| Straight: Student and Teacher: Ian's A+ (1/5) |
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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 as big blond Trent Larson acted the spaz, flopping his muscular arm over his desk, provoking hooting 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 walruses. 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 strap 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 caning boys. "You should know better than to lie to me, Ian. A senior should be stooping to such nonsense!" The strap smacked across Ian's perky bottom and made 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 |
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so sexy
