A teacher has to punish her favourite pupil

By Rob Burton

Jenny wished she had a watch on; not knowing how long it is until the end of the lesson was killing her. She had not meant to swear, it just popped out when the desk lid slipped and landed on her knuckles. The class laughed, but Miss Painter never saw the funny side, never even sympathised with her hurting hand, she just told her to get out of the classroom before escorting Jenny by the arm out of the class, leaving the other pupils watching their exit.

Outside, Jenny was shocked by the lecture about her foul mouth and then left to await her fate. Everyone knew the Headmistress, Miss Stratton, prowled the corridors between lessons and anyone found there earnt a trip to her study. The rumours, if you believed them, was it was almost certain you got the cane. But Jenny never knew anyone silly enough to land themselves in that position. That was until today. Six years at the school with only two detentions to her name and now god knows how long until she found herself getting something much worse. It was unbearable to think about.

Miss Painter, whom she liked enormously, had not wanted to hear her excuse. Now her aching hand throbbed slightly facing the wall to the left of Class Fifteen’s door, listening to the tall blonde teacher talking about the poem they were reading at the moment. Miss Painter had such a sweet voice when she read love poems, thought Jenny, distracting herself from the bad thoughts of staring at the white shiny wall inches from her nose.

A clip-clop of heels in the distance gave Jenny a momentary shudder that it was Miss Stratton on her way. The thought of bending over for the cane shot in and then quickly out of her mind as she hoped, perhaps against hope, that the bell would sound before the footsteps that seemed to be getting louder appeared around the corner.

The footsteps stopped, and Jenny breathed a sigh of relief. The sound of laughter from inside the classroom caught her attention, yet another thing she liked Miss Painter for, her smile when she laughed. The first time Jenny noticed it was a shock to her how it made her feel. The walk home with a knot in her tummy continued until after lights out in her room when she closed her eyes and let her blossoming imagination take over. Now it was hard not to think about that first time whenever the pretty teacher smiled in her direction. Except now she might have other memories clouding those thoughts, if there were to be any future smiles as all she could think about was the bell ringing; perhaps it was broke or something.

Jenny jumped when the shrill of the bell finally sounded. The sudden noise of scraping chairs and doors opening brought a huge deep breath. The crescendo of noise as classmates pushed their way into the corridor, some making comments as they did so, while Jenny dared not look at anything other than stare at the ridge in the wall just above her right eye.

Then there was almost silence as everyone left the building, save for the far-off distant clatter of doors. Oh, and the sound of the English teacher heading her way. With a cursory nod of the head from Miss Painter, Jenny walked into the class and waited, not sure what was to happen now. The door closed behind her.

“Go over to my desk please, Jenny.”

Miss Painter smoothed her skirt before sitting in her chair behind the desk in the corner by the windows, her eyes looking at Jenny as the silence hung in the air.

“First, please let me apologise for the way I handled you out of the classroom. It was unprofessional, and I am sorry if I caught your hand.”

Jenny was confused.

“Erm, no, Miss, you never touched my hand. Thank you, and I’m sorry for my bad language.”

There was the smile, and Jenny almost melted on the very spot.

“Well, I was a little shocked by the words that came out. Vulgar, crude language has no place anywhere, let alone a classroom, and it is always worse from a young lady, especially one I hold in such high regard.”

“I am truly sorry, Miss. It was just the shock of the desk dropping. I never did it on purpose. It just popped out without thinking.”

“That is as may be, Jenny, but there really is no need for it. Young ladies should be able to control themselves.”

“Yes, Miss, I promise it will not happen again,” Jenny replied smiled back at the teacher.

Another smile back warmed Jenny’s heart once more.

“Now, I suppose you were a little worried being out in the corridor in case our erstwhile Headmistress came our way. Well, for your information, she has gone home feeling unwell. So, you can stop that tummy churning now as you will not be heading her way.”

Followed quickly by a warning. “This time, anyway.”

“Thank you, Miss. I truly appreciate it.”

“However, I cannot let this matter slide without punishment. I will not have pupils swearing willy-nilly in class.”

Jenny braced herself for a detention tomorrow night. On a Friday as well, when her parents usually took her out for tea. There would be no tea, and a lecture about her behaviour.

“Right, Jenny, as you are one of my favourite girls, I will not deal with the matter now. You can see me after class at four. Off you go, and get lunch.”

“Yes, Miss. Thank you, Miss.”

“Oh yes, and make sure you copy the notes from the lesson. I will check on Monday.”

The words stopped Jenny by the door. She turned nodded and quickly hurried down the corridor before her tummy rumbled with hunger at the mention of lunch. It was Cottage Pie today, yummy.


Jenny just told her friends she got a right telling-off and a promise of worse if it happened again. They said she was lucky ‘Stratters’, the affectionate name everyone called the Headmistress, never came by and whisked her away for a swishing.

The afternoon passed by as any regular Thursday would, Maths and French soon came and went. Jenny hung back after the final lesson until everyone had left, then made her way back to Room Fifteen. She knocked and waited.

“I was beginning to think you had forgotten.” Miss Painter commented as the door opened quickly and then closed behind them.

Jenny stopped in her tracks, unable to take her eyes off the white plimsoll sat on the almost clear desk. Miss Painter’s desk was never clear. It was always cluttered with books, not in a messy way, just piles of text and exercise books, and the small white bear that adorned one or other was also missing.

The hope that the slipper had been used in the class before and now waited to be hidden away soon disappeared, even though Miss Painter picked it up before sitting down. Jenny pleaded in her head that she open the bottom drawer and drop it in. Everyone knew its hiding place, not that it came out very often in anger. Over the years it was waved as a threat more than it was used. Jenny could only remember it being used twice, once on Rose in the second year, and once on the other Jenny last year.

“Yes, you may look forlorn, Jenny. As I said earlier, I cannot let this matter slide, and despite you being a favourite, even though I should not say that, appropriate punishment is necessary.”

Forlorn, Jenny felt more than that as the blood drained from her face and her eyes watered. All the years she had behaved, only to be undone by her mouth in one brief moment. She opened her mouth with the thought of begging to be let off, before realising Miss Painter could yet make the punishment worse.

A tear escaped when told to bend over the desk. Now Jenny knew why the desk had been cleared as she slowly eased herself over the dark wooden top that had seen better days. It was strange she should notice the scratches and pen marks at this time, perhaps it was her mind’s way of deflecting the coming ordeal.

The pleated grey skirt swiftly lifted caught Jenny by surprise. No one ever got it over knickers that she knew. Everyone knew that Stratters always caned over your undies, and anyone silly enough to misbehave in gym usually got it over gym knickers. Now a favourite teacher had her skirt up and could see her pink and white frillies, as her Granny always called them. Jenny was not sure whether to be embarrassed or happy that her bum was almost on display, but was certainly glad she had picked them out of the drawer this morning, and not her baggy white plain ones mum still bought her.

Lisa Painter was also not sure whether to be embarrassed or happy with the sight in front of her wide-open eyes. It was a pleasant sight whichever way, not that she saw many girls’ knickers over the years, as a rule, only those silly enough to displease above and beyond the norm. Jenny had done that, but the teacher had admitted to herself, just before the girl’s arrival, that she had recently noticed the rear view leaving the classroom on more than one occasion. Indeed, the eighteen-year-old Jenny had gone from a gangly teenager into a pretty young woman.

“An interesting choice of underwear, Jenny,” Lisa said, perhaps a little too enthusiastically, then regretted the words as she should be more professional.

Jenny blushed, then gave a smile to herself, glad of the distraction, and the compliment. It all disappeared abruptly as the rubber sole touched her upturned bottom. It lingered. The wait for the first whack seemed to last forever, meaning the tummy knots returned and yet another tear formed in her right eye. Was now the time to plead, was the only thought Jenny had in her mind? Too late. The white plimsoll lifted and returned somewhat swifter than it left. It hurt. God, it hurt. Jenny, just like when the desk caught her hand earlier, was taken by surprise. At least there were no expletives this time, only a throaty groan as the stinging agony bit in her backside.

“Stay still, Jenny.” Warned Miss Painter sternly.

The second landed and, once again, Jenny gave a loud grunt of pain and wiggled her bottom. No amount of concentration telling herself it will soon be over could block out all the thoughts of how much her bottom now stung, and there were more to come. The next one caught Jenny full on the right cheek. It was instinctive to reach back and rub away the pain, but Miss Painter’s quick reflexes stopped it.

“Put your hand back on the desk, or I will add another.”

It was a stern and a very definite final warning.

Jenny felt a tear roll down her cheek. Then the fourth stroke, and what felt like the hardest yet, caught her once more on the right cheek. It was agony as the stinging heat and pain seemed to double almost immediately. Jenny grabbed the edge of the desk as if to stop herself from moving her hand to ease the pain she was desperately feeling.

“Stop wriggling, girl, or we will be here all evening.”

It was all Jenny could do to stop her wriggling, not that she had been consciously aware her hips were moving along the desktop. A momentary pause before, once again, the white slipper flashed through the air on its way to giving Jenny her fifth stroke. It landed on the left cheek. Jenny saw through blurred eyes a tear hit the desk in front her.

The teacher took a step back and admired her handiwork. Not something that she usually did; it was usually whack, whack, whack and dismiss the miscreant. The deep red blotches visible either side of the subtle shade pink trim made for a lovely contrast.

Then, taking the step forward again, Miss Painter delivered the sixth and final stroke right to the centre of the waiting bottom. It was the hardest yet, and Jenny gave an even louder squeal than the previous ones.

“Stay where you are please, Jenny.” A hand gently on her back to make sure as the plimsoll dropped on the desk beside the gently sobbing pupil. The tears were uncontrollably puddling on the light oak desktop.

Miss Painter picked up the little black book and studiously completed the details of the punishment that had been started earlier before Jenny’s arrival.

“Right, Miss Archer, you may stand and adjust your skirt.”

Gingerly, Jenny eased up with the help of her shaky arms. Turning to Miss Painter, the tears dripping from her face, she wiped them with the sleeve of her blouse, oblivious to the fact her skirt still scrunched around her waist. Then for some unfathomable reason, she took a step forward and hugged the teacher. Miss Painter was taken aback, unable to react before the girl had both arms around her waist and head on her shoulder. No pupil had ever done that before. The first thought was to bend her back over the desk and give her another whack. It was interrupted by a whispering Jenny.

“I’m sorry, Miss, please forgive me. I will never swear again, ever.” The girl’s arms were hugging tighter.

Lisa never knew why, but she put her arms around the still sobbing girl, before kissing her cheek.

“There, there, Jenny, it’s all over now.”

It was a moment before either moved as they stood still in the quiet of the classroom; Miss Painter feeling the wet tears on the arm of the blouse. Jenny lifted her head and returned the kiss to the cheek with a smile. Despite the burning sting cheeks of her bottom, everything felt fine now she was being comforted by her favourite teacher.

“I think we need to get you home, young lady,” Lisa said, untangling her arms before smoothing Jenny’s skirt as delicately as she could. Jenny smiled in appreciation as the teacher’s hands lingered just enough to rub a little relief.

“Please sign the book, and we can get going home. I don’t know about you, but I’m hungry.”

Jenny nodded as she wiped away the final tears and signed against the line detailing her six of the best. Seeing it written down suddenly reminded how painful her bottom still was and instinctively she rubbed her left cheek with the spare hand.

It was a surprise when Miss Painter offered to drop her home, but not an unwelcome one. The thought of the long walk with a sore bottom had crossed her mind as they walked out the school. Even the rubbing did not seem to ease it for long.

There was silence except for when Jenny gave directions to Walton Avenue. Jenny didn’t know what to say, after all that had happened earlier. It was hard to think of things that weren’t about the whacking she had gotten. The only thoughts were to thank her, but that was just silly.

The car stopped at the junction to Walton Avenue.

“I’ll drop you here.”

“Thank you, Miss. Once again, I apologise for my behaviour today.”

“Thank you, Jenny. Look, I’m sorry I had to punish you. I hope it eases soon. Cold cream usually works, in my experience.”

Miss Painter turned to Jenny and hugged her. Jenny could not help herself as she softly planted a kiss on her cheek as they parted.

The surprised teacher gave another big smile and a slight shake of the head.

“Have a good weekend, and I will see you on Monday.”

“You too, Miss.” Replied Jenny, sliding out the car.

“And do not forget to write up the notes.” Miss Painter added with a smirk.

Jenny closed the door and looked over her shoulder before exaggeratedly rubbing her bum walking down the avenue.

Miss Painter laughed at the sight and slowly drove off home.

It was a strange evening in both households.

Jenny was glad mother never made anything of her lateness home. After tea, she excused herself to her room with homework. Jenny spent a quiet evening in her nightgown and lay on the bed, somewhat confused about her feelings and thoughts, her mind drifting between the afternoon’s events and Miss Painter kissing her cheek. The cold cream from the bathroom cabinet helped as she gently soothed the redness from time to time, before remembering to return it before her mother retired to bed. The comment by Miss Painter about cold cream puzzled Jenny. Did that mean her favourite teacher got the slipper?

Sleep was slow in coming that night, but finally, with a big smile, Jenny drifted off.

Lisa sat on the sofa in her dressing gown, feeling a little confused about the afternoon’s proceedings, cursing herself for being so hard on Jenny. Then the vision of the red knicker-covered bottom would pop into her, and she would get a warm glow feeling in her tummy. It was unprofessional, she told herself, but still, the feelings persisted, no matter what distractions she tried, even knitting, which took all her concentration, ended up with missed stitches. Why had Jenny hugged her? Did she also have feelings? Was the swearing on purpose so she would get into trouble? It was a long night, and thankfully tomorrow was not a school day.

There was one thing both realised during the weekend, from now on the classes would never be the same.

The End

© Rob Burton 2020