Author: The Naughty Gaffer brndtag at mcn.net.
Please use “Story Comments” in subject line if you send e-mail.
Title: The Milton School: Melissa  
Keywords: F/f, spank
Summary: A 14-year-old boarding school student learns that some urban legends are true

The Milton School is a venerable institution located in Vermont. It has been a private school for girls from 12 to 19 years of age for over a hundred and fifty years. Many of the girls are from “legacy” families, their mothers and their mothers’ mothers having attended the school for generations. Most of the girls are, of course, well-to-do; private boarding schools are expensive to operate. The Milton is technically a non-profit, but it operates as a foundation of the alumni. The profits we would otherwise have to pay taxes on are used to subsidize deserving girls of lesser means and we feel that we have helped a number of young women become successful when their home situations might have made it easy for them to fail. Through our long history, many “scholarship” girls have become the matriarchs of legacy families. I myself am an alumnus.
Discipline, including physical discipline when the senior staff deem it necessary, is an important part of the school mission. We encourage the girls who become ladies through our school to develop a spirit of adventure, academic excellence, and a strong sense of responsibility. Developing these traits in teenage girls, especially the wilder ones or ones from less structured families, is always a challenge. And it often seems that if we succeed especially well in one department – for example, a spirit of adventure and independence – we find an additional challenge in some other area. Our most adventurous (and often delightful) students are often the ones slowest to understand responsibility.
That brings them to me. As the Dean of Discipline, I evaluate rule violations and assign appropriate punishments. Most of the punishments involve extra chores; the girls hate to clean bathrooms. Or I’ll even resort to the old standby of “I must learn to be a lady and not a tramp”, written for an hour or so to help the message sink in. But if a student involves herself in a particularly worrisome misbehavior, or if she acquires a string of lesser punishments, she may find herself over the dean’s lap for a spanking. I would say that most of our girls, in a six-year sojourn with us, probably manage to take that trip three or four times.
Of course not all girls are with us for six years. We visit with parents beginning around the girl’s tenth birthday and, with the parents, we consider whether a girl is ready for the boarding school environment. Some twelve-year-old girls need the greater support of staying with their parents and some, we feel, may become targets for abusive behavior by older girls. Then, if a girl doesn’t join us for her seventh grade year, we usually encourage the parents to wait for her ninth grade year. If she is going to be happier and will prosper in a local school, the parents will usually keep her at home. Occasionally a girl will also join us during her high school years, usually because her academic efforts are flagging or her parents are concerned about her social group. These girls are often a problem in their first semester and seldom a problem in their second semester.
That’s a long way of introducing Melissa to you. Melissa joined us at her ninth grade year, a slip of a girl who was just beginning to blossom. Her father is a military officer and they were overseas during Melissa’s junior high school years. Of course we encouraged her family to keep her with them for such a valuable experience. But it meant that she was still adjusting to our ways when the other girls of her year were adjusted already. I mentioned that a girl typically would have three or four sessions over my lap in a six-year period. Usually two of three or three of four would have happened before her ninth grade year as she learned that, while her parents weren’t watching and rules had changed, we most assuredly were watching and rules still pertained.
Melissa is actually a darling girl, bright and cheerful. However, she apparently hadn’t read the part of the student guide about trips into town. Of course girls check out of the school to visit town. They are expected back by 8 pm through their tenth grade years and at 10 pm for their last two years. You may have already divined that curfew violations are a particularly common reason for girls getting a good look at the color of my carpet.
At 8:15 pm, the charge of quarters girl notified me that Melissa had not returned or, if she had, that she had failed to report to the CQ. (CQ is a duty that all the senior girls take in turn). Miss Chalmers had checked Melissa’s room and her roommate did not know where she was either. I paged for Melissa on the loudspeaker and waited ten minutes for a response, but she failed to appear.
“Well, Miss Chalmers, I had better go look for her in town. Of course you’ll call me at once if Melissa returns.” Girls became Miss in their last year. I got the school car and drove into North Jaffrey.
North Jaffrey is a small town and it has a few places where our girls usually hang out. I went to each of them; many of our girls had been in town that day, mostly in groups of three or four. I tracked Melissa’s movements pretty easily and ultimately found the girl herself at the Wal-Mart. By now it was nine o’clock. Melissa was looking at CDs when I came up the aisle and called to her. The look on her face was a satisfying mix of dismay and surprise.
“Oh, shit,” she said. Then she covered her mouth with both hands. “Oh, my God, Mrs. Brown, did I say that? Am I that late?”
“Yes, Melissa, you did say that. And you said ‘my God’ without meaning a prayer. And yes, you are that late.” Melissa quickly put down the merchandise she was looking at. “Do you have any items you absolutely need in the next week?” I asked.
“No, ma’am,” she answered.
“Then we will return to the school at once.” I speed-dialed the CQ office. “Miss Chalmers, Melissa is safe with me. Please let her roommate know that she will be spending the night in my spare room.”
“Yes, Mrs. Brown,” Miss Chalmers replied. She knew all about the spare room. She had spent the night there on two occasions the previous semester for curfew violations. A young gentleman had been involved in those incidents, which had done Miss Chalmers no good when she explained herself.
Melissa got in the car with me. She gave me an apprehensive look that was born, I am sure, of stories she had heard. I know the girls of my day (a longish day ago) had whispered together of disciplinary procedures. And they didn’t bother whispering about chores or about writing lines. They whispered about the spare room and how one came to spend a night there. I imagine, too, that most of our alumni had told their daughters about the spare room as well. The stories of my day were only somewhat exaggerated; I don’t know really what stories are current today, but I imagine they are about the same.
As we drove back, I got the lecture out of the way. “Melissa, you know that we are responsible for your safety while you are in our care. We take that responsibility very seriously. I am sure you were aware of the curfew hour.”
“Yes, ma’am,” she answered. Her eyes were very large but she couldn’t quite look at me as we pulled into the grounds.
“Some of our rules have more lenient punishments, but the curfew rule is one of our most important and its punishments are among our strictest. I will explain the details when we reach my room.” By now I had parked the car and we went in through my private entrance. I happen to be the only single woman on the staff, after my husband’s death some years ago, so I had accepted the apartment on the grounds and the duties that went with it.
My apartment is the minimum you’d expect: bedroom, bath, sitting room. I don’t need a kitchen since I dine with the girls. It’s one way we keep our kitchen up to scratch. I also have the “spare room” of school legend. Serious misconduct has been handled according to the same procedure for many years, since before my own school days at Milton, and I admit to some squeamish feelings when I became mistress of this apartment myself. For I, too, had spent a few nights in the spare room.
The girls’ regular rooms are comfortable doubles, two rooms sharing a full bath. The spare room has a small locker and a double-bunk with white sheets and blankets. It is comfortable enough but not commodious. The locker contains hangers to receive a girl’s clothes and also a selection of large white T-shirts. They are really just the longest men’s T-shirts available and they are used as nightwear when a girl is to spend the night in the spare room. They are part of the punishment ritual that the girls know well, from gossip and from experience. Melissa was about to have some of her worst fears confirmed and a few of them disproved.
I opened the spare room and brought Melissa into it. I sat on the straight chair near the door and pointed to the closet. “Melissa, on the top shelf of that closet, you’ll find a few large nightshirts. You are to take off all of your clothing except your underpants and put the shirt on. That will be your nightshirt for tonight. Hang your own clothes up in the locker. Do you understand?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Melissa answered. She sat on the bed and removed her tennis shoes and white socks. She was wearing a school polo shirt and a denim skirt. She stood up and opened the locker, pulling a shirt from the shelf and laying it neatly on the bed. Then she turned away from me and pulled her top over her head. I could see that her figure was only beginning to bloom, small breasts under her pink bra and only the beginning of a flare above her waist. Melissa hung her shirt on the hanger and put it away. Then she unhooked her bra and slipped it off, placing it on the shelf. She put her hands to her waist and undid the snap of her skirt. She unzipped it quickly and stepped out of it, hanging it up beside her top. She was wearing pink boy-leg panties that disappeared a moment later under the white shirt.
Melissa turned back to face me and came over beside my chair. Her eyes had been big when we came in; now they were so huge and sorrowful that I could hardly stand it. But then I had had to punish girls with eyes this big many times. I know it is really for their own good. Melissa’s lip was trembling and she had her hands clasped behind her as I explained the procedure.
“Melissa, since this is your first Milton spanking, I will tell you what to expect and how to behave. This is going to hurt, but you can make it easier or more difficult. I am going to spank you over the shirt first, then I will lift the shirt and spank you on your underpants. Because the curfew violation is so important, I will also lower your underpants and spank you on your bare bottom.”
“I’ve heard about it from other girls,” Melissa said.
“How about your mother?” I asked.
“Yes, my mother told me about it. I think she found out this way too.”
“Actually, Melissa, she did. I was a teacher here at the time, so I didn’t spank her myself. But I know about it. A couple of times, actually.”
“She said it really hurt,” Melissa whimpered.
“I imagine it did. The Dean of Discipline is expected to be effective,” I answered. “Now, there is something else you ought to know. If you struggle or make trouble while I am spanking you, I will add five spanks – but to the next part. So if you struggle when I am spanking you on your panties, I will add five spanks when I spank your bare bottom. If you struggle during your bare-bottom spanking, I will take off all your clothes and I will spank you naked. In that case, I will also have you sleep naked in the room tonight. That’s what I meant when I said you could make this more difficult or easier for yourself. I will also gauge how hard to spank you by your behavior. I must mention one more thing: your inappropriate language will get you an additional five spanks on your panties.” Melissa bit her lip and nodded.
I pulled the girl over my lap and got her adjusted. Her smooth round bottom was aimed at just the right angle when I slapped her across the seat of the shirt. I gave her ten spanks on the white shirt, just hard enough to get her thinking. Then I lifted the shirt up and exposed her pink panties.
Melissa squirmed a little and I put my hand on her back. “I won’t count that, Melissa,” I said, “but that’s your only warning. These first five spanks are for your bad language and I want you to count them.” I gave her a good spank and she yipped, “One!” Each smack was punctuated by a high-pitched count: “Two! Three! Four! Five!” Then I gave her five more firm spanks. She whimpered a couple of times but she held still for them.
I wondered if I was really making an appropriate impression, so I decided to give her five more on her panties but more firmly. I gave her a sharp spank and she responded with a very sharp yelp. I gave her four more hard spanks and she was breathing hard now, crying just a little.
When I pulled Melissa’s panties down, though, she put her hands up for a moment. I gently moved them away and said, “That will get you five more spanks before I give you your real spanking. Please remember to behave yourself.” I was becoming concerned that Melissa would get herself a bare-naked spanking at this rate.
Melissa was cooperative for the five “bonus” spanks and I began the main spanking on her bare bottom. I had decided to give her twenty spanks and she held out, crying and twitching but not really fighting me, until the fifteenth. But then she almost squirmed off my lap and put her hands up, just as I had warned her not to do. “Melissa, that’s a bad mistake,” I said. I got her under better restraint and I gave her five hard spanks. Each brought a gasp from the steady soft crying. I rubbed her bottom for a moment and pulled up her panties before I broke the bad news.
“Melissa, I told you what I would do if you gave me trouble while I was spanking you. I gave you an extra warning and you still tried to put up a fight. Now I will have to spank you naked. Kneel in front of me, please.”
Melissa did as I said, kneeling on the floor in front of the chair. “Put up your arms,” I said. She raised them and I pulled the T-shirt over her head. “Stand up,” I said, helping her to rise. Her breasts were small and round, quite lovely for her early stage of growth. Then I put my hands to her waist and I pulled her panties to the floor. She stepped out of them and I pulled her back over my lap.
I gave her ten sound spanks on her naked bottom but she only cried. I think she didn’t want to find out what I might do if she pushed one more time. Then I had her brush her teeth and tucked her into the lower bunk, still naked. In the morning she would go back to her room and her school affairs, but I was sure she would be the best girl about curfew that we had. At least until a young man might enter the picture…