I had this strange feeling about Mr. Hardyman, the head of Brigham College, on the day I attended for my interview. It was the way he looked at me with those shifty eyes that just seemed to peel the clothes from my body. It was a strange and uncomfortable feeling. But at the time I badly needed the job at Brigham College, so I tried not to let him put me off. I was 30 at the time and I had been out of teaching for about five years. I was looking for work because Greg, my husband, had been put on short time and we needed some extra income.
It was Mandy, my 18 year old step daughter, who mentioned to me that there were vacancies at the college. I checked them out and found she was right so I applied and to my delight I was accepted for an interview. Apart from Mr. Hardyman, the other three board members seemed okay. Mr. Allen, who I knew slightly, was the local bank manager. Ms. Fisher, a lady in her early fifties, held a position on the council. She was dressed in a very severe but smart black tailored suit, and the last board member was Major Stanford Blakely, late of the cavalry. I thought the interview went well, although they did ask a lot of what I thought were quite personal questions, but in the end I was well pleased when I was offered a position.
Things went well for a couple of months. I seemed to get on with all my students, and the staff was a friendly bunch. It was only Mr. Hardyman who seemed to react to me in the way he did. Many times I caught him looking at me with those shifty eyes and it always made me extremely uncomfortable.
I know now that the incident that caused the problems for me was a setup. It happened one Monday evening when I had to keep James Langley, an unruly 18 year old who was always in trouble, in for detention. Nothing happened. I sat and marked school books and he sat and did the work I had set him and he left after an hour, but next morning I was called into Mr. Hardyman's office. He looked up with a very grave expression on his face when I knocked and walked in.
"Ah, Mrs. Bradshaw." He held up a piece of paper, "I have received a very grave complaint against you,"
I was shocked. "From whom?" I inquired.
"One of your students, a James Langley, is saying that while he was in detention last evening, you made sexual advances toward him."
I looked at the principle amazed. "He's got to be joking! It's a complete lie; I wouldn't."
The principle looked at me. "You know this is a difficult situation. You were alone together. It's your word against his. If he wants to take it further, things could be bad for you."
"But nothing happened," I exclaimed.
"Can you prove it?" I shook my head.
"Well, what are we going to do? I could dismiss you, but on the other hand, you are a good teacher." He looked me up and down. I felt uncomfortable. He placed his hands together, fingertips touching. I know it was one of a teacher's worse nightmares being accused of sexual misbehavior by a student, even though I was innocent. I knew that if I were dismissed, it would always remain a stain on my character.
"We may be able to solve the situation, if you agree to my terms."
I looked at him. "Just what terms would they be?" I asked.
"If you were to accept being punished here in college, we could keep the whole thing quiet."
I knew I was in a bind. I knew I had been set up, but for what reason? Although I was totally innocent, I knew there was no way that I was able to prove it. I could quit my job, but that would not really solve anything. They could still bring charges against me, and even if I were found not guilty, it would put a stain on my character and I would never get another teaching job. I was in a difficult situation and I knew it.
"If I accepted your punishment, what would it be?"
He looked at me, a slight smile on his lips. "Well, I think three of four good spankings should do the trick."
I looked at him aghast. "Spankings?"
He nodded. "Say over a period of a month."
"And who will do the spankings?" I should never have asked. I already knew the answer.
"It will be my responsibility," he said.
The whole thing was humiliating, but what could I do? I didn't want to lose my job, and it was only for a month. I had been spanked before, but not for many years. My father was a pious Christian who believed in strict discipline, and I had felt the sting of his leather belt across my bare bottom on more than one occasion.
I nodded sullenly. "If that's the only way."
"It is, my dear. Be in my office after the last college bell tomorrow," he said.
At four PM the following afternoon, still with some reservations, I knocked on his door. I entered on his call to come in.
He smiled. "Glad to see you are on time, Mrs. Bradshaw. Let's get straight down to business."
As he stood up, unknown to me, he pressed a hidden button under his desk and several mini cams arranged around the office came to life to record the event.
He looked at me. "If you would be so kind as to lean over and place your hands on my desk."
I felt hot as I did so. This was so embarrassing. He walked around behind me. Then to my dismay and horror, I felt him lift my skirt and tuck it in my waist band. I knew he must be looking at my brief pink panties that were no doubt stretched tightly over my bottom.
"I think ten to begin with, just to see how you take them." Then I jumped and squealed as the first hard slap landed on my tender rear. I was shocked--he was using his hand. Then four more landed in quick succession, two on each side. He seemed to rest for a moment and then he resumed, harder this time, and my bottom was becoming more tender and painful with each slap. At last it was over and he told me I could stand up. I quickly eased my skirt back into place.
"You can go now," he said, "but be here the same time next week."
I was glad to get home. It had been a painful ride in the car and luckily Greg was in the garden, so I managed to get upstairs, have a shower, and apply some lotion before he came in.
All week I was dreading the next session, but Tuesday came around all too soon and four PM found me again facing the horrible Mr. Hardyman across his desk. This week turned out to be even more embarrassing than the last as the first thing he asked me to do was to remove my skirt.
I did so, slipping out of it and placing it on a chair. He nodded as I stood before him displayed in my white cotton panties. Again, I was asked to take up a position over his desk. After last week I had decided to wear some slightly thicker panties hoping to somehow deaden the pain. But this plan was thwarted when to my utter embarrassment and dismay I felt him peel down my panties, leaving then hanging around my thighs.
I knew in this position everything, including my most secret places, would be revealed to him, and I felt hot and uncomfortable as no one apart from my husband had ever seen my most intimate places since our marriage. This time the pain was even worse as his hands rained down on my bare exposed flesh. I cried out and tears ran down my face. I slowly counted each stroke and felt relieved as the last one landed, but I was dismayed when his hand remained on my bottom slowly caressing the bruised flesh before moving down between my thighs to brush across my exposed pussy. I shuddered as I felt him touch my most secret place. Afterwards, I dressed quickly, averting my eyes from his gaze and hurriedly left his office.
I was dreading the following week. I slept badly and my work suffered. Hopefully my ordeal was nearly over. Only two more weeks to go, but I guessed if things continued as they were, this week would be worse then the proceeding weeks and I was right. He smiled up at me as I entered his office. "I do hope you have learnt your lesson my dear," he said in that condescending voice, "But just to make sure this week I would like you to disrobe completely."
I looked at him. "You can't mean that," I gasped. "Not everything."
He nodded. "I do mean it, my dear. Everything! I want you completely naked."
I was stunned. I almost cried, but what could I do? I had accepted the punishment, and now I had to go through with it or suffer the consequences. I looked at him seated at his desk, a slight smile on his face. I remembered the feeling I had at the interview, the feeling of his eyes stripping me naked. Now it would be me who was doing the stripping.
With trembling fingers and a feeling of dread, I slowly began to unbutton my blouse. I saw him nod as my 36D's were slowly uncovered encased it a tight white bra. I slipped the blouse off my shoulders and placed it on a chair. Next I unfastened my skirt, slid down the zip, and eased it over my hips. I stepped out of it and place it with my blouse. Now I stood before my tormentor in just my brief bra and panties.
I looked at him pleadingly. "Please don't make me go any further. I can't. I'm a married woman. I have a husband at home"
He slowly shook his head. "I'm sorry, my dear, but when I said everything, I meant everything. Now please remove the rest of your clothing."
I knew it was no good arguing with him. I had to do it I had to bare everything. I fumbled with the clasp of my bra. At last it gave way and my bra fell loose. I allowed it to slip down my arms. I felt the coolness of the air on my breasts and knew they were exposed to him.
He stared at them for a moment, then nodded his approval. "Very nice, very nice indeed." I felt my nipples tightening up. Oh my God, my body was reacting. I felt ashamed. Now I wanted to get the whole thing over. I pushed my fingers in the waistband of my panties and eased them over my hips. They stuck between my legs and then I realised why; they were wet, soaking wet. I almost cried. Why was my body betraying me in this way?
At last I stood before him totally naked, humiliated and ashamed. I had never in my life experienced anything so demeaning. Here I was a happily married woman with a husband and an 18 year old step-daughter and I was standing naked and aroused in front of this lecherous old man.
He slowly got up from his desk and came around to where I was standing. I could not help but notice the large protrusion in the front of his tight pin striped pants.
"You are an extremely attractive woman, Mrs. Bradshaw, and you have the most delightful breasts." At that point he reached out and took a breast in each hand, gently, almost lovingly, caressing them. I started to back away but what was the point? Then his thumbs rubbed across my hard nipples and I almost cried out.
"Very sensitive," he said with a slight smile. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out what looked like a long fine silver chain. Attached to it by another short chain were two small silver crocodile clips. He gripped one of my nipples and pulled it out, extending it, and opened up the crocodile clip and applied it to the nipple. I cried out as the fine teeth bit into my tender flesh.
"You can't do this," I exclaimed. "You're hurting me." Now tears were streaming down my face.
He smiled. "Yes, I can, my dear. I can do anything I want to you. You are at my mercy." And with that, he quickly applied a clip to my other nipple. I stood there in agony, my breasts feeling as though they were on fire.
"Now if you would take up your position, we can get on with the job at hand."
I knew what he wanted and I placed my hands on the desk and leaned over. He walked behind me. I felt his hands stroke across my exposed bottom. "Such a wonderful sight, but it will look even better with a splash of color." With that, his hand landed a stinging blow. My whole body jerked and he held on to the fine silver chain attached to my nipples. It pulled them painfully and I cried out. With each blow that landed, he tugged on my nipple clips. The pain was excruciating and soon I was whimpering.
"Please, Mr. Hardyman, no more, please, no more." But he was so engrossed in his work that he did not heed my cries. Suddenly I felt a change come over me. I couldn't believe it. 'Oh God, no!' I realised what the feeling was. I was about to cum. I tried to resist, but he struck me again and then pulled on my nipples, and that was it, I came. I screamed as I felt my hot juices ooze out of my pussy and run down my legs. I had never felt so ashamed in the whole of my life.
"So my little slut's cum for me," I heard his amused voice close to my ear. "I wondered just how long it would be." Then I felt his hand on my sticky wet thighs. It moved higher until he was touching the wet flower of my pussy. I could not stop myself groaning. Then he was opening me up and his fingers were entering me, thrusting deep into my warm wet interior. His thumb began to massage my clit.
"Oh, please, no," I screamed. Then his fingers touched my tender spot. "Oh, please, yes, please, yes," and I was thrusting myself against his invading finger. And I came again very quickly.
In my fuddled brain I couldn't believe what I was allowing this horrible man to do to me, allowing him to abuse me in ways that I never thought I would allow any man to do. Suddenly it all seemed over. He came around and stood in front of me. I cried out as he unclipped my nipples and the blood surged back into them. He smiled. "You have been a very interesting subject tonight, and I think you might have enjoyed it."
I couldn't speak. I just looked at him. I was disgusted with myself, with my body that had betrayed me so badly. I could feel my legs and thighs wet and sticky from the multiple orgasms that he had induced.
As I looked down at the nasty red marks on my still protruding nipples, I noticed with some slight amusement that he too had had a slight accident. A large wet stain now marred his once immaculate pin striped pants.
He handed me a box of tissues from his desk. "I think you might need these," he said. "You can dress yourself again now." He walked around and sat in his chair watching me as I did my best to clean up and then I quickly pulled on my clothes.
"Can I go now?" I asked as soon as I was dressed.
He nodded. "Same time next week, my dear, and I might have something extra special for you as it's your last visit." I couldn't believe it. What more could he do to me? What other humiliations was I going to have to suffer?
During the week, I seriously thought about packing my job in and to hell with the consequences, but what was the point? If he carried out his threats, we would have to move.
I sighed. At least, hopefully, there was only one more week for me to suffer. So Tuesday again found me nervously standing outside Mr. Hardyman's office. I was just about to knock when I heard the sound of laughter and voices. He must have someone with him. I considered leaving, but I thought I had better knock. Maybe, hopefully, he had forgotten our appointment.
I knocked and I heard the room go silent, then Mr. Hardyman's voice calling me to come in. I pushed the door open and stepped into his office. I was more than a little surprised to find the other three members of the College Management Board there. They all had drinks in their hands. Ms. Fisher smiled at me and the other two, Mr. Allen and Major Blakely, looked at me nervously. Mr. Hardyman was as usual seated behind his desk. He looked up at me and smiled. "It's your last week, Mrs. Bradshaw, and I said I would have a little surprise for you, so if you would like to strip naked, we can all get started."