Teacher in detention

[Foxy Lady]

Word had spread swiftly. At first, no one could believe it. The staff couldn’t believe it. The students couldn’t believe it. It had to be some kind of joke.

When the principal’s PA confirmed that it was true, people still couldn’t believe it, not really. It had to be some sort of misunderstanding.

It was only when the nurse said it was true, that everyone had to accept it, because she always knew what was going on.

The principal had put Amy Rogers into detention that evening. Putting someone into detention was no surprise; the principal was a strict disciplinarian. But Amy wasn’t a student; she taught creative writing. And she wasn’t nominated to supervise detention. She was going into detention herself.

The detention class was particularly full that evening. Such was the interest in seeing what was going to happen that normally model students had deliberately misbehaved in order to witness this unique event: a teacher in detention. And some of the teachers too had found that they had things that kept them at work later than usual. Some were just curious. Others were eager to see this recently arrived, thirtysomething teacher put in her place. The men might be attracted by her superficial and so obvious charms, but the women were less enthusiastic.

Amy waited patiently, trying to conceal her annoyance – no, fuck it, her anger – at being treated like this by the principal. What exactly gave her the right to tell one of her staff to report for detention like a naughty student?

As soon as the principal stormed into the room – she never walked sedately – Amy rose to take full advantage of height that her four inch heels gave her.

‘What exactly is this all about,’ she demanded firmly but quietly when the principal was standing before her.

The principal was in no mood to keep their conversation private. Her voice projected to the back of the packed room.

‘Ms Rogers, I am sick and tired of telling you to comply with the staff dress code. You have left me with no alternative but to treat you in the same way as I treat the students in the hope that it will have a salutary effect in the future.’

‘I would be grateful,’ Amy struggled to remain calm and polite, ‘if this could be discussed in private. You are undermining my authority with my students. How can I be expected to maintain discipline, which I know is so important to you, when you humiliate me like this?’

‘You are undermining your own authority by your conduct,’ the principal continued to boom. ‘How can you expect to maintain discipline when you dress like a cheap whore from Carter Street?’

Several of the students wondered how their principal knew about whores in Carter Street and how they dressed.

‘Principal,’ Amy’s voice rose in indication, ‘how dare you compare me to a prostitute. This is intolerable. I am not staying her to take any more of this.’

She made to walk past towards the door, but the principal grabbed her arm and spun her back.

‘I’ll speak to you as I please and you’ll stay to listen for as long as I decide,’ she hissed at Amy.

Amy was flushed, but determined to stand her ground.

‘My clothes comply with the dress code. They even come from the shop you use. You may remember me asking you for the address when I was appointed.’

‘I do indeed remember. But you seem to have purchased clothes that are several sizes too small. Your blouse is so tight it cannot fasten across you breasts which protrude and bounce as you flounce around on those ridiculous heels. Your bra is so low cut that it’s only your nipples that prevent your breasts falling out. I heard one student telling another that watching your ass when you walked was like seeing two sumo wrestlers in a sack. And you skirt is so tight I can see the pattern on the top of your stockings.’ She paused for breath before shouting: ‘And that is totally unacceptable.’

One of the teachers crowding the doorway whispered to her friend that it was no wonder half Amy’s class had erections. ‘And that,’ replied her friend, ‘is only because the other half are female.’ Steve Petersen, the football coach, pushed his way through the throng and strode into the room.

‘Principal, I must protest,’ he called out as he walked towards the pair. ‘This isn’t right, it just isn’t. If you have an issue with Ms Rogers’ dress, then you should take it up with her privately. She is entitled ARGH’

He got no further, his words, and his breath, cut off by the principal’s knee that buried itself into his groin. He dropped to the floor as if in slow motion, his face pale and his hands clamped to his crotch.

‘Michael Williams and Tony Matthews,’ the principal addressed two of the students in the front row, ‘help Mr Petersen to his car and then report back here.’

Swinging back towards Amy, she delivered a swift stinging slap across her face. Amy rocked back in surprise and from the force of the blow. The room went silent as every student waited to see how Amy would react.

She took a deep breath and tried to expel the anger from her voice: ‘This is enough. You have made your point and you will have my resignation tomorrow morning.’

She turned to leave, but the principal again pulled her back.

‘You’re not going anywhere, Miss High and Mighty, not until I’ve finished with you. The purpose of detention is not to explain what the malefactor has done wrong but to punish them for their offence.’

Any could not believe what she was hearing.

‘Do you seriously expect me to sit here quietly for an hour? Or perhaps you want me to write an essay?’ Her sarcasm was obvious.

‘No,’ replied the principal, ‘I wouldn’t expect either of those things to have any effect on your behaviour. No, you have reached the point where only physical punishment will do.’

Amy stared back in amazement, but the principal wasn’t finished.

‘The rules may prevent me from using physical chastisement on the students, but as you have pointed out, you are not a student and it is my judgment that that is what is required in your case.’

She rolled up the sleeves of her blouse and wrung her hands.

‘A good spanking will do you the world of good.’

The students stared at each other. The teachers jostled in the doorway for the best view. The principal was actually going to spank Ms Rogers. At least, that was her plan, but Amy had other ideas.

‘No,’ she screamed, no longer caring that everyone could hear, ‘you will not dare to lay a hand on me, you, you …’ she struggled to find the words to express her anger, ‘you insufferable, pompous …’ She had to find a third. Always use three words, that was what she told her students, but for a teacher of creative writing she was having surprising difficult finding some creative words. Finally, she bellowed the only word that came to mind. ‘Dyke.’

The principal’s reaction was instant. Amy never saw the fist coming, just felt it impact on her jaw and felt the jarring through her spine as she landed on her ass. And before her brain could work out what had happened, the principal had grabbed her by the front of her blouse in an attempt to pull her back on her feet. The buttons and material could not stand the strain and separated in her strong hands. Leaving the principal holding the tattered remains of a white blouse and Amy sitting on the floor displaying her ample bosom and far from ample leopard skin print bra.

The students were now standing for a better view and the teachers were pressing into the room to see how this was going to develop.

One thing was clear to Amy as the principal loomed over her. If this was going to become a fight, then Amy needed to be unencumbered. She kicked off her shoes and clambered to her feet as decorously as her tight skirt would allow. That had better go to, she decided, unzipping it and pushing it to the floor, leaving her standing in bra, silver string and black holdups with lace tops.

‘So,’ she spat at the principal, ‘you want to fight, well bring it on, lady.’

The principal stared back for a second or two and then shrugged.

‘OK, if that’s the way you want, so be it. It’s your choice.’

She unbuttoned her blouse and let it fall to the floor off her shoulders. She kicked off her sensible shoes and pushed her skirt to the floor, leaving her in matching pristine white lace panties and bra.

Amy realised instantly that her gym-toned, salon-tanned body was no match for the size and power of the principal’s muscular frame that had been so well concealed by her modest regulation attire. How could Amy stand any chance against this woman? She was up against raw power.

The principal may have been big and heavy, but she was also fast. She moved while her shoes were in mid-air and before her skirt had hit the floor, grabbing Amy round the waist, spinning her round, dropping her over her knees, before delivering a series of spanks to her bare buttocks, her broad hands leaving red marks across Amy’s flesh. Amy wriggled and writhed, desperately trying to free herself. Eventually, after about 20 blows the principal lost her grip and Amy rolled to the floor.

Her relief was only brief. The principal bent over her and grabbed under her arms, before lifting her off the floor and crushing in a bear hug. Struggle as she might, Amy could not free herself from the principal’s hold. She tried pushing her hands between them, but failed. She tried pushing against the principal’s face, again without success. Finally, in desperation, she resorted to the tactic she had used as a teenager when fighting with her bigger sister. She dug her nails into the principal’s face, and raked them down, across her eyes and cheeks.

The principal howled in pain and slackened her grip, allowing Amy to fall. As she did so, she brought her forehead down onto the bridge of the principal’s nose. There was a crack and another howl before blood spurted over Amy’s cleavage. She landed on her feet and brought her head up, catching the principal’s chin. This time there was no howl, just a thud as the principal landed on the floor.

Realising that she must make the most of her advantage, Amy immediately jumped astride the principal’s hips, grabbed her hair with both hands and began banging her head on the floor. Faster and faster, harder and harder, in a frenzy to disable her opponent.

The rest of the evening was a daze, broken only by a few images that stayed in her memory. Hands prizing her fingers open. A strong arm lifting her off the principal’s body. A jacket draped over her shoulders as she was led away. The nurse kneeling beside the principal. A commanding voice telling the students to disperse. Someone driving her home and putting a glass of wine into her hand.

The next morning, dressed in one of the more modest outfit in her wardrobe, she handed her letter of resignation to the principal’s PA, who received it without a word. Everyone kept clear of her as she walked to her class. The students seemed in awe of her, the teacher who was put into detention and who stripped and beat the shit out of the principal. Her colleagues had mixed reactions: some showed her a grudging respect, others seemed afraid. One or two muttered quiet words of support for the principal.

Throughout the remaining weeks of the academic year, there was no sign of the principal. Naturally, rumours abounded. Some said she was dead. Others that she was hiding, out of embarrassment or from fear of Amy. Yes others, perhaps more realistic, thought she was just recovering from her injuries. Surprisingly, as the weeks went by, there was a ground swell for the principal. Some admiration for taking on this upstart new member of staff, who sorely needed putting in her place. Admiration too among some for her physique and strength. Why, one asked, did she want to hide such a fantastic body under such dreary clothes?

Amy packed her belongings on her last day and drove home. She kicked off her shoes, tossed her dress code skirt and blouse into a corner, and threw herself onto the sofa with a glass in her hand. She didn’t bother to cover herself when the doorbell rang; she just opened the door to find the principal standing there.

‘Do you fancy your chances at a rematch?’ she asked.