Go, And Cyn No More

“Children!”
“Huh?”
“Don’t ‘huh’ me, you say ‘Pardon Miss Redman.’”
“You already sound like a teacher. Okay, ‘pardon Miss Redman’, what do you mean by calling out ‘children’ as a random comment?”

Cynthia and Allison were studying together in the front room of their flat. The room had been silent, save for the quiet hum of the coffee machine in the kitchen, until Cynthia had called out.

“Children. That is what I teach.”
“Duh!”
“No, I mean when people ask me what I teach I don’t want to say ‘Grade Four’ or ‘Maths’, I want to say ‘children’. I think that puts the focus in the right place.”
“Hey, that’s good. I like it.”
“Thank you.”
“It’s just as well, because you suck at Maths. And English: you should of said ‘children are who I teach’.”
“And you should have said ‘should have’ and not ‘should of’.”
“Shut up.”
“Make me.”
“You’re the one who made the random comment. I was working here in silence.”

Allison and Cynthia had been sharing a house for almost a year; a 2-up 2-down fifteen minutes’ walk from their university campus. Cynthia was in her final year of a Bachelor of Education, Allison in her final year of a Master of Arts. The women had met on campus four years earlier when they were volunteers in a Psychology clinical trial, and had become fast friends. It was their shared bizarre sense of humour which had decided them upon spending their final year of studies as housemates.

“Cyn, what are you reading now?”
“Psych. Developmental Psychology. Piaget.”
“Isn’t that a car?”
“No, pee-ah-shay, not purr-show. Piaget was a child psychologist, one of the big names in the field. All pre-service teachers have to read Piaget. What about you?”
“I’m writing a coursework essay on the South African Republic.”
“But isn’t it called the Republic of South Africa?”
“It is now, but it wasn’t in 1898. How is Monsieur Piaget?”
“Boring.
“Boer-ing?”
“Shut up, that joke only makes sense if you’re reading it. You can be too clever at times you know.”
“Not if you say it with an ‘every-corner egg-sent’. Boo-er.”

When visitors came to Allison and Cynthia’s house it was the banter between the two that stood out. It was always light-hearted, never spiteful, but it was very quick. It was one of Allison’s favourite things about Cynthia. That and the fact that Cynthia was a red-head, so there was always material for her wit.

“To be honest I’m just not seeing it.”
“Seeing what?”
“How this idea works. I know it makes sense to know the way kids think, because kids aren’t just little adults, but the stages of cognitive development are throwing me. What is a cognitive anyway? It sounds like something you’d find in an engine.”
“Hey, did you hear about the mechanical transporter plane that exploded over Japan?”
“No.”
“Yeah, apparently it was raining Datsun cogs...boom tish!”
“I’ll boom your tish in a minute.”
“Promises, promises.”
“And you wonder why I don’t take you seriously as a disciplinarian.”

Disciplinarian. Cynthia knew that this final year was make-or-break for her, and whilst Allison loved Cynthia for her cheeky wit, Cynthia loved Allison for the fact that she was three years older than her and had the nature of a no-nonsense person about her. Fun was fun, but when it was time to work then it was time to work. Allison had a scowl than could curdle milk, Cynthia desperately wanted to learn it to use in class.

“Do you need some discipline?”

SNAP! There it was. Allison had gone from smart-alec to guardian in a blink. Cynthia knew that she needed to snap-to just as quickly.

“No thank you Allison. But thank you.”

Allison spanked Cynthia. There was no other way to say it, for that is what took place. Sometimes it was for maintenance, sometimes for release of stress, and sometimes as discipline in the correct sense of the word. More aligned to training than punishment, Allison helped Cynthia to learn by keeping Cynthia’s mind on the job. Sometimes Cynthia needed tea, sometimes a back rub, sometimes a pat-on-the-back-across-the-lap. It had been the same for Allison when she was an undergraduate. There was nothing sexual about it, and it certainly wasn’t useful for many of the women they studied with, but according to the Psych Prac where they had met Allison and Cynthia knew that just under 20% of female students responded that they benefitted from regular or occasional “physical encouragement”. Following the end of the clinical trials Cynthia and Allison had continued to experiment upon each other, although Cynthia needed more assistance than Allison simply because Allison was further into her course of studies. Allison liked being smacked, but Cynthia needed to be.

------------

“Alla!”
“Are you shrieking for me?”
“All-aa!”

Allison came running. “What? Do you want me, or have you converted to Islam? I have told you my name is ‘Allison’.”

“I just got my essay back. On Piaget.”
“And?”
“Seventy-five...”
“Well done!”
“...out of one hundred and fifty. It was marked from 150 because it is worth fifteen percent of our final mark in Dev Psych.”
“Not so well done then.”
“No. I have asked if I may resubmit, and have been told I may. Will you help me?”
“Dearest one I would love to, but I am up to my eyes in Jan Smuts right now, and I know nothing about Peugeot.”
“Piaget.”
“See! How can I...oh. Oh?”
“Oh.”

Allison smiled. A kind smile. An ‘I will be delighted to help you smile.’

“You always make me scared when you smile like that Allison. It’s almost like you enjoy doing this.”

SNAP!

“You know that isn’t true Cynthia Dawn. It isn’t true at all. So how shall we do this?”
“You’re the boss, but it’s about my essay so...”
“Right. Put your essay on the desk, open it to the comment page, and assume the position.”

Cynthia did as she was asked. She cleared a space on her desk, first pushing back the keyboard tray of her computer. She laid the essay on the desk and flipped it open to where her lecturer had written his summary comments in pencil. She hated when they did that, used pencil rather than pen. It made the comments so hard to read. From Allison’s command Cynthia knew she would be reading the comments while her friend spanked her. It was just like that scene in ‘Secretary’, although James Spader would have been a much lovelier option.

“The writing is in pencil, it’s very feint.”
“Then you’ll have to bend over closer to the page won’t you?”
“Hmm.”

Cynthia undid the button on her slacks and dropped them to her knees. She was wearing tights underneath her trousers as she had been on a field-placement day at the local Infants School and so was in “teacher-dress”. As a teacher though she knew not to wear a dress. Her first day of sitting on the floor to read a story to Reception while the five year olds looked up her skirt had taught her that much. ‘Slacks for school, skirts for meetings’ was her motto.

She bent forward, and without awaiting further instruction began to read the comments aloud.

WHOOP!

It was the paddle. Cynthia liked the paddle. It was made of leather and whilst heavy and loud it didn’t hurt that much. The paddle was more for a reminder than anything else. Cynthia knew that if she had failed her assignment, or if Allison had found it first, then she’d have been receiving the hairbrush, or possibly ‘the bat’ which was a wooden paddle.

WHOOP! WHOOP!

Cynthia read through the comments twice, punctuated by Allison’s attention. She remained in place while Allison discussed the assignment with her, and various considerations of the lecturer’s comments. When a plan of action for the resubmit was in place, Allison called Cynthia across her knees.

SMACK!

The hairbrush upon the knickers. This was the ‘discipline’ part. Cynthia had been careless in her essay according to the comments. It had not been a lack of knowledge on her part but a lack of attention to good essay style, and to correct use of footnoting. She had pulled down her own tights and laid herself across Allison’s knees. She liked being across Allison’s knees, but she didn’t like being there having already bent over her desk first.

SMACK!

“Ow.”

---------------

“Thanks for seeing me Stevo.”
“You know you’re the only one who I allow to call me that.”
“Only because you know I would do it anyway.”

David Steven was in the final few weeks of writing what he hoped would be the final draft of his doctoral thesis. He had been one of the final year Psychology students who was monitoring the results of the clinical trial where Allison and Cynthia had met, and had remained in contact with the women. In truth he was happy to take some time away from the word processor to have some coffee with Allison, cabin fever had begun to set in and he had been losing concentration.

“How are things at home for you Allison? Are you still living in sin?”
“Living with Cyn is not the same thing Stevo; you know we don’t share a bed.”
“But I notice you share clothes, isn’t that her skirt you are wearing?”
“Women do that you know. She is on teaching prac this week and had run out of trousers, so she borrowed a pair of mine.”
“So things are good then.”
“Yeah. But I am worried about her.”

Allison had been concerned about Cynthia for a while. Sometimes when Allison went to talk to Cynthia it was like she wasn’t even there. Just a shadow, a silhouette, and what appeared to be a declaration from her friend that she needed space. Space Allison could handle, she too needed space, but the sense of the silhouette unnerved her.

“So are you still...ahem...continuing my research for me?”
“We spank each other if that is what you are asking.”

David shifted in his chair slightly, and seemed to have something in his pocket that needed attention. Allison smiled at him.

“And how is that...ahem...working out?”
“Well that’s the thing David, it isn’t. I mean I enjoy going over a knee as much as the next girl, but it seems in this case that the next girl isn’t benefitting from it. Cyn is really struggling right now, I can see that, but I feel as though my attentions aren’t really meeting her need.”
“So, what, she needs to be spanked more? More frequently? More forcefully? For a longer time?”
“I don’t know.”
“How are her marks?”
“Fading I think. I don’t know she won’t show me her bum.”

David laughed.

“No Allison, I mean her results.”

Allison blushed and put her hand over her mouth to stifle her own laugh.

“Oh. Of course. She is still doing well, but not nearly as well as she should be. She had to resubmit an essay on Piaget.”
“Ah. Did you know he did his PhD in snails? He was actually a Biologist.”
“That’s very close to fascinating future-Doctor Steven; I can barely contain my indifference.”

David smiled.

“Oh, sorry. That is what gets me into trouble with Cyn, I can be quite snappish. Sorry. But I am worried about my friend.”
“What can I do?”
“Are you serious in asking?”
“Yes. I like you two girls. You know that. We have been friends for three years now, and I value your...ahem...input...into my ongoing studies. As you know I have continued to keep track with some of the other women and men who participated in that study, and in fact had a long-term project going with several groups.”
“How is that?”
“Good. It’s good. Three groups of women. One group study as they do. One group is spanked regularly in a ‘maintenance’ set, and one group can ask for spanking ‘as and when’. I am tracking the results by the girls filling in diaries for me, and also with occasional clinical tests for endorphin levels and heart/breathing rate.”
“How do you do that?”
“The women come in to the lab to be wired up to monitors. Then we get them to sit a ‘spot quiz’ and then immediately afterward some are spanked and some are not. We monitor to see how their heart-rate and so forth is affected. Since the spankings are allocated at random the women don’t know whether they will be spanked or not.”
“Is any of that going to be useful for me?”
“I hope I could teach you how to spank Cynthia more effectively.”
“Couldn’t you just spank her for me?”
“That would disrupt your close friendship. I will consider it, but I want you to try first. However, the first thing you must do is stop asking Cynthia to spank you. If you are to help her to see you as a disciplinarian she needs to be...”
“Submissive? Ha, have you met Cynthia Redman?”
“I was going to say she needs to be comfortable in seeing you in that role. That she also spanks you, even for fun, can be disruptive to her forming the correct associations with your command to her to knuckle down.”

SNAP.

“I see it. I acknowledge that. Good point.”

David smiled. He had been told of Allison’s sudden change in focus and was pleased to have seen it. He would be asking Allison about that at a later time.

“Excellent. Now, how about I show you a technique to use with Cynthia.”
“Thank you David, that would be helpful. Now, what do I need to do?”
“Come here, young lady.”
“Ooh!”

------------

SMACK! SMACK!

“Do you see?”
“It’s more what I feel right now David.”
“But do you...”

SMACK!

“...get it?”

SMACK! SMACK!

“Oh I am getting it, don’t you worry.”
“That’s...”

SMACK!

“...my girl.”

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

“Oof. Yes. Oww-wow!”
“Enough?”

SMACK!
“Yes tha...”

SMACK! SMACK!

“...ha-haaa-ank you Da... ”
SMACK! SMACK!

“...AAAavid.”
“Good. Stand up, and you may rub.”
“Ooooh!”

Allison regained her feet with some help from David, and immediately went to work upon rubbing her bottom. He had introduced her to several techniques, first by explanation and then by short demonstration. It had taken longer than Allison had hoped, so would not be travelling home on a crowded bus rather than the half-empty ones of an hour before. Not that she minded having to stand up, but she wasn’t looking forward to having her tended backside crushed and jostled by the crowd.

“So, you need to speak with her a lot more. Call her ‘girl’, that seems to be effective with many young women. Spend more time with her over your knee and with her outer layer removed but her underwear in place. Don’t be afraid to ask her to ‘bend over something’, it was good what you did with the essay but you should have perhaps used the soft paddle across your knee, for longer, and then the harder one as she was bent over the desk.”
“Yes sir.” Allison was still rubbing, sore bottom with one hand, tears with the fist of the other.
“And don’t be afraid to put it into perspective with her. Don’t go down the school-girl road with her, but treat her as a trainee teacher who needs to be trained in discipline. Use a ruler on her bottom. Use a cane, or a strap.”
“Oh no, she doesn’t like belts.”
“Then don’t use a belt. A belt is something men use to hold up their trousers and to beat women. Use a strap, without a buckle, or a Scottish tawse which is a discipline tool. You can think of it as a longer version of your leather paddle. Of course discuss this with her first. How are you?”
“Sore. But thank you. I ‘get the idea’, but I think I needed a spanking anyway. If you say that Cynthia shouldn’t be spanking me any more I suppose I should take what I can get.”
“I can always connect you with one of the other women in the group if you’d like. Or a man. I do not want to set up a fetish society on campus, but having opened Pandora’s Box for some of you I do feel responsible to you to continue your pastoral care in an ethical manner.”

Allison smiled and let her skirt drop back into place.

“A fetish society wouldn’t be so bad though. Miss Redman “a brain for school and a bottom for Cyn” has the most amazing nurse’s outfit I have ever seen. Spearmint green, long white stockings, she looks amazing with her long red hair.”

David adjusted whatever it was in his pocket.

“Oh, and speaking of stockings, I think you laddered my tights with that last flurry from the hairbrush. Either that or I caught a nail while rubbing away that amazing sting.”
“Well, I wouldn’t want to have damaged Cynthia’s skirt now, would I?”
“No doctor,” winked Allison, “that would be my job. Totsiens!”

----------

“She really said that?”

Cynthia was sitting on the sofa in David Steven’s office at the University. She had completed her observation days at the school and had a week between then and her own teaching experience in the class to write up 1000 words of observations and conclusions. She had taken an hour away from the library to see David in his office.

According to David, Allison had been in to see him about her concerns about her, and had had some ‘observation and teaching experience’ of her own. Cynthia had also been feeling that Allison’s efforts to sustain an acceptable rate of achievement in herself had been falling short, and had come to discuss this with David.

“Great minds think alike.”
“And those of perverts are focussed only ever on the one thing anyway.”
“You have read me so well.”
“It’s what I do.”

Cynthia smiled.

“So, are you going to show me what you showed her?”
“No, I’ll let her do that.”
“Not even a little bit?”
“Are you wearing underwear?”
“Why, would you like to see my bum?”
“I’d rather not. That’s why I am asking.”
“Fine. So, are you wearing underwear?”
“Yes.”
“Tights?”
“No.”
“Same.”

David smiled.

“I suppose I could give you a little demonstration then. Come here girl!”

---

Cynthia loved being over the knee. David wasn’t spanking her hard, and was only using his hand, but it was nice. Following their conversation she had stood up from the sofa and had lowered her trousers while David had pulled an armless chair from beneath a pile of books and set it in the middle of the room.

“Would you like one of these journals for the back of your pants?”
“That would rather defeat the purpose, don’t you think?”
“I don’t know Cynthia, I quite like a challenge.”
“Then I challenge you to spank me with the journal.”
“Next time.”

Cynthia had pouted. David had pulled on her arm and she allowed herself to be taken across his lap. He had scolded her for lowering her trousers, he told her he had intended only to spank her on her fully clothed bottom and that he had a good mind to tell her to pull them back up again. Cynthia was amazed at the feeling of peril in her stomach, and wasn’t certain whether it was the voice of the angry man across whose lap she lay, or the threat that her spanking might be withdrawn.

As she regained her posture and rubbed absently at her bottom, she’d not been spanked anywhere near tears, she considered how much she valued the presence of this man. Not that David was any sort of ‘catch’, but she knew that the gift of a male friend who was prepared to pull her trousers down and smack her bottom when her bottom needed to be smacked was not something to be blasé about.

Besides, he had called her ‘girl’, and she loved it when people called her that.