An Untitled Christmas Story

“Last kid is out of the building,” Erica leans against the doorframe of room 314, “we’re dismissed.” 

She smiles at the inelegantly festive classroom. Darcy clearly gave the seniors free range with her dry erase markers and limited craft supplies. There are drawings of lumpy snowmen and Santa Claus on the white board, wrapping paper covering the tops of the desks, and curly ribbons hanging from the ceiling.

Erica’s classroom is decorated too, of course, but as an art teacher her non-denominational cheer is more cohesive. 

Darcy doesn’t look up from her laptop, bottom lip between her teeth, fingers typing. 

“Darcy,” Erica says, moving to sit on the edge of the other teacher’s desk, “we can leave.”

“I’m going to need a little bit of time,” Darcy’s eyes stay glued to the computer screen. 

 “How much time, Darcy?”

Darcy shrugs in response. Erica recognizes this tense posture and forced nonchalance: her girlfriend is trying to fend off an emotional outburst.   

“Darling,” Erica reaches over and grasps Darcy’s hands, “explain.”

“I just didn’t get all of my grading done, you know how it is,” Darcy replies, pulling her dark hair into a messy bun, “so we’re going to have to wait a bit before we get on the road.” 

“I don’t know how it is, actually, because last I heard you were going to have absolutely no issue getting everything in order.” 

Erica can’t help but be a little annoyed; after all, she’d checked in with her girlfriend all week about her progress towards their “up to date before break” gradebook deadline. She had it a little easier than Darcy, as art projects were quicker to grade than papers about World War II, so she offered to help once she’d inputted everything. But Darcy kept insisting she had nothing to worry about.

“Well, I thought that was true, but then yesterday a bunch of kids needed help with their college admission essays, and today I had to write a letter of recommendation for Robert, who didn’t realize he needed three for NYU, and Liza needed to polish an academic essay to submit to Smith, and I had to finish writing that grant proposal for the after school tutoring center,” Darcy takes a breath, “so you’ll have to excuse me if I didn’t make it through every one of these essays.” 

“How many do you have left to do?” Erica asks simply, seeing little point in engaging with her girlfriend’s irrelevant excuses.

“My fifth and sixth periods.” 

“And how many essays is that?”

“Forty one,” Darcy replies, and Erica can see her trying to keep her face impassive, trying not to wince. 

“Darcy,” Erica’s tone is admonishing, “why didn’t you say something yesterday?”

“I thought I’d be able to get it done, but,” the brunette smiles weakly as she clicks the mouse, “it’s only forty now.”

“And this morning, when the seniors needed application help, you didn’t think that maybe you should send them to me, so you could grade in peace?”

“As illuminating as this conversation about my past mistakes is,” the history teacher’s voice hardens, “I think it’d be best for me to focus on finishing these essays, don’t you?”

Darcy’s chin is steady, pointed upwards in that infuriatingly defiant way, but Erica knows it is performative–a combination of her girlfriend’s stress coping mechanisms and inherent stubbornness. She reaches over, closing the Macbook with a snap.

“Hey,” Darcy squeaks. 

“This is solvable,” Erica holds her hand steady, keeping the laptop shut, “I’ll drive, I really don’t mind, and you can connect to the hotspot on your phone and finish during our two hours on the road. By the time we get to my parents, you’ll be ready to enjoy your vacation.”

Erica can see the wheels spinning in Darcy’s head, considering the simplicity of her plan.   

“Okay,” Darcy says, “that makes sense.”

“Good,” Erica squeezes her girlfriend’s shoulder. 

“Thanks,” Darcy says softly. 

“Oh, you’re welcome, baby,” Erica says, “and now Christmas has come early for me, because I get to spank you.”

Darcy’s cheeks color in that warm way that pleases Erica in her bones. 

“No,” the self-willed submissive murmurs, crossing her arms, “not here.”

“For someone who hates the moniker ‘brat,’” Erica grasps Darcy’s wrist, “you sure do play the part beautifully – now lock the door.”

Darcy shakes her head. 

“I’m going to give you one more chance to do as I say,” the art teacher says, “we both know you deserve a trip over my knee–”

“Don’t say it like that.”

“And we both know that you’ve fantasized about pushing me a little too hard at work, so why don’t you stop fighting me before this escalates.”

“We should get going,” Darcy says, sinking back as far as possible in her chair, “we’re already late. I don’t know why you’d want to make us later.”

“Right then,” Erica turns on her heel and heads towards her classroom, not needing to glance back to know that Darcy is making a show of rolling her eyes. She returns with a long, thin wooden dowel, used for crafting in her classroom. She locks the door behind her as Darcy’s eyes widen ever so slightly. 

“I was just going to use my hand, and that ruler on your desk, but now some strokes with this seem necessary as well. Let’s take care of the spectrum of your naughty schoolgirl fantasies all at once,” Erica wheels Darcy out from behind her desk, moving the history teacher and her chair to the front of the classroom.

Erica is glad when Darcy stands up without a fight. She takes her place on the chair and pulls Darcy close, her girlfriend’s thighs touching her knees. 

“You really are a top’s dream, Darcy,” Erica unbuttons Darcy’s pants, slowly sliding them to her knees, “getting yourself into easily avoidable trouble,” the prone woman’s underwear follow, “being just defiant enough to make watching you squirm truly satisfying.” 

The top tips Darcy over her knee, and wastes no time getting to work. After all, they should really be on the road soon. Her hand rises and falls several times in the same spot before moving on to find an untouched patch of skin. She continues like this until Darcy’s ass in an even shade of pink, and then she concentrates on turning it red. 

Once Erica has achieved her desired shade, somewhere between rose and scarlett, she pauses to rub Darcy’s burning skin.  “You okay?”

Darcy nods wordlessly, and Erica picks up the ruler. Darcy likes to tease her during the work day, sending pictures of all the found implements the art teacher couldn’t spank her with, and the heavy ruler featured heavily in her antics. The wood is dense, and it is lined with metal, which gives it bite.

At least that’s what Darcy’s squeak indicates when Erica brings the ruler across the center of her ass. 

“Remind me how many essays you still had left to do,” Erica asks, rubbing the ruler across her girlfriend’s skin. 

“Forty one,” Darcy says, knowing where this is going. 

“Well, then forty swats with this to go,” Erica says breezily, “and as you work on completing them in the car, I hope sitting on your sore ass will remind you how easy it would’ve been to ask me to help you.”

“It’s not easy,” Darcy wiggles, “you know it isn’t for me.”

“Darling,” Erica says, “I’m constantly surprised by the lengths you’ll go to avoid delegating. And I don’t know when it’s hard for you because you don’t tell me.”

With that, Erica snaps the ruler down, starting with ten slow and hard swats. Darcy takes them well, head down and toes on the floor. Erica rewards her efforts with ten fast swats, and Darcy rewards Erica with a few kicks. 

“Count the next ten,” Erica instructs, and Darcy obediently complies, tracking the slow and steady strokes accurately. 

Finally, Erica brings the ruler down fast for the final ten, all aimed at the area where Darcy’s ass meets her thighs. 

“We’d be done if it weren’t for your attitude,” Erica rubs some of the burn away sweetly, “but now I’m afraid I have to ask you to bend over your desk.”  

After a few gentle pats, Erica stands up, and Darcy moves to bend over her cluttered desk. 

“Palms flat,” Erica swishes the cane through the air, “toes on the ground. Count, thank me for each one, and-”

“Ask for the next,” Darcy murmurs softly, “I’m ready.”

“Good girl,” Erica says. 

“Don’t say that,” Darcy says, sounding demure. 

The dowel cuts through the air and lands squarely across Darcy’s punished skin. As a welt forms, Darcy follows Erica’s instructions perfectly, and the top smiles as she let’s the second stroke fall.

Erica speaks between strokes, telling Darcy that no one can do their job without help, not when they work at an inner city school with a ninety five percent graduation rate. Miracles don’t happen because everyone stays in their lane. Darcy stays quiet, absorbing the strokes and the gentle lecture.

They continue like this for all six of the best, until Erica sets the cane aside and begins to gently massage her girlfriend’s marked ass.

She can see that Darcy is helplessly turned on from her current angle. She easily slips a finger inside the history teacher, who moans in appreciation. It doesn’t take much, not after Darcy has been spanked and caned in her own classroom, and soon Darcy is panting, cheek pressed against the wood of her desk.

Later, with the lights off as they lie in Erica’s childhood bed, Darcy will confess in a whisper that what transpired in her classroom was unbelievably hot, and that she knows she should’ve asked for help. Erica will pull her closer and kiss her temple, murmuring assurances and wishing her well-spanked girlfriend a merry Christmas.