Saturday School

Saturday School
Contrite Girl

My alarm sounded off sharply at 7:00 AM. I groaned in complaint as I slapped it off. Saturday mornings were not meant for early rising. At least that was my opinion. Sighing, I swung my feet to floor and forced myself out of bed. It was certain to be a bad enough day already, no point making it worse by being late. After a much needed shower I was finally wide awake. Thumbing through my closet I nearly cursed out loud. How could I have screwed up and worn my last clean blouse yesterday? No point in crying about it now. I selected my most conservative dress and put it on.

I went downstairs for breakfast, it was almost 7:30. Mom was waiting just like I expected. “Hurry up Kelly, we need to leave in 10 minutes to get you there on time.” She certainly wasn’t giving any sympathy. “Yes, I know. I’m just going to get a granola bar. Um, what option did you and Dad decide?” I did my best to sound non-chalant. I know, probably not fooling Mom but, I really don’t want her to know how worried I am.

You see I had been caught by one of the school admins coming from the direction of the parking lot at the end of lunch. The admin just assumed I was trying to sneak back on campus. I explained I had just gone to my car to get a book I needed for my next class. It had fallen out of my bag on the way to school and I didn’t notice until I went looking for it at lunch. I had the book right there in my hand so I don’t really know why she didn’t believe me. She made me show her my student ID card and then sent me off to my next class. About halfway through the class a student aide showed up with a note from the principal requesting my presence. He didn’t make me wait long once I got there. He had always seemed like a nice guy to me until right then. He accused me of ditching my French class and lying to the admin who caught me. I tried to deny it but, he didn’t give me much of a chance. He showed me the attendance record for my French class, which had been right before lunch, and it clearly had me marked as absent. He had already confirmed my absence with the teacher. I was trapped. It wasn’t true but I couldn’t prove it. He handed me a letter for my parents and told me I had to attend Saturday School as punishment.

Saturday School is essentially a day of detention. The school believed that a student’s parents should be involved in the process because Saturday School assignments were reserved for serious behavior issues. The letter the principal sent to my parents was the option I was referring to when I asked what had been decided. The principal selects a minimum amout of time to remain, anywhere from 2 to 8 hours, and marks off if a paddling is required or not. In my case he had selected 4 hours with no paddling. It was the first time I had ever been in trouble so he considered this lenient. The parents then had the option of increasing the time, up to double the principals recommendation although this sometimes resulted in having to attend two Saturday School sessions, and they could choose to add paddling, up to 15 swats given each hour.

My concern over my parents choice was because they didn’t believe me anymore than the principal did. I got a dose of Mom’s hairbrush and Dad’s belt the night I brought the letter home. That was 3 days ago and I still have a few bruises from the hairbrush. I figure its very likely they added paddling at the very least. Which is why I’m not happy to be wearing a dress. Saturday School paddlings are all bare bottom and given in the front of the classroom so everyone can watch. Not something I am looking forward to but, with my parents, inevitable.

“Your father will pick you up at 4:00 and I hope you were smart enough to wear proper undergarments today. That should answer your question. I hope you learn your lesson from this.” Mom finally responded as I finished eating my granola bar. The ride to school was uncomfortably silent. It was a full 10 minutes before 8 when I walked, escorted by Mom, to the Detention room door. Mr. Wimble arrived at nearly the same moment. Mom handed him the letter without ever letting me see what was in store for me. I was sent to sit down in the desk farthest from the door at the front of the classroom. Mom and Mr. Wimble talked quietly for a few minutes and then she left without another word to me. The other students began arriving shortly after my Mom left. Mr Wimble assigned seats to everyone and collected letters as they arrived. A total of 35 students were in there when he closed the door at 8:00 and I was the only one who had been escorted by a parent. I was very thankful we had arrived early enough that I was the only one who knew that. Other than Mr. Wimble of course.

Mr. Wimble quickly did a roll call from his sheet and confirmed that everyone who was supposed to be there was. He then proceeded to lay out the rules for the day. “No talking, unless answering a question from me to you, Do your homework. If you don’t have any or finish it before your time is up I have plenty of assignments to hand out, When your time is up I will excuse you, If there are paddlings, they take place on the half hour marks. I will call up any students this involves in a few minutes and give you additional instructions. Those of you not up for a paddling may find yourselves up for one if you choose not to follow the rules today. Now get to your homework.”

I of course was having trouble concentrating. I just knew I was going to be up for a paddling and waiting for him to announce it to everyone was very distracting. I looked at the clock, 8:20, and he still hadn’t called anyone up. I was just starting to think maybe it wasn’t going to happen when he made the announcement. “I am amazed with 35 students in here today that only one of you is up for paddling. The rest of you should consider yourselves lucky. Miss Kelly Dean, will you please come stand in front of my desk.” I swear I could actually feel every pair of eyes in the room focus on me as I stood up and walked to a spot dead center in front of his desk. I couldn’t see any of them with my back to the classroom but, I had noticed as everyone arrived there were only 7 girls here and I was one of them.

Mr. Wimble walked over to me and spoke in a much quieter voice so, that no one else could hear. “Miss Dean, your parents have asked for you to receive 15 swats of the paddle 8 times today. I’m sure you knew that already but, I have to explain it just in case. You should also be aware that the paddle is applied to the bare buttocks and only the bare buttocks in Saturday School. Your Mother made it clear to me this morning that she expects this to be a most severe and humiliating punishment for you. Undoubtedly why, she made you wear a dress. It is almost 8:30. At the back of the classroom you will notice there are several hooks on the wall. You are expected to undress yourself for the paddle and your clothes will not be returned until your time here is complete. In compliance with school procedures for females being paddled in Saturday School, you will remove your dress, your underwear, your shoes, and any jewlry. I will call your parents in here if you choose not to comply. You may now strip and hang your clothes on the rack I pointed out to you. Understood?”

How do you answer a question like that? With a very loud, “NO WAY IN HELL!” Unfortunately, that response was clearly not going change the inevitable. I did have one question though. I had heard from rumors, mostly spread by guys, that said when a girl wore a dress, the underwear removal included her bra. This was why I was so upset that I couldn’t find a clean blouse this morning. I hoped the rumor wasn’t true but, I really didn’t want any problems with Mr. Wimble. He was the school football coach and I heard just one swat from him could make any guy in the school start to cry. Still I wasn’t about to take my bra off unless I had to. I couldn’t see any other option I was just going to have to ask. “Yes, sir. I understand. If I may ask a question, Sir? ” I whispered as quietly as he had, hoping nobody else could hear. He nodded at me, “Yes?” Deep breath and here goes, “When you said I have to remove my underwear, um does that include my ah bra?” That was harder to say than you can possibly imagine. He shook his head from side to side and said, “What do yo think? Is a bra underwear?” With that he dismissed me with a wave of his hand. Clearly he expected me to go to the back of the classroom and undress. What still isn’t seeming very clear is whether I’m expected to remove my bra or not.

As I walked to the back keeping my head down, I could tell several of the guys were watching me very carefully. They all knew they’d be seeing a lot more of me very shortly. I had a slightly deserved reputation as a tease amongst the guys at school. They no doubt, were greatly enjoying thoughts of seeing me brought down a peg or two. Isn’t it amazing all the thoughts that can travel through your head in a very short period of time. Its no wonder that situations like this seem to drag on. Finally I reached the back of the room where only Mr. Wimble could see me. Everyone else knew that turning that far around to watch me would probably result in them joining me.

I took my shoes off first. Not that it was difficult my feet slipped right out of them. I pushed them against the wall. I closed my eyes for a moment to focus and gather strength. When I re-opened them a moment later I had a temporary boost of courage. My fingers found there way to the zipper on the back of my dress and pulled it down with too much ease. Quickly before I could loose my nerve I shrugged out of it and pushed it towards the floor. I gracefully stepped out of it and hung it carefully on one of the hooks. I hadn’t worn socks or nylons so I was standing in just my slip bra and panties at this point. Horridly embarassing as it was clear Mr. Wimble was watching me very closely. I wanted to bolt from the room only fear of repercussions from my own parents kept me in place. With a deep breath I pulled my slip up and over my head. I hung it carefully next to my dress. Next I slipped my thumbs into the waist band of my panties. Before I could change my mind I pulled them down and off. As I hung them next to my slip I realized that the horrible rumors were true. I was going to have to take my bra off because it was underwear. Still facing the back wall I reached up behind and unfastened it. I was crying as I placed it on a hook. I had but one thought in my head, ‘How could Mom do this to me?’

Naked, I walked to the front of the class as Mr. Wimble picked up the paddle from his desk. He then announced to the class, as if they hadn’t noticed,”Miss Kelly Dean will now receive 15 swats. You may pause your work and watch.” I was doing my best to protect my modesty despite the obvious futility. I was directed to bend over the teachers desk and grab the far edge. The cold surface only added to my feelings of humiliation. Stretched over the desk like that I could just imagine the view my classmates were enjoying. I needn’t have worried too much as I was about to give them all a much better view of all me. The first swat from Mr. Wimble was worse than anything I had imagined. I couldn’t help but leap into the air and grab my poor bottom. I turned around facing the class jumping up and down, crying and begging for mercy. Mr. Wimble wasn’t amused, although nearly everyone else in the room was grinning that is except for me. He forced me back into position. He also warned me that if couldn’t stay in position he would have one or two of the boys hold me down. I grabbed onto the desk for dear life and somehow made it through the next 14 swats. I screamed with everyone, so loud I imagine anyone on the school campus heard. Tears were falling steadily from my eyes but I wasn’t really crying. The sting in my bottom seemed to reach all the way through to my eyes.

Mr. Wimble sent me to my desk and told me to get back to my studies. As I walked stiffly to my desk, whimpering slightly, I could see beaming smiles on the faces of several boys. I nearly jumped back up the instant my butt touched the hard plastic seat. Mr. Wimble was obviously watching for that reaction as he commented, “If you can’t sit down you can stand in front of your desk and lean down to do your work. I’m sure before the end of the day you’ll take me up on that offer.” Oh how I wanted to slap him for that smugness. I made a promise to myself right then that I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of being right no matter how much it hurt.

The next hour passed by too quickly. My butt had just begun to stop throbbing. It still hurt but, I was finally being able to concentrate a little on my math homework. Mr Wimble interrupted my work, “Miss Kelly, time for another 15. Class you may pause your work and watch.” Oh how I hated this man. I stood up and moved to his desk without a word though. When told, I bent over and grabbed the far edge of the desk. This time at least I knew what was coming or so I thought. The first swat caused me to lose my grip once again. This time though I forced myself back down before anything was said. That was much harder than any of the previous 15 had been I was sure of it. The rest followed in rapid succession. I was screaming and crying like before and like before somehow I managed to hold on through it all. “Miss Kelly you may return to your seat and get back to work.”

Sitting down the second time was excruciating. I found myself wishing I had a mirror so I could see how bad the damage was. Then I realized I could always just ask one of my classmates. No, that really didn’t seem like a good idea but the mental image of me asking one of the guys about the state of my behind nearly caused me to laugh through my tears. Even though the second round had hurt more than the first I was able to focus on my work after only a few minutes. I suppose I was getting used to the pain and that was probably a good thing because I was going to be bruised for several days from this.

Before I knew, it was time for the 2 hour’s (lucky bastards) to leave. Those that got to leave then were 1st timers like me for the most part. If truancy hadn’t been a pet peeve of the principal its all I would’ve been given. A total of 7 students were dismissed leaving just 26 guys and 1 girl other than me. Jennifer Hagins was not the girl I would have preferred to remain with me but, I was relieved that I wasn’t alone in this room with only boys. Jennifer and I had our differences, chiefly being, she held me responsible for getting paddled our freshman year. In all fairness she had good reason to blame me but, who would volunteer to get the paddle? Not me. Didn’t matter if I was the real culprit and it was being blamed on someone else. I had little doubt she was greatly enjoying my hourly paddlings and constant exposure as much if not more than the boys in the room.

“Miss Kelly!” Mr. Wimble boomed at me. I couldn’t believe it was time again already. Seemed like I had just been paddled. I looked up at him waiting for the rest. “I would think you would be particularly attentive to your studies today all things considered. It seems you need some additional paddling though to keep you mind on your work. Up in front here! Let’s see if 10 swats can keep you focused on your studies. Actually judging by the time we shall just make it 25 all at once. Get up here now girl! YOu want another 10 from me?” Of course I ran to the front of the class. I certainly didn’t want 25 but 35 would just kill me I was sure. How had he known I wasn’t paying attention to my work? Had I been that obvious in my distraction? Apparently so. This was going to hurt a lot.

I was bent over the desk again before my imminent future really sunk in. The first crack of the paddle left me howling. I held on to the edge of the desk for dear life knowing that weakness here would only make matters worse. The second crack of the paddle sent me howling again and this time I was promising good behavior to boot. I don’t how I made it through those twenty-five swats. Each one seemed to sear my rear end and leave me gasping for breath. When finally I was told to return to my seat I was no longer a quietly defiant teenager but, a sorrowful little girl begging forgiveness with a river of tears.

Sitting at my desk was as impossible a task as taking those swats and again I managed. My sobbing racked my body and I couldn’t even begin to see my school books through my swollen eyes. I struggled internally to regain some sense of self control. It must have taken me several minutes to calm myself and as the sobbing subsided and the tears dried, the pulsing and burning of my tender bottom intensefied. I returned to my studies sniffling and praying the next hour would last as long as two just to give me time to brace for the next inevitable paddling to come.

After the turn of the hour Mr. Wimble quietly walked passed my desk and set a paper cut filled with water down for me. He smiled and nodded for me to drink it as I looked up at him with questioning eyes. I was totally unprepared for such kindness from the man who was beating me. I sucked the water down in a single gulp surprising myself at how thirsty I had been. Mr. Wimble took notice and refilled the cup and returned it to me. I silently mouthed my thanks to him and he smiled and stroked my hair as he walked by, continuing his tour of the classroom. My thirst was far from quenched but, I felt much better having drained that cup twice. I was able to focus with more clarity and actually started making some significant progress on my homework.

Unfortunately, the busier I got with my school work the faster the time passed. Before I knew it the time was upon us again and my dear bottom was pointing toward the class waiting for another 15 swats of the dreaded paddle. Strangely enough this fourth set to be the lightest of the day. I still heard the loud crack each time the paddle connected and my body jumped forward with each impact. Still the pain seemed lessened somehow. Perhaps I was simply going numb from the torture I had received to this point or maybe I was forming a mental detachment that was protecting me. I don’t really know but, the change was a welcome relief.

Soon after I was seated again, Mr. Wimble called out. It was time for the four hour students to leave and for the rest of to take 15 minutes to eat our lunches, use the restroom, and get a drink. Having no lunch I decided I’d better drink some more wate and use the facilities. After draining about 10 of those paper cups worth of water I made the embarassing march to the ladies room. The ladies room was located across and open quad from where the detention room was. So, I had to walk about 40 feet outside totally nude to reach the facilities. Somehow my nudity seemed even more humiliating in the outdoors as though I were exposed for the whole world to see and mock. Sitting on the toilet proved to be a lesson in pain with disastrous state of my deriere. On the plus side I did finally get my wish to see how bad the damage was. The bright red coloring was undoubtedly hiding several bruises. In the center of each buttock was white horseshoe like mark that was raised almost like a long skinny blister. Just the briefest touch to those marks was enough to bring tears to my eyes. No wonder sitting down hurt so badly.

I returned to the detention room with about five minutes to spare so I quickly downed a few more cups of water. I was seated and back to my school work when Mr. Wimble announced the lunch break was over. A quick glance around the room revealed that about half the students were gone now. I couldn’t help but think that also meant I had less than 15 minutes before I was to be paddled yet again. Concentrating on my work was near impossible but not as impossible as getting extra from Mr. Wimble for not concentrating. So, galantly I focused my attention and continued working. As seemed the norm for the day the time passed too quickly and I was once again called to display myself for another dose of school discipline.

The first swat was more than I could take. The crack sent me shrieking in agony and I could no longer hold myself to the desk. I lept upwards and grabbed my tenderized flesh with both hands screaming all the while. “Please no more!” I begged for mercy. “Please!” Mr. Wimble called upon one of the older and larger boys in the room to come hold me down to the desk. The boy did as we told although his face clearly showed he disapproved. Mr. Wimble guided me gently back down upon the desk while I continued to plead for mercy. The boy took my hands and stared into my eyes. He mouthed a silent apology clearly ashamed to be assisting in my torture. I stared right back into his eyes for the remainder of the paddling. He blinked at every crack as the paddle impacted my tender flesh. I was but a rag doll, bawling and screaming. My pleading no longer coherent, I struggled without end or strength.

The last swat fell upon me. I lay limp and sobbing on the desk. The boy who had held me so firmly no helped guide me up and pratically carried me to my desk. He was silent but I could feel the compassion pulsing through his hand into mine. As my eyes began to clear of the tears I could see that my fellow students felt the line between just desserts and cruelty had finally be crossed. Not a person in the room, perhaps not even Mr. Wimble himself felt I deserved a punishment so severe. Only I knew the depth at which I required this punishment. I may have been falsely accused and sentenced for crimes I had not commited but I was here and I had done much that should have brought me here far sooner. I hated every moment and loved each second. I knew at this moment that by completing my punishment for the day I would be able to forgive myself for the deeds I had done and that was far more crucial than any outside forgiveness. Only I knew the depth of my soul which craved this proper punishment. Perhaps my Mom had known as well what I needed. She sometimes seemed able to see that deeply into me even when I was unable to.

I squirmed quietly in my seat as I read through my history text. I found myself having to re-read each paragraph three and four times before I knew anything of what I had read. Still it was at least something to focus upon. The hour seemed to drag this time probably because the burning in my seat wouldn’t dissipate. No matter how I moved the pain only grew, the burning only became more inflamed. It was like sitting on a hot iron while being simultaneously poked with ice cold needles all in the same places and all at once. Time was still and I was not.

Mr. Wimble announced it was time for my next round. I was ready yet not. I was bold and afraid. I was once again on my way to his desk to present myself for what I deserved. I grabbed the far side of the desk and looked up praying for numbness and forgiveness. The boy from before returned and grabbed my hands firmly in his own. He gave a crooked smile and winked at me. The first crack shattered the silence and euphoria. I begged again. “Please sir. Please no more! I’ll be a good girl! I swear it! Please!” Mr. Wimble waited until the boy had regained a firm hold of me and then delivered another swat. The crack seemed deafening in my ears but, it was likely my screams that were truly deafening. I begged more. I would have done anything to prevent another swing of the cursed paddle. I heard the next crack and felt nothing. Finally my tenderized buttocks had reached the point of total numbness. Or more likely the level of pain I was feeling was beyond increase. I had reached the very limit of pain and survived. I continued to cry and sob and shake and shudder. My body racked with shame took its punishment inspite of me.

Again I was carried to my seat and left to compose myself and return to my school work. I could no longer seem to bring myself back within control. Mr. Wimble seemed to understand and simply let me be. I sobbed and whispered pleas for mercy at my desk. Time was on fast forward again as suddenly Mr. Wimble announced the six hour students could leave. A quick glance around revealed only seven student remaining in addition to myself. Jennifer was one of those still there and as I glanced her way I could see she was quietly crying at her desk. She glanced me at me and then away quickly trying to hide her tears. I was extremely touched that she would cry for me considering how horrible I had been to her. She better than most knew how much I deserved this day of punishment. I decided then that I would seek her out at the next opportunity and offer my sincere apologies for having gotten her in such trouble before. Strange how lucid my thoughts were despite the sobbing and pleading exterior. It was almost as though I were detached from my body and watching a scene in a movie. Only this movie came complete with all the senses and pain was a foregone conclusion.

Once again it was time to present my tender buttocks for another onslaught. Once again I found myself gripping the arms of a boy I barely knew. Once again I found strength in my weakness and pride in my shame. Each swat of the paddle sent reverberations pulsing through my body and screaching out through my vocal chords. I was an instument and Mr. Wimble was the musician. He played me with the finesse of a master as I sung the ageless tune, “Please! No more! I’ll be a good girl!” The words of course, broken and slurred, were interrupted by sobs, screeches, and gasps for breath. My body was racked with pain, my legs weak and numb. Would this torture ever end?

Suddenly, I heard a loud ringing noise. I gasped for breath. There it was again only louder. My eyelids fluttered and opened. The detention room faded away and my bedroom came into focus. I sat upright in my bed as I realized it was the phone ringing. My breathing was ragged and I was satuarated with sweat. I had been so close too and then the damn phone had to ring. Knock! Knock! Someone was at my door. “Kelly, telephone!” My brother shouted through the closed door.

I looked at my phone with more than a little frustration and picked it up. “Hello. Oh, hey Jen what’s going on? Oh yeah! I forgot you had Saturday school today. What’s wrong did Wimble paddle you?”

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s