A student finds an opportunity for revenge
By Jill Waterhouse
Miss Jones was our games teacher. Although in the sixth form at an all-girls grammar school in the late 1970s, we still had games once a week on a Wednesday afternoon; fit body, fit mind sort of approach, I suppose. During the upper sixth year, when we were 17 and 18, we had a brand new game teacher; Miss Mandy Jones. She was fresh out of teacher training college and had landed on her feet at a school with our reputation for excellence. She was still only 23 years old, 2 years younger than my eldest sister. Mrs Foster, from whom she had taken over, had a nasty fall towards the end of the summer and Miss Jones was the most impressive of the few candidates to take over. We later found out she had been a prefect at a posh all-girls school.
Miss Jones was a very good athlete. Thank goodness she was in an all-girls school; her life would have been hell in a mixed or all-boys school. There was not an ounce of fat on her and all her curves were in exactly the correct places. We speculated she would be able to crack walnuts with her thighs, and probably with her buttocks too. She was a fitness freak, telling us to eat low-fat this, high-protein that, avoid alcohol and tobacco and get plenty of sleep.
We were 17! Like all that was going to happen.
She quickly worked out where the smokers went at break time and lunch, and would sneak up on them. Smoking was very much a no-no at our school. Most teachers would take anyone caught straight to Mrs Braithwaite, the headmistress. But teachers were allowed to punish and, although barely older than us, Miss Jones took great delight in putting girls from any form, including the sixth form, across her lap, yanking up their skirts and applying a rock-hard hand or plimsole to their regulation white panties. Sometimes she would spank 5 or 6 in a session if that many had been caught smoking, and she never seemed to tire of the process. She was clearly headmistress material of the future.
Like most of the girls, I didn’t drink, but did enjoy the odd puff on a cigarette after a gruelling maths lesson. Eventually, my luck ran out and I was caught by Miss Jones along with Sue and Sandra. We knew we were in for it, but were not sure to what extent as we hadn’t been in trouble with her before. We soon found out as we were marched into her office nearby. The office was sparsely appointed with a small desk, lamp, two chairs and a filing cabinet next to a door leading to the storage cupboard.
“You are both aware that smoking is banned on the premises, even to staff. Yet girls still, on a daily basis, ignore the rule and light up, damaging their health and that of those around them. I take a very dim view of this,” she lectured. “And I will not stand for it. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Miss Jones,” we all said together. “Sorry, Miss Jones.”
It was hard to take seriously, a pre-spanking lecture from a teacher two years younger than my sister Dawn. Mind you, I had been spanked by Dawn on a few occasions when I was naughty as a small child and mum had been out.
Miss Jones whipped out the chair from the front of the table, turned it around and sat down on it. She was wearing skimpy sports shorts and a polo shirt which showed her small but firm breasts off to their best. She then took hold of Sue’s hand and, without a word, pulled her across her lap and pulled up her skirt.
“Watch carefully, girls. You are next,” she warned as her right hand struck home without any warning across Sue’s tightly stretched white school panties.
Twelve spanks in total was her punishment. Sue got up afterwards, crying, and Sandra was called forwards for her punishment. Sandra bent over without being pulled and felt her skirt being raised. Her spanking was over within a minute as again a dozen well-aimed spanks landed on both buttocks as the sound echoed off the bare brick walls. Again, Sandra rose and rubbed her bottom briskly under her skirt with a hint of a tear on her cheeks.
All too quickly, it was now my turn. Having seen and heard the spankings of my co-accused, I prepared myself for the inevitable and put myself over Miss Jones’s knee. As I settled, I could not but admire the firm thighs of the lady who was about to punish me. Seconds later, I felt the cool draft as my skirt was pulled up over my now exposed bum and the first of the spanks connected, which slightly took my breath. I had been slippered two years ago by Mrs Braithwaite, but Miss Jones’ hand spanking hurt more than that did, and I resolved by the sixth smack not to end up here again if I could avoid it. Spanking over, I got to my feet and danced around a little as I rubbed my poor bottom.
“Now let that be a lesson to the three of you. If I catch any of you smoking again, it will be the slipper, not my hand, and if you thought that was painful, well let’s hope you do not find out. Now smarten yourselves up and get to your next lessons,” she said as the bell for the end of afternoon break sounded and we dashed off to chemistry.
I avoided any further encounters with Miss Jones, but Sue was not so lucky and received 6 with the slipper just after Easter. She showed us the damage in the toilets. Both buttocks were bright red. There was a rumour going around school at the time, and we later found out it was based on fact, that Miss Bennett, another newly qualified teacher, had been caught by Miss Jones while having a quick cigarette behind the bins. Despite her protests that she could not be punished, given the choice of Miss Jones punishing her or being reported to the headmistress, Miss Bennet reluctantly agreed to be punished like a pupil. Quite how the information was leaked, no one quite knows, but there was a low window to Miss Jones’ office, so I assume the event was seen that way. So the story goes, Miss Jones sat on the chair, pulled up Miss Bennett’s long but loose-fitting skirt revealing dark stockings, suspender belt and black lacy panties on which she, too, was soundly spanked. It must have been odd seeing a teacher, even such a young one, being punished by another.
Come June, the exams were thankfully finished and we were freed from the shackles of school while we awaited our exam results. I needed 3 ‘C’s from maths, chemistry and physics to study Chemistry and Sheffield University.
On the weekend before the end of the school year, the sixth form leaving party took place. The lower sixth prepared the hall and joined in, while the upper sixth smugly enjoyed the limelight and the freedom. Obviously, no alcohol was allowed, although in the past some had tried to sneak some in, only to end up at the wrong end of the headmistress’s slipper with their party dress around their ears.
I was there early and the staff were still arriving. A blue sports car screeched to a halt in the car park and Miss Jones, shouting and cursing, got out and slammed the door with all her considerable might, before the young man driving tore off into the distance. She was clearly very angry and upset and she stormed off to the party in the hall looking like she was about to knock the wall down if the door had not been there. We presumed the young man was her boyfriend.
The evening was going well and we were all having a great time, but I was starting to feel a little unwell and dizzy with the heat which was building up on what was a warm June evening. I stepped outside and went around the back of the building to catch what little breeze there was, and in the air I caught the all too familiar smell of cigarette smoke from around the corner. I thought I might bum a smoke and approached the corner, only to find to my amazement that it was none other than the anti-smoker, Miss Jones, with a cigarette sticking out of her mouth. The look on her face was priceless.
“Oh!” was all she could manage.
“Oh indeed, Miss Jones. You total hypocrite!” I half-shouted, still taking in what I was observing. “You total hypocrite!” I repeated as my mind raced what to do next. “You have the nerve to lecture us and take us across your knee for smoking, and here you are, on school premises, smoking yourself. I’m speechless!”
“I’m sorry! I have just split up with Roger after I found him at home in bed with one of the girls from the flat upstairs. I found the packet and lighter abandoned by someone who must have seen me coming and thought they were for it, and to be honest I was simply tempted,” she said by way of explanation. “What are you going to do? Tell your mates, I presume? I am ruined here; no one will take my authority again,” she said with a slight catch in her voice.
“Well what would you do in my situation?” I asked, still grappling with the somewhat bizarre picture unfolding before me.
“I’d spank you without a second thought,” she replied truthfully.
“So is that what I should do to you, are you saying?” I didn’t really think that was what she was saying. After all, she was a teacher and I was but a humble pupil.
Then again, she was only 5 or 6 years older than me, about 2 years younger than my older sister, and I’d certainly spanked her a couple of times when we were younger, although that was just messing about like sisters do.
“I am willing, so long as that is the end of it and you do not tell anyone. Anyone!” she repeated.
To be honest, there was nothing to be gained by telling anyone as far as I was concerned. She had just found her boyfriend making love to another woman in his flat. I think a craft ciggy was the least of the sins she could be committing right now. Most women would be getting plastered out on the town, not at a party for 18 year olds. I was just amazed at the opportunity that had somehow fallen into my lap.
“OK, where shall we go?” I asked. “Is your office open?”
“Yes. If we go through the back of the hall and through the second corridor, there will be an unlocked door to the gym at the end. I’ll go first, you follow.”
Miss Jones sounded very matter of fact, as though she was genuinely deeply regretting her actions. She set off into the bright, low, evening sun. The light shone through her thin cotton dress and the silhouette of her legs was clearly visible.
‘Is this really happening?’ I kept asking myself.
She led and I followed her through the party hall, both of us having to stop and chat a couple of times to maintain a sense of normality. Then we left via the door at the back and along to the gym and Miss Jones’ office. She sat on the edge of her desk looking nervous.
“You didn’t telI anyone? Not any of your friends?” She said, looking up.
“No, I gave you my word. I couldn’t just waltz through and past my friends. They would have thought something was amiss.” I said nervously.
Miss Jones stood up from her desk and, as she had done when I had been caught smoking, turned the chair around to face the door. This time, however, she stood waiting for me to be seated.
Cautiously, I sat down. Miss Jones kicked off her high-heeled red shoes and took hold of the hem of her dress, then slowly pulled it up above her waist and gathered it in. As she did so, she revealed her muscular legs clad in sheer silk stockings held up by a pretty red suspender belt. Covering her bottom was a pair of essentially see-through red lace panties! She then leant forwards and, keeping the balls of her feet on the floor, bent effortlessly across my lap. She placed the palms of her hands on the floor for support. I expected her to feel heavy, but she was not really.
“OK, I am ready to accept my punishment,” she said, still very matter-of-factly, almost as though this was an everyday thing for her.
“I-I haven’t done this before you know,” I stammered.
“Don’t worry. Relax. Even enjoy it, if you want. I don’t know.”
How was she so calm?
I raised my right hand and brought it firmly down on her left buttock. Wow! That hurt! It was like spanking a granite statue. I paused and waved my hand around.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Would you like to use the slipper?” she asked.
“No, I’m fine,” I responded, and hit home with the second well-placed slap on the right buttock. Without the shock of the first spank, it didn’t seem to sting as badly. There was no response from Miss Jones. I continued at a steady rhythm for a minute or two and, at first I thought she was laughing at me, but then I realised her shoulders were rocking not through laughter but with silent tears. Surely I had not hurt her that badly? Now I really didn’t know what to do. Do I carry on, should I stop?
I landed about another 10 spanks and then said, “Ok, Miss Jones, I think that evens things up. I think you can get you now.”
She lay motionless for about 30 seconds, still gently sobbing, before she bent her knees, took the weight off her hands and slowly stood upright, the pretty dress covering her bottom which was looking quite pink through the lace by that point.
“Thank you. I have been in need of that for some time. I have been a cow to Roger, which probably explains him sleeping with the girl upstairs, and I have been far too strict with you girls. I must admit, I do get a thrill sometimes when a spanking hits home, but I never spank where it isn’t due. That said, I will need to be more lenient going forward. I realise this is a strange situation for the both of us, but please do not mention this to anyone, otherwise I am finished here.”
With that Miss Jones leaned forward and gave me a hug, and I felt her tears on my shoulder.
After a moment, she let go and tried to tidy herself up.
“Don’t worry, Miss Jones. Mandy. Your secret is safe with me. I was so vexed when I saw you smoking this evening. I think any other time doing what I just did would have been impossible. I think we have both learned something about ourselves tonight. Shall we go back and enjoy the rest of the party?” I suggested.
And that we did. She chatted to some of the staff whilst my friends and I danced until 10.00 pm when things closed down. On the way, out we said good night to each other and went in opposite directions. The matter was never spoken of again.
We occasionally had coffee together and exchanged the odd knowing look. I did very well in Sheffield and went on to get a Phd before training to be a teacher. When I ended up teaching back at my old school, Mandy was Head of PE and a deputy headmistress by then, as I knew she would be, and to this day we remain very good friends.
© Jill Waterhouse 2021