A teacher’s work is never done…
As a Geography teacher newly appointed to the school, Jennifer had heard a few stories about the Principal’s firm hand. She had always thought that only applied to the students at the Academy, and she did value a clear, enforced behaviour policy. It just made the job easier. So when she was summoned to the Headmaster’s office, she thought nothing of it.
When she got in the office, he was sitting behind his large, oaken desk. Besides a monitor and keyboard, the desk was empty, save for a mean-looking, straight ratan cane. It was at that moment that she realised that she might be in trouble. She cleared her throat, uneasy.
“You wanted to see me?” she asked, timidly.
“Close the door, miss Hill,” was all he said.
“Certainly… What is this about?” she asked again, doing as she had been told.
He pointed to his screen.
“I’ve had very… Interesting emails from parents,” he said.
“I don’t follow…”
The headmaster pivoted his screen around to show her exactly what he meant. On the screen was a single picture. She blushed and murmured a small oh my God as she covered her mouth in horror.
It was a picture of herself, in her classroom, bending over to pick a fallen pen off the ground. Not only was her skirt riding up, it was plain to see that she wasn’t wearing any underwear.
“I don’t think I need to tell you how unacceptable that is, miss Hill?”
“Oh, no, Sir, I… I never meant…”
“To expose yourself to a class of young, impressionable teenagers?”
“I… I am so sorry, I don’t know how that happened…”
“You don’t know how you came to work with no underwear on?”
“Well?” he snapped.
“It’s more comfortable, Sir…”
He shook his head.
“Well, as you can imagine, parents are less than impressed, and I have many calling for your immediate dismissal, at least.”
“Oh no! Please, sir! It was an accident! I… I would never…”
“As much as I would like to believe that, I think you know I can’t let this go without consequences.”
She looked down at the cane. She felt dread running down her spine.
“I’m sure you’re well aware of the kind of punishments that we apply at this school.”
“I think you can agree that we can’t have a lower standard for our teachers than we do for our students.”
“No sir but…”
“I would consider your objections carefully, miss Hill. You are on thin ice as it is.”
She looked down, her cheeks crimson with embarrassment. She said nothing.
“There, much better,” he said. “Now, miss Hill, are you wearing any today?”
“Underwear, miss Hill! Underwear!”
She bit her lip and looked away. He threw his arms up in despair.
“Well I would say that shows the absolute need for discipline! Get your skirt down, right this instant.”
“Would you rather I invited the board of Governors and some parents to attend?”
“No, no! Please!”
“Your skirt, young lady.”
She slowly, awkwardly pulled her skirt down and crossed her hands in front of her, exposed and ashamed.
He walked up to her.
“Since you like to expose yourself, I think we should go one step further.” He grabbed her shirt and ripped it open, exposing her large, round breasts. She whimpered, tears in her eyes.
“Go bend over the desk!” he barked, and she did so.
Her legs quivered as he took the cane and whipped it a few times through the air. The noise was already terrifying. She closed her eyes. He applied the cane to her behind and tapped her naked cheeks a few times.
Then she screamed.
And she screamed.
And she screamed again.
Without a thought for who could hear, the secretary, any waiting parent or teacher, she screamed.
She screamed and she cried heavy, ugly tears.
She screamed and she begged.
She screamed and she sobbed loudly.
She screamed and trembled, arching her back.
She screamed and kicked her feet, gritted her teeth, screwed her eyes shut.
She screamed and prayed for it to just end.
And it did. Ten strokes, that was all it had taken to reduce her to a trembling, begging, sniffling mess. The headmaster grabbed her arm and, without a word, lead her to the corner of his office.
“Arms behind your back,” he said matter-of-factly.
She did as he commanded. He adjusted her hands and rested the cane over her half-bent fingers. She was still quietly sobbing and said nothing.
“Now, miss Hill… Do you think my word that you have been properly disciplined will be enough for the parents, or will they need photographic evidence as well?”
Truth be told, Lola had always been a bit of a bitch, to her classmates, to her teammates, to her younger sibling, and to any student that she deemed not good enough for her. That included me, and pretty much everyone outside her very exclusive clique. As devious as she was smart, she had all the teachers convinced that she was a perfect little angel, never late, rude, or troublesome. The one person she had never managed to get in her pocket was the football coach, Mr. Makarov. Notoriously bad-tempered, he had threatened multiple times to get us what we deserved if we weren’t playing fair or showed poor sportsmanship. Up until that day, no one had known what what we deserved meant.
That day, we were losing, badly. By half-time, the other team was leading three-nil, and Lola was losing her temper. She mouthed off one of the defence players on our team, berating her last play and mocking her for having messy hair, freckles, no friends and whatever else she could think of. The girl was on the verge of tears, which only made Lola more vicious. When Mr. Makarov came in the changing room, though, no one was brave enough to complain to him, knowing that Lola would make our lives hell once the game was over if we did.
The second half came, and Lola was still fuming. Come on, you bunch of losers, she muttered as we went back to the field.
“What was that?” Mr Makarov’s voice came from behind her.
“Nothing, sir,” Lola said with a perfectly innocent smile. She rolled her eyes as she ran away to take her place in the team. The match went on, and even though we were holding our own, we weren’t marking any goals. Time was ticking. More and more frustrated, she was getting aggressive, physical. When Carly lost the ball on a promising move, she started cursing at her, checking first that Mr Makarov was far on the other side. We said nothing. When the other team went on the attack, she pursued their star player and, with a little angry cry as her adversary was about to get away with the ball, she spitefully tackled her from behind, sending her tumbling down face first in the mud. Getting up with a satisfied smile, she even kicked the downed girl for good measure. Grinning, she went for the ball when she realised that the referee had been frantically blowing his whistle and running towards her. On his heels was Mr Makarov. He did not look impressed.
What followed was probably the greatest thing we saw all year. Mr Makarov, I kid you not, proceeded to take Lola over his knee, and give her the spanking of a lifetime! She was crying, sobbing, yelling, and we were all looking at her, us and the other team. He pulled her shorts down and carried on spanking her with his large, scary hands. The referee was taking care of the poor girl who’d faceplanted and seemed to be totally ignoring what was going on, but I could see he was grinning too. There was a murmured OoooOOOooh when Mr Makarov pulled Lola’s panties down, exposing her to everyone. By then, she was begging and begging for him to stop, threatening to tell everyone from her mum to the Prime Minister; I don’t think Mr Makarov cared, and she wouldn’t have found a single witness to back her up. Once we cropped him out, though, nothing stopped the pictures from making the rounds, and for the rest of the year, Lola got a taste of her own medicine as everyone, even her previous “friends” mocked or ignored her in equal measure.