Chapter One
“Well, little Johnny Carver! How long has it been?”
There she was. Miss Black, my junior high-school Civics teacher, standing in the middle
of the grocery store. “Hi,” I said, swinging my grocery cart over to her.
She looked good, considering she was probably around forty years old. She was tall –
almost six feet tall, a few inches taller than me in fact – with long legs and generous
curves in her hips and breasts. She was wearing a low-cut sundress with flowers and a
wide-brimmed straw hat over her glowing golden curls.
She was beautiful. My God, she was beautiful. I had always thought so.
“What are you doing these days, Johnny?” she asked, patting my hand.
“Oh, I’m just finishing up my freshman year at college, home for the summer,” I said,
trying to sound jovial and impressive. “And you? How’s the teaching business?”
She pursed her full, red lips ironically. “Actually, Johnny, I’ve moved up in the world
a bit. I’m state secretary of education now.”
I congratulated her. “The perks are better, of course,” she said. “But I sometimes miss
working with students. Students like you, Johnny.” Something suddenly seemed to occur to
her. “Oh, look at the time! I simply must be off. Listen, Johnny, are you free tomorrow
night? I’m having a little soiree at my apartment: nothing fancy, nothing formal, strictly
come-as-you-are. Why don’t you drop by? I’d love to catch up and find out what kind of
trouble you’ve been getting into.”
My stomach fluttered. My eighth-grade crush was inviting me to a party with her. Of
course, it was simply routine friendliness, meant nothing. But I still felt as if I had
just had two strong mixed drinks in a row. I told her I’d love to; she handed me a card
and strolled off with an enigmatic smile.
***
Miss Black’s apartment was uptown, in the nicer part of the city, at the top of an
expensive-looking building. I took the bus to the building and rode the elevator all the
way up. All the way I alternated between concrete feelings and vague ones. My concrete
feelings were all admonitions: this will be dull, it will be older people you don’t know
talking about things you don’t understand, Miss Black was simply being pleasant and
doesn’t expect you to come. My vague feelings were something else: they were hopes and
fears without objects, and they impelled me forward.
I finally reached the top floor, located her apartment, and rang the doorbell. “Come
in,” came her rich contralto voice. I walked inside.
It was a luxurious apartment inside. I stepped into the main room, which was dark, lit
by a few candles and a roaring fire in the fireplace. There was a long couch in the center
of the room, and a velvet-seated, high-backed chair facing it. All around the room I could
see fine art, a sumptuous carpet, and a diamond-studded chandelier.
Miss Black, standing in the center of the room, looked stunning. She was wearing an
elegant strapless black evening gown, with a tight, low-cut bodice and full skirts down to
the floor. Elbow-length black gloves encased her hands and a single, gleaming string of
pearls sat on her shoulders. She seemed even taller than usual – as she walked, I could
see that she was wearing high-heeled black pumps that added a few inches to her already
statuesque height. Her hair was piled up gloriously on top of her head in an elaborate
bun, and she stared down at me through a pair of horn-rimmed black glasses that would seem
clichéd if they didn’t flatter her features so.
“I – ah – hello, Miss Black. I’m sorry. I thought you said come as you are. I – I guess
I must have misheard.” I was just wearing jeans, a t-shirt, and a pair of sandals. I felt
like a perfect moron.
“Don’t worry about it,” she said, smiling serenely. She had a glass of wine in her hand,
and she brought it to her lips. “Would you like a drink, Johnny?”
“Oh, sure,” I said. She disappeared into the kitchen. I noticed there was nobody else
here. “So, am I early?”
She ignored me and returned from the kitchen, handing me something. “Sit down,” she
said, gesturing towards one of the sofas. I sat down and she took a seat in a chair
opposite me. I looked down in my hand. It was a small carton of milk, the kind you get in
a school cafeteria.
I was confused. “What is – ”
“Johnny,” Miss Black said. “The day you finished eighth grade, you forgot to clean out
your locker.”
I vaguely remembered that. I had lingered, mainly because I wanted to say a painful,
awkwardly adolescent good-bye to Miss Black, and then I was worried about missing the bus,
so I had dashed to it and forgot a number of things, none of them important.
“I know this, Johnny,” she continued, reaching over to one of the end tables and seizing
a folder in her gloved hand, “because, as a senior-level school administrator, I have
access to all student files. I inspected your file, and found this out, and discovered
that among the items found in your locker and confiscated, was . . . this.”
Held out flat before me was a magazine. On its glossy cover was a heavily made-up woman,
half-undressed, in lace lingerie, staring out with a pout. The title? Cheap Lust.
I blushed. It was one of the many porno magazines I had gone through in my youth. I
literally hadn’t thought about it in years.
“You brought this, this . . . this filth to school with you, did you? To my school. Why
did you do that, Johnny?”
My face was burning. I felt panicked, paralyzed. “I – I – I don’t know what that is,
Miss Black. I’ve never seen it before.”
“Don’t lie to me!” Crack! Her hand shot out and blasted against my cheek. My face
twisted to the side. I was stunned by the impact, and a creeping burn began to spread over
that part of my cheek. She had just slapped me! I got up to leave.
“Sit down!” her voice was sharp and her eyes were blazing. They seemed to be drilling
holes in me. For some reason I even now can’t fully explain, I sat back down.
“Let me repeat my question, Johnny,” she said, her voice sounding controlled but angry.
“Why did you bring this magazine into my school?”
“I really –” I lied again, not out of calculation, but as a kind of reflex. “I don’t
know what it is. I’ve never . . . seen it before. Honestly!”
Miss Black stood up. Seated, I stared up at her. She looked like an angry giantess.
“I won’t have lies, Johnny. You’ve got to be punished.”
“Punished?” The situation was becoming absurd. “What are you talking about? Are you
going to give me detention?”
Without a word, she strode over to me, grabbed me by the hair, and shoved my face down
into the soft couch, laying me out on my stomach. She then proceeded to spank me. On the
buttocks. Hard. Her hand rained down like fire from the sky. I struggled weakly for a
moment, but her grip was surprisingly firm. One stroke after another from her strong hand
pummeled my ass. I tried to call out that I was sorry, but she continued pounding me
vigorously until I went limp.
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