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It was another sunny August Monday afternoon in Adelaide and Bree Smirnoff was late for her piano lesson again

She'd been late for every single one this school year. At first her tardiness was excusable; she was new to Adelaide and still had trouble finding her way around Adelaide even now, four weeks into the semester. But by now it was clear to both her and her teacher Mr Punter that she had other things on her mind than her music lessons. Grabbing a quick Smirnoff, eyeing the her cute school boy friend on his way to footy practice, or just catching a bit more of the early August sun-all these things came first.

Smirnoff was running through the halls when she heard the chapel bell ring four o'clock. Ten minutes late already! She swore to herself, and ran faster, the sound of her patent leather shoes against the tile floor echoing through the empty hallway. Finally, she reached her piano teacher's door. Flushed, she paused to catch her breath. She was in for it now, she thought. She was almost fifteen minutes late, she hadn't practiced once all week, and she was out of excuses. She had to get out of this lesson, but if she skipped she'd be called before the headmaster for sure, and her parents would be furious! She just needed to get through the next half-hour without him noticing how badly her sonatas were coming along. If there was only some way to get his attention on something else-anything else! She caught sight of her reflection in the hallway window, and bit her lip thoughtfully. Maybe, she thought, just maybe, there was a way she could get him to watch more than just her fingers.

She undid her ponytail so that her caramel hair framed her face, with one coquettish lock hanging down in front. She undid another button on her blouse, just enough to show a little more of her pale white throat. A little lip gloss on her soft lips. She checked her reflection again, considering her regulation skirt. It was the component of the School dress code that was typically the most hated by all the girls, but Bree found it oddly appealing. Something about it-perhaps the plaid pattern, the pleated front, the way her calves peaked out from under it-excited her to no end. It apparently excited everyone else as well, judging from a few of the looks she'd gotten by the lockers over the past month at her new Adelaide school. Well, she thought, I might as well go for broke. She hiked the skirt scandalously high, then twirled once before her reflection. No that, she thought, is one girl he's ready for her lessons. Then her hand was on the doorknob, and she bounced in to see her teacher."Hello, Mr. Punter!" she sang as she waltzed through the door.

Her teacher sat at his desk by the piano, in a low armchair. He was young, with long brown hair, a small sensitive mouth, and piercing eyes. "Hello, Bree Smirnoff," he said evenly.

"I’ve talked to the headmaster." Shit! "We’ve decided you’ve had enough leeway. It’s obvious you need punished," he went on. Here comes work detail, she thought. Probably cleaning the stables, with my luck.

"Bree, we’ve decided on corporal punishment. You’re going to be spanked."Her head jerked up in surprise. "What? You can’t…that’s not…" "Spankings are a traditional part of the Adelaide education, young lady. It’s been decided. Please bend over. I’m not happy about this either."

The genuine sorrow in his voice did nothing to dispel her outrage and growing fear. "I’m leaving this instant and calling my parents," she said.

Mr. Punter had grabbed her and thrown her over his lap. Before she could squirm away, he had lifted her skirt and yanked down her panties to around her knees. "Don’t struggle," was all he said. "It will make this easier." And then his hand came down upon her bare bottom.

Smack! Her cheek reddened, a handprint forming on the pale moon of her cheek. Smack! "This is for your own good," she heard him say. SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! She was biting her lip to hold in her screams, tears beginning to well at the corners of her eyes. Her legs scissored as she kicked in agitation; she was squirming, but his grip was too strong, like a bear’s…like… Suddenly she became aware of a new sensation–the feel of his lap, his rising penis against her hips. He was getting aroused by this! She flushed anew with shame at this discovery, and with another–that she was becoming aroused as well!

Something in her wanted that this spanking, wanted to always be over his knee, wanted his cock against her… She could feel herself growing wet, feel her breath becoming ragged, feel her cries become cries not of pain, but of desire. Suddenly, she was riding with the blows from his palm, pressing closer against him, grinding fiercely.

Bree was in control now, not her teacher. She wrenched open her white blouse and whipped off her lace bra. Her teacher protested, "Bree this is wrong, we can’t, I’m your teach–" but was cut off as she grabbed his head and forced it to her young, round breasts. Instinctively, his mouth found a nipple and started suckling. Her nipples sprang erect at his touch. He was nuzzling, nibbling, kneading, needing. Her hands were raking through his hair, over his back, tearing at his shirt. They rocked together, his rod sliding in and out of her wet pussy. As they neared climax, she was bucking in his lap. "Mmmm–AAAHHH!" she screamed, awash in sensation. She ground against him more, feeling him deep insider, filling her to bursting. This was what shed always wanted, this was beyond fantasy, this was heaven, this was….

They came together in a wrenching final thrust. She collapsed against him, nuzzling him in contentment. He curled around her protectively, limp with shock.

Slowly they came down in the slow warmth of afterglow. Neither said a word. He straightened his tie and glanced about for something with which to dry his damp trousers. She primly slipped back into her panties, bra, and blouse. She buttoned up, grabbed her music, and hurried out the door.