Stick to it

The great thing about watching the Olympics in the days of digital broadcasting is that there's so much of it. We've been enjoying hopping from channel to channel watching bits of the sports that didn't used to get much, or any, airtime.
So, now I'm watching hockey. And does it take me back! Girls with muscly legs, the cute little skirts and socks, oh, and the violence. When I was at school I didn't have muscly legs, but I was made to play some hockey - and remember it as a fairly brutal business.
I never enjoyed a moment of it, but after seeing my best friend's teeth being smashed to pieces by a high ball I decided to have nothing more to do with it. That got me into trouble, but less trouble than a hockey ball in the mouth delivers.

Watching tonight's match made me think of our old hockey teacher for the first time in years. She was pretty scary and kind of menacing, so much so that we walk on eggs for fear of her temper. Of course, she wasn't allowed to use CP - it had been banned - but she was very physical otherwise.

She must have started out in the days before the ban and gave every impression that she'd dearly like to be able to bruise our bottoms on a regular basis. Or maybe that was just my reading of the situation.
I seem to remember that she also had the habit of patrolling the changing room after we'd had our showers to encourage anyone she considered a "slow coach" to hurry up. Anyone taking too long over their hair or clothes would be encourage along with a word or two and sometimes a "playful" smack on the behind.

A spanko perhaps? If she was she must have been a very frustrated one.

A special delivery

"I thought you would want to open this one for yourself, Mrs Williams." The Deputy Head looked up with a start - she hadn't noticed that Miss Miles had entered her study. The secretary had placed a large parcel on the desk in front of her.

She felt a flare of irritation. There were accounts to balance and opening post was what Alice Miles was employed to do. Then she noticed the postmark.

"Lochgelly," Alice Miles said, with a shy smile. "It's a town in Fife, Headmistress..."

"Thank you, Alice, I'm well aware of where Lochgelly is," said Mrs Williams. "I have no need of a geography lesson."

She took up the parcel and felt its weight. She had been expecting it all summer and  finally it had arrived. As she stood holding the package she found herself thinking about that dark January day.

It had been humiliating. Pupils had run riot, refusing orders and making ridiculous demands - and she had been powerless to do anything about it. 

Certainly, the ringleaders on the boys' side had been properly dealt with. She had made a point of passing the Headmaster's study when those canings had been taking place. But the Education Committee's rules were clear - no corporal punishment for girls.

" Mrs Williams?" 

"Sorry... oh, yes, thank you Alice," she said, taking the offered scissors and bringing them to bear on the parcel's brown wrapping paper. The wrong-headed ban on proper punishment for girls was a relatively recent development.

In fact, Alice Miles was a perfect example of how effective a proper disciplinary regime could be. Now a competent secretary of 23, she had been a pert, disobedient pupil until Mrs Williams had arrived at Park Road. Judicious application of slipper and strap had put Alice onto the right course.

Inside the brown paper was a neat, little wooden box with a hinged lid. She was rather pleased with the box and thought it would look very smart on her desk, although she might have to ask the woodwork department to stain it to match the mahogany.

As she lifted the lid she heard Alice Miles give a little gasp, even though they had both known what was inside. "Brings back fond memories, does it Alice?" She asked. In response Alice Miles smiled and blushed, but decided to keep her thoughts to herself.

The six brand, spanking new tawses inside would revoluntionise life at Park Road, Mrs Williams thought. One for each of the year heads of the girls' side of the school and one to keep in its box in her study.

For most pupils the knowledge that Mrs Williams had that tawse in her study and was prepared to use it would be enough to keep them on the straight and narrow. But there were always some - girls like Alice once was  - who would only take heed after they had been given a sore bottom.

Mrs Williams took one of the straps out of the box and ran it through her fingers. It was heavy and thick and the leather was quite stiff; it would soften up nicely through use, she decided. 

"It would be useful to have a few practice swings," she said. "Alice, care to oblige?"

The secretary squealed, put her hands to the seat of her skirt and took a couple of hasty steps to the door. Her boss' sense of humour was very dry, so she wasn't entirely sure if she was joking or not.

At the door Alice paused. "Would you like the list, Mrs Williams?"

"No, no. You can deal with the details. How many names?"

"I'd have to check, but I think it's about 43," Alice Miles replied. The Deputy Head continued running the strap across her palm before smacking it down smartly on her open hand.

The noise of the impact made Alice Miles jump. Mrs Williams mouthed an "ow" at the smart of it and pondered how much weight and heft she would have to put into a swing to maximise the lesson it would deliver via a Sixth Former's bare behind.

"First five of them today at 4pm then, please," she said. "Three dozen each. And I'll have five a night until there's tick against each and every name on that list."

I came across this amazing newspaper cutting at the fascinating Corpun site yesterday and have been playing with the story ever since. Well worth a read. 

How boring is that...?

How come she's so uninterested in the fix she's got herself into? Panties down and the cane's there ready for use but she looks like she's totally bored by the proceedings.

Maybe it's a different take on cornertime. Instead of an hour in the corner waiting for your whacking you get an hour bent and ready - and cornertime can be seriously tedious.

Or perhaps she's a repeat offender, such a Punishment Room veteran that she's just not bothered anymore. Sort of "see if I care". Familiarity breeds contempt, I suppose.

Whatever it's about, it's a great drawing - I'd love to see more of this artist's work. Anywhere know who its by? Thanks to the first-rate Spanking Art for posting it for us all to enjoy.

Recently punished...

"Just this morning, wasn't it?" She didn't answer. The nod of the downturned head was close to imperceptible. "I asked you a question. When did you last receive a punishment?"

"Today, miss," she said, her voice low, sulky, resentful.

"Don't take that tone with me, Wood."

"Sorry, miss."

Miss Birch lifted Wood's pleated, grey skirt and tugged the girl's navy knickers out and down. Her buttocks were a cheerful pink and blotched by the darker markings of the hairbrush spanking she had been given just after breakfast.

"Did it hurt?"

"Yes, miss"

"But not enough, clearly. You're punished for bad behaviour and then just four hours later I come across you running in the corridors. What should I deduce from that?"

Wood wasn't sure what 'deduce' meant. "I don't know miss."

"I do know, 'miss'. That you're a girl who's developed resistance to this particular form of medicine," Miss Birch said, letting the skirt fall back into place. She took a step across the room to a cupboard, opened its door and took out a cane, before turning back to face the girl.

"Stronger medicine is called for, don't you think?" Miss Birch said. Wood's answer was to whisper a "yes" that Miss Birch didn't quite hear, but that she wasn't that worried one way or another.

Friday fiction

“And we’ll have these down.” Neatly-manicured fingers slip under the waistband of his underpants, which are tight and very white. The cloth clings to well-muscled, athlete’s buttocks like a second skin. So tight that it takes a tug or two to get them down far enough to bare his pale cheeks just the way she wants them.

“I’m very disappointed with you, Coleman. Very disappointed. You’ve been a very disobedient young man this term, haven’t you? I’ve given you chance after chance, haven’t I?” There’s a pause, which he knows means the question is one that she expects him to answer. Most of her questions are meant to answer themselves, but this last one is clearly one of the ones that isn’t. An answer is expected.

It’s a dilemma. If he doesn’t come up with one quickly he will be even deeper in trouble than he already is. But he’s a little preoccupied with the weird feeling of hyper-sensitivity that he’s been experiencing since he entered the room.

His over-stimulated nervous system is focussed almost entirely on his butt. In a normal day how often are you aware of your behind? It’s just there isn’t it, usually between you and whatever you are sitting on?

Not just now though. At this precise moment Jay time is in go-slow and every nerve ending in his butt cheeks vibrates with anticipation about what is about to happen.

From the moment she took the strap out of the desk drawer the air has seemed electric. In the slight chill of the room the surface of his lily-white bottom and sun-browned thighs have turned to goosebumps.

He has to say something. The Vice-Principal (Pastoral) is waiting for something, but the best he can do is to mumble: “I don’t know... I guess I’m sorry...”

The fact that his face is pressed into the polished teak surface of the desk top doesn’t help. “Speak up young man, I can’t hear you,” Mrs Flood says. Her voice is cool, steely edged and rather husky.
“I’m sorry...” he says again, lifting his face a little to free a little more sound. Almost too much.

“No need to shout,” she answers sardonically. “Save your voice for later. You have had your chances, but still you’re disobedient. So I think it’s time for a long-overdue punishment...”

Jay screws his eyes shut and holds his breath waiting for the swish-crack of the punishment strap. But it doesn’t arrive and after four or five seconds he opens his eyes again to see that Mrs F has crossed to the far side of the room.

She’s standing by the window looking out and running the dark, aged strap slowly through her fingers as though she’s testing its weight. Looking over surrounding roofs to a quiet road – it is Sunday morning – and to rolling countryside beyond she is counting slowly to ten in her head. Anticipation is all part of the experience, she feels, and so he should wait just a little longer.

All about perspective

What makes the perfect spanking picture? I've just been reading Pixie's post about her picture particulars and find what she has to say interesting (and the comments too). I'm not sure what I like best out of a situation. Seeing the spankee's face is important and I love it when a good anguished facial expression is combined with a nice red bottom in the same shot. But then I do also love cornertime shots too and the pre-punishment moment of anticipation.

Seeing the spanker's face is less important. My preferences are probably about identifying with the spankee - I want to be in her skin.