The Jade Runner, Part 26

Kit began her day the same way she ended the night before; feeding the guards and then the slaves. She presumed it would take a week or so of not eating before the slave’s gruel would begin to appear edible and probably a week beyond that before she would dare shovel any of it into her mouth. With luck, she would be long gone from the dungeon of Count Wudwerth before then.

With her morning duties completed, two guards came for her and escorted her up the stairs and into her first view of the new day’s sun. The upper levels of the castle exuded wealth and elegance. The floors were covered in marble slab, green and black in color. It felt smooth and cold against her bare feet as she walked across it with her guards close behind. The cold shivered its way up her spine and reminded her, as if she could forget, that she remained naked.

The guards stepped in front of her and opened a double door motioning her through and closing the doors behind her. The echoing clap of the doors assured her there was no escape. Alone, she faced the room’s occupant with trepidation pounding in her chest. On her left, large open windows overlooked the fields where she could see the loincloth men working. Beyond the fields, a pair of tall, pointed mountains framed a “V” shaped view of blue-green ocean and a shimmering horizon above.

Wudwerth rose from his chair at the far end of the room and walked toward her. His footsteps echoed off the marble and the curved ceiling high above their heads. “Breathtaking, isn’t it?”

Kit turned her gaze to him. “I’ve seen better.”

Wudwerth smiled. “Perhaps you prefer the stone and iron of the dungeon.”

Kit forced a smile on her own lips and held his gaze with her own. “No, I was thinking of the stars and the wide open spaces between them.”

He nodded. “I should have known as much.”

“Why am I here?” Kit asked.

“Zeller informed me you’ve been most proficient in your duties,” he said. “I had to know for myself if you’d truly been tamed so easily.”

Kit glared into his eyes. “Wild animals are tamed, people cannot be.”

Wudwerth laughed. “I thought as much, but Zeller was so proud.”

Kit said, “I imagine he’s probably Rex’s inside contact.”

Wudwerth raised an eyebrow. “And what makes you think that?”

She laughed. “You trust him and that puts him in a position where he knows all the things Rex wants to know.”

“Rex,” he said, “is nothing more than a pirate.”

She nodded. “On that we agree. Unfortunately for you, he was caught smuggling and the authorities only allowed him to stay out of jail so long as he turned on his clients and helped them be brought to justice.”

“You’re lying,” Wudwerth said.

“Am I?” Kit looked out at the ocean. “How else do you think Rex could come up with the money to replace the shipment my friend dumped?”

He said, “I’m sure the man has funds set aside.”

Kit laughed again. “He’s a gambler and a scoundrel. His only asset is a lack of loyalty to anything but himself.”

Wudwerth’s brow crinkled. “What makes you think he’s in contact with someone here?”

She said, “I overheard him talking to whoever it was on the way down. My friend threw their plans into some disarray it seemed.”

“Plans?” he said.

Kit shrugged. “I gathered once you were out of the way, this other person would be taking over around here.”

“Zeller wouldn’t dare,” Wudwerth said.

Kit shrugged, “Well I don’t know for sure it’s him but I do know the signal could be traced back to the source from the Griffinscape’s communication unit. If you want to know who it is, you just have to get in there and run the trace, of course if you don’t do it yourself, you’ll never know if you got the right person or if the someone changed the name to protect themselves or a colleague.”

Wudwerth nodded. “You know how to run this trace?”

Kit said, “Yep, of course.”

He said, “Then you’ll accompany me to the landing and if you’re lying about this contact, I’ll enjoy letting Rex and Zeller teach you a lesson in  deception.”

She shrugged. “I’m not worried.”

Wudwerth nodded. “In the meantime, I have something you may find interesting.”

His hand grabbed her arm and he turned, pulling her with him deeper into the room. They stopped in front of a long, rectangular table covered by a green velvet cloth. Stone tablets with pictographs carved into them were evenly spaced along the length of the table and in the middle, in front of where they stood, the necklace he had taken from her rested above a tablet. On the tablet below it, her eyes fixed on one of the pictographs. The depiction of a female appeared clear and obvious as did the shape of the jewels on her necklace. They matched her sister’s necklace.

Wudwerth let go his hold on her arm. “I see you recognize them.”

Kit kept staring at the tablet. The female depiction was posed as if running and next to her a male figure stood with the image of a shield etched into his abdomen. “What is this?”

“History,” Wudwerth said.

She reached out, brushing her fingertips over the two figures.

“The runner,” he said, “and her guardian.”

She pulled her fingers away from the stone and turned toward Wudwerth. “Who?”

“It’s a story,” he said. “Some call it a prophecy.”

Kit looked back at the tablet. “I don’t think I’ve heard of it.”

“Long ago,” Wudwerth said, “the civilized parts of our galaxy were ruled by the Jade Queen. Civilization advanced, all the worlds were at peace and the throne passed from heir to heir until one Queen violated tradition and gave birth to two daughters.”

Curiosity held Kit in its grip. “Go on,” she said.

Wudwerth nodded. “All was well until the Queen’s death. The circumstances suggested murder and the sisters came to suspect each other in the death of their mother. Each laid claim to the throne and the galaxy fell into civil war. The younger sister had a reputation for ruthlessness even before the war and it should come as no surprise that in the end, she won the war and the throne.”

Kit said, “You believe evil is more powerful than good.”

He shook his head. “Ruthlessness need not be evil, but in this case your assumption is mostly correct. The younger sister ruled without compassion and it was not long until the galaxy revolted. So came the end of the Jade Empire and the rise of our modern civilization.”

“What happened to the older sister?” Kit asked.

Wudwerth smiled as if he’d been hoping she’d ask the very question. “She was executed by her sister, but,” he said and nodded toward the tablet, “it is said she gave birth to a daughter and sent her into hiding with the protection of her loyal guardians.”

“The runner?” Kit asked.

He shook his head. “The runner is the last descendant of the true heir to the Jade Empire’s throne.”

Kit said, “The true heir being the older sister?”

Wudwerth said, “Yes.”

“So what is this runner’s story,” Kit asked. “Does she bring back the Jade Empire?”

Wudwerth chuckled. “One cannot resurrect the past in hopes of saving the future. It is told that the runner, the last of her line, will pair with the last of the guardians and together bring about a revolution from beneath a blanket of corruption. When the time comes to form a new government she will turn her back on the prospect of becoming queen and run.”

Kit nodded. “An interesting story,” she said. “I imagine the jeweler who crafted my necklace must have thought so as well.”

Wudwerth’s smile grew larger. “You are one of less than a dozen people who have seen these tablets in the last thousand years.”

She looked at the necklace. “What are you saying?”

“I thought you were a thief,” he said, “when I first saw your necklace. The stones are unique and clearly date back to the Empire, but they are not part of the last Queen’s set as I first thought. They belong to the runner.”

Kit blinked at him.

He asked, “Where did you get it?”

Kit said, “It was given to my sister by our father and she passed it to me before she died.”

Wudwerth said, “You are the last of your line.”

Kit stared at him.

He laughed. “The Jade Runner is my slave.”

The Jade Runner, Part 25

With the guards fed, Kit discovered her captors expected even more dutiful obedience. She was escorted into a large, windowless room with aisles of wood tables accompanied by wood benches. The wood bowed heavily in the centers of both the tables and their benches. It lacked finish and smoothness. The room smelled of rotting food, wet wood and wetter hay. A barn would have been nicer, for at least in a barn, the occasional draft of outside air could filter inside.

Kit’s guard led her to the serving table near a pair of heavy double doors. A black pot sat on the table with a wood handled ladle resting against the rim. Inside, it held a milky white boiling broth with flecks of unknown additives colored from orange to purple to green and black. She guessed the flecks were locally grown vegetables, but realized they could just as easily be insects or just about anything else. Either way, it smelled like month old cabbage and sour milk.

Pointing to the stack of wood carved bowls rising up from the hay covered floor, the guard said, “One scoop in each in bowl and one bowl per field hand.”

Kit followed the finger to the bowls with her eyes and said nothing.

The guard smirked. “Any deviation and your ass will be hotter than that pot.”

Kit fantasized about drowning the guard in the boiling broth. Don’t be reckless, Jade’s voice warned from inside her head.

The guard swatted her naked butt with his leather gloved hand. “Understand?”

Kit’s reflexes forced her into a low jump at the stinging impact of his hand. Her head spun toward the guard and she knew in that instant her eyes were saying all the things she couldn’t say aloud. She also knew from the fading laughter and the guard’s sudden flat lips that he read the danger lurking within her. She forced her gaze low and spoke with as much submission as she could muster. “Yes, sir.”

The double doors rumbled open with their lower edges scraping across the concrete floor. Kit looked through the opening hoping to catch a glimpse of the outside world, but all she could see was a seeming endless line of dirt covered men stretching down a stone walled hallway. Torches mounted along the side of the wall provided the only light. Her hope dwindled.

“Better get to work,” the guard said. “Those boys look hungry.”

The first in line stepped up in front of the black pot. He held his hands out in front of him and stared vacantly ahead. Unlike the guards he appeared to have no interest in Kit or her nudity. Of course his own attire consisted of nothing more than a leather loincloth. Like her, these men were slaves.

Kit grabbed a wooden bowl and filled it with a single ladle full of the soup. She placed the bowl in hands and noticed they were trembling. He turned away quickly, before she could say anything. She watched him cross the room and sit at the farthest table at its farthest corner. The next in line stood in front of the pot and held his hands out in exactly the same manner.

She studied the second man closer. The whites of his eyes were bloodshot and the lids drooped as if the muscles were failing. His hands had a tremor to them as well and the skin under his fingernails appeared gray. She poured a bowl for the man and handed it to him.

The next man stood in just the same way. He showed all the same symptoms. Kit recognized them too well. It was just like Jade. They were dying. And there was nothing she could do to change it.

Kit served up the food at a faster and faster rate as she became increasingly familiar with the repetitive movements involved. All the men showed varying signs of their addiction, but the older ones seemed the worst. Although some of the men looked well into their fifties she doubted any of them were actually much more than thirty. Hard labor combined with their drug addiction made for fast living.

The tables were half full and the line still showed no sign of ending when a noise behind Kit caught her attention. She paused in her serving duties to glance toward the door behind her, the very door she and her guard had come through.

Tara stumbled through the doorway, dressed very similar to Kit. That is to say she was wearing less than a stitch and while the two women were equally un-attired, their natural skin color and curves were enough different that they would never be confused.

Tara regained her footing and glared back at the guard following her. “I won’t be a very useful doctor if I’m dead.”

The guard shoved her again. “At least you’ll be quiet.”

Tara steadied herself with a hand on the edge of a nearby table.  “I could always pop your eardrums with a needle and then you wouldn’t have to listen.”

The guard grunted and pointed at a pair of loincloth boys sitting at a table directly ahead of Tara. “Fix those boys up and maybe I’ll let you keep your tongue another day.”

Tara shrugged and raised her empty hands toward the guard. “What about supplies?”

The guard said, “What do you need?”

Tara shrugged again. “I don’t know. What’s wrong with them.”

The guard raised a threatening arm in Tara’s direction. “You’re the doctor.”

Tara laughed. “Now we’re making progress.”

The guard growled.

Tara made her way over to the indicated loincloth boys. Neither gave her any resistance as she examined them and their injuries. The guard stood nearby watching, as if she might find a way to make the loincloth boys into personal weapons.

Kit returned to serving food at the slap of a leather gloved hand on her butt. She heard Tara explain a need for bandages, thread, and a needle. Tara’s guard left, apparently to fetch the supplies.

Tara glanced in Kit’s direction, but rather than making her way over to her, she first examined a few of the other loincloth boys who were eating at the nearby tables.

Minutes later, Tara joined Kit at the serving table. “They’re all suffering from Zumena withdrawal,” she said.

Kit nodded, continuing to fill bowls with soup. “I know.”

Tara gestured at the room with a wave or her arm. “Many of them are beyond helping, but the younger ones still have a fighting chance if we stop this.”

Kit filled another bowl and handed to the next in line. “I don’t know what more we can actually do.”

Kit’s guard stepped closer. “What do you know about Zumena?”

Kit turned toward the guard and noticed his raised eyebrow. “It’s illegal.”

Tara said, “It’s deadly.”

“It’s addictive,” Kit said.

Tara stepped closer to the guard and stared boldly into his eyes. “And all of these men are well on their way to dying from it.”

The guard looked from Kit to Tara and back again. “You two were on the Griffinscape?”

Kit nodded.

Tara’s guard returned through the back door.

Kit’s guard stepped back and said, “Get back to work. This ain’t a gossip lounge.”

Tara rejoined her guard, who took the opportunity to swat her butt a half dozen times, coloring it a warm shade of pink. Satisfied that she was sufficiently chastised, he handed her the supplies and said, “Any more nonsense out of you and I’ll be introducing you to Zeller’s paddle.”

Hours later, Kit and Tara reunited in a dark hallway being escorted toward their cell for the night. Kit’s guard dismissed Tara’s guard, opting to escort them alone. The guard obviously understood they could try to escape, but with their limited knowledge of the location, they would be easily recaptured. Kit and Tara knew it as well and offered no resistance, leading the way down the torchlit corridor.

The guard stopped in his tracks. “Wait a moment.”

Kit and Tara stopped walking and turned toward the guard.

He asked. “Is the Griffinscape the ship?”

Kit asked, “The ship?”

“Bringing in the Zumena,” he said.

Kit nodded.

Tara said, “I dumped it in the ocean.”

He focused on Tara. “You were the new captain?”

Tara laughed, shaking her head. “No.”

The guard looked at Kit. “You?”

Kit nodded.

“Do you have any idea when the Griffinscape will return?” he asked.

“Why should we tell you?” Kit asked.

The guard said, “Because I can help you.”

“Can,” Tara said, “doesn’t mean will.”

The guard said, “I don’t work for Wudwerth. I’m with the RCG.”

Kit raised an eyebrow. “RCG?”

He nodded. “Rasa Central Government. I’ve been trying to link Wudwerth with illegal labor practices, but he’s too well connected to make anything I’ve learned so far stick.”

Tara said, “You need to catch him in the act.”

“Buying an illegal narcotic like Zumena and proving he’s been using it on the laborers would do it,” he said.

Kit asked, “What do you need from us?”

He looked at Tara. “Can you prove those men were definitely suffering from the effects of Zumena?”

Tara nodded. “If you want scientific evidence, I’ll need blood samples and a lab to analyze them, but the physical symptoms leave little room for doubt.”

He said, “I can take care of that, I just want to know you’re certain.”

Tara said, “I’m a doctor and I’ve treated those symptoms before. It’s Zumena, I’m positive of it.”

The guard nodded. He turned his gaze on Kit. “Wudwerth is fascinated with you for some reason.”

Kit shrugged. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“Well take notice,” the guard said. “Find a way to make him want to take personal delivery of the next shipment.”

Kit said, “I can try, but what do we get out of this?”

“If you make it work,” the guard said, “and I catch Wudwerth in the act of buying Zumena, you and your friends will be free of him.”

“What about my ship?” Kit asked.

He said, “I can’t promise, but if it’s possible, I’ll return it to your ownership.”

Tara looked at Kit. “It doesn’t seem we have much choice.”

The guard said, “You don’t and you don’t have much time either. The Griffinscape is due back sooner than later.”

The Discipline Interface Tempometer

• Features
• Interacts with company employment and discipline records
• Establishes a duration for disciplines such as spanking, corner time, etc.
• Swings a pendulum, (silent or ticking as selected by the user) for the duration
• Insures fair and policy driven corporal punishment
• Directions for Use
• Set the D.I.T. on a desktop or other flat, stable surface
• Press right thumb on the thumbprint scanner
• The D.I.T. will confirm management authorization with HR records and ask for the full name of the employee to be disciplined.
• When prompted, the employee to be disciplined must place their right thumb on the thumbprint scanner.
• The D.I.T. will confirm the employee’s thumbprint matches HR records on file for the name given by the manager. (In the event the name and thumbprint do not match, security will be notified.)
• After identification verification, the D.I.T. will request information on the employee’s infraction of company policy.
• The D.I.T. will access the company’s corporate policies and in combination with the employee’s discipline records, it will recommend a discipline, implement (when appropriate), and a duration.
• The Manager may (if given sufficient authorization by the employer) adjust the discipline, implement, and duration according to their preferences. (Such changes will be recorded and monitored for unfair practices.)
• The Manager will notify the D.I.T verbally when ready to begin the discipline and the D.I.T. will verbally count down 5 seconds before beginning to swing the pendulum for the accepted duration.
• The D.I.T. will stop swinging the pendulum and verbally announce the discipline duration has ended at the appropriate time and ask the manager to confirm the discipline has been administered according to company policy.
• After the manager’s verbal confirmation, the D.I.T. will record the discipline in the employee’s permanent discipline record with the HR department and shut down.

The Spanking Chronicles of Cedar Lake: The Easiest Quiz

The bell rang. Students remained seated, their books open, pencils gripped in their hands, but their gazes darted from the clock mounted high on the wall to the stoic face of their lecturing instructor, pacing the front floor of the classroom. His final sentence concluded and his feet carried him back behind the wood podium. He rested his hands on the top edges and smiled his approval.

Professor Harris said, “It appears we’re out of time for today. Worksheets nine and ten are due at the beginning of class tomorrow. Dismissed.”

Thirty-two books slammed closed simultaneously. The room erupted with the noise of exiting students, hurried to be anywhere except inside the classroom. Professor Harris shook his head and chuckled while watching the mass exodus. A hand brushed his sleeve and he turned toward the source. His teaching assistant stood before him with a large blue binder hugged to the front of her white blouse.

Tiffany Flanagan asked, “Do you need anything else before I take my lunch?”

He looked into her green eyes. Her reading glasses hung from a black cord around her neck and clacked against the binder drawing his gaze lower for a second. She blushed, turning her milky complexion strawberry, like her long, wavy hair. He blinked and cleared his throat.

“I haven’t seen,” Professor Harris said, “the quiz for my one o’clock class.”

She nodded. “I know. I’ll make the copies during lunch.”

The smile faded from his lips. He raised an eyebrow. “That should have been taken care of yesterday.”

The tone in his voice would have cause any of his students to shrink away from him. Tiffany stood her ground and held his gaze. “There was too long a line at the copier last night so I reserved it for this afternoon. Don’t worry, I’ll get it done.”

He folded his arms in front of his chest and used his full height to stare down at her. “And what if the copy machine is down?”

She shook her head, gently bouncing her hair off her shoulders. “It won’t be.”

His eyebrow raised again. “And if it is?”

She sighed. “Then I guess I’ll just have to make the thirty copies by hand.”

Professor Harris shook his head. “I hope you don’t intend to leave your duties to the last minute often. It does not inspire me with much confidence.”

“Don’t worry,” she said, “everything will work out just fine.”

The attitude of a student and she expected someday to be a teacher. He rolled his eyes. “Fortunately for you, I don’t have anything else I need from you at the moment so you may go.”

She nodded. “Alright, I’ll see you after lunch.”

He watched as she walked out the door, his eyes focused on the swaying curves beneath her snug black skirt. “But if those copies aren’t ready, you’ll likely to never want to see me again.”

Tiffany opened her blue binder on the counter opposite the copy machine. She pushed the brown plastic bridge of her reading glassed up along her nose until the lenses completely covered her eyes. Her fingers turned the pages until she located the appropriate quiz paper. She slipped it out of the plastic protector pouch and laid the page on the counter next to the open binder. The machine had only a few copies to finish on someone else’s job and then it would be her turn. She turned her back to the counter and leaned against it.

A student poked his around the corner leading from the administration offices into the small copy room. Seeing Tiffany, he stepped fully into the open doorway. “Ms. Flanagan?” he asked.

She didn’t recognize him from any of Professor Harris’ classes, but that only meant he hadn’t set himself apart from his classmates, not that he wasn’t one of Harris’ students. That was a possibility too. He was definitely young, first or second year without a doubt. “Can I help you?” she asked.

The young man smiled. He thrust his hand forward. “I’m Jason Ellis.”

She smiled less enthusiastically and grasped his hand. “Pleased to meet you Jason. How can I help you?”

He slipped a small notepad out of his shirt pocket and pressed a silver twist pen, etched with The Cedar Lake Chronicle, against the pad. “Five minutes of your time and just a few easy questions,” he said.

Tiffany pulled her glasses off her face and let them drop against her chest, hanging by their cord. “Excuse me?”

Jason nodded. “I’m a reporter with the school paper and you’re my story.”

She blinked at him. “How am I your story?”

Jason chuckled and swept his floppy brown hair out of his eyes with the back of his pen hand. “You’re new.”

“I’m a TA for Professor Harris,” she said.

He nodded. “Young, cute, and assisting one of the strictest teachers on campus.”

The blush rising in her cheeks highlighted her overabundance of freckles. “Those are not appropriate comments for you to make in my presence.”

He shook his head, bouncing his too long hair around. “The student body is curious about you and they have a right to know.”

Tiffany cocked her head to the side and opened her mouth with the intention of telling the boy to get lost before he dug himself in a hole. The kind of hole that required the high velocity crack of a paddle against bare flesh to launch one’s self back out.

He said, “We could always take it up with the Dean, but I have to warn you stonewalling the press is considered a pretty serious offense around here.”

She straighted her head and blinked at him. “Excuse me?”

He laughed. “Well you wouldn’t be the first person I’ve interviewed sporting a very bare and very red backside.”

Tiffany blushed even brighter. The boy was most likely bluffing, but knowing Cedar Lake’s policy on so many other things, it wasn’t a chance she was willing to take. Besides, how bad could a few questions be? She glanced at the copy machine. “Could we do this later?” she asked.

He shook his head. “We both seem to have the time right now.”

“I’m busy,” she said. “I have to make copies for Professor Harris.”

“The copier does all the hard work,” he said. “If you can walk and chew gum at the same time, you can copy and answer my questions too.”

She was tempted to tell him she couldn’t walk and chew gum, but she had a feeling that would end up in print. “Fine,” she said.

Jason put his pen back to the pad. “You don’t appear to be much older than the students here. Does that affect your relationship with Professor Harris?”

Tiffany found it infinitely more difficult to meet the boy’s gaze than Professor Harris’. “He’s my boss and I’m his assistant. That is the extent of our relationship.”

He scribbled on his pad. “Those are the facts, but do you not feel like he treats you more as a student than a colleague because of your age?”

“I am not a student,” Tiffany said.

“Yes,” Jason said, nodding his head, “but does Professor Harris make you feel like one?”

There were times she felt exactly that way. Like the way he scolded her over the copies when they weren’t even needed for another hour. Regardless, it wasn’t the kind of thing to be seen in print, especially in the school paper where Professor Harris would almost certainly read it. “No,” she said.

Jason scribbled on his pad. “Really?” he asked. “I heard he required you to sign a discipline agreement as a condition for accepting you as his assistant?”

Tiffany swallowed as her face warmed to the point of perspiration. “Who told you that?”

He shook his head. “My source is protected by an anonymity agreement. Is there a discipline agreement?”

The copier finished its current job. Tiffany turned around and lifted the quiz original from the counter and then laid it inside the open binder on top of the plastic protector sheet with the answer key still inside. She turned away from the counter and squeezed past Jason. Her head poked out of the copy room and scanned the administration area looking for someone who was likely waiting on the copies the machine had finished making.

Jason moved further into the room and stood in front of Tiffany’s open binder. “Looking for someone?” he asked.

She kept her back to him and stepped through the doorway for a better look around the administration offices. “I’d have thought whoever was running those copies would be around waiting for them.”

He chuckled. “You might expect that, but most of the teachers just get the jobs started and then come back hours later, expecting the copies to be finished and neatly stacked on the counter here with their name printed on a post-it note atop the stack.”

She turned back into the room. “I don’t even know who they belong to.”

He nodded. “I’d just put them on the counter and let someone else worry about it.”

She shook her head, but he was right. It took only a moment to collect the completed copies from the output tray and they were already stacked neatly. She sat them on the counter and then removed the original from the feeder exit, placing it atop the stack of copies. If the owner didn’t like it, maybe next time they’d stick around and do the whole job.

Jason said, “So, about that discipline agreement, does it really exist?”

Tiffany avoided his gaze, but squeezed up to the counter beside him, pretending to be more focused on her copying job than his question. She grabbed for the original and found only smooth clear plastic. Her eyes blinked and she looked around the nearby counter and floor for the original.  “What the heck did I do with that?”

“The discipline agreement?” Jason asked.

Tiffany huffed annoyance in the boys direction. She turned her back to him and checked the copier’s feeder to see if she’d already placed the original in it. “The document I was going to copy, I seem to have misplaced it.”

Jason laughed. “I’ll tell you where it is if you answer my question.”

She cocked her head at him. Of course, the nosy little boy had taken it as leverage. She held her open hand out toward him. “Give it to me.”

“The discipline agreement,” he asked, “is it real?”

Tiffany rolled her eyes and sighed. The boy was definitely dedicated. “Yes,” she said, “but that’s just standard operating procedure at Cedar Lake as I’m sure you already know.”

Jason scribbled on his pad while nodding. “I just had to confirm it,” he said. “Rules of the press you know.”

“Whatever,” she said. “Where is my original?”

He reached over on top of her open binder and picked up a paper sitting on top of the plastic protector. “Is this the one?” he asked.

She shook her head and snatched it from his fingers. “I swear I just looked there for it.”

He laughed. “I think you were flustered.”

Tiffany placed the page in the feeder, keyed in her copy code and entered the number of copies she needed into the keypad. The copier whirred to work, whisking the original inside of itself and flashing bright light at it. Copies began shooting into the output tray. It wouldn’t take long to make the thirty copies she needed.

Jason asked, “Has Professor Harris ever exercised his right to discipline you under the terms of the agreement?”

Tiffany glared at him over her shoulder. “No.”

He said, “But you have seen him discipline a large number of students since the beginning of term, correct?”

She nodded.

“Considering how frequently he uses corporal punishment with his students,” Jason said, “aren’t you concerned his standards for behavior might be too high for you to avoid it at least once or twice during the term?”

Tiffany turned to face Jason more directly. “I’m not a student and Professor Harris does not use corporal punishment without cause. So I’m not worried in the slightest.”

Jason nodded, scribbling more notes on his pad. “Fair enough,” he said. “That’s all my questions for now. I’ll be sitting in on Professor Harris’ next class to take some more notes and a few pictures of you working, but please don’t let my presence affect you.”

Tiffany smiled. “I doubt I’ll even notice you’re there.”

The copy machine finished the last copy and went silent. Tiffany turned her back to Jason and collected her copies and the original. A glance at the clock above the copy machine informed her she only had a few minutes to get back to Professor Harris’ classroom. She slipped the original back into it’s sleeve and laid the copies on top, closing the binder to hold them inside. Jason had already turned and started the long walk toward the class. Tiffany followed him the entire way there.

Jason and Professor Harris were already speaking when Tiffany arrived. They turned and looked at her as she stepped inside. Jason’s look came complete with an expression of mischievousness and amusement written on his lips and twinkling in his eyes. Professor Harris appeared stoic as usual but something about the corners of his lips suggested he was unhappy. Tiffany hoped the cause of his unhappiness centered more on Jason than herself.

She smiled at them both. Her gaze moved from them to the small desk in the far corner facing the rest of the classroom desks. She crossed the room at a brisk pace and laid her blue binder down on her desktop. Her finger found the stack of copies and she quickly flipped the pages through her fingers double checking the count.

A sigh of relief passed through her lips. The count was perfect. She laid the papers down beside the binder and turned her attention back toward the podium. Professor Harris stood alone. Her gaze drifted to the student desks. Jason sat in the front row in a desk directly in front of hers. He held a camera in his hands and even amongst the rumble of students taking their seats she could hear the whir of digital images being saved.

The bell rang. Silence ruled the room. Tiffany laid her hand on top of the copies.

Professor Harris looked over his students, lightly nodding his head as his gaze swept the width of the room. “Good afternoon,” he said. “Please take out your pencils and place the rest of your materials in the baskets under your seats.”

He turned his head toward Tiffany. “Do you have the quiz ready?”

She nodded and lifted the pages as evidence.

His arm gestured toward the class. “My students are waiting.”

Tiffany crooked the stack of copies in her arm and made her way into the rows of student desks, starting on the door side of the room. Weaving her way up and down the aisles she gave each student their copy of the quiz. Her gaze avoided Jason though she could hear his camera whirring away every few seconds. As she approached his desk, the last one occupied on her journey through the class, she wondered if she should give him one of the five extra copies she had made. It would be amusing to see if Professor Harris would hold him to the same standard he did the rest of the students in the class. Her lips turned upward and her feet paused in their forward movement while she savored the thought.

Professor Harris said, “Mr. Ellis is not part of the class, Ms. Flanagan.”

She blinked out of her vivid imagination. The smile left her lips. Her feet moved forward again, heading back toward her desk at a faster pace than before. Embarrassment colored her milky cheeks. She could feel the eyes of the entire class focused on her.

“I,” Professor Harris said, “would think you’d know that without my assistance.”

Tiffany took her seat in silence. She glanced at the classroom and immediately looked down at her binder. The entire class remained fixated on her. Sweat turned her hands clammy. Had the Professor done more than verbally embarrass her? Had she missed something?

She looked at Professor Harris, but his back was turned to her. A girl in the center of the classroom, seated in the front row, raised her hand. The girl’s legs trembled beneath the desk. Her hand quivered in the air. The classroom’s attention slipped from Tiffany to the girl.

Professor Harris said, “Ms. Guthrie, is there a problem?”

Ms. Guthrie lowered her hand. “I think so.”

The only sound in the room was the whir of Jason’s camera.

“Would you care to elaborate?” Professor Harris asked.

She looked at her desk and bit on her lower lip. Her eyelashes fluttered as she looked back up at Professor Harris. “There seems to be something wrong with this quiz.”

He stepped out from behind his podium. “Is it possible that what’s wrong is you haven’t been keeping up on your studies?”

Ms. Guthrie shook her head. “Oh no sir. I’m relatively certain I could pass this quiz even if I’d never opened my book.”

Professor Harris raised an eyebrow. “I should very much like an explanation, but if you’re reluctant to give it, I’m certain my paddle can coax it out of you.”

Ms. Guthrie shifted in her seat. Her gaze dropped to the quiz on her desk. “The answers seem to already be on mine.”

Professor Harris blinked. “Excuse me?”

“The answers,” Ms. Guthrie said, “they are already marked on my quiz.”

Professor Harris stared at Ms. Guthrie.

A young man seated behind Ms. Guthrie said, “Mine is like that too, sir.”

Professor Harris walked to Ms. Guthrie’s desk and lifted the quiz. He looked it over. His eyes closed. He opened his eyes and looked it over again. On every problem, the answers were clearly marked. He blinked. The quiz remained unchanged in his hand. He turned on his heel and gazed at Tiffany seated behind her desk.

Tiffany met Professor Harris’ gaze. She slipped her reading glasses on and looked down at the extra copies of the quiz. The pages flipped under the guidance of her fingers. Each one revealed the same horrifying evidence; the answers were all there. Her mouth ran dry. She opened her blue binder and found the original. The answer key stared up at her from beneath the plastic protector and when she slipped it out of the plastic, the student version remained. Somehow, she switched the two pages and copied the wrong one.

Professor Harris held the quiz in his hands so that she could see it, albeit without any detail given the distance between them. “Would care to explain this, Ms. Flanagan?”

Tiffany gulped air. “There’s been a mistake.”

He nodded. “It would appear so.”

Turning on his heel again, Professor Harris spun to face the class. He held the quiz up for his students. “Does anyone have a version without the answers?”

While some of the students appeared reluctant, they all shook their heads indicating the error was in no way isolated to a few of the quiz sheets, but rather to them all. Tiffany could have told him that. She had not switched the original mid-copying. Copies, by their very nature, were all the same, every time. If Professor Harris doubted such a thing, perhaps he should be the assistant and she the professor. His theatrics for the class tempted her to say such a thing aloud. Matters could hardly get worse. Or could they?

The whir of Jason’s camera interrupted her thoughts. She focused her gaze on the boy hiding behind the lens. Something wasn’t right. Never a problem, nothing had gone wrong and then he showed up and her world turned upside down. And there he was, camera ready to document everything in vivid detail for the school paper.

Professor Harris turned back to Tiffany. “I think an explanation is in order.”

Tiffany’s gaze hung on Jason for a moment longer, hearing the whir of another picture being taken. She blinked and refocused on the Professor. “Someone must have switched the originals when I wasn’t looking.”

He stepped closer. “Am I to understand you left the binder with all my tests and quizzes and their answer keys, unattended?”

Tiffany shook her head. “No, sir. I was there the whole time.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Then how would someone switch the originals and when weren’t you looking?”

“There were other copies being made and I looked for the owner, but couldn’t find them,” she said.

He nodded, stepping still closer. “Then you did leave the binder unattended.”

She shook her head. “My back was turned, but I never left the room.”

He took another step closer. “And who then was standing behind you?”

Tiffany’s gaze turned to Jason. She heard the whir of his camera snapping another picture. “Mr. Ellis.”

Professor Harris looked over his shoulder at Jason and then turned his gaze back on Tiffany. “So, I’m to believe a freshman who is not even in my class, assigned to write a pleasant article introducing you to the student body, swapped the originals, made you copy the answer key and distribute it to my class?”

Tiffany huffed. The whir of Jason’s camera informed her the moment had been captured in digital vibrancy. She said, “He didn’t make me, he tricked me.”

Professor Harris shook his head. “Tricked you? He tricked you into waiting til the last minute to make the copies? He tricked you into not looking at the original before you copied it? He tricked you into passing out a quiz without looking at it first? Did he trick you into all of that? Or is it just a little more likely that you were lazy and in your haste to meet your responsibilities you became incompetent?”

The color drained from Tiffany’s face. She heard the camera whir. Jason tricked her, but that only went so far in explanation. If she hadn’t been in a rush, his childish prank would never have succeeded. The game was nothing new. Students always tried to get the better of their teachers and apparently such held true for the teacher’s assistant as well. She should have been more cautious.

“Obviously,” Tiffany said, “the mistake is mine.”

Professor Harris nodded. “Good of you to admit it,” he said. “However, I cannot allow a situation like this to pass without consequence.”

Tiffany fought the urge to chew on her lip. “I understand.”

“You’ll be paddled and if you don’t start acting more responsibly, you’ll be paddled often,” he said.

Tiffany blushed.

The camera whirred.

“I’m sorry, sir,” she said.

Professor Harris said, “You will be.”

Tiffany stared at the Professor. He turned and walked back to his podium. His hand slipped underneath the top panel and came out holding the oval leather paddle he always used to discipline his students. She blushed.

The camera whirred.

Professor Harris pointed the paddle’s end at Tiffany, waving it like a wagging finger. “Stand up and remove your skirt.”

Tiffany blinked and held her hands to her chest. “Here? Now?”

His head cocked to the side. “Yes and yes. Or perhaps we should do this in the student cafeteria at dinner time?”

A male student said, “I opt for that.”

The camera whirred.

Professor Harris looked at the class over his shoulder. “The next person who talks out of turn will be joining Ms. Flanagan touching their toes.”

Tiffany stood beside her desk. Her legs trembled. She could feel the eyes of every student glued to her. Her fingers felt numb and clumsy working the clasp and zipper on the back of her skirt. Unfastened, the black material slid down her legs making a puddle around her feet. She stepped backward out of it and leaned down, lifting the discarded garment. Her shaking hands held it in front of her black panties. They were the sort of undergarments inappropriate for students, but perfectly normal in the adult world.

Professor Harris said, “Fold it up and place it on my podium. You won’t be needing it for the remainder of the day.”

The camera whirred.

Tiffany forced her legs to move. The walk from her desk to the podium seemed like miles rather than the few steps it actually required. Hidden behind its wood casing, she lifted the skirt and folded it in half length wise and then in half again. She placed it on the top of the podium and looked to Professor Harris.

He continued to watch her every move with the end of the paddle pointed at her. “Step out here,” he said using the paddle to indicate a spot at the front of the class, visible to everyone in the room, “back to the class and touch your toes.”

She peered over the podium at the unmarked spot on the carpet. Her gaze flickered to the students and immediately she regretted it. They were all watching, some even holding their breath, waiting to see her, skirt-less and touching toes like a naughty school girl. She felt the part; Stupid, careless, and embarrassed.

Professor Harris cleared his throat.

Tiffany took the first step. Aggravating him would not make the spanking any easier. Her feet, barely supported by wobbling knees, carried her forward until she stood in the very spot. She pivoted her back to the class. A deep breath and tense silence allowed her the fiction of privacy. There was only the Professor and herself and his paddle.

The camera whirred.

Her fiction shattered.

She bent forward, closed her eyes and reached out with stretched fingers until the tips brushed the tops of her matte shoes. Her heart pounded in her chest, vibrating her entire being from the inside out. Hot blood pulsed against her cheeks as her long curly hair tickled the floor. She opened her eyes to an upside down view of the classroom and the students watching. Some even had the audacity to grin.

The camera whirred.

Professor Harris took up position behind her. He tapped the paddle against the stretched lace of her panties. “Stay in position or these won’t count and I’ll have to add extra. Understood?”

Tiffany nodded her head until she realized that everyone except Professor Harris could see her. “Yes, sir.”

The camera whirred.

He raised the paddle high in the air and brought it swooping down on her taunt buttocks. The impact echoed in the classroom like 30 books slamming closed all at once. He allowed the leather to bend and bounce off the curvature of her buttocks, following through the swat with his arm and wrist until the paddle was free and once again raised to strike.

Tiffany gasped for air as the stinging sensation grew in her buttocks. The poignancy of the first swat left her fighting the urge to grab her butt and run. She’d forgotten what it was like to be spanked. It hadn’t happened in a long time, perhaps too long. She closed her eyes and focused on staying in place.

The camera whirred.

Professor Harris swung. Her eyes shot open. The students blinked. Professor Harris swung again and again. The paddle hovered in the air.

“Ow!” Tiffany said in response to the building heat beneath her panties.

The camera whirred.

A rush of cool classroom air proceeded another impact of the paddle. Professor Harris swung the paddle five more times in quick succession. The students blinked at every snap of the leather against her buttocks. A red glow began to emanate from beneath the black lace of Tiffany’s panties. She gasped and squirmed after every swat.

Professor Harris held the paddle next to his leg. “I should hope you are learning a lesson about careless mistakes and their probable consequences.”

Tiffany nodded and forced herself to orally respond. “Yes, sir.”

The camera whirred.

He raised the paddle back into the air. It swooshed through the air five more times without pause. Her buttocks stung hotter with every impact. Tears stung at her eyes. The class held a collective breath undoubtedly impressed with the awesomeness of the Professor’s ferocity in swinging the leather.

The camera whirred.

Tiffany sniffled back tears.

Professor Harris held the paddle high once more. It cut through the air, clapping against her buttocks another five times. The red shined through her black panties. She cried out, “Ow!” after each strike. Tears flowed freely. The class breathed heavily.

And the camera whirred.

Professor Harris held the paddle at ready. “I should imagine you’ve learned something about not blaming others for your failures about now.”

She nodded. “Yes, sir.”

The paddle swooshed through the air. The contact cracked like a gunshot.

Tiffany cried. “Ow!Ow!”

Every reflex demanded she grab her butt and nurse away the fire and sting shooting through it. Through tears she fought it all and remained in place, touching the tops of her shoes, hair bobbing on and off the floor.

Professor Harris said, “When I.”

The paddle cracked against her buttocks.

Tiffany yelped.

“Tell,” he said.

He slammed the leather into her buttocks again.

Tiffany gasped for air, blinking through tears.

He said, “You.”

The leather struck her buttocks sending ripples through her flesh.

“Ow!” she cried.

“To do,” he said.

He swung the paddle full force into her fiery buttocks.

She sniffled.

He said, “Something.”

The paddle impacted her buttocks.

She cried, “Ow!”

“You do it,” he said.

His arm raised high. He brought the paddle down fast and hard.

She gasped.

He said, “Do.”

The paddle cracked against her buttocks.

“Not,” he said.

She yelped.

He whipped the leather down again.

“Ow!” she cried.

“Procrastinate!” he said.

The paddle cut through the air in a blur. It struck like thunder echoing inside the walls of the classroom.

“Ow!” she howled, throwing her head back, but keeping her fingers in place.

The camera whirred.

Professor Harris walked to his podium and dropped the paddle on top of her folded skirt. He pointed toward the front corner opposite her desk. “Plant your nose in the corner and don’t even think about moving until I tell you.”

Tiffany stood in the corner with her hands on her head. Her buttocks continued to burn and sting, but more because there was nothing else for her to focus on than because the discomfort was growing. She could hear the class going about business as normal and that in itself left her feeling small and insignificant. Her face burned almost as hot as her bottom with the embarrassment of knowing all the students had a perfect view of her freshly spanked bottom.

The bell rang.

She listened to the sound of the students packing up their belongings and exiting the classroom. The room grew quiet as she waited, staring at the empty corner. Hope began to trickle into her thoughts as she realized with the class dismissed and no further classes for the day, Professor Harris had no real reason to keep her displayed in the corner much longer. Her arms ached to fall to her sides.

Professor Harris said, “Well it certainly seems you got more of a story than you bargained for.”

Tiffany blinked at the corner. How was she to respond to such a statement and what on Earth did he mean?

“I guess,” Jason said, “I was just lucky to be in the right place at the right time. The story and pictures ought to get me front page.”

Tiffany flushed hot pink all over again. How long would they leave her standing in the corner while they talked about nonsense?

Professor Harris chuckled. “I imagine they will.”

Jason asked, “Do you mind if I get a close-up of her in the corner?”

“Be my guest,” Professor Harris said.

Tiffany squeezed  her eyes closed and wished to become part of the wall.

The camera whirred.

Professor Harris said, “You know your brother Scott had a knack for being in the right place at the right time too.”

Jason laughed. “It must run in the family.”