Room, Board and Hairbrush

Room, Board and Hairbrush 1

By Red Rover

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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.
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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

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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

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