The Library of Spanking Fiction: Wellred Weekly


Wellred Weekly
Volume 1, Number 12 : December 7, 2012
 
Articles
Items of interest regarding all things spanking

Recollections: Discovering Sensual Spanking (cont.)
by Kilahara

The Evil Witch of Blythwood School
The reality of school came to me on entering grade one and meeting Miss Heddle, who grimly presided over it. She had stood at the front, unsmiling as always. Grey haired, grim-faced and wearing rimless glasses, she was, of course, much bigger than we were, and somehow had managed to inspire terror in her charges from the first day.

"All right class, take out your readers, put them on your desks, and do it quietly." Twenty eight copies of the Mary, John and Peter book appeared on twenty-eight desks. "Open your books and turn to page four."

"There is a new word on the page, one that you do not know. I want you to point to the word. I will come around and check where you are pointing." Miss Heddle waited what she considered to be a suitable time, then started up and down the aisles looking at the pointing fingers of the children, all relieved when she approved their choice of the new word.

When the teacher reached my desk, I was not pointing at a word. Miss Heddle became angry. "Where is the new word, the one you don't know?"

"There isn't one, Miss Heddle."

Annoyed and exasperated, she stabbed her finger at a word on the page. "There is the word you don't know."

"But I do know it, Miss Heddle. It's 'little'." I said it clearly. A few of my fellow students gasped.

"You don't know it. I have not taught it to you yet." That made little sense, since I knew the word perfectly well, and could not understand her anger.

Miss Heddle, face now deep red, going on purple, grabbed me by the arm and yanked me out of my seat, and almost dragged me to the classroom door. I was hauled down the corridor to the Nurse's Room, which was only in use one day a week, since this was a small school. As we passed the office, the teacher obtained a black book from the secretary who looked concerned as she gave it to Miss Heddle. At six, and in grade one, I had no clue about the significance of the black book with what looked like a long book mark protruding from between the pages. I would soon learn.

In the Nurse's Room I stood while she opened the book and wrote something in it, then picked up the strange book mark. It looked thick and heavy, with a textured appearance that I would one day learn was because of a sort of canvas and rubber material, usually used for industrial belting. "Hold out your hand." Still not comprehending, I did so.

Crack! It sounded like a gun shot, and my world exploded in pain. I started to cry.

"Now the other hand." The same sound, the same agony.

"The first hand again."

"And the other one."

Miss Heddle closed the book and led me, crying, back to class.

Two of the big kids walked past in the hall. Despite the pain I was suffering, I overheard one say to the other, speaking softly, as was expected in schools of those days, "He just got the slugs."

"I know. I heard."

The class was quiet when we returned. Miss Heddle grudgingly handed me a tissue, and said nothing. I had just been given the strap. It hurt. There was nothing nice about it. The teacher had been angry, and unfair. I really did know that word, in fact I knew all the words in the Mary, John and Peter Book. I must never tell Miss Heddle that I had read the whole book to myself. The message was clear. Straps were used by mean, angry people, like the Witch of Blythwood School, who wanted to hurt. My opinion of the strap, or 'slugs', had been painfully and permanently imprinted by Miss Heddle.

A Pivotal Moment in Grade Three
Peggy-Anne was an eight year-old brat, in the clearest and most definite sense of the word. Peggy-Anne had a habit of punching her fellow students without provocation or warning. That did not make her popular. This happened on a daily basis, often in the classroom as we were putting coats away in the lockers along the back of the room. The teacher was fed up, and one day made the fatal mistake of an exasperated threat. "Peggy-Anne, if you do that again, I will give you a spanking in front of the class." She had been spanked, in private, on previous occasions. Peggy-Anne did it again. The teacher was forced into keeping her word. "You promised, Miss Ferguson..." the class reminded her.

Miss Ferguson placed the traditional teacher's chair of the day in Toronto, a solid oak, straight-backed armless one, facing the class. She sat down, and Peggy-Anne stood beside her, looking nervous, a finger in her mouth. "You know what to do, Peggy-Anne," the teacher said. Peggy-Anne said nothing and started to cry. Miss Ferguson reached out, pulled her close, and placed her, struggling, across her lap. The girl continued to cry. "What are you crying for, young lady? I haven’t touched you yet."

Her short skirt had lifted to reveal her panties! There were giggles and snickers, mainly from the boys. Miss Ferguson looked sternly over the five rows of pupils. "This is not a joke. If any of you boys laugh again, you will come up here after I finish with Peggy-Ann, and take her place." There was silence at once, and many of us looked at each other with grins we tried to hide. Four spanks were given, and they did not look painful at all. Peggy-Ann got up from her spanking and returned to her seat. "Did it hurt?" someone whispered to her while the teacher was putting the chair away. She just shook her head. The recess bell rang, and we went out to play. Among most of our class, there was only one topic of conversation, at least in the boys' yard.

This was clearly an important developmental moment for some of us, and the image of that event was imprinted in the minds of many. Whatever the nature of the interest that was nurtured by what we had witnessed, it definitely ensured that for many of the class, spankings would always be interesting and exciting. The topic became frequent in conversation from then on. Not only that but decades later many of us met at a reunion held for the school's seventy-fifth anniversary since construction. The first reminiscence raised? You guessed it. Peggy-Ann’s spanking. She did not attend the reunion.

Summer of Spanking Delight
That summer, following my birthday, aged nine, I arrived at the farm owned by my elderly grandmother and one of my uncles. Not only was there a girl next door in my childhood, but there was a country cousin as well. Sarah and I were good friends as well as cousins, even if she was a girl. She had a couple of girlfriends living nearby who were frequent visitors and they were there when I arrived at the farm.

I told Sarah, and the others of course, about Peggy-Ann's spanking, and mentioned that I liked Miss Ferguson, and thought she was a good teacher. Sarah replied, telling how her teacher of the same grade, had spanked a boy in front of her class. My cousin added, "I think the best teachers give spankings." That was the first indication I had of her interest, and in a moment the conversation was about spankings, at school and home. The activity was of great interest to all four of us. The subject of birthday spankings came up, and everyone agreed that they were fun and a good idea. Sarah told everyone that my birthday was yesterday, and I, perhaps foolishly, admitted, when asked, that I had not had a spanking for the event.

Of course the girls decided to remedy that lack. Being outnumbered, and Jane, a friend of Sarah's, was older and bigger than all of us, I decided it was wise to accept. However, there was some room for negotiation, and they all agreed that afterwards they should all have spankings for their last birthdays, or coming ones, and I was given the honour of providing them. The next half hour or hour, memory is vague on that aspect, was fascinating and fun for all. I enjoyed my birthday Paddywhacks, but at least equally enjoyed their spankings. Giving spankings was a new experience, and one to be savoured and remembered forever! A girl's bottom felt nice under my hand.




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