A girl talks herself into more trouble.
By Jo Green
Based on a true event.
Tuesday was PE (Physical Education) for both upper and lower sixth forms together. Because our school, an all-girls school, only had a fairly small sixth form totalling 42 pupils between both year groups, Mrs Sims and Mrs Price combined both groups for one hour of misery after lunch. It was late autumn, which meant one thing. If the weather was anything short of hurricane force winds or rain resembling an automatic car wash, we had cross-country running. Actually, it was a course around the park next to the school which stretched 2.1miles and, thankfully, was actually all on made paths not grass and mud, so it wasn’t too bad. There were still a few deep and dirty puddles to contend with due to the rain which had been falling all day.
Following PE, there was a 15 minute break where we had to shower, change and get to Mrs Blackwell’s class or face detention if we were late, despite her knowing PE was not an exact science. Only 5 of us had Mrs Blackwell, so that threat seemed very unfair.
“Alright girls, listen up. Quiet! Thank you!” Mrs Sims yelled.
On one particular day, it was a cold and wet afternoon, but running it would be. Both teachers had been underwhelmed by our general lack of enthusiasm and had warned for the last three weeks that if performances did not pick up, then there would be consequences, which of course we ignored and just jogged round, hardly breaking a sweat for the main part. Just two girls, the Briggs twins who were identical sisters, were in the county under-18s cross country team and they usually finished in 12 minutes or so. Most of the rest of us took at least double that time.
“Listen up! To incentivise you, we are going to add rewards and penalties for today’s run. We have had enough of giving you all warnings. Anyone finishing within 18 minutes can stay in the hall and play badminton next week as a reward. Anyone finishing within 23 minutes will face no consequences and can get showered and changed. Anyone completing the course in between that and 26 minutes will get a detention. Anyone over 26 minutes can expect the slipper, the number of strokes of which will depend on the time taken. Now, does anyone not understand those simple rules?” Mrs Sims concluded.
No one spoke, but there were a few worried faces, mine amongst them, as we had not run fast since the 5th form.
“Mrs Price is at the far side of the park and will make sure no one cuts the corner. Alright, on your marks, get set.”
Mrs Sims gave a shrill blast of her whistle so that Mrs Price could hear and start her stopwatch.
Mrs Sims started her own stopwatch and the Briggs twins disappeared from sight within a minute or so, while the rest of the group, breathing heavily, was strung out already.
“This is murder, we don’t even know how long we have taken,” I said to Annette, with whom I was running alongside.
“I know,” she said between breathless pants. “I took my watch off, something I am bitterly regretting.”
After what seemed like all day, we came upon Mrs Price who was able to tell us we were exactly half way and had taken 13 minutes so far.
“You’re joking, Miss,” Annette panted hopefully, and Mrs Price shook her head and grinned as we rounded the next bend. “Crikey, we had better get a move on.”
Try as we might, Annette and I didn’t seem to be getting any quicker. We did pass 3 or 4 girls on the return leg, all of whom found they needed to stop and draw breath. Then the Briggs twins passed us.
“How come you were behind us? We didn’t pass you?” I gasped.
“Behind?” Belinda Briggs said, smirking and barely breathing hard. “We finished in just under 11 minutes so we asked Mrs Sims if we could go around again.”
Then they were gone. Annette and I just looked at each other in disbelief.
Meanwhile, at the finish line, 6 girls, including the twins, had finished within the 18 minute period and were already in the showers, safe from this ordeal next week. With 22 minutes elapsed, a further 12 had finished, and Annette and I could see the finishing line ahead, slowly coming closer. We sprinted as best we could, but it made little difference. A few girls ahead were crossing the line, and all of a sudden they changed from relief to disgust; 23 minutes had elapsed. The earlier finishers went towards the shower, the later ones seemed to be sent towards the sports hall. Seconds later, Annette and I stumbled, in line abreast, over the line.
“Sorry, girls, 23 minutes 13 seconds. Pop along to the hall and stand in front of the number 1 on the wall, please,” Mrs Sims seemed pleased to inform us.
I was distraught as we staggered off to the sports hall. Detention would result in a detention slip which mum would need to sign. Mum was a firm believer in the ‘punishment at school, punished at home’ ethos. Highly unfair! I would no doubt get a quick spanking for my slip.
More girls followed us. On the finish line, 26 minutes had elapsed and more girls were still finishing. They were firstly told to stand on number 2 in the hall, then number 3, and the last stragglers number 4.
As we got to the hall, we could see that a small vaulting horse used by 2nd and 3rd years had been positioned and lowered to its lowest height, a fraction over 2 feet, I would estimate. Moments later, the last of the girls gasped into the hall and Mrs Sims closed the doors.
“Alright girls, you were warned weeks ago that we wanted to see an overall improvement in effort. I see our warnings have gone unheeded, and so it is time to hand out some punishments.” She looked at the various huddles of girls as we all awaited our fate. “Group I, take this detention slip, get it signed by a parent, and you will have 30 minutes detention tomorrow evening.”
“That is not fair, Miss. It really isn’t,” I protested, and Mrs Sims glared in my direction with a cold-hearted look.
I was just 13 seconds over the acceptable time and I got 30 minutes detention and a spanking from mum, which I kept that to myself.
“Very well, we will dispense with the detention,” Mrs Sims smiled.
“Oh,” I said surprised. “Thank you, Miss.”
But Mrs Sims raised her hand. “Don’t thank me just yet, Sheila. Move over and join group 4, please.”
Grudgingly, I shuffled off to group 4, whilst group 1, including Annette, took a slip, and went for showers. 12 girls departed the room leaving just 12 of us looking at each other, Mrs Sims, and the vaulting horse.
“Now, group 2. You did not show enough speed and determination, but were not far off. You will each, in turn, bend across the vaulting horse, hold the legs firmly on the far side, and receive 6 whacks with my bare hand across your knickers.”
Everyone sighed. The 6 girls in group 2 because they knew they were getting smacked 6 times, the 3 in each of the other two groups because we knew we would be getting worse.
“Come on Naomi, you are first.”
Naomi trudged up to the horse, bent herself over, and hung on for dear life. Mrs Sims pulled up her blue sports skirt and applied her hand 6 times, 3 on each buttock, across her tight-fitting blue sports knickers. The sound of the smacks reverberated around the sports hall like gun fire. Naomi got up, rubbed her bum, and went to the shower room. The remaining five girls in group 2 followed, each getting a similar 6 smacks. None of them cried, but all had red faces to match their bums.
“Group 3, you were very poor today and as such you will each receive two whacks with my plimsoll across your knickers. Mandy, you first,” Mrs Sims ordered.
Mandy walked slowly, bent over and felt her skirt pulled quickly up. I was caught between a rock and a hard place. I didn’t want my turn to come around, but if it was not soon I would get detention from Mrs Blackwell, and a spanking at home.
I was brought back from my thoughts by the loud crash of plimsoll against cotton knickers and a yelp of pain from Mandy as the plimsoll struck her bottom. Bang! The second and final strike of the slipper hit home.
“Alright, Mandy, shower. Toni, you are next,” Mrs Sims said without feeling, whilst I made sure I was at least at the front of the final group as time could be important.
Toni, and then Barbara, each received two ear-shattering whacks with the plimsoll and were sent, damp eyed, to the showers.
“Group 4, Sarah and Jane, you clearly put in no effort at all and deserve what you have coming. As for you, Sheila, you should learn to respect the decisions of your teachers and not question them. Instead of detention, you have, like these other two girls, earned yourself 4 strokes with the plimsoll. Sheila, bend over!” Mrs Sims instructed me.
I think she was slightly taken aback by my speed approaching the horse and bending across it. I was almost willing her to get a move on. Seconds later, my skirt was pulled out of the way and the first crashing stroke of the plimsoll bit into my bum, causing me to yelp uncontrollably. The second struck home with identical effect and I was having problems stopping myself from crying. Two more booming strokes later, I was crying and jumping up, rubbing my bottom for all I was worth. I tried to quickly walk to the changing rooms. Another set of four booming impacts from the plimsoll of Mrs Sims rang out as I hurried to the changing rooms.
If I was not plastered in muddy water from puddles on the course, I would have forsaken a shower, but I had little option other than to quickly strip, wash and dry myself in record speed. Then I heard the bell sound for the next lesson. I quickly dressed before rushing to Mrs Blackwell’s classroom, hoping she would be late, but expecting the worst. I need not have rushed; Mrs Blackwell had already started the lesson.
Annette had explained to Mrs Blackwell about me having to wait in the hall to be dealt with, but it had cut little ice.
“Ahh, Sheila! You have finally decided to join us, have you? I suspect Mrs Sims has warmed your bottom for you, but just to make your afternoon that little bit worse, here is a detention slip for 30 minutes tomorrow!”
“Thank you very much, Miss,” I said as I took my seat next to Annette, sitting carefully as my bottom was still stinging.
After an hour of boring lesson, the bell for the end of the day sounded and I glumly packed up my bag and set off home, walking with Annette for part of the way.
“So, how was it? What did you get in the end?” she asked.
“Group 2 got six smacks with her hand, group 3 got two strokes of the slipper, and we got 4 real stingers. Now I have to get this signed by mum, which will mean another spanking from her, no doubt,” I blurted out without thinking.
“Oh, your mum punishes you at home if you are in trouble at school, does she? I’m glad it’s not just me. Thank goodness for knitted tights, eh? Oh well, better face the music. See you in the morning, Sheila,” Annette said as she turned towards her road and I trudged on to mine.
Putting the key in the door, I shouted, “Hi mum, I’m home.”
“Hi, love. Oh, why the long face?” she asked kindly.
Holding out the detention slip, I said, “Can you sign this, please mum. I had to see Mrs Sims after PE for a telling-off, which made me late for Mrs Blackwell’s class and she handed me the detention slip. Mum took the slip and signed it.
“I am sorry, mum. I couldn’t help being late, honestly!” I pleaded.
“So, why were you held back by Mrs Sims, which was the cause of all of this?” she enquired.
I bowed my head, and told her half the truth.
“We were too slow on the cross country course and had to report to the sports hall to do some press-ups and be told off. She said next time we would get the slipper.”
“As it has turned out, you seem to have earned one in any case, Sheila, don’t you? Your choice; we can get it out of the way now, or I can come up and spank you at bed time,” she told me.
My bottom still felt sore from the slippering an hour or so before, but I did have my tights and panties on which would hide the redness of my slippering. At bedtime I would just have my pyjama bottoms between my bottom and her hand, and if she took those down she would ask about the red patches which would still be present.
“I think I would prefer to get it done and out of the way, please mum,” I said.
“Very well, come through to the lounge and I will close the curtains,” Mum said without anger.
She turned the chair around from the desk by the window and moved it to a clear space in the room before sitting down. I did not need telling what to do next. I just hitched up my skirt and quickly bent across her knee, hoping she would not want to take my tights down. Thankfully, she did not. Raising her hand, she brought it down squarely across the centre of my bottom, reigniting the fire from my earlier trip over the vaulting horse. I let the pain wash over me without fuss. I could not risk her wondering why I was finding her spanking, over both my panties and thick tights, as painful as it was. She spanked me for around a minute, I would guess, although I was concentrating on keeping quiet and still while she spanked my bottom.
“Up you get, and go and get changed,” she said softly. “Any homework?”
“A little, yes, but I can do it after dinner.”
Once in my room, I slipped my uniform off and hung it up for the morning, and gently peeled my tights off, then my panties, before checking the results of the two spankings.
© Jo Green 2022