Final Chapter from the School Daze winner: ‘Missing: An Appropriate Skirt’

I’ve thoroughly enjoyed all four excellent chapters from our winning writer in the ‘School Daze’ spanking story contest. (Now get ready for your ‘prize’!) Here’s number four:

The new junior professor was brilliant and talented.  But every bit of her promise was matched by inappropriate behavior.  John Lewis tipped back in his chair, hands laced behind his head.  This girl was bratting him in hopes of being spanked!  That would not do. 



He leaned forward and dialed the phone.  “Mrs. Thomas? … Yes, John Lewis here…”  He hung up the phone and smiled.  This girl would not be bratting for a spanking after Mrs. Thomas finished with her. 



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As she neared the end of the long corridor, the slim dark-haired woman did a double take as she recognized a familiar face.  Still, she greeted the woman cordially.  “Good afternoon, Mrs. Thomas.” 



The older woman grunted her response, “Good day, missy.”  She was possessed of a mind with a solitary purpose:  administering a hard spanking to a deserving young woman.  Still, as she passed the more attractive woman, she turned hopefully to size up the woman walking away.  The woman was conservatively dressed in a dark skirt and jacket.  Her skirt was neither too tight nor short. Pity that, thought Mrs. Thomas.



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 The two women disciplinarians were a study in contrasts.  Rebecca’s disciplinarian was slender and attractive, cool and professional, well-dressed and elegant, firm but caring.  Mrs. Thomas, on the other hand, was her complete opposite.  Although her role was that of a disciplinarian, her path to discipline was markedly different from the attractive raven-haired woman and her appearance spoke volumes about her philosophies.  She was a large and unattractive woman, her manner of dress was shapeless and dated, and she was as hard and harsh as she looked.  She was an unforgiving and strict disciplinarian, and she firmly practiced “Spare the rod, spoil the adult”. She had been raised in a private girls’ school where old style discipline was practiced religiously, and she carried on those traditions with the conflicted and humorless approach of those who had taught her.  Mrs. Thomas only took on young ladies for her ministrations. 



Professor Duncan knocked loudly on the door of the office.  “Hello‼” she called out in a loud voice that demanded attention, and she pushed open the door.  Mrs. Thomas did not like loud noises nor did she like pushy young women.  This woman irritated her, sight unseen.



Amy Duncan was a petite red-head with wide green eyes.  She was a natural beauty and her feminine form was well toned and equally attractive.  Unmoved by her beauty, Mrs. Thomas sized her up and came to a quick judgment:  short skirt, loose woman. Mrs. Thomas was certain that short skirts were The Devil’s path to immoral behavior and her favorite thing to do was punish women who wore immodest skirts.  The length of Amy Duncan’s skirt was inappropriate for a professor.  Or any woman of good moral character, thought Mrs. Thomas.  



This woman was missing a modest skirt and Mrs. Thomas would set that to right in short order. 



Mrs. Thomas regarded the attractive woman with beady eyes.  She wasted no time in getting to the seat of the matter.  “Good day, Miss Duncan.  That skirt is much too short, don’t you think?”



Amy Duncan recoiled in surprise.  Amy Duncan immediately challenged her back with unconcealed sarcasm.  “Noooooooo,” she simpered, “I do NOT think it is ‘much too short,'” she ended in a lightly mocking tone and she rolled her eyes as she put her hands on her narrow hips.   Who was this bitter crone, anyhow, she thought, a wave of annoyance passing across her face that did not go unnoticed by the woman watching her.    



Mrs. Thomas stepped out from behind the large desk and made a beeline, straight to the young woman.  She laced her fingers through Amy’s red hair, and half dragged, half pushed the surprised woman towards the desk.  “Have you lost all sense of decorum, Ms. Duncan?  Or perhaps you were not instructed as to what you should expect from this meeting,” she seethed.  “I am Mrs. Thomas, and I am your disciplinarian.  You have been assigned to me for attention.  That smart talk of yours ends.  NOW.” 



Her hand still meshed in a tangle of red hair, Mrs. Thomas toppled the young professor forward over the desk, pinning her down with a hand to the small of her back.  Amy Duncan gasped in outrage:  she did not yet realize the peril she faced.



“You are missing a skirt of inappropriate length for your professional assignment.  The one you are wearing is entirely too short, young lady.  Very immodest, indeed, and a poor example for the students.  It distracts the men around you, as well.  You will find an appropriate length skirt when I am done with you, to be sure.” 



Indeed, the skirt was very immodest, Mrs. Thomas noticed with a bit of triumphant satisfaction as she stared at the woman bent forward over the desk.   Amy’s pink lace-edged panties were peeking out from beneath the hem of her skirt.  The pretty panties did not fully cover her lower cheeks, which peeked out appealingly.  Mrs. Thomas had ways of dealing with short hems and she was starting to like Amy for all the wrong reasons.



“You can’t do this to me!  I am a professor at this school, who do you think you are?  This is an outrage!  I will not tolerate this one minute more!”  Amy hollered.



Mrs. Thomas released her hold on the woman; Amy knew it would be trouble to rise.  “Is that so, Ms. Duncan?”  Mrs. Thomas produced Amy’s discipline notice.  She read it aloud, then pushed it under Amy’s face.  “Discipline or termination, Ms. Duncan.”  A sigh escaped Amy as she signed the paper unhappily, still splayed awkwardly over the desk.



Mrs. Thomas snatched the signed notice away.  A spanking it would be. 



She stepped behind the young woman, admiring the tiny tight bottom before her.  Pacing slowly back and forth, behind the girl, she addressed her coldly.  “In my day, a lady wore her skirt past her knees, Ms. Duncan, a proper length for a lady.  Bent over, a lady’s skirt would keep her modestly protected, showing no more thigh than…” she stopped behind the hapless Amy, and drew a line a hands-breadth above her knee with a finger, “THIS.” 



She resumed her pacing and lecturing. “You, on the other hand… you are not covered properly.  You are attracting all the wrong kind of attention and I aim to correct that.” For one thing, Amy’s short skirt was attracting the attention of Mrs. Thomas and her paddle.  She picked up a thin paddle from the bookshelf and approached the girl. The paddle was deceptive:  it was a small and light child’s game paddle, and it looked easy to bear but nothing could be further from the truth when held within the strict clutch of this spanker.



“Together, we are going to make note of the proper skirt length.   Anything that should be covered but is not?  I am going to spank it with this little paddle, just like this.” She tapped the paddle rapidly against her palm.



She smoothed her palm along Amy’s thighs…”Here.  These thighs should be covered, from here to here…” Her hand painted the backs of Amy’s exposed thighs, then stopped at the little bubbles of butt bursting out from under her panties.  She patted the exposed bottom cheeks, just a little too long. “…and these naughty little cheeks will get a good spanking, too…  So you will never, ever, forget to keep them covered.” 



Amy’s heart flipped over in her chest.  This spanking sounded painful, unlike the naughty ones her boyfriend gave, or loving ones, like the ones she had received back home.  She thought briefly about Dr. Lewis, and fervently wished that he was the person about to spank her bottom. Dr. Lewis was stern and imposing, but he had a kindness about him.



“Then, I am going to flip up your skirt and paddle you on the seat of your panties.  When I get done, you will find appropriate skirts in the future.”  Mrs. Thomas announced.  She stepped up to Amy, pulling her tightly across her powerful thigh, pinning the young professor’s inner arm against her bulk, then wrapped her arm around the girl, trapping her outside wrist in the process. “For your own protection, my dear.  I’d hate to paddle those pretty little fingers.  That might hurt.”



Amy squirmed uncomfortably.  She liked spankings for sure, and she had, indeed, been craving one…. up till now.  This did not sound like fun at all, it scared her.  She had never been paddled before.  That certainly wasn’t anything she had considered as a possibility when she signed the damning slip of white paper.  The color drained from her face.   She was trapped against this hard woman’s muscular leg and held firmly in place.  She twisted a bit, trying to see if there was any give to the woman’s hold on her.   There was none.  The woman noticed her actions, and in response, pulled Amy up even tighter, then slid her other leg across the much smaller woman’s ankles.  “You won’t be going anywhere for some time, dear,” she adjusted the paddle in her hand, “because I am going to devil your behind.”



With no further words or even a warning tap, Mrs. Thomas began spanking the redhead.  She focused her attention only on Amy’s right thigh, and she spanked fast using short, light strokes. The strokes were light but the pace was immediately intolerable to the girl.  The spanker did not let up.  Up and down the rapidly reddening thigh, she slapped the paddle again and again on the writhing girl until her thigh was thoroughly painted red.  She moved up to the edge of pink lace and the bubble peeking out.  “This naughty bottom will be properly covered next time I see you, Ms. Duncan,” she announced.  The miserable red head did not hear over the sound of her own shrieking. 



When Mrs. Thomas paused, the bottom of Amy’s butt was puffy and swollen and her thigh was scarlet.  But only the right.  Mrs. Thomas set herself to rectifying that, spanking the agonized young professor anew, doing the same to the left as she’d done to the right.  She briskly slapped away, keeping her pace of rapid, stinging strokes.  Amy had cried immediately, her crying broken only by shrieking or screeching.  Amy bucked violently in futility; the woman held her securely and there was no deterring her.  Broken, Amy finally gave up her fight as the bottom of her bottom was spanked again and again.



Once the left side was evenly paired with its flaming red counterpart, Mrs. Thomas stopped swinging but she did not release the exhausted crying woman.  Amy tried but failed to catch her breath between noisy sobs as the woman resumed speaking.



“This naughty bottom will be properly covered next time I see you, Ms. Duncan, are we clear?  You will find an appropriate skirt, yes?” 



Amy sobbed out a loud “Yes!” her voice catching, hoping for some mercy and an end to her hellish workout.  “Please, oh, please, oh please, oh please, Mrs. Thomas, I have learned my lesson, please stop oh stop oh stop spanking me…I promise…I promise…” She dissolved in tears and gibberish as fire coursed through her backside.  The bottom of her bottom had taken the worst of the spanking, and Amy felt sure it was raw.  Her arms held fast, she could only dream of putting her hands back to smother the fire behind her.



Just wait until I raise that skirt, thought Mrs. Thomas, then she will truly know God.  Mrs. Thomas flipped the paddle backwards in her hand. She poked a coarse finger beneath the elastic of the pretty pink panties, pinched it with her thumb, pulled it out and down, then let it snap back into place.  Amy winced and gasped as the elastic bit into her puffy bottom.  Such pretty panties, thought the spanker.  She snapped the elastic on the other side, and Amy winced again, sobbing.  The older woman flipped the short skirt up. The filmy panties were practically transparent, and she could see the cleft separating Amy’s buttocks quite clearly.  Those nearly naked buns were dressed for a spanking, Mrs. Thomas thought.   She smiled, relishing the sight, knowing the panties would provide no protection at all from the paddling the milky white bottom was about to get. 



Mrs. Thomas loved the site of a tender swollen bottom, and she enjoyed seeing women buck and cry and burn beneath her hand. The red head’s fair spanked skin colored up into a fierce deep red, and Mrs. Thomas was pleased at the prospect of broiling the white canvas before her.  She admired the curves.  They were indeed, naughty, and put there by the Devil himself, she thought. 



“Ms. Duncan, I told you I was going to paddle your panties, and I am determined to blister that wanton little bottom of yours. That short skirt, and these slutty panties?  We cannot have a teacher on this campus, dressed like a slut.  Your trashy, trampy behavior ends today.  I will teach you some modesty if it takes me all day,” the hard woman lectured.



Amy blushed deeply.  Her skirt was cute, she thought, ok, maybe too short for school.  She could see that point now: her wardrobe WAS missing skirts of appropriate length.  But calling her a slut?  Amy Duncan was still a virgin.  Humiliation washed over her in waves and she cried harder.



Humiliation was about to be the least of her concerns.  Mrs. Thomas was a spanking machine and she liked spanking her girls soundly until they couldn’t sit comfortably.  “We are just getting started, my dear. I mean to drive The Devil out of you with a fire to match his own.”  Mrs. Thomas sat on the desk and pulled the girl onto her leg and pinned her securely.  With the same lightning fast stroke she’d used before, she set to work torching the petite, panty clad bottom.  



This spanking hurt unbearably. 



Still, Amy Duncan would not be bruised up in any way that would prevent her from getting spanked again, exactly the same way, next Thursday. 



Or any day before then, should she dare show up to work sans an appropriate skirt again.



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Amy Duncan sat on the hard student chair, bawling openly.  Completely broken down, she was way past the point of glowering at the woman who had just punished her.  She could only sit there, on her well roasted rump, and cry.  To complete her humiliation, Mrs. Thomas had lowered the pink panties then rapidly paddled the small sit spot, over and over again.  That had been the worst of all.  Amy had screeched and howled and struggled mightily but she was held fast by the powerful woman.  The searing fire in Amy’s backside made it clear that Mrs. Thomas especially liked spanking girls where it hurt most:  where the buttocks met thighs and that little spot in the center.  



After the fiery spanking, Amy’d been put in a corner to stand, skirt up, panties down, with her scorched bare bottom on display for several long minutes.   As much as she wanted to rub the sting away, Amy didn’t dare.  Amy was sure this harsh woman had eyes in the back of her head, and she had threatened to start the spanking all over again if Amy so much as touched herself once.  Amy was sure she meant it.  She had not taken the first spanking well at all, and did not want another.



Amy’s whole rear was blazing red, and the impressive swelling at the bottom of her cheeks made lowering herself onto the chair an ordeal.  She settled gingerly onto the wooden seat with her skirt still up and her panties still down, facing the timer which worked its way, slowly, down.  



Amy Duncan did not think she liked spankings any more.



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The bell rang loudly, jangling Amy’s fractured nerves.  Her ordeal in the chair was nearing an end.



“Professor Duncan.  You will find skirts of appropriate length to wear, immediately,” Mrs. Thomas intoned as she held up an ugly dark skirt.  It was a baggy sack of heavy material, and it was long enough to cover part of Professor Duncan’s calves and wide enough to fit two of the petite professor.    “I will be back to check your skirt length daily, young lady, and when I bend you over, I expect to see you covered… from where?” she asked the sobbing woman.



With a shaking finger, Amy Duncan drew a line across the back of her thigh, a hands breadth above the knee.



Satisfied, the woman grunted and roughly thrust the ugly garment into the punished professor’s sack.  “We’ll see whether you learned your lesson tomorrow.  You will report here, to me, at 4:00 pm precisely.  Those thighs had better be covered or you can expect another spanking, exactly like the one you just got.  For now, you can walk around with that bright red bottom on display in case anyone else has any foolish ideas about how a woman should dress.  You are dismissed.”



With a grim smile, Mrs. Thomas realized the girl would have to walk past the department chairman’s office.  He would appreciate knowing that the little professor would no longer be distracting him with her hussy behavior.  She picked up the phone.



The professor was still crying as she stumbled out of the door, her skirt still half up.  Tears blinded her as she snuffled and shuffled down the hall.  Her walk was stiff and anybody who saw her would know exactly why, especially the teaching staff.  And especially Dr. Lewis.



Amy Duncan rubbed her bottom as she hobbled along, desperately trying, but failing, to erase the burn.  She was oblivious and well past caring what anyone thought.   All she could think about was her flaming red backside. 



College was a lot harder when you were the teacher, she thought.