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Wednesday, 15 March 2017

Spankers Gallery – School Punishments

A short story followed by analysed illustrations from Roué 10
If there’s one venue which turns up in spanking literature more than any other when there’s a young lady’s bottom to be spanked, it’s a school. This isn’t surprising, since smacked bottoms are associated chiefly with the wrongdoings of those not yet mature enough to act in an adult way, and with a school as a starting point the writer, or artist, has a ready framework within which to construct his tale or to delineate his picture. A school setting is ideal.
For one thing it would be perfectly believable for a school to be populated with those eminently smackable young things, teenage schoolgirls, and furthermore it would not be beyond the bounds of credibility for that school in which these potentially bare-bottomed young ladies reside to be an institution in which discipline, as applied to the knickerless feminine posterior, is rigidly enforced. That attribute, an authoritarian environment, is the one thing above all else which lends ‘believability’ to any chastisement scenario which writer or artist cares to formulate. Everyone knows that schoolgirls get spanked, or if they don’t they darned well should do, so even the vaguest hint that a scholastic setting is an integral part of the story is enough to excuse the writer or artist from having to justify himself in terms of actuality. This being so, we make no excuse for this present article now dealing with punishment at school.
English literature could be very boring. After half an hour of Hamlet at Miss Harris’s leaden pace active young minds were gasping for the scent of something to crack the monotony.
Fortunately, or as it transpired, unfortunately for some, Act four was beginning to provide a little amusement.
‘Ophelia —’ said Miss Harris.
June, who was temporarily Ophelia, stood up at her desk, book in hand, and began to whine in an attempt at song.
‘Tomorrow is St Valentine’s day —’
Giggles, the first that Hamlet had provided that afternoon, accompanied June’s tuneless rendering.
‘There is no need actually to sing it,’ said Miss Harris, ‘reading it will be sufficient.’
‘Yes Miss,’ said June, and began again. Having completed her reading of the song she sat down.
‘What’s that bit mean, Miss?’ asked Carol.
‘What part d’you mean?’
‘Where it says he “— Let in the maid —” to his bedroom I s’pose Miss, “— that out a maid never departed more”.’
Miss Harris’s slight heightening of colour gave the gigglers the clue that here was something worth pursuing.
‘It means — well, it means that the girl did something dishonourable —’
‘But what did she do, Miss?’ insisted Carol.
‘She —’ Miss Harris forced herself to come out with it, ‘— she allowed herself to be compromised.’ There, she’d said it.
‘Compromised, Miss? What’s that mean?’
More giggles, and Carol’s face bore the signs of an ill-concealed grin.
Miss Harris felt that she would have to move on as quickly as possible. ‘Susan — aren’t you the King?’
‘Yes Miss —’ she stood up in her turn and said, ‘Pretty Ophelia —’
It didn’t help that Ophelia fluttered her eyelashes. More giggles, to Miss Harris’s annoyance.
‘Quiet! Behave yourself June! Now, read your part — and no singing.’
‘Yes Miss. Um — Indeed, la, without an oath I’ll make an end on’t — By Gis and Saint Charity —’
Several titters from the back of the classroom — someone had seen what was coming. Miss Harris chose to ignore it.
‘— Alack and fie for shame, young men will do’t if they come to’t, by cock they are to blame —’
Half the class dissolved in laughter. To her credit Ophelia managed to keep a straight face and ploughed on, ‘— Quoth she, before you tumbled me —’
‘Silence!’ Miss Harris was on her feet. ‘Anymore of this and someone will regret it!’
Somehow they managed to get through the next few pages without interruption, but now the damage had been done. Under the surface schoolgirl anarchy simmered. The floodgates were about to open, and oddly enough it wasn’t anything vulgar which did it, it was just very funny, or so it seemed to the twenty or so girls in that summer afternoon classroom.
‘The doors are broke —’ said Susan and sat down.
‘Where is this King? Sirs, stand you all without.’ said Yvonne.
‘No, let’s come in,’ said Julie, who was being the Danes.
‘I pray you, give me leave —’
They all waited.
‘Julie — aren’t you supposed to say the next line?’
‘Oh, sorry Miss — We will, we will, they retire without the door.’
Suddenly the giggles were tinkling again at the back of the classroom as Julie inadvertently read the stage directions too. It was sheer mischievousness on Shakespeare’s part that the next line, which was Julie’s, happened to be:
‘I thank you. Keep the door —’
The only person who didn’t seem to find that absolutely hilarious was Miss Harris. Faced with a classroom full of girls squealing with mirth she sought a ringleader. Julie was gasping for breath, tears of laughter on her cheeks, and Carol was in a state of collapse across her desk. They would do as well as any.
‘Carol —’ shouted Miss Harris above the din, ‘— and you too, Juliet Howe — you will both see the Headmaster immediately after lessons this afternoon —’
Cheerfully is how the sun shone. Cheerfully and brightly and with no sense of the unhappiness of the occasion so far as the two girls were concerned upon whose two blonde heads the sunlight fell with such unfeeling nonchalance. These two highlighted heads bent over their books in that schoolgirlish way which would be instantly recognisable to one used to dealing with the academic erudition of girls at school. There could be no doubt that these two young things were attempting to concentrate all their attentions upon the tasks set out in the books before them, though only they, and the room’s one other occupant, might be expected to know that in the answering of these problems the ‘pass mark’ would be one hundred per cent, and that ninety nine per cent would constitute dismal failure.
Plumply, and nakedly, is how two denuded bottoms perched awkwardly each upon its seat, and full and fat and pinkly round is how these two unfortunate bums awaited inevitable retribution, for all three of the people in this little private detention room knew well that the questions which the two girls struggled to answer were quite beyond their abilities to comprehend.
Smugly, indeed aglow with self-satisfaction, is how Mr Owen, the third occupant of this hidey-hole which the girls all called ‘bare-bottom basement’, would have to be described, and ‘uncomfortable’ would be the description of the apparent tightness in evidence in the region of the fly-buttons of his trousers.
Stingy, or at least potentially so, is how one might view the thick leather strap which was couched in the palm of one of the smug Mr Owen’s hands, and threatening indeed was the way in which this gentleman flicked this strap crisply against his hand from time to time. Nervously is how the two pinkened bottoms twitched every time this flicking of the strap sounded ominously behind them.
With exaggerated slowness is how Mr Owen paced as the time allowed for problem solving neared its end, and eagerly is how Mr Owen’s palm revisited in expectancy each of those bottoms in turn which some twenty minutes previously had wriggled in schoolgirl anguish across his hard-ridged lap.
Vulnerably is how each of those pre-spanked bums jutted knickerless and full-cheeked as Mr Owen petted his pets’ bottoms and enquired innocently how each of his young ladies had managed so far. Tearful, was Carol’s stumbling reply, and squirmy was her bottom as the strap smacked wickedly up under the very tenderest parts of her spank-warmed buttocks. Wriggling, and swerving this way and that, was how this young lady’s bottom endured seven, eight, nine and ten smart and smarting strap-strokes, and pathetically awash with tears is how she was left to anticipate the fuller exploitation of her tender bottom in due course.
Plumper, was Juliet’s bum, and cheekier, and redder too after six or seven gleefully applied whacks from Mr Owen’s strap. And all the more delightful to gloat over when the Head had sauntered back to his desk to wait out the remainder of the time allowed his two detainees.
Hotly, glowed these two naughty girls’ bottoms, and then, time having flown, immodestly is how these two panicky girls knelt up on their seats and prostrated themselves over their desks, bottoms high in the air and secrets no longer allowed to remain secrets.
Wildly, is how the two girls squirmed their crimsoned bottoms under the encouragement of Mr Owen’s strap, and satisfactorily too, if one took a voyeuristic point of view. Weepingly is how they were left to smart, naked from their tucked-up skirts down to the tops of their socks.
Forlornly, is how two surrendered pairs of navy knickers dangled from their pegs when Mr Owen left for a cup of tea and the two girls were left for later.
Cheerfully, and unsympathetically, is how the sun continued to shine into ‘bare-bottom basement’.
This drawing is certainly one of the most evocative that this series of articles will be dealing with. The whole picture is redolent with an unswerving intention on the part of the schoolmaster, and what a grotesque creation he is, to wield the authority of his position to the full.
The wretched girls are in positions of the utmost vulnerability — one can almost feel the utter nakedness of their knickerless bottoms, the twitch and shiver of their helplessly presented cheeks as the schoolmaster paces to and fro, the leather paddle in his hand itching to Splat! stingingly across one pair of buttocks or the other. Can’t you just sense the frantic concentration with which the girl on the left is studying the mathematical problem on the blackboard, knowing that her understanding of the problem, or otherwise, will determine the severity of the spanking which she is undoubtedly to receive very soon. And is it surprising that the other girl has already given way to tears.
The knickers dangling conspicuously from their pegs underline the hopelessness of the girls’ predicament, and even the fascinatingly designed school desks seem purpose-built to offer the intending bum-smacker a titillating variety of possibilities. Certainly this illustration provides a series of intriguing avenues which could be explored in further drawings.
This position would be ideal for a wriggler. Of course the poor thing doesn’t like the cane, but with her legs tucked under the seat she won’t be able to kick at all — and the occasional sideways swerve, all she’d be able to manage, wouldn’t matter too much, would it? Yes, this position would be perfect for a really sound caning.
This arrangement could only be recommended to those whose pupils are very well trained in the matter of keeping their bums still while ‘Sir’ is enjoying himself with the cane. Clearly the slightest sign of agitation would bring this young lady tumbling from her perch — and that would never do. But an obedient girl would perhaps be able to manage say half a dozen strokes in this admittedly insecure position — and a carefully applied strap would find that soft and tender undercurve of her cheeks very nicely, thank you!
Some girls don’t so much wriggle as leap up from their proper position in the most disconcerting way every time the cane lands on their bottom. This position would suit a ‘bobber-upper’ very nicely — not only would she get a nicely caned bum, she’d also get rather a bump on her head if she was silly enough to try bobbing-up this time.

A straightforward strapping — or is that all there is to it? There is nothing particularly straightforward about a leather-topped bench across which a girl can be bent, with her bottom at just the right height for the strap to curl neatly round its cheeks. Can we surmise that this bottom-smacking gentleman actually enjoys having to discipline the girls — or are they really so naughty and so often deserving of punishment that a strapping bench is the only logical answer? Certainly he is performing his duty with gusto.
As for the girl, she’s certainly pretty enough. Could it be that her very prettiness is actually the reason for her punishment. Could it be that the teacher has had his eye on this girl, or on her bottom at least, and has now seized on the opportunity of slight digression from the rules to put her across that functional bench and pull her pants down.
Whatever the story behind this picture, it is dramatic and thought-provoking, and as such it has to be considered a successful illustration.

This illustration, though sparsely endowed with incident, is nonetheless a poignant depiction of the indignities to which full-grown girls at this particular school are subjected — all in the course of ‘education’, of course.
That it is a clergyman who is about to administer the correction may make the forthcoming ordeal just about bearable for this young lady, though the thoughtful smile on his face which the schoolgirl can’t yet see tends to belie the idea that this is to be a punishment simply for the sake of maintaining discipline.
As for the girl herself, with her prefect’s piping on her blazer, her stockings, and her very shapely hips and legs, the prospect of a strapping or a caning must be doubly distressing, because without doubt she is old enough to have left school several years ago, were it not for the insistence of her parents that she should stay on for, perhaps, ‘A’ level examinations. Next term she will be at work, or possibly at university, but this term she is subject to the same rules as all the other girls in her school, even the first-formers. When the Headmaster says ‘Knickers down my girl,’ that’s just what she has to do. And she’ll cry no less for being eighteen years old. A girl’s naked bottom is a tender object at any age.

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