Becky Gets It Ch. 01

PROLOGUE ("Spare the rod, spoil the child"-Proverbs)

"There she goes again! How many times do I have to tell that girl to get off her phone during class? And we're only into the third week of the semester," the professor mused angrily.

"Becky!"

Nothing.

"Becky Thrice!"

"Yes, Professor Wilson?" She looked up with her big, brown doe eyes peering behind those full lashes, but always, always, somehow managing to pronounce my name in lowercase.

"To think this little nymphet believes she is above it all, that any man is barely worthy of her elicitations, her barest speck of attention. It is galling, to say the least, but something needs to be done to drop that pedestal a few feet!" he thought.

"Maybe you would mind sharing with the class what the basic tenet of Keynesian thought is?"

"Oh...well, professor," a bat of the eyes, a slow flick of the tongue along those full, lusciously red lips. "You know I meant to read the chapter, but I was so exhausted after my yoga classes yesterday..."she paused with a deep sigh that just naturally lifted those perfectly sloped and rounded C-cup breasts within her jogging top. Seriously, he had seen sports bras that had more material. "I went straight to bed and didn't get a chance to read it."

And that smile, inwardly chuckling, knowing that she instantly had 90% of the males and more than a few of the ladies in the class imagining her in the Downward-Facing Dog, lifting her perfect posterior into the sky, arching her back ever so slightly while moving ever deeper into the stretch, inching ever so gently higher. Or Pranayama, lifting her arms, breathing deep from her diaphragm, lifting that bosom ever higher, then slowly exhaling and letting the exhale release all the tension, allowing everything to relax and yet still remain firmly in place and invitingly, teasingly protruding.

"Oh, something needs to be done and quickly, or this girl is going to be trouble," he surmised.

"Well, maybe you could let us all know what vitally important text messages you are rapidly conveying into the ether?" Light chuckles out of the rest of the class.

"Whatever do you mean?"

"Ms. Thrice, I have been teaching longer than you have been alive. If you think I can't tell when a student is trying to hide their phone in their laps so they can text, you are greatly underestimating my powers of observation, or overestimating your own deviousness." Inwardly he thought, "Or are you hoping for my observations, holding your phone so near those perfect legs, the slightly protruding Mons, and the imaginably bare skin of her labia under those running Capri's. And never a panty line, does she go bare, or is it the tiniest of g-strings, or perhaps a T-bar?"

"Sorry, professor, it won't happen again," she replied reaching for her purse to slide the phone away. Finally a hint of respect in her tone!

"I know it won't, Miss Thrice, because I will be keeping it until my office hours later this afternoon."

"What? You can't do that!"

"Oh, but I can. If you look in your student handbook and in the syllabus, which I have your signature on saying you read it thoroughly, that is exactly what I can do."

The look of surprise, shifting to anger, to horror, to confusion, and finally acceptance; all within a scant moment and then was that last flicker a look of determination? This is going to be an interesting meeting later. Giving in, she walked up to the front of the room and handed her phone over, with a demure, carefully apologetic expression on her face, returning to her seat looking all the world like a slightly abashed, attentive student. Is she doing that on purpose, that gently swaying side-to-side sashay, not enough to be slutty, just enough to draw the eyes and cause you to focus and pause?

"And let that serve as a warning to the rest of you. Anyone caught texting will surrender their phone."

The rest of the class was blessedly free of the faint tap-tapping sounds of fingers on number pads.

CHAPTER 1 ("Nothing happens unless first we dream" -Carl Sandburg)

When the rest of the department got moved into the Business College instead of the Sociology Department two years ago during the reorganization, they moved to the new Thomas More Business Building. Being rooted comfortably in the office he had occupied for well over a decade in Hanover Hall, he wasn't all that disappointed when he found out there weren't enough offices in the new building. His office was near enough to his classes that the walk was not difficult and the fact that his was now the only office on the 1st floor, the rest having been converted into storage areas and part-time offices for adjuncts, meant that he could work in relative privacy. The practice of playing music while grading and preparing lecture notes now wasn't a distraction for the other professors, and the relative isolation meant the volume could be as loud as he wanted, for the most part. Students visiting would often hear Tchaikovsky, Mozart, Grieg, or Wagner greeting them as they journeyed down the hall to his office in the back corner of the building.

The view was also stunning. His office looked away from campus and had a spectacular view of the County Park and woodland area that bordered the college. Stunning arrays of leaf changes to the view of the occasional deer or other wildlife really made up for having to walk to a different building for department meetings and classes. But the best part of the office was the size. It was once the Dean's office so it consisted of an outside vestibule and the inner office, where the desk and computer were, that was big enough to at one time have been used as a small conference room. Now it held a few small bookcases, a small wood table with chairs to accommodate meetings and advising sessions with students, and a large L-shaped desk with the computer in the corner. It was arranged so the long side was against the wall and the short side faced the door. This way the computer screen faced away from the door and he could easily see when someone entered the outer office on their way to see him. The outer office was just used now as a comfortable reading room with a small Queen Anne chair and an overstuffed sofa. There was a small refrigerator and a table with a coffee maker for those long nights of grading. The sofa had more than once doubled as a bed during finals week when grading was a little behind.

The grading, as usual at this point in the semester was getting to be tedious. Going through 150 papers on the relationship between Supply and Demand in Macro Economics was always an exercise in mental focus.

"I swear to God if I see one more misdrawn Supply/Demand curve, I am going to flip out. Seriously, how hard can it be? As price goes up, demand goes down, and speaking of going down, here comes Miss Thrice. What is she wearing now?"

In the intervening hours since class, Becky had evidently gotten her workout in and was now wearing a short, white blouse open to the last two buttons, a plaid skirt so short that thirty years ago it would have gotten her kicked out of school, and what looked to be platform heels. He reached up and turned down the speakers, to make the conversation a little easier. A shame since Wagner's "Der Ring des Nibelungen" really needed to be played at a decent volume for full effect.

"Miss Thrice, welcome to my office. I don't believe I have had the pleasure of hosting you before. Come on in and have a seat."

"Professor Wilson, I really just wanted to grab my phone, and get going back to my dorm so I could read that last chapter that I missed." Somewhat respectful again, she must really be trying to impress on him how much she has changed her tune.

"Nice try, girl, but I have heard that one before. I see you haven't really learned your lesson. We'll have to see what we can do to get this one to stick for a while," he considered.

"Well, Becky, since you are here; I thought we would take this opportunity to discuss your performance in this course. I took the liberty of pulling your progress report, and it appears this is not the only course you are having trouble staying focused in."

"Well, professor, you know how it is. I'm young, beautiful, and living life. Everything a twenty year-old is supposed to be doing at college," she smiled through those two rows of perfect white teeth.

"Young lady, that, unfortunately, is not 'everything' you are supposed to be doing at college. Unless you plan on being here for the sole purpose of finding a husband, your primary purpose is to get an education in a field that should allow you to find gainful employment when you graduate."

"But, Professor Wilson, I have passed every class so far, and I have A's in all my wellness courses!"

"Miss Thrice, with your level of fitness, I would be disappointed beyond my ability to comprehend if you got any less in a wellness class. D's in all of your rigorous courses are hardly what I would call adequate. And are you aware that to get admitted to your chosen program, you need a 2.25 average in your courses? You are currently carrying a 1.95 and that includes the A's you have in your wellness courses."

"I know, but I plan on raising that this semester. I am already working harder and have started studying more. I got the paper in on time for your class!"

"Let's just look at that shall we. I just happened to finish reading it before you arrived. 'Blah, blah, something copied directly out of the book, lacking citation, of course, and finally if enough people demand it they will supply it.' Really, do you think this demonstrates a dedication to the pursuit of a degree here at Knox College?"

"But..."

"But, but, butt...that's it! I've got it, the one thing that may knock some sense into that brain of hers. The way she plays the other students, and tries to play me, is evidence that there is something in there that is capable of higher order thought. She just needs to be shocked into using it!" he schemed.

"Butt, Miss Thrice, is exactly what I was thinking. I have decided that if you are going to act like a spoiled little girl, you are going to be punished like a spoiled little girl. I have observed you in my class paying more attention to a hunk of plastic and metal than to me or any of the information that the makers of your little phone are intimately familiar. Yes, I think that will be a satisfactory reprimand...the only question now is how many there should be."

"I don't think you can do that, Professor?"

"Ooohh, is that a crack in the armor? She actually looks like she is worried," he pondered. "But what was that look she gave? For a second it looked like she might, instead of worried, be pensive. Interesting."

"Oh, I believe I can. You want your phone. I want you to have an indelible memory to set you on the path to knowledge. How about you get one smack for every message you received during my class? Yes, that should be sufficient to convey a lesson."

"But, I had to have gotten a dozen messages during your class!"

"Actually, it was two dozen. That is relatively popular, but you must not have very informed friends. Don't they know they shouldn't distract you while you are learning? Yes, I think a spanking will be good for you and will give you enough incentive to carry the message back to your friends that your education is important to you and you don't wish to be bothered."

"Oh, please, Professor Wilson, I didn't mean to offend you. I promise it won't happen again."

Standing there lips trembling, her eyes barely able to meet his for more than a second. Is she scared, or is it something else?

"Oh, I am sure, Becky, this will be a lesson that will be permanently imprinted into your memory. I just hope it will motivate you for a sufficient period of time to allow you to right your ship and actually graduate. Now, you will come over here and assume the position."

"Position? What do you mean? You aren't going to hurt me are you?"

"It may sting a little, but I assure you there will be no lasting marks or pain that will not fade. Now, surely you were spanked as a child? Becky, I mean for you to come over here and place yourself over my knees so as to allow for the proper measure of your punishment to be delivered."

"I don't know. I don't think this is legal."

"Well, you think it over then and come back after the weekend and give me another solution that will give you sufficient motivation to increase your attention to your studies, and I will return your phone at that time."

"But, no phone for the entire weekend? I need that phone, my friends, how will they reach me?"

"Aha! Her eyes, desperately roving over the room, were definitely not meeting mine. There is something going on in that head of hers, but I can see her resistance is gone, or nearly so," he perceived.

"It is your choice. Come over here, or leave and come back on Monday."

She considered it for a moment, and then made up her mind. Ah, the power of social connections over the willpower of America's youth. God bless the USA! As she moved around the desk, her expression changed from indecision and apprehension to resignation and, with that trembling lip, those quivering nostrils, was that excitement?

As she rounded the edge of the desk, h reached up and turned the volume up slightly. "Ah, 'Ride of the Valkyries'! The slow build to climax, the rising beat and tempo, could there be a more appropriate song for the moment? She has had this coming for quite some time," he thought.

She slowly prostrated herself across his lap, apprehensive and slow.

"Come on Becky, the sooner we begin, the sooner you can be on your way to enjoying the weekend."

She moved forward, finally resting her incredibly firm quadriceps against the edge of the chair, her taut abdomen and lower breasts draped across his legs. As she settled in, the micro mini rose to expose the rounded edge of her tight buttocks, and revealed the light floral print of her thong that covered, barely, the curve of her full labia and moving into the hidden recess still covered by the skirt.

ONE! With a pleasing smack, the flat of his hand struck evenly across both full cheeks. This elicited a gasp from the now vulnerable Miss Thrice. She let out a stifled whimper. Was she pushing herself more firmly into his lap? She must be! Her skirt had now slid up to a point where no one could claim that it was providing any sort of decent cover over her lower half.

TWO! A little lower this time, striking the lovely crease where her magnificently shaped thighs met the tight semi-circle of her gluteus. "Was that a slight feel of fabric underneath my hand? This could get interesting!" he concluded.

THREE! Moving over to the side, he placed a solid smack solely on her left side with slight caress as he slid his hand back over to the other side in preparation of the next. The smooth slide and gentle caress of his fingers marked a stark contrast against the slight burning that remained from the most recent hand strike.

FOUR! Another solid connection fully on the right side now. Becky trembled and let out another gasp as he slid his full palm against her soft, supple skin; moving his hand once more to center. "This is starting out well. She seems to be handling it alright, and I do believe there is a slight odor of musk in the air. Well, well, Miss Thrice, it seems we have discovered one more surprising thing about you today," he surmised.

FIVE! Once more his hand came down. This time his aim took a turn into deviousness. His palm was aimed directly to strike between her legs at the juncture of her beautiful thighs that area colloquially referred to as the "Y". As his hand quickly applied judicious force and was removed with the barest, quickest tap, it was obvious that something was going on within the beautiful creature in his lap.

SIX! The odor of musk was clearly reaching his nose. The lovely woman-child in his lap let out another gasp, and there was definitely a tremble, possibly of anticipation, moving through her chest and abdomen. Ever so slowly the middle of that field of flowers became the slightest bit translucent as if it were slowly lifting an opaque fog to display the treasures hidden beneath.

SEVEN! A good hard connection, fingers spread, providing five independent stings across her buttocks, eliciting a slightly louder yelp, followed by a small, almost inaudible whimper of pain, or was it pleasure, or both?

EIGHT! The wetness was definitely starting to spread across the minute fabric patch of her thong. "Oh my, what a deliciously naughty little girl; she has probably subconsciously desired this punishment, this domination, in retribution for her attitude and condescension for some time," he guessed.

NINE! This one was higher, almost reaching the small of her back, the edge of his hand just touching the tops of her glutes. The skirt now was bunched at her hips, fully exposing the straps of her thong. Her body had really been squirming over the last five minutes as the punishment was carefully and calculatingly meted out upon the tight young gooseflesh of her perfect backside.

TEN! Another spread finger strike, this one a little off center, so the fingertips of his index fingers lightly struck the now moist triangle of her thong. There was no question now. The tart was actually getting off on her punishment!

"Miss Thrice, it appears you have soiled your undergarments. This is most unacceptable. You will now remove them to prevent further the rough, wet fabric from chafing my fingers as I apply your punishment."

"Wha...what? Professor, I think you must be mistaken. What are you talking about? You can't make me do that."

"Becky, child, you are right. I cannot make you do that. You may rise and make yourself presentable and see yourself out. I will do my best to determine another suitable punishment for Monday, when you may once more seek to retrieve your phone."

The light of realization, acceptance, and arousal flashed across her features. Then with feigned resignation, and remaining in position, she slowly slid that tiny piece of translucent material over her glutes, gently over those magnificent, sculpted thighs, past the hollow of her knees, and gently dropping them past the rounded curve of her taut calves to finally rest nestled amongst those perfectly pedicured toes. With a light, quick movement she stepped her left foot out, and then kicked them under the desk with her right and settled back into place or nearly so.

The nymphet took the opportunity to adjust her legs. Those long curved, stretching impossibly long legs; toned and maintained by years of athletics and yoga. She placed her knees wide and her toes tucked in underneath, causing her to settle in even more firmly into his lap while causing the slightest separation to appear between her now glistening outer labia.

ELEVEN! TWELVE! THIRTEEN! FOURTEEN! Taking advantage of the momentary distraction and the opportunity presented by that lovely sight now peeking ever so slightly from that beautiful juncture, the next four blows arrived in quick succession, with just his fingers providing small, sharp stings to the now engorged lips extending past the gentle curve of her lower buttocks. He was rewarded with a short gasping intake of breath followed by a loud moan of ecstasy brought about by the intense combination of pain and pleasure arriving so quickly that the nerves barely had a chance to register, let alone recover from the first before the next arrived. Becky's breathing now resembled less the controlled breathing of a yoga master, and more the panting lamentations of someone approaching rapture.

To enhance the unpredictability of the ministrations, he now allowed his fingertips to lightly stroke across the lovely rounds of her now slightly red and plumply inviting cheeks, following no particular pattern, and occasionally following the trace of a finger mark, moving in small and expanding circles. He allowed them to move near, but never actually touch the pink, flushed edges of her luscious full lips. As he got nearer, Becky shifted slightly; trying to move closer, to try and get the slightest brush against the center of her arousal.