The cold walk to the dungeons was defeating. Shame and bitterness internally swarming inside of you. Each cold and sharp step echoing in the hallways. Anxiety pooling in the pit of your stomach. This wasn’t the first walk of shame to the dungeons and it certainly wouldn’t be the last.

As of late—you are to report to Professor Snapess private quarters’ after every… urge. Harmful urges.

Of course you could simply not. You could object. Not tell a soul of your urges. Of the scars. You could disobey and do as you like but it would not change a thing. It wouldn’t change potions masters’ monthly check up on you. The monthly inspection you agreed upon. He was a man of his word and he expected the utmost honesty. It wouldn’t dwell well to lie and deceive him.

There was a contract between you two. A contract meant to help you. When the urges arise, you go to him for help, for a solution. A painful solution. A consensual spanking in exchange for every urge. A healthy coping mechanism. It would never interfere with the classes you taught or your influence on the students.

It was humiliating and vulnerable yet it worked. There was no judgement from the potions master. Only understanding. After every spanking he would demand you to stay and let him heal the damage. That is, if it had gone too far. There was always aftercare, no matter how defiant and resistant you were.