Misty And The Spanking Team

Set in a version of "the real world," Aimee and her roommate want to join the FoxTails Girl's College Spanking Team--a 'club' they've only heard rumors about!

All characters over the age of 18

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Foxtail Freshgirl Misty Colter

The FoxTails Girls College had electric trams that ran regularly from the main campus to a handful of "offsite" campuses about the town. Upperclassmen ("Upperclassgirls" in the FoxTails vernacular) could walk, bike, or drive themselves--but freshmen ('freshgirls!') and sophomores had to take the trams (or get driven by an upperclassman). The Trams tended to go at a smooth, steady 30mph and people in the town gave them plenty of space. The front had rows of comfortable seats like an airline. The back had a section with overhead bars and hanging leather straps for students who preferred to stand.

Misty preferred to stand. She was a "freshgirl" at FoxTails and her first month had been a trial. She'd grown up in a 'legacy' household with two older sisters and, being a keenly intelligent girl, had made a history of avoiding much of the common and intricate punishments her parents (both of whom had gone to schools in the 'network' of FoxTails-like schools) imposed. Her mousy demeanor and quiet, inoffensive behavior was only partially innate. She'd become an expert at 'hiding in plain sight.'

Where both her sisters had cheerfully gone to in-network schools, Misty's plan (quietly announced) had been to finish high school with a nearly perfect GPA and go to some avowedly non-network school on a scholarship! She certainly wasn't going to ditch her family, but she felt a sense of triumph at escaping the intriguing--but humiliating discipline her sisters (and her, a little bit) had faced. She'd deal with her parents on HER terms. Once she was away, she could refuse the indignities, masturbate all she wanted in the privacy of her own bed or bathrooms (the bathrooms at home didn't lock). She could enjoy the meticulous punishments her mother dealt out safely from afar.

That had been her plan. It had all come crashing down weeks before her 18th birthday when the school resource officer had checked her backpack in a horrible, unexpected spot-inspection and found her stash of THC gummies (illegal in her state--not to mention for minors), and ecstasy tablets--a bunch of them. She'd been hauled down to jail. It wasn't her first misbehavior by far. She'd egged houses, keyed a teacher's car, shoplifted a bit, and undertaken forbidden sexual escapades (including scissoring, which would be sternly punished!). She'd been extremely careful, never getting caught. In fact, she'd been on her way to drop off her stash in a secure hiding place when the fucking SRO had swooped down and showed her badge and searched the backpack.

Misty had broken immediately and begged the police woman not to tell her parents--especially her mother. It had fallen on deaf ears. There were enough pills in there to possibly get her for intent-to-sell. In short order, she was facing expulsion, getting her college acceptance rejected, and, potentially, jail.

It had been a nightmare, and the way out--the only one that worked out--was to throw herself on the mercy of her parents and get them fully behind her with their considerable resources. It had worked, the charges on hold, her lawyers working with the school for a smooth graduation. Her mother's requirement had been, simply, that she go to FoxTails.

She had never agreed to anything so quickly. Now, weeks in, she had thought several times that prison might have been a preferable alternative.

She was in the 'Watchtower' Punishment Dorm--a small dorm for girls whose parents thought needed additional oversight, structure, discipline, and when even a step out of line, correction!. In Misty's case, she was on a "punishment program" that would stand in for the discipline her parents would have imposed if she'd been home.

Her dorm room was awful! It had no door, and the shared bathrooms had no dividers or stalls whatsoever. There were two fearsome RAs who could inspect anything or anyone and had authority to deal out punishments--starting with a bare-bottom spanking and increasing from there!

She had also been assigned a personal counselor, Mrs. Litmer, a young woman a few years older than Misty, but undeniably an adult. Her office had pictures of her cats, a framed photograph of her with an insanely handsome young man standing before some kind of exotic sports car. He was smiling easily, and she was blushing, and grinning, clearly chagrined at being caught by surprise by the photographer. In the reflection along the smooth surface of the car, Misty was pretty sure her stylish dress was missing an oval that framed her buttocks.

Mrs. Litmer had put her on a "maintenance schedule"--that was two spankings a week (Monday and Thursday) even if she had good behavior! Supposedly this was meant to keep her focused, and 'get her used' to being under strict, demanding discipline, but Mrs. Litmer had added that a key benefit of 'maintenance' was to make sure she was kept properly "in her place."

The ping-pong paddle, hanging behind her desk, had a leather wrapped handle reinforced and a smooth hard-rubber surface lay over a rigid carbon-fiber blade with a 98-score sponge-rubber hardness. For a game-paddle it would have been ridiculously aggressive. As a spanking implement, it was... harsh. Mrs. Litmer used it lightly, but even a mild, slow application left Misty howling over her lap. It wasn't just the spanking though-- the process of removing her clothes (every stitch, save for her socks) felt overwhelmingly awful and tear-inducing even before the first smack!

On her first maintenance, it was an awful wake-up-call. The exercise of laying over the woman's lap, bare bottom and feeling the bite of the paddle, was a terribly surprising experience! It was an electric shock of pain and she knew the reception-girl out in front of the counselor's section had heard her howls clearly. She'd poked her head in after with a fresh box of tissues "just in case" Mrs. Litmer needed them! She'd been crying like a child in the corner, still naked. The humiliation was unbearable.

Mrs. Litmer had wiped her tears, after 5 minutes, explaining that corner time was usually longer--but her history of "hiding" meant she was ill-prepared for discipline (and lacked self discipline) but her counselor would only make so many allowances. She'd been given a stuffed animal to hold, told to lay on the couch (on a towel Mrs. Litmer put down) for the rest of her time. She'd HATED the demeaning treatment--but it had been better than squirming in the corner, hands on her head, desperate to rub her blazing buttocks.

The sound of a sniff from Ms. Litmer, mortifyingly told Misty that the woman could smell the lubrication she'd leaked all over her thighs during the spanking. She'd cried even harder into the stuffed giraffe. Mrs. Litmer had given her a pamphlet on how 'Masturbation after Chastisement was to be Avoided'.

She'd been unable to hold her tears, crossing campus, and had failed to take the required step of informing her RA she'd been punished (so as to be observed for illicit self-pleasuring) and so got another mild punishment of having to wear neon-bright, buckle-on pajamas with thick padding in the gusset of the pants around the dorms all weekend. The RA had gone easy on the hand-spanking, providing just a few light slaps as Misty fairly bawled over her lap.

The Watch-cunt dorms, as her roommate called them (quietly, and in private), true to that name, provided her with no opportunity to address the awful need in her sex. It had been a miserable week and she'd felt that her mother's victory might have come late--but was infuriatingly complete.

Halcyon Campus

The tram coasted into the small complex of buildings that made up the Halcyon Campus. Unlike FoxTails proper, Halcyon integrated students from both FoxTails (the girl's school) and Foxtrot University (the boy's school). It seemed students in the off-campus location came from the upperclassmen (upperclassgirls), and students with some disciplinary history. Several Watchtower girls had classes assigned there... and Misty had two. That was interesting, she'd thought--but quickly realized that it was, if anything, more intimidating.

Male "prefects" with small badges on their school uniforms (slacks and a sweater vest over long sleeve shirts) stood about the interior courtyard, calmly watching the students go about their classes. The posted rules gave them permission to inspect anything and assign discipline for any reason at all. They wore small rubber paddles in holster cases on their belts.

She also discovered there were actual pillories in the bathrooms (which had stalls that closed but didn't lock) and each of the four buildings had a "detention room" to which malefactors could be sent. Misty was intensely curious about what went on in there--but she knew the easiest way to find out would be unacceptable.

She discovered she was terrified of the handsome boys confidently nodding to the girls as they passed into the building. She was horrified she'd be inspected--she knew her panties would not pass a hygiene inspection: they were damp, and would eventually dry--but the two classes she had on the Halcyon Campus didn't help that.

Neither Domestic Followship (the converse of 'Leadership') and Introduction to Sexual Technique did not appear on Foxtail's public curricula, but they were open to any student who knew to ask and required for 'remands' like Misty. Mrs. Litmer had explained that part of Foxtail's mission was to ensure young ladies who matriculated there were prepared to be successful members of a domestic partnership, and the skills they'd learn in those classes would serve them well when they were "ready to start that part of their lives."

Misty found both classes a bit overwhelming--horrifying, infuriating, and intriguing. She got butterflies in her stomach thinking about it and on days she had to sit and listen, she felt an uncomfortable heat in her face, a growing, insistent tension in her lower regions.

Domestic Followship was taught by a cheerful young woman and covered how to perform proper, eager submission and self-subjugation for your household leader (presumably a boy--but, the young woman allowed, also a girl--FoxTails was perfectly okay with 'sapphic' relationships, just so long as they were properly established).

Followership included kneeling nearby while he dressed in the morning, ready to spring up and assist should he need anything, cleaning and cooking to a tight schedule so that when he got home, you were waiting, eager to assist him in relaxing. If there was sex, the submissive partner would stay in the wet spot as a show of her eagerness to accept some discomfort from the results of his attention, and so on.

The idea of a relationship with an explicit dominant man and submissive girl stoked outrage in her, but as the teacher described the humiliating services the girl would offer and Misty imagined herself in such a role, her imagination clouded with arousing, awful, intrusive images. The image in her textbook showed an agonizingly hot, Norman Rockwellesque painting of a young woman dressed in a nightgown, kneeling in front of her husband, taking his organ in her mouth, pleasuring him diligently as he shaved in the morning. She hated that picture, even as staring at it made her feel an urgency to masturbate.

Sexual Technique was even worse. It taught young women how to properly service a mate. It had started with the rule that a lower-mate (the FoxTails term for the submissive in the relationship) did not refuse anal sex. The teacher, a mature, stern woman--who was in her 40s and radiated authority--had explained that the students should be attentive to their anuses and keep them stretched enough to take a boy's cock should he wish it.

Positions, bearing down to open the channel when the cock was placed against it, and what to do if you hadn't had time to "empty out" were all covered in increasingly mortifying detail! She hadn't been the only girl given a soft reprimand for squirming with potentially more promised if they kept doing it.

She had both classes today and had come from her morning maintenance--so her rear echoed with the smarting of the spanks. She hadn't bawled like she had for the first week--the spanks were still light, and she had realized that despite the flares of pain in her buttocks, and her sniffling tears, the woman was taking it easy on her. Mrs. Litmer's pity was a comfort and also a further, miserable humiliation.

The tram parked behind a mural of smiling young women in different professional uniforms or dress--celebrating the diversity of the Halcyon ladies, while reminding everyone of their uncompromised femininity. Misty waited, scowling, her rear still hurting from the little vicious paddle--being 'put in her place' sucked!

Late to Class

The trams were slow; the loading and drop-off point was all the way across campus from the Feminine Studies building where Misty's seminar classes were held. Arriving on time was always a stressful struggle, and that was far worse when her morning included a paddling!

Still, it shouldn't have been a problem. It was a six or seven minute walk, and she had fifteen minutes to make it. More than enough time, she told herself, but even still, the slow, chatty girls ahead of her on the tram made her ire and frustration rise as they took their sweet time gathering their bags and stopping to laugh and smile instead of just... moving along!

Of course as a freshgirl--and a Watchtower girl--any sign of irritation could have serious consequences! She kept her eyes down, her sullen glare to herself.

At least it wasn't raining.

The real challenge was the quad--the broad, bright open space in the center of campus where everyone could see everyone and there was no place to hide. Misty was a hider. She'd perfected social invisibility in her teenage years, but here, out in the open, she felt like a field mouse under the eyes of circling raptors.

Then there were the boys.

When she'd heard that she'd be attending classes on mixed-gender campus, she'd assured herself that there was no way the young men would even be aware of the sorts of rules and consequences the Foxtail girls suffered under! Surely that would all be a discrete secret... wouldn't it?

But that turned out not to be the case. If most Halcyon's young men were blissfully unaware of the hidden structures of their school's networks, the Prefects certainly weren't. One look at them told Misty they knew exactly what was going on and had a finely tuned appreciation for the indignities the girls of Foxtails suffered.

The idea of them knowing made her stomach clench. The thought of one of them witnessing her correction or--far, far worse--administering it--sent her into an emotional tailspin she wasn't always able to recover from. In most cases she could avoid this by not thinking about it, but walking across campus, feeling their eyes on her, wondering what they could divine from her gait or the condition of her makeup, was intolerable.

And today, of all days, it was far worse. She'd fixed her hair and washed her face repeatedly in the bathroom after her paddling, fussing with her hair to try to get it back in perfect order, but she knew that her eyes, her cheeks, her hair all offered subtle clues of her morning's humiliation. She felt like her buttocks were somehow radiating light and heat through her underpants and skirt--a signal that the Boys of Halcyon could sense and react to.

Misty stood at the edge of the Quad, feeling an awful stew of heat and self-consciousness and then decided to take the long way around. I can make it if I just hurry, she thought. Walk fast--but don't run. Running was inelegant; it demonstrated a failure to plan ahead--Foxtail Ladies didn't unless they were out on the sports-field or in proper exercise attire!

A speed-walk was allowable, and she checked the time on her phone as she hurried down the hill toward the edge of campus and then turned left, taking her through the outer parking lots reserved for campus workers and new students.

She would have made it, not for two mistakes.

The first was a quick trip into the bathroom halfway there. Her nerves got to her, and she assured herself it wouldn't take long, but when she stepped inside, her breath caught. She'd seen pillories in the Halcyon's women's rooms before but for the first time, these were occupied and the tableau of humiliation froze her.

There were four stall areas, but two of them had the walls down. The toilets were still there--but... A girl occupied each one. They were modified to be designed as a lay-down pillory, occupant's head and hands through the holes, their aft regions, above the toilets, legs straddling the bowls. Both girls wore skirts that were still on, but that had been strategically pinned so that their sexes and buttocks were exposed over the basins. Hanging from a peg on the side of each pillory was a pair of panties, clearly removed from the occupant. One was plain white. One was lacy black and bright pink--utterly embarrassing. Worse: it had a thick sanitary pad stuck to it with a slight stain of discolored discharge.

Both girls looked miserably shocked to see her come in. She could see the wretched blush on their faces, their dangling hands and fingers, the looks of suffering in their eyes.

She stared. Their buttocks were not *displayed* thanks to the way the sides of the skirts were pinned, but she could see the fleshy arcs of the curves. They were both pink--the look of a spanking.

One of the girls moaned and, unable to hide or even look away, closed her eyes and let out a shuddering sob of utter humiliation. She'd been crying quite a bit from the look of her, and Misty couldn't blame her. This dreadful, mortifying display was obviously unbearable, and with no hope of 'enduring' it, she simply suffered.

The other girl seemed better composed, but worried and utterly disgraced. "Y-you can just use the other two," she said quietly, even more embarrassed to be the cause of a visitor's discomfort! "We-we're just b-being punished."

Misty should have gone immediately; her urgency was more psychological than physical--but her emotions had already been stirred, and she felt herself succumb to her curiosity. And mercy. "I know," she assured them. "I... get punished too."

The sobby girl burst into hot, fresh tears.. Misty's heart went out to her--oh, the poor thing was just dissolving in shame! "What did you do?"

"Smoking," the more composed of the two, admitted. Looking down. Ashamed. "We were smoking in here." A shudder ran through her. How many times had she castigated herself for being so stupid and incautious. "One of the Prefects caught us." She stared down at the tile, willing to do anything to turn back time, and knowing it was impossible.

"That's horrible," Misty said softly. "I'm so sorry--that's..." she wasn't sure what else to say. She knew that if she were the one locked in ignominy, her private region bared in degradation, helpless and exposed, words of comfort from a stranger wouldn't help much, especially compared to the merciless humiliation of being observed!

"I... I'll go," she told them, backing up... staring. Oh--this was... intense! Seeing another person punished had always been a quiet, private thrill for her, and seeing this made her sweat. Her desire for 'private time' to process it, reflect on it, dwell on the details, welled up inside her and made her linger just a moment longer, standing by the door, trying to absorb every little detail for later.