Chapter 2
Carolyn Holm stifled a groan as she woke in her hard, cold, narrow bed, ready for her first day's work as a teacher at The Pines. There was an extra blanket in the closet of the little cabin she'd been issued, but she hadn't used it during the night; her new principal, Mr. Sloane, had offered to obtain a softer, wider bed for her, but she'd refused it; she wanted no favors, and she welcomed the spartan life she'd be living in this school which had been converted from a forestry prison camp. She had sinned and suffered for it, and she knew she had to suffer more before she could forgive herself for what she'd done at her last job.
She threw back the single cover and rose from the bed, clad from neck to toe in a shapeless flannel nightgown, unadorned by even a bit of lace on its high neck or its long sleeves. Her long blonde hair fell in soft curls well down past her shoulders, her smooth face was expressionless as she threw open the window and breathed in the chilly, pine-scented air.
Her teeth were chattering and her nipples were up hard, chafing against the soft flannel, but still she stood there, practicing deep breathing while she counted to five hundred, then turned about and touched her toes fifty times in rapid succession.
Her very shapely fanny pushed back at the flannel as her firm, pointed breasts swung downward. Her fingers touched her slightly blue toes, then reached toward the rough-sawed planks that formed her ceiling, and the process was repeated, over and over, without a single grunt, with no change in her placidly contained expression.
She went into the bathroom, a fairly commodious place, since it formerly served four hardened camp workers, and she shucked off the flannel nightie and stepped into the stall shower without so much as giving herself a glance in the mirror over the sink.
Carolyn had to clamp her jaws firmly shut to still the chattering now, for the water she used was cold, one more penance on her road to self-forgiveness. The soap that glided over her tall, flawless body was scented, a luxury she decided she'd give up as soon as this bar was gone, a luxury that was a faint reminder of her past sins at Miss Trowbridge's Young Lady's School.
Her curly blonde-furred crotch was soaped thoroughly but quickly, as were her breasts, very full and round, almost out of proportion to her long, narrow waist, but well-balanced by a bottom that was almost embarrassingly rounded and back-thrusting. Gooseflesh was all over her creamy pale skin, not unlike a million tiny breasts, and quite as sensitive. Stepping out of the shower she made the toweling as brief and vigorous as possible and was done with it before even the faintest glow of warmth could creep in on her frigid flesh.
She dressed as primly as she could, wishing she'd brought along some plain cotton underwear instead of the frilly things that Iris had talked her into buying. On top of the ruffles and laces, she donned a blue dress, a shade paler than her eyes. She'd let the hem out till it came to just above her dimpled knees, and she'd added a heavy lace bodice that covered the upper swells of her too prominent breasts and extended up to the base of her pure, white throat.
Expressionless before the mirror, she brushed out her hair into long, soft waves, then bunched it and rolled it and pinned it in a tight bun on the back of her neck. Her makeup case was there, and for a moment she toyed with the notion of applying some eye shadow and liner. That might be appreciated by the poor, isolated boys who she was to teach, even though she'd vowed to use no makeup at all for the next year.
On this matter she compromised, and put on a thin film of pink lip gloss, just to cover the blue in her soft lips. With a coat bundling her up, she left the little cottage and headed for the mess hall, hoping she'd be the first to arrive.
The mess hall was bare, stark, and the only signs of life in it were the clouds of steam rising from behind the long utensil cabinet that separated the dining area from the serving area. As she went to get her food, she heard the sound of laughter, low and throaty, and it warmed her that people had good times at The Pines.
Rounding the cabinet, Carolyn saw the camp cook, whom she'd briefly met before, horse-playing with one of the students. It looked like something a bit more than horseplay, but it ended the moment she rounded the corner and she was ashamed of herself for even thinking that anything might occur between the plump, middle-aged cook and the rosy-cheeked boy who was helping her.
Carolyn tried to be pleasant to them both as she carried a tray past the steam tables, but the cook gave her an early morning unpleasant scowl along with her oatmeal and the boy gave her an even more unpleasant leer.
Seated across the room, she knew she'd encounter a lot of those leers, for boys of his age were just beginning to notice the female of the species, and though she might be their instructress she was still a female. She knew she would have to remain entirely businesslike with the boys, playing no favorites in class, and associating only with Mr. Sloane and Mrs. Wilkes, once she'd gained their friendship and once she'd made it perfectly clear to Mr. Sloane that there could never be the slightest romantic involvement between them.
Carolyn's contract called for her to teach four subjects each day. Mr. Sloane taught the same number of classes, so that each of them had half the students in their classrooms all the time. In addition, Mr. Sloane carried out the administrative duties in his office.
Carolyn's first class was mathematics, and she was nervous as meeting time approached. She sat at her little desk at the head of the class, head down and knees primly together, for the desk was nothing more than a table and her legs could be seen by everyone in the class.
The room was warming up by the time she heard the boys filing rather noisily into the classroom, and still she didn't look up. She wanted to establish an image of the cool, unflappable, all business teacher, and then perhaps warm to them a bit once she had them in firm control. She just went through the text book, underlining salient points, controlling her own nervousness while the typical giggling and whispering went on, plus the roughhousing and running about that boys engage in. She was patient.
She waited until the boys had quieted themselves before she raised her head, thinly smiling, and introduced herself.
They were indeed a rough-looking lot. All in the same faded blue denim garb, they had the look of convicts about them as they grinned at her, trying to look lecherous, and if it hadn't been for their apple cheeks and tousled hair she'd have felt real fear clutching at her instead of the wheedling finger of apprehension that tickled in her tummy.
"The lesson today starts on page forty-six," she said, rising to turn toward the blackboard. "We are going to study short-cut means of multiplication and . . . ."
Chalk in hand, just turning to the board, she froze, for there on the big black slate was a crude but recognizable drawing of her that was of a shockingly obscene nature. It was largely a stick figure, but the out-thrusting breasts and the smartly rounded bottom were there, plus the oval of her face, the very wide eyes and the schoolmarm bun on the back of her head. She was naked. Her nipples stood out like beckoning fingers, and her pubic mound, covered with bushy hair and split with a slit, protruded forward and dripped heavily with chalked droplets. There was an idiotic smile on her pictured face and all around her were stick figures of men, boys, each of them grinning like a fool and equipped with out-landishly big genital organs, all of which were in a rigid condition, all of which pointed straight at her, spitting more droplets of filthy sexual exudations.
Her cheeks blazed hotly as she faced her grinning students and her finger trembled as she pointed behind her at the board. "Who did that? Who would do such a terrible thing?!?"
All ten hands were raised at once, and Carolyn gasped at this show of blatant defiance and whirled to erase the crude, disgusting drawing. There was no eraser to be found. She skittered up and down in front of the classroom looking for it while the boys guffawed and catcalled, compounding her acute distress.
"I'd sure like to multiply with you, teacher!"
"Show us the short-cut to your pussy!"
"I got something in my pants you can erase that with!"
"Hey, big tits, let's fuck!"
"She wears cheaters!"
"I'll bet she don't!"
"I know somebody says she does, wise guy!"
"Hey, big tits, let's fuck!"
She whirled and faced them again, fighting back the tears, trembling with rage and humiliation, and still they catcalled and insulted her. Patience, patience, she thought, for this is a part of your penance. She counted her racing heartbeats, tried to ignore her burning cheeks and cringing belly, until at last they were silent--silent but smirking.
"Wh-whoever did that, whoever hid the eraser, I want him to come up here and get rid of that awful thing. Do it now and there'll be nothing more said about it, and we can go on to the learning process that's so impo . . . ."
"FUCK YOU!"
It came from the back of the class, but she couldn't see from where. She wanted to stamp her foot and rage, she wanted to tell the little baboons exactly what she thought of them, but instead she calmly repeated her offer of amnesty, adding, "I'm going to put my head down on my desk, and when I raise it that disgusting thing is going to be gone from the blackboard. Then we'll all start to learn together."
She went to her desk and placed her head in her arms, welcoming this respite from the very verge of tears. She'd never been so mortified in her life--except for that time with Iris, of course--and it seemed almost too great a penance for the sin she'd committed.
"Okay, teacher," a subdued voice said, and she was able to raise her face with a smile on it.
"Now we'll begin," she said, and began her lecture. The classroom tittering went on, the surreptitious whisperings continued. They were all doing it so there was no one she could pick on to put an end to it. Matter of fact, it grew, and as it did Carolyn had an ominous feeling of dread. She became afraid to look behind her at the blackboard and yet she would certainly have to soon, when she began demonstrating math problems. She said a silent prayer, wishing that the board was as pure and clean as snow, though not so white, and then she turned to face it, half rising from her chair.
"Eek!" she said, and fell back, for there on the board she stood, now with a stiff penis in her mouth, another poked into her vagina, another in her rear, and one in each hand, with all of them spouting their vile sexual goo.
She couldn't help herself. Up from her seat she shot, searching frantically for an eraser that couldn't be found, while the boys so wild with their vile suggestions that at last she had to run from the room lest she burst out crying and by that show of weakness never regain control of the recalcitrant boys at The Pines.
She composed herself in the hall, difficult as that was with the memory of a mass assault of penises in her mind, and she opened the door to Mr. Sloane's classroom a crack. He was lecturing history to a bunch of very quiet boys, and he nodded at her beckoning finger.
A minute later he met her in the hall, and now her composure was all but restored. "There was an obscene picture on the blackboard," she explained to the thirty-fivish school principal, "and none of the boys would admit to drawing it. I came to you for advice, Mr. Sloane."
"And what did the picture show, Miss Holm?" he asked, hand in the small of her back making her stiffen as he ushered her into his office.
"Something vile. The subject matter is unimportant, it's the disciplining of the culprit I'm after. How should I handle a matter like this? What is the policy at The Pines?"
"Corporal punishment," he said, and from the corner of his office he picked up a large wooden paddle, large enough for the wielder of it to use both hands on its handle, with a swatting surface that was drilled with a double row of half inch holes.
"You mean you beat those boys!" She was aghast.
He smiled and said, "We administer a paddling when it's necessary. Make them work in the laundry, make them do kitchen police work or yard work, nothing does as much good as a taste of the paddle," he said, laying its swatting surface in his big hand with a light smack.
"I couldn't do that," she protested.
He shrugged. "Then you probably can't hold a job here, Miss Holm, and I happen to know how badly you need a job."
She cast down her eyes, tremulously looked up at him through her long blonde lashes. "Those charges at Miss Trowbridge's school were false, sir."
He shrugged again, swatted his palm again. "They're on the record, at least the unofficial record, and it'd be difficult for you to find other employment if you were terminated here for failing to maintain discipline."
"But I just couldn't beat those boys!"
"Nothing difficult about it. Surely you can recall how it was done to you at home, and how effective it was."
"Oh, my mother never spanked me. My father did a few times before he left home, but I was very young. I hardly remember it," she said, her hand unconsciously moving to the rounded swell of her bottom.
"A little instruction is in order then. Turn around please."
"W-What?"
"I said, turn around, please, and lift your skirt."
"Mr. Sloane, you can't be serious!"
"Of course I'm serious. A paddling loses most of its efficacy when performed through cloth."
"I simply can't believe you're serious," she said, turning slowly in spite of herself.
"I assure you I am, and I remind you that we've got classes waiting, so please be quick about it. I don't like this any more than you do, but it has to be done, you've got to learn how to manipulate the paddle efficiently but without causing any real damage to the boy's posterior. Skirt up, please."
She stood with her side to him, looking for some sort of light to show in his eyes that this was all some joke, some rowdy initiation to the rough life at The Pines. The light was not there. His eyes were somber, serious as he stood impatiently fingering the paddle. She shook her head in disbelief, but her fingers were inching up the skirt of her dress, baring her quaking thighs.
"C-Can't you just tell me how to do it, Mr. Sloane?"
He shook his head firmly. "Some things have to be demonstrated."
The bottom ruffle of her panties was exposed, and her legs were flushed as hotly as her cheeks. "You could show me through my skirt, couldn't you ?"
He sighed and said, "Miss Holm, if you can't take orders from your superior, it's plain to see why you got into that trouble at your former place of employ. I'll try to write you a decent letter of recommendation, but . . ."
"No, no! It's all right!"' she said, hiking her skirt up to her waist, bending slightly at the waist, exposing that terrifically rounded contour of her bottom, very thinly covered with the yellow, ruffled panties that Iris had presented her with in happier, completely carefree times.
"Just bend over a little more," he said, putting pressure with his hand on her back to show her the way.
She hung there holding her skirt up around her hips, biting her plump lower lip to keep from weeping, while he gave her a little lecture about corporal punishment and assisted her by elevating her skirt a little higher, until it was bunched about the small of her back.
"Hmm," he said, as he slipped his fingers within the waistband of her panties, fingering the material and making Carolyn squint her eyes shut hard to hold back the tears. "Thin material, but with all these ruffles and things on the bottom," he said, smoothing his big, rough hand over the panties' frilly decorations, "it'd be best if we took them down, Miss Holm."
"B-B-But . . . ," she said, all but blubbering as he touched her there with his hand, as he looked at her exposed bottom, all upturned, and very exposed, for the bright yellow nylon between the rows of ruffles was so thin, so sheer that it was all but transparent. Iris had often admired her bottom in these same panties. She'd admired it herself in the mirror, skirt up like this, looking back over her shoulder and smiling at the smooth curve of her hip-line, at the nubile tapering of her thighs, and at the sweetly compressed split of her buttocks, clearly visible through the stretched yellow gossamer of her panties.
He rested a heavy hand on her derriere, drummed his fingers against thinly covered trembling flesh, and said, "I am not used to having my staff argue with me. Now, are you going to take down those very pretty but highly obstructive panties or shall I?"
She gulped and swallowed, unable to get her breath in her great consternation, unable to answer him, and with a cluck of disgust and a clatter of the paddle on his desk, he was directly behind her, tugging and pulling at the tautly stretched garment, pulling her panties down over her back-thrust bottom, baring her buttocks to a man's gaze for the first time in almost ten years.
He jerked them down halfway to her knees. He had to get on his knees to do this, for her doubled over posture made the fit of the snug panties even tighter. She could feel his breath on her cringing flesh, scalding it, and for a moment she had the wild hope that he'd sexually attack her, just so she could report him and have him fired. But no, he touched her cheeks with no more than his gaze and his hot breath as he pulled her panties right on down, exposing both of her rosily-flushed buttocks, putting on display the tightly clenched split between them, even baring the golden hair that crept up from her pubic area to her anal area and, hopefully, concealed the pink, throbbing bulge of her vulval tissues. He didn't lay a hand on her--not until he was at her side again, lecturing.
"Right here," he said, and drew a line with his finger across Carolyn's buttocks, making her jump and almost scream, "is the best area for the application of the paddle. Right here." He repeated it as if she hadn't felt the awful touch of his finger the first time. "The fatty part of the buttocks is the most sensitive and most receptive paddling surface."
"I see! Yes! I understand! Just do it!"
"Lower," he said, "down here under the curve of the gluteus maximus is good too, but there's a danger of injuring the achille's tendon in the back of the thigh."
"Eek! I don't think I can stand this!"
"Of course anywhere on the pupil's bottom is fine for taking the paddle, anywhere at all," he said, and his moving hand covered every square inch of his employee's feverishly hot buttocks while she swayed there squealing, close to fainting.
"Just do it! Just do it and get it over with!" she implored, and he stopped, hand resting comfortably on her blushing naked bottom, and he spoke to her: "This, you see, my dear Miss Holm, is all a part of the proper paddling technique. The paddling itself is nothing to those boys," he said, and at last he took his hand away, allowing her to breathe, but only for an instant, as there was a swooshing sound, followed by a tremendous SWAT!
"YOW! OH! OH, MY POOR BOTTOM!" she screamed, as it truly came on fire now, scalded by the perforated paddle, but lightly reassured by his patting hand.
"You see?" he said in triumph. "The distress is magnified a great deal by the proper prelude to the paddle, especially if that prelude is given by a member of the opposite sex, so you see, my dear Carolyn, you'll have a distinct advantage over me when it comes to disciplining our boys. Have you got it all now?"
"Wait-wait-wait!" she said, as hand was removed and swooshing sound came, terminated by another great SWAT!
"EEK! EEK!"
"Hush, please, Miss Holm. That didn't hurt nearly so much as the first one; though the element of surprise was there, the suspense was gone. Now get ready for this one. No suspense, no surprise, just one healthy . . . SWATH!"
The force of it staggered her forward shrieking. He caught her arm, laughing, and drew her erect. She was snuffling and sobbing but no tears had flowed as she stood there rubbing her fiery hot bottom, feeling the circles left by the paddle, while Mr. Sloane, principal and obviously expert disciplinarian, obligingly knelt and pulled up her panties, lecturing all the while: "You see? Nothing to it. You just go back there and give those boys hell, Carolyn. I'd do it myself but it's better for you to get the first time over with, and I've got to get back to my boys. They won't confess to drawing that picture. You go back, pick out the biggest, toughest boy in the class, have him bare his butt and stand there grabbing his ankles while you lecture them all on propriety, education, anything, and then lay a few good ones on his bare ass. I guarantee you won't have any more trouble with that little pack of hyenas. Is it sore?" he asked, looking up at her with his hand up under her skirt, smoothly rubbing her hot, aching bottom.
"N-No, sir. It feels just fine," she said through trembling lips, eyes misted with tears.
"I could rub some lotion on you there if it hurts even a tiny bit, Carolyn," he suggested with a warm smile, a friendly smile.
"I hardly feel it at all," she said, smarting very sharply, even where he wasn't touching her.
With a last pat on her butt he stood up, hands clasped before him, and said, "I hope you've gained from our little . . . talk, Carolyn."
"Oh, I have! Th-Thank you, sir."
"Don't mention it, dear," he said, and gave her a tiny, fatherly peck on her plump, rosy cheek, the one on her face, the one that was only smoldering and not completely on fire.
She demurely smiled a final thank you, took the paddle and left him, and he immediately went to his desk, took out his very long, very hard cock, and rapidly masturbated to an ejaculation, near frantic to get the job done before his abnormally usual state of flaccid limpness returned. He concentrated hard on Carolyn Holm, seeing her frightened eyes and quivering lips, her out-thrust trembling bosom, visualizing that saucy, absolutely gorgeous ass that he'd turned from blushing pink to glowing scarlet, that he'd felt and touched and had come close to kissing. By thinking these thoughts, seeing these visions, he was easily able to put the rapacious Martha Wilkes completely out of his mind and enjoying the first real orgasm he'd had since coming to The Pines.