Sandra Keller was just asking for it.

Sandra was a sixteen-year-old student in my high school English class; I was the twenty-nine-year-old male teacher of that class. Throughout the ten months of her junior year, she had been an intolerably disruptive student. Now that April was about to give way to May, her bad behavior was reaching a peak.

She was a tall, fairly slender girl with dark-blonde hair that she either wore down to her shoulders or pinned up on top of her head. Her steel-rimmed glasses sometimes gave her a studious look that was completely at odds with the quality of the work she submitted. I figured out after a while that she was actually quite smart, but her I-don’t-a-shit-about-anything attitude prevented her from capitalizing on that.

She was pretty, but not in a head-turning way. Her looks were also belied by her generally atrocious demeanor. In the early months of the class, I noticed that she was constantly disrupting things with her unending comments; she just couldn’t shut up. What made it worse was that she had a witty but dark sense of humor, and inevitably the other students enjoyed her remarks and sided with her when I tried to rein her in.

She indeed could be quite funny, and the others would laugh along with her. Even I had to hide a smile at times.

At one point I assigned a few poems by Allen Ginsberg. I hoped that my students would perhaps find some relevance in them and actually understand how much flexibility poetry offered. Sandra apparently did read them, or maybe she just skimmed them. Inevitably she would find the most provocative passages and focus on those. She would pretend to be polite and completely deadpan in her comments.

“Howl” was one such poem. Sandra raised her hand and before I could even acknowledge her, she started talking. She had the book open on her desk.

“Mr. D’Amato, I noticed this passage. He talks about his friends ‘who let themselves be fucked in the ass by saintly motorcyclists, and screamed with joy.’ “ There was some tittering by the other students. “I get the feeling from some of the stuff in here: well, obviously, Ginsberg was – how should I put this? – he was a brown-dirt cowboy.”

That got a laugh from her audience. I said, “Well, yes, Ginsberg was mostly gay.”

“Mostly gay? I’d say that he was so light in his loafers that he didn’t touch the ground when he walked.” That got an even bigger laugh.

“Kaddish” also caught her attention. “Mr. D’Amato...” Oh, so faux-polite. “There’s a section in here, his own mom tried to seduce him. He writes, ‘one time I thought she was trying to make me come lay her.’ She’s in her bed and shows him her bare pussy.”

Sandra was getting the attention she seemed to crave. I wasn’t sure how to respond, but she kept going. “The weird thing is, he considers doing it.” She made a show of adjusting her glasses and then she read the passage out loud. “ ‘I was cold — later revolted a little, not much — seemed perhaps a good idea to try — know the Monster of the Beginning Womb ... Would she care? She needs a lover.’”

I still couldn’t come up with a response, but she did. She looked up at me and she had her punchline ready, “It’s a good thing he was gay because otherwise he might have literally been a motherfucker.”

Yet, with all of her close reading of poetry, she still managed to get a D on her midterm paper. It was so bad – she obviously had skipped most of the assigned reading – that I should have given her an F, but I had some misguided feeling of mercy for her.

As spring came in, she started to comment directly about me, and she was quite insulting about it. One day I couldn’t find a clean long-sleeved shirt, and I had to wear a short-sleeved one with my tie on. As soon as Sandra came in and sat down, she said, “Hey, Mr. D’Amato, you have a really cool outfit on today. Where do you get your fashion ideas? Gentlemen’s Quarterly?“

It soon got worse – more personal I mean. One day, out of nowhere, she said, “You look a little down today, Mr. D’Amato. What’s the matter? You not getting laid regularly?”

I should have ignored that, but I fell into her trap, “No, I do have a girlfriend. Her name is Alicia.”

“Really? I bet she’s quite a land whale. Skinny guys like you often go for fat chicks.”

I heard some guy in the room say, “Oh, that was cold.”

My emotions were getting to me, and I fell further into her frame. “That’s not true. Here, I have a photo of her.” I took a print out of my wallet and showed it to her,

“Very nice. But I bet you have to wine and dine her a lot to get any of her golden vag.”

I kept going into her trap, “What makes you think that?”

Sandra leaned forward and went into her serious mode, “Because, Mr. D’Amato, I know what women are like. You two will get married, have a couple of kids, and then in ten years or so she’ll be bored and she’ll divorce-rape you.”

A few of her classmates seemed amused, but they were generally quieter than I had expected. Maybe they thought she was going too far; maybe they even had some sympathy for me.

Sandra had one more thing to say, “Meanwhile, you’ll be paying child support, and she’ll be cavorting with young studs half her age. You’ll see, I guarantee it.”

As the weather warmed up, her wardrobe changed; she started showing a lot more skin. If she had jeans or trousers, invariably her blouse would be revealing her midriff, navel and all. Sometimes her top would be a skimpy item held up with spaghetti straps.

There were various skirts she favored, almost all of them quite short. She had at least one denim one, and a bunch of colorful cotton ones. One day she surprised me with a skirt that almost reached her ankles. Of course, that was also the day she choose to wear a halter top.

Her footgear varied too. Sometimes she had sandals, but she wore boots on two days when it was a bit warm for that. Sometimes tennis shoes or other sneakers were enough. On her sneaker days, she preferred to have knee-socks or thigh-high cotton stockings. Some of these were quite colorful, but she also had a pair of plain black knee-socks that she liked. Probably she enjoyed the slutty schoolgirl look those gave her.

On the one day she wore shorts, they weren’t tight and revealing as I would have expected. Instead, they were ample and quite baggy. As soon as she came in, she grabbed the cloth and said, “Mr. D’Amato, how do you like my new Daisy Dukes?” She got a big laugh out of that.

Her skirts were used for new provocations against me. Usually, she sat about two rows from the front. I presumed that was so her classmates throughout the room could hear her witticisms. One day she sat in the first front row. The chairs and desks in that school were separate units. She moved the chair to the right side and then leaned on the desk to mostly pretend to take notes. The rest of the class seemed to be listless that day, and they took no notice of her unconventional position.

After about five minutes, I looked at her and saw that she had her legs splayed open. Her right foot was up on one of the crossbars of the desk. I could clearly see up her legs, and I also could see that she had no panties on. She was a girl who shaved her crotch, and the pink slit of her cunt was visible.

She closed her legs for a brief while, then she opened them again. This opening and closing went on for a while. Her facial expressions varied. Sometimes she smirked; at other points she frowned as if to signal, you bad boy, you’re looking up my skirt.

No one else was taking any notice of her. For one thing, she had moved the desk up so that it was about two feet ahead of the others in the first row.

I was at a loss as to what to do, and she seemed to know that. I couldn’t just say, Sandra, keep your legs closed. I also hoped to not get an erection, which would have been impossible to hide while I stood in front of the class. Fortunately, I willed myself not to get a boner.

Just before she was done with this stunt, she looked around to be sure that no one was watching her. Then she picked up her purse, opened it, and briefly flashed a piece of cloth. I could see that it was a pair of white panties. She quickly shoved them back in. Her look seemed to say, see, I do have a pair in case I need them.

After that, with about half of the class time still to go, she seemed to get tired of her own shenanigans, and she sat there looking bored as usual.

Yet she must have enjoyed her cunt-flashing activities because on later days she did it twice more. I should have taken her aside after class and called her out what she was doing, but I didn’t. Maybe I was too embarrassed.

On the third day with her leg-spreading, she had a new variation for me. At the end of class, she stayed in her front-row seat as everyone else filed out. I knew something memorable was about to happen.

When the room was empty, she stood up, lifted her skirt, and bent over. She placed herself so that her legs were apart. I already knew she had no panties on. Her behind was pale and nicely compact, and she shook it at me. Her cunt was clearly in view.

When she looked back at me, her mouth was open with that porn-girl kind of look. Oh my, my pretty pussy is showing. Then she stood up and said to me, “I’m sure you’d like to get a piece of my tail, but believe me, that is never going to happen.” She shook her head and made some sound like, “Hah-rumpf,” a signal of annoyance. She appeared to be in a huff as she strode out of the room.

That evening Alicia wasn’t with me, and for the first time I masturbated thinking of Sandra. I imagined her again in the skirt-up position, but this time she was on all-fours on my desk. I vigorously nailed her from behind. My combination of dislike and lust for her resulted in a particularly intense orgasm.

Just before I ejaculated, I yelled out, “Sandra, you nasty fucking bitch, take my hot cum in your cunt!” I then shot out several impressive spurts.

Sandra’s sexual behavior soon went beyond merely teasing me. I found out about what was happening from some of the female teachers at the school. One day Sandra was absent from her history class. The teacher there, Ms. Rosenfeld, had seen her in the hallway earlier, so she knew her wayward student was probably somewhere in the building.

Going on a guess, really, Ms. Rosenfeld excused herself briefly from her class and went to the girls’ bathroom to look for Sandra. She was indeed in there, sitting in a stall, masturbating. And she definitely wasn’t quiet about it. Her loud moaning echoed throughout the room.

Sandra had neglected to latch the door, so it opened when Ms. Rosenfeld yanked on the handle. There was Sandra, sitting on the toilet. Her skirt was up, her legs were splayed up and out, and her panties were lying on the floor. One of her hands was inserting a dildo in and out of her cunt as the other one rubbed and circled her clitoris.

She was completely shameless, and she said, “Ms. Rosenfeld, would you mind giving me some privacy? I was getting close to my climax and now you’ve completely distracted me.”

Ms. Rosenfeld was perhaps not the most assertive person around because she just left Sandra there and didn’t report her. She did, however, pass the word around to the other female teachers about where Sandra might be found if she was missing from a class. In fact, she was caught masturbating in the girls’ room twice more, but on these occasions she did latch the door.

One time a Ms. Pucci went over to the stall and started banging on the door. Sandra was quite blunt in her reaction, saying, “Go away; I’m busy in here.”

On the fourth time, Ms. Pucci went in there again, and this time she heard two voices. I’m not sure why Sandra didn’t latch the door that time. Maybe she subconsciously wanted to be caught; maybe she just wanted to be brazen. It’s possible she simply forgot.

Whatever the reason, Ms. Pucci opened the door and there was Sandra getting fucked, standing up, by one the male seniors. His pants were down below his knees and her skirt was up around her waist. He was a big guy – he was a guard on the football team in fact – and he had lifted her by her buttocks so that her feet were no longer on the floor. He back was pressed against the side wall of the stall.

Sandra tried to talk her way out of it. “Ms. Pucci, Tom and I are trying to accomplish something here.” However, that was too much for a teacher to ignore. She remained calm as she said, “Tom, you do know you’re leaving now.” He pulled out of Sandra, then he merely shrugged, pulled up his pants, and left. He didn’t even say goodbye to his partner on his way out.

Sandra had to see the principal, Mr. Pendergast. He gave her a good dressing down but he took no further action against her. In fact, he was already formulating a plan for her to be implemented in the very near future. For that, he would need the cooperation of one of the teachers. It happened that the teacher would be me, but neither he nor I knew it yet.

It was with her drug use that Sandra stepped over another line, although having sex on school property didn’t help. I had seen her smoking pot on school grounds, but students often got a pass on that when they did it outside the building. I suppose we were a little too lenient with them on that point.

I started seeing her in the hallways smoking joints. Usually, she was by herself, although once I saw her with two other girls. Given our school’s somewhat lax policies about marijuana, it didn’t seem I had the authority to intervene. I did make sure she saw me. She would shrug, or she would look back with a “fuck you” kind of look.

One day Sandra was absent from class on a day I knew that she was probably somewhere in the building. I excused myself from the class to look for her. My students seemed happy enough to just hang out and not have to listen to me go on about The Day of the Locust, which was on the reading list that day.

I couldn’t go into the girl’s room of course, so I spent a few minutes walking through the building and on a hunch, I went into the lunchroom. Mealtimes were over, but my timing was perfect. There was Sandra, sitting alone at a table. She had just used a plastic straw to snort a line of cocaine from some aluminum foil, and she was about to do the second line.

I went up to her and just stood there. With the drug in her system, she seemed unusually perky. “Hey, Mr. D’Amato, I have my math class right after yours, and I wanted to be sure I was psyched up for it.”

She must have just started her use and the ill-effects hadn’t hit her yet. I almost pitied her naïveté. All I said was, “And how are you paying for this?” I was sure she didn’t have a job of any kind.

“Oh, believe me, I have my ways.”

I soon found out what those ways were. A male student reported to one of the deans that Sandra had offered him a blowjob if he wrote a paper for her. It wasn’t the blowjob that offended him, it was that he’d have to write two papers, one for himself and one for her. I suspect that what really bothered him was that he thought he was going to get it for free, and at the last moment she made a business deal out of it. He decided on some payback against her.

Despite this setback, Sandra had hit upon a way to make some quick and relatively easy cash.

Within a few days, there was quite a buzz going in in the school about Sandra’s new profession as a whore. She would take guys to their cars in the parking lot and sell handjobs and blowjobs. If her customers didn’t have a car (the freshmen and the sophomores were too young for that), then they would go to a small wooded area behind the building. What she would charge would be higher if she used her mouth instead of her hands.

It seemed like a good time to talk to Mr. Pendergast, the principal, about her. He already knew quite a bit about Sandra’s activities. After the second visit, he gave me the go-ahead – unofficially – to deal with her in any way I saw fit.

The next day I caught her just as the class was ending. “After classes are over, I want to see you in my office.” I had lucked out that term because I didn’t have to share my office as some of the other teachers did.

“Yeah, so what is this about?”

I was amazed that she didn’t know, or maybe she did know and was pretending otherwise.

“Just go there and you’ll find out. Let’s make it for 3:30.”

I thought she might blow off the whole thing and not arrive at all. However, she did show up and she was only about five minutes late. I immediately said, “Close the door and lock it and don’t sit down yet. In fact, stand over here.”

“What is this, some kind of detention?” She seemed a bit more insolent than usual. Possibly she was a bit surprised that I had finally called her in because of her bad behavior.

“You might say that, yes.”

Sandra was standing there, a couple of feet away, and she was giving me a skeptical look. Today she was wearing a mid-riff baring top held up by straps, faded blue jeans, and sandals. Her hair was pinned up to the top of her head. She may have imagined herself as some kind of sophisticated hipster, but I knew she was only sixteen and probably somewhat naïve about how the world actually worked. I suspected I could capitalize on that.

I took a couple of deep breaths, and then I got right into it. “Sandra, you may not know this, but corporal punishment of students is legal in this state.”

She surprised me, “I do know that. I’ve heard about it from a couple of the girls here.”

It only happened about a half-dozen times per year but if necessary, one of the female teachers would spank or paddle one of the girls, and a male teacher would do the same to a wayward boy.

“Well, Sandra, that’s what I’m going to do to you right now. I’ve already gotten permission from Mr. Pendergast to proceed and discipline you.”

“Really? And what is this based on?”

“Let’s see, you’ve had sexual intercourse on school property. You’ve used drugs, including hard drugs, inside the building. And, to top it off, you’ve been prostituting yourself to other students.”

“Oh that. I never let them take me vaginally or...” She smirked to herself. “Or anally. It’s strictly my mouth or hands, but they do seem to flock to it.”

“And that makes it all right?”

“I think it does. Besides, I never do it in the building, only in their cars. And if they don’t have a car, then we go out back somewhere.”

I thought, it’s amazing the rationalizations this girl come up with.

She said, “And what happens if I refuse this so-called discipline of yours?”

“For one thing, we could have you expelled.”

“Come on, this is a public school. You can’t expel me.”

She had point there, but I told her a couple of half-truths. “It wouldn’t be easy, but we could do it if necessary. Then, with your drug use – we have contacts inside the police department. You must have a dealer or dealers; maybe it’s another student. The prostitution thing is there too.

She said, “You could never get one those guys to say anything against me.” I wouldn’t be so sure about that if I were you. “And what about probable cause? What about due process?”

I guessed she only partially understood those concepts. I wondered if she was searched right now, would there be drugs on her person? What about her locker? Could the school staff do such a search, or would we have to get a cop in here to do it? I wasn’t precisely sure of the legal issues, but I wasn’t going to admit that to her.

Instead, I went with some vague generalities. “Sandra, based on what you’ve done so far, we could cause you a lot of trouble. On the other hand, if you submit to my discipline – and it will only take a little while – then your troubles will be over, I promise.”

At first, she seemed defiant, “This is total bullshit.” Then she said something that indicated that I probably had her, “Exactly what do you propose to do to me?”

I remained matter-of-fact about it but I gave her the specifics, “Well, I’ll tell you. First, I’m going to take you over my lap and give you, with my hand, a good hard spanking on your bare behind. Then, I’ll have you bend over the couch there. I’ll take my belt off and give you what the English call ‘fifteen of the best;’ fifteen swipes across your rear end.”

Actually, the English usually used the numbers “six” or “twelve,” but I assumed she didn’t know that.

“That doesn’t sound so little. Fifteen of the best? Sounds more like fifteen of the worst.”

“All right, then let’s make it eighteen.”

“What are you going to do? Keep upping the number?”

I made an appeal to her vanity. “You’re a tough girl. What’s the matter, are you afraid of a spanking?”

“Me, afraid of what you can do? That will be the day.”

I just shrugged. I knew it was time to just sit back and see how my sales pitch had gone, see if my prospect was going to say yes and buy the product. I was patient, and I let her stand there with her arms crossed.

I could tell she was nervous, worried about the possible consequences of her actions. There were now a lot of doubts planted in her mind. Perhaps it was the cocaine that worried her the most. She might still be considered a minor, but we could have charged as a juvenile and possession of that was a fairly serious offense.

Also, prostitution charges could be bad if we could make them stick. Even a few months in juvenile detention must have been a daunting prospect. Finally, after about a minute, she said, “Oh fuck it, let’s do this already. You did say no further actions against me, didn’t you?”

“You have my word on that. After today, if you keep your nose clean, it will all be over.” Did I intend a pun with the nose reference? “Sandra, you’ve made the right choice.” I thought but didn’t say, yes, probably for the first time in your life.

Then I said, “Now, come over here so I can take your jeans down.”

“I’m perfectly capable of taking down my own pants.”

“No, I’m going to do it for you.”

She didn’t argue about it. I unbuckled her, and then lowered her jeans, then I took down her cute little panties. She quietly said, “Oh, my” as the latter happened.

Now she seemed embarrassed by her nudity below the waist. Her public hair wasn’t completely shaved; there was a narrow strip running up her pubes. It was darker than I would have expected.

I joshed, “The carpet doesn’t seem to match the drapes.”

“It’s all natural, believe me. And you’re just a pervert. This is all just an excuse to look at my body.”

“How about when you flashed me from the front row?”

“That was different.” Yes, it was different because you could control what was going on.

“All right, get over my lap.” I pulled her across my lap and she didn’t resist. I adjusted her jeans so that they were lower, just below her knees. Then I got a good look at her ass. It was a very nice ass, pale, slender, but with just a nice hint of curvature to it.

“Have you ever been spanked before?”

“Only by my parents, a long time ago.”

“They seem to have stopped too soon.” I thought of something else, “Take your glasses off and put them on the desk. That way, they won’t go flying off if you whip your head around.” I had never spanked anyone before, but I had seen spanking videos on-line so I had some idea of what to expect.

After removing her glasses, she immediately started talking again. “You obviously enjoy looking at my backside...”

I cut her off by starting the spanking without any warning. I decided that it shouldn’t be too fast but it should be hard and steady, going onto each cheek in turn. Sandra was griping from the get-go. “God, that hurts. Must you be so hard on me?”

“Yes, it has to be hard so that you’ll learn your lesson.”