"You've been shirking. Playing hooky."

Your voice is stern, angry. With my skirt lifted up to expose my tan backside, I clench every muscle in my body in anticipation of the blow. But you let the cane linger in the air, glaring over at Ms. Antoinette as she eyes me with unbridled enjoyment. She nods, curtly.

"Yes, Claude. I have."

"Who gave you permission to use my name? Hmn?" Your voice cuts her off, and the blow impacts, rocking me forward as I cry out in pain. A thin, red welt begins to form across my cheek as you raise the cane again.

"Who am I?"

"Claude." Her lips contort into a slight, sneering smirk, and your hand descends again, this time striking the other cheek and leaving a burning red stripe in its wake.

"Who am I, Antoinette?"

She pouts, shrugs. "Monsieur Lafayette, Mr. Teacher, Sir."

You grunt, satisfied but not content. Your young pupil's antics have gotten worse as of late, and you are evidently finding it harder and harder to control her. With her lithe build and noble blood, there is no way you could ever lay a hand on her-- you would get fired, and worse, hounded by her royal family for the rest of your life. Without threats, without force, what recourse do you have left but me? Me, the blame girl. Me, the stand-in for her punishment.

You let the rod linger in the air, ignoring my soft moans of pain. It's only been three days since your last session with the young mademoiselle, and the bright, purple-blue bruises on my ass have not yet healed. These two strikes were mild in comparison, but they still ache and sting, and the old wounds throb in pulsating sympathy.

"English. Russian. Your abysmal performance with mathematics." You snort at your impudent student, whose eyes continually dip down to look at my prostrate figure, bent over a small, wooden desk, with the first few tears streaking down my cheeks. "Even French! In none of these do you excel! And you would bear a crown one day?"

She shrugs again, a coy smirk playing across her lips. Isn't it obvious? How she loves seeing me squirm? How my pain lights a fire in her that you only stoke with your antics, and which she has long since learned how to control through you? Be lazy, be rude, be a bad student, and you take the cane to me, her alleged punishment transforming into a reward.

But something is different today. I can sense it, in the way your empty hand dips down to stroke slowly along the crack of my exposed ass, rough fingertips caressing the lumps and welts of a hundred blows. Antoinette sees it, too, and her eyes glitter in the dim room, her pale, angular face enraptured by the slight, stroking motion. And you, in turn, notice her noticing, and the way her usual, defiant nature gives way to delight and curiosity.

Your touch becomes firmer, deeper, as your fingers seek out the soft folds between my tightly gathered legs. I can feel your fingertips playing across the fine down of my youth as you sigh, softly, and ask her:

"Why, Antoinette? What can I do to make you heed me?"

Her smile is like that of a predator. "Punish me," she whispers, blood-red lips on a bone china face. "Punish me, Claude. For my transgressions."

Your face sets, and with your gaze fixed on her you drive two fingers into me, forcing me open and jerking me forward with a loud gasp. Antoinette's eyes go slightly wide, and a sharp inhale of breath betrays her excitement.

"Punish you? Punish you, Your Highness?"

Your words are slow, dangerous, and you begin to work your fingers in and out of me, spearing me with every jerk of your arm. I whimper, and Antoinette echoes my sound, a tiny gasp that seems to spur you on. In moments, I am clinging to the desk as you push harder and harder into me, the cane hovering over my ass like a sword of Damocles, waiting, planning.

"Punish you, Princess..!"

As quickly as your fingers entered me, as quickly have you withdrawn them, and I hear the sound of cloth rustling as you step behind me, one hand grasping my wrists and pulling them together at the small of my back, my slender limbs caught in a vice-like grip. I don't want to spread my legs, I don't want to, but a light tap of the cane against my thigh, and then a hard whip, forces me, loosening my stance as the pain burns inside me. Your eyes are fixed on Antoinette as the blunt tip of your cock dips down to kiss the lip of my vulva, and then you piston forward, burying yourself to the hilt inside me and making me cry with pain and pleasure.

The cane clatters to the ground as you reach up to take a hold of my hair, bundling the brown tresses between your fingers and tugging, until I am held, taut as a bowstring, between your fingers and your cock. I gasp, and Antoinette's face lights up with an almost beatific glee as you begin to fuck me, every thrust making your pelvis hammer against my bruised ass and renewing the ache of punishment. You stare at Antoinette, clenching your jaw with barely contained fury, and push forward, burying your thick shaft inside my nubile cunt.

How often have you dreamed about doing this to her, I wonder, as your cock drives into me with breakneck force and makes the fragile table underneath me shudder. How many times have you spilled your seed while thinking of her, her pale breasts and that haughty face broken into submission at your feet? Your gaze never wavers, never so much as dips down to notice me, as you extract your lustful vengeance on this uppity girl. Harder and harder, while she stares with unabashed fascination and glee at me, her proxy, taking the full brunt of your hate-fucking. A soft gasp from her lips makes you thrust harder, and you jerk my head back, pulling at my hair until tears start to form at the corners of my eyes.

And yet, I love it. Why else would I climax, then and there, with only your heavy balls ramming against my inexperienced clitoris? Shuddering, unable to move, I clench around you and feel your size as if it were double, the little, quiet death making my tight pussy even tighter for your pleasure. By the time you finally finish, I am raw and dripping, and your eyes have still not left her face. Growling deep in your throat, you unleash a torrent of cum and let it flow into me, while Antoinette watches with bated breath.

At length, you release me, and I slump forward.

"Do your homework," you say brusquely as you pull your pants back on. Antoinette says nothing, and with the cane safely back in your hand, you glance down once at my shivering, cum-leaking form, and then leave, shutting the door firmly behind you.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Antoinette creeps up to me. She has rarely spoken to me, but I know her voice well. I am, after all, her shadow. Her hand comes down to brush a strand of hair away from my sweat-beaded face, and I see her alabaster skin crease in a smirk as she leans down to whisper into my ear.

"I'm not going to do my homework, Cheri. Don't you worry."

And then she saunters off.