“Hands behind your back, miss.”
She knew the routine.
stand up. shoulders back. hands behind your back. head level, eyes up and facing me.
She recited it in her head as he gave the instructions. It was not the first time she’d been reprimanded by her teacher. It was the first time that he’d made her stand here in front for the duration of the class and well after they had left.
She watched him grading papers, appearing to ignore her–unless she fidgeted. Then it was another recitation of his floor rules. The scraping of his chair as he stood startled her out of her reverie. She frowned to see the little pointer in his hand. Damn but she hated when he whacked her palms with that thing. It stung like a bee.
“Open your mouth and stick out your tongue.”
What the hell? she thought, though her mouth opened and her pink tongue protruded. He slapped it twice, firmly, before putting the thing against her lips like the bit for a horse.
“Hold this. Do not drop it.”
Her tongue hurt, damn him. She nodded, considering biting down hard enough to shatter the damned thing. He turned back to his desk and retrieved a wooden ruler. Moving to the front of her, his fingers rose to unbutton her blouse. She grunted her refusal but his quelling look stopped her. She didn’t know what he was going to do, but she knew what would happen if she dropped the pointer.
She almost gasped when he tugged her bra up, freeing her breasts. They fell, all 38 D of them, bouncing painfully. The ruler snapped across the top of her left breast, then her right. She bit down on the pointer, squeezed her eyes shut.
“Eyes up and facing me.”
He snapped the ruler across each nipple. Her eyes flew open as she squealed.
She squealed again as he smacked each tit after he spoke.
“That’s the grade you might have gotten, had you bothered to turn in your essay.”
She moaned when the ruler struck again.
“That’s the grade you would have been able to strive for if you had turned in your essay one day late.”
She tried to prepare for it, but this time he struck the sensitive round curve of the underside of her tits. Despite trying to hold it in, tears leaked as she blinked.
“That is the grade you might have earned if your paper had arrived on my desk two days late.
Four strikes this time, the intensity turned up. Her nipples flushed and swelled into hard buds, while the tops of her tits began to show purpling where he’d hit the same place repeatedly.
“This is the grade that would have at least bought you time if you had turned your essay in yesterday. It would have been barely passable, and certainly well below your potential, but you still would have passed my class. Instead, you quit. Yes, you showed up, but completing your work is as important as attending. And you’ve done none of the latter for the past several weeks. My patience is at an end, and you will receive the full punishment of one of my recalcitrant girls.”
All but hissing the letter, he attacked her tits with the ruler. She yelped as he struck her now-firm nipples, dropping the pointer. They both froze.
“Failure. You have failed your class, failed your teacher, and sadly, failed yourself.”
He pointed to his large oak desk. She knew the punishment for dropping the fucking pointer.
His expression remained unchanged. Resigned, she turned, placing her palms on the desk. Flipping up her skirt, he tugged down her panties. She cringed as she heard the belt slide from his pants, bracing herself for the first blow.
“One, Thank you Professor Wilson.”
If she missed even one thank you, he’d begin again. Ten lashes were the minimum punishment; most students forgot midway through as his blows grew more forceful. It was always mesmerizing to watch it unfold in class. Having it happen here, now? No. She only wanted to be perfect so that he would stop.
“Eight, Thank you Professor Wilson.”
A hand moved between her legs.
“Only the worst offenders are sexually stimulated by my punishments.”
While he lectured her, his fingers slid inside of her, twisting and turning, until she shivered and quaked, coming hard. Head hanging, she yelped when the belt struck again.
“Eight, Thank you Professor Wilson.”
Her head came up a second later. No! Not eight…!
“I mean, NINE, Thank you Professor Wilson, NINE.”
His fingers were busy inside of her once more. His pleased laughter sent shivers through her, as did his voice whispering against her ear.
“Uh oh. Wrong answer. Thank you, little girl.”