Charlie Lain’s mess of dark blonde curls tumbled pell-mell over her face as she stood bent at the waist in the middle of Davina’s floor. Her only clothing was a short white T-shirt emblazoned with a large yellow smiley face and a tiny pair of white ankle socks.

She was a small girl with a pert dome of a bottom that peeked cheekily from beneath the hem of her shirt as she steadied herself with her hands on her knees.

The bottom, once bleached pale, was now marred by pink blotches and here and there yellowish brown bruises. Since pledging, Charlie had as yet to sit easily and her bottom had scarce been given recovery time from one paddling to another.

“You know why you are here don’t you Charlie?” Davina said imperiously as her fidgeting fingers dusted the thin blade of the long paddle in her hands.

The bare bottom before her was quite a target and she was eager to begin.

“Yes Ma’am,” Charlie squeaked.

“And why is that?” Davina asked as she suddenly stooped down next to the little pledge, her hard pleasant voice a sharp whisper at Charlie’s ear.

“To get paddled,” Charlie said sullenly.

Davina straightened and brought the paddle down with an electric crack across the pledge’s bare bottom and extracted a grunt.

Charlie blinked hard as she rode out the pain and earnestly hoped there wouldn’t be too many of those. Obviously that had been the wrong answer and she racked her 18-year-old brain for another one.

The paddle struck again and Charlie yelped angrily.

“I didn’t say anything,” she wailed.

“And yet you should have said ‘ma’am,’ as in ‘I am here to get paddled ma’am,’” Davina said wearily, “Sometimes I don’t think you girls are really trying. Besides that was the wrong answer. Why are you here to get paddled?”

Charlie gritted her teeth. Was it because she had muttered a bad word at breakfast or…?

“Tardiness,” Davina sighed. This time the paddle landed with three short crisp splats that almost sent Charlie out of position.

Charlie clamped her jaw shut hard and slowly let air hiss through her nose.

“Oh that, yes Ma’am, sorry,” she finally managed.

By now her bottom was a hard bright red and fizzed like a launch-pad at Cape Canaveral. On top of that the first tear came unbidden to her right eye and rolled down her cheek.

“Okay, give me a number,” Davina said sharply, “If it is lower than mine we will add the difference to my number.”

Charlie closed her eyes in despair. She hated this game, it was rigged. She was willing to bet that Davina didn’t even have a number in mind. She parted her legs a little to get a better purchase and pushed her bottom out a some more behind. For a second she contemplated saying a ridiculously high number out of pure bravado, but knowing Davina she would probably have to take every one of them.

So instead she squeaked, “Six.”

“Oh dear,” Davina sighed mockingly, “I was thinking of a nine.”

Charlie hastily ran the numbers in her head. Twelve, she couldn’t take 12. But Davina landed the first biting swat that told a very different tale.

*

Melanie Crow surreptitiously moved her hand from her side and turned the face of her watch so that she could just see it, but the movement caused her nose to be taken from the wall and behind her the tutor barked; “Head.”

Melanie jerked back into position and blood flooded her face. For a second she cursed herself with menace for her slip. Shit, shit, shit, she quailed inwardly, this might be bad. But after a long pause Professor Archer said no more.

Roland Archer gave his cornered student a long hard stare to assure himself that she had obeyed and then turned back to her essay. He was inclined to let her faux pas slip this time. After all it had been her first in over 40 minutes, which was how long since he had left her to wait.

Also the essay was a fair effort. For sure it could have been better executed, but the girl was beginning to show promise. Her grades had really been picking up lately and by the end of the semester her average would be almost acceptable. Better still, the girl had stopped being habitual late to their sessions and that month he had only had to thrash once for a tardy.

That particular situation had been improved after he had instituted a sanction of six of the best for any lateness and further six for lateness of more than 10 minutes on top of the one stroke per minute. A regular 24 strokes of the cane for being 12 minutes late every week had soon focussed her mind. Wrestling with an essay deconstruction with two dozen hot welty lines of pain across your bare bottom did that for a girl; especially when she still has extras for shoddy work to come.

Roland looked up and studied Melanie’s as yet unpunished bare bottom for any signs of her sister’s guidance. He saw none and concluded that the girl must be learning. He knew for a fact that Anita, another former student of his, made her little sister toe a very exacting line, a situation which Melanie reluctantly agreed to lest the parents get involved.

He sometimes wondered if Mr and Mrs Crow knew of the arrangement, but given the consequences for both girls should they be deceiving them… well they must know, mustn’t they?

He looked again at Melanie and pondered. Maybe he should ask her. After all it wouldn’t be right to go behind the parent’s back, even if the girl was 18. But he hated the idea of losing another student and after all Anita was 26. Besides Melanie was definitely getting some benefit. No better to assume all was well and run it past the Crows after the event. That way both bases would be covered.

He turned back to the essay, it wasn’t quite… he sighed. He should probably give her a dozen or so with the paddle for sloppiness on top of her 12 cane-stroke straightener. After all he couldn’t have her falling back into bad habits.

*

Dana Guinness swallowed back a nasty taste as she reached for the letter again. Taking a long slow breath she unfolded it carefully and reread the credit statement from the bank.

It was only $986 but the little figure screamed at her in red. She hastily refolded the paper again and put it away.

“Bad news?” her sister Hope asked casually from her place perched upon the kitchen stool.

“Nothing much,” Dana lied.

Hope frowned for a moment and then a small smile broke on her face. Unconsciously a strand of undyed greying hair found its way into her mouth and she obligingly sucked on it as she cradled a large steaming coffee cup with both hands.

“Come on, fess up,” she chuckled, “I always know when little sister is lying.”

At a year younger Dana still couldn’t help feeling awkward in front of her elder sister.

“Oh God,” she sighed, and handed the letter to Hope.

The older woman tried to sound somewhere between horrified and sympathetic but the amused squeal rather fell short.

“What again, John is going to…” she clapped a hand to her mouth, “Whoops. And after last time too.”

Dana blushed. She remembered the spanking she had gotten from her husband on the day Hope, their mother and her twin nieces had dropped by. Judging from the look on her sister’s face it was a memory shared.

“Lucky for you the girls are out,” Hope smirked.

Right on cue there was the sound of John’s car in the drive. Both sisters rolled their eyes the direction of the sound but only Hope looked relaxed.

“Yeah but you are still here,” Dana said nervously, “Time to go,” she added making as if to shove her sister towards the door.

“Oh I don’t think so,” Hope purred as conspiratorially she waved the incriminating bank statement, “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

An ashen Dana was still wildly gesticulating at her sister when John entered the kitchen and seeing the scene he looked apprehensive with a frown suddenly etched onto his face. He knew when mischief was brewing.

“Hello Hope… eh is that for me?” he asked his sister-in-law.

“N-no, it’s…” Dana cut in nervously, but John was already extending a hand to take the letter from Hope.

Dana gaped in horror as the creamy-cat-faced Hope gave John the bank statement.

For a long moment after he had read the statement John didn’t speak. Instead he just put the letter down and removed his jacket. Dana fancied she heard him breathe sharply through his nose, but he had turned away to open the fridge at this point, so she couldn’t be certain.

There was something slow and deliberate about the way he poured a glass of orange juice and Dana felt something in the pit of her stomach.

“I-I was meaning to… I mean, I hadn’t guessed that…” Dana willed herself to shut up, but her mouth kept muttering blandishments.

“What did I tell you last time?” John said calmly.

Dana shot a glare at Hope and urgently mouthed that she should go, but her sister just folded her arms and dropped back onto her kitchen stool as she picked up her unfinished coffee.

“Please Hope, will you go?” Dana said in a dull voice. There was resignation there too.

“I am talking here,” John Guinness said sharply.

“I’m sorry,” Dana sighed.

Her husband leaned forward with his strong arms set akimbo on the kitchen top as he survey his nervously retreating wife. An action that caused Hope to smile a little smile as John stood upright and unhooked his belt buckle. As both women looked on he let it rattle through the hoops of his pants with small leather-on-cotton clicks, each one causing Dana to wince.

“Please send Hope out,” Dana asked. The words were moist and that dampness touched her eyes.

By way of reply John  folded the belt in two and gave his wife a significant glare. The gesture was final and well understood by both of them. So with a deep breath Dana unbuttoned her own grey pants and let them fall to her ankles before folding herself woodenly over a vacant kitchen stool.

Her husband didn’t wait, but hooking his thumb in the crack of her bottom where it peeked above her upper panty line, he drew down her high-cut briefs to leave her exposed.

Dana a had a big bottom, but it was still firm for a 41-year-old and unlike the more lived-in Hope, she looked young for her years.

“Cute ass,” Hope said lightly and gave John a wink.

“You were a witness last time, for all the good it did, but I think the embarrassment is the only thing that gets through to her,” John explained unnecessarily.

Hope shrugged even as she smirked and took another slow sip of coffee. One might even think she was taking in a show.

meanwhile out of long habit and good family training Dana stuck her bottom out as far as she could as she dipped her back, making the firm split globes well-rounded. Then with slow shallow breaths, she waited.

The first crack stung her behind and Dana gasped. But it was still Hope’s presence that bothered most, an attitude that prevailed for the next six biting licks. Then she grunted a little and gripped the legs of the stool with knuckles as white as her bottom used to be. From then on the leather really lit a fire and tears spilled freely on her cheeks until her small groans became yells.

Hope lost count of the strokes at around 23 and took another sip from her mug. By then her sister’s bottom held two welty pads and she was colouring up to shade approaching that of a shiny Victoria plum.

“That is your second lot of debt in as many months,” John barked.

“I’m sorry John, I’m sorry, but it was already too late last time,” Dana sobbed, “I’ll do better, really I will.”

“You know what,” John growled, “We are going to finish this at bedtime. Now go stand in the corner.”

Dana swallowed back some tears and stood stiffly, her face glossed with a wet sheen. The corner with her sister there would be hell and she could only hope that her daughters didn’t come home anytime soon. Or, she gulped, anyone else.

“Is there any more coffee?” John asked Hope.

*
Donna Warren felt utterly stupid. She had been stood in the corner of the room in just her PJ tops for over an hour. It wasn’t her ideal way of spending a Saturday morning and not for the first time she wondered by what authority Mrs Main was doing this to her and why she had agreed.

But that battle had already been lost and Donna knew it.

Mrs Main, the housemother of Carlton House Freshman Hall, had had years upon years’ of experience in handling young women who thought they were too old for a spanking. At least half of them were from out of town and might very well have had their first spanking at her hands. Even at 28 Donna was little older than these girls and so far the housemother had been singularly unimpressed that she was a teacher and not a student. Any attempt by Donna to argue or refuse to cooperate would end very badly. She would get a tear-making, bottom-rending spanking at the very least and all on top of whatever else the woman had planned.

The only glimmer of hope was that in return for her cooperation Mrs Main had agreed to be discreet. But it was a scant hope. For Mrs Main had absolutely refused to cut her any slack at all, and unless she toed the line she would be spanked like a freshman each and every time she didn’t.

On the other hand, Donna bit back a dry sob, it was so unfair; the thought almost broke her… on the other hand, now she had fully submitted she was going to get a spanking every Saturday whether she broke the rules or not. The trade-off was that with this deal she wouldn’t screw up and risk exposure to the other kids in the hall.

Other kids… she caught herself on, but she wasn’t a kid, she was on the faculty for God’s sake. The raging in Donna’s mind was cyclical, even as she protested in her mind she obediently stood in the corner her bare bottom displayed.

It was at this point that the door opened and Mrs Main came back from an errand.

“Good girl, you haven’t moved I see,” she said gently. Then after a pause she asked, “You do know that I can tell don’t you?”

It didn’t surprise Donna in the slightest and in a dull sullen voice she replied, “No Ma’am.”

“Now let me outline how these little sessions will go,” Mrs Main said brightly.

“If you keep out of trouble and dutifully report to me every Saturday morning, then you will usually only get a simple spanking,” the housemother told her. “By simple I mean of course a thorough application of my hairbrush to your bare bottom for 20 or 30 minutes until you are quite contrite. Then you will stand in that corner, as you are now for one hour, before and after your spanking.”

That sounded bad enough but Donna did not like the sound of the word ‘usually.’

“B-but… what if…? I mean…” Donna wanted to cry.

“Please wait until I have finished Dr Warren,” Mrs Main scolded, “Once a month we will augment your experience just so you don’t get complacent and slip back into bad habits.”

Donna had trouble getting her breath. She had about a million questions.

“Of course if you do get into trouble on top of our little sessions then it will start getting very much worse for you,” Mrs Main said in a tone of anticipated disappointment.

Donna felt her chest tighten and a small sinking feeling. How could it get worse?

“Dr Warren,” Mrs Main said in a commanding tone, “Please come here.”

Donna felt sick. Couldn’t she just stay in the corner? The corner was nice, Mrs Main could even spank another girl instead and it wouldn’t be so bad, would it? Her legs felt like lead as she obeyed and for once she didn’t know what to do with her hands.

Instead of Mrs Main’s lap, Donna was taken to the bathroom just off the housemother’s main room. It was larger than most, certainly larger than the oversized bathrooms the girls shared. The tub was big enough for a small horse and there was even a gym bench in the corner.

But what caught Donna’s eye were a row of enema bags and other rubber accoutrements.

“I usually just spank,” Mrs Main informed her, “That is with my hand or hairbrush right through to some expertly made paddles. I do have a couple of prison straps and canes, but I prefer to humble a girl rather than break her physically. It is just… useful to have another level now and again.”

Donna didn’t care about the paddles or canes right then, it was the array of bottom-intruders with all their threat of medical terror held her gripped.

“But as I told you, once a month we have to get tougher and that will involve a visit here and a good cleansing on top of the usual, followed by a prolonged battle with a battledore,” Mrs Main said with what sounded like genuine regret.

“And if I am bad…?” Donna blurted.

“Good girl, now you are getting my point?” Mrs Main beamed.

*

Mrs Main’s lap was a relief after the explicit threat. Only it wasn’t a threat was it? It was a promise. Once a month she had said. Donna was still pondering this fact when the flat side of the brush landed firmly across her bare bottom.

“Jeeessss,” she gasped as her legs shot straight and stiff as she rode the pain.

She had forgotten how bad a spanking from the housemother really was.

The punitive arm rose and fell like a piston, but the only fire was in Donna’s bottom and in short order all pretence at being stoical was driven out. Instead Donna bucked and howled while her legs kicked the air futilely. The whole house must be hearing her, was her last coherent thought.

“Now this is a little more than just a maintenance spanking today, I want to really set a standard here. So if you find you can’t sit down until next Saturday…” Mrs Main said this so casually that for once Donna feared it was more than a figure of speech.

Or she should have done but the spanking took her now, red-bottomed and bawling, she was a young woman who was all sorry and all prayer. In her misery she looked at the corner from the vantage of Mrs Main’s lap. “I’ll be a good girl, I’ll be a good girl,” she wailed as she made futile attempts to crawl towards it.

“Now, now,” Mrs Main soothed, but her only caress was delivered with the brush, “We really have only just got started Dr Warren.”

“Please Ma’am, I’ll be a good girl, really I will,” Donna bawled.

“I know girl, I know, that’s what the spanking is for,” Mrs Main told her tenant with another sharp volley of spanks.

It seemed that eternity had only just begun. As if to confirm this the minute hand on the clock crawled towards eleven, a progress measured out slowly by the treacle-like second hand. It would proclaim a quarter past the hour before the spanking was over and only then would Donna would be permitted the corner.

She would be released at 12.30 sharp, just in time for lunch, if she wanted any. But most of Mrs Main’s girl’s viewed a canteen chair with a certain amount of dread after one of their sessions and a good spanking did tend to dull the appetite for a few hours.