A Serious Problem

You apparently have a new student today. She walks in, head high in the air. She's shorter than you, and incredibly gorgeous, with delightful curves that are just large enough to seem real, porcelain pale skin, and smooth, sexy legs. Her lips are full and plush, their bright red a splash of color in her face, Her eyes are a bright, innocent looking blue. Her hair is raven black, cascading down to her shoulders, with a pink and purple stripe. Even her hands are sexy, and you don't even like hands!

But the way she walks, the way she holds herself, tells you she is just as arrogant and willful as most girls were before you fixed that. Perhaps even more so, if that's possible. You suppose there would be some parents who still fail to instill proper discipline, and if she recently turned 18 society might not have taught her it either. Or she could just be from another country.

"Hey, doc, I thought you should know: my assigned implement was the hand." She says, snapping her fingers under her nose, before sitting down, putting her feet up on the desk. You barely register her actions, distracted by both her appearance and the way she spoke to you. But, after a brief moment, you recover.

And then it is her turn to be dizzied, as you have her bent over your knees and her tight shorts wiggled down before she can react." Well, little Missy, it just so happens that I am in no way required to use your assigned implement." You gesture to the rack of punishment implements, and her eyes go wide. You can practically see the wheels in her head turning as she sees all the canes, paddles, straps, and whips.

Just then, the other student involved walks in. Katie is a shy sophomore, and she blushes at the sight of another girl over your knees." Have a seat, I am afraid this may take a while." You tell her, before grabbing the other girl's panties.

She begins to wiggle and writhe, but you lock one leg around both of hers, and all her efforts become futile. You are tall enough that her arms can't quite reach the floor, and so she has no leverage. You yank up on her panties, the cloth digging into her pussy and folding into her crack, exposing her bottom. She lets out an indignant crime, which soon turns into **** pleading. "I am really sorry, I didn't mean it!" She screeches, flailing uselessly as you pick a short cane off the rack. "I am going to give you twelve of the best. You will count and thank me for each stroke. I will also be counting. If it takes to long to follow that simple direction, you will get additional punishments." You say in an ice cold voice.

She turns, eyes wide with horror." What, no that's not-" You cut her off, slashing the cane down into the center of her buttocks, raising a thin red welt. "Ahh, that hurts!" She protests, and then you deliver another stroke, just below it. She lets out a yelp of pain, as tears begin to leak from her eyes.

The next few minutes must be quite a shock for her, as you give her one "THWACK!!" of the cane every 20 seconds, methodically covering her butt in stinging welts, and she fails to count a single one. Too busy blubbering, you suppose. You have long since given her the 12 you promised her, and soon you will reach 24. When that happens, you will need to decide for her special punishment.

You strike her one final time, smacking the cane right into the crease of her butt, nearly overlapping a previous stroke. You admire her ass - it is bright red, with stripes running from the very top to her knees, each welt standing up from the surrounding flesh.