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Saturday, May 20, 2023
School Girl Spanking
I don’t pretend I was an angel. I did get into some scrapes at school, but seldom did they end up in the headmistress’s office, and certainly not after school. This was the time reserved for spankings, slipperings or the dreaded cane. I had received three spankings further down the school from the headmistress, Mrs M, all with the hand over her knee. I never minded an over the knee spanking, they never hurt that much and the physical proximity of the teacher meant you knew it was a punishment designed to improve you, not really hurt you. The slipperings, bent over the hard back of a wooden chair, stung immeasurably more than her hand spankings ever did. Applied over your knickers, it was both painful and humiliating being in that position. On this particular day, Mrs W, the history teacher, caught me sneaking back into school after lunch. No one was allowed to leave the school without written permission for something like a doctor’s or dentist’s appointment, or such like. The net result was an appointment at 4.00 pm with Mrs M. I was fully resigned to receiving the slipper for a second time. 4.00 pm loomed heavily through the day and I was told off twice in lessons for being preoccupied. Finally, the end of school bell rang and I made my way slowly, but not too slowly, to the headmistress’s office. I sat on a chair outside opposite a girl called Lucy. Lucy was called in and I heard some chatter and the distinctive sound of a chair being pulled out. I said to myself, ‘She’s going over the knee then,’ and within a few seconds the first of a dozen or so stinging smacks rang out. By the sound, these were on Lucy’s panties and thighs. Mrs M loved dropping down low onto bare flesh. All too soon for me, the smacking noise stopped and, aside from a low sobbing, silence returned. Another volley of comments from Mrs M could be heard before the door opened and Lucy came out red eyed and no doubt red bottomed, rubbing the seat of her skirt. Mrs M left me waiting with the door open for a minute or two before calling out my name. Slowly, I rose and smoothed the back of my skirt down, like that was going to make any difference at all! I closed the door behind me and walked slowly, standing by the side of the chair clearly pulled out for the spanking Mrs M had given Lucy. The next minute was a blur. A lecture on the danger of traffic. It was 1965 and there wasn’t much. Stranger danger; I suspected I could outrun most strangers, and the breaking of certain school rules. She had me there, I had to admit. The lecture concluded, the sentence was about to be passed, and I got my mind ready for my second whacking with her plimsoll. However, to my horror, I was informed in a very matter of fact way that I was to receive six with the cane. I stood there visibly trembling after some of the horror stories girls had told of people they knew who had been caned. I was instructed to take off my skirt which, with trembling fingers was easier said than done, and then stood in my jumper and blouse showing off my white school knickers and feeling very alone and very vulnerable. I was then instructed to bend myself over the back of the chair with my hands firmly gripping the sides of the chair seat. If I stood, these strokes would be repeated. I understood, and with the chair back hurting my tummy and my hair bunched on the chair seat, I bent over and, with my feet a foot apart for balance and my bottom high in the air, I awaited my caning. Then the torture; three or four tiny sighting taps with the cane before it was raised and brought down with a whistle onto my defenceless bottom. The pain was instant and intense, every bit as bad as the stories I had been told. The second stroke landed an inch below the first. Two more whistles, two more cracks and my whole backside felt as if it were on fire. I had remained quiet up until this point but let out a muffled cry at that fourth stroke. The fifth seemed to land without warning. I yelped in pain and tears wetted my hair bunched up on the seat. The sixth and final stroke seemed harder and more painful than all of the others. I heard the rattle as the cane was placed on the desk and I knew it was all over now. Somehow, I had stayed down in position. No spanking had ever been so painful, and I vowed at that moment I would not get into this situation again. Also, I had it in mind to become a teacher, and I would never cane anyone, I promised myself. I was invited to stand up and lectured a little more whilst I put my skirt carefully back on. Even its flimsy weight against my bottom was almost too much to tolerate for the next few minutes. I was dismissed and slowly made my way home. When I got home, mum was just arriving. She was a teacher at my school and immediately enquired slipper or cane? I sobbed and told her what had happened, and she told me in no uncertain terms that I had brought it on myself. She recommended I strip off and let the cool autumn air get to the skin. Thankfully, my sister had netball practice after school and so hopefully would not find out about my caning. I never forgot that day. Although mum spanked me perhaps once a month or so, as and when I deserved it, I never had a spanking that was anywhere near as painful as that caning ever again. I also kept my promise and, although I was authorised to use the cane when I became a teacher, I never did, and never sent anyone for the cane. However, many a young lady, and young chap for that matter, felt my hand on their behinds whilst across my lap, together with the sole of my slipper too.
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