Please not the paddle. Anything but the paddle. Other girls get paddled, not me. I'm a good girl. A good student. Anything else, not the paddle. I turned eighteen today. They can't possibly paddle me, can they? Beverly's mind raced and raced.
She tried to keep her hands and feet still but they seemed to have a mind of their own. Her palms were sweaty and her tummy was in knots. She needed to go to the little girls' room, but she couldn't go anywhere. Maybe they won't paddle me. I was just passing notes. Yeah I've gotten caught before, but it was just a note They paddle girls for fighting and cussing and things like that.
Maybe it won't be the paddle. I can write lines Or maybe even detention The girl who had gone in to the principal's office before her came out and went back to class. There hadn't been any sharp "crack" of the paddle, and the girl was not crying like the girl before her had been.
See, not everyone gets paddled. Maybe it will be okay.
A very true spanking story
Buchanan came to the door and looked down at her, the next girl on the bench. Beverly could not meet her eyes. She trembled. And she started to walk. Buchanan closed the door behind her, but Beverly did not hear it. She had seen the dreaded wooden story on Mrs. Buchanan's desk. Please, no. Not the paddle. Anything else. Buchanan's desk was dangerously close to the implement of pain that lay upon it, but Beverly sat spanking, still trembling. She felt that her face must be as white as her notebook paper. Buchanan leaned against her desk, looking down at Beverly.
Still, Beverly could not look at her. She stared ahead and down. Do you know how many times you've been caught passing notes this year, Beverly? It's been paddle. Each time that you have been warned or given some small punishment, it has been recorded in your file here. Every time. So, I know about everything that you've done all year, Beverly.
I can't be paddled. Something else Neither is talking in class, failing to turn in an occasional asment, forgetting to bring a pencil to class She knows it. But they're little things.
Not things girls get paddled for. Not that you're a bad girl All of these are minor things. You can't paddle me for them Or do extra work. Don't paddle me. Buchanan was holding Beverly's file "that stands out, except that certain behaviors continue to be a problem for you. Buchanan paused. Beverly sighed, and blushed a little. I'd like for these little problems to stop happening. I've tried to think of different ways we can accomplish that See, she's thinking of other things You've been a good student, and I want to make sure that continues I've made my decision It won't be the paddle.
It may not even be detention. If there are no problems, then it will be a very short meeting All of your teachers will be aware of this arrangement, as will your parents, of course Not so bad.
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Now, ordinarily, for first visits to the office, I go pretty easy on girl I don't want to get paddled. I'll be good. I don't want to come back and be scared like this again A physical blow to her tummy. Her terror returned. Her breathing quickened. Yes, sweetie, I said you're to be paddled. Five strokes. Please, stand up and face my desk. Buchanan picked up the paddle. Beverly remained seated. Beverly stood, feeling that she may faint.
She faced the desk.
Put your forearms on the desk, Beverly. Her panties down? She bent over.
Straight, so her bottom would be pushed out for the paddle. The girl outside would hear. Her teachers would know. Her friends would know!
Her parents would know! So, remember what this is like, and think about it the next time you decide to pass a note in class. Buchanan did not say another word. Beverly's terror was intense, and she was starting to cry. Then, she felt the paddle strike her bottom—just above her thighs, on that soft spot. She yelped, and two seconds later the next one hit her, and the next, and then the next. The swats were fire, all of them in the same spot as the first.
Expertly placed for maximum effect, and the effect was total. Beverly cried uncontrollably, and after the fifth, fell to her knees and sobbed, her face against the desk. Buchanan set the paddle down on the desk, and softly touched the top of Beverly's weeping head. Beverly struggled to her feet.