Doc Cherry’s Rules


(Continued from A Shower Interrupted)

Propped on three pillows, Jenni stretched out on her bunk. Her honey streaked hair, now dry, framed her face and glasses as she pretended to read the book in her hands. There were about a dozen women about, reading, tidying, dressing, coming and going-probably none aware of what was about to happen. At 25 Jenni was the oldest on the team and had come back to play with the semi-pros who headquartered at the Academy under her old coach.

For a while it had been fun, playing the game she loved as a kid for money (if a pittance) and it wasn’t like she had anything else to do the job market being what it was. But the tedium and rules that Max Cherry had in place for the girls of course rankled her. He only knew of one way to coach, whether it was teens or women.

Only once in her scholastic career had she been told to “prepare herself” so she knew what it meant. Bare from the waist down, on your stomach with a pillow under your hips-splayed and displayed- as it were. Many times had she walked to her bunk past girl’s tightly clenched bum cheeks waiting for the visit from Dr. Cherry. The humiliation of waiting like that was as bad as the caning for some. Almost, anyway.

This time though, she had decided to push back a little, as she had been for the last couple of weeks. If quizzed, she wouldn’t be able to say why she was pushing, which frustrated her, but here she was, in T-shirt and sweat pants lounging on the bed nervously glancing up every time the door opened. Did she think he would let her slide? Did she doubt he would walk through that door at any moment? And if he did how would she react? How would he?

She was so caught up in her thoughts that she didn’t notice Max Cherry enter the room. In fact, he was halfway to her bunk before she saw him carrying a rattan cane roughly the length of a yardstick and as thick around as her pinky. The moment she saw his face she knew she had made a mistake. To everyone else in the room-who parted from his path like flotsam before a steaming ship-he looked coolly implacable but she knew better.

She fixed him with her green eyes over the tops of her reading glasses trying to pull off a kind of disinterested glare. The attempt broke apart on the rocks of his burning dark eyes. She looked away quickly hoping to regroup.

“Is this the way you want to play it then?” He asked quietly biting off the words as he reached her bunk.

“No, I…” she blathered, not regrouping well at all. “I didn’t know when you…” She noticed that the women who had been quickly on their way to other places began to slow their paces. Began to linger-finding something interesting on the table two beds over, or at that moment thought of something to write in their notebook. Another moment and Dr. Cherry would raise his voice and tell her in no uncertain terms what to do and how to do it. She couldn’t abide thought of a lecture on top of everything else that was coming.

“No, no…you’re right”, she said quickly closing the book and laying it on the bedside table. Her glasses followed. “I…I should have been prepared for you. I’m sorry.”

Averting her eyes, she untied the drawstring on her sweats and lifted her bottom to slide them over her hips. She had at least had the sense to not wear panties. As she rolled onto her belly she had a quick glance of most of her teammates pausing for a moment. Impossible to tell, she thought with her face in her pillows, who would watch and who wouldn’t but she was betting there would be close to a capacity crowd.

This was the first caning Dr. Cherry had been forced to dole out this season and Jenni, though knowing her role, was not at this moment, happy that she was the main player in the act. She wriggled uncomfortably and revealingly to push her sweat pants as far down her legs as she could, then lifted to slip a pillow under herself. With a jerk, she felt her pants yanked all the way off. Hopefully it was Dr. Cherry doing the yanking and nobody else was taking part. She then, as so many had before her, held her legs as tightly as she could so as not to reveal any more than necessary.

“Alright Jenn. I don’t know how many I’m going to give you-but I want you to count, you understand?” By his voice he wasn’t talking to her, but to the team. Christ! Now she felt not only exposed and vulnerable, but humiliated and…frightened. She hated the thought of counting. Her idea had been to stoically take this caning-she was sure she could take the strokes without too much of a struggle-but didn’t know how she would be able to modulate her voice. If it….her thought process was interrupted by the first searing stroke dead center across her upturned bottom. “One”, she puffed on a gasp. “Two!” she said calmly if a little stridently when the second landed. Jesus! This was hurting more than she remembered.

She absorbed three and four by flexing her shoulders to offset the burning pain on her bottom and bit off the numbers tightly. Dr. Cherry could see that she was holding her breath between blows then heard the slight quaver in her voice when she said “FOUR!”

She wondered again how many were watching. She assumed some had walked away out of embarrassment for her, just as others were there watching in solidarity. She had not been the only one out drinking the other night and she was, in a sense, taking this for the team. And she knew at least two would be watching breathlessly with definite dampening between their legs.

Her stoic wall cracked when he delivered the fifth stroke to the soft bottom of her right cheek and she grabbed the pillows firmly in her fists. She fairly barked the number “FIVE!” and when the sixth burned into the soft flesh at the top of her thigh she yelped loudly without a number. Coach Cherry let it slide and delivered the seventh stroke in the same tortured spot causing Jenni to growl and almost roll onto her side. Instead, she pulled her knee toward her head as if beginning the first step in crawling up the bed and away from the lashing cane.

But she was going nowhere. The next stroke caught her high on the bottom and she bucked. Though it felt better to move her leg, all she did was open the whole of her bottom to the prying eyes of everyone behind her-something she cared nothing about at this moment.

She was pretty sure she wasn’t going to cry but not so sure she wouldn’t be a wailing kicking baby if this went on too much longer. Would she have to ask for mercy? THAT would be the worst. She felt the cane tapping softly on her almost untouched left cheek.

“No, no Jenn…come on”, He was saying gently. “Lay back over.”

She did as she was told. No need to pretend anymore, she gripped the pillows strongly the veins popping in her arms and lifted her bottom. Then next strokes fell hard and mercifully on the newly striped left cheek and she grunted for each. She took a breath and he, as if waiting for that, lashed the tip of the cane into the soft palp below her left cheek.

“YOWL!” she cried loudly and raised on her toes again exposing herself to any and all. Quickly, when she was up on her toes and exposed, Cherry swung hard and laid a stroke that reddened immediately right across her bottom crease which was now taking on the deep brick color of the building itself. She flopped back into place and tensed everything. Her muscles hardened from calf to finger as she tightened everything she could tighten.

That was it, she thought quivering. I can’t take another. Not one more stroke. She opened her mouth to ask for quarter-when Dr. Cherry spoke up. “What do you think team? Do you think she’s had enough?” Mouth still open she heard some murmuring and shuffling that she could only hope were nods of assent. Then she felt the end of the cane tap lightly down her thigh.

“Yep, you’re done, Jenni. Relax.”

With a sigh, she let her rigid body go lax.

“Give me your phone, Cheryl.” She heard him say. “I’m setting this for twenty minutes. You will lay here like this till then. Got it?” She nodded and listened as he walked out the door the way he came in. Once the door closed, women walked past and said things like good job-thanks for that-some just a tap on the calf. One, she could guess who, tapped her on the hip-chastely avoiding her bum. She felt Cheryl beside her before she placed a tube in her left hand. “A little salve”, she whispered. “It will take the sting out.”

“Thanks…” she whispered.

“If you want, I’d be happy to apply it”.

Jenni smiled and returned the pinky shake-the woman was incorrigible.

“Lift” she said gently and when she did, Cheryl pulled the pillow out so she could lie flat. Jenni felt the heat in her bottom radiate through her body and another warmth spread from between her legs. She allowed it to flow thickly from her as her body drifted away from where she lay exposed and marked to a warm quiet place. In moments, she was asleep.

When she next opened her eyes, the empty dorm was suffused with a late afternoon glow as the sun, lower now, filtered through the thick sycamore leaves outside the window. Dinner, she thought, pulling her face from the damp pillow. Someone, before leaving, had thrown a sheet over her and she felt a welling of gratitude until she sat up and placed her feet on the floor. Then she felt the burning on her bottom anew and wiggled before standing. She reached back to rub the weals gently.

“Damn, Max”, she said softly. She tossed her sweat pants over her shoulder and walked to the bathroom. Dinner sounded good, but it could wait. She first had to get something straight with Dr. Cherry.

A Maiden’s Tail


Continued from Something in the air…)

When the class bell rang, Susanna Potts hung back and allowed the room to empty as Mrs. Knapp gathered her slides and materials from the last class of the afternoon. Neither an athlete, scholar nor trust fund darling, it was easy to understand Susanna being unnoticed as she dallied next to the windows. Even so, this was her third class with Mrs. Knapp and she felt familiar enough…but…

Mrs. Knapp had gathered her materials onto the side table and was sorting them when Susanna approached from behind and cleared her throat, startling her.

“Oh…Potts”, she said surprised. “Thought I was alone.”

“No ma’am. Just taking it in”, she patted the book in her hand. “Good lecture today.”

“Why thank you Miss!” Carol Knapp smiled widely and mock-curtsied. Medieval English literature was her passion and finding new ways to engage a widely varying and ever changing student body was her specialty.

“So Gawain was one for the ladies, was he?” asked Susanna.

“Beware of modern interpretations”, she answered. “He wasn’t a “hound” by any means. The code of chivalry wouldn’t allow that but he was one of the only knights not bound by a particular maiden-as Lancelot was by Guinevere let’s say. But he was The Maiden’s Knight-though bound to none made him bound to all. “

“And being ‘bound to all’ was he bound to spank them all? With his sword?”

“Hah!” laughed the professor. “Never the maidens-at least I’d doubt it. I’d assume the serving wenches were fair game though. The allusion had more to do with his ability to flawlessly handle the sword than the way he’d handle a maiden.”

“I…don’t get it. Why would it be especially difficult to swat a maiden on the bottom?”

“The key would be to do no permanent damage. The broadsword, Potts, is longer than…this,” she said, snatching a yardstick from the chalk shelf below the black board. “And heavier. And razor sharp along the edges down to the killing point.” She wielded the yardstick in front of herself and pretended to slash in slow motion. “It was probably easier to deal a killing blow than to lightly slap a straight sharp broadsword on rounded bottom.”

“Hmmm…Let’s see…” Susanna placed her books aside and turned her back to Mrs. Knapp. “Show me how he would.”

“Why Potts”, the woman stammered. “Your skirt would throw off the blow.”

“Not to worry”, said Susanna quickly with a fluttery laugh that trilled a little. She reached back and pulled up her skirt-sticking her round bottom, tightly swathed in white cotton, back toward her teacher. “I just want to see how it….might feel…”

“And this would be a new feeling for you would it Potts?”

“Yes, ma’am. Just curious…”

“Uh huh. Alright Potts”, said Mrs. Knapp with a half-smile. “Let’s see-here would be the flat of the sword” she pulled the yardstick back with her wrist and snapped it lightly across Susanna’s panties.

“I didn’t feel hardly anything!” the girl protested.

“Well, this is just an illustration of…”

“Maybe it’s the panties”, the girl said quickly and before the surprised Mrs. Knapp could utter a word she had caught her thumbs in the waistband and pushed her panties down to her knees.

“There!” she said. “As you said, bare bottom.” She clutched her skirt tightly and bent a little further.

“Alright Potts, I think I see now.”

“See what ma’am?” she smiled looking back over her shoulder eyes afire.

“Nothing girl-stand firm.” Susanna froze as Mrs. Knapp drew back the stick and let fly a moderate swat.

“Yeouch!” Susanna squealed.

“Exactly!” said Mrs. Knapp.

“Now with the edge”, Susanna fairly gasped holding her position.

“Now”, said Mrs. Knapp, drawing back her weapon, “If he wasn’t careful…”

She aimed the second swing for the spot just below the light pink shadow left by the first blow. The stick bit into the soft flesh and Susanna squealed again, standing bolt upright clapping both hands to her bottom.

“Owww! That stung.”

“Indeed. Now imagine such a blow struck by a strapping knight with a 5 pound broadsword. You think that might create an impression?”

“Wow, I’ll bet…..” Susanna drifted off in thought absently kneading her warmed bum.

“Here now”, Mrs. Knapp tapped her bottom with the stick before replacing it on chalk shelf. “Put that away now.”

Susanna moved slowly, as if underwater, pulling up her panties and smoothing her skirt. She was flushed with a thin sheen of perspiration on her forehead and upper lip. The fire in her eyes had banked but still shone brightly.

“You know Potts, I’m thinking. You might benefit from some private tutoring on Sir Gawain.

“You think so?”

“Mr. Knapp is at a conference this weekend, so I’m going to be in the office on Saturday morning. Would you want to stop by around eleven and we could continue the discussion?”

“That would be wonderful, Mrs. Knapp.”

“Yes, maybe. Reread the previous assignment and come with notes on the relationship of Gawain and women…”

Susanna picked up her books and hurried toward the door. Her voice was high and trilling again. “Yes, ma’am. I will be there at eleven sharp. Thank you!”

Yes, finding new ways to engage a widely varying and ever changing student body was definitely Carol Knapp’s specialty.

Something in the air…

It was a strange morning at the Academy. Fitting perhaps for late autumn when the harvest was in the air and the moon shone so brightly that folks were drawn to the out of doors at all hours, leaving them edgy but sleepy at the time during the day. No, “edgy” wasn’t quite the word but it was something. Wandering the halls one could feel it….

In the sophomore art class, Diana Fame sat in the back only half listening as Professor Halverson, using a slide presentation, discussed the flow and colors in Rubens’ “The Head of Medusa” that they were covering that week. Diana instead, sharp red pencil in hand, had moved forward in the text to the nudes and was carefully shading Rubens’s beautiful large bottoms with a pink glow-accenting some with darker red stripes bisecting the milky globes.

She watched Halverson with his laser pointer and wondered what he would do to her if he found her defacing his text? Maybe she should sign her name she thought lightly, feeling a rustle in her breast.

Upstairs, in the senior hallway, Mrs. Knapp continued her lectures on “Sir Gawain and the Green Knight.” Susanna Potts, from her seat near the windows was almost entirely disengaged, allowing her eyes to wander out to the fields and surrounding woods when Mrs. Knapp, to illustrate the good knight’s swordsmanship, said “He was so deft with his sword that he could spank a maiden with the flat of his blade and neither slice nor nick her naked bum.”

There were twitters around the room and Potts shot her eyes front hoping to see such a thing illustrated in the slides. Not to be though-only a cheeky aside from Mrs. Knapp. From her angle she could see Mrs. Knapp’s profile clearly and imagined what it would look like-the flat of a blade slapping across her doughy cheeks. The thought of such a swat on her own naked bottom flooded her with a warmth that she settled back to enjoy, eye dipping to half-mast.

Further down the hall…

A Second Chance


(Takes place same day, across campus from The Intervention)

He was pulling his door closed behind him and didn’t even see her coming. “You’re in trouble there, Timmy”, she said brightly.

He jumped-startled. Chelsea Fisher, backlit by the glass door to the street looked almost bigger than life coming back onto the hall from a softball game.  She, as was typical, carried some of the field with her-dirt on her bare thigh and up the side of her tight shorts, grass stain on her other hip. The eye black that she wore on each cheekbone was smeared and glistening with perspiration. She enjoyed being an athlete and having an excuse to carry off the swagger that she came by naturally.

“Did we win?” he asked trying to move the conversation in a different direction. No dice.

“Found a half case of empties in your room this morning when you were in the shower.”

“What were you doing in my room?”

“You’re a two-time offender sonny. As the RA on this floor it’s my job to conduct searches when there are suspicions of the presence of alcohol. Freshmen! You guys weren’t even quiet last night!” She said this with a bit of a grin but held up her finger before Tim could defend himself. “And…I said not a word last week when that kid-the redhead…what’s his name…?”

“Randall. Randy Johnson….”

“Right! I said nothing when he stumbled down the hall from your room puffs of weed trailing behind. Let it slide…But last night. Again?” She leaned close enough that he could smell the peppermint gum before she poked him in the chest lightly with her finger. “I get the feeling that you don’t respect my authority”. The grin was still there but there was something else in her eyes. He had to look up a little to meet them and his breath was coming in small gulps. “So come on down to the room so I can write you up.”

“Dammit!” he said almost in a whine.

“Come on”. When she turned he saw that the grass stain on her hip bloomed across her strong bottom where his eyes fell. He followed behind like what he was-an errant schoolboy-happy that she wasn’t dragging him by the ear. But something in his mien felt right as he followed her, dragging his feet.

Chelsea slowed her pace but didn’t look back. She could hear him there, slinking behind. Good. He was following her. She never knew how far she could push the “authority” thing. That he had slid in obediently behind was a good sign. She lightened her step a bit.

They stopped in front of her door at the end of the hall. “Here”, she said tossing him her fielder’s glove so she could pull her key over her head where it hung on a shoestring. Hanging the key around her neck was retro as hell but it worked for her. Indeed, she had caught enough guys-and more than a few girls-staring at it nestled in her cleavage that she made it part of her wardrobe-changing shoestrings to match her clothes.

“Yes, by the way”, she said opening the door.

“Yes, what?”

“We won. Seven to three.”

“What did you do?” he said following her inside.

“Three hits-sliding catch in right. That’s where this grass came from” she rubbed her hip and slid her hand unselfconsciously over her backside. Tim’s heart fluttered a bit at that.

“What about that?” he asked pointing at the dirt on her thigh.

“That’s because I’m a klutz. Stumbled rounding first and had to scramble back. Totally embarrassing. Sit”, she pointed to a couch that took the place of a second bed in a room that should have been a double. Perk of being a Resident Assistant.

She took off her cap and shook out her blonde hair vigorously before pulling it into a loose pony tail. “Look at this mess” she grabbed a towel from the back of a chair and rubbed at the dirt on her leg. “Just dust but…what a klutz!” She shook her head seemingly smiling at the memory and turning, bent to pull out the lower desk drawer.

Tim watched every move with the rapt attention that only raging hormones could engender. He knew she was giving him a show and she knew that he knew-but it didn’t matter. By the time she sat at her desk with the infraction form he was beginning to thicken and sat back to try to get a little control of himself.

“Unfortunately, I know your name and home address by heart…” she said writing.

“This is going to be my third one…”

“Yes it will.”

“And my parents will find out?”

Diligently printing in the blocks on the form she didn’t even look up. “Oh, a lot of things happen. A letter on the Dean’s stationary to your parents. The letter in your official file. The implied threat of expulsion or suspension…”


“Serious stuff.”

“Chelsea. Please.”

She didn’t look up from her writing. He found he was gazing at her thigh then shook his head quickly to snap back to the business at hand.

“Come on…” he said again-more of a plea this time.

“What? What am I supposed to do? You’ve been so blatant about what you were doing. Some kids sneak stuff-we know that. But you are right out front.”

“Come on Chel. I thought we had an understanding”, he said more of a wishful thought than anything.

“What understanding? I caught you, I wrote you up. I caught you again…”

“Classes are killing me. I’m just trying to bust loose a little. This…isn’t who I am, Chelsea. It was just….I don’t know. First time being on my own…Trying to see where I’d fit in….

“Isn’t this the same speech you gave me three weeks ago? Are you going to tell me about your parents mortgaging the house or something to get you in here? No-I’m finished with your rap.”

His face was pleading and his eyes were bright. Now it was her heart that was pumping a little harder. For the first time she thought this really could happen and it brought a tickle down below. Of course her arousal was edged with the fear of not knowing how he would react, but the uncertainty of the path she had laid out was a big part of the fun.

“Please Chelsea. I…I don’t know you really but…”

“Hopefully you’ll be around next semester to get to know me better.”

“I can’t get…You can’t do this.” He said dejected. “You can’t.”

“Watch”, she said-continuing to write moving in for the kill.

He stopped and sighed. “Look. I’ll do whatever you say that doesn’t involve a letter or a report.”

The words fit cleanly into tumblers in her head and turned. Just like that, she knew that she had won her second game today. “Alright. Enough.”

“Enough?” he asked.

“My closet”, she said nodding toward it.


“Go open the closet.”

He stood uncertainly and went to the closet. “Open it”, she said again.

She pretended to be finishing up the form and heard the door open.

“What?” he asked. She looked up and saw two blouses hanging on a hook. “Idiot!” She said to herself, then aloud “Behind the tops.”

He pulled them back to see a paddle hanging on a hook. That’s exactly what it was-wasn’t a bath brush, not a hairbrush-nothing that could be mistaken for anything else. Not the long decorative ones he had seen Greek pledges carrying around either. A sturdy round nasty piece of wood with a rubber gripped handle.

“No way”, he said still staring at it.


“No fucking way….”

She shrugged and went back to the form.

“Chelsea! Come on….” She continued writing.

“I’ll need your signature on this.” She looked at him clear-eyed and held out the pen as if the other conversation wasn’t going on.

His belly went cold remembering his last spanking-which was also the first one he could remember. He was much too old for it-thirteen and in the seventh grade. His parents were on a cruise and had his aunt-his mother’s younger sister-staying over to “keep an eye on him.” Aunt Karen was only about ten years older than he was and had just started teaching at a high school one town over. He guessed he was testing her and stayed out two hours past curfew. When he finally got home she was waiting for him in the living room with a hairbrush and no amount of pleading could convince her not to use it.

Chelsea was saying nothing but he felt her staring. “You just can’t”, he started then stopped. “I can’t just let you paddle me.” He sounded completely deflated. Like he was sickened by the idea.

Dammit! she thought she had him. She felt a trickle of sweat on her back. The more people she came to with this proposition who turned her down, the more the chance she’d get busted. That someone would tell. So far she had spanked two girls on the hall-this was her first time trying a boy. She squeezed the pen so he wouldn’t see her hand starting to shake.

Even at thirteen he had been bigger than Aunt Karen and could have refused her; strong enough that she couldn’t have forced him. But he didn’t. And for a while he wondered why he hadn’t. He blamed it on the anger in her eyes, but there was something else there that he couldn’t unravel then. But he did remember clearly laying over her lap on the big living room chair and feeling the sting of the paddle through his jeans. All through it she never stopped scolding him; how he scared her, he was her responsibility, he had to respect her…on and on. He had the feeling then and later that she was just saying whatever came into her head to justify what she was doing.

He couldn’t remember how badly it hurt when it was happening but he did remember wishing, face down and hands on the floor, that she had made him take his pants down. That was all he could think about as she kept whacking him and lecturing him. He even thought about stopping her-calling a time out-and volunteering to take them down. For years he wondered how she might have reacted-what might have happened then. She must have seen something in his eyes when she let him up-more likely felt something through his pants-that made her look away from him. Her face had been flushed and her forehead glistened when she told him to go to bed.

Hard to imagine she couldn’t figure out what he did when he got to his bedroom-when he finally got his pants down to rub is burning ass. Then it hurt-she had packed a wallop. But only his left hand was on his butt as he lay there in the darkness. The right was otherwise engaged.

The next morning Aunt Karen was gone to work when he came downstairs but had left the cereal out and a note that she would be back that afternoon. And when she came home she said nothing about the night before. Nor did he-then or ever. Through countless family dinners, holidays and birthdays, it was never mentioned again.

Chelsea suffered a little in the silence between them. She was about to laugh it off; that had always been her backup plan to pretend it was a joke. She had opened her mouth when Tim beat her to it.

“OK”, he said, almost whispering then coughed. He had forgotten to breathe. “Anything, as long as you’re not writing…me up…”

She put down the pen.

“One thing though”, he said.

“No conditions.”

“It has to be on the bare. I have to take my pants down and lay over your lap”, he said in that same half whisper.


“It was probably the wave…”


Found on Tumblr…

Continued from “Ten it is then…

Gwen Smythe stepped to the left and, measuring, placed the stick gently across the middle of Bethany’s rounded bum. The girl twitched at the touch. “Shhh…settle…” Ms. Smythe cooed as she might to a skittish pony. “And don’t clench-that’s actually worse.” Bethany felt the smooth cool of the wood touch the middle of her bottom and linger. She felt is slide back and forth lightly as if marking a spot-then it was gone. She gritted her teeth and didn’t have to wait long. She heard it whipping through the air before it struck with a loud CRACK.

Bethany let a sibilant hiss escape her tight lips when what she really wanted to do was yell: “OW-OW-OW-OW-OW-OW-OW-OW” and dance across the room because the first blow bloomed into a burn like a wasp’s sting. Two wasps! One on each cheek. She gasped as another followed quickly and tried to move without moving-bringing her knees together then apart-lifting on one toe, then the next.

Another burned into her bottom up high and she wriggled side-to-side; anything to help dissipate the burn. She pushed backwards and met the stick half-way then leaned further over her hands. Nothing was really helping-the target was too clearly in range and Assistant Dean Smythe was apparently expert in the task.

Halfway through her sentence a swat bounced hard off of her sit spot and she bolted upright-or as upright as she could while still keeping her hands-even if only the fingertips-on the desk as instructed. When she stood her butt cheeks tensed like two hard dimpled apples. Ms. Smythe stepped back to allow space between her and her bucking charge and let fly with two cuts across the bum, one dipping to the top of her leg to a loud “ooooo!” that Bethany couldn’t hold in. A hop, then another, higher hop.

“Ok, Ok…” Ms. Smythe said gently placing her hand on the girl’s shoulder. “Settle down, settle down…lean back over…” Bethany choked on a sob that she wouldn’t give full voice to and bent back over the desk. Two tears splashed onto the polished wood surface.

She froze when she felt the other woman’s hand on her backside gently outlining the marks where the last two swats had landed. Gwen Smythe’s fingers felt ice cold against the burn, lifting her right cheek, surveying the damage on her sit spot.  Bethany held her breath trying to come to a reconciliation between the burning sting of the paddle and Ms. Smythe’s cooling touch. “This isn’t too bad…” she said. Then touching another spot allowed that, “This will leave a bit of a mark, I’m afraid. That’s your fault, all that jumping around.”

“I’m sorry, Ma’am. I didn’t…”

“Shhh…quite alright. Those were hard.” Then after a pause as Bethany steeled for another swat, she heard, “You play sports, don’t you?”

What?  Was she actually asking that? Was it small talk now?

“Yes, Ma’am” she said slowly, holding her voice as steady as she could. “Lacrosse.”

“Great game! All that running-you’re in shape.” She felt a light pat on the left cheek. “Firm bottom.”


“Well, back to it. You have three more and I expect you to stay in position. Do you understand?”

“Yes ma’am.”

She dug her fingers into the desktop and gritted her teeth. The next stroke landed softly-not even a sting. She had to be measuring-setting her up for the big finish. “Soften your cheeks,” she ordered. “You’re tensing.” Bethany did as she was told and held her breath. The two more that followed were the same patty-cake. Pat-Pat.

“That’s it”, Ms. Smythe announced and backed away. “You’re done. Feel free to pull your pants up.”

Bethany bent awkwardly and slipped her heart undies then her trousers up. With a quick snap and buckle she was done. The Assistant Dean was holding a tissue when she turned to face her. “Now that wasn’t so bad, was it?” she asked as she dabbed at Bethany’s damp cheeks and eyes.

Bethany almost grinned sheepishly. “It was sorta bad. First time, I guess. Last time, I hope.”

“Well maybe, after this afternoon.”

“This afternoon?”

“I’ll see you back here at three.”

“At three?”

“Really, you know nothing do you? It’s the last day of the month-everybody who’s earned themselves a paddling that month comes back at three on the last day-for a reminder.” She was still holding the paddle and gripped it in a way that left no doubt about her meaning.

“But, that’s not fair”, Bethany gasped, feeling she might cry again.

“Maybe, maybe not. But effective. We have very few repeat offenses here since I took this desk. You might want to find time to change panties though…before coming back. There will, of course, be others here.”

“How many?” Bethany whispered between gasps.

“Eleven or so, I think. Amy knows for sure….six boys, five girls….Maybe the reverse…”


“Not to worry, silly. We split into two groups. No one sees anything that they wouldn’t see in a locker room, right? Better hurry off now-get to class. I’ll see you later.”

Bethany hurried out the door and was halfway across the outer office when Amy spoke up. “See you back here at three then? Wouldn’t serve to be late.” There was a tone to the voice that Bethany didn’t like. She turned to say something and the girl gave a foppish, four finger “Toodle-Loo” wave and smirked a smile. “See you later…” she sing-songed.

Stepping into the morning sun, the heat rising in Bethany’s cheeks had nothing to do with pain, embarrassment or helplessness. It was, she felt, a righteous anger that pushed those bothersome concerns to the back of the room. That little bitch! Later she would think it funny that she had no real ill feelings for AD Smythe at that moment but that all of her ire settled on the smarmy little secretary. She stopped her furious striding at a bench near the top of the quad. She flopped down and immediately lifted, reminded sharply by the sting in her sit spot to go gently.

She sat mostly on her left cheek and scrolled through her text messages. There it was. The last text Dean Jackson had sent her when he left. She hadn’t been in contact with him-figured she would let him enjoy his sabbatical knowing he had to be back for commencement. But this…this was special circumstances. And he had, after all, invited her to reach out if she ever needed anything.

She began furiously thumb typing.

To be continued….

“Ten it is then…”



Lifted from “Across My Lap” on Tumblr

Continued from “Ms. Smythe will see you now“…

The AD was standing at the window behind her desk reading from a folder, her back to the room. “Sit”, she said without turning around. Bethany did as she was told, slowly lowering herself into the soft leather chair in front of the desk still limply holding the two almost forgotten envelopes in her hand. Her stomach churned when she saw the paddle lying on the side table. She turned her head quickly away as if-like a bad thought-ignoring it would make it disappear. That seldom worked.

Ms. Smythe turned with a small smile and, closing the folder, plopped it onto the desk. “Impressive Miss Flowers”, she said. “Your work here has been exemplary. You will leave here with the highest honors and recommendations.”

“Yes…” Bethany said nervously. “Thank you…”

“But”, she continued walking around the desk to lean her slim backside against the table, “I have to say, you have a surprising number of write-ups and comments about your particular lack of….attention to detail, shall we say? Particularly as it applies to schedules and work being done on time.”

“Yes Ma’am. I know….I…”

“Almost as if you are willfully disregarding the most basic rules we put in place here.”

“Oh, no Ma’am…”

“Are you staging your own little protest against what you feel might be…arbitrary guideline?”

“Oh, no, Ms. Smythe…it’s not that. It’s just that…”

The AD cocked her head slightly to one side in anticipation of an explanation she was pretty sure wasn’t coming.  After a moment of uncomfortable silence she went on. “I do see that AD Jackson never punished you at all for any of your infractions.”

“No Ma’am”, Bethany said meekly. “He said he would…”

“He did threaten you with a spanking?”

At the very word an icy chill spread through Bethany’s belly.

“Yes ma’am”, she said head down.

“But he never did.”

“No ma’am”.

“Well, I must say that there is a part of your education that has been lacking.”

“I have to be honest, when I first saw your file, I took you for one of those girls. You know?” Ms. Smythe looked hard at her. She didn’t know. ”But you’re not. You’re not one of those who like it…who are looking for it. I can tell. There are enough of those let me tell you. And the boys-I swear-worse than the girls. They would plot and devise different things they could do-manufactured misbehaviors as it were-to find themselves bent over my desk. Or in some cases over my lap….They would ask for that…”

She pushed away from the table and picked up the instrument and Bethany’s heart sank. Was this really going to happen?

At first glance it looked like a yardstick but even Bethany, who knew little about wood, could tell that it was made of sturdier stuff. Oak most probably. There was a leather wrapped handle on one end and a loop where it could be hung from a hook. And there were no lines or calibrations on it. No, this tool was designed to leave marks, not measure them.

Ms. Smythe had a bit of a faraway look in her eye and a smile tickled at her lips. Holding the stick at rest at her side she went on. “And the most unlikely too. The captain of the soccer team-almost asking for a spanking when I was about to let him off…” Gwen smiled to herself at the almost slip of the tongue which would have changed the whole story. But Bethany was only half listening-trying to imagine Jim Thomas, the captain of their soccer team, with his carefully feathered blond locks lying bare-bummed across Ms. Smythe’s tight lap. It wasn’t a picture she could quite make right now. But even in her near frantic state, she filed it away to ponder later.

“You like?” she asked. “The dean at my last posting gifted me…” She brandished the stick in front of her like a swordsman hoping to catch a glow of sunshine off the blade. “It’s very effective” she mused almost to herself as she patted the wood sternly into the palm of her left hand.

Bethany’s heart raced and seemed to jump into her throat at the soft smacking sound coming from the assistant dean’s hand. How was she going to stand this? Her eyes burned and without willing it, a tear tumbled from her left eye and traced a streak down her cheek.

“A tear?” Gwen looked at her with a little concern. “Bethany, buck up. I mean my punishments often bring tears but usually after-or during-not before.”

She rubbed her eyes quickly with the back of her hands. “I’m sorry Ms. Smythe. Didn’t mean it….I’m just…”

“Shhhh…” Gwen’s cool citrusy smell, filled the space between them as she gently cupped the side of Bethany’s head…”Don’t worry about it, it’ll be okay. A trainer at the gym I used to go-who would devise the most torturous routines and workouts- said you can stand anything for three minutes. Right? This won’t take much longer than that.”

She stepped back. “Let’s get on with it then. Do you want Amy to come in?”

“Amy?” asked Bethany, confused.

Ms. Smyth nodded toward the door. The little blonde at the desk. “A witness…?”

“Oh, God no!” Bethany blurted understanding. “I mean…no. Not necessary…”

“If you were younger it would be required…but we’re both adults here.” She shrugged. “Very good, then. Stand here…”

She pointed to a spot about a foot in front of her desk. Beth pushed herself out of her chair and shuffled forward on leaden legs. Thank heavens she didn’t have to walk far-her knees were actually shaking! At this moment she actually wished she might have been paddled before so she wouldn’t look like such a piker now.

Of course, she knew of other girls who were paddled and otherwise punished in her years here. She had even seen evidence in the fading welts on Karen Britton’s backside in the locker room after lacrosse practice one day. The sight-even the quick glance that it was-had set fluttering crows lose in her chest. The vision of Dean Jackson, her mentor through the four years here, putting her over his lap or over the desk never had even struck her as a possibility. Maybe that was the problem. Had he taken a firmer hand with her would she have so easily blown off the deadlines that had brought her to this? Betcha Karen Britton never missed an assignment deadline after that one time! If that was even what had caused her to be striped like that. Her mind was racing with too many imponderables and unanswerables. She was brought back to the present by Ms. Smyth’s voice.

“Ok-and your hands will go right here”, she said tap-tap-tapping a spot on the desk with the stick.

She didn’t have a terrible voice-not a harpy-but definitely not to be trifled with. There was a firmness in her tone-and her bearing. Bethany leaned over and placed her left hand on the desk and was putting the right down when Ms. Smyth stopped her.

“Oh, I’m sorry Bethany. You’re new at this. Trousers please.”


“This stick is rather a licky piece but even with me swinging it, it doesn’t make as much of an impression through khakis. Trousers down please.”

Bethany looked back to find a hint on the woman’s face that she might be joking. That she really didn’t mean it. There was no such message writ there. Maybe her eyes showed a tiny glint of bemusement but her jaw was set. Bethany had to drop her pants.

She turned back to the desk and with shaking hands unsnapped and unzipped. They were tight enough that they wouldn’t fall so she slid them down slowly and carefully not to pull her panties with them. Oh GOD! Her panties!! All she had left in the drawer this morning were the…

“Cute”, said the AD with a smile, beholding the white panties splashed with bright red hearts of every size the largest emblazoned on the twin round cheeks. “And not even Valentine’s Day.”

“I’m sorry Ms. Smythe. I’m between washes and these were all that I had…”

“Not to worry. This isn’t one of those schools that you read about with “regulation knickers”. I’m happy you’re wearing them. You don’t know how many girls go without panties…not my cup of tea, I’ll tell you.”

Bethany was settling back over the desk trying to get used to the idea of standing here in her undies when the assistant dean’s voice chilled.

“Look Bethany. I’m trying to give you the benefit of the doubt here because this is your first. But really. You are going to get ten swats on your bare rear. You should know how to take it. When called to position you should lower your trousers AND your panties and bend over for chastisement. Without my having to coach you every step of the way.”

Bethany stood back up nearing a panic. “…But…” was all she could get out.

“I didn’t make the rules and you not knowing them is not my problem.” Ms. Smythe took a small step closer and Bethany, looking slightly downward, again noticed that she was taller than the assistant dean. Not really an advantage right now. “I’m going to give you ten swats across your bare bottom”, she said icily. “And if you don’t get those panties down now it will be twelve and believe me, you won’t enjoy the last two.”

“NO!…No…I’m sorry”, Bethany stumbled her eyes filling at being scolded like this. “Really Ms. Smythe”, she said turning her back again. “I meant nothing. Like you said I didn’t realize…..I’m sorry really.”

With that she hooked her thumbs in the elastic and slipped the panties down too hurriedly scraping a pink ribbon down her hip with a thumbnail. Once cleared of her fulsome bottom they fluttered to join her khakis in a pile at her ankles. Before they settled Bethany was bent over the desk-back rod straight-staring at the books on the shelves.

“Alright then…” she heard Ms. Smythe say a little gently and relaxed as much as she could hearing the change in tone. “Ten it is then.”

To be continued…


“Ms. Smythe will see you now…”

Sepia Strokes Across my

From “Across My Lap” on Tumblr

(Sorry, this is a re-post. There was a glitch that had to be cleaned up in the first go-round).

Bethany glided along the walk toward the administration building. That’s how she felt-glideful-if there was such a word. If not, light and breezy would suffice. “Ooops, Sorry!” she said tripping out of the way of two freshman hustling to class. Glideful-not graceful. She smiled and regarded the youngsters in their rush-heads down, books clutched to their chests. She remembered that feeling-that fear of being late-of missing the last assignment. Happily that was behind her by a few years.

It was less than a month until final commencement and most of her tough work was finished properly and behind her. Most; not all. She was holding the final two assignments now-past deadline enough that she had to turn them into the Assistant Dean as these professors had left for the semester. Her bad luck. Had they still been on campus she could have pushed the papers over the transom, as they say, and not have to meet the new AD. She had an 8:30 meeting for which she was, of course, late.

Really, why had Dean Jackson, her mentor, professor and confidant through her four years chosen this month to start his sabbatical? He’d be back for commencement surely, but she wished she was facing him this morning rather than this new AD. And a woman at that. She hadn’t seen her around campus yet but had seen her posted greeting on the campus Intraweb.

She slipped through the administration building’s open door as someone else exited and took the wide marble steps to the second floor two at a time. She was pressing for time not wanting to be too late for Professor Major’s History of Agriculture class. God! What a bore-but electives count on the transcript too. She opened the frosted glass door that still read “Assistant Dean Phillip Jackson” and stepped inside the AD’s outer office.

Amy Prynne, the new AD’s new assistant, looked up from the computer screen as she entered. Amy was an Academy Alumnus who had worked at a few postings across campus-primarily over in finance. A small woman with a silver pixie cut, she seemed pleasant enough but Bethany had never had a conversation with her. “Good Morning”, Amy said cheerily. “Bethany? Right?”

“Oh-yes”, Bethany said, taken off guard a bit that Amy knew her name. She hesitantly reached her had across the desk which Amy rose to shake once. “Flowers”, she said. “Nice to meet you.”

“Of course”, Amy agreed. “And you…I’m Amy…”

“Yes…I’ve seen you around.”

“Of course. Yes.”

Amy sat again and continued to look up at her with a wide smile that came and went then came back again. “Oh”, she said. “We had you down for 8:30…”

“Yes…I’m sorry. I was running a little behind this morning. Is that OK?” A few uncomfortable seconds passed while Amy consulted the computer in front of her. “Shouldn’t be a big problem.” She nodded toward the inner door. “Someone jumped in before you…Shouldn’t be too long.”

Bethany became conscious of voices coming from the inner office. “Oh-alright. I kind of thought I might just be able to leave these with you.” She held out the two final papers each in its properly addressed envelope. “I’m running a little late, you see. For Professor…”

“Yes, History of Agriculture. Really-I had that one. How do you stay awake?” she asked conspiratorially with an almost-wink. “Just have a seat-AD Smythe will see you in a moment.” She turned her full attention back to the screen clearly dismissing her. Bethany withdrew the proffered papers and sat-dismissed-on the worn leather sofa where she had idled so much time waiting to see AD Jackson who had served as her advisor for the first two years on campus.

With a nervous look at the clock on the wall-no way she was going to make the bell for Ag Hist-she reached for the new copy of Academy Life on the coffee table to leaf through.

Suddenly the inner door opened at there stood Assistant Dean Gwen Smythe. She looked younger than she did in the posted Intraweb picture. There she was wearing a proper blazer and a prim turtle neck. Here she had on an oxford blue shirt open at the neck and what looked to be dark slacks. The door wasn’t open wide enough for her to be sure. Her shoulder length blonde hair cupped her face in the photo but here was pulled back in a loose pony tail. “Amy?” she said to her assistant before noticing Bethany on the sofa. “Oh hello-you are…?”

“This is Bethany Flowers.”, said Amy moving past her into the office.

“Oh, of course, Bethany.” Her face froze toward a greeting smile, “You’re a little late this morning.”

“Yes Ma’am…I’m sorry. I….”

“No matter”, the AD waved at her. She appeared ready to say something else but then settled for “I’ll be with you in a moment….” As the door closed Bethany saw another girl standing in the office. She was facing away so she couldn’t tell who it was-just a flash of tartan and a white shirt. The informal, formal uniform. Had to be a freshman.

She sunk back into the leather cushions. Something was off, she thought.  She was expecting a little “run-by-drop-off” informality but she was on everyone’s schedule it appeared. Had she been? Did she really set a time when she called? And not only on everyone’s schedule but late by everyone’s schedule. A few butterflies flittered about in her belly as a cool shadow inexplicitly fell over what had been an unseasonably and perhaps unreasonably pleasant morning.

She looked at the clock nervously then back to the magazine in her hand. She began to flip the pages when she heard it-quick and distinctive-from the inner office.

“Crack!” The sound startled her so that she dropped the magazine to the floor. “Crack!” came the second lick.

Oh dear God! She thought, jumping up. The butterflies doubled in number and size-flying through her chest now. Bethany had never been spanked at school. Not once in her four years at The Academy. She didn’t think that was so unusual. She was sure many girls got through without feeling the cane, or the paddle or even the firm hand on the backside but she didn’t know many that had her fear of it. When girls spoke of it, she left the room. The first and only time AD Jackson had mentioned corporal punishment in passing she had almost cried.

On the third swat from inside she heard a little cry and she grabbed at herself. She had to pee! She ran to the washroom behind the desk and realized that it was closer to the inner office and she could hear the sounds better from there. The fourth and fifth swats landed closer together and the answering cries got a bit louder. Then the sixth with a loud report and the poor girl on the receiving end broke into sobs. These were not the muffled swats made when a paddle hits skirts. No, this was the clear, sharp crack of wood meeting bare skin. She nervously turned on the water to muffle everything and sat on the toilet even knowing she really didn’t have to go.

Quite illogically she looked about for a window where she knew there wasn’t one. Then she thought about the door-out, make a left then out, then out back into the sunshine. More swats landed answered by cries and sobs all overlain by AD Smythe’s distinctive but indecipherable voice. Sitting there on the loo Bethany put her fingers in her ears, closed her eyes and hummed. She breathed to calm herself; tried to look at her situation rationally. Whatever was happening to that unfortunate freshman had nothing to do with her. She was weeks from graduating with honors. Just settle yourself, she thought.

After a few moments she looked up and popped her fingertips out of her ears. It had gone silent. She rose and turned off the water. The inner door-then the outer-opened then closed. She looked at her face completely flushed in the mirror and splashed a little water on her cheeks. She patted with a hand towel and stepped back into the waiting area.

Amy was back behind her desk with her wide smile. “Oh, there you are…We were afraid you’d run off!”

“No….no…I had to…”

“Of course, yes”, said Amy breezily. “Ms. Smythe will see you now.”

To be continued….

The Tempest-an Academy Story


Jim Curran looked back over his shoulder at the board behind him. Yep, that last bit on “The Tempest”-how viewing a character as a man or a monster was entirely dependent on perspective-was how he wanted to finish the lesson. Granted, it’s a simplistic reading but opens the subject for a discussion next week.

He looked out over the heads of the class as they bent to the task of finishing the notes. This is the class he looked forward to and really built his week around. All graduate students, a few working at agencies or successfully free-lancing, but still carving time out of their busy schedules to hone their craft at The Academy.  Mr. Curran’s class was sought after and challenging and most students in here required no extra motivation to do good work.

“Very good then”, he said, satisfied that most were finished with their notes. “Would you all pass last week’s assignment forward please?” There was a flurry of rustling as the papers were passed. He scanned to see that everyone was sending something forward. His eyes settled on Judith Volmer, who without looking up took the papers from the girl behind and passed them forward adding nothing to the stack. “Oh don’t tell me…” he thought. In a class of motivated high achievers, Judith was the first among equals. This woman, at twenty two she was a woman, had been published, traveled into the city regularly on assignment but…

“Judith? Did you turn a paper in?”

The girl sat there head down-drilling holes into the desk top with her eyes. “I…I don’t have it.”

There was a sudden stillness in the room as all seat shifting, paper shuffling seemingly even breathing, stopped.

“You didn’t bring it? You forgot it?” Mr. Curran asked helpfully.

“No”, she answered quietly. “I forgot to do it.” She clasped her right hand over her left as that was the one that seemed to be shaking the hardest. She had to form every word individually and deliver them one at a time between the flutters in her chest.

He cleared his throat and looked down at the record book open on the podium in front of him as if it will tell him something he didn’t know. But there it was-missed assignment last week-and two weeks before that. They all had discussed the penalties for infractions-really almost as a lark-no one in this class would be guilty of any infraction.

Jim Curran allowed his gaze to wander out the window. Some of the other girls looked down-out in the hall-out the window with him-to somehow avoid eye contact with anyone, but most of the eyes in the room were on him. He could feel them. It was his move.

“Ok Judith. You know, I guess, that I have to paddle you now, right? This is three times and the term isn’t half over.” She looked up-her eyes were glassy but not full-wide but not wild. She nodded almost imperceptibly. “Yes, I know…I’m sorry.”

“Yes, I’m sure. I am too…but there is really nothing I can do here. You put yourself in this situation.”

“I know…I’m sorry…”

“Ok”, he said uncomfortably. “This is the first time we’ve had to do this, so I guess we should get some ground rules established. Everyone knows what’s going to happen here right? No need to belabor it.” He looked around to find most of the girls still avoiding eye contact. His eyes rolled across the two empty seats by the windows. Happily, there was a baseball game today so that the two boys who were normally in this class were out on the diamond. It wouldn’t have changed what was going to happen, but it certainly would have changed the vibe in the room.

Mr. Curran rose from his desk and rolled the podium out of the way. He went to the supply closet, opened it and took out an oak yardstick from the hook inside the door. “Jesus!” thought Judith, looking quickly away and flushing hotly. The sight of the hard, shiny wood that she had never seen before pushed some hard reality into the fantasy that was playing through her mind.

He brought the yardstick back to his desk and sat again, holding it in his right hand as with a pointer-for emphasis. He didn’t seem to be in a real hurry to proceed.  “The question is”, he said “we have fifteen minutes left in the class. Do we do it here during class so everyone can be a witness? Or would we rather do it after class with just Judith and me? And maybe one other person for a witness.” He was thinking this out as he went. “I’m not sure.” Then, almost as an aside “I never thought I’d need to think about it for this class.”

“So”, he said, pointing the stick over the class, “Let’s vote on how it should be handled. Judith, put your head down please. Don’t look. Ladies? Should we do it now-in front of everyone? Or later, after class. And remember, how we vote now will determine how we do it all term. Show of hands-who thinks we should do it now.”

Judith’s stomach roiled as she listened to the rustling of hands raised and lowered. “And who”, Mr. Curran asked, “Thinks we should do it later. In private.” She held her breath, listening for clues in the movements that she couldn’t hear. There was a pause that seemed to last a minute but couldn’t have.

“Very well”, he said. Then another agonizing pause while she held her breath. “Judith, come up here please.”

Oh, no. She suddenly and completely regretted all of her decisions today. She rose slowly and glanced tentatively around the room-any of the girls who caught her eyes looked immediately away. The walk to the front of the classroom left like the longest she had ever taken. Halfway up she touched a finger onto Laurie Wilkes’ desk, as if to steady herself, and Laurie squeezed it in a tight little show of support. “Jesus”, thought Judith. “Laurie doesn’t even like me. What have I gotten myself into?”

Judith had set this little play in motion a few weeks before when she hadn’t turned in the first paper. That had been a mistake-she had been late to class and missed the assignment. Then, last week, after finishing her assignment she wondered what might happen if she didn’t turn it in on time. It turned out nothing happened. Mr. Curran gave her till the next day to turn it in.

Now, dragging her feet on trembling knees to the front of the room her mind flashed to the finished paper in her bag. She had left herself an out until the last possible moment. She had finished the paper two days ago. It was good-very good in fact-and she had planned to turn it in with everyone else. She thought she would turn it in. Right up to the moment when she didn’t. She knew there was no way she could pull it out now having pulled everyone into her little drama. She was past the point of no return.

Mr. Curran removed his jacket and lay it carefully over the podium. He then unbuttoned and rolled up his sleeves as if he were about to take on some physical labor. Judith, flushing pink and breathing lightly-in tiny gulps-was standing before his desk.

“Alright. Bend over and put your hands and elbows on the desk”, he said tapping the glossy surface with the stick. She did as she was told and her hair fell around her face. “May I…” she looked back over her shoulder…”my hair.” “Go ahead” Mr. Curran said from behind her. He was on her left-he was right handed-is what popped into her mind.

She pushed her hair over to the left and tucked some behind her ear. In her periphery she saw Ellen Simms, who sat in the front most corner, watching her intently as if wanting to catch every detail. Hope you enjoy the show, Judith thought. Finished, she placed her arms back on the desk. She heard a movement and felt her skirt being lifted off of her bottom and folded up over her back. Thankfully she had worn a new pair of white panties that hugged her snugly and, she was sure, made a good presentation. Still, feeling the air caressing her bare legs and knowing that fifteen pairs of eyes were centering on her bottom was almost as titillating as it was mortifying.

Jim Curran had decided to do his job. He glanced away from Judith’s firm bottom to the girls in the class. Some were watching closely-some were looking out the window or at the floor. He knew what they were feeling; what they were thinking though. Judith was the best of them and if she could be up here in this position so could they. He guessed that was the whole idea behind this spectacle.

He touched the stick to Judith’s bottom and reared back landing the first swat with a loud CRACK! across the center. Any sound Judith made was drowned out by the collective gasp of the room. He swung hard with the second and hit slightly below the first. Judith squeezed her eyes shut and held her breath behind gritted teeth. Jesus! She didn’t think it would hurt THIS much. She choked out a gasp as the yard stick landed once, then again, across the fleshy bottom of her cheeks digging into the top of her right leg leaving bright pink florets in its wake.  She extended her fingers and brought them back into tight fists-making any movement to help somehow allay the burning on her backside and to stop herself from reaching back and rubbing her bum like a child.

From behind, Jim could see the welts that were crisscrossing her bottom through the sheer white of the panties. He knew the classroom could as well. “So girls”, he said turning back to the room. “I’ll wager all papers will be in on time and complete from here on, right?” He was answered by a few quick “yessirs” and a ferocious and general nodding in the affirmative. “Alright then.” He turned back to the matter at hand. “Judith-six more, then we’ll be finished.”

“SIX!?” thought Judith. She was expecting six over all. Then ten. Now an additional six? “Are you ready?” Curran asked. No she wasn’t ready for another six! For the first time her eyes burned and she knew she would cry. Her voice betrayed her-so she nodded once slowly.

“Alright then”, he said again. Christ, she thought, put it on a T-Shirt.

She tensed for the next swat which landed hard across the top then a couple more in the middle. They burned but, truthfully, were not nearly as strong as the first ten. “Push it back out Judith”, he said as she had begun to straighten, trying to pull her bottom in, out of the line of fire. She arched her back and presented fully. As if suddenly regretting not pulling her panties down and paddling her on the bare focused his attention for the last three swats on the bottom of her cheeks where they blossomed out of the soft elastic.

The first swat there was a like a wasp sting and the second like a charcoal. She raised on her toes and coughed out a little mewling whimper which was the first sound she had made. Without realizing it her elbows had come off the desk and she was again close to standing. He let it go and smacked her the last as she bucked down and back again, settling.

“Alright then”, he said repeating what everyone now knew was a nervous tick. “You can get up now, Judith”. As she stood, he handed her his handkerchief which was clean, folded and ironed. “Thank you”, she whispered dabbing at her cheeks as she returned to her desk. As she sat gingerly, her skirt offered little protection against the wood of the chair rubbing her bruised sit spots. From behind, Karen Boehm rubbed her back as she finished dabbing at her eyes not really hearing the assignment that Mr. Curran was giving. Judith knew that Karen really wanted to rub something other than her back but that was OK. She just liked the feel of support right now.

Then the three tones that signaled the end of class rung out and everyone shuffled as quickly as they could toward the door and out what had suddenly become a very small room. Karen touched her should going past-“Let me know if you need anything….” Judith nodded and lingered at her desk till everyone was gone. Then she walked slowly up to the front.

“Are you alright?” Mr. Curran asked, having put his jacket back on.

She nodded gamely.

“Do you have the paper?”

“What? Paper…”

“Don’t bullshit a bullshitter. Did you bring the paper?”

She pulled it out of her bag and sheepishly placed it on his desk. “I’m sorry.”

“No harm done, except of course to….” He nodded toward her bottom.

“Right…it’s OK.” She was suddenly blushing hotly.

“Listen-don’t do this again. Interrupt the class like this.”

“I won’t!”

“If you need this kind of attention…motivation…see me in my office outside of class time. And we’ll deal with you there.”

“Like this?” she asked.

“Other girls do.”

“Others do?”

“Get to class now.”

She walked out of the classroom, her head spinning at the thought.

Mt. Ashby Academy-“Punishment is lost on this one”

Featured image

“Colleen, your time has come…” Marianne smiled as she took the girl’s hand and walked her toward the couch. Colleen’s cheeks were flushed an impossible pink and a thin sheen of sweat glistened on her forehead. She gnawed at her lip, her belly in turmoil as she let herself be led-her eyes focused nowhere but straight ahead. Numbly she stopped when Marianne stopped and watched the woman sit in the middle of the long deep brown leather sofa and put the paddle near the pillow at the end.

She tentatively peeked over her shoulder to see Alex leaning against the edge of the desk, her arms crossed tightly. Though her expression was passive, she too had some color in her cheeks betraying a little of the rush she was feeling in her chest. So glad Marianne is here to do this, Alex thought. She doubted she could keep her hands from trembling if she took Colleen across her lap.

“Come on now…” Marianne pulled gently. The girl placed her left knee on the sofa and lowered herself slowly across the woman’s corduroy clad lap. Once settled, she pulled her right leg up and was in position, almost happy to have no more to do. She grabbed the pillow-soft, dark and velvety-and buried her face in it. She shivered slightly as her skirt was lifted and laid across her back.

“Oh to be in my twenties again”, thought Marianne eyeing Colleen’s bottom. Even lying across her lap it thrust upwards strong and firm in a way that seemed to defy gravity. The woman patted the girls’ panties gently and glanced over at Alex who returned a nod and a slight smile. With that, Marianne lifted her hand and struck the first blow-really a finger slap across the right cheek.

Marianne’s hand was firm and the swats landed hard equally on both cotton clad hemispheres. A couple extended over the panties at the bottom and stung the bare skin of her upper thigh; a precursor to what was coming. Colleen wriggled a little but said nothing during this warmup knowing it was going to get worse. Then it did. The spanks stopped falling and Marianne shifted slightly. Colleen felt the woman’s fingers in the elastic of her panties and dug her face deeper into the pillow. “Lift up dear”, said Marianne sweetly and Colleen did.

The cool touch of air on her warm skin was offset by the exposure she felt as her panties stretched across her thighs. “May I please have the paddle?” Colleen snatched it off the couch beside her and handed it back. “Thank you”, Marianne said. “I’ll leave it right here for a moment”, placing it on her back. Marianne lifted her arm and brought the hardest swat of the session flat onto the girl’s bare left cheek watching a deep pink handprint materialize quickly from the pale.

“OWWW!” she cried, muffled into the pillow.

“Finally”, Marianne mouthed to Alex who had taken a seat on her desk and was smiling comfortably.

There was another sharp swat that forced a sharp gasp then two more, lighter ones near the bottom of her cheeks. “I think it’s time for Mother’s Little Helper”, Marianne said, lifting the paddle off of her back. Colleen copped a few shallow breaths during the little pause and, without almost realizing it, began to wiggle on the woman’s lap. The cease-fire wasn’t a long one though as Marianne stung her firmly with the paddle once, then again quickly. “Ouch! Ouch!” Then “Ouch!” again as she lifted her face out of the pillow and whispered a harsh “OOWWW!”

The paddling was a long one but not a harsh one. Marianne, who could deliver the wood with the best of them, was slapping with the paddle-mere flicks of the wrist that served to stoke the heat in Colleen’s almost entirely uninitiated backside. But Colleen had a secret that she had kept hidden for years; a secret that the two women in the office might already know or would know soon enough. The secret that had kept her so obsessively avoiding any corporal punishment over the years is that as each successive smack landed on her already warm bum, the heat seemed to travel directly between her legs. Each swat-especially those down low and centered-vibrated down deep into her and set her clit buzzing like a tuning fork. She had known this since the paddling she got in 7th grade and it scared the hell out of her. She feared losing control to the sexual lather that she knew any punishment would bring on. That THIS ONE was bringing on!

She heard the swats landing and felt their impact-felt their heat-but has ceased feeling any real pain. It was as if the pain that should have been boiling her bottom was being tossed into the air like so much kindling by the waves of her passion. Her eyes stung as she began to give into tumult coming from below.

Her cries were no more yelps in answer to swats but whimpers and moans in answer to her own internal urges. Her wiggles were not so much to avoid the paddle but to better position her vulva against Marianne’s lap. The older woman paused and put down the paddle so she could slide the girl’s panties all the way off. “I’m afraid the whole idea of punishment is lost on this one…” Marianne said.

“It would appear so”, said Alex getting off the desk and moving closer to the sofa.

“Put your right foot on the floor, dear”, instructed Marianne gently pushing Colleen’s legs apart. The girl did as she was told, opening her bottom cheeks and everything between them to the room. She shifted slightly on the lap to almost straddle the woman’s knee and dug her toes into the floor pushing her mottled red right haunch backward.

Marianne made use of the target presented to her and smacked-bare handed now-both cheeks allowing her hands to contact, but not linger, inward and below. The girl had given all modesty over to the rush from her womb and had begun to moan lowly as she rode the tip of knee that the woman gave her.

Alex reached out and stroked her secretary’s dampening head…”Colleen, Colleen, what are we going to do with you?”

Colleen turned her flushed and tear-streaked face back toward her boss-who had only recently become her lover-and said with as much of a smile as she could muster…”This would be fine…like this…”

Mt. Ashby Academy – The Chancellor

Girl's Boarding School

Girl’s Boarding School

Continued from Mt. Ashby Academy – Part 3

Alex Tao stood frozen looking at the doorknob just out of reach. All she had to do was take a step, turn it and leave the Chancellor and his cane behind. The chill in her belly blossomed and spread up and down…

She spoke through clenched teeth. “What do I have to do?”

“Do you want me to bring Marianne in?”

She shook her head.

“Well, you know the drill, don’t you? You can hang your blazer over the back of the chair there.”

She kept her eyes down as she doffed the jacket-not so much out of embarrassment but to conceal the burning anger that she feared would burn out of her eyes. She had put herself in this position, she knew. She had given him the upper hand. Dammit! It would be so wrong for Colleen to have to deal with this…better to just get it over with.

“The desk”, he said almost impatiently tapping the cane on the wide polished walnut top that seemed to extend forever. Stepping into place she remembered miserably the bruises that were fading but still visible on her backside. Nothing to do about it now but she wasn’t giving it up easily. She stood silently with her back to him and began to lower herself into place.

“Uh-uh”, he said. “Slacks please.”

“I just thought…”

“You thought wrong. This will be on the bare-just the way you and Colleen deliver them.”

Without any outward emotion she unsnapped her slacks and pushed them down over her hips to slip to the floor. Not wanting to wait to be told-nor having him do it himself-she slipped her thumbs into the elastic of her panties and pushed them down as well. They didn’t go as easily, rolling across her cheeks and catching at the bottom but finally sliding down her legs.

She felt the gooseflesh rise on her nakedness as she stood facing the desk.

“Well, well”, he said eyeing the faint bruises on her bottom. “I see the rumors are true.”

“What rumors?” she asked without turning around.

“Come on, Alex. This is a small campus…But whatever. You and ‘your secretary’ are consenting adults-whatever you do is officially fine as long as it doesn’t impact Mt. Ashby.”

The hot coal of anger that had burned in her chest broke a bit and settled miserably into her belly and then, further down. Her mind swam back to times when she and Colleen might have been overheard…maybe when she might have been seen coming to her home. Nothing wrong in that…not in that alone…God, how could she have been so careless?

“Bend, please”, the chancellor’s voice interrupted her tortured reverie.

She focused on the surface of the desk as she lowered herself slowly. She knew that even with her legs together, her cheeks spread to give him more of a view than she would have wanted. She stopped when her palms and elbows were on the desk and focused on a dark brown whorl in the grain right below her nose and waited. She felt him positioning behind her then a quick swishing sound.

The first slash bit deeply into the sweet spot at the bottom of her cheeks leaving a harsh red weal in its wake. “Very nice”, he said, admiring her stoicism. There were two more before she revealed anything and then it was only a sharp gasp.

“No need to be the strong soldier”, he said brightly. “Marianne knows what’s going on in here. You can cry out if you’d like…”

“I’m fine”, she gritted through her teeth.

“OK, just don’t bite your lip off or anything silly like that”.

His next cut was the hardest, searing her exactly across the middle of her bottom.

“Owww…” she whispered almost whimpering. Her eyes stung with the realization that she would not be able to hold back. The last thing she wanted to do was cry in front of this bastard but she felt the tears welling. Two more strokes dug into the bottom of her right cheek and she coughed and rose on her toes unhappily exposing herself.

Once she settled back onto her heels she yelped as two more struck soundly across the top of his target then another along the bottom. She was ready to burst into tears when he paused and she felt his hand-his fingers really-stroking along the welts on her tight backside.

Funny. He had made her strip and bend over his desk. He had whipped her with a cane. He had looked deeply into her asshole and happily let his gaze wander over the spread lips of her womanhood has she writhed across his desk, but she didn’t feel violated until his hand touched the suffering skin of her bottom.

“Wallace”, she said firmly turning to look over her shoulder.

“What?” he said huskily, pulling his hand back quickly as if bitten. “I was just checking this…”

“Never mind”, she said turning her head back facing front. “Just finish what you were doing.” The tears that were in her eyes fell unbidden onto the desk surface, but there would be no more. The anger bloomed back into her chest burning away any tears.

She reacted not at all to two more rather perfunctory strokes that landed high then he said, “That’s enough.”

Alex stood stiffly feeling the ripples across her bottom move and tighten. Now it was her turn to do the awkward bend and straighten shuffle of pulling up her slacks and underwear. The exercise was made that much more difficult because her panties had rolled themselves inside out when she took them down. She had to stand half bent, legs apart straightening them under the unceasing gaze of the chancellor watching every move she made.

“Oh no-of course. Go forth and sin no more.” He smirked.

Again, she was just at the door when he said, “Would you have Colleen report to me tomorrow morning?”

The icy fingers gripped her again. “Colleen? Why?”

He was finally laying the cane aside; placing it across his desk-not away.

“I just want to have a conversation with her…get to know her a little better. She is of course, about to be granted tenure, correct?”

Alex opted out of speaking fearing her tone might reveal something. She didn’t know what exactly but this was one of those times when silence seemed the best course. She turned the knob and stepped into the outer office. “I’ll expect her here at 8:30. Sharp!” She closed the door on him and was passing Marianne’s desk when the older woman handed her a tissue. Her eyes had a clouded look to them that Alex had never seen.

“We’ve got to do something about him.” Alex said simply.

Marianne simply nodded.

Across town, in the big green house, Camilla was working her hips against her brothers probing fingers which he worked both inside of her and along the outside of her vulva. “Please”, she gasped, “Do it Phillip.”

He had already slipped his shoes off and, at her command, quickly slipped out of his pants and underwear in one practiced movement. He spread her legs wider as he knelt between them and stroked both oily striped cheeks of her bottom before grabbing her hips and pulling her backward as he thrust forward. He entered her wet pussy deeply and easily as she moaned loudly.