Dean of Discipline: Tales of Old-School Punishment

by Allen Bare

  Chapter Four

  "Kate," I said, looking hard at the young Assistant Professor of English, who sat squirming in her chair. "Do you really understand what you just said?"

  She was already blushing to the roots of her glossy black hair; she couldn't have gotten any redder if she'd wanted to. "Yes." She took a deep breath and steadied her voice. "I said it's partly my fault that Linda Walker was punished for plagiarism, and it's only fair that I should be punished too."

  "By whom?" I asked, though her intention was fairly obvious.

  "By-well, by you, I guess," she blurted out. "I mean, aren't you the one who's supposed to punish, um, transgressions?" Her voice sounded small and trembly again.

  "Well," I said, "yes, it is my job to punish 'transgressions,' when they're committed by students, and duly certified by the disciplinary board or the counseling office. But I don't have any mandate to discipline the faculty." (Thank God, I added silently, since most of them were middle-aged, lumpy, and male.)

  "But it would be fair," she said. "I deserve it." Apparently one could be abject and stubborn at the same time.

  "That may be," I said, "though, as I've said, I think you're exaggerating your complicity. But even if I thought you were guilty as sin, I couldn't do anything about it, as Dean, without overstepping the authority of my office in a pretty spectacular way. That could turn into big trouble for me, and quite possibly for you as well, if anyone found out about it."

  She looked at me. "So you're refusing to do it," she said dully. "I've made a complete fool of myself." Her lovely black eyes welled up, and tears began to fall. The pretty young professor scrambled awkwardly out of her chair, digging in her purse for a handkerchief, and stumbled blindly toward the door.

  "Kate!" I called quickly. "Come back here!" She stopped and turned around, dabbing impatiently at her eyes. "Come back and sit down," I said gently. "We aren't finished yet." Slowly, she complied. "You must see," I said, "that as Dean of Students I have no right or authority to pass judgment on the conduct of a faculty member."

  "Yes, but I've judged myself," Kate replied with a bit of spirit. "I'm only asking you to carry out the sentence, the same as you would if the disciplinary board had passed it."

  "The disciplinary board, as you know full well, never passes sentences on faculty members, however much they might happen to deserve it. Nor does the Dean of Students chastise them. It just can't be done."

  She started to rise, this time looking more impatient than abject. "Sit down," I snapped. "I'm still talking." She sat. "As I've just been explaining," I said, "I can't punish you officially as Dean. If, on the other hand, you wanted to ask me as a friend to help you deal with a problem, that would be somewhat different."

  Kate stared at me. "As a friend?"

  "Well, a new friend," I conceded. "I know our acquaintance is limited to about fifteen minutes of conversation at Zeb Kesselmann's reception. But they were very good minutes. I'd like you to think of me as a friend, if you're willing to. And as for helping out, if you had a room to paint or garage to clean out, I assure you that I'd be glad to come over and pitch in."

  "This is hardly the same thing."

  "Of course not," I said. "If your conscience won't be satisfied by anything less than an official punishment by an officer of the college administration, acting in his full academic capacity, I'm afraid I can't do anything for you. If, on the other hand, what you're thinking is that you need some reinforcement in a matter of personal discipline, perhaps a friend who's a little older and has seen more of the academic world might do."

  Kate pondered this suggestion for a moment. "Oh, damn," she finally said, though a little grudgingly. "It isn't exactly what I asked for, but I still think I deserve it, and I won't be able to rest easy until I've gotten it. Let's get this over with." She stood up.

  "Hold on a minute, Kate," I said. "I want you to take time and think this whole thing over carefully. I have no intention of punishing you here and now."

  "You haven't?"

  "No. Not now, not here, and not anywhere on campus, for that matter. As far as I'm concerned, this is not college business."

  I saw the momentary flicker of a grin. "What do you do, make house calls?"

  "Don't be flippant, young lady. If you want my cooperation in this matter, here is what you're going to have to do. First, sleep on it."

  "Sleep . . . ?"

  "That's right." I scribbled on a scrap of notepaper. "Then, if you still feel, tomorrow morning, that you want to go through with this, come to my house between ten and eleven AM. There's the address."

  Kate stared at the paper, then at me, then at the paper again. "I- I don't know if . . . ."

  "Fine. If you still don't know tomorrow morning, better not come."

  "What if it takes me longer than that to make up my mind?"

  "I'd say that would be a No."

  "Yeah, but-"

  "No buts. The window of opportunity closes at eleven sharp tomorrow morning. A big girl like you can get her mind made up by then. Now, if you don't mind, I still have a couple of things to do."

  Kate blushed, snatched up her purse, and left. All I really had left to do was to put the last report into a manila folder and leave it in Mrs. McCutcheon's In box for filing, but I waited until I was sure Kate had had plenty of time to get away before I turned out the office lights and departed. I saw that Connie's office was already dark; indeed, mine was the last car left in the parking lot.

  In my dreams that night, Connie and Kate, naked, chased each other around a tree, slashing at each other's bare buttocks with birch twigs, shrieking and giggling like a pair of demented adolescents.

  By nine-thirty the next morning, I had the breakfast stuff put away and the downstairs rooms organized into a semblance of tidiness. I considered what other arrangements might be necessary. For a coffee table I was temporarily using a funky old piano bench I'd found in one of the antique shops downtown. It looked ancient and hand-carved, but had a decal underneath that said "Made in Grand Rapids." I cleared the magazines off it and moved it away from the sofa, shifting a chair to make more room. Good, I was almost ready. Just one thing to fetch from the bedroom. Yes-that was it. I put a disc of Haydn string quartets on the CD player and sat down to await my visitor-if she was going to come.

  By the time I had listened to three quartets and read my way through most of the current New Yorker, it was five past eleven, and I was still alone. All right, I thought, time to get back into real life. I got my grocery list from the kitchen, went out the side door, and got in the car. I backed up the driveway and stopped to wait for a black Jetta that had just rounded the corner. But instead of passing, it pulled up in front of my house, and Kate Marinetti got out. She was wearing a white shirt and a pair of tight, faded jeans. She spotted me in the car and ran over. I rolled down the window.

  "You're late," I said.

  "But not too late?" she said pleadingly. Her eyes were slightly red; it looked as though she might have had a rough night, though not rough enough to diminish her fresh beauty. (Ah, youth, I thought.)

  I looked at her for a long time, taking in the gorgeous figure, warm, glowing skin, and clean, shiny black hair. "No, not too late," I said. "But discourtesy has a price."

  We locked eyes for a moment. At last she looked down. "Agreed," she said softly.

  I left my car where it was and led her in through the front door. In the hall, I turned to face her. "You've decided you should be punished," I said. It wasn't a question.

  "Yes," she replied quietly. "I deserve it."

  "Well, just to make sure there's no understanding, suppose you tell me how you expect me to punish you."

  She blushed. "You know, the-the way you punish the students," she said.

  "And, to make sure there's understanding, how do I punish the students?"

  Kate had to gather her strength to reply. "You spank them," she finally said, avoiding my gaze.

  "Yes? And how do I do that?"

&n
bsp; The blush grew deeper. "With a wooden paddle. On the-on the bare bottom."

  "That's right. And is that how you want me to punish you?"

  Again it took her some time to answer. "I don't deserve any special treatment," she said.

  "And you won't get it," I replied curtly. "In here."

  We entered the living room. Kate's black eyes took in the sofa, the armchair, the stereo equipment and shelves of CDS, and finally came to rest on the bare wooden bench. They grew round when she saw what was lying on it. "Are you going to spank me with that?"

  "I don't have a duplicate of the official college paddle here at home. Perhaps I'll have to do something about that. In the meantime, this is the best I can do. I don't think you'll have any cause to feel cheated." I lifted the walnut clothesbrush and smacked my palm with it, provoking an involuntary flinch. "Well, I think we may as well get started." I sat down on the bench and laid the clothesbrush next to me. "Come here, Kate."

  She was noticeably pale. I guided her to my right side. "Since you're wearing jeans, I think you'd better take them down now."

  "Please-is that necessary?"

  "Kate, this is a punishment, not a game. You just told me you understood that spankings are given on the bare behind."

  "Yes, I know, but . . . can't you take them down after I . . . get over your . . . ?"

  "I don't think that would work. They look as if they fit pretty snug. But leave your panties on-I can take those down afterwards."

  Surrendering, she unbuttoned the waist and fly and pushed the jeans down around her thighs. They resisted every inch of the way. I had a glimpse of a tiny triangle of pink beneath the tail of her shirt. Taking her elbow, I guided her over and down until she lay on her stomach across my knees. The shirttail rose to expose most of her bottom, scantily covered by a pair of pink silk panties. I pushed the shirttail up and drew the panties down to complete the exposure.

  Kate's bottom was as lovely as I expected: big, rich curves of peach-toned skin, smooth as butter and soft as down. It was large, as befitted her height, but its shape was classically perfect. I could see the tips of her ears through the hanging hair-they were glowing bright red. I desperately wanted to bring my bare hand down on that bare flesh, but I held back. She seemed dead set on regarding this as some kind of official chastisement, and I felt that I'd better stick as closely as possible to that agenda, at least for the moment. So, with an inward sigh of regret, I picked up the clothesbrush.

  Smack! The flat back of the brush whacked down, making the flesh ripple and quiver. Smack! Each cheek now bore a blushing pink patch. Smack! Kate moaned softly.

  The brush was so much lighter and smaller than the college paddle that I knew a different technique would be necessary. The situation called for speed more than force. I picked up the pace, moving the brush constantly so that each blow fell in a slightly different quarter. The pink area spread until it encompassed the fullest part of both buttocks. Kate's discomfort was clearly increasing; her moans grew louder, and she began to roll from side to side, drawing up one leg and then the other.

  I continued to spread the heat in a series of rapid smacks that didn't allow either of us to pause for breath. This was clearly a bigger problem for Kate than it was for me. Her breath came in ragged pants and gasps, in between moans that were rapidly changing to bellows of pain. Still, she kept her hands in front of her and made no effort to escape. Nor did she order or beg me to stop. Other than "Yeow!" and "Ouch!" and similar expressions of dismay, Kate hadn't a word to say for herself.

  I spanked her for as long as I would spank a student; perhaps even a bit longer. Although the blows were lighter, each one was concentrated in a smaller space, and she got a great many more of them than even the naughtiest visitor to my office. Before I stopped, she was kicking both legs wildly and crying raucously and uninhibitedly. Finally, I judged from the dark red color of her bottom that she was likely to be black and blue for a few days at least, and I stopped, laying the brush down. Kate lay draped over my knee, sobbing deeply and making no effort to cover herself.

  "Kate?" I said at last.

  "Yes?" It came out between a snorting sob and a hiccup.

  "That pays for the plagiarism. It's at least as much as I gave Linda."

  "Th- thank you." My goodness, this woman had been brought up right. I had never expected etiquette in these circumstances.

  "Now, if you'll recall," I said, "there's the matter of your tardiness this morning. Not a great injustice, nor an offense to the college, but nevertheless a discourtesy to me."

  “I'm sorry."

  "Yes; well, as I said, there's a price. And I think you can guess what the price is to be."

  "Oh, but Jim! No! I really don't think I can take any more!" she cried in shrill dismay.

  "I think you can, and I think you will, Kate. You don't have any choice in the matter. And you know you agreed to it, didn't you?."

  Miserably, the dark head nodded.

  "All right. Here it comes."

  Splat! Whack! Whap! I smacked her bottom rapidly with my very slightly cupped palm, reveling in the soft smoothness and warmth. Compared to the clothesbrush spanking, this was light, but I made it brisk, and in her sensitive state Kate found it hard to bear. She cried and wriggled frantically as I spanked. I didn't draw things out, but brought the hand-spanking to a close in a loud crescendo of yells, squeals, and echoing slaps on bounding, jiggling, reddened flesh.

  Then, since my hand and Kate's bottom had, as it were, become acquainted, I stroked the full curves softly as she lay there getting her crying under control. She made no objection, and I stroked her for a few minutes, finally, with some reluctance, drawing up the pink panties over buttocks that now made them look pale. Kate struggled up off my lap and tugged up her jeans, wincing sharply as she forced her throbbing hindquarters into close confinement.

  I stood up and offered a hug, which she accepted gratefully, burying her face in my chest. Her body felt warm and moist through the shirt. Despite my own arousal, I kept my hands well above her waist, trying to communicate the warmth I felt toward her without the desire that, under the circumstances, I could not help feeling also. Kate clung to me tightly and with evident emotion, but the nature of that emotion I could only guess at.

  "Want a cup of tea?" I said at last. We had been standing there for a couple of minutes.

  "No," she said quickly. "I-I'd better go." She stepped out of my arms. The crying was over, but her eyes were very red. She found her purse on the sofa and picked it up.

  "Kate," I said doubtfully, "I think maybe we should have a talk."

  "Yes, I know, but-but right now I have to be alone for a while. We can talk later if you want."

  "What about this evening? Do you have plans?"

  "No. I mean, yes, this evening is OK; no, I don't have any plans."

  "How about dinner? Do you feel up to that?"

  "I'm not sure . . . I think maybe not. Is it OK if I come over here a little later, say about nine o'clock or so?"

  "Yes, that's fine; I'll be in."

  I spent the afternoon driving around to antique shops and second-hand stores. I was still furnishing the house, and had begun to extend my range to other small towns in the same valley. I visited a couple of stores I'd never been to before, and found a couple of pieces, at least one of which excited me considerably.

  At nine o'clock I was reading, a good fire blazing in the fireplace, when the doorbell rang. No tardiness this time. I let Kate in the door. She was wearing a pretty red dress and looked a good deal more chipper than I'd seen her since the party. I started to ask her to sit down, then wondered if such an invitation might seem coarse considering her probable discomfort and my knowledge of it. I settled for a welcoming gesture toward the sofa, where she settled herself carefully, but with dignity.

  "Would you like a drink?" Kate nodded gratefully. "Let's see-there's some wine, there's beer, and I have a bottle of good whisky . . . ."

  "Is the wine red or w
hite?" she asked.

  "White."

  "Um. What kind of whisky?"

  "The best. It's called Lagavulin."

  "An Islay malt!" she said delightedly. "What a perfect host! Don't you dare put a drop of water in it."

  "Actually, I like to put just one drop of water in mine. A pubkeeper over in Scotland told me it helps to release the aroma. But I can skip that if you want."

  "Oh, well, no, let me have the one drop if you're going to."

  I brought the whiskey in two small stemmed brandy glasses, the balloon-shaped kind that hold the aroma. Kate sniffed happily. I took a seat in the armchair, which was next to the sofa, at a right angle. We were close enough to pass notes to each other, but not close enough to touch without a bit of stretching. The room was not dim by any means, but the lights were soft.

  "You don't mind the smokiness?" I asked, watching her breathe in the whisky smell.

  She shook her head. "Love it," she said.

  "And you don't like white wine?"

  "Oh, I don't dislike it; I just enjoy red a lot more. I guess it's kind of an Italian thing."

  "Well, fortunately for me I like both. I used to drink a lot of red, but I find it hits me harder in the head nowadays, so I mostly stick to white." Neither of us had yet taken a sip of whisky.

  "Why do you hold the glass like that?" she asked.

  I explained that I thought the whisky, like brandy, tasted better when it was warmed up a little. Kate tried cupping her glass in both hands. We watched the fire for a few minutes in silence.

  "I think the chill is off it now," I finally said, and raised my glass. Kate immediately held hers up as well. "To candor," I said. She looked slightly taken aback, but reached over to clink her glass on mine, and we sipped slowly.

  "Candor," she said after a moment. "Why candor?"

  "Well, I said we should have a talk, and what I meant is that I think we should get things clear between us. I mean about just what happened today."