What choice do you have?

"That's fucking crazy." You spurt out, letting your emotions get the better of you.

"Watch your language, sir!" Doctor van Laar curtly rebukes you. "That will cost you an additional twenty with the paddle." The Dean stands and glares at you. "Either assume the position or leave my office and wait for the police."

"Bitch." You think as you quickly weigh your options. Jail? That would destroy your mother. Go to the President and complain about sexual harassment? Hardly, that offends your manhood. Plead for mercy? To this Ice Queen? Never! This leaves only one choice."

"Alright, have it your way." You surrender with a defiant tone as you bend over and place your hands on the table.

Professor van Laar doesn't reply but simply unbuttons her constrictive dress jacket and meticulously folds it over her chair. Your anger is now briefly deflected by the sight of the buxom Dean in a tight short sleeve white shirt with a neckline low enough to show a bit of her ample cleavage while through its thin material you can make out underneath a racy, designer, white and black laced bra.

Without ceremony van Laar walks behind you.

"Whhap!"

Expecting a lecture the first strike takes you of guard. With difficultly you remain silent, surprised by much the paddle stings. This isn't foreplay, at least for you, but old style corporal punishment and the new Dean is apparently quite versed at administering it.

"Whhap!" For twenty swats you stoically work through the increasing pain that inflames your ass as you refuse to show this frigid tool of the college any weakness.

"Alright Mr. Johnson. Stand up." Dean van Laar surprisingly commands at the half way mark. Your hope of a reprieve, however, is soon dashed. "This punishment is suppose to correct through pain and humiliation." She lectures, "My lesson doesn't seem to be as effective as I hoped, so drop your pants and get back in position."

Muttering a few choice swears under your breath you straighten up, drop your jeans and bend back over.

"WHAAP!"

"Ahh." A faint gasp finally slips through your clenched teeth as the sting is now greatly multiplied with your black, low-rise Jockey's offering little protection.

"WHAAP!"

The final twenty thunders down on your barely covered ass. Your fists clench. You surrender an occasional grunt. Your hips sway with each savage wooden kiss. However, You take your full correction as a man.

With the last spank you give a slight pound of the table; frustrated at the pain and being so belittled by this heartless witch, but even more so that you now have a full, raging, erection.

"Straighten up, Mr. Johnson." The Dean cruelly orders.

Grumbling, you stand and give van Laar her final victory, for there is no hiding the ridged shaft that now blatantly strains within your briefs.

The Dean stares at your bulge for several seconds with her usual cold analytical glare. "Cover your shame, Mr. Johnson." She final orders. "Pull up your pants. You may now leave my office. And make sure you are on time this Saturday."