Abraham Heights: Quis docet domina errans


ab classPaul Heaver yawned and stretched as he entered the kitchen. It had been a long day and he was in no mood for even the tiniest of domestic crises. Then he remembered that Prudence had been late with the rent again and he sighed. He might have tackled it that morning before work but the kitchen had looked like it had played host to a teenage beach party and he knew that the ‘should know better’ 29-year-old prep-school teacher was the cause. He didn’t need an argument about the mess complicating things with the rent issue. Now with the kitchen restored to order Paul decided that confronting Prudence couldn’t wait.

The wet splat grabbed his attention and he frowned. There were two more such taps on the floor before he identified the source. Water was dripping at a steady rate from an overfilled sink setting a river towards the basement door.

“Jesus,” Paul groaned as he leapt to screw off the taps and open the plug.

There was some noise from upstairs and as Mindy and Bridget were out that left exactly one culprit. Paul set his jaw and advanced up the stairs as if storming a castle. Prudence was singing in the shower, but he didn’t exactly need to hear her. Scattered at intervals along the landing were items of discarded clothing, which like breadcrumbs led to the guilty one.

Paul might have waited until the ablutions were accomplished but the trail led to a wide open door and Prudence carelessly naked under the shower with her rendition of Born in the USA in mid verse. Her chestnut hair looked darker under the flow of water but his eyes strayed to her long elegant curves and the cleft of her rather full bottom and he was distracted. Then he remembered his anger.

“How old are you?” he barked suddenly, remembering too the mess she had made in the kitchen that morning.

Prudence jumped and whirled around in confusion while her hands fluttered indecisively at what she should cover. “Paul, get out,” she shrieked.

“You left the door open,” he accused, but he half turned away, tossing her a bath towel as he did so.

Prudence shut off the shower and wrapped herself up hastily before confronting him.

“What do you think you are doing?” she gasped, still fumbling with the limited veil and hugging the cloth to her breasts.

Paul made a significant glance at the trail of clothes and then glared as he asked, “Did you have something in the sink?”

Prudence made great O’s of her eyes and mouth and jerked if she was in a hurry before remembering her predicament.

“Don’t worry I turned it off,” he told her. “But what’s all this?” he waved at the clothes.

“I d-didn’t think anyone would be home…” she spluttered, “Anyway, go away.”

Paul folded his arms and became an unmoveable rock in the bathroom doorway. It was a gesture Prudence knew well and she gulped. What else had she done, she wondered nervously?

“When you moved in here…” he began sharply fixing his lodger with stern eyes.

“Oh shit, the rent,” Prudence gasped as she remembered.

“What did I say last time you were late paying?” he continued.

“Now Paul, come on,” she bobbed up and down nervously tugging at the short impromptu hem of her towel barely covering her thigh tops.

“And the kitchen… both this morning and just now?” he added sharply.

“I…” Prudence worked her mouth, desperately pondering which of her crimes she should explain first. But all explanations seemed to dry up as Paul reached for the heavy wooden bath brush with is right hand and used it to pat his left.

“P-Paul… please I’ll pay you… you know I will and… and…” Prudence swallowed.

“This is not about the money is it?” Paul growled snapping the brush down on his palm.

Prudence gaped at him for a moment and then with a determined glare she bolted past him and made for the open door. Paul snatched at her as she passed but only succeeded in grabbing a handful of towel, which came away in his hand.

Despite the threat to her behind Prudence squealed in something like delight as she made a naked dash onto the landing. However, in her haste she made a wrong turn and instead of the door to her room she was confronted with the top of the stairs and an irritated Paul standing in the way of her imagined haven.

“Come on, you can’t do this,” she wailed as she stood half bent over and guarding her breasts from his gaze.

“Hmmm,” he sighed angrily, “You so have a spanking coming.”

Prudence’s eyes widened and at his approach she wheeled around and dashed down the stairs.

“You are only making this worse,” Paul warned as he jogged after her.

A blushing Prudence suddenly realised her limited options and wondered briefly if she should grab her coat and make for the street. But that was as hopeless as it was futile and instead Paul found her backed into the corner by the front door still stumbling at a crouch in a vain attempt to hide her nudity.

Paul snorted in amusement and armed with the brush sat on a hall chair. Then he gestured to her to join him.

“At least let me get dressed in something,” she protested.

“Later,” he growled as he pointed sharply at the floor by his knee.

Prudence’s mouth was a hard line and she made bird-like steps as she reluctantly inched forward. “I’m naked,” she said miserably.

“You should have thought of that,” Paul told her as he tumbled her face down across his lap.

Although her wet bottom was bare to his gaze; at least that was something he had seen before.

“What if someone comes?” she said suddenly as he patted her behind.

“What if someone does?” Paul said sternly.

The brush stung her hard and she gaped soundlessly as the burn took hold. But three more of the same made her yell loud enough to compete with the wet splat of impact.

“Paul, please,” she squealed breathily, and kicked her bare legs scissor-style, “Yah-oooh-ummmh,” she added in an incoherent groan.

Paul noted that her bare bottom was marred with a bright red stain across the whole of her right buttock and much of her left. There was sharp demarcation between the smooth white and the mottled gooseflesh that made it look sore.

“The money isn’t the issue,” Paul scolded her, “But the disrespect is…” he spanked her again.

“Hmmm,” Prudence groaned, panting heavily as he muttered, “I’m sorry.”

“What was that?” he barked.

“I’m… ahh… sorry,” she yelped through bitten lips.

“We’ll see about that,” he said fiercely as he worked up to a fresh volley on her vulnerable bucking behind.

The brush challenged her right where she lived and right where she had once hoped to sit. Splat after swat had dried her bottom but the spanking showed no sign of slowing.

Prudence tried not to bawl like a kid, but her breathing was harsh now and open tears spilled from her eyes.

“No more mess, no more disrespect, and tomorrow you come to me with a cheque or a hairbrush: no arguments,” Paul told her sternly.

Prudence fixed her gaze on the floor and tried to remember if she could manage to pay that soon. She hoped to heaven and hell that she could, because she didn’t think Paul was messing now.

“Oaky, okay,” she agreed miserably.

“Now before you go to the corner you can clear up that mess in the kitchen and those damn clothes upstairs… you have five minutes,” he snarled as he set her one her feet.

Prudence danced a pogo with her hands glued to her bottom, heedless that as she bobbed up and down her breast swung freely and her pubic triangle was on full display.

“Here,” Paul said handing her his sweater and averting his gaze.

“Thanks,” she sniffed as at last the sting abated enough for her to function and she was able to take it.

The grey mohair was too short to serve as a skirt and her cherry behind glowed as it peeked from under the hem, but at least she wasn’t cold and there was enough give in front to cover some of her shame.

Five minutes later a very sorry 29-year-old teacher trotted to the corner and faced the wall.

“Hands on head, I think,” Paul ordered.

“Yes Sir,” she agreed sullenly as she obeyed.

Forty minutes later Prudence was still in the corner when Bridget arrived. All that she needed now was Mindy to come home with some college friends, oh brother it was going to be a long evening, a very miserable Prudence thought bitterly.


Prudence Trencher took slow careful steps as she went up the hall to her class. She had seen many students at Abraham Heights Preparatory School after a paddling and it was almost impossible to hide even the next day. She earnestly prayed that she was doing a better job than some of her students.

It had amused her in the past to cast an eye over her students and notice who sat down just a hint too carefully and who winced as behinds made contact with the chair, in Abraham Heights there was never any shortage of 18-year-old girls who displayed such battle scars from some kind of domestic confrontation or other. Prudence had just never figured on it being her. Boy, bath brushes hurt, she thought as an uneven step caused a flare in her bottom.

It wasn’t that she hadn’t been spanked at the Heaver’s before, but never so vigorously when she had had class the next day. It was a hell she would accept so long as no one guessed.

The school was an old one with exposed brick and a layout that wouldn’t have been out of place in the 1950s. To her right was a line of lockers and everywhere students darted around in haste calling out to one another as they clattered open doors to retrieve or deposit books and other educational accessories.

Luckily in this crowd no one gave her so much as a glance and she figured she might just make it to her classroom unnoticed.

But that was before an earnest voice said, “Ms Trencher,” and Prudence turned to confront a very eager and somewhat nervous looking Teri Farley.

Teri was old-school popular blonde and way too fond of herself; at 18 the girl thought she was entirely too cool for school. Usually she spoke to everyone with an aloof disdain, even her teachers. Prudence was now puzzled by the change of attitude.

“What is it Teri?” Prudence asked. She could see two others from Teri’s crowd standing nervously behind her and only then did she notice that they were outside the principal’s office and she made the connection.

The sound of a paddle swat from inside told its own punitive tale.

“I was just wondering if you remembered… you know… that I had an extension on my essay?” a wide-eyed Terri pressed her.

“Your essay, the one due today?” the teacher asked puzzled.

Terri nodded and offered a pensive close-mouth smile.

“I don’t remember granting an extension, haven’t you done it?” Prudence asked.

Terri looked suddenly panicked and shot a glance back over her shoulder. At that moment there was a heavy crack followed by a girlish yelp. Prudence let her mouth play with a smirk at the unmistakable sound of paddle meeting bare girl flesh. Things were becoming clear. The principal rarely gave less than eight and would occasionally take it to double that with more regular visits to 12 on the way there. Another two swats quickly followed, both with accompanying yells.

“I have to see the principal,” Terri told Prudence nervously, “He is bound to ask if I have any outstanding issues with teachers… you know he checks… I just thought…” Another paddle crack made the girl jump. “…you know, if he sends you one of those slips… eh… after then you could maybe say there were no outstanding issues.”

“Well if you hand in your essay during class as you are supposed to then so far as I am concerned there aren’t,” Prudence said cheerfully.

The next crack was harder and the pained grunt that followed told a tale of some serious soul-searching.

“But I just told you,” Terri blurted, some of her usual attitude returning. But the haughty sneer faded at another thwack from within.

“I’ll sign the note appropriately,” Prudence told her and made to move on.

The principal’s office door opened and before it fully closed again she saw a rather woeful fourth member of Terri’s gang dancing much as Prudence had done the previous evening. A male voice barked, “Next girl.”

“Good luck,” Prudence said to Terri with a smile.

The girl visibly gulped, her face etched in something not dissimilar to terror.


Standing in front of the class for any length of time provoked Prudence’s bottom to throb some and she desperately hoped that none of the pain was reflected in her voice. Not that sitting down any kind of alternative option.

“Now who can tell me what the importance of Latin is to world and European history?” she addressed the room with a strained voice.

The senior class looked bored and Prudence wondered just how many of them felt tender where they sat as she did. In the past she had noted which of the girls sat too carefully and which looked sorry for themselves, sometimes it was so obvious who had suffered a recent spanking and today that thought troubled her.

She scanned the faces in front of her for any knowing glances or smirks. But suddenly all eyes swivelled to the door, which had opened.

Terri Farley slipped a head around the door and stole an uncharacteristic meek glance at the room. Her blonde tresses were less than composed and although her make-up had been recently reapplied, it was plain to see that her eyes were bloodshed as if she had been crying. Biting her lip, Terri took a slow careful step into the room followed by two of her equally dishevelled posse as they attempted to creep in without drawing attention.

“So glad you could join us,” Prudence said tartly, “We were discussing the importance of Latin.”

“Sorry Miss Trencher,” Lucy Womack offered, she was a vivid redhead who always seemed out of place as one of Terri’s compatriots, “We were…” she made to swallow shyly and blushed heavily.

“Yes, yes,” Prudence said impatiently, “Just sit down quickly.”

“If you can,” one of her classmates quipped and there was a sudden rush of general laughter.

Without meeting anyone’s eyes the third girl of the troop, a thin mousey girl called… Sandy, Prudence remembered, walked hastily forward and handed her the girls’ discipline slips. Prudence turned them over quickly and noted a place for notes next to her signature. It was her professional duty to report lateness or missed deadlines.

If she had been a real bitch she could legitimately interpret the three girls’ late arrival to this class as a tardy; no doubt incurring them a few extra swats after school, but she would let that pass. In any case, she already knew that Terri Farley had no essay and Prudence saw no particular reason to grant a retrospective extension; poor Terri.

Heedless of her future doom Terri lowered herself casually into her seat as if onto a throne and only a slight flicker of her right eye betrayed any discomfort. Sandy and Lucy offered no such subterfuge and both winced openly as they allowed bottoms to reluctantly touch their seats.

So far no one even suspected what Terri and the girls have in common with… Prudence allowed the beginnings of a thought, but then she saw Sarah Coulter watching her and accidentally caught her eye. The girl looked her over with an appraising gaze that paused significantly in the general area of Prudence’s bottom, and then Sarah allowed a half smirk to twist on her lips.

Prudence stuttered mid-sentence and blushed to the hilt. Please, please don’t let her be a tattletale, she prayed silently.


ab cornertimeKaren Garland was giving Roland Archer the usual trouble. Not only had she not managed her essay again, but her mother had not yet picked her up. The professor struggled to remember a time when the woman had ever been punctual.

He cast an eye over Karen in the corner and then back to the clock. He sighed. Karen who herself had been late today had tried her hand at a childish lie before admitting she had not done the work. Consequently the 90 minute study period had not been spent on her history essay, but on teaching her the error of her ways.

A good sound spanking had rendered her bare bottom a decent strawberry red and then he had resorted to his trusty cane; the thin bitter one that his students so despised.

Karen stood meekly now, her skirt folded neatly on the chair and her panties in a puddle at her ankles. Her tender bottom jutted out proudly into the room and she wriggled and sniffed while she kept a sorry vigil awaiting her mother.

The spanking had only gotten her attention. In addition, 12 sharp lines scored her behind for the tardy and 15 more had been added for telling lies. The essay, the third failure in as many weeks, required three dozen as per a previous warning, but 63 strokes seemed excessive even for this reprobate. Although Professor Archer had no doubt that Karen’s mother would have supported such a sanction.

In the end, given that they had a full 90 minutes to contend with, Roland had handed out only 18 of the promised 36 on top of the 27; a thrashing that had been distressing in the extreme even halfway through the count of 35. Next time now even a blameless and punctual Karen would face 18 strokes before Archer even looked at her essay.

Just then the door rattled impatiently before settling on a decisive knock. One, two, three… Roland counted under his breath before opening the door.

“Mrs Garland, nothing too serious I hope,” he said pointedly by way of reference to the woman’s tardiness. He could definitely see where Karen got her lateness habit from.

“I had a meeting and…” Louise Garland began, but her voice sounded too whiney, even too her and she quickly reverted to, “I am so sorry, whatever must you think.”

Louise Garland was 40, but did her best to portray the smart business woman image, and with some success, but as a single parent, time never stood still.

Karen’s mother struggled to rein in her breathing, she had run all the way from the car and several strands of her mid-brown hair had escaped the neat package piled onto her head.

“Mrs Garland,” Roland said indulgently, “Your daughter is a college student and although she lives at home… couldn’t she make her own way to your house instead of…?” His eye rolled significantly to Karen still embarrassingly debagged in the corner.

“Oh no,” Louise pulled a face, “What did she do now?”

“She was late for one thing,” Archer said pointedly and waited for that to sink in.

Louise winced.

“She hadn’t done her essay again, for another,” Roland sighed, “Then she tried to tell me that you had told her our meeting was cancelled and that you had rescheduled for Friday…”

“Oh Karen,” her mother snapped angrily. “Just you wait until… get dressed, we have wasted enough of Professor Archer’s time as it is.”

“Not at all,” Roland said magnanimously, after all he was still going to be paid. “Tempus fugit,” he gratifyingly observed.

Karen dipped to a bend and hastily pulled up her panties before retrieving her skirt. “Thank you Professor Archer,” she said girlishly, adding, “I’m sorry.”

“Wait for me in the car,” her mother barked as she stood back from the still open door. “I want a word with your tutor.”

Roland and Louise waited until Karen had hastened to obey and then her mother closed the door.

“Something wrong?” the professor asked his client.

“That depends on how you look at it,” Louise said carefully as if weighing something up. “Not with your work certainly and any problem with Karen I leave to you to sort out.”

“So…?” Roland gestured puzzlement with his hands.

“I was wondering if you…” Louise sighed, “What I am trying to say is that there are other problems other than academic ones aren’t there?”

“You mean tardiness, for instance?” Roland suggested archly.

“Well quite,” Louise Garland agreed, “And I don’t only mean Karen’s.”

“Indeed,” Roland said quizzically. An idea of where this was going danced at the back of his head.

Louise didn’t meet his eyes and looked down. “What is the oldest student you help?”

For the moment Roland couldn’t remember so he said, “I have grad students and college late-comers…”

“Do you only handle… academic deficiencies? I mean what about behavioural issues?” Louise, looked hard right as if talking to someone else, licking her lips nervously as she did so.

“It has been known,” Roland said in a neutral voice.

“How would you handle a 40-year-old business woman and single mother for instance? One who had issues with keeping organised and her time keeping?” Louise asked as nonchalantly as she could.

Roland laughed. “Not at all unless she was a client of mine, and for that my rates are the same.”

“Can I make an appointment to discuss it?” Louise asked coyly.

“Naturally,” Roland said reassuringly.

“Then, I think, perhaps we are on the same page,” Louise said, finally meeting his eyes and willing him to understand without further questions.

“What page is that?” Roland asked innocently.

Louise blushed and made a pout before muttering “Despite appearances, you have made great strides in improving my daughter. However… I don’t think I am a particularly good example to her…”

“Oh, I see. I had assumed that the 40-year-old business woman was a hypothetical person,” Roland said mischievously, “Are you talking about yourself?”

“I think you know damn well I am,” Louise said sullenly. This was too humiliating, why had she even thought…?

“Careful Mrs Garland, I don’t tolerate insolence,” Roland warned.

Louise wilted and made an involuntary lower lip bite. “Sorry, but this is a bit embarrassing,” she said. “Do you think you can help me?”

“You do know my methods?” Roland’s eyes narrowed.

Louise Garland nodded slowly and blushed.

“I mean I am assuming that you can help structure my life and guide me in time management and my organisational skills…?” It sounded like backpedalling even to Louise.

“Oh I am sure I can make one or two suggestions in that regard but my real forte is in providing incentives,” Roland chuckled, “I make absolutely no distinction between any of my students.”

“Oh God,” Louise sighed, was she really going to do this?

“Why don’t you come on Friday? Say 7.00pm?” Roland suggested. “We will treat it like a first consult and we can discuss requirements and ground rules. I have a few ideas for structure and how to proceed.”

“That sounds fine,” Louise said, the business-like language was a more comfortable footing for her. “I’ll see you then.”

Roland stepped forward and opened the front door to see her out. “Oh and Mrs Garland,” he said pointedly, “Don’t be late.”

Louise gulped gently, barely acknowledging the warning.

6 Responses to “Abraham Heights: Quis docet domina errans”

  1. Oh, that “Mrs Garland and Prof Roland” story, definitely could be going places, – that’s just our first, spontaneous impression …

    • 2 DJ

      It sure could – just balancing up the M/F mentoring angle.

      • Probably ….prof Roland may be paying a visit to Mrs Main at her residence ?
        ( he might e.g. be assisting the lady in some matters ? )

  2. 5 Pat

    I like the Mrs Garland addition also.

  3. 6 PET

    I miss Dr.Donna 😦 Also thank you for this story

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