Collage of ecstasy and Agony
Stella Zunshayn Seoid sat in her classroom, which was a trailer like all classrooms, and the nurses office and the principal’s office at her school, grading papers. Her class had ended about three or four minutes ago, and the bell for the end of the school day had rung. However she was also tapping her foot angrily. Why? Because she was waiting for a wayward student who she had given detention. It was a student of Hmong and Haitian descent named Montagne Luav Pwoteje. Stella herself was English, Sephardic Jewish, and Irish. This was the seventh time this week that she had told him to stop daydreaming, or letting his mind wander or whatever he was doing in her classroom and to pay attention, remember a school week only lasted five days as students had Saturday and Sunday off. That meant she had to tell him twice to stay focused on the lesson on one day.
Her class was a mix of all sorts of children now. It had been a long time since Philosophos elementary school had been mostly Caucasian. Now it was a patchwork of cultures and languages. She liked to think she had an open mind, but she had noticed something over the years. The students of color, they didn’t seem to care about their education. It was as if they had been told by their parents that school was a place to be endured, not enjoyed. They talked back, didn’t do their work, and disrupted her lessons. These things were a great annoyance to her, and she honestly missed the old days. At the very least, Stella sorely wished that her educational workplace vetted BIPOC students before it allowed them in, making absolutely sure that they wouldn’t cause a ruckus.
It never crossed Stella‘s mind that maybe these students felt at best overlooked and at worst ignored by many, though not all of their teachers, the administration in city leaders, and thus were acting out in disengaged from the educational process. If BIPOC students believed their educators were apathetic towards them, what was the incentive for them to behave?
Still, as she waited for Montagne, she couldn’t help but let her thoughts drift. She wondered about his home life, trying to make sense of his constant distraction and disregard for school rules.
Maybe his mother had been a prostitute, struggling to make ends meet and give him the best she could under the harsh circumstances. Stella pictured her working the streets at night, her face lined with the weight of her secret, her eyes filled with the pain of knowing she wasn't providing the life she wanted for her son. Perhaps his father had abandoned them, leaving her to raise him in the gritty underbelly of the city, surrounded by the echoes of desperation and despair. If his mom had no hope, then how could Montagne have any?
But then again, it could be that Montagne's mother had been a war bride. Maybe his father was Hmong soldier fighitng in both Laos and Vietnam for the Americans. Perhaps his mother was a Haitan nurse in the U.S military. Or maybe the mother was a Hmong CIA agent and his father a black Green Beret. It could be that they met each other on the chaos of the battlefield and formed a bond, which was like a lighthouse in the fog of war. The two probably gave each other hope for a brighter tomorrow, but fate may have had other plans. His dad was likely a casualty, a war, leaving his mom behind to navigate the world alone. She would’ve been in no position to raise the son she was now pregnant with, and Stella wouldn’t have blamed her if she had given him up for adoption.
Stella really hoped that in this scenario, his foster/adoptive parents hadn’t told him that his mother abandoned him. His resentment and feelings of being unwanted would undoubtedly contribute to misbehavior. If his non-biological parents were the type that only took in kids for money and paid him little to no attention, this would only make things worse for him.
Miss Seoid also hoped that if his either of his parents were Hmong collaborators with the Americans, or if his mother was a Hmong harlot, that both escaped Laos when the U.S withdrew. The Laotian communists sent members of both groups to reeducation camps. Those sent to these horrible places were subjected to forced labor, political indoctrination, and torture. God willing, their connections to the United States military or intelligence apparatus-whether that be war work or sex work-allowed them to be evacuated, either by U.S soldiers or spies. If not, perhaps they made if by boat or land to Indonesia, Singapore, or Thailand.
Of course, it could be that both of his parents were still alive and still together. But for whatever reason they were rarely around. They might’ve been unwillfully unemployed, like many BIPOC, and therefore enlisted. If they were active duty, they wouldn’t be able to spend a lot of time with their son, especially if they were sent on trips overseas. The boy likely had a guardian or babysitter or nanny, looking after him. He might love these surrogates and consider them his parents while resenting his biological mom and dad.
As she mused over the various possibilities, the trailer's door finally creaked open, and Montagne slouched in. He looked tired and defeated, his eyes downcast and his shoulders slumped. The energy that usually sparked from him was gone, replaced by a dull apathy. Stella steeled herself, ready to give the lecture she had prepared.
"Montagne," she said in a calm but clearly angry voice, "we need to talk. You've been daydreaming in class again, and I've spoken to you about this numerous times. It's disruptive and it's not fair to the other students."
He looked up at her, his dark eyes unreadable. "Yeah, I know," he mumbled, his voice a blend of boredom and annoyance.
Stella's eyes narrowed. "I don't think you understand the seriousness of this situation. You're not only affecting your education, but you're also disrupting the learning environment for everyone else. Is there something going on at home that you'd like to talk about? If you don’t wanna tell me, you can tell the guidance counselor. Or perhaps you literally cannot focus or pay attention? Maybe I need to take you to the nurse and she can examine you, and possibly refer you to a doctor, who can determine if you have ADD or ADHD?
Montagne's expression remained unchanged, his eyes still avoiding hers. "Ma'am, everything's fine at home. I don't have that stuff. I just get bored, that's all." His voice had an edge to it, a defensive tone that suggested he had heard similar accusations before.
Stella sighed, her patience wearing thin. "Look, Montagne, I know it's not easy, but school is important. If everything's okay at home and you're not struggling with a medical condition, then that means you're choosing not to pay attention. And that's not acceptable. I'm here to help you learn, but I can't do that if you won't even try."
Her chair rumbled against the linoleum floor as she rolled it from behind her desk to the front of it, the sound echoing through the otherwise silent trailer. "Now, you have two choices," she continued, her voice firm yet measured.
"You can come over here and let me help you refocus with a little discipline, or I can have the headmaster call or give me the phone number to call your caretakers, whether that be both of your parents, your single parent, your adoptive or foster parents, or your legal guardian(s), and let them know that you haven’t been applying yourself in school. They might give you an even worse punishment once you get home; even if they don’t hit you they may take away your privileges. I’m sure you’d hate not to be able to do things you like to do in your spare time.”
With that, Stella patted her lap with her hand while looking her male student directly in the eye, giving a clear nonverbal cue as to what she intended.
Pwoteje’s cheeks flushed with a mix of anger and embarrassment as he stiffly walked towards her, his eyes never leaving the floor. He knew the routine all too well; the humiliation of being singled out, the assumption of his home life based on stereotypes and not facts. But he also knew that arguing with Mrs. Seoid was a battle he wouldn’t win. So, swallowing his pride, he approached her. Stella smiled as he did, thinking to herself, ‘Glad to see Montagne Is finally being obedient’
As much as he didn’t want to admit it, the woman was beautiful. His teacher had neck-length curly silver hair, smooth pale skin, rare dark purple eyes, and she wore a pink posey-designed loose dress with long sleeves, which could create a cool pocket of air for her if it got hot.
When he reached her, he laid over her legs as instructed. He felt the coolness of the fabric from her dress brush against his bare legs as she began to unbuckle his belt. His heart was racing, not just from fear, but also from a weird sense of anticipation. He knew it was wrong to feel this way, but he had felt it before. He had been told by the other kids that it was a part of growing up, but none of them had ever talked about feeling this way during detention.
Stella's hand moved down to his pants' zipper and button. He was wearing matching dark green khaki shorts and a khaki short-sleeved shirt. He blushed, which made her smile again, and she said, “Now, now, Montagne, I've seen it all. I was a babysitter for many years before I became a teacher. There’s nothing here that will shock me. You’re just a young man, growing up, and if you can’t trust your teacher, who can you trust?” Her voice was calm and soothing, the same one she had used to console countless crying children over the years.
Miss Seiod swiftly unzipped, unbuttoned, and pulled the shorts to his ankles, revealing his Charlie Brown and Snoopy underwear. The sight of them brought a genuine giggle to Stella's lips, which she quickly stifled with her hand. She had seen it all in her time as a teacher, but the innocence of the cartoon characters on the underwear of this young, rebellious boy brought a rare moment of lightness to the situation. Her suppressed laughter made his blush much worse. Finally, Miss Seoid pull down the cartoonish undergarment and exposed his buttocks.
The coolness of the trailer's air hit Montagne's bare skin and made him shiver. He felt a mix of embarrassment and something else he couldn’t quite pinpoint. His eyes remained glued to the floor as she began to rub his rump with a gentle but firm hand. The action was so unexpected, his body reacted involuntarily, sending a shiver up his spine. His cheeks, which were already red from embarrassment, now matched the color of a ripe tomato.
Stella couldn’t help but caress his bum, it was just so cute. She thought to herself, ‘My, his skin is like velvet, smooth and unblemished, like chocolate rolls freshly coated in powdered sugar.’ She had a sweet tooth and couldn’t resist the comparison.
As she continued to rub his butt cheeks, Stella noticed a change in the tension of his body. Montagne's breathing grew shallower and quicker, and she felt something firm and unexpected pressing against her thigh. Her eyes widened slightly, and she realized that he was getting an erection. She knew it was an involuntary reaction, a reflex that many young boys experienced in such situations. It wasn’t his fault, she thought, and she didn’t want to make him feel even more embarrassed than he already did.
With a swift motion, Miss Seoid pulled her dress up to above her knees, exposing her firm, shapely legs. She had always taken care of herself, even in her mid-forties, and her legs remained a source of pride. Stella positioned him so that his growing arousal was snugly nestled between her thighs.
"This is so there won’t be any accidents on my dress, Montagne, which sometimes happens because boys like you rub their ding dongs against my legs, while struggling to get free as my hand cooks your buns," she said with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. Stella knew that the sensation of being and moving against her lower limbs would arouse him even more, but she also knew it would keep him in place. He gasped at the sudden pressure and the realization of where his erection was being held.
"The next time you even think about daydreaming or letting your mind wander during my class, I want you to remember this," she told him, her voice steady and serious. "You'll feel the burn in your bottom and you'll stay focused. Also, don’t even think about trying to block my spanks with your hands or your feet. If you do, I’ll start all over! Begging me to stop won’t do you any good either. The punishment will last as long as I want it to, until I’m sure you’ve learned your lesson. Understood?"
Pwoteje nodded, his eyes wide with understanding. "Yes, ma'am," he murmured, his voice thick with apprehension.
Stella's smile grew a bit wider, her left hand resting gently on his backside. For three seconds, she allowed herself to indulge in the softness of his hair, her right hand’s fingers weaving through the curls like they were strands of silk. "Good boy," she murmured, her voice a sweet caress in the tense air of the trailer.
Then she raised her hand high and brought it down with a resounding smack, the sound echoing off the metal walls like a gunshot. Montagne's body jerked as the pain hit him, his eyes watering instantly. He yelped, the sound muffled by the towel she had thoughtfully placed beneath the door. He had never felt anything like this before, the stinging sensation a stark contrast to the gentle warmth that had been there just moments ago. The Hmong-Haitian boy, unlike many Asian and African children, had never been spanked before, his parents believing it to be abuse. They also didn’t allow any friends relative or strangers that babysit him to do that either.
Her hand came down again, and again, in a rhythm that was as relentless as it was precise. Stella's smile never wavered, her eyes gleaming with a mix of satisfaction and something darker, something that she kept hidden from the rest of the world. Each impact was a declaration of her authority, a reminder to him and the others like him that she was in charge here, in her classroom. His buttocks began to turn a fiery shade of red, each smack leaving its mark. He squirmed and kicked his legs, but she held him firmly in place, her grip like a vice.
"You will not disrespect me," she said, punctuating each word with a smack. "You will not disrupt my class." Her voice was a blend of anger and excitement, the thrill of the moment making her feel alive. She had seen this before, the transformation from apathy to pain, from defiance to submission. It was a dance she had performed countless times, and she knew the steps by heart.
Montagne's roars grew louder with each smack. He found it hard to believe that this woman, who was only 5’5 and had a slender body, could make his butt hurt so badly using only her hand.
"Mommy! Mommy, pleaassee sttooppp!" He cried out in a high pitched voice that seemed to carry outside the trailer. It was a term of endearment that slipped out of his mouth from desperation, and was very surprising, given he’d never been spanked by his mother before.
Stella gave the boy a devilish smirk, but she kept her composure, resisting the urge to laugh at what he referred to her as. Miss Seoid would never be anyone’s mother, not in that sense at least. However, she couldn't help but feel a thrill run through her as she acknowledged to herself that, yes, a part of her did enjoy this. It wasn’t just about maintaining discipline in her classroom; it was the power she had over these young souls, the way they squirmed and whimpered, their eyes watering as she painted their bottoms a shade of red she had never seen before. It was a strange, almost intoxicating feeling, watching the transformation from defiance to submission. But she knew she had to be careful not to let it consume her. Her role was to teach, to guide, not to cause harm for her own sexual gratification. She was an educator and child carer, not a dominatrix.
“Please Miss Seoid?! You’re killing me, please stop?!” Pwoteje wailed desperately once again. His body writhed as if he was having a seizure.
"I’m not killing you, Montagne," she said with a hint of amusement in her voice. "Your gluteus maximus is made of muscle and fat. It can take a good spanking without any permanent damage, I assure you." She paused for a moment, her hand hovering in the air, watching the anticipation build in his tightly-clenched body. "And as for the pain, those nerve endings down there are quite sensitive, aren't they?"
Montagne replied to her that each smack felt like a line of fire shooting deep into his buttocks, searing through layers of skin and muscle to reach his very soul. She nodded with a twinkle in her eye, delighted by his description of the effect her spanking was having on his ass. He couldn’t help but wonder if she enjoyed this, if she got some twisted pleasure from watching him squirm and cry. But he knew better than to say anything. This was the price of his disobedience.
The smacks continued, each one seemingly harder than the last. His cries grew more desperate, but Stella didn't let up. She reveled in the way his plump butt cheeks bounced with each impact, like a pair of jiggly jellies. She couldn’t help but think how much she enjoyed the sight. It was almost mesmerizing, the way they compressed and then sprang back into place, a rhythmic dance of pain and obedience.
As the fourth minute approached, something unexpected happened. Montagne's body stiffened, and a strangled sound escaped his lips. His hips bucked against her thighs, and she felt the boys manhood pulse between her thighs. Stella also heard the sound of fluid hitting the floor. He had orgasmed, the friction of his rod slidining against her legs bringing him to climax. Stella paused, her hand hovering in the air. Though she had experienced such occurrences when spanking unruly boys before, she couldn’t help but feel surprised. She waited for his tremors to subside, his gasps for air to even out.
“I-I’m s-sorry!” Montagne apologized frantically.
"It's alright, dear," she murmured, her voice a soothing balm to his shuddering form.
“Sometimes these things happen.”
She allowed him to lay there for a moment, his face buried in his folded arms, his body trembling with aftershocks of pleasure and pain.
“Now, back to work!”
Miss Seoid announced after the long pause, her hand still hovering over his crimson butt cheeks. The smacking resumed with renewed vigor, her palm coming down like a metronome. She watched as the color of his skin deepened from a fiery red to a shade that was closer to the dark plum of a bruise. The sound of each hit filled the trailer, a symphony of pain and obedience.
After what felt like an eternity to Montagne, the five minutes of punishment were finally over. He lay there, panting, his body slack with the relief that came with the cessation of pain. Stella could see the sweat beading on his forehead and the way his body trembled with exhaustion. She looked down at his pummeled ass, admiring her handiwork and feeling a strange mix of satisfaction and pity. The poor boy had truly never experienced anything like this before.
With a gentle touch, she helped him to his feet, his legs wobbly like a newborn fawn's. But before he could pull his pants underwear back up, his teacher picked him up by the waist and bent him over her wooden desk. it was elevated enough up off of the ground for his feet and hands to dangle.
Miss Seoid’s eyes searched his face, looking for any signs o
Her class was a mix of all sorts of children now. It had been a long time since Philosophos elementary school had been mostly Caucasian. Now it was a patchwork of cultures and languages. She liked to think she had an open mind, but she had noticed something over the years. The students of color, they didn’t seem to care about their education. It was as if they had been told by their parents that school was a place to be endured, not enjoyed. They talked back, didn’t do their work, and disrupted her lessons. These things were a great annoyance to her, and she honestly missed the old days. At the very least, Stella sorely wished that her educational workplace vetted BIPOC students before it allowed them in, making absolutely sure that they wouldn’t cause a ruckus.
It never crossed Stella‘s mind that maybe these students felt at best overlooked and at worst ignored by many, though not all of their teachers, the administration in city leaders, and thus were acting out in disengaged from the educational process. If BIPOC students believed their educators were apathetic towards them, what was the incentive for them to behave?
Still, as she waited for Montagne, she couldn’t help but let her thoughts drift. She wondered about his home life, trying to make sense of his constant distraction and disregard for school rules.
Maybe his mother had been a prostitute, struggling to make ends meet and give him the best she could under the harsh circumstances. Stella pictured her working the streets at night, her face lined with the weight of her secret, her eyes filled with the pain of knowing she wasn't providing the life she wanted for her son. Perhaps his father had abandoned them, leaving her to raise him in the gritty underbelly of the city, surrounded by the echoes of desperation and despair. If his mom had no hope, then how could Montagne have any?
But then again, it could be that Montagne's mother had been a war bride. Maybe his father was Hmong soldier fighitng in both Laos and Vietnam for the Americans. Perhaps his mother was a Haitan nurse in the U.S military. Or maybe the mother was a Hmong CIA agent and his father a black Green Beret. It could be that they met each other on the chaos of the battlefield and formed a bond, which was like a lighthouse in the fog of war. The two probably gave each other hope for a brighter tomorrow, but fate may have had other plans. His dad was likely a casualty, a war, leaving his mom behind to navigate the world alone. She would’ve been in no position to raise the son she was now pregnant with, and Stella wouldn’t have blamed her if she had given him up for adoption.
Stella really hoped that in this scenario, his foster/adoptive parents hadn’t told him that his mother abandoned him. His resentment and feelings of being unwanted would undoubtedly contribute to misbehavior. If his non-biological parents were the type that only took in kids for money and paid him little to no attention, this would only make things worse for him.
Miss Seoid also hoped that if his either of his parents were Hmong collaborators with the Americans, or if his mother was a Hmong harlot, that both escaped Laos when the U.S withdrew. The Laotian communists sent members of both groups to reeducation camps. Those sent to these horrible places were subjected to forced labor, political indoctrination, and torture. God willing, their connections to the United States military or intelligence apparatus-whether that be war work or sex work-allowed them to be evacuated, either by U.S soldiers or spies. If not, perhaps they made if by boat or land to Indonesia, Singapore, or Thailand.
Of course, it could be that both of his parents were still alive and still together. But for whatever reason they were rarely around. They might’ve been unwillfully unemployed, like many BIPOC, and therefore enlisted. If they were active duty, they wouldn’t be able to spend a lot of time with their son, especially if they were sent on trips overseas. The boy likely had a guardian or babysitter or nanny, looking after him. He might love these surrogates and consider them his parents while resenting his biological mom and dad.
As she mused over the various possibilities, the trailer's door finally creaked open, and Montagne slouched in. He looked tired and defeated, his eyes downcast and his shoulders slumped. The energy that usually sparked from him was gone, replaced by a dull apathy. Stella steeled herself, ready to give the lecture she had prepared.
"Montagne," she said in a calm but clearly angry voice, "we need to talk. You've been daydreaming in class again, and I've spoken to you about this numerous times. It's disruptive and it's not fair to the other students."
He looked up at her, his dark eyes unreadable. "Yeah, I know," he mumbled, his voice a blend of boredom and annoyance.
Stella's eyes narrowed. "I don't think you understand the seriousness of this situation. You're not only affecting your education, but you're also disrupting the learning environment for everyone else. Is there something going on at home that you'd like to talk about? If you don’t wanna tell me, you can tell the guidance counselor. Or perhaps you literally cannot focus or pay attention? Maybe I need to take you to the nurse and she can examine you, and possibly refer you to a doctor, who can determine if you have ADD or ADHD?
Montagne's expression remained unchanged, his eyes still avoiding hers. "Ma'am, everything's fine at home. I don't have that stuff. I just get bored, that's all." His voice had an edge to it, a defensive tone that suggested he had heard similar accusations before.
Stella sighed, her patience wearing thin. "Look, Montagne, I know it's not easy, but school is important. If everything's okay at home and you're not struggling with a medical condition, then that means you're choosing not to pay attention. And that's not acceptable. I'm here to help you learn, but I can't do that if you won't even try."
Her chair rumbled against the linoleum floor as she rolled it from behind her desk to the front of it, the sound echoing through the otherwise silent trailer. "Now, you have two choices," she continued, her voice firm yet measured.
"You can come over here and let me help you refocus with a little discipline, or I can have the headmaster call or give me the phone number to call your caretakers, whether that be both of your parents, your single parent, your adoptive or foster parents, or your legal guardian(s), and let them know that you haven’t been applying yourself in school. They might give you an even worse punishment once you get home; even if they don’t hit you they may take away your privileges. I’m sure you’d hate not to be able to do things you like to do in your spare time.”
With that, Stella patted her lap with her hand while looking her male student directly in the eye, giving a clear nonverbal cue as to what she intended.
Pwoteje’s cheeks flushed with a mix of anger and embarrassment as he stiffly walked towards her, his eyes never leaving the floor. He knew the routine all too well; the humiliation of being singled out, the assumption of his home life based on stereotypes and not facts. But he also knew that arguing with Mrs. Seoid was a battle he wouldn’t win. So, swallowing his pride, he approached her. Stella smiled as he did, thinking to herself, ‘Glad to see Montagne Is finally being obedient’
As much as he didn’t want to admit it, the woman was beautiful. His teacher had neck-length curly silver hair, smooth pale skin, rare dark purple eyes, and she wore a pink posey-designed loose dress with long sleeves, which could create a cool pocket of air for her if it got hot.
When he reached her, he laid over her legs as instructed. He felt the coolness of the fabric from her dress brush against his bare legs as she began to unbuckle his belt. His heart was racing, not just from fear, but also from a weird sense of anticipation. He knew it was wrong to feel this way, but he had felt it before. He had been told by the other kids that it was a part of growing up, but none of them had ever talked about feeling this way during detention.
Stella's hand moved down to his pants' zipper and button. He was wearing matching dark green khaki shorts and a khaki short-sleeved shirt. He blushed, which made her smile again, and she said, “Now, now, Montagne, I've seen it all. I was a babysitter for many years before I became a teacher. There’s nothing here that will shock me. You’re just a young man, growing up, and if you can’t trust your teacher, who can you trust?” Her voice was calm and soothing, the same one she had used to console countless crying children over the years.
Miss Seiod swiftly unzipped, unbuttoned, and pulled the shorts to his ankles, revealing his Charlie Brown and Snoopy underwear. The sight of them brought a genuine giggle to Stella's lips, which she quickly stifled with her hand. She had seen it all in her time as a teacher, but the innocence of the cartoon characters on the underwear of this young, rebellious boy brought a rare moment of lightness to the situation. Her suppressed laughter made his blush much worse. Finally, Miss Seoid pull down the cartoonish undergarment and exposed his buttocks.
The coolness of the trailer's air hit Montagne's bare skin and made him shiver. He felt a mix of embarrassment and something else he couldn’t quite pinpoint. His eyes remained glued to the floor as she began to rub his rump with a gentle but firm hand. The action was so unexpected, his body reacted involuntarily, sending a shiver up his spine. His cheeks, which were already red from embarrassment, now matched the color of a ripe tomato.
Stella couldn’t help but caress his bum, it was just so cute. She thought to herself, ‘My, his skin is like velvet, smooth and unblemished, like chocolate rolls freshly coated in powdered sugar.’ She had a sweet tooth and couldn’t resist the comparison.
As she continued to rub his butt cheeks, Stella noticed a change in the tension of his body. Montagne's breathing grew shallower and quicker, and she felt something firm and unexpected pressing against her thigh. Her eyes widened slightly, and she realized that he was getting an erection. She knew it was an involuntary reaction, a reflex that many young boys experienced in such situations. It wasn’t his fault, she thought, and she didn’t want to make him feel even more embarrassed than he already did.
With a swift motion, Miss Seoid pulled her dress up to above her knees, exposing her firm, shapely legs. She had always taken care of herself, even in her mid-forties, and her legs remained a source of pride. Stella positioned him so that his growing arousal was snugly nestled between her thighs.
"This is so there won’t be any accidents on my dress, Montagne, which sometimes happens because boys like you rub their ding dongs against my legs, while struggling to get free as my hand cooks your buns," she said with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. Stella knew that the sensation of being and moving against her lower limbs would arouse him even more, but she also knew it would keep him in place. He gasped at the sudden pressure and the realization of where his erection was being held.
"The next time you even think about daydreaming or letting your mind wander during my class, I want you to remember this," she told him, her voice steady and serious. "You'll feel the burn in your bottom and you'll stay focused. Also, don’t even think about trying to block my spanks with your hands or your feet. If you do, I’ll start all over! Begging me to stop won’t do you any good either. The punishment will last as long as I want it to, until I’m sure you’ve learned your lesson. Understood?"
Pwoteje nodded, his eyes wide with understanding. "Yes, ma'am," he murmured, his voice thick with apprehension.
Stella's smile grew a bit wider, her left hand resting gently on his backside. For three seconds, she allowed herself to indulge in the softness of his hair, her right hand’s fingers weaving through the curls like they were strands of silk. "Good boy," she murmured, her voice a sweet caress in the tense air of the trailer.
Then she raised her hand high and brought it down with a resounding smack, the sound echoing off the metal walls like a gunshot. Montagne's body jerked as the pain hit him, his eyes watering instantly. He yelped, the sound muffled by the towel she had thoughtfully placed beneath the door. He had never felt anything like this before, the stinging sensation a stark contrast to the gentle warmth that had been there just moments ago. The Hmong-Haitian boy, unlike many Asian and African children, had never been spanked before, his parents believing it to be abuse. They also didn’t allow any friends relative or strangers that babysit him to do that either.
Her hand came down again, and again, in a rhythm that was as relentless as it was precise. Stella's smile never wavered, her eyes gleaming with a mix of satisfaction and something darker, something that she kept hidden from the rest of the world. Each impact was a declaration of her authority, a reminder to him and the others like him that she was in charge here, in her classroom. His buttocks began to turn a fiery shade of red, each smack leaving its mark. He squirmed and kicked his legs, but she held him firmly in place, her grip like a vice.
"You will not disrespect me," she said, punctuating each word with a smack. "You will not disrupt my class." Her voice was a blend of anger and excitement, the thrill of the moment making her feel alive. She had seen this before, the transformation from apathy to pain, from defiance to submission. It was a dance she had performed countless times, and she knew the steps by heart.
Montagne's roars grew louder with each smack. He found it hard to believe that this woman, who was only 5’5 and had a slender body, could make his butt hurt so badly using only her hand.
"Mommy! Mommy, pleaassee sttooppp!" He cried out in a high pitched voice that seemed to carry outside the trailer. It was a term of endearment that slipped out of his mouth from desperation, and was very surprising, given he’d never been spanked by his mother before.
Stella gave the boy a devilish smirk, but she kept her composure, resisting the urge to laugh at what he referred to her as. Miss Seoid would never be anyone’s mother, not in that sense at least. However, she couldn't help but feel a thrill run through her as she acknowledged to herself that, yes, a part of her did enjoy this. It wasn’t just about maintaining discipline in her classroom; it was the power she had over these young souls, the way they squirmed and whimpered, their eyes watering as she painted their bottoms a shade of red she had never seen before. It was a strange, almost intoxicating feeling, watching the transformation from defiance to submission. But she knew she had to be careful not to let it consume her. Her role was to teach, to guide, not to cause harm for her own sexual gratification. She was an educator and child carer, not a dominatrix.
“Please Miss Seoid?! You’re killing me, please stop?!” Pwoteje wailed desperately once again. His body writhed as if he was having a seizure.
"I’m not killing you, Montagne," she said with a hint of amusement in her voice. "Your gluteus maximus is made of muscle and fat. It can take a good spanking without any permanent damage, I assure you." She paused for a moment, her hand hovering in the air, watching the anticipation build in his tightly-clenched body. "And as for the pain, those nerve endings down there are quite sensitive, aren't they?"
Montagne replied to her that each smack felt like a line of fire shooting deep into his buttocks, searing through layers of skin and muscle to reach his very soul. She nodded with a twinkle in her eye, delighted by his description of the effect her spanking was having on his ass. He couldn’t help but wonder if she enjoyed this, if she got some twisted pleasure from watching him squirm and cry. But he knew better than to say anything. This was the price of his disobedience.
The smacks continued, each one seemingly harder than the last. His cries grew more desperate, but Stella didn't let up. She reveled in the way his plump butt cheeks bounced with each impact, like a pair of jiggly jellies. She couldn’t help but think how much she enjoyed the sight. It was almost mesmerizing, the way they compressed and then sprang back into place, a rhythmic dance of pain and obedience.
As the fourth minute approached, something unexpected happened. Montagne's body stiffened, and a strangled sound escaped his lips. His hips bucked against her thighs, and she felt the boys manhood pulse between her thighs. Stella also heard the sound of fluid hitting the floor. He had orgasmed, the friction of his rod slidining against her legs bringing him to climax. Stella paused, her hand hovering in the air. Though she had experienced such occurrences when spanking unruly boys before, she couldn’t help but feel surprised. She waited for his tremors to subside, his gasps for air to even out.
“I-I’m s-sorry!” Montagne apologized frantically.
"It's alright, dear," she murmured, her voice a soothing balm to his shuddering form.
“Sometimes these things happen.”
She allowed him to lay there for a moment, his face buried in his folded arms, his body trembling with aftershocks of pleasure and pain.
“Now, back to work!”
Miss Seoid announced after the long pause, her hand still hovering over his crimson butt cheeks. The smacking resumed with renewed vigor, her palm coming down like a metronome. She watched as the color of his skin deepened from a fiery red to a shade that was closer to the dark plum of a bruise. The sound of each hit filled the trailer, a symphony of pain and obedience.
After what felt like an eternity to Montagne, the five minutes of punishment were finally over. He lay there, panting, his body slack with the relief that came with the cessation of pain. Stella could see the sweat beading on his forehead and the way his body trembled with exhaustion. She looked down at his pummeled ass, admiring her handiwork and feeling a strange mix of satisfaction and pity. The poor boy had truly never experienced anything like this before.
With a gentle touch, she helped him to his feet, his legs wobbly like a newborn fawn's. But before he could pull his pants underwear back up, his teacher picked him up by the waist and bent him over her wooden desk. it was elevated enough up off of the ground for his feet and hands to dangle.
Miss Seoid’s eyes searched his face, looking for any signs o
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