Well, here we are back again with another story; it's not quite as intense as the last one, having a first person narrative from a rather unrepentant school girl.
I hope you like it; once again pictures come from various Institute of Discipline videos, all of which feature splendid school girl slipperings (try saying that ten times, fast!). Why not check them out?
And now, today's story.
The Benefits of Hindsight
Faced with Miss Bishop and that bloody big plimsoll, it did occur to me that calling Miss Cannell a bitch might have been a mistake. Just one of those things that you wouldn't do a second time, given the chance.
Miss Bishop was huge; not fat, but six feet or so tall, and solid; she was a PE teacher, and by God she looked like one. She wore her hair short, and her skirt down to just above her chunky knees, and her legs looked like they could have held three of her.
To be honest, Miss Bishop scared the Hell out of me. Her arms were of similar proportions to her legs, and she was the weapon of choice for most of the teachers when they felt offended by our behaviour.
I knew those legs were strong because I had found myself lying across them, on more than one occasion, and her beefy arms certainly propelled her large unfeminine hands with some force when she spanked them across your bottom.
She prided herself on being able to deliver a thorough and very sound spanking with either hand; she was a very balanced spanker, I suppose.
The sole of the plimsoll looked harder than her hand did. And certainly heavier.
Oh come one! It's not my fault that Miss Cannell is a bitch. I thought teachers liked it when their girls told the truth. That's all I was doing.
I didn't think that Miss Bishop would be very much moved by that explanation though.
At least we were in her office, in the gym block. She could have chosen to bend me over a horse in the middle of the gym itself, where any passing busybody could see her do her work. And see the seat of my knickers as she beat every trace of dust off of them.
I found the vague smile of satisfaction she pointed at me to be a little bit disconcerting. The solid thud that the plimsoll made against the palm of her hand as she tapped it was altogether scarier.
My besty has been spanked, and slippered, and even caned, by pretty much every teacher who cares to use corporal punishment, and I've never seen her much moved by the experience, until a few weeks ago when she accidentally tripped the class shit up, and she fell against, and broke, a large window.
When I say she accidentally tripped her, that really isn't true. She meant to leave her sprawled on the floor, but the daft cow was off balance, and fell sideways, and, well, you know, crash. And smash.
She wasn't hurt, but of course she sat there blubbing, and the first teacher along was Miss Bishop. She listened to both sides of the story, just barely, and then whisked Ann away to her office.
I followed along, at a safe distance, and was outside the office when the interview became heated. Actually it wasn't the interview that got heated so much as Ann's bottom.
The thump of the plimsoll against her knickers could be heard very clearly, and so could her squeals. Miss Bishop gave her 12 very meaty whacks, and Ann emerged, hands clutching her bottom as though it might fall off, and tears dribbling down her face.
God, I'm an idiot. Fancy setting myself up for a visit to Miss Bishop, just for a few fleeting moments of satisfaction. The look on Miss Cannell's face was worth it at the time. Not so much now.
Miss Bishop sort of resembled a savage beast; a lion about to pounce maybe. Although her features reminded me much more of a jackal; sharp and mouth slightly open in a silly grin. I think that suited her personality more too.
Her gaze made me uncomfortable. I really wanted to be somewhere else, even if it meant that I had to hurry her through the next few minutes.
My hands crept around behind me, and gave my bottom a rub. I snatched them away; time enough for that once there was a sting that needed to be rubbed away.
Miss Bishop had caught the movement, and gave a nasty triumphant smile. Surely she realised how the girls all feared her? Surely she revelled in it?
She took a deep breath and pointed the plimsoll at me; I've never been held at gunpoint, but I'm sure the sensation is similar.
“Well, young lady, you've really dropped yourself in it this time.” Yeah, no escaping it; she was much too bloody pleased to see me here.
“Come on Linda. You always have something to say for yourself. Cat got your tongue, has it? Bit too late to hold shtum now, don't you think?”
I really couldn't think of a single thing to say. Well, I could scream out “Die you bloody bitch!” and launch, hands first, at her throat, but, well, I'd just bounce off anyway. There should be a law against breeding teachers like her.
“I mean, I assume you're happy for me to deal with you? If you like I could ask for the Head's input, although I rather think that would involve expulsion. Would you like to explain calling Miss Cannell a, well, what was it?”
I kept quiet. She was right really; it was much too late.
“What did you call her?” Miss Bishop snapped. Oops. Not a rhetorical question then. I mumbled an answer.
“Ah, not so proud if it now, are you? Speak up girl. What did you call Miss Cannell?”
Sigh. Nothing for it. You can't ignore Miss Bishop when she wants something.
“I called her a bitch, Miss.”
“Yes, you did, didn't you. How spectacularly stupid. Did you imagine that you'd somehow get away with that? Perhaps Miss Cannell has hearing issues? Or her ears are full of cotton wool? Any other theories?”
I fucking hate sarcastic bloody teachers.
“I thought she was too bloody meek to do anything about it!” Oh shit. Oops again. Really didn't mean to say that. Too late to change it now though.
Looks like I picked the wrong week to give up time travel.
Miss Bishop chuckled. It sounded like a lizard coughing. My skin crawled. Wow. Genuinely creepy.
She waited a moment before speaking again; milking the moment I suppose.
“Yes, she is quite quiet. A little bit shy. But it is her first year as a fully fledged teacher. And unpleasant brats like you do not help her to settle in, do you? You are nothing but a bully.”
I gave that a little thought. It was kind of bullying, I suppose. Like picking on a kitten. Well, if kittens weren't cute.
Oh, but to Hell with that. I didn't feel guilty. Teachers were supposed to be able to stand up for themselves; they'd get eaten alive otherwise. I'd only called the blubbing little bitch a bitch because she was one.
I think I stood a little straighter. I'm sure that there was a defiant glint in my eye. For a moment I forgot what the future held, proud of my commitment to the cause.
Miss Bishop stood up straighter too. She towered over me, and that damn plimsoll was patting her hand more urgently.
“I can see that you do not feel even the slightest bit of remorse, do you girl? Perhaps my little friend here and I can make you reconsider.”
I was puzzled for a second. Little friend? Then, of course, I realised that she meant the plimsoll. Little friend, my arse. A bloody size 12 at least, if I was any judge.
I tried to shrink back; Miss Bishop was invading my personal space as surely as her slipper would invade my backside's comfort zone. The wall got in my way.
She came closer, and I could smell her breath; minty fresh, with a hint of coffee. Her skin smelt of soap; clean and slightly sickening.
“I think 12 would be a good start. As I'm not allowed to give you more. But don't you worry; after six or so your bottom will sting so much that you'll lose count. I think you'll take tea standing up this evening, young lady.”
Well, that was about what I expected. I couldn't find it within me to be pleased at getting it right though.
Mr Bishop grasped my ear lobe, and pulled me across the room. Oh God, she pinched! Surely that was unnecessary? It wasn't like I could get away from the mad cow!
I walked in a kind of hunched over crab scuttle as she led me to her desk, and guided me down across it. The desk was fairly low and not too wide, so in effect I lay on it, my bottom presented to her.
“You might want to grab the other side of the desk.” she said, in a voice that oozed menace. “If you reach back and block my aim I'll take that swing again.”
I was wearing the standard school uniform, having been ejected from Miss Cannell's class after my indiscretion, and Miss Bishop wasted no time in flipping the knee length skirt up, leaving my panties exposed to her glare.
Miss Bishop moved to one side, and I felt her place the weighty weapon against my bottom. God, it really was huge! Lying there it covered the entire width of my bottom, and I imagined it burning against my flesh.
Maybe she was a witch! It was a demonic plimsoll, burning with hellfire! Surely she wasn't allowed to spank me with a slipper that actually was on fire?
The plimsoll lifted away from my bottom; squinting sideways I could see Miss Bishop's arm rising, and she was concentrating her vision on her target. Oh shit, that was me!
The noise as it fell was odd; canes make a distinctive swish, but slippers don't cut through the air. They batter it out of the way, and as it thumped across my bum cheeks there was a mighty thwack!
My first thought, as the plimsoll bounced back into the air, was that, hey, that wasn't too bad. The impact had jolted me forward but it didn't hurt much.
As Miss Bishop shifted her aim, and raised the slipper once more, the numbness abated, and every nerve in both buttocks screamed in protest. I gasped. Oh my God! This was what fire on your bottom really felt like!
The plimsoll pummelled my poor bottom again, this time just against the left hand side. Of course this meant that it walloped against some flesh that had already been abused, and the pain was instant.
I know that I cried out, but I have no idea what I said, or even if words were involved.
THWACK! Smack number three, to the other side of my bottom, with similar effects.
I knew that I had only been bent over the desk for a minute or so, but it seemed like my bottom had hurt forever; it was a new part of me that bore a grudge against the rest, and took it's revenge by just bloody hurting so much!
Miss Bishop wielded the plimsoll with power and purpose; she returned to the scene of her first crime, and thumped the rubber sole back across the centre of my bottom again.
With what seemed like barely a second's pause the plimsoll feel twice more, repeating it's hellish pattern.
I'm not ashamed to say that I was sobbing by this time; my cheeks dripped with burning tears.
My other cheeks just burned. And throbbed. And pulsated. I was a little surprised that my pants were still able to hold in my expanding bottom; ah, the miracles of modern elastic.
Miss Bishop took a step back, and folded her arms, the plimsoll lying across one heaving breast. She looked like she'd been running a cross country course; I was a little bit pleased that she had needed to use so much energy to punish me.
“How are you feeling now, eh? Any smart arse comments you'd like to make?”
I just shook my head.
“I'm talking to you, girl! I expect a proper answer.”
I could hear her pacing about behind me, like a hungry tiger about to pounce on it's prey. Well, I certainly wished that she'd piss off back to the jungle, and leave me alone.
She bent down, so that her face, slightly grimy with sweat, was level with mine, and, as though telling me a great secret she whispered into my ear.
“Only half way through, you know.”
Her usually pale cheeks were flushed; I think that the malicious bitch was excited by my punishment. So nice to see someone happy in her work. Not.
Miss Bishop stood, and tapped the plimsoll against my bottom. She lifted it and moved away. I tensed for a smack that didn't come. Glancing to my side I saw her leaning against the wall, watching me.
She approached me again, and there were another couple of taps, before the slipper lifted. Then nothing again.
Bloody hell! Now she was a tiger playing with it's food!
I relaxed against the desk a little, my right cheek resting on it's cool surface, as the tears that had come so readily began to dry. God, I must have looked a sight.
With no warning the plimsoll thumped across my bottom again. I yelped, a mixture of surprise and reawakened pain.
She rested the implement there for a moment, and then, in one flowing moment, threw it into the air, to fall, jet propelled, against one side of my bottom, and then the other.
It seemed like each blow echoed throughout my entire body; I was a giant cave, waves of sound bouncing against my walls. It just didn't seem right that smacks sounding so loud didn't bring the whole school running.
I started to lift my right arm, to reach back and check that my bottom hadn't been replaced by a huge cavern, spanked into my flesh by the unfeasibly heavy plimsoll.
“No, no. Hand back on the table.” Miss Bishop was watching keenly.
For a moment I left my hand dangling in the air; a brief act of defiance. Then I returned it to it's place; there was no need to get my fingers crushed as well as my bum.
Miss Bishop had gone back to her pacing; ratcheting up the tension probably. To be honest I was past caring. She'd get around to me again, I was pretty damn sure.
She did. This time I howled. Well, it seemed loud to me, but my ears were still ringing from the sound of rubber on flesh. My flesh. Ah, crap.
Perhaps Miss Bishop was getting bored. The last two whacks rocked my body, but came quickly. I bet I was quivering like a plate of rubbery jelly.
I lay there. Moving seemed too much trouble, although the idea of rubbing my inflamed rear end was quite appealing.
“Well, get up girl! Or were you planning on staying there all day? I could give you a few more whacks, if you like?”
Sighing, I hauled myself upright. The tears had started again, and I left a puddle on the desk where my head had rested. I felt unsteady, a bit light headed, and very heavy bottomed. I think my rump would have dragged me backwards onto the floor if I hadn't been so scared of the idea of sitting on it.
“Are you waiting for applause?” Miss Bishop continued the ominous drum beat of plimsoll on hand. Jesus, you'd think she'd had enough by now.
She gestured to the door with her empty hand; a contemptuous flick of her wrist.
“Go on, back to class. And I expect to hear that you delivered a very sincere apology to Miss Cannell.”
I shuffled towards the door. Reluctantly I removed one of the hands that had involuntarily grasped my bottom, in order to open the door.
As I exited I had a moment of temporary insanity, considering slamming the door shut behind me. The huge throbbing in my behind convinced me not to.
Despite the pain in my bottom, and the thought of 2 more hours of classes sitting on it, the worst thing was the idea of apologising to that whining bitch.
I hope that you enjoyed that.
All the best