Remarkably, she does not

For the next few moments, the room is filled with the sound of rod on flesh, increasingly loud gasps for breath and shuddering sobs interspersed by whimpers of thanks. Although her face is red and soaked with tears which have even dripped from her chin to her heaving chest, Anthea's legs remain pressed firmly to the seat of the chair and your pen moves not a jot. Clearly, the brunette's pain threshold is unusually high, which might explain why she hasn't responded as well to the discipline of her other tutors as most students do.

"Well done, girl," you congratulate her, warmly. "You see, you can do it when you put your mind to it, just like your academic work. Apply that same focus in other areas and I'm sure you'll get through the rest of term with minimal further intervention."

"Thank-you, Professor," she mewls tremulously. "I'll do that." Then she starts weeping uncontrollably, so you pocket your pen and leave her to compose herself whilst you turn your attention to your other visitor.

"Well, Lorna, have you decided how you'd like to be flogged?"