Detention

Then I turn to Janette and seamlessly take over the conversation. "We've been having an issue with Tony getting all of his homework done. He's been doing the assignments, but he's been blowing through them. I'm afraid it's getting to the point where he might end up with a D, or worse, for the class. You know what that would do for his chances of getting into a decent college." It's not true, at least not according to Felicia. Tony is about a B student, maybe leaning towards a B+ if he picks it up a little.

It has the desired effect on Janelle. Immediately I see the look of horror on her face. I just assumed that Tony was hoping for college. Most students, especially those taking more than the minimum-state-standards level classes, are. Good. Now I have Janelle's attention.

"When Ms. Miller asked Tony about his study habits, he told us that he mostly does his homework on his own, locked away in his room. Is that accurate?" Of course, it is. It's how 99% of teenagers are going to do their homework. Felicia didn't ask, and I don't know. But I know! And that's good enough for me. Sometimes, it's all bout the image I project. Like now, I'm projecting that I know something I'm only guessing at.

"It is..." Janette answers.

"So you haven't been checking over his work before he handed it in?"

"I try..." Janette answers the first hint of reluctance, or maybe embarrassment, in her voice. "But Tony is so private. He pitches such a fit whenever I try to involve myself..." Of course he does. He's 16. What did she expect? I so want to scream "DUH" in her face. But I don't. I keep my professional attitude.

"I'm sure you saw all those handouts we sent home at the beginning of the year? Including the one on preferred study habits?"

"I did..." Now Janette sounds a little unsure. And she's lying. I know that because there was no such handout. I'm making it up. And Janette is falling right into my trap, unwilling to admit that she barely glanced at all those beginning-of-the-semester handouts she got from all her kids. She just assumed they all said the same things they say every year. Which they did.

"Oh, good. Then you must realize that you're part of the problem." I keep my voice business-like, just stating a fact. "If you'd been looking over his work, you would know that he's breezing his assignments."

"I will definitely be paying more attention from now on." She says. I have no doubt she means it. No parent likes getting called into school.

I pull out a photocopy of Tony's latest homework assignment. One he turned in today. I haven't graded it, and obviously, Felicia hasn't had the time to, but it's probably a B, as are most of the assignments he hands in. The photocopy has a giant red "F" on it. I put it there a few minutes ago. "As you can see, his work is really slipping. I'd hate to ruin his chances of college just because you haven't been supervising him properly, but this assignment is a decent part of his grade.

"We usually don't allow extra credit. Students live with the grades they earn in this class." I tell her, still in my all-business voice, as Felicia returns from giving Izzy the help she definitely didn't need. Felicia takes her seat at the desk. "But we've decided since it's half your fault, that we're going to make sort of an exception to the rule this one time." I have to fight myself. I really want to smirk a wide grin right now.

Janette instantly looks relieved. I'm sure it's relief that

Tony will be given the chance to improve his grade. Not relief at being called a bad parent. But like any parent, she'll take all the insults I want to heap on her if it will benefit her son. Mothers are so predictable!

"When students don't do their assignments here, they get detention for it. Since you didn't do your assignment, which was to supervise Tony's homework, we've decided that fairness requires you to serve a detention. Then, Tony will be allowed to make up the half of the grade that's your fault. He'll still have to live with the half that's his fault, but a B-/C+ won't hurt him. The F will.

"Are you willing to serve the detention you've earned?"

Now Janette looks slightly nervous and rather embarrassed. "Yes..." She says, her voice a few dozen decibels lower than before. I knew she'd accept the offer. Any mother would.

"Good. At least you're willing to take responsibility for your failures. And, as they say, no time like the present. Detention is just beginning."

I reach over to the corner of the desk and pick up a textbook and one of the fake assignments that I handed out to the other "students" a few minutes before Janette arrived. I hold them out for Janette. "Here's a book and the detention assignment." Janette hesitantly takes them from me. I hand her another sheet of paper. "And here are the classroom rules for detention. You'll be expected to follow the rules just as everyone else does, or suffer the appropriate consequences.

"Oh, and there's no breezing through a detention assignment. It has to actually be done. You'll need to get a 90% or better on it. Now, go take a seat with the rest of today's miscreants, and begin." Now I do smile. I can't help myself.

Janette blushes. She says nothing. But I can see the humiliation on her face already. I've just "demoted" her, or at least her status. She's no longer a student's mom. Now she's just another naughty high school student. Something she hasn't been in close to three decades. She hesitantly rises and picks a seat in the back row.

Felicia and I just sit there and keep an eye on our students. Janette very slowly gets to work on the assignment. I'll bet it's going to be hard for her. Housewives don't exactly use their grammar skills often. I'll bet she's forgotten a good part of it.

Chapter 02: First Offense

It's been close to two decades since Janette has been in a classroom, at least as anything other than a parent. I hope, and it definitely looks like, she's slightly embarrassed to be sitting in those desks doing high school work herself. More so surrounded by students who look to be the same age as her son.

The rules I've given her for detention are just standard classroom rules. High school classroom rules. Rules like "no talking" and "stay in your seat." I'm sure Janette had to follow the same rules 25 years ago when she was in high school. And I'm sure she's forgotten all about them since. I'm counting on it.

And I'm not disappointed. It's not more than ten minutes before we all hear Janette sigh out "This is impossible!" She's busily searching through the textbook, scanning sections here and there, trying to figure out the right answers to the assignment. I'll bet she's wondering if she's really forgotten that much, or if this assignment has purposely been made difficult.

Felicia is doing what I've told her to do. She's meandering between the desks, going from student to student to check on their progress and offer help when needed. Students now including Janette. Hearing Janette, Felicia moves over to her. And the first thing Felicia does is remind Janette that she needs to obey the class rules and be quiet. This is her only warning, next time there will be consequences for an infraction. Felicia tells her that's the same policy she has for her other students. Then Felicia spends a few minutes showing Janette which sections of the text she should be studying.

Janette makes it maybe another five minutes before I hear her sigh out a stressed "Aargh! No wonder he got an F!"

"Janette!" I snap firmly, not raising my voice but using the firmest tone I can. "Come up here." I point to a seat beside the desk.

Janette must realize that she's broken a rule. It's the same rule that Felicia warned her about just a few minutes ago. She rises and tentatively starts toward the desk.

In the audience, Paige gasps loudly as I call Janette up. Izzy giggles. Izzy knows that the show is about to start. She knows me too well. Felicia smirks, but quickly catches herself and wipes it off her face. Janette never sees any of it. They're all behind her back.

It takes Janette a minute to get up here and get in the chair. I glare at her the entire time and keep pointing to the chair until she's sitting in it. She does bother to cross her legs or sit up properly, as a slave should. But she doesn't know that I know she's a slave. As far as Janette knows, I think she's just another mother. So I don't correct her posture. That would give it way. I let her sit, half slouching, almost just like a teenager would be.

I scold her. "Janette, Ms. Miller just spoke to you about minding the rules." The hardest part for me is to scold her as a student would be, instead of in the more demeaning way a slave would be. It is so hard not to let on that I know anything! "You were warned that there would be consequences for infractions. Obviously, detention isn't a choice, since you're already in detention. And I'd really hate to have to throw you out of detention because then you wouldn't get to do the extra credit and Tony would be stuck with your bad grade.

"Well, thank G-d Alabama is such a conservative state. They've left me other options for when detentions aren't effective. So unless you want to forfeit the extra credit, you'll just have to get the same punishment that anyone else would for acting up in detention. A paddling. I think three strokes will be enough to teach you to obey the class rules." I have no idea if paddlings are still allowed in Alabama, or anywhere else for that matter. I do know I've never heard of anyone getting one since, like, the '80s! But it sounds good. Besides, Janette was always going to get this paddling. I'd decided that long before she got out of bed this morning. This is just the pretext for it.

Janette's eyes immediately pop wide and she starts to fidget in her seat. I can only imagine the thoughts running through her head. I know it will be far from the first spanking she's gotten - Dmitri paddles his slaves frequently. I can't decide if she's old enough to have been in school back when paddlings were actually used or not. She's close enough to that age where it probably depended on where she went to school. I imagine she's thinking about how humiliating it's going to be paddled by her son's teachers. And she's thinking of the price of not allowing it, which I know is more than she's willing to pay. It's why I'm using her son's grade, or rather the threat of it, to hold over her head. Because I think it will motivate her to allow whatever to happen to herself instead of risking the grade.

"Stand up." I firmly command Janette. I glare at her firmly. My hand reaches under the desk where I have my old-fashioned school-house paddle. I bring it out slowly. It's about 18" long and five inches wide. It's a good inch thick, made of a light wood with holes drilled in it to reduce air resistance and speed up its swing. It looks exactly like the ones I've seen in old pictures of real school paddles from the '50s. And it looks painful.

Janette sits frozen for a second. She nervously turns to me and says "now? Here?" in a very hushed, very anxious, voice. "In front of these... kids?" Everyone in the room is at least 18, but they don't look it. They're trying hard not to. I guess it's working.

I just glare at Janette. "Four strokes. One more for not behaving. You were told to stand. Stand for your punishment." I tell her in my firmest voice.

Janette's eyes moisten. She hesitantly rises to her feet, already trembling as she does. Her face wrinkles up as if she's about to cry. "Please, Miss Rodgers..." Janette squeaks out in a muted, nervous voice, "may I please not be spanked in front of everyone, Miss Rodgers?" I doubt Janette even realizes how submissive her plea sounds.

I sigh, keeping the paddle in my hand, and rise to my feet. I use my free hand to reach up to Janette's shoulder and take a firm grip on her. "Over you go." I push Janette's shoulders down, bending her over the side of the desk.

Janette doesn't exactly resist me, but she doesn't exactly lean herself over either. It has her standing back a couple of feet from the side of the desk. I push her down until her back is flat, which has her forearms resting on the top of the desk. She quickly turns her head toward the whiteboard, looking away from the students. Undoubtedly trying to pretend to herself that there isn't an audience of youths watching this.

Janette seems to have learned better than to argue about it. But she's still quivering nervously as she stands there. Her breaths start to sound more like mute sobs, too. And she's blushing brightly now.

I set the paddle on the desk beside her for a second. I reach up to her head and grab it lightly. I turn it so that it's lying on her other cheek, with her facing the audience. I want her to see them watching her. I want this to be as humiliating as it possibly can be for her. After all, humiliation is why she sees Dmitri in the first place.

"There is only one rule, Janette. You will stand here. You will not get up." I reach for Janette's waistband. I move fairly quickly, not rushing, but moving as if I've done this too many times to count before. I unbutton her jeans and pull the zipper down. A second later I yank her jeans down, pulling the loose denim over her bottom. I stop with the jeans at about mid-thigh. Too bad for Janette that she wore such loose clothing today. They're so loose on her thighs that the jeans just fall to her ankles. I leave them lying there.

Janette shrieks a loud "AH! NO! Please, Miss Rodgers..." as I pull her pants down to uncover a rather cute pair of white panties.

I ignore Janette completely. My hands go right back to her hips. And this time they pull those lacy panties down. I stop those at mid-tight as well. Those are snug-fitting, so they hang there around her thighs.

It leaves her bottom completely bare. The closest clothing is her panties, and that's a good two inches beneath the bottom of her cheeks.

It bares a pair of full, rounded cheeks. If she were standing, they'd make a small, but full, "bubble butt." With her leaning over, they're pulled taut, smoothing out some of their plump curviness. Her globes look soft, but I don't mean flabby. Just spongy. As she leans over, their tightness has pulled her crack wide. It leaves me a good view of her tight little asshole. Hers is almost the same shade of white as are her globes. There's only the lightest of dark swath around the equally light pink ring. And hers is very wrinkly, with slightly prominent folds of wrinkles flowing together and inward with a pinpoint speck of darkness at the very center.

Her thighs are lean and toned. They allow me to see every bit of her pussy between the tops of them. I can see two long, narrow lips, covered with a long, brown fur that's neatly trimmed out of the creases of her thighs. It lets me see the edges of her light pink-brown inner folds poking their tips up into the slit between those furry lips, at least over her tunnel. Towards the top, her lips flow together into a narrow line of a slit that hides her folds.

And I can see enough of the long, brown curls tangling together underneath her flat pubes to tell that she's going to have a dense bush covering those pubes. I'm sure I'll get a better look at that later. I know that Janette is in for far more than a simple paddling this afternoon.

I another thing Janette doesn't. I know that all of the classrooms around us are empty. There's no such thing here as a grammar club or any other extracurricular activities in this part of the department. And none of Felicia's fellow teachers are going to hang around this late just for fun. They're long gone. I know, according to Felicia, that the security guard doesn't make rounds - he just sits at his desk by the front door. And most, if not all, of the administration, is long gone, too. It all adds up to us not being disturbed. And I'm especially thankful that Felicia's classroom doesn't have any windows in it.

"Everyone," I announce, looking out at the audience, but keeping a hand on the small of Janette's back to keep her leaning over with her bare butt sticking out for all to see. "I'm sure you all heard Janette talking in detention, and I know most of you have spent enough time in detention to know what that earns you. Janette will be getting four strokes, three for talking and one for disobeying me when I told her to stand up for her paddling like a big girl. Let's take a quick break now so we can all watch Janette punished for her infraction." I add just a trace of eagerness to my voice.

All eyes are on Janette. The girls mostly watch her face. It's almost comical the way it's blushing so red and scrunching up at the same time. The boys mostly stare at her bottom, no doubt trying to see more than the side-view they have affords them. I pick up the paddle.

I raise the paddle up high and pause for just a second to let the audience see how high, and how "evil" looking it is. Then I swing it, putting most of my strength into the stroke. It lands squarely across Janette's taut, white globes with a loud, splitting crack.

"OW!" Janette cries out loudly. Her cry is a mixture of surprise and pain. As if she hadn't expected the stroke to be nearly as hard as it was. "OW! That hurts! Please, Miss Rodgers, take it a little easier on me."

I lift the paddle again. Now I see a pair of white cheeks with a wide pink stripe across the center of them. Two cheeks that are far from still. Instead, her hips squirm hard, as if trying to wiggle the sting off those globes.

I bring the paddle down again, just as hard as the first stroke. It lands with just as loud of a crack. It makes the two "vanilla" girls in my audience flinch hard from the sound. Or maybe from Janette's shriek.

Janette shrieks loud, her voice now mostly pain as she cries out her "OW!" Her hips quickly wiggle her bottom again. She sobs lightly. And she tries pleading again. "Ow!... Please, Miss Rodgers, not so hard... it hurts too much!"

It wouldn't be much of a punishment if it didn't hurt, would it? I ignore Janette. She still has two more swats coming. I raise my paddle back up. It reveals the pink stripe across her white globes. Now it's a bright, angry shade of pink that loudly announces how sharply it's stinging her cheeks.

I bring my paddle down again. Janette definitely has some full cheeks, but they're also fairly small cheeks. Just well-rounded ones. It leaves me nowhere to land my paddle except mostly atop the already stinging stripe across her bottom. I keep my swats the same. This one lands just as hard, and with just as loud of crack, as the first two did.

"OW!" Janette screeches with pain in her voice. Her bottom reflexively snaps forward with the blow, her knees buckling until they knock against the side of the desk. Her bottom wiggles hard from side to side, more so as the paddle rises of her cheeks. "OW!" Janette sobs loudly now. "Stop! Please, Miss Rodgers, please stop hurting me! Please, I've learned my lesson! Please, don't paddle me again, I'll behave! I'll be a good girl! Please, don't hurt me again!"

"Those three were the price of talking in detention, Janette," I tell her firmly, but softly, as the paddle is rising for the final stroke. "This one is for not doing as you were told." I snap the paddle again.

The stroke isn't any harder, but it has nowhere to land but atop the light red, painfully stinging, strip across her bottom. Atop the already stinging flesh, it feels worse for her.

"OW!" Janette screams this time. Her bottom again goes forward with the swat and quickly starts trying to wiggle off the sting. Janette cries. It's not a full-blown bawling cry, but it's enough to have tears rolling down her cheeks and ruining her skillful makeup job. It's enough that everyone in the room can hear her sobs now, too. And thus, everyone knows that she's crying.