Friday, September 28, 2012

Rosecliff, Episode 006

Scarlet Watts

“Five,” the blonde girl counted. Her voice sounded disturbingly calm considering she was bent over the back of a chair getting spanked.
Carol, the tall slender girl wielding the leather paddle, appeared insufficient to the task. She swung with considerable effort, but the paddle’s impact was continuously flat. It lacked the sharp snap I expected from leather. And the blonde’s reactions were almost nonexistent. Carol’s features expressed a degree of frustration.
I turned toward Walter, he displayed a quiet sense of satisfaction with his hands clasped behind his back. “I thought spankings were generally given on the bare bottom.”
He smiled at me. “I’ve found that by varying the state of dress the Institute can better differentiate between minor and major infractions of the rules.”
“Eight,” the blonde said. Her pale legs remained rigid while the front of her skirt swayed slightly in response to the paddle’s breeze.
I shook my head. “I’m sure failing to push her chair in was a minor infraction, but the girl seems utterly unphased.”
“Ten.” Her voice lacked strain and emotion. She might as well have been a robot.
Walter looked me over as if I were a student. “Would you prefer the girl flailing about and begging for mercy?”
“No, of course not. I just tend to think a spanking should evoke some emotion and perhaps a few tears.”
“Fourteen,” the blonde said. A faint pinkness shined through her panties. The back of her right knee wobbled briefly. She was probably just tired of holding her legs straight.
He said, “As you gain experience you’ll learn that girls have varying levels of tolerance. In this case, Britney has been at the Institute for over four years and her ability to weather chastisement with little outward emotion has developed over that tenure.”
“Eighteen,” said Britney. There might have been the slightest warble in her voice.
“Wouldn’t a heftier implement applied to her bare bottom be more effective?” I asked.
“Twenty.” Her buttocks clenched momentarily. Maybe the spanks were beginning to sting. Then again, she might simply have been stretching her muscles.
Walter smiled. “Naturally, but what would I use to increase the punishment when she does something more serious?”
“I’ve heard a caning can be quite severe.”
Britney said, “Twenty-two.” Her head dropped, mopping the seat of the chair with her long hair and her fingers let go of the edge. There were no signs of tears or excessive discomfort, merely relief that the event was over. No doubt the back of the chair pressing into her tummy hurt more than the leather slapping her panties.
“Punishment,” he said, “need not be severe to be effective.”
I watched Britney right herself and push the chair under the study desk. Carol tucked Britney’s skirt into the waistband ensuring the panties and the pink glow beneath remained visible. Walking around in such a state would no doubt be embarrassing, but I couldn’t help feeling Britney lacked remorse. If she had a bright red bottom, nakedly exposed, and tear stained cheeks, I suspect regret and remorse would have been more readily apparent.
Carol pivoted toward Walter. “Is there anything else, Sir?”
Walter shook his head. “No, you can proceed to dinner.”
Carol flashed a smile and bowed her head. “Thank you, Sir.”
She turned back toward Britney. “Gather your books and march over to the cafeteria. You’ll spend the first thirteen minutes of dinner in the corner.  Is that clear?”
“Yes, Miss Carol.” Britney lifted her materials from the floor, combined them with her things on the study desk and, followed by Carol, briskly walked from the room, her white panties still plainly displayed.

Thursday, September 27, 2012

Rosecliff, Episode 005

Britney Pearce

The overhead speaker crackled alive with the ringing of a bell. Dinner time. I gently closed the calculus text, closed my my notebook and put away my pencil and graphing calculator inside the clear zipper pouch. The other girls in the study room moved with significant haste and noise, exiting the room with quick long strides as if they might arrive in the cafeteria and find it void of food. Five years at the institute had taught me many things, patience most of all.
When the study room was mostly empty, Tanzanite House Monitor Carol Sato and I  were all that remained, I pushed my chair back from the study desk and knelt down on the floor to collect the rest of my study materials. Final exams were tomorrow and passing grades would mean I earned a Bachelor’s of Science in Accounting with six months still remaining before freedom. Successful completion of the Institute’s program meant my criminal record would be sealed and no one would ever need to know about it so long as I remain a law abiding citizen. If only the memory of it could be sealed away and forgotten as easily.
Carol’s shadow fell over me. “You didn’t push your chair in Pearce.”
Materials gathered at my knees, I sat back on my heels and looked up at her. “Just collecting my things, Miss Carol.”
Carol’s dark eyes sparkled with the thrill of authority. Her status as Monitor elevated her above me despite my seniority in both age and time served. At time like this, I sometimes regretted my decision avoiding the status and responsibility of being a Monitor. I would never have made a good Monitor though. Superiority over the other girls was not something I ever felt.
“You should have pushed your chair in first,” Carol said.
“It’s not in anyone’s way.”
Her thin lips perked at the corners. “Are you arguing with me Pearce?”
“No, Miss Carol.”
“Right,” she said, her left hand tapped the wood back of the chair, “stand yourself up and bend right over the back of the chair then.”
Five years at the institute taught me not to sigh. I followed directions. A few swats from Carol Sato weren’t enough to spoil my day, but giving her additional excuses to punish very well could. I grabbed the front edge of the wood seat and kept my legs and back as straight as possible. Spankings were a casual enough occurrence and a Monitor’s chastisements were limited enough in most respects that they tended to be more nuisance than punishment.
Carol lifted my skirt and laid it on my back, exposing my white panties. “22 this time.”
I felt the implement resting on the stretched cotton covering my bottom. The leather paddle I concluded based on it shape, texture and softness. It was the lesser of the options available to Monitors, but Carol was relatively new to the post and had yet to be certified on the strap. The first swat echoed in the empty room.
“One,” I counted.
Dean Rosecliff’s voice interrupted the spanking. “What have we here?”
Carol went ridged. “Britney failed to push her chair in properly, Sir.”
My gaze drifted toward the Dean and spotted an unfamiliar woman standing beside him. She looked barely older than me, but clearly wasn’t a new inmate, by the clothes she wore and the expression on her face. Probably the new Computer Sciences instructor if the rumors could be believed.
Dean Rosecliff said, “Some of our more accomplished and responsible students are given the authority to help us enforce the day to day rules at the Institute. Continue as if we weren’t here, Carol.”

Wednesday, September 26, 2012

Rosecliff, Episode 004

Margaret Lange

Ms. Chambers removed a brown plastic checkbook from her blazer and handed it to me. “This is your sole source of funds at the Institute. Without it you will be unable to purchase the things you need and such inability will only lead to misery. Do not lose it. Do not lend it to anyone. Do not leave this room without it. Understood?”
“Yes, Miss.” I opened the book. It looked like a normal checkbook. The checks listed the Rosecliff Institute in place of a bank, but otherwise appeared typical. The ledger featured three entries; an initial deposit, a deduction for Tanzanite House Ring, and a deduction for Checks. The remaining funds available were a jaw dropping, $1369.50.
Ms. Chambers said, “Most everything done at the Institute is with the singular purpose of teaching personal responsibility. The Tanzanite Shop is located on the first floor adjacent to the common area and you will find it stocks everything you need. Additionally, there are approved luxury items available. Each week you will receive an allowance of $225. You can purchase whatever you like, but if your funds run out you will face the consequences of doing without. If you attempt to overspend your funds, you will also face consequences. Is that clear?”
It sounded simple enough. Resist temptation. Buy only what you need or expect a spanking. Undoubtedly, this was life at Rosecliff Institute. “Yes, Miss.”
“Good. You’ll find a list of suggested initial purchases in the book Dean Rosecliff gave you as well as pricing for meals. It would be wise to follow the guide and avoid additional expenditures until you’ve become more familiar with the day to day life here, but the choice is ultimately yours.”
“Yes, Miss.” I thumbed through the white book, finding the mentioned page with relative ease at the back.
“Do you have any questions?”
I shook my head. “No, Miss.”
She nodded in a manner that lacked any sense of approval. “Very well. I will escort you to the Tanzanite Shop and from there you’re on your own until dinner. Before that, I suggest you acquire a uniform and wear it in accordance with the directions in the book.”
“Yes, Miss.”
We left the room. Ms. Chamber closed and locked the door. We proceeded downstairs. The shop was easily accessed, standing in a corner on the first floor with glass walls bordering the interior space. The aisles were filled with a hodgepodge of items reminiscent of a convenience store. I pulled the door open.
Ms. Chambers said, “When you hear the next bell, proceed to the cafeteria. If you need help finding it, there is a map in the front of the book or you can always ask a member of the staff for assistance. Your table assignment is T-310. Understood?”
“Yes, Miss.”
She left. I entered the store. A young man sat on a stool behind the nearby counter. His boyish features and sloppily combed hair were suggestive of a teenager in high school or just out. He smiled in my direction while his eyes danced up and down my naked body. I closed my eyes feeling a flush of hot embarrassment tingling my flesh. Eyes open, I forced myself to walk forward. It seemed obvious I was far from the first naked girl he’d seen, but the fact offered little respite from the embarrassment.
He slipped off the stool and rounded the counter, stepping in front of me. “You must be the new girl.”
I nodded.
His eyes glanced toward the wall where a leather strap hung on a hook.
“Yes, Sir.”
He smiled as sloppy as his hair. His gaze moved toward my hand and the white book. “Are you gonna be one of the smart ones or the foolish ones?”
My fingers tapped against the book. His reference could only be to the list inside. It wasn’t a hard choice. “I’ll try for smart, Sir.”
He nodded and turned toward the greater body of the store. His hand waved in the air urging me forward. “Come on then, let’s get you fitted for your uniforms.”

Tuesday, September 25, 2012

Rosecliff, Episode 003

Margaret Lange

Ms. Chambers kept a firm grip on my arm and led me through Rosecliff Institute’s halls. My butt blazed behind me still sore from the Dean’s swats. Fortunately the halls were deserted, leaving my naked shame mostly unexposed. We arrived at the rear exit, a mostly glass door with a four inch metal frame. I stopped. Desert landscaping and a concrete sidewalk were plainly visible on the other side as well as light and shadows from the late afternoon sun. Ms. Chambers opened the door and tugged me through it.
“Don’t dawdle,” she said, allowing the door to swing closed. “You don’t want to have to wait until after dinner to get your uniform.”
Her warning and the hot concrete served to quicken my pace. We walked past a gated pool area, vacant beyond the hum of a running pump, and proceeded toward the last building on the right. It stood directly across from a large gated field of green grass with a dirt oval track running through it. Above double glass doors, metal lettering read, Tanzanite House.
Ms. Chambers opened the right door and led me inside. “In all likelihood this will be your home for the duration of your stay.” She pulled me along to the stairs. “Your room assignment may change over time, but for now you’ll be on the third floor.”
We ascended to the third floor and turned left, down a fairly wide hallway. The walls were barren and white. Light blue carpeting on the floor and stairs. We turned left around a corner and stopped immediately in front of a closed door on the right. Black numbers on a white door identified the room as 310. Ms. Chambers inserted a key in the lock and opened the door. Three sets of bunk beds, wood frames, two small windows on the far wall, three chests of drawers and three nightstands beside the heads of the bunk beds made up the room. The floor was distinctly different from the rest of the building, polished oak. A doorless entry led to a sink and toilet.
Ms. Chambers let go of my arm and patted the post of the nearest bunk. “You’re assigned bed C, bottom bunk,  sit down.”
I sat on the center of the mattress. It lacked sheets and a pillow. The other beds in the room were all neatly made with pillows at the head. Their neatness reminded me of a hotel room. The only time I ever made my bed look half as neat was on the days I changed sheets. Somehow I doubted these beds were made by maids.
Ms. Chambers said, “You’ll meet your bunkmate, Jocelyn Dooley, later this evening. The two of you will be splitting chore assignments.”
I nodded acknowledgment. A flash of annoyance crossed Ms. Chambers face reminding me of the Dean’s earlier admonishment. I said, “Yes.”
She planted her hands on her hips and stared down at me. “You’d best learn to address the teachers and staff here with some respect. You’ll address me as Miss or Ms. Chambers and if I or anyone else needs to remind you again, you’ll be getting a spanking to help make it stick. Am I understood, Margaret?”
I lowered my gaze to hide the angry fire burning inside. The words tasted like vinegar. “Yes, Miss.”

Monday, September 24, 2012

Rosecliff, Episode 002

Scarlet Watts

The unmistakable sound of a paddling carried beyond the closed door. I feigned ignorance and continued answering the informational questions on the clipboard held in my lap. The girl, the sniffling brat from the plane, left the office in the company of a female instructor. Naked with a bright red butt, she shuffled away under the escort of the stern woman whose features appeared devoid of empathy for the girl’s lost modesty. I set the clipboard aside, answers complete.
Walter approached from his open office and collected the clipboard. He hummed to himself a moment, scanning over the documents before his gaze fell on me. “Come along,” he said, pivoting toward the open door, “it’s your turn.”
I stood, hesitating a moment while his choice of words swirled round in my head. Did he mean to suggest I would be treated the same as the brat from plane? The mere possibility caused flutters in my stomach. My legs suffered a slight tremble as I followed him. At the doorway, he politely stood aside and I stepped past him, entering the office first.
A soft click marked the closing of the office door. He guided me toward a gray guest chair and then rounded his desk, sitting behind it. His forearms rested on the edge of the desktop, hands still holding the clipboard. “Your upbringing didn’t include spankings?”
The flutters in my stomach swam. My eyes darted about the walls, searching, but finding no sign of a school paddle. I had heard its use and seen the results though. Hidden in one of the cabinets, I concluded. Safe for the moment, I said, “That’s mostly correct.”
“Mostly?” Curiosity twinkled in his eyes.
I permitted myself a smile and nodded. “I spent a few summers with my uncle. My parents weren’t spankers.”
“But your uncle,” he asked, “he spanked you?”
“Did he use an implement or just his hand?”
“A paddle,” I said. Though it had been ten years since I’d last felt it, I could still picture it hanging on the bathroom wall. It sent a shudder through me.
“On the bare or over clothes?”
“Bare,” I said, feeling a faint rush of blood coloring my cheeks.
“Were the spankings deserved?”
My face grew hotter. “Always.”
He nodded and laid the clipboard flat on the desk. “I think the same can be said for all the spankings we give at the Institute. I have high standards, but I don’t think I’m unreasonable.”
I nodded. The Rosecliff Institute was not filled with innocent girls. They were all trouble and without correction they would be headed for more of it. “In order to be successful, a place like this must have rules and consequences.”
“And the staff must set the example for the young ladies,” he said. His hands clasped together on the desktop and he leaned forward. “Do you feel confident in your ability to set that example?”
I met his piercing gaze and exuded all the confidence I could muster. “Yes.”
He smiled and stood. “Let’s take a tour.”

Friday, September 21, 2012

Rosecliff Episode 001

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Scarlet Watts

The turbulence made reading impossible. I’ve always hated flying, especially on small planes. The propellers on the wings add just enough noise and vibration to make the aircraft feel out of control. If that is not enough, the change in elevation plugging my ears and muffling sound typically provides annoyance a good half day beyond the flight. And then there is inevitably some other passenger sniffling, sneezing, and coughing. Those tight little overhead air jets do nothing more than spread the germs, quickly and irrevocably. There should be a law against traveling while sick.
Take the young lady, and I use the term very loosely, sitting two rows in front of me. She came aboard sniffling and has yet to cease. I’ve noticed her shivering as well. Traveling attire is not a tube top and jean cutoff shorts that cover less butt cleavage than a pair of panties. A teenager, obviously somewhere between 16 and 19, clearly the product of poor parenting. No daughter of mine would so much as leave the house in such scant attire, not to mention boarding an airplane. I imagine the girl would benefit from a liberal application of wood to her bare butt, though I doubt she’s in any danger of it.
Fortunately, the flight was short, a mere 65 minutes over the desert. I exited the plane first. The girl apparently needed assistance in unbuckling her seatbelt, one can only imagine the lack of education. The tarmac’s dry hot air was a welcome change. I descended the metal stairs and found my contact awaiting me in a proper business suit. At least I didn’t feel overdressed in my skirt suit. With a little luck, my appropriate traveling attire would combine with the hot climate and leave me sniffle free despite the hour long exposure in the plane.
The man stepped forward, extending his hand while a gentle breeze tossed about the thin strands of salt and pepper hair. “Scarlet Watts?”
I nodded and took his hand. “Mr. Rosecliff, I presume?”
He smiled and guided me farther from the plane toward a four seater golf cart with red and blue sirens on its roof. A man in a sheriff’s uniform climbed the stairs into the plane and returned a moment later, escorting the sniffling girl. Mr. Rosecliff offered me the passenger side seat in the back of the cart, which I took as expected.
“I hope you don’t mind,” he said, “riding with our newest student.”
The sniffling girl sat beside me at the direction of the sheriff. It was then I realized the girls sniffling had nothing to do with sickness and everything to do with her situation. Poor parenting led to poor life choices which led to her and I heading in the very same direction for very different reasons. Her life was on hold, probably for several years, while mine was finally moving forward. My Uncle, always full of advice, once told me that I should dress for the life I want. Looking over the sniffling girl, I wondered if such plain advice might have altered the course of her life had it been offered.

Margaret Lange

The sheriff drove the golf cart through the main gates and parked in front of the entrance to the main building of The Rosecliff Institute. I remained seated in the back until told I could stand. The sheriff didn’t come with us. He drove away while Mr. Rosecliff escorted me and Ms. Watts inside. I was directed into his office where he joined me after leaving Ms. Watts in the care of a secretary with a clipboard full of paperwork. He closed the door. Sat behind his oak desk. I stood facing him, hands clasped behind my back. It was better than fidgeting.
He opened a manila file on his desk. Inside, a picture of me was paperclipped to the top edge of the opened folder. His eyes scanned the documents and he hummed. Satisfied, he slapped the folder closed and fixed his gaze upon me. “Margaret Lange, 21 years old, accessory to armed robbery.”
I swallowed my rage and blinked away a fresh storm of tears. Hope of waking up from the nightmare still flickered in the back of my thoughts, but mostly reality was sinking through. It felt a bit like suffocating. In a single night, my entire life disappeared.
“Five years,” he said. “That’s a hefty sentence for the charge, although I understand there would have been additional charges if you hadn’t taken the deal.”
It was true enough. My lawyer told me I should feel lucky. I nodded.
He sprang to his feet. The chair clattered against the back wall. His hands pressed on the edge of his desk while he leaned over it, staring at me. “Verbal responses, girl.”
In my old life I would have stared the man down. I would have told him what he could do with his curt words and angry tone. My body trembled with the effort of suppressing the old instincts. I lowered my gaze, kept my silence.
He straightened his stance. “Afraid are you?”
I shook my head. “No.”
“Then why are you shaking?” he asked.
I looked him in the eye. “I’m angry.”
He smiled and nodded. “I like honesty. You think this is all a bit unfair?”
“Yes.” I nodded.
“You pled guilty and signed the deal,” he said. “It doesn’t get more fair than that.”
“I didn’t really have a choice.”
He scoffed. “You had one. You just didn’t like it.”
The point was inarguable.
He walked past me and opened the closet near the door. His hands retrieved a clear plastic box. He returned to his desk, wrote my name on the narrow end of the box in black permanent marker and laid the open box on the front edge of his desktop. His gaze returned to me. “I need you to put all your personal possessions in the box as neatly as you are able.”
It seemed like a joke. I wanted to laugh. The concept of personal possessions abandoned me months ago when I was first locked in a cell. “It looks to be filled up with them already.”
Mr. Rosecliff was not amused. “Top, shorts, socks, shoes, undergarments and anything else on your body. Now young lady or you’ll soon be finding out what happens to girls that don’t do as their told.”
A few months in the past I would have objected. That was before being locked up. The only privacy a person truly has is the thoughts in their own head and it takes effort keeping those things private. I stripped myself naked, folding my clothes the way my mother taught me for putting away laundry. Everything fit neatly into the box with ample room for more. I returned to my standing spot, hands clasped behind my back once more.
He closed the box, set it aside. “Hands on top your head, fingers interlaced, elbows straight.”
I complied. Nothing to be gained from antagonizing the man.
He said, “That’s how you stand in this office. Understood?”
“Yes,” I said. It took considerable effort not to roll my eyes while speaking.
He stood from the desk and moved to a cabinet on the adjacent wall. It opened with the turn of a key. Inside, he lifted a clear paddle and turned it toward me. He held it by the grip and stepped closer. The paddle appeared shorter than another one easily seen hanging in the cabinet, but it was by no means small, undoubtedly measuring an easy three inches wide and fourteen inches long.
“Stand in front of the desk, bend over and grasp the far edge,” Mr. Rosecliff said.
The spanking clause in the deal had given me pause from the moment I read it. My parents hadn’t given me a spanking since my pre-teen years and even then it had only been a few swats of their open hand over clothes. Taking an implement on my bare ass was something I had hoped to avoid. That hope shriveled and died as I assumed the described position.
He wasted no time. The paddle slapped my butt, jarring my entire body. The wobbles of my flesh and the ripples of force passing through me, masked the sting at first. It came washing over me a moment later along with another swat from the paddle. Sparkles of pain and heat jolted through my nerves, stinging tears in my eyes. The paddle came again and again. My butt burned like standing too close to an open fire.
He delivered twenty-five swats in all. The burning pain throbbed in my buttocks, coursed through my body. It was unlike anything I had previously experienced. Tears slipped down my cheeks and dripped onto the oak desktop. Instinct demanded I nurse the hot flesh in my hands. A strange hybrid of anger and intellect kept my hands with a white-knuckled grip on the desk’s edge.
Mr. Rosecliff returned the paddle to the cabinet and locked the doors closed. He opened the top drawer of his desk and withdrew a ring. A silver band, thick with a round setting of an ice-blue gemstone and raised numerals marking the year. He slipped it on my left ring finger and gently patted the top of my hand.
“There,” he said, “you’ll reside in Tanzanite House. Wear the ring at all times or you’ll be punished severely for its absence.” He sat in his chair, his eyes unabashedly stared at my hanging breasts. “Stand up, hands on head.”
I complied. The office door shuddered under the force of knock from the outside. Mr. Rosecliff pressed a button on the underside of his desk and the door buzzed. A woman entered. She wore professional attire, khaki skirt and blazer with a pink blouse. I guessed her age as mid-thirties though she could have been as much as a decade older or half of one younger. Her dark hair lacked any strands of gray or white.
Mr. Rosecliff stood. “Ms. Chambers, meet Margaret Lange.”
Ms. Chambers gave a polite nod of her head in my direction.
Mr. Rosecliff picked up a thick white book from his desk and proffered it toward me. “The rules of Rosecliff Institute,” he said. “Read them, learn them, follow them.”
Ms. Chambers said, “Come with me, Margaret. We’ll get you set up with a room, allowance and then you can see about purchasing a uniform.”

Friday, September 14, 2012

Fit to be Spanked

Nicole’s eyes popped in the direction of the narrow hall leading into the fitting room. The sound had definitely been coming from within. She gasped and her face flushed, embarrassed for the young woman with her naked butt thrust into the air. The other woman, the one wielding the ping-pong-shaped paddle, wore a name tag on her white blouse that read, Karen. She paused with the paddle raised high and smiled toward Nicole and her mother.
Karen said, “I’ll be with you in just a minute.” She refocused her attention on the bent girl and delivered the paddle with a resounding pop.
Nicole blinked in sync with the impact.
The bent girl emitted a little cry of discomfort. She lifted her hands from the tops of her black pumps, reaching as high as the back of knees. Her long legs bent and straightened while her dangling blonde hair swept over the carpet. She returned her fingertips to the pointed toes of her shoes. “I’m sorry,” she said.
Nicole tilted her head. Even she heard the attitude in the voice. More demand than apology. The bent girl’s face burned a brighter red than her bottom. Nicole imagined there was more outrage than pain coursing through the girl. Nicole glanced toward her mother, questions spinning around in her head. Was the punishment just or unjust? What did the girl do to deserve a spanking?
Her mother watched the scene, arms folded across her chest. She walked the few steps to the edge of the hallway. She spoke with the same loud voice she used at home when scolding Nicole. “That didn’t sound very sincere.”
Karen nodded. “Thank you. I can’t believe the attitude of the girls these days. No respect for authority. No respect for themselves.” She swung the paddle twice enhancing the pinkness covering the bent girl’s buttocks.
“My daughter and I were just discussing the very same,” Nicole’s mother said. “I couldn’t agree more.”
Nicole timidly walked and stood beside her mother. She could feel Karen scrutinizing her. Nicole quietly cleared her throat. Curiosity made her brave. “What did she do?”
“Do?” Karen asked. She slapped the paddle against the bent girl’s butt. “Why she did absolutely nothing. Isn’t that right, Miranda?” She swung the paddle.
“Ow!” replied Miranda. Her butt quivered and her knees bent and straightened. She sniffled.
Nicole watched Miranda’s buttocks glow redder.
Karen swung the paddle with force. “She didn’t sort the racks.”
The paddle popped against Miranda’s buttocks eliciting another, “Ow!”
“She didn’t clean out the fitting rooms.” Karen slapped the paddle against Miranda’s pulsating red butt.
Miranda grabbed at her butt, a sob racked her chest and sent a convulsion through her body.
Karen raised her voice. “Hands!”
Miranda sniffled. She resumed position touching the toes of her pumps with her fingertips. Her white top slipped, exposing her lower back and tummy. Her voice found contriteness. “I’m sorry. Please.”
Karen swung the paddle. “She didn’t help the customers.” The paddle popped against the red, naked buttocks. “And then she had the audacity to spew attitude at me when I confronted her about it.” She delivered a flurry of ten echoing, hard spanks.
Miranda sobbed. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
Karen stepped back and straightened her stance. “Stand up, hands on your head and plant your nose against the center of the far wall.”
Tears streaming down her face, Miranda straightened, interlaced her fingers on the back of her head and marched quickly to the far wall of the hallway. She sniffled, pressing her nose against the white wall. Nicole thought her butt seemed to glow even brighter against the sharp contrast. Miranda’s entire body trembled.
Karen waved the tip of the paddle at Miranda’s back. “Don’t even think about moving until I tell you. Understood?”
Miranda sniffled. “Yes, Mrs. Humphrey.”
Karen turned her attention toward Nicole and her mother with a smile on her face and the paddle still firmly held in her right hand. “Now, how can I help you?”
Nicole’s mother smiled. She lifted the outfits they had collected in the store. “My daughter needs to try some things on.”
Karen gestured down the length of the hall at the fitting room stalls. “The rooms are all available. Take your pick.”
Nicole’s mother nodded. “Thank you.” She fixed her gaze on Nicole. “If my daughter’s attitude isn’t significantly improved over a few moments ago, I might need to borrow your paddle also.”
Nicole gasped.
Karen’s eyes twinkled. “I’ll have it up at the register. Just send the girl to fetch it.” She walked out of the hallway.
Nicole bit her lip, cheeks flushed red. She reached out toward the outfits in her mother’s hand.
Her mother held them an extra moment. She nodded toward the bare bottomed, Miranda against the wall. “Give me the tiniest bit of attitude and you’ll be fetching Mrs. Humphrey’s paddle in your bra and panties. Is that understood?”
Nicole took a deep breath and nodded. “Yes, Mom.”
Her mother released the garments. “And don’t dally or I might just decide to paddle you for that too.”
Nicole rushed into the nearest fitting room. Her mouth remained open as closed the fitting room door. A hot flush colored her face. Her heart pounded in her chest. Even her ears felt hot. She hung the outfits on the hook and set about getting undressed. Mom was probably bluffing, but it wasn’t worth the risk.

Friday, September 7, 2012

Twice Spanked Girl

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Kelly Moran closed her eyes. Her ears twitched. A woman’s muffled voice filtered through the office door. Softer, she heard clacking heels reverberating against hard tile. Students passing, oblivious, but soon they would hear and know. The closed door offered an illusion of privacy, nothing more.
“Are you ready?” Principal Oakman asked. His tone taunted. He enjoyed the ritual. A slow pace allowed for savoring and humbling. He held the 18 inch school paddle casually beside his leg.
The answer seemed self-evident. Her fingertips pushed against the tops of her white shoes. The length of her brown hair furled on the gray carpet. Her butt stood obediently proffered in the air, protected only by tightly stretched denim jeans. Silence forced the answer from her lips. “Yes, sir.”
The wood paddle popped against her buttocks. Her hair bounced off the floor. Eyes opened wide. The office blurred into upside down focus. Sharp, hot prickles spread across her bottom. She blinked away tears. Her fingertips pressed against the leather toes of her walking shoes. The prickles faded, leaving only heat emanating from her posterior. Her legs bent and straightened one at a time, effectively wiggling her butt in the air.
“One,” Kelly counted.
Principal Oakman rested the paddle across the center of her butt. “Hurts doesn’t it?”
She closed her eyes. Did he really expect an answer? The steady presence of the paddle against her jeans and the lingering silence suggested he did. She hated the rhetoricals. Answering always left her feeling foolish. “Yes, sir.”
The paddle whooshed away from her jeans and returned with an echoing crack. Air gushed from Kelly’s lungs. Prickles. Fire. Tears stung at her eyes. Legs wobbled. Her butt wiggled. She felt her red, loose-fitting tee slip downward exposing her lower back and belly button. Her breath returned. She blinked away the tears.
“Two,” she said.
He held the paddle against her butt. “Am I getting through?”
She closed her eyes. “Yes, sir.”
He raised the paddle and brought it crashing down. Tears spilled out of her eyes. Prickles and fire exploded from her bottom. She vocalized the pain louder than the closed door could muffle. Her butt wiggled in the air. She felt her top slip farther. Her brown hair bounced on and off the gray carpet. She sniffled. Normal breath returned.
“Three,” she said.
The paddle slapped her butt. Fire and sting arced through her body like electricity. More tears. Her butt waved in the air. It only fanned the flames. Her top slipped, revealing traces of her white bra. A hot red blush colored her face. She closed her eyes and sniffled.
“Four,” she said.
Principal Oakman asked, “Am I going to catch you running on campus again?”
Kelly shook her head. “No, sir.” She sniffled.
He raised the paddle high. It swooshed down on her bottom, impacting with a thunderous crack. Her butt bounced. Tingling flames engulfed her buttocks. Tears streamed. She howled at the florescent lights overhead. Her legs trembled and her butt wiggled. The loose fitting tee slipped, fully exposing the white lace of her bra. She cried openly.
“Five,” she counted, her voice creaking.
The paddle rested across the seat of her stretched jeans, pressing firmly against her burning buttocks. Principal Oakman held the paddle in place, leaning down and forward where Kelly could not hide her face from his view. He said, “If there’s a next time, it’ll be ten. Understood?”
She blinked away tears. More replaced them, keeping her vision clouded. She sniffled. “Yes, sir.”
He said, “You have an hour detention after school today. During that time, you will write a sincere letter of apology to Mrs. Dotty and personally deliver it to her before you leave school today. If for any reason she finds it less than acceptable, you will find yourself right back here, touching your toes for another five swats. And you will write her another letter of apology and we will keep repeating the cycle until you get it right. Is that clear?”
Kelly nodded. She sniffled. “Yes, sir.”
Principal Oakman straightened and removed the paddle from her buttocks. He stepped toward his desk. The paddle clattered against the polished desktop. His oversized chair creaked under the sudden pressure of his weight sitting upon it. The top drawer rolled open. He pushed brass-framed reading glasses onto his nose and scribbled on a pink pad. His gaze drifted over the top of his glasses staring at the exposed flesh of Kelly’s back. “Stand up, girl.”
She yanked her top back into place as she rose. The backs of her hands scrubbed tears from her eyes and cheeks. She sniffled and blinked back the tears still threatening to fall. Her hands left her face in favor of comforting her backside. The rubbing satisfied the urge, but failed in assuaging the lingering heat and sting. She swallowed air and forced calm patience onto herself. Her gaze caught the paddle and quickly moved beyond it in favor of the pink pad under his pen.
He ripped the top page off the pad, leaving behind a yellow copy. “Take this home to your parents and bring it back signed tomorrow before your first class. And don’t forget the essay on the dangers of running on campus.”
Kelly took the slip. A single glance confirmed it spelled out the paddling and the reason for it, including the fact she had knocked Mrs. Dotty to the ground. Mom and Dad would not be happy. “Yes, sir.”
Principal Oakman leaned back in his creaky chair and pointed at the closed door. “Get out, girl. Ms. Lewis will escort you back to class.”
“Yes, sir.” Kelly pushed the pink slip into her front pocket and rushed toward the door. It swung open with ease and her eyes instantly contacted with curious classmates loitering in the hallway, obviously waiting for her emergence. She felt her face glow red hot. Too late to matter, she tried hiding behind the long strands of her hair.
Principal Oakman said, “I don’t want to see you back here again, Ms. Moran. Understood?”
She looked back at him from the doorway and nodded. “Yes, sir.”
The remainder of the school day dragged. Kelly discovered the firm wood seats of the student desk were particularly uncomfortable over the course of an hour long class when sitting on a well-spanked posterior. The tight fit of her jeans didn’t help matters either, keeping her bottom feeling warm and stinging all day long while she walked from class to class. In detention, she wrote the expected apology letter and at the end, she delivered it to Mrs. Dotty, including a verbal apology as she did. Fortunately, Mrs. Dotty accepted the apology graciously and even offered a little sympathy, though in parting, Mrs. Dotty slapped Kelly’s jean-clad bottom with her open hand and suggested Kelly be more careful in the future. Kelly fully intended embracing the suggestion though her thoughts were much more concerned with what awaited her at home.
Kelly entered the house and immediately came face to face with her mother. Mother’s eyes held a disappointed sternness that readily informed Kelly, Principal Oakman had called home. Kelly fished the pink slip out of her jean pocket. Mother took it from her fingers before she could finish unfolding it. Kelly bit her lip.
Mother said, “Paddled at school.” She shook her head as if she doubted the truth of it.
Kelly avoided Mother’s gaze. “I was running late for class.”
Mother nodded. “You were running.”
Kelly nodded.
Mother read the slip. “You knocked a teacher down?”
“I didn’t see her,” Kelly said.
Mother glared. “I should certainly hope not or we have a much bigger problem than you simply running where you aren’t supposed to.”
“I’m sorry,” Kelly said.
“Just wait until your father gets home,” Mother said. “In the meantime you’ll do your homework and this essay Principal Oakman assigned, at the kitchen table. After dinner, I suspect your father will be reminding you what a real spanking feels like.”
Kelly nodded. She had not expected anything different. Arguing over doing her homework in the kitchen nook versus her bedroom crossed her thoughts, but the Mother’s folded arms convinced her it wasn’t worth the breath. She trudged through the living room, around the stairs and into the nook. Her backpack thudded on the tile floor. At least the kitchen chairs came with cushions. She sat and unpacked her homework on the white tabletop.
Two hours later, Mother began working on dinner. Travis, Kelly’s younger brother, came downstairs, finished with his homework. He plopped himself down in the chair next to Kelly. She ignored his presence. He tapped his fingers on the table. She glared at him. He stopped tapping. She sighed and turned her attention back toward her essay. A few more words and it would be done.
Travis said, “I heard you got called to Principal Oakman’s office.”
Kelly kept writing. “Uh huh.”
He brushed his floppy blond locks out of his eyes and leaned back in the chair. “What did you do?”
Kelly considered telling him what he could go do, but a glance in Mother’s direction revealed the impulse as a bad idea. Ignoring the pest wouldn’t do either. “I was running to get to class and knocked Mrs. Dotty over.”
Travis leaned forward, astonished. “She’s like one of the nicest teachers.”
Kelly nodded. “I know.”
“Did you get swats?” he asked.
She nodded.
“How many?”
She took a deep breath. “Five.”
“Did it hurt?” he asked, watching her intently.
“What do you think?” she asked.
He shrugged. “I don’t know. That’s why I asked.”
Mother paused from cooking. “You’ll lose the attitude if you know what’s good for you, young lady.”
Kelly met Mother’s gaze and swallowed the sigh on her lips. “Yes,” she said, turning her gaze on Travis, “it hurt.”
Travis nodded. “I bet it did. I heard the paddle is like two feet long and six inches wide.”
Kelly rolled her eyes. “It’s not that big.”
He asked, “Was it on the bare?”
“But you cried though, right?” he asked.
“Of course,” she said. “It hurt.”
He smirked. “Did you check it out in the mirror after? I bet it was like red as a tomato.”
“I wouldn’t know, I didn’t look,” she said. “I really need to finish this essay if you don’t mind.”
Travis nodded. “Sure.” He rose from the table and walked toward Mother. “How can I help?”
Mother paused her stirring at the stove. “Do you want to toss the salad?”
He chuckled. “Absolutely, but won’t Dad get upset that we’re wasting food?”
Mother shook her head, smiling. Kelly paused writing and rolled her eyes. Travis’ sense of humor never ceased being annoying. She resumed writing. At least he stopped asking her questions.
Kelly narrowly finished the essay before it was time to set the table for dinner. Dad arrived home and Mother slipped him the pink note from Principal Oakwood. They all sat at the table. Kelly used her fork to push food around her plate. Travis ate enough for two anyway. Dad cleared his plate methodically, eyeing Kelly occasionally between bites. He wasn’t happy.
Finished eating, he pushed his plate forward and laid his fork and knife on the empty dish. His gaze landed on Kelly. “I imagine you have an excuse for me.” He wiped his chin with the white napkin from his lap.
Kelly shook her head. She dropped her fork on her mostly full plate. “I was stupid. I’m sorry.”
Dad raised an eyebrow. “So you think Principal Oakman was right to paddle you?”
She met his gaze. “I deserved it. Mrs. Dotty could have been hurt.”
He nodded, laid the napkin on the table. “I’m obviously disappointed in your behavior, but I’m proud of you for owning up and accepting responsibility for your actions.”
A smile briefly visited Kelly’s lips. She lowered her gaze. “I’ll go get ready.”
Dad said, “Bring your hairbrush and leave it on the coffee table.”
Upstairs in her bedroom, Kelly looked at herself in the dresser mirror. Her clothes laid discarded atop her bed. The principal’s paddle left lingering redness, mostly pink, with deeper round marks in the center of her cheeks. It remained tender, sensitive to the touch of her fingers. She opened the top center drawer of the dresser, pulling free a faded pink tee. It slipped over her head easily, loosely fitting around her shoulders and neck, hanging just low enough to cover her bare breasts. The top covered little enough that she felt more naked than naked. She grabbed her hairbrush and headed downstairs, blushing hotter with every step.
Kelly waited in the living room corner as expected, hands on head, nose pressed to the joint of the walls. Time passed slowly. She listened intently, hearing every sound echoing out of the kitchen as her parents and brother cleaned. Drawers open and closed. Silverware clinking. The ceramic clank of plates being stacked, the hollow dong of pots being put away. Cabinets opened and closed. Water running and the gentle scratching of the scouring pad. Finally, the noises ceased. They joined her in the living room. Dad sat on the couch. Mother and Travis sat in opposite armchairs.
Dad said, “I suppose we should get this over with.”
Kelly bit her lip.
“Come here and get over my lap,” said Dad.
She dropped her arms and turned from the corner. Her hands did their best to cover herself as she hustled toward the couch and her father. He sat on the front edge of the center cushion. She carefully laid over his lap, her bottom centered over his legs, hands and feet on the carpet. The pink cutoff tee offered little if any modesty. Her face flushed hot.
Dad smacked her bottom with his open hand. The pace was quick. Her bottom bounced after each contact. Heat and sting blanketed her bottom. Never pausing, he said, “When you’re at school your behavior doesn’t just reflect on yourself, it reflects on this entire family.”
Kelly breathed through gritted teeth. Her eyes fluttered open and closed in sync with the slaps of Dad’s hand. “I know,” she said, breathing heavily. “I’m sorry.”
He kept spanking. “If you knew that, then why did you blatantly violate the school’s no running on campus rule?” He increased the pace and strength of the smacks.
She yelped and squirmed on his lap, but he held her in place with his free arm. Her butt burned. She gasped for breath. “I wasn’t thinking.” Tears stung at her eyes.
He stopped spanking and leaned over her, picking up the hairbrush from the coffee table. The cold wood patted against her hot cheeks. He said, “You’re grounded for the rest of the week.” The hairbrush slapped against her wobbling buttocks a half dozen times. He said, “You come home, you put on this shirt,” his fingers pinched the back of the fabric and pulled it before releasing, “and you sit at the kitchen table until your homework is finished.” The hairbrush delivered six swats to each cheek. “If you finish your homework before dinner, you will help your mother with chores.” The hairbrush smacked her butt a dozen more times. “After dinner, you will stand in the corner until I send you to bed.” The hairbrush rained down a dozen more slaps. “Is that understood?”
Kelly sniffled back tears. Her butt raged with sting and fire. “Yes, sir.”
He nodded. “It better be.”
The hairbrush peppered her hot backside with two dozen spanks. She kicked and squirmed throughout. Tears flowed from her eyes. Her breathing turned ragged with sobs. She hung her head low. Her arms trembled and her entire body shook. The spanking ended. She laid limp over her father’s lap, crying.
He lifted her up into his arms and hugged her, brushing strands of her hair away from her face with fingers. “I still love you,” he said.
She cried into his collar. “I’m so sorry.”
He patted her back. “I know. You need to go back to the corner now and in a little bit you can go to bed, okay?”
She sniffled and nodded. He helped her to her feet. She walked to the corner, avoiding eye contact with her mother and brother. At the corner, she raised her hands back atop her head and pressed her nose into the walls. The tears continued to flow. But the worst was over. Kelly closed her eyes.