I went to an all-boys school for my junior high years. Adjacent to the building on the south end was its counterpart, the all-girls academy, which I would always pass walking on my way home. Many times, I would try to peek into the first-floor windows to catch a glimpse of the girls, but, as luck would have it, the blinds were almost always closed. In the off chance they were open, the classrooms were sure to be empty. That all changed one spring afternoon as I was strolling home from school. As I passed the first-floor windows of the building on my usual route, I noticed that one of the blinds were open. Of course, I expected to see an empty classroom once again, but I was compelled out of habit to check regardless.
As I snuck a peek through the window, I was surprised to see a young blond girl about my age - around thirteen or fourteen - sitting in one of the front row desks, staring straight ahead, nearly motionless. I was wondering what she was doing there at this hour, as school was over and she was the sole girl in the room. I noticed that the window was also slightly ajar, and as such, I could make out the voice of a man coming from somewhere in the room. Craning my head further towards the front of the class where the blackboard was, I could see an older man, greying, late forties or early fifties, standing and talking to the girl. I could only assume he was the teacher. As I listened closely, I could make out what he was saying to her.
“As you know, Miss O’Rourke, this is, quite frankly, a very serious matter.”
I watched as the girl said nothing, continuing to stare ahead.
“We here at the academy take cheating as a very grave offence. I don’t think I have to remind you of that.”
The man turned toward the oak-panel teacher’s desk and sauntered up to it, stopped, picked up a piece of paper from the stack sitting there, paused momentarily as if perusing its content, then paced back to the girl’s desk.
“Ms. Malone was quite adamant that I take a look at this test paper you handed in. She found it very troubling. When I looked at it, along with Heather Jenson’s paper, I found it troubling as well. Each answer on your paper nearly identical to those on Miss Jenson’s.”
So, he wasn’t her teacher, I thought. Maybe he was the headmaster. Yes, that was probably right. And the girl was in some serious trouble, from the sound of it.
“There is no doubt in my mind you two ladies copied off of each other.”
The girl, sitting silent this whole time, finally spoke up, in a voice filled with desperate protest.
“No! It isn’t true! I didn’t copy anything from anyone! I would never cheat, I swear!” The girl was nearly in tears at this point.
The headmaster, on the other hand, was as implacable as before.
“I believe the evidence speaks for itself, Miss O’Rourke. You are only compounding the trouble you’re in by trying to lie your way out of it.”
“But I’m not lying, I promise!” The desperation in the girl’s voice had grown considerably.
“Unfortunately, I do not believe you. I highly doubt any faculty member at this school would. And, as headmaster of the academy, it is my duty to ensure that code of conduct violations do not go unpunished. That is why you are serving this detention.”
There was a momentary pause as the headmaster seemed to be collecting his thoughts. Then he spoke.
“Stand up, Miss O’Rourke, and walk over to the desk.”
The girl, visibly frightened, obediently did as she was told.
“Bring the chair”, the headmaster said plainly, pointing to an old-fashioned wooden seat situated in the corner of the room. Once again, the girl did as she was ordered.
I had no idea what was going to happen, and my stomach tingled with some strange mix of bewilderment and fascination.
The girl put the chair down in front of the large oak-panel desk.
After another brief pause, the headmaster said, “Remove your skirt, Miss O’Rourke.”
The girl hesitated for what seemed like a minute (but it was probably much less) before the headmaster repeated, “Remove your skirt.”
The girl hesitantly unfastened the button to her plaid school-uniform skirt and slid it down her waist, past her thighs, eventually letting it drop to the floor. She picked it up and draped it over the back of the wooden chair. The girl was now standing in her white cotton panties. I noticed that part of her right buttock was exposed, falling out of the seat of her underwear.
I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Being from an all-boys school, I had very few opportunities to see girls during the day, let alone have the pleasure of seeing one in her panties. I still had no idea what was happening, though. It was becoming like a surreal dream I did not want to wake up from.
“Bend over the desk” the headmaster said in his matter-of-fact tone. The girl did as she was told.
He moved over to the girl’s arched body, positioning himself next to her rear end. He placed his left hand over the small of her back and raised his right hand high in the air. It came down with a sudden hard smack on the back of the girl’s bottom. The soles of her feet lifted off the ground and came back down in response to the smack. She let out a small yelp and whimper. The headmaster pushed the palm of his hand more forcibly across the girl’s back and slapped her bottom again, this time swifter and harder. He continued with a succession of quick, hard smacks on the girl’s rear, switching from one cheek to the other every so often, the girl’s cries growing louder and more apparent with each one.
I had never seen anyone receive a spanking in my life before. To be sure, I had certainly heard of it happening, but I had never actually witnessed one occurring before my very eyes, in person. It was, admittedly, quite a sexually exciting experience watching an attractive young girl getting spanked on her cute bottom.
A few more minutes passed, and the headmaster got in the last succession of slaps on the girl’s behind. He stopped suddenly, and I wondered whether that was it for the girl’s punishment. Therefore, I was surprised when the headmaster said, “remain in that position” and walked behind the girl. He grabbed her panties by the waistband, sliding his thumbs inside the seat and pulled them upwards, wedging her underwear deep inside her bum cheeks, making it look almost like a thong. I could see from the girl’s facial expressions that she was most uncomfortable having her underpants forced into her behind like that, and I squirmed a bit at the sight myself.
He then walked over to the front of his desk and opened the top drawer. He removed a standard, 12-inch wooden ruler from the drawer and closed it, walking back to where he had stood before.
“Straddle the chair”, he said, and the girl grabbed the back of the wooden seat and stood over it, legs akimbo. She bent forward at the headmaster’s command and I could see the waistband of her panties tighten as she did so, her underwear disappearing even further into the crack of her nether regions.
The headmaster gave the girl’s waistband a few tugs for good measure, ensuring it was securely in place, lifted up the ruler and came down with a succession of solid swats on the girl’s cheeks. He took the liberty of spanking one cheek four of five times, before promptly alternating to the other and laying some sound spanks on that one. As badly as I felt for the girl, I couldn’t help but be fascinated by the sound of the ruler making contact with her backside, the targeted cheek jiggling in response. The girl’s cries were constant now, as I watched her exposed buttocks turn from pale white to a bright crimson hue in a matter of minutes. Several times, she reached behind with her hand in a vain attempt to massage the afflicted areas, but each time the headmaster sharply warned her to keep her hands planted firmly on the chair’s backrest.
I watched as a few more swats were administered to any non-spanked areas of her behind, then heard the headmaster tell the girl to ‘turn around and face him’. She slowly - and painfully, I imagine - did as she was told turned toward the headmaster, her knees wobbling somewhat as she did. He then told her to straddle the chair with her hands holding the backrest in reverse. As she squatted over the chair, I noticed that her panties had wedged quite considerably in the front as well, giving the headmaster (and myself, of course!) a peek at her naughty bits. I don’t have to tell you that this excited me to no end, of course, but the headmaster seemed undaunted by the sight and informed the girl that she was to squat down even lower over the chair.
As stimulated as I was by this sight, I wondered what the purpose was of ordering the girl into this awkward position, since her posterior was well out of spanking range now. I soon received my answer as the headmaster began spanking the inside of the girl’s thighs, working the unforgiving wooden ruler up and down in a series of quick, but effective, smacks. Even at that tender young age, I remember myself admiring the commitment and thoroughness of the headmaster’s disciplinary technique. The boys at my school never received more than a few short swats with a hickory stick on the back of our school pants as punishment for our misdeeds, and, while it certainly did sting quite a bit, it paled drastically in comparison with the treatment this particular young lady was receiving. I recall thinking how much I would dread getting into trouble at that school!
When the girl’s thighs were sufficiently red with ruler marks, the headmaster told the girl to stand upright and turn to face the blackboard yet again. ‘Was the punishment going to continue?’ I wondered, as I readjusted my position on the ledge and gazed ahead with a mixture of nervousness tinged with bewilderment.
He then told the girl to bend over the teacher’s desk yet again as she had before, with her buttocks accentuated towards the headmaster. He placed the ruler on the desk and grabbed the waistband of the girl’s underwear like he had previously. I thought he was going to wedge her panties upwards again for maximum discomfort, so naturally I was shocked when he began sliding them down the girl’s rear, past her thighs. He halted halfway through this motion, his head leaning down where he was nearly eye-level with the girl’s backside, as if examining her underpants. I thought maybe the girl had accidentally soiled herself during the ordeal and the headmaster was just now noticing it in her undergarments, but after a moment he continued to slide the panties down the girl’s legs, twisting them down to her ankles. I heard him say, “step out of your underpants” and she begrudgingly did as she was told, sliding one foot out then the other, then handing them to the headmaster who placed them on the chair with her plaid skirt. She then bent over the desk again, mindful to keep her legs closed as tightly as possible to avoid showing the headmaster more than what was absolutely necessary.
The blood rushed to my head and I could feel my mind swimming at the sight of the girl, standing naked from the waist down except for her white knee socks and shoes, displaying a full moon to the headmaster and - unknowingly - to me. In my short life, I had never even imagined I would ever bear witness to an event such as this, and I could barely contain my emotions as I studied the girl’s already well spanked bottom, admiring fully for the first time the plumpness of the very tops of the cheeks and the round curving just above the thighs.
The headmaster picked the ruler back up and gave the girl’s bottom a few mild practice pats before coming down with several hard spanks at the very tops of her buttocks. There was a considerably fuller sound to the smacks than before - possibly due to the removal of the panties, each spank echoing with a very satisfying ‘slap, slap’ sound that complemented the sheer redness of the girl’s rear. The cries and yelps of pain that were merely effusive at first had turned to screams of desperate anguish, and although the girl’s face was mostly hidden from my view at the window, I could see tears streaming down the left side of her face. The jiggling that was prevalent before was even more pronounced this time, and I was nearly mesmerized by the bouncing of the girl’s rosy red bare buttocks as the ruler came down. He even worked his way down past the tops of the thighs to the hamstrings, where the ruler left its incendiary mark in a workmanlike pattern of two-inch lines.
It was becoming quite apparent that the girl was having increased difficulty keeping her legs together, due to the burning of her inner and rear thighs, and as a result would occasionally treat the headmaster and myself to a full view of her exposed naughty bits. I figured that her tender buttocks and thighs were in such agony by now that she wasn’t even considering what she was inadvertently displaying for her audience. The headmaster took this opportunity to use the ruler on some of the heretofore un-spanked areas of her behind, including the now bare split between her bum cheeks, while remembering not to neglect the spots that had been prominently worked over. This was as sound and as thorough a spanking as anyone could ever hope to see, and I was having the great fortune of seeing it firsthand.
Around fifteen minutes had passed from the start of the spanking to its eventual denouement, but to me, it had felt like a lifetime. When it was over, the headmaster told the girl to stand up and put her panties back on, but not her skirt. He then ordered her to take the chair and march over to the far wall of the classroom and face the corner. He added that she was to sit backwards on the chair, straddling it in a similar manner as before - hands grasping the backrest, of course - while she waited in the corner. She did exactly that and, even though she was facing the opposite direction from my point of view, I could clearly see the pain and discomfort in her body as her clothed bottom twitched and squirmed on the hard wooden seat while she tried in futility to ignore the fire in her behind. During this time, the headmaster sat calmly at the oak-panel desk, casually browsing through some school files, every so often reminding the girl to keep her hands on the chair and not to fuss with her backside, unless she desired another spanking. The entire ordeal lasted until the third after school bell had sounded.
I kept what I witnessed that day to myself, not even telling the other boys at my school, even though it probably would have made me the class hero. This was one of those special memories that you don’t usually share with others, as it tends to lose its special value that only the bearer truly understands. I would often wonder, sometime later, if that girl’s classmate - the one she had cheated off of - had suffered the same fate, but I never found out. In fact, no matter how many times I walked past those first floor windows during my junior years, I never saw anything like it ever again.