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Archive name: oneroom.txt (Mdom/f-teen, intr, ped, S&M)
Authors name: Anonymous (address withheld by request)
Story title : One Room Schoolhouse

--------------------------------------------------------
This work is copyrighted to the author © 2002.  Please
don't remove the author information or make any changes
to this story.  All rights reserved. Thank you for your 
consideration.
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One Room Schoolhouse (Mdom/f-teen, intr, ped, S&M)
by Anonymous (address withheld by request)

***

A male teacher in a backwoods one room school house has 
to deal with the unruly city kid who had just started 
attending class. She was a black girl with a smart mouth, 
and the teacher wasn't quite sure how to deal with her, 
until finally she pushed him too far.

***

Jim Harbo reclined in his black wicker chair and watched 
his frantic class scribble out math answers to his test. 
It was incredible, but even two months into the term, 
some of these dolts still believed he was reading the 
hefty and battered Chaucer's Works open before him on his 
big oak desk.

Jim had spent the summer working as a lumberjack to pay 
off college loans, and it showed in his voice, a rumble 
like rolling thunder, when he issued the first warning of 
the day. "No spying, Ralph." 

"I wasn't!" Ralph yelped.

Jim slid his chair back and stood up. His three-month 
stint chainsawing the Oregon woods showed in his powerful 
body, the muscles of his swelling frame clearly visible 
under his jeans and red flannel shirt. It was hard to 
tell, but he thought he might have heard a couple of 
girls suck in a quick breath. In any event, the 
scribbling sounds that had filled the class a moment 
before came to a dead stop. "Excuse me. What did you 
say?"

Ralph squirmed in his chair. "Uh. Maybe I was stretching 
over Keesha's desk a little too far. I mean, I can see 
how it could have looked... but I wasn't. Honest."

Jim rolled his eyes. "Very well. Get back to work." He 
sat back down and pretended to read.

If only it had been Keesha cheating. Keesha Jackson did 
cheat, Jim was sure, even if he had never caught her. 
That girl had been the bane of his life since she had 
transferred into his class two weeks ago. 

Bad enough the Teachers Corps had banished him to corn-
pone Siberia--one room, a stove and a cracked blackboard, 
this multi-aged dozen of cow-herding hicks--but then, 
just when he was beginning to have the class under 
control, to have the Jackson's move into town.

The Jackson's were one of only three black families in 
town, and Jim had been given an oblique warning that he 
better make sure that the new student didn't get any 
harsher treatment than any of the other students. They 
didn't want any racial problems.

Honestly, Jim wasn't one hundred percent sure Keesha was 
a cheater. Maybe she wasn't, though she acted like one. 
One thing was for sure, though. Keesha was a very pretty 
girl. Normally he wasn't attracted to black girls, but 
Keesha was a stunner among the mundane.

It was so frustrating. 	"Ralph," Jim said crossly.

"What, sir?"

Actually, Jim was not certain himself, since he had 
spoken without really thinking. But that was all right. 
He had a quick mind. "What do you think, boy? I'll see 
you after class."

"But I thought--"

"I changed my mind. I am tired of your getting away with 
murder while the rest of this class puts in the studying 
to be able to turn in their own work."

"But Mr. Harbo--"

"Keep talking, Ralph. Every word you say is a shovelful 
of dirt on your grave."

Red faced, trembling lips pressed tightly together, Ralph 
looked down at his open palms.

With some difficulty, Jim resisted the urge to smile. 
Perhaps thrashing Ralph after school would relieve some 
of his tension. Now, he felt the rare urge to actually 
read poetry. He flipped back through the Works to the 
Clerk's Tale of Griselda, his favorite--but before he 
could start, movement caught his eye. Keesha, sitting 
primly at her desk, had raised her hand high in the air.

"Yes, Miss Jackson?"

"May I have permission to say something?"

"Go ahead."

"Thank you, sir. This is what I have to say. You have 
made a mistake. Ralph did not cheat a minute ago."

Jim glared at her. Keesha knew how to itch like a burr in 
his longjohns. "Oh. And how do you know that?"

"It's simple. When Ralph was leaning over my desk, my 
test was flipped over, face down. Actually, I finished 
half an hour ago, sir. Your tests are very easy."

Jim mulled that over. "That's interesting, Miss Jackson. 
Very interesting. What was Ralph looking at?"

Nonchalantly, Keesha lifted from her desk a sheaf of 
lined notebook paper covered with her neat handwriting, 
displaying it to the class. "Just something I wrote to 
show around. Nothing geometry-related." For some reason, 
this caused all the girls and most of the boys to start 
snickering-- snickering, he was suddenly certain, at him.

Jim stood up again. "Do you understand what you are 
saying, Miss Jackson?"

"Of course I understand. I am saying that since Ralph did 
not cheat, it would be wrong to punish him. What could 
there be not to understand in that?" 

More titters from the class, and then an expectant hush 
as they waited for his reply.

Jim walked around his desk, then down the center aisle 
toward the back of the room, where he stopped standing 
over Keesha, scowling down at her while she looked up at 
him. He stood like that a while, inventing an 
appropriately crushing reply.

But he could think of no reply. Gradually, he became 
aware of his class looking at him, like a group of 
picnickers watching a dog choke on a loaf of Spam.

Jim snatched the notes off her desk.

"Hey! Give that back!"

"Don't use that tone, please." He kept his back to her as 
he returned to his desk. "I suppose if you share the 
fruit of your literary labor with everyone else, you can 
share your fruit with me."

"I'm serious, Mr. Harbo. You don't want to read that."

"Keesha, Keesha. You don't want me to read this. I, in 
fact, am quite curious to do so. Now be silent." He sat 
down, lightly tamped her papers into the gutter groove of 
the Works, and started flipping through.

Jim had confiscated many notes over his career, but never 
one quite like this. In fact, what he was reading did not 
appear to be a note at all. More like a story... a story 
about...

** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** **

Jim hung his head, "Please, Miss Jackson, may I... lick 
your pussy?" 

"First, entertain me."

"How?"

"Act like a dog for me."

** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** **

About him!

Jim's eyes bugged out. The little hairs on the back of 
his neck stood straight up, generating static that 
prickled like a pin cushion crawling down his spine. His 
hands flew to his forehead, rubbing at his temples as he 
read more and more. The acts she had him doing, the words 
she had him saying.... He shut the Works over her work, 
'thump.'

"Keesha..." Spoken so low, it was almost a growl.

The girl, scribbling away at something else now, did not 
respond. Very quietly, though not quite inaudibly, she 
was whistling the battle motif from the 1812 overture.

"Keesha!"

She stopped writing and whistling, and looked up from her 
desk. "Excuse me? I was lost in thought."

Jim counted ten breaths, slowly, determined not to betray 
his emotion as he imagined what he would do to her. He 
shook his head in what could have been almost sorrow, but 
for his lips curled into their thin smile. 

"Class is dismissed," he announced. "Please turn in your 
exams if you have not done so. Ralph, you may go out with 
the others. Keesha, I want you to stay."

For a minute there was the quiet scratch and scuffle of 
uneasy pupils packing up and filing out of the room; then 
the door shut behind the last of them, and he was alone 
with her in his kingdom. Bars of rich late-afternoon 
sunlight striped the wooden floor, and Keesha too where 
she sat at her desk, backlighting the halo of her short 
cropped fuzzy black hair. 

"Come here," ordered Jim.

Keesha stood and crossed the room to him, where she stood 
with her arms folded, regarding him skeptically from the 
opposite side of his desk.

"Have you anything to say for yourself?"

"Yes. What did I-- oh? You read the story? Didn't I tell 
you not to?" 

Jim sighed, "Take off your overalls. I am going to have 
to thrash you."

"There's a little problem with that," said Keesha. "I was 
in a bit of a hurry this morning, and I didn't put on 
anything under-- you know, panties and stuff. I suppose 
the thrashing will have to wait for tomorrow."

"No, that's just too bad," Jim said. "Take them off. Next 
time, perhaps you will give some thought to 
undergarments, before embarking on a career as a smut-
raker."

Keesha was taken aback. "Really?" 

Jim drummed his fingers on his desk.

"Gee." She removed her shoes and socks, unbuckled the 
back straps of her overalls. "You're serious?" She 
stepped out of the overalls, placed them neatly folded 
next to her shoes and socks.

Jim took a long look at her, standing with her bare feet 
on the floor, dressed solely in a thin white blouse that 
barely draped her naked hips. A cloud momentarily blocked 
the sun outside, and the peach fuzz on her legs stood on 
end, reacting to the slight chill. "Now what?" 

"See that white pipe running under the ceiling?" asked 
Jim. "Jump up and grab it. Don't worry. It's strong. 
It'll hold you."

Keesha jumped up and grabbed it. She hung there, 
upstretched arm stitching up her blouse, baring her 
bottom to his sight. Outside, cottony snowflakes were 
streaking down out of the lowering and suddenly dark sky.

"Close your eyes. Remember to keep them tightly shut, for 
decency's sake." Jim took a moment to stoke the stove, 
got its coal blaze hissing hot again, and continued, 
"We'll start with twenty lashes. Count them off and thank 
me for each one. Anything other than the correct number, 
and thank you, will result in an additional five lashes. 
Let go, and I'm afraid we will have to start all over 
again." He paused, licking his lips. "Keesha, are you 
sorry?"

"Actually, sir, no."

"You will be," said Jim, "after a taste of my ferrule." 
He hefted a wooden yardstick from the chalk tray, 
scraping the tip in the metal groove to make an eerie 
metallic squeak, and gave a few experimental whacks to 
his open palm. 

"Ferrule." Keesha echoed the word thoughtfully. "I learn 
a new word today. My friends all call that thing a 
ruler."

Whap!

"Ow! One! Thank you, Mr. Harbo."

Whap! Whap!

"Ow! Ow! Two, three. Thank you. Thank you."

A thin cloud of chalk dust puffed out around her dark ass 
cheeks, which were criss-crossed by chalky stripes now.

"Now are you sorry?" asked Jim.

"Sir? You know, I'm not even really in pain."

Jim had been holding the ruler at the midpoint, but now 
he gripped the rod at the end. He brought it back, took 
aim at the sensitive dimple where her buttocks met the 
small of her back, and swung with all his might. 

Keesha let out a shriek this time when it smacked home, 
her entire body convulsed in a shivering wriggle. Jim 
waited long enough for the pain to sink in, then struck 
her again, and again. One buttock cheek, the other, the 
fleshy fold at the top of the back of her thigh. 

Seven, eight.

"How about now, Miss Jackson? That hurt?"

"Aw... yes. Please, please... stop." 

Jim smiled, enjoying the way her head lolled forward at a 
skew angle, the broken rhythm of speech hitching on 
tortured gasps of breath. "Just kidding," she added.

Jim frowned fiercely. "All right, young miss. That's 
twenty-five." He wiped the dampness from his lip before 
striking her again. "You have provoked... you will be 
punished... you will show repentance."

"You will show repentance," Keesha echoed in a chipmunk 
version of his voice.

Whap-whap-whap-whap!

Between Keesha's smart mouth, his growing ire, and the 
whaps of the whizzing ferule, the snowstorm had not 
progressed long before Jim began to have trouble keeping 
track of her extra stripes himself.

Somewhere around nineteen-- what was it now, out of 
forty? -- she spoke up again, her words underscored by a 
far-off roll of thunder. "Okay. Now I am in pain. I am in 
serious pain." 

"If you beg for mercy, I might forgive the remainder of 
your strokes."

"That's... great! But you should know, there is a 
difference between being... in pain... and being sorry."

Vzzt-whap!

"Hey, stop a second," said Keesha. "This can't go on." 

"Yes it can."

"No way. I won't make it to forty-five. I... won't be 
able to sit down. Hold, sir please! Wait... I have an 
idea."

Shaking the kinks out of his right wrist, Jim stepped 
around to her front. Even just now, Keesha's voice had 
seemed fairly level, but her face was streaked with tears 
sliding down her cheeks from her tightly shut eyes. 

"What is your idea, girl?" 

"Well... why not give my poor bum a rest. There are many 
other areas of my body."

Jim mulled this over. "It is irregular," he finally said. 
"But I don't see why not."

Without more ado, he began to do exactly what the foolish 
girl had suggested, lavishing his wrath on her wherever 
he pleased. Her body and the beating it was taking had 
its affect on his. Jim was aroused now, enjoying his 
task. It was wonderful to watch his lashes streaking her 
perfect teenage body.

He started with her sides and taught belly, then went on 
to the backs of her legs, working slowly, allowing her 
time to feel the full effects of each blow before giving 
the next. Her cries were entirely in earnest when he 
smacked the fine hills under her scanty blouse--left, 
right, in curving undersides--

Suddenly Jim was staring at her navel. Keesha had done a 
chin-up. "Thirty-three! Enough on my breasts!"

So he crouched down and lashed the sensitive sole of her 
left foot.

"Thirty-four!" Keesha began to wave her other foot about, 
attempting small evasive kicks.

Gauging her jerky movements with ease, Jim brought the 
ruler back to strike, when suddenly -- patterpit -- the 
noise of a tiny spray flecking the floor. Jim stayed his 
hand and glanced down. A constellation of droplets on the 
wooden floorboards directly beneath Keesha glistened 
violet as lightning streaked outside. Sweat, surely.... 

Standing part way, he peered into the vertex of her 
Keesha's open and shifting legs. Sweat did, indeed, 
lightly sheen the supple tenderness of her limbs. But it 
was not sweat beaded in a rivulet down the inside of one 
thigh, trickling from the pout of her downy, slick 
womanhood.

In a heartbeat, Jim had put his mouth to her slick 
opening, his calloused fingers fondling her, feeling the 
streamers of female honey webbing her silky black thigh. 
Keesha curved her stomach in, somehow pulling herself 
even higher, but there was no escape. Jim followed her 
up, his face between her struggling legs, kissing her 
nether lips. 

Neither able to pull herself higher nor to close herself 
to him, she resigned herself to her fate, abandoning the 
futile fight -- to begin to sigh softly as he teased her 
defenseless bud with his tongue. 

Finally, still spooned-up in that awkward position, like 
a crazed acrobat, she did the mid-air splits. Her 
femininity spread before him like a glistening flower, 
she moaned, "Oh, oh, give me, oh..."

But Jim did not. Instead, he withdrew his ministrations 
and stood up. "Keesha, let yourself down."

"Please," she begged hoarsely, her legs spread even 
wider, her toes wriggling frantically. "Please, please--"

"No. You have been very bad. No more till you return to 
your proper place."

Keesha's small, smooth biceps quivered to the rhythm of 
her breath a long while, unyielding, but at last she 
lowered herself down, her white blouse turned brown where 
her nipples crinkled the sweat-soaked cotton. Jim took 
one of her breasts in his mouth, tasting her salt through 
the fabric; she arched against him, groaning in passion. 
He stepped away and insinuated the tip of the ruler 
between her parted legs.

"Thirty-five," she whispered.

Jim slid it out, and a moment later pressed it to her 
lips, glistening with her wetness. Keesha sucked on it 
until he pulled it free with a slippery pop. 

"Enough of this," Jim said in a low voice, and flung the 
ruler across the room, clattering into a corner. He 
suckled briefly at her other breast, then let go and 
peeled her blouse back, draping it over the white pipe, 
so she hung before him entirely naked except for her 
hands, which still clung to the bar, now swathed in white 
cotton.

Swiftly he doffed his shirt and tugged down his jeans and 
briefs; then she was wrapping her legs around his hips, 
drawing him close. "Enough," he said again as she slid 
down over him, perfect.

He reached up to remove her hands from the bar, the 
blouse fluttering down behind her as her arms went over 
his shoulders. Her face was wet, her cleft wetter, 
convulsing around him as her whole body jerked in a 
breathtakingly rapid climax. He closed his mouth over her 
lips, inhaling her cries, continuing to slide her up and 
down on his ridged shaft until she exploded again, 
drumming her small dark fists on his broad white back. 

"Never enough," she gasped, riding him, "never, never, 
never -- oh god yes, yes! YES!" as he pumped her full of 
his lust, gushering his infinite pleasure deep into her.

At last, Keesha climbed off him, stumbling back, leaning 
on the blackboard for support, every muscle in her body 
atremble. "Never, never, enough," she kept saying under 
her panting breathe, "Not ever. Thank you."

"You're welcome," he said, easing himself into his wicker 
chair. "No problem, any time."

Jim was fully dressed before Keesha had even collected 
her wits, but he waited for her, and when she was at last 
decent, he gave her a ride home through the gathering 
storm. 

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. 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
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