A Scandal at Burnmarsh Chapter 3

Alex came forward. His hands remained behind his neck, in a way that showed off the muscles in his arms. Yet, standing in front of Emma in his skivvies, he looked far younger than he was. Content to take her time, Emma did not immediately engage him, just let him stand in front of her, swaying slightly. She knew that being spanked in front of the girls was the hardest part of this for him, and as she had done with Jo, Emma intended to lean into this difficulty. So she regarded him for another moment, then began to speak.

“Alexander, your mother was very disappointed to hear that you’d been involved in all of this. And I’m disappointed too. But, young man, you should understand that I am not exactly surprised. You’ve been making some very poor choices recently. In fact, you have been spanked multiple times already this semester, isn’t that right? I know for a fact that this wasn’t how you were raised. You were not raised to be the sort of boy who cheats. Your issue, Alexander, is that you care far too much what others think of you. You should be ashamed of that, of letting yourself get pulled into such a tawdry, absurd scheme. It’s not fair to your fellow classmates, and it’s absolutely not fair to your parents, who have gone to tremendous lengths to mold you into a good, caring, responsible boy. Yes, that’s what I think of you. You are a wonderful, smart, kind, thoughtful young man who has been making some very stupid choices. But if you don’t start to reverse this slide, eventually you won’t be a nice young man who screwed up, you’ll just be a screw up. Do you want me to have to tell your mother that you’re a screw up? No? Because that would break your mother’s heart. Alexander, I intend to do my best today to get you back on the right path. And I’m going to do that by tanning your little bottom, good and long and hard, so that you understand the seriousness of this. Okay?”

Alex, close to tears from his teacher’s verbal cavalcade, just nodded. Emma, looking him in the eye, quickly and deliberately pulled his briefs down to his ankles, leaving him bare from the waist down. She put her hands on his hips, pulled him a bit closer to her.

“Alex, your mother said that you have a special way of asking for a spanking at home. I want you to ask me to discipline you the way you would ask your mom or your dad at home. And sweetie, remember that I am going to speak to your mom later, so if you don’t do this properly, it’s going to be a problem for you.”

Alex nodded, gulped. He glanced back at his classmates: Jo, bared to her socks, as on display as him, but with a red hot bottom behind her; she was still crying quietly. And Izzy, obediently posed in her sheer panties, her eyes not hiding their object of regard.

“Alexander, look at me. Don’t worry about them. I know you’re embarrassed, but that’s part of your punishment. I promise it can get more embarrassing for you if you don’t start showing me obedience. I told you to ask me for your spanking. You can do so in front of me and Jo and Isabel, or I will go outside and start finding more audience members.”

“No, ma’am. I’m sorry. I…Ms. Cawthorne, will you please make me…a good boy again, by disciplining me the way I need to grow up right?”

“I will, sweet boy. How do you think I should discipline you? What do naughty boys need?”

Alex, surprising Emma, actually started to audibly cry. “When I’m a naughty boy, I need…a good spanking.”

“And where do you need to be spanked, Alex?”

Sighing a bit as he answers: “On my bare bottom.”

“Yes, Alexander. I’m going to give you a good, hard spanking on your naughty boy bottom. Now let’s get you over my knee.”

The juvenile words belie the difficulty of this maneuver, his six-foot runner’s body now jackknifing gradually across Ms. Cawthorne’s lap–like a drawbridge lowering. But at last he’s in place. Alex’s upper body is sunk into the couch; his smooth brown bottom, surprisingly full, was now perfectly available to her. Both of them were aware of his privates compressed like a secret against her warm thigh. But both pretended they were not aware, and instead Emma let her hand glide across his backside, assessing it. She was well used to having girl bottoms over her lap. But despite the boys in her class tending to act out more than the girls, to correct them in this over-the-lap manner was more rare. She found instead that a paddle over tight undies, the boy teed over her desk, was her preference for standard corporal correction. Her goals, this time, were different. She had meant what she said: he was on a perilous path. A nice young man could only cling to that title for so long when his actions contradicted it. Eventually, high school ends, the future arrives, the cement begins to dry. This was her chance to contribute, however incrementally, to hammering his rapidly drying mold into a more useful shape.

And so she began to spank him. Alex’s behind was muscled from running and lifting, and Emma’s hand started to smart right away. This hadn’t been the case with Jo. But across years of experience, the teacher had learned how to push through this initial sting, to let her palm warm up. As she had with Jo, Emma spanked hard and steadily, covering all of Alex’s bottom, sit spots, and thighs. And soon the pain in her hand had faded, and she found herself caught up in the kinetic pleasure of the task. She did not precisely enjoy disciplining her students. It was difficult, emotionally exhausting work; it required the occasional internal battle, as she resisted the urge to donate additional chances to an individual she knew did not deserve them; and it extended her work day. But there was a satisfaction she felt, as well. She liked being useful: this was one specific, intimate way of being so. And the physical act of spanking a young person’s bottom she found joyously bracing, like a good swim in a cold pond. This last idea she would not ever admit out loud. But it was true.

And so Emma’s hand bounced over the darkening skin of Alex’s backside. He was still crying, in a way that Emma found reassuring. A boy who was spanked regularly wouldn’t likely be reduced to tears from a handspanking right away. She suspected that, somewhere in the calamitous gymnasium of his teenage brain, her lecture, and this physical reinforcement, had perhaps been able to gain a foothold. Encouraged, she let her hand focus on his thighs, lingering there for a while, spanking up and down them almost to his knee hollows, as Alex’s tears formed into pleas. Then back up to his bottom, his sit spots, trying to darken any less-punished skin she could find. Like with Josephina, she wanted the boy’s surrender to be unconditional. He needed to know, in his body, the wrongness of his actions; and only a spanking could deliver that. Thus, slowly, over perhaps four minutes, Emma brought Alex through the surface pain and humiliation into that more pliant and broken knowledge. Emma, sensing this, paused at last. She stretched her neck, shook out her hand a little. The palm was chalky from the impact, and felt like it was vibrating. Over her lap, Alex’s sobs were no longer panicked, but they continued. Otherwise he made no indication that he knew the spanking had stopped. Emma ran her palm across his backside thoughtfully. Aside from the boy’s hiccups, the room was quiet. She let him lie there, aware that this was a moment that Alex, at his age, might only experience a couple more times in his life, if ever. She made a note to mention this to his mother when they talked later. (Emma was in the habit of calling a student’s parents the evening of a hard punishment, just to check in.) After a minute or so, his breathing started to slow, and his body gathered itself to turn around and look at her. His genuine puppy eyes were red and still teary.

“Hi, sweetie. Guess you survived, huh? Are you ready to get up?”

Alex nodded, braced himself with his arms, and pushed himself up. Unlike Jo, he didn’t need any help, standing quickly in one smooth motion. It was only when he’d stood and stretched, unconsciously, the firm spars of his body separating and flexing, that he remembered he was naked below the waist. His hands went to his front, then pulled away, then did the same for his butt, wanting to rub, but remembering at the last minute that he probably shouldn’t. So he awkwardly let his arms bounce at his sides, shifting his weight. Emma could see that his initial response to anything like this would be physical: to grab his pants, run away, confront someone. But he was suppressing the kinetic instinct, unconsciously complying with what he assumed her expectations would be. And he was right; his handspanking was over, but his punishment was not. Alex’s teacher took his hands, placed them on his head, and then, laying her palm flat on his bare bottom, propelled him forward this way, toward his classmates. As before, Emma brought the student right up to Izzy and Jo, then slowly turned him around, so that his spanked bottom was put on show for the girls.

“See, guys? This is where poor choices and dishonesty get you. Cheating may feel cool, but it’s not so cool when all you get is a zero grade and a good, hard spanking. Alex, do you feel cool?”

“No, ma’am.”

“No, I imagine you don’t. Now back into line, please. And keep your hands on your head. You’ve lost the privilege of covering your bottom in this classroom for now.”

Alex, humiliated but obedient, turned back around and took up his place beside Jo and Izzy. Now only Isabel had not been spanked, and hers was the only defiant face in the line-up. Emma walked back to the couch and sat down.

“Okay, Isabel. Please come to me for your spanking.”