He rubbed his eyes. From the distant kitchen, he could read the glow from the clock on the stove – 3:25 AM. Soon, he’d have to be up and active anyhow to make the drive to work. Soon – but not now. He debated crawling back into bed, but Rachel had only drifted off to sleep a few moments ago, and it wouldn’t be worth the effort if he managed to doze off at the cost of waking her.

He shook himself, still dribbling uselessly into the toilet below, his hard-on painfully truncating his stream. The dream that had forced him up wouldn’t leave his mind.

He remembered the scenario vividly. He’d shown up for school late, so late in fact that when the teacher called him up in class, he stood there a grown man. And it wasn't just him, his fellow students, if they could be called that, were just as out of place - the boys with their broad shoulders and five o'clock shadow, the girls with lined faces hidden beneath rouge and mascara, all dressed obscenely in their ties and short pants.

Bertie had never worn a school uniform before. Nor had he ever been late to class, but here he was being assigned detention nevertheless.

After the class had been dismissed, he’d sat there alone at his desk, waiting for the teacher to decide his fate. She’d circled him for a moment, tapping the yardstick she carried. Then she made her decision, and closed the door. The click it made as she locked it made Bertie’s heart skip a beat.

“Bertram, come here.”

He’d crept forward on wobbly legs at her words. The teacher was a tall, commanding woman – and that was all he could describe of her. He’d kept his head lowered as he approached her, watched as her pantyhosed legs crossed under a pencil skirt. She’d taken him by the collar and bent him over across the desk.

“No less than ten for you, young man. Are you ready?”

The yardstick came down with a whack that shook the windows. The sound echoed in the room for a moment, and Bertie watched the shadows playing off of the glass in the door – the others were peeking in, watching his punishment.

“What are you looking at?”

The words dried up in his throat, and he turned away from her. She said nothing more, but her dissatisfaction hung in the room like a storm cloud. Since his answer was not forthcoming, he would pay with his pants. He felt a tug from behind, then the stale classroom air met the back of his thighs. His trousers lay pooled at his feet. And he knew they were all watching. She swung the ruler again.

This was wrong, it was all wrong. He hadn’t done anything!

No, it wasn’t about the punishment. He’d been dreaming, he knew he’d been dreaming. It wasn’t the first fantasy he’d acted out in his subconscious. Freed of the expectations he was burdened under in the waking world, this was where he’d surrendered to his sunken desire of being spanked like a child. But that was it, it was a matter of desire, and there was no desire here.

“Are you crying? I’ll give you something to cry about.”

He shook his head. The teacher was an automaton, a creature formless above the waist that repeated rote lines without soul or inflection. The whole scene, he realized, was from a video he’d watched online earlier that week, one hand wrapped around his cock, the other hovering over the mute button. The video had given him no satisfaction, either. He’d watched ten minutes, then closed it and wiped the sweat from his hands and organ, as he did now.

He’d awoken from the dream sticky with perspiration. When he went to switch on the fan, he’d noticed that Rachel had joined him at some point during the night. Usually, she would not have retired so early into the AM. He imagined she’d had a rough night at the club and had just been relieved to be home, to be able to stretch out and just… let go. He looked at her, spread out and wrapped in the sheets, and shame crept up on him, shame for pursuing a futile fantasy when the woman he loved slept beside him.

Shame for that… and one other thing besides.

***

It was appropriate, he thought, that he’d lost his appetite for fantasy just after it had come true. Sophie was a waitress at the restaurant he managed, they’d had a silent crush on one another for years. They’d made a bet, and he was so certain of his victory that he’d allowed Sophie to punish him as she saw fit in the unlikely event that she won. But win she did, and she’d carried out the threat that she’d uttered and he’d earned, and spanked him bare-bottomed in the employee locker room. He should have felt elated. But he didn’t.

For one thing, his fantasies had always ended in fulfillment – even when he’d turned Rachel over his knee, it had always led to immediate and tumultuous lovemaking. But he and Sophie were friends, not lovers, even despite their mutual attraction, and that was really the greater reason for the guilt that wracked him now.

While his “discipline” had been chaste, he had in a very real emotional sense lost his virginity – and it hadn’t been with Rachel. On the one hand, he argued, there was a very real reason for that. He and Rachel already had a place for spanking in their sex life, and that place was on his lap. He’d rationalized it as that he’d already assumed the dominant role, and that changing that dynamic would put their relationship at risk. If he was to realize his fetish, it followed, he would have to do it with somebody else. Sophie had merely provided the excuse when she whispered in his ear that he was a bad boy and deserved what was coming to him.

But after that night, everything had changed. While Bertie had resumed his job with a straight face, he couldn’t help but blush whenever his path crossed with Sophie. Her first reaction had been to smile at his embarrassment, but after a while, she averted her gaze from him entirely. Then she gave her two weeks’ notice and quietly served out her time, a position where she’d worked for nearly half her life. She said that she was considering going back to school. He stayed silent as she walked away. That she had quit was all he ever told Rachel.

The memory of laying half-naked over Sophie’s knee, his bottom pinkening under her punishing hand, refused to leave him. That was when the porn had taken over. To be fair, neither he nor Rachel were unfamiliar with online erotica, as they both had urges that were often incompatible with their partners’ very different work schedules. But those lonely masturbations had been meaningless until Bertie had discovered his purpose.

The kind of websites he wanted were easy to find – but so hard to get into. He was repulsed by much of what he saw, unenthusiastic leather-clad women belittling fat little men whose faces were lost under blindfolds and masks. He’d gotten bored poring over these scenes, to the point where if he tilted the screen properly, he could be watching porn while Rachel was in the room, his blank expression betraying nothing. But Rachel was a performer by trade and by nature, and it hadn’t taken long before she’d forced his attention back to her.

The long story short, he got wet, she got spanked, and they had cathartic sex in a utility shed. His relationship was mended, but his private fantasy was cast away. He swore off the porn and vowed that he wouldn’t miss the release it gave him.

And then the dreams started again.

This one – the one that had left him irrevocably awake and uselessly hard at three in the morning – was the fourth he’d had since the trip with Rachel. They’d all been scripted, impersonal and humiliating, and all had ended with Bertie lying impotent in the dark.

Exhausted.

Confused.

Ashamed.

Guilty.

He paced the apartment for a half hour, keeping his footfalls quiet so as not to wake Rachel. It became tiresome, so he sat down on the couch and watched the ghosts of the traffic outside drift across the ceiling. He wondered if he should tell Rachel. He wondered what he should tell Rachel.

And as his mind wandered, his body was finally able to relax. Before the clock read four, he was asleep again. Again, he dreamed.

***

He was back in the classroom. His eyes ached, and he told himself, at least you’re sleeping. His surroundings were different this time, and he took them in. The room was dark – the lights were off, the building closed. A tablet lay on the desk on front of him, its glow the only illumination. He glanced over his shoulder, hoping he could tell what time of day it was, but the solid blinds were down.

“I need you to pay attention.”

Bertie nearly jumped from his seat. He’d been so busy investigating his surroundings that he’d assumed he was alone. She spoke with an air of authority that told him this was her class, but this wasn’t the same faceless disciplinarian from his earlier fantasy. Her tone was understanding, but firm. He wasn’t sure how he could tell this.

“Are you listening, Bertie?”

She called him Bertie. His heart skipped. As a man, he was formal and to the point, and most people took that as a cue to refer to him by his given name. He hated it but didn’t want to waste the time correcting everyone he met. “Bertie” was the mark of an intimate few.

“I know.”

Something in her voice told him to look down, and his gaze dropped to the tablet. And he saw in a list his entire search history for the last two weeks. Every porn site that he’d scrubbed, every jpeg, mov, and mp4 that he’d viewed or downloaded. An indeterminable mosaic of smacked, slapped and striped behinds. He thought he’d hidden them so well. His finger tapped at the screen, and the list scrolled on to a time before Sophie. Before even Rachel. When a much younger Bertie had first gone searching for what lay beyond the firewall.

He remembered how his pulse had raced when he saw those grainy jpgs of wailing bare-bottomed girls, and how he longed to be the one who brought his hand down on those juicy little tushes. But as he looked through the list, it brought to light those other pictures, those other stories, where he’d rubbed himself thinking how he should be punished for his online transgressions.

Bertie’s head swam. His stomach lurched into his chest, and his hand moved of its own accord toward the growing tension in his groin.

The teacher’s hand took his before it could reach. She held him in her tiny and delicate fingers. He blushed, knowing he’d been caught, but he couldn’t escape her grasp if he tried.

She stepped closer to him. The pencil skirt hugged the plump hips of a much shorter woman. Bertie kept his eyes away from her. He felt the touch of her fingers on his chin.

“Look at me.”

Slowly, he complied. She smiled.

“You’ve been a very naughty boy, haven’t you?”

The words lay on his tongue, but the thickness in his throat kept any of them from emerging. He gave her a weak nod instead. She laughed. The sound reminded him of wind chimes.

“I know what you’re thinking, Bertie. What you wanted… all you ever had to do was ask. The worst I could say was no.”

“That’s not true,” he mumbled. It took him a moment before he realized that the words had even come out. But since he’d started… “The worst you could say was, that’s disgusting. That’s sick. I thought I knew you.”

“After all the time we’ve spent together?” The corners of her mouth turned down.

Weakly, he asked, “Are you mad?”

“A little. Mostly, I’m disappointed.”

“What are you going to do?”

She stood contemplating him for a moment. “What do you think should happen, Bertie?”

He looked around the classroom again. In his mind’s eye, the room had changed when his attention had been drawn to the teacher. Now instead of dull rows of desks, the class was formed of tables set in circles, with a pair of cubicles for individual study at the back of the room, and a quiet reading corner with a padded bench. They were alone in the room.

He swallowed. “You’re going to punish me?”

“Perhaps. How would I do that?”

“You know.”

“Say the word, Bertie.”

“Spp…” It caught on the tip of his tongue. It was only a word, he told himself. He’d done what the word described, in imagination and reality. Was he so afraid of its power here? He swallowed. “You’re going to give me a spanking. I want you to spank me. I deserve it.”

“Why?”

“Why do I want it, or why do I deserve it?”

“Both.”

“I shouldn’t have kept secrets from you. Not like this, not for so long. I’ve kept this in for so long, and I should have come to you.”

“You really think you deserve a spanking?”

He could feel the blush come over his face when she said the word. Unless he stopped himself now, he’d soon be blushing at the other end as well.

“Yes.”

She nodded in approval and led him by the hand to the bench. She stood easily a head shorter than he, but he couldn’t imagine resisting her for an instant. She sat herself down in the middle of the bench and frowned as her skirt immediately bunched up. She attempted to smooth out the fabric, but it remained hiked at her thighs.

“Whoever made this thing didn’t account for sitting down in it, I’m sure,” She rose again and turned around. “Can you unzip me, Bertie?”

Her request echoed in his mind, and he stood dumb, his mouth open. She sighed, bringing him back to the moment, and he hurriedly applied his fingers to the tiny zipper that rested on her tailbone. He slowly brought her skirt down over the swell of her hips, the curve of her bum, the strong flesh of her thighs. Through her stockings he saw white panties. She cleared her throat.

“This isn’t the best time to be ogling me, young man.”

“You’re beautiful.”

She laughed. “You certainly know what to say when you’re undressing a girl. But now it’s my turn.” She folded her skirt and slung it over the back of the couch, then turned her attention back to Bertie. His hands rested over the button of his pants.

She didn’t wait, pulling the button free and dragging down his zipper. His pants spilled to the floor, and she lifted one leg after another, leaving him standing in his shirt and underwear. Her fingers slipped into the waistband of his briefs, and he felt a sudden pang of modesty.

“No…”

“Bertie, you said yourself that you deserved this.” With a firm tug, she brought left him naked from the waist down and exposed his already stiffening member. He waited for the inevitable comment about his arousal – but instead she merely patted her lap, inviting him to lie across it. And he did, shifting into position over her soft thighs. He was incredibly aware of his position and felt himself stiffening even more. Here he was, his greatest fantasy realized, and he was going to come before she started…

And suddenly, she began. The first slaps were sudden and loud, and he bucked in surprise. She laid a hand over his back and gave his bottom a quick rub.

“Not what you were expecting?”

The sting was setting in quickly. She clearly wasn’t messing around, and Bertie wondered for the first time if he’d really considered what he wanted.

She grinned, the cat having caught the canary. She slowed down her next assault on his rear end, each crisp slap ringing off the walls with its own defined echo. Bertie gritted his teeth with newfound appreciation for what Rachel endured at his hand – sure, he knew that a spanking hurt, but he’d been unprepared for just how much noise her hand on his bottom was making, and how much that noise, that burn, became his entire world. The blush creeping over his face was still stronger than the one she was impressing into his backside, but she was taking her time.

“I think this is finally getting through to you.”

He felt himself rub reflexively against her legs, and he could only nod with her assessment. She relented again, and it took every ounce of self-control he had not to reach back for his sore bottom. As if reading his mind, she spread her fingers across his reddened cheeks and slowly massaged them.

“You’ve handled this very well, Bertie. I understand you’re under a lot of pressure right now, but if you can hold out for just a moment longer, I promise that it will have all been worth it.”

He nodded and tried to shift his concentration off of his current position. Counting the number of seats in the room, reading the titles of the books on the shelf behind him… and then he felt the smooth, cool oval of wood as she slid it across his backside. Where did she get a hairbrush?

“Are you ready?”

“Yes, Rachel,” he stammered.

She lit into him with the heat of a summer day, all concentrated with gusto on his already sore cheeks. He’d been barely hanging on to his composure all this time – as much as any adult could while draped half-naked over the lap of a woman half his size – but he now threw those efforts to the wind. He let out a single long wail as the pain took hold. Up until now, he’d only known the feeling of being spanked – now he knew what it was like to be truly punished.

And then, it was over. She wiped the tears from his eyes and wordlessly invited him to stand. He rose on shaky legs and faced her. His ardour had receded during her interval with the hairbrush, but seeing her again was bringing life back into his loins, and he lowered a hand to cover his privates. She glanced over him and pointed to the corner of the room.

His jaw dropped. “What about making it ‘worth my while’?”

“I stand by that. But I think you need a few minutes to cool down. Wouldn’t you agree?” She reached behind him and slapped his bum, not hard but enough to remind him that he was indeed very sore. He nodded and made his way to the corner, standing in place, every inch the disciplined schoolboy.

After a few moments, he heard a rustle of fabric from where she was sitting. He didn’t dare move his head, but in his peripheral vision he could see her slowly peeling off her sweaty blouse, revealing a very unprofessional pink lace bra underneath. She smiled at him, and he quickly reverted his glance, hoping that she hadn’t seen him looking. He’d previously threatened Rachel with another spanking if she didn’t stay pressed against the wall during “corner time”, and he wouldn’t be surprised if she was holding to the same rules.

He felt her breath on the back of his neck – or at least his back.

“Do you think you’re ready for me, you bad boy?”

***

Bertie sat up suddenly. Reflexively, he checked his surroundings – couch, chair, TV. He was in his apartment, awake at last. His behind was sore, but he suspected that was from sleeping in a seated position more than being punished by his girlfriend – especially since he could hear her snoring from the bedroom.

Punished. The word echoed in his mind. It was a new sensation, one that left him with a simultaneous taste of anticipation and dread. He wanted it, but he was terrified at the same time. Was this just another fantasy, or could he possibly bring it up to Rachel?

Did he dare?