Danielle, Part One:  Danielle Gets Her A
By Sonofjack,sonofjackwell@gmail.com
A new teacher meets a very special student


This is the first of a new series of stories I'd like to write about a hot,
young strong girl named Danielle. However, readers, I NEED YOUR HELP! While I
have a couple of ideas for future Danielle stories, I NEED MORE! So, I'm
asking you readers to email me and let me know what direction you'd like to
see future Danielle stories go in. My email address is sonofjackwell@gmail.com

So, read the story, and let me know what you'd like to see happen next. If I
like your idea(s) I just might put them into a future story.

I was new at this school and I was still learning the ropes. Yes, teachers are
nervous about starting at a new school too""especially
brand-new-fresh-out-of-college teachers like me. In a way I was very lucky to
get a teaching gig like this in the middle of the school year. On the other
hand, I have to believe that the transition from student to teacher would have
been a little smoother if I had come in at the beginning of the new school
year.

As it is, I was asked to replace a science teacher who suddenly retired in the
middle of the school year. He didn't even wait for the eight week grading
period to end. He just suddenly announced his retirement and left leaving the
administration of Benjamin Franklin High School in need of an immediate
replacement. Luckily for both us, I was available.

The downside is, I've been put into more or less a sink-or-swim situation. So
far I've been able to dog paddle my way through. But there are still things
about this school that I don't know.

Because of that, I was a little nervous on the day that my first report cards
went out. As I said, the previous teacher left suddenly at the end of the
sixth week of an eight week grading period. That means that I've had to
balance grades earned under another teacher with the grades the students have
earned since I've been here. Since the other teacher was here for six of the
eight weeks, I've given the average earned under him three times the weight of
the averages earned since I've taken over.

In addition, in cases where I noticed a drop-off on the grades earned since
I've taken over, I've given the students in question the benefit of the doubt.
That seemed like the only fair thing to do since some students were still
adjusting to my way of doing things. For the most part, the old grades have
been pretty consistent with the news grades, so I was satisfied that I had
handled things appropriately.

That's why I was a little surprised when Danielle Thorn walked into my
classroom during my last period prep time and announced that there was a
problem with her report card.

"What's the problem?" I asked her.

"I didn't get an A," she said as if her getting an A was a foregone
conclusion, and I was a little dense for having to ask.

"I'm sorry, Danielle, but you simply did not earn an A in this class," I
explained.

"Earn? Mr. Jenkins, I always get A's in all my classes," she said firmly as if
I had somehow missed the memo.

The truth was, I DID notice that under the old teacher, she not only got A's
on all her tests and other assignments, but that they were all one hundred
percent A's. However, in the two weeks since I had taken over, she had barely
passed two tests and hadn't even bothered to hand in her other assignments.
When I averaged her old grades with the new ones, even with her previous high
performance, her overall average came out to a C. However, figuring that she
was still adjusting to my teaching style, I gave her a B on her report card. I
explained all this to her, and told her that in good conscious this was the
best I could do for her.

Throughout my explanation she looked at me with a look that was equal parts
bored and skeptical. Finally she said, "Look, I ALWAYS get A's in ALL my
classes. Don't you understand? Just give me my A so I can get out of here."

I thought her attitude was very strange. She clearly expected to get an A even
after I explained to her why she didn't deserve one. I had a feeling that
there was something I wasn't catching on to. Finally I asked her, "What makes
you think you deserve an A, Danielle?"

"Well, for one thing, I deserve an A for the way you stare at my ass every day
when I leave this class," she said nonchalantly.

I guess now would be the time to explain that Danielle Thorn was a stunningly
beautiful girl. She was about 5'5", with a slender waist, perfectly
proportioned breasts, incredible ass and long, shapely legs. Her pleasingly
roundish face consisted of a small, slightly upturned nose, full, natural
bee-sting lips which were inevitably colored with pink lip gloss, and her
almond-shaped eyes were the loveliest shade of blue-grey I've ever seen. She
always wore a lot of dark make-up around her eyes which is a look I don't
usually go for, but she managed to rock. Her slightly longer than shoulder
length hair was dark brown with blonde highlights that caused her hair to grow
lighter as it grew longer. Furthermore, her hair always had that shaggy, fresh
out of bed look, and her bangs seemed to constantly threaten to impair her
vision. More than anything she reminded me off a bustier, sluttier, more punk
rock version of Rory Gilmore. That is to say, she really was pretty much the
total hottie package. She was one of those young women who managed to somehow
look like an innocent and a temptress at the same time.

The truth was, I did stare at her spectacular ass almost every day when she
left my class. I'll even admit that I looked forward to it. One of the things
they don't really talk about when you're taking your college education courses
is how to deal with the fact that if you're a healthy male heterosexual,
you're bound to be physically attracted to some of your female students. This
is only natural. Plus, being fresh out of college, I was teaching high school
at the young age of twenty-two.

When you take into consideration that Danielle was eighteen . . . . Let's just
say that it is certainly not unusual for an eighteen year old woman and a
twenty-two year old man to be dating. However, in this case, she was my
student, and I was her teacher. That was a gulf that most people consider too
wide to easily cross. Plus there was the barrier of her being way, way out of
my league. Under normal circumstances a girl that was as amazingly attractive
as Danielle wouldn't even speak to a skinny, nerd like me.

See, I was the proverbial ninety-pound weakling. While I actually weighed
closer to one hundred and twenty-five pounds, I was skinny and gangly and not
very well coordinated. Plus, I had poor vision. As one of my female college
friends put it, I looked like "a malnourished Gilligan with glasses". That
being the case, I was not exactly the most successful guy when it came to
women. I wasn't a virgin, but I was close to it. In other words, the female
friend who made the above assessment of my looks felt so bad when she realized
that she hurt my feelings that she gave me a pity-fuck. I didn't bother to
tell her until after that she hadn't hurt my feeling THAT much.

Plus, she did tell me that my schlong was a lot bigger than she expected.
Unfortunately she left school soon after and didn't spread the word among her
friends before she departed.

So, yeah, here I was talking to a young woman who normally would have made my
palms wet with sweat, explaining to her why I could not ethically give her an
A on her report card and she accuses me of staring at her ass every day. I was
tempted to say that I didn't stare at it EVERY day, but that seemed somehow
inappropriate. Besides, how did she know whether or not I stared at her ass?
Did she have eyes back there? So I asked her, "What makes you think I stare at
your . . . uh, that I do that?"

"You're a man aren't you?" she shot back.

"Well . . . yeah," I replied.

"Then you stare at my ass; all men do. Why not? It's a really fine ass." She
said this with so much self-assurance that it sounded like an inescapable
fact""one that I didn't doubt in the least.

"Look, Danielle, whether that's true or not," I said as she gave me a look
that told me that we both knew it was true, "That's beside the point"""

"Mr. Jenkins," Danielle began. As she started to talk she leaned over the desk
I was sitting behind giving me a tantalizing view of her ample cleavage. Her
exquisite breasts were not the biggest I'd ever seen, but they were larger
than most. Besides that, they were . . . just so . . . perfect. They were the
perfect size, the perfect shape, the perfect weight and the perfect firmness.
This I was able to deem after just catching a fleeting glimpse of them. I
didn't dare take a lingering look for fear that I would be struck blind by
their brilliance - the same way one doesn't dare look too long at the sun.

Danielle continued, "Don't you know who I am? All the teachers give me
straight A's in all my classes. Why should I make an exception with you?"

I found it hard to speak as my mouth and throat had instantly gone as dry as
the Sahara when she flashed her fantastic cleavage at me. Somehow, I managed
to choke out, "What makes you think you get to determine your own grade?" even
though I was pretty sure of the reason.

"Because I do," she said with a hint of menace. She was clearly losing
patience with me. Then she regained her cool demeanor and asked, "You really
don't know, do you?" Without waiting for my reply she said, "You're new here,
Mr. Jenkins. I guess you don't know how thing run around here yet. Before this
turns ugly, I'm going to give you a break. I'll give you a chance to ask
around about me. Once you understand how things work at this school, I'm sure
you'll give me exactly what I want."

Then, like a wisp, she was gone. She was gone so fast that I didn't really
have time to respond. Oddly enough, I almost felt like I should thank her for
giving me a chance to get it straight. At first I thought she expected to get
A's from her teachers - her male teachers anyway - because of her seductive
charms. But there was something about the way she asked "Don't you know who I
am?" that made me think that there was another reason why she thought she
deserved special treatment. I also wondered what she meant by "Before things
turn ugly."

Then it dawned on me that maybe she was just trying to pull a fast one on the
new guy. Whatever was going on, I decided to ask Mr. Couvillion. Mr.
Couvillion was a veteran teacher who had sort of taken me under his wing and
gone out of his way to mentor me. He'd been at Ben Franklin forever and knew
how things really worked around here. Since he and I shared bus duty after
school, I decided I would ask him what was up.

In fact, by the time I got finished talking with Danielle, it was time for me
to report to bus duty. I went outside and spotted Mr. Couvillion. It was still
a few minutes before the end of the school day so I figured now would be a
good time to find out what Danielle was talking about.

"Mr. Couvillion," I started, "This school doesn't give special treatment to
any of its students does it?"

"What do you mean?" he asked.

I thought that perhaps it wasn't a good idea to bring up Danielle's name right
off the bat so I came up with another example. "For instance, we don't hand
out passing grades to star athletes or anything like that, do we?"

"No on your life!" he replied. "We don't play that around here."

"That's what I thought," I said, relieved.

"Why, is someone trying to pressure you into changing a report card or
something?"

"Well, you know how it is," I said, "I'm the new guy so naturally at least one
student will try to put something over on me."

Mr. Couvillion smiled and asked, "What happened?"

"Oh, it's silly really, but Danielle Thorn tried to get me to change her grade
to an A. She acted like she had the right to whatever grade she wanted whether
she earned it or not. She even acted surprised that I didn't already know that
I was supposed to give her an A," I said ready to laugh the whole thing off.

When I looked back at Mr. Couvillion, his face had gone ashen. He avoided
looking me in the eyes and said, "Oh; I didn't know you had Danielle Thorn as
a student . . . . "

"What difference does that make?" I asked.

I'd never seen Mr. Couvillion look so nervous before. "Look," he said, "You
didn't hear it from me, but I think you'd be better off going along with
whatever she says."

"But why?" I asked almost not believing what I was hearing.

"It's just one of those things that no one talks about," he said mysteriously,
"But if you want my advice, you'll just give her the A and forget about it."

"But why?" I repeated. "Why are all the teachers willing to give this one
student A's that she doesn't earn?" I asked. "What makes Danielle Thorn so
special?" Mr. Couvillion looked at me like he was considering how much he
should tell me.

"It's just something that people don't usually talk about," he said anxiously.

"But how will I know if you don't tell me?" I asked.

Finally he started, "Look, you didn't hear it from me, but"""

At the moment the busses began to pull into the parking lot. That meant that
Mr. Couvillion and I were on active duty for the next several minutes and
wouldn't be able to talk about whatever it was right now.

When the last bus pulled away twelve minutes later, I surveyed the parking lot
and Mr. Couvillion was nowhere around. At first this puzzled me until I
remembered that it was Friday afternoon. He was always in a hurry to leave on
Fridays so that he could beat the Friday traffic driving home.

"What was he going to tell me?" I whispered to myself. Then I figured that
whatever it was, it could wait until Monday morning so I went to my car and
drove home to my apartment.

Boy, was I wrong.

So began my weekend. Generally speaking, my weekends were tragically
uneventful. I was new to the area and living in a crappy two bedroom apartment
in a small town where there wasn't much for a single guy like me to do once
the sun went down. My big thrill for most weekends was driving for an hour to
the nearest city of any size on Saturday afternoon and going to see a movie or
to a bookstore or the comic book shop. Sometimes I would even splurge and eat
dinner in a medium nice restaurant. Alone.

I spent most of Sunday grading papers.

I wasn't used to having visitors which is why I was so surprised when someone
knocked on my door around eight o'clock that Friday night. I looked through
the peephole and was beyond shocked to see Danielle Thorn's beautiful face.
For a few seconds, I considered not even opening the door. I couldn't see any
way this could turn out good. Then I heard her knocking at my door a little
harder and saying loudly, "Come on, Mr. Jenkins, I know you're in there; open
the door."

I decided that I might as well open it, but under no circumstances was I
letting her inside my apartment. When I opened the door, I was stunned to see
that Danielle was wearing a half tank top with a zebra stripe pattern that
looked like it had been painted on and a pair of very brief bikini bottoms.
Her feet were bare. This was all she had on despite the fact that it was cold
enough outside for me to see her breath.

"Aren't you cold?" was all I could think to ask.

She said, "I don't get cold," as she pushed her way past me into my apartment.

"Wait a minute, I didn't ask you in," I protested.

"Mr. Jenkins, I'm a pretty girl, and pretty girls get to go wherever they
please. Don't you know that?"

"But . . . But this is MY apartment," I said lamely.

She walked over to me, put her soft hand on my side of my face and said,
"You're cute."

I stepped back. It wasn't that I didn't like the way her hand felt against my
face because I did. I liked it a lot. However, suddenly, inexplicable I was
overcome by a feeling of fear. It wasn't fear that I'd be caught with a barely
dressed female student in my apartment. It was fear of Danielle. Some instinct
deep inside told me that I should be very afraid of her. Something told me
that she was the predator and I was the prey.

Danielle smiled at this. She could sense the fear in me. She smiled as if this
was the reaction she was used to getting from most people, and she liked it.

Despite my fear, I have to admit that Danielle looked spectacular. Her body
was even tighter and more toned than I imagined it to be. She looked fit
although not especially ripped. Her arms, legs and tummy looked soft and
inviting, and yet it was clear that there was a layer of hard muscle just
below the surface of her flawless skin.

She must have noticed me admiring her form because she pouted her lips
slightly and asked, "Do you like my outfit, Mr. Jenkins?" As she asked, she
did sort of a half turn and arched her back causing her magnificent ass to
extend a little. "Isn't that a fine ass?" she asked over her shoulder.

"Yes," I heard myself replying although the voice seemed to be coming from
somewhere else.

"You do stare at my ass every day when I leave your classroom, don't you, Mr.
Jenkins?"

"Yes," I replied. Then I caught myself and said, "Not every day."

"Well, it's alright with me if you do, Mr. Jenkins. You can look all you want,
but don't you dare touch my ass, Mr. Jenkins""not without my permission
anyway. That could be quite dangerous, Mr. Jenkins."

"I would never . . . I wouldn't . . . ," I was too dumbfounded to complete my
sentence.

"Oh, I know you wouldn't touch my ass without my permission, Mr. Jenkins. In
fact, you won't even look at my fine, sweet ass without permission from now
on. Do you know why?"

"Why?" I asked.

"Because after tonight, you'll be afraid of me."

I wanted to tell her that I was already afraid of her even though I wasn't
sure why. Some deep, primal part of me told me that Danielle Thorn was a
dangerous beast. I was as afraid of her as I was lustful of her. I wanted to
run and hide from her even as I wanted to feel her hot, sexy body pressed
against me.

"Do you know why you'll be afraid of me after tonight?" she asked.

"Why?"

"Because after tonight, you'll know how easy it is for me to take whatever I
want - from you or from anyone else."

"Why? Are you a karate expert or something?" I asked.

"No, I don't know karate," she said, clearly amused. She walked up to me
slowly, seductively and once again put her soft, delicate hand on my cheek and
said, "You're cute."

This time I didn't step back. Even though I was still scared I was too
mesmerized by her beauty to move. I wondered if this was the way a male black
widow spider felt just before being devoured by the female.

Danielle looked deep into my eyes and said, "But that's not why I'm here
tonight. I came here tonight to find out if you were ready to give me my A."

It took me several seconds to find my voice. Finally I said, "I'll be honest
with you, Danielle. You're the most beautiful woman I've even seen. I never
dreamed in a million years that someone as beautiful as you would ever be
alone with me in my apartment dressed the way you are and touching my face
like this. I would love to give you an A. I'd love to give you anything you
wanted, but . . . I just can't. It wouldn't be right." Even as I said the
words I cursed myself for my Boy Scout morality.

Danielle's eyes narrowed. "Didn't you ask around about me like I told you to?
Didn't anyone tell you about me and why I get whatever I want?" The way she
said it made it clear that Danielle was used to being obeyed.

I replied, "I asked Mr. Couvillion about you."

"What did he say?" she asked.

"He advised me to do what you told me to do."

"Good, I won't have to talk with him then," she said mostly to herself. Then
she turned her attention back to me. "So why aren't you following his advice?"

"He didn't explain why," I replied.

Danielle smiled a devilish grin. The light touch of her hand against my face
suddenly tightened to a grip under my chin. "This is why," she said as she
began to raise her arm, and my feet began to leave the floor. "I get all A's,
I get whatever I want, I run that school because I'm strong," she explained.
"I'm very, very strong."

As she extended her arm I rose higher until my feet were dangling several
inches off the ground. Although Danielle maintained a relatively light grip on
my chin, it still hurt to have my entire body weight supported by my chin and
neck that way. "Please, put me down," I begged the strong, beautiful girl.

"Do I get my A?" she asked.

Even though the pain was becoming more unbearable with each passing second, I
said, "I can't . . . wouldn't be right."

Thankfully, Danielle took pity on me and returned my feet to the ground. She
looked at me with a puzzled look. "You've got guts, you know that?" She seemed
surprised by this.

I stood there rubbing my chin barely able to maintain my balance because of
the pain. "If you say so," I said.

"You really do," she confirmed.

"If that's so, why am I scared shitless right now?" I asked.

"I said you had guts. I didn't say you were stupid," she explained. "You're
scared shitless because you're in the presence of someone who could easily
beat the shit out of you and will if you don't give her what she wants." She
didn't say this in a threatening way, exactly, but the way she said it made it
clear that every word was one hundred percent accurate.

Then her eyes softened a bit. "Mr. Jenkins, I like you. I don't want to put
you in the hospital, but I will. I just can't have you going around defying me
like this. If I let you get away with it, other teachers might think they can
get away with it too. Then where would I be?"

"Making the honest grades you earn like everyone else," I suggested
cautiously.

"But don't you see? I'm not like everyone else. I'm special. The rules don't
apply to me."

"I'll admit that you're special," I said, "But why do you think that the rules
don't apply to you?"

"I told you, because I'm strong. I'm very, very strong."

"But the rules still apply to strong people," I protested.

"Not to me they don't. I take whatever I want, and I always get my way," she
said nonchalantly. Then she added, "And by the way, if you contradict me
again, I'm going to have to punish you."

Falling back on my years of comic book reading I asked, "But haven't you ever
heard that with great power comes great responsibility?"

"Are you contradicting me?" she asked with menace in her voice.

"No, no, I'm just asking a question," I hastened to explain, "Please, don't
get angry."

She looked at me skeptically and asked, "What was that saying again?"

I cautiously repeated, "With great power comes great responsibility."

"Oh, yeah, that's from the Spider-Man movie, right?"

I thought about explaining to her that it was really from the comic book
Amazing Fantasy #15 that featured Spider-Man's debut, but instead I just said,
"Yes."

"Yeah, I remember seeing that. I thought that was stupid. You know what I
say?"

"What?" I asked.

"I say that with great power comes whatever the fuck I want."

I swallowed hard. "Oh."

"And right now, I want an A in your class."

I stood there paralyzed, not sure what to do. I wanted to give her what she
wanted. Believe me, I did.

Finally she said, "Mr. Jenkins, what's the big deal? Everyone else just gives
me what I want once they figure out that it's healthier for them that way.
What are you trying to do? Be a hero or something?"

"Everyone?" I asked, "Even your parents?"

"Of course," she said, "I took over at my house when I was twelve years old."

"How did you do that?" I asked.

"With this," she said and she began to flex her strong right arm. I watched in
disbelief as her bicep began to rise. I was correct in my earlier conjecture
that there was hard muscle underneath her soft skin. What surprised me was how
big her bicep appeared to be. It grew to the size of a softball. And somehow,
her muscle looked more dense and harder than normal human muscle.

She must have seen the amazement in my eyes""not to mention the lust""because
she flashed me a saucy smile and asked, "Would you like to touch it?"

"Yes, please," I answered before warily taking a step towards her. I carefully
reached up my hand and lightly touched Danielle's hard, sexy muscle.

"Go ahead and squeeze it," she said. When I squeezed it and felt how hard it
was, I knew that I was done for. I was so turned on that my knees felt weak.
Hell, my whole body felt weak. I could tell that there was more power in that
one muscle on her arm than in my whole body. I also knew that in that moment I
would give her anything that was in my power to give her.

"H-how s-s-strong are you?" I asked.

She leaned in and whispered seductively in my ear, "I'm stronger than anyone."

"A-a-anyone?" I asked her.

"Anyone!" she whispered. Something in the way she said it made me know that it
was true. My mind suddenly became filled with visions of strong men and weight
lifting competitions. In my mind's eye I saw Danielle - sexy, petite,
beautiful, amazing Danielle - easily defeating the various world champions in
these various strength sports.

"Does that turn you on?" Danielle asked seductively. "Does that turn you on
knowing that I'm stronger than anyone - that I'm much, much stronger than any
man?"

Hearing Danielle talk this way while I still had my hand on her big, hard,
sexy muscle was too much for me to take. "AAAAuuuckkkkk!" Just like that, my
knees buckled, and I fell to the floor and creamed my pants.

Danielle stood looking over me, her hands on her sexy hips. "You like me and
my strong muscles, don't you, Mr. Jenkins?"

I found this question to be strangely understated considering I was rolling on
the floor in almost a fetal position with my underwear and pants soaking wet
and stained with cum. "Yes, you could say that," I answered.

"And do I get my A?"

"Yes, Danielle," I promised, "Anything you want."

"Good. I'm glad that's settled," she said with a delighted smile that put the
sunrise to shame. "Listen, I'd love to stay and chat some more, but right now
I have to go find a group of football players to beat up."

"Why? What did they do?" I asked as I began to sit up.

"One of them said 'no' to me," she explained.

"But you said 'a group'," I pointed out.

"Yes, he thinks that if surrounds himself with six or eight of his big
football buddies it will save him. Silly boy!"

My mind reeled as I pictured this petite, sexy girl overpowering a large group
of much bigger boys. And yet I had no doubt that she could do it. Danielle
convinced me that she was everything she said she was. I felt myself feeling
sorry for the boys she was no doubt going to massacre later that night. As she
walked towards the door, I shouted, "Danielle!"

She turned around and smiled, "What is it, Cutie?"

"Don't beat them too badly, okay?"

"That's mostly up to them, Mr. Jenkins. If they go down and stay down the
first time, it shouldn't be so bad for them."

"Couldn't you just, I don't know, let them go this time?" I asked.

"Now, Mr. Jenkins, you know I can't let them get away with defying me. If I
do, then others will think they can defy me to. Then where will I be?"

"I see you're point," I said. The crazy thing was, I really DID see her point.

"Oh, and Mr. Jenkins."

"Yes, Danielle."

"You have my permission to look at my sweet, sweet ass as much as you like."

"Thank you, Danielle."

Just before she stepped out of the door Danielle turn back and said, "This was
fun, Mr. Jenkins, do you mind if I stop by your apartment some other time?"

"Would it matter if I did?" I asked.

"I suppose not," she said. "Let me reword that: I'll be stopping by again
soon. I'll let you feel my muscle again. Bye, now!"

With that, she was gone. If it wasn't for the soreness of my chin and the
dampness in my crotch, I might have thought the whole thing was a dream. But
it wasn't a dream.

That night I didn't sleep a wink. "She called me 'cutie'," I thought to myself
over and over and over . . . .

Okay, readers, what would you like to see happen next with Danielle? Email me
and let me know. And I have some questions about her that I haven't decided
yet . . . . For example, we know she's strong, but just how strong is she? Is
she really as strong as she says she is? And what about Danielle and Mr.
Jenkins? Are they just friends or should they become lovers? And does Danielle
have any other boyfriends? Or girlfriends? I've got some ideas, but nothing is
written in stone. I really will consider what you, the readers, have to say. I
can't promise that I'll go along with every idea sent to me, but I'll at least
consider them. And remember, you can't win if you don't play. So send your
comments and story suggestions to me at sonofjackwell@gmail.com