Disciplinary Charter School (DCS)

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© Guyspencer 2012

Disciplinary Charter School (DCS)

Author Note: In many parts of the United States there is a hybrid type of school that is halfway between public and private.  These are “charter” schools.  Governed by autonomous boards, they are financed largely with public funds, but freed from many of the regulations that govern (and some say hinder) public schools.  Charter schools are judged mainly by their results and rarely by their methods.  These schools often specialize in a certain subject area, such as vocational job training, military, or medical.  Alternatively, they may specialize in a certain type of student, such as students with bad disciplinary records.  While a few lucky charter schools have new purpose-built campuses, most “make do” with old unused public buildings or cheap rented space in old supermarkets, large storefronts, or empty shopping malls. 

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The mixed group of teenaged prospective students waited nervously outside the front door of the old shopping mall.  Most were old enough to remember when this was the most popular mall in town.  But that was before Wal-Mart, the Internet, and a worldwide recession had combined to gradually strangle it out of existence, one store at a time.

At precisely 2 PM, a uniformed guard appeared at the door.  “You people are all here for the tour and orientation?” he asked.  Everybody nodded eagerly.  Out of hundreds of applicants, these 20 were the only ones invited for the tour and presentation.  Still, not everybody here would “make the cut”.

Calling names from a list, the guard processed the “prospects” into the building.  Each ID was checked.  Then each passed through a metal detector, was sniffed by a drug dog, and was issued a temporary neck tag.  Inside, the group was joined by six others.  These six teens were wearing uniforms from the local reformatory.  Their neck tags had red borders.

Their arrival had purposely been timed to coincide with class change time, so they got to see the organized chaos of 500 students efficiently crisscrossing the mall as all moved to their next class.  Although the school had no prescribed uniform, most students wore a t-shirt in the yellow and blue school colors with the stylized “DCS” logo.  They happened to be standing near the entrance of one classroom, so they noticed that each student swiped his or her neck tag at the entrance as they entered.  Each time, the box beeped and flashed.  It didn’t take a genius to figure out that this is how the whereabouts of each student was continually monitored.  Just as the last student entered the last classroom, a bell rang.  The next class period had just started, and every student had been automatically accounted for...save one.

The prospects observed a small drama as one student rushed up seconds after the bell.  When he swiped his card, a buzzer sounded.  The boy’s face turned red as an electronic voice informed him that he had three minutes to report to the administrative office to answer for his tardiness.  With slumped shoulders, the boy headed to the office, and to his fate.

Except that everything was clean and neat, few obvious changes had been made to the shopping mall to convert it into a high school.  Externally, the classrooms looked much like the original storefronts.  In a little stroke of cleverness, the ex-Radio Shack store was the IT classroom. 

Captain Wilson, the head of the school’s security guard detail led the tour.  They were allowed to peek into several classrooms, walked through the immaculate food court with is several eateries, and were shown the empty Sears store that had been repurposed into a huge gym with indoor playing fields.  Then they were shown the dormitory areas, comfortable accommodations for inmate students and boarding students.  Finally, they were herded into a classroom where they were met by Sandra Evens, the school’s Principal.

Ms. Evans wasn’t a traditional educator; she was actually a retired army officer.  A highly decorated field officer who had become somewhat famous in Desert Storm combat, she ran her school with a velvet-lined iron fist.  Sandra was a compact lady, but definitely not petite.  Ms. Evans was curved everywhere a woman should be curved, but under those curves lurked a surprising physical toughness.  In fact, she still maintained herself Army-tough in the special gym that she had installed for her security guards, who were themselves all retired elite military warriors, each still in excellent shape.

She stood before the group.  She had no need to ask the group for silence, because there was something about her presence that demanded the attention of those around her.  The group, including the security guards, seemed to hold its collective breath waiting for her to speak.  She stood quietly, taking the time to look each prospect in the eye before she spoke.  In spite of everything, she noticed that she lacked the complete attention of two of the prospects.  She pointed them out; “Please escort those two off the campus,” she ordered the guards “they’re not the type of students we want here at DCS.”   If she hadn’t enjoyed everybody’s undivided attention before, she did now.

“Good afternoon everybody.” she said, “I’m Sandra Evans, Principal of Disciplinary Charter School.  At this school we specialize in second chances.  Let’s not beat around the bush, if you are here, it’s because you’ve screwed up your first chance, which was to succeed at a normal school.  So if you are lucky enough and good enough to be accepted here, you get a free second chance to succeed.  I know that most of you want in here because you have heard good things about DCS.  We have an amazing campus, the best equipment, and the best teachers.  If you graduate here, you will either already be qualified for placement in a good job, or you will have nearly a 100% chance of being accepted into college with an excellent scholarship.  In short, if you are accepted here and finish our program, you will have an excellent chance for a successful life.  Any questions so far?”

Nobody had any questions for the Principal, so she continued…

“We specialize in helping bright and motivated students who happen to have troubled backgrounds succeed.  We are a school of rules and a school of structure.  Why?  Because we’ve learned that’s what students like you need.  Before you can be accepted here, you must memorize and wholeheartedly agree to our rules. As soon as I’m done with this presentation, Captain Wilson will teach you our rules.  That class will immediately be followed by a comprehensive exam.  Those of you who pass that exam will receive further consideration for enrollment.    Questions?”

A few mouths hung open, but nobody ventured a question. 

“Now before you learn about the rules, I want you all to know what happens if you don’t follow them.  After you watch these two videos, there will be some of you who won’t wish to continue.  That’s fine with us, because we only want those of you who are willing to play by our rules…all of them!”

At the signal from the Principal, the lights went out.  “You are about to see two videos.  The first shows an example of ‘pops’, which is what we call our minimum corporal punishment procedure.  ‘Pops’ are nothing more than a few paddle swats to your bare bottom.  Both of these videos are file footage of actual students receiving real punishments.  Both students you will see are graduates who have kindly given us permission, even though we technically don’t need permission for official use of our surveillance and file videos.” 

On a huge TV screen, a still picture came on.  It showed the Principal sitting behind a desk; a girl was standing in front of it. 

Ms. Evans explained to the group, “This is my office.  If you ever see the inside of it, it’s probably because you haven’t lived up to our rules, but that’s unlikely to be the end of the world for you.  It just means that you are about to learn a sharp lesson.  This girl was there to be punished for tardiness.  We don’t tolerate tardiness.  You are about to see her receive three pops.  Three pops is our minimum punishment.”

Suddenly the still picture turned into a video.  The picture zoomed in on the girl’s face.  She looked very unhappy, but also obedient and apologetic.  The Principal stood, brandished a long, wicked-looking Lexan paddle.  She ordered the girl to move a certain chair into the middle of the office.  That done, she positioned the girl in front of the chair before ordering her to kick off her shoes and then ordered,  “drop them”.  Obviously familiar with the procedure, the girl kicked off her shoes and stowed them under the chair.  Then all the prospects gasped as the girl obediently reached to her waist to undo her belt and open her jeans.  With a bit of effort and wriggling, she lowered the jeans to her knees.  The pull from her tight jeans had pulled her panties halfway down, exposing the top half of her full buttocks.   Her hands returned for her panties, which she pushed down to meet her jeans, leaving her bottom and the back of her thighs vulnerable to the bite of the paddle.  Finally, the girl raised the back of her yellow T-shirt. Slack jawed, the boys in the room squirmed uncomfortably at this sudden and unexpected display of female charms.  However, the display of the girl’s secrets had only begun!  In a voice that was firm but not harsh, the Principal instructed the girl to spread her legs as much as her bunched pants would allow, and then to bend over and grip the seat of the chair.  The camera zoomed in on the target area, leaving none of the girl’s most private bits to the imagination. 

“Tell us why we are here” the Principal ordered. 

“Because I was tardy twice this week” the girl responded. 

“That’s good”, the Principal replied, “Keep that in mind as I make your bottom sting, and then perhaps we won’t need to repeat this lesson.”

At that, the Principal placed a restraining hand on the girl’s back, raised the paddle high, and delivered a stunning blow to the fullest part of the girl’s bottom.  The girl gave a high-pitched squeal, and her head snapped up, but the Principal’s hand kept her in place.

The camera zoomed in even further to treat the group to a full-screen image of a paddle-shaped red mark blooming across the center of the girls jiggling buttocks.  Little white circles coincided with the holes in the paddle.  Then, without warning, the paddle impacted again, but this time it was half a paddle width lower on her bottom.  The girl screeched, but stayed in place.  Her movements were now so urgent that the camera had to zoom back to keep the target framed, but the group could clearly see the area where the two paddle marks overlapped was now an angry shade of red.

It seemed impossible that the third “pop” could be harder than its predecessors, but it clearly was.  Its force actually pushed the girl forward, so that her knees banged against the chair.  This one landed higher, so that it overlapped with the top half of the mark left by the first stroke.  The Principal restrained the keening girl so that the camera could register the full visual impact of the nasty paddle stroke.  Finally, she allowed the girl up.  As the scene faded out, the girl was massaging her bare bottom with tears flowing down her cheeks. 

The lights came up in the room.  The Principal was the master of the pregnant pause.  There was dead quiet as she scanned faces, evaluating the effect of the scene on each prospective student.  Fear was ok, but if she saw outrage or disinterest, she made a note of the prospect’s name.  That person was unlikely to be accepted.

“Does anyone care to leave before we continue?” she asked.  There were no takers.

“Then we shall will continue,” she said in a brisk voice.  “The other, more severe but less common punishment is a plain old spanking, much like you may have received from your parents.  These are usually private affairs that happen in my office, but occasionally it is necessary for one to happen in front of the entire school body.  In that case we call it a “screening” because the spanking happens behind a small translucent modesty screen.  The spanking you will now see happened in my office.  The offense was fighting.”

She snapped her fingers.  Instantly the lights went out and a still picture appeared on the screen.  Again the scene showed her sitting at her desk, but now there was a large boy standing in front of her.   He looked tough, and obviously larger and heavier than her.  He wore droopy jeans and the ubiquitous school T-shirt.

Speaking to the group, the Principal set the scene.  “We’ll call this student ‘Sam’.  Sam had an anger management problem, which is why he ended up with us.  At DCS he did well, except for a tendency to solve disagreements by fighting.  In this scene, I have already privately dealt with the other participant, who I also spanked.  As this scene opens, I’ve been talking with Sam for about 30 minutes.  It’s now time for his spanking.  We’ll be using that same chair you saw before.  You will notice a small paddle in a holder at the back of the chair.  I decide on a case-by-case basis if that’s needed.  Usually my hand is quite sufficient.  OK, here we go…”

The video rolled, the Principal spoke to the boy, “We’re not going to have any trouble with your punishment are we Sam?  After all, George took his punishment like a man.  We certainly can’t expect any less from a tough guy like you can we?”  (Ms. Evans considered peer pressure to be one of her most powerful tools.  She used it slavishly.)

The video was plenty clear enough to show Sam’s face turn red.  “No ma-am, I’ll cooperate with my punishment.”

“I’m really happy to hear that,” the Principal enthused, “So you’re sure we won’t need the guards?”

“No ma-am, I’ll be good.”

“Do you need to use my bathroom before we start?  You’ll be across my lap for quite a while.”

The boy’s face get even redder, he shook his head “No”.

“In that case, you know the routine.  Please place the spanking chair and then prepare yourself.”

The boy moved the chair to the center of the floor in front of the Principal’s desk.  He removed his shoes, and then placed them neatly under the chair.  Then he unbuckled his belt, undid his pants, and stepped out of them.  After neatly folding his pants, he bent over to place them neatly on top of his shoes.  Now the boy looked truly reluctant.  He stalled a moment, looking hopefully at the Principal.

“Continue” she ordered.

With a sigh, the boy lowered his underpants, and then stepped out of them.  He folded the briefs in half, and then bent over again to place them under the chair.  It’s obvious to all watching the video that this procedure is designed with embarrassment in mind.  As if there were any doubt, the camera zoomed in to prove that the enforced bending over removed all vestiges of privacy.   

One final step remained, the boy pulled up the hem of his T-shirt.  He was now naked from his navel to the top of his white socks.  He stood next to the chair, meekly awaiting his fate. 

The camera showed a well-developed “boy” who was obviously well on the way to adulthood.  He had thick pubic hair, and chest hair could be seen peeking out from under his T-shirt.   Fortunately for him, his man-sized penis was still mostly flaccid. 

After a suitable pause, the Principal rose from her desk and walked purposely to the waiting chair.  As she seated herself, the boy automatically moved to her right side.  The camera zoomed in on his face.  His eyes were wet with tears, although he was obviously struggling to suppress them.  The Principal took his hand, and expertly guided him into place.  His final position presented his bottom high, with his manhood suspended between her slightly spread legs so it wouldn’t be mashed against her thigh.  That last was a good thing.  Even though the camera couldn’t show it, Sam’s penis had jumped to attention as soon as it touched the soft fabric of the Principal’s skirt.   Sandra didn’t know or care about the erectile state of Sam’s penis.  In her job, the sight of undraped students was just part of the everyday scenery.  Besides, she hadn’t yet seen an erection survive one of her spankings.

“Tell me why we’re here Sam,” she ordered.

Upended, with his head near the carpet, his voice sounded different, higher, “Because…because I lost my temper and got into another fight.”

“Good answer,” she agreed, “You get this spanking privately, but if this happens again, you can expect a screening.  To help prevent that, we’re going to find you some anger management training.  OK?”

“Yes ma-am,” squeaked the boy.

Then one last reminder, “It’s OK to make all the noise you want, and some wiggling is OK, but fighting me is not OK!”

Sandra Evans wasn’t a mean lady, but she believed that a spanking must be a memorable event to be effective.  Her spankings were long, and always hard enough to temporarily reduce the toughest, most macho student to a sniveling wreck, but they were never more severe than the situation called for.

Her first spanks were firm and slow.  Yes, she could have started harder and faster, but she felt it best to allow the boy the dignity of suffering the first couple minutes in silence, a feat Sam managed with only a bit of involuntary wiggling and clenching.  But then she slowly dialed up the heat!

Finally the first noise escaped the boy’s lips, a combination grunt and moan which the boy quickly repressed.  Now the boy’s feet conspired to betray his distress.  His toes pointed, and then dug into the carpet, their purchase imparting a new movement to his slowly reddening bottom.

Still spanking with only her hand, she dialed up the corporal correction just a bit more; slightly harder, and slightly faster. 

Finally the first plea escaped! “I’m sorry…I won’t do it again.”

She paused for a moment, “I’m glad you’re sorry Sam, that’s important.  But you’ve been sorry before.  We need to be sure this time, don’t we?”

“Yes ma-am,” he choked.  

The spanking started again, just a bit harder and faster than before.  Now she started gradually increasing the target area, ensuring that she spanked all the way to the top of his crack, and then around the fullness of each cheek almost to his hips, before finally moving down to the tender, untouched flesh of his sit spots and thighs.

This finally pushed the boy over the edge; his entreaties gradually became incoherent, dissolving into frank sobs and tears.  The tears obviously had no effect on the Principal, who continued the punishment for several more minutes. 

The group watching the video squirmed as the boy’s punishment seemed to go on forever.

Finally, the spanks slowed down as the Principal started questioning the boy, “Have you really learned your lesson this time?  What are you going to do the next time you feel yourself get angry?  Do you understand why we don’t allow violence here as DCS?”

Each time, the boy sobbed out some sort of answer, which eventually seemed to satisfy the lady.

Finally she stopped long enough to reposition the boy for his ending spanks.  She threw one leg over his legs, and then firmly secured his right wrist at his waist.  Starting low on his left thigh, she rained down five firm spanks, and then added five scorchers to his sit spot, and then the boy wailed as she delivered five full-strength spanks to the meatiest part of his left buttock.   After an appropriate pause to allow the student to come back to his senses to fully appreciate what was about to happen, she repeated the entire painful process on his other side.

Then she abruptly stopped.  She waved her obviously stinging right hand in the air to cool it, before massaging it with her left hand.  Finally, she allowed the sobbing boy to his feet.  Unashamed, he danced and rubbed his bottom, his male bits flopping in the breeze.

Calmly, the Principal stood and walked back behind her desk.  The video continued to run as the tearful boy dressed himself and then replaced the chair to its normal place at the office wall.

Finally, thankfully, the grim video ended, and the lights came up in the room.  It wasn’t lost on any of the group that this lady had reduced that large, tough boy to tears, and never even bothered to use her paddle!

The Principal silently regarded the group for what seemed like an eternity.  She fixed each prospective student with her gaze before picking up a pen and making some notes.  Finally she spoke, “Few of you who are accepted here at DCS will escape without getting ‘pops” at least once.  That’s just human nature.  However, only a few of you will misbehave badly enough to get spanked.  Still, it’s something that every student here is potentially subject to if you break our rules.  Usually at this point there are some who wish to withdraw their applications.   Raise your hands if you wish to leave.

Four hands raised, two of them were inmates who obviously had decided that life was safer in the reformatory.  A guard took the four out of the classroom, the two inmates to be transported back to their reformatory cells, and the other two to be escorted out the front door.

The Principal left the room to allow Captain Wilson to deliver a presentation to the group about DCS’s rules and regulations.  Since the regulations were uniformly fair and mostly obvious, and since only the brightest applicants were allowed to make it this far in the selection procedure, they all passed the subsequent quiz.

The Principal returned to the room just in time to congratulate the successful applicants, to hand out DCS T-shirts, and to remind them not to be late for their first day of class.

For each of them, it was a promise of a new beginning for their young lives, and a likely portal to a happy and secure adulthood.  But that’s another story.

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© Guyspencer 2012