Date: Sun, 1 Aug 2010 22:13:34 EDT
From: Mikeallanb@aol.com
Subject: Jenny 02

Jenny  02
======
`Who's out this week?' called Miss Hunt, coming into the  locker room.  `
Anderson, still in  that cast; Rogers and Schwartz, colds--and what about
you, Jenny?'
`I've  got my period.'  Miss Hunt rolled  her eyes.  We were not
encouraged to  skip gym because of menstruation. I went up to her. `It's really
heavy,' she  said in a low voice. `Oh, all right,' she said. `But no library
pass. You can  sit on the bench and watch.' I took off my shoes and walked
through the  foot-bath. The swimming instructor was Mrs. O'Connor, a large
cheerful woman who  had been known to smack a few wet bottoms as a joke or in
mild reproof. `All  right, juniors,' she yelled, and a dozen bodies hit the
surface of the water. A  minute later I saw Miss Hunt standing in the door
to the locker room, looking at  me.  She raised a finger and  beckoned me
over. `Look, Jenny,' she said. `I want to show you something.'  I followed
her into her office.  She pointed to her desk, where a class  record-book lay
open. `What do you make of this?'  She put her fingers on a date in March:
six weeks ago.  `Jenny Evans out:  mp,' she read out loud.  This tells  me
you were out then for your period too. Tell me: are your periods very
irregular?' I thought for a moment.  That wasn't my period either, of course: I
never took time out for an  actual period. That must have been the time
that Ellen took me over her knee and  spanked me so hard that my bottom and
thighs were bruised all over. I must have  hesitated too long, because Miss
Hunt said, `Jenny, if you are not being  truthful with me, I will have to take
that very seriously.'  I looked at Miss Hunt.  She was young and very cool
for a gym  teacher, we all thought: she kept her long black hair in a French
braid and wore  the same type of unisex athletic clothes that we liked. Yet
I knew that she was  fully capable or sending me to the Disciplinary  Board:
Everyone held the school's Honor Code in something like  awe, and lying to
a teacher was at the top of the list of  sins.
I  have never been able to lie well--one of the reasons why my bottom was
constantly  at the mercy of Ellen's switches slippers and straps. `Okay,' I
told Miss Hunt.  Report me.  I was  lying.'  I turned to walk out.  `Wait a
minute, Jenny,' she said  quickly, then added: `I don't understand this.
You're an athletic girl.  You like gym.  Why would you lie to get out of it?'

I  turned back to her.  A truthful but  euphemistic answer came to me. `I
have sores.  A... a skin condition.  On my body.  It's  embarrassing.'
`Have  you been to a doctor for it?'
`Well, no.' I was not going to risk any further lying.  `But I know it's
just something chronic.  Recurring.'  I produced this  technical-sounding
language with some pride.
`This  won't do at all, said Miss Hunt. You'll have to see a doctor.  And
bring me a note to prove you've done  so.'  She was about to wave me off,
but she stopped.  She must have seen  a look of dismay on my face. She
seemed ready to become really angry.  Desperately I blurted out: `Look, Miss
Hunt, I'll show you.' Her eyes widened for a moment but she nodded.  I turned
around and lifted my  dress.
`Oh,  my god, Jenny; who did this to you?'
`My  stepmother, Ellen.'
`Good  God. What had you done?'
I  dropped my skirt and answered, `I came home late on Saturday night.  I
let Ellen do it, actually.  I could complain to my father, but  spankings to
other things, like grounding or taking away my  allowance.'
`That's not what I'd call a "spanking" said Miss Hunt.  `It looks more
like you've been whipped... flogged.'
`It  looks worse than it is,' I said. `She uses a bunch of little switches
and they  make these bright red marks, but they don't really cut the  skin.'

Miss  Hunt sat down in her desk chair and swiveled around to face me.  `
Come here,' she said, `and let me look  again.' I walked over, turned around
and lifted my dress. `May I?' she asked,  and I said `Yes,' although I wasn'
t sure what she was going to do. With both  hands she grabbed hold of my
panties and tugged them down by the waistband. As  she pulled them to my knees
I shivered and felt my bottom cheeks tense: that  reaction again.  I jumped
a little  as I felt her finger on my bottom, tracing one of the lines left
by the  whipping.
`I  don't know,' she murmured as if musing to herself. `This looks pretty
bad.  Does it hurt a  lot?'
`It's  not so bad.  I mean, it's not  wonderful?'
`Here, I'll give you something for it.'  Miss Hunt got up and walked over
to the  first-aid cabinet on the opposite wall. She rummaged inside for a
few minutes  before coming up with a small jar. `Zinc oxide, do you think this
will  help?'  All I knew about Zinc oxide  was that lifeguards put it on
their noses. But as long as Miss Hunt was in a  kind mood I was going to jolly
her along at any cost. `I'm sure it won't do any  harm,' I said.  I
expected her to  give me the jar and send me out to the locker room, so it came
as a huge  surprise when she sat back down in her chair, still holding the
jar, and said,  `Over here.  I'll out it on for  you.'  My panties were still
down;  she had never given me permission to pull them up. I lifted my skirt
again and  presented her with my bare bottom.
`This  is awkward,' she said. `Why don't you lean over the desk?  Or
better, get across my  lap.'
Bending over Miss Hunt's knee felt much different than  bending over Ellen'
s.  When Ellen  took me over her lap I felt a certain amount of physical
fear, but also the more  or less reassuring certainty that I was about to be
punished in a measures,  predictable way, and that I would be forgiven and
comforted afterwards. With  Miss Hunt it was more like the feeling I had when
Mark Stone, an older boy,  walked me home and surprised me by putting his
arms around me and kissing me. It  was a slight shock of unexpected physical
intimacy with a person I found  intimidating.  I concentrated on  keeping my
thighs together so that Miss Hunt would not see more than was  necessary.
But the very effort made me feel odd.  It was like that thing about trying not
 to think of a polar bear in a snowstorm.  I felt afraid that I would react
the way  I had when Mark kissed me, and that I would leave a wet spot on
Miss Hunt's lap.  Fearing things like that makes them happen (it's like
sneezing, or the  hiccups.)  I don't know whether Miss  Hunt noticed or not, at
least before she took the initiative herself.  `Jenny, dear,' she said
tenderly,  sliding a couple of fingers past my bottom cheeks and into my warm
moist  area.  `You sweet girl' I arched my  back a little to let her continue
if she wanted to, but she did not; she just  stood me up and gave me a
little hug.  I pulled up my panties. Between the greasy lotion and my own
dampness it  was quite wet in there, and I realized I would have even more
trouble sitting  for the rest of the day.