Adult Education (SM)
Erotiske noveller skrevet af  Elisabeth Coldwell

Udgivet: 01-07-2011 00:01:17 - Gennemsnit: 3,92  Udskriv
Kategori(er): SM
Antal tegn:12897



I had never been bad. I had spent all my life being the good girl, the nice girl, the girl who tried her best to please everyone and always avoided confrontation. I suppose it was only natural that, after nearly thirty years of conforming and keeping my head down, when I finally did rebel, all the feelings and desires I had been repressing for so long should come bursting out of me unstoppably.
It took a maths class, of all things, to bring about this change in me. Maths had been the one subject I was lousy at in school, and the only exam I had failed. Until now, it had never mattered: I had a successful career in a profession where creative thinking and people skills were of more importance than whether I could solve a quadratic equation. And if I ever needed to add things up, my PC was helpfully supplied with a calculator among its many accessories. Things changed when I was passed over for promotion in favour of someone who had been with the company three years less than I had. I knew that position should have been mine, but when I challenged my boss about the decision, he told me it had been out of his hands. There were, he told me, basic requirements for anyone moving up to senior management level, and I was missing out on one of them – evidence of mathematical competence. Until I obtained the relevant qualification, I was stuck where I was.
Of course, I could have looked for a new job, but I liked what I did and I liked the people I worked with. So I determined that, when the new term started in the autumn, I would take my Maths GCSE at the local college of art and technology. After all, how hard could it be to pass one silly little exam, I asked myself as I signed up. The answer came after only a few weeks. As I sat in the classroom, which smelled of chalk and old sweat and floor cleaner, struggling to follow the tutor as he scribbled numbers on the board, I remembered exactly how much I had hated these lessons the first time round.
It wasn’t the tutor’s fault. From the moment he had settled himself casually on his chair, propped one leg up on the desk and said, “I’m Mr Collins, but you can call me Andy,” I had warmed to him. It was hard not to. He was very much my physical type: close to six feet tall, with floppy, blond-streaked hair which he would constantly push away from his face as he talked. He favoured checked shirts and faded denims that showed off the contours of his arse and thighs, and when he was scribbling strings of figures on the blackboard, I would usually be paying more attention to his luscious back view than to the sum I was supposed to be working out.
No, the problem was that I just didn’t understand any of it.
I never had, and I doubted that I ever would. Numbers baffled me, and no matter how patiently any of my teachers had ever tried to explain them to me, this never changed.
For a while, I tried my hardest to keep up with the rest of the class. I handed my homework in on time, even though it always came back marked as incorrect, and I revised for the mid-term exam, which, almost inevitably, I failed. It was when the exam paper came back, my embarrassingly low mark highlighted on the front in red ink, that something inside me snapped. I’d had enough of these stupid lessons, but instead of just quietly giving up and walking away from the lessons, I made a fateful decision, and one I still can’t explain to this day. I would just sit at the back of the class and slack, and see how long it took before the gorgeous and very good-natured Andy had enough and threw me out.
I was surprised at how easy it was to be a bad girl. I had originally taken a seat in the back row in the hope that I wouldn’t be noticed, or asked to answer a question I had no chance of getting right. Now, it enabled me to sit with my feet up on the desk, chewing gum and filing my nails while all around me heads were lowered as the rest of the class attentively copied the notes Andy was making on the blackboard.
When that didn’t appear to have any effect, I loaded up my iPod with the sort of music which comes with a ‘parental advisory’ warning: Prince, Nine Inch Nails, Marilyn Manson – anything with lyrics which celebrated bad living and twisted sex. If my tutor could hear the hiss and crackle coming from my headphones, he never said anything. I was still making a token show of completing my homework, but as my marks weren’t significantly worse than when I had actually been trying, I suppose it shouldn’t have surprised me that he didn’t notice a difference.
I might have carried on like this until the end of the course, and then, finally, Andy caught me misbehaving so blatantly he couldn’t fail to take action. Instead of making notes on that week’s topic, which was how to discover the diameter of a circle, I was making doodles on my worksheet. I had just completed a drawing of the firm globes of Andy’s backside, and was adding the caption, ‘Teacher’s arse – I’d love to measure the diameter of this,’ when I became aware that he was standing behind me, reading the words over my shoulder.
He said something, and I pulled the headphones out of my ears, not having heard him over the music.
“Do you have something you’d care to share with the class, Amanda?” he asked, giving me a look which sent a pang of lust shooting down to my crotch.
I shook my head. I was sure some of the other women there had their own private fantasies about Andy, but I didn’t particularly want them to know about mine.
He glanced at his watch. “Actually, I think now’s a good time to call it a night. I’ll see all of you next week.” I got up to leave, stuffing my books into my bag, and he added, “Amanda, could you stay behind for a moment, please?” This is it, I thought. This is when he tells me to get out of his class and never come back. I’ll be sad not to be able to lust after him every week, but who knows, maybe he’ll give me his phone number and we can meet up … My daydream was interrupted by Andy’s voice. “Would you like to explain to me what all this is about?” “I don’t know what you mean,” I retorted, still in the rôle of the stroppy slacker I had become during the past few weeks of lessons.
“I know you have a problem with maths,” he said, “but you weren’t that far away from getting a pass mark. A little bit of hard work between now and the end of the course and you’d have stood a really good chance of getting that qualification.
And that’s why I don’t want to see you throwing that chance away.” “Well, do you know what?” I replied. “I really don’t care about that stupid qualification any more. Or this stupid class.” Andy sighed. “I hoped you weren’t going to take that attitude. But seeing as you have, it looks like the only thing I can use to make you see some sense is some old-fashioned discipline. Bend over the desk, please, Amanda.” For a moment, I just looked at him blankly. It was such an outrageous request that I thought he was joking. Then I saw his expression and realised he was utterly serious.
“I don’t have all day, Amanda,” he said, “so if you’d hurry up and do as you’re told.” The desk was low, and made of chipped formica, so as I bent over it, my bottom stuck out in the air. I pushed a pile of exercise books and a chalk duster out of the way and gripped the edge of the desk, feeling slightly ridiculous. That, however, was nothing to how I felt as Andy gave me my next instruction.
“Right, I’m going to give you six of the best. It seems the most appropriate punishment, under the circumstances. In the old days, they’d have used a cane, but we don’t have that luxury any more.” I couldn’t believe it; did he really sound regretful that he couldn’t give me such a barbaric punishment? “So, six hard spanks it is. And after every one I’d like you to say, “Thank you, Mr Collins,” and reflect on how you’ve been letting yourself down.” Whatever had happened to ‘call me Andy’, and just when had my usually laidback tutor turned into this stickler for perverse discipline? I didn’t have time to ponder on his change in personality very long, though, as he moved close behind me and continued, “Just one last thing. That little arse of yours is just too well protected, so I think we’ll have these off–” As he spoke, I felt him fumbling with my belt, and then the zip of my jeans. Before I could object, he had tugged them down to my knees, leaving me in just the flimsy little pair of powder pink panties I had put on that morning. Knickers that made me feel sexy when I wore them, but would do nothing to shield me from Andy’s palm.
I shivered as he ran his hand briefly over the curve of my bum. The more he was making me wait, the more I wanted to beg him to hurry up and get it over with. He was clearly relishing the power he had over me, and I began to wonder if he’d been aware of my bad girl routine for longer than I had believed.
Just when I thought I would scream if he didn’t start spanking me, I felt his palm come down squarely across my cheeks. The force of the blow made me gasp, and I realised I’d been holding my breath.
There was a brief silence and then Andy said, “I’m waiting, Amanda.” I realised what he wanted me to say, and blurted out, “Thank you, Mr Collins.” I felt as though I was slipping unprotestingly into the rôle of naughty schoolgirl, rather than the cool class rebel I had wanted to be.
“That’s better.” His hand stroked over my backside again, and then slapped me for a second time. Even though it stung through my thin knickers, this time I didn’t hesitate to thank him for the blow.
After that, I thought he would dispense with the remaining four quickly and efficiently, but he didn’t. It didn’t seem to bother him that one of the cleaners, thinking the college to be deserted, might walk into the room at any moment and see me with my jeans down and my barely-clad bottom on display. He was relishing my discomfort, stringing my punishment out for as long as he could. And, what was worse, between slaps his caressing of my bottom was becoming more and more intimate. His fingers were moving down between my cheeks, over the gusset of my knickers which, to my shame, was beginning to dampen. I told myself that the situation couldn’t possibly be turning me on, but I knew that was a lie.
Everything about being so exposed, so vulnerable, so submissive was making me wetter and more aroused than I had been in ages, and Andy couldn’t fail to notice it.
For the last of the six, he inflicted the ultimate humiliation on me. He pulled my knickers down, too, so he could slap my bare, quivering arse. He ordered me to spread my legs as widely as I could, which wasn’t easy as my movements were hobbled by my clothing, but I did as I was told, knowing he was taking a good long look at the hidden secrets between my legs. This final slap was the hardest of the lot, and tears actually pricked my eyes as I thanked him, but inside my nerves were buzzing and my body felt alive with sensation.
Andy told me to remove my jeans and knickers entirely, and as I did so I heard the rasp of his fly coming down. When I felt him guiding the solid head of his cock between my pussy lips, I realised that punishing me had got him more than a little excited, too.
He grasped hold of my hips firmly and began to fuck me.
The position we were in meant that my pubic bone was rubbing against the edge of the desk with every thrust, and while it wasn’t particularly comfortable, it meant I was getting all the stimulation I needed to propel me rapidly towards climax. Andy’s mouth was at my ear, murmuring how well I’d taken my punishment and how beautiful my arse looked with the prints of his fingers on it. His words created a vivid image in my head of my tender, rosy bottom, marked as his, and that, combined with the forceful way in which Andy was fucking me, was enough to take me over the edge. My pussy muscles spasmed again and again and I lost myself to the power of my climax. I was vaguely aware that Andy was coming, too, and when he pulled out of me he spun me round, took me in his arms and kissed me.
“Thank you, Mr Collins,” I said a little breathlessly, as I groped for my discarded clothing, aware of the need to dress and leave before someone discovered us in the middle of our extra-curricular activities.
“Call me Andy,” he replied, and I realised we had reverted back to our normal rôles – or as normal as they could be, given what had just happened between us. “And I want to see an improvement in your behaviour from now on – or you know what to expect …” I made the decision on the way home that I would keep taking the maths classes, however difficult I found them, but I wouldn’t give up being bad altogether – not now I knew how much fun it could be to incur the wrath of my teacher.


Erotiske noveller skrevet af  Elisabeth Coldwell





Påskønnelse
Her kan du, også Anonyme læsere, give en lille ting til forfatteren af historien, for at vise din påskønnelse.

(0)
(0)
(0)

Læst af bruger

Stemme og kommentar

5 * = Virkelig god historie
4 * = God historie
3 * = Ok historie
2 * = Under middel historie
1 * = Dårlig historie



For at kunne stemme, skal du oprette dig som bruger.

Q1952(k) 31-12-2020 17:02
Wow. A fantastic story that really turned me on.




SuzyQ(K) 30-11-2014 14:52
Rigtigt god lille historie. Jeg var meget underholdt.




     

Her ses læsernes bedømmelse af historien
Antal stemmer12
Gennemsnits stemmer3,92
Antal visninger13235
Udgivet den01-07-2011 00:01:17