The Lessons Ch. 14

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The pillory.
11.7k words
4.78
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Part 14 of the 22 part series

Updated 11/02/2022
Created 08/19/2005
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This is Chapter Fourteen of The Lessons. If you haven't already done so, you are encouraged to read the earlier chapters to understand portions of this story.

* * * * * * *

Mr. Peters returned to his office toward the end of classes. It had been a long day. He had three classes and two committee meetings, plus a disconcerting discussion with Dean Jackson. The Dean had apparently received an inquiry regarding Mr. Peters' methods of discipline. The Dean had reassured him that he would fully support him as the Dean was very familiar with his prior success at Abberville. Templeton had provided Mr. Peters an affirmative endorsement when he was hired, and the Dean already had reports from a number of faculty of the improvement in the behavior of students. The Dean was in fact considering the possibility of having Mr. Peters conduct a workshop on his techniques for some of the faculty. Miss Bixley even stopped by in person to request that Mr. Peters deal with some recent delinquent behavior by some of the cheerleaders. Nevertheless, the Dean did feel that he should provide Mr. Peters with a heads-up concerning the parental inquiry. The college always had to treat the parents with respect and care but the Dean felt that the inquiry would likely go no farther than his desk.

Mr. Peters was reassured by this explicit endorsement but if it was not in fact going to go farther than the desk of Dean Jackson then it was unclear why the Dean had felt the need to speak to him directly about it. The Dean had even asked him to stop by before he left for the day to have a "brief chat" about the matter. This was not particularly convenient as he had already filled this time with some last minute student appointments. Well, the students would simply have to wait as he could not brush off a request of the Dean.

His mood shifted though once he returned to his office. Waiting in the center of the room was a large box. In fact, more a crate than a box. He had not ordered any new equipment so he had no idea what this might be. He immediately set to opening the box, which was no easy task as it was quite thoroughly sealed and well packaged. Once he got through the packing, however, he had to chuckle. Someone had sent him a wooden pillory. Not a real or authentic antique, but a very nice reproduction. It appeared to be made of sturdy Brazilian cherry. It was a bit shorter than he would imagine an authentic pillory might be, standing perhaps no more than four feet in height. However, it was clearly functional. The hinged top board easily raised for the insertion of the head and wrists. Upon release it clicked shut, requiring a key to reopen. He dug around in the box to find the key, the manual for instructions and care, and a catalogue for additional ersatz reproductions. He put the key in his pocket.

Attached to the pillory itself was a card. He smiled as he read the note. The pillory was a group present from some of the students of his past classes at Abberville. They had since graduated but they discovered that he had transferred to Templeton when they returned to Abberville for homecoming. The card read: 'We want to let you know how sad and happy we hear that you have moved on to greater glory. It was a loss for Abberville but we're sure a gain for Templeton and for yourself. We will always remember the pleasurable (yet painful) times we spent in your office, learning the finer points of demeanor and discipline. Someday we would like to return the favor (ha ha!). In any case, we hope the enclosed does come in handy with your new students. Best of luck and with fond memory." Each of them signed their names (Lonnie, Betty, Mary Lou, Jimmy, Ted, and Janice). Just thinking of those days brought back sentimental feelings. For a moment, he wondered if it had been a mistake to leave, particularly after the encounter with Dean Jackson. Well, no use second-guessing that decision now.

He chuckled at the thought of actually using the pillory. He couldn't help but imagine the fun of using it with the cheerleaders when they came for their disciplinary meeting in his office later that week, but he suspected that this might be going too far. Nevertheless, it would at least make for a good conversation piece and would probably put a useful scare in the minds of a student who was not yet sure about whether to take him seriously.

He dragged the heavy contraption over to the side of his desk where any student standing in front of the desk would see it. Frankly, it would be the first thing a person would notice upon entering the room. He had to admit that it really was an appropriate and well considered present from his prior students. He stood and admired it for some time. But, he knew he had to see Dean Jackson so he dragged the empty box and packing out into the hallway and then headed to the office of the Dean.

Minutes after he left, Miss Harding arrived to ask for his advice on how to handle some of her students. She knew that she was perhaps going too far and she was feeling reluctant to even use his techniques out of a fear that she could no longer trust herself. It was evident to her that she obtained considerable sexual pleasure in spanking and humiliating the male students. She wasn't sure if she would be able to tell Mr. Peters all of the details, but he must have had some experience with her concerns and would perhaps be able to provide helpful advice.

She knocked on his door but there was no answer. She was surprised as she knew that he was usually in his office at this time. This was the time of the day in which he worked with students outside of his class. Miss Harding was in fact considering referring one or more of her own students to him. Well, she could at least leave a note on his desk to let him know that she had been looking for him. She opened the door.

Mr. Peters was right that the pillory instantly drew one's attention. 'What in the world is he doing with that,' she wondered. She couldn't believe that he actually used a pillory. Yet, it was standing right by his desk. However, it also appeared to be a bit small. It probably was just a conversation piece, not really a functional pillory. She approached for a closer inspection.

It was rather small. Her understanding was that most persons had to stand straight up when their head and hands were held by the two boards, although she realized that she could easily be wrong about this. It wasn't like she was an expert on such things. She raised the upper board and pulled it aside. She couldn't get it all the way over as it bumped up against the shade of a floor lamp. She leaned the board against the shade.

It just didn't seem right to her. The holes for the wrists and neck did appear to be cut to a correct size but the structure just seemed too short. She leaned down into it, as if she was being placed into the pillory. The neck and wrist holes were indeed fine but she was quite well bent over. Perhaps this was one which held persons who were to be publicly flogged or spanked on their bottoms, although it would still seem to be too low for a really tall person. She did though find it kind of titillating to have her hands and head in the slots of the lower board, as if she was about to be punished. She knew that to be in a real pillory would be just awful, if not abusive, but there was something fun about a playful pretending.

She then realized how she would look to someone who might suddenly enter the room, including Mr. Peters. For all she knew he might have already returned to his office only to see her bent over, pretending to be pilloried. She quickly pulled back to extract herself before he returned. However, she forgot that the holes were large enough for her neck and wrists but too small for her head and hands. As she pulled back she jarred the frame, shaking the upper board off of its position against the lamp shade. Before she realized what was happening it crashed down across her neck and wrists, clicking shut.

She pulled. She couldn't get her hands out. She tried again and again, but it was clearly impossible. She tried twisting her wrist and scrunching her fingers tightly together. Nothing. Not only did her efforts hurt a bit but, more importantly, they were in no way successful.

This was not good. In fact, this was awful. It was very uncomfortable, but worse, potentially very embarrassing. What could she possibly say when Mr. Peters returned? In fact, would he return? Perhaps he had in fact gone for the day? Was she going to be here all night? She had a moment of panic. No, that wouldn't happen. The door to his office was unlocked. He wouldn't leave his office unlocked. He would be back, and he would probably be back soon. Not to worry. Nothing to worry about. Once he returned he would let her out.

She considered calling for help but she had no idea who would come and find her. If she was going to be caught in this thing, the least embarrassing would probably be him, unless, of course, he returned with someone else. The thought of that brought back the panic. What if he came back with the Dean? Or maybe with a whole group of teachers? She again considered yelling out, but she again decided no. Even if someone from the hall came in, they might not know how to get it unlatched. There must be a key or something and Mr. Peters probably had the key. They might still have to wait for him. In the meantime she would have to be in this embarrassing posture with whomever had found her. No, it was best just to wait for him to return. It was toward the end of the day. He would be back soon.

However, minutes passed and nobody arrived. She shifted her legs around, trying to get comfortable. He better come back. Maybe he doesn't lock his door when he leaves. No, of course he does. No faculty members leave their office doors unlocked for the night. There are thieves on all campuses and the office will contain private records of students. He'll be back, but when? And, equally important, what will he think? What will he do?

She wondered if he might in fact even try to take advantage of her. She was about as open and vulnerable as she could be. That was the original purpose of the pillory. No, Mr. Peters wouldn't do that. That would be rape and he was certainly no rapist. She tried to patiently wait for his return.

As she waited, she imagined him taking advantage of her. The fantasy was actually somewhat appealing. She knew it wouldn't happen but it wasn't a bad fantasy. She didn't really want him to do anything. She would hate to think that he really was a rapist and would do such a thing, but it was kind of fun to fantasize about being used by Mr. Peters while she was locked in the pillory. She imagined him slowly lifting her skirt, caressing her bottom through her panties, feeling her breasts through her blouse. She began to feel a bit excited. Nothing wrong in allowing herself to fantasize about it. It certainly helped past the time, as well as distract herself in a rather delightful way from her fears and concerns.

After enjoying the view of her womanly bottom, maybe he would then slowly pull down her panties, exposing all of her private parts to him. She would complain and protest, protecting her dignity and modesty, but she really wouldn't mind. She would not object strongly or loudly enough to actually stop him. She would even spread her legs a bit to give him a better view and to encourage him to go further.

Maybe he would tell her that she had two choices: a hard spanking or a blow job. She would take the blow job. She wondered what that would be like. She imagined that he was quite big. Actually, she wouldn't mind either one of the two choices. He probably shouldn't spank her though, as his office is hardly sound-proofed. But, any passing faculty or administrator would just think that he was disciplining a student. If he locked the door they would be safe.

She began to squirm a bit in the pillory as she imagined what Mr. Peters could, or perhaps dare say, might do to her? No, it really wouldn't happen. He was a well-regarded professional and, for all she knew, he didn't find her the least bit attractive. Well, that couldn't really be true. She knew that she was a very striking woman. She had quite large breasts and pretty facial features. Her legs were perhaps her best feature that she always accentuated well with a variety of alluring nylons and tight, short skirts. She had indeed worn one of her tight business skirts today. She wondered how much of her nylons and thighs were being displayed as she was bent over in the pillory. She suspected quite a bit as her skirt was quite short. She also knew that her butt was well presented in this rather immodest posture. Perhaps he might even be able to see some of her panties? Her feelings of arousal shifted again to anxiety as she imagined him responding to the sight of her caught in the pillory with laughter rather than arousal. What if he told everyone else about it? Perhaps he would even take pictures?

She then heard the door open. She breathed a sigh of relief. Thank goodness this would end soon.

However, it wasn't Mr. Peters. It was instead Chris Hansun, one of the chess club boys that she had punished earlier that month. Mr. Peters had asked him to come to his office. Chris had not been looking forward to this, knowing the reputation of Mr. Peters as a tough disciplinarian. He had already been severely embarrassed by Miss Harding. He certainly didn't want an experience like that again.

When he entered the room, however, he was greeted with a very pleasant surprise. He instantly recognized the derriere of Miss Harding, along with her long shapely legs, once again dressed with quite sexy nylons. She was well bent over, apparently stuck in a pillory? He couldn't believe his luck. He was about to say something when she spoke.

"Jack? Is that you? Thank goodness. I thought you wouldn't be here for hours. This is so embarrassing. I was just playing around and I got caught in this thing. You really should have a sign on it or something."

As she spoke, Chris considered his options. Miss Harding did indeed appear to be quite stuck and she didn't know it was him who had entered the room. In fact, she thought he was Mr. Peters and, apparently, Mr. Peters was going to be gone for hours. After what she did to him (see Chapter 9), he could hardly resist the temptation to extract at least some revenge. He quietly locked the door, cleared his throat, and approached the arresting backside of Miss Harding.

"Oh thank you so much Jack."

Chris stood right behind her. Her business skirt was pulled up quite high by her posture. He could see well up to the top of her nylons that were being held by a black lace garter belt. She was a very sexy sight.

"I know I must look quite a sight, bent over like this. I was a little worried that someone might come in and take advantage of me, or something. Thank goodness you came back!"

Chris rested his hand on Miss Harding's outstretched backside. Her head raised and eyes widened in shock.

There was a moment of silence as each pondered the situation.

Miss Harding could feel the hand of "Mr. Peters" resting on her bottom. Having her derriere sticking out like that was apparently an enticement that he could not resist. She was flattered. Maybe her little fantasy might in fact become a reality? She felt his hand move across her rear. It felt nice. She could feel a warmth spreading through her loins. She decided to encourage him.

"Oh, Mr. Peters," she whispered in an enticing manner, "you naughty man. What are you doing?"

Chris was encouraged. Not only did she think it was Mr. Peters, she didn't even seem to mind what "he" was doing. Chris continued to explore the curves of her sexy bottom, still covered by the fabric of her tightly stretched skirt. He brought his left hand into action as well, grasping hold of her delicious cheeks through her business skirt. He couldn't believe that he was actually fondling the butt of Miss Harding, his biology teacher. His dick swelled in excitement.

Miss Harding whispered further encouragement. "Oh Jack, you're not going to give me a spanking now, are you?" She subtly moved her hips back and forth to further excite him.

Chris wanted to do a lot more than that. He reached down to grasp the hem of her skirt and slowly pulled it up, past the straps of her garter belt.

Miss Harding again lifted her head up, apprehension in her eyes. She wanted this, but it was still a little scary. She was entirely defenseless. She was not adverse to having a sexual relationship with Jack Peters but she had never imagined that the first time would be like this. She was nervous but she did not resist.

Chris pulled the skirt up to her panties, revealing a large pouch of fabric between her legs, then past the full curves of her bottom. He laid it across her back, disclosing a gorgeous sight. She was wearing black lace boyshort panties that exposed the lower curves of her buns. They were matched by the black lace embroidered garter belt. Chris traced his fingers along the lace of her panties, enjoying the feel of the diaphanous fabric and the curves of her womanly derriere.

"That feels so nice, Jack. You have such nice fingers. Do you like my panties?"

Chris almost responded but fortunately realized that he had to keep his mouth shut. To avoid having to explain himself he gave her a sharp slap on her ass.

"Oh!" Miss Harding exclaimed in shock and mild pain. "Jack," she said in a gasp, "Don't hurt me, and I'll be good." She whispered in a sultry tone, "I'll do what you want; just be careful."

Chris smiled. She was right about that. He slid his hands under her panties and grasped each of her soft full cheeks in his hands. He squeezed and massaged the firm yet fleshy globes of her butt. Miss Harding's breathing accelerated. Chris' dick was now rock hard. Chris moved his hands over, around, and under her cheeks, exploring the smooth skin still hidden from view by her black panties. She swung and wiggled her hips in response. He leaned down and gave her a firm kiss on her exposed back, just above the waistline. She groaned.

He stood back up, withdrew his hands, and unclasped her nylons. She moaned in apprehensive submission. When her nylons were free he grasped the top of her panties and suddenly, forcefully, pulled them down to her knees.

"Oh my, Jack," she gasped in excitement. She now felt so very much exposed and vulnerable. She was bent over fully in front of him, unable to move or defend herself, and her panties were at her knees. He could now see everything, and do anything he wanted. She felt herself getting very wet.

Her bum was large but firm and well curved. There were no signs of cellulite. It was like a big white soft moon. Chris basked in the vision. He caressed her naked curves with his hands, tracing and then even scratching his fingers along her stripped and exposed flesh.

Miss Harding moaned in appreciation.

He ran his fingers along her crack, remembering how she had shoved a thermometer up his ass. He knelt down behind her to enjoy all that he could see. Her womanly cunt was very appealing. She had fleshy layers of cunt lips, a pair of large lips that hung down, with another smaller but still evident set of lips inside. He ran his fingers along the slit, exploring the flaps and folds, feeling her wetness.

She closed her eyes with the pleasure of his exploration. She spread her legs farther to give him more room, stretching the panties at her knees.

He explored her slit, drawing a finger up and down the fissure, searching for the way in. He found her hole and began circling his finger around and around, slowing working his way in.

Miss Harding openly groaned in pleasure. Her heart was pounding with excitement, the temperature of her body seemed to be rising. She gave a mild wiggle to her hips, helping and encouraging him to stick his finger deep inside her cunt.