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.
