I sighed as I skimmed through the work I'd been assigned. Being stuck in detention really wasn't the way I had wanted to spend my Friday afternoon, but my wishes had not been taken into consideration. The teacher had caught me with a pack of cigarettes, and though I was legally old enough to smoke, I'd been given detention for smoking on school grounds. I pointed out that I hadn't – I'd gone down to the nearby lake instead. In consideration of this, the charges had been dropped, and I'd been given detention for leaving school grounds during the school day instead.
I started to work on the assignment, fuming to myself. This was so unfair! I was eighteen – a woman, not a girl, and shouldn't have to sit in detention. It was bad enough that I still had to wear this stupid school uniform. I was also the only student here – it was just me and the teacher.
Mister Page, the teacher in charge of detentions, was sitting at the front of the classroom, throwing me the occasional scowl to remind me to feel sorry for my misconduct. That meant there was at least one bright spot to being here; I had something nice to look at. Robert Page was a tall, handsome, dark-haired, well-dressed man in his early thirties, and he seemed to be completely unaware of the way some of the girls would giggle and flutter their eyelashes when they saw him. I had to admit I found him quite fit as well.
"Still, there are better things I could do on a Friday afternoon," I mumbled to myself. I had a bad habit of talking to myself; mumbling the thoughts that other people would leave as internal monologues. It had gotten me in trouble a few times, but fortunately, Mister Page was too far away to hear me.
As I continued to write, my eyes rested on the ring I'd found on the shore of the lake, and which I now wore on my right hand. It looked to be a beautiful silver ring with a small, red gem on it, but I assumed it was a cheap fake – in real life, you didn't find valuable jewellery on the beach during a smoke break.
I glanced over at Mister Page, who was writing something in his notebook. "You're just as unhappy about being here as I am, I suppose," I mumbled just as quietly as before. "You poor thing. I wish you'd take me over your lap and spank me instead – then we could both go home." I had always had a secret interest in spanking, and the thought of being placed over Mister Page's knee sounded far more appealing than being stuck doing schoolwork all afternoon.
"Not focusing on your assignment, Miss Pacelle?" he said in a disapproving tone. "I don't think detention is having the intended effect on you, young lady. Maybe it's not the right punishment for sneaking off school grounds." He furrowed his brow as if considering something. "No, I think we should try something else. Maybe a good spanking would teach you the error of your ways."
I stared at him in shock. He couldn't have said what I thought he had said, could he? My handsome teacher could not just have threatened to spank me; I must have misheard him. But he grabbed my arm, pulling me to my feet.
A smile started to spread across my face, which I quickly concealed by placing my hands in front of my face as if in shock and embarrassment. This was actually happening. He hadn't heard me, had he? It didn't seem that way, and I didn't think I'd been loud enough for him to hear. Were we just on the same wavelength? The butterflies in my stomach made it difficult to think. I was ecstatic, but also nervous. I'd often fantasized about being over someone's knee, but I'd never actually been spanked. Would it be like I had imagined, or was I about to be disillusioned? How painful would it be? Would I cry?
"It's no use protesting – I've made up my mind," he said, despite the fact that I had not protested and had no intention of doing so, and I didn't resist as he dragged me over to his chair. He sat down, pulling me forward so that my hands and feet touched the floor, my backside centred over his lap. With my face to the ground, I finally allowed a blissful grin to spread across my face. I couldn't believe this – Mister Page was actually going to spank me! I was fairly certain that this was against school rules, but I wasn't about to complain, since that might discourage him.
He placed his hand on the seat of my uniform skirt, gently patting it. "You've been a very naughty girl, Anne, leaving the school to smoke cigarettes. I hope this will teach you a good lesson."
"I'm sorry, sir," I said meekly. It seemed like the right thing to do.
Mister Page delivered a few smacks to my skirt. He seemed to be inexperienced, not quite sure of how to proceed, but he quickly mastered the basics, moving his hand from cheek to cheek to deliver sharp, crisp slaps that stung deliciously.
I curled my toes, letting out the occasional "Ouch!" or "Ow!" to let him know that he was doing a good job. He seemed to be pleased with his own efforts, and gradually increased the speed and strength of the spanks. The sting was gradually building, with a cosy warmth spreading through my cheeks. After a few minutes, he grabbed the hem of my skirt, flipping it up to reveal a pair of pink panties with the word "Cheeky" written on the sea. "These do not appear to be regulation knickers, Miss Pacelle." I could hear the disapproval in his voice.
"I'm sorry, sir. I didn't know anyone would see them, sir," I explained. Part of me was hoping that he would order me to remove the offending item of clothing at once.
"That's hardly an excuse! Regulations are written for a reason, and we expect you to follow them. An eighteen-year-old girl like yourself should know better – you're practically an adult!" he said as he continued to spank me.
Somehow, I managed to resist the urge to purr. He seemed to think he was punishing me, and I had no desire to ruin his illusions. However, as the spanks continued to land, I was soon squirming and kicking my legs, feeling tears at the edges of my eyes in response to the growing sting. While he seemed inexperienced, he made up for it in enthusiastic effort.
When the tears started to roll down my face, Mister Page decided it was enough. Delivering a final dozen smacks to my pink bottom, he helped me to my feet. As I rubbed my stinging rear, he reached for a box of tissues, which gave me time to wipe the smile of my face.
"I hope this lesson sticks, Miss Pacelle. I don't want to have to do that again."
"It made an impression, sir. I can promise you that I will think often about this punishment." For example, I would be thinking about it later that evening, when I was in bed with my fingers inside myself – and probably every single night for the next month or so.
"Well, I think you've been punished enough. You can go," he said, gathering up his papers. I grinned as I headed out the door, wondering what I would do with the rest of my Friday. Whatever happened, I didn't think it could be better than this.
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