive.
Cindy herself was just twenty six, a dark skinned, skinny beauty, who talked fast and walked quickly through the halls, on her very long legs. When she arrived a year ago fellow male teachers saw her as easy prey, single, gorgeous, quick witted, but she had a type. Being five foot ten, she wanted a man taller than herself, and surprise, surprise, the pickings were slim even in Montana. Here we are in May and with the school year about to end in the first week of June, she was about to flee to this job for sunny California, by way of a deserved vacation with friends in Mexico!
All she had to do was weather the last days of May.
And that included holding the detention class. James, was a frequent habitual offender and held a favorite seat at the detention class, where Cindy, as the teacher with lowest ranking, always presided
over said detention class. The rules of class were simple, each student would read a book, or do nothing for the hour. James seemed capable of doing nothing for hours, and usually sat as an obstinate block of contempt and passive aggression.
We mentioned Cindy rejecting other teacher’s advances, and in retaliation one of them sort out to needle the thin skinned James into an offence and happily rewarded him with an hour’s detention, knowing that Cindy would draw the task of presiding over the brat. So James reported sullenly, but soon she was informed that not just one teacher had convicted the boy but two. So that meant two hours and not just for this day but for the entire week!
Two boring hours, made more stifling in their tedium by the promise of more tomorrow.
Minutes dragged, and even her book lost its interest; the words slid off the page and down monotony’s highway.
The very second hand on the clock seemed to pause, take a deep breath, before lunging onto the next second.
James was the only one in detention, and would be the only victim for the entire week. Finally it was done, and she could dismiss the young man. He was lanky, tall, and rich enough to make some poor woman an awful husband. Overly opinionated, and ungrateful, for Cindy his square chin, blue eyes and blond hair was just license to upcoming abuse.
Then came day two, and Cindy knew she would not last the week. Something had to be done.
“Listen brat!” she said to him just ten minutes into their subjugation.
“I don’t wanna be here, you don’t wanna be here!” Cindy said.
“But I can’t just let you go.”
“No. No.” he begged, “I will tell no one!”
“Oh yes you will. You have a mouth like a drain, it gurgles and bubbles without restraint,” she said.
“So if I do something to you that you will tell no one, then I could trust you!”
“Something like what!?” he asked, not yet distressed, but certainly on the way.
“I think I should cane you,” she announced, “You know? Like they did in the old days. Then you will be too embarrassed to tell anyone that a woman like me kicked your ass. And that would serve as your two hour punishment. What do you think?”
“Like cane me!” He asked, distressed now.
“Like how…?”
“Like on your butt. So you lean over the table, here, and I well I…”
“Cane me! And tomorrow!”
“Yep, every day!” She nodded, just the conversation seemed to make the time go by quickly.
“Cane me with what?” He asked and they both looked pointlessly around the class room for a suitable weapon. None came to mind, or sight. What could she use on him? Something to humiliate him, and keep him docile. No stick, no ruler would do justice. What if…?
“Well I could use…” she said after looking around the room, “I could use my hand!”
“Your hand!”
She nodded and waved her long fingers on her tiny hand at the young man.
“So, a spanking, then,” she said.
“Spanking!” he replied, “How many spankings did you think would be worth two hours?”
His timid question was half way to approving their agreement.
“One for each minute, so one hundred and twenty,” she said.
“No way!” he exclaimed.
“You may be right, that would take forever and I don’t think I hate you that much!”
“How about fifty?” She offered.
“No!” He objected, “Ten is more like it.”
“No, ten will not do,” she countered, “You see I need to know you will not run that stupid, vile mouth of yours. Thirty!”
That was as low as she would go, or he could wait out the two hours. The tension in the room was one of pure anger, locked in a mutual hostage of pure animosity, and each hated the other with contempt.
“Fuck it!” He thought finally but said out loud, “Okay! Okay!”
“Here on the table,” she ordered.
As he leaned over and stuck out his butt, her anger at this brat boiled over.
“Take off your pants!” she said vehemently.
“What!” He replied.
“Pants!” She growled, “I’m not hurting myself on your ugly pants, so off!”
The lanky boy had worn jeans and soon saw reason, and carefully lowered them. It was the first time he had lowered his pants for a woman, and was awash with shame and vulnerability. Cindy stood to one side, and pulled up his shirt to the middle of his back. Quite why she pulled down his underwear she would never know. But there was the exposed bottom of a nineteen year old and without hesitation she slapped him.
Cindy was a farm girl so she was tough, her hands were tough too. But they still stung a little as she struck him. Halfway through she swapped sides and used the other hand.
“Fucking piece of shit!” She said through gritted teeth.
When she was done she pushed him away and accidentally caught sight of his cock. A tube of skin and muscle that hung free between his legs. He turned and quickly pulled up his pants. In that moment, she wondered if she had gone too far. But the thought passed as soon as it arrived. This was a despicable and disgusting human. The hell with him, and the hell with the consequences.
He fled wordlessly.
“See you tomorrow!” she yelled after him, and openly laughed. That was fun.
The next day she wore a strict black suit and white shirt. She had carried her longest black heels in her bag and changed into them before he arrived. Inside she was laughing and enjoyed the humiliation of the boy. Bring back corporal punishment, she thought.
James found her waiting for him. Her arms were folded, head lowered, and there was a look of danger in her eyes. She leaned back against the table. He stopped dead and watched her. He watched her hate. He had hate of his own. Hate for her kind. Hate for women. Hate her abuse, her judgment. And he used his hate to overcome the threat of her. He dropped his bag, walked past her, his eyes on hers. Hate met hate. He took up position at the table, and dropped his pants and underwear. Then he stretched over the table.
“Come on then!” He challenged, “Do your worst!”
“Bitch!” he thought to himself.
Her heels clicked as she walked the long way around the table. Slow measured, mockingly.
No shirt to move today. His ass had no redness as it had yesterday. She touched him gently, caressing his butt, then drew back her hand and slapped him. Each time; a caress the pause, then the slap. At five she walked around the table to the other side of the young man, and delivered another five touches, then the slap. Taking her time, letting her hate build. Her eyes on his as she walked around him. Silence filled the room, nothing but the sound of the slaps. That was ten, 'Slower' she thought 'was he enjoying this?' 'Faster', he thought, 'You are just a bitch and cunt, take your time, I’m better than you, better than this'.
At twenty smacks, she was resisting the urge to pull him by his hair, scratch him, and really hurt him. At twenty he was resisting the arousal of her touch, the tingling in his belly, and crotch. He had a hard on. But even with that erection, he felt nothing but hate for her. He too could hurt her, wanted to hurt her.
She did not go the long way around, she wanted it over, and stepped over to his right side and without the touch and caress, she slapped him. On the last five, she could not resist and pulled on his hair as she delivered the last five with a renewed fury.
She stepped back quickly and he stood. She glimpsed his erection as he turned away quickly to do up his pants. She stood her ground and with chin lowered fury in her heart, she watched him leave wordlessly. His erection was clear and visible through the jeans.
The impact of what she was doing hit her. The fucking boy was enjoying this! Sexually! He was enjoying this sexually! His enjoyment completely robbed her of its victory. She was now a part of his world, his needs. This was not what she wanted. Not this outcome. This was no longer a punishment that would be kept quiet, this was now a sexual experience. Even though she held him in the highest level of contempt, she imagined it was different for him. Should she in good conscience go on with the punishment?
James’ view was very different. For him his erection was a sign of hate, of aggression, and of anger. He would go on, he would show her his anger, his erection, his violation of her prestige and power. He was in charge, not her. He was the better, not this bitch, this cunt.
But it was her choice now would she go on to day four? After all it was just a couple of school days and the weekend, and she would never have to see this place again. But things did not go to plan, let us see what happens next.
