Statistically Speaking

Emma loathed Thursdays. Her friends complained about Mondays– they hated the early morning return to campus after a weekend of late night parties and sleepy afternoons, visits home and food that didn’t come out of a box. Emma found the return to school refreshing. It wasn’t that she didn’t enjoy the break, but she liked the structure, the professors, and most of all, her classes. She was a senior and her courses were difficult but full of discussion, always offering something new, and she bloomed in the classroom.

While other students panicked at their increased workloads, Emma thrived. Thursdays, though– Thursdays were slow. After a three hour lecture in the morning, she was finished for the day. For most of her college career, she’d held a full time job in addition to her classes, plus a few groups she volunteered with– there was never a quiet moment and she liked it that way. When she’d started dating Danny, he’d had some rather strong opinions about that. He had rather strong opinions about lots of things, she thought, remembering when they’d first met.

~   ~   ~

Dr. Daniel Kendrick became an adjunct professor in the spring of Emma’s sophomore year, and had her in his class that very next fall. Her degree required a statistics course, so she’d ended up in his packed 101 session. Although she was perfectly capable of it, she’d never enjoyed math and therefore avoided it after high school. And, already in advanced classes, Emma scoffed at the idea of taking an intro class. Having a professor only a few years older than herself did nothing to improve her estimation. He’d graduated early with his own undergraduate degree and headed straight back to school for his doctorate, so as far as she was concerned he was qualified but barely. From her seat in the second row, she took in his laid back stance and youthful appearance. He seemed easy going, making small talk with those who had arrived a few minutes early. It was his first year actually leading a class, but he seemed comfortable with the authority. While other students batted their eyes at his dark hair and lanky frame, practically swooning, Emma slumped in her seat and prepared for an hour of doodling in her notebook.

While she remained attentive in her other classes, she skipped the math course as often as she went, blowing off the lectures and zoning out when she did decide to show up. Her first test came as quite a shock; she spent a few minutes staring blankly at the pages, face flushing as she realized how little of the material she knew. Affecting a cheerful demeanor, she quickly answered as best she could and whizzed out of the classroom with what she hoped was the air of a woman with things on her mind much more important than a failed math test.

Her attendance afterward became much more steady, but the material increased in difficulty and she was forever playing catch-up thanks to her weeks of negligence. After bombing the second exam despite studying, Emma could barely contain her panic as she bustled out of the room, an ask-me-nothing smile firmly plastered under wet eyes. As he returned the tests, Dr. Kendrick made the same sort of speech as he had after the first– praising the high marks, scolding those he knew hadn’t studied, and offering repeatedly to help anyone who needed it. His office hours were posted on his door, his email address was listed on the school’s web site, and his phone number was on the syllabus. Emma, however, was much better at avoidance than she was at statistics, and managed to keep her eyes firmly locked on her suddenly interesting textbook as he repeated his offer at the end of class. It was her own fault for skipping in the first place, she berated herself harshly, so it was up to her to dig her way back out.

After dropping a stack of papers at the end of class one Wednesday afternoon, Emma found herself alone with the professor after a shortened lecture.

“Emma,” came his voice from the desk in the corner of the room. Startled, she almost dropped her papers again as she looked up. That he was even aware of her name came as a shock. “Emma,” he repeated, seeing that he had her attention, “why are you failing this class?”

Put off by his bluntness, she stuttered an excuse, feeling her face flush and rushing to get to the door.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that,” his voice came again, ignoring her attempt at escape. “Why are you failing this class?”

This time it came out as more of a command than a question, causing Emma to make the mistake of looking up into his clear and curious eyes, and this time she did drop her papers again, her own eyes swimming as the panic she’d held in check since that first test day boiled over and threatened to spill down her cheeks. “I can’t… I just…” she stumbled over her words, struggling to suppress her emotions, growing even more upset as waves of guilt washed over her. Closing her eyes, she took several deep breaths, shoving everything back inside and composing herself. “I’m sorry,” and now she spoke clearly, fully in control once again. “I’ll do better.”

“What’s your schedule after this class, Emma?” Dr. Kendrick asked as she again walked resolutely towards the door.

“I have another class after this Mondays and Wednesdays; on Fridays I have a two hour break before work,” she replied, too intent on leaving to wonder why he asked.

“Excellent,” came his voice as she maneuvered past the last few desks, speaking just as calmly as if she’d still been looking at him. “We can study for an hour on Friday afternoons. Get you caught up. Bring your notes.”

“Yes, sir,” she squeaked as she finally made it through the doorway. 

What just happened? she wondered as she found her car, opened the door and tossed her books into the passenger seat. Can he even require me to stay after? And where did that sir come from? Her face flushed to think about the added honorific. Required or not, though… embarrassed or not… she knew she would be there.

~   ~   ~

“Where are your notes?” Dr. Kendrick asked as he walked towards her desk two days later. Emma had sat awkwardly, pretending to organize her things as the rest of the students filed out. Before she could hide the notebook she carried, he was over her shoulder. “Hmm. These look like song lyrics, a rather lopsided heart, and the loveliest E I’ve ever seen. However, none of it looks like statistics.”

Emma felt her face flush as she fumbled with her pen. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected this meeting to look like, but somehow she hadn’t been prepared for the question. “It usually just… sticks? Well in my other classes it sticks. So I don’t usually take a lot of notes?”

He glanced sharply over at her before maneuvering a desk catty-corner and taking a seat. “Well, it’s time to start. As long as we’re meeting, I retain the right to see your notes whenever I ask. There will be consequences for empty pages. Is that clear?”

“Yessir,” she mumbled, flipping to a blank page and opening her text book. He nodded once, re-assumed his friendlier attitude, and began the lesson.

Things went well for the next several weeks, until Emma was nearly even with the rest of the class. Once she overcame her intimidation– and stopped letting her ego get in her way– she found the subject to be plenty manageable. Now that she was caught up and comfortable, the lessons went quickly. She even found herself zoning out again, scribbling in the margins of her binder and counting on her memory to hold some of the formulas they were learning. She’d become less intimidated by Dr. Kendrick as well; he made her feel at ease, never reminding her of her past absences or early struggles. They still studied together, but it was fun and silly, and most days didn’t feel like work. She forgot he was still paying attention– close attention.

Friday afternoon came again. She turned her book to the day’s notes, carefully taken for their study session. They’d become so routine, and he hadn’t asked to see them in weeks, but she still made sure she had something written down for the days they did meet. He didn’t move from his desk when the last student left. “Show me your notes for this week.” She hesitated, since he usually came to sit near her, then brought him the day’s pages of numbers and formulas. He gave it a glance, then handed the spiral notebook back to her. “This is today’s lesson. Show me Wednesday’s.”

Emma felt a flush rising from her neck to her face as she flipped the pages back, revealing a few scattered notes amid a sea of curly-cued letters and doodles. She handed it back to him, suddenly very conscious of how awkward she felt, standing in front of his desk in the front of the recently emptied classroom.

“And Monday’s?” he asked, passing the notes back to her once again.

Her hands became sweaty as she flipped to pages filled with simple butterflies surrounding illegible scribbles supposedly copied from the board. She hesitated, not wanting to hand it over a third time. Dr. Kendrick remained expectant though, and eventually she extended the notes back to him. His eyes scanned the lined paper quickly, and then he nodded once resolutely and said, “Right then. We’ll continue today’s lesson in my office. Follow me.”

He stood, his chair scraping the ground, and walked toward the door. Emma could hardly breath, but she couldn’t help but follow.

~   ~   ~

Being an adjunct professor doesn’t afford one many favors, and Dr. Kendrick had been stuck in the basement with one other adjunct who didn’t have classes on Fridays. He shot Emma a quick glance, a small request for permission before shutting the door behind them. He gestured for her to have a seat in one of the straight back chairs centered on a small paisley rug, although he chose to lean against the desk in front of her instead of blockading himself behind it. Despite the lack of sunlight– there was a single recessed window leading up to the outside world– the office felt much warmer than the classroom. The desk was neither cluttered nor clear, and there were pictures of his family and friends scattered among the filled built-in bookshelves along the small side wall. He interrupted her observations by speaking.

“If I recall correctly,” and his tone betrayed no trace of doubt, “I promised that there would be consequences, should you choose to fall behind again. Is that correct?”

“Yessir,” she whispered. Again, that nod, and he squatted in front of her, balancing on the balls of his feet so they were eye level, obligating her to meet his gaze.

“You did not, it appears, remain attentive, and now it is time for a reminder. You are going to stand in that corner, right there, for the next five minutes, and think about what a waste of time and money this class is if you choose not to pay attention and complete the work properly. Then I am going to spank you, and then we are going to discuss this week’s lessons.”

He maintained eye contact for several moments as she worked to find a response. Then he took her hand and pulled her gently from the seat, walking her to the corner by the door. Mutely she allowed herself to be guided. She found her nose to the wall, and the professor’s voice in her ear, “The door is unlocked.” He squeezed her hand gently and went to his desk. She stood frozen, heart beating in her ears and palms clammy.

The door is unlocked. Well… he had offered her the option of leaving. So she would leave, she decided. Only she didn’t. Because he had also offered her the option of staying. Of consequences. Of atonement. Maybe an option that would rid her of the bundle of shame in her stomach, undo the feeling of failure at having let herself drop this ball. She spent most of the five minutes silently willing her feet to step toward the door, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. He had taken so much time with her, put in so much effort, and part of her wanted to be punished for not living up to his expectations or her own. His carefully selected words as he scolded her echoed… “choose to fall behind…” “choose not to pay attention…” Closing her eyes, and mumbling a silent prayer to anyone listening, she made another choice. She decided to stay.

When Dr. Kendrick called her from the corner, she found him seated in the spot she had occupied before. She came to stand in front of him, and he looked up at her as he spoke. “Have you been spanked before?” he asked, and she nodded. “Recently?” and this time she shook her head, no, not recently, she hadn’t been spanked in a very very long time, but he didn’t ask about that, he just continued, “Alright. I’m going to take down your jeans, and then I’m going to begin.”

Within a minute, he was doing just that– his hand descending over and over again on her blue underwear, her squirming and gasping for air after the first volley. She tried her hardest to remain quiet, but little squeals escaped as his hand found its mark. Her time in the corner had led her to imagine the forgiveness part of things, but not the actual spanking itself, and she was starting to understand that she would truly be earning her redemption. Her hands spasmed in front of her, sometimes grabbing the chair and then touching the floor, finally settling in a vice grip around the professor’s leg. As her backside’s new hot blush began to escape the line of her underwear, her eyes suddenly filled and hot tears started to run down her cheeks. A moment later, Dr. Kendrick scooped her up and held her head to his chest, stroking her hair and mumbling soothing nonsense words until she stopped sniffling.

The entirety of her situation descended on her abruptly– bottom throbbing, jeans bunched around her thighs, cheeks wet with tears– and her body tensed with the mortification of it all. Dr. Kendrick gave her a reassuring squeeze, though, and she relaxed again. She felt safe and well-attended to, and she wasn’t ready to chase those feelings away just yet.

~   ~   ~

They’d had an abbreviated study session after, though sitting through it had been a chore and she remembered that her bottom ached all through work that afternoon. He didn’t check her notes again the rest of the semester. He’d been confident there was no need, and he was right, of course. With his help, she had passed the freshman level class at which she’d turned up her nose originally. Danny couldn’t quite hide his pleasure when her head popped into his office the first Friday of the next semester. With no more math to study or intertwined schedules, they went out for coffee, and then they started going to dinner. And slowly their relationship evolved– and she didn’t hear his opinions on being a workaholic until much later.

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Length: 2605 words
Updated: 01/27/2024