The Stolen Equation (M/f)

[goodgulf]

The Stolen Equation

"I can't believe I doing this." Rachael Morgan muttered to herself.

This wasn't some prank. If things went wrong she would be trading the ivory cover walls of academia for prison grey. At the very least she would be an academic disgrace, her career ended before it began. As she drove, Rachael asked herself once more if it was really worth it. To her disappointment, the answer was still "yes".

It was all Josh Buckingham's fault. The boy was an undergrad who hero-worshipped the big names. If you were in the field and maybe in the running for a Nobel Prize then Josh Buckingham knew where you where you did your undergrad degree, what your master's thesis was on, and maybe even the name of your high school science teacher.

Of course he didn't bother learning much about Rachael; she wasn't a name. She didn't even have her doctorate yet. She was only months away from presenting her thesis, a thesis whose topic she mentioned in the classes she taught, and that idiot Josh Buckingham had had a comment about it. He had stayed after a class to ask her how it felt to be researching the same subject that the great Doctor Alexander Frederick Cassidy was exploring.

The moment he asked that question, the bottom dropped out of Rachael's world. Doctor Alexander Frederick Cassidy (never Alex, almost always with his middle) had been one of those child prodigies who graduated high school at 12 or 13 (Rachael didn't know which, but she was sure that Josh Buckingham had memorised that fact). From there he had gone to breeze his way through a math degree or two before focusing on Physics. By age 18 he had a bachelors, a pair of masters degrees, a doctorate, and a Fellowship that allowed him to whatever research he wanted while avoiding the need to interact with undergrads.

That was just over five years ago. Everyone expected the genius to burn out soon, but he had presented more than a dozen original ideas and seemed to have more in the pipe. Rachael had done solid work, but she knew she would never be in the running for the Nobel. She had some interesting ideas, but nothing great, nothing completely original. Whatever the former child prodigy was working on was probably a great idea that meant nothing to him, but could mean everything to Rachael.

Soon she would be another face in the crowd of newly minted doctorates, competing with the others for teaching and research positions. She faced a long road before being the running for tenure, and if things went really bad Rachael might find herself teaching at the high school level while wondering where her dreams went. But... But if she "borrowed" from Doctor Alexander Frederick Cassidy's work, then she would start her career with a great idea. Another great or even an original idea meant nothing to the former boy genius, but for Rachael it would be a fast track to tenure. She would leapfrog over her peers. All she had to do was find his research, claim that she had stumbled over something in her own work, and everything would be perfect.

She needed details, but Josh Buckingham was there to supply them. The hero-worshipping undergrad knew which building Cassidy worked in and even the room where he did the bulk of his work; an old physics lab where he had plenty of wall space. He knew where and when Cassidy ate (Josh had considered going to that dining hall just to watch the man eat) and most importantly, that Cassidy stored all of his research on a black 8 gig Sony memory stick.

Rachael had let Josh Buckingham blab on and on. She had listened to his speculation over whether Cassidy was like Sheldon Cooper from the Big Bang Theory and if Cassidy would burn out by age 30. Then she had steered the conversation to other greats, ending with Feynman (every physics fan boy loved Feynman). They had talked for hours, mostly so that Josh Buckingham would remember talking about more than just how a true genius was working in Rachael's sandbox.

Yes, it was all Josh Buckingham's fault. If not for him, Rachael wouldn't know about Cassidy's research. It wasn't as if she would run into him; there was a three hour drive between the two universities. Three hours there and three hours back. Rachael had made the trip twice, scouting the campus, hoping that she would find it impossible to go ahead with her plan, but no. The place had just as poor security as her campus did. The same bad habits, the same "let me hold the door for you" mentality that defeated key codes and scan cards.

Worse, they had the same "coming events" things posted on their bulletin boards. A quick trip to a computer lab (there was always someone who forgot to log out) brought up all the details, details that she printed off.

Details that told her when and how she would get into Cassidy's lab.


Of course it wouldn't be easy. Rachael had to make a third trip (six more hours eaten out of her own research) to haunt used clothing and consignment stores, assembling a pair of disguises that would fit. For once her short height and slight build was working out for her. Rachael told herself that buying the second outfit didn't commit her, but with a plan that promised success, well how could she back out now?

Which is why she was on the road again, driving three hours with her heart in her throat. Risking arrest and disgrace for a fast track to tenure. Hoping that she hadn't overlooked anything. Praying that the plan would work.

Once there, she parked in a visitor's parking lot, paying an outrageous hourly rate. Rachael locked her purse in the trunk, hid her key in a magnetic clip concealed under her car, grabbed her sports bag, then advanced to her goal. All the while she told herself that she wasn't committed, that she could walk away at anytime.

As expected, the campus was swarming with groups of high school students. Eight schools were having their "this is what a college campus looks like" tours, all trying in vain to keep track of their students. Rachael knew (from experience) that some students would wander away from their groups. They would stray everywhere and sometimes get in trouble. Some of the girls would probably end up drinking in frat houses, and that was the core of her plan.

Avoiding the mobs of students, Rachael made her way to the woman's athletic centre. It wasn't busy, but someone held the door for her, giving Rachael access to the locker room. Once there, she slowly stripped off, placing her clothes in a locker on the far end of the room. They were new to her clothes, ones that she would leave behind if she had to.

Rachael went slowly, lingering until there was no one in her line of sight, then quickly changed into the school uniform of one of the touring schools. She had planned to step out of her thong and put on the uniform's panties, but Rachael didn't want to risk taking the time to do it. She needed speed, so those panties stayed in her sports bag when she jammed it into the locker. She put a lock on the locker, but didn't lock it. Maybe someone would steel the clothes, maybe not, but no one would remember having to cut a lock on an abandoned locker.

Rachael practically ran out of the locker room. Once out, she made her way to Casidy's building, still telling herself that she wasn't committed yet.


Walking amidst the college students, Rachael couldn't help notice how quickly they dismissed her. A few of the boys had lustful stares that lingered on her, but most of the students ignored her. Rachael knew she was short and had seriously considered getting a breast job, but it was almost insulting how they all looked at her as if she was just a kid.

Then she was in Cassidy's lab, staring in awe at the white boards that covered three of the walls. At first glance, he was working on four things at once. Four things, but that set of equations looked familiar. All she needed was his memory stick and until she grabbed it, she still wasn't committed.

"Hey, what are you doing here?"

Rachael turned, her stomach doing flip-flops. There he was, the former boy genius. A man who was younger than she was but already a legend in their field. A prospective Nobel Prize winner who had come back from a meal break early.

"Um, well, see there's this tour..." Rachael began.

Alexander stared past her, looking at his white boards.

"Did you change something? Did you? I knew I should have captured that before I... That part there, is that what I wrote or did you change it? Damn, I knew I shouldn't have stopped to eat. If you've changed it..."

Rachael swallowed hard. He was "in the zone", his mind aflame with an idea. That's why he was back early. He want to get everything done before he lost the thread.

"No, I can't tell." Alexander rambled. "Damn, I've lost it. It probably wasn't important, but damn it, between eating and dealing with you I've lost it."

"Um, well, um, the rest of the tour..." Rachael muttered, inching towards the door.

"And where do you think you're going?" Alexander demanded. "You're in a secure area where the tour doesn't go. No tours come here. You may have just cost me ... No, you're staying until security gets here to take you away."

"But..."

"But the campus police will hold you until your parents get you." Alexander told her.

Nothing was going to plan. Rachael searched an out. For something to deter him from calling security. If the campus police came for her... It was over, all over, unless she could think of something.

Paperwork! No researcher liked doing paperwork.

"Won't that mean that you'll have to fill out a bunch of form?" Rachael asked. "And won't security make you come down to fill them out there? Then I might have a hearing and you'd have to be there and..."

"Damn! Damn damn damn." Alexander said, looking back to his white boards. "Hours. Six to ten wasted hours. All wasted because of you."

Rachael allowed herself to relax. At least until Doctor Cassidy turned and fixed her with a stare.

"Have you read the student handbook? Section 231 point 4 point 7 subjection J?" Alexander asked.

"Huh no? Um, section..."

Rachael shrank into herself as Doctor Cassidy advanced on her.

"It's the section dealing minors on campus." Alexander explained calmly. Too calmly. Too icily calmly for comfort. "It was inserted when the campus started its young academic program. Most people don't even know it's there, but I do. I know that handbook front and back and I know what is and what isn't allowed."

"Um, but if I'm not a student, I mean, not here, I mean I'm a high school student..."

Rachael wasn't prepared for Doctor Cassidy to seize her by the arm.

"Subjection J, part iii, second paragraph, concerning visiting minor students, different campuses, exploring our programs." Alexander said in his icily cold tone. "That covers this situation."

"Um, let me go?" Rachael suggested.

Alexander didn't listen to her. He just pulled her towards a stool near the centre of the lab. Rachael could picture him sitting on that stool, looking at the white boards, taking in all of the information at once, processing it in a way that she could only dream of.

That stool moved now, Alexander positioning it nearer on of the desks that were scattered around the room.

"I am a fellow equated with a full professor. Hence I have the authority to administer corporal punishment as I deem fit." Alexander explained.

"What?" Rachael said in shock. "You're going to spank me?"

Alexander paused, either to think or because she knew what corporal punishment translated to.

"Unless you want to be arrested? Do you want a juvenile criminal record following you through life? You'd never work at NASA or with the pentagon; they don't issue that type of security clearance when there's a criminal record involved." Alexander told her as he sat on the stool. "Do I call security or do I handle this here and now?"

Rachael knew which option was best for her, but how could she keep her cover? Why would a teenage girl ever volunteer to take a spank?

Then it hit her. A reason that anyone would believe if it came from a teen.

"You won't tell my parents, will you?" Rachael asked. "They're talking about buying me a car for graduation but if I get arrested then there's no way they'll get me one."

"I take it that is your final decision?" Alexander said.

Not waiting for an answer, he hauled her over his lap. Rachael twisted a bit as her school skirt was lifted, exposing her thong.

"Um, don't tell anyone that, um, I'm not in my full uniform?" Rachael squeaked, cursing herself for not taking the time to change into the panties.

Alexander paused. Then, smiling, he adjusted his hold on her. The stool was high enough that Rachael's hair dangled above the floor and her feet were well above it. Rachael felt strangely helpless as she lay there, waiting for Alexander to start so they could get this over with.

She didn't have long to wait for the first part, but could never imagine how long it would be for the latter to occur.

Alexander didn't have much to lecture about, but decided to remind her why they were doing this.

"You."

Smack.

"Shouldn't."

Slap.

"Be."

Slap.

"Here."

A flurry of slaps punctuated that last word.

Rachael squealed as the heat started to build in her behind. She could barely believe that this was happening. She didn't want to go to jail, but this wasn't the pat on the bottom she expected. She had thought maybe one or two, maybe three sharp smacks, not this unbridled assault on her backside.

Alexander paused again, then reached behind him.

"Sniff. Are we done?" Rachael asked hopefully.

Alexander's fumbling fingers finally finding what he was looking for.

"Not quite." Alexander said firmly. "The policy allows me to bare your bottom..."

"What?" Rachael exclaimed.

"...But since your bottom is barely covered I think we'll skip that step." Alexander finished.

"Good, so..." Rachael begun.

"Skipping that means we're on to the ruler." Alexander announced.

A loud 'splat' echoed through the room, followed by Rachael's shriek as the ruler crashed down hard on her backside.

Alexander looked down at the ruled shaped red blotch, admiring at how it was framed by the pink imprints of his hand. Grinning, he brought the rule down again and again on the deliciously round backside.

The later results weren't as dramatic as that first landing, but each time a smack echoed through the room the ruler left its imprint on Rachael's bottom. Sometimes, just to keep her bottom from being smacked out too soon, he landed a smack on her legs. Not just her upper thighs, where they could be excused as poorly landed swats, but her leg. Her uniform's skirt wasn't indecently short but Alexander didn't think she would be able to bend at all without flashing marks from this spanking.

He didn't land that many low swats, but each time the ruler landed off an area that was not naturally padded it produced a high pitch squeal or cry from the kicking girl. At least at first, but as the spanking went on the squeals became sobs.

Then came tears.

When they arrived, it was hard say who was more surprised: Rachael (who didn't think a sore bottom would ever make her cry) or Alexander (who didn't expect anything so juvenile from the girl).

But tears weren't enough to bring an end to the spanking. Alexander had a number in mind, not regarding hand smacks (which he didn't count) but in regards to swats from the ruler, and numbers were important to him. Very important. Neither tears not redness would deter him from that number. It would take equipment failure for that to happen and the ruler was too sturdy for that to be an issue. If it had been cheep plastic then it would have broken on one of those hard smacks, but the solid piece of wood would never crack under the strain of a spanking. That, more than just the stated need to occasionally draw a straight line, was why he kept it in his lab.

"One last one." Alexander told the sobbing girl.

The were barely in her ears before the ruler crashed down for the last time.

"Now to park you in the corner so you can think about what you've done wrong." Alexander announced. "If I had bared your bottom then procedure would require removing your skirt, but I didn't so you can wear it while you stand in the corner. Unless it feels too heavy on your bottom, then you can take it off while you wait."

Rachael didn't trust herself to say anything as Alexander helped her off his lap. She almost fell getting off the stool, but Alexander supported her until she was steady on her feet. He marched her to the outside wall, to the one wall not covered with a white board, and positioned her so that half her world was white board and the other plan wall.

"You should stand there for half an hour, and I should watch to make sure that you do, but I'm not going to waste my time staying here." Alexander told her. "I can't work with you sobbing there, so I'll leave my laptop running equations while I get the forms I'm supposed to fill out before I spank you."

Rachael emitted a sound of surprise.

"Normally I would have filled them out then, but since it that or you losing your car I'm sure the result would have been the same. Unofficial procedure is when the outcome is predetermined then they can be filled out after the fact. Oh, and you'll have to sign your name to them. Anyway, I'll be back in half an hour and if you're here then you can sign them."

Alexander walked to his desk, taking a memory stick from his left side pants pocket as he did so. Inserting it into the laptop, Alexander clicked on an icon and locked the screen before leaving.

Left alone, it took Rachael long minutes to master her tears. She used the arm of the school blazer to clean her face before looking out of the corner.

She wanted just to stand there and cry, maybe without any clothes weighing on her bottom, but she couldn't. After everything she had gone through, the memory stick was in sight.

Limping out of the corner, Rachael closed the laptop. Since she couldn't eject the memory stick from the taskbar, the only safe way to remove it was to put the computer to sleep before yanking it out. Otherwise the data on it might be scrambled, making her risk a worthless one.

It was only when the memory stick was in her hand that Rachael admitted to herself that she was committed.

Reaching into her blazer's pocket, Rachael extracted an identical memory stick. She had specially prepared this one, carefully scrambling its contents so it would looked as if Doctor Cassidy's stick had become corrupted. She inserted it and opened the laptop.

Once the switch was made, Rachael limped to the door. Her legs and bottom burning, she dashed to the nearest bathroom to fix her face. Not that she could erase all the tear marks but she dealt with the worse of it.

Rachael didn't even think about retrieving her clothes. They would go into lost and found or be stolen or whatever - she didn't care. She had what she came for and couldn't afford any risks now.

Making her way to the visitor's parking lot, Rachael ignored the occasional pitying glance. Reaching her car she retrieved her key. The act of sitting in it, of putting her weight on her throbbing backside and legs, brought tears to her eyes. Soldiering through the pain, Rachael drove off.

Stopping at a gas station, Rachael retrieved her purse from the trunk. Armed with her makeup case she used the scuzzy bathroom to make a serious attempt to fix her face. With the door firmly locked, she dropped her skirt to see just how bad it looked.

Rachael was in awe of how marked her bottom and legs were. She was sure that there were bruises forming on her backside. As for her legs, the ruler had left stripes most of the way down to her knees.

But she the equations. Maybe. Hopefully. If the research she wanted was on the stick. If the stick wasn't encrypted. If, if, after everything she had gone through and everything Rachael had risked, she was still bases her hopes on ifs.


Alexander Frederick Cassidy returned to his lab, carrying his spare laptop but without papers, to find the corner empty. Walking to his laptop he smiled to find the duplicate stick with its worthless data.

"The replacement stick was a nice touch." Alexander muttered as he began reformatting the hard drive.

His data was on his stick, not the computer, and why risk whatever that woman might have put on his laptop? Maybe it was nothing, but why risked it? Meanwhile, he drew his current memory stick from his shirt pocket and plugged it into his spare laptop.

Alexander didn't know who woman had been, but he knew that she wasn't in high school. He had known the moment he has raised her skirt. Maybe she fitted in a school uniform but her bottom was far too round and firm to belong to a teenager. Dressed just right the woman could pass for someone in her mid teens, but there were no traces of adolescence in her bottom. If Alexander knew anything about bottoms (and he considered himself a minor expert on the subject) that woman was in her mid 20s.

Maybe she was rival researcher, maybe she was some sort of spy, maybe she was a physics groupie (Alexander had met a few of those), or maybe she was something else entirely. Alexander didn't know, or really care. Whoever she was, she was welcome to a carefully modified copy of last week's work. It was almost the same as his current work, but there were 25 carefully inserted math errors. Errors that would be obvious to him or any other genius, but not obvious to anyone who would need to steal his work

Whoever she was, she had dramatically over planned thing. The last time his work had been stolen, someone had just wandered in, switched sticks, and wandered out. Alexander could barely believe that someone had disguised herself as a visiting high school student as part of an elaborate plot to steal his work, it had happened.

And it had happened in such a way that Alexander was reminded that it was better to give than receive, at least in regards to spankings.

Alexander had first learnt about that discipline policy soon after he completed his bachelor’s degree, when he been caught sneaking into a woman's dorm to try to peak at naked girls. He was remind of it a few years later when he had hacked his way through the university's network, trying to find online porn so he could look at naked girls. A few years after that, well that had been unfair. After his second master's degree he talked about getting a degree in art history. That time he had been spanked for thinking about wasting his finely horned mind on an unworthy subject, but all he had really wanted to do was spend time looking at paintings of naked girls.

Then, after getting his doctorate, he had "fixed" a grade for a cute undergrad. Well what was the point of having a doctorate if you couldn't give a cute girl a couple of bonus marks? Not many, only three, but those three had meant the difference between losing her scholarship and keeping it.

When word got out that he (someone the same age as the average freshman) could "fix" grades and Alexander had done a lot more than just look at naked girls. Not that he ever fixed their grades or even promised to, but a number of adventurous co-eds had got it in their heads that if they made him happy enough that he might. A few months after that rumour started, Alexander had his first "I spanked her to tears" experience. His first, but by no means his last. Today Alexander had wondered if it was morally right to spank a teen, but then discovered that he had a woman's lovely shaped rear over his lap, making the moral argument a moot one.


It didn't pay to fall behind the literature, so he did. A few months later, Alexander couldn't help noticing a familiar looking equation in a paper published in peer reviewed journal. Thinking back the pleasant way she had wiggled when she was over his lap, Alexander decided to be generous. To give her a moment of glory and wait for someone else to find the errors in the math.

As for Rachael, she found her greatest moment of glory was tarnished. Not because it was stolen, but because every time she thought about that equation, her butt clenched tight at the memory of the spanking it had cost her.

Goodgulf

[sgtjoe78]

Nice story!

[goodgulf]

I'm glad you enjoyed it.

Goodgulf

[kjm]

Who would think of stealing equations in the academic world? Great story, Goodgulf.

[goodgulf]

I'm glad you liked it.

[fatherjim_99]

As always, your story was well-formulated and well told! You are a master at your craft! Thanks for sharing your talent!

[goodgulf]

And thanks for taking the time to comment.