A shaky start, but nothing a quick whipping won't cure

It's your custom to prepare some ideas in advance when giving an examination, so you search your laptop for a file with Peggy, mock and viva in the title, which instantly finds the document you were hoping to see. Last modified at the weekend, it was produced by the Rulebook as part of the wholesale changes to history resulting from your old rules. Thus armed, you launch straight into a vigorous questioning of the stylish blonde before you.

Although she clearly knows her subject, Peggy seems a little nervous and realizes this is coming through. In an ill-judged effort to break the tension, she cracks a joke, which you have to admit you would find funny in other circumstances, but not here. When her attempt at humour doesn't produce the desired result, the doctoral candidate becomes embarrassed by her mistake and gets slightly flustered by your next question. At least it's happened now, instead of in the real exam.

"Stop there, Peggy," you say solemnly, leaning back in your chair. "This is not going well."

"No, Professor. I'm sorry, Professor." She hangs her head.

"I think we ought to take a deep breath and start again."

"Oh, yes," she brightens up immediately at the prospect of a second chance. "Thank-you, Professor."

"First, though, I'm going to whip you."

"Yes, Professor. Thank-you, Professor." She sounds as if you've just offered her a generous scholarship rather than a flogging.

You tell her to stand up and strip and she obeys unselfconsciously, unfastening the dress from behind her neck and stepping out of it, then laying it over the back of her chair. When she turns, you notice the puce welts of an intense caning upon her peachy bum, but the front of her slender body is unblemished, for now.

"Please may I be whipped for doing so badly in my mock, Professor," the young beauty pleads contritely.

You order her to put her hands behind her head, but say she doesn't have to count or thank you for the strokes individually, then you take her lash, gauging the distance carefully. A firm flick across her torso, so that just the tips caress her ribs and the outer side of one pert tit, leaves bright red tracks on her pale skin and makes tears prickle in her eyes. She gasps, chest heaving in a frankly alluring manner, then you ask her the next question from your crib sheet.

Shocked by the sudden change, the blonde student nevertheless manages to stammer out the start of a cogent reply, when you administer a swift backhand lash across the other side of her body. A whimper and a small mewl later, she continues her answer, interrupted briefly when you manage to catch her stiff pink nipple directly with your third strike. Still, the now weeping girl manages a better response through the whipping than she had been providing sitting in her chair. Maybe all vivas should be given like this, you muse, mind straying to the Rulebook, then you take a quick look at your computer to find the next question.

So it continues, whipping the twenty-something steadily closer to hysterics whilst simultaneously quizzing her on the finer points of her thesis. Her abdomen and boobs are red raw, dripping with tears, shaking so hard from the heaving sobs wracking her shoulders that the salty liquid is splashing off in all directions, but although her speech is becoming steadily less intelligible, her replies are coming quicker and with more assurance.

Finally, you decide to take a break and tell Peggy to compose herself, so that you can continue the mock viva in a more conventional manner. It's then, as she sobs out her thanks and begs to be allowed to show her gratitude, that you remember she owes you a tip.