What Dakota doesn’t know is that since she’s now 18, she falls under the Billingham Academy’s “Corporal 12” rule: She’s going to get spanked.
What Mr. Schulb doesn’t know is how much he is going to enjoy spanking her.
Dakota and Mr. Schulb both learn the same important lesson from the punishment: One spanking is not enough.
Mr. Schulb took a swig from the bottle in his bottom drawer. The whiskey burned its way down his throat. He’d gotten to the point where he didn’t even shut the blinds on his windows, he cared so little. He didn’t even shut his door. He was sick to death of teaching shop class for pennies, and running detention for overtime pay. He was sick to death of the entitled young women at Billingham Academy.
The final bell rang. He took one more swig and slid the bottle back in place.
“What was that, Mr. Schulb?”
He glanced up and shivered.
It was Dakota St. Millay, only the most disturbing of the Academy’s flock of troubling young women. She was the most physically mature and mentally bored of Mr. Schulb’s shop class students, and all she really seemed to enjoy in life were horses, gymnastics, and goading her teachers. She had glossy black hair that fell straight down her back, tan skin, and startling blue eyes—a potent mix from her eurasian ancestry.
She came from new Russian oil money, and she even had a slight Russian accent, as if she’d been designed as a James Bond girl explicitly to turn him on. In all, she came off as over twenty and not a teen-ager, even though she looked incredibly young.
He wished he’d taken another drink.
“It’s my magic potion. Where’s your detention form?”
“What does your magic potion do, Mr. Schulb?”
He hated his name in her mouth. Her eyes were sparkling and judgmental, and on her bowed lips was the hint of a challenging smile. She was wearing her riding boots—a common thing among the girls, because the Academy’s equestrian classes were in the afternoon. She also had on a strappy, lacy top that didn’t reach far below her rib cage, and short-shorts that may well have been underwear.
The girls had taken to wearing tiny things under their Academy uniforms. At the first bell, all the skirts came off, and all the crisp white blouses were unbuttoned. On his first day teaching, Mr. Schulb had thought he was in heaven. A slightly ridiculous, quite dangerous jailbait heaven, but a heaven nonetheless. That was before he had spent time with the young women.
“It’s my magic potion that makes you girls easier to put up with.”
Dakota put on a face. “I’m the nicest girl at school!”
“I have a nice form,” she agreed. Then she added, “And I’m legal, too.”
She gave a gloating grin, as if she knew this would derail his thoughts. “I had a birthday over summer break. I turned legal, and went out on the town, and had an adventure!”
He knew he was meant to ask about that, but he couldn’t get things straight in his head. The young women of Billingham Academy were wealthy, beautiful, bored, hormone driven… and locked away in upstate New York. There was nothing virginal about them. The last three male shop teachers had left under dark clouds, with police reports against them. It was like a game for the girls.
He tried a different tact. “How long is your detention?” That, at least, would impact his next paycheck.
“Madame Toussel didn’t say. Can we work something out, Mr. Schulb? Tit for tat?”
“Let me see your form.”
“Here is my form.” She raised her arms theatrically, and stepped into his office.
Her hands were empty so he watched in slight confusion as she came around his desk, a slink in her step. She had a crazy smile on her lips. She spun her ass toward him, and he saw that yes, as it turned out, she was one of those incredibly agonizing teases at Billingham Academy who simply went around in boy-cut panties rather than shorts at the end of the day. Dakota’s detention form was folded and stuck into her panties, like a little white tail.