Rosecliff, Episode 026

Margaret Lange

“My name is Helen Rosecliff.” The blonde woman said from the front of the small classroom. She wore her hair in a tight bun that gave her angular features a severe look. Her hand thrust into the air displaying a delicate diamond ring. “I am Walter Rosecliff’s wife which means you will address me as Mrs. Rosecliff.” She looked over the ten of us standing before her. “When you have been given information it is appropriate to acknowledge it with a polite affirmation.”

I knew what she expected. Some of the others did as well, but a few of the girls seemed completely oblivious to Mrs. Rosecliff’s expectations. Those of us who knew spoke in rough unison, “Yes, Mrs. Rosecliff.” The oblivious girls followed a moment later.

Mrs. Rosecliff gave the slightest of nods. Her expression betrayed no emotion, good or bad. She looked us over for a long, silent moment. “Starting from the left, each of you will step forward and introduce yourself, your age, your house assignment, your conviction and the length of your expected stay at the Institute.” Her hand gesture made it clear she meant her left, rather than ours.

“Yes, Mrs. Rosecliff,” we replied.

The first girl stepped forward. Her legs trembled and she wrung her hands together in front of her skirt. She kept her head low, staring at the floor while her blonde hair dipped in front of her face. Her voice was soft and quiet like water trickling from a faucet. “I’m Teresa Martel from Sapphire House. I’m 22 years old and I was convicted of hazing and sentenced to four years here.” She immediately walked back to her place on the wall.

Mrs. Rosecliff fixed her gaze on Teresa once she was facing forward again. “We’ll work on your speech and grammar.”

Teresa lowered her head farther. “Yes, Mrs. Rosecliff.”

The next girl stepped forward. She exhibited all the confidence Teresa lacked. Her brown hair was tied neatly back in a ponytail and it bounced off her back as she walked and smartly turned to face the line of us. She smiled, friendly and domineering. “Rhonda Bartley. 24. I’m assigned to Ruby House. My conviction was for perjury because my dumbass boyfriend couldn’t keep his story straight. I’ll be here for three years.” She marched back to her spot.

Mrs. Rosecliff stared stared straight into Rhonda’s brown eyes. “We do not tolerate derogatory language at the Institute.” She tapped on her tablet for a moment and then returned her stare to Rhonda. “Strip down to your socks and shoes. We’ll wash your mouth out with soap after everyone else has done their introductions and give you a 22 swat spanking. After class you’ll visit Dean Rosecliff for another mouthsoaping and spanking. I trust you’ll have learned your lesson by bedtime and will allow you to dress again tomorrow morning.”

Rhonda’s expression soured. “Yes, Mrs. Rosecliff.” Her tone said the opposite, but she stripped down to her socks and shoes without another word.

From beside Rhonda, another brunette stepped forward, similar in build to Rhonda. She appeared less confident though, her hands pressed flat against the sides of her skirt. “My name is Celeste Simons and I am 23 years old. I was assigned to Citrine House. My crime was shoplifting and I am here for the next four years.” She returned to her place in line.

Mrs. Rosecliff said. “Thank you, Celeste.”

Following Celeste, a tall blonde stepped forward. Her blue eyes were watery as if she were fighting back tears. Her legs seemed to tremble and voice wavered as she spoke. “I am Misty Hauser, 18 years old. Peridot House is my current residence for the next three years because I was found guilty of breaking and entering into the administration building at my former high school.” She returned to the line.

Next, was my turn. I stepped forward and faced the line. “My name is Margaret Lange and I’m 21 years old. I am assigned to Tanzanite House. My conviction was for accessory to theft and I’ve been sentenced to five years.” I returned to my place.

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.