Spanked By Teacher Stories

Spanked By Teacher Stories

When I attended elementary school in Raleigh back in the 1950s, it was not
uncommon
for teachers to employ spanking to maintain discipline and academic standards.
Though thirty
years have passed, I still have fond memories of my sixth grade homeroom
teacher, Mr.
Richards, a kind but no-nonsense man in his fifties who was a firm believer in
lessons applied
to the seat of unruly or lazy students.

Some of the other teachers humiliated
such students by
asking them in a loud voice to stay after school or by interrupting class to
take the youngster
down to the cloakroom. Mr. Richards, in contrast, always seemed to understand
that a
spanking was embarrassing enough and he never resorted to such public gestures.
Instead, he
would simply wait until everyone had cleared out for recess and slip a note
into your desk
asking you to stay after school to "discuss" your problem with him. Any student
who hadn't
done his or her homework, who was late to class, or who acted up found
themselves
nervously checking for a "recess note" in their desk.

I can still remember the
day I got my first
recess note after Mr. Richards caught me passing a satirical drawing of him to
a friend (and
that after a warning earlier that day for passing notes and talking).

Most students were reluctant to admit to getting spanked after school -
some insisted Mr.
Richards had only bawled them out and assigned extra homework. Others made sure
no one
saw their recess note and pretended to stay after school only to finish up some
project or
another. They would always deny being taken to the cloakroom. With all this
secrecy, I didn't
know what to expect, especially as this was my first note. It read, "Please see
me after school
to discuss your behavior in class."

For the rest of the day, I couldn't concentrate on anything but the
impending "discussion"
and earned additional sharp looks from Mr. Richards when he noticed twice that
I wasn't
paying attention. Finally, at 3:00, the bell rang and I hurried to the girls
room where I hid out
for ten minutes, fearful that my classmates might see me staying late. When the
last voices died
away, I crept down the deserted hall to my classroom, hoping vainly that it was
somehow all
a misunderstanding or a dream, or that Mr. Richards would have forgotten and
gone home.
But there he was at his desk, correcting papers, with only a glance at me as I
entered the
room and sat down. After five minutes, he closed his red marking pen, put the
papers into his
briefcase, and turned to me.

"Well Nancy, can you tell me why you're here?".

As I replied, my quavering voice betrayed that I knew all too well despite
my unconvincing
attempts to excuse myself.

"Um ... uh ... I suppose it was because of those notes I was uh you know
... passing. It
really wasn't my ... my fault. Janet Skinner sent me a note first and I was
just uh answering
her's."

Mr. Richards smiled in a gentle, knowing way which seemed curiously to
half-accept my
feeble excuses while suggesting he had heard them a hundred times before. It
was a wise,
understanding smile which reassured me even as it indicated such behaviour was
unacceptable
and had to be corrected. Though my heart continued to pound, I felt he was
somehow on my
side, that he really had my interests at heart. In hindsight, that was one
thing I loved about Mr.
Richards. Even when he was disciplining students, he managed to show them how
much he
cared. Standing in front of him that afternoon, I began to feel a little less
anxious under his
benevolent fatherly gaze. Had I not continued to pass notes even after being
warned? And
wasn't my drawing cruel the way it caricatured his face? Now I would just have
to face up to
the consequences of my own willful behaviour.

Mr. Richards reminded me of this with a few quiet remarks (though his
expression had
already made it all perfectly clear). He then asked me to come with him to the
cloakroom to
"continue our little discussion". As I followed him down the hall, I kept
asking him,

"Do we have to go there? I didn't mean to disobey you. Can't we just
discuss things here?
I'll do extra homework. I promise".

He just replied, "Nancy, you had your chance in class. Now please come along as I've asked
you."

My heart sank as we passed through the teacher's lounge, to the teacher's
cloakroom in
the back. He opened the door for me, flicked on the light, ushered me in, and
closed the
door. It was a small room about eight by ten feet with two walls all but
covered with various
coats on pegs. Along the third wall to the right sat a chair at a little table
on which rested some
school stationery, pens and pencils, and a ruler. Mr. Richards took me firmly
by the arm and
guided me until I stood facing the corner, my face nestled in among the coats
so I could only
hear him.

"Nancy, you've shown clearly today that my words are not sufficient to
keep you in line in
class. You're just like so many other girls and boys I've taught here over the
years, bright
enough but not very good at following verbal rules. In some ways it's not
really your fault.
Children are children and they just don't respond well to instructions unless
they're backed up
by more concrete reminders. It's time you had just such a reminder applied to
the seat of your
problem, young lady. I'm afraid you've earned yourself a good spanking. Now
come over
here. I'm going to put you over my knee and give you something you obviously
need.

I turned, pleading to be let off, but he ignored me, pulling the chair out
from the table and
turning it so it faced the center of the room. He then seated himself and
beckoned me over.
Already tears were welling up in my eyes as I begged some other form of
punishment but he
just shook his head and smiled that his kindly, disarming smile. I shuffled
over to him, at once
pleading my case and responding to his instructions, my heart pounding wildly
again. As he
grasped me by the arm and pulled me forward over his lap, I uttered a sharp
little cry of fear
and struggled to escape knowing full well escape was impossible. Indeed, my
struggles
consisted of wriggling and kicking in place more than any real efforts to throw
myself off his
lap. By showing a certain obedience to his instructions even as I struggled
to escape, I
hoped on some level to reduce the severity of my punishment. He pulled me
further over until
my feet hung helplessly in the air and my face dangled down near the carpet. As
I stared at it
and noticed its brown and green fibers for the first time, I suddenly realized
how the
proximity of my face to the rug summed up the immaturity and indignity of my
position. Face
down, bottom up over Mr. Richards's lap, ready to receive a sound spanking for
my
naughtiness. I felt more like a kindergardener than a sixth grader,

After scolding me some more and getting me to admit what I had done
wrong, Mr.
Richards raised the back of my skirt and began smacking my panties much harder
than I had
ever expected. My cries and struggles jumped sharly in volume and tempo only to
blend
rhythmically with the sound of his large hand descending on my all too exposed,
pantied
bottom. SPANK SPANK SPANK SPANK As each spank fell, the smart in my fanny
seemed only to fuel my deep embarrassment causing my face to burn as hotly as
my rear.
Even my tears, which now dropped freely onto the carpet, seemed hot.

SPANK SPANK SPANK - Mr. Richards held me firmly in place and continued his
"concrete reminder", alternating from one cheek to the other, asking me quietly
throughout if I
was learning my lesson, if I would mind him in class now, or if he would have
to take me back
for another reminder next week. I struggled through my tears and cries to
answer his
questions, sensing this might earn me some leniency but the spanking just went
on and on and
on. SPANK SPANK SPANK SPANK SPANK In his steady, suprisingly calm rhythm, it
seemed as if a set measure of punishment had been assigned in his mind and
would be fully
carried out.

After what seemed like about fifty spanks, he paused, took up the nearby
ruler, and
announced I would now get part two of my spanking on the bare. At this, I
struggled much
more seriously, determined not to allow him to spank my naked bottom. In
response, he just
placed one leg over my kicking legs, pulled down my white panties, and began
slapping me
vigorously with the ruler, moving first up and then down my bottom cheeks,
covering both
with each shockingly loud blow. Within thirty seconds, my outrage and shame
yielded to the
fire building up in my bottom which now danced frantically from side to side,
trying to avoid
the unavoidable. I'll never forget the new torrent of crying and tears released
by that ruler as I
lunged helplessly on his lap. Though my buckling and twisting was a desparate
escape
attempt, it was rhythmically interwoven with the very spanks it sought to
avoid.

"This is what I call the ruler dance, Miss Nancy, when your bottom dances
vigorously
under this ruler. I never stop a spanking until I see a good ruler dance, hear
truly repentant
crying, and know the naughty student has truly learned her or his lesson."

On
and on he
spanked until I lost all dignity and began kicking freely in a manner which
must have seemed
shameless from his perspective. I didn't care by then. All I knew was that I
was a naughty
girl being soundly spanked. With a dozen final smacks, he finally stopped,
leaving me to cry
it out on his lap while telling me how well I had taken my spanking. Then he
rearranged my
clothes, gently raised me up, and kissed me on the forehead. Suddenly I found
myself
hugging him with all my strength and nodding into his shoulder when he asked me
if I had
learned a good lesson. As he escorted me through the door, he said,

"Nancy, I'm glad you've learned something from this experience. . We
certainly don't want
to have to bring you back here for another spanking in the near future, do we?"

With these words, I felt a few more spanks through my clothes as if to
remind me of what
would happen if I misbehaved again. As I walked home, still sniffling and all
too aware of a
hot bottom under my skirt and panties, I too hoped I wouldn't be seeing the
cloakroom ever
again. Yet late that night as I fell asleep, the fire in my bottom had turned
into a glowing warm
reminder of the day's events. Now detached from humiliation and pain, the
spanking had
receded into my memory and transformed itself there into something strangely
comforting, a
sign of Mr. Richards's love which would be renewed, could be renewed, if I were
only to slip
back into the inevitable misbehaviour of sixth graders. A month later, I did.

While in the ninth grade, I had a teacher (Mr. Buckner) that spanked
me almost everyday. He would find reasons like walking on the grass,
talking to loud etc.... I must say that I enjoyed the paddlings that
he gave me. I would do things in front of him to make sure that I
would receive a paddling. Let me describe one of the episodes. The
person pictured on the left was not my teacher, but my teacher did
have a build like that.
I was a freshman in high school and Mr.
Buckner was a science teacher. He was my last class of the day. He
had caught me walking on the grass and told me to remain after class.
It was hard for me to concentrate on his discussion during class.
The only thought that was in my mind was the paddling that I was going
to receive. I sat through most of the class with a hard-on.
Finally
the bell rang and the class quickly cleared out. I remained seated
in my desk. Mr. Buckner walked over closed and locked the classroom
door. He then headed for the back room and told me to follow. Once
in that room he also closed and locked that door. He opened a draw
and pulled out a plexi-glass paddle. The paddle was about three inches
wide and about a quarter inch thick. The length was about two and
a half feet long. The handle was almost six inches long.
I had been
paddle by him in the past so I knew the role. I took off my pants
and hung them in a locker. My underwear came off next. I then got
down on the floor on my hands and knees. Mr. Buckner spread his legs
apart and I crawled in between them. Once my waist met with his legs,
he closed his legs tightly around me. I then knelt down on my elbows,
leaving my ass sticking high in the air.
I turned my head and looked
over my shoulder. All as I could see was the back of his head, back,
big ass, and the upper proportion of his huge thighs. His right hand
raised and I could see the paddle. Down it came with lighting speed
and cracked against my ass. Smack Smack Smack Smack Smack The paddling
had begun. I kept my head turned so that I could see what was happening.
I could see the paddle come up above his head and disappear, shortly
after hearing a loud crack and a very sharp sting to my backside.
After the first five licks, a very uncomfortable sting had set up
in my ass. Smack Smack Smack Smack Smack After the tenth smack, my
ass felt as though it was on fire. Smack Smack Smack Smack Smack After
the fifteenth smack I had began to cry. Smack Smack Smack Smack Smack
With each lick I howled even louder. I did keep my head turned around
so that I could see each time the paddle came up above his head. Smack
Smack Smack Smack Smack After twenty-five smacks with the paddle he
stopped. He released me from his legs and told me to get up. I stood
up still sobbing and rubbed my sore bottom. Mr. Buckner opened the
draw and put the paddle back up. He brought out a very small plexi-glass
ping-pong paddle. He then sat on the stool resting his left leg on
the stool and his right leg on the floor. His legs were huge and his
left leg completely covered the whole seat of the stool. He took the
paddle, tapped his left leg and told me to bend over. Just the thought,
and then of course seeing that huge leg made my dick spring straight
up. I looked at him and he said nothing other than popping his leg
again with the paddle and telling me "Get over my knee." I walked
over to the stool. I had to step up on the stools bottom rail to bend
over his knee. He positioned me burying my hard-on deep into his thigh.
He took his right leg and put it across my legs. He took his left
arm and wrapped it around my waist. The position I was in made my
ass stick high in the air and my feet did not touch the floor. I took
both my! hands, wrapped them around his huge left calf and held on.
Mr. Buckner took the paddle and tapped my ass a few times as if he
were taking aim. Then it begin. Spank Spank Spank Spank Spank That
ping-pong paddle was setting my ass on fire. It was already sore from
the paddling I had just received. I immediately begin to twist my
ass back and forth trying to escape the sting of the paddle. I begin
to cry and sob like a baby begging him to stop. I kicked my legs wildly
about in the air. Mr. Buckner commented "I see that you are doing
the spanker's dance for me." Spank Spank Spank Spank Spank On and
on the paddle kept making contact with my ass. My ass felt as though
somebody had started a fire on it. Spank Spank Spank Spank Spank I
kept bucking and trying to get away but Mr. Buckner was too strong.
My dick kept rubbing back and forth on his huge left thigh. I begin
to feel the cum rushing from my balls towards the head of my dick.
I tried to hold back but couldn't. Spank Spank Spank Spank Spank The
paddle kept up a steady pace leaving my ass totally blistered. Then
it came. Gush after gush of cum sprayed his left leg. Mr. Buckner
said nothing. He just kept swinging that paddle. Spank Spank Spank
Spank Spank I continued to cry and sob like a two year old begging
him to stop. He showed no mercy. That ping-pong paddle just kept on
and on making contact with my ass. I must have received at least a
hundred whacks before he stopped. Finally it was over. I got up and
both of us looked at the cum on his leg. Mr Buckner said "You like
to be spanked. Don't You?" I said nothing. "Well since you enjoyed
this session so much, we will meet again tomorrow after class."
Tomorrow
came and there I found myself again across Mr. Buckner's knee feeling
the sting of the ping-pong paddle.

It was Friday afternoon and work was just winding down, when I received a
phone call from my step-daughter's math teacher. "Mr. Jackson I would like
you to come to the high school immediately, its about your daughter, Kate."
I tried to explain that it was difficult for me to leave work right now, even
though I owned the business. However, Ms. Henderson was insistent that I
leave immediately, as she wanted to go on a skiing trip. She was extremely
rude, and I wound up saying that I would be right over, but it had better be
important or she and I would be visiting the Principal's office.

When I arrived at the high school, I went straight to Kate's classroom.
There I saw my 16 year old step-daughter standing with her nose to the wall,
sobbing her eyes out. Ms. Henderson was seated at her desk with a very smug
look on her face. I immediately asked her what was the problem and she said
Kate was caught cheating on a test. I knew this was impossible as Kate was
one of the brightest kids in the class. Why is she standing in the corner
crying, I asked.

"I spanked her and told her to stand in the corner", she responded very
curtly. "When and where did you spank her. I spanked her right in front of
the class, I believe that punishment should be immediate. I then saw the
straight-back chair in the front of the room and the thin ruler sitting on
top of it.

She turned, wiping the tears, from her eyes stood in front of me. She was
wearing the traditional outfit of St. James Academy for Girls, blazer,
starched white blouse, blue skirt that ended at the knees, blue knee socks
and loafers. Being 16 and a sophomore she hated this outfit, it made her
look like a 8 year old grade school child. She stood at attention, heels
together, head up, hands at her side, just as I had taught her over the past
year, when she was going to be questioned about an incident. I had married
her mother a year ago. Ms. Henderson looked very impressed at her obedience.

"Kate have you cheated on this test?"

"Why does Ms. Henderson think you did?"

"Because I was passing a paper to another student prior to the test."

"What would happen if you were cheating?"

"You would spank me so I wouldn't be able to sit for a month."

"Now lets see the spanking, Ms. Henderson gave you, bend over this desk,
pointing to Ms. Henderson's desk." She bent over to the desk and stretched
herself across it. I turned towards her and flipped her skirt above her
waist revealing white cotton panties and very red ruler marks on her thighs.

"Pull your panties down to your knees and show me your bare bottom." Again
she did as instructed. Her bottom was fire engine red from the spanking that
Ms. Henderson had given her. You could see the marks from the ruler all over
her rounded cheeks.

"Ms. Henderson, did you do this to my daughter?"

"Did you do this in front of all the other girls?"

"Y-es" she answered not quite so confident.

"There are no buts, Ms. Henderson."

"Did you actually see my step-daughter cheating?"

"So, Kate was not cheating, She was spanked in front of her classmates and
you did not have my permission to spank her. Is this all true, Emily?", he said,
addressing her by her first nam
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