Some of the consequences of a simple class punishment

By David

Upper Sixth Arts were grinding through their last class of the day under the supervision of their form tutor when, ten minutes into the lesson, an out of breath and somewhat tearful Sally burst into the room.

“I’m so sorry I’m late, Mrs Gibson,” she blurted out. “The thing is…”

Mrs Gibson had experienced a long and tiresome day, so was in no mood for laborious explanations.

“How dare you arrive at this time?” She interrupted. “You can have no adequate excuse for this misbehaviour!”

Trembling by now, Sally again tried to explain herself.

“I couldn’t help it, Miss,” was as far as she got before her increasingly irascible teacher cut in on her again. Above all else, she hated to be addressed as Miss.

“I’ve heard enough, Sally,” she barked. “Take off your blazer!”

There was a collective gasp from Sally’s classmates, who all knew what the removal of the school blazer signified, as did Sally.

“Oh no, Miss,” she wailed. “Not right now! Can I have it another day? Please!”

But all this begging and pleading only made matters worse. Mrs Gibson opened her desk drawer and pulled out an object the girls had not seen for a while. It was a large white gym plimsoll, which she flexed in her hands. All teachers had the right to employ such weaponry on pupils of any age, but its usage in the Sixth Form was rare. Yet everyone also knew that any Sixth Former bending over for its application would receive at least six smacks.

Sally looked at what all the pupils called the slipper with consternation, her hands clutched to her backside.

“Right now, girl!” Resumed Mrs Gibson. “Get that blazer off at once, face the blackboard and reach for your ankles. The more you dither about, the more you will get!”

Tearfully, Sally did as she was told, placing her blazer on the teacher’s desk. One last imploring glance behind her was to no avail. Being quite plump, she had to spread her legs wide in order to grip her ankles, presenting Mrs Gibson with a well rounded target area encased in tight black trousers. But no sooner had the teacher laid her slipper in readiness on her left buttock than Sally wriggled and moaned as if already in pain.

“Stop being so feeble, girl!” Ordered Mrs Gibson. “I haven’t even begun yet. You are going to get six!”

And without more ado she pressed her left hand down firmly on Sally’s back, raised the plimsoll and brought it down vigorously on her pupil’s quivering cheek. In spite of the howls that followed, Mrs Gibson rapidly repeated the process five more times, alternating blows between the two buttocks. In her view, Sally was a strapping Sixth Former who could well take physical punishment. But at the end she could barely stand upright. Still sobbing, she shuffled to her desk and spent the rest of the lesson holding her backside just above the seat, so that it did not come into contact with the hard surface.

At the lesson’s end, Mrs Gibson made a quick departure for the peace of the staffroom, leaving the girls to gather round Sally in consternation at her plight. Most of them could not understand why she had made such a fuss. Slippering was a common enough occurrence, at least lower down the school. Most knew from personal experience that it was embarrassing to bend over in front of the class, but even six wore off quite quickly.

Only Barbara guessed the real reason for Sally’s distress, which would explain her late arrival.

“Tell us the truth, Sally,” she urged the still upset girl. “You’ve been to the headmaster’s study and got the cane, haven’t you? The rest of you don’t know what it’s like, but I do, and then to get slippered straight after! What was it for, Sal?”

Everyone fell silent, waiting for Sally’s story. Only one sentence came out.

“He caught me smoking at the back of the school, and took me straight to his office!”

For Barbara, this immediately brought back her own very similar experience. Smoking was one of the few offences that still led to a caning, so that ‘Fags are bad for your bum’ was a well-known catchphrase in the school corridors.

In her case, it had occurred at the end of a school day. The procedure had been quite simple. She had taken her blazer off, as before any physical punishment, but she had then been made to kneel up on a chair and pull her trousers down to her knees. The humiliation of having to expose herself in this way before a man was soon eclipsed by the sheer pain of the strokes that followed. No slippering could compare with the biting sting of that stick. Fortunately she had been able to go straight home afterwards, but the marks of the cane seemed to last for weeks. Of course, she had never been able to see them in full. Now there was an opportunity to make up for this deficiency.

“Come on, Sal,” she said softly. “Show us the damage.”

At first Sally refused, moving away from her desk and making for the door, but as the other girls added their voices, gathering round her in a threatening circle, she realised she had no choice. For the third time, she reluctantly took off her blazer and for the second time unfastened and lowered her trousers. But Barbara for one was not satisfied.

“Pants down as well, Sally,” she demanded. “We want the full monty!”

It was a slow and painful process for Sally to peel her tight knickers off her aching rear, and once done she pressed both hands against her buttocks, as if in self defence.

“Stop messing about,” ordered Barbara. “Hands away and bend over again!” And Barbara pressed her hand against Sally’s back to force her into obedience.

Sally could scarcely believe she was once again having to present her bottom for others to view. She was always self-conscious about its size, but now she had to display it totally bare. Spreading her legs and grasping her ankles as before, she caused the other girls to gawk and gasp as they gathered round. The slippering had reddened her bottom, but running diagonally across both buttocks were four livid red stripes, each one distinct but close together and ending in dark welts at the base of her right cheek.

Barbara could not resist the temptation to touch. Gently at first, but with increasing pressure while the others watched, she ran her fingers down each line in turn, then pressed her fingers against the angry-looking welts. Sally winced and sobbed at this added torture, but Barbara was still not finished with her.

Barbara had come to realise that she was not motivated just by a wish to stare at a caned bottom. When she had been punished, Sally was also in the small group of smokers whom the Head had surprised. All the others rapidly got away, leaving Barbara alone to bend over. She had gallantly not given away their names, but wondered afterwards if the number of strokes she took would have been reduced if she had betrayed them.

“So you got four,” she exclaimed. “While I got six!”

Barbara still had her left hand on Sally’s back, but she now raised her right and delivered a sharp slap to each broad buttock in turn. Sally cried out and her knees buckled at the impact.

Then Barbara realised all the other girls were looking at this scene with consternation. She could sense their mood had changed from curiosity to sympathy at Sally’s plight. Saying no more, she let her victim go, leaving her to pull up her knickers and gradually assemble the rest of her clothes. All the pupils were reduced to silence, except for Sally’s muffled sobbing.

As she left with the others, Barbara felt a mixture of remorse and satisfaction. She was sorry in a way that she had spanked her classmate, who was no longer likely to be her friend. Poor Sally had suffered in succession the cane, the slipper and Barbara’s firm slaps, all on her bent backside. But on the other hand Barbara had received six of the best compared with Sally’s four. No pain could compare with those fifth and sixth strokes, delivered with extra force to the lowest and most sensitive regions of her already burning rear. Sally’s marks, like her own, would fade away, but the memory of her day of humiliation and almost unbearable anguish would never die.

The End

© David 2016