Dean of Discipline: Tales of Old-School Punishment

by Allen Bare

  “I didn’t even try to make any defense. A couple of girls in the class knew what I’d done, and, figuring that the whole class might get paddled if the guilty party wasn’t found, they fingered me. I didn’t blame them very much—I’d never stopped to think that I might be getting others in trouble, and if I’d thought the whole class might be punished, I would have owned up to it right away. Anyhow, they’d nabbed the perpetrator, namely me, and now I had to face the consequences. I guess ‘face̓ is kind of a funny word, considering the consequences.”

  “The dean paddled you then and there?”

  “Oh, my goodness, he certainly did! I had to take off my jacket and skirt, and yank down my girdle. It felt like I had a giant suture tied around my thighs. It was even more embarrassing, because when I pulled down the girdle, my pants and pantyhose came down with it, and I had to turn around quick to hide the front of me, and stand there presenting my bare bottom to the dean until I could get my pants pulled back up.”

  “So he could take them down again.”

  “Right, after I was over his knee. What with the little white blouse, and the heels, and my suit folded over a chair, and that big mess of underwear squeezed around my thighs, I felt about as thoroughly humiliated as I ever thought it was possible to feel. That outfit was the second thing that made it memorable. I even had on a string of pearls, and pearl earrings. If I had truly been dressed to Daddy’s satisfaction, I’d have been wearing a hat and gloves as well. For some reason, my bare bottom felt ten times its normal size.”

  “It’s just right,” I assured her.

  “Well, thank you, sir, but maybe you’d better forget about that until we’ve gotten to know each other better, as we agreed.”

  “Right, sorry. —So, then you got paddled.”

  “Did I ever. I thought it was the hardest I ever got, though part of that might be due to the low state of my morale at the time. I swear I thought my entire backside was going to burst into flames. There were puddles of tears on the floor when he was finished, and then I had to squirm back into that damn girdle.”

  “I don’t see why you were wearing a girdle in the first place. You don’t need one.”

  “You didn’t know my parents. In their view, a lady needed a girdle whenever she left the house. To be seen in public with more than one cheek to your bum was unspeakably vulgar. “

  “I see.”

  “And then I had to go back, all red-eyed and sniffly, and take up with Daddy and Billy as if nothing happened, though we all knew it had. It would have been all right with just Daddy, but Billy, who was 17 at the time, was disgusting. He kept offering to get me a pillow to sit on, and stuff like that. Thought it was the funniest thing in the world that his spoiled big sister had gotten her tail tanned like some little brat. Daddy would growl at him to be quiet, but he’d always find some way to bring the conversation back to it. ‘Oh, that’s all right, waiter, my sister has already had her deserts.̓ I wanted to die. It probably kept my mind off the physical pain, but in its way it was much worse. That, when you get right down to it, is the part of that episode I remember most.”

  “Your brother sounds cruel.”

  She shook her head. “Lots of kids are. Billy’s OK. He has a good heart; he just hadn’t grown up yet. Matter of fact, I like him a lot now, but he’s come a long way in ten years.”

  “What about the other part of the story?”

  “What other part?”

  “You said you’d been on both ends of the paddle. I’d like to hear about the other end.”

  She gave me a considering look. “Well,” she said, finally, “I guess I can tell you about that now. But she hesitated, looking a little uncomfortable. “Am I blushing?” she asked.

  I drew back my head and checked. “Maybe just a little. Is this really so embarrassing?”

  “Oh, hell, I guess it shouldn’t be, considering how we’ve spent the last couple of hours. Let’s see. It was about four years ago, and we’d recently hired a new secretary-receptionist for the counseling office.”

  “You mean Janet?”

  “No, this was her predecessor. Her name was Marie.”

  “Oh.”

  “She was only nineteen, just a year out of the local high school, and she came with terrific recommendations, both from the school and from Milroy’s hardware store, where she’d been working since she’d graduated. Emberley generally brings in more experienced people, but this was my first shot at hiring a secretary since becoming Director of Counseling, and I thought it would be nice to give a bright, young local girl a chance.”

  “But she didn’t work out as well as you hoped?”

  “Oh, no, she did fine. There was no problem as far as her work was concerned. What happened was this. One night when she’d stayed late to finish some typing, I came back to the office after dinner to pick up a book I’d forgotten. I was surprised to find Marie still there, and when she saw me, she jumped and looked guilty. Then she scrambled up and came over to me, chattering a lot of nonsense. It was perfectly clear that she was trying to stay between me and her desk, so of course I had to step around her and take a look to see what was there.”

  “What was it?”

  “She had some of the students̓ confidential files spread out and was reading them. There’s some very sensitive stuff in those files. They’re kept in a locked cabinet, and I’m the only one permitted to look at all of them. When a counselor is assigned to a student, she gets access to that student’s files, but no one except me is allowed to look at the files of students they aren’t counseling personally. Marie, of course, wasn’t allowed to look at all. She knew that perfectly well; it’s something we impressed on her the minute she started working in the office.”

  “Then how did she get into the cabinet?”

  “This is where I really should blush. One day, I went home early and left the key in the filing cabinet. Marie admitted that she took it over to the hardware store, which happened to be open late that evening, had it duplicated, and put it back where it belonged before she went home. The next morning nothing was changed—except that Marie now had her own key to the confidential files.

  “For the next few weeks she seemed to be staying late quite a few evenings, and I wondered if she was wasting too much time during the day, but I didn’t see any evidence that she was loafing. So I said nothing about it, and the next thing that happened was when I came in and caught her reading the files.”

  “What was she doing? Trying to get started on a lucrative career in blackmail?”

  “No, though that was what I thought at first. She was horrified. It hadn’t even occurred to her—and I satisfied myself that she was sincere—that she could use the material in the files in that way.”

  “Well, why did she want to read them, then?”

  “For glamour and excitement, believe it or not. Marie was a grocer’s daughter who’d never been anywhere but this little town. In comparison with her dull, dreary life (as she saw it), the Emberley students were wild, exotic creatures. Reading about their escapades—drug busts, expulsions, abortions (because these files were very complete), and she probably felt like she was peeking into a real-life Valley of the Dolls.”

  “You don’t mean she envied them for having problems like that?”

  “Oh, no, it was more like reading a scandal magazine. You get to feel titillated and morally superior at the same time.”

  “So she hadn’t told anyone what she found?”

  “She swore she hadn’t, and I finally believed her. The poor kid was in floods of tears, figuring she was about to lose her job.”

  “Which she was, wasn’t she?”

  “That’s what I intended at first. But it occurred to me that if we canned her, sooner or later, she might start blabbing to her friends. Especially if she started to play the victim, which, if we didn’t publicize the reason for the firing, would have been a big temptation. I was not anxious to have it get around that Emberley's confidential files weren’t al
l that confidential. So, all in all, I figured that, if I gave Marie another chance, she’d be grateful, and that might eventually turn into loyalty. She wasn’t really a bad person.”

  “Hmmm. Makes sense, I guess. But, in the meantime, of course, she had to be punished somehow.”

  “Extraordinary, Holmes! You’ve figured out where this thread is leading!”

  “Watch it. Sarcasm can be a spanking offense.”

  “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir. Well, I finally told Marie that I’d keep her, on a probationary basis, but that she’d have to be punished for what she’d done. She was so relieved at not getting fired that she agreed without any fuss, even though I’m sure she knew what kind of punishment was coming, this being Emberley and all. But she did beg me to please punish her myself instead of sending her to the Dean. I wasn’t sure Harvey would have been willing to paddle her anyway; she wasn’t a student, and there was no contractual arrangement that covered him punishing the staff. So I sent her into my office to wait, and I went over to Harvey’s office and took the paddle out of his desk.”

  “You mean it wasn’t locked up?”

  “The office was locked, but not the desk. Harvey and I had keys to each other’s offices, since we sometimes needed to look at each other’s files. It was an informal arrangement, convenient for both of us. Well, anyway, back I came with the paddle in my hand. It wasn’t the first time I’d seen it since my own last paddling, of course; I’d been assisting Harvey for a couple of years. But this was the first time I’d held it in my hand, especially with the intention of applying it to a real, live, bare backside. It gave me a little tingle, I’ll admit. (Again she blushes.)”

  “Ah, so. Go on.”

  “I wasn’t surprised to find Marie waiting for me, though she could have run away. She’d surrendered completely, and there wasn’t an ounce of rebellion left in her. Though she turned pale when she saw the paddle, which was, of course, the first time for her.

  “Then I had to figure out what I was going to actually do. Marie was half a head taller than me, and I wasn’t at all sure if I could manage her over my knee. So instead I made her bend over my desk and pull up her skirt and slip around her waist.”

  “What’d she have on underneath?”

  “You’d want to know that, wouldn’t you? As far as I recall, pantyhose and a pair of white cotton panties with a flower print, very demure and jeune-fille. I told her to pull them down, and she did, and then the skirt fell down, so she had to pull it up again, and I realized I should have told her to take the panties and pantyhose down first, before bending over the desk. But, finally, there she was, bottom all bare, and for the second time I was aware of being just a little bit thrilled. I mean, it was hardly the first woman’s bottom I’d ever seen, but in the context of an imminent spanking it was definitely exciting. There’s something about those big, round cheeks—the whiteness, the helplessness—I don’t know . . . . (There goes blush number three.)“

  Connie pressed her face against my shoulder for a few seconds, and then took a deep breath. “So. I stood back and swung the paddle in with both hands, like a tennis racquet, and it connected, and poor Marie hollered and jumped as if she was going to take off for the moon. I could see that the paddle, when you swung it that way, had a harder impact than it probably did in the standard, over-the-knee position, so I was careful not to get carried away, but I didn’t take it easy on her, either. Marie yelled and cried and danced up and down, and I had to tell her twice to keep her hands in front of her on the desk. I don’t think I gave her as many as Harvey would’ve, but the hits were harder, and judging from the way her bottom looked when I was finished, she got a typical Emberley spanking—maybe a bit on the high side of medium, but no worse than what our friend Jennifer got this morning.

  “When I stopped she snapped straight up and rubbed her sore backside with both hands. She was crying so hard it took her a few minutes to get under control, and I put my arms around her and let her sob on my shoulder, awkward as that was, with me so much shorter.”

  She wasn’t hostile?”

  “No, she didn’t seem to feel that way at all. I guess her conscience was bothering her even before she got caught, and it seemed like she just kind of accepted me as the instrument of divine justice or something like that, rather than a mean old witch who paddled her behind. Besides, she knew perfectly well that I had every right to fire her, and she really was grateful that I didn’t, in spite of the spanking.

  “And, in fact, my prediction was right about what her attitude would be in the future. She stayed with us until last year, when she got married and moved to Seattle. I came to trust her as much as any employee I’ve ever had.”

  “An inspiring tale.”

  “So to speak.”

  “And what was your state, in the immediate aftermath of this chastisement?”

  “Do you just like to see me blush?” Connie looked mock-indignant, and then she snickered. “I think you can imagine. I was sort of surprised by that, ‘cause I’d never fantasized about a spanking unless a man was giving it. But that time there was no innocent lad around for me to seduce, so my randy mood was wasted.”

  “Innocent lad! Harrumph!” I wrestled her, squealing, over my knee and smacked the rounded seat of her jeans a half-dozen times.

  “Hey! What was that for? Using the paddle without permission?” She sat up on one haunch, slipping a hand gingerly underneath the other.

  “Oh! Good point.” I paused meaningfully. “No, that was for slandering my character. But I suppose, as the current keeper of the paddle, it is my job to punish those who violate its sacred repose without proper authority.”

  “I don’t suppose any such thing.”

  “That’s because you are not the one charged with the awful responsibilities of the Dean of Students. But don’t worry—I don’t intend to punish you right this minute.”

  “I don’t think you’d better count on punishing me any time, your awful Deanship.”

  “That, my dear, is for me to decide. In the meantime, impertinence and flippancy will not cause me to be any more lenient when the time comes.”

  “And just when is that supposed to be, pray tell?”

  “When we know each well enough,” I said. “Again.” I rose. “Thanks for lunch.” I walked to the door. Connie stared at me, her mouth open. ”Bye,” I said. “I’ll call you soon.” And I went out, leaving her there.

  I’ve never really gone in for that game of deliberately trying to put a woman off-balance, and I never respected men who made a habit of it. But something hinted to me that Connie might enjoy having her balance upset a little. I might be wrong. Well, nothing ventured, nothing gained—I’d played it straight and open and tender for a long time, and got dumped in favor of a bunch of radical feminists in overalls. It seemed to be time for a different tack.

  The next day the other three classes were due at Emberley. That morning I gave each of the housemothers a call to find out how things were going. I learned that, since the Naughty Nine had dragged their throbbing behinds back to the dorms on the previous day, an awed silence had pervaded the freshman ranks, and Saturday night had passed as quietly as it might in a convent.

  That afternoon I went in to my office to do some paperwork that had been preempted by the previous day’s indiscretions. By the dorms I saw sophomores, juniors, and seniors unloading luggage from taxis or very expensive automobiles. The latter would be gone by evening; no Emberley student was permitted to live off campus or to maintain a car. From what I could see of them, the older students were more conservative dressers than the freshmen, though I suspected that had more to do with Emberley’s guiding influence than differences in taste. Some who were strolling across the campus eyed me without much curiosity.

  Connie wasn’t in her office that afternoon. I worked until nearly dinnertime, then walked across the campus and downtown to get a meal. This time I noticed that student conversations tended to stop when I passed, and I was aware of receiving some wa
ry glances. There was no orientation meeting for the returning classes, but word had evidently gotten around about my role in the Emberley drama.

  For the first few days of the fall term, the sun shone, the birds sang, everyone was in a good mood, and there was no reason to call a meeting of the College Disciplinary Board. The freshmen were still scared straight, and the returning students all seemed to have reached the age of discretion.

  Of course, this was too good to last. Corporal punishment, no matter how effectively it may be administered, is incapable of completely reforming the habits of young women like Emberley’s students in the course of a single application. By Thursday, human nature had reasserted itself, and the Board was assembled to hear charges against three students. Friday morning, promptly at nine, they were waiting in the anteroom to my office.

  I decided to have mercy on the freshman by punishing her first, though she might have preferred to wait. “And so, Miss Savitch, we meet again,” I said when she entered. Ronnie had lost a good deal of her starch since our previous encounter. “Please, Dean Bradley,” she said desperately, “I was only ten minutes late. I really didn’t know the curfew was supposed to be that strict. If you just let me have another chance, I promise it’ll never happen again.” She was almost stammering in her anxiety.

  “Ronnie, Ronnie, Ronnie,” I said with rhetorical weariness, “we went into all that at your hearing before the Board, didn’t we?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And what was the Board’s decision?”

  “They said I had to be punished anyway.”

  “They said, if you’ll recall, that every student in your class had been made fully aware of the strictness and importance of the college curfew, and that there was no excuse for anyone being ignorant of it. Isn’t that true?”