At my Junior School in the English Midlands, at around the mid-1960s, punishments by the predominately female teachers involved slapping of the wrists or legs. Serious offences would result in the cane, administered by the Headmaster, Mr P, a tall, authoritarian gentleman around 60-years-old who always wore a grey suit, and, although not the terrifying character so associated with head teachers of that era, he certainly instilled a certain amount of fear and commanded respect.

Caning involved two strokes across the palm of the hand, always in the privacy of his office.

A notable deviation from this came when I was about eight or nine, when our regular teacher was off for some reason, and Mr P stood in.

A female classmate, Claire, was widely acknowledged as the prettiest girl in the class; she had a very pretty face, shoulder length light brown hair, which was often adorned with decorated clips or ribbons. She was always smartly dressed, and that day was no different. As with most girls, this consisted of a flowery cotton dress with flared skirt, just above the knee, white ankle socks, and sandals. At that young and innocent age, all the boys, including myself, ‘fancied’ her, and this amount of attention contributed to her air of superiority, haughtiness, and untouchability. Looking back, I suspected she was a bit of a spoilt little princess at home.

She was ringleader of a group of girls around her, who obviously thought her as influential.

She was what was known in those days as a chatterbox and was often reprimanded in class. She had a few wrist-slappings from the female teachers, but her come-uppance came during the class taken by Mr P.

The elderly male Headmaster had all of us in awe taking the class, which was much quieter than usual, except for the little madam, Claire, who decided that she would not be fazed by the presence of the Headmaster, and was more interested in chatting to her friend next to her.

Warnings from Mr P would only be effective for about 5 minutes, before the chatting started again, until the final warning of “I won’t tell you again”.

This final warning was effective for about five minutes, when, to everybody’s surprise, her voice could be heard again.

A progressively irritated Mr P banged his papers down on the desk, and announced to Claire that he had had enough of her chattering, and called her to the front of the class.

As she made her way up to the front, he lifted the chair out from behind the desk and placed it at the front of the class. I could sense the feeling throughout the class that this was not going to be a simple wrist or leg slapping!

He held her by the wrist, and told her that she had had enough warnings about her chattering, and that he was going to do something about it once and for all.

He sat down on the chair he had positioned, and in front of the hushed classroom, guided her over his knee.

To my, and no doubt all my classmates, amazement, he lifted the skirt of her dress to reveal a pair of satiny looking light blue knickers trimmed with white lacy piping, which he proceeded to pull up over and between her bottom cheeks, yanking both sides up firmly until her bottom was virtually bared.

In those times, and age of innocence, to see up a girl’s skirt was somewhat scandalous, and to see a girl’s knickers more so, and here was the whole class seeing her almost bared bottom!

The positioning of the chair, angled so that her head was pointing slightly to the back wall, and my position in the second row on the optimum side, meant that I had a very good view of her bottom, particularly as it was nicely presented, slightly bent over his right knee, her knees bent, torso and head pointing slightly towards the floor.

With his left hand holding her firmly in the small of her back, and with the flat of his right hand, he proceeded to deliver slow, measured, firm spanks to her upturned rear. After about six smacks her bottom began to blush. Towards the end, after I reckon about fifteen or sixteen smacks, her whole bottom was a nice shade of pink.

The class was that silent you could hear a pin drop. The sharp sound of his hand firmly slapping her soft little bottom filled the classroom. The spanks were not overly hard, just firm enough to slowly bring the right amount of warmth and tingling which would last as a reminder not to talk in his class, and of course a large dose of humiliation, expertly planned so as to bare the bottom whilst just keep within the bounds of decency. Little Miss Ringleader was now just a naughty little girl having her bottom spanked in front of all her little gang!

Once the spanking had finished, Mr P took her arm and stood her up, and told her to straighten herself up. Presumably, because she was somewhat flustered and embarrassed after her ordeal, her reaction was to turn away from the class and face the back wall to do this, but that meant her pink bottom was shown to the class once more, as she pulled her knickers back down over her bottom, and replaced the skirt of her dress, before sheepishly returning to her seat and very gingerly sitting down.

The Headmaster then said: “I think I’ll leave this chair here, just in case anyone else decides they’d rather chatter.”

Needless to say, the class was concluded in total silence, and in the days that followed, news of Mr P spanking Claire’s bare bottom spread to other years in the school, which resulted in a certain amount of teasing, on top of that given by her own class. She had a few days of remarks such as, “I saw your knickers,” and, “We saw your bare botty,” after which the comments declined as some other subject took over to replace it.

Over the years when my interest in spanking and CP developed, this event was always in my mind, and I often wondered if, as expected, Claire blossomed into the good looking young lady, and more so, if that spanking had any effect on her. Did it plant the seeds of a desire to indulge in spanking, or cause an aversion to that sort of thing?

SDa