College Behavior Advisor

Nota Bene

This installment of

College Behavior Advisor

might be enjoyable without getting the backstory of the new world in which Mount Thatcher College, the community of Blue Popcorn Springs, and college disciplinarian Diamona Fides thrive. I'd suggest you start at the beginning, however.

If you require explicit sex in your erotica, there is none here. All characters are 18 or over, although many are not legally able to drink anything more intoxicating than soda pop.

Prologue: From Pitch to Study Hall

On the Field Hockey Pitch

"Hey, nappy-lover. You blew that shot." Anonymous midfielder in visiting team's uniform.

"Yellow Card. Number 14." Field hockey umpire, shouting.

"Did you see that, Coach? Rebekah assaulted her!" Goodwin Housemother Dorothy Gunther queries Coach Williams.

Coach Jodi Williams

shrugs, eyes turned away.

Telephone Conversations After the Game

These snippets take place at the all-women's Mount Thatcher College, (MTC) in the northern Rockies community of Blue Popcorn Springs. Half an hour after the end of a game with a flagrant episode of violence, disorder, and dishonor.

Housemother Gunther: "Diamona, I need your help. Your professional help. One girl in my house did something despicable on the field hockey pitch. And then Coach Williams ignored it. Here's what happened..."

"I agree," Diamona replies. She continues, "Tell her not to change out of her uniform kit before study hall, Housemother. Or, if she changed before you snag her, have her put it back on, right down to her regulation game panties. I will arrange for Williams and her team to join us. See you at 7:30."

A subsequent call: "Coach Jodi Williams, this is College Behavior Advisor Diamona Fides." An unnecessary identification, as Diamona's voice is well known to her friend, Jodi. They graduated in the same class at Mount Thatcher College. "You face a referral to the faculty senate's Behavior Board. If you do not want that, here is what you must do."

After a few minutes outlining her requirements without divulging her developing disciplinary plan, their call ends. Jodi sends twenty-one messages to her Nightingale hockey squad members, requiring their attendance at a mandatory team meeting. Ms. Fides calls the Housemothers of all the affected students. After explaining the unique situation, and her ideas to preserve study hall time for their youthful charges, they agree to release them for the event.

1. Gathering in the Common Room: 7:30 pm

Goodwin House dorm's sprawling library cum study hall hums with quiet industry; students, dressed casually, work diligently. Tonight, an unspoken expectation hangs in the air: one of them will receive a public spanking.

A scent of sweet body products emanates from the students. Some clean, some sweaty. These odors layer over the scent of institutional cleansers used by the students during their mandatory house chores to maintain the room. Meticulously. As required by their Housemother and inspected daily.

Rows of oak tables, illuminated by green, library-style shaded desk lamps, create pools of warm light against the mahogany-dark walls. The only sounds are the scratch of pens and pencils on paper, the muted clicks of fingers on tablets, and the occasional rustle of turning pages. The feeling is one of studious calm, punctuated by an occasional sigh of weariness or a whispered question. This is exactly the way Housemother Gunther requires study hall to function for her young female charges. Calm, serene. No drama.

"Good evening, Housemother." Diamona Fides announced as she enters the common room.

"Welcome to our home, Miss Fides, Coach Williams.

Oddly, or so it must appear to some of the gathered women, Coach Williams is wearing an outfit almost identical to her team's field hockey uniform. Regular hockey event spectators know that their coach, like many hockey coaches, wears a sage-green polo shirt and rose skirt in the team's colors. Williams carries a field hockey stick and a red penalty card in her hands.

"Ladies, your attention, please. Most of you know our field hockey coach, Ms. Williams, who is also a talented PE instructor. The woman with her, Miss Diamona Fides, is known personally to fewer of you, I expect. She is one of our two college disciplinarians. Excuse me, Diamona, that is so rude of me. I will accept your correction. She is one of our two College Behavior Advisors."

The Housemother, in her haste to apologize and despite her many years' experience, fails to recognize instantaneously the etiquette no-no of addressing a colleague in front of students by her first name.

"I requested their presence tonight, ladies, during our treasured study time, because of an outrageous, disgusting performance, or I should say,

performances, plural

that occurred this afternoon on the field hockey pitch.

Housemother Dorothy Gunther, a zaftig brunette with a few gray highlights, wears one of her signature dark floral dresses in navy, mid-weight cotton that extends to her calves. Demure diamond studs and a slender pearl necklace complete her ensemble, marking her composure and substance. The overall impression is one of self-assured dignity and comfortable authority.

"Miss Fides, please proceed."

2. Disciplinarian Diamona Takes Charge

Diamona Fides steps forward, turning to the woman at her side. "Coach Williams, where is your team?

At that moment, three brisk raps of the rarely used brass knocker on the Goodwin House's front door surprise the students, as study period is sacred across the campus.

A herd of girls, their sneakers squeaking, enter the common room. Twenty-one young women, all in clean Nightingale field hockey uniforms, looking and smelling freshly showered, assemble. There has been time to eat and change in their dorms after the game. They bunch shoulder to shoulder; each totes a book bag.

The Goodwin House girls stare at the newcomers with shock.

'Why are they here?'

fills their minds, while the visitors wonder why their coach summoned them to this unlikely place at this exceptional time. In uniform!

Coach Jodi Williams, a woman whose face often smiles with ease, has an on-the-field gaze that could freeze a raindrop. She currently eyes her crew with a wilted expression that shows disappointment and regret, rather than a smile. Saved by the knocker.

"Miss Fides, my team is here. Late."

Speaking in her room-filling projective voice, Disciplinarian Fides announces, "Tardiness, Coach Williams, ladies of the team, is not a habit we indulge in here at Mount Thatcher College. Coach, please plan a tardiness reminder for your team for tomorrow's practice."

"Yes, Ma'am. I

will

correct their disrespect."

"You Nightingales, please takes seats on the floor to the front. I think your teammate and your coach will benefit from your close attention." Behind Diamona, Jodi shuts her eyes, lowering them further, as anger, resignation, and mortification roil her.

Turning her gaze back to sweep the room, Ms. Fides speaks into the silence. "Rebekah Johnson, please join us in front of your housemates and your teammates.

"Front and center, now, please!"

Rebekah, her face pale beneath her usual athletic tan, shuffles in her seat, her brown eyes darting nervously from face to face of her teammates. The silence stretches, heavy with the weight of expectation, until Diamona's voice, sharp and clear, announces. "Johnson," she begins, her eyes fixed on young Miss Johnson, "you've disgraced not only yourself but the entire team. Your punishment will be...unusual."

A 5'5" girl in a field hockey game kit rises from a library table. Her long-bob hair is beeline brown, while her modest breasts are fully hidden under her home-team's white polo shirt with the number 14 on the back and the front breast, and by, one would assume, the team's athletic bra. It could be argued, and her mother has, that her intentionally sized-down rose and sage-green uniform skirt hugs her heart-shaped butt too snugly, making her cheeks' crevasse and crease prominent. That she wears it for her teammates and not for any boys in the stands is a secret that her religious, but not spiritual, mother seemingly doesn't know.

On the field her team athletic panties are seamless, one less thing to make her mom displeased. Whether or what she wears tonight under her skirt is not obvious from a distance. It would be a delightful topic in a boy's school locker room. Unseen, a few drops of perspiration trickle down the crevasse between Rebekah's clenching glutes.

As Rebekah stands, a rush of adrenaline courses through her veins, causing her heart to race and her muscles to tense. Anticipation of her looming spanking (

and what else, she wonders?

) is clear in the way her hands tremble slightly as she adjusts her soiled uniform. Her breathing quickens, and her face, down to her unseen breasts, flushes to a very rosy hue. Rebekah is hyper-conscious of the blush. She knows her other cheeks' glow will soon surpass it.

She rises faster than a tortoise because she knows how her Housemother reacts to delinquents' foot-dragging, but with movements hobbled by unconscious anxiety. She crosses to where Coach Williams and Disciplinarian Fides stand on a Persian rug.

"Miss Rebekah Johnson, look at me, please." Diamona states. "While we three," said with a gesture including Housemother and Coach, "are in Housemother's office, I want you to remove your uniform down to your team's athletic bra and panties. And your socks. Come stand out here in the middle of the common room, hands on head. When you are undressed, do not move. Do you understand?"

Rebekah's "yes" does not reach the ears of every young student in the large room.

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

3. Accountability Requested

"One more thing, Ladies. On your honor, as women of Mount Thatcher College, if any of you see Miss Johnson move, I expect you to report it to me when we return. Do you understand?"

A ragged, "yes, Ma'am" chorus of altos and sopranos responds. Coach, Disciplinarian and Housemother depart for the housemother's office.

Although there is a round table with four comfortable chairs in Housemother's Edwardian-style office, Diamona Fides elects not to become that informal. She remains standing to address the others and starts with, "Housemother," but is immediately interrupted.

"Dia, I practically changed your diapers. You were a wonderful senior student in Goodwin House just two years ago. We are colleagues now. Please, call me Dorothy."

"Okay," Diamona barely replies before she is interrupted again.

"I must apologize for my rudeness, Dia, interrupting you now and calling you the 'disciplinarian' earlier. Using your first name in front of the girls. I want, I insist, that you do something for me. We all must be accountable. There is no such thing as perfection, but progress and accountability are required." She scoops up a leather tawse, barely 13 inches long, from her super tidy desk set and extends it. "Please, spank my hands with this. Or ... or perhaps you should wash my mouth out?"

Dorothy ventures this soapy possibility, although she doesn't administer them in her own dorm, nor has she experienced one since her mother washed out her mouth in high school. Her own hand, hairbrush, and tawse suffice for shepherding wayward youngsters. Well, she keeps two canes, Misters Junior and Senior, in her office armoire.

Mouth soapings from other housemothers and the many resident assistants (RAs) are common for naughty words across campus.

"Housemother Dorothy, I would never consider such a thing except in tonight's unusual circumstances. It is the reason Coach Jodi Williams is here." Both women glance at the coach, who mutely stares into a mental distance.

"I will honor your request, Dorothy. Would it be fitting to take your whacks in the common room? Given what must occur for Coach Williams?"

"Ah, yes. Yes it would," the Housemother responds, although her eyes widen and lips slightly part. "Appropriate. Another example of why you are spit-spot perfect for the position of College Behavior Advisor." She continues, with a broad, motherly smile of approval for a daughter and a laugh, "you are the perfect

'disciplinarian'

for Mount Thatcher College, Diamona Fides."

Turning to Coach Williams, Dorothy adds, "Did you take Greek or Latin, Jodi? A 'diamona' is a Greek spirit. A spirit who embodies the Roman goddess Fides' virtues of truth, honesty, and reliability. Her parents named her well."

"Um, no, no, I did not know that." Jodi Williams is still not quite looking at the other two women. She stands straight with hands clasped behind her back. Only her head refuses to comply with the military 'parade rest' eyes-straight-ahead position, fixing on her gym sneakers.

"Housemother, I spoke with Jodi at length about what occurred today on the pitch and about her decision making, or lack thereof, you brought to my attention. She acknowledged your long experience as a field hockey coach. She agrees to my, to our suggestions for a way forward. Coach Williams accepts correction as I determine. It will eliminate the need to refer her conduct to the MTC Faculty's Behavior Board or the Dean.

"Is that correct, Miss Williams? Do you accept public discipline tonight in any form I deem necessary? You understand I do this as a college disciplinarian and that I will, I must, put aside all sympathy and empathy as your friend?"

Jodi Williams nods her head.

"Miss Jodi Williams, listen closely. From now on, you'll be held to the high standards we expect of all our instructors -- the same standards you embody in your PE classes and coaching. I've witnessed your dedication firsthand, and your students' praise speaks volumes.

Look at me when I speak to you. Answer with words, politely. You are under correction. It is best that you refer to me as 'Ma'am' from here on out. Yes, we were classmates, and we are friends. I hope that will be true tomorrow. Do you understand?"

"Yes, yes I understand, Ma'am."

4. Proper Etiquette Taught

The three returned to the common room, where they see the now disrobed Rebekah Johnson standing in the center. Typical of a midfielder, her build is lean and wiry. Her legs are disproportionately long compared to her torso, with a compact, taut butt and a pronounced swell where her bottom cheeks meet her thighs. A "half-hourglass figure" her BFF teases, her bottom curvier than her petite, proud breasts. A mist-white bralette and matching hipster panties protect the modesty of her bottom and breasts. Her underwear is not her athletic kit.

Using her professional voice, Ms. Fides asks, "Did Miss Johnson move?" Of course, no raised hands or voices tattle.

"Ladies, what if I told you my tablet's camera is turned on here on the table? And then told you I recorded Miss Johnson's unacceptable behavior? Would any of you have enough personal honor to do what I asked of you?

"No, don't put up your hands now. That was a thought exercise. The Student Behavior Board's Code permits me to award each of you three strokes of my official cane for your failure to tell me about Rebekah's inappropriate reflection time behavior. Although, I do get it. I was a student here; sometimes not snitching has its own honor.

"Miss Johnson, did you let your hands down?"

"No, Ma'am. I ... I tried my hardest not to move. I don't think I moved. My ... oh, I'm such a disgrace. I don't know. I'm sure you won't believe me."

"Actually, Rebekah, I do believe you. Sometimes only the most dramatic events shake us out of the path to self-destruction. Whether you moved without being conscious of it is a slightly different question.

"Ladies, our discipline tonight takes place during study time, and the half hour it would take me to cane all of you all properly isn't available. Be warned. If, no, more likely "when" I return to this beautiful building I called home recently, I will hold you collectively responsible. I

will

employ my official MTC cane if we have a repeat of your collective failure. Am I clear?"

"Yes, Ma'am," responds a discordant chorus of sopranos and altos.

"Good. We have some additional misbehavior to notice tonight. You heard our Housemother call me the

disciplinarian

and then use my first name, when it is proper etiquette to use my official title to introduce me. Don't get me wrong. I am a colleague. I am proud of what I do. How I help the women of this College become what they aspire to be. Using an official title in an introduction is a matter of etiquette. That is an old, appropriate and useful word for common courtesy. Later, in her office, Housemother Gunther interrupted me when I was speaking. Again, a minor matter of etiquette.

"Housemother Gunther, my former housemother, told me that there is no such thing as personal improvement without self-awareness and accountability. A point of punishment, as we practice it here at our college, is to improve self-discipline. She requested to be corrected. I agreed. It is in keeping with the critical learning lesson I hope you take away from all of tonight's teaching.

"Housemother Gunther, please step over here, right next to young Miss Johnson.

"Please hold out your non-dominant hand."

"Ladies, giving what used to be called "cuts" to a misbehaving woman's hands is an effective, ancient and educational tool for minor misbehaviors. It works expeditiously when employed by teachers for minor classroom or etiquette reminders.

"Let me give you a heads-up. Many of you may know that our college's Applied Corrections Master's program conducts research on methods and instruments for punishment and discipline for the state's Bureau of Public Corrections. For research, within the next few weeks, they will propose to the College's Trustees that every instructor be furnished with a short tawse for hot hands. With a recommendation they use them liberally.

"Housemother, we begin now."

Dorothy Gunther's arm is outstretched, her right arm supporting her left hand, palm up, almost in supplication. Diamona notes the much older woman's essential tremor, her fingers slightly shaky. She must aim precisely.

Disciplinarian-in-training Diamona learned the best method to apply a tawse to a woman's hands in her graduate program. Raise it to your shoulder and grip the V-ends of the tawse tongues with the non-swinging hand. Pull it taut, swing it down while releasing the ends of the tongues as they pull out of one's own fingers. This expands the leather slightly, adding coiled velocity to a wrist flick just before the supple leather impacts the palm.

For hot hands, the sound of success is a sharp crack.

"Crack" The Housemother's tawse, umber brown leather sown without seams or rough edges to cut a girl's bottom or hands, blares in the whisper-quiet air of the common room.

Dorothy hopes none of her charges spot her side-to-side shiver that rolls and raises her shoulders, before they sink back in place.

"Thank You, May I have another, Ma'am?"

Housemother Gunther repeats this unprompted, unrequested acknowledgement after each of the next snaps of the spitting leather tongues, lowering her outstretched hand only a few millimeters each time before restoring it to its penitent position. It would never occur to Diamona, Ms. Fides in this role, to use less than a properly calculated amount of force. Students, teachers, staff, and even one's former housemother, are all adults. By some measures.

Dorothy sees and absolutely feels the pain in her rapidly rose-coloring and swelling palm. It is a long time back to her last experience of 'hot hands'. The pain is surprisingly robust. She will need, she determines between spasms of pain, to increase her regular use of brief hand tawsings to benefit her girls. Quicker accomplished than, say, a mild over-the-knee hand spanking. MTC enforces spankings only on the bare bottom, necessitating extra time taken to adjust the girls' clothing.