The English Teacher

I rushed through to the kitchen. Mrs Vere was standing at the door, her hand on the handle. She scowled. "Where were you? Did you not hear the doorbell?" She demanded. Without waiting for a reply she closed the door. "Typical bad manners! I wish I could send you to the headmaster and get him to whip some manners into you. Where is your mother?"

"She went to the shops..."

Mrs Vere cut me off before I could finish. "Make me a pot of tea! I will wait in the sitting room until she returns. Of course, I will tell her about your lack of manners!" She looked me up and down for the first time. "As for your clothes..." She sniffed, stuck her nose in the air, squeezed her lips into a disapproving line and pushed past me.

I stood there for a moment flabbergasted, my mouth hanging open. Then rage welled up through me, hot in my stomach, bitter in my mouth. I could feel the blood suffuse my face, the pulse in my temples.

I stormed through the house to my bedroom and grabbed the pile of photos. I stood there, took three deep breaths to steady myself, then walked to the sitting room. Mrs Vere was sitting on the couch, her knees primly together. "Have you..."

I cut across her. "Here, have a look through these while I go put the kettle on." I held out the stack of picture.

"Don't you dare interrupt me when I am speaking!" She shouted, not looking at the proffered pile.

I threw them on her lap then turned on my heel and walked out the room to the kitchen. I prepared the teapot, setting a tray with all the makings. While I was busy the anger subsided only to be replaced by fear, then panic. What had I done? Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! I considered bolting out the back door to places unknown; anything to get away from here. Sense prevailed eventually; the damage was done. I must face the music. I poured the boiling water into the teapot, replaced the lid, picked up the tray and walked through to the sitting room.

Mrs Vere's face was white. She had one photo in her hand, staring at it. The remainder were spread out on the couch, one lying face-down on the carpet. I saw her hand was shaking.

When I placed the tray on the coffee table she looked up. I held her gaze. We stared at each other for a long time. Eventually she looked away, back at the picture in her hand, the one with her tongue deeply embedded in Mom's arse.

"What..." The word came out as a croak. She cleared her throat. "What are you going to do with these?" I just looked at her; what was I going to do with them? This had happened so suddenly, so unexpectedly, that I had not the foggiest idea of what I was going to do with them. Slowly I saw two bright der dots appear on her cheeks. "Go and get the negatives and give them to me! Now!" The last word was spat at me.

"Pull up your dress so I can see your panties." I said this in a normal voice still staring her in the eye. I have no idea of where this came from but the best form of defence is attack.

"What?!" Her voice was incredulous.

"I said, pull up you dress so I can see your panties. You heard me."

"You..."

"I'm sure these pictures will go down well in the staffroom tomorrow. At tea. When all the teachers are sitting around." I paused. "Maybe I can leave a set with Gordon's secretary." Gordon Vere, her husband; he owned a motor dealership in town. "Maybe at the bridge club next week. The book club." The list was endless. She was still staring at me. "Now pull up your dress!"

"Your mother..."

"I also have pictures of her."

"No! I mean, she'll be home soon."

"We'll hear her drive up the driveway. Besides, I don't care if she sees you with your dress around your waist. From what I saw I'm sure she would love it." I dreaded Mom catching me at this unplanned deadly game, but I did not need to tell Mrs Vere that.

"Will you give me the negatives if I obey you?"

"I said, pull up your dress. Now!" She jerked backwards as I shouted the last word. I watched a blush spread from her collar up her face and she reached down and started to pull her dress up, first revealing her knees then her thighs. She hesitated. "Right up! Right up around your waist so I can see you panties."

She squirmed and pulled, lifting one arse cheek at a time to slide the material from under her. I sat down on the coffee table immediately in front of her next to the forgotten tray of tea. I caught a glimpse of pink panties, and then I could see the whole area. Pantyhose covered her legs, the top disappearing under the rucked up dress, conservative pink panties over. Her knees were held tight together; there was a slight gap between her thighs near her panty clad pudendum.

I was very aware that my raging erection had returned and my turgid member was now trapped down the leg of my shorts, the tip peeking out. Mrs Vere's eyes were fixed on the sight. Almost unconsciously she started to pull her dress down again. "No!" Her head jerked up. "Remove your panties and pantyhose." She remained still. "Now!" I shouted.

Slowly her hands moved up under the dress on the outside of her hips. This lifted her skirt further and I saw her hook her thumbs under the top edge of the pantyhose, then slowly work them down over her hips taking the panties with them. When her hands reached her thighs she paused looking at me. Her sex was still fully covered, the pantyhose and panties gathered under her thumbs at her sides. I nodded.

Reluctantly she continued pulling them off lifting one bum cheek then the other till the garments reached her knees. She raised one leg at a time, slipping them off her feet. She sat back leaving the crumpled material on the floor.

I stared at the triangle of curly hair at the junction of her thighs. With her thighs press tightly together and with her sitting upright I could not see any of her sex, only where the trimmed patch of hair disappeared between her thighs.

"Satisfied?" Almost a whisper.

"Spread your legs."

"No..."

I just stared at her. Slowly I saw her knees part. "Wider!" Eventually her knees were as wide as they could go and the movement parted her labia giving me an unobstructed view of her pussy. The hair had been shaved between her thighs, the skin was dark brown around the outer lips. The inner lips were unexcited just peeping out from between the outer lips concealing the inner pink of her hole. I could clearly see the hooded ridge of her large clitoris.

"Scoot you bum forward on the chair." She moved a little bit. "Right forward! To the edge!" She complied. "Now lean back." Her whole pudendum was now displayed to me from where I sat not two feet away. "Spread your lips." Hesitantly she reached down and pulled her lips open. I could see she was dry, not aroused in any way.

I could not believe I had gone this far, nor could I believe that Mrs Vere had obeyed my commands. I was sort of carried away; first by my anger, then by my fear, finally by my lust. I thought to myself that I was so deep in that any further transgression could not incur any more punishment. Like a felon that is condemned to death for murder; whether it was for the murder of one person or ten he can only be hanged once!

I was staring at the pink inner skin of her pussy that she was holding open, from the hooded clitoris to her puckered little anus nestling between her plump cheeks. I could not help myself. I almost subconsciously started rubbing my erection through the fabric of my trouser leg, the head being fully exposed with every stroke, the precum dribbling down my thigh.

"That is so disgusting..." But I could see her eyes were fixed unblinking on my erection. I carried on rubbing myself; I was very close.

At that moment we heard Mom's car drive up the driveway. I grabbed for the photos and Mrs Vere grabbed for her pantyhose and panties. As I stacked them in my hand I said, "Saturday morning, nine o' clock, I will be at your place. Be ready for me; washed, perfumed and naked." My father and Mr Vere played golf every Saturday at seven in the morning and they seldom returned before dinner.

She was standing pulling up her pantyhose, kind of jumping from foot to foot. "No! I..."

"You will do as I say!" I picked the last picture up off the floor and ran out of the room as I heard the kitchen door open. I rushed into the bathroom and closed the door. I was shitting myself! I imagined Mom walking in on Mrs Vere before she had time to pull up her panties. In my head I played through the scenario of Mrs Vere telling my mother everything; of Mom ordering me out of the house, banning me from ever returning.

My hands were shaking as I removed my shorts. What a mess! The hand cream mixed with the copious amounts of precum had created a soggy mixture and the material stuck together. My erection had disappeared altogether as I showered, washing the shorts at the same time.

I was a bundle of nerves through Thursday and Friday. Mrs Vere had obviously not said anything to my mother and things proceeded as normal around the house. Dad came home semi-pissed as usual, Peter, my younger brother, was as annoying as ever, and Mom was just the same. She always changed into baggy sexless clothing when she returned from school, moving about the house doing the cleaning and washing. I tried to reconcile the intensely sexual woman that I had seen having her arse eaten out then, in turn, kissing another woman before ravishing her sex with her tongue. Mom caught me staring at her a few times. "Are you alright, dear?" I squirmed with embarrassment.

I had worked in the university darkroom for several hours each day. I was glad the academic year had come to an end and that there was not a queue of people wanting to use the facility. During the year we sometimes shared the darkroom with another student coinciding the use of light to prevent unwanted exposure to undeveloped material. I imagined one of them looking over my shoulder as I burned in a close-up of a hairy cunt with a tongue deeply embedded. Wow!

Saturday dawned. I was awake long before the sun rose, my heart beating heavily in my chest. Was I going to go through with it? Would Mrs Vere be there? Would the police be lying in wait? I nearly chickened out but my hate for her, my deep resentment of her bullying almost forced me to go on.

I climbed off the bus and walked to her address. I stood on the opposite side of the road watching. I was sweating. Fear? The heat? The exercise? Definitely fear.

I had thought of very little else over the past two days and the one thing I had decided on (from amongst the thousands of sex crazed images) was that I was going to give her a taste of the cane. Cuts. Corporal punishment; call it what you like. I had received hundreds of lashes over the years at her instigation, as had innumerable fellow students. I wanted her to know what it was like. After that... well, who knows? To this end I had 'borrowed' the cane my father kept in his cupboard for use on our backsides.

I eventually plucked up the courage to cross the street and approach her front door. I had not seen any sign of life and I thought it was very likely that she was not there. Why should she be? She could easily think that I was bluffing, that the consequence of ignoring the blackmail outweighed the humiliation. I rang the bell and waited.

Nothing happened for a long time. People ring doorbells a second time, even a third time in movies. All to no end, in my mind, either they were there or they were not. Or they had decided to ignore the summons. Further ringing would not change anything.

I was about to turn away when I heard the faintest sound on the far side of the door, the light emanation through the peephole changing. I waited.

Fully five minutes passed before the door handle moved and the door eased open. I stood still, the cane hidden against my side. Eventually it was wide enough for me to see inside, to step through the opening without having to push the door further. I saw Mrs Vere was wearing a floral housecoat pulled tightly closed, bare calves and feet. Her hair was pulled severely back.

Still I waited. When her eyes rose to meet mine I said, "I said naked." I did not move.

Mrs Vere looked furtively past me, checking the pavement, up and down the street. I could see her hands were shaking as she fumbled with the belt around her waist. When the knot fell open she shrugged the gown off her shoulders and it fell in a heap around her ankles. A deep blush suffused her cheeks spreading downwards.

I stood and stared at her nakedness. Good sized breasts sagging on her chest, the dark nipples crinkled and oval shaped as they stared up at me. I could see the faint network of blue veins under the skin. Further down the flair of her hips, the soft tummy, the light brown pubic hair. My cock was a piece of iron in my pants.

I stepped inside and closed the door behind me then hefted one breast in my free hand. I was surprised at the warmth, the softness of the skin, the weight. I rubbed the nipple with my thumb feeling the stiffness in the flesh. Mrs Vere stood unmoving looking down at the ground at my feet.

"Show me your bedroom." Still without a word she turned and led the way to the staircase. At the first stair she hesitated and half turned towards me. I knew what she was thinking; if she led the way I would be level with her arse, I would be able to see between her legs as she climbed the stairs. I stopped and waited. With a small shrug she started up, I followed a number of stairs behind with the express purpose of looking between her legs, her wide arse, the deep divide.

She climbed almost as a ramp model would walk, an exaggerated crossing of the knees to hide her treasure. I still saw enough to make me leak precum in my underpants. But my time would come, I would see, feel and taste everything I fantasised about. I detected a faint sheen of moisture on her protruding labia; was it possible she was sexually aroused?

Mrs Vere led me down the passage and into a large bedroom. The overall impression was pink; pink floral curtains fully pulled closed making the room quite dark, pink carpet, white bedspread with a huge arrays of pink cushions. There was a dressing table to one side, and a door that I presumed opened into a bathroom on the other side.

She stopped in the middle of the room and turned to look at me. I turned and closed the door, turned the key in the lock. I walked to the door on the other side of the bed and looked in; cupboards on both sides of a passage and I could see a basin at the far end of the room. Nobody that I could see.

I leaned the cane against the wall and returned to where she was standing. I started undressing; shirt, jeans and underpants on the bench at the dressing table. I left my shoes where I had heeled them off. I stood there in only my socks, my erection standing rigidly out, a long stream of clear liquid stretching down to the carpet. I was turned away from her because I was a bit embarrassed by my aroused state. 'Fuck it!' I thought; 'in for a penny, in for a pound'. I was so deep in now a little more would make no difference. I walked over to the bed, sat down and pulled my socks off throwing them towards the stool.

"Come and stand in front of me." She moved like a zombie. Mrs Vere seems to have decided to obey my instructions, giving nothing away, showing no emotion, no participation. We would see about that!

I hefted her breasts, squeezing the soft flesh, rolling the long nipples between my thumbs and fingers. I bounced them up and down before leaning forward and taking a nipple in my lips. I sucked, teased the tip with my tongue, swapped breasts and did the same to the other. I saw they changed from dark brown to red, wet and swollen.

I forced my feet between her feet making her move them apart; then my knees. Her feet were now widespread and as I sucked on a nipple I moved my hand up between her legs and cupped her sex. She had obvious shaved down there recently as her lips were as smooth and as soft as silk. She stood unmoving with her eyes closed.

I was surprised at the state of arousal I found, the lips were slightly distended and slick with her juices. Her inner lips hung out between her outer lips and I spread them a bit feeling her hot depths, my fingers slipped in easily. I pushed back towards her anus and I felt her clench her muscles. Moving towards the front I felt for her clitoris, so big and prominent in the pictures.

I slid my middle finger back into her depths till my palm was cupping her sex and held still. "Now, I am going to do something that is going to hurt you more than it hurts me, contrary to the way you normally say it." I paused while I wiggled my finger a bit. "I want you to get on your knees on the carpet and lay your body on the bed with your arms stretched out above your head. Do you understand?" She was looking at me expressionlessly. "Do it now." I stood up to make place for her.

When we received cuts from Headmaster he always preceded the whipping by saying, "This is going to hurt me more than it hurts you." A mantra I had heard many times over the years while he stood there checking the flexibility of the cane. Then he would make you bend over, legs straight and your head under the edge of his desk. He would then pause, the stress building as you awaited the first cut, the extreme agony, the liquid fire that would erupt across your arse. At the first stroke you would not notice that your head had smashed upwards into the hard wood of the desk, and the same with each successive stroke. Not until long afterwards, after the stinging pain had subsided. After the first few times you knew that you must hold your head hard up against the wood to prevent a big lump forming. He would take his time between strokes, letting the agony suffuse your body. You wanted to scream, to rub, to run, to get away. But you were trapped.

When he had delivered the required number of cuts you had to say, "Thank you, Sir." before you were allowed to leave his office. There was often a line of white-faced boys outside waiting to be whipped. If you were in that line you could clearly hear each strike and you could feel your bowls soften, you felt like you were going to be sick, to faint.

The concept of anyone being sexually turned on by these regular events was to me an impossibility, the thing of fantasies. When I read a few stories on Lit featuring caning I am sure the authors have never been on the receiving end.

Slowly Mrs Vere obeyed my instruction, sinking to her knees and laying her body down, arms outspread. "Spread your knees." She did. I ran my hands down her back and over the full globes of her bum. I spread her cheeks exposing her tidy light brown anus, the lines radiating out like a small flower. I could feel her trying to clench her buttocks closed against my intrusion.

I saw her head was to one side, facing away from where I had left to cane. "Close your eyes and do not move." I walked silently across the room, picked up the cane, returning to the foot of the bed. Before I could chicken out I lifted my arm, took aim and forcefully took a hard swing, putting quite a lot of shoulder and arm behind it.

It was like looking at an image through the lens of my camera, everything crystal clear, happening in slow motion; the cane forming an S in the air, the swishing sound, the flesh on Mrs Veres arse bouncing. Then mayhem! It was as though someone had touched her with live high voltage electrical wires. She shot up onto the bed, twisting and turning, screaming, her eyes wide and wild. Both hands in frenzied rubbing of her arse cheeks.

I stood waiting as the wailing continued, the rubbing. Slowly she calmed. I saw there were tears on her cheeks, her face red. "Assume the position!" I said it quietly but each word was separated, forceful, threatening. She stared at me with big eyes. "Now!" I saw her flinch but did not move. "If you don't move I will lay into you where you are lying; your legs, your face, your tits. Now assume your position over the edge of the bed." I lifted the cane and she scrambled into position.