SSC: The Paddle

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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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SSC: The Paddle

(*****, M/F, Intense, school principal paddling)

A principal remembers a paddle. (Approximately 486 words. Originally published 2000-08.)

The paddle was huge. I touched it tentatively. It was thick, nearly half an inch. The blade was at least two feet long, and it was about eight inches wide. A dozen or so dime-sized holes had been drilled in two rows across the surface.

I did the mental calculations, imaging it connecting with my ass. Now I've got a rather impressive bottom. I'm not fat -- at least my husband agrees with me -- but it's true that my ass is rather prominent. It's the fault of my wide hips.

But even for me, this paddle would essentially cover my entire ass with each wallop. I cringed as I thought of it, wondering how it would feel, my hand rubbing my bottom in imagined sympathy. Even as an adult it made me nervous. As a student it surely would have worried me into better behavior!

"Admiring Old Betsy?" said a voice.

I whirled, guilt and shame flooding my face with red. At the door was an old man in scruffy, stained overalls. With deep relief I recognized the janitor.

"Hello, Freddy."

"Miss Granger."

"They actually used this on students?" I said, pretending professional interest.

"Those were the days. School went downhill when they retired her. Now kids graffiti the walls and leave cigarette butts everywhere. Never happened in my day. Old Betsy ruled these halls."

My breath caught. "How... er, how many, uh, swats..."

His eyes were a pale blue but they were still bright and sharp. "Oh, now that depended on the who-n-what. Maybe three or four was typical, a dozen for the really bad boys."

"Any" -- dare I ask? -- "girls?"

"Oh, sure. There was Sally James, back in '54. Pretty girl. Got it twice, to my knowledge. A real brat, that one."

"Ah. Must really hurt," I said, running my fingers along the paddle.

"Take it down," said the man.

When I blushed and shook my head, he obliged, releasing the clasps. He gripped it with two hands, like a giant sword. He was old but strong, holding it easily.

"It's huge. I can't believe they hit _children_ with it!"

"You know," said Freddy thoughtfully. "Used to be a tradition. It was customary for a new principal to take a few swats, just to know what it felt like."

I gaped open-mouthed at the janitor. A temptation so powerful it hurt gripped my heart. My mouth went completely dry. God, I couldn't!

"I, uh--" I couldn't finish.

"Well, you _are_ the new principal...."

I nodded, dumbly.

The old man shrugged. "It's usually the V.P.'s honor, but if you're game, I'm game. Bend yourself over your desk. Be a good experience for ya."

"How... how many?" I breathed, bending over, feeling my light summer dress tighten across my bottom.

"I think maybe six." There was a pause. "If you're a good girl."

Oh, God I was thinking naughty!

The End

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