I've been enjoying the schoolgirl spanking stories other people have posted, without adding anything myself. So, here goes:

Standard disclaimer: work of fantasy, adult spanking enthusiasts only. Read further at your own risk.

Janet Carlson trudged woefully through the grounds of the Heriot Academy, hating her miserable life. It was bad enough, she thought, to be moved across the country, away from all her friends, at the start of her senior year in high school; did her parents have to enroll her in this all-girl private school?

Besides the daunting task of forging new friendships, Janet faced the additional irritation of wearing the same stupid uniform to school every day: a white long-sleeved button-down blouse, red-and-blue striped tie, short charcoal-gray skirt (much too short for Janet's taste, who preferred jeans to skirts anyway), white knee socks, and brown loafers. A navy blue blazer or cardigan sweater emblazoned with the school crest usually completed the ensemble, but the temperature was very warm today, so Janet's blazer currently resided within her locker.

What Janet mourned the most, though, was the complete lack of boys on the campus. Janet was sure, with her chestnut hair, attractive face, and killer body, that she'd at least have a boyfriend or two by now. She'd been very popular with the boys at her old school (too popular for her parents' liking; unbeknownst to Janet, they'd seriously discussed putting her in a all-girls' school even before the move). Now, after three weeks at the Heriot, she still found herself the friendless "new girl."

(In reality, a few of Janet's classmates had made overtures to her, only to be put off by her arrogant attitude and icy demeanor.)

Janet wallowed further and further in her self-pity as she wandered around the campus, waiting for lunch to end so she could get through her afternoon classes. At least, she reflected, the Heriot wasn't a boarding school, so she had the prospect of a social life beyond school -- if her parents would ever let her out of the house by herself.

As she rounded the corner of the gymnasium, Janet heard a voice say, "Hey, new girl." She turned and saw two fellow inmates, a tall redhead and a sallow-faced bleached blonde. The redhead beckoned her over.

Janet cautiously approached the pair. "What do you want?" she asked, wary of their interest.

"We just want to talk, that's all. What's your name?" replied the redhead.

"Janet. Janet Carlson."

"I'm Connie McCabe, and this is Angela Kerwin," the redhead continued. "Hi," said Angela, continuing her intent appraisal of Janet.

Introductions made, Connie started quizzing Janet about where she was from, how long she'd been in town, what she thought about the town and the school, and various other related subjects. Janet answered carefully at first, still not quite sure of the other girls' motives; as the conversation continued, and Connie's interest seemed genuine, she relaxed and started opening up more -- until Connie reached into her purse and took out a pack of cigarettes.

Janet watched in disbelief as Connie and Angela took cigarettes from the pack. Connie then offered the pack to her, saying, "Want one?"

Janet hesitated. "You do smoke, don't you?" asked Angela.

"Yes, of course," Janet replied quickly. To be more precise, she used to smoke; she'd started last year. Unfortunately, her parents found out and forced her to quit, after the lecture of her life and a two-month grounding.

"Then take one!" Connie insisted, a hint of irritation in her voice. Still Janet hung back; smoking on school grounds was strictly forbidden, and she didn't want to violate school policy.

"Guess you're not as cool as we thought," Connie said disgustedly.

Faced with the prospect of losing the only real contact she'd had yet, Janet caved. She snatched a cigarette from the pack and stuck it in her mouth. Angela produced a lighter and lit everyone up. Janet took a long drag, managing to keep from choking on the taste. She did notice Angela coughing a bit.

The girls puffed away as the conversation resumed. Janet almost believed they'd go undetected when she heard footsteps behind her. "I thought I smelled tobacco smoke!" said the intruder.

Janet turned around. Her heart sank as she saw Ms. Prebe, one of the physical education teachers. "Put those cigarettes out, now!" the woman commanded.

The girls dropped their cigarettes, grinding them out under their heels. Ms. Prebe's face turned contemptuous as she eyed the trio. "Connie McCabe and Angela Kerwin. I might have known _you'd_ be involved." She turned to Janet. "You're new here, aren't you?" Janet nodded, looking at the ground. "Well, you still ought to know better." Ms. Prebe paused, then ordered, "All right, girls, hand over those skirts."

Here came what Janet feared; her first taste of the Heriot Academy's unique approach to discipline. According to the school code, the Heriot uniform could only be worn by proper young ladies. Those girls who misbehaved lost their privilege to wear a strategic part of their uniform -- i.e., their skirt -- until they'd been punished for their disobedience.

The last period of the school day was a study hall for everyone. Those girls who'd lost their skirts during the day, however, had to report to the principal's office to retrieve them -- and to receive their punishment. In this fashion, misbehaving pupils could be disciplined without missing any classtime.

According to the enrollment agreement Janet's parents had signed, such discipline could and did include corporal punishment. Janet's mother and father hadn't quibbled over that clause, saying they were sure Janet would never find herself subject to it. Janet was sure, too -- until now.

During her weeks at school, Janet observed a few skirtless girls around the campus. (Now that she thought about it, she realized Connie and Angela were among them). She'd also seen some classmates come to study hall late, faces flushed, and squirm in their seats (or stand up) for the rest of the day. Would something like that happen to her? She couldn't even comprehend it.

Connie and Angela wasted no time in unbuttoning and stepping out of their skirts. They quickly, almost eagerly, handed them to Ms. Prebe. Janet, a bit slower to disrobe, was astonished to see that neither girl had on the white panties prescribed by the dress code. Angela's panties were pale blue, while Connie's sported a tiger stripe pattern.

"Hmph!" sniffed Ms. Prebe, her voice dripping with disdain. "You'll get extra for that, I'm sure." She turned back to Janet. "Hurry up, girl. I haven't got all day."

Swallowing hard, Janet unbuttoned her skirt, stepped out of it, and handed it to Ms. Prebe. The uniform blouse was carefully tailored to only reach the tops of her hips, leaving several inches of panty exposed. She'd always felt the uniform skirt too short; now she yearned for its comforting feel against her thighs.

The final lunch bell rang, signalling the start of the afternoon session. "Don't be late for class, girls," Ms. Prebe smirked. She brandished the confiscated skirts. "You'll get these back at the end of the day."

Without a word, Janet spun on her heel and walked quickly away from the group. Earlier today, she'd felt invisible; now she wished she truly was, as she endured the stares, smiles, pointing and giggling of her schoolmates. She saw a few sympathetic glances among them, but not many. Now she was glad there were no boys on campus, Janet thought grimly as she headed for her next class.

If Janet was spared the attention of male classmates, she hadn't counted on that of male teachers. Janet wasn't sure which was more embarrassing, math class or art class. Her mathematics professor, Mr. Landers, made her stand at the blackboard demonstrating problems for the whole period, while he sat behind his desk ogling her. On the other hand, Mr. Pryor, her art teacher, had her fetch some supplies from a high shelf. Janet had to stand on her tip-toes to reach the requested items; she could feel his leering gaze on her straining thighs and buttocks.

Finally, the bell rang for the start of study hall. While her fellow students filed through the halls, Janet walked slowly, steadily, towards Mr. Fitzpatrick's office. She kept her head slightly lowered and her eyes straight ahead, not making eye contact with anyone. All afternoon, she'd tried hard not to think about this moment; but there was no avoiding it now.

Janet's mother had spanked her a few times when she was a very little girl; but the spankings were rare, and ceased at age six. Her father never spanked her, preferring to leave discipline to his wife. Janet's earlier schools didn't practice corporal punishment. So, Janet had never been spanked by a man. Now, almost a dozen years since her last spanking, she faced getting spanked by a man she barely knew. Janet found herself absolutely terrified.

She reached Mr. Fitzpatrick's office, took a deep breath, opened the door, and went in. Connie and Angela were already there, seated on the bench reserved for girls awaiting an audience with the principal. The receptionist looked up from her desk, frowned at Janet, and motioned her to the bench. Janet took a seat alongside Connie, ignoring the redhead's smile. No one said a word. In Mr. Fitzpatrick's office, one spoke only when spoken to. Janet's mind raced; a first-time offender, she still hoped for leniency. Surely Mr. Fitzpatrick wouldn't sp-sp-sp ... Janet found herself unable to even think the word.

The wait seemed forever, but it was less than a minute before the inner door opened and Mr. Fitzpatrick stepped out. At any other time, Janet was sure she could have a "schoolgirl crush" on Mr. Fitzpatrick. He was the "Robert Redford" type; tall, a handsomely weathered face, and thick dark hair gone silver at the temples. In her current state of mind, though, Janet felt she would have found the Elephant Man more attractive.

Mr. Fitzpatrick sighed and shook his head as he saw Connie and Angela seated on the bench. His eyes widened when he looked at Janet. Turning to his receptionist, he asked, "Is this all for today?" She nodded. "Very well," he replied, then pointed to Connie. "You first."

Wordlessly, the redhead rose and followed Mr. Fitzpatrick back into his office. Janet flinched as the door slammed. The minutes dragged slowly by; Janet strained her ears, but could hear nothing from the inner chamber. Then, she heard it; a slow, rhythmic, slapping sound, accompanied by muffled squeals. Janet felt her face flushing as she realized Mr. Fitzpatrick must be spanking Connie. She squirmed on the bench as her own rump began tingling, perhaps developing sympathy pains for Connie's bottom.

The spanking went on, and on, and on. Janet glanced at Angela; the blonde gazed eagerly, almost hungrily, at the inner office door. Eventually, the slapping sound ceased -- but, Janet noted uncomfortably, the sobbing continued.

After a few more minutes, the door opened again, and Connie emerged, skirt once again in place, followed closely by Mr. Fitzpatrick. The redhead's face was flushed, and she dabbed at her eyes with a tissue, but she grinned and winked at her fellow miscreants as she left the room. The principal pointed to Angela and said, "You're next" before heading back into his office. Angela followed closely, leaving Janet to ponder the implications of Connie's smile and wink. Was Connie trying to reassure her that the spanking hadn't really hurt? Or was there another, more secret message? Janet couldn't decide.

Another interminable period of silence, then the slapping and squealing started again. Angela proved more vocal than Connie; Janet heard her yelps and howls quite clearly through the wall. Beads of sweat formed on her forehead as she struggled to stay calm. The receptionist, apparently inured to the sound of young ladies in pain, remained totally absorbed in her keyboard, her tap-tap-tapping counterpointing the slap-slap-slapping from within.

When Angela came out of the inner office, one hand wiping her eyes, the other rubbing her seat through her newly-redonned skirt, it took all Janet's willpower to keep from making a break for freedom. Instead, she sat stoically as the blonde passed by her, not reassured by Angela's smile and wink. Mr. Fitzpatrick hardly looked at Janet as he headed back into his office, a quick jerk of his arm waving her along. She exhaled heavily, then rose to her feet and followed him.

Surprisingly, most of Janet's anxiety disappeared as she walked behind the principal. She almost felt relieved that the waiting was over, and whatever would happen to her, would happen soon.

Mr. Fitzpatrick's office was comfortably, but not lavishly, furnished, with a large wooden desk, bookshelves, and a few plaques and pictures. Janet noticed a wooden stool sitting in one corner, the type the kid wearing the dunce cap sat on in cartoons. Was that a potential punishment? She looked around the room again and didn't see anything resembling a dunce cap. She did note her skirt lying on a low table by the door.

The principal seated himself behind his desk. Janet, seeing no other chairs besides the stool, stood before him, hands clasped nervously behind her back. Mr. Fitzpatrick leaned back and cocked his head at an angle, resting his cheek on one hand, his elbow on his chair arm, regarding Janet with a neutral expression. The girl, uncomfortable under his steady gaze, dropped her eyes to her shoes. She felt her anxiety returning. Recalling the rumors she'd heard about school punishments, she looked quickly around the room again. She felt a bit reassured to see no canes, straps, or paddles; but then, she reflected, there was a lot of room in those desk drawers ...

Finally, Mr. Fitzpatrick broke the silence. "You're Janet Carlson?" he asked, his voice curt. She slowly nodded.

"Why are you here today, Ms. Carlson?"

No sense in lying; Ms. Prebe probably gave him a full report. "I was smoking on school grounds."

"Right." Mr. Fitzpatrick stood up and walked over to the stool. He placed it near the center of the room and sat down, then extended his arm to Janet. "Come here."

She couldn't move. So much for leniency, she thought.

"Come here."

She swallowed hard and stepped over to Mr. Fitzpatrick's right side. He instructed her to lean across his lap; when she did so, he put his hands under her armpits and easily lifted her into place, wrapping his left arm around her waist. Janet, reaching down to steady herself, found she could just barely touch the floor with her fingertips. Her feet dangled several inches off the ground. She felt completely helpless, and about four years old.

Not much of a lecture, Janet thought. But Mr. Fitzpatrick wasn't ready to spank just yet. "Were you aware that smoking is not allowed on school grounds?" he asked the girl.

"Ye -- " Janet started, then cut herself off as she felt the principal rest his hand squarely on the center of her bottom. She flinched from the contact.

"I asked you a question, young lady," Mr. Fitzpatrick said sternly.

"Yes, sir," the girl replied, wishing he'd move his hand.

"How long have you been enrolled at this institution?"

"Thr-three weeks, sir." She wasn't usually this respectful, but there was something about being turned over Mr. Fitzpatrick's knees, with her skirt off and his hand on her backside, that made her mind her tongue.

"And you were provided a copy of our handbook?" He'd started drumming his fingers, like some people will on a tabletop; in this case, though, the drumhead was her right buttock.

"Yes, sir."

"And did you read it?"

"Yes, sir." Well ... most of it, anyway.

"And what did it say about smoking on campus?" Now his fingertips traced circles on her right cheek.

"That it -- that it wasn't allowed, sir," wishing now that he'd stop moving his hand.

"And yet you were smoking anyway." His hand migrated across her crack to her left cheek.

"Yes, sir."

He paused, his hand resting lightly on her bottom again. "Why?"

She racked her brain for an acceptable answer. "I don't know, sir."

The circling started anew. Three or four circles on her left cheek, across the cleft, three or four circles on her right. "Are you sure you don't know?"

Janet couldn't speak. Concentration was hard enough, without the added distraction of his hand on her rump.

Mr. Fitzpatrick waited a few moments, then stated, "Young lady, in view of your current position, it would behoove you to answer my questions promptly and truthfully. Is that clear?"

He had a point. "Yes, sir."

"So why were you smoking?"

Still she hesitated, until she felt him sharply raise his hand. "Connie and Angela offered them to me," she blurted out. Mr. Fitzpatrick's hand landed softly on her bottom and resumed circling. "And you couldn't say no?" he inquired.

He wanted the truth, didn't he? "Well ... I've been here three weeks, and I haven't made any friends, and I've been feeling so lonely, and they were the first people to really talk to me." It all came out in a rush.

"Hmmm ... I see. You didn't want to lose your new friends, did you?"

"No, sir."

"I'm well aware that newcomers to our school often have a hard time adjusting. But you have to make an effort to fit in, as well. Were you aware that the Heriot Academy offers a full line of extracurricular activities?"

"No, sir."

"Are you interested in athletics? Do you play any kind of sports?"

"No, sir."

"How about anything in the performing arts?"

"Well ... I did sing in the choir at my old school."

"And have you talked to Ms. Durbin?"

"Who?"

"Ms. Durbin, our choir director."

"No, sir."

He sighed. "First thing tomorrow, young lady, you make an appointment with her. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, sir."

"And, it would be best if you steered clear of Ms. McCabe and Ms. Kerwin. They're troublemakers, and they visit my office quite often. Unless you enjoy this treatment, you'd better make other friends. Am I making myself clear?"

She wasn't about to argue. "Yes, sir."

"Excellent. Life may seem hard to you now, Ms. Carlson, but this type of behavior won't make things easier. When thrust into a new situation, you've got to develop new contacts, cultivate new interests. Wanton disobedience is not the solution."

"Yes, sir." Janet sensed an end to the lecture. Suddenly hopeful, she asked, "May I go now, sir?"

"Not so fast, young lady." He almost chuckled. "There's still the matter of your punishment." The girl groaned mentally as she felt his hand stop circling. There'd be no escape.

"For smoking on campus, the school discipline code calls for three dozen swats on the bare bottom."

Janet gulped at this pronouncement. She hadn't counted on having her panties lowered!

"However," Mr. Fitzpatrick continued, "I have some leeway in these matters. Since you are a relatively new student, and this is your first offense, I'm going to allow you to keep your panties up." The girl breathed a sigh of relief. "But I'm going to add a dozen swats, as a reminder to resist peer pressure."

Well, Janet thought, four dozen swats. She supposed that was the best she could hope for. It could be a lot worse.

"You are expected to take your punishment like a proper young lady. You may kick and cry as much as you want to -- and you will want to -- but you are to keep your hands in front of you at all times. If you try to interfere, your panties will come down, and your punishment will begin again, with a dozen swats added. I suggest you hold onto the stool. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," Janet replied, stung by the smug undertone in the principal's voice. So he expected her to kick and cry, eh? She grasped the stool legs tightly, determined not to give him the satisfaction.

"Very well. I'll begin."

Janet took a deep breath, bracing herself, as she felt Mr. Fitzpatrick raise his hand from her rump. She could sense it, hovering over her panty-clad bottom, for what seemed like an eternity.

SMACK!

"OW!" The exclamation came involuntarily from Janet's lips. She bucked upwards, mainly in surprise from the noise. Within the small room, the sound echoed like a pistol shot.

A steady sting rose up in Janet's left cheek. She tightened her grip on the stool, resisting the impulse to reach back and rub.

SMACK!

Another outburst, another buck, a matching sting in her right cheek. Janet bit her lip as she felt her eyes tearing up. She already felt more pain than she'd ever experienced, and her punishment had barely begun.

SMACK!

Her left side again, slightly above the first spank. Janet, growing used to the rhythm, managed to control her outburst this time. She still bucked involuntarily, but settled down right away.

The spanking continued, each swat landing about five seconds apart. After the twenty-fourth spank, Mr. Fitzpatrick paused. Despite the four-alarm fire raging in her bottom, and the tears rolling down her cheeks, Janet had held up well. She managed to keep her reactions down to a small squeal and an involuntary leg-scissoring with each swat.

"We're halfway there, Ms. Carlson. You're doing quite well. Ready to begin again?"

Was he kidding? Did she have any choice in the matter? "Ye-yes, si-si-sir," she choked out, trying to keep her voice steady.

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

The renewed onslaught took the girl by surprise. Now, the spanks were coming one right after another, virtually no time in between. Janet couldn't withstand the almost-constant impact. By the time Mr. Fitzpatrick finished, she was crying uncontrollably, howling at the top of her lungs, her legs waving furiously in the air. It took all her concentration to keep her grip on the stool.

The punishment concluded, Mr. Fitzpatrick released his hold on Janet's waist, but she made no move to get up. She laid atop his lap, still wailing away, tears dripping onto the carpet, for several long minutes. Now she felt like a well-punished four-year-old. The principal put his hand on her rump again, softly rubbing some of the sting away. When the girl's sobs quieted, he addressed her again.

"Ms. Carlson, that wasn't pleasant for either of us, but it was necessary. At the Heriot, if you act like a child, you'll be treated as such. If you act like a proper young lady, you'll be treated accordingly. I hope that's clear to you now."

Was it ever! "Yes, sir," she sobbed out.

"Good. Now, I won't see you back here like this again, will I?"

"No, sir." And she meant it.

"Excellent. You can get up now."

Slowly, Janet released her deathgrip on the stool and pushed herself upwards, Mr. Fitzpatrick assisting her to her feet. She staggered a bit, her legs wobbly, both hands massaging her still-flaming backside. The principal offered her a box of tissues; she gratefully took a few, dabbing at her eyes and blowing her nose.

After Janet settled down some more, Mr. Fitzpatrick said, "All right, you can go to study hall for the rest of the day. And if you do get sent back here, it will be worse. I hope you understand me."

"Yes, Mr. Fitzpatrick," Janet said respectfully, then headed for the door. The principal's voice stopped her on the threshold. "Ms. Carlson?" She turned back to him. "Your skirt?" He indicated the table. In her pain and her haste to get away, she'd nearly forgotten!

Janet hastily put her skirt on and left the office, for good, she swore. On the way to her homeroom, she stopped in one of the girls' restrooms and washed her face. Her rump throbbed and burned. Looking over her shoulder, Janet raised her skirt and slowly lowered her panties, gasping at the hot, scarlet flesh revealed beneath.

"Pretty red, isn't it?"

Surprised by the voice, Janet spun around. Connie and Angela emerged from the stalls. Quickly, Janet pulled up her panties and dropped her skirt. She wanted no part of those two.

Moving quickly, Connie and Angela intercepted Janet on her way to the restroom door. "Not so fast," Connie stated. "We need to talk to you."

"Out of my way!" Janet snapped, trying to shoulder past them, but they held firm. "We won't let you go until we talk. You know how much trouble you'll be in if you don't go to study hall?" replied Connie.

"You'll be in trouble, too," Janet tried. From the smug smiles on her antagonist's faces, she could see this wasn't much of a threat. Okay, Janet thought, relaxing, I'll just play along until I can get past them.

"So," Connie asked, "how was it?"

"How was what?"

"Your spanking. How was it?"

Janet stood tongue-tied, not comprehending what they meant.

"We know he spanked you," Angela chipped in, pointing at Janet's bottom. "We _saw._" Janet felt herself blushing again.

"Did he take your panties down?" inquired Connie.

Janet, startled by their curiosity, shook her head.

"Too bad," the redhead continued, "it's so much better on the bare."

Better? What could they mean, better? "I--I don't understand," Janet stammered.

Connie and Angela exchanged smiles. "Tell us," said the blonde, "how did the spanking make you feel?"

"Hurt .... embarrassed ... humiliated," Janet slowly answered.

"But," Connie leaned her head forward so her mouth almost touched Janet's ear, "didn't it make you feel just the least bit ... hot?"

"You're sick!" Janet cried, thoroughly appalled. She roughly shoved Connie out of her path and fled the restroom.

Alone in her room that night, Janet pondered the day's events. She'd been forced to display her intimate undergarments, which she'd been taught to keep concealed for as long as she could remember, in public for half the day. She'd been placed in one of the most humiliating positions possible. She'd been touched, unwillingly, in a private area by a man she barely knew, then subjected to a punishment which was cruel for most animals, let alone people. There was absolutely nothing about the entire experience which should make her feel hot.

But she did.

As much as Janet tried to deny her feelings, when she faced the truth, she knew. Beneath her pain, beneath her humiliation, lay an unmistakable arousal. She'd felt it during her spanking, she'd felt it when confronted by Connie and Angela in the restroom, and even now, with the throbbing in her rump faded to a constant tingling, she still felt it.

Well, Janet thought, what do I do now? Confirm her feelings. That's what she knew she had to do. That meant another spanking, but, if that's what it took ...

Always a logical thinker, Janet soon had a course of action mapped out. She wouldn't just make an appointment with the choir director tomorrow. She'd see about getting a copy of the school's discipline code. And, she'd seek out Connie and Angela and pick their brains about their experiences.

Janet laid back on her bed and smiled. So Mr. Fitzpatrick wanted her to cultivate new interests, eh? She intended to do just that.

As the end-of-lunch bell sounded, clumps of schoolgirls throughout the Heriot Academy began moving toward their afternoon classes. In one of the student restrooms, Janet Carlson nervously brushed her chestnut hair from her forehead. She studied her reflection closely in the mirror, wondering if she had the nerve to actually go through with this.

Three weeks earlier, Connie McCabe and Angela Kerwin, two of her classmates, pressured her into smoking on school grounds. They'd been caught and made to forfeit their skirts until the afternoon study hall, when they'd reported to the principal's office for discipline. There, Janet received her first spanking in almost a dozen years, at the hands (and over the knee) of Mr. Fitzpatrick, the Heriot's principal. Afterwards, Connie and Angela cornered her and forced her to admit, at least to herself, that she'd found the spanking not only painful but ... well, stimulating.

Janet grimaced ruefully as she recalled her activities the following day. First, there was that embarrassing scene in the principal's office, when she'd wheedled a copy of the school's discipline code from Ms. Loftus, Mr. Fitzpatrick's receptionist. She'd had to invent flimsy excuse after flimsy excuse before the dried-up, prune-faced old hag parted with the precious document.

Later, in the cafeteria, she'd slipped Connie a note saying, "We need to talk. Behind the gym, after lunch." The tall redhead unfolded and read the note, then gave a quick nod, her smirk indicating she knew the reason behind Janet's change of heart.

Janet paced impatiently before Connie and Angela joined her. She took a deep breath and said, "I want to talk to you about ... about ... " She still had trouble framing the words.

"About us getting our butts whacked yesterday," Connie finished.

"Not so loud!" Janet hissed. "C'mon, let's walk over here." She led them towards the deserted soccer field. "And no cigarettes, okay?"

"Don't worry," Connie responded. "We'll be good girls for at least a couple weeks, right, Angela?" The blonde grinned, nodding vigorously.

At the field, Janet turned and faced the two, still not sure where to start. Connie helped her out. "So: did you get turned on yesterday?"

Appalled by Connie's candor, Janet flushed, then, glumly, nodded.

"It's okay," said Angela. "It happens to all of us. The other girls pretend they don't like it, but we know they do. They're just too stuck-up to admit it."

Janet, unable to comprehend such an allegation, stammered, "But why -- why --"

"Why do we get turned on? Who knows?" answered Connie, shrugging her shoulders. "Who knows why anyone likes anything?" She pointed at Angela. "She likes Tom Cruise. I can't stand the little twerp."

"He's not a twerp!" interjected her compadre.

"Can it, Angela. The point is, it makes us hot. We don't know why, it just does."

"Do you ... do you get spanked a lot?" asked Janet.

"Depends on what you mean by a lot. We have to be careful. If you get sent for punishment more than about twice a month, they think you're hardcore and they start talking about suspensions or expulsion. I'd get it from my dad if I got suspended or expelled. He uses his belt." Connie shuddered.

"My dad uses a special paddle he made just for me," Angela added.

Aghast again, Janet sputtered, "You mean your fathers still spank you?"

Connie and Angela exchanged amused glances. "Sure," said the redhead, "doesn't yours?"

"No! He never has!"

"What about your mom?"

"Not since I was six."

"Well, that explains a lot," Connie said flatly. "You've been missing out all these years." Janet never consciously missed getting spanked -- until yesterday, that was ...

"But ... aren't you embarrassed to walk around in your panties?" Janet questioned.

Angela snorted. "Who's going to see? The other girls? Who cares what they think?"

"What about ... the teachers?"

"Those lechers? They're always trying to get a free peep, anyway. Why do you think these skirts are so short?" (That did explain a lot, Janet thought.) "This just saves them the effort."

Connie took over. "Okay. Here's what you do. You can't ever let them know you enjoy it. If you do, they'll send you straight to the school shrink." Janet nodded in agreement.

"You have to act like you don't want to be spanked. Be real sorry when you go into his office. Apologize all over the place. Beg him not to spank you. Promise you'll be a perfect little angel for the rest of your life. You know, that sort of thing."

Janet interrupted. "What's the deal with that ... that circling thing he does with his hand?"

"Oh, that. He's got this whole control and humiliation thing going. He wants you to know he's in charge, so he puts his hand on your butt, just to show he can. He always does it over your panties, and he never touches anyplace he's not going to spank anyway, so you can't really say he's fondled you. It's really rather nice, once you get used to it."

Connie resumed her lecture as Janet pondered her words. "When he's spanking you, act like he's killing you. Make a real fuss. Kick, cry, whatever. If you don't, he'll start spanking harder and faster, and that's no good. It hurts too much, and it's over too soon."

Now they told her, Janet thought ruefully. Angela chimed in. "The real trick is to prolong the spanking as long as you can. Connie and I always get extras."

"You mean ... like the fancy underwear?"

"Oh, yes," came the reply. "We always wear those on days we're going to get spanked."

It took a moment for the import to sink in. "You mean ... you expected to get caught yesterday?"

"Yes," answered Connie, smirking again. "And aren't you glad we were?"

Later that day, Janet thought long and hard about the conversation while scanning the discipline code. The sheet listed a variety of transgressions with a recommended punishment for each; of course, Mr. Fitzpatrick could and did vary the discipline according to the circumstances of the offense and the history of the perpetrator. Janet, still uncertain of her feelings, read carefully through the list.

Smoking, three dozen swats on bare -- no, been there, done that. Besides, Connie's and Angela's opinions nonwithstanding, she wasn't sure she was ready to have her bottom bared just yet.

Fighting, six dozen swats on bare -- same comment; plus, she really didn't know anyone well enough to start a fight with.

Cheating, four dozen swats on bare -- didn't any of these allow her to keep her panties on?

Disrespect to teacher, three dozen swats on panties -- hmmm ... no. More swats than she was interested in; besides, she found life much easier when she at least attempted to get along with her teachers.

Persistent tardiness, one dozen swats on panties -- bingo! But what did they mean by "persistent"? Well, there was only one way to find out ...

Now, three weeks later, Janet stood in the restroom, awaiting the final bell. For the past four days, she'd gone to math class late. Yesterday, her instructor, Mr. Landers, issued a severe warning: if she was tardy again, he'd have to report her for punishment. Janet swore she'd be on time, inwardly exulting.

The final bell rang; Janet didn't move. She counted off the seconds until an additional five minutes elapsed, then left the restroom and headed for class.

Mr. Landers interrupted his lecture as she entered the room. "Well, Ms. Carlson. Late again, I see!"

"Yes, Mr. Landers. I'm sorry," Janet said.

"Didn't I warn you yesterday what would happen if you didn't come to class on time?"

"Yes, sir," hanging her head in mock shame.

"And you're later than ever. Young lady, you leave me no choice. Hand over your skirt."

"Oh, no, sir, not that! Please, not that! I'll never be late again, I promise!"

If there was one teacher Janet knew would show no mercy, it was Mr. Landers. She wasn't disappointed. "Rules are rules, Ms. Carlson, and you were warned. Take off that skirt, now!"

Still whimpering soft protests, Janet slowly unbuttoned and stepped out of her skirt, feeling Mr. Landers' leer as her upper thighs and panties (white; she wasn't ready to test the dress code) came into view. She wore her sweater today, but it didn't provide much protection; the girls' blazers, sweaters, and blouses were carefully tailored to only cover the tops of their hips. She handed the skirt to Mr. Landers, then shuffled slowly to her seat, all eyes on her, looking for all the world like a woeful little girl. If only they knew how she felt inside!

The die was cast, the Rubicon crossed; there was no going back now. Janet felt confident as she contemplated her fate. If the spanking did turn her on, so much the better; if not, well, she'd earlier endured four dozen swats on her panties. Surely she could take a paltry one dozen.

The afternoon passed slowly. On her way to Mr. Fitzpatrick's office, Janet passed Angela in the hall. The blonde's eyes widened in amazement. Janet waited until she was even with the girl, then gave her a sly smile and a "thumbs-up" gesture.

In the principal's office, Janet shared the bench with a small, mousy-looking girl, probably a freshman from her appearance. The abject terror she'd felt on her earlier visit was replaced by a nervous anticipation, not unlike the time she'd gone to Disneyland and rode the Space Mountain roller coaster: a thrilling, nerve-wracking experience, but she knew she'd live through it.

A few minutes later, Mr. Fitzpatrick emerged from the inner chamber. He looked a bit puzzled to see Janet perched on the bench. "This it today?" he asked Ms. Loftus. She nodded. "Very well. You first. Come along." He beckoned to Janet; she slowly got up, following him into his office.

As before, Mr. Fitzpatrick sat behind his desk, rested his head on his hand, and regarded Janet silently. Tempted at first to return his gaze, she remembered she was supposed to be uncomfortable, and dropped her eyes.

Eventually, the principal spoke. "Ms. Carlson again?" he inquired, his voice heavy with disappointment. "Yes, sir," she answered quietly.

"And why are you here this time?"

"Persistent tardiness, sir," Janet said promptly.

Mr. Fitzpatrick did a double-take while Janet mentally kicked herself for using the exact same language as the discipline code. She'd have to be more careful, dammit!

After a few moments more consideration, the principal shrugged his shoulders, got up, crossed to the stool, set it in the center of the room, sat down, and extended his hand to Janet. Slowly, she went to his side and leaned over his lap, squirming a bit as he lifted her across his knees. Almost by reflex, her hands gripped the stool legs. "I'm very disappointed to see you back here again, so soon after our last session," he began.

"I'm sor-" Janet responded, then flinched involuntarily when she felt his hand on her rump. It seemed he timed the contact to coincide with her first words. She forced herself to continue. "I'm sorry, sir."

"Do you know what time your afternoon classes begin?"

"Y-yes, sir." The familiar circling pattern started. Janet forced herself to relax as Mr. Fitzpatrick's hand slowly meandered back and forth across her cheeks. Connie was right; once you knew what was coming, it _wasn't_ too bad.

"Do you have a watch?"

"Yes, sir."

"And you know how to tell time?"

"Yes, sir." Janet fought her anger down. Remember, she told herself, he's trying to get you flustered.

"So why can't you get to class on time?"

"I ... I like to take a walk in the fields after lunch, sir, and I ... I guess I just lose track of time ..." Janet had practiced this excuse repeatedly, hoping it sounded believable, but still lame enough to get her punished.

"That's not a sufficient excuse, Ms. Carlson." (YES!, she thought.) "I'm afraid you'll have to be punished. The school discipline code calls for one dozen swats over your panties. That should be sufficient -- this time." His hand stopped circling.

So far, the plan worked to perfection. "Oh, please, sir, do you have to spank me? I promise it won't happen again. I'll -- I'll take shorter walks."

"I'm sure you'll do whatever you have to do to make it to class on time. This punishment will remind you of the importance of punctuality. I trust you remember what to do now?"

"Yes, sir," Janet responded, gripping the stool tighter.

"Excellent." She felt his hand raise. A long, interminable pause, then:

SMACK!

"OW!" She bucked and squealed. A sting in her left cheek, yes, but was there something else?

SMACK! "OW!" More sting. And ... was that ... a tingle ... someplace else?

SMACK! "OW!" Mindful of what Connie said, she kicked her legs furiously.

SMACK! "OWW!" Yes, she could feel it now, deep within her, growing with the pain in her bottom.

As the spanks mounted, and the tingling grew, Janet realized she needed more, to explore her feelings further. She knew what she had to do. As Mr. Fitzpatrick raised his hand for the tenth spank, she let go of the stool and reached behind her, covering her backside.

"Ms. Carlson! Remove your hand, now!" he said sharply.

"Oh, please, sir, no more! I can't take any more! Really, I've learned my lesson!"

"Remove your hand at once!" Slowly, she did. "I'm going to start your punishment again, and I'm going to add a dozen swats!"

"Please, no --" she started, but he cut her off. "QUIET! And if you interfere again, your panties will come down!"

Figuring she'd pushed her luck about far enough, Janet held her tongue. "That's better," Mr. Fitzpatrick said, and the spanks started falling again.

The sting and tingle continued to grow. Janet thought fast. Did she -- SMACK! "OWWW!" -- did she dare -- SMACK! "OWW, OWW!" -- did she dare have -- SMACK! "PLEASE!" -- have her -- SMACK! "PLEASE, SIR!" -- have her bottom -- SMACK! "OWWWWWW!" -- bared?

After the twentieth spank of her second set, Janet flung caution to the wind and put her hand behind her again. She felt Mr. Fitzpatrick stiffen beneath her. "Ms. Carlson," he snarled, "if you don't remove your hand this instant, I will take your panties down!"

She didn't move. "Please, sir! Please, stop! I'll be good from now on, I promise!"

"This is your last warning, Ms. Carlson! Move your hand!"

"Oh, no, please, sir! It hurts too much! Please, don't spank me any more!"

His patience exhausted, Mr. Fitzpatrick removed Janet's hand himself. "Young lady, I've had it with you! I'm going to start the punishment again, I'm going to add another dozen swats, AND I'm going to take your panties down!"

Janet felt the principal's fingers in her waistband. She gripped the stool tightly again, continuing her mock pleading. "No, sir, please, anything but that! I won't interfere again, I promise! I couldn't take that! Please, sir, spank me as long as you want, but please don't take my panties down!"

Mr. Fitzpatrick's hand relaxed, and for a moment Janet wondered if she'd been too convincing. Then he said, gently but resolutely, "I'm sorry, Ms. Carlson, but you left me no choice. You're expected to follow the rules and to take your punishment properly. When you don't, this is what happens." And he firmly lowered her panties until they nestled just below her bottom cheeks. "Now," he continued, resting his hand on her bare rump, "you're going to get three dozen swats. I expect you to take them well. Do you understand me?"

Three dozen swats on her bare rump; she might just as well have been caught smoking again! "Ye-yes, sir," Janet squeaked out, barely suppressing a giggle.

"Fine." She felt his hand raise, then descend again. SMACK! On her naked flesh, the spank was louder, the sting more intense, and the feeling within her more enhanced. Janet continued her mild struggles and squeals as Mr. Fitzpatrick fueled the fire in her burning bottom. Midway through her last set, she knew Connie was right; it was much better on the bare.

Early in the session, Janet contemplated trying for still more swats; as the count reached thirty, though, she figured she'd probably had enough. The pain in her backside was starting to overcome her aroused feelings, and, anyway, she'd probably pushed Mr. Fitzpatrick far enough. When he'd finished, she laid across his lap, letting her tears flow. Like before, he gently rubbed some of the sting from her flaming cheeks before addressing her.

"I'm sorry you made that necessary, Ms. Carlson. If you'd kept your hand where it belonged, we'd have been done a long time ago. I trust you've learned something today."

It wasn't a question, but she gave the expected response. "Yes, sir."

"Excellent." He helped her to her feet, leaving her to pull up her panties and put her skirt back on herself. After she'd accepted some tissues, he dismissed her with, "Now, I don't expect to see you back here again. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir," she replied. For at least a month, she added to herself.

Stepping into the outer office, Janet noticed the mousy-looking girl already had tears streaming from her eyes. Rubbing her bottom vigorously, she gave the frightened girl a sly grin and wink as she left for study hall.

As Janet expected, Connie and Angela showed up at her locker immediately after school let out. "Angela told me she saw you," Connie started in. "What --"

Janet put her finger to her lips, shushing Connie to silence, and pointing behind the pair. They watched as the mousy-looking girl walked gingerly down the hallway, her eyes still puffy. She stopped at a locker across the hall and down a bit from Janet's. After a few moments, Janet led Connie and Angela over to the smaller girl, who looked up in surprise at the sight of her companion in punishment and the other two upperclassmen looming over her.

"So," Janet inquired, smiling broadly, "how was it?"

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS:

The inspiration from this story was twofold:

1) Some photos which occasionally show up on alt.binaries.pictures.erotica.spanking, showing schoolgirls with their skirts off, awaiting punishment.

2) Pablo Stubbs' excellent stories, "Such a Good Girl" and "Such a Naughty Girl" (and, in case any one was wondering, the Heriot Academy is named after Sally Heriot, the protagonist in those stories).

From Pablo, I got the idea of spanking an older, taller girl while sitting on a stool, so her feet couldn't reach the floor. I also took the idea of spanked girls losing an item of clothing. In Pablo's stories, recently-spanked girls remove their ties for a week, to show they've been spanked. I chose a slightly different article and a slightly different point in the process.

If anybody hasn't read Pablo's stories, they're archived on Laura Werner's site <http://www.goodkitty.com/spanking>. I highly recommend them as classics of schoolgirl spanking literature.