("`-''-/").___..--''"`-._ `6_ 6 ) `-. ( ).`-.__.`) (_Y_.)' ._ ) `._ `. ``-..-' _..`--'_..-_/ /--'_.' ,' (((' (((-((('' (((( K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N _________________________________________ WARNING! This text file contains sexually explicit material. If you do not wish to read this type of literature, or you are under age, PLEASE DELETE THIS FILE NOW!!!! _________________________________________ Scroll down to view text Archive name: diary.txt (Mf, exh, inc, ped, spank) Authors name: AnonyGurl (address withheld by request) Story title : Brandi Cole's Diary -------------------------------------------------------- This work is copyrighted to the author (c) 2001. Please don't remove the author information or make any changes to this story. You may post freely to non-commercial "free" sites, or in the "free" area of commercial sites. Thank you for your consideration. -------------------------------------------------------- Brandi Cole's Diary (Mf, exh, inc, ped, spank) by AnonyGurl (address withheld by request) *** Twenty-one years after her father discovered her diary and took it way from her, Brandi gets it back. Reading through the entries, she is first shocked, then mortified, and then finally enlightened by what she wrote at 13. *** I sat on the edge of my father's bed, looking at a pink and white diary I hadn't seen in twenty-one years. It had found it in his end table drawer, right on top, surrounded by his collection of prescription bottles, Hall's Mentho-lyptus cough drops, old copies of TV Guide, and half a package of condoms. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. He took the diary away from me in nineteen eight-five. I was thirteen years old then, just past my birthday, and an awful tart. One night after penning what turned out to be my final entry, I had stupidly left the diary out. Daddy found it the next morning. I got beaten that afternoon. For a long time I just sat there, holding the book in my hands, looking at the winged unicorn on the cover. I had written and then scratched out someone's name under its left wing. I couldn't remember whose name it was. I wondered if it was better to read the book, to burn it, or just throw it away. Even now, I cringed thinking someone might read it. One of the pages near the front was turned back, forming a page marker, and I opened it there. Just a page, I promised myself, no more. I read the first line and memory flooded back. I was twelve years old again, my daughter Julie's age, and a soft night breeze blew in my open bedroom window, arid and crisp, a month shy of summer. It was late Wednesday night, 11:00 p.m., and I sat at my little desk, writing. I paused for a moment, smiled, then finished what I had began: May 15, 1985 Dear Diary, OH MY GOD DIARY! I can't BELIEVE what I've DONE! Sorry, I had to get up to check on Daddy. There's NO WAY I want him coming in here tonight! But he's asleep. I hope. Lynne is out somewhere doing what Lynne and her fucking boyfriend do (she can die, for all I care, and I mean that diary!) and I'm sure she won't get her slutty ass home before dawn. So let me start again: OH MY GOD DIARY! I can't BELIEVE what I've DONE! My place hurts Diary, and so does my tail. Especially my tail. He spanked me so hard I thought my panties would catch fire, Diary, and I'll tell you what! My tail's STILL ON FIRE! I just reached down, Diary, and touched my sore bottom, and IT HURTS REALLY BAD! Did I say how much it hurts? IT HURTS REALLY BAD! I'm glad he left on my panties, Diary, because otherwise, Brandi Cole would be a lot sorer right now! Oh, well. I'd LOVE to do it again. I WILL DO IT AGAIN! I'm in my nightshirt and panties, Diary. I always dress in my nightshirt and panties at night, or a tee-shirt and my panties, or sometimes just in my panties, and sometimes in NOTHING AT ALL. NAKED!!!! I love saying that word, Diary, and writing it out makes me love it even more. NAKED! NAKED! NAKED! But that's only in my bedroom, of course, and with the curtains drawn, because Daddy wouldn't like for someone to look through the window and see my small breasts. My TINY breasts. My TINY size 32A breasts. My enci-wenci-tiny little girl's breasts, Diary that I absolutely HATE! I HATE my breasts! I HATE my size 32A bras! I HATE the boys who tease me in class and in the hallways at school, even though I'm no smaller really than the other girls in my class, and bigger than some. Think they tease me because they like me, Diary? That's what Melanie and Jenna say, but they're both really good looking and have BIG BREASTS and it doesn't matter if the boys tease them or not because you REALLY know they like them! Beside, Daddy likes me this way. Daddy buys me my night clothes and my underwear and has me model them for him in his bedroom when Lynne is not at home. Daddy has me... Well, that's another story. I have a crush on my English teacher at school, Diary. Mr. Bork (rhymes with Dork! ha-ha) is WAY too handsome, and he's got these big brown eyes, and big strong muscles, and lots of wavy brown hair and a mustache and a beard. He is SO cool! I've had a crush on him forever, Diary. I wear short skirts and pretty flowered panties for him, Diary, and sometimes even thong panties, which I'm NOT SUPPOSED to wear. I got into trouble for it once, sent right home when Mrs. Kennison saw them under my skirt. The BITCH! But you know what, Diary? I didn't care. I wanted to "show off" for my Mr. Bork. I have a confession to make, Diary. It's a bad thing to say, but I want to be honest. I love cock, Diary. I really do. I LOVE cock. There, I said it. I've always loved cock. The thought of cock. The glimpse of cock. The bulge of cock. The taste and the feel of cock. I LOVE cock. Mostly, anyway. I got sent to the principal's office the other day, Diary. For nothing at all. Well, almost for nothing. Mr. James, the principal, made me sit in his outer office for half an hour, Diary, missing most of Mr. Bork's class, and I got SO mad. When he finally had me sent in, I decided to GET EVEN! "Brandi?" "Yes, Mr. James?" He had on his ugly horned rim glasses and was reading something in my file. A FAT PIG, Diary, he looks like a human JABBA THE HUT! His lower lip quivers when he's reading, Diary, and when he talks, he spits all over the place. GROSS! I'll die if he ever spits it on me. "Mr. Dennison, Mrs. Goines, and Miss Cappelli have all sent notes in about your behavior," he said, looking at me over his glasses. "What's going on?" "I don't know, Mr. James," I said, totally innocent. "What do you mean?" "Well," he said, sticking one of his DISGUSTINGLY FAT fingers in my folder. "Mr. Dennison says he caught you passing a slam book to another student one day last week." A slam book is just a notebook, Diary, where you write down things about other students. Mostly INSULTING things, like: Melissa Ruppert gave a boy head in a closet at a party three weeks ago, and didn't even know who it was because the boy she was supposed to do traded off with someone else and he CAME in her mouth, Diary. Or that Heather Mosser has herpes and gave it to James Oliver who gave it to Jennifer Lohr, who gave it to...well you get the idea. Slam books are a NO-NO in school! Anyway, I said: "No, Mr. James. I only passed the book across the isle to Tommy Horton. I didn't even know what it was." "So you told Mr. Dennison." "But it's the truth," I said, ready to blush. They hadn't caught on that I wrote the note about myself saying 'Brandi Cole went all the way with Tommy Horton and 69'd too!' " "And what about this incident with James Ryffel in gym class," he said, getting all huffy. "Mrs. Goines said you were caught kissing him, inside the boys locker room, with your shirt half-off!" This time I did blush, Diary, because only seconds before, it wasn't just my blouse that was half-off. Jimmy Ryffel had my bra pushed up over my boobs and was feeling them something FIERCE until I heard footsteps outside the door and pulled it back down. And just seconds before that he had my panties half-down feeling my place (I HATE that other word!) and had his finger in me. I said, "James Ryffel made me do that, Mr. James. He said if I didn't, he'd spread rumors all over school I was having sex with a..." "A what?" Mr. James demanded. His face was all red. "One of the assistant principal's," I said, looking at the floor. He was quiet a moment, Diary, then he wrote fiercely inside my folder. "What about Miss Cappelli?" he said. "She says you talk back to her constantly in class. Do it just to disrupt the class." "Oh, no, sir," I protested. "Miss Cappelli hates me because I ask questions she can't answer, and that makes her really mad." Which is a big fat lie, Diary, because Miss Cappelli is probably the smartest teacher I know. The reason we always fight is because I HAVE A CRUSH on her too, I think, and I just don't know how to deal with it. In fact, she gets SO FRUSTRATED with me that last week she actually SMACKED MY REAR END after class. Can you BELIEVE that? She apologized, of course, and told me to go home, but for just a minute, I think I came really close to blurting it out. But I didn't. Anyway, Diary, I sat up close to his desk and pretended to look inside my folder, and accidentally on purpose knocked a pencil on the floor. I got up and bent over to pick it up, Diary, and when I did, my skirt rode halfway up my rear end. Mr. James made a rude noise and moved about in his seat. When I came up again and turned around, he was looking at me strangely. "Sorry, Mr. James," I said, grabbing my skirt and pretending to be embarrassed. Despite being warned, I had on thong panties. He said: "Miss Cole. Generally, I don't allow behavior like this from a stupid--I mean student (he actually said that, Diary)--even one with an otherwise excellent record." His face had gotten very red. "But I guess I can, well...look the other way this time." "Oh, thank you, Mr. James!" I exclaimed, running around the desk and giving him a huge kiss on his cheek. He practically fell over trying to get away. "Well, yes. Yes, of course. But I warn you Brandi, any more reports of questionable behavior..." He looked at me over his glasses with his hot eyes. "And you won't be getting off with just a warning. Next time it's something appropriate. Do I make myself clear?" "Yes, sir," I said, demurely. "Absolutely. Anything you say." I apologized for making a fuss and slipped out of his office and went back to class. "I wonder what appropriate means?" I thought, walking into math. I HATE math! * Oh, my God, I thought. Was I really that way? I remembered everything now, so much of what happened, things I had blocked out for years. Such as I had worn braces back then and had acne, and I had such a terrible complex over it that I never wrote it down in my diary. (I had written everything else, it seemed.) Mr. Bork's real name was John Robinette, and he was not big and muscled as I wrote, but just a normal man. A teacher. He wore glasses and had short brown hair--no mustache or beard--and from what I remember, he was very thin. He was twenty-four years old, barely older than my brother. And Daddy...well Daddy was Daddy, no doubt about that. But he was just a lonely man raising three children with no wife, and even at twelve I was already something to handle. And Lynne, seventeen years old and the perfect slut, sleeping in Daddy's bed with her boyfriend (what was his name? Jack?) while Daddy slaved at work, telling me when I caught them that if I ever opened my mouth Jack would fill it with something hard and hot and wet. Then Lynne tying me to my bed two days later and letting Jack rape me when all I told Daddy was that Jack had been by. I hated Lynne then and I hate Lynne now. And Mr. Bork? I went back to my reading. Yesterday, in Mr. Bork's class (studying creative writing of all things--I guess I'll flunk), trying to write a poem I suddenly felt an itch. That oh-so-familiar itch. I didn't know what to do. That part of me which loves to touch myself said, "Do it, Brandi! Right here in class!" while the other part of me was yelling "ARE YOU CRAZY?" and stamping her feet. This was VERY naughty, Diary, even to think. I looked around and saw everyone else was bent over writing, even the shitheaded jocks. So slowly, ever so slowly, I inched my hand under my skirt and, I'll tell you, Diary, I could feel myself shake. Being naughty turned me on and scared me half to death! Knowing I'd get in trouble for it, but not caring, I found the top of my panties and slipped my fingers inside, went right down to my little button. I touched it. I looked back and forth with my eyes, trying not to gasp, then pulled my panties aside just a little and touched my lips, then, oh then, Diary, I put my middle finger inside, and it was wet, Diary, and HOT! HOT! HOT! HOT! Everyone says blondes like me get their hair last, Diary, and I guess that's right, because I haven't got a one! (I may keep it that way when I grow up, because Daddy likes it bare.) But this turned me on all the more because I knew Mr. Bork would have an unobstructed view, should he look, and once I had two of my fingers inside, Diary, and I felt I really should quit--it was almost time for the bell and besides, now I had to go to the girl's room--I couldn't let go. I said, "Mr. Bork?" and of course he looked up and this is what he saw: My legs were spread, my plaid skirt raised just a bit, and my panties pulled back with my fingers inside. His face just froze. I thought he would faint. I thought I would faint. Time stood still for a heartbeat or for an hour, and then I closed my legs and withdrew my hand and clasped my hands together in the middle of the desktop, letting myself calm. Mr. Bork caught himself fast. "What is it, Brandi," he said, like nothing had happened at all. His voice was totally calm. I smiled and said shyly, "Nothing, Mr. Bork. I guess I forgot." As I finished my last word, I put the tip of my finger to my lips and I licked it, Diary. No one else saw--I hope-- but my Mr. Bork, and he saw it for sure. "Brandi, see me before you go, please," Mr. Bork said. The rest of the kids, not a clue in the world, milled out of the room. I waited at my desk, waiting for the last kid to leave. When she did, Mr. Bork closed the door. "Have I done something wrong, Mr. Bork?" I asked, innocently. I moved about in my chair, trying to be nervous (which I actually was), to make the show better. He laughed sharply. "I don't know how to say this Brandi," he said, shuffling the papers on his desk. (What he wanted to say was, "I saw you playing with yourself, Brandi, and I am REALLY shocked." But diary, teachers don't say things like that, do they?) Instead, he cleared his throat, and said bluntly: "You had a finger inside your panties, Brandi. I'm sure this wasn't on purpose, because no twelve year old with a grade A average, is going to risk her future taunting a teacher. Right?" I wanted to scream YES, Diary! YES! YES! YES! but I settled for: "No, Mr. Bork. I...I'm just have this problem, you know?" I said this shyly, dropping my eyes, as though really embarrassed (which dammit, I was, because my face got all hot). Men don't wanna hear about "girl problems," and neither did Mr. Bork, so he smiled and said: "Well, okay then. We'll let that go." He looked at the door, then got up and went to reopen it. I can't tell you how DISAPPOINTED I was at that, Diary! It must have shown on my face, because when he came back and sat down on the edge of his desk, Mr. Bork said: "I meant to tell you earlier. There's a spot opening on the debate team next week. Stacey Stippich is leaving school (she's pregnant, Diary, and beginning to show), so if your interested in joining..." I smiled uncertainly, and nodded. Debate club? Me? Are we kidding? Then a thought hit me. "You're the Debate Club couch, right? Mr. Bork?" Mr. Bork nodded. "Along with Miss Jeter, yes. We alternate weeks." The Debate Club travels, dear Diary, ALL OVER THE COUNTRY. And when they go, they go with two chaperones. Miss Jeter. And MR. BORK! My heartbeat shot up to a million, no, a million jillion! A million SQUILLION JILLION! "Can I think about it?" I asked. He nodded and smiled. "Let me know next week." I thought: I'll let you know right now if I can jump into your lap Mr. Bork! YES! YES! YES! Mr. Bork cleared his throat. "Now, I have a lot of tests to grade, Brandi. Why don't you run along home?" I got up to leave, Diary, then he said: "And I'm sorry to hear about your problem. You take care of that, okay?" I stood looking dumb. Remembering my "problem" at last (Jimmies, Diary, my face got so hot), I said: "Yes. Yes, sir, Mr. Bork, no problem there." He nodded and smiled, then put his mind to grading his papers. I stood at my desk, feeling really dumb. "I was wondering," I said, cautiously. "I have homework to do, and my Dad's running late (he's probably home drunk, I wanted to say). Do you think I could, like, do my homework here?" He didn't look up. "Go right ahead. Just be quiet." I assured him I would. I was anything but! I moved in my seat constantly, Diary, opening and closing my legs, chewed noisily on the end of my eraser. Yes, I even put a finger in my panties again and Mr. Bork almost looked! After a while, he got tired of it and said: "You are the noisiest kid I've ever seen, Brandi Cole." He threw down his pencil. "I ought to give you detention just for that. Never mind. I have to go down to the office to see Mr. James. You be okay?" I assured him I would. Then I was alone in the classroom. So much for my plan. SHIT! Still, I felt all tingly and happy inside. I wanted Mr. Bork's cock, yes, but I wanted to go away with him more. Because even my little girl smarts told me a night in a motel beats ten minutes in a locked classroom. I wanted to be Mr. Bork's lover, not his ten minute whore. I took out my notebook and started to write. Dear Mr. Bork, I am sitting here in your classroom, fantasizing about being over your knee, having my fanny tanned by your big strong hand. I know you can't do this, not in the classroom, but there's something I'll do for you. If you say yes, that is. I've heard from other girls that Mr. Bork secretly likes spanking teenage girls. On their bare behinds. "He's a great lay," Jennifer Wyche said. "And if you hook up with him, Brandi, you'll get everything you want." What I wanted right now was a good spanking. My daddy, who loves me very much, will never do that. "But Brandi!" he says. "I love you too much. How could I hurt you?" He doesn't understand that a girl my age needs to be hurt, needs her fanny smacked once in a while, needs discipline. Only a spanking will do that. I cupped my chin in my hand and wondered what Mr. Bork's big hand would do to my bottom. I sighed. Jotting down the rest of the note, I tore off the page and folded it over twice. Taking it to Mr. Bork's desk, I put everything down and then removed my panties. I placed them atop the note in the middle of his desk, Diary, and I grinned, a really stupid, CHILDISH grin, and thought: Brandi! WHAT ARE YOU DOING? Panty-less, I left the room and ran down the hallway (holding my skirt down you bet!), past the offices and out the front door. I knew I would either get expelled tomorrow, or get my tail beaten real good. Which do you think I prayed for? * My God, I thought, closing the book. I had been such a tart! My hands shook I was so startled. You took off your panties! I put the book down and tossed back my head, trying to keep tears from ruining my makeup. I searched the end table for a Kleenex. I had forgotten so much. "Mom?" It was Julie calling from downstairs. "You okay?" Julie, my own special problem. Twelve years old and turning out just like her mom. Thank God, for her father. Thank God, for a more effective person than me. "Up here, honey." "You okay?" "Just fine." "Dad wants to know if you want coffee or anything?" "I'll have something later, honey. Thanks." She said nothing else, and I felt her walk away. So insolent; so much like me. I got up and crossed to the bedroom window to look out. The street below was lined both sides with cars and trucks, many looking almost shocked with their cleanly washed skins. The driveway was full. A blue Dodge pick-up had squashed the border row of pansies--that would be Mr. Nelson, I thought, Daddy's former yard supervisor at the mill. Mr. Benson's red pick-up was behind him. And there was Alderman Roble's fancy Lincoln Town car out on the street and the Lexus driven by Mrs. Keenan, the Reverend's wife. Daddy was popular with both the bad and the good, all of whom milled about downstairs in an uneasy truce. "They never understood, did they Daddy?" I whispered. They would certainly never understand us. I reopened the book and continued to read. RRRRRRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIING! "I'll get it daddy!" I yelled, dashing to the phone. It was eight o'clock. I was terrified. I hadn't eaten dinner and so far I had been to the bathroom THREE times, cursing the miserable squirts. I was SOOOOO petrified, Diary! "Hello!" I answered, out of breath. No one answered and for a moment I thought no one was there. I was crushed. Just as I was about to hang up, though, Mr. Bork said: "Brandi? Is that you?" HE HAD CALLED! "Yes, it's me," I answered. I thought I would faint! "Brandi," he said. "It's Mr. Bork." Like I wouldn't know who he was out of ten thousand people calling! "I got your note. I've already spoken with your father." There was a long silence, Diary, and I swear I heard Daddy bounding downstairs to tear up my ass. But then Mr. Bork continued. "I have to say I was shocked, Brandi. Just shocked. Leaving your panties on my desk like that, and that note. Do you know what would happen if one of the other teachers had found them? Or a student?" I gulped and felt totally dumb, Diary, but I answered truthfully. "I had to take the chance, Mr. Bork. I was really, like, desperate. I couldn't do it in person. I was too scared." Mr. Bork stayed silent. I felt his anger right over the phone. Tears built up in my eyes, Diary, and I was one second away from crying. "I guess I'm in real trouble, Mr. Bork, aren't I? You're gonna expel me." And then I did start crying. "Hold on, hold on," he said. "No one said that." I sobbed and then I got the hiccups. "I'm sorry, Mr. Bork, HIC! I really am. HIC! Don't HIC! expel me, please! I promise to be HIC! good!" I HATE having the hiccups, Diary, I just HATE it! "Brandi! Brandi, will you calm down." "I'll be good in your class from now on, Mr. Bork, and I won't make trouble. I'll do my homework, and--" "Brandi!" I sobbed again loudly. "Yes, Mr. Bork?" "Shut the hell up!" Talk about SHOCKED! I said okay. "Now, Brandi, listen to me. What you did today was wrong and it can't go unpunished." "No, Mr. Bork," I sobbed. "Shut up, Brandi." "Yes, Mr. Bork." "Now, tomorrow after school, I expect you in my class right after last period. Is that understood?" "Yes, Mr. Bork." "I can't tell anyone what you did without raising a stink, Brandi, so you'll be getting a special punishment from me. You know what that punishment is." I nodded my head, Diary, and then I thought, "Like he can really see you, you stupid goober." Then I said, "I understand, Mr. Bork." "You should. You suggested it yourself." My fanny suddenly tingled, Diary, and got real warm, and I swear, I felt his hand coming down. "I know, Mr. Bork," I said. "I'm sorry." Then I said to myself: "What are you talking about, girl! You're NOT sorry! You WANT to be spanked! Don't tell him you're sorry!" And I said: "Should I wear anything special, Mr. Bork?" Thinking maybe my thinnest panties or maybe even a thong so he could spank my bare rear? "Just your uniform," he said, sternly. "No surprises." "Yes, Mr. Bork." "And Brandi? It's 'Yes, sir' from now on, understand? You will be respectful." "Yes, sir." "And from now on, you be to class on time." "Yes, sir." "And no more chewing gum, Brandi." "Yes, sir." "No, sir." "No, sir," I corrected. "The next time I see you passing notes, or not paying attention in class, or writing love notes to yourself (I don't know how he could now that, Diary! I was always so careful. And besides, they aren't love notes to myself, I'm not hung up on myself) I will very likely make you read those notes out loud and then go stand in a corner for the rest of the class. Maybe even get on your knees. Understand?" Oh, GOD, Diary! Think of the humiliation! Everyone in class laughing and pointing their fingers! "No, Mr. Bork," I said, meekly. "No, sir, I mean. You have my word on it. No more misbehaving." "And there's to be no more wearing underwear not within school guidelines, young lady. White only, and only briefs, not bikini panties or those damned thongs you had on last month. Is that clear?" "Yes, sir! Yes, Mr. Bork!" I said, my head spinning. He really had me rattled, Diary. Talk about being put in your place. "I'll be watching you very closely, Brandi. The first time you step out of line..." He didn't have to say the rest. "Yes, sir," I said. "And it won't be the sexual type of spanking you hint at in your note," he said, softly. I swallowed VERY hard, Diary, because I had just been threatened with REAL punishment. Not the kind that fills my daydreams and that I write about in my notes, but the kind that makes girls like me scream and cry. The kind Heather Long got from her father last week when she got caught cutting class and then sassed her mom for it later. Heather didn't come to school for two days, Diary, and then she had a REAL hard time sitting still. And Heather is six months older than I am, already thirteen. "Are you listening to me, Brandi?" "Oh, yes, sir!" I yelped. "Every word!" "Then I'll see you tomorrow in class," he said, and hung up. Diary, I stood there for a full minute, just staring at the wall with the phone at my ear, wondering what I had done. I wished I had not written the note. I could not stop shaking. The next day you KNOW I made his class on time. I was second in my seat and had my book open and was studying when Mr. Bork came in. He stared at me and his eyes like to set me on fire, Diary. "Good afternoon, class," he said, and I piped up with, "Good afternoon, Mr. Bork!" so loud and so fast that Bonnie Rizzo and Michelle Penwarden laughed at me. You should have seen my face! "This afternoon, class," he said, "we'll be taking an extended period so Mr. Rhimes (he's the vice-principal) can give a talk about the debate club." (I sat up with a shock. I had completely forgotten.) Mr. Bork looked directly at me. "I was privileged to tell him this morning that Brandi Cole is our newest club member." There were half a dozen gasps from girls I know, and then a shocked silence. No one was more shocked than me. "Brandi will be taking Stacey's place on the team next week," he said. "And in three weeks, will be accompanying us on our trip to Chicago." Again, shocked silence. Then two or three of the debate team girls clapped half-heartedly, and I went ten shades of red redder! Now everyone would think I was a geek! But Diary! In three weeks I'd GO AWAY with Mr. Bork! "I have to leave for an important engagement after final period," he said, turning toward the blackboard. "Anyone scheduled for detention will have to make it up tomorrow afternoon." It took a moment to sink in, and then, Diary, I was SO TOTALLY CRUSHED. I almost exclaimed: "But Mr. Bork!" before I realized it was me he had an important engagement with! He eyed me over the tops of his horn rimmed glasses, saying "Shut up!" with his eyes. I choked/hiccupped/coughed all at once. The next fifty minutes zoomed by, Diary, and then Mr. Rhymes (what an ugly old toad) came in to talk. I listened to every word he said for half an hour (another first!) and actually stood up and thanked him for accepting me on the team. HOW EMBARRASSING! When he finally left and Mr. Bork dismissed the class, I was told to remain. "Come up here, Brandi," he said, looking over his glasses. I got up and stood in front of his desk, hands safely behind my back. I was so NERVOUS! "Do you want me to shut the door?" I asked, voice breaking. "No." He wrote something into his attendance book and I remained there obediently, absolutely still. Then he said: "You were exceptionally well behaved in class today, Brandi." "Thank you, sir," I said, thinking, OH NO! DON'T TELL ME! "I tried my best." Mr. Bork grunted. "Don't let it go to your head. You're still getting spanked." OH, THANK GOD! "Yes, sir," I said. "Thank you, sir." He looked at me, over his glasses. I looked down. "Was that a smart-ass remark? You haven't learned?" "Oh, no sir!" I practically shouted. "Not at all!" He went back to his writing. I stood there for a five full minutes, Diary, and I was SO CONFUSED. Were we going out of the building? My heart pounded and made me sway back and forth. Surely not his APARTMENT? "We're going to my place, Brandi," he said and I almost fell down. "You're a-a-apartment, sir?" I babbled. I SWEAR, Diary, I could not NOT say the word, I was so shocked! And inside I'm shouting "SHUT UP, Brandi, SHUT UP!" He stopped writing and looked up. "Is there a problem?" "No, sir," I said hurriedly. "Of course not." "You understand why, of course." "Yes, sir," I said, though I hadn't a clue. Patiently, he explained. "It's because here at St. Mary's, corporal punishment is not an accepted form of punishment. The sound would carry throughout the entire building (He looked at me POINTEDLY, Diary, making sure I understood what the sound would be), and everyone would know. That would get me in trouble. I can't have that." "No, sir," I agreed. He ripped a piece of paper from his notebook, Diary, and gave it to me. My hand would not stop shaking. He said. "I want you on my doorstep no later than four o'clock. Is that understood?" "Yes, sir." "It's fifteen minutes from your house. You can easily bike it once you've gone home and changed." "Yes, sir." "You're to wear blue jeans and a button down shirt, Brandi, some neutral color. Plain white panties and bra. You have those?" "Yes, sir." "No makeup," he said. "And no wild hairdo." He pointed at my head. "It's to remain just as it is now, ponytailed. Understand?" "No, sir. Yes, sir." "Anyone sees you, you just smile and keep those pedals turning." "Yes, sir." "Now get out of here. You'll be late for class." "Yes, sir!" I shouted, running for my books. I ran out of the room, ran all the way to my next class, and was two minutes late getting there. I got written up. I HATE math! Once I got home and changed, I told Daddy I had to go to Marcie's house to study, then to Pizza Hut cause her dad was buying us pizza. I hate lying to Daddy, but I didn't know what else to do. I sure couldn't tell him the truth. I put books in my backpack, and a mini-skirt and halter top (just in case Mr. Bork didn't like me in jeans) and got ready to go. I felt so PLAIN, Diary! No makeup and no revealing clothes? I LOOKED like a do-goody girl on the debate team. For a minute I stood in front of my mirror (by the way, I actually had straightened my room and made the bed--GO FIGURE) looking at myself, and I have to say this, Diary, I didn't like the girl looking back. She was WAY too plain and innocent looking, and unattractive with no makeup. If I passed her in the hallways at school I'd laugh about her to my friends. This is what I was: The white shirt COMPLETELY hid her boobies (I almost ran for my sock drawer HA! HA!), and the jeans made her hips look boyish and round. I looked at my backside and JUST HATED it, Diary. I almost cried. Then I got SO MAD at Mr. Bork for making me look like a dork, that I wanted to tear everything off and hide in the bed. Then I did cry. I was ten minutes late leaving the house. I rode my bike down Adelphi Road past St. Mary's school (like always, I stuck out my tongue) and turned right on University Boulevard. Mr. Bork was right. It took me fifteen minutes to get to his apartment. Only it wasn't an apartment at all, but a red brick, two story house with a garage. I looked at the address numbers, then at the paper, then at the numbers again. I rode back down the street to check the sign. It was right. Peddling back up the street, I hopped off the bike and opened the metal gate. I rolled the bike it inside. His yard was fenced in, Diary, and there were flowers running all up and down the walk. There was a flower bed around each tree, and more flowers running along the fence at his neighbor's yard. I couldn't believe so many flowers. And there was a front porch swing on the porch (where else would it be, Brandi?), and blue and white shutters around the windows. The house was so pretty. I was surprised. Just then, some boys in a red Camaro went by and whistled and yelled and made me jump. IT MADE ME JUMP, Diary! And then I remembered I not passed a guy all the way here who didn't look at me, Diary, or turn to look, or a single car where guys in it that didn't check me out. But it was different, Diary, not what I expect. There were no quick head jerks or raised eyebrows, and no one gave me that nasty grin that says "Oh, yeah, Brandi, I'd like to fuck you real bad!" Instead, what I got were casual looks that sometimes kept on, and smiles rather than leers when I caught them looking. Not even the boys whistling and catcalling from the Camaro were the same. They seemed almost teasing, not taunting and mean. I looked after the car and they saw me looking, Diary, and I swear, two of the boys turned around in their seats and stopped being stupid. The others kept looking and the one boy actually waved. He waved and I DIDN'T wave back. I just stood there and stared. Then I realized Mr. Bork was calling. "Yes, sir?" He pointed at his watch. I looked after the car again. "Yes, sir," I said, and put my bike against the inside of the fence and shut the gate. "Sorry." "Sorry doesn't cut it, young lady. I told you four o'clock." I started down the walk. Looking up at him, Diary, I said: "No, sir. I mean I actually am sorry." I stopped at the foot of the steps and it just came out. "Mr. Bork? Am I pretty?" His face got very hard. "Young lady, this is no place for narcissistic behavior or childish games. Now get in here." Since I didn't know what "narcissistic" behavior was, and I wasn't playing games, I looked at Mr. Bork and I said: "I'm not being a smart-ass, Mr. Bork. I'm really not." I looked down the street again but the Camaro was gone. "I just wanted to know." He seemed puzzled for a minute, then shook it off and motioned me inside. I walked in and he shut the door behind us. * I stopped reading and peered out the window again. The red brick house of John Robinette's was less than four miles away. I had driven by it just last week, curious if the new owners (how many had there been? I wondered, since he moved in nineteen eighty-nine) had kept it up. The flower beds surrounding the three maples were no longer there, nor along the fence at his neighbor's yard, but they still planted Impatiens and Daffodils along the front walk. The chain link fence had been recently replaced, and the trim on the house painted. It had a new roof. The old swing on the front porch was still there and someone had erected a swing set in the back yard. There was a wading pool. How things change. How things never change. Was it possible, I wondered, to mature in the space of one day? Within a few pages? The Brandi Cole that sat down to write this entry was not the same Brandi Cole who finished it. Or more correctly, no longer a hopeless tart. I remember being on John's sidewalk that afternoon, those strange emotions inside, sensing within my confusion another Brandi wanting escape, one who liked being watched and not ogled, desired but not craved. A young girl with braces and acne and hair in a ponytail, wearing jeans and a plain white shirt. And liking herself for it. And, I realized now, this shift in awareness showed in my writing. Had I known? My father had. After that day he took me to bed only once, holding me in his arms afterward as I sobbed out my guilt, talked with me into the small hours of the morning. He heard my fears and my hopes, helped find the Brandi inside. He never touched me again, though later he beat me silly over John and the other things I wrote. I forgave him for that. I never forgave Lynne. I returned to the journal. His house was as nice inside as out. The furniture was old, but clean looking, and not all mismatched like by brother has. There was an oval shaped rug on the floor and shiny wood beneath it, and one of those big screen TV's like Jenny has at her house. And books. Lots and lots of books. Mr. Bork took me through the living room into his den, and had me sit down. He sat at his desk. He was very intense. "First thing I want to say, Brandi, is that you have almost no time to prepare for the team. Your to stay after tomorrow afternoon with two of the girls to learn the routine. Secondly, we got away in three weeks, and you will be rooming with three other girls. There will be no horseplay. Understood?" "Yes, sir." "Light's out is eleven o'clock every night, including weekends, and you don't leave the room without permission." "No, sir." He looked at me very steadily. "You look very nice, Brandi. I'm really surprised." I looked down, Diary. I felt myself blush. "Thank you, sir," I mumbled. He was quiet for a time. Then he said: "I have the feeling you're no longer up for this, Brandi." I just looked at the floor. "What happened?" Shrugging, I said: "I don't know, sir." Which was the honest TRUTH! Mr. Bork worked his hands together, stared at me, making me feel really small. "I can send you home right now, if that's what you want." "No, sir," I said, very softly. "That's not what I want." The truth was, Diary, I didn't know WHAT I wanted. Even though I was really confused, even though I feared the spanking, I was even MORE desperate for Mr. Bork. So desperate that I didn't know how to THINK what I wanted, much less say it. "You want to stay?" "Yes." He didn't correct me. Instead, he got up from his chair and crossed over to where I was sitting, and squatted down. Diary! My heart started beating SUPER hard. SUPER DUPER HARD. I couldn't breath and I couldn't talk, and when he lifted my chin with his fingertips, I couldn't meet his eyes. "You have two choices," he said. "Over my lap, or over the top of my desk." For the first time I noticed his desk was completely clear. I gulped. "I'll do whatever you say, Mr. Bork." "Will you?" I met his eyes. I could barely speak. "Yes, sir." "Entertain me," he said. He went back and sat down in his chair. This time I could not gulp. Diary, he wanted me to MASTURBATE! No counting that I had done it in front of him just yesterday in class--this was different! This was SO VERY DIFFERENT. Right then I didn't want to masturbate any more than I wanted to be spanked and I wanted both desperately. I slowly unbuckled my belt, and pulled down my zipper. "Can I ask you something, Mr. Bork?" "Certainly." "Are you going to hurt me?" He cocked his head. "Hurt you how?" I just sat there and shook. "Pull your pants down, Brandi." I pulled down my pants. "You didn't have this problem yesterday. You seemed willing enough then." "Yes, sir." "Different now, huh?" "Yes, sir." His lips turned up in a knowing smile, the kind of smile Daddy gets when he catches me up short, when I do something really dumb. "I'll ask you again, Brandi. Do you want to go home?" In answer, I pushed my jeans all the down around my ankles and spread my legs. Putting my hand on my belly, I slipped it beneath my panties and went to the place between my legs. Breathing got really hard. I felt light headed. Then I found my little button and began to rub it and I jumped something awful. I yipped, "Sorry!" and withdrew my hand. My face was on fire. "I don't why what happened." Then a shiver ran up my spine and I spread my legs more and tilted myself upwards, and put my hand back and began to rub. In seconds, I was squirming. "Oh, God," I said, without meaning to, and Mr. Bork's eyes, Diary, Mr. Bork's eyes got ready to POP. He tried to hide it, but his penis turned into this really big cock and pushed up under his pants so that they bulged. I got really excited. "I've never done this before," I said, which is almost the truth. I've only done it for Daddy. "Not in front of a man." Mr. Bork's eyes just watched. Knowing I shouldn't, Diary, but unable to stop, I slid my other hand down my panties and began touching my lips. Soon one finger was up me, then two, then three of them, so Mr. Bork couldn't miss what I did. Then I took out all but one because one finger is always the best. I made noise and I moaned, Diary, and it was SO EMBARRASSING! Then I removed my hand and pulled my panties aside and let Mr. Bork see everything. I used the fingers of both hands to open myself up, Diary, and I opened myself WIDE. Shaking like a leaf, I felt air go into my vagina and all the way down to its end, and this sent chills through me everywhere. I was totally flustered, Diary and HOT! Then I did something worse. OH, GOD, DIARY! I Didn't REALLY do this! Pulling my panties down to my knees, I leaned back all the way and pulled my knees against my chest. Hugging them there my chin, I pulled me butt cheeks apart and showed Mr. Bork everything Brandi Cole had. He made a weird noise, then coughed. "Mr. Bork," I said, feeling really desperate. "What?" he croaked back. "I think you better spank me now." He was up in an instant and to my chair, snatching me up and Diary, he pulled my panties into place in mid-air and put me over his knee. His giant erection poked me hard in the belly, making me gasp out loud. Then he pushed my shirt all the way and undid my bra. "When I finish," he said. "You'll have about three seconds to get between my legs and unbutton your top. It has to come off. Your brassiere too. Understand?" "Yes, sir," I panted. OH, PLEASE! my brain screamed. Will you PLEASE SPANK ME ALREADY! SMACK! The first blow was not that hard but stung pretty good. It stung REALLY good! Then SMACK! went his hand and then SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! and my butt was suddenly alive and I gripped his leg with both hands and I sucked in my breath and yelled, "Ow! Mr. Bork! OW! That really hurts!" His hand came down five more times and now he hand my hands clutched behind my back, keeping me in place and keeping them out of the way. I was kicking my feet and jumping up and down on his lap and pleading, "OW! OW! It hurts Mr. Bork! It hurts Mr. Bork! It HURTS!" and his hand spanked me six more times. "Mr. Bork, please! OW! Mr. Bork! OW! OW! OW!" Then he pulled down my panties and spanked my rear end, then raised them again and spanked me some more. "You are SMACK! such a bad girl, Brandi SMACK! that everything I do SMACK! is so well deserved. SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! I will not SMACK! put up with your SMACK! bullshit anymore SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! and if you so much as SMACK! make a peep in my class SMACK! SMACK! I'll do this in front of the class!" SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! By now, I was crying harder than I had cried in years (have I EVER cried that hard?) and tears poured down my face and onto the floor. I couldn't see anything. My bottom felt like a sting from a hundred foot wasp and I couldn't cry out because I couldn't get my breathe. Every spank sent my feet flying. Then I was off his lap and onto the floor and Mr. Bork was standing before me and I tore at the buttons on my shirt and whipped it off and Mr. Bork was struggling to get his fly open. I tore off my bra and I got to my knees and I got his pants open and his erection out and before I could even look at it and see if it was huge he pushed it into my mouth. I started gagging. "Nhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!" "Jesus, Brandi! Jesus!" "Nhhhhhh-enner-nonnnn! Nennnnnnn!" "Jesus! Jesus! Jesus!" He took my head, Diary, and very fast and very forcefully, he made me take him all the way in. ALL THE WAY IN! I know how to deep throat, but I've never had my mouth taken over before, and it wasn't like I knew what I was doing, or could control it, I only did what his hands and his cock told me to do. It went all the way down my throat at least six times, Diary, and because I was choking so bad, he had to let me stop. "Please! Please, Mr. Bork!" I gasped. "NO MORE!" Then I finally saw his cock. IT WAS SO HUGE! "Open your mouth and I'll do the rest!" he panted. I panicked. "No! No! No, Mr. Bork! You don't understand." I fell back on my hands, kicked out my legs and threw them wide. "PLEASE! For God's sake! You have to!" He grabbed me up, ran me to the couch and threw himself down. I came down on top. He held me in the air-- literally--while I pulled my panties aside, and drew up my legs. Then he was inside me and making me squeal, and I went up and down his shaft like a runaway pump. Diary, I squealed and I pleaded and I hit my head against his because it hurt so good. IT HURT, DIARY! BUT IT HURT SO GOOD! "OH MY GOD, BRANDI! OH MY GOD!" "MR. BORK! OHHHHHHHHHHH!" I was completely in his grasp and going up and down and all I could do was keep squealing, "Mr. Bork! Mr. Bork!" until finally a burst of cum hot as the sun blew into me and then I was gripping his neck and clamping my teeth and screaming hard as I could into a pillow. I came and I came and I came, Diary, until I couldn't come any more and he was still hard inside me and still coming and still hurting me, And then I shook and I chattered my teeth until I passed out. "You all right, baby?" I looked up, found Mr. Bork stroking my hair. He sat beside me on the couch. I was under a blanket. "What happened?" I said. "You passed out." "I did?" I looked around in disbelief. "You did." I guess I did. "You okay?" "I guess so," I said. "I think so. I don't know." I looked at my clothes thrown over the floor. "My butt hurts," I said. "It does?" "Really bad." His kissed the tip of my nose. "No one ever deserved it more than you." I guess they didn't. "I'm not sure I can sit down," I said. "Miss class tomorrow, young lady, and I'll tan you again." My face grew hot. "Don't worry. I won't do that." He held my panties aloft. "I like you naked, Brandi. You're very sexy, naked." Slowly, I drew back the blanket and let it fall away. "Even my little breasts?" My nipples were squashed little points. He sucked them alive. "Especially those," he said. "What about there," I said, slightly spreading my legs. He bent down and kissed me first on my button, then between my lips. Then his tongue went in and it stayed for a very long time. When it came out again (I was so very ready to die) he smiled and said, "Like a baby. So smooth," and for the first time since getting my period, I was glad for no hair. And then, Diary, he lay down atop me, kissed my nose and my eyes, touched me on my breasts and my special place and made me understand what being a good girl is all about. * I looked up and my husband was in the doorway. "What you got there?" he asked. "A time machine," I said. He looked at my strangely, but with a soft smile, and sat down beside me. "People are wondering where you are," he said. He placed his hand upon my two holding the diary. He squeezed them reassuringly. "You all right?" I smiled as best as I could. "Sure." He looked at the diary, took it from my hands, and glanced at it curiously. "This yours?" he asked. Flipping the book back and forth, he did not open it. "It was. Until it got taken away." He whistled softly. "You don't mean..." I nodded. "I found it in the drawer." He looked at the table, back at the book, then down at Dad's bed. "Kept it close, didn't he," he said. I said nothing. "Did you read any?" "Uh-huh." "Were you shocked?" "Uh-huh." John laughed, uneasily. "This would have been real trouble," he said. "If your Daddy had told." "I know," I said. "He didn't tell." John sighed. "I never understood." I took his arm, leaned my head on his shoulder. "I did," I said. "I still do." John never gave up on me, not even after Daddy threatened him harm. When I transferred to Our Lady of Good Counsel High School in Wheaton, John followed. He was my English teacher in eleventh grade, and my lover in all four. We married the day I turned eighteen. We kept it secret until my junior year in college, then I got pregnant with Julie and carried the charade no further. When the truth came out that John and I married during my senior year at Good Counsel, he was dismissed, as he expected. He now teaches at Frostburg State College upstate. Later that night, after the guests were gone and the children were in bed, John lay me back on Daddy's bed and touched me gently on my breasts and on my special place and, like he did all those years ago in the red brick house with so many pretty flowers, after kissing my nose and my eyes, he showed me what being a good woman is all about. The End ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author does not condone the described behavior in real life in anyway shape or form. Anyone tempted to act out any of the scenarios in this story; should seriously consider seeking professional help. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Kristen's collection - Directory 14