First TimeTeacher's Pest Ch. 01

# Teacher's Pest Ch. 01

*

"Wrong again, Mr. Barry!" jeered Tiffany Criswell, interrupting the teacher's chemistry lecture, "they're INVERSELY proportional, not DIRECTLY proportional!"

David Barry began to once again seethe inside. He had become accustomed to the young woman's intellectual challenges over the course of the school year. The interruptions were becoming at least a weekly occurrence. Unfortunately, she was usually right. But it still felt like a kick in the groin every time she did it.

"Only when he's WRONG," she replied caustically. "Just think about it logically, Mr. B. When the volume of a fixed amount of gas increases, the pressure HAS to decrease. You've got the same amount of gas in a larger space. Boyle's Law is that volume and pressure are INVERSELY proportional."

"Great," he thought silently to himself, "the little twerp has embarrassed me in front of the class once again."

Fuming, he said in his outer voice, "Miss Criswell, your logic is impeccable, but your attitude is dreadful. I simply misstated what I intended to say. But one more outburst like that, and you'll spend a week of lunches in detention."

The skinny blonde's saccharine smile turned to a scowl. A distinct pout caused her lower lip to protrude. She spat out a retort that only the kids seated near her could hear. Their laughter told Mr. Barry that the comment was none too flattering.

"That's it, Miss Criswell! No more lip. I want you to stay after class to discuss your punishment."

She muttered again, this time unintelligible to anyone in the vicinity.

Ten minutes later, as Mr. Barry finished describing their homework assignment, the bell signaled the end of 5th period. As the other students filed out, chattering and laughing, Tiffany remained behind, silent and stone-faced.

Mr. Barry pulled a chair up in front of the girl's desk.

"Tiffany, why do you have to keep yanking my chain?"

"I don't consider it to be 'yanking your chain'!" she blurted. "I just think a teacher should be more careful to teach things correctly. YOU'RE the one who should be in trouble, not ME!"

Mr. Barry was just about to the boiling point. His eyes blazed and his nostrils flared. She was pushing his buttons, and she knew it.

"Young lady, don't push me. I deserve far more respect than you're showing me now, or that you've shown me all year. You take that back or you'll regret it!"

"The only thing I regret is signing up for a chemistry class taught by a moron!" she spewed with venom.

David Barry had been sassed by this bespectacled, blonde-haired, blue-eyed brainiac one too many times. "That's it -- up you go, little witch! You're going to learn some manners!"

Tiffany's eyes grew wide as Mr. Barry moved toward her desk and towered over her. She felt a moment of panic, an instinct to run out the door. As she scurried up from her desk, her wrist was caught by Mr. Barry's firm grip.

Her desperate attempt to flee hurled her body circularly around the desk, her knee crashing into Mr. Barry's groin. He buckled from the impact. She crumpled in a heap on top of the desk.

David Barry was no longer thinking clearly. A year's worth of embarrassment from this brat had come to a head. Combine that with the physical injury to his manhood during her aborted escape -- these were the makings of a bad situation.

Without taking the time to count to ten and relax, Mr. Barry acted on his own instinct. He picked Tiffany up from the desk, sat down on the chair he had pulled over in front of it, and dropped her like a rag doll over his knee.

Tiffany was still limp when Mr. Barry said, "If you're going to act like a brat, you're going to get treated like a brat!"

With that, he cupped his large right hand and smacked Tiffany's taut rear-end with a stinging slap. Her body went immediately rigid, and a whimper escaped her lips. Even through her jeans, the spank made a sound loud enough to echo off the walls.

Twice more he lifted his hand and administered a slap across her rump. After the third spank, he pulled her up, glared into her eye, and said, "Had enough?"

Tiffany's mouth gaped open. She was silent for the better part of thirty seconds. The feistiness was gone; no sneering retort was left in her.

"Yes, Mr. B," she whispered.

"Well so have I!" he barked back at her, "no more sassing me in class, or there are plenty more where those came from!"

"Yes, Mr. B," she replied again.

"Good! Now get your little butt out of here, and don't make me smack it again!"

Tiffany grabbed her backpack and headed out the door. Mr. Barry watched her exit. He could have sworn she wiggled her ass just before she disappeared. "Just working out the sting, I'm sure," he thought to himself.

That night, David could barely sleep. "I'm gonna get fired," he kept thinking. "That little spitfire is going to have my job," he sulked.

It was a long night indeed. Back at school at 7AM, hair tousled and eyes bleary from exhaustion, David made a beeline for the teacher's lounge. He went directly to the coffee maker. As he was brewing the first pot, Principal Marklein entered the room.

"I need to see you in my office, Mr. Barry," Mr. Marklein rasped.

"Can I get a cup of java first?" enquired Mr. Barry, "I sort of need a shot of caffeine to get me going in the mornings."

"I don't think it can wait," said Mr. Marklein.

"Shit -- here it is!" thought Dave silently, "There goes my job!" Aloud, he said, "Be right there, sir!"

Principal Marklein left the room. Dave hesitated, then followed silently behind. All the way to the principal's office, Dave was trying to think of ways to deflect the hammer that was about to be dropped on him.

Tiffany was certainly out of line in disrespecting him, but corporal punishment had been banished from the school years ago, and teachers had never had the prerogative. Spanking had always been reserved for the principal.

Dave expected Tiffany's parents to be waiting for him in the principal's office -- waiting to pounce. He felt a wave of nausea in his stomach. "Suck it up," he thought, "take it like a man."

"Close the door," Mr. Marklein said after Dave walked into his office. Dave shut it gently. There was no one else besides the two of them in the room.

Mr. Marklein fixed a stern gaze on Dave, then raised an eyebrow.

"Mr. Barry, I have something serious to talk to you about," he began.

"Great," Dave thought, "lay it on me." Aloud he said, "Sir, let me start..."

"No need for that," Mr. Marklein said, cutting Dave off. "Mr. Barry, I know it's been a long year for you."

"You can say that again," replied Dave.

"And because of that," continued Mr. Marklein, "I'm sure you're looking forward to some time off."

"Shit!" thought Dave, "he's kicking me out!" Aloud, Dave said, "I guess you could say that."

"Well, the summer break's almost here -- " replied Mr. Marklein, "but not for you."

"Right. You want me to leave today," Dave's silent mind continued. Aloud, he asked, "What do you mean?"

"I'm sorry to say, but we need you to stay on for an extra week."

"What?" Dave sputtered, genuinely flabbergasted.

"We need you to act as an educational chaperone at the National Chemistry Contest in Washington, DC. It's the first week after the end of the school year."

"You're kidding, right?"

"Not at all. For the first time in the history of this school, we have a student who scored well enough on the qualifying exam to make it to the national finals."

Dave was floored. He was in his third year of teaching, only twenty-five years old, and he had taught a student well enough to make the National Chemistry Contest finals?

"W-w-what student?" Dave stammered, his brain beginning to comprehend the horrible truth.

"Why, Tiffany Carswell, of course!" beamed Mr. Marklein. "She's the smartest student in the school, and she waited until her senior year to take chemistry, so why shouldn't she blow that damn test out of the water?"

"Oh yes, of course! Her parents let me know about the letter from the National Chemistry Contest organizers."

"And -- they didn't talk to you about -- anything else?"

"Like what?"

"Um, I don't know. About me?"

"Why, yes! They want you to be her chaperone."

"Why does she need a chaperone? She's eighteen, and I'm sure her parents will accompany her anyway."

"Well, that's just it. Each contestant must have a sponsor, so you'd need to be there anyway. But Tiffany's parents are going to be in Australia that week -- important business trip for her dad, and her mom's speaking at a conference of professors that same week. Her mom's smart as a whip, just like her daughter. And good looking as hell. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree!"

"So I need to babysit the brat for a week?" Dave complained.

"Don't think of it that way," said Mr. Marklein, "think of it as an opportunity to work on your patience -- and your interpersonal skills."

Dave grimaced. "She's the bane of my existence," he retorted.

"Look, Dave," replied Mr. Marklein, "I know she can be annoying. God knows, she's corrected every teacher she's had since the first grade. And she seems to have made it her mission to embarrass you in front of your chemistry class this year..."

"Of course -- kids talk, and word gets around. I don't know why YOU didn't come to talk to me about it..."

"It's -- too embarrassing. She makes me feel emasculated when she criticizes me. It's not at all in a spirit of jest. I can take a little razzing as much as the next guy, but this kid really seems to want to humiliate me."

"At least you're man enough to take it," Mr. Marklein commended, "some guys would have put her in her place by now."

"Some guys would have..." Mr. Barry's voice trailed off. "Yeah, some guys...So, you're sure Tiffany's parents didn't have anything else to say?"

"Only that they trust you more than any teacher she's ever had. She just raves to them about how smart you are and what a good guy you are."

"Holy shit!" Dave exclaimed aloud. Mr. Marklein's other eyebrow went up. "I -- I -- I mean, you're kidding, right? She acts like she can't STAND me."

"Well, not according to Mrs. Criswell. Such a pretty lady, you know -- and so smart! She had a twinkle in those beautiful baby blue eyes when she was talking about you. She said you'd be the PERFECT chaperone for her daughter! So -- you're in?"

"Do I get paid for the extra week?"

"Of course -- but standard pay, not overtime."

"Has the union okayed it?"

"Not to worry. I've asked Miss Thurman to take care of the details."

"I should get battle pay. But, whatever -- I guess I'm in."

"Great!" replied Mr. Marklein as he gave Dave a congratulatory slap on the shoulder.

Dave returned to the teacher's lounge to collect his cup of coffee, astonished at this turn of events.

Tiffany was absent from 5th period chemistry class for the next two days. David Barry began to worry. Was she really sick, as indicated by the parental voicemail left at the office? Or was she plotting her revenge for the spanking he had given her?

On the third day, Tiffany entered the classroom just as the tardy bell sounded. She was wearing a short plaid skirt, white shirt, plaid vest and white socks with black patent leather shoes -- and those dreadful, thick black-framed glasses.

"Funny," thought Dave, "I don't think I've ever seen her wear a skirt before. Usually just loose jeans or sweat pants and those dorky, bulky pullover sweaters."

"Take your seats, class," he bellowed above the din. "Take out your homework and pass it in, and turn in your textbooks to page 473."

Immediately, Tiffany's hand shot up. "I don't have my homework, Mr. B.," she stated flatly, peering over her glasses.

"That's okay -- you've been sick. You can make up for it later," smiled Mr. Barry.

She smiled an impish grin. "I'm SURE you'll find a way for me to 'make up for it later'," she answered suggestively, emphasizing the 'make up for it later' statement with finger quotes raised in the air.

Mr. Barry's face flushed, beet red. Once again, he was humiliated -- not at his own carelessness or stupidity this time, but at essentially being attributed lecherous designs on a high school student.

"That's enough, Miss Criswell," replied Mr. Barry.

"What's the matter, Teach? Haven't got the balls to carry through on your threats?"

David Barry was becoming livid once again. He paused long enough to gather himself. "Man enough to take it," Dave told himself silently, "don't let her get to me. Thanks, Marklein."

In front of the class, he managed to cast a sneer in Tiffany's direction. "I won't justify that comment with a response, Miss Criswell," he said, "you can simply see me after class about your punishment for your backtalk."

"Ooh -- seein' Mr. B. after class for 'punishment'," chortled Willie Skaggs from the front of the class, amused at himself and emphasizing 'punishment' with his own set of finger quotes.

"Careful, Mr. Skaggs, or you'll be meeting me too!" warned Mr. Barry. Willie went silent. The class went about passing in homework and turning to page 473.

After a brief lecture and a class lab featuring a fiery reaction between gummy bears and potassium chlorate, Mr. Barry gave an overview of the upcoming final exam. He suggested that students with questions or difficulties come to an upcoming lunchtime study session, or see him to schedule a one-on-one review time.

As the bell rang, students filed out once more. Mr. Barry noticed Tiffany lingering behind. He'd nearly forgotten that he had asked her to stay after class so he could mete out punishment for her "haven't got the balls" comment.

By this time, Dave was no longer angry. He was prepared to let her off with a warning. He looked at Tiffany; she was peering at him through her owlish glasses. Their thick black frames did her no favors. He almost sensed that she wanted to look studious rather than stylish.

She seemed to sense his resignation about her punishment. Rather than letting the proverbial sleeping dog lie, she said, "Guess you really DON'T have the balls -- or its accompanying little male FRIEND -- to carry through on your threats!"

"Mr. Marklein be damned!" thought Dave. He wasn't going to let this kid talk to him like that! Dave took Tiffany by the elbow and pulled her toward him. "That's IT, young lady!" he spat, "You've pushed me far enough!"

He was seeing red. He walked her over to his desk, still gripping her elbow. He sat down in his chair, and not-so-gently turned her over his knee.

On impulse, Mr. Barry decided to make it really sting. Without due consideration, he raised her skirt to administer the spanking. To his shock and horror, Tiffany wore no panties! Her bare white ass was awaiting his punishment.

Dave nearly stopped in his tracks, but he was still fuming. Tiffany offered some feeble resistance to the spanking, her legs wriggling but not really kicking hard enough to get free. He wasn't going to let her out of it so easily!

Dave held her legs still with his right arm and gave her a left-handed spanking. The sound of the "Thwack!" on her bare rump once again echoed off the classroom walls, but this time with a different timbre.

Since Dave wasn't left-handed, he assumed the spanking was not as hard as the one he'd given her through her jeans a few days before. However, after he had whacked her butt three times, he noticed red left handprints imprinted on her lily white skin.

He quickly lowered her skirt in shame. "Crap!" he thought, "I've done it again! And this time it could be construed as sexual abuse, not just physical! My ass is fired for sure!"

Dazed by the situation, his actions were controlled by reflex rather than by thought. He stood Tiffany up and left her beside his chair. He walked over to her desk, picked up her backpack, and handed it to her.

"You may leave now, Miss Criswell," he stated flatly, "and we'll have no more of your lip, lest you suffer the consequences a third time." His words always dripped with sarcasm and grew longer when he wanted to play the authority card.

"Yes, Mr. B.," Tiffany replied meekly, "I'll keep my mouth closed. At least, until you want me to open it." Her posture was one of utter acquiescence.

"And here's a free tip," Mr. Barry added, "if you're going to wear a skirt, make sure and wear some panties. There's no telling what kind of perverts around here might try to cop a look or a feel if they knew you weren't covering your privates."

Tiffany's face turned crimson. She looked as if she were about to cry.

"Oh, no," thought Dave, "here it comes. She's going to blast me for humiliating her, for seeing and smacking her bare ass. I'm not just gonna get fired, I'm gonna get sued!"

Outwardly, he tried to ease the tension with a gentle pat on Tiffany's shoulder. "Now get outta here, kid, before I have to punish you again!" he smiled, replacing gruffness with humor.

He caught a glint of something in Tiffany's eye, but it was muted by her thick lenses. "Um, sure, Mr. B.," she said, "see ya tomorrow." She strapped on the backpack, turned toward the door and left.

"Shit!" thought Mr. Barry. "She's gonna run home and tell Mommy and Daddy. Ideal chaperone, my ass! Forget Washington, DC after the school year -- they're gonna run me out of town tomorrow!"

To his surprise, Dave suffered no reprisals from the Criswells the next day, nor the day after that. Tiffany went back to wearing jeans after her foray into the world of skirts -- apparently Dave had sufficiently embarrassed her, or perhaps his warning about the perverts in the school had had an effect.

She was better behaved in class, offering no zingers or challenges to her chemistry teacher -- until the extra study session at lunchtime on Friday. Thankfully, only three students had bothered to attend.

"Should have made it some day other than Friday," Tiffany asserted as she looked around the nearly empty room, "even a moron knows that all the kids like to hang out at the Pizza Palace for their five-dollar buffet on Fridays."

Dave tried to ignore the "moron" comment. He noticed that something was different about Tiffany.

He took time to observe that she was once again wearing a skirt, this one satiny and sparkling, almost like a ballerina's outfit. A matching top featured sequins and frills, with a tiara to match. A freakin' tiara! And -- catch this -- she had lost the black-rimmed glasses! She could easily be mistaken for a very pretty girl.

"I'm sorry the scheduling doesn't meet with your approval," Dave stated in his most teacher-like tone, "but, after all, one must make some sacrifices if one wishes to excel."

"Damned straight!" she replied enthusiastically.

"I'm glad you agree," he said, "but please refrain from vulgar language in my class."

"Like hell!" she replied.

Dave was beginning to simmer. "Are you trying to get me to dole out some more punishment to you, Miss Criswell?"

"Do what you've gotta do," she replied, "I can take anything you can dish up. And I mean -- anything at all."

The other two kids perked up at this comment. "She means ANYTHING, Mr. B.," said Willie, thrusting a lone finger through a cupped hand in an obscene gesture.

"Enough!" shouted Mr. Barry, "Let's finish the review session. And Miss Criswell, I want you to stay behind after 5th period class."

"You want to do WHAT to my behind after 5th period class?" she countered.

Dave was aghast -- she was about to out him for what he'd done! "Stop mocking me," he said quietly, "just stay after class to discuss your punishment. Fifth period, not now, since that's at the end of the school day."

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