Mr. Harding’s Machines

The day had started with a homeroom inspection of everyone’s underwear.

Abbi had wondered that homeroom was supposed to be the calm before the storm, a safe-ish space for the different classes to interact with each other’s little personas. She was wrong, and by the end of the fifth weekend, Abbi felt that all three groups were headed inexorably to the 3rd floor for detention.

The second Academy weekend, evidently jealous of all the attention Abbi got the week before, Kamilla ‘accidentally’ wore the wrong panties to homeroom, flashed Mr. Cleveland, who told Ms. Buchanan, who then took the offending girl over her knee to administer the proper punishment.

The third weekend, Kamilla had talked all the Sophomores, except for Abbi, into dress code violations on the idea that Ms. Buchanan wouldn’t have time to spank them all. Kamilla was wrong, and Abbi was punished alongside the rest of them anyway. Ms. Buchanan cancelled the first period and personally reddened the ass of each of them; all the Freshmen, Sophomores, and Juniors whipped in turn.

Kamilla later admitted that she had not fully wondered that prank through to its now obvious conclusion.

Principal Kennedy took over announcements for Vice Principal Johnson on the fourth Saturday morning to declare regular underwear inspections. He looked right at Abbi when he concluded his stern warning that any more dress code violations would result in an automatic detention period for that student. Abbi teared up and looked away, stunned at the implied accusation, and shook once again by the feeling of déjà vu.

Who is this guy? She asked herself for the 30th time.

All twenty-four students sat unsupervised and unmoving following the announcement in homeroom for nearly 10 minutes, the dreadful silence palpable. It was unusual for any period to begin late and was completely out of character for the homeroom teacher and her assistant.

The class collectively jumped when Ms. Buchanan walked in and ordered the students into two lines: she would take care of the girls’ inspection herself, while the boys queued up in front of Mr. Cleveland.

The girls were instructed to unbutton their shirts and lift their skirts, while the boys had to drop their pants.

The Juniors stared daggers at the Sophomores, while the Freshmen hung their heads in shame, one girl even started sucking her thumb.

Abbi found the whole inspection experience one of the most confusing of her life. She was ashamed of her role in getting everyone punished, but also defiant because her original offence was an honest mistake. She was aroused by the humiliation, by Ms. Buchanan’s stern command of the situation. Watching everyone obey the teacher’s order to bare themselves was so freaking hot that she found herself offering to show her compliant underwear to Mr. Cleveland before beginning that afternoon’s tutoring session just to get things started between them early.

The Friday of the fifth weekend, Abbi laid in bed, in the dark dorm room, listening to Kamilla slowly drift toward sleep, working up the courage to beg her not to make any more trouble in homeroom.

“You’ve been wanting to say something to me since we got here, girl. What’s up?” she asked, more alert than Abbi expected.

It was hard to stay upset with her roommate, what with her stunning beauty and sexy London accent and all, but Abbi found her rebellious spirit vexing. Abbi rethought her rebuke and stammered out instead:

“Please, please, please don’t, you know, get us into trouble in Ms. Buchanan’s class again. Please.”

“I agree, my shenanigans are getting old.”

“What? Really?”

“Yeah, kiddo, that easy.”

“Thanks Kami,” Abbi sighed. “I know you’re trying to have fun, but…”

“But it’s overwhelming for you, I know, I’m sorry.”

“Goodness,” Abbi said. “You don’t ever say you’re sorry to the teachers.”

“They don’t deserve it,” Kamilla replied. “You do, love.”

Abbi was touched; she wanted to say more, talk more, profess her undying love and raging lust, but instead she quietly cried until Kamilla whispered, half asleep:

“Go to sleep love.”

Homeroom the next morning went by without incident: they lined up for inspection, returned to their seats, got their class and tutoring assignments, and a left with the firm reminder from Ms. Buchanan about the consequences of failing to follow the uniform code ringing in their ears.

No one, not even Kamilla, wanted to go to the 3rd floor.

Finding comfort in normalcy was hard to do in that weird place, seeing as how every teacher’s mission was not academic but punitive, but Abbi relaxed a little anyway in the knowledge that it would be closer to a regular day at the Academy.

That lasted less than a commercial break due to a Junior girl that Abbi had taken to thinking of as Marsha Brady (she was so bad with names!). She was very pleasant looking and all the time chipper and Abbi really loved the sandy blonde hair that reached all the way down to her waist. Not-Marsha intercepted her in the hall during the short walk to their respective classrooms.

“Hey troublemaker,” not-Marsha chided. “You are just going to love Mr. Harding. He’s a real hard ass, takes no bullshit at all.”

“How long till she fucks it up for them again, you think?” asked a Junior boy who had serious Chad vibes.

Anger and embarrassment smoldered in Abbi’s heart, but she had nothing smart or snarky to say.

“I give her five minutes before they’re all strapped into his machines.”

“Machines?”

“You’ll see.”

–

Those two profane Juniors were right, Mr. Harding loved machines. More importantly for the soon to be sorry Sophomores, he got off on using his beloved machines on his students.

The science teacher was a tall, lanky man with olive skin, thick black eyebrows, unruly salt-and-pepper beard, and a mess of curly black hair. His voice was gravelly and his accent the indistinct Los Angeles mishmash that Abbi hadn’t gotten used to yet. A pair of thick, black framed glasses hid the rest of his face while projecting an intimidating ferocity from his eyes. The standard Academy teacher’s usual slacks and blazer combo was unflattering on him. He seemed like he’d be more comfortable in shirtsleeves, but it was chilly in the Page Building that morning.

Abbi did her best to stay alert and follow along, even took some notes, but Mr. Harding moved so fast through complicated engineering science and used so much jargon that she found herself thoroughly lost moments after he began the lecture.

When she looked around at the other students, they seemed even more bored, vacant, and fidgety, than she felt, all signs of very bad stuff on the horizon. Abbi had to admit, going from simple inclined planes to dynamo motors in less than fifteen minutes was quite a feat, even if it was like watching One Punch Man without subtitles.

Mr. Harding had his back turned to draw a complicated diagram on the white board for about 30 seconds before Kamilla started the repercussion train rolling down the track.

Among the droning of Mr. Harding and the general restlessness of the Sophomores, Kamilla gave a dainty clearing of her throat. Abbi took a quick peek over at her friend but instantly regretted it.

The daft girl was trying to pass her a note!

Abbi studiously looked back at the board and shook her head. Kamilla persisted, waving the note around just within Abbi’s peripheral vision. No amount of head shaking would get her to relent so Abbi took a breath, looked over at her friend and held her hand out gesturing adamantly: STOP.

“Ah yes, the notorious Abbigail and Kamilla, this term’s Thelma and Louise. Ms. Ford warned me to watch out for you two.”

Mr. Harding had instantly transported himself from the board to the back of the room to intercept the note, a teacher’s superpower that Abbi had seen often before. Everyone around them groaned, facepalmed, and shook their fists at the sky in defiance of the cruel unknown fate that Kamilla had condemned them all to.

He opened the note and chuckled.

“This is a good likeness, Miss Kamilla. Too bad this isn’t art class.”

Mr. Harding showed the cartoon to Abbi before displaying it for the rest of the room. He was right; Kamilla could have a decent career as a Venice Beach caricature artist. Toon Mr. Harding drove a tiny convertible car while his enormous, hairy head and crazed expression enjoyed the LA sunshine. Lovely.

“Mr. Harding,” Abbi protested. “I was trying to, um, stop her.”

“Looked like you were accepting it to me.”

“No, Mr. Harding,” Kamilla interjected. “She was trying to stop me.”

Abbi’s gorgeous eyes went wide as she shook her head again, gripping the edges of her desk.

“Before you dig the hole even deeper, Miss Kamilla, are you sure you want to tell a teacher they are wrong?”

Abbi sensed the whole class tense up around her. She could feel her brain rattling around in her skull she was shaking it so much.

“I don’t know, Mr. Harding,” Kamilla steamed forward. “Would a teacher rather their student be honest or obedient?”

“Oh, Fuck!” stage whispered Blair and Joel in unison above an ocean of uneasy murmurs.

“Quiet, please!” Mr. Harding ordered. “Obedience, of course.”

“Then, yeah, you’re wrong,” Kamilla laughed before adding, “sir.”

“I appreciate your honesty, little girl,” he smirked, “and your courage, but insolence will not be tolerated.”

“Whatever you say, headmaster sir.”

“Please, Kamilla, please stop!” Abbi’s voice rose above the general ruckus that had broken out.

“Quiet!”

The silence was more sudden and total than the end of the last song at a Sunset Strip nightclub at closing time

“Thank you, Miss Kamilla,” Mr. Harding smiled.

“Wha’ foah, guv?” Kamilla was really laying it on thick while her classmates silently protested around her.

“You’ll be the first student to try out the latest version of my spanking machine.”

“What a privilege.”

“I’ll give you a choice, though.”

“Lay it on me, bruv.”

“Your impudence is exquisite,” Mr. Harding allowed. “You’ll need to be restrained. Would you prefer the stocks or a bench?”

“Pillory for this wench, sire.”

“Lovely,” Mr. Harding turned his attention toward Abbi. “As for you, some lines while wearing corrective underwear should suffice.”

The class erupted, shouts of ‘she’s innocent’ and ‘Abbi didn’t do anything’ and such. They should have known better.

“QUIET!”

It took a little longer this time, but Mr. Harding’s expression as he scanned the crowd of outraged Sophomores finally got the message through. What could have been a good show for the rest was now a participation event and everyone was invited.

–

While the madness of the next hour unfolded, Abbi wondered about a friend she had in school who did magic tricks at parties if you got him drunk enough. His tricks were pretty standard, but he was an amazing showman, hilarious and flirty, but could also be spooky and ominous. Many a plastered and blasted partygoer had their minds fucked by him.

They ran into each other not long after graduation and he told her that magic took years of practice and preparation starting back in elementary college when he was overweight, goofy, and perpetually friendless. His magician’s secret was that his party performances were fully planned out and prepared for. He was never actually drunk, and he only went to parties to perfect his art and get laid. His parting confession was that he all the time got the best sex from the boys and girls who he mind-fucked the hardest.

“Miss Kamilla, go stand with your nose in the corner and your hands behind your back.”

The moment Kamilla stood to comply, an assortment of teachers, coaches, and assistants filtered into the room. They must have either heard Mr. Harding shout or were summoned by some other, more mysterious means. The last to enter was Nurse Polk, looking oddly elegant in her Academy crimson scrubs and white lab coat, carrying an old-fashioned doctor’s bag.

Abbi’s insides turned stone cold. She knew that Nurse Polk was there solely for her and whatever was in that bag would be the source of her torment for the eternity between now and the lunch bell.

Regarding the small army of Academy staff assembled in the classroom to prepare the Sophomores for the mass punishment, Abbi realized that Mr. Harding and her magician friend probably learned their craft from the same book.

The Academy staff stood in a line at the back of the classroom, poised like a pride of lions. Abbi had noticed the line of tall cabinets that stood along the back wall when she came in, a feature that none of the other classrooms she had been in so far shared. The innocent act of a teacher reaching into a cabinet for supplies had been forever corrupted in the minds of Academy students, and a whole wall of these cabinets did not bode well for the Sophomores.

Mr. Harding watched all of this from behind his enormous metal desk, arms crossed, expression inscrutable. The students had all cast their eyes down toward their student desks, with just the occasional side glance to see how their fellows were holding up.

“Alrighty, then,” Mr. Harding began. “Miss Abbi, come up to the front of the class so Nurse Polk can get you fitted into the corrective underwear.”

Abbi stood, knees quaking, hands balled into fists to keep them from shaking, her old desire to get another visit with Nurse Polk forgotten.

“The rest of you should watch, this should be interesting.”

She took a single, hesitant step forward before getting interrupted by the door opening again.

“Where do you want it, Mr. Harding?” A pair of maintenance crew wearing black coveralls wheeled in a cart that had a pillory made of black painted pipes and bars mounted in the middle.

“The front anchor point, please.”

The maintenance guy flipped a metal cover back to expose a pair of holes made to secure the pillory to the floor while the other moved the cart into place.

Abbi didn’t know if she was more afraid for herself or Kamilla now that she had seen the device her friend would be restrained in. Abbi had an image of someone, herself maybe, locked into this thing getting rolled around on that cart campus for all to see. Madness.

A couple of mechanical snaps and clicks had the stocks switched from the cart to its anchor point, and the men were gone.

Nurse Polk had moved up front with her doctor’s bag and snapped on a pair of blue nitrile gloves while the installation was happening. She gestured Abbi forward with a sad smile.

Abbi stopped just out of her reach, too anxious to get any closer. Nurse Polk’s raised eyebrow was all that was needed to take the final step.

“Hello sweetie,” she leaned in, whispering. “Take off your panties and put them in my bag. I’ll exchange them with these when it’s all over.”

Nurse Polk held up a pair of black latex briefs. To Abbi’s horror, there were two black rubber dildos in the gusset, a large knobby one for her flower and a small, Q-tip looking dong for her bottom.

Abbi bit her lip and tried to think of something, anything, but it was useless.

“Off, please.”

Abbi fell under Nurse Polk’s spell once again, comforting and unsettling as it was. She reached both hands under her skirt and pulled her panties down, letting them drop on her loafers. She stepped out of one leg and lifted the other to get them into her hands. Stuffing them into the doctor’s bag was a short pastime, but Abbi got to see that there was lube among a few other sex toys and instruments in the bag.

The presence of lube was a relief. Maybe? The little dildo would be the biggest thing she’d ever had up her butt besides a finger. Anal wasn’t an experience she’d explored much before, even now, five weeks into Spanking Academy.

“Good girl, now bend over Mr. Harding’s desk. I will apply some lubricant so that the underwear will go on smoothly for you.”

Abbi had forgotten that Mr. Harding was there, let alone the rest of her class. He wore the Academy smile that Abbi had seen many times now, a mix of unfiltered excitement, pure pleasure, a hint of sympathy, and a heaping measure of devilish delight in the predicament that was being played out.

The class had stopped looking at their desks and had turned their attention, now absolutely rapt, on Abbi and Nurse Polk. The teachers in the back were also looking on with great interest. This was Abbi’s largest audience by far and she was sure that she didn’t like it one bit.

Why is your pussy already so wet, then? asked a previously unheard voice in Abbi’s head.

She placed her hands on the desk and stuck her butt out.

You’re enjoying this, aren’t you, naughty girl, said the voice again.

“Flip your skirt up please.”

Abbi knew that she was giving everyone a great side-on view, bent over the desk, ass now exposed, her legs still trembling, biting her lip while her big Bambi eyes glistened. Nurse Polk towered behind her, a formidable presence; the imposing woman was so attractive that it almost hurt to look at her.

The voice was right, she was enjoying this.

“Ohh, I missed this cute little ass,” Nurse Polk admitted, giving it a little pat. “Ok, dear, take a deep breath and relax.”

Nurse Polk slid a chilly lube coated finger into Abbi’s swollen and hot vagina.

“Goodness, girl. You are very aroused.”

Nurse Polk slid her alien feeling gloved fingers in and around there, stoking a fire that Abbi had only noticed when the strange voice in her head started talking.

“I’m sorry, Nurse.”

“No, no, sweetie. This actually makes both of our jobs a little easier.”

The probing fingers withdrew so that more lubricant could be applied.

“Ok, this next part will be a little unpleasant. Head on the desk and spread your cheeks, please.”

Abbi couldn’t look at Mr. Harding while Nurse Polk did her thing, so she turned her head towards the class instead. Ariel and Blair were aghast, Daniel and Kyle seemed detached but still interested in a clinical or scientific sense, and Joel was smiling and nodding his head.

Marty was positively salivating. That boy had reserved all his attention for Kamilla so far this term, so it was nice to finally get some positive feedback from him.

Nurse Polk’s finger intruded into her most intimate place with force and insistence, delving deeper than her fateful office visit weeks before. Abbi groaned and tried to push back against it to no avail. The relief of its withdrawal produced a loud sigh.

“Hmmm, Miss Abbi’s bottom is quite small and tight. Are you sure about the anal probe, Mr. Harding?”

“Yes, of course. Lines cannot be properly written without both vaginal and anal stimulation.”

“Hold on for just another moment, I’m going to make putting the probe in your bottom a little easier,” Nurse Polk leaned in for another whisper.

More lube, followed by a finger that slid in deep and moved around, circling clockwise then counter and back again. Brief relief before two fingers wiggled in, making Abbi groan and pant. Her hands ached from how hard she was gripping her cheeks.

“There you go, girl. All done with that part.”

“Class,” Mr. Harding announced. “Once the corrective underwear goes on Miss Abbi here, I will give her the lines to be written along with your instructions. Thank you for your patience, your obedience in this is appreciated.”

“Stand up straight, sweetheart.”

Abbi swooned, feeling overheated and sopping wet. Nurse Polk crouched down to help her step into the latex panties. They began to feel tight in around mid-thigh, and uncomfortably constricting just under her perky cheeks. Nurse Polk took the front dildo and pushed the tip in.

“Can you squeeze this, make sure it doesn’t slip out? Good girl.”

The bulbous head of the back one entered next, slippery and cold.

“Unnnf,” was fast becoming Abbi’s favorite sexy-time expression.

Nurse Polk then pushed in both dildos to the hilts simultaneously. The sensation felt filthy to Abbi in the best way.