Time for work

Whilst the idea of spanking a pretty girl and getting tipped for it is very tempting, you know that you should really make a move. You have tutorials this afternoon and need to get back to the university.

The problem is that you don't really want to go. It's not that you hate your job; you love expanding young minds and find it an honour to help shape the next generation. However, it doesn't excite you as it once did. Of course, being able to spank the female students should spice things up, but the majority of undergraduates are male and most of the rest aren't exactly glamour models. You open the Rulebook once again and write the name of your university on the top of a new page. Two Old Rules later and you have turned it into an all female college which only accepts girls who are attractive as well as bright.

As you take a minicab back to campus, you are eager to see the effect of the rules you've made, but also a little apprehensive. Although to you, reality changed instantly the moment you finished writing your rules, to everyone else the world has always been this way. That means that you still recall the old students you used to have, but their replacements will remember you teaching them for the past months or years. Exiting the taxi, you push aside your worries and make your way across campus to your office.

As you stroll through the well-maintained quadrangles, you see attractive young women going about their studies left and right. Every single one is slim, pretty and shapely, but what surprises you is the similarity in how they all dress. It's as if the university has an unofficial dress code of smart blouse with several buttons undone, extremely short skirt and high heels. And apparently no underwear, as you can see many girls' nipples clearly through the thin material of their tops and catch a glimpse up some of their skirts as they recline on the grass reading or chatting with friends. Just about every girl you see has at least a few bruises, welts or angry red stripes on her thighs and buttocks, indicating that corporal punishment is the rule rather than the exception here, which may explain why short skirts and no knickers are preferred, for ease of access.

Arriving at your office, you see your first two students already waiting outside. You check your watch to make sure you aren't late, but it is they who are slightly early. As you look at them more closely, you experience a strange sensation. Although you don't remember either of them, somehow you know that the tall, green-eyed dirty blonde with D-cup tits and a pair of ponytails down to her waist is called Debbie and you marked her essay an A-minus, which means she will receive six of the best from your wicked cane in a few moments. Her considerably shorter tute-partner, a strikingly pretty black girl with plaits, pert titties that look to be barely a handful and a truly incredible arse, is April, a straight A student who has never felt the kiss of your cane, although she is no stranger to the tawse she carries, as her shyness has a tendency to get her into trouble.

You reel with understanding that although your memories are unaffected by the rules you have written, you know everything that you would do if they had been changed. It is both confusing and reassuring at the same time.

"Are you all right, Professor?" Debbie asks you. "You look a little shaky."

"Yes, I'm fine, thank-you Debbie. You may as well come in; it's almost time to start."

The girls file into your office and take their places on either side of the dark wooden table in the centre. Soon, you will sit between them, at the head of the table, but for now you remain on your feet.

Your students get out their laptops and open them up on the table. "Have you read your marks, girls?" you ask.

"Yes, sir," they chorus together. April looks pleased with her A, but Debbie seems apprehensive, as well she might be. With a sigh, she lifts her skirt and bends over the table, saying "Let's get this over with."

You smile and take a crook-handled cane from a rack on the wall. It is about as thick as your thumb and four feet long including the handle, an implement designed to cause extraordinary suffering in the service of education.

Standing behind the blonde, you inspect her cheeks and see the faint remnants of the dozen strokes she took last week for a B-plus. Debbie rises up on her tiptoes to present her buttocks more openly, her chest and stomach firmly in contact with the table and her head raised, looking straight ahead at her partner. Her hands rest flat on the table and you are pleased to see that she has adopted exactly the position in which you have fantasized about thrashing beautiful actresses and sexy pop stars over the years.

Stepping back, you raise the cane above your shoulder and sweep it down as hard as you can, twisting your hips at the last moment to impart the greatest impact to her exposed nates.

A snap echoes through the small room, followed by a low "Ooh" and then a more firm "One, thank-you Professor. Please may I have another."

Her skin is already reddening and swelling into a ridge across the centre of her rump that will cause her discomfort whenever she sits down for quite some time. You take your time and place another line a little way below the first. This time, there is a sharp intake of breath and her voice is noticeably shaky when she asks for the next stroke.

You think you are doing very well for your first real-life caning and wonder whether the power of the Rulebook has somehow transferred to your arm the skill which you would have acquired had you lived your whole life in a world where spanking is commonplace. However, your third stroke is slightly low, just catching the top of Debbie's tanned thigh.

She gasps and her head almost goes down, but she catches herself in time; had she changed her position without permission, the stroke would have been repeated. If she had failed to resume the position immediately, you would have started over from the beginning.

The fourth stroke lands where you aimed it, between the second and third, and elicits a small cry of pain. Debbie's voice is quavering considerably now and tears are starting to run down her face.

"Nnnggh," Debbie manages to stifle the scream waiting to get out as your fifth swing contacts almost exactly the same place as the fourth and her tears are flowing freely as she counts it off and asks for what she hopes will be the last.

You are surprised that your shoulder is already starting to tire, but stoically resolve to put as much effort into the final stroke as the first. The vicious implement whistles through the air and impacts at an angle across all the previous welts apart from the third. This time Debbie does scream, sobbing hard as she thanks you profusely for punishing her. Her hands had begun to clench into fists when the cane landed, but she flattened them before the lapse could earn her a repeat. She is clearly in great pain and you are impressed with her self control to remain in position despite her intense suffering.

You wait until she has calmed down before you give her permission to sit on the hard wooden chair, a process with causes her almost as much distress as the caning itself. Once seated, she suddenly remembers that she is now supposed to tip you for your efforts and transfers a sizeable sum to you using her mobile 'phone. April's mark of A means that once again, she will avoid a flogging. Unless you have something else in mind, that is.