The following story is fiction, but it is based on fact. It forms the third in a series of stories taking place in a mythical high school in the year 1972. It's told from a different perspective, but what it depicts wasn't that uncommon back then, and a lot more than a few teenagers had their own lesson with the "board of education." If you like the story, or dislike it, I'd appreciate knowing. It's through the feedback of the readers that I decide to write. Nathan [nathan9001@yahoo. com]
Paddled at Springfield High (Story 03) -- A Quick Little Paddling
As a review, the year was 1972, and Springfield High was like a lot of schools, full of kids from all kinds of backgrounds with all kinds of aspirations. Seventy-five percent of it's graduates went on to college, and the teachers were considered some of the best in the state. Like most schools of the time, the principal was authorized to use the paddle as one of many forms of discipline, right along with the usual in-school and out-of-school suspensions for those times when a kid dared to cross the line.
Ah, some mornings were just better than others. Mr. Chandler smiled, savoring the cup of coffee as he smelled its aroma and tasted the blend. He loved this time, the morning rush of the students, the banging of the lockers in the halls, the rush of a high school coming to life. Outside he could see the last of the buses dropping off their cargo of students, the yellow and red of the fall colors hanging in the trees bright and beautiful. Oh yes, there is something about being a high school principal that he loved, and the morning coffee, the bustle of his, yes HIS school coming to life, always made this his very favorite time of the day.
Today, things were especially sweet. Standing in front of his desk directly opposite him was William Vanpelt, a bright kid--hell, a good kid really; one of the hot jock types with the bubble butt and the longer hair and just the kind that he sometimes even dreamed of paddling. He was one of the schools hottest kids on the basketball court, and he was the kind of kid everyone noticed and everyone liked. Like many kids who have William for a first name, he went by Bill, although a lot of guys just called him Billy. Billy looked nervous right now, and his light brown hair was still damp from the shower he must have had before he left home, and his clothes were still crisp the way they are at the beginning of a school day. Seeing him squirm was exciting--that's what it was alright. He took another sip of his coffee, his eyes looking directly at the teenager in front of him, the boy's fate in his hands. He noticed his face was totally smooth, not even the lightest wisp of hair on his upper lip. The lad must have started shaving a short while ago, and he had probably even leathered his face within the last hour and a half. His cheeks were still flushed slightly the way they get when a boy first starts to shave. He had those deep set dark brown eyes, big and so innocent looking, the boy's long eye lashes making him look so vulnerable. Yeah, today was a very good morning indeed.
The boy was nervous alright. Yeah, you could tell that, and the way he was looking at the paddle laying on the desk revealed everything. The principal smiled, his eyes almost sparkling, enjoying the discomfort of the youth standing in front of him. You could tell watching the boy's expression alright. He was standing there, contemplating his circumstances, and without any doubt he was sure having some second thoughts and was probably wishing he could have his morning bus ride all over again. Yes sir, oh how they always sort of lost their bravado once they eyed his paddle. That's why he always put it out, laid it out in full view, before he called them in. It always got their attention, and it was almost fun to watch their expression when they first saw it. Their eyes would always linger on it, and sometimes you could see their eyebrows rise when they would count the holes. Yes, the holes were a special treat that usually scared them right to the core. He loved the holes especially, all sixteen of them, and the way they made the paddle burn like there was no tomorrow.
The boy was looking down, staring at the paddle and his Adam's Apple bobbed as he swallowed his fear. He would try and look up, but the principals eyes were staring back, and the boy found himself unable to keep the eye contact and would drop them back to the paddle. For Mr. Chandler, this boy was a special treat. He was one of those kids that liked to act cool, but usually managed to stay out of trouble and so he normally never got to see them, much less to bend them over and burn their asses. But not today! Today the boy was here, and oh he looked hot and was just the perfect type of kid that was just fun to smack. He loved it when they cried, losing their coolness in the process. Oh yes, today was a great day and everything was starting out perfectly and he could hardly wait to take this teen down a few notches. If he worked things right, he might even get him paddled and still have time to savor a second cup of coffee before he got too busy with the paperwork and phone calls. There is just something about a quick little paddling to start the day that somehow makes the rest of the day go so much better.
Mr. Chandler studied the boy's school file, laid out in front of him. Billy was a sophomore, and according to his student record he had a 3.7 grade point average. The teen was fifteen, and he had that hard adolescent body that the girls liked to crave. And he was very athletic. For an underclassman he still managed to make the schools varsity basketball team. He sure had the body for it, and he was good. As a freshman he had been a model student--one of the honor society types and was definitely a kid going places. Yeah, he had a hell of a school record already, and he would probably have the college of his choice when he graduated. The principal had read every word in the boy's file, but one thing he didn't need the boys record for was to tell him the kid he was now staring at had one of those perfect little tight bubbled asses that were so much fun to paddle. The boy was tall and thin but not gangly. He glanced down at the boys jeans, and his eyes lingered there. Billy's Levi jeans were not only a little faded, but they were more than a little tight as well. He glanced at the boys feet, and could see the jeans were belled, right in style, and were also short, his long spindly legs showing out the bottom. The boys white gym socks were almost totally exposed. Clearly, they were last year's pants, and they were tight on his ass as well as his crotch and he was barely fitting into them. The boys package was just a rounded bulge, pushing out on his pants, like his genitals were stuffed in there, the front of his jeans mounded up and the fabric stretched to hold his manhood. Yeah, it was almost like the boy's jeans with their zippered fly were just begging to be opened. He allowed his mind to wander, thinking of the boy, imagining him as he reached down, opening his fly, unsnapping his jeans, lowering his shorts and then suddenly everything just springing out unrestrained. The principal stopped himself at that point, as he felt himself stir in his own pants. Ah, yes, back to reality. Then he looked again up at the teenager and then started to speak.
He did so with a smile, and worked hard to control his excitement. In as normal and level a tone as he could, Mr. Chandler said: "Well Vanpelt, your bus driver was pretty upset with you this morning. I'm sitting here holding his yellow slip he wrote up on you--why don't you explain to me why you weren't able to behave yourself on your bus today?"
The boy never looked up. Instead , he began to mumble: "I don't know Mr. Chandler, I didn't do anything. It wasn't me. I swear I didn't do nothin. I tried to tell the driver, but he didn't even listen to me. Gary Pend..., I mean, someone else sir, someone else was making spitwads and shooting them around the bus. Everyone was yelling and I got hit on the face with a wadded spitball sir and well, I just threw it out the window. I didn't throw it at anyone, and I just tossed it away from me after it hit me sir. It was gross. Mr. Atwood didn't see it---he saw me when he looked up but I wasn't the one throwing spitwads, I wasn't. I swear sir...I swear to God sir, they were all just laughing AT me sir, but it was only because I had been hit and not because I was doin' anything. You casn ask anyone sir--it wasn't me!"
Mr. Chandler frowned. Then he said: "Well, your bus driver thinks it was you. OK Vanpelt, if it wasn't YOU then WHO was it Mister?"
The boy looked at him then. He could see his mind working, the youth trying to make a decision. To tell, or not to yell. The boy's Adam's Apple bobbed again, and then he answered; "I don't really know...yeah, sir I'm not sure sir---I just know it wasn't me. I didn't do nothing--I SWEAR SIR. Please believe me sir!"
The principal watched the boy's lip quiver, the innocence of his truth quite apparent in the desperation of his pleading. Nevertheless, the boy surly knew who the real perpetrator was, that much was readily apparent. _d_a_m_n_! Yeah, the bummer of it all was he had the wrong kid in here. And he almost told him to get up and leave. Hell, he almost surely did have the wrong kid, and the boy in front of him sure didn't deserve a paddling, that was pretty obvious. He could picture the entire thing really, and he knew it was all but impossible for the driver to really have seen everything. And it was sort of heroic how the kid was trying to protect the real culprit behind the trouble. Mr. Chandler figured that out though as soon as he had heard him start to say the name. He knew the real trouble maker alright---hell, he had already had that boy in his office more than once. Yep, Gary Pendleton was the real trouble maker, and that was pretty much a certainty.
"So Vanpelt, was Gary Pendleton throwing spitwads on your bus this morning?"
The boy looked at the principal, the name hanging in the air. He looked back at the paddle, then back to the principal. And then, after a pause, he said "Sir, its hard to say sir who was doing it. I don't know sir, I mean I guess it could have been him, but it could have been anyone. No way to really know I guess sir. I just know it wasn't me."
Mr. Chandler frowned. Gary rode the same bus, and no doubt it Billy had almost said his name before he had stopped himself. Yeah, it should have been him in here tasting the wood and not the kid he now had in front of him. Problem was the Pendleton kid wasn't the kind of kid who was fun to paddle. And he also wasn't the sort of kid that paddling seemed to do anything for. In fact, nothing seemed to phase him. Perhaps he should do it again anyway--just call that kid down and pulverize his fat ass anyway. Hell, Gary Pendleton was a fat little twirp of a kid, that much was for sure, and while he probably sure deserved it the real problem was there just wasn't much enjoyment in paddling a fat ass like that. Nope, not much enjoyment in that at all.
The principal wrestled with the decision. Looking up at Billy, it was pretty clear he wasn't the culprit, although he was protecting him. Still, he had the wrong kid. And so, he almost told him to leave and get to class; almost. But something stopped him. Perhaps it was the look in the boy's eyes, the fear there perhaps or the way he was staring at the paddle. But more than likely, it was the kid's skin-tight jeans, the bulge in the front and the tightness of the fabric that just couldn't be ignored. One thing was for certain, the kid's bubble butt didn't help his cause and his bus driver had sure turned him in. Whatever the reason, Mr. Chandler found himself speaking, and even as he said the words the words he spoke were really not what he thought he was going to say.
"Well Vanpelt, you are a pretty sharp kid. I've watched you as a Freshman play basketball, and your well liked and are a real asset to your school. I'm sure you will do even better this year. You earn good grades and you aren't the type of kid that should be in here right now. I'd like to believe you. But you are the one that the bus driver wrote up, and you aren't giving me anything else to work with here. And well mister, I'm sorry but I just don't have any choice here and so I am going to teach that little bottom of yours that this sort of bus behavior has consequences. Do you understand me mister?"
The boy looked up---the moment of realization hitting him like a shock! Paddled! Oh God....paddled at fifteen for God's sake! Then, in desperation, he started to speak, his lower lip actually quivering as he formed the words: "Oh PLEASE Mr. Chandler....I've never been paddled! Not ever! Please sir....I didn't mean nothin....I didn't do nothing really! Please! I'll never be any trouble on the bus, I wont! I wont! Not ever! Please. Please sir. You don't have to paddle me!"
"Then WHO should I paddle if you're not the one? Somebody sure as hell deserves to get their ass burned over this. Horseplay on the bus will not be tolerated, not as long as I'm principal. So, if its not you Vanpelt, then who the hell was it? This is your last chance to save your butt."
The boy stared back....his mind racing with the decision. He stared at the paddle, and you could almost watch as he counted the holes. He looked back with a pleading, begging expression, and then he slowly just shook his head, from side-to-side, sealing his own fate but refusing to answer the question. Then he tried once again: "Pleaseeeee Mr. Chandler. Please don't paddle me."
The principal smiled...and took another sip of his coffee. It was tasting so sweet! He loved to watch them squirm, and this boy was just the perfect type and as he listened to him beg for mercy he felt his groin stir with the anticipation of what he knew he was going to do to him. God he wanted to thank the bus driver! Sure, part of him knew that this kid didn't really deserve it, but he was too perfect, and this opportunity might never come again. He admired the kid's braveness, and his willingness to sacrifice his own ass for someone else. But hell, as he looked at the perfect ass in the tightest jeans he had ever seen a teenage boy wear, none of that really mattered. Hell, he just KNEW that this boys ass was going to be one that was going to be especially rewarding to light up and set on fire and there wasn't any way in the world he wasn't going to do it now. Besides that, he was the jock type, and if he didn't deserve to have his bottom set on fire for this he surely deserved it for something. With that, the decision was made.
Suddenly, the first bell rang, and with it, Mr. Chandler saw the boy almost jump with a start. The background noise of the school had dropped off, as the students were now in class and would be there for the next fifty minutes. As the principal gazed down at the boy's file, he noticed his class schedule and suddenly he had an idea.
Mr. Chandler: "Vanpelt, don't you and Gary Pendleton have Mrs. Jennings for first period?"
With the question and the name dropped again, Billy looked back almost surprised. Then he answered "Yes sir...please sir, just let me go to class and I'll be good sir. You won't ever see me in here again--I promise!"
Mr. Chandler: "Save it Vanpelt. Your butt deserves to get roasted and until it does or until I'm convinced it was someone else you aren't going to be going anywhere." Then he reached over to the intercom, and pressed the button for the boy's English Lit classroom. Suddenly, there was a burst of static from the little box, and then there was the double "bing" -- "bing" as he signaled the classroom. Seconds later, the boy's English Literature teacher's voice filled the room:
"Hello....helloooo, this is room 230, go ahead please."
Mr. Chandler: "Hello there Mrs. Jennings. Mr. Chandler here. I'm sorry to disturb your class, but it seems William Vanpelt caused a disturbance on the school bus this morning, and he's here with me in my office. He's going to be a little late to your class I'm afraid, because he has an appointment with the board of education. As soon as his bottom has been sufficiently warmed up and he's learned his lesson, I'll send him on down. I hope that doesn't cause you any problems."
In the background, you could the classroom literally burst into laughter. Suddenly, it was cut short as his teacher's voice said "QUIET CLASS! THAT'S ENOUGH!!" Then, in a normal tone she continued: "That will be fine Mr. Chandler. I am sure you will make his lesson memorable. Just send him back when you are done with him."
Mr. Chandler: "Is Gary Anderson in class today?"
Mrs. Jennings: "Yes sir, he's right here sir. Do you need him too?"
Mr. Chandler: "Yes, I'm afraid I do. Could you send him right down immediately. I need to talk to him about this incident and then see where we go with him. I'll be waiting for his arrival. Please tell him I don't expect to be kept waiting very long."
Mrs. Jennings: "No problem sir. He's on his way now."
With that, Mr. Chandler thanked her again and then clicked off the intercom, and then took another sip of his coffee. He looked hard at the teenager in front of him, and he could tell the boys brain had gone into overdrive. He could see his expression had changed, that much was immediately apparent. First, the boy's cheeks were a lot redder---the embarrassment of knowing his entire class knew he was going to be paddled really was getting to him now. But there was something else there too, perhaps it was a look of hope, a reprieve perhaps or at least a hope he would not be getting paddled alone. The principal allowed himself a smile, the wide grin slowly spreading across his face. Then he took the last cool sip of his coffee and savored it until it was gone.
Suddenly with his coffee finished, Mr. Chandler decided it was time, and he wanted the boy in position before the other lad arrived. Almost as if he was talking from a textbook, he started giving the orders to get the teenager into position. He always loved this part, getting them bent over his desk, their hands on the flat surface, and their feet spread wide. GOD this kid had a tight ass! As the boy got into the position, the principal couldn't help but stare at his perfect teenage body, the round bubble butt encased in jeans that were so tight that they literally sucked right into the crack of his ass. The seat of the boy's jeans was worn, the fabric just a little thinner than it had been when new, and as he looked at the jeans he could imagine the teenage ass inside of them, anticipating the sting and yet having no real idea of how much it would really burn. God he loved it when they were waiting for it!
Suddenly, he heard himself almost shouting: "Stick it OUT Mister and spread those legs WIDER---I want that bottom of yours OUT, and waiting for it! Do it NOW!!!"
The teenager, always the good kid and used to doing what he was told, dutifully worked to get into a perfect position to get paddled. His ass was so round, so tight, and his legs spread wide and his bottom almost begging for the kiss of the wood to begin. Once he was in position, staring outside at the empty basketball court, Mr. Chandler said "Don't MOVE mister, and I mean it."
Then Mr. Chandler did something he had never done with any student as long as he had been involved in teaching. But for some reason, he just couldn't stop himself this time. He reached out and took hold of the back of the boy's belt, jerking it upwards and tightening the already skin-tight jeans further. He jerked up on it so hard the boy was literally pulled upward and forward, almost falling onto the desk. In fact, he jerked the boy's pants so hard and up so tight the boy grunted, his package crunched up inside and his balls feeling the pressure from his pants. Mr. Chandler smiled. Then, he ran his hand down the boy's ass, over it, feeling the curve of his bubble butt and the tightness of the fabric as it gripped his legs. God the kid was hot! He let his hand linger for a second, feeling the boy's ass, and the heat radiating back from it. Then, he pulled his hand back wide and swung it forward so fast it was a blur, palm flat, letting it smack hard into the lad's right cheek with a SPLATTTTT. YEAH, that HAD to sting! The boy's mouth was open, a look of shock or perhaps surprise, at the spank from his principal's hand. Then, Mr. Chandler drew back and nailed the other cheek, and a second SPLATTTT resounded in the room. Then he reached down and cupped the boys ass again, moving his hand over it, under it, letting it brush momentarily over the slight round bulge under his legs where the boy's balls were crunched up inside. Then, another SPLATTT with his hand, as hard as he could swing it. Again a perfect shot and right into the boy's left ass cheek, so hard that his hand was indented there with the impact. With that smack the boy actually grunted. He moved his hand again over the boy's rear, feeling every curve and the increasing warmth from the ass inside apparent through the thin fabric. Finally, he stopped himself, and once again resuming the posture of a principal in control, he stepped away from the boy, before he really did something he might regret.
Then partly to just regain full control of the situation and to calm himself, he said again: "Don't MOVE mister, and keeps that bottom out. I want it begging for the paddle! And not a word Mister...not a sound!"
Then, walking to the door, he paused just as Gary Anderson arrived, a look of nervousness about him. The little fat kid looked like a bowl of jelly, his fat belly out and over his belt, the horizontal stripes of his shirt accentuating his fatness. Then, still standing outside the office, the boy spoke: "Hello Mr. Chandler, I,,,ah, did you want to see me sir?"
The principal almost jumped when he first saw the boy---God that had been close and he was instantly relieved he hadn't been seen just a minute earlier. "You---you're always in trouble Pendleton. You know it, and so do I. But today's your lucky day. I just want you to witness a little paddling. Seems that your friend Billy here won't finger you, so his little bottom is about to be heated up and I figured you ought to watch that happen. Unless you have anything to tell me?" After he said the words, the principal stepped out of the way so the view into the office was not obstructed.
Suddenly, you could almost feel the tension as Gary Pendleton's eyes opened wide as he took in the scene before him. There plane as day was his half-friend Billy Vanpelt bent over the principal's desk, seemingly waiting, almost begging for a paddling and his face bright red with embarrassment. And OH _s_h_i_t_ there was that _d_a_m_n_ board, and one thing Gary Pendleton sure knew about was that board. Yeah, from his look you could tell he was thinking THANK GOD it wasn't his ass that was gonna be feeling it this time. Wow! As the principal watched him, the fat boy smiled. It was the kind of smile you have to force, almost like your glad to be where you are but still not 100% sure where things might go.
Mr. Chandler studied him. So, he wasn't going to own up to anything. Nope, he was just going to stand there and watch this innocent boy take his licks---the licks HE should have been getting instead. Well, so be it.
Mr. Chandler: "Well, do you have ANYTHING to say before I paddle his ass Mister?"
Gary looked at the principal, and then back at the boy with his ass waiting for it. There was NO WAY he was gonna say anything to incriminate himself! Then he slowly shook his head, and then said "No sir....I don't think so sir. Do you want me to watch or something sir?"
Mr. Chandler said: "Yes I do, and I'm real sure that Mr. Vanpelt waiting over there will especially enjoy having you give him that courtesy. Get your ass over by the window, and try and look your friend in the eye while he takes your licks."
Then, sticking his head out into the outer office, he announced: "I NEED A FACULTY MEMBER IN HERE---I'VE GOT A PADDLING TO ADMINISTER!"
Mr. Robert Carslon, a no-nonsense history teacher and a man to be feared in own right, looked up from some mail he was sorting through and said "Be right there. I've always got time for a well deserved discipline session." With that, he put down the mail and the two men walked into the inner office, leaving the door open in the process.
Without any further fanfare, Mr. Chandler walked over to his desk, where the sophomore was still bent over and waiting, and picked up his paddle, moving it quickly around and pushing it right up until it was resting on the seat of the boy's britches. Oh, he loved this moment! Robert Carlson was grinning from ear-to-ear too, obviously enthralled to be watching and happy for the early morning diversion.
Suddenly, the boy under the paddle, started to beg: "Oh GODDDD, please....oh please don't! Please Mr. Chandler, I wont....."
As he was talking the principal put the paddle in motion, swinging the huge board with a vengeance, the air whistling through the holes and followed immediately by a huge CRACKKKKKKKKKKKK that echoed off the walls.
"URGEEEGGGG -- YEOWWWWWWWWWWWWWW! Oh _f_u_c_k_ ME!!!!!!!!"
The paddle had cut him off in mid-sentence, chopped the words right out of his brain and replaced them with a burn that was now radiating across his ass like a forest fire. The boy was obviously in shock, totally taken by the suddenness of the impact, and by the intensity of the burn that followed. His eyes flew wide open, and out of his mouth the boy had literally shouted, the last obscenity hanging in the air like a cloud.
Mr. Chandler, hesitating only a second, remarked as he timed the next swing: "Watch the language son, or you're gonna be here all morningggggggg!!!"
CRACKKKKKKKKKKK!
"Yeowwwwwwwwww!" "Oh GOD! Oh God!!!! Oh fuc...kkkk! Oh God my ass sir---its on FIRE!"
CRACKKKKKKKKKKK!
With the third crack of the paddle against his ass, the three smacks coming right in a row with almost no time betweet them, the boy jerked up and grabbed his ass, then started to hop up and down and his face flushed bright red, his eyes damp and with a single tear running down his right cheek. Although he wasn't crying YET, from his expression he was in total misery--his ass was obviously burning with an intensity his brain could no longer fathom, his mind unable to contemplate another smack and his brain desperate to do anything to prevent it. The teenager was turning in circles as he hopped, showing off his body and his tight jeans as he turned. He was holding his burning rear and his mouth was muttering out his misery: "Oh...no Oh No.... Oh _s_h_i_t_. Oh it burns. It BURNS! No. No more! No MORE! Oh please.... Oh _s_h_i_t_...OH _s_h_i_t_TTTTTT! Please sir...PLEASE. I'm begging you!"
Oh yes a paddling can be soooo sweet!
Mr. Chandler let him hop and rub his ass, trying to put out the fire that can only be extinguished with time. He noticed Robert was still grinning, a sparkle in his eyes and perhaps, well, perhaps even a bone in his pants. That was difficult to tell for sure, but what was obvious was that he too was enjoying every second of this teenager's misery. Yep, three good smacks fired one-two-three and this boy's ass was roasting! The fat kid seemed to be watching it all with some mixed feelings. He didn't seem to be grinning anymore, but at the same time he couldn't stop staring and with an intensity that was hard to miss. It didn't really matter--just having him here to watch was adding to the humiliation factor and making the paddling so much sweeter than it otherwise would have been.
The sounds from the outer office had stopped. The typewriters were still, and apparently everyone was pausing to listen to the sounds being carried through the open doorway. Yes, there is something about a teenage paddling that grabs everyones' attention.
Then, the moment savored, Mr. Chandler said "Back in position Vanpelt. Now!!! I'm not done with you! You move again and I'm going to start your entire paddling over again. And watch your language or this will never end. Do you UNDERSTAND me MISTER?"
The boy looked over, almost in shock, and tried to answer "Yes sir." The words came out, but his voice had cracked like a twelve year olds and it was obvious he was fighting an internal battle to maintain some of his composure. Still, his voice had betrayed him and he had sounded more like a little boy and less like a smart-assed teenager. One thing was for certain, he sure was unhappy now! Still, he managed to get back into position, his hands back on the desk, and with a little encouragement from his principal, he even managed to get his butt stuck back out, the pants still stretched so tight that there was literally no protection for the boy's ass inside.
"Don't MOVE!!!!"
CRACKKKKKKKKKKKK!!!!
The boy grunted from the impact, his eyes squinted closed almost as if he was barely holding on to the internal struggle to ignore the intensity of the pain. Mr. Chandler wanted him crying, and so he didn't hesitate, bringing the wood back hard and faster than ever before, the big paddle smashing into the teenagers rump with a fury and sending a burn into his ass that he could never forget and certainly would never be able to absorb.
CRACKKKKKKKKKKKKK! "Oh UGGGGGHHHHHH... YEOWWWWWWWWWW!!!!!" the boy yelled.
Mr. Chandler grinned, expecting the boy to burst into tears and begin to babble like they always do. But, other than the yell, somehow the boy held it together. Sure, his eyes were wet, damp and glistening, but they sure weren't flowing like a river and definitely he was somehow staying somewhat composed. The youth's ability and determination to take the swats was truly amazing, and even the principal realized he had probably pushed things about as far as he could.
He made one final attempt, a tremendous swing really, and he slammed the wood into the boys ass with an upper cut that caught him just under both cheeks, right where his legs and his ass joined together. The paddle swing was so hard the youth was literally lifted off the floor from the impact and the CRACKKKKKKKKK was so loud that it reverberated all the way outside and down the hall. Yet, even so, the boy whose ass was now nothing but a flaming caldron just bit his lip and held in the tears, a single loud grunt all that escaped his lips. Defeated, but still satisfied, Mr. Chandler dropped the paddle back on the desk, and said "You two get to class, NOW! And no more spitwads.....I mean it!"
Both boys looked at the principal. They were each humiliated to the core. The first, the one with an ass that was on fire, was totally humiliated as only a teenager who has just been paddled can understand. He was ashamed of being paddled, and red-faced with the knowledge that everyone knew it and knowing he would be kidded for the next several days. The second boy, the one with the fat but untouched ass, was embarrassed as well. But he was embarrassed not for what had been done to him, but for what he had allowed to be done to someone else. His humiliation would last a lot longer and was a lot deeper inside, but like the teen who had been paddled, it too would be a lesson he would never forget. The two boys left together, their faces red and their embarrassment complete. They didn't know it then, but they had also solidified a friendship, a friendship formed with six hard swats from a wooden board, a board with sixteen holes that burned like nothing else could burn on earth.
As the boys left heading back to class, Mr. Chandler smiled. The boys passed through the outer office in a hurry, watched by the entire staff and the two student aids. Before they got out of earshot they had to have heard the smirks of laughter from the office they left behind. After they were gone, slowly the sounds of typing resumed and the bustle of the office returned to normal. As it did, the principal reached down and picked up his empty coffee mug, and together with Robert Carlson, the two headed down to the teacher's lounge to get another. For the two of them, the last few minutes had formed a memory the kind of which you just want to savor. Yes, it was one of those perfect mornings, with the crisp fall air, the beautiful trees hanging full with a million colors, and a quick little paddling of one very hot teenage ass. Life can be so sweet, so very sweet indeed!
[If you have the time, I really would appreciate any comments, pro or con. it is from the comments of the readers that I gain the motivation to write.--Nathan9001@yahoo. com]