Your Turn...

Madame Awaits

The Office of Correctional Services, Pt. 11

Good Morning Tess

Wow, I can't believe we’re into February already! This school year is just flying by. I've been doing a lot of studying, a lot of researching and essaying, and driving out into the countryside on weekends taking photos for painting winter landscapes. I did manage to get in a day of skiing. This winter, for all its relentless storms and brutal cold, has been a skier's paradise. I am so out of shape, though – my muscles were so sore after that day I could hardly walk. Gave me a taste of what old age has in store for us all…

How are you and your new beau getting on?

Hi Linds

Your winter sounds like our winter. Never seen so much snow, even for Colorado. Jim and I are doing great. He is such a nice guy. The best I've come across in a long time. We`re planning a trip down to Sedona for Valentine's. Can't wait.

BTW, you haven't mentioned anything about Royce or your part time job (if you can call it that) for the last month. Is all that spanking stuff out of your system?

Hi Tessie

Sedona would be wonderful! I am so jealous – and happy you seem to have found someone who looks like a keeper. And no, 'all that spanking stuff' is most definitely NOT out of my system. I just thought you might be getting a little tired of my going on and on about it. But since you asked - things are a bit slow at the OCS right now. I've only been called in to work twice since Christmas. But Ms H has been giving me lessons in the punitive arts. She has me practicing on a pair of small chair pillows, working on my form and my aim. She says I demonstrate some talent with the cane. I must admit, I do so love wielding that thing, especially the whoosh sound it makes – music to my ears. I give my own pillows a solid fifty strokes every night before bed. I'd love to practise on Royce, but he is crazy busy with his own courses right now, and there`s not a lot of privacy to be had around campus, anyway. We did meet at Starbucks last week, and I promised him that when spring arrives – if it ever does! – we`ll find some abandoned barn somewhere and I'll deliver him a sound whuppin`  that will make up for lost time. I told him that he would be expected to cut his own switch, and that he'd best learn to do a better job of it than the last time, or else! I also told him how eager I was to see him twist and squirm under my strokes, to watch the welts rise on his bare flesh, and to hear his cries and gasps of desperation. He gaped at me like a little boy getting his first glimpse at a naked woman, and had a decided awkwardness to his stride when we walked out.  Once we got out to the parking lot, I gave him a stern warning not to masturbate over our little discussion once he was home, but I tend to think my words went unheeded!

Something else is going on, too. I FINALLY got a reply on my application to Delta Kappa Phi – they have accepted it (yay, me!). Remember, that was the whole reason I took that position at the OCS in the first place – one of the entry requirements was doing some kind of work around the college, and the OCS was the only thing I could get. Well, it took long enough, but I guess they decided it was sufficient. I still have to pass a final interview and then the initiation, but it looks good right now.

Hello Linds,

Congrats on your sorority app! That`s exciting! As for Royce, are you sure the two of you are not involved, even without meaning to be?

Hi Tess

No, we really aren't inclined romantically. Don't get me wrong – we are fond of each other, but we love the spanko relationship we have right now. It's kinky and unique, and frankly, if we crossed that line into boyfriend girlfriend territory, it would get more complicated and something of that fun kinkiness would be lost.

As for Delta Kappa Phi, I am trying not to get my hopes up too high. And to tell you the truth, I am more than a little nervous, too. You know, it's an old school sorority. The initiation is pretty rough. One of the girls told me in secret that it involved some pretty intense paddling.  I don't know if I want to go through that.

I know what you must be thinking – what a hypocrite! Lindsay is willing enough to dish it out, but not take it. Well, you're right. So I'm a hypocrite. Sue me. I am not a fan of pain, and I'm not abashed to admit it. When I mentioned the initiation to Ms H, she smiled, and said "Good! Lindsay, you need to do this. A disciplinarian should experience corporal punishment first hand herself. She needs to understand exactly what she is inflicting on her charges. It will give you a proper perspective and a more profound respect for the implements you wield."

I couldn't really argue with her – one does not argue with Ms H, in any case – I know she's right. Before I wield a paddle professionally, I really should know just what one feels like on my own bare butt. Still, I've seen how the students howl under Ms H's paddle, and my knees go weak thinking about it happening to me. At least those students don't really have a good idea of what they're in for until it's too late. I do have some idea. They say that the unknown is what causes us the most fear, but I don't know about that.

What do you think, big sister – should I go through with this or not?

Lindsay –

I suppose that depends on how committed you are to this disciplinarian thing.  She is right – how can you dish it out properly if you can't empathize with what the poor sap you're beating is undergoing?

OMG, listen to me – I'm starting to sound like your boss, for crying out loud.  I am totally out of my league here. Do what you want , little sister. You always do. Just be sure you know what it is you want, first.

1,000,000 HITS!!

WOW - I can't believe it! This blog has just surpassed the 1,000,000 hit mark!! THANK YOU ALL for your continued support and interest in my naughty corner of the Blogoverse. 
I thought I'd celebrate with a little indulgent, shameless self-aggrandization: a selection of past illustrations from the 2+ years of this blog. There have been many newcomers who may never have seen these, so I figure they are worth reposting.

Having a forum for my punitive fantasies has been something of a catharsis for me, and with the whole internet to choose from, I am deeply touched that so many web surfers have chosen to come here to share in them.

Practising Her Profession

Just knowing there are actually women out there who make a living - or at least a good portion of one - thrashing, strapping, and paddling deserving and needy backsides re-kindles my childhood sense of wonder about the world.

 Bless you all, dear ladies - and thank you for teaching us those lessons best learned the hard way.

The Office of Correctional Services, Pt. 8

Good Morning, Tessie

Well, it's been a few weeks now since Brad's appointment with the OCS, and I've not heard a word from him. I don't know if he is still pissed about the affair, or sulking, or if it's just plain over between us. I do know it would be pointless for me to call him, and if I did I would probably end up apologizing and then being angry at myself for it afterwards. After all, what do I have to apologize for? I didn't break some poor guy's nose in a drunken brawl, and I even tried to help him get through his correction proceedure. And the Office never did receive the obligatory letter of appreciation from him afterwards. Ms. H is usually pretty thorough when it comes to the formalities of her services, but she's never inquired about it. I suspect she let it slide for my sake, knowing Brad and I are (were?) involved. He doesn't know how lucky he is - if she chose to pursue the matter, he could find himself right back over her correction bench. 
Well, let him sulk. I am not going to go after him.

Lindsay.

Hello Lindsay,

If you ask me ( and I think you are), you're better off. In fact, I like the sound of the new, stand-up-for-herself Lindsay. Considering how you've let guys walk all over you in the past, this is a big step. My little sister is growing up.
Tess.

Hi Tess,

It's easy to not let people walk over you when you are the one in charge! You should see these guys (and girls) when they come in to the OCS for their appointments. They look like junior high sophomores at their first school dance. They're gawky and awkward, and nervous as cats. It's like they left whatever composure they've had out in the hallway. What a fearsome reputation Ms H has forged on campus - and some of it has rubbed off on me. If I snap my fingers, they all jump. Literally - they're terrified I might have noted some minor infraction of Ms. H's rules in the way they are sitting or fidgeting and I might note it on their file.  
I have to confess, sis, I've snapped my fingers just to watch the reactions. I've even started instituting my own set of rules for the waiting room. No slouching, no fidgeting, no talking... I warn them once, and then if they don't comply, I add a black mark onto their file.  That usually gets them back in line pretty fast. Mind you, it might also be the  paddle claps, cane swishes yips and yowls that penetrate the walls that cows them a little, too (lol). You should see how their eyes bug out when a miscreant emerges from the inner sanctums, stiff-lipped and limping, barely holding it together while I check them out and send them on their way with a reminder that we expect a letter of appreciation within two days, and it darn well better read sincere! Every person in that waiting room is gaping at the poor bugger in horror, because they know that will be them all too soon. I used to feel sorry for them, but I've heard how Ms H's techniques have improved grades, and I remind myself that, however traumatic today might be for them, tomorrow will be a brighter day. (well, maybe not tomorrow, but in a week or so, lol).
I have a whole system broken down. After I summon one 'correctee' into Ms H's office, I instruct the next in line to approach my desk and have them write out some or all of the OCS rules for behavior (it's entirely at my discretion how much), that they were expected to memorize prior to arriving. Then I check  to see that they've done their homework, and note down every mistake. Knowing that every stroke of my little black felt pen is likely to translate to a stroke with a much crueler instrument
is nothing short of deliciously empowering.  I often wait for a particularly appalling yelp from beyond Ms H's door before I drag my marker over the page with a damning squeak. You should see how the blood drains from their faces, even more at my little squeak than at the clamorous racket of their immediate and inevitable near future.

Gawd, I love my job.

Love always,
Lindsay


Lindsay -

Geez, Linds!  Now I'm getting worried about you again. I think you are enjoying this job way too much. Before too long, you're going to be hanging around S&M clubs with safety pins hanging from your nipples.

Tess.


Tess -

Not my speed.  You don't understand. We're helping these students get back on track, reminding them to take their time at Abernathy seriously and get the most out of it. I'm actually doing them a favor - the more intimidated and subservient they are when I hand them over to Ms Hutchins, the easier it will go for them. She'll still punish them, but the severity will not be as, well, severe, as if they had not been psychologically prepared beforehand.

Lindsay.


Lindsay -

I dunno - sounds like a lame excuse to just be mean to people. From what I gather, you've turned your reception into your own personal little torture chamber for your amusement. You yourself admitted you enjoy watching your 'correctees' squirm.


Tess -

Yeah, I did say that, I guess. The truth is, I don't know what's driving me. The little world inside this office is so bizarre and wild and strangely enthralling, it's just hard to explain it to someone on the outside looking in. It's easy to get wrapped up in. It has it's own fascinations and it makes the blood rush and the heart pound, whatever end of the cane you're on.  I don't think I'm a cruel person, but I do have a wicked streak in me that, now awoken, won't be put back to bed. Should I just ignore it, pretend it's not there? Or should I have the courage to confront it, to explore a side of me that most people would shun away from in horror? Socrates issued the challenge - Know Thyself. Well, I want to know all of what I am, not just those aspects that are easy to acknowledge. It's a bit of a scary journey, I'll admit, and that's why I need my big sister alongside me, for support. 
Please don't let me go down this road alone.

Still your little sister,

Lindsay.


Lindsay -

I would never abandon you, Linds. I just worry, sometimes. Wherever this road takes you, we'll take it together.

The Office of Correctional Services, Pt 4

Hi Tessie

Well, it's been two months now of working as Ms. Hutchins' henchwoman. You know, despite her cruelty to the poor buggers who come in here, she is actually quite pleasant to work for. She is always patient and polite with me - I think because I've already lasted longer than any other receptionist she's ever had and doesn't want to lose me. She even shows genuine concern for my state of mind. We went to the tea room across from campus after work today, and she asked how I was dealing with the job, emotionally. I told her fine, but of course, she saw right through that. In her profession, she's learned to see through deceptions pretty reliably. She's really a remarkable woman. I confessed it was not always easy - after all, yesterday a guy came in that I knew as a friend of Brad's. He tried to be friendly - probably hoping I might somehow mitigate his predicament - but, of course, I couldn't in all conscience treat him any different than any other miscreant. All I could do was to nod sympathetically. I hope he understood, but I don't know. Brad and I are getting together with his friends this weekend, and I don't know how it's going to go if this guy is there.

Anyway, Ms. Hutchins told me her door was always open to talk, if I felt the need. It was amazing to me that she could be so harsh with the students and so kind to me. When I mentioned that, she shrugged it off. "Everything in its proper proportion, dear," she explained. I think she really, sincerely believes she is helping the offenders she deals with, that she is doing far more good than harm.
"We all need discipline in our lives, Lindsay. Without it, we drift aimlessly, or fall into detrimental habits. I merely supply that discipline in a manner which makes it stick. Everyone who walks in knows, deep down, that they lack that discipline, and crave for us to retore it to them. It's not easy, but they come anyway, don't they?"
You really think they want you to beat the daylights out of them? I asked her.
She laughed. "No - they want me to beat the daylight back into them. Mind you, you do get the occasional deviant sort who is seeking a kind of sexual thrill out of the experience, but they need my help, too. I can usually cure them of those types of cravings. If I can't, well, I won't cater to their desires. I send them away."
"Like that guy who came in today, for his fourth appointment?"
"You're developing a keen judge of character, Lindsay. Yes, like him. I think I got through to him today, but it make take another dose of the cane next week, together with the lexan paddle, before I'll know for sure."
Then we got into this long, weird discussion about why lexan and the hows and whys of how she goes about determining implements and punishments. In a way, Tessie, it was quite fascinating to listen to her. She is very dedicated and passionate about what she does, and has really studied her trade. She isn't just some sadist who snatches up a whip and starts swinging. To her, disciplining is a form of therapy, and has to be approached with dignity and respect for the ritual to make it worthwhile. It has to have a goal, beyond just punishment.

It was past dark before we finally got out of there, and I realized I'd forgotten all about Brad waiting for me at the restaurant. She really left me with my head spinning, and I am beginning to see Ms. Hutchins in a whole new light. As I said, she is really quite a remarkable woman. 

Hi Tessie,

As it turned out, I didn't have to run into Brad's buddy last weekend. Brad thought it was all quite funny. He said the guy was staying home to soak his buns in a cold sink of water. I assured him it was no joke, but Brad's one of those testosterone  poison victims - I don't think he believes a woman capable of inflicting a serious level of pain on a guy unless he's a wimp. It could have turned into a argument, but it's not worth getting into a snit over. Let him have his precious ego. 

Yesterday, I had to help Ms. Hutchins with one of the students. In his struggling, he had pulled an ankle cuff free from the punishment horse, and was kicking and squirming so much Ms. Hutchins was having difficulty applying the tawse. "I could send him away until it's repaired, but I believe we're getting somewhere here and don't want to let the effort go wasted. Would you mind holding his leg in place, Lindsay? I can't do both tasks at once."

I don't mind saying I was more than a little scared, sis. After three months, I'd never actually witnessed a punishment directly. I didn't want her to think me weak, so I agreed. She had me draw his right leg up under the bench, knee to chest, and hold it in place by leaning down on his back and locking my arms around his torso and curled up leg. This had the effect of forcing my face onto his sweating back, and I had a very unusual vantage of things as Ms. H wielded her strap - each time she drew it back, it looked like she meant to strike me in the face, but of course her aim was not so inept. Nevertheless, the tawse landed only 8 or 9 ninches from my face with a frightful sound. I could feel the guy's torso shuddering and heaving under me, and I had to struggle to hold his leg in place.  I had the crazy urge to straddle his head and clamp it tightly between my thighs to subdue him. He was bucking hard against me, and rather than feel sorry for him, it actually angered me. If the idiot would just settle down, this would go a lot easier for him. By the time Ms H had done, we were all exhausted. She thanked me and I hurried back to my desk, only then realizing my nipples were hard as pucks and I was flushed with arousal. This disturbed me more than the plight of the student. Why had the incident made me aroused?

Love always,

Lindsay

source: Schoolmistress Lover

The Office of Correctional Services, Part 3

(For those who were not around in July and August, this is a follow-up to a couple of posts from the summer: Office of Correctional Services, Part 1, and Your Wednesday Appointment)

Hi Tess,

Sorry it's been awhile since I last emailed, but so far life here at Abernathy College has been crazy busy. My courses and my profs are all great. Haven't had nearly as much time for partying as I'd like, but what can you do? After all, I came here to get a fine arts degree, not get drunk. Well, mostly, anyway. lol.

And you know me, sis, I always have to be involved in more than just my courses. I'm thinking of applying to a sorority, Delta Kappa Phi, but I have to prove I can keep a certain grade average first, and they require applicants to volunteer six hours a week to the admin of the college. I put in a general request, and have already been turned down in three separate departments so far. I have one more interview tomorrow, with the woman who runs the 'Office of Correctional Services', a Ms. Hutchins.  Sounds kinda scary, huh? Well, it is! Apparently, they are big on discipline here, and she's like the campus watchdog, or something. She disciplines the students who break the rules. I've heard stories about her (all exaggerated for effect, I'm sure) actually exercising corporal punishment. But I doubt they're true.
I mean, seriously - can you imagine some old shrew beating a 220 pound football halfback with her ruler?

Speaking of football players, I met one of them in my English Lit course - his name's Brad, and he's something called a 'tight end', whatever that is. Actually, the label is pretty accurate, if you catch my meaning. We had coffee and then a first date last week. He's a cool guy - so far - but the jury is still deliberating.
Anyway, got to go. I'll let you know if I get that office job or not. 

Later, big sister,

Love, your little Lindsay



Hi again, Tessie!

Wow, two emails in one week - aren't you the lucky one? I just had to write and tell you about the bizarro experience I had at that interview I told you about.
You know what? All the stories are for real! I couldn't believe it. I get to the Office of Correctional Services over lunch Tuesday and Ms. Hutchins is alone in there. Actually, she's no shriveled up old shrew - she's statuesque, probably in her mid-thirties, and a beauty to boot. I hope I look that good when I'm on the downside of thirty.
Anyway, she has this box/bench contraption in her office, kind of like a gym horse, padded on top and with buckles and straps at the base. Behind it on the wall is this mounted rack with a row of belts and paddles and stuff, and an umbrella stand bristling with canes and birch rods. I was pretty shocked. She invited me to sit and I did, which alone seemed to make an impression. Apparently, half the applicants usually bail at the sight of the tools of her trade. She explained how it works - infractions are investigated by the Headmistress' office, and if she determines that 'disciplinary action' is required, she informs the Office of Correctional Services. Then the offender is summoned here, appropriately 'corrected' and released.  For a panicky moment I thought I would have to do some of the 'correcting' myself, but she was quick to explain that she only required a receptionist/assistant to manage the appointments and paperwork. I've had some reception experience, but before she agreed to bring me aboard, she said I would have to undertake a practical exam. I nervously asked what that entailed, and she said her next appointment was due shortly. She invited me to take part.
I have to say, I almost panicked and ran myself, but for some reason, I didn't want to disappoint her. I think she was a little desperate to find help. So I agreed. At the very least, I figured I would have a real tale to tell.
So she was showing me the outer office and file system, when this guy walks in. He was in the school's formal uniform, and looked real nervous. Seeing us both, he went white. Ms. Hutchins told him curtly to take a seat, and then pulled me back into her office.
"First lesson," she said. "We want every miscreant who comes in to be as anxious and as intimidated as possible. We're compelling what are effectively grown and unwilling adults to submit to a humiliating and painful ordeal, and that is much easier to do if they are psychologically overwhelmed from the start. They have to know that things will go much worse for them if they don't cooperate. So, don't greet them with a smile, or even a hello. Make them approach you, and introduce themselves. Be aloof and businesslike. It will help inspire the proper attitude in them. Can you do that?"
 I told her I would try. Not easy - you know me, Tessie, I'm pretty friendly to everyone, but I am almost as desperate for this job as she is for me to take it. If I don't, my chances of getting into Delta Kappa Phi are toast.
She told me to go out there, take this guy's name and have him fill out the consent form. Once he does, tell him to take a seat and wait quietly. No talking. If he tries to engage you in conversation, it's to sway you to his side. Don't let him. But note his attempt on his file. Then she'd buzz me when she was ready for him.

Well, I did what she asked - it was kind of weird to act all cold and callous toward this guy -  I already felt sorry for the poor sap. What did he do to warrant this? Anyway, Ms. Hutchins made him wait for almost twenty minutes. He almost jumped in his chair when the intercom buzzed. He looked at me like a lost child when I told him to go on in. But he went. Ms. Hutchins told him to shut the door behind him, and then it was quiet for awhile. About five minutes went by and then there was this really sharp clap that startled me, followed immediately by a yelp of pain. I couldn't believe my ears - she was actually beating him. The claps got louder and more rapid and the sounds that poor guy made were awful. My own heart was pounding with, what - fear? horror? I don't exactly know. But I actually snapped a pencil I'd been gripping in one hand. When the clapping stopped, I sighed in relief and sank into my chair, only to be startled again at a whooshy sound. I think it was one of those canes. The guy let out a different cry to it, more shrill and desperate. It didn't last long, though, and all went quiet again. I was nervous as a cat, waiting for what might come next. The guy emerged soon after, his face twisted and his lip quivering. He handed me his file in a shaky hand, and said he'd been told by Ms. Hutchins to inform me he needed a second appointment in a week.
I could only nod dumbly at him, as aghast as he was at what had just happened. "Can I go now?" he whispered. I told him I thought so, and he waddled uncertainly out. I was flushed and sweating when Ms. Hutchins called me in and inquired if I thought I could handle hearing that go on several times a day. I thought about it, really hard. As much as I didn't want to, I wanted more to get into Delta Kappa Phi. So I told her I'd take the job, if she'd have me.
So here I am, sis. Sitting in Ms. Hutchins' outer office, an assistant to the Corrections Counselor for the two afternoons a week that she shows up on campus. What does she do the rest of the time, I wonder? There are three guys and a girl in the waiting room with me, all silent, all visibly frightened looking.  They've a right to be. I feel terrible for each of them, but I'm not allowed to show it. At least for them, it will be over soon enough. I have to stay and listen.
I'll keep you updated on how this new job goes.

Love, Lindsay

Back to School

 
Prim teachers in pencil skirts tapping on blackboards with yardsticks, throwing stern, reproving glances over their glasses, and handing out detentions for misbehavior..... long trips down the echoing halls to the headmistress's office, trembling at the impending prospect of  her tawse and cane.... bouncy cheerleaders sashaying (?) through the corridors in short flouncy skirts....

Well, not exactly the high school I went to, but it ought to have been...

With schools once again opening their doors, I thought this would be an appropriate opportunity to promote one of the best tumblr blogs out there, devoted to schoolmistresses:

Strict Schoolmistresses, Prefects, and Babysitters

As if the title weren't enough to encourage you to visit, here's a gallery of samples:

I don't know who the sitemaster is, but I applaud his efforts, and let's hope he keeps it going.

Your Wednesday Appointment

As you walk down the hallowed halls of Abernathy College toward the Office of Correctional Services, you find yourself being stared at; students you pass throw furtive glances as you pass, and whisper once you've gone by. Your school uniform has marked you out as to your destination. You realize that the only reason for being forced to don it was to shame you as you approached the Office. As if your weren't anxious enough. Your punishment has begun before you even reach the door.

The fear gnaws at your gut like a hungry parasite, and you consider turning and running, but to do so would bring suspension, or perhaps even expulsion. You can't afford that. So you press on. How bad can it be, really? Just go in and get it over with. An hour from now you'll be back in your dorm, with a clean slate.

And then you round the corner, and the door is suddenly there in your face:

Office of Correctional Services

Ms. C. Hutchins, Counselor

You check your watch. 2:56 pm. 4 minutes early. Maybe being early will earn a small mitigation on your punishment? Maybe, maybe not. But only if you go in now. Your hand hesitates on the knob. Once you go in, you know there is no coming back out until...

Dammit. There is no escaping this. The sooner it's done, the better. You clench your jaw and step boldly inside. 

The reception looks no different than any other reception area in the school. No one is there, either waiting in the hard chairs along the walls, or behind the high reception desk. You close the door behind you ever so quietly, as though you were afraid to alert anyone you'd arrived, and sit down.

A few tense minutes pass before an attractive woman strides out of the inner office, startling you out of your shoes. She is too young and too blonde to be the notorious Ms. Hutchins. This must be Lindsay, the receptionist.  She ignores you,  and takes her seat. 

You're supposed to check in at 3, so you approach her, and wait for her to acknowledge you. She is a sweet looking girl, probably a sophomore. Under different circumstances, you might even -

THWAPP!

"Owww!"

You jump at the sudden exclamaton from the beyond the door to thin inner office.  The girl, Lindsay, does not bat an eyelash.  "Here," she says, handing you a clipboard and pen. "Fill this out and have a seat. You'll be called when Ms. Hutchins is ready."

You do as you're told, while the thunderclaps and yelps continue to penetrate the walls. Your hand is shaky, so your signature looks like a drunk wrote it. 

Finally, the sharp clapping ceases, and you breathe a sigh of relief. Not a minute passes, however, when a new sound assaults your ears, a Thwisshh, followed by a squeal. 

The pair of sounds repeat.

Again. 

Again.

And Again.

You can feel the blood draining from your face. You look pleadingly at Lindsay, but she is actually humming softly to herself, oblivious to the harsh drama going on inside. 

You hand the form back to her. She inspects it closely, then reminds you to be quiet while you wait your turn. The frightful sounds come more intermittently, but no less severe, for the next ten minutes. Then silence. 

Finally, another student emerges from the inner sanctum, his face contorted with pain, his eyes red with threatening tears. He limps awkwardly over to Lindsay and hands her a file. Examining it, she shakes her head. "Tch. Three infractions in Ms. H's presence. Really, Donald. You'd think you'd have learned your lesson by now. Another appointment next week, eh? I think I can fit you in for Friday morning. Have you any classes then? No? Right, then. We will see you at 8 am sharp. I guess I needn't remind you to be on time, do I?"

She gives him an appointment card and dismisses him. You watch with a mix of horror and something akin to awe at how he stumbles painfully out, casting you a quick rueful glance. As he leaves, you know that soon that will be you.

Another 15 minutes go by, and promptly at 3:30, the office intercom buzzes. 

Lindsay responds to it instantly. "Yes, Ma'am. Right away." She rises and stands by the inner door. She gives you an expectant stare. "All right. Ms. Hutchins will see you now. Let's go. She doesn't like to be kept waiting."

She holds the door open for you and you will yourself to comply. It's not easy, but you do it. Something in the girl's eyes compels you forward. Or is it just your male ego that doesn't want her to think you weak and scared?

Ms. Hutchins is behind her desk, reading a file. As you approach her desk, you can't help but notice the high box bench on your right, and the wall rack beyond hung with an array of straps, paddles, and canes.

"Well, Mr. _____, this is quite a report..." She proceeds to list your violations of school regs, shaking her head and sighing at the end. "It seems to me you're overdue for this office's services, wouldn't you agree?"

Her stare over the rim of her glasses is penetrating, intense. You are struck by that gaze just a moment too long.

"That was a direct question, young man. I expect an answer!"

"Uh, yes..."

"Yes, what?"

"Umm - yes, Ma'am."

She rises, rounds the desk and perches herself directly in front of you. She is an attractive brunette in her early or mid thirties, and all business in her white blouse and pencil skirt. 

She takes hold of your chin. "I am warning you, only this once, that you are not off to a good start with me. Now, if you want to improve your standing, you can begin by reciting rules 4 & 6 from my set of behavioral guidelines that you were to memorize..."

You were up half the night prepping for this very question, but you are so flustered that you make half a dozen errors. She notes every flub on your file. "A poor performance, I must say. Each mistake earns you one paddle swat.  I expect you to have the respect this office is due, and behave according to its rules. Understood?"

"Yes, Ma'am. I'm sorry."

"I doubt it. But you will be. Now let's have you over the box, shall we?"

Quite understandably, you hesitate.

"If I have to start counting, you'll receive my count in added strokes. You want that?"

"No, Ma'am!" And you hustle yourself to the box. 

"This is to be a barebottom correction, if you please."

You lower your trousers and underwear and take your proper position whilst Ms. Hutchins' heels clack loudly on the wood flooring as she approaches. She buckles your ankles to the box, then proceeds to the rack of implements in front of you. As she selects the designated implement, you can't help but notice how tightly her skirt clutches her round hips and buttocks. You feel a familiar swelling in your crotch, and wonder at it. Attractive as she might be, you do not feel aroused...... do you...?

She strides purposefully back to take up her position.

"You will keep the count. Failure to call a stroke earns its repetition. Understand?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Right, then..."

"Very well. I think we're done. You may get up now."

Easier said than done. The searing fire that Ms. Hutchins has ignited is FAR more intense than you had thought possible. Real tears are gathering in your eyes, and you feel more like a chastened nine year old than a college undergrad. 

"Come on. Don't dawdle, or would you like me to give you a little 'encouragement'?"

You push yourself back up on your feet hastily. Clenching your teeth, you squat carefully to draw up your pants.

"One moment, young man. Aren't you forgetting something?"

"Ma'am?"

"Your paddle swats for guideline errors. Or were you hoping maybe I'd forget?"

"No, not at all, Ma'am."

Whimpering, you move to resume your place again.

"No need for that. Just stand still...."

"Now you may pull up your trousers."

You hardly hear through your sobs. But you do what you're told at once, of course. Then you wait for final instructions. Ms. Hutchins makes a few notations on your file. "Am I going to see you in here again, young man?"

"No, Ma'am!" You mean it. You have learned your lesson. 

"I will hold you to that. This is your personal record. We'll keep it on file, just in case. Check out with Lindsay. Good day to you."

You waddle uncertainly out, acutely aware of how even the soft cotton of your underpants seems to scrape your raw, scorching buttocks. Outside, Lindsay offers you a small smile. "Really let you have it, did she?"

You nod, and she chuckles. "She is a talent. You're all set. See you around."

Not if you can help it, you think. On your wobbly way out, another hapless student watches you with an appalled expression. You return his look with a rueful one of your own. Behind you, the intercom buzzes...