Britney slouched in the blue leather chair, arms crossed tightly over her chest, face scrunched into a scowl. She was eighteen. An adult, sitting in the principal’s office like a goddamned kid because that hag, Anderson, had it out for her. Britney wasn’t the only one to have drawn on that desk. But she was the only one sent to the office for it. She huffed.

Principal Porter sat in his chair on the other side of his massive desk, his blue eyes scanning a sheet of paper that he was holding in his hand. He ignored Britney, and that ticked her off. She huffed again, louder this time.

“Miss Ashford, I will deal with you in one moment. Until then, please, sit there—” He paused, looked over his paper, and made eye contact with her. “Quietly.”

He returned to his paper, ignoring Britney. Again. Gray-haired, old bastard. She shifted in her seat, making as much noise as she could, crossing her legs and tapping her foot against the air. Her knee poked out from beneath the ugly blue tartan skirt of her school uniform, the skin tan against the drab fabric. A single blonde hair stuck to her black knee-high sock. Great. Now she was going bald. She plucked the hair from her sock and let it drop onto the gray carpet.

She fidgeted around in her seat; the leather creaked and groaned beneath her as she fixed her ponytail, glaring at Porter the whole time. On the white wall behind him, under the clock, hung several framed academic awards. An American flag stood in one corner, filing cabinets in the other.

Principal Porter set the paper down. “Miss Ashford. You have been sent to my office for defacing school property. Is that correct?”

Britney scoffed. “That desk was already covered in crappy drawings! Mrs. Anderson just hates me.”

“Miss Ashford, this year alone you have been in my office on six separate occasions. It appears you have an acute disciplinary issue. An issue that will need to be addressed. I’m afraid I will have to call your parents.” His tone was serious.

Britney snorted. “Bethany and Rogah?” She mocked Roger’s name with an exaggerated mid-Atlantic accent, dropping the –er for a drawn-out ‘ah’ sound. Britney looked at the clock. “It’s eleven o’clock. Bethany is two bottles deep into a Chardonnay, and Rogah is probably balls deep in some skank from the country club.”

Principal Porter’s hand struck his desk with a boom loud enough to make Britney flinch. “Language, Miss Ashford,” he bellowed.

Britney pursed her lips as Principal Porter rose from his chair. He seemed larger now that he loomed before her.

“It seems a more personalized form of punishment will be required,” Principal Porter said as he unbuttoned his gray blazer.

Britney swallowed; something about his tone made her feel uneasy. Porter draped his blazer over the back of his chair. His white cotton dress shirt stretched across broad shoulders. He undid the cuffs of his shirt and rolled the sleeves up to his elbows. Britney gripped the wooden arms of the chair, her tanned knuckles turning white.

He glowered at Britney; his eyes were piercing. “Stand up, Miss Ashford.”

She hesitated before rising from the chair; an uneasiness washed over her. Britney’s knees felt weak, her palms sweating as her mind raced.

“Over the desk,” he commanded.

Britney’s jaw dropped. “What?”

Principal Porter did not reply. Instead, he grabbed her by the shoulder and pushed her face down onto the massive desk. His grip was firm and unwavering. Her heart pounded in her chest, her breath quickened. She gasped as he lifted her skirt; she tried to rise from the desk, but he held her down. Before she could scream out in protest, Porter struck her backside with the palm of his hand. Hard. The slap seemed to echo off the walls, the skin beneath her pink Calvin’s stung. He slapped her again. She was being spanked? She was a fucking adult, and he was spanking her? Britney’s mind raced as tears welled in her eyes. She clenched her fists, red-painted nails digging into her palms. Principal Porter struck her behind twice more before releasing his grip.

Britney straightened, yanking her skirt back into place, her hands trembling as she smoothed the fabric. She spun to face Principal Porter, her breath coming in sharp, ragged bursts.

“You spanked me,” she spat out between sobs.

Principal Porter opened his office door. “You may return to class now, Miss Ashford.”

“But—” Britney sputtered, her voice cracking. “You—” She searched for the words, but none came. Her frustration boiled over. Britney balled her fists, stomped her foot, and let out a sharp, exasperated yell before storming out of the office.

Britney paused at the office door; her hand hovered over the polished knob. It had been days since she was last sent to Principal Porter’s office—days since he had spanked her. She’d kept her behavior in check since then, the sting of humiliation still fresh. Yet there was something else, something she couldn’t quite name. Something that made her call Mrs. Tomlinson an ‘old hag’. She knew it would result in a trip to the principal’s office. Maybe she hoped it would?

Britney took a deep breath; she opened the door and stepped inside. Principal Porter sat at his desk intently studying some papers. Quietly, she took a seat in the blue leather chair.

“Verbal abuse, Miss Ashford?” Principal Porter continued to study the papers in front of him. Britney sat in silence. He collected the papers on his desk into a neat pile. “Are you prepared for your punishment?”

Britney swallowed hard, her heart pounding in her ears. She rubbed her sweaty palms on her blue tartan skirt. “Yes,” she squeaked.

Principal Porter rose from his chair and removed his suit jacket. He draped it over the back of his chair. Her face grew hot as she struggled to steady her breathing. Britney stood, tracking his every movement. He meticulously unbuttoned his shirt cuff, the muscles of his forearm twitching beneath the skin.

She bent over the desk, the wooden top cool on her burning cheek. She yelped as Principal Porter yanked her skirt up, exposing her panties. With bated breath, she waited, her body rigid, until the silence in the room was shattered by the sharp thud of his hand striking the thin fabric. Another slap, followed immediately by a third. Each slap sent a fresh wave of heat, prickling deeper beneath her skin with every strike. Britney clenched her fists, her body taut, bracing herself for the next blow. It landed, followed by another.

“You may return to class, Miss Ashford,” Principal Porter’s voice, unwavering.

Britney adjusted her skirt, acutely aware of the warmth spreading between her legs. Her thoughts a whirlwind, her head spinning. Why was she aroused? Was it the spanking? Did she want this? A fresh wave of embarrassment washed over her. Head down, eyes on the floor, she hastily left his office.

A couple of days had passed since Britney’s last visit to Principal Porter’s office, but the memory lingered. She sat in Mrs. Anderson’s history class, scrolling Instagram on her phone—she knew it was against school rules. The bell had rung, but she continued scrolling, ignoring Mrs. Anderson’s pointed reminders to put it away. Britney did not protest when she was sent to the principal’s office. She slipped her phone into her bag, her pulse quickening. That morning, she had put on her favorite pink thong—the one that Bethany had forbidden her to wear. She was ready. No, she was eager for her punishment today.

Britney bent over the large desk, her left cheek against the cool wood. Principal Porter lifted her skirt, exposing her pink thong and bare ass. His approving grunt caused Britney to smile, and a warmth washed over her. She stood on her toes to present herself to Principal Porter; the muscles in her buttocks and thighs flexed. His hand cupped her ass, the fingers hot on her smooth skin, her breath caught in her throat. The tender touch was unexpected but not unpleasant. His hand withdrew. Britney braced herself for the blow. Her body tensed, her eyes squeezed shut. His hand struck the skin of her buttock with a sharp slap. She exhaled with a gasp. The sting spread through her backside, and the heat between her legs grew. Her nipples stiffened, straining against the fabric of her bra. Principal Porter struck her again and again. He paused. Britney felt his fingers caress the burning skin of her buttock; she whimpered under his touch. She slowly gyrated her hips while his hands massaged and squeezed her ass. Britney groaned when his hands slid from her ass; she held her breath, waiting. He cleared his throat.