“If you are late for class again, I shall take down your trousers, put you across my knee and spank you on your underpants.”
“Excuse me?” the twenty-three-year old university student, blushed to his roots. Around him his classmates tried to suppress giggles.
“You heard, me,” Dr Anderson snarled, “I shall take you across my knee and spank you.”
Tony Walburton stood silent: dumbfounded.
“You know the rules, Walburton. Students are required to attend classes, to work hard and to pass examinations. If you do not do these things you will be expelled from the university.”
Tony did know this. He had benefited when the government had shaken up education thoroughly. Not only did it bring back the cane in schools, it allowed for the first time colleges and universities to use corporal punishment on students up to the age of twenty-five. The decision was broadly welcomed, even by students, when it was also announced that student loans would be abolished and each youngster would be paid a grant that did not have to be paid back to continue their education.
But, under the new rules fewer people would go to university and those that did would be expected to work hard. There was to be no more lazing around in bed all morning. Students would attend classes, study hard and behave themselves. If they failed classes they would be expelled.
It was not quite as harsh as it sounded. Students would get at least one chance to redeem themselves; they would be taught a painful lesson and if that did not mend their ways they only had themselves to blame.
Tony accepted this new law and knew Dr Anderson was well within his rights to do as he threatened.
“See here, all of you,” the tutor turned to look at the other fifteen students in the seminar room, “You have got to learn that the university is serious. You will be chucked out if you do not work hard. I want you to do well, and if you are unable to be self-disciplined enough to meet the new rules, I will help you along. It is for your own good. You are all new to the university, but you should know that if you are late, miss a class, don’t hand work in on time or perform badly in assignments, you will be spanked.
He glared at his students, “Is that clear?”
The silence in the room was deafening. Yes, it was clear, crystal clear, but it was not necessary for any of the students to say it out loud: they got the message.
“Good, now find a seat Walburton; let’s get on.”
Tony Walburton was a first-year student, despite his age. Since joining the university a week earlier he had enjoyed himself thoroughly. There was so much going on at university and most of it had nothing to do with the subject he was supposed to be studying. Despite the new legal clampdown on students, they still found time to party; but unlike generations before them they could only do so once studying was completed: or else.
Tony thought he might find the university a bit intimidating, since he was so much older than most of his classmates; but there was an unexpected bonus: girls. The girls did not much like the eighteen-year-old boys of their own age: they thought them far too immature. But, Tony had experience, he knew how to charm a woman into bed and give them (and himself) a good time when they got there. He had never had it so good: with a different girl nearly every night.
And, a girl was to be Tony’s downfall this time. He had the best of intentions; he had to complete an essay for Professor Tottenham that was due to be handed in next day. He had started it (well, he had thought about starting it) and would finish it that night. There was time for a quick beer in the university bar. He had never seen the girl before; but she had noticed him around the campus. She clocked his clean-cut features, broad shoulders, narrow hips, cute bottom. If she ever had the chance, she would very happily strip him naked and have her way.
Tony was not a naïve virgin, the moment she made her first move he knew they would end up rolling around on the bed. And after a few drinks that’s exactly what happened. With both their sexual appetites sated, Tony was kicked out of bed at 3am and happily made his way home.
And then it was 9.45am, and Dr Anderson’s class was due to start at ten. Tony had two choices to arrive late and get his bottom spanked, or not go to class at all. It wasn’t much of a choice: the consequences of cutting the seminar altogether would be much more painful.
Breathless, Tony turned the door handle to the seminar room, as he inched open the door, he could hear Dr Anderson’s voice; the class was in full flow.
The tutor stopped in mid-sentence as he spied the door open. “Ah, Warburton, so nice of you to join us,” he said with dripping sarcasm.
“Sorry, Sir,” Tony mumbled as he hurried to a vacant seat, hoping the doctor would not carry through with his threat.
“Not so fast boy.” Any optimism Tony had was shattered. “Come here. Stand out in the front of the class.”
When he saw Dr Anderson pull out the chair from behind his desk and sit down, Tony knew at once what was intended. Slowly, he started to back away.
“Well class, I hope you all remember what I said last time about late arrivals,” Dr Anderson said to nobody in particular. But, he was expecting an answer.
“Can anybody tell me what I said about time-keeping?” He was met by an embarrassed silence. “Jones?” he pointed to a spotty-faced youth in the back row.
“Well Jones?” The teenager sweated, mortified to have been asked such a question.
“I’m waiting Jones.”
“Spanking, Dr Anderson,” his muffled response almost inaudible.
“What I told Walburton was if any of you were late for class, I’d take down your trousers, put you across my knee and spank you on your underpants.”
Turning to Tony, he continued, ‘Do you remember me saying that Walburton?” Tony’s silence was answer enough for the tutor.
He pointed to a spot to the right of where he was sitting. “Stand there, Walburton,” he ordered. Tony looked at his classmates hoping for support, but found them staring back at him with disbelief.
“Jeans down, Walburton,” the tutor commanded, and Tony, his face chartreuse, obeyed. He fumbled with the button fly, but finally managed. In half a minute, the jeans were being shoved down his hips and sliding to his knees. He blushed, standing in front of the classmates with just his thin pants covering his bottom.
His classmates watched, nervous and astounded. Graham, an eighteen-year-old psych-major, was blushing even redder than the young man with his jeans at his knees. Graham’s erection was so hard and, he feared, prominent, pushing against the cotton of his tight underwear, he was certain every one of his classmates could see his predicament. Any moment now his throbbing cock would spout a pint of jizz into his pants.
Breathless, he tried to look away, to distract himself from the spectacle he very much wanted to witness, as Dr Anderson took hold of Tony’s left arm and pulled the twenty-three-year-old forward. Tony responded by glancing briefly at the other students as he was pulled slowly and deliberately across Dr Anderson’s lap. The student’s hands avoided contact with the doctor’s trousers and instead reached down for the floor beyond, causing him to fall onto the grey tiles. Tony wriggled, and felt Dr Anderson tugging him, until he felt comfortable across the older man’s lap.
Tony shuddered, feeling the cheeks of his bottom exposed to the tutor’s gaze. The underpants he was wearing were tight against his rock-hard buttocks; they were certainly not going to offer any protection in a spanking.
His arm was then taken and folded up his back, thus securing him and preventing any possible escape. He felt his shirt being neatly folded up, exposing his lower back to the cool air of the room and the gaze of his classmates. When Dr Anderson took hold of the top of his pants, Tony felt instant panic even though he was reasonably confident they would not be pulled down. Even so, when his underwear was pulled up Tony felt his bottom was being all but bared anyway. He blushed deeply.
Dr Anderson let the student lie still for a while over his knee, waiting, nearly bare and exposed, submissively accepting his punishment.
He rested his hand lightly on the boy’s backside, and then began a slow, steady, methodical succession of moderate whacks delivered to alternate buttocks. His student responded only with tiny, almost imperceptible movements, as if he were relaxing and making himself comfortable. If this was actually hurting, he gave no sign of it.
Dr Anderson was not an expert at spanking and took his time to get the measure of Tony. He increased the pace to deliver a good, hard, old-fashioned hand spanking; not holding back this time.
He hardly noticed the door open and slam shut again as one of his students rushed from the room.
The shock of the new impact jolted Tony. A grunt of surprise escaped his lips, and only his tutor’s tight grip stopped his right hand flying up to protect his smarting bottom. The smacks had landed more on flesh than on underpants which were very brief and had virtually shrunk into his crack and now provided minimal covering for his up-turned buttocks.
He was furious to be locked in place over the tutor’s lap, being spanked like a kid. Yet, he found himself powerless to stop it or evade it. He had been warned what would happen if he came to class late again. He might not want to admit it but he only had himself to blame for this humiliation. For about twenty-five more spanks, he fought furiously, trying to kick his feet and legs (without real ability to do so), and squirming and wriggling around on the tutor’s knees on which he was impaled. But he could not escape or halt the volley of hand-spanks heating up his behind.
Dr Anderson may not have been an expert spanker, but he was learning fast. The palm of his hand was sore, but possibly not as painful as Tony’s buttock cheeks, judging by their colour.
Next time he was forced to spank a student, he would use something like a slipper or a brush, he thought: that would save his hand.
Tony had stopped wriggling and was taking each new spank stoically; the spanking was hurting, but it he was not in any real pain. Dr Anderson was not sure what he had expected; had he supposed a student would bawl his eyes out, like an eight-year-old might? Probably not.
They were young adults (and Tony was not so young) and pretty tough. The pain caused by the hand spanking would have little effect on them, but the humiliation of being forced to take down their trousers, bend over the older man’s knee to get spanked on the pants, or in Tony’s case, very nearly bare-bottomed, would be a huge humiliation. That embarrassment alone ought to be enough to ensure they obeyed the rules in future.
Dr Anderson looked down at Tony, red faced and red arsed. It was time to come to a finish. He slapped down another dozen smacks just for good measure, spanked harshly into the young man’s buttock crease; the tender part of the bottom that meets the thigh. A perfect spot to end a spanking, he thought.
Tony was breathless as he lay over his tutor’s lap. It was over. Now, he thought, would you please let me get up?
But, his tutor, and now master, was not quite ready. “Will you be late for class again, Walburton?”
“No, Doctor Anderson,” his reply was met by a harsh slap in the centre of his left buttock.
“No, Sir! Walburton.”
“Good, and do you apologise to all your classmates for wasting their valuable learning time, while I had to spank you?”
This was going too far, Tony thought. Dr Anderson had won, why did he insist on humiliating him further?
Another resounding Whack! hit his buttock.
“Yes, Sir! I’m sorry to everyone for wasting their time.”
“Good boy,” his tutor rubbed Tony’s buttocks gently, feeling their warmth. “Now, you may get up.”
Tony put both hands on the tiled floor and rolled off the doctor’s knees, stood and immediately reached for his jeans.
“Oh, no. Keep them down,” Dr Anderson was himself surprised by the severity of the command. He realised he was enjoying dominating this young man very much indeed.
“Now face the wall, hands on your head!” he snapped. “You can stay there for the rest of class so everyone can admire your smacked bum and be fully aware of the penalty for coming late to class.”
His humiliation completed, Tony shuffled his feet, dragging his jeans across the dirty floor with him and stood where directed. The fifteen pairs of eyes of his fellow students stared intently, inspecting his dark red cheeks; Dr Anderson’s handprints clearly visible in the marked flesh.
Tony rested his head against the wall mortified, while Dr Anderson picked up his lecture notes and was about to begin his class when slowly the door opened and a teenager’s head gingerly peered around.
“Ah, Jenkins. What time do you call this? Late for class, again.”
Picture credit; Sting Pictures
This story was first uploaded in August 2015.
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More stories from Charles Hamilton II are on the MMSA website
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