From the Top Shelf - The Amorous Professor, Part 4

When we last saw Frank Meredith here, he was administering a spanking to Lucy, the insolent maid. Today he begins his new job in the Dartman household, tutoring the two daughters of a widow. At ages 18 and 19, they are idle and willful, and Frank has been given permission to chastise them as necessary if they fail to apply themselves to their studies. Let's see how he gets on.

At the appointed time, I presented myself at the Dartman mansion, rang the bell and was at once admitted by a blushing Lucy...

"Now do come along. Mrs. Dartman is napping, and she told me to be sure you went directly to the study room on the second floor where the two young ladies you are to tutor are waiting."

"Thank you, my dear. They are already waiting, you say?" I asked.

"Oh yes they are, Mr. Frank, but I can tell you they are not happy about it. Cynthia is angry, and Miss Barbara is ready to cry out of sheer spite. Oh what a come-down this will be for them! I wish I could stay and watch you give their bums a good sound smacking, the way you gave mine last night."

"Be careful, Lucy, for Mrs. Dartman may yet call on me again to administer similar justice to your own very charming posterior," I warned her... All business now, I ascended the stairs to the second-floor landing where, at the end of the hall, I should find the study room.

I knocked then heard a gasp and a girl's voice say, "Oh Lord, there he is. Oh isn't it a frightful bore, Cyn darling," evidently from Barbara. I cleared my throat, turned the knob of the door and entered.

It was a very spacious room. There was a leather padded couch to my left against the wall, a huge bay window which looked out upon the garden and then upon the lovely rolling green plains which make England such a beautiful place in the countryside during the late spring and summer months.

There was a large table before which both the young ladies were seated. If looks could kill I would have dropped dead on the spot. Black-haired Cynthia, especially, directed a venomous glare upon me and her sister, more covert and fearful, glowered at me through lowered lashes.

I posed my instrument case on a chair, greeted them cordially but obtaining no response, then after a brief dissertation on what I proposed to do with them this summer, suggested that we begin work. Mrs. Dartman had told me that Cynthia's particular problems were with English literature and history. I therefore proposed to her that she compose for me a short paragraph on what writers such as Shakespeare, Milton and Galsworthy she had read and found interest in. After that I moved on to Barbara and gave her a few simple sentences to parse in French, which was her especial stumbling block. With a doleful look, she whined, "Oh sir, you don't know how bad I am at French, and I don't think even you can help me."

"No one can help you unless you try, Miss Barbara. Now at least make some effort," I sharply remarked.

I then busied myself with several papers in a briefcase I had brought with me, drawing up a kind of schedule whereby both girls would be required to work at the same time but on different projects. At the end of about ten minutes, I moved to Cynthia and asked her for the paper with her observations on it. She shoved over a sheet of paper on which a single sentence was written. I looked at it and read the following: 'English literature is a frightful bore and so is the man teaching it. Signed; Cynthia Dartman'.

She had, to be sure, followed the letter if not the spirit of what I had required of her: it was definitely a paragraph in her own words. I looked up at her and found her regarding me with all the hostility in the world, her lips curled in a sort of sneer as if to say, "Now what are you going to do about it, Mr. Meredith?"

"I see that you have obeyed my instructions, Miss Cynthia," I said sarcastically, "but I'm afraid it's not acceptable. What we need here is less wit and more scholarship. Now suppose you try it over again?"

"And if I choose not to do so?" she insolently retorted.

"Then I'm afraid I shall be obliged to exercise the authority your mother gave me a few days ago when we were first introduced, and resort to smacking your bottom!"

"You wouldn't dare! I don't care what Mater told you, you have absolutely no right to come in here and boss us around. Do you understand, Mr. Meredith? You may as well trot along and get your pay from Mater and be off, because I, for one, don't intend to spend all summer studying this drivel," the dark-haired little vixen vehemently declared.

There was no doubt of the serious nature of the challenge to my authority. If I gave one inch, I would have no authority whatsoever for the rest of my time spent with these two little shirkers.

"Are you determined to continue with this attitude?" I persevered nonetheless.

"You can go to bloody hell!" was Cynthia's unladylike response.

I shrugged, left the table, and walked over to the chair where I had left the instrument case. I took out the leather sole, the famous spanker which had castigated Lucy's white-skinned, rosy-flecked naked bottom so thoroughly the night before. When Cynthia saw it in my hand she got up from her chair and uttered a cry.

"Oh no, you shan't! You dare touch me, and I'll tear your eyes out, Mr. Meredith. You go back and talk to Mater, and don't you dare lay a hand on me, do you hear?"

"You are a very spoiled, rude and insolent young lady," was my answer. "At nineteen there are girls in England who are already mature women as far as emotional and intellectual stability are concerned. I would put you down as a mere child, spoilt by the excessive advantages of breeding, money and too little discipline in the past. Let's see if we can remedy that now. Miss Cynthia, I intend to give you a good smacking on your naked bottom with this leather sole."

"Like bloody hell you will!" she shouted, stamping her foot in rage.

Barbara, seated at the table, gasped as I suddenly caught hold of Cynthia's wrist and twisted it, until, with a shriek, she was forced to double over before me in order to release the pressure on her delicate limb. Meanwhile she tried to kick at my shin and curse me in language more suited to a guttersnipe or a fishwife in the streets of Soho than would be expected from a teenaged daughter brought up in the gentle countryside by a respectable widow.

I knew I could expect no help from Barbara, nor did I wish any on this first encounter. I merely took hold of Cynthia's neck with my other hand, after tucking the leather sole into the pocket of my coat, and forcing her wrist high up her back, quick marched her over to the couch. She was still storming and cursing at me in a shrill voice that would soon waken her mother if she increased the intensity. I sat down on the couch, flung her across my lap, quickly clamped my right leg across her calves and then, as I released her wrist, I quickly hoisted up her blue rayon print dress and half-slip of cream-coloured expensive silk, to disclose two sumptuously oval arse-cheeks encased in pale peach-coloured silk knickers.

This veil of modesty had legs stretching maybe two inches below the base of her spaciously contoured posterior, and was flounced with Belgian lace, altogether a very fetching garment. Discovering herself thus being prepared for punishment, Cynthia Dartman shrieked and tried to rush her hands back to protect her posterior but I simply caught her wrists in my left hand and pinioned them out of harm's way, while with my right hand I restored the ascent of the dress and half-slip.

Then, tightening my grip on her wrists which she had begun to jerk with all her ferocious young strength, I inserted the fingers of my right hand in the waistband of those knickers and yanked them down, so that ignominiously and for the first time, Cynthia Dartman was compelled to expose her entire ivory-skinned virgin arse to the eyes of her executioner and - most humiliating of all - to the eyes of a man.

"Oooooh...you pull my knickers back up right this minute... Barbara, go and call Mater - tell her what the filthy pig is doing to me!" Cynthia shrieked, beside herself with humiliation and rage.

"You stay exactly where you are, Miss Barbara, unless you want a dose of the same when I've finished with your sister!" was my swift parry.

It was effective. Barbara let out a frightened gasp and sat back in her chair, looking on with wide, horrified eyes.

Redoubling my grip on Cynthia's wrists, I raised the sole and dealt her a sharp noisy smack across the lower summit of her right arse-cheek, followed by one in the same place on her other globe. Her body stiffened, arched and jerked, and a shrill yell of pained and frustrated rage tore from her.

"Owwww! You hurt me, you bastard! You stop it, you pull my knickers back up immediately, do you hear me?"

"Oh, I hear you quite clearly, Miss Cynthia. And in reply you shall hear the sole whacking against your bottom until you have learned your lesson," I responded. I then began to spank her elegant patrician arse, amusing myself to bring the sole down here and there on her behind with no particular pattern, so she would have no way of preparing herself and anticipating the next spank.

Her body jerked and lunged and threshed itself all over my lap. She continued her baleful threats, interspersing them with foul curses which really shocked me to discover that a nineteen year old girl could abase the English language so dreadfully. This spanking was more than a little overdue and perhaps I was a little over enthusiastic in my application of the sole, but her insolence had really infuriated me.

By the time I reached twenty, she had somewhat forgotten her curses and threats and was begging for mercy but I ignored all that and continued to administer the sole with grim determination. Unrelentingly, now beginning to alternate on the cheeks from left to right, starting at the tops of the hips and working down to the base of her spacious oval arse, I applied the spanker with rigorous, noisy swipes which soon created a flaming, darkening pattern of burning pain all across her voluptuous young bottom.

"I am sorry to be so harsh with you this very first time, Miss Cynthia, but I will not accept rudeness and insolence from anyone, particularly from a mere snip of a girl who has a keen mind but refuses to use it, except to ridicule and deride," I lectured, keeping the spanker pressed across the reddening cheeks of her squirming bare arse as I paused to determine what effect this chastisement was having on the rebellious young culprit.

"You brute, you bloody bastard, you'll pay for this - you'll see - oooo, you're hurting me - you're hurting me awfully!" her young ladyship hysterically denounced me. But since she was still rebellious, I decided to continue. It was the only way to get through to her, it would appear.

The spanker rose and fell five times, all over the plumpest parts of both reddening arse cheeks, delivered in vertical swipes which cracked noisily against the shuddering flesh of her elegant bottom. Her moans and howls were music to my ears and more than repaid me for all the insolent nastiness she had accorded me since our introduction. After about forty five spanks, I paused again and asked her if she thought she could now be more of a lady and pursue her lessons with somewhat less hostility and more concentration. She cried out again, "You can go to hell, you bloody pig! I'd die before I'd do anything for you!"

I could not let her challenge go unanswered. The spanker resumed its work, and once again Miss Cynthia Dartman's howls and yells rang out clamorously in the study. Her hips swerved so violently that at times she nearly fell off my lap, and I had to lay the spanker down and put my right hand on the edge of her right hip to restore her to the proper position across my body. Then, readjusting the clamp of my right leg over her upper calves, and noticing with wry amusement that her knickers had worked down past her knees and were twisted, I resumed the spanking.

Now I struck diagonally, and at times over the narrow, amber crease that separated the oval globes of her behind, so as to pinch those luscious hillocks together and cause her the utmost pain. Her voice began to break with sobs and was raucous from all her screaming but she was no longer cursing me. She was wailing plaintively that she was in mortal pain, that I was killing her, that she couldn't take any more. I gave her ten more good ones, well spaced, at each of which she screamed out again for mercy, and then once again I pressed the tip of the leather sole against the crease of her bottom-globes and demanded, "Are you willing to accept my authority now and work to improve your scholastic marks, Miss Cynthia? Or do you want a dose of the cane?"

"Aaaagh no not the cane! Oh you've killed me - I can't stand any more - I'll do whatever you want - ohhhh you have really hurt me - ohhh let me go!" she blubbered.

All her patrician arrogance had fled, but all the same I knew I had made an implacable enemy. I therefore released her and instructed her to go to her own room and stay there. I would have, I told her, make-up work for her to do next time we met, which would be the next afternoon. After she had left, a very ignominious picture of dejection, her face red and streaked with tears, hobbling out after hastily lowering her dress and half-slip and hauling up her knickers, I turned my attention to Barbara, who had been sufficiently awed by my performance to at least try some measure of effective work, although it was obvious she would never master the French language...I knew one thing for certain, however, and that was that the young and pretty Barbara Dartman would be the next to feel the full weight of my tutorial authority.

I pity poor Barbara. Surely she wouldn't do anything to deserve the cane. Or would she?