Letter of the Law

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Another erotic story from the FLOGMASTER!

Copyright 1985-2016 by the Flogmaster. All Rights Reserved. Free distribution via electronic medium (i.e. the internet or electronic BBS) is permitted as long as the text is _not_ modified and this copyright is included, but _no_ other form of publication is allowed without written permission. This document _may_ contain explicit material of an ADULT nature. ***READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!*** Anything offensive is your own problem. This story is for **entertainment** purposes only, and it does _not_ necessarily represent the viewpoint of the author or the electronic source where this was obtained. All characters are *fictional* -- any resemblance to real people is purely coincidental.

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Letter of the Law

(***, M/f, Severe, severe schoolgirl paddling)

A legal loophole is used to punish a girl excessively. (Approximately 2,036 words. Originally published 2004-01.)

Monique had never been so embarrassed. The police officer, despite her prolific appeals, hadn't been the least bit moved by her puppy dog frown and fluttering eyelids, or even her flirty smile and sexy hip roll. The man absolutely insisted he walk the truant right through the school and deliver her personally to the principal's office.

It was twelve-thirty when they arrived and the quad was filled with students heading for or returning from lunch. Monique couldn't believe her bad luck. Everyone she knew, it seemed, was there, watching with jaws hanging open as she was escorted into the building to Mr. Demarco's office.

It was about this time that fear took over for embarrassment as Monique's primary emotion. She couldn't help but remember her last visit to this office -- it was just yesterday, after all -- and the horrible choice she'd been given.

Mr. Demarco had shown her the big wooden board he called "Mr. Paddle" and told her she could have six swats with that or be suspended from school for a day. If she took the swats her punishment would have been over immediately, and her parents wouldn't have even had to know. But Monique was terrified of physical pain and the thought of being spanked like a child was just too humiliating to contemplate. She chose the suspension.

Luckily for her, or so she thought at the time, her college-age sister, Joann, answered the telephone at home when Mr. Demarco called. He'd put the call on speakerphone, and Monique quickly jumped in with a "Mom, I'm in the principal's office. This is Mr. Demarco."

Joann, quickly realizing the situation, played along, even scolding Monique for her behavior and hinting at further punishment when the girl got home. Mr. Demarco never realized the deception and thus Monique had thought she'd beaten the system, getting a free day off of school and sparing her bottom a horrible fate.

Today, however, was another day. As she and the police officer waited for Mr. Demarco, Monique grew more and more nervous. She knew she'd be faced with the same choice again, except this time, no doubt, the punishment would be worse. The problem was that today was Friday and Joann had classes until four, and Monique's mom was home with a migraine.

Suddenly the door to the principal's office opened and a young girl emerged. Her red face was damp with tears and she didn't look at anyone as she darted down the hall as quickly as possible. Mr. Demarco loomed in the doorway behind her, looking down on the seventeen-year-old Monique with severe displeasure.

"I'll take over from here, Officer," he said grimly, and the man saluted and took off. Reluctantly, Monique entered the office.

The room was cool, like a doctor's office, and it held a similar formality. Official plaques and school-related ornaments were the only decorations, and only one shelf held some personal items, mostly pictures of Mr. Demarco's family. It was a serious office for serious things, and Monique felt weak in the knees.

That feeling grew even worse when she saw Mr. Paddle lying right in front of her on the big oak desk. She could imagine the paddle was still warm, having just been used on the seat of the girl who'd just exited the principal's office.

Mr. Demarco closed the door behind them. He sat in the big leather chair behind the desk. He did not invite Monique to sit down, but let her standing nervously. For several minutes he said nothing, while she sweated and her mouth dried up.

"Back so soon?" he mused. He obviously did not expect an answer, so Monique kept her mouth shut. "Yesterday, I gave you the choice of taking a paddling or a suspension, and you chose the suspension. Since you couldn't even do that right, but chose to instead go to the mall, I'm afraid this time your choice is going to be between paddling and expulsion."

It was as though a giant vacuum suddenly sucked all the air from the room. Monique felt she couldn't breathe. She gasped but got nothing. The room spun around and she grabbed the desk for support.

"Sir, please! You can't expel me!" Her mind struggled frantically with this new information, but nothing would compute. Expulsion was beyond her wildest horrors. What would her parents think? What would they do? Her car would be taken away, that was a given. So would her cell phone and her TV, and she'd probably be grounded until graduation. Her relatives would be humiliated. She wouldn't be able to face anyone. And her friends: she'd have to find a new school in the middle of the year, make all new friends. All the dreams of her high school years would be changed in an instant.

"It's your choice," said Mr. Demarco dully, and suddenly, despite the horrible black hole growing in her stomach, Monique knew she would accept the paddling. She nodded, her head spinning. She felt ready to throw up.

"Paddling or expulsion?"

"P-p-pad... p-paddling," Monique managed, wondering how she was going to get through this.

"Very well," sighed the principal. He rose, picked up Mr. Paddle, and patted the blade against the palm of his left hand.

"The way I feel about your behavior, young lady, you ought to be paddled for a month of Sundays. I ought to pound your butt two dozen times. Unfortunately, the school board has limited my abilities in that regard. The maximum number of swats I'm permitted to administer for any offense is six."

The relief that flooded through Monique was so powerful it was like a physical force washing over her and reviving her. Six swats! Wow, that was how many she was supposed to have gotten yesterday. It hadn't seemed good then, but today she'd expected a dozen or two. Hell, she could take six swats!

Inadvertently Monique smiled, then caught herself and tried to look suitably chastised. But inside her spirits were soaring. She'd somehow escaped.

But Mr. Demarco was smiling and something about his smile made Monique nervous all of a sudden. She stared at him.

He held up a piece of pink paper. "Do you know what I have here?"

Monique shook her head.

"This is a list of offenses you've committed: truancy, violation of suspension arrangement, smoking, vandalism, littering, forgery of parental notification form, lying, rudeness, resisting arrest, and attempted bribery of a police officer."

Mr. Demarco paused. "Oh yes," he said with a smirk, "I've already telephoned your mother. She was very surprised to hear you'd been suspended yesterday, and even more surprised to hear that I'd had a conversation with her, which she, of course, knew nothing about."

Monique was frozen, too terrified to say anything.

"You'll be happy to know that your mother figured out a way around my school policy dilemma. It seems she used to do work as a legal aide, did you know that? Anyway, when I read her the relevant corporal punishment portion from the school charter, she quickly saw a loophole. Yes, the maximum number of swats I'm permitted to administer is six swats for any offense, but in your case you've committed multiple offenses, so I'm going to administer the maximum for each of them.

"If you didn't count, that was ten offenses. Ten times six is... how's your math?"

Monique glared at the man, furious in her fear. Tears glittered in her eyes and she lamely stammered, "Y-y-you c-can't... you j-just c-c-can't."

"I can and I will, young lady."

"But I didn't do half those things!" Monique was desperate. "I... I didn't vandalize anything!"

"The police officer saw you throw your used chewing gum into a mall flower pot. That's vandalism of private property. Then you littered by dropping a cigarette on the floor when the cop accosted you."

"But--"

"But what? You want to argue you weren't rude to the officer or didn't resist his attempt to take you in?"

"I didn't try to bribe him!"

"Didn't you tell him you'd babysit his kids for free if he'd let you off?"

Monique fell silent. How could she have been so stupid? The charges were absurd, of course, but technically accurate. No doubt her mother's legal brain at work. She was caught, plain and simple, and the only way out was to take her medicine.

"If I take the paddling, there's no suspension or further punishment, right?"

Mr. Demarco nodded. "At least from the school," he said gently. "I gather you mother is planning something special for you and your sister. You'll have to go home and serve out the rest of your original suspension, of course. Your mother will be expecting you when we're done here."

Monique gulped, then shut her mind to that horror. Whatever happened there she'd face that later: right now she had to deal with the uncomfortable present.

"How do we do this?" she asked weakly.

* * * * *

The skin tight denim jeans Monique was wearing proved to contain positive and negative attributes. The cloth helped protect her bottom from the stingy paddle, but it also held in the warmth and contributed to the sizzling feeling she was getting back there. After just a couple dozen swats her butt was on fire.

Unknown to her, the jeans made her firm butt look so sexy the male principal couldn't help but swing harder at such an inviting target. In truth anything the teen had worn would have been sexy, for Monique had the body of an angel, but the jeans particularly emphasized her buttocks, lifting the plump mounds upward and separating the cheeks beautifully, and Mr. Demarco thoroughly enjoyed bringing the wood down hard across those succulent hams.

The girl's sexy squeals of pain and wild dances of agony after each swat just made the whole process that much more entertaining. The man loved the solid feel of the paddle against girl's flesh; he loved watching her butt bounce and quiver as the wooden board rebounded off her ass; he loved the way her bottom writhed back and forth and up and down as she danced away the sting (sometimes her butt seemed to draw figure eights in the air); and he loved the way she moaned and cried and begged so expressively for mercy (which he didn't give).

After every six swats, he stopped and started the paddling over again, since each was, ostensibly, a different paddling. After allowing her to get out of position and rub her butt, he'd make her get back into position, read her the charge, and proceed to blister her bottom with Mr. Paddle.

After six sets, Monique was beside herself with agony. Her buttocks were burning so deeply it felt as if they'd never be normal again. But her respite between sets was only a few minutes, never close to enough, and she was sobbing as she bent over, offering up her bottom for further chastisement.

Her butt, which had always seemed slightly too prominent for her liking, was now triply so, swollen, it seemed, to double its normal size. Her butt was her body: she was nothing else. She was nothing but a huge butt, thrust obscenely into the air, being pounded mercilessly into ground beef by a massive wooden plank.

Finally, it was over. The sixtieth swat was delivered and Monique was free to go. Her brain was spinning. Walking felt like a task she hadn't done in a thousand years. She stumbled from the principal's office, dazed and confused, eyes red from crying, cheeks pink from embarrassment, and bottom sore from crack to base.

Now all that was left was to go home and see what her mother would say. Do. At least her mother wasn't thinking of corporal punishment. She'd never spanked either of the girls before: spanking was for kids.

But something about the way Mr. Demarco had said his mother had something special planned for Monique and her sister made the girl nervous. Mother had helped the principal figure out a way to paddle her more than legally permitted: could she have something similar in mind for punishment at home?

Monique groaned.

The End

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