Ashely’s punishment

This is a work of fiction and is not meant to portray
any person living or dead, nor any known situation. This
story contains themes of spanking, anal sex, and incest.
It is meant for adults only and is not to be read by
persons under the age of 18, or the legal age in the
county/state/country in which the reader resides.

Ashley at Seventeen-

Twenty minutes after her final class, Ashley Shirer
appears at Mr. Jarman’s door. She leans against the jam,
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 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 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 parent’s 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 eighteenth 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, looks
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 outs 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 was
eighteen?”

Jarman looks up.

“You must know I’m eighteen 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 a long time. “Yes,” he said, finally.

“You know I do.”

“What’s the next best thing to sex with an eighteen 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 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 suspendable offense. Cutting on other
student’s 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 Eighteen—–

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 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
eighteen now, having made the transition to adulthood
just this past Tuesday. Legal of age if not of
approachment. Against that silver screen in his mind,
Jarman continually watches the scene play out is 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, 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 loud 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 thirteen 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, meaning bare-bottomed. “He did it in front of my
little 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 thirteen years old any
more. 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 an eighteen 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 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 young girls. That’s why your father
did it until you were thirteen.”

“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 hits.

“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 dow-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 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
be-E-ing 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 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
breath 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 gives 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 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 were we screw
me silly?” she asks. “And leave the spanking till
later?”

Jarman mouth turns up in an 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 tsunami’s 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 like 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 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 does her uterus, and her 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, 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.

“STOP IT!”

“Say please.”

“PLEASE!”

Jarman laughs. “Pick a number between fifty and one-
hundred.”

Ashley understands immediately. “NO!” she wails.
Jarman laughs again. “Pick a number between seventy-five
and one-hundred.”

“Mr. Jarman!”

Jarman laughs and Ashley kicks and struggles and weeps
incredibly hot tears. Her nose pours out mucous and
urine has escaped her bladder. She is wet down the
inside of both thighs.

“I’ll do anything!” she pleads. “JUST STOP!”

“Define anything, Ash.”

Getting words through her brain is impossible. Her whole
universe has collapsed to the shape of her livid bottom.
“Anything!” she wails. “Anything at all! JUST STOP!”

Jarman places his right hand on Ashley’s scorched
bottom. It burns like a hot plate. He almost laughs,
knowing she’ll need intensive care in the morning. He
wishes it were himself providing the care. Then he
gently spreads her cheeks, exposing the only part of her
bottom not scarlet with pain. Her anus.

“Oh, no,” Ashley moans.

Placing a fingertip on Ashley’s hole (she shudders),
Jarman traces along the soft bridge of flesh to her
labia (she shudders again), and back again. Then he
penetrates her, inserting his middle finger fully
inside. Ashley groans, places her forehead on the cool
wood of the table and tightens her anus. She grips
Jarman’s finger. It begins to gently explore.

“Please,” Ashley pants. “Don’t hurt me any more.
Please.”

Jarman moves behind her and Ashley hears his zipper come
down. She raises her head and looks to the ceiling for
guidance. Then a thick warm mass presses against her
anus and her anus gives way and she grips the side of
the table and waits for what she receives next. To her
surprise, Jarman removes her shoes.

“Why did you do that?”

Jarman chuckles. “Because I’m sockin’ it to you.”

Ashley groans. “That’s something my father would say,”
she says, then, quickly, “Not that he’d ever do this!”

Then, “UNH!” through gritted teeth. “Oh! Oh, my God!
Mr. Jarman!”

“Hold still, dammit! I’m almost in.”

Ashley throws back her head, grimacing. A hot curling
iron has invaded her ass. She reaches back desperately
and tries to push Jarman away, but Jarman grasps her
wrists and holds her immobile.

“Let me go!” she pleads.

“I said hold still! I’m almost in.”

Ashley bucks and thrashes her rear end and shrieks, “IT
HURTS! IT HURTS!” because Jarman has her spread
impossibly wide and the little ring of muscle is a
screaming ring of pain. Then suddenly he lifts her from
the desk and places her on her knees, tail elevated,
chest to the floor, and– “Stop it! Stop! PLEASE!”

–stops because his huge penis is much too large for
Ashley’s virginal ass. Only halfway in, blood pumps
through it at incredible pressure, each heartbeat
causing a corresponding thud. In fact, Jarman feels
Ashley’s heartbeat as well. She is deliciously hot and
tight.

“I NEVER SAID YOU COULD DO THIS!” she wails.
He grins at her protestations. “You never said I
couldn’t.”

Ashley pounds her forehead on the table.

“You’re hurting me, Mr. Jarman! Please! Really bad!”

Jarman remains still. “You want me to hurt you really
bad?”

Ashley whimpers, “No. That’s not what I mean.”

“That’s what you said.”

Ashley whimpers again. “Please!”

Jarman’s impulse is simply to ram himself home, exacting
revenge. No student has ever caused more grief that
Ashley Shirer. But Jarman is not a brutal man and, in
truth, his desire for Ashley is nearly as strong as his
anger. Stronger. He relents and lets her anus adjust.

“You are a pain in the ass,” he says.

Whimpering, Ashley says, “Try this from my end.” It is
almost too painful to talk.

Jarman laughs. “I am.”

Ashley grimaces at a spasm. She rests her head on the
table. The pain, finally, is beginning to ease. “Just
please be gentle, okay. I’m not used to this.”

Jarman, meanwhile, has dropped his underwear and pants.
He raises her higher, making his penis go straight up
and down. She grips the legs of the desk so tightly her
arms shake and a strong tremble racks her whole body.
Her anus spasms around his cock.

“I’m sorry this isn’t what you hoped for, Ashley,”
Jarman says. He has settled deeper into her now, more
than half his length. The shear power of arousal has his
testicles wrapped tight to his shaft and little
separates him from climax. “It’s not every girl’s
expectation to be screwed in the ass,” he says. “Not
this soon, anyway.”

Ashley grunts as more of her rectum is filled. “Excuse
my romantic fantasies,” she mumbles.

Jarman bottoms out. The taut ring of muscle grips him
with feverish, almost painful intensity. His scrotum
nestles against her baby soft lips. “I feel your
pelvis,” he says, nudging his penis against the shelf of
bone.

“I’m thrilled,” she moans. “You must be so pleased.”
Jarman puts his hands on Ashley’s shoulders, begins to
massage them. He keeps himself still. “I’m not trying to
hurt you,” he says, showing unexpected sympathy. He
feels her slightly relax. “I’ve never done this before
with a student, and frankly, I may have got carried
away.” His fingers knead the skin over Ashley’s shoulder
blades, move to her ribs just below the armpits. She is
beginning to respond to his attention. “I’ll stop if you
want me to.”

Ashley groans. She doesn’t know what to do. Being done
up the butt was not on her agenda tonight (she never
even considered anal sex with Jarman), yet Jarman inside
her is not all that bad. Once you get around the pain.
And despite her horrifically demeaning posture, Ashley
is quite turned on. Maybe what her friend Rachel said
was true: Girls are happiest when controlled and told
what to do.

Jarman pauses in his massage. “Should I stop?”

“Just don’t hurt me,” she whispers.

“It’s going to hurt no matter what,” he says, resuming
his massage. “I’ll be gentle as I can.” His penis
withdraws two inches and stops. “Okay?”

Her anus spasms and Ashley moans. She pushes upward,
until Jarman bottoms out again, then shudders violently.

“Is that a yes?”

Ashley scrapes hair away from her face and shudders. Her
anus, relaxing at last, grips and relaxes, sucking
Jarman like a hungry mouth. “This is truly awful,” she
groans. “I feel like a whore.”

“It’s no sin to enjoy sex,” Jarman says. “The sin is
convincing yourself that enjoyment is bad.” His penis
withdraws two inches, pauses a moment, then reseats
itself. Ashley moans. “Taken from a purely physical
viewpoint,” Jarman say. “The human race would never have
left the caves had sex been merely for procreation.” He
pulls out three inches this time, then four the next.

“You think its accidental women experience multiple
orgasms, sometimes for hours on end? Hell, no! It was
necessary to ensure the male’s interest. Time and time
again, sex with a responsive partner was what kept
cavemen coming back. Otherwise, they’d just jerk off out
on the plains and come home whenever circumstances
dictated.”

Ashley listens to Jarman’s history lesson:
It kept her mind off the pain. He is now pistoning up
and down in her bottom with his entire length, bottoming
out and then withdrawing until a mere half an inch
remains. Occasionally, he comes out entirely, leaving
her open. When he reenters, the air inside becomes
compressed and Ashley loudly farts.

“This is so humiliating!” she cries. “I can’t believe
I’m actually doing this.”

Jarman laughs. He is arrayed over her so that every
plunge fills her completely, every pull upward leaves
her bottom empty and agape. Her tail squeaks, burps and
farts incessantly, making Jarman laugh harder.

“Stop it!” Ashley cries. “It’s not funny!”

Jarman is still laughing. “Yes it is!”

Ashley wants to find a deep hole and crawl in. “Please
let me up!” she begs. “At least find me something to
kneel on. My knees are killing me!”

Jarman screws her several moments longer, then stops.
She’s right, of course: He’s got her on the hard tile
floor, a surface not kind to the knees. He thinks for a
moment, remembers Mrs. Burrows and her patchwork quilt.
“Wait here a moment,” he says, drawing free of her tail.

Ashley remains open, her rectum a soft pink well. Jarman
impulsively blows in the opening, and Ashley jerks.
“Mr. Jarman!” She looks back at him, horrified. Her anus
is a puckered little mouth, and Jarman inserts his
finger just as the little mouth sucks shut.

“I expect to find you exactly as left. Understand?”

Ashley, her rectum undergoing a massive and painful
convulsion, nods. Jarman removes his finger and before
Ashley can react, she finds the finger in her mouth.
“Mnnnnnnuuuuummmmmpppppfffffff!” She leaps forward and
pulls herself free. “What are you doing!” She spits,
making a horrible face, but Jarman is already at the
door, continuing to laugh. From the hallway he issues
another command. “Put on your uniform. All of it!”

“Why?” Ashley calls after, continuing to grimace. “Are
we leaving?”

“No! I just want you dressed.”

Miffed and confused, Ashley looks about, her mouth open.
The taste makes her gag. “Now what?” she complains.
Opening her backpack, she removes a small packet of
tissues, uses them to wipe her tongue. “Gross,” she
whispers, unable to make the taste go away. She actually
had Jarman’s finger in her mouth, sucked on it. “Gross,
gross, gross.” Then she recalls her friend Laura’s
recent admission, confiding to Ashley that Laura had
sucked and masturbated her boyfriend’s cock, fresh out
of her own vagina, letting him come in her mouth. Her
juices, she said, mixed with Gerald’s semen, were
deliriously horrid. “Well I did you one better,” Ashley
mutters. She shivers again. She has yet to close her
mouth.

Tired of her hair hanging about, Ashley pulls it into a
ball on top of her head and, retrieving an elastic band
from her backpack, hastily secures it. Her bangs fall
over her forehead in total disarray. Irritated, she
blows them back. She is in serious pain, both from her
spanking and the brutal attack on her rectum. “I hurt,”
she informs the room. The room says nothing back.

First kicking out of her shorts, Ashley pulls out her
pleated uniform skirt, then shakes loose the wrinkles
and puts it on. Then she raises her panties, snugging
them carefully about her waist. She changes out of the
white blouse and into her button down uniform shirt,
carefully looping the tie around her neck and tying it,
making sure it lays neatly below the collar. As a
finishing touch, she ties a ribbon around the elastic
band in her hair. She waits.

From the next room, Jarman calls: “Shoes also!”

Throwing a small, silent fit, Ashley digs her flats and
white anklets out of the bag. This is getting
ridiculous! she thinks.

What’s he doing? Starting over from scratch? Then Ashley
stops, realizing this is exactly right. She curses
softly–Jarman is putting her through it again.

When he reenters the classroom, Jarman carries a large,
patchwork quilt. His huge erection guides the way. “You
were supposed to be where I left you,” he says,
grinning.

“I am where you left me!” she replies. Then:

“Where did you get that?”

“Mrs. Burrows, next door.” He drapes the quilt over the
desktop. It is pink and blue and very feminine.

Ashley shakes her head. As if making perfect sense, she
says: “I don’t take her class.”

Jarman laughs, smoothes the quilt and stands back. He
looks at Ashley with an expectant grin. His erection is
enormous and he points at it with his finger, then at
Ashley’s mouth. His grin widens. Ashley backs away,
bumping the desk.

“No,” she says, looking for escape, just in case he’s
serious.

Jarman says: “You said anything.”

“Uh, huh.” She wags her head. “No way.”

Jarman moves forward, trapping Ashley against the desk.
His eight-inch long cock (could it have grown even
longer?) presses hard into her crotch, then slides
between her legs. It’s trapped by the pleated skirt.

“Mr. Jarman–”

Jarman shushes her and unbuttons Ashley’s blouse. His
hand slides inside, finds her right breast, caresses it.
Ashley shivers. He tries to kiss her, but alarmed,
Ashley turns away. Taking her chin with his fingertips,
Jarman gently returns her mouth, touches her lips again.

“Don’t,” she whispers. He kisses her anyway and soon,
Ashley’s tongue forgets the musky taste of rectum and
begins to dance with Jarman’s own. The hand on her right
breast is now under her brassiere and Ashley feels a
warmth starting to spread between her legs. She breathes
heavily.

“You have such nice breasts, Ashley,” Jarman whispers.
The hand under her brassiere envelops her breast
completely and Ashley moans, “I like this.”

“I know you do. Take me, Ash.”

Ashley’s hands envelop Jarman’s penis and begin to
stroke, fingers entwined. Her brassiere is above her
breasts, fingertips twirling her nipples into painful
little erections. His left hand is down the back of her
panties.

“I’m not done with you yet,” Jarman whispers. “Either
spanking or sex. You understand?”

“Uh, huh.”

“Are you ready?”

“Uh, huh.”

Jarman backs away, leaving Ashley red-faced and
flustered. Her breasts are bare and so is her labia.

“I will get some sometime tonight, Mr. Jarman, won’t I?”

“Absolutely.”

“Promise?”

“I Promise.

Ashley pushes back her bangs. “Then I guess I’m ready.”
Jarman picks up his underwear and trousers and puts them
on. Ashley watches him examine her breasts. They have
large, very hard nipples, and being examined so closely
makes them tingle and ache. Ashley cannot remember ever
being so hard. It makes her fidget.

“Should I fix myself?” she finally asks.

Jarman has donned his vest and his dark jacket. He nods,
though reluctantly. Ashley’s small young breasts are so
high and so beautiful–they look sculpted in white
marble. “What size are you?” he stops and asks.

Ashley is just replacing her brassiere. She looks down
at herself, then says, “34B.” Regina, her sister,
younger by two years, and ten pounds lighter, is two-cup
sizes bigger. It is a constant cause of worry and
chagrin.

“They’re wonderful,” Jarman says, buttoning his coat.
The compliment makes Ashley blush even harder. “You’re
nipples–now they’re in a class of their own!”

“Mr. Jarman! Please!”

Jarman laughs and closes the top button on his coat. He
smoothes the jacket while Ashley adjusts her brassiere,
then redoes the buttons on her blouse. She looks at the
floor, raises her panties and lowers the back of her
skirt. Even fully dressed, she feels disheveled. Her
nipples protrude startlingly through the front of her
blouse. To Jarman, she is absolutely gorgeous.

“You really are a virgin.” he says, unexpectedly.
Ashley nods, then shakes her head. “Not any more.” She
is not trying for funny; her rectum and anus ache
terribly. Even Laura has not tried anal sex.

“I’m going to come in your mouth,” he says, even more
unexpectedly. “I want you to be ready, okay?”

Ashley shudders. Deliciously horrid, Laura said. But
that was her vaginal juice, not what Jarman intended for
Ashley. Still looking at the floor, she shakes her head
no.

Jarman, leaning against the desk with his arms crossed
says, “I won’t force you. But I think once I get you
going, you’ll be so worked up you won’t care where my
erection’s been.”

Ashley continues shaking her head.

“Just ask my daughter.”

Daughter? “Julie? Mrs. Brice?” Jarman’s daughter is
Ashley’s math teacher.

Jarman laughs and nods his head. “One and the same.”
Ashley is dumbstruck. “Please! Oh, please tell me you
kidding!” Mrs. Brice is one of her favorite people in
the whole world.

Jarman doesn’t answer, only continues to smooth his suit
coat and smile. Ashley gulps. It must be true, then.
What in the world has she gotten herself into?

Jarman comes around the desk and takes Ashley’s hands in
his own. Ashley’s hands tremble. “If it’s any
encouragement,” he say. “She’s very into it now. Anal
sex I mean. She and her husband practice it every week,
sometimes daily, and she’s developed a very deep need.”

Ashley trembles. “She tells you this?”

Jarman kisses the tip of her nose. “She tells me
everything. Don’t you tell your daddy everything?”

“No!”

“You’re not going to tell him this, either?”

“Mr. Jarman!”

Jarman laughs. “Don’t be so certain your dad would
disprove, girl. Remember, he signed the punishment
form.”

Yes, Ashley thinks. And sent it back Next Day Air.

“My dad’s never laid a hand on me,” she protests. “Not
like that.” She shudders at the thought.

Jarman looks at her askance. “How old were you? When he
last took you over his knee? In front of your friends?”

Ashley looks away. “Thirteen,” she mumbles.

Jarman plays with the end of Ashley’s tie.

“How old?” he says.

Ashley’s face is very hot. She was not thirteen, but
fifteen. People who never had cause to see her bare
behind–especially her younger brothers, whose eyes
Ashley still has a hard time meeting–watched Ashley
suffer humiliation no teen should endure. And it was not
strictly for disciplinary reasons, either, that Ashley
knew. Taken over the knee at fifteen is beyond the
normal bounds of punishment. In fact, she thought it was
child molestation.

Ashley mumbles the correct answer.

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” Jarman says. “But you were a
little mature to be displaying that part of your anatomy
in front of males.”

Ashley fidgets. “I guess so.”

“You guess so?”

“Mr. Jarman. Please.”

Jarman backs away. “I’ll say no more. Anyway–” he claps
his hands together “– it’s neither here nor there. What
happens the rest of the night is between you and I, two
consenting adults.” He leans forward. “No one but you
and I can judge how appropriate is our behavior. And
you, by your own admission, came here of your own free
will.” Ashley nods again.

“Shall we proceed?”

Ashley nods her head a final time. And they proceed.

—–Family Gatherings—–

Five minutes later, Ashley sits alone at a desk (not her
own desk, which is third from the front in the adjacent
row), completing her English Lit homework. Jarman has
gone to the men’s room–presumably to remedy his
condition–and Ashley awaits his return. She is nervous,
barely able to write, much less concentrate on Alexander
Dumas. She wants to go home. She wants to make love. She
doesn’t want her tail spanked any more. Mostly she
thinks of Mrs. Brice and whether Jarman is telling the
truth.

Without realizing she intends to do this, Ashley writes
down the following: I am no longer a virgin.

Rather startled, wondering why she just ruined half a
page of composition, Ashley underlines the words. Then
again. On the line below, she asks: Am I happy about
this?

She can’t decide, and relates this on the next line: I
didn’t expect this. My ass hurts, it hurts to sit down,
and I think I’m going to have diarrhea.

Her bowels rumble ominously, and sharp cramps and a
feeling of nausea signal danger. She shifts
uncomfortably, grimaces.

What if Jarman won’t let her go to the bathroom? What if
she begs and pleads, and Jarman makes her suffer in pain
until she can’t hold any more and does it in her pants.
As horrible as this seems, she can imagine it happening.
Jarman is that weird.

He’ll make me take him in my mouth, she writes, suck him
after he’s been you know where. Can I do this? I’m
freaked from the finger business (I can get rid of the
taste) and the idea makes me gag. I want to run away, go
home, hide in my bedroom and lock the door. But home is
five hours away, and the dorm is not like home. I don’t
feel safe in the dorm. Besides, I’ll get I trouble if I
run away. Jarman wants me and I led him on.

She pauses, thinks again about her motives and her
desires.

Is he right? Am I secretly obsessed with Dad? Wanting
him to spank me again and do those other things? Face it
Ash–you liked it. You goaded him, pushed him to the
limit to see his anger, tried to make him skirt the
edge. It titillated you, even though it didn’t always
work. You’re a masochist. (Is that spelled correctly?)
Worse, you’re incestuous, fantasizing about your father-
– don’t deny it–and that’s really bad.

It’s a sin. A bad sin. And Dad is not a bad man. You’re
the ones who’s bad.

Ashley leans back, then to one side, trying to ignore
the abdominal cramps. How does anyone get used to this,
she wonders, having your ass made a butter churn.

Despite her pain, the image conjures a smile. A sardonic
smile. I must have looked pretty ludicrous, she imagines,
ass in the air, a telephone pole pumping in and out. She
feels her face warm. This I can’t explain even to Laura.

Looking at the huge expanse of windows on her left, at
the dark and looming building across the way, Ashley
imagines someone watching. The windows are filmed, of
course, mirrored to keep out the afternoon sun. Ashley
wonders if it works the same way at night. She looks at
her watch, and sees it’s after six and the sun is
setting. It’ll be dark soon, she thinks. Getting up, she
crosses the short distance to the windows and places her
hands against one of the panes. She peers between them.

In fact the adjacent building is not dark. The windows
of the first floor classrooms are lit, and Ashley can
see the a janitorial crew working inside. She realizes
she too can be seen. She pulls back in alarm, wondering
just how long before dark. She wonders how visible she
is now. Then it hits her that for the past fifteen she’s
been completely clothed– more or less–and relieved,
she walks slowly back to the desk. All she and Jarman
had done since then was kiss.

Does she care?

What are you thinking, Ashley Lynne? she writes.

You know, replies Ashley Marie, her alter ego.

My God. Are you crazy?

A little bit, yes.

This is a hell of a lot more than a little!

I know. What do you think? Should we do it?

No way! Ashley Lynne writes. Don’t even think it!

Jarman’ll realize it anyway, Ashley Marie replies.

You bet he will!

And we’re not stupid enough not to tell him, right?

Ashley Lynne replies: You bet we’re not!

Then stop worrying. I’m not that crazy.

Ashley Lynne pauses a moment, then writes:

Oh yes, you are.

Yes, I guess I am. Why is that, I wonder? You know why
and you can just forget it! I am not taking my clothes
off in front of a window!

It’s not my decision, hon. You’re the boss.

Ashley laughs aloud. Right! That’s why I’m here in the
first place!

You’re saying I had something to do with this?

Just everything!

Ashley’s alter ego laughs. That’s more credit than I
deserve, Hon. Besides, I can’t help but notice you’re
all aquiver inside.

Those are cramps!

Ashley’s alter ego laughs again. Right!

Immersed in this inner dialogue, Ashley fails to hear
Jarman in the hallway. He stands at the door, watching
her with a rapt expression, aware that his heart is
pounding. Has it ever slowed?

In her present state, Ashley is a child of intense,
almost angelic beauty. It mystifies him that she has
planned his seduction, much less submitted to anal sex.
Yet her she is, so recently on her knees. He shakes his
head.

“Good evening, Miss Shirer.”

Startled, Ashley looks up. “Hello,” she says, then
stands and dumps her note pad on the floor. Flustered
and embarrassed, she stoops to retrieve it.

Moving with a no-nonsense purpose that makes Ashley
uncomfortable, Jarman walks to his desk and drops a book
on its surface. Ashley stirs, even more uncomfortable
now; she recognizes it as the volume of rules and
regulations. She imagines herself being thrashed with
the formidable tome. Then she swallows hard.

“I understand you’re to be disciplined,” Jarman states,
looking at a sheet of paper on the desk. He removes a
pair of horn-rimmed glasses from his inside pocket and
sets them on his nose. “You understand school policy on
punishable infractions?” He looks at Ashley over the top
of his horn-rims.

Weak-kneed, Ashley replies: “Yes, sir.”

Jarman nods. “Come up here and sign this, then.”

With very small steps, Ashley comes forward to the desk.
Her heart races and suddenly there is dampness and
itching under her arms. She is frightened.

Jarman points to the bottom of the page. To her dismay,
Ashley discovers the sheet of paper to be a real consent
form, with her name filled in at the top. And since
she’s no longer a minor, the clause-allowing waiver of
witness has been checked.

“Mr. Jarman–”

Jarman hands her a pen. “Follow procedure, Ashley.”

Gulping, she says, “I don’t believe you’re doing this.”

Jarman takes back the pen and the signed document. He
looks it over. “Policy forbids me using my bare hand,”
he says. “So we’ll use the proscribed instrument.”

Opening his top right-hand desk drawer, Jarman removes a
large leather strop, making Ashley’s eyes go wide. Three
inches wide and eighteen inches long, it is made from
burnished cowhide.

Ashley backs away. “Mr. Jarman–”

Jarman steps out from behind the desk. He follows Ashley
as she backs down the isle.

“You never said anything about–whoa!” She has run into
the quilt-draped table. Like silk flowing over skin, the
quilt runs off the opposite side and onto the floor.
Ashley doesn’t even notice. “You can’t–”

Jarman shushes her. “Don’t let it scare you,” he says.

“It just looks bad.”

“Bull shit!” Ashley exclaims. She retreats behind the
desk. “That thing is gonna hurt!”

Jarman stops. “Please, don’t curse. It’s very
unflattering.”

Ashley is visibly shaken. “I hurt enough as it is,” she
complains. “You’re not gonna hit me with that thing.”
Unconsciously, a hand goes back to defend her backside.
Jarman removes his glasses. He folds and puts them
inside his jacket. “You have my word I’ll go easy.

Okay?”

Ashley shakes her head. “Use your hand, Mr.

Jarman. Please.”

“I can’t. If I’m seen doing that, I’ll lose my job.”
Which, of course, means he is aware of the no longer
reflective windows.

“Then don’t do it at all.”

Jarman cants his head. “No spanking, Ashley, no sex.”
Again, she thinks, Why am I doing this?

Because you knew you would, jibes Ashley Marie.

Shut up!

Jarman awaits an answer, for which Ashley is hard
pressed to give. Saying yes means putting her ass on
display for anyone to see–to say nothing of getting it
spanked– yet she is desperate for sex. The fact that
step one might lead directly to step two, with
everything that entails, makes her mind both panic and
whirl.

“You’ll take me somewhere other than this room, right?”
she asks. Her heart is trip hammering. “Afterwards?

“Unless you want otherwise,” Jarman says, glancing at
the windows.

“Mr. Jarman. How can you even suggest that?”

“I’m not.”

Ashley Marie laughs.

“Take down your panties,” Jarman instructs.

Ashley gulps, then reaches beneath her pleated skirt.
I told you, says Ashley Marie. SHUT UP!

Thumbs beneath the waistband, Ashley lowers her panties
again. Nervously, she asks: “You promise to go easy.
Right?”

Straight-faced, Jarman says: “You won’t feel a thing.”
Ashley curls her lip. “That’s what my doctor said. Just
before he gave me a pelvic exam.” She stops. “How far?”

“Just below the cheeks. Have to follow procedures.”
Ashley continues her sardonic look. “I’m getting more
than I bargained for,” she says. Her shorts are now
positioned at the tops of her thighs and she raises her
skirt to her waist. Her backside is bare to the open
windows.

Thank God we’re on the top floor, she thinks. Otherwise
everyone on campus would see.

Jarman purses his lips, taps the leather strop against
his right thigh. He says:

“Being spanked before your younger brothers must have
been humiliating.”

Ashley is startled. Oh, right! Bring that up! she
thinks. Cautiously, she answers:

“Let’s just say they enjoyed it more than I did.”
Jarman nods thoughtfully. “You enjoyed it on some level,
though.”

“What? That’s not even funny!”

“It wasn’t a joke. I’ve discovered young women enjoy
their brushes with danger, even thrive on them. You push
the limits of reasonable behavior with your father and
the resulting punishment before family and friends is
neither coincidental nor unplanned. Consciously or not,
collusion between you and your father took place.”

“That’s not even funny,” she repeats. Nonetheless, her
face is hot. Jarman just trampled all over her darkest
secret.

Gotcha, girl, says Ashley Marie.

Oh, shut up!

Jarman indicates her next action with the strop. “Come
around here, in front of the desk.”

Though hesitant, Ashley does as instructed. Her eyes
jitter all over the room and her lower lip trembles. Her
fanny still aches from the spankings before.

“Turn around,” Jarman says.

Keeping watch over her shoulder, Ashley turns to face
the desk. She holds her skirt tight around her waist,
feels a huge red target centered on her cheeks. “You
promised to go easy,” she reminds him.

“Your brother’s names are what?”

Taken by surprise, Ashley says: “Uh, Michael and James.

Why?”

“How much younger are they?”

“Two years and four. Why?”

“Has Michael ever spanked you, Ashley?”

Ashley’s blood pressure skyrockets.

Here it comes, Ashley Marie says. The truth.

Ashley stutters; nothing intelligible leaves her mouth.
She bites her lower lip.

“I take it that’s a yes. When did this happen?”

“Mr. Jarman–”

He whacks her lightly on the rump.

“Last summer.”

“Why?”

“Mr. Jarman–OW!” This time the slap is harder and
Ashley bangs against the desk. “You never said–OW!
Okay! Okay!” Easy, my ass! She rubs her stinging right
cheek. “We were outside at the pool, and we got into an
argument. We always argue. Mom and Dad were gone looking
for a new car, and James was with them.” She expects
another whack but it doesn’t come.

“Another case of pushing the limit?”

“Mr. Jarman,” she says. “He’s my brother. My younger
brother. No girl expects to get spanked by her younger
brother. That’s…that’s like the most humiliating thing
in the world.” She remembers the hand on her elbow after
she turned away. How she whipped-sawed her arm free,
only to have Michael grab it back and propel her toward
the patio door. This was before she understood his
intent, realized that Michael, like her father, intended
to show Ashley who was boss.

“Inside or out?”

Ashley shakes her head.

“The spanking. Inside or out?”

Ashley looks away. “In the house.”

“Where.”

“My bedroom.”

“Find any significance there?”

Ashley sighs. “Added humiliation?”

Jarman nod, thoughtfully. “Even your bedroom wasn’t
safe.”

Ashley shakes her head. “It never was.”

“You felt subjugated?”

“I understood who was boss.”

“Your bare bottom, of course?”

Ashley nods.

Jarman raises the strop, and Ashley, teeth set and
anticipating the blow, bends and grips the desk.
Jarman taps her lightly.

God, I though for sure…

“How did it feel,” Jarman asks. “Having your bottom

bared?”

“Just as bad as being forced over his knee.” She pauses.

“He made me pull down my own bottoms.”

Jarman suppresses a grin. “What did he use?”

Ashley looks around. “His hand. Then my hairbrush.”

Jarman laughs. “I guess you were rather incensed.”

“I wasn’t calm. In fact, I didn’t take it well at all. I
made a scene.”

“I can imagine. You made quite a scene earlier.” Jarman
raises his arm and the strop cuts through the air with a
whistle. The impact resounds through the air like a
thunderclap.

Air rushes into Ashley’s lungs

“AAAAAHHHHHHHHH!” in a tremendous gasp and she bangs
chest down on the desk. Even before she can get her
hands up to clutch her rear end, another blow whistles
in. This one impacts even harder.

“EEEEEEEEEIIIIIIIIIIII!” Both feet kick the air. “MR.
JARMAN! NOOOOOO!

The strops whistles again and impacts Ashley’s rear.
“MR.JARRRMANNNN!”

Jarman wallops her a fourth time, then a fifth, and
Ashley emits a shriek. A hand in the small of her back
keeps her on the desk and the strop whistles again.

“MR. JARRRMANNNN! OWWWWWW!”

Jarman lands two more blows before halting. His face is
red and his eyes have a feverish glow. He breathes
loudly and with much effort. Across Ashley’s bottom are
three inch wide overlapping bands, raised an angry red,
already beginning to welt. She clutches the top of the
desk so hard that two fingernails snap off. Her face,
squeezed almost beyond recognition, is a mask of
torture.

“Noooo! Please! No more!”

Jarman lets her go. “Stay there,” he threatens. “Move an
inch and I’ll let you have it twice as bad.”

Twice as bad? How could there be twice as bad? Nothing
could be twice as bad!

Ashley nods violently, tendons popping like cords in her
neck.” Okay!” she wails. “Just don’t hurt me any more!”

Jarman runs a finger around the inside of his shirt
collar. He is boiling hot. Ashley’s bare ass, striped
like a candy cane, begs for cock and he almost stops it
there, completes what he started before. But his need to
inflict pain, to reel in this girl’s self-esteem, are
just too much. He wants Ashley subjugated and docile,
totally obedient. He wants her fear.

“How long did he spank you?” he pants.

The maddened bees have returned to her rear end with a
vengeance. Ashley is barely able to speak. “You
promised, Mr. Jarman! You promised!”

The strops taps her rear end.

“About five minutes,” she moans. “A long time.”

“Did you enjoy it?” He leans close beside her face.

“Truthfully, this time.”

“I was being truthful,” she wails. “He hurt me! I hated
it!”

“Then you lied to me then.” He pats her again with the
strop. “Just like you’re lying to me now. Say it. I want
to hear.” Ashley closes her eyes. So she enjoyed it.

What’s the big deal? He’s already guessed the truth, and
anyway, like being over this desk isn’t obvious. She
might as well take out an ad.

Just do it, sweetie.

“I liked it. Satisfied?”

“What was so hard?”

Ashley looks at the open windows, at her wide and
disbelieving eyes staring back. She says, “Try going
across your little brother’s knee in you own bedroom,
forced to bare your own ass. Then beat with your own
hairbrush.” She looks back. “That’s kind of a lot to ask
a girl, much less admit she likes. But yes, I liked it.
When dad spanked me in front of Michael and my friends,
I liked it enough to push him more. When Michael spanked
me, I had an orgasm. And if you’d stop trying to rip my
ass off, Mr. Jarman, I’d have one with you!”

Jarman puts down the strop and places his right hand
over Ashley’s hands, which are crossed above her rear
end. He squeezes them. His anger is gone, as well as his
need for revenge. What he wants is to pull Ashley erect,
turn her about in his arms, and kiss the living
daylights out of her.

“When your brother spanked you, did anything else
happen?”

Ashley shakes her head. “It could have. I was really
turned on. But no, nothing did.”

“Your decision? Or his?”

Ashley shrugs. “I don’t really know. If he had tried, or
if I had been a little bit braver, maybe. But I was
caught off guard and not sure where things stood.” She
looks at Jarman over her shoulder. “How would most guys
react, being come on to by their sisters?”

“I know how I’d react,” Jarman says. “If it was you.”
Ashley allows a smile. “I guess I do too.”

There is a moments silence and then Jarman releases
Ashley’s hands and runs his palm over her buttocks.
Remembering the expanse of windows, he removes it
quickly.

“You should see your rear end,” he says.

“I don’t have to,” Ashley moans. “Feeling it is bad
enough.”

Jarman steps away. “Your punishment is complete. Get
up.”

Ashley rises, incredibly relieved, but trying not to
show it. Her tail is a forest fire. “Thank you,” she
says, finally. “I was hoping you’d know.” Impulsively,
she darts forward and plants a kiss on Jarman’s cheek.

“The windows,” he cautions. Then: “I’ll put you back
over that desk.”

Giggling nervously, Ashley backs away and seeks shelter
behind the desk. She raises her panties half way, then
stops. She raises her eyebrow.

Jarman lifts his hand and beckons with one finger.
Ashley indicates the windows.

Jarman’s mouth crinkles. “I think we’re safe,” he says.
“Once you turn off the light.”

Ashley crinkles her mouth as well. “You don’t intend to
spank me?”

Jarman says: “I think you’ll enjoy this a whole lot
more.”

And for the next three hours and forty-nine minutes,
Ashley Shirer never enjoyed anything more.

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