The Punishment of Six-Ears

— PalPalych! Sisyastik is flashing her bare ass!

Shouting this to me through the half-open door, Seryoga Pikachulin rushed off to spread the news further. Of course, it's not proper for a tenth-grader to talk to the school principal like that, but this particular tenth-grader was born the son of a ministry official's wife, so he was untouchable. Putting him out of my mind, I jumped up, concerned, and rushed to Sisyastik's classroom. A crowd was already gathered at the coveted door. Our school was pre-revolutionary construction, with windows above the classroom doors, so I wasn't even surprised. Pushing the youngsters away from the provided chair, I shoved the panting PE teacher off it and climbed onto the chair myself. Rising

on tiptoe, I peeked into the dusty window.

Sisyastik was just drawing some formulas on the board and, carrying on about something in incomprehensible arithmetic, she leaned over, following the writing, to the lower corner of the board. Sisyastik's usually smooth, tight hairstyle was somehow disheveled today, and she was wearing shoes with a ridiculously high stiletto heel, light brown stockings with a vintage seam up the back, and a jacket. Just a long jacket. Long, but leaving no doubt that Sisyastik was indeed wearing stockings, not tights: the lace elastic shamelessly cut across her delicate white thigh with its upper edge, the little crocodiles of the belt sparkled in the morning sun.

The leaning Sisyastik caused a noisy sigh among the high school students frozen in unprecedented attention, and my breath caught too: the hem of the jacket slowly crept up her steep thigh and round little buttock. Just a little more… Sisyastik straightened up, threw a stern glance at the class, and shot some "cosines" at the students. And suddenly she reached for the top edge of the board to dance the next symbols in quick alien script. The jacket slid up easily, and for three long seconds the morning light from the windows sparkled on the alabaster skin, sculpturally highlighting the exposed gluteal folds, so taut and yet tender…

I jumped off the chair, shoved it at some bewildered youth who never got his turn, and flung open the classroom door. I called out unctuously:

— Viktoria Stepanovna!

Sisyastik shuddered and slowly turned to me. My breath caught again at her beauty: her heart-shaped face, framed by lush golden curls, the fox-like slant of her green eyes, her cute upturned nose lifting her upper lip, compensated by an incredibly full lower one; the usual golden bangs-ponytail that gave her face a naively childish look, practically begging to be pissed on, those bangs had transformed today into a steep wave, playfully falling over one eye. But the main thing was visible in the jacket's neckline: it turned out that underneath, Sisyastik wasn't naked, but was sheathed, like a second skin, in the most delicate dark brown turtleneck, absolutely transparent, ending in a tight velvet collar—and through this transparent fabric, Sisyastik's huge, round, smooth assets were pushing into the V-shaped neckline.

Actually, we've held breasts larger in our hands (here, a size five swelled with milky sweetness, no bigger), but Sisyastik's body wasn't burdened by a single gram of fat, and her clothing size was either 44 or even 36—I don't understand sizes, but I'd bet I could encircle her waist with the fingers of both hands. On such a slender body, the breasts looked phenomenally huge. When she walked, involuntarily swaying them, it seemed the bumpers were about to outweigh her, and Sisyastik would fall. I don't know if she ever saw her body below THEM… Except maybe her feet.

So, Sisyastik froze with chalk in one hand and a pointer in the other, and in the jacket's flared hem, the edge of a super-short velvet-black skirt was visible, leaving only the very tip of her dark panties exposed.

— You will follow me, — I said and, parting the crowd with a glance, walked to my office. Sisyastik clicked her heels behind me.

Letting the girl go ahead, I slammed the door, turned the key, and said without turning around:

— Well, and what do you call this?

— What's the matter, PalPalych, — Sisyastik babbled in a tearful voice, — what do you mean? Everything's under control!

— Under whose control? — I turned to her, bewildered, blowing the wanton bangs from her eye. In full evening battle makeup, with her chest heaving violently, almost bursting the jacket buttons, she looked stunning. I could only manage to control my expression, while my disobedient heart was pounding somewhere around two hundred.

— Mine, — Sisyastik squeaked. — Under my control!

I sighed:

— Viktoria Stepanovna! When you walk around school in blouses whose buttons simply rip their buttonholes… or in shirts where even the breast pockets can't smooth out your erect nipples… or in turtlenecks that bring your bust into the classroom a minute before you enter… In short, I'm ready to turn a blind eye to all this, because I understand: size forty clothing can't tame what's meant for size sixty! The entire teaching staff claims you have a corrupting influence on the schoolboys, and only I defend you, though I agree with them deep down. Of course, this is because you, Viktoria Stepanovna, are infinitely likable to me as a person. But not only! I hold the opinion that a teacher is formed by psychology, logic, and professionalism, not by a pathology of physique, — I allowed myself a passionate, angry glance at her drooping tits. — But today, Viktoria Stepanovna… This is simply unimaginable! What are you allowing yourself?!!

At my sudden roar, Sisyastik shuddered, her breasts jumping heavily, and she whined again:

— PalPalych, it's my friend's birthday… At the club all night… Didn't have time to change…

— Silence! — I roared, covered the distance between us in two steps, and almost buried my nose in her frightened little face. Sisyastik smelled of subtle, exquisite perfume. — Why did you come to school naked?!

— But I'm explaining…

— Silence! Why naked?!!

— But I have a jacket…

— This one?! — I flipped up the hem, exposing the micro-skirt that didn't hide the coquettish stockings on the belt.

— Nothing's visible, — she pouted.

— I can see everything!

She opened her mouth to object, but I interrupted:

— My dear! You reek of alcohol!

Sisyastik recoiled in fright:

— It can't be! I only had a glass of champagne… Well, two! But at midnight… It can't be!

— Silence, — I hissed. — What are you allowing yourself?! Showing up for work drunk and naked! Lying to the principal's face!

— I put on a jacket, — she stated clearly. — No one saw anything.

— Didn't see? — I feigned surprise and recoiled. — Well then, convince me.

Sisyastik watched warily in silence.

— So, you're teaching a lesson. Here's the board in front of you, — I nodded at the human evolution poster hanging on the wall. — Kindly approach and show the top edge of the board.

She silently walked over and, raising her hand, touched the top edge of the poster, fortunately she was on ten-centimeter heels.

— No, — I smirked, — let's recall the real board dimensions. Touch the nail!

Sisyastik sighed and stretched out in resignation. The little jacket crept up, exposing, as before, her gluteal folds. I was immediately beside her and began spanking them from below—one, the other, one, the other:

— And what's this? What's this? What's this?

After a second of confusion, Sisyastik covered her little buttocks with her palms:

— PalPalych!

— What, "PalPalych"? I don't have a mirror to show you what the class saw! Had to do it this way… Now bend over!

— PalPalych! I didn't bend over!

— But you dropped the chalk, — I threw a pen at her feet. — Come on! Pick up the chalk!

— I won't, — she shook her head and breasts.

— Stop arguing! You dressed like that, now work like that!

Throwing a resigned glance over her shoulder at me, Sisyastik began to bend over on straight legs. The little jacket crept up, the skirt too. Freezing, the girl decided on a trick: she squatted down and reached for the pen. I lunged at her and pulled up the little jacket. Oh, yes! The narrow skirt slid up her thighs almost to her waist, revealing a delightful pink ass, crossed by two thong strings.

— That's what the class saw!

Sisyastik jumped up and turned to me furiously:

— What are you allowing yourself?!

— Me?!! What are YOU allowing yourself?!! Showing up like this! What are you, a prostitute?! Fine, you're a prostitute, but this isn't a brothel! This is a gymnasium!!! Open the jacket!

— You… What do you… — Sisyastik gasped. — I'll you!… I'll you!..

— Open it, I said!

Grabbing her by the hands, I yanked her towards the wardrobe with the mirror door, so Sisyastik could see herself full-length, and with a sharp movement (buttons flew off) tore the jacket from her shoulders, leaving it dangling on her elbows as if tying her hands behind her back with the jacket.

And I gasped in admiration.

Sisyastik's huge tits strained the thin transparent fabric of the mini-dress, slightly decorated with a guipure pattern on the bodice, and transitioning under the coquettish chain belt into a velvet semblance of a skirt. Through the fabric, the insanely delicate, lacy, transparent brown bra was perfectly visible. Through it, her nipples were clearly dark.

— Look at yourself, — holding her elbows from behind, I whispered in Sisyastik's ear. — You look like a prostitute… Your breasts are showing through. This one! — I grabbed her huge, tender left tit. — And this one! — grabbed the right one with my other hand. — This one! — squeezed and lifted the left. — And this one! — squeezed and pulled the right one forward. — This one! And this one! And this one! — I was already yelling, kneading and twisting her breasts.

Sisyastik threw off my hands and turned in righteous anger, not even trying to cover her provocative bumpers. Now she'll deliver a noble rebuke to my sexual harassment and slam the door. No, we can't allow that.

Stepping back, I leaned my ass against the desk and, crossing my arms on my chest, said in a completely different, calm and businesslike tone:

— Korovkina, I'm firing you.

Sisyastik's eyebrows parted, the wrinkles on her forehead smoothed, her open mouth went from angry to frightened.

— But since I can't find a math teacher before summer, — I continued, — I'm firing you in four months.

Emotions froze on her little face, reflecting the thought: "Seems not all is lost."

— All this time you'll be slaving for me without bonuses, on bare salary.

Sisyastik's face twisted into a mask of horror.

— And since, just as I can't find a worker before summer, you can't find a job before summer, you WILL toil for me for pennies.

Sisyastik was ready to burst into tears.

— Because, — I finished off the girl, — your choice is: either draw formulas in class, or suck dicks on the highway.

Sisyastik's eyes filled with tears. She rushed to me, trying to reach out her hands, but her hands were tied behind her back by the jacket!, and the girl fell to her knees before me:

— PalPalych, darling! Forgive me! Please! Have pity! I won't do it again!

I remember, one already crawled around here: a blonde intern showed up for work vulgarly made up, and I called her "on the carpet." True, that one was smarter: falling to her knees, the intern immediately grabbed my buttocks with her hands and buried her face in my crotch, and realizing I wasn't against it, skillfully pulled out my cock and gave a tasty blowjob. True, I still didn't hire her: bony and with no tits to speak of.

Well, then, I'll have to explain to this one.

I sighed:

— I don't even know…

Sisyastik looked at me pleadingly and sniffled. I leaned back and pulled out the cherished desk drawer. For a couple of seconds, I thoughtfully chose from the devices laid out on crimson velvet, then decided to do without frills today and took out simple handcuffs, a leather seven-tailed whip, and a thin long rod with a leather paddle at the end. With widened eyes refusing to understand anything, Sisyastik watched as I laid out this set before her.

— I'll have to whip you.

— What?… — she babbled.

So, the moment of truth. Everything I've done so far could be brushed off. Now I have to cross a line, and the future is unpredictable, up to criminal liability.

Did I imagine that under the fear in her eyes looking at the whip, a haze of excitement was swirling?

Not letting myself doubt, I slapped Sisyastik.

Gasping, she sat back on her heels and, pressing her burning cheek to her shoulder, stared at me uncomprehendingly.

— Repeat what I said.

— What?…

I hit her on the other cheek. Sisyastik squeezed her eyes shut:

— I didn't understand!

Growling, I began slapping the girl's cheeks with my open palm, and she couldn't cover up, because her hands were still tied behind her elbows:

— Didn't understand?!! Are you stupid? Answer, are you stupid?!

— No! — she squealed. Tears sprayed from under her squeezed eyelids.

— You're lying! — I kept hitting her face. — You said yourself you don't understand! So you're stupid! Answer, are you stupid?!

— Yes! — Sisyastik squealed.

— Full answer, you bitch!

— I'm stupid!

— Completely stupid!

— I'm completely stupid!

Grabbing her by the hair, I threw back her head and began slapping her neck and tender, bouncing breasts with my palm:

— And what are you, stupid, doing in school, huh?! What the fuck did you come here for?!

— I work here, —