Fiction: School Spanking (FMFM/M, school, home, witnesses)

A little age play offering describing the old-fashioned punishment of a schoolboy at school and at home. Nothing sexual, of course, only good old-fashioned discipline to fuel age play D/s fantasies for grownups. This story takes no position on disciplinary spanking for actual schoolboys, pro or con.

In a small town in 1950s America, the clang of the school bell echoed through the halls, signaling the start of another day at Maple Grove Elementary. Johnny Thompson, a freckle-faced boy with a mischievous streak, was seated in Miss Eleanor Hart’s classroom. Miss Hart, a young, pretty teacher with auburn curls pinned neatly, was known for her firm but kind demeanor. Despite her patience, Johnny had managed to test her limits yet again.

Over the past month, Johnny Thompson’s behavior had taken a sharp turn for the worse, both at school and at home. At just eleven years old, Johnny had always been a spirited, if occasionally mischievous, boy. But lately, his antics had escalated far beyond harmless pranks or bouts of childish disobedience. What had once been minor mischief had grown into outright defiance, disrupting his family life and making him a constant source of frustration for his teachers.

At school, Johnny’s behavior had become increasingly intolerable. In class, he was loud and disruptive, frequently talking out of turn, mocking his classmates, and ignoring Miss Hart’s instructions. On more than one occasion, his antics had derailed entire lessons, leaving his exasperated teacher struggling to maintain order.

That morning, as Miss Hart tried to lead her students through a spelling exercise, Johnny had been whispering jokes and poking the girl seated in front of him with a ruler. His antics caused stifled giggles to ripple through the classroom, but when he toppled his pencil case, making a loud disruptive clatter in her classroom, it was the last straw and Miss Hart had enough.

“Johnny Thompson,” she said sharply, her voice cutting through the laughter, “stand up this instant!”

Johnny’s smirk faltered as he slowly rose to his feet. “It was an accident, Miss Hart,” he mumbled, trying to look innocent.

“An accident caused by behavior I warned you about many, many times,” she replied sternly. “This time, I’m not going to lecture you. This time, you’re going to learn a proper lesson.”

Before Johnny could respond, Miss Hart strode over, seized his ear, and twisted it firmly. Johnny let out a yelp, his bravado vanishing as she began marching him toward the door.

“Class,” Miss Hart announced, turning to address the other students, “Johnny here has earned himself a trip to see Mr. Wallace. Sit quietly and do your workbooks until we return.”

The room fell silent, save for a few gasps and muffled giggles. Everybody knew what a visit to the Principal mid-class meant: a spanking. Johnny’s cheeks flushed a deep crimson as he stammered, “Miss Hart, please—”

“Not another word!” she snapped, tightening her grip on his ear and leading him out into the hallway.

Johnny squirmed and stumbled along as they made their way to the principal’s office. The sharp, echoing sound of Miss Hart’s heels clicking against the polished school corridor filled the otherwise silent hallway as she marched Johnny toward the principal’s office. Her elegant, upright posture exuded authority, her chin high, her back perfectly straight, and her hand firmly gripping Johnny’s ear. In contrast, Johnny stumbled awkwardly beside her, bent over painfully as she twisted his ear just enough to keep him under her control. His face burned bright red, and his steps were uneven, each one a reminder of how utterly powerless he was in her grasp.

“Keep up, Johnny,” Miss Hart said, her voice sharp and unwavering, the heels of her shoes striking the floor with rhythmic precision. Johnny whimpered but dared not respond, shuffling forward as quickly as his bent-over posture allowed, his embarrassment mounting with every click of her shoes.

As they turned a corner, they came upon Mr. Jenkins, the school janitor, pushing his mop bucket down the hall. The older man paused mid-motion, leaning on the mop handle as he took in the scene before him. His bushy eyebrows rose, and a grin spread across his weathered face.

“Well, well,” Mr. Jenkins said, chuckling softly. “Looks like someone’s in for it. Johnny, eh? You’ve been giving Miss Hart trouble, have you?”

Johnny didn’t answer, his face flushing a deeper shade of crimson as he stared at the floor. Miss Hart, however, didn’t miss a beat.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Jenkins,” she said briskly, not breaking stride as she pulled Johnny forward by the ear. “Yes, Johnny’s behavior in my classroom has been appalling, and Mr. Wallace will be handling it shortly.”

Mr. Jenkins gave a knowing nod, his grin widening as he glanced at Johnny’s bent-over form. “Ah, I see. A trip to the principal’s office, huh? Well, young man, if you’ve pushed Miss Hart this far, I reckon there’s a good spanking waiting for you in there.”

Johnny let out a strangled whimper, his hands shooting up instinctively to cover his rear. The janitor’s words only deepened his humiliation, and he tried desperately to pull away from Miss Hart’s iron grip.

“Keep moving,” Miss Hart said curtly, tightening her hold and dragging him forward with ease. “And Mr. Jenkins is absolutely correct, Johnny. A good spanking is exactly what’s in store for you—and you’ll have no one but yourself to blame.”

Mr. Jenkins chuckled again, leaning on his mop as he watched them pass. “Best of luck, Johnny,” he called after them. “Sounds like you’re gonna need it!”

Johnny’s ears burned, and tears of humiliation pricked his eyes as they continued down the hall.

By the time they reached the principal’s office, Johnny was on the verge of tears. His ear throbbed from Miss Hart’s grip, his face was blazing red, and the echoes of the janitor’s remarks rang in his ears.

When they reached the principal’s office, Miss Hart knocked sharply on the door. Mr. Wallace, a tall, imposing man with a no-nonsense demeanor, opened it and raised an eyebrow.

“How may I help you, Miss Hart?” he asked.

“Johnny here has been disrupting my class yet again, and I believe a firm hand is in order,” she said, her voice steady.

Johnny felt like the floor might swallow him whole as Mr. Wallace gestured for them to step inside.

Johnny’s palms were clammy as he stood before Mr. Wallace’s imposing desk. The principal, was a tall, broad-shouldered man with a no-nonsense demeanor. Johnny glanced nervously at Miss Hart, who stood to the side with her arms folded and an air of stern disapproval. His heart pounded in his chest, and the weight of what was coming began to sink in.

“Johnny,” Mr. Wallace finally said, his deep voice filling the room, “it seems you’ve forgotten the rules of proper conduct in the classroom. Miss Hart has told me previously that this isn’t the first time she’s had to address your behavior.”

Johnny shuffled his feet and looked at the floor. “I—I’m sorry, sir,” he stammered. “It won’t happen again, I promise.”

Mr. Wallace raised an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair. “No, Johnny, it won’t. Because today, you’re going to learn a lesson you won’t soon forget.”

At this, Johnny’s head shot up, panic flashing in his eyes. “P-please, sir, not that!” he blurted out, his voice trembling, knowing the punishment before it was even said. “I—I’m too old to be spanked! Please, Mr. Wallace, I’ll do anything else—detention, chores, anything but a spanking!”

Miss Hart’s voice cut in, calm but firm. “Too old, Johnny? You didn’t seem too old to disrupt my classroom and disobey my instructions. Actions have consequences.”

Johnny turned to her, desperation etched on his face. “Miss Hart, please! It’s too embarrassing! Not in front of you! Please!”

Mr. Wallace rose from his chair, his towering frame looming over Johnny. “Young man,” he said sternly, “the rules are the same for everyone, no matter their age. A spanking is the school’s standard punishment for behavior like yours, and Miss Hart will stay to see justice meted out.”

Tears welled up in Johnny’s eyes, and he clasped his hands together as if in prayer. “Please, sir, I—I’m sorry! I’ll do better, I swear. I’ll behave, I’ll apologize to Miss Hart, I’ll—”

“That’s enough,” Mr. Wallace interrupted, his tone leaving no room for argument. He moved a sturdy wooden chair into the center of the room and gestured for Johnny to step closer. “Come here.”

Johnny froze, his legs feeling like lead. His heart pounded in his chest as he shook his head weakly. “Please, no… not like this,” he whispered.

“Johnny,” Mr. Wallace said sharply, “you will come here this instant, or I will add extra swats for every second you delay.”

Miss Hart’s voice followed, calm but unwavering. “Stop embarrassing yourself, Johnny. You’re only making this harder.”

Defeated, Johnny shuffled forward, his face hot with shame. Mr. Wallace reached for his belt buckle, and Johnny’s panic surged anew.

“No, please!” he cried. “Not my trousers, sir! Please, don’t pull them down!”

But Mr. Wallace ignored his pleas. With practiced efficiency, he unfastened Johnny’s belt, unbuttoned his trousers, and slid them down to his knees. Johnny whimpered, his hands instinctively moving to cover the front of his white briefs.

“This is for your own good, Johnny,” she said, her voice tinged with disapproval. “You brought this on yourself.”

Before Johnny could muster another plea, Mr. Wallace grabbed his arm and guided him over his lap, positioning him so that his bottom was prominently raised. The thin material of his briefs offered little protection, nonetheless, Johnny flinched as he felt the principal’s fingers hook into the waistband.

“Please, sir, no! Not my briefs!” he begged, kicking his legs weakly. “Not bare! Not in front of Miss Hart!”

But Mr. Wallace remained unmoved. With a firm tug, he pulled the briefs down to Johnny’s mid-thigh, baring his pale bottom for the punishment to come.

“Noooo! No!” wailed Johnny.

“Now,” Mr. Wallace said, his voice steady, “let’s make sure you remember this lesson, young man.”

Johnny’s pleas devolved into sobs as the first sharp crack of Mr. Wallace’s hand echoed through the room, signaling the beginning of a long, humiliating spanking he would never forget.

The smacks landed with a loud cracks, and Johnny yelped. Mr. Wallace delivered swat after swat, his hand falling hard and fast. Johnny’s legs kicked involuntarily, his cries growing louder with each sharp slap.

“Keep still, young man,” the principal barked, pinning Johnny’s small frame firmly in place.

The spanking continued, coloring Johnny’s bottom a bright, angry red. Tears streamed down his face as he begged for it to stop. “Please, Mr. Wallace! I’ll be good! I promise!” he wailed.

Miss Hart watched the scene with an expression of stern satisfaction. “I hope you’re paying attention, Johnny,” she said coolly. “This is what happens when you misbehave.”

As Johnny’s sobs echoed through the principal’s office, Mr. Wallace’s large, calloused hand continued its relentless descent onto his small, boyish bottom. The sharp crack of each swat reverberated off the walls, a sound that seemed to amplify Johnny’s humiliation with every blow. His pale skin, once untouched, quickly turned dark red as the punishment continued.

Mr. Wallace’s hand was heavy and unrelenting, each swat delivered with precision and force. The size of his hand, in stark contrast to Johnny’s slender frame, ensured that no part of the boy’s bottom was spared. Every strike sent a fiery sting radiating across his tender flesh, and Johnny’s legs kicked wildly in response. His small, white briefs, bunched awkwardly at his thighs, framed the spectacle of his punishment, offering no protection or dignity.

Miss Hart stood a few feet away, her arms crossed and her expression one of stern satisfaction. Her sharp eyes took in every detail of the scene, noting with detached observation how Johnny’s legs kicked so wildly that it exposed more than just the reddening curves of his bottom. In his desperation, she caught fleeting glimpses of his small, pale penis and testicles between his legs as he thrashed about, utterly oblivious to the further indignity he was adding to his punishment. She made no remark, keeping her expression composed, but she silently thought that the added humiliation might only serve to underscore the lesson.

Johnny, on the other hand, could think of nothing but the unbearable pain and the overwhelming embarrassment of his situation. His sobs grew louder with each smack, tears streaming down his face and dripping onto the floor. “Please, sir!” he wailed, his voice cracking. “I’m sorry! I’ll be good! I promise!”

But Mr. Wallace didn’t pause. He delivered another firm swat to the center of Johnny’s already crimson bottom. “You’ll learn to behave,” he said sternly. Smack. “You’ll learn to respect your teacher.” Smack. “And you’ll learn that there are consequences for your actions.”

Johnny cried harder, his body squirming over the principal’s lap as he tried in vain to escape the relentless spanking. But Mr. Wallace’s strong arm held him firmly in place, ensuring that he couldn’t wiggle free. Johnny’s small frame shuddered with each smack, the fire in his bottom growing hotter and hotter.

Miss Hart’s expression softened only slightly, though she kept her posture rigid. She maintained her silence, her focus on the punishment, observing how the boy’s reddened skin grew increasingly mottled and tender-looking. Each crack of Mr. Wallace’s hand reminded her that discipline, though harsh, was sometimes necessary. She noticed the tears streaming down Johnny’s face, his sobbing gasps, and the utter mortification that painted him as thoroughly punished.

The spanking went on, methodical and thorough. Every inch of Johnny’s bottom, from the top of his cheeks to the sensitive skin at the very bottom, bore the marks of discipline. His cries grew louder, his voice hoarse from pleading, but Mr. Wallace was unmoved. Each swat seemed harder than the last, the steady rhythm ensuring that Johnny wouldn’t soon forget this punishment.

By the time Mr. Wallace finally stopped, Johnny was a sobbing, shaking mess. His bottom was a deep, angry red, glowing with the evidence of his misbehavior and its consequences. The poor boy lay limply over the principal’s lap, his small hands clutching at the legs of the chair, his face damp with tears.

Mr. Wallace let out a small, satisfied sigh and released his firm hold on Johnny. “That will do,” he said gruffly, lifting the boy upright.

Johnny stumbled to his feet, his face streaked with tears, his entire body trembling from the ordeal. Instinctively, his hands shot to his flaming red bottom as he began hopping from foot to foot, desperately trying to rub away the unbearable sting. His small, tender cheeks were a deep, fiery crimson, and every movement seemed to reignite the searing pain.

“Oh! Ow! Oh, it hurts!” he cried, his voice cracking with sobs as he wriggled in place, completely oblivious to the fact that his penis and testicles were fully exposed above his bunched-up briefs and trousers. His wild, instinctive movements only served to draw attention to his nudity.

Miss Hart’s sharp eyes didn’t miss a thing. She arched an eyebrow slightly, maintaining her composure as she silently observed the boy’s humiliation. Johnny’s flailing only seemed to make matters worse, and she noted how his small, pale genitals bobbed awkwardly as he shifted and danced in place.

It wasn’t until a ripple of cool air hit him that Johnny suddenly became aware of his exposure. He froze mid-hop, his hands hovering uselessly over his glowing bottom. His eyes widened in horror as the realization hit him like a lightning bolt and he lifted his gaze to Miss Hart, who stood only a few feet away. Their eyes met, and Johnny’s humiliation reached a new, unbearable peak.

Letting out a strangled cry, Johnny doubled over, his hands darting to clutch at his genitals in a desperate attempt to shield them from view. His face, already red from crying, turned an even deeper shade as fresh tears of embarrassment spilled down his cheeks.

“Please, no,” he whimpered, his voice trembling. “I—I didn’t mean to—”

Mr. Wallace’s deep, commanding voice cut through Johnny’s stammering. “That’s enough, Johnny. Pull your trousers up. You’ve made enough of a spectacle of yourself already.”

Johnny hesitated, his hands still cupped protectively over himself, as if unwilling to move. He cast a desperate glance at Miss Hart, whose impassive expression only deepened his shame. She showed no sign of turning away or granting him any privacy, her silent gaze a reminder of his punishment’s purpose.

“Now, young man,” Mr. Wallace barked, his tone firm and final.

Johnny stood frozen, trembling and humiliated, his hands still cupped tightly over his exposed genitals as his tear-streaked face burned a deep crimson. The thought of removing his hands to pull up his trousers seemed impossible. Every movement he made would further expose him to Miss Hart, who stood just a few feet away, her gaze unwavering and impassive.

“Now, Johnny,” Mr. Wallace barked, his voice stern. “Pull your trousers up. Enough of this foolishness.”

His tone made Johnny flinch, and with a choked sob, he realized he had no choice. Slowly, he released his trembling hands from their protective position, exposing himself fully for a few agonizing moments. His small, pale genitals were laid bare once more, and he could feel Miss Hart’s gaze on him as she remained rooted in place, her posture unyielding.

Desperately, Johnny grabbed for his briefs, fumbling with the bunched fabric as he tugged them up over his crimson bottom. The elastic snapped into place with a sting, and he winced, the fabric clinging tightly to his sore skin.

Hastily, he bent to pull up his trousers as well. He straightened, his hands shaking, as he finally managed to pull his trousers to his waist. His fingers fumbled clumsily with the button and zipper, and for a moment, he thought he might collapse from the sheer mortification.

“See?” Mr. Wallace said gruffly, folding his arms as he watched Johnny struggle to compose himself. “That wasn’t so hard, now was it?”

Johnny didn’t answer. He couldn’t. He stood there, his head bowed low, his face wet with tears and his body trembling with shame, knowing that Miss Hart had seen everything. Every kick, every tear, and every desperate attempt to cover himself had only deepened his humiliation. And the memory of her steady gaze would haunt him forever.

Miss Hart stepped forward, her heels clicking against the hardwood floor, and addressed him sharply. “Do you understand now, Johnny, how we don’t tolerate misbehavior in this school?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he croaked, his voice barely audible.

“Good,” she said, her tone firm but composed. “Now, you’ll return to the classroom and apologize to your peers for disrupting their learning. And I trust we won’t have to repeat this lesson.”

“No, ma’am,” Johnny whispered, his voice shaking.

She stepped forward and, without hesitation, seized Johnny by the ear again. Her slender fingers gripped firmly, twisting just enough to make him yelp softly and bend at the waist.

“Ow—Miss Hart!” Johnny whimpered, his voice high-pitched and trembling, but she paid him no mind.

“Come along, Johnny,” she said sharply, her voice cutting through his protest. “Back to the classroom we go.”

She gave his ear a deliberate twist, causing Johnny to bend further, his face nearly parallel to the ground as he stumbled forward to keep pace with her. The burn in his bottom flared anew with every awkward step, and he couldn’t hold back the occasional hiccupping sob.

Mr. Wallace, now seated behind his desk, chuckled softly as he watched the scene. “Good for you, Miss Hart,” he said approvingly. “A proper ear march back to the classroom will do him good.”

Johnny let out a pitiful whimper at his words, his face burning with fresh humiliation. Anyone they passed would see him bent over, being marched along like a misbehaving toddler.

“Let’s go,” Miss Hart commanded, giving his ear another sharp tug that made him stumble forward with a yelp.

“Miss Hart, please!” Johnny pleaded, his voice trembling with desperation. “I’ll be good—I promise! Please don’t—”

“Silence, Johnny,” Miss Hart snapped. “You’ve already embarrassed yourself enough today. The more you argue, the worse it will get.”

His sobs only grew louder as she marched him firmly out of the office. The sharp clip of her heels echoed through the hallway, punctuated by Johnny’s sniffles and the occasional whimper of pain when she twisted his ear again to keep him moving.

“Keep moving, Johnny,” Miss Hart said sharply, giving his ear a firm tug when he hesitated. “The sooner we get back to the classroom, the sooner you can apologize to your classmates for your behavior.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Johnny mumbled between sniffles, his voice barely audible. His tear-streaked face was downturned, his shoulders hunched, as if trying to make himself as small as possible.

As they rounded a corner, another teacher stepped out of a classroom. It was Mrs. Allen, an older, no-nonsense woman with a reputation for strictness nearly equal to Mr. Wallace’s. She paused when she saw Johnny being marched along by his ear, taking in his tear-streaked face, his red, puffy eyes, and his awkward gait.

“Well, well,” Mrs. Allen said, arching an eyebrow. “It looks like someone’s had a trip to Mr. Wallace’s office.”

Miss Hart stopped, keeping her grip on Johnny’s ear as she turned to address her colleague. “Indeed he has, Mrs. Allen,” she replied crisply. “Johnny here decided to disrupt my classroom this morning, and Mr. Wallace made sure he learned the error of his ways.”

Mrs. Allen gave Johnny a pointed look, her lips curling into a small, knowing smile. “Judging by that expression—and the way he’s walking—I’d say Mr. Wallace gave him a good, old-fashioned spanking.”

“He certainly did,” Miss Hart confirmed, her tone matter-of-fact. “Bare bottom, over his knee, and thoroughly deserved.”

Johnny let out a small, mortified whimper at Miss Hart’s words, fresh tears springing to his eyes. He tried to shield his face with his free hand, but Miss Hart gave his ear another tug, forcing him to straighten up.

Mrs. Allen chuckled lightly, crossing her arms. “Well, I hope you’ve learned your lesson, young man. Misbehavior doesn’t go unpunished in this school.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Johnny mumbled miserably, his voice thick with tears.

Miss Hart gave Johnny’s ear another tug, prompting him to continue his slow, painful march down the corridor.

“You should be ashamed of yourself,” Miss Hart said curtly, her tone cold and sharp. “Not only for your behavior, but for the fact that you forced Mr. Wallace to administer a spanking. A boy your age shouldn’t need these kinds of reminders, Johnny. And yet here we are.”

Johnny whimpered softly, unable to muster a response. He couldn’t bring himself to look at her, much less defend himself. He knew she was right—he had been disruptive and disobedient, but the reality of being taken over the principal’s knee and spanked like a small child in front of his teacher had shattered whatever pride he’d had left.

As they turned the corner toward the classroom, Johnny’s stomach dropped. The door was still ajar, and he could hear the faint murmur of his classmates inside. His humiliation deepened at the thought of walking back into the room, knowing they all knew where he had been and what had happened. He had tried so hard to act tough, to push boundaries, and now he was reduced to nothing more than a crying boy with a blistered bottom.

All eyes turned toward the doorway as Miss Hart strode in, pulling Johnny along by his ear with an unyielding hand. The boy stumbled awkwardly beside her, his face crimson, his sniffles audible in the hush that followed their entrance. The spectacle was undeniable: Johnny, freshly chastened and cowed, being paraded before the class in the most humiliating manner possible.

Miss Hart led him straight to the front of the room, her grip forcing him to stay bent over. The faint murmurs of suppressed laughter rippled through the classroom, quickly silenced by Miss Hart’s piercing glare.

She turned to address the students, still holding Johnny by his ear, her tone clipped and authoritative. “Class, as you can see, Johnny has had a visit with Mr. Wallace. And I trust you all understand what that means.”

A wave of giggles broke out, though a few of the students gasped. One bold girl near the back muttered, “He got spanked,” prompting more stifled laughter.

Miss Hart’s eyes flashed. “Enough,” she snapped, silencing the room instantly. “Yes, Johnny was spanked. Thoroughly and properly on the bare. And I expect every single one of you to take note of what happens when you disrupt my classroom.”

She turned to Johnny, releasing his ear but still towering over him with a stern expression. “Now, Johnny, you will apologize to your classmates for wasting their time and for disrupting their learning this morning.”

Johnny hesitated, his voice catching in his throat. He glanced at the sea of faces before him, all wide-eyed and grinning, and felt tears welling up again. “I—I’m sorry,” he stammered, his voice cracking. “I’m sorry for disrupting the class… and for wasting your time.”

The apology, broken and pitiful, only seemed to deepen his embarrassment. Some students exchanged amused glances, while others whispered behind their hands. Miss Hart gave Johnny a curt nod, then pointed to the front corner of the classroom.

“Thank you, Johnny,” she said. “Now, to ensure you continue reflecting on your behavior, you will stand in the front corner of the classroom for the remainder of the lesson. Face the wall, and keep your hands at your sides. No fidgeting, turning around, or talking. Is that clear?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Johnny mumbled, his voice barely audible.

“Good. Then off you go.”

Johnny shuffled toward the designated corner, his face burning with sham. Once there, he positioned himself as instructed, his back straight and his hands hanging limply at his sides. The corner was just inches from his nose, and he could hear the faint snickers and whispers behind him. He clenched his fists briefly in frustration, but the lingering sting from his spanking reminded him to stay perfectly still.

Miss Hart returned to her desk, adjusting her papers, her sharp gaze sweeping over the class. The students, though mostly silent, couldn’t help but sneak glances at Johnny, who stood rigid in the corner, his red, tear-streaked face pressed toward the wall. She tapped her pencil on the desk, commanding their full attention.

“Now,” she said briskly, “where were we before Johnny’s antics interrupted us? Ah, yes—spelling. Maggie, please stand.”

Maggie, a bright and eager student, rose to her feet, smoothing her skirt nervously. “Yes, ma’am?” she said, her voice a bit timid, though she shot a quick, curious glance at Johnny’s back.

“I want you to define and spell the word ‘discipline’ for the class,” Miss Hart said, folding her hands neatly on her desk. Her voice was calm but carried a pointed edge, clearly meant for more than just Maggie’s benefit.

Maggie hesitated for a moment, then cleared her throat and began. “Discipline means ‘the practice of training people to obey rules or a code of behavior, using punishment to correct disobedience.’”

Miss Hart’s lips curled into a slight, approving smile. “An excellent definition, Maggie. And now, the spelling?”

Maggie nodded, standing a bit straighter as she carefully enunciated each letter: “D-I-S-C-I-P-L-I-N-E.”

“Perfect,” Miss Hart said, her voice sharp and deliberate. “Discipline is a cornerstone of education. Without it, we cannot have order, respect, or fairness. And as you’ve all seen today, it is not just about correcting behavior—it is about ensuring that lessons are remembered.”

She cast a meaningful glance toward Johnny, whose shoulders seemed to hunch even further under the weight of her words. A few students giggled softly, though none dared speak out of turn.

“Thank you, Maggie. You may sit down.” 

As the lessons continued, Johnny could only stand there, utterly humiliated. The sound of Miss Hart’s calm teaching and the occasional laughter from the students felt like a world he was excluded from. His thoughts swirled with regret, embarrassment, and the ever-present sting of his well-spanked bottom.

As the children moved to independent work, the faint whispers and suppressed giggles from his classmates buzzed in his ears like a swarm of bees. He squeezed his fists, trying to will himself not to react, but when he heard a cruel whispered comment and giggle from behind him—one he recognized as coming from Mary Thompson, a girl who always seemed to delight in others’ misfortunes—he couldn’t stop himself.

“Shut up, Mary!” he hissed over his shoulder, his voice low but audible enough for several nearby students to hear. A wave of gasps rippled through the room as the class froze, everyone suddenly more interested in Johnny’s fate than the spelling lesson.

Miss Hart’s head snapped up from her desk, her sharp eyes narrowing. “Johnny Thompson, did you just turn around and speak after I specifically told you to remain silent and still?”

Johnny turned back to the corner, his heart pounding. “I—I’m sorry, Miss Hart. I didn’t mean—”

“I’ve heard enough,” she interrupted, her voice firm and decisive. The scrape of her chair against the floor as she stood made Johnny’s stomach sink. He knew he’d made things worse for himself.

The click of her heels grew louder as she approached. “If you cannot follow my instructions and behave yourself, I will make sure you feel the full consequences of your actions,” Miss Hart declared. “Clearly, Mr. Wallace’s efforts weren’t enough to remind you how to behave. Perhaps a little more embarrassment will do the trick.”

The classroom was utterly silent, save for the faint shuffling of a few students craning their necks to watch. Miss Hart reached out, her fingers deftly unfastening the waistband of Johnny’s trousers.

“No!” Johnny whimpered, his voice a choked whisper. “Please, Miss Hart—don’t—”

“Be quiet, Johnny,” she said curtly, tugging his trousers down to his knees with swift precision. The fabric pooled around his legs, leaving him standing in nothing but his tight white underpants. The redness of his spanked upper thighs extending to beneath the leg openings of his underwear were immediately visible to everyone.

Gasps and stifled giggles rippled through the classroom, and Johnny squeezed his eyes shut, his face burning brighter than ever. He had never felt so exposed, so utterly humiliated.

“Now,” Miss Hart said, placing a firm hand on Johnny’s shoulder to keep him in place, “let’s ensure you don’t forget why you’re standing in that corner.”

Her other hand reached for the waistband of his underpants. Johnny froze, his breath catching in his throat as she tugged the fabric upward slightly, tightening it snugly over his sore bottom. The movement caused the hem of the leg openings to rise even higher, exposing more of his well-spanked lower cheeks. The deep redness and faint welts from the principal’s earlier punishment were now on full display, a glaring reminder of the consequences of his behavior.

“There,” Miss Hart said, stepping back to inspect her work. “Now everyone can see just how naughty boys are disciplined.”

Johnny let out a choked sob, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. His classmates stared in wide-eyed silence, some giggling behind their hands while others whispered to one another. The tension in the room was palpable, the air thick with Johnny’s humiliation.

“Hands on your head, Johnny,” Miss Hart said sternly, folding her arms. “And you will remain in that corner until I decide otherwise. Perhaps this will finally teach you to hold your tongue.”

Johnny obeyed, raising his trembling hands to the top of his head. The movement caused his shirt to ride up fully exposing the top waistband of his underpants and a bit of his lower back, and fresh tears streamed down his face as he stared at the corner, wishing he could disappear.

“Good. Now stay there. No moving. No talking.”

Johnny leaned his head closer to the wall, the weight of his dropped trousers around his ankles hilighting a new layer of humiliation, aware of every snicker, every whisper, and every eye burning into his exposed thighs and reddened bottom.

Miss Hart returned to her desk and resumed the lesson, her voice calm and composed as if nothing unusual had happened. But for Johnny, the minutes dragged on like hours, each one a painful reminder of his punishment and the humiliation he would never live down.

The classroom was quiet save for the faint scratching of pencils and the occasional sniffle from Johnny, who still stood in the front corner, his trousers pooled around his ankles and his hands trembling at his sides. His bottom, bright red and tender from the earlier spanking, was visible to anyone who dared to glance his way, though Miss Hart’s stern presence ensured most eyes stayed firmly on their work.

For a boy his age, it was the height of humiliation. To even have someone see your underpants—whether it was a peek at gym class or a playful tug by a sibling—was mortifying enough. But to be standing there, fully on display, with a classroom of peers watching his every move, was beyond anything Johnny had ever experienced. He could hear the faint snickers and whispers from his classmates behind him, each one piercing his already fragile composure.

The boys, he imagined, were laughing at how ridiculous he looked, their teasing voices already echoing in his mind. And the girls—they would surely never let him forget this moment, whispering and giggling about his little white underpants and the way they framed his reddened bottom. His face burned as he thought of how he must look to them, a boy who had been reduced to a scolded child, stripped of his dignity.

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying desperately to block out the world around him, but he could feel the weight of their stares, like needles prickling his skin. Every shuffle of a chair or stifled giggle seemed to grow louder in his ears, a constant reminder of how utterly exposed he was. His underpants—once something he never gave a second thought—now felt like a glaring spotlight, a humiliating symbol of his childish punishment.

The mortification of knowing that even a glimpse of his underpants would normally have been enough to send him into a fit of embarrassment only deepened the sting. Now, everyone could see them—every boy and girl in the class, and even Miss Hart herself. He felt so small, so utterly powerless, as if his age, his independence, and his dignity had all been stripped away with his trousers.

Johnny let out a soft sniffle, his tears spilling silently down his cheeks as he pressed his forehead to the corner. He felt like a child again, embarrassed and helpless, as though he were five instead of eleven. He would have given anything—anything—to be anywhere else, to erase this moment from existence. But there was no escape, and the shame of standing there, exposed and humiliated in nothing but his little underpants, was a lesson he knew he would never forget.

Suddenly, the door opened with a creak, and the students glanced up to see Mr. Wallace step inside. His imposing frame seemed to fill the room as his sharp eyes scanned the class before settling on Johnny. His brows furrowed in surprise and disapproval.

“Miss Hart,” he said, his voice a low rumble, “what is the meaning of this? Why is Johnny standing here with his trousers down?”

Miss Hart stepped forward with a composed nod. “Mr. Wallace, I’m afraid Johnny failed to remain silent and still during his corner time. He disrupted the class yet again, so I found it necessary to escalate his punishment. Leaving his trousers down was a reminder for him to reflect properly.”

Mr. Wallace’s expression darkened, his gaze snapping back to the boy. Johnny flinched under the scrutiny, his small frame trembling visibly.

“Johnny,” Mr. Wallace said, his voice sharp and cold, “did you already forget the spanking you received not an hour ago?”

“N-no, sir,” Johnny whimpered, his voice barely audible.

“Then why,” Mr. Wallace demanded, his voice rising, “would you dare to misbehave again so soon after? Clearly, the lesson wasn’t thorough enough.”

Johnny’s head snapped up, panic flashing across his tear-streaked face. “P-please, sir! I—I’m sorry! I’ll be good, I swear!” he cried, his voice cracking with desperation.

But Mr. Wallace was unmoved. He turned to Miss Hart, his tone measured and decisive. “Miss Hart, would you kindly place your chair in front of the desk, facing the class?”

Miss Hart arched an eyebrow but complied without hesitation, moving the chair to the requested spot. The students exchanged wide-eyed glances, the room filled with a palpable tension as they realized what was about to happen.

“Come here, Johnny,” Mr. Wallace commanded.

When Johnny hesitated, his body rooted to the spot, Mr. Wallace strode forward, gripping the boy firmly by the arm. With a practiced motion, he lifted Johnny off his feet and tucked him securely under one arm, carrying him like a small, misbehaving child. Johnny’s legs kicked frantically in the air, his hands flailing as he cried out in protest.

“No! Please, Mr. Wallace!” Johnny wailed. “Not again! Not here! I’m sorry!”

The students gasped, and a ripple of muffled giggles spread through the room before Miss Hart silenced them with a stern glare. Mr. Wallace carried Johnny to the chair and sat down, adjusting the squirming boy so he was draped facedown over his knee. His trousers still bunched around his ankles, Johnny’s small white briefs stretched tightly over his crimson bottom.

Mr. Wallace looked down at the trembling boy draped over his knee, his stern expression unyielding. The tight white briefs clinging to Johnny’s reddened bottom did little to hide the angry color of his spanked flesh underneath. His legs dangled awkwardly, his bare thighs exposed and trembling as he sniffled and whimpered softly, the weight of the situation pressing down on him.

The principal addressed the room first, his deep voice cutting through the tension. “Class, I’m sure you’re all aware of why Johnny is here before you like this. His repeated misbehavior in this classroom has forced us to take drastic action. It seems that the spanking I delivered in my office earlier today wasn’t sufficient to get through to him.”

The students sat frozen, their wide eyes locked on the unfolding scene. Some exchanged furtive glances, others stifled nervous giggles, but no one dared to speak.

Mr. Wallace continued, his tone cold and firm. “Perhaps a spanking delivered here, in front of his classmates, will finally drive the lesson home.”

Johnny let out a choked sob, his small hands gripping the legs of the chair in desperation. “P-please, sir,” he begged, his voice cracking. “I—I’ll be good! I promise! Not here! Not in front of everyone!”

But Mr. Wallace was unmoved. “It’s too late for promises, Johnny. You’ve made your choices, and now you’ll face the consequences.”

With that, Mr. Wallace reached down and hooked his fingers under the waistband of Johnny’s briefs. A gasp rippled through the class, and Johnny froze in panic, his face a deep crimson. “N-no, please! Not my underpants!” he cried, kicking his legs frantically.

Ignoring the boy’s protests, Mr. Wallace pulled the briefs down to mid-thigh, fully baring Johnny’s red, welted bottom for the entire class to see. The room fell into stunned silence, the faint rustling of fabric and Johnny’s quiet sobs the only sounds as the principal adjusted the boy’s position.

Miss Hart stood nearby, her arms crossed, her expression unreadable but calm as she nodded approvingly. “Thank you, Mr. Wallace,” she said, her voice steady. “Johnny needs to understand that his behavior affects everyone, not just himself.”

Mr. Wallace gave a curt nod before raising his large hand high. “Hold still, Johnny,” he commanded. “This will be thorough.”

Mr. Wallace brought his hand down with a resounding crack that echoed through the room. Johnny let out a loud, anguished wail, his legs kicking helplessly as the spanking began in earnest. Each smack landed with force and precision, reigniting the fiery sting on his already-tender cheeks and sending waves of pain through his small frame.

“I will not,” smack, “tolerate,” smack, “this kind of behavior!” Smack, smack! Mr. Wallace scolded, punctuating each word with a powerful swat.

Johnny sobbed and pleaded, his voice breaking. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Please, stop! I’ll be good, I promise!”

But Mr. Wallace continued without hesitation, covering every inch of Johnny’s bottom and the tops of his thighs. The boy’s cries grew louder, his small body squirming frantically, but Mr. Wallace held him firmly in place, undeterred by the flailing and kicking.

Johnny’s frantic kicking and twisting movements caused his hips to turn awkwardly. Unbeknownst to Johnny, the motion exposed his bare genitals to the entire class, who sat frozen, their eyes locked on the unfolding spectacle.

A gasp rippled through the room, faint but unmistakable. The boys exchanged wide-eyed looks of shock, some struggling to stifle nervous laughter, while the girls sat rigid in their seats, their faces a mix of shock and secondhand embarrassment. Maggie, seated in the front row, covered her mouth with her hands, her eyes darting nervously toward her deskmate, whose cheeks were bright red.

“Did you see that?” she whispered, her voice barely audible but still managing to draw a muffled giggle from her seatmate.

Johnny, however, remained oblivious to the humiliating display. His sobs grew louder with every smack, his twisting and flailing becoming more erratic as the sting of each swat added to his growing desperation. The occasional glimpse of his exposed genitals caused a ripple of hushed whispers and muffled giggles among the students, despite Miss Hart’s sharp glare sweeping over the room.

Miss Hart watched the scene with a composed expression, her arms crossed as she stood near the desk. Though she showed no outward emotion, the faintest glimmer of satisfaction flickered in her eyes as the humiliating and painful punishment carried on.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity to Johnny, Mr. Wallace paused. He surveyed the boy’s thoroughly spanked bottom, the deep red hue and faint welts a testament to the discipline he had just delivered. Johnny lay limp over his lap, his small frame shaking with sobs.

Mr. Wallace adjusted the boy’s briefs back into place, the snug fabric pulling over his tender bottom, before lifting him to his feet. Johnny stood trembling, his hands shooting to his face as he cried openly, his shame and pain overwhelming him.

Mr. Wallace stood and placed a hand firmly on Johnny’s shoulder. “Now, return to the corner and reflect on what you’ve learned. If there’s another outburst, we will repeat this lesson.”

Johnny shuffled back to the corner, his head bowed and his sobs softening to quiet sniffles. As he stood with his hands on his head, the classroom returned to order under Miss Hart’s watchful eye. But the image of Johnny’s humiliating punishment lingered in every student’s mind—a stark reminder of the consequences of misbehavior.

Mr. Wallace nodded, then turned to Miss Hart. “Miss Hart, I’ll leave Johnny in your capable hands. I trust he will not disrupt your class again.”

“Thank you, Mr. Wallace,” Miss Hart said with a composed nod. “I will ensure he behaves appropriately for the rest of the day.”

With that, Mr. Wallace straightened his jacket, gave Johnny one last disapproving glance, and strode toward the door. His heavy footsteps echoed briefly as he exited, leaving the classroom steeped in tense silence.

Miss Hart allowed the quiet to linger for a moment as she walked to the front of the class, her heels clicking purposefully on the wooden floor. She surveyed the students, her sharp eyes scanning the room for any signs of whispers or smirks. Even the most mischievous students were sitting ramrod straight, their faces pale and their gazes fixed on their desks.

Finally, she spoke, her voice calm but cutting. “Class,” she began, “you have just witnessed a lesson in the consequences of disobedience—consequences that Johnny has unfortunately earned through his behavior. This was not done lightly, and I expect every one of you to take this moment very seriously.”

Her gaze flicked toward Johnny, trembling in the corner with his hands on his head, his back still to the room. His sniffles were faint but unmistakable, a sound that underscored the solemnity of the moment.

“Being spanked at school, let alone in front of one’s peers, is no small punishment,” Miss Hart continued. “It is not only physically painful but deeply humiliating. I am fully aware of the embarrassment that comes with being bared in such a way, with all that entails.”

Her words hung heavily in the air, and the class stirred uneasily, some students daring to glance at one another with wide eyes. The memory of Johnny’s twisting, writhing movements and the inadvertent exposure of his most private areas was still fresh in everyone’s mind. A few girls blushed and quickly looked away, while the boys sat stiffly, unsure how to react.

Miss Hart’s voice sharpened. “But let me be clear—such humiliation is earned. It is not imposed without reason. When you choose to misbehave, when you disrupt your classmates and defy authority, you choose to accept the consequences that follow. If Johnny feels humiliated, it is because he made choices that led him here.”

She paused, allowing her words to sink in. “And let this serve as a warning to all of you: I will not hesitate to ensure that each of you understands the consequences of your actions, even if those consequences must be as severe as the ones Johnny has faced today.”

The room remained silent, the weight of her words pressing down on the students like a heavy blanket. A few fidgeted nervously in their seats, their cheeks red as they stared at their books or the desk in front of them, while others stole hesitant glances at Johnny, still standing in the corner, his posture a picture of misery.

Miss Hart straightened, her sharp gaze once again sweeping over the room. “Now, open your spelling books to page thirty-two,” she instructed crisply. “We will resume our lesson. I expect absolute focus and respect for the remainder of the class.”

The students scrambled to obey, flipping through their books in near silence. In the corner, Johnny sniffled softly, his cheeks burning with shame as the sting in his bottom reminded him of his punishment. He felt the weight of every gaze in the room, knowing that his humiliation—physical and emotional—had been witnessed by them all.

The classroom was unusually quiet as Miss Hart resumed the lesson, the scrape of chalk against the board the only sound cutting through the thick tension in the room. Every student was hyper-aware of Johnny standing in the corner, his glowing, underpanted bottom a stark and humiliating spectacle. Though none dared to openly laugh or speak, their thoughts were racing, each one processing the shocking event in their own way.

For the boys in the classroom, the sight of Johnny’s punishment stirred a complicated mix of emotions. Most of them had felt the sting of discipline at home, a belt or wooden spoon wielded by an angry parent, but seeing a classmate spanked so thoroughly and so publicly was something else entirely. They couldn’t decide if they felt pity for Johnny, fear for themselves, or a kind of morbid curiosity at the whole ordeal.

Billy, sitting near the back, fidgeted nervously in his seat. He couldn’t shake the sound of each crack of Mr. Wallace’s hand or the sight of Johnny’s legs kicking wildly as his briefs had been pulled down. He swallowed hard, imagining himself in Johnny’s place, and vowed silently to stay out of trouble for as long as he could manage. The thought of being dragged over a teacher’s knee with the entire class watching made his stomach churn.

Peter, on the other hand, struggled to suppress a nervous grin. He wasn’t laughing at Johnny’s pain—far from it—but the absurdity of the situation struck him in a way he couldn’t quite explain. “Who’d have thought Johnny would end up with his bare butt getting spanked in front of everyone?” he thought, stealing a quick glance toward the corner. His amusement faded quickly, though, when he realized how easily the same thing could happen to him. He straightened in his chair, his mind already rehearsing ways to keep Miss Hart happy.

The girls in the classroom were equally wide-eyed, though their reactions leaned more toward shock and fascination than fear. Many had never seen a boy spanked before, let alone in such a dramatic and public fashion, and the whole thing left them buzzing with silent thoughts.

Maggie, who had just recited the definition of discipline, was trying to focus on her workbook, but her cheeks were still flushed from the spectacle. She couldn’t stop replaying the moment when Johnny’s briefs had been tugged down, leaving him completely exposed. The way his bottom had turned redder and redder with every smack was almost mesmerizing, and she wondered fleetingly if Mr. Wallace always spanked that hard. She felt a strange mix of pity and smugness—Johnny had brought it on himself, after all—but she also couldn’t help feeling a little bad for him.

Claire, sitting near the front, felt embarrassed on Johnny’s behalf. She had always thought of him as a troublemaker, a boy who laughed too loud and cared too little about rules, but seeing him like that—crying, exposed, humiliated—made her chest tighten. She glanced quickly at Miss Hart, whose stern face betrayed no sympathy, and then at Johnny’s quivering frame in the corner. She made a mental note to never, ever cross Miss Hart or Mr. Wallace.

Anna, on the other hand, struggled to keep a smirk off her face. Johnny had teased her mercilessly just last week, tugging on her braids and calling her names until she’d nearly cried. Seeing him taken down a peg—or ten—felt like justice. “Serves him right,” she thought, though she was careful not to let Miss Hart catch her smiling. Still, even Anna felt a pang of discomfort at how utterly helpless Johnny had been, especially when Mr. Wallace had carried him like a sack of flour.

For all the students, there was an unspoken agreement: what they had just witnessed was something extraordinary, a story they would whisper to each other on the playground, replaying every detail of Johnny’s bare-bottom punishment until the memory became legend. But it was also a sobering reminder of the power their teachers wielded. Johnny’s cries and the vivid image of his red, swollen bottom would stay with them for a long time, a cautionary tale of what could happen if they dared step out of line.

And for Johnny, who stood sniffling in the corner with a burning bottom, the weight of their thoughts felt heavier than any spanking. He didn’t have to see their faces to know they were staring at him, judging him, and vowing silently never to end up where he was. The humiliation would last far longer than the sting.

As the lesson wound down and the classroom grew quieter, Johnny remained standing in the corner, his head bowed and his swollen, crimson bottom still throbbing painfully. He had done his best to stay still, though every shift in his stance reignited the sting of his punishment. Every moment dragged on, the muffled whispers of his classmates adding to his humiliation.

Near the end of the school day, Miss Hart stood and walked silently toward Johnny, her heels clicking sharply against the floor. He flinched at the sound, his shoulders tensing as she approached. She stopped behind him, and without a word, she bent and reached for his trousers, guiding them up his legs and over his hips with deliberate care. She fastened the button and zipped them up smoothly, the motions slow and deliberate. Her actions carried an unmistakable air of authority, reducing Johnny to the helpless recipient of her care, much like a scolded toddler. His face burned with fresh humiliation, but he kept his gaze fixed on the floor, his throat tight with the effort of holding back tears.

When his trousers were securely in place, Miss Hart turned him to face her, crouching slightly so her sharp eyes met his downcast gaze. Johnny’s lip quivered, and his hands fidgeted nervously at his sides.

“Well, Johnny,” she said, her tone soft but firm, “have you learned your lesson?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he whispered, his voice shaking.

She studied his face, her eyes narrowing slightly. “I hope so, because the behavior you displayed today will not be tolerated again. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he repeated, barely audible.

“Good.” She straightened and placed a firm hand on his shoulder, guiding him toward her desk. Johnny followed reluctantly, the weight of her hand heavy on his small frame. When they reached the desk, she opened a drawer and pulled out a sheet of paper and a fountain pen.

“This,” Miss Hart said as she began writing, “is a note for your parents. It explains your behavior today and the actions that were taken to correct it. I expect you to take it home and have one of your parents sign it. You will return it to me first thing tomorrow morning.”

Johnny’s heart sank, and his face went pale. “N-no, ma’am,” he stammered, his voice trembling. “Please, Miss Hart—don’t send a note home. Please!”

Miss Hart glanced at him sharply. “Excuse me?”

Johnny’s hands balled into fists as he pleaded. “Please, ma’am, my parents—they’ll spank me again if they find out! I’ve already been spanked twice today—I can’t take another! Please don’t send a note home!”

Miss Hart’s expression remained cold and unmoved. “Johnny,” she said sternly, “you should have thought of that before you decided to misbehave. Perhaps another spanking at home is exactly what you need to finally learn your lesson.”

Tears welled up in Johnny’s eyes, and he shook his head desperately. “No, ma’am, please! I’ll be good! I promise! Please don’t tell them!”

Ignoring his protests, Miss Hart folded the note and reached into her desk to retrieve a safety pin. Johnny froze, his heart pounding as he realized what she was about to do.

“Since I can’t trust you to deliver this note yourself,” she said crisply, “I’ll make sure it gets there.”

With swift, practiced motions, she pinned the folded note to the front of Johnny’s shirt, just over his chest. The sharp glint of the pin caught the light, and the weight of the note seemed unbearable. Johnny let out a small, humiliated whimper, his cheeks blazing as he glanced down at the offending paper now prominently displayed for all to see.

“There,” Miss Hart said, stepping back to inspect her work. “Now you’ll go straight home and show your parents what’s been written. No excuses, no delays.”

Johnny’s lower lip trembled, and tears spilled down his cheeks. “Please, Miss Hart,” he sobbed, his voice breaking. “I—I’ll do anything—please don’t make me!”

“Enough,” she said sharply, her tone leaving no room for argument. “This discussion is over. You’ll return this note, signed, and pinned to your shirt, first thing tomorrow morning. Is that clear?”

Johnny nodded miserably, unable to speak.

“Good,” Miss Hart said. She placed a firm hand on his shoulder and guided him back to his desk. As he sat down gingerly, his tender bottom protesting against the hard wooden chair, his classmates snickered softly, their eyes darting to the pinned note on his chest. The humiliation was complete, and Johnny could only sit in silence, dreading the punishment that awaited him at home.

——

Maple Grove Elementary School
December 13, 1951

Dear Mr. and Mrs. Thompson,

I am writing to inform you of Johnny’s behavior in class today. Johnny was disruptive during the morning lesson, refusing to follow instructions and disturbing his classmates. Despite multiple warnings, his behavior continued, forcing me to bring him to Mr. Wallace, our principal, for disciplinary action.

Mr. Wallace administered a thorough spanking in his office, after which Johnny was returned to class to reflect on his actions. However, I regret to inform you that he continued to misbehave during his corner time, disrupting the class once again. As a result, another spanking was administered by Mr. Wallace in front of his classmates to reinforce the seriousness of his behavior.

I expect Johnny to return this note, signed by either you or Mr. Thompson, pinned to his shirt first thing tomorrow morning as acknowledgment of this matter. I trust you will discuss this with him to ensure that he understands the importance of proper behavior and respect for authority.

Thank you for your attention to this matter. Please do not hesitate to reach out if you would like to discuss this further.

Sincerely,

Miss Eleanor Hart
Grade 5 Teacher
Maple Grove Elementary School

——

As the final bell rang and the students spilled out of the classroom, Johnny lingered behind, dreading the long walk home more than anything. The note pinned to his shirt felt like a brand, a public proclamation of his shame and the punishment still awaiting him. He shuffled toward the door, keeping his head down, his tender bottom still aching with every step.

Outside, the chatter of schoolmates filled the air. Word of Johnny’s bare-bottom spanking had spread like wildfire through the halls, and by now, every boy and girl seemed to know the humiliating details. As soon as he stepped onto the playground, he could feel their eyes on him—some wide with curiosity, others alight with amusement.

“There he is!” one boy whispered loudly, nudging his friend. “The one who got it bare-bum in front of the whole class!”

A group of girls near the swings giggled behind their hands, their eyes darting to the pinned note on Johnny’s chest. “That’s the note Miss Hart pinned on him,” one of them said, not bothering to keep her voice low. “It means he’s gonna get another spanking at home!”

Johnny’s face burned as he tried to quicken his pace, but every step felt like an eternity. The whispers and giggles followed him like a dark cloud, each one adding to his humiliation.

“Hey, Johnny!” called Billy, one of the older boys, running up to him with a teasing grin. “How’s your bum feeling? Bet it’s still red as a tomato!”

Johnny didn’t answer, keeping his head down and clutching his books tightly to his chest as if they could shield him from the onslaught.

Another boy joined in. “You think your dad’s gonna use a belt? Or maybe the paddle?”

“Probably both,” someone else chimed in, snickering. “After the way he acted, he’s gotta be in for it!”

Johnny’s steps faltered, his lip trembling as fresh tears threatened to spill. He tried to block out the taunts, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other, but the humiliation was overwhelming.

A group of boys from his class fell into step behind him, mocking the way he had cried and kicked during his spanking. “Please, Mr. Wallace, don’t spank me again!” one of them mimicked in a high-pitched voice, sending the others into fits of laughter.

The girls weren’t much kinder. “Poor Johnny,” one of them said in a sing-song tone, pretending to wipe fake tears from her cheeks. “Better behave, or you’ll be spanked completely bare naked next time!” More giggles followed, and Johnny could feel his humiliation deepening with every word.

By the time he reached the edge of the schoolyard, he was practically running, his head low and his cheeks flushed. The pinned note flapped slightly as he moved, a constant reminder of what awaited him at home. He could already imagine his father’s stern face when he handed over the note, the way his mother would shake her head in disappointment.

The tears he had held back all afternoon finally began to spill as he turned onto the dirt road leading home. Each step felt heavier than the last, his heart sinking with the knowledge that his punishment was far from over. Behind him, the echoes of his classmates’ laughter and whispers still rang in his ears, ensuring that the long walk would be one he would never forget.

As Johnny trudged up the dirt path to his house, his heart sank lower with every step. The note pinned to his shirt felt heavier than ever, and his tender bottom throbbed with each movement, a painful reminder of the earlier events. By the time he reached the front porch, his face was streaked with fresh tears, and his knees wobbled with dread.

He pushed the door open hesitantly, stepping inside. The familiar smells of home, usually comforting, only added to his unease. His mother, wearing her apron and wiping her hands on a dish towel, turned to greet him. Her smile vanished the instant her eyes landed on the note pinned to his shirt.

“Johnny Thompson,” she said sharply, her voice filled with alarm. “What on earth is this?”

Johnny flinched, his lower lip trembling. He opened his mouth to explain, but the words caught in his throat. His mother strode over and plucked the note off his shirt with quick, angry movements, unfolding it as she stood over him. Her eyes scanned the paper, her frown deepening with each word.

By the time she finished reading, her face was a mixture of anger and disbelief. “You were disruptive in class? Taken to the principal’s office and spanked? And then you had the audacity to misbehave again after that and was spanked again?” Her voice rose with each accusation, and Johnny winced as if her words themselves were a punishment.

“Answer me!” she demanded, shaking the note in front of his face. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

“I—I’m sorry, Mama,” Johnny stammered, his voice barely a whisper. “I didn’t mean—”

“Sorry?” she interrupted, her tone sharp. “Oh, you will be. Your father is going to hear about this the moment he walks through that door.”

Johnny’s eyes widened in panic. “No, Mama, please!” he pleaded, fresh tears spilling over. “I—I already got spanked at school! Twice! Please don’t tell Papa!”

“Oh, you’ll be telling him yourself,” she said, cutting him off. “And don’t think for a second that what happened at school excuses your behavior. March upstairs to your room right now, and you can sit there and think about what you’re going to say when your father gets home.”

Johnny’s shoulders sagged as he sniffled, shuffling toward the staircase. “Yes, ma’am,” he whispered miserably.

“And don’t you dare come out of that room until you’re called,” she added firmly. “Do you hear me?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Johnny repeated, his voice cracking.

As he climbed the stairs, each step felt heavier than the last. He could feel his mother’s angry gaze on his back, the note she had torn from his shirt now crumpled slightly in her hand. Reaching his room, he pushed the door open and sank onto the edge of his bed, wincing as his sore bottom made contact with the mattress. He buried his face in his hands, his tears soaking into his palms.

Downstairs, his mother smoothed out the note and placed it squarely in the center of the kitchen table, where she knew her husband would see it the moment he walked in. Her lips pressed into a tight line, and she glanced at the clock, knowing it wouldn’t be long before he returned. She busied herself with preparing dinner, her mind racing with how to explain Johnny’s misbehavior—and what punishment would ensure he never dared to act out again.

Johnny sat on the edge of his bed, his face buried in his hands, as the minutes dragged by like hours. He couldn’t stop imagining what would happen when his father came home, the note on the kitchen table delivering all the damning details of his day. The thought of facing yet another spanking—this time at his father’s hands—sent a fresh wave of dread coursing through him.

Downstairs, the sound of the front door opening echoed through the house. Johnny’s heart skipped a beat, thinking for a moment that it might be his father. But instead, his older sister, Sarah, breezed in, humming softly as she set her schoolbooks on the side table. She paused when she saw their mother bustling in the kitchen.

“Hi, Mama,” Sarah greeted, a curious look crossing her face as she noticed the tightly folded note sitting prominently on the kitchen table. “What’s this?” she asked, reaching for it. Sarah unfolded the paper, her sharp eyes scanning the contents quickly. Her expression shifted almost immediately, her lips curling into a sly smile as she realized what the note was about.

“Well, well,” she said, her voice light with amusement. “So little Johnny got himself into trouble today, huh?” She glanced at her mother, raising an eyebrow. “Taken to the principal’s office and spanked? And then he still misbehaved and got spanked in front of his class? I’ve never even heard about that before! He must have really been naughty.”

Her mother frowned, turning away from the stove. “Indeed. The note is for your father to deal with when he gets home.”

Sarah leaned against the table, still holding the note, her smile widening. “Poor little Johnny,” she said mockingly, shaking her head. “He’s really going to catch it when Daddy sees this. You know how he feels about acting out at school.”

Her mother’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I trust your father will handle it appropriately,” she said firmly, returning to her cooking. “Now, leave that note where it is. It’s not for you.”

Sarah carefully placed the note back on the table, smoothing it out as though she were doing her brother a favor. “Of course, Mama,” she said sweetly, though the glint of mischief in her eyes remained. She picked up her books and headed toward the stairs but paused halfway, turning back with a knowing grin. “Should I tell Johnny to fluff a pillow for his chair at dinner? Something tells me he won’t want to sit down.”

“Sarah,” her mother warned sharply, though the hint of a smile tugged at her lips. “Leave your brother alone. He’s in enough trouble as it is.”

“Fine, fine,” Sarah said, holding up her hands in mock surrender. “I’ll let Daddy take care of it. But I’d hate to be in Johnny’s shoes tonight.” She laughed softly and made her way upstairs, the sound of her footsteps echoing through the quiet house.

Johnny heard the creak of the stairs and the faint sound of his sister’s teasing voice as she reached the landing. His stomach churned. Sarah had always taken a particular delight in family spankings, especially when she wasn’t the one on the receiving end. Her light knock on his door only made him tense further.

“Johnny?” she called sweetly. “I saw the note Mama left on the table. Want me to read it to you, in case you forgot what it says?”

“Go away!” Johnny shouted, his voice cracking with fear and embarrassment.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Sarah said, her tone dripping with mock concern. “I’m sure Daddy will read it out loud for you before he starts. You better stay in your room until Daddy gets home—wouldn’t want to make things worse.”

Her laughter echoed down the hall as Johnny buried his face in his hands again, fresh tears threatening to spill. Upstairs, Sarah disappeared into her own room, shaking her head and thinking to herself that Johnny’s evening was going to be unforgettable—for all the wrong reasons.

It wasn’t fair. Not fair at all.

His bottom was already red and welted from the series of humiliations he’d endured that day. The sharp smacks from Mr. Wallace in the principal’s office, the bare-bottom spanking in front of his classmates, and the constant sting of Miss Hart’s scolding words had left him feeling broken, small, and ashamed. How could his parents possibly think he deserved another spanking after all that? Didn’t they understand how sore he already was?

Johnny’s stomach churned with dread as he glanced toward the clock on his nightstand. His father would be home soon, and Johnny knew exactly what was going to happen. His mother’s sharp words replayed in his mind: “Wait until your father hears about this.” She’d been so angry when he came home, red-faced and teary-eyed, a crumpled note from Miss Hart in his hand. And now, after recounting everything to her, Johnny had no doubt she’d tell his father the full story, down to the last humiliating detail.

Johnny shifted uncomfortably, biting his lip as a fresh wave of frustration washed over him. His fists clenched at his sides as he glared at the floor. It wasn’t fair. He wasn’t even that bad! He’d just been restless in class, maybe a little cheeky. But did that mean he deserved to be treated like a baby in front of everyone? His classmates had laughed at him—laughed—while he was draped over Mr. Wallace’s knee, his underpants down, his bottom bare for all to see. And now he was going to get it again at home? It felt like everyone was against him.

He sniffled again, wiping angrily at his nose. “It’s not fair,” he muttered to himself, his voice trembling. “It’s not fair…”

But even as he said it, he knew it wouldn’t matter. His father wouldn’t care about what was “fair.” He’d only care that Johnny had misbehaved at school—again—and embarrassed his parents in the process. Johnny could already picture the lecture, his father’s stern voice ringing in his ears as he demanded Johnny bend over the arm of the couch or his bed. He could feel the belt in his mind before it even landed, its sting sharp and unforgiving. And worse, his father wouldn’t stop until he was sure Johnny wouldn’t misbehave again—no matter how sore Johnny already was.

Johnny’s lower lip trembled, and he buried his face in his hands, fresh tears spilling over. His heart pounded in his chest, every minute ticking by on the clock bringing him closer to the moment he dreaded. All he could do was sit there, alone and helpless, waiting for the sound of his father’s voice, knowing that no amount of begging would save him this time.

——

As the late afternoon sun dipped lower in the sky, the smell of supper filled the house. Sarah moved around the kitchen with a light step, helping her mother set the table. The clink of dishes and silverware punctuated their quiet conversation, though both women occasionally glanced toward the front door, anticipating the moment when Johnny’s father would arrive.

They didn’t have to wait long. The sound of the door opening and closing echoed through the house, followed by the heavy thud of boots as Mr. Thompson walked in. A tall, broad-shouldered man with an air of authority, he looked tired from a long day of work. But the moment his eyes landed on the note carefully placed in the center of the kitchen table, his face darkened.

He picked it up, unfolding it with deliberate precision, and read it in silence. His jaw clenched tighter with every word, and by the time he finished, his brow was furrowed in a mix of anger and disappointment. He turned toward his wife, holding the note up.

“Is this true?” he asked, his voice low and firm.

Mrs. Thompson nodded, setting down a bowl of mashed potatoes. “Every word. Miss Hart pinned it to his shirt herself. He’s upstairs in his room, waiting for you.”

Sarah, standing by the counter, suppressed a grin as she busied herself with the salad. She knew that tone in her father’s voice, and she knew what was coming.

Mr. Thompson let out a slow, deep sigh, running a hand over his face. He folded the note and set it back on the table before straightening, his face hard with resolve. “Johnny!” he called, his voice booming through the house. “Get down here. Now.”

Upstairs, Johnny froze. He had been sitting on the edge of his bed, dreading this moment, but now that it had arrived, his heart pounded so loudly he could barely think. Slowly, he slid off the bed and shuffled to the door, his legs feeling like lead. Each step down the staircase felt like a march to his doom, and by the time he entered the kitchen, his face was pale, and his eyes were already glistening with unshed tears.

His father stood in the center of the room, his arms crossed and the note clutched in one hand. His stern gaze bore down on Johnny, who couldn’t bring himself to meet it. Mrs. Thompson stood near the stove, her lips pressed into a tight line, while Sarah leaned casually against the counter, watching with thinly veiled interest.

“Do you have anything to say for yourself?” Mr. Thompson demanded, his voice like thunder.

Johnny sniffled, staring at the floor. “I—I’m sorry, Papa,” he whispered. “I didn’t mean—”

“Didn’t mean what?” his father interrupted sharply. “Didn’t mean to disrupt your class? Didn’t mean to embarrass yourself so badly that your teacher had to send you to the principal? Or didn’t mean to keep misbehaving after you’d already been spanked?”

Johnny flinched at the harshness of his father’s tone. “I’m sorry,” he repeated weakly, his voice trembling. “I—I won’t do it again. I promise.”

“Promises mean nothing without action, Johnny,” Mr. Thompson said, his voice growing louder. “Do you think I work as hard as I do to send you to school, only for you to waste your time and everyone else’s? Do you think your mother and I tolerate disrespect and disobedience in this house?”

Tears began spilling down Johnny’s cheeks as he shook his head frantically. “No, sir! I—I didn’t mean to—please—”

“Enough,” his father said, cutting him off. He reached for his belt, pulling it free from the loops of his trousers with a slow, deliberate motion. The metallic jingle of the buckle sent a fresh wave of fear through Johnny, whose sobs grew louder.

“Papa, please!” Johnny cried, his hands trembling as he clutched the edges of his shirt. “I—I already got spanked at school! Twice! Please don’t—”

“Twice is still not enough,” his father replied firmly, doubling the belt over in his hand. “A spanking at school means a spanking at home, and since you got two, I’m going to make sure this gets through to you.”

He gestured toward the living room, his voice commanding. “Go to the couch and bend over the arm. Now.”

Johnny hesitated, his legs shaking, but a sharp glare from his father sent him scurrying toward the living room. His sobs filled the air as he positioned himself in front of the arm of the couch. Behind him, Mr. Thompson followed, the belt hanging ominously from his hand.

The weight of his father’s anger hung heavy in the air, and the sound of the belt being folded over in his father’s hand sent fresh waves of terror coursing through Johnny. He paused by the arm of the couch, glancing back at his father with tear-filled eyes, hoping for some last-minute reprieve.

“Don’t make me tell you twice,” Mr. Thompson said, his voice low and firm. “Pants and underpants down, and bend over the arm of the couch.”

Johnny let out a choked sob, his hands fumbling at the waistband of his trousers. He hesitated, his face flushing with humiliation, but one look at his father’s steely gaze was enough to make him obey. With trembling fingers, he unfastened his trousers and let them slide down to his ankles. His white briefs followed, leaving his already crimson bottom exposed to the cool air.

“Bend over,” Mr. Thompson commanded.

Johnny whimpered but did as he was told, draping himself over the arm of the couch. His small hands gripped the fabric tightly, and he buried his face into the cushions, his body shaking with sobs. The position left his bare, swollen bottom raised and vulnerable, a perfect target for the belt.

From the kitchen doorway, Mrs. Thompson and Sarah stood silently, watching the scene unfold. Mrs. Thompson’s lips were pressed into a thin line, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. Her face was stern, betraying no sympathy. She knew this was necessary. Sarah, on the other hand, leaned against the doorframe with a knowing smirk, though even she couldn’t suppress the small knot of nervousness in her stomach as she heard her father step closer.

Mr. Thompson positioned himself behind Johnny, the belt in his hand catching the light as he raised it high. “This,” he said sharply, “is for your behavior at school, your disrespect to your teacher, and your disobedience after you were already punished.”

With that, the first stroke landed with a loud crack. Johnny let out a high-pitched wail, his body jerking forward instinctively, though the arm of the couch kept him firmly in place.

“You will learn,” Mr. Thompson said, his voice calm but firm, as he brought the belt down again. Crack! “To behave.” Crack! “To respect your teachers.” Crack! “And to follow the rules.”

Johnny’s cries grew louder with each stroke, his legs kicking helplessly as the leather seared into his already-tender flesh. His small, pale cheeks turned an even deeper shade of red with every lash, the fiery sting spreading across the surface of his bottom and down to the tops of his thighs.

From the doorway, Sarah watched with a mix of satisfaction and nervousness. She had been in Johnny’s position before—over the arm of the couch, bare-bottomed and crying while their father doled out discipline—but watching her little brother receive the same treatment felt surreal. She glanced at her mother, who remained silent, her expression unreadable.

Mr. Thompson continued, his strokes methodical and deliberate, ensuring that no inch of Johnny’s bottom was spared. The boy’s sobs filled the room, his pleas for mercy falling on deaf ears.

“I don’t want to hear excuses,” Mr. Thompson barked, delivering a particularly sharp stroke to the crease between Johnny’s bottom and thighs. “I want to see results. And I will not tolerate this kind of behavior again.”

“Y-yes, sir!” Johnny sobbed, his voice breaking. “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! Please, Papa, I’ll be good!”

“You should have thought of that earlier,” Mr. Thompson said, punctuating his words with another hard lash. Johnny’s cries grew desperate, his small frame shaking as he clung to the arm of the couch for dear life.

After what felt like an eternity, Mr. Thompson finally lowered the belt, resting it at his side. Johnny remained draped over the arm of the couch, his body wracked with sobs, his bottom a deep, angry red with welts forming across the surface. He didn’t dare move, too afraid to look back at his father.

Mr. Thompson took a deep breath, his voice steady as he said, “Get up, and pull your pants up. Then go to your room.”

Johnny sniffled, slowly pushing himself up. His hands shook as he fumbled with his underpants and trousers, pulling them over his tender, swollen bottom. He winced at the contact, fresh tears spilling down his cheeks as he stood, avoiding his father’s gaze.

“Now,” Mr. Thompson said firmly, pointing toward the stairs. “Go.”

Johnny nodded wordlessly, shuffling toward the staircase, his head bowed low. As he passed the kitchen, he caught a glimpse of his mother and Sarah watching him, their expressions unwavering. His humiliation was complete.

He climbed the stairs slowly, his cries still echoing softly through the house as he disappeared into his room, leaving the belt, the couch, and the stern faces of his family behind.

——

The smell of dinner wafted through the house as Mrs. Thompson placed the last dish on the table, her apron neatly tied as always. She glanced at her husband, who sat at the head of the table, looking unusually calm after the stern punishment he had just delivered.

“Are we sending Johnny to bed without supper?” she asked, her voice even but with a hint of uncertainty. She knew her husband to be strict but fair and wasn’t sure what his decision would be.

Mr. Thompson shook his head as he unfolded his napkin. “No,” he said firmly. “He’ll eat with the family. The boy’s learned his lesson.”

Mrs. Thompson nodded, satisfied with his reasoning, and turned to Sarah, who was still lingering at the table, clearly enjoying the aftermath of her brother’s punishment.

“Sarah,” her mother said, “go fetch your brother. Tell him it’s time for dinner.”

Sarah’s face lit up with a mischievous smile. “Yes, Mama,” she said sweetly, already imagining how she could make Johnny’s walk to the table even more humiliating.

She climbed the stairs and knocked lightly on Johnny’s bedroom door before opening it. Inside, she found her little brother lying face down on the bed, his face buried in his arms, his shoulders still shaking with occasional sniffles.

“Hey, Johnny,” she said, her voice dripping with mock sympathy. “Dinner’s ready. Come on downstairs before Papa changes his mind and decides to make you skip it.”

Johnny lifted his tear-streaked face, his eyes puffy and red. “I—I don’t want to,” he mumbled, his voice trembling.

“Well, you don’t really have a choice, do you?” Sarah said, leaning against the doorframe. “Papa said you’re eating with us. And trust me, you don’t want to make him mad again.” She paused, her grin widening. “Unless you’d like another ride on the arm of the couch?”

Johnny winced at her words, his face flushing as fresh tears threatened to spill. He slowly pushed himself off the bed avoiding any contact of his tender bottom with the mattress. “Fine,” he whispered.

As he walked toward the door, Sarah couldn’t resist one last jab. “I can’t imagine your poor little bottom is feeling too good right now.”

“Shut up,” Johnny muttered, his voice barely audible, but he didn’t dare argue further.

They made their way downstairs, Sarah trailing behind him with a satisfied grin. When they reached the dining room, Johnny hesitated, glancing nervously at the table before slowly pulling out his chair. His parents were already seated, their faces unreadable, and the food was steaming invitingly.

Johnny lowered himself onto the chair, moving slowly to avoid aggravating his sore bottom. But the moment he made contact, he let out a sharp hiss of pain and immediately shot back up, his face contorting in discomfort.

“Johnny,” his father said sternly, setting down his fork. “Sit down properly. You’ll eat with the family.”

Johnny’s lip trembled, and he stood there awkwardly, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “I—it hurts too much, Papa,” he admitted softly, his voice trembling with humiliation.

Mr. Thompson frowned, then turned to Sarah, who was still suppressing a grin. “Sarah, fetch your brother a pillow for his chair,” he ordered. “He’s already been punished enough.”

“Yes, Papa,” Sarah said, though her eyes sparkled with amusement as she headed to the living room. A minute later, she returned with a plump pillow and placed it on Johnny’s chair, giving him a pointed look as she did so.

“There you go, Johnny,” she said sweetly, stepping back with a mockingly exaggerated bow. “All ready for you.”

Johnny’s face burned as he carefully sat down on the cushioned chair, his sore bottom still protesting but far less painfully than before. He kept his eyes on his plate, avoiding the glances of his family, and silently resolved to never give them a reason to laugh at him like this again.

As the meal began, the conversation flowed easily between his parents and sister, but Johnny remained silent, his appetite barely returning as he picked at his food. The throbbing in his bottom and the lingering humiliation weighed heavily on him, ensuring that this dinner—and the events leading up to it—would not soon be forgotten.

——

The next morning, Johnny woke up with a groan, the sting in his bottom flaring as he shifted beneath the covers. His tender, welted skin felt raw, and every movement reminded him of the belt whipping his father had delivered the evening before on top of his previous spankings. He winced as he sat up, carefully lowering himself to the edge of the bed, his hands hovering protectively over his aching backside.

Downstairs, the sound of clinking dishes and his mother’s voice calling up to him and Sarah signaled that breakfast was ready. Johnny sighed, dreading the school day ahead. He didn’t want to face his classmates or Miss Hart, especially not with that humiliating note pinned to his shirt. But skipping school wasn’t an option, and the thought of another spanking for disobedience made him shudder.

When he finally made it to the kitchen, Sarah was already seated, cheerfully munching on a piece of toast. She smirked when she saw Johnny hobble in, walking stiffly. “Morning, Johnny,” she said with mock sweetness. “Slept well, did you?”

Johnny ignored her, sliding carefully into his chair, the pillow still there, and wincing as his sore bottom sat. His mother, busy at the stove, turned to set a plate of scrambled eggs and toast in front of him. “Eat up, Johnny,” she said briskly. “You’ve got a long day ahead.”

He poked at his food, his appetite dulled by the lingering embarrassment of the note. As Sarah finished her breakfast and began packing her lunchbox, Johnny hesitated, his face flushing as he realized what he needed to do.

“Mama,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “The note…”

His mother turned to him, raising an eyebrow. “What about it?”

Johnny’s hands fidgeted in his lap as he avoided her gaze. “Miss Hart said it has to be signed,” he mumbled. “And—and pinned to my shirt.”

Sarah let out a stifled laugh, earning a sharp glance from their mother. Mrs. Thompson sighed, wiping her hands on a towel before walking over to the kitchen table. She picked up the folded note from where it had been left the night before and opened it, scanning it again briefly. “I see,” she said, her tone neutral.

Reaching for a pen, she sat down and added her signature to the bottom of the note. But after a moment’s thought, she paused and added a few more lines:

To Miss Hart,
Please be aware that Johnny received additional discipline at home last night. His father used a belt, and I doubt he’ll be sitting comfortably at school without a pillow. I trust this will reinforce the seriousness of his actions.

Satisfied, Mrs. Thompson folded the note neatly and retrieved a safety pin from a small sewing kit on the counter. “Stand up, Johnny,” she said firmly.

Johnny’s face turned beet red as he rose from his chair, his sore bottom protesting with every movement. His mother knelt slightly and pinned the note securely to the front of his shirt, ensuring it was visible for everyone to see.

“There,” she said, standing back and brushing her hands together. “Make sure it stays on until Miss Hart sees it.”

Johnny looked down at the note pinned to his chest, feeling the weight of it like a boulder. “Yes, ma’am,” he mumbled, his voice thick with humiliation.

“Here’s your lunchbox,” she added, handing it to him. “Now, off you go. And I expect to hear nothing but good reports from school today.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Johnny said again, clutching his lunchbox as Sarah grabbed hers and headed for the door.

As they walked to school, Sarah couldn’t resist glancing sideways at Johnny, her smirk returning. “So, you’re still Miss Hart’s favorite little project, huh?” she teased. “Bet everyone’s going to love seeing that note pinned to you like a kindergartener. Think you’ll be able to sit through class?”

“Shut up, Sarah,” Johnny muttered, his cheeks burning. But he couldn’t shake the knot of dread in his stomach, knowing the day ahead would be as humiliating as the one before.

The walk to school was excruciating for Johnny, not just because of the pain in his sore, welted bottom, but because of the growing whispers and snickers that followed him as he approached the schoolyard. The note pinned to his chest flapped slightly in the breeze, a glaring signal to anyone who cared to look that Johnny Thompson was still in trouble.

“Hey, Johnny,” called a girl from the swings as he shuffled past. “Did you catch another licking last night?”

Johnny froze, his cheeks flaming red, and tried to mumble a response, but no words came. His stiff, careful walking and the note on his shirt were enough to confirm her suspicions. Another girl joined in, her eyes wide with curiosity.

“It was the belt, wasn’t it?” she asked, her tone almost sympathetic. “Your dad gave it to you good, didn’t he?”

Johnny turned away, his face burning as fresh giggles erupted behind him. He kept his head down and hurried toward the school building, each step a painful reminder of his punishment and the humiliation he couldn’t escape.

When Johnny entered the classroom, his classmates immediately noticed the note pinned to his chest. Whispers spread like wildfire as he shuffled to Miss Hart’s desk, avoiding eye contact with anyone. Miss Hart, who was busy organizing papers, glanced up and immediately spotted the note. A smirk tugged at the corners of her mouth.

“Good morning, Johnny,” she said, her voice carrying a tone of faint amusement. “Come here.”

Johnny approached her desk, his face flushed with embarrassment. Miss Hart reached out, unpinning the note from his shirt with deliberate care. She unfolded it, her sharp eyes scanning the contents quickly. Her smirk deepened as she read the additional lines added by Johnny’s mother.

The classroom quieted as Miss Hart sat at the front, the folded note from Johnny’s mother in her hand. Johnny’s heart pounded in his chest as she cleared her throat, drawing the attention of the entire room. He was already mortified that she had seen the note, but now, it seemed, she was going to make sure everyone else knew its contents.

“Class,” Miss Hart said, her voice calm and authoritative, “as you may have noticed, Johnny has a note pinned to his shirt today. Johnny’s behavior yesterday was unacceptable, and both the school and his parents have addressed it thoroughly.”

Johnny squirmed where he stood, his face burning with humiliation as Miss Hart unfolded the note. His classmates leaned forward, wide-eyed and grinning, eager to hear every word.

Miss Hart began to read, her tone measured and clear:

Dear Miss Hart,

Please be aware that Johnny received additional discipline at home last night. His father used a belt, and I doubt he’ll be sitting comfortably at school without a pillow. I trust this will reinforce the seriousness of his actions.

The classroom erupted into a wave of stifled laughter and whispers. Some students gasped, while others stared at Johnny, whose face was now a deep, fiery red. He stared at Miss Hart’s desk, wishing the ground would open up and swallow him whole.

Miss Hart folded the note neatly and set it on her desk, her sharp eyes scanning the room. “Let this be a lesson to all of you,” she said firmly. “Disobedience and disrespect will not be tolerated, whether it’s in my classroom or at home. Johnny’s punishment should serve as a warning for anyone else considering such behavior.”

She turned to Johnny, her expression softening only slightly. “Johnny, I trust you understand now just how serious your actions were?”

Johnny nodded miserably, his voice barely above a whisper. “Y-yes, ma’am.”

Miss Hart stood and walked to a tall cabinet at the back of the room, opening it to reveal various classroom supplies. After a moment, she pulled out a plain, plump pillow and turned back toward Johnny, holding it out to him.

“Here,” she said, handing it to him with a faintly amused smile. “I imagine you’ll find this useful today.”

Johnny hesitated, staring at the pillow in her hands, but a sharp glance from her made him take it. “Th-thank you, ma’am,” he stammered, clutching the pillow tightly as more whispers and muffled giggles erupted from his classmates.

“Take your seat, Johnny,” Miss Hart said, her tone brisk. “And let this be the last time we have such a spectacle.”

Carrying the pillow to his desk felt like the longest walk of Johnny’s life. He could feel every pair of eyes in the room on him, could hear the faint whispers and stifled laughter that followed his every step. When he finally reached his seat, he placed the pillow down carefully before lowering himself onto it, wincing as the soft cushioning met his sore bottom.

The teasing didn’t stop there. Throughout the day, Johnny had to carry the pillow from class to class, and every time he walked through the hallways, someone pointed or whispered behind his back.

“Hey, Johnny, nice pillow!” called one boy, smirking as he passed. “Guess your dad really lit you up, huh?”

“Does it still sting?” teased a girl from another class, her eyes wide with mock innocence. “Bet you’ll be using that pillow for the rest of the week.”

By lunchtime, Johnny was a wreck. His classmates teased him relentlessly, and even students from other grades had caught wind of his plight. Every time he moved, the pillow in his hands felt heavier, a humiliating symbol of the punishment he had endured and the discipline he would never live down.

During lunch recess, Johnny sat alone behind a tree near the edge of the schoolyard, clutching his lunchbox and wishing he could disappear. His sore bottom made it impossible to sit comfortably, and he spent most of the time shifting awkwardly, trying to avoid putting too much pressure on his tender skin. He hoped that staying out of sight would help him avoid any further humiliation, but deep down, he knew it was only a matter of time before someone found him.

Sure enough, a group of boys and girls from his class spotted him. They whispered among themselves before approaching, their faces filled with curiosity and mischief. Johnny’s heart sank as they surrounded him, cutting off any chance of escape.

“There you are, Johnny,” said Billy, one of the older boys, smirking as he folded his arms. “Why are you hiding back here? Afraid someone’s gonna ask about your sore little backside?”

“Leave me alone,” Johnny mumbled, clutching his lunchbox tighter and avoiding their eyes.

One of the girls, Maggie, leaned closer, her tone teasing. “Come on, Johnny. Everyone knows your dad whipped you with the belt last night. It’s all over the note Miss Hart read to us. Is it true? Was it on the bare?”

Johnny’s face turned beet red, and he stammered, “I—I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Oh, that’s a yes,” Billy said with a laugh, nudging one of the other boys. “Come on, Johnny, don’t be shy. We’re all dying to know how bad it was. Did it hurt so much you cried?”

“Shut up,” Johnny muttered, his voice trembling.

But the group wasn’t letting up. Another boy chimed in, “We should see for ourselves. Bet his backside is all red and welted. What do you think, Maggie?”

Maggie grinned. “I think he should show us. Come on, Johnny, let’s see the damage.”

“No!” Johnny exclaimed, his voice rising in panic. “I’m not showing you anything!”

“Fine,” Billy said with a shrug, his grin turning sly. “If you won’t show us, we’ll just have to take a look ourselves.”

Before Johnny could react, the boys grabbed him, pulling him up and dragging him toward the shed at the edge of the playground. He kicked and squirmed, but his protests were drowned out by their laughter and teasing. The girls followed close behind, giggling and egging the boys on.

When they reached the shed, they shoved Johnny face-down onto the ground behind it. Billy and another boy held his arms, while a third grabbed his kicking legs. Johnny struggled desperately, his cries muffled by the dirt as they pinned him in place.

“Hold him still!” Billy commanded, reaching for Johnny’s waistband. Johnny screamed and thrashed, but it was no use.

“No! Stop it! Please!” Johnny wailed, his voice cracking.

But the boys ignored him. With one swift motion, Billy yanked down Johnny’s trousers and briefs, exposing his swollen, red bottom to the group. Gasps and laughter erupted from the kids as they got their first look at the angry welts crisscrossing his tender skin.

“Wow,” one of the girls said, her eyes wide. “He really got it bad. Look at those marks!”

“No wonder he can’t sit,” another boy added with a chuckle. “Bet that belt hurt like crazy.”

Johnny sobbed into the ground, humiliated beyond words. He wanted to disappear, to wake up and find this was all a terrible dream, but the sharp laughter of his classmates and the sting of the cool air on his exposed skin reminded him it was all too real.

Billy, ever the instigator, smirked and turned to the girls, his voice dripping with mischief. “Hey, what do you think, girls? Should we turn him over for you?”

The girls gasped in unison, their faces lighting up with a mix of shock and embarrassment. Maggie, wide-eyed, let out a shriek. “Ew, no!”

Billy laughed, enjoying their reaction. “Why not?” he teased, winking at them.

Another girl clapped her hands over her face, half-laughing and half-horrified. “Gross! You’re disgusting, Billy!”

The suggestion sent the girls into a flurry of shrieks and giggles as they turned and bolted, running back toward the playground in a mix of mock outrage and genuine embarrassment. “You boys are awful!” one of them called over her shoulder, still laughing as she fled.

Billy watched them go, clearly pleased with himself, and turned back to Johnny, who was still trembling on the ground, his face buried in his hands. “Guess we scared off your audience, huh?” Billy said with a laugh. “Don’t worry, Johnny, I was just kidding. I wouldn’t have done it.”

The boys let him go, their laughter fading as they walked back to the playground, leaving Johnny alone behind the shed. He stayed there for a long moment, his sobs muffled by his arms, before finally managing to pull up his pants, stand and pull himself together. His bottom throbbed with pain, but the sting of humiliation burned even hotter. As he peeked around the corner of the shed, making sure the coast was clear as he headed back to class.

——

As the bell rang, signaling the end of one class and the start of another, Johnny shuffled awkwardly down the hallway, clutching the pillow Miss Hart had given him earlier. The stares and giggles from other students hadn’t let up all day, and he felt the weight of their teasing with every step. His face burned as he tried to avoid eye contact, focusing only on making it to his next class.

As he turned the corner, however, he nearly bumped into none other than Mr. Wallace, the principal, who was walking briskly in the opposite direction. The tall, stern man stopped abruptly, his sharp eyes narrowing as he took in the sight of Johnny clutching the pillow to his chest.

“Johnny Thompson,” Mr. Wallace said, his voice firm and commanding. “What on earth are you doing carrying a pillow around the school?”

Johnny froze, his heart racing as he scrambled for an explanation. He shifted uncomfortably, the soreness in his bottom making even standing still a challenge. “Uh, it’s… it’s for sitting, sir,” he mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper.

Mr. Wallace raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “For sitting?” he repeated. “And why, pray tell, would you need a pillow for sitting?”

Johnny swallowed hard, his face turning beet red. He glanced around the hallway, where a few curious students had slowed their pace to listen in. He felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room. “Um… because…” he stammered, avoiding Mr. Wallace’s piercing gaze.

“Because?” Mr. Wallace prompted, crossing his arms. “Spit it out, young man.”

Johnny hesitated, clutching the pillow tighter as if it could shield him from the growing humiliation. Finally, he mumbled, “Because my… my dad… he, um… whipped me with his belt… last night…”

The words came out barely audible, but they were enough to make Mr. Wallace’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. The few students lingering nearby gasped or exchanged amused glances, their whispers already spreading like wildfire.

“I see,” Mr. Wallace said after a moment, his voice heavy with disapproval. “So, it seems your behavior at school yesterday not only earned you a thorough spanking here but warranted further punishment at home.”

Johnny nodded miserably, staring at the floor. “Yes, sir,” he whispered.

Mr. Wallace studied him for a moment before his gaze dropped to the pillow in Johnny’s hands. A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “And Miss Hart gave you this to make sitting a little more bearable, I presume?”

“Yes, sir,” Johnny mumbled again, his voice trembling.

“Well,” Mr. Wallace said, straightening his posture. “Let’s hope that the memory of yesterday—and the consequences you faced—will keep you from repeating your mistakes. I expect nothing but exemplary behavior from you for the rest of the year. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir,” Johnny said, his face burning as he clutched the pillow tighter.

Mr. Wallace gestured for him to step closer. “If you’re carrying around a pillow, I take it you’re still quite sore,” he said, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly. “And by the way you’re walking, I’d say that soreness is more than just a mild inconvenience.”

Johnny’s face burned hotter, and he shifted uncomfortably on his feet. “Uh, yes, sir. It still… hurts a lot.”

Mr. Wallace let out a small sigh, though his stern demeanor didn’t waver. “I don’t condone misbehavior, Johnny, but I also understand the importance of recovery. Come along with me to the nurse’s office.”

Johnny blinked in confusion. “The nurse’s office?” he repeated hesitantly.

“Yes,” Mr. Wallace said, motioning for him to follow. “Let’s see if nurse can ease some of the swelling and discomfort.”

Johnny’s stomach flipped as a fresh wave of humiliation washed over him. The idea of someone examining his already punished bottom, let alone applying cream to it, made him want to melt into the floor. “I—I don’t think it’s necessary, sir,” he mumbled, staring at his shoes.

“Enough,” Mr. Wallace said firmly, cutting off Johnny’s protest. “Follow me, young man.”

Reluctantly, Johnny shuffled after the principal, clutching the pillow tightly to his chest as they navigated the hallways. Each step felt heavier than the last, and his face burned as he imagined the nurse’s reaction to seeing him in this state. The few students who passed them along the way gave Johnny curious looks, though they quickly turned away when they caught sight of Mr. Wallace’s imposing frame.

When they arrived at the nurse’s office, Mr. Wallace opened the door without hesitation, motioning for Johnny to step inside. The nurse, a middle-aged woman with a no-nonsense demeanor, looked up from her desk and immediately raised an eyebrow at the sight of the boy clutching a pillow.

“Mr. Wallace,” she greeted, setting down her paperwork. “What can I do for you?”

“This young man,” Mr. Wallace said, placing a firm hand on Johnny’s shoulder, “is in need of some attention. He’s recently been disciplined—both here and at home—and he’s clearly still feeling the effects. Would you mind having a look and seeing if anything can be done?”

The nurse’s expression softened slightly, though there was still a touch of amusement in her eyes. “Ah, I see. Poor thing,” she said, standing and gesturing toward the examination table. “Come on, young man. Let’s have a look. Lie down on the table for me—face up, please.”

Johnny froze, his stomach twisting with dread as the nurse gestured toward the examination table. “Face up?” he stammered, his voice quivering. “I—I don’t think it’s necessary, ma’am. Really, I’ll be fine…”

“Now, Johnny,” Mr. Wallace interrupted, his tone sharp. “You’ve been given instructions. Do as you’re told.”

Fresh tears welled up in Johnny’s eyes as he shuffled slowly toward the table, moving as though his legs weighed a hundred pounds each. He climbed up awkwardly, his sore bottom brushing against the crinkly paper, making him wince. With a shaky breath, he lay back, his hands fidgeting nervously on his chest.

The nurse stepped over, pulling on a pair of gloves with a practiced snap. “Alright, Johnny, let’s get these trousers and underpants down so we can take a proper look,” she said, her tone calm and businesslike.

Johnny whimpered softly as she reached for the waistband of his trousers. He wanted to protest, but the stern presence of Mr. Wallace standing nearby left no room for argument. The nurse tugged his trousers down to his knees, followed quickly by his underpants, leaving him utterly exposed. His cheeks flushed crimson as he shut his eyes tightly, too mortified to meet her gaze as his penis and testicles lay completely exposed.

“Alright, Johnny, lift your legs for me,” she instructed.

Tears streaming down his face, Johnny reluctantly obeyed, lifting his legs slightly. The nurse took over, gently propping them up and holding them with one hand beneath his knees, leaving his sore bottom fully exposed for inspection. The position made him feel impossibly vulnerable, the angry red welts in the most private areas now on full display.

The nurse leaned back to assess the damage. “Oh my,” she murmured, her professional demeanor slipping just slightly. “Well, it’s no wonder you’re so sore, young man. These welts are quite severe.” She gestured to his deep red, welted bottom, where the marks crisscrossed over his tender skin. Her gaze traveled lower, and she tutted softly. “The welts extend to his inner thighs and… even into the cleft area. That must be quite uncomfortable.”

Johnny whimpered again, his tears spilling over as he clenched his fists on the table. The mention of the welts in such private areas made his humiliation feel unbearable.

“This will feel cold at first, but it should help ease the sting,” the nurse said, dipping her gloved fingers into a jar of soothing cream. She began applying it gently to the swollen, welted skin, her touch deliberate but clinical. Johnny whimpered at the initial sensation, the cool cream shocking against his overheated skin, but the relief was almost immediate.

The nurse worked carefully, her fingers smoothing the cream over every welt. “The inner thigh marks are quite raw,” she remarked as she worked, her hand steady. “I’ll apply a bit extra here to help prevent chafing.” She dabbed a bit more cream onto the sensitive areas, moving methodically. Her grip on his legs remained firm, holding him securely as she spread the cream into the cleft area with practiced ease.

Johnny sobbed softly, his cheeks burning with shame as she continued. He clenched his fists tightly on the table, every nerve in his body screaming with embarrassment. He felt utterly powerless, exposed in a way he never thought possible.

The vulnerability of his position was unbearable—his trousers and underpants down, his sore, welted bottom fully exposed, and worst of all, his small, immature penis and testicles visible and utterly unprotected. He felt like a helpless infant being cared for, the kind of powerless humiliation he never thought he’d experience at his age.

Mr. Wallace loomed over him, his sharp gaze fixed on Johnny as he crossed his arms. Johnny’s mind raced with shame, painfully aware of how exposed he was. He felt as though he were a baby on a changing table, every last shred of dignity stripped away. His small body, his exposed genitals—just lying there—made him feel small, insignificant, and powerless under the critical gaze of an authority figure.

The nurse, still holding his legs, worked diligently, seemingly unfazed by the intimacy of the situation. But for Johnny, every movement of her hand against his sore bottom, every inadvertent brush against his most private areas, his testicles, his bumhole, only deepened his humiliation. He squeezed his eyes shut, wishing he could vanish, his tears silently streaming down the sides of his face.

After a few more moments, the nurse set Johnny’s legs back down gently and pulled his underpants back into place with efficient precision. “There we go,” she said, stepping back and removing her gloves. “You should feel much better now, Johnny. Hopefully, this will help you get through the rest of the day.”

“Thank you, Nurse,” Mr. Wallace said. He turned to Johnny, his expression stern. “Get dressed and come with me. I’ll take you back to class.”

Johnny nodded miserably, pulling his trousers up with trembling hands. The cream soothed the sting, but his humiliation was raw and fresh, and as he followed Mr. Wallace out of the nurse’s office, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d never live this down.

——

As the final bell rang and students began streaming out of the classroom, Johnny lingered behind, clutching the pillow Miss Hart had lent him tightly to his chest. His face was still red from the teasing he had endured all day, and his tender bottom throbbed with every step. He shuffled nervously toward Miss Hart’s desk, knowing he needed to return the pillow before leaving for home.

Miss Hart was seated at her desk, reviewing papers. She looked up as Johnny approached, her sharp eyes immediately noting the pillow in his hands. A faint smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.

“Ah, Johnny,” she said, setting down her pen. “Come to return the pillow, I see?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Johnny mumbled, holding it out to her. His gaze was fixed firmly on the desk, avoiding her eyes.

Miss Hart took the pillow, setting it on the edge of her desk with a precise motion. Then, folding her hands, she looked at Johnny with a mix of curiosity and authority. “And how is your bottom holding up?” she asked matter-of-factly, her tone making it clear she expected an honest answer.

Johnny’s face burned crimson, and he shifted uncomfortably, the movement reminding him of just how sore he still was. “It… it still hurts, ma’am,” he admitted quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Miss Hart nodded, her expression neither overly sympathetic nor dismissive. “I imagine it does. Between Mr. Wallace’s hand, twice, and your father’s belt, you’ve had quite a thorough lesson yesterday, haven’t you?”

Johnny nodded miserably, staring at his shoes. “Yes, ma’am,” he mumbled.

“And have you learned from it?” she pressed, her voice firm but not unkind.

“Yes, ma’am,” Johnny said again, his voice trembling slightly. “I—I won’t act up no more, I promise.”

Miss Hart studied him for a moment, then nodded in satisfaction. “It’s ’I won’t act up anymore’. And good. That’s what I like to hear. Discipline isn’t meant to embarrass or hurt you for no reason, Johnny—it’s meant to teach you something. And I hope this experience has taught you to respect your teachers and behave appropriately in class.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Johnny said, his face still burning with shame.

Miss Hart picked up the pillow and placed it back in the cabinet before turning back to him. “All right, off you go. And remember, I expect perfect behavior from here on out.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Johnny said one last time before turning and hurrying toward the door. As he left the classroom and stepped into the cool afternoon air, he let out a sigh of relief, grateful to finally be heading home—though the memory of the day’s humiliation would linger far longer than the sting in his bottom.

——

As Johnny trudged home, his face was set in a deep scowl. The day had been one humiliation after another, and the sting of his classmates’ teasing felt almost worse than the soreness in his bottom. By the time he stepped through the front door, he was in no mood for conversation.

“Johnny, is that you?” his mother called from the kitchen.

“Yeah,” he muttered, tossing his school bag onto the floor and kicking off his shoes.

Mrs. Thompson appeared in the doorway, wiping her hands on a towel. She studied her son’s grumpy posture, noting the furrowed brow and clenched fists. “How was your day, Johnny?” she asked, her tone gentle but firm.

Johnny huffed, glaring at the floor. “It was awful,” he snapped. “Everyone wouldn’t stop teasing me about the note! It’s your fault for writing all that stuff!”

Mrs. Thompson’s eyebrows shot up at his tone, and her lips pressed into a thin line. “Excuse me?” she said sharply.

Johnny didn’t back down, his frustration boiling over. “You heard me! If you hadn’t written that stupid note to Miss Harding none of this would’ve happened! Now everyone at school thinks I’m some kind of baby!”

Mrs. Thompson crossed her arms, her expression darkening. “Johnny, watch your tone,” she said, her voice low and warning. “I won’t tolerate you speaking to me like that.”

But Johnny, still reeling from the day’s events, wasn’t thinking clearly. “Why not? It’s the truth! You embarrassed me in front of everyone! You’re the reason I got teased today!” he shouted, his voice cracking with a mixture of anger and self-pity.

Mrs. Thompson’s face grew stern. She stepped forward, towering over him. “Young man, you’ve got about five seconds to lower your voice and apologize,” she said firmly, “or you’re going to find yourself over my knee”

“No!” Johnny yelled, beside himself.

“Come here, young man,” his mother said.

Johnny hesitated, realizing too late that he’d crossed a line. “I—I didn’t mean—” he stammered, backing up slightly.

“Now, Johnny,” his mother said, her voice steely. “You do not speak to me like that. Come here this instant.”

Reluctantly, Johnny shuffled forward, his head down but his fists still clenched. Mrs. Thompson grabbed a chair from the kitchen table and sat down, pointing firmly at her lap.

“You’re in a foul mood, but that’s no excuse for disrespect,” she said. “Clearly, the lessons you learned at school and from your father last night weren’t enough. Over my knee—now.”

Johnny’s eyes widened in panic. “No, Mama! Please! I’m sorry—I didn’t mean it!”

But Mrs. Thompson wasn’t having it. She reached out, took hold of his arm, and pulled him firmly across her lap. Johnny squirmed and kicked, but her grip was unyielding.

“Let’s see what we’re working with,” she said, flipping up his school shirt and reaching for the waistband of his trousers.

“No, Mama, please!” Johnny wailed, squirming in her lap. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it!”

But Mrs. Thompson was unmoved. With one swift motion, she tugged down his trousers and briefs, baring his bottom once again. Her eyebrows rose slightly at the sight of his already red and welted skin, a clear reminder of the belt whipping his father had given him the night before.

“Well,” she said, her tone clipped as she rested her hand lightly on his sore backside, making him flinch. “I’d have thought a boy with a bottom in this condition would know better than to speak to me with such disrespect. But clearly, you’ve decided to test my patience anyway.”

Johnny sobbed into his hands, trembling with humiliation. “Please, Mama! It still hurts! Don’t spank me again!”

“That’s not my concern,” Mrs. Thompson said firmly, raising her hand. “If you can’t keep a civil tongue, then you’ll take the consequences, sore bottom or not.”

And with that, she began the spanking. Her hand landed with sharp, precise smacks, reigniting the fiery pain in Johnny’s already tender cheeks. He wailed and kicked, his legs flailing helplessly as fresh tears poured down his face.

“You will,” smack, “learn,” smack, “to speak,” smack, “to me,” smack, “with respect!” Smack, smack, smack!

Johnny’s cries grew louder as the spanking continued, each swat landing squarely on his welted bottom, the sting compounding the deep soreness left by his father’s belt. “I’m sorry!” he sobbed, his voice breaking. “I’ll be good! Please stop!”

Mrs. Thompson delivered a final, stinging swat to the crease between his bottom and thighs before pausing, her hand resting on his back. “Good,” she said, her tone still firm. “I hope you remember this next time you think about speaking out of turn.”

She lifted him off her lap and pointed to the corner. “Go. Hands on your head, and no rubbing,” she ordered.

Johnny scrambled to pull his trousers and briefs back up, desperate to preserve what little dignity he had left, but Mrs. Thompson wasn’t done. Her sharp eyes caught the motion, and in an instant, she seized his arm again, stopping him mid-action.

“Those pants stay down, young man,” she barked, her voice leaving no room for argument.

“But Mama—someone might see!” Johnny wailed, his hands freezing in place.

“Good,” she snapped, standing and firmly guiding him toward the corner with several swats to his already red and welted backside. Smack! Smack! Smack! Each sharp spank made Johnny yelp and stumble, his trousers and briefs tangling around his ankles as he shuffled awkwardly.

“Maybe a little embarrassment will help you remember your manners next time!” she said, punctuating her words with another series of smacks that echoed through the room. Johnny’s cries grew louder as the sting reignited, tears pouring freely down his face.

By the time they reached the corner, his legs were trembling, his bare bottom glowing scarlet and fully exposed. Mrs. Thompson gave him one final swat, hard enough to make him yelp, before pointing to the wall. “Nose to the corner, hands on your head. Now.”

Johnny obeyed, his sobs echoing in the small room as he shuffled into place, his shoulders shaking with humiliation. “Mama, please—don’t leave me like this,” he begged, his voice barely above a whisper.

“You brought this on yourself, Johnny,” Mrs. Thompson said, her tone unyielding. “You’ll stand there just as you are, bare-bottomed and reflecting on your behavior, until I say otherwise. And if you so much as twitch out of place, I’ll take the belt to you myself. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Johnny choked out, his voice trembling. He squeezed his eyes shut, praying no one would come by.

Behind him, Mrs. Thompson returned to her kitchen chores, her expression firm but resolute. “Let’s see if this helps you think twice about that disrespectful mouth of yours,” she muttered. Meanwhile, Johnny stood miserably in the kitchen corner, the heat from his spanking radiating from his bare skin, a reminder of the lesson he’d carry with him long after this moment.

——

Just as he stood there, trembling with humiliation, the front door opened, and Sarah walked in with two of her friends. Their chatter stopped instantly when they spotted Johnny in the corner, his welted bottom facing the room.

“Oh my goodness!” one of the girls exclaimed, her eyes wide with shock and amusement. “What happened to him?”

Sarah grinned, walking closer. “He got a belting last night for being naughty at school,” she said matter-of-factly, pointing at the vivid marks crisscrossing his bottom. “Looks like Mama decided to give him a follow-up.”

The other girl leaned in, giggling. “Those welts are awful! No wonder he’s crying.”

“Poor Johnny,” Sarah said mockingly, folding her arms. “Bet he wishes he’d have behaved now.”

“Sarah,” Mrs. Thompson said sharply, though her tone wasn’t entirely scolding. “Take your friends to the living room. Johnny will stay here until he’s had enough time to think about his behavior.”

“Yes, Mama,” Sarah replied, smirking as she turned to leave. “Come on, girls. Let’s let Johnny reflect on his poor choices.”

The girls giggled as they walked away, their laughter echoing in Johnny’s ears as he stood miserably in the corner, his burning, welted bottom on display for anyone who cared to look. The humiliation was unbearable, but he knew better than to move or speak out again. For now, all he could do was wait for his mother to decide he’d had enough.

——

The sound of the front door opening later that evening made Johnny’s heart sink further, even as he remained standing in the corner with his hands on his head. His sore, welted bottom throbbed, and his face was still wet with tears. He didn’t dare turn around, but he knew from the heavy footsteps that his father had come home.

“Evening, dear,” Mr. Thompson said, his voice tired but carrying the weight of authority. “What’s this?” His eyes landed on Johnny’s trembling form in the corner, his red and welted bottom still on full display. “Not again,” he said, his voice a mix of exasperation and disappointment.

Mrs. Thompson turned from the stove, folding her arms. “Yes, I’m afraid so,” she replied, her tone sharp. “He came home in a foul mood after all the teasing at school and decided to lash out at me when I asked about his day.”

Mr. Thompson sighed, setting his lunch pail on the counter. He walked closer to the corner, inspecting Johnny’s thoroughly punished backside with a critical eye. “Looks like he’s already had a reminder about how to behave,” he said, his tone gruff. Then he turned to his wife. “Do you want me to give him the strap?”

“No,” Mrs. Thompson said, shaking her head. “A good hand-spanking over my knee was all he needed.”

Mr. Thompson raised an eyebrow, looking back at Johnny, who was trembling visibly. “Are you sure that’s all he needed?” he asked pointedly. “After the belt last night, you’d think he’d have learned his lesson.”

Mrs. Thompson placed her hands on her hips. “Oh, he’ll think twice before raising his voice at me again,” she said confidently.

Mr. Thompson gave a small grunt of acknowledgment, though his expression remained stern. “You’d better hope so,” he said, turning his attention back to Johnny. “Because if I hear one more word about you misbehaving, young man, you will find yourself back over the couch for another strapping, welts or no welts. Is that clear?”

Johnny sniffled and nodded hastily, his voice shaking as he croaked out, “Y-yes, sir.”

“Good,” his father said, his tone final. He turned to Mrs. Thompson. “Let me know if he acts up again. I’ll make sure he remembers it.”

“Of course,” Mrs. Thompson replied, her tone firm.

Satisfied, Mr. Thompson stepped away, heading toward the living room to relax after his long day at work. Mrs. Thompson turned back to Johnny, her gaze softening slightly.

“All right, Johnny,” she said after a moment. “You can pull your pants up and go to your room. But I don’t want to hear a single complaint or sour word out of you for the rest of the evening. Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Johnny whispered, his hands trembling as he reached down to pull up his trousers and briefs. The fabric scraped against his tender, welted bottom, making him wince, but he didn’t dare complain. He shuffled out of the kitchen, his head bowed.

As he passed the living room, Sarah and her two friends were still lounging on the couch, chatting and giggling. Their laughter stopped the moment Johnny entered the room, and three pairs of eyes turned to him. His red, puffy face and trembling lip told the whole story.

“Aw, poor Johnny,” Sarah cooed mockingly, sitting up straighter. “Still getting spanked at your age? Don’t you think it’s time to grow up?”

The girls burst into giggles, and one of Sarah’s friends chimed in. “Seriously, Johnny. You’re what—eleven? Twelve? I thought spankings were for little kids.”

Johnny tried to ignore them, his face burning with fresh humiliation, but their taunts followed him as he made his way toward the stairs.

“You know,” Sarah said, her grin widening, “you must’ve really been naughty to get your bottom spanked four times in two days, that must be some record.”

That was the breaking point. Johnny let out a choked sob, his tears spilling over as he clutched the railing and began to cry. His shoulders shook with each gasping breath, and the laughter behind him only seemed to grow louder.

“Girls!” Mrs. Thompson’s sharp voice cut through the noise, silencing them instantly. She appeared in the doorway, her hands on her hips and her expression fierce. “That’s enough.”

Johnny sniffled, glancing back at his mother, but the look she gave him was no softer than the one she directed at the girls. “Johnny,” she said, her voice cool and firm, “if you don’t get your little spanked bottom up those stairs right now, I’ll really give you something to cry about.”

Her words sent a shiver through Johnny, and he didn’t hesitate another moment. Letting out a fresh sob, he turned and bolted up the stairs, his hands gripping the railing as he climbed as fast as his trembling legs would allow. The sound of the girls’ muffled giggles and his mother’s stern voice faded as he disappeared down the hall, slamming the door to his room behind him.

In his room, Johnny flopped face-down onto his bed, burying his face in the pillow as he cried. His bottom still burned fiercely, the welts throbbing against the scratchy fabric of his briefs, but it was the humiliation that hurt most of all. The teasing, the corner time, the sight of Sarah and her friends laughing at him—it was too much.

Downstairs, Mrs. Thompson turned back to Sarah and her friends, her sharp gaze sweeping over them. “You should all be ashamed of yourselves,” she said curtly. “Teasing your brother like that after the day he’s had. Sarah, you should know better.”

Sarah shrugged, though her cheeks turned pink under her mother’s glare. “We were just joking, Mama.”

“Well, it’s not funny,” Mrs. Thompson snapped. “You’ve humiliated him enough. Now, if I hear one more word about Johnny’s punishment out of any of you, I’ll make sure you remember how it feels to have a spanked bottom of your own. Am I clear?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Sarah mumbled, while her friends nodded quickly, their grins fading.

Satisfied, Mrs. Thompson turned back toward the kitchen, her expression still stern. Upstairs, Johnny cried himself out, clutching his pillow as he lay on his bed, swearing silently to himself that he would never give anyone another reason to spank him again.

——

Upstairs, Sarah and her two friends retreated to her room, still giggling quietly about Johnny’s ordeal. They shut the door, but even with it closed, they could hear the faint sound of Johnny’s muffled sobs from the room next door. It was a pitiful noise, and though one of the girls looked a little guilty, it wasn’t enough to stop the conversation.

“Your parents are so strict,” said Maggie, plopping onto Sarah’s bed. “I mean, my mom yells and takes away privileges, but this? Johnny’s probably still crying because of that belting.”

“You heard it all, didn’t you?” asked Anna, her voice hushed with a mix of fascination and disbelief. “Your mom said it, right? That he got it with the belt last night?”

Sarah smirked and sat down on her desk chair, spinning it idly. “Oh, I didn’t just hear it,” she said with a sly grin. “Mom and I saw the whole thing.”

Both girls gasped, their eyes widening. “No way,” Maggie said, leaning forward eagerly. “You’re kidding.”

Sarah shook her head, clearly enjoying the attention. “Nope. Daddy whipped him good. Pants and undies down, bent right over the arm of the couch.” She mimicked the motion, leaning over and laughing at the shocked expressions on her friends’ faces.

“Wait, your mom let him do that?!” Anna exclaimed. “With both of you there?”

“Mom insisted,” Sarah said with a shrug. “She said it was to teach him a proper lesson. We were right there in the kitchen when Daddy started. Let’s just say, Johnny didn’t handle it very well.”

Maggie covered her mouth, looking half-mortified and half-amused. “I can’t even imagine! That must have been so embarrassing for him! Did he cry?”

“Like a baby,” Sarah said, grinning. “He was kicking and bawling the whole time. His bottom was already red from school, and by the time Daddy finished, it was covered in welts.”

Anna let out a low whistle. “Wow. I mean, my dad’s strict, but I don’t think he’d ever spank me in front of my brother or my mom. Poor Johnny.”

“Well, it’s his own fault,” Sarah said, folding her arms. “If he hadn’t acted up at school, he wouldn’t have gotten belted at all.”

“What happened at school, anyway?” Maggie asked curiously.

Sarah leaned back in her chair, a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “Oh, that’s the best part. It wasn’t just one spanking—he got two. The way I heard, he’d been misbehaving for quite a while, and finally Miss Hart had enough and took him to the principal’s office, and Mr. Wallace spanked him right there, right in front of Miss Hart, over his knee like a little kid. Then Miss Hart took him back and put him in the corner…”

“In the corner? In front of everybody?” Anna asked.

“Yup. But get this. Later, he kept misbehaving during corner time, so guess what?”

“What?” Maggie and Anna asked in unison, leaning

“Mr. Wallace came to the classroom and spanked him in front of everyone,” Sarah said, drawing out the words for effect. “Bare bottom, over his knee, with Miss Hart and all the kids in the class watching the whole time.”

The two girls gasped, their jaws dropping in unison. “No way,” Anna said, her voice full of disbelief. “In front of the whole class? Like, with everyone watching? Literally?”

Sarah nodded, grinning. “Literally. From what I heard, he was crying before it even started, and by the time it was over, his bottom was so red you could practically feel the heat from across the room.”

“That’s insane!” Maggie said, shaking her head. “I’d die if that happened to me. How did he even go back to his seat?”

“He didn’t, really,” Sarah said, laughing. “Miss Hart made him stand in the corner after that.”

“Bare bum?” Anna asked.

“No, undies up, apparently. But afterwards she sent him home with a note pinned to him like a kindergarten. And that’s when he got whipped by Daddy.”

Both girls dissolved into laughter, clutching their stomachs. “Oh my God,” Anna said, wiping tears from her eyes. “After all that, Johnny must have wanted to crawl into a hole and never come out.”

“Well, he’s been crying about it ever since,” Sarah said, gesturing toward the wall separating her room from Johnny’s. “Serves him right for being such a little brat.”

The laughter died down after a while, though the girls occasionally shot amused glances at the wall, where Johnny’s faint sniffles were still audible. For Johnny, every moment of their conversation felt like a fresh wave of humiliation, even though he couldn’t clearly make out every word, he got the gist. Upstairs or at school, it seemed there was no escape from the relentless teasing and shame.

——

Downstairs, in the quiet of the kitchen after dinner, Johnny’s parents sat at the table, their faces drawn with concern. Mr. Thompson set his coffee cup down with a sharp clink and leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms.

“This boy,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Spanked twice at school, belted at home, and still he comes back mouthing off to you? What’s it going to take to get through to him?”

Mrs. Thompson sighed, rubbing her temples. “I don’t know, Harold. I thought after last night, he’d understand how serious this is. And yet, he came home today in the same foul mood, lashing out like nothing had changed. I’m at my wit’s end.”

Mr. Thompson frowned, tapping his fingers on the table. “Well, clearly we’re not the only ones having trouble with him. That note from Miss Hart made it clear his behavior at school has been just as bad as it’s been at home. Maybe worse. We need to address this with them.”

Mrs. Thompson nodded thoughtfully. “You’re right. This isn’t just about us anymore—it’s about his teachers, his classmates… everyone who has to deal with him. If we’re going to turn things around, we need to be on the same page with the school.”

“So what do you suggest?” Mr. Thompson asked, leaning forward.

“We call Miss Hart and set up a meeting,” Mrs. Thompson replied firmly. “She mentioned she’d already spoken to the principal about Johnny’s behavior, so we’ll meet with both of them. They can tell us exactly what’s been happening in class, and we can work out a plan together.”

Mr. Thompson nodded in agreement. “Good idea. And Johnny’s coming with us. He’s going to sit there and hear exactly what’s being said about him, no matter how uncomfortable it makes him.”

“Absolutely,” Mrs. Thompson said. “He needs to understand the seriousness of this. No hiding behind notes or excuses this time.”

Mr. Thompson picked up his coffee cup again, taking a long sip. “I’ll make the call first thing tomorrow. We’ll see what Miss Hart and Mr. Wallace have to say.”

Mrs. Thompson glanced toward the ceiling, where faint muffled sniffles could still be heard from Johnny’s room. “He’s not going to like it,” she said softly, almost to herself.

Mr. Thompson set his cup down again with a decisive thud. “He doesn’t have to like it. He has to learn from it.”

They sat in silence for a moment, both deep in thought about the steps they needed to take. The meeting, they hoped, would be the start of a new chapter for Johnny—a chapter where he finally began to understand the consequences of his behavior and the expectations placed on him at school and at home.

——

The next day, Johnny found himself sitting in the principal’s office, his stomach churning with dread. He sat stiffly in a chair beside his parents, the soreness from the previous days’ punishments making even that uncomfortable. Across from him sat Miss Hart and Mr. Wallace, both with serious expressions. The air in the room was tense, and Johnny’s ears burned as the adults began to discuss him as though he weren’t even there.

“Thank you for coming in,” Mr. Wallace began, folding his hands on the desk. “My understanding from Miss Hart is that Johnny’s behavior this past week has been, frankly, unacceptable. Disruptive, disrespectful, and completely out of line. We’ve taken steps here at school to address it, but it seems the message hasn’t stuck.”

Miss Hart nodded, her sharp gaze flicking to Johnny, who shrank under her scrutiny. “That’s putting it lightly, Mr. Wallace,” she said. “Johnny’s behavior in my classroom has been a constant distraction for weeks now. He’s not only disrupting his own learning but that of his classmates. The incidents this week were the last straws.”

Mrs. Thompson sighed, her face tight with frustration. “We’ve been dealing with similar issues at home,” she admitted. “His father gave him a thorough belting last night, but even after all that, he’s still acting out, so I followed up with another spanking when he mouthed off to me.”

Mr. Wallace raised an eyebrow. “Clearly, the discipline he’s receiving isn’t sinking in as it should.”

“I agree,” Mr. Thompson said, his tone grim. “I’ve always believed in firm discipline, and Johnny’s always responded to it before. But this time, it seems like he needs something more. Something consistent.”

“That’s exactly what we’re here to discuss,” Miss Hart said, her voice steady and firm. She turned to Johnny, her sharp eyes locking onto his tear-filled ones. “Johnny, this is about helping you, even if you don’t realize it yet. You’ve proven that you need stricter boundaries, both at home and at school. We’re going to make sure you get them.”

Johnny shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his hands gripping the edges of the chair. “P-please,” he stammered, his voice cracking. “I—I’ll be good! I promise! Please don’t—”

“Johnny,” Mr. Wallace interrupted, his voice commanding. “This isn’t up for negotiation.”

Mrs. Thompson cleared her throat. “Harold and I agree that Johnny needs to understand the seriousness of his actions, not just at home but in the classroom as well. We’re certainly stepping up his consequences at home, and we think they should be stepped up at school as well.”

Mr. Wallace leaned forward slightly, addressing both parents. “I agree completely. What I’d suggest is this: empower Miss Hart to administer discipline when necessary. Spankings, specifically. If Johnny misbehaves in her classroom again, she’ll handle it immediately. No sending him to me or waiting for a note to be sent home. He’ll feel the consequences of his actions right then and there.”

Johnny’s head snapped up, his face pale. “No! Please, Mama, Papa—don’t let her—”

“Quiet,” Mr. Thompson barked, cutting him off. “You’ve brought this on yourself, young man. If you’d acted right the first time, we wouldn’t even be here.”

Mrs. Thompson nodded in agreement. “Miss Hart, we trust your judgment completely. If Johnny steps out of line, you have our full permission to spank him, whether it’s a hand spanking, the paddle, or whatever you deem necessary, right on his little bare bum.”

Johnny’s mouth dropped open in horror, fresh tears streaming down his cheeks. “Please!” he begged, his voice trembling. “I’ll be good! I swear! I won’t do anything bad again!”

Miss Hart folded her hands in her lap, her expression calm but firm. “That’s exactly what I expect, Johnny. If you behave, you have nothing to worry about. But if you don’t, there will be no leniency.”

Mr. Wallace cleared his throat, his authoritative tone filling the room. “Let me be clear: this isn’t just about punishment. It’s about teaching Johnny accountability and respect. Miss Hart will have full authority to discipline him, but we’ll also keep you informed. We’re working together to ensure he understands the consequences of his actions at all times.”

Mr. Thompson nodded approvingly. “Good. The more consistent we are, the better. And Johnny—” he turned to his son, who sat trembling and teary-eyed, “—if we hear about even one incident of misbehavior, you’ll get a belting at home to match whatever Miss Hart gives you at school. Do you understand?”

Johnny sniffled, barely able to speak. “Y-yes, sir.”

Miss Hart stood, smoothing her skirt. “Then we’re all in agreement,” she said, her gaze fixed on Johnny. “Your behavior changes starting today, Johnny. Or you’ll face the consequences. No exceptions.”

As the meeting seemed to be wrapping up, Mr. Wallace leaned back in his chair, stroking his chin thoughtfully. His stern gaze flicked between Johnny and his parents, and after a moment, he cleared his throat.

“Before we conclude,” he began, his voice calm but firm, “it might be best to send Johnny off with a very clear message. If we’re to move forward with stricter discipline, he should understand—right now—that we mean business.”

Miss Hart nodded approvingly, folding her arms as she turned her sharp eyes on Johnny. “I couldn’t agree more, Mr. Wallace. Johnny’s behavior this week has shown a complete disregard for authority. Reinforcing the seriousness of this conversation with immediate consequences might help make it stick.”

Johnny froze, his heart sinking like a stone. “N-no!” he stammered, his voice trembling. “I—I’ll be good! Please, I’ve already been spanked enough!”

“Enough?” Mr. Thompson snapped, his eyebrows knitting together. “Clearly not, or we wouldn’t be here having this meeting.”

Mrs. Thompson turned to Miss Hart. “Would you prefer to handle this, or shall my husband take care of it?”

Miss Hart raised a brow, but before she could speak, Mr. Wallace interjected. “We have a paddle here in the office. I believe I should deliver this one, as the authority of the school.”

Johnny’s face drained of color, and fresh tears welled up in his eyes. “Please, no! I’ll be good, I promise! Please don’t paddle me!”

“Enough whining, Johnny,” Mr. Thompson said sternly. “Stand up and get over there. If you know what’s good for you, you won’t make this worse for yourself.”

Johnny’s knees wobbled as he slowly stood from his chair, his face burning with humiliation as all eyes were on him. Mr. Wallace rose from his seat and walked to a cabinet near the wall, pulling out a sturdy wooden paddle. The sight of it made Johnny’s stomach churn.

“Step forward, Johnny,” Mr. Wallace commanded, holding the paddle firmly in his hand.

Johnny looked desperately at his parents, hoping for mercy, but their expressions were hard and unyielding. With his head bowed, he shuffled forward, his heart pounding in his chest.

“Lower your trousers and underpants,” Mr. Wallace said, his voice cold and steady. “We’ll do this properly.”

Johnny let out a choked sob, his trembling hands fumbling with the waistband of his trousers. “Please…” he whimpered, but a sharp look from his father silenced him. Slowly, he lowered his trousers and then his briefs, exposing his already red, welted bottom.

Miss Hart watched silently, her sharp gaze unflinching, while Mrs. Thompson folded her arms, her expression stern. Mr. Thompson gave a small nod of approval as Johnny bent over the desk, his bare bottom raised and vulnerable.

Mr. Wallace paused for a moment, inspecting the vivid marks crisscrossing Johnny’s bare backside. He glanced at Mr. Thompson and nodded approvingly. “You’ve done a thorough job, Mr. Thompson. That belting was well deserved—and from the looks of it, quite effective.”

Mr. Thompson folded his arms, his face still stern. “I thought so too,” he said, his voice gruff. “But apparently, it wasn’t enough to keep him in line.”

Mr. Wallace shook his head in mild disbelief. “I’m surprised it didn’t do the trick. A belting like that should’ve been more than enough. But if Johnny’s determined to continue misbehaving, then clearly we need to reinforce the message.”

Johnny let out a pitiful sob, his face burning as he buried it in his arms. The humiliation of having his punishment discussed so casually, while he lay there exposed and vulnerable, was almost as painful as the whipping itself.

Miss Hart, standing nearby with her arms crossed, arched a brow and said, “Indeed. And if he doesn’t change his behavior after this, I’ll have no hesitation addressing it myself in the classroom. Rest assured, Johnny, this is your final warning.”

Mr. Wallace stepped behind Johnny, gripping the paddle tightly. “Six swats, Johnny,” he said firmly. “I expect you to hold still. This is meant to teach you respect and accountability.”

Johnny whimpered, fresh tears streaming down his face as he gripped the edge of the desk tighter. His already welted bottom flinched instinctively as Mr. Wallace raised the paddle high.

CRACK!

The first swat landed with a resounding thud, reigniting the fiery pain across Johnny’s tender backside. He let out a howl, his legs kicking involuntarily as tears poured down his face.

“Stay still,” Mr. Wallace commanded coldly, raising the paddle again.

CRACK!

The second swat landed squarely, and Johnny’s sobs grew louder. His hands clenched the desk as his legs trembled, his cries filling the room.

Mr. Wallace didn’t pause, delivering the next swat with precision.

CRACK!

Johnny’s whole body jerked forward as he wailed, his voice cracking. “I’m sorry! Please, I’ll be good! I’ll be good!”

But Mr. Wallace was unmoved. The fourth swat landed hard, sending fresh waves of pain coursing through Johnny’s welted skin.

CRACK!

Miss Hart watched silently, nodding in approval at the thoroughness of the punishment. Mrs. Thompson’s expression remained stoic, though her arms were crossed tightly. Mr. Thompson observed quietly, his jaw set, clearly satisfied that the paddle was driving home the message his belt had failed to.

CRACK!

CRACK!

By the time the sixth swat landed, Johnny was a sobbing, hiccuping mess, his bottom a deep, fiery red with darker welts crossing over the already tender flesh. He stayed bent over the desk, trembling as his cries filled the room.

Mr. Wallace stepped back, setting the paddle on the desk as he addressed Johnny’s parents. “This should reinforce what he’s already learned at home. If we remain consistent, I believe we’ll see real improvement in Johnny’s behavior.”

Mrs. Thompson nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Wallace. We’ll continue to hold him accountable at home, and I trust Miss Hart will do the same at school.”

Miss Hart straightened. “Absolutely. Johnny knows what’s expected of him now, and he knows the consequences if he chooses to misbehave again.”

“Johnny,” Mr. Thompson said sharply, his tone leaving no room for argument, “pull up your pants and thank Mr. Wallace for taking the time to correct you.”

Sniffling and trembling, Johnny slowly pulled up his briefs and trousers, wincing as the fabric brushed against his swollen bottom. He turned to Mr. Wallace, his tear-streaked face crumpled with shame. “Th-thank you, sir,” he stammered miserably.

Mr. Wallace nodded firmly. “You’re welcome, Johnny. Now, go back to class with Miss Hart and remember what you’ve learned today.”

Johnny shuffled out of the office, still sobbing quietly as his parents and teachers exchanged approving nods. Johnny left the office feeling utterly defeated. As he walked back to class with his parents’ stern warnings and Miss Hart’s sharp eyes weighing on him, he knew one thing for certain: his days of skating by were over.

——

In the classroom, Miss Hart walked straight to her desk without acknowledging the class and opened the top drawer, pulling out an object Johnny immediately recognized. In her hand was a long, thick wooden ruler. It was heavier than the ones they used for measuring, with a polished surface and sharp edges that caught the light ominously. She held it up for everyone to see, but her eyes were locked directly on Johnny.

“Good morning, class,” she began, her tone clipped and formal. “Before we begin our lessons today, I need to address an important matter of discipline.”

Her gaze swept the room, but her focus quickly returned to Johnny. “Johnny Thompson,” she said firmly, motioning for him to come to the front of the room.

Johnny hesitated, his stomach sinking as the weight of the moment hit him. Slowly, he shuffled to the front of the room, his head down and his ears burning as all eyes followed him.

“Stand here beside me,” she instructed. He obeyed, his gaze fixed on the polished wood floor as Miss Hart turned to address the class.

“As you are all well aware, Johnny has had ongoing issues with his behavior,” she began. “Despite multiple warnings, detentions, and even punishments from Principal Wallace, he continues to disrupt this classroom and disrespect the rules. That ends today.”

Johnny felt every word like a blow, his humiliation compounded by the whispers that rippled through the room. Miss Hart raised the ruler slightly, silencing the murmurs at once.

“After a meeting with Johnny’s parents and Principal Wallace,” she continued, “I have been granted the authority to administer discipline myself, whenever I see fit. Let me be perfectly clear about what this means.”

She turned to Johnny, who was frozen in place, and held the ruler out in front of him. “This,” she said, her tone cold and precise, “will be the tool I use to correct you. It is made of heavy wood, and I promise you, Johnny, it will sting incredibly.”

Johnny’s eyes widened, his face burning with dread as he stared at the ruler. He wanted to protest, to explain that he’d learned his lesson, but Miss Hart wasn’t finished.

“If—and I do mean if—you misbehave again, you will be taken over my knee, right here in this classroom,” she said, her voice cutting through the silence. “Your trousers and underpants will be lowered, and you will be spanked on the bare bottom with this ruler.”

Johnny’s mouth went dry, his humiliation hitting new depths as the class erupted into gasps and murmurs. Miss Hart silenced them with a sharp tap of the ruler against the edge of her desk.

“Not only that,” she continued, her eyes fixed firmly on Johnny, “but after your spanking, you will stand in the corner—bare-bottomed—for the entire class to see while you reflect on your behavior.”

She turned back to the class, addressing them as a whole. “Let me make one thing very clear: these disciplinary standards apply uniquely to Johnny. The rest of you will continue to follow the normal rules of this classroom. But Johnny,” she said, her eyes narrowing at him, “has proven that he requires more… direct methods of instruction.”

The room fell silent. Johnny’s cheeks burned hotter than ever, and his hands fidgeted nervously at his sides. Miss Hart placed the ruler firmly on her desk, its presence a constant reminder of the consequences that awaited him if he stepped out of line.

“Do you understand, Johnny?” she asked, her tone sharp.

“Yes, ma’am,” he mumbled, barely able to get the words out.

“Louder, Johnny,” she said, her voice rising. “I want everyone to hear you.”

“Yes, ma’am!” he repeated, his voice cracking with shame.

“Good,” Miss Hart said, her tone softening slightly. “I expect you to behave as good as gold from now on. If you cannot, you know exactly what will happen.”

She turned back to the class. “Let Johnny’s situation be a lesson to the rest of you. Misbehavior will not be tolerated in this classroom. Now, Johnny, go sit down.”

Johnny shuffled to his desk, his head hung low, his face still burning as the other students whispered behind their hands. As he sat wincing on his recently paddled bottom, he cast one last glance at the wooden ruler on Miss Hart’s desk, its polished surface gleaming under the morning sunlight.

One thing was certain: Johnny would do everything in his power to avoid giving her a reason to use it.

——

Over the course of the following week, Johnny Thompson was a changed boy. Gone were the disruptions, the muttered backtalk, and the half-hearted effort. Instead, he sat upright at his desk, his eyes fixed on Miss Hart as she taught. He didn’t just listen; he absorbed her every word, captivated by the way her sharp blue eyes lit up when she explained something and the way her curls framed her face beneath her cloche hat. He raised his hand to answer questions, completed his assignments on time, and even took careful notes during lessons. His classmates whispered about the transformation, exchanging knowing glances, but Johnny didn’t care. All he cared about was pleasing Miss Hart.

By Friday morning, his newfound dedication hadn’t gone unnoticed. After finishing the day’s arithmetic lesson, Miss Hart turned to face the class, her sharp gaze scanning the rows of desks.

“Johnny Thompson,” she said, her tone even but firm, “come to the front of the class.”

The room fell silent, and Johnny’s heart skipped a beat. He wasn’t in trouble—he hadn’t done anything wrong—but the thought of being called up in front of everyone by Miss Hart made his stomach flutter nervously. Slowly, he rose from his seat and walked to stand beside her, his cheeks already pink as he avoided her gaze.

Miss Hart crossed her arms, her expression serious but not unkind. For a moment, Johnny thought he’d done something wrong after all, but then she smiled—a small, rare smile that made his breath hitch.

“Class,” she began, addressing everyone, “I would like to take a moment to acknowledge the remarkable improvement we’ve seen in Johnny this week.”

Johnny’s face burned, and he could feel the weight of his classmates’ eyes on him. He glanced up at Miss Hart, and the warmth in her expression made his heart race.

“Johnny has been a model student these past few days,” she continued. “He has paid attention in every lesson, completed all of his assignments, and even gone above and beyond in participating during class. It’s a dramatic improvement from where he was before.”

Johnny’s ears burned, but beneath the embarrassment was a flicker of pride—and something else, a deeper warmth at the thought of Miss Hart noticing his efforts.

Miss Hart turned to him, her eyes meeting his. For a moment, Johnny forgot the rest of the class was even there. “Johnny, I want to commend you for your effort. It’s clear that you’re capable of great things when you put your mind to it.”

“Th-thank you, ma’am,” Johnny stammered, his voice barely above a whisper. He was sure his face was as red as a tomato.

Miss Hart nodded, her smile lingering. “You’ve done well, Johnny, and I expect you to keep up this good behavior. Do you understand?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Johnny said, his voice steadier now, though his heart still thudded in his chest. He wanted to make her proud, not just because of the ruler on her desk, but because of the way her approval made him feel.

“Good.” She gave him a small nod, the soft look in her eyes making his stomach flutter again, and gestured for him to return to his seat. As he walked back, his classmates’ eyes followed him, whispering and snickering, but Johnny didn’t care. His mind was still replaying Miss Hart’s smile and the way she’d looked at him, like she believed in him.

Sitting down, he dared a glance at her. She had already turned back to the blackboard, her wooden ruler untouched on the desk. Even though she had been so firm and unyielding in the past, today she’d looked almost proud of him.

Johnny smiled faintly, feeling a warm glow in his chest. He wasn’t just working hard to avoid trouble anymore—he was working hard because making Miss Hart happy made him happy. Maybe she was right: a little motivation and discipline could achieve wonders. But it didn’t hurt that his motivation came with sparkling blue eyes and the prettiest smile he’d ever seen.

——

The next day during the school day, Miss Hart called Johnny aside after the morning lesson. “Johnny,” she said, her voice calm but firm, “would you mind helping me carry some books up from the library?”

Johnny’s stomach twisted with nervous excitement. He had been avoiding her gaze ever since handing in his incomplete grammar workbook, worried she would say something in front of the whole class. But this request sounded innocent enough, and it gave him an excuse to spend a few minutes alone with her.

“Of course, ma’am,” he replied quickly, his heart thudding in his chest. He followed her down the hallway, glancing occasionally at the way her hair gleamed in the light or how confidently she walked. Miss Hart wasn’t just strict—she was beautiful, with her sparkling blue eyes and soft curls, and Johnny couldn’t help but admire her, even when he feared her sternness.

When they reached the quiet library, Miss Hart selected a stack of books and placed them on the table. But instead of handing them to Johnny, she pulled out a chair and gestured for him to sit. “Have a seat, Johnny,” she said, her tone still calm but now tinged with authority. “We need to talk.”

Johnny’s stomach dropped. His hands felt clammy as he lowered himself into the chair, staring down at his shoes. Miss Hart sat across from him, placing a familiar item on the table—his grammar workbook. His heart sank.

“Johnny,” she began, her voice gentle but unyielding, “I’ve reviewed your workbook. While I’ve been very pleased with your recent effort, I couldn’t help but notice that much of the earlier work is incomplete.”

Johnny’s face flushed red as tears pricked his eyes. He tried to speak, but the words caught in his throat. Finally, he managed to choke out, “I—I’m sorry, Miss Hart. I wasn’t paying attention before… but I’ve been trying so hard now!”

Miss Hart tilted her head slightly, her sharp eyes softening as she studied him. “I know you’ve been trying hard, Johnny. And I’m very proud of the changes you’ve made. But we can’t just ignore what was left undone.”

“I’ll fix it!” he blurted, his voice trembling. “I’ll do all the pages. Please, just… please don’t tell my parents. They’ll be so mad…”

Miss Hart sighed softly, her expression somewhere between sternness and understanding. “No, Johnny, I won’t be telling your parents,” she said. “This is between you and me. But there do need to be consequences for neglecting your responsibilities.”

Johnny’s heart pounded. He looked up at her, his face already damp with tears. “Please, Miss Hart,” he whispered. “Don’t spank me in front of the class…”

Miss Hart gave a small shake of her head. “No, Johnny. This situation doesn’t call for a public punishment. But you do need to be held accountable.”

He gulped, his voice barely a whisper. “W-what do you mean?”

Miss Hart leaned forward slightly, her sharp blue eyes meeting his. “You’ll receive a spanking, Johnny. It will be here, now, over my knee. And it will be on your bare bottom. Nothing more—and no one else will ever know about it. Do you understand?”

Johnny’s face burned with humiliation. His crush on Miss Hart only made the thought of such a punishment more mortifying, but at the same time, her kindness in keeping it private filled him with gratitude. “Yes, ma’am,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “Thank you…”

Miss Hart nodded and stood, pulling a sturdy wooden chair out from the table. She sat down and patted her lap, giving Johnny a pointed look. “Come here, Johnny.”

His legs felt like lead as he stood and shuffled over. He couldn’t look at her as she gently guided him across her lap, her touch firm but not unkind. His face was already streaked with tears as she reached for his waistband.

“Let’s get these down,” she said matter-of-factly, tugging his trousers and underpants down to his knees in one smooth motion. The cool air against his bare skin made Johnny shiver, but he didn’t resist. He could barely breathe, knowing his crush was now staring at his exposed bottom.

“This is for your own good, Johnny,” she said, resting her hand lightly on his backside for a moment before raising it.

The first smack landed sharply, and Johnny yelped, his tears flowing freely. Each swat was firm but not cruel, enough to sting and drive home the lesson without causing undue pain. He squirmed and whimpered, but Miss Hart held him steady, her movements calm and deliberate.

“You’re a bright boy, Johnny,” she said between swats, her voice steady. “And I know you’re capable of more than this. But skipping your work won’t be tolerated. Do you understand?”

“Yes, ma’am!” he cried, his voice breaking as the spanking continued. The sting in his bottom was nothing compared to the overwhelming embarrassment of being bare over her lap, but her words stayed with him. She wasn’t just punishing him—she was pushing him to be better.

After a final, sharp smack, Miss Hart paused. She adjusted his shirt to cover him slightly and let him up, though she didn’t pull his trousers back up. Johnny stood shakily, rubbing at his wet face, his bottom burning.

“Now,” Miss Hart said, her voice softening as she looked up at him, “we won’t speak of this again. But I expect you to finish that workbook by the end of the week. Do we have an understanding?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Johnny whispered, his voice thick with tears. “I promise…”

“Good,” she said, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “And don’t let me down, Johnny. You’re better than that.”

Despite the sting in his bottom and the humiliation he felt, Johnny nodded, a tiny spark of pride blooming in his chest. She believed in him. And no matter how mortifying this moment was, he wouldn’t let her down again.