I want to pay tribute to a lady whom I consider the best teacher ever. I will call her Mrs Turner for the sake of this story, though as he is now sadly no longer with us, there isn’t really any reason to conceal her real name.
What I will say is that without Mrs Turner, I’m not sure that I would ever have discovered the pleasures a smacked bum could bring a young boy!
Infants school was a culture shock to me. Having never suffered a ‘real’ spanking at home it came as quite a shock to see and hear teachers smacking and slippering young children on a regular basis – it was a sign of the times.
One early memory which stuck was that of a boy from another class who was slippered in front of the whole school in the playground for kicking another boy. He then had a sign hung around his neck which read: “I’m a donkey!” By contrast, I personally escaped relatively unscathed, though I did get my legs slapped once or twice.
Next was junior school and as luck would have it, for the next three years I found myself being taught by Mrs Turner. These three years were simply the best of my entire education, the others simply going through the motions.
The teachers in junior school were even more smack-happy than the infants. Most if not all smacked at the drop of a hat – but not Mrs Turner. She had a natural ability to keep her class in order without smacking or shouting. School was enjoyable, and I flourished in her class for that reason.
It must be said, it was mostly the female teachers who used smacking as their primary discipline tool. And, if stories from friends in other classes are true, they tended to smack the boys far more frequently and harder than girls.
I should point out that I had no particular interest in smacked bottoms that I remember, other than to avoid them if at all possible. Again, in those days any adult could give you a smack. Friends’ mums, relatives – even the woman next door could threaten or actually administer a smacked bottom to a child without fear of retribution. In fact, if you had been found to have deserved a smacked bum, chances are you would get another at home.
One of my classmates’ mums was a dinner lady. I can’t remember the exact circumstances, but she caught a boy doing something he shouldn’t have and gave him a fair old spanking in the dinner hall. It was considered perfectly acceptable and, had his mum found out, he would probably have received another one from her when he got home.
During the first year or so I was probably too young to appreciate Mrs Turner’s feminine charms. I do recall enjoying watching her walk around the classroom.
Up until that time I hadn’t smacked much at home. – maybe the odd slap in passing to the backs of my legs, but nothing formal as in over-the-knee spanking with my pants down.
Mrs Turner nearly always wore a tartan style skirt, heels and a tight roll-neck jumper. I would estimate her age at the time to be around late 20s to early 30s. I adored her, and I am pretty sure every child in the class liked her. She was a calm, quiet lady who somehow gave off an air of natural authority, and she explained things in a way that made sense to us youngsters.
A stand-out memory (one among many) and the main reason for this contribution revolves around another boy in my class, whom I’ll call Chris. Chris sat beside me, and he had a window that opened beside him. This particular day, we had a buzzy wasp-like insect, tapping on the window trying to get out. Chris put his hand up and asked Mrs Turner if he could open the window to let the annoying insect out. Mrs Turner approved.
As Chris opened the window, there was a gust of wind and the papers on both our desks, and that of another girl, were blown to the floor.
Mrs Turner put her hands on her hips and shook her head. smiling in despair, as Chris, bent down to pick the papers up, all the while apologising. Mrs Turner walked over to close the window, shaking her head, but smiling – clearly not angry. As Chris bobbed up, he banged his head with a good thump on the underside of his desk. The whole class, including Mrs Turner, laughed. As our teacher gave Chris’s head a playful rub, she pretended to examine the desk for damage. She made us all laugh when she said the desk was far more important than Chris’s head!
I leaned over to pick up the papers I could reach from my chair as this was all going on. It was a welcome distraction from writing.
Getting carried away in the heat of the moment I join in the chaos, saying: “Please, Mrs Turner, Chris is messing around and stopping me from doing my work!”
Now, had we have been in one of the other classes with any of the other teachers I would not have dared make such a claim. Mrs Turner laughed along with my classmates and thanked me for pointing out that Chris was indeed messing around. She tilted her head to one side and nodded at me as she spoke. You could see she got the joke – it was just a bit of fun.
Turning her attention back to Chris, who was grinning and rubbing his head, she asked him if he had quite finished disrupting her class. He had, and Mrs Turner said: “Thank you!” She then asked if his head was OK, which it was.
Mrs Turner then turned her attention to me, and playfully took my ear and stood me up. I laughed, as did my classmates, as I cried “Ow!” “Come with me, young man!” she said.
I was taken to the front of the classroom. I had no idea what she was going to do, but I knew I wasn’t in any trouble. Mrs Turner turned me to face the class. still holding me by the ear, and there was much giggling.
“Who didn’t raise his hand before he spoke?” she asked the class, trying not to laugh. Several hands were raised and all answered correctly – yes, me!
Without letting go of my ear, Mrs Turner pulled her chair out from behind the desk, sat down on it while pulling me with her and smoothly guided me across her knee.
I can tell you it was quite a shock to suddenly find myself across Mrs Turner’s lap. I had the dubious honour of being the first child in the class to find themself in that position. To my surprise, I found it was actually a very comfortable place to be.
Mrs Turner addressed the class. I couldn’t see her face, but I knew by her voice she was messing about. “Children, I know Chris disrupted the lesson – but he raised his hand and asked to open the window. The gust of wind wasn’t his fault.
“Paul here. on the other hand, has also disrupted the lesson. He broke a strict classroom rule – speaking without raising his hand. So what do you think happens to naughty boys who don’t raise their hand?”
Several hands went up again, and Mrs Turner invited a boy named Simon to answer the question. He said, with some relish: “He is going to get his bum smacked, Mrs Turner.”
Our teacher answered: “Very good, Simon! Paul is indeed going to have his bottom smacked for disrupting my lesson. Do we all agree, children?” Of course, everyone did!
I, meanwhile, was having a life-changing moment. I lay still, enjoying the warmth of Mrs Turner’s skirt, and for the first time felt strange stirrings inside. I was experiencing the anticipation and slightly nervous feeling anyone gets when they are about to have their bottom smacked. It was a nice feeling, too! I grinned at my classmates, who were all watching from my right side. I loved the fact that Mrs. Turner was chatting to my classmates quite amiably with me over her lap.
Then Mrs Turner said: “As there are 25 children, plus myself, in this class, I think 26 smacks – one from each of us – will teach this naughty boy a lesson, don’t you?” They all nodded and agreed with Mrs Turner. I can remember some excitable chatter but cannot remember what they were saying – there was, by the sound of it, universal agreement. Perhaps for some of them it was the first smacked bottom they had ever witnessed?
Meanwhile, I was concentrating on the warm skirt underneath me and my raised bottom, which was at the mercy of my teacher, who continued: “Perhaps, after Paul has had his bottom smacked, he will think twice before messing around in my classroom. If not, well, we will just have to smack his bottom again, won’t we, Paul?” She patted my bum gently at the last question.
“Yes, Mrs Turner,” I managed to say. I was a tiny bit nervous, I must admit. No doubt had this been for real or, worse, another teacher I would have been terrified.
Mrs Turner hauled me up higher and forward, tugging my shorts up tight in preparation, then ran her hand over my bottom – a feeling I liked very much!
“Right then, children,” she prompted, “count along!” A smack landed on my shorts – I felt it, too! As the smacking progressed, it became clear this was only in fun, so I felt brave enough to protest that it was Chris who had disrupted the class, and therefore he should be smacked too.
“Oh my goodness, now he’s telling tales!” Mr. Turner exclaimed. She gave me six quite sharp smacks, in quick succession, that made me squeal and laugh at the same time. My classmates all thought it huge fun and encouraged Mrs Turner to ‘do that again’. There was more general animated chattering in the classroom.
“Shall I?” she questioned, chuckling. “Yes!” my classmates chorused. “Very well – ready to count?”
Mrs Turner took a slightly firmer hold of me – I was really beginning to enjoy this game, as she smacked me quite firmly a few more times in quick succession, much to the amusement of my mates. The smacks were landing quicker than the children could count. I admit there was a sting under my shorts, but in the nicest possible way. I was a very happy boy!
I made a few appropriate noise, and it was all great fun. Teacher, pupils and victim all enjoying a bit of light-hearted fun. Especially the victim!
Finally: “I think that will do for now. Woe betide you if you disrupt my lesson again, Paul! And raise your hand when you want to speak, or you’ll be back out here and back across my knee!” Four final, firm smacks landed to emphasis her point, and I was released. Mr. Turner smiled as she helped me to my feet, pointed to my desk and said: “Back to work, you naughty boy – fun’s over!”
Naturally, I gave my tingling bum a brisk rub as I returned to my seat, but all faces were smiling, especially mine and Mrs Turner’s. I spent the rest of the afternoon in a bit of a daydream, my bottom tingled away for a while and I remember feeling quite ‘gooey’ inside. I liked what I felt – a lot!
The lesson continued. Mrs Turner caught my eye and gave me a warm, friendly smile now and then, and as she passed Chris. she gave him a gentle rub on his head, calling him ‘Wooden-top’. That nickname stuck forever for Chris. Each time she passed me, Mrs Turner briefly placed her hand on my shoulder. I felt a warmth for her, and I was sitting on a warmth from her!
At the end of that day, she caught my arm as we were all leaving to check I understood she had just been playing around. I did – but I walked home a different boy to the one that had ventured out to school that morning! I had discovered smacked bottoms could be fun, and I wanted more. Not real one’s, mind – fun ones! I am convinced my sexual interest in spanking stemmed purely from that incident.
I cried the day Mrs Turner announced she was be leaving. She had accepted a position as deputy headmistress at the infants school across town.
Her replacement was another woman, but she seemed to us boys to favour the girls – except when it came to dishing out smacked bottoms. Not one girl was smacked, but several boys suffered the punishment multiple times; and boys who would never have felt the flat of Mrs Turner’s hand were reduced to tears by some very sound spankings in the last year of juniors. Our new teacher did seem to pick on the quieter, shy boys. I avoided that humiliation, but my work suffered and that was purely down to being frightened of this new teacher.
Bar a few detentions, I avoided punishment all the way through senior school.
Spring forward about 30 years and I was a qualified electrician called out to quote on a job. It was Mr & Mrs Turner! When Mrs Turner opened the door her face lit up – she gave me a hug and told me I hadn’t changed a bit. It was lovely to see her. I, of course, had grown, but Mrs Turner was much the same as when she taught me. She was by then just recently retired, so in her early 60s, but she was still slim, attractive and sharp as a pin.
I must admit, it was difficult to talk normally and quote a price for the job in hand without thinking back to that heady day she had me across her knee. We chatted about school, reminisced about fellow classmates and I updated her on some that I had kept in touch with, including ‘Wooden-top’. Mrs Turner smiled: “Bless him – he was a lovely boy. If you see him, remember me to him please, Paul.” She really was a lovely lady.
We discussed her job as deputy head and I told her of my own and my other classmates’ disappointment when she left. I told her about the woman who replaced her and how most of us were frightened of her.
By this time I was a confirmed spankee, married with a wife who enjoyed indulging me in a little light spanking in the bedroom. I admit it was titillating, but I mentioned the new teacher and how keen she was to smack the quiet boys in the class.
Mrs Turner shook her head, visibly distressed. She told me that it was completely unnecessary to smack any of the children in our class; none were that naughty that they deserved such treatment.
Then she looked at me and smiled. “Though, no doubt you remember the day I smacked you, Paul?” I confirmed I did – how could I ever forget? This, I admit, was quite exciting.
Mrs Turner continued: “There were only a few boys in that class who would be able to take a joke like that. You and Wooden-top were my favourite pupils – always tried hard, both well behaved and a little cheeky, which is why I smacked you that day. I knew you would understand it was for fun.
“There was also Simon, and Jeffrey and maybe one or two others. There were also some boys I would not have messed around with. That blond boy, Trevor, and Philip and William come to mind. Had I have smacked them, like you, just for fun, they may well have taken things the wrong way, become upset or even cried, which would have been awful. To embarrass a young boy in front of his classmates could, for a sensitive child, be devastating.
“You have to know which children are able to understand a smacked bottom is for fun, and I knew you would. In fact, you are the only boy I smacked in 35 years of teaching, so you are in a very exclusive club, Paul. We did have some fun that day, didn’t we?” Then, with a chuckle, she added: “Well, your classmates and I thoroughly enjoyed ourselves – at your expense of course, Paul!” Right there – Mrs Turner had all but admitted she had enjoyed smacking my bum.
I kept it to myself, but I had enjoyed the episode more than anyone. My overriding memory was of the warmth I felt lying across my teacher’s knee while she discussed with my classmates how many smacks she intended to give me. A wonderful memory. I was also impressed that she could remember the names of her children from 30 years ago.
Mrs. Turner then told me something that confirmed in my mind just how good a teacher she was. “There was method in my madness, you know, Paul. Smacking you in front of the class was a visual reminder to your classmates to raise their hand before speaking or calling out in lesson time. Children of that age respond to visual images rather than being constantly told off, or punished.” Clever lady, Mrs Turner – using a bit of fun to enforce a classroom policy!
She paused, looking thoughtful: “It’s awful that replacement teacher smacked so many children in that class – so unnecessary. Probably caused all sorts of issues, especially for young Trevor. He was very sensitive.”
I told her that Trevor was smacked really hard once, and because he cried she had used a ruler on his hands and bum! The new teacher told him if he didn’t stop crying, he would be sent to the headmaster for the cane.
“Dreadful – that’s so sad! He was a lovely boy but he needed encouragement and an arm around him, not physical punishment.” Mrs Turner was genuinely upset by the news. She asked if I kept in touch with Trevor. but I hadn’t seen him since the day we left school.
Having secured the job with a very competitive quote, I worked for Mr and Mrs Turner on and off for a couple of years. Although it would have been fun to try and work spanking talk into our conversations, it would have been unprofessional so I resisted the urge. However, it felt very tempting to make the odd comment like: “I’ve messed this bit up, Mrs Turner – think I need to have my bottom smacked again.”
The last time I saw them, Mr Turner was very unwell. After he died. Mrs. Turner moved away to live near her daughter. Sadly, due to the distance, we lost contact but her daughter did send me a note to advise me that her mother had died peacefully in her sleep. Chris (Wooden-top) and I went to the service together – it was very moving. She was a lovely lady, and a brilliant teacher.