I Was Paddled At School
Contrary to what many people think, New York State had school paddling right up to 1985. Most students did not talk about it much, since it was pretty embarrassing to tell others that the principal spanked you, especially in high school! The paddle was not very difficult to avoid--all you had to do was follow the rules and chances were you would be fine.
Although I had a circle of friends, most students considered me nerdy and did not talk to me except to make rude comments as I passed by in the halls. They were probably jealous that I was an honor student. Be that as it may, I did have one problem--I had been smoking since I was 14, and now at 17 I had really developed a nasty habit.
Just before math class on that fateful day in 1976 I really had an urge for a cigarette. I didn't like math class anyway, and they probably wouldn't miss me, so I ducked into the girls' room and waited in a stall until the bell rang and everyone had gone. Then I lit up my Marlboro filter and drew the smoke down into my lungs. It tasted awful but really felt good--a contradiction in terms perhaps.
Suddenly the bathroom door opened, and a familiar teacher's voice demanded, "Who's smoking in here?" I could do nothing about it except drop the cigarette into the toilet. "Come out now!" she demanded. I had no choice but to exit the stall. This teacher was known for her no-nonsense attitude, so of course nobody liked her. She recognized me. "Miss Dumont! Give me those cigarettes!" Obediently I placed the remainder of the pack in her waiting hand. "I'm really surprised at you. You know better!" I had to admit I did. "Get to class!" she commanded. And off I went to waste my time in math class.
I went home minus my cigarettes, but I thought that would be the end of the affair. Next morning was going to be a warm spring day, so I chose a lightweight outfit--a white blouse and pleated miniskirt of red plaid, over a white mini-slip, flesh-tinted pantihose and black loafers. I had a decent breakfast, said goodbye to Mom and caught the school bus.
Homeroom was the usual mundane routine--attendance, pledge of allegiance, morning announcements. But then I heard a very unnerving command over the intercom. "Pamela Ann Dumont, to the front office please."
All I could think was, Damn! She turned me in! She couldn't just leave it alone?
I arrived at the front office and asked the secretary, "Do you want to see me?"
"Mr. Donaldo does," came the reply. Uh-oh--the principal himself.
Actually Mr. Donaldo and I got along fine. He liked me and I liked him and his fair, even-handed manner when it came to dealing with students. His door was open, so I walked in.
"Pamela Ann, close the door please."
Uh-oh again.
He took something out of his desk drawer, and I recognized it.
"Are these your cigarettes?"
I had to admit they were.
"Pamela Ann, I'm surprised at you. Not only did you deliberately smoke on school grounds, but you also cut a class to do it. What were you thinking?"
"I guess I wasn't," I replied, eyes downcast.
"I can't let this go," he explained, "despite your outstanding record. You understand that it would not be fair to others."
"I know," I said.
Mr. Donaldo had a looseleaf binder in which were written every conceivable offense against school policy, and beside it the suggested punishment, usually detention, suspension, or paddle.
"Well," he said, "according to regulations, you must take three days of detention for smoking, and another three days for skipping class. Would you like to work out a schedule with me for serving the days?"
I had one afternoon of detention back in Ninth Grade, and believe me it was like watching grass grow. Six days of this tedium would be more than I could tolerate.
"Mr. Donaldo," I said, "isn't there something else I could take instead? Six days is a long time."
He sighed and shook his head slightly. "Well---there is the paddle."
"How many smacks?" I asked.
"According to the book, six--three for each offense."
Well I had to think about this. At home I was still getting spanked along with my two sisters, but Mom's weapon of choice was the flat wooden hairbrush, right on the bare behind, and her spanks were a lot more than six. Here I was wearing four layers of clothing, as I always did when I wore a skirt. I didn't exactly know how they paddle, but it couldn't be much more than a glorified spanking.
"All right, I'll take the paddle."
Mr. Donaldo looked disapprovingly at me. "Are you sure this is what you want?" Apparently he did not relish the prospect of paddling me.
"Yes, I'm sure."
He sighed. "All right then, if this is what you want. I can give you three right now and three tomorrow during homeroom. I strongly suggest you take them in installments. Remember, I can't favor you over anyone else--you understand?"
I didn't want to have to return tomorrow for another spanking, and I was not the most patient girl.
"Mr. Donaldo, can't I take them all at once, right now?"
"Yes you can, but it's not usually done."
"I just want it over," I said.
"All right, I understand, but first I have to make a call to your mother."
I was flustered. "Does she have to know about this?"
"Yes, it's school policy that a parent be informed before a student is paddled."
This was beginning to sound like serious business.
I agreed to have him call my mom and gave him my home phone number.
He dialed and waited a moment. "Mrs. Dumont? Yes, this is Mr. Donaldo, principal here at the high school. I have your daughter Pamela Ann with me now, for smoking in school and skipping class. She is going to be paddled. Do I have your permission to proceed?" Silence. Then, "All right then, thank you, Goodbye."
He looked up at me. "Your mom said to whack away." Yeah, that was my mom all right.
Then Mr. Donaldo pressed the intercom buzzer. "Mrs. Larsen, would you please come down to my office for a few minutes?" Mrs. Larsen had been my old English teacher from last year. Mr. Donaldo explained that when a girl is paddled there has to be a female witness in the room, for everyone's safety.
When Mrs. Larsen came in she looked with surprise at seeing me there. She knew she was going to witness a paddling, but on me?
Mr. Donaldo said, "All right, Pamela Ann, come over to my desk and stand in front of it."
I did so. His desk was large and wide, and uncluttered in the place where I was standing, more to the left side than in the center.
"Again, are you sure this is what you want?" I couldn't believe he was still trying to talk me out of it.
"Yes it is," I said, but now I was not too sure about it.
"Please assume the position," he said.
"I don't know what that is." Obviously I was very new at this.
He explained, "Just bend forward and put your upper body down flat on the desk. Then reach out and hold onto the back edge with both hands. Put a little space between you and the desk. And above all, do not move."
I did as I was told. My body was pressed down on his desk, with my hands straight out in front of me. This way I would not be able to reach back without dislocating my shoulder--but thereby saving my hand from getting whacked. My long red hair had been unbound and was spilling in front of my face. Keeping my upper body down effectively poised up my rear end for the paddle. I was afraid my short skirt was riding up and I was affording them a beautiful view of my pantihose and panties. Then I felt a tug on my hemline. Mrs. Larsen was thoughtful enough to pull down my skirt so that nothing embarrassing showed. I turned my head toward her.
"Just keep looking forward. Don't look around," Mr. Donaldo said.
I heard him open a closet door. So that's where he kept it, I thought. Apparently he did not want me to see the paddle, presumably so I would not be upset by the sight.
"All right, Pamela Ann, are you set?"
"Yes," I said. My voice was shaking now, but I told myself I would take it all without crying.
I felt him pat the back of my skirt with what felt like a hard plank of wood. He was trying to find my actual rump and not the false silhouette provided by my pleats. Then nothing.
I heard a little "wwhhhh" through the air, then a loud POFF! as though someone had popped a plastic bag. It echoed through the high-ceilinged room. The force jolted me and I went right up on my toes and down again. It felt like a cattle prod on my rear end. I remember thinking, Oh my God--this HURTS! I sucked in my breath from the shock. The pain spread out over both cheeks and up my back. Little pinpoints of light were swirling before my eyes. So this is what seeing stars looked like!
Mr. Donaldo patted my skirt again. "Steady now," he said. "Hold still."
"Wwwhhhhh"---POFF! came the second spank, and up I went on my toes again. This time I let out a little whimper, and I thought to myself, I'm not going to make it through six of these!
Again, pat-pat-pat against the back of my skirt, then "Wwwhhhh"--POFF!
This was too much. I drew in my breath and let out the most heart-wrenching sob ever! Then I let go all my composure and began to cry my eyeballs out.
Mr. Donaldo stopped the paddling. "Pamela Ann, are you all right?" he asked. I thought to myself, You're the one trying to swat my skirt into the next room--take a guess!
"All right, Pamela Ann, you can stand up and walk around for a moment to regain composure. You'll do fine."
I eased myself up off his desk , tears wetting my long red hair and plastering it against my face. I could not believe how much this hurt. It was definitely not my Mom's hairbrush, bare or no bare. I limped over to a filing cabinet and just cradled my head in my arms, and cried and cried. So much for taking this like a woman! I was just a sobbing little girl getting spanked.
Mr. Donaldo said, "Pamela Ann, how are you doing?" He sounded genuinely concerned.
This time I couldn't resist. Still sobbing, I replied, "Well, detention is sure looking better and better right now!" And through my tears I began to laugh. Mr. Donaldo and Mrs. Larsen also laughed softly, presumably to break the ice. I know none of us were enjoying ourselves, and I have to say that even though he was paddling me good and hard, Mr. Donaldo was being very kind and respectful to me. I knew he had to hit me just as hard as he did anyone else.
"Pamela Ann, you have to go back down again for the next three." He sounded gentle, almost apologetic. I walked back to the desk and bent myself over again. This time Mrs. Larsen did not tug on my skirt. I was so out of it right now that I didn't care what anyone could see.
The paddling continued, but this time it did not hurt as much, even though he was still hitting me pretty hard. My rear end still went flying up in the air with every spank. I think my behind was going numb. All the better, I thought. Finally the last swat hit me right on my sit spot where all the others had landed, and I just lay across his desk, crying and hiccupping.
"It's over, Miss Dumont," said Mr. Donaldo. It was the first time he had called me Miss Dumont rather than Pamela Ann. I was surprised. "You can get up now."
I straightened myself up and looked down at where I had been lying. The paddle was on the desk, and for the first time I got a good look at the two-foot-long monster that had been spanking me. It had no holes, just a solid piece of varnished wood that had students' names etched into it, along with smiley faces and a bold-lettered OUCH! that some comedian had drawn onto the paddle's face.
"Would you like to sign the paddle?" Mr. Donaldo asked. I just shook my head. I was so upset that I didn't even want to look at the thing.
Mrs. Larsen went back to her classroom, and Mr. Donaldo suggested I stop by the girls' room to wash my face before going back to homeroom. My poor behind was throbbing with a wung-wung-wung feeling like a flashing neon sign.
I stopped to the girls'room, washed my face, combed my hair and tied it into a ponytail. When I went back to class, one look at me told everyone that something very unpleasant had happened to me down at the office. And when I sat down very carefully, wincing as an electric shock passed through my rear end, there was no missing it!
At lunch the girls at my table asked if I had been paddled. When I said I had been, they began to tease me good-naturedly and made up a new nickname for me--Bad Pam.
I sat all day on a very sore behind. The pain was not only on the surface, but penetrated down into the butt muscles. I couldn't wait to get home and sit on something soft.
I didn't see Mom when I arrived at the house, so I went up to my room and checked out the damage in the mirror. I had been sitting on livid bruises of red and purple concentric circles, one on each buttock but the worse one on the right.The bruises were surrounded by little burgundy freckles. It was still hurting. I lay on my bed, trying not to cry again. Well, I thought, this was all my doing. I should not have been smoking, and I asked to be paddled. I had no one to blame but myself.
Then Mom came in. She stood in the doorway with a somewhat amused look on her face. "So!" she said. "They gave you a few paddywhacks, huh?"
I lowered my head in shame. At 17 I had been spanked at school like a little girl.
"All right," she said, "let's see that heinie."
Mom was a nurse and I knew she would take care of any damage. I flipped my slip and skirt, lowered my panties and hose and showed her what the paddle had done.
"I'll get some cream for that," she said, and walked out the door and down to the medicine chest. When she returned she began to pat the cooling cream onto my bruises. And she also said, "Now keep away from those damn cigarettes!"
Very sound advice. I never smoked again, from that day to this. The side effects can be very devastating.
Although I had a circle of friends, most students considered me nerdy and did not talk to me except to make rude comments as I passed by in the halls. They were probably jealous that I was an honor student. Be that as it may, I did have one problem--I had been smoking since I was 14, and now at 17 I had really developed a nasty habit.
Just before math class on that fateful day in 1976 I really had an urge for a cigarette. I didn't like math class anyway, and they probably wouldn't miss me, so I ducked into the girls' room and waited in a stall until the bell rang and everyone had gone. Then I lit up my Marlboro filter and drew the smoke down into my lungs. It tasted awful but really felt good--a contradiction in terms perhaps.
Suddenly the bathroom door opened, and a familiar teacher's voice demanded, "Who's smoking in here?" I could do nothing about it except drop the cigarette into the toilet. "Come out now!" she demanded. I had no choice but to exit the stall. This teacher was known for her no-nonsense attitude, so of course nobody liked her. She recognized me. "Miss Dumont! Give me those cigarettes!" Obediently I placed the remainder of the pack in her waiting hand. "I'm really surprised at you. You know better!" I had to admit I did. "Get to class!" she commanded. And off I went to waste my time in math class.
I went home minus my cigarettes, but I thought that would be the end of the affair. Next morning was going to be a warm spring day, so I chose a lightweight outfit--a white blouse and pleated miniskirt of red plaid, over a white mini-slip, flesh-tinted pantihose and black loafers. I had a decent breakfast, said goodbye to Mom and caught the school bus.
Homeroom was the usual mundane routine--attendance, pledge of allegiance, morning announcements. But then I heard a very unnerving command over the intercom. "Pamela Ann Dumont, to the front office please."
All I could think was, Damn! She turned me in! She couldn't just leave it alone?
I arrived at the front office and asked the secretary, "Do you want to see me?"
"Mr. Donaldo does," came the reply. Uh-oh--the principal himself.
Actually Mr. Donaldo and I got along fine. He liked me and I liked him and his fair, even-handed manner when it came to dealing with students. His door was open, so I walked in.
"Pamela Ann, close the door please."
Uh-oh again.
He took something out of his desk drawer, and I recognized it.
"Are these your cigarettes?"
I had to admit they were.
"Pamela Ann, I'm surprised at you. Not only did you deliberately smoke on school grounds, but you also cut a class to do it. What were you thinking?"
"I guess I wasn't," I replied, eyes downcast.
"I can't let this go," he explained, "despite your outstanding record. You understand that it would not be fair to others."
"I know," I said.
Mr. Donaldo had a looseleaf binder in which were written every conceivable offense against school policy, and beside it the suggested punishment, usually detention, suspension, or paddle.
"Well," he said, "according to regulations, you must take three days of detention for smoking, and another three days for skipping class. Would you like to work out a schedule with me for serving the days?"
I had one afternoon of detention back in Ninth Grade, and believe me it was like watching grass grow. Six days of this tedium would be more than I could tolerate.
"Mr. Donaldo," I said, "isn't there something else I could take instead? Six days is a long time."
He sighed and shook his head slightly. "Well---there is the paddle."
"How many smacks?" I asked.
"According to the book, six--three for each offense."
Well I had to think about this. At home I was still getting spanked along with my two sisters, but Mom's weapon of choice was the flat wooden hairbrush, right on the bare behind, and her spanks were a lot more than six. Here I was wearing four la
"All right, I'll take the paddle."
Mr. Donaldo looked disapprovingly at me. "Are you sure this is what you want?" Apparently he did not relish the prospect of paddling me.
"Yes, I'm sure."
He sighed. "All right then, if this is what you want. I can give you three right now and three tomorrow during homeroom. I strongly suggest you take them in installments. Remember, I can't favor you over anyone else--you understand?"
I didn't want to have to return tomorrow for another spanking, and I was not the most patient girl.
"Mr. Donaldo, can't I take them all at once, right now?"
"Yes you can, but it's not usually done."
"I just want it over," I said.
"All right, I understand, but first I have to make a call to your mother."
I was flustered. "Does she have to know about this?"
"Yes, it's school policy that a parent be informed before a student is paddled."
This was beginning to sound like serious business.
I agreed to have him call my mom and gave him my home phone number.
He dialed and waited a moment. "Mrs. Dumont? Yes, this is Mr. Donaldo, principal here at the high school. I have your daughter Pamela Ann with me now, for smoking in school and skipping class. She is going to be paddled. Do I have your permission to proceed?" Silence. Then, "All right then, thank you, Goodbye."
He looked up at me. "Your mom said to whack away." Yeah, that was my mom all right.
Then Mr. Donaldo pressed the intercom buzzer. "Mrs. Larsen, would you please come down to my office for a few minutes?" Mrs. Larsen had been my old English teacher from last year. Mr. Donaldo explained that when a girl is paddled there has to be a female witness in the room, for everyone's safety.
When Mrs. Larsen came in she looked with surprise at seeing me there. She knew she was going to witness a paddling, but on me?
Mr. Donaldo said, "All right, Pamela Ann, come over to my desk and stand in front of it."
I did so. His desk was large and wide, and uncluttered in the place where I was standing, more to the left side than in the center.
"Again, are you sure this is what you want?" I couldn't believe he was still trying to talk me out of it.
"Yes it is," I said, but now I was not too sure about it.
"Please assume the position," he said.
"I don't know what that is." Obviously I was very new at this.
He explained, "Just bend forward and put your upper body down flat on the desk. Then reach out and hold onto the back edge with both hands. Put a little space between you and the desk. And above all, do not move."
I did as I was told. My body was pressed down on his desk, with my hands straight out in front of me. This way I would not be able to reach back without dislocating my shoulder--but thereby saving my hand from getting whacked. My long red hair had been unbound and was spilling in front of my face. Keeping my upper body down effectively poised up my rear end for the paddle. I was afraid my short skirt was riding up and I was affording them a beautiful view of my pantihose and panties. Then I felt a tug on my hemline. Mrs. Larsen was thoughtful enough to pull down my skirt so that nothing embarrassing showed. I turned my head toward her.
"Just keep looking forward. Don't look around," Mr. Donaldo said.
I heard him open a closet door. So that's where he kept it, I thought. Apparently he did not want me to see the paddle, presumably so I would not be upset by the sight.
"All right, Pamela Ann, are you set?"
"Yes," I said. My voice was shaking now, but I told myself I would take it all without crying.
I felt him pat the back of my skirt with what felt like a hard plank of wood. He was trying to find my actual rump and not the false silhouette provided by my pleats. Then nothing.
I heard a little "wwhhhh" through the air, then a loud POFF! as though someone had popped a plastic bag. It echoed through the high-ceilinged room. The force jolted me and I went right up on my toes and down again. It felt like a cattle prod on my rear end. I remember thinking, Oh my God--this HURTS! I sucked in my breath from the shock. The pain spread out over both cheeks and up my back. Little pinpoints of light were swirling before my eyes. So this is what seeing stars looked like!
Mr. Donaldo patted my skirt again. "Steady now," he said. "Hold still."
"Wwwhhhhh"---POFF! came the second spank, and up I went on my toes again. This time I let out a little whimper, and I thought to myself, I'm not going to make it through six of these!
Again, pat-pat-pat against the back of my skirt, then "Wwwhhhh"--POFF!
This was too much. I drew in my breath and let out the most heart-wrenching sob ever! Then I let go all my composure and began to cry my eyeballs out.
Mr. Donaldo stopped the paddling. "Pamela Ann, are you all right?" he asked. I thought to myself, You're the one trying to swat my skirt into the next room--take a guess!
"All right, Pamela Ann, you can stand up and walk around for a moment to regain composure. You'll do fine."
I eased myself up off his desk , tears wetting my long red hair and plastering it against my face. I could not believe how much this hurt. It was definitely not my Mom's hairbrush, bare or no bare. I limped over to a filing cabinet and just cradled my head in my arms, and cried and cried. So much for taking this like a woman! I was just a sobbing little girl getting spanked.
Mr. Donaldo said, "Pamela Ann, how are you doing?" He sounded genuinely concerned.
This time I couldn't resist. Still sobbing, I replied, "Well, detention is sure looking better and better right now!" And through my tears I began to laugh. Mr. Donaldo and Mrs. Larsen also laughed softly, presumably to break the ice. I know none of us were enjoying ourselves, and I have to say that even though he was paddling me good and hard, Mr. Donaldo was being very kind and respectful to me. I knew he had to hit me just as hard as he did anyone else.
"Pamela Ann, you have to go back down again for the next three." He sounded gentle, almost apologetic. I walked back to the desk and bent myself over again. This time Mrs. Larsen did not tug on my skirt. I was so out of it right now that I didn't care what anyone could see.
The paddling continued, but this time it did not hurt as much, even though he was still hitting me pretty hard. My rear end still went flying up in the air with every spank. I think my behind was going numb. All the better, I thought. Finally the last swat hit me right on my sit spot where all the others had landed, and I just lay across his desk, crying and hiccupping.
"It's over, Miss Dumont," said Mr. Donaldo. It was the first time he had called me Miss Dumont rather than Pamela Ann. I was surprised. "You can get up now."
I straightened myself up and looked down at where I had been lying. The paddle was on the desk, and for the first time I got a good look at the two-foot-long monster that had been spanking me. It had no holes, just a solid piece of varnished wood that had students' names etched into it, along with smiley faces and a bold-lettered OUCH! that some comedian had drawn onto the paddle's face.
"Would you like to sign the paddle?" Mr. Donaldo asked. I just shook my head. I was so upset that I didn't even want to look at the thing.
Mrs. Larsen went back to her classroom, and Mr. Donaldo suggested I stop by the girls' room to wash my face before going back to homeroom. My poor behind was throbbing with a wung-wung-wung feeling like a flashing neon sign.
I stopped to the girls'room, washed my face, combed my hair and tied it into a ponytail. When I went back to class, one look at me told everyone that something very unpleasant had happened to me down at the office. And when I sat down very carefully, wincing as an electric shock passed through my rear end, there was no missing it!
At lunch the girls at my table asked if I had been paddled. When I said I had been, they began to tease me good-naturedly and made up a new nickname for me--Bad Pam.
I sat all day on a very sore behind. The pain was not only on the surface, but penetrated down into the butt muscles. I couldn't wait to get home and sit on something soft.
I didn't see Mom when I arrived at the house, so I went up to my room and checked out the damage in the mirror. I had been sitting on livid bruises of red and purple concentric circles, one on each buttock but the worse one on the right.The bruises were surrounded by little burgundy freckles. It was still hurting. I lay on my bed, trying not to cry again. Well, I thought, this was all my doing. I should not have been smoking, and I asked to be paddled. I had no one to blame but myself.
Then Mom came in. She stood in the doorway with a somewhat amused look on her face. "So!" she said. "They gave you a few paddywhacks, huh?"
I lowered my head in shame. At 17 I had been spanked at school like a little girl.
"All right," she said, "let's see that heinie."
Mom was a nurse and I knew she would take care of any damage. I flipped my slip and skirt, lowered my panties and hose and showed her what the paddle had done.
"I'll get some cream for that," she said, and walked out the door and down to the medicine chest. When she returned she began to pat the cooling cream onto my bruises. And she also said, "Now keep away from those damn cigarettes!"
Very sound advice. I never smoked again, from that day to this. The side effects can be very devastating.
By:
BadPam
Age:
51-55
,
Female
71
responses
