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and Alan: the Slightly Plaid Chapter
Jamie ripped open the envelope with the university
president's return address. She held her breath as she extracted
the piece of letterhead that held information that would affect
her future. "Congratulations. I am pleased to tell you
the tenure decision. . ." was all Jaime needed to read
before she started breathing again. She could hardly wait to
call Alan and Joan and Lisa. Then she felt a mixture of relief
(she could be teaching there another 25 years) and horror (she
could be teaching there another 25 years)--both entirely common
reactions to getting tenure in a rotten job market. Then Jamie
had a less common reaction: her hands flew to her bottom and
she rubbed it just thinking about when she wrote her tenure
application few months earlier:
Alan came home before Jamie did one mid-October
afternoon and wondered where she was. He thought the blinking
light on the answering machine might signal the answer. But
instead, the message on the answering machine was from Joan,
telling Jamie that she'd be happy to go to the concert with
Alan in Jamie's place later that night. This was the first Alan
heard about the change in plans and although he was genuinely
fond of Joan, he was disappointed but not altogether surprised.
This was just one more event in a series. Jamie had been canceling
a lot of plans lately and had been working like a rabid bat
in her study at home at all hours of the day and night for almost
2 weeks. Her tenure application, a huge document, was due by
the beginning of the following week, and she had only left 2
weeks to write it, grossly underestimating the amount of paperwork
it would be and the time it would take to assemble it all.
Jamie had been a little less than pleasant
to be around these last couple of weeks, but Alan understood
that. What he had less patience for was the fact that Jamie's
procrastination about the tenure application was not an isolated
incident of behavior that jeopardized the career she had worked
so hard to establish. Alan hated to see Jamie working without
a net that way, but it was a balancing act she performed all
too frequently. Somehow, she always managed to cut things close
but to get them done--no time to spare, but not late. Alan worried
about what would happen when something beyond Jamie's control
interfered with Jamie's split-second timing: a broken xerox
machine, car trouble, another really bad sinus infection-- it
wouldn't take much.
Alan was a good guy. So he tried to make things
as easy for Jamie as he could while she worked furiously on
getting her application done. He made sure there were meals.
He brought snacks into Jamie's study. His fastidious nature
meant that he also cleaned up. Mostly, though, he stayed out
of Jamie's way so that she could get the project done in the
only way she knew how.
The application was in and a few days had
passed. Once things had pretty much returned to normal, Alan
decided to address the issue of Jamie's habit of doing things
at the last minute.
Late Saturday afternoon, Jamie was at the
kitchen sink rinsing out a coffee mug. Alan called her name
so as not to startle her (and end up with an elbow in the ribs)
as he approached her from behind and put his hands on her shoulders.
Nuzzling her hair, he said, "Jamie, there's something I
want to talk with you about."
Jamie picked up the sink hose sprayer attachment
and aimed the nozzle at Alan.
"Oh? And what's that? Skin-diving? Surfing?
Deep-sea fishing? Weather report? Looks like rain."
"Jamie," Alan said with a warning
"Do you dare me?"
"Jamie," Alan repeated, same tone.
"Do you? Because I will . . . ."
"I have no doubt about that. But I am
sure you know what will happen if you do."
Alan's breath caught and his palms itched
whenever he was in such close proximity to Jamie's bottom. Especially
when she deliberately provoked him like this.
"Jamie," a third warning.
Never one to resist a challenge, Jamie let
a small spray of water fly in Alan's direction. It didn't even
"Ok, that's it." Alan grabbed Jamie
around the waist and landed a series of a half dozen or so smacks
on Jamie's jean-clad tush as she tried to wriggle free.
"Oww!" Then, still playing along,
Jamie rubbed her bottom in the most exaggerated way imaginable.
"Perfectly dry, humorless meanie!"
"Cheeky, sprayer-wielding brat!"
a few more smacks.
Shared giggles, broad smiles, knowing looks,
"Jamie, I really do have to talk with
you about something. Can we be serious?"
"Well, you certainly can, but I'm not
so sure about me."
"Jamie, I mean it. Let's go sit in the
living room for a while."
Alan dried Jamie's wet hands, and placing
an arm around her shoulders, he shepherded her to the couch
in the living room. Once they were both seated, he began.
"Jamie, I'm very glad you got your tenure
application in ."
Jamie didn't have long to wonder where this
"It was due Monday, right?"
"And when did you get it in?"
"Monday. On time. All 50 billion required
copies. What's your point?"
"Jamie, honey, have you ever met a deadline
with time to spare? As long as I've known you, you've scrambled
down to the last minute. And anything you've told me about grad
school makes me think this procrastination is not something
you started with this job. It's true that you get things in
on time when they affect other people--you'd never dream of
putting a student's or friend's application at risk by doing
a recommendation late. And that's wonderfully responsible of
you--I've never known you to be anything else when it comes
to other people. So why can't you look out for yourself that
Jamie sat silently. She could tell this was
turning into a discussion she would not like.
"Jamie, you did the same thing in grad
school, didn't you?"
"I don't remember. Alan, it's not fair--
I may not have lots of time to spare, ok, I mean, I'm not weeks
early, but I usually get things in on time. And they're always
fine. I may not get much sleep for a few days, but everything's
ok. I just have a lot to do." Jamie didn't even believe
all of this, but she felt compelled to defend her habits of
so many years.
"Jamie, are you happy with working like
Jamie stared at the floor and said nothing.
"Are you? Look at me."
Alan's previously flatly rational tone took
on a sterner cast. "It's time to put an end to this behavior,
young lady. I want you to think about this long and hard and
write me an inventory of your late or last-minute papers, going
back as far as you remember and explaining your reasons."
Jamie looked incredulous.
"Your completed list is due tomorrow
at 8 PM, and I would suggest that you start it now. We are going
to change these bad habits of yours so that there won't be so
much anxiety every time you have something due."
Before Jamie could offer any protest, Alan
continued, "And you will be punished so that you can stop
feeling guilty about all those late papers from the past. I
will expect you in my study, dressed in your new school uniform,
your uniform in immaculate condition. Do you understand me?"
Looking at him with a mixture of disbelief
and something like yearning, Jamie said, "Yes Alan."
Prompted by a chance comment from Jamie's
friend Joan about the way when she was in school, paddled schoolgirls
were sent back to their classes and forced to tough it out and
put up a brave front, Jamie and Alan had talked about what kind
of schoolgirl Jamie would make and what kind of headmaster Alan
might be. Jamie knew that she would need more cuddling after
a spanking than any schoolgirl ever got. Alan wondered just
how stern he could be. They knew the traditional roles would
not work for them, and with that in mind, a few months later,
they had decided they would try it out sometime. And now it
Jamie had thought she might fancy the French
schoolgirl look la the Madeleine stories ("twelve
little girls, in two straight lines") and thought she might
like a dark jumper. But Alan was so very, very attached to plaid
and pleats that Jamie agreed to a short pleated plaid skirt
of blue, green, back, and white. A long-sleeved white shirt
that buttoned up the front, of course. Certainly can't forget
the tie, blue and green. An optional black cardigan sweater
(Jamie had insisted on the color). Short white socks. Black
T-strap shoes. Always aware of the importance of detail, Alan
had even specified her underclothes: no slip, white panties,
and perhaps wearing a camisole undershirt instead of a bra.
Sunday evening, as instructed, Jamie dressed
in her school uniform, making sure to tuck in her blouse carefully,
to button the cuffs rather than rolling them up. She was unused
to buttoning the top button, but did so in order to make sure
her blue and green tie was very neat and properly tied. She
made sure her socks were pulled up evenly and that her shoes
were carefully buckled.
Clutching a few sheets of paper printed with
a way-too-long list in her clammy hand and taking a deep breath,
Jamie walked slowly down the hall to Alan's study. She knew
this spanking would be different, and she wanted the security
that came from predictability and familiarity. Still, she knew
she could trust Alan, and that counted for a lot. But here she
was, at the door to his study, feeling curiously exposed and
already vulnerable in low socks and a short pleated skirt.
In marked contrast from Jamie's, Alan's office
was always so neat and orderly. Any papers were stacked on his
desk. The bookshelves had no books piled sideways on top of
each other. There were no piles of things on chairs or on the
Alan looked up from his desk at the sound
of approaching footsteps. He checked his watch, pleased to see
that his errant student was at least punctual about appointments.
As Jamie came through the doorway, Alan said with no delay,
"Very well, miss, may I see your paper?
It is finished, isn't it?"
Jamie puzzled a bit. And then, "Yes,
Jamie crossed the floor to his desk and stood
next to it. Alan got up from his chair; the difference in their
heights was made apparent, but the advantage Alan had in height
was really not necessary because Jamie already felt like a child.
Inexplicably, she had ever since donning the uniform.
Alan took the sheets of paper from Jamie's
shaking hands and read about her history of late papers. The
list, as complete as Jamie could make it, of her late or last
minute papers, reports, applications, etc. started with a 6th
grade paper that she had stayed up all night typing when she
was 11 and ended with the tenure document Alan knew about all
too well. In between were late college papers for which she
had begged extensions, claiming she knew she could do a much
better job with just a few more days and feeling that deadlines
were arbitrary and grades an impediment to real learning, even
an insult to true curiosity.
In grad school Jamie had her share of close
calls, of late papers, papers written down to the wire. Grad
school had provided many, many opportunities for writing and
procrastination. For what reason? Jamie couldn't really say
why. Limit-testing? Just plain old procrastination, disorganization,
and lack of discipline? Fortunately for her, there had been
no such thing as internet access--she knew she'd probably still
be working on her dissertation if there had been. The end of
grad school had not meant the end of procrastination. Name it,
and it was probably written up to the last possible minute:
listed were job applications sent express mail, grant applications,
"Ok Jamie. This looks very complete.
Thank you. A thorough job and an honest report. I am surprised
to see that this list starts when you were in grade school.
Now, when do you think a girl should learn about turning things
in on time?"
"I don't know, sir."
"No, apparently you do not, Jamie. It
may surprise you to hear that a girl should know about handing
work in on time from the time she starts school. In the lower
grades, there are usually parents or teachers who will see to
it that she does her work on time. As she gets older, she should
become more responsible herself. Certainly by the time a girl
is a young woman in college, she should be able to turn in papers
on time by herself. And as for graduate school and her career,
why, there's simply no excuse for irresponsible lateness and
last-minute scrambling and such lack of discipline.
"Since you never learned to manage your
time and to turn assignments in on time as little girl, you
will be punished for your string of many late papers as you
should have been punished as a little girl with that very first
"You will be spanked soundly as you should
have been when you stayed up all night in 6th grade writing
that country report on Monaco. Naughty little 6th grade schoolgirls
are taken over the headmaster's knee and spanked on their bare
bottoms for less than that, and you certainly should have been,
too. Because you have persisted in your procrastination for
so many years, and you plan very badly when you plan at all
now that you are a big girl with big and important projects,
I will take up your skirt and spank your bottom with my hand
and with this paddle," Alan said as he removed an oval
paddle from his desk drawer.
Jamie's lip quivered as Alan rolled up his
blue Oxford cloth sleeves. She tried not to pout at the news
of her impending spanking.
"Come then, let's get this over with,
Taking Jamie's hands, he draped her across
his lap. Her thighs and knees felt the smooth well-worn denim
of Alan's jeans as she was positioned bottom up. The wood grain
of the floor of Alan's study came into sharp focus before Jamie's
hair fell over her face. Her feet off the floor, she held the
chair rungs tightly and tried not to think about her bottom
up in the air or about how much this spanking was going to hurt.
Alan neatly folded up the hem of Jamie's pleated
skirt; he was prepared to see white cotton panties and bare
thighs. Instead, he was startled to see Jamie's pale bottom,
quite visible through white lace in place of the white cotton
panties that should have been part of her schoolgirl attire.
His breath caught.
"Young lady, what do you call this?"
"um, my bottom?" smack, smack --
harder this time
"Ok," Jamie thought to herself,
"must have been a wrong answer, try again."
She ventured, "um, "tush'; 'tushy,'
when we're on close terms?" smack, smack
"This is no time for levity, miss."
Jamie couldn't see Alan hiding a smile at her misguided irrepressibility.
Alan said firmly, "You have just earned
yourself 10 extra paddle spanks for uniform violations. Do you
care to explain why you are not wearing regulation school panties?"
"I didn't have time to do the laundry
and all I had clean was my Calvin Klein lace hi-cuts. They *are
* white. They match my camisole. What's the big deal?"
"Watch your tone miss, and don't get
snarky with me. The 'big deal' as you put it, is that you have
not followed instructions. And better planning ahead would have
gotten that laundry done."
Alan landed several more smacks on Jamie's
That her bottom was becoming a rosy pink was
quite apparent through the lace. that he had Jaime's attention,
Alan pulled the schoolgirl's nonregulation panties down to her
knees. He placed his right hand on her smooth and slightly warm
cheeks, his left arm snug around her waist in a way that was
so very familiar to her.
Still resting his hand on her bottom, Alan
said, "Ok, now, Jamie, I want you to think of that list
you just gave me. Think of all those times you waited until
the last minute to do your work."
a stifled sob, a little squirm
"But we're going to rip that list up
after your spanking is over and you're not going to have to
carry those thoughts around with you anymore. Once your spanking
is over, even though you can't change the past, you can stop
feeling guilty about it.
"Do you understand this, Jamie?"
a nod and a whispered "yeees, sir."
Alan resumed spanking Jamie's bottom and spanked
her hard. He landed solid stingy smacks evenly over her cheeks.
SMACK SPANK "ooww" SMACK "no-o-o"
SMACK "eeeyowwch" SMACK SPANK
As usual, after a while, Jamie stopped her
protests and started to cry softly. She did try once to wriggle
free of Alan's grasp; needless to say, this attempt was unsuccessful,
and she paid for it in the form of a series of rapid smacks
to her already reddened bottomcheeks.
Finally, Alan paused to gently massage some
of the sting away.
Then Jamie heard Alan lift the paddle from
his desk and felt him rest the cool wood on her burning bottom.
"Young lady, here come your 10 spanks
for those panties."
Jamie's bottom flattened and bounced as the
SWAT "oww" SMACK
"You just earned yourself another 5 for
language, language very unbecoming a schoolgirl."
eeyoowwch" WHAP WHAP SMACK SLAP
"Ok, here are your 5."
Alan alternated cheeks and then smacked the
last whap across both.
Jamie was crying pretty steadily by now. She
didn't figure it out, and Alan didn't tell her, that he cheated
a bit-- there really was no set number of spanks to add the
15 to -- these "extra" paddle swats she earned were
not additional swats at all. He gave her the counted paddle
strokes first and then continued spanking, but not counting,
so that he could just stop when it seemed that she had enough.
He continued to land paddle swats on her red
cheeks. A proficient handspanker, Alan's natural talent at learning
new things had by this time turned him from a rank amateur paddler
to at least an accomplished intermediate.
Jamie was crying, her chest heaving. Alan
put down the paddle and gave Jamie's bottom a few final spanks
with his hand.
He let Jamie cry it out for awhile. He knew
she had a lot of past guilt to take care of and needed some
time to work it through. When she seemed to have done that,
he started to rub her back through her white shirt and to massage
the sting in her bottom.
"All done, sweetie. You're ok,"
he said as he replaced her panties over her tender cheeks. He
smoothed down her plaid skirt. Gently Alan turned her over and
held her on his lap. Wetting his blue Oxford cloth with leftover
tears, she nestled her damp face on his chest as she began to
find comfort in the glowing warmth of her bottom and the nearness
of Alan's heart. Alan handed her a tissue from his desk and
pushed her hair back from her face. He patted her back and raised
her chin with his hand.
"All better now, Jamie? I love you very
much, you know."
"I-- love you --too --Alan. And--and,
I 'll try to do things on time. I know you're right. I know
I was impossible to live with and I drove you and our friends
crazy." Jamie took a deep breath. "And I was miserable
too. But Alan, the habit is so old and so hard to change--I'll
try-- but I'm not sure I even know how."
"Well, first of all, miss, I think contemplating
your sore bottom might help," said Alan. And then generously
and without any trace of sternness, "but you know that
I'll help you however I can, sweetheart."
"Now, young lady, go get washed up and
then off to bed like a good big girl."
At the door of his study, she turned and asked,
"Will you be there soon?"
"Yes, sweetie, I will. Now, get going."
Jamie took off her uniform. She untied the
tie and folded it carefully, undid all the buttons on her shirt
and threw the white shirt and socks into the laundry basket,
ditto lace underwear. She carefully hung the plaid skirt up
in the closet.
When Alan came into the bedroom, Jamie was
wrapped in her soft, light blue polarfleece robe.
"Um, Alan, would you hold me some more"?
Alan sat on the edge of the bed--gently, gently
he took Jamie onto his lap and rocked her in his arms. He smoothed
her damp hair, ran a finger along her cheekbone. He rubbed her
shoulder with his thumb, gave her a soft kiss in the indentation
near her collarbone and another on her forehead.
"Alan, a headmaster wouldn't rub a schoolgirl's
bum like that and hug her, would he? Or hold her on his lap?"
"No, dear, of course he certainly wouldn't.
But Jamie, sweetie, we aren't filming a documentary here; we
can do whatever we want. I know you like me to help rub the
sting away, and we both need to cuddle. I couldn't bear to hear
you cry and not hug you."
At this tenderness and out of a feeling of
overwhelming security and resolution, Jamie's eyes watered.
She bit her lip. "Shh, Jamie. Here, I have a present for
you, and I hope you'll like it."
"Really?" Jamie's face lit up.
Alan handed Jamie a box, and she eagerly opened
it up and pushed through the tissue paper. She laughed with
glee when she found a flannel nightgown, a blue *plaid* flannel
"Oh Alan, thank you! I love it! Help
me put it on now."
Jamie pulled it over her head; bunched at
her neck, the full gown fell in folds over her. She wriggled
her arms out of the loose robe and into the sleeves of the nightgown.
She pulled the fabric down and then and stood up carefully to
let the gown fall to her shins, leaving the light blue robe
on Alan's lap.
Jamie threw her plaid arms around Alan. Smiling
at her sincere and almost childish enjoyment at being given
a present, he hugged her and placed a very gentle hand on her
warm bottom. "See, Jamie, you *do* look good in plaid."
Jamie climbed onto the bed and over to her
pillow. With a deep sigh, she put her head down and lay on her
tummy; she didn't have long to wait for Alan to get into bed
so she could snuggle right up next to him and sleep the deep,
clear, sleep of a free spirit. She still didn't know what it
was like to have to hide her emotions after a spanking, and
Alan didn't know what it was like to paddle a schoolgirl and
then just send her on her way; and that was fine with both of
Leaving the president's letter on a table
in the hall, Jamie went upstairs and got undressed. She pulled
her favorite plaid flannel nightgown over her head. She picked
up the phone to call Alan.
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