Dean of Discipline: More Tales of Old-School Punishment

by Allen Bare

  Judith Foreman, my next appointment, was also a member of the freshman class, though, being in her mid-twenties, she was a good five years older than Annie. She was a larger woman as well, taller and more voluptuously curved. Remembering a previous occasion, I doubted that Judith would take her chastisement with the Spartan reserve of her predecessor, and I was correct. Though she displayed great hauteur while strolling about the campus, the imminent prospect of a paddling had reduced her to blubbering helplessness, and I had to repeat my instructions rather sharply before she collected her wits sufficiently to reach up under her dress and divest herself of panties and pantyhose. Her eyes were brimming even before she went over my lap, and a miserable sob escaped as I raised her dress and slip to uncover broad, firm buttocks. The first stroke of the paddle brought forth a hearty yelp, the first of many, and in no time Judith was fairly howling as repeated smacks of polished wood on tender flesh brought her quaking bottom to a climax of agony. The toes of both heeled shoes banged the floor, until one shoe, on a particularly high kick, flew halfway across the room.

  She got, insofar as I could judge-and I had plenty of experience-just as hard a paddling as Annie; no more, no less, though her reaction was far wilder. Presumably Judith's life as heiress to a roller-bearing fortune had provided few experiences that prepared her for the demands of a moment such as this, and it did not really surprise me that she kicked and squealed and wriggled her reddened bottom in the air, paying absolutely no heed to how such behavior might appear to her friends or enemies, who were not, after all, present. If this carrying-on helped at all, she was welcome to whatever relief it offered. Although I admired restrained performances like Annie's, appreciating the effort that went into them, I was never inclined to regard a more forthright reaction as a sign of cowardice. Judith had, after all, made no effort to escape her chastisement. As long as a girl took her medicine, she was free to choose the style in which it was taken.

  It took Judith somewhat more time than Annie to get herself together when her punishment was over. There were, after all, not only a pair of coffee-colored silk bikini briefs but also a pair of sheer pantyhose to be pulled up, and before that a certain amount of brisk rubbing and even a dance step or two appeared to be necessary. Then, of course, the errant shoe had to be tracked down and put on. Although Judith had regained a good deal of self-control by the time she was ready to leave, she still managed to look as thoroughly spanked as any young lady could, and I knew that her passage through the anteroom was bound to lower the collective morale a few notches.

  Indeed, the next girl, though a sophomore and by no means a stranger to the paddle, approached the punishment bench in a state of teeth-chattering terror, and it took all my skills to calm and reassure her while at the same time inducing her to submit to what was, after all, inevitable. I spanked Claire Tallant briskly and sent her on her way, her pink cotton briefs covering a throbbing ache that wouldn't be put out of mind for at least a few days. Her classmate Joyce LaFontaine was similarly dealt with. Once calmed, they fell somewhere between Annie and Judith on the reaction spectrum. Claire emitted little yelps when the paddle fell, occasionally raising a foot but never quite kicking. Joyce grunted and groaned occasionally, when a particularly sharp stinger landed on one writhing cheek or the other, but otherwise made no sound. She did wring her hands, however, and she had a way of bending both knees and raising her feet about as high as her bottom, then kicking them briskly in the air, an action which caused her buttocks to wag rapidly (but probably without effect, if she was hoping to shake away any of the pain).

  The final sophomore of the day was brown-haired Marybeth Halloran, another girl who sometimes required special understanding. She came in as if grimly determined to get the ordeal over with as quickly as possible, and lost no time in reaching up under her gray plaid wool skirt to pull down her nylon bikini panties. They were in a pretty blue-and-lavender floral print, as I was able to observe before she went over my lap because she had pulled them down almost to her knees, well below the hem of the short skirt. I won't say that she did an eager swan-dive over my lap, but the upending, which can be awkward, was accomplished with a minimum of fuss and ceremony. In keeping with the brisk tone she had set, I lost no time in sweeping up the little skirt and baring Marybeth's plump young backside. I gave it a good thwack with the paddle, and was not surprised to hear "God damn!" emerge from between clenched teeth. Ignoring this, I continued my work with the paddle, watching pink bars and blotches appear on jiggling flesh while sulfurous oaths filled the air. This was, as I had learned previously, Marybeth's own peculiar way of dealing with the pain of a spanking. There were plenty of grunts, oohs, and ouches interspersed with the swear words, and even, as the ceremony progressed toward its climax, a few high-pitched squeals and squawks, but to the extent that she was able to control her vocal output it took a profane form. Having learned that the cursing was not personally intended, I ignored it, feeling that Marybeth was as entitled to her own form of expressive reaction as anyone else. When her bottom flesh was sufficiently red and sore and her voice was beginning to break, I let her up, and waited while she danced about, rubbing her backside, sucking air through her teeth, and uttering half-audible Shits and God damns as tears dripped from her nose and chin. She had to do a certain amount of this, it seemed; when it was completed, she calmed down, tugged her garments into place, and left as coolly as if she had only come in to browse.

  According to the traditional order, Paige Williams, our little jailhouse lawyer, should have been next, but I felt that it would suit everyone's sense of the occasion (except perhaps her own) to save her for last. So I skipped ahead to Janice Martin, the only senior involved. Janice was no genius, just an easygoing girl who liked a good time and seldom missed an opportunity to have one. It had gotten her in trouble numerous times in past years, and twice already with me. When it was time to pay the piper, it would be too much to say that she did so willingly, let alone gladly, but her ungrudging air suggested that she had calculated the likelihood of a paddling and decided in advance that the fun was worth it. She was a big girl with honey blonde hair and a wide-mouthed grin that, of course, was nowhere in evidence today.

  Janice bent her long frame over my lap and took a good, sound spanking on a bare, bouncing, well-shaped bottom. She took it pretty well, too, though she couldn't resist a kick here and there and an occasional high-pitched "Ooo!" When she turned away to pull up her sheer blue panties afterwards, I had a glimpse, in the half-second before her white skirt dropped, of two lavender mounds where her rosy buttocks showed through.

  With Janice restored to the path of virtue, it was time for the main event. Connie, who had been helping Mrs. Robson keep order in the outer office, knew enough to remain on standby when the last prisoner entered the Inner Spanctum. If anyone was likely to bolt, it was Paige.

  In the event, Paige didn't try to escape, but she burst into noisy tears and, psychologically, at least, went limp, appearing unable to understand or respond to anything I said. Suppressing the urge to snap that she would have something to cry about in a minute, I spoke to her as calmly as I could and still make myself heard over the caterwauling. When the reasonable suggestion that this behavior was only prolonging the ordeal failed to elicit any response, I pointed out that if she wouldn't give me her cooperation I would be forced to call on Ms. McHugh for assistance. This appeal was equally unavailing, so I opened the door and Connie stepped in.

  "Come on, Paige," she said briskly. "Try to be a grownup." I wondered if she was struck, as I was, by the irony of this advice-most young ladies of my acquaintance find an adult demeanor fairly difficult to maintain when sprawled across the lap of chastisement with their backsides raised and bared. But Paige was unamused; she continued to weep forlornly, her usually pretty face lumpy and red, while Connie took her by the wrists and drew her forward and down over my lap. When she felt the skirt of her blue corduroy skirt rising, she began to shout "No! No!" and twist about desperately, but m
y darling had her wrists in a grip of steel, and she could only rock ineffectively on my lap. There was a white slip under the skirt, and I raised both onto her back, trapping them under the hand I was using to keep Paige from rolling off onto the floor. Underneath she wore plain, soft, white cotton briefs, which I tugged down with my free hand, my knuckles sliding back and forth over smooth flesh as I worked the panties down below the swell of her rump and onto her thighs. The bottom uncovered in this procedure was a heart-shaped beauty, with firm, upthrust cheeks and fine, pale, silklike skin.

  I picked up the paddle, but I had something to say to her before I began, and I didn't want to have to shout. "Paige, be quiet for a minute," I said firmly. She went on blubbering as if she hadn't heard me. I raised the paddle. "Paige, be quiet!" I brought the paddle down on the last word, spanking her hard across both cheeks with a ringing crack. She fell silent immediately, though perhaps she was only taking breath to bellow. "That's better," I said quickly, before she could howl.

  "I want to remind you, young lady," I said, "that you're being punished not only for breaking the college's rules against drinking, but for trying to avoid punishment through a pathetic lie. I'm going to do my best to make sure you remember not to try anything like that again. This is going to be a paddling to remember. Now, feel free to make as much noise as you please."

  Paige didn't need a second invitation. A pink band had appeared where the paddle first landed, and I knew that the pain had been mounting while I spoke. Now I brought the paddle down again and again, rapidly, and the small blonde squealed and squalled lustily as the fat smacks of wood on flesh provided a vivid counterpoint. Poor Paige squirmed and twisted and gyrated her legs wildly in every direction, but there was no way to shield her smarting bottom. It could rock, it could roll, it could bounce, it could wiggle-and it did all of these things, repeatedly-but it could not hide. It was stuck in this horribly exposed position until the entire ordeal-and it was a longer, more painful ordeal than she had ever endured before-was finished, and every cubic centimeter of searing bottomflesh was contributing its own unique sizzle to the general conflagration.

  Although I suspected the blonde junior's pre-paddling hysteria of being largely faked, there was genuine desperation in the shrieks she was uttering as the spanking reached its climax, and when she was released she danced halfway across the office, rubbing and kneading at her crimson hindquarters, before she came to herself and pulled up her panties, which by then were around her ankles. The crying didn't cease, but it did subside in volume, and at last Miss Paige Williams was composed enough to scoot out of the office and head off, perhaps in search of an ice cake. Connie and I were as steamed up as usual, but, mindful of our invisible guest, we remained virtuously apart. I sat at my desk to update the punishment records while Connie went upstairs to liberate Jo.

  "How'd she take it?" I asked Connie curiously, when we were finally driving home.

  Not much to say-nothing at all, really. I warned you she probably wouldn't."

  "Well," I said, "how did she look?"

  Connie laughed. "Passionate!"

  "Oh, come on," I said. "You can't blame me for being curious."

  "No, sugar," said Connie. "Well, let me see. Her face was red, and I don't think it was embarrassment. Standing next to her was like a June day in New Orleans. So I wasn't fooling when I said passionate."

  "Lots of juices flowing. Lucky Ed."

  "Never you mind about him. I've got some juices of my own I'd like to talk to you about."

  "We're almost there, and I'm ready and willing to begin the conversation."

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  This book is intended for adults only. Spanking and other sexual activities represented in this book are fantasies only, intended for adults. Nothing in this book should be interpreted as advocating any non-consensual spanking activity or the spanking of minors.