Gentle reminder

Although it was long ago, I still remember my fourth grade teacher, Mrs Redman.

She was just out of college and the most beautiful teacher in the school. I was in love with her and was often stimulated by thoughts of her.

I came from a family that believed in discipline – and in good grades. After receiving a ‘D– on an assigned report, I had to bring a note from home stating that my parents were aware of my lack of progress.

Of course, the punishment at home for this outrage was a spanking. When we (my brother or sister or myself) were to be spanked, mother said firmly: “Get to your room and get your pants down.” There we would have to wait, singly or together, for our punishment, often for many minutes.

The standard position was to lean against the bunk bed with both hands, with the pants all the way down and underwear lowered to the bottom of the butt. This did not indulge our “false modesty” (another reason for corrective action), since the door was always left open in order to have the maximum effect on anyone not currently being punished.

We received six to 10 spanks by hand or with a slipper for average crimes and misdemeanours; more serious spankings were applied with a belt or a paddle. The standard practice on our part was to put up a brave show for the first few spanks, then let the cries and tears flow. But I digress . . .

This academic failure was so serious, the next day my mother brought me to school in person in order to talk with Mrs Redman.

I had hoped we would leave early and be finished before the school bus with my classmates arrived, but no such luck. It was 10 minutes after nine when we got there, and class had started long ago. Now I could only hope that the conference would take place in the teacher’s lounge across the hall from the classroom.

I was pushed through the door and into my seat in the front row. Then my mother told Mrs Redman that if I ever failed in any assignment, the teacher had her permission to spank me, on the bare bottom, in front of the whole class if required. She even provided the paddle – a moderate weapon which wouldn’t be missed at home.

The class, to put it mildly, was amused, and I, of course was mortified. Mother finally left, and I was left to suffer in my humiliation.

Eventually I was called on for an answer, which I could not provide. She let that one go and gave me two more chances. Finally it was clear that I was totally unprepared.

Mrs Redman opened the door and checked to see that the lounge was empty. She picked up the paddle from her desk and told me to come along. The class was roaring. We went into the teacher’s lounge and she closed and locked the door.

She sat down on a large club chair, and motioned for me to stand in front of her. I’ll never forget the smile on her face as she tugged at my belt a little, then told me to pull down my pants.

In spite of my fear and embarrassment, my little dick was getting sort of hard. But I had no choice but to comply. For a very long moment she looked at me, then she reached out and took my dick in her fingers and sort of led me around to her side.

Then she took my hands and drew me down across her lap. I could feel the fuzzy wool across my private parts. She gave me three gentle spanks and helped me to stand back up. Then, very lovingly, she hugged me to her breasts and told me not to worry. Then she helped me pull my pants back up.

She told me that I would have to study very hard, or there would be more spankings.

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