When I was at university, my tutor was American and he was also head of the department.  A strong believer in an honour system, he would look kindly on any issues if you owned up to it, but would be very strict if not. My tutor, Mark, was a great, sweet man in his mid-40s. I had drinks a couple of times with him and his English partner, Karl, who was just as sweet.

Most of my spankings, having not had a dad at home for most of my childhood, and going to an all-girls school, had been at the hands of women. Mark was clearly not interested in me as a woman.

I was coming towards the end of my second year at a well-respected university in the 2000s, and doing rather well. The exams were upon us and we had a large number of short papers rather than 4 or 5 exams lasting 3 hours or so. Most were taken within the department in the large lecture room used by first year students. My tutor, Mark, was a tall, handsome chap in his mid-40s, having studied at Harvard. Whilst he was a generally open and easy going guy, he was a great believer in his ‘honour code’.  This was essentially expecting students to police themselves and live up to the standards of the department. Any indiscretions would be looked on favourably if admitted at the earliest opportunity, but to not do so could result in a harsh outcome that would not be wanted.

One Thursday afternoon, as we were sitting a 90 minute paper, I was sitting in my usual place near the back of the lecture hall. I chose this well as in the heat of the summer, it was positioned 5 places away from the inward facing air conditioning vent, so it was not too hot, nor was it annoyingly breezy either, and it was just in front of the rear entrance doors. You did get the occasional person not obeying the ‘absolute silence, examinations in progress’ signs in the corridor outside, but the odd distraction could help me refocus sometimes.

The paper was going very well and I was well ahead of schedule with only 2 questions to answer and 25 minutes left, so time to check over my work at the end which is always a bonus.

With the final question covered, I started to review answers in the 15 minutes remaining. One question was bothering me. I had two possible answers in my head and had plumped for one, but was only 50% sure. As I was pondering, two voices passed by the lecture room doors, discussing the very topic I was stuck on. I knew one of the men I had in mind had invented the machine referenced in the question and one had improved, but I was not sure which was which. The chap outside said the answer and I had them the wrong way around. I changed the answer and re-wrote part of my answer. Time was called and the papers collected. I was glad I had got that one question sorted. The following day was a clear day.

That night in bed, I began to be troubled by my change of answer. I hadn’t cheated, had I? I did not bring the answer in with me, I did not seek out the answer, and no one was allowed to talk in the corridor behind me. It was they that had broken the rules, not me. I had, however, taken advantage and changed my answer. Had I cheated? Oh goodness, what should I do? Sleep on it, that’s what.

Next morning, having had a bad night tossing and turning, I decided to go in and talk to Mark and sort this out. I couldn’t have this getting in the way of my studies. The weather had turned foul overnight and it was cold, wet and windy. The library was like an ice box at the best of times, so I put on a matching see-through bra and panty set underneath an all-in-one blue jumpsuit with a 2 inch belt around the waist. Not the most flattering attire, but it would keep the cold out. I went straight to Mark’s office, which was a fairly large room with several tables all piled high with books and reports. Goodness knows how he kept track of everything. It looked totally random. I knocked on his door.

“Come in, whoever it is. Oh, Kath, come in won’t you. Thought you’d be studying today, not cheering my office up,” he said with genuine warmth. “I’ve just graded your paper from yesterday. I can’t tell you the result, of course, but suffice it to say I think we can forget re-sits. Anyhow, what can I do for you?”

“Actually, it is about that paper, the exam from yesterday,” I began nervously.

“Like I said, no issues with the results.”

“That’s it, Mark. It’s not about the result, but more the method.”

I was struggling badly and was very worried. Why couldn’t I keep my big trap shut?

“It’s an honour issue, Mark,” I finally blurted out, and Mark sat up in his chair and took his glasses off, giving me his full attention.

“Go on, Kath,” he said.

“I didn’t cheat, well I don’t think I did. And if I did it wasn’t intentional, I assure you,” I babbled.

“Wow, wow, wow! Hold it right there, little lady. Before you open that mouth again, think long and hard before you tell me anything, which you haven’t actually done yet,” Mark cautioned.

“Look, ” I started again. “I was checking my answers at the end of the exam. Question six had me stumped. Who invented the machine and who developed it? I knew both names but couldn’t remember the order. Anyhow, I had made my choice, but as I was thinking two people, against the rules, were talking as they passed the back of the lecture hall and amazingly were discussing this exact point.”

“Ah, I had been lecturing to the first years and mentioned this during the lecture,” Mark explained.

“What they said made me reverse my decision. I didn’t intentionally hear them, but I couldn’t unhear them either. I changed my answer. I haven’t really slept and came straight here to talk to you.”

“Technically, Kath, you have cheated,” Mark explained. “You have used information derived from outside the examination room and your own recall to influence your decision making. That is the definition of cheating,” Mark confirmed.

“Oh!” was all I could say. “What happens now I have owned up?”

“Well, in truth, you should have the paper wiped out and possibly, depending on a tribunal, you could be kicked out of the university completely.” Mark paused for effect. “Unless, of course, there are any mitigating factors.” There now, the wriggle on the hook moment he always enjoyed in his honour conversations.

“Mitigating, such as?” I asked hurriedly, almost desperately.

“Well, you didn’t take materials with the answers into the exam. You didn’t seek to find the information. You didn’t ask anyone to pass on that information. No one should have been talking within earshot for you to be able to overhear. So far, so good,” he paused.

“But?” I interjected.

“But Kate, you did hear the conversation. You considered what you heard and you altered your answer.”

Mark reached over, rummaged in a pile of papers and took out my exam script and pointed to my answer to question six, which had clearly been altered during the course of the exam.

“You used the information from outside of the exam to gain an advantage. You have, however, on your honour, come to me today and made a clean breast of it, for which in my book would make a large difference to the potential outcome of this discussion and any actions taken by the department or university.”

I cried. I mean, I really wept buckets. I wished the ground would open up and swallow me. What the blazes had I gotten myself into by trying to do the right thing.

“So, what is going to happen, Mark? Can I take the rest of the exams? Am I finished? What is going to happen, Mark, please?” I begged.

Mark put a fatherly arm around me and said, “I wouldn’t worry too much, Kath. I can’t make this go away totally as it is a matter of honour for me. However, honour can be satisfied in other ways,” he said, walking back to his seat behind his desk.

That rang alarm bells. I have heard stories of academics abusing their positions to have their wicked way with students. Reading my mind perfectly, Mark turned a large photograph around on his desk to face me.

“This is Karl and me. We have been together for 20 years come November this year. He’s my rock, my soul mate,” he said. “I wasn’t meaning what I think you were thinking, I can assure you.”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions,” I said by way of an apology. “What was it you were saying before I interrupted?”

“Firstly, I can re-mark your paper and discount the changes you made. You will still get some marks on the question as it was only the names not the subject matter you were stuck on,” Mark explained.

“OK, that sounds very reasonable. Thank you. Yes, thank you so much, Mark,” I replied, but Mark held up his hand to stop my flow.

“But, and there is potentially a big but depending on your answer to this suggestion, you must face a sanction, off the record, so that honour is served and seen to be served by those involved; i.e. both of us,” he concluded.

“OK, that sounds fair, I suppose. What is it you are suggesting, Mark?”

I looked like I was safe, so long as the sanction wasn’t going to be anything weird or whacky.

“Let’s turn that question around. In a way, although you are what, 19, 20? We have a pastoral duty to our students and it can sometimes need to be a kind of loco parentis. If we were to say, in the sixth form doing an internal exam paper and you had been caught cheating, what would your mother’s reaction have been, Kath?”

“Oh, that’s simple, she’d have given me a good talking-to.”

“And?” Mark pressed.

“And,” I was embarrassed to say the next sentence, “And, she would have put me over her knee, even at that age, pulled up my skirt or taken down my trousers and spanked me hard, over my panties. Either with her hand or with her slipper. There, happy?” I said far more snappily than Mark deserved, purely out of embarrassment.

“And would you have taken that, as a fair punishment for the deed?” Mark probed.

“Of course,” I said quizzically. “I think I see where this is going.”

“If you are OK with being spanked for cheating, perhaps we have found the best sanction for your infraction with your paper yesterday, don’t you think?” Mark concluded.

I must admit, when I got up this morning, the prospect of being spanked over my tutor’s knee didn’t feature very highly on my ‘things I am likely to do today’ list’. What were the other options? Frankly, I was struggling to think of any right here, right now.

How bad could it be? Mum’s slipper could be very mean. My aunty once used what I suppose you could call a paddle on my cousin and I when we had a fight on holiday. So, how bad could Mark’s spanking be? Then again, I had never been spanked by a man before. I had to make a decision.

“OK, suppose I say yes. Who else has to know?” I asked.

“Only anyone who knows about your misdemeanour, and that is just you and me.”

“Very well, I suppose I have little else by way of options at this time,” I told him.

In truth, there was a small corner of me wondering what it was going to be like, and not from a fear or dread perspective, but I put that thought out of my mind.

“All I ask is that this stays between us. Not even your partner Karl must know. And, we get this over with as soon as possible as I have studying to do in the library.” I was trying to make out it was of no consequence, but I was actually wondering what I had let myself in for. Another question lingered on my mind. “Have you done this before?”

“On my honour, Kath, on my honour. I have had to paddle several female student’s over the years, mainly back home where corporal punishment is still allowed in some states. Over here, you’ll be the third in six years.”

“But not blokes?” I queried.

“That’s because no blokes have ever had the guts to do what you have done. As a result, if and when they have been found out, they have faced much harsher sanctions like suspension, re-sitting years, or being thrown out,” Mark said as he drew the chair from the front of his desk clear of the furniture and set it down in the middle of the room.

Then he turned the key in the door, which surprised me.

“Sorry Kath, I should have told you I was going to do that. That must have looked sinister. I just don’t want anyone walking in while you are across my knee,” he explained.

I was sure anyone outside would hear what was going on inside if the spanking was anything like my mum’s.

“That’s Ok, Mark.”

“I’m sorry Kath, I will need to spank you on your panties. Can you drop your trousers please and come over here for me?” Mark asked almost apologetically.

I immediately regretted telling him my mum always did it over my panties. “I can’t, it’s an all in one suit,” I said in a panic. “I’m wearing a bra and panties. I can take it off,” I added without thinking.

“Please, if you wouldn’t mind.”

I slowly undid the belt on my jumpsuit, kicked off my sandals, and half turned away. I slowly undid the long centre zip of the jumpsuit. Sliding it over my shoulders, gravity did the rest and the whole garment landed at my feet. There was no way I could now walk, so I stepped out of the suit completely, leaving me standing in a translucent, almost see-through, skin-tone bra and panties set.

To be fair, Mark kept his eyes more or less fixed on my face, though even he couldn’t resist checking out what was now on display for a brief moment.

“OK, thank you Kath. Now, come here and bend across my lap, please,” he asked gently.

I stepped forward, stretched across and lowered myself down onto hard thighs. I guessed he was someone who worked out in the gym.

“Please don’t try and protect yourself or I will have to hold your arm while I complete your punishment. Ready to proceed?” he asked, like I could say no!

“Yes, Mark,” I simply said.

He placed his hand on my bottom and patted it 2 or 3 times before I felt it come down sharply onto the centre of my bum, hitting both buttocks at once.

“Youch!” I exclaimed, surprised at the firmness of the first spank. It was not too painful, but he wasn’t messing around either.

Spank, spank, he started, working alternate buttocks with two spanks each, getting very slowly harder as the spanking proceeded. My bottom vibrated at the impacts and my boobs and head were bobbing as a result too. I soon felt my bottom really starting to sting. It had been some time since I had been over my mother’s knee and I suppose I had lost some of my resistance to the pain. Mark certainly knew what he was doing.

As his hand continued its rhythmical application of punishment around my poor bottom, it became more sore by the moment. I was not anywhere near tears, but I was starting to hope it would be over sooner rather than later. Alas, Mark had other ideas. As he continued spanking me, the pain became almost unbearable and I started to sob gently. That must have been what Mark was waiting for, as within 30 seconds of my shoulders starting to rise and fall with the sobs, he calmly stopped and rested his hand on my bottom.

“Up you get, Kath. I think we can call this matter closed. I will marginally adjust your grade, but with no overall effect. Let’s draw a line under the matter, and don’t do it again,” he continued.

I managed to stand back up with a little help from Mark to steady me. I stood for a moment rubbing my bottom, for all the good it did.

“Get yourself dressed and I’ll make us a cuppa,” Mark offered kindly, clicking the kettle on the table under his frosted glass window.

I pulled on the jumpsuit and carefully zipped it back up. I put the chair back in front of his desk and gently lowered my bum onto the warm seat. We chatted briefly about the course as we drank our coffees and then I left for the library. The pain gradually decreased through the day.

By the time I got home, all that was left of the spanking was a faint, pink glow around the edges of my panties. At least the worry of everything was now off my shoulders. I slept like a baby that night.