The Floundering Undergrad: Part One
Story Codes: MF, Spanking
The Floundering Undergrad: Part One
by Don Frank
My "Elizabethan Drama" seminar sometimes meets at the college, but I often
invite the class to my house, which is literally a seven-minute walk from campus.
The roster is quite small, only ten to twelve, generally the best English majors
from the Junior and Senior classes.
My section last spring had a number of promising students, all of whom I invited
to a pizza dinner at my place during the seventh week of the semester. I
encouraged them to bring along whatever beverage they wished, since I supply
nothing better than spring water with the meal, and coffee or tea afterwards. We
discussed the week’s assignments, with digressions into philosophy, politics,
religion, and any other discipline germane to the topic at hand. At our break, I
handed back papers to everyone. All had grades, except Amy’s, which had an
ominous "See Me" at the bottom of her Works Cited page.
Amy ----, a junior, was arguably one of the most brilliant students at the school,
but her academic record would have been better still had she not become
involved with various extracurricular activities. I do not mean to sound
condescending. There is nothing wrong with political involvement -- particularly
in such times as the present. There is nothing wrong with concern about Darfur,
global warming, health care, or the nation’s foreign policy. There is arguably
nothing wrong with a brief period of "experimentation" with
recreational/hallucinogenic drugs, and there is no reason to condemn a most
attractive coed for her interest in sex. Of course, Amy seemed attracted to both
men and women, and one did not need great psychic skills to realize that her
preferences probably steered away from the tradition, "vanilla" flavors.
She approached me somewhat cautiously, but before she could speak, I told her
to wait until after class. The last hour and one-quarter almost surely passed
very slowly for her, but eventually the other students bade one another and their
professor good-night and left. Amy, alone, remained.
I told Amy to be seated. For a time, I stared at her, saying nothing and allowing
her to begin to feel anxious. She suspected that something was wrong, and I
wanted these sensations to sink in. She waited for me to speak; I continued to
stare -- and still said nothing. Eventually, she nervously cleared her throat. "Er,
she wanted to speak with me, Sir."
I took a deep breath, then exhaled. "You have disappointed me, Amy. Did you
really think you could get away with such shoddy work?"
She gulped, hoping that the worst of her fears would not be realized. "You mean
. . . my paper?"
"Yes, I mean your paper, goddamnit!" I snapped, pounding the table for
emphasis. "Look -- I know all about the 'rough times' you've had lately, meaning
how you split up with your kinky boyfriend at the end of last semester, and with
your even kinkier girlfriend a few weeks after that. But I've seen students lose
both parents in a car crash and still complete their assignments."
Amy was more than a little alarmed by my tone of voice, though nevertheless
defensive. "But Professor -- I handed in my work on time!"
"Your work?" I asked with a sneer. And suddenly, she felt the trap snapping
shut. Busted! Her cheeks turned beet red with embarrassment. I cannot
explain to the vanilla-oriented reader how much I reveled in her defeat! The rest
would be easy. "You know the college's policy on plagiarism," I stated, firmly and
emphatically. "You have presented material as your own, yet even without
submitting your text to TurnItIn.com, I was able to find whole passages she lifted
right off the ABI-Inform database, verbatim. And I'm going to make this easy for
you, by asking you two simple questions. First, do you think I'm stupid?"
Amy was already resisting tears. "Oh, no, Sir," she stammered. "Not at all. I
never meant to insult you. I've just been unable to focus at all for the last few
weeks, and . . ."
I interrupted her sharply. "And second, do you realize that plagiarism is
considered grounds for expulsion from this institution?"
Amy gasped, completely crushed. Tears began rolling down her cheek. "I just .
. " she sniffled. "I just didn't have the discipline to finish the paper, and I made a
horrible mistake. I was afraid that otherwise I'd fail the course," she cried,
I got up, walked to the other side of the table, poured her a glass of spring
water, and handed her a napkin. Amy wiped her eyes and cheeks, blew her
nose, and sipped the water. "Is there anything I can do?" she asked, feebly.
"The rules are the rules," I stated, with authority and conviction. "A student who
plagiarizes because of her lack of self-discipline must be disciplined by the
Academic Dean. That's final!"
The thought of flunking the course and being expelled from the college was
overwhelming. Nevertheless, there was just enough defiance left in her to grasp
out for one last hope. "Isn't there any other way you could discipline me without
having me . . .?"
"No!" I snapped. But then I paused. "Well, maybe there is an option for us to
"Oh please, please, Sir! I'll do anything," she promised.
"Really?" I hissed. "Well, in that case, let's see if you're as good as your word.
Please repeat what you just said."
"I'll do anything?"
I glowered at her again. "Listen," I explained softly. "You are a brilliant young
woman. You have enormous potential -- more than any of your classmates.
And I'll be happy to help you achieve that potential. But you do realize that you
must be disciplined, don't you?"
Ah, that interrogative tone of voice! It’s something much more commonly seen in
females, of course, and it’s quite common among subs of both sexes.
"Stand up!" I barked. She sprang to her feet. "Now, when you said you'd 'do
anything,' what kind of 'anything' did you have in mind?"
Why did I ask that question, quoting her words back at her? Well, why do you
think I did? Power!! There was an inference here, but she would miss it
"Well, if there's anything you want me to do for you, ---"
". . .'anything you want me to do for you' . . . What the hell do you think I meant
-- have sex with me?" I roared.
Her shame, now compounded with her fear and humiliation, were overpowering.
Priceless! I could feel my prick swelling! Amy looked away, embarrassed.
"I'm not old and feeble, and I'm not blind. I can see you have a nice pair of tits
underneath that shirt, and you've certainly shown a fair amount of cleavage
already. But if you want to play games with me, Girl, you're going to have to
start with basic vocabulary. Did you or did you not say that you lacked
"I . . . I think I said something like that."
"You think so?" I bellowed.
"I did," she said, unable to look me in the eye.
"Well, then, it's discipline you'll face. Now, follow me!"
I led her into my private office. It’s a windowless room, with a convertible couch,
a couple of chairs, and a large desk. I motioned her towards the desk. "Open
the third drawer on the right," I instructed.
She did as directed. Inside, she found a leather belt, cloth belts, a wooden
paddle, and a wooden spoon. She put two and two together, and got something
less than five. "Are you . . . are you . . . going to discipline me with these?"
Now this is where one walks a fine line. I could certainly lose my job (tenured
though I may be!) for what I did with Amy (and others!). How does one know
what liberties can be taken? How does one intuitively judge that "this student will
say nothing," while the parents of another might run to the president of the
college with a top-notch legal team, threatening both civil and criminal action?
I have never been a gambler, but I imagine the thrill of the risk plays a major part
in the experience. However, my own situation is different. I can assure the
readers that I honestly do not derive any analogous pleasure. On the contrary, I
simply make the determination of whether I can or cannot get away with what I’m
plotting and act on it.
"It's for your own good. Now drop your pants to the floor."
There! I had crossed the line of no return, the academic Rubicon. What about
"sexual harassment," covered under the Civil Rights Acts of both 1964 and
1991? Good question!
She turned her back to me, unbuckled, and let them slide down to her ankles.
"Now, lean over the desk," I commanded. Again, she did as instructed. I walked
around and grabbed her hands. Before she realized what was happening, I had
secured them with ropes which were tied tightly around hooks on the other side.
Amy was draped uncomfortably over the table, her head actually over its edge.
But she would soon become somewhat more concerned with what was going on
near her buttocks.
Whack! My hand firmly but relatively gently landed across her cheeks. It hardly
hurt at all. Whack, whack! A couple more blows landed. This wasn't really half-
bad. I chose my spots carefully, increasing the force only slightly. Her ass was
doubtless getting rather red, but I knew another strange sensation was creeping
over her. She was becoming undeniably turned on. It’s really simple
physiology. Perhaps, while the blood rushed towards her lightly spanked ass, it
was also filling into other areas around her pelvic girdle. And remember also
that this was definitely not the first time Amy had been spanked. She had "kinky"
written all over her. However, she had never experienced cerebral Domination!
The spanking stopped. She felt relieved, but only until she felt me fingering the
elastic of your underwear. I pulled them down in order to get a better look at my
work. Then, I pulled them back up.
Now it was at this time that I learned something very important -- a fatal
weakness in Amy which I could exploit ruthlessly. Despite her sexual
promiscuity, Amy was actually rather modest about her body. She did not want
me to see her naked. This much was now clear.
It was also clear that cerebral Domination, by its very nature, would not respect
her modesty. Not one bit! Of course, given the power of our dynamic -- I could
have had her expelled from the college with a nod of my head -- I could order
her to strip any time I wanted. But my objective was different, based on a
grander scheme. Amy would be "broken" to my cerebral Domination. She would
suffer shame, enhanced by her modesty, until she actually wanted to undress in
front of me. The battle lines were drawn.
"O.K. Amy. I shall not report you to the Academic Dean, and you won't get
thrown out of the school," I concluded. "Of course, the 'F' stands. You'll fail my
course . . . unless you are prepared to be disciplined further -- much, much
Now, I suspect that at some point Amy had probably fantasized about being
overpowered by an older man, and I could tell for a fact that she was no stranger
to erotic spankings -- something my first set of slaps effectively confirmed.
However, she was also in deep trouble academically, which lent a new element
to the equation.
"Unfortunately, you've slacked off on your work. This is unconscionable,
particularly for a student with your potential. If you want a chance to submit
another paper and earn a grade better than ‘F,’ you must do some extra work.
You must also become a much more obedient student. And you must be
disciplined far more. Do you understand me?"
"Yes, Sir," she replied, meekly, and I knew I could do whatever I wished with
"Part of your problem is that you've sunk into a catatonic state since the
breakup. So, in order to get you focused again, we'll have to stimulate your
brain a little. Here's the deal: I want you to keep grasping for metaphor and
symbolism, no matter what I do or say, or have you do or say. Can you become
disciplined, focused, and obedient -- and keep your mind extremely sharp, with
snappy wordplay as well?"
"Oh, yes, Sir!" she promised. "I'll do anything! Thank you so much for giving me
a second chance!"
"Good! Now . . . I'll say a word, and you associate freely, giving me another.
For example, if I say 'good,' you might say 'bad' -- or you might say 'morning.'
"O.K. Wash --"
"Puppy -- "
This was almost too easy -- for me!! "Puppy?" I asked. "Well, that's an
interesting free association. What does a puppy grow into, Amy?"
"A dog, Sir."
"And what does a dog wear around its neck?"
"A collar, Sir."
"Excellent!" And with that, I walked around the desk and set her arms free. She
rubbed them out, although they weren’t really sore. She started to reach down
to pull up her pants, then looked at me and hesitated. I was delighted by this
behavior, since it confirmed her complete surrender of control.
"May I . . .?"
How precious! "Oh, sure, but not for long," I said, and she hastily brought them
to her waist. "Now, suppose you look at the the top drawer on the right hand
side," I added, walking back across the desk.
Amy opened the door and pulled out a rather nondescript dog collar, which she
held up. Turning to me, she asked, "Do you want me to put this on?"
"Yes. And when you've done so, please pull out the wooden paddle from the
third drawer. And then make sure you close both drawers!"
It is imperative in cerebral Domination that the Dom give multiple orders. This
obliges the sub to be more attentive. Amy did as instructed, handing me the
paddle. "If I let you lean over the desk without restraining you, will you promise
to stand still?"
Eying the paddle nervously, Amy gasped, "How many?"
"Just two -- and drop them down again!" I commanded.
My victim did as instructed. I gently patted both cheeks with my hands; then,
without further warning, Whack! Whack! A forearm smash and a back-hander
actually made her jump. They were both much harder than she had expected,
and pretty close to her limit. But she took them without so much as a whimper.
"Stay as you are!" I barked.
I walked back across the room and sat in an armchair. "Now, come over here,
but do NOT touch your buttocks."
"But they sting, Sir!"
I merely glowered. With her pants awkwardly at her ankles, Amy inched along
the floor and stood in front of me, her facial cheeks beet red, and her lower
cheeks probably just as red.
"I'd like to see my handiwork," I announced. "I'd also like to see you crawl in your
An element of humiliation was absolutely necessary. I could not very easily let
her escape without it, since she had to learn her place. She stepped out of her
pants and got down on all fours. "The undies off, too!" I snapped. She stood up
again, keeping her back to me and took them off.
Now I must confess that Amy’s modesty excited me immensely! She did not want
me to see her pubic mound. She knew that sooner or later, I would. And I knew
that she knew it!
"Now, crawl around."
She got down on all fours again, but before she could go very far, I yelled,
"Stop!" I then knelt down near her ass to examine it. The paddle had left two
nice "burns," which I touched delicately. "O.K. Across the room! Then stand
She made her way across the floor and stood up, peering back at me over her
shoulder, and keeping her back to me.
"Are you truly sorry you plagiarized?" I asked.
"Oh, yes, Sir!" she confessed with sincerity.
"What words come to mind when you hear 'Sorry'?"
"Very . . . So . . . Penitent . . . Sorrow . . . "
"Penitent!" I shouted. "Excellent, Amy. O.K. Penance, penitent. You were at
least at one time a Roman Catholic, weren't you?"
"And you went to confession?"
"Oh, not for many years, but . . . "
"Well, you must go to confession now. I shall be your priest. And you will do the
penance I require. But at the same time, we'll also do some academic work."
And at this point, I got up and walked towards the couch. She nervously turned
away, so as to keep her backside towards me. I pulled on the cord, and the
couch converted to a queen-size bed. I spread a sheet over it, then turned to
face my student.
"Take off your clothes and kneel before the edge of the bed, with your body
lying on the futon and that sweet ass of yours nicely exposed just off the edge of
"Everything?" Amy asked, but she didn't even wait for the answer. I knew how
uncomfortable this was making her, and decided to enjoy myself. Carefully, with
her back still turned to me, she removed her shirt and bra. I chuckled silently as
she slithered sideways across the length of the room, arms covering those nice
breasts as much as possible, still reluctant to face me in her naked shame. She
hesitated at the edge of the bed, until I said, "Kneel!" As quickly as possible,
she sprawled face down on the edge of the futon, knees on the ground and that
still stinging ass up in the air. She kept her arms by her sides, trying to conceal
her breasts from my gaze -- even though she knew that when I demanded to see
them, she would be powerless to prevent me from doing so.
Meanwhile, I had a slight issue myself. I didn’t want her to see the bulge in my
trousers -- an erection caused not by the naked body I still hadn’t really seen,
but rather by her embarrassment about being nude. "Lie there a while and
reflect upon your sins," I instructed, departing.
Who knows what went through Amy’s mind in my absence? When I returned
(with my dick restored to its flaccid state), I explained what would happen next.
"Six Our Father's and six Hail Mary's. Now!"
"What?" she asked, incredulous. A sharp slap on her buttocks answered the
question. "Our Father . . ." she began, and at "for ever and ever. Amen," I
punctuated her prayer with a whack on the right side from the paddle. "Our
Father," she began again, and at that "Amen," she caught one on the left. The
third and fourth prayer drew another couple of whacks, but to her relief, the fifth
and sixth did not. Instead, I gently caressed those red cheeks.
What followed was not what she expected. She felt a wet liquid on her ass. I
spread it gently by hand, and told her to move on to the Hail Mary prayers. "Hail
Mary . . . fruit of thy womb, Jesus," she intoned, and WHACK, she caught the
paddle on an obviously wet ass. Although the blow had no more force than the
earlier ones, I could tell that it stung more! The second Hail Mary concluded with
the same treatment on the other cheek. However, I now took a soft towel and
dried her off. The next two prayers passed by uneventfully, without punishment,
but she was surprised to feel more fluid on your ass -- this time, apparently,
somewhat thicker yet smoother. " . . . fruit of thy womb, Jesus," she recited
again, and WHACK -- a blow of equal power, one which seemed to result in more
pressure but less sting. The sixth prayer was rewarded accordingly, after which I
again ministered to her ass with the soft towel. I dropped the towel on the floor.
"I'll be right back," I explained. Meanwhile, having gone to confession, I want you
to sit cross-legged and meditate, Oriental-style, on your sins.
Her modesty rekindled the fire in my trousers. "I won't even answer that stupid
question," I replied, walking out.
Despite the clear inferences that I expected to see everything, Amy decided to
cover herself with the towel. Her ass didn’t really hurt -- it was clear that I am
most accomplished at the art of spanking! -- but it did sting a fair amount, and
she was probably a little concerned about possible bruising. I entered, and she
clutched the towel somewhat nervously. "Stand up!" I ordered.
Still holding the towel in front of her -- ah, that helpless shame, and how it
stiffened my prick! -- she rose to her feet on the futon. I slipped out of my
shoes, stepped up on the futon, and faced her. "Ready to translate some more
metaphors? Ready for some rapid-fire wordplay? If you're good at it, you'll earn
the right to do another paper, and to assist me in my research."
Amy nodded. Before she could register surprise, I took her legs out from under
her. In an instant, I mounted her, pinning her wrists over her head. She didn't
even resist, and I snatched away the towel. Her naked breasts leaned on my
thighs, and she looked away in shame. "Metaphors! Biblical allusions!
Wordplay! Quick, quick, quick!!" I screamed.
My student was embarrassed and humiliated, and with the added factor of
nudity, she was also completely defeated. The spanking, the paddling, the dog
collar, the forced nakedness, the pin, my seated weight on her naked belly . . .
Yet, Amy would have to survive by her wits; to think, and quickly. No, not even
think; just speak!
"Jacob wrestling with the angel!" she blurted out.
How flattering!! "Good! More!"
"How many angels can stand on the head of a pin?"
This one actually escaped me for a moment. Perhaps my efforts to control the
erection distracted me. "I don't get it. Explain," I demanded.
"You just pinned me -- wordplay?"
"Ah . . . Good, good! More!"
"I was caught in my naked deception!"
"Yesssss!!" I hiss. "This is good. You have earned another chance." I
dismounted and tossed her the towel. But then I snatched it back. "One more
riddle," I said. I reached into my pocket and pulled out a thin leash. I fastened it
to her collar. "Now, crawl, on your hands and knees, and then explain. When
you can do so, you may stand."
Amy began to crawl, her breasts hanging down and flip-flopping with each
stride. I forced her to go in circles, and watched her frustration mount. "I'm
sorry, Sir. I just don't get it!" she sobbed.
"What did I say?"
"Crawl . . . explain . . . when I can explain it, I can stand?"
"Yes. It's an aphorism. No more hints."
A minute -- a long, humiliating minute (for her) later, the light bulb went on. "I got
it!" she screamed triumphantly. "We must crawl before we can walk!"
"Excellent! I KNEW you could do it!" I replied, dropping the leash. "But, hey --
let me check that ass of yours. She stood up, turning away from me (again!),
and let me examine her buttocks.
"The damage is minimal, but I'm just a tiny bit worried about bruising. Let me rub
some salve in, O.K.?"
"Sure. Should I lie down on the futon again?"
"Yeah -- but you may put your shirt and bra on, first."
I left, then returned. I knew the power dynamic. My hands -- and/or the salve --
felt wonderful. When I had finished, I tapped her ass gently, and told her to
finish getting dressed. I watched, as once more she modestly kept her ass
towards me, protecting her pubic mound from my gaze.
I had one more item on my agenda. "Last question: I want to know the
comparative effects of the straight paddling, the first liquid, and the second
during your prayers."
"The first hurt the least. The second stung the most, but the last ones hurt the
most -- as though you used more force with those," she reported.
"Very good. The first liquid was water, which tends to make the paddle sting
more. The the second was olive oil, and while I struck no more powerfully than I
had before, the blows probably seemed amplified. I thank you for helping me
with my research, and I’ll see you next week."
Amy would indeed return, and her discipline would continue. . .
© 2007 Don Frank
Please visit Don's site http://cerebraldomination.blogspot.com/