Homework Loopholes

The new school year has arrived

Pura and I have a system in place for homework completion. The day she attends class, she completes the homework so it does not weigh her down. Now, of course, that does not always work out perfectly. When she is writing a paper, for instance, she cannot expect to complete the entire thing in one sitting. For these types of homework assignments, she creates a schedule and is expected to stick to it very strictly.

Well, classes just started, and in honor of the new school year, I got Pura a day planner. It smells of leather and fresh, unused paper, and virtually begs to be written in. Every Sunday I go through and plan my week, and I thought it would be a fun activity to do together (not really fun), and it would help her stay organized. So last week we sat down for our first weekend planning session and we went through everything, including meal plans and errands. There was not one time period over the week that was not fully planned and accounted for.

I know, I know. You are out there screaming "control freak!" and I will not even deny it. But homework spankings infuriate me. It's not as though the work is too difficult for a smart girl like Pura. She just gets lazy and procrastinates, and it end up in missed deadlines and low scores. Not acceptable. I am not saying a C-Average is unacceptable for an average person, but Pura is not average. She is excessively book-smart (And note that I did specify book smarts there); it can even be a little annoying at times.

Well, it's Sunday again, so we sat down to plan out our week, and I looked over at her planner and caught her doodling.

"What are you doing?" I asked. "Did you hear me say we have dinner with Patrick tomorrow night? Why didn't you write it down?"

She sucked in her breath, and with it the little piece of her lip she tends to nibble when she's nervous. "I can't go to dinner tomorrow night." This was news to me! Last time I checked, she could go anywhere I wanted her to go.

"What exactly do you mean?" I asked, starting out calm even though her fidgeting proved she had something naughty to report.

"I have to write a first draft of the paper I am writing for my composition class," she answered, and put her beautiful little planner aside in favor of climbing onto her feet. "Do you want some lemonade? I made some earlier." She tried to walk away.

"Hey," I called sharply. "Get back here and tell me why you are turning in a draft of your paper to your professor on a legal holiday. I can't imagine he's happy to work on a holiday."

She looked over her demure shoulder and blinked soft eyes at me. "He's willing to make exceptions for me."

"Because...?" I demanded. I hate having to drag confessions out of Pura. It infuriates me!

"Because he knows I am a hard worker and it's only a few days late."

I rose to my feet then and tossed my book aside in favor of hers. I flipped it open. "Your draft was due Thursday," I declared. "It was only your second class! How can you possibly be behind already?"

She pouted her lips at me and shrugged. "It was really hard to stay focused."

I was not paying her very much attention as I flipped through her book to Tuesday, when she was supposed to have written her thesis and first couple paragraphs for the paper, and then to Wednesday, when she was supposed to have finished the one-page draft. It was only a one-page draft. She was in a class learning about composition; they tended to be very forgiving where drafts were concerned.

"You had the work cut down into bite-sized chunks," I snapped, and looked up into her eyes. "It was all set out for you to succeed. What do you mean, you could not stay focused?"

Another shrug, but she was no longer playing pouty. She knew she was in trouble. "I turned on America's Next Top Model."

TV is absolutely forbidden in the house until homework is finished, but my mind actually snatched onto a different aspect of her confession. "I thought that insipid show doesn't come on until Fridays."

She pressed her lips together and for a moment I felt the fury that rises in my chest every time she lies to me. She must have seen the rage building, because she confessed at once, "I wasn't watching the new cycle. I was watching cycle 12."

I might have been able to be forgiving if it had been the new cycle. But reruns?

"You turned on reruns when you had homework to complete? What were you thinking?" She had seen every episode of that ridiculous show multiple times, so she had wasted her homework time watching something she had already seen.

"It was a marathon," she admitted.

I sucked in my breath and managed to keep a calm voice. "Was there any other pesky homework that tried to get in the way of you watching a rerun marathon?"

Perhaps I was not as calm as I thought.

"Just some math," she said, and slowly folded her arms on her chest and took a small step backward.

"Is it done?" I asked.

She shook her head no. "I asked my professor if I could turn it in on Tuesday. She said that would be fine."

I shook my head, but more emphatically than she had. "No, Pura!" I snarled. "No way! You are not going to piss your time away and then use your charisma to hypnotize professors into granting you an extension."

Pura let out a breath that came dangerously close to a scoff. "It's already done, Mistress. What do you want me to do about it now?"

I guess my surprised expression turned into a commanding one as my shock turned into cool composure, because Pura virtually recoiled. "First, I am going to punish you, and then you are going to do all your homework. And when you're finished with that, you are going to write to your professors and apologize for being a pain in the ass. You will submit your homework tonight and ask your professors to give you no more than half-credit for it."

She cried out at the injustice of punishment, and fairly spluttered over my insistence she take half-credit.

"No way!" she declared. "I already worked it out with both of them. I am not asking them to change their minds!"

"Did you just say 'No way' to me?" I asked coolly.

She squirmed. "I just think you're being silly. I worked it out and now you want me to ask them for half-credit? I can't do that!"

"You can," I replied softly as I crossed the house toward the bedroom. "And you will."

"Mistress!" she called after me.

"Sit down out here and draft the letter to your professors, Pura, while I go find the paddle."

"Mistress!" she pleaded, following me, tugging at my shirt to get me to stop.

I spun around and raised my leg to balance it against the wall. I hauled her over that leg and gave her several successive swats to put her in a more compliant mindset. She cried out in shock and in pain, and then danced away from me when I released her, rubbing her backside furiously.

"I'm sorry," she tried, but it came across petulant. "It won't happen again. I will follow the schedule from now on."

I nodded. "Thank you for telling me that," I said. "Now go back in there and write up a draft of that letter while I find the paddle."

She pouted and might have continued arguing but I reached for her again. She danced away. "I'm going, I'm going," she snapped like a sullen teenaged girl. She flounced away.

I took a very long time getting the paddle. It was in the bedside table, where it almost always resides, but I forced myself to sit in there until I had calmed down. I thought about what I had asked her to do, and it began to seem very silly. She had already worked out a deal with her professors, which showed some proactivity, no matter how I don't like it. Pura can be remarkably proactive once she has already been naughty and she is trying to avoid punishment. I held the paddle and regretted my hasty decision to punish her. There was no damage done. It was early in the semester. I should have calmed down before declaring a spanking.

I handled the paddle and sighed at myself. Then I carried it out to the living room. I imagined myself talking it out with her and coming to a conclusion that she did not need a spanking after all. I felt really good about apologizing for hasty judgment.

With all these utopian thoughts flooding through my brain, I returned quietly to the living room, only to find her watching America's Next Top Model (the newest cycle this time) on her computer! She did not so much as have her email or a word processing document open.

"What exactly do you think you are doing?" I demanded.

She practically jumped a mile. "I was just going to look and see if the new episode had posted yet," she explained, and she closed the lap top and pushed it away as I came around the couch to confront her. I did not bother with confrontational words. I sat down beside her and pulled her over my lap. She yelped.

Instead of starting with a warm-up like I usually do, I snatched her dress up, pushed her panties down and started paddling hard, making the white globes of her buttocks bounce with every jolt. She jumped and hissed more that grease in a pan. She was extremely apologetic within moments, and in several minutes she was sobbing her apologies over my knee and begging me to stop.

I put the brush aside and continued with my hand. It was not much of a concession on my part, as her backside was already red from the top of her pert bottom to the crease of her thighs. It was lucky for her that tomorrow is a holiday, so she does not have to spend it sitting in hard desk chairs.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm so, so sorry!" she sobbed, and I stayed my hand. I pulled her up to a wincing sitting position on my lap, and I kissed her gently.

"I know, Pura," I whispered at her. I dried her eyes, but more tears came immediately. "I am sure you will be more attentive to your schedule from now on. Your studies are far more important than any silly television show."

She nodded and hugged me, probably more to ease off of her bottom than out of particular affection or acquiesence. I swatted her very gently once more. She jumped and sucked in her breath sharply.

"Go and write that dinner with Patrick into your planner for tomorrow," I ordered her softly. "You will be attending, because you are going to finish your homework and write your professors tonight."

I don't know if it was the prospect of having to sit down at the table for the next couple hours on a freshly spanked backside that renewed her tears, or the idea that Patrick is one of our only friends who knows the true nature of our relationship and will be able to tell immediately upon seeing that she is sitting light. She dashed at her tears, grabbed her planner, and picked up her lap top. With one last, entreating glance at me, she went to the kitchen to do her work.

Perhaps it was to defy me, but it only made me smile when she climbed up on top of the wooden surface of the table and stretched out on her belly to do her work. That's where she still is now. And it is still making me smile.

*Sinister little chuckle