*all characters are at least eighteen years of age
“That doesn’t happen here. Not anymore, anyway.”
Cynthia Dawson smoothed out imaginary wrinkles on her skirt before taking a sip of her min lemonade. Overpriced lemonade, she noted, wincing internally, but she had to get something. She knew the drill at this point. Sarah Baker, yet another wide eyed freshman (otherwise known as “Rubies” amongst upperclassmen) sat across from her at the school café, where Cynthia put on her most convincing act: the unbothered yet in-the-know Senior Scout. Technically she was still a junior in terms of classes, but the term “senior scout” was widespread before juniors were officially allowed to assist with initiation.
Greenridge University was one of the top private colleges in the area. Graduates went on to be biochemists, Pulitzer winning authors, doctors…but all that status came with a price. Spanking was the university’s worst kept secret. If you looked hard enough, you could see the signs. Leftover mascara tracks, squirming during class lectures, overhearing “it’s okay I’ll stand” during lunch, answered with knowing smirks and sympathetic murmurs.
But the Rubies didn’t know this. Even the most jaded ones found ways to ask during Orientation Week. Is it true? I’m not scared. Not like it would be my first time. Sarah wanted to know if it was true: that if you were even just a minute late to class, you had to stand in the corner until the end of class, and afterwards the professor might paddle you.
Cynthia heard it all. And she knew the rules. As far as the Rubies were concerned, corporal punishment was just an outdated tradition. Hazing in the sororities could mean a swat or two, but nothing serious. And even that was frowned upon, she said with a well-practiced serious face.
“And let’s keep that between us. The administration has been keeping a close eye on the sororities, it’s like they’re ready to make an example out of us.”
She needed more, something to play into the girl’s ego.
“I know I can trust you. I can tell you’re more mature.”
Three years ago, a similar line worked on her.
~~~~
“Freshman have a strict curfew of midnight, are you not aware of that, Ms. Dawson?”
It was 2 am and Mrs. Sterling was sitting in the common room of her dorm. Her tone wasn’t unkind, almost knowing.
Cynthia knew that she had a 12 am curfew, but Renee, her senior scout, told her they weren’t really enforced, especially where Ms. Sterling was concerned.
She remembered the low whistle Renee let out when she showed her class schedule and dorm assignments, telling her who was a stickler for the rules, who let you get out of class early…
“Mrs. Sterling?” Renee playfully slapped her arm. “Some girls have all the luck.”
“Why, what’s she like?” Cynthia wanted to pretend to be cool, but Renee was so easy going, she felt like she didn’t have to fake it. They were strolling through the garden, slow enough for her to sneak pictures for back home without being too obvious.
Greenridge was famous for its garden. The manicured lawns and neat rows of flowers required more upkeep. At least once a month, it would be closed off for a private event, the hosts looking to impress prospective clients, couples (often graduates of Greenridge) wanting to show off. And Greenridge was happy to have them, as long as they were willing to pay the hefty rental fees.
Cynthia gawked at the biggest azaleas she’d ever seen, missing Renee’s brief eye roll.
“Oh she’s a kitten! She’s like 27 and gorgeous! Left her job as a secretary to come here as a dorm mother. Literally most nights she’s either in bed watching reality tv by 11 – she’s like a tv blogger or something – and she gets so wrapped up in her little shows that she doesn’t even care what you’re doing.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously girl. Just don’t like, smoke or drink in your room, or come in obviously drunk. But if you’re coming home an hour or two past curfew, no one will bat an eye.”
Cynthia had a curfew of 10pm growing up and that was on weekends. Going out on a school night, save some special occasion, was unheard of. Midnight seemed like a luxury to her, not that she would admit this. She watched Renee scroll through Instagram, her perfectly manicured fingers tap tapping until she found what she was looking for: catmama0707’s page.
“Who’s this?” Cynthia held Renee’s phone as if it was made of glass, slowly scrolling. A pretty woman in her late 20s who loved knitting, Real Housewives memes, and cats? Could’ve been any girl she went to school with in about ten years, she thought, shuddering.
“That’s Ms. Sterling! She’s really into the whole granny chic trend, if you can’t tell.” Renee said, taking her phone back. “She’s like the most DGAF of anyone on this campus, even the students.” She sat on an empty bench, taking a tube of lipgloss out of her bag and applying a fresh coat.
“She literally took this job because of the free housing after her boyfriend dumped her, not to mention the other million perks. Jessica – I mean, Ms. Sterling – is like…a glorified babysitter. Anyway.” Renee paused, making sure she had Cynthia’s full attention. “You don’t have to worry. You might be a freshman, but you’re so much more mature than the other girls. I can tell.”
~~~~
Cynthia expected hazing. She was naive, sure, but not so naive to think that it wouldn’t happen. That’s why she snorted when Ms. Sterling said it:
“I know you might think that because you’re on your own, away from your parents, that there aren’t rules to follow anymore. That’s not the case, little girl. For the next four years, we expect you to be on the straight and narrow just like you would at home. And if you choose not to follow the rules, you can expect consequences.”
“Is something funny?”
She didn’t think she laughed, but maybe her face broke out into a smile. That happened when she was nervous, and often she didn’t even realize it.
“N-no…it’s just that, well I thought-“
“You thought you could stroll in here two hours past curfew and nothing would happen? Did you read your handbook?”
Cover to cover, at least once a day, everyday for a month leading up to move in day, Cynthia thought. Ms. Sterling narrowed her eyes.
“Well yeah! But I thought…I just…it got late.”
“Well. Ms. Sterling finally stood up. She was shorter than Cynthia , but Cynthia felt about two inches tall. “If you think that you will be exempt from consequences just because you’re new, you are sorely mistaken.” She picked up an ebony hairbrush from the table. “I’ll make this as quick as possible because it’s late and everyone else is sleeping, but we have a lot more to discuss. Be in my office at 9 am sharp.”
Cynthia froze in place. She didn’t quite know what was happening. It couldn’t be. She wouldn’t.
“Over my knee. Now.”
“But you can’t!”
Ms. Sterling raised an eyebrow. She was already annoyed at having to stay up. She knew at least one of the girls was going to break the curfew rule. That one was the easiest, she thought. But she didn’t expect it to be a) during orientation week and b) two whole hours. She was tired, but she intended to get her point across.
“If I have to come get you…”
Cynthia walked over to Ms. Sterling – waddled was more like it. She’d borrowed a pair of Renee’s heels, and it turns out 6 hours and a minute right up to her first ever spanking was the comfort limit.
“You can take those off.”
Cynthia breathed a sigh of relief, balancing herself against the sofa frame as she carefully removed the heels. They were more expensive than anything she’d ever owned – no, even looked at. Maybe Renee confused Ms. Dawson with another dorm mother? Renee seemed like she smoked a lot, sometimes that can happen – but she wouldn’t trick her on purpose. Right? She said that whole ‘corporal punishment’ thing was bogus.
“Just a dumb rumor parents tell their kids so they don’t crazy the first year.” Renee said, rolling her eyes.
And maybe Ms. Sterling wasn’t all that bad. After all, she sensed Cynthia’s discomfort…
“I don’t have all evening, Ms. Dawson.” Jessica Sterling interrupted the girl’s thoughts. She couldn’t care less if Cynthia’s feet hurt or not – but she’d been kicked too many times before, usually by girls that had never been spanked. If I had a dollar for every flying Loubiton, she mused.
Cynthia stretched herself over Ms. Sterling’s lap, unsure what to do. Ms. Sterling paused for a moment, then yanked the dress up over Cynthia’s bottom. The dress (a strapless metallic number, courtesy of Renee) wasn’t particularly long to begin with, but Cynthia blushed nevertheless. She felt more vulnerable, knowing that there wasn’t anything underneath.
She didn’t have much time for embarrassment, as Ms. Sterling quickly got to work with the hairbrush. Cynthia had never been spanked before, save a few playful swats from boyfriends, but she knew people that were. A tiny voice in the back of her mind wondered if this was a test. But she couldn’t access the stubborn streak in her, the thing that forced her to be brave, the one that meant she could survive anything. A stray tear fell down her cheek before the first swat even came.
~~~
“Just go commando”, Renee said eight hours earlier, watching Cynthia fuss over panty lines.
After their stroll in the garden, Renee invited Cynthia back to her dorm. They watched reruns of their favorite sitcoms, pausing between episodes to make small talk – mostly initiated by Renee. Cynthia answered every question with ease, still not feeling a hundred percent comfortable, but much more relaxed.
When Alice, Renee’s roommate, came in and told them about a party, Cynthia thought that was her cue to leave, but Renee and Alice insisted she stay. Cynthia was honored by the invite, but nothing she owned would fit the unwritten dress code – sleek minidresses and minuscule tops with designer jeans. She was relieved when Renee offered to let her borrow something, as if she knew Cynthia hadn’t prepared for such things.
~~~
Ms. Sterling didn’t care who was familiar with spanking. She just knew that this young lady had broken curfew by two whole hours. Something she expected from a senior, or maybe a junior that had gotten a little too comfortable. Not a freshman, and certainly not the first week. She got to work on Cynthia’s sit spots, taking care to lift each cheek so that the under curve of her round bottom got just as much attention as the rest.
Cynthia was in tears after the first ten, and after twenty she was sobbing. Ms. Sterling took brief pauses to lecture and survey her work, but Cynthia was in too much pain to focus. She’d lost count of how many swats – initially she tried to guess some kind of pattern, or lucky number that would make it stop – around 60 she gave up.
It took a few minutes for Cynthia to calm herself down. Ms. Sterling was patient. Her comforting noises coupled with gentle back rubs confused Cynthia, but she didn’t complain. At some point she’d grabbed a pillow to muffle herself. Despite her distress, she still managed to be self conscious. She felt it even more now, glancing at the tag. Even the common room was decorated impeccably – from the oversized pink velvet couch and antique rugs, to the wall art and the flat screen TV. Cynthia remembered the first time she walked through this room, wondering if she would ever fit in.
It wasn’t just about money. Everyone at Greenridge seemed so sure of themselves, like they didn’t have to agonize over saying the right thing, or how to fit in, they just were. She longed for that feeling, the sense that she belonged.
As she lay over Ms. Sterling’s lap, she realized she finally felt at home.
“Thank you”, Cynthia whispered.
“You’re welcome, sweet girl.“