Detention

"Detention!" Leanne wailed when she saw the pink slip that had appeared in her locker. "I got a detention slip? There must be some mistake!" She ripped up the note and began shoving books from her locker into her backpack in abject frustration.

"There is no mistake, young lady," came a voice from just behind her left shoulder. Leanne shrieked in surprise and whirled around to find herself face to face with Dean Nichols. The imposing woman glared down her nose at the cowed schoolgirl. "Your teachers have had enough of your tardiness and back-talk. You'll be in detention for at least one week—longer if your behavior doesn't improve. So you'd better get used to the idea. Understand?"

Leanne nodded meekly. She was a scrapper, in her father's words, who prided herself on not taking crap from anybody, especially authority figures. Still, even she was afraid of Dean Nichols. Something about the woman marked her as a predator; she had the bearing of a bird of prey, noble and vicious at the same time. Looking up into her dean's hard, owl-like eyes, Leanne could only gulp and stammer, "Yes, ma'am."

"I'm glad we understand each other," Dean Nichols said. Then she patted Leanne on the shoulder. "At least you got off with just detention. The nuns wanted you spanked with a ruler—or a yardstick." She gave Leanne's arm a squeeze and walked on down the hall, heels clicking against the marble floors.

Leanne smiled a little. Most of her teachers were nuns who favored fairly traditional methods of discipline. Fortunately, the rest of the faculty (along with some overly whiny parents whose donations got campus buildings named after them) advocated more liberal punishments. She didn't honestly know of anyone who'd been spanked, but she'd seen enough angry nuns in her day to know it was a possibility. Somewhat relieved, she gathered up her books, and trudged her way to the detention hall. Might as well make the best of a bad week, she thought.

* * *

"Well, Leanne, this is a surprise," Mr. Morton said as she came through the door. "I never expected to see you in here."

God, I've lucked out, though Leanne. Mr. Morton was easily one of the coolest teachers in the school. He was fresh out of graduate school, and could have passed as a student if he’d wanted to. He was sitting at his desk, feet propped against a drawer, reading a tattered copy of Pale Fire. The sleeves of his purple shirt were rolled up and his tie was slightly askew. He had dark curly hair and glasses, and radiated an overall air of geek chic. Leanne found him utterly adorable.

"Mr. Morton!" she squealed. "Thank God, I thought detention was going to suck. Nice shirt, by the way."

"Pierre Cardin."

"And the tie?"

"Gerry Garcia."

"How swank!" Leanne gushed, though mostly in jest. "Oh, I could just hug you."

Mr. Morton turned a deep scarlet. "That would be a bad idea," he stammered. "Let’s stick to the matter at hand." He pulled out some notes and shuffled through them. "You know why you’re here. Tardiness, offensive language, dress code… I agree with you on speaking up for a woman’s right to choose, but this is a Catholic school…and in Chemistry?" He shook his head, grinning. "You’re nuts."

"Thank you," said Leanne, bowing. Mr. Morton couldn’t help but smile at her chutzpah…and couldn’t help noticing what a beautiful young girl she was becoming. She had soft brown hair she usually wore in pigtails, but when she let it hang loose, as she had today, in framed her face nicely, with a lock hanging seductively over one eye. She had on a snug button-down black sweater and short black skirt as well that showed off the smooth lines of her slim form. Ah, if only I was a little younger, Mr. Morton thought to himself.

"So what do I have to do?" asked Leanne, interrupting his reverie.

Mr. Morton flushed, and turned to his notes. "Let’s see…I’m actually subbing for the art teacher. The first thing we’re going to do is take all the art classes smocks out to my car. I’ll told him I’d drop them by the Laundromat."

"Well it’s better than sitting in the corner with my head on my desk," grinned Leanne. "Let’s go." And she skipped out the door toward the art room, with Mr. Morton trailing behind.

* * *

They’re in there, I think, said Mr. Morton when they arrived, pointing toward the walk-in supply closet. "Go to work."

"Yes, teacher," said Leanne, batting her eyes wickedly. It was so much fun seeing Mr. Morton attempt to be in a position of power. In Creative Writing he was so laid back, and no he was trying to order her around. How cute!

Well, let’s get started she thought to herself. She began taking off her sweater so it wouldn’t get dirty.

Watching her, Mr. Morton tried to hold in a gasp. Now wonder she needed to wear a sweater! Underneath she was wearing a gray silk shirt that looked at least two sizes too tight. Her breast strained against the material, and the buttons barely seemed able to keep the blouse together. Her bra and nipples were clearly outlined along the smooth fabric. Leanne caught him watching, looked down at her chest, and said, "Yeah, I know, gray isn’t allowed in the dress code; I need to go shopping. But I’m in enough trouble, so don’t write me up, ok?"

"Sure," he answered blankly.

Leanne went into the walk-in closet, and discovered the huge pile of smocks on the floor. "If it was a leaf pile I could jump into it!" she exclaimed. "I've got to get all of them?"

"You can take more than one trip," Mr. Morton called to her.

"No way," she said. "I’ll do it in one, thank you." She bent over and hugged the mammoth pile to her chest, trying to gather them in her arms.

"By the way, you really shouldn’t say things like you want to hug me." Mr. Morton said as he waited for her.

"Really, how come?" she asked.

"Well, Leanne, I could get in trouble. People talk. They could assume just from a comment like that that we have something going on between us. That could kill my chance at tenure or promotion."

Leanne peaked out of the closet at winked at him. "You’re in trouble then, because I know at least one girl has a crush on you. Several in fact. Doesn’t help that you’re the youngest guy on the faculty."

He frowned at her. "Shouldn’t you be working?" he huffed. She stuck her tongue out at him and went back to work. "I’ve never understood the whole teacher’s crush thing," he went on. "I mean, why? Is it common?"

She laughed at him from inside the supply closet. "Every girl has a crush on at least one teacher. He's the safe figure to fantasize about: smart and kind, but with power and authority too. And so deliciously naughty at the same time, because it's so taboo. Believe me, there's always one we'd let do just about anything to us. Oh, sure, we'd protest a little, put on a good show. But deep down we just want to be alone in his office so he can teach us anything he wants to."

"I never thought of it like that," Mr. Morton said absently. What was she doing to him? Was there something she was trying to say? She had managed to wrestle the smock pile to the door; she was standing half in, half out of the closet, bent far over. His eyes slowly traveled up her body as if for the first time, discovering a sensuous quality to it he'd never allowed himself to notice before. Her slim high heels, dusky thigh-high nylons, and tight black skirt all swam in his vision. Her firm rump wiggled in the air as she failed yet again in her stubbornness to gather up the pile, and all he wanted to do touch it, stroke it, uncover it. Sweating, he realized blankly that he was moving closer toward her, his hand reached out, as if to pluck a ripe piece of fruit, or to stroke some small, wild animal.

Leanne finally gave up. Unaware that Mr. Morton was already coming closer, she called out, "Hey Teacher, maybe you could give me a hand? I’ll be a good little girl, I promise!"

With these words, something in Mr. Morton was irrevocably unleashed.

Suddenly, Leanne felt hands pushing the small of her back, and then she felt herself falling. The next thing she knew, she was sprawled on the closet floor, on the soft bed made by the smock pile. And then she felt her teacher's weight on her, and the soft, moist caress of his lips, on the back of her neck.

"What are you doing?" she shrieked, turning herself over as best she could. Her hands vainly pushed against the large frame holding her down.

I thought this was what you wanted," he said between kisses. His tongue traced the whorl of her ear; his lips explored her cheeks and neck. "I though this was your fantasy"

I said it was every girl's fantasy, not just mine." Leanne was panting now. "And I didn't say you were that teacher!" She tried pushing him away again, but he was too heavy. Then his lips found the sweet spot on her neck, and pleasure coursed up and down her spin. Against her will, she pressed tighter against him, and a slight, "Ohhh!" escaped her lips.

"See, this is what you want," he whispered. "You want your teacher, don't you? Tell me you want this." He slid a hand along her smooth silk front, exploring the curve of her young belly. Then he began to fiddle with the buttons of her shirt. Her nipples grew hard as his fingers brushed them, her breasts heaved and strained against the tight confines of her blouse, her chest rose and fell like a wave crashing against the shore. Leanne felt herself torn in two. He was right; this was her fantasy but at the same time some impulse demanded she try and resist.

Then she realized Mr. Morton was beginning to unbutton her shirt.

"No." she protested meekly.

He kissed her and undid another button.

"Please, don't," she whimpered.

Another button. Her breasts popped out of her blouse, hanging snugly in the hammock of her bra. She looked helplessly at her swollen nipples as if they'd betrayed her.

"I can't. Please. Please stop, please do-OOHHHHHHN'T!" Suddenly, Leanne was lost in sensation, as her teacher undid one more button, then seized her breasts in each hand and buried his face between them. Suddenly, his mouth was al over her, kissing, nibbling, biting her young flesh. She grabbed his hands to push him off, then found herself instead pulling him tighter, offering herself up to be devoured. "Don't!" she moaned. "Don't stop. Don't stop. Please, oh please." Her hands raked along Mr. Morton's back and tore at his hair.

"I knew you wanted this," he said, grinning. "Tell your teacher you like this."

"Oh, yes, teacher, yes." Leanne was squirming under him now, reveling in the feeling of his weight upon her, grinding her hips into his. Between them she could feel his cock swelling, pressing into her, and she could not help but imagine it buried inside her; she could feel herself becoming more wet every time he caressed her. "Please Mr. Morton, Please teacher, I'll be good, I'll be good," she cried.

"That's my girl," Mr. Morton said. He reached under her tight black skirt and wrenched down her nylons in one motion. Then he stuck one hand between her thigh, and found her silk panties dripping with her juices. "You're soaked!" he said, holding his dripping fingers up for her to see.

Leanne nodded meekly. "I can't help it." she whispered. Small tears trickled down the sides of each flushed cheek. "I've never felt like this! I can't believe I—" Then she dissolved into sobs.

Mr. Morton slid of her and gathered the small girl into his arms. "It's ok," he said, pulling her into his lap. "You're being good now. No one will know. I just want you to feel good." With one hand, he deftly slid down her sopping panties. "I'll make you feel—" he stroked her small furry mound, "—so much—" his fingers parted her pick young lips "better!" And he slipped two fingers deep inside her warm cunny.

"Uhhhhh!" she squealed, wriggling from top to bottom as she felt herself being entered. "Teacher!" His fingers dipped in and out, filling her, splitting her, completing her, while his thumb twirled the nub of her clitoris and drove her into further paroxysms of joy. She kissed him deeply and clamped her legs tight over his hand, never wanting to let him go. Leanne was moaning now, warmth suffusing her body, every nerve firing, until she could feel herself almost ready to.

And then Mr. Morton stopped.

Her eyes snapped open. "What's wrong," she whispered. "What did I do?"

"Nothing," her teacher said, patting her shoulder reassuringly. He worked his way out from underneath her and smiled. 'I just think we've done enough." He made as if to stand up.

"No!" she wailed. "Please teacher, I'm almost there." She began rubbing herself vigorously, trying to finish what he'd started.

She’d played right into his hands of course. "You know playing with yourself isn't allowed in Catholic school," said Mr. Morton. He grabbed her and flipped her on to her stomach, then pulled her rump, towards him, so she was lying on the smocks with her ass high in the air. "Now I really will have to punish you!"

"No" Leanne sobbed! "I don't want to be spanked." She buried her face in her hands, too worn out by this point to try to escape.

"A spanking. Do I look like a nun?" came Mr. Morton's voice, from over her shoulder. There was a sound of a zipper being opened. Leanne looked back in time to see her teacher slipping a condom over his engorged purpled shaft.

"Wait!" she protested, "You can't, not like this, you-OOOOHHHH!" Before Leanne could finish he had driven his member deep inside her. His fingers had been nothing compared to this new sensation. She was utterly paralyzed with pleasure and shame, as he took her from behind. With each thrust she felt more and more fulfilled, and the swinging of his balls against her clitoris drove her beyond wild.

Soon she was bucking again, pressing her ass as tight as she could against him, moaning as if she wanted the school to hear. He would thrust and she would cry out, his wrapped a hand around her to finger her clit, and she quivered in return. They rocked back and forth, pounding, taking, giving, loving.

Finally, they came together in one final thrust, and rather than let him pull out she clamped herself as tight as she could to him, milking his rod to the last drop. Finally, she felt him slip out of her, and she collapsed on the smock pile, and let afterglow sweep her away.

* * *

By the time Leanne had recovered, Mr. Morton was gone. She gathered her things and got dressed quickly. She was just about to leave when her teacher walked back in the art room door with the backpack she'd left in his office.

She grabbed it from him. "I can't believe you…you" she sputtered angrily.

He looked at her, his face a mixture of kindness and apology and more emotions she wasn't sure how to decipher. "Leanne—" he began.

She stood up on tiptoes and kissed him fiercely. "It was everything I'd dreamed, damn you," she said, and she dashed out the door.