Night Classes by Peter Moon
When unexpectedly confronted by an ex-pupil, schoolmistress Hannah Smart can scarcely imagine what is about to follow.
Now a successful journalist, Lionel Oxley confesses how, whilst in her class, he developed the most intense crush on Hannah. Initially shocked, Hannah has to handle a further revelation when Lionel declares he used to fantasise about her keeping him behind after school for detention, followed by a spot of corporal punishment.
Against her better judgement, but otherwise faced with a solitary night at home, Hannah agrees to meet her former star student for dinner.
A weird and bizarre game in the restaurant follows, changing the lives of Hannah and Lionel forever. And this is just the start of a merry-go-round of incidents for the two protagonists. Plunged into a maelstrom, they soon find there is always a price to pay for indiscretion. But by now, do they care? Consumed by an unconventional relationship, they seem intent on placing it before anything else as they become ever more embroiled in the affair of a lifetime.
Essentially a Fem-Dom tale and a true one (with an appendix by Hannah), despite frankness and candour, questions are raised. For example: who is now the teacher and who is the pupil?
This develops into a complex tale with several twists and turns. Not only is the sexual content strong without being unnecessarily explicit, but the outcome unpredictable.
Themes embraced include: Fem-Dom, Spanking, Caning, Scolding, Intercourse, Kinky Relationships and Cuckolding.
Not an everyday story but a compelling one nevertheless!
“So what have you come to see me about, Lionel Oxley?”
His reply is immediate and contains an eager tone. He could be reading from a script. “I have come to confess that I used to listen to the radio during class time – more specifically during your classes, Miss Smart. I am here to accept my punishment.” Now, having said his piece, Lionel’s voice is growing in confidence.
“So I understand. You realise you should have been sent to detention for your behaviour?”
“Yes, Miss Smart.”
“Yes, Miss Smart, indeed. But of course detention is no longer an option. So it seems only one solution is left – wouldn’t you agree?”
“Yes, Miss Smart.”
“And what do you think that might be…?”
“A good hiding, Miss Smart?”
I am letting Lionel seal his own fate – pronounce his own sentence.
“It would seem so, Master Oxley. Something you should have been given years ago.” Again, hands placed assertively on my hips, I use delayed time to maximise effect.
“And what do you think you should receive this good hiding with exactly?”
“A slipper, Miss Smart.” Lionel is fidgeting nervously.
“I see. Well, in that case it won’t be a hiding, will it?”
“A good hiding is executed with an instrument of leather. As per the word: hiding,” I admonish, just treating myself to a bit of fun. “If you wanted me to tan your hide, you should have requested it or fetched a strap or a leather tawse. Well, have you brought either item?”
“No, Miss Smart.” I can see such references and individual words are increasing Lionel’s excitement.
“Then if it is to be the slipper, it will be a spanking or a walloping, won’t it?”
“Yes, Miss Smart.”
“Now that has been cleared up, I think we can arrange it, don’t you?”
He nods, words seemingly drying to a dust bowl in his throat.
“Right; kindly take down your trousers.” I hold centre stage whilst Lionel stands, hanging his head meekly waiting for the next instruction. I form the impression he is bewildered and to a degree confused by the speed of my orders. “Fold them neatly on the chair by the window. I shall return in two minutes.”
I leave him where he is in the centre of the room. I hear him grapple with his belt as I head for the kitchen in order to allow him a moment’s privacy. I use the time to check the two security doors – sure they are locked but mindful that in my earlier rush I might have overlooked them. Satisfied all is as it should be, I take my time, tap-tapping my way back to the sitting room on my authoritative heels.
I am momentarily shocked. Inside two minutes, Lionel has removed all his clothes. He stands, a young man, completely naked, unabashed, and unashamed, in all his youthful glory. His body is sinewy and muscled, the like of which I last saw twenty years ago. His chest ripples proudly, narrowing to trim hips and a flat washboard waist. He turns to face me with eyes piercing the suffused light, his penis swaying as he does so.
Temporarily it is my turn to be off guard. I almost gasp at the figure masquerading as a wolf boy, a man-cub, preparing to surrender before me. And no wonder he couldn’t get his clothes off fast enough. He has plenty to be proud of. I had assumed it was just his face that was sun-tanned, but as my eyes grow accustomed to the dim light, I notice the slender white ring around his middle that interrupts an otherwise completely bronzed torso.
Our joint breath seems to suck air from the room. The temperature rises as we bathe in a suffocating influx of jungle-like humidity.
“Did I tell you to take all your clothes off?” I ask.
“No, Miss Smart.”
“Then why did you disobey me? You don’t seem very capable of following simple instructions, do you?”
“Yes – No; I am sorry, Miss Smart.”
I regain any lost composure as I make my way to the Victorian chair. I take my time, unnecessarily adjusting its position in order to protract the suspense.
I allow a few more seconds to sift away before sitting down and smoothing my skirt with exaggerated leisure. Such an act as sitting on a chair of this description can only mean one thing as far as Lionel is concerned. I let him stew for a while as I fiddle with my hair and adjust the hem of my skirt, improvising as I go. Irrationally, I have to quell an urge to hum a tune.
Seated comfortably and with an appropriate expression on my face, I turn to Lionel. “You have been a naughty boy, have you not, Lionel?” I say, my voice asking the rhetorical question the only audible sound in the room.
“Yes, Miss Smart.”
“What happens to boys that are naughty?”
“They are punished Miss Smart.”
“Precisely.” Circumstances have reduced us to quick sentences, sandwiched between sharp intakes of breath.
“Before I apply the slipper, I am going to put you over my knee for a hand spanking.” Up to now I have addressed him in a soft tone. Now I bark out the order: “Come Here!”
He must have known what to expect. His penis is stiffening before me, his demeanour betraying his undisguised enthusiasm. He takes a few steps in my direction, having the sense to circle in front of me so that he is standing on my right side.
I look up at his restive form. He is not sweating but his body glistens in the light as if smothered in baby oil. Already partially bent, he is already silently begging for a spanking. All I have to do is to grab his wrist with my right hand and start applying pressure. He obligingly bends, naked body pliable as Plasticine, as, notwithstanding obvious enthusiasm, he carefully heads towards my knees. I use my left hand to bend forward the back of his neck. His hair flops over his eyes as he descends. He tries to puff it away with gentle breaths.
Despite my firm show of authority, he controls the way he makes contact with me. I feel the warmth of his body as, aided by my guidance, he cautiously stretches himself across my waiting knee.
The chair proves to be an annoying few inches too low. I would have preferred it to be slightly higher, but by spreading Lionel over slightly parted knees, I overcome this minor inconvenience. Once I have distributed his weight, he is surprisingly light. Despite his substance, it feels as if I have a ballet dancer stretched across me. We both take a moment to ensure the angle is ideal.
At first I stroke his naked back. It is marble smooth, clean and untarnished, almost making me feel guilty knowing what I am about to do. I cannot resist allowing my hands to surf the contours of his supple body.
“Naughty boy,” I whisper.
He tries to look up at me but his position restricts such movement.
I raise the flat of my hand and strike his bottom with a crisp smack. What follows is a realisation of the vision Lionel claims sustained him through adolescence. I have only his word for that, but here and now he is about to savour his childhood desire – only as an adult.
I assume what follows is a treat. I have balanced him over my knee. His head is close to the floor, legs neatly stretched behind him with elbows and arms steadying his body as I smack his bottom. If this is punishment, it is surely the sweetest of punishment for my naughty schoolboy. He moans softly with pleasure, confirming this is a sensuous experience rather a painful one. My hand meets his taut bottom in a succession of loud smacks. Lionel responds by dipping low and clasping my ankle with his left hand and occasionally kicking one of his legs gently in the air. I push his head further down until it is scraping the floor. As he starts to wriggle, I shift his weight so that he is over just my left knee, dangling and clamped by my other leg that I wrap round his snaking torso.
I let him hang for a while over my solitary knee. He seems shocked that I am able to discipline him in such a fashion, although I can tell he relishes this enforced position. My hand is stinging lightly from its constant contact with his firm buttocks.
“Naughty boy has had to bend over his teacher’s knee to have his bottom smacked,” I say, and I can tell this excites Lionel all the more as I raise my hand again, cracking his soft cheeks.
We remain in our respective positions for a few minutes, the spanking all but completed save for a few random smacks that punctuate my soft and sensuous chiding. Lionel seems reluctant to rise, but I make his mind up by yanking on a clump of his hair and removing him from my knee.
Like so many experiences in life, I have to guess it was different from the one Lionel envisaged all those years ago; but then, although the high stool was missing, I imagine he had not considered he would be draped naked, as a fully-grown man, over my knees under any circumstances.
I remain seated as he stands before me. I wonder if the experience matches his fantasy but do not have to guess its effects. His swaying metronome of a penis in part supplies the answer. He seems disconcerted by this, which I find strange. I pretend not to notice, standing slowly then replacing the chair – now transformed from a restored antique into an object of drama and seduction – to its usual spot.
“Are we learning what happens to naughty boys that misbehave in class, Lionel?” I ask, knowing he finds such sternness arousing.
“Yes, Miss Smart,” he croaks in reply.
“Perhaps we better see what lessons we can learn next, hmm?”
This time he answers with a dry swallow.
I reach out for the moccasin, which is on the nearby table. I run it through my hands, trying to steady my heated emotion. I feel the innocuous little item of footwear that is supposed to tame the willing savage waiting for me.
I take the shoe between my fingers, scrunching up its end so that I have a firm grip on the heel and flexing its bendy body between my hands.
Concentrating on remaining focused, I address Lionel showing him the moccasin, “You know what this is and what it is for, don’t you, young man?”
“Yes, Miss Smart,” he says, his penis beginning to stir again.
“Well, boy, what is it and what I am about to do with it?”
“It’s a slipper, Miss Smart, and you are going to punish me.”
“Correct. What is punishment with a slipper called?”
“It’s a walloping or spanking, Miss Smart.”
“So ask me nicely. Ask me if I will punish you.”
He doesn’t hesitate, “Please, Miss Smart, will you wallop and spank me?”
“Certainly, Lionel,” I reply, an instinctual smile spreading across my lips. Both of us seem overwhelmed by a rapidly changing situation – one stripped of any pretence.
“You’ll need to bend over in order to be punished.”
He starts to alter his position.
“Stand still until I give the order!” I hear the severity in my voice but wonder where it has come from.
He relaxes again, penis continuing to slant upward.
Total control is mine. I am the school teacher I never was but that apparently always existed in Lionel’s imagination. I hesitate temporarily, figuring out my next move. Up to now I have talked like an able disciplinarian, now is the time to become one.
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