Caught cheating, a girl’s school can’t officially use corporal punishment
By Jill Waterhouse
Hi, my name is Penny and I turned 18 on the Saturday before my mock exams were due to start in February 2016. Like most people coming of age, I rather overdid it and paid the price on Sunday. Instead of spending the day with my head in my books revising, I had spent it with my head in a bucket and with a cold flannel on my forehead.
I was a sixth-former at the local grammar school which set a high standard for its pupils. Although corporal punishment had been outlawed in schools since the late 1980s, detentions and exclusions were still available for the staff to use at their discretion. Whilst exclusions, especially in the sixth form, were very rarely used, detentions for missed homework, lateness or other minor issues were still dished out liberally. Sadly, I was all too familiar with the detention routine as I was a poor timekeeper and often forgot to bring homework that I had actually done. I came from a family of teachers; my grandmother had been deputy head of a minor private school in the home counties, and my mum had been Head of English at my school up until three years previously when she took early retirement.
Although I did not receive spankings at school, I was no stranger to them at home. Mum had regularly had to put both myself and my now 23-year-old sister Lucy, over her knee.
Although she lived and worked in Bristol, when Lucy came home for Christmas and rolled in at 4.00 in the morning a little worse for wear, mum didn’t hesitate to put Lucy straight over her knee, pull her little black dress over her back and give her bottom a good hard spanking. Ironically, when she surfaced at 1.00 pm the next day, her bottom was still really sore, but she had no idea why. I kind of hoped mum might give her a second spanking to remind her, but sadly not as it turned out.
Grandma was also a veteran spanker. I wondered, the last time I was spanked by her, how many pert young backsides had received a wallop from her in the 35+ years she was teaching. Lucy was forever getting spanked by her but they never seemed as harsh as the ones I received. I had occasionally wondered why that was.
Mum disagreed with corporal punishment being outlawed in schools. When Lucy or I got into a scrape at school and were given detention (a slip had to be signed by the parent) we knew this would automatically earn us a spanking at home that evening.
The routine would be the same. The slip was handed over to mum and questions were asked as to what had happened and why. The slip was signed and put in the school bag for the next day’s detention. Mum would close the lounge door even if we were alone, pull out a chair, sit down and the miscreant would stand to her right hand side. When she told us, we would bend over her knee without hesitation, feet on the floor, hands also on the floor for stability. If trousers or shorts were being worn, mum would unbutton these and pull them down to knee-level first. Otherwise, the skirt or dress would be pulled up. Spankings were always administered over panties, never on the bare bottom, well not since the age of about 10.
Mum would usually spank us just with her hand, but if it was particularly serious she would take off one of her carpet slippers and give our bottoms a good roasting with that. The last time she had used the slipper on me was when I had been sent off whilst playing hockey in the 5th form.
I had a note from the PE teacher explaining what had happened that afternoon. Still dressed in my PE kit, I was expecting the worst but hoping for the best.
Basically, a girl called Judy on the other team had hooked her hockey stick around my foot just as I through on goal. Mrs Johnson, our teacher, did not see this as she was blind-sided. I had tumbled to the floor and, when I regained my feet, I had caught up with Judy, pulled her to a halt with her hair, and pushed her over.
I think most pupils would have been taken to the headmistress and given several detentions or even a two-day exclusion. However, Mrs Johnson and mum were good friends from her teaching days and Mrs Johnson knew mum was a believer in the arts of corporal punishment, so she sent me home to receive what she could not deliver.
Mum read the note soberly and I am sure you can figure out the rest. Over her knee, sports skirt pulled up, and 15 or 20 spanks with her slipper over my cotton PE knickers which offered zero protection to anything other than modesty. I think I cried for about 10 minutes afterwards and slept on my tummy that night.
Mrs Johnson had given me a knowing look the next day and enquired how mum had taken it!
Monday dawned, and my head was now clear and my mock exams were beginning. In the morning, I had biology, which was easy-peasy for me, and in the afternoon physics. The biology exam lasted 2 hours and was a walk in the park. However, during lunch I realised that the complex equations needed for this afternoon’s mock exam were stuck in the aftermath of the weekend as they were what I was supposed to have revised on Sunday.
Now the mock exams were not that important as such, but were used as a barometer of final grades, and could affect your university reference from the school. We always took the same desk for each of our exams, and I was one row from the back on the right hand side, and for physics I knew I would have no one to the side or behind me. It was then, in a fit of panic, I decided if I was going to get the grade I wanted after the events of the weekend I would need a little help.
On the smallest piece of paper I could manage it on, I jotted down the 10 key equations I knew I would need, and folded it tight and tucked it behind my watch just before we went into the exam hall. I took my seat, as did everyone else, including Mrs Bridges who was invigilating the two-hour paper. Mrs Bridges, the head of sixth form, was about 55 years old, of slight build, about 5 feet 6 inches in height and remarkably good looking for her age really, and was wearing a knee-length red pencil skirt and a snug-fitting black blouse which together showed off her trim figure, small bust and well-shaped bottom.
“You have two hours. You may turn over your papers and you may begin, girls,” said Mrs Bridges quietly as the clock ticked over to exactly 1.30 pm.
To my delight and amazement, the first four questions on page one went well and I found I remembered more than I thought I would. Three more to go on page two. Again, the first two were straight-forward and then came question number seven. This was about heat flow across complex substances with different thermal conductivities. This one had me stumped, but I knew where the answer lay!
Seeing Mrs Bridges marking some scripts from an earlier exam at the front of the hall, I slowly and carefully recovered the paper from its hiding place and quietly unfolded it as the clock ticked over to 3.15 pm. There were 15 minutes to go and I was right on schedule. I scribbled away and suddenly realised I had mis-written something. I reached for the correction fluid, which fell over and rolled off the top of the desk. I just caught it before it fell to the floor. As I did so, however, I accidentally nudged the paper which fluttered to the ground. The sound of me catching the correction fluid had made Mrs Bridges look up and I could only follow her eyes as she spotted my crib sheet falling slowly to the ground. I was done for, surely.
The next 10 minutes took years to pass, as I was expecting an intervention from Mrs Bridges at any moment. But nothing! The clock showed 3.27, 3.28, 3.29; I had escaped. 3.30.
“Thank you, girls. It is now 3.30 and the examination is at an end. Please put down your pens and I will collect your scripts. Once I have collected all of your papers, you are free to leave,” said Mrs Bridgers, who must have repeated the same lines dozens of times.
As she moved around the room, I tried to regain the lost paper and had just got it under my foot when I noticed my script float from my desk.
“You can meet me in my study in 5 minutes, and bring that paper with you, Penny!” whispered Mrs Bridges quietly but with venom. “Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, Mrs Bridges,” I whispered, trying to keep it together.
I was sure to be excluded for this, and as I couldn’t then complete my exams my university application could also be at risk. Oh, how could I be so stupid? All for the sake of a few drinks two days before!
My friends wanted to compare notes about the exam, and we chatted briefly outside the exam hall, but I said I needed to get off and soon left. Walking slowly to Mrs Bridges’ office, I tried to gather my thoughts and come up with some excuses, but both were in very short supply at that moment in time. I reached the door, took several deep breaths and gently knocked, hoping she was not there or couldn’t hear me.
“Come in, Penny!” came a curt response from within.
I opened the door slowly, entered and closed it again behind me. I knew school would be empty now, but I didn’t want to risk being seen, just in case. My tummy was churning, my mouth as dry as sandpaper, and my palms sweating profusely as time seemed to be standing still again.
“Now Penny, I was not born yesterday and this is not the first exam I’ve presided over. I heard about your celebrations at the weekend from Mrs Bignall. She and her husband were in the ‘Red Lion’ pub whilst you and your friends were enjoying yourselves. By her account, you were very much the worse for drink and your friends seemed much better than you. I presume they have had a little more practice. I suspect it took most of Sunday for you to come around and you lost study time. Am I close to the mark so far, Penny?” enquired Mrs Bridges.
I tried to speak but my mouth was too dry. Mrs Bridges offered me some water, which did the trick.
“Yes, Mrs Bridges. Spot on, Miss.”
Crikey, Miss Marple eat your heart out!
“So, hand it over,” she said, holding out her right hand.
Stalling, I made a gesture as if to say, what are you talking about Miss, but it wasn’t working.
“The paper, Penny. Please do not take me for a fool.” She gestured again by holding out her right hand.
This time, I slowly recovered the paper from behind my watch and handed it across to her. Mrs Bridges stared at me briefly then carefully unfolded the note and studied it.
“I am a history teacher, not a scientist, but it does not take an Einstein to work out these scribblings are formulas which would have been very useful in the examination you have just taken. In short, you went into the exam with the intention of cheating. Am I correct in that assumption, Penny?” she asked calmly and very matter-of-fact, as though this was an everyday occurrence.
“Miss, I’m sorry Miss. I was so worried after losing time to study yesterday and thought I would not be able to recall any of it. As it happens, I only looked once at crib sheet near the end of the exam, Miss.”
“So yes, you cheated is what you are telling me, is it not? Penny, you are a bright, sensible girl for the most part and you have a bright, bright future ahead of you. You have now put all that in jeopardy for what? For four or five cocktails on a Saturday night? It’s not worth it, girl; it really is not worth it, is it?” she lectured. “Mrs Williams (the headmistress of the school) is away on sick leave at present so as Head of Sixth Form it is up to me to decide what to do with you and I have been considering this very deeply whilst I waited for your visit to my office. The only option under school rules is to exclude you from school for the next two school weeks. This will result in you missing and therefore failing your mock exams and as a result a very poor report to your university.”
She paused briefly for effect and for the magnitude of what was happening to sink in, which to be honest did not take long at all. “Do you have anything to say for yourself, Penny?”
“All I can say, Miss, is sorry again. I knew it was wrong but I was just panicking and I didn’t know what else to do. I almost didn’t do it, but with only one question to go…” I began to cry. “I just did it. I am so, so sorry, Miss. If there was anything I could do to put it right I would,” I said between sobs.
“Well, I am afraid what is done is done, Penny. As I said, there is only one officially sanctioned punishment for such an act and that is exclusion,” she repeated.
“Do I take it, then, that there may be an unsanctioned punishment available, other than exclusion for two weeks, Miss?” I asked desperately.
“That very much depends on you, Penny. Since corporal punishment was banned in the 1980s, education has suffered as a result, in my mind. I am old enough, just, to remember it being used. It never seemed to do any harm,” she said.
“Are you saying what I think you are saying, Miss? If I take a spanking we can perhaps make all this go away?”
My hopes had been raised. ‘Please don’t dash them, please,’ I was thinking.
I was actually hoping to be spanked! What had the world come to when this was the better option?
“I cannot ask you if you would prefer it or not. However, if you were to go away and think about it, and then come back and ask me if I would spank you without telling me why, then I may consider it,” she said cryptically.
“OK, I’ll consider it and come back in ten minutes, Miss. Thank you, Miss.”
I was all over the place. What was I doing?
I left her room and went to the girls’ toilets. As I sat there I considered what had just happened. I was no stranger to a spanking, but I had no idea what was in store if I asked for one. If I didn’t, I would be excluded and that was an end to it. If I was excluded, I had screwed my future; I’d get two weeks at home with mum. Add to that, I would certainly be put over her knee and slippered vigorously on my panties, if not worse. It really was ‘Hobson’s Choice’ and was really a case of from whom I would rather take the spanking which was coming my way.
At home, it would be the hand or slipper on my panties. Here? Who knows. Certainly, I’d have a painful bottom whatever the outcome, but whether it was hand, slipper or even the cane, if the school still had one, over skirt, on panties or on the bare bum, who knows, but I really had no sensible option but to find out. I washed my tear-stained face, looked in the mirror and generally felt refreshed.
I’d chosen yellow panties that day, that fortunately covered my pert bottom quite well, not that they would be any defence against what I was about to ask for. I straightened my school skirt, took a deep breath and walked back to Mrs Bridges’ office, and once again knocked quietly.
“Come in,” came the response, and I quietly opened the door. “Sit down, what can I do for you, Penny?” she enquired as though the last 15 minutes had never happened.
In fact, she was playing the line she had taken straight down the line. Only she had seen the note, no one else was involved and I could see the offending article rolled up and in the top of her waste bin, so I knew she was being serious with her proposal.
“Well Miss, I don’t know how to tell you this without giving away too much information, Miss, but I have done something very naughty and I don’t know what to do about it, Miss. No one has been hurt, no one else has been impacted by it, but it is weighing heavily on my conscience. You know me, Miss, I am basically a good girl and a good student and I don’t want this stupid mistake I have made to ruin my future, Miss, which it certainly would if it ever got out, Miss.” I rambled not really knowing what to say at this stage.
“OK Penny, I am listening. I know you are doing your mock exams; I sat in on your physics exam this afternoon. Is this something to do with that, I wonder?” she asked.
“I would rather not say, Miss, truly I would rather not. Let us just say I have been very stupid indeed and in all conscience I cannot let myself get away scot-free from punishment of some sort, but fear the school’s mandated punishment would be ruinous for my future prospects.” So far, so good, I thought.
“So Penny, what you are saying is, you have done something bad, you feel guilty, can’t tell me what, but think you need punishment. Is that right?” summarised Mrs Bridges.
“Err, yes Miss, that is correct.” At least I thought that was it, I wasn’t sure now that we were almost role-playing.
“OK, well, the only two sanctions school can offer is detention or exclusion,” she said with emphasis on the word ‘school’.
The penny dropped.
“Sorry, Mrs Bridges, I am not asking you as my teacher, but as a mature, responsible adult. I am sure you know my mum. I feel I cannot ask her without my deed having to be explained, and I could not cope with that. So I am asking you to punish me as perhaps you may have done to your daughters when they misbehaved badly, maybe?” My voice trailed off. I was getting myself tied up in knots.
“Hmm, I see. Well, my two were naughty girls right from being young and were not strangers to being punished. They are both in the late twenties and early thirties now, but they probably remember me punishing them on a regular basis. They were often across my lap receiving a good hard spanking. Is that what you think I should do for you, Penny?”
That was a loaded question if ever I heard one, as the punishment was not revealed and I would have to agree blind. Surely it could not be worse than mum’s slipperings, could it?
“Yes Miss, if you would, please, so I may forget this sorry episode and get ready for my next exam on Wednesday,” I said.
“Very well, Penny, as a responsible adult and mother, I can see where you are coming from. I am content you are desperately sorry and embarrassed by your actions, whatever they may be, and on your say-so I am happy to administer what I presume by your comments to be a suitable punishment to help you make amends. So shall we not waste any more time and get on with this, Penny?” she summed up.
“Yes please, Miss, and thank you,” I said in all honesty.
“You might not be by the time you leave this room, but we shall see. Now, down to business. I take it you have been spanked before, by your mum?” she enquired.
It was a silly question as she knew full well my mum was a firm believer in corporal punishment.
“Yes Miss, she has spanked me occasionally.” I stretched the truth tighter than my panties were about to feel across my bent over bottom in a few moments.
Mrs Bridges pulled out the chair which sat in front of her desk and sat her shapely bottom on it, brushing imaginary creases out of her skirt.
“Very well, Penny, shall we begin? Please lock the door and then come and stand here by my right-hand side, please.”
When I returned from locking the door, she took hold of my hand and gently guided me forward. I did not need pulling as I put myself into the correct position without fuss. What would be the point of doing anything else? I had requested a spanking, so why resist?
“I am not sure how your mother would go about this (as if she didn’t!) but this is what is going to happen.”
I turned my head as far as I could, my short hair just about covering my eyes as I did so.
“I am going to pull your skirt up clear of your bottom and spank you over your knickers. If you struggle or complain, I will have to rethink and maybe use my plimsoll from my gym kit. Do you understand, Penny?”
“Yes Miss, I won’t struggle,” I assured her, supporting most of my weight on my hands and my feet.
“Very well, let’s get you ready.”
Mrs Bridges asked me to hold myself up slightly and, as I did so, she progressively drew my pleated grey school skirt up past the tops of my thighs, over my bottom and onto my back, where she held it in place with her left hand. Gently, she adjusted my yellow panties so they covered my bottom fully, not that they offered any protection, before resting her hand on my bottom briefly and rubbing it slightly.
After about 5 seconds, her hand lifted and immediately came crashing down on the centre of my bottom with a loud ‘smack’. I jumped slightly but nothing more as the second spank landed plum in the centre of my left buttock and the third likewise on the right. She continued to alternate every two spanks after that and moved around my orbs making sure they were well spanked throughout from the very top of my butt to the tops of my thighs.
When she stopped, I wondered whether I should get myself off her lap. I decided to remain across her lap until she actually told me I could get up. That was just as well, because clearly she hadn’t finished with me. My spanking resumed. Again, the spanks alternated left and right every two blows. The smacking sound was now more pronounced as it bounced off the office walls. Thank goodness, I thought, there was no one to hear the sound from the other side of the door.
By now, tears were running down my cheeks which, as my head was hanging down almost to the floor, probably looked as red as my bottom. The spanking was indeed a good one, and lasted for a good 5 minutes, I would estimate. Eventually, following one last hard smack, Mrs Bridges’ hand came to rest on my bottom and stayed there for a moment or two.
Again, she gently rubbed my bottom over my yellow panties before saying, “Alright Penny, I think that is enough punishment, don’t you?” in a very caring and motherly way. “I suggest you stand up now. I am sorry if I hurt you, but you did ask for a spanking and that is what you have had. Hopefully the soreness will have eased by the time you have walked home. I suspect you won’t be asking your mum for soothing cold cream anytime soon,” she finished with a warm smile.
“Thank you, Miss. That was not as bad as I had feared. Mum would certainly have slippered me, and she knows what she is doing with her slipper, I can assure you! I apologise again for my behaviour today and hope you can forgive me in time, Miss,” I said with my eyes still glistening with moisture.
“As I don’t know exactly what you have done, that would be hard to gauge,” she responded with a smile and a quick wink. “Get yourself home or your mum will think you have been in trouble.”
I agreed and rushed home, arriving 30 minutes later than expected. Luckily mum was not home yet from the gym so I went straight to my room, dropped my skirt and panties and viewed the damage in the mirror. My entire bottom was bright red. I took the hint and rubbed in some cold cream, which hurt at first but soon felt much better. I put on some very loose-fitting French knickers and a pair of jogging bottoms.
As I washed my face, I heard mum’s car on the driveway, so I dried myself, rushed downstairs and buried my head in a text book.
“Hello, darling, how did the exams go? I hope physics was not too bad, considering your hangover yesterday?” enquired mum.
“Oh, you know, not too bad, I suppose. Biology was a piece cake and physics could have been worse. Mind you, the formula for the last question in physics was a real pain in the backside,” I replied, smiling to myself. “I’m cracking on ready for the exam on Wednesday. I don’t want a repeat of this afternoon’s sting in the tail!”
© Jill Waterhouse 2021