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Found 7 results

  1. lydia2


    I stood in front of the desk, awaiting her verdict, nervously. She spoke. “Because this is your first time, I shall to let you off with a warning” A wave of relief. “Now bend over the desk, please.” Gulp. “But Miss… you just said you were going to let me off with a warning???” “Yes, dear.” She picked something up. “This is the Warning Cane. Bend over.” Heart sinking, I did. Taptaptap. Swish. Thwack. Oww. Tap. Swish. Whap. Oh, oh, ouch. Taptap. Swish. Whack. Ohhhhh gosh. “Stand up” It hurt to stand. “This will be your only warning. Next time it will be: six smacks, with the Naughty Girls’ Cane, on your bare bottom. Do you understand?” Sniffle. “Yes, Miss.” “You may go.”
  2. This question is mainly targeting Spankers. Are getting Cs a spankable offense? Seems kind of like a gray area and wanted some opinions on the matter.
  3. For many in the UK who are are Corporal Punishment enthusiasts the school scenario is often synonymous with that interest. Perhaps that interest grew from evocative memories...... The classroom.... A memorable Headmistress........ The Strict School Teacher ready to instil discipline ...... The uniforms.......... The Rules..... The Discipline...... And what tales those School Punishment Books could tell...
  4. This will be around 12 chapters when finished. The first 4 are available on my Patreon, and once the story is complete, I'll make it available on Amazon. You can check out the current chapters are patreon.com/alex_bridges. This story contains a heavy "if you act like a child theme" and all characters are 18 or older. Enjoy! _________________________________ Chapter 1: The Discipline Form It had been hanging over him all week. Trying to skip school on a Monday, getting caught, and getting sentenced to swats. It was ridiculous anyway. He was a senior! He’d turned 18 in July. It shouldn’t even be legal. That argument hadn’t worked at home in August when the envelope arrived, the blue one the district sent every year containing the permission form parents had to sign if they wanted their student subject to corporal punishment. He knew what the letter was immediately, seeing the envelope on the table and his mother reading the form. “Finally,” Sam had said. “We can just throw that away this time.” “Nice try, honey, but I’m signing it,” his mother said as she picked up the pen. He put his hand on her, stopping her before she could get the pen off the table. “Mom, no. I’m not doing it.” “And what makes you think that?” “I’m eighteen. I’m an adult. They can’t anyway.” “They can if I sign this.” “But … isn’t that, like, assault or something? I’m an adult.” “You’re still a student. You may be an adult, but the law says they can paddle you at school if I sign this.” “But I’m too old to be paddled!” “Sam Morris! Do not raise your voice with me, little boy. You’re not too old for it. If you’re not too old for it at home, you’re not too old for it at school.” “But I turned eighteen! I’m too old for it at home, too!” “You got paddled last Tuesday.” “But that was …” He sighed. “That was before my birthday.” “It was the day before your birthday. I’m sorry if you thought you wouldn’t get paddled again, but your father and I didn’t say that.” “I just thought … because I’m an adult.” “Legally. You’re still a kid in every other way.” “I am not!” “Do you work? Do you pay your own way? Do you have a lot of life experience? I’m not trying to be mean, honey. I’m just saying you’re not as grown up as you think.” Sam thought on that for a minute. He didn’t know how much those things made him an adult or not, and whether he was an adult or not also seemed irrelevant. He was told for it period. He was too old the year before. He was too old last Tuesday. He didn’t expect to win that argument (it hadn’t worked last Tuesday), so he said instead, “But why does that mean I should get paddled at school? Almost no one else does.” “I have no idea if that’s true or not, but it doesn’t really have anything to do with anything,” his mom said. “But it’s embarrassing!” “Tone and volume, Sam. Don’t make me say it again. Besides, you’ve known Ms. Oakwood your whole life. She babysat you.” “That was forever ago. She was just a teacher then.” She was the assistant principal now. “And our neighbor. She’s paddled you before. Shoot, she used to get you ready for bed.” “Mom,” he whined as he blushed. “And didn’t she paddle you twice last year?” “… Yes … Doesn’t make it any less embarrassing.” Much like this conversation, and much like his paddlings at home. “Ya know, Sam. Here’s an idea – why don’t you just stay out of trouble? You’re such a grownup, right? Grownups don’t get into trouble every couple of weeks and need their seats warmed.” She was tired of having this conversation. The abbreviated version of it last Tuesday had apparently not settled it. This wasn’t a hard equation – don’t get in trouble, don’t get paddled. In truth, she’d have been happy if his paddling days were behind him. He was the one who made bad choices like he was four years younger than he actually was. From Sam’s side, he thought she overreacted to everything. What to her was terrible behavior was to him just him and his friends goofing off like friends do. “Fine, just … fucking whatever,” he muttered. But his mother heard what he said. A minor curse word here and there, she didn’t mind. Heck, she was no saint in that regard. But an F-bomb? Directed at anyone, but at her? His own mother? Sam rolled his eyes and started to stand as his mother picked up the pen. “Sit,” she hissed. She signed the form, put the pen down on the table hard, and looked Sam right in the eye. He couldn’t meet her gaze. “Go to your room. I’ll be up in a minute to deal with you.” “Mom, geez” he whined, “I didn’t … Come on! I’m eighteen. I’m an adult! Just … urgh.” She folded her arms and leaned back in her chair. “Mom … I’m too old for this. Why can’t you just chill?” She didn’t say a word. “I mean …” He couldn’t think of an argument he hadn’t made. To him, it was a good argument, a logical argument, and it didn’t sway her one bit. She was still glaring at him silently. Just refuse, a voice in his head told him. She can’t physically make you. It’s not like she’ll throw you out of the house. But she’s your mom, another voice said. You can’t just refuse. And what if she tries to make you? You’re not gonna physically stop her. She’s your mom. You can’t. You just can’t. “Room,” she said flatly. He stood up and turned. “Push you chair in.” He did and moped his way up the stairs, resisting the urge to stomp. That only ever got him in more trouble. His mother put the form into its envelope and went to the kitchen to put it in her purse, intending to mail it the next day. She had half a mind to make Sam put it in the mailbox himself, but that was just empty symbolism. She sighed and shook her head, leaning back against the counter. She wondered what made her son tick, something she once thought she was just supposed to understand. She didn’t. He was impulsive, like all teens are, but even more so, he was immature. His friends seemed to like him, but on the rare occasions she saw them, they also seemed at times to tolerate him. They led him to more of the major trouble she expected in someone his age. He led himself into the trouble she didn’t expect at his age, the little outbursts like the one he’d just had. Not finishing homework he was perfectly capable of doing because he lost track of time. Silly pranks. The general whining like a middle schooler, a habit of his that hadn’t improved since he actually was in middle school. Ask him to do something, and it was a struggle. Clean up his room, take his laundry to the laundry room, do his chores. It was all a struggle she didn’t expect in an eighteen-year-old. She expected him to be a teenager, but all teens, especially around his age, take some responsibility for themselves as they begin to become more independent. They want to keep their room at least somewhat clean. They want to look nice when they leave for school. They care about what others think of them, which is a healthy thing in moderation. At his best, he was more like a fifteen-year-old, and sometimes not even that. Did she want to paddle him? No. Did she want to ground him? No. She wanted him to not need his parents to monitor his behavior so closely at all, but left to his own devices, he never failed to show he was only on his way to more trouble than they’d be able to get him out of. She and her husband wanted desperately to get him on a better path now, before he ended up a slacker adult on his way to nowhere. The paddle kept him in line at least for a while. Grounding never did – he’d sneak out knowing he’d be in even more trouble, and she and her husband were not about to become his jailers just to keep him in his room. The paddle could knock some sense into him, and then it was over, and he could then go at least a little while before he needed to be reminded how to make good choices. Besides, she thought, if he’s such an adult, why is he waiting in his room for him mom to come paddle him? She opened the cupboard where she kept the paddle. It had hung there for years even though it hadn’t been used on anyone but him in the past six. His older siblings grew out of needing or even responding to that type of discipline years earlier, when they were younger than he was now. Really thought my paddling days would be behind me by now, she thought as she climbed the stairs. Should just start keeping this in his room. “Mom,” he said as she opened the door to his room. “Could we just not, Sam,” she cut him off. He sank back into the mattress, sitting anxiously and staring at the floor. “Could we just not this time,” she said again, referring to the argument he always tried to put up to get out of a paddling. “You want me to start thinking of you as an adult? Adults accept the consequences of their actions. You know this is the consequence when you make poor choices,” she said, brandishing the paddle. “So if you want me to start thinking of you as an adult, you can start by standing up and getting into position.” “But …” “No, Sam. No. Get up, and bend over your desk,” she said calmly but firmly. She wasn’t a screamer. He stood up and shuffled toward his deck, slowly and with obvious attitude. He was conflicted, and it showed in the way he wanted to lash out and even as he meekly accepted his punishment. He pushed his chair aside, bent forward, and put his hands on the desk. She wasn’t one of those disciplinarians who insisted he get into just this or that position. She just reminded him, “Keep your hands out of the way and stand still.” She stood to his left, lined up the first swat, and asked, “Why are you getting paddled?” “Swearing,” he dejectedly said. “Swearing at me, and arguing with me after I told you no. If you want to be treated like an adult, you need to act like one. You don’t want to be paddled here or at school, stop doing things that earn a paddling. You’re smart enough and old enough to understand that.” THWOCK! He grunted, feeling the paddle well through his basketball shorts, what he usually wore around the house all summer, looking like a slob for almost three straight months. THWOCK! “Hhhh!” He took in a sharp breath. “Urgh,” he grunted. THWOCK!!! “OW!” “That’s all,” she said. He would feel that for a day or two, and that was enough. He stood up, and his hands went to his butt. She sighed. “That could be the last paddling you ever get, Sam. It really could be, if you start acting your age.” “Yes, Mom.” “C’mere,” she said and gave him a one-armed hug as she held the paddle and he held his butt. “You can come out when you’re ready,” she said as she let him go. “I love you.” She left the room, almost bumping into her daughter, Sam’s older sister, in the hall. She grimaced, seeing the paddle and having heard the swats. She felt sorry for him. She was in college and hadn’t received a swat in six years. Her mother closed the door behind her. “Give him a bit,” she said. “He’s fine. Just needs a little time to calm down.” “Kay,” she said. She’d check on him later. _________________________________ Continue reading on my Patreon at patreon.com/alex_bridges. Chapter 2 heats up quickly!
  5. What was the impression, what were the feelings ... that you had the first time you saw the implement (cane, strap, paddle, belt ...) with which you were going to be punished?
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