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The Advisor

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Spring had arrived early this year. Cassie tugged at her skirt, which threatened to blow up and expose her to the other students on campus. This was only her second semester here, and she had tried her hardest to remain as invisible as possible. If there was anything Cassie wanted to avoid, it was being noticed.

The green expanse of lawn was interrupted only by clusters of daffodils around the big old oaks that towered over the campus, like pillars of knowledge. These trees had been here for over a hundred years, and she didn’t doubt they’d still be here long after she was dead and gone. Things at Pendleton College seldom changed. It had only been in the past five years that boys had been allowed to attend Pendleton. The dress code was still strictly enforced – plaid skirts for young ladies, navy pants for young men and white collared shirts for both. The young men were expected to wear navy ties as well. It wasn’t much different from the Catholic girls’ school she had attended back home, so she didn’t mind as much as some of the girls seemed to.

Pendleton Academy had been founded by Henry Pendleton in 1885 as an alternative to the finishing schools that had become so popular. As the population of St. Louis had grown, so had the upper class, and families of means were looking for somewhere to send their daughters for additional education beyond fine needlework, painting, and the art of conversation. To marry well, these daughters of society needed to be more educated than before, so as not to be seen as simple Midwest farm girls. They needed to appear as though they would easily fit into the social circles of New York, Charleston, and Boston. And so, Henry Pendleton founded Pendleton Academy a two days’ journey outside of St. Louis and aimed to do just that. It also quickly had gained a reputation for managing and taming some of the more free-spirited girls and teaching them their proper place. The name had changed to Pendleton College sometime in the’ 60s, but the philosophy remained the same.

Today, Cassie was on her way to see her advisor. She had only met him twice, and the encounters had left her wondering if she should request a new advisor. His name was Grant Winters, and he was a direct descendant of the Pendleton family. He also taught several upper-level English courses. In their last meeting, he had asked her to bring in progress reports from her professors so they could discuss her progress and whether any adjustments needed to be made this semester to her course load. She was really struggling with her Comp II class and hoped that Professor Winters would be able to offer her some advice.

Cassie walked up the steep stone steps leading to Cane Hall and pulled open the heavy oak door. Professor Winters’ office was on the third floor, and of course there were no elevators in this building, the oldest on campus. The Board of Directors maintained that stairs were good for exercise, and to build elevators in these historic buildings would harm their historic value. As she rounded the stairs to the third floor, she checked her watch. She was five minutes early, which was good. Professor Winters did not like to be kept waiting.

There was a waiting area outside his office, which happened to be the only office on the third floor. Cassie perched nervously on a brown leather couch that had seen better days. The door to Professor Winters’ office was closed, and she could hear faint voices from inside. He must be with another of his advisees, she assumed as she fiddled with her backpack strap. Professor Winters made her nervous. She had seen more than one girl leave his office with tear-stained cheeks, and he was rumored to be very hard on his advisees.

The door opened, and a blonde girl walked out. Cassie had seen her on campus before, and was pretty sure she lived in the same dorm. Her cheeks were red and it looked like she had been crying. The girl slung her backpack over her shoulder and turned as Professor Winters called out, “I’ll see you next week, Miss Campbell. Same time, please.” She nodded and hurried toward the stairs.

Professor Winters appeared in the office doorway. His broad shoulders filled the small space, and he had to be at least 6’3″ tall. He didn’t exactly look like your typical English professor. He looked more like a football player than the published author and revered – and tenured – professor he was.

“Miss Hemmingway, I’ll see you now.” Cassie’s heart was racing as she got up and followed him into his office. He closed the door behind her and she heard the lock click. He had explained to her the first time they met that he always locked his door as a matter of habit, preferring to control interruptions as much as possible, and a closed door did not mean privacy was respected.

“”Please, have a seat,” he said, gesturing toward the straight-backed wooden chair in front of her. He walked around the Maltepe Öğrenci Escort desk and eased himself into a very nice leather chair, the kind she had seen in the movies, and which usually were used by very important and well-to-do men. “Do you have your progress reports for me to review?”

Cassie pulled out a folder containing her progress reports. Aside from her Comp II class, she felt pretty good about her classes this semester. Granted, this was only 6 weeks in, but still… She couldn’t read Professor Winters’ expression as he skimmed over the reports from her teachers. Cassie had, of course, looked at them, and didn’t see anything to be concerned about. On the other hand, Cassie was acutely aware that she was here on a scholarship, and was held to a much higher academic standard than the girls whose parents wrote checks for their tuition every semester without blinking an eye at the number of zeros on the end.

Professor Winters laid the papers on the desk, leaned back with his hands behind his head, and looked at her intently. He didn’t look pleased, and Cassie’s anxiety level soared.

“Miss Hemmingway, you are here to learn, are you not?” His voice was gruff, stern almost.

“Yes, sir, I am.” Cassie tried to hide the tremble in her voice.

“I am appalled by this,” he said, gesturing at the progress reports sitting on his desk. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

“I’m sorry, Professor Winters, but I’m not sure what you mean. I think I’m doing quite well – I have a B+ or A- in every class by Comp II, and I know I’m struggling with that class. I’d hoped to talk to you about it today, because I’m not sure what Professor Fanning expects, and I’d hoped you might have some advice for me. I’ve even brought a few assignments with me so you can maybe show me what I need to work on. I just don’t think my writing style is what she’s looking for, but I don’t know how to change.” Cassie was rambling and she knew it, but she kept on going anyway, fumbling in her backpack for her Comp assignments to show him.

“Miss Hemmingway, this is a disgrace,” he bellowed, throwing her Comp papers onto his desk. “I am just astounded at your inability to satisfactorily complete a simple assignment. Professor Fanning gives very clear, concise directions, and I have seen no other students coming in with problems in this class.”

Cassie cringed. This was not exactly going the way she thought it would.

Professor Winters got up and walked to the window, his hands clasped behind him. “Do you have any idea what you are doing?”

“I’m sorry, but I’m not sure what you mean, sir.”

“Miss Hemmingway, you are here on a scholarship. When you were admitted, you signed a contract. That contract stipulated that you would uphold strict academic standards and moral conduct. Is that not correct?”

“Yes, sir.”

“As your advisor, it is my right to report poor academic progress to the board. As a member of the Pendleton family, it is also my duty. However, I also have a certain amount of discretion, and can choose to provide alternative discipline methods in the hopes of nipping a problem in the bud. Do you understand what I am saying?”

Cassie studied her hands, clasped tightly in her lap. She was close to tears. Her parents worked hard, but neither of them had been to college, and she was the first person in her family to actually attend college. Without the scholarship, she would have to leave. Pendleton didn’t allow underclassmen to hold jobs, believing that all spare time should be spent studying.

“Miss Hemmingway?” Cassie jumped; Professor Winters’ breath was warm on her ear. She didn’t realize he had come around behind her.

“Yes, sir. I do understand.”

“So tell me. What punishment do you feel is appropriate, and will serve to motivate you to try harder?” He sat on the edge of his desk in front of her, his hands clasped on his thighs.

“I can go to the Academic Skills Center for tutoring, and I’m willing to attend the Study Tables every night.” Study Tables were mandatory for any student with a C average or less, and attending was humiliating.

“No, I have something a little more personal in mind.” Cassie was slightly relieved to hear this, as she really didn’t want to go to Study Tables if she could help it. “Miss Hemmingway, do you carry a hairbrush with you?”

Cassie was slightly confused, but she acknowledged that yes, she did.

“Give it to me, please.” Cassie pulled her brush out of her backpack and handed it to him. It was a paddle-style, made of wood with natural boar bristles. Cassie’s long brown hair reached almost to her waist, and was straight and shiny. She couldn’t imagine leaving her dorm without a brush to keep it looking nice. It was her one vanity.

“Cassie, this school was founded on the idea that women – young women much like you – needed Maltepe Çıtır Escort to learn their place in society. In addition to being able to converse intelligently about a variety of subjects, they were also expected to marry well. Part of being the wife of a man of some social status meant understanding appropriate behavior and consequences of actions. You are required to uphold your contract of academic excellence and high moral conduct. As a man in a position of authority, it is my responsibility to address your shortcomings and mete out appropriate punishment to help you recognize the error of your ways. I have also noticed that you are quite vain about your hair. Hence, we shall address two birds with one stone. Your Comp II grades thus far leave much to be desired, and if you continue down this path you will surely lose your scholarship before the end of the semester. And your obsession with your hair is, quite frankly, unacceptable. A woman’s hair is an adornment, meant only to be displayed for her husband’s pleasure. From now on, you will wear it up, either pulled back in a bun or in a single braid. Do you understand?”

Cassie nodded. At least he hadn’t told her she had to cut her hair. She didn’t think she could bear to have short hair. She wondered if he would keep her hairbrush until her grades improved.

“Please rise.” Cassie stood up and faced Professor Winters. “Put your hands on the edge of the desk and bend over.”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t understand.” Her brow furrow as she clenched and unclenched her hands.

“I have found that a sound spanking is often a good early intervention in cases like yours. I will ask you one more time to bend over and put your hands on the desk. If I have to ask you again, I will be forced to use the restraints. And before you start wondering if I can do this, the answer is yes. You and your parents both signed our discipline contract as part of your enrollment, which does give me the right to punish you as I see fit.”

Cassie slowly obeyed, aware of her skirt rising and just barely brushing the tops of her thighs. She was sure he could see her panties and the edge of her bottom, and a hot blush rose in her cheeks. She hadn’t been spanked like this since she was a young girl.

“On second thought, I think I would rather see you bent over the chair.” He moved her behind the straight-backed chair she had been sitting in. “Bend over the back and place your hands on the seat. You may hold the sides if it helps.”

This position left her entire ass uncovered, her skirt up around her waist. She was just mortified.

“Are you feeling lucky today, Miss Hemmingway?” His voice was low in her ear, and out of the corner of her eye, she could see his profile. A slight shadow of stubble gave him a rough look up close.

“Not particularly, sir.” Lucky? She was bent over a chair in her advisor’s office, apparently waiting for a spanking. Could she be any more unlucky??

He held a pair of dice in front of her. “Roll them on the chair seat. The number you roll is the number of spanks you will receive.”

She quickly did the math in her head. The least amount she could roll was two. The most was twelve. It was more likely she’d roll something in the middle, around a 6 or 7 total.

“Quickly, Miss Hemmingway. I do have other students scheduled this afternoon.”

She gingerly took the dice from his hand and gently rolled them on the chair seat. A five and a four.

“Ah…So you aren’t very lucky today, Miss Hemmingway. Nine swats for your first punishment. On the other hand, given the severity of your situation, I think it will do quite nicely. I’d have been inclined to give you at least twelve. The dice are kind to you today. “

Cassie forced herself to breathe deeply. This would be over quickly, and she could get back to the dorm.

“Spread your legs apart, Miss Hemmingway, and pull your panties down to your knees.” The blush rose in her cheeks. He could not be serious. There was no way she was going to pull her panties down in front of her advisor.

“Miss Hemmingway, I will not ask you again. If I have to do it for you, I will add ten strokes to your punishment.”

Cassie knew she didn’t have any choice. The last thing she wanted was for him to do it, and she certainly didn’t want nineteen swats. Nine would be bad enough.

She reached around and tugged her panties down to her knees and spread her legs as far as she could under the circumstances. This was so wrong, she kept thinking, but at the same time, she felt herself getting a little wet down there, in her secret place. That mortified her even more.

“Are you ready to begin, Miss Hemmingway?”

“Yes, sir,” she whispered.

“You will count out the strokes as I administer them. Failure to do so will result in additional strokes. You must also hold still. Do not Maltepe Elit Escort pull away from the brush.”

“The brush?” Cassie squeaked out. Surely he couldn’t be serious. He was not going to spank her with her own brush, was he?

“Yes, the brush. Your brush. The one you use to brush that hair of yours, trying to tempt young men to stray from their code of conduct. It seems only fitting to use it to administer your punishment. This way, every time you are tempted to brush your hair in public, you will remember this punishment when you see this brush, this tool of temptation. Perhaps it will help remind you of the importance of following my instructions, lest you wind up here again.” He paused to let his words sink in. “Let us begin.”

Before she had time to think, she heard the rush of air and felt the first stroke, hard on her tender and taut bottom.

“One,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

“Louder, Miss Hemmingway. I want to hear you loudly and clearly.”

“One,” she said a little louder.

“That’s better.” The next stroke was the period on his sentence and she jumped a little at the sudden smart.

“Two,” she said, more firmly this time. This was not as easy as she thought. It was hard to overcome her instinct to yelp.

THWACK! “Threeeeee,” she wailed.

THWACK! “Fouuur.”

THWACK! “Fiiiive.”

She braced herself for the next one, but it didn’t come. Instead, she felt her smarting bottom being rubbed with the bristles of the brush, prickling the hot, sensitive skin.

“Miss Hemmingway, I do believe your bottom is flirting with the brush. You wouldn’t dare do that, would you?”

“No, sir.” Cassie’s eyes were closed. She was too humiliated to open them. As long as she didn’t see him, she could pretend this was all a bad dream.

“Open your eyes and look at me, Cassie.” He was right in front of her, tapping that hairbrush against his hand. She forced her eyes to meet his. “The next four are really going to hurt. After each one, I not only want you to count, but I want you to thank me for being kind to you. Other advisors might not be so lenient with a scholarship student. I could have tossed you out without a second thought. But I do see real promise in you, Miss Hemmingway, and I think you are worth correcting. I think you can be molded and shaped with a firm and consistent hand. You are fortunate that I am your advisor.” He moved out of her line of sight again, and she could hear him behind her.

He stroked her reddened cheeks with his hand, bringing the blood back to the surface. A rush of air and the brush connected with her bottom, much harder than the previous five strokes. She couldn’t help but yelp and then she remembered.

“Siiiix. Thank you, sir, for correcting me.” Cassie found it hard to spit the words out. This was the most humiliating thing she had ever endured, and she was supposed to thank him for it?

THWACK! “Sssseven. I am grateful for your kindness, sir.”

THWACK! “Eight!” That one was by far the worst. Her bottom was on fire and tears were beginning to overflow, a combination of shame and pain. “Thank you for believing I am worth correcting, sir.”

THWACK! “Nine!” Cassie was crying now. “Thank you again, sir.”

THWACK! “Ow! You said I only got nine! That was ten!”

“So I did, Miss Hemmingway. But I thought you could use the extra one. Would you like another for questioning my judgment?”

“No, sir,” she sobbed. Please, no, she willed him silently. She didn’t think she could take any more.

“I didn’t think so. You may pull up your panties and stand up now.” Cassie carefully stood up and slid her panties up over her burning bottom. The rough cotton chafed her cheeks something awful. He handed her the brush he had just used to punish her. “Put this back in your backpack. You will bring it with you every time we meet.”

Cassie slipped her brush back into her backpack.

“Why don’t you sit down while I gather up these papers for you, Miss Hemmingway.” She looked at him with a horrified look on her face. He couldn’t be serious. Sit down? “It’s not a choice, Miss Hemmingway. Have a seat,” he said with a smile, gesturing toward the hard chair he had just bent her over.

She perched on the edge of the seat, trying to avoid putting her full weight on her bottom while he gathered up the progress reports and her assignments.

“Until we get you back on track academically, Miss Hemmingway, I’d like to see you weekly. I think we’ll start with Tuesdays at one, so you can be at your 2:00 class on time.”

Her heart sank. Her 2:00 class on Tuesdays was a three hour lecture on Art History. She couldn’t bear the thought of sitting in a lecture room chair for three hours with her bottom hurting this badly.

“You may go, Miss Hemmingway. I’ll see you Tuesday.”

She picked up her backpack and let herself out of his office, tears still streaming down her cheeks. Another freshman girl was sitting on the leather couch, waiting for her appointment with Professor Winters. Poor girl, she thought, as she hurried down the stairs, her bottom smarting with each step. She wasn’t looking forward to next Tuesday.

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