The Right Answer

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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.
*** Author's Note ***
I wrote this tale as an ordinary case of overzealous schoolgirl discpline, but there's something about the character of Claire that melts my heart. I hope you enjoy reading it as much I did writing it!

Frank
The Flogmaster
***

The Right Answer

(*****, M/f, Severe, nc schoolgirl)

A girl discovers the costs of an incorrect answer at her new school. (Approximately 4,391 words. Originally published 1999-10.)

"What is the capital of Uruguay? Let's see... Jenna, you answer."

The startled blond went pale and shook her head slowly, trembling. "I'm sorry, sir, I don't know."

"Don't know, eh? All right, to the front then. You know the penalty for not knowing."

The girl rose and slowly went to the front of the classroom, her face growing more and more red the closer she got. Meanwhile, Mr. Crantz was pulling a thin four-by-ten wooden board out of the top drawer of his desk. He gripped it by the six-inch handle and clicked his tongue at Jenna to hurry.

Claire Burton nearly gasped out loud when she saw the teacher holding the paddle. She held her breath and glanced around the room at the dozens of girls but none seemed the least bit surprised; a few were grinning wickedly and laughing at poor Jenna's fate.

Claire didn't know what to think. Today was her first day at North Manchester School. It was a private academy for girls, quite expensive and exclusive, and, she'd been told, very strict. The latter aspect hadn't bothered until now, as she was a good student and had never been in trouble. But she had no idea that NMS used corporal punishment!

A small stool was set near the blackboard; Claire hadn't even noticed it until Jenna walked over to it. Claire watched with morbid fascination as the blond girl bent over at the waist and placed her palms flat on the seat of the stool. The stool was barely knee-high, so she was bent far over. Her butt faced the class.

Mr. Crantz placed the paddle under his left armpit and approached Jenna. Without a word he carefully lifted the skirt of her uniform, exposing her petite bottom. He folded the skirt forward, against her back. Then he gripped the waistband of her white panties. For a horrible second Claire thought he was going to pull them off, but instead he tugged them upward and inward, wedging as much of the material as he could into poor Jenna's asscrack. The girl wiggled in a vain effort to free herself, stopping only at a stern reprimand from the teacher. She stood there, trembling, bent over at the waist, the nearly bare cheeks of her ass thrust out at the class.

The teacher calmly took the paddle out from under his arm and took a baseball hitter's stance to the left and just behind the girl. The paddle in his hand seemed four times as big now that he was preparing to use it. Claire couldn't breathe.

WHAM! The sound was like a cannon at midnight. The classroom jumped. Claire saw a number of the girls wincing just at the sound. She stared at the front of the room where Jenna was gritting her teeth and writhing, the orbs of her rear end doing a little circular dance almost of their own volition. The pale cheeks were blushing furiously.

But Jenna's feet and hands hadn't moved an inch. She was still bent over, in position, and the only sound she'd made was a high-pitched yelp when the blow struck.

SMACK! came the paddle again. Jenna rose on her tiptoes, her little fanny doing another improvisational jig. WHACK! THUMP! BLAM! Her cheeks were scarlet now, a fiery red that made Claire feel hot all over just looking at it.

THWACK! It was the final blow, so hard it literally lifted Jenna off her feet. In a gruff voice Mr. Crantz told her to get up and return to her seat. When Jenna turned, Claire wasn't surprised to see her wiping tears off her face.

The blond hurried to her seat and eased herself in, her face crimson. She pointedly stared at her textbook and ignored the eyes around her.

"I hope that will teach you to read your homework assignment," murmured Mr. Crantz. "Anyone else like to have a go?" He glanced around the room.

Claire couldn't help but stare at Jenna. After what she'd gone through, she was remarkably composed. Obviously, it hadn't been the first time. Claire shuddered at the thought of enduring that spanking several times!

She was so focused on studying the disciplined blond that it took her a moment to realize Mr. Crantz was speaking to her.

"Hello? New girl? Earth to new girl!"

"Oh, uh, what? Er, sir?"

"I asked if you knew the answer the question!"

Claire licked her lips and felt her palms begin to sweat. He'd asked a question? She didn't remember any question. Her blank look said it all and he sighed, the resigned sigh of a twenty-year veteran of the school system.

"The capital of Uruguay?"

She remembered, now. That was the question Jenna couldn't answer. And Claire couldn't either. She knew Uruguay was in South America, but that was about it. At the moment, with the cold black eyes of Mr. Crantz boring into her, she couldn't even think of _any_ city in South America, let alone the capital of Uruguay!

Claire gulped in fear. Surely he wouldn't... he couldn't. But she didn't know the answer! What was she going to do?

She could fake it, that's what she could do. Act confident, pretend she'd studied but was simply a little off. Her brain cranked into high gear and somehow, amidst the fear and sweat, she came up with an answer.

"Rio de Janeiro?"

"Wrong!" snapped Mr. Crantz. "To the front of the room, Claire."

Claire gasped! "Oh, but, sir! It's my first day. I haven't had time to study!"

The teacher whirled on her, his eyes flashing. "You were given the chapter reading last Friday, were you not?"

"Uh, well, yes..."

"Then that's that. You obviously didn't read it."

"I didn't have time, sir! We just moved into town and we're still getting settled and I had so much to do--"

"Silence!" roared the teacher, and Claire snapped her mouth shut so hard it jarred her teeth. She stared at Mr. Crantz in horror.

"You will go to the front of the room and prepare to take your punishment for a wrong answer!"

Hot tears flooded Claire's face and she lurched from her desk and rushed to the front of the room. The world spun around her. This can't be happening, she thought miserably. She couldn't bear to think about all the girls behind her, watching her, laughing at her. This was so humiliating! On her first day!

The tiny stool looked blurry through her tears. For such a harmless object, it suddenly took on an evil, ominous association. She already hated it.

"Over here, Claire," said Mr. Crantz.

The teenager looked up in surprise. The teacher was seated behind his desk. He patted his lap in a manner that wasn't at all comforting. Hesitantly, Claire approached.

"Since this is your first time and you've shown a degree of obstinance, I'm first going to warm you up with a little spanking over my lap. You'll learn that at North Manchester, when you're ordered to accept a punishment, you do it instantly and without protest!"

Trembling, Claire went over the man's lap. It was an awkward, humiliating process. She didn't want to touch him, yet she was terrified of making him angry. She nearly placed a palm into his crotch she was so clumsy and frightened. Somehow she managed to flop across him, her hands bracing against the floor as he shifted her forward. Upended, she felt ridiculous, her long dark hair tumbling over her head. At least she was partially screened behind the desk; only the students in the two rightmost rows of the class could see her face, and her hair shielded her from them.

It got worse, for a few seconds later, Mr. Crantz lifted her skirt. Claire could feel the cool air against the skin of her bottom. She flushed with shame and closed her eyes and wished for a tornado. Anything to get her out of this mess.

Since it was the first day of school, Claire had worn her special panties, a rather "daring" pair she'd bought with her cousin last summer. They were black, silk, and lacy. Claire always felt like a woman when she wore them.

Until now.

Now Claire wished like mad that she hadn't worn those panties. They were practically a thong! She had been blessed by maturing early, and already she had the prominent hips and a full bottom of a college girl. She knew boys loved her ass -- that's why she'd bought the panties, because they made her feel sexy, which made her walk sexy. She remembered looking at herself in the full-length mirror in her bedroom, nude except for the panties, and grinning at the amount of flesh that was exposed. Now she deeply regretted such taste.

All this horror flashed through her head in seconds and was immediately forgotten, for something much worse happened: Mr. Crantz began to spank her.

Mr. Crantz was a tall, athletic man; slender Claire easily fit across his lap. His hands were large and hard, his arms strong; his favorite sport was handball, which he engaged in several evenings a week. All this meant his palm nearly covered her entire cheek when he placed it on her bottom and gave her a warning squeeze.

Claire hadn't been spanked since she'd been a child. She remembered a few of the occasions, mostly running to her bedroom and sobbing on the bed. The spankings themselves were vague blurs of swats, a stingy bottom, and utter embarrassment. She mostly remembered how badly she wanted it to be over. Her father had always counted out loud, giving her twice as many swats as her age. Her last spanking had been sixteen swats. At the time, that seemed excessive.

So perhaps she can be excused for thinking today's spanking would follow on similar lines. Unfortunately for her, Mr. Crantz was intent on spanking a young adult, and young adults are not little children. Mr. Crantz had no intention at all of stopping at mere 32 spanks -- far from it. To him, a mild spanking was a hundred spanks... and he intended this to be a serious spanking.

Claire really hadn't expected it to hurt. She'd seen Jenna's paddling and been amazed at the terrible force of the blows. However, that was with a blunt wooden instrument. Surely the mere hand of a man couldn't hurt anything like a paddle!

* * * * *

In the first minute, Mr. Crantz delivered seventy-two spanks. This was a bit slow for him, but he was just warming up. He reached eighty-five in the second minute, slowed to sixty-nine in the third because the girl was bucking and writhing too much, but was back to top form with ninety-four in the fourth minute.

He let the girl sob her heart out for a full minute, and then he began to final set, slow and deliberate, making sure he whacked every inch of her plump bottom. He carefully counted out eighty, making it a total of two hundred swats per cheek.

He smiled with satisfaction as he studied the magenta flesh before him. The girl's skimpy panties left nothing to the imagination. Her ass was basically bare, the skin swollen and steaming. He squeezed the hot cheeks rudely, drawing delightful, high-pitched cries of pain from the girl.

The panties were certainly non-regulation. He'd have to report her to headmaster later. Poor girl. She'd learn the hard way.

* * * * *

Claire couldn't stop weeping. The soft orbs of flesh quivered as her body shuddered with heavy sobs. She'd never felt anything like it. It was nothing like her father's spankings. This was hell. Her ass throbbed like a toothache.

But what was this? Mr. Crantz's hands were touching her, caressing her sore bottom. No! She gasped and threw her an arm back in protest. He caught it with his left hand and forced it painfully into the small of her back, his right hand continuing to explore her buttocks.

"We can make this last as long as you'd like, Miss Claire," said Mr. Crantz coldly. "We have all day. All punishment time is made up after school, so if you'd like to be here until nightfall, just keep fighting your punishment."

"Please," gasped Claire, "I've had enough!"

"Nonsense, my child! We've hardly started. We still have to punish you for your wrong answer."

Dimly, Claire was aware of the world twirling around her. When things settled down she realized she'd been lifted to her feet and Mr. Crantz was guiding her to the tiny stool.

"Noooo," she moaned, dragging her feet, but she was weak and exhausted, and there was nothing she could do. She stood with her hands on the stool, her heart thumping in her chest, as she heard Mr. Crantz rummaging in his desk for the paddle.

But when she saw him approach she was puzzled. This wasn't the same paddle he'd used on Jenna. This one was black and looked like leather. It was flexible, too. He bent it as Claire watched. When he let go, the tip sprang back into position with a snap. Claire shivered.

"Oh, please," she moaned, but she knew it was hopeless. Mr. Crantz was a heartless monster.

"Hands flat," he said without emotion. "Feet together right at the base of the stool. That's right, move your feet forward. See how that pushes your bottom out?"

Claire blushed with shame at her new position, but she began to cry when Mr. Crantz lifted up her skirt. The cool air against her raw, naked flesh peeping out from behind the lace was nothing short of mockery, like giving a thirsty man a single drop of water. The thought of everyone in the room staring at her bare ass humiliated her. She'd never be able to face them again.

Once again, however, her worries over her modesty were obliterated by something even more significant: pain. Claire felt the first hearty smack of the leather paddle against her left cheek. Actually, she heard it first. She remembered thinking how loud it was, and wondering why it didn't hurt. Then the pain hit her, and everything was forgotten.

Again and again the paddle whacked her. She couldn't believe how badly it stung. It wasn't as heavy as the teacher's hand, but the tingling it set up was impossible to ignore. She quivered and moaned and even shrieked a few times, but there was no sign of the end of her spanking.

Mr. Crantz spanked her a dozen times, alternating cheeks. Then two, then three. For the fourth he went into a rapid mode that overwhelmed the teenage girl: she screamed and stood up, grabbing her ass and moving away.

"Get back in position!" growled the teacher. "Foolish girl! Now we must start over."

"No!" cried Claire. "I can't take any more!"

"Get back in position or you'll report to the headmaster for a caning!"

Trembling, Claire bent back over the stool. She shuddered when Mr. Crantz lifted her skirt up again.

"If that skirt falls down, or you move your feet or raise your hands, we'll start over again!"

He began again, swatting her left cheek six times, then six to her right. He repeated it. The second dozen he alternated cheeks, twelve each. Then it was twelve rapid to the left and twelve rapid to the right. Claire was writhing like a dancer with with ants in her leotards, but somehow she stayed in position over the stool.

The fourth set was twenty-four lightning strikes, each to the opposite cheek. Claire couldn't stop howling. The next dozen to each cheek were hard and deliberately placed very low, the flexible material of the paddle sometimes catching the tops of Claire's thighs.

"Two more on each cheek," announced Mr. Crantz finally, and Claire sobbed with relief and thrust out her bottom to accept them gratefully. They were the hardest swats yet, stinging blows that nearly knocked her over. She shrieked and as soon as Mr. Crantz gave her permission, rose and stood hopping up and down, rubbing her ass frantically. She wanted to cry she was so happy it was over, but her eyes were dry; she'd run out of tears.

"Where are you going?"

Claire froze mid-way to her seat.

"Come back to the front of the room, child! Such insolence! Your punishment is not over."

"But sir!" Claire couldn't believe this was happening.

"I allowed you to rise out of sympathy," sighed Mr. Crantz. "I can see now that was a mistake. Hold out your right hand."

Trembling violently, Claire obeyed. Suddenly there was a blur and fire attacked her hand. She screamed and jerked her hand away, but the pain came with it. She stared at the teacher and saw he was holding a long strip of leather.

He glared at her. "Put your hand back! That stroke will not count." He lifted the strap again as Claire, choking back sobs, tentatively put out her hand. It took all her strength to unfold the fingers so the palm was exposed. She saw a red swash across the skin of her hand and shuddered.

"If you move your hand, the stroke doesn't count," snapped Mr. Crantz angrily. "This is for your earlier insolence so do pay attention!"

He struck her three times. She couldn't believe how it hurt. By the third her palm was a bit numb, or maybe it was her mind. She was in a strange state where she just didn't care any more. She dutifully held out her left hand when ordered and didn't move while three strokes were applied to it.

"Now, if you're ready, we can conclude your punishment for a wrong answer!"

Claire gulped, wet her lips, and nodded. "Yes, sir," she whispered. Her voice sounded like it was on a telephone call from Mars.

"Good. To the stool, then. I assume you know the position now."

Indeed, Claire knew the position well, and she'd never forget it. Only this time her hands were bruised and swollen, making the task of keeping them flat on the stool seat a terrible chore.

She figured on the paddle again, but dismay flooded her when she saw Mr. Crantz open a cabinet a remove a slender wooden rod with a curved handle. She recognized it as a cane, and the teacher's earlier threat about the headmaster flashed back to her. Suddenly she was afraid. She was very afraid.

"Six strokes is the standard for a wrong answer," said Mr. Crantz, "but since you've drawn out this punishment with excuses and falsehoods and attempts to gain sympathy, I'll make it eight. Does that sound satisfactory?"

Claire knew better than to disagree. "Yes, sir," she muttered, wishing the earth would swallow the teacher. Or her. Anything to escape. She didn't know how she was going to take more punishment.

Mr. Crantz raised her skirt and tugged up on her panties. Claire bit her lip at what this did to the sore flesh of her ass and to the tender lips of her sex.

"You will count each stroke and ask for the next," said Mr. Crantz. "Take as much time as you like; we'll make it up at the end of the day."

Claire felt something hard touch her bottom and fresh tears sprang to her eyes. There were a couple more taps and then a horrible moment of silence. The quiet was broken by a swish and a loud cracking sound, like that a dry twig breaking.

Claire felt only pressure across her butt at first, then, slowly, and building faster and faster, she felt the pain. It was agony. At first she thought it only stung, but the stinging kept going deeper and deeper and she realized it was hurting her badly, that it was _serious_ pain, hurting all the way through the plump flesh of her buttocks.

A line of fire burned across her cheeks. Tears sprang from her eyes and splattered her hands. She howled. Slowly the red haze of pain faded and she discovered she was breathing again. She sniffled and wiped her face on her arm. Her whole body ached. She wished very much for this to be over.

A long time passed. The silence was deafening. Finally Mr. Crantz gave a deep sigh. "If you wish, I can give that stroke again?"

"Oh no!" cried Claire. She remembered her duty in a panic. "That was one, sir. Please give me the next!" She wanted the next desperately. The sooner she got the next the sooner this misery would be finished.

The crack was awe-inspiring, the effect on Claire immediate. She suddenly realized with dread that she'd barely felt the first stroke, that the second was even worse. Somehow she choked out, "Two, sir. Please give me the next!"

The lines of agony piled up. Claire couldn't believe it. She shuddered and moaned and wagged her ass like a tail, but the pain didn't go away. The strokes kept coming, as soon as she asked for them, the burn in her bottom engulfing her whole body.

"S-seven, sir," she moaned after a hard stroke right across the base of her bottom where the flesh was most tender. "P-p-please give me the next."

As expected, the last was the worst, right on top of the previous two, in the crease between thigh and buttock. Claire shrieked and her body shuddered uncontrollably for a few seconds, then she relaxed and breathed again.

"Eight. All done. Thank you sir."

Immediately she wondered why she'd thanked him, but she was too exhausted to care much. She just wanted for it to be over.

"Very well, Claire. You learn quickly. You may return to your seat."

Sitting was the almost last thing Claire wanted to do, but anything was better than more spanking. Gratefully Claire eased herself onto her chair, wincing at the pain as her weight settled. But at least it was over.

"So? Anyone else know the capital of Uruguay?" asked Mr. Crantz. The man had a one-track mind, thought Claire bitterly.

The teacher pointed to a tall red-head near the back of the room. "Miss Morgan. Perhaps you know?"

"No, sir, I do not," answered the girl immediately. Before the teacher could say it, she was rising and walking to the front. She took her six with the wooden paddle without a word of protest and quickly went back to her seat.

As the class progressed, Claire began to see the pattern. Ignorance was only punished mildly, while wrong answers were dealt with severely. In her quest to escape six swats of the paddle, she'd earned herself a paddling and a caning! Even more bitterly ironic, her extra punishments -- the spanking and the hand strapping -- were also given because she'd attempted to avoid the punishment.

Class did not end when the bell rang. Mr. Crantz did the math and calculated that punishments had wasted forty-seven minutes of class time, so the class was kept an extra forty-seven minutes. Claire felt dozens of eyes glaring at her and she flushed, embarrassed, realizing that her punishments had taken the most time by far.

Finally it was time to go, but Mr. Crantz waved for Claire to hold up. She walked to his desk nervously as the other students fled like rats off a sinking ship.

"Yes, sir?"

"I'm putting in a note to Mr. Davis, the headmaster," said Mr. Crantz. He said this in a normal, everyday sort of voice, the way one might say, "I'm going to the video store." His tone did not reflect the earth-shattering nature of his words.

"Sir?"

"Your panties," muttered the teacher, sternness creeping in. "They aren't regulation I'm afraid."

Claire blushed furiously. "I'm sorry, sir. I'll never wear them again!" And she meant it. Those panties were anything but sexy to her now.

"That's advisable," said the teacher, "but still, you wore them today and that's strictly against school policy. I'm afraid Mr. Davis will want to see you during Friday's assembly."

"What for?"

Mr. Crantz stared at the girl. "You didn't the North Manchester student handbook we gave you, did you?"

Claire felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise. She shook her head. "I haven't had the time, sir," she whispered.

"I suggest you *make* the time unless you want your stay here to be extremely uncomfortable." He leaned back in his chair, his eyes sharply focused on the girl's. "Every Friday there's an all-school assembly. One of the events during the assembly is the headmaster takes care of any discipline problems that have been sent to his attention."

A cold hard thing began to form in Claire's stomach. "You can't mean--"

"Precisely, my dear. All canings from the headmaster are handled on Fridays in front of the entire school. There usually aren't more than one or two. It's great motivation to _not_ get sent to the head."

Claire felt the world spin around her and she felt sick inside. Her voice, when she spoke, was flat and unemotional. "And the punishment for non-regulation panties is... a caning?"

"Twelve strokes. And headmaster canings are always in the nude."

Claire didn't know what to say. She stared at the teacher in disbelief.

He shrugged. "It's all in the handbook. Which you would know if you'd bothered to read it."

"Couldn't--" began Claire, but Mr. Crantz cut her off with a slice of his finger across his throat.

"Don't even suggest it, girl, or I'll have to put you over my knee again for protesting a punishment. As you can no doubt see, we're really keen on proper discipline here at NMS, and accepting punishment gracefully is one of the most important things we try to teach our students. So, plan your Friday accordingly, and tonight, I'd read that handbook!"

"Yes, sir," Claire said dully. The pit in her stomach had swallowed her whole body now. She turned to leave.

"Oh, and Claire..."

"Yes?"

"Welcome to North Manchester."

"Thank you, sir."

The End

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