“A hundred dollars for one hour's work? Is this scheme legal?”
Sue grimaced at the thought. “The posting said it's legitimate research funded through the Neuropsychology Department.”
“Well, *I* wouldn't do it.”
Of course not, Sue thought. Olivia is a princess who wants for nothing. She has no concept of how it feels to be a poor college student. She spends more on her hair than her two roommates combined spend on clothes.
Still, Olivia's offer to drive Sue and Carole to the Shakespeare festival next weekend was very attractive. They love renaissance fairs and the plays and the music and the food and the shopping and the costumes and... But how? Again, it comes down to money or lack of it. Admission alone was $20.
Sue decided to at least investigate the strange offer posted in the dormitory lounge. A hundred dollars could go a long way toward making campus life tolerable.
When Sue typed the address from the posting into her browser, an official looking university web page appeared. It confirmed what the posting had stated. Volunteer test subjects would be paid one hundred dollars for one hour of work at a time to be scheduled.
To get more information, Sue had to enter her name and student ID number. She wondered whether this was one of those identity theft scams the university always warns them about. But after providing the required data, an informational page was displayed.
It explained that a graduate student in the Neuropsych Department was conducting research into the effects of pain on cognitive function. Volunteers would be asked to complete an online test of basic skills. Once the test is completed, they would be subjected to temporary discomfort and asked to complete a second, comparable online test.
Temporary discomfort. What could that mean? If it involves needles, Sue thought, there's no way. But maybe it's something that's not so bad like a Chinese finger trap. For a hundred dollars, she wanted to find out.
Sue answered a series of questions on the Web page. They were trying to determine whether she was a fit subject for the research. She was asked for her name (again), age, gender, height, weight, and major. They inquired about medical history, medications, and disabilities. Once she had entered the information, Sue was informed that she was suitable to participate. She was assigned a time of 4:45 the following afternoon. She was instructed to report to door number three in the side of the old football stadium.
This arrangement sounded weird and it probably was, but Sue resolved to do whatever it took to go with Olivia to the festival on Saturday.
Walking from her history class, Sue tried to think about anything other than “temporary discomfort.” It had been a routine day. The English quiz was easier than expected, but lunch in the dining hall was a horror. Tuna casserole. Really?! Who eats that?
Leaves danced across the stone pathway as the chill of autumn had apparently come to stay. A jacket would have made this late afternoon journey more comfortable, but there was no time cross the quad and get it.
Sue's phone confirmed that it was precisely 4:45 when she arrived at the far side of the stadium. As the web site had described, there was a door sunk a couple of feet below the level of sidewalk and leading into the side of the old sports stadium. After savoring a last inhalation of fresh air, Sue walked down the three steps and grasped the tarnished doorknob.
Before she could turn the knob, the heavy metal door swung open. Suddenly, standing before her was a very tall, slim man with wavy light brown hair and dressed in tan cargo pants and a black tee shirt. He said his name was Kurt. He hastily shook Sue's hand and urged her to follow him.
Kurt led her down a dark set of damp concrete stairs leading to a dimly illuminated passage beneath the grandstand. As they began their descent, Sue heard the door swing close and lock behind them with a definitive “ka-chunk” sound.
Kurt was not at all what Sue had anticipated. She expected someone nerdy wearing black plastic glasses and a white lab coat. This guy could very easily sell hot dogs upstairs at the game.
They came to a plain wooden door with the words “Neuropsychology Lab” stenciled upon it. Kurt opened the door and gestured for Sue to enter. The lab was as bright and expansive as the hallway had been dingy and cramped. The cement walls were white and looked to have been recently painted. Rows of florescent lights hung from the vaulted ceiling cast a faint bluish aura. What appeared to be university surplus pod furniture was strewn around the edges of the large subterranean chamber.
From behind one of the pod walls emerged a sturdy mature woman. She wore a white long sleeve blouse, a knee-length navy wool skirt, and black flats. Her demeanor was cold and severe. Ms. Tomaszewski introduced herself to Sue as the research proctor. Her job, she explained, was to ensure that procedures and controls were strictly followed and that no serious harm would befall the subjects.
Serious harm? Sue thought. What had she gotten herself into?
Ms. Tomaszewski presented Sue with a consent form which she was encouraged to read thoroughly and then sign.
Following the advice of the matronly proctor, Sue scanned the form. It stated that she granted her permission to the university and its representative to administer a series of spankings. She also agreed to hold them blameless for any injuries or infirmities that may occur either incidental to or as a consequence of the spankings. This was a possibility she hadn't considered. Sure, she'd had some fun playing around with a high school boyfriend, but those weren't real spankings. This was her moment of truth.
In an instant of blind impulse, Sue signed the consent form and then pushed it away. Que sera sera. Let the spankings begin. There was no turning back.
Ms. Tomaszewski thanked her and snatched away the form to file. Kurt then directed Sue to a pod and asked her to sit down in front of a laptop. The program on the laptop presented a series of color images that she had to try to remember in sequence. In about ten minutes, Sue had completed the exercise.
Knowing what was next, and yet having no idea, Sue arose slowly. Kurt was now standing right behind her. In the darkness of the hallway, she hadn't noticed his cornflower eyes or his angular jaw.
“Please come with me,” he beckoned. “Ms. T, we are ready.”
They entered a larger pod in one corner of the cavernous room. In the center was a simple wooden table with a few metal folding chairs scattered around it. Sue imagined it might be used as a meeting room.
“Sue, I am going to spank you now.” Kurt said in a voice that seemed almost gentle. “If you wish to back out, this is your last chance.”
“No, no. Let's do it.” She replied barely above a whisper.
Kurt was now holding a rounded brown leather paddle that looked to be about a foot in length. The striking surface was visibly worn.
“OK. Please stand here, lean forward, and place your forearms on the table. I will deliver one hundred swats on your bottom with this paddle. I will do so in sets of ten. If you want me to pause between sets, please indicate this by saying the word, 'pause.' I expect you will remain in position until the spanking is complete. If you choose to express your discomfort by screaming or crying, that is permissible. I can assure you that no one else will hear you down here. Do you understand these instructions?” Kurt's tone was suddenly bold and commanding.
“Um, yes. Do I have to take my pants off?”
Ms. Tomaszewski shuffled from one side of the table to the other in a manner that suggested she was uncomfortable with this question, but she remained quiet. She scratched some notes on her clipboard.
“No, Sue, your jeans will be just fine.” explained Kurt, “Shall we begin?”
“All right...”
Sue tried to prepare herself for what was about to transpire. Except it didn't. Maybe it was a minute, but it seemed like an hour. Kurt stood behind her and seemed to be surveying her upturned curves.
Then without warning, Kurt began to strike the seat of Sue's faded jeans in an alternating left-right pattern. Each time the paddle impacted, it generated a cannon-like bang that reverberated throughout the large room. Initially, the sound shocked Sue as much as the pain. When Kurt reached ten, he announced this milestone. Out of the corner of her eye, Sue thought she spotted Ms. Tomaszewski nodding approvingly.
After only a few seconds, Kurt renewed his systematic assault. As if scientifically measured, each strike seemed carefully gauged to be equally painful. The sizzling blows repeatedly struck the same two spots low on Sue's bottom. After the second ten, Sue wondered whether she could tolerate the full hundred. She clenched her teeth and silently vowed to continue.
Somewhere between thirty and forty, the pain became so immediate that Sue had to vocalize her discomfort. What she meant to be a scream, however, emerged as a mere squeak. Panting had robbed her of her full voice.
Again and again the paddle made solid contact with Sue's denim covered posterior. She lifted first one foot and then the other, but managed to stay in place.
She sighed with relief when Kurt finally uttered the words, “One hundred.” Her spanking was over.
Sue wanted to take a few minutes to compose herself, but Kurt explained that the rules of the experiment dictated she she take a second test immediately. Disoriented but compliant, she trudged behind him back to the small pod where they began.
Sue grimaced as she sat on the unpadded office chair. Never had she been spanked so thoroughly. Her bottom felt hot and undulated with prickly soreness.
The test seemed harder this time, though she couldn't be sure. Within a few minutes, she was finished. As she was completing the last of the questions, Sue heard Kurt bidding Ms. Tomaszewski good evening. The door banged as it closed behind her.
“All done?”
“Yes, I think so.”
“Are you OK to walk home?”
“I guess. So... Am I your last spanking of the day?”
“Yes, I'm going home too.”
“Well, it's dark outside now. I'd feel safer if you walked me back to the dorm.”
“All right. I can do that.” Kurt grabbed his backpack, turned out the lights, and locked the door to the lab.
They tromped up the dank steps and emerged behind the stadium. It was indeed dark.
“Kurt, what is that place?”
“It used to be the marching band room until they built a new one about twenty years ago. Now it's our neuropsych lab.” Our nickname for it is “the catacombs.”
“I can see why. Do I get my $100 now?”
“It will be credited to your campus account tomorrow.”
“OK, that'll work.”
“Are you still sore?”
“Are you kidding? My butt is on fire!” Sue punctuated the sentence by vigorously rubbing with both hands.
“Oh, sorry.” Kurt's knowing smile sabotaged his apology.
“I don't think you're all that sorry. You like paddling girls.”
“You don't understand. It's scholarly research. I hope to get my findings published in a peer-reviewed journal.”
“But you do love to spank girls...”
“Why would you say that?”
“I can tell. Call it a woman's intuition.”
“Oh yeah? What else does your intuition tell you?”
“It tells me that you won't mind if I do this...” Sue reached her arms up and placed her hands behind the neck of her much taller companion. She then stretched to kiss him squarely on the lips. Slowly, Kurt's long arms wrapped themselves around her torso. This first spontaneous kiss in the grove behind the old stadium lasted nearly a minute. The second one was longer.
“You can spank me anytime, be it business or pleasure.”
Kurt was now the one who was surprised. He had enjoyed spanking Sue, maybe more than the others. Could it be that he was picking up her vibe? Or pheromones? Ultimately, he decided while this was an interesting question, it didn't matter.
“Are you cold?” he whispered.
“No, I have a very ouchy bottom to keep me warm.”
“No, I know. I mean the rest of you. I have a sweater in my backpack if you'd like to wear it.”
“OK. Thanks. You know, it's too late for me to get dinner in the dining hall. But if you'd like to give me an advance on my $100, we can get some subs at the Scene.”
“That sounds great. Let's do it, but I'll pay.”
“So, Kurt... What are you doing on Saturday?”
