Spanking 101

Spanking 101

Chapter 1

And to think that I hadn't wanted to pick up this ticket.

My name is Jenny, and I'm a senior at the University of Massachusetts Amherst. While I've been studying towards my bachelor's degree in computer science, I've been working part time at the IT Help Center. Sometimes I serve as a liaison for some of the departments that are trying to integrate more technology into their classrooms, and the department that's lately taken on the challenge of updating themselves is the School of Psychology.

A service ticket had come through the system a few days ago, asking for the help of a tech to make sure things are set up correctly for the return of students after Thanksgiving break. I'd stayed on campus, one of the few who had, so I'd taken it. Most of the time these tickets are a drag at best, and a hair-tugging experience at worst. The professors, by and large, mean well, but they've been successful because they've found a method and stuck with it, and a lot of times they don't really want to learn new things, like how to set up the equipment themselves, or learn how to use it on their own. Nice people, but stuck in their ways. Don't get me wrong, this goes for professors in the sciences as well as the arts. It just boggles my mind how some of the music and art professors were shockingly on top of it all, while some of the people in the chemistry and mathematics department refused to budge beyond using analog slides and projectors.

Analog slides. In 2015.

Anyway, back to the present. It's 7am on a Friday, and I'm sipping at a hot cup of coffee as I walk across campus. My first stop is the office in the Lederle Graduate Resource Center lowrise building to pick up the run-down sheet, the cabling I'll probably need, and a fresh packet of zip ties. You have no idea how handy those are, especially in classrooms that are only just catching up from their 70's vibe. The chances are good that I'll have to come back here for something else, but I glance over the service request form one last time. The projector's already been delivered, and the professor, someone named Dr. Chastain, already has a laptop with the appropriate system requirements for hooking up to the system.

I put it all in my backpack and lock up again. It's strange to be here during off hours, especially when campus is on break. Nearly everyone is gone and it's so quiet, and nearly every office and hallway is dark. In the wan morning light outside, my reflection stands out against the somewhat dusty windows of the first floor - my black, shoulder-length hair is gathered into a ponytail at the nape of my neck, and a few locks in front are left free to serve as long bangs to tuck behind my ears. I'm about as Irish American as you could ever hope to find, with fair skin, green eyes, and a frustrating metabolism that leaves me whip thin even at my 5'8" height. I mean, clothes shopping is easy, but the whole small tits and ass thing gets frustrating. And this morning, what with my jeans and my baggy school hoodie, those curves are just completely hidden.

Well, whatever. My love life has been pretty non-existent since I left my hometown behind. All over again I grit my teeth at the stupid choices I'd made back then. I'd wanted to fit in with my class mates so badly. I'd dated mean girls, hung out with shitty people, and did stupid things. My aunt and uncle, oddly tolerant of my homosexuality, were still overall negligent, terrible people, and my cousins were even worse, physically abusive. Moving up here to start my freshman year was like a god send.

Still, though, I've been single the entire time. Ridiculous, given how LGBT friendly this region is. I'd had it in my head that there'd be girls all over the place for me, alternative girls and preppy girls, nerdy girls and sporty girls and arty girls. And there had been... and I'd choked every time. Every single time. The problem has been with me, and that's been a slap in the face.

Being left to my own devices this Thanksgiving break (I hadn't been invited back home, and I hadn't been planning on going anyway), I'd done little but work on projects and watch porn. I've been burning through various archives - redtube, pornhub, youporn, xhamster - and in so doing I've found myself drawn, like a needle's drawn by a magnet, towards the femdom videos. Hot, severe women in charge of these pretty girls. Touching them, pulling their hair, slapping them. Its hot to watch the girls eat out their mistresses, or kiss them, but for some reason what I like best is the spanking part. I couldn't even explain why. I've never experienced something like that, but every time the videos go that way (and I have at least ten different ones bookmarked), my pupils dilate, my cheeks flush, and my pussy just aches. I feel like it's some dirty secret, which, of course, only makes it hotter.

All these thoughts flit through my mind as I walk past the campus center and student union, around the pond, and past the library and Goodell. Tobin looms up in front of me, the building's structure of the same bizarre Bauhaus nature, sturdy and practical, as many other parts of campus. It's an all cement facade in sandy brown, the waffled appearance inset with glittering, dark windows, given the hour. This part of campus is quite near the athletic fields and the gymnasium. Given that my only real athletic hobby is bicycling (mostly out of necessity, given my lack of car as of a year ago), I'm not around this part of campus much.

Luckily the main door to the building is unlocked. Dr. Chastain noted that she'd be in her office, room 204, to meet me, and we could spend some time working out the details of getting this system up and running. I spot a stairwell and climb it, then look around the quiet, dark hallway. Room 204 must be around here somewhere. My sneakers sound uncomfortably loud in the utter quiet, and I flush a little, feeling creeped out by the situation until, at last, I come upon a door with the number 204 tacked up on it. There are some notices put up - office hours, class times, test schedules. If anything, this Dr. Chastain is very organized, which puts her ahead of many professors on campus. Maybe this meeting won't be as excruciating as I've been dreading.

After taking a deep breath, I knock on the door. Am I too early? I guess that's better than being late. The coffee isn't sitting very well in my stomach, so stupidly I take another sip. And as I do, the office door unlocks and opens, and I find myself looking at the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. She must be near forty, but she's the sort of woman who's aged beautifully, with high cheekbones, bold features, dark brown eyes, full lips, a smattering of freckles, and long hair the color of chestnuts. It's pulled back into a lazy braid, with a few coils that have come loose to caress her cheeks and ears.

We stand in silence for a moment, myself stricken mute with nerves, and she with confusion at how ridiculous I must look, until, thankfully, she smiles. It's like being allowed to breathe again, and I can feel my cheeks heat up just a little. Swallowing, I tentatively ask "Doctor Chastain?" God, why does my voice have to sound so thready?

Her smile grows just a touch. "Yes? You are here about the projector, are you not?"

My knees nearly turn to water - she has a French accent. Oh God help me. "Yes, Ma'am." It's taking every ounce of will power I have not to whimper. I really need to get laid. This is embarrassing.

The woman's smile only grows even more, as if the way I'm falling to pieces pleases her, and she turns away from me to fetch something in her office. Only then do I realize that she's dressed in a pair of black slacks, black pumps, and a somewhat loose, black cashmere sweater. It hangs off her shoulder, revealing a black undershirt that jealously clings to her body beneath. Her curves are understated but feminine, and she stands just slightly taller than I do, forcing me to cant my head just a little when she approaches the door again, laptop bag slung over her shoulder. "Let's go."

I take a step back, nibbling on my lip as I listen to the jingle of her keys and the thick mechanism of the door lock clunk back into place. Her steps are sharp and confident, and I walk alongside. At one point we pass a trash can and I dispose of my cup, now mostly empty by now. Why hadn't I thought to bring water? That was stupid. Maybe there's a fountain around.

"What is your name?" she asks conversationally, her eyes remaining forward as she leads us down a few hallways towards a larger classroom. When we get there, I can see that it's one of those more petite auditoriums, two stories tall, with maybe eight to ten levels of seats and room enough for about one hundred people.

"Jenny O'Neill, Ma'am."

Again she smiles, easing the laptop bag from her shoulder to rest on the counter top that also serves as a lectern of sorts. "A pleasure to meet you, Jenny." Her elegant hands, with nails tinted a dark red, pull out a slender laptop that, thankfully, looks quite new. I'd be so terribly disillusioned if she'd pulled out something ancient. "I will admit, I did not expect someone to help me on such short notice. Did you not go home?"

I set my backpack on the counter as well, standing on the side opposite her, and shrug. "No. I had a lot of work." It's not like I need to excuse my behavior - I'm twenty-two. Still, I can't meet her eyes, and I can tell that she knows I'm lying. With a swallow, I meet her gaze, which seems full of consideration, without judgment. Again a hot coil squirms around my guts, and I clear my throat and focus on the cabling.

The process of getting everything hooked up is sort of like riding a bicycle. It's a pain in the ass at first, but after doing it enough times it becomes habit. I've brought a printout with instructions, and I let her follow along as I carry out each step and explain. Luckily, when the laptop finally gets booted up, the image of her desktop is presented on the large screen on the wall, just as it should be.

My eyes widen, however, at the image.

Her background is a black and white artistic photo of a nude woman, resting on a couch. There's nothing obscene about it - the woman is only in repose - but it's so entirely sensual that I flush, staring like an idiot. Of course, Professor Chastain only glances between me and the projection, then laughs. "Ah yes, I suppose I should change that back before classes resume."

I can feel my voice strain as I say "she's... um... uh..." Shit, say something. "...nice."

Professor Chastain goes through the settings and selects a bland, light blue gradient background, then looks over at me. "Better?"

No. "Yes, Ma'am."

That makes her chuckle, and she takes a moment, her arms crossed over her chest as she considers all the steps. "Very well. I would like to go through setting it up again. I will do it while you watch. Alright?"

I take a seat in the front row, if only to give me a moment to recover as well as prevent me from wanting to reach over and do it all myself. It's not like Professor Chastain needs the assistance, though. Watching it done one time seems to have been enough, and once again the sight of her new, bland desktop background comes to life on the screen. She takes out a small remote, and opens up a power point presentation, flipping through a few slides to get a feel for how it will look and work. I'm not paying any attention as I read through a few messages on my phone, and I only look up when she's shut down the computer and detached everything.

She looks pleased as I walk over. "Jenny, thank you for your help. It is good to be assured that this will work. My classes shall run more smoothly, I think."

And for some reason, just to make conversation, I ask "what class is this for?"

"Human sexuality." The smile she gives me only grows as I flush, and she chuckles. "Most students react that way."

I take out my inventory sheet and mark off the particular cable set she'll be borrowing for the rest of the semester, and then package up the rest and put it into my backpack again. "I'm kind of surprised the room's this small. Wouldn't everyone want to take this course?"

"No, surprisingly. I think for some it is unnerving. I show pictures, of course, and sometimes videos, to introduce concepts. Things, perhaps, that young people have not encountered yet but, of course, should be knowledgeable about if they are to work with patients."

For a moment I swallow, and daringly ask "are you teaching it next semester, maybe?"

My heart sinks when she looks at me with a touch of pity, and says "it is for psychology majors only, I'm afraid."

"Oh... um. Okay." I deflate, hefting my bag onto my shoulder. "So, do you need help with anything else, Ma'am?" My eyes don't quite meet hers, and I'm sure the disappointment is poorly hidden.

"No. Thank you for your help, and please enjoy the rest of your break."

I nod and smile a little, then head for the door. And just as I make it to there, she clears her throat. "Jenny? Is there a way to contact you, if I should have any questions?"

My heart flutters a little, for absolutely no reason. Still, I take out a pen from my bag and walk back over to the counter to write my cell phone number on the corner of the instruction sheet. "I might not always answer calls right away, but you can leave a voice mail, or text me. I'll get back to you."

"Marvelous," she purrs. And the smile she gives makes my breath almost steam past my lips. "Have a lovely day, Jenny."

I can only nod, struck dumb all over again as I quickly walk out of the class room and, as quietly as possible, flee down the dark hallways and out Tobin's front door.

Chapter 2

After dropping off the unneeded equipment back off at the LGRC, I make a bee line to my dorm room in McNamara, up in the Sylvan living area. The ride up the elevator feels like it takes hours, and when I get off at the fourth floor I storm down the cream painted brick-walled hallway until I get to my suite at the very end. I've got one of the single rooms, and soon I'm in it, tossing my backpack in the corner before I take a seat in my desk chair.

Did that just really happen?

Nothing happened. Don't be stupid. Nothing happened.

But she asked for my number! That happened!

Immediately I wake up my laptop and do a quick search for her on the university's website. Sure enough I find her profile page on the psychology department's website. Doctor Celene Chastain. Her picture is still pretty, her expression one of confident amusement, and I read through her CV. She's actually from Quebec, having gotten her initial degrees there before traveling to Boston to get her doctorate. Her area of study, however, makes me flush and nearly melt in the chair.

Paraphilias. A quick google search, and I learn it's simply an academic term for fetishes.

So, this gorgeous, French Canadian goddess has devoted her academic career to studying fetishes. And she asked for my number. And she had a beautiful naked woman on her desktop and didn't care that I'd seen it. I feel dizzy and rest my elbows on my desk, cupping my face in my hands with a groan. My heart is only just starting to beat at a normal pace when, suddenly, my phone vibrates on the desk on my right.

It's a text, and it says "If you are free today, would you like to have lunch? It will be my treat. It can make up for Thanksgiving." Despite there being no name attached, I know that it must be her. I just stare at the screen for a moment, breathing in and out almost shakily with nerves. This is so unreal. I try to temper my hopes with the reality that she's probably just taking pity on me. That's all it could possibly be. Look at her! I glance at my computer screen and see her picture again. She could have anyone she wanted. And maybe she already does. So don't be stupid. Just answer the text.

"That would be nice, actually. Where should I meet you?" It takes me a few tries to type that all up without errors, given how clumsy my fingers have become.

"Rao's Cafe, at noon. I will see you there."

Rao's is probably the stereotypical hipster haunt in all of downtown Amherst. I've been there many times, though more often than not it's crammed with people. Today, however, it's a lot more peaceful. I've decided to simply walk from my dorm all the way downtown. It's really not a long hike, but the exercise and the chilly air help calm my nerves. By the time I step inside at 11:55, my cheeks and ears are pinked with cold, and I'm more than ready for something warm to eat.

Nervously I look around, and it takes a bit of searching before I spot Doctor Chastain off in the corner of the extension room to the left of the main entrance. It's quiet in here, with light music pumped in from the speakers, and I can see that she's busy attending to some paperwork. She's wearing earbuds and looks completely focused, so I dither maybe ten feet from the table, shuffling, until her eyes flick up and catch sight of me.

"Ah, Jenny!" she chirps, pulling her earbuds free and gathering them up in her elegant hands, slowly coiling them with practiced ease even as she looks at me. It's hypnotizing. "You look half frozen - are you well?"

She packs up her laptop while still regarding me, and I smile self-consciously. "Oh yeah. I just walked." I shrug and add "I live in Sylvan." A swallow as she gets up from her seat and stands next to me. "Thank you, um, for this, Doctor Chastain."

"Celene," she corrects. "When I am out of that hideous building, I am Celene."

My blush deepens a little. "Thank you, Celene."

"But of course. Now, to lunch. I am famished."

We head over to the main counter, where behind the glass is a display of all kinds of sandwiches, treat bars, pastries, and the like. The heavy scent of artisan coffee blankets the air, but I opt for a bottle of juice and a wrap. Celene gets a sandwich and a cup of tea. There are a few minutes spent lingering around the end of the counter, and then our meals are handed over to us and we go sit down again, back in the spot that she'd vacated.

Some ten minutes later I sip at my juice, just starting to relax in my chair. My wrap is long gone, and I'm getting over the horrible anxiety that I will say or do something humiliating in front of this woman, and venture to say, "I'm not used to Rao's being so empty."

"Oh yes. I usually do not come here when it's so packed. I can hardly think under those circumstances." She takes a sip of her tea, and leans a little more against the backrest, regarding me. "I hope you do not think it odd that I invited you out today. I suppose it is not often done here. But, ah, you seem far from home, and Thanksgiving is a time for home."

My mood sinks a little, and I take another sip of my juice. "My home isn't a good place. I'm not really welcome there anymore."

Celene's concern is discrete but genuine, and she gives me a moment before saying softly "it is their loss, then. You are a nice girl."

My eyes meet hers shyly, and I'm not sure why such a little compliment makes me feel so moved.

"Judging by your reaction to my computer background: is it because you like women?"

I freeze, the color draining from my face. "I uh... no. I mean... I do... but..."

Celene smiles a little. "I am too forward, but it is good to know, perhaps, that bigotry was not part of it." The look she gives me is almost one of satisfaction. Not because she made me feel unsettled, but because she got the piece of information she wanted. "If my forwardness bothers you, I shall make an effort to be more reserved."

I can't look away from her eyes, and I feel my pulse jump up into my throat. "No... no... forwardness is fine" I say softly, and I only realize that my fingers are gripping the edge of the table desperately.