Arlington Girls Reformatory

Remember when I set out to write a spanking story for a collection of such stories that Abel and Haron planned to turn into a book with proceeds going to charity? Well, it's been written! And the book will be coming out soon -- be sure to check back here often, and Abel and Haron's blog, for the release date and more information!

Meanwhile, please enjoy this small taste of the events surrounding and immediately succeeding my own literary contribution to the book: a story entitled, Arlington Girls' Reformatory. :D

~~~

He was seated when I entered, his legs crossed, his iPad in hand, his brow furrowed. He looked up at me from his desk chair after a moment -- I averted my eyes, unable to meet his gaze.


"Miss Bailey. Sit down..." His gesture offered a chair, straight-backed, armless -- it had been deliberately placed there, waiting for me. As I sat, my skirt barely reaching my mid-thighs as the material tightened, he transferred the device he'd been holding into my hands. I saw at once what he had uploaded onto its screen: a PDF of the referral I had received, which had landed me here in the first place. "Read. I will be with you in a moment."

My eyes rolled over the accusatory document, reading carefully but with familiarity -- I had perused this very document in great detail only days before.

"Arlington Reform School
Discipline Referral Form"

It read across the top. I'd had to fill in the word, "Arlington," as the reform school hadn't even been named yet at the time this form had been created.

"Student's Name: Rayne Bailey
Status: Emeritus"

Well, I had founded the school after-all! Seeing as how I'd created the whole concept for the purposes of my "creative writing" assignment. Although, it seemed quite extraordinary to be in this predicament, sitting here in this chair, reading this referral with my name on it, awaiting my fate, as an "emeritus" member of the Arlington Girls' Reformatory. The situation must have been quite serious!

"Reason for Referral: Lack of motivation, Scheduling problems, and Other: Missed multiple deadlines"

All of these offenses were checked. A spacious lined area also offered the writer of the referral plenty of room to expound upon the offenses of the referred, and here my punisher had written quite a few words of explanation. I had not only missed the first deadline for turning in my story, and received an extension... I had then proceeded to miss the second, extended deadline. Luckily, I still finished my story in time for it to make the book, and all turned out well. But in the process, I had put quite a lot of stress on myself, and not to mention on my partner, who weathered the storm with me through two long weekends of writing and revising.

And there he was again, returning to his seat at his desk, considering me.

"Finished?" I nod, and hand the tablet back to him. He receives it coolly. "Is everything written here correct, Miss Bailey?"

"Yes, Sir."

"All of the names and dates?"

"Yes, Sir."

"And the offenses, you admit to committing them? You had no less than three months to complete your assignment, and yet you procrastinated enough to miss not only one, but two deadlines?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Is there anything more I should know about this situation, Miss Bailey?"

This question is slightly unexpected. Anything more he should know? Any extenuating circumstances that may have accounted for her tardiness, her inability to finish on time, even though she did finish in enough time...? The fact that she had just recently finished graduate school and moved three states away, the fact that she had recently fallen in love and invited the life of a-whole-nother person into her own, which accounted for much of her time spent doing many things other than writing?

Of course he should know these things! But glancing up into his eyes, it was clear that should she choose to utter any of them, it would only make things worse for her. Excuses, they would be, and excuses alone -- not nearly excusing the fact that it had taken her three months to start working on a work that was to be published as part of a multi-author volume.

"No, Sir."

"Very well. Stand up, Miss Bailey, and face the corner. I want you to think about what is going to happen to you, and why."

Obeying, I can feel my senses enter hyper-mode as I try to track his movements behind me. His hands are on the straight-backed chair, moving it, adjusting its positioning. He is off to another corner of the room, retrieving something -- something light enough that it makes not a sound as he lifts it and carries it nearer.

"Come here, Miss Bailey."

I turn. My eyes are lowered, not searching for his face -- but instead for his hand. For what is in his hand. It is long, thin, crook-handled. One of the canes we had recently purchased for just this purpose.

"Bend forward over the back of the chair, place your hands on the seat."

It is all I can do not to whimper as I take my position. This will be the first time that MrA has ever caned me.

"You'll receive three with the smallest cane, for the first deadline you missed."

His distinction of exactly which cane he was using puts me on guard. We have three, you see. A small one, a Junior cane, and a Senior cane. How many of them is he going to use tonight? Not all three??

As he raises my skirt, his instructions issue forth: "Count each one, and make sure I can hear you."

The first stroke comes as a total shock -- hard and fast, the first time we have played a scene together without any form of warm-up.

"Ahh! One, Sir!"

The next two with the small cane are easier to take, but no less painful. Despite its small size, that little cane still lands quite a sting.

After a hissed, "Threeee, Sir," he pauses, and instructs me to stand.

"Back to the corner, Miss Bailey. No rubbing." Behind me, he moves to place the small cane back where it came from, retrieving another. My bottom is already burning -- and yet I know we're only half way done now, if that.

Only about 45 seconds pass before he is calling me back over the chair. "Same position, but this time," and before I can do anything, his hands have not only raised my skirt, but lowered my white panties, leaving them stretched across my thighs, framing his target perfectly. "For missing the second deadline, Miss Bailey, you will receive three with the Junior cane. Start the count back at one."

He is lining up this first stroke with the next-size-up cane, I am biting my lip, grateful at least for the brief warm-up afforded to me by his initial use of the smaller cane.

Swish--CRACK!

"Aii! One, Sir!"

The next comes swiftly, and I hardly have time to catch my breath -- Whap! "Two, Sir,"

The third and final stroke is the hardest of all, leaving me breathless and whispering my final count.

"Stay where you are."

No, please, that's it, isn't it? We're done, right? Why are you going back and picking up another cane??

"For all the stress you put yourself through, not to mention your professor, and your partner, you will be receiving one stroke with the Senior cane. As it is just the one, there will be no need to count."

My mind is spinning -- I have never felt a Senior cane before -- not in my life -- even just one stroke with that thick piece of rounded rattan seems unthinkable!

There it is on my skin, tapping lightly, taking aim. Suddenly it is gone and I know it is coming --

Whoosh--CRACK!

It is all I can do to keep from yowling at the pain -- the sudden fiery line of white that flashes across my skin, just like any other cane but somehow much, much worse. "I'm sorry -- I'm sorry, Love--"

"I know. It's all over now. Come here."

And I am up in his arms, myself again, and we are both grinning from ear to ear at the success of our first role-played scene together, let alone our first real caning!

We got the canes (which we love) from Cane-iac.com, and they actually included another cane for us as a special surprise -- a straight-handle about the size of the Junior! All are lovely!

Here's to many more role-plays, much more use of the canes, and many more posts thereof! :D

Chapter Four - First Day at School

You may, this fine hour, be sitting there ever-so-comfortably (or not, I hope? :D), reading quietly, and wondering to yourself... "Chapter One, Chapter Two... Chapter Four?? What happened to Chapter Three??"

It was eaten, my dear friends. The treacherously insatiable jaws of Blogger.com gobbled it up mercilessly, before it could breathe more than a single day of life. And alas, much as I tried with all my might to wrench my words back from the abyss, they remain only in the memories of those few who were able to glimpse them in the early hours of their creation.

But life goes on. :D Quite splendidly, in fact!

( See "About" section to the right :D )

To finish up our Spanking Weekend saga -- since so much happened over that weekend that one post, nay, not even two or three posts, would have been enough to do it justice -- We're going to school. The bells are ringing, the bus is moving, classes are about to commence, and you'd better not be late!

Chapter Four - First Day at School

Artwork by Dave Ell, on The Woody Back to School Unit

There we were, all ready for class in our neatly pressed school uniforms (with many varied an interpretation of the word "uniform"...), piled onto our " school bus" and approaching the "schoolhouse." The bell started ringing as we descended our last hill, and pupils scurried in through a line of tutting teachers.

Before even arriving to class, on the online message boards, assignments had already been given out! We were to come prepared to our first class with a sentence written, in legible hand-writing, about the best way to contribute to a proper learning environment in the classroom.

As students settled into their desks, pulling out notebooks, pens, spitwads, gum -- and their completed assignments, it dawned on me that I had never done my homework.

I hadn't written a single sentence! I hadn't thought it all that important!

That is, until I was suddenly surrounded by a cadre of studious suck-ups who had ALL written their sentences!

Quietly, as if diligently taking notes while our first teacher of the morning conducted her class, I cracked open my notebook and began jotting down a suitable sentence.

I even had to copy the beginning prompt for the sentence from my classmate sitting immediately to my right -- a very gracious friend who kept m y secret safe :D

You know what the funny thing is? That was probably the only thing I did all day that actually would have really warranted a spanking -- and nobody noticed!! I mean, I completely got away with not having my homework done ahead of time, and copying half of it from a friend -- right there in the class room!

But as much as it pays to be the quiet invisible one getting away with things in the middle of the room, I still somehow managed to find my fair share of trouble...

You see, through years of primping and perfecting, a time-honored system of dealing with trouble-making had been established for this school, by way of the use of "referrals."

If someone of a Top mind-frame (with a certain color name tag) spotted someone of a Bottom mind-frame (with a different color name tag) doing something worthy of inspection or correction, that Top could then fill out the first half of a referral form, and hand it to that Bottom. The Top writes their name, the name of the Bottom, and the infraction committed. The Bottom can then decide to check one or more of the disciplinary options listed on the form (or come up with their own, if they so desire, with explanation).

I'm sure you can imagine what some of the options may include... :D

This way, because everybody is still kind of getting to know each other, the Bottom has the option of taking their referral to whomever they wish for discipline -- not necessarily the Top who gave it to them, although that is an option, too -- which alleviates a lot of the pressure associated with asking for and orchestrating scenes, for both the Top and the Bottom.

Once the indicated punishment has been completed by the chosen Top for that referral, the Top signs it and it is returned to a box for record-keeping purposes.

I loved that referral system -- it was like walking around with a free spanking pass in my pocket -- all I had to do was hand it to someone I wanted to play with, instead of trying to brat or otherwise get their attention and hope something happens -- or ask for it outright, which is insanely hard to do, and for me sometimes takes away some of the magic of it...

One of the referrals I received was for a simple geographical mistake I somehow made during a team-building class run by one of the weekend organizers (the one and the same assigner of the Etymology Essay I wrote so many months ago...).

I thought it only appropriate to take the referral, written and handed to me by my ever-watchful and helpful partner, back to the gentleman whose "class" I had so rudely disrupted with the original mistake.

He needed no further prompting whatsoever. Just as soon as he had the paper in hand, off we went -- me with more than a little trepidation -- to one of the curtained-off spaces near the back of the room.

You see, between each class period, the whole school implements a 15-20 minute break for the administering of necessary discipline earned during class sessions...!

To my great surprise, upon pulling back the curtain, a giant chair stood there, literally three times as tall as any normal chair one might see on an every-day basis.

"Oh good, it's free. This is my favorite chair." Oh, yes, of course it is... :D :D

Suddenly, I am over his lap, my school blazer ruffled, my plaid skirt flipped up, both my feet and hands far, far away from the ground.

I am truly suspended in midair over his knees!

He is lecturing me about geography, and I am amazed at the difference this chair makes in setting the tone for the scene -- how short and small I feel, in this uniform, over his lap.

Where can I buy one of these chairs?? :D

It isn't long before he is setting me back down on my feet, and instructing that my panties come down. I must have turned the same shade of red as my maroon jacket! (A splendid piece of uniform, by the way, made up by a dear friend, complete with school crest and all!)

I was back up and over, this time with panties joining my knee socks, and swearing that yes, I knew the different between East and West, and yes, I would even be able to recognize North and South if they came along...!

It was after this ordeal, dear readers, that I decided to entice the writer of that very referral back to the same space, enchanting as that extra-tall chair was...

Maybe during my next day at this school, I will be mo re successful. What exactly will that success mean? A better grasp of geography? Perhaps... Or perhaps it will have something more to do with just how many referrals I can manage to incur -- only one way to find out!

Hopefully be seeing you back at school -- very, very soon! :D

Punished for Being Late to Work

She knocks on his door, cautious, but not overly.

She'd only been a few minutes late, after all.

Only, for some reason, he'd asked specifically to see her in his office -- something he'd never done before with her, and had only done with other employees on very rare occasions.

"Come in."

If the stern sound of his voice hadn't set her on edge, the look he fixed upon her as she entered certainly did. His eyes were steel, unyielding -- yet somehow warm. In the moment of induced silence after she shut the door behind her, she felt her eyes drop to the floor under his accusatory gaze.

"Do you know why you're here, Miss Bailey?" By the end of this question, his eyebrows have raised in expectation.

Had she really been that late? Had she done something else worthy of this kind of inquiry? Conscious of the stretching silence, she answers uncertainly, not wanting to further incriminate herself. "I think so, Sir?"

"You think so?" His answer is immediate, and dissatisfied.

"You are here, because of your consistent tardiness. Do you think coming late to work is okay? And you were late again today, you know that?" He is standing now, bearing closer to her with each sentence, making her more and more conscious of the fact that the closed door rests solidly behind her, leaving her nowhere to run, no room to conserve the dignity of personal space. The closer he comes, the more she must look up in order to meet his eyes—he towers nearly a foot over her modest 5’ 4”.

"Yes, Sir, I know, but --"

"No excuses. You know you've been late six times in the past three weeks?? That's practically every other day!"

He's been keeping track?? She hadn't realized that he'd been so concerned with her time of arrival -- that he'd been paying close enough attention to notice it consistently, among so many other employees.

"By all rights, you should be put on suspension from work." He looks away from her as he says this -- it is obvious that he doesn't like the idea any more than she does.

"No, Sir, please -- I'm sorry!" A suspension would look terrible on her professional record!

“You’re sorry.” The whirring gears in his mind glimmer through the thoughtful look in his eyes as he weighs his options—options as yet unknown to the unfortunate employee now standing distressed in his office. He makes to move away from her, back over toward his desk, but takes less than a step before he’s made up his mind. “Saying you’re sorry just isn’t good enough, Rayne.”

She is wringing her hands now, not yet resigned to the frightful idea of a suspension—how would that effect the rest of her career? How would she pay her bills in the meantime? What would she tell her coworkers?

“But I am not going to suspend you.”

A deeply relieved sigh escapes unwillingly from her tensed lungs… thank goodness. His eyebrows rise again at her slip in decorum, but he lets it pass.

“Instead, I’m going to spank you.”


It is several moments before her brain can fully wrap itself around his words, and their implications. All she can do is blink several times, frozen. He’s going to what? Spank her?… What does he mean? How is this even an option?...

But he is speaking again before she can regain her bearings, making the most out of her temporary state of shock. “Have you ever been spanked before, Miss Bailey?”

She finds it easier just to answer his questions, while still gathering her thoughts, “Not for a long time…” Her mind reaches back to a few childhood spankings that she can remember receiving on rare occasions from her parents. But that was close to 15 years ago now…!

“Well, seems like you need a refresher. Come over here.” He is settling himself into an armless chair near his desk, turned to face her—even while seated, his head is merely inches below hers where she stands.

This is all happening so fast! “Sir…” she is having trouble forcing her body to obey.

“Here.” His peremptory tone accompanied by an equally commanding gesture to the space directly in front of him gives her the fuel she needs. As she approaches, he swings his left knee outward, and before she can fully realize what is happening, all she can see are his ankles and the hardwood floor, all the blood in her torso is rushing to her face, and her hips are positioned squarely over his left thigh.

The spanking starts immediately—he’s not kidding!

His hands, proportionate to his height, are wide and heavy. One is wrapped firmly around her waist, and the other is spanking her over the seat of her pants, hard and fast.

More out of shock at this new, painful sensation and exceedingly vulnerable position than any real distress (yet), her feet start to come up off the ground, her knees bending more with each impact of his hand on her quickly warming bottom.

He is ready for this. Not more than five or six hard swats in, and he is already placing his right leg over hers, pinning her legs down, denying her the privilege of even limited mobility.

This is serious.

She cannot believe this is happening. What grown woman gets spanked at work? How soundproof are these office walls? Why hadn't she realized that he cared so much about her work performance?

"Do you realize that people depend on you here, Miss Bailey? Do you know that when you are late you are making them wait for you? Do you think that's acceptable behavior?" His scolding is making her feel even more like a child than she already does, over his knee getting spanked.

She is retaliating before she can stop herself, "It was only 5 minutes!"

"Only 5 mi-- get up!" The abrupt halt in spanks which had been raining down on her only moments before allows her to realize just how much this is starting to hurt. Once released, she finds her feet again as quickly as possible, unable to meet his eyes, her heart racing, somehow sure that she's just made a mistake.

"Lower your pants, and quickly."

Her face is turning beet red as she obeys, shocked beyond belief now -- barely able to breathe out of alarm and embarrassment.

She is back over both of his knees now, her pants down around her knees -- but it is only a matter of seconds before a new development takes place: apparently more peeved by her retort than she'd realized, he suddenly pulls her panties down, too, all of half-way down her thighs. An involuntary whine issues from her throat, as an even deeper wave of embarrassment floods over her.


"Complaining, now?" His hand on her bare skin, just as hard, just as fast, reminds her of just how protected she'd been with her pants still on.

"Nooo..." she can barely keep the whine out of her voice as the spanking builds velocity.

"No what?"

"No, Sir!"

A volley of purpose-driven spanks forces a squeal out of her as she tries her best not to squirm over his lap.

"I want to be sure you won't be late anymore, Rayne. Don't you? Why shouldn't you be late?" His ability to scold and to spank at the same time, with vigor, is astounding to her... while she is struggling to keep her thoughts in coherent order.

"Because... ahhhhhh...!" but the constant SMACK of his hand on her bare bottom is making it very difficult for her to string the right words together.


Satisfied at least with her attempt, his pace continues as he prompts further, "Because people are depending on you? Because you have responsibilities here? Because you shouldn't keep people waiting, right? Is that why?"

"Yes, Sir!"

"And what can you do to make sure you won't be late in the future?"

This time, he slows very briefly, allowing her to gather her breath, and her words. "Go to bed earlier?" comes her suggestion, a desperate attempt at ending this barrage.

"Good idea," and he is back to spanking again, causing her to squeak and squirm. "What else?"

Her brain is still in motion, still reaching, grasping for opportunities to stop the pain now mounting under his heavy hand, "Lay things out the night before--" But it does nothing to cease the spanks, he merely nods and continues, commenting on her new-found ability to suddenly come up with such great ideas!

Without warning, his pace triples in speed and she is hard-pressed to keep from crying out too loudly -- but the quickened volley of 15 or so is only a precursor...

"Up." She needs a few extra moments to find her balance this time, her hair messed, her hands reaching down in an automatic attempt to conserve even the smallest level of dignity at keeping her pants from falling to the ground. She need not have bothered, however, because no sooner had she stood than he followed her, walking beyond her to a cupboard across his office.

"Bend over the desk. We're not through yet."

Her bottom burning, her face flushed, she finds no strength to resist, although curiosity gets the better of her as she tries to peer over her shoulder at what he seems to be pulling out of the cupboard.

"Don't look back -- eyes straight ahead."

His movements behind her set her senses on hyper-alert.

"You're going to get the strap, Miss Bailey, do you understand?"

Luckily, he takes her concerned whimper for a 'yes.'

"And you're going to count. Three for each time you've been late. How many is that?"

Now he's asking her do to math??? Her pants and panties are down around her knees, her bottom is bright red, she's bent forward over his desk in his office, anticipating more punishment, and he wants her to practice multiplication??

"18?" the answer comes out as a question, in part due to her uncertainty in her own logical abilities at the moment, and in part due to her slight surprise at the rather large number.

"That's right. You'll count each, and you will say 'thank you' after each one, is that clear?"

"Nnnn yes, Sir."

WHAP! The first comes as a slight surprise -- but it doesn't hurt as terribly as she had feared it might. "One, thank you, Sir."

His scolding continues throughout the strapping. WHAP! "Two! Thank you, Sir." He reiterates the reasons she should not be late for work, WHAP! his concern with her conduct, WHAP! his intention to bring her here again on the drop of a hat if it were to happen again.

WHAP! "Five, thank you, Sir..." He repeats the preparations she had cited earlier to keep from being late again, WHAP! admonishes her for letting it get to this point, WHAP! and assures her that he will be watching very closely in the coming weeks to make sure her behavior improves. WHAP! "Eight! Thank you Sir!"


"Will you be late again, Miss Bailey?" WHAP!

"No, Sir! Nine, thank you, Sir..."

"Halfway there." His voice is steady, almost reassuring.

Each stroke is harder than the last, so that by the time they reach the later teens, her counting has become slightly irregular. WHAP! "Sssssssssixteeeeen... Thank you... S-sir..." WHAP! "Sev-teen! ThankyouSir!"

WHAP!! His last is so hard, she can't keep from yelping and hissing before making her count, and bringing her punishment to a close.

"Now, pull your clothes back up, collect yourself, and go back to work. I don't want to see you in here like this again any time soon, Miss Bailey."