A change of pace

I have been inspired by other contributors to put fingers to keyboard. Here is my spanking journey so far – names have been changed, although I doubt the teachers in question are still with us.

Mrs Hardy was the first. Up until the age of seven, I do not recall any discipline worth mentioning. Also, and unlike many who have written before me, do not remember being overly interested in spanking.

Smacks were a part of life in those days – an occupational hazard you tried to avoid. However, I was soon to find out the difference between a few slaps to the back of your legs (or over shorts) and a proper spanking.

In my class, there was a boy called John. We were not so much friends, more friendly rivals in everything. One of our school rules stated: “You were not allowed to run in the corridor, under any circumstances.” There were signs with this rule all along the corridor– there was no excuse. 

John shoved me as we came back from a break, I shoved back, and we did that a few times until John broke into a sprint for our classroom door. He ran smack bang into the deputy headmistress, Mrs Hardy.  Oh, oh! This was not going to end well!

I had just started to give chase and came to a sliding halt. I had a fleeting moment where I thought I might be able to blend in with some of my fellow school mates but Mrs Hardy saw me and the game was up. We were banged to rights.

“What does that sign say?” Mrs Hardy demanded angrily, pointing at the nearest sign. (I can hear her voice even now, after all these years!) John said quietly: “Walk, don’t run, miss.” “And what were you two doing?” “Running, miss.”

Taking John by the shirt collar and scruff of the neck, and collecting me by the arm, Mrs Hardy took us into a large walk-in storage area between classrooms. There were connecting doors to the classrooms on either side.

We were pushed to the far end of the room, Mrs Hardy opened the door to our classroom and returned with a chair. John looked at me and I looked at him. We both looked at the chair. We were really for it. One mercy was that Mrs Hardy closed the door again behind her.

She turned John to face her as she sat down on the chair. His shorts were removed very quickly and he was roughly pulled across her knees. No words were spoken.

The spanking started immediately, hard and fast over his underwear. His pants began to bunch around the crack of his bottom, exposing more flesh than they covered. It all happened so quickly.

Mrs Hardy was very cross and clearly going for the ‘short, sharp shock’ approach. Frantic smacks were met with howls of pain from John. I was next – and I wasn’t looking forward to it. After a ‘shock and awe’ spanking I would estimate to have lasted two maybe three minutes, John was returned to his feet in floods of tears. 

Mrs Hardy asked: “What was that for?” John replied through huge sobs: “Running, miss.” He looked like he was in total agony, his hands clasped to his bum, openly crying with no thought of who could see or hear his punishment.

I decided I was going to try and last longer than John before I cried – better still try not to cry at all. That would be one up on my classmate. That was what John and I were like – and. it was precisely that kind of thinking that had got us into this mess.

“Running where?” Mrs Hardy continued the interrogation, sounding irritated. “In the corridor, miss.” “If I catch you running again, I will cane you – is that clear?” “Yes, miss. Sorry, miss.” This threat brought a fresh wave of tears from John, and had my stomach in knots. The cane!

Mrs Hardy stood up and told John to pull up his shorts. Once they were back up, the deputy head opened the connecting door to the classroom and sent John straight to his desk. The door closed, and she turned to me – I was shaking in my boots. We were seven, coming on for eight years old. Can you imagine this with today’s youngsters?

“Shorts!” Mrs Hardy said sharply and simply. She returned to her seat. I removed my shorts and stood in front of her in just my underwear.

“Was he running from you?” “Yes, miss.” “Why?” “We were messing about coming back from break.He shoved me first and I shoved him back. He shoved me again and then ran away…straight into you, miss.”

“He started it?” “Yes, miss.” “Then I will finish it. Get across my knee!” With a sharp tug I found myself across a woman’s knee for the first time. There was no time to take in my predicament – the spanking started immediately.

Although I had a bit of an advantage over John because I knew what was coming, nothing could have prepared me for the onslaught. I got the same as John – hard, fast and relentless. What a spanking Mrs Hardy gave me! Long before it finished, I had decided this was not an experience I wanted to repeat any time soon. 

I did manage to hold out from crying longer than John, but this possibly wasn’t the best thing to do. Had I cried earlier, I think Mrs Hardy may well have stopped sooner. As it was, she seemed to carry on spanking until convinced that the bawling, sobbing schoolboy across her knee was thoroughly sorry. And I was. Bloody hell, that spanking would have had a grown man struggling!

Finally released and told to dress myself, I did my best – but putting shorts on after a spanking like that was like asking me to fly the space shuttle! My bum was on fire and my brain was screaming at me to rub it better. I couldn’t stop crying, no matter how hard I tried.

Mrs Hardy opened the classroom door and every set of eyes followed me to my desk. I sat very carefully and Mrs Hardy had a word in our teacher’s ear, then walked out without saying another word.

Now, here’s the thing. As I sat feeling sorry for myself and trying to stem the tears, I became aware that sitting on what felt like a serious case of sunburn, mixed with pins and needles, began to feel nice.

A warm glow spread through me, I wasn’t paying any attention to class – all my concentration was on my bottom. I liked the sensation! I didn’t much like the method but hey, the result was nice, and the longer it went on, the nicer it became! Mind you, that threat of the cane concentrated the mind – now that I didn’t fancy!

It was a while, probably months, before I was spanked again. This time it was our class teacher Mrs Taylor dishing it out. I can’t even now remember my crime, but I was often told off for talking in class, so that might have been the reason.

Mrs Taylor took me to the same storage area between classrooms where Mrs Hardy had spanked John and myself. I think this was either at break or during dinner time.

Before the spanking commenced, I do remember wondering if it would hurt as much as the one Mrs Hardy had given me – although the nice feeling I had after that punishment was also on my mind. I was very nervous, though – the only spanking I had suffered thus far in my life had been excruciatingly painful.

Mrs Taylor sat down and pulled my shorts down for me. As she did so, I do vaguely recall a telling off but as I say, my mind is a blank with regards to what was said. 

Mrs Taylor turned me side on and this time, instead of being put over my spanker’s knee, I was ordered to bend over her lap of my own accord. Of course I obeyed – it seemed stupid to antagonise a teacher who was already cross!

Then I got a shock, as Mrs Taylor pulled my underpants down to my knees. Looking back, I’m not sure the teachers were strictly allowed to smack children’s bare bottoms. Still, I was seven – possibly even eight – by then and being spanked like a naughty toddler, so I suppose I only had myself to blame.

Mrs Taylor smacked just as hard as Mrs Hardy, but slower. And did she ever go on! I thought it would never end. She spankde me very soundly and I cried my eyes out.

Almost reflexively, I kicked and squirmed and fought as she smacked my bottom but by the time she was finished that was all spanked out of me. Towards the end of the spanking, I simply lay there, limp and still, crying bitterly. Looking back, I think this spanking may have been even worse than my first time.

Administered on the bare bottom, it not only felt worse but sounded more dramatic too – the smacking of her hand against my buttocks popped and echoed around the storage room, accompanied by my ever-increasing crying. By the time I was returned to terra firma I felt weak, drained of all energy and my bum stung beyond description.

Mrs Taylor sat stony faced, arms folded, watching me squirm and jig around in front of her, for quite a while. I think she enjoyed my little dance – but when she stood up, she put the fear of God into me,

“Next time, I will send you to Mrs Hardy for the cane, after I’ve spanked you soundly! And if there is a next time, I will spank you in front of the class, not in private!”

Even in my well-spanked state, those words sank in deep. No way was that going to happen! I behaved myself from that day on like a model pupil. 

However, after the worst of the effects of my spanking had passed, that glowing warmth returned. I tried to sit as still as possible to enjoy the sting before I had to shift my weight and change position. I loved sitting on my smacked bottom – but those words of warning scared me witless! You won’t be surprised to hear that I was never spanked again at school.

Back home, I remember a conversation with Mum. My memory of it is a bit vague, and although I place it after the second spanking it may have been after my first. Either way, Mum’s attitude was basically ‘misbehave and suffer the consequences’. I remember her asking: “Did it hurt?” “Yes, Mum,” I replied. “Good –serves you right!” she shot back.

Luckily, Mum wasn’t one of those parents who believed that a child spanked in school should get another smacked bottom at home. I was thankful for her tolerance – after either of my two school spankings, the thought of another at home was terrifying!

My only other school memory of note was the caning, of all people, my rival John. It was nothing to do with me this time – I was innocent. John got into a fight with a boy from another class. They were brought up before Mrs Hardy and unfortunately for John, she remembered him!

Both boys got four strokes – one on each hand and two across their bottoms. And my, how they cried! John couldn’t sit or write properly for the rest of the day, and was still in pain as we left for home. He said Mrs Hardy had caned him really hard, especially the two on his bum. We guessed the severity was probably because of the previous run-in (literally) with her the year before. “The old cow smiled when she caned me,” he said bitterly.

The next day, John still had cane lines on his hands the next day. He didn’t show me the ones on his bottom, but he told me later it had taken nearly a week for those marks to fad. Bugger that, I thought! Remember, John was just eight at that time. Four hard strokes for fighting – but he never fought again, so I suppose the cane worked.

When I met my first long-term girlfriend, I was terrified of telling her that the thought of being spanked and the afterglow on my bum was exciting to me.

Funnily enough, it was her mum who broke the ice on the subject. In the local news, some young lad was reported to have committed a string of crimes. My girlfriend’s mum said: “That boy should have been given a bloody good hiding years ago – that would have saved everyone a lot of aggravation.”

I agreed with her and related the stories of my own spankings at school, and the deterrent effect the threat from Mrs Taylor had on me. I also told her about John’s caning, but conveniently forgot to mention how much I enjoyed the afterglow of a smacked bottom!

The woman who was eventually to become my mother-in-law nodded her approval. “A good hiding is an effective deterrent for kids. Give them a sound spanking when they first start to misbehave – and threaten them with worse next time. That generally sorts them out!”

Later, while we were having a cuddle, I told my girlfriend that I had secretly enjoyed having my bottom smacked – but honestly feared the cane. I asked if her whether her mum had spanked her. She replied in the negative, but to my utter surprise she added that she was happy to spank me! 

She had me roll over, face down on the bed, and gave my bum a few smacks. She was a bit hesitant, but with some encouragement she smacked a bit harder, I got an erection and we both lost our virginity!

These days there is none of this rolling over on the bed for a few smacks nonsense. I’m spanked soundly before being stood in the corner to enjoy the afterglow. I cannot say I particularly enjoy the method still, but endure my spankings for the pleasure of their after effects. I have to make it up to my wife, of course, which is a terrible chore – not!

What I can say is that my wife would have given those two teachers a run for their money in the spanking department. She has some serious staying power and a firm hand. Lucky old me, eh?

So that’s it – from the first, right up to date. Bottoms up to the best stories site online!

Contributor: Mark

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