Diana has questions

"Kyle?" Diana says with uncharacteristic awkwardness. "It's not just me, she really was getting off on that, right? She wasn't pretending?"

"No Diana. You're not imagining things."

"I get it." Diana's voice is a half octave lower than usual and her breathy tone is far sexier than anything you are comfortable with. "A muscular, dominant man standing over their exposed privates, it's hard not to get sexually excited."

"Maybe we should rethink -"

"No." Diana cuts you off before you can even finish the thought. "It's too late for that now, but there is something I think I need you to do."

As she speaks, Diana slips off her suit jacket, folds it neatly and drapes it over a chair.

"If I'm going to be responsible for these girls getting their asses paddled, the least I can do is know what they're experiencing." She looks at you, then glances away, a pretty flush on her cheeks and throat. She unzips her skirt and steps out of it, laying on top of her jacket. You swallow at the sight of her toned legs encased in stockings and then absolutely gulp when she peels down a pair of gauzy black panties and holds them in her hand before looking at you.

"I want you to paddle me, Dean Hawkfeather," she says with a breathy catch in her voice as she puts her hands on your desk and bends over. "Eight strokes."

"Diana..." you say, finally finding your voice, your eyes drawn to her round white rump, raised for punishment.

"I'm quite serious," she interrupts you, looking back. "I was never paddled when I was a student, and the least I can do is...experience it. Eight strokes, Dean Hawkfeather. I'm ready...whenever you are."

Her eyes are smoking and her face is flushed, her nostrils flaring slightly as she breathes. You think to protest again, but it's clear that she's determined on this course of action. With a little shake of your head you step forward and raise the paddle.