Headmistress Oatlash

Being that it was the last class of the day, and Poetry at that, it was a given that the young gentlemen of the Oatlash Academy would be a bit unruly. Therefore, Headmistress Natasha Oatlash thought it best to teach the class herself. After all, many of her teachers were little older than the 18 year-old boys they taught. Though she felt quite youthful herself, due to her strict regimen, Natasha was indeed twice the age of her charges. This did not stop the boys in her class from noticing her in a way most unsuitable to the student/teacher relationship. She dressed so as to provide no distraction to the hormonal young men, but her crisp blouse could not hide the soft contours of her breasts and her tweed skirt failed to disguise the womanly swell of her magnificent ass.

She noticed that not a few of the boys were watching it, rather than the lesson she was inscribing on the blackboard. She could see them quite clearly in the reflective surface of the metal orb that stood atop the flag pole in the corner. She smiled inwardly at the thought that in twenty years of teaching, not a single lad had discovered her trick. They all supposed she had eyes in the back of her head. But this afternoon, as she parsed a sentence of Shakespeare's on the board, she saw young Mister Greystoke passing a note across the aisle. She slammed the chalk into the tray and whirled around.

"Mister Greystoke! Come forward this instant."

He looked startled, then resigned, and made his way to the front of the class. As he walked up the aisle, Natasha could not help but admire his tall, lean form. As he neared, she noticed for the first time how blue his eyes were, and the light of wit behind them. But no matter. This was her class and discipline must be maintained.

"Well, Mister Greystoke. I see you have written something for us. Please. Share it with the rest of the class."

He looked trapped. He hung his head and said, in a voice too soft for the class to hear, "I don't think that's a good idea."

"You will speak up, Mister Greystoke, and address me properly."

He cleared his throat and said, "I don't think that is a good idea, Miss Oatlash."

"Nonsense. You brought your writing to the class. You will read it to the class. Now."

There was no mistaking her tone. He unfolded the note and stood facing the students. He gave her a last look. There was something in his eyes that told her to stop him, that it was indeed a bad idea, but the slight smirk at the corner of his mouth made her determined to continue his humiliation.

He straightened his broad shoulders and read;

"There once was a poetry teacher,

who was quite the young, fetching creature,

the boys in her class,

argued whether her ass,

or her tits were the teacher's best feature."

There was a rush of air as thirty boys gasped as one, then the room exploded in laughter. Natasha felt her cheeks catch fire. Greystoke shrugged his shoulders as if to say I told you so. After a moment, Natasha gathered her wits.

"There will be silence in this room!"

And there was. Not a boy made a peep. They sat, waiting for her to strike Greystoke dead. Instead, she sat down behind her desk.

"Very good, Mister Greystoke. Take your seat. When the class is dismissed, you will remain ."

"Yes, Headmistress."

She spent the rest of the period lecturing the class on the difference between poetry and doggerel. The session seemed to drag on, but eventually the bell rang. The boys could not flee the room quickly enough. When all were gone save Greystoke, Natasha rose and walked to the door, locking them in. She then sat back in her chair and ordered him forward. He stood in front of her desk, towering above her.

"Mister Greystoke, that was a gross violation of my person. Such a violation requires more than the usual written penance. Corporal punishment is called for. Do you agree?"

"Yes, Miss Oatlash."

"Yes, indeed." She took from her drawer a thick, wooden ruler. She stood and strode around the desk until she was directly behind him. She stood up on tip- toe, her breasts brushing his back, and spoke into his ear.

"Drop your trousers and bend over the desk."

"I don't think that's a good idea."

"I am not in the habit of having my orders questioned, and certainly not twice in the same day. Pray tell me; why is it a bad idea?"

"Because I'm not wearing underwear."

She was taken aback, and more than a little shocked to feel herself grow warm between her legs. She stammered out, "Never... nevertheless. Drop your trousers and bend over my desk this instant."

He did as he was ordered. He undid his thick belt and his heavy pants fell to the floor. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on the desktop. Natasha lifted the tail of his shirt over his back. She had to pause a moment to take in the sight of his taut, round buttocks, so white compared to his tanned face. She took a step back and raised the ruler. There was the slightest hesitation, then the ruler fell with a resounding thwack against his naked skin. A stripe of red began to glow across his cheek. But he made no sound. Again the ruler fell. Again the room echoed with the crack of wood on skin. Again he made no sound. Again. Again. Again. Still he was silent, save that his breathing grew deeper. Again. Again. Again. She began to perspire. She could feel the tickle of sweat in her unshaved armpits. Again. Again. Again.

Her breath was now coming hot and hard. The moisture she felt between her legs was not perspiration. She was shocked to discover that she was becoming aroused. She felt anger at herself for this loss of control, anger at young Greystoke for his obstinate silence. Again. Again. Again. Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.

At last she had enough. Her breasts were heaving. Her panties were soaked. Greystoke's ass glowed red as fire. But still he made not a sound. She straightened her clothes and stepped back.

"There. That will do. I am sure you will no longer be tempted to write such things about my body, will you Mister Greystoke?"

"No", he replied, never rising from the desktop. It was more than she could bear. She nearly screamed.

"You will face me when you speak to me and you will address me properly!"

"I don't think that is a good idea."

"Face me when you speak to me, you little mutt!!!"

He rose and turned to her. His shirttail dropped to cover his lap but was stopped by his erect member. It jutted proudly before him; long, thick and so, so hard. The head of it fairly glowed purple. His eyes burned with passion and he stared at her with undisguised lust. His broad chest rose and fell and he sucked in air through his mouth.

"As... you... wish..., Headmistress."

She lost all the control she had so carefully maintained over her years of teaching young, athletic boys. She dropped to her knees like a wanton and swallowed his hard shaft. She clutched his burning ass like a life-preserver in the middle of the ocean. She sucked his cock with a fury, her spit drenching it and running down her chin. She attacked it with an almost religious fervor, taking it deep into her mouth until it prodded the back of her throat. In and out, she sucked him like whore in a back alley. He thrust against her, and her nose buried itself in the red curls on his belly. She cupped his huge balls in her small hand. She rocked back and forth, her engorged clit squeezed between her thighs. Each sway of her body sent a shudder of carnal pleasure through her. She licked and sucked and kissed that proud cock until the poor boy shivered with anticipation. Just as a powerful climax shook her, she took him all the way into her wet mouth and he flooded her with hot cum. Jet after jet of it splashed her throat. She gulped as much as she could, but still it ran over her lips and down her chin to splash on her crisp, white blouse.

She collapsed at his feet in a swoon. He fell back against the desk, but only for a second. When his tender ass touched the wood he bolted upright and stood, swaying slightly from the dizzy aftereffects of his powerful orgasm. Natasha lay at his feet, one arm wrapped like a vine around his muscled leg. She might have fallen asleep, but a drop of cum from his slowly withering cock fell to splash on her cheek. It brought her to her senses.

She stood, straightened her clothes and lay the ruler on the desk. Greystoke dressed himself and stood looking into her flushed face. She walked back behind her desk.

"Very good, Mister Greystoke. I hope you have learned a valuable lesson here today."

"Yes, Headmistress."

"Very good indeed. You may go."

He turned and walked gingerly to the door. When he stopped to unlock it, she jumped up and intercepted him. She reached up and grabbed his tie, close to his throat. She pulled his face down to hers. They were nose to nose.

"One more thing, you little mutt.. In the future, should you feel compelled to write another poem about my anatomy, make it a good one. I despise limericks."

She kissed the tip of his nose, gave his balls a soft squeeze, and pushed him out the door. She certainly hoped he would not be so foolish as to tell anyone about his chastisement. The punishment for that would be severe indeed.