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Lakemont I

(***, F/f, Severe, n/c schoolgirl)

A girl tells of her discipline experiences at a strict girls' school. (Approximately 1,532 words. Originally published 1997-10.)

There are only three schools in America as strict as Lakemont Academy for Girls. My father did the research and chose Lakemont, and I and my three sisters have suffered for it.

Lakemont operates on a three stage punishment system, reset each day. The first is a verbal verbal rebuke: "Elyse, keep your eyes on your own paper."

The second is a mild paddling in front of the class. "Elyse! You were warned. To my desk and bend over for the paddle!" Warning paddlings are given in uniform, and thick cotton panties and heavy wool skirts blunt the sting of the light paddle enough to make it bearable. It's usually at least four swats, though some teachers give as many as a dozen. It doesn't hurt much, but it's awfully embarrassing.

If you misbehave a third time on the same day, you have advanced to stage three. You receive another paddling in front of the class, but this time your skirt is removed and your panties are drawn down. It's a least a dozen cracks, often more, and in addition to your increased embarrassment the spanking actually hurts.

The punishment doesn't stop with a simple spanking -- you are immediately sent off to the principal for a private paddling in her office. You have to leave your skirt in the classroom and hurry down the hall in only your underwear. One look at you and the principal knows why you have come. Sometimes you have to wait while she finishes disciplining another student, or chats on the phone with a parent, but inevitably, your time comes.

Her office always seems cold. She wastes no time, but puts you across her lap immediately. Only when you are in position with your panties pulled down does she ask what you have done. Sometimes she warms you up with a hand spanking, but before you leave her office she has picked up her oak paddle and blistered your backside. Depending on your offense and how naughty you are in general, she'll give you two dozen or more, always extremely hard and fast. You leave her office in tears.

Back in class, some teachers require you to remove your panties and stand in the corner so everyone can see the results of your punishment. Others simply make you take your seat, but in either case, your skirt remains up on the teacher's desk until the end of the day.

You might think with such strict punishment that incidents of discipline would be rare and far between, but such is not the case. Lakemont has hundreds of rules, and the infraction of any is enough to call for the paddle. Most are minor infractions -- talking out of turn, poor performance, chewing gum, etc. The major sins, like fighting or swearing, call for an immediate bare bottom paddling and referral to the principal. You also proceed automatically to stage three upon your third warning paddling during a single week. Since even the best-behaved girls get one or two of those a week, nearly every student is in constant risk of the principal's paddle. In every class at least one or two girls are sure to be spanked, and every day you'll see two or three girls without skirts.

Generally paddlings aren't regarded as significant. They are simply another unpleasant part of reality. Girls who cry or make a fuss are mocked by others, and there are several cliques whose "entrance requirements" involve doing something naughty -- the more imaginative the better -- simply to receive a stage three paddling to prove yourself tough.

I'd never found the discipline at Lakemont to be anything more than an annoyance, until one week in my sophomore year. Monday found me in a grumpy mood and I received two warnings from Ms. Saldano in first period English -- a verbal warning and then ten strokes with the paddle. That quieted me until Tuesday, when Cathy Maitland and I got into an argument at lunch and I think I threw my Jello at her. At least that's what everyone said I did. I was so angry I can't remember. The lunch monitor that day happened to be Ms. Saldano and she didn't hesitate to take me straight to stage three. My skirt was confiscated, I was bent over the back of a chair, and she let me have twenty hard ones that made me forget whatever Cathy and I were fighting about. Fifteen minutes later I was over Mrs. Chase's lap while she spanked my bare bottom into a rosy blush, and then she gave me two dozen wallops with her heavy paddle that had me sobbing and begging for mercy.

Wednesday I was clean, and Thursday I squeaked by with a verbal from my math teacher and a half dozen from Miss Jensen, my history teacher. Friday I was so excited about the coming weekend and filled with memories of my dreadful Tuesday, that I forgot my stage two warning on Monday. It was with a horror that I heard Ms. Saldano call me before the class, reminding me that this was my third stage two and thus, it was now a stage three.

I begged, I literally begged for forgiveness as I walked to the front of the room, but the woman had no heart. Over her desk I went, skirt gone, panties down around my ankles. I gripped the wooden desk with all my strength as she gave me a most thorough three dozen with her thin paddle, each stroke drawing gasps from me and making my eyes sting with tears.

Later, sitting awkwardly in the principal's outer office, I realized a new horror. This was my second stage three in one week! Dread filled by soul. Not only would my upcoming punishment be even worse, but Mrs. Chase would notify my parents! I knew my father too well to imagine he'd let me off getting punished at home.

Sure enough, Mrs. Chase was furious to see me again so soon, and this time her hand spanking was three times as long as on Tuesday. With my bottom so freshly paddled by Ms. Saldano the hand spanking actually drew tears and struggles from me. I was almost weeping with relief when Mrs. Chase picked up the paddle.

Until the first blow, that is. It took my breath away. I couldn't even scream. She paddled me harder than I'd ever been paddled before, even from my father. She didn't stop at two dozen, nor three. She gave me a full four dozen wallops, and I was out of tears by the time she stopped.

But she wasn't finished. "Obviously a simple paddling isn't enough for a naughty brat like you," she said, and opened the drawer of her desk and drew out a leather tawse. It was thick and split into three tails. I'd never been strapped before and didn't know what to think. It didn't look as painful as my father's cane, but at that moment a whipping with a feather would have weakened my bladder.

I had to remove my panties and bend over a tall stool, keeping my feet far apart. My bare legs and ass were thus exposed and Mrs. Chase thrashed them soundly. She spread the blows, concentrating primarily on the back and insides of my thighs, though occasionally she drew a shriek from me when she struck my welted bottom. Several dozen strokes later it was finally over. My buttocks and legs felt like raw hamburger. She sent me away, dashing all my hopes by picking up the phone to call my father.

In class Mrs. Saldano took my panties and made me stand in front of the blackboard with my blistered bottomed facing the class. I got my underwear back before leaving for math, but she kept my skirt until the final bell at three o'clock. I had to spend the day fidgeting on hard wooden seats.

At home, Daddy was waiting for me in the living room. I knew what was going to happen. We didn't speak but went immediately to the garage. I quickly stripped and grabbed my ankles and waited for the cane. Because I'd already been punished that day, he only gave me eight cuts, but promised Saturday night he'd take me over his knee for a long bout with the slipper, and Sunday I'd get another eight with the cane at church, from the minister, more if the man of God thought it warranted.

My father is a man of his word, and that weekend I don't think I slept for than a few hours. My bottom ached and itched, and all I could think about was the punishments still to come. Somehow I endured them, even the twelve strokes from the minister before church on Sunday. For about two weeks I devoted my life to goodness and didn't even get a verbal, but then the tenderness faded, the marks vanished, and gradually I slipped back into my old habits. That weekend might have been my most memorable acquaintance with my father's cane and Mrs. Chase's paddle, but it certainly wasn't the last. Not by a long shot.

The End