Chapter Description: Images for this story can be found at the following web...... https://sites.google.com/view/comedy-ars-characters/home
“Professora, puedo por favor, quitarme la camisa?” (Teacher, may I please take off my shirt?”)
As soon as I said the words, my penis starting growing, kind of like when Pinocchio tells a lie, his nose does the same thing … an automatic reflex. But is she actually going to make me do it? I thought this was going to be just a verbal lesson.
Senorita Gato replied, “Si, Diego. Te doy permiso para quitarte la camisa.” (Yes, Diego, I give you permission to take off your shirt.)
She only gave me permission to do it. She didn’t yet order me to do it, so I stood there nervously and didn’t go to the next card.
My instructor maintained a kind smile as she waived two fingers in a circular motion to encourage me to follow up. “Rapido, Diego. Quitate la camisa.” (Quickly, Diego, take off your shirt.)
She even reached forward to get me started by lifting the bottom of my shirt.
“Okay, okay,” I murmured. Oh, this was not good. I shouldn’t be cooperating with an action that I knew to be wrong. Despite my being 28 years old, and thinking of Miss Gato as a real ‘hottie’, I still couldn’t help feeling the aura of an adult having power over a child.
I set the stack of cards on her desk and slowly removed my shirt. I was a bit embarrassed, being bare-chested and hairless in a school classroom, even though I wasn’t showing any more than I would at a public swimming pool.
I felt that we were now engaged in role reversal. This time, I was playing the innocent prepubescent Lolita, and Miss Gato was playing the role of Humbert Humbert, the lascivious adult. I wondered if this was how some Catholic priests start out.
I started squirming and wrapped one leg around the other. But seriously, why was I even worried about this. I was a grown adult. I had had sex next to a shark. I also did it while sky diving.
What ever happens here was not going to emotionally scar me for life. I wasn’t going to have PTSD. I might even enjoy it … doing kinky weird stuff with a cute, petite, 22 year-old.
But I couldn’t let her know that that’s how I felt. I recall some middle school boys would say something like ‘Why couldn’t I ever have a teacher like that?’ But now I realized that it wasn’t quite as simple as a carefree ‘roll in the hay’.
Senorita Gato smiled at me and pointed to the stack of cards on her desk. “Bueno, Diego. Ahora, lee la siguienta tarjeta.” (Good, Diego, now read the next card.)
Okay, my body starting experiencing some genuine shaking now. I felt every bit a child under the complete control of a grownup. I had good reason for not wanting to see the next card. But I read it anyway.
“Professora, lo siento que yo era un nino muy travieso esta manana.” (Teacher, I am sorry that I was a very naughty boy this morning.)
“Por que fue eso, Diego?” (Why was that, Diego?)
(My last hope was that my answer on the next card would talk about why I was late to class, but the words I read referred to something else entirely.)
“Cuando entre al salon de clases y te mire,” (When I walked into the classroom and looked at you,) “Mi gallo crecio muy alto.” (My rooster grew very tall.)
(Oh, shit … Now my face really turned red. It was more than obvious that my teacher was substituting ‘rooster’ for ‘cock’ … and the problem was, she was correct. This morning, her erotic physical features gave me a massive boner I could not control.)
She replied, “Pobrecito Diego … Eres un chico de escuela medio …” (Poor Diego, you are a middle-school boy …) “que hizo una cosa muy malo.” (who did a very bad thing.)
I was forced to respond without a card, “Si, professora.” (Yes, teacher.)
“Y tu excusa para llegar tarde fue toro caca.” (And your excuse for arriving late was …)
I tilted my head. “Toro caca? … Well, el toro is a bull … and caca … oh, I get it now … toro caca es bull shit.”
“Si, Diego …Y que debemos hacer al respecto?” (And what should we do about this?)
(I was so scared to look at the next card. I glanced at it once, and my heart sank. I stared at the floor.)
“Merezco un azotaina, Professora,” (I deserve a spanking, teacher.)
It didn’t take long for Miss Gato to advance to stage two. Maybe she was doing research to write a book called ‘How to molest a middle-school boy in Spanish.’ Even so, I couldn’t believe that such a young teacher would risk losing her job this way.
She replied, “Si, te mereces un azotaina.” (Yes, you do deserve a spanking.) “Baja tus pantelones, Diego.” (Drop your pants, Diego.)
From outward appearances, Senorita Gato did not appear to fit the mold of a child predator. But I would imagine it was not something she wished to advertise.
She was very direct. I started crying and it wasn’t merely role playing. It was a very degrading act for any child to be told that a grownup was going to take down your pants in order to give you a spanking. I set the cards down, but I could not bring myself to follow the order.
Miss Gato took hold of my left wrist and drew me closer to her. Then I closed my eyes against my tears as I felt her loosening the belt buckle on my cargo shorts. Then she undid the one button and unzipped my fly.
My crying became audible as my cargo shorts dropped like a rock to the floor. My boner was pitching a sizeable tent in my tighty whities.
“Sal de tu pantelones, Diego,” she ordered. (Step out of your pants.)
I did so without opening my eyes. My embarrassment was overwhelming. I felt so helpless and fearful of disobeying my teacher.
“Agacharse, Diego … Vena aqui y inclinate sobre mi rodilla,” she instructed. (Bend over, Diego … Come here and bend over my knee.)
My whole body felt weak … and powerless to disobey. She led me closer till I practically tripped over her thighs … and my fingers were now dangling near the floor. My boner was so very hard … harder than ever. But at least I thought she was letting me keep my underpants on for the spanking.
Senorita Gato placed her right hand on my butt (or culo, as she likes to call it) and rubbed it in circles. She told me, “Estoy muy triste que debo castigarte, Diego.” (I am very sad that I must punish you, Diego.) “Debes aprender a no ser un nino travieso.” (You must learn not to be a naughty boy.)
“Si, professora,” I whimpered through my tears, even though the spanking had not yet even begun.
Then I was momentarily shocked because my teacher grabbed the waistband of my underpants with two hands and yanked them forcibly down to my ankles and then past the bottoms of my sneakers. She made sure to tuck my erection down, and secured it between her thighs. I wasn’t going anywhere any time soon.
My breathing and my heart rate quickened simultaneously. This was not a kinky game. I was really scared. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her grab an 18 inch ruler. Couldn’t she have gotten the point across with just her hand? Maybe she learned the technique from Scary Harry.
Senorita Gato did not waste any time in pummeling my poor behind. Didn’t she realize that she was really honest-to-goodness hurting me? I cried real tears openly and loudly, although in this room, after school, I doubt that anyone could have heard me.
“NO MAS!! NO MAS, por favor!!” I cried out. (I was copying the famous boxer, Roberto Duran, who in a 1980 fight with Sugar Ray Leonard, had had enough punishment in the ring, so he cried out ‘No Mas!’ (No more!)
Senorita Gato graciously accepted my Spanish pleas for mercy, and she set the ruler on her desk. Her next act, however, made my eyes widen to their fullest.
She lifted up my nude hurting body by my armpits and sat me back down (vertically) on her lap, facing her, with my legs straddling her thighs … incredibly, the exact position that Sammantha expects of me whenever we talk. My hands tried to cover up my erection.
She took a tissue and helped wipe my crying eyes. Then she reached around my back and hugged me tightly as she slowly rocked me forward and back presumably to calm me down.
“Ohh, pobrecito Diego,” she moaned softly. (Poor Diego) “Te duele mucho aculo?” (Does your ass hurt very much?)
I whimpered out a reply. “Si, professora … Me duele mucho aculo. Mi aculo esta en fuego.” (Yes, teacher, my ass hurts very much. My ass is on fire.)
She released her hug and tipped my chin up to make sure I was looking straight at her.
“Diego, te gustaria que hiciera algo que te hiciera sentir major?” (Would you like me to do something that would make your feel better?”)
She was now talking so fast that I couldn’t understand her, so I just replied, “Si, professora.”
She then held up the next quote from the stack. “Leer la tarjeta, por favor.” (Read the card please.)
I wiped my eyes a little more and looked at the card. I hesitated complying because I was afraid that she might punish me again for reciting the words aloud.
“En Realidad?” I asked. (Really?)
“Si, Diego. Continuar, por favor.” (Continue, please.)
I took a deep breath and read from the card. “Por favor, professora … Puedo tener permiso para acariciar tus pechos bonita?” (Please, teacher, may I have permission to caress your beautiful breasts?)
(Nothing to see here … just a nude twelve-year-old boy with a rock hard boner, sitting on his teacher’s lap and politely asking to play with her boobs.)
Miss Gato nodded with a sly grin, “Si, Diego … Se concede el permiso.” (Yes, Diego, permission is granted.)
My detention was starting to go beyond weird. When the hell was this creep show going to end? I watched incredulously as my teacher undid all the buttons on the front of her shirt so that it hung openly at her sides.
I had no intentions of touching her bra. But that was okay, because she was doing it for me. Males are clueless on how to unhook a bra, but females are quite dextrous in reaching behind their back and removing said article of clothing.
Once again, my eyes widened. I had stopped crying. Miss Gato had a nice petite rack, pleasant on the eyes. But every middle school boy knows that it’s one thing to joke about your teachers boobs (like Mrs. Bullutis) but it’s a whole other story to actually play with them as a seemingly normal unit in the school curriculum. That was never done … until maybe now.
My Spanish teacher had small nipples and small areolas. These are the kind of boobs that don’t explode in your face. They were just very very nice. Although she looked like a teenager now, I still had more respect for her than for Kitti Power.
Senorita Gato did not have unlimited patience. She pulled my wrists away from guarding my cock, and placed my hands on her mounds. They had a nice firmness to them, and yet very supple, without the athletic hardness of Sammantha’s. She then guided my hands in circles around them. This was such forbidden fruit.
She coaxed me on. “Continuar, por favor.”
I did, wondering ‘Why am I the only boy who gets to massage my cute teacher’s tits?’
“Diego,” she said softly. “Quisiera permiso para hacer sentir muy bien a tu gallo.” (I would like permission to make your rooster feel very good.)
I guess I should not have been surprised by this request. What choice did I have now? And why did she even need to ask permission? I think it was just her excuse to reinforce the idea in my own mind that everything we did was consensual.
“Si, professora,” I murmured. (I knew by now that resistance was futile, as the Borg would say.)
Senorita Gato took my member in her right hand and began rubbing up and down while I continued to play with her lovely titties. And I have to admit, they were very nice, and a shoe-in to pass the pencil test should that opportunity ever present itself.
“Tu gallo is muy guapo,” she complimented. (Your rooster is very handsome.)
Hot blood was filling up my whole body, not just my penis. It wasn’t going to take long before I exploded and I was just worried about a stupid thing … staining her dress. President Bill Clinton got into a lot of trouble when he ejaculated on Monica Lowinsky’s blue dress … and she kept it as evidence. (although in this case, only the female adult bore any legal responsibility.)
As I journeyed rapidly toward climax, my body once again stiffened, and reached the point of no return. I pulled my hands away from her boobs and my legs shook as I squealed, “No! No! No! No! No!” which oddly, I didn’t have to translate. If Samantha was in my place she would have had to yell ‘Si, Si, Si, Si, Si’.
Senorita Gato was very smart. Before I exploded, she pulled a bunch of tissues and placed them over my little hole. (no muss, no fuss) And she wiped me clean.
“Tu divertiste, Diego?” (Did you have fun?)
I was exhausted, and mumbled, “Si, professora.”
“Prometeme que este sera nuestro pequeno sucreto, Diego.” (Promise me that this will be our little secret, Diego.)
“Prometo este secreto, professora.” (I promise this secret, teacher.)
“Vestirse, Diego, y prisa a la practica del futbol.” (Get dressed, Diego, and hurry to your football practice.)
“Gracias, professora,” (Thank you, teacher.) I could have dropped and gone to sleep right there … but I had to get to practice. That was the whole point of enrolling in middle school.
And what was I going to say? How about ‘Sorry I’m late, Coach, but I was busy being sexually molested by the ‘cute’ teacher. Normally, I get molested in English but Spanish sounded a lot more romantic while I was sporting a tall rooster.’
As I left the classroom, I thought about the warning that Goro gave me at lunchtime … “No telling what she’ll do with an ‘amorcito’ (little love) like you.”