Bad Girls (21 page)

‘I don't think it's that easy.'

‘If you can't forgive something that happened fifteen years ago, then…'

‘That's not what I said.'

‘What did you say?'

‘I said I don't think it's that easy.'

‘What's not that easy?'

‘Leaving those bad parts of you behind. I think they've haunted you ever since. I don't think you've ever grown up.'

‘You're one to talk.'

‘See, you can't even talk about it without hiding behind insults.'

She stopped to think. I could see the forces waging war inside her. Part of her wanted to throw it back in my face. She could blame me, insult me, dismiss me as a sore loser from high school, but she could also think about what I had to say, wonder if I saw a part of her that others ignored, and ask me for the only thing she really, really wanted. ‘When you talk to me, I get so scared.'

‘I think that's the good Ashley speaking.'

‘Yeah, but when the good Ashley is scared the bad Ashley comes out. Then I become all bitchy when really I'm just scared.'

‘What are you scared of?'

‘I'm scared people won't like me. I'm scared people will think I'm a loser. I'm scared people will hate me because of who I was in high school. People like to see bad things happen to me. You're not the only one who resented me, but you're the only one who's been honest about it. What you did to me was honest. You didn't lie to get in my panties or let me get away with my act just so I'd like you.'

At that moment I really liked Ashley and felt terrible about the cancer lie. She was being real and I was stuck in a lie, except it was the lie that had allowed things to become real. I couldn't back out of it now. The good Ashley deserved something better, but I had a bad Bruce, too. Who were we trying to fool? Neither of us would ever completely leave our bad sides behind. Moreover, this was real, but it was also an act. We both knew where we were trying to go, and now I could be certain that I could take us there. ‘I think you need another, Ashley.'

‘Are you sure, Bruce? It hurt so much.'

‘Sometimes things have to hurt.'

‘But it already hurts so much. It hurts to be the bad Ashley. It hurts when everyone is looking at me and hoping bad things happen. Why do I need a spanking on top of all that.'

‘The spankings aren't meant to hurt like that. They're meant to make it easier for you to be good.'

‘I know, Bruce, but it's hard. Will you be gentle? It hurt too much last time.'

‘If it had really hurt enough you wouldn't have been so bitchy to me. When you whined and complained and insulted me, you were telling me that I'd been too gentle with you. It's going to take more than that to drive the bad Ashley away.' Here eyes were moist and she couldn't say anything else. ‘I'll come to your house tomorrow after the girls go to school.'

She nodded and dried her eyes before the girls emerged. I watched her ass as she walked away, swaying a little and tingling in anticipation.

Did I think of anything else? Could I sleep that night? Of course not. I'm sure she couldn't either. I hurried Rachel out the door. I'm sure she and Lucy were the first ones to school that morning. I'd been thinking all night about how I would do it. I wanted it to be different, for we'd be on a different footing this time. It would be premeditated, a planned encounter for a specific purpose. I wanted it to have the desired effect.

‘Do you know that they spank the kids at the high school?' I asked when I arrived at her house. She nodded. ‘Did they do that when we were in school?'

‘Not to anyone I knew.'

‘I guess it was the 70s and authority had a bad name.'

‘Lucy told me they use a paddle.'

‘Did you sign the release?'

‘You mean did I give them permission to paddle Lucy?'

‘Yes.'

‘No.'

‘Me neither.'

‘Do you think it would be different if you'd been paddled in school?'

‘I don't know. Maybe.'

‘Maybe the bad Ashley wouldn't have gotten her way quite so often. Maybe she wouldn't have grown into such a brat.'

‘Maybe.'

‘I'd like to paddle you for being bad in high school.'

‘But your hand was bad enough, Bruce. Do you even have a paddle?'

‘No, but you do. I'd like you to get me your sorority paddle.'

‘No way; it hurt so bad during initiation I nearly cried, and that was when a girl was doing it.'

‘I'm sure it will hurt more today.'

‘Please, Bruce, I'm not ready for that. Maybe sometime, but not now, it's too soon.'

‘That wouldn't do in high school, Ashley, not with the principal. Now get me the paddle.'

‘I don't even know where it is. I haven't seen it for years.'

‘Go find it right now, or you'll get extra strokes for lying.'

She got up and went upstairs. I waited, relishing thoughts of the anguish she was feeling. I knew it would only get worse before it got better.

She returned quickly enough to convince me that she'd known exactly where it was. The bad Ashley still needed to be taught a lesson. She handed it to me and looked very sheepish. I towered over her in a way I had never imagined. I must have towered over her in high school too, but she'd seemed so much larger than life. ‘Thank you, Ashley,' I said when I took the paddle from her.

‘You're welcome, Mr Harris.'

I hoped she would play the role, but her degree of cooperation surprised me. ‘I understand you've been having some trouble conforming to our code of behavior, Ashley.'

‘It's not like that, Mr Harris. It's just that everyone spreads rumors about me and everything gets blown out of proportion.'

‘Are you telling me that you haven't been doing these things?'

‘Well…'

‘That's what I thought.'

‘But everyone blames everything on me. They weren't my cigarettes. Some girl asked me to keep them for her. And when the chaperones found beer in our hotel room, I hadn't even had any.'

‘There you go, Ashley, blaming everyone else but yourself. I've heard you've been getting quite out of hand. Your boyfriends fight in the hall. Your girlfriends miss classes because they're crying in the bathroom. Other students show off for you, mouthing off to the teachers you don't like or bullying your enemies. Whenever there's a problem it seems like you're at the heart of it.'

‘How can you punish me for what they're doing, Mr Harris? It isn't my fault.'

‘Do you really believe you don't bear any responsibility?'

‘It's not that. It's just that I can't help it. Things go badly when I'm around. It's like I'm cursed.'

‘Well, we'll see if a good paddling can't make you a little less cursed. Maybe you'll start trying to keep things from going quite so badly in the future.'

‘But Mr Harris…'

‘Don't “but Mr Harris” me, young lady. If you weren't supposed to be spanked when you deserve it, your parents wouldn't have signed the permission form. It's only been the lack of a single, major transgression that has kept you from being bent over here before. I'm typically gentle when it's your first, but I have the feeling it will take something rather severe to get you to change your ways. We'll begin with fifteen strokes on your bare bottom, and if things haven't gotten better by next week you'll get another twenty. Now please lift your skirt and lower your panties. Then bend over the desk and keep your hands flat. If you stand up or reach back it's five extra strokes.'

I could tell how hard it was for her to do. She kept looking up at me like she was about to say something, to break out of character, to implore me to stop this game; but every time she did I met her eyes with a firm look that was enough to dissuade her. I don't think she wanted to disappoint me. Being bent over like that gave me a different view of her ass. This was the Ashley I remembered. This was my tormentor, bent over, bare bottomed and about to get the paddling of her life.

She had been right. The paddle was a fearsome implement with Greek letters and a logo on one side. I swung it through the air a couple of times, then lined it up on her ass, taking my time and hearing her gasp with fear every time she thought the first one might be coming. It must have taken enormous self-control for her to remain quiet, but she managed. Maybe there was hope for the good Ashley after all.

Finally I took a deep breath, took aim and brought the hard wood down across her buttocks, attempting as best I could to distribute the force evenly between the two cheeks. This was no experimental foray into the use of a new implement. I tried to bring it down with the seasoned expertise of a high school principal who did this a couple of times a day. For the role I currently inhabited, the bare buttocks in front of me, belonging as they did to the most popular girl in the school, were all in a day's work. It was simply my pedagogical obligation to cause them sufficient pain so as to dissuade her from future misbehavior. In my role as principal I would have become accustomed to the tears and sniffles of those proud enough to postpone their outright sobbing as long as possible. I was neither the one crossed by transgressions I was punishing her for nor the one who would receive the benefit of her future behavior. No, I was nothing but an instrument of a justice where the price of transgression was physical pain. As such, I felt more obliged to offer a punishment of adequate severity, for it would do no one any good if it didn't keep her from returning. In the end a harsh punishment now was meant to result in less punishment over the long haul.

The punishment lacked all ceremony. There was no foreplay or teasing, no reminiscence about the bad old days. The paddle was a formidable instrument, its blunt impact driving her thighs into the edge of the desktop and leaving instant bruising on the strip of flesh where each stroke landed. The paddle was wide enough and her bottom trim enough that there was very little choice as to where to land each stroke. As a result they landed more or less right on top of each other, offering no respite for her beaten skin. Each impact sent a ripple through the flesh before her body could absorb the paddle's momentum. Moreover, each stroke sent a grunt from her lungs, different from the squeals and curses of the previous spanking. This time she clung to her self-control, admirably not humiliating herself in front of her high school principal, yet not being able to withhold the tears and finally giving in to them around stroke six. After several particularly wicked strokes her hands lifted involuntarily from the desk, fingers outstretched in tense agony, and shot towards her backside, but the good Ashley prevailed and overcame the instinct to protect herself, knowing full well how counterproductive it would be. Her control seemed praiseworthy, but I was determined to offer her no consolation during the punishment. She would endure this alone, as I had endured her cruelty in high school.

I expected more begging and pleading to accompany the more severe punishment, but instead there was just more silence. It was quick. The build up had happened the previous evening and we'd had twelve hours to think about it. Now there was nothing left but the thing itself. As principal, it would hardly do to tarry. I delivered stroke after stroke, slamming her into the desk. Next time I would pad the place where her thighs met the edge of the desktop, but I didn't regret not thinking of it before. Compared to the pain of the paddling, the added insult to her thighs would be minimal.

I couldn't say where she was for sure during the punishment. I would guess she was carried away by the severity of it, a severity that deprived her even of her capacity to beg, plead or try to manipulate me. I admired her stoic resignation to her punishment. I expected that it stemmed from a growing consciousness of her guilt.

I was quite possessed by giving the spanking. Only rarely did I take my eyes off her ass, staying focused on the task at hand with a machine-like precision. We delved into the sexual dimensions of it last time; the previous evening we had gone deeply into the psychology of it; this was pure execution. All the questions – what would it be like? How would it feel? Could she stand it? Would it make us feel better – all these and others could be answered afterward, but first the paddling itself drove all questioning aside.

In fact it drove everything aside. When I looked at her ass I saw something pure, some aspect of her being, the bad, the shameful, the punished in its purest state. It was the opposite of looking in her eyes or at her face. It was the opposite of the awe and appreciation that her eyes, lips and face inspired in those who had worshipped her through the years. While one could worship her ass as it swayed down the school corridors in tight jeans or miniskirt, in its current state it inspired quite the opposite feeling. The object of so much worship and adoration was now the object of a severe beating. Looking at her ass this way, it seemed made for only one thing: this. I couldn't even imagine ever resisting the urge to apply such treatment to any ass in the future. The very existence of such fleshy backsides certainly proved irresistible now I'd tasted the contemplative pleasures of administering such a punishment. In spite of all my thoughtful awareness of the situation, the emotional dynamic, and the baggage that we both brought to this encounter, none of this distracted me from the aesthetic pleasure of it, and I was sad when I finally reached fifteen and had to emerge from my silent ritual.