Perpetual motion

Her hair was soft gold, her eyes deep brown, her skin toasted tan from summer vacation sun. Her teeth were perfect and glossy, her lips a natural rose. Matte black smears marked her cheeks: mascara deltas from twin rivers of hot tears. Her bottom, bare and framed by pulled-down panties in pale pink lace, was a motley of crimsons, still showing the placement of my last few handprints in fiery outline.

But the color that kept catching my eye was the bubblegum pink of the detention slips I held.

Kelsey stood, unheeding her half-nakedness, snuffling back sobs as she watched me shuffle through them one by one. In my long professional career I had only encountered three girls like her: so thoroughly dishonest, manipulative, sneaky, and uncaring that there seemed to be no way to redeem her. At seventeen years old she could look you in the eye and fake sincerity as well as the most accomplished grifter. Hence the sheaf of spanking orders, one from each of her fed-up teachers.

I signed one of the slips and handed it to Kelsey. “Give that to Mrs. Hartley,” I said. “To show that you have been punished for missing your exam. I will see you in here tomorrow, at the third period bell, for your next spanking.”

Kelsey tried to look unmoved, but a fresh surge of tears gave her away. I took a pad of detention slips from my desk and began to fill one out.

“What —” She had to stop and clear her throat. “What’s that for?”

I coninued to write. “You were absent from your fourth period History class today,” I replied. “Which is grounds for another disciplinary session: in my office, over my knee, bottom bared, and spanked thoroughly.” I tore the top slip off the pad, and added it to the stack of Kelsey’s pending ordeals.

“But— but—” she stammered. “Fourth period… that’s… that’s now! I mean, I, I, I only missed History because I was sent to your office instead!”

I allowed myself the smallest of unnoticeable smiles.

“Yes, that would normally be an excused absence. But in your case, Kelsey, the staff has decided not to grant that privilege.”

She stared, open mouthed, while that idea sunk in. I let my eyes drift to her cute little pussy, wondering if she had already traded access for some essential favors. That she knew the bargaining value of her body was not in doubt.

“But then,” she wailed, “I’ll always have another spanking coming because of the class I miss for being—” She broke off, hands rising to her flushed face.

“You do have free periods,” I said. “If a spanking happens to coincide with one of them, then you’ll reduce the queue by one.”

“But that’ll take months and —”

“Yes. It will. Several months of daily spankings. Of course, that assumes no more implausible excuses, sudden test-day illnesses, homework lost, disrespect to teachers, and so on. As the saying goes, if you find yourself in a hole, step one is to stop digging.”

I could almost see her riffling through her mental stack of ruses, looking for a way out. But there was none.

I went back to my desk, and busied myself while Kelsey slowly came to her senses, realized her embarrassing nudity, and bent to pull up her panties. She handled them quite gingerly as the lace slid across her burning buns.

In general, it pains me to spank our girls, and I do it only reluctantly. But, every now and then in a teacher’s career, one encounters a most exceptional student.

— Frenulum