The following story is fiction about school type discipline. The story contains a scene of paddling.  If this subject is offensive, uninteresting or if you are a minor (i.e., child) please leave now.  This was inspired by the image I found unattributed on the web.   Click to open the image off-site (NSFW).

This work is copyright by the author and commercial use is prohibited without permission.  Personal/private copies are permitted only if complete including the copyright notice.

The author would appreciate your comments – pro and con, including constructive criticism and suggestions.  Please take a moment to email.

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Hunter Cashman was horrified when he went to his high school’s Facebook page the day before school was scheduled to resume after the all too short summer break.  Beside the expected crap posted (and not just from the administration) there was a picture that had racked up more than a hundred 👍 without even one 👎.  The picture was mostly real although significantly edited.  Digital white chalk added the words on the blackboard in bold letters and someone had an excess of digital red paint to use to enhance the effect of the paddle hanging nearby.  Hunter’s recall of the event turning his butt into a fiery pain center was perfect even months after the event.

Hunter knew exactly where and when the picture had been taken.  It was on a class trip to the living museum village back on the ides of May.  He remembered that he had been a bit rambunctious for a couple hours as they viewed things that had been, as it would have been said by the Ghost of Christmas Past.  Weaving plain cloth, yanking cow tits and a big muscled blacksmith pounding an anvil just don’t appeal to some adolescent boys such as Hunter.  He did find the milkmaid interesting but overdressed and the half naked boy pumping the the forge bellows cute.

It was in the old school classroom that things came to a head.  Mr. Sullivan was well past the breaking point with Cashman’s clowning about when the docent Mr. Rockhold was explaining what the paddle on the wall was all about.  It was seemingly ancient history.  Hunter had scoffed complete with huge guffaws at what it could do.  When the docent asked for a volunteer, Mr. Sullivan ‘volunteered’ him.  He initially declined but then got an ultimatum: “Either volunteer Cashman or wait in the bus until we return to school.”

He got a weak round of applause when he slowly made his way to the front of the old classroom.  “Most boys went barefoot back then so please remove your shoes and socks before bringing me the paddle, boy.” ordered Mr. Rockhold.  It was when it was in his hand so that Hunter actually felt the weight of it and measured its true size that he realized, perhaps, his scoffing was inappropriate.  The docent continued and got to “Stand there.  Bend over and touch your toes while keeping your knees straight.”  The others went silent as they anticipated watching a paddling for the first time.  A real paddling not one in a story book.

Mr. Rockhold got into position and began.  He had done many other demonstrations but had only used the paddle gently.  Today would be different and far more realistic.  The docent was extremely enthusiastic for this demonstration.© YLeeCoyote

WHACK!

Hunter Cashman gave a YOWL to shatter ear drums.  Mr. Sullivan grinned broadly wishing he was the one with the paddle.

“Wasn’t the procedure done with pants down, Mr. Rockhold?” asked Mr. Sullivan. That caused a titter to ripple through the class.

“Yes, it was but I start with them up so that the students can compare better.” replied the docent making a good recovery with the addition of expanded parameters.  He swung the paddle again provoking another howl.  A minute later he ordered: “Drop your trousers, Cashman.”

When he hesitated, Mr. Sullivan encouraged him and reminded him about his many moonings proving his lack of shyness.  Hunter stood up, slowly opened his pants which fell and revealed that he was going commando that day and that his tail was already, excuse the expression, blushing pink.  It was then that he regretted thinking that the girls would be impressed by his free balling equipment more than if restrained by his boxer-briefs on this field trip.

“Resume the position, Cashman.” commanded the docent once again as he raised the paddle again.

WHACK!

Both the impact and response were louder and even more color was painted on the target checks.  The class watched in awe as Hunter suffered.  For the most part the boys were glad that they were sitting watching rather than being the volunteer.  A couple of the girls also wondered about being the volunteer but most felt this would only have happened to well-deserving boys.

After six well-laid on pops on the bare, Hunter with his hands on his head was parked in front of the blackboard that was really slate and used real chalk for the remainder of the talk.  The eyes of everyone were on Cashman’s glowing tail the entire time.  Evidently, at least one camera was also watching.

There was not any question what the most talked about part of the trip was.  Hunter Cashman was extremely well behaved the rest of the day.  In fact he was well behaved for the entire next week.  Mr. Sullivan and many of his colleagues sorely wished that paddling had not been outlawed years before.

The End

© Copyright A.I.L. September 2, 2020

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Last updated:  September 15, 2023