When I was in eighth grade, it was a popular thing for girls to try and get away with stretching the dress code a little. Skirts a bit too short etc. Now, my mom would never have let me leave the house dressed in that way. But, as many girls before me had done, I took to rolling up my skirt a few inches outside of the parental view.
Well, dress code violations were becoming a ‘thing’ at my school, and the school announced they would be cracking down on it. The following week, myself and a few other girls found out just how serious this crackdown was. During first period, several of us were sent to the office from various classes and grades. Shorts or skirts too short, bare tummies, tight shirts or jeans… Strangely, no boys seemed to have been caught up in this.
For whatever reason, even though I wasn’t the first to arrive, I was the first one called in to see the principal. Mr Anderson had always been a rather warm, welcoming figure at the school. He was older than most of the other teachers and had an almost grandfatherly feel, at least in all my previous interactions with him. Of course, I had never been sent to see him in these types of circumstances before!
The look on his face chilled me when I walked in – and then I saw it. Sitting on his desk was the paddle. I was, of course, aware that the school permitted paddling of students, and even knew a couple boys who had gotten it, but it wasn’t real common. I didn’t know of any girls who had ever been paddled, and I had never seen the actual paddle before. I guess it must have usually been kept in Mr Anderson’s desk.
The conversation was short and very one-sided. Mr Anderson made it clear he was unhappy that I had ignored the clear warning he had given us the previous Friday, and sentenced me to four licks with the board and to write 50 lines (‘I will dress in an appropriate manner at school’) that needed to be signed by a parent.
At that, he instructed me to bend across the desk, and I really became aware of just how short I had made my skirt at that point. Then there was a sound like a shotgun, followed quickly by pain shooting across my bottom. Then three more, each just as loud and progressively more painful. How I stayed bent over I do not know, but I came up crying hard.
Mr Anderson seemed to regain all his warmth after beating my ass for me though, and he offered me a tissue and some words of encouragement before dismissing me back to class.
I spent a long day of squirming and shifting around at my desks, and dreading my mom’s sure-to-be painful response to my predicament. When the last bell rang, it was both ‘finally!’ and ‘oh no!’ all at once.
The bus ride home was agony, both physically and mentally, and when I gave my mom the little slip detailing my punishment, her eyes flashed with anger and her hand connected with my posterior while telling me to go fetch her the hairbrush.
Needless to say, within moments my skirt (now fixed to its proper length) was raised, my panties lowered and I was draped across her lap for one of the longest spankings of my life. When she was satisfied that I had been properly blistered, I was sat down bare bottom to complete my homework and lines, before reporting back to her ready for bed.
As was often the case with my mother (and became, in turn, often the case with myself and my own kids), serious misbehavior resulted in a second spanking – this time, the following morning before school, with the same hairbrush and a very similar state of undress.
If I had thought sitting through school had been bad on Monday, Tuesday felt like hell itself. I’m pretty sure I wasn’t the only extremely sore-bottomed young lady when we turned in our lines that morning, though.
I would only have one other encounter with the paddle in school, two years later, and maybe I’ll share that one as well someday.