Punished? I should think so.

No, no, not him, Melanie thought with horror as the hated janitor, Mr. Johnson, aka John the Jerk Johnson, took the rope lightly tied around her neck. Melanie blanched as she heard her peers laughing at her, laughing especially hard as she tried to hold the rope to prevent Mr. Johnson from jerking it, as he led her away.

"Let go of the rope!" Mr. Johnson ordered. When Melanie didn't immediately comply he took a length of cord from his pocket and began to tie her hands behind her back, which brought on additional laughter from the crowd.

"Don't," Melanie cried out in protest.

"You're a ****—my ****—act like it, or you'll be punished, severely," Mr. Johnson said.

Punished? Severely? Melanie thought with horror, for punishments were always some form of public humiliation, and with her hands tied behind her back causing her breasts to be presented as if she was showing them off on purpose—and that her breasts were being intentionally presented by Jerk Johnson—Melanie already felt humiliated.

But further humiliation was the least of Melanie's worries, as Mr. Johnson led her away: captive, restrained, and defenseless, to destinations hidden and unknown.

"You girls think you're so superior," Mr. Johnson excoriated. "You're mean, cruel to me, cruel to your teachers, even to each other. At least one of you needs to be taught a lesson."

"I'm not like that," Melanie lamented defensively. "Where are you taking me?" she blurted out in fear.

"I'm taking you where no one will disturb us and no one will be able to hear you when you scream," Mr. Johnson said.

Janitor John Johnson had many fantasies of hurting girls, yet, despite what students and others thought of him he was neither evil nor stupid. His self analysis led him to theorize that his inappropriate fantasies might have much to do with rejections and frustrations he'd experienced as a young man, but he also allowed that his fantasies of subjugating and hurting young women might somehow be due to his nature rather than his experiences. Either way, he rationalized, it was entirely appropriate to take advantage of a girl who voluntarily agreed to be a **** to raise funds for a worthy cause. And he'd paid the required (and due to the enthusiastic bidding for this unusually attractive and even nice, or so he'd heard, female student) steep price. He intended on getting his money's worth.

He took the girl through steel doors to which he had the only key, down steel steps to the school basement, through another steel door, and down steps to the subbasement. There he pulled the girl, her hands still tied behind her back, her breasts still offered, albeit unwillingly, into a small room he had prepared for her interrogation. The finality of the click of the lock made the girl shudder with fear.

"What are you going to do to me?" the girl cried out.

"Your name is Melanie," John Johnson said.

Melanie nodded her head. "Please don't hurt me," she begged. What she really wanted to do was beg Mr. Johnson not to **** her, but she didn't want to utter any kind of suggestion of that horrifying thought even though she knew, given her fully compromised position, that it had to be on his mind.

"You seem to think it's funny to sashay past me and waggle you're little butt while I'm mopping the floor."

It's not that little, Melanie thought—she thought her butt was one of her finest features, and John Johnson included it on his list of Melanie's best assets too.

"You seem to think it's funny to bend over and tie your shoes, adjust your bra, pull your shirt down tight over your boobs when passing me by."

Melanie knew that she had done some of those things to Mr. Johnson, but only a little. It was her friends who teased him mercilessly.

"I'm sorry, really, I am" Melanie said. "But I only did a little of that to you. Mostly it was other girls. I gave into peer pressure, I guess. I'm sorry," she repeated.

Melanie hoped that with her confession Mr. Johnson might let her go, at least let her go and take her back upstairs to join other slaves, upstairs where she wouldn't be in so much danger. Her imagination ran wild, and most of what she imagined involved being sexually abused, maybe **** but certainly stripped, fondled, and made to come. Could I actually come if he stripped me and felt me up? she wondered. She knew she was a horny girl, always aroused, and even now with the fear of being **** the feeling of being an unwilling captive made her wet. Having an orgasm would be totally embarrassing, she decided.

Mr. Johnson opened a cabinet and took out a pair of ropes.

"What's are they for?" Melanie asked with renewed fear.

Mr. Johnson tied the ropes around Melanie's wrists, threw them over ceiling trusses, untied the cord he had used to tie the girl's hands together, and pulled on the ropes to raise her arms over her head. He then secured the ropes to a plumbing pipe, leaving Melanie stretched and again helpless.

Nice titties, he thought, his eyes boring into the girl's breasts to see if he could see her nipples, even though she wore a bra. He couldn't see her nipples, but the girl had worn a short skirt to be a flirtatious **** girl for... her math teacher she had hoped. Mr. Johnson could see more than halfway up Melanie's thighs. He imagined lifting her skirt, sliding his hand into her thigh gap, and pushing upward, pressing his hand into the lips of her pussy that he was sure would love to be manhandled.

"Please don't," Melanie begged, and though she didn't say what it was she begged not to be done to her the range of possibilities were vast and dire.

"You know what this room was used for in the old days?" Mr. Johnson asked.

Melanie's head shook, and her voice quavered when she answered no.

"In the old days, not even that long ago, this school allowed corporal punishment. In fact the punishment of a girl or two, naughty or not, was practiced on a regular basis, and school board members, all men of course, were invited to attend. Even if a pretty girl like you wasn't naughty, well... an excuse to punish her could always be found. And punishments, usually with a strap, though I've seen it done with a whip, a cane, thin wooden slats, many horrible substitutes—horrible for the girls that is. For the men, well, it was a delight, especially since punishments were always on the bare as they called it. You know what that means, don't you?"

"I think so," Melanie said.

"Dress up, panties down, usually completely off... Yes, for many men it was quite a delight."

"You wouldn't. Would you? Please Mr. Johnson. Please don't even think about that. It's horrible. I mean you'd get in trouble, wouldn't you?"

"Only if you told," Mr. Johnson said.

"No, no, no Mr. Johnson. Please," Melanie begged.

"Would you tell?"

"Please don't Mr. Johnson."

The girl's restraint and begging gave the janitor quite an erection. Don't get carried away, he admonished himself, but it was hard, being so hard, not to. "Maybe I should just give you a hand spanking. A hand spanking for a naughty teasing **** girl," he suggested. " It wouldn't leave marks, at least after an hour or two."

Melanie started to hyperventilate. The idea that Mr. Johnson might pull her short skirt all the way up, take down her panties, and spank her was more that she could wrap her mind around. Also, her arms were beginning to hurt.

"Melanie, you and your friends have been very unkind to me. Frankly, you've treated me like shit, like a piece of low class crap to be shit on just because I'm a janitor. I don't like it. I don't deserve it. You deserve to be punished, and you should be."

"Please no Mr. Johnson. I have been mean to you. And it's not right. You're right, I have mistreated you. I didn't think of your feelings. But I don't deserve to be... spanked for it. Two wrongs don't make a right."

"You don't deserve to be spanked for it? On the bare? Just in private of course, not like the old days."

"No, no, please. I couldn't bear it." Melanie was sure Mr. Johnson was going to spank her while she was naked, but there was nothing she could do about it other than beg, and she could see his erection and knew begging wasn't helping at all.

"Well Melanie, I agree. You're right. Two wrongs don't make a right, so as much as I want to, and I see you staring at my hardon, so I know you know how much that is, it wouldn't be right to take off your panties and give you a spanking, or if it was the old days a strapping or a caning or a whipping. But, still, for my largess don't you think it would be reasonable for me to lift your skirt—it's practically half the way up as it is—and take a nice long look at whatever sexy panties you decided to wear today. Maybe you'll even give me permission to lower your panties before I let you go."

"I don't want that," Melanie whined. "It's not right for you to strip me."

"Even though you agreed to be my ****?" Mr. Johnson asked.

"It's just a game. I'm not really your ****. You know that."

"Yes, but you really did **** me. Don't you think you should make amends?"

"Oh God, my arms hurt. Go ahead and look under my skirt, but please don't take my panties off. It would be too tempting."

"My, you do think highly of yourself."

"Please Mr. Johnson. My arms hurt. Go ahead and look, but please let me down."

Mr. Johnson untied the ropes and lowered Melanie's arms, but as much as he was tempted he didn't look under her skirt. Aren't you going to pick my skirt up?" Melanie asked.

"No dear I'm not. Two wrongs don't make a right, and I want you to know that I'm not the kind of man you thought I was. I'm not going to **** you, not much at least, but I am going to take you upstairs and punish you publicly."

"Thank you Mr. Johnson, I mean, for not abusing me, even though you could, though I'd really rather you didn't punish me upstairs, either."

"Don't push your luck, girl."

Melanie nodded her understanding.

"When we go upstairs you will treat me with respect, as I treated you with respect. You will lower your eyes at all times to indicate you are my **** and you submit to my authority. If I ask you a question you will answer, 'Yes Mr. Johnson,' or 'No Mr. Johnson,' or 'Yes Sir,' or 'No Sir.' Or if you really want to be in my good graces then answer, 'Yes Mr. Johnson Sir,' or 'No Mr. Johnson Sir.' Do you understand?"

"Yes Sir. Yes Mr. Johnson Sir," Melanie answered with her eyes lowered respectfully."

"Good girl. Now, one more thing."

"Yes Mr. Johnson Sir?"

Mr. Johnson chuckled at Melanie's obedience. "To show you that I also respect you, and to apologize for scaring you—for teaching you a lesson, I hoped, about the old days and what I might have done to you even today—I'm going to trust you and allow you to ask me any question you want, and I'll answer it truthfully. Is there anything you'd like to know about me?"

"Sir, Mr. Johnson Sir. I probably shouldn't ask this, but I really want to know, Sir, and since you said..."

"It's okay Melanie. Go ahead."

"Do you really have a spy hole into the girl's changing room, and do you really look in there when we're getting undressed?"

"Hmmm. You're asking me to admit to something that if it's true would be a crime. If it is true, you could easily get me fired and even put me in prison. Should I trust you that much?"

"I didn't think of that," Melanie said.

"You're asking me to really, really trust you, with years of my life. Do I owe you that for what I've done to you? I did let you go, you know."

"It's okay, Mr. Johnson Sir. I take my question back."

"Let's go upstairs then," he said.