The start of a new school year, a new teacher and a new experience for a new prefect.

By Joanna Jones

While by no means a perfect angel, Maria Goode considered herself a generally very well behaved pupil. While to her knowledge only one girl in her sixth form class had ever felt the cane on her hands, she was in the (not too small) minority of girls who had also managed to escape an experience of the slipper too.

Now on her first day back in the upper sixth, she fully expected to complete her A-levels having never experienced any school corporal punishment, not that the idea even really entered her consideration. After all to get the cane would require her to do something outrageous, and there seemed to be an unwritten rule that sixth formers were essentially exempt from the slipper.

In the whole of the lower sixth she had heard of only one boy getting that, though a couple of others had managed to get the cane for nearly coming to blows in the common room.

Thus as she sat at the back of the hall, with her prefect’s tie, received in the last week of term in July, neatly round her neck, and the band of gold ribbon she’d sewn on the sleeves of the green blazer over the summer also denoting her rank, she was paying relatively little attention to the Head’s standard first day assembly exhortations for pupils to work hard, to enjoy their year, but to behave and keep to school rules. She certainly had no intention crossing those rules now that she was a prefect and responsible for enforcing them. It rather amused her that the Head’s speech was almost exactly the same each year on the first day back. Certain phrases in particular made her smile inwardly as she recalled them in previous years, and how awed she’d been in listening to them for the first time. This was the seventh and, of course, last time she had now heard it.

Mr Lowe came to the end of his speech and then formally welcomed three new teachers who were joining the staff at the start of the school year. There was a Miss Lyme, who was probably around thirty and joining the music Department; a Mr Yards, probably nearly forty, who was going to be the new Head of Science; and finally a Mr Drystone, teaching History.

Maria sat up and looked more attentively at the young, fairly handsome man with neatly cropped dark hair who had briefly stood. He looked to be younger than 25, and she guessed was probably starting his first post since completing his teacher training.

She hoped he would teach as well as he looked as she now knew who ‘JGD’ was in her timetable, and her first lesson with him would be directly after this assembly, the first lesson of the new school year.

Shortly after, she filed out of the hall with everyone else and climbed the stairs to the first floor to get to the class, holding the back of her very short black skirt as she did so. It was 1970 and all the girls had skirts that did little more than cover their knickers if standing straight, and all took similar precautions to maintain decorum with boys around. Indeed that morning she had briefly considered putting her tights on, but it still was so warm that it really had to be bare legs and her white cotton knee socks.

Many of the female teachers had suggested the school introduce a minimum skirt length policy; after all it seemed that some girls wore blazers that reached further down than their “mini”. However, so far the view of the school’s management had been that they should not be so prescriptive; indeed other teachers were of the view that there should be no uniform policy at all in this day and age, and the current fairly relaxed regulations were a fairly happy compromise at the comprehensive school. As the Head pointed out, fashion’s dictates would mean hemlines would start to fall again soon enough, and they certainly could not get any higher!

In Mr Drystone’s history classroom the sixth formers were taking the opportunity to exchange news with friends and speculate on their new teacher, who quite a few girls thought a bit dishy, as they waited for him to arrive.

When he did so the class all stood to attention at their desks, in line with the school rules. While most stood silently, Maria quietly whispered the end of her final sentence on the topic she had been discussing with her friend Judith before facing the front.

James Drystone smiled as he stood at the front of the class and said: “Please sit down, except you, girl.” He was, to Maria’s shock, pointing straight at her and the tone of his voice had darkened considerably.

“What’s your name?” He demanded of the young woman who now stood nervously at the centre of the class’s attention.

“Maria, Maria Goode, sir,” she replied with an audible tremor in her voice.

She could tell he was irritated, but as yet could not understand the reason.

“So, Maria Goode, can you tell me why at this school pupils are asked to stand as their teacher comes in?”

“It’s a mark of respect, sir,” she replied quickly without needing to think.

“And anything else?”

Maria was now confused. To her it was just a school rule. You did it because of that, plain and simple. She could not, at least in her somewhat heightened nervous state, think of any other reason.

The silence lengthened as Mr Drystone paced across the front of the absolutely silent class, looking at the rather embarrassed girl in front of him.

Eventually, as Maria shook her head slightly as she racked her brain for something sensible to say, the teacher answered his own question.

“It also represents a break point, a time to put discussion of other things away and mentally turn to the lesson at hand.”

He paused again. Maria felt his eyes were boring into her as she remained standing. She felt obliged to say something so rather quietly replied: “I understand, thank you, sir.”

“Now coming to your behaviour, can you tell me how continuing to talk while standing as I come in is either respectful or indeed how it helps you mentally prepare for the lesson?”

Maria was surprised, most teachers, especially the younger ones, were quite relaxed on that point. Clearly Mr Drystone was not in that category.

“I am very sorry sir, it won’t happen again,” she replied very apologetically, and expecting that to be the end of the matter mentally prepared to sit down.

However, for Mr Drystone it was clearly not the end of the discussion. “So would you talk if Mr Lowe came into the room?”

Maria stood straighter again and forced her mind back to the issue as she realised that Mr Drystone had not finished with her yet. She was beginning to get more nervous as she realised the teacher was going to make a bigger issue out of this, and that she was in all likelihood going to have to endure a rather embarrassing lecture in front of her classmates. However, this time she did not need to consider her answer to the question much. Of course nobody talked as they stood if the Headmaster came into a class. He was the Headmaster after all!

“No, sir,” she replied quietly.

“And if you had a lesson with Mrs Peterson, would you talk then?”

He’d done his homework, thought Maria. Mrs Peterson was the most obvious exception to the general case that a brief whispered word to a friend as you stood would be ignored. There were a few teachers who would give a mild telling off, but nobody was mad enough to utter a word as they stood when Mrs Peterson came into her class.

“No sir,” she repeated.

“So what makes you think it’s acceptable in my class then? Perhaps you think that good manners don’t apply in my case?” Mr Drystone said angrily.

Maria repeated her apology hoping it would be enough. “Please, sir, I really am very sorry. I will never let it happen again.”

Surely Mr Drystone would let her sit down now. Surely he’d embarrassed her enough, she thought miserably.

The teacher paced briefly around the front of the silent class as if considering. Then he turned and said more quietly. “Tell me, what would Mrs Peterson do if you behaved as you did here?”

Despite the warmth of the classroom Maria suddenly went cold, the blood draining from her face. Suddenly it was not just a prolonged lecture that worried her.

“Please. Really I am sorry sir,” she begged rather desperately.

“That does not answer the question, Miss Goode!” Was the response.

Defeated, sickly she finally answered in a small whisper. “She might use her slipper.”

“I beg your pardon, I did not catch that.”

“I said she might use her slipper sir,” said Maria more audibly.

“I think ‘might’ might actually be ‘would’, no?”

It suddenly dawned on Maria that, as head of history, the arch-disciplinarian, Mrs Peterson, was also likely to be Mr Drystone’s mentor as a new teacher as well as his line manager. She felt herself beginning to shake as a mild panic set in. She held on to the fact she was in the upper sixth and hoped he was just trying to scare her. If so he was doing a very good job, she thought bleakly.

“Miss Goode?”

Shaking herself she brought herself back to the teacher in front of her.

“Y… yes, b… but please s… sir,” she stammered.

It was then that the young teacher bent down, opened the lowest drawer of his desk and pulled out a large black gym-shoe. “Leave you blazer on the back of your chair,” he said quietly.

Maria felt faint, then panicked. “Please sir,” she wailed desperately as she remained rooted to the spot. “I am in the sixth, a prefect.”

“I beg your pardon! Are you refusing to do what I ask? Would you prefer to discuss the matter with Mr Lowe?” Demanded the young man as he now brandished his plimsoll at her.

Maria stood briefly wringing her hands, as she wondered how this could be happening. He was, she realised, deadly serious about slippering her. For a fraction of a second she wondered what Mr Lowe would do, and immediately concluded he would be supporting a new teacher to the hilt. She would probably become the second girl in her class to experience the cane and worse, even than that, was the high chance that he would also take her prefect’s tie. The prospect of unpicking the gold ribbons from her blazer sleeves on her first official day as a prefect was unthinkable. The awful truth hit her, she had no real choice.

Finally she shrugged off the green blazer and put it on the back of her chair, before looking up at the teacher with eyes that begged desperately for mercy.

None was forthcoming. As she was beckoned to the front with his finger Mr Drystone continued. “At your request I will be taking into account that you are in the sixth form, and a prefect. I was going to give you three, but I will add one for your maturity and one given your role is to enforce the rules, not disobey them!”

‘Five!’ Thought Maria, horrified. Most slipperings were two or three. Her mouth opened to make a horrified plea.

Then shut again as Mr Drystone further went on to say: “And any more nonsense from you and it will be six or even more.”

Face burning, with barely controlled tears wanting to well up in her eyes, she reached the front of the class.

“Step onto the dais there, face the blackboard, bend over and grab your ankles.”

She was not even going to get the desk to bend over, she thought awfully. As she moved to the spot Mr Drystone had pointed to she had a final glance around at her classmates. Her female friends looked sympathetic, shocked and appalled. However, the boys clearly had other thoughts mixed up in their surprised countenances. The most obvious was a high degree of anticipation.

It was then that she realised the consequences of complying with Mr Drystone’s rather explicit instructions. Her mind went immediately to trying to remember the underwear she’d pulled out of the drawer that morning. A moderately high cut pair in a pastel blue, she recalled. Soon she realised that all the boys would be getting rather too good a look at them; her skirt could barely be tucked under her bottom when sitting and mostly it was her knickers that were in direct contact with the chair seat. At the same moment she further realised that also meant that the rubber sole of that nasty looking ‘slipper’ would in all likelihood be assaulting her bum in areas without the protection of her skirt. Self-consciously she gave the skirt a tug down, but being well fitted to her waist there was not even a millimetre of downward motion in the high hemline.

Slowly she took the small step up onto the broad wooden plinth that ran the width of the classroom in front of the blackboard and gave a final soulful pleading look toward her new teacher.

All he did was look implacably at her, holding the slipper in his right hand.

Flushing miserably, and biting her lip tightly to try to prevent herself crying, Maria finally bent over and grabbed her ankles. She kept her legs firmly together as her skirt inevitably rode up. Every member of the class now was aware of the colour of her knickers as the light blue fabric appeared under the hem of her skirt.

Dully Maria wished for once that she’d worn a skirt that was a little more conservative. Her mother was always going on about it, but she was too fashion conscious, or more truthfully she too easily succumbed to peer pressure, to listen to her.

It was a class that was now utterly silent. You could hear a pin drop!

“Legs straight please, Miss Goode.”

Maria felt the hem of her skirt move up even further as she reluctantly obeyed. She reckoned the hem was half way up her (to the boys’ view) rather nicely shaped bottom which, if on the more petite side was toned well with all the sport she did. Maria miserably considered her prefect tie that was dangling towards the floor millimetres in front of her nose and was aware of her long fair hair also cascading down around her as she waited, stomach twisting sickly, for it start.


Mr Drystone had launched the first blow, landing high enough on her bottom that her skirt still protected her.

Despite that, the sting was awful and Maria gasped and stumbled forward slightly with the sheer force of the whack. She did not realise that her legs were now slightly apart to gain some more stability as she retook her stance, to wait for the second blow. She also did not realise that the hem of her skirt had ridden even further as a result of the slightly upward motion the young teacher had employed.

In years to come, Mr Drystone would learn to modify the strength of a slippering according to the pupil’s reputation, but this was the first time ever he’d used one. He was thus working off the rather detailed advice and encouragement of Mrs Peterson, more generally supported by other new colleagues, who’d said ‘start firm’. Every slipper blow was therefore given with the fullest force he could muster onto the target.

A second blow duly thudded down onto the same spot in the middle on Maria’s rear, now half on and half off the skirt. The upthrust of the blow this time effectively pushed the hem of that skirt up to be essentially off the target area. Maria squealed as she stumbled a step forward again. Her legs were now about a foot apart as she pushed herself back into position, grimly holding her legs tightly just above her ankles.

The pain was stinging horribly as she desperately tried to control herself and wait for the third.

However, Mr Drystone was taking his time.

The third eventually landed with its dulled smack, this time centrally on the lower part of her bottom, impacting exclusively on the pale blue cotton.

“Yee-eow!” Wailed Maria at the intense sting imparted to her rear. Her parents had never smacked her, and she’d never been so punished, even at primary school. This was proving a shocking, awful, first experience. However, there were now only two to go. ‘Hold on!’ She begged inwardly to herself.

Mr Drystone had launched the first three blows aiming at the vertical cleft line visible through her panties in the middle of her rump. For the last two he decided to put one low on each side of the bottom she was presenting. Something to remind Miss Goode of the need for good manners when she sat down, he thought. He also decided to give the girl a good half minute to consider her predicament before giving the last two blows.

Outwardly he was indifferent to her state of attire, though inwardly he managed a detached appreciation of her figure. However, in truth he was very nervous in his first lesson as a qualified teacher, and far too absorbed in wishing to meet the explicit expectations of his rather intimidating mentor, Mrs Peterson. Anyway, if the girl chose to wear such an immodest garment that was her prerogative, but he was not changing the punishment from that he would give a boy on his long trousers or a girl who chose to wear a skirt that went below the mid-thigh based on that.

The girls in the class were of course absolutely horrified for poor Maria. Her knickers were now essentially fully displayed and, with her feet well apart, a good fraction of the boys were obviously able to see far, far too much. Then there was the fact that Mr Drystone was really laying the slipper on.

That Maria was really suffering was something the boys would agree with. However, most had eyes out on stalks, utterly captivated by the sight of her poor thinly covered backside twitching oddly as she desperately held on to her ankles. A number were quite envious of Graham and David, who were sitting side by side at the front, almost directly behind the victim. Maria, at 5 foot 9 inches, was a tall athletic girl, well known to the boys for her very good legs, legs that were now fully visible as they led the eye upwards to where the tight stretch of her knickers gave more than a hint of shape of that area between them. While Mr Drystone might be detached in his appreciation (and being stood to the side was seeing much less anyway) that certainly was not the case for the other males witnessing, as more than one boy struggled to keep the twitches between his own legs in check.

Maria was of course unaware of the excitement she was providing to half the class. Her mind was focused entirely on the stinging pain in her rear, and the dread of the two further whacks to come. Just as she was beginning to wonder what was happening during the pause, even beginning to hope that perhaps he might let her off the rest.


The plimsoll landed very hard, right at the base of Maria’s bottom on the left hand side. The upthrust of the slipper motion meant that it caught Maria fully on the sensitive undercurve of the buttock. The squeal from her was quite desperate as not only was there no skirt to protect her, but half of the blow actually landed on bare flesh.

Graham gave an involuntary gasp as he watched the skin rapidly redden from the vantage point of his ringside seat.

Once again the blow had caused Maria to adjust her stance as she felt her heels lift off the floor and the need to take a step forwards to prevent herself toppling. She was really struggling with the pain that absorbed her consciousness, and it was taking all her will power to keep the tears that were trying to escape bottled up.

Finally the last blow thumped in very hard, low into the undercurve of her right buttock, the terrible sting causing her to give more of a scream rather than squeal.

Desperately she held her position, treating her classmates to the vision of the flesh just below her knickers rapidly reddening for the second time, as the right side coloured up to match the left. Later Maria would find the slipper edge had done enough to bruise the very top of both her legs, forcing her to wear her darkest tan tights and a marginally longer skirt for almost a week, despite the late summer warmth.

However, at that point in time all she could do was grimly remain head down, hands clamped to her ankles, giving the boys further opportunity to admire the sight in front of them. Of course she really wanted to stand, but was unsure if she was allowed, and she definitely did not want any extras!

“Unless you want some more I suggest you get up and return to your seat Maria,” said the new teacher, this time in a somewhat more conciliatory tone.

Maria shot up, gasping as the pained buttock muscles relaxed back, and immediately started to rub her knicker-clad bottom with the skirt still up, before remembering that she was in public, in front of her classmates. The red of her embarrassed face deepened as she pushed her skirt down properly and, still holding her bottom, tottered back to her seat. At least she’d managed not to cry, she thought.

Another gasp as her knickers met the hard wooden seat and she was down next to her friend Judith, who briefly clasped her friend’s hand in sympathy before she turned her attention to the lesson. Judith knew if the teacher had been only a few moments earlier or later in arriving then it would no doubt have been her dark yellow underwear that would have occupied the class’s attention.

The lesson of course basically went over Maria’s head, though she could see that Mr Drystone clearly knew his stuff and could engage a class well enough. However, for her, she was really locked in a world of her own as the pain subsided to a duller ache, and the shock left to be replaced by a sort of deep despair at having been finally whacked, and so publicly at that. Sickly she wondered just how much her male classmates in particular had actually seen.

She was still very fragile as the bell for the interval went and they filed out. Maria kept her head down and did not make eye contact with the teacher watching them as they did so, instead gripping Judith’s hand rather tightly for moral support. However, a minute or so later in the corridor, on overhearing one of the boys a few people ahead of her humorously mentioning blue knickers, and the treat she had provided them with to his friend who immediately guffawed, she finally found it just too much. Maria burst into tears as she realised how little had been left to their imagination and broke away from her friend to rush down the corridor towards the toilets, with Judith following quickly after her.

So started Mr Drystone’s efforts to prove to Mrs Peterson that he was to be considered a teacher not to be trifled with. They were efforts that were very successful, as the reputation he built in his first half-term carried on long after his slipperings became very rare events indeed.

The End