Still in draft stage - could continue - involves paddling of 8
year-old boy so do not read if this offends.
Based on past e-mail responses to my stories - I think there are many who enjoy childhood "MEMORY" stories - of which this is one.
Again - based on true events in my past but fictionalized through over 40 years of failing memory and author's license.
Fourth grade was not the first time I visited the Principal's office. And it wasn't the first time I'd felt the sting from the Principal's paddle, either. But this particular day was destined to be very different.
I'd met Mr. Brenner and his paddle near the end of 1st grade. I was the only first grade boy that I knew of that had ever been sent to "THE OFFICE" and the mystery (at least a first-grade mystery) of just what that meant. I found out.
Now, most of the time I was able to get out of being sent to the office and Mr. Brenner's paddle during my early elementary years. Take my first grade teacher Miss Less - I really liked her and I really did try to be good for her. Never the less, it seemed to be part of my nature to get into mischief rather often. To this day I think it was because of two main things: first I was bored - I was reading before starting Kindergarten and could do simple sums and subtraction problems already. The second reason was that - because I "could" do those things, I had been started in Kindergarten at age four. I turned five in the late spring, which made me the youngest, and smallest, and less athletic boy in my class every year.
Combine boredom with a desperate need to prove oneself to the "guys" I saw as peers and it could only lead to one result. I was constantly in trouble with the adults in my life. And during the late 40's early 50's that usually meant a spanking of one sort or another.
My saving grace is that the younger teachers seemed to think I was cute. Perhaps that was true - if you'll allow me to show a little conceit for a while. I was certainly small, even for kids my own age. And small often translates into cute for a lot of people.
Italian blood runs through my veins showing itself in straight, dark - almost black - hair that my Mommy kept unfashionably long for the time period. Looking back - I sometimes think she really wanted a girl. Not that I had hair "that" long (!), after all this was the early fifties - but I did wear bangs of a sort and I was never "shaved" like so many of my good friends were. Looking at what few pictures I have of me at that age, the most striking feature to me would have been my eyes. Large with long lashes and a very dark brown - and with a hint of mischief to them that carries a certain appeal. The long and the short of it is that I had learned very early in my school career just how to stand and just how to peek up at the younger teachers to help get me out of trouble. That worked up through most of 3rd grade. I guess 4th graders weren't considered as cute anymore.
But things had changed in my "spanking life" at home during my third grade year - my Mommy had taken on a much bigger role in matters of that sort. And those changes were about to spill over into my school paddlings as well. I had been introduced to a whole new concept in spankings by my Mommy during the third grade.
Now please understand, my Mommy was always an efficient spanker to begin with, having three boys to raise, but she had decided I was troublesome enough to need the experience of "Grandma's Hairbrush." If you've read my past posts, you have already read about the first time I "met" that hairbrush in the Sears Department store on a Saturday morning.
Ever since that time, not only did Mommy seem to feel that I needed "that brush" more often, but she also seemed to feel that "things" shouldn't wait for Daddy to get home from work. This meant more frequent and immediate spankings. I soon learned that I much preferred waiting for Daddy.
Don't misunderstand. Daddy was no slouch when it came to putting me over his knee. He was fast to provide action and he had lots of practice too, just like Mommy did. He ALWAYS pulled down my pants or my brothers' pants or all of our pants if we were all in trouble - whether we were in a parking lot or at my Uncles or at the beach (one time with just me it was right out in the open in a shoe store after sending my older brother to get the car paddle for him!). He kept one paddle in the car for "emergency" use and one in the drawer in the kitchen.
The big difference was that Daddy was more like Grandpa. Grandpa, when he took me to the horse barn, would give me one lick of the strap for each year old I was. I know Daddy didn't count like Grandpa - but he didn't seem to keep on paddling forever either. I certainly knew I'd been paddled - and there was plenty of tears and crying - but he always stopped before I was just a complete and total wreck. So I learned to cry early and loud when Daddy was the paddler. The sooner I cried tears the sooner he seemed to feel he'd done his job and would stop.
Not my Mommy ! She seemed to feel that first tears were nothing more than crocodile tears and that crocodile tears didn't count towards guaranteeing there was one well-spanked and repentant little boy displayed bare-butt over her lap. Sometimes she'd "start-up" with the flat of her hand, which was bad enough - remember - she had three boys! And after I'd been "warmed up" so to speak - out would come "Grandma's Hairbrush" and then I'd REALLY get it! Dozens and dozens of really hard spanks - and my god but that hairbrush could really sting!! Somehow it seemed much worse than Daddy's paddle or even Grandpa's strap. Grandma's Hairbrush let you know that you were being SPANKED(!!), and there wasn't anything you could do about it . . . I couldn't understand how that could be true - but boy - was it ever true!!
So you see, once Mommy decided to use "Grandma's Brush" and to make things "more immediate," my experiences with spanking had become significantly different.
So here I was, eight years old and waiting in the principal's office one day in October. I certainly knew what to expect from old Mr. Brenner and wasn't too worried - but a couple of my class buddies were first timers. That gave me a really good chance to play the big shot for once. It proved to be my downfall.
Mr. Brenner took me first. We entered the inner office and he closed the door. There was the usual lecture followed by his retrieving the paddle, a rather large, long handled one. Being instructed to bend over and touch my toes, I actually smiled just a bit because I had come prepared for "taking the position." As soon as I knew I'd be making the trip to the office, I had taken four sheets of paper and carefully folded them into two packets that fit nicely into the rear pockets of my blue jeans. I don't know how much protection they "really" gave me, but psychologically it did wonders for me.
I took three swats from Mr. Brenner - one more than usual - and was directed to the outer office. As soon as Mr. Brenner took my friend Jack into his inner office and closed the door, I let out a big grin and a smirking laugh.
I swaggered and swelled and let my remaining colleagues know that a paddling from Mr. Brenner was nothing to be worried about. I didn't know the secretary was listening and would tell on me. Just like grownups to stick together on things like that.
We all listened to the sounds from behind the closed door. Sure enough, Jack got two of Mr. Brenner's best and we all heard Jack start to blubber. That brought on some of my best boasting in the form of ridicule toward baby Jack.
Mr. Brenner brought poor Jack right out without even giving him time to stop crying. I think he wanted the rest of the guys to see the tears. That's when Mrs. Stringer told on me!
"Tommy," he said when Mrs. Stringer was done tattling, "you wait right over here," and he moved me away from the bench my friends sat on. "You and I are not done yet!"
Turning to Mrs. Stringer he asked her to call my Mother on the telephone and then he took Bobby into his office. There was no joy in hearing Bobby get his - or in the tears I saw on Bobby's face when he came out to sit on the bench with the other guys - for my Mommy was now waiting on the telephone to talk with Mr. Brenner.
"Good Morning, Mrs. Andrews," he began. "I'm sorry to bother you at home but I am having some problems with your son Tommy today."
Now I was having trouble keeping my composure. Mr. Brenner always called home when I got spanked at school - and I always got spanked again at home - but he had never called in front of me and my friends before. Something was not working out right about this. I listened as he detailed my current offenses and that he had already used his paddle. Then he went on to explain how I was still defiant (I was not!) and actually laughing about getting paddled. I think it was the laughing part that really got to my Mommy. That kind of thing was what made her think I needed to learn about "Grandma's Brush" in the first place.
I could actually hear my Mommy's voice on the phone from where I was standing. I knew it was the brush as soon as I walked in the door after school and had to work at controlling myself in front of my friends. I didn't cry with Mr. Brenner - I certainly couldn't cry just because my "Mommy" was on the telephone!
Then I heard that word - suspended - not knowing exactly what it meant. Mr. Brenner was telling my Mommy that I was suspended for the rest of today and all of the next day - and then he would need a conference with my both parents after that before I'd be allowed back into school! I didn't think I'd been that bad!
Remembering my Mommy's reaction to the ONE time I ever laughed during her spanking me - I instantly came to the conclusion that it was one of the worst things to do with an adult. It was because I'd laughed about Mr. Brenner's paddling me - I was sure of it.
My mind was awash with confused thoughts and - yes - a certain degree of fear. I understood that my mother was going to have to come and get me right away and take me home. Without a car, that meant her walking about a half mile with my little brother. I would have gotten at least a hand-spanking from her just because I was in trouble in school. It was "the brush" for sure now - and my Father would probably add some time with his paddle when he got home from work, too. I felt weak in the knees, a little sick to my stomach and dizzy - and suddenly those three smacks fromm Mr. Brenner really did start to sting.
I knew it was too late though. He told me I was to wait for Mommy and gave me very clear directions not to move out of the very spot he put me in. Then he took Jimmy into the office and lectured and gave him two smacks. I would have liked to have watched if things had been different, but truth be known I was close to tears now and didn't want anybody to know it.
Bobby and Jack and Jimmy were sent back to class and school life went on. I stayed rigid on the bench reserved for misbehaving little boys. I was miserable, so it seemed like a long time - but it only took me about 15 to 20 minutes to walk to school so it was probably no more than about 30 minutes before Mommy arrived with my little brother. I could tell from the sound of her voice that the walk hadn't done much to improve her temper.
Mr. Brenner and Mommy went into the inner office with my little brother. He was fussy and probably should have been taking a nap. I'm sure that he wasn't helping my case at all. I listened real hard.
Again Mr. Brenner explained about my behavior - including my "insolent attitude" after being paddled by him.
I didn't dare move around until I was told to. I figured the best thing to do was to do exactly what ever Mommy told me to. Things were bad enough - and I knew my poor little bottom was really in for it just as soon as we walked in the door back home.
I was wrong.
My "little butt" was in for it right away!
"I understand about Tommy's attitude at times," I heard Mommy explain to Mr. Brenner. Her voice was too high and too loud. "You asked me for help and suggestions about how to deal with Tommy. I'm here to show you exactly what to do!"
"Mrs. Andrews, I know what you told me on the telephone, but ..."
Mr. Brenner!" I couldn't believe that my mother would interrupt the principal. If I ever did that I'd be in trouble - but she was acting like she was in charge here - and it was Mr. Brenner's school and Mr. Brenner's office. "Do you want my help or not?" Mommy asked.
"Why, of course we do. Its just that ..." I just couldn't hear everything that they were saying.
"If you're afraid we will complain later on you're mistaken. I know Tommy. If you're going to paddle him, then you can't just give him a couple little pops on the ass and expect it to make any difference to him." I'd never heard my mother use the word ass before. Once again, if it had been me I'd have gotten in trouble. Mr. Brenner didn't allow the word ass either - what was going on here anyway?
"We're not worried about Tommy's academics here," my Mommy said. "But we are worried about his behavior. He'll do just fine with reading and all that, but if you let him think he can pull all kinds of STUFF and get away with it - well - then you are failing him."
Mommy paused and then went on, "You asked for our help. Well, we really need your help with this boy too. We'll take care of things at home, and believe me, we will support whatever you do here at school - we'll support it DOUBLE."
"Now here," Mommy said, "take this. With Tommy he needs to know you mean business. Pants down - over your knee - and at least 10 or 12 good hard spanks. I could do it for you, but Tommy will never forget that you wouldn't do it. If you want to improve his behavior, then Tommy's got to have at least a little fear and a lot of respect. A little fear can be a good thing in his case. I'm not telling you to beat him, for goodness sakes, just to let him know exactly where the line is and that to step over the line is going to be mighty unpleasant."
The door opened.
"Thomas David Andrews," said my mother, "come over here right now!"
"Mommy," I started, "I..."
"Not a word young man! We will talk. . . after Mr. Brenner gives you your "school" spanking and we get home." I didn't like the way she had said "school" spanking, but I knew my mother well enough to shut up.
This was all out of place. In school I had always felt I had at least some measure of control over things. Mommy pushed me further into the office, snatched up my little brother, walked out and shut the door. For a while, I just stood there facing the shut door.
I didn't dare to turn around. My mother had changed the rules on me again. For the second year in a row, I was about to experience a whole new facet of just what spanking was all about.
I heard a tiny slapping sound that I recognized as the paddle smacking softly into Mr. Brenner's palm. My Daddy always did exactly the same thing before he finally would grab me and drop my pants and get to the "business" at hand. That tiny slapping noise just about drove me crazy.
Mr. Brenner didn't say anything - he hadn't even moved from behind his desk yet. He must have stood there looking at me for a good 30 seconds or so, but it seemed a lot longer.
I squirmed and wondered just how bad this was going to be. It was very 'unnerving' standing there with him behind me - not knowing - it kinda made my stomach feel like it was gonna drop........at the same time that my heart was in my throat making it difficult to swallow.
Mr. Brenner is one of just a handful of people that spanked me who were not "regular" people in my life. What I mean is, it was normal to get my pants dropped by my Father and Mommy, and GrandPa of course. Even my Uncles and Aunts were family that had permission, sort of, and that seemed OK. Besides, with an Uncle or Aunt there was always a boy cousin or two who had "gone down" just before me.
But Mr. Brenner was different. It was normal to bend over and touch my toes for him - but to have him pull down my pants! . . . and in school! The unusualness of the whole thing made me especially uncomfortable and - yes - just like Mommy had said, afraid.
"Tommy." I turned to face him.
Maybe he knew that a big factor in a "real" spanking came from the anticipation and wonder and dread beforehand. Three swats from Mr. Brenner had plenty of sting - and that was with my pants on! Just what could he do when he had me pants down and over his knee for as many smacks with that paddle as he wanted?
That paddle! That was the paddle my Daddy kept in the kitchen drawer at home. Mommy must have brought it here planning on having Mr. Brenner use it!
Finally he walked briskly around his desk, put the paddle my Mommy had brought from home on his desk top, and dragged his chair out toward the center of his office. That's when I knew for sure he was going to do it!
I cupped my behind with both hands and began to cry softly, the way I would with some of the teachers when I got in trouble and there weren't any of the guys to see me.
"I'm sorry, I'm really sorry, Mr. Brenner. I'm sorry," I started to chant. I could tell right away it wouldn't work on him. It never did with him anyway. I don't know why I even tried - except that the fear of the unknown spanking was weighing very heavily on me right at the moment.
He never said a word. Sitting down, he motioned for me to step toward him. I didn't want to, knowing what was to come next, but I also didn't dare not to. I could hear my little brother fussing out in the office and I was reminded that I still had to go home with my mother as soon as this was over with. I stepped closer.
He grabbed me by both arms, close to my elbows, and for a moment I had some hope he was going to put me over his knee without dropping my pants. No such luck.
As if with practiced hands, he quickly undid my belt - the pants button - and drew down my zipper. With both hands, he pushed my jeans down well past my shaking knees. That's when he noticed the back pockets.
During all of this I'd completely forgotten about the folded up paper I'd used as padding against Mr. Brenner's paddle. Even now, even when he fumbled with my pants and held up the paper pads in front of me, I didn't at first recognize what they were or where they had come from. I was just too focused on what was happening to me at the moment to remember something I had done what seemed like days ago.
Mr. Brenner finally spoke, "So! You really do think you've been playing me for the fool."
I didn't know what he meant - but I did suddenly remember where the paper came from.
"We'll see about that, young man! You are long over-due for a darn good bottom-warming. And I'm going to give it to you!"
The paper flew to the floor, and so did my underpants. I had no time to think about anything anymore. Mr. Brenner moved quickly now. My underwear was down, I was pulled roughly over his knee - his legs locked mine tightly into place and his hand forced my head and shoulders down, grabbing my right hand and pushing it into the small of my back. There was no time to be embarrassed about being near-to-naked in front of him, no time to worry if someone I knew was close enough to hear, no time left anymore to even marvel at the strangeness of being paddled bare in Mr. Brenner's office.
Once again in my short life, my bare behind was present and ready for the paddle. Even so, because I was in school, a part of me still hoped that no student was in the outer office or anywhere near-by in the hallway. I knew I'd be crying this time, I just knew it. I was already shedding tears and gasping for breath - and he hadn't even picked up the paddle.
I couldn't see him reach for the paddle, my head being down like it was and my eyes full of tears, but I felt his body move over slightly and I heard the scarp and tap of the wood as he picked it up. His body settled back into the chair, he tightened both his legs and his grip on my hand pushed into the small of my back. I stiffened in anticipation.
The paddle rested for a moment on my bared bottom. I panicked and for one of the few times in my life really began to sob even before the paddling started. Not screaming out, not bawling, but real deep sobs and lots of tears. I really, really felt very sorry for myself right then.
Why is it that the first swat always seemed to catch me so by surprise. How could I have expected anything else?!
My head jerked up and I really did howl - loudly - really loudly. I howled in disbelieve at just how much it was hurting - I howled because school would never be the same for me again - I howled because it stung like fire and he wasn't letting up any.
The 'sting' just kept getting worse and worse - a mean old rotten "you sure are gunna be sorry by the time I get done with ya" kinda nasty sting.
That naughty bottom of mine was squirming all over his knee now, trying like anything to get away from the fire of that paddle. It didn't work. I was completely and hopelessly trapped. There was no escape as Mr. Brenner worked out several years of my behavior that afternoon.
SPANT! SPANK! SPLAAT! SMACK!
As incredible as it seemed, he was actually picking up the tempo. I was screaming and crying as loudly as I ever had in my life. I didn't care. There was only one major concern in my life right then - and Mr. Brenner didn't seem ready to stop any time too soon.
SPANK! SPLAAAT! SMAACK! SMACK! SMMAACKK!
And when he did stop, I didn't even realize it at first. I was still squirming my bottom all around, twisting this way and that, crying for all I was worth when suddenly he lifted me up off his lap and marched me into a corner.
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