Overheard and Overturned


by Graham

I attended a small, private high school in the southwest during the 1980's. Corporal punishment was the preferred method of dealing with unruly or problem students. Somehow, though, I had managed to avoid being paddled during my first 10 years of school. As I entered 11th grade I smugly believed that I had passed the age at which I could be paddled. My trigonometry teacher, Mr. Green., was a tall, large-framed man who had been a college football player at the University of Illinois. His reputation as our school's premiere boardsmith was well known, and he was especially hard on school athletes -- especially the football players. While I had heard stories of him routinely warming the behinds of freshmen and sophomores in his study halls, and of some of my fellow jocks who were in his classes, I had never witnessed him paddling any students first hand -- and especially upper classmen. One February day I walked into his classroom, and one of my friends, Jeff, made some derogatory comments about the basketball game I had played the night before. I had not had a good game that night, and the coach had ended up sitting me, so I was extremely sensitive. Immediately, I got angry. Since Mr. Green was not in the room at the time, I shot my friend the finger and told him, "I don't see your ass out there, Jeff. Until you get your ass on the line, you can pucker up and kiss mine -- or eat me, we'd both like that!" I started to laugh, sneering. Just as the laugh began bolting from my mouth, I felt a strong hand on my shoulder. Startled, I turned around to see Mr. Green staring straight at me. Immediately, I felt that terrified dread when you know you're caught and trapped, and there's no escape. "Ah, . . . ah, . . . Mr. Green, ah, sir, . . ."

"I think you better come with me, young man," he interrupted, as he abruptly spun me around and marched me quickly out into the hallway. I was a little surprised at this swift, brusk treatment, since I had always been basically a good kid, and had never been in any trouble before. When we were in hall, he told me to wait right there, while he went back into the classroom for what seemed like an eternity. When he finally came back out, he was carrying a large wooden paddle with several small holes drilled into it. The handle was wrapped in black tape to enable a firm grip on it. It was truly a menacing looking instrument. He then ordered me to empty my pockets there in the hall, bend over, and grab my ankles. He said that I was to receive a total of 15 licks, and if I let go of my ankles before he was finished, he would start all over again. I told myself that no matter how bad it hurt, I had to preserve my dignity, that I would not cry, and would smile undisturbed when I went back into the classroom. WHACK! As soon as that first one hit, I realized how difficult this was going to be. The pain was searing through my jeans, and I felt like my backside was on fire. He took his time and let each blistering whack soak in before delivering the next. WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! After the 8th lick, I felt tears rush to my eyes and begin running down my face. It was all I could do to not let go of my ankles. I bit my top lip to keep from crying out loud. WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! After 12, I thought I was going to die, my rearend was stinging so bad! I stood up quickly, and turning my head looked over my shoulder at Mr. Green. "P-please, Mr. Green!" I exclaimed. "I'm sorry! Please! STOP! Aughah! I can't TAKE any MORE! Augh-uh! Uh! PLEASE! IT HURTZZZZZ!!"

"Nonsense, Craig," he replied. "You brought this upon yourself, and it should hurt! How else will you learn a lesson to control that nasty mouth of yours, young man?"

"B-but, Mr. Green, ah, I'm . . ." I began. He cut me off. "Now, mister, we're going to start all over again -- only this time over my lap, and without your jeans."

"NO! NO!" I protested. "Nooo-WAY!!" He walked over to me, grasped my neck in his steely grip, bent me over, and marched me towards a long wooden bench where he sat down. Then, releasing my neck, he started to unfasten my belt and jeans. I jumped back, starting to pull away from him. He stood up, spun me around again, grabbed my right arm and tucked it up behind my back, bending me down again. Then, with his other hand, he smacked the seat of my jeans again and again. WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! At that point, the tears were freely flowing, and I was howling and jumping around as he heated up my behind more and more. I reached around with my left hand to try to protect my smoldering bottom. Just then, with his right hand still holding the paddle, he reached around in front of me, loosened my belt and jeans button, unzipped my jeans, and grabbed the waistband, yanking them down over my butt and thighs to my knees. "AAAAH-AAA-NOOOO! NOOOOO! YOU CAAAAANT!" I gasped and shrieked. By that time, however, he had resumed sitting on the bench, and hauled me towards him and over his knees, as I stumbled in the tangle of jeans around my own legs. Overturned I went, my head and arms overhanging his left leg, my butt poised over his lap as a target. WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! With machine-gun, rapid-fire, he blasted my boxers-clad backside. At once I was screaming and pleading, begging and promising, while my legs kicked and bucked, and I bounced and thrust across his knees, pushing my jeans to my ankles. "Ooo-aaa-Ow! OW! OW! OWWAA! Stopit! Stopit! Pleeez! OOOO! Uh! Uh! Ow! I'm sorry! Mr. Green! Uh! Uh! I'M SORRY! PLEEZ! Ooooo-uh! Uh! Aieeaugh! I WON'T DO IT AGAIN! OOO-uh! OW! EVER! EEEYOW! I P-PROMISE! OOO-uh! N-NEVER! Uh! I'm Sorreeee! Oooaa-OW!" He paused for a brief moment, as I gasped and gagged in my sobs, hoping the inferno was over. Quickly, he reached over to the waistband of my boxers, jerked them down over my butt and thighs, past my knees, to gather with my jeans at my feet. Then he immediately resumed the spanking with the paddle. CRAACK! CRAACK! CRAACK! CRAACK! CRAAACK! CRAAACK! CRAAAACK! Each one of the remaining whacks with the paddle he intensified more, as he blistered my agonizing behind! I hollered and wailed, amidst heaving and sobbing, until finally I just lay hanging over his lap, bawling and shaking like a soundly spanked little boy. After a few minutes, he reached down and helped me off his lap. My hands shot around to grasp my branded bottom at once, as I jumped up and down on wobbly legs. "Pull your underwear and jeans back up now, Craig," he ordered. I continued hopping up and down, still heaving and weeping. CRAACKCRAACKCRAACKCRAAACKCRAAAAACK! He administered 5 more smacks of the paddle, faster and harder. "Now get your clothes back on, young man," unless you want to go back over my knees for another session today!"

"OOOOO-uh-NOOOooo!" I wailed, as I quickly and gingerly pulled my boxers and jeans back up over my burning, battered bottom. Then, with Mr. Green gripping my arm, I immediately was paraded back into the classroom to face my classmates with my tear-streaked, red-face, reddened-eyes, rumpled hair, and sore, throbbing bottom. My friends and classmates watched as, obviously wincing, I slowly lowered myself into the seat of the desk. The Mr. Green began class. I tried not to squirm too much as I shifted trying to find some relief for my blazing bottom against the hard, wood seat. I kept my head down, while paying attention to Mr. Green's instruction in class. Near the end of the class period, Mr. Green called on me to answer a problem: "What is the answer, Craig? You shouldn't have any problem being awake this afternoon, son." My face flushed as deep red as my backside had to be, but I stammered an answer to the question, which was correct. As soon as the bell rang, I struggled to my feet and high-tailed it out of Mr. Green's class, and headed to basketball practice where my teammates howled with laughter, teasing me about my thrashed bottom. After that exercise that day, I was on my best behavior for the rest of the school year, and managed to avoid another paddling. The next year, however, I smarted off to a substitute teacher, who knew Mr. Green and sent me to him to be paddled. This time Mr. Green gave me 20 extra licks because it was my second offense, and then sent me back to my classroom sobbing. I managed to end my senior year upended, over Mr. Green's lap again, but that is another story.


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