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Archive name: diary.txt (Mf, exh, inc, ped, spank)
Authors name: AnonyGurl (address withheld by request)
Story title : Brandi Cole's Diary
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don't remove the author information or make any changes
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Brandi Cole's Diary (Mf, exh, inc, ped, spank)
by AnonyGurl (address withheld by request)
***
Twenty-one years after her father discovered her diary
and took it way from her, Brandi gets it back. Reading
through the entries, she is first shocked, then
mortified, and then finally enlightened by what she wrote
at 13.
***
I sat on the edge of my father's bed, looking at a pink
and white diary I hadn't seen in twenty-one years. It had
found it in his end table drawer, right on top,
surrounded by his collection of prescription bottles,
Hall's Mentho-lyptus cough drops, old copies of TV Guide,
and half a package of condoms. I didn't know whether to
laugh or cry.
He took the diary away from me in nineteen eight-five. I
was thirteen years old then, just past my birthday, and
an awful tart. One night after penning what turned out to
be my final entry, I had stupidly left the diary out.
Daddy found it the next morning. I got beaten that
afternoon.
For a long time I just sat there, holding the book in my
hands, looking at the winged unicorn on the cover. I had
written and then scratched out someone's name under its
left wing. I couldn't remember whose name it was. I
wondered if it was better to read the book, to burn it,
or just throw it away. Even now, I cringed thinking
someone might read it.
One of the pages near the front was turned back, forming
a page marker, and I opened it there. Just a page, I
promised myself, no more. I read the first line and
memory flooded back. I was twelve years old again, my
daughter Julie's age, and a soft night breeze blew in my
open bedroom window, arid and crisp, a month shy of
summer. It was late Wednesday night, 11:00 p.m., and I
sat at my little desk, writing. I paused for a moment,
smiled, then finished what I had began:
May 15, 1985
Dear Diary,
OH MY GOD DIARY! I can't BELIEVE what I've DONE!
Sorry, I had to get up to check on Daddy. There's NO WAY
I want him coming in here tonight! But he's asleep. I
hope. Lynne is out somewhere doing what Lynne and her
fucking boyfriend do (she can die, for all I care, and I
mean that diary!) and I'm sure she won't get her slutty
ass home before dawn.
So let me start again:
OH MY GOD DIARY! I can't BELIEVE what I've DONE!
My place hurts Diary, and so does my tail. Especially my
tail. He spanked me so hard I thought my panties would
catch fire, Diary, and I'll tell you what! My tail's
STILL ON FIRE! I just reached down, Diary, and touched my
sore bottom, and IT HURTS REALLY BAD!
Did I say how much it hurts?
IT HURTS REALLY BAD!
I'm glad he left on my panties, Diary, because otherwise,
Brandi Cole would be a lot sorer right now!
Oh, well. I'd LOVE to do it again.
I WILL DO IT AGAIN!
I'm in my nightshirt and panties, Diary. I always dress
in my nightshirt and panties at night, or a tee-shirt and
my panties, or sometimes just in my panties, and
sometimes in NOTHING AT ALL.
NAKED!!!!
I love saying that word, Diary, and writing it out makes
me love it even more. NAKED! NAKED! NAKED!
But that's only in my bedroom, of course, and with the
curtains drawn, because Daddy wouldn't like for someone
to look through the window and see my small breasts.
My TINY breasts.
My TINY size 32A breasts.
My enci-wenci-tiny little girl's breasts, Diary that I
absolutely HATE!
I HATE my breasts!
I HATE my size 32A bras!
I HATE the boys who tease me in class and in the hallways
at school, even though I'm no smaller really than the
other girls in my class, and bigger than some.
Think they tease me because they like me, Diary? That's
what Melanie and Jenna say, but they're both really good
looking and have BIG BREASTS and it doesn't matter if the
boys tease them or not because you REALLY know they like
them!
Beside, Daddy likes me this way. Daddy buys me my night
clothes and my underwear and has me model them for him in
his bedroom when Lynne is not at home. Daddy has me...
Well, that's another story.
I have a crush on my English teacher at school, Diary.
Mr. Bork (rhymes with Dork! ha-ha) is WAY too handsome,
and he's got these big brown eyes, and big strong
muscles, and lots of wavy brown hair and a mustache and a
beard. He is SO cool!
I've had a crush on him forever, Diary.
I wear short skirts and pretty flowered panties for him,
Diary, and sometimes even thong panties, which I'm NOT
SUPPOSED to wear. I got into trouble for it once, sent
right home when Mrs. Kennison saw them under my skirt.
The BITCH!
But you know what, Diary? I didn't care. I wanted to
"show off" for my Mr. Bork.
I have a confession to make, Diary.
It's a bad thing to say, but I want to be honest.
I love cock, Diary. I really do. I LOVE cock.
There, I said it. I've always loved cock. The thought of
cock. The glimpse of cock. The bulge of cock. The taste
and the feel of cock.
I LOVE cock.
Mostly, anyway.
I got sent to the principal's office the other day,
Diary. For nothing at all. Well, almost for nothing. Mr.
James, the principal, made me sit in his outer office for
half an hour, Diary, missing most of Mr. Bork's class,
and I got SO mad. When he finally had me sent in, I
decided to GET EVEN!
"Brandi?"
"Yes, Mr. James?"
He had on his ugly horned rim glasses and was reading
something in my file. A FAT PIG, Diary, he looks like a
human JABBA THE HUT! His lower lip quivers when he's
reading, Diary, and when he talks, he spits all over the
place. GROSS! I'll die if he ever spits it on me.
"Mr. Dennison, Mrs. Goines, and Miss Cappelli have all
sent notes in about your behavior," he said, looking at
me over his glasses. "What's going on?"
"I don't know, Mr. James," I said, totally innocent.
"What do you mean?"
"Well," he said, sticking one of his DISGUSTINGLY FAT
fingers in my folder.
"Mr. Dennison says he caught you passing a slam book to
another student one day last week."
A slam book is just a notebook, Diary, where you write
down things about other students. Mostly INSULTING
things, like: Melissa Ruppert gave a boy head in a closet
at a party three weeks ago, and didn't even know who it
was because the boy she was supposed to do traded off
with someone else and he CAME in her mouth, Diary. Or
that Heather Mosser has herpes and gave it to James
Oliver who gave it to Jennifer Lohr, who gave it
to...well you get the idea.
Slam books are a NO-NO in school!
Anyway, I said: "No, Mr. James. I only passed the book
across the isle to Tommy Horton. I didn't even know what
it was."
"So you told Mr. Dennison."
"But it's the truth," I said, ready to blush. They hadn't
caught on that I wrote the note about myself saying
'Brandi Cole went all the way with Tommy Horton and 69'd
too!' "
"And what about this incident with James Ryffel in gym
class," he said, getting all huffy. "Mrs. Goines said you
were caught kissing him, inside the boys locker room,
with your shirt half-off!"
This time I did blush, Diary, because only seconds
before, it wasn't just my blouse that was half-off. Jimmy
Ryffel had my bra pushed up over my boobs and was feeling
them something FIERCE until I heard footsteps outside the
door and pulled it back down. And just seconds before
that he had my panties half-down feeling my place (I HATE
that other word!) and had his finger in me.
I said, "James Ryffel made me do that, Mr. James. He said
if I didn't, he'd spread rumors all over school I was
having sex with a..."
"A what?" Mr. James demanded. His face was all red.
"One of the assistant principal's," I said, looking at
the floor.
He was quiet a moment, Diary, then he wrote fiercely
inside my folder.
"What about Miss Cappelli?" he said. "She says you talk
back to her constantly in class. Do it just to disrupt
the class."
"Oh, no, sir," I protested. "Miss Cappelli hates me
because I ask questions she can't answer, and that makes
her really mad." Which is a big fat lie, Diary, because
Miss Cappelli is probably the smartest teacher I know.
The reason we always fight is because I HAVE A CRUSH on
her too, I think, and I just don't know how to deal with
it. In fact, she gets SO FRUSTRATED with me that last
week she actually SMACKED MY REAR END after class. Can
you BELIEVE that? She apologized, of course, and told me
to go home, but for just a minute, I think I came really
close to blurting it out.
But I didn't.
Anyway, Diary, I sat up close to his desk and pretended
to look inside my folder, and accidentally on purpose
knocked a pencil on the floor. I got up and bent over to
pick it up, Diary, and when I did, my skirt rode halfway
up my rear end.
Mr. James made a rude noise and moved about in his seat.
When I came up again and turned around, he was looking at
me strangely.
"Sorry, Mr. James," I said, grabbing my skirt and
pretending to be embarrassed. Despite being warned, I had
on thong panties.
He said: "Miss Cole. Generally, I don't allow behavior
like this from a stupid--I mean student (he actually said
that, Diary)--even one with an otherwise excellent
record." His face had gotten very red. "But I guess I
can, well...look the other way this time."
"Oh, thank you, Mr. James!" I exclaimed, running around
the desk and giving him a huge kiss on his cheek. He
practically fell over trying to get away.
"Well, yes. Yes, of course. But I warn you Brandi, any
more reports of questionable behavior..." He looked at me
over his glasses with his hot eyes. "And you won't be
getting off with just a warning. Next time it's something
appropriate. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes, sir," I said, demurely. "Absolutely. Anything you
say." I apologized for making a fuss and slipped out of
his office and went back to class.
"I wonder what appropriate means?" I thought, walking
into math.
I HATE math!
*
Oh, my God, I thought. Was I really that way?
I remembered everything now, so much of what happened,
things I had blocked out for years. Such as I had worn
braces back then and had acne, and I had such a terrible
complex over it that I never wrote it down in my diary.
(I had written everything else, it seemed.) Mr. Bork's
real name was John Robinette, and he was not big and
muscled as I wrote, but just a normal man. A teacher. He
wore glasses and had short brown hair--no mustache or
beard--and from what I remember, he was very thin. He was
twenty-four years old, barely older than my brother.
And Daddy...well Daddy was Daddy, no doubt about that.
But he was just a lonely man raising three children with
no wife, and even at twelve I was already something to
handle. And Lynne, seventeen years old and the perfect
slut, sleeping in Daddy's bed with her boyfriend (what
was his name? Jack?) while Daddy slaved at work, telling
me when I caught them that if I ever opened my mouth Jack
would fill it with something hard and hot and wet. Then
Lynne tying me to my bed two days later and letting Jack
rape me when all I told Daddy was that Jack had been by.
I hated Lynne then and I hate Lynne now. And Mr. Bork?
I went back to my reading.
Yesterday, in Mr. Bork's class (studying creative writing
of all things--I guess I'll flunk), trying to write a
poem I suddenly felt an itch. That oh-so-familiar itch. I
didn't know what to do. That part of me which loves to
touch myself said, "Do it, Brandi! Right here in class!"
while the other part of me was yelling "ARE YOU CRAZY?"
and stamping her feet.
This was VERY naughty, Diary, even to think.
I looked around and saw everyone else was bent over
writing, even the shitheaded jocks. So slowly, ever so
slowly, I inched my hand under my skirt and, I'll tell
you, Diary, I could feel myself shake. Being naughty
turned me on and scared me half to death!
Knowing I'd get in trouble for it, but not caring, I
found the top of my panties and slipped my fingers
inside, went right down to my little button. I touched
it. I looked back and forth with my eyes, trying not to
gasp, then pulled my panties aside just a little and
touched my lips, then, oh then, Diary, I put my middle
finger inside, and it was wet, Diary, and HOT!
HOT! HOT! HOT!
Everyone says blondes like me get their hair last, Diary,
and I guess that's right, because I haven't got a one! (I
may keep it that way when I grow up, because Daddy likes
it bare.) But this turned me on all the more because I
knew Mr. Bork would have an unobstructed view, should he
look, and once I had two of my fingers inside, Diary, and
I felt I really should quit--it was almost time for the
bell and besides, now I had to go to the girl's room--I
couldn't let go. I said, "Mr. Bork?" and of course he
looked up and this is what he saw:
My legs were spread, my plaid skirt raised just a bit,
and my panties pulled back with my fingers inside. His
face just froze. I thought he would faint. I thought I
would faint. Time stood still for a heartbeat or for an
hour, and then I closed my legs and withdrew my hand and
clasped my hands together in the middle of the desktop,
letting myself calm.
Mr. Bork caught himself fast. "What is it, Brandi," he
said, like nothing had happened at all. His voice was
totally calm.
I smiled and said shyly, "Nothing, Mr. Bork. I guess I
forgot."
As I finished my last word, I put the tip of my finger to
my lips and I licked it, Diary. No one else saw--I hope--
but my Mr. Bork, and he saw it for sure.
"Brandi, see me before you go, please," Mr. Bork said.
The rest of the kids, not a clue in the world, milled out
of the room.
I waited at my desk, waiting for the last kid to leave.
When she did, Mr. Bork closed the door.
"Have I done something wrong, Mr. Bork?" I asked,
innocently. I moved about in my chair, trying to be
nervous (which I actually was), to make the show better.
He laughed sharply. "I don't know how to say this
Brandi," he said, shuffling the papers on his desk. (What
he wanted to say was, "I saw you playing with yourself,
Brandi, and I am REALLY shocked." But diary, teachers
don't say things like that, do they?) Instead, he cleared
his throat, and said bluntly: "You had a finger inside
your panties, Brandi. I'm sure this wasn't on purpose,
because no twelve year old with a grade A average, is
going to risk her future taunting a teacher. Right?"
I wanted to scream YES, Diary! YES! YES! YES! but I
settled for: "No, Mr. Bork. I...I'm just have this
problem, you know?" I said this shyly, dropping my eyes,
as though really embarrassed (which dammit, I was,
because my face got all hot).
Men don't wanna hear about "girl problems," and neither
did Mr. Bork, so he smiled and said: "Well, okay then.
We'll let that go." He looked at the door, then got up
and went to reopen it. I can't tell you how DISAPPOINTED
I was at that, Diary! It must have shown on my face,
because when he came back and sat down on the edge of his
desk, Mr. Bork said: "I meant to tell you earlier.
There's a spot opening on the debate team next week.
Stacey Stippich is leaving school (she's pregnant, Diary,
and beginning to show), so if your interested in
joining..."
I smiled uncertainly, and nodded. Debate club? Me? Are we
kidding?
Then a thought hit me. "You're the Debate Club couch,
right? Mr. Bork?"
Mr. Bork nodded. "Along with Miss Jeter, yes. We
alternate weeks."
The Debate Club travels, dear Diary, ALL OVER THE
COUNTRY. And when they go, they go with two chaperones.
Miss Jeter. And MR. BORK!
My heartbeat shot up to a million, no, a million jillion!
A million SQUILLION JILLION!
"Can I think about it?" I asked.
He nodded and smiled. "Let me know next week."
I thought: I'll let you know right now if I can jump into
your lap Mr. Bork! YES! YES! YES!
Mr. Bork cleared his throat. "Now, I have a lot of tests
to grade, Brandi. Why don't you run along home?"
I got up to leave, Diary, then he said: "And I'm sorry to
hear about your problem. You take care of that, okay?"
I stood looking dumb. Remembering my "problem" at last
(Jimmies, Diary, my face got so hot), I said: "Yes. Yes,
sir, Mr. Bork, no problem there."
He nodded and smiled, then put his mind to grading his
papers. I stood at my desk, feeling really dumb. "I was
wondering," I said, cautiously. "I have homework to do,
and my Dad's running late (he's probably home drunk, I
wanted to say). Do you think I could, like, do my
homework here?"
He didn't look up. "Go right ahead. Just be quiet."
I assured him I would.
I was anything but!
I moved in my seat constantly, Diary, opening and closing
my legs, chewed noisily on the end of my eraser. Yes, I
even put a finger in my panties again and Mr. Bork almost
looked! After a while, he got tired of it and said: "You
are the noisiest kid I've ever seen, Brandi Cole." He
threw down his pencil. "I ought to give you detention
just for that. Never mind. I have to go down to the
office to see Mr. James. You be okay?"
I assured him I would. Then I was alone in the classroom.
So much for my plan.
SHIT!
Still, I felt all tingly and happy inside. I wanted Mr.
Bork's cock, yes, but I wanted to go away with him more.
Because even my little girl smarts told me a night in a
motel beats ten minutes in a locked classroom. I wanted
to be Mr. Bork's lover, not his ten minute whore.
I took out my notebook and started to write.
Dear Mr. Bork,
I am sitting here in your classroom, fantasizing about
being over your knee, having my fanny tanned by your big
strong hand. I know you can't do this, not in the
classroom, but there's something I'll do for you. If you
say yes, that is.
I've heard from other girls that Mr. Bork secretly likes
spanking teenage girls. On their bare behinds. "He's a
great lay," Jennifer Wyche said. "And if you hook up with
him, Brandi, you'll get everything you want."
What I wanted right now was a good spanking.
My daddy, who loves me very much, will never do that.
"But Brandi!" he says. "I love you too much. How could I
hurt you?"
He doesn't understand that a girl my age needs to be
hurt, needs her fanny smacked once in a while, needs
discipline. Only a spanking will do that. I cupped my
chin in my hand and wondered what Mr. Bork's big hand
would do to my bottom. I sighed.
Jotting down the rest of the note, I tore off the page
and folded it over twice. Taking it to Mr. Bork's desk, I
put everything down and then removed my panties. I placed
them atop the note in the middle of his desk, Diary, and
I grinned, a really stupid, CHILDISH grin, and thought:
Brandi! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?
Panty-less, I left the room and ran down the hallway
(holding my skirt down you bet!), past the offices and
out the front door. I knew I would either get expelled
tomorrow, or get my tail beaten real good.
Which do you think I prayed for?
*
My God, I thought, closing the book. I had been such a
tart! My hands shook I was so startled.
You took off your panties!
I put the book down and tossed back my head, trying to
keep tears from ruining my makeup. I searched the end
table for a Kleenex. I had forgotten so much.
"Mom?" It was Julie calling from downstairs. "You okay?"
Julie, my own special problem. Twelve years old and
turning out just like her mom. Thank God, for her father.
Thank God, for a more effective person than me.
"Up here, honey."
"You okay?"
"Just fine."
"Dad wants to know if you want coffee or anything?"
"I'll have something later, honey. Thanks."
She said nothing else, and I felt her walk away. So
insolent; so much like me.
I got up and crossed to the bedroom window to look out.
The street below was lined both sides with cars and
trucks, many looking almost shocked with their cleanly
washed skins. The driveway was full. A blue Dodge pick-up
had squashed the border row of pansies--that would be Mr.
Nelson, I thought, Daddy's former yard supervisor at the
mill. Mr. Benson's red pick-up was behind him. And there
was Alderman Roble's fancy Lincoln Town car out on the
street and the Lexus driven by Mrs. Keenan, the
Reverend's wife. Daddy was popular with both the bad and
the good, all of whom milled about downstairs in an
uneasy truce.
"They never understood, did they Daddy?" I whispered.
They would certainly never understand us.
I reopened the book and continued to read.
RRRRRRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIING!
"I'll get it daddy!" I yelled, dashing to the phone. It
was eight o'clock. I was terrified.
I hadn't eaten dinner and so far I had been to the
bathroom THREE times, cursing the miserable squirts.
I was SOOOOO petrified, Diary!
"Hello!" I answered, out of breath.
No one answered and for a moment I thought no one was
there. I was crushed. Just as I was about to hang up,
though, Mr. Bork said: "Brandi? Is that you?"
HE HAD CALLED!
"Yes, it's me," I answered. I thought I would faint!
"Brandi," he said. "It's Mr. Bork." Like I wouldn't know
who he was out of ten thousand people calling! "I got
your note. I've already spoken with your father."
There was a long silence, Diary, and I swear I heard
Daddy bounding downstairs to tear up my ass. But then Mr.
Bork continued.
"I have to say I was shocked, Brandi. Just shocked.
Leaving your panties on my desk like that, and that note.
Do you know what would happen if one of the other
teachers had found them? Or a student?"
I gulped and felt totally dumb, Diary, but I answered
truthfully. "I had to take the chance, Mr. Bork. I was
really, like, desperate. I couldn't do it in person. I
was too scared."
Mr. Bork stayed silent. I felt his anger right over the
phone. Tears built up in my eyes, Diary, and I was one
second away from crying.
"I guess I'm in real trouble, Mr. Bork, aren't I? You're
gonna expel me." And then I did start crying.
"Hold on, hold on," he said. "No one said that."
I sobbed and then I got the hiccups. "I'm sorry, Mr.
Bork, HIC! I really am. HIC! Don't HIC! expel me, please!
I promise to be HIC! good!"
I HATE having the hiccups, Diary, I just HATE it!
"Brandi! Brandi, will you calm down."
"I'll be good in your class from now on, Mr. Bork, and I
won't make trouble. I'll do my homework, and--"
"Brandi!"
I sobbed again loudly. "Yes, Mr. Bork?"
"Shut the hell up!"
Talk about SHOCKED! I said okay.
"Now, Brandi, listen to me. What you did today was wrong
and it can't go unpunished."
"No, Mr. Bork," I sobbed.
"Shut up, Brandi."
"Yes, Mr. Bork."
"Now, tomorrow after school, I expect you in my class
right after last period. Is that understood?"
"Yes, Mr. Bork."
"I can't tell anyone what you did without raising a
stink, Brandi, so you'll be getting a special punishment
from me. You know what that punishment is."
I nodded my head, Diary, and then I thought, "Like he can
really see you, you stupid goober." Then I said, "I
understand, Mr. Bork."
"You should. You suggested it yourself."
My fanny suddenly tingled, Diary, and got real warm, and
I swear, I felt his hand coming down.
"I know, Mr. Bork," I said. "I'm sorry." Then I said to
myself: "What are you talking about, girl! You're NOT
sorry! You WANT to be spanked! Don't tell him you're
sorry!" And I said: "Should I wear anything special, Mr.
Bork?" Thinking maybe my thinnest panties or maybe even a
thong so he could spank my bare rear?
"Just your uniform," he said, sternly. "No surprises."
"Yes, Mr. Bork."
"And Brandi? It's 'Yes, sir' from now on, understand? You
will be respectful."
"Yes, sir."
"And from now on, you be to class on time."
"Yes, sir."
"And no more chewing gum, Brandi."
"Yes, sir."
"No, sir."
"No, sir," I corrected.
"The next time I see you passing notes, or not paying
attention in class, or writing love notes to yourself (I
don't know how he could now that, Diary! I was always so
careful. And besides, they aren't love notes to myself,
I'm not hung up on myself) I will very likely make you
read those notes out loud and then go stand in a corner
for the rest of the class. Maybe even get on your knees.
Understand?"
Oh, GOD, Diary! Think of the humiliation! Everyone in
class laughing and pointing their fingers!
"No, Mr. Bork," I said, meekly. "No, sir, I mean. You
have my word on it. No more misbehaving."
"And there's to be no more wearing underwear not within
school guidelines, young lady. White only, and only
briefs, not bikini panties or those damned thongs you had
on last month. Is that clear?"
"Yes, sir! Yes, Mr. Bork!" I said, my head spinning. He
really had me rattled, Diary. Talk about being put in
your place.
"I'll be watching you very closely, Brandi. The first
time you step out of line..." He didn't have to say the
rest.
"Yes, sir," I said.
"And it won't be the sexual type of spanking you hint at
in your note," he said, softly.
I swallowed VERY hard, Diary, because I had just been
threatened with REAL punishment. Not the kind that fills
my daydreams and that I write about in my notes, but the
kind that makes girls like me scream and cry. The kind
Heather Long got from her father last week when she got
caught cutting class and then sassed her mom for it
later. Heather didn't come to school for two days, Diary,
and then she had a REAL hard time sitting still. And
Heather is six months older than I am, already thirteen.
"Are you listening to me, Brandi?"
"Oh, yes, sir!" I yelped. "Every word!"
"Then I'll see you tomorrow in class," he said, and hung
up.
Diary, I stood there for a full minute, just staring at
the wall with the phone at my ear, wondering what I had
done. I wished I had not written the note. I could not
stop shaking.
The next day you KNOW I made his class on time. I was
second in my seat and had my book open and was studying
when Mr. Bork came in. He stared at me and his eyes like
to set me on fire, Diary.
"Good afternoon, class," he said, and I piped up with,
"Good afternoon, Mr. Bork!" so loud and so fast that
Bonnie Rizzo and Michelle Penwarden laughed at me. You
should have seen my face!
"This afternoon, class," he said, "we'll be taking an
extended period so Mr. Rhimes (he's the vice-principal)
can give a talk about the debate club." (I sat up with a
shock. I had completely forgotten.) Mr. Bork looked
directly at me. "I was privileged to tell him this
morning that Brandi Cole is our newest club member."
There were half a dozen gasps from girls I know, and then
a shocked silence. No one was more shocked than me.
"Brandi will be taking Stacey's place on the team next
week," he said. "And in three weeks, will be accompanying
us on our trip to Chicago."
Again, shocked silence. Then two or three of the debate
team girls clapped half-heartedly, and I went ten shades
of red redder! Now everyone would think I was a geek!
But Diary! In three weeks I'd GO AWAY with Mr. Bork!
"I have to leave for an important engagement after final
period," he said, turning toward the blackboard. "Anyone
scheduled for detention will have to make it up tomorrow
afternoon."
It took a moment to sink in, and then, Diary, I was SO
TOTALLY CRUSHED. I almost exclaimed: "But Mr. Bork!"
before I realized it was me he had an important
engagement with! He eyed me over the tops of his horn
rimmed glasses, saying "Shut up!" with his eyes.
I choked/hiccupped/coughed all at once.
The next fifty minutes zoomed by, Diary, and then Mr.
Rhymes (what an ugly old toad) came in to talk. I
listened to every word he said for half an hour (another
first!) and actually stood up and thanked him for
accepting me on the team. HOW EMBARRASSING! When he
finally left and Mr. Bork dismissed the class, I was told
to remain.
"Come up here, Brandi," he said, looking over his
glasses. I got up and stood in front of his desk, hands
safely behind my back. I was so NERVOUS!
"Do you want me to shut the door?" I asked, voice
breaking.
"No." He wrote something into his attendance book and I
remained there obediently, absolutely still. Then he
said: "You were exceptionally well behaved in class
today, Brandi."
"Thank you, sir," I said, thinking, OH NO! DON'T TELL ME!
"I tried my best."
Mr. Bork grunted. "Don't let it go to your head. You're
still getting spanked."
OH, THANK GOD!
"Yes, sir," I said. "Thank you, sir."
He looked at me, over his glasses. I looked down. "Was
that a smart-ass remark? You haven't learned?"
"Oh, no sir!" I practically shouted. "Not at all!"
He went back to his writing.
I stood there for a five full minutes, Diary, and I was
SO CONFUSED. Were we going out of the building? My heart
pounded and made me sway back and forth. Surely not his
APARTMENT?
"We're going to my place, Brandi," he said and I almost
fell down.
"You're a-a-apartment, sir?" I babbled. I SWEAR, Diary, I
could not NOT say the word, I was so shocked! And inside
I'm shouting "SHUT UP, Brandi, SHUT UP!"
He stopped writing and looked up. "Is there a problem?"
"No, sir," I said hurriedly. "Of course not."
"You understand why, of course."
"Yes, sir," I said, though I hadn't a clue.
Patiently, he explained. "It's because here at St.
Mary's, corporal punishment is not an accepted form of
punishment. The sound would carry throughout the entire
building (He looked at me POINTEDLY, Diary, making sure I
understood what the sound would be), and everyone would
know. That would get me in trouble. I can't have that."
"No, sir," I agreed.
He ripped a piece of paper from his notebook, Diary, and
gave it to me. My hand would not stop shaking. He said.
"I want you on my doorstep no later than four o'clock. Is
that understood?"
"Yes, sir."
"It's fifteen minutes from your house. You can easily
bike it once you've gone home and changed."
"Yes, sir."
"You're to wear blue jeans and a button down shirt,
Brandi, some neutral color. Plain white panties and bra.
You have those?"
"Yes, sir."
"No makeup," he said. "And no wild hairdo." He pointed at
my head. "It's to remain just as it is now, ponytailed.
Understand?"
"No, sir. Yes, sir."
"Anyone sees you, you just smile and keep those pedals
turning."
"Yes, sir."
"Now get out of here. You'll be late for class."
"Yes, sir!" I shouted, running for my books. I ran out of
the room, ran all the way to my next class, and was two
minutes late getting there. I got written up.
I HATE math!
Once I got home and changed, I told Daddy I had to go to
Marcie's house to study, then to Pizza Hut cause her dad
was buying us pizza. I hate lying to Daddy, but I didn't
know what else to do. I sure couldn't tell him the truth.
I put books in my backpack, and a mini-skirt and halter
top (just in case Mr. Bork didn't like me in jeans) and
got ready to go.
I felt so PLAIN, Diary! No makeup and no revealing
clothes? I LOOKED like a do-goody girl on the debate
team. For a minute I stood in front of my mirror (by the
way, I actually had straightened my room and made the
bed--GO FIGURE) looking at myself, and I have to say
this, Diary, I didn't like the girl looking back. She was
WAY too plain and innocent looking, and unattractive with
no makeup. If I passed her in the hallways at school I'd
laugh about her to my friends.
This is what I was: The white shirt COMPLETELY hid her
boobies (I almost ran for my sock drawer HA! HA!), and
the jeans made her hips look boyish and round. I looked
at my backside and JUST HATED it, Diary. I almost cried.
Then I got SO MAD at Mr. Bork for making me look like a
dork, that I wanted to tear everything off and hide in
the bed. Then I did cry. I was ten minutes late leaving
the house.
I rode my bike down Adelphi Road past St. Mary's school
(like always, I stuck out my tongue) and turned right on
University Boulevard. Mr. Bork was right. It took me
fifteen minutes to get to his apartment. Only it wasn't
an apartment at all, but a red brick, two story house
with a garage. I looked at the address numbers, then at
the paper, then at the numbers again. I rode back down
the street to check the sign. It was right.
Peddling back up the street, I hopped off the bike and
opened the metal gate. I rolled the bike it inside. His
yard was fenced in, Diary, and there were flowers running
all up and down the walk. There was a flower bed around
each tree, and more flowers running along the fence at
his neighbor's yard. I couldn't believe so many flowers.
And there was a front porch swing on the porch (where
else would it be, Brandi?), and blue and white shutters
around the windows.
The house was so pretty.
I was surprised.
Just then, some boys in a red Camaro went by and whistled
and yelled and made me jump. IT MADE ME JUMP, Diary! And
then I remembered I not passed a guy all the way here who
didn't look at me, Diary, or turn to look, or a single
car where guys in it that didn't check me out.
But it was different, Diary, not what I expect. There
were no quick head jerks or raised eyebrows, and no one
gave me that nasty grin that says "Oh, yeah, Brandi, I'd
like to fuck you real bad!" Instead, what I got were
casual looks that sometimes kept on, and smiles rather
than leers when I caught them looking. Not even the boys
whistling and catcalling from the Camaro were the same.
They seemed almost teasing, not taunting and mean. I
looked after the car and they saw me looking, Diary, and
I swear, two of the boys turned around in their seats and
stopped being stupid. The others kept looking and the one
boy actually waved.
He waved and I DIDN'T wave back. I just stood there and
stared.
Then I realized Mr. Bork was calling.
"Yes, sir?"
He pointed at his watch. I looked after the car again.
"Yes, sir," I said, and put my bike against the inside of
the fence and shut the gate. "Sorry."
"Sorry doesn't cut it, young lady. I told you four
o'clock."
I started down the walk. Looking up at him, Diary, I
said: "No, sir. I mean I actually am sorry." I stopped at
the foot of the steps and it just came out. "Mr. Bork? Am
I pretty?"
His face got very hard. "Young lady, this is no place for
narcissistic behavior or childish games. Now get in
here."
Since I didn't know what "narcissistic" behavior was, and
I wasn't playing games, I looked at Mr. Bork and I said:
"I'm not being a smart-ass, Mr. Bork. I'm really not." I
looked down the street again but the Camaro was gone. "I
just wanted to know."
He seemed puzzled for a minute, then shook it off and
motioned me inside. I walked in and he shut the door
behind us.
*
I stopped reading and peered out the window again. The
red brick house of John Robinette's was less than four
miles away. I had driven by it just last week, curious if
the new owners (how many had there been? I wondered,
since he moved in nineteen eighty-nine) had kept it up.
The flower beds surrounding the three maples were no
longer there, nor along the fence at his neighbor's yard,
but they still planted Impatiens and Daffodils along the
front walk. The chain link fence had been recently
replaced, and the trim on the house painted. It had a new
roof. The old swing on the front porch was still there
and someone had erected a swing set in the back yard.
There was a wading pool.
How things change. How things never change.
Was it possible, I wondered, to mature in the space of
one day? Within a few pages? The Brandi Cole that sat
down to write this entry was not the same Brandi Cole who
finished it. Or more correctly, no longer a hopeless
tart. I remember being on John's sidewalk that afternoon,
those strange emotions inside, sensing within my
confusion another Brandi wanting escape, one who liked
being watched and not ogled, desired but not craved. A
young girl with braces and acne and hair in a ponytail,
wearing jeans and a plain white shirt. And liking herself
for it.
And, I realized now, this shift in awareness showed in my
writing. Had I known?
My father had. After that day he took me to bed only
once, holding me in his arms afterward as I sobbed out my
guilt, talked with me into the small hours of the
morning. He heard my fears and my hopes, helped find the
Brandi inside. He never touched me again, though later he
beat me silly over John and the other things I wrote. I
forgave him for that. I never forgave Lynne.
I returned to the journal.
His house was as nice inside as out. The furniture was
old, but clean looking, and not all mismatched like by
brother has. There was an oval shaped rug on the floor
and shiny wood beneath it, and one of those big screen
TV's like Jenny has at her house. And books. Lots and
lots of books.
Mr. Bork took me through the living room into his den,
and had me sit down. He sat at his desk. He was very
intense. "First thing I want to say, Brandi, is that you
have almost no time to prepare for the team. Your to stay
after tomorrow afternoon with two of the girls to learn
the routine. Secondly, we got away in three weeks, and
you will be rooming with three other girls. There will be
no horseplay. Understood?"
"Yes, sir."
"Light's out is eleven o'clock every night, including
weekends, and you don't leave the room without
permission."
"No, sir."
He looked at me very steadily. "You look very nice,
Brandi. I'm really surprised."
I looked down, Diary. I felt myself blush. "Thank you,
sir," I mumbled.
He was quiet for a time. Then he said: "I have the
feeling you're no longer up for this, Brandi."
I just looked at the floor.
"What happened?"
Shrugging, I said: "I don't know, sir." Which was the
honest TRUTH!
Mr. Bork worked his hands together, stared at me, making
me feel really small. "I can send you home right now, if
that's what you want."
"No, sir," I said, very softly. "That's not what I want."
The truth was, Diary, I didn't know WHAT I wanted. Even
though I was really confused, even though I feared the
spanking, I was even MORE desperate for Mr. Bork. So
desperate that I didn't know how to THINK what I wanted,
much less say it.
"You want to stay?"
"Yes."
He didn't correct me. Instead, he got up from his chair
and crossed over to where I was sitting, and squatted
down. Diary! My heart started beating SUPER hard. SUPER
DUPER HARD. I couldn't breath and I couldn't talk, and
when he lifted my chin with his fingertips, I couldn't
meet his eyes.
"You have two choices," he said. "Over my lap, or over
the top of my desk."
For the first time I noticed his desk was completely
clear. I gulped. "I'll do whatever you say, Mr. Bork."
"Will you?"
I met his eyes. I could barely speak. "Yes, sir."
"Entertain me," he said. He went back and sat down in his
chair. This time I could not gulp.
Diary, he wanted me to MASTURBATE! No counting that I had
done it in front of him just yesterday in class--this was
different! This was SO VERY DIFFERENT.
Right then I didn't want to masturbate any more than I
wanted to be spanked and I wanted both desperately. I
slowly unbuckled my belt, and pulled down my zipper.
"Can I ask you something, Mr. Bork?"
"Certainly."
"Are you going to hurt me?"
He cocked his head. "Hurt you how?"
I just sat there and shook.
"Pull your pants down, Brandi."
I pulled down my pants.
"You didn't have this problem yesterday. You seemed
willing enough then."
"Yes, sir."
"Different now, huh?"
"Yes, sir."
His lips turned up in a knowing smile, the kind of smile
Daddy gets when he catches me up short, when I do
something really dumb. "I'll ask you again, Brandi. Do
you want to go home?"
In answer, I pushed my jeans all the down around my
ankles and spread my legs. Putting my hand on my belly, I
slipped it beneath my panties and went to the place
between my legs. Breathing got really hard. I felt light
headed. Then I found my little button and began to rub it
and I jumped something awful.
I yipped, "Sorry!" and withdrew my hand. My face was on
fire. "I don't why what happened." Then a shiver ran up
my spine and I spread my legs more and tilted myself
upwards, and put my hand back and began to rub. In
seconds, I was squirming. "Oh, God," I said, without
meaning to, and Mr. Bork's eyes, Diary, Mr. Bork's eyes
got ready to POP. He tried to hide it, but his penis
turned into this really big cock and pushed up under his
pants so that they bulged. I got really excited.
"I've never done this before," I said, which is almost
the truth. I've only done it for Daddy. "Not in front of
a man."
Mr. Bork's eyes just watched.
Knowing I shouldn't, Diary, but unable to stop, I slid my
other hand down my panties and began touching my lips.
Soon one finger was up me, then two, then three of them,
so Mr. Bork couldn't miss what I did. Then I took out all
but one because one finger is always the best.
I made noise and I moaned, Diary, and it was SO
EMBARRASSING! Then I removed my hand and pulled my
panties aside and let Mr. Bork see everything. I used the
fingers of both hands to open myself up, Diary, and I
opened myself WIDE. Shaking like a leaf, I felt air go
into my vagina and all the way down to its end, and this
sent chills through me everywhere. I was totally
flustered, Diary and HOT! Then I did something worse.
OH, GOD, DIARY! I Didn't REALLY do this!
Pulling my panties down to my knees, I leaned back all
the way and pulled my knees against my chest. Hugging
them there my chin, I pulled me butt cheeks apart and
showed Mr. Bork everything Brandi Cole had.
He made a weird noise, then coughed.
"Mr. Bork," I said, feeling really desperate.
"What?" he croaked back.
"I think you better spank me now."
He was up in an instant and to my chair, snatching me up
and Diary, he pulled my panties into place in mid-air and
put me over his knee. His giant erection poked me hard in
the belly, making me gasp out loud. Then he pushed my
shirt all the way and undid my bra. "When I finish," he
said. "You'll have about three seconds to get between my
legs and unbutton your top. It has to come off. Your
brassiere too. Understand?"
"Yes, sir," I panted. OH, PLEASE! my brain screamed. Will
you PLEASE SPANK ME ALREADY!
SMACK!
The first blow was not that hard but stung pretty good.
It stung REALLY good!
Then SMACK! went his hand and then SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!
and my butt was suddenly alive and I gripped his leg with
both hands and I sucked in my breath and yelled, "Ow! Mr.
Bork! OW! That really hurts!"
His hand came down five more times and now he hand my
hands clutched behind my back, keeping me in place and
keeping them out of the way. I was kicking my feet and
jumping up and down on his lap and pleading, "OW! OW! It
hurts Mr. Bork! It hurts Mr. Bork! It HURTS!" and his
hand spanked me six more times.
"Mr. Bork, please! OW! Mr. Bork! OW! OW! OW!"
Then he pulled down my panties and spanked my rear end,
then raised them again and spanked me some more.
"You are SMACK! such a bad girl, Brandi SMACK! that
everything I do SMACK! is so well deserved. SMACK! SMACK!
SMACK! I will not SMACK! put up with your SMACK! bullshit
anymore SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! and if you so much as SMACK!
make a peep in my class SMACK! SMACK! I'll do this in
front of the class!"
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!
By now, I was crying harder than I had cried in years
(have I EVER cried that hard?) and tears poured down my
face and onto the floor. I couldn't see anything. My
bottom felt like a sting from a hundred foot wasp and I
couldn't cry out because I couldn't get my breathe. Every
spank sent my feet flying. Then I was off his lap and
onto the floor and Mr. Bork was standing before me and I
tore at the buttons on my shirt and whipped it off and
Mr. Bork was struggling to get his fly open. I tore off
my bra and I got to my knees and I got his pants open and
his erection out and before I could even look at it and
see if it was huge he pushed it into my mouth.
I started gagging.
"Nhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!"
"Jesus, Brandi! Jesus!"
"Nhhhhhh-enner-nonnnn! Nennnnnnn!"
"Jesus! Jesus! Jesus!"
He took my head, Diary, and very fast and very
forcefully, he made me take him all the way in. ALL THE
WAY IN! I know how to deep throat, but I've never had my
mouth taken over before, and it wasn't like I knew what I
was doing, or could control it, I only did what his hands
and his cock told me to do. It went all the way down my
throat at least six times, Diary, and because I was
choking so bad, he had to let me stop.
"Please! Please, Mr. Bork!" I gasped. "NO MORE!" Then I
finally saw his cock. IT WAS SO HUGE!
"Open your mouth and I'll do the rest!" he panted.
I panicked. "No! No! No, Mr. Bork! You don't understand."
I fell back on my hands, kicked out my legs and threw
them wide. "PLEASE! For God's sake! You have to!"
He grabbed me up, ran me to the couch and threw himself
down. I came down on top. He held me in the air--
literally--while I pulled my panties aside, and drew up
my legs. Then he was inside me and making me squeal, and
I went up and down his shaft like a runaway pump. Diary,
I squealed and I pleaded and I hit my head against his
because it hurt so good. IT HURT, DIARY! BUT IT HURT SO
GOOD!
"OH MY GOD, BRANDI! OH MY GOD!"
"MR. BORK! OHHHHHHHHHHH!"
I was completely in his grasp and going up and down and
all I could do was keep squealing, "Mr. Bork! Mr. Bork!"
until finally a burst of cum hot as the sun blew into me
and then I was gripping his neck and clamping my teeth
and screaming hard as I could into a pillow. I came and I
came and I came, Diary, until I couldn't come any more
and he was still hard inside me and still coming and
still hurting me, And then I shook and I chattered my
teeth until I passed out.
"You all right, baby?"
I looked up, found Mr. Bork stroking my hair. He sat
beside me on the couch. I was under a blanket.
"What happened?" I said.
"You passed out."
"I did?" I looked around in disbelief.
"You did."
I guess I did.
"You okay?"
"I guess so," I said. "I think so. I don't know." I
looked at my clothes thrown over the floor. "My butt
hurts," I said.
"It does?"
"Really bad."
His kissed the tip of my nose. "No one ever deserved it
more than you."
I guess they didn't.
"I'm not sure I can sit down," I said.
"Miss class tomorrow, young lady, and I'll tan you
again."
My face grew hot. "Don't worry. I won't do that."
He held my panties aloft. "I like you naked, Brandi.
You're very sexy, naked."
Slowly, I drew back the blanket and let it fall away.
"Even my little breasts?" My nipples were squashed little
points. He sucked them alive.
"Especially those," he said.
"What about there," I said, slightly spreading my legs.
He bent down and kissed me first on my button, then
between my lips. Then his tongue went in and it stayed
for a very long time. When it came out again (I was so
very ready to die) he smiled and said, "Like a baby. So
smooth," and for the first time since getting my period,
I was glad for no hair.
And then, Diary, he lay down atop me, kissed my nose and
my eyes, touched me on my breasts and my special place
and made me understand what being a good girl is all
about.
*
I looked up and my husband was in the doorway. "What you
got there?" he asked.
"A time machine," I said.
He looked at my strangely, but with a soft smile, and sat
down beside me. "People are wondering where you are," he
said. He placed his hand upon my two holding the diary.
He squeezed them reassuringly. "You all right?"
I smiled as best as I could. "Sure."
He looked at the diary, took it from my hands, and
glanced at it curiously. "This yours?" he asked. Flipping
the book back and forth, he did not open it.
"It was. Until it got taken away."
He whistled softly. "You don't mean..."
I nodded. "I found it in the drawer."
He looked at the table, back at the book, then down at
Dad's bed. "Kept it close, didn't he," he said.
I said nothing.
"Did you read any?"
"Uh-huh."
"Were you shocked?"
"Uh-huh."
John laughed, uneasily. "This would have been real
trouble," he said. "If your Daddy had told."
"I know," I said. "He didn't tell."
John sighed. "I never understood."
I took his arm, leaned my head on his shoulder. "I did,"
I said. "I still do."
John never gave up on me, not even after Daddy threatened
him harm. When I transferred to Our Lady of Good Counsel
High School in Wheaton, John followed. He was my English
teacher in eleventh grade, and my lover in all four. We
married the day I turned eighteen.
We kept it secret until my junior year in college, then I
got pregnant with Julie and carried the charade no
further. When the truth came out that John and I married
during my senior year at Good Counsel, he was dismissed,
as he expected. He now teaches at Frostburg State College
upstate.
Later that night, after the guests were gone and the
children were in bed, John lay me back on Daddy's bed and
touched me gently on my breasts and on my special place
and, like he did all those years ago in the red brick
house with so many pretty flowers, after kissing my nose
and my eyes, he showed me what being a good woman is all
about.
The End
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author
does not condone the described behavior in real life in
anyway shape or form. Anyone tempted to act out any of
the scenarios in this story; should seriously consider
seeking professional help.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Kristen's collection - Directory 14