Silly Mistakes

“Quiet down, please!” the teacher said to the class. The boys stopped chatting as they saw the pile of papers that she was holding.

“Are these our tests, Miss?” a boy named Ryan asked.

“They are. Now, please take a purple pen and go through the annotations as I hand them.”

There was a rustle as the boys dutifully looked into their pencil-cases for the necessary pen. As post-16 students in one of the top grammar schools in the country, all of them were used to weekly tests, and needed little reminder of what to do. Discipline and behaviour had never been an issue.

“Got it!” Ryan said, holding his pen up. “First?” he looked around. “Boys, always competitive…” Miss Moore thought.

With a tut, she put the paper down on the boy’s desk. He gasped.

“What is this?” he asked.

“That’s your test, Ryan,” she said.

“I can see that, but it seems you’ve given me a… C minus?”

“Indeed, Ryan, that’s quite disappointing… Did you revise before this one?”

“Of course I revised,” he said with a frown. “Not that I needed to, this was ridiculously easy. There must be a mistake.”

There was a snicker behind him. “Is that a C, Ryan?” another boy asked.

“No way!” Ryan said, “Miss has made a mistake.”

She huffed. “There is no mistake! I do not make mistakes. Maybe you need to reconsider the amount of effort you should put into your work, young man.”

Ryan frowned and turned the page, quickly scanning through the answers. Miss Moore gave the next boy his test.

“Miss!” Ryan called.

“Not now, Ryan,” she replied tersely, and kept handing out the tests.

“Hey, Ryan!” the boy behind him called, “Look, an A!”

“A plus!” another called out.

“Quiet, boys…” the teacher warned.

“But Miss!” Ryan called again.

“That’s enough, young man!” she snapped. “I can see that you are disappointed with your grade, but it is merely a result of your own complacency. No one else in the class is complaining. In fact, no one else did quite as bad! Maybe next time you will check your work before handing it in, and make sure that you didn’t make silly mistakes that end up costing you dearly, yes? Now I don’t want to hear one more word about it, understood, Ryan?”

Ryan frowned.

“Ryan?” she asked again.

“Yes, Miss… But…”

“Not another word! I’d rather not have to discipline you. Though if I’m honest with you, a result like that should be reason enough for a good spanking!”

There was a OoooooOooooh from the other boys. It had been a long time since any corporal punishment had been needed, and Miss Moore was well fit. More than one boy had dreamed of being pulled over her lap… or the opposite.

She looked at the rest of the class and lifted a finger in warning. “That’s quite enough, boys. You only have twenty minutes to do your corrections, then the lesson’s over. And as for you, Ryan, I would use my time wisely if I were you and try to understand what went wrong so it doesn’t happen again.”

For the next ten minutes, only the rustling of papers and pens could be heard. As the minutes ticked by, Ryan’s frown only deepened, until he couldn’t hold it in anymore and rose his hand.

“Miss?” he asked.

Sat at her desk, she slapped it with the tip of her fingers and rolled her eyes. “I thought I made myself clear, young man?”

“Yes, but can I show you something, Miss, please?”

“Yes, yes, if there’s something you don’t understand, I can help you, of course.”

“Poor little Ryan can’t even correct the mistakes himself…” said a voice behind him.

More snickers behind his back, and Ryan felt his cheeks blush in shame and anger.

“Shut up!” he said, turning around.

“Ryan!” Miss Moore said.

“But Miss!”

“I’ve had quite enough of your attitude, young man!” she hissed. “I think you and I are going to have a talk at lunch.”

More ooohs and aaahs.

“But you got it wrong!” he said, “Look!”

He held his test up.

“You’ve marked each question as if it were the next,” he continued. “See? The first one here? It’s correct, right? And this one, look? It goes A, C, D, but you circled A, C, D on the next one. And then the next, and then the next!”

Miss Moore snatched the paper off his hand and started leafing through it, blushing. “I-I…” she stammered.

“Well?” Ryan asked.

“I think…” she started.

“Did he get it right?” one of the boys asked.

“Legend!” another yelled from the back.

“It’s all correct, isn’t it, Miss?” Ryan asked with a smile.

“Y-yes… It appears so…”

“So what you’re saying is…” Ryan continued, grabbing his chair and dragging it in front of the desks. “What you’re saying is that you made a silly mistake?”

“I… Hum, well…” she stuttered again.

“Are you telling me you didn’t check your work before handing it in?” he grinned, “I think you’re the one who needs a lesson, Miss…”

The other boys in the room were gleefully looking at her, arms crossed, a smile on their face. One of them, Ian, went to the door and casually leaned against it. A few already had their phones out.

“I don’t know what you’re saying, Ryan, but…”

“What I’m saying, Miss, is that we expect a high standard of work from you, just as you do from us. That’s only fair, right?”

“Yes. I-I suppose?”

“And you said it yourself, such silly mistakes are reason enough for a good spanking.”

“I… Did I say that? I… Hum…”

“You said it, Miss…” said another student with a wry smile.

“Yup, you did,” chirped another.

“What’s my grade?” Ryan asked.

“A… A plus…” Miss Moore said, hesitantly.

“What was it out of? The marks?”

“One… One hundred and ten…”

Ryan looked around with a grin. “What do you think, guys? One hundred and ten, sounds fair?”

All of them nodded, some of them mouthing “Yeah!”

“I… I don’t think that’s appropriate…” Miss Moore tried, but Ryan was already pulling her over his lap.

Quickly, he landed a series of slaps over her dress. It was clingy enough that he could see the patter of her lacy panties underneath. As she wriggled and protested, he held her firmly in place and only spanked her harder, encouraged by his classmates, several of which were pointing their phones at them.

“Maybe next time you won’t be so quick to dismiss questions, Miss?” he said with a grin, and kept landing hard, open-palmed smacks on her curvy ass.

“Oww!” she yelped in pain, “Please! You’ve made your point!”

“Lift her dress!” one of the boys called. Many others approved. Not one to disappoint his audience, Ryan quickly pulled it up, revealing a white pair of lace knickers under which creamy-white buttocks were turning pink. After a second of admiring the view, he went back to work, much to the delight of the other boys. As more slaps poured down, Miss Moore was blushing from both ends, and tears had begun rolling down her cheeks. She was begging and crying out with every other slap, knowing that a classful of boys were staring at her rear, and that a frilly pair of lacy lingerie was all that protected her dignity —the little of it she had left, anyway.

“Have you been counting, Miss?” Ryan asked as his hand hit her wobbling bottom once more.

“Oww! C-counting?”

“The one hundered and ten slaps?”


Ryan tutted and shook his head, “Were you not paying attention, Miss? I thought the task was quite clear… Such a silly mistake… Should we start again at one, then?”

“N-no! Please! Ryan!”

He nodded to another boy. “Joe. How many?”

“Sixty four,” the other boy said.

“See? We do pay attention, don’t we miss?”

“Y-yes, I-I’m sorry!”

“You said it yourself, you should make sure that you don’t make silly mistakes that end up costing you dearly…”

“Yes… I’m sorry… I…”

“Only forty three to go!” Joe said with a grin.

“No, please!” she moaned.

“Oh yes…” Ryan said with a grin, “But first…”

Pinning her arm behind her back. he grabbed her panties and slowly, almost delicately pulled them down to her thighs, revealing bright red, clenched cheeks. She kicked her legs in protest, but there was nothing the could do. There was palpable excitement in the room, and none of the boys said anything, as if stunned by the view. Big, ugly tears were running down Miss Moore’s cheeks and she screw her eyes shut.

A sudden massive slap made her open them wide again, and she cried out in pain and surprise.

“How many more?” Ryan asked.

“Forty two!” she moaned.

“Well done!” he said and slapped her ass again. And again, and again.

“T-ten!” she sniffled a few minutes later.


“Owwwww! Eiiight!”


“Six! Six! Oww!”


“F-four, please…”



“One! One!”

He held his hand high. “Anything you want to tell us, Miss?”

“I… I…”

“Will you make any more silly mistakes?”

“No! No! I will check my work! I won’t make silly mistakes again! Please”

Just as the final slap landed, the bell went off.

Ryan let his teacher go and got up.

“There you go lads, class dismissed!” he said. Behind him, one hand on her desk, Miss Moore was rubbing her red, painful, punished bottom.

Naughty Teacher

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.

“Emails, Sir?”

“Emails, pictures.”

“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.

“Consequences, sir…?”

“I’m sure you’re well aware of the kind of punishments that we apply at this school.”

“Yes, sir…”

“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?”

“What, sir?”

“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.”

“Sir… Please…”

“Would you rather I invited the board of Governors and some parents to attend?”

“No, no! Please!”

“Your skirt, young lady.”

“Y-yes, sir…”

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.