Spank Bingo: Mike and Danny

It was the last period of the day, and I’d been called to the office. That’s not such a nerve-wracking ordeal when you’re a teacher, though I have to admit it had left me fairly upset the first time or two it had happened when I’d first started.

One of my students was going to be out for medical reasons for an extended period, so all the teachers had prepared assignment lists for her. The reason I’d been called to the office was that they couldn’t find mine. (Some helpful soul had managed to slip my assignment list into her history folder.) It only took a couple of minutes to straighten out, and I was quickly back to my classroom.

But not quickly enough. Or, perhaps too quickly, depending upon your point of view.

I’d left my class with the same general instructions I always did on those rare occasions I had to leave: ‘stay seated and you can talk softly if you don’t have something else to work on—if I get a complaint, you will pay for it.’ It didn’t take long at all for my students to realize I was pretty easygoing most of the time, and it was much easier for them not to push things and enjoy a relative amount of freedom when we weren’t working than to have to sit quietly at their desks all the time. Plus, that’s not even unfair. The ones who aren't making noise when I'm not in the room probably don't mind being quiet when I am there, so it was really only punishment for those who‘d been making the noise.

Most of the students had managed to behave themselves while I was gone. The key word there is most. Danny and Mike were both standing, stock still, and looking at me with a deer-in-the-headlights look. Mike actually still had a paper wad in his upraised hand, identical to the ones I could see on the ground.

"Pick those up and get back to your seats, please," I addressed the two young gentlemen.

The tension in the air was thick as I walked back to the front of the room.

"Now remember, we have a test Friday. The stuff we’re doing today is pretty simple. It’s exactly like what we’ve been doing so far this week, but with one extra step at the end. Because of that, we’re going to start with a quick review. Does anyone have any specific questions?"

While I was answering questions, I saw Danny and Mike each drop a few paper balls into the trash can, then slink nervously back to their chairs. After I was sure they were seated, I ignored them while I finished the rest of the instructions.

"And that’s all there is to it. If there are no more questions, then I want everyone to get started on problems one through twenty in your book. It’ll be due first thing tomorrow."

I paused to make sure there were no more questions. I did notice that Mike and Danny already diligently had paper out and were started on the homework by the time I tapped on their desks and motioned for them to follow me into the hall.

I stepped out into the hall, then held the door while the two boys schlepped out behind me. They were both moderately cute kids. Danny was by far the better looking. Danny Perez was at least half-Latino, with black hair that was just a little long in back, but couldn’t quite be called a mullet. His eyes were a very dark brown, but his skin was a very light shade of nut brown, almost like a watered-down pecan. He wasn’t really tall and had an average build for an active boy of his size, though he did have just a hint of hips. His face was as lean as his body, with a square chin, a sharp, chiseled nose, and high, strong cheekbones. He also had a high, regal forehead. I’m sure many females would have been jealous of his looks, but there was nothing soft or effeminate about him—just boyish.

Which isn’t to say that Mike wasn’t cute. Mike Liniger had a long face that avoided being horsey because of his full cheeks. He had a broad smile, but with fairly lean lips. You’d have thought his blue eyes were small, but that was only because he had a habit of squinting, which was unfortunate, because it combined with his slightly large, arched nose, to give him a rather raptor-like look. It wasn’t too bad, though, since he smiled often and readily. Mike did take a bit of teasing, though, because he was originally from California, having just moved to Texas the previous summer. His accent was blatant, but not horrible. Even though he had brown hair that he wore pretty short and had lost any trace of a tan long before winter began, he was still often called ‘surfer boy’ (just for the record, I said ‘dude’ more than Mike did).

The two of them had no doubt as to why I’d called them into the hall, and neither was happy about it.

"Did you guys not understand my instructions?" I asked, giving them a chance to explain themselves.

They just shrugged.

"I could understand you getting bored if I’d been gone the entire period, but it wasn’t even ten minutes. Do you have any explanation for why you had to play warball, instead of minding me?"

Both boys were studying the floor, but two heads finally shook after a long moment of silence.

"Okay, then. Both of you have a habit of talking too much, but neither of you’ve ever been a real problem before. Let’s make it two swats."

Danny just nodded, accepting the decree, but Mike’s head shot up and he looked at me, eyes wide and mouth falling open.

"Is there a problem, Mike? Should I send a letter home?"

I offered this a lot but was rarely taken up on it. Most of the kids just wanted to keep it at school. On the other hand, I did offer it because of the times I’d been paddled undeservedly as a student. I always felt like I was very fair, but I still offered the kids a chance. If they vehemently disagreed with my paddling them, they could convince their parents, or their parents could ask for an alternative punishment. Since Mike’s family was from California, I had the feeling that was his hope.

"What about you, Danny?" I asked as soon as Mike had stepped back into the room. "Do you want a note sent home?"

His eyes went big and his head was shaking back and forth like a terrier with a rat, which left me with little doubt about how his family handled school problems. I was about to send him back in to get a paddle, when another thought struck me.

"Do you want to do it now or wait until after school?"

I watched the different thoughts war across his face: ‘get it over with now’ waging battle against ‘no witnesses’. We only had about fifteen minutes left in the class, and I think that and the hope that something might happen before then, combined with Mike having already gone back into the classroom, convinced him.

"After school."

A minute later, he and I both went back in, and the entire class was obviously wondering what had happened. I dispelled most of their curiosity a few minutes later when I called Mike to my desk and handed him a printed form. At the top, I’d filled in why he was in trouble. Below that were three check boxes: one allowing corporal punishment, one requesting he receive detention instead (three days, in this case), and the third requesting a meeting. Below that was a place for the parents to sign, a space for them to make comments, and my phone number.

The rest of the class went quietly, though Mike was getting some commiserating looks, and Danny was receiving a mix of those and curious ones. The final bell rang, and I dismissed the class with a reminder about the upcoming test.

It didn’t take long for the class to empty out, finally leaving me sitting there with Danny. He was facing away from me, and I gave him a moment or two to gather himself. Finally, after a long, quiet minute had dragged by, he turned to face me.

"Get the number two and come over here, Danny."

He flinched a bit, but choosing the paddle wasn’t a hard decision. The summer before I’d started teaching, once I knew I’d be teaching in Bransom where corporal punishment was still allowed, I’d sat down, and with the help of my little brothers, some of their friends, and a few boys I knew from my job at the convenience store, I’d designed the series of paddles I used. I’d known I’d be dealing with boys (since there was no question that girls rarely received paddlings) in sixth, seventh, and eighth grade, so the paddles were designed to deal with average sized boys in that age range, with the number one being for especially small boys (or the rare girl, though I couldn’t really see myself doing that) and the number five being for larger than average, older boys. The paddles had been tested and approved by several boys as capable of being used with a good swing and delivering an intense sting without leaving serious marks.

Danny nervously carried the paddle back to me. He wasn’t too nervous, but not happy either. I knew I was going to be able to cut loose since he was wearing jeans, but his light blue polo looked great with his skin tone. It was a wonderful package.

As he neared the desk, I stood up, stepped around, and took the paddle from him.

"You’ve already had the lecture, Danny, so empty your back pockets and untuck your shirt."

He looked at me for a moment, seeming as if he wanted to delay things a bit more, then sighed and followed my instructions. At that time, boys weren’t wearing baggy pants, but they were already a bit loose. As Danny’s shirt came loose from his jeans, it revealed a very nice bottom—not especially round, but full.

While Danny emptied his back pockets, I pulled the student chair away from my desk and turned it. As soon as Danny had pulled everything from his pockets, I motioned him across the back of the chair. He bent over in an acceptable position, but since the two of us were alone, I put the paddle down and took a minute to adjust him, getting everything just perfect. When his legs were straight, and he was bent far over at the waist, pushing his little rear back, I lifted the paddle again.

I was a little disappointed when I flicked the back of his shirt up and didn’t see a waistband to his briefs but figured you can’t have everything. Instead of feeling sad about it, I patted the paddle against my target, lining up just perfectly, then raised it back and stopped.

"I want you to understand something, Danny. I would have no problem giving you three swats for being out of your chair and chasing around. On the other hand, there was nothing wrong with what you were doing, just when and where you were doing it. Someone could have been hurt if you’d tripped and fallen, and not just you. I wasn’t sure how many I was going to give you, but I finally decided that you’ve been a good student who’s not given me any real trouble before. Do you think two swats will be enough to remind you to behave in class the rest of the year?"

"Yes, sir," he assured me, with a hint of relief in his voice.

"Okay then."

With that, the paddle, which had still been hovering menacingly above his jeans, descended. The crack of wood against denim echoed quickly around the quiet room. Danny held his place but was shifting his legs back and forth as he clenched his cheeks. As soon as the echo had died away, I could hear him lightly panting.

I gave him a second to settle down, then lined the second swat up just below the first one, which would fall right across his sit spots. When it fell, his yelp was just loud enough to be heard over the echo of the swat. Once again, he stayed in position, but took a minute to flex and clench those cheeks, obviously trying to work the sting loose.

"You can stand up now, Danny," I informed him.

He cautiously climbed to his feet, then reached back to rub.

"Go ahead and get your stuff," I said, motioning at the papers, comb, and wallet he’d removed from his back pockets, "and you can go."

"Can I tuck my shirt in?"

"Sure."

He undid his jeans and started to push the shirt in, then stopped and shoved his hands down the back. As his hands were able to rub without the intervention of thick denim, his eyes closed and a look of bliss crossed his face. His jeans slid down enough for me to see he was wearing dark blue briefs, which was the perfect cap to the afternoon’s activities.

Since his eyes were closed, I just leaned back to watch for a minute. The jeans slipped down a bit more, giving me a glimpse of a mouse in a pouch, and to assure me that he wasn’t excited by the paddling or the rubbing.

After a minute, Danny’s eyes came open and sought me out, as he reluctantly pulled his hands from inside his pants, and finally began tucking the shirt in.

"My big brother warned me that you gave real stingers."

"Do I know your big brother?"

"Yeah, his name’s Eric."

I had to pause, but couldn’t remember him.

"How old is he?"

"He’s in eleventh grade."

I did a little quick counting in my head. "Sorry, Danny, but he would have been in eighth grade when I started teaching, and I only had sixth graders that year."

"But he said you paddled him."

"Well," I explained, "you’ve seen some of the female teachers ask me to handle their students. That’s probably how I paddled your brother."

"Oh," he said, as he was fastening his jeans again. He seemed a bit disappointed. I guess he’d been hoping for details on how well his brother had taken his paddling—maybe a little competitive spirit between brothers.



I spent the rest of my time before leaving recording grades, then starting on a master for the test. At the comic store, I was a little busy making sure we were ready for the new comic shipment the next day.

That evening, however, after a small dinner and a long soak in a hot bath, I was lying in bed and my thoughts went back to Danny. He really was a little cutie, deserving of a few thoughts.

"Well, Danny," I heard myself telling the boy, "those two didn’t seem to make much of an impression, so I guess we should try something else."

"Please, no, Mr. Wells. They did!"

"No, we definitely need something else. I can still give you three more swats. Should we try the number three paddle, or use the number two with your jeans down?"

"I won’t do it again, Mr. Wells. Please don’t paddle me anymore."

"If you don’t make the decision, Danny, I’ll make it for you."

When the boy just stood there, I started to count, "One… two… three."

"All right then," I told the stunned, nervous little fellow, "let’s make it a bit of both. Get your shirt up and your pants down."

Blushing a reddish-brown color, Danny tucked his shirt up under his arms, then undid his jeans and slid them down to his ankles.

"Now go get Number Three."

The boy whined, but turned to shuffle back to the cabinet, giving me a marvelous look at his fine little bottom before he came back, and I took him across my lap for his last three swats.



The next morning, Mike was sitting next to my door, arms resting on his raised knees, when I arrived. Even though he was staring at the floor, it was easy to see he looked somewhere between desperately unhappy and mad.

"Good morning, Mike."

Instead of answering, he shot me a fairly evil glare, but climbed to his feet. I shifted everything to my left hand, unlocked the door, and let him precede me inside.

He hadn’t yet said a word. I crossed over to my desk, set my things down, took off my coat, and turned to him. "Is something wrong, Mike?"

"You’re gonna paddle me," he said, his voice full of resentment.

"I thought your parents didn’t believe in corporal punishment," I replied in a questioning tone. "Did you forget to give them the note?"

Instead of answering, he grabbed a piece of paper from his jacket pocket and thrust it at me. I took it from him and unfolded it, finding it was actually two pieces of paper; the one I’d sent home with him and a hand written note. In a neat, feminine script, I read:

Dear Mr. Wells,

Thank you for your note. We spoke with Michael last night and agree that he was out of line. While we appreciate you contacting us, I’m afraid that because of our work schedule, detention isn’t really an option for Michael.

"Mike," I asked him, interrupting my reading, "how did you get here today?"

"Dad left a little late so he could bring me by. I still had to wait for you a while, though. He didn’t want to be too late."

I nodded and went back to my reading.

We considered several school districts when we moved to Texas. After long consideration and discussion between all three of us, we agreed that Bransom was the best, even though Michael could possibly face corporal punishment. He understood this was a possibility, and we reminded him of it last night.

Thank you again for your consideration of our family beliefs, but we feel that Michael should get accustomed to obeying the rules of where he is, so please carry out a normal punishment.

Jessica Liniger.

I flipped over and looked at the note I’d sent home, finding that the box allowing corporal punishment was indeed checked.

"Okay, Mike," I said and was about to tell him to go get the paddle, when I looked up. The look he was shooting me wasn’t quite pure hate, but he was obviously not happy. To make it worse, his eyes were damp, with one tear slowly creeping down his face, and his lower lip was trembling.

"Mike, there are a lot of boys in this school who’ve survived being paddled. It’s not really all that bad."

His only reply was a snorting noise.

"Are you really that scared of it?"

"No!" he protested, but his tone gave lie to his statement.

"You know, Mike. It’s pretty obvious you’re mad. Maybe you’re mad at your parents for not intervening, or for moving here where you could get paddled. I’m sure you’re mad at me because I’m the one who’s going to be swinging the paddle. Let me make a suggestion. Your mom says she told you when you moved here, before school ever started, that you might get paddled if you got in trouble. I’m pretty sure there’s no way you could be in my class for over a semester and not know that I paddle kids when they act up. Maybe you should try being mad at the person who really caused this trouble for you."

"Who?" he asked, obviously sensing a trap, but not able to keep from falling into it."

"The person who made you get out of that desk and run around—yourself."

He glared at me again, with just a hint of ‘don’t confuse me with facts’. I just shook my head.

I believe that spanking, and even a few quick swats with a paddle, can usually promote good behavior and teach kids that there are consequences to acting up. Sometimes, though, in-grained attitudes can prevent things from working like they should.

"Sit," I told him, my voice now totally no nonsense.

"Why?"

I didn’t even bother answering, and any resistance he’d managed to dredge up wilted under my stare. I waited until he’d planted himself in one of the desks.

"What time does your dad get home from work?"

"Around 6:30 or 7pm."

"How about your mom?"

"About the same."

"Do they ride in together?"

"No, Mom works here, but she doesn’t start until later."

"So she’s home now?"

He nodded.

"You stay in that seat until I get back. Do not let me catch you disobeying this time."



It took about ten minutes for me to get everything done. When I came back into the room, Mike was still in the same chair, but with his head down on the desktop. He made such an abject picture of misery that I would have felt sorry for him if he’d not brought it on himself and been acting like such a little brat since.

He looked up when I came into the room.

"All right, Mike. I just talked to your mom. You’re going to do detention. Instead of doing three days before or after school, you’ll be coming to me, after school, and your mom will pick you up at my store. That means from 3:15 until 6:30, you’re mine, so bring anything you need with you to last period. Understand?"

I was doing this largely because I was too mad at the boy to paddle him. It wouldn’t have been any fun for me, and it would have been tempting to use a heavier paddle and go for a ballpark swing. Still, the obvious relief on his face when I announced that did soften my feelings towards him a bit.

"Yes, sir. I will. Thank you, Mr. Wells."

I felt like telling him not to thank me because I had little doubt he’d be coming in for some teasing from Danny, but decided to keep that part to myself.



I was running a little late, having had to delay things to get Mr. Liniger out of the way, but didn’t have much to do. I unpacked my backpack and was putting things in order when the door opened again, still about ten minutes before classes were to start. I was a bit surprised when I looked up to find it was Danny.

He looked around to make sure we were alone, then said ‘hello’ and crossed over to my desk. I greeted him and noticed he was pulling something from his backpack, even as he came. To my surprise, it was our school yearbook from my first year teaching. Danny put the book down on my desk, flipped it open to a marked spot, and said, "See, Mr. Wells. This is my brother."

Though he was bigger than Danny, not chubby, but stocky—more like a football player than a baseball player—it was easy to see that the boy in the picture, Eric, could be related to my student. It just took me a minute to remember why he was showing me.

"Sorry, Danny, but I still don’t remember him. You have to figure, though, if I paddled him for some other teacher, which must have been what happened, then I probably only saw him for a couple of minutes, and that might have been the only time I noticed him the entire year."

To be honest, the fact that the boy was an eighth grader and that he had a heavier build than Danny meant I wouldn’t have been too interested if I had noticed him. The fact that Danny looked disappointed gave me a way to probe a bit.

"What’s the matter, Danny? Were you wanting me to tell you that you took your paddling better than he did?"

He shrugged, but it seemed pretty clear it was that or something similar.

"Sorry I can’t help you. I guess he’s too old to get spanked at home anymore, but didn’t you ever hear your dad spank him?"

He shrugged again. "Yeah, I guess. We don’t live with our parents."

"No?" I said simply, leaving it open if he wanted to talk about it.

"Nah… we live with our grandparents. We always lived with them, I guess. I don’t really remember our dad."

He paused and looked at me for a minute. I think he was trying to gauge if I was really interested or not. I waved him at the chair across which he’d been paddled the previous day. It seemed obvious that he did want to talk about something, and I had some time.

"Grandpa used to spank us, but he had this… thing… a stroke?"

I nodded that there was such a thing, and he nodded back.

"Anyway, it must have been over two years ago, because I remember they weren’t sure if he’d be able to be there for my birthday or not, but he made it home. The thing is, he had trouble walking for a while, and he still isn’t real strong in his arms anymore." He paused, as if he wasn’t sure he wanted to admit something, but then added, "And he sounds kinda funny when he talks now. Sometimes he’s hard to understand."

I nodded again. I’d not known a stroke victim, but I had a general idea of what could happen.

"Well, like I said, it was about two years… nearly three years ago now, I guess. Eric was already fourteen and he was really too old to get spankings no more, but I was only nine. My grandpa had always spanked us when we needed it, and Mom and Grandma didn’t want to do it."

"So you don’t get spankings anymore?"

He blushed and looked away, but then looked back at me. "Eric does it."

"Your big brother spanks you?" I asked, trying to keep the doubt—and the delight—out of my voice. Danny nodded.

"He can’t do it when he wants to, though. When I’m in trouble, me and Eric and Grandpa go to our room. Then Grandpa chews me out. When he’s through, I gotta…." He suddenly blushed again, a lot darker.

"You have to take off your clothes?"

"No!" he protested, then looked away again. "I just gotta pull ‘em down," he admitted in a sheepish voice.

"That’s how I got it when I was a kid," I admitted to him in a confidential tone.

"Just your pants?"

"Nope," I confessed, shaking my head.

"Me neither. I mean, Eric and me see each other undressed all the time cause we share a bedroom and bathroom, but it’s still really embarrassing when he’s going to spank me."

"I can imagine. What’s he use?"

"He’s got this leather thing that’s kinda like a little belt. It don’t hurt real bad, but he hits me with it a buncha times ‘til I cry. He don’t want to, but if he don’t, Grandpa gets mad at both of us. He told Eric that spanking me’s parta his chores, and if he don’t do it right, he’ll have to ground both of us. I don’t like it, but I told Eric it’s okay, and I’m not mad at him."

"That’s really good of you, Danny. I’m glad you try to make it easier on both of you like that."

He beamed at the compliment.

"Anyway, sorry I can’t help you out. If it’d make you feel better, though, I’ll say I remember him, and that he cried when I paddled him."

Danny laughed at that, and put the yearbook, which had lain open on my desk, into his backpack.

"Nah," he said. "Eric’s pretty tough. He’s tougher than I am."

I was trying to think of what to say but was saved by the bell.

"Get on to class, Danny. I’ll see you this afternoon."



Mike did do his detention with me that afternoon and didn’t give me any problems. He wasn’t his normal, outgoing self, though, even after his time was up. We did talk a bit while awaiting his mom.

"Mike, I’m going to warn you about something. You live in Bransom now, and you have to accept the way things are here. It’s good to think of how we want things to be, and it’s good to try to make things better, but that doesn’t change how they are right now."

"There is nothing in the school rules that makes a teacher ask for permission to paddle a student. I offer the choice of taking a note home because I was paddled more than once when I didn’t deserve it. I don’t want to do that to a student. That’s not true with a lot of teachers, though."

"If you don’t want to get paddled, then I’d be very careful of how I behave for the next six and a half years if I were you. Okay?"

"Yeah," he answered sullenly. Then, a moment later, added a belated, "Thanks," that sounded a little more sincere.



The really funny thing to me about that day was how relaxed and friendly the boy who got paddled was and what a bad attitude was had by the boy whom I let off. Not what you’d expect at all.

It was only when I got home that evening and looked at my spank bingo card to see if I had ‘a little leather thing’, that I realized I was able to mark two squares. Not that ‘never been spanked’ (sounds like a movie title) gave me much, but ‘anyone but parents’ suddenly put me in range of a win!









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