Catching a girl with tobacco in her possession leads to a dilemma for a teacher. By another new writer to us.

By Bill Bond

Lucy chatted to her friends as the maths class tidied up at the end of a busy Thursday in Croft Girls’ School. Her mind had already left school and was looking forward to a fun evening at Jane’s house, filled with pizza, gossip and whatever the TV had to offer. Perhaps it was absent mindedness that led to her mistake; as she clumsily picked up her open pencil case it dropped on to the desk, right under Mr Stevens’ nose.

“What’s this?” The usually placid teacher’s voice took on a sharp tone.

What could she say? Stating the obvious could only seem sarcastic.

“I… I haven’t smoked it.”

Laughter surrounded her every sound and thought as she blushed in embarrassment. Her reddening, hot face owed much to the fate she knew awaited her.

“I can see that, Lucy.”

“No, I mean, I wasn’t even going to, sir.”

Laughter greeted her addition of the word ‘sir’ at the end of the sentence.

“What else is a cigarette for?”

She was not lying, but she could not tell the whole truth either. Telling on the girls who dared her to buy one for 20p, or her friends who also did, would not do. Nor would it save her any way.

With the class waiting on her every word, especially Jane and others involved, who hoped desperately not to have a bag search, she conceded.

“Sorry sir,” was all Lucy could manage without breaking the surface of tears on her eyes.

Mr Stevens breathed a heavy sigh. He took no joy in catching Lucy out, but he had a duty.

“The rest of you can go.”

Jane and a few others sighed in relief, almost too audibly. She brushed a hand against Lucy’s arm and gave a kind look before departing with the others.

“This is most unlike you, Lucy. Is there anything you’d like to say before I take you to the Headmistress?”

The confirmation of her sentence broke the tears. “But I’ll get the cane! Please Mr Stevens…”

“You know the punishment for smoking, then?”

She nodded and sniffed back some tears. “Four strokes with the senior cane, over the desk, gym shorts only.” Her voice croaked.

“Correct, and six for a second offence. Have you had the senior cane before?”

“I’ve never been caned at all, Mr Stevens, but slippered twice and spanked five times in lower school.”

“That’s not a bad record, why have you broken it?”

She didn’t have to mention names, perhaps. “I was dared to buy one, sir.”

“And when were you going to smoke it?”

“I wasn’t! Really, I don’t even have a lighter or matches.”

“Well, perhaps the Headmistress will believe you and give the caning to whoever dared you. Who was it?”

“I can’t tell, I’d be bullied all the time.”

Mr Stevens frowned. He knew it was true but it would not impress the Headmistress. In fact, she could even get punished a second time if she didn’t name names.”

“Well it may be best to take the responsibility and the caning, besides, at best you’d get a good slippering anyway.”

“But the cane leaves marks! I’ve seen girls’ bottoms in the shower weeks after with stripes. That’s cruel!”

“I hardly think the marks last for weeks, Lucy; days perhaps, in my experience. In any event, it’s meant to stop girls smoking, and that can be much crueller. I’m afraid I see no alternative, Lucy.”

“Couldn’t you punish me, Mr Stevens? You’re my favourite teacher…”

Again, she told the truth but not the whole truth.

He couldn’t help but suppress a small smile. “I’m flattered I’m your favourite teacher, Lucy, and I think you’ve been one the best in my class all these years. It’s a shame this should happen so close to the end of your school days. But even if I did go against the norm of reporting your misbehaviour, male teachers are not allowed to administer corporal punishment.

“I’ve seen Mr Jones smack someone’s wrist, more than once.”

“Even I have smacked an occasional wrist, but I would not be permitted to smack a girl’s bottom. It’s considered ‘improper’.”

“Well, smack my wrists, or palms, please, as hard as you think I deserve.”

“That would hardly match the severity of the offence, would it? At least not without turning your hands red and bruised, and how would either of us explain that?”

“But on my skirt, it wouldn’t be improper, would it?”

“Perhaps not too improper, but also not severe enough for the offence, Lucy.”

“Well, if I have to be caned, could you do it, please? I’d be so ashamed. The Headmistress knows my mum.”

“I don’t even have a cane, why would I?”

“But you said you had experience?”

“At the wrong end only, I’m afraid. I really am sorry, Lucy, but what if you didn’t learn a lesson and went on to become a smoker?”

“But I’ve never smoked, really! Smell my breath!” She breathed without invitation.

“Thank you for that,” he smelled only strawberry sweets, another slight infringement which he ignored. “And I suppose you wouldn’t have been pressured into trying the one you bought? Just to find out?”

She looked down and sniffed: “I… I don’t know… maybe.”

“I thought as much.”

“Okay, I need a lesson, but please, from you, Mr Stevens. You could put me over your knee and spank me for ten minutes.”

He considered. He’d always wondered what it would be like to punish a naughty girl, though Lucy was rather nicer than his first choices. He wasn’t sure.

“Ten minutes is rather longer than you might imagine, Lucy.” His teaching persona took over. “Why, at one smack per second that’s six hundred! I hardly think that’s realistic, do you?”

Lucy saw a glimmer hope. “Well, as many and as hard as you think. I won’t tell anyone, ever, and I won’t smoke, ever, I promise!”

He felt he could trust her, but then he’d thought she wasn’t the smoking kind. Surely she’d tell her best friends at least.

“Girls talk. Could you really not tell Jane, for example, or your sister?”

“Cross my heart and hope to die!”

“Don’t ever hope for that.”

He thought, was this possible? When would the chance come again? He taught in a prefab hut, separate from any other building or class. The autumn wind howled outside, another barrier to sound. He wandered over to the window, the school exit gates were on the other side and no one was left around. Was it right? He knew the answer.

“I want to show some mercy, Lucy. I don’t like thrashings but I like smoking rather less. A spanking really isn’t sufficient.”

Her heart broke. A desperate idea leapt out of her mouth without true thought.

“You could spank me on my knickers.”

Mr Stevens’ eyes bulged, and they were not alone.

“I beg your pardon?”

Lucy’s hands were clasped over her mouth.


Was it worth it? What was she saying?


She moved her hands down and stared downwards, just peeping upwards to gauge his reaction.

“Well, they’re much thinner than gym shorts, and I’ve never been punished on less than gym shorts at school.”

Temptation was roaring at him. He played for time with unnecessary questions.

“How are you punished at home, Lucy?”

“Erm…” She blushed, but considered honesty the best policy. “Well, sometimes bare, but not since I was eight or nine, I think; usually pyjamas or knickers.” “I see.”

As he thought, she had second thoughts.

“Or you could just spank my skirt really, really hard, or with my ruler.”

“If you’re going to avoid the pain of a proper caning, and I haven’t decided yet, then perhaps the humiliation of having your knickers on display would be the only replacement.” He saw her hesitation. “Or should we go to the Headmistress’s office after all?”

“No sir! Please! Give me a good spanking.”

A moment of sanity interrupted. “But all the other girls know you’re in trouble, how could either of us explain you not being sent to the Headmistress?”

Her eyes darted in thought, she was so close.

“Well, sir, you’re, you know, known as a kinder teacher, so perhaps you weren’t sure it fell out of my pencil case and gave me the benefit of the doubt.” “You mean I’m a soft touch? That pause means ‘yes’, I suppose.”

“In a nice way, Mr Stevens.”

He looked out again. This could end his career, but he’d also regret passing up a once in a career opportunity.

“Well, you’re about to find that my touch isn’t so soft.”

He drew back his armless chair.

“Oh, thank you Mr Stevens, you’re my favourite teacher.”

“So you’ve said.”

He sat down and offered his hand. “But before you go over my knee, you must be fully aware of what you’re agreeing to.”

“I know sir, a very hard spanking, and I won’t tell anyone, ever.”

“Yes, Lucy, and because you’re not getting the pain of a caning, you’ll have to have more humiliation, as when I raise your skirt.”

“Yes sir.”

She breathed heavily and accepted his hand, felt his strong grip pulling her forward, his strength, pulling down, putting her over his knee.

Her soft hand felt delicate in his. Her eyes were wide, evoking sympathy, but this was sympathy already, and he was going to  do it properly. He adjusted her position on his lap, legs reaching, tiptoes just scraping the ground, palms pushed flat against the cold, grey, plastic checkered floor. Blood rushed to her head. He viewed her 18 year old skirt-covered bottom.

“We’ll start with a warm-up; one dozen, fully clothed.”

She breathed heavily, awkward, embarrassed across his knee, ashamed, blushing, and scared.

SMACK! A little gasp escaped her at the shock of her first smack from a male teacher, but the thick, pleated skirt took the brunt.

Mr Steven’s applied himself, hard.


A few wiggles and low groans, but nothing more satisfactory. She even tried to cry out more, hoping against hope it might make him think a skirt spanking was sufficient, but she was no actress.

“Let’s have this off you.” Mr Stevens took hold of her skirt.

“It… it might hurt more if you rulered me through my skirt, sir.”

“It might, but if a spanking on your knickers is what you’re trying to avoid then that’s obviously the best punishment for you.”

He lifted her skirt and mused on his own hypocrisy; it was a caning she’d begged to avoid.

Lucy blushed double as her white, flowery knickers were revealed.

“Brace yourself, Lucy. This will hurt.”

She croaked: “How many am I getting, sir?”

At least knowing that would give her a target to get through and a small measure of control.

“Er…” Mr Stevens realised just how out of his depth he was. He hadn’t even decided. “Well, for such a severe offence, and considering you’re avoiding four strokes of the cane, and the senior cane at that, I think…” He really hadn’t a clue. “Four dozen.”

“Oh.” She regretted asking. “Maybe I’m too old to be spanked on my knickers by… by a male teacher.”

“Well your behaviour isn’t ‘too old’ for a old fashioned spanking. Besides, it was your idea, young lady, unless you’d like to change your mind about the caning, of course?”

“No sir, please not the cane. But I’d even take your belt through my skirt rather have my knickers spanked.”

“I think we’re procrastinating, Lucy.”

He raised his hand.

She could not suppress the tension. Her legs fidgeted. Mum always said to find a positive, no matter how small. Things could always be worse. At least her knickers were still up.


“AH! Ow!”

Her consolation vanished; a meek warm up gave way to a thorough spanking. Cotton knickers were no protection against sharp, quick spanks, and no protection at all when he spanked the cute lower bottom that peeped between knickers and thighs. She squirmed, and wriggled, and kicked, but her bottom kept getting smacked and smacked and smacked; heavy hand falls, one after another. Lucy squealed as tears sprang from her eyes. How degrading, but moreover, how painful; he wasn’t such a soft touch after all.

Mr Stevens couldn’t help but feel the rush of power as she struggled and screamed against his strength, pinning the small of her back in place with his left hand, smacking her tender bottom with his right. As he finished her second dozen, Lucy’s crying became constant and child-like; he felt a little sympathy, and awkwardness of his own.

He rested his aching hand on her hot knickers.

“I hope this is a lesson to you, Lucy.”

“Yes. Yessss,” she sputtered through streams of tears which belied her age. “I’m so-rrry, a-wah-a-ha.”

The tears shook her body and his lap as she lay there crying out.

“I’m sorry this is necessary. But the lesson isn’t over, as you know, Lucy.”

“Aah! Please let me go! I’m sorry.”

“I know you are, but there’s two more dozen to go, be brave. He retightened his grip and raised his hand again.

Her hot sore bottom ached in the cold autumn air. Her legs kicked up a little as she waited. Before Mr Stevens resumed, her resistance snapped.

“NO!” Lucy flipped her skirt back over her bottom. “Please Sir!”

“Lucy Willis, you will raise your skirt this instant or I will deal with it and add an extra dozen spanks.”

Her hand kept it down. “Please Mr Stevens.”

“Very well.” He was past the point of no return by far, and unbuttoned and unzipped her skirt.

“What? No!”

“Your skirt is in the way, Lucy.”

He slipped it down, past her thighs, to gather around her knees.

She screamed. Somehow being more undressed made it much, much worse.

“Be still now.”

She tensed; scared, humiliated, more scared than ever before, exposed by a man, helpless, and yet enthralled by every step of her discipline.

Her bottom was perfect, cute, freckled, innocent, yet naughty and already bearing the marks of a good spanking.

He raised his hand slowly.

She tensed, clenched, her pulse surging.

SPANK! “AaaaAAA!” The wobble of her bottom was all the encouragement he needed to start a proper, rapid, hard spanking across her thin knickers.


Her legs tried to kick against her bound knees, which loosened her heavy skirt. She pinned her legs together to catch them between her calves.

He made the most of a suddenly still target.


She screamed, shook her head furiously and couldn’t still her legs. She desperately hooked her skirt and knickers on an ankle, but another furious kick against a smack saw both drop to the floor; her legs were bare from the bottom of her knickers to her ankle socks and buckled shoes.

Free to kick, she did so wildly, rubbing and rocking on his lap, rhythmically. She often spent an idle moment thinking of Mr Stevens, and her knickers had not always stayed on, let alone been on display, which is where her spluttered suggestion of spanking them had sprung from. The pain in her bottom was the worst of her life, but he was certainly still her favourite teacher.

As his arm ached, her spanking slowed to a steady tempo for the last dozen. He watched her move with them, her hips grinding his lap, encouraging him to continue. Suddenly she was red hot, and not just her bottom. Tears gave way to groans, then moans. She rocked and rubbed harder against him.

He decided to give her spanking a strong finish, and quickened her last six smacks. Spank-Spank-Spank. Her hips matched his tempo; the heat grew, her whole body squeezed with an effort she’d never felt before.

SPANK-spank. Her nails clawed the floor as the feeling crushed and squeezed.

SPANK! Her legs kicked, she screamed and exploded in pleasure.


She fell limp, panting, crying afresh.

Mr Stevens was at a loss. How had he come this far? Could he ignore what had obviously happened?

In her utopian state, she barely felt the heat of her red bottom, or any other sense of her surroundings.

He helped her up onto shaking feet.

Re-gathering her wits a little, Lucy stretched her shirt down and turned away from Mr Steven’s, preserving what morsel of dignity was left. She retrieved and pulled her skirt up as quickly as shaking hands would allow, which would have stung her bottom had she not been in a different world.

“Now, remember, Lucy; this is strictly between us, as you promised me, alright?”

She nodded, too ashamed to look back.

“Wash your face in the sink, then you may go.”

The cold water helped to bring her back to reality, though it wasn’t until her fumbling feet brought her to a stumble on the hut steps that she was fully aware of what had happened. After a quick trip to the bathroom, she scurried hurriedly along the corridor towards the exit, passing, of all people, the Headmistress. “Goodbye, Lucy.”

Usually she would not be so informal but, with no one else around, the Headmistress saw no harm in acknowledging her friend’s daughter.

“G-Goodbye, Headmistress,” she stammered awkwardly, and tried to smile. Her head stayed bowed for the entire walk home.

Mr Stevens stayed at his desk awhile, the pile of marking didn’t get any shorter. A knot tied in his stomach, a storm spun in his mind. Would she really tell no one about such a thing? He knew he hadn’t heard the end of it.

The End

© Bill Bond 2014