This made her smile, even as she continued to cry.  And she found that it excited her as well.

"Are you all right, Jane?" 

It was Peter’s normal voice: concerned, not knowing how much of what she was doing was pretend.  She nodded twice, vigorously, still sobbing. 

"Very well," came the cold voice of Mr. Peters.  "Continue, Miss Harkin."

She continued, now filled with a curious blend of shame and excitement.  In her imagination she saw some of the girls in the back row sneaking a hand under their skirts, their knees slightly apart, as they watched her.

Then ‘Mr. Peters’ walked out from behind his desk and went to stand behind the last row, hands behind his back, as if observing her effect on the class.  Jane stared into his eyes as she continued to stroke herself, her mouth open, tears still running down her face, the crotch of her panties beginning to moisten beneath her touch.

"I don’t believe the class can see what you’re doing very clearly, Miss Harkin.  Take off your skirt.  And your blouse."

She dropped her skirt and covered her face with her hands.  "No, Mr. Peters!  Please don’t make me!  I’ll do anything..."

"Indeed you will, Miss Harkin.  And right now, you will take off your skirt and your blouse.  Or shall I ask the class to help you?"

She saw herself with her classmates clustered around her—holding her arms, unbuttoning her blouse, pulling off her skirt, their hands all over her. 

She moaned out loud with excitement...and came. 

She fell back against the desk, grasping the edge with both hands.  She kept her gaze fixed on him, letting him see her shuddering in orgasm.  

Somehow, having him look at her while she came--plus the fact that she was still, amazingly, fully dressed--seemed to multiply the intensity, as if she were not only experiencing it but could see herself as he must be seeing her: chest heaving, pelvis twitching, eyes half-closed and mouth wide open, gasping.  

Oh god...

‘Mr. Peters’ walked through the rows of chairs and stood in front of her, arms crossed over his chest.  

He shook his head as if disappointed, and said, "Really, Miss Harkin—what are we going to do with you?  You are not only a very bad little girl; you are disobedient as well.  I’ve told you twice to take off your skirt and blouse and you still have not done so.  I’m going to give you one more chance.  And to be sure you make the most of it I want you to go to the blackboard and write ten times: ‘I will take off my clothes whenever Mr. Peters tells me to.’  Go on."

She turned and slowly walked around the desk to the blackboard.  She picked up a piece of chalk and began to write, as close to the top as she could reach: I will take off my clothes whenever Mr. Peters tells me to.  

She knew that Peter was just giving her some time to recover, but still there was something deliciously bad about writing such a thing on a school blackboard where anyone could see it.  Not that anyone else would know who had written it—but she knew.

I will take off my clothes whenever Mr. Peters tells me to.

She imagined the class watching her write; wondering if she was really going to do it.  The boys staring at her back, excited, trying to imagine her in just her underwear.

I will take off my clothes whenever Mr. Peters tells me to.

Whenever Mr. Peters tells me to.  She imagined Mr. Peters walking up to her in the supermarket and saying, "Take off your skirt and blouse, Miss Harkin."  Saw herself taking them off in the middle of the aisle and placing them in her basket.  Continuing to shop in her bra and panties, customers staring at her.

I will take off my clothes whenever Mr. Peters tells me to.

From the corner of her eye she could see Peter—sitting at the desk and reading his book, pretending to be Mr. Peters—and felt a surge of affection for him.  

She loved him: loved the sexy, secret things they did together, loved that he found her exciting, loved that she could please him.  She wanted to go over and whisper in his ear, "Peter, I’ll take off my clothes whenever you tell me to."  She wanted to see the bulge in his pants and know that she had created it.  She forced herself to continue writing.

I will take off my clothes whenever Mr. Peters tells me to.

She felt herself beginning to become excited again.  She wanted to find out what would happen next.  She wrote faster.

I will take off my clothes whenever Mr. Peters tells me to.

I will take off my clothes whenever Mr. Peters tells me to.

I will take off my clothes whenever Mr. Peters tells me to.

I will take off my clothes whenever Mr. Peters tells me to.

I will take off my clothes whenever Mr. Peters tells me to.

She put the chalk down in the tray, and went to stand in front of the desk, facing him.

He continued to read.

This time she knew better than to wait.  She turned to face the classroom.  She undid her black leather belt and dropped it on the floor.  She reached behind her and opened the back of her red skirt, unzipped it, and tugged it down until it fell loosely around her ankles.  She stepped out of it and nudged it aside with her foot.  

In her mind’s eye she saw the class leaning forward, felt the intensity of their stares.  She unbuttoned the sleeves, and then the front of her rose-print blouse, then pulled it back off her shoulders and let it fall to the floor behind her. 

She saw one of the boys, a pudgy kid with glasses, try to muffle his mouth with one hand as he said ‘Ohhh!’ and clutched at himself frantically with the other hand—and knew that she had made him come.  She smiled directly at him to let him know she knew, as he tried to cover the spreading wet spot on the front of his pants.

Then she stood with her feet apart, slowly raised her arms, and clasped her hands behind her head, feeling her breasts rise as she did so, enjoying the effect she knew this would have on the boys. 

She saw that several of them were now rubbing themselves with only minimal attempts at concealment—a notebook held over the lap; a shirt-front pulled out—as they stared at her breasts, at the wetness between her legs.  

It made her feel like the sexiest girl on earth.  

She saw one boy in the back row trying to surreptitiously edge his chair closer to the girl sitting next to his.  Saw his hand join hers under her skirt.  Saw her suddenly sit straight up, eyes wide, as if she’d received an electric shock.  Saw her look sideways at the boy, alarmed...then slowly close her eyes.  Saw her knees drift a little further apart.  Jane smiled.

Then all activity ceased, and Jane saw the boy and girl whip their hands back into their respective laps as she heard Mr. Peters close his book and scrape his chair back as he stood.  

He walked slowly back to his place behind the last row.  He put his hands in his pockets and looked at her, studying her.  

She wondered if he minded that her yellow bra and panties were so plain.  She remembered what he’d said about naked versus undressed, and wondered if the fact that she still had on her white knee-socks and penny loafers somehow made it sexier for him.  She sneaked a glance down at herself and decided she liked the effect—it did make her look more undressed.

"Better, Miss Harkin.  That wasn’t so hard, now was it?"

"No, Mr. Peters."

"Good.  Now explain to the class why you were touching yourself in such a disgusting way."

Suddenly she was in front of her real English class again, about to read her report, but she was in her bra and panties, and everyone could see her.  

She blushed furiously.  She tried to speak.  Her lips moved, but nothing came out.  She glanced at Mr. Peters, then away.    Then she took a deep breath and addressed the class.

"I was thinking about a boy.  I wanted to lift up my skirt so he could get down in front of me and lick my thighs.  I wanted him to…pull down my panties…and…and kiss my pussy." 

She dropped her arms to her sides. She ignored the gasps of her classmates as she walked through them, then past Mr. Peters to the back of the room.  

She picked up a wide steel ruler from one of the tables.  She walked back and stood in front of Mr. Peters.  Then she knelt, holding the ruler out to him with both hands, like a scepter.  She looked up at him and said, as clearly as she was able, "I’m a little slut, Mr. Peters, and I should be punished."

She put the ruler into his hands, then rose to her feet, turned and marched to the front of his desk.  She pushed his book off the desk so that it landed on the floor with a bang.  She spread her legs as far apart as she could then lay across the desktop—head turned, arms extended to grasp the sides...and waited.  

She heard him walk slowly toward her...and stop.  She could tell he was standing very close.  She wondered if he was going to rub himself against her the way he had before.  

Then she heard him turn around.

"Well, class?  You heard her.  How many of you think she should be punished?  Raise your hands."  

There was a pause.  

Then:  "All right, the majority votes ‘yes’.  Now, everyone who voted ‘yes’, form a line right here—quickly, please.  Good.  Now, one at a time, each of you take this ruler and spank Miss Harkin with it...like this."

She was completely unprepared when the flat of the ruler hit her behind with a loud Whack!  The unexpected, searing pain caused her to lift her head off the desk with a gasp, then whimper as she put it back down.

"Each of you will only spank her once," Mr. Peters continued,  "but you may spank her as hard as you like.  Then hand the ruler to the next person in line and go sit down. 

"Miss Harkin, you keep count...and thank your classmates for helping you.  All right?  You first, Mr. Wilson..."

He had named a boy they both knew.  He wasn’t in her English class, but it didn’t matter.  In her imagination she could see him, perspiring, his hand sweaty as he held up the ruler, looking at her behind.  She could also see that he had an erection...

Whack!

Even though she knew it was coming it still hurt like blazes, literally.  She gave a grunt of pain, and said, in a near-whisper,  "One.  Thank you."

"You next, Miss Selton."

She must have been shy, or felt sorry for her, because she felt only a light tap on her behind.

"Two.  Thank you."

"Miss Jarzembowski?"

Oh no.  She was a huge girl who looked like she should be on the football team.

WHACK!

"OW!"  

The force of the blow tore the cry from her, harder than any of the ones preceding it.  She felt the tears spring to her eyes and her voice broke as she said, "Th-three.  Thank you."

"Mr. Soren?"

Whack!

She sobbed, "Fo...four.  Thank you."  

In her mind’s eye she could see the classroom: the scattering of empty seats among the full ones; the line of students waiting to spank her, some embarrassed, some excited but trying not to show it.  And everyone staring, watching her behind bounce inside her panties each time she was hit by the ruler. 

She was completely mortified. And she wanted more.  

She wished Mr. Peters would make her touch herself now, while she was being spanked.  Still, imagining her classmates lined up to spank her, and never knowing when the next blow would land, or how hard it would be, was exquisite torture.

In fact, by the time the final student–number sixteen!--had come up to bat she was gripping the desk as hard as she could to keep from writhing  in a mixture of pain and desire.  As it was, she was helpless to stop herself from whimpering and moaning, although she did it as quietly as she could.   

She wanted desperately to simply turn onto her back and thrust her hand inside her panties.  

She was barely able to whisper,  "Ssss...six...teen. Ohhhh.... th-thank...you..."

And she was so lost in her arousal that it hardly registered when Mr. Peters said, "Thank you everyone.  Please open your books to Chapter Seven.  Miss Harkin, you will remain where you are until the end of class.  Oh...and Miss Harkin?  Pull down your panties—I want the class to see what happens to students who misbehave."

She knew she was supposed to say, ‘Yes, Mr. Peters,’ but barely had the strength to bring her arms back to her sides, and still moaning and sobbing, push her panties as far down her thighs as her hands would reach, the tight elastic scraping like steel wool over her welted behind as she did so and making her cry out softly.  Then she returned her arms to their outstretched position and gripped the sides of the desk.

She pictured the class, staring in horrified fascination at her reddened behind, at the raised lines of angry welts crossing it.  Saw the boys peering between her legs above where her panties were stretched across her thighs.  She knew she was still very wet there, and having them see it made her wetter still.  She would give anything to be touched there right now.  

Where was Mr. Peters?  Was he looking at her?  She began to move her hips up and down slightly, signaling.   Maybe he would see how she was going crazy.  Maybe he would put his hand...

She heard his footsteps and then saw him coming around the desk.  Then she couldn’t see him because of her head’s position on the desk, but heard him pull out his chair and sit down.  

There was a pause.  

She heard him get back out of his chair, take a couple of steps, pause, walk back and sit down again.  She heard something being propped against the edge of the desk, less than an inch from the top of her head.  Heard him open his book.

"All right class, continue to read Chapter Seven until the end of the period."

Silence.

Oh no you don’t, she thought.

She drew in her arms and pushed herself upright.  She pulled up her panties, ignoring the pain and enjoying the startled expression on his face as she did so.

"Miss Harkin!"

She ignored him as she marched around the desk and went to the blackboard.  She picked up a piece of chalk, and in letters so huge that they took up the entire rest of the blackboard she wrote:

I WILL LET MR. PETERS PUT HIS COCK UP MY ASS.

Then she dropped the chalk to the floor, and came to stand in front of his desk again.  

She took the book out of his hands and threw it on the floor.  

Glaring at him, she reached behind her back, unfastened her bra, and dropped it on the desk in front of him.  Then she pulled her panties down to the floor, stepped out of them, picked them up and dropped them on the desk as well.  

Then, wearing only her white knee socks and loafers, she stood with her legs apart and leaned down until her forearms were on the desk and her face was practically touching his.   

She stared into his eyes, as if to say, ...Well?

He smiled back at her and, without taking his eyes from hers, pulled open the top drawer of the desk, fumbled inside it for a moment, then took something out and placed it on the desk between them.  

She looked down and saw a small jar of Vaseline.

Then she heard him begin to rise from his chair, and looked up just in time to hear him say, over her head,

"Class...dismissed."

<span class="underline">Chapter Eleven

She came twice more that afternoon.  

The first time was just after he entered her, having applied Vaseline to her and to himself.  

As he slid into her, he leaned down and said, softly,  "Tell me what I’m doing to you, Miss Harkin." and she had replied, gasping,  "Putting...your cock...up...up my ass!  Your cock is up my ass, Mr. Peters! Oh, god!"  

And nearly fainted from the intensity of the orgasm that washed over her.

He had held her by the hips as she bucked against him, and waited until she was done.  

When she had quieted, he asked softly, in his normal voice,  "Do you want me to stop?"  Thinking, perhaps, that she had had enough.  

And she had, really; she felt totally wrung out, physically and emotionally.  And she loved it that he was willing to stop, even though he was standing with his pants around his ankles and his unsatisfied cock inside her.  

But she wanted to give him the same kind of pleasure he had just given her.  Plus, it was another chance to talk dirty to him.  

So she looked seductively over her shoulder at him and said,  "Why, Mr. Peters!  I took off my panties just so you could put your cock up my ass.  If you don’t keep going I’m going to tell the principal you made me strip in front of the class.  You wouldn’t want me to do that, would you, Mr. Peters?"  

He shook his head, dazed.  

"Then you just keep your cock in my ass until I feel you come.  Come in my ass, Mr. Peters, or else I’ll tell on you."

He hadn’t actually needed that much persuading, obviously, but it thrilled her to be able to excite him like that.  He began thrusting in and out of her before she had even finished speaking, moaning softly and looking at her as if in disbelief that she was talking to him that way. 

He slid his hand underneath her and began to stroke her between her legs and she was astonished to feel herself beginning to respond.  Again.  

She wouldn’t have thought it possible, but very soon her moans began to join his in the rhythm of his hand and cock.  As the pace began to accelerate, she began to babble:  "Oh, Mr. Peters!  Mr. Peters!  Your cock...in my ass!  Come in my ass, Mr. Peters!  Oh god, come in my ass!  COME IN MY ASS, MR. PETERS!"

And of course, he had--and the groan that accompanied it was almost as loud as her final shout.  And this was when she had her second orgasm as well, a long, slow, rippling warmth that seemed to start in her toes and spread upward until it filled her entire body with a kind of tingling glow.  She drifted away into it, floating...

And only returned to herself minutes later, when she felt him rising to his feet from where he’d been half-lying on her back, and felt his cock withdraw from her.  

She quickly pushed herself upright as well, then turned and drew him into an embrace.  She laid her head against his chest, and he rested his chin lightly on her shoulder and wrapped his arms around her.

After a while he said, simply, "Wow."  

She nodded her head against his chest.  

He pulled back, then, and looked at her.  "Did you really like that? "  

She nodded again, her face serious.   

He continued,  "Really?   All of it?  I mean, you were crying, and I thought...."

She nodded again, more vigorously, saying, "I know.  When you started pretending the class was watching, I started to see it.  In my mind.  As if they were really watching me, you know, lift up my skirt and everything.  And I started to feel...as bad as I really would feel if I had to do something like that.  That’s when I started crying, and you asked if I was okay."  

Peter nodded and Jane went on,  "But then I realized that...even though I’d hate it if it really happened, I really liked pretending it was real, for some reason. Even if I was feeling ashamed at the same time; even while I was crying...it was sexy, too."  She smiled at him, and continued, "I imagined that all the boys were looking at me and touching themselves."

He smiled back at her, then gently disengaged himself, and pulled up and fastened his pants.  Then he stepped behind the desk, and reached beneath it to retrieve a box of tissues and some skin lotion.  Then he came back to her, turned her around and knelt so he could clean her up and soothe her poor behind with the lotion.

As he attended to her he said, thoughtfully,  "I guess we should work out a signal of some kind, so I can tell if you really do want to stop.  You know, because it’s fun when you pretend you want me to stop, but I want to make sure I can tell the difference."

She understood immediately.  "We need a special word or something.  But an ordinary word, not a, you know, sexy word.  So unless I suddenly say...ice cream...or pencil, or something, you’ll know it’s okay, even if I’m crying, or telling you to stop."

She felt his hands stop their ministrations.  

After a moment he replied, "All right...but are you sure it’s okay?  When you started crying today I thought I’d–" 

She looked back over her shoulder at him as he knelt there.  He met her gaze and said, "I don’t ever want to hurt you."  Then he laughed, a little sadly, and continued,  "Of course, I’m saying that right after beating your behind to a pulp with a metal ruler."

She turned around and knelt to face him, taking his hands and saying, "Peter, I gave you the ruler, remember?   But I know what you mean.  I know you care about me.  And I told you before: I wouldn’t be doing this if I didn’t like it.  Maybe that means I’m weird—I guess we both are—but there it is.  I’m...just glad we found each other."

They embraced again for a moment, and then she said, "Let’s get out of here before the janitor comes in and finds ‘Mr. Peters’ with a naked student.  Which reminds me: what do you think?"  

She rose to her feet and put her hands behind her head, posing for him, turning this way and that. 

"I know you like seeing me in my underwear, but this is pretty sexy too, don’t you think?"

She watched him rising to his feet and taking in the contrast between her slim nakedness and the innocence of her schoolgirl socks and shoes.

"Oh, god yes."  he replied.  He swallowed.  "God, I’m getting hard again just looking at you."

"Really?  I don’t believe you."

She reached out and laid her hand against his zipper.  Sure enough, she could feel something, if not hard, then at least upright.  She began to stroke it.  

He swallowed again, then half-heartedly tried to push her hand away, saying,  "I thought you didn’t want the janitor to see us."

"I’ve changed my mind." she replied, continuing to stroke and squeeze him there, and getting that mischievous look on her face again. "He seems like a nice old man.  If he comes in, I’ll just tell him that bad Mr. Peters made me take my clothes off and spanked me, and now..." She moved close to him and whispered breathily, "...he’s making me unzip his pants..." She did so, and reached inside.  "...And take out his cock."  

She brought it out, now fully erect and still slick with Vaseline.  Then she hesitated for a moment.  She wanted to put it in her mouth, but considering where it had been recently she didn’t think that was such a good idea.  Then a memory of something he’d done came back to her.

"And then I’d tell him that that nasty Mr. Peters is making me kneel down in front of him..." She did so, and looked up at him, continuing,   "...and play with his cock..." She began to slowly pump him up and down with one hand.  "...and his balls..." She added her other hand.  "...just because..." Pumping him faster.  "...he wants me..." Faster.  "...to make him...come all over me."

"Oh god..." His eyes were closed, and he was completely at her mercy.

She saw that he was close, and began to pump and stroke him mercilessly, saying, "Yes...he wants...to come...right...on...my...face!"  As she said this last word, she extended the middle finger of the hand that was stroking his balls, and shoved it, slippery with Vaseline, up his behind.

He started to come immediately...and loudly.  

She raised her voice over his, and said, "Look at me!" 

She saw his eyes open, then widen in awe as she positioned herself so that his come spurted directly onto her face, the droplets landing on her forehead, eyes and nose, and running slowly down over her mouth and chin to drip onto the floor.  She held herself still, continuing to look into his eyes even when the dribbling semen made her blink.

He continued to stare at her as he caught his breath, but his expression was not as pleased as she’d thought it would be.  He looked a little confused...disturbed, even. 

Finally he said,  "That was very sexy.  Thank you."  

He sank to his knees, reached for the box of tissues and began to clean off her face.  She looked a ‘But?’ at him as he did so.

He saw it, hesitated for a moment, then replied,  "It’s just that...it’s one thing to pretend that I’m doing bad things to you.  Making you take off your clothes and stuff like that.  

"But when I...came on you, it felt like I was really humiliating you.  You.  The real Jane.  I’m sorry, I know that doesn’t make sense.  Especially since I did it that other time."  

He thought for a moment while reaching for another tissue.  "It’s like...if sexy stuff was all we did together I’d probably like it.  I did, that other time, before I really knew you, but this time it felt weird to me because I ...because you’re..." 

He sighed in exasperation, then looked up at her shyly from under his eyebrows, and said,  "Because I love you.  …And it almost felt like I was pissing on you."

He looked so sad at this that she felt her own eyes begin to well in response. 

She hugged him tightly to her, saying, "Oh, Peter, I’m so sorry.  But it was my idea, remember?  You didn’t make me do that, I wanted to.  To...do something special for you, that’s all.  And it didn’t make me feel bad or anything...really!"

He looked at her doubtfully and said, "Are you sure?  I mean, did you like it?"

"I wouldn’t go that far...it didn’t do anything for me, but...I really liked that I was doing it for you."     

She hugged him again, hard, and looked into his eyes.  

"Honestly, Peter, I didn’t mind it at all.  If you think it’s sexy, then don’t worry about hurting my feelings.  It’s okay.  Really."  

She smiled devilishly at him, then jumped to her feet and walked over to the blackboard.  She erased the middle row of ‘I will take off my clothes whenever Mr. Peters tells me to.’ and wrote, ‘I will let Mr. Peters come on my face whenever he wants to.’  

Then she turned and smiled at him again, as she walked back to him and pulled him to his feet. 

"Come on, Mr. Peters. Help me get dressed."

He quickly gathered his regular clothes from where he’d hidden them under the desk and changed back into them.  

And as he helped her into her clothes—she once again decided to carry her panties in her pocket rather than feel anything so close to her tender skin just then—he asked, "What about the code word?"

She thought while she pulled her skirt on and tucked in her blouse.  Then she looked at him and said, "Invisible".

Peter raised an eyebrow.  "Invisible?   Why that?"

She fastened her belt around her waist, ran her fingers through her still-sweaty hair, then turned to him and said, "Because nobody really saw me until you came along."  

Then she took his hand, leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, and began to lead him from the room.  

When they were almost out the door, he stopped her and said, "Don’t you want to erase the board?"

She looked back at what she had written there, shrugged, smiled and said, "Why?  It’s all true.  Besides, the janitor deserves a treat."  

Then she pulled him out of the room and closed the door behind them.

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