Ashley skirts her school’s new corporal punishment policy, but gets herself into trouble of a whole different sort.

Ashley at Eighteen

Twenty minutes after her final class, Ashley Shirer appears at Mr. Jarman’s door. She leans against the jamb, waiting for him to get off the phone. When Jarman hangs up, she says, “Reporting for detention, sir,” jokingly snapping off a salute.

A small brunette with dark eyes, a decidedly nice figure (though currently disguised by her school uniform, which makes Ashley feel like a nun), Ashley is the most attractive girl in Jarman’s fifth-period English class. She is also dangerously carefree and cavalier.

Mr. Jarman looks up, discomforted by Ashley’s attitude. “It’s not detention,” he says. “We no longer hold detention at St. E’s.” He pauses. “You didn’t read the last circular, did you?”

Ashley shakes her head, sits down on the corner of Jarman’s desk. “I threw it in the trash,” she says, laughingly. Her English teacher and sometimes soccer coach, Jarman is easily flustered, always uneasy in her presence. She reaches out and touches his shoulder. “I never read those things, you know that.”

Jarman looks away. “Evidently, your parents do.” He digs through a pile of correspondence and hands Ashley a two-page document. It’s on St. Elizabeth’s letterhead and has an official look Ashley doesn’t like. She begins to read, and by the time she flips to the second page, her face is crimson. At one point, her eyes grow wide as silver dollars.

She looks at Mr. Jarman. “This is a joke, right?”

Jarman shakes his head. “Sorry.”

Ashley rereads the final paragraph--twice.

“And my parents signed this?”

“They returned the letter certified, Ashley.

Whatever that tells you.”

Ashley is quiet for a moment. “You’re ... going to spank me?” she says, the words sounding unreal in her ears, spoken like a five-year-old.

Jarman takes back the letter and places it in his drawer. He looks at his hands. “Not me personally, no,” he says. “That’s against the proscribed method. An assistant principal will carry it out.” He looks up. “I tried to impress upon you the importance of the circular when it was handed out, Ashley. You refused to listen.” Ashley is unable to think. “Mr. Jarman--” She can’t get the words right. “I can’t seriously believe you intend to spank me--” The rest is horribly embarrassing to say. “--On my bare butt.”

Arms folded, Jarman shrugs. “If it helps,” he says. “There’ll be a witness. Two, in fact. You’re still a minor female, and no male instructor can administer punishment without the presence of a female administrator.”

Ashley continues shaking her head. “No,” she says. “You can’t. I never signed the paper.”

Jarman forges ahead. “Your parents did,” he reminds. Then: “The second witness can be a parent, another teacher, or one of your classmates. Or someone else from administration.”

“No!” Ashley says again. “I won’t.”

Jarman is quiet for a moment. “Refusal to accept punishment results in suspension, Ashley.”

Ashley’s eyes dart quickly around the room. She’s beginning to panic. “This can’t be for real,” she says.

“I’m afraid it is.”

“But I didn’t sign any paper!”

“Your parents did.”

Ashley shakes her head. “I never knew.” Then, realizing she’s been suspended twice already this year, and a third time means expulsion--say goodbye to attending Yale, her absolute goal (In truth, her parents’ absolute goal)--Ashley says, “But my parents will kill me!”

“Then you know the answer.”

Looking at Mr. Jarman’s shirt pocket, she says: “I don’t want anyone to know. Please?”

Jarman looks distraught. He says, “Everyone knows you’re here, Ashley. Everyone knows what for. Once the witnesses file their reports--”

“Reports!”

“--Word will get around. Besides, you’re the first one affected under the new procedures, and quite honestly, everyone is watching.”

Ashley’s stomach drops sixteen floors. “Oh, God!” she moans, tears shining in her eyes. “That’s just--why didn’t anyone tell me!”

Jarman sits forward. “Maybe they didn’t want you to know.”

Ashley balks. “What?”

“Everyone knows how you are, Ashley. Chances are they let you stick your foot in it.”

“My friends wouldn’t do that!”

Jarman grins tightly. “Sometimes, friends can be anything but.”

Ashley is stricken. For the past week, she’s noticed something going on amongst her friends, a kind of sneaky, “let’s keep a secret,” conspiracy. Until now, she put it down to her approaching nineteenth birthday, someone planning a surprise. Evidently, someone had.

“What about just letting me off?” she pleads. “A warning or something.”

Jarman shakes his head. “The paperwork’s already processed. Once it’s in, only the Board of Regents can set it aside. And the Board of Regents takes this change very seriously.” Jarman shifts in his chair, looking marginally less uncomfortable speaking of procedures.

“It was debated for three years, you know. The way discipline has slipped lately...” Jarman shrugs. “The Board is afraid of losing funding. They already have. They want discipline restored.” He shrugs again.

“Backing out is no longer an option.”

“But why me?”

“Answer your own question, Ashley.”

Ashley looks at the floor. “This is not fair. I’ll be the laughingstock of the school.” Tears welling in her eyes spill over. “Do you know how embarrassed I’ll be?” Jarman says, “At least it’s not today.”

“When then?”

“You have to sign the forms, two of them, in fact, and then witnesses are selected. Then, Administration schedules the actual punishment. Probably for later this week. Thursday, I would guess.”

Ashley doesn’t know whether to be relieved or more anxious still. By Thursday, everyone will know.

Absolutely everyone. She bites her lower lip. “You said you couldn’t do it yourself. Could you if I were nineteen?”

Jarman looks up.

“You must know I’m nineteen in two weeks,” she says, slowly. “Maybe--”

“Whoa!” Jarman exclaims, pushing back in his chair. “I could get fired even talking about that!”

“I’m not asking for anything special!” Ashley exclaims. “I just don’t want to be spanked in public. Not on my bare ass! Please!”

“Ashley--”

“I’ll let you do it in private! As much as you want! Just the two of us.”

Jarman shakes his head. “Out of the question! Don’t say another word.”

Ashley isn’t giving up. Very quietly, she says: “I’m not kidding, Mr. Jarman. And I’m not stupid. I know how much trouble this could cause. Even if I am of age. But I’m offering you something you’ll probably never get a chance to do.”

“Ashley--”

“Don’t you like me, Mr. Jarman?”

Jarman is silent for a long time. “Yes,” he said, finally.

“You know I do.”

“What’s the next best thing to sex with a nineteen-year-old?”

Jarman cannot help but look away. This is insane. This is beyond insane. Not only would he face dismissal if caught, but you could kiss his marriage goodbye. And getting another job?

Jarman clears his throat. “This is what I’ll do. Taking into consideration you may never have been properly apprised (bullshit, Jarman! Bull shit!) either by the school or by your parents--I’ll need a letter from home confirming that--I’ll give my recommendation to the Board. It will be at their discretion, of course, and non-negotiable, but I’ll recommend you be given probation.”

Practically leaping off the desk, Ashley gushes, “Thank you, Mr. Jarman!” and plasters a huge kiss on his cheek.

“You are so great!”

Jarman coughs. “Don’t get too encouraged,” he says. “The decision’s not mine, and they might still decide on punishment. Very likely they will. And if not, any infraction of the rules-- even a tiny one--will result in your probation being pulled.”

Ashley grins ear-to-ear.

“You know what that means?”

Ashley nods. “It means my ass gets totally beat to hell!”

Jarman pretends disgust and, barely suppressing a grin, orders Ashley the hell out of his classroom.

Ashley leaves.

------A Reprieve-----

It is Wednesday afternoon, two days following their meeting. Jarman is grading papers.

“Hello, Mr. Jarman.”

Jarman looks up. “Hello,” he says. “I guess you heard?” Ashley nods. She is wearing the same translucent, peach-colored raincoat over her uniform that she wore on Monday. Rain beads on the plastic, and her hair is wet. She looks adorable--almost coquettish.

“I just wanted to thank you,” she says. “If they had decided the other way...” she shrugs. “I don’t know what I would have done.”

Jarman leans back and grins. “No more disruptions in class, okay?”

“Cross my heart,” she says, making the symbolic gesture over her left breast. “From here out, I’m the good girl.”

Jarman snorts, softly. “You’ll just be smarter, that’s all. Think I didn’t see that slam book going around yesterday?”

Ashley’s grin falters. Slam books are a serious offense at St. E’s, a suspendible offense. Cutting on other students is libelous. You could be gone for good.

Jarman grinned. “Vamoose. I have work to do.”

Grateful for a reason to disappear before he changes his mind, Ashley vamooses.

-----Ashley at Nineteen-----

It is two weeks later. Jarman sits at his desk, grading mid-term exams, ready to go home. He has a nasty headache and a stomach that refuses to help.

Thanksgiving is two weeks away, and Jarman is dreaming of Florida, a much-needed vacation--both from the school and from Ashley Shirer.

Thinking of Ashley now makes Jarman’s stomach churn. Seeing her is torture. Each day he forces his eyes away from her face, her body, her rounded hips. She is nineteen now. Legal of age if not of approachment. Against that silver screen in his mind, Jarman continually watches the scene play out as it might have been, had he accepted Ashley’s proposition.

And yet, Jarman seems unable to force himself into regretting the decision. Just this once-- even if it was a lousy one--he made the right choice.

“Hi, Mr. Jarman.”

Jarman leaps in his seat. He chokes on his words: “God almighty! I thought I was alone.” He laughs at his own embarrassment. “What are you doing here, Ashley? The building is locked. Supposed to be locked.”

Ashley grins. “I didn’t mean to scare you, Mr. Jarman. The front door was wide open.”

Jarman shakes his head. “And I talked to Muir just last night.” He pauses, not so much caring what mistakes housekeeping has, but what Ashley Shirer is doing in his doorway. She has on the peach raincoat again, but with a thigh-length white miniskirt and a white blouse. Raindrops dot her hair and coat.

“Did you forget something? Were we scheduled to meet?” Jarman pretends to check his planner, knowing full well that no meeting was planned. No teacher schedules an after-hours meeting with a female student. Not if he wants a job the next day.

Ashley smiles. “No, sir. This was my idea.” She sits down on the corner of his desk, crosses her legs. The white shirt rides up out of sight.

“Ashley--” Jarman says. His voice is thick. “You shouldn’t be here. Especially not dressed like that.”

Ashley’s face has grown red. Embarrassment is normally a foreign emotion to her, but she is feeling it now. Barely able to maintain a level tone, she says: “I dressed this way for a purpose, Mr. Jarman. If you don’t like it, I could take them off. The stockings, I mean.” Then, after a breathless pause, she adds. “And anything else you’d like.”

Jarman nearly dies. His breath stops and so nearly does his heart. There is a constriction across his chest, a swimmy sensation in his head. His hands shake.

“Ashley--”

Ashley stands, turns her back to Jarman, and lifts her raincoat and skirt. She wears nothing beneath. Jarman looks at her bare rear end, lifts a hand to his mouth, mutters, “Jesus. Jesus Christ,” and backs his chair away.

Ashley looks over her shoulder. “I changed my mind,” she said, her heart tattooing the inside of her ribs. “I do want to be spanked.”

If Ashley’s face is red, Jarman’s is ready to explode. He stumbles to his feet and takes two unsteady steps backward, then stops. His hands flutter in the air beside his hips. He gulps loudly enough to be heard.

“Ashley, are you nuts? For God’s sake, cover yourself up.”

Instead, Ashley climbs onto Jarman’s desk and kneels, offering Jarman her bare rear end. She continues to gaze over her right shoulder. “I haven’t been spanked since I was eighteen years old,” she says. “When Mom made Daddy stop.” Ashley’s breathing is labored. “He used to do me over his knee,” she says. “Just like this.” This, of course, means bare-bottomed. “He did it in front of my brothers, and twice in front of my friends. I hated him for it.”

Jarman stammers: “Then what the hell are you doing here?”

Ashley smiles. “Because I’m not eighteen years old anymore. And you saved my life.”

Jarman shakes his head. “I want you back in your dorm, Ashley. Right now.” He wrings his hands. “I am not getting involved with a nineteen-year-old, especially one with no sense of morals.”

The rebuke stings like a slap across the face. Ashley almost reconsiders. But despite his words, Jarman’s hand is raised. Would he touch her, she wondered? Or will he spank?

He spanks. He spanks her very hard. Ashley jumps, her rear end stung, the nerve endings ringing.

“Yeow!”

This hurts! She thinks, wide-eyed. This hurts a lot! Then she suddenly wonders what exactly she is doing, how exactly she could forget what spanking was like. Then Jarman’s hand strikes again, on the opposite cheek, even harder this time, and Ashley leaps in pain.

“Ow! Mr. Jarman!”

Snake-bit, Jarman jumps away. He looks around the room, expecting a sudden audience, moves back into the first row of seats. His hands clutch the seat backs on either side.

Ashley is immediately apologetic. “I’m sorry,” she gasps, half-turning on the desk and sitting on her left cheek. She wants to rub it. “I didn’t mean to cry out,” she says. Her eyes sting with tears and she blinks them rapidly away.

God! Two hits, and I’m ready to cry!

Jarman moves slowly back to the desk, continuing to regard her warily. From his expression, Ashley imagines Jarman thinks he’s being set up. That idea she needs to dispel.

“I won’t do it again,” she says, returning to her knees and placing her bottom in position. “And if I do, you have permission to beat the living crap out of me.”

Jarman is angry. “I swear. You better not be fucking with me.”

“I’m not,” she avows, “Honest.”

“You’ll wish a hundred times over you’d just taken your punishment.”

Ashley nods. She understands. She understands only too well. Jarman has a brutal temper when provoked, a reputation for being vindictive. “I came here to be spanked, Mr. Jarman, by you. No matter how much it hurts, or how much I holler, I’m still gonna let you do it.” She looks him squarely in the eye. “I can’t be any more honest than that.”

Jarman shakes his head. “You are a strange young woman, Ashley Lynne,” he says. He places his hand on her right buttock, atop the outline of a partial handprint. Ashley’s pupils dilate.

“I can’t imagine any teenager wanting to be spanked,” he says. “Especially on her bare ass. Not by some old fart like me.” He caresses the soft skin, and Ashley’s breath and heartbeat quicken. “You need to understand I won’t be gentle, Ashley.”

Ashley tilts her head questioningly.

“Men enjoy spanking girls. That’s why your father did it until you were eighteen.”

“My father’s a control freak,” she says.

Jarman looks her up from her rear end. “I’m sure he is. Just be aware that once we start, I’m not stopping the first time you break out in tears and start to plead.” Ashley again tilts her head. “I didn’t come to be brutalized. If that’s what you’re saying--”

Jarman shakes his head. “I’m not a sadist.”

Ashley grins. “I hope not. That’s not why I’m here.”

“What you came for was not a spanking, Ashley Lynne. But it’s what you’re getting.” With that, he draws back his hand and fires a shot at the fading handprint, and Ashley recoils before she’s hit.

“YEOWWW!”

Sound ricochets off the white block walls, and Jarman hits her again, and Ashley loses her composure. “Mr. Jarman!” she shrieks. “For God’s sake, I won’t last a minute like that!”

“Spankings aren’t meant to be enjoyed, Ashley,” Jarman says, spanking her hard, though not as hard. “They’re meant to instill a sense of atonement, remorse.

Responsibility and moral judgment. Something you entirely lack.” He moves to his left and lets go one against hr left cheek, that makes Ashley cry out and brace herself against the wall. Her eyes are drawn down to narrow slits.

“You don’t have to instill it all at once!” she wails. Jarman can’t help but laugh. He moves farther to his left, and Ashley watches in apprehension over her shoulder. Tears leak down her face. She grimaces as Jarman’s hand impacts again and again, and both eyes squeeze shut.

What am I doing! She thinks. I’ve forgotten what being bare-bottomed is all about! “How-Ow! How much do you intend to give me! I have to sit down-ouwn! Tomorrow!” Jarman’s been keeping count, and twelve blows have landed so far. His breathing and heart rate are elevated, and he has an erection. It pushes out the front of his trousers.

“As much as you can stand,” he says, landing one on a so far untouched spot of real estate. “Maybe even more. Either way, sitting down will be a problem you can worry about all week, my little Jewish Princess.”

“I’m only half-Jewish,” Ashley wheezes. “Which half is being spanked?” She cranes to see her reddening cheeks, both of which sting terribly. “At least give me an--OW!--a note, okay? So I can stay--AY out sick?”

Jarman places his left hand on Ashley’s stomach, holding her in place. He releases two more volleys on her left cheek and two more land on her right, making Ashley squeal.

“Mr. Jarman! OW!”

“Young lady, you’re not in class tomorrow. Know what happens?”

Ashley doesn’t have to ask. “Everyone’ll guess the truth!”

Jarman’s hand rests lightly on her stinging buttocks.

“Maybe, but they won’t know I did it, and you’ll be squirming a lot worse. Ashley Shirer, you miss my class.” He delivers a very hard whack.

“Mr. Jarman! Have a--Ow!--heart!” Then he surprises Ashley by turning her around on the desk and sitting her down. His expression is serious. “I expect you on time, assignment done, and properly dressed. No more garters, no stockings, no tiny miniskirts, and high heels. Understand?”

Ashley sniffles, rubs under her nose and across both cheeks. She’s crying now, unable to hold back the tears. God, her tail stings! Rubbing it carefully, she nods, afraid to speak lest a hiccup interrupt her words. She always hiccups when crying.

“Good. Now do me a favor and take off those ridiculous clothes.” He points at her garter and stockings. Still sniffling, Ashley releases the two catches holding the top of each nylon, removes her shoes, and slides the nylons down. Then she unsnaps the garter and removes it as well, dropping it into Jarman’s waiting hand. She is seriously embarrassed, if not quite humiliated. Mr. Jarman, she thought, would enjoy her this way.

Jarman nods at her backpack.

“Your tennis shoes are in there?” he asks. Ashley nods, and he stands aside to let her off the desk. “Why don’t you put them on?”

Suddenly uncomfortable with her bare lower half, Ashley bends down and picks up the bag. Sitting it on the closest desk, she removes her white Nikes and white ankle socks, then hurriedly puts them on. She does this standing, her back to Mr. Jarman, not letting him see her crotch.

God, Ashley, she wonders. What are you doing?

Lowering her transparent raincoat--the mini-skirt stays hiked around her waist--Ashley returns to Jarman’s desk and stands uncertainly before it. He lifts her by the waist onto the desktop. She squirms, uncomfortably. Jarman leans forward. “You’re not a whore, Ashley Lynne.

Please don’t dress like one.”

Ashley blinks again. I look like a whore? Garters and stockings are the current fad, sexy and cool. The guys just love it. Ashley tells him so.

“Not for me,” he says, wiping her cheeks. He touches her knee. “If you’re trying for sexy, sexy is what you are now.”

Ashley looks down her body, down her long bare legs. She is embarrassed knowing he sees her hairless crotch, baby soft and smooth after yesterday’s waxing. “A uniform and a raincoat?” she says. “You can’t find that sexy.”

Jarman says, softly, “Making your partner comfortable is sexy.” His hands are on either of Ashley’s knees, and very slowly, he spreads--almost guides--them apart. “A low-cut black dress with no underwear beneath could not turn me on more.”

Ashley says nothing. Her heart pounds her chest wall. “Why did you come here tonight, Ashley?”

Ashley looks down. Jarman has spread her legs enough for cool air to sneak between her open lips. Her head swims. “I--” she stammers, and looks everywhere but up. Her legs are opened further still.

“You have two choices, Ashley Lynne,” Jarman says. “You can stay here and get spanked really hard over that desk--” he indicates the front desk in the center row. “--after which I intend to screw you silly ... or you can go home.”

Ashley’s breath locks in her chest. “I’m a virgin,” she whispers.

Jarman kisses her nose. “That’s why you’re here.”

Ashley gulps loudly, emitting a sharp click from her gullet. She tries to speak, but Jarman kisses her again and slips a finger between her legs, going all the way inside. Sitting frozen, staring wide-eyed at his face, her hands clutching the edge of the desk, Ashley suddenly melts into him and his kiss.

-----A Different Kind of Loving-----

After a time, Jarman releases Ashley’s mouth and leans her back. She is cross-eyed, finding it difficult to breathe and blinking in confusion. Somehow, Mr. Jarman’s penis is between her legs, buried deep, and she squeezes it tightly with her vagina. It makes her shudder.

“I guess I’m not leaving,” she whispers.

Jarman smiles. From the tightness about him, there is no doubting Ashley’s claim of virginity. He is the first. “You need to relax,” he says.

She nods. Virginity is--was--a distinction she alone holds amongst her friends. No male has ever seen her bottom bare, much less put anything inside. Now she is copulating with a man her father’s age, and she likes it. She squeezes him again, and to Ashley’s dismay, Jarman suddenly pulls back.

“Wait!” she exclaims.

Jarman tucks himself away. “You want a child?”

Her eyes fly open, and Ashley shakes her head.

“Then we don’t do this without a condom,” he says.

Ashley nods. Then she grins hugely. “I carry one in my backpack,” she says. Then, reddening despite herself, she adds: “Just in case.”

Jarman looks at her, giving her a disapproving look. “I suppose that’s to be expected from my star pupil,” he quips.

“The perfect Girl Scout.”

Ashley pouts. “You’re making fun of me again,” she says. She looks through her long eyelashes, which, not surprisingly, raises Jarman’s blood pressure another ten points. At times, Ashley can be fatally seductive. Jarman indicates her backpack. “What else?” he asks.

“Panties, I hope? And something a little more appropriate than this?” He puts his fingers between Ashley’s legs and snags the bottom of her mini-skirt. Ashley replies, “My panties. And my shorts, of course. You want me to put them on?”

“Please,” Jarman says. He helps her off the desk. If someone had suggested to Ashley that she might be putting her school clothes back on this evening, she would have laughed. Now, peeking self-consciously over her shoulder, she steps into her white underwear and pulls them to her waist. Then she pulls down the miniskirt and sets it aside, and after removing her white shorts and shaking them out, steps into them. She adjusts herself, thinking, “This is so crazy!” then says, “This is sexy?” looking down at herself.

Jarman takes her hand. “It most certainly is. You’re Ashley Shirer again, my star pupil.” He grins. “Who, I must tell you, deserved that spanking for years.” Ashley reddens. “Can we skip to the part where we screw me silly?” she asks. “And leave the spanking till later?”

Jarman’s mouth turns up in a mischievous grin. “No.” Ashley backs away. Her tail hurts enough as it is, and she tries a demure, conciliatory smile. “Please?”

Jarman crooks a finger, indicates the desktop beside the one holding her backpack. “On your tummy,” he orders. Then: “I won’t hurt you any more than you deserve.”

That’s what I’m afraid of! she thinks, and takes another step back. She deserves to be thoroughly beaten--she admits that--secured to a wooden stock and flailed bare-bottomed in front of the whole campus. With news reporters in attendance. Still, she bites her thumbnail and shakes her head. “I’m afraid.”

“I’m afraid I don’t care,” Jarman says. He points to the desk.

“It’ll hurt,” she pleads.

“It certainly will.” He reaches his hand out for hers.

“Miss Shirer? Now?”

Resigned to her self-worth getting blistered, Ashley steps forward and takes Jarman’s hand. She is led to the wooden desk.

“Lay down and lower your shorts,” he says.

“Then your underwear.”

Great! she thinks. I get to do this myself!

Ashley places herself on the table from the hips up, bottom left in jeopardy. A hundred and eighty-degree heat burns her face. She slips both thumbs inside the waistband and slides down her shorts to just above the knee. Knowing hesitation will only make matters worse, she then removes her panties in the same way and her bottom is again gloriously bare.

“You’re enjoying this entirely too much,” she says. Then: “I’m telling my daddy.”

Jarman bursts out laughing. “You do that,” he says.

“He’ll award me with a medal.”

Aroused despite her peril, Ashley protests: “You make it sound like I’m a world-class brat. I’m really hurt, Mr. Jarman. Really.”

Jarman laughs again. Then he delivers a blow, which sends shock waves up and down Ashley’s spine, and through her flesh like tsunamis over water.

“Mr. Jarman!” she whoops, then, feet kicking high in the air--even before the full force of the impact hits her brain--she caterwauls: “EEEEEEEEOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWW!!!!” and the breath is sucked from her lungs and her eyes become silver dollars.

“Jesus, Mr. Jarman!”

Jarman spanks her again, then a third time, then again and again and Ashley struggles to get off the table.

“Mr. Jarman! Please!”

But Ashley is going nowhere.

Held her fast with a hand in the small of her back, Jarman beats her. His face is radiantly happy, and though Ashley can’t know, his penis is steel hard.

“Mr. Jarman! PLEASE!” Her bottom is in agony as ten thousand hornets just took practice on it, and she bucks and flails and kicks her feet in every direction, all to no avail. Jarman keeps her tight to the table. Suddenly, he stops, and the silence is almost deafening.

“In the immortal words of Stephen King,” he pants. ‘Give me what I want, and I’ll go away.’

Ashley can hardly think, much less figure out a riddle.

“Mr. Jarman! Please!”

He wallops her on the butt. “Wrong answer!”

“Stop! Ow! Ow! Please! Mr. Jarman!”

Ashley’s bottom is a fiery red, handprints overlapping on either cheek. Each new blow shoots off a reverberation of sound that echoes up and down the classroom, down the corridors, and all the way from one end of the building to the other. Even in the janitor’s office in the basement, where deaf old Henry Muir sits asleep in his wooden chair, Ashley’s spanking can be heard.

“Mr. Jarman, PLEEEEEEEEEASE!”

Jarman continues her spanking, and this surpasses any spanking Ashley has ever received. Possibly any five. The pain radiates from her bottom and into her legs and back, through her internal organs. Her vagina feels it, as do her uterus and bowels. Her belly cramps. She lets off a series of explosive farts, unable to hold them in, and smells herself and wants to die. Worse, though she is wailing and pleading and crying with all her might, her torment is getting worse. Jarman places each hit directly on one cheek, making sure the blow is centered, then hits the other. Her ears ring from the impacts.

Again, Jarman stops.

“Forget Stephen King,” he pants. “That was a false lead.” His breathing is that of a racehorse. He shakes his right hand. “Jesus. I never knew spanking could be so painful.”

Ashley screams, kicks her feet trying to land a blow to his groin, and bounces on the table. Pain? She’ll show him pain!

“WHY ARE YOU HITTING ME SO HARD!”

Jarman continues to pant. “I told you. You’re a pain in the ass. You’ve been a pain in the ass for three years. I’ve got a lot of anger to get out.”

She kicks at him again, warranting another powerful blow on her tail.