Rosecliff, Episode 013

Scarlet Watts

The embarrassment was all consuming. My clothing sat in a neat stack on the stage floor against the wall. Everything except for the last garment. My fingers struggled with the rear clasp of my bra, nervousness keeping the simple task from being quickly completed. The clasp gave and the elastic material snapped loose. I let it fall free into my lowered hands and folded the cups into each other with the straps pressed into hiding. With my clothing stack complete all that remained was to turn and face the cafeteria full of girls, staff and teachers. My hands went to the top of my head and I faced the crowd, stepping to the front edge of the stage.

Walter arrived with the paddle in tow. His footsteps carried him toward the back of the stage. I imagined him examining my clothing stack for neatness. He hummed as he inspected. My thoughts ran to the only memory which even slightly compared to the embarrassment burning through me.

The summer before my senior year, I had spent with my uncle. It had been my cousin’s birthday. I had been fooling around in the kitchen with one of his friends. The cake had been sitting out on the counter. I had knocked the cake onto the floor. It hadn’t been entirely my fault, but I had no intention of telling my uncle what had really been going on in the kitchen. I had took the blame. My uncle had made me strip naked and bring the paddle onto the back porch where he had paddled me in front of my cousin and all his friends. I spent the rest of the birthday party with my naked butt on display. There had been a mere dozen friends of my cousin present for that humiliation. The cafeteria housed more than 450 girls, not counting the staff and teachers.

Walter’s footsteps approached. “Bend forward and touch your toes, Scarlet.”

I bit my lip and leaned forward, releasing my hands from the top of my head. My red locks hung down around my face and then dangled just above the stage floor as my fingertips brushes across the tops of my toes. Somehow I felt more naked than when facing the entire cafeteria. All I could see through my legs was the end of the clear paddle and my stack of clothing against the wall.

Walter said, “You’ll count each stroke in a clear, loud voice. Stay in position or you’ll receive extra.” He laid the paddle flat against the center of my protruding buttocks. “Are you ready?”

It was the type of rhetorical question that always made me want to say the opposite of what was expected. The embarrassment of the situation is probably the only thing that kept me from saying it aloud. Instead, I reminded myself I had enough swats coming over the next five days already and that answering inappropriately would only serve to worsen the situation. “Yes, Sir.”

The spanking hurt from the very first swat. It wasn’t unbearable. The paddle produced pain and sting in accordance with its purpose. As the spanking progressed the stinging increased and the element of heat added itself to the growing pain. In the silence between swats I could hear the little noises of my audience. Snickers, chuckles, amused breaths. They were enjoying my predicament. My eyes blinked in unison with every echoing impact. For the last twenty, my voice crackled with simultaneous crying while tears sprinkled out of my eyes.

“Fifty-six,” I counted and a sob wracked my body. All I desired was for the spanking to end and the burning, stinging pain to ease.

Dean Rosecliff said, “Stand up, hands on head.”

I obeyed. Tears streaked down my cheeks. All eyes in the cafeteria were fixed on me. My hair hung about my shoulders and face, disheveled. My chest surged up and down with harsh breathing and barely controlled sobs. I should have felt utter embarrassment, but all I felt was relief. The spanking was over, for one day at least.

Rosecliff, Episode 012

Margaret Lange

Ms. Watts said, “I, uh, I don’t think a demonstration is really necessary.”

Her words were obviously meant for Dean Rosecliff, but the stage microphone broadcast them for everyone to hear. A hushed silence fell over the cafeteria. Everyone stared at the stage and the relatively young teacher standing next to Dean Rosecliff. It was a captivating scene. I even momentarily forgot about the uncomfortableness of the cafeteria’s wood chair and the effect it had on my spanked bottom.

Dean Rosecliff turned from the crowd, staring at Ms. Watts. “It is quite necessary and unavoidable. If you read your contract, you should be aware that corporal punishment can and will be used whenever I feel it will benefit your performance.”

Ms. Watts took a step back from the Dean. Her legs trembled. He gripped, firmly it appeared, her arm and pulled her back. She stumbled and regained her balance. A blush colored her otherwise pale cheeks. The panic in her eyes suggested she would liked to have pulled free of his grasp and ran from the stage. Maybe it was the Dean’s air of authority, I certainly wouldn’t have fought with him, or maybe it was her own pride, but whatever it was, she didn’t resist him.

He let go of her arm and turned back to the cafeteria. “Ms. Watts believes a minor punishment should last for five days and that the girl should be nude. She believes the fourteen inch paddle is sufficient and that it should be used to deliver 48 swats each evening before dinner, after which she thinks the girl should spend the entire dinner meal in corner time.” His head swiveled in Ms. Watts’ direction. “Is that correct?”

Ms. Watts seemed to be staring at the stage beneath her feet. “Mostly.”

Dean Rosecliff raised an eyebrow. “Mostly? What part is incorrect?”

Her cheeks glowed brighter. She cleared her throat. “The number of swats was derived from doubling the age.”

The Dean nodded. “I see. Well, I believe that would up the swats to 56 for you.”

Her nod of affirmation was barely perceptible. Only a couple of hours earlier I received 25 swats with the same paddle and that was certainly more than enough. I could hardly imagine getting more than twice that, especially knowing that everyone at Rosecliff Institute was watching. I barely knew anything about Ms. Watts, we arrived at Rosecliff together, but her demeanor toward me had been far from friendly. No matter, I did not wish such a punishment on her or anyone else.

The Dean stepped back from the front edge of the stage, turning his whole body in Ms. Watts’ direction. “Scarlet,” he said, his voice emphasizing the use of her first name, “remove all your clothing and place them in a neat pile against the back wall. When you are finished you will stand front and center stage, hands on head, facing the cafeteria. I will return shortly with the paddle and I expect to find you thus or might just add a few more days. Am I understood?”

Ms. Watts face burned red. “Yes, Sir.”

Rosecliff, Episode 011

Britney Pearce

Corner time in the cafeteria lacked the element of a corner. It would be more aptly named, standing-behind-my-chair-while-looking-foolish-time. I suppose that was too much of a mouthful for the teachers and staff though. So instead, it’s cornerless corner time. Which means standing at the table, in the spot I would normally being eating, with my skirt still folded up and panties exposed. It also means having the misfortune to actually see my peers enjoying my predicament. Sure, some of the girls are nicer than that, but most of the girls at Rosecliff Institute didn’t get here because they were sugary sweet models of society.

I was feeling lucky overall. Thirteen minutes meant I still would be able to eat some dinner and the spanking hadn’t really been that bad. Carol Sato may be a Monitor, but she’s far from a heavy hitter. I’m pretty sure the shopkeeper boy, Sir Mason I call him, could do a better job with rolled up newspaper. Not that I plan on mentioning the fact to Miss Carol or anyone else.

At six minutes to go, Miss Abigail Hastings arrived with the new girl. I’d heard rumors about the new girl all day. She didn’t look much like the sort of girl who’d killed her boyfriend and put a dozen policemen in the ER. I never put much stock in the rumors though. The girl looked scared, the same as I’d felt when first arriving at the Institute. She was probably the kind of girl who had never so much as got sent to the principal’s office before whatever happened that got her sent here.

It was Miss Abigail who really caught my attention. She was marching along with her hands on her head and wearing nothing more than her white knee socks and black Mary Janes. When they walked past, I could see her bottom was a scorching red as well. Looked like she got the small paddle from the markings. Everyone from Tanzanite House was staring at her and the blush on her face confirmed she knew it. Monitors don’t march around in nothing more than their socks and shoes often. And most of those that end up that way, don’t last as Monitors.

Abigail would have been the talk of the night most days, but Dean Rosecliff stepped up on the stage at the front with a woman I didn’t recognize. He tapped on the microphone gathering the room’s attention. “Good evening, ladies.”

The room responded in chorus, “Good evening, Dean Rosecliff.”

He smiled like a happy puppeteer. “I’d like to introduce you all to Ms. Scarlett Watts. Ms. Watts is our first teacher for the new Computer Sciences Department here at the Institute. As most of you are aware, there are four new classes she’ll be teaching beginning Monday next week. Now I’d appreciate it if all of you would give Ms. Watts a nice, big welcome.”

The room said, “Welcome to Rosecliff Institute, Ms. Watts.”

Ms. Watts blushed and dipped her head. I suspected she enjoyed the attention though. Maybe it was the clothes she wore, a starched and stiff skirt suit, or perhaps the way she held herself next to the Dean, but she seemed the sort who thought herself better than everyone else. I could just picture her pacing the front of a classroom with the tawse waving about in her hand as she barked instructions. Any excuse to use the implement would not go wasted.

Dean Rosecliff said, “Ms. Watts has toured the facility and seen a little bit of how discipline works here at the Institute. However, she feels our methods are a little soft.”

I think he about confirmed my thoughts on Ms. Watts personality.

He continued, “Therefore I think a first hand demonstration is in order. She outlined what she saw as a minor punishment earlier and I think it appropriate she experience that punishment before we make any decisions about changing current policy. Does that sound fair?”

Ms. Scarlet Watts appeared pale, almost ill.

The room spoke in chorus, “Yes, Dean Rosecliff.”

Rosecliff, Episode 010

Abigail Hastings

“No, Sir,” I said. Sean clearly felt he had to stick with the letter of the rules because of Margaret’s presence. Sometimes I just find it too hard switching between the person I am and the person the Institute expects me to be. Naturally, the trouble comes easier. I unbuttoned my bow tie, folded the strip in thirds and laid it on the counter. A quick glance toward Margaret confirmed her attention was split between the work in front of her nose and me.

Sean removed the clear paddle from the wall, it was shaped similar to a ping-pong paddle, and tapped its flat surface on the edge of the counter. “Hurry up, you’ll be late for dinner as it is.”

There was a time when I would have been blushing up a storm and trembling at just the thought of undressing in front of an audience in a shop. Three years at Rosecliff Institute cured me of that. I stripped out of my jumper and blouse, leaving me in just undergarments and socks and shoes. After folding the jumper and blouse, I removed my bra and then my panties, adding them to the pile. Hands on head, I faced Sean though I couldn’t quite bring myself to look him in the eye.

Sean stepped out from behind the counter, paddle gripped firmly in his right hand. He pointed at my shoes. “Touch your toes.”

I leaned forward, stretched my fingertips out toward the tops of my black shoes. My curly hair flopped off my back and touched the floor. I closed my eyes, preferring not to look at the upside-down world between my legs. The cool touch of the paddle against my right butt cheek sent a shiver down my spine.

Sean swung the paddle. It struck with a loud pop that set to life a buzz of stinging tingles on my right-side buttock. The unevenness between my cheeks was quickly corrected with a second swat smacking the left-side. My entire butt stung, though not badly enough that I felt the urge to comfort it. Unfortunately, the spanking was far from over.

The paddle seemed to be bouncing from side to side, smacking my bottom with a steady, quick pace. Each swat raised the temperature and increased the stinging. It became increasingly difficult to stay in position. The urge to coddle my butt grew stronger and stronger. My body trembled with the effort required to resist my natural instincts. Somewhere near the thirtieth swat the pain overwhelmed me and tears began spilling from eyes. My breathing turned sharp and shallow.

He laid the last ten with extra force. I cried through them. My mouth hung open gasping for air and my entire focus in life became staying in position until the spanking stopped. It seemed an eternity before the last swat fell. When it did, I stayed down, fingertips pressed into the tops of my shoes, hair bouncing on the ground like a shroud around my hands and feet. My butt burned. Three years and dozens of spankings at the Institute, and still they hurt every time.

“Stand up, hands on head,” said Sean.

I followed instructions. Margaret stood at the counter staring. There were unspilled tears pooled in her eyes. Sweet girl, probably blamed herself. She would learn though. We’re all responsible for our own actions.

Sean said, “You two had best get along to the cafeteria.”

“Yes, Sir,” we both replied.

“And Abigail,” he said, “you’ll miss dinner tonight and stand in the corner instead. Understood?”

I sniffled. “Yes, Sir.”

Rosecliff, Episode 009

Margaret Lange

Mr. Mason, it felt odd calling a teenager mister, instructed Abigail to assist me in getting the uniform on right. It went much smoother with the jumper untwisted and right-side out. The bow tie, a simple ribbon of fabric matching the jumper that buttoned in a cross just in front of the neck, was the most difficult. Mostly because I had never worn anything of the like before. A glance in the wall mirror behind Mr. Mason revealed my appearance as that of a high school student at one of those uppity private institutions where everyone wore identical uniforms.

We proceeded to the front counter. Mr. Mason printed a bill for my initial purchase items and loaned me a pen so that I might write out a check paying for it all. I think I annoyed him by insisting on comparing the bill with the list of items in the white book, but he chose to move on and focus his energies on Miss Abigail.

Mr. Mason retrieved a tablet from beneath the counter and began tapping on the backlit screen. All the while, he wore a stern expression, lips puckered as if sucking on a lemon. Something about his eyes suggested he disliked what he was doing. The way he kept glancing at Miss Abigail, he was angry, but there was more to it than that. He liked her.

She stood off to my left, chewing on her lip and looking at Mr. Mason when he wasn’t looking at her. Her eyes held apology and hope. She cleared her throat, grabbing his attention. Her gaze locked on the floor in front of her feet. “I know I was wrong, but couldn’t you let it pass this time, Sir?”

He focused on the tablet. “This is your third punishment in the last 30 days. Two weeks ago you were caught daydreaming in class and two weeks before that you apparently forgot your manners at the breakfast table. Combine that with the disrespect you showed me and I think it’s pretty safe to say you aren’t exactly setting a good example.”

Her shoulders slumped. Tears welled in her eyes. “Please, Sir. It won’t happen again.”

Mr. Mason nodded. “As a result of your poor behavior of late, the computer recommends a stricter than normal punishment.”

A single tear slid down Abigail’s cheek.

He said, “For the next five days your uniform is restricted to socks and shoes, you will report to the assistant dean in the cafeteria at breakfast for 27 swats of the medium Lexan paddle or the heavy strap , and you will spend the remainder of the breakfast period in corner time. Additionally, your free time privileges are revoked and your status as a monitor is suspended pending a review by Dean Rosecliff.”

The whole thing sounded extremely harsh. Abigail had only been trying to protect me from his leering eyes. Not that he hadn’t already seen everything. Still, in a certain light she was being punished for being nice and that was wrong. But, Mr. Mason had a point as well. She had not addressed him with respect and her suggestion, that his interest in watching me dress and undress was inappropriate, whether true or not, was unwise.

Mr. Mason said, “I’m entitled to give you an equivalent spanking right now. As my most significant available is the small Lexan paddle, the program recommends I add 15 swats to the 27 making a total of 42.”

She gasped and blinked at him in disbelief.

He said, “Strip yourself down to socks and shoes. Place your neatly folded clothes in a stack on the counter and then you can stand facing me with your hands on your head. Any questions, Abigail?”