I am the principal of a young ladies college. The students range in age from ten to nineteen with each age group having their own special problems. The best (and worst) are the older girls. They think they know everything and a teacher can find it difficult to handle them if they get out of hand.
I've always found the best way to handle the older girls is to treat them like adults, giving them respect and letting them know where the lines have been drawn. Respect and discipline are the watchwords.
You can understand that I was feeling a little annoyed to be approaching one of the senior grades and hearing what sounded like a mini riot taking place. I could see Miss Beryl Henderson trying to regain control and not succeeding too well. It looked like I was going to have to have a little chat with Miss Henderson. Again.
I stopped in the doorway, looking in, not smiling and not frowning, just assessing the situation. Girls started spotting me and whenever one of them looked my way I'd meet their eyes. It was amazing how fast they started sitting down and shutting up. What I was actually looking for was the ringleader to the little debacle and I spotted her soon enough. Melissa was the culprit. Why didn't that surprise me? She had had a few warnings before this. Now it was time for some active retribution.
The room was dead silent as I sauntered over to Miss Henderson, who was watching me and blushing sightly.
"Miss Henderson," I said softly, "do you think you can find time to come and see me in my office after final bell. Bring Melissa with you. Thank you."
She stammered some sort of acknowledgement and I turned, gave the class a killer look, and went on my way. That killer look would keep the class in order for a while, and the end of the period wasn't too far off. A new class and a different teacher would help keep them calm.
About fifteen minutes after the final bell rang Miss Henderson and Melissa showed up at my office. I invited Miss Henderson in and suggested to Melissa that she might like to sit outside and wait. From the look on her face she didn't like, but sat anyway.
I had Miss Henderson sit down and then I very politely ripped into her. I pointed out that the mini riot I'd interrupted was not the sort of behaviour I expected at the school. I emphasised the discipline and respect mantra. If she imposed the discipline and showed respect for the students, self-discipline and respect would develop in the students.
I didn't give a damn about the modern attitude of free expression and letting the students decide what was good for them. As far as I was concerned the students were here to learn and we, by god, were going to teach them. Miss Henderson's classes did not appear to be learning. I'd been reviewing the results of the classes she was teaching and I was not happy. She was going to pull her finger out and do things my way or she could request a transfer to another school.
Miss Henderson blustered a little, but it's hard to argue when the results of her free-teaching style were on paper, and they were not pretty. She was going to tighten up discipline and that was final.
"I have an ideal subject for you to practice tighter discipline on," I told her. "You might have been wondering why Melissa is waiting outside?"
At her nod I continued.
"Sweet little Melissa was orchestrating that riot in your classroom. Something that you should have spotted and stopped before it started. Now we're going to have a little chat with Melissa, I'm going to recommend a specific punishment and you're going to go ahead and deliver it."
With that I called Melissa in. I'd like to say she entered fearfully, quaking in her shoes, but she didn't. She waltzed in as though she'd called the meeting, all youthful arrogance. I smiled at her. She smiled back. The duel was about to commence.
Briefly, I told Melissa that her behaviour was beyond the pale and that the riot she'd instigated was going just a little too far. She sweetly pointed out that she hadn't started the fuss. It was spontaneous, she told me, and I couldn't prove otherwise.
"You seem to mistake me for the legal system, Melissa," I said. "I'm not. You did it and now you're catching it. As you know, we're allowed to practice corporal punishment in this school. We rarely have to but in your case I'm willing to make an exception. Miss Henderson is going to administer a spanking, and I hope it will teach you both something."
"You're kidding," came from two directions, one voice horrified and the other laughing. Miss Henderson, the believer in freedom, was the horrified one.
"You can't make me do that," protested Miss Henderson. "You'd need parental permission for a start."
"I have it. It's part of the rules signed by the parents at the start of each year. It is also in the rules that Melissa read and signed when she turned eighteen. Please proceed."
"You're kidding," Melissa repeated. "You really think Miss Henderson is going to spank me?"
"Yes, I do," I acknowledged. "If necessary I will show her how it's done, using her bottom to demonstrate. If she has a choice between getting spanked herself or spanking you, which option do you think she'll pick?"
"You wouldn't dare," Miss Henderson said, sound quite shocked.
"If it means stopping you and Melissa turning my school into a free for all then yes, I most certainly would dare. Melissa is not leaving this office without being punished. If you want to have the same punishment, that's your choice."
There was a bit of to and fro between Miss Henderson and myself but I was adamant. Finally Melissa put her piece in.
"You might as well, Miss Henderson," she said with some exasperation. "It looks as though I'm going to cop it no matter what and I'd sooner have you spank me than him."
Talk about a schmozzle. I could not believe that a woman in her twenties didn't have the faintest idea of how to go about delivering a spanking.
"Have Melissa bend forward over the desk, lift up her dress and smack her bottom," I told Miss Henderson. "How hard can it be?"
Melissa bent over the desk. Check. Miss Henderson lifted her dress. No check. It promptly fell back into place. Eventually she got the idea to tuck the hem into the belt and the dress stayed up out of the way. OK, check. Smack her bottom. Hell's bells. Someone teach the woman the difference between pat and smack. Pat is what you do to a pet, not a bottom. (Melissa was biting her lip. To stop herself laughing out loud, I was sure.)
I sighed and walked around to stand next to Miss Henderson. I looked at Melissa, bottom on display, non-regulation panties also on display. I pulled the panties down. Both Melissa and Miss Henderson squeaked at that.
"This is what you are doing," I told Miss Henderson, patting Melissa. (I have long arms. Maybe I over-reached a little, because the pat didn't land on Melissa's bottom. Ah, well, accidents happen.)
"This is what you should be doing," I added, talking over Melissa's squeak of protest, and delivering a firm spank to Melissa's bottom. (And yes, I did land the spank on her bottom.)
"Now, do you think yourself capable of doing this?" I asked, stepping back and indicating she should proceed. "If I have to demonstrate further it will be on you."
Face red, Miss Henderson delivered a firm spank to Melissa. Melissa squealed and Miss Henderson apologised. Apologised, for crying out loud, because a spank might have hurt. I'd had enough.
"Beryl, I think you'd better take up position next to Melissa."
"Wh-why?"