by LSF Publications
by Paul Rosemount
The assembly hall of the local school was no more than a quarter full. The Principal and Vice-Principal sat together behind a long, heavy table on a low platform, facing out into the body of the hall. Facing them, seated on rows of benches, were fifteen women in their late thirties or early forties and behind them were rows of teenage girls - their daughters, step-daughters, or, in a few cases, nieces. The Principal stood up and began speaking.
"I'm not going to make a speech - you all know what we're here for, and what the magistrate's opinion was." This was true - everyone present was well aware of the issue that had almost split their little community: should the school use a paddle to discipline teenage girls? Arguments and counter-arguments had been put forward, sides had been taken, debates had turned into protests...
Interestingly, not all of the teenagers themselves had been anti-paddle.
"I'd rather have a few swats and get it over with, than spend my free time in detention," one girl was quoted as saying.
"Over with! If I got paddled at school, my dad would give me the same again when I got home," another had replied.
As the debate had got more heated, with no end in sight, some parents had threatened to hire lawyers, either to defend their right to discipline as they saw fit, or to charge with assault any teacher who laid a hand on their daughters. In the end, a compromise had been agreed on - a local magistrate had been prevailed upon to hear both sides and give a ruling. He had decided that the matter should be settled by a secret ballot, in which the female parent, or legal guardian, of the girls in question would be entitled to vote - but only after the school had given them the fullest possible understanding of what precisely was involved. The choice of the female parent as the arbiter was simple - all of the girls involved had a female guardian, but as some women were widowed or divorced, not all girls had a male parent.
"This must be an informed decision," the magistrate had said. "Not one based on prejudice or hearsay evidence," and he had tasked the school Principal with making sure that this was so. Thus, today's meeting. Not all of the mothers had attended - quite a few, when hearing what the meeting entailed, had given up their right to vote, but there were enough left to make the ballot binding.
"You also know what the ballot involves," continued the Principal. "You will be asked to vote on three questions: the main one of whether paddling should be allowed or not, and two supplementary questions - first whether such punishment should be given over clothing, over underclothing or on the bare; secondly, the maximum number of strokes permissible - this is a number between three and ten. There are no identifying marks on the ballot papers, so no-one will know your decisions. Finally, there is the matter of ensuring that each voter is completely informed about what such punishment involves. We have taken this matter seriously and decided that there is only one way in which we can be sure that each voter truly understands the nature of the proposed punishment. Statistics cannot convey it; neither can descriptions, pictures, or individual testimonies - all these would come under the heading of 'hearsay evidence'. The only way in which it can be fully understood is by direct witnessing and experience - which is, as you know, why we are here today."
"Stop telling us things we already know and get on with it!" muttered one of the mothers nervously. Charlotte looked round to see who it was, recognising a woman she had seen at previous PTA meetings, but could not put a name to. She smiled at her anyway, and got an answering smile in return. As the mother of two daughters, Julie, aged sixteen, and fourteen-year-old Sandra, she had felt she must attend this meeting, though she was still unsure how, or if, she was going to vote. Both daughters, seated behind her, were leaning forward, excited but unsure what was going to happen next.
"Vice-Principal Stark will undertake the... er, practical side of this," explained the Principal. Mr Stark, a stocky, dark-haired man in his forties, was already rolling up the sleeve of his shirt to reveal a hairy and well-muscled arm. "Do we have a volunteer to go first...?"
For several moments nothing happened. The women looked from face to face, seeing expressions of nervousness and embarrassment identical to their own.
"What happens if nobody votes...?" hissed Julie into her mother's ear. Her question remained unanswered, as just then a woman stood up. She was in her mid-thirties, with long, dark hair, coffee-coloured skin and wearing a brightly-patterned summer dress that contrasted with her serious expression.
"Mrs Anderson," acknowledged the Principal.
"That's Joelle and Michelle's aunt - she's real strict with them," Julie whispered.
"As you know, I have taken on my sister's two girls after their parents' untimely death, and I strongly feel that without the backing of proper discipline at school I ..." the woman began.
"Please, Mrs Anderson - the time for making speeches is past," interrupted the Principal. "Are you prepared to go through the voting procedure?"
"I am," she replied determinedly.
"Then step forward and Vice-Principal Stark will tell you what to do."
Mrs Anderson stepped up onto the platform, and stood in front of the table. Mr Stark rose from his seat and came around the table, carrying a wooden paddle.
"This is a standard school paddle, exactly the same as those which would be used in this school should the vote be in favour. You will first receive three strokes over clothing. Bend forward and grip the far side of the table, please."
A hush fell over the room as Mrs Anderson bent forward. Mr Stark took up his position behind her, rested the paddle against her outthrust rump, then lifted it and struck... hard. Ms Anderson's buttocks flattened under the impact and she made a sound between a grunt and a gasp as the air was driven from her body, but she stayed bent over and managed not to cry out. A second stroke was delivered with equal force. Mrs Anderson gasped and wriggled, but still kept in the proper position.
She's done this before, Charlotte thought, and That thin skirt can't be giving her much protection at all. The third stroke landed. One of Mrs Anderson's legs began to kick up, but was returned to the floor by an effort of will.
"Three, Sir!" she said clearly.
"Now you have experienced the paddle over clothing, do you wish to continue?" asked Mr Stark.
"My girls need discipline - so yes, I do."
"Very well then - please lift your skirt. I hope everyone present is paying attention," he added, looking around the room. "Witnessing this is part of the process of informing your decision."
He need not have worried - every woman there was watching intently, imagining themselves, or their daughters, in Mrs Anderson's place. The teenage girls were even more riveted - while some of them had seen, or even experienced paddlings before, none of them had ever seen an adult woman being paddled, and they were determined not to miss a moment of it. Mrs Anderson lifted her skirt and pulled it well up over her back, revealing a pair of well-shaped buttocks in high-cut lemon-yellow panties. Three whitish marks, already turning red, on the edge of her right buttock unprotected by the panties showed where the strokes had landed.
"You will now get three further strokes over your underwear," Mr Skinner said. Mrs Anderson merely nodded. There was a slight disturbance in the room as two dark-skinned girls changed seats, moving forward several benches in search of a better view.
"Joelle and Michelle," Julie explained to her mother. Mr Stark raised the paddle again. It struck, making Mrs Anderson's full bottom jerk and jiggle. A fourth white mark appeared and Mrs Anderson drew in her breath with a hiss - clearly audible in the absolute silence of the hall. The four paddle-marks lay edge-to-edge across Mrs Anderson's rear - it was evident that the next one must land on already-punished flesh. It did - catching her expertly across the 'sit spot' with a loud thwap and drawing a quickly-stifled gasp from her lips. The next stroke was aimed at exactly the same place. When it hit, Mrs Anderson almost jerked upright - only the strength of her white-knuckled grip on the table edge kept her in position. For the first time, she cried out - a yelp of pain, suppressed almost as soon as she made it.
"Three, Sir," she repeated, then stood up, clenching and unclenching her buttocks as if to squeeze out the burn of the paddle-marks.
"Have you decided not to continue?" inquired Mr Stark.
"Give me a moment," she replied, rubbing her smarting backside. She looked over at a group of women seated together on one bench. Whatever she saw in their expressions seemed to stiffen her resolve, as she turned back to Vice-Principal Stark and said, "OK, I'm ready for the rest of my punishment now."
"Scarcely a punishment, Mrs Anderson," interrupted the Principal. "This is merely a practical demonstration of what a paddling entails."
"You could have fooled me," Julie muttered in her mother's ear.
"The final four strokes, bringing the total to the maximum ten, will be on bare skin," Mr Skinner announced. "Remove your panties and resume your position over the table."
Mrs Anderson's hands went under her skirt, sliding the yellow panties down her legs until they dropped to the floor. Stepping out of them, she bent to pick them up and folded them neatly before placing them on the table - buying herself a few more seconds before she had to endure the paddle again. As she bent over the table and lifted her skirt the audience were able to see the damage wrought by the paddle for the first time. The summits of both buttocks were marked with white patches, burning red underneath, while crimson bands showed through the dark skin of the rest of her naked rump, giving it an almost purplish tinge. A moment passed, then Mr Stark picked up the paddle again. If any of the watchers had assumed that the vulnerable and tender state of Mrs Anderson's bottom would make him hold back, the first stroke dismissed that assumption at once. It was every bit as hard as the previous strokes, the paddle biting into the offered bottom and drawing a choked cry from Mrs Anderson's throat. The paddle swung in once more with a meaty 'Thwack!' and her bottom wriggled and twisted from side to side as she tried to absorb the stinging. The third stroke made her cry out again.
"One more to come, Mrs Anderson." Mr Stark remarked. He lifted the paddle high.
THWACK!
The final stroke was the hardest of them all. Mrs Anderson's legs flailed, both feet leaving the floor so for a moment or two she was suspended, hanging by her hands clamped on the table edge.
"Yow! I could feel that last one from way over here," Julie said. Her younger sister said nothing, but looked scared.
Mrs Anderson slowly got herself under control, her feet regaining the floor and her torso ceasing to writhe.
"Four, Sir," she said in a choked voice.
"Very good, Mrs Anderson," replied the Vice-Principal. "Now, after a paddling, it is customary for the girl to spend some time in the corner reflecting on her experience. That corner there will do - keep your bottom bared and your face to the wall until I tell you otherwise."
To reach the corner he had indicated Mrs Anderson had to pass down the narrow aisle between two sets of benches.
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