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."
