|Another Spanking Memory|
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| The first spanking I remember enjoying getting was when I was in junior high school. I was 13 years old. The man who gave it to me was my gym teacher, Mr. Geiler. Long before the event, I had a crush on him. It wasn?t his looks that attracted me, he was pretty average. Most of the girls in my school did not like him; they were all enamored with Mr. Edwards, a pretty boy type fresh out of college, who was very sweet and let all the students get away with murder. You could do anything you wanted in Edwards? class; not so in Geiler?s. Mr. Geiler was something of a hard ass, and I was attracted to that. He was naturally dominant and, therefore, very sexy to me. He was strict, but with a sense of humor.
Geiler was also visibly appreciative of maturing female forms. At 13, I was the most physically developed girl in my class. I was already wearing a ?C? cup bra and my thin yellow gym shirt made it impossible to hide my large breasts. I caught Geiler looking at my chest on several occasions, especially when we were playing volleyball. He liked to watch me serve, and even once made a comment regarding how I would be a decent player if I my reach was not so impeded. I blushed knowing exactly what he meant. He wasn?t the only one who looked. The boys in my class were always gazing at my fast developing breasts and making little comments?much more explicit that the one my teacher had made.
Sometimes Geiler made some of the kids run laps: like if we were standing around talking and not participating in the games. He always made sure we got our exercise, one way or the other. I was fully aware that running laps made my boobs bounce as well as making the legs on my gym shorts ride high up on my thighs. By the time I finished laps, I was always sweating and flushed, my clothes damp. I bet he enjoyed that sight.
At home in bed, I would often fantasize about Mr. Geiler. I would relive the events of that day?s class, thinking about the looks he had given me and the dominant way he strutted around, barking out orders like ?reach for it? and ?bend lower? and, my favorite, ?go all the way down? when we were doing mat exercises. He was hot as hell as far as I was concerned.
My favorite thing to think about while I daydreamed was Geiler?s often repeated threat of what would happen to us should we not dress out. The first offense was a warning (anyone could forget their gym clothes once he said?no big deal), twice was 10 laps, but if a third offense were to occur?that would be the last straw?three licks with the school paddle and a note home.
About midway through the year, I already had two strikes. The first time I just didn?t feel like participating. I was on my period, and I had my mother write a note declaring I was not feeling well and needed to be excused from gym. Geiler took the note, looked at me with disdain, and said ?Excuse or no excuse, this is number one,? I pretended to be pissed at the injustice of it but, secretly, a tingle had started in my nether regions. The second time, I honestly forgot to grab my shirt and shorts before leaving the house. I almost asked to be excused from my first class, when I realized I had forgotten them, so I could call my mother and claim sickness so I could go home, but when I found out my best friend Belinda had forgotten her gym clothes too, I didn?t bother. I figured it would be okay to run laps with her as we could talk as we made our way around.
Five laps into our punishment run, we were beat. We slowed down to nothing more than a walk. Geiler was pitching softball to the good little boys and girls who had dressed out when he turned to check out our progress. ?You girls better get those legs moving,? he threatened.
We started to jog a little but quickly fell back into a fast walk. He didn?t say anything to us until the class was over. As we were making our way to our next period class, he hollered out to us: ?You girls both have detention with me?for a half hour after school, tomorrow, and you better both be in your gym suits!?
?What?!? we both cried.
?You heard me. Detention. It?s what happens to little girls who goof off instead of running laps.? He looked quite satisfied with himself.
We were a little scared. Though I didn?t tell Belinda, I was also a somewhat excited. A half hour with Geiler and just one other student?I couldn?t imagine how he?d act. Even though I was nervous about it, I looked forward to that detention.
The next afternoon, Belinda and I showed up at the gymnasium carrying our suits. He had a folding table set up by the locker rooms where he was working on paperwork. He didn?t even look up as we approached, just pointed to the girl?s dressing room and told us to hurry up. We dressed out and returned to face him. He let us stand before the table for what seemed like forever but was probably more like five minutes before he addressed us.
?Alright, girls,? he said ?You can start by doing five laps around the gym?no stopping, no walking.?
?Can we skip?? asked Belinda, she was a flirtatious black girl who had always joked with Mr. Geiler.
He smiled an evil smile. ?I?d like to see you try to,? he said.
We finished the laps easily enough. It was a lot shorter around the gym floor than the track field. He rose when we were done and then began leading us in doing calisthenics. I can imagine the thrill he must have got from watching us do jumping jacks. Belinda did not have tits as large as mine, but she wasn?t flat-chested either. We both sweated and complained through the exercises, especially, the sit-ups and knee bends. He laughed at us. Once he put his hands on the back of my shoulders to force me into performing a decent push-up, he said, but all it did was make my bottom stick up in the air. He laughed at that.
He ended our detention by making us pick up the trash in the gym. When he saw me having trouble getting a crushed paper cup out from under a bleacher, he took the time to demonstrate to me how it should be done.
?But I don?t want to reach all the way under there, it?s nasty and there are spider webs? I wailed.
At that, he grabbed my hand with one of his own and grabbed me, pushing us both down. I struggled, laughingly, while he ?forced? me to get the cup. When he let me up, I made a big production of carrying it to the trash can telling him I couldn?t believe what he had made me do. He said something under his breath then which I couldn?t make out, but he was smiling. Geiler finally let us go for the day but not before giving us a strict warning that he didn?t want anymore trouble out of ?his? girls. Oh boy, did I like that.
Belinda called me after school complaining she was already sore behind her knees from all the running and extra exercises. I commiserated with her, but I did not dare let her know that I found the soreness a turn-on as it was a great reminder of my exciting day. She did know I had a crush on Geiler, but she just couldn?t understand it. At the end of the call, she said: ?Bet you can?t stand him now.?
?Oh, I don?t know,? I said coyly. ?I?m thinking about forgiving him.?
?You?re nuts? she said, hanging up the phone.
I masturbated later that night-- a pillow between my legs, thinking about how exciting our detention had been. Afterwards I drifted off to sleep hoping to dream about his voice and his hands. I woke for the school the following morning an hour earlier than usual. I pulled open my tee-shirt drawer and reached for my gym clothes. But I didn?t take them out. A tingle ran through me. A third strike and he had just warned me (and Belinda, of course) not to give him anymore trouble. Would he do it? And would I really like it? or would it just be painful and embarrassing like the couple of spankings I had gotten at home when I was younger?
When I got to the school all I could think about was that I should I have put my gym suit in my back pack. That way, I could chicken out at the last minute and put them on if I wanted to. But I had chosen to leave them at home and (without calling my mom?and I knew I shouldn?t bother her at work) I would have to face the consequences. There was no turning back now.
During my first three classes, I caught myself daydreaming about how it might be. He might let me out of it. He had only paddled one kid the entire year that I knew about and that was for cussing at him. The boy, Antonio, was a real troublemaker who always started fights even with girls. One day when Geiler was assigning teams for a basketball game, he had teased Antonio by telling him he was going to have to be on a girls? team since he had long dreadlocks. Antonio did not find it funny. He called Mr. Geiler a son of a bitch which Geiler took very personally as a real insult to his mother. He had half dragged Antonio out of the gymnasium. We all watched through an open door.
As Geiler was hauling the kid off, Mr. Johnson, a math teacher, ran out to stop them. He pulled Mr. Geiler away a little and spoke softly to him. He must have been warning him not to get carried away. Then the two teachers both escorted Antonio to the office.
Antonio did not return until the last class of the day, which he and I also happened to have together. I overheard him telling a friend that Geiler had given him six whacks with a paddle, while Mr. Johnson and Mr. Estes (the principal) stood as witnesses. He bitched about it saying his Dad would be ?all over all their asses?, but I knew it was just talk. Back when I was in junior high in the South, in the seventies, corporeal punishment was still accepted.
I knew that, although Geiler was likely to be peeved at me, he would not be really angry the way he was with Antonio that day. He never got ?enraged? at the girls, only exasperated and a little mad. Yeah, I thought, at lunch-- my final period before gym class--he will just let me out of it, and I?ll be running my ass off around that track. Well, I might get detention again too, I thought. And probably by myself, now that would be interesting.
When the bell rang, I dutifully walked down to the gym. I went into the girls? locker room though I could not, of course, dress out. I wasn?t the only one. Two other girls stayed in their regular clothes. When we went out onto the gym floor, Geiler immediately pointed his finger at each of us in turn and then motioned for us to come toward him where he sat on the bleachers. He addressed us one by one.
?Smith, why aren?t you dressed out??
Tina, a very petite brown-haired girl who had yet to go through puberty, shrugged and muttered that she had forgotten her clothes.
?Second time,? he growled. He made a mark in his attendance book. ?Hit the track. Ten laps, no fooling around?. He then turned to the next girl.
?What?s wrong with you, Carson?? he asked, spying the folded note in her hand.
?It?s from my doctor. He said I can?t do gym until he gives me another note. I have bronchitis.? Anita was afflicted with asthma. Everybody knew it, she had never been able to participate in real sports, but she was usually able to play in gym though she had to often take breaks to keep from losing her breath. And she always had to have her inhaler in her pocket.
Geiler looked at her long and hard. Then he waved her away with his hand. As she walked away, he called out: ?Be sure to give me that next note when you get it.?
I was left standing alone in front of him. All the dressed out students had taken up where they had left off the day before, resuming a volleyball game.
Geiler wrote in his book as I stood waiting nervously. ?Any notes from you, Lisa?? He asked quietly, without looking up. I was surprised he called me by my first name.
?No, sir? I said looking down.
?Sir?? He said ?No use in trying to get out of it?
?I?m not,? I replied.
?Come on,? he got up and walked over to where the game was going on. ?I?ll be right back, keep playing? he barked to the others. I saw Belinda giving me a quizzical look, but I just shrugged at her.
I followed Mr. Geiler all the way to the door of the boys? locker room. There, I paused as he entered the open door.
?Come on,? he said ?There?s nobody changing in here.?
Timidly, I walked in behind him. He was right. There was no one changing in the dressing room. There was no one in the room at all. Just me and him, now.
I saw him go over to the maintenance closet where he retrieved a small, short handled broom. It looked brand new; all of its bristles lay perfectly flat. He began swinging the broom as if he were warming up with a ball bat before the first pitch.
?You know you?re on your third strike, don?t you?? he asked, looking at my eyes for once instead of down at my chest.
?Yes, sir.? I said, looking down. It gave me a little buzz of pleasure to call him ?sir?.
He looked at me for a minute: at my face first, and then down the length of my body.
?Alright,? he said finally, ?Get over here.? I walked a few steps until I was directly in front of him. He looked at me smirking.
?Now turn around.? I turned and bit my lip, waiting. The first blow with the broom hit me squarely across the seat of my jeans. I hardly felt it. Why hadn?t I worn a skirt? Without him telling me to do so, I leaned forward someone for the next stroke. This one was a little harder but it barely stung. I gave out a little ?yelp? anyway and turned my head to take a quick look behind me. Geiler was smiling.
For my last stroke, I bent over further putting my hands on my knees. I got off on knowing I was sticking my bottom out at him. I could feel the denim tightening on my butt due to my position; at least I had worn very skimpy nylon panties. He waited a moment before giving me that last lick. I held my position, hoping he was enjoying the view of my ass, the way I had it served up for him. He made a little grunting noise, almost imperceptive, and then he laid into me a final time with the broom. It was a very hard stroke, and it caused me to bounce forward a little.
?Ohh? I stood up quick. That lick had a smart to it.
?Alright you go. And I guess you?ll be dressed out tomorrow, right?? Geiler was giving me his best mean look but I wasn?t buying it.
?Yeah, I will? but it didn?t hurt? I said laughing.
?What?? he asked, smiling. ?What did you say?? He then gave me a playful swat with the broom as I ran out onto the gym floor. He followed me out. I turned to look back at him and caught a look at his ?package?. I could tell he was hard. His gym shorts did not leave much to the imagination.
Though I did not receive another spanking from Mr. Geiler that year, I thought often about the one I did get.
My next in school spanking from a teacher would come two years later-- from a real sadist. It would leave marks. But that?s another story.