School punishments(boys)

 

Northeastern U.S.A. '50s, nuns school

(thanks, Joe)

"I tossed a piece of paper across the room when we all were lining up to go home.

The nun was facing the front of the room but the glass in the open door acted like a mirror and she could see me just fine. Of course, I didn't know that at the time! She turned around and told me to pick up the paper I had thrown. I said I didn't throw it.

As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I knew I was in trouble. If I took it back, I would be admitting that I was lying. My only hope was to stick to my story. I stuck to it as the room emptied and we were finally alone, everyone else having lined up in the hallway to go home.

The nun closed the door and said I must now tell the truth. I lied. Taking a good grip on my jacket with her left hand she slapped my face HARD with her right hand. Each cheek was slapped 2 or 3 times, I'm not sure how many. She stopped long enough to ask me again and this time I told the truth! She told me that there was no time left today so she would punish me tomorrow.

I joined the line in tears and started walking home. I lived one mile from school, a 15-minute walk. A block from home I stopped, wiped away the tears, and tried my best o compose myself so my mom would not know that I was in trouble.

Next day and I had to face my punishment! The nun started the day with a lesson on the evils of lying and used me as an example! She recounted the lying and told the class that she convinced me to stop lying by slapping me like this. She repeated the slapping just as hard as yesterday but thankfully, she only gave me one.

Next, she announced that we must wash away all the lies. She had a basin of water and a rag for blackboard washing so she soaped up the rag and gave my mouth a through washing out. She sent me out to the water fountain to rinse.

When I got back, she checked my mouth and pronounced it free of lies so I was now ready for my spanking. To be sure that the whole class would learn from my mistake she put me over her desk facing the class.

This was the punishment I feared because the pointer really hurt. I heard the whoosh as it cut through the air and felt the smack across my backside but to my amazement it didn't hurt! Well, it stung a little but not nearly as much as the time a couple of years before when I was punished with the pointer.

The spanking continued and it started to hurt a bit. I looked around and saw not the dreaded pointer but the yardstick! I was very glad that the spanking would not be so bad after all! My joy faded quickly as she continued to spank me and the pain began to build.

By the time she finished I was not even thinking about all my friends watching. I was just crying and begging her to stop. When she finally thought my lesson was strong enough she stopped and let me lay there a little while. When my crying slowed down, she stood me up and asked me if I had learned my lesson.

She made me promise not to lie any more and let me go back to my seat.

Believe it or not, it did not take me very long to begin to be grateful for that lesson. When I got in trouble after that, I told the truth. Whatever I did I always was afraid of what would happen if I was also caught lying.

My honesty impressed people and I got away easier. It was a tough lesson but I am truly grateful she gave it to me!

Yours truly,

Joe"

 

Published: 04/22/04

 

London, UK,  60s

(thanks, Colin)

 

"I am of an age (50) when as a schoolboy, corporal punishment was the norm. I'm glad to say this is no longer the case, of course. The following is just one of the incidents of punishment I received.

Gym lessons were always a trial, overseen by a tartar of a gym master who brooked no stepping out of line. I didn't much like gym, unless we played football, which was rare.

One gym session, the teacher was outlining the session activity as usual and, foolishly, I continued with a conversation I was having with a friend instead of falling silent while he spoke. That was enough for our gym teacher. I was twelve years old at the time.

"So, you want to run the class, do you, (my last name)?" He said to me. I was petrified. "No, sorry, sir". He was not in a good mood. His explanation of the lesson's activities had been tetchy. I knew I wasn't going to get away with mumbling an apology. "Sorry, indeed," he said, "Come here; take off your gym shoe."

I didn't know whether to advance towards him first or take my gym shoe off. I dithered. "Hurry up, boy, you've wasted enough time". I took my shoe off and stepped across the changing room to him. The other boys had backed away to leave plenty of space for what was to come. I proffered the gym shoe. "Right, touch your toes", he said as he took the offering. I felt so humiliated as I bent over in front of the class. This was my first experience of a slippering.

I was wearing only a thin pair of gym shorts (as was the regulation for younger boys). No other protection. I'd seen other beatings and knew they were unpleasant. I wasn't quite expecting what I got.

The gym teacher stepped back and raised his arm. I saw nothing more until the gym shoe landed on my barely-protected backside with a resounding thwack. The pain was excruciating. It was a full-force whack from a very strong and fit man used to wielding a gym shoe.

The crack resounded round the gym changing room and my classmates made a collective gasp. This was the hardest beating anyone in our class had seen to date. My eyes were watering. I gritted my teeth. I was expecting at least another three whacks -- the normal minimum. I didn't know whether I could take it.

A second whack on the other cheek, as hard and as vicious as the first. Again a gasp from my classmates. My legs buckled and this time I let out a little cry, despite biting my lip to stifle it. The gym teacher stepped back again. I didn't know if I was going to be able to stand another dose of this punishment. He hesitated. "Stand up" he said. "Now in future, do not speak when I'm speaking." "No, sir." I said, desperately wanting to feel my sore buttocks. I think he'd stopped prematurely in the exercise of the beating because he realized that he was using excessive force. Of course, my classmates, in the circumstances could say nothing to me and the lesson progressed in relative silence.

When I went for the shower at the end, I had two very red patches, which still hurt, clearly visible on my backside. No one asked if it hurt, they all knew. Indeed, the red marks were still visible the evening of the next day.

This was a beating, however brief, that I'll always remember because not only was it my first slippering but the ferocity was way out of proportion to my misdemeanor.

Despite that, and other experiences of beatings at school, I have, in later life, come to enjoy being spanked -- but as a fun activity, however much it may hurt, rather than a vicious demonstration of power.

Colin"

 

 

Published: 08/27/04