A Scandal at Burnmarsh Chapter 4

Isabel didn’t move. Standing in her tank top and her barely-there pink panties, a scowl on her face, she simply looked at her teacher. Emma looked back at her. The teacher didn’t know how this was going to play out. It had occurred to Emma that Isabel might simply not comply. In that case, Emma was herself not sure if she would try to force the girl physically to be spanked, or simply abandon her to the more lasting consequences of the school administration. A cheating scandal this size, coupled with the girl’s less than stellar conduct record to this point, was unlikely to result in anything shy of expulsion. After that, who knows, it would be out of her hands. Maybe Isabel’s family money would insulate her, but Emma doubted that the bitter streak in the girl would do anything but fester if she had to start over somewhere else. Not to mention a future fully at the mercy of her parents’ gilded indifference would lead to an unhappy life. Or so Emma surmised, as she regarded the girl. I don’t really know, though, she thought. I don’t really know anything here. Being a teacher who cared meant going on instinct a lot of the time, about what her students needed, about how to balance grace and accountability. Right now, her instincts told her that Isabel desperately needed proof that her actions mattered, for better or worse. She needed someone to actually give a damn about her enough to make them matter. But a wrestling match with her math teacher would not be productive, for either of them. Isabel needed to acquiesce to the process. Also, Emma knew how smart Isabel was, and how proud. Her teacher’s instincts said that the threat of academic ruin would carry weight with the girl. But would it be enough?

But then, without dropping her hands from behind her neck, the girl walked forward, stomping a little as she stopped in front of her teacher. Her eyes blazed with anger, and Emma suspected she was furious as much at herself for giving in as at her teacher for putting her in this position. Inwardly proud that the girl had taken the first step, Emma steeled herself to take it from here. Isabel was a young lady who had made some dumb choices, and she needed to be punished.

“Isabel, you are too smart to need to cheat and you are too sweet to be involved in something this dumb, this wrong, this unfair to everyone else, even if you pretend otherwise. You are an important member of this class, and that means you are held accountable when you screw up. Because I know how successful you can be, and I care about getting you to that success. You’ve been getting away with work and behavior that is below your potential for a long time, but not with me. I am going to give you a very hard spanking, Isabel, and while I’m spanking your bottom like a little girl, I want you to be thinking about how it feels, and whether this is how you want to spend the rest of the school year. Because I’m going to spank you every time you make a dumb choice. You are not getting away with anything anymore. I am going to do my best in a moment to get this lesson across to you the first time, but I suspect we will be here a few times before you really get it.” And here Emma skimmed Izzy’s gossamer panties down to her socks as the girl gasped.

“Think about how you feel in this moment, Isabel. You can be successful in my class, or you can be a little girl with her panties pulled down and her bare bottom on display. While you are under my supervision, those are your choices. Whatever nonsense girl you’ve been pretending to be is gone. Now get across my lap.”

Without hesitating this time, and wanting to conceal her exposed front at least, Isabel bounded across her teacher’s lap. Her bottom was small and full, twin pale quenelles, upturned and waiting. Emma ran a hand over one cheek, squeezing gently. She considered that Jo and Alex had been put through a deliberately embarrassing routine before their spankings started, and that perhaps Izzy was getting off a little easy. But she also knew the girl’s acquiescence might be short-lived, and she didn’t want to push it. Her speech done, Emma began to spank the girl hard and fast. In the quiet classroom the swats sounded like gunshots. The sound would echo down the hall, such that anyone in that section of the school would be aware of what was happening.

Isabel at first refused to acknowledge the pain, clasping her hands in front of her, fighting it. It was a foolish strategy, Alex or Jo could have told her that. Open defiance never worked, not when a disciplinarian knew what they were doing, as Emma did. The issue is that the one being spanked tended to burn through their resistance in those firm first waves, the shock of the initial sting. In Emma’s own recalled experienced, you could never fully prepare for those first swats felt. It always, no matter how common an occurrence, was worse than you remembered. But an experienced disciplinarian would know how to build upon that first moment of impact and make things far worse as the spanking went on, with a long crescendo that took the poor subject beyond their ability to process rationally. Fighting a spanking was like fighting a rip tide. Swim sideways, stay afloat, keep the shore in sight: that was the strategy Jo and Alex had taken. In other words, try to endure the spanking, not fight it. Meanwhile, Isabel’s defiance was quickly giving way to panic, and soon she was kicking and pleading under her teacher’s palm. This was going to be harder for her, Emma thought, harder than for her classmates. But that was exactly what she needed. So Emma spanked her little bottom with the same grim purpose as she had spanked Jo and Alex. Izzy’s pale skin turned bubblegum pink immediately, which quickly gave way to a battered indigo. Emma suspected she would have bruises on her behind tomorrow, which she approved of.

It only took maybe two minutes before coherent pleas became incoherent sobs, and Isabel began to break a little. But her teacher continued spanking her, from the dimpled crown of her bottom to her pearlescent, defenseless thighs. Isabel swam and wept and tried to get away, but Emma held her firm. After another minute the teacher slowed her pace, switching to very hard, slow swats, focusing on her sit spots–then one final flurry of pain, up and down the girl’s flesh, an unendurable coda. Then it was done. Isabel, splayed across her teacher’s lap, scant panties long since kicked off, was beyond panic. She gasped for breath, a weeping mess of a girl. Not even trying to soothe Isabel’s incandescent backside, Emma just let her cry. And they waited like that. By the time Izzy’s breathing began to get under control, it had been longer than the spanking itself.

Emma helped the girl up, produced a tissue to blow her nose, put the girl’s shaky hands behind her sweaty neck. It was then that Isabel, swaying slightly, became suddenly aware of her exposure. Emma could see it happen; the girl’s eyes widened, she looked down at her undressed state, and a visible shiver went through her. At the same time, Izzy remembered her identity as a Cool Girl, one that had just been spanked like a child, in front of witnesses. But, while pre-spanking Izzy might have simply run away at that point, this newly chastised individual simply blushed through her tears. It was progress, Emma noted. Again, she thought how she had been remiss to let things get to this point with the girl’s behavior. Well, lesson learned. As she had twice before, Emma laid her bare hand on the girl’s punished bottom and gently pushed her forward. Like before, she turned the girl around to present the wages of her decisions. Then Izzy, still compliant, took her place in line beside Josephine. Emma regarded the punished trio. On top of the pain and the humiliation, the breaking they had endured, they were clearly exhausted. So am I, she thought. Maybe we’ve had enough for today. The teacher considered her plans to keep the students back, sit their bare bottoms down on the hard desks, make them write essays, then put them on show in the corner. It was maybe too ambitious for one afternoon, she thought. These kids need a nap and a reset. She also noted that at least two of the students had further punishment waiting for them at home.

So instead, Ms. Cawthorne gave them a brief speech about learning their lesson, and released each student with a hug and instructions to get dressed. Isabel, having recovered somewhat, was guarded when it was her turn to hug her teacher, but did so perfunctorily. Progress, Emma again thought. She chuckled to herself as her students, still bare from the waist down, self-consciously searched for their underwear. But soon they were dressed and ready to go. Alex had driven to school, and offered to drop Jo off, making a joke about being in no rush to get home. To which Emma then reminded them that she was texting all three sets of parents right now to let them know they were finished at school. “So for the sake of your bottom, Alex, I would go straight home after you drop Jo.” Alex, wincing a little, only nodded.

Emma walked the three of them through the quiet hallways and out the front door. No one spoke. The sun had begun to set over the parking lot. One last hug from their teacher, then Jo followed Alex towards his mom’s old minivan. Without speaking, they bundled in, each one grimacing as bottoms settled into car seats. Then they were gone. Emma turned to Isabel. She had texted her mother, of course, but had not received an answer. Isabel stood, not looking at her teacher, pretending to look at the sky, now a burnt, mournful orange.

“Do you have a car?”

“No.”

“So what’s the plan?”

“Gonna walk.”

Emma frowned. It was getting chilly with the sun going down. And Izzy didn’t exactly live close. “How do you get to school in the morning usually?”

“Depends. Sometimes my dad drives me if he hasn’t left for work yet. But usually I get a ride with someone.”

“Hey, Izzy, why don’t you…hey, why don’t you come home with me for a bit?”

Isabel kept looking at the sunset. But then she nodded. And the two of them walked to Ms. Cawfield’s car.