Rosecliff, Episode 010

Abigail Hastings

“No, Sir,” I said. Sean clearly felt he had to stick with the letter of the rules because of Margaret’s presence. Sometimes I just find it too hard switching between the person I am and the person the Institute expects me to be. Naturally, the trouble comes easier. I unbuttoned my bow tie, folded the strip in thirds and laid it on the counter. A quick glance toward Margaret confirmed her attention was split between the work in front of her nose and me.

Sean removed the clear paddle from the wall, it was shaped similar to a ping-pong paddle, and tapped its flat surface on the edge of the counter. “Hurry up, you’ll be late for dinner as it is.”

There was a time when I would have been blushing up a storm and trembling at just the thought of undressing in front of an audience in a shop. Three years at Rosecliff Institute cured me of that. I stripped out of my jumper and blouse, leaving me in just undergarments and socks and shoes. After folding the jumper and blouse, I removed my bra and then my panties, adding them to the pile. Hands on head, I faced Sean though I couldn’t quite bring myself to look him in the eye.

Sean stepped out from behind the counter, paddle gripped firmly in his right hand. He pointed at my shoes. “Touch your toes.”

I leaned forward, stretched my fingertips out toward the tops of my black shoes. My curly hair flopped off my back and touched the floor. I closed my eyes, preferring not to look at the upside-down world between my legs. The cool touch of the paddle against my right butt cheek sent a shiver down my spine.

Sean swung the paddle. It struck with a loud pop that set to life a buzz of stinging tingles on my right-side buttock. The unevenness between my cheeks was quickly corrected with a second swat smacking the left-side. My entire butt stung, though not badly enough that I felt the urge to comfort it. Unfortunately, the spanking was far from over.

The paddle seemed to be bouncing from side to side, smacking my bottom with a steady, quick pace. Each swat raised the temperature and increased the stinging. It became increasingly difficult to stay in position. The urge to coddle my butt grew stronger and stronger. My body trembled with the effort required to resist my natural instincts. Somewhere near the thirtieth swat the pain overwhelmed me and tears began spilling from eyes. My breathing turned sharp and shallow.

He laid the last ten with extra force. I cried through them. My mouth hung open gasping for air and my entire focus in life became staying in position until the spanking stopped. It seemed an eternity before the last swat fell. When it did, I stayed down, fingertips pressed into the tops of my shoes, hair bouncing on the ground like a shroud around my hands and feet. My butt burned. Three years and dozens of spankings at the Institute, and still they hurt every time.

“Stand up, hands on head,” said Sean.

I followed instructions. Margaret stood at the counter staring. There were unspilled tears pooled in her eyes. Sweet girl, probably blamed herself. She would learn though. We’re all responsible for our own actions.

Sean said, “You two had best get along to the cafeteria.”

“Yes, Sir,” we both replied.

“And Abigail,” he said, “you’ll miss dinner tonight and stand in the corner instead. Understood?”

I sniffled. “Yes, Sir.”