Missile Crisis

The latest in the Swishing Sixties series

by Dick Templemeads

The summer of 1962 had been a wonderful time for me. In early August I’d celebrated my 18th birthday while on holiday with my parents in the South of France. Then on my return I’d met Dominic, a 22 year old pharmacist who’d moved into the area.

Soon Dominic and I were very serious on one another; our courtship was progressing wonderfully and I knew that very soon I would be surrendering my virginity to him, and I even contemplated not going to university. But my parents were insistent that I should go, and so the end of September saw me commence the nerve wracking experience of applying for places and attending universities for interview.

Then October came and the worst month of my life accompanied it. For on the very night that I’d been prepared to give myself to Dominic, he announced that he was leaving me. If that wasn’t bad enough, two days later I saw him arm in arm with Valerie Prendergast-Jones.

Being dumped by Dominic was bad enough, but for Valerie P-J that was the last straw. How I hated Valerie, who had been the only girl at school with better O level results than me, who’d broken my school javelin record by three inches, who lived in the same road as me but in a bigger house and whose father drove the same model car as my father, only newer. Now she had Dominic and no doubt she, not me, would now be deflowered by him.

A day or so later things went from bad to worse as the Cuban Missile Crisis gathered momentum, the news scaring us into thoughts that a nuclear holocaust was on the horizon.

Just days after expecting to be deflowered I had a worse thought; I might die without losing my virginity, and it seemed that other girls at school had the same fear.

As the crisis grew, an emergency staff meeting was called. Normally, as senior girls and the majority of us, myself included, being prefects, we would have been detailed to supervise the junior classes but on this occasion the whole school was left to its own devices.

Quickly our thoughts drifted away from the medieval history we’d been studying to the history of the moment, and we started chatting about what could happen in the worst case scenario. Both Mary and Julie, my best friends and also currently without boyfriends, expressed similar concerns, so did several others including Phoebe, a very plain girl who had great difficulty attracting boys.

It was then that Valerie opened her big boastful mouth and precipitated a missile crisis far more minor but far closer to home.

“Well it won’t be a problem for me,” she informed the whole class, adding: “I’m seeing Dominic tonight after he’s had his hair cut, and we all know what else can be bought at a barber’s shop. We’ll be well prepared for tonight!”

It’s not often that I lose my temper but that was the tipping point. We’d had PE that morning so I reached into my satchel and pulled out a gym shoe which I propelled with full force in Valerie’s direction. Unfortunately I’d sacrificed direction in favour of power and my aim was off target; the gym shoe hit Liz by mistake.

Liz is a friend but she was miffed and returned it in my direction, but her aim was awry and she hit Julie, who too threw it back. Suddenly there was mayhem with seven or eight girls joining in including the normally reserved and well behaved Martina Gomme and Christina Phare. Then even “Miss Goody Two shoes herself, Philippa Pinder who’d never so much as had to do lines, threw a shoe at Mary perhaps because Mary so often taunted her about being such a swat and goody-goody.

Matters had become quite noisy and, with a number of plimsolls littering the floor, it seemed a good idea to stop and clear up before our teacher, Mrs Bishop, returned.

“I think we should stop now,” I informed the girls. “Because if ‘Basher Bishop’ comes back now there will be big trouble.”

The others agreed but then I made my fatal mistake by adding: “But before the ceasefire I’m having one more shot at Valerie!” And propelled my other shoe in her direction just as Mrs Bishop walked into the room.

On hearing my intention of another attack, Valerie had stood up and, with her back to the door, she was not aware of the teacher’s arrival. Much as I hate her, I have to admit she caught the plimsoll and returned it at force to my head in one deft movement that she’d obviously learnt from her Father and elder brother, both of whom were accomplished cricketers.

Mrs Bishop was furious. “Valerie and Elaine, out to the front immediately.”

We stood and walked to the front as directed.

“What is the meaning of this?  Sixth form prefects behaving like first years who you would normally have been supervising? 18 years olds acting like 11 year olds? Why?”

I thought it prudent not to mention that it was an argument over who Dominic would prefer to deflower, though in fairness, despite her adept handling of a slipper on occasion, which earned her the sobriquet ‘Basher Bishop’ she was a young, attractive, trendy teacher who’d only been married six months herself, so she may have understood how we felt, but instead I volunteered a not untrue version.

“Well, miss, you know Valerie and I are rivals at everything?”

She nodded.

“Well, it was just a personal feud that got heated and out of hand,” I finished lamely.

Mrs Bishop eyed the other gym shoes lying around the room. “You say just the two of you?”

Well, I would have left it at that but Valerie P-J was not prepared to go down alone.

“Others were involved, miss,” she offered.

“And who were they?”

Immediately Mary and Julie raised their hands. Both were mischievous rather than bad, but their wicked sense of fun had earned them sore bottoms on quite a few occasions, Mary more so, and she proudly claimed to be the most caned girl at the school having bent over for our headmistress Mrs Richardson on six occasions, twice with her knickers down. She also claimed to have been slippered twelve times, including five times by Mrs Bishop who was our form mistress as well as our History teacher. Julie’s tally was slightly less, three canings and the slipper eight times. However, both had a reputation for always owning up to their wrongdoings.

Thus, Mrs Bishop commented: “I should have guessed you two would be involved though as ever you own up, so out the front now.”

Both came out and joined us, trying not to laugh as they walked to the front. Liz, and Phoebe, also raised their hands as did the normally well behaved Martine and Christina, their involvement clearly surprising Mrs Bishop.

“So that’s the lot of you is it?”

Philippa clearly was not going to admit to misbehaviour; Miss Goody Two shoes not even prepared to own up when she had finally done wrong. Then, just as it looked like she’d get away with it, Mary of all people decided to drop her in it. “No, miss. Philippa also threw a plimsoll.”

The teacher was clearly shocked. “Is this true, Philippa?”

“No, miss,” came her reply. “I didn’t. Mary is just trying to get me into trouble because I’ve never even once been given lines and she’s been caned and slippered on many occasions.”

Miss Bishop clearly seemed to believe her until Mary played her trump card.

She moved away from the front and picked up a plimsoll. “But look, miss, here is her gym shoe with her name inside it.”

“So, Philippa, not only do you misbehave but you lack the courage to admit your wrong doing. Come out here at once, girl!”

Already with tears in her eyes, Philippa joined us at the front.

“Well you have all behaved like children so we shall treat you like children. While I decide on the punishment you will get, the nine of you can stand outside the room facing into the hall with your hands on your heads.”

We trooped out into the hall and obeyed. I felt totally ridiculous knowing that there were five other classrooms opening onto the hall and there was a very strong likelihood that staff, other pupils, visitors or perhaps all three would see us. Not only that, there was the prospect of further punishment to come and, standing in between Julie and Mary, I whispered: “A whacking, do you think?”

“Bound to be,” Mary whispered back. “It’s just a case of whether it will be slipper or cane.”

Julie nodded, adding quietly: “But Mary and me are used to that, the rest of you aren’t.”

This was true. I’d been slippered just twice, once by Mrs Bishop and once by Miss Mortimer. Liz had had it once and the rest, had unsullied bottoms, but it looked highly likely that that would not be the case for much longer.

I glanced up at the hall clock. In just a few minutes it would be break and five and a half rooms full of pupils would be emptying into the hall and viewing our embarrassment. But surely if we were to be caned or slippered we’d be called one by one into the room and dealt with, at least that’s what I hoped.

A sound announced the opening or our classroom door and Mrs Bishop emerged carrying the size 11 plimsoll that had belonged to her big rugby playing husband. Previously she’d used one of her old size 5 gym shoes. That’s what I’d felt, and Mary and Julie both informed me that the size 11 was much heavier and far more painful.

Still at least we now knew what our punishment was to be. Well, at least for a few moments I thought I did, for instead of giving any instructions she walked on to the end of the hall and then climbed the stairs to Mrs Richardson’s office, leaving the hall in silence.

The silence remained for a couple of minutes until it was broken by the sound of footsteps, to be precise the clipping of Mrs Bishop’s stilettos and the clomp of Mrs Richardson’s brogues. The pair emerged into the hall, our form teacher still dangling her gym shoe menacingly from her right hand while, horror upon horror, the head was carrying a long slender crook handled cane, the first time I’d clapped eyes on this much vaunted instrument of punishment.

Mrs Richardson addressed us. “You nine young ladies have behaved childishly, stupidly and ridiculously. The majority of you would have been supervising the lower classes had I had more time to arrange things, but instead you behave like silly little first years. Well that’s how you are going to be treated. You are all going to be punished in the hall so that the younger classes, plus the rest of your own form, will witness how silly young ladies are punished. You will all receive six strokes of the slipper on you bare bottoms, with the exception of Valerie and Elaine who appear to have instigated this sorry business and who will receive six strokes of the cane on the bare bottom! Now, form a queue with Valerie and Elaine last, please.”

The line formed, Mary and Julie, the experienced transgressors, going to the back of the queue for the slipper, to give those virgins, or the one time recipient Liz, the opportunity to get their punishment over with as quickly as possible.

At this point Philippa started to blub and plead.

 

“Please, Mrs Richardson, I’ve never even had lines before. My record is excellent. Please let me off, you know I’ll never misbehave again.”

The head looked at the girl sobbing like an 8 year old rather than 18 year old.

“Philippa, are you saying that having never been given detention or corporal punishment before that this should absolve you from punishment this time, and that you should not be slippered and the rest should?”

Still snivelling, Philippa could only nod.

“Philippa,” continued the head. “I’m inclined to agree.”

My heart sank. The little creep was going to be let off.

But then the head continued. “You misbehave, then plead to be excused your deserved punishment. Plus I hear from Mrs Bishop that you refused to own up to your misdeed. Perhaps that’s happened in the past and you’ve escaped?”

“No miss,” pleaded Philippa.

“Well that’s as it may be, but given your behaviour, plus your inability to accept your guilt, you will be caned instead of slippered. Go to the end of the queue with Valerie and Elaine.”

The crestfallen girl came to stand in front of Valerie just as the bell announced break time.

“Time to commence, Mrs Bishop,” said the Head, just as the first of the classroom doors opened.

Mrs Bishop called Martine forward. “Lift up your dress, push your knickers down to your knees then bend over and touch your toes. To the background of the sniggering second years who’d just vacated their class, Martine obeyed. Mrs Bishop tucked the hem of her dress into her belt, then seconds later delivered a thunderous whack to Martine’s bottom.

Her bottom wobbled under the blow. She let out a stifled groan and quickly a red glow appeared across both buttocks. The second elicited a louder groan and the glow grew redder.

The third whack had an even more severe effect on Martine whose groans turned to a yell, and the fourth and fifth left her bottom as one mass of red. The final stroke produced a scream from the girl and her bottom shook. It was several moments before she was able to stand and pull her knickers back up. She was clearly crying and her immediate reaction after re-clothing was to grasp her bottom but she was immediately admonished and ordered to stand in front of the hall’s stage with her hands on her head.

Christina faired much the same as Martine. She withheld groaning for the first whack but after that she seemed uninhibited in giving vent to her suffering, and was sobbing long before the final whack, after which she joined Martine in front of the stage hands on head and audibly crying.

Phoebe was the third and last of the “virgins”. A slightly plump girl, she stepped forward showing no apparent nervousness and quickly obeyed Mrs Bishop, lifting her skirt and pushing her baggy knicks down to her knees without fuss. She bent over displaying a slightly chubby bottom which would absorb quite a bit of punishment, which it did for apart from some wriggling and a groan at the fifth and sixth whacks. Phoebe made no sound nor showed any discernible sign of distress. She later told me that although she’d never been slippered at school she quite regularly spent bare bottomed spanking sessions over her mother’s knee and had learnt to cope with punishment. However she feared that when news of our demise got out, her father, whom she’d often seen cane her older brother bent over the sofa with trousers and pants around his ankles, would opt to do the same to her. She’d never been caned and now her brother was 21 and working he was exempt, but worryingly for Phoebe she knew the dreaded implement still hung on a hook on the cellar door.

Liz was not quite as stoical as Phoebe but she too gave a good account of herself, and then it was just the two experts, Julie and Mary, to go.

Julie was next. She did not need instructing to lift her skirt, lower her knickers and bend over without instructions. Apart from squirming and wiggling after whacks five and six there was no sign of distress from her, though her bottom was as red as the rest and she pulled her knickers back up without fuss and joined the others hands on head in front of the stage.

Then it was Mary. Almost seeming to enjoy it, she stood up, took her stance and made no sign of anguish, not even a faint wiggle, as she took six hefty swipes. After her punishment she pulled her knickers up as if she was putting them on first thing in the morning and even made a disdainful show of snapping the elastic back in place around her bottom.

Mrs Bishop stood aside as Mrs Richardson cane in hand strode up to the spot.

Philippa, who had been sobbing throughout, now gave way to howls of anguish even before she’d bent over. Three times she was ordered to lower her knickers before she finally did so under threat of having them taken down for her if she didn’t.

Obviously there was no stoicism. She screamed before the first stroke had landed and it seemed ages before her punishment was finally over. After much ado she pulled her pants back up and joined the others, hands on head, facing the stage.

Valerie nervously went into position. She remained silent for the first stoke, squealed  at the second, was crying from the third, yelled hysterically at the fifth and six and was convulsed in sobs as she hitched her drawers back up, and struggled to the stage.

Now it was my turn. I was terrified but I’d waited till last for a reason. No matter that this was going to be the worst moment of my life to date, I was determined that if nothing else I would be better than Valerie at taking my punishment.

Like Julie and Mary before me, I stepped forward, raised my skirt, lowered my knickers and bent over without instruction.

I was trembling, but gritted my teeth from the start, as advised by Mary, and tried as hard as I could to relax my bottom. Mrs Richardson was behind me. I sensed her movement and then heard the cane’s swish announce its descent. It seemed to take an age to reach its target but then suddenly I felt it land. I made no sound, and at first thought it none too painful, but a second or so later I felt the effect. There was a gap before the second landed. This time there was no time gap. I felt the searing burn straight away which multiplied the pain I was still experiencing from the first stroke. Still I made no sound and blocked out in my mind the fact that the punishment was only one third over. The third stroke struck and I sucked in my breath, such was the burning I was now experiencing. At the fourth stroke I stifled a groan but was aware that I was now wiggling and squirming in an endeavour to ease the pain. The fifth struck at the base of the bottom, this time I did groan but no more than that. Then there seemed to be an age before the sixth and final stroke hit its target at the crease between my bottom and my thighs.

I nearly bit my lip as I struggled to remain impassive but I succeeded and finally I was instructed to stand and pull up my knickers.

Unlike Mary and Julie, I could not muster the will to hoist them back up nonchalantly, but instead very gingerly eased them back over my burning bottom. I made my way to the stage aware that my eyes were wet, but my jaw well set. I’d done it, taken my caning without blubbing, unlike Valerie, who was still sniffing, and Philippa, whose sobs were as intense as when she’d first been punished.

What a humiliated bunch we must have appeared. All senior girls, all over 18 and standing hands on heads like silly first years, some still shedding tears. Within a minute or so the school would be returning and we’d look even sillier and it was at this point that Mrs Richardson struck her final blow.

“You ridiculous young women have been punished and some of the school witnessed this as they were filing out for break, but I want to ensure that all in the school are aware of the punishment for stupid behaviour. Each of you, take your hands off your heads, push your knickers down to your knees again and then lift you skirts above your bottoms and hold them there. I want every pupil to be aware of the price that is paid for such stupid behaviour.”

This was worse than getting the cane but we all complied and were soon aware of the sniggering that greeted our demise as the classes returned to the building.

It was hard to concentrate on lessons that afternoon. I reasoned I’d have to tell my mother as my young cousin Claire had been one of the juniors who’d viewed my striped bottom on display. I’d managed to keep my first slippering secret, but on the second occasion I’d not told her and she’d learnt via Claire who’d heard from a friend whose sister was in my form. My mother rarely spanked me and said she would not have done so had I owned up but, as I’d not been honest, I’d found myself over her lap for the first time in four years, my brief weekend panties down around my ankles, for the soundest bottom roasting she’d ever given me.

As soon as I reached home, I confessed to my mother, leaving out the matter of deflowering. She sent me to my room where I waited in trepidation. Ordered to slip my knicks down yet again, I did so and she examined my stripes and  commented that she’d allow my bottom time to heal, but that next weekend she’d be buying a cane at the village store and giving me a further dose. That was unless my father, who’d never spanked me in his life, elected to do so. After she left I viewed my bum in the mirror and was awe struck by the damage the cane had done.

Phoebe, too, faced a caning from her father, though none of the others said they’d also been punished at home.

Thus I was not looking forward to the weekend and had the added humiliation of having to accompany my mother to the store on the Saturday as she bought the cane that would soon be delivering only the second caning of my life. Thankfully my father had decided that he would not apply it.

As I stood with her, quaking, at the checkout and praying that she’d not tell anybody the purpose of its purchase, Valerie’s mother entered the store. The two were not particularly friendly but they engaged in conversation. Valerie’s mother eyed my mother’s sole purchase and my mother, much to my embarrassment, particularly as people other than Mrs P-J could hear, explained that she had bought it to deliver me a further punishment.

To my delight, even in those circumstances, Mrs P-J knew nothing of the incident and having heard it second hand was very annoyed to the point that she too added an identical cane to her purchases.

Of course once back home I was less than joyful. Mother summoned me to the drawing room, father was at golf, and instructed me to lower my knickers, lift my dress and bend over the sofa arm.

I lifted my short dress, pushed down my brief pink panties to my knees and bent over the arm, conscious that this time I could give vent to me feelings, which I did remaining stoical for three strokes but then yelling and crying thereafter even though mother was not as severe as Mrs Richardson.

Valerie, I learnt later, really suffered; her furious mother and father both giving her six of the best for her behaviour and deceit. Not only that but news of the incident reached the ears of Dominic who decided he did not want to date such a silly girl and dumped her.

After her anger had worn off, mother chatted to me about why it had happened. Though I skirted the issue of not getting to sleep with Dominic she seemed to sense the situation and said: “Just concentrate at school, get your A levels, go to university and this will all seem irrelevant.” She also added that having felt the cane herself when she was my age, she knew that it too can have a not unpleasant after effect.

Well, she was right on both counts. I worked hard, indeed so hard I had no time for boys over the next nine months. But I got my grades, went to university and ‘Freshers’ week allowed me all the access to boys and what goes with them.

As for the caning, well, being caned twice in one week left me with a very sore and heavily welted bottom, but on that Saturday night gave me a wonderful feeling that even the boys at university could not do. In fact it wasn’t until I was nearly 40 and met Graham that I recaptured that feeling, but that is a story to be told at a different time.

*          *          *

Author’s note 1: As can be seen from the final paragraph I plan a sequel for when Elaine is much older.

Author’s Note 2: The Cuban missile crisis occurred in October 1962. However in June 1964 when I was eight a similar incident involving the throwing of crayons not slippers occurred in my class. Those involved were slippered for their part in the incident. I was not involved, but my bottom only survived another hour or two as I was slippered for being naughty later that afternoon. I’d been hand spanked at school once or twice previously but this was the first, though by no means last, time that I was punished with something more severe than a hand spanking. My experience of the cane is related in the OTD Memories section.

The End

© Dick Templemeads 2015