**All characters in the story are, as identified, 18 years old or above.**
Emily could not believe she was wearing this bullshit outfit. Like some slutty costume, but it was for real. She never wore skirts, especially ones cut at the knees, or white dress shirts, or knee high socks. It was all Jamie's fucking fault.
Jamie's parents had bragged to Emily's parents about how dramatic the turn around had been with Jamie when they had sent her to some Catholic Boarding school.
And now, Emily's parents had bought in. Not enough to send her out to some boarding school, where she could probably get away with her misdeeds, as she knew Jamie was. She got filthy letters from Jamie talking about how easy it was to get away with shit when your parents are far away and paying big bucks. She was also studying harder, so her grades would go up, and she was going to go to a college far away from the parents, and they would foot the bill. Jamie had a fucking strategy. And that strategy had fucked Emily.
She was on the bus now, trying not to make eye contact with the skuzzy leerers on her bus. Since Junior High, when her breasts first announced themselves, she had always worn bulky clothing to hide her figure. She didn't want her boyfriends to come rushing up to her at a dance, or some such thing. They would approach because she was intriguing, and they always did. And then they got to second base, and they started lobbying her to wear tighter shit, so their friends would know what a hot body she had. Presumably, his friends had been mocking him for dating a weird fat girl. Fuck you, she'd say, and that'd be the end of that.
And here she was, on a public bus, wearing some Britney Spears get up, and old guys were gawking.
"Jesus Christ, old man," she finally said to one of them, "I'm only eighteen years old--you probably got a daughter my age!"
After that, she kept her head down until one of the pervs said, "Sweetheart, this is your stop." He even knew where the girls get off the bus. Pervert! Emily walked into class.
She was planning on keeping her head down, under the radar, and behaving, in the hopes that her parents would realize she had learned her lesson. She walked into a school full of people dressed like her, boys wearing the same color tie she was, and pants that picked up the blue in her plaid skirt. Craziness, she thought.
But she made it through Math and Art and made it halfway through history, before she caused trouble. She hadn't meant to--history was her least favorite subject, and she wasn't Catholic, and here she was being lectured by a fucking nun about Papal History? C'mon. She drifted away from the class, and thought about the most random things she could think of.
She finally recognized that her name was being yelled, practically, and the other kids were staring at her, and she thought, "Oh no." Save it, Emily thought. "Yes, Sister?"
"After class." came the curt reply for the penguin at the front of the room. One of the golden girls of the class (Emily could spot them) leaned in to her and said, "Enjoy your first spanking."
Oh no way, Emily thought. That nun can't spank me! I've never been spanked. My parents didn't, and I turned out fine, and I don't need to be spanked now, practically an adult. It's humiliating.
The class ended, and the nun gestured for Emily to stand in front of her. The nun said, "I get no pleasure out of this. I know you are new here, Emily, and it may seem unfair to hold you to rules that are new for you. But we hold every student to the same standard. This isn't mean to hurt you, this is meant to humiliate you."
Emily doubted strongly that the wizened, apparently hard of hearing (she was yelling all the time, Emily realized) nun would pose much of a physical danger to her. But she wasn't really keen on being humiliated on the first day either. Still, she thought, as much as you can, dear girl, fly low, under the radar. Take the punishment. So she did what she was told, and put her hands on the desk, and the nun swung her paddle, pretty gently, really.
And Emily, with a mixture of embarrassment, shock and surprise, realized she was a bit disappointed. It felt good, but she found herself wondering if it could not have felt better. Her head was saying "Good, let's get out of here." But her mouth said something completely different:
"That's all you got, Sister Penguin?"
The paddle came down harder. Emily didn't gasp, really. She found herself moaning. Oh, shit, I like this she thought to herself. The nun, deaf as she was, picked up on the sound that Emily had made, and it made her uncomfortable.
"Go to lunch, Emily."
Emily went to lunch, and was surrounded by brand new friends who couldn't believe how quickly she had gotten paddled. She decided to pretend that it had been painful and humiliating. She had thought nothing of the sort, though. During lunch, when she crossed her legs, she realized she was wet.
Meanwhile, the old nun was in the teacher's luncheon. She was disappointed to find Mr. O'Shea there. He wasn't a man of the cloth, he was just an English teacher, and one always pushing the bounds of what was acceptable teaching curriculum at the school. But Sister Theresa was there too, and the nun needed her guidance. "Sister Theresa," the nun whispered, "the new girl, I think she actually likes being spanked. I've never seen anything like it."
O'Shea thanked his own version of God that the old bird still didn't seem to realize that her voice was never a whisper. The new girl liked being spanked? O'Shea ducked out of the room. He had her next period, he knew, and he wanted to be there before she sat down. Thank God this whole school is so senile, he thought.
When Emily walked into her English class, she was still enjoying the memories of the spankings from the wizened nun, and the attention of some of her new peers. When she saw the young man, in his dignified coat and corduroy trousers, and devilish eyes, she knew she wasn't flying under the radar in this class. She would get in trouble in this class.
O'Shea eyed the young woman who came in. A veritable storm of black hair, brown eyes, nice breasts, amazing legs, and he began to plot his attack when he saw the look she gave him. Oh, she did enjoy it, he thought. I might not have to do anything at all here.
He was halfway through the lesson plan when Emily made her move. It wasn't subtle. She stood up (the cheek on this girl, O'Shea thought) and said loudly, "God, this is boring bullshit."
O'Shea knew his role. "Emily, I know what you are used to, and that you are new here, but you will report to detention for that outburst. You will meet me here after school. Sit down."
And when she did sit down, O'Shea noted, she did so with a smile.
O'Shea barely made through his classes. He lost his train of thought a number of times in his later periods. The dirty haired siren kept appearing in his vision when he was discussing Julius Caesar, even.
Finally the last bell chimed, and his students piled out, and before he had even gathered himself together, Emily was there at the door. She was not conventionally beautiful, but O'Shea was struck with her even more than before.
She said, and she said it perfectly, "I'm here for my punishment."
O'Shea felt himself sighing loudly. If he wasn't careful, he'd lose control of this situation. He paused a second, and said, "Good Emily, from what I understand, you've already been disciplined once today, so you know what to do."
She didn't say anything, she just walked over to his desk (hell, she practically jogged) and put her hands on the desk. Then she turned her head and looked at him and her eyes were full of anticipation. Jesus, he thought.
He quickly locked the door and pulled down the shade before anyone saw that look on her face. Even a nun would know what that face meant.
"Where's your paddle, Professor O'Shea?" asked Emily. Perfect, he thought.
