The Law Man Punishes

Book two of the two-book series titled, The Law Master and Pet.

Sexually Explicit

Written and edited by Vonda Norwood

This introduction is written from Professor William Garnet’s perspective. It is a recap of The Law Man.


Vonda Norwood

At age sixty-one, I got butt-naked in my classroom and then I used an old wood ruler to spank the bare ass belonging my twenty-one year-old student, Mary Evans. Our instincts met when I was consumed with frustration caused by Ms. Rowe. She’s a fellow professor, who led me on just to abuse then reject me. Reject me… She was the one who came on to me! The moment our lips met, she grabbed my balls and squeezed the crap out of them. I didn’t kiss her. I used my mouth to push her away, and that’s when she informed me that I had issues with hostility. For months afterwards, she wandered the campus halls telling women professors that I was a very rough kisser. Rough kisser… I didn’t kiss her!

Mary, she was too young. No, I was too old. But when our needs met, they took damn good care of each other. I really enjoyed the bossy way she made sure I knew that if I wanted her, I had to dominate her. That day when she slipped out of my classroom, her aroma remained on skin. Warm pumpkin pie and sweet vanilla… I shuddered in my chair while inhaling again and again. I nearly hyperventilated, but then students streamed into the room. I scrambled out of there, drove home, and took a shower. Long dark hair, light-brown eyes, and a small and round, firm ass… I had to stand under cold water for an hour before my dick relaxed enough to reunite my brain with common sense! That night, I called Mary and told her we could never again sexually associate.

The next time she joined my class, I was relieved, but saddened by how well she respected my wishes. Every moment dragged. When the next semester came around, Mary didn’t. I sat in my classroom for weeks gazing at the double doors at the top of the steps, which were behind the rows of heads belonging to the pupils I ignored. Day after day, my mind drifted back to when Mary pressed her palms against those doors while insisting I not be gentle with her. I hated that she had to stifle her squeals, but loved how doing so caused her body to tremble against mine. The panties she gave me, I kept them in the top drawer in my bedroom dresser as a reminder of pleasure I would never again experience, until…


Vonda Norwood

At the college and inside its busy hallway, twenty-year-old Carl Tanner rushes around the corner of a beige wall. He then strolls beneath a single row of round, glass drop chandeliers. His classmate, Jerry Moore, is three light fixtures ahead and he’s progressing quickly with the left side of a half-tucked, pale-yellow T-shirt flapping against the back pocket of his blue Wranglers. Carl frowns. He squeezes the handle of a silver laptop case and he jogs.

Arriving beside Jerry, Carl continues his pace. “Slow down, sloppy.”

Jerry stops. He releases a black handle into his right hand and then he lowers the black case to the side of his knee. “Better?”

Carl halts and his gray sneakers squeak scuffing mosaic tiles. He spins around. There are three, dime-size razor cuts on Jerry’s triangular chin. “You’re all jacked up.”

Snarling, Jerry steps forward. “I hate this damn class.”

“Who doesn’t?” Side by side the young men make their way toward a light-brown door, which is to their right and at the end of the corridor. Carl shrugs. “At least you didn’t brain-fart a laptop.” He turns a dry mouth to his left shoulder and he coughs against his white Polo. “I was on Forty-First before I realized I left mine at home.”

“Stupid Law and Man…”

“I know,” Carl grins. “…you’re sick you have to take it again.”

“I took it only because it became available online.”

“It should have been easy.”

“It’s an entire subject about nothing. It would have been easy, online!”

Carl chuckles.

Jerry glances to the left, peering over his friend’s head and he frowns at the multitude of wide eyes that are staring at him. His face turns red. He hangs his head and stares at passing tiles. “Garnet’s an asshole for making us show up for tests.”

Five teenagers, who are mumbling to each other and glancing around, wander toward Carl and Jerry’s forward march. Carl raises his laptop to his chest and he leans into Jerry. The teens rush by. Carl glances back and he sneers. “Freshmen, two weeks in and they’re still lost.”

“They need to be warned to avoid Professor Garnet.”

“They can live and learn. You got fifty I can barrow?”

Jerry tugs on his shirt, pulling it out of his jeans. “God, I wish I didn’t need the credits.”

“I wish I had a job. I need fifty ‘til next Saturday.”

“Why didn’t you apply at Strings? Darcy hired Mary three weeks ago.”

“I did, but I haven’t heard shit.”

Jerry raises his head and smiles. His cheeks lighten. “I almost crashed a BMW last night when I drove passed her.”

“Staring at Mary’s ass is going to get you fired.”

“Her ponytail hypnotizes me.”

“Ponytail?” Carl’s laughter bursts up the hall. “Yeah, right.”

Jerry grins. “One of these days, I’m going to be the man who removes Mary’s color-coordinated scrunchy and—” Men’s brown dress-shoes smack the tiles behind them, vibrating the young men’s rubber soles. Keeping their strides, they glance back and then they side-step in opposite directions. In a brown suit, Professor William Garnet charges between them.

The students turn, both frowning at the white haired professor’s back. Carl whispers, “He hates you so damn much.”

Jerry’s nostrils flare. He mumbles, “It’s not my fault he’s too old to get it up.”

Carl laughs and so does Jerry. Several paces ahead, Garnet pulls a door open and he darts into his classroom. “Just keep your mouth shut in there.” Carl shoulder-bumps his pal. “You don’t want another zero.”


“Give him no excuse to kick you out again.”

“I don’t want to park cars all my life.”

“I can park cars, wait tables and wash dishes. Talk me up to the owner of Strings.”

“There’s a party tonight. I’m sure they need help. I’ll call Darcy after class.”

“Thanks.” They pause in front of the closed door that leads to Garnet’s Law and Man philosophy class. “Can I barrow fifty?”

Jerry slides his hand into his front pocket. He pulls out two twenties, which are folded in half with a strand of red yarn tied around them. “Forty.” Jerry pulls the string off the money and then he stuffs the yarn into his pocket.

Carl takes the cash. “I’ll get it back to you next Saturday.” He pulls the door open. “Head down and mouth shut.”


With Carl on his heels, Jerry steps into a crowded, silent room where then he stops. His pal steps beside him. They glance at the professor who is seated directly ahead and he is frowning at his black, plastic desk. The young men bank right and rush up the steps.

Garnet opens his laptop. He pushes the power button and then he slides the computer to the edge of the left side of the desk. With his eyes fixed on his shiny furniture, he hops to his feet, removes his brown coat and then he drapes it over back of that black, plastic chair. William sits and he rolls forward. His eyelids flutter. “Did all the professors get new, crappy furniture yesterday?”

From the top row, making his way to a single wood desk in front of the double doors, fair-haired Jerry Moore replies, “Four out of five of my professors did.”

Carl shakes his shaved head. The professor’s light-blue eyes lock on Jerry who then frowns and sits down. “Mr. Moore…” Garnet cringes. “Last year, you were kind enough to drop my class.”

“I apologize, Professor.” Jerry clears his throat. “I didn’t realize your question was rhetorical.”

William folds his arms and he presses them to the chest in which he then puffs beneath a light-brown dress-shirt. He stares over the heads of pupils whose wide-eyes are darting aimlessly. “If you concentrate on your studies instead of ponytails, you’ll have fewer problems, Mr. Moore.”

Carl, who is seated next to Jerry, slaps his desk and he shouts, “Ponytails?” The professor points to the right, at the side-door. Carl stands, rolling his eyes and lifting his laptop. On burgundy-colored, carpeted steps, he jogs down the center row.

Four-feet in front of the professor’s desk, the young man’s shoes land smacking white tiles. He and Garnet lock stares. Carl turns left. “A zero,” he mumbles, and stomps toward the door. William lowers his arm. Carl rushes into the hall. Slowly, the door swings shut.

Fifteen students tap laptop keys. Garnet turns his attention to the drawer beside his right thigh. He holds his breath, slides the drawer open and he peers down. His old wood ruler is lying numbers up at the bottom of that otherwise empty black box. William exhales and shudders and he slides the drawer closed. Through a clenched jaw, he hisses, “Keep your hands to yourself, Mr. Moore.”

Jerry lowers his head behind his laptop and he whispers, “What?”

Garnet glances at his computer. “You have fifteen minutes. Go.” Soft groans bounce around the room.

Garnet cups the arms of his chair, he gazes beyond his desk at the empty seat which is front and center. Mary once stood beside that desk. They were alone when from the closed side-door, he approached her with fire in eyes and the old wood ruler clutched in his hand. He asked her, “You wanted my attention?”

Mary tilted her head to the left, her long and dark ponytail swayed at her elbow. “You do have needs.” She grinned.

“I have one.” He smacked his palm with the ruler. “You have broken my rules.”

“Hoping you’d be willing to enforce them.”

His chin raised, he nodded toward the steps to the left of where she stood grinning. “Go, and stand at the doors.”

She turned and headed up. He charged forward and remained one step behind during their fast paced climb. Once in the archway of the double doors, Mary’s hands fell to her sides. Garnet gripped her ponytail and he glided it down. Her chin rose. He whispered near her ear, “Never remove this.”


William released her hair. He stepped closer. Mary’s chest rose and fell. With his large and meaty hand, he cupped her left breast. Her nipple sprung against his palm. “I’m sixty-one years-old, what do you want from me.”

“Squeeze my other breast.”

Engulfing that left breast, he squeezed tighter than the right. “I need to punish you for disrupting my class.”

“Yes.” She quivered against him.

From the side-door, Ms. Rowe calls out, “Professor?” Garnet intertwines his fingers and then he drops his hands on his lap, inches in front of his erection. He blinks the images of his memory away and he rolls his gaze toward a woman with shoulder-length, wavy, bright red hair. Bethany Rowe is wearing a gold cocktail dress and matching high-heels and she is standing with her back holding the side-door ajar. Her square neckline displays wrinkled, size-D cleavage propped by a size-C bra. “I was hoping you’d join me in the hall for a moment, unless you—”

He shakes his head. “Out!” Professor Rowe gasps. Her dark blue eyes widen. William turns toward the students. “Now, and everyone gets a-hundred percent.”

Ms. Rowe sighs. The students dart up and grab their laptops. They scramble to the top of the steps, where then they push each other through the opening between the double doors.

Professor Rowe nods, she takes a step forward. The door behind her clicks shut. “Thank you, William.”

Garnet studies the gleam in the eyes belonging to the woman who for over a year has spread a rumor about him being a rough kisser. The moist tip of her tongue swipes red painted lips. “What is it Beth?”

She shrugs and giggles. “At first, I thought I had broken one of your laws.”

Garnet’s manhood twitches and it falls limp. “I have no desire to punish you, if that’s what you’re after.”

“Okay…” She glances up the steps. The last student dashes out and he shoves the doors together. Beth smiles at William. “It’s very kind of you to speak with me.”

Garnet furrows thick, white eyebrows. “Have you come to ask for a kiss?”

“Oh my god, no…” In two-inch heels, she rushes clopping forward. Her smile widens with each step, and layers of synthetic material swish beneath her swinging, knee-length dress. She veers right heading toward the chair that is front and center.


 She halts then faces him, batting long, black eyelashes, and she cups her hands. “I don’t need to sit.”

“No one sits there.” His eyes roam the seat where Mary once sat bouncing the tip of a pen off her plump breasts. That pen tinged as it struck left then right, again and again. He shivers. “Sit anywhere else.”

Beth clears her throat. “I’m fine. Thank you. I want to apologize for over-reacting that time when you kissed me.”

William stares up at her broad smile. “I did not kiss you.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Because it didn’t happen.”

“I want us to be friends again.”

“Friends don’t spread adolescent rumors about kisses.”

She steps toward his desk. “Let me take you to dinner tonight. It’s Strings’ fifth anniversary and I—”

“Exclusive…” William sits back. He folds his arms against his chest. “Reservations only.”

“The owner and I have been friends for many years. I—”

He chuckles. “You got dumped and now you need a date for your friend’s special event.” Ms. Rowe turns and she charges, clopping toward the side-door. “Beth… Bethany. Ms. Rowe!” She stops-short of grasping the handle and she lowers her hand. “Why is the restaurant called Strings?”

Beth clutches her skirt at its sides. She smiles and then she frowns and twirls around. “I thought it would be a nice way to—” She draws a deep breath then exhales slowly. “I never meant to make you angry. I am very sorry and I—”

“Want to drop a couple-hundred on me?”

“Your friendship means a lot to me.”

He tilts his head to the right. “It does?”

“Will you let me buy you dinner?”

“Why is the place called Strings?”

Beth giggles. “It’s actually kind of stupid…”

“Is it? Y—” William leans forward and he rests his arms on his thighs. “The name of your friend’s restaurant is stupid? Or y—”

“Five years ago, when the restaurant opened, Darcy’s boyfriend tied a strand of red yarn around her finger. He told her of a custom from some little island near Greece. A story that I never heard before.” Beth stares up for a moment, then she smiles softly at William. “His ancestors supposedly came from there.” She shrugs. “They’ve been married for three years now.”

“I don’t…What?”

“The story is that tying a red string to someone’s finger is a way of promising them a lifetime of pleasure.”

Garnet grins. “You think the romantic tale is stupid?”

“Handing out eight-inch strands of red yarn to everyone who dines there, is stupid. I always drop mine on their dotty floor.”

“What’s a dotty floor?” William sits back. He crosses his arms and rests them on his chest.

Her eyes roll up then to the left. “Marble-like tiles with different colors of dots on them.”

He chuckles. “Marble-like?”

She shrugs. “In spite of poor taste in décor the restaurant is very popular. You’ll love the food.”

William interlocks his fingers. He cups the back of his head and gazes at the ceiling. “I have heard great things about that place.”

“I eat there almost every night.” She brings her palms together and raises her gold fingernails to her chin. “Will you please join me?”

“A free, over-priced meal at a place where I have never been able to get a reservation?”

“Their lamb is to die for.”

“I do like lamb.” William stands. He slides his hands into his pants pockets. “What are you up to, Beth?”

“I just want to rekindle our friendship. Please join me?”

He presents his palms. “I guess I’ll have to, if I want to find out. Right?”

Her smile spreads wide. “Great. It’s okay that you stopped wearing ties. You’re dressed fine. I’ll meet you there at seven.”

“Meet me?”

Beth twirls toward the door. She pushes it open. “I don’t accept rides from strangers.” She darts out.

Garnet knocks on the desk top. “That nut better not be lying about the damn lamb.”


Vonda Norwood

It is ten minutes before seven. Attendant Jerry Moore steps out of the professor’s black Impala. The young man turns toward the car. He frowns and pushes the door shut. Behind where he stands shaking his head, and beyond the parking lot, the California sunset casts an orange ray on a glittering, silver awning that which leads to the restaurant’s tinted glass entrance.

Inside Strings, William Garnet stands alone in front of a black podium. The aroma of warm cinnamon and sugar waft passed his nose. He shudders and bows his head. Behind the silver wall that separates the host station from the dining room, and just below patrons chatting and crystal clinking, high-pitch music from a three-string baglama takes William back to a sunny day, thirty years ago, when he and his fiancé vacationed in Greece. On Corfu Island, beside jagged mountains and on a white shoreline surrounded by blue water, they sat at a table under a beige umbrella. He and that thirty-year-old redhead sipped coffee and they ate cinnamon cake, while eight tables away a loan musician strummed that same instrument.

After their trip to the beach, William woke from a nap to find he was alone and he found a note. His fiancé wrote about not wanting to miss a quick tour to explore the scenery and that she would meet him at the restaurant where tourists claimed, “Serves the best tasting roasted lamb.”

“Professor Garnet?”

William raises his head and he blinks Carl Tanner into focus. The young man is wearing a black bow tie, a silver, long-sleeve dress-shirt and black slacks. Garnet’s heart jumps and then it races. He turns his chin to his right shoulder and he glances at the exit.

The newly-hired host scans the guestbook. “Do you have a reserva—”

The professor clears his throat. “I’m meeting Ms. Rowe.” William glances at the two buttons on his brown coat. He then pinches its hem and tugs down.

“Oh.” Carl bites his bottom lip. His eyes grow wide.

Garnet sneers at his student. “What?”

The host grits his teeth and he turns around. “Follow me, please.”

William frowns at the brown stubbles on the back of the kid’s head and he follows him around the divider. In Carl’s right hand, swinging forward and back, is a strand of red yarn pressed to a small menu. Beneath soft lighting and on multi-colored, real marble, they stroll a center aisle passing silver tables where groups of six or more guests sit chatting and laughing.

Carl guides William toward a red wall. At a table for two, he grasps the high back of a black, leather chair and he pulls it out. Garnet sits, and the host hands him an eight-inch strand of red yarn. “And your spirits menu.”

There are two couples seated at like-size tables in front of William’s. Behind the second table is an arch leading to a room with a silver bar lined with tall, black stools where guests sit sipping champagne and listening to that looped recording of a single baglama. William shoves the yarn into the front pocket of his pants. “Bring me a whiskey.”

“Excuse me?”

He releases the menu and it plops on top of the table. “Carl?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Twenty-bucks if you tell me why Ms. Rowe wants me to join her here.”

Carl leans down. The crowd behind him erupts in salutations. He raises his voice. “Fifty, and ninety-percent on the test I missed.”

A woman wearing an ankle-length, red dress, races passed Carl who then stands tall and turns in her direction. Her long and dark curls bounce-about the small of her back. In the archway to the barroom she halts and turns around. Greetings and salutations pause. The woman smiles. Just above the music, she announces, “Thank you for coming.” She blows a kiss to those in the dining room, who now beg her to stay. “I’ll return, shortly.” The middle-aged woman twirls around. She dashes through the opening, makes a quick right and vanishes behind the red wall.

Conversations resume. Garnet stands and he unbuttons his coat. “I’ll make sure you receive twenty on my way out.”

Carl faces the table and he whispers, “Okay, but—”

“And,” William slips out of the coat. “…as for the test,” He places it on the back of his chair. “…one-hundred-percent.” He sits and stares up at Carl. “Fair?”

Carl bows. He lifts the menu and points at the selections of wine. “It’s fair because I don’t know what she wants with you.” Garnet frowns. “But I do know that the owner of this restaurant,” the young man points toward the arch. “…is the real Mrs. Rowe.”

William stares toward the silver bar. “Darcy.” He frowns at Carl. “You’re telling me, she’s—”

“Married to Professor Rowe’s ex-husband.”

“I want a large glass of whiskey, Carl, any kind.”

“Aren’t you driving, tonight?”

Garnet waves motioning for him to come closer. Slowly, the young man leans, inching his ear closer to the whisper. “Thank you for reminding me.”

He turns a broad smile to his professor. “You’re really a nice man.”

Garnet rears his head. “Go away.”

“Yes, sir.” The teen rushes off.