by Sarah Steel
‘Absolutely sure?’
She nodded.
‘That is all I need to know. Get undressed.’
‘I, um, dean?’ Ariadne gasped, incredulous.
‘I said get undressed,’ the woman repeated. ‘There are some questions I wish to put to you as I spank you. Oh yes, girl,’ her voice rose imperiously, ‘I propose to spank you as you supply my questions with answers. Eventually I will get the truth out of you. And if I deem it necessary, I will then cane you.’
‘No!’ Ariadne protested. ‘You can’t!’
‘I can, and most certainly will, cane you if it proves necessary. Now get undressed this instant and bend over my desk.’
Ariadne was aghast, and staggered back a few disbelieving paces. ‘B-but…’
‘If I have to cane your bare bottom, Miss Soames-Ayr, you will thank me for having spanked you first. Receiving strokes from a rattan cane across unprepared cheeks can be almost an unbearable experience. Almost. Much better, Miss Soames-Ayr, for you to be prepared for my bamboo by being given a warm bottom…
‘What, still dressed? Do not provoke me, girl.’
‘No, p-please, I mean, I don’t understand,’ she stammered, her thoughts as incoherent as her tumbling words. She edged back towards the door, and forgetting it was locked, her scrabbling fingers stretched out blindly behind her. They found the handle and twisted but the door remained stubbornly closed, and then, at that precise moment, Ariadne’s mind remembered the click of the lock after she entered the stuffy office, remembered and finally attached full significance to the ominous sound.
The dean was leaning on the edge of her desk, her legs crossed, her stockings gleaming in the bright light. ‘An anomaly in your examination paper has drawn attention to itself, my girl,’ she stated ominously.
Ariadne, her bottom pressed against the locked door, looked towards the desk, her eyes wide and sparkling with consternation.
The dean, slowly stretching out to finger the red beads on the abacus, adopted a brisk, no nonsense tone. ‘You wrote out in full, and demonstrated mathematically, that zero cannot in fact be an infinite quantity, applying the Zoll-Zimmermann principle. Now that I found truly amazing since I omitted to explain the Zoll-Zimmermann principle in my tutorials. Omitted it altogether, I must confess. And yet you anticipated the question in the exam paper and answered it completely.’
‘I was lucky—’
‘You stole into my study the day before and sneaked a look at the exam paper. Then you went to the library and checked the Zoll-Zimmermann principle on the Internet. I have a log of the site.’
‘I didn’t open the exam papers, they were sealed…!’ Ariadne protested desperately, and then stopped herself, too late, as she realised the enormity of her mistake.
‘They were sealed, yes,’ the dean chuckled triumphantly, ‘but you unsealed one, didn’t you?’
‘I didn’t—’
‘Then resealed it and slipped it back into the pile. The fifteenth in the pile, to be precise.’
‘No…’ Ariadne denied without conviction.
‘Because you carefully calculated you would be sitting in alphabetical order for the exam, putting you in the fifteenth desk. You planned to receive the resealed paper and, of course, not remark upon it. But you made an elementary mistake, Miss Soames-Ayr.’
‘Mistake?’ she echoed, trying to contain her mounting dread.
‘A miscalculation, my girl,’ the dean clarified. ‘A simple counting error. You forgot the first paper is always placed upon the desk of the invigilator.’
Ariadne, biting her lower lip, reddened.
‘Ah, I see you understand me. So, Miss Soames-Ayr, you received the sixteenth paper from the pile. The girl in front of your desk was given the paper with the broken seal. Quite properly, she quietly informed the invigilator. The matter was brought to my immediate attention, and the contents of your exam afterwards clearly indicated to me the nature of the wrongdoing and the identity of the wrongdoer. You see, Miss Soames-Ayr, how easy it was for me to deduce both the crime and the culprit? Now get undressed this instant and bend over my desk.’
‘No, please, Dr Mellstock, I didn’t… I mean, I’m sorry…’
‘Are you denying your guilt, or apologising?’
Ariadne’s silence was self-damning, and the dean nodded knowingly.
‘Undress, quickly,’ she said. ‘I want you bare-bottomed and bent over.’
Knowing she was lost, Ariadne’s fingers fumbled nervously at her buttons.
‘Your guilt in this unpleasant matter places me in a very difficult position – a very difficult position, indeed,’ the dean went on. ‘Your achievement of a double first with Honours could be deemed to be… hmm.’
Ariadne stripped awkwardly, shrugging off her clothes in clumsy haste. Trembling, she stood before the locked door in only her white bra and panties, her discarded uniform lying in a heap at her feet.
‘No,’ the dean whispered softly as Ariadne reached behind to unclasp her bra, and the blushing student’s hands fell down by her sides.
Tapping the desktop, Dr Mellstock invited her to approach.
‘Please don’t punish me,’ she whimpered, stumbling obediently across the carpet towards the desk.
‘Bend over and give me your bottom, you wicked girl,’ came the crisp reply.
Reluctantly, and reddening deeply in shame, Ariadne planted her hands down on the desk, her splayed fingers trembling.
‘Right over, girl.’ The dean loomed. ‘Face down, bottom up, if you please.’
Bending obediently, Ariadne crushed her soft bra-encased breasts against the hard wooden surface. She caught the whiff of lavender water as the dean stepped around her, and flinched, shrinking slightly as the woman’s stocking-clad thigh brushed against her left leg.
Dr Mellstock questioned her closely between each harsh spank. The required answers were supplied between gulps and squeals. The blows raining down across the proffered buttocks were fierce, but not ferocious. Red-bottomed and squirming, the punished girl blinked away her tears of pain and shame and braced herself for the next flurry of stinging slaps and searching questions.
Smack! ‘Briefly but accurately expound for me the Zoll-Zimmermann principle.’
Ariadne did so, mumbling the answer into the desktop.
Smack! ‘Expound the proximity of absolute zero to infinity.’
The young student obliged, tearfully acknowledging ‘theta’ as the differentiated axis of projection.
Smack! ‘Give me an account of your first chastisement, girl, your first real bare-bottomed punishment. I want the details. The exact details.’
Ariadne moaned softly and squeezed her poor buttocks together, but another sudden, unexpectedly severe spank opened them immediately.
‘Answer me,’ the dean demanded, so in a throaty whisper, one Ariadne barely recognised as her own, she recalled and recounted the spanking administered to her by Aunt Julia. And at the dean’s insistence, no detail of the punishment was omitted. She felt the egg of shame crack against her stomach wall as the dean extracted every detail from her, and felt the yolk of humiliation slither inside her. It was a cold, raw feeling not quite like fear, but more akin to a delicious dread as all the time, relentlessly, ruthlessly and dominantly, the dean’s firm palm caressed her punished bottom. And before she finished relating the details of Aunt Julia’s chastisement, she sensed the slithering yolk of shame seeping from her pussy in the form of her own warm juices.
The dean’s forefinger, fully extended and rigid, stroked the tightened cleft between the girl’s crimsoned cheeks. ‘And what of punishments since?’ she asked softly, almost tenderly.
Ariadne, fearful of the hovering hand above her sore bottom, quickly confessed to the treatment meted out to her bare buttocks by the red rubber bats wielded by her disgruntled flatmates.
‘And how did you respond to these punishments, my girl?’ the woman probed. ‘Did you experience any reaction,’ the dean emphasised the word, ‘to each or either chastisement?’
‘Reaction?’ she echoed in a faint whisper, clenching her spanked cheeks even tighter.
‘Arousal,’ the dean explained, her voice neutral, as it was when she was defining a difficulty in Euclidean geometry.
Ariadne hid her mounting confusion with silence.
Smack! Smack! The reddened buttocks bounced and jerked beneath their renewed torment. ‘I mean to know everything, girl. Everything. So tell me, at once.’
‘But I’m not sure I understand what—’
Smack! Smack!
Ariadne squealed. ‘Yes, yes!’ she cried, reaching back in an effort to cup and protect her scalding cheeks.
‘Hands back across the desk, young lady,’ the dean ordered sternly. ‘No, right across. Further…’
Ariadne’s fumbling fingers sought, and found, the desk’s far edge. She gripped, swallowing hard as her stomach stretched and her breasts moulded against the unyielding wood, threatening to burst free from her straining bra. At her ankles her stretched panties prevented her from kicking her heels to relieve the pressure.
The dean maintained a meditative silence. Then, abruptly, she snatched away Ariadne’s panties. Moving quickly, bending over her victim she unclasped and tore away her bra, instantly and painfully unburdening the cups of her breasts’ warm weight. The girl shrieked, confused by the new onslaught, writhing in renewed shame and distress.
Then towering over her naked, punished student, the dean demanded to be told how Ariadne responded to corporal punishment, and utterly broken, the young woman spoke haltingly but truthfully of her sensations of excitement and arousal when receiving bare-bottomed discipline…
A brief silence settled over the woman and the naked girl across the desk, which was eventually broken by Dr Mellstock, who delivered a short sermon in words that burned deep into Ariadne’s whirling brain. ‘The case against you has been proved, my girl,’ the dean concluded. ‘I believe you deserve your double first with honours. You have a first class brain but only third class morals. You have been previously punished, and most deservedly so, for your dishonesty, and you have responded, to some extent, to such punishment. There is hope for you yet. At university,’ she continued, caressing the spanked cheeks before her, ‘we consider it our duty to turn fully rounded young people out into society. You, Miss Soames-Ayr, remain somewhat deficient in matters of probity. As such, you must remain here until that deficiency has been thoroughly corrected.’
‘Remain here?’ Ariadne could not believe what she was hearing.
‘Be silent. You will graduate tomorrow.’
Ariadne sighed her relief aloud, her cheek still pressed to the old desktop.
‘But you will return next term to participate in my research project. I shall be your personal supervisor.’ Gripping and squeezing Ariadne’s taut yet beautifully malleable buttocks, she continued in almost a conspiratorial whisper. ‘I propose to supervise you closely, my girl. I shall be keeping a very sharp eye on you from now on.’
Ariadne quietly moaned her alarm and dismay into the desktop, clouding the wood with her sweet breath. Then the soft rustling of papers quickened her senses and, twisting slightly, she craned her neck to see the dean rummaging through an open drawer, unearthing a sheaf of forms.
‘Your application for postgraduate work here at college has been accepted, Ariadne.’
‘But I—’
‘All that is required now is your signature.’ The dean placed the completed paperwork down next to her face, and then moved the abacus gently so its wooden frame nudged her naked shoulder. ‘But before you sign, I will cane you.’
Ariadne gabbled her protest and began pushing herself off the desk in an effort to escape the threatened punishment, but the austere dean, serenely unruffled, levelled the length of rattan cane she was gripping against her student, almost effortlessly taming and controlling her lovely victim. A consummate dominant, she stilled the spanked girl against the wood by depressing the cane’s quivering tip down against the nape of her neck.
Mysteriously, the touch of the yellow wand stilled and silenced Ariadne into complete submissive surrender. Bamboo had never visited her flesh before. But she knew its first kiss would be excruciatingly potent, and she shivered in delicious apprehension. Pinned down and rendered motionless, she whimpered helplessly. It was an ambiguous whine; part hunger for and part dread of the dark delights to come. The tip of the rattan cane left the nape of her neck and traced a tremulous line down her spine before tap-tapping and dimpling the left cheek of her hot, spanked buttocks.
‘What is the fifth perfect number, girl?’
Frozen beneath the light pressure of the cane against her bottom, Ariadne’s brain failed her.
‘Come, come, the fifth perfect number, if you please?’
Ariadne’s brain whirled. Flinching from the dominant touch of the bamboo, she quickly calculated aloud. ‘Nought plus one, one. One plus one, two. Two plus one, three. Three plus two, five. Five plus three, eight.’
‘Eight?’ the dean echoed. ‘Quite sure?’
She nodded mutely.
‘Eight strokes it is, then. Bottom up a fraction more, if you please.’
Swish, swipe!
The first cut of the cruel cane was applied immediately. It whistled down to slice-swipe Ariadne’s vulnerably exposed cheeks, Judas-kissing their helplessness with a thin crimson weal. The caner grunted softly as she administered the stroke, while the caned girl squealed aloud as her bare buttock received the cruel lick.
Taking a step back from the lovely young body across the desk, the dean quelled the writhing buttocks with a light touch of the cane that had just lashed them. ‘With my whippy stick, I will correct the tendencies towards dishonesty and cheating your behaviour manifests so blatantly, Miss Soames-Ayr. Brilliance of intellect, I so often discover, is frequently found to be morally flawed.’
Swish, swipe!
The cane rose swiftly, sparkling in the harsh fluorescent light, and lashed down for the second stroke.
Ariadne hissed like a scalded cobra, bucking her whipped bottom in a frenzy of delicious pain, and jamming her pussy and breasts down against the wood. Abject beneath the quivering cane, she pressed her belly and pubis into the hard surface, rasping her clitoral thorn into the wood. Across her whipped cheeks the cane had bequeathed a second livid line of torment.
‘I will correct you, my girl. And punishment with my whippy stick,’ Dr Mellstock purred, raising the cane high for the delivery of a third stroke, ‘shall play a prominent part in your post-graduate experience under my strict supervision. A prominent part.’
Swish, swipe!
Ariadne screamed and gripped the far edge of the desk even more tightly. The fierce heat across her beaten buttocks melted and merged into a warm rivulet of arousal that seared down along her cleft.
The caning continued at a slow, measured pace. Between each vicious stroke, the dean adopted the practice of levelling the cane down at the abacus to deftly flick a single red bead across the taut wire, tallying each lash with maddening precision and mathematical exactitude. And as she did so, she enunciated each stroke aloud. ‘Four!’ Swish, swipe!
Despite the hot blood singing in her ears, Ariadne heard the fourth click as the bead sped home.
‘Five!’ Swish, swipe! Click.
‘Six!’ Swish, swipe! Click.
A slight pause between the administration of the sixth and the seventh stroke of the rattan cane caused Ariadne to whimper pitifully.
‘Patience, my girl,’ the dean chuckled darkly, momentarily pausing to rub the tip of the cane down against her pubic mound.
‘Seven!’ Swish, swipe! And yet again the dreadful click of the tallying bead.
‘My goodness, girl, it would appear you have turned my whippy stick into a sticky whip,’ the dean quipped, sniffing as she scrutinised the moist tip of her yellow cane before once more savagely lashing the supple bamboo down across the crimson-striped buttocks. ‘Eight!’ The final stroke was duly tallied by a little red bead whizzing across the stretched wire.
But Ariadne scarcely heard it. Still gripping the far edge of the desk as though hanging on for dear life, she ground herself wantonly and frantically against the polished wood.
A few moments later she climaxed with a soft scream, and as she did so, the dean flicked the cane in against her parted thighs. The whipped girl whimpered her delight, and shuddered as a second orgasm engulfed her.
‘Kneel,’ the dean commanded gently, after giving her student time to recover. ‘Kneel down on the carpet, my girl.’
Ariadne’s perspiring breasts slid back across the slippery wood as she collapsed drunkenly on her knees before the desk.
‘Use your hands and fingers,’ the dean urged. ‘Go on, girl, you have my full permission to achieve absolute satisfaction.’
So keeping her recently whipped bottom cheeks just above her heels, Ariadne lowered her fingertips to her smouldering pussy and caressed her inner sensitive lips mercilessly, deploying both thumb-tips at her clitoral bud. Then suddenly she tensed and collapsed, succumbing to yet another climax that ravished her as ruthlessly as had the cane.
‘The pleasures of punishment are something of a philosophical conundrum, are they not?’ the dean murmured, pausing briefly to kiss, and then suck, the wet tip of her cane. ‘The sweetness of pain. The pleasure of suffering. A sugared sorrow, as the Chinese ancients deemed it. Yes, to be sure, a sugared sorrow.’