Red Notice Ch. 01 – BDSM – Free Sex Story

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I’ve felt out of place before, but never more so than when stood in the Crownbird Academy car park. The place was huge — a mass of red brick Victorian turrets and towers, one with a clock the size of a satellite dish, seemingly a mile away even here, what with the vast Recreation Ground between me and it. It wasn’t hard to see how they fit nearly 1,200 students here.

Had I been a new student, I’d probably have felt intimidated — instead, I just felt hopeless, which is perhaps the same thing. For I wasn’t here to study but to work. I hoped. Seven months had passed since I’d graduated, seven months since I got my first-class honours from St Andrew’s, seven months of working in the kitchen of a Wetherspoons for nine hours most days. Seven months of my parents disappointed glares each time I visited. Seven months of “thank you for your application, but I’m afraid you’re not what we’re looking for right now.” Seven months of that same dulling hopelessness. It had been a week ago, to the hour, I think, that I’d been scrolling through a recruitment website and came across this. Student Officer needed at Crownbird Academy — a place I’d heard of, vaguely, sitting in the Surrey Hills not far from Dorking. Room and board provided — it was just one of the rooms where all the boarders lived, which was most of the students, but it was Free and I wasn’t turning my nose up at that. Norbury-on-the-Water, which I’d never heard of, was the nearest village; it had seemed pretty enough on the bus in, if also incredibly boring, so I supposed I’d still be commuting into London if I needed anything.

Hoping to wow them with my knowledge, I read up on Crownbird’s history the moment I accepted the interview; I’m sure nobody else would have thought about that. Founded in 1878, it was one of those posh old public schools that once trained the Empire’s elite, prepping them for the Indian civil service or to be army officers. World War One came along, wiping out a generation of prospective pupils, and bankruptcy took the owners, then came disrepair, Church of England ownership and shift to an all-girls student body, then, twelve years ago, purchase by the Alexandrina Group. Seemingly overnight, it went from an all-ages school struggling to attract enough pupils to a vibrant women’s college, shifting from GCSEs to degrees, topping leaderboards and winning awards. There was some controversy about the place, apparently, but I didn’t read up on it. I didn’t want to scare myself out of applying.

To be honest, I sent the application mostly as a joke anyway. I had no expectation of a reply — one look at those towers on Google and I knew it wasn’t the place for me and I wasn’t the girl for it. Then I got a reply. They wanted me to come for an interview. Three buses later and here I was, brushing down my skirt, hoping and praying that I’d gotten the dress code right. Chills danced up and down my stomach — whatever was about to happen in there, it’d be bad. Really bad. I wasn’t cut out for this.

I was stood there, all alone, staring at my phone and encouraging texts from my flatmate and waiting for the clock to strike ten. Don’t be early. Don’t be late. Be on time. That’s the first rule — or should you be a little bit early just to show you’re serious? No. Play it safe. My mind raced through everything I’d prepared, all the studying I’d done, to prove I could do this. How hard could a Student Officer’s job be? How hard could it be to pitch yourself for it? How hard could it be to find the motivation for a job with Free room and board and Free lunch and in a prestigious academy my family could never sniff at? I had no idea what the pay was — it was one of those very helpful adverts that ask you to decide your worth in the interview — but I was on minimum wage. Nothing could be worse.

My phone’s clock struck 9.58 — and Crownbird’s clock chimed. One of them was wrong and I doubted it was theirs. Great — late already. The air still had a September chill to it and I hurried inside, waved in by a humourless-looking security officer, to find the reception was standing room only. Oh, what a mistake I’d made by coming here; everyone was better dressed, more professional looking, more confident, more everything. Nobody looked at me, took me in, judged me with their eyes, which was good, but as I crammed into the crowd and scrolled through my phone, sick to my stomach, the sense of being an imposter had never been stronger. The screen making me even queasier, I put it away and looked around — the walls were fancy oak, covered by oil paintings and old photographs of students and sports teams past. A trophy cabinet sat next to the reception desk and, at noticing that, I suddenly realised I needed to sign in. Apologetically, I pushed my way through the crowd and reached the desk. The woman sat there, with wiry grey hair and big glasses, looked at me and smiled kindly. Well, at least she didn’t spit on me.

“I, uh…” I hadn’t realised how dry my mouth was. “I’m here to sign in.”

“Okay Love, what’s your name?” She had a Scottish accent — for some reason, that surprised me. I’d expected something much more clipped and refined. She sounded like me.

“Oh, um…” Why was I hesitating? I knew what my name was. Wait, did I? “Kelly Buckley.” Yes.

“Okay,” she said, looking down at her monitor and clicking at some things. “Okay, you’re all signed in. If you just take a seat…” She looked past me and smiled. “Or maybe stand. You’ll be called in eventually.”

“Thanks!” I said quickly, stumbling away, the next person already waiting to sign in. I’d never been one for talking to people — the good folks in the Wetherspoons kitchen thought I was mute when I started — but this was already a bad start.

There I stood, hands playing with each other, trying not to be sick. Was my skirt too short? Too long? All the other women were wearing much more form fitting stuff than me. Was my bra visible through my shirt? I pulled my blazer a little tighter. This was the worst day of my life and it hadn’t even started yet. I should leave. I should walk out and just tell everyone I didn’t get it. Something else would come along eventually. Something else would-

“Kelly Buckley?” I nearly threw up right then and there. I turned — a door at the furthest end of the room had opened and a tall, older woman with the sternest face I’d ever seen was peering into the crowd. I simply could not imagine her smiling. Quickly, I held up my hand. “We’re ready for you now.” There was the clipped poshness.

“Coming,” I said, like a child, and hurried through the crowd, legs and stomach like jelly. None seemed to watch me go — they were all lost in their own preparations. I wondered how many had gone before me. By the time I reached her, she’d already mostly vanished through the door, and I had to pull it back open to follow.

The corridor struck me like a brick, for it wasn’t like the reception at all. It was modern, with white walls, half-covered in posters and notices and photos wherever there wasn’t a lecture hall door. The oak flooring was replaced by a thin, rough carpet, like if a rat had a goatee. The woman walked ahead of me and I scampered after her. I should say something.

“Thank you for taking the time to see me,” I said. Or, rather, squeaked.

“No,” she said, glancing over her shoulder, as I finally got just behind her. “Thank you for taking the time to see us.”

“Oh, um, you’re welcome?” I couldn’t tell if she’d been sarcastic.

“You came here to offer your skills to us,” she said. “I’ve always thought an interview should be seen that way, rather than us doing you a favour.”

“That does make sense,” I replied. I kind of liked her. She seemed nice — if scary. Maybe she knew how she came across.

“Have you travelled far?”

“Oh, not really.” Say more, idiot. “I live in Colliers Wood.” More. “So it didn’t take me too long.”

“But you’re not from there, I imagine?”

“No, miss.” Don’t call her ‘miss’ you utter fool. “I’m from Aberdeen. I moved to London for work after I graduated.”

“Ah,” she said, pushing open another door, this time holding it open for me. I thanked her quickly. “My story‘s quite similar, in a way of speaking. My family came from Russia in the seventies. Jewish emigrants — they settled in Walthamstow and all became teachers.”

“Oh, that’s cool.”

“All except my brother — he played for Tottenham Hotspur.”

“Oh, that’s very cool.” Don’t tell her you support Arsenal. Don’t do it.

At last, my hands shaking dreadfully, she opened a door to the left and we stepped into a large office. A huge Mussolini-style desk stood at one end while the rest of the room was littered with cardboard boxes crammed with files. Framed photographs of what must have been her family, and some childrens’ drawings, were on the walls.

“I do apologise for the mess,” she said, “I get so organised then it falls apart over the summer.”

“That’s okay!” I said quickly. “I’m like that. I mean… I am organised, very organised. So organised.” She smiled — so she could do it. Her eyes didn’t smile, though.

“Well, if you’d like to take a seat.” She pointed out the swivel chair facing the desk and I took it quickly, brushing down my skirt as I sat, and she took her place on the other side of the desk.

“This should be relatively painless,” she sighed, as if that was a bad thing, and regarded me for a moment. Her eyes could have cut straight through me. “Oh!” she suddenly exclaimed. “Goodness me, I’m so sorry — I haven’t even introduced myself.”

“That’s okay!” I said, again, as she shook her head at herself.

“So, I’m Nadine Ellsworth,” she said. “But I go by Professor Ellsworth; though not to you. You can call me Nadine. I’m the academy’s vice-chair — unfortunately the chair himself is in Norway at the moment, otherwise he’d be sitting in with us.”

“So it’ll just be you and me?” I asked.

“That’s right — it’s quite exhausting, all these candidates.” I nodded. Why’d she say ‘we’re ready for you,’ then? “I teach physics and have done since 2001 here — I’m the only staff member left, actually, from before Crownbird’s purchase.”

“The good old days,” I dared to joke.

“The good old days,” she agreed, smiling again. Her eyes got no closer. “Now then, Kelly, why don’t you tell me about yourself?”

So, I did. And, when I did, a funny thing happened — I told her the truth. Not just the truth, but the whole truth. I told her about St Andrew’s, about my hopes when graduating, about how those hopes fell apart, about Wetherspoons and no social life and how just being here was the most exciting thing to happen to me in seven months. Why not tell her all this — I wasn’t going to get the job and maybe being honest would make me feel better. My stomach settled as Professor Ellsworth — I mean Nadine — listened intently, seeming genuinely interested, and I tried not to worry about making this last longer than she wanted it to. We had to get onto my CV, eventually.

“Do you feel qualified for this job?” she then asked.

“Yes, in terms of qualifications,” I replied, truthfully, and she cocked her head. “But as a person… I don’t know. I’m a quiet person. Introverted. Shy, even, I guess. I didn’t even kiss a boy until I was twenty.” She smiled. “And then it turned out I didn’t like boys, anyway.” Her smile changed — but it hadn’t moved. I tried to figure out why and then, suddenly, I realised. Her eyes were smiling too. “I guess I’m just trying to say that this would be very tricky for me, at least at first, but I’d definitely do my best.”

“Well,” Nadine said, “I can’t fault a person who’s doing their best.” Wow, I’d blown this so hard. So hard. And then… “I assume you don’t have any qualms about our discipline policy?”

“Discipline…” I froze. I hadn’t read anything about a discipline policy. Wait, had I? The application made mention of the Student Officer having special responsibilities but had never specified what — I’d hoped to ask in the interview.

“Are you not familiar?” Nadine asked.

“I don’t think I am, no, sorry, Nadine,” I said glumly.

“Well, I’ll tell you now, as it’s rather relevant to the position and might influence whether you really want it or not — a lot of people change their minds when they find out.”

“Okay,” I said slowly.

“Now, as you might know, Crownbird is an independent university run by the Alexandrina Group. Being an independent university, such as we are, means certain unique rules you won’t find in other educational establishments. For example, here, we practice a strict policy of corporal punishment.”

“Oh.” My mouth was dry again. “On… on staff?”

“No!” She cackled with laughter. “No, no, that would be very funny, but no. We’d be at a tribunal very quickly if that happened. No, the corporal punishment policy applies to our students.”

“Oh,” I said again. “I didn’t know that was allowed.”

“Well, all of our students are legal adults, as we’re a university, and they have to consent to the policy as a condition of applying. The Alexandrina Group runs academies all over the world and they’re all the same — very progressive on teaching, very traditional on discipline.”

“Right,” I said softly. “So that means…”

“That means that, as Student Officer, you would be responsible for administering corporal punishment on students. It’s probably your most important responsibility.”

“Spare the rod, spoil the child?” I asked quietly. Oh, this was a disaster.

“Exactly,” she agreed. “Except, of course, there’s no children here. Not for a long time, now. And we don’t use rods.”

“Well,” I said, after a pause to gather my very messy thoughts, “you asked if I had any qualms?”

“I did.”

“I don’t know if I’d be able to do that,” I said. “I’m sorry — but…”

“You don’t believe in it?”

“It’s not that — it’s just that I don’t have the character. I have a hard time talking to people — how am I gonna rap them on the knuckles, too?”

“Spank them, you mean.”

“Huh?” Don’t say ‘huh’ in an interview, idiot. “Spank them?”

“That’s the policy on corporal punishment. Two strikes and you get what we call a red notice — then you have to be spanked as punishment.”

“That’s… intense,” I said, almost laughing. Why not laugh? I wasn’t getting this job — and I wasn’t accepting it, even if I did. How could I do anything like this?

“Quite. Too intense for our staff, it turned out — they’ve concluded that it’s bad for the student-lecturer relationship for one to be smacking the other’s bare rear every now and then.”

“Bare…”

“So we had to make this position you’re sat there applying for.”

“Wait… so…” I tried not to stutter. “Is there much to this job besides spanking people?”

“Of course there is — it’s an administrative job more than anything. Just with extra responsibilities.”

“I see,” I sighed. “Well, thanks for your time, but I don’t think this is for me.” I stood quickly.

“Are you sure?” Nadine asked, watching me. “I’m not sure what they pay at Wetherspoons but I am sure that sixty-seven grand would be an improvement.” I stared at her.

“Sixty seven… sorry, this job pays sixty-seven thousand quid?” My shyness evaporated — not because big pound signs had appeared in my eyes, mind you, but because that was an obscene amount of money for such a minor role. How much did the Alexandrina Group have to throw around?!

“Do you think reception’s crowded because people just Love admin?” Nadine asked dryly. I stared at the closed door. “Would you like to sit down and continue with the interview, then, Kelly?”

“I…” I looked back at her. “Do you want me to? I turned the job down and you’re trying to convince me… in an interview… with so many more qualified people outside. I don’t understand, I’m sorry.”

“I’ll tell you the truth — you were trying to blend into that crowd, weren’t you, trying to look like them, wishing you didn’t stand out like you do. Weren’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“And you did stand out — but for the right reasons.”

“What reasons?”

“You have what my teenage daughter would call a vibe.”

“Do I?” I realised I’d sat back down — I didn’t even remember doing it.

“Doctor O’Brien told me as much,” she replied.

“O’Brien?” Dr O’Brien was my tutor at St Andrew’s — brilliant, kind, funny, and he’d probably saved my life once or twice, talking me down from ledges as work piled up and so too did my anxiety.

“When I read your application, and saw you mention he was your tutor, I called him. He worked here, you know, under me.”

“He never said,” I replied, so quiet as to be almost silent.

“I’ve never heard Kevin saw anything good about anyone. Except you. He practically glowed.”

“He did?”

“Said you were capable of anything. Could invent time travel if you tried — it perked my interest. And now you’re turning down a job offering more money than you’ve probably ever seen in your life — all because you’re too honest to say you’re up to it. Kevin was right about you. I like you, Kelly. I actually quite like you.”

“Well… thanks.” This was the strangest day of my life. “This is starting to sound like a job offer.”

“It is.” And I thought my mouth was dry before.

“Oh,” I mumbled. “Do you often offer jobs to people who tell you they aren’t good enough?”

“No,” she laughed, “but I do offer jobs to people who are good enough, but don’t realise it yet. I like moulding people. That’s why I went into education, after all. Kelly — you were going to be offered this job the moment I made that phone call. Everything since then has been gravy.”

“Gravy?”

“A bonus.” I took a moment to breathe — breathing’s good. Nadine’s eyes carved me open.

“If I accepted it…” I swallowed, willing saliva to come, and it wouldn’t. Sweat wetted my hands and trickled down my back. I noticed I wasn’t saying no. I thought of my parents’ faces when I told them the salary. When I showed them the photos of the academy. Red notices couldn’t happen that often, surely? “I’d really have to do all that spanking stuff?”

“Yes — that’s non-negotiable, I’m afraid. That’s the job.”

“Well…” Don’t take it. Don’t say yes. Don’t do it. You can’t start spanking strangers for money, what are you, nuts? You didn’t want this job even before you found out — don’t lap up the honey. She’s got a silver tongue and you’re falling for it because all you ever want is to be praised. Why’d you come here? Go for this job? So your family could boast about you. Be proud of you. She’s got you figured out.

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