“Dean Howell will see you now,” the secretary said, and Katrina took a deep breath, trying to swallow back the tears she had been crying all morning. It had been a week since she had gotten the letter from the Committee on Academic Standing. Although it was still during Finals Week, one of her classes had ended on the last day of instruction. Since she had not handed in her term paper, nor had attended any of the classes since the middle of the semester, she was failing. She had known she was failing, but knew little of what to do about it.
She took a deep breath and brushed her long, curly brown hair behind one of her ears with her fingers and entered her Dean’s office.
“Miss Halaway,” Dean Howell said, in a somber tone, “have a seat.”
Katrina sat down, still clutching the tissue she had shredded in the waiting room.
Dean Howell was usually a warm, friendly woman in her mid-fifties who found her calling working with college students. She felt that the college years were a great time of growth, learning, and transition. The part of the job she hated the most, however, was telling students the disciplinary action taken with students on academic or social probation. She wanted all of her students to understand that their college career was a serious one, and that they would not be permitted to flit away four years of their lives, partying and getting into all sorts of trouble. Most of the students she saw were freshmen, often who, at the moment they realize that their parents are no longer there to tell them what to do, go a little crazy and become unable to handle the responsibility of independence.
Katrina Halaway was such a student. The tears she had cried for days over the letter from the Committee were tears of pure shame and regret. Her parents would be deeply disappointed, knowing how she had spent the semester. She had always been well behaved, studious, and quiet. When she finally realized that she was on her own, with no one to tell her when to study or when to come in at night, she couldn’t handle it. She couldn’t handle all the freedom. She couldn’t handle her sudden, new, “party-girl” identity. She had been so bookish in high school that she hadn’t had too many friends. All of a sudden, by the third week of school she had been surrounded by them. Then came the parties, the drinking, the casual sex, the skipping classes, the handing in papers late or not at all. Before she knew it, she was deeply in trouble with no one to turn to.
“You know why you are here today,” Dean Howell said, firmly, with a frown.
“Yes, ma’am,” Katrina said, softly, tears filling her eyes.
Dean Howell softened a little at the sight of tears in the young girl’s eyes. She handed her a tissue, and the girl began to sob. Dean Howell pulled her chair closer to Katrina’s and hugged her, rocking her just a little bit. There had been many a student who had cried in her office, and she knew that Katrina’s tears were genuine. There had been many a young woman who had tried to win the Dean’s favor through tears, but she could spot manipulation a mile a way. Those were the kind of girls she loved to send to Probation Hall.
“This must be one of the first times you’ve ever been in trouble,” Dean Howell said, as Katrina began to calm down.
“Yes, ma’am. I’ve never been in trouble at school,” she said, hiccuping a bit.
“I’m going to be speaking for you at the meeting on Academic Standing, so you might want to tell me what happened to you this semester.”
“I have no excuse,” Katrina said. “My actions were irresponsible, and I did not have any of my priorities in line.”
Dean Howell was amazed. Every student she had ever seen had always had an excuse for failing classes, no matter how lame or unbelievable.
“I’m sorry,” Katrina said, a sob escaping her.
“I appreciate your honesty, and I wish I had more of a positive case to state at the meeting. The Committee will more than likely decide to ask you to take a year off from school,” she said, gently.
Katrina’s heart sank. Her parents will know what she did, and they will be so deeply disappointed in her. She wasn’t sure she could bear it. She never wanted to let them down. They loved her so much and had such high expectations for her success.
“There is another option,” the Dean continued, and Katrina looked up, hopefully. “If you want to take it.”
“I’ll take it,” Katrina said, eagerly.
“Listen to what I have to say first,” the Dean said. “And then I want you to take a full 24 hours to think about it.” Katrina nodded solemnly. “We have a special hall- two, actually- for students on academic or social probation. The two halls are separated by gender, but are run in exactly the same way. We call it “Probation Hall.” It’s an alternative option to taking the year off for people who want to reform their ways and become serious about school.”
“I do,” Katrina said, eagerly, nearly jumping out of her seat.
“Wait until I describe the Hall to you before you decide. I can only put you on the Hall with your full, signed consent. The reason is because Probation Hall is a place where we reform students,” the Dean said, choosing her words carefully. “The Hall has very specific, strict rules that are to be completely obeyed with complete compliance.”
Katrina nodded, wide eyed.
“Firstly, you lose all privileges. I’m not sure how strict your parents were, but I have no doubt that Probation Hall is much more strict. You will be told when to go to bed, when to eat, and when to study. Class attendance is mandatory and there are penalties to be paid for any missed class or infractions of the rules. You will be barred from all social events held on campus and there will not be a telephone or internet connection in your room. You will not have a roommate, as no one does on Probation Hall. However, according to the other students, you will be a regular student. No visitors are allowed on Probation Hall, but all of the students on the Hall never speak about it and act like it is natural that they don’t have friends in their room. Only those who have had academic or social trouble at the University are aware of Probation Hall. It is something that we even keep secret from the professors because we feel that Probation Hall is a place to reform a student, not shame them into transferring to a different school. Your classes will be chosen for you, most of them will be repeats of the classes you took this semester. You will be given a tutor and will be required to take workshops on time management, study habits, and other issues we think are important. Here is the part where we will need your signed consent.” Dean Howell stopped and took a deep breath. “We hire Resident Advisors specifically for this position. On your hall, your RA is a woman in her 40’s who has experience working in a dorm setting with college students. She has a Master’s degree and is working on her Ph.D. in administration of higher education. We hire much older R.A.'s for a specific purpose. There is a strong, solid tradition of corporal punishment on the Hall.”
Dean Howell paused, measuring the girl’s reaction.
“Co-corporal punishment?” Katrina said, nervously.
“When you sign the consent form to live on Probation Hall, you agree to be spanked as often as your RA deems fit.”
Katrina’s head began to spin. Spanked? At eighteen? Her thought went to her parents, who had never spanked her in her entire life. They had never even slapped her.
“This is a serious decision to make, Katrina, and you can choose to say no right now and hope that the Committee on Academic Standing will vote in your favor. Considering your honesty with me here today, I can tell you now that it will be highly unlikely that they will vote in your favor.”
“You- you g-get spanked?” Katrina sputtered.
“Yes,” the Dean said.
Katrina thought again of her parents’ deep disappointment. There was also a small part of her, deep inside that was curious about spanking. When Dean Howell had said the word “spanked,” Katrina had felt a slight tingle between her legs. She wasn’t sure what it meant because her heart was pounding too hard and her head was so cluttered with thoughts of her regret and of her parents that she couldn’t analyze her slight arousal at the thought of being spanked.
“I need to think about it,” she heard herself say to the Dean.
“Once you are on Probation Hall, you are there for the entire semester. You will be signing liability and consent forms that keep us protected from any legal action taken against us if you feel mistreated. We pick the R.A.’s for these two halls carefully, making sure that they are kind people who indeed want to see their students succeed and have no sadistic interest in harming their students in any way. All problems associated with the Hall are handled internally because we do not want what we do to become public. Many would frown on the method, even though it has a 100% success rate. Not to mention what the parents would do if they found out what happens to the students on the Hall. As far as I know, no student has ever told their parents that they were even on Probation Hall. Still, we like to be careful and I want you to put a lot of thought into what you’re getting into.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Call me by 5 tomorrow and let me know what your decision is,” she said.
Katrina nodded, almost completely in a whir. A year off or a semester of rules and spankings? It made her head spin just thinking about it.
She returned to her dorm room and lay down on her bed. Her roommate had thankfully gone home for the winter holidays.
Katrina took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She thought again of her parents and how deeply ashamed they would feel should she be forced to take a year off from school. Her mind then flipped to the idea of being spanked and her stomach fluttered. She wasn’t sure she could handle that type of humiliation. She wasn’t a small child. But she had acted like one all semester.
She rolled over onto her side. She was being given a second chance. The odds were against her that she would get off without consequence, but here was her chance to redeem herself and turn her college career around. She figured the rules couldn’t be any harder than the rules had been in high school or her parents’ house. She thought about how good it would feel to bring a good report to her parents. They didn’t need to know about this semester. Fortunately, all of her classes, as with all freshman classes, were pass/fail. All they would need to know is if she passed. She didn’t need to tell them the truth, although she hated to lie to them. It was better to tell them she passed and spend a semester on the Hall than face them with failed classes and a year off. They would never even need to know that she had any trouble her first semester. She had been lying about how her classes were going and how she spent her time.
Although she still couldn’t consciously admit it, the thought of being spanked aroused her. Something went funny in her stomach and tingled between her legs when she thought of it. She was also starting to think it was the price she needed to pay for a semester of irresponsibility. All of the independence had been so overwhelming that at times she had wished for the structure and rules of grade school, high school, and her parents’ house.
She couldn’t get past the thought that on this hall, she would be spanked. She sighed deeply. What were her other options? She could, perhaps, come clean to her parents and tell them everything that happened this past semester. In order to do that, she would have to confess all the times she lied. Her parents could even decide that college isn’t the best environment for her and withdraw her permanently. She remembered when her parents began to send her to private school in the middle of ninth grade because she began hanging around with what her mother considered to be “unsavory characters.” She wouldn’t put it past them to take her out of college and force her to get a job. It wasn’t that she was opposed to working; she wanted a college degree. It seemed unlikely that her parents would completely force her to leave college. What seemed more likely is that they would force her to transfer to a school closer to home and make her commute. She hated that thought above all others. She was finally doing something that wasn’t under the watchful eyes of her parents, and she liked that.
Her head started to hurt. She changed into more comfortable clothes, washed her face, and crawled under the covers of her bed. She always took a nap when she couldn’t think straight.
“Katrina Ilayna Halaway, come here this instant!”
Katrina twisted her the curl at the end of her braid around her finger and ambled over to an older woman with a stern look on her face. She thought this woman was her teacher, but the woman did not look like any teacher she ever had. Katrina also felt as she did when she was ten years old.
The woman took her arm and sat down in a chair. She hoisted Katrina over her knee and began to spank her. Katrina kicked her legs and wiggled to get away, but the spanks only fell harder on her bottom. Something about it was terrifying yet exhilarating at the same time.
In a half-asleep state, Katrina realized that her hand was between her legs and her fingers were gently rubbing her clitoris. She moaned softly, still caught half way between consciousness and unconsciousness. She felt the moisture grow between her legs as she could still feel the firm hand across her bottom. The visuals of the dream had vanished, and all that was left was the sensations of her helplessness of being layed across a knee and being spanked. Her face flushed to a deeper shade of red as she felt the throbbing of an intense orgasm. Her toes curled and her body trembled.
As she fell into a softer, more blissful sleep, she had made her decision.