by Peter Martin
I waited unwaveringly for Mr Goodson to arrive. Mr Goodson was my daughter's teacher. Marsha was thirteen years old and had been in Mr Goodson's class about three months now.
Mr Goodson had a reputation for being strict at the school, so strict that most pupils were scared of him. He was in his late twenties.
Two days earlier my daughter had come home from school in tears.
"Mr Goodson spanked me," she said as she started to cry. She lifted her school dress up above her bottom and I could see her bottom was very red.
I calmed my daughter down so I could find out what she had done to deserve the spanking.
"Nothing, Mum. I just took too long to sit down after break was over. Mr Goodson shouted at me, told me to come to the front of the class, and then spanked me on my bare bottom."
I was annoyed but mainly with my daughter. I asked firmly, "I doubt that is the truth, is it Marsha? You must have been very naughty to deserve a spanking."
"No, Mum. It is the truth," Marsha pleaded.
I just didn't believe her though. "No, Marsha. You must have been very naughty and now you are lying. I hate you lying. So now you will get another spanking from me."
"No, Mum. Please," Marsha begged.
I ignored her. Instead of listening to her and giving her the benefit of the doubt I leaned forward and lifted her school dress up above her waist.
Marsha held my arm and cried out, "No, please, Mum. I'm telling the truth."
Getting more and more annoyed I snapped. "Let go or I'll spank you again in the morning."
Marsha released my hands and I finished off lifting her dress above her waist and yanked her knickers down to her ankles.
"Get over my lap," I ordered.
Marsha knew I meant business and gave up resisting. I took her arm and steered her across my lap. I looked down at a bottom I was quite used to seeing across my lap, the bottom I was used to rubbing as Marsha settled down. The bottom I had to spank so often and turn bright red.
As usual, Marsha started to cry soon after the spanking started. I was never surprised by her tears. It just made me more intent to make sure the spanking was long and hard enough to teach her a lesson.
I followed my usual pattern. The initial spanks were given on alternate bottom cheeks. I carried on like that until Marsha started to squirm around on my lap and even kick her legs a bit; that was when I changed tack and landed several spanks on the same bottom cheek. As Marsha squirmed and kicked more I would spank her other bottom cheek.
The serious crying started soon afterwards; that was when I changed tack again. I landed several spanks on the backs of Marsha's legs. The cries got louder, which told me she was learning her lesson.
I always finished off with more spanks on one bottom cheek and then more on the other bottom cheek. Once the spanks stopped landing I watched the back of Marsha's head as she kept on crying but as always started to sob the word, "Sorry," time and again. That made me feel the spanking had done its job.
"Get up," I eventually ordered.
Marsha always obeyed me and stood up. However, like always, she also rubbed her bottom and jumped from foot to foot as she tried to cope with the stinging pain. Even so she always ended up putting her arms around my neck and saying a meaningful, "Sorry, Mum." Once she'd accepted she was going to be spanked she never later questioned me or accused me of being wrong to spank her. That wasn't her way. She always took her punishment well and told me she would be better behaved in future.
Twenty minutes later, Marsha was in bed, still rubbing her bottom. It was part of the punishment. Early to bed after a spanking, lights out of course.
When Marsha was asleep I checked my emails. There was one from Mr Goodson. It had a punishment report attached. It was standard practice. I read the note.
'Marsha was dilatory when ordered to sit down. When I told her off she told me to mind my own business. That was why I determined she needed to be spanked.'
Spanking was a regular method of discipline at the school. The teachers had discretion to dole out the punishment. Still, it enforced my own decision that Marsha had lied to me so I felt no remorse myself that I had given her another spanking.
I phoned Jenny, my friend, whose daughter Cherry was in Marsha's class. "Hi, Jenny. I just spanked Marsha. She was naughty at school and got a spanking from Mr Goodson."
"Hi Valerie, I heard Marsha got spanked," Jenny replied. "Mind you, he spanked Lucy yesterday but he got reprimanded as it turned out he had been in a foul mood and just took it out on her."
"Really?" I asked, suddenly worried I had given my daughter a spanking she may not have deserved. So I asked Mr Goodson to come over on the pretence of giving Marsha a private tutorial for her upcoming test. He agreed.
That's why I was waiting for Mr Goodson to arrive. Marsha was watching TV, unaware he was coming over. When the doorbell rang, Marsha looked up at me and then back at the TV. When Mr Goodson entered the living room Marsha looked concerned.
I saw the look on my daughter's face. I knew her well enough to know the concern on her face was real. There certainly wasn't anything in the look that said, 'Welcome'.
"A cup of tea, Mr Goodson?" I asked.
"Yes please, Mrs Pike," he replied with a smile.
I left the room and went to the kitchen to make the tea. The kettle was already boiled but I wasn't too worried about making a nice cup of tea. I was focussed more on the speaker, the one that enabled me to hear the conversation in the living room. Mr Goodson was asking Marsha a question.
"Did you tell your mum I spanked you the other day, Marsha?"
"Yes, Mr Goodson. I told her but also told her I thought it was unfair."
I heard Mr Goodson stutter. "Well, erm, you were slow."
"Yes, but only because of the queue to get back into the classroom."
"What about when you answered me back?"
"That wasn't me, Mr Goodson. It was Lisa."
Mr Goodson replied, "I may have got that bit wrong. I knew it was either you or Lisa so one of you needed to be spanked. Mistakes can happen and if it did I'm sorry."
That made me livid. I went back in to the living room and went straight over to Mr Goodson. "Sorry? Sorry?" I snapped.
Mr Goodson was blushing but was thrown off-balance. "I may have over-reacted I suppose."
"What? Were you in a bad mood?"
"I had argued with my wife in the morning; that always gets me in to a bad mood I suppose. Normally, I can control myself but sometimes I get short-tempered."
"Is that why you spank more of the children than any other teacher?"
"Probably," Mr Goodson conceded.
"Really? So my daughter suffered because you were in a bad mood because you had argued with your wife?"
"Sorry," Mr Goodson conceded.
I was angry. Not just because Mr Goodson had given Marsha a spanking she hadn't deserved, but because I had also given her a spanking she hadn't deserved.
"Well that isn't good enough for me, Mr Goodson. It is unacceptable that you take your moods out on the children."
"I know," Mr Goodson accepted. He added after a few moments, "I won't do it again. I promise."
I made a decision. "I don't care if you do promise, but you still need to be taught a lesson."
Mr Goodson looked up, clearly unsure what I meant.
I was clear on what Mr Goodson needed. "My daughter needs justice."
"Justice?" Mr Goodson asked.
I gave Mr Goodson a hard glare as I turned a dining chair in to the room. "Yes, indeed, Mr Goodson, some of your own medicine." I made a point of rolling up one of my sleeves as I sat down.
Mr Goodson eyed me. He must have glanced at the table behind me and seen the hairbrush. I smirked as his mouth dropped open. "No," he said, showing his anxiety.
"Yes," I said firmly. "Either I spank you or I will complain to the Headmistress and insist you are sacked."
Mr Goodson looked like he was thinking madly but after only a few seconds his face turned to resignation. He licked his lips as he walked across the room towards me. He stopped when he realised Marsha was still in the room.
"Surely she won't be watching?" he asked desperately.
That told me two things. First he had already accepted he was going to be spanked. Second, that by having Marsha watch it would be an even greater lesson for him. So I replied decisively, "Yes, she will be watching."
I knew what the Headmistress would do. We had discussed discipline at open evenings and she made it clear that whilst discipline was a top priority she would not countenance it given incorrectly. I had little doubt she would sack Mr Goodson if she found out he spanked the children when in a bad mood. I could tell from the look of acceptance on his face that he was woefully aware of that as well and that he had little choice but to accept Marsha would be watching.
Mr Goodson looked at the floor as he stood by my side.
"Get your trousers and underpants right down, Mr Goodson," I ordered.
Mrs Goodson blushed as he undid his trousers and pushed them downwards, quickly followed by his underpants. Both garments ended up at his ankles.
"Get over," I commanded, pointing at my lap.
Mr Goodson eased himself down and he was soon in position with his bare bottom staring up at me. I smiled as I realised it was just a man's version of Marsha's bottom but so much larger. I rubbed his bottom a few times and could tell he was going to submit to his punishment and wasn't surprised when after a few spanks he was still across my lap having his bottom turned pink and then red.
After several minutes of spanking him with my hand his bottom was nicely red.
I kept spanking him but looked up at Marsha. She was smiling as she looked intently at her teacher's reddening bottom. Of course she had seen plenty of her friends being spanked both at school and at their homes. However, I was sure this would be the first adult bottom she had watched being spanked.
I quickly put that thought out of my mind as I decided to pick up the hairbrush. Seconds later, Mr Goodson was howling in pain every time the hairbrush spanked down on his bottom. I could see he was crying and still he remained obediently across my lap. Maybe it was the way he was brought up. Maybe he was still spanked at home, I even wondered.
Marsha was clearly enjoying the spectacle and I supposed I wouldn't be able to stop her telling her friends. I suddenly felt concerned for Mr Goodson, though not enough to stop spanking him, not for another few more spanks anyway.
Eventually, when I had turned his bottom far redder than I had ever turned Marsha's, I reluctantly stopped spanking him and said, "OK, Mr Goodson. You can get up."
Mr Goodson eased himself up from my lap and stood in front of me rubbing his bottom.
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