From: gaetana@aol.com (Gaetana) Newsgroups: alt.sex.spanking Subject: Seat of Learning Date: 3 Dec 1994 15:25:08 -0500 Message-ID: <3bqk74$4es@newsbf01.news.aol.com> The Seat of Learning (copyright 1994 - Gaetana) I really was sick to start with - the usual fall strep throat epidemic swept through our 6th grade class and I succumbed, with bronchitis sure to follow. Recuperating, I'd kept up with most of the homework my girlfriends had dropped off, reading ahead, in fact, in English and History texts, out of boredom with the radio and TV offerings. Math assignments - well, I'd procrastinated catching up on those. I'd missed a lot of new things and none of them seemed to make sense - square root, equations - hopeless! After five days at home, it was getting harder to think about going back, though, even though I felt fine and my mother looked in my throat and pronounced me fit. Walking the two blocks to my school that crisp fall Wednesday I felt some anxiety; it would be nice to be out of "quarantine" and see friends, catch up on grade-school gossip; but it was still hard getting back in step. It was a rule that everyone who'd been out of school more than 3 days had to see the school nurse, as well as bringing an excuse note from home, before returning to class; my note was in my pocket and I was headed for the nurse's office, when I saw Annabelle and Gene lingering outside in the Indian Summer weather, waiting for the bell. Gene called. "Ready for that test?" "What test?" I stopped in my tracks. Nobody had passed on any message about a test coming up -- in what?" Ole' Miz Hudson says she's giving us a math test next week on everything we've had this month. Says we'd better study because it's going to be half our grade!" I hadn't even looked at the last week's stuff! And my math grades were already in trouble, although I could usually average it out with the things that came easily for me. I panicked. I just couldn't face going back to class now -- not until I had a chance to do some quick cramming and come back next week ready for the test. I muttered something to my friends about seeing the nurse and still sick, and disappeared from the playground fast. I didn't see the nurse; I went straight home -- concocting, on the way, a desperately ingenious story about the nurse saying I wasn't ready to come back to school. Desperate because I was really worried about going back to math. Ingenious because, if it didn't work, or the deception discovered, I'd be in for it -- but I pushed that idea aside. A good student who never cut school...I knew my mother would believe me! She did. My mom was puzzled (since I seemed, as she put it, "bright-eyed and bushy-tailed"!) but accepted the nurse's expert judgement, as delivered by me, that I needed to stay home until at least next Wednesday...another week! It seemed like an eternity of reprieve and, promising myself I'd study math and call Gene for some "remedial" help on what I'd missed, I spent the time noodling on the piano, baking cookies, playing with the cat, drawing pictures and reading. When the next Wednesday came, I dressed for school and went off confidently with my note (again) and the certainty that I'd missed the test and would have time to review and catch up before taking the "makeup". I met Gene with Lou and Annabelle on the way. The test, they said, was going to be that day! I hadn't missed it at all...in fact, was coming back totally unprepared the day it was being given! "I'm not taking it!" I blurted out. "I'll flunk it and I'll really be in trouble!" "What are you going to do?" Annabelle, ever the unimaginative but loyal friend, asked. "I'm still sick!" I protested. "The nurse will probably send me home again!" Gene grinned, "You don't look sick! I bet your butt'll be sick when your dad finds out what you're doing, though!" I felt my face flush and spun on my heel to avoid his leer. "I am TOO sick," I retorted. "Mind your own business!" I ran around the school building and split for home without going in. Gene yelled after me, prophetically, "Liar, liar, pants on fire!" and Lou joined in, laughing. I wasn't paying much attention - I just wasn't going to take that math test unprepared! * * * * * I think it would have been OK if nosy old Mrs. Green hadn't been hanging around our house with my mother when I got back home. I'd run half the way, slowing down when I got to our corner, so I'm sure I did look flushed and over-warm. My mom looked surprised when I came up. "What's the matter? Why are you back?" She asked. Mrs. Green looked sharp- eyed and suspicious. Her son Walter was my age, not really a good friend, but an occasional playmate. He was a sullen trouble-maker but not quick-witted enough to cover his tracks, earning him frequent and usually thoroughly-deserved paddlings. His mother knew most of the lies and excuses Walter tried to cover his truancies with, and I was acutely uncomfortable with the look she was giving me. "Mom, the nurse says I have to stay home a few more days!" My eyes flickered to Mrs. Green and back to my mother. "Looks fine to me!" Walter's mother offered. "Probably playing hookey! Have you called the school?" A thrill of alarm unsettled my stomach. My mother looked doubtful. "No, if Gae says the nurse sent her home, I guess she did...but it certainly seems strange." "Well, I'd sure call up," growled Mrs. Green. Kids'll get away with it if they can, and I've blistered Walter's butt more than once for pulling that trick!" "Gae, are you sure?" My mother was vacillating between believing me or Mrs. Gray, and I was squirming on the prongs of guilt and fear. "Oh, yeah, Mom...really." I was in way too deep to back out. "Call the nurse," said Mrs. Green emphatically, peering at me closely. "I think she has a bad case of back-to-school-itis and I know what cures it -- a dose of that medicine to her bare behind!" "If you're making this up...." My mother left the threat dangling and went in to use the phone. Mrs. Green had me rivited in place with her steely gaze; otherwise I think I might have split and run. No time - my mother was back in less than a minute. She broke a switch off the weeping willow in front of the porch and seized my upper arm, pivoting me 180 degrees. "The nurse!" she shouted, landing the switch across my backside, "Has not SEEN you," switching me again, "at ALL!" "Maaaa! Wait, nooo! Listen! Ouch!" We were outside in the quiet front yard and Mrs. Green's arms were folded in stout satisfaction, watching my mother angrily apply the switch. "In fact," "the NURSE had NO idea what I was talking about! I've never been so mortified in my life! We're going right over and straighten this out NOW!" She turned to Mrs. Green and said grimly, "Thank you, Helen. We're going to get to the bottom of this!" The stinging switch scored a half-dozen more cuts before she dropped it and ordered, "Now, march!" And I did, given little choice in the matter, taunted up the street by Mrs. Green's admonishing "Ask me, she can use a good reminder like Walter got last time he done this! Believe me, he swore cutting school wasn't worth THAT trip to the woodshed!" Not a word was said until we got to the nurse's office. My bottom was still hotly stinging and it was embarrassing enough to be led through the main hall with my scarlet-striped thighs betraying a fresh switching. The school nurse was waiting for us in her office; it only took a few minutes for she and my mother to wring a guilty confession from me. I was marched to class with a note of explanation to "Ole Miz Hudson". My mind was a shambles and I got through the day's work...including the math test that might as well have been in Sanskrit...in a daze, thinking of nothing but what was going to happen when I got home. Gene was smirking at me across the room and Annabelle looked, for once, like she was glad not to be me. I dawdled all the way home after school. There was no place else to go, of course, and nothing I could do that wouldn't make everything worse. My dad wasn't home from work. My mother was in the kitchen and, when I came in and put my books down, she said, "Mrs. Green is right. I can't believe you lied all week and played hooky from school. Your father's going to wear your bottom out!" "Ma," I started to protest, but there was nothing to say. "Ma...I won't ever do it again. I was scared to go back!" "Well, you're going to be more scared of not going back!" She retorted. Now, you go to your room. You're not going anywhere until you're punished for this. And I mean punished." I burst into tears and ran for my room. I was 12 and punishments by now often meant no TV or dessert, or missing a Saturday movie. I didn't think I was going to get away so lightly this time. My dad came home a half an hour later, and an agony of time seemed to go by while my mother recounted my heinous offense. Then my father's voice, calling me. I went, reluctantly, to the living room, where they sat looking pained. "Gae," my dad said, "This is really serious. You not only skipped school, but repeatedly made up a story and covered that with a lie!" "Dad, I can explain...I just wasn't ready to go back! I - I..." He waved his hand impatiently, and with horror I realized that waving in it was the old-fashioned wooden "spanking brush". "That's just not good enough, Gae. You need a lesson, I guess. One I thought you were too old to need, but I see I was wrong. Next time you think you're scared of a test, you can be scared of this instead." I was over the arm of the big green chair before I could protest vainly again. Without hesitation, my dad pulled my skirt up and yanked my panties down as though I were 8 years old, instead of a nearly- grown-up 12. "DAD!" I was trying awkwardly to scramble back up, but was pinned, fanny-up in classic position, over the broad overstuffed chair arm. "Oh, don't!! I promise!" I heard the first smack split-second before I really felt it - and then jumped as though electrified as the fire sank in! "OWW-Dad! Nooo!!" Oh, I remembered NOW what that felt like!! How could I have been stupid enough to let myself earn another bare-bottom paddling! "Dad, Da-OWWW!!!! I'm sorry I lied - I'll never, neve--- OWWWCH!!" Unperturbed and grimly determined to teach me a lasting lesson, my dad was ignoring both my howls of protest and my frantically bucking bottom, applying resounding smacks to both cheeks as though they were painted with a target: SPANK HERE! My mom watched, interjecting after about 15 searingly painful smacks, "John, that's enough. She'll remember!" "Yes," he said, landing another searing smack, "I think she WILL, WON'T you, Gae?" "Ahhhh!!" Was all I could articulate, my face turned to the side on the overstuffed chair seat, hands flailing, and my exposed behind taking the scorching rain of smarting blows. "Y-Yes!!! OWWW!!! Ohhh!! Please!! NO!!!" The last was a shriek of outraged protest. Mrs. Green was in the front doorway and, through my tears, I could see her watching the "seat of learning" being painfully instructed, nodding her approval! Encouraged by Mrs. Green's warnings that I need to "remember this a good long time", my dad applied the hairbrush until I was sobbing, my bottom purple and swollen. Then they sent me sniffling to my room, unabashedly wailing and holding my ass in both hands; they had coffee with Mrs. Green, presumably discussing her views on the efficacy of sound corporal discipline. * * * * I'd completely flunked the math test, of course. I had to stay after school for a week, working problems while squirming wretchedly on an exquisitely tender behind. I don't remember the problems and still have no grip on square root or algebra. I do remember vainly trying surreptitiously to cushion my painful butt from the hard oak desk-seat. Perhaps, after all, that is what they mean by "the seat of learning"!