“Sally Mae,” he addressed her directly, “You’ve probably had guilt these feelings for several years. You left Jonestown feeling guilty ten years ago. You came back to Jonestown this week with those feelings. You don’t want to leave here with them again, do you?”
She didn’t respond.
“You and I need to take care of this,” he paused and put his hand on her arm. “I think what you really need is a good spanking.”
Sally Mae thought. Perhaps he was right. Maybe this was the reason she was so anxious over the whole trip to Jonestown. For her, it was a trip back in time. Then and there for a few short minutes, she was a student again.
“Yes, Sir I deserve to . . .” her voice trailed off into oblivion.
Mr. Robertson took control of the situation.
“Bend over and put your hands there on the desk,” he pointed.
Sally Mae hesitated for only a moment. There was little she could do to escape the truth. It had been too long since she’d felt the sting of her father’s belt on her backside, and Mr. Robertson was quickly becoming a worthy substitute. His mentoring would take a different form. She surrendered to his will and slowly bent over to put her hands exactly where he’d pointed.
“This is a very nice dress, Miss Johnson,” he flattered her. “I would not want to damage it, why don’t we just move it out of the way.”
He slowly lifted her velvet hem, first exposing her upper thighs then her black cotton panties.
“Please, Mr. Robertson this is embarrassing,” she mumbled, staring blankly at the chair behind the desk.
“You need to be embarrassed after such behavior!” he scolded her. “Don’t you dare move!” he demanded. “Do you understand?”
Again she hesitated, this time out of sheer discomfort. Feelings of dread began to outweigh any feelings of guilt. Perhaps this was not such a good idea after all.
“I’ll start with a few warm up spanks,” he announced, placing the leather paddle on the desk beside her.
She knew he’d put it there as a reminder of what was to come. How ominous it looked. He placed one hand on her back, and gently stroked her cotton-covered bottom with the other.
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! He landed three hard slaps in rapid succession. Sally Mae squirmed, but Mr. Robertson remained in control. He returned to massaging the firm mounds of her bottom but only for a brief moment.
The spanking continued, smack after smack and Mr. Robertson’s smacks were genuine. There were so many, it seemed senseless to keep a count. He continued striking her bottom, stopping occasionally to massage her firm, little mounds. Fortunately, all of the rubbing made the sharp smacks of his hand bearable, not to mention Sally Mae found herself becoming increasingly excited.
