Sunday night was appalling — not even a hint of sleep came to me. Tossing and turning — which, at least, was a sort of luxury given my old single bed permitted so little of it — I tried to will myself unconscious but it just wouldn’t happen. My breathing was shallow and irregular and anxiety bubbled in my stomach — one more sleep, if I ever managed it, and I’d be in my office for my first real day.

Almost obsessively, I’d been checking the red notice database — obviously, as term hadn’t even started yet, it was blank of names, yet sometimes I’d be checking every few minutes. I only stopped once Kam sent over an email, reminding me of the whole ‘it’s the start of term, nobody’s got a red notice yet, maybe chill out, yeah?’ thing. I wondered for a while how they knew what I was thinking until I realised that the Excel workbook tracked its visitors, even keeping count of the number of times anyone visited. Number of visits by Kam: 2. Number of visits by Beth: 0. Number of visits by Nadine: 1. Number of visits by Kelly: 18. ‘horror‘ doesn’t even begin to cut it. Would I have preferred them to write it off as fear or excitement? Neither served me well — I imagined Kam snickering to themselves at the thought of me turning myself inside out with all the waiting, and then I imagined Kam over my lap again, and then I was catching my hand trying to venture between my legs.

“It’s just your job,” I mumbled to myself, Hot even with the window open, no sheets, and half-naked. “You’re not meant to enjoy it. Sort your head out.” I wished I could just fall asleep but, as 1am because 2am became 4am, it wouldn’t come — I even considered trying to knock myself out by slamming my head against something harder than, or equally hard as, my head, but that might have been silly.

From outside, I heard tuneless singing — climbing off my mattress and stumbling through the dark to the window, hitting my foot on the desk chair as I went, I peered through the curtains, the window itself misty with condensation. Down below, on one of the tarmac paths between accommodation blocks, a group of girls came marching by, on their way home from a night out.

“On a Sunday night?” I muttered. I was so lame. God only knew where they could have been — there couldn’t have been many clubs open this late in Dorking. Crawley, maybe, or South London, then a very expensive taxi home, the driver asking them if the rumours about Crownbird were true and all of them assuring him they’d never been, or get, spanked themselves. I ducked behind the window frame as one of them glanced up at the building, vanishing from view, not wanting to appear a voyeur. I didn’t need to be one — not with my job.

This wasn’t what I’d become, was it, I suddenly wondered with a flash of fear. The monster in the attic, the ghost at the feast, the mysterious lady working in the lonely little office in the academy’s top floor, never doing anything but tapping away at a keyboard and dishing out punishments? I thought back to my life at St Andrew’s, when I could’ve been like those girls, and chose not to be. When I was more concerned for my spider plant than myself, wasting away studying and fretting about amassing credits, never knowing what it was like to have your ears ring from a club’s music or hook up with a charming stranger on the stairs at a house party. These were stories to me — nothing lived. Now, I worried, would this change, or just continue? Here I was, back in academia, but even as staff instead of student it seemed so certain that nothing would be different. Once I was known across the academy as The One Who Punishes, assuming I even had the competence to pull that off, what more could my life be? A bit of effort was required — Cherry had extended a hand, and Kam and the others surely would too, so all I had to do was accept them. Surely it was as simple as that.

Going back to bed, furious at the time, knowing now I’d be shattered for my crucial first day, I again tried to sleep, and I kept trying and trying until it became light outside. Maybe I drifted off. Maybe I didn’t. By the time my alarm went I was almost delirious with tiredness and stress that I didn’t even know. And then, suddenly, in quite a state of exhaustion before the day had even begun, I was out of bed, showering, and getting dressed.

Two coffees and a bowl of Crunchy Nut deep, I started second-guessing the outfit I’d picked for today — I’d gone for some dungarees and a bright yellow shirt, but that was starting to feel a bit childish, a bit unserious, so I stuffed it all back in their draws and, as the first commotions of waking students in the corridors emanated into my room, I instead fished out some jeans and a tangerine cardigan which, despite Alexa’s insistences, only sort of looked like rotting orange peel. Finally, shattered and not feeling ready at all, I went to work; as I stepped into the corridor, I bumped into Cherry, coming out of the kitchen eating a microwaveable crepe, almost formless in a puffy brown waterproof coat.

“Oh, hey,” she said, looking as tired as I felt. “First day?”

“Yep; wish me luck,” I replied.

“You won’t need it — it’ll be fine, pet.” I shivered at the nickname. Why? “Got any good spankings lined up?”

“I…” Quickly, I looked one way, then the other, down the corridor. Nobody was around — the building was still half-asleep. “Not at the moment, no.”

“That’s a shame.” She smiled and patted my shoulder. “Well, have fun.” At that, she went back to her room, leaving me alone again in the corridor.

The morning was chilly and those students who had early starts were wrapped up a lot warmer than I’d thought to be — I clung to myself all the way to my building before ascending in the lift and returning to the drab little office with its view over the Recreation Field. Standing at the window, wiping off condensation with some tissue paper, I saw a few early risers jogging the circumference of the courts. I logged on and, immediately, checked the red notices database. It was still empty — and, I saw, Kam was on it, too. They vanished almost immediately upon my appearance.

Barely fifteen minutes into work, with an increasing pile of emails from students about various trivial issues, there came a knock at the door — I nearly jumped out of my skin.

“Uh, come in!” I said quickly, and it opened to reveal Kam stood there, smiling, dressed in denim dungarees over a lemon-yellow shirt. Thank God I changed my mind about my outfit.

“Hey!” they said brightly. “Just wanted to check on you, make sure you’re doing good.”

“Well, I only just got in,” I replied, trying not to sound too sarcastic.

“Well, yeah,” they laughed, “but I mean, you feeling confident with everything? Know what you’re doing?”

“I think so,” I said, looking at the screen. “I did the training like twenty times and it’s all feeling pretty natural thus far.”

“Thus?” Kam sniggered.

“This.” I smiled weakly.

“You look nervous.

“I am,” I admitted. “About all of it.”

“Well, there’s no red notices, so you don’t have to worry about that. I know you’ve been, with all those visits to the workbook.” They winked at me and I felt myself shifting an uncomfortable red. “You also look tired, by the way.”

“I’m not even sure if I slept.”

“That’s okay — it’ll be a quiet one, and then you’ll get some proper sleep tomorrow. Same thing happened to me when I started.”

“Really?”

“Oh, God, yeah, course.” They nodded. “And then everything became fine.”

“Well, you didn’t have to spank everyone.”

“Neither do you,” they laughed. “Just some of them. Tell you what — let’s go out tonight.”

“What, me and you?”

“Yeah, sure, why not?” Was I being asked out right now? I’d spanked them and they’d shown me their bare Ass. It’d be weird to claim there was nothing there — but maybe there was nothing there. “I can show you the village properly — you haven’t really been round the block yet, right?”

“I haven’t actually, no,” I said. Part of me wanted to refuse — but that was the old part of me, I told myself. The new part of me, the part that wanted to be like those girls I saw last night, had other things to say. “That’d be nice.”

“Awesome. And, hey…” They took a step forward and leaned over the desk, held up by their elbows, and I stared at their sly face. “If you don’t end up giving any red notices today, maybe you can give me one, instead.”

“I… oh.” They almost howled with laughter at my answer.

“Okay, I’m gonna stop torturing you now,” they sniggered, making for the door. “Have a good one — and let me know if you need anything, yeah?”

“You got it,” I said weakly, as Kam vanished back through the door and I found myself sat there, now terrified of what might happen after work as well as during. And excited. Very, very excited.

When I turned back to my monitor, at first I didn’t even register what had happened — but then, gradually and then all at once, I realised that a green pop-up had appeared in the corner.

“Notification: RED_NOTICE_INFO.xlsx.” I stared at it until, slowly, like a ghost, it began to fade away — quickly I brought the cursor over the box, causing it to flash back to full opaqueness, and clicked it, opening the Excel sheet.

Now, where before had been an entirely blank workbook, there existed a red box at row B, column 3.

“HANNAH COOPER,” it read inside, a student ID — 36793462 — on the following row, and past that, under “reason for issuing,” a block of text:

“Ms Cooper was caught on campus grounds in the very late hours while accompanied by a male companion. As it is strictly against Crownbird Academy’s security policy for unauthorised persons to be on the grounds, Ms Cooper has received her second red notice.” I stared at the text for quite some time — I wondered what her first had been for, or whether this offence counted for two. I then saw that, on the final row, under “issued by,” it read “Professor Ellsworth.” So it was Nadine who gave me my first — somehow, that didn’t surprise me at all.

I had no way of knowing anything about Hannah beyond the small information provided on the student database, which I dug through. All I learned was, again, her student ID, her programme of study (BA History and International Development), her birthday (23 October), her home town (Watford), and her disciplinary record. She’d never had a red notice before — so we had that in common. What I really wanted was to see her face, to know who was coming up those stairs or on that lift, and stepping through the door, but it wasn’t there. All I could do was wait, somehow getting on with my work even as anxiety built minute by minute, until Hannah’s assigned arrival at 10.45. I was visibly shaking by 10.

With the minutes counting down, feeling almost sick with anticipation, I realised I wasn’t answering emails anymore or entering data or doing any of the things I was actually supposed to be doing. Just waiting, with sweaty palms, for the denouement. The clock hit 10.45 — nothing happened. 10.46. Nothing. I wondered then how much time ought to pass before I emailed Kam to tell them Hannah hadn’t turned up. 10.47 — and, then, a knock at the door.

Taking a deep breath, trying to ignore my hammering heart, I turned my swivel chair to face the door. Control your breathing — and, for God’s sake, control your voice.

“Come in!” I called. So far, so good — it didn’t completely break. The door swung open and there stood who could only be Hannah — she was about my height, dressed in baggy jeans, a bright red jumper with seaweed-green collar, and an unzipped blue jacket, all of this making her frame difficult to determine. She wore white running shoes and rectangular glasses over suspicious eyes as brown as the hair, its fringe blunt, which flowed to just past her shoulders. Her skin was pale and she had sharp cheekbones, dark red spots on her forehead, thin lips, and a pretty blatant hickey on her neck. There was a plainness about her which I found strangely reassuring — had a track star or the ‘best actress in this school’ walked through the door, I’m not sure I could have even gotten as far as this. And I hadn’t even done anything, yet.

“Hi…” she said blandly, looking around at my office, seeming unimpressed.

“Hi,” I said back, almost choking on its single syllable, unable to think of anything else to say.

“Uh…” She stared at me. “I think I’m in the wrong place; sorry.”

“You might not be,” I said quickly, almost standing, then deciding not to. This was already awful. “What can I help you with?”

“Uh…” Her eyes darted around the room, unable to focus on any particular thing. “I got this thing called a ‘red notice,’ it said I had to come here…” She leaned backwards, checking the door. “Yeah. Here. To… to you.” She managed to hold her eyes on me for longer than she’d been managing on anything else — suspicion returned to them. I knew I didn’t look the type to do this kind of thing — it had been all I could think about at times — but she didn’t need to be so obvious about it.

“Well,” I said, trying not to choke, “you’re not in the wrong place.”

“What, so…” Her eyes narrowed. “You’re the punishment lady, then?”

“That’s not my official title,” I joked. She didn’t laugh. Of course she didn’t. I tried to think back to Kam’s advice — what had it been, again? “Can you close the door?” Hannah stepped a couple of paces forward and, with one hand, shut it behind her, as I realised that I probably ought not to phrase these things as questions. That’s not how a person of authority conducts themselves.

Hannah stood there, rooted to the spot, dainty hands playing with each other, as I tried to figure out my next move. Somehow, it just didn’t feel as simple as commanding her over my lap. There had to be more to it than that — and yet, as far as I could ascertain, there wasn’t.

“It says here,” I said, referring to the Excel sheet, “that you were caught with a boy?”

“My boyfriend,” Hannah said through pursed lips. “That’s allowed.”

“I’m not sure it is.” I wanted to be diplomatic — but I also wanted her over my lap. And that had to happen — if I backed out, found some way to avoid it from happening, I might never get another chance. ‘Non-negotiable’ had been the term Nadine used in my interview, if memory served me right, which it might not have. That meant for both of us.

“Well, I don’t care,” Hannah huffed, crossing her arms, her jacket squeaking at the movement. “He was just visiting, is all. He’s not a security threat — and that professor knew it, too. Just making an example out of me.”

“I did read in the students’ handbook that you’re not allowed strangers on campus,” I said, my voice heightening in pitch of its own accord, keeping my hands under the desk where Hannah couldn’t see them shake. It was hard to keep eye contact when my eyes could instead sweep over her body and try to imagine what it’d be like to ‘administer discipline,’ as Nadine might put it and Kam might laugh at. But I didn’t need to imagine. I had the power to make it real. Power. A word which hadn’t materialised before — and now it did, sticking in my brain, refusing to budge.

“Like I care,” Hannah sniffed. “It’s not like I’m bringing back hook-ups like some people are. He’s my boyfriend! I should be allowed to see my boyfriend if I want to.”

“You don’t do hook-ups, then?”

“No — I do hair and nails,” she hissed. I smiled and she threw up her hands. “Look, forget it. How’s this even work? This whole red notice thing?”

“Well…” How did it work, again? Once more, I thought back to Kam, tried to think of how I could recreate our time in this room, when I happened upon an idea. “Why don’t you tell me how you think it works?” I felt quite proud of myself for that. Hannah glared past me, towards the window, her fingers absent-mindedly skirting around her wrist.

“I heard I have to bend over and get spanked,” she mumbled, fighting to get the words out, flicking a strand of hair from in front of her glasses.

“That’s pretty much it, yeah,” I replied, trying to be all casual about it, like Kam.

“So unfair.”

“Well, you agreed to it when you joined,” I said.

“Yeah, I know, but I didn’t think it’d actually happen!” Her knees pressed against each other, tightly. “I’ve got a boyfriend.”

“I’m not gonna tell him, am I?” My heart almost hurt with how hard it was beating. “It’ll be over before you know it.”

“I…” Her lip trembled. “Oh, alright, fine, let’s just get it over with.”

Slowly, hoping my knees wouldn’t give out from underneath me, I stood, walking past her to lock the door — immediately, I realised I ought to have told her to do it, and I made a mental note to do so in future. Hannah watched me nervously as I squeezed back past her in the cramped office.

“Okay,” I said, finally, “so, I’m gonna sit on the sofa, then I want you to lie over my lap.”

“You’re serious.” Hannah, barely a few inches from my face, glared at me.

“Yeah.” I left it at that and passed her, going to the sofa and sitting, waiting for her. Hannah didn’t move — just kept glaring.

“I mean…” she said, “I can always just walk out. What then?”

“Then you’d probably be in even more trouble,” I replied. “And back here, probably.”

“I guess…” Hannah took a few steps towards me, looking down at my lap, glancing back at the door several times.

“It’s locked,” I said.

“I know,” she growled, as I thought, again, about Kam’s advice. Lessons, if you will. One thing in particular stood out. I couldn’t say what I wanted to say, could I? Surely not that. “So I just… lie on your lap, right?”

“Take your jeans down, first.” The words hung in the air like insects — Hannah stared at me.

“But…” Whatever she said next would, on some level, decide my fate. It had taken every sinew of effort to get those words off my tongue. If she refused, I had nothing more to give. “Oh, fine, who cares?”

Quickly, Hannah’s hands went to the buttons of her baggy jeans, and she unhooked them one by one, then tugging them down with ease, her face shifting red. As she was bringing them to her knees, the legs going inside out as they revealed pale thighs, she was already clambering onto the sofa, trying to keep some modesty intact. She almost fell on me, so eager was she to get this over with, and she felt heavier than Kam had over my lap. Her jumper was low enough that it covered her rear. A moment of silence passed, my hands dangling over prone Hannah, trying to figure out, again, where they ought to go. I settled with one resting between her shoulder blades and the other at her knee hollow, just visible where her jeans had come down to, and I felt Hannah shiver at my touch.

“How long’s this gonna take?” she mumbled, crossing her arms and resting her chin on them, staring straight ahead at the sofa’s armrest.

“As long as it takes,” I replied, feeling proud of that, my hand daring to leave Hannah’s knee hollow and go to the hem of her jumper. I lifted it up, onto her back, exposing her plump butt, hidden beneath lilac underwear, thin lace rimming its edges, its label poking up from the top, and saw for the first time that she had a little black tattoo of the Scorpio symbol, resembling a lower case ‘m’ with a flicking tail, at the very top of her thigh where her cheek began. Her butt broke out in goosebumps at its exposure and I stared for, perhaps, longer than I should have, as her pale thighs pressed as tightly against each other as they could.

“You’re not gonna pull my pants down, are you?” Hannah asked, nervously, and at the question I realised I could — if I wanted. And I did want to. But it had taken all the energy in the world just to get her out of her jeans, just to make the command, and I couldn’t go any further. If this was choking, and I didn’t feel like it was, then I was choking.