Kimmie Church
Mrs. Kimmie Church
Mrs. Jeremy Church
I was gazing down at my paper, every single line of the page filled with my romantic doodles. I looked up occasionally during class, either so that Mr. Church would think I was listening to his lecture, or just to watch him as he moved. Whenever he made eye contact, I blushed, embarrassed at the inappropriate thoughts I was having about my favorite teacher, and returned to the fantasies which filled my notebook.
I am a good student. I take enormous pride in my straight ‘A’ grades. Normally, I am the one paying rapt attention, quickly raising my hand as soon as a question is asked, and staying after class to ask the teacher additional questions. I used to behave that way in Mr. Church’s class. But slowly, gradually, over the course of the semester, my attraction to him had grown, to the point where I could hardly concentrate. The teacher’s pet in me wanted to please him with my test scores, but the growing warmth between my legs whenever I saw him, talked to him, thought about him, had become an overwhelming distraction.
He was a brilliant lecturer, that teacher who could actually get students excited about American history. And I love history! But my body, and my subconscious, was working against my ability to perform in his class. Mr. Church had entered my dreams, not because of the work he assigned, but because he was a man whose body inspired lust in me. His strong hands. His piercing blue eyes. His salt-and-pepper stubble. The way his suit outlined his toned physique.
When I looked up again, I was mortified: he was standing directly in front of my desk. I had no idea how long he’d been there, waiting for me to acknowledge his presence, interrupting his lecture to embarrass me for my lack of attention. Even worse, his eyes moved from my notebook, where the hearts dotting my i’s revealed my crush, to my chest, and then my blushing cheeks. Did I already use the word mortified? Not sure how else to describe it. It took all of my strength to maintain eye contact, waiting for some sort of punishment that I was sure was coming my way.
“Kimmie, would you follow me to the front of the classroom?”
A collective “oooooooh” from my classmates filled the room.
“Yes, Mr. Church, of course.”
My heart dropped as I got up out of my seat and dutifully followed him. I had never been in trouble in school before, and I didn’t know how to handle the feeling. And for it to happen in Mr. Church’s class? Well, let’s just say, I was ready to do just about anything he asked to make up for my misbehavior. That said, there was no way I would have imagined what came next.
Mr. Church walked slowly, calmly, around his desk. I took the moment to straighten my pleated, blue and gold plaid uniform skirt and my buttoned, white blouse as much as possible. I heard a student gasp as Mr. Church reached for something on the wall. We were all familiar with it as a constant presence in the room, but none of us had ever seen it removed from its hooks above the teacher’s desk.
There were two objects there, actually: the paddle, and the cane. I had always assumed that they were there as a reminder of our school’s long history, as well as providing a vague threat that at one time, within these walls, misbehaving students were publicly punished. We knew, of course, that this was no longer the norm, but the school had chosen to leave the objects in each classroom as a reminder. And a diligent student such as myself knew that the school had never actually revised its decades-old policy on corporal punishment.
And now, my beloved teacher had chosen to reinvigorate those old school traditions. My heart skipped a beat as I watched him pull the cane from the wall and turn again to face me.
“Class, don’t you agree that Kimmie deserves some punishment?
No response.
“Come now. Kimmie, the straight-A student, the quintessential teacher’s pet, caught daydreaming in class? Surely, that deserves some discipline.”
Still no response. I think my classmates were in shock.
“Assume the position, Kimmie.”
My mind raced with a combination of fear and erotic excitement. And for once, I had no idea how to respond to a teacher’s instruction. Realizing I didn’t understand what to do next, Mr. Church became more specific.
“Turn your back to your classmates, bend over, and place your forearms flat on the desk.”
I knew, at least in principle, what was coming, and yet I was still in complete disbelief. I had never been spanked before, not by a teacher, not by a parent, not even by that overly stern Sunday School teacher from my grade-school years. As I followed his instructions, I could feel my short skirt rising up my backside as I bent over. Once in the position he had described, I couldn’t see my classmates, but was very aware that they could see my white panties.
I expected to hear Mr. Church’s voice again; of all my teachers, he was the most loquacious. But the next sound I heard, a split second before I felt its impact, was the whisk of the cane through the air on its way to striking my bottom.
“Eyes forward, Kimmie,” I heard his voice say, before I was even fully aware that I had twisted around to look at him, “and forearms back on the desk.”
I quickly obeyed, just in time for the next strike, this one hitting bare skin, where the first had been dampened by the fabric of my skirt. The stinging pain was unlike anything I had ever felt, and yet, it wasn’t my strongest sensation in the moment. I was more aware of what I was revealing to my classmates.
It wasn’t just that I had been called out by a teacher, that I was being disciplined in front of my fellow students, few of whom rose to my level of dedication to their studies. It was the nature of that discipline, and the fact that my growing arousal was on full display before them. Although the pain was excruciating, I was shocked to realize that I was also experiencing pleasure. My panties were getting wet, and I could hear some of my fellow students breathing a bit more heavily and shifting in their chairs.
Mr. Church walked away, then quickly returned. He had gone to collect my notebook, and then placed it on his desk where I could see it as he moved his finger down the page, counting the number of times I had written my name in conjunction with his. At the bottom of the page, with the red pen which he used to grade papers, he wrote, “23”. It needed no explanation: the number of times I had written his name with mine when I should have been paying attention, and the number of times he would proceed to strike me with the cane.
He took up his position behind me once again, nudged my feet further apart with his own, and resumed his discipline. I tried to count, but lost my ability to do so, as he quickly administered his punishment, one strong blow after another. My skirt rode up on my ass a little more with each strike, as did my panties. Although nobody spoke, the sounds of my caning filled the air: the whip through the air and slap against my flesh, the gasp of the other students, especially the boys, as more and more of my flesh became visible, and my own whimpering.
When he was finished, Mr. Church calmly walked back around his desk, placed the cane back on the hooks above his desk, and sat down in his chair, his eyes meeting mine, as I remained in my position, a single tear running down my cheek.
“You may go, Kimmie. Please return after class so that we can discuss this in more detail.”
I slowly stood up, admittedly happy that the punishment was over, but once again humiliated, as I’d never been asked to leave a class early. I mustered all the dignity I could as I straightened up, pressed my clothes back into place as much as possible, and slowly walked out of the room. As soon as I’d closed the door behind me, I could hear Mr. Church returning to his lecture, seamlessly, as if nothing unusual had happened.
I walked, gingerly, to the girls’ restroom, where I was happy to find myself alone, the rest of the school still in classes. I placed my hands against the first sink, took a deep breath, and looked up into the mirror. My cheeks were stained with tears, and yet they were also rosy and glowing. My big blue eyes were burning with excitement. My long blonde hair was disheveled, falling out of its ponytail and cascading down around my shoulders.
I still felt humiliated, embarrassed, and horrified as I thought about Mr. Church discovering my secret crush, and mostly, about my fellow students discovering the crack in my perfect student persona. And yet, as I looked into the mirror, studying my own reflection, I couldn’t deny the other sensations moving through my body.
I was soon overwhelmed with curiosity to see what my painful bottom looked like after my favorite teacher’s punishment. I stepped far enough back from the mirror that I could see down to my knees, turned around, lifted up my skirt, and looked back over my shoulder. I gasped as I took in the image, my otherwise perfectly smooth skin marred by numerous deep-red welts.
I turned around to face the mirror, pulled up my skirt again, and confirmed the obvious wetness which was growing between my legs and beginning to mark my panties. With no way of changing before I had to go back to Mr. Church’s classroom, I did my best to put my uniform back in order, splashed some cold water on my face, and fixed my hair. Hopefully, he wouldn’t notice the obvious fact that I was turned on by the whole experience of his punishment.
I waited there until I heard the final bell ring, hid in a stall as dozens of giggling schoolgirls passed through the restroom on their way out of the building, and when silence finally settled, slowly walked back to Mr. Church’s classroom.
I opened the door gently, slid in, and closed it behind me, watching Mr. Church work at his desk. It seemed like several minutes before he finally acknowledged my presence, but when he did so, it was with a smile. My heart raced with hope that I was forgiven for my earlier transgressions.
He rose, walked towards me without breaking eye contact, stepped so close to me that my breath caught in my chest, and reached behind me to the door. I didn’t even know that the classroom doors in our school could be locked, and yet understood his motions when I heard the latch behind me. He then took me by the hand and led me back over to the desk.
“Kimmie, I need to check to see how you are responding to the punishment you received. Please assume the position again.”
This time, I knew exactly what he meant, and quickly complied. My eyes trained forward, I couldn’t see him, but could feel his body envelop mine from behind. His big hands settled gently on my ass, and pushed up my skirt.
“Oh, my, Kimmie. It looks like you must have done something very bad earlier, judging by all these marks on your bottom. And now I see that your panties are not the regulation white cotton? I didn’t notice that earlier. Perhaps we’d better remove them before another teacher finds out.”
It was true, our school uniform did actually specify that girls’ panties were to be unadorned, white, and cotton. Mine were white, yes, but they were silk, with lace edges. I practically melted beneath him as Mr. Church wrapped a finger around each side of the waistband and pulled down my wet panties in one smooth motion, encouraging me to step out of them once they had fallen to my ankles.
This was the first time that I had been so naked in front of anyone I found attractive, not to mention an older man who was also my most beloved teacher. He began slowly tracing each of the many welts on my ass with his fingers, gently at first and then more aggressively, and I felt my hips begin to move in rhythm with his touch, almost without my knowledge or understanding.
“You know, Kimmie…”
His voice trailed off, and I turned to look at him over my shoulder. “Yes, Mr. Church?”
“I really should punish you for those panties…”
“Whatever you feel would be appropriate, Mr. Church.”
“Eyes forward, young lady.”
I obeyed, and as soon as I did, felt his hands once again on my body. His left hand enveloped me, his fingers reaching between my legs to explore the source of my wetness. I moaned and melted into him, just in time to feel his other hand give me a fast, firm swat across the ass. The burning sensation, as his strike activated all of the sensations from the earlier treatment with the cane, was almost unbearable, and yet also tempered by the pleasure brought by his other hand.
After a few more firm swats, he turned me around to face him. His hands never left my body, as he was now stroking rhythmically between my legs.
“Unbutton your blouse, Kimmie. I want to see your beautiful tits.”
I quickly did as I was told, unbuttoning my regulation white blouse to reveal the lacy white bra that matched my discarded panties. Mr. Church pulled my tits free from the bra and took each one into his mouth in turn, sucking on them as he continued to stroke my pussy lips, faster now. It wasn’t long before I was feeling sensations I’d never experienced before, his tongue on my nipples, his fingers beginning to press inside of me, but then, just as quickly as it had started, he pulled away.
I whimpered and then pouted, impishly, which turned out to be a mistake.
“No whining, Kimmie.”
He grabbed me by the hips, lifted me up in the air, and set me down, my welt-covered ass landing hard on his desk. I was tempted to cry out, but realized it would only bring more punishment.
“Good girl,” he said, after he watched me control my reaction. “Now, spread your legs, and put your feet up on the desk.”
I could see the bulge growing in his slacks as I followed his directions. My white blouse was still tucked into my pleated skirt, but otherwise I was completely exposed before him. My firm, perky tits bounced free. My glistening wet pussy was in full view, my stinging red ass cheeks positioned on the edge of his desk. The only part of me that still looked fully dressed was my feet, now spread wide apart on his desk, with my white ankle socks and black patent-leather shoes still neatly in place.
My eyes followed as he slowly pulled his zipper down, reached into his slacked, and pulled out his big, hard, erect penis. I couldn’t believe how erotic it was to see him, still otherwise fully-clothed, but moving towards me with his cock pointing directly at me. I had a little bit of experience with some boys my age, but I’d never seen anything like this.
Mr. Church pounded into my pussy in one fast, hard motion, and I gasped, and then moaned. He put his hand over my mouth and leaned into me, moving faster and faster in and out. The combination of pain and pleasure was unlike anything I’d ever experienced, and I was eager for more. Even though each stroke of his cock was a deeper penetration than I’d ever known, it was also an overwhelmingly satisfying feeling. And even though each stroke forced the painful welts on my ass against the uncompromising surface of his desk, I hoped he’d never stop.
Before I knew what was happening, my entire body began to shudder, and I felt my pussy clench around his cock. His hand still firmly against my mouth, my cries of pleasure were muted, and he continued to push in and out of me just as quickly.
While I was still reeling from this round of sensations, he lifted me off the desk, spun me around, pushed me down, kicked my legs wide apart, and forced his big, hard cock deep into me from behind. If I thought I had felt full before, this was even more. I could no longer see him or his cock, but the image of its 7 inches of thick, throbbing hardness were still in my mind from our previous position, where I had been able to watch him move in and out, covered in my juices.
It was all I could do to remain standing as he fucked me, hard and fast. He maintained a constant, unchanging, relentless pace, the only alteration being what his hands were doing. First, he reached around with both hands and grabbed on to my tits, kneading and squeezing them. Then, he rubbed my clit furiously, until I felt the need to beg him to stop. This brought his other hand back to my mouth to stop my complaints, as his fingers continued to rub me until I experienced another shuddering, overwhelming, full-body loss of control. Throughout all of this, he continued fucking me from behind, nonstop.
When he finally did take his hand away from my mouth, it was to place his hands on my hips, grabbing me firmly, and forcing himself into me as deeply as possible. After a few more strokes, he shuddered, and I could feel his cum fill my hot, wet pussy.
“Stay there,” he whispered as he pulled out and backed away from me, and I could hear him zip his zipper. I was happy to comply, being so completely overwhelmed with sensations and absolutely exhausted from the experience.
Before I realized what was happening, I felt his fingers spreading my pussy wide open, and realized he was licking me. He remained there, crouched below me, for a few more moments, licking all around and inside, before he stood up, spun me around, and kissed me passionately on the lips. I understood now: he wanted me to taste myself, and him. His tongue plunged deeply into my mouth, and he fed me his own cum, laced with my juices.
“A little more attention in class from now on, Kimmie?”
“Yes, sir. I promise.”
