Two hard lessons

One day when I was 16, I got into serious trouble at school. The punishment was usually a trip to the coaches’ office for a dose of the paddle. That would also guarantee that when I got home, I would get a second spanking from my mother.

The ordeal would start with being sent to the principal’s office. There, you would be made to sit in the hallway and everyone who walked by knew you were going to get your bottom spanked. It was very embarrassing.

Eventually, you would be called into the office by either the principal or his wicked vice-principal – she would always give you the maximum swats, no matter what you did.

Whoever was disciplining you would chew you out for a while, then you would then have to sit there while they called your parents.  That was the worst part – hearing them tell your folks what you did and that you were about to be paddled. Of course, the end of the conversation would usually be a promise from your parents that once you got home, they would also deal with you to ensure the misbehaviour would not be repeated.

From there, you were given an ‘orange card’ which you took to the coaches’ office and gave to the appropriate male or female gym coach. You prayed that it would not be a ‘crossover day’ where one was missing, meaning you might be paddled by a member of the opposite sex, albeit with a witness of the same gender. Actually, although it was super embarrassing to be paddled by the boys’ coach, he didn’t spank anywhere near as hard as the girl’s coach.

The maximum number of swats you could get was eight. On this particularly occasion, I was ‘given guidance’ by the vice-principal, which meant it would be eight swats for me.

The paddle was applied at the end of your gym class. When the coach blew her whistle, with about 15 minutes of the period left, you (and possibly others) would head to her office and wait outside the door. I always hoped I would go first so I would not have to listen to the other girls being paddled. It would also give me more time to compose myself, take a shower, get dressed and head to my next class – albeit with a very sore butt.

Luckily, I was the only one being punished that day. I was called into the coach’s office and she looked at the orange card. She asked if I knew why I was being punished and I meekly said: “Yes.”  Then I was told to get ready.

There was a small table that you had to bend over. Immediately above the table were two paddles hanging on the wall that stared at you while you bent over. The first was a solid wood paddle, 2ft long and perhaps 4in wide. It was made from some kind of dark wood and the handle of it was wrapped with athletic tape to give a better grip. 

The other paddle was about the same size but it had three holes – about an inch and half in diameter – drilled into it. Getting swats with this paddle meant almost double the pain, and the recipient would not be able to sit comfortably for several days.

In theory, all spankings were given over your thin nylon gym shorts – but there was a secret in our school that no-one talked about (at least in public) but everyone knew. When the coach asked if you were ‘ready’, if you reached back and pulled down your gym shorts, exposing your bare bottom, you would get two swats less.  Everyone I knew (boys included) always bared themselves for the paddle.  

Then, in horror, I watched as the coach took the paddle with holes off the wall. I immediately began to sob. She took no notice but told me to spread my legs a little further apart, and tapped the paddle experimentally against my bottom. The paddle felt cool – but it was soon going to set a fire in my backside.

The first swat was a shocker. The paddle hit home with a loud crack and pushed me forward against the table. It took a few seconds for the pain to register but when it did, it was overwhelming and all I could do was gasp in shock as a burning pain erupted over my bare behind.

I felt the paddle tap me again and then whack! This time, I gasped and let out a little cry as tears filled my eyes. I danced on tiptoes in a feeble attempt to lessen the pain and gripped the end of the table as hard as I could. Any attempt to protect my bottom would have meant the paddling beginning all over again, I should add.

The third swat was always the breaker.  Boy or girl that one caused you cry out loud and the tears and sobbing began in earnest.  I shifted my weight from foot to foot crying my eyes out at this point.

The fourth swat was a killer.  It landed low on my butt, directly on the sit spot.  I let out a shriek and kicked my legs supporting myself on the table. I thought I was going to die. My gym shorts were now kicked off and the fire in my young backside was unimaginable.

The paddle was tapped against my legs and I was told to spread them further apart as I hung on to the table for dear life. The fifth and sixth swats came in rapid succession and were incredibly hard. The pain from the first was overwhelmed by that off the second and by now I was bawling like a baby getting its first spanking.  

With my face full of tears and snot and my butt bright red, I was handed my gym shorts and pushed out the door, half naked for the rest of the class to see my punished backside. As I showered, the water spraying against my freshly punished butt made it hurt all the worst.  I got dressed in a blur of tears and slowly walked off to my next class. I sat in the back of the room, still sobbing occasionally, until the bell rang and I was dismissed from school for the day.

The ride home on the school bus only added insult to injury – every bump sent new waves of pain through my backside.

When I got home, my mother simply pointed to the stairs and I went to my bedroom to await the second half of my punishment. Just before dinner, I was called down to the family room. My brothers and sisters were assembled for the show. I was told to ‘get ready’ and obediently stripped to my bra and panties while my mother went to fetch the bath brush.

This was her implement of choice when you got swats at school, and just the sight of it made me start crying all over again. Mother showed no sympathy – she just calmly removed my remaining clothing, and draped me over her lap like a little girl. Looking back from the floor, I could see my siblings smirking at the sight of my bare bottom over Mother’s lap.

They didn’t have to wait long for the show to begin. Mother began to use the brush efficiently and mercilessly on my already sore bottom, spanking me hard and fast. I screamed and cried, flailing my arms in front of me, my legs kicking like a frog and revealing my vulva for all to see.

I soon became frantic from the pain but my spanking continued until I went limp over Mother’s lap. I was unable to see anything but tears and my face was wet from crying, the tears dripping on to my breasts I was led to the wall where I had to stand for about a half hour to calm down.

Tell the truth, I never really calmed down but nevertheless it came o the point when I was released, allowed to pick up my clothes and head back to my room while the rest of the family ate dinner.

My butt and upper thighs were deep red and I had a bruise on each side of my sit spot. I flung myself face down on my bed and eventually cried myself to sleep. Sitting was a real chore for the next few days, and was often accompanied by a wince as my still-sore bottom made contact with a hard chair. But I sure learned my lesson.

Contributor: Ericka

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