LOL 7 & A Glimpse at Conflict of Interest

Year after year, Bonnie over on My Bottom Smarts, brings us Love Our Lurkers Day. It’s a way of inviting the silent masses who read blogs to join the conversation and share their thoughts, however big or small. I think it’s a really great idea because I know there are a lot people out there who read these blogs on a regular basis, but still feel uncomfortable about leaving a comment. Sometimes all it takes is a little nudge. Of course some people have larger fears that just how their favorite blogger or other more established commenters might react. The web can be a scary place, not to mention sticky, creepy and crawly, at times and especially for those who have reason to fear they might be discovered in the real world for their predilections on the web. That’s why I’ve specifically allowed for people to comment anonymously on this blog. There is no need to enter your email address or share personal information about yourself, but you can still join in the conversation and share your likes and dislikes.

So, if you’re a lurker (reader) and would like to leave a comment, good, bad, heck this one special day a year we will even allow ugly comments, just so long as it’s not spam, I’m hoping you’ll take a moment and say something. Say anything. My blog has been specially trained not to bite, unless you’re a spammer. If you’re a spammer, blogger will gobble you up and I’ve got a dozen followers or so that will line up outside your house with paddles, straps and floggers. Oh, my! I am of course not serious, my name is actually Ashley, but I do wish we could track down those spammers. Really, I don’t want to buy fake American products made in China. I don’t care if they are 10% cheaper. I still don’t need them. Oh wait, this post was supposed to be about encouraging lurkers out of the shadows. The tie-in here is, wait I forgot, oh yeah, um, um, oh yeah. If I can’t figure out who the spammers are that constantly send me such wonderful offers for products I neither want or need, then lurkers can rest in safe anonymity leaving comments of substance that they can confidently believe will never, ever, ever, ever get back together -oops- I mean, be traced back to them.

Comment a little. Comment a lot. Say what you think. Say what believe. Just say something and join the conversation. Bloggers everywhere will thank you and appreciate you. Not that we don’t appreciate you in your silence as well. Whatever makes you comfortable, know that we know you are there and we’re glad you’re reading.

Hugs,
Ashley

In other news, since I’m not actually posting a Rosecliff Episode today, I thought I’d mention a project that is nearing completion and will be available in the near future. It’s called Conflict of Interest and with the exception of Quest Five it is easily the longest spanking story I’ve written. The story is set in the future, the world is heavily controlled by corporations and those corporations have decided to make use of corporal punishment in the managing of their employees. I’d share a summary, but I’m still in the process of revision, the story is completely written, and a few things might be altered before it’s all said and done. Unfortunately, I’m not confident on a release date quite yet, my November is packed with work and I don’t expect to get truly into the revision process until early December. I’ll keep you informed on the progress though and I can promise it will be out either late this year or early next year.

Rosecliff, Episode 034

Britney Pearce

I was walking toward Tanzanite House for afternoon study time. Ms. Rutherford had held me back a few minutes, discussing my degree qualifications and whether or not I intended to formalize things with an application for graduation. With less than a year of Rosecliff left ahead of me, it was among the top subjects in my thoughts most days, but decisions on the future have a scary element to them after spending so long living day by day. Ms. Rutherford was right though, it was time to start planning for a future beyond the gates of Rosecliff. Such were my thoughts as I walked along the open air path.

Miss Carol approached from behind. She was slightly winded as if she had been running. The thin sheen of sweat on her forehead just beneath her black hair only reinforced my conclusion as it was one of those days when the air carried a chill and only the hot sun in the cloudless sky kept the day from being a cold one. She slowed her pace, grasped my arm and pulled us both to a stop.

She said, “You’ve been running.”

I raised an eyebrow. “I have not, Miss Carol.”

“Why else would I have had to run to catch up with you?” she asked.

It seemed a ridiculous question. If we walked at the same pace and I left before her, she would certainly have to increase her pace, say by running, to catch up with me. And I had left the main building before her, apparently. I possessed a written excuse from Ms. Rutherford for my late exit and it occurred to me that Miss Carol’s even later exit might not have such a valid reason. If so, she was likely looking to use me as an excuse. Wrong place, wrong time, was still seeming to be the story of my life.

“I left before you,” I said.

She stared into my eyes, confident in her superiority. “Don’t get smart.”

I felt like laughing. It would of course be the wrong thing to do. Running on campus came with stiff penalties and I still preferred to avoid them. It was to my benefit to cooperate with Miss Carol and offer her an opportunity that was less burdensome to me and yet still met her needs.

“We both know I wasn’t running.”

Miss Carol raised up on her toes, giving herself a downward vantage into my eyes. “Are you calling me a liar?”

I shook my head, not trusting myself to find the appropriate tone to cool her blood. But we weren’t quite alone. Mr. Boggs had approached us quietly without either of us noticing. When he spoke, I nearly jumped out of my own skin and I think Miss Carol might have, if only for a second.

Mr. Boggs said, “I’m quite certain Britney would avoid saying something so inflammatory. I, however, see no reason to be so diplomatic. You, Carol, were running, not Britney.”

Carol stammered. “I-I-I was only trying to catch up.”

He nodded. “We’ll discuss this more fully after dinner in my office.”

She lowered her gaze, though her eyes were wide open. Her fingers twitched at her sides. “Yes, Sir.”

He pointed ahead toward Tanzanite House. “Move along. If I’m not mistaken you’re late for study time.”

“Yes, Sir,” she said and pivoted toward the house. Her quick pace away was almost a run, but I imagine she just wanted to get away from Mr. Boggs before he changed his mind and disciplined her on the spot. Personally, I was slightly disappointed he didn’t. It did seem I deserved the opportunity to watch her squirm considering she was perfectly willing to do the same to me without any proper reason.

Mr. Boggs turned his attention on me. “Why haven’t you reported Carol for bullying?”

“Sir?” Did he really expect me to explain the way things worked at Rosecliff and why it was never in a girl’s best interest to tattle?

“I’ve been reviewing your record,” he said. “This is clearly not the first time Carol Sato has called you out on failings you did not commit. Why haven’t you reported this to Ms. Chambers?”

“I’ve seen a lot of monitors come and go in my time here,” I said. It was easier to stare at the ground than meet his gaze. “Miss Carol is new to the post and flexing her muscle.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.” He lifted my chin with a finger.

I hesitated a moment. The look in his eyes told me he wanted honesty. I gave it to him. “Discipline is part of life at Rosecliff. Sometimes it is fair, sometimes it is not. I can take it either way and complaining about it is pretty lame. We’re all here for good reason and it’s not because we’re innocent. Sir.”

He nodded, apparently pleased with my response. “I want to see you in my office after dinner as well.”

Rosecliff, Episode 033

Scarlet Watts

Gary- Mr. Boggs, having taken over Ms. Chambers’ leadership role for the week, seemed quite at ease standing against the wall surveying my classes. Unlike Ms. Chambers, he spent more of his time watching my students rather than me. That might have been a result of my fully clothed state or it might just be that Mr. Boggs understood the most likely problems in a classroom were going to come from the students, not the teacher.

I gave my first quiz. It seemed appropriate. The students had spent time learning the positions of the keys on keyboards and how best to position their hands on the keyboard to take advantage of that knowledge. Of course it takes time to connect the movement of fingers with the knowledge in the brain. Some would pick it up faster than others, but my quiz wasn’t about speed. Accuracy through the slow deliberate movement of fingers over the keyboard was my goal. All I asked of my students was to type a simple sentence while wearing a blindfold. It was the same method by which I was taught.

Most succeeded with few or no errors. And then there was Lindsay Owens. She typed not a single correct letter for the entire sentence. The pooling tears in her sad green eyes only furthered my opinion the girl did it purposefully. Undoubtedly, she looked forward to the lunch meal where she would mock me as a teacher. The red headed drama queen was testing me and she must have thought I would fail.

I looked to Mr. Boggs beside the door, shaking my head. His approval was a necessary step in moving forward with discipline during my probationary period. Ms. Chambers would likely have turned me down, but I felt Mr. Boggs was more open-minded. I said, “She failed to type even a single letter correctly.”

Mr. Boggs pushed on the bridge of his glasses with his index finger though they were already solidly in place. “That does sound unacceptable.”

I stepped toward him. “Unacceptable? It’s either intentional or a clear sign of a learning disability. Is Lindsay Owens learning disabled?”

Mr. Boggs lips formed a thin smile. “Not that I am aware of.”

“That leaves intentional,” I said, planting my hands firmly on my hips. “Certainly you would agree that discipline is called for?”

Lindsay twisted around in her seat. Her milky pale complexion turning a sort of strawberry in her obvious anger at having been caught in her ploy. “It was a mistake, Miss. Honest. My fingers were in the wrong place.”

I twisted and snapped my fingers at her. “Quiet girl. I wasn’t talking to you and I didn’t ask for your explanation.”

She wisely lowered her eyes. “Sorry, Miss.”

Mr. Boggs said, “I’ll approve a disciplinary action if that is your choice, Miss Watts.”

I looked back at him and nodded in respect. “Thank you, Mr. Boggs. I do indeed choose.”

He lifted up his datapad and tapped on the screen. After my probationary period, I would get one of my own. They communicated wirelessly with the Institute’s internal network and the disciplinary program in particular. Rosecliff left nothing to chance in deciding punishments. Everything was regimented with weight being given to a student’s disciplinary history. The only problem I saw with the program was that it often erred on the side of leniency.

Mr. Boggs said, “Her punishment will be for the remainder of the day only. She will be stripped down to bra, socks and shoes for attire. You may give her 24 spanks with either the tawse or the small Lexan paddle. Afterward, she will spend the remainder of the class period in corner time and this evening, instead of enjoying free time after dinner she will retake the exam under your supervision. Do you have any questions, Ms. Watts?”

I shook my head. It was simple enough. I turned my attention on Lindsay. “Stand up and remove your uniform down to your bra, socks and shoes.”

The strawberry blush on her cheeks darkened as she complied and the eyes of her classmates focused on her undressing. In a positive note, I am pleased she followed instructions without complaint or argument. I opted for the small Lexan, the feel of a solid implement in my hand is infinitely more satisfying than the wishy-washiness of most leather. Lindsay bent down, touching her toes with her legs split sufficiently to give Mr. Boggs an excellent view of her sex. I imagine he enjoyed it, though he gave no outward signs of such. The twenty-four swats I delivered to her pale buttocks, colored her a nice soft red, but they felt far too few. She was hardly colored at all when I met again in the evening for her repeat quiz. My only real satisfaction comes in knowing that the girls in my classes would spread that word; Miss Watts is not to be fooled with.

Rosecliff, Episode 032

Margaret Lange

Things were going pretty smooth. I had managed to avoid getting spanked since my initiation into Rosecliff and that initial spanking seemed quite unavoidable. It crossed my thoughts to suggest I hadn’t done anything to deserve it even, but of course the people running Rosecliff would not agree. In their eyes every girl who walks through their front door has done plenty to deserve a solid spanking. I bet they even consider making it a daily ritual for some of the more hardcore girls. Then again, they consider me hardcore though prior to the supposed incident that landed me here, I’d never been in any sort of legal trouble. Sometimes I think the system is designed to punish those who spend their lives living within the rules and make a single mistake more than it punishes those who break the rules every day.

So anyway, I was showered, dressed and had just finished making my bed when Miss Abigail entered. She smiled at me like we were old friends which was nice. I still felt bad about the trouble she had with the shopkeeper, Mr. Mason. She joined me beside the bed and looked at it. I shrugged. She hid her laughter behind a fake fit of coughing. I blushed.

Miss Abigail said, “That’s got to be the worst made bed I’ve ever seen. I mean I’ve seen unmade beds with less wrinkles.”

I nodded, looking at it. “My mom gave up on trying to teach me years ago.”

Miss Abigail shook her head. “That won’t do here.”

I offered her a weak smile. It wasn’t like I hadn’t known the day was coming. Everyone else made the kind of beds you could bounce quarters off of and if you threw one at mine, you’d probably lose it inside a wrinkle. And of course, life at Rosecliff was meant to include regular doses of corporal punishment. That I’d gone nearly a week without any was certainly a miracle. Unfortunately, it was a miracle soon to be corrected.

That was when Jocelyn returned from the showers, dripping wet and wearing nothing more than her towel and a pair of flip flops. “Don’t be mean, Ms. Abi. She’s still new and has lots to learn. Ain’t that right, Mags? I’ve been teaching her stuff all week, but haven’t quite made it to the bed thing yet. Pathetic I know.” She took a breath, shaking her head at the sight of my bed. Then, she whistled. “That’s the worst it has looked all week. I swear. Just don’t be mean, Ms. Abi. We’ll get her all straightened around. Promise.”

Miss Abigail rolled her eyes while her back was still turned on Jocelyn. She pivoted and sighed, planting her hands on her hips. “It’s Miss Abigail, not Abi and I don’t think I’m ever mean.”

Jocelyn smiled. She dropped her towel on the floor and started dressing. “Sorry, Miss Abigail. I like you and so I use a nickname cause I always use nicknames for folks I like. And I know you ain’t mean. If you were mean, I’d probably get spanked for just talking to you cause we all know I talk too much and say stuff I should probably never say. But anyway, like I was saying, Mags there just needs to be taught, I ain’t had the opportunity to teach her quite yet. If you gonna spank anybody over it, it should probably be me. But you ain’t mean. So you’ll let me teach her, right? Nobody got touch their toes today, right?”

Miss Abigail shook her laughing, this time without bothering to disguise it. “Alright, alright. You can teach her and I won’t punish anyone, this time.”

Jocelyn pulled her socks into place and stepped into shoes, finishing getting dressed. “You’re the best, Miss Abi.”

Miss Abigail said, “It is Miss Abigail.” She wagged a finger at the two of us. “If it looks like this tomorrow, I’ll spank you both and you know what that means for the rest of day if I do.”

Jocelyn nodded. “Yes, Miss Abigail.”

The next fifteen minutes consisted of a rapidfire instruction on how to make my bed from Jocelyn. It would have never sunk in, but she helped me do it step by step while she explained and the really amazing part was it looked good when we were done. Of course the real test will be tomorrow morning when I try to do it myself all over again. Time will tell, but I doubt my luck against spankings will hold out much longer. It just goes against the grain of a place like Rosecliff.

Rosecliff, Episode 031

Abigail Hastings

Mrs. Chambers disrobed with efficiency. Her pace lacked unnecessary pauses, her hands remained steady and certain as she folded, more neatly and quickly than I was capable, and she made no attempt to shield her privates from view. She stood next to me, hands on her head, same as me, and it seemed as if we were no different. Equals.

Dean Rosecliff pretended to remain busy with his datapad, but I caught his glances in our direction. He hummed to himself, holding device up in the viewspace between us as if it were some sort of shield. The clock ticked off seconds and the minute hand moved forward with a thunk. He liked the waiting. I could see it in his eyes, in the dispassionate passion that held sharpened his cheeks and chin into the appearance of the stern, disapproving master he wanted us to see.

The datapad slipped from his hand and clattered on the desktop. His dark eyes drank in Ms. Chambers’ nudity, unabashedly staring at her legs, vagina, and breasts. “Katherine,” he said, “for the next five days you will be disciplined. You will at no time during these five days wear any clothing, makeup or jewelry, beyond your House ring and each morning during the normal breakfast meal, you will receive a spanking with my heaviest Lexan paddle consisting of 28 swats. After the morning spanking you will remain on the stage for the entirety of the breakfast period with your spanked bottom on display to all faculty, staff and students. Further, your position as the head of Tanzanite House is suspended until the Monday following the end of this disciplinary period. Mr. Boggs will assume the responsibilities of leading Tanzanite House in the meantime and he will assign you alternate duties during the periods of your schedule typically reserved for House matters.”

I detected a sharp breath from Ms. Chambers at the mention of Mr. Boggs, but she gaze no other outward signs of her thoughts. She said, “Yes, Dean Rosecliff.”

He stood and moved to the implement cabinet. The doors squeaked open and he removed the large Lexan paddle by the handle. He closed the cabinet. His body pivoted back toward us and his gaze fixed on me. “Abigail,” he said and pointed toward the corner next to the office door, “stand over there, facing the desk. I want you to see this and know it is happening in part due to your poor behavior.”

“Yes, Sir,” I replied and walked into the corner.

“Katherine,” he said, “step forward and bend over the desk.”

She took two steps forward. Her thighs pressed against the front edge of desk. She lowered her hands from head and leaned forward at the same time, stretching her upper body over the desk. Her hands went past the far edge and gripped it fully, easily. She was tall enough that her entire upper half hung in the air above the desktop rather than resting on it.

Dean Rosecliff stepped up behind her and laid the clear paddle across her pale buttocks. The wide blade covered the majority of her butt from just above the center all the way down to the tops of her thighs. It extended past the right edge of her butt as well. He adjusted his grip and stance for comfort. His arm drew the paddle away from her butt, hovered it for two ticks of the clock and brought it crashing down on her fleshy cheeks.

“One, Sir,” said Ms. Chambers.

I watched as Dean Rosecliff pulled the paddle back and a warm pink rectangle rose to the surface of her butt, marking the impact zone. He swung again, almost casual, lazy in tempo, but the contact rattled my bones like a hammer striking concrete. Ms. Chambers winced. Her butt bounced in and out, coloring a shade darker. He hovered the paddle in the open space behind her, impatiently waiting for her count.

“Two, Sir,” she said. Her voice quivered. She was on the verge of tears and crying.

He whisked the paddle forward. I blinked at the boom. The pink grew brighter. She counted. He swung. And so it continued for 28 swats. Her butt was a trembling bright red, so hot I swear I could feel the warmth from across the room. She stood, hands back on her head, at his command. A steady stream of tears ran down her cheeks.

Dean Rosecliff turned his gaze on me. “Abigail, your discipline is concluded as of morning bell tomorrow. You will resume your duties as Monitor, but make no mistake, any more incidents of this nature and you will no longer be a Monitor. Understood?”

I nodded. “Yes, Sir.”

“Dismissed,” he said.

I turned toward the door and opened it.

He said, “Katherine, you can spend the next hour facing the wall outside my office.”

I left feeling sorry for Ms. Chambers, not to mention feeling guilty. Of course, she was probably going to use her knowledge of Sean and I against me and that didn’t seem very pleasant. I figured I had better warn him though, cause Ms. Chambers was not likely to be in a very good mood for a while and that could definitely be bad news for us.