My Favorite Teacher
Copyright© 2025 by TheDarkKnight
Chapter 2: Just Call Me Sharon
Coming of Age Sex Story: Chapter 2: Just Call Me Sharon - We all remember a favorite teacher, right? In my case, it was Miss Sharon Hawkins, my American History teacher in the eighth grade. She wasn't my favorite because of her dynamic teaching style, or how much fun her class was. No, it was something more personal that made her stand out. (Story codes will be changed as chapters are added)
Caution: This Coming of Age Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including mt/Fa Reluctant Heterosexual Fiction School Humiliation Spanking First Masturbation Safe Sex Teacher/Student
Near the end of the semester, life took another strange detour. I was hurrying home one hot April afternoon, trying to beat an oncoming storm. It wasn’t just rain; this was one of those dreaded Central Florida thunderstorms rising right in front of me. I had enough experience with local weather to know what that huge thunderhead towering hundreds of feet in the sky meant: heavy rain, wind, possibly hail, and almost certainly lots of lightning. I didn’t mind getting wet, but I hated lightning. Head down, I was trying to hurry home as fast as I could when I became aware of a car pulling up to the curb next to me.
“Get in,” I heard someone say. I looked over and saw Miss Hawkins reaching over to open the passenger side door. I had successfully avoided even making eye contact with her for the last few weeks, as difficult as that was. I still felt a stirring in my loins every time I walked into her classroom and saw that small closet in the back of the room, and as soon as the bell rang at the end of her class, I bolted out of there as fast as I could. Now, here she was, coming to my rescue.
The first few large, heavy raindrops were just beginning to pelt down on the hot sidewalk, and almost as if on cue, a bolt of hot-as-the-sun lightning struck too close for comfort. A loud clap of thunder followed almost immediately, so I didn’t hesitate. Any port in a storm, as the sailors say. I jumped in her car, closing the door behind me. “Thanks,” I said. This was the closest I had been to her since that strange day.
“Couldn’t let my favorite student get rained on,” she said, her voice softer and gentler than it was in school.
Favorite? Was that possible, or was she teasing? I glanced over at her, the first time in weeks I had dared look at her, and saw her smiling at me. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you, Nate, but you’ve been acting like you’re afraid of me.”
“Well, it did take a while for those bruises to heal.”
“That’s why I want to talk to you. I wanted to apologize. I went way overboard when I spanked you. But, you have to admit, you did enjoy the rest of it.”
I felt my cheeks warming as I blushed. Why did she have to bring that up? I had spent many nights in bed jacking off to the memories of her hand on my cock, and the brief moment when I had almost entered her. That was why I found it hard to be around her now. We were still sitting there, parked at the curb, the rain now pelting down with almost biblical intensity, while she waited for me to answer. “Yes, ma’am,” I finally managed to say. “It was incredible.” Where had that come from? It just blurted out of my mouth like my semen had between her legs that day in the closet.
“Good,” she said, “I’m glad you weren’t traumatized. And by the way, when we’re not at school, you can drop the ma’am stuff, okay? I know you’re just being polite, but it makes me feel old. Here, I’m just Sharon, and you’re Nate.”
“Okay, Sharon,” I said. It still felt weird to speak to her like a friend, but cool too.
“Let me get you home. Where do you live?” When I told her, she said, “Oh, we’re almost neighbors.”
“Yeah,” I said, “I thought I’dve seen you drive by a few times.”
“Do you think your parents would mind if you’re a little late today?’ She asked. “I really need to talk to you.”
“No problem. Dad is working out of town this week, and Mom won’t get home until 5:30.”
“Good,” she said, as she pulled away from the curb. A few minutes later, she parked under a carport next to a small house that looked a lot like ours. I followed her inside, still not sure what was going on or what she wanted to talk to me about. “Would you like something to drink?” she asked.
“Sure,” I said, wondering if she was going to bring me a beer. It certainly wouldn’t be the worst thing she had done with a student. She went to the kitchen while I stood uncomfortably in her small living room. I looked around and saw a few posters on the wall, along with shelves full of books. There was an easy chair and a sofa, both facing an older-looking TV. If I had tried to imagine what a teacher’s living room looked like, this might have been it. When she came back, she handed me a glass of lemonade. I tried to hide my disappointment.
Sharon sat down on the sofa and motioned for me to sit next to her. When I did, she sighed, like she was getting ready to say something difficult, and started talking. “Nate, I want to tell you a little about myself that might explain why I do what I do. When I was growing up, my father beat my ass a lot. Nothing too bad, but enough that I got the message. Sometimes he used a hairbrush, and sometimes his belt. He continued doing it even after I was a teenager, which is when it started to be kind of embarrassing. As I got older, I noticed something else going on, more than just the pain, something like what you experienced.
“When he spanked me, I felt myself getting excited. I didn’t understand what was happening. I thought the idea of punishment was the pain, and now I was enjoying it. I even started deliberately doing things to get in trouble just to get my butt warmed, hoping it would turn me on. After my dad spanked me, I would run to my room, slam the door, and bring myself to a climax on my bed while he thought I was crying. That’s how I discovered masturbation. My mother made him stop when I was almost sixteen. She said I was too old for that kind of punishment, but the itch was still there inside me. I tried to talk a couple of boyfriends into spanking me, but the idea freaked them out. Then I met a guy in college who was really into it, both giving and receiving. That’s when I found out I wasn’t alone, that other people enjoyed pain like I did.
“When I started teaching, I was curious to see if I could find other people like me, and who might react like that college boyfriend. That’s why I paddle more students than most of the other teachers. Unfortunately, the more I do it, the more I get into it. I hit you way too hard, and I regret that.”
“You said I wasn’t the only boy who ... reacted like I did, but I was the only one you took into your closet, right?”
“Yeah, you’re special, Nate. Lucky you. More confession coming. I like big dicks.”
“Lucky me,” I laughed. I still wasn’t sure why she was opening up to me about her predilection. I guess I should have seen what was coming next, but I was too young and inexperienced to connect the dots.
Sharon reached out and took my hand, and guided it under her dress. “Nate, I want to ask you to do something for me.” She pulled my hand higher up, until my fingertips were touching her panties. “I want you to spank me, maybe because I feel like I owe you, or maybe to see if someone your age can ignite the fire in me like older men do.”
“Okay,” I said, barely able to talk.
“No paddles,” she whispered, “just your hand.” I felt my fingers moving over her mound, then down to that mysterious area below it. “See, I’m getting wet just thinking about it. Let’s go to my bedroom.”
I followed Sharon down the hall to her small bedroom. She had a large bed that filled most of the space. I headed for it, but she stopped me and pointed to an armless chair next to it. It may have had other purposes, but all I could think when I saw it was that it looked like a perfect spanking chair.
She was still wearing her school clothes, a long, blue dress that came down almost to her ankles. It was her most conservative attire, and I wondered if someone, maybe another teacher, had complained about her more daring hemlines and low-cut blouses. Her hair was still in her school-marm bun. As we stood there, she pulled out the clips that held it in place and shook her head, letting her shoulder-length brunette locks spread out and spill down her back. It was a perfectly natural act, one that I was sure she must do every day, but somehow she made it seem like she was putting on a show just for me.
Sharon turned her back and motioned to the clasp at the top of the dress. I managed to open it, then pull the zipper down. Sharon shrugged the garment off her shoulders and let it drop to the floor. She was now clad in bra and panties, a matching set - light pink with lace trim. I waited, hoping that she would discard them also, but instead she smiled at me and said, “Nate, I’ve been a very bad girl. Do you think I need to be punished?”
I may have been young and inexperienced, but I knew she wanted me to play along with her fantasy. “Yes, Sharon, I’m afraid I have to give you a good spanking.” I sat on the chair and added, “Across my knees, young lady, and no complaining.” I didn’t know if she wanted me to channel her father’s behavior that much, but from the way she was smiling as she stretched out in my lap, I felt like I had guessed right. I saw a hairbrush on her dresser and almost asked her to bring it, but the idea of my bare hands on her flesh was too hard to resist. I thought about pulling her panties down to give her a good old skin-on-skin whipping, but I lacked the confidence to go that far. I was just her teenage student, not her lover, and I was following her lead.
I wasn’t sure how forceful my blows should be. Were we just acting out a fantasy from her fucked-up childhood, or did she want to feel some real pain? I started easy, stronger than a caress but nowhere near a pain-inducing blow, then I remembered what she had done to me when I was bent over her desk, so I increased my efforts. That still wasn’t enough for Sharon. I heard her whisper, “Harder, Nate, please.”
“Okay,” I said. I gathered my courage and yanked her panties down, just far enough to bare her bottom, then started hitting those lily-white mounds as hard as I could. I watched as they gradually turned, first to salmon-pink, then, as I kept slapping her ass, to a crimson-red. I didn’t think I was bruising her, but by then I didn’t care. I was losing control, my desire for revenge mixed in with my lust for the woman squirming on my lap.