Bad Boy  

rm_SGTWILL1068 45M
18 posts
6/5/2006 11:29 am
Bad Boy


Well hello is what I heard come from behind me, and I looked and there she was, my junior high-school teacher, standing in the middle of the grocery store. “Hi,” I said, swinging my grocery cart over to her. She looked good, considering she was a couple of years older. She wasn’t very tall ‒ about 5’ 6”, a few inches shorter than me ‒ with nice legs and generous curve in her hips and breasts. She was wearing a sundress with flowers and sandals and she had flowing red curls. She was very pretty and I had always thought so. “What are you doing these days?” she asked, patting me on my shoulder. “Oh, I’m just finishing up my college, and I am home for the summer,” I said, trying to sound jovial and impressive. “And you? How’s the teaching business going?” She pursed her full, lips ironically. “Actually, I’ve moved up in the world a bit. I’m state secretary of education now.” I congratulated her. “The perks are better, of course,” she said. “But I sometimes miss working with students, Students like you.” Something suddenly seemed to occur to her. “Oh, look at the time! I have to be off. Listen are you free tomorrow night, she asked? I’m having a little soiree at my apartment; nothing fancy, nothing formal, strictly come-as-you-are. Why don’t you drop by? I’d love to catch up and find out what kind of trouble you’ve been getting into.” My stomach fluttered.
My eighth-grade teacher was inviting me to a party with her. Of course, it was simply routine friendliness, meant nothing. I felt as if I had just had two strong mixed drinks in a row. I told her sure I’d love to, and she handed me a card and strolled off with an enigmatic smile. Her apartment was uptown, in the nicer part of the city, at the top of an expensive-looking building. I drove my car and parked in the back lot of the building, and rode the elevator all the way up. All the way I alternated between concrete feelings and vague ones. My concrete feelings were all admonitions: this will be dull, it will be older people you don’t know talking about things you don’t understand, and she was simply being pleasant and doesn’t even expect you to come. My vague feelings were something else: they were hopes and fears without objects, and they impelled me forward. I finally reached the top floor, located her apartment, and rang the doorbell. “Come in,” she said. I walked inside. It was a nice apartment. I stepped into the main room, which was dark, lit with some candles and the fireplace burning. There was a long couch in the center of the room, and a velvet-seated, high-backed chair facing it. All around the room I could see fine art, a sumptuous carpet, and a diamond-studded chandelier. She was standing in the center of the room, looked so beautiful. She was wearing an elegant, strapless black evening gown, with a tight, low-cut bodice and a full skirt that hung down to the floor.
She had on elbow-length black gloves that covered her hands and a single, gleaming string of pearls that hung across her supple shoulders. She seemed taller than usual as she walked, I could see that she was wearing high-heeled black pumps that added a few inches to her height. Her hair was long and laid sensually across her shoulder, and she stared at me through a pair of horn-rimmed black glasses that would seem clich├ęd if they didn’t flatter her features. “I said hello. I’m sorry I thought you said come as you are. I guess I must have misheard.” I was just wearing jeans, a t-shirt, and a pair of sandals. I feel like a perfect moron. “Don’t worry about it,” she said, smiling serenely. She had a glass of wine in her hand, and she brought it to her lips. “Would you like a drink?” “Oh, sure,” I said. She disappeared into the kitchen. I noticed there was nobody else here. “So, am I early?” She ignored me and returned from the kitchen, handing me something. “Sit down,” she said, gesturing towards one of the sofas. I sat down and she took a seat in a chair opposite me. I looked down in my hand. It was a small carton of milk, the kind you get in a school cafeteria. I was confused. “What is this?” She said, the day you finished eighth grade, you forgot to clean out your locker.” I vaguely remembered that. I had lingered, mainly because I wanted to say a painful, awkwardly adolescent good-bye to my favorite teacher, and then I was worried about missing the bus, so I had dashed to it and forgot a number of things, none of them important. “I know this, she continued, reaching over to one of the end tables and she seized a folder. “Because as a senior-level school administrator, I have access to all student files, and I inspected your file, and found this out, and found that among the items found in your locker and confiscated this item.” Held out flat before me was a magazine.
On its glossy cover was a heavily made-up woman, half-undressed, in lace lingerie, staring out with a pout. The title was “Cheap Lust”. I blushed, because it was one of the many porno magazines I had gone through in my youth. I literally hadn’t thought about it in years. “You brought this, this filth to school with you, didn’t you? To my school, why did you do that?” My face was burning. I felt panicked, paralyzed. “I don’t know what that is. I’ve never seen it before.” “Don’t lie to me!” She shouted. I was stunned by the response, She had just shouted at me, so I got up to leave. “Sit down!” Her voice was sharp and her eyes were blazing. They seemed to be drilling holes in me. For some reason I even now can’t fully explain, I sat back down. “Let me repeat my question, she said, her voice sounding controlled but angry. “Why did you bring this magazine into my school?” “I really don’t know” I lied again, not out of calculation, but as a kind of reflex. “I don’t know what it is. I’ve never seen it before. Honestly!” She stood up. Seated, I stared up at her. She looked like an angry giantess. “I won’t have lies. You’ve got to be punished.” “Punished?” The situation was becoming absurd. “What are you talking about? Are you going to give me detention?” Without a word, she strode over to me, grabbed me by the hair, and shoved my face down into the soft couch, laying me out on my stomach.
She then proceeded to spank me hard. Her hand rained down like fire from the skies. I struggled weakly for a moment, but her grip was surprisingly firm. One stroke after another from her strong hand pummeled my ass. I tried to call out that I was sorry, but she continued spanking me vigorously until I went limp. Feebly, I turned my head. There she loomed, her skirts brushing slightly against my cheek. “Are you sorry for lying?” she said coldly. “Yes,” I sighed. “I’m sorry. That was my magazine. I shouldn’t have lied to you.” “That’s better. Now sit up.” I pulled myself up. The soft cushions were gentler on my butt, though it was still sore, but surprise was just as great as pain. She finally resumed her seat, leaned forward, and handed me the magazine. I didn’t look at it. “Now, we have to start again, from where you started lying to me,” she said. “So I must repeat myself. Why did you bring this trash into my school? Now don’t mumble.” It was something in her voice and gaze made me feel that I had to tell her all. “I used it to masturbate.” Her eyes widened and her nostrils flared. “At school?” “Yes”. Show me. I just looked at her, not understanding. “Show me, take off your clothes and masturbate”. I was so stunned that the rest of it happened very quickly. She ushered me up with her hand and pulled my t-shirt off of me. I stooped and clumsily removed my sandals, then unzipped my jeans and let them fall to the floor. “All of your clothes, NOW”. She seized the waistband of my underwear and yanked them sharply down to my knees. I let them fall and stepped out of them. She took my clothes and set them aside. Self-conscious, I put my hands in front of my cock. She reached down and swatted them away. “No, no, no”, she said. “Don’t try to hide that cock from me. Sit your ass back down.
Now, hold your dirty magazine in front of you”. She opened it up and placed it in my left hand. “Read aloud the title of this pictorial sequence.” “Let’s hear it”, “The title is Babes in Twatland.” “Babes in Twatland,” she said. “This is what you brought into my school. Well, enjoy it, because it’s the last time you’ll be masturbating with a magazine like this. Start in.” I took my limp cock in my hand, and looked down at the pictures, which showed two buxom blondes in various states of undress licking and fingering each other. I gave my cock a few strokes. With her sitting directly across from me, I was too embarrassed to give it any effort. ”She said sternly. “Show me how you did it.” She got up from the chair and moved to the couch and sat down next to me. Her skirts flowed onto my naked legs and her bodice rubbed against my shoulders. And then she placed her hand on my cock. It was as if I had suddenly fallen from the top of a cliff; I didn’t know where I was or anything for a moment except for the sensation of the soft fabric of her glove on my cock. When she began stroking, slowly, gently, I could feel it rise and stiffen. “Look at the pictures, she whispered in my ear.
I looked at one close-up shot of a pair of lips wrapped around a quivering nipple. “Read the text to me.” “Ah. It says, Amber loves it when Cassie sucks on her big titties.” The slow stroking was driving me insane. She reached down and turned the page for me. “Now what?” So Cassie returns the favor,” I said, quivering all over. “By licking her girlfriend’s wet twat nice and clean.” “Yes, Cassie licks her girlfriend’s wet twat,” she whispered in my ear. Her lips were so close to my ear I could feel them brushing against my lobes, moist and soft. Her hand was moving up and down, faster and faster. I was on the verge of a monstrous explosion. “Are you about to cum, while looking at Cassie licking her girlfriend’s wet twat?” she asked. I could feel the warmth welling up in my cock. “Yes ”I said weakly. Suddenly she grabbed the magazine away from me and tossed it across the room. It landed in the fireplace and went up in a drizzle of sparks. She spanked my shaft and balls several times; sending agonizing arrows of pain shooting up and down my body. I lurched forward. “Filth, Filth, Filth! What a bad boy you are! And you did that in my school! Shame on you!” Suddenly, tears ran from my eyes, and I collapsed on the ground. “Yes,” I said, clutching my cock and balls. “Yes, I’ve been a bad boy. Bad, Bad Boy!” I hardly knew what I was saying. I only knew that I was filled with shame and I wanted this teacher to teach me how to redeem myself. I was bad, bad, bad. “That’s good, she said. “And what do I do to bad boys?” She looked down on me hungrily and licked her lips. You paddle them, and I paused. I knew what else to say, but it meant crossing a line I had never imagined I would cross. But there was something about her that made me do it. “Please spank me, teacher.”
She got up, walked to the other side of the room, and removed a paddle from a wooden case. It was the size of a tennis-racket, with dark, smooth wood and a purple velvet grip on the handle. She swung it through the air experimentally a few times with a swishing noise, and then clapped it against her gloved hand. Never taking her eyes off me, she spread her skirts out to sit down in the velvet-seated chair, and said: “Over my knee, NOW. Get over here and bend over my knee, RIGHT NOW.” Not even trying to resist, I got up and went over and bent over her knee. The fabric of her skirts was cool, and it rustled deliciously as I shifted so my buttocks were at the perfect angle for her. She pressed her hand firmly into my upper back, holding me in place. “You’re going to take fifteen strokes, fifteen hard ones. You’ll count them out loud for me, and you are going to thank me for each one. Because it’s what you deserve. You know that, don’t you,?” “Yes, Ma’am.” “Wonderful.” She paused. I could tell she was holding the paddle high above me, waiting to strike. My ass muscles tensed up. Then it happened. She said here we go and the paddle smashed down on my rear end. I cried out “: ONE”, and thank you ma’am. It was agonizing. My buttocks felt like they were on fire. “I didn’t hear you,” she said sternly. “Thank you Ma’am,” I uttered again. “Thank you Ma’am,” she said. “We’ll have to start again.” She raised her paddle in the air again. I twitched and quivered in fear, knowing that I deserved this, but terrified of the pain. Then, I heard the clean whistle in the wind and felt the blow on my cheeks like scalding fire. “One!” I cried out. “Thank you, Ma’am!” I replied, genuinely feeling grateful, and then the spanking began in earnest. “Two, I said!
Oh, you’ve had this coming for a long time, little Greg! Three I said! You think just because you’re away at college that you don’t need discipline anymore? Four I said! How wrong you are! I can see you need a great deal of control in your life! You should thank me for giving it to you!” “Thank you, Ma’am! Thank you, Ma’am! Thank you, Ma’am!” I had never been beaten like this. Already I could feel myself starting to cry. “Five I said! Oh, are you blubbering already? What a little sissy you are! Six I said! God, how I love punishing dirty little boys like you! Seven I said! I’ll tan your hide, but good for looking at those dirty, dirty pictures!” “Thank you, Ma’am! Thank you, Ma’am! Thank you, Ma’am!” I was sobbing, burying my face in her leg through her thick skirts. My ass was wore out but good, and yet the mauling continued. “Eight I said! Imagine! You sitting there, looking at those disgusting pictures, touching yourself! How dare you! Nine I said! Filthy little boys like you need to be spanked every day, by a woman with a strong hand who knows how to do it! From now on, you never touch yourself without my permission! You bad, bad, boy! Ten I said!” “Thank you, Ma’am! Thank you, Ma’am! Thank you, Ma’am!” Stand Up. Now bend over and grab your ankles. “Eleven I said, What would you do if you didn’t have a teacher like me to discipline you? I bet you would keep on masturbating to those magazines, wouldn’t you? “Twelve I said, well from now on I bet you’ll think twice about using some nasty magazine to relieve yourself. “Thirteen, I said. Those things are nothing but Filth, and I better not ever see another one in your hand. “Fourteen, I said. Now after this last one you’ll know what I am talking about. On the last one she swung back and came down with all her might and when the paddle connected with my ass it almost knocked me down. “Fifteen, I said. With a cry out and tears running down my cheeks, thank you, Ma’am. Thank you, Ma’am. Thank You, Ma’am. Thank you Ma’am. With the force of the final stroke that almost knocked me onto the floor. I collapsed, blubbering, to my knees, and buried my head in her lap, sobbing bitterly. She stroked my hair. “That’s all right, that’s all right. You’re not ever too old to cry. Just let it all out.” In a flood of words that mirrored my flood of tears, I told her everything. Every pornographic magazine I had ever read.
All the times I had masturbated, and where I had done it: in my bedroom, in the bathroom at home, in the school locker room, in my dorm room at college, in my car. What I thought about while I did it. “You have been a bad boy,” she said, cupping my cheeks between her hands and lifting my face so I could stare up at her. “A very bad boy. But it’s not entirely your fault. You need supervision, don’t you? You need a woman to discipline you. Don’t you?” I nodded with a sniffle. “Good. Good. Well, I’m going to be that woman from now on. I want you to come here next week this same time, and we’ll catch up on all the discipline you’ve missed since you’ve been away from me. You will come, won’t you?” “Yes, Ma’am, yes I will. Thank you, Ma’am. Thank you for correcting me.” I meant it. I knew that I would come this same night next week, and every other night that she told me to, and that I would do exactly what she told me to. And my raging cock, starting to grow erect again, agreed with me. I got dressed under her watchful eye and helping hand and I left. As I walked to my car I drank the rest of the carton of milk she gave me in the cold night air. No drink had ever been sweeter.


Become a member to create a blog