The Semester of Standing for Supper III


spanked in lecturePart 1 here.

Spanked college girls was a common enough sight on campus for it not to draw too much attention, but the woman in the faculty office looked up as Hilary took her first slow painful steps through the fire doors that led into the open area. Hilary could feel every loving stripe of each switch with every step and she guessed the flare in her bottom was reflected in her sorry face.

There were two women behind the reception desk. The older woman was standing up filing and taking no notice of Hilary as she entered. The younger seated woman winced sympathetically as she watched the recently switched college girl’s painful progress.

“It beats me why these girls never learn,” the elder woman said without looking around.

The seated woman rolled her eyes. As a graduate of Clyburn she knew all too well and sometimes wished her older colleague had had some of the past benefits the school had to offer. It certainly might hush her mouth. Even so, she shot a firm glance at the usual corner.

Hilary nodded and made an awkward 90 degree turn like a robot and with renewed pigeon steps made for the penitent haven on the other side of the room. It was only then that the young woman could see her switched ravaged bottom and gasped.

Even the older woman stopped talking and paused to study Hilary’s stripes over the rim of her spectacles.

“I guess she learned,” she said quietly.

“Ouch,” the younger woman mouthed, “Honey what did you do?”

“I voted Democrat at my first election,” Hilary quipped out of bravado as she reached the corner.

The younger woman laughed and wished they could do that for real for the Republican brats on campus. But the older woman only remarked, “See, they never learn. Just got a whooping and she is already smarting off.”

The younger woman rolled her eyes again.

“Hey cherry-tail,” the older woman called over sharply, “Hands on your head or I’ll send you back up for another go round.”

Hilary instantly clamped her hands to her head and felt the shaming blood rush to her cheeks.

“Oh come one,” the younger woman muttered as she rolled her eyes yet again.

Her elder leaned down and whispered, “I have a hairbrush in my purse if you want some of the same.”

Her junior felt the heat rise in her face and she dipped her head demurely.

“I was only saying,” she whispered.

“You were only saying was it? But I hear too what you were thinking,” the older woman said loudly. “I had plenty of bottom blisterings growing-up and in college; did me the world of good. I figure you’re not too old to go over my knee. Like I said, you girls never learn.”

“Yes Ma’am,” the junior said hastily.

Hilary might have enjoyed the exchange but her bottom was too bare and switch-marked to hades for her to have any other concerns just now. Then the other door opened and someone breezed in and she shrunk into the wall.

“Shit,” a girl’s voice gasped, “I was going to ask… I mean…”

The young student seemed flustered and distracted. Oh I wonder why, Hilary thought ruefully.

“Something up?” the older of the two women asked her, then she added suspiciously, “is that an extension request form?”

“I was gonna… I mean my paper was going to be late and I… you know I think I might get it in on time if I work overnight…. Yeah… excuse me, gotta go,” the young woman squeaked and Hilary heard the door swing open.

“They never learn,” someone said.

Hilary rather thought it was the younger woman being sarcastic, but all the same she miserably thought, I guess we don’t.

She wasn’t dismissed for a good long while and by the time she was, about 50 people must have come and gone to and from the faculty office. Her dismissal came as welcome news not just because of her embarrassment, but also on account of the ache in her arms that had been plated on her head.

Although she managed to get out of the building and onto a quiet stretch of path without being seen, a girl she didn’t know came from nowhere and accosted her.

“Have you heard?” she said excitedly, “Some poor shmuck has been debagged.”

Then the girl was gone. A freshman, Hilary guessed. Oh well goodbye discretion and hello fame and misfortune, she rolled her eyes and sighed. At least the cool air on her behind felt soothing on her hot topic.

She thought of that evening’s visit to the refectory and how the conversation would die on everyone’s lips as all eyes turned to her. Maybe Anne could rustle me up something, she found herself hoping, or otherwise I am going to live off Twinkies for a few days.

Hilary reached the blockhouse without further incident and went to her room. Studying belly down on her bed reminded her of home and Clarice, wait until I tell her, she thought ruefully and opened a book on Charles II of Spain.


The next morning the welts on Hilary’s bottom had reduced to a rash of purple streaks across plum-coloured hind curves. But the previous evening when Anne had dropped by with a sandwich they had still stood up like a relief map of the Himalayas.

“Jesus and Mary that’s some bottom,” Anne gasped, “Even if you had have gone to dinner you would have eaten standing up.”

“Is everyone talking about me?” Hilary had said as she took the sandwich, “Oh… thanks.”

“Eh… not everyone,” Anne had said evasively.

“As bad as that?” Hilary winced.

“Not as bad as that certainly,” Anne replied with pursed lips and a significant glance at Hilary’s bottom.

“Oh, I’ll live,” Hilary replied.

“Sure you will kiddo,” Anne replied cheerfully.

Now the morning after, both her bottom and her dignity still ached. In the case of the former it was an all-over deep muscle ache coated in finger-repellent sore. Luckily it went without comment when she had to stand for coffee and toast at the kitchen table.

“Your lecture is not until after lunch,” Tammy stated the obvious, “Why would you want to go onto campus before then?”

“I have to see Professor Harmon again,” Hilary said ruefully.

Tammy shot a glance at Hilary’s bottom.

“You are not… he’s not going to spank you again is he?” she asked incredulously.

Hilary shrugged. She hadn’t got past the corner in the faculty office in her thinking.


Corner time lasted half an hour before John had phoned down to send for her. Being again displayed in the faculty office was a holiday compared to what she now felt. Every step towards Professor Harmon’s door echoed a thud off the hard wood floor and resonated in her mind.

Not the paddle again and please not the cane, she prayed for her bottom. But the fear that really seized her belly was being sent out into the woods for a bundle of switches again.

As she reached the door the Carmichael girl was standing there again. She had been crying and Hilary felt a small buzz of comfort to know she wasn’t the only one for the high jump two days running.

“That paddle stings, doesn’t it,” Miss Carmichael said in crisp English tones, although her voice was a little wan. “At school we only had the cane.”

Hilary noticed the girl was still holding her panties.

“I didn’t want to… I mean I couldn’t put then on,” the English girl whispered shyly, “You don’t think anyone will notice do you?”

A self-debagging, Hilary thought enviously. But she said, “Not unless there is a breeze. It could be worse. Believe me.”

Then the door opened and John was there.

“Don’t stand there all day, come in,” he snapped.

“Yes Sir.”

John went to his desk and made a note as Hilary closed the door behind her.

“How do you want me?” she said with a gulp, “Or do I… I have do something else?”

“What? Oh no, not today. We will get to that soon enough this week. At least once more anyway to finish you off; that is… if you behave yourself.”

“Yes Sir,” Hilary said with relief.

“There, I have made a note of your attendance,” he said in a bored voice, “Was there anything else? Either here or on campus?”

“No I…” Hilary began.

“Good. Then you can go back to the corner in faculty,” he smiled.

Hilary’s heart sank.


Hilary hadn’t felt much like lunch after she was released from the corner and in any case she only had 45 minutes before her lecture with Professor Martin. That was one event she wouldn’t have missed if war had broken out.

For once she had done her homework and had extensive notes on religion and the decline of Spain after 1661. She had gotten a few smirking glances as she he had made her way from the faculty building but by now it was something she seemed to be able to take in her stride. Well perhaps a stride was still a bit beyond her, she thought grudgingly as the sharpness of the air touched her sore bare bottom on the faculty steps. But a confident walk enabled her to pass several students without drawing a glance and she decided that she might even get through the day without the entire college forever linking her face with her switch-sore behind.

Vending machines under the stairs where the lecture was to take place provided her with a packet of nuts and a coke for sustenance and she was able to make some hasty purchases without joining a line of people all checking out her tail end and laughing.

So far so good, she thought, as she considered her next move. Sitting down for the lesson was out of the question, but Hilary decided that all she had to was slip into the lecture hall and stand at the back. There was only one challenge to this plan. Students attending most lectures, and certainly Professor Martin’s, had to go to a table by the door to collect and sign for the notes. This was how he had found out about her earlier two absences. But since he wouldn’t check the register until afterwards she could wait until everyone was in and then risk a few knowing glances as she grabbed hers and signed for them.

Hilary finished up her luncheon of nuts and cola and then ducked down the back corridor to the entrance furthest from the main doors. Then she was able to take the stairs and slip in the far entrance of the hall.

The room was already mostly full and what she took to be the last of the attendees were gathered in a small knot around the hand-outs table to sign the book. Hilary felt the butterflies poised for take-off in the pit of her stomach as she unconsciously tugged at the back of the bum-freezer. Then with a deep breath she strolled quickly along the back wall to a place near the table ready to grab the goodies and sign before anyone took any notice. This will work, she breathed and allowed herself some hope.

At the front of the class Jim Martin was almost ready to begin and his body language called for silence. He was a stout man in his middle-50s with short grey hair and a little rotund around the tummy, which was emphasised because he was not all that tall. But nevertheless he had an authoritative demeanour that brooked no argument.

“Now if everyone has the notes,” Professor Martin began, “Oh I see we have one late-comer.”

Something other than butterflies lurched inside and Hilary snapped around to face the voice from the front of the hall with her exposed bottom firmly towards the wall.

“Miss Cline,” Jim Martin said mockingly, “How very nice of you to join us, even if you are a little late.”

“Late? No I…” Hilary gulped; conscious now that all eyes in the room were upon her.

Damn, can’t everyone mind their own business? I am here aren’t I, she cursed inwardly.

“Late, Miss Cline,” Martin said sharply, “Which is almost as bad as being absent in my book.”

“No I…” Hilary wanted a great big pit to appear beneath her feet so that she could blamelessly escape.

“Yes Miss Cline, late I say,” Professor Martin bellowed, “Come down to the front here.”

“Oh no I…” Hilary protested. She considered running or making-up a faint. Maybe the professor would respond to begging.

“If you please,” he said firmly, making an inviting gesture with his hand as he bowed a little out of mock respect.

Hilary took a deep breath and hastily sighed next to her name in the book. Then gathering up the notes she held them behind her back as she walked like a character in a Film Noir down the gentle steps to the front.

“I understand that you are undergoing discipline Miss Cline,” Martin said drily before she reached the bottom.

All ears in the room pricked up and all eyes swivelled to watch Hilary’s discomfort. Someone whispered in a loud voice, “She’s been debagged.”

Suddenly there was babble in the room until Professor Martin silenced it with a glare.

“Miss Cline?” he asked, letting her know that he expected an answer.

“Eh… yes Sir,” Hilary said meekly, as she well know, she cursed him.

“Under the circumstances I will tolerate no tardiness from you.” His voice was like a gathering storm.

Hilary was about to reply when he reached under the lectern and picked up a short hand-paddle. There was a gasp and a short burst of girlish babble and then the room fell silent again. The air was thick enough to get itself parted with a paper cut and Hilary felt sick. He wouldn’t, not here, she quailed inwardly.

“I am going to set you a test on this lecture, just you,” Martin growled, “So I strongly suggest you listen carefully and read all the notes.”

“Yes Sir,” Hilary squeaked.

Then Professor Martin kicked his chair from behind his desk and sat down on it. He beckoned her with a crook of his finger.

“Professor Martin, please…” Hilary blustered and made to back away.

“Young ladies too immature to come to lectures on time after not one, but two warnings deserve to be spanked over my knee like the brats that they are,” he told her.

There was some tittering in the room but Martin let it pass.

“From now on unless you are already here and sitting nice and attentively in the front row when I arrive I am going to start every one of this course of lectures with you bare-bottomed over my knee getting a spanking in front of everyone,” he said.

Hilary gaped, her eyes springing open wide.

“Then starting today, you will go and stand in that corner where you can listen intently until after the lecture.”

Hilary drew a breath to speak but Jim Martin took her by the wrist and pulled her across his knee. A squeal went up around the room and the babble of excited students was impossible to quieten. Hilary focused on the papers that dropped from her hand as they went clack on the cold hard floor. The exposure of her bare bottom to the class was too surreal for her so she ignored it, choosing instead to read the headings on one of the hand-outs just inches from her nose.

“That’s a very sore bottom you have there Miss Cline,” Martin observed, “This is going to be quite a challenge for you isn’t it?”

The first splat on her bottom pulled her from her detachment and she squealed.

“You can’t do this, not here,” Hilary wailed, but Martin spanked her again.

“I think you’ll find that I can Miss Cline.”

The spanking was a sound one that lasted five minutes or so. Long enough on a switch-sore bottom when 50 or 60 students are watching. It took all of her efforts not to cry like the brat Professor Martin said she was and for all of that time by turns she looked fondly on John’s paddle and hated early modern Spaniards.

“Now Miss Cline, go and stand in the corner over there,” he said dismissively, “We have wasted enough time on you.”

Hilary was set on her feet and promptly ignored. The entire room had a clear view of her red bottom, which certainly was a striking hue after Martin’s expert efforts but just then Hilary couldn’t have faced them on pain of another spanking. She found that she was a little grateful that he had angled her away from the class even if his intention was to strip her of the modesty and dignity she had strived so hard to preserve.

She clenched her buttocks in lieu of rubbing them, which would have been the final humiliation and sniffed back a tear as she pulled lemon faces of distress. Then daring no further telling or worse, she walked to the corner as she had been told.

Please, please, please let this day end she prayed to any deity who would listen; if the river gods of the Ancient Britain were the only ones listening at that moment she would take it. This had to be the worse day of her life, she decided miserably. But strangely she thought of Aunt Clarice and more than 80 years of Clyburn tradition and wondered if her name would go on a plaque somewhere after today.


The afternoon had been hellish. After the spanking she had had to stand in the corner for the entire duration of Professor Martin’s lecture while everyone in the room pretended to ignore her. She had no idea how much of Martin’s wisdom was absorbed by the others, but Hilary hadn’t heard a word of it. Nothing so far in her whole life had been this embarrassing.

The following English lecture had not been as bad, but lessons learned she had just quickly signed the book, taken the notes and had taken a position at the back. This time no one said a word and she doubted more than a half dozen had noticed a thing anyway. She could have kicked herself.

Only once did a girl cast a glance back at her and Hilary had blushed to her ears just knowing that the girl must be a fellow joint history English major who had been at the lecture. But that was enough for Hilary to keep a quiet as a mouse. Then the day finally over Hilary had run all the way home completely careless of who might have seen her, which at that time of day must have been many; she no longer cared.

Surprisingly she had not been crushed into tears on arriving at the blockhouse and far from bottling up her experience would have welcomed venting with a friend. But her flight from campus had got her home first for once. And so the study posture experimenting had begun.

Hilary’s over-the-knee spanking had reignited the deep throb from John Harmon’s switching and now the thought of sitting down even with the aid of a pillow was totally out of the question. She had tried several other different positions for working on her paper and so far standing at the kitchen table had been the best. But even though no one said anything as they got home and passed on through the room, it was way too embarrassing for her to concentrate. On the other hand the desk in her room was too low to stand at, so she had opted for kneeling on a pillow on the floor and using her bed as a writing surface.

Professor Martin’s notes were excellent and she only wished now that she had found the presence of mind to listen to his lecture. Shoot, she thought as she remembered the threat of a test and waded through a discourse on Spanish society. But nevertheless, she had found it interesting. By the outset of the 18th century in Spain a quarter of the men were unemployed nobles and another quarter were priests, she gaped at the implication. With most women locked up out of sight; that left a good part of the population as totally unproductive. No wonder Spain was eclipsed by France, Britain and the Netherlands at this time. This was absolutely fascinating. She began to wonder if the whole Hapsburg Empire had suffered the same fate. She hastily made a note and wondered what books the library had on it.

Hilary knew now why she had so much wanted to be on Jim Martin’s course and regretted her lack of attendance. The only trouble was now, that she would have the devil of a job scraping a good grade on her next two papers and a spanking loomed for each of them. For she was in no doubt now that Professor Martin would gleeful dust off his paddle or cane to put her in her place. Then she remembered her conversation with John. Oh God, she groaned, she faced two spankings apiece for each sub-standard paper and she hadn’t even considered the English essay yet. This really could turn out to be the semester of standing for supper she sighed ruefully. Even when her debagging was over she was still going to be well and truly up to her neck in deep do-do.

Sometime later there was a knock at the door and Hilary looked up. It was only then that she noticed that the ache in her knees had eclipsed the soreness in her bottom and she pulled a face and got stiffly to her feet.

“Hills, you there?” said a tentative voice outside. It was Anne. “Are you okay?”

“Come in Anne,” Hilary called back absently.

Anne came in as if she were entering a porcelain shop after an earthquake; first peering around the door and the creeping in one foot carefully placed before the other as a precaution that the floor would not collapse under her.

“I heard about…” Anne began.

“Hey, did you know that Spain’s GDP fell by… what was it?” Hilary started to mumble as she again consulted Jim Martin’s notes.

“Jim Martin’s lecture,” Anne finished carefully.

“Yeah, he’s totally brilliant, these notes are a blast,” Hilary gushed.

Anne relaxed and now completely non-plused she drew upon her most incredulous face.

“But I thought…” Anne leaned forward and examined Hilary’s still red sore bottom, still exposed through the curtain of Anne’s own bum-freezer, although strictly speaking it didn’t have to be while she was in her won room.

Hilary looked up and seeing the direction of Anne’s gaze remembered.

“Oh that…” Hilary winced, “That was… omigod, you should have seen what… no really you shouldn’t… I thought I’d die.”

Hilary was blushing again. “I’ll never live it down, never, how dare he…?”

“It kind of sounds as if you already have.” Anne’s smile competed with the puzzlement for command of her face.

Hilary was still blushing but she shrugged.

“Is everyone talking about it?” she asked shyly.

“I think they must be,” Anne chuckled.

“I kind of hoped that it would just be a few geeks in the history department who would… well no one in English took much notice and…” Hilary averted her gaze and tried to recapture her interest in Spain.

“Oh sure, yeah, that will be it… a few geeks, a couple of lesbian jocks and oh the college rag,” Anne said in brittle-amusement.

“What?” Hilary baulked.

“There is a girl downstairs from the Clyburn Clarion,” Anne told her. “It seems she caught Professor Martin’s performance and is here with a photographer. I tried to send her away but she is a friend of Tammy’s and she says she is going to do a write up if you talk to her or not.”

“Oh God,” Hilary groaned and dropped her behind onto the bed. “Yeowch,” she squealed, immediately launching herself upright again.

“Tammy or no Tammy I would throw them out but they only have to wait outside tomorrow morning and follow you all day,” Anne sighed.

“I know, I get it and it is kind of funny. I guess I’ll come down and see them,” Hilary winced.

As Hilary followed Anne down the squared-off wrap-around stairs past the orange drapes, she wondered who had chosen such an awful colour. Institutional cream or almost anything else would have been better. Not that it was what really concerned her just then, for at the back of her mind was the headline: Hilary Cline, 21, debagged and publically spanked on the bare bottom like a kid. Not that snappy she knew but in reality it would be worse.

‘Hilary Cline, do come in. Aren’t you the girl who was spanked at Clyburn?’ they would ask at job interviews. All the way to the kitchen she pictured a poised woman doing a postgrad in journalism with cold hard appraising eyes and already rehearsing her Pulitzer acceptance speech in her head.

Carey Yates was a small bespectacled ash-blonde wrapped up in a large green coat. It was way too big for her so that she peered out from between the edges of a rucked up collar like small cute tortoise. Even the mug of coffee gripped in her hands seemed like a bucket and if that frailty hadn’t had disarmed Hilary then the fog of moisture on her big owl specs from the steaming drink totally would have.

The other girl, the photographer, looked like a wide-eyed freshman. She didn’t look up when Hilary and Anne walked into the kitchen, but stood on the far side of the room fiddling with her camera like a rookie on the battlefield who couldn’t remember if her gun was loaded. This second girl had a close-cropped neat afro that might have looked too boyish if the brown-eyed pale-skinned black girl hadn’t been cute.

“Miss Cline,” Carey said pompously after the introductions. She extended a tiny hand lost in the sleeve of her coat which she had to tug up to reveal the fingers.

Hilary looked at the photographer who had been introduced as Lola Warwick. She was still fiddling with her camera and at one point looked as if she might drop it.

“If you try and take a single photo without our say-so I am going to…” Anne threatened.

Lola suddenly looked scared and threw a worried glance at Carey.

“My dear friend, we won’t,” Carey assured them in tones that would have made the most officious faculty clerk proud.

“You want coffee, Hills?” Tammy gushed from the other side of the room.

Hilary nodded and finally took Carey’s hand.

“If she isn’t taking pictures yet, then why is she standing like she is about to reel off a shot?” Anne asked suspiciously still watching Lola.

Lola blushed and soundlessly began to stammer.

“Oh,” Carey said dismissively with a wave of her hand, “Lola’s a freshman, she’s new at this and besides she has had a run in with Professor Lindsay today, haven’t you?”

Lola looked like a floor collapse might have been welcome and blushed some more. Hilary knew the feeling.

“We have all been there,” Carey said magnanimously, “Even I got spanked by… oh John Harmon is your supervisory tutor too isn’t he? Of course he is. Debagging is not his usual… eh… well bag is it? What did you do to piss him off? Anyway, he paddled me two weeks ago, and me a senior…”

“Is all this on the record?” Anne asked suspiciously.

“God no. I mean I did ask John but he was reluctant to talk. In fact he made it quite clear that if I went overboard with my story…” Carey blushed and coughed, “Anyway since my editor too is acquainted with John Harmon we let his intervention in the freedom of the press slide for now.”

“I see,” Hilary said.

“First off, face or eh… other end?” Carey asked breezily.

“Pardon?” Hilary shook her head.

“Top or bottom? For the photograph,” Carey explained. “I think John wouldn’t approve of having both next to the story. Such a bummer, my editor won’t even run it as a front page. Not after John spoke up for you. I think she has a rather sensitive seat.”

Hilary exchanged glances with Anne.

“Of course people can look you up in the year book to match your face with your eh… bottom, but that is up to them,” Carey continued. “Personally I would love to do a behind shot with campus buildings in the background; first debagging of the season, you know the kind of thing?”

“Not really,” Hilary answered.

“Hey kiddo,” Carey winked, “This is a snow job, a picture story; just the facts from the public notice and a tasteful picture on page seven. I only need a quote and a picture pose and we are out of here.”


The rest of the week was as grim as Hilary expected, although the worst part was corner time in the faculty office where she was always going to be the centre of attention, albeit for a small audience.

But with Anne and Charlotte’s help she avoided the refectory line for food and most days she could slip across campus to her lectures without drawing undue attention. She realised then that it would have been so much worse in the summer with students out in force.

Then the Clyburn Clarion went to press. There were neat piles of the free campus newspaper outside every lecture hall and faculty office. Hilary felt her tummy tingling. She had to wait for the rush to die down, but she was able to sidle up to a stack in the history faculty and swipe a copy before ducking into a cubicle in the student bathroom.

As promised there was no story on the front page or the next. But Hilary’s picture dominated page nine with maybe 150 words outlining the details. The photograph was tastefully shot from behind with Hilary on the path in the trees. She was half obscured by shadows with the moon of her shaded bottom contrasting with the distant soft-focussed buildings of the campus.

The headline ran as ‘Student suffers debagging for a week.’ There was no mention of the lecture hall spanking and although it did mention Hilary’s name, you had to read to the end not to be given the impression that this was a past event.

In any case Hilary only had one more active visit to John’s study and although she suspected that this would be more active than usual, she could at least console herself that it was the last day before the weekend. At sunrise on Monday she would be off the hook.

As she left the cubical she was still celebrating that fact she had no more lectures to go to in a debagged state when she bumped into another girl by the sinks. She was a tall redhead Hilary had seen around and to Hilary’s horror she had her nose buried in page nine.

“Oh my God the poor girl,” the woman gasped, “Have you seen this?”

The girl looked right at Hilary and then back at the shot of her bottom.

“Yeah,” Hilary held her breath.

“Just like that other girl last semester, what was her name?” the woman continued.

“I forget,” Hilary said woodenly.

“Me too, I bet that she is the only one who hasn’t,” the redhead shrugged and made to leave. “I have to report for swats,” she sighed, “I guess I’ll be standing for dinner tonight.”

Then she was gone.

“Me too,” Hilary said to the space where the woman had been standing.


Hilary knocked on John Harmon’s door without looking around. Today because of the Clarion there had been a knot of whispering people in the faculty office standing behind her. She couldn’t make out all that they said; just random phrases.

“Is that her?”

“Her butt is hardly marked.”


“I bet her face is redder than her behind right now.”

“Not for long.”

“Oh God is that how I look in the corner.”

“I’d just die.”

“You can go up now Miss Cline.”

It had taken a moment for Hilary to realise that the last comment add been to and not about her. With her chin on her chest she had mouthed ‘thank you’ and scurried for the stairs.

Now she stood in the hall waiting, careless who might pass by; after all the damage had been done. But even as she thought that she remembered John’s paddle, cane and… she gulped. Nearly over, she steeled herself.

“Come in.”

Hilary took a breath and went through the door.

John was standing at the window looking out, but Hilary could see the large paddle and the cane on his desk. At least that probably meant that she wouldn’t have to fetch any more switches.

“Hello John,” she said meekly.

“Hello Hilary,” he replied, turning to look at her with a tight smile.

It was virtually the first time he had used her name since the nightmare had begun.

“Am I forgiven?” she said quietly.

He shrugged. “We have a tutorial Monday and we can review your progress. Your paper for Jim Martin will be back by then, and the one for me.”

Hilary gulped. It was even money that she would be paddled and or caned for one or the other. But at least she would not arrive sans culottes. Then she remembered that as far as any failure with Professor Martin was concerned then it was ‘paddled at school then paddled at school’ for her as per the ‘bet’ with John. Ouch, she thought grimly and felt her buttocks clench.

“Now Miss Cline if you will kindly bend over and grab your ankles then we can begin,” he said pointedly.

“Yes Sir,” she whispered. This is where we came in, she thought as she obeyed.

Her still tender bottom thrust out towards him as she took a firm hold of her shins to offer him the ‘professor’s perk.’ As ever, she blushed. ‘Don’t you ever get used to it?’ she had once asked her aunt.

“Thankfully not,” was Clarice’s reply, “For that way lies danger.”

That was about the size of it, Hilary agreed, complacency led to more bottom blisters and it was most definitely red for danger around here. She might have laughed at her own pun but the paddle struck.

The force of it made her stagger and go cross-eyed and she took a moment to breath. By then the next swat had added to the fire and she had to clench her teeth. If she was very, very lucky, then she was in for the standard triple. That was twice paddled and then a good slice of caning.

The third and fourth made her grunt and her knuckles whitened at her ankles. Maybe it was the previous tenderness or just the end of a long weary week, but tears sprang to her eyes and she started in with the heavy breathing.

John paused at six swats and examined the two dark red ovals that described Hilary’s bottom cheeks. He remembered the puce-faced freshman he had paddled that first time. She had been bawling by now and he had let her off at eight. But her thanks afterwards had been in earnest and there had not been the least resentment in her eyes. Clarice had told him Hilary would take it like that.

He remembered the letter he had got some days before when he was considering how to handle Hilary.

Dear John,

I absolutely concur with your solution. I cannot believe you have any doubts. Hilary is a wilful complacent girl just as I was at her age. As you know I was debagged in my sophomore year, although not by you even though I deserved it many times over.

I have never told Hilary that, probably because before it might have put her off going to Clyburn and afterwards it might have seemed like bragging. If you go ahead with your plan, and I really hope that you do, perhaps she and I will compare notes on the matter.

One more thing, afterwards she may feel the worst is behind her, so to speak, and start to slack off again. Make sure you keep her up to the mark and paddle her hard. That trick you used to do making me collect switches, I gather you have never employed that one with Hilary or hadn’t last time I spoke to her. I can tell you a girl never forgets.

I can still feel your paddle… cane, switches, that rubber thing you used to have and that nasty, nasty prison strap. Hilary respects you and has never expressed anything but ruefully gratitude for your discipline. So do not stint.

I for one sometimes miss your firm hand and when I last called in for a visit I felt quite weak at the knees knocking on your door. Oh well happy days I suppose.

Keep up the good work.

Yours Clarice.

The paddle resumed its burning path and John could tell this time Hilary was struggling with its impact.

“Okay Miss Cline, you may go and stand in the corner for a while,” he said at last.


The corner smelt of old wood and polish and the prickly throb in her bare bottom felt hot where it met the cool of the room. She felt cosy and safe, like a bad girl forgiven. Then for the first time in over three years at Clyburn she burst into tears after just her warm-up paddling.

John cocked an eye and felt like saying something comforting but Hilary forestalled him by saying, “Sorry Sir, I’m alright, really I am. I have no idea where that came from.” Her voice was wet with tears.

“You’ll feel better afterwards,” he said.

“Yes Sir, I already do.”

He kept her there for half an hour before he had her bend over the back of the chair. Her bottom was still starkly red, which emphasised her tight domed curves. For once he hesitated and then he remembered Clarice’s letter and lined-up the paddle; the heavier one this time.

Hilary’s angry grunt sounded hoarse as the splat rocked the room. Not that she remained angry. After four more she was cowed again and surrendered to the tears. This was just as well for the second round with the paddle made the first warm seem like tickles.

“I’m sorry,” she hooted, “So sorry.” Her declarations were heartfelt, but in truth she had forgotten he was there. She was alone with purgatory and welcomed it.

Only the sharper assault of the cane brought her home again.

“Ooh,” she croaked huskily as she bucked and clawed in response to the stick.

“You can count these today,” he said.

“Yes Sir,” she rasped, “One.”

It was a tough discipline but kept her focussed.

“Two,” she grunted for the second, then sang out, “Three-ee.”

It was difficult for her to hold it together and in the end he had to break the punishment into two sets of 15. By then her bottom was like two pads of corrugated burgundy on a ruby sheen and she was bawling in great cleansing gulps.

“I think you can go back to the corner for a rest,” he said, “Your debagging may be over but unless it sticks your bottom is going to be getting a lot of this.”

“Yes Sir,” she groaned.

But this time the corner was twice as welcome and she would have happily stayed there until Monday. A fact reflected by a wash of tears that rolled down her cheeks and off her chin like summer ice cream. All this she reflected on as the cane stripes sawed in out in waves as they throbbed, and she welcomed them like old friends come to greet her.


The Saturday night campus barbecue was a riot of fun and although Hilary was still officially debagged she was glad that Anne had talked her into coming. Even though she had to stand in the shadows under the trees the cold night air felt good on her sore bottom and gave her some slight hope that she might be able to sit down before the end of the coming week.

It was a fiction of course, but a comforting one. The report slip in her purse held a C plus for Professor Martin’s course and he had asked to see her on Monday afternoon. Straight after seeing John, she ruefully thought. God I do hope I have a decent grade for that man because dear old Harmon will have my behind again for not getting above B plus.

And what did Martin want? C plus wasn’t that bad and he couldn’t know that John owned her tail for the grade. Maybe he saw some promise in her, she certainly hoped so for all-in-all his was the best course she had yet been on. Hilary certainly knew now what her dissertation would be on and if Clyburn would have her, she would be back next year for her master’s.

But she knew that if Jim Martin wanted to spank her for getting a C plus then he could and would. She shrugged. That was the Clyburn way.

“What are you thinking about?” Anne asked as she came over with a hamburger for the semi-reclusive Hilary.

Hilary smiled but her attention was on the flames of the fire as they scorched sausages, chicken and hamburgers. The barbecue couldn’t be as hot at her bottom right then and she was glad not to have to sit down.

“I am thinking that if I can sit down for Thanksgiving Dinner then I am one lucky girl,” Hilary chuckled.

Anne said nothing. In her own pocket was a discipline slip from her tutor. Move over Hills, we might both be standing for supper this semester.

The end for now.

10 Responses to “The Semester of Standing for Supper III”

  1. 1 paul1510

    poor Hillary. Ouch! 😦

  2. Really enjoyed that story, DJ.

  3. 3 Victorianrose

    Hi! I’ve been one of your lurkers for a while. I’ve really enjoyed your stories, “fact” and fiction alike. This one is no exception. 🙂
    Thanks for a great blog!

  4. 4 DJ

    Thanks guys 🙂

  5. 5 K

    This story is now one of my new favorites. I missed your college girl writing since the Angela series and I’m so glad to see you’ve added this to your repertoire. You inspire me as a writer! Thank you so much!

    • 6 DJ


      Another college short is on the desk so maybe and I will return to Abraham heights at some point (and Angela)


  6. 7 cindy2

    Lovely story, DJ. And I think that Microsoft should use the image at the beginning as an advertisement for PowerPoint.

    • 8 DJ

      Bill phoned me yesterday – he agrees 😉

      We are working up a multi billion micro-penny deal – 50.1112 Shades of #CCCCCC 😉

  7. 9 Michael

    Another wonderful series, DJ. You push all the right buttons. Thanks for providing such quality and entertaining writing.

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