RLS 27: Gym Teacher

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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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The RLS Series is a collection of _real-life_ stories retold by the Flogmaster. Names and places have been _changed_ to protect the naughty. All are based on the personal memories of individuals and are written in the first person. Literary license may have been taken for a more dramatic presentation.

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Real Life Spanking Series #27--Gym Teacher

(****, F/f, Edgy, Schoolgirl punishment)

A woman remembers a series of vicious punishments from her gym teacher. (Approximately 2,046 words. Originally published 1998-07.)

I went to school many years ago -- I won't say exactly how many -- in the days when school corporal punishment was not only practiced, but common.

At my school, only three people were allowed to spank you: the principal, the vice-principal, and incomprehensibly, the gym teacher. I don't know what made the gym teacher so special, but at least the gym classes weren't coed, so if you were a guy you'd get spanked by a male teacher, and vice versa. Both the principal and vice-principal were men.

There was a distinct advantage to getting spanked by the gym teacher: it did not go on your permanent record. Spankings by the principal and vice-principal were recorded in a logbook and added to your file. A note was also sent home to your parents. In those days, that meant something -- usually a sore behind. So it was tradition for teachers, before they sent you off for a paddling, to ask you if you'd prefer to go to the gym teacher. Nine times out of ten that's what students chose.

The female gym teacher was named Mrs. T_____. She was a tall thin woman with lightening-like reflexes. You couldn't get anything by her. She ruled her classes with a strict policy -- goof off and you got spanked. She had two spanking methods. The simplest was several quick smacks to your behind over your gym shorts. This was more embarrassing than painful. Because it was minor punishment it was frequently applied. In nearly every class five or six girls were spanked like that, often many more, with some girls getting spanked more than once.

The other kind of spanking Mrs. T performed was administered after school. This was the spanking given on recommendations from other teachers, or for severe or continual misbehavior in her class. These were far worse than any paddling by the principal, but most girls still preferred them.

I, unfortunately, can speak from personal experience as to the wisdom of this decision. After receiving a four-swat paddling from the principal my freshman year, I went home to find my mother waiting with the hairbrush. When I'd recovered from her sound spanking, I had to wait in the corner for my father, who took me out to the barn for a thorough strapping: a least a couple dozen with the razor strop on my bare bottom. Daddy told me if I ever got spanked at school again I would get it even worse at home!

As I lay in bed that night, my bare, blistered bottom exposed to the soothing night breeze, I made a vow that in the future I'd accept _whatever_ punishment the gym teacher offered. I kept that vow, but if my father had known how many times I was sent for a spanking at school, he would have worn that strop out on me.

Mrs. T practiced a system of accelerating punishments. For your first offense during a single term you received a simple hand spanking. I say simple, but it was nothing of the sort. There was a complex procedure and protocol to follow.

First, arriving at Mrs. T's office in the gym after school, you let her know why you were there. Then you went to the locker room and stripped for a shower. Sometime during your shower Mrs. T would arrive. She'd seat herself on a bench and call you over. Dripping wet, you'd bring her a couple towels to place across her lap so she wouldn't get her clothes too wet. Then you'd drape yourself across her lap and relax for ten minutes of hell.

Mrs. T's spankings were always long, hard, and painful. They were also incredibly intimate and humiliating. To be a high school junior or senior, naked as a baby, and getting your bare bottom spanked until you wept was not exactly a terrific self-esteem builder. Mrs. T might have been only using her hand, but I swear it always felt like a wooden board. She spanked every inch of your butt, too, including the backs and tender insides of your thighs. She even spanked your crack, making sure the sensitive insides of your cheeks received punishment. After about ten minutes of this, you were released.

If other girls had also been sent to Mrs. T for spanking on the same day, they'd be taking showers during your spanking. You'd go back into the shower while one by one the other girls were hand-spanked.

If this was not your first spanking of the term, then your torture wasn't over. Like I said, Mrs. T practiced a system of accelerating punishments. A first offense was "just" a hand-spanking. A second offense during a single term meant a hand-spanking followed by a dose of the wooden ruler.

The first time I got the ruler I swore Mrs. T had coated the thing with cayenne pepper. I'd never felt such fire in my bottom. She held you across her lap and went at your ass full bore, delivering stinging smacks at a rate of sixty per minute. Ruler spankings were usually only a couple minutes long -- even Mrs. T couldn't keep going for long at that incredible rate -- but you were mighty glad when they were over. You rushed to the shower for cool relief.

If this was a third offense, back you went to Mrs. T for more. This time it was the paddle. Her paddle was similar to the principal's -- a big oval thing that took two hands to swing -- but she didn't stop at just a few swings. Her minimum was a dozen. Trust me -- after just being thoroughly spanked and rulered, even a half-dozen was unbearable. A dozen was beyond belief.

You didn't go across her lap for the paddle -- it was given with you lying face down on the bench. The bench was narrow and uncomfortable. The only way to lie on it properly was to straddle it, bracing your feet and hands on the cold cement floor, and allowing your breasts to be crushed against the wooden slats of the bench. Lying that way also significantly exposed your private area, but that point in the punishment you didn't much care.

Mrs. T would walk around you, spanking you from both sides, swinging that paddle down with all the force she could muster. You screamed and swore you thought you were going to die, but of course you didn't. Your ass just blistered and throbbed uncontrollably.

Few girls required more than three spankings during a term. Reaching the paddling stage was more than enough deterrent for most girls. I, of course, was one of the exceptions.

At the beginning of my senior year I developed a rather bad case of smart mouth. It got me two spankings in the first week of school! After that I tried to settle down, but received my third in the third week. Mrs. T paddled me brutally, warning me not to visit her again that term. With six weeks to go before the end of term it was inevitable. I managed to let nearly three weeks go by before I stumbled, and my ass paid for it dearly.

I was thoroughly hand-spanked, rulered, and paddled. After yet another icy shower, I came out to find Mrs. T holding a dreadful-looking leather strap. This, I was told, would be used across my thighs. I had to stand next to the bench and raise one leg, resting my foot on the bench. This allowed Mrs. T plenty of access to my other leg. She gave me six screaming strokes across the back of my right leg. Then I had to switch legs and she did the same to my left. Then it was the right again. I was terrified. How much longer could this last? But this time she did the _inside_ of my right thigh, bringing the strokes from high and to the left. I thought I would pass out. Of course I still had the left to go. I think that offering her that leg was the hardest thing I'd ever had to do.

After that ordeal, I swore I'd never get spanked at school again. Unfortunately, my smart mouth got the better of me. During the eighth week of school, just before finals, Sarah M_____ and I got in an argument during lunch. I don't even remember what the argument was about, but it got me angry, and I lost my temper. Next thing I knew the history teacher, Mr. J, was there, grabbing both Sarah and I and telling us to go to the principal. He didn't specifically say for a spanking, but I must have assumed it, because I panicked. I told him to fuck off. Then I slapped Sarah. I supposed I blamed her for my dire predicament.

On the way to the principal's office Mr. J told me I'd undoubtedly be expelled. That terrified me. Though it didn't appeal to me, I begged to be allowed to go to the gym teacher instead. He didn't think that was at all appropriate, but when I grudgingly told him it would be my _fifth_ visit, he relented. He asked Sarah what she thought, and though she was angry at me, she said she didn't want me expelled. He took us both to Mrs. T immediately, where she confirmed to Mr. J that it was my fifth offense and told the both of us to return after school. I was sick with fear. Sarah wasn't as worried -- it was only her second time this term, so she was only in for a rulering and spanking.

After school, it began. The long, painful spanking. The quick agonizing rulering. The terrible paddling. The strapping, one leg at time. By this point I could hardly cry -- I had no tears left. Mrs. T had me bend over and grab my ankles. She warned me not to get up. Sarah was behind me in the shower, slowly turning into a wide-eyed, wrinkled prune. (Mrs. T didn't allow anyone to leave until all punishments had been administered. It was her way of embarrassing you and demonstrating to others what more severe punishment entailed.)

Bent over, my naked legs and bottom waiting more pain, I watched as Mrs. T approached. She was carrying a riding quirt. It was about two feet long, thin and whippy. I shuddered. She told me I was the first girl in six years to be sent to her five times in one term. She said she hoped I was proud of myself. I was not.

Then the pain began. A thin line of fire across my scorched bottom. Again, and again, and again. Six cuts. Then six cuts across my right thigh. Then six across my left. I was already so sore and well-punished that the quirt, severe as it was, did little to increase my agony. It only prolonged it and brought forth new dimensions of feeling. I was actually surprised when Mrs. T told me to rise. I almost said, "Is that all?" but bit my lip instead. The last thing in the world I needed was Mrs. T thinking she'd gone easy on me!

After showering again, Sarah and I were allowed to leave. On the way home I apologized to Sarah for getting her in trouble, but she said she felt worse for me. I told her not to worry, that I'd "had worse" and survived. She looked at me in amazement. Of course I really hadn't had worse -- even my father's best strapping hadn't been half as bad as those last couple sessions with Mrs. T -- but I couldn't let Sarah feel bad for me. Besides, I'd deserved it. I was glad with the choice I'd made. My father thought I was such a good girl, I couldn't stand the thought of disappointing him. At least this way I'd been suitably punished and he never had to know.

That was the last time I was spanked by Mrs. T. I don't know if it was her spanking that did it, or if I just grew up, but I never got sent for another spanking. In a bizarre way, I kinda miss her.

The End

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