Biographies in the fiction section! Reference books in the short-story section! Fiction books in the non-fiction section!
Maryanne Shaw wheeled her cart full of mis-shelved books down the narrow aisle of 880 – 889. All about her literature and poetry of the Ancient Greeks whispered across thousands of years, telling tales of heroes and villains, satyrs and centaurs, gods and monsters. Under normal circumstances, Maryanne would have been tempted to stop and explore those whispers. But the library was out of order and Maryanne did not trust her fellow student librarians to do the job properly.
A faint, tuneless, absent-minded humming caught Maryanne’s attention. With a frown firmly in place, she left her cart amongst the Greek Literature, walked to the end of the aisle, and turned the corner. There, just two aisles over at the end of 860 (Spanish & Portuguese Literature) stood Jasmine Arnold, a silly chit of a freshman. Her hair fell in loose, dark ringlets about her shoulders rather than done up in a sensible bun like Maryanne’s. Her school uniform was not properly pressed. Worst of all, she had a cart full of reference books and one finger thoughtfully to her lips as she tried to figure out where to put a Spanish-English dictionary.
Furious, Maryanne strode toward the girl. The girl was so oblivious she didn’t even notice until Maryanne snatched the dictionary right out of her hand.
“Oh!” Jasmine gasped.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Maryanne asked, her furious question no louder than a whisper.
“Um… shelving books?” Jasmine did not whisper.
“Quite your voice,” Maryanne demanded. “There are people trying to study.”
“But, it’s ten at night,” Jasmine said, making a mediocre effort to be quiet.
“And this,” Maryanne shook the dictionary in her hand. “This goes in the reference section. These all go in the reference section.” She took in Jasmine’s cart with a wave of her hand.
“But isn’t this the reference section?” Jasmine turned to look at the plaque at the end of the aisle, forgetting to lower her voice.
Her voice too loud, her blouse too rumpled, her ignorance too far-reaching, this chit had no place in the library. Without taking the time to think about it, Maryanne slapped the Spanish-English dictionary against Jasmine’s bottom.
“Oh!” Jasmine gasped again.
“I told you to be quiet,” Maryanne hissed, spanking her with the book again.
Jasmine leaped away and turned to look at her, tears in her eyes. “But that hurts,” she protested, hiking up her skirt to rub at her bottom, lower lip protruding in a juvenile pout.
A lesser being’s heart might have melted at such a picture of offended cuteness, but not Maryanne. She looked past Jasmine to an empty study room, and an idea sparked. She hefted the book in her hand, it was thick and heavy and durable. She grabbed the freshman by the wrist and dragged her into the room, closing the door firmly behind them.
“But, I’m sorry,” Jasmine protested.
“I’m sure you are,” Maryanne replied without a hint of mercy.
“But, what are you going to do?” Jasmine’s other hand was rubbing her bottom in anxious anticipation.
“I should think that was obvious.”
“But, you can’t, you’re just a student. Like me.”
Maryanne sat on the armless, straight backed study chair and pulled the errant freshman flush against her right thigh. “You and I are not alike.”
“Oh!” Jasmine squeaked, a terribly undignified sound, as Maryanne tugged her firmly down over her lap.
Once there, it quickly became obvious that the girl’s skirt was not regulation length. Nor, for that matter, were her panties of regulation design; instead they were bright pink and consisted mostly of hem. Maryanne paused, not because she was having second thoughts, she was thoroughly determined to go through with the spanking, but because in all her experiences receiving a spanking, her panties had been pulled down. On the other hand, her panties actually covered her bottom and Jasmine’s hardly did at all. Even so, there was an aspect to spanking that was about power, control, humiliation. Maryanne took hold of the insubstantial undergarment and pulled it away from what little it covered.
“Oh no, not on the bare, please,” Jasmine whined.
Maryanne rolled her eyes. “Be quiet.” She raised her hand over Jasmine’s bare bottom.
A tingle suffused her body, her vision became blurry at the edges, and breathing became a little more difficult. Her heart beat so hard in her chest she could hear it.
Her hand came down of its own accord, her wrist snapping forward at the last moment to add extra sting. Jasmine cried out. The slap and squeal were sharp to her ear, but all else was muffled. It was as though the room fell away to shadow while she raised her hand again. It was as though time had slowed for this moment as she brought it down. She watched as the impact of her hand made Jasmine’s bottom ripple and redden. Several more times did she slap Jasmine’s naked bottom, each spank suffusing her with a special delight she’d never experienced, each squeal, squirm, and kick making her tingle with pleasure.
Then she lifted the dictionary that had nearly been consigned to mis-shelving and used its broad weight as a particularly appropriate paddle.
Maryanne dropped the book, the enchantment broken. Jasmine rolled off her lap and to her feet, her panties a tangle at her ankles, her hands rubbing at her bottom frantically, her cheeks wet with tears. That last spank with the book had been a spank too far. So Maryanne stood and put her hands on Jasmine’s shoulders. Jasmine was eager to accept the comfort, crying into Maryanne’s shoulder for several minutes.
“I’ll… I’ll do b-better. I p-promise I will, Maryanne”
“Shh, I know you will, sweetie.”
Eventually, Jasmine had recovered enough to pull up her panties. Maryanne watched Jasmine leave the study room, her posture contrite, and wheel her cart of references books to the reference section. Maryanne swallowed hard, took a deep breath, and leaned against the chair, her knees unsteady. Unconsciously she rubbed her stinging palm against her thigh, noticing that her brow was dampened, as were her panties. It was several moments before her balance came back and she could leave the room and continue her duties.But she wondered, as she returned to the 880 section, if Jasmine could truly be the only one responsible for so many mis-shelved books. In fact, it seemed likely that there were other girls who weren’t as diligent in their duties as Maryanne, other girls who might benefit from the application of a firm palm. Her skin tingled at the thought.