Christian Faith Academy

In the summer after sixth grade, Mommy and I moved to South Carolina from Ohio. After looking around for a school which taught proper morals and manners as well as academic skills, Mommy enrolled me in Christian Faith Academy. This was a small, private school which took in about 75 high school students. Mommy chose Christian Faith after touring the school and spending two hours discussing parental and educational philosophy with its principal, Mrs Ruth Simpson. Mrs. Simpson was a forty-five year old widow with twenty years of experience in Christian education. Right away the two women took an instant liking to each other. Mrs. Simpson even organized a neighborhood welcome party for us in early August. By the time school began in early September, she was Mommy’s best new friend. Sometime in the first week, each new student was asked to stop by at Mrs. Simpson’s office where she personally welcomed them, went over school policies, and answered questions. My meeting was scheduled after class on the second day of school. I walked over to the small administration building and knocked. Within a few moments, Mrs. Simpson opened the door and greeted me with a warm smile. Ruffling my hair, she led me down a little hall into her office. Taking a seat behind her desk, she gestured to a chair on the other side. After I sat down, she began telling me more about Christian Faith. As we talked, I noticed a small, round paddle lying directly in front of me on her desk. Although I tried not to stare at it, my eyes glanced down three or four times. And each time I looked up, I could tell Mrs. Simpson had noticed because she gave me a little smile. After filling me in on the calendar and various school rules, Mrs. Simpson gestured to the paddle and commented, “Perry, as I see you have noticed, we use paddling at Christian Faith to maintain discipline. Any child who misbehaves or comes to class with incomplete homework is sent to me at the end of the day for a good lesson over my knee. Once the youngster gets here, I call his or her mommy to explain why her child won’t be on the school bus and to arrange for a pick up an hour later. With that taken care of, I close my office door and unplug the phone so I can turn my full attention to the naughty youngster at hand. Usually it’s a boy since they tend to get into trouble more often than girls. I always begin with a heart- to-heart talk to be sure he understands what he did wrong and why he needs a paddling. I find corporal punishment works much better if the youngster admits to his misbehavior first. No talk ends until the boy tells me he’s sorry and agrees that he’s earned a spanking. Once he’s ready for his punishment, I take his pants down and give him a thorough scolding like any child about to go over my knee. Only then does the actual paddling begin. I know you probably think you’re too big to be treated like a child at school but that’s exactly why paddlings are so effective with boys your age. In my experience, nothing teaches a youngster in junior high to behave faster than having his teacher keep him after school, pull down his pants like a naughty fourth grader, and put him over her knee for a good spanking. From what your mommy tells me, you are a fairly rambunctious young boy who needs lots of discipline. Isn’t that right, Perry? ” All I could do was look down and grow red in the face. Fortunately, Mrs. Simpson seemed satisfied with my silence. “I thought so. Your mommy also told me you wouldn’t have a problem with corporal punishment since you’re used to regular spankings at home. While I hope I never have to see you here after class, Perry, make no mistake about what will happen if I do. By the time you leave my office, you will be one very well spanked little boy. Are we all clear on that, young man?” “Yes, maam,” I managed to stammer, looking down anxiously as if I had already done something wrong. “Good. With six years ahead of you at Christian Faith, it’s important that you understand right away how we handle troublemakers. Needless to say, I don’t hesitate to spank older students when their actions warrant it. So watch yourself in the coming years. It doesn’t matter whether you’re twelve or seventeen. Any child who is naughty in school is not too old to be put over my knee. Once I take a big boy’s pants down and start scolding him, he doesn’t feel big for long, believe me. And when he gets a taste of my paddle, he ends up kicking and crying just like any eight year old. Over the years, I’ve spanked boys from five to eighteen and they all act the same once my paddle goes to work.” By then, my heart was pounding and I felt a little faint, almost as if Mrs. Simpson was about to turn me over her lap right then and there. Fortunately she dropped the subject and went on to other matters. Her firm tone gave way to her usual warm, maternal manner which soon put me at ease. One thing was clear about Mrs. Simpson. She was a dedicated teacher who cared a lot about her pupils and showed it. She had the knack of making you feel you were the only person in the world when she was talking to you. And she said goodbye to me that day with a big, warm, bosomy hug. In that moment, her earlier warnings were absorbed into a larger caring and warmth. If she used spanking to punish naughty school children, they were just another aspect of her nurturing manner which combined firmness with maternal love. On my way home that day, I knew it wouldn’t be long before I earned a paddling and that somehow, Mrs. Simpson knew this as well. Had that been part of my embarrassment? While the prospect was a little scary, I figured a paddling over my underpants would probably be less painful than one of Mommy’s bare bottom spankings. And to be honest, I was also a little intrigued by the idea. If the truth be told, from the very start I found Mrs. Simpson to be very feminine, even sexy in a certain plump manner. Her large breasts swayed heavily under frilly blouses. Her nylons swished back and forth under her full skirts which fell gently against hourglass hips and bottom. And she always wore intoxicating perfumes which smelled of lavender and roses. As someone just staring to reach puberty, I was entranced. As my thoughts drifted off before I fell asleep that night, I wondered what it would be like to have Mrs. Simpson put me over her knee. And for the next few weeks, whenever Mommy spanked me, I imagined it was really Mrs. Simpson. About two weeks after school started, I ended up playing baseball at the local park well past my assigned lunch time. Mommy had told me to be back by noon but I lost track of time and discovered it was 12:45 when we finished the ninth inning. Knowing I might be in trouble, I ran home as fast as I could. You can imagine my surprise when I rushed into the parlor and found Mrs. Simpson finishing up some tea with mommy. Lunch for two was waiting on the dining table. And mommy wore a severe expression which made my heart sink. “Where have you been, young man? You know you were supposed to be home almost an hour ago for lunch.” “I’m sorry, mommy. I really am. We were playing baseball at the park and we lost track of the time. I promise it won’t happen again.” “Perry, I’m afraid a simple apology won’t suffice. Didn’t I warn you last weekend about getting home on time for lunch?” “Yes, mommy”, I murmured, hanging my head low. “And what did I say would happen if you were late again for lunch, Perry?” “You said you would punish me, mommy.” “Actually, I said I would give you a good spanking Perry Towner and I meant it.” At first, I assumed mommy was going to punish me later, after Mrs. Simpson left. But when she began rolling up her sleeves, I suddenly became very alarmed. “Please, mommy, can’t you punish me in some other way or at least wait until later?” “You know better than to ask that, Perry. I told you what would happen if you were late for lunch again but it obviously didn’t sink in, did it? I would be happy to use simple warnings or other punishments if they meant anything but they don’t seem to get your attention, do they? It seems the only time you mind mommy is after she turns you over her knee. Now come here, young man. You’re overdue for some old-fashioned medicine and I’m going to give you a good dose now.” Trying desperately to appease mommy, I took two hesitant steps toward her while continuing to plead my case in the hopes of postponing my fate. “Please, Mommy … please don’t spank me, at least not here.” With a significant glance over at Mrs Simpson, I begged, “Couldn’t you at least do it later.” “Young man, don’t make me get up to get you. You had better come over here right this instant. If you didn’t want a spanking today, you should have come on time.” I managed to take another two steps before blurting out what was really on my mind. “Please, mommy … not in front of Mrs. Simpson. Please … take me upstairs for my spanking.” As luck would have it, Mrs. Simpson herself cast the deciding vote. “Do as your mother says, young man. Don’t you worry about me. I’ve seen plenty of boy’s bottoms before. I raised two sons of my own and spanked them all the way through high school.” “Perry, you heard Mrs. Simpson. Come over here right now or you’ll be a lot more sorry in a few minutes, I promise.” At that point, I knew my goose was cooked. With my voice already cracking, I took a few more steps towards mommy and came within reach. Immediately she grabbed one arm, pulled me closer, and began scolding me like a small child, punctuating her remarks with hard spanks to the seat of my pants. “I expect SPANK you to listen to mommy SPANK when she tells you to do something. SPANK Do you understand me, Perry? SPANK Do you? SPANK” “Please Mommy, don’t spank me now .. please don’t spank me now”. “Don’t be silly, child. Mrs. Simpson has seen lots a bad boys with their pants down. From what she tells me, it won’t be long before you earn a paddling at school. Now stand right here while I get these pants down. Hands at your sides, young man. SPANK Mrs. Simpson has seen lots of little boys before. I said, hands at your sides, and I meant it.” SPANK SPANK SPANK. Within thirty seconds, my pants and underpants were taken down to my knees and a few more spanks applied to my waiting bottom. Patting her lap expectantly, mommy pulled me over her lap until my head hung down near the floor and my legs waved helplessly in the air. “Let’s show Mrs. Simpson how mommy handles bad little boys who come home late.” “Please, mommy, don’t spank my bare fanny in front of Mrs Simpson. Please … I don’t want a spanking like this … pleeeeaaaasseee … oh nooo, mommy … noooooo …. nooooo … noooo … waaaghhh … waaaagh … waaagghhhhh.” Before I could get out any real protest, my spanking had begun and I quickly shifted from begging for mercy to crying like an eight-year old. I don’t know why but I always started crying once a spanking began in earnest. Part of me knew there was no point in protesting since mommy never stopped spanking until my bottom was bright red and mommy heard real crying. It was also true that I felt like very much like a little boy whenever mommy spanked me. Having Mrs. Simpson there to see me spanked on my bare bottom only made me feel even more helpless and I gave in to my childish tears almost immediately. At one point during my punishment, Mommy turned to Mrs. Simpson and commented, “You see how well Perry takes his spankings, Ruth. I’m sure you won’t have any trouble paddling him at school. In fact, I think you find he’s very obedient once you take him over your knee. He’s usually mommy’s little angel after a good bottom warming. Deep down he knows he needs a spanking when he’s bad and he feels much better after he gets one.” I was too busy crying like a baby and kicking my feet in the air to protest these comments, especially when mommy continued spanking me the whole time. All I knew was that my bottom was on fire and nothing else mattered. After my spanking finally ended, I was sent into the corner for ten minutes until I stopped crying. I then had to thank mommy for my spanking and apologize to Mrs. Simpson for disturbing her tea. Only then did Mommy give me a big hug, tell me that all was forgiven and pull up my underpants and pants. She even let me cuddle on her lap for a few minutes. Fortunately my embarrassment ended when mommy announced it was time for lunch and Mrs. Simpson excused herself to run some errands. After that Saturday spanking in front of Mrs. Simpson, I vowed I would never do anything at school to earn a paddling. But less than two weeks later, Mrs. Simpson herself caught me with incomplete homework in her morning math class. (She taught seventh and eighth grade math as well as handling administrative duties.) Rather than saying anything to me in class, she simply returned my homework with an F on the front and the words, “young man, see me in my office after school”. The rest of the day was an agony of anticipation which made any concentration on schoolwork all but impossible. At 3:20 when the final bell rang and the other students climbed into the school buses, I trudged over to Mrs. Simson’s office. I knocked and entered when she called out, “Come in.” Since she was busy with some papers, she asked me to close the door and remain standing for a few minutes until she was finished. Eventually, she put down her pencil and pushed her chair back away from her desk. She then stood up, removed her jacket, and placed it on a nearby clothes hanger. She then moved the chair to the empty space on the side of the desk, sat down, and began rolling up the sleeves of her silk blouse. As I stood there in the silence, growing more and more uneasy, I noticed her large breasts swelled heavily against the pearl-colored blouse and jiggling slightly with her every movement. The fullness of her breasts was matched by the plumpness of her thighs, distinctly outlined by an peach-colored cotton skirt which fell softly between them in a clinging manner. The thought of being spanked by this sexy older woman caused some blood to stir in my loins and I found myself getting a slight hard on as I waited and watched. Finally, after both sleeves were rolled up and the paddle placed in her lap, she turned and began to lecture me. “I don’t have to tell you, young man, why you are here or what is about to happen to you. You were warned about the consequences of incomplete homework on the first day of school and now you will simply have to pay the penalty for your laziness. I have already called your mommy so she won’t worry about why you aren’t on the bus. After your spanking, I will drive you home and drop you off myself. Do you understand me?” “Ye…yes es, Mrs. Simpson,” I stammered. “One more thing. Since your problems in math go well beyond incomplete homework, I told your mommy I thought you needed weekend tutoring and she agreed. It seems your previous school was deficient in the teaching of Math which explains why you have fallen behind. With weekly tutoring, we should have you up to speed in two or three semesters at most. Starting next weekend, your mommy will drop you off at my house on Sunday afternoons for an hour of math tutoring at 4:00. Since one of our tasks will be to review your weekend homework, I want you to complete it before you come. Is that clear?” “Yes, Mrs. Simpson.” “Good. Now then, let’s get you ready for your paddling. Come over here so I can take your pants down. As you know, all paddlings at Christian Faith are given over the underpants. I’d say you are lucky in that regard, given the way your mommy handles you.” I stepped over to Mrs. Simpson’s right knee and allowed her to loosen my belt, undo my button and fly, and lower my pants to my ankles. Fortunately, my erection had pretty much subsided by then though I could feel it pressing against my briefs a little in front. If she saw it, Mrs. Simpson said nothing. Instead she held both of my arms by my side and began scolding me with language normally used for much younger children. “Perry, you’ve been a bad little boy and Mrs. Simpson is going to have to teach you a good lesson with this paddle. One of the reasons your mommy chose Christian Faith is because we spank children who are naughty. Boys and girls need to receive the same kind of firm discipline at school which they get at home. Since you have been very, very naughty to show up with incomplete homework, I’m going to give you a sound spanking now. While I’m paddling you, I want you to think about spending more time on your homework. I suppose you know what will happen to you, Perry, if I catch you with unfinished homework in the future?” “You’re… go… going to pa… pa… paddle me, Mrs. Simpson”. “That’s right, Perry. You’re going to be right back here in my office with your pants down like a little boy half your age waiting for a spanking. Now I want to hear you tell me loud and clear what you’ve done wrong and what you deserve.” “I … I’ve been a … I’ve been a ba… bad boy for not doing my homework … and now I’m … I’m … going to be … to be sp…spanked.” “That’s better, Perry. Now, I want you to be a good little boy and ask Mrs. Simpson for your punishment.” “Do I have to, Mrs. Simpson?” “Don’t be silly, young man. When a naughty boy has earned a spanking, I expect him to be grown up enough to ask for his medicine. You do want to get this over with, don’t you?” “Yes, Mrs. Simpson, more than anything else.” “Well then, what do you have to say?” “Pa… please Mrs. Simpson… please… give me my paddling now. I know I’ve been a bad boy and I … I need to be punished”. “That’s my good boy, Perry. Since you’re ready for your first spanking from me, let’s get your naughty bottom over my knee.” With that, she tugged me by the arm until I fell over her lap. She then pulled me over further until my feet left the floor and my head hung down on the other side. When I tried to reach back with my right hand, she seized it and held it firmly in the small of my back. In that position, I knew I was completely helpless to escape and would have to stay in place until she decided my paddling was over. “Now young man, we’re ready for your real lesson to begin. While you’re kicking and crying, I want you to think long and hard about what happens to naughty children who come to class with incomplete homework. If I have to, I’ll spank you after class every day for a week. Do I make myself clear, Perry?” “Yes, Mrs. Simpson. Please don’t paddle me hard, please. I’ll have my homework done from now on, I promise I will.” “I’m sure you will, young man, but only because of the good lesson I’m going to teach you right now. A paddling doesn’t teach unless it’s long and hard and something to remember. I always paddle until I hear real tears and see real contrition. You can kick and twist all you want but you aren’t going anywhere for a while.” And with that, the first spank landed square in the middle of my bottom, across the highest part of both cheeks. After the first smack, she spanked one cheek and then the other in fairly quick succession. Each spank stung enough on its own accord. But combined into a steady stream of spanks, the effect was a hundred times worse. Within a couple minutes, I had completely forgotten about any high school dignity as my mind focused on the fire in my bottom. As promised, Mrs Simpson soon reduced me to a kicking cry baby who was learning a very painful lesson. On and on the paddling went as I waved my feet frantically in the air and twisted my fanny from side to side. Throughout the whole ordeal, she continued to scold me. “You aren’t going anywhere, you bad little boy until Mrs. Simpson’s paddle has taught your naughty fanny a good lesson. Bad… bad Perry… bad…. bad Perry. That’s what you are… a very bad little boy who needs a very good spanking right now more than anything else. You bad… bad… bad… child. You’re lucky that school policy only allows paddling over the underpants. If you were my son, you’d be one very bare-bottomed little boy right now just like when mommy spanks you. Believe me, we’ve had a long talk about how to handle you best. Your mommy reminded me that school policy doesn’t apply during tutoring sessions in my house. So listen up, you naughty thing. Make sure your homework is done when you come for tutoring this Sunday or you’ll feel a very firm hand on your bare bottom. The good lord gave bottoms to children so they could take sound spankings without any lasting harm. And that’s exactly what you’re going to get every time you misbehave. Do you understand me mister?” By then, I was crying my heart out and paying no real attention to what she said; the only thing that mattered was that relentless paddle and the fire in my fanny. Finally, the spanking stopped and I was allowed up to dance around her office, both hands plunged into my briefs to massage my hot cheeks. Meanwhile, Mrs. Simpson calmly replaced the paddle on her desk, rolled her sleeves back down, and fetched her jacket. When I had quieted down somewhat, she came over and bent me under her left arm. While holding me in that childish position, she reached down to massage my cheeks for a moment before bending further to pull my pants back up. Minutes later, she was chatting with me on the way home as if the paddling had never taken place. On the first three Sundays of tutoring, I managed to have my homework done to her satisfaction. It was also clear to me that she was a fine Math teacher and that I really did need the extra help. And except for her views on discipline, she was a warm and loving lady with a great sense of humor. The fact that she was sexy in a maternal kind of way made her even more likable. As the weeks passed, I forgot all about the discomfort of that first spanking and gave remembered only the exciting moments, the sight of her breasts beneath her silk blouse, the heaviness fell of them on my back during the spanking, and the feel of her warm thighs beneath my loins. It was enough to fuel many sessions of masturbation at night and thoughts of what it might be like to get a bare bottom spanking at her home. Within a month, I had a terrible crush on Mrs. Simpson. In hindsight, I think I deliberately left some of my weekend Math homework incomplete to see how far I could push it. In any case, Mrs. Simpson scanned my work the next Sunday afternoon and then said sternly, “Perry, I see that you haven’t done an adequate job this week. I suppose it was bound to happen sooner or later and sure enough, it has. We’ll go over this assignment, as usual, and review some of last week’s work where you were having problems. But at the end of today’s lesson, you’re going over my lap for a spanking on your bare bottom.” “Oh Mrs. Simpson, please don’t spank me, especially on the bare … please. At least let me keep my underpants on.” “Nonsense, Perry. Now be quiet or you’ll earn extra spanks. I don’t want to hear anything more about it for the next hour. Is that clear?” “Yes, Mrs. Simpson,” I said, my heart already starting to race. For the rest of the lesson, I found it difficult to concentrate on math. The thought that this sexy woman was going to pull my underpants down and spank me on my bare fanny was just too much to think about. I made repeated mistakes in my work which Mrs. Simpson noticed. Finally, the hour ended. Instead of spanking me right then at the desk where we were working, Mrs. Simpson took me into the living room and sat down on the couch. Then she pulled her skirts up to the tops of her thighs so as not to wrinkle her brand new dress. At the sight of her plump bare thighs with beige nylons and garter belts, I felt a strong erection developing. “Now then, young mam, let’s get you really for your first bare bottomed spanking. Although I don’t have a paddle here, I think you’ll find my hand is more than adequate to teach you a good lesson. Of course, hand spankings take much longer but we have lots of time, don’t we?” As she spoke, her nimble fingers were already loosening my jeans. She then tugged them down until they were a tangled heap at my ankles. Ignoring the obvious erection which strained against my briefs, she quickly slid those down as well and pulled me over her lap. I gasped quietly as my penis dug into her soft thighs. Rather than spanking me right away, Mrs. Simpson scolded me for at least five minutes, leaving her right hand resting softly against my bottom with occasional pats and squeezes to emphasize certain points she was making. The whole time, I throbbed against her. “It seems like you are looking forward to a bare bottom spanking from me, doesn’t it, Perry?” “No Mrs. Simpson, really, it’s the last thing I want.” “I’m sure that true, Perry, at least in part. But it also seems you are one of those boys with mixed feelings about spankings, especially bare bottom spankings. They hate them, of course, but they also know they need them at times and even look forward to them in a certain way. As someone who raised two sons myself, I can certainly understand. In my experience, nothing clears the conscience of a naughty boy faster than a bare bottom spanking. Children need to have clear limits set and spankings are also very helpful in that regard. If a child know he has earned his punishment and that it comes from a woman who cares enough to spank him when he misbehaves, he usually has an easier time accepting it. I care a lot about you, Perry. That’s why I take the trouble to give you this extra tutoring and that’s why I’m going to give you a good spanking now on your bare fanny. By then, I was already crying softly. Apparently Mrs. Simpson was pleased for she added, “Good boy. You go ahead and cry if you need to, Perry. In my experience, most children feel better in the end if they allow themselves to cry during a spanking. Of course, some older boys feel it undignified to cry in any situation. But believe me, they cry sooner or later after they go over my lap. The whole point of a spanking is to remind you that you are still just a little boy in many ways who needs to rely on the wisdom and guidance of parents and teachers. If you cry during a spanking, you’ll feel more like a little boy who has misbehaved and is now learning a badly needed lesson. Children who have a good cry while they’re being spanked always feel much better afterwards, believe me. And they’re usually better behaved as well.” With that, Mrs. Simpson began my first bare bottom spanking. Even before the first smack fell, I knew it would not be my last and so, I think, did Mrs. Simpson. In addition to needing a lot more tutoring, I guess I was one of those boys who needed firm guidance from a caring mother figure. And Mrs. Simpson fit the bill perfectly.