Sentences Or Swats


by Derek <Snowshower7@hotmail.com>

This is another story based on actual events in my life. In the future, I hope to write a whole series of short stories about my experiences with school discipline. Please feel free to e-mail me with your opinions or comments.

It was a warm day in September, and I was sitting in another boring English class trying to pass the time. As usual, I was stirring up trouble by shooting spitballs at the girl who sat two seats in front of me. Every time I'd hit her right in the back of the neck, she'd turn around and give everybody a really mean look. She was one of those annoying teacher's pets who never did anything wrong. You know the type. Always eager to answer questions in class. Always trying her best and completing her assignments on time. Me, on the other hand, I didn't give a rat's ass. I just wanted to have fun and get some laughs from my buddies. I knew I was playing with fire by messing with her, but I didn't care. As long as she didn't know exactly who was pelting her with spitballs, she wouldn't go tell the teacher or anything. So, I continued my assault, much to the amusement of my friends.

Finally, after enduring all the tormenting she could, she raised her hand and told the teacher about the spitballs. Mr. Chattin, who was known as a pretty strict disciplinarian, asked the people sitting behind the girl who was responsible for the spitballs. No one said a thing. So, he went up to the chalkboard to write the names of the three boys sitting behind her on the board. Since no one confessed, he figured this way he would make sure the real culprit paid. My buds Greg and Brian were pretty pissed off at me, but they didn't say anything, because they both hated this girl too.

Since all three of our names were already written on the chalkboard, Mr. Chattin added one checkmark after each name. At the end of the day, Greg had one checkmark by his name, Brian had three, and I had four. I knew what this meant, but I really didn't care. All that mattered to me was that school was finally over and it was time to go home. However, before that could happen, we had to face our punishments. Mr. Chattin's discipline system was simple and to the point. If you got your name placed on the chalkboard, that served as a warning. After that, with each check you got, you had a choice. One check meant either writing 100 sentences of something lame like, 'I will never disrupt class again.' or taking one swat with the paddle. Two checks meant either 200 sentences or two swats, and so on. After everyone else left, Mr. Chattin approached us and asked what we wanted. Greg chose the sentences, but me and Brian opted for the quicker swats.

Greg was allowed to leave, but before he did, he taunted us by slapping his ass and grinning as he walked out the door. He would pay for that! Meanwhile, Mr. Chattin reached into his desk drawer and pulled out his paddle. I believe it was made of pine and was about 16" long, 4" wide, and 1/2" thick. He then pointed the paddle at Brian and told him to bend over. Once Brian had assumed the position, Mr. Chattin ran his hand over the seat of Brian's pants to make sure he didn't have anything in his back pockets. When Chattin was satisfied he did not, he rested the paddle against Brian's butt for a minute, drew back, and then slammed it down hard. From my viewpoint to the side of the scene, I could see both Brian's face and butt. It looked like he flinched a little, but that's about it. Swat number two landed firmly on my buddie's butt and this time he grunted and raised his head up a bit. Finally, swat number three struck Brian's butt, and I could tell by the way he grunted and clenches his ass cheeks that he was on fire.

Next, Mr. Chattin pointed the paddle at me and told me to bend over. I did, and Brian stood at the side ready to watch me get my butt tanned. After the usual check for items in the back pockets, Mr. Chattin drew his board back and whacked my butt hard. Immediately, a stinging sensation raced through my backside. I knew I was in for a good one this time, because I was only wearing a pair of thin basketball shorts that day. Swat number two made contact, and I was actually surprised at how much it hurt. The swats weren't really that hard, but they were quick, and the sting they left behind was incredible! The paddle hit my butt a third time, and I jumped and grunted out loud. My butt was on fire! Finally, the last and seemingly hardest swat was delivered to my flaming buns. I bucked forward and said, "Ouch!" This had been one of the most painful school paddlings of my life. I remember walking home that day and feeling heat radiating from my ass. After that experience, I didn't want to get paddled again very soon, but I knew I would.


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