Detention

There's no reason for her to beg anymore, and she knows it. Her spanking is over. She stays put, leaning over the desk, and sobs endless "OW!s..." with a few "It hurts!" mixed in.

I give her a second or two, but not much more than that. It's enough time for me to casually glance down to the puffy mound of her pussy between her thighs. And to see that her slit now glistens with a fresh wetness. A wetness that already has her dense fur slightly damp. And that tells me that I'm doing what Dmitri asked me to do: humiliating her.

I reach to Janette's panties and indifferently pull them up for her. Janette screeches a loud "OW! Please! Be gentle!" as I pull them over her now-red cheeks. I ignore her and just pull them up, covering her bottom for her. That way, when she stands, the boys in the audience won't get to see her bush, although I'm quite sure they're still going to be trying to see it. It's not a kindness. I'm just saving that humiliation for later. Detention is a whole hour long!

I tell Janette to stand. She quickly stands, then turns to face me. It puts her bottom mostly towards the audience, but with her panties on, they can't see too much of the stripe glowing brightly across that bottom. "Janette, that was part of the price you're going to pay for breaking the class rules. The second part is that you have lost some time to get your assignment done. Since you lost that time because of your bad behavior, you won't get any additional time. The last part of the punishment is that, since you brought it on yourself, we will not be making any accommodations for your sore bottom. Now, pull your pants back up and return to your seat, you still have a few minutes to get part one finished. You'll just have to sit on your sore bottom and do your assignment. Go on."

Janette quickly squats down and pulls her jeans back up. Clearly, she's grateful to be allowed to cover herself again. She walks fairly quickly back to her desk. Then she hesitates with her bottom just off the seat. I hear a deep, sucking breath as she winces hard when her butt touches the hard plastic seat. She fidgets, but she also picks up her pen and tries to focus on getting that assignment done.

Chapter 03: The Dunce

Janette has about three or four minutes left to finish part one of her assignment. I've divided my hour of detention into four sections, and each section has its own part to the assignment. Each part will get its own grade, too. Janette should know that. It's all in the directions on the first page. I doubt she read them too closely, though.

Not that it would matter. She's nowhere near done when I call for part one to be handed up so that I can grade it. And she can't really blame the paddling on it. That didn't take more than about three minutes out of the fifteen she was given.

I tell the students to move along to part two while I grade part one. I start with Janette's paper. It's the only one I'm actually going to grade. The only one I care about. And there's no way she's getting a good grade on it, even if she actually does! I'll still give her a D or an F.

It's not a hard assignment, at least not if you've been studying grammar, or not if you're a writer or someone who actually uses it. But Janette has been out of school for better than 20 years now. And seriously, how many "average Jane's" could actually define what a gerund is, let alone pick them out and explain their purpose in a sentence? Even if she is using them correctly anyway.

Janette's first answer is copied verbatim from the textbook. She gets that one right. But that's the only one she could copy. The rest require some application of the lesson. Those questions, she gets something wrong in everyone. Little stuff, but that's plenty. I'm only looking for an excuse!

I score her assignment at 70%. "Janette, come up here," I call out and point her to sit in the chair beside the desk. She winces just as painfully as she takes the seat. Then she looks at me, her eyes still wet from crying.

"You got a 70 on part one. Your scores for all four parts will be averaged together to make up your final grade for the assignment. Let me be blunt. A 70 is way too low. Even if you somehow manage to get a perfect score on the next three parts, that's only a 92 for a final grade. You can afford to lose only ten more points across all three parts. That means no more than one error per. If you can't get a passing grade, then Tony lives with the grade he has. Do you think you can get that high of a score on the next three parts?"

Janette hesitates a second. Reluctantly she offers muted "no..." As she does, her eyes moisten up as if she's going to start crying again.

"Then you have three choices. Number one, you can pray and hope you don't lose too many points. Number two, you may 'roll the dice.'" I set a standard die on the desk. "It goes like this. Whatever number you roll, that's how many strokes you get with the paddle. Then, you get three more rolls. If you roll the same number again, you get to stay after detention and redo the assignment. Whatever grade you get on the makeup assignment, you're stuck with. But if you don't roll the same number on those three rolls, you're stuck with the 70." I watch Janette's face show true horror at the thought of another paddling.

"Option number three is extra credit." I set a small pink box on the desk. Inside are ten pieces of paper, all folded up into tiny squares. "It works like this. You pick one of the 'extra credit' fates out of the box. No two are the same. They can be anything. All will not be enjoyable. Some are humiliating. Some are painful. Some are stupid. Some are a combination. None are easy. Once you draw, detention pauses for ten minutes while everyone watches you do whatever you've drawn. That means everyone has to stay late, not just you. If you do your extra credit, I add 20 points to your grade for this part. If you don't do it properly, I subtract 10 points. That would mean you'd need a perfect score from here on out to get a passing grade. They're all something that you can do. There's nothing that's impossible, even for you.

"So, what will your choice be?" I grin very slightly as I ask. It's all I can do not to smirk, knowing that whatever Janette picks, my fun is just beginning.

"I'll draw for extra credit..." Janette very reluctantly chooses. I can see her quivering slightly, wondering just what agony she's about to subject herself to for the sake of her son's grade.

I already know. I know because all ten of the "fates" have the same fate on them. It doesn't matter which square she picks. But all folded up as they are, she'll never know that. I never said detention was fair!

I hold the pink box out to Janette. Tentatively she reaches into the box and after a second picks one of the squares. She draws it out. "Everyone..." I call out to the students. "Your attention, please. Janette has drawn an extra credit assignment, so now we are all going to see what she's drawn and watch her do her extra credit."

Janette blushes brightly as I make the announcement. She quivers a little more and fidgets in her seat, too. It's enough for me to think that she knows she's going to suffer.

"Janette, open your fate and read it aloud," I tell her.

Janette starts unfolding her square. She gets it open and sees what's written on it. She instantly freezes. After a second, I snap "Janette!" to get her attention again. "Read your extra credit to the class."

Tears roll down Janette's cheeks again. "It says... naked dunce." Janette sobs out. Paige gasps in horror, loudly. She's faking it, but she does know what the naked dunce is. She's seen it before. "I am to stand facing the class and take off all of my clothes. I am to give my clothes to Miss Rodgers. Then I am to stand naked in the corner, wearing a sign and a dunce cap, for ten minutes. I must stand still and silent, facing the class for the entire time, on my tip-toes. I may not cover any part of myself. I may not look away from the class. I do not get my clothes back until I get my grades up." Janette reads it exactly as it's written. I wrote it in the first person.

"No sense in wasting any more time, Janette. Stand up now and face the class. It's time to hand over your clothes. And I mean absolutely everything. Right down to the last hairpin. Even your rings..." I pause for about a second. Janette sits frozen. I snap, "let's go, bad girl!"

Janette hesitantly rises to her feet. She turns to face the class, standing in front of the chair to put it between herself and the students. I just use my foot to shove the chair out of the way so that nothing blocks their view of Janette.

Everyone stares at Janette. The girls mostly gawk with curiosity, as if waiting to see Janette humiliate herself as entertainment. The boys have far more lewdness in their gawks as if they're hungry to see her naked. Boys!

"Now, Janette." I snap again, adding extra firmness to my command.

As any woman would do, Janette starts with her shoes and socks. Then her jewelry, taking off the things that reveal nothing first. I just love that prim modesty! It has the blush on her face steadily deepening as each item comes off and bares nothing. Unless she's modest about the very nice pedicure she has. And the nice deep-red paint on her toenails.

It takes her a minute or two, or three, to get down to where she has nothing but her sweater, jeans, bra, and panties left. Now, whatever she takes off, is going to start exposing her body to the audience. An audience that's anonymous to Janette. And one that she assumes is made up of her son's classmates. Whom, I'm sure, she assumes will be gossiping about this tomorrow. I'm sure she assumes that Tony will hear about it, too.

She reaches for the bottom of her sweater. All she can do is pull it up and over her head. She does that as slowly as possible, steadily baring more and more of her flat, toned stomach and the defined curve at her waist. The feminine shape of her waist is enough for the boys' interest to grow. Her face may look "mom-aged," but so far her body looks pretty good to them.

It bares a lacy, three-quarters cup bra. It's white. It covers most of her mounds but leaves enough bare at the tops and center to make a nice cleavage. A cleavage that most women wouldn't mind flaunting. I can already tell her mounds are ample. Not especially huge, but big enough. I'd guess she's a 36-C.

Now that her chest is essentially exposed, except for her breasts, I can see the leanness to her body. I can see that her skin is still taut, having lost only a tiny bit of elasticity over the years. It's milky white, too, like skin that rarely gets to see the sun. Her chest is flat. Her shoulders are just lean enough for the outlines of her collarbones to be made out. Her arms are lean, too, and just as toned. I don't see any loose skin anywhere.

Janette has to fight her urge to try and cover her breasts, even though her bra still hides them. Everyone can see her hands wants to move up to her chest. "Keep going, Janette." I remind her in a very firm voice as she hands me her sweater.

Janette reluctantly begins unbuttoning her jeans. This time they move far slower. She hangs onto them to keep gravity from pulling them down her legs. It must take her close to a minute to get them down to her ankles and step out of them.

It reveals the white lace panties I saw earlier. And it reveals a pair of long, lean legs without an ounce of flab on them. I can see her hips have a nice curve to them as well. And if I look closely, I can see the slight darkness behind her panties where her bush is.

Now Janette really doesn't have a choice. Her hands move very reluctantly up behind her back to get to the clasp of her bra. When they get there, they fumble. Hard. The clasp keeps slipping from her trembling fingers. It takes her several tries to get the single hook undone. Only then do the straps fall to her sides, still not showing off anything. She reaches her unsteady hands up to her shoulders and unwillingly pushes the straps along until they fall free down her arms. Her hands eagerly fly to her chest, catching the bra, and covering her breasts as they do. I'm staring hard at Janette. She knows better than to linger with her hands covering herself. But she still moves slowly as she pulls the bra down, baring her breasts to the class.

Janette's breasts are moderately soft. Now free of the underwire bra, they lie back against her chest with a decent crease at the underside. They still have a good bit of roundness to them, despite the touch of looseness that has them lying slightly to the outsides of her chest. It has her nipples angled slightly outward, and also slightly upward atop her mounds. Nipples that are very wide, almost as wide as dimes. Nipples that rise up prominently, maybe around ¼", but also are fully rounded, rising like half-marbles instead of like rods. They're a hot, light, shade of pink. They're surrounded by fairly modest rings of the same light pink. And now, those nipples are as hard as ever.

Janette hands me her bra. She uncomfortable keeps one eye on me, watching as I drop it into a drawer of Felicia's desk along with the rest of her clothes.

She moves slower than she ever has as she puts her hands to her hips. I hear her suck in a deep breath, her hands frozen to her hips. I see her close her eyes. Then, very slowly, her panties start inching their way down her hips.

Soon they begin to expose the top curls of her dense bush. The top line of it doesn't look to be trimmed perfectly straight but does seem to be naturally close to straight. Her waistline, above her bush, looks to be flat and decently taut, too. And very pale white.

As her panties slip down her hips, I can see that her bush is as dense as I thought it would be. And that its curls of fur are long and tangled together. Her fur looks to be dark brown. It looks to be trimmed, not into perfect lines, but out of the creases of her thighs.

Finally, her panties are down enough for the class to see that her pussy mound is more flat than puffy. Slightly on the narrow side, too. But her lean thighs do nothing to hide the mound poking down between her thighs. Or the long curls of fur covering her lips that stick down from her mound. Fur that's dense enough to make it hard to see the fine slit at the front where those lips meet in a light purple line.

Janette finally hands me her panties. I take just a second to glance at them. And I make sure that Janette sees me glance at the crotch of them. It's moist, telling me that her pussy is getting pretty wet. It's moist enough for me to get a whiff of her moderately strong muskiness, too. And to know that it's a sweet muskiness.

I reach under the desk and take out the dunce cap. It's white, and it's big. Its sone is probably close to two feet tall. It has a narrow elastic band to go under her chin and hold it on. And it has "DUNCE" on it in big, black letters. I hand it to Janette.

Her face scrunches up hard, pushing another tear from her wet eyes, as she hesitantly puts it on. The elastic strap leaves only two ways it can go on. Either has the word "dunce" in front.

I hand Janette the sign. It's not that big, slightly larger than a legal-size piece of paper. It's white. It's made of a stiff, hard cardboard. It too has a cord on it to go around her neck and hang from. It has "Standing in the corner. This is as shameful as my grades are," written on it in big black letters in two lines. "Standing" is circled in red and has an arrow pointing to it. Above the arrow, also in red, is the word "gerund."

Janette reads the sign.. then she reluctantly hangs it around it her neck. As soon as she does, she discovers that her prayer is not going to be answered. The sign hangs just below her breasts, leaving them completely exposed. And it hangs just above her waist, leaving all of her bush and pussy exposed, too. It covers nothing except for her stomach. I designed it that way. Knowing her height, it wasn't hard to guess how long to make the string.

I take hold of Janette by the shoulder and guide her to the corner. It's mostly empty. I turn her to face the students and nudge her back into the corner until she standing the way I want her to. With her heels against the baseboards, and her feet almost together. Apart just enough that her shoulders and bottom aren't touching anything.

I tell Janette that she's to put her hands behind her and keep them there. Then I put a hand under her chin and nudge her head up until she's looking straight at the class. Now she has to see the girls giggling at the humiliating display. And see the boys gawking at her breasts and pubes.

"Remember, you have to keep your eyes open and stay on your tip-toes." I teasingly warn her. I take out a stopwatch. I see Janette's eyes dart around the room and realize that the only clock is above the whiteboard behind Felicia's desk, where she can't see it.

"Up you go, dunce!" I tauntingly tell her. Janette rises up to her tiptoes. I let her see me push the button on the stopwatch.

She stands there. It doesn't take but half of a minute, maybe a few seconds less, for me to see the strain in her calves as she stands on her toes.

Everyone stares at Janette, watching her stand there. It keeps the blush on her face at full-beet redness. And in a minute, it has tears of shame rolling down those cheeks.

That's when I take a picture of her standing there. And I make sure that she sees me take it.

Not much happens for the next ten minutes. Mostly we all just watch Janette. I'm pretty sure I'm the only one watching her eyes, to make sure they stay open, and her feet to make sure those heels stay off the floor. They do, but by the end of the ten minutes, I can see the uncomfortable strain in her calves as she struggles to stay up.

I call her to come back over to my desk. I allow her to stand facing me, which keeps her rosy red bottom to the students, as she takes her sign off and hands it back to me. Then I allow her to return my dunce cap. She seems relieved to get them both off.

She looks at me, but she keeps her eyes angled expectantly at the pile of her clothes that sit neatly on the corner of Felicia's desk.

"Would you like to demonstrate that you've learned something now and get your clothes back?"

"Yes!" Janette answers eagerly.

"I believe your fate says you get them back when you get your grades up. All you have to do is answer three questions about the lesson. If you get them right, you get your clothes back. Now face the class for your quiz." I make Janette turn and stand facing the class. IN the corner they had a good enough view of her body as she stood angled about 45 degrees. Now she's closer to them. And there's no angling of her body. She facing them full-on frontal. I make her put her hands behind her back so that she knows her body is being displayed.

Felicia, the teacher, is standing in the audience just behind the students. I nod to her and tell her to "give the bad student her pop quiz now."

"Define 'gerund.'" Felicia gives her the first, and easiest, question on her quiz.

"It's a verb used as a noun," Janette answers in a voice that's mute, heavily shamed, breaking slightly with light sobs, but also confident of her answer.

"Good. Now use a gerund in a sentence and tell me what the gerund is." Felicia gives her the next question. It's open enough that Janette can use anything in her answer, and that makes it a fairly easy question.

"Learning by humiliation can't be fun. 'Learning' is a gerund." Janette answers. It's a twisted modification of the textbook's first example sentence "Learning can be fun." But it's also a correct example. It was an easy answer, too.

"What year was the word 'gerund' first used in the English language?" Felicia asks. I told her to make the first two questions easy to build Janette's confidence up. And I told her to make the third hard, to pick something obscure, but also something that was clearly in the text. It was in the first sentence of the lesson.