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Heather & Mrs. Harley Ch. 01

By: UBU



We moved, my Mom and Dad and me, to a new, bigger house my senior year of High school. Forget the “better” neighborhood -- for me the principle advantage of our situation was that I now lived next door to my classmate Heather and her mother, Mrs. Harley. Heather was one of the wildest party girls around and Mrs. Harley was a teacher at our school, still young and in her prime, and she knew it, commanding the eyes and fantasies of every male (and quite a few females) in the hall as she strode by in her tight sweaters, short skirts, dark nylons and high heels.

Although I was eighteen, I’d never had a girlfriend, and my sex life consisted of elaborate voyeuristic fantasies -- a whole new season of which I could see opening in front of me through my corner bedroom windows. One directly faced Heather’s window only twenty feet away while the other overlooked their yard, a favorite sunning spot for Mrs. Harley.

The evening before school started I was lying in the dark on my bed, too hot and keyed up to do anything when I saw Heather come into her brightly lit room. It was stifling, both our windows open, curtains blowing as the cicadas droned.

My eyes grew wide when I noticed she was wearing her cheerleading outfit, blue and gold pleated skirt and form fitting sweater, tacitly demure, but actually revealing -- the costume of only the most extraordinarily beautiful and graceful girls in our school. Just seeing her dressed like that was enough for me. I was lying in the half light on my covers -- there was no way she could see me, was there?, and almost without thinking, I gently took my cock out of my gym shorts and held it, feeling it quickly get stiff.

Heather began to move, no doubt preparing for her return to cheerleading the next day, warming up with slow, sinuous motions. Facing the window she started hopping, faster and faster, pom poms shaking, her brown bangs flying, her large apparently braless breasts bouncing dramatically under her sweater, and I pumped faster too, the sweet ecstasy rising within.

Just when I thought there couldn’t be more, she high kicked and I got the final jolt -- a flash of dark fur -- she wasn’t wearing any panties -- “Oh... my... God...” That glimpse pushed me over the edge and I came in enormous, long splatters which landed hot all up my chest. “Wow -- shit...” I lay there, dazed and drained.

I was just thinking about reaching over for the Kleenex box when I heard a voice next to me. “And what exactly do you think you’re doing young man?” I looked to the other window and there was Mrs. Harley, standing, looking in, garden shears in her gloved hand.

“Uh-Uh-Uh....” My brain had completely short circuited. I couldn’t think of a thing. Somehow my wet dream had turned into a nightmare.

“Do you think it’s right to peep at my daughter like that? To involve her in your filthy little habits?”

“Gnnn-- I - I...” I was totally at a loss. Somehow I was already aware that my life as I knew it was over.

“Maybe you and I should have a talk with your parents about this. Or perhaps you can walk over and explain it to my daughter.”

“No, no, Mrs. Harley, please...” I’d quickly found a new language. “Please, I promise. I...”

“You promise what?”

“I-I don’t know...”

Her lips were pursed with an elaborate expression of disgust, but something like amusement seemed to sparkle in her dark eyes. “It is obvious, Mr. Lamb, that there is quite a bit that you do not know. I can see that I’m going to have to give you some private correction this year. I expect to see you tomorrow night at my house at eight o’clock. On time, eight o’clock tomorrow. No excuses. You ought to be able to find us, we’re right next door.” She pulled off one of her gloves with her teeth, revealing her long white hand and blood red fingernails. “Now clean yourself up and for God’s sake draw your curtains. Good evening.” She smiled acidly and turned back into the dark.

“Shit...shit...” I frantically mopped up the great pools of now runny spunk. What was I going to do? Explain? Apologize? Run away? I couldn’t kid myself -- we both knew exactly what I’d been doing and now all I could do was to hope that she wouldn’t tell anybody else.

And yet her invitation intrigued me. She’d seem to suggest that we could settle my punishment privately, between ourselves. The very shame of our shared secret mortified me, but I also knew she wasn’t exactly playing by the rules either. The two of us had entered into some kind of joint conspiracy -- a conspiracy in which she was clearly the dominant partner.

Heather & Mrs. Harley Ch. 02



When I got up the next morning it all seemed unreal, as if what had happened with Mrs. Harley the night before really had been just a nightmare. I couldn’t quite convince myself of it though, and distractedly sleepwalked through my first day of senior year, avoiding Heather and only seeing Mrs. Harley from a distance, as she swept into her classroom with a quick flash of nylon and the click clack of high heels.

After dinner I went to my room and sat on my bed uneasily. Mrs. Harley had probably just been trying to scare me, hadn’t she? She couldn’t have been serious. What did she mean by telling me to go over there, anyway? Who did she think she was? She had no power over me after school, no power over what I did in my own home. I’d never even been in one of her classes. There was no way I was leaving that room.

I watched the numbers on my old digital clock radio and they had just flipped to 7:01 when the phone rang. I heard my Mother answer, give a greeting of recognition and continue in a conversational tone. I was sure I heard my name.

A minute later 7:02 there was a knock on my door. “Charlie, the phone.” I sprang up as she leaned in. “It’s our neighbor, Mrs. Harley. Did you forget you were supposed to go over there tonight?”

“Tonight?” I tried to give an innocently quizzical look as I ran to the phone. “Hello?”

“Mr. Lamb, I told you seven o’clock sharp, did I not? I do not like to be kept waiting. My students soon learn that I detest tardiness.”

“Uh, but, Mrs. Harley I don’t think that you, uh...” Once again she had me completely at a loss.

“You do intend on attending immediately, don’t you? Or shall I inform your parents of your activities of last night? Yes, perhaps I’ll do that. Why don’t you hand the phone back to your mother and I’ll speak with her.”

“No, please, I’m sorry.” And again I realized the inevitability of surrender. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Harley, really. I’ll be right over.”

“This is a very bad beginning. Quite unacceptable. You haven’t made things any easier for yourself, Mr. Lamb, au contraire. I expect you promptly.”

“Yes, Mrs. Harley. I’m on my way. Bye.” I hung up, stumbling into the living room, trying not to let my parents see my panic and confusion. “I, uh, I have to go next door.”

“Yes, Mrs. Harley told me,” my Mother said, smiling, looking at my Father. “And we think it’s a good thing.”

“What?” Now I was really confused. “A good thing?”

“Helping her out with her chores, the poor woman.”

“No man around the house,” said my father gruffly, folding the paper

“Oh yeah, right, no man.” I pushed through the screen door. “See you.”

The short walk to the Harley’s seemed to take forever, yet I was excruciatingly aware of the quick passage of every step, every crack in the sidewalk, finding that along with the shame and apprehension that filled me there was also an undeniable excitement, a longing to arrive, a desire to be alone with Mrs. Harley and at her mercy.

I rang the doorbell, and to complete my dismay, Heather answered. “Charlie! Where have you been? I didn’t see you today.”

“Hey, Heather. Is your Mom home? She, uh, wanted to see me.” I flushed -- how much had her mother told her? “About some chores or something.”

“Oh, some chores. Sure.” She pulled the door open and irresistibly my eyes fell to her body, the high pyramid breasts springing up under her tight white T-shirt, her nipples dark and hard pressed against the almost transparent material. When I looked back to her face there was a sardonic, knowing smile snaking across her thick lips. “She told me to tell you she’s waiting impatiently in her study. Upstairs. First door to the left.”

I started uncertainly up the stairs. “I’d run if I were you,” Heather said drolly, both mockery and warning in her tone, but there was no time to calculate the percentages as I bounded up to knock on Mrs. Harley’s door.

“Enter.” Cautiously I crept in. Mrs. Harley was sitting at a high desk on a platform, like the one she had at school, glasses on, and she shot me a hard look from under her straight black bangs. “Mr. Lamb. I’m glad you were able to find your way over here.”

“Mrs. Harley I --”

“Quiet.” She cut me off with a peremptory gesture. “From now on you will be silent at all times in my presence unless I directly request that you speak. If you think it absolutely necessary to say something you may raise your hand and wait for me to determine if I will call on you. In this case your no doubt pretty little speech is immaterial -- there is nothing you can possibly say that would mitigate the undeniable fact that you were late, and for tardiness you will learn that I accept no excuses and always exact a punishment. Furthermore, being late does not give you the right to come pounding in here, interrupting my work at your leisure. You forced me to wait for you. Now I’ll give you the privilege of waiting for me.”

“Uh, yes, Mrs. Harley, should I...”

“Silence! Did I not just tell you that? I hope that you’re not always going to be such a slow learner, Mr. Lamb. I had hoped for more from you. Now I see that I shall have to be very strict with you. Very strict. Stand straight, hands behind you. Do not move. Do not speak. Wait respectfully.” She leaned back over her papers, marking them with sure concentration, completely and effortlessly ignoring me. As I stood there I tried to be still, but I had to shift to one side. Apparently of its own volition my penis was stiffening, rock hard, and had become uncomfortable in my pants -- it seemed to know something my brain had yet to figure out.

I studied what I could see of her, the crown of her head gleaming as she bent forward, the shiny black hair falling on both sides almost to the desk top, her hand slashing precisely across the papers, marking them with her red pen, occasionally pausing to tap the cap against her teeth, smoothing a stray lock behind her ear. She was dressed the way she always dressed at school -- a tight black business suit with a thin white blouse beneath, the skirt cut quite high on the side. I thought about all the times I’d watched her there, watched her and fantasized, as she sat on the stage at assemblies and graduations, legs crossed, her skirt falling off her knees, or that time she stood in the lunch room, shrugging her suit coat off, the lacy outline patterns of the incredible piece of lingerie that barely held back her breasts clearly shining through the almost transparent cotton of her shirt, smiling icily as the Headmaster babbled below her, looking over his head to suddenly meet my eyes, letting me know that she was well aware I was staring.

I’d been especially fascinated by Mrs. Harley since then, intimidated yet irresistibly attracted by the strange mixture of curiosity and dread she aroused in me, and I’d often felt as if I wanted something from her -- or rather as if she wanted something from me, something that I couldn’t then name but desperately wanted to present to her, something more complicated and awful and beautiful that just plain sex. And now there I was, completely at her pleasure, and, as I waited in an uncomfortable silence, I began to wonder if I some things should remain in fantasy.

I was snapped out of my reverie by the rustle of paper as she closed the homework folder and capped her red pen. “Now, I believe we had an appointment Mr. Lamb, and, unlike you, I always keep my appointments.” She leaned back in the chair and took off her glasses, delicately imprisoning the ear piece between her white teeth. “Why don’t you start by telling me exactly what you were doing last night.”

“Uh...” Even though I was half choked with embarrassment I realized there could be no prevarication. “I was watching...watching Heather.”

“Watching. Watching my daughter.” She lay down her glasses and rose up, her long legs appearing from behind the desk as she stepped around. “You make it sound so benign, as if you were a spectator at a field hockey game. I prefer the word peeping. You were peeping, weren’t you, peeping in my daughter’s window?”

“Uh, well, yes.”

“Like a filthy peeping tom. Like a perverted little voyeur.” She paced nearer, still on the platform, towering over me in her high heels. “And when you reply to me Mr. Lamb, you will say yes, ma’am or yes, Mrs. Harley, is that understood?” She glared at me so balefully that I couldn’t help but hang my head. “Answer me.”

“Yes, Mrs. Harley.”

“And how do you think Heather would feel if she were aware that last night, when she thought she was alone and in private, when she thought she was secure in her own bedroom unobserved, there was in fact a pervert out there, right next door, lying in the dark, peeping at her? Look at me when I am speaking to you, Mr. Lamb.” I glanced up into her pitiless, dark eyes. “Tell me how you think she would feel.”

“I don’t know. Mad, I guess. Mrs. Harley.”

“You don’t know. Mad you guess.” She backed up to the desk and sat on it, her legs swinging free, the skirt of her suit rising up her thigh. “Let me put it this way. How would you like it, Mr. Lamb, if you were to have to stand here, revealed and helpless, as someone watched you?”

“Mrs. Harley, I -- I don’t know, Mrs. Harley.”

“You don’t know? Well then, in that case you’re a fortunate young man because this exercise is going to prove extremely informative for you. Please remove all of your clothing.”

“What!”

“I think it’s time for you to have the experience of disrobing while someone is watching you. I understand it’s something you eighteen-year-old boys are quite sensitive about. It’s only fair, isn’t it? You were so eager in a similar situation to peer in at my daughter. I think it’s time that you learned what it feels like, what a young woman like my daughter goes through every day.”

“Now wait a minute, Mrs. Harley!”

“No, you wait a minute, Mr. Lamb,” she said in a commanding tone, not even bothering to stand up from the desk. “You wait a minute. Since you refuse to put forth the slightest bit of effort, I’m afraid that I am inclined to end your correction right now, on the spot. Perhaps I was wrong about you. Perhaps this matter would be better left in the hands of your parents and the legal authorities. Of course, given that a fellow student and a teacher are involved, I would also have to inform the Dean and the Headmaster. I’m sure they would be quite interested. I understand you’ve had your run ins with them from time to time.”

“No, no, please, Mrs. Harley.” Her taunts were starting to get to me, even more so because I could feel myself losing my will to resist. “Please don’t. I’m sorry, Mrs. Harley, I’m sorry. I promise -- I promise I’ll do anything you say.”

“Yes, yes, you will, Mr. Lamb. You will obey me.” My new meekness didn’t seem to please her much. “That is a foregone conclusion. You correction is inevitable. The only question for you is as to its severity. From the moment you walked into this room you have been determining exactly how unpleasant your future is going to be. And at this point I will tell you that your attitude, your recalcitrance, your I don’t know’s have been strong advocates for my exercising the utmost strictness. I promise you you will learn to regret every time you are not properly respectful to me, every time you hesitate, even for an instant, to follow my instruction.

“My students will tell you I am strict and, yes, I am. I am not in any way ashamed of that, I revel in it. But they will also say that I am the best teacher they’ve ever had, and I can assure you, Mr. Lamb, that you are going to learn a lot from me, if only because you apparently have so very much to learn. I trust that we now understand each other.”

“Yes, Mrs. Harley.”

“Good. Excellent. I seem to remember having given you an assignment some time ago. Perhaps you could oblige me now.”

“Oh, yeah, yes, Ma’am.” I fumbled confusedly with my shirt buttons as she stayed perched on the desk.

“Assuming you are able to dress and undress yourself without your Mommy present to assist you.”

I was in such a rush that I didn’t really think about what I was doing until I paused for a moment and found myself standing there in front of her in only my boxers. “All the way?”

“I trust that is a rhetorical question, Mr. Lamb, and does not merit an answer. I’ll allow you only one of those.”

“Yeah, sorry, well, here goes, Mrs. Harley.” I lowered them and my erection sprang out, waving shamelessly toward her. I felt numb, beyond humiliation.

Her eyes went right to it, and then widened, showing her to be less disinterested than she seemed. “So this excites you sexually, does it Mr. Lamb?”

I looked down too, studying my full, straining tools as if it were just another object in the room. “Evidently, ma’am,” I said in my best cowboy voice.

I expected her anger but instead she laughed, hopping off the desk and sweeping back behind it. “Touché, Mr. Lamb. I can see that at least you are going to be amusing. But why don’t you stand there, rampant as you are, so I can get a look at you. Let’s see how you like being on exhibition. Let’s find out how big a joke that is.” She put on her glasses and picked up her grade book. “You’ll have to excuse me, however, if I fail to muster the same frantic enthusiasm you displayed last night. I’ve got some grades to enter. But don’t worry, I’ll be keeping an eye on you.”

She worked steadily, regularly glancing over her glasses, meeting my eyes with a slight, mocking smile then pointedly looking down, examining my bare body, my occasionally drooping penis always snapping back to attention when she did so, my skin hot and flushed, as if I were blushing with every inch of my exposed skin.

Finally she slapped the grade book shut and stood up. “Done.” In a moment she’d stepped off the platform. “Well, now that you’ve had time to consider things, perhaps we can really get started with your correction, Mr. Lamb.”

I tensed as she walked behind me, deliberately stopping where I couldn’t see her.

“I noticed before that when you gave your little account of your activities last night you neglected to mention something else that you were doing. You weren’t just passively sitting there watching, were you Mr. Lamb?”

“What? I - I don’t know, ma’am.”

“Don’t know again? Ill prepared? Shall I rephrase? While you were peeping at my daughter you were also doing something else to yourself, were you not?”

“No!” Before I could even flinch, I felt a sharp stinging slap across my backside. “Ow!”

“Mr. Lamb, I will teach you to be completely candid with me at all times. Now tell me what you were doing.”

“I was, shit, you know Mrs. Harley!”

Across the other cheek this time, even harder, making me dance with pain. “Come on, Mr. Lamb. In your own words. You’re usually so glib.” Deliberately her palm struck again, in rhythm.

“Ah, I was jacking off, O.K.?” I said, tears in my eyes. “Masturbating.”

“Jacking off. Lovely. Peeping and jacking off. Your parents would be so proud.” She stalked back in front of me, her suit coat slightly askew. “And there I was, an innocent woman working in her garden, unwillingly subjected to such a disgusting sight. Of course I had to say something to you, however embarrassing it was for me. But how much more embarrassing for you, Mr. Lamb, to be discovered like that by a teacher at your own school -- and not only a teacher, but also your next door neighbor and the mother of the girl you were peeping at as you manhandled your organ.”

She leaned close, staring me down, and I caught a whiff of her light, lavender perfume. “Got your gun off, did you? Pretty messy, was it?”

I turned my head aside, my cheeks burning, mumbling.

She grabbed my chin and wrenched my face up to within inches of hers. I watched her deep red lips as she softly but clearly mouthed the words. “Show me, Mr. Lamb. Why don’t you show me what you were doing.”

“What?” I was honestly too shocked to comprehend her.

“Don’t be obtuse. You forget that I’ve already witnessed it. You seemed so eager last night, I’m sure you wouldn’t mind demonstrating for me right now.” She released me with her red nailed fingers, fixing me with just her tone of voice. “Let me see exactly what you were doing while you were peeping at my daughter. Let’s see how little shame you have, Mr. Lamb.”

“Uh, yes, ma’am.” I was so excited, standing there naked, that I wanted to any way, and began just idly fingering my hyper excited shaft, aware at all times of her devouring gaze. It all seemed natural enough in the day dream world I’d entered.

“Oh, come on, Mr. Lamb, who are you kidding? Get to it! I’m sure you’re quite an accomplished masturbator, I’m sure you must practice at least once a day.” 

We were both staring at my cock, my fingers wrapped around it now, wrinkling the skin, a shiny bead of pre-cum welling at the tip. I began to pump in earnest, slave not only to her orders but also to my own increasing excitement.

“There you have it. That’s the stroke I remember,” she said, circling to the side. “Only one thing...” Her hand roughly gathered a fistful of hair and bent my head back sharply. “Don’t cum,” she whispered in my ear. “That’s lesson one. The woman must always, always achieve orgasm first. From this evening forward your pleasure will come second -- if it all.” She let go and I began again, gentler, but still feeling a charge of erotic electricity, the current even more shocking because she was there, studying me so closely.

“It is no longer about you shooting your little gun off as soon as possible -- that is one of those self-taught bad habits that you will have to quickly unlearn. You must learn to control yourself, to postpone your needs until those of the female are achieved.”

I rolled on the balls of my feet, eyes half closed, trying to come as close as possible yet still not give in to the release -- but the closer I came the better it felt...

“Stop!” she commanded and I reeled unsteadily to a halt, almost losing my balance. “You have so little self control, Mr. Lamb. You were that close to achieving, and after I had specifically forbidden you to. Another time I would have let you shame yourself just to teach you a lesson, but you’ve already accrued so much punishment that I’ll have my hands full as it is.” She took off her suit coat and rolled up her sleeves, her shapely, solid breasts assuming a presence beneath the starched cotton.

She was right -- I realized as I stopped, shaky and trembling, that I couldn’t have lasted another second. I’d totally surrendered myself to sensation, only then drawing back to get a glimmer of what was happening -- like it or not, Mrs. Harley was clearly taking me to places I had only dimly glimpsed before.

“Punishment, Mrs. Harley?”

“Oh, that will come in due time, don’t worry. I always over schedule for that.” As I gathered myself, somewhat chilled by her answer, she pushed the desk chair out in front of the desk. “There’s only one cure for selfish boys such as yourself, Mr. Lamb. You must learn the value of considerately giving pleasure to others.” She sat down in the wide leather chair, her short skirt rippling across her thighs. “To that end I am now going to give you a lesson that will prove invaluable to you in your life. Tonight you will learn how to worship a mystery, and that mystery is between the legs of a woman. Kneel here in front of me.”

I fell to my knees eagerly, not sure what she wanted, yet more than willing to give it to her. My brain had gone off line, but my animal nature gladly took over, cautiously sniffing a scent that was new, yet somehow familiar. 

She separated the split hem of her skirt so that it fell open to both sides, the half moon and black straps of her garter belt running down to her stockings, but there was nothing between them but her white skin and a dark, inverted triangle of hair, and within the tangle of it, folds of skin and wrinkled pink lips.




Heather & Mrs. Harley Ch. 02



“Put your mouth there. Kiss it.” As she slid her pelvis forward I leaned to her, her soft thighs pressing against my cheeks, her pubic hair coarse on my lips as I awkwardly put my mouth to her, tentatively pecking the slit, irresistibly drawn to the strong, musky smell.

“Gently.” Her fingers spread over the crown of my head, palming my skull. “We are not like men, always wanting to go as fast as possible as soon as possible.” She gave a barely perceptible shudder as I eased my tongue into her, already wet, my first lap at this dish that already seemed so delicious.

“Work up to it. Cadence and surprise, as Mozart said.” I started slowly, sucking and kissing my way up the folds. “Ahhhhh, yes, yes, pianissimo, adagio, andante..” I explored, licking and nibbling, her hands guiding me, pushing my head with more or less pressure, adjusting me like a stick shift as she maneuvered in the wide chair, pressing me to one part of her, in front, a bud of flesh flowering within the furrow, and as my lips encountered it she moaned. “That’s it, you’ve found it. Mark that place. We’ll be returning.”

Despite her mask of impassive instruction, Mrs. Harley was breathing heavily, her fingers relaxing in my hair as I became lost in the immediate experience of her, resting my hands on her knees as I intuitively chased down her pleasure, telepathically responsive to her urgings.

“Harder. Faster -- there -- there --” And she began to twist and buckle, her thighs tensing and then relaxing, a slow trembling vibration passing through her. “Kiss it now,” she hissed. “Kiss my clit.”

I sucked on it, then tongued it quickly, feeling her orgasms ripple with every touch, she and I together, conspirators in a blissful forever -- which ended abruptly enough when she shoved my head away and I fell back, dodging the high heel at the end of her half-hearted kick.

“Enough,” she barked, but I could see she was smiling, radiant. “You must recognize when a woman has had enough. From you anyway.”

I stood up, my erection throbbing dully in front of me, now a seemingly permanent presence, a startled realization dawning. I just made Mrs. Harley cum, I thought, wiping her juices and a stray pubic hair from my mouth.

“Yes, you’ve certainly earned a passing grade on your first oral examination. You did quite well, really, for a novice.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

She stood up, straightening her clothes and hair, squirting hand lotion on her hands and rubbing them together. She took a towel from a desk drawer and sat back down, laying it precisely over her skirt. “But I hope you haven’t forgotten our unfinished business.”

“Unfinished business?” I gulped. “Mrs. Harley?”

“Yes, it’s getting late and I’m afraid your punishment can’t be postponed any longer. Being tardy is, of course, only among the smallest of your transgressions. That can be addressed easily enough with the addition of a few extra minutes at the end of your spanking.”

“Spanking!”

“Yes, your spanking, Mr. Lamb. It is an essential part of your correction. You are to be spanked and spanked thoroughly by the agency of my bare hand on your bare bottom. You, young man, have any number of nasty, simply immature habits, and until I am able to rid you of them I shall be forced to punish you like a child, like a little baby boy who can’t keep his hands off his pee pee.” She opened her knees, her skirt taut, making a secure platform for me to lie across. “Come on now, don’t dawdle.”

“Hey, hold on there, Mrs. Harley, you can’t do this!”

“Oh, Mr. Lamb,” she sighed. “Do you really think you can start disobeying me now?”

“No, Ma’am.” She was right, it was too late, we’d gone too far already.

“Then get yourself across my lap. It’s time for your spanking.” She patted the towel.

“Yes, Ma’am.” I shuffled to her and awkwardly bent over, trying to find a place to lay my still rampant dick.

She seized me with practiced ease, scissoring one stockinged leg between mine, grabbing my hair to force my head down and ass up, and then bending my arm behind my back so that I would stay that way.

“Now, I don’t know if your parents believe in corporal punishment -- from the looks of you they didn’t resort to it nearly often enough -- but if you imagine you have experienced anything at their hands remotely like what you are about to suffer at mine you are wrong.”

Her first smack shocked me -- the sharp pain was more than I thought an open hand could hold. And that was only the first, her methodical, brisk slaps flashing from cheek to cheek, burning and stinging everywhere. “Later you’ll learn to count for me, but since this is your first lesson, we’ll keep it simple.”

I was already at the edge of my composure but she continued remorselessly, her blows becoming even more painful with repetition, until I finally lost it, crying and bawling, begging to no effect, all to the metronome of her one hand clapping.

However at the same time I had a curiously paradoxical sensation -- as I writhed on her legs my hypersensitive penis was rubbing against her covered thighs, and I felt an improbable but immediate pleasure rising up in me. “Mrs. Harley, I gasped through my sobs. “Mrs. Harley I think I’m going to --”

She let go of my arm and pushed on the small of my back, grinding me against the towel, rolling her hips, all the time continuing the merciless spanking with the other hand. “It’s all right, Mr. Lamb. You go ahead. You let it come.”

And I shuddered and flooded, my release seeming to encompass everything -- the last two days, the yearning and anticipation, the mortification and humiliation, the pain and pleasure switching as I bucked against her with each blow, spurting and spurting, the slaps winding down with the intensity of my orgasm, at last just her palm rubbing my throbbing ass cheeks.

I just lay there, breathing heavily, sniffling, inert on her lap until she abruptly released me and I slid back to the floor. “Well, we’ve covered quite a lot for an initial correction, haven’t we? I deserve some gratitude for that, don’t you think, Mr. Lamb?”

“Oh, yes, yes,” I lay hunched on the floor, surprised to find myself still capable of human discourse. “Yes, thank you, Mrs. Harley.”

Already there was some sort of ineffable connection between us, and I could tell what she wanted just by the way she angled her foot, and crawled forward to kiss the sharp toe of her high heel. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” She tossed down the Kleenex box. “Now clean yourself up and get into the bathroom and scrape some paint.”

“Scrape some paint, Ma’am?”

“Chores. That’s what you’re here for, isn’t it?” She stood up, extending the cum stained towel at arms length. “And put this in the laundry hamper, will you?”

Stay tuned for Heather & Mrs. Harley, Chapter Three: Heather’s Turn Coming in 4-6 weeks only on literotica.com!



Heather & Mrs. Harley Ch. 03



Heather and Mrs. Harley: Chapter Three Heather’s Turn

I had to stand on the bathtub and look over my shoulder to inspect the damage Mrs. Harley had done to my ass. She’d really laid into me, but the butt cheeks looked better than they felt, mottled with puddling patches of red and pink, as if I’d gotten a sunburn instead of the most intensive spanking of my life.

When the knock came on the door I lost my balance, jumping off to grab the only thing I could find to cover myself, the cum stained towel. “Yoo hoo, anybody home?” I barely had time to wrap it around me before Heather’s harlequin face angled in, her brown hair hanging, her grey eyes wide.

“Charlie?” She stepped in quickly and shut the door. “Dude, what are you doing in here?”

“I, uh,” Did she have any idea of what had just happened to me at the hands of her mother? Did I? I picked up the scraper from the windowsill. “I’m supposed to be stripping this paint. Chores, right?”

“Stripping, huh?” She smiled knowingly, then produced a huge joint. “Well, I just had to blow a doob -- that functions shit is giving me a headache already -- and Mom will kill me if she smells reefer in my room.” She reached over to flick a switch by the light and a low hum started. “There’s a fan in here, plus this is the only door in the whole fucking house you can lock.” She turned the latch forcefully. “And I hid the key.”

We looked each other over appraisingly. Although she was a classmate rather than a teacher, and therefore didn’t automatically have the same power over me her mother did, there was a definite sense that she was at the advantage -- after all she was in her cheerleader uniform and I was wearing only a towel.

“So,” she said, still smiling slyly. “Got a light?” She laughed at my perplexity. “Just kidding. I can see that you haven’t got too many pockets at the moment. Like I should talk, I don’t have any either.”

What she was wearing had an iconic presence of its own -- at once a uniform, an outfit and a costume, the yellow sweater and blue pleated skirt with yellow panels were wrapped around only the most luscious of all the ripe eighteen-year-old bodies in the city, the ones who in the old days would have their defloration personally attended to by the King. Now they had the football team to do that for them -- Heather’s uber-devoted boyfriend was, naturally enough, the golden boy quarterback and future Ivy Leaguer, Jimmy.

“But that’s why God gave us bobby socks.” She casually squatted to pull a Bic out of her floppy white sock, then just as deliberately stood up again, coolly aware of the effect her body in motion could create at close quarters. “Are you O.K., Charlie?”

“Oh, yeah, fine. But I better get back to work. I don’t want to get your mom mad at me again.” I turned back to the window so that she couldn’t see that my cock was becoming noticeably erect under the towel, already stirring again after Mrs. Harley had wrung the mother of all orgasms out of it.

“Come off it, Charlie, can you please just try not to be a nerd for once?” She tugged at the back of the towel and I quickly secured it with both hands. “Don’t you even want to party with me?” She gazed at me sardonically, the joint already between her lips, the lighter poised. “I mean, you do get high, right?”

“Oh, sure, sure.” My friends and I had once experimented with a roach of dubious quality that one of them scavenged off his older brother’s floor, but I’d felt nothing then, and the only thing I’d gotten from the hash brownies at the infamous Arabian Nights party at Tekla’s house was sick. “I crave that shit.”

“Oh, really? So tell me, Mr. Party Monster...”

She paused, striking the lighter, her eyes crossing slightly as she studied the burning tip flaring and crackling with her swift intake of breath. Her eyelids drooped and I imagined the passage of the smoke as if flowed over her pink tongue and down her white neck, disappearing into her greedy, expanding lungs, mashing her already prominent breasts even more tantalizingly against her tight sweater.

Her question hung in the air with the dope smoke -- it was so open ended and had been delivered in such a suggestive manner that my now re-engorged penis became even more uncomfortably rampant under the towel.

“What, Heather? Tell you what?”

She kept me in suspense a moment, smiling strangely, her face still as she held her breath, the skin above her angular cheekbones reddening until she exhaled, directing a spreading pillar of smoke at my bare back.

“Tell me why you’re wearing a towel.” Her forefinger stretched out to poke a still tacky patch of cum. “And what exactly is this gross stain on it?” She gave an explosive, smoky guffaw.

“Your mom, ah, took my clothes to, ah, wash them or something.”

“Oh, really? She didn’t give you your clothes back? Wow, you guys must have had a pretty intense correction,” she said before taking another quick puff. “So you must not feel very much like sitting down right now, huh?”

Her stoned giggle was infectious, and I started to break up too, already feeling a contact high. “You got that right,” I gasped.

“How bad was it? Let’s have a look...” She began to lift the towel behind me.

“Hey, come off it Heather!” I twisted to try to grab her hand, not wanting to turn all the way around and make my excitement completely apparent.

“Oh, get real, just show me.” She let go to smooth the hair behind her ear and take yet another hit. “Believe me, I’ve seen it all around here. Is it purple yet?”

“Purple? Man, I hope not, I’ve got PE tomorrow.” Gingerly I parted the folds of the towel, trying to expose my ass and nothing else.

“Shit, that’s not so bad. Just the hand, huh?” Her own free hand prodded her mother’s handiwork brusquely, sending a dull bruising ache through my cheeks. “Boy, when she uses that ruler you can read those numbers off your butt.” She licked a loose seam of the joint lightly then offered it to me. “You’ve got to try some of this, bro, it’s primo.”

I had to turn around to take it without looking completely ridiculous, and as our fingertips met in exchange I noticed her eyes flicker down to the enormous bulge tenting the towel.

“Cool,” I said as I sucked in feebly, trying mostly not to cough but coughing anyway, coughing and inadvenrtantly inhaling at the same time, managing in the process to take in a large amount of the dope, which was, as Heather had promised, primo, and seemed to go immediately to my already reeling head.

I finally stopped hacking then started again, and had recovered enough to guardedly ponder another toke when Heather snatched the loosened towel clean off of me.

“Damn! Heather!” I lunged after her, but she’d already thrown it in the sink and drenched it with water.

“Chill, dude.” She turned off the taps. “We need your little cum rag to put under the door to kill the stench.”

As she rolled it in place I realized it was too late to argue -- there was no way around it, I was now completely naked and erect in front of her. I wheeled back around, ineffectually trying to shield myself. 

“Oh, please Charlie, don’t be such a prude. Do you think I’ve never seen a guy’s boner before? Or maybe you have something to be ashamed of?” She laid her hand on my shoulder and gently turned me. “At least give me my reefer back.” I didn’t resist, suddenly as will less with her as I’d been with her mother.

I held out the joint, but she wasn’t looking at it. Her eyes were riveted on my tumescent dick.

A slight whistle escaped from between her teeth. “You know, you have to give Mom a lot of credit. The old girl can really spot talent. How does she do it?”

She hopped up to perch on the sink counter, crossing her legs and stretching lubriciously. “Who knew?”

It was almost as if the cheerleading uniform had been specifically designed and tailored for Heather’s blooming body, the yellow sweater tight on her wide shoulders and flat stomach, our school’s embroidered initials proudly waving over the dramatic youthful rise of her chest, the megaphone patch sewn in the middle spreading from just above her left nipple to half cover her right breast, the blue lines at the bottom accenting her slim hips and tight ass, the golden gussets in the blue pleated skirt angling upward from those peerless legs, exposed now from her spare, muscular thigh and round calves to the deliberately anachronistic fetish of floppy bobby socks and saddle shoes, as much a part of the costume as the pristine white panties she’d already given me a flash of.

I studied her in stoned reverence, my dick literally twitching.

“This outfit really turns you on, doesn’t it?”

“You could say that, Heather, yes.” I took another toke and actually managed to keep it down.

“I don’t know why. It’s not like you can see much of anything. Besides these sweaters are really heavy.” She tugged at the hem, adjusting the fall of it experimentally. “I get so hot. Don’t you think it’s hot in here?” With a slow, languorous shrug she pulled the sweater over her head and dropped it on the hamper.

I gasped out dope smoke. Her breasts were like two half-covered monuments in the first flush of their greatness, miraculously buoyant despite their mass, the underwire and front clasp of her lacy pink bra only gently restraining their imminent gravity.

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to get your hopes up.” Her eyes widened sympathetically as she patted back her loose hair. “Too bad I’m wearing underwear, huh? Not like last night.”

“Last night?”

“Duh, I knew you were watching me, Charlie. I knew you were out there beating off. That’s why I went commando. How’d you like the show? Sorry Mom cut things a little short.”

“You knew?” I was too befuddled to do anything but echo her. Hadn’t my whole ordeal at the hands of Mrs. Harley supposedly been punishment for my sin of violating Heather’s outraged innocence?

“Don’t freak. I don’t mind.” She waved her fingers in front of my face as if to snap me out of a trance. “So are you just going to let that go to waste?”

“Oh, sorry.” I gave her back the joint, savoring the sight of her as she sat there, just above me, her chest rising as she inhaled, an even more hypnotizing spectacle now that she’d taken off her sweater.

“As a matter of fact I like it,” she said, exhaling, a cloud of smoke coming between us as she laid the roach on the edge of the soap dish. “I like the idea of a guy getting excited enough about me to do that, you know?’ She twisted to look at herself in the mirror, cupping her hands under her bra, pushing up her breasts. “You really like them, don’t you? My tits?”

“Are you kidding?” The sight of two half naked Heathers leaning toward each other was enough to unhinge me. “They’re the best in the school by far.”

“Really?” She jammed them together now, creating a deep shadowy cleavage, the half moon of her nipple rising just above the lacy edge of the bra. “What about Ungie? Hers are bigger than mine, you know. I mean officially, even.” The straps started to slide down as she rolled her shoulders playfully, making sultry faces at her reflection.

“You know that night at Tekla’s? When you got sick from the brownies? Well, it’s too bad you missed it. We got so stoned that all of us cheerleaders decided to have a beauty contest, a contest limited to breast size. We all took off our sweaters and bras and after Ungie was declared the winner we all kind of forgot to put them back on, even that priss Virginia.”

She hooked her thumb under the bra strap, snapping it back into place, turning away from the mirror. “It was wild, really wild. I guess we just got caught up in the whole harem thing. But Ungie won, fair and square. I voted for her myself.”

Ungie was Heather’s best friend and frequent accomplice, a sloppy, over endowed doll faced blonde who was the self proclaimed biggest nympho in school. Heather, on the other hand, was so far living up to her reputation as a shameless cock tease.

“Oh, no, Heather, Ungie’s are gross. There’s such a thing as being too big and, you know, shapeless.”

“Gross?” She picked up the stub of joint for one last toke.

“Oh, yeah!” I was caught up in the volubility of a good buzz, free associating and talking without thinking. “It’s not like yours are little or anything, they’re certainly not, but plus they’re also the perfect shape, fantastic, like platonic or something. All the guys say it. People even make up nicknames for your rack, Superlungs. The Great Pyramids is the one you hear the most, but I prefer, even though I know it’s a little esoteric -- Oh, God, I can’t believe I’m saying all this...” I don’t know why, considering all I’d seen and done that night, that I picked that moment to feel especially self-conscious.

A last plume of smoke escaped the roach as she pinched it dead. “Oh, no, I think that’s great. You have your own little name for my rack.” She paused for a moment to bring it to her mouth and swallow it. “What is it?”

“Uh, I read it someplace...” I couldn’t stop staring at her breasts, sitting right there at eye level. “In Rilke actually. My nominee is The Display Fruit of Equanimity.”

The subjects of my fascination jiggled slightly as Heather giggled. “Oh, that’s cute.” Her fingers came into my vision, dawdling at the front clasp, working it experimentally. “I bet you’d like to see them, wouldn’t you, Charlie? If I took this off.”

“Oh, Heather...” I groped out to her, trying to head my lips toward hers but I was quickly turned aside by a vicious slap.

“Yeah, I bet you would,” she said as I withdrew, stunned. “Don’t get above yourself, dude. Jimmy would eat dog shit to see me like this -- hey come to think of it that’s not such a bad idea.”

She leaned back on the counter, crossing her leg, her ankle on her knee, and pulled another joint out of her sock. “You should hear him beg sometimes, it’s just pitiful.” The pleated skirt gaped open, giving a clear look at the white panties arching at the fleshy part of her thigh. “But you know I’m really nice to him, all the time practically, and he’s not even half hung the way you are.”

The lighter flamed again and another cloud of smoke enveloped her. “You don’t have a girlfriend, do you?”

“Uh, no, not really.” My hopeless crush on Virginia, the head cheerleader, the prettiest girl in school had blighted my social life.

“Hmmmm.” Heather puffed thoughtfully. “That’s probably why you jack off so much. I mean, I can’t believe my Mom caught you. That must have been soooo embarrassing.”

“Oh, come on, give me a break. I’ve already had enough humiliation for one night, O.K.?”

“Hey, it’s no big deal. I’ve got nothing against masturbation. It just seems so wrong to waste a hard dick like that when there are so many horny girls around.” She eyed me through a fresh effusion of smoke, her eyes ostentatiously lingering on my still upright cock. Swinging her leg off, she began to toy with the vermilion head using only the tip of her scuffed saddle shoe. “You know what I mean?”

“Grrrrr.” The sting of her slap still fresh on my cheek, I could only sort of growl, like a dog afraid to snatch what it so wants.

“Because that’s the thing about pot, it always makes me so fucking horny.” She lifted her other leg, catching me between her insteps, pressing gently and then not so gently. “Doesn’t it make you so fucking horny, too?”

“Ye-ye-yeah-uhhh...” Half of me wanted to demand that she stop it, the other half to beg her to do it harder. “Please...”

“Yeah? Ungie says this shit puts the Oh in Orgasm, but we all know she’s so easy to please.” She held her legs steady, pulling my cockhead up and my other head with it, to once again lose myself in her great grey eyes. “So, Charlie, tell me, did Mom give you your orals yet?” 

“What?”

She rubbed her feet together roughly. “Come on, tell me?” I nodded, shamefaced. “Yeah? And you did pretty good? She was satisfied?” But not even her supple legs could continue the awkward posture and my member flopped free.

I reeled back, regaining a sliver of my self-composure. “She didn’t have any complaints.” My hand went reflexively to my ass. “About that anyway.”

She chuckled. “Come on, come back here and take this.” She said, holding the joint so close to her body that I had to step forward to meet her fingers, my dick leaning out almost to her hem. As our fingertips met, she closed her knees around the shaft. I groaned in pleasure. 

“You like that, huh? When I touch you.” The head stuck up a few inches from the bunch in her skirt like a flesh mushroom, and she idly traced patterns with her finger on my most sensitive flesh. “Well, let me tell you what, Charlie, let’s make a deal. If you’re real nice to me, I will possibly be real nice to you.” I gasped again as she released me. 

Reaching under her skirt, she made a quick serpentine hitch on the counter and deftly pulled her panties over her legs, off of one shoe and then the other. “Get it?” Giggling, she pulled them over my head.

“No don’t.” I tried to take them off but she grabbed my wrists. “Please, you look so cute that way. And give that back, you’re not even smoking it.”

She took a long hit, spreading her legs as she pulled the cheerleader skirt back, flattening on the counter, her grey eyes mocking me above her clearly exposed, closely shaven pussy.

“Now come on, dude, why don’t you get on down here and show Heather what you’ve learned.”

And so I fell to my knees on the bathroom rug, and for the second time that night I found myself doing oral service to a woman. I brought my lips to her hesitatingly as she settled the hem over my head, trying to start as gently as her mother had demanded, but soon enough found myself trapped between her taut thighs as she slid forward, her sex fresher, sweeter, more intimate than her mother’s, but her needs cruder and her direction of me toward their fulfillment less sure.

“Yeah, team, go, go, go...” She crooned, wrenching my hair through the panties on my head, puffing on the reefer, occasionally hanging it from her lips to grind me suffocatingly against her with both hands, using not just my mouth and tongue, but the pressure of my whole face to satisfy her violent desire.

She took another hit and I reared back, gasping, suddenly overwhelmingly aware of the smells in the dark shadows beneath her skirt: wool, mothballs, dope, sex and sweat. She yanked me back to her.

Although her hunger was more desperate than her mother’s, its fulfillment took longer, much longer, and I lapped and lapped at her until, finally, almost unwillingly, she started undulating, closing her legs around my neck, shaking and twisting, until I had to break away to breathe.

She didn’t resist, and I collapsed back on the floor looking up at her in her cheerleader skirt and bra, unendurably ripe, fresh and full of erotic promise, the sink lights and mirror creating an odd nimbus in the smoky air around her.

She looked down at me indolently, her eyes at half mast. “Yeah, not too bad for a dude. But I hate to break it to you, but about that so called deal we made --” Her lids shot up in terror. “Oh, shit.”

There was Mrs. Harley, standing in the doorway, the key in one hand and my clothes in the other.

“It would appear that you have yet to learn your lesson, Mr. Lamb. Get dressed and excuse yourself immediately.” She dropped the clothes in my lap. “Tomorrow I will expect you in my classroom at Four O’clock for further correction. I hope for your sake you will not be tardy again. And remove my daughter’s undergarments from your head at once.” I snatched them off -- in my shock I’d completely forgotten they were there at all.

“As for you, young lady,” she grabbed a yelping Heather by the ear, smoothly plucking the joint from her fingers and tossing it in the toilet. “We’ll begin your correction right now.” She pulled her down the hall and into Heather’s bedroom, slamming the door.




Heather & Mrs. Harley Ch. 03



Dazed, I stared at my face in the mirror, eyes bloodshot, hair disheveled, Heather’s sweet, sticky fluids glistening on my lips. Sick of being naked, I roughly pulled my clothes on, slipped Heather’s panties into my pocket, and ran out of the house, Heather’s cries just beginning behind me.

Outside in the clear, starry night I was shocked to look at my watch and see that it was only 10:30. It seemed to me that I had spent at least several lifetimes that night in the Harley’s house.

I walked a bit stiffly back home, faintly embarrassed at the familiar place’s innocence of the things I’d just seen and done. My Father was still in the arm chair, still reading the paper, the big tumbler of bourbon next to him now half empty. “So, son, how’d it go?”

“Uh, fine, Dad, fine.” I tried to sidle past, but I could tell from the way he folded the paper and laid it down that he was in the mood for one of his boozy father/son chats.

“So what did old lady Harley make you do?”

Couldn’t he see? Couldn’t he tell just from my face what she’d made me do? “Oh, I did some stripping.” I was still buzzed enough to almost lose it at that, but quickly saved myself. “Stripping old paint in the bathroom.”

“Tedious work.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I kind of got into it.” Behind him now, I was able to grin. “Rough on the joints though.”

“Well son, you’re eighteen now. It’s time you learned to be a man around the house.”

“Believe me, Dad, I’m going to learn to do things the correct way at Mrs. Harley’s.”

“Pretty strict, huh?”

“Yeah, you could say that. Hey, good night.” I successfully turned the corner and fled to my room.

My ass was only slightly uncomfortable on the sheets. This time the curtains stayed closed, the sounds by themselves enough of a turn on, especially since I had such vivid memories to go with them, and was still frustrated from Heather’s protracted tease.


Again I felt that same connection with Mrs. Harley, both of our hands finishing their work at almost the same time, mine in Heather’s panties, hers on Heather’s ass.

I lay drained, the cum drenched panties in a heap on my stomach, hypnagogic patterns and images playing on my eyelids, contentedly listening to Heather’s sobs slowly trailing off into the night.

Then I remembered that I was due for another correction myself, the next day at school.

Coming Soon: Heather & Mrs. Harley Chapter Four: In School Correction



Heather & Mrs. Harley Ch. 04



CHAPTER FOUR: The Price of Deception? An In School Correction!

I made sure to be prompt, early even, for my correction, pushing through the hallway crowds with much more determination than I ever showed toward mere schoolwork. I knew well enough that if I resisted, Mrs. Harley would track me down and have me brought to her, but the funny thing was that after the events of last night I 'd completely lost any inclination to resist her.

The door to Room 213 was locked, with nothing visible behind the frosted glass half panel except for a few confused shapes. I rapped on the wood frame smartly, my fear of being late overcoming the sudden apprehension of whatever fresh humiliation Mrs. Harley had in store for me.

I heard the staccato click clack of her high heels on the linoleum as one of the blurs became larger and Mrs. Harley drew open the door just enough to let me slide in. "Mr. Lamb," she acknowledged with a curt smile as she re-locked it. "Our final pupil. We will begin the correction at my leisure."

Even though I thought I'd pictured every tableau that could present itself to me, what I saw in that classroom stopped me dead and left me there gaping. Heather and her friend Ungie stood side by side a few steps in front of Mrs. Harley's desk, in their short yellow cheerleader sweaters, their arms behind their backs, their blue and gold pleated skirts and white panties bunched together at their ankles, their pale, round asses clearly exposed.

As soon as I could look away I noticed there was someone else in the room as well -- over in the far corner, her nose pressed against the intersection of the wall and the chalkboard, stood a girl, this one entirely naked except for the violet ribbons that were wrapped around her, her neck, her breasts, tying her hands and hobbling her ankles. I had a shock of recognition -- no it couldn't be -- but I knew who she was, the same way I'd improbably recognized her the very first time I'd seen her that morning years ago in English class, recognized her pale skin and russet hair, knowing her to be her even before I actually learned her name, Virginia, the girl of my dreams. "Shit," I whispered.

"I was planning on commending you on your unprecedented punctuality." Mrs. Harley had already installed herself behind her imposing desk. "But since you have entered this room something appears to have precipitously addled your wits. Perhaps you can still comprehend a direct command: please stand with the others until I require you."

The far end of the room was dominated by a raised carpeted platform which in turn was dominated by that giant oak desk, the whole set up very much as it had been in her home office. I took my place next to Ungie, my posture like hers in the military at ease, legs slightly spread, hands clasped behind, trying desperately not to stare, but still subtly craning for a tantalizing glimpse of her exposed flesh, even a flash of her thatch of pubic hair, much darker than the peroxide pixie shag surrounding her head.

"Mr. Lamb," Mrs. Harley demanded my attention, her red grading pen pointed straight at me. "If you can cease your peeping for a moment . . . " Now she lowered her chin, looking up over her half glasses. "You might be able to come to the obvious conclusion . . . " The red pen lingered on her lips for a moment and then began tapping on her teeth as she paused. "That you are, shall we say, a little out of step with the other students."

"I, what, oh, yeah . . . " I followed her leading gaze from Ungie's naked bottom to my own clothed one. "Oh, I get it, yes, ma'am, right away, ma'am." Feverish to please her I dropped my 501's and boxers all in one motion, acting before I really realized that that action would mean I would be standing there with my dick hanging out, exposed to not only Mrs. Harley as I had been the night before, but also to three of my most desirable classmates as well.

"The light dawns. I simply cannot believe that you are as dense as you appear, Mr. Lamb. We'll have to find some way to further motivate you."

"Yes, ma'am."

She just shook her head and returned to her grading, her raven bangs swinging beside her face.

As soon as her commanding gaze left me I was again aware of the apparent absurdity of the three of us lined up there, naked from the waist down, politely waiting for whatever calamity Mrs. Harley could dream up for us, and this awareness strangely exited me, an excitement that was soon evident.

I heard a muffled giggle beside me and saw Heather and Ungie exchange meaningful glances and Heather mouth I TOLD YOU SO. Ungie stared frankly and appraisingly at my member, and I, unwisely but in the spirit of the moment, shook it a little, the tip bobbling as she started to giggle louder, realizing that I was watching her watch me.

"A-hem." Mrs. Harley was, of course watching us all, and we were once more frozen by a look of baleful disapproval. "For heavens sake, can you eighteen year olds not conduct yourselves like children for even a moment? What are you playing now, show and tell? Oh, Mr. Lamb," she said as she rose and my condition became even more apparent. She looked at my member in that clinical way that made me feel twice as exposed. "You ARE incorrigible, aren't you?"

"Yes, ma'am, I, uh . . . "

"And aren't you just so enamored of your little pee pee. But don't worry, I promise in just a short time neither one of you will be standing so proudly . . . " She slowly drew a thick ash yardstick from the chalkboard ledge. "But by the same token you will have no interest in sitting."

We all laughed nervously, our voices trailing off as she advanced toward us, the yardstick in her hands.

"Funny, is it? I don't believe any of you will be laughing soon. But that is precisely to my point -- it's all a joke to you. You may be eighteen years old but you are completely unable to control your basest instincts -- all three of you."

I watched her hands as they caressed the yardstick, my butt cheeks clenching as my body remembered the merciless spanking those hands had delivered the night before, while my penis, ever perverse, throbbed in front of me.

She cast a bemused glance at it and Ungie and Heather looked over too. "Some of you display it more obviously than others, but you are all of you sorely lacking in self-discipline. And when a student is unable to provide discipline for themselves it is a teacher's duty to provide it for them." The yardstick bent against her palm. "In your own way your actions are a cry for help. You know I'm here to help you, don't you?"

"Yes, ma'am." Ungie and Heather, better conditioned, answered a half beat before I did.

"You know, I've been thinking and I've decided that if we were to give a title to the proceedings today it would be THE PRICE OF DECEPTION." 

No one responded to that as Mrs. Harley strolled to face Ungie. "Couldn't we, Miss Ungerford? Please step forward." Ungie advanced a shaky stride, shivering as Mrs. Harley turned, standing, in the intimidating way she had, lurking just at the edge of vision. "I believe I just asked you a direct question."

Ungie blushed, panicked, already on the verge of tears. "De -- deception, ma'am? I don't get it."

"You don't get it? You seemed to be getting it when we talked last week about not letting your overblown libido coerce you into demeaning situations. Did you GET that?"

"Oh, you mean . . . " It was clear that she now understood what Mrs. Harley was talking about. "Yes, ma'am."

"No, obviously you did not get it -- but I'll tell you what you will GET -- a sound spanking. I have received information concerning your conduct at a sordid little get together which took place after the football game Friday night."

For a moment anger overcame Ungie's cow-like demeanor, and her lip tightened as she glared at Virginia, her hands in fists behind her back. There was no doubt that Virginia was the informant -- as a cheerleader she would have been at that party, too -- but it looked as if she had given Ungie up only after some duress, as evidenced by the long pink lines the yardstick had left, dramatically evident against her pale, creamy skin.

"Does that refresh your memory, dear?"

"Yes, yes ma'am." Sighing, Ungie cast one last bitter glance at Virginia, mumbling, "Fuckin' Narc."

She didn't even have time to flinch when a blow glanced off the exposed expanse of her thigh.

"Don't be insolent. At this point there is only one person you have to be worried about and that is yourself." For symmetry, if nothing else, she wacked her on the other side too, and this time Ungie danced with pain, her mountainous breasts flopping under the tight cheerleader sweater. "Now would you like to finally tell me yourself, if just for formality, exactly what occurred at this function?"

"You know, it was after the game, right? And the whole team was there and . . . "

"And?" Mrs. Harley feinted slightly but Ungie reacted as if she'd been actually hit, twisting and bursting into tears.

"And we were partying and all that . . . " She whined, sniffling. "And we got really fucked up and I . . . I . . . "

"Yes?"

"I pulled a train!" She was really sobbing now, covering her eyes, gasping out phrases. "Please, Mrs. Harley...you know how...turned on I get...cheering at the game."

"Pulled a train. Fascinating term. By which I take it to mean that you had sex with a number of men sequentially?" Ungie nodded with her whole body, her eyes scrunched shut. "How large a number?" Another quick shot with the yardstick and Ungie's lids fluttered open, eyelashes clumped with tears.

"I don't know!" She put her hands on her cheerleader sweatered chest and absently caressed her greatest assets as she calculated. "How many's on an offensive line? Including the tight end."

Heather snorted as Mrs. Harley moved closer, hissing right in Ungie's ear. "Listen to me, young lady. You are an attractive female with quite evident and undeniable sexual power, Miss Ungerford, the power to attract and confound the male. But instead of using this power for your own advancement you squander it. It is simply unacceptable -- you let these cretins use you like a two dollar whore -- without the two dollars."

"But Mrs. Harley, I promised them that if they scored that touchdown I would. Just my luck they went ahead and did it! Besides all that beer and weed makes me horny."

"Makes you horny! When are you NOT horny? You girls are like rabbits, always in heat, always willing to copulate with any buck at any time." Her hand smoothed the abundant quivery rise of Ungie's ass. "It's lovely flesh, dear, but you've allowed yourself to be imprisoned by it, and now it must be chastised. You do understand, don't you Miss Ungerford, why your correction must be so severe?"

"No, please, come on, Mrs. Harley." She began sobbing and wheezing again. "I mean I do understand that's it's wrong...but I can't help it!"

"Perhaps the memory of your coming correction will help you help it next time. Better stop crying, dear. You might want to save some for later. Fifteen seems a fair number."

"Fifteen!"

"Yes, ten for your actions and five for concealing those actions from me. Delivered by Mr. Lamb perhaps."

"Me!" I said, startled out of my comfortable role as fascinated observer.

"Yes, I like my students to experience both ends of the stick." She circled the still snuffling Ungie to once again square up on me. "But good, I'm glad you felt the need to speak up, Mr. Lamb. Let's have a little talk about you, shall we?" She paused until I looked up into her dark eyes. "Why don't you tell me why you think I've asked you to attend this correction?"

"Ah, I guess last night, ma'am."

Heather snickered at the apparently unsatisfactory nature of this reply, but Mrs. Harley only smiled indulgently. "Go on. What about last night?"

"You know, when I was smoking, uh, marijuana in the bathroom, and the, uh, sex things with Heather."

"Sex things." Still staring me down she reached out to snatch my tumescent rod, which stiffened further at her touch. "Do you know what your problem is, Mr. Lamb? Your problem is in the palm of my hand. YOUR sex thing." Now she lay her hand flat, displaying my erection. We both considered it, long reddish, thick veined, throbbing with the power of a patent and faintly ridiculous desire.

Since Ungie had stepped forward I had a clear line of sight to Heather, who was also goggling at it, choking back a giggle. Even Ungie herself recovered from her hysterics long enough to look back and smile, lightly licking her lips.

"You, like so many men, are ruled solely by this odd looking, blind and dumb organ. One eyed, yes, but still sightless. It compensates by being acutely sensitive to touch, full of the nerve endings that can bring deep enjoyment --" She gradually closed her fingers around me, pressing lightly, rhythmically. "Or the most extreme discomfort." She wrenched upward, her long red nails pinching.

"Ahhh." She released me, wheeling away, the yardstick coming into view again.

"So tell me, Mr. Lamb, exactly where did that blind and dumb organ lead you for its own crude fulfillment? Was it worth the price you're going to pay today? Hopefully you will conclude it was not, that in the future it is better to let an experienced teacher be your guide rather than a blood swollen part of your anatomy." I felt the yardstick then, for the first time, quick and heavy, burning a swath of pain up my hip. "But proceed and let's try to be more forthcoming about last night."

"With Heather?" I asked.

"No, Mr. Lamb. Actually you'll be relieved to learn that I've decided against reprimanding you for your actions with my daughter. An immature eighteen-year-old virgin such as yourself is helpless in the presence of a sexually aware female. I have no doubt that she used you solely for her own pleasure and left you highly frustrated, which, after all, is technically in line with the values I am trying to inculcate in you."

But I was far from relieved, because it began to dawn on me exactly what I was to be punished for. "No," Mrs. Harley continued. "Heather has already paid for your joint sins of last night. What concerns me are your actions AFTER you slunk out of our house last night."

"After?" I tried to maintain an air of ignorance, but was chilled by the certainty -- she knew everything. "I mean, I just, I just went to sleep."

"Oh, Mr. Lamb, you're not going to be tedious, are you? Not that I shouldn't happy to get it out of you slowly and painfully if I must." She just touched the tip of the yardstick to my ass, prodding me sharply. "Well, as the saying goes, it will all come out in the end." I felt another quick slash burn. "Your posterior, you see, the part of your anatomy uniquely suited for receiving correction. The seat of your discipline." She struck even harder now, with purpose.

"Ah, yes, ma'am, last night, ma'am."

"Why don't you start by revealing to me the fate of my daughter's panties."

"Panties?"

A fresh line of pain. "Yes, her panties. I'm sure you know the ones I'm talking about. The last time

I saw them they were on your head." She didn't even try to quiet Ungie and Heather's giggles now, but used them to further my humiliation.

"Oh, those," I said as if I had just remembered them. "I stuck them in my pocket when you, ah, came in, Mrs. Harley, and I must have forgotten all about them because I reached in there, later that night you know, when I got home, I reached into my pocket and I was like -- whoops -- there they are -- what do you know -- I still have Heather's panties -- heh-heh –" It sounded lame even to me. All the usual tricks I'd used to skate through life were useless to me now. "...kind of funny in a way, really."

"I see." She crossed her arms, the yardstick jutting at an angle from her elbow. "So realizing your oversight, I take it you then returned the panties to my daughter today at school?"

What could I do? I'd long ago realized that I was defenseless in front of her, but, strangely enough, instead of resenting her for so ruthlessly ferreting out my most embarrassing and well-hidden secrets, I found myself admiring her all the more, an admiration which was now more closely resembling idolatry.

"Mr. Lamb I believe I asked you a question."

There was no more equivocation in me, from here on in I would tell her what we both knew.

"No, ma'am, I did not give them back to Heather at school." 

"Well, then, perhaps the panties are still in your pocket and you can present them to her now."

"No, ma'am they're not in my pocket."

"Not in your pocket? Perhaps they are and you've simply forgotten about it again. No? Where can they be? We can see you are not wearing them, either on your head or your bottom." Emboldened, Heather and Ungie went as far as outright laughter. "No more secrets, Mr. Lamb, and no more no's. Tell me SOMETHING, at least."

"They're, uh, they're under the bed. At home."

"What's under your bed, Mr. Lamb."

"Heather's panties." Even the word PANTIES was of a piece with the whole experience, somehow shameful and ridiculous and yet redolent with erotic allure.

"Heather's panties are under your bed? That would seem to me to be a rather peculiar place to store a pair of white cotton woman's panties, strewn on what I am sure is not the best maintained spot in the world. But perhaps the panties aren't so pristine anymore, are they Mr. Lamb?"

"Oh, jeez . . . " Had I been misguided enough to hope that she didn't know everything? " I, uh, . . . " I paused, swallowed, and in the brief silence I was suddenly intensely aware of the presence of the others, not only Heather and Ungie, tittering, hanging on my every word, but also of the still silent Virginia in the corner, the girl I'd put on a pedestal, the one who, almost alone of all women, I had tried to respect enough to shield, even in my imagination, from the crudity of my sexual desire. The one being in the universe, in fact, that I would least want to witness my correction.

But the figure on the pedestal had been replaced by the image of Mrs. Harley, who loomed in front of me, the woman who had altered my life irredeemably with one fell swat.

By now I was surrendering to her with relief. "O.K., I took the panties home. I meant to take them home, I put them in my pocket on purpose, and later I, uh, jacked off to them. Last night while you were spanking Heather...Ma'am."

"Good Heavens!" Mrs. Harley mimed theatrical shock. "Are you saying you stole Heather's panties, brought them back to your home and placed my daughter's panties over the shaft of your penis while you were abusing yourself and then fouled them with your sperm?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"And you were eavesdropping as I chastised Heather? And you found this erotically exciting as you played with yourself?"

"Oh, yeah, and plus she had me all horny from that cock tease in the bathroom..."

"And after you had discharged your load into Heather's panties you simply threw them under your bed?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Quite a pretty little story, Mr. Lamb. And now what? Are the panties to molder there indefinitely?"

"No, ma'am, to tell you the truth I'd probably jack off into them again -- tonight even."

Another quick blow. "But you're not going to do that now, are you?"

"No, ma'am."

"No, what you are going to do now is rescue those panties from under your bed and hand wash them repeatedly, I don't care how many times, repeatedly, until there remains not the slightest evidence of your tumid excretions, and then you are going to wear them and them alone under your pants to school. You will then arrange with Heather to meet her at a place and time of her choosing in order to remove them and return them to her with your apologies. Perhaps cheerleading practice would be a good venue."




Heather & Mrs. Harley Ch. 04



"I admit that admire your candor, Mr. Lamb, however grudging. I also realize that admitting of your filthy and degrading habits in front of your more popular peers must have been rather embarrassing. A less firm teacher would say that you've suffered enough already," she said, but the yardstick stung my ass again, worse than ever before. "But in my judgment your punishment has only begun. It is only through a correction that you will learn that you are far too shameless and impulsive to control your own orgasms. I thought I'd made it perfectly clear last night that from that point forward all your sexual activities were to be strictly controlled by me and me alone. Didn't you achieve a quite satisfactory orgasm last night? After I'd given you a good spanking over my knees?" I hung my head, more aware than ever of the others, but also, quite unavoidably, getting hard again. "Answer me."

"Yes, ma'am."

"And yet you chose to slink home and masturbate into Heather's panties." 

"Yes, ma'am. I'm sorry, ma'am."

"I think ten should do quite nicely for a virgin bottom such as your own. I haven't quite decided who is going to administer. We'll have to see how you acquit yourself at the other end of the yardstick first."

My knees buckled and I fought to keep my balance as it hit me that however harsh the punishment last night may have seemed, today's ordeal was going to be far harsher, both more painful and more humiliating. Instead of being hand spanked in the peculiarly intimate confines of Mrs. Harley's lap, just the two of us, my erection nestled against her thighs, I was soon to be totally exposed, not just the usually hidden parts of my body, but those parts of my mind I tried to conceal as well -- my fear, my excitement, my surrender -- all the dark things that Mrs. Harley was going to bring to light from the length of a yardstick, all exhibited in the presence of a rapt, snickering audience of three beautiful, half-dressed eighteen year old classmates.

In the silence all of Heather's previously suppressed laughter escaped explosively as she doubled over, her hand covering her mouth, looking conspiratorially at Ungie, whose eyes, however were riveted on my crimson mushroom dick head, which was once again pulsing at the top of Mrs. Harley's fist. There was a quick firm squeeze, as painful as it was stimulating, and then she peremptorily released me, turning her relentless scrutiny to Heather.

"I take it that you find this correction amusing?"

"Yeah, well it is, kinda..." It was strange to see Heather there, gesturing and speaking to her mother conversationally, the lower half of her bare skin down to the bunched panties, cheerleader skirt, white socks and saddle shoes. "I mean it's kind of ironic to think that I'm sitting here watching it and knowing that for once I'm not going to get any. I wouldn't mind giving Charlie a few licks, though, if you're looking for a volunteer."

"That's not irony, dear. And what makes you so certain that you yourself are not going to receive a correction?"

"Hold on, Mom, you just admitted I already got corrected for that stuff with Charlie, and I haven't done anything since then. I've hardly had a chance, I've been in school all day."

"Unfortunately this time the problem is not something you did, but something that you did not do." I watched the same hand that had just been on my dick tighten around the yardstick. "And don't think that I haven't taken note of your offensive tone."

"Didn't do?" Heather still glared up at her mother as she towered above her on the platform, but she was wilting, her bravado visibly fading. "What are you talking about?"

"You attended that post-football soiree with Miss Ungerford, did you not?"

"Oh, crap, now I get it." She slumped back, as resigned as the rest of us to the inevitability of correction. "But it's not fair."

"But being such bosom buddies, how is it possible that you were unaware of what was going on the bedroom concerning Miss Ungerford and the offensive line?"

"Yeah, but it's not like it was any deep secret -- the guys were lined up in the hall. I mean, it's not like they were all in the bedroom at the same time, at most two or three maybe."

"And you did not attempt to dissuade your dear friend from such humiliating behavior?"

"No, obviously. But she didn't want me to! It sounded to me like she was enjoying it, especially the last hour or so."

"And did it not occur to you that you had the responsibility, at the very least, to inform Mrs. Ungerford's teacher who is, by the way, your own mother, about Miss Ungerford's conduct? Imagine my distress to have to learn of these goings on from another student -- albeit under some duress -- rather than from my own daughter who had been present at the very same party and had no doubt also witnessed Miss Ungerford's disgrace but had yet neglected to either prevent it or inform me of it."

"Yeah, well..." Heather straightened up and looked her mother in the eye. "If you want me to kiss ass like Miss Wonderlips there --" She made an emphatic gesture toward Virginia, who remained motionless in the corner.

The slap sounded before I was even aware Mrs. Harley had moved, her open hand quickly erasing Heather's sneer. "Insolence never pays. You will remember that."

Heather was suddenly cowed. "Yes, ma'am."

"And to underline the lesson I'm assigning you ten, the same sentence as Miss Ungerford received for the original incident -- very symmetrical don't you think?" 

There was a charged silence -- I think all three of us had the troubling realization that sentencing was over and we were now moving inexorably into the punishment portion of our correction.

"Oh, come now, kiddos, why the long faces? Weren't you laughing and carrying on just a minute ago?"

Mrs. Harley began to clear her desktop with efficient motions, removing the grade books and cups of red pens and #4 pencils, but leaving the great green blotter in the center.

"Now Miss Ungerford, why don't you step up and demonstrate the proper presentation for Mr. Lamb."

Ungie stumbled, hindered by the panties and cheerleader skirt sliding even further down her calves to puddle around her white sweat socks and saddle shoes. She sidled onto the platform and bent over the desk, leaning on her elbows, her arms reaching across to grip the far edge, her massive breasts pillowing to cushion her, her Kewpie doll face suspended an inch above the blotter.

Although Ungie was eighteen she'd never really lost her baby fat, but at this summery season of her life it only added to her allure. Voluptuous, zaftig, Rubenesque, she was the very personification of youthful pulchritude, bursting and ripe, just this side of excess and rot, so much so that some aspects of her now clearly exposed lower body were almost gross, like the pasty, almost fish belly white sheen of her jiggly, glutinous ass and the rough texture of the profusion of hair surrounding her prominent netherlips. Still I couldn't take my eyes off her bare skin and my dick thickened.

"Very good, dear." Mrs. Harley solicitously tucked up her cheerleader sweater. "And let's try to temper the histrionics this time, shall we?" Ungie's blond shag rose and fell as she nodded dumbly, her body already shaking with suppressed sobs.

"Please come forward and take the stick, Mr. Lamb."

"Me?"

"You're repeating yourself, Mr. Lamb. Come on, get on with it, we're waiting."

She handed me the yardstick expectantly, as if it was a familiar task for me to spank a half naked classmate, akin to clapping the chalk dust out of the erasers. Because she was elevated on the platform, her legs straight her body tilted down, Ungie's ass was presented at an ideal way, the platonic ideal of an ass, displayed at just about at the height of a hanging curve ball.

"If you hesitate another moment you will have to take her place and her punishment as well as your own. Fifteen strokes."

In desperation I swung awkwardly as if swatting a fly, the blow glancing harmlessly off the top of her thigh. Heather burst out laughing, Mrs. Harley grimaced and even Ungie looked back over her shoulder, grinning.

"For heavens sake!"

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Harley, it's just that I don't know how to do it."

"That's quite evident. Oh, little Lamb, can you really be as naive and incompetent as you appear?" Mrs. Harley was wearing a black, close-fitting cardigan, with a loose enough weave to show the translucent white of her blouse, and her long, red nailed fingers methodically worked their way down it, unbuttoning the pearl buttons. "Your education has been sorely neglected."

She drew off the sweater and arranged it on the chair then came to me. Without the shadow of an outer layer her blouse shone white, almost shockingly so as the starched material molded to her, itself somewhat transparent, revealing the ghostly presence of an elaborate, lacy bra. Her long, matchless legs were visible in dark stocking flashes through the high slit in her black skirt as she stepped to the side of Ungie. "For one thing, you'll get quite a bit more leverage from here rather than from just behind her. It's elementary physics."

I stood in where she indicated, my back to her, then thrilled to the sudden warmth of her as she pressed against me, holding my arm like a tennis instructor. She settled behind, getting comfortable, and I was touched by the extraordinary gravity of her body, surrendering to its pull, happily lost in her hold, almost swallowed up.

"Pivot," she said. "And swing." She guided my wrist in a sweeping motion that struck Ungie flush on both cheeks. She released me. "Now harder."

I turned to her -- wanting nothing more than to touch her again, my penis jutting out in front of me, alive as ever, bobbing in supplication.

"Not THAT!" Mrs. Harley smirked. "I'm afraid THAT'S hard enough already."

"Yeah, O.K." I'd been so conscious of her that I hadn't retained anything of her lesson. I tried to replicate my stance and stroke, striking Ungie again, dead on, but without much velocity and she gave only a token whimper.

I hesitated again, dizzy with uncertainty. The root of the problem was that I didn't really want to hit her. Was there something wrong with me because I'd rather stick my cock into that tenderly presented pile of overstuffed femaleness than abuse it with a yardstick?

"You can't be serious. Is masturbation your only skill? If you can't do any better than that I'll have to take over myself."

Ungie's voice was only slightly choked when she spoke up. "No, please, not you Mrs. Harley, that's not fair!"

The strange mixture of sex and discipline had gone to my head -- what had happened seemed so unreal -- the shock of the slap of wood on flesh and the tremor traveling up my arm, the pink afterimages that lingered crosswise on Ungie's pale ass skin.

"I just can't hit her that hard, Mrs. Harley," I blurted. "I mean she's only a girl." There was a general, stunned silence and I knew I'd uttered a phrase worse than profanity.

"ONLY A GIRL?" thundered Mrs. Harley incredulously. "Oh, Mr. Lamb you are so utterly misguided. Ladies, from this moment on it's our duty to disabuse him of that notion. I promise you that before this correction is over you will learn, to your great regret, who is truly the superior sex."

Her hand shot to my wrist and raised the yardstick to shoulder height. "You have one more chance to deliver a credible blow. Go on, show us what a MAN you are."

Heather guffawed and I saw red. Determined to show them I brought the stick back even farther and higher than Mrs. Harley had shown me. But I swung too hard, turned too fast and stumbled over my pants, short handing it on Ungie's hip, the yardstick striking and veering off with a great crack..

"Ow, that hurts!" Ungie rose up on one elbow, rubbing her side. "What the fuck was that about?"

"My God, he BROKE it!" Heather was in hysterics.

"Settle down students." Mrs. Harley wrenched the bent remnant from my hand, pulled the pieces all the way apart and flipped them into the trash can, pursing her lips disdainfully. "Quite the demonstration of the true natural of male potency, Mr. Lamb. It will give us quite an opportunity to examine the nature of masculine stoicism later on. For the time being I'm afraid a woman is going to have to take over this job."

She walked around the desk to draw another yardstick from the chalk ledge, Ungie looking up at her beseechingly. "No, please, Mrs. Harley -- it's not fair -- it's all HIS fault."

"Assume proper posture immediately, Miss Ungerford," Mrs. Harley snapped. "I am the one who decides what is fair and what is not. Mr. Lamb will be well served for ALL his faults, but there is still the matter of the execution of your sentence, which I'm afraid will have to be restarted from the beginning. Stroke one."

"It should be him." Ungie sobbed, but still leaned back forward, serving up her ass.

"Now Mr. Lamb, I'd like you to make your way to the other side and stand with your crotch at Miss Ungerford's eye level."

"Uh, all right." Suddenly things became clear -- even with my failure I'd slid into Mrs. Harley's world and I was never going to be able to step back out of it. "Ma'am."

"There. Show her, shove it right into her face." I thrust my pelvis out as Ungie peered up and Heather and Mrs. Harley gave similar dark but hungry glances.

"There it is, Miss Ungerford. The comical entity that rules your life. Rather ugly isn't it? This primitive organ which has already brought you so much grief and may yet bring you unwanted pregnancy, sexually transmitted diseases -- something like it could very well rape you some day. Men have no control over it, yet it's easy to handle it if you're a strong enough woman. But you have allowed it to tyrannize your life, just as it has tyrannized the hundreds of young men whose penises you've motivated to harden. But the penis itself has but one motivation -- to shoot its load." Pre-cum glistened at the tip as my cock bobbed, preening, unselfconsciously pleased to be the center of so much female attention.

"Let me ask you this, Miss Ungerford. Were you at any time truly satisfied as you were pulling your train at that party?"

"Oh, sure. Lots of times, but it sure did take a while, you know. Most of those football players are pretty quick on the trigger."

"You must learn that a WOMAN'S pleasure must always come before the dying spasms of that ugly maggot. Perhaps your correction today will be memorable enough help you with that in the future."

The yardstick whistled and Ungie flinched but Mrs. Harley was only warming up, swinging it sharply, getting the feel of the wood in her hand. "And Mr. Lamb, as she meditates on your guiding part, I suggest you avail yourself of the opportunity to witness a demonstration of how discipline is to be properly administered." There was a hummingbird blur forward and back, an arc that ended with a detonation slapping across both cheeks, the stick bending slightly, the flesh quivering and distorting, only slightly subsiding before the next sure blow.

"Remember what I said about histrionics, Miss Ungerford?"

Ungie whimpered and cursed with odd half-orgasmic sounds as the blows fell, steady as a metronome, only the target changing, and subtly so as Mrs. Harley painted the entire area. I could see then why Ungie had been so anxious to have me administer her sentence rather than Mrs. Harley, the blows falling on her with the dispassionate force of nature, as inevitable as a hail storm.

Although she'd gazed at my prick with an attitude, despite Mrs. Harley's words, that never wavered from extreme avidity, Ungie's eyes were soon too full of tears, her face too contorted to see anything.

"Steady, girl, steady..."

Halfway through she was hysterical, twisting on the desk, tears raining on the blotter, but I have to admit that even with the luscious Ungie presented half naked there, both of us so exposed, I couldn't take my eyes off Mrs. Harley. She was magnificent, her bangs shaking as she swung compactly, pivoting, her breasts shifting beneath her tight white blouse, her hips flowing, her smooth nyloned legs cutting through the slit in her skirt, high heels planted, stern concentration on her face but a wild exultation in her eyes, a fierce determination under the control of such cool beauty that I knew then more than ever that I could do nothing but surrender as she led my down her twisted path of pain and pleasure.

The whole scene, all of them -- quivering, vulnerable Ungie, subdued Heather, implacable Mrs. Harley, even silent Virginia in her corner, surely listening -- spread across a normal high school class room made me tremble.

And naturally I began to wonder what it would be like to have my own ass up there for Mrs. Harley to whale on.

"Fifteen," she said, finishing, only slightly out of breath, delicately flushed around her high cheekbones, her chest rising and falling hypnotically. Ungie just flopped there, her legs sprawled out so far that they barely supported her, exposing most candidly not only her crimson mottled butt cheeks but also the pussy beneath, whose thick lips gaped open, sticky and wet, the pubic curls surrounding it so much darker and danker than the peroxided locks above. "Oh, buck up, dear, you've had far worse than that. Get up now, you're being indelicate."

But Ungie just continued sobbing and sniffling, her face in her hands. Mrs. Harley ignored her as she walked around and lifted the sweater from the back of the chair, slowly drawing it over her as if to conceal the flash of animal savagery that had escaped and reassume the mantel of steely schoolmistress. Her dark eyes met mine and I realized that not only was she aware I was watching her but that she desired it, wanted me to feel the strange torn things I was feeling as she slowly buttoned her buttons, and indeed, that she was standing there, reveling in them, drinking my emotions in, feeding off them like some vampire.

"Miss Ungerford, I have a notion that might elevate your spirits. How would you like to have the honor of administering the yardstick to Mr. Lamb? Perhaps it would help you express your irritation with him for causing you so much pain."

"Me? Really? I get to whip his ass?" Ungie was galvanized, bouncing up, smiling joyfully even as she wiped away the last of her tears. "Cool!" She accepted the stick from Mrs. Harley and took a few on deck circle swings.

Once again I was snapped out of a reverie to find them all staring at me. "Well, Mr. Lamb," said Mrs. Harley dryly. "If you would be good enough to make your way around here and take your place across the desk. Please assume the same posture as Miss Ungerford. You remember, don't you? At the time you seemed quite attentive to Miss Ungerford's posture."

The three of them laughed and I clumped over to the front and bent down to awkwardly hug the desk -- I could picture Ungie's ass but not how she'd held it there.

"Honestly," Mrs. Harley clucked. "Apparently her posture was not the focus of your attention." Brusquely she kicked my instep with the pointed toe of her high heel, slamming her hand into the small of my back at the same time, leaving me stranded helplessly on the desk, legs splayed, ass served up high, nose on the blotter. It was still damp with Ungie spit, snot and tears, the air reeking of sweat and her peculiar musky odor.

I turned my head, cheek down and saw Virginia in the corner. She was facing away from me, with a ribbon over her eyes like a blindfold, but in a way that really didn't blind her, the same way the ribbons tied to her wrists and ankles didn't really bind her. There was no way in the world, even if it was just from hearing it, that she didn't know it was me up here about to receive a correction.

And it wasn't just what she'd already heard but what she was about to hear that made her presence oddly apt, the crowning thorn in this brave new world where fantasy and humiliation collided so regularly.




Heather & Mrs. Harley Ch. 04



Mrs. Harley adjusted my position with a slight shove and I gasped as my erection was pinned against the desk top.

Not surprisingly, Mrs. Harley was less than sympathetic. "Oh, don't worry about THAT." She chortled. "Your correction will be hard, but for once that portion of you will not be."

Her hand clawed against my ass, squeezing cruelly as she leaned across to stage whisper in my ear. "You will try to take it like a man, won't you Mr. Lamb? After all the administrator is ONLY A GIRL." She pulled away to stroll in front of the platform. "You may proceed at your leisure, Miss Ungerford."

I heard a chuckle and one last sniffle, then a whoosh and a grunt as she swung. It felt as if a long branding iron had seared into my flesh, the sudden shock of pain as alarming as the lingering burn. I'd resolved to stay silent and stoic, to manfully not even give a peep, but that resolution was broken instantly by my high pitched YAA.

Ungie was a healthy eighteen-year-old softball player of erratic power and she stepped up to bat on my ass with relish. Unlike last nights correction this was simply punishment with no trace of the traditionally erotic -- but yet a strange part of me was relishing being at the mercy of a girl like her.

My boner collapsed under Ungie's deliberate rhythm, passionate yet focused, as she muttered ASSHOLE and PRICK venomously. I realized between the sting and the ache that I was literally a whipping boy, a Judas goat to be driven into the wilderness for the sins of all those guys who'd used and abused her as a "whore" and "nympho."

Their sins must have been egregious, because she really lit into me, applying herself with a determination and concentration I'd never seen -- or rather felt -- from her before. I soon lost count of the blows, knowing only that even though they seemed to have gone on forever they were really only just beginning.

It was obvious that I was going to yelp during Ungie's correction, but I still clung to the hope that I wasn't going to burst out crying, despite the building pressure of the sobs and tears welling inside of me. Ungie's pneumatic overabundance gave weight and heft to her blows, but at the same time it winded her, and she tired, her let up probably the only thing that prevented the dam from breaking.

I was still tensing for the next one when I heard Mrs. Harley say "Well done, Miss Ungerford. That appears to have been quite cathartic." Ungie gasped contentedly, out of breath.

I'd done it. Despite the things these females had done to me I'd proven myself a superior man in the end. I tried tentatively to push myself up from the desk, but Mrs. Harley's fist shot to the small of my back, slamming me down. "I don't believe you were excused, Mr. Lamb. You seem to have forgotten the small matter of accounts payable for the breakage of one of the Academy's valuable yardsticks."

It occurred to me that she wasn't yet done with me. She knew full well I hadn't been broken. "No, Mrs. Harley, please, that's enough." Even though I protested I didn't try to move, further punishment as nightmarishly inevitable as the rest of it. "Please don't ma'am, I can't...I can't take any more honestly."

"HONESTLY? Mr. Lamb, must you be so pathetic? Don't tell me you'll be unable to withstand five more strokes administered by JUST A GIRL?"

"Miss Ungerford, please hand the stick to Heather. Heather, I wonder if you'd be so good as to apply five more blows to Mr. Lamb's conception of women."

"All right!" I heard Heather's confident step and she cheered "YEAH!" as she delivered the first spank.

I wasn't ready for it. A gymnast and track star, Heather was in much firmer shape than Ungie, and her discipline began hard and never slackened, delivered with a ruthless disdain more bitter than her mother's. Its sudden power combined with the shock of the additional sentence released the first outright sob, the vanguard of the hysteria I knew I could no longer suppress.

"No, please, no..."

"Open your eyes, Mr. Lamb." I'd scrunched my lids tight from the start, but now obediently looked up at Mrs. Harley, standing implacably at the center of my vision.

Her long fingers pinched folds in her skirt and she raised the hem slightly. "You must know what rules you." The dark material swept up past the lacy tops of her stockings clipped to thin black elastic straps. "You must know what you serve." And then was revealed the bottom of the finely embroidered garter belt itself, low on her hips and belly, but there were no panties, only the coarse shock of her pubic hair, wild and untrimmed but with the vaginal lips glistening visibly within. "Believe me you will learn to be grateful for your correction."

I tried to hold it back, but at that moment, under the seductions of Heather's determined yardstick and Mrs. Harley's naked revelation, I surrendered, literally figuratively and irrevocably, to the female sex, crying, begging, pleading and even, as Mrs. Harley had promised, professing my gratitude. "Thank you...thank you...thank you..."

But my words were soon swallowed by sobs worse than Ungie's. I broke down so badly that I was hardly aware when Heather's blows stopped and Mrs. Harley's hem resumed its usual position.

The next thing I remember was her, her face this time as she bent over, studying me patronizingly. "If you're quite finished with your blubbering, Mr. Lamb, I'll ask you to remove yourself from my desk. Unless of course you'd like to receive the next correction as well."

That got me up. I rolled off, stumbling and limping. "Yes, I'm sorry Mrs. Harley, I..." I looked over to Virginia, the back of her head familiar from endlessly staring at it while sitting behind her in class, even if her bare ass was new to me. I realized that she too was part of it, that she had heard it all, another witness to my humiliation. "I guess I just lost it." Pawing at my nose and eyes, I shuffled over next to Ungie, trying to collect myself, the burn on my ass aching to an itchy tingle.

"Feeling a bit out of sorts, Mr. Lamb? I'll give you the same consolation I granted Miss Ungerford – a chance to return the favor. Heather, I believe it's your turn on the desk. Mr. Lamb, I am going to ask you to once again attempt a correction."

"Thanks, Mom! Like a wimp like THAT could hurt me!" Smirking snottily, Heather handed me the yardstick and advanced to the desk with theatrical nonchalance, even wiggling her buttocks as if to get comfortable when she assumed the position. "And TRY not to break the yardstick this time, O.K., Clueless?"

As she presented it, I was struck again by the contrast between Heather's ass and Ungie's, both of them breathtaking, but Heather's more spare, her shapely cheeks curving from her slim boy hips and taunt runner's thighs, the triangle ghost of a bikini bottom imprinted on her otherwise tan skin, the hardly hairy fig of her delicate cunt unfolding beneath.

I almost became as distracted as I'd been when offered Ungie's more expansive charms, dazed by the display of Heather's eighteen year old perfectly ripened fruit, wanted more to bury my nose in those cheeks than to torment them, but her taunts and the powerful throb in my own ass caused me to grip the stick with revengeful resolve.

After observing Mrs. Harley's masterful strokes and writhing at the effects of the girls', I now had a much clearer idea of what I was doing. My form was still relatively awkward, but I could tell from the first blow that Heather had underestimated the amount of pain I could bring.

The prospect of hurting women had never been a part of my fantasy life -- it's always seemed to me that there's quite enough victimization of them in reality already – but the insouciant way Heather lay there, sinuously wriggling as each blow fell, brought something out in me, animating my arm, driving our collaboration, the pas de deux of wood and skin, accompanied by moans, some of which, I discovered, were coming from my throat. My penis stirred again.

I was just elaborating on an interesting pattern of red stripes that had accumulated across her cheeks when Mrs. Harley stayed my arm. "I believe the last one was ten, Mr. Lamb."

"Oh, yeah, I'm sorry." I turned away, trembling out of my trance to once again see Mrs. Harley smiling derisively. "Thanks a lot, Mrs. Harley," I blurted, handing her back the stick.

"No need to thank me. It's quite apparent that you enjoyed yourself." My erection was sticking up between my shirttails and her queerly glazed eyes lingered on it before they met mine. "But I will grant that you're a quick study. You've shown yourself time and time again to be a slovenly, ignorant, uncouth, immature young man, Mr. Lamb. But yet..." She put the tip of the yardstick on my throat and slowly pushed up my chain, her other hand unerringly snatching my dick. "I'm beginning to hope that you may yet prove yourself worthy of my strictest efforts." She gave me one last hard squeeze, half pleasure and half pain, and then dropped me.

My eyes teared up again. No praise had ever moved me more.

"But for the time being I regret to inform the three of you that the bell for fifth period is about to ring. I suggest you make yourself presentable and attend your next class. Remember the lessons of this correction when you sit down."

Heather had never broken the way I had, but she was still clearly pained as she uncoiled from the desk, unable to keep her fingers from prodding the tender lines I'd imprinted on her. She and Ungie matter-of -factly pulled up their panties and cheerleader skirts as if they were in the girls locker room.

"Uhhh..." I fumbled, confused at the sudden transition, trying numbly to pull my pants on over my shoes.

Mrs. Harley had advanced on Virginia and was leading her from the corner by the violet ribbon tied around her neck. Except for the ribbon around her eyes, the one at the level of her nipples and those restraining her wrists and hobbling her ankles, she was naked, creamy, all I'd imagined.

"Mr. Lamb I need you to depart immediately. Miss Bellmer and I still have some work to do privately."

"Yes, ma'am," I said, but I couldn't tear my eyes from Virginia's pale body as she took halting steps toward us.

"Cluelessssss..." Heather hissed, beckoning me to the doorway where she stood with her books.

"Come on!" Ungie said urgently, grabbing my arm as she passed, propelling me out into the hall, my jeans still open, my boner flapping above my half pulled up underwear.

I heard the lock click shut behind me.

*

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