Teaching Teacher

"This is a waste," LeighAnne finally blurts out with a good deal of exasperation in her voice. "You just aren't listening to me."

"No. It's you that's not listening to me. I am telling you that Kayla's essay is accurate. I have set foot in that house. You have not. Thus, you have no clue what that house is like. And thus, no business telling me what it's like."

"I think we're done here. Kayla's F will stand," LeighAnne says rather firmly.

"Kayla, would you please wait in the hall until I ask you back in?" Now my voice is sweet and polite.

"Yes, Ma'am," Kayla says very politely. And unnecessarily. I've already told her that she's welcome to call me "Pepper," and that's how she addressed me last time. It leaves me no doubt that Kayla put the "Ma'am" on it just for LeighAnne. I can only imagine what's running through Kayla's mind. But clearly, from what I can see, she didn't expect me to stand up so firmly for her. And she's enjoying it. Her face says she'd prefer to stay right where she is and see the rest of the show. But she knows better. She gets up, leaves her things where they are, and steps out into the hall. She even shuts the door behind her.

I stand up. I stand facing LeighAnne. She must not like me looking down on her. Or she isn't used to it. She gets up to her feet as well. It doesn't faze me, not one bit. LeighAnne isn't much taller than I am. I'm just under 5'2", so I'd guess she's about 5'4". I still stare right into her eyes.

"No," I say it confidently, and rather firmly, but without raising my voice to her. "Let me tell you how this is. My best friend is Ellie Newell. She has been in and out of mom's house for years, and she knows how that house really is. Her father is Ken Newell. Maybe you know the name? He's chairman of the County Commission. He has also been in and out of mom's house for years. I have his cell number, and he takes my calls.

"Kayla's work will be fairly graded. You will not allow your personal bias to enter into her grade. Otherwise, I will call Ken. He will call the superintendent and personally vouch for the accuracy of Kayla's essay. I doubt it will be lost on the superintendent that it was necessary for Ken to call him. I am confident that his first call will be to the principal of this school. Who has dealt with mom and her foster kids for years. I'm just as confident, that after reading Kayla's essay, he will adjust her grade. I have no idea how that would reflect on you or your future with the school board. And let me be crystal clear, I don't care. Not one iota of an iota. What I do care about is that Kayla is graded fairly. On her work. Not on your prejudice.

"Have I made myself clear, Ms. Cutler?"

LeighAnne stares back at me. "There's no reason for you to get bitchy-" She begins, raising her voice. Now it takes on a slightly shrill tone. I'm just not sure if that anger or nervousness.

I take a small step towards LeighAnne, closing the distance until there's only about a foot between our noses. Invading her space, but just a little. "Do not raise your voice to me, bitch." I cut her off. I've never been to tolerate anyone being overtly rude to me. Especially not when I know that I'm right. I'm still not raising my voice to her. But I am using that steely hard firmness and icy tone that use with naughty toys in need of a harsh scolding.

I guess it's the tone of my voice. But for the first time, I see LeighAnne start backing up. Now her eyes go wide. "If Kayla were to speak to anyone like that, she would be over someone's knee and learning some manners. I have no idea how old you are, but I will assure you that if you don't start showing me some respect, bitch, you will discover that you are not too old to find yourself over my knees. Or to learn some manners like a proper lady.

"I have made it clear to how things are. You will not change them. You will show me some respect since I have shown you far more than you deserve to be shown. Do you understand that, bitch?"

LeighAnne stands there for several long seconds. Slowly, her thin body begins to quiver slightly. Finally, I see her head fall forward just a bit, but enough to allow her to shift her eyes down to the floor. "Yes, Ma'am," LeighAnne answers. This time her voice is different. The Texas twang is still there. But it's hushed. And it's humbled. And it's the first polite words I've heard from her mouth. She takes a very small step back from me. It lets me see her body pulling in, shirking back and inward on her herself. She stands mute.

"Good," I tell her in my firm voice, but taking the icy coldness out of it. I've seen that posture too many times before to miss it. Usually in my playroom. But not always. Every bit of the bitchiness is gone from LeighAnne's voice. As is the firmness. And the confidence. Now her voice is sheepish. It's as if I've broken through some barrier.

And I admit, my evil imp takes over. She just hates it when people are rude to me! I very casually reach to my waist and unbuckle my belt. It's pure accessory, not so much functional. It's wide, white, and made of thin, soft leather with a big shiny round buckle on it. It goes so well with my jeans and blouse. Even loosely fastened, as it's meant to be worn. Just as casually I slip it out of the belt loops. Then I double it over in my hand.

LeighAnne watches my every move very closely. She tries to pretend she isn't. She's horrible at hiding it. I can see the nervous quivering blossoming on her body with every little move I make. I'll bet her eyes never leave the belt, watching it as I slowly double it over. That should make my intent fairly obvious. Yet LeighAnne isn't running, or calling for security. She's just standing there, quivering and cowed.

"I think it's past time for you to learn those manners. Since you've acted like a sassy little brat, you can learn your manners like a sassy little brat. Over my knees, bitch."

"Please don't spank me, Ma'am!" LeighAnne blurts out urgently, her voice nearly panicked, her words all running together. But her voice is still soft. And it's still deferential. I've noticed that she's not objecting to being called a bitch, too. More importantly, she didn't tell me that I wasn't going to spank her. She asked me not to. Politely. As if it were my choice to make, not hers. As if I have some power to spank her if I chose to, and if I chose to, there's nothing she can do about it. That may be the case, but if so, it's only because she's giving me that power.

"Shut up, bitch," I tell her firmly. "I didn't ask if you wanted to be spanked. I told you that you are going to learn your manners. I most certainly did not say that you may speak."

LeighAnne stands there. She quivers a little more. She sniffles a few light, panicked, sobs. She shirks inward even more. She says nothing. Not a single word. She hugs her arms to herself, crossing them over her chest and pulling them snugly. I have my answer.

I grab LeighAnne's nicer chair from behind her desk. I pull it back from her, almost to the whiteboard, putting about two feet of space between it and the desk. I don't hurry. I just leisurely take my seat. Formerly her seat.

I really don't know how old LeighAnne is. She has kind of an ageless face. She could be in her mid-20s. She could be in her mid-30s. I doubt she's much older than that, I'd see some signs of that. Wrinkle lines on her face and a looseness of her skin that I don't see. I doubt she could be any younger than that. She did have to get a college degree to teach in this state. I think even the lowest of schools, those with no standards who take just anyone willing to go there, like Auburn, take four years. But hey, not everyone can go to Alabama. Roll Tide!

She's rather petite, too. I'd still guess she's about 5'4", and maybe 110 pounds. She looks to be rather thin. But it is slightly hard to tell what her shape is really like. She's wearing a loose-fitting dress that covers her to her knees and sandals. That I can see. It has long sleeves, all the way down to her wrists. It leaves a small slice of her chest bare at her neck, but not nearly enough for cleavage to be close to visible. It doesn't look like she has much of that. I don't see any mounds pushing out the front of her dress. So, B-cup or less, even in this blousy dress. It's black but decorated with pretty, colorful flowers. It looks cute enough. And it's modest. Appropriate for school. But it does let me see her calves, and those are slender. Not quite toothpicks, but not so far from it, either.

I'm close enough to reach my hand out and take LeighAnne's. I hold it with a firm, but gentle, grip. She doesn't hold my hand back, but she doesn't fight it either. She just leaves me holding a limp hand on a limp arm. Both of which are trembling as much as the rest of her is. I pull her towards me.

LeighAnne comes forward very tentatively. She doesn't walk. She shuffles her feet, dragging them over the floor. She takes the tiniest baby steps. But she comes. And she must know what she's coming for.

I wait until she's close to my side, only a few inches back. Still holding her hand, I grip it tighter and start pulling her forward, over my knees. She trembles more by the second as she starts leaning over me. I put my other hand, the one still holding the belt, to the back of her knees. I feel just how lean her legs are. As LeighAnne is leaning over me, almost fully now, I pull on the backs of her knees.

She comes forward a few inches until her knees bump lightly against the seat of the chair. I slide the chair to the side, keeping my pressure on the backs of her knees. As the chair moves aside, her knees bend and follow it.

It leaves LeighAnne lying over my knees. My right thigh is in the bend of her waist. It has her thighs hanging straight down, her knees about an inch above the floor. Her feet slip out of her sandals, leaving them bare and on the floor. The tops of her feet on the floor. I have my left thigh up under her ribs, with the underside of her breasts against the outside of my thigh. I release her hand, leaving them to hang down to the floor as well. LeighAnne lets her head hang forward.

LeighAnne isn't still. She fidgets rather nervously. And energetically. Already I feel her hips squirming against my thigh. I feel that her hips are narrow, and slightly bony, too.

I lift her dress up, lying it over her back.

"Oh, no!" LeighAnne blurts out even more anxiously, "not her, not at school, not like this! What if someone comes in and sees me!"

I ignore her, completely. I have Kayla standing guard, although neither Kayla nor LeighAnne knows it. Kayla is standing up against the door. Blocking the narrow window in it. For anyone to open the door, Kayla would have to move first. I'm keeping the corner of an eye on Kayla. As long as she doesn't move, I have free reign with LeighAnne.

And now that her dress is lying on her back, I can see her panties. They're basic, simple, cotton ones. They're plain. They're rather modest, too. They cover all of her bottom. They have moderately wide sides, but they are cut slightly low on her hips. Just slightly low. They do leave her legs bare. Just no more. They are definitely not something a woman would wear to be seen in. It tells me that LeighAnne wasn't expecting to be seen in her underwear today. I'd bet nothing about this afternoon is going anything like she expected, though.

I use my hand to push her panties all the way down to her thighs. As I do, the soft leather of my belt, still in that hand, brushes over the flesh of her thighs. She flinches every time it touches her.

"Please! Not my bare butt, not here in school, Ma'am! Please, let me have some clothes on here!" LeighAnne very nervously pleads, her words all jumbled together.

I take the quickest glace at her bare bottom. And I see a pair of petite, but nearly perfect, cheeks. They're firm and well-rounded. There isn't an ounce of flab to them. Or softness. Just two toned globes. They have enough rounding to them to have a defined curve at their bottom, both outward from her thighs, and across to her crack, but they don't hang or sag even a millimeter. I see a short, tight crack, too. The insides of her cheeks lying flush against each other, but just barely touching. I don't see her pussy poking out, even just slightly, between her thighs, telling me that her mound is going to be flat. But I do see the tips of a pair of light purple inner folds standing out. Those look slightly thick and soft. And they have got to be standing out decently above the outsides of her lips, or I'd be seeing those lips, too.

I lie the soft leather of my belt across her cheeks. "I can't stand a rude little bitch, bitch." I tell her firmly, letting her shirk hard, cringe against my thigh, and feel the leather against her bare cheeks. "You'll get five strokes for being so rude. Say one word, to her than 'Yes, Ma'am' and will be seven."

"Yes, Ma'am," LeighAnne squeaks out in a very sheepish voice. A voice far more demure than any I've heard from her yet.

I reach up to the desk and pull the center drawer open. As I figured, that's the drawer with all the "junk" in it. It seems everyone keeps the odds and ends in this one. I pull out a wooden ruler. I bring it around under LeighAnne's face and put it firmly against her lips. "Since you're so worried about being seen as the bitch you are, you'll want this. Don't make too much noise now." I tell her. LeighAnne gets the message. She opens her mouth and bites on the ruler.

I lift the belt up. It's a lousy belt for spanking. It's just too soft. But it's what I have. I didn't come prepared to spank anyone. Who would? That doesn't mean I'm going to pass up the chance, especially when LeighAnne so deserves it. I snap the belt down, putting every bit of my strength into it.

It lands with a sharp crack. It's not so loud. I'm pretty sure that even Kayla, standing against the door, doesn't hear it. I'll bet it sounds like lightning to LeighAnne, though. It lands squarely across the tops of her cheeks, right about where they're the tautest. At the peak of their bend over my knees.

"UH-MMMM!" LeighAnne cries out loud as she bites down on the ruler. She tenses up hard as the belt lands on her cheeks, her back jumping up and aching, her knees bumping against the legs of the chair. The tension only lasts a fraction of a second. She falls, almost crashes, back onto my lap. Her legs fly out, straightening out fully. Her feet kick wildly up and down for a second or two. Her hands flail around just as wildly. LeighAnne sobs a few "mm-OW!s"

Oh, this is going to be so much fun! LeighAnne just squirms so energetically. It's almost too amusing for me! I just love squirming!

It takes LeighAnne just a few more seconds to calm down. I give them to her. Then the instant that her body is lying back over my knees and her thighs are hanging down again. I snap the belt down for another stroke. It's just as hard of a stroke. I'm not trying to hurt her, but I am putting all of my strength into these strokes to make up for the soft belt. And it's soft. I'd bet my hardest strokes with this one aren't as bad as my usual, ½ strength strokes with my usual punishment belt. I even land this one slightly off-center of the last stroke. At least it won't be cracking down on the already stinging flesh. Just right next to it. It will leave LeighAnne's bottom more evenly pink. And leave more of it stinging her.

LeighAnne immediately screeches another loud, "UH-MMMM!" as the stroke lands on her bottom. She stiffens. Her back arches up again. This time her knees snap forward, bashing against the chair, and immediately her feet kick back out hard, straightening her legs. Her leg muscles never lock. Even as they're stiffening, her feet are kicking around wildly. It's comical to see her legs sticking straight out, her knees bending as her feet kick through the air.

LeighAnne starts to calm after several long seconds of it. As the tension fades from her body, she loudly sobs out "oh, OW!" several times. It takes her a few seconds to loosen up after that. She's still sobbing when I raise my belt for the third stroke.

I snap it just as hard. Her cheeks are fairly petite, and my belt is fairly wide. It leaves me nowhere to land the stroke that isn't already glowing a light pink. I think about easing the stroke a little, but then I remember that I never do that. So I don't. It lands with just as loud of a crack as the first two.

"UH-MMMM," LeighAnne cries out. With her biting on the ruler, I think it's about the only sound she can make. She snaps up hard, her feet kicking wildly the instant they're off the floor. Now her hips thrash from side to side as well. LeighAnne is crying hard from this stroke, too. I can hear her. Her hands flail wildly against the floor, grabbing and letting go of everything they can reach for a couple of seconds. Then her hands start to come towards her bottom as the tension begins to ebb from her body.

I'd never let her use those hands to protect her bottom. I bring the belt up high and snap it down, making it beat her hands to her bottom. I didn't wait for her to loosen up this time, either. She didn't give me the chance. I wanted to beat her hands to her bottom. So the belt lands on her cheeks while her muscles are still about half tensed up.

LeighAnne screams into her improvised gag. Her body snaps violently back to full hardness. Her feet never made it back to the floor, so they're kicking around the instant the belt lands on her bottom. By now I have her entire bottom glowing a medium bright shade of pink. It will be on fire. It will be stinging her badly. But it should be so bad she can't handle it. To me, LeighAnne is clearly overreacting to the spanking.

It does have the desired effect. Her hands stop moving for her bottom. At first, they jerk hard, flying up along her sides. Then they just flail around without any sense of direction. LeighAnne cries, loudly.

"Stop!" LeighAnne begs, still biting on the ruler. It's not a great gag, but it does make it hard for her to talk. Or at least hard for me to understand what she's saying. Her words run together in panic. And they're hidden behind her bawling cry. "Please, stop! It hurts too much, Ma'am! I tried to take it! I can't! It's killing me. Stop!" LeighAnne screeches through her cries. Her feet are still kicking. Her hands start moving for her bottom again. "OH... PLEASE! Stop, Ma'am, please don't hurt me anymore! I'm sorry! PLEASE! Don't hurt me anymore, Ma'am!"

I grab her hands, using one of my hands to pin hers against the small of her back. "I warned you, bitch. Begging is talking. Now you have three more coming." She's had four. She had one more coming, but I did tell her if she said anything, it would be seven. So she now has three coming.

I don't bother waiting for her to relax. She's squirming and fidgeting too much. And time is limited. I just snap the belt against her bare, stinging cheeks again. LeighAnne screams. I don't give her any time to do anything. As soon as the belt cracks the fifth stroke onto her pink globes, it's rising back up into the air.

LeighAnne starts kicking, her hands struggling hard against mine to get free. Her shoulders thrash and snap from side to side as if she's trying to get off my lap. With her pinned, I don't wait. The belt is snapping down about two seconds after the last stroke.

LeighAnne screams again. It comes so quickly that it's almost like one long scream, barely broken with a panicked sob. And the belt is already rising back up. Only one more stroke to go. I might as well give it to her before she can misbehave and earn herself more. LeighAnne thrashes hard against me, both squirming, flailing around out of control, and bucking to get off my lap.

I snap the belt down again, landing the last stroke on her bottom. It leaves her bottom glowing a bright, but light, shade of red. And an angry shade of red, but a light one. It definitely leaves her bottom stinging like a few hives of African Killer Bees. And burning, as if she's were sitting on hot coals. But that's what I wanted. That's kind of what a spanking is supposed to do. It is a punishment.