Two sendings-off loses a team the match
By Jo Green
It was the winter term of our upper sixth year and we were in a cup semi-final against a really posh school where everyone had at least one hyphen, sometimes two, in their names. We played in all blue. The posh kids had a red and yellow striped outfit. The first half was very close, but we had edged it 3 goals to 2. The second half was more one-sided to the toffs, not because they played better but they were better at cheating and mainly got away with it too, often pushing us off the ball and tripping us with their hockey sticks. Our coach was going crazy, not so much at the referee, but at us for not doing the same. They equalised 3 goals to 3 with 10 minutes to go. We started to get more physical and immediately a girl called Bev was yellow carded; 5 minutes sitting at the side of the pitch for her. Again, our coach was having a melt-down; this time rightly at the referee.
With 6 minutes to go, I put the ball through to a team-mate called Gillian who was clear on goal, only for one of the toffs to trip her with her stick. Play on, ruled the referee.
“Leave it, Gillian, we can’t afford to lose another player,” I shouted as she went for the toff and I held her back by the shoulders.
“Get the f*** off of me! I’m going to punch her F*****ng lights out,” screamed Gillian.
Meanwhile, with us effectively 3 players down (me holding back Gillian and Bev just about to be allowed back on), the toffs went and scored; 4 goals to 3 to them.
By then, Gillian was flailing around like a banshee and we both fell to the ground. The shrill sound of the whistle not only signalled the score, but worse, the referee was standing over us both brandishing the red card and waving at us both with a huge grin on her face.
“What is that for, ref? I’m just stopping her doing something stupid!” I protested.
“Fighting, I call it. Off, the pair of you! You,” she pointed at Bev, “On you come. Play on,” she shouted, and blew the whistle again.
Mrs Winters was the colour of a ripe tomato. I was sure she was going to explode, literally explode.
“Get to the changing rooms. I will deal with you shortly.”
As she said this, the whistle blew again. Somehow, we had managed to score an equaliser, but it was chalked off for a supposed foul further up the pitch.
Two minutes later, the final whistle went and the rest of the team trudged into the changing room, knowing we had been cheated.
“Well thank you, you two idiots!” shouted Mrs Winters. “We would most likely have hung on if it wasn’t for you losing it like that. Stay behind. The rest of you, get off home.”
After a quick shower and change, the dressing room thinned out leaving Gillian and I to face the music.
“OK, what do you have to say for yourselves, and this disgraceful episode? Yes, we were cheated, no question, but two of our team being sent off for fighting each other was unforgivable. Can you give me one reason why I shouldn’t just drop you from the squad here and now?” Mrs Winters barked furiously.
“No Miss,” was about all I could say to that as I knew to expect it.
“That would be too easy, now Jo, wouldn’t it? I will give you a choice; you can either accept to be dropped from the squad for the next 4 games, this would include the league match with the cheating so-and-sos we have just lost to, or you can elect to take a more hands on punishment,” Mrs Winters said coyly.
Gillian looked confused, but I twigged immediately what she was suggesting. Corporal punishment had been banned for over 20 years in schools at this point. I did receive spankings from my mum on occasion and so knew what they were like.
“Essentially, Mrs Winters is offering us a life-line if we take a spanking,” I explained to Gillian whilst glancing at Mrs Winters, who nodded.
“A spanking? I’ve never been spanked in my life,” snorted Gillian.
“That much is obvious,” responded Mrs Winters. “Agree to this and it stays between these four walls. I draw a line under this sorry episode and you get to play them again. I cannot force you, more’s the pity,” said Mrs Winters.
“OK,” I said immediately. “Come on Gillian, get it over with, out of the way, then you can get your revenge on those stuck-up cheating bitches. It won’t hurt for long,” I said, trying to coax Gillian but getting a knowing look back from Mrs Winters.
“A-all r-right,” stammered Gillain, clear extremely nervous about what she was letting herself in for. “OK Mrs Winters, I accept, reluctantly!”
“Good! Let’s get on and get this over with,” said Mrs Winters, sitting down on the bench in front of us. “Gillian, come here!” ordered Mrs Winters.
I was about to say I would go first so Gillian knew what to expect, then I realised Mrs Winters didn’t want to spook her by seeing me spanked first.
Taking Gillian’s hand, she pulled her forwards and down until she was resting across her lap. Gillian was wearing blue jeans and they hugged her bottom like a glove. Gillian now looked really scared. Mrs Winters rested her right hand on the seat of Gillian’s jeans for a second or two before raising it to about the height of her breast and slapping it back down on the waiting bottom below. Gillian jumped and screamed in shock as the second, harder spank landed with similar results. She had never experienced pain like this and was not taking it very well at all. Screeching and crying buckets from the outset, Mrs Winters took it easy on her bottom, giving her about a dozen spanks before stopping.
“OK, Gillian, calm yourself down. I have finished with you. Dry your tears, stand up and wait over there,” she said, pointing to the benches at the other side of the room. “Jo, it’s your turn,” said Mrs Winters, looking into my eyes.
I was wearing a tee shirt, jumper and skirt as it was a mild early spring afternoon. I did not need instruction and lowered myself into place on Mrs Winters’ lap.
“I take it this is not your first time bending over someone’s knee, Jo? I take it you get spanked at home?”
“Yes, Mrs Winters,” I said, looking at her as I spoke over my shoulder.
“Eyes forward,” she instructed. “As you are experienced, I think we can get this out of the way,” she said, pulling my skirt up over my bottom and revealing an unflattering pair of dark blue panties. I just lay there and let her.
Gillian was open-mouthed at this development, thanking her lucky stars she had worn jeans!
Once Mrs Winters was satisfied, she brought her hand crashing down on my panties, which offered little by way or protection, and the spanking sound sounded like a whip cracking in the small brick-built changing room we were in. Boy, that first one hurt my left buttock and, as the shock sank in, my right felt the same assault! Spanking at a steady rhythm, Mrs Winters landed spank after spank on my bottom. Whilst it hurt a lot, I did not cry or whimper, but a couple of swear words crept out under my breath, bringing a smile to Mrs Winters face. Unlike Gillian, I got at least 20 spanks, which seemed very unfair, just because I had been spanked before.
“Right, up you get, Jo,” said MrsWinters, who was slightly out of breath with the unusual exertion. Clearly she didn’t spank very often, even though she has three kids between 15 and 11, I thought!
As I stood, my skirt fell back into place and I rubbed my throbbing backside through it.
“Now get out of my sight the pair of you. Any repeat of today’s behaviour and there’ll be no second reprieve from being excluded from the team,” said Mrs Winters, leaving us in no doubt that she meant it.
“You OK, Jo?” asked Gillian. “That didn’t seem fair. My spanking really hurt, but yours was so much harsher. Why?”
“She knew I had been spanked before, so didn’t feel she needed to go as easy on my bum as yours,” I replied.
“Can I have a look, have a look at the damage?” asked Gillian curiously.
I looked around, looking for any prying eyes, but the playing fields were deserted so I bent over again, lifted the back of my skirt over my back and gingerly peeled back my panties.
“Oh, my goodness! That looks sore,” said Gillian, not being able to resist touching my glowing bottom. “Jeez, that is really hot and sore!”
“No kidding, Sherlock! Thanks for telling me!” I said, laughing. “Come on, let’s get home.”
“How did the game go, Jo? You seem a bit late home, did it go to extra time or something?” asked mum.
“We lost. We were cheated, really, by the referee to be honest.” I didn’t mention the sending off.
“So why are you so late?” enquired mum.
“Oh, Mrs Winters gave us a motivational talk, that’s all, mum. I’m going to change and put my kit in the laundry. Shall I put a load in for you?”
“Oh, yes please,” she said, kissing me gently on the forehead, then unexpectedly slapping me firmly on the bottom.
“Ouch! What was that for?” I said spinning round.
“Well, you have been so good recently, I haven’t given that pretty little bottom of yours a good smack in ages. Go on, get changed and I’ll make a pot of tea,” mum said smiling.
“Mum!” I said back, also smiling. ‘If only you knew!’ I thought
Skip forward four weeks and we have a return league match with the toffs. This time we had a good referee and won the game 6-2 with one of their players dismissed in each half for exactly the moves that were waved on four weeks earlier. As we got changed after the game I wondered if either of their team would be having their bum spanked in the next half an hour.
© Jo Green 2021