Whats your name, son?
John.
John what?
John, sir.
Good answer, thought Mr. Pendleton. He grinned and then made himself clear, I mean your last name, son.
Beck sir. John Beck.
Have you every felt the paddle, John Beck?, Mr. Pendleton asked rhetorically, for he knew very well that Johns virgin butt had never been paddled, at least not by him. Mr. Pendleton was the Vice-Principal, the school disciplinarian, and he was intimately acquainted with the curvature of each of the innumerable backsides he had blistered.
No, sir! John answered nervously, having just been caught running down the hall trying to beat the bell for fourth period. He would have made it in time too, had Mr. Pendleton not stopped him. But there he was, standing under the shadow of the formidable Mr. Pendleton, as the classroom door closed behind Mr. Spaulding, the civics teacher.
I beat butt for being late to class, John; remember that! boomed Mr. Pendleton. John already knew this; all the boys did. Countless times during the day, the swooshing sound of the paddle crashing loudly into young, tender fanny could be heard outside the Vice-Principals door. In fact, the sound echoed down the hall, so that any nearby classroom with an open door heard it.
A boy getting his ass paddled is one of the most distinguishable sounds on earth. Once youve heard it, you dont forget. It wasnt unusual for five or six resounding whacks to break even the biggest and toughest of boys. The steady, purposeful and unrelenting swing of the thick, wide, long, air-holed oak paddle invariably produced yelps, pleas, tears and even an occasional low moan from the seniors.
Yes, sir. I know, sir. said John. John was terrified of Mr. Pendleton and the brutal sounds coming from behind the door marked Vice-Principal. He had heard stories from his less fortunate buddies who had tasted that dreaded, heavy board. The fear and sound of it alone had kept him in line, and although John was no stranger to the sound of leather snapping out from his own dads belt loops, he knew instinctively that the paddle would sting even worse than his old mans brown rawhide belt. Needless to say, Johns home grown Yes Sir attitude carried over into school.
Then get your butt into class, boy. Move it before I change my mind. Youre lucky that Im in a good mood today, otherwise youd be sporting a cherry red butt in the showers after gym today. Have I made myself perfectly clear, son? Mr. Pendleton questioned.
Perfectly clear, sir.
Good...dismissed.
John opened the classroom door and assumed his assigned seat. Glad to see you decided to join us today, John, greeted Mr. Spaulding, you know the rules - one hours detention for being late.
Yes, sir. John answered gratefully. Give me an hour after school any day rather than three stinging hot minutes in Mr. Pendletons office. he thought to himself.
Mr. Spaulding paddled too, they all did. All the teachers were encouraged to discipline the young men. State regulations required that teachers have at least one adult witness present for a paddling. Usually Mr. Pendleton watched the punishment; so in practice it was simpler to send a boy to the office and leave the paddling up to Mr. Pendleton himself. It saved the teachers time, and he knew that, regardless of the reason for being sent to the office, the boy would be paddled.
Occasionally, a teacher would interrupt his class and take a boy down to the Vice-Principals office and paddle him himself, there and then, in front of Mr. Pendleton. This was very effective indeed because invariably, a hush fell on the class as they heard the footsteps, the knock, the waiting and the beating. Some of the men rather enjoyed paddling the seat of young mens pants from time to time; Mr. Pendleton took special pride in his work.
Of course, Mr. Pendleton did his tanning without witnesses - the State regulation did not apply to him, the Vice-Principal. He played baseball and golf so he packed a powerful swing. Built like a brick outhouse, Mr. Pendleton hit the hardest by far. John wiped his brow as he considered his narrow escape. Besides, thought young John, it was kind of cool getting detention... the tough guys look at you differently once you get into trouble.
At lunch, Johns friend, Pete, sat down next to him. Pete had watched Mr. Pendleton land on John as Mr. Spaulding closed the door. What did Pendleton say to you? asked Pete.
Asked if I had ever been paddled, answered John, said he beats butt if youre late to class.
He does, too. Consider yourself lucky my friend, at least you got a warning, which I more than I can say. Why, the first he ever spoke to me, it wasnt thirty seconds before I found myself grabbing the bar.
How many times have you gotten it? asked John with nervous curiosity.
Only twice, but believe me, thats enough. It stings like hell and your butt stays sore and bruised for more than a week.
How does he do it? asked John, feeling his dick start to press against his white Jockies.
Well, theres a white line on the floor and he makes you stand behind it. And theres this bar that comes up from the floor, kind of like the rungs along the gym wall. It sticks up about a foot off the floor and he makes you bend over and grab a hold of it.
Why? asked John as he rearranged himself under the lunch table.
So he can beat the hell out of your ass, Pete answered with irritation, What do you mean why?
I mean the bar, why the bar? John clarified, both hoping and dreading to hear more.
Well, see, he tells you to grab on to it. If you let go before he tells you to, he adds on two more - thats the rule. Says the paddle would break your fingers if they got in the way. And it would, too, believe me. I guess thats so you cant sue him. My Dad says old man Pendleton is allowed to paddle us as hard and as much as he wants, just as long as he doesnt break any bones. At home, Petes Dad didnt spare the rod either, and both boys fathers heartily approved of the paddle that sat on the corner of Mr. Pendletons desk.
How many did you get?
Six the first time; eight the next. He also keeps a record of who gets it and how many. Then he makes you sign the book next to your name - some of the shakiest signatures in the school Im here to tell ya
Did you cry? John dared to ask. By this time his nice hard dick polled up a pup tent in his khakis.
Hell, yes. He paddles you until you do cry. He says that a paddling doesnt start until a boy starts to cry; but dont try faking it - hell see right through you. I mean it stings like all get out. He knows when hes got your attention. One other thing, John. He always gives you a choice.
Yeah? You mean that theres an option besides the paddle?
You crazy? asked Pete indignantly, No one gets out of a paddling.
But you said he gives you a choice?
He does.
What choice?
He lets you choose which side of the paddle he uses to beat you with. Pete said with a wink. John wanted to hear more but the bell rang announcing the five minute grace period before the beginning of fifth period. Neither boy was late.