Spank Bingo: Christmas Special

After getting a bingo square right before and then right after Thanksgiving, I had high hopes for the next few weeks, until the Christmas vacation started. The students apparently had other ideas. My youngest students were eleven, so I doubt they were worried about Santa Claus, but maybe they were afraid of what their parents would do if they stirred up too much trouble too close to the holidays.

Whatever the cause, the kids were calm and well behaved. Thankfully, Santa or someone came through for me the next to last day.



It was first thing in the morning, I was there early, as usual, and just coming out of the office, with the latest memos and what-not. I came around the corner to where the Christmas tree was located just in time to see a student adding a decoration to the Christmas tree. Just from his actions—the way his head was turning back and forth, even as he reached towards the tree, I knew the answer, but I felt I had to ask the question anyway.

"Is that an authorized decoration?"

The poor kid jumped halfway to the ceiling. When he landed, he tried to hide it. I didn’t even ask again, just held out my hand.

He looked at my hand for a moment, as if it were a foreign object. Then he looked both ways, as if considering his chances of running. I could have told him they weren’t very good since I’d already recognized him. John Molenda was an eighth grader whom I remembered vaguely from sixth grade P.E. I’d known his older brother, Daniel, a bit better since I‘d had him for math as well.

He’d tried to fold whatever it was up before handing it to me, but I’m relatively smart and was able to figure that out and unfold it. It was a nice decoration of silver foil paper, cut like paper dolls into little ornament balls, into two lines. Very neatly spelled out across them, one letter on each ball, was ‘eff off, Kearns’.

I looked up at him, and he was pointedly looking anyplace else BUT at me, though from his blanched color, there was no doubt he knew I’d seen it.

"Very nice, John. Is this all you made?"

"Yes, sir," he squeaked.

"Well, John, I have a test to give today, and I really should go prepare for it. I could just drop you off in the office," I paused for a second. John had a slight case of acne, and the spots suddenly stood out as he blanched. "The problem with that is, Mr. Bryan’s not here yet, and I’m sure he’d be irritated to walk in and find someone already waiting for him, especially for something like desecrating the Christmas tree."

The poor kid kept managing to find whiter shades of pale, until I thought I might have to offer CPR. His eyes grew so wide I thought they might pop out of his head. It seemed he flinched with every other word. I think he was suitably wound, and I could probably have let him go right then and he would have stayed out of trouble for the rest of the year. For his sake, it was a shame that I never felt catch and release was nearly as much fun.

I sighed theatrically. "I’m not too worried about what happens to you, and I don’t know your parents, so it doesn’t bother me too much if they get upset, but I hate to think of ruining Mr. Bryan’s day first thing in the morning, so I suppose I should deal with you now. Are you willing to prove you don’t have any more decorations?"

The boy’s relief was so blatant that I hoped he never had to make a living playing poker. When I asked about the decorations, he shrugged, obviously not sure what I meant, but then nodded vigorously, willing to do whatever it took to avoid the office.

"Okay then, let’s go."

I led him towards my room, but past the staircase and into the gym. I knew it would be empty this early in the morning, the week before Christmas, and I still had a key to the coach’s office, so it’d be perfect.

As soon as we were in the locker room, I laid my stuff down on the small table outside the door to the coach’s office, removed my keys, and turned to John, who was standing there, confused.

"What’re you waiting for? Get ‘em off."

His eyes went wide again. "My clothes?"

"Yes. You said you were willing to prove you didn’t have any more decorations on you. How else am I going to search you? Now move!"

As I snapped the last, he jumped a bit, but toed off his shoes and pulling off his jacket. I saw he was wearing a Christmas-y colored polo shirt, tucked into his jeans, before I turned to open the office door.

I knew right where I needed to look, and I came back out as John was pulling the shirt over his head. When the shirt came off and he saw me standing there with the board, he slumped. He’d obviously been holding out some iota of hope, which now deserted him. I think he realized that he was still in a better position, not just because I had a reputation as a hard, but fair paddler, but also because the odds of his parents being contacted went up astronomically if he was sent to the office.

His hands slowed a bit when he started to undo his belt, but only a bit, and he was soon sliding the jeans down his legs.

John wasn’t a good-looking kid, but he wasn’t ugly either; mostly he was different. There wasn’t anything wrong with his features, though his nose was a bit too big. His eyes were the deep, dark brown that I love, and he had long, thick lashes, though it was hard to see behind his glasses. At least he had a nice, wire-frame pair, rather than having to wear some of the cheap crap I had to put up with at his age. His main problem was that he was rather horse-faced, with a high forehead, but chose to part his hair in the middle, which didn’t suit him at all. I think he would have passed as decent if he’d just chosen a better haircut. As it was, I did like the way his hair seemed to constantly fall onto his forehead like a pair of parenthesis.

John was a little tall for thirteen, but not huge or in great shape. He was maybe 5’5" or so, but carried just a little extra weight, at maybe one hundred and twenty pounds. It didn’t look real bad, just a little outward swell to his belly and a little extra flesh on the thighs. One thing I couldn’t help but notice, though, was the front of his briefs looked pretty well packed, even if his legs were already a little too hairy for my tastes.

While he was getting his jeans off, I put the paddle down and picked his jacket up. Nothing in those pockets and obviously nothing in the polo shirt, so I took a moment to admire the view until he handed me the jeans.

As I was pulling things out of the pockets of his jeans, giving them a quick glance, then dropping them on the bench, I was looking more at him, trying to decide if he was half hard or just that big. I never did make a decision.

When his pockets were empty, I dropped the jeans, picked up the paddle, and told him, "Get into position."

The boy whimpered, but turned and bent to lean against the bench, giving me an excellent view of his round rear as his briefs spread tight across the cheeks. Unfortunately….

"While it would probably be a great lesson for you, school rules don’t actually allow me to make you undress for a paddling. Now, technically, I made you undress for a search, so if you just want me to paddle you like this…."

"No, sir!" the boy replied with no delay.

"Then I guess I should have said, ‘Get your jeans on and get into position.’"

John wasted no time grabbing his jeans and covering that nice view. It was really a shame. While the little extra weight he had didn’t look great on his belly, it was perfect on his rear end. Actually, looking at the gentle, outward curve of his waist, I decided it wasn’t so much that he was chubby as he was probably getting ready for another growth spurt.

I didn’t give him much time, though. As soon as the jeans were over his hip, I had him back down, without even letting him fasten the fly. As soon as he was down, I grabbed the back of the jeans and lifted up a bit, then shifted to a two-handed grip on the paddle.

The coach’s paddle was pretty big. John was bigger than the sixth graders whom I was used to paddling, but he wasn’t huge. Even as I lined up and was planning on three swats, I decided there was no reason to swing for the bleachers.

"Don’t get up until I give you permission. Understand?"

"Yes, sir," he squeaked, right before the first swat fell.

CRACK!

John took it pretty well, but I jumped, having forgotten how much a paddle swat could echo in an empty locker room.

I gave the boy a moment to shift his weight and clench his rear, but he kept his hands on the bench and quickly settled himself down. I wanted to ask if he wanted to get it over with fast or was just afraid of ticking me off. I doubted he really knew the answer to that so just lined up the second swat and let fly.

This time I got a good grunt from him as it cracked down. Because of the size of the coach’s paddle, I’d started higher than normal, so I could land with my traditional finish, without too much extra overlap. That meant that I’d just reached the more sensitive area, and the worst was to come.

When I didn’t tell John he could get up after the second stroke, he realized we weren’t through and moaned softly; yet he not only didn’t protest but managed to force himself back into position.

The third swat burned down onto the sit spots and he really yelped this time, but he still stayed down. Even though I barely knew the kid, I have to admit I was proud of how he’d taken the paddling for some reason.

"You can get up now, John."

The boy stood slowly, but his hands flew to his punished backside. He now seemed glad I hadn’t let him fasten his jeans, since his hands were able to work the aching flesh more directly. The look on his face was pretty funny as he started rubbing a little sting out. His eyes were a little watery, but not running, as I told him to turn and look at me.

"This is rude and profane, John. It really bothers me, because a lot of us are proud of Kearns and like working and attending here. Do you really feel this way or was it meant to be a joke?"

He mumbled something, but I did hear the word joke, so went on. As he was mumbling, he’d looked away from me, and I took the chance to glance back down. He didn’t seem to be any more or less happy than he’d been before, so I guess that was how he normally hung. On the other hand, he must have worked his hands down the back of his briefs to rub, because the waistband had slid down a bit, exposing a narrow line of short curlies. Very cute. Looking quickly back up, I continued my lecture.

"I think you know that. What I want you to understand is, you did a great job making these decorations. If this had been even a little less objectionable, I probably would have just taken it and let you go. If it had been funny enough, I might have even pretended not to see you. Remember that the next time you decide to pull a stunt like this. Okay?"

He grimaced, but nodded. He was clearly bemused by the idea that a teacher would have let him get away with something like that, but also a little upset that he’d earned himself a hard paddling with a bad word choice.

"Good, then get dressed. I need to get to my classroom."

I stepped past him to put the paddle away as he bent to get his shirt from the bench. The thing is, with his fly undone and the way he’d been rubbing, his jeans had fallen partway down his thighs. As I reached the office door, I turned and caught him still bent forward. His jeans were several inches below the bottom of his briefs. While his Fruit of the Looms were a little thick for much to show through, you could tell there was a definite band of darkness where the paddle had landed. Better though, there was about an inch of dark red below the leg bands, and there was no question he’d be thinking about this while sitting down for at least the first couple of periods.

John finished dressing while I gathered my stuff off the table, and we left together. It was only as I was unlocking the door to my classroom that I realized I’d not even TRIED asking about how he was spanked at home. I could have at least threatened to send a note home.

Oh well, at least I got to give a paddling before school let out for Christmas, even if I blew the bingo.

Of course, sometimes the fates smile upon us.



It was fourth period. Most of my kids were through with their tests, and it was getting on towards lunchtime. I’d slipped my novel into a desk drawer and was grading the tests that had already been turned in, when a tap at my door drew my attention. Turning, I saw Mrs. Rowe sticking her head in and gesturing for me. I put the tests aside and walked over to her, trying to suppress my anticipation. Maybe she just wanted me to check in on her class for a minute, but maybe….

"I wonder if you could help me for a minute, Mr. Wells. This young man is Mark Peterman. Mark seems to be confusing my class with aerodynamics. Do you think you could straighten him out?"

I looked down at the boy, who was looking back like a mouse cornered by a cat. He was about average size for a sixth grader (and I knew Mrs. Rowe had a sixth grade civics class this period). I guess he was about 4’7" or 8", but he looked a little chubby, so I held up three fingers. Mrs. Rowe’s eyes went wide, and she shook her head, so I changed to two, to which she gave a nod, so I went to fetch it.

As I pulled the Number Two paddle from the cabinet, my whole class, as if cued by an unseen conductor, went, ‘Ehhhhh’. I turned to look at them.

"If you’re finished with your tests and want to be the next one in the hall, just line up next to the door. If you don’t want to be next, then let’s stay quiet, ‘til all the tests are finished."

I looked around, but had no takers.

"Okay, then. I’ll be right outside the door, and one of us will be watching you, so mind your P’s and Q’s."

Everyone sat still, not wanting to draw my attention, as I grabbed the chair I kept near the door and stepped out into the hall.

As soon as I got a good look at him, I realized that Number Three would have been too much for this boy. Even though he was wearing a yellow and black checked flannel shirt that was untucked and a little loose on him, it was obvious he had a thin build. I’d just been thrown off by the fact that he had chipmunk cheeks.

Mark was actually a pretty darned cute boy. He had dark brown hair and blue eyes, which left him looking very cute with those cheeks and a thin, straight nose. His hair was parted on the left and you could tell he wore it up over his ears, but it had grown out enough that it was curling over his ears and around the collar.

"Were you throwing airplanes, Mark?"

The boy was looking at his boots, but looked up at me for just a second with damp, worried eyes, then nodded before looking back down.

"I don’t want to give you a hard time, Mark; but I’m sure you knew that was against the rules; didn’t you?"

I waited while he nodded again, this time without looking up.

"But did you ever think about why?"

He shrugged.

"Not only does it disrupt class, but someone could get hurt."

He looked up again, ready to argue that, but stopped himself.

"I know. You’re think I’m going to say, ‘You’ll put someone’s eyes out.’ Well, that’s not real likely, but what if you hit someone in the face. Even if it doesn’t put their eye out, it could still hurt; don’t you think?"

His head jerked reluctantly, so I went on.

"And how would you react if someone threw something and hit you in the face, even if it was just an accident."

He was still and silent, wisely choosing to take the fifth.

"Yeah, that’s what I thought. See why it’s not a good idea?"

He shrugged his shoulders, but his head jerked slightly, and I decided to take that as a yes.

"Okay, then empty your back pockets, put the stuff in the seat, then bend over."

He patted his back pockets and shrugged, then leaned forward against the chair.

"Stand up, Mark." I waited for him to return to his upright position. "Have you never been paddled before?" He shook his head miserably and made me want to gather the squirt into my arms, which I was almost positive was against school policy.

"Okay, step up to the chair and put your toes here," I said as I tapped the outside of the back legs with my foot.

As soon as he’d stepped up, I continued, while gesturing with my hand. "Now, don’t lean, like this, but bend at the waist, like this. There you go, now grab the front legs and hold on, and we’ll get this done and over with as quick as we can."

I saw his knuckles go white, as he took a death grip on the chair. As soon as I was sure he was in position, I held up two fingers again, this time for number of swats, not the paddle. This time Mrs. Rowe’s nodded.

His flannel shirt covered nearly the entire seat of his jeans, so I tossed it up his back, exposing a white undershirt, which was tucked into a department store brand (JC Penny’s, I think, but maybe Wards) pair of briefs. Very cute. Since he’d taken nothing from his pockets, I gave each one a light pat, then took my aim.

I lined up a bit higher than I normally would for two swats. I’m not sure what it was about the boy, maybe just the Christmas spirit, but he was going to be getting off easy. Not that I wouldn’t be burning those swats in, but I was going to land them right on his cheeks, and give his sit spots a rest.

BAM! BAM! Both swats came down rapid fire and the quiet yelp at the first one intensified right when he thought it would end. But it wasn’t a wet yelp.

As soon as the second swat had ended, I patted his back and told him he could stand. His eyes were a little watery, but he wasn’t crying. I handed him the paddle. Suddenly his damp eyes went wide, and one tear escaped, as he tucked his hands behind his back. I turned the paddle so he could see the back of it.

"Go wash your face and get you a drink of water, then bring this back to me."

"Yes, sir," he replied, taking the paddle. Then he started to say something, but looked at Mrs. Rowe and stopped. Then he stepped towards me, so I bent down a bit.

"Can I pee, too?" he asked quietly.

"That’ll be fine. Just don’t take too long."

As soon as he took off, I picked up the chair and turned to see Mrs. Rowe looking at me.

"What did he ask that he didn’t want me to hear?"

"Just to use the bathroom," I replied.

"Oh," she said, then shook her head. "You boys are shy about the strangest things.

I started to correct her about the ‘you boys’ comment, but since she’d been teaching school since MY DAD had been Mark’s age, I let it slide.



I was trying to finish grading the stack of papers before going to have lunch. I was a bit upset. After all, two paddlings in one day and nothing for the bingo card. I was starting to feel sorry for myself when the door to my classroom opened. Looking up, I was rather shocked to see Mark poking his head in.

"Are you busy, Mr. Wells?"

"Not especially." Not for a cute boy whom I’d just paddled, at least. "What can I do for you?"

He shrugged his shoulders as he came across the room but looked at the cabinet where all my students knew the paddles hung. He was still walking a little stiffly with the lingering ache of a hard paddling. At least with the lighter paddles I used on little guys, that’d fade pretty quickly.

He wasn’t quite as awkward now as when he’d returned the paddle to me after his bathroom break. At that point, you knew he could feel every eye in the classroom on him. It looked like he’d been watching the floor, but when one of my kids gave him a low, slight wave, Mark’s hand rose to return it, even as he turned red. I’d taken the paddle back from him and told him to get on back to class, and he’d shot out as quickly as he could without actually running.

Now he stood before my desk and turned his glance from the cabinet to me.

"Do you really have five paddles?"

"Someone told you that just now?"

"Yeah, he said I was pretty lucky, ‘cause you only used Number Two."

"Yes, I have five. Would you like to see them?"

He nodded his head reluctantly. I’m not sure if he was embarrassed at wanting to see them or worried that ‘see’ might be a euphemism for something more direct. We walked over to the cabinet, which I flung opened and waved towards the paddles, like a magician revealing a trick. His eyes went wide, and his hands slid behind him, reaching beneath his long shirt to softly rub his rear.

"You know, at first I didn’t think those swats were that bad."

"You didn’t? I guess I’ll have to use Number Three on you next time."

"No, sir," he disagreed, shaking his head vigorously. "I said at first. When my mom spanks me, it hurts really bad as soon as she starts."

"And the paddle doesn’t feel like it hurts right at first."

"Yeah," he said, clearly surprised I understood what he meant. "But then when I went to the bathroom, it was really uncomfortable. And when I got to class and tried to sit down… OUCH!"

"Yeah, with your jeans on, the paddles lose some sting, but you can still feel them for a while. It’s less sting and more ache."

You could tell by the look on his face that he wasn’t sure about the terms I was using, but he understood the idea.

"What’s your mom spank you with?"

"A flyswatter," he answered softly, blushing just a bit.

"A plastic one?" He nodded, but I was going on without waiting. "Oh, man! My mom used one of those when I was a kid and they stung a lot. I remember, if she wasn’t really mad at me, she’d tell me to pull my pants down, and I’d just shove ‘em down to about here."

I reached forward and gave him a pat just below the shirt, right below where I guessed the leg bands of his briefs to be.

"It hurt when she spanked me on the shorts, but when she was mad, she’d tell me to pull ‘em down further, like below my knees. Then she’d spank my legs, and that stung really bad. But when she was really mad…."

"She’d make you take your underwear off too?" I nodded. "That’s what my mom does all the time. It’s really bad, ain’t it?"

"It sure is. I cried…." I let it drift off, and Mark picked it up for me.

"I do, too. It’s really bad."

"But it goes away pretty quick. It’s not like the paddle, is it?"

"Huh uh," he agreed.

"I’ll bet your mom doesn’t have to spank you very often though, does she?"

"Not real often," he replied, and by the look on his face, I could tell that either it was more often than he thought he needed, or maybe he was fudging just a little.

I reached out and patted him on the shoulder. "I did let you off a little easy, Mark—maybe because it’s about to be Christmas, but you seem like a pretty good kid to me, and I’ll bet you’ve learned your lesson.

He was giving me the fish eye, even as he swore he’d learned his lesson. "That was easy?"

"Yeah, if I’d really wanted to make sure you remembered this," I reached down and gave another pat, a little higher than the first, right on his sit spot, "I would have swatted you here."

He jumped a bit since this pat was a little firmer, but nodded. "Yeah, that woulda been worse."

We talked for a few minutes more, but both of us wanted to get to lunch. I decided to finish the papers later and walked him out.



My thoughts were torn between getting the last of the tests graded before I left for the day and thinking about the two paddlings I’d given that day. The first one had been pretty hot. The second was very cute and I had a potential bingo spot for it. I didn’t even suspect that there was more to come.

I was standing in the hall, just outside my door, reminding students to behave with my presence, when I saw one of my problem children standing down at the water fountain talking to someone. I glanced at my watch and stepped inside just as the tardy bell rang.

I was usually not real strict on tardies. I understood that there are a lot of things that can delay a person. Actual school policy was that you were supposed to be in your seat when the tardy bell rang. I didn’t enforce that. However, I felt there was a difference between legitimately running late for some reason and taking advantage.

The door pushed open a few seconds later and Mace started walking softly towards his desk, trying very hard not to look at me, supposedly on the ‘peek-a-boo theory’—if he didn’t look at me, maybe I wouldn’t see him. It didn’t work.

"Mace," I called, trying to keep my voice fairly quiet—not that most of the class hadn’t already noticed him coming in late.

I already had the test on my desk, ready to pass out, and had been checking roll. It was easy to see that this was Mace’s third tardy, which was why I’d called him over to my desk. Given the look on his face, I’m sure he knew it as well as I did.

I looked up at the boy as he stopped in front of the desk. He was a fairly good-looking boy. His actual name was Masashi, and both his parents were of Japanese descent. He had the expected Asian dark hair, eyes, and skin tone; but except for his eyes, his features were pretty average. He had a decent build, and I knew from lunchtime monitoring of the area that the middle school didn’t call a playground that he was an active kid. It seemed like he was always involved in a game of something, and he had a slim, sturdy build to prove it. He seemed to be one of those kids who always had his lips a bit open. Because of his narrow eyes, his eyebrows seemed to be very high. Between those two things, he seemed to wear a look of perpetual surprise, but he always knew what was going on around him and was really a top student. Not that he was one of my fastest students, but he was a real plodder. He was going to get from here to there, if that’s what he wanted to do, even if it took him a while. I actually admired that since I’d been a sprinter of a student myself.

"This is your third tardy, Mace. Do you know what that means?"

"Swats?" he answered in a voice that made it clear he was hoping for execution instead.

"That’s right. Do you want to get them over with now or wait until after the test?"

I would have hated to have to make that choice myself, but he answered without hesitation, "After."

I wasn’t sure if it would be better to be dreading the swats while trying to take the test or try to concentrate on the test while being unable to sit. Still, he’d brought the situation upon himself, and it was his choice to make.

As soon as Mace had taken his seat, I handed out the test, and the kids got started. As I said before, Mace wasn’t one of my fastest students, but he was very thorough, and one of the few that actually checked his work, which I think had a lot to do with why he almost always aced the tests. Still, it meant he took a while, and the final bell rang as he carried his test to my desk.

"Do you ride a bus?" I asked, as I took the test from him.

"No, sir," he answered, and then a look crossed his face as he realized he could have delayed matters further. Oh, well, he knew it was going to happen, no matter how long he put it off. Still, some people would put it off as long as possible, hoping that some horrible accident might spare them from it.

"If you’ll empty your back pockets onto the desk and get the number two paddle from the cabinet, I’ll go get Mrs. Rowe."

"Why?" he asked, suddenly sounding panicky.

"Because I’m supposed to have a witness."

"No! Please don’t."

"What’s wrong, Mace."

"Not a woman. Please?"

"Why not? She’s witnessed a lot of paddlings over the years for me. What’s wrong?"

"She has?"

"Yes," I assured him.

"The school lets her see me with my clothes off?"

"N…." I had to stop for a second and catch my breath to keep from laughing in his face. "No, she won’t see you with your clothes off. Haven’t you ever been paddled in school before?"

"No. You don’t make me pull my pants and shorts down?"

"No," I repeated, trying to reassure him.

"That son of a…" he stopped himself when he realized I was standing there.

"Something wrong?"

"When my dad paddles us, he makes us pull our pants and underwear down. My friend Brad says you do it that way, too."

I smiled and shook my head and thought about telling him about the time when I was in seventh grade when a friend pulled the same thing on me, but I did want to get those papers graded before I left, so….

"Nope, just on your jeans, which is why I want you to empty those back pockets before you get the paddle. Okay?"

He nodded, settled for a moment, until he realized he was still going to get the paddle, then his face fell. As he did that, I stepped next door to fetch Mrs. Rowe.

A minute later, I came back into the room. Mrs. Rowe stopped at the door, just far enough in to let it close behind her. I crossed back over to Mace, who was nervously holding the paddle and fidgeting as he watched me close in on him. A couple of pieces of paper and a beat up wallet lay on the desk in front of him, so I took the paddle and stepped around behind him. He flinched a bit but turned to face straight towards the desk. He started to lean forward, then stopped. It seemed to me like his position had been just fine, but if his dad paddled him at home, he probably didn’t have a desk against which he could lean, so I took it from there.

"Your feet are fine, Mace. Just lean forward and put your hands against the edge of the desk—right there," I added, tapping the desk with the paddle.

The boy did as I’d instructed, bending at the waist and even pushing his rear end back a bit. He was wearing a concert t-shirt (The Scorpions?) that was just a bit short on him, but not too short. When he leaned forward, it exposed a black leather belt, but not quite the top of it. I wanted to flip the shirt up anyway, just to see what he was wearing, but felt constrained with Mrs. Rowe standing behind me.

I said before that I’m not real strict on tardies. If a kid was in the door, but not in his seat when the bell rang, I ignored it. Further, before I ever marked a kid tardy, we had a talk about it. If I even bothered to talk to a kid about being tardy, it’d happened more than once, or it’d been more than just a few seconds late. That meant that when a kid did have three tardies in the book, he’d been tardy at least four times, and probably more like five or six, which in turn, meant that I felt no compunction about letting loose on them.

I lined the first swat up so that the last swat would center right where I thought the leg bands of his briefs would be and let fly. He jerked a bit, but stayed in position, so I lined up and let go again, a bit lower. Mace jerked again, and I waited a moment while he clenched and relaxed his buttocks a couple of times, but that was the only sign he felt it. I’m sure he felt the third one, since I heard a little yelp escape him, but he kept position, tensing and untensing again, until I told him he could get up. As he carefully stood upright, I turned and looked at Mrs. Rowe, who nodded at me and left.

"Mace," I told the boy who was looking at me with clear, dry eyes, "you took that pretty well for a kid that’s never been paddled before."

"At school," he corrected me.

"Does your dad use a lot bigger paddle or something?"

"No, it’s really a lot like that one, but…." he let it trail away, so I picked it up for him.

"But when you’re used to getting the same thing on your bare butt, it’s just not as bad on your jeans."

He colored a bit but agreed with me. "Yeah, and anyway, you only gave me three swats, and you didn’t even make me count them."

"Only three? How many does your dad give?"

"Usually eleven, ‘cause that’s how old I am. My brother only gets ten."

"No wonder you didn’t react much. You think I should try again with the number three?"

No, sir!" he rushed to assure me, but then he paused. "It really does sting some, Mr. Wells." He was probably just trying to be sure I didn’t decide to add a bit more to it, but he sounded oddly as if he were trying to make me feel better about not having done such a great job.

"Okay," I relented, but then turned serious. "This time, at least. But Mace, if there’s a next time, I will use the number three, and if there’s a time after that… well, if I can’t straighten you out, maybe your father can think of a way."

He gave me a dirty look, like I was cheating by threatening to bring his father into it, but he nodded his understanding.

"I wouldn’t have a problem with you being tardy if you were coming from gym and your locker was on the far side of the school, but I saw you out there talking to that other boy. Is it really worth getting paddled to talk to him?"

He shrugged, but I’m pretty sure he thought it wasn’t and just didn’t want to admit it. At least not now that he knew I’d really do it.

"Can’t you talk to him after school?"

"He rides the bus."

"At lunch?"

"We have different periods."

"Then I guess you need to get his phone number because I expect you in class on time from now on. Okay?"

He nodded this time.

"Good. If you don’t have to go straight home, maybe you can meet him after class and walk to the bus with him if you guys really have to talk."

His face lit up like that had never occurred to him. He picked up his books and started to go, but then turned back to me. "Mr. Wells?"

"Yes?" I’d been going to the cabinet to put the paddle away, but turned back to him.

"Since I’m already running late, could you tell me what I made?"

I thought for a second, then answered, "I will, if you’ll answer a question for me."

I paused while he nodded his agreement.

"It looked like you had the position exactly right, but then you stopped, and I had to tell you. What happened?"

He colored, but didn’t change his mind about wanting his test graded, so he answered, "Well, I kinda guessed how wide to spread my legs. When Dad paddles us, we have to spread them as wide as we can…"

"That’s pretty wide, isn’t’ it?" I interrupted.

"Not really. Dad makes us push our pants and shorts all the way to the floor, so I just guessed about how wide that’d be. Anyway, then we stand with our legs up against our beds, and bend over and… Well, I put my elbows on my bed. My little brother ain’t that tall yet, so he gets to lay his chest on it."

"Do you and your brother get paddled together a lot?"

"Not really, but we have the same bedroom, so we see each other get it sometimes."

"Makes sense. And when I told you to bend over, you couldn’t figure out where to put your elbows."

He nodded. Made sense to me, and made for a cute picture. I turned back around and, after putting away the paddle, took his test from the top of the stack, placed it next to the key, and ran down.

"One hundred percent," I congratulated him a couple of moments later.

He might have been walking just a little stiffly when he left the room, but at least he had a smile on his face.



So—one day, three paddlings, and two potential bingo squares. And these were even straightforward. No having to decide between two or three different options. I thought about it on the way to the store but could not remember if I had squares for Dad/Paddle/Bare, and Mom/Flyswatter/Bare or not. They both sounded familiar, but I just wasn’t sure. It was still far enough from Christmas that the store wasn’t busy on a mid-week, not new comic day, but I managed to keep myself busy grading the rest of the tests until it was finally time to close. When I got home, I nearly rushed to my office.

YES! The day before Christmas vacation started and I managed to add not one, but two squares. Of course, Mark didn’t add much, but Mace gave me another three in a row. Doing well for less than halfway through the year.

The worst thing about that day was, Mark was the cutest boy, but the thought of his mom spanking him with a flyswatter didn’t do much for me, even with him bare. On the other hand, the way Mace had described his spanking, with his bare rear up in the air, maybe even with his little brother watching, was great. By the time I climbed in bed, I was thinking of strip searching Mark, then paddling him while he was bent over his bed. Pleasant dreams indeed.









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