A Paddle without a Creek

02Jul12

paddled by the Deanspanked OTKThe tears rolled down 18-year-old Lucy Martin’s cheeks causing her mascara to run and her mother Ann thought she was the most woeful sight she had ever seen. As her daughter entered the room, she took slow careful steps and opted to throw herself face down on the settee, rather than sit on it. Once there she began to sob into the seat cushions.

“He… he paddled me,” she wailed.

Ann clutched at her chest and started. She was instantly transported back 20 years to Benson Creek High when she was last paddled.

“Whatever did you do?” Ann gaped.

She knew that her daughter’s Arkansas school still used the paddle, but she also knew it was nothing like her high school days back in Mississippi.

Little by little her daughter’s story leaked out between sobs and Ann found herself torn between sympathy for her daughter and a very real sense that justice had been done; and also something else.

At 38, Ann had been divorced for four years and had largely brought her daughter up alone even before that as her husband tended to travel on business, although as she later found out, his business was often with other women.

As a consequence she had found herself alone at night reading books and indulging in fantasies that she had never had the courage to tell her husband about. Many of these had revolved around a crush she had had on her teacher, the self-same man who had paddled her all those years ago.

Lucy’s brush with the paddle had brought other feelings to the surface, so it was a mixed and troubled night that Ann spent in bed that night. Finally, she resolved that after school on Monday, she would go and confront the Dean.

*

Ann Martin was an attractive woman and as well as the obligatory jogging, she invested in good hair and make-up products, so when she turned up at Dean Winslow’s office he wondered for a moment if she was a former student or an older sister.

Her blonde hair was well-styled and hung to her shoulder with a low fringe to her eye line. She had a good figure with well-chosen clothes, although some showed signs of having had better days.

“I don’t believe we have had the pleasure,” Winslow said, extending his hand.

“We have met once or twice, but since Lucy hasn’t gotten into much trouble I rather think…”

“Lucy? Lucy Martin, oh forgive me, yes I see the resemblance,” Winslow slapped his forehead with the heel of his hand and smiled.

Ann tried not to laugh. The rather affable, not to say classically tall dark and handsome Dean Winslow was not what she had been expecting. If she was honest, she would have said he reminded her of the teacher she had once had a crush on back in the summer of 1989. The unbidden thought was inappropriate so she supressed it along with the beginnings of her smile.

“You are here to discuss Lucy’s recent behaviour, of course,” Winslow said, “Please sit down.”

Ann turned to the chair, a carbon copy of the one she had often seen in the Dean’s office at school. In fact the whole office was a nostalgia festival in that regard. She suppressed a strange thrill. Sitting down she smoothed her thighs through her skirt and pursed her lips in readiness.

“No I am rather afraid Mr Winslow that it is your behaviour that I am here to discuss. How dare you paddle my daughter without reference to me?” She put as much edge on her voice as she dared.

Winslow’s eyes narrowed and he looked Ann up and down. He could see where her daughter got her insolent manner from. There was far too much entitlement in this woman’s voice for his liking.

“Did you make a special arrangement with me regarding Lucy? With regard to corporal punishment I mean,” Winslow said smoothly.

As Ann tried to form a reply Winslow got to his feet and went over to a file cabinet and began sifting through his papers.

“Ah, Lucy Martin, here it is,” he said more to himself. “There is no blue slip here.”

“Blue slip?” Ann bristled, “I don’t want to talk about blue slips. You punished my daughter.”

“Well yes, smoking with boys in the boiler room and heaven knows what else, does rather tend to incur punishment at this school,” Winslow said, supressing his irritation at Ann’s manner, but also his genuine surprise.

“She what… But she said…” Ann blustered, seeing now that taking her daughter’s account at face value was a mistake. Now she felt a fool.

“You see, without a blue slip, I have no reason to approach you about this matter before punishing her,” Winslow continued.

Ann had two ways to go now. She could cover her embarrassment with an attack or she could thank Dean Winslow for seeing her and putting her in the picture.

“I really don’t think a silly bit of paper gives you the right… I think you have…” Ann spat, not finishing a clear thought, let alone a sentence. “Where did you qualify for teaching?”

Winslow’s eyes narrowed and he glared back at the irate Ann.

“I have no regrets about paddling your daughter, but I can see now, she is not the only one who would benefit from such handling,” he said evenly.

Ann’s jaw dropped and she stood up. The onrush of blood to her face stalled a cogent reply and she turned on her heel and left.

*

Winslow probably took her red-faced exit as rage, but it was not just anger that suffused her cheeks. In truth, Winslow’s threat had surged through her like revelation. She hadn’t stayed to argue the point of his words, because with their utterance she had been back to Benson Creek High and another educationalist’s office.

As she drove home she thought that she had never been so embarrassed. It was almost as if Dean Winslow had read her mind. The only question now was what to do about it.

The question still plagued her even as she arrived home, but she knew how to make a start.

“Lucy,” she said darkly as she strode through the house like an avenging demon. “Lucy Ann Martin get down here at once.”

Lucy hadn’t heard that tone in a long time and to forestall any further irritation on her mother’s part, she hastened from her room and downstairs.

Ann was waiting with a hairbrush in her hand; the hairbrush. Lucy gulped.

“Tell me again what happened the other day at school before Dean Winslow paddled you.” Ann’s voice was calm.

*

Her daughter dealt with, Ann had other issues to contend with. Her life was going nowhere and recent events had opened up old feelings and desires. She looked up at a sound, ever vigilant now her blood was up.

Lucy stood facing the wall of the family room, her jeans and panties firmly wrapped around her ankles so that her smooth bare bottom could display the vivid sheen of crisp glowing crimson. That had to smart over dormant paddle spore, Ann thought grimly. She remembered that many a time she had got some of the same under her mother’s paddled-at-school spanked-at-home policy. Even now she burned with shame at corner time exposure after epic spankings, only unlike Lucy, she was not spared the display before a sister, two brothers and on occasion, a cousin or two. For a moment she remembered how mad she was at Lucy and considered setting her to work in the yard just as she was, but these were less understanding times and besides, she needed room for escalation if it should be needed.

“Please Mom, can I go to my room now,” Lucy sniffed, utterly mortified.

“Tell me again how many smokes you had, how many boys,” Ann growled.

Ann had spanked Lucy until her arm had tired, before asking Lucy for the full story.

“You and I are not done here young lady, so make up your mind to that,” Ann had declared, “So I don’t want one more lie out of your mouth. Do you understand?”

Lucy had then sobbingly told the truth, a volley of sound spanks extracting additional details whenever Ann thought she was being evasive, until every last sin had been wrung out.

“Now Lucy Ann I am going to give you the spanking you deserve, the first of many I’d say given recent events. Then you will spend so long in the corner that you’ll grow roots.”

The spanking that had followed had put the opening session in the shade and pretty soon Lucy was bawling fit for a cheerleader on overdrive.

“How many?” Ann asked again.

“Sorry Mom,” Lucy whispered.

“I should think so young lady; you can count on being there until bedtime.”

*

Ann waited nervously outside the Dean’s office, attracting curious looks from students and staff passing by as they hasten to leave for the day.

“Ms Martin, to what do I owe the pleasure this evening?” Winslow said as he breezed up the hallway to his office.

“Can we…?” Ann pointed to the office door even as he opened it and indicated that she should follow.

Once the door was closed, she waited until she was asked before sitting down.

Seeing her reticence Winslow indicated a chair and said, “Please.”

“Thank you,” Ann said nervously.

“What can I do for you?” Winslow steeled himself for another round of abuse.

“Firstly I want to apologise for my… attitude the other day. I know you were only doing your job, but you see…” Ann how no idea how to proceed or what he would do or say if she did.

Winslow didn’t speak, but formed a bridge with his hands and adopted a listening posture.

Ann looked away and rubbed at her eye before continuing.

“Look,” she said, “When I was at school, well I had a teacher… well of course I did.”

Winslow smiled.

Encouraged Ann continued. “What I mean is: I was paddled just like you paddled Lucy.”

“I see,” Winslow said, nodding sympathetically. “A difficult experience and you…”

“Difficult yes, but not undeserved; in fact nowadays I view it rather positively. Although I have to say, until you paddled Lucy, as she so richly deserved by the way, I did not realise that.”

Winslow looked at his watch and wondered where this was going.

“So I take it you did not come here to fill out a blue slip,” he said.

“No, indeed not,” Ann chuckled. “The other day after I got home from our most enlightening meeting I gave Lucy the spanking of her young life and then reinstated a family tradition.”

Seeing a puzzled look cross his face she added, “Oh, I put her in the corner for most of the evening, you know, panties down, nice and humble, just as I was handled at that age. She is quite a changed girl I can tell you.”

“I see,” Winslow said as he shifted in his seat, the image was quite stimulating, if a little distracting.

“No I don’t think you do,” Ann said, “I realised as she stood there what I had been missing. There is nothing better for a girl to be taken down a peg or two once she had lost her way and my mother was a past mistress at it. I used to be mortified, but it did me the world of good. I had lost sight of that for myself and for my daughter.”

“You wish me to be stricter with Lucy?”

“No. I mean, well yes, but that’s not all of it. You said the other day that I was the one who really deserved the paddle…”

“I think maybe we were both…” Winslow cut in.

“No, you were right, I do.”

“I see,” Winslow said thoughtfully sitting back in his chair.

“I do hope so,” Ann whispered.

“Are you serious?” Winslow asked.

“I know it is highly unusual, but…”

“You would be surprised,” Winslow said, “I mean such things are not totally unheard of.”

“Really?” Ann perked up, although she could not help blushing.

“Tell me, what happened when you were at school? I mean how were you paddled?”

Ann swallowed and looked away.

“If you can’t…”

“I was paddled much the same way as you paddled Lucy the other day, but…”

“Go on.” Winslow leaned forward.

“I used to imagine being paddled on the… bare bottom. Sometimes in front of the whole school. And afterwards I was made to stand in the corner or on a chair with my bare bottom still showing where everyone could see me. You see the feelings I got when at home after my mother punished me that way… well, it’s what I miss.”

“And you want me to make up for lost time and bring you to some kind of… equilibrium,” Winslow said, fixing her with a stare.

Ann nodded.

*

It had been a long time since a man had seen her even partially naked, so standing in the Dean’s office with her skirt and panties folded neatly on a chair while she was given a dressing down was an emotional strain. She tugged nervously at the front of her blouse, conscious that every time she pulled at it, it exposed a little more of her bottom in back.

“Now young lady, I want you to bend across that desk with your bottom properly presented, do you hear me?” Winslow was already holding the paddle as he spoke.

“Yes Sir,” Ann squeaked.

“Well,” Winslow snapped.

Ann jumped and then tottered across the room to the desk, her face flooding red as she realised the view she was affording him.

“Let’s see how you handle 12 swats,” Winslow said evenly as moved behind her. “Get that tush up and out a little more.”

Ann shuffled her feet back and dipped her back. Her face melted.

“Legs together,” Winslow chided.

Oh God, Ann thought, horrified at what he might be seeing.

It seemed to take an age for Winslow to be happy with her position and even then he insisted on patting her behind with the flat of the paddle.

“Twelve I think we said,” he rasped.

“Yes Sir,” Ann whispered.

The first thwack stung Ann beyond words; she couldn’t believe how much it hurt. Nevertheless, apart from a grunt, she handled it. At least she did for a moment or two. The fire built up and began to grow.

“Uh,” Ann breathed.

“Stings doesn’t it,” Winslow said drily.

“S-sir,” Ann hissed.

Winslow added another and Ann yelped.

“Colouring up nicely,” Winslow observed.

After three more Ann was panting and began to rock back and forth a little.

“As effective as you remember it?” Winslow asked.

“Ssssss,” Ann panted a muffled response.

He took her to eight before she began to cry a little and he patted her shoulder and let her recover a little.

The last four was a bitter experience and before the end she sobbing as freely as her daughter had previously.

“Good girl,” Winslow said putting down the paddle.

Then too her horror she heard him pick up the phone.

“Mrs Mentova, would you step in here for a moment.”

Ann dared not move, but the thought of anyone else seeing her having been paddled was too much to bear and her heart and mind raced.

The door opened and Ann risked a glance. The woman was younger than expected, certainly less than 40. She was stylishly dressed with shoes to die for and had an air of detached severity about her.

“This is Ann Martin, I am mentoring her,” Winslow said simply. “I thought you might assist me.”

“Of course Dean Winslow,” Mrs Mentova said imperiously.

“Mrs Mentova is a school counsellor, I thought you might want to talk things over afterwards, besides, I think you need taking down a peg or two first.”

“That’s rather a heavy spore there, how many did you give her,” Mrs Mentova asked.

“Oh a dozen, but she has a firm strong bottom, I think another… eight would put her in the right frame of mind.”

*

It was with slow careful steps that Ann walked up the path to her front door. She had stood all the way on the bus, driving home had been quite out of the question. She hadn’t remembered a school paddling as being quite such purgatory, but strangely she felt cleaner and more at peace than she had for years.

As she turned the key in the lock she winced and prayed that Lucy wouldn’t hear her coming in and come to investigate; Ann was sure the fact that she had been paddled was written all over her. It put her in mind of sneaking home as a teenager years ago before.

As luck would have it the house was silent; the grounded Lucy having gone to bed sometime before, not even daring to phone any friends.

“This is insane,” Ann said to herself as her bottom flared at the first footfall on the stair to her room. But the sense of a recaptured youth thrilled her and she stifled a giggle.

It was a long walk to the bedroom and once there she threw herself belly down on the bed. I may never sit down again, she thought. Then she remembered Mrs Mentova and her witnessing of the final eight swats of her punishment. It had been embarrassing, humiliating even, to be seen bawling like a five-year-old and begging Dean Winslow to wait.

“If I never see that woman again it will be too soon,” Ann sighed.

*

A few days later Ann was up to her eyes in the laundry and bemoaning the fact that the phone had not stopped ringing with further demands on her time interspersed with junk calls. But at the back of it all her encounter with Dean Winslow was a constant presence and not least the tenderness in her behind. She felt a kind of liberation, almost like she could do anything like a carefree teen, because if she went too far then there would be someone to stop her.

It was an illusion of course, the evening spent with Winslow was a one-of, but for as long as she winced when sitting down she could lose herself in the idea of such challenging surrender.

The doorbell rang, dragging Ann back to the washing and the daily grind.

“Lucy,” she yelled, “The door.”

Then she remembered Lucy was out. So putting down the washing basket, she went to answer it, accountably irritated that her daughter had better things to occupy her.

The silhouette in the glass was an unfamiliar one, although decidedly female; a friend of Lucy’s perhaps, she thought wearily, as if she did not have enough to do.

“Just a minute please,” she called out, “I’m coming.”

She opened the door ready to dismiss the unwelcome caller before seeing who it was.

“Mrs Mentova,” Ann exclaimed. The blood channelled into her face, hot and fast, a colour change that Mrs Mentova could hardly miss.

“Ann,” Mrs Mentova smiled, looking significantly beyond the doorway to the bowels of the house.

“Oh… I… do come in,” Ann said nervously.

“Is your daughter home?” Mrs Mentova asked as she entered.

“Oh no, what has she done now?” Ann sighed.

Of course Mentova was from the school this was about Lucy. There was relief and disappointment in the realisation.

“Lucy has done nothing as far as I am aware; I just wanted to make sure we were alone. For now anyway,” she added pointedly.

Ann frowned, puzzled now.

“Ann Martin, do not give me that look. You asked for and accepted Dean Winslow’s help and guidance. You know perfectly well that I am assisting him in this regard,” Mrs Mentova scolded.

Ann opened her mouth to speak and then closed it again. Something in her belly tingled and she suddenly felt a fizzing in her head.

“You know the rules, the paddle at school means a spanking at home and if I get any nonsense from you, I’ll have you cut a switch as well,” Mrs Mentova said retrieving a hairbrush from her purse.

Ann’s mouth formed a perfect O of shock as she was taken by the arm and led into the family room where only days before she had spanked her daughter. Then just as Lucy had been, Ann was pulled unresisting across Mrs Mentova’s knee, her skirts raised and panties rapidly drawn down to her knees.

“Please, wh-what are you doing?” Ann said, suddenly coming to herself.

“You know what I am doing?” Mrs Mentova snapped. “I am going to give you a very sound spanking as you deserve and I want no nonsense from you if you don’t still want to be in the corner when Lucy comes home.”

“Please, but I didn’t… I don’t want… need…” she managed in a hushed breath, but it wasn’t true.

“Still some paddle marks to work on I see, well so much the better,” Mrs Mentova said thoughtfully as she brought the first of many, many spanks down hard on Ann’s defenceless bare bottom.

“Oh no please, ooh,” Ann wailed, a perfect re-rerun of Lucy’s cries just days before and of her own so many years ago.

“I suggest you take this without fuss, I could still have you fetch a switch. I am determined you will have at least 40 minutes in the corner, Lucy or no Lucy. So the longer this takes…” Mrs Mentova let the threat hanging. Then she put in, “Besides, you might want to avoid any unnecessary extras. Dean Winslow wants to see you next Friday in his office after school.”

Somewhere beyond the Martin’s yard a neighbour heard the mewling of an errant young lady and the unmistakable sound of a spanking; concluding that Mrs Martin had finally taken Lucy in hand.

“That’s the way,” he chuckled, “A girl’s never too old.”

Ends.



8 Responses to “A Paddle without a Creek”

  1. 1 paul1510

    Damian,
    a familiar scenario, I like the twist at the end.
    Paul.

  2. 2 Bogey

    I enjoyed it. Thanks!

  3. 3 Bill Black

    Totally Excellent. What a great story. I bet there are many mothers that would want or could use such a program.
    GentBB

  4. Fantastic, DJ. It’s always fun when more than she’d bargained for is the perfect amount.

  5. 5 Ehlane

    I liked the ending a lot. If a girl is spanked at school, she should be spanked at home as well. Besides Ann is not left alone after her first spanking in ages. Sweet.

  6. 6 DJ

    Thanks for the feedback.

    🙂

  7. 7 Brian

    Absolutely fantastic!


  1. 1 chross.blogt.ch

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