Breaing the Rules

The football team had an away match and it was far enough away that it would be an overnight trip, staying at a motel after the game and returning next morning. Naturally enough, where the team went, the cheerleaders followed, and I was one of the cheerleaders.

We boarded the bus, team, cheerleaders, coach and chaperones. Would you believe they didn't trust us girls alone with the boys? Shameful that lack of trust. Miss Raman very firmly went over the rules with us. We probably knew them better than she did. After all, this was her first trip as a chaperon whereas we'd done the trip a dozen times.

We came, we saw, we performed. After the game we retired to our motel. The cheerleaders were packed in four to a unit and I guess the team was packed in likewise. Ah, who won the game? How would I know? I'm a cheerleader, not a player. I don't actually watch their game. Let me think. Um, I'd guess we lost as the boys aren't dancing around cheering, but that's just a guess.

The evening passed and time to retire for the night rolled around, and I decided that I wanted a drink. By a drink I don't mean water or soda. I meant a proper drink with alcohol in it. Don't get me wrong. I'm not a lush. I just wanted a single drink. If pressed I'd have to say that the main reason I wanted it was because Miss Raman had carried on so much about the evils of alcohol when laying down the law about the rules.

My pyjamas were decent enough for me to wander around the motel in them and I knew the motel had a bar. I slipped out of my unit and nipped down to the bar. The barman looked a little surprised to me but I showed him ID proving I was eighteen and I waved my money at him and he shrugged and gave me a nice drink. It was just a screwdriver, heavy on the orange juice, light on the vodka.

I was happily slurping it down when someone spoke to me.

"What are you drinking?" Miss Raman demanded to know.

"Orange juice," I said. "I was thirsty."

She turned and focused on the barman.

"What's that she's drinking?" she demanded.

"Orange juice," the barman said, and I relaxed. Then he winked at me and added, "And just a touch of vodka."

Boy, Miss Raman looked as though she was going to explode.

"My room, now!" she snapped. "Leave that here."

I shrugged and quickly finished it. Why not? I'd paid for it, I was already busted, and I'd already drunk most of it. Then I followed meekly behind her, curious as to what she was going to do. What could she do, really, apart from yell at me?

Maybe I didn't follow all that meekly. Truth to tell I was a little irritated. It was perfectly legal for me a have a drink and I wasn't in school uniform. I wasn't getting wasted but having a refreshing drink that would help me sleep better. Just because Miss Raman was a rabid teetotaller didn't mean that I had to be one. The other annoying thing was that Miss Raman was really just a student teacher. She was only a couple of years older than me and she was letting her position go to her head.

When we got to her room she turned on me and ranted on about following rules and the effects of the demon drink. I let it roll over me, water off a duck's back. Then she started with the penalties she was going to inflict. I was thinking geez, woman, get a sense of proportion.

See me expelled? Fat chance of that happening. We were right at the end of the year and before they could come up with a formal hearing to expel me, which they wouldn't do anyway, the year would be finished and I'd have graduated. Thrown out of the cheerleading squad? Please try. Our coach would hand her her head on a platter if she tried to interfere in the squad. Not that it would make any difference. Like I said, the year was nearly over. I finally decided I'd had enough with her wild ideas and put forward my own.

"Corporal punishment is the go," I told her. "Just spank me and have it over and done with."

The real killer with this was that Miss Raman was rather short. Five foot tall at the most. I will say that her five foot was nicely stacked, but I was just short of six foot. It'd be a hoot seeing her trying to spank me.

"Don't be stupid, girl," she snapped. "The idea is ridiculous."

"Don't tell me that," I riposted. "Tell the school board. It's in the rules and a student can always opt to take corporal punishment if other satisfactory penalties can't be decided upon. You seem to have no idea what you want so I'm helping you out. Corporal punishment it is."

"That is the most ridiculous idea ever," Miss Raman snapped. "I'll leave you to think about it for a few minutes."

With that she turned and stalked out of the room, an air of high umbrage around her.

I just sat and relaxed until she returned, smirking the entire time. I hastily straightened my face when she barged back into the room.

"Well?" she demanded.

I shook my head sorrowfully.

"I think the corporal punishment needs to stand," I said mournfully. "I mean, I flagrantly defied you. Obviously I need to be punished and there's no other obvious choice at the moment."

I lowered my eyes to the floor, the picture of a contrite young miss.

"I thought that might be your answer," Miss Raman said, sounding oddly triumphant. "Mr Edwards!"

You can imagine my shock when Coach walked into the room.

"I heard," he said. "Seeing that Karen insists I don't see that we have much choice but to go along with her request. You do insist, don't you Karen?"

I didn't know what was going on but I nodded. Maybe he was there as a witness.

"OK," said Coach, sitting on the bed. "Bend over."

"What!? You can't spank me. You're a male teacher. I have to be spanked by a female teacher."

"Ah, that's not quite correct," Coach said. "The rules just say that a teacher of the same sex must be there for proprieties sake. Miss Raman will be here observing."

Next thing I know he'd reached out, caught my arm, and dragged me across his lap. My mind was boggling. This couldn't be happening to me. A hand that would do a gorilla proud came down firmly across my backside and I had to bite my tongue to stop myself screaming. No way would I give Miss Raman the satisfaction of hearing me scream.

"This is a trifle awkward," Coach said. "I can't really see what I'm doing and I don't want to actually harm the girl. Would you be so kind as to pull down her pyjamas, Miss Raman?"

"Is that proper?" she asked.

"No," I yelled at the same time as Coach said, "Certainly. It allows me to see just how hard I've smacked her bottom. A smarting redness is one thing; bruising would be something else entirely. Far better to err on the side of caution and observe what's happening."

That stupid mole swallowed his logic hook, line, and sinker. She took hold of my pyjama pants and hauled them down. Then I felt her pluck at my panties and Coach was saying, "Yes. Those, too," and my panties followed my pyjamas, offering up my bare bottom and my goodies for Coach's view.

With that Coach actually started spanking me. His hand was big and hard and it hurt and I was forced to swallow the screams I wanted to give because I just would not give Miss Raman the pleasure of hearing me squawk.

I found that the worst part of the spanking wasn't the spanking itself, or even knowing that Miss Raman was watching and probably grinning like a loon, but knowing that my pussy was right there, exposed to Coach's gaze, and wondering if his hand would actually land there. I found myself anticipating it and dreading it at the same time, almost disappointed when the spanking finished without it happening.

Coach swung me back to my feet and I stood there, hands hovering over my bottom. Then I remembered that my pyjama top came to a stop just above my mons, not below, and I was still showing Coach everything, just from a different aspect. I was reaching down to haul my things up when Coach stopped me.

"No," he said firmly, pointing a finger at me and daring me to defy him. I didn't dare, just freezing where I was, blushing like crazy.

"Your turn," he said with a very nasty smile and Miss Raman just seemed to fly through the air and land across Coach's lap. Thinking back on it I realised he'd done the same to Miss Raman as he'd done to me. Reached out and snagged her arm and jerked her over his knee.

"What are you doing?" she shrieked.

"By dear girl," Coach said in a very silky voice, "you deliberately set Karen up to get that spanking when there was no real need for it. While I can sympathise with you wanting to spank her we're supposed to put personal feelings aside when dealing with the students. You've embarrassed me and you've embarrassed Karen, so I feel we should pass our feelings on to you. Karen, if you don't mind," he added, flicking up Miss Raman's dress and indicating her panties.

I found I didn't mind at all. I hauled those stupid things down and off, dropping them on the floor where she could see them. Now she'd be staring at the proof of her nakedness even while she was being spanked.

Coach dropped his first hard spank on Miss Raman's bottom, leaving a nice red hand print. Did Miss Raman grit her teeth and take it like a woman? Did she what! You never heard such a melody of squawking and squalling as that woman carried on with. Her tantrums were music to my ears, with Coach's hand beating out the rhythm. Really, the girl was showing no self-control. She was obviously lacking in intestinal fortitude.

The spanking came to an end, which was a pity in my opinion, but I guessed it was similar to mine. The main difference at the end was that Coach didn't swing Miss Raman back onto her feet. He left her across his lap, one hand on her back holding her in place, the other casually rubbing her bottom.

I guess I was a little slow. I could see his arm was moving, and knew he'd been spanking her, so I just assumed that he was rubbing the painful area. I know I'd wanted to rub mine. Then it dawned on me that I could see Miss Raman's bottom, and the very nice glow it had on it. That wasn't her bottom he was rubbing.

"Now, Janet," Coach said, "as a couple of professional educators Miss Raman and I are going to give you a private lesson. Pay attention as there'll be a practical exam immediately afterwards and I expect you to demonstrate what you learn."

I'm all what the fuck are you talking about? Not that I said it out loud. My smarting bottom advised otherwise. I just stood there, half naked, waiting to see what the fuck he was talking about.

Coach stood up, lifting Miss Raman with him. He turned her around and dropped her so she finished up half standing, half leaning across the bed. Coach was wearing his ubiquitous tracksuit and it turned out that he was quite expert in changing that to not wearing his ubiquitous tracksuit. His pants just seemed to drop away, together with whatever underwear he'd been wearing, and his cock was right there next to Miss Raman's personal parts.

If I'd thought she'd been noisy with her squawking and squalling before you should have heard her now. She was protesting most vociferously, getting louder as Coach's cock started pressing against her. My eyes were wide as I watched and I was thinking I don't believe this, but his cock just kept on going, forcing her lips apart and sinking into her passage. I could almost believe his cock was a volume control the way she carried on as he pushed home.

He came to a halt eventually for the simple reason that he couldn't go in any deeper. No more cock, although there had been plenty to start with. Oddly enough once he was fully in place Miss Raman shut up.

"This is rape," she snapped, "and I'm going to report you."

"No, it's not," Coach replied, "and I've got a witness. Right, Janet?"

"Why ask me?" I demanded.

"You're next, remember. The practical exam I mentioned."

"What? You wouldn't."

Ha. I suddenly remembered what my boyfriend had told me when I'd wanted him to do it again. Men can only do it once a night. As long as he was doing Miss Raman I was safe.

"Well, maybe you would, and I can see me standing here half naked might seem like permission, so I guess Miss Raman lying over the bed like that without any panties might also be considered permission. Certainly not rape."

Coach winked at me while Miss Raman called me a rude name and then Coach got busy. I must admit that I watched with considerable interest as he dragged his cock back out of Miss Raman before thrusting it back into place with considerable more energy that his initial entry. She, of course, squealed with great indignation, calling him a rude name. He laughed and repeated the effort.

It was highly erotic in an odd way. I was quite happy that it was Miss Ramen getting the treatment rather than myself but her reactions were amusing. Seeing his cock plunging in and out was the erotic bit. I could feel my own vagina twitching in sympathy for what Miss Ramen was receiving. The funny bit was watching her start to respond, her hips starting to move in time with Coach, while listening to her voice.

She was still abusing him and protesting but you could hear her heart was no longer in it. She'd reached a point where she was protesting because she thought she should, not because she wanted to. In addition to that her complaints were being interrupted by startled little cries of pleasure as Coach did a little extra.

Coach was dragging it out, building her up, and making me feel all hot and horny as well. It almost made me regret that he was wasting all that effort on Miss Raman. (Almost. That cock looked somewhat longer and thicker that I was accustomed to, and not all that accustomed. At eighteen you don't really have that much experience.)

Miss Raman's cries of protest were dwindling away, her sounds of appreciation increasing. Coach picked up the pace. I could see he was moving faster, and Miss Raman was bouncing like mad under him, now actively encouraging him to do his best or worst or whatever, but to do it.

Coach seemed to give one extra hard poke and Miss Raman just exploded, jamming a hand in her mouth to stop herself screaming as she climaxed. I couldn't help thinking that she should have jammed her hand in her mouth and kept it there right from the first spank. She was a noisy woman.

Coach slowly pulled back from Miss Raman. I very smartly dropped my phone back in my pocket. I was pretty sure that Miss Raman didn't notice the phone and surely Coach would have said something if he'd seen it. Still, it was away now.

A long arm reached out and caught hold of my arm and drew me closer. As soon as I was close enough Coach's free hand reached over and slid between my legs, covering my pudenda and gently rubbing. I could feel the heat that was already there responding, flaring higher and hotter.

I smiled at Coach, putting a touch of 'bad luck' into my voice as I spoke.

"Too bad you won't be able to actually give me that physical exam, Coach," I sympathised.

"Well, thank you for that, but what makes you think I can't?"

"You just worked over Miss Raman rather thoroughly," I pointed out. "A man only has so much juice in his tank and I suspect that you've now run out."

Coach laughed at me, shaking his head.

"It seems that part of your education will be learning that some men are able to go a lot longer with the juice in their tank than others."

With that he just picked me up and tossed me onto the bed. I landed flat on my back and by the time I finished bouncing he was holding my legs high and wide and he was kneeling between them, plainly ready for more action.

With that he moved, pressing down upon me, his cock leading the way. It seemed to just charge into me while I cried out something along the lines of who-ah as I felt him driving home, Miss Raman, damn her, cheering him on.

My god, but he felt enormous. He was stretching me all out of shape inside, and I was imagining my passage being over inflated like those sausage balloons they make the balloon animals out of. Just more of him than the air in one of those balloons. It was a good thing that watching him with Miss Raman had got me all excited because he didn't dilly-dally with thrusting into me. He just drove himself in to the hilt, only stopping when his hairy groin mashed against my smooth one, the sound of my startled cry still ringing in the air.

His hands glided under my pyjama top, moving up until they covered my breasts, and he began rubbing and squeezing them. (Who wears bras under their pyjamas? Not me, that's for sure.)

Now that he was ready he started moving on me. Not with the urgent haste of that initial thrust but with a slow, almost languid movement, his cock dragging against me as he moved. I found myself giving a soft moan and moving with him, his slow glide getting to me, beguiling me, making me drift away on a soft tide of pleasure.

In nothing flat I was lost to everything but this gentle pleasure, moving in time to Coach's movements, not even caring that Miss Raman was watching, which would normally have infuriated me.

Did every man do it slow and steady the second time, I wondered. Common sense told me no. My stupid boyfriend couldn't even get it up a second time.

It occurred to me afterwards that maybe the reason Coach was taking it so easy was that he was filling in time while his balls recharged. If that was so then I was quite prepared to be second cab off the rank with Coach anytime. Let someone else have the hot eagerness. I'd take this long slow loving.

Everything just seemed to drift on and on and I was slightly surprised when a tipping point was reached and I found myself wanting more. I didn't say anything, I just pressed up to meet him a little more eagerly, relieved to find Coach responding with a touch of urgency. Just a touch, at that point, but it slowly increased.

All of a sudden it wasn't a slow increase but a case of me being driven out of my tiny mind with need. Coach was now driving into me with a sense of purpose and I was responding, knowing what was coming. I climaxed hard, managing to control myself so that I didn't scream my head off like someone else I know.

Afterwards, when we were all dressed again (At least Coach and I were. I had no idea if Miss Raman had put fresh panties on but her old ones were still on the floor.) Coach gave us a warning, indicating he didn't want to have any more trouble from either of us. Miss Raman grovelled and I did my best to look meek and mild.

Coach and I departed, leaving Miss Raman to her room.

So, I had received an education. What had I learned? I already knew Miss Raman was a bitch so I could discount that. I'd learned that my boyfriend was a liar regarding men's sexual prowess. Maybe it was time for a new boyfriend. I'd also learned that Coach was a brute who enjoyed beating and raping unwilling women. That brought a thought to mind. If I irritated Coach to the point where he wanted to spank me again, and we were alone, would I get both first and second encounters with him after the spanking?

Oh, yes. I also learned that I had a pretty good movie of Miss Raman being spanked and screwed. That could be fun.