Rosecliff, Episode 015

Scarlet Watts

The lights dimmed. In the same moment, the entire atmosphere in the common room changed. The hushed conversations ceased, replaced by the rustling noises associated with the girls putting away their evening’s recreation. From the corner of my eye, I spied Katherine Chambers shutting off the television. Less than a minute later, the soft pitter-patter of girls ascending the stairs echoed in the emptiness of the common room. I remained, nose to the wall and hands on head, in the corner. Thinking I was finally alone, the temptation to turn from the corner grew strong, almost irresistible.

The sound of Katherine’s voice startled me. “I’m impressed,” she said, “most newbies require extra motivation to keep proper position throughout their first extended corner time.”

It was hardly my first extended period of corner time. My uncle felt a red bottom should be displayed as long as it glowed or at least until bedtime. Things weren’t always that bad, but often enough that I’d learned to keep position for as long as he demanded it. His paddle had easily persuaded me the benefits of obedience far outweighed the pangs of discomfort it might cause. I considered thanking her for the compliment, but my evening’s humiliating stand in the corner had been solely her own idea. It was dishonest to suggest I was grateful.

“Hmm, silence,” Katherine said. “Perhaps you’d like to spend the night contemplating your sore backside and the reason for it. I can make the arrangements, though I dare say most of our girls find it quite uncomfortable and chilling.” She laughed. “What do you say Scarlet, a night on the perch or would you prefer a bed?”

I stared at the corner. My uncle had sometimes gave me choices. He often liked giving me the opposite of my choice, unless of course it was the choice he wanted. It was possible Katherine shared his twisted sense of humor. However, the strict discipline was the reason I chose Rosecliff Institute in the first place. “I’d prefer a bed, but I’m well aware my preferences on the matter are irrelevant.”

“Turn around,” Katherine said. She was smiling. “You should do just fine here. Let’s get you to your apartment.” She pivoted and walked toward the door marked, Staff Only.

I followed and walked through the door as she held it open. It led into a hallway with a staircase at the far end. On either side of the walkway, spaced equidistantly along the length, were a total of six doors. The walls were painted white, the doors were painted blue. We stopped in front of the second door on the left. Black numbers identified it as 104.

Katherine unlocked the door, pushed it open and handed me the key. “Here we are.”

I stepped inside. She followed. The apartment lights were brighter than those in the hall. Directly in front of us, my luggage was stacked in a small collection at the edge of the living room. The room was furnished with a beige couch, a matching armchair with footstool, and an oval, cherry stained coffee table. I walked past the luggage and stood beside the armchair, feeling the soft, plush fabric. Looking around I noticed a furnished dining room, small kitchen and a staircase leading down. I looked at Katherine. “It’s bigger than I expected.”

She nodded. Her hand gestured toward my luggage. “Your personal things are here, but per the conditions of your current punishment you are not permitted to dress. If you feel the presence of your clothing might be too much of a temptation I can wait while you unpack and then lock your closet and drawers. When Dean Rosecliff signs off on your discipline’s completion, I will unlock them. The choice is yours, but if you are caught wearing anything, the consequences will be added to your existing punishment.”

I looked at my luggage. Unpacking was the last thing I wanted to do. “I think I can resist any temptation.”

Katherine nodded and took a single step backward, toward the door. “I realize you’re new and haven’t had a chance to fully absorb the policies here, but while you’re undergoing discipline you are expected to address your superiors in the same respectful manner as our students address us all. As I am the House Mother you should call me Miss or Ms. Chambers, as you prefer. Understood?”

I blinked at her. “Yes, Ms. Chambers.”

Rosecliff, Episode 014

Abigail Hastings

Ms. Scarlet Watts stood, hands on head, in the corner. Her bright red butt displayed the effects of Dean Rosecliff’s spanking for all the girls of Tanzanite House gathered in the common room. Ms. Chambers had turned on the television for the evening relaxation time, but I don’t think any of the girls watched it. Games, socializing, whispering about the day’s events were all far more entertaining. It’s not often for one day to see both a teacher and a monitor punished and stripped to their bare skin for days to come.

At 9:15PM, Ms. Chambers stepped in front of the television and softly rang her dainty handbell. When all the girls were silent and attentive, she stopped ringing the bell and said, “Margaret Lange, Mr. Mason has finished collecting your order and it is ready to be taken up to your room.”

Margaret had spent the entire evening standing against the wall. She nodded her head in Ms. Chambers direction and said, “Yes, Miss.”

Ms. Chambers looked to the rest of us. “Is there anyone who would like to volunteer to assist Margaret?”

An excuse to see Sean and get out of the common room early? I raised my hand without a second’s reservation. “I will, Miss.”

Ms. Chambers nodded her approval.

Margaret and I moved to the back of the common room and entered the shop. Sean waited behind his counter, smiling. He looked cute in his smugness, especially those piercing green eyes. I could melt staring into those eyes. It didn’t even bother me that he couldn’t ever seem to comb his hair. The tangled mess of blond hair was just him.

He tapped the top of the white laundry basket sitting on the counter. It was filled with most of Margaret’s supplies. “Between this and the hamper, I’ve collected all your supplies for easy transport. You just need to sign for them and take them up to your room.”

Margaret stepped up to the counter and signed his datapad with the plastic pen. “Thank you, Sir,” she said laying down the pen and taking hold of the basket. Her gaze twisted toward me, “Can you take the hamper?”

I nodded. “Easy. You’re in 310, right?”

“That’s it,” she said.

Sean looked at Margaret. “Run along up to your room, I need a moment of Abigail’s time before she leaves.”

Margaret looked hesitantly in my direction, but I gave her my best reassuring smile. She lifted the loaded laundry basket and left the shop. I watched the door close behind her.

Sean walked out from behind the counter, heading toward the back of the shop. “This way, Abi.”

I followed him to the back wall of the shop. He leaned against the wall, casually looking over my naked body. I moved closer until he held a hand up, signaling me to stop. My heart thudded. His eyes roved. He stepped forward, both hands moving toward my naked breasts. His fingertips tickled and then firmly pinched my nipples. He pulled me toward him.

“You’ve been a naughty girl,” he whispered, his sweet breath washing over my face.

I slipped my arms behind him and grasped his muscular shoulders, pulling us together. Our lips brushed, touched, kissed. All the bad things slipped away. His fingers moved from my nipples, threading their way into my hair and caressing my head. The world spun and everything the Rosecliff Institute was supposed to be faded from existence. It was only a moment, but it was a perfect moment.

He pulled his lips away. “I didn’t want to punish you.”

I smiled into his eyes and shrugged. “It’s Rosecliff, we do what we have to do.”

He nodded. “You better go. Someone will get suspicious if you’re in here too long.”

I snuck a final kiss before turning. We walked back to the front of the shop. I collected the hamper and he escorted me to the door. As I walked out, his hand slapped my tender butt, sending ripples of tingles throughout my body. Anyone who saw would call it discipline, I call it love.

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.”