Penny's footsteps echo down the long corridor, early evening sunlight filters through windows set with leaded glass, splashing rainbow colours onto plain stark walls.

Penny, more properly Penelope, stops for a moment; a knot of anxiety twists in her stomach, apprehension lines her face. Pushing back her shoulders resolutely she continues, carefully checking the small brass numbers on each classroom door.

Barely an hour ago she'd been the epitome of a carefree young woman, now her demeanour resembles that of someone en route to the dentist anticipating a necessary but possibly painful encounter. At last she finds the right room, a familiar smell of polish tinged with chalk dust wrinkles her nose.

The school is cathedral-like in its size and silence, a temple of learning designed to demand the obedience and respect of its scholars. The weight of history weighs heavily here. She shrugs back her expensively cut auburn bob, smoothes down the regulation dark grey skirt. Catching her reflection in the glass of a framed picture of scholars from half a century before Penny takes a deep breath and enters the classroom.

It's four years since she left the sixth form at Redbrook Grammar, and Penny Adams usually tossed flyers from the Old Pupil's Association straight into the bin. Continually starved of government cash the school often contacted alumni in the hope of raising funds, but Penny, with a good honours degree from a respected redbrick, had so far resisted these nostalgia driven appeals.

But this time the newsletter caught her attention. 'Last Days' it read, 'your final chance to say farewell to the old school...' Penny rapidly scanned the rest of the page. `Expensive repairs required... Impossible to adapt... demolish and replace ... ' Penny felt a sudden pang of regret. Typical, flog off a beautiful old building for housing developers to stick rabbit hutches on, then throw up a replacement as cheaply as possible and pocket the profit.

Hence a farewell dance, which previous pupils were invited to attend wearing their old school uniforms. Penny checked her calendar. She'd nothing planned on that day, it'd be a laugh to meet up with a few old mates and as for the uniform, it was packed away in her flat somewhere...

The evening as going well and Penny circulated, chatting with former classmates. Everyone had entered into the spirit of the event and dug out their old attire. Fortunately for Penny her figure had altered little in the intervening years, so the regulation blouse and skirt were a perfect fit.

In the cause of authenticity Penny adhered to the privileges permitted senior pupils in her day, a little lipstick, but no jewellery, and sensible flat shoes. She might easily pass as a current pupil, albeit an uncommonly shapely and pretty one.

"Ms Adams," a pleasant male baritone showed evident pleasure at her presence, "how very nice to see you."

"You too," replied Penny, heart skipping a beat at the sight of Nicolas Knight. Mr Knight of course in those days, or 'GoodKnight' to the many teenage girls who found his self-assured manner and dark good looks much to their liking.

Tonight , like several other teachers, he'd dressed in keeping with the theme and worn his graduation gown.

Mr Knight - "Nicolas, please, we're informal" - had been a patient teacher, an old-fashioned air of confidence adding to his allure. Penny, not to put too fine a point on it, had a massive crush on him during her final year.

They reminisced amiably until, abruptly, his tone of voice acquired a harder edge. 'You did very well at university, Ms Adams, especially since you got there under false pretences."

"False pretences?" replied Penny, puzzled.

"Indeed so," a good few inches taller, Nicolas peered sternly down at his former charge. "You'll no doubt recall the quite disproportionate difficulties you had with mathematics?"

"I did try," Penny sulked petulantly, a schoolgirl again, "but I just couldn't retain the basics, and the mere mention of geometry was enough to make me panic."

Her implicit appeal to his sympathy fell on deaf ears. "As, I suspect, so will what I have to say next," he added.

Penny stared blankly back at her former teacher, anxious and uneasy.

"In order to get a university place a grade C maths pass is a minimum requirement," he continued. "I not only taught you but also invigilated the exam, during which I saw you copying equations from a concealed scrap of paper. Of course I informed the headmaster."

Penny's throat was dry, voice almost gone. "I wasn't really cheating, just couldn't remember stuff" she whispered lamely.

"The headmaster," recalled Knight derisively, "more concerned with exam results and league tables, persuaded me, reluctantly, to keep my counsel."

"Then it's all in the past," said Penny, with a sigh of relief.

"Not at all, young lady," replied Mr Knight. "Old exam papers and invigilator's notes are kept for 10 years. Brought to the attention of your employer, or the university, they might well cause you some embarrassment. "However," he added darkly, "there's an upside to this dilemma. I've been appointed headmaster of the new school."

"You?" said Penny, incredulously.

"Don't look so surprised, my credentials and performance were judged more than up to the task."

"Sorry, I didn't mean to be disrespectful," she answered quickly, eyes downcast, no longer the confident young professional but a wayward pupil brought to book.

"We thus have an ideal opportunity to resolve this disgraceful matter," announced Mr Knight. "In two days this building will be demolished, who knows what old records might fortuitously go astray?" He raised an eyebrow, significantly.

Penny forced a desperate smile. "Oh, I see."

"I very much doubt it," Mr Knight responded sarcastically. "But now you're appraised of the alternative, no doubt you'll cooperate."

Penny is acutely aware of being in very deep trouble.

"I think some form of punishment is appropriate," he'd continued. "A short, sharp, retributory shock."

"Punishment?" Penny gasped. "But I'm not a pupil here."

"I thought you were following my line of reasoning" Mr Knight answered sharply. "Remember, I still have the proof."

"But that's blackmail," she whined.

"Don't talk rubbish girl," he growled. "However, if you wish to be obdurate..."

"No, no I don't," Penny said, backtracking quickly. "I suppose some sort of penance is no more than I deserve."

"Excellent. We'll use the maths room, SC3, on the opposite side of the school, to avoid any inconvenient disturbance."

"What sort of punishment had you in mind?" she asked cautiously, barely able to believe what was unfolding.

"I propose to cane you, Miss Adams," he stated frankly.

"Cane me!" Penny was thunderstruck. "But th-that's illegal," she stammered.

"It's quite rightly illegal for a teacher to strike a pupil," Mr Knight replies reasonably. "However, as you pointed out, you're not a pupil here, rather an adult, entering into a voluntary arrangement."

"I'm being coerced," she complained miserably.

"But unable to prove such an accusation." Knight responded briskly. "I will expect you there in five minutes, Miss Adams."

Inwardly shaking, Penny panied. Caned, bent over, touching her toes; he wouldn't, surely, lift her skirt? She crimsoned at the thought, yet the tremor of fear is accompanied by another unexpected feeling, arousal. No one at school or home ever laid a punitive finger upon Penny it's true; but a boyfriend at university did once spank her.

Only playfully of course, fired with the vigour of youth no sooner had they finished one energetic bout of sex than he'd been ready for another. Penny had pretended to demur, in truth she was as eager as he, but why not make him wait?

During the ensuing playful tussle she'd found herself pinned across his knee where, in spite of her struggles and the initial sting, Penny was soon aware of a warm tingling sensation spreading through her loins. The impromptu spanking had made her most intimate parts melt with desire in a way nothing else had, before or since. Entered from behind, grasped by the hips and shafted to a shattering orgasm Penny subsequently tried several times tried to provoke a repeat performance, but she'd been out of luck.

This time, Penny's chastisement will be delivered by the embodiment of authority, not a lover. With a sigh she slips quietly out of the hall and down the corridor to meet her fate.

The classroom is little changed; amid battered wooden furniture and institutional green paint time has stood still. Mr Knight stands imposingly at the front of the room flexing a slender rattan cane that hypnotically attracts Penny's eyes.

"Discovered at the back of the store cupboard," the new Head of Redbrook picks up the rod and swishes it loudly through the air, making Penny wince.

"No doubt I'll soon get a more lively response out of you," he observes dryly, walking slowly towards her. "Your punishment will be in two instalments," he says. "A dozen strokes of the cane for having the vulgarity to cheat, prior to which you'll be thoroughly spanked."

"Twelve strokes?" Penny repeats in a small voice, this is far worse than she'd feared.

"Indeed," Knight confirms with unseemly relish, placing two straight-backed chairs side by side.

Transfixed, like a small mammal beguiled by a snake, Penny is unable to move. Knight sits on the right hand chair and beckons her to him. Eyes wide, moist lips slightly parted, she obeys. In one smooth move Knight pulls her across his lap.

"The spanking first," he says, "to ensure this insolent bottom is properly warmed for its encounter with the cane."

Toes just touching the floor, Penny's torso rests upon the second chair.

She tenses then gives an inadvertent cry as her spanking begins, Knight's hard hand slapping rhythmically down, each impact amplified by her tight skirt. After 20 or so such swats Penny becomes painfully aware of the cumulative effect. She wriggles across his lap in protest, her sex chafing against the solid muscles of his thighs.

By way of rebuke Knight pins her slender waist firmly, ending Penny's futile struggles. "It's hardly appropriate to complain now, Ms Adams," he observes unsympathetically. Lifting the hem of her skirt he bunches it around her waist, feeling his loins stiffen at the sculptural perfection of Penny's long legs, taut thighs and girlish white ankle socks.

His expert fingertips brush across her panty-clad crotch, sending tremors of desire through her moistening sex. Penny moans rapturously at this unexpectedly gentle respite, sighing with pleasure as he slips a finger beneath her knickers to gauge her growing wetness. Gasping and squirming, dishevelled and confused, she writhes on his lap. Her bottom burns fiercely, and the void between her legs aches to be filled.

"Ooh, my poor bum is so sore," Penny groans, "enough, please."

"I'll be the judge of that," says Knight firmly, letting loose a sustained volley of slaps. Sharp bands of pain imprint themselves the length of her thighs and calves. Penny shrieks, then slumps across his knees, humiliated and sobbing loudly.

Sensing that, temporarily at least, Penny has reached her limit Knight tugs her knickers into her overly sensitised cleft, increasing the pressure on her now inundated pussy. Pushing the thin strip of material aside he expertly spreads her labia. She gasps at the wanton rudeness of the situation, held fast across the head teacher's lap, bum smacked to a livid crimson, her most private parts rudely opened for her stern tormentor's voyeuristic pleasure. Penny groans helplessly as Knight begins to tease her clitoris.

"Oh dear," she whispers distractedly, "you're going to make me come." She's right, one finger circles her pleasure spot, another penetrates and plunders her velvet sheath, faster and faster. Simultaneously Knight resumes her spanking, and the combination of the two exquisitely conflicting sensations soon ensure Penny's climax.

Overwhelmed she stands shakily, skirt around her waist, blouse buttons unable to contain her prominent breasts; petulant and pouting, the embodiment of a properly punished schoolgirl. Carefully rubbing her hot bottom she looks pleadingly at Mr Knight.

"If you think for a moment that cute, winsome expression will get you let off forget it," he growls. "Follow me."

"Where are we going," Penny asks in a quavering voice.

"To the gymnasium," he replies brusquely.

In the centre of the large echoing space stands a solitary piece of equipment: a gym horse. Mr Knight waits impatiently, the cane clasped behind his back.

"Knickers off and hand them to me," he snaps.

Fumbling, clumsy, she complies, blushing as she doffs the skimpy material.

"Sit astride the top," he instructs.

Placing both hands onto the cool leather Penny eases herself astride it, laying her torso forward, legs hanging down on each side. With a grunt of approval Mr Knight pulls the tie from her collar and bind her wrists.

"Don't want you struggling," he explains before pushing the damp panties between her teeth. "Don't want you screaming the place down, either," he adds. "And believe me, by the time you've taken the first six strokes you'll be in fine voice." Leisurely he enjoys the view, the position lewdly opening her bottom cheeks to reveal her most intimate secrets.

The first stroke jolts her forward and, even as the rattan bounces back from her indented flesh a line of fire sears across her haunches. Her anguished shriek is muffled into a gurgle of distress as her bound hands struggle for grip. A second parallel stroke follows, then a third in rapid succession, scoring livid weals of angry red fire across her gorgeous bottom. Three more merciless cuts find their target, biting harshly into her tender sit-spot.

Penny lies shaking and helpless before her erstwhile teacher. Lifting her effortlessly Mr Knight pulled the panties from Penny's mouth and hushes an incipient wail of anguish with a finger upon her lips. Strong arms drape her, whimpering and bare-bottomed, sideways across the large bolster, buttocks supported at its highest point, toes just touching the floor.

In comparison with her previous thrashing the final six are almost tokens, a series of skilful flicks applied to the outer flanks of her cheeks and the tops of her thighs. Peering back between her open legs she sees Mr Knight drop the cane and move his hand to the front of substantially distended trousers. Surely he couldn't be intending to... but why not? She's in no position to stop him, and surreptitiously grinding her hips against the leather apparatus Penny feels a shameful surge of sexual excitement.

"No, you shouldn't..." Penny wails in shock as she watches him open his trousers and free an impressive erection.

"I most certainly should," Knight says, insinuating his cock between Penny's parted labia. "Please," she wails, "I can't take all that!"

"Can and will," he mocks, as slowly inch by inexorable inch, he insinuates the full length, stretching her to the limit, filling every centimetre of her vagina with pulsating flesh. Tilting back and lifting her head, eyes closed in perfect bliss; she rides her new mount to the finishing line.

Later, as Mr Knight drives Penny home, she smiles impishly at him, despite her sore, stinging bottom.

"I'm sure you'll find plenty of reasons to take this naughty girl in hand in the future, sir," she says seductively.

"This was a one off," retorts Knight. "You've paid the price and that's an end it."

"No, it isn't," she counters smugly, "not if I don't want it to be. Just think," she continues, "what might happen to the career of a new headteacher if his private life were exposed to public scrutiny."

"You wouldn't..." he begins, suddenly pale and a good deal less confident.

"Oh yes I would, "Penny insists with a wicked giggle. "Believe me, sir, I really would..."

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by Anonymous

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by Anonymous06/25/19

More like clever girl

Instead of naughty girl!

Fond memories of a crush on my drama teacher, of course like what is probably 99% of schoolgirl crushes nothing happened.

Love your stories and your writing style, thanks formore...

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