“Oww, stop it!” She wailed as Jonathan smacked each cheek hard in turn, turning them both a delightful rosy pink. “ You can’t …Oww!”
“Are you going to turn the music off?” snapped Jonathan as he continued to tan her impertinent rump.
“Yes, yes I will! Lisa, do as he says!”
At long last the building resonated to the sound of blissful silence. If he left now, John knew that he would enjoy a wonderful restful sleep, until the girls got bored decided to start the party again.
No. No matter how tired he was John knew that he had to see this thing through to the end and make sure that these girls all behaved themselves from now on.
“OWW!” wailed the hostess as Jonathan began to spank her bottom more vigorously than ever. “We turned the music off! Let me go!”
“No chance!” said John, preparing himself to spend a long and gruelling night with these girls. “I don’t care if it takes all night! I’m going to set each and every one of you girls straight and make sure that I never hear a peep out of you after midnight ever again!”
Telling the struggling blonde to put her hands behind her head and lace her fingers, John reached down to her ankles, pulled the wide leather belt from the loops of her jeans and folded it into a sturdy makeshift strap. And though at first the girl squealed and fought with all her might, belting her bottom harder and harder with every stroke John soon taught her to bite her lip and take her medicine.
“What’s your name?” He asked, still firmly laying the strap across her stinging red cheeks with regular, rhythmic strokes. Up until now he’d only known these girls by room number and complaint.
“Karen.” She winced; trying hard not to wail like a sissy in front of her friends as the leather strap turned her lovely firm cheeks into a stinging inferno.
“Well, Karen, do you think that you’ve learnt your lesson?”
“Yes,” she whimpered. “Yes, I have.”
John knew that she was lying in the hope of weaselling her way out of trouble, but it didn’t matter. John recognised the face of every one of Karen’s party guests. They’d all caused him trouble at one point or another this past month and now he had the chance to punish each and every one of them in turn.
And if any of them still felt like being difficult after that display? Well, there was always tomorrow, and the next day, and the next.
“Okay then, who’s next?” asked Jonathan, sending the teary-eyed and sniffling girl over to stand in the corner with her jeans and knickers down around her ankles. He kept hold of Karen’s belt for the moment of course. After all, she wasn’t using it and it was a very effective tool.
Two dozen pairs of eyes suddenly began to stare intently at the carpet. For the first time since Jonathan had taken the job there, every one of the girls there was completely still and silent; and John was loving every minute of it.
“Come on now, let’s get it over with,” he insisted firmly. “If one of you doesn’t come forward soon I’ll just pick one of you myself.”
As it turned out of course, one pretty, little red head decided to get her spanking over and done with. And so despite trembling nervously and blushing with shame, she walked over to the settee and stood there politely with her head bowed and her hands behind her back, patiently waiting for the caretaker to deal with her.
“Feet together and hands on your head,” he instructed paternally. “That’s right, stand up straight.”
Since the girl was wearing a nice blue mini skirt and her legs were bare, John decided to start the proceedings with a few dozen nice firm smacks across the front of her thighs. Not enough to frighten her off mind you, but just enough to make her wince with pain as her legs were turned a beautiful blushing pink.
“You’re one of the girls in 3C, aren’t you?” probed Jonathan, still smacking her legs as she bit her lip to keep from yelping.
“Yes.” She gasped, fighting the urge to run away, but still needing to hop from one foot to the other in a vain attempt to cool the sting.
“Well in that case, this is for making me clean up your drunken mess every day for the last month!”
Turning the girl around, Jonathan began smacking the back of her thighs twice as hard as the front. She squealed and whimpered, but still took her medicine like a good little girl.
A few minutes later, John then turned the tearful girl around to face him once again, took her by the hand and pulled her down across his knee, pushed up her skirt and pulled down her knickers. And though she knew what was coming and was desperate to run away, without a word the girl put her hands behind her head, bit her lip and waited for it to begin.
With a casual smile, Jonathan then began spanking her sweet, little bottom, gently at first, but gradually increasing its intensity until she couldn’t help but gasp.
At first John laid the flat of his hand squarely across the centre of her rump, slowly, firmly and resolutely. But picking up the pace he cupped his hand and spanked each cheek in turn so forcefully that she had to cross her ankles to keep herself from kicking like a mule.
Next came the belt, and with long firm and regular strokes, he punished her stinging pink bottom until it was a an angry, blazing red, and no matter how much she tried, the poor girl couldn’t help but wriggle and wail.
Before long, the young woman’s cheeks were as rosy red as her blushing, tearstained face. And so turning her over, John sat her up on his knee and asked if she had learnt her lesson.
“I’m sorry,” she whimpered. “I’ll never make you clean up my messes again, I promise.”
John believed her. And so with one last gentle smack of the thighs, he sent the weeping girl over to stand facing the wall alongside Karen, with her hands on her head, her knickers down and her skirt hitched up around her waist.
“Next,” he called out like a cheerful shopkeeper, and though the slim, sexy brunette tried to look reluctant and shy as she walked up to the settee, John could tell from the glint in her eye that she had been dreaming of something like this for a very long time.
“What’s your name?” He asked paternally as he signalled for her to pull down her knickers and hotpants.
“Carmella,” she smiled, in a soft Italian accent.
John recognised her of course. For four weeks now she had ‘accidentally’ broken the fixtures and fittings in her dorm as often as she could get away with, and stood sheepishly in front of him when he arrived, almost waiting for him to become angry and shout at her.
Bearing that in mind, John wondered whether it would be wise to punish her now, fearing that maybe he might encourage her to do more stupid things in hopes of receiving another spanking. But then he realised that if he gave her what she wanted, it would satisfy her kinks and make his life a great deal easier.
“You’re the clumsy little tart who keeps breaking everything in her dorm aren’t you?” he barked, putting on a proper show for Carmella in hopes of giving her everything she wanted.
“Yes, sir,” she whimpered meekly, bowing her head like a naughty schoolgirl, but unable to mask her wicked little smile.
“Get over my knee this instant!”
This time there was no warm up. Carmella wanted a furious spanking, so that’s precisely what John gave her. Cupping his hand as he had done twice before, the caretaker whacked each cheek in turn as quickly as harshly as he could, spanking her rump so fiercely that all of the other girls in the room flinched with sympathy and fright.
“Punish me, sir! I’m such a naughty girl!” wailed Carmella at the top of her lungs, not caring if anyone figured out that she was loving every second of it. “Spank me harder! Make me good!”
In less than ten minutes the girl’s lovely olive cheeks were turned a dark, angry purple. Tears were streaming down her beautiful face, and she’d never felt so happy before in her entire life. And then came the leather belt.
For another ten long minutes John belted her rump until she couldn’t help but struggle and then making her stand with her hands on he
r head, he smacked and belted her thighs until she wanted to go down on her knees and thank the Madonna.
With three girls stood whimpering in the corner with their rosy red cheeks on display, Jonathan could have left it there. But eager to hammer his point home, the caretaker called for another girl to come forward, and then another, and then another.
He spanked every girl in the dorm room until they were in tears, and in the end, every one of them was stood facing the wall with their knickers around their ankles and their hands on their heads. And having made his point, when Jonathan returned to his room after dawn, he was able to go to bed and sleep well for the first time in weeks.
After that of course, life in the dorm building was very different indeed. Two days after the party, John caught the three girls from Dorm 2B trying to sneak in after eleven o’clock.
As it was, John had had no intention of punishing the girls, but before he could even open his mouth to send them on their way, the girls had each hitched up their skirts, pulled down their knickers, turned around and bent over.
“Please, sir,” asked the first girl in a meek and nervous tone of voice. “Please don’t spank us too hard.”
Jonathan was quite taken aback by this, but if that was what they wanted, then that was exactly what they were going to get, and so shrugging his shoulders, he stepped up to the first girl in line and spanked her rump quite hard, but not too hard.
Adult Education
by Elizabeth Coldwell
I had never been bad. I had spent all my life being the good girl, the nice girl, the girl who tried her best to please everyone and always avoided confrontation. I suppose it was only natural that, after nearly thirty years of conforming and keeping my head down, when I finally did rebel, all the feelings and desires I had been repressing for so long should come bursting out of me unstoppably.
It took a maths class, of all things, to bring about this change in me. Maths had been the one subject I was lousy at in school, and the only exam I had failed. Until now, it had never mattered: I had a successful career in a profession where creative thinking and people skills were of more importance than whether I could solve a quadratic equation. And if I ever needed to add things up, my PC was helpfully supplied with a calculator among its many accessories. Things changed when I was passed over for promotion in favour of someone who had been with the company three years less than I had. I knew that position should have been mine, but when I challenged my boss about the decision, he told me it had been out of his hands. There were, he told me, basic requirements for anyone moving up to senior management level, and I was missing out on one of them – evidence of mathematical competence. Until I obtained the relevant qualification, I was stuck where I was.
Of course, I could have looked for a new job, but I liked what I did and I liked the people I worked with. So I determined that, when the new term started in the autumn, I would take my Maths GCSE at the local college of art and technology. After all, how hard could it be to pass one silly little exam, I asked myself as I signed up. The answer came after only a few weeks. As I sat in the classroom, which smelled of chalk and old sweat and floor cleaner, struggling to follow the tutor as he scribbled numbers on the board, I remembered exactly how much I had hated these lessons the first time round.
It wasn’t the tutor’s fault. From the moment he had settled himself casually on his chair, propped one leg up on the desk and said, “I’m Mr Collins, but you can call me Andy,” I had warmed to him. It was hard not to. He was very much my physical type: close to six feet tall, with floppy, blond-streaked hair which he would constantly push away from his face as he talked. He favoured checked shirts and faded denims that showed off the contours of his arse and thighs, and when he was scribbling strings of figures on the blackboard, I would usually be paying more attention to his luscious back view than to the sum I was supposed to be working out.
No, the problem was that I just didn’t understand any of it. I never had, and I doubted that I ever would. Numbers baffled me, and no matter how patiently any of my teachers had ever tried to explain them to me, this never changed.
For a while, I tried my hardest to keep up with the rest of the class. I handed my homework in on time, even though it always came back marked as incorrect, and I revised for the mid-term exam, which, almost inevitably, I failed. It was when the exam paper came back, my embarrassingly low mark highlighted on the front in red ink, that something inside me snapped. I’d had enough of these stupid lessons, but instead of just quietly giving up and walking away from the lessons, I made a fateful decision, and one I still can’t explain to this day. I would just sit at the back of the class and slack, and see how long it took before the gorgeous and very good-natured Andy had enough and threw me out.
I was surprised at how easy it was to be a bad girl. I had originally taken a seat in the back row in the hope that I wouldn’t be noticed, or asked to answer a question I had no chance of getting right. Now, it enabled me to sit with my feet up on the desk, chewing gum and filing my nails while all around me heads were lowered as the rest of the class attentively copied the notes Andy was making on the blackboard.
When that didn’t appear to have any effect, I loaded up my iPod with the sort of music which comes with a ‘parental advisory’ warning: Prince, Nine Inch Nails, Marilyn Manson – anything with lyrics which celebrated bad living and twisted sex. If my tutor could hear the hiss and crackle coming from my headphones, he never said anything. I was still making a token show of completing my homework, but as my marks weren’t significantly worse than when I had actually been trying, I suppose it shouldn’t have surprised me that he didn’t notice a difference.
I might have carried on like this until the end of the course, and then, finally, Andy caught me misbehaving so blatantly he couldn’t fail to take action. Instead of making notes on that week’s topic, which was how to discover the diameter of a circle, I was making doodles on my worksheet. I had just completed a drawing of the firm globes of Andy’s backside, and was adding the caption, ‘Teacher’s arse – I’d love to measure the diameter of this,’ when I became aware that he was standing behind me, reading the words over my shoulder. He said something, and I pulled the headphones out of my ears, not having heard him over the music.
“Do you have something you’d care to share with the class, Amanda?” he asked, giving me a look which sent a pang of lust shooting down to my crotch.
I shook my head. I was sure some of the other women there had their own private fantasies about Andy, but I didn’t particularly want them to know about mine.
He glanced at his watch. “Actually, I think now’s a good time to call it a night. I’ll see all of you next week.” I got up to leave, stuffing my books into my bag, and he added, “Amanda, could you stay behind for a moment, please?”
This is it, I thought. This is when he tells me to get out of his class and never come back. I’ll be sad not to be able to lust after him every week, but who knows, maybe he’ll give me his phone number and we can meet up …
My daydream was interrupted by Andy’s voice. “Would you like to explain to me what all this is about?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” I retorted, still in the rôle of the stroppy slacker I had become during the past few weeks of lessons.
“I know you have a problem with maths,” he said, “but you weren’t that far away from getting a pass mark. A little bit of hard work between now and the end of the course and you’d have stood a really good chance of getting that qualification. And that’s why I don’t want to see you throwing that chance away.”
“Well, do you know what?” I replied. “I really don’t care about that stupid qualification any more. Or this stupid class.”
Andy sighed. “I hoped you weren’t going to take that attitude. But seeing as you have, it looks like the only thing I can use to make you see some sense is some old-fashioned discipline. Bend over the desk, please, Amanda.”
For a moment, I just looke
d at him blankly. It was such an outrageous request that I thought he was joking. Then I saw his expression and realised he was utterly serious.
“I don’t have all day, Amanda,” he said, “so if you’d hurry up and do as you’re told.”
The desk was low, and made of chipped formica, so as I bent over it, my bottom stuck out in the air. I pushed a pile of exercise books and a chalk duster out of the way and gripped the edge of the desk, feeling slightly ridiculous. That, however, was nothing to how I felt as Andy gave me my next instruction.
“Right, I’m going to give you six of the best. It seems the most appropriate punishment, under the circumstances. In the old days, they’d have used a cane, but we don’t have that luxury any more.” I couldn’t believe it; did he really sound regretful that he couldn’t give me such a barbaric punishment? “So, six hard spanks it is. And after every one I’d like you to say, “Thank you, Mr Collins,” and reflect on how you’ve been letting yourself down.”
Whatever had happened to ‘call me Andy’, and just when had my usually laidback tutor turned into this stickler for perverse discipline? I didn’t have time to ponder on his change in personality very long, though, as he moved close behind me and continued, “Just one last thing. That little arse of yours is just too well protected, so I think we’ll have these off–”
As he spoke, I felt him fumbling with my belt, and then the zip of my jeans. Before I could object, he had tugged them down to my knees, leaving me in just the flimsy little pair of powder pink panties I had put on that morning. Knickers that made me feel sexy when I wore them, but would do nothing to shield me from Andy’s palm.
I shivered as he ran his hand briefly over the curve of my bum. The more he was making me wait, the more I wanted to beg him to hurry up and get it over with. He was clearly relishing the power he had over me, and I began to wonder if he’d been aware of my bad girl routine for longer than I had believed.
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