by Susan Thomas
She walked slowly and reluctantly to the corridor where the tutors' studies were located. It was not a walk she wanted to make, but it was compulsory. Every two weeks a student must visit her personal tutor and discuss her work and progress, or lack of it. At the last one she had managed to escape punishment. She had always been on time to lectures, tutorials and seminars. She had participated, and when asked a question had managed an answer. Any work to be done had not only been completed but had been posted on time.
The fact that it really wasn't her best work had been, she claimed, that it was all so new to her, and the whole experience of being at college and away from home was throwing her. Her tutor had allowed her to escape without punishment. Now, two weeks later, with only two more pieces of work posted, there had been no improvement. The college assessment of her was that she should be capable of A grades, but all graded work so far - and the college kept students at the grindstone - had been B or even C.
She knew exactly what that meant: she was going to be punished. If she were truthful (and she was by nature truthful) she deserved to be punished. It had all been so exciting, such a dramatic change from her previous life. New friends to make, new food to eat; she was already involved in the drama society and debating - both so enjoyable. She had made sure everything was done and on time but...
The 'but' was a huge one and she knew it. She hadn't really put her heart into the work. Just get it done. That was not how the college worked. Work first, play afterwards. Fail to do that and sitting down became extremely uncomfortable. The senior assigned as her mentor had advised her, "If there is only the slightest chance that your tutor will spank you, prepare as if it was definitely going to happen. None of the tutors have any patience if you struggle with clothing."
The advice was simple. "Wear nothing under your skirt and make the skirt a loose one. No panties, no pantyhose, no garter belts. If you must you can wear hold up stockings, but honestly, why bother? That means when you go over the knees the skirt can just be flipped up and the spanking begin. Take your own tissues. I don't mean a couple, I mean a box, because if you get spanked it's going to hurt. If you've not been spanked much at home you may think it terrible, but honestly your butt will soon calm down."
She was following the advice; a loose, pleated tartan skirt, very conservative in style and extremely modest, no underwear, just a pair of loose shoes easily kicked off, and a box of tissues. The corridor was wider than any in a school. The floor was beautifully tiled and it gleamed. The walls were carefully painted and portraits of long dead tutors hung along its length. The strong oak doors of each tutor's study had a bronze plate bearing the name of its occupant. Neat wooden chairs waited outside each door.
Nervous looking students sat on the waiting chairs. Some were twisting tissues or clothing in an effort to stop themselves from shaking. It was the academic accountability day and many of these girls would end with very sore bottoms. She had seen the angry red of a well spanked bottom in the showers, well now it was her turn. Despite the thickness of the doors the sound of spanking could be heard in many of the studies.
To go with the steady crack of a hairbrush came the sound of cries, squeals, and screeches as the hairbrush made an impact on a bared bottom. She arrived at her tutor's study and sat on a vacant chair next to a girl who seemed lost in her own misery. The girl wasn't a freshman and she didn't know who she was. On the opposite side were the chairs for another tutor. Only one student was waiting. She could see by her age that she was a post-graduate.
That a girl studying for a master's degree, or possibly even a doctorate, could still be spanked was astonishing to her. There was no compulsion to stay. With a degree the young woman could go anywhere to get her master's, yet this one, and a good few others, had stayed even though it meant getting spanked. There was no sound of spanking from within her tutor's study, and then the door opened and out came a smiling student.
Clearly all had gone well at her accountability review. The girl next to her sighed heavily and walked into the study closing the door behind her. The door of the study opposite opened and out came an extremely tearful girl. She had her hands on her bottom but her skirt was so rucked up that the bare cheeks were exposed. Angry red was overlaid with blue and purple mottling. Sobbing, she scuttled up the corridor, her bare cheeks on display. It had obviously been a long spanking.
With a groan of resignation the post-graduate student went in to take her place. She wondered if the day would ever come where she would decide to stay here to take her master's - an adult with a degree but willing to accept baring her bottom to be spanked to tears. Then from within her tutor's study came the sharp Crack! Crack! of a hairbrush spanking a bare bottom. Only a few smacks into the spanking came the sounds of distress.
Abruptly, from the study opposite, the sounds of another spanking began. The post-graduate began to wail quite quickly. The dual sounds of spanking unnerved her. Could she go through with this? This wasn't prison, or a reformatory. All she had to lose were the fees she'd paid up until Christmas. She was an adult for pity's sake. She could just walk back to her room, pack her bags, and go home.
The sound of the two spankings seemed to grow louder, more frightening. Crack! The sound came from her tutor's study and the student getting spanked screeched for the first time. Crack! The hairbrush punished the post-graduate and she wailed, "I'm sorry!" Well, being sorry buttered no parsnips at this college, but perhaps it was simply a cry of distress and meant no more than that.
The sounds of spanking went on and on while the cries of the girls - well young women is what they were - but whatever they were their cries were shrill and desperate. One thing you learned fast at this college was that being spanked hurt. It didn't injure, but getting it, and for days after, it hurt. Then the sounds of spanking in her tutor's study stopped. Her heart began to beat faster. Oh heck, now it was her turn.
The sound of spanking may have stopped but the girl's sobbing did not. She could hear it even through the thick oak door. The girl wouldn't be hurried out unless she wanted to. While sobbing could be heard in her tutor's study the sound of a long spanking continued in the post-graduate's. Crack! Crack! Crack! That poor young woman was really getting it but, she guessed, more was probably expected if you'd already got a degree.
The door of her tutor's study opened and the student exited. Her face was very red and tear-stained. Her hands were clasped firmly to her bottom and she walked steadily back along the corridor muttering to herself, "How stupid could I be?" over and over again.
Shakily she stood and walked in, all thought of leaving gone from her mind. She shut the door carefully behind her as if that would somehow protect her bottom from the spanking to come.
Her tutor looked up. "Oh dear. Giving you a chance at our last meeting didn't achieve the desired result did it?"
She shook her head unable to speak because the certainty of being spanked was now upon her. The tutor continued, "Same issue; all work done and on time, punctual timing for any learning session, correct level of participation, but your grades are still below expectation. Is that correct?"
She nodded her reply, her eyes welling up with tears.
The tutor sighed. "Such a shame but I guess all part of the adjustment. I have no wish to be lenient again given that strategy failed. On the other hand to be too severe would probably be a mistake. A first level spanking is one minute with the hairbrush. We reckon, as a rule of thumb, that a minute will deliver at least thirty good smacks. That might be too lenient so rather than leap to two minutes, or approximately sixty good smacks, I'm going to spank you for a minute and a half."
She gave a little hiccupping sob and tears began rolling down her cheeks. She'd never been spanked with a hairbrush before. One hand spanking was her only experience and that had been bad enough.
"Are you prepared for a spanking?" said her tutor.
She knew exactly what that meant. Had she got any underwear on. She nodded again, then ventured a tremulous, "I've done what my mentor said but I've only had one spanking before."
The tutor laughed. "I'm sure this one won't be your last although you may hope it will be. However, once you're over my knees I'll manage you, never fear. All you have to do is endure the punishment and then, young lady, learn from it." The tutor moved and sat on a lone chair, one the students all named 'the spanking chair'. "Come and stand here by my right side."
She moved reluctantly to position. For a girl of her age, a young adult, the level of submission required to lay herself over her tutor's knees, and then to have her skirt lifted to expose her bare bottom, was colossal. She cringed deep inside herself and then the hairbrush spanked the right cheek of her bottom. The sheer stinging heat was huge. She yelped shrilly, and her whole body reacted, but the tutor was experienced at spanking young women and kept her in place.
The hairbrush cracked down hard on her bare left cheek with the same intense stinging heat. Her squeal was shrill and she totally panicked at the thought of getting a minute and half of this. Had the tutor been less experienced she might have got free and might, just possibly, have run from the study. As it was the vigorous escape attempt was subdued easily and the spanking continued.
Crack! to her right cheek again and then Crack! to her left and that blistering pattern continued for what seemed to her as an eternity. The spanking became worse. Or rather worse in her mind as her tutor spanked her right cheek with five good hard smacks of the wooden brush. She screamed at the cumulative stinging heat and again was only thwarted from escape by the experience of her tutor.
Now the punishment of the hairbrush turned to her left cheek. Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack! Her screams reverberated around the study and she cried out, "It hurts, oh it hurts."
Her tutor ignored that cry. It was quite common especially from those students with very little experience of being spanked. Looking at the girl's bare spanked cheeks the tutor decided that the overall angry red could still use some improvement and there was just time.
The hairbrush began to punish her bottom with good hard smacks that landed in no particular pattern. As a finale to this, her first dose of the hairbrush, it was highly effective and her screams and cries careened off the walls to fill the room with the sounds of distress.
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