Room, Board and Hairbrush 1
By Red Rover
[email protected]
Copyright 2017 by Red Rover, all rights reserved
*
* * * *
This work is intended for ADULTS ONLY. It may contain depictions of
sexual activity
involving minors. If you are not of a legal age in your locality to
view such material or
if such material does not appeal to you, do not read further, and do
not save this
story.
* * * * *
ROOM,
BOARD AND HAIRBUSH
By
Red
Rover
INTRODUCTION
Tracy Carter is a 25-year-old woman who has had
a very dubious academic background, due mostly to her immaturity and
failure to
take her studies seriously. She has managed to get an education degree
and pass
the Graduate Record Examination, but with a marginal score. Small and
childish
in appearance, as well as demeanor, nobody encouraged her to pursue a
career in
teaching. Instead, she has found herself in a Master’s program in
Computer
Science at Farkel University. Farkel is unknown to the general public
but
well-known in academic circles as a place for errant offspring of
well-off
parents with good trust funds and limited academic abilities. To keep
her out
of serious trouble, Tracy’s parents and the University have placed her
in a
boarding house for “problem girls” run by Mrs. Hudson, a former
schoolteacher
with two college-student children. There are nine other “girls’ aged
22-31 in
the house along with Tracy
*********************************************************************************
ROOM,
BOARD AND HAIRBUSH
By
Red
Rover
PART 1
My name is Tracy Carter and I am a brat. Well
my
psychological profile actually describes me as "emotionally immature,
impulsive and rebellious." That's psychobabble for "a brat.".
So, at age 25-1/2, instead of teaching junior
high school English in some suburban town and producing a baby or two,
I am
starting a Master's program in Computer Science at Farkel University.
You never
heard of Farkel? Well if you were a girl who had been kicked out of a
half-
dozen schools in the past seven years, just barely managed to pass the
GRE but
had an education trust fund that would pay full tuition, you would find
out
about Farkel.
Why computer science and not an education
degree? Every counselor who ever looked at my school record and my
psychological profile laughed themselves silly when I said I wanted to
be a
teacher. Plus, the fact that I am barely five feet tall on a good day
with an
extra pair of socks, look about 14 and have a tendency to break out
into
giggles under stress. I figured that with a CS degree, I could hide in
the back
room with the other nerds and not have to try to establish law and
order in
front of a class of smartass kids who were all bigger than i was. Plus,
I am
really good at puzzle solving and number manipulation and really do
quite well
with the computer.
So, I figure, I'll get me a nice apartment in
Farkel City and have a jolly time partying with the other grad students
and
come out after a few years with a degree that will make me Bill Gates
in
pantyhose. But then Mama says no. Since Mama controls the trust fund,
little
Tracy has to listen. She gets together with some people from the school
and
they gabble on about "motivation", "supervision",
"needs structure and direction" and all the other psychobabble I've
ignored for years while I am watching the cute guys walking by outside
and
listening to my I-pod.
Finally, they decide I need to go to Mrs.
Hudson's
boarding house. Close to the bus stop so my suspended license won't be
a
problem. Former sorority house, so plenty of room. Single rooms, no
roommate.
Three bathrooms for ten girls, shared common areas. Breakfast and
dinner on
school days, three meals on weekends. Girls are all grad students at
Farkel. Mrs.
Hudson has two kids who are undergrads at Farkel and help with
housework. So,
they call Mrs. Hudson and she comes in to sign legal papers - seems
like a lot
of papers for just a room and board agreement, but there's a lot of
legal mumbo
jumbo about "guardianship", "waiver of majority rights",
"physical discipline", "in loco parentis" and more crapola
I don't begin to understand. But I figure if I don't sign it it's a
lifetime of
"you want fries with that?" So, I sign here, initial there and so do
Mama, Mrs. Hudson and the school people.
I gave Mrs. Hudson a check for the first
month's
rent and since I have only about a hundred bucks in my checking
account, Mama
gives me my allowance check to cover that and my other expenses for the
next
month. It's not a bunch of money, but I figure I can wheedle her out of
more
later. So, we haul my clothes and stuff over to the house and move me
in. Not
much moving in actually, just my clothes, computer and basic stuff,
most of my
stuff is still at Mama's house in Ohio. The house is old but nice.
Three
floors, I share a bath with three other girls on the third floor, six
girls
share two baths on the second floor and there is a big apartment for
Mrs.
Hudson and her kids on the first floor. Her boy, Greg, is eighteen and
a
freshman at Farkel, majoring in Computer Science - hey, lucky break
there, I
can pick his brain and he can pick mine. He is also huge, about six
feet two
and 200 pounds of muscle. The girl, Rita is also tall, maybe five ten
and looks
like an athlete. She's 19 and a sophomore majoring in Economics. Mrs.
Hudson is
in her mid-forties, widowed and a former schoolteacher.
The next few days are a blur with registration,
finding classrooms and all the other stuff associated with a new
school. So, I
don't pay much attention to what's going on at the rooming house. I
have met
some of the girls and they seem OK - ages range from 22 to 31. There is
a huge
dining room and all 13 of us can eat at once, but not at the same
table, of
course. Mrs. Hudson cooks breakfast which is served on a "eat it now or
go
hungry" basis at 7:00 on school days and 8:00 on weekends. Lunch is at
noon on weekends and dinner is always at 6:30. She has a cook, Mrs.
Ballantine
who cooks dinners six days a week, Sunday is kind of "leftovers day"
or something that Mrs. Hudson and Rita can whip together quickly.
Next to the dining room is a parlor where you
can relax and talk with the other girls (though there hasn't been time
for that
yet with all the early term rushing around.). It's also a place where
the
girls' dates can wait for the girls to come down from their rooms. (I'm
not
sure what the rules are about guys in girls' rooms, but the situation
hasn't
come up yet for me.) There is also a very nice library where you can
read, plug
your computer into the Internet or just nap - the chairs are real
comfy. In the
basement, there is a TV room and a game room which has a ping pong
table,
another Internet connection and another TV for girls that don't like
what's on
the main TV.
So, it's Friday and I am sitting at the table
about to take her first sip of soup when I hear my name called from the
head
table.
Mrs. Hudson looked at my startled expression
and
repeated her previous statement. "Tracy's rent check bounced this
morning
so she will receive her first spanking tonight at 7:30 in the front
parlor.
Tracy, you will report promptly at 7:25, dressed only in your pajamas.
Anybody
else desiring to witness the spanking should be seated by 7:25 so as
not to
disrupt the proceedings. Any questions?'
My mind raced with a bewildering series of
words
and images: “check bounced?” “spanking?” “FIRST spanking???” “pajamas?”
“WITNESSES?”
Something was VERY wrong here!
Bu...bu..bu..but I paid the rent three days
ago,
" I stammered, blushing furiously as I tried to beat back the mental
images. The giggles from the other table didn't help any.
"Indeed, you did, child," the older
woman smiled. "But it seems you neglected to put the money into your
checking account."
("Oh, shit." I thought as I suddenly
remembered my allowance check reposing at that very moment in my sock
drawer.
"This is a hell of a way to start a school year.”)
"I can cover it, Mrs. Hudson, “I blurted
out loud, "It was just an oversight, it won't happen again, I
promise."
"Indeed, it will not,” Mrs. Hudson replied.
"I spoke with your mother and she has made arrangements so that your
rent,
board, phone and other monthly bills will be paid out of her account
automatically. Of course, your monthly allowance check will be
considerably
smaller, but she has agreed that I can advance you small amounts of
money from
time to time to cover unexpected expenses. Just check with Rita or Greg
if you
need a few dollars for the movies, pizza or whatever."
But I am an adult, twenty- five- years old, a
graduate student at the university," I whined. "I can't be asking a
couple
of kids for pocket money."
Mrs. Hudson smiled indulgently. "No, child,
you are NOT an adult, whatever your driver's license says. You and the
other
girls at this home are here because you are NOT adults." She looked
around
at the other nine young women at the table. They all suddenly became
interested
in their soup, salad, the tablecloth, the ceiling, anything but meeting
my eyes
or Mrs. Hudson's.
"No indeed, you girls are here because you
are chronologically between the ages of twenty-two and thirty-one, but
emotionally and mentally at a pre-teen or early teen maturity level.
You have
demonstrated the inability to function as independent adults, so you
have been
placed in an environment where you will be protected, disciplined and
allowed
to develop at a reasonable pace."
"You and your parents have all signed
agreements to that effect. And those agreements specifically call for
corporal
punishment 'at the discretion of the designated guardian. or her
authorized
representatives.' And, of course, Greg and Rita are my authorized
representatives."
This was getting worse, Greg was 18 and Rita
was
19; surely, THEY would be in charge of me? My heart was pounding - she
was so
sure of what she was saying I was kicking myself for not reading that
damned
contract before I signed it.
As I looked around, the aforementioned Gregg
and
Rita returned to the room bearing the main course and carrying away the
mostly
unfinished soup plates.
Grimly, I set about eating the bulk of my
dinner. "The Condemned Girl ate a hearty meal,” I thought, though there
seemed to be a watermelon in the bottom of my stomach and my brain was
still in
a whirl. "OK, I kept telling myself, I'll get over her lap and she'll
slap
my ass a few times and the other girls will laugh at me. I mean, she
couldn't
give me a REAL spanking like a kid would get, could she?"
After supper, I climbed up to her third story
room. Now to select a uniform for this silly-assed "spanking." I
finally selected a pair of thin but opaque blue pajamas. They would
protect my
modesty but would allow Mrs. Hudson's hand to make a suitable
impression on my
bottom. I would have liked to wear my heavy flannel pajamas but that
would make
it look more obvious that I was trying to protect my bottom and the she
might
decide to lower them and spank me on my very skimpy panties. I hoped
fervently
that the two kids would be still doing the dishes and not observing my
punishment.
Entering the parlor, my hopes were not only
broken but crushed. Seven of my nine fellow-boarders sat on the various
couches
and chairs along with Mrs. Hudson and Rita. Worse yet, Greg was
standing beside
the armless chair in the center of the room holding a large hairbrush.
I closed my eyes and prayed that an asteroid
would crash through the roof and kill us all. At least I would die with
dignity.
But dignity was not to be. Greg sat down in the
chair and beckoned to me. I just stood there like a total dummy with my
mouth
open and my knees knocking. All of a sudden, I was nine years old and
waiting
for daddy to take off his belt.
Mrs. Hudson spoke sharply. "Get along with
it, child; lie down across his lap." She snickered. "One would think
the silly girl had never been spanked before."
Actually, that was almost correct. My parents
stopped spanking me around age 14 and I'd certainly never been spanked
by a boy
seven years younger than myself.
But I just sighed in resignation and crawled
over the boy's lap. Then I almost lost it when he began to pull down my
pajama
pants! I put a hand back to prevent it, he smacked my knuckles sharply
with the
brush. "NO, you can't do that, not on the panties. please, please," I
begged frantically.
"Naughty girl, “Mrs. Hudson said. "Spankings
in this house are always bare-bottomed. Lift up your bottom so he can
get your
pants down properly."
Oh God, this was the end of any trace of
dignity, but there were no options left. I was already over his lap, he
was
twice my weight and probably five times my strength, So, I humped my
bottom up
slightly. Greg slid the PJ pants down below my knees, followed by my
panties.
The girls tittered some more and I could feel
the cool breeze from the open window on my bare bottom. (WAIT - Open
window?
Will the neighbors hear me getting spanked? Including those two bratty
pre-teens next door? I can hear kids playing outside. Oh, Lord, let me
die
now!)
Gregg pushed up my pajama top so as to get a
firm grip on my bare back and leave me fully exposed from the waist to
the
knees. He then gently rubbed, squeezed and patted my bottom a few times
with
his bare hand. The first spanks were with his bare hand and he
gradually built
up the tempo and power on the spanking until he was giving a rapid-fire
barrage
to my almost virgin - bottom cheeks. By this time, I was crying softly
and
squirming to avoid the spanks albeit ineffectually. Then the spanking
stopped
and I heaved an involuntary sigh of relief. Relief was short lived,
however,
and I soon felt the weight of the hairbrush tapping on my warm,
stinging
bottom.
"Please, Greg, not the hairbrush, " I
pleaded desperately. "Just keep on spanking me with your hand." Screw
dignity, this was REALLY hurting. "I've learned my lesson...I really,
really have. I'll be a good little girl, I will, I will, I will."
Mrs. Hudson snorted and a couple of the other
girls giggled. Greg chuckled. "They all say that when Mr. Hairbrush
makes
his appearance. Including you, Amanda. If you think it's so amusing,
you can be
next."
I didn't remember which of the girls was Amanda
but whoever it was stopped giggling immediately and I heard a girlish
voice
saying, "No, sir, Mr. Greg, you’re doing fine, just ignore my silly
giggling."
I might have smiled at the quick surrender but
then the first stroke of the hairbrush landed full-force on the center
of my
left bottom cheek. My first scream was still echoing in the room when
the
second stroke landed in the center of my right cheek, and I howled like
a
banshee. Greg did not bother varying the tempo with the brush. He
simply
spanked away at every square inch of my bottom until it felt like I was
sitting
on a hot stove and waves of pain were racing up and down my legs from
the waist
to the toes.
I howled, yowled, begged, pleaded, bleated and
bawled and sobbed. My bottom bounced up and down squirming helplessly
in his
firm grip and my legs had a life of their own, kicking off my pants and
panties
early on and then scissoring up and down wildly, revealing my private
parts to
the amused audience at every spank. I was long past caring about
dignity at
this point. Finally, the spanking stopped and I lay limp and exhausted
across
his lap. I could feel the tears, snot and saliva running down my face
and chin
and dripping on the rug, but I didn't' care. My biggest worry was I
might have
released other liquid from an even more embarrassing place, but that
appeared
not to be the case.
Greg had set down the hairbrush and was gently
rubbing my bottom when Mrs. Hudson smiled and arose from her chair.
"Thank
you, Greg, that was well done. Please put the child to bed now and let
her
reflect on her failings overnight. Fortunately, tomorrow is Saturday so
we will
have time for further lessons if necessary."
Further lessons? Please, Lord, No more lessons.
I'm going to die anyway. I couldn't walk or sit or lie down or even
stand up on
her own and they wanted more 'lessons"?
"Now, girls, I am sure you all have
homework or something to keep you occupied for the evening." Mrs.
Hudson
stated. "You know I will have to see all your homework before anybody
gets
to go out tomorrow."
(In the background, I could hear giggling
through
the open window and childish voices making comments like; ‘she really
got it
good tonight.” “Wonder which of them it was.” And “I think it was the
new girl,
I didn’t recognize her voice.” Wonderful, all the neighborhood kids
knew about
the spankings at the Hudson house. I just hope none of them got to
actually see
my humiliation.)
I saw Rita pick up my pajama pants and panties
form the floor. Greg checked my pajama top and bra and discovered they
were all
wet with sweat. He carefully peeled them off and handed them to Rita,
leaving
me completely nude over his lap. "might as well put them all in the
wash," he said, "She won't want anything over her skin tonight
anyway."
Great, now I am completely naked and I have two
flights of stairs to climb and I'm not sure I can even stand up. So
naturally I
dealt with the situation in my usual mature manner, I started bawling
all over
again and that turned to hiccups, wheezing and more snot running out of
my
nose. But Rita, bless her heart, brought back a box of Kleenex after
she
disposed of my jammies and she and Greg cleaned up my face somewhat. I
think I
might have even smiled a little bit at her - she says I did and I guess
I
probably did, though I felt nothing at all like smiling at that point.
So, Rita helped me stand up for a moment and
Greg picked me up like I was a preschooler a carried me up the two
flights of
stairs to room. Fortunately, we didn't meet any of the girls or -worse
yet -
their boyfriends in the halls or on the stairs. Rita went in first and
pulled
down the blankets and upper sheet on my bed. Greg carefully put me down
on my
tummy and straightened out my body into a somewhat comfortable position
Then he pulled out a jar of some kind of skin
cream and carefully rubbed it into my bottom. It hurt at first, but my
muscles
relaxed as he continued to rub my bottom, thighs and legs and I felt a
warm
glow all over my body as my eyes grew heavy and I felt myself falling
into an
exhausted sleep
The next morning, I was awakened by a shaft of
sunlight that suddenly flashed into my face. Startled awake, I saw Greg
adjusting the window shade and smiling. "Time to get up, little
girl," he said.
My groggy mind had lost track of the events of
the previous night and I panicked. "Get out of my room," I screamed.
"What
are you doing in here? My God, I'm naked! You pervert, stop looking at
me! Mrs.
Hudson, help!"
Greg sat down on the bed next to me, grasped me
gently by the shoulders and held me firmly as I trembled in terror.
"Hang
on there, little girl," he said calmly. "Just remember what happened
last night and relax."
Recollection flooded back and I just
instinctively crawled, sobbing into his arms. He held me closely and
cuddled me
until the sobbing stopped. "It's going to be all right. little girl,"
he said soothingly. "I just need to check out your bottom so you can
wash
up and get dressed for breakfast."
I must have blushed from head to foot at that
point, realizing I was still nude, but Greg just chuckled and pulled
out the
jar of skin cream., So I scooted down and lay across Gregg's knees and
allowed
him to rub some more cream into my poor battered bottom. When he was
done I
felt better and was allowed to scramble to my feet beside the bed.
Gregg gave
me a gentle kiss on the forehead and a pat on the bottom. "OK, baby,
now I
have to wake up Miss Sleepyhead next door. She has a Saturday morning
class and
she'd never make it without some stimulation."
OK now the last time somebody gave me a kiss on
the forehead and a pat on the bottom, I must have been like eight years
old. And
I was damned sure not standing stark naked in my bedroom with an
eighteen-year-old
boy. But, somehow, this seemed like it was just totally OK. Weird, I
know.
As I gathered my bathroom stuff together I saw
Gregg go into the next room. That was occupied, I remembered, by
Darlene
Carmody, a 31-year-old schoolteacher and part-time student. Apparently
the
"stimulation" was not as effective as it could be because I soon
heard some high-pitched curses, followed by the solid smack of hand on
skin and
screams of outrage and pain. Passing Darlene's door, I saw the nude
Darlene
over Gregg's knee and his hand smacking her bottom in an
all-too-well-remembered
pattern.
As I finished my shower, I noticed a
red-bottomed
and red-faced Darlene stumble into the bathroom and get into the other
shower
stall. Coming out of the shower, I searched in vain for towels and was
about to
give up when Greg came in with a handful. "Sorry, kids, I was a bit
late
with these." he said cheerfully, handing me one and putting the rest on
the shelf.
"You have no shame at all, do you?" I
said in exasperation. "Waking up girls to spank them, rubbing their
bare
bottoms at will and walking into girls' bathrooms without even
knocking."
Gregg grinned. "Baby-doll, I've seen
everything you have a thousand times over. It's my turn to do the soap
and
towels for the bathrooms, Rita and I alternate weeks. No big deal."
"And do you alternate weeks in spanking
poor Darlene?" she inquired. "Or is that something you do on your
own?"
"Yeah, we sometimes do that too," he
chuckled, "Rita is pretty strong for a girl and she swings a mean
hairbrush. But Darlene gets more motivated when I spank her, she used
to be my
teacher."
"You spank your own teacher?" That
floored me. "That is SO weird!"
"Former teacher, " Greg corrected.
"Darlene teaches geography in Middle School. I had her when I was
thirteen
but I didn't start spanking the girls here until I was sixteen. That's
when
Mom's arthritis got so bad she couldn't spank any more so she taught me
and
Rita how to do it. Rita does OK, but I am stronger and the girls seem
to
respond better to being spanked by a male."
"And they are all OK with you doing this
and seeing their bare bottoms and all?' I was curious. "And they are OK
with you calling them girls even though they are grown women?'
"Well they aren't really grown up,"
Gregg said thoughtfully. "And they know that on some level and they
accept
the facts as they are." he reached into his pocket, pulled out a wallet
and extracted a card. "Do you know what this is?"
I looked at the card. "It's a State
Licensed Child Care Provider card. with your name and picture on it."
"Yep. I had to get a special waiver because
I was only 17 at the time, but I am now legally an adult and you girls
are
legally children. Don't ask me how they worked that deal out, it was
some kind
of agreement between the university, the state and the parents."
I handed the card back. "I can't believe
it."
Greg shrugged. "Well you do believe it
because you are standing here with a boy who has just spanked your bare
bottom,
rubbed his hands over most of your naked body and handed you a towel
while you
are standing totally nude in the bathroom with another naked girl
taking a
shower behind you."
I giggled. "Putting it that way, you are
right, of course."
"And you wouldn't mind if I were to pat
your bottom again, tell you to run along and get dressed like a good
little
girl because you're going to be late for breakfast?"
I giggled again. "Right again, Big Brother,
but pat fast, I'm hungry!"
The "pat" turned out to be a quick
swat as I dodged around him and scampered off to my room. As I finished
drying
off, I mused. "Tracy, baby, this is going to be one hell of a year."
END of Part 1
(End of File)