by Rose St. Andrews
Josh was worn out. He'd had a long day, on top of a long hard week, but what choice did he have? Not only was he a college professor, he was a popular one, which meant his classes were almost always full. This night, he had a huge pile of papers to grade, and it was already quite late. Josh knew that as the cleaning lady had arrived.
She only came by after midnight.
Sitting there, he shifted in his chair (his butt was going to sleep), stretched his back, and rubbed the back of his neck. He groaned at the sight of the number of tests still to grade. That was the thing about physics, it didn't lend itself to a multiple choice test, and that made grading long and tedious. He was going to need more coffee.
Rising from his desk in the main auditorium, the place most of his classes were held (owing to their large size), he shuffled down the main aisle, out the double doors at the end, and made his way to the break room. He cringed at the cup of sludge the so-called coffee machine produced.
God, this stuff'll either keep me awake or embalm me! Oh what I'd give for a really decent cup of coffee.
Heading back to the class room, he managed a small smile. There was a lovely aroma in the air, and it wasn't the vile drink in his hand. It was perfume. No, not perfume, it was merely a fresh and clean woman. It was the cleaning woman.
His smile grew bigger as he reached his desk. She was there now, her cart parked at the first row of desks and chairs, and she was cleaning the back row, high up at the back wall. He was surprised by her; she was not the stereotypical cleaning woman: middle aged and Hispanic. No, she was mid twenties, and probably Eastern European, judging by her looks. He'd never actually spoken to her, as she was far too shy to even look him (or anyone else) in the eye. Still, she was quite the lovely little lady - petite, dark hair and eyes, and a firm figure with great curves. She wore jeans that were very snug, and every bend to dust under a table or chair gave him a great view of her toned and plump ass... truly a thing of beauty!
Sitting there, he took another sip of his slime, and actually felt a little refreshed. No, it wasn't from the imitation coffee he was choking down. Just the sight of her, the scent of her simple body lotions and shampoo were enough to give him that all-important energy boost. He felt sure he'd be able to get through all of his work.
A moment later, he opened his eyes to find that he was face down on the table. Lifting his head, he sat up straight, and found that he had a piece of paper stuck to his left cheek. He pulled it off and checked it. It was his class roll and he groaned. He'd fallen asleep.
So much for that coffee fix helping me to stay awake. Shit, now I'll never get those papers done... what the...?
A stack of papers sat before him and it was clear that they'd been graded. Josh's jaw dropped. He reached for them, flipped through the pages, and was amazed to see that not only were they graded, they'd been graded correctly. Someone who knew physics had taken care of them. Josh couldn't believe it. He shook his head, playfully slapped himself in the face, and reassured himself that he was in fact awake. Yet, there was still the question at hand: Who had done this?
Snatching up the stack, he stuffed them in his briefcase and turned to leave. He sniffed. A very familiar aroma assailed his nostrils. He turned, scanned the area, and his eyes focused on another familiar item. Chewing his lip, while he was as smart as a rocket scientist, for once he didn't have to be. The clues were clear and he would act.
Abigail plodded in the service entrance to the maintenance area of the university. She heaved a sad sigh, opened her locker, and got her name tag and work shirt on. She hated her life! Once she had her cleaning cart, she made her way to the service elevator. Yeah, she wasn't even allowed to use the regular one. She almost screamed when the doors opened. Prof. Darwin was standing there and he did not look happy.
A slight smile appeared on his face. "I'm sorry, Abigail, I didn't mean to scare you. I hope it's all right me calling you by your first name, but I don't know your last, as it's not on your tag."
"Pavlov," she said softly.
"Beg your pardon?" he said, his brow wrinkling.
"Pavlov, it's my last name."
"Really? Just like the famous scientist."
"As is your name."
"What? Oh, yeah, no relation."
"Me neither. Um, so, I need to get to work, Professor. So, if you'll excuse me?" she said, moving behind her cart. It wasn't just that she wanted to start working, the cart was a barrier between them, and she suddenly felt the need for one.
"Actually, work is the reason I want to talk to you, young lady," he said, his voice growing stern. "Come with me."
Abigail shivered and swallowed hard, but obeyed. The professor was so commanding. He even helped her convey her cleaning cart down the hall and park it outside his office, and then they stepped inside. He closed the door and moved to sit behind his simple little desk. It was like the rest of the office: trim and compact.
He's clearly a junior professor, just like I... oh, never mind.
She stood before him, head down, and hands behind her back. The tingling inside her grew stronger. The little scene here awakened a very strong memory of her days back in university. On more than one occasion a professor had caned her, and it was a brutal memory!
"Is there something... wrong, Professor?"
He opened a drawer and pulled out a stack of papers. "Recognize these?" he snapped.
Her toes curled. "N-n-no, sir," she said softly.
"Oh really? You didn't grade these last night?" he said, looking her squarely in the eye.
"G-grade? How could I do that? I'm just a cleaning woman."
"Yes, I know, and you also keep yourself quite clean," he replied, leaning forward. "I noticed last night that you use some very distinctive body lotions. These papers just about reek with them."
Abigail trembled again, then forced her body to hold still as she found her confidence. "That doesn't prove anything. Lots of people use my brand."
Plop! She looked down and truly shivered in dread. He'd dropped one of her personalized wiping cloths on the desk. There was no doubt it was hers, it had her monogrammed initials in the corner.
"You were saying?" he said simply.
"Where, ahhh, where did you find that?"
"Never mind that! The point is that I did, and it means you graded my papers. Now, I want to know what's going on. How does a cleaning woman know enough to grade such a subject and get everything right?"
"Oh, I see, a mere woman shouldn't be able to do such a thing, is that it?" she snapped.
"No, no, no, don't go playing the sexism card with me, Missy. That dog won't hunt. Okay, I'll put it in a more generic fashion: How does a mere member of the cleaning staff do that? How's that sound, better?"
"Dog... hunt? Oh, American idiom, yes? Um, well, you see, I'm not just a cleaning woman."
"I sort of figured that part out. So, got a secret identity, eh? What, you studied abroad or... oh, wait, you're from Russia. You got a degree from there, right?"
She nodded, keeping her gaze down. "Da. In fact, I was a professor at a university in St. Petersburg."
"You lived in Florida? Oh, wait, that's Leningrad; it went back to its old name after the collapse of the Soviet Union. Wow, so a prof, eh? Good for you, Abigail. Huh, how come you don't teach here? The university is in desperate need of qualified people."
"The American education system wouldn't accept my credentials," she said sadly.
Joshua rose to his feet, a warm smile on his face. "Oh, I'm so sorry. I wish there was some... wait, we're getting off the subject. I'm still upset with you for messing with my class work. While I appreciate the help, you did it without asking, without telling me, and if the admin ever found out, oh..."
"No! Not that, I'd lose my job for sure, and this is all I have. Please, Professor, I'll accept any punishment you want, but I'm begging you, don't cane me too severely."
"Cane? Missy, I can't do that, I'd get arrested."
She cocked her head at him. "Really? I thought corporal punishment was permitted in America."
He nodded. "Yeah, it's allowed in most schools, but rarely colleges, and only some private academy would dare include a cane. Most places just use a paddle."
"Paddle?" Abigail squeaked. "Um... okay."
Joshua rolled his eyes. "Abigail, what did I just say? I can't... eh, wait a minute, maybe we can work something out," he said, leaning back against his desk.
"What are you going to do to me?" she said softly, cringing.
Abigail felt as if she'd slipped through a wormhole and been deposited in her past. No, not her time getting caned at university. It was the time her uncle punished her for stealing fruit from the market. Ever since her dad died, back when she was five, dear old Uncle Viktor had stepped in and helped her mom with discipline. When he found out about her theft, he marched her into the living room of their small farmhouse, deposited her over his lap, and gave her two dozen wallops with his hairbrush.
She never stole again.
Now, she was over a lap again: Josh's (as he'd told her to call him), and he was preparing to smack her jeans-clad behind.
"All right, Abigail, you're sure about this? You will accept this without complaint and without lodging any grievance with HR?"
"Yes, Josh. But, um..."
"What, you have an objection?"
"Well, I was just wondering as to why you're only going to use your hand? Wouldn't some sort of implement be more appropriate?"
"Sheesh, girl, you want something more severe? What, you feel very guilty over this and need to be properly punished for it?"
"Oh, no, it's just that I feel the punishment should fit the crime, and I don't want you hurting your hand," she said, straining her neck to look up at him.
He grinned. "My dear, trust me, my hand is quite capable of delivering a firm enough smack. Besides, it's not like I have a paddle or brush here in my office. So, let us begin."
Smack!
His hand connected with her pert bottom. She jumped on his lap. She squirmed. It was a different sensation from what she was expecting. It hurt, but there was something else. Before she could process what she was feeling, another blow fell. Stifling a yelp, she chewed her lip. That 'something else' was there again - stronger. It was an itch and it was between her legs. Abby was very confused; no punishment she'd ever gotten in the past had caused such a reaction within her body. As the smacks continued to rain down on her poor defenseless behind, the heat and sting went up, and so did the fierce itch within her body.
Bouncing and squirming on Josh's lap, she yelped and squealed and gasped. Her mind struggled to process the contradictory input it was getting, and she finally realized something.
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