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.

       Feebly, I turned my head. There she loomed, her skirts brushing slightly against my cheek.

       “Are you sorry for lying, Johnny?” she said coldly.

       “Yes,” I sighed. “I’m sorry. That was my magazine. I shouldn’t have lied to you.”

       “That’s better, Johnny. Now sit up.” I pulled myself up. The soft cushions were gentler on my buttocks, though they were still sore, but my surprise was just as great as pain. Miss Black resumed her seat across from me, leaned forward, and handed me the magazine. I didn’t look at it.

       “Now, we have to start again, Johnny, from where you started lying to me,” she said. “So I must repeat myself. Why did you bring this trash into my school? Now don’t mumble.”

       “I – I – I –” Something in her voice and gaze made me feel that I had to tell her all. “I used it to masturbate.”

       Her eyes widened and her nostrils flared. “At school?”

       “Yes.”

       “Show me.”

       I just looked at her, not understanding.

       “Show me, Johnny. Take off your clothes and masturbate with this magazine.”

       I was so stunned that the rest of it happened very quickly. Miss Black ushered me up with her hand and pulled my t-shirt off of me. I stooped and clumsily removed my sandals, then unzipped my jeans and let them fall to the floor.

       “All of your clothes, Johnny.” She seized the waistband of my boxer shorts and pulled them sharply down to my knees. I let them fall and stepped out of them. She took my clothes and set them aside. Self-conscious, I put my hands in front of my penis. Miss Black reached down and swatted them away. “No, no, no, Johnny,” she said. “Don’t try to hide it from me. Sit back down. Now, hold your dirty magazine in front of you.” She opened it up and placed it in my left hand. “Read aloud the title of this, ah, pictorial sequence.”

       I flushed. I didn’t want to; I felt so embarrassed.

       “Let’s hear it, Johnny. Babes in Twatland,” she said. “This is what you brought into my school. Well, enjoy it, because it’s the last time you’ll be masturbating with this particular item. Start in.”

       I took my limp member in my hand, looked down at the pictures, which showed two buxom blondes in various states of undress licking and fingering each other, and gave my penis a few perfunctory strokes. With Miss Black sitting directly in front of me, I was too embarrassed to give it any effort.

       “Johnny,” she said gently. “Show me how you did it.” She got up from the chair and moved to the couch and sat down next to me. Her skirts flowed onto my naked legs and her bodice rubbed against my shoulders. And then she placed her hand on the shaft of my penis. It was as if I had suddenly fallen from the top of a cliff; I didn’t know where I was or anything for a moment except for the sensation of the soft fabric of her glove on my cock. And when she began stroking, slowly, gently, I could feel it rise and stiffen.

       “Look at the pictures, Johnny,” she whispered into my ears. I looked at one close-up shot of a pair of lips wrapped around a quivering nipple. “Read the text to me.”

       “Ah . . . it says, Amber loves it when Cassie sucks on her big titties.” The slow stroking was driving me insane.

       Miss Black turned the page for me. “Now what?”

       “So Cassie returns the favor,” I said, quivering all over, “by licking her girlfriend’s wet twat nice and clean.”

       “Yes, Cassie licks her girlfriend’s wet twat,” Miss Black whispered in my ear. Her lips were so close to my ear I could feel them brushing against my lobes, moist and soft. Her hand was moving up and down, faster and faster. I was on the verge of a monstrous explosion.

       “Are you about to ejaculate, Johnny? While looking at Cassie licking her girlfriend’s wet twat?” she asked. I could feel the warmth welling up in my cock.

       “Yes . . .” I said weakly.

       Suddenly, Miss Black grabbed the magazine away from me and tossed it across the room. It landed in the fireplace and went up in a drizzle of sparks. Then she made a fist and brought it down hard on my quivering penis. The pain was unbearable. She slapped my shaft and balls several times, sending agonizing arrows shooting up and down my body. I lurched forward.

       “Filth, Johnny, filth! What a bad boy you are! And you did that in my school! Shame on you!”

       Suddenly, tears ran from my eyes, and I collapsed on the ground. “Yes,” I said, clutching my bruised genitals. “Yes, I’ve been bad. Bad!” I hardly knew what I was saying. I only knew that I was filled with shame and I wanted this powerful woman to show me how to redeem myself. I was bad, bad, bad.

       “That’s good, Johnny,” she said. “And what do I do to bad boys?” She looked down on me hungrily and licked her lips.

       I paused. I knew what to say, but it meant crossing a line I had never imagined I would cross. But there was something about her that made me do it.

       “Please punish me, Miss Black.”

       Miss Black got up, walked to the other side of the room, and removed a paddle from a wooden case. It was the size of a tennis-racket, with dark, smooth wood and a purple velvet grip on the handle. She swung it through the air experimentally a few times with a swishing noise, then clapped it against her gloved hand.

       Never taking her eyes off me, she spread her skirts out to sit down in the velvet-seated chair, and said:

       “Over my knee, Johnny. Over my knee.”

       Not even trying to resist, I bent over her knee. The fabric of her skirts was cool, and it rustled deliciously as I shifted so my buttocks were at the perfect angle for her. A gloved hand pressed itself firmly into my upper back, holding me in place.

       “You’re going to take ten strokes, Johnny. Ten hard ones. I’ll count them for you. And you’re going to thank me for each one. Because it’s what you deserve. You know that, don’t you, Johnny?”

       “Y-y-yes, Miss Black.”

       “Wonderful.” She paused. I could tell she was holding the paddle high above me, waiting to strike. My muscles tensed up.

       Then it happened. Miss Black called out “One!” and the paddle smashed down on my rear end.

       It was agonizing. My buttocks felt like they were on fire.

       “I didn’t hear you, Johnny,” she whispered.

       “Thank you,” I uttered thinly.

       “Thank you, Miss Black,” she said. “We’ll have to start again.” She raised her paddle in the air again. I twitched and quivered in fear, knowing that I deserved this, but terrified of the pain. Then, I heard the clean whistle in the wind and felt the blow on my cheeks like scalding fire.

       “One!” she cried out.

       “Thank you, Miss Black!” I replied, feeling genuinely grateful. And then the spanking began in earnest.