An account by Pam Dumont concerning her 1976 paddling at the Elyria, NY, high school, another real-life experience provided by Megan.

What Did It Feel Like?

This was the question many people asked me when they learned I had been paddled at school. Obviously they themselves had never been paddled, or they would have known the answer! How did it feel? Basically, it hurt. A lot!

A school paddling was different from a home spanking, and the pain was different. I admit I had my share of spankings from Mom (boy, did I), but her stinging spanks with the hairbrush on my bare butt did not prepare me for the grand slams applied to the seat of my skirt by the school principal.

For those who are not familiar with my story “I Volunteered For a Paddling,” which was my first post on EP, I do not want to go into the mundane background here because you can read it for yourselves. In a nutshell, I skipped a math class, which I hated anyway, to smoke a cigarette in the girls’ room. I was caught by a no-nonsense teacher, who confiscated my cigarettes and reported me to the principal. Next morning during home room I was called down via the intercom to the front office.

My principal was not very fond of paddling, especially girls, and did so only as a last resort. He felt that detention time would teach the erring student to be on better behavior in future. Besides that, he liked me and knew I was on the Honor Roll, and he admired academic achievement. But I had to be punished, and I knew that.

He sentenced me to six days of detention, which to me was like a life term. Back in Ninth Grade I had to serve one afternoon of detention for throwing chicken nuggets in the cafeteria. Sitting there for ninety minutes doing nothing (we were not to do homework) nearly drove me out of my mind. So when I heard the sentence I began to beg him to give me something else instead.

Now this was a bold move on my part. First off, back then in 1976, there were no choices the way they have nowadays. You can get ISS or you can take the paddle. You can serve part detention and get part paddle. Or you can just take the paddle over anything else if you so desired. This was not the case here. If the student was condemned to the paddle, he or she went home with a bruised butt. There was no ‘either-or’ involved.

So he very reluctantly suggested the paddle as an alternative. The punishment would be six swats. After an upbringing of being spanked with my panties down, and a lot more than six spanks involved, I thought getting six swats fully-clothed would not be so bad. At this point I had no real idea as to what a school paddling entailed.

I’m not sure of the actual date, but it was probably in late April or early May because I remember it was a warm Spring day and I dressed appropriately for it. I wore a lightweight plaid miniskirt that went up to the middle of my thighs (any higher would have been against regulations), and under it a white mini-half slip, lightweight pantyhose and my usual lace-trimmed nylon tricot underpants. Had I but known what the morning would bring, I would have worn my heaviest jeans and borrowed Mom’s panty-girdle for good measure!

I told the principal that I would take a paddling, and strangely enough, he spent the next few minutes trying to talk me out of it while he phoned my Mom to tell her the good news, then buzzed down for a female witness, who happened to be my old English teacher from the previous year. When the principal saw that I had made up my stubborn mind to take the paddle, he reminded me that he could not favor me over anyone else, implying that just because I was a girl in a short skirt he would not go easy on me, but give me the same type of paddling that he gave any other student.

He instructed me to stand in front of his desk with my feet planted shoulder-width apart, then to stretch out over the surface of his desk with my hands straight out, gripping the far edge of the desk, and press my upper body down so that my rear end was nicely poised up to receive the punishment. He also told me to face front at all time, and for my own safety not to move from that position.

In a very nervous voice I asked him: “Is this gonna hurt?”

A stupid question deserved a stupid answer. “Well,” he replied. “It might sting a little.”

When I assumed the spanking position I was concerned that my skirt was hiking up in back, and that I might have been offering a peek at my various articles of lingerie. Probably the only thing showing was the reinforced panty part of my stockings, but I was somewhat modest. The woman witness thoughtfully reached out and tugged down my skirt for me.

When I turned my head to thank her, I was told not to turn around and face front, which I remember was a good view of the principal’s leather chair. Now the moment was at hand. He would not let me see the paddle, but I felt him rub the seat of my skirt with it. This was not teasing, but a practical move for him to determine the cheeky area of my skirt-covered butt so that he would not whack my hips, spine or legs.

I heard it first in the form of a short “whooosh” as the paddle was swung through the air. Then it hit me with a loud POP! that echoed through the high-ceilinged room of the old building. It was a loud hollow-woody sound, and the force of the swat made me rise up on tiptoe, then back down again.

Now, how did it feel?

When you were a kid at the doctor’s office, ever get a hypodermic needle in your butt? Not the new thin kind, but the old kind with the heavier needle? Well, imagine being jabbed with ten of them, five on each dumpling, all at the same time. The sting was amazing! This was followed by an intense burn that spread out from the two points of impact to cover my entire butt area. The hard jolt of the swat made me see little pinpoints of light swirl in front of my eyes.

I gave a little gasp at the unexpected pain. It was still burning into my rear as I felt the paddle again pat my skirt lightly, then heard that awful “whooosh” and POFF! for a second time. The burning pain increased as the paddle hit me again on precisely the same spot. It felt sort of like someone taking two hot irons and giving my buns a quick press. I flew up in the air again.

A lady at work, who had been paddled as a schoolgirl, coined a term for this: ‘The Phenomenon of the Flying Backside’.

The force of that board sent me flying up every time it hit my butt. The burning was deeper now. I could feel it going down into my butt muscles. The pain was nagging and did not let up for a moment. I gripped the edge of his desk tighter and squinted my eyes shut as I prepared for the third mighty spank.

“Whoooosh” POFF!

I couldn’t hold out any longer. This was just too intense. Drawing in my breath, I let go with a loud “Ahh-HOOO!” as I lost all composure and emitted a loud sob. Then I began to cry buckets.

The principal stopped the paddling and told me I could get up and walk around for a minute or so. Yes, my bottom needed a rest, but the burning was still in there. It was as though someone had put Vicks Vapo-Rub into the seat of my panties. The hot burning did not subside while I walked over to a filing cabinet and lay my head against the top, cradling my head in my arms and crying.

“Are you all right, Pamela Ann?” He asked me as I sobbed.

Now I am known to have a sense of humor even under the most adverse conditions. “Well,” I replied, still sobbing and sniffling. “Detention is looking mighty good right about now!”

To be honest, I don’t remember the exact words, but they ran something along those lines. Then he said I had to go back into position. Wow, I thought, it’s a good thing he likes me! How would this feel if he had been angry?

Over I went with my butt stuck out again, and I heard a fourth “Whooosh” POP! across my skirt.

I went flying up again, but I noticed that the sting was not as intense as it had been. The burning was still there, and I felt another sharp twinge as the paddle landed, but I was sure my butt was going numb, serving as a mild anesthetic against the paddling.

“Whhhooosh!” POP!!

The fifth one landed on precisely the same spot, right on my sit-down where the cheeks are fleshy but unfortunately where they would make contact with the hard school seats when I sat in class.

I vaguely recall the witness saying something like “Hold on, Pam,” but at that point I was so out of it that I really can’t say if she said anything.

One more to go.

“Whhoooosh” POFF!

The heavy wood of the paddle seemed to penetrate right down into my glutes. And the sound was very similar to one I had made when I took my vegetables out of the thin plastic bag from the supermarket, then blew it up and popped it by hitting the taught bag with my hands. It was very much like that. Not the slappy WHACK! I had experienced from Mom’s hairbrush hitting my skin, but a muffled POP! that sounded less sharp as it hit the pleats of my miniskirt.

Up on my toes I went again as the paddle hit me with force, and I could once again feel the hot twinge of pain radiating out from my frying dumplings, with only two thin skirts for protection.

It was over. I had taken my punishment, but my bottom remained sizzling hot, and it began to throb steadily as I stood there, soaking up the tears with provided tissues, waiting to be dismissed.

Sitting in class and in the cafeteria was not easy, not only because of the surface burn of a good spanking, but by the underlying deep ache of a severe charley horse on each buttock. My cheeks may have been a bit swollen because my rear felt bigger, but I did not look at the damage in a mirror until I got home eight hours later, and by that time the swelling may have gone down. But my buns appeared slightly fattened when I examined them in my bedroom, and saw for the first time the concentric red and burgundy ‘bull’s-eyes’ that decorated each buttock.

The discomfort lasted about three days, and the bruises remained for about a week, although they no longer hurt.

People always ask me the most inane questions about the paddling.

“Did he lift up your skirt?”


“Did he pull your panties down?”

Of course not!

“Did it make you wet?”

Only my eyes.

“Did it get you hot?”

Only the back of my skirt.

“Did you ever smoke again?”


So to those who have never had the joyous experience, that’s what a paddling feels like!

Pam Dumont