Strict Discipline

The classroom was quiet, the air thick with tension. I sat at my desk, my heart pounding in my chest as I waited for Mr. Harper to finish writing on the chalkboard. He was the strictest teacher in the school, known for his unyielding discipline and his ability to make even the most well-behaved students squirm.

I had always been a good student, but today I felt a rebellious streak surging through me. I had been flirting with danger all week, pushing the boundaries of his rules, and today I was determined to see just how far I could go.

As Mr. Harper turned to face the class, I deliberately crossed and uncrossed my legs, the skirt of my uniform riding up to reveal a hint of my thigh. His eyes narrowed, and I could see the flicker of disapproval in his gaze. I smiled sweetly, batting my eyelashes, and he sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“Miss Thompson,” he said, his voice stern, “could you please stay after class? We need to have a word.”

I nodded, a thrill of excitement running through me. The other students filed out of the room, leaving us alone. I could feel the heat of his gaze on my body, the tension between us palpable.

“You know why you’re here, don’t you?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous.

I shrugged, feigning innocence. “I have no idea, Mr. Harper.”

He raised an eyebrow, his expression darkening. “Don’t play games with me, Miss Thompson. You know full well that your behavior has been unacceptable.”

I bit my lip, trying to suppress a smile. “Maybe I just wanted your attention,” I said, my voice soft and teasing.

He took a step closer, his eyes flashing with a mix of anger and desire. “You have my attention now,” he growled. “And you’re going to regret it.”

Before I could react, he grabbed my arm and pulled me to my feet. He led me to the front of the classroom, where he bent me over his desk. I could feel the cool wood against my cheek, the hardness of the desk pressing into my hips. I was both terrified and exhilarated, my body buzzing with a mix of fear and arousal.

He flipped up my skirt, exposing my bare ass. I heard the sharp intake of his breath, and I knew he could see the lace of my panties, the curve of my cheeks. He raised his hand, and I braced myself for the sting of his palm.

The first slap was hard and sudden, the pain shooting through my body. I gasped, my fingers gripping the edge of the desk. He spanked me again, harder this time, the sound echoing through the empty classroom. I could feel the heat spreading across my skin, the sensation of pain morphing into something else—something dark and delicious.

He spanked me again and again, each slap pushing me closer to the edge. I could feel the pressure building, the need for release becoming almost unbearable. My breath came in short, ragged gasps, and I bit my lip to stifle a moan.

And then, suddenly, it happened. A warm, gushing release exploded from me, soaking my panties and dripping down my legs. I froze, my eyes wide with shock and embarrassment, as the sensation of my squirt washed over me.

Mr. Harper paused, his hand hovering in the air. I could feel the wetness spreading, the evidence of my orgasm impossible to hide. He took a step back, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps, and I could see the desire in his eyes, the raw, unfiltered hunger.

“Miss Thompson,” he said, his voice hoarse with desire, “you are in a lot of trouble.”

I turned to face him, my body still shaking with the aftershocks of my orgasm. I could see the tension in his jaw, the struggle in his eyes. And in that moment, I knew that I had pushed him too far—and that I wanted more.