Copyright 1998 to <mollyb@newsguy.com> Please respect this copyright. Don't distribute or archive this story in any way except for personal use without explicit permission. No, it's not in the public domain. Ask first, okay? Thanks.

Jamie and Alan: the Slightly Plaid Chapter
by MollyB

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 tone.

"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 reach him.

"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!" a pout.

"Cheeky, sprayer-wielding brat!" a few more smacks.

Shared giggles, broad smiles, knowing looks, love.

"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 was headed.

"It was due Monday, right?"

"Yes."

"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 way, too?"

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?"

"Yes."

"College?"

"Yes."

"High school?"

"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 this?"

Jamie stared at the floor and said nothing.

"Are you? Look at me."

"No." quietly

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 was time.

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 floor.

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?"

"Yes."

"Yes? Yes?"

Jamie puzzled a bit. And then, "Yes, sir."

"Good, then."

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, conference papers.

"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 one.

"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, shall we?"

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?" smack

"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?"

SMACK "oww"

"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 panties.

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.

sniffle, sob

"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."

WHAP SWAT

Jamie's bottom flattened and bounced as the swats landed.

SWAT "oww" SMACK

"oh, shit"

"You just earned yourself another 5 for language, language very unbecoming a schoolgirl."

SWAT WHAP

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 nightgown.

"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 them.

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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