{"id":262096,"date":"2026-07-13T18:49:33","date_gmt":"2026-07-13T15:49:33","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/1kitap1.com\/en\/hawkstone-academy-volume-1-angel-carter-1\/"},"modified":"2026-07-13T18:49:33","modified_gmt":"2026-07-13T15:49:33","slug":"hawkstone-academy-volume-1-angel-carter-1","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/1kitap1.com\/en\/hawkstone-academy-volume-1-angel-carter-1\/","title":{"rendered":"Hawkstone Academy Volume 1 – Angel Carter (1)"},"content":{"rendered":"
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Mr Roberts walked around the desk, bringing her into sharp relief against the dull wood. He pointed to the edge of the desk. \u201cBend over and place your hands flat.\u201d Felicity obeyed, skin crawling, every nerve ending alive with dread and anticipation. The surface was cold; years of contact had abraded the varnish in certain spots. Her strawberry-blond hair fell on the surface. She heard, rather than saw, the drawer slide open again.<\/p>\n

A moment later, a wooden paddle, lacquered maple, with a neat row of holes drilled in the end, thudded softly beside her head. \u201cStandard procedure, Miss Chambers. You will count each stroke aloud.\u201d She nodded, curly hair fanned out over the desk. The first swat landed with a noise so sharp and shocking it drove the air from her lungs. Her hands convulsed, fingers digging into the wood. It took a second for the pain to catch up: a blossom of heat that spread across her right cheek and radiated inward.<\/p>\n

\u201cOne,\u201d she gasped. The second was worse because of the force (Mr Roberts was methodical, not brutal), but for the precision. Each impact seemed calculated to maximise the surface area, to draw out the sting and leave no square centimetre unpunished. \u201cTwo,\u201d she managed. By the third, tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, hot and unwelcome. She tried to blink them away, to focus on anything other than the building agony in her rear, the way the paddle compressed her flesh and sent vibrations up her spine.<\/p>\n

\u201cThree.\u201d Roberts paused, then repositioned, so the next swat landed square on the overlap, making both sides throb in concert. \u201cFour.\u201d The pain built on itself, cumulative, impossible to compartmentalise. She lost track of time, of her surroundings, of anything except the counting. At \u201csix,\u201d her voice broke, and she sobbed into the wood, the salt of her tears mixing with the lingering taste of fear. After ten, Mr Roberts set the paddle aside. He waited a moment for her breathing to calm, then spoke.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou may stand, Miss Chambers.\u201d Felicity straightened, wiping her eyes with the heel of her hand, her face hot with shame. She was certain her ass was striped, the skin stretched tight and radiating a glow that was almost radioactive. She resisted the urge to rub it, knowing that Roberts was still watching. He gestured to the pile of clothes on the chair. \u201cYou will leave those for now. Remain as you are until further notice.\u201d<\/p>\n

She nodded, mute. \u201cI will return in ten minutes to escort you to the next phase,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n

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Copyright \u00a9 2026 by Angel Carter All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.<\/p>\n

Angel Carter asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work. Written using British English Contains spanking, ENF, adult themes, and scenes of a sexual nature. All humans and mythical beings are 18+ First edition This book was professionally typeset on Reedsy Find out more at reedsy.com OceanofPDF.com Contents 1. Eleanor 2. Sienna 3. Felicity 4. Rebecca 5. Chloe 6. Hawkstone Academy Rules 7. Free Stuff Also by Angel Carter OceanofPDF.com T 1 Eleanor he shrill clang of the late bell had already faded, replaced by the low drone of quadratic equations.<\/p>\n

Eleanor Thompson, Ellie to her handful of friends, \u201cMiss Thompson\u201d to every adult who ever bothered with her, streaked up the corridor, stiff black school shoes squealing on linoleum, shoulder bag bouncing against her thigh. She could feel time itself speeding up, counting down the seconds until her doom, every one of them a tiny panic attack in embryo. There was still a thirty-yard dash between her and Room 221, and even as she pressed her lips together, breath hissing through her nostrils, her arms and legs betrayed her: the novel slipped from her grip, then, like fate\u2019s punchline, she whacked her shin on the corner of the door as she skidded inside.<\/p>\n

The room was so silent she heard the book, The Handmaid\u2019s Tale, skittering across the tile. Twenty sets of eyes in the mathematically gifted section of Mr Clifford\u2019s Advanced Algebra fixed on her in perfect synchrony, pupils dilating with the thrill of sanctioned drama. Mr Clifford himself, a man built from thin, inflexible lines and a disregard for mercy, stopped mid-integer at the digital board and let the pointer dangle from his fist.<\/p>\n

He didn\u2019t sigh. That would imply he was used to this. Instead, he flicked an icy gaze down her length and then, pointedly, at the oversized clock on the beige wall. \u201cMiss Thompson.\u201d The voice was flat, devoid of curiosity or rage\u2014 only the sterile efficiency of an executioner on a tight schedule. Ellie went crimson to the roots of her pixie-cut hair. \u201cSorry, sir,\u201d she blurted, and flinched when it echoed against the cinder block.<\/p>\n

\u201cThird tardiness this term,\u201d Mr Clifford said, as if checking her off a list. \u201cThat\u2019s impressive even for you.\u201d Ellie\u2019s chest felt tight.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n

This is a short excerpt from the opening of “” by Unknown, quoted for review and introduction purposes. All rights belong to the copyright holders.<\/em><\/p>\n

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