A Brand New Story - The Inappropriate Teacher

Welcome in; it's cold and wet our there. And dark, but then it is 5.45 in the morning.

Anyway, these new stories are going pretty well, with 2 of them being Chrossed (thanks, mate), so here is another one, for your spanky reading pleasure.

This one is set in the 1960's, and features a young lady who makes a rather bad choice.

I hope that you enjoy it.

All the best

Tim

The Inappropriate Teacher

Alicia Page had lovely long, elegant legs, and she loved to show them off. She was 24 years old, a recently qualified English teacher, and had a bubbly personality that enhanced her round-cheeked good looks.

Alicia's one real fault was her vanity; one side of her wardrobe was full of short skirts, and high heels. Unfortunately the other side was filled with rather less flamboyant clothing, which the Head Teacher at Dylan Grammar School for Boys insisted were more suitable attire for her to wear when moulding young male minds.

Alicia chaffed against this restriction. Whilst she understood the importance of properly preparing her pupils for the future as, after all, the seventies were just around the corner, she just didn't see why the boys should be deprived of the sight of her legs at the same time.

Twice during her first few weeks at the school she had arrived in a skirt that barely reached down mid thigh, and, on each occasion, the Head had spotted her, and insisted that she return home to change into something more appropriate.

The Head was a great believer in ladies wearing skirts that dropped to mid calf at least, and no shorter. The younger staff members tended to refer to him as “the old fuddy duddy”.

Still, all was not lost. The Head had a busy career, and could often be found attending Head Teacher courses, seminars and the like. On those days the younger teachers took full advantage of the temporary freedoms granted to them.

Whilst it was usually general knowledge that the Head would be absent, Alicia had ensured she befriended his secretary, in order to get advance knowledge of any day on which she might be more flexible with her wardrobe.

One Friday in late May was such a day, and, as Alicia dressed in a very short brown suede skirt, she shivered in pleasant anticipation of what the day might hold.

The skirt barely covered the plain yellow panties that hugged her bottom, and her legs, jutting up from knee high leather boots, made her appear several inches taller than she in fact was.

Alicia carefully brushed her long auburn hair, as it lay against her yellow silk blouse, and then added the lightest layer of bright crimson lipstick. Standing back she cast an admiring look at the picture reflected back; surely no one would imagine that such a lovely modern young women were in fact a teacher at a boys school.

…......................

Alicia's much loved red mini screeched to a halt in her allotted parking space, at Dylan Grammar School. She turned off the radio, silencing the driving riff of The Kinks' You Really Got Me, a tune which echoed in her head for a few moments.

Grabbing a clasp handbag she eased herself out of the small car, and slammed the door behind her. A short walk across the slightly bumpy asphalt took her to the outer door of the Staff Room.

Usually the Head would be standing guard at the picture window, ensuring that all of his staff were correctly prepared for the day. His absence made Alicia's heart dance.

She swept into the room, and nodded to it's only other inhabitant, a trim muscular figure dressed in blue canvas shorts and a tight t shirt.

“Wotcha, Kev. How's things?”

Kevin, one of the School's P.E. Teachers, turned, and grinned his approval.

“Wow. Nice legs. Nice knickers. The old sod's definitely out today then?”

“Yep. Local council education standards meeting. He's chairing it, so it'll be all day.”

“Lucky for you, my girl. Dress like that and, one of these days, you'll feel his stick across your arse.”

Alicia smiled archly. “His stick? What do you mean? Is that, like, a sex thing? You pervert.”

“No, no! You know very well what I mean. You'll get the cane against your backside.”

“Yeah, kinky old sod would probably like to do that. Make a change from caning all of those boy's bottoms.”

“Well, you just mind it love. One of these days you'll push too far.”

Alicia waved off Kev's warning, and, with a fetching shrug, she left the staff room, bound for the usual room in which she taught her various classes.

…................................

The morning had been largely uneventful, although she had noticed a multitude of admiring glances from the boys whilst she was attempting to open their minds to the joys of Jane Austen.

As she strolled between the desks she felt their eyes follow her, glued to the sway of her hips, and searching desperately for the occasional glimpse of yellow knicker, as she bent oh so slightly forward.

Alicia, if truth be told, was a bit of a tease.

Whilst she had thoroughly enjoyed the masculine attention Alicia did admit to herself that she was slightly disappointed things had not gone further. That changed in the last class before lunch.

Class 5 were a group of fifteen and sixteen year old lads, in the last months before they were to take their 'O'-levels. In common with most of their colleagues at the Grammar School they were expected to obtain grades 1 or 2, and so, even at this late stage, they were a quiet studious group.

As these were older boys Alicia felt she could afford to give them a little more of a show. She hitched her skirt a little higher, so that the peaks of her bottom cheeks popped out enticingly from below it's hem line, and then she began a slow walk around the room.

Having walked down one row, she passed the last desk at the back of the room, and began to walk up the next row towards the front of the class.

Suddenly there was a resounding slap, and Alicia felt a momentary sting across the seat of her pants. She smiled widely, and felt a tumble of tiny kittens dancing their dance of anticipation in the pit of her stomach.

Setting her lips firmly together, she whipped around, and grabbed the wrist of the offender; he had a sick grin on his face, and his cheeks were flushed red, with excitement and embarrassment.

“Tony Taylor! What do you think you are doing?” Alicia's voice was loud, and carried around the room. A general hush fell; you could hear the pounding of Tony's heart in every corner, or so it seemed to Tony.

Tony tried unsuccessfully to reclaim his trapped limb. He shook his head, and his smile became rueful.

“I'm sorry Miss. It was an accident.”

“An accident? Did you fall out of your seat, and use my bottom to steady yourself?”

There was a widespread gasp. Tony Taylor had really smacked their teacher on her arse!

Tony just sat, his arm in her grasp, and continued to shake his head.

“Well, boy? How was that an accident?”

“Erm, I mean, I didn't mean to do it. It just happened.”

“So your arm acted alone, did it? Like Oswald, I suppose? Not your fault at all then, eh?”

“No Miss. I didn't....”

Tony's voice died away as Alicia used his imprisoned arm to drag him to his feet.

“Right then, boy, come on.” She resumed her walk to the front of the room, now pulling the struggling boy behind her. At the front of the room was Miss Page's desk, and, behind that, the door to a small store cupboard.

Alicia marched past her desk, and opened the door of the store room. Reaching in she snapped on the light, and then she turned back to face her class.

“Right. I shall be a few minutes. If I hear a thing from any of you, I will send you to Mr Rushton for a dose of his plimsoll. Is that clear?”

The class were well trained; their chorus of “Yes Miss” was ringing and prompt.

Alicia tugged Tony into the small room and slammed the door shut. On one wall was an array of shelving, bearing a number of novels and poetry collections, along with exercise books wrapped in clear plastic, a box of ball point pens and several rulers, of sundry vintages.

In the centre of the room was a wooden chair, straight backed and oddly threatening.

“Right then, Taylor, you're for it now. How dare you slap a teacher!”

“Oh, look, I am sorry Miss. I won't do it again.”

“Too late. Actions have consequences. Consequences for your backside, young man.”

Tony had seen other young men dragged into the depths of Miss Page's dungeon, and had a fair idea of what was coming.

Alicia sat on the chair, her short skirt riding up to leave bare thighs parallel with it's seat. As she plonked herself inelegantly down there was the hint of yellow covered crotch. Tony felt something stir in his trousers.

“Come here, boy.” Tony staggered towards his teacher, and then tried to step back as her hands grasped at the waistband of his grey uniform trousers. His jacket had stayed behind, on the back of his chair.

“What are you...?” he spluttered, as the clasp separated and Miss Page's hands began to draw down his flies.

“I am going to take down your trousers and give you a good spanking, young man!”

“Bloody Hell! No, you're not!” This time he succeeded in pulling away, and, as his loosened trousers started to slide down his thighs he clutched at them.

“I certainly am. Or would you prefer me to report your assault to the Head?”

Tony gulped. If he were referred to the Head the very least he could expect would be a very hard six with the cane. He could possibly get expelled, and with his exams being so close, that would be a disaster.

Alicia watched him carefully. Her threat was a hollow one; any report to the Head would certainly lead to him discovering her clothing choices for the day, and wilful disobedience could lead to her dismissal.

Deciding, Tony shook his head in surrender; his mop top danced in front of his eyes, which were starting to water as his desperate situation became clear.

Loosing his hold on his trousers he shuffled around to Miss Page's right hand side. His head dropped, his chin resting on his chest, and he mumbled into his shirt.

“I'll take the spanking Miss.”

“Good.” Alicia helped him into place across her lap. As an evil grin split her pretty face she reached for the waistband of his white y-fronts.

“But for that show of defiance, I think bare bottomed in this case.” With a smooth practised yank she exposed his smooth youthful buttocks.

“Miss!” Tony's protest proceeded no further, as his young teacher began to spank her hand firmly against his exposed flesh. This was not the first time she had taken one of her pupils to the storeroom for a spanking, and she delivered it with considerable force.

As she smacked she ensured that the whole surface of his bottom received an equal treatment; as she beat a rapid drumroll of slaps against his pale flesh she was pleased to see how quickly it changed colour, to pink, to red, to bright scarlet, and then a vaguely bruised purple.

By this time Tony was rocking away from each stinging spank, and his tears fell freely onto the dusty floor, creating little craters on the lunar surface of it's concrete.

Alicia gritted her teeth; she was having too much fun! It took an almost physical act of will to stop the next spank from falling, and she took in a deep breath. She surveyed her target, and gave a satisfied shrug.

Alicia pulled Tony's pants back up, to preserve his modesty, and helped the snivelling boy back onto his feet. She watched without comment as he reached down and grabbed his trousers. In a moment he was dressed once again.

Alicia regarded him sternly.

“Now, we shall forget this how unpleasantness ever happened. As I dealt with the matter privately there's no need to enter it in the Punishment Book. So we'll say nothing more about it.”

Tony rubbed at his throbbing behind for a moment, and then he reached into his trouser pocket for a rather grimy handkerchief, which he used to wipe the salty moisture from his face. He nodded.

Miss Page led the chastened boy back into the remarkably quiet classroom, just as the bell for lunch clanged through the still corridors.

The boys gathered up their belongings, and charged for the door; nothing stood between growing boys and their food. Even Tony, still sniffing, hurried off to find sustenance.

Miss Alicia Page took a seat behind her desk, and hugged herself contentedly. Another one had fallen into her trap; she did so love having an excuse to smack their little bare bottoms!

…......................................

Alicia found it easier to mark her pupils' work at school, rather than to take it home, so she could often be found sitting alone in her class room when six o'clock rolled around.

She had just finished scrawling red pen across the last exercise book, and she was tidying her desk prior to leaving for home when there was a knock on the solid wooden class room door. Alicia glanced up, startled. It was unusual for anybody else to be around that late.

“Come in.” she called out, her brow a little furrowed as she awaited the solution to this minor mystery.

The door opened slightly, and a shiny bald head slid through the gap, tilted to one side so as to peer into the room. The head boasted strong even features, and glinting blue eyes. It's chin was fairly prominent, and covered with a thin layer of jet black hair.

Alicia took all of this in, and thought that the visage was quite attractive, if you liked older men. It's owner must have been around forty or so, positively ancient.

“Excuse me.” The voice was surprisingly deep. “I'm looking for Miss Page.”

“Oh, I'm Miss Page. Please come in.” The face frowned, but did as she had asked. The body to which it was attached was of average size, perhaps five foot seven or so, and wiry. It's torso was covered in a skin tight short sleeved shirt, and one arm boasted an anchor tattoo. Her visitor had clearly been in the merchant navy at some point.

“You're Miss Page?” His voice dripped with disbelief, as his eyes walked up, down and around her frame. He shook his head in disgust.

“Well, yes, is that a problem?”

“Is that any way for a teacher to dress?” The visitor indicated her skirt. “I bet the boys can see your arse hanging out when you walk.”

“How dare you! Just get out, now!”

“Nope, not until I've had my say. I'm not surprised the poor little sods can't keep their hands to themselves. I'd have slapped your arse when I was sixteen if you'd paraded it in front of me like that.”

“Well, you can just keep your bloody opinions to yourself, and sod off! Go on, get out!”

“Look, love, do you know who I am?”

“Well, you're not my love, for sure.”

“My name's Bob Taylor.”

“So? Are you someone important?”

“You teach my son. Tony.” Alicia just stared at him, her anger having driven any memories of her pupils away totally. “You know, Tony Taylor?”

“I'm sorry. So, what? Why are you here?”

“Well, love, young Tony came home a bit upset this lunchtime.”

“Don't call me 'Love'. And what has that got to do with me?”

“He was in your last class before lunch, wasn't he?”

“I suppose so. I still don't see....” and then she did see. Tony Taylor was the boy that she had spanked for slapping her bottom. Alicia felt the ground drop from beneath her feet; staring up from the floor of the pit that remained she couldn't see any way to claw her way back up to the surface.

Mr Taylor nodded in satisfaction.

“You can place him now, love, can't you?”

“Ah yes, well, I can.”

“He says that you smacked his arse for him. His bare arse. Now, I don't mind kids getting a walloping when they deserve it, but these things need to be done proper.”

“Erm, there were special circumstances.”

“Oh, were there? There was a special reason why you had to take a sixteen year old boy into a private room? And then take his knickers down? And tan his bare arse?”

“But you don't know what he did!”

“He smacked your behind. Once. I can see why, an' all. Like I said, don't think I'd have resisted when I was his age.”

“But, you see, he had to be punished. And if I sent him to the Head...”

“Look, the lad did wrong, and he should take his lumps. If the Head welted his backside with his cane, well, fair enough. He did the crime, he has to take the tanning for it. That's as it should be; kids need to learn to control themselves.”

“But....”

“But you couldn't send him to the Head, could you? Not without explaining why he smacked you.”

“But he deserved a good hiding!”

“Happen he did. Though if you'd shown better sense he'd not have been tempted. Still, if you'd bent him over and tanned him with a slipper I'd not have objected.”

Alicia took a deep breath. Now that she knew Mr Taylor agreed his son deserved to be punished she felt that she was gaining ground in her scramble to escape. Time for the big push.

“So, we won't say any more about it then. Thank you for calling in. I do like to see parents taking an interest.”

Mr Taylor's face went blank. He took two forceful steps forward and glared into Alicia's face; his breath smelt of minty toothpaste, with just the slightest hint of alcohol edging out from behind it.

“Right, love, we won't say anymore about it. But that's not the end of it.”

“What do you mean? I'm not sure what else you want me to say.”

“Don't want you to say anything, love. But you smacked my lad for being naughty, and I'd say you'd been naughty an' all.”

Mr Taylor had continued his progress, and by this stage he had rounded Alicia's desk. He reached out and grasped her left wrist.

“What are you on about? I'm an adult; I'm not naughty.”

“Well, love, the Head don't like his teachers dressing like that, does he? And you're not allowed to take the kids trousers down, neither. Sounds like you been naughty to me.”

Alicia made gobbling noises, like a turkey chosen to be Christmas dinner that year, when the axe approaches.

“So, I reckon a bit of a hiding might do you good, an' all.”

“What are you....?” Alicia let out a furious whoop as Mr Taylor pushed her backwards, sat on her chair, and pulled her effortlessly across his lap.

Alicia lay, her yellow panties totally exposed, legs kicking at one end and arms flailing at the air. The chair was quite a high one, and balanced over My Taylor's legs she couldn't reach the ground on either side of him.

Just as Alicia tried to roll off his knee, Mr Taylor's left arm shot out, and encircled her trim waist. She felt the muscles move beneath his skin, as he trapped her in position. There was no escape.

“Well, that skirt really is short, innit? Not too much to protect you bottom, is there love?” Mr Taylor bounced the palm of his hand off the tight yellow cotton, and Alicia yelped, mostly in surprise. She couldn't believe that this was happening.

“You bastard! Let me up!”

“Now love, is that any language for a young teacher to be using? Naughty, naughty.”

Mr Taylor's hand rose and fell, a dozen or so times, his muscular arm ensuring that each smack drew another yelp or squeal from Alicia.

“Now, I reckon I should take your knickers down, to make things fair, like, but it wouldn't be right. I'm a married man; I can't be smacking strange women's bare arses.”

Whilst he spoke Mr Taylor had continued to buffet Alicia's bottom; there was just enough room within the angry parent's grasp for Alicia to shuffle from side to side as the stinging spanks rained down.

“Still, them panties look pretty thin, so I don't guess they're doing a lot to save your pretty little bottom.” As he said this it struck Mr Taylor that his last observation had been a bit inappropriate itself. Clearly though it was Miss Page's fault, so he lay on the next few spanks just a bit harder.

Alicia howled; her Dad had spanked her a few times, over the years, but it had never hurt like this. Mr Taylor was remorseless, and inexhaustible.

Years at sea had strengthened his muscles, and toughened his skin, and his hand deepened the crimson blush of her bottom each time it fell. Mr Taylor ensured that it fell frequently.

Mr Taylor kept up a steady pace; the slap of his hand against Alicia's inflamed bottom was rhythmic, and regular. The room echoed to the twins sounds of flesh on flesh (Alicia's panties really were quite tiny), and the gasps, sighs, squeal and moans that every smack produced.

“Feeling it a bit, are we love?” Alicia, even above the stinging pain in her bottom, could still hear the grin in his voice.

Mr Taylor was very pleased by the reception granted to the young teacher's punishment; the applause of his hand on her behind was most rewarding. He noticed that Alicia was now barely struggling against his grip, and that her movements away from each slap had lessened considerably.

Alicia's shoulders shook; there was no longer any resistance to the punishment, only tears as her bottom bruised under the assault.

Raising his arm a little higher, Mr Taylor concluded the lesson with a dozen especially hard spanks. He was quite pleased with these; he managed to get his shoulder into them, and a bit of flex into his wrist as his hand smacked home.

The result was instant. Even through her tears Alicia yelled and screamed.

Mr Taylor dropped his right arm to his side. His left one retained his grip on Alicia's waist; he didn't want her to roll onto the floor, and the last powerful spanks had set her body to jigging.

“Now love, let that be a lesson to you. No more of those stupid short skirts around school, eh?”

Alicia was torn. She had always been quick to anger, and she hated to be ordered around. She bit back a bitter response. Her other emotion was fear that her punishment might be repeated. Or even resumed, here and now!

Not trusting her voice, Alicia nodded. Let the bastard make of that what he would.

Mr Taylor's left arm unclasped itself, and reaching around to support Alicia's shoulders, it tipped her back onto her feet. As her boots touched the ground, Alicia bounced onto her toes, and her hands clutched at her abused bottom.

She alternated grasping it, and rubbing it, as she danced in place. Her long legs made even this little jig look graceful. Her face was scrunched up in pain, with her eyes barely open, as fresh tears squeezed out.

“Young Tony will tell me if you're naughty again, love, so I suggest you stick with proper skirts from now on. And no smacking the kids; send 'em off to the Head, or one of the P.E. Teachers if they need a good hiding.”

Alicia nodded again, this time with perhaps a little more conviction. Her hands, like sandpaper on battered flesh, continued to rub, and the first flush of the pain had started to abate.

Alicia's drive home was a painful experience. She loved her little mini, but it's suspension was rudimentary, and each bump in the road elicited a groan as her bottom bounced on the plastic car seat.

She entered her flat as tears, now of humiliation, sprang to her eyes. Angrily she swiped them away, and, reaching for a glass and the bottle of cheap whisky she kept for emergencies, she cursed Mr Taylor.

Alicia placed a large cushion in her favourite armchair, and eased her bottom onto it. She sniffed; it wouldn't have surprised her to smell burning as her throbbing flesh made it's nest in the soft material.

Alicia couldn't believe what had happened, what that bloody bastard man had done! She knew one thing though; she'd find some way to get his son back for the trouble that he had caused her. She was sure of that.

THE END