by Perry Symon Fowler
Linzbrucke Matriculation College,
Republic of Lindorf
Suzette Dupree waited in mounting trepidation outside her supervisor's office. Standing at attention in the moody, sunlit hallway of the Humanities building, she fought to control the panic coursing through her system. She'd been walking the line far too frequently over the preceding month, testing the rules and her tutors' patience, and she was now facing a good, hard spanking on her pretty young bottom.
Feeling her heart slamming against the side of her chest, Suzette listened in lip-biting suspense to the ominous ticking of the antique grandfather clock down the hall. It was nearly ten to one: in a matter of minutes, the lunch hour would be over, and she'd be called into the office. She knew precisely what to expect once she stepped through that varnished teak wood doorway - the experience of her last visit was indelibly marked on her adolescent memory.
She was going to be spanked.
Seeking a distraction from her cloying anxieties, Suzette glanced longingly out of the wide, gothic windows to the verdant, shaded slopes of the school grounds. If only she were out there, trading wicked, girlish lies with her giggling, sweet-faced friends. Suzette invariably felt a rising tide of panic as the final countdown approached. She was going to be spanked, swift and sure and iron-sharp. Not just a few half-hearted whacks with the paddle or the ferule, but a full-blown spanking on her plump, round bottom-cheeks.
It was going to hurt. Terribly.
The thought wheeled through her mind in an unceasing loop, filling her veins with a moist, urgent heat. Her punishment was absolutely inevitable: as soon at the bell sounded announcing the afternoon classes, Suzette's fate would be sealed. Trembling with uncontrolled anticipation, she would enter the Coordinator's study with the first tears stinging her eyes. Standing before his meticulously ordered desk, she would be made to strip down to her gauzy little nylon panties - removing even her lacy D-cup underwired bra - and present herself for the long, hard spanking she'd earned over the last four weeks.
She could already see herself shivering in her knickers in front of her teacher, her small hands protectively cupping her large, unfettered breasts. Disrobing prior to a spanking was a matter of course at Linzbrucke; even at matriculation level, the policy was strictly enforced by both the administration and the teaching staff.
The heart-pounding disgrace of this ritual striptease was matched only by the helpless vulnerability she invariably felt; pleading her case in nothing but her wispy, gossamer panties. What right did he have to see her this way; begging for mercy with her flawless, nubile figure on exhibition like a Renaissance nude? It seemed so completely unjust! She was a girl, demure and surprisingly modest in spite of her wayward French temperament, she had no desire to reveal all of her adorable little secrets in the flick of a bra-strap... especially to a man who was preparing to give her a damned good spanking!
Following a lengthy scolding - during which her frail, childlike ego would be shattered by a barrage of scathing masculine vitriol - she would be instructed to step out of her dainty, pink underpants, baring her luscious, round bottom to Monsieur Williams' measuring gaze. Weeping and naked, she'd then be stretched over his muscular thighs, her delectably plump derriere twitching and clenching in the shadow of her swiftly approaching penalty.
Her head spun in a vortex of struggling, conflicting emotions. She was seventeen, a student in her senior year; not a naughty little girl to be paddled at the first sign of petulance. She was expected to behave like an adult, to accept the responsibilities of maturity; why did she have to submit to the abject humiliation of a bare bottomed spanking over her subject master's lap? In the second decade of a new millennium, no woman should be required to accede to any man's authority, no matter what the circumstances.
However, the question of refusal never entered her pretty little head; Suzette had been a student at Linzbrucke for close on two years now, and the endless cycle of shame was virtually impossible to break. Even prior to her enrolment at the college, her scholastic career had been a montage of furtive misdemeanors and hot, stinging bottomtops. She'd learnt over the past twenty-odd months that no crime ever went unpunished at Linzbrucke; you were always caught out no matter how well you covered your tracks, and the final reward was always the same.
I'm going to be spanked!
The words echoed through her mind with an urgent, alarming clarity, blocking out all other considerations. The 12.50 bell had just sounded, and the hallway was literally swarming with pretty young girls hurrying to their lockers, their ponytails flying only a little higher than their skirts. Many of them swept past with fleeting, significant glances: there could be no doubt as to why Suzette was standing outside the Language Coordinator's office. She felt a high, fine color rising to her features, her spanking was imminent, and most of her friends had seen her waiting here in jagged, unbearable silence.
I'm going to be spanked!
Suzette began to moan, choking back her sobs while the corridor emptied and the lunchtime caterwauling faded to a low conversational drone. She couldn't tolerate this incessant, gasping expectancy any longer, she was literally on the verge of swooning. Elsewhere, brightly postered classrooms were filling up as chairs were scraped along scuffed wooden floorboards and backpacks were emptied of textbooks and notepads. Suzette could only count the seconds until she felt the ruler kiss her lush, full posterior.
How could she live with this insufferable humiliation? She'd been intolerably naughty, there was no point in denying that now, but she was utterly desperate to evade the hot, pulsing bottom she so richly deserved. It was always this way. She could daydream hand in jowl for weeks, her eyes glazing over as she imagined her tender young bottom simmering like a June sunrise, but when the moment finally arrived, she was just as eager to avoid a good, hard spanking as any other teenaged girl.
There was, of course, no way out; no escape route or last minute reprieve on the horizon. She was already tottering at the point of no return; she'd made her choices and there was no turning back. She'd been willfully insolent and blatantly disobedient, and an excruciatingly sore tushie was an almost preordained conclusion, the natural outcome of her own decisions. She couldn't reverse the clock, no matter how fervently she wished she could erase the errors of her immediate past.
I don't want a spanking!
Unfortunately, it was too late for twelfth-hour assertions of her civil rights. The choice had been taken entirely out of her hands. She was going to be spanked whether she liked it or not. The indefatigable machinery of institutional discipline had been set in motion, and in a very short space of time, Suzette would be made to pull her own panties down in tearful acceptance of the inevitable. She would learn precisely what happens to naughty little girls who insist on flouting the rules, and nothing on God's green earth could save her now.
And then...
"Suzette."
A single, frozen instant, spiraling out to eternity.
Suzette felt a cold finger stroke her heart, her legs practically buckled at the knees. The interminable, thigh-shuddering wait was finally over. The time had come, he was calling her. His voice, rich and mellow and frighteningly calm, issued from the office like an unbroken promise.
"Come in here, please."
Nooo! she wailed, inwardly.
Calling on her rapidly dwindling reserves of self-control, Suzette adjusted her skirt and turned around to face the doorway, checking her blouse for stray creases. Fighting to maintain her composure, she drew a deep breath and placed her hand on the gleaming brass doorknob. Once across that quietly menacing threshold, her treadmill of misery would begin to roll. She could already feel the blazing print of the ruler scorching its glowing welt across her defenseless, rosy bottom-cheeks.
Swinging the door silently open, Suzette walked into the study.
He was, without exception, the most attractive man she'd ever seen.
Possessing a granite jaw-line and volcanic brown eyes that could penetrate steel with a single glance, Richard Williams was the object of fear and lust of literally every girl in the school. Standing six foot four in his cracked and weathered black leather jacket, he carried his massive frame with a swaggering confidence that had women of every generation melting in their pants whenever he looked their way. With his tangled mass of ebony hair and perpetual five o'clock shadow, he demanded both love and respect in equal degrees. A raw, brooding archetype of hardline masculinity, he ruled his domain with a will of iron, taking no prisoners and tolerating no resistance.
Seated at his desk with a metallic grey phone jammed against his left ear, Richard barely seemed to notice as Suzette stole into the room. Slinking past countless rows of ceiling-high bookshelves, she came to rest directly before him with her face lowered and her hands crossed over her brief black skirt. At seventeen, Suzette was a slim, achingly beautiful girl with enormous blue eyes and a tiny, doll-like mouth. Bursting with the lush fruit of ripened adolescence, she was a magnificently contoured young woman, her glorious, blossoming figure barely contained within her taut, skimpy uniform. She was easily the most radiant creature in a school remarkable for its stunningly attractive student body.
Richard was talking into the phone in a curt, gravelly monologue, his right hand scribbling notes on a lemon yellow memo pad. Treating her as a thing of utterly no consequence whatsoever, he continued his digital conversation, ignoring her presence and drawing out her shivering anxieties with a clinical precision. The seconds crawled by at a snail's pace until he finally terminated the call and placed the phone down on the desktop next to his laptop.
"All right," he said, impaling her with his probing, keen-edged gaze, "you know the form, young lady."
Suzette moaned from the base of her throat as she reached up to unbutton her smart, cotton blouse. She felt her blush deepening to a glaring scarlet: her pageant of humiliation had begun; she had to take off every stitch of clothing, right down to her flimsy panties. Her last remaining vestige of pride and self-esteem evaporated as she slid the blouse off her shoulders, placing her lace-covered brassiere on full display.
She felt a teasingly insistent flutter in the pit of her diaphragm. Her emotional thermostat was swinging into the red zone; warm flushes coursed through her veins like a tropical stream. She was being forced to undress for a spanking; in less than a minute, she'd be divested of every shred of feminine dignity. As always, she found herself poised in a precarious balance between red-faced embarrassment and the ever-present fear of her upcoming spanking.
She dropped the blouse to the carpet and fumbled with the zipper of her pleated black uniform-skirt. Her vision blurred as the first sobs escaped her throat and two small glistening tears trickled down her cheeks. Shaking the moisture from her eyes, she leant over to slip the skirt down her tanned, gleaming thighs, exposing her filmy nylon underpants to the world.
Blushing to the roots of her shining golden hair, she stood up in her bra and panties, casting skittish glances around the room as the cool September air caressed her flat, smooth tummy. She was wearing a pair of pink g-string briefs; the plain, simple and classically elegant style of underwear stipulated by the Linzbrucke dress code. They seemed to glimmer with a soft, pastel sheen in the lazy afternoon sunlight. She shifted her hips in obvious agitation, painfully conscious of the large picture window behind the Coordinator's desk.
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