Dean of Discipline: Tales of Old-School Punishment

by Allen Bare

  "Yes, I see." She looked into her drink. "How about this? I deserved a spanking and you gave me one."

  "That may be the truth, but it isn't the whole truth, is it" I asked her gently. "I think you know that."

  Kate looked at me. "Maybe, but you have to help me a little. This isn't exactly easy to talk about."

  "Right. Well, shall we talk about the fact that you like to be spanked? That it turns you on?"

  "What do you mean?" She looked indignant, but blushed.

  "Come on, Kate, it takes one to know one. Spanking women turns me on; that's why I was so eager to help with your problem. I'm sure you did feel guilty about the way you handled the plagiarism business, but I doubt very much that you would have felt it was necessary to ask for the very same punishment your student got unless you had other and stronger reasons for wanting to be punished in that particular way."

  "What kind of person do you think I am?" she whispered.

  "Mmm. A lovely person in every way-intelligent, brave, strong, and honest enough to understand what she's doing and why."

  "Really." She sounded bitter. "Not sick, perverted, masochistic? Not devious or manipulative?"

  "No sicker than most people; certainly no sicker than me. Where would a man like me be without a woman like you? Just as there are women who like to spank men and men who like to be spanked by women. They need each other too. You can call it perverted if you want, but it seems to me that most people are 'perverted' in one way or another. As for masochism, you don't strike me as a person with a morbid taste for self-abasement." She started to protest, but I stopped her. "No, I know you're going to say that coming to me and asking to be punished sounds pretty much like self-abasement, but it's clearly a role you can step into and out of again. I'd be very surprised if it posed any danger of taking over your life, and for that reason I wouldn't call it masochism."

  "Well, maybe not that," she admitted.

  "Nor do I think you were especially manipulative. Maybe you thought so, but I can assure you that I wasn't manipulated at all. If I didn't have my own selfish reasons for wanting to spank you, I wouldn't have agreed to do it."

  "But you seemed so stern."

  "Isn't that how you wanted me to be? I have a role to play, too, you know." She nodded slowly, thinking about it. "And I meant it when I said you were brave and strong. It took a lot of guts to come on to me that way."

  "Come on to you . . . !"

  "Well, not in the ordinary way, but wasn't that what you were doing, in a sense?. Take another sip of this elixir of candor and tell me honestly if you weren't feeling more than just a pain in your backside when we were finished this morning."

  "I felt really passionate," she said. "That's why I had to get out of here, because I didn't want things to . . . ." She looked a bit embarrassed.

  "Because you don't have that kind of feeling about me?"

  "Well, I don't know, I mean, I don't want to . . . .

  "Don't worry about my feelings. I am twenty years older than you, after all, and I very much want to be your friend-and to play this game again with you, if and when you want to-but I'm not at all sure I want to be more than that. It has nothing to do," I added, "with your personal attractiveness. As a matter of fact, I don't think I've ever spanked a more beautiful bottom, and I mean that."

  "I seem to be doing a lot of blushing," said Kate, doing it again. "But thank you." She grinned. "It's a lot less beautiful right now than it was this morning."

  "That won't last long. And I have to say, speaking from my own peculiar side of the hairbrush, that a woman's bottom is never lovelier than when it's in distress."

  "It's still in distress," said Kate, "whenever I sit down. Thank you for having such a nice, soft sofa." She grimaced. "Those jeans were a big mistake."

  "Well, you know, I was wondering."

  "I was so agitated this morning, I couldn't think straight. I was in a real state when I got here, wondering if I was the biggest fool that ever lived."

  "Far from that. You knew what you wanted and you were coming after it."

  "Funny, isn't it," she said, looking into the fire. "I've known for years that that was what I wanted, but once you got down to brass tacks, I wanted to be anywhere and everywhere except over your knee. I don't think I've ever felt so scared as I did just before that brush came down."

  "And after it came down?"

  "Well, then I had other things on my mind."

  "And now?"

  She hesitated a moment. "Let me take another sip of candor," she said, and finished the last bit of whisky in her glass. Shyly, her eyes met mine. "I'd probably be willing to do it again, I think," she said slowly. "But not soon!" We both laughed.

  I had finished my Lagavulin, and I poured each of us another dram. This time we raised our glasses to friendship. I put Mozart on the CD player, and we sat watching the fire, talking occasionally, feeling a great deal of warmth for each other. We promised to get together soon for dinner. "Not Italian, though," said Kate. "You want Italian food, I'll cook it for you. None of the restaurants around here know how to do it right." She told me she wanted to hear more about the spanking adventures of my life, and she promised to reciprocate, though, she warned me, her story was likely to be a good deal shorter than mine.

  At ten-thirty I walked her out to her car, and we parted with a hug and a kiss-not like lovers, not like family, either; somewhere in between.

  Back inside, I wondered what Connie McHugh might have thought if she'd happened to be driving past. I'd been keeping Connie at arm's length a bit, though that was nothing more than my "slow courting" experiment. Since our headlong plunge into bed together the day she had helped me paddle Jennifer Parks, we had been alone together no more often than every couple of weeks, and, while we had good times together and made a good deal of progress in the Getting to Know You department, I had remained impervious to any hints from Connie that she wouldn't mind if things got a bit more passionate. This was partly a response to Connie's postcoital jitters, and partly a desire on my part to be a little less predictable than I had been in previous relationships. Up to a point, it had been fun keeping her off balance, but perhaps the game was getting old. If we didn't move to the next stage soon, I might find myself hungering for Kate Marinetti, and that, I reminded myself, wasn't really what I wanted, all things considered. She was beautiful, witty, intelligent, and charming, but Connie was all of these as well-and several years closer to my own age. Thinking about her felt good, and I resolved to phone the next day.

  I wasn't sure it was all right to call at 11 AM; some people are as religious about sleeping in on Sunday as others are about going to church, and I didn't yet know Connie's sentiments in this matter. But I was afraid she'd be gone if I waited any longer, so I took a chance. Luckily, she was in, up, and ready to talk.

  "Connie," I said, "I feel that I haven't been seeing enough of you lately . . . ."

  "Through no fault of mine," she teased.

  "Mea culpa. I'd like us to have dinner again as soon as possible-as soon as you'd like to, I mean. You say when."

  "Well, what a pleasant problem to solve. How about this evening?"

  "That'd be great. Where would you like to go?"

  "Oh, my, I don't want you to keep picking up the tab every time. How about you come here and let me cook Sunday dinner for you?"

  "Gee, this should be my treat, since I'm the one who invited you. Doesn't seem quite right somehow."

  "My goodness, I could almost believe you were brought up in the South, except for the Down East twang" The southern accent deepened. "I do greatly appreciate your attention to the traditional courtesies, kind sir, but this is 1994. I won't tell on you if you don't tell on me.

  "Um, sure, but tell what?"

  "Why, that I invited a gentleman to my home for dinner without so much as a maiden aunt to keep us company," said Connie, in Scarlett O'Hara tones.

  "Your secret is perfectly safe with me," I assured her.

  Having
eaten nothing but a cup of coffee and some toast, I decided to go downtown for a full-scale North Woods breakfast at the diner. That would hold me until evening. I had a couple of things to do in the office, and dropped into the campus library afterwards. I got involved in browsing, and it was late afternoon when I got back. By the time I had arranged a few things in the living room, it was time to shower and dress. Semi-formal seemed best, so I put on a pair of good wool slacks, a tattersall shirt, and a corduroy jacket.

  Connie's house was snug and cozy on this cool and rainy evening. The wood stove was fired up, and the hardwood smell was pleasant. It wasn't the only pleasant smell, either; something extraordinary seemed to be going on in the kitchen, and Connie herself had a scent that reminded me a little of carnations. She looked beautiful in a Donegal tweed skirt and a cream-colored satin blouse with full sleeves, a string of jade beads in the V of the neck.

  We ate chunks of lamb stewed with prunes and apricots, over rice. It went beautifully with the California chardonnay I had brought with me. Connie said the stew was called Turkmenian pilaf.

  "A traditional dish from the Birmingham, Alabama region?"

  "Hardly. I found it in a paperback book of recipes from Russia."

  "That cookbook must have become a classic by now."

  "Oh, well, I've messed with the recipe a bit," she said.

  "Here's to your messing," I said, raising my glass. It was the best meal I'd had in at least two years. It was topped off with a luscious dark cake full of dates and raisins. This, Connie admitted, was made from a family recipe. I was in a state of sensuous euphoria by the end of the meal, but recalled myself sufficiently to insist on helping with the dishes. I offered to wash, and, since Connie was the only one who knew where to put the dishes after they were dried, she took me up on it.

  Afterwards, she opened a cabinet in which I could see several bottles. "Anything there you'd like as an after-dinner drink?" There were several impressive choices, including Wild Turkey, Chivas Regal, and Black Bush, but after some thought I finally selected Remy Martin V.S.O.P. Connie produced two snifter glasses, and we sat close together on the sofa, sipping and listening to the rain on the roof and the Modern Jazz Quartet, which she had on the CD player. My arm naturally went around her shoulders, and she leaned her head against me.

  "Jim?" I looked at her inquiringly.

  "Any special reason why you've been so, well, I won't say standoffish, but, um, well, reserved lately?"

  "None in the world," I said, "except that I wanted to give you space to decide how you felt about things. We kind of stampeded ourselves that Saturday a few weeks ago, and I know you felt nervous about it, and, to tell you the truth, so did I."

  "What about now?"

  "Nervous? Not me," I said. "How about you?"

  "Not in the least. I can't remember when I've felt this good about anything."

  "Well, then, I guess it's a good thing we took it easy."

  "Right. Got to know one another."

  "Right."

  "And I know that was only a joke about you punishing me for using the paddle-"

  "My goodness," I said. "Now why did you bring that up, I wonder?"

  "Well, it was a joke, wasn't it?"

  "Oh, no. Not at all."

  "Jim! Don't be silly."

  "Who's being silly? I'm just answering the question you asked. On a subject you chose to bring up, out of a clear blue sky, metaphorically speaking."

  Connie winced, but her cheeks were pink, and there was a challenging spark in her eye. I felt I knew how to interpret these signs. She looked me in the eye.

  "Jim Bradley, you wouldn't dare," she said. I doubt that any woman who sincerely wants to escape a spanking has ever been foolish enough to say that. So I knew that my interpretation was correct.

  "Famous last words, Ms. McHugh. You've just set in motion a train of events which you have no more hope of escaping. I hereby sentence you to a sound paddling, and neither of us is going to rest tonight until you've received it."

  "Are you proposing to overpower me in my own home?" she demanded indignantly.

  "By no means. I shall convey you to an appropriate place and administer the punishment in a solemn and dignified manner-as dignified as your behavior will permit, that is. Whether you get it with dignity or without is up to you. But get it you will, and there is no appeal from that judgment."

  "Jimmmmm!" It was a protest, but not a challenge.

  "Don't whine. Get yourself a coat or an umbrella or whatever and come with me." I fixed her with a stern glare. "I intend to brook no opposition."

  "Now?"

  "Now."

  She pouted at me, but fetched a raincoat and hat, and got in my car without a fuss, still pouting. I drove into town. When we went past the campus, she seemed a bit surprised, but said nothing as I continued on to my house. I had left a few lights on, and a fire was laid. I knelt to light it as soon as we came into the living room.

  "What a pretty place!" said Connie politely, looking around. Then, "Oh my God." She had just spotted my purchase of the day before-a leather-covered bench almost exactly like the one in my office, though not quite as long. Leaning against it was the college paddle, its walnut surface glowing wickedly.

  “So this whole thing was my idea?" she said sarcastically.

  "Oh no, not exclusively. But I made these preparations just in case, and I promise you I wouldn't have brought the matter up if you hadn't."

  "I take it back!"

  "Too late." I said, grinning.

  "Where on earth did you find that bench?" I told her about yesterday's shopping trip.

  "And the paddle? It looks like a perfect reproduction."

  "That's because it isn't a reproduction, as you know full well. I brought it home with me this afternoon."

  "You mean you just walked across the campus with it under your arm?"

  "Oh, sure. The Dean out for a stroll in the company of his best friend and constant companion. No, I had a box with me to carry it back in, and I'll use the same box to take it back tomorrow morning."

  Connie looked a bit nervous. "Look, I mean, that thing can be nasty, as you know full well. Do you have to use it?"

  "Well, seeing that the offense consisted in the misuse of this paddle, there's a pretty serious poetic justice factor involved, don't you think?"

  "Um, well, you may have a point, sort of, but I don't see why we have to go all out for poetic justice-"

  "That isn't up to you," I said sternly, sitting down on the bench. "Now, Ms. McHugh, I'll thank you to come over here and prepare yourself for punishment in the usual way."

  "Jimmmmm-"

  "Come here, young lady."

  "Jimmmm-"

  "Now, missy!"

  Her eyes widened at my bark, and she stepped over to where I sat, though with evident reluctance. Looking at me, she blushed, pushed her lower lip out, and reached back up under the skirt of her red dress. When she brought her hands back, I put my hands on her hips and gently guided her down over my lap.

  The tweed skirt was full enough to sweep up easily. Underneath was a white, lacy slip that fit more closely, and needed to be worked a little from side to side before it was securely out of the way. Connie's exquisite bottom now lay fully bare, between the upturned slip and a band of beige panties and pantyhose halfway down her thighs, where she had pushed them.

  I had, of course, seen Connie naked once before, but there was something far more powerful in this focused, deliberate, partial nakedness. The smooth curves seemed to invite not mere witness, but scrutiny. I looked long and intently at all this soft whiteness, drinking it in. Though I couldn't see Connie's face, I could see enough of her neck and one ear to know that she was blushing furiously.

  I had meant to take the paddle to her right away, but that backside was just too lovely. Raising my hand, I flattened it, then cupped it slightly to fit the rounded surface. Putting plenty of strength into it, I brought it down with a loud, meaty smack! on the fullest part of
the outermost buttock. Connie yipped and winced, and I watched a pink oval appear on the white flesh. I smacked the other cheek, making her bounce and jiggle. Then I began a rapid tattoo of sharp spanks that pinkened both buttocks rapidly and made her squirm her hips frantically against my lap. I kept this up until she was quite red and beginning to kick a little. She made no effort to get away, however. Uncomfortable as she was undoubtedly finding it, Connie was right where she most wanted to be.

  When the roundest parts of both cheeks were glowing evenly all over, I slowed the pace and increased the intensity a little-hard, driving whacks that brought out a few shrill squeals and made her seize my lower legs and hold on tight, willing herself to stay in place. Both of us were warm, damp, and breathing heavily, though in Connie's case the rough breaths came between grunts and yelps of pain. She had absorbed a fairly sound handspanking by this time, enough to make her tender for a day or so, I judged. I stopped and gave the soft, pinkened hillocks a tender stroke. She emitted a muffled sound-more a gurgle than a sigh.

  "And now, my dear," I said softly, "I'm afraid it's poetic justice time."

  Connie came alive at once. "Oh, Jim, No!" she pleaded, twisting around as best she could to look up at me. "Not after that! It'll half-kill me!"

  "You've taken a good deal of your punishment already," I said, "and I don't intend to start all over at the beginning. But you used the college paddle without any authority to do so, and the only fair punishment for that, as you've already admitted, is for you to feel the sting of that paddle on your own naughty and presumptuous behind."

  "-Naughty and presumptuous-!"

  "Such is the judgment of the one true Dean of Students, custodian of the paddle and guardian of its dignity. And now, Constance McHugh, prepare yourself,"

  A frightened whimper was the only answer.

  I raised the paddle and smacked it down smartly across Connie's shrinking hindquarters. It landed with a solid impact, flattening the rounded flesh. "Aaaaaoooowww!" the lovely victim bellowed, kicking her legs violently. She kicked them rapidly for several seconds while the sting mounted. At length the legs were still.

  Smack! Down came the paddle again, this time at an angle that caught the fullness of both cheeks and pushed them momentarily upwards. Connie hollered again, kicked, and wiggled her derriere rapidly, as if trying to shake out the sting.