You are Mine

You are Mine 3

* * * * *
This work is intended for ADULTS ONLY. It may contain depictions of sexual activity involving minors. If you are not of a legal age in your locality to view such material or if such material does not appeal to you, do not read further, and do not save this story.
* * * * *

Chapter Three: Revenge

1

A line of students stretched nearly a mile from the front door all the way to the parking lot. Two school security guards stood at the front of the line, funneling students through two new metal detectors. Bags were searched, students were patted down and frisked, and nearly every student had a report written up on them. Principal Fletcher had made some drastic changes in the previous weeks, implementing improved security and monitoring. A strict dress code had been implemented, and punishments for violating any school rules were enforced. Fletcher drank her morning coffee, black, watching each student enter through the school doors.

Principal Fletcher gazed from the background, eyes fixated on the colored indicator at the top. Green meant clear, red meant the detector found something. As each student walked through security, she spot checked each uniform, ensuring a strict compliance with the rules. She gulped down the last drops of her coffee, before chucking the plastic to-go cup into the trash. A student, Brad Smith caught her attention as he approached the security checkpoint.

Principal Fletcher pulled out her phone, and entered the boys name into her database, pulling up his file. She glanced back up at the boy. There was a quality about the boy that captured her interest; she was almost drawn to him. She couldn’t take her eyes off the boy. Brad strolled past Fletcher without a second thought, turning the corner and soon vanished into the sea of students in the hallway. Fletcher glanced back down at her phone, reviewing his file.

Brad Smith
17 years old
Senior
GPA: 2.41
Transfer Student from Clearview High school
No Record
Financial Aid needed

Fletcher began investigating his record, reviewing every note, comment and grade ever recorded, her eyes glued to her screen. She scrolled and recorded every word in her mind. With every filed she reviewed, her obsession with the boy grew. A kid, not that bright, perhaps not given a fair chance, or perhaps he just didn’t care. A kid who struggled fitting in and living in the rule’s society has set upon him. The file indicated he had been kicked out for drug use, fighting with other students, academic warnings left and right, no extra curriculars. The kind of young man who was destined to work the rest of their life at McDonalds or some convenience store. The perfect young man for her plan.

She decided to follow Brad to his first class. She reached into the pocket of her pants, fumbling around and ensuring she had the small bag with her. The bag she planted on students, the bag she used when she wanted to strip and humiliate a student. She kept the bag on her at all times, and with her slight of hand skills, had become brilliant at slipping the bag into a student’s pocket, or backpack when they weren’t looking. She perfected the art of slight of hand.

She approached room 202, where Brad had his first class. He sat in the back corner of the room, seemingly bored before the class even started. He did not even have a text book or notebook out. Instead, he gazed out the window, day dreaming, lost in thought. His hand propped up his head against the desk, as he dozed off, almost ready to fall back asleep. His uniform, unkept, looked like it was pulled out of the bottom of the laundry basket, wrinkled and dull in color.

She entered the classroom. Everyone’s attention was captured, fully alert, sitting in their chairs straight, ready for an order, like a group of cadets. Brad, kept gazing out the window.

“Bradley Smith, will you come with me please?”

She led Brad to her office, closing the door behind her. Brad stood, slumped. She passed the boy, slipping the small bag of marijuana into his pocket and walked over to her desk. She opened her desk draw, pulling out a small wooden paddle. She looked up at the boy.

“Brad, you do know if you are caught with drugs on you, we can revoke your financial aid and suspend you indefinitely right?” She asked

His gaze wandered around the room, avoiding eye contact.

“I’ve been reviewing your file from your last school and I see some disturbing patterns. I think I see enough history to warrant a quick search for any possession of drugs on you. And I think going forward we will perform periodic checks of your locker.”

“I don’t have any drugs.” Brad said, lacking any fight, any passion. Almost as if he did not believe it himself.

“Then you have nothing to worry about. I need you to strip for me so I can check.”

Brad began to remove his shirt, knowing the routine. “Are you going to tell my dad?” he asked.

Brad turned to the side as he placed his shirt on the small coffee table next to the window. The boy was slim, bone and skin. When he turned to the side, he seemed like a piece of white printer paper, barely having any muscles or meat on him. He leaned down as he removed his shoes. She noticed a bruise on the lower part of his back. “Where did you get that bruise from?” She asked.

“My dad gave that to me when I was expelled from my last school?”

The answer stunned her, shocked her. She almost felt guilty about bringing out the paddle, but that moment of guilt, that moment of compassion soon vanished. She now knew she had leverage over the boy, and boy was she going to use it. She grinned. “Well, if you follow procedure without question, without reservation, I see no reason to bring your dad into this.”

Brad removed his shoes and socks, undoing the button of his jeans and sliding them down his legs. The bruise became more apparent, like a stripe, like his father had hit him with a cane or switch. The marks, fresh, harsh, like intense pain was caused with each stroke. He began to fold his jeans, standing now in just his boxers.

“Can you empty your pockets real quick?” She asked, anticipating him removing the drugs from his pocket. Her excitement bounced through her body, radiating like an intense ball of energy. She knew the boy would be shocked when he removed the drugs from his pocket. They all were. He removed a cellphone and wallet from one pocket. When he reached into the other pocket, a look confusion, and disbelief filled the boy’s face when he felt a plastic bag in the other pocket. An unfamiliar bag. He pulled out the plastic bag, filled with weed. He dropped the bag to the floor immediately in disbelief.

“That’s not my bag,” he claimed, “I swear.”

“It’s ok Brad, we all make mistakes. And I am willing to work with you.” Ms. Fletcher played her part, her character like an academy award actress. “But this is very serious and we need to deal with your actions. We are here to help”

“No, really – it’s not mine” His eyes, for the first time, showed life, showed desperation and sadness. His blue eyes, like a puppy begged and pleaded with the principal. “Please you must believe me. My dad will kill me.” Brad begged

“Like I said I am willing to leave your dad out of this for the moment, but we do have to deal with this. You must do everything I say – ok?”

“Okay. What’s going to happen to me?”

“Well I want you to remove your boxers and I am going to give you ten strokes with the paddle, because I think you do need to learn a lesson. And then I have an assignment for you.”

Brad took a deep breath, the 17 year old boy almost reduced to tears before the paddling even started. He stood up, erect, placing both hands into the waistband of his boxer shorts and then letting the underwear fall down to his feet. He stepped out of the boxers and walked over to her desk, where the paddle still laid against the wooden desk.

Her eyes eagerly scanned the boy’s bottom, where two tiny butt cheeks waited. Each buttock, perfectly round, could easily be cupped by one hand. She didn’t have time to glance down at his genitals, but she knew she would get her chance. No need to rush, after all. Each of his cheeks already had some bruising from his father’s cane, and she had no intention of adding any more. Each stroke would be strong enough to reinforce her control of the situation, nothing more was needed.

She picked up the paddle from her desk. Her left arm reached around the boys waist, he hand planted against his lower abdomen. Her pinky stretched a bit further south and grabbed to a small patch of the boy’s pubic hair. Although from what she could tell, he kept his pubic hair neatly trimmed. Her right hand raised the paddle into the air, pointing to the heavens and came crashing onto his right cheek.

The first stroke caused the boy to jump forward into her left arm which held him in place. He let out a small umph. His breathing became shallow and light. His cheeks tightened anticipating the next stroke. She peppered each cheek with two quick and repetitive blows. His back arched, as he jumped into the air in pain and shock. As he hopped in pain, his penis bounced and rubbed against her hand as she unintentionally grabbed his genitals. He landed on the ground.

“Stand still” She whispered into the boys ear. Paddling was an art, and she was the Van Gogh of the world. She took each stroke, each placement of wood against flesh with the utmost care. She tried to find flesh that had yet to experience wood. She continued, mixing up speed and intensity, so Brad would not be able to anticipate the next blow.

After finishing, Brad remained leaning against the desk, keeping his bottom out, and ready for more. Her left hand, moved south, and quickly came in contact with the base of his penis. She grabbed it with two fingers, her other three fingers clutched his testicals. She squeezed, slightly, carefully but enough for a slight wince of pain from Brad.

“Okay Brad, I need you to listen very carefully to me. I have an assignment for you. If you carry out this assignment, we forget everything that happened here. I will forget I found any drugs on you and I will make sure you keep your financial aid and that your father doesn’t know any of this happened okay?” She asked. She squeezed his genitals as she asked the questioned. She used her other hand, the hand with the paddle, to slowly and circularly rub the boys bare bottom.

Brad nodded.

“Do you know a boy named Nick Gaddis?”

He nodded again.

“He is some spoiled rich kid with a powerful dad. His dad could be a big pain in my side as he’s using his influence to keep board members against me. I want you to become friends with Nick. I want you to follow him, shadow him, and find me anything I can use against the boy or his family. Do you understand. I need something I can use to expel that boy, or remove his father from the board. Do you understand Brad”

“Yes mam. But how?” Brad responded.

“I will leave that up to you. Keep a notebook, write down everything. I want everything, every small infraction every small offence. I want it all.

She unclasped the boys genitals and gave the boy one more whack with the paddle. Brad stayed down as his body regulated itself again. The breathing become more regular, the pain beginning to subside.

“I will catch up with you next week regarding this matter. And if you fail, I think you know what happens to you.”

Brad stood up; “Yes mam” A look of terror encapsulated his face. Caught between a rock and a hard spot.

“Good, you may get dressed and go.” She walked over to her desk, threw the paddle into the draw and slammed the draw shut.

2

Nick Gaddis removed his head from between Fat Frey’s legs. “You are getting much better at pleasing me.” She said.

Nick hated giving Lillian any pleasure, Afterall she was making his life miserable, but the requirement after each task was oral sex. Nick knew if he didn’t deliver, the whole world would think he raped that girl – even though in his mind, and soul knew he hadn’t. Nick, still on he knees, looked up at Lillian, like a beggar. She raised her underwear and fixed her skirt before standing from her bed. Nick remained kneeled knowing not to stand unless ordered too.

Lillian, although enjoyed having a young, attractive and wealthy boy practically as a slave, did not want to ruin his life. Not deep down, not in the long term. No, Nick was not the root of her hate towards men. Yes – Nick did something mean to her, something incredibly hurtful, but he hadn’t been the first guy too. And his YouTube video was not even the most hurtful thing that happened to her at that stupid high school. She wanted revenge alright, but it was not fair to take it out on Nick.

“Nick – Do you know this boy?” She brought up a picture of a boy, Brock, on her phone.

“Vagally – We hang out in different groups. Why?”

“He did something really awful to me in middle school. Really bad.” Her face turned red, as if reliving the humiliation, reliving the pain – Like she was flashing back in her own mind.

“What did he do?” Nick asked. He hated Lillian, hated the blackmail hated the lack of control, but for a brief moment, a brief second in time, felt slightly compassionate to the girl, knowing her life was lonely and isolating.

“I would rather not talk about it. I have been thinking about it. I have a task for you, and if you complete it, I will destroy the video’s I have of you and let you go.”

“Wait are you serious?” Nick asked

“Yes. Very serious. I want you to help me plan revenge on Brock and his friends. I want him humiliated. I want him to feel pain. You help me come up with a plan, and I will delete all evidence I have against you. Do we have a deal?”

Without even thinking, Nick blurted out; “Deal”

(End of File)