Don’t you just hate it when something happens at school and the gym teacher says he’ll punish the whole group if the person responsible for messing something up doesn’t own up? Especially when you’re the one who fooled around with the showers and caused the shower room and changing room to flood.

Now, no one had seen me. I was very careful about that. And, like, I hadn’t done any real damage. It was only water, clean water, and the janitors only had to mop the floors. Heck, they’d probably have to do that anyway after twenty-four girls had showered. Oh, there was a little problem with the electric supply, but it would have dried out eventually.

So, Mr Pearson gives the ultimatum, “Either the girl who caused this mess owns up, or I’ll have all of you back after school for extra gym work. And I promise you it will be laborious extra gym work!”

“Why don’t I just own up?” I hear you ask.

Because Mr Pearson has a reputation. He’s tall, slim, around fifty years old, totally without humor, and famed for the mean way he wields a paddle.

All this happened just before lunch, so, as I sat eating my prawn pasta, I had pretty much everyone interrupting me.

“We know it was you!” was the gist. “It was you, wasn’t it?”

Did I detect an element of doubt? Not really.

I sure got the idea they didn’t want extra gym work. A few even detailed what they would do to me if I didn’t own up, where they would take me to dump me in the river, and how little clothing I would be wearing as they carried me along the street.

I consulted my best friend, Megan, about what I should do.

“Me? I’d quite like to see you totally naked and being carried out in public to the river. I mean, it’s only half a mile away. Shouldn’t be more than forty or fifty people see you.”

Gee, thanks Megan.

Now, the school has a policy, well it should have, of not liking students appearing without clothes, especially out in the street. I also have a policy of not wanting to be seen out in the street without my clothes. And, of course, I’d have to do the extra gym work along with the others. I bet that would be a pleasant atmosphere, not!

“Okay, I’ll go see Mr Pearson right now,” I say, having finished my lunch.

My fellow gym class students sure aren’t a trusting group of girls. Four of them followed me all the way to Mr Pearson’s little office next to the gymnasium. I tapped politely and peered around the half-open door when he called, “Enter.” He was eating a sandwich.

“What can I do for you, Becca?” He spoke with a mouthful of sandwich, and continued slouching in his office chair.

“Um, I can come back another time if you’re busy, sir.”

“No need. I’m all ears.”

“Oh. Well, you see, sir, like, I was responsible for making the mess in the shower room, sir.”

“The shower room and the changing room, Becca,” he reminded me. “Just you?”

“Just me, sir.”

“Why did you do it, Becca?”

I shrugged. “I just thought it would be kinda funny seeing the others walking around with wet feet, sir. Something like that.”

“Really? Did they all find it funny?”

“Not really, sir. No.”

“Nor did the two janitors who spent over half an hour cleaning it all up, Becca.”

“No, I guess not, sir.”

“Okay, so you know what happens next, don’t you just? It’s a Saturday detention or five swats, Becca.”

“I have a Saturday job, sir.”

“So, five swats?”

“I guess so, sir.”

Now, you might be wondering how come I accepted getting my ass paddled quite so readily. Thing was, I reckoned I knew Mr Pearson well enough to guess what he would be offering in the way of punishment. And of course there was always going to be some kind of punishment, so I’d pretty much figured out what he would say, and what I would say in reply.

“Okay, so why don’t you go find a female teacher to act as witness, and I’ll get set up.”

I wasn’t expecting that. Normally, it’s the teacher that goes off and finds the witness. I turned and left the office. Those fellow gym students who had followed me were lurking around the corner.

“You’re not taking Saturday suspension, are you Becca?” One asked, sounding like she would be kinda disappointed if I took that option.

A couple others enquired along the same lines. At least they hadn’t been listening at the door.

“No, he’s sent me to find a female teacher to witness.”

“Mrs Coombs is working on her computer three doors down,” one girl said helpfully.

Mrs Coombs? Languages. Over fifty. A mite overweight. I was in one of her classes two years ago. She’d be as good as any.

I walk further down the hall and look through the window in her door. She’s doing something on her computer. I knock. She calls me in.

“Can I help you, Ms Childs?”

“Er, I need a female teacher for a witness, ma’am.”

“You’re getting spanked?”

“Yes, ma’am. Mr Pearson.”

“He’s in his office?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Anything to do with flooding the changing room?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I guess that’s a five lick spanking, huh?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Okay, let’s get you dealt with.”

Mrs Coombs got up and we walked back to Mr Pearson’s office. My distrusting friends must have concealed themselves in one of the rooms we passed by as we went to Mr Pearson’s office because we didn’t see them. I had no doubt they’d want to at least hear me getting paddled. Maybe they’d even be at the window watching.

“Ah, Virginia! Thanks for helping me out here,” Mr Pearson greeted my escort.

I noticed that Mr Pearson’s desk had been cleared of the clutter I saw when I was here a few minutes ago. I knew why he’d done that!

“Make sure you have nothing in your back pockets, Becca,” Mr Pearson said.

Now, I was wearing thin cotton pants in white, and they didn’t have back pockets. Hadn’t he noticed?

“No back pockets, sir.”

“Okay, bend over the desk. Get your forearms flat on the desk and push your butt out.”

I nervously looked around. No sign of any paddle. I bent down over the desk, flattened my forearms and rested the side of my face on my hands, so I was looking to my left.

Mr Pearson went to a metal filing cabinet, opened the top drawer and brought out his wooden paddle. It was pretty standard, twenty or so inches long on the end of a handle wrapped in blue tape, four inches across the blade, and about half an inch thick. He came around to stand behind me and to my left. Mrs Coombs stood to my right and behind me so she would see every swat slam across my behind.

“Here we go, Becca.”

The paddle circled my butt twice, then I didn’t feel it until an instant later when it whacked hard across the seat of my pants, and my backside was on fire. It hurt!

I was wriggling around until Mrs Coombs said, “You need to keep still, Becca, otherwise Mr Pearson can’t spank you properly.”

Heck, if that first swat was anything to go by, he wasn’t doing a bad job. I settled down and made sure my butt was pushed back. Instantly, I got the second swat; low down where it would be real uncomfortable later, but I guess that was the point. I snorted and wriggled, but then held my butt static so Mr Pearson could spank me again.

Just a couple of seconds passed and I got spanked again. My butt was really hurting now. I swayed my backside around for a moment or two, and then held steady. The paddle whacked my behind again, and really smarted. At least we were nearly done.

The last swat seemed even harder than the others. Maybe Mr Pearson was making a point. It sure scorched my butt and I could feel the tears rolling down my face.

“Okay Becca, we’re done. Don’t do stupid things and we won’t need to do this again. You hear?”

“Yes sir!” I stood upright and rubbed the seat of my pants.

“Okay, get!”

I got.

As I walked away the way I’d come, all the while looking out for my so-called friends, Mrs Coombs caught up with me. She put an arm round my shoulder and asked how I was feeling.

“Well, my butt sure is sore!” I was still rubbing it as I walked.

“Treat it as a lesson learned, Becca.”

“I’ll most certainly do that, ma’am!”

We got to her room and she left me. Still no sign of the other girls. Was my little prank worth it? Mixed feelings, I guess. Was the paddling justified? Yes, of course it was.

The End

© Carol Christensen 2025