My French Test Re-sit With Mrs. Taylor Part One free porn video

Wendy Taylor was painfully unhappy.

Unhappy in her marriage. Unhappy in her job. Unhappy in her life to a point. She was forty-two-years-old and was watching her second marriage go in the same direction as her first had done, fifteen years before. It had started off so well but after just five years with him, they both realised that they had very little in common and there was absolutely no passion or love there anymore. They slept in separate beds and lived pretty much separate lives in their large house. Her second husband was semi-retired and spent three months abroad each year with his golfing friends in Cyprus.

That arrangement suited Wendy Taylor just fine. She preferred it that way. In fact, she could not wait for her husband to book his trip and then depart and leave her alone in their house. In the beginning, the forty-two-year-old thought that her husband was having an affair while he was over there, and this thought had been further implanted in her brain by her colleagues at work who had commented that it was strange that Wendy’s husband was away for so long each year. However, Wendy grew to not care about what her second husband was getting up to while he was away, and she began to build her own life and interests without him.

Mrs. Taylor taught French at the local secondary school and had done so for over ten years now. She disliked the job and most of the ungrateful and disinterested kids that she taught in her classes. However, the job was well paid, and she conceded that she would not be able to get a job outside of teaching that paid so well. She had made some good friends whilst at the school and had become particularly close to Pauline Manson, the Head of History at the school and Jane Wardell who taught Food Technology. All three women were around the same age and they regularly met up outside school to discuss their work or their families.

It was during one of their Friday night meetings at Pauline’s house, that her friends shocked Wendy. Both Pauline and Jane were quiet, reasonable teachers, who punished far less than other members of staff. Both women tended to favour giving misbehaving students lines to complete, or, for more serious offences, an after school detention. However, Wendy Taylor nearly fell off her chair when Pauline Manson admitted to her, after a few glasses of white wine, that she had spanked a student. Mrs. Taylor shock had been exacerbated when the short, dark-haired History Mistress had added that she had spanked the same student five times over the last year, the last time across her lap and on the boy’s bare bottom.

Wendy had looked at Jane, who had sipped at her glass of wine uneasily.

“Don’t tell me that you spank too, Mrs. Wardell?” She had said half-joking.

After another sip of wine and a relatively long period of silence, the dark-haired teacher looked across at Wendy.

“Actually, I’ve smacked the same naughty boy. I was in a bad mood and he failed to hold a door open for me. I was carrying books and the door swung back and hit me. I caught up with him and placed him in an after-school detention and, just as Pauline does, gave him the choice of sitting there for an hour or having a smacked bottom.”

Wendy sat there open-mouthed.

“And he chose the smacked bottom, so over my knee he went.” Jane continued.

Mrs. Taylor couldn’t avoid thinking about the fact that her two long-time friends had spanked one of their students, despite corporal punishment not being allowed in schools. Over the next few weeks, she asked both of them about how they spanked and what they used. She found herself researching the topic, reading articles and watching videos on the internet and, once she had decided to try it for herself, visiting several websites and purchasing some spanking implements that seemed to be the spanker’s weapons of choice.

As they arrived in the post, she couldn’t help but unwrap each implement and study it closely, practising with it against cushions and pillows before placing them in the cupboard in her large bedroom. Wendy also began to plan how she could get the boy that both Jane and Pauline had smacked over their knees at some point during the last year or so, over her own knees. She smiled to herself as she thought about the boy who seemed only too eager to be spanked by his female teachers. He was the last one of her students who she’d suspect of being into spanking. As he had been spanked on his bare bottom by both Miss Manson and Mrs. Wardell, the two ladies reassured her that he would happily accept a spanking as a punishment.

Wendy just needed to fix it so that the extremely quiet and studious sixteen-year-old would find himself in the position of facing the choice of a detention or an “alternative punishment” as Pauline put it. It took Mrs. Taylor just two weeks to draw up her plans, by which time, her implement collection had grown impressively, Wendy becoming more and more eager to try them out on the young man’s bare bottom.

After a chat with Pauline and Jane, the mature French Mistress decided to carry out her plans on Friday afternoon. She had me in her lesson after lunch and her class were due to do an oral examination with her. Wendy would ask us questions about our lives, and we needed to respond in French. We would be marked out of ten and her usual pass mark was six out of ten. Failure to achieve this would lead to additional homework or detention if it was a repeated failure. On hearing more about the spankings they had administered, Wendy Taylor smiled as the ladies told her about the fact that the boy seemed to enjoy seeing them dressed in a blouse and skirt.

“He dribbled on my skirt, the dirty little beast!” Miss Manson had laughed whilst sitting in Wendy’s living room.

All three female teachers usually dressed in the same way at work, almost always wearing a very prim and proper looking blouse and a skirt. Jane had been wearing a long-sleeved white cotton blouse and three-quarter length blue and white striped skirt when she had spanked the boy over his underpants whilst he was draped over her knees. Pauline usually wore a short-sleeved white or navy blue cotton blouse with a knee-length beige, black or navy skirt, the latter being dribbled on by the boy who had obviously got too excited at the thought of being spanked by his female History teacher.

Mrs. Taylor prepared herself carefully that Friday. She showered and ironed her light pink, long-sleeved pussy-bow blouse and pulled out her three-quarter length green skirt. Once she had fixed her shoulder-length dark-blonde curly hair, Wendy slipped on her pink bra and knickers before carefully putting her blouse on, fastening the buttons before tying the bow at the front neatly. Next, she stepped into her green skirt, ensured that it was straight before zipping it up at the back. Finally, she stepped into her green high heeled shoes and examined herself in her mirror.

“I know one naughty boy who won’t be passing his oral test this afternoon.” She said to herself as she expertly applied her light pink lipstick.

The morning passed quickly for Wendy and she sat quietly through lunch in Mrs. Wardell’s Food Technology room with Jane and Pauline, mainly thinking about how she would harshly assess the young man’s oral assessment and then award him a detention for failing to reach six out of ten. Then, as Pauline had done, she would offer the young man a choice – a detention after school that following Monday evening or, a short, sharp shock over her lap. As he was at the end of the alphabet on her register, and the last student to take the test, then there should be no problem in getting him alone to offer him this choice.

Sure enough, that fourth lesson of the day had passed in no time at all. She had eleven students sitting the test that afternoon and they had about five minutes each with Wendy sitting at her desk asking them the questions. As one student talked with the teacher, the others were expected to prepare for their test. Mrs. Taylor could feel that she would not have enough time left at the end for the young man to complete his answers. This was perfect. She was free after this lesson, but he would be so flustered as he was undoubtedly going to be late for his last lesson of the day and the week. That just so happened to be with Pauline, who would be sure to give him a detention for arriving late!

Finally, it was his turn and there were only two minutes left of the lesson. Wendy Taylor smiled at the young man from across her desk, noticing that he was looking at her light pink pussy-bow blouse.

“You may all pack up and get to your next lesson when the bell goes.” Mrs. Taylor said before returning her focus to the tall boy with the shaven head.

“Are you ready to begin, Peter?” She shuffled the papers around on her desk until she found the one that she was looking for and began writing on the piece of paper with her red pen.

“Yes, Miss.” The boy replied anxiously, turning around in his seat and looking at the rest of the class who were packing up their things and getting ready to leave. Peter got up from his desk, placed his chair under the table, picked up his school bag and walked to the desk directly in front of Wendy’s teacher’s desk. He pulled the chair out and sat down, looking nervously at his French Mistress.

He really did not want to be late to Miss Manson’s lesson. Her last spanking had been severe. Intentionally or unintentionally, he had not been sure. All he knew was that he did not want her to use that wooden-backed brush on his bare bottom again. He quickly returned his focus to his teacher.

“Very well, young man. Let’s begin, shall we?” Mrs. Taylor took a deep breath.

The sixteen-year-old nodded.

The questions were relatively simple. Mrs. Taylor spoke softly and her clear, Normandy accent made the boy relax, as well as get aroused. Thankfully, his French teacher could not see this from the other side of her desk.

“What is your name?”

“How old are you?”

After the second question, the bell went to signal the end of the lesson and the rest of the class got to their feet, pushed their chairs under the desks and began filing out of the classroom, leaving Mrs. Taylor and Peter alone. The mature teacher smiled and continued, noticing the boy’s obvious anxiety. He was undoubtedly going to be late to his History lesson and would probably end up over Pauline’s knee too.

“Just concentrate, Peter. Let’s continue.”

“What do you like to do outside school?” Wendy asked in her beautiful French.

“What is your favourite food?“

“Where is your favourite place?”

“What would you like to do when you leave school?”

“Tell me about your family?”

In all, Wendy Taylor asked ten questions, and the boy answered as well as he could. His answers becoming quicker and shorter as the test went on. He really needed to get out of the classroom and off to History otherwise Miss Manson was really going to give him a hiding. Wendy sensed his unease and smiled, scribbling on the paper on her desk. She kept him sitting there, fidgeting, for a few moments before she spoke.

“Well, Peter.” Mrs. Taylor sighed and sat back in her leather chair.

“I’m disappointed that you did not make better use of the time that you have had to prepare for the test this afternoon. You’ve had more time than anyone else and you’ve managed to score five out of ten.”

Wendy tried to stop herself from laughing as she noticed the look of shock and probably, sheer horror, that he had failed, spread across the boy’s face. He was sweating too, due to the fact that he was late and would have to explain himself to his History Mistress in his next lesson.

“But Miss.” He said in a panic.

Mrs. Taylor took a deep breath, ensuring that the boy got a good eyeful of her small breasts underneath her pink blouse.

“Sorry. But you know my rules, Peter and you have scored less than the six out of ten that I expect as a minimum. So, it’s a detention on Monday after school for you, young man, I’m afraid.” The mature teacher wanted to reach over and touch him, but she resisted.

The sixteen-year-old was almost on the brink of tears and Wendy decided to carry out her plan.

“However, I know that some of your other teachers deal with things in a different way, don’t they, young man, so I am prepared to give you a choice.”

Mrs. Taylor could feel how wet she was in her knickers and knew that she would have to go and sort herself out in the staff toilets once this was all over.

The shaven-headed boy stared at her.

“I know that you have been physically punished by Miss Manson and by Mrs. Wardell in the past so, how about we deal with you like that too?” The forty-two-year-old woman licked her lips.

“A spank on your bottom instead of detention and I’ll let you re-take my test?” She continued.

The boy, anxious to get to his next lesson simply nodded.

“This was it.” She thought to herself.

Unsure about actually putting the tall, sixteen-year-old over her lap in her classroom, Mrs. Taylor paused and thought to herself for a moment. She knew where Peter lived. His home address was only just over a mile away from her home. Seeing him on Saturday morning would mean less chance of anyone ever finding out about this. It would also give Wendy a chance to go one further than either Pauline or Jane. She would see if the shaven-headed boy, who was currently sitting on the opposite side of her desk with the so obvious erection bulging beneath his trousers, would satisfy her sexual frustrations that she had had for far too long.

“Very well. Are you busy tomorrow?” Mrs. Taylor picked up a piece of paper from her desk and scribbled on it.

“No Miss.” He replied.

“Can you come and see me at my home tomorrow?” Wendy Taylor held out the sheet of paper with her home address written on it in her right hand.

“Yes, Miss.” He replied with an element of shock in his voice.

Wendy nodded and watched as he took the sheet in his hand, looking at it before folding it and putting it in his blazer pocket.

“Shall we say around about eleven tomorrow morning, young man?” She began scribbling on another piece of paper with her red pen.

The tall, sixteen-year-old simply nodded and reached for his bag from the floor.

“Don’t be late otherwise you’ll think the spanking with Miss Manson’s clothes brush was just a series of fairy taps. Am I making myself clear to you, young man?” Wendy finished writing and held out the second piece of paper.

“Take this and hand it to Miss Manson. It explains why you are late to her lesson.” Mrs. Taylor licked her lips.

The boy took it and quickly made his way out of the classroom and down the corridor. Wendy pushed her chair back and stood up and walked quickly down the corridor in the opposite direction, until she came to the female staff toilets where she went into a cubicle and locked the door, spending a good fifteen minutes relieving herself at the thought of what was going to happen the next day. She could not wait to get home that evening and lay out all her implements and toys that she was going to use on the young man. She was going to have some fun.

The following morning, Wendy was up and about earlier than usual on a Saturday. She showered and ate breakfast before she got dressed carefully, making sure that her hair and make-up were perfect. She decided upon wearing the same outfit as she had worn the previous day as she remembered the bulge in Peter’s trousers and also what her friends had said about him. She smiled to herself in the mirror as she put on her pink blouse, slowly fastening the buttons then neatly tying the bow at the front before stepping into her green skirt and pulling it up and zipping it at the back.

She returned to her living room and busied herself with a few things before she sat on the sofa drinking her third cup of coffee of the morning. Mrs. Taylor had just looked at the clock on the wall and began to think that Peter would not show up when her doorbell sounded with a loud chime that rang loudly around her house. The mature woman placed her near empty cup on the table in front of her and stood up, slipping her feet into her green high heeled shoes. She quickly brushed the creases from her skirt and blouse with both hands and took a deep breath. Once she was ready she walked out into the hallway and tried to relax as she could see a shape standing on her doorstep through the frosted panel in her front door.

The forty-two-year-old turned the key in the lock and pushed the door handle down, pulling the door open at the same time. She smiled as she shielded her eyes from the bright morning sun with her left hand.

There, as promised, was Peter. Right on time. He looked nervously at his teacher, unsure what he was letting himself in for that morning. Should he really even be here at her house? Should he allow this woman to smack his bottom for failing his French test? He stood just short of six feet tall, was very slim and he stood there, not saying a word, taking the occasional quick look over his shoulder to see if anyone was watching him. He was dressed in jeans, white trainers and a t-shirt and seemed surprised to see Wendy dressed in her work clothes. After a few moments, Wendy pushed the front door open fully and stepped back.

“Good morning, young man. I wasn’t sure if you would come over or not. Won’t you come in and then we can get on with your re-sit and then we can have a little chat about what I told you I was going to do to you as a punishment.” She spoke quietly.

The sixteen-year-old took one final look over his shoulder before stepping inside Wendy’s large house. He took a few steps past the older woman and then paused. Mrs. Taylor pushed the front door closed before turning the handle and then the key in the lock.

“No escape!” She joked as she turned to look at the tall young man standing looking at her.

“Won’t you go through to the living room and make yourself comfortable, Peter?” She spoke softly as she indicated with her right hand.

Within a minute, they were both sat in Wendy Taylor’s spacious living room. Peter sat on the large, expensive three-seat sofa and the older lady sat on the armchair to his left-hand side. She was careful to adjust her skirt as she was aware that it had risen up as she had sat on the leather chair. Wendy leaned forward until she was closer to the young man, staring at him.

“Should she go through with this?” She thought to herself, sensing the boy’s nerves.

He sat on the sofa, holding his hands tightly into his lap, looking around the large room. His face was beginning to glow bright red with embarrassment and nerves.

“Are you happy to re-take your test from yesterday, Peter?” Mrs. Taylor asked.

He nodded before answering.

“Yes, Miss. I really don’t understand how I failed yesterday. I worked so hard preparing for it – honestly, I did.” He spoke frantically.

The French Mistress smiled.

“Sometimes, we just don’t include the right things in our answers and then that means we don’t get the grades that we’re expecting. Please don’t worry Peter. I’m sure that you’ll do better today.” She shuffled around on her seat.

Wendy fought the urge to touch the boy’s hands with her own, fighting to hold them on her knees.

“Yes, Miss.” He replied, looking down at his white shoes.

The forty-two-year-old woman licked her lips.

“And you’re okay about your punishment for not achieving the standard I expect.” She could feel herself becoming turned on now that the punishment was close.

The sixteen-year-old simply nodded and did not say a word, continuing to look down at his shoes.

“And that the punishment is going to be a smacked bottom with my hand and a few other things across your bare bottom, just like Pauline and Ja.” Wendy Taylor stopped herself.

“Just like Miss Manson and Mrs. Wardell have done to you when you have upset them at school?” She corrected herself and smiled.

Again, Peter just nodded.

With that, The French Mistress got up from the sofa and stood looking down upon the young man. He looked up at her and bit his lower lip nervously.

“Would you like a drink before we get started, young man?” She walked across the room until she reached the entrance to her kitchen where she paused.

“Yes please, Miss,” Peter answered.

“What would you like? I’ve got some lemonade, Coke, orange juice, squash or just water?” Mrs. Taylor pushed her breasts out and held them out in front of her as she exhaled.

“Just water please, Miss.” The sixteen-year-old replied softly, aware that his erection was solid and clearly evident in his jeans.

Wendy disappeared into the kitchen and returned a few minutes later with two tall glasses full of iced water. She handed one to Peter who took a large mouthful before placing the glass down on the table in front of him. Mrs. Taylor sat down on the armchair once more and sipped at her own drink, all the time watching her student. They chatted about other things before, after about five minutes, Wendy placed her glass back on the table and got to her feet.

“Shall we do your re-test, young man?” She asked softly.

Peter nodded and the French Mistress left the living room, returning a few moments later with a few sheets of paper and a pen. She sat down in her armchair and, after reminding the boy about the rules of the test, began asking her questions. This time, Peter was absolutely perfect, not getting a single answer wrong and going into as much detail as he possibly could about each of his answers. Having Mrs. Taylor speak to him in her lovely, gentle Normandy accent, really had aroused him and he struggled to keep his mind on the task in hand.

“Well, that was much better Peter and the kind of work that I expect from someone of your ability. Well done I can give you full marks for that.” Wendy announced excitedly, placing her papers on the coffee table in front of her.

“Thank you Miss. I’m sorry about yesterday but I just got worried about being late to History and then having to take the consequences of that. I just wanted to get out of the test as quickly as I could – had I had my test at the beginning of the lesson then I wouldn’t have had a problem, Miss.” The young man explained.

“I know sweetie, but it’s just the way I do things, that’s all. Did Miss Manson give you a detention for arriving late?” Wendy laughed.

Peter shook his head.

“No Miss. She wasn’t happy when I arrived late but accepted your note and that was it really.” He looked down at the carpeted floor in front of him.

“So no spanking then?” Mrs. Taylor laughed.

He smiled.

“No Miss.”

Wendy Taylor stood up and looked down at the sixteen-year-old.

“So, I think that it is time for you to take your punishment that we’ve both agreed upon for failing the test yesterday and, as you well know, that punishment is to be spanked on your bare bottom. Do you still agree and accept this, young man?” She spoke with a stern tone of voice trying to get into the role of the angry teacher.

The sixteen-year-old remained silent for a few moments and looked down at the floor. Finally, he raised his head and looked at Wendy Taylor who stood in front of him, looking down at him, hands on her hips and looking in a bad mood.

“I accept it, Miss,” he answered, aware that he could shoot his load in his pants at any moment at the thought of his French Mistress.

The shorter woman smiled at him and reached out with her right hand. She took hold of Peter’s left hand and gently pulled him to his feet until he was standing facing her. He was taller than her, even if she was wearing her green high heeled shoes, and the teacher licked her lips.

“I’m going to take you upstairs to my study and I want you to take off your clothes – everything off Peter. Is that understood?” She began gently leading him out of the living room and towards the hallway.

“Yes, Miss.” He gasped.

“And once you have taken your clothes off I’m going to smack your bottom with my hand and a few other things just to show you how displeased I was with you yesterday. Are you okay with that, young man?”

Again, the sixteen-year-old’s answer came in a gasp as they began climbing the stairs.

“Yes, Mrs. Taylor.”

“And, that I won’t stop smacking your bottom until I am totally satisfied that you have learned your lesson from all this and that it will never happen again.” She purred as she reached the top of the stairs.

“Yes, Miss.”

The lady with the curly, dark-blonde hair led the boy into her study and turned to face him. She took both his hands in hers and slowly and deliberately touched his hands against the material of her pink blouse, running his hands down its length from the top to the waistband of her green skirt.

“Now, Miss Manson and Mrs. Wardell seemed to think that you have a thing about women dressed in blouses and skirts. Is that true?” She ran my hands slowly back up the length of her blouse.

The sensation was almost sending me over the edge.

I simply nodded and closed my eyes, my breathing becoming heavier and heavier.

Wendy stood in silence as she continued to run my hands up and down her blouse, repeating this another four times.

“Well, if you’re a good boy then perhaps Miss will allow you to touch her blouse and maybe do other things to it too. Would you like that, Peter?” She whispered in my right ear, letting my hands go as she did so.

I had no idea what to do and simply stood there, gasping.

“Very well then. Take all of your clothes off – shoes and socks too – and place them on that desk in the corner of the room.” She instructed in her teacherly voice.

I moved over to the corner of the room and immediately began untying my shoes which I removed and placed on the floor under the desk. Next came my socks which I quickly stuffed into the shoes on the floor. After a quick glance over at Wendy, who was standing watching every move, I slipped my t-shirt over my head and removed it, folding it and placing it on the desk. Then I unfastened my jeans and pushed them down to the floor where I carefully stepped out of them before bending down, picking them up and placing them neatly on top of my t-shirt on the desk. As I undressed, Mrs. Taylor stared at me. She had folded her arms across her chest and was obviously looking at the bulge in my boxer shorts that I couldn’t hide, a good two inches of my cock visible down my left thigh.

“And those as well, you, naughty, naughty boy – I did say everything off.” She laughed.

After a few moments thought, I slipped my hands down the sides of my black boxer shorts and slowly slipped them down, careful to avoid looking at Wendy. I stepped out of them and turned around, folding them up and placing them on the pile of clothing on the desk, before turning to face Mrs. Taylor once more. This time, I saw the look of shock, or surprise, as she got an eyeful of my large and thick cock, standing out proudly before me as I stood there, hands at my sides.

My French Mistress smiled at me as she walked across to where I stood and pulled out the padded chair that was under the desk where my clothes had been placed. She turned the chair and sat down on it before she carefully ironed the creases from her long green skirt, which covered her knees. Finally, she adjusted her long-sleeved pink blouse, pushing the sleeves up slightly before sitting back in the chair and moving her hands to either side of her.

“Right, my naughty boy, I’m sure that you are used to the routine by now if you have been smacked by Miss Manson and Mrs. Wardell, so position yourself over my knees. Put your hands flat on the floor in front of you and make sure that your feet are touching the carpet. Am I making myself clear?” She spoke softly and smiled at me.

I did indeed know the routine. Pauline Manson had followed the exact same steps. Trousers and underpants down to my ankles and then I had to lie over her lap, hands flat on the floor in front of me, legs slightly spread apart before her spanking began. Jane had been slightly different. She had been so angry at my behaviour, even if I hadn’t noticed her as the door slammed closed in her face, that she had simply dragged me over her knee and began spanking me as hard as she physically could over my trousers. Only after a few minutes did she stop and make me stand and take them and my underpants down before back over her lap I went and she blistered my backside with her small, but seriously hard hand. It had been like being hit with a hand of steel.

Carefully, I took two small steps over to Wendy’s right-hand side and reached across, careful not to look at my teacher. I lowered myself down and stopped once I felt the cool material of her green skirt touching my bare crotch. I placed my hands flat on the floor in front of me and lowered my head, so that all I could see was the light coloured carpet. Mrs. Taylor assisted me to position myself correctly by using both hands to gently open my legs slightly. She took this opportunity to touch me on my inner thighs and slowly, and intentionally, touched my throbbing cock and then my balls with her warm right hand.

I gasped and squirmed as the sensation of her touching my erect cock, and the insides of my thighs with her hand continued but she remained silent. Once satisfied, Wendy placed her left hand on my lower back and gently pushed me further down into her lap, making my bottom rise slightly. Next, she began rubbing her right hand gently over every part of my bum cheeks and then the backs of my legs. She did this for what seemed like an age and I feared that I may explode all over her skirt, my cock continuing to throb at the thought of yet another spanking from one of my female teachers. Once she was happy, Mrs. Taylor raised her right hand in the air and thought about where her first slap was going to land. She cupped her small hand slightly, taking Pauline’s advice, and paused.

“Now, Peter. You did not want a detention with me and instead agreed to let me smack your bottom. So, a smacked bottom you shall receive. Are you prepared for your punishment, naughty boy?” She spoke quietly, her right hand poised to begin.

“Yes, Mrs. Taylor. I want to have my bottom spanked by you.” I replied, already in heaven at feeling Wendy’s blouse and skirt touching my bare skin.

“Very well.” She replied.

The words were hardly out of her mouth before her small, but very hard, right hand came down across the lower part of my right buttock. The sound it made echoed around the small room.

“Slap!”

It was relatively gentle, especially when compared with what Jane Wardell had inflicted on my bottom weeks before, but nonetheless, I pushed my hard cock deeper into Wendy’s green skirt and closed my eyes, knowing that this was just the beginning. Out of my sight, Mrs. Taylor raised her right hand once more and took a deep breath, enjoying feeling me push against her covered right leg with my hard cock. She could feel how wet she was between her legs and also knew that her nipples were erect. She was definitely going to see if she could push her luck with me once she had smacked my bottom that morning. She prepared herself once more and took aim, bringing her right hand down once again against the fleshy centre of my bare bottom.

“Slap!” “Slap!” “Slap!” “Slap!” “Slap!” “Slap!”

The French Mistress laid out half a dozen, slow and relatively light smacks with her hand across my bum cheeks, not saying a word as she watched my buttocks wobble and then return to their original position after her hand had connected with them. I tried to concentrate upon something else as she punished me, fearful of dribbling my pre-cum on her skirt just as I had done to Miss Manson, or God forbid, something worse – shooting my load all over her skirt as I had done to my classmate, Tina at the start of the school year.

“Slap!” “Slap!” “Slap!” “Slap!” “Slap!” “Slap!”

Another set of six, slow and relatively light smacks kissed the lower part of my bottom as Wendy pushed on with my punishment. I shuffled around slightly on her knees and she waited for me to settle before delivering her next burst, this time, about two dozen slaps which covered every part of my bottom given much harder.

“Slap!” “Slap!” “Slap!” “Slap!” “Slap!” “Slap!”

“Slap!” “Slap!” “Slap!” “Slap!” “Slap!” “Slap!”

“Slap!” “Slap!” “Slap!” “Slap!” “Slap!” “Slap!”

“Slap!” “Slap!” “Slap!” “Slap!” “Slap!” “Slap!”

These did hit home, and I began to wriggle and squirm as each slap connected solidly with my bare skin. Mrs. Taylor had prepared for this. She had listened to Jane, who had told her about the struggle she had with me over her lap as she beat my backside black and blue. She had eventually, after much struggling, held me securely over her knee by placing her free left arm under my stomach and using all her strength to pull me tightly into her skirt and blouse and hold me there as she worked away on my bottom and thighs with her hard hand. The next sensation I felt was Wendy’s left arm reaching under my stomach and then being pulled into her pink blouse, the cool buttons and material making me gasp as they brushed against my skin.

“Mrs. Wardell warned me about that.” She rubbed my bottom gently with her right hand.

“Shall we continue young man? I’m nowhere near finished with you this morning.” She continued, as she raised her hand in the air once more.

I simply mumbled and nodded. Her hand connecting loudly with my bare buttocks a moment later.

“Slap!” “Slap!” “Slap!” “Slap!” “Slap!” “Slap!”

“Slap!” “Slap!” “Slap!” “Slap!” “Slap!” “Slap!”

“Slap!” “Slap!” “Slap!” “Slap!” “Slap!” “Slap!”

“Slap!” “Slap!” “Slap!” “Slap!” “Slap!” “Slap!”

The forty-two-year-old teacher began to grow in confidence and her small, but seriously hard hand began to make an impression over every inch of my bottom. Although I tried to move to avoid the continued blows, Mrs. Taylor had enough strength and held me in such a way with her left arm that I could not move at all, my bottom a sitting target for her hand.

“Slap!” “Slap!” “Slap!” “Slap!” “Slap!” “Slap!”

“Slap!” “Slap!” “Slap!” “Slap!” “Slap!” “Slap!”

“Slap!” “Slap!” “Slap!” “Slap!” “Slap!” “Slap!”

“Slap!” “Slap!” “Slap!” “Slap!” “Slap!” “Slap!”

“Do you wish you had accepted the detention now, Peter?” She said almost in a whisper, not giving me a chance to reply before her next series of slaps had landed.

“Slap!” “Slap!” “Slap!” “Slap!” “Slap!” “Slap!”

“Slap!” “Slap!” “Slap!” “Slap!” “Slap!” “Slap!”

“Slap!” “Slap!” “Slap!” “Slap!” “Slap!” “Slap!”

“Slap!” “Slap!” “Slap!” “Slap!” “Slap!” “Slap!”

“I’m so glad you’ve let me smack your bottom, young man. I’ve wanted to do this for such a long time. Who would have thought that it would be you that was my first smacked bottom?” She laughed before another volley was sent down against my increasingly red and sore bottom.

“Slap!” “Slap!” “Slap!” “Slap!” “Slap!” “Slap!”

“Slap!” “Slap!” “Slap!” “Slap!” “Slap!” “Slap!”

“Slap!” “Slap!” “Slap!” “Slap!” “Slap!” “Slap!”

“Slap!” “Slap!” “Slap!” “Slap!” “Slap!” “Slap!”

Wendy’s hand seemed to become harder and harder and each and every slap hurt more than the previous one. I had tears in my eyes but was also enjoying it too. I had enjoyed my spankings from Miss Manson, and less so from Mrs. Wardell, but this was something else. I really wanted more and more from Wendy Taylor. As I thought about what she was doing to me I became aware that I was dribbling onto her skirt at the excitement. I gritted my teeth and laughed to myself as the smacks continued to connect with my bum cheeks at regular intervals.

“When she sees the damp patch on her skirt when she allows me to get up, then she’s sure to give me more punishment.” I thought to myself.

The hand spanking must have lasted for about ten to fifteen minutes, and by the time that Wendy was finished, she had turned my pale bottom a deep shade of red thanks to the repeated attention from her hard right hand. She had spanked slow and hard, as well as in bursts, where she had spanked rapidly, trying to catch every part of my bum cheeks. To conclude the hand spanking she had paused and rubbed my hot and sore bottom with her right hand.

“Mrs. Wardell told me that she spanked you in a special way in order to teach you a lesson for what you did to her.” My French Mistress spoke softly and stroked the back of my shaven head with her right hand.

“Miss It was an accident honest. I didn’t see her and just let the door go.” I struggled to reply through the sniffs and the sobs.

Wendy Taylor seemed to ignore me.

“She said she slapped the backs of your legs to really drive her message home to you.” She continued.

The older woman stopped stroking the back of my head and instead moved her right hand to the crease in between my right buttock and thigh. I tensed as I knew what was coming my way and knew how much being slapped there hurt. Wendy raised her hand and, over the next few minutes, laid out two dozen hard and extremely painful slaps which covered the whole area from the creases in between my bum cheeks and down my thighs and the backs of my legs.

“Slap!” “Slap!” “Slap!” “Slap!” “Slap!” “Slap!”

“Slap!” “Slap!” “Slap!” “Slap!” “Slap!” “Slap!”

“Slap!” “Slap!” “Slap!” “Slap!” “Slap!” “Slap!”

“Slap!” “Slap!” “Slap!” “Slap!” “Slap!” “Slap!”

The tears were flowing freely by this point onto the carpeted floor below. I sniffed and cried but Mrs. Taylor ignored this. After a few moments where she had allowed me to lie at rest over her lap, she brought her left arm out from under my stomach and placed it flat on my lower back. Her right hand slowly and gently rubbed my sore bottom, but eventually, this wandered down between my legs where she spent a while rubbing the inside of my thighs, stroking my balls and touching my cock, gently squeezing it in her warm right hand.

“Maybe if you show me what a good boy you can be Peter, and take your punishment well, maybe I’ll take care of some other things while you’re here. Would you like that?” She purred.

I was still sniffing and sobbing and trying to get my breathing back to normal as she whispered this. I nodded my head but was dreading having another accident. All I could see in my mind was being on Tina’s bed, her wearing her white school blouse and black pleated skirt. I was sitting next to her on the bed, trousers and underpants off. Then Tina touched me between my thighs, and I went off prematurely, squirting my hot sticky load onto her skirt and catching her blouse too. I had been so embarrassed that I hadn’t stayed around long after that. Making my excuses and going home, half expecting her to spread the news around the school the next day. But to my surprise, she hadn’t done this and had never mentioned it to anyone.

After another few minutes where Wendy continued to touch my cock, slowly moving it backwards and forwards in her right hand, she stopped and gently tapped my bottom with her right hand.

“Very well, young man. Stand up and face me.” She spoke softly and removed her hands from my back, sitting back in her chair to allow me to get to my feet.

I remained lying over my French teacher’s lap for a few moments before slowly and carefully getting to my feet. The first thing I did was place both hands over my burning buttocks and rubbed them frantically, trying to cool the fire that Wendy had ignited with her small, but seriously hard, right hand. Miss remained seated on the chair and adjusted her skirt and blouse before she looked up at me standing there, sniffing and sobbing and rubbing my bottom for all I was worth. My cock was semi-hard, and Wendy smiled as it stood there, inches away from her face. She placed her left hand around my balls and began gently stroking my growing cock with her right hand. She remained silent as she moved it backwards and forwards with her hand.

Mrs. Taylor looked up into my eyes and could see that I had my eyes closed. I was trying so hard not to go off as I had done over Tina.

“Did you wank off after you got home from being smacked by Miss Manson and Mrs. Wardell, Peter?” She asked as she continued to masturbate me softly.

I was breathing heavily and trying to take my mind off what my teacher was doing to me. I dreaded what she would do to my backside if I squirted my sticky load on her.

“Yes. Miss. I did have to take care of it once I got home.” I replied, my breathing becoming heavier as the older woman stroked my balls with her left hand.

Mrs. Taylor opened her legs slightly. She too, was becoming increasingly aroused. It had been far too long since she had actually had sex and over the last couple of years, she had had to take care of herself.

“Have you ever been with a girl, Peter?” She spoke in a whisper, all the time touching and feeling my cock and balls as I stood in front of her.

I decided to be honest with her.

“I have been Miss, but it didn’t really work out how I wanted it to, Miss.” I opened my eyes and looked at Wendy, who was fully focused on my cock.

“Who was it and what happened?” She purred.

I moaned as her fingernails slowly and softly ran the length of my cock.

“Tina in my form class Miss and I didn’t get to have sex with her after I went off before we even got to the sex, Miss,” I answered honestly.

Wendy Taylor laughed loudly, and it took her a while to stop and go back to giving my cock her full attention.

“Oh, I’m sorry sweetie. I didn’t mean to laugh. That must have been very frustrating for you?” She looked into my eyes and smiled.

I simply nodded.

“Maybe if you’re a good boy and take your spanking for your poor performance yesterday, then Auntie Wendy will take care of you. Would you like that, Peter?” She spoke quietly, giving my cock one last rub before letting it go.

I really was close to ejaculating all over and her last question really didn’t register with me.

“Auntie Wendy?” I gasped.

Mrs. Taylor got up slowly from her chair and walked over to her large desk in the corner of the room where her computer and printer were. She had also placed her collection of spanking implements there and returned a few moments later holding her wooden-backed clothes brush and small oval-headed tan coloured leather spanking paddle.

She brushed herself against my bare skin and smiled as she saw my reaction as her pink cotton blouse touched my skin. She sat down and placed the leather paddle on the floor next to her right foot. She held the brush in her left hand and tapped it gently against the palm of her right hand.

“Well, I think seen as you are being punished out of school today then addressing me as Miss is a bit formal, so maybe we should continue your punishment as if you are being punished by an Auntie at home, if that is okay with you.” She opened her legs wider as she sat on the chair, still tapping the nasty little brush against the palm of her right hand.

“And, once Auntie Wendy has spanked you, then she can cuddle and soothe you and maybe show you how much she really loves you.” She continued, licking her lips as she finished talking.

“Maybe she can help you forget about your “accident” with Tina, too.” She tried to avoid laughing but failed.

I simply stood there watching her tap the ebony-backed clothes brush against her palm. It didn’t take her too long to notice and she stopped and smiled.

“Oh, my dear I did tell Miss Manson about my plan to smack your bottom and so she did insist that I borrowed her clothes brush for the occasion seen as you seemed to love it so much.” She brushed the bristles of the brush softly against my cock that was pointing proudly at her.

“You’re only going to get twelve from me – unlike what Miss did to you – and so hopefully it won’t be too bad. Shall we continue?” She asked, sitting back in the high-backed chair, moving her arms out of the way inviting me to resume my position over her knees.

“Yes, Miss,” I replied and tentatively made a move to bend over her green-skirted lap.

I was stopped by Wendy’s small right hand slapping me hard across the back of my right thigh.

“Slap!”

“Aargh!” I yelled as the pain registered in my brain.

Mrs. Taylor watched me move around in front of her and waited until I had calmed myself.

“It’s Auntie Wendy from here on in, Peter. Are you going to be able to remember that or does Auntie have to give you another over-the-knee hand spanking to remind you?” She asked sternly.

After a few moments thinking about this and trying to calm myself down, I managed to reply.

“Yes. Auntie Wendy. I understand.”

She smiled sweetly up at me and then patted her knees.

“Very well. Then over you go and let’s have you in the same position as before, young man.” She watched me lower myself down.

Soon, I was lying over her green skirt, hands flat on the floor in front of me, my head looking down at the carpet and my feet touching the floor behind me with my legs open slightly, giving my “Auntie” a good view of my bottom and my cock and balls, my large cock resting against her covered thigh. Out of my view, Mrs. Taylor had placed the innocent-looking clothes brush in her right hand and began tapping it softly against the centre of my already red and bruised bottom.

“Auntie is going to give you twelve smacks with Auntie Pauline’s brush, and I want you to count each smack in French to act as a reminder to always try your best in my lesson. Do you understand me, young man?” She spoke in her no-nonsense, teacherly tone, brush poised in the air, ready to strike.

I shuffled around a little on Wendy’s lap until I was as comfortable as I could be before I turned my head to the left and looked up at her. I nodded at her before replying.

“Yes. Auntie Wendy.” I dropped my head down once more and resumed looking at the carpeted floor in front of me.

“Good boy. Auntie Wendy doesn’t like having to spank you, but it is for your own good as she wants you to be the best that you can be. Now – in French, Peter!” She unintentionally raised her voice.

A moment later, the nasty little clothes brush began to do it’s work, smacking my red and sore buttocks alternately.

“Thump!”

“Un Tante Wendy.”

“Thump!”

“Deux Tante Wendy.”

“Thump!”

“Trois Tante Wendy”

“Thump!”

“Quatre Tante Wendy.”

“Thump!”

“Cinq Tante Wendy.”

“Thump!”

“Six Tante Wendy.”

I cried pretty much from the first hard smack with the ebony-backed brush. It had been the same when Miss Manson had used the nasty, deceptively severe little wooden implement on my bottom the last time she had spanked me. Wendy probably didn’t spank as hard with it as my History Mistress had done, but it was still extremely painful each time the light, but dense wood connected with my already sore bottom. After those first half a dozen swipes with it, which had taken some time to administer due to my squirming and wriggling in a futile attempt to avoid each smack, Mrs, Taylor paused and inspected my bottom, rubbing it gently with both hands.

She tried her best to soothe me, but I continued to sniff and sob and drip tears onto the carpet below. The French Mistress gave me a while to calm myself before I felt her left arm reach under my stomach and pull me tight into her blouse and skirt, which by this time was beginning to feel damp from having me over her knee, but also because she had become so aroused herself. It took Wendy about five minutes to administer the final six smacks with the brush to conclude this part of my punishment.

“Thump!”

“Sept Tante Wendy.”

“Thump!”

“Huit Tante Wendy.”

“Thump!”

“Neuf Tante Wendy.”

“Thump!”

“Dix Tante Wendy.”

“Thump!”

“Onze Tante Wendy.”

“Thump!”

“Douze Tante Wendy.”

Once I had counted that last smack from Auntie Wendy, she threw the brush down onto the carpeted floor and resumed rubbing her hands over every part of my burning bottom and thighs. Once again, she reached between my slightly opened legs and stroked and squeezed my cock, holding her warm right hand there for what seemed like an age.

“Sssshhhh. There, there, Peter. Auntie is only doing this for your own good. She wants you to do well at school and to be a good boy. Hopefully, this will be a one-off and Auntie never, ever has to spank you again.” She spoke soothingly.

Mrs. Taylor smiled to herself. She had no intention of this being a one-off. The young man lying, sobbing over her knee would find himself in the same situation as often as she could arrange it. Wendy continued rubbing and stroking my cock and the inside of my thighs until I had settled and recovered my breathing, simply letting out the odd sniff and sob. She remained silent as she reached down and picked up her new small, oval-headed leather spanking paddle. The older woman examined it for a few moments before she laid it out across the centre of my red and sore bottom. The French Mistress shuffled around a little on her seat until she was comfortable and ready to resume my punishment.

“Right, my dear, twelve smacks with Auntie Wendy’s leather paddle across your bottom and don’t forget to count each smack, you naughty boy.” She spoke softly and began tapping the tan-coloured paddle gently against my bottom.

I sniffed and then nodded my head.

“Yes, Auntie Wendy,” I replied almost in a whisper before returning my focus to the floor in front of me.

Mrs. Taylor slowly, and relatively gently, laid out her slaps with the paddle across the centre of my bottom, allowing me time between each smack to recover.

“Whap!”

“Un Tante Wendy”

“Whap!”

“Deux Tante Wendy”

“Whap!”

“Trois Tante Wendy”

“Whap!”

“Quatre Tante Wendy”

“Whap!”

“Cinq Tante Wendy”

“Whap!”

“Six Tante Wendy”

As she had done when spanking me with Pauline’s ebony-backed clothes brush, Wendy Taylor paused halfway through this part of my punishment and laid her leather paddle on my back as she ran both hands over my bottom and then down the backs of my legs. She ran her small hands up and down the backs of my legs, finally coming to a halt when she slipped her right hand between my legs and stroked and gently squeezed my cock once more. As she touched me she could feel her juices flowing between her legs and shuffled around on the seat to try and avoid the dampness that she felt in her knickers and on her skirt.

After a few minutes where she touched and soothed me, Mrs. Taylor picked the leather paddle from my back and concluded this part of my punishment, administering the final half a dozen smacks slowly and reasonably.

“Whap!”

“Sept Tante Wendy”

“Whap!”

“Huit Tante Wendy”

“Whap!”

“Neuf Tante Wendy”

“Whap!”

“Dix Tante Wendy”

“Whap!”

“Onze Tante Wendy”

“Whap!”

“Douze Tante Wendy”

Once she had finished, the forty-two-year-old threw the tan-coloured paddle down onto the floor and spent a few minutes rubbing and touching my bottom. My bum cheeks were hot to the touch and were a mixture of light and dark shades of red. Thanks to Miss Manson’s brush, they had started to swell, and Wendy concentrated her attention upon rubbing and gently squeezing my buttocks to soothe the pain. As she did this, she breathed heavily, and I shook my head as I listened. I couldn’t believe that my French Mistress was actually getting off on punishing me. After she was satisfied that I had been soothed enough, Wendy tapped my bottom softly with her small right hand.

“Right, you, naughty, naughty, boy. Auntie Wendy wants you to stand up and then she’s going to take you into her bedroom where we’ll conclude your punishment and then, once we’re finished, maybe you can show Auntie how sorry you are for your behaviour and lack of effort and maybe she can show you that you have been forgiven and how much she loves you.” She moved her arms out of the way and sat back on the high-backed chair.

“Up you get young man and stand in front of me.” She purred, watching every move as I struggled to my feet.

It took me a few moments to get up from Wendy’s lap and as I stood facing her, I rubbed my burning bottom with both hands. She smiled and slowly stood up, deliberately rubbing her pink cotton, pussy-bow blouse against my bare skin as she walked past me and over to her desk. She picked up her other implements and walked back to me, taking my right hand in her left.

I did not resist and allowed the older woman to lead me out of her office, along the landing and into her large bedroom. Wendy had a king-size double bed and had already prepared for my punishment as she had piled her pillows at the bottom end of her bed. The French Mistress laid her spanking tools down on her dressing table and turned her attention back to me.

“Now, I don’t really want to have to spank you too severely, but I do want to show you that Auntie Wendy won’t tolerate you not trying for her and also, that she punishes a lot harder than either Miss Manson or Mrs. Wardell. Is that understood, young man?” She scolded me quietly as she opened the top drawer in her bedside cabinet.

After rummaging around in her cabinet she brought out a tube of Aloe Vera gel and a pack of antiseptic wipes. She smiled and placed them on the top of the cabinet before pushing the drawer closed.

“Yes, Auntie Wendy I understand, and I am sorry for not giving my best in your lesson yesterday,” I replied, wiping my eyes and nose on the back of my right hand.

She smiled as she walked back to me and took my semi-hard cock in her right hand once more, gently masturbating it in her right hand.

“Good, but you are going to take everything Auntie is going to give you today and then you will know what happens to naughty boys if they don’t please me.” She purred, leaning in close and kissing me softly on the lips.

“Now, bend over the pillows – rest your hips on them. You may take one to cover your face if you wish. I do not want you to shout or scream while I punish you and I still want you to count each stroke. Am I making myself clear, you bad, bad boy?” She hissed.

I nodded and licked my lips. I could feel my cock going hard once again and began to worry about shooting my load by accident once more.

“Yes, Auntie Wendy,” I said in a whisper.

To be continued...