As healthy 12-year old’s, Cathy, Sally, and me often found the compound and its school very boring. Even though it was in the swinging sixties, the school imposed strict rules regarding what we could do, where we could go, whom we could see and how we were allowed to dress. It was for this reason that we regularly seemed to find some trouble to get into.  In fact, I had just received a spanking the week before for not hanging my school clothes up after changing into my play clothes.

Each of us was dressed in the regulation school uniform of white blouse, blue plaid skirt, ankle socks and shiny black strap shoes. The routine on that Monday morning was the same as any other. Wake up, get dressed, go to school, play for a couple of hours and then get ready for bed.  On Wednesday, Friday and Sunday, prayers were said and Mormon hymns sung before retiring.

And so it was on a beautiful late summer morning just after the school year had began, we three girls were chit-chatting in the back of Sister Gann’s science class.

As we talked about simple nothings, Sally said, “Hey, I have something to show you.”

She then reached into her book bag and presented a pretty glass bottle of something.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Yeah, what is it?” chimed Cathy.

“It’s perfume, you dopes,” replied Sally. “Haven’t you seen perfume before?”

(Note: As Fundamentalist Mormons, we were told not to use things like lipstick, makeup, perfume and the like, as it was too ‘worldly.)

She handed me the bottle and, after turning the bottle around, saw it was something called ‘Chanel No 5’.

I sniffed the cap and said, “It smells cool.”

“Yeah,” agreed Cathy.

I looked at her and asked, “Where did you get it?”

“From Sister Anderson’s purse,” came the shocking answer.

She then took the bottle, sprayed some on my upper chest and neck area and then did the same to Cathy.  She repeated the actions on herself, except she gave herself and extra shot. We were so naïve at the time we did not realize how far the scent would travel, and soon most of the class was sniffing the air and displaying looks of confusion.

Soon, Sister Gann asked the class: “Who is wearing perfume?”

We three sat in silence, but our cover was blown when Greg spoke up, saying: “I saw Sally, Cathy and Rachel doing something suspicious in the back a few moments ago.”

“What an ass-hat,” I thought.

The teacher then walked back to where we were sitting and leaned in to
each of us and took a whiff.

“It is you three.  Who has the perfume?” she demanded.

“I do,” admitted Sally.

“And how did it get on Cathy and Rachel?”

I love Cathy and she is my best friend, but sometimes she’s sharp as a
marble, as her following reply will demonstrate.

“We let her put it on us.”

“Well, you three will be seeing the Bishop about this,” she retorted as she grabbed Sally’s book bag and took it with her.

Nothing else was said and when the lunch bell rang, we left and headed for the lunchroom. Upon our arrival, as we stood in line, everyone around us, including the ladies serving the food, all sniffed as we walked by. The same happened as we sat down to eat.

We heard several “What stinks?” or “What is that smell?” comments during the lunch period. Sister G walked by and told the three of us that she had spoken to Bishop M and he would be talking to us soon.

At the end of our lunch period, the Bishop made the normal routine administrative announcements.  Only right at the end of the assembly did the Bishop announce, “I would like to see Cathy, Rachel and Sally in my office immediately after lunch time.”

The whole school seemed to turn to look at us three girls, who blushed deeply.  Everyone knew what such a summons meant.

The three of us walked silently to his office, but nobody seemed overly disturbed by the unpleasant prospect of an appointment with the Bishop and a strong desire to exact revenge on the boy that had informed on us. All three of us had had an occasion to visit the Bishop on recent previous occasions, and we were acutely aware of what awaited us. Some of our friends gave us small smiles of encouragement, others were not so kind.

One girl even whispered, “I bet you and your pink behinds won’t be sitting comfortably tonight!”

Upon arrival, we opened the door and stood in the corridor that separated the hall from the Bishop’s office for a few moments. We all entered the Bishop’s office without even a glance at the large imposing father figure to our right. The polished wood floor creaked under our shoes as we walked inside. The big heavy oak door on the office closed behind us with a loud ‘CLUNK’.  The Bishop sat behind the big leather topped desk. The contents of Sally’s bag were spread on the desktop before her.  Besides the bottle of perfume, it also contained a pack of cigarettes.

“What have you three got to say for yourselves?” demanded the Bishop.

Cathy, Sally and I hung our heads and looked at the deep oak-brown floor.
Over the next ten minutes the whole story came out.  We were wise enough not to lie.

The Bishop lectured us for another 10 minutes. He reminded us that whilst we were at school, he was responsible for making us into respectable God-fearing children. The school rules were designed to protect us girls, not restrict. By disobeying the rules, we had placed ourselves at risk.  And then there was the question of the cigarettes. Smoking was strictly prohibited at the school; girls caught smoking were always punished.

I was looking forward to this session because Sally, like me, apparently found some kind of pleasure in getting paddled.

Finally, the Bishop passed sentence. “Cathy and Rachel, you will
each receive 30 swats on your bottoms for using the perfume. Sally, you will get 60 for the perfume and cigarettes.

We could see the wooden chair over which we would soon be bent, and the paddle lying on his desk. He then instructed us to remove our blue-plaid skirts and lay them on his desk.  Once done, we were then told to remove our blouses and place them on our skirts already on the desk, and then place our hands on our heads. As we stood there wearing only socks, shoes and panties, a cool breeze blew gently along our backs reminding us of our partial nakedness and vulnerability.  We had known the likely consequences of our actions but we somehow always believed we would not be caught; now Cathy and Sally wondered if it had been worth it.

Then the phone range and Bishop M went to answer it while we waited in silence, staring fixedly at the floor.  About five minutes later, he told the caller he had some business to tend to and hung the receiver in its cradle.

“Cathy, you’re first,” he blurted in his usual gruff voice, and pointed to the chair.

As she approached the chair, he stopped her, cupped her chin in his hand and said, “I do this because I love you girls and Gods expects me to do it, do you understand that?”

“Yes sir,” she replied in an uneasy tone.

“Now bend over the back of the chair and grab the rung just below the seat.”

Immediately Cathy bent over the top of the chair and grasped the rung, her legs pressed together.  He then grasped the waistband of her white panties and pulled them to her knees. Cathy’s bare bottom quivered slightly in anticipation.

After placing his dark left hand in the middle of her pale back, he rubbed the paddle on her small derrière a few times, let out a sigh and said: “Here we go.”

Then there was a swish and the sound of the paddle contacting on bare flesh.
As usual, he took about 5 seconds between swats.

During the pause between sets, Cathy began her usual pleading and begging to be spared further punishment, her promise never to be naughty again, but the sound of the paddle swishing began again and the smacking against bare flesh continued. Her short blond pigtails danced to the beat.

The paddling took longer than it otherwise might because Cathy could not remain completely in position over the chair; she kept trying to stand up a bit.

He then said, “Please do not try to stand,” as his left hand pressed harder on her back to keep her in place.  Cathy resumed her position before continuing with the punishment. Finally, it was over, and the Bishop gave Cathy permission to rise.  She stood up, reached down to pull up her panties and a tearful Cathy came and stood to my left.

I was next and I knew the routine. I bent over the chair and grabbed the rung. Like Cathy, I felt a shiver as my panty’s waistband slid across my 12-year old bottom as he pulled them down, which was followed by his cool left hand pressing on my back. His hands are cool all the time, so I decided he must be part reptile.

He often would perform some pious act during the paddling to “remind” himself why he was doing this.  As he rubbed the paddle on my bottom he said, “In the name of the Father, The Son, and the Holy Ghost,” and then commenced with the paddling. The first one lit up my bottom, giving me that stinging sensation that was both good and bad. The following nine added to the feeling that I was beginning to enjoy.

Then he said, “Stay in position,” as he went to his desk to write something.  As I stood there with the chair back pressing into my tummy and grasping the rung I could still hear Cathy sniffing to my left.  It was an experience that was not new to me, but it felt weird just waiting there in position. Like before, I would look at my knees in the open space between the chair back and seat.

Then he returned, rubbed his left hand up and down my back and said: “Good girl,” and he began to deliver the next ten swats. The good sensations became reinforced as the light, but numerous swats found their target. Like previous times, I would try to shift my butt a little between swats to even out the feeling.

As the third set began, I must have moved a bit too much which resulted in his pausing for a moment to tell me to be still. I thought about how it made me happy when he said “Good girl” to me. After swat number 30 was delivered, he told me to join Cathy, who was still sniffing away.

Bishop M turned, looked at Sally with a stern expression and said, “You’re last, but definitely not least,” and beckoned her to the chair.

As she walked by, I noticed the Bishop looking at her up and down.  Sally was a very pale complexioned girl with bright red hair and had a very plump rump. It wasn’t wide, but it really jutted out. In fact, it looked as if her panties could barely contain it.  It was a behind I envied.

Like Cathy and I did before her, Sally made her way to the chair and bent over it, grasping the rung below the seat. She felt her panties being lowered and he seemed to pull them down in slow motion. Every nerve in her bottom was alive as she waited anxiously for the punishment to begin. She sensed rather than saw the Bishop pick up the paddle from the desk and heard his footsteps approach.

Standing beside her, the Bishop again tested the paddle area by rubbing it a few times before beginning, and I noticed Sally’s cheeks clench in reaction to the preparation.

The Bishop’s voice said, “60 strokes, Sally, do not stand up until I give you permission to do so.”

Sally nodded and then felt the paddle tap lightly on her bottom, followed by the pain as the paddle smacked into her buttocks.

He took his customary ten-swat pause to enjoy his handy work and then began speaking during the next ten, “I (SWAT) do not expect (SWAT) to see you (SWAT) in here again (SWAT) regarding either (SWAT) smoking (SWAT) or stealing (SWAT). Do you (SWAT) understand me?” (SWAT, SWAT).

“Yes,” came the answer that did not seem distressed, followed by his “Well, good.”

During the next ten Sally tried desperately to remain in position, but her bottom insisted on shifting itself from side to side after each stroke like I had done earlier.  Between each swat, she’d shift her behind to the left and then to the right.

Each few times, he would tell her to stop moving and then give her the “Good girl” comment.

Like Cathy before her, Sally apologized and she swore she would never do anything naughty again, but the paddling continued.

After the 40th swat, his left hand shifted from the middle of her back to her shoulder as he pulled slightly and told her to stand and look at him. Sally, crying mildly, released the chair rung and stood up.

She turned to Bishop M who then said, “You will return the perfume to its rightful owner, do you understand?”

Sally nodded in reply and he grabbed her shoulder, twisted slightly to get her again facing the chair and then placed his left hand on the upper back and pushed her down over the chair. As she was pushed, her panties fell all the way down, coming to rest on her shiny black Mary Jane shoes. Her breathing intensified a bit as he rubbed the paddle on her bottom again and delivered the final twenty swats in one set.

I always became transfixed on how her bottom delightfully bounced back after each swat.  It seemed to reinforce my good sensation.

After all, 60 strokes had been delivered, Sally was allowed to stand and rejoin us.  We three girls stood facing Bishop M, still only wearing panties, socks and shoes, and our hands on our head.  Only when the Bishop had reiterated what brought us here for the punishments were we dismissed to put back on our skirt and blouse and return to our quarters.

Nobody said anything as we walked back to our ‘den’.  All you heard was the residual sniffing and the clap of our shoes on the tiled floor.  I was thinking to myself, ‘Why do I find spankings so interesting and kind of fun?’

It was an answer that was to elude me for years.