I went to a private high school where paddling was still allowed. Unlike all of the porn videos, it was not done in the principal’s office and you were not bared in the process – it was actually much worse than that!
There were many infractions that could cause you to get the paddle. The most notable were either dress code violations, not having three assignments turned in, and being late for class more than three times. Any of those – and a bunch of other offences – could get you sent to the principal’s office.
Once there, you would always be made to sit and wait for about an hour to think about your fate. You would finally be seen by Mr Donovan, the principal, or Mrs Carrington, the vice-principal. Standing in front of their desk, you would receive a stern lecture that seemed to go on forever. Finally, they would ask you what your punishment should be and the answer – if you were smart – was always going to be ‘the paddle’.
You were then given two options – three swats or six. Out of fear, everyone always said ‘six’ because of a rumour that if you guessed wrong, it could be 10. The principal or vice-principal would then write out an ‘orange card’ – an orange, index-sized card with your name, home room number, and how many swats you were to get. Then you were dismissed from the office for your next class.
The principals did not give you your swats – these were given by the gym teachers when you showed up for gym class. The office always had a student runner, who would then take the orange card to the male or female gym teacher’s office and put it up on a cork board outside their door, so anyone in gym class could see who was going to get paddled that day.
Gym class was only held three times a week, so in many cases you might have to wait until the next day to receive your punishment. In any case, the countdown to gym class was a horror – every minute that ticked off the clock meant you were closer to having your butt roasted.
Finally, when you went to gym class, you would find your orange card on the cork board and hand it to your gym teacher. The boys were punished by Mr Reynolds and the girls by Miss Corland. I am not sure if the boys were tougher or Mr Reynolds did not hit as hard (which, again, was the rumour) but the howls that came from the office of Miss Corland were always much more distressing to listen to.
Miss Corland would tell you to report to her office about 15 minutes before the end of class. Nothing further was said but you knew what was going to take place.
I would change into my standard gym uniform, which included a thin nylon set of shorts which offered no protection at all from the paddle. I was a nervous wreck in the class and always kept strict track of the time, not wanting to get her mad if I was late for my punishment. I, and perhaps another student or two, would be waiting outside of her office when she came back from class. Of course, everyone else in the class knew why you and she left.
Miss Corland was in her early 30s, a very beautiful woman and an excellent gymnast. Rumour had it that she was a lesbian, which may have been true. Anyhow, she was clearly a no-nonsense woman whom I think, deep down, enjoyed paddling her students’ bottoms.
I always hoped that if there were others to be done, I would be paddled first. Listening to the howls and cries of others getting it in Miss Corland’s office behind the closed door was torture and my legs would be wobbling just listening to the punishment. Then, seeing a crying girl shuffle out of her office made you just want to die.
When you got into her office it was a businesslike affair. You were reminded of your offence, told the number of swats you were to receive, told of the punishment rules (stay in position, no covering with your hands) and made to bend over a small table in her office. There was a connecting rod between the legs of the table that you would hold on to for dear life, and your butt would be prominently displayed for the paddle’s attentions.
Miss Corland would pull up your nylon shorts to keep everything tight over your behind and then she picked up the paddle. It was about 2ft long, about 4in wide and made out of some dark wood. The handle was wrapped with athletic tape to afford the spanker a better grip.
You would feel the paddle being tapped against your cheeks, then Miss Corland would tell you to brace yourself and smack your bottom as hard as she could.
The first swat was always a shocker – you heard the loud smack, then a wave of pain would follow. I usually gasped at the first swat and held on tighter to the bar. Again, Miss Corland would tap your butt, then whack you. The second stroke would start me sobbing. The third stroke would make me howl and start crying out loud – none of which brought any sympathy from your spanker. The fourth stroke would have me bawling like a baby and my legs would start to tremble.
It was nearly impossible to keep from wiggling and Miss Corland would sometimes pull your shorts tight again to receive the next swat. By the sixth swat, I was frantic and just wanted to die – but there was more.
If you were a member of any school group or function, such as volleyball or cheerleading, you were expected to be a ‘leader’ and set a good example in the school for everyone else. If you got swats, that was considered a violation of that duty – which would get you two extra smacks.
Miss Cortland had a list of everyone who fell into that category (basically, everyone in the school as we were all involved in something) and would announce your penalty swats. Those were given extra hard and were almost unbearable, as they were given in quick succession.
Afterwards, I would just lie across the table, crying like a baby, until Miss Corland grabbed my shoulder and pulled me to my feet. She allowed you no recovery time – with your bottom ablaze, you were hurriedly ushered out of her office and she went on to deal with the next ‘customer’, if there was one.
After the paddling, I would have to rush to shower and get dressed. Of course, all of the other girls could now see the damage to your buttocks and the water from the shower against your behind burned like fire.
For the rest of the day, you were in absolute agony. Sitting in other classes on a hard plastic chair was an additional torment that often had you in tears. The bouncy school bus ride home at the end of the day didn’t help, either.
However, the worst was yet to come when I got home. The school always notified your parents that you had been paddled, and when I walked in the door I would see my mother holding the hairbrush or my father there with his belt. The second part of my punishment was about to begin – and my parents had no qualms about applying it with you stark naked in the living room.