With one of the nudity punishments you instituted two days ago

"Take off all your clothes," you instruct calmly, taking a placard from the drawer next to you. Trish definitely recognizes the object and its implications, shaking slightly as she stands and quickly removes her taupe jacket and matching pencil skirt, folding them neatly before bending at the waist to unzip her brown leather ankle boots and step out of them, leaving herself completely nude; like all the students you've seen so far, she's not wearing any underwear.

Trish is of medium height, with pert, medium sized boobs and a medium sized, but very round, bottom. Her labia are prominent and completely available to your questing gaze, because she stands with hands by her sides, trying desperately to neither flaunt herself, nor cover any part of her fit young body, whose only signs of recent chastisement are areas of bruising on her bum and thighs, to which you intend to add.

Despite being seen naked very frequently, due to spankings, she's absolutely devastated by her newly enforced exposure. You hand her the completed placard and she gasps when she sees that the duration is variable: she won't be allowed to get dressed again until she manages to complete the action plan you're going to draw up at the weekend, which will take at least a few weeks. She's about to hang the placard around her neck when you interrupt her.

"Before you do that, you can come over my knee. Read me what you have written in your report so far while I blister your backside."

She almost seems relieved to get into the familiar position, putting her laptop on the floor and opening it as flat as the hinge will allow. She can comfortably control the machine whilst lying in your lap, although if you have a say in it, comfortably isn't a word that will apply to her in any way for some time. She keeps her legs straight and points her toes, putting little enough weight on your legs that you're confident of being able to spank her for some time without difficulty.

You heft her implement experimentally. It's a teardrop-shaped plywood paddle with a leather pad on one side and dimples carved into the opposite surface. You can't see why the softer side would be particularly useful (personal implements are supposed to inflict the maximum discomfort, after all), but the other one ought to do nicely.

"Please may I be spanked, Professor," she asks, plaintively, as though she really does crave your discipline.

"Start reading, Trish. Don't stop until I tell you."

"Yes, Professor." Her melodious voice combines well with the muted slap of wood on buttock, as you set up a brisk rhythm. Firm swats, but not so hard that you won't be able to keep this up for quite a while.

You focus on one area at a time, not moving on until it looks like ripe beetroot, skin starting to blister. Trish's shoulders start to heave with sobs, but she continues to read smoothly, rubbing the tears from her eyes when necessary to be able to see. You would be able to tell just from the timbre of her speech that she was being intensely chastised, pitch rising as the discomfort becomes ever more intense, but you can still tell every word.

About the time she moves from reviewing her progress to outlining her current direction, you finish thrashing her arse and start on the tops of her thighs. Now her response is more notable, squirming slightly, stimulating your crotch most pleasantly. You smile, briefly losing track of what your student is saying, while you slap the plywood onto the back of her legs over and over again, until a huge swollen weal covers the whole of her sit spot.

Aware that your next student is due to arrive soon, you pull Trish's cheeks apart and rain down blows on the sensitive inner valley, finally overwhelming her self control. The youngster stops speaking momentarily, instead letting out a series of weak little screams which dissolve into helpless sobs, before she manages to start reading again, only to stop again a few smacks later. Fortunately, she soon reaches the end of her document, which ceases in mid-sentence. You weren't listening too closely, because you were concentrating on turning her backside into one giant blister, but you get the impression that about the last third was unfinished, barely a first draft.

Spared from further reading, the exhausted student in your lap can weep and bawl with abandon while you finish up. She did stop reading before you told her to, so you could punish her further, or just have her tip you, but your next appointment is in less than a minute, so you might be better off postponing that pleasure until Saturday.