PART I: BAD BOYS GET PUNISHED
"Close the door behind you," he said. He looked like he could have been a fireman in his younger days. That's because he was large with a big body frame. Perhaps he had been in-shape at one point but now he was a decidedly heavyset man. Because firemen, when they reach a certain age and become fire chiefs and sit behind desks instead of running into burning buildings, well, they tend to let themselves go. And they all have mustaches. And this man, he was a large, overweight man with a mustache. But he never had been a fireman. He had been a teacher. And now he was a principal.
Peter closed the door behind him.
"Sit down," the gray mustached man, Principal Kelly, instructed.
Peter sat down. Earlier in the day, Peter had pummeled two kids senseless in the boy's bathroom. He stuck one of their heads in the toilet and flushed it. Peter was known for being the type not to mess with, partly because of his age, mostly because of his attitude. He was a real badass.
"Do you want to tell me what happened?"
Peter stared at the burly man on the other side of the desk and said nothing. Then he stretched his jeaned legs forward, crossed them, turned his head to the side and rolled his eyes; the type of move a James Dean might pull were he caught up in the same circumstances.
"You don't want to tell me? That's okay. I already know. Nurse Steiner is in the other room bandaging up one of the boys you attacked."
"Had it comin'," Peter mumbled.
"I'm sure he did, I'm sure he did." Mr. Kelly's tone thus far was not what Peter had expected. Not strict. Not stern. Somewhat bemused. Perhaps a bit condescending.
"You do realize that because of your age... those boy's parents have a right to go to the police? I'll bet you hadn't thought of that."
Peter hadn't thought of that.
"Up until today it was just graffiti, talking back to teachers... but now you've got yourself in a real pickle. Oh my, yes you have, Peter. You might be facing assault charges. And that doesn't mean detention, or a light vacation in juvie. No, Peter. Not at your age. At your age, if convicted, that means prison time. And do you know what happens to young, skinny men like you in prison?"
Peter un-stretched his jeaned legs and pulled them back to a regular sitting stance. Principal Kelly had gotten his attention.
"Peter... you're 19-years-old. You should have graduated two years ago. Now you're an adult in a child's world pretending to still be a child. But you've gone too far this time. You've seriously hurt those boys. And there are consequences for this type of destructive behavior."
There was still something off about his voice. There was a lilt to it, and Peter couldn't understand why, unless the old coot was just so happy to finally be able to get rid of him.
"Now... this is the important part, Peter. Peter: the perennial high schooler. I can either call up the boys' parents and let them know that you will be dealt with, sternly. Let them know that there will be serious repercussions for your actions. Assure them that I will personally handle the matter. And maybe, just maybe, that will satisfy them and they won't feel the need to reach out to involve any type of law enforcement agencies.
Or... I can not make that call. And you can end up as prison meat."
He left it at that. He left it floating. He wasn't out and out grinning, but the far edges of his mouth were slightly curled upward. Peter stared forward in bewilderment, knowing full well there was something here that wasn't added up. Mr. Kelly sat, pleasant expression, hands folded and resting on his desk. Peter continued to stare at him. It was almost now as if they were playing a game of chicken... neither one breaking the silence. It was a power play. Finally, Peter gave in.
"I don't understand. You're going to call them and tell them not to call the cops on me? Not to press charges?"
"That's right," said a slightly smug Principal Kelly, taking satisfaction in winning the war of silence.
Peter studied the floor, a moment of reflection, and then looked up. "But why is that? I mean, what are the serious repercussions?"
"Peter... for too long you've strutted through these hallowed halls like you own the place. Like you were some sort of alpha male, top dog. A hoodlum king. This isn't a back alley though Peter, this is a place of education. All of your outrageous posturing and backtalk has caused so many disruptions... I get complaints from teachers about you daily. Quite frankly, your attitude has to change. And I," Kelly smiled, "I happen to be an attitude adjuster."
Peter wondered what he meant.
"You see, in the case of minor infractions like missing homeworks, too many tardy slips, a day or two of playing hooky, writing on bathroom stalls... well, detentions were in order. Notes home to your parents. Conferences with social workers. But this latest outburst... oh my. We're way past all that. This, this calls for something a bit more drastic."
"Like what?"
"Like what? Like a good old fashioned spanking, Peter. Like the kind your father should have been giving you all along." Peter had no father. At least, not one he had ever known. "You need to be put over someone's knee and spanked like the petulant child you are."
"No way. You can't be serious."
"For the past several years you've insulted us... your educators. Your teachers, your guidance counselors, your principals, the nurses here, Ms. May, my secretary... you've given us all lip. You've gone out of your way to be defiant. To be snide and rude and crude. But now the tide has turned. You're past your prime Peter. You've been retained twice, and we're at the midway point of this school year and your grades are still just as low as they've ever been. At this rate you will never receive a high school diploma unless I pull the strings to make it so. And if you don't get a high school diploma, never mind not going to college... you can say goodbye to ever holding down a decent job in any capacity anywhere in town. Which means no money, no family. Which means a shopping cart full of your belongings and wearing piss stained pants while you waste away on the side of the road begging for pennies and hot dog buns. Basically, the quality of the entire rest of your life lies in my hands, Peter. Let that sink in."
Peter let it sink in. He imagined himself shuffling around the neighborhood, the town derelict, the Hoodie of the next generation. Hoodie was the obese homeless man who hung down at the train station. Peter had spent many an afternoon throwing empty soda cans at Hoodie, laughing as Hoodie mumbled loudly and incoherently in response to the torment.
"So what's it going to be, Peter? Possible prison sentence followed by a wasted, aimless life? Or one final shot at making something of yourself? A or B? Spanking or no spanking?"
A moment passed. Principal Kelly finally had him right where he wanted him. Peter's head lowered. "The spanking, sir," he mumbled.
"Speak up, boy. And you look me in the eye when you speak to me."
Peter looked up. "The spanking, Sir."
Principal Kelly moved for the first time since Peter stepped in. He pushed back in his chair, creating a wealth of space between his knees and his desk.
"Come here to me."
Peter walked around to the other side of the desk. And stood in front of his principal, the man who had been his principal ever since he was five years old. Mr. Kelly undid Peter's belt buckle. He unzipped Peter's pants. Peter stood somewhat frozen. Mr. Kelly slid the denim jeans down past Peter's bottom, down over Peter's legs and let them drop around the teen's ankles. He then did the same to Peter's boxer briefs, revealing Peter's round, lily-white backside. Baby plump. Peter simultaneously felt shame and a cool breeze.
Principal Kelly took pleasure in not physically forcing anything upon Peter... but in giving him choices. Choices that soon turned to orders. And he reveled in Peter having to follow them.
"Now... over my knees," he instructed calmly.
Peter took a deep breath and then bent down, slowly and quietly, still having a hard time believing that this was actually happening to him. It all seemed so surreal. Like it was happening in slow motion. Principal Kelly stared down at the perfectly positioned buttocks now in his lap and grinned. A blank canvas. He had waited for this moment... to teach this punk boy a lesson, this boy who had been the thorn in the side of every teacher of the school for much, much too long. He was going to teach this boy. Going to mold him. He was going to make a fine, fine student of him, and then some. He raised his hand high in the air, and then, he brought it down with an forceful surge of momentum.
Peter felt the warm slap on his bottom. His eyes widened. It was the first spank he had ever gotten. And then... the rest followed. One after the other. Big fat smacks from the big, flat strong hand of his superior elder. SMACK. Three seconds. SMACK. Three seconds. SMACK three seconds. Just enough time in between each smack for Peter to really grasp what was happening. He was able to vote, able to go to war and die for his country, able to purchase cigars an pornography, able to rent his own apartment, able to hold a job, able to get married if he should want... but instead, he was still in school... and he was lying over his principal's lap with his pants and undies down around his ankles getting spanked for being a bad boy. He started to tear up.
Principal Kelly heard Peter's first sniffle. "You go ahead and cry if you have to. Cry like a little boy," SMACK, "Because this is what you need for you to understand your situation, Peter." Peter did start to cry. It wasn't the pain, although the heavy swats did sting... it was the realization of what he was doing with his life... absolutely nothing. And then he felt his penis getting hard.
SMACK. "Oh wow, now what do I feel here, Peter? Something getting hard pressing up against my leg?" SMACK. "Maybe I should tell your mother about what happened to your penis when I punished you?" Peter's face turned very red as the tears continued to stream down his cheeks... redness from crying mixed with the redness of embarrassment... his face now the same color that his backside had slowly been turning.
SMACK.
The smacks continued as Peter squirmed. Principal Kelly would squeeze and hold him tight with his other arm... hold him tightly in position. Principal Kelly could feel the boy's little hard cock rubbing into his lap as he fruitlessly squirmed and tried to escape.
SMACK, SMACK, SMACK, SMACK, SMACK, SMACK, SMACK, SMACK.
He began picking up the pace, spanking faster, harder... Stopping only every so often as to give the weeping brat a small breather. During those "breathers," no words were spoken. The lad lay quivering over his knee, weeping, and Kelly's hand rested on his warm right butt cheek until he was ready to smack that naughty ass again.
And he did. He spanked it nice and hard, his beefy flat hand crashing down on the boy's smooth plump butt over and over again, the loud spanks echoing throughout the room, harder and harder. 10-minutes went by, this time, no breathers. Continuous spanking, and with each passing minute, the force behind the spanks increased... harder, and harder, and harder, until Peter's ass was red hot and glowing, leaving Peter unsure of just how much more he could even take.
