Another erotic story from the FLOGMASTER!Copyright 1985-2016 by the Flogmaster. All Rights Reserved. Free distribution via electronic medium (i.e. the internet or electronic BBS) is permitted as long as the text is _not_ modified and this copyright is included, but _no_ other form of publication is allowed without written permission. This document _may_ contain explicit material of an ADULT nature. ***READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!*** Anything offensive is your own problem. This story is for **entertainment** purposes only, and it does _not_ necessarily represent the viewpoint of the author or the electronic source where this was obtained. All characters are *fictional* -- any resemblance to real people is purely coincidental.
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(****, M/f, Severe, severe schoolgirl paddlings)
A girl learns she was the most paddled girl in school the previous year. (Approximately 2,064 words. Originally published 2004-01.)
It was the first day of school and Heather was excited. She'd spent half the summer planning her outfit as she wanted to make a terrific impression to kick off the new year. After all, she was no longer a lowly freshman but an elite sophomore. She was a woman now, with breasts and hips, and she wanted all the boys to notice.
Today she was wearing an expensive navy sweater and snow white jeans that hugged the curves of her body like a Ferrari to a race track. She felt like a million dollars, which was good, because it seemed she'd nearly spent that much, between all the new clothes, her hair and makeup, and the new jewelry.
She arrived at school a half an hour early and was hanging out with her girlfriends when suddenly there was Mr. Romano, the math teacher, interrupting her with the news that the headmaster, Mr. Davis, wanted to see her before her first class.
This was an annoying turn of events. Heather couldn't imagine what Mr. Davis wanted. She couldn't have violated a school rule already, could she? Manchester High was a private school and extremely strict, but she'd just gotten here!
Still, Heather was a little nervous when she knocked on the familiar door. Last year she'd visited this office more times than she cared to remember, and each time she'd left with an intensely burning behind.
"Mr. Davis? You wanted to see me?"
"Ah yes, Ms. Toms. Please, have a seat."
Nervously, Heather sat. The office smelled of pain and discomfort. Though she didn't dare look, she knew the big wooden paddle was displayed on the mantle behind her.
It was a moment before the man spoke, the delay making Heather exceedingly nervous.
"You, my dear," he finally began, "are in for a special treat. How many times did you visit my office last year for a paddling?"
Heather blushed slightly and stared at the carpet. She shrugged. "Uh, I don't know. A few."
"More than a few, dear. How many? I want a number."
Heather tried to think. There was the basketball incident, she couldn't forget that one. And of course the graffiti, and the towel fight. That was three. Oh, there was that test she'd tried to cheat on -- she'd really got whacked for that. There were a whole bunch of others for really minor stuff, being late to class too often, not having homework done, crap like that. She couldn't remember all those.
"Uh, ten?" she guessed.
"Oh." Gee, that sounded like a lot, Heather thought glumly. Most of them hadn't hurt that much -- only a half dozen or so swats each -- but they were embarrassing and rather annoying.
The headmaster shook his head. "I had to paddle you seventeen times last year! That's an average of twice a month. That's a school record, by the way. The previous annual high was a boy in 1968 who was paddled fifteen times. Of course he was expelled before the end of the term or he might have set the record even higher, but at any rate I don't think it's an achievement you'd want on your transcript."
"I'm sorry, Mr. Davis, but it won't happen this year, I promise. I've changed."
The man's expression was stern. "I should hope so. But I must tell you about what you've won."
"As the most paddled student last year, you've won a prize. Don't you want to know what it is?"
Not really, thought Heather. It couldn't be anything good. "Sir, that's okay, I know I was a problem last year, but I'm going to do much better this year, I promise. I swear I--"
"Let me tell you what you've won," said the man, interrupting her. He stood up, pacing the room, hands behind his back as he spoke. "You are going to be our Discipline Demonstrator!"
He nodded at Heather's blank expression. "As the Discipline Demonstrator, you will give a demonstration of how to take a paddling so that other students, especially incoming freshman, know what it's like and therefore do their best to avoid it."
Alarm fluttered through the girl. Heather stared at the headmaster in horror and disbelief. "Sir, I--"
"I'm talking now. Let me continue. Today you and I will visit every single freshman class during first period and in each class I will paddle you in front of the entire class."
"Yes. And afterward, I will accompany you to each of your classes throughout the day and give you a paddling in front of each just to remind sophomores that they aren't immune from discipline either."
"You can't be serious!" cried Heather. "That's like... a dozen paddlings!"
"Fifteen, actually. There are eight freshman classes during first period, and seven periods during the day. So today you'll receive fifteen paddlings."
Heather couldn't even speak she was so horrified. Her brain whirled. Surely this was some kind of nightmare. But it was much worse than the usual showing-up-at-school-naked thing. Why couldn't she wake up?
The first bell rang dimly, a thousand miles away, and Heather followed Mr. Davis like a drone. She was vaguely aware he was carrying the big wooden paddle.
They entered Mrs. Barker's English classroom right as the second bell rang, students scrambling to get to their seats. Many recognized the headmaster and so the room was brought to order quickly.
"If you'll excuse me, Mrs. Barker, I have something I'd like to do before your class begins." The man turned to the class. "Greetings, students. I'm Mr. Davis, the headmaster. This is Heather Toms, a sophomore. Last year she was a freshman like all of you. But she was not a well-behaved student and frequently spent time in my office where I had to implement discipline."
With those words, Mr. Davis held up the paddle, drawing a sharp gasp from the audience.
"As you know, here at Manchester we believe in corporal punishment and implement it whenever appropriate. But since some of you may be unsure exactly what corporal punishment entails, I've asked Ms. Toms to provide you with a little demonstration. After all, she's an expert: I had to paddle her more often last year than any other student!"
Heather's face was beet red and growing hotter, and she was almost grateful when the headmaster ordered her to turn and bend over the teacher's desk, her ass to the classroom. At least she didn't have to look at all those faces staring at her.
Then the paddle walloped into her rear, the sting dreadfully familiar. The first few were always the worst, and Heather had to resist moving and keep herself composed. Six solid swats were delivered in less than a minute, and a few seconds later the two were outside in the hall, the headmaster quickly heading for the next classroom. Heather followed, her buttocks tingling.
The next room was a repeat performance, with almost the same speech from Mr. Davis, and another six hot pops from the paddle for Heather. Her asscheeks were starting to steam as she followed the man to the third classroom.
And so it went, like a whirlwind. Classroom to classroom, bending over and offering her butt for the stinging paddle. There was minimal time between spankings, as Mr. Davis hurried from room to room like a man possessed. Between the trot, the speech, and the swats, each session took nearly five minutes, so the paddlings took most of first period.
It was during the fifth paddling that the spankings began to really hurt. Tears stung her eyes from the first swat, and by the end she was silently weeping, try as she might to stop it. Once the floodgates were open there was no stopping them, and she wept openly during the remaining three paddlings, even wiggling and crying out a bit during the final two. On three occasions she couldn't help herself and got up and out of position, so Mr. Davis added swats for extra punishment.
"There," Mr. Davis said as they emerged from the eighth freshman class. "Now let's go to your first period class. Biology, isn't it?"
Heather could hardly nod she was in so much pain. Her ass felt three or four times as big as normal, and she kept putting her hands back and removing them, squeezing the blistered flesh and then regretting it, and then repeating the action moments later when the stinging got to be too much.
Her embarrassment peaked when she saw all her peers in biology. It was hideously embarrassing to stand there blushing while Mr. Davis explained the interruption to Mrs. Rindle, but it got even worse when it was time to bend over for more swats. She was keenly aware of the way her carefully selected sexy jeans presented her ass, but helpless to do anything about it. She wished she'd worn thick denim instead of skin tight white cloth.
This time Mr. Davis didn't stop at six but gave her a solid ten whacks, really making them count, each stroke drawing a light cry from poor Heather. "You may find your seat," said Mr. Davis when it was over, and a weeping Heather ran for the nearest empty chair, which, of course, happened to be up front. Mr. Davis departed and the teacher, Mrs. Rindle, calmly began lecturing again as though there hadn't been a dramatic interruption, though there were only a few minutes of first period left.
The bell rang far too soon. Heather's next class was history and she shuddered when she saw Mr. Davis, paddle in hand, waiting for her at the doorway.
"Please sir, not any more," she begged.
"Every class," he said calmly, his blue eyes stern.
There was nothing to do but suffer, and suffer Heather did. Ten more glorious whacks to her bum had her writhing in agony, tears spilling onto Mr. Wilson's desk. Miserable, Heather eased herself into a chair and felt sorry for herself.
Third period was another ten whacks, followed by ten more during physical education. Heather enjoyed the soothing shower after gym and then there was a half hour break for lunch. She skipped food and spent the time in the bathroom, putting aloe cream on her blistered, crimson ass.
Chemistry was another ten, as were English and Geometry. Heather was never so happy to see the end of a school day. But she had one final visit to Mr. Davis' office before going home. She hoped and prayed he wasn't going to paddle her any more. Her heart was thumping with terror when she rapped on his door.
"Ah, Heather dear. How's your backside?"
"Please sir, no more paddling," begged Heather immediately.
The man smiled, shaking his head. "No more. We're done. I trust you've learned a valuable lesson?"
"So I won't be seeing you here the rest of the year?"
"Definitely not," groaned Heather. "I've had enough paddling to last me a lifetime!"
"Fine. You may go."
It was a solemn Heather who climbed naked into bed that night. Her scarlet ass glistened with fresh oil as she stretched out on her belly. She wanted nothing against her skin this night.
Her white jeans were discarded on the floor, and Heather looked at them ruefully through tears of regret. She'd thought they were sexy and made her look so hot, but she could never wear them again without remembering this nightmare day.
She shuddered, remembering the endless series of classrooms, the jeering faces and comments, the way her ass thrust out when she bent over, all eyes on it, the impact of that wooden paddle into her butt. God that had been embarrassing. She didn't know how she was going to face anyone tomorrow.
Her ass throbbed and she slid a hand between her legs and began to rub, distracting herself from the pain. She was surprised to discover she was quite moist already, and every time she thought about herself bent over in front of all those students, her ass being paddled raw, she felt a surge of passion between her legs.
Maybe tomorrow wouldn't be so bad after all, she sighed, as pleasure flooded her body. After all, she _had_ looked damn sexy in those white jeans. And there was no question that she'd made an unforgettable impression!