A boy punished by a female teacher

By Mark Devonshire

Normally, this kind of story, which is based on a factual occurrence, would appear on our sister ‘otd-memories’ website. It appears here because it is fictional, even though it doesn’t feature a girl being punished.

Ever since I can remember, I have been fascinated by corporal punishment. Having attended school in the late 1960s and 1970s, I had many opportunities to observe these punishments unfold in all their exciting and ritualistic detail. Being well-behaved and reasonably bright, I had never experienced corporal punishment myself, but secretly longed for such an experience.

Every time a boy or girl was called to the front of class for the slipper, my heart pounded with such excitement I thought everyone would hear it. By the age of twelve, I was in the second year of secondary school and still hadn’t experienced any serious punishment.

Since moving to secondary school, the punishments had become more serious. The slipper now was a thick rubber-soled gym shoe delivered with great force across the bottom, and a caning could be heard down an entire corridor. The majority of these punishments were delivered by the male teachers, but there was also a significant group of female teachers out to prove, it seemed, that they could deliver an equally robust punishment.

My resolve to experience corporal punishment was wavering, having witnessed a few slipperings and hearing one caning. I found it as exciting as ever, but it was a high price to pay. Also, I had no desire to end up on the wrong end of a slippering from a male teacher.
I had just about given up thinking that I would ever get the slippering I so desired when I started in Miss Jones’ English class. She was a great teacher, very popular with the whole class, strict but fair, having a reputation as a firm believer in corporal punishment. She was probably in her early thirties at the time, rather plain looking (sorry Miss). She was also head of the second year, and took girls PE, occasionally taking our class in her gym skirt, which was a great thrill for me and, I suspect, most of the other boys. She did, after all, have a fit body!
I was very good at English, even though I say so myself, and ended up being one of her favourite pupils. For my part, I enjoyed her lessons and, if truth be known, had a slight crush on her. Our class was a mixed bunch, no real troublemakers but we could be boisterous. The class had been playing up on this particular day, and quite a few hadn’t completed the last homework assignment. Miss Jones was not happy.

Handing out the latest homework assignment, she announced: “Anyone who does not hand in this homework will get the slipper.”

I was stunned. My heart raced. This was it! This was my chance. It was the last class of the day and I decided to get the bus home by myself instead of walking home with my friends as usual. I wanted to think without any distractions.

As soon as I got home, I had a look at the homework she had set. Ironically, it was quite simple; verb conjugation, the sort of thing I normally got 10/10. Had I got the nerve not to do it though? The next English lesson wasn’t until Friday, so I had plenty of time to think about it. There were plenty of ramifications; Miss Jones’ disappointment in me, the shock of the rest of the class, and of course how painful it would be.

I decided to hedge my bets; do the homework, and then decide on Friday morning whether to hand it in. I could not sleep Thursday night, trying to think up an excuse that was plausible, but not enough that it would be acceptable.

I was up early Friday morning packing my school bag and, with a deep breath, I ripped out the page in my English exercise book with my homework and threw it in the bin.

‘No going back now,’ I said to myself.

English was the last lesson, and all day I was nervous & distracted. I couldn’t concentrate in the other classes and skipped lunch. My friends all thought I was ill and said I should go home. By2:45, fifteen minutes before English, it was all I could do not to throw up. Then the bell rang.

In a daze, I made my way to the classroom. We all made our way to our desks and sat waiting for Miss Jones. Moments later, she strode in. We all stood, as was the rule, until she told us to sit. The lesson flew by, and then, with fifteen minutes to go, she announced she would be coming round to collect our homework. My heart raced, my face flushed and I felt sick to the pit of my stomach.

As she made her way round the class, everyone was handing in their homework. I was hoping at least one other person hadn’t done their homework so I wouldn’t be the only one, but no, everyone had done it. Unbelievable!

Then she was standing at my desk.

“Can I have your homework, Mark?”

My throat was dirt dry, I couldn’t speak.

“Mark, your homework please.”

I managed to mumble something about forgetting it. The whole class looked at me. Miss Jones had a look of puzzlement on her face and there was a deathly silence.

The silence was soon broken by one of the girls asking with a grin on her face: “Didn’t you say anyone not doing their homework would get the slipper, Miss?”

This seemed to snap Miss Jones into action. Handing me a key, she said: “Right, Mark, go to my stockroom and choose yourself a slipper from the bottom shelf. Then wait for me.”

I mumbled a nervous: “Yes, Miss,” and got out of the class as quick as I could.

The stockroom was two corridors away and as I walked there I became a little calmer. The worst was over, I had announced to Miss Jones and the class I hadn’t done my homework. No more embarrassment. Then my nerves kicked in again. Oh my god, what had I done? What will Miss Jones think? Or more importantly, what will she do?

I put the key in the lock of the stockroom door, trembling with nerves so much I struggled to carry out even this simple task. I somehow managed, though, and next thing I knew I was inside. I surveyed the room. It was about 8 feet x 12 feet with a high ceiling. A row of small high windows was on one side with cupboards below. There were a small table & two chairs at one end of the room. The other two walls had shelves on, having a mixture of text books, exercise books and other paraphernalia of the teaching profession. It was all very neat and had obviously been arranged by someone who believed everything had a place and everything should be in its place.

On the lowest shelf were two pairs of training shoes, a pair of normal shoes and a pair of Scholls wooden soled shoes, popular amongst the younger female teachers. More ominously was a couple of plimsoles, obviously not a pair due to their slightly differing styles and sizes. Both were large with scruffy tops and no laces. Next to them was a single Scholl.

I looked more closely and blinked as I noticed lying along the wall behind the plimsolls and Scholls was a cane. I stared at it unblinking, not daring to touch it, but examining it intently. It was about 3 feet long, had no crooked handle as I had imagined, and no ridges like on a bamboo cane. At one end it had a small piece of tape wrapped around the tip. It was obvious to me that these were the items I had to choose from.

I picked up each of the two plimsoles in turn and examined them carefully, mainly the soles which I had decided was the most important thing, and also the weight. To be quite honest, they were both very similar and I decided Miss Jones had only given me the choice to increase my anxiety as part of the punishment. In that regard, her plan was a success!

I selected the smaller of the two plimsoles and put it on the table. My heart was now pounding and I felt sick from the excitement and anticipation. I had no concept of time, how long it had been since I left the classroom and how long I would have to wait. I decided to sit down at the table and wait.

I had only just sat down when the door swung open. I jumped with surprise; this was it. Miss Jones walked in and fixed me with a stare. Her face was a mixture of measured anger and grim determination. I immediately stood, met her stare for a second, then looked down. She had instantly taken control of me and the situation. Whatever was going to happen next, I would have no say or control over.

“Well?” Miss Jones demanded.

I felt myself blush bright red.

“What have you got to say for yourself?”

“I’m sorry, Miss,” I replied in apology, although I have to admit it didn’t sound very sincere.

“Sorry is not good enough, Mark. Explain to me why you have not completed your homework.”

I searched for words but none came. I was just too nervous, so I just shrugged my shoulders. This turned out to be a big mistake. Miss Jones took the gesture as insolence and her face changed from measured anger to uncontrolled anger.

“Are you deliberately trying to goad me? I had always considered you one of my better pupils. I have obviously greatly misjudged you. I am bitterly disappointed in your behaviour. The insolence you are now displaying is the final straw.”

Miss Jones was getting more and more angry as she spoke, winding herself up as she went on.

“Do you recall the warning I gave you and everyone else in the class?”

“Y-yes Miss,” I stuttered in reply.

“Good! Then let’s see if a sore backside for half an hour will change your attitude.”

She looked at the plimsoll I had placed on the table, then back at me, and held out her hand. No words were required. I picked up the plimsoll and handed it to her. She took the plimsoll and, using it as pointer, gestured me towards the middle of the room. I walked to where she was pointing.

“Bend over and touch your toes,” Miss Jones commanded.

I did as I was told, stretching until my fingers were just touching my toes. I felt Miss Jones’ hand on the back of my head, pushing it further down until I was positioned just as she wanted. I then felt my blazer being lifted clear of my bottom. I turned my head slightly to try and see what was happening, but immediately felt Miss Jones’ hand reposition my head.

“DO NOT move, boy,” Miss Jones commanded.

All I could see now was the floor, but if I moved my eyes as far as possible I could just see Miss Jones’ feet. Next thing I knew, there was a deafening noise. It filled the whole room, echoing off the hard walls. At the same time, I felt a force push me forward. Then, a split second later, a wave of pain like nothing I had felt before. I let out an involuntary cry.

“OW!” and I jerked upwards.

I had only moved a few inches when I felt a hand on my back stopping me and then pushing me back down into position.

“I’m not finished with you yet,” Miss Jones informed me.

‘Oh god!’ I thought. I had assumed it would be one whack, as I had seen given to others. I hadn’t considered anything more severe.

My mind raced. I couldn’t take any more, but I was powerless to stop it.

My thoughts were immediately curtailed by the second whack, equally as powerful, but even more painful, as it landed in exactly the same place, doubling up the agony. Again, I let out a cry of pain and jerked up.

“Down!” was all I heard Miss Jones say in a firm and slightly irritated voice.

I bent back into position and felt her hand once again on the back of my head, pushing it further down. I received two more whacks of equal ferocity, which I took in the same agonised manner.

“Right, stand up,” Miss Jones instructed me. “Let that be a lesson to you, Mark. I will not accept this level of disobedience and insolence. I will be keeping a close eye on you from now on. If I hear of any misbehaviour on your part, even if you are one minute late for class, you will be back here and I will cane you. Do you understand?”

“Yes Miss,” I enthusiastically agreed, thankful that my punishment was over and resolved to give her absolutely no reason to cane me.

“Good. Now get out of my sight.”

I left the room, my bottom throbbing and burning hot. It felt like my trousers were two sizes too small. I closed the door behind me and tried to rub the pain away.

The End

© Mark Devonshire 2020