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I shiver as I hear the first guy in line taking his spanking. Paul had only gotten one single C this week. He’s yelling about it now, pleading for mercy, and I’m sure Dean Rallis doesn’t care at all. When you’re already on academic probation at Redbrook College, all C’s get spankings.
He’s behind the closed door now, squealing and groaning as the cracking smacks rain down. We were told we’d be spanked, but I guess I didn’t realize they meant with the hand and everything. I assumed it would be dignified in some way, like swats of the paddle or strokes of the cane. Instead, what I hear behind that door is definitely Paul’s bare ass getting soundly smacked like he’s half his age.
Paul, Andrew, myself, and Ben are all freshmen, and all eighteen. You have to be eighteen to sign the academic probation contract, and you have to sign that contract to even attend this college at all. It’s just, when I signed it, I had no idea my own butt would actually be on the line.
The four of us have only been on probation since last Friday, and all for the same reason. We completely blew the midterms. The school is trying to get us back on track before our grades become official in December. Redbrook prides itself on student achievement, at all costs.
The day I got put on probation, two ridiculously embarrassing things happened. First, I was given a school uniform I had to wear. Most guys here wear jeans and hoodies every single day, but I’m stuck in this white button down, somewhat tight gray short-pants, and a bright red blazer with a black P (for probation) embroidered on the lapel. So not only does everyone know I’m on academic probation in this stupid looking outfit, but everyone on staff watches me like a hawk, making sure I’m not having one single second of fun when I ought to be studying.
Worse, though, on Monday, I was taken down to the medical building. I haven’t even been to third base yet, but I was stripped and spread wide open on this table, my ankles tied into stirrups and my wrists locked into cuffs by my sides. I could have died of embarrassment from that alone. Then this nurse or assistant or whoever he was sprayed me with a bottle of warm water, and started rubbing a thick layer of shaving cream between my legs. “Stay still, Riley,” he told me, like I had a choice in these ankle and wrist cuffs. Then he started stroking a razor slowly over my skin, holding my dick in his hand to keep it out of the way. I was rock hard in less than a minute, panting and twitching in his fist.
He said the shaving was to keep everything hygienic, but I was pretty sure the real reason was because it was completely humiliating to be in college and bald between my legs. Whether my new uniform was on or off, everyone would know my status now. As a final touch he rubbed some lotion all over me, supposedly to stop my hair from growing back too quickly.
He kept stroking up and down my shaft, even though that wasn’t shaven. It felt so good, having someone else do it instead of me. I was moaning openly because of that deep massage, leaking, sure I was going to come all over myself. Then he warned me that a guy he shaved yesterday did that, and got hot pepper cream rubbed right into his dick and balls as punishment. “If you were in the building across the street, maybe you heard him screaming,” he said, laughing a little.
I might have still come anyway after that threat, so far gone, but he let me go before it happened. So I didn’t get the hot pepper cream. I haven’t even been spanked yet, nor have I witnessed a single one. Probation starts with midterms here, and all the returning students start with a clean slate. Everything had been so normal at Redbrook, right up until the last week of October.
Now I’m in my embarrassing little schoolboy uniform, waiting to be spanked. On Friday I got a C on a history paper and a C+ on an economics assignment. The plus didn’t matter, nor did it matter that the assignment was only worth three percent of my grade. I was told to wait outside the discipline room before lunch for correction, and the discipline room is right across from the main dining hall.
The second I got here the dean put me into this exact position against the wall. Here I remain. My hands are folded over my head. My nose is pressed against the wall. It’s already humiliating. Everyone knows what’s going to happen to me waiting beside this exact door, especially in this embarrassing outfit. A lot of students are starting to gather outside the dining hall, keeping their conversation low and quiet so all the smacks and cries from the discipline room can be properly overheard.
Smack, smack, smack, smack, smack, smack. It’s like clockwork. A new spank every second. Paul’s crying now. The low sobbing moans are unmistakable. I was already freaked out, and now my heart’s pounding, hearing this. He’s getting spanked by the official Dean of Discipline, so it’s not like Dean Rallis doesn’t know what he’s doing in there. The school hired this guy just to punish us.
Paul has been getting his bottom roasted for a few long minutes, but now the slapping sounds finally cease. His sobs continue. Rallis is talking to him in a quiet voice now, compared to some more general scolding over the smacks. We hear him ask, “Are you going to study more?”
“Yes, sir,” cries Paul.
“And what will happen if you get another C?”
“Another spanking like that one,” he chokes out.
“It will be worse than that one, as you will have known better than to slack. Come along.”
The door creaks open. All the doors here creak because this entire campus is old. The radiators bang all night long and all the buildings are covered in ivy. That’s partly why we’re all here, because this college has the kind of reputation you want, believe it or not. Most people on the outside think the academic probation thing is just a wild rumor.
Dean Rallis escorts Paul out by the arm. He stumbles with his little shorts and underwear around his ankles, his hand shyly covering his front. He’s told to face the wall, hands on his head, legs parted as wide as the clothes around his ankles allow.
“Paul, hands up, I said. Hands up!”
I hear his sobs worsen as he finally obeys the order. I get it, because there’s already quite a crowd forming, and only some of them are actually lining up for lunch. Most of them are just watching us, whispering, and laughing. Everyone here’s going to see us naked, without even the dignity of a bush of hair to hide ourselves.
The other students are shuffling around, already trying to get a better look at Paul. Dean Rallis doesn’t even stop them. A few are openly laughing, and someone says that Paul’s butt is glowing red. I can’t help a quick glance over my shoulder. They’re right.
So that’s what happens for one single C. A butt the color of bricks. What will happen to me, who got two? What will happen to my friend Ben, who actually got an F this week? He must be thinking the same thing. He’s already starting to sniffle.
Dean Rallis immediately takes the next boy, Andrew, in for his spanking. He doesn’t scream about his one single C like Paul tried, only whimpering in dismay as the door closes behind him.
I squeeze my eyes shut. Rallis is lecturing him a little first, and then the smacking begins. He’s like a machine again. Smack, smack, smack, smack. Andrew finally cries out that he’ll study more, but the spanking continues just as severely as before.
Andrew’s in there for a few minutes, like Paul. Once he’s finally back in the hall, crying his heart out and put on shameful display against the wall, it’s my turn.
My stomach’s dropping as I’m guided into the discipline room. I’ve never been inside here before. There’s a tidy desk and a padded medical examination table like the one I was shaved on a few days ago. Beside that is a sink surrounded by some counters and closed cabinets. Near the far wall I see a padded bench with straps that I have to guess is used for even worse spankings. Probably the paddle, strap, or cane. All kinds of implements are hanging up on little hooks.
But we’re headed to an oversized armless chair in the middle of the room. It’s sitting much taller than regular chairs, but not quite as tall as a bar stool. I know that’s where I’ll be spanked today. I gulp just looking at it. A chair made just for spanking. I’m told to wait beside it.
“Riley,” he says.
“Yes, sir,” I say.
“Two C’s your very first week on academic probation.”
I lower my head.
“It should go without saying you’ll be getting worse than Paul and Andrew.”
I nod slowly, keeping my eyes to the carpet. I keep twisting my hands together. I’m sure he’ll spank me even harder, perhaps with a hairbrush. But instead Rallis starts fishing around in the cabinet beside the sink. He pulls out a huge hunk of ginger and begins slowly peeling it with a paring knife. I have a feeling where that’s going, based on the shape. I might be a virgin, but I have the internet. My legs start to shake.
“We need to light a fire under your bottom today, or you’ll end up failing out of this college.”
“Please, no! I’ll study more, sir!”
“I’m certain you will, after this.” He holds up the fresh, juicy ginger root, making sure I can see its large girth just before it tapers and flares like a proper plug. He wraps it up in plastic to keep in his pocket. “You’ll be figged while you stand against the wall, but not during your spanking, Riley. Rest assured that if your grades don’t improve next week, that’s exactly what will happen. And worse.”
He sits in that oversized and tall spanking chair. All I can do is watch as he reaches for my shorts and tugs them right down. Besides making us look like little boys and showing off more of our legs and thighs than we’d normally want, these shorts don’t even have a zipper or button. Now that we’re on probation, anyone on staff could just yank them down and turn us over a knee.
Dean Rallis reaches for my little white briefs next. Normally I’d wear boxers, but the childish underpants come with the new uniform too. I whimper, humiliated, when he tugs them to my ankles. He pulls my shirt to the center of my back, tucking it under my arms. The air brushes over my privates, and I’m so keenly aware of how exposed I am right now. It’s so humiliating to be half-naked in some chilly office, in front of a dean, and I know worse is yet to come.
Dean Rallis scolds me while I stand here like this, by his side, bared and about to be spanked. I can feel my face burning hot, but I manage to resist covering myself. Rallis tells me that I’ll never get anywhere in life doing the least amount of work. I need to try harder. I need to get it together. Then he puts a hand on my back, and grips my arm with the other. He guides me right over his lap.
The strangely tall chair means my hands don’t reach the floor and my legs end up bent behind me. I’m dangling here, the cool air rolling over my naked butt, propped up high over his right knee. I almost wish I was on the padded spanking bench, because at least that would feel like a punishment for someone my age. I feel like a child and I’m so deeply ashamed.
Like he can read my mind, he tells me this is how naughty, careless boys get punished in this school. If I’m too immature to do my work properly, I’m too immature to be treated like an adult. I’m blushing so much I can hear whooshing in my ears.
He pats me twice. Aiming. I brace myself, closing my eyes.
Smack!
It burns! Right away I gasp and squirm. I couldn’t even take one single swat like a man.
The first spanks start slow and hard, each smack a terrible mix of thudding and stinging. Every new swat jolts my half-naked body forward, making me cry out these strangled little yelps. I probably sound even worse than Paul did. I grip the rungs of the big spanking chair, holding on for dear life.
“Think about whatever you were doing instead of studying,” says Rallis, continuing his steady rhythm, “and decide if it’s really worth it.”
I didn’t intend to be lazy. It was just that college was so much harder than I thought, especially this one. I would have studied more if I’d known how difficult the midterms would truly be.
Smack, smack, smack, smack, smack, smack.
“You’re a naughty, lazy boy!”
I only grunt, “Ah, ah, ah!” from the work his hand is doing.
The speed is quickly increasing and I’m kicking my legs back and forth now, but I don’t dare actually try to escape this man’s lap. I grip the chair’s rungs with all my might. It feels like it’s been an entire minute of this serious spanking. It hurts so much more than I pictured.
“You need to put effort into your work!”
Smack, smack, smack, smack! Every single spank burns and adds to the ones that preceded it. “Aaahhh,” I whine. There’s no sense begging, and I don’t think I can form coherent words anyway. I just shriek and cry out as the spanks rain down, helplessly scissor kicking my legs. Dean Rallis doesn’t stop me.
“You’re wasting this opportunity, naughty boy!”
I realize now that I’d really made a mistake. I was so stupid. I didn’t study enough and thought I’d just fly through my tests the way I did in high school. The dean doesn’t know how much I regret my actions, and the spanking continues. It probably would have regardless.
I try explaining my new understanding of my academic career, but I end up only saying, “Sorrrrrryyyyy! Nooo! I’ll be gooooood!”
I’m sure I hear laughter from outside that door.
“You’d better be a good boy from now on!” says Dean Rallis, pushing me forward so my bottom’s up higher on his thigh. My head’s nearly on the floor and my ass is turned up and fully exposed. With this better position, he lays into me good and hard.
He’s mostly focused on the lower half of my cheeks, but all I feel is a hot, tingling burning in big round splotches. I think again about how this is all my fault, I’m here over this lap. Then I feel my chest starting to tighten, and then my throat, and oh God, here it comes. I’m crying. I’m bawling, actually. I’m pathetically, loudly, sobbing over this man’s knees. I haven’t cried this badly since I was a little kid. My tears are sliding off my face and falling to the ground. My nose is all clogged.
Everyone outside can hear me weeping during my spanking, I’m sure. I’m humiliated now, a blubbering mess. The smacks only stop about half a minute later, but they do, and Dean Rallis rubs my scalding hot cheeks under his palm.
“I’ll study harder,” I promise.
“I’m sure you will.”
He pats me softly, but it’s not over yet. He’s fishing in his pocket for that ginger now. I moan piteously through my sobs, but I lay limply over his lap, waiting obediently. He spreads my cheeks apart, rubs a wet finger in circles over my hole, and then presses the fig against it. “Oh, sir, please no!” I cry.
“I decide all the punishments in this room, Riley! You’re going to keep this in for twenty minutes as you stand against the hallway wall. Understood?”
I sniffle back my tears enough to say, “Yes, sir.”
“Think about how this feels next time you think studying is boring.”
He slowly slides it up inside me, only rocking it in and out twice when I struggle against the widest part. I gasp when he pushes it past my protesting sphincter. Then my hole closes back up, holding it there on its own. I’m so embarrassed I could die.
It feels slightly cool at first, compared to my body temperature. That won’t last. Right now, it’s just up in there making me stretch against it. It’s impossible to think about anything else, even the fact that this happened at all. Dean Rallis just shoved something up inside me. He can punish me in this way. Even worse ways.
He’s cuffing my hands behind my back, locking the velcro into place. He tells me the urge to pull it out will be too great, and I’m going to take every minute of my twenty against the wall.
He stands me up and walks me back to the hall. I fumble along awkwardly, my hole all stuffed and starting to heat up worse with every step. My smacked bottom is so sore. Everyone is looking my way, my hairless dick and balls on full display to everyone outside the dining hall. They couldn’t tell what was happening in there until I’m turned to the wall, my hands cuffed behind my back, my legs spread apart as ordered. Dean Rallis makes sure my shirt is tucked up well under my arms, so nothing can hide my shame. Then he takes Ben by the arm, ignoring his pleading.
“Wait! No! I was sick the day I got the F!”
I bow my head in shame. Everyone can see I’ve been figged with my legs spread this wide. Whispers and laughs come from all the boys who won’t be spanked or figged today, gloating over their superior grades.
The burning quickly increases to an inferno inside me, and I’m rocking from one foot to the other, moaning and whimpering through my sobs.
“Does that burn?” asks someone behind me. I can’t see.
I want to tell him to fuck off, but that kind of language is strictly forbidden for anyone on probation. I don’t answer with words, but the way I’m breathing fast and hot through my mouth tells them everything they need to know about the state of my anus.
It’s having some kind of effect on my dick. I don’t know if it’s because of the girth pushing into me, or the burn of the ginger, but I’m getting hard. Not here, not here. The whispers and laughs increase. Fingers point my way to alert those who haven’t yet noticed. My penis is standing straight out, nearly touching the wall in front of me. Someone accuses me of enjoying my spanking. I’m blushing again. I can feel my face and ears heating up nearly as much as my butt.
Ben’s in there having some kind of talk that’s devolved into him begging and crying. I can’t focus on that, even though he’s my friend and I feel very sorry for him. I’m still sorry for myself. I’m dying out here. The inside of my hole is burning so intensely I’m struggling against the handcuffs, trying to free myself and reach back there and pull out the fire that plugs me up. The sensation makes me squeeze and clench, and that only makes it all worse. I’m moaning and panting, squirming on my feet, just trying to survive. The little chain between my cuffs clinks and rattles as my agony convinces me to try standing on my tiptoes. A wave of laughter breaks out over my strategy, which fails to even help.
Dean Rallis opens the door, and he’s bringing the chair along with him - that over-sized spanking chair. Oh my God. He’s going to spank Ben in front of everyone. Like me and Paul did, he’s just standing there in the doorway begging helplessly. “Oh please, oh no! Please!”
Ignoring that, Rallis is placing the tall, armless chair where everyone standing in line for the dining hall can see, which means I can see too, only glancing to the side instead of straight ahead at the wall. Its heavy wooden legs scrape a little against the tiles.
“Not only did you get an F in calculus, but you lied to me about why it happened,” he scolds Ben, tugging him to his doom by his wrist. “Stand here! Hands up!”
As soon as Ben’s in position, he yanks his shorts and briefs to his ankles, leaving him on display in front of everyone. I can see his ass quivering.
“You’re going to get a punishment you’ll remember for a long, long time, you naughty boy.”
Rallis takes him over the lap, leaving him dangling there miserably like I did a few minutes ago. He pulls a thermometer and a tiny jar of vaseline from his jacket pocket. The thermometer is a huge glass cylinder, the size of my finger. He dips it into the vaseline, spreads Ben’s cheeks wide open, and aims for his winking rosebud. I can see this in great detail, from my angle, and I’m sure three dozen other guys can too.
“This is what happens to bad boys who lie about being sick,” he says, holding the bulbous tip against him. “Do it again and I’ll send you to a pre-med lecture for a full, public examination!”
He slides the thermometer right in, Ben squirming and kicking his ankles up over the intrusion. He whines, “Ow! Ah!”
I don’t think it actually hurts though. It’s much smaller than a dick, smoother than a finger, and Rallis used plenty of vaseline. But I bet it’s awful anyway. It’s humiliating, getting your hole invaded, especially bent over the dean’s lap like that. I would know.
Rallis holds the giant thermometer steady as Ben squirms miserably. I can see his hole winking hard against the big glass tube. Other people must see that too, because I can hear a sort of rolling, spreading amusement as more and more people notice. It’s either that or the way his dick seems to be stiffening. It’s slowly growing to its full length against the dean’s knee.
“Are you going to pretend to be sick again?”
“No, sir!”
“You’re going to hold that thermometer up your naughty bottom for five more minutes!”
“Oooh!” he moans.
Through the whole five minutes he gets stiffer until he’s rock hard, and my own erection’s worse than ever too. It’s bobbing up and down as I squirm. Watching Rallis punish Ben isn’t helping a bit. What’s wrong with me? I’m so aroused I keep rocking my hips back and forth, like the open air will somehow help. It’s just as bad as when I was shaved. Before Rallis pulls out the thermometer he pushes it in and out a few times as a reminder to behave. Ben moans, and I moan too. A bead of white drips from my cock.
Rallis is now unwrapping another bulb of peeled ginger from his pocket. It’s just as big as the fig I’m suffering through right now. He warns Ben that if he clenches during his spanking, he’ll feel all the fires of hell up his naughty bottom. Ben’s already promising to do better. I think he’s starting to cry, by the sound of his voice, all high and tight.
Rallis slowly pushes the ginger root inside, and he yelps from the shame alone, I think. It doesn’t burn right away. My ass feels like someone shoved a hot coal up there, and I’m still doing this stupid little dance from foot to foot or tiptoes to heels. But Ben probably just feels like he got another very short thermometer, twice as wide.
The public spanking and scolding commences right after this. Ben handles this better than me, I think, only kicking his ankles up a little with each new spank. Dean Rallis tells him similar things to me, that he’s been a bad and immature little boy, wasting his time when he should be studying. “Naughty little boys get soundly spanked on their bare bottoms!”
About a minute into it, Ben is kicking and begging, “Take it out! Please take it out!”
Rallis only lays into him much faster and harder, and Ben starts kicking wildly and screaming and sobbing. His hole is squeezing that root, I can see it from here, maybe of its own volition. He’s getting burned inside and out at the exact same time. By the sounds of him, it really does seem like he’s suffering all the fires of hell.
All through this, he’s still rock hard. Every new smack thrusts him slightly against the dean’s leg. The line for the dining hall has nearly come to a stand still because everyone’s invested in seeing this through to the bitter end.
Ben starts moaning between his sobs, leaking a little, and making me do the same. My drizzle lands unnoticed on the tiled floor, but Ben forms a thin short line down the dean’s pant-leg. Then he pleads softly, “Oh, God, no, no, I can’t-”
His cock throbs and twitches visibly against the dean’s leg, and two more firm spanks rub him just too perfectly over the man’s soft trousers. His head goes back and his whole body goes rigid as he lets out a loud and surprised groan of pleasure. Ben shoots his full load all down the side of Rallis’ leg and the floor below. A murmur rises in the watching crowd, some scattered laughter breaking through the whispers. Ben goes limp and sobs in humiliation.
Rallis pauses his spanking, looking to where they’re pointing, seeing the puddle on the floor and what Ben has just done to the leg of his trousers.
“You have no self-control at all!” he booms, going back to reddening Ben’s ass. He spanks rapid-fire now, really making Ben wail. The spanking is severe, but I think the humiliation is way worse. Everyone on campus will soon know that Ben blew his load while getting spanked and figged by Dean Rallis.
Once the dean’s finally done spanking Ben, his whole backside so hot pink it might glow in the dark, he makes him clean up his mess with paper towels, shorts still down. He’s stumbling around, still sobbing, but gets it done. There’s still a huge wet spot on the dean’s trouser-leg near the knee, but he ignores that for now. Dean Rallis cuffs Ben with the velcro, and sets him right next to me against the wall. The two of us there like that makes it even worse, especially once Andrew and Paul have been set free to go join the others for lunch. We’re a spectacle now, both still dancing in place a little, as if it might help cool the blistering heat in our holes.
His dick is still dripping a little pathetically, slowly going soft. My erection still points to the wall, twitching and threatening to do what Ben did but without any soft trousers or rubbing to help. That would be mortifying. It can’t happen. I squeeze my eyes shut and beg for it to end before I come myself in front of half the student body too.
The lunch line is moving faster again, but now everyone is taking turns staring at us, including tons more students who weren’t able to see before now. Some of them laugh, but most just whisper things I can’t even hear. Rallis stands beside us, arms crossed, still wearing those trousers Ben just ruined.
Both Ben and I are both helplessly tugging at our velcro handcuffs, whimpering and keening out these pathetic little moans. More and more footsteps keep sounding behind me, reminding me of every new set of eyes on my ultimate humiliation. We’re a billboard, advertising what happens to naughty boys on academic probation. But we’re also Riley and Ben, and we’re never going to live this down.
“I certainly hope your grades will improve this coming week,” says Dean Rallis. “You’re free to go, but you will obey your rules, do all your reading and work, and listen well in class. I’m not the only one around here who can spank a naughty boy on academic probation.”
He removes the ginger from my hole, but the heat is still stuck up inside me. I know better than to complain. I’m allowed to pull my underwear and little gray shorts back on and head to the dining hall. There’s no way I can eat lunch after all that. I try to hide the bulging tent with my arms, hurrying as fast as I can back to my dorm.