Mr. Johnson's Lesson
Well the last story I wrote (First Time) got such a great reception I decided to write another. The problem was I didn't know what to write about at first. I got two very good suggestions; first to write about what turns me on (which is a very broad realm of possibilities) the other was to write about myself (as several people seemed to find that enjoyable to read last time). So, I decided to write sort of about my own experience and about something that turned me on. This story is about a series of fantasies I had about one of my high school teachers (and sort of an introduction into my unconventional sexual interests). I hope you all enjoy reading it.
Mr. Johnson was tall dark and handsome. Cliché perhaps be he really was incredibly gorgeous. He was taller than me by at least a foot and had dark brown fur and straight black hair parted down the middle. A casual glance was enough to tell that, under his thin button down shirts, was a perfectly sculpted equine figure. The fact that he was my tenth grade English teacher, and therefore responsible for teaching us Romeo and Juliet, only served to make him all the more attractive to me.
I don't remember a single thing I was supposed to have learned in English class that year. I managed to sneak by with a B- (one of the lowest grades of my high school career) but most of that was luck and the fact that I had already read most of the material assigned that year on my own. I would have done better but I found it impossible to pay attention in class. Mr. Johnson's perfect face and broad shouldered body was enough to distract anyone.
I had always appreciated his good looks, but it wasn't until I saw him in action at a soccer practice that I really became infatuated with him. My fascination with him arose when I saw him yelling at a trio of boys during practice. I was walking home from school passed the soccer fields one day when I overheard Mr. Johnson shouting. I'm not sure what he was yelling about really (I don't really like soccer that much though I do like soccer players). Three young men were standing in front of him looking guilty and ashamed as he leaned over; red-faced, a light sheen of sweat on his brow, yelling furiously at them.
"What the hell is wrong with you idiots!" he shouted. "There is no excuse for this garbage out there! I have half a mind to smack the crap out of each one of you! Do you want to get spanked this weekend?!"
He was clearly talking about one of the upcoming games, but in my mind I pictured Mr. Johnson actually spanking someone. Only in my mind he wasn't punishing the boys on the team but me. My mind replayed the image over and over again as I walked the rest of the way home from school. That night I laid awake in bed, thinking about the aggressive, confident way Mr. Johnson yelled at the boys. How fearless and powerful he seemed. Needless to say, I didn't get much sleep.
The next day was Friday and I had Mr. Johnson's class last. I must admit, though I rarely paid close attention to anything other than Mr. Johnson's smoldering good looks, I paid even less attention that day. As he lectured about gerunds or participles or some equally boring and useless bit of grammar, my mind was turning over the fantasies that had occupied the long sleepless night before.
Mr. Johnson kept me after class, making me wait at the front of the room as all the other student's filed past. It was embarrassing, feeling their eyes upon me and knowing their judgment that I had somehow gotten into trouble (again). I could feel the hot flush on my cheeks as the last few stragglers left.
Mr. Johnson was sitting at his desk in front of me, looking through some papers, as the other students left. When we were alone, and the heavy wooden door had swung shut on its pneumatic hinge, he finally looked up at me, his brilliant green eyes sparkling. I swallowed, my mouth feeling too dry as I stood before him, my eyes trying to avoid his.
The weather was warm that week so I wore only a pleated skirt down to my knees and a thin white blouse, the top two buttons open revealing a hint of cleavage. Mr. Johnson was dressed for the warm weather as well. I could see through his sheer white button down shirt, his sculpted chest almost perfectly visible through the thin material. I licked my lips with my dry tongue waiting for him to scold me (again).
"Lana," he began looking down at the papers in front of him. "I know you know this material, and yet you still underperform on every test and quiz. In class you woolgather and sometimes even fail to respond when called upon."
I opened my mouth to respond, though I really don't know what I would have said. Before I could, however Mr. Johnson raised his hand to silence me. My mouth snapped shut and I waited for my scolding to continue.
"This is especially odd, considering you seem to always be paying close attention to whatever I'm doing at the front of the class," he cocked his eyebrow at me, his eyes narrowed searching my face for an answer. "Now, I have the results from this week's pop quiz," he held up a paper liberally marked in red. "You may think I don't know what's going on here, young lady, but I assure you I'm not an idiot."
Mr. Johnson rose from his desk. His impressive height was intimidating standing so close. As he rose I noticed a bulge in his pants, nothing obscene, and it might have simply been the fold of the material, but it might have been something else entirely. I drew in a breath and bit my lower lip, trying to pull my eyes back up to his face. When I finally did, I saw that he was smiling. It was a very odd smile, a knowing smile, and one that I had never seen him wear before.
"I-I'm sorry Mr. Johnson. I'll try harder, I promise," I managed to stutter, suddenly very unsure of myself.
"Oh Lana," he said chuckling humorlessly. "I know what you're looking at in class. And I can guess what you're thinking about too. I know exactly what type of girl you are." He walked around the desk as he spoke, forcing me to turn to face him as he did. Now, standing a few feet from me, he seemed enormous.
I swallowed hard, trying desperately to gather my thoughts. What did he mean, I thought. Does he know that I fantasize about having sex with him?
"I used to go to school with girls like you, naughty, filthy girls who could think of nothing but sex."
I gasped. I never heard a teacher say anything like this before. But as he glared down at me, a slight sneer on his lips I couldn't help but feel the slightest bit turned on by his raw display of emotion and power. His eyes shone with anger and his deep melodic voice pounded around me like a drum. As he approached me, my heart leapt up into my throat, my pulse pounded in my veins. However, at the same time I felt myself becoming aroused by Mr. Johnson's sudden aggressive behavior.
"You treat my class like a joke, Lana. You show me, and this school a complete lack of respect," his jaw was clenched and his powerful form loomed over me. "The only thing filthy girls like you understand is punishment."
I was frozen by his presence. He stood above me looking down like a god in judgment. I felt helpless, insignificant standing so near to him. My hand came up to my breast, trying to stop my racing heart from bursting from my chest. Before I realizes what was happening, Mr. Johnson's powerful arm shot out, his large hand wrapped around my wrist like an iron vice.
I gasped in awe and fear. He dragged me to the first row of desks. He was tall enough to use the top of the desk like a seat, and he pulled me by my wrist over his lap as though I were nothing more than a rag doll. I could hear my own panting breath as adrenaline poured into my system. Suddenly, I was afraid of more than just detention.
I looked up over my shoulder at Mr. Johnson; he was looking down at my butt. I was over his lap, with my pert round bottom thrust up towards him. A cruel, hungry smile painted his beautiful face, making it somehow both more dangerous and more alluring. I trembled as I felt his free hand grasp my inner thigh just above the knee. Once again I froze, fear and arousal battling one another inside me.
His hand slowly crept higher up my leg, pushing my skirt up as Mr. Johnson boldly caressed me. His strong hand on my wrist was enough to keep me in place, but I wriggled slightly on his lap, more from arousal than from any attempt to escape him. Suddenly his hand was gone from my thigh (and it had been oh so close to my quivering sex). I felt his hand on the zipper of my skirt, unable to turn; I was still able to feel him pull the zipper slowly down.
Beneath my stomach I felt Mr. Johnson's penis stir against me. It pressed against my body, through his soft cotton pants, growing longer and harder as he pulled down my skirt. I moaned slightly at this. It must have sounded like a protest to Mr. Johnson, because he squeezed my wrist hard enough to hurt, a warning I supposed.
I felt the soft fabric of the skirt slide over my calves and finally slip from my feet. I heard it fall on the linoleum floor with a soft rustling. Suddenly, there I was, wearing only my white cotton underwear and bent over Mr. Johnson's knee as his member continued to harden against me. I couldn't help but notice how large it was as it stiffened, easily the biggest I'd ever felt.
I felt his large hand on my ass next. It lay there, still at first, and then he gave my bottom a gentle squeeze. My mouth opened without my consent, and my voice issued a long low moan of pleasure as his fingers prodded against my supple round butt.
"You filthy little slut," Mr. Johnson said, a hint of anger in his voice. "Punishment is all you understand isn't it?"
I opened my mouth to speak but was again silence. Suddenly his hand was gone from my ass. A moment later I heard a low whooshing sound of something heavy moving swiftly through the air. And then, pain exploded across my backside, driving my hips forward with the force of the blow. He pulled his hand away, but my ass felt like a red hot hand was still gripping it. Pain, like fire coursed through my backside. However, the pain was not alone; there was another sensation, a very distinct sensation of pleasure spread from the fire in my butt to my aching sex. I couldn't believe it at first, but the pain only served to heighten my arousal and, in fact, drive me towards pleasure. My already moist sex began to tingle.
I felt my hips rise slightly, as if asking for the next blow. However, no blow came. I peeked over my shoulder to see what was happening. Mr. Johnson's hand was gently rubbing my stinging bottom, the sensation causing a trill of excitement to run through me. His fingers delicately slid beneath the waistband of my panties. He pushed the thin cotton down over my bottom and halfway down my thighs. I shivered as the cool air buffeted against my stinging backside.
Then his bare hand was on my bare bottom. I was panting rapidly now, my body alive with arousal, stomach filled with butterflies, my sex on fire with an aching need. I whined urgently, needing to feel him inside me. And then his hand was gone, again I turned to look over my shoulder just in time to watch his hand swinging down to smack my bare ass. The effect of his bare hand was much different than through the panties. It stung much more and felt much hotter, but it also was somehow more intimate, more arousing than before.
My head whipped back and I felt a desperate cry escape my lips. It was more a plead for more than an expression of the pain, which in comparison to my arousal felt small and insignificant. The blows continued to fall on my backside in a steady rhythm. Each strike felt like a brand of fire across my ass and an electric shock to my sex. The combined pleasure and pain had me dizzy with desire. I writhed in blissful agony under his steady assault, all too conscious of his large sex throbbing against my stomach.
I can't say how long Mr. Johnson spanked me. At times it seemed like hours, but when it was over it seemed far too short. I lay across his lap, waiting for a blow that never came. I thought for certain that my "punishment" was over. He didn't stand me up, however, or even remove me from his lap; he simply stood up letting me fall to the ground at his feet. By now my panties had slipped down to my ankles, and hung only from my left foot, when I fell they slipped off me completely. I got to my knees looking up at his powerful form, his large member tenting out the front of his khaki pants.
He bent over, hand outstretched. I thought at first, that he was helping me up but when I reached out my hand he brushed it aside. His powerful fingers slipped into the open collar of my shirt and tore down, pulling several buttons off as he exposed my bra covered chest. He smiled down at me appreciatively glaring at my now mostly nude form.
His fingertips gently caressed my cheek sliding back towards my ear. As his fingers combed through my hair, he suddenly grabbed a fistful. I winced and gasped in pain as he yanked my hair, pulling me to my feet. His free hand expertly unclasped my bra and yanked it off of my shoulders. He stared openly at my chest, my hard nipples tingling under his gaze. I was never as unsure of myself as I was at that moment, but I was also never more aroused.
With no further ceremony he pushed me towards his desk, bending me over the cool wooden surface. He used his knee to spread my legs. His hand released my hair and grabbed the back of my neck roughly; I could hear the sound of his zipper opening. His hand pushed my neck down forcing me against his desk. My breasts were pushed against the cool surface squished up against the top of the desk. Then I felt the hot tip of his enormous member pressed against my moist sex. I couldn't believe how warm it felt against me, how utterly electric the sensations were that rippled through my aching sex.
He didn't caress me, or ask me if I was ready, he didn't even take me slow. He thrust his impressive manhood into my quivering sex in one swift hard motion, suddenly filling me the way no one else had before. My fingers gripped the edge of the desk tightly, my body pressed against the desk, now sticky with sweat. I felt my hard nipple, crushed against the surface, drag against the smooth wood. He held me there, buried deep inside me, filling me, touching every eager, aching surface of my sex. My eyes rolled back into my head as Mr. Johnson held his penis deep inside me.
He began to thrust into me, not the slow tentative thrust of an unsure novice, but the hard firm thrusts of a confident, powerful man. His hand reached up to grip the edge of the desk for leverage. It looked impossibly large next to my white knuckled fist. Each hard thrust into my body brought his hips against my still sore ass. I could feel the cold metal of his belt buckle against my hot flesh. With each thrust into me I whimpered and Mr. Johnson grunted.
His pace slowly increased over the next several minutes from a steady, rocking motion to a more frantic wild one, his hard thrusts drove my body forward, the desk scraped against the floor to his rhythm. I was in heaven as he took me, used me as his toy, his massive penis hammering in and out of my tight, eager sex. I felt the familiar tightening of my stomach, the familiar tingling building in me as his member filled me over and over again. I was panting and squirming eagerly beneath him, pushing my hips back to meet each of his thrusts.
Suddenly he grabbed a fistful of my hair and yanked it back, causing my back to arch and my breasts to lift off the desk. He grunted, thrusting wildly into me with reckless abandon. My moans were punctuated by his thrusts, and complimented by his grunts. Just when I thought I couldn't take another moment of pleasure mixed with pain Mr. Johnson exploded inside me. My own orgasm washed through me like a river of electricity flowing from my sex to my breasts, and from there to every inch of my body. I felt his seed erupt against the walls of my sex, filling me with his white hot liquid. My pussy eagerly clenched and pulled on his throbbing member as he unloaded his orgasm inside me.
I trembled helplessly as my orgasm finally subsided. Mr. Johnson released my hair and I fell against the desk, spent and unable to move. After a moment his penis began to soften until it finally slipped from me. I could feel his seed seeping down my leg. I was shocked at just how much there was as a droplet slid past my knee. I lay there breathless for a moment, unable to think or move. Mr. Johnson laughed above me and suddenly slapped my backside. "I hope you learned your lesson Lana. We wouldn't want to have to do this again would we?"
Just then the bell rang and I was pulled from my erotic day dream. Mr. Johnson was standing at the front of class wishing us all a happy weekend and reminding us that we had homework due on Monday. I hoped that my arousal didn't show on my face but I can't imagine how it couldn't. It took me a little longer to pack up my stuff than the other students and as a result I was one of the last to leave. Just as I was about to leave Mr. Johnson said "Lana, hold on a moment."
I froze dead in my tracks. My heart pounded in my throat and my cheeks felt hot. I turned towards him, eyes wide, and mouth dry with terror and anticipation. "Yes, Mr. Johnson?"
"You forgot your book," he said, barely looking up from his desk to point at the book on the ground at my seat.
Needless to say my heart sank as I retrieved my book and walked home in my slightly moist panties. Though it has been a few years since I sat in Mr. Johnson's class I still think about him sometimes. I especially remember how he looked yelling at the boys on the soccer team. And, sometimes I still fantasize about being punished by him.