To Ms. Jones' annoyance, Ian raised his hand when she asked the class if anyone had forgotten their gym strip.
"Again, Ian?" The rest of the class snickered. Red faced, Ian nodded while behind him big blond Trent Larson acted the spaz, flopping his muscular arm over his desk, provoking hoots from his cronies.
"Quiet!" Ms. Jones, in six-inch heels, clacked over to Trent's desk, a ruler in her hand. Trent continued thumping his arm and making remarks to his brutish friends. Trent was the sleek and muscular type - a shark amongst seals. The shark yelped as Ms. Jones smacked his fin.
"Sorry Ma'am," Trent muttered, running his eyes up her slender legs, across her black mini-skirt and coming to a rest on her large breasts, held snugly in a red velvet tank top that made her pale white skin seem almost alabaster. Ms. Jones dressed with an eye to keeping her male students' attentions.
"Off you go to Coach Bulzwaker," she said, pushing the thick black frame of her glasses back onto the bridge of her nose. The class rose nearly as one. Trent held his hand to his crotch (not from pain) his eyes blazing. Ian rose as well, hauling his baggy pants over his hips as he did.
"Not you, Ian," Ms. Jones said briskly. The class snickered. They knew what that meant.
"Bend over my desk, Ian," Ms. Jones said once the door was shut and they were alone. She took her riding crop down from its holder over the blackboard. Her strap was talked about in hushed tones of fear and reverence.
"But--but--" Ian stammered. "The other boys, especially Trent-- I can't go into the locker room!" He couldn't look her in the eye, instead he stared at her chest.
"So you admit purposely forgetting your gym clothes," said Ms. Jones, trying to sound stern. "We'll talk about bullying in a moment, but first--" She took a breath. "Your punishment."
Ian opened his mouth, but seeing the look in Ms. Jones' eyes and the way she smacked the strap into her other hand, he bent over the desk, pulling up his jeans so she would have a better target. She always required a good target when spanking boys.
"You should know better than to lie to me, Ian. A senior shouldn't be stooping to such nonsense!" The strap smacked across Ian's perky bottom, making the young man gasp. "You are hurting yourself you know. You should be exercising, making your body even more beautiful!" The strap whistled through the air and whacked his cheeks again. Both of their faces were red. Ms. Jones struck yet again and again. Ian could feel the dreadful stinging radiating all over his poor bottom. He tried to fight the sensation, but failed. Oh, he was twisted in knots, his crotch pressed against Ms. Jones' solid oak table. It--it felt so good!
Ms. Jones stood with her feet wide apart, swinging the cane hard and fast, positively lashing the boy. Ian's ass was full and round under those silly baggy pants and the cane raised a most delicious THWACK! as she swung. She was in control, full of lusty energy, hot and able to do anything she pleased. Ian could only obey her. He was a horny teenaged boy, totally under his beautiful teacher's sway.
"That's--" THWACK! "That is enough," she said regretfully, patting Ian's stinging bottom with just enough force to elicit another moan from the bent over eighteen year old.
He stood up, making sure his jeans slid back down to their usual baggy position. His knees were trembling and his bottom felt like it was crisscrossed with a hundred cattle brands. But he didn't feel the pain. He could only stare, breathing heavily, at Ms. Jones' heaving bosom. He was sure he could see erect nipples. He glanced up at her red lips, parted as she panted for air. Sweat ran down the side of her flushed cheek.
"Now Ian," she said, slumping into the large chair behind her desk. "Come and sit with me and talk about this bullying." Ian's face flushed even redder and he turned awkwardly to pull a chair up to the teacher's desk.
"No." Ms. Jones grinned. "Come sit here." She patted her lap, uncrossing her slender legs.
Ian's eyes widened and for a panicked moment he thought of refusing. But if he did say no there would be more caning and then the stirring could be impossible to contain.
"Yes, Ms. Jones." He slid meekly onto her lap. Her hand slipped casually under his t-shirt as he perched himself. She could feel the vibrations of his tensed muscles. He felt the hardness of a nipple pressing into his side.
"Now tell me," she said, running her hand over his muscular back. "Tell me all about the bullying in the boys locker room."
"I-- I can't!" Ian was blushing furiously, loving how Ms. Jones' cool hand stroked his back. "It's in the shower they--" He broke off.
"They do what, honey?" Ms. Jones purred. "You and the other boys are naked, your muscles sore from playing. You're probably all soapy and everyone is sneaking peeks at every else." Ian started. "All very natural." She smiled dazzlingly at him. "I'd like to see that--to get insight into the teenage male's mind."
"But it's not natural!" Ian protested. "That's why they hold me to the wall and pull on me and laugh. They told the girls and now they laugh at me too! Suzie Meyers jumped into my lap on a dare, but she got hers!"
"Oh Ian!" Ms. Jones squeezed his leg. She was startled how his muscles twitched! "It isn't the size that matters," she lied. "It is how you use it."
"Trent said no one would ever want me." Ian cast his eyes down, letting them dwell on the valley of Ms. Jones' cleavage.
"Well, if you don't believe me," Ms. Jones said, snatching hold of his zipper, "you'll have to show me!"
"No, Ms. Jones!" Ian leapt to his feet, the zipper still firmly in her hand, and his pants fell to the floor. As he tried vainly to cover himself, Ms. Jones tried to smother a giggle. What had the poor boy done to himself?
He had on the tightest little briefs, but beneath it was coiled the most ridiculously large outline.
'He's gone and stuffed his pants to boost his poor ego,' thought Ms. Jones. 'I must help myself...I mean him!'
She slipped onto her knees and pressed Ian against the table.
"You don't have to try and impress me," she said, running her hands over his firm round ass.
"I'm not trying." He tried to pull away. "Please, I'm so ashamed."
"You sit still and I'll judge if you have anything to be ashamed of." She fixed a smile on her face -- no telling how small he was -- and yanked down his underwear, expecting a pair or two of sports socks to drop into her lap.
But no socks dropped only her jaw.
Instead, a twelve-inch schlong unfurled out like a great giraffe and peered down at her eagerly with its one great eye.
