Rosecliff, Episode 025

Britney Pearce

Kate and I stood at the front of the classroom, attired in only our white panties, socks, and black Mary Janes. Ms. Rutherford laid her textbook on the podium and took the brown leather strap from its hook near the door. She looked us both over as if inspecting what little remained of our uniforms for flaws. Apparently, she found none.

Her voice lacked compassion. “Lower your panties to your knees and touch your toes.”

“Yes, Miss,” we replied and complied without hesitation. I can’t say I appreciated the upside down view of my classmates though.

Ms. Rutherford said, “I’ll not tolerate the disruption of unsolicited speech in this classroom. Britney, as you attempted to hide Kate’s involvement and have a rather busy record of minor offenses over the last month, you’ll receive 22 strokes. Kate, in recognition of your honesty and generally clean disciplinary record, you’ll receive 18. Do you girls find that fair?”

Did it matter? I badly wanted to ask the question, though I knew it would only bring more trouble.

“Yes, Miss,” we replied.

Ms. Rutherford took up position behind Kate. “Britney, you will count Kate’s strokes. Any mistake or murmuring will add strokes to your own spanking. Understood?”

“Yes, Miss,” I said.

I listened for the contact. The strap makes little noise passing through the air. But on contact, the strap can produce a variety of sounds ranging from a dull thud to a sharp snap. The way its swung and the amount of force are significant factors as well as the quality and thickness of the leather. My time at Rosecliff had taught me that not all straps and not all strappings were equal.

Ms. Rutherford’s efforts resulted in the sharp snap. It echoed in the room and made me and every other bystander blink. Kate inhaled a sharp, squeaky breath. I watched her body jerk and her legs wobble. Her panties slipped a little farther down her legs.

“One,” I said.

The strap connected again. I counted, figuring Kate would rather get the spanking over with quickly rather than having long delays between strokes. Ms. Rutherford had no problem keeping pace. I counted and listened as Kate’s breaths turned sharper. If she shed tears I could hear no signs of them. The sting of 18 with the strap would undoubtedly be faded by lunch and a mere memory by dinner. Even the 22 coming for me would be weatherable. The standard straps in the classroom weren’t meant for leaving girls dancing around the class and nursing their backsides the rest of the day. They were just attention getters and they did the job well.

After Kate’s 18 were finished, Ms. Rutherford moved on to me. It was Kate’s turn to count while I concentrated on staying in position and breathing through the sharp spikes of attention gathering heat and sting being imparted on my bare butt. After the first dozen, the pace increased. It seemed a mere second interval between loud snapping contacts. My butt burned from the center of the cheeks all the way down to the tops of my thighs. I couldn’t fault Ms. Rutherford’s technique. Her efforts resulted in what I would call the most significant, and painful, strapping I’d received in a classroom. Tears even stung at the corners of my eyes when Kate counted the last stroke.

Ms. Rutherford said, “Stand up girls, hands on your heads.”

We obliged. I blinked back tears. The even lines of the strap across my butt felt as pronounced as if they were strips of tape, tugging and pulling at my skin.

Ms. Rutherford said, “You two can stand against the wall in the hallway for the remainder of today’s class. I’ll let you know when you can pull your panties up and go to your next class. Understood?”

“Yes, Miss,” we replied.

Rosecliff, Episode 024

Scarlet Watts

23 girls stared at me. They sat straight-backed in their hard chairs. Their backs were turned to the computer workstations that lined the perimeter of the classroom. Ms. Chambers stood behind me against the wall, beside the door. I stood in the center of the room, exposed from all angles. My thoughts struggled to remain on topic.

“Keyboarding,” I said, feeling the intense scrutiny of a freckled redhead, Lindsay Owens, on my left staring at my sore buttocks, “or typing is one of the most fundamental skills in working with computers.”

A snort drew my attention to the right side of the class. I could not identify the source, but I suspected the brunette, Vicki Stephens. Her gaze seemed inappropriately focused on my naked breasts. Envious, no doubt. I glared my way through the moment, until I felt control of the room was back in my hands.

I said, “By the time you leave this class, you’ll know every key on the keyboard by memory and be able to type accurately without looking at a screen or watching your fingers. Some of you may even reach speeds of up to 90 words per minute.”

Control slipped again. Vicki’s brown eyes taunted me. Lindsay masked her amusement behind a facade of impassivity. I glanced toward the door and Ms. Chambers. She smiled. My situation pleased her. A streak of tension clenched my buttocks and reminded me of their tenderness. Ms. Chambers’ paddling, followed by Dean Rosecliff’s at dinner had ensured a restless night.

I turned back to my class. The blonde, Cheryl Foster, sitting in the middle of the workstations along the far wall, quickly erased a smile from her lips. Her blue eyes laughed at me. The temptation to paddle every girl in the room was almost overwhelming. Ms. Chambers would never allow it. They had said nothing, broken no rules. I closed my eyes, reaching inside for control.

The moment was teaching. Dean Rosecliff had hoped his demonstration would teach me the impact such punishments would have on the girls. It did indeed. Focusing on the tasks at hand was far more difficult than it should have been. The embarrassment, the shame, even the pain, kept returning and dominating my thoughts.

With my Uncle, punishments had always been the same. When it was over, I was always grateful. I learned my lessons and here I was learning that the intense methods still worked best. Less than three days into a five day punishment I was already intent on making certain the girls in my classes learned the same hard lessons I had learned. They would all be the better for it.

“Your first assignment,” I said, “is to take out your notebook and draw a picture of the keyboard on your desk,” The shuffle of girls digging for their notebooks and pencils filled the room. I smiled. “without looking at it.”

A few gasps came from around the room.

“Be as accurate as possible,” I said. Maybe Ms. Chambers would allow me to discipline the girls whose drawings were more than 30% inaccurate.

Rosecliff, Episode 023

Britney Pearce

“I heard she was called to the Dean’s office,” said Kate Morris. She tossed the long strands of her strawberry blonde hair over her shoulder as she leaned closer to me in her desk.

I stared at the shut classroom door for a long moment before surrendering my attention to Kate. We’d been friends and roommates since her arrival. She was one of the few girls actually older than me at the Institute, though I had a year’s seniority on her in my stay. I glanced around the classroom. Most of the girls were smart enough to use the few minutes of our teacher’s absence to read from the textbook. Kate and I had used our free period Sunday evening to read the first three chapters.

“Ms. Rutherford?” I asked in a hushed voice.

Kate nodded. “Amy heard Ms. Chambers talking to Mrs. Rosecliff. Apparently, Ms. Rutherford went into town last night and didn’t come back until like 3 AM.”

My thoughts immediately ran toward Paula and I Saturday afternoon in town. It sounded like Ms. Rutherford had a boy of her own. Obviously, teachers and staff have a bit more flexibility, well not physically, than the students when it comes to relationships. Still, on school nights, Sunday through Thursday, the houses are supposed to be locked down by midnight. Either Ms. Rutherford spent the night on the front steps or she snuck into the building and got caught. Regardless, it was considered out of bounds and subject to discipline from the Dean.

I glanced toward the door again. Still no sign of anyone. “Wouldn’t Ms. Chambers be here to sub if she knew Ms. Rutherford would be detained?” I asked.

Kate shrugged. “It wouldn’t be the first time Amy exaggerated, but you got admit it has credence given Ms. Rutherford’s absence.”

“She could just be running late,” I said.

The click of the door closing startled me. Ms. Rutherford, leveled her brown eyes on me from the front of the room. She held the textbook under her arm. “Britney Pearce isn’t it?”

I straightened in my chair, facing the front of the classroom without meeting Ms. Rutherford’s intimidating gaze. “Yes, Miss.”

“You’ve been here four years and counting, correct?” she asked.

“Yes, Miss.” I could have broken it down into hours and minutes for her, but the details seemed unimportant.

“I would think you’d have learned the rules by now,” she said.

“Sorry, Miss,” I said, biting my lip. There was always hope to avoid discipline on the first day of a new term, but Ms. Rutherford’s reputation mostly squashed that hope. It also seemed Amy’s eavesdropping lacked any ties to reality. Ms. Rutherford wore her typical stern expression and a complete tan skirt suit, including a white blouse, nude stockings, and beige heels. Not a thread out of place, suggesting that the worst part of her morning was walking into the room and listening to one of her students casually talk about her tardiness. “I was just thinking aloud.”

Ms. Rutherford rolled her eyes at me. “You were talking. The only question is who else was talking with you?”

I swallowed hard. Giving up a friend for punishment is not the sort of thing a girl does at Rosecliff. At least if she doesn’t want to spend her entire sentence being abused by the other girls. Keeping quiet didn’t always work with the teachers, but most of us figure out its better to turn ourselves in when push comes to shove than force a friend to do it.

Kate cleared her throat. “It was me Ms. Rutherford. I started the conversation. Britney was only answering my question.”

Ms. Rutherford nodded. “Thank you, Kate. I appreciate your honesty.” Her gaze shifted between us. “Strip down to your panties and come to the front of the room, girls.”

Rosecliff, Episode 022

Abigail Hastings

Listening to Ms. Watts get spanked behind me was more than a little nerve-racking. I’d heard the rumors of course. Ms. Chambers is said to be as hard on the staff as she is on the students. It was my first experience with direct knowledge of it though. And by the sounds of the paddle smacking Ms. Watts’ bottom, I blinked in unison with each one, I’d say she might actually be harder on the staff. Not that I want to put the theory to a test.

It took about a half hour after the last swat for Ms. Watts to stop sobbing. I spent the whole time staring at the corner. Ms. Watts spent it standing in front of the window, looking out at the girls practicing sports on the field. I was more than happy not to switch places. But once Ms. Watts settled down, things took a less beneficial turn.

Ms. Chambers called me out of the corner. “Abigail, as a monitor part of your responsibilities include assisting the staff. Today, you’re going to be doing just that. Ms. Watts here, needs to be certified in the use of the leather paddle and strap before classes begin tomorrow. She needs a bottom to practice on and given your current status, yours will do nicely.”

I blinked at her in an awkward silence while Ms. Watts played with the leather paddle, smacking it against her open palm. The stern expression worn by Ms. Chambers prompted me to end the silence though I didn’t quite know what I should say. It’s not like I wanted to point out that monitor status had been suspended and I wasn’t really supposed to be helping the staff or anyone else in that capacity. I mean, yeah I wanted to point that out, but I sort of figured Ms. Chambers had already thought that little point through and I probably didn’t want to know exactly what her response would be. Not probably. I definitely didn’t want to know. The leather paddle and leather strap weren’t exactly the worst implements to serve as a training tool. Still, jumping for joy and thanking Ms. Chambers for her thoughtful inclusion of me in the education of the newest member of the Institute’s staff were not exactly the sort of response the situation inspired either. I settled on the less is more approach. Dad always said the more I opened my mouth the farther my foot went in.

“Yes, Miss,” I said.

Ms. Chambers turned toward Ms. Watts. “There are a variety of positions available for use when disciplining the girls, but for now I want you to stick with the basic, touch-your-toes position. Put Abigail in position and take up a comfortable stance behind her and to the side where you can easily swing the paddle without the interference of obstacles.”

Ms. Watts dipped her head to Ms. Chambers. “Yes, Miss.” She turned her gaze on me and it felt cold. “Abigail, face the window take two steps forward and bend down, touching your toes with your fingertips.”

I took a deep breath. “Yes, Miss.” Fingertips on my toes, I watched Ms. Watts take up position and then be guided in closer and turned more perpendicular to my position by Ms. Chambers. It reminded me of my own training.

Ms. Chambers said, “Give her a few light swats, practicing aiming at the center of butt cheeks and alternating from left to right to ensure equal coverage across her bottom.”

The first swat was anything but light. My right butt cheek stung like mad. “One,” I said.

Amused, Ms. Chambers said, “No need to count Abigail. You’ll get whatever it takes, nothing more, nothing less.”

Ms. Watts kept swinging the paddle in a regular, rather fast paced rhythm. Most of my experiences with the leather paddle left me feeling rather relieved because the spankings essentially only stung and they didn’t even do that for long. Not so with Ms. Watts. She made my butt hot and stinging. I actually had tears in my eyes by the time Ms. Chambers declared Ms. Watts leather paddle certified.

Unfortunately, we still had the leather strap to go and Ms. Watts was quite adept with it too. By the time she was certified and I was allowed to go, I’m not sure which of our butts was the hotter and redder. At least I’d already my punishment spanking for the day at breakfast. Poor Ms. Watts still had a spanking coming at dinner. My butt was still pretty sore come then, but I have no doubt Ms. Watts got the worst end of the deal. I swear her butt was still pulsating and glowing when the rest of went to bed. It’s probably the first time I ever felt bad for someone who had just spanked me to tears.

Rosecliff, Episode 021

Scarlet Watts

Katherine Chambers’s office was easily found near the front doors of Tanzanite House. I arrived at the same time as one of the girls. She was almost as naked as I, except she retained the white socks and black shoes of her uniform. I didn’t know her name, but I recognized her from the previous evening in the common room. It seemed many of the girls were quite amused with her predicament which told me she was likely not one of the more troublesome girls, despite appearances to the contrary. Then again, I reminded myself, the girls attending Rosecliff Institute were not innocents.

Miss Chambers rose from her seat behind her desk when we entered. The door closed behind us on a spring. My nearly naked companion lowered her gaze and folded her hands together behind her back. I decided to follow suit recalling Miss Chambers’ warning about treating her with respect. My backside was sore enough.

“Abigail, Scarlett,” Miss Chambers said, “thank you for coming.”

Abigail shifted her gaze to meet Miss Chambers’. “It’s always a pleasure, Miss.”

I suspected Abigail responded in the expected manner though I could hear a hint of sarcasm hanging off the words. I felt Miss Chambers’ gaze turn toward me. I mustered all the delicate politeness I possessed and recalled the days of living under my Uncle’s watchful eye. He demanded my respect as well, though I dare say he earned it. “Thank you for the invitation, Miss Chambers. It is a pleasure to be here.”

She smiled as if she heard falseness in my tone. “When girls in trouble are called in here, the experience is never pleasurable.”

I bristled at being called a girl. The similarities between myself and Abigail were mere surface coincidences. I chose to work at Rosecliff Institute, discipline policies and all. Abigail’s attendance, like all the students at Rosecliff, was mandatory. I said, “I may be new here, Miss Chambers, but I am not a student of the Institute. I deserve as much respect as any other teacher here.”

Miss Chambers scoffed at me. “I’ll treat you as I will treat any other member of this house whose behavior has them stripped of their attire and publicly disciplined. If you have a problem with that, we can always begin this afternoon’s lesson with a trip to the Dean’s office.”

I stared into her eyes. She wasn’t bluffing. I lowered my gaze. No need to make more trouble for myself. “That won’t be necessary, Miss.”

“I’ll decide what is necessary,” she said. Her attention pivoted toward Abigail. “I gave you status and privileges as a monitor of this house and you’ve shamed your house and yourself with your behavior, both of which embarrasses me.” She snapped her fingers and pointed to far end of her office. “Nose in the corner and hands on your head.”

Abigail moved quickly. She stood in the far corner of the room, hands on head and making absolutely no sounds. Her back was stiff and straight. The redness of her buttocks glowed in infinite contrast to the white walls. I imagined I would not look much different standing in the corner. It was a humbling sight.

Miss Chambers stepped closer to me until only inches separated us. “As a teacher assigned to my house you are expected to be a shining example for the students here. If you cannot do so by excellent behavior, you will do so by displaying the results of less than excellent behavior. Have I made myself clear?”

“Yes, Miss,” I said.

She stepped back and lifted a large, clear paddle from her desktop. It was easily three inches longer than the paddle Dean Rosecliff used on me in the cafeteria. With the blunt end she pointed toward the open space to the right of her desk. “Over there, face the window and touch your toes.”

My mouth turned dry. The thought of that paddle smacking my bottom sent shivers of fear running through my body. I walked to the indicated spot as slowly as I dared and leaned down touching my toes as she demanded. My butt still ached from the previous two evening spankings and I didn’t want to think about how much more it would ache after Miss Chambers was through. And then there was Dean Rosecliff’s spanking still to come at dinner time yet again in just a few hours time.

Miss Chambers rested the large paddle against my buttocks. “Any week in which a teacher of this house gets herself disciplined, results in a Sunday appointment here for an additional punishment that hopefully reminds her to behave more appropriately in the future. As you will still be punished this week, you can expect a repeat of this next Sunday. Understood?”

I stared at her stocking clad legs, upside down through my naked legs. Carefully controlling my breathing, I said, “Yes, Miss.”

Miss Chambers raised the paddle. “This past week you received 56 swats from Dean Rosecliff on two occasions bringing the total swats received in the last week to 112. You will now receive 112 from me. Stay in position and count each swat or it will be repeated. Understood?”

Tears pooled in my eyes. I blinked them away and concentrated on keeping my breathing even and steady. My uncle had given me several spankings in a single day on many occasions, but I couldn’t recall the total ever surpassing a hundred. Rosecliff Institute wasn’t known for going easy on discipline. That’s why I chose them. I realized Miss Chambers was waiting for my response. “I understand, Miss.”

The paddle collided with my butt. White hot twinges of pain shot through my body with the ripples of the paddle’s forceful impact. I counted and the next swat landed. It seemed Miss Chambers intended my butt to burn for the remainder of the day and probably well into the next. I counted each swat through tears and sobs. The experience of my Uncle’s spankings helped me stay in position despite the overwhelming desire to leap into the air and nurse my flaming bottom in my hands. By the time the last swat fell, I had completely forgotten about Abigail and the other purpose for my visit to Miss Chambers’ office. The pain and heat emanating from my buttocks consumed all my attention.

I stood and faced Miss Chambers on her orders, my hands atop my head and tears streaming down my cheeks. Sobbing, I begged for a little bit of mercy. “P-please, M-miss, p-please m-may I-i p-please r-rub it-it ow-out.”

She smiled, meeting my gaze easily. “No, you may not and if I catch you even starting to rub, we’ll do this all over. Understood?”

I closed my eyes. The hot pain ached for attention like an itch needing to be scratched. “Yes, Miss.”

Rosecliff, Episode 020

Margaret Lange

10AM Sunday, I reported to the third floor study room across the hall from my dorm room. The desks were all pushed against the wall and chairs were collected into a circle around the center of the room. I stood behind an empty chair, like the other twenty-four girls in the room. Jocelyn had explained the process to me, in excruciating detail and at such a speed I had been forced to ask her to repeat herself on a couple of the details that sounded important.

A bald man in a tan suit with a white shirt and no tie entered the room and stepped into the center of the circle. The chair closest to the door had been left open for him. He pushed his round glasses into place on his nose and looked around the room while pinching his mustache. His gaze stopped on me. His hand dropped to his side and he smiled. I felt like running.

His voice was unusually deep. “Margaret Lange?”

I breathed deeply, suppressing panic. “Y-yes, Sir.”

“Welcome to our group,” he said. “I’m Mr. Boggs.” He looked around the rest of the circle. “Take your seat ladies.”

I moved forward, circling toward the front of the chair I had selected.

Mr. Boggs turned sharply in my direction. “Not you, Margaret. It’s customary for the speaker in our group to stand and we’re going to start off today with you introducing yourself and telling us all why you are here.”

I grabbed hold of the back of the chair. My hands were perspiring. I stared at Mr. Boggs’ open collar. “My name is Margaret Lange and I’m here because I don’t have any choice.”

Several girls snickered.

Mr. Boggs said, “While that answer is truthful, it’s not exactly honest, is it Margaret?”

I bit on my lip. It wasn’t that I didn’t understand what he wanted me to say, it was simply that I had a problem saying the words. The irony, that no one else understood or believed, was that the answer he wanted contained no honesty at all.

Mr. Boggs sat in his chair and leaned forward, staring at me with his elbows resting in his lap. “I know it’s difficult, Margaret, but you’re not alone here. All the girls in this room have made serious mistakes, just like you. Now, you can share your story with us or you can take off that uniform and bend over the back of the chair, because if you can’t admit to what you’ve done, you haven’t earned the right to wear the Institute’s uniform.”

I sighed. It was no different when the lawyers brought the paperwork on the plea deal. Nobody cared what really happened. They all wanted the story the prosecutor developed. There was no innocence, only varying degrees of guilt. Brian had died and I couldn’t remember, but the prosecutor’s story didn’t make sense. “I went out to some clubs with Brian, my boyfriend.”

Some of the girls nodded. A couple groaned.

Mr. Boggs said, “Go on.”

I took a deep breath. It steadied my nerves. “We were drinking, more than we should have been. I blacked out and woke up jail. The police told me we robbed a liquor store and Brian killed the clerk. I resisted arrest and Brian shot a police officer. Another police officer shot and killed Brian. I’m here because I made the choice of being with Brian when he did these things.”

Tears streamed down my cheeks. It still hurt talking about it and even more to tell it like the police did, like the prosecutor did. Brian hated guns. We never went to liquor stores. The only time we drank was at clubs and that was mostly because you had to pay for them anyway just to get in the door. I had only had two drinks on the night it happened and it was the only time in my entire life I had blacked out and couldn’t remember. Something happened that night, I know it, but the story isn’t the one I told. I don’t know the truth, but I absolutely know the lie.

Mr. Boggs said, “Thank you, Margaret. I’m sure that was very painful for you. Please sit down and join us.”

Rosecliff, Episode 019

Scarlet Watts

“Fifty-four,” I counted, struggling to keep my fingertips in contact with the tops of my toes. My naked butt burned under the clear paddle’s relentless assault. The cafeteria was silent beyond the echoing claps of my spanking and the sounds of my own sniffling. I could only see the back wall and the floor of the stage, but I could feel the gazes of the assembled girls prickling the bare flesh of my back.

Walter...Dean Rosecliff held nothing back, swinging the paddle again with the intensity of his purpose. The clap rattled in my ears. I sucked in air. My butt bounced. Hot, stinging ripples washed over my body. More tears spilled from my eyes, running down into my hairline. I just wanted the spanking to end, though I knew the discomfort would remain with me well into the night.

“Fifty-five,” I said.

He delivered the final swat. My entire body trembled in a failed effort to suppress a sob. It was humiliating to be broken down into a snotty, sobbing, red-bottomed little girl in front of so many witnesses. If not for the all-consuming fire emanating from my butt, I might have pondered the implications of being so vulnerable in front of the students. Instead, my thoughts remained singularly focused on the spanking and the related pain it caused.

“Fifty-six,” I said.

Dean Rosecliff tapped the paddle against my hot bottom with enough force that it felt like another six light swats being delivered. “Stand straight, hands on head.”

I collected strength, breathing in and out slowly.

He struck my butt with more force. “Now, Scarlet or would you like another fifty-six swats?”

I straightened and folded my hands together atop my head. Tears flowed down my cheeks as I stared out into the crowded cafeteria. The room at large seemed less interested in my presence than the previous evening. Most girls were eating the dinner, casting only sporadic glances toward the stage. The girls who were staring at me, were in fact in no better a situation than me, standing at their tables, hands on their heads and in various stages of nudity. The probably found comfort in seeing me, exposed and discipline as if I were one of them. I, however, found no comfort in the companionship, only shame. Of course, I should have at least realized that while they were being punished for misdeeds, I was only being disciplined for the purpose of an example and understanding.

It seemed much longer than the forty-five minutes it was, standing there until the end of dinner time. I watched the girls put away their plates and exit the room. When all were gone and only staff remained, cleaning, Ms. Chambers finally came to the stage. She grasped hold of my elbow and led me toward the exit, not giving me position to lower my hands.

She said, “I finished reviewing the lesson plans you submitted.”

I glanced at her as we stopped in front of the door leading outside. “And?” I asked.

She opened the door and led me out into the cold night air. My nipples hardened and goosebumps decorated my flesh. I shivered. Her hand slapped my throbbing butt.

“I expect to be addressed with respect,” Ms. Chambers said.

I rolled my eyes. The woman was an irritant. “Yes, Miss Chambers.”

She stopped walking and pivoted herself directly in front of me. “I’m the head of Tanzanite House and your direct supervisor.” She glared into my eyes. “If I need to remind you again, it will be done with a hefty strap at breakfast in front of all those girls. Am I understood or do you require a demonstration in the morning?”

Trepidation beat in my chest. I lowered my gaze. “You’re understood, Miss Chambers.”

“Good,” she said and pivoted back to my side, walking along the path toward Tanzanite House again. “I have tentatively approved your lesson plans, though I wish to discuss some of them with you in more detail.”

I nodded. “Thank you, Miss.” The formal address tasted bitter. “I can discuss them with you whenever you want.”

“Tomorrow,” she said. “after we get you trained in the use of the leather paddle and strap.”

“What time, Miss?” I asked.

“In the morning at nine,” she said.

We reached the front doors of Tanzanite House. She opened the door and led me inside. At the edge of the common room she stopped. She pointed toward the far corner, beside the television. “Like last night, you will spend the remainder of the evening in the corner, only tonight you’ll face the room.”

I stared at her.

She smiled. “I’m the head of this house and when a member of staff gets themselves in enough trouble that they must walk around campus in the buff, I find it appropriate that I add my own discipline to their punishment. Don’t you think that’s wise?”

I took a deep breath. “Yes, Miss.”

She slapped my butt a half dozen time with her hand, attracting the attention of the girls relaxing in the common room. “Off to the corner, Scarlet. And don’t let me catch you staring at the floor or the ceiling. You look at the girls in the room or I’ll consider you in need of a breakfast lesson in respect. Got it?”

“Yes, Miss,” I said and proceeded into the common room. My back pressed into the corner, I watched the girls watching me. And I blushed the whole evening.

Rosecliff, Episode 018

Britney Pearce

Riley yanked his faded black t-shirt over his head and tossed it aside onto the floor. It was a simple, haphazard gesture done with a casualness that no longer felt familiar. Years ago, living in the safety and comfort of my parents’ home, I too had strewn my clothes across the bedroom floor without a care in the world. The sight of it, not just his toned and tan skin, but the free thoughtless action of cluttering the floor, brought a smile to my lips. Rosecliff did not allow such things.

I unfastened my bow tie and held it between my fingers over the floor before deliberately letting it go and watching it flutter delicately onto the floor at the foot of his bed. It felt wrong in all the right ways. I shrugged out of the shoulder straps of my jumper, unzipped the skirt and let it all fall to the floor. My fingers quickly unbuttoned my white blouse and I discarded it atop the bow tie.

He unbuckled his belt, popped the button on his jeans, unzipped them, pushed them down his legs and kicked them off, all the while keeping his eyes on me. I stepped out of my shoes and yanked my socks off, one at a time. He walked to me, took my shoulders gently in his hands and pressed his lips against mine. I reached for him, but he turned me away, guiding me by my shoulders. With my back to him, he brushed my hair aside, kissed my neck and slipped his fingers lower. He unfastened my bra, pushed it from my shoulders and I let it fall to the floor. His arms pulled me back into him, his bare chest pressed against my bare back. I felt his warm breath tickling my neck and ear. His hands roamed freely over my flesh, caressing, fondling. I leaned my head back onto his shoulder and kissed his jawline. He kissed my lips, grabbed me firmly and tossed me onto his bed.

I smiled up at him looming over me. Precious moments, tender moments, these were the things Rosecliff stole. And here, just months before my scheduled release, I stole a little bit back. The risk probably wasn’t worth it, but I didn’t care. Riley made me feel alive. He gave me hope for a future where no one would care that I spent five years at Rosecliff.

Riley crawled on top of me, besmearing my legs, thighs, stomach and breasts with little kisses. His weight pressed against me, pinning me to the covers. I wrapped my arms around him, pulling him down, thrusting myself upward. His stiffness pressed against me, teasing me with inconsistent pressure. He pinched my nipples with his teeth, holding me down as I moaned. I grabbed at his butt, strained my neck, pushing my head up, hungry lips seeks his. He thrust himself into me, over and over. I strained against him, warm tingles spread across my body, euphoria washed over me. He shuddered and collapsed on me, breathing heavily. I held him to me like a blanket.

I glanced at his alarm clock. Ten minutes until the rendezvous. I pushed him off me, pounded my fist on the wall at the head of his bed. “Paula, we got to go!” I rolled off the bed grabbed my clothes from the floor and pulled them on fast.

Riley sat on the edge of the bed, watching me with a bemused smile on his lips. “When will I see you again?”

“Never if I’m late,” I said.

He shook his head. “You won’t be late. Seriously, when do you get another free afternoon?”

“Two weeks, if I stay out of trouble,” I said, heading out his bedroom door.

Paula Jenkins met me at the front door of the apartment. She was still fixing her bow tie in place and her jumper’s shoulder straps still dangled from her waist. I helped her get the final touches in place. We were bunkmates and our boyfriends were roommates. It was a convenient setup, as long as we didn’t get caught.

She said, “We’ll have to run.”

I glanced at the clock. “All but the last block. We can walk the last.”

Rosecliff, Episode 017

Abigail Hastings

The shrill bellow of Mr. Oneal’s whistle captured every girl’s attention on the grass field. It was a relief for me, wearing not but white socks and athletic shoes, standing in front of the collected gathering of Tanzanite House for the morning exercise ritual. I suppose Ms. Watts felt much the same, standing on the opposite side of Mr. Oneal from me and wearing absolutely nothing. At Rosecliff, the only privacy a girl gets when naked, or nearly naked, is when something or someone else is drawing more attention. In this case, the attention was divided between Mr. Oneal and the relatively new girl, Emily Sargeant.

She arrived a little more than three months prior. 17 years old and convicted of theft. Her adjustment has been painfully slow. She considers herself a victim and has yet to accept responsibility for her situation. It’s not that unusual for new girls, I spent my first six months blaming every last one of my friends and family for my predicament. I doubt I’ll ever see any of those friends again and as for family, well I think they’ve mostly disowned me. My repeated letters of apology and admission of guilt as well acceptance of personal responsibility have all gone unanswered. But that’s the reality, apologies don’t undo the things we’ve done. Someday, Emily will understand too.

Mr. Oneal fixed his glare on her, freezing her in place only steps past the gate. “You’re late.”

She trembled. Her hands brushed at the blonde hair hanging around her shoulders. Tears glistened in her blue eyes. Her voice squeaked. “Less than a minute.”

He planted his hands on his hips. “Do you have an excuse or are you simply incapable of walking the hundred yards from Tanzanite House to the field in less than ten minutes?”

Tears bubbled out of her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

He snapped his fingers and pointed at the grass directly in front of his feet. “Get over here.” Not waiting for her to so much as blink, he turned and picked up his datapad from seat of the blue plastic chair behind him. He used his finger to punch in the relevant data while Emily slogged her way across the field. “Do you see Miss Abigail?” he snapped his fingers again and pointed at me.

Emily wiped tears from her cheeks and look in my direction. “Yes, Sir.”

He said, “You’re going to be her twin for the day. Face your housemates and strip down.”

More tears spilled and a sob racked her large chest. “Please, Sir.”

He snapped his fingers and pointed at the assemble mass of Tanzanite girls. All eyes were locked on Emily. Some found the situation amusing, others found it frightening and still others feared if they looked elsewhere they might have misfortune of joining Emily and myself in our starkly embarrassing uniform, if you can call socks and shoes a uniform. Three years had toughened my skin, but the humbling effect of being naked never quite diminished.

Emily turned toward the girls, though I doubt she really faced them. The sports bra, shorts and panties of her exercise kit were quickly yanked off and laid in a folded pile on the grass. Her crying continued to shake her entire body, wobbling her ample flesh. Naked, she stood there, shoulder slumped, head low and hair hanging in front of breasts, waiting.

Mr. Oneal unhooked the leather tawse from his belt and positioned himself to use it on Emily. “Back straight, hands on top of your head, elbows pointing left and right, feet shoulders width apart.”

“Yes, Sir.” Emily cried harder, but she obeyed his every command.

He tapped the tawse against her tense buttocks. “One way or another I’m going to whip you into shape, Emily. 24 now, you can have another 20 at lunch and skip the meal, I’m sure you can afford to, and then you will run an 8 minute mile for before dinner or you’ll receive another 20 at dinner and miss that meal as well. Is that understood, Emily?”

She sniffled loudly, attempting to hold back another wave of sobs. “Yes, Sir.”

He raised the tawse and slapped it hard across the center of her butt. Two red stripes instantly appeared. She yelped, wiggled her butt and counted the stroke aloud. He swung the tawse again, striking just below the first two stripes. Her legs kicked up like a soldier marching in place while she cried out. She counted the stroke. He brought the strap down over the original two stripes. She cried and counted. He kept swinging, alternating between middle and lower half of her butt while she kept crying, wriggling, kicking and counting. 24 strokes later, her butt glowed a hot, shiny red.

Then we all got our morning exercise.

Rosecliff, Episode 016

Margaret Lange

My first night crept slowly. In jail, I had mostly enjoyed a solitary cell where the only sound had been the slow pacing of the guard outside in the corridor. Sharing a room with five other girls was new. The breathing and snoring were not unexpected, but I had not been prepared for the youngest girl, 18 year old Emily Sargeant, to cry herself to sleep. I stopped crying myself to sleep after they told me Brian had died. In fact, that’s when I stopped sleeping.

Sunlight sprinkled in through the windows. I watched the digital clock between the two windows until the time read 06:00 and the overhead speaker crackled alive with the ear-piercing shriek of a ringing bell. Everyone sat straight up in bed, clasping their hands over their ears, everyone that is except me. I rested my head on the pillow until the speaker shut off.

The girl above me jumped down onto the floor. She rushed into the water closet, taking first turn at the toilet. The other girls formed a line. I decided to get dressed for the morning exercise, which I’d read in my booklet was unavoidable. Besides, my last drink was at dinner. It had seemed a wise idea when I figured out I was sharing one toilet in the morning with five other girls. I was dressed and tying my shoelaces, sitting on my bed, when my bunkmate re-emerged.

She slapped a hand on my shoulder. “You’re Margaret, I’m Jocelyn and we’re bunkmates. I’m guessing you either got up early or you’ve got a bladder of steel, but either way I can tell you’re smart cause you’ve already figured out what to wear. That’s the great thing about being at Rosecliff, back home I could never figure out what to wear in the morning. I’d try on like fifteen outfits everyday before I left my room. Here, it’s all decided. I’m blabbering aren’t I? I do that, just tell me to shut up if I’m going too long. So, tell me, did you really kill your boyfriend and five police officers? I mean that’s like hardcore, girl and you don’t look like a killer, but I guess that’s why they call girls like you femme fatales. Right?” She stared at me for a moment. “You aren’t deaf are you?”

I smiled at her. She reminded me of an old friend. “I wasn’t deaf, but ever since the clock struck six I’ve had this ringing in my ears.”

Jocelyn wiped the back of her hand across her brow as if wiping away sweat. “Whew. You had me worried for a minute there. Don’t mind the ringing, that is pretty much a constant around here. Most of us cover our ears when the damn thing goes off. Oops. I shouldn’t have said damn. Ms. Chambers doesn’t like swearing and she thinks damn is a swear word. I never heard of anyone thinking damn was a swear word before coming here. How about you?”

I shook my head. “How long have you been here?”

Jocelyn turned away from and opened up the bottom drawer on her chest of drawers. “Just over a year. In fact, yesterday was my one year anniversary. Somebody should have gotten me a gift. I mean I should have at least had some cake after dinner. If I wasn’t saving for one of those graphic calculators I would have, but I start trigonometry on Monday and they say I have to have one of those calculators. If you don’t have one they give you one and if you don’t have enough money in your account to pay for it, they really make you pay for it. If you know what I mean. Of course you don’t know, I mean you just got here. So what I mean is they blister your bare backside and keep on blistering it until you earn enough allowance to pay for it which for something like a graphic calculator could be a long time. I much prefer my butt blister free. Oops. There I go again. Ms. Chambers says butt is a bad word too, but I guess it’s not a bad word when she demands we bare our butts, but then double standards from adults is something I’m used to. That’s just life, eh Margaret?”

I got up and started making my bed. It was definitely going to be the hardest thing to get used to for me. Neatness was never my thing and getting sheets perfectly flat with perfect corners was something I thought only magicians and maids were capable of doing. It occurred to me that I would simply have to become one or the other. Magician sounded like the better choice cause if got good enough maybe I could just open a doorway that led me right out of the nightmare my life had become.

Jocelyn said, “Don’t bother with that now. We’ve got to get over to the field. Mr. Oneal doesn’t like girls being tardy and you don’t want to be disliked by Mr. Oneal. Besides we got plenty of time to make our beds, clean the room and even shower after exercise. If you need to use the toilet you better do it, otherwise we’d better get going. They don’t allow running around here. Well they do allow it out on the track and if you’ve been bad, Mr. Oneal will make you run in place, but that’s not what I meant. Hallway running, indoor running, you know, the kind of running your mother probably told you not to do, that’s the kind they don’t allow. You do have a mother don’t you? I read someplace that girls who kill people usually didn’t have mothers. Is that true?”

Somehow Jocelyn had managed to get completely dressed while talking a mile a minute. It was impressive. I almost laughed. The line to the bathroom was still three girls long. I didn’t have the immediate need and exercise period was only meant to last 45 minutes. The bathroom could wait. “Let’s go,” I said.

We left the room together, Jocelyn leading the way.

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.”