Luring Mr. Stanley

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Luring Mr. Stanley

Oh man! I will never forget that day. I was on pins and needles! I had to do it just then, or never do it at all. The quiz was in front of me, I was wearing the right panties, and my Mom was cooking Brunswick stew. So you see, everything was ready! I merely had to fake cheating on this little pop quiz to set everything into motion.

Oh? You don't see? Well, just follow along and I'll eventually explain everything. Just know this: This would either be the nicest thing I'd ever done, or the stupidest thing ever. But I wouldn't know which for several months.

Did I mention that I did what I did that knowing that I would be punished? Punished twice? And I did it knowing that both of those punishments would involve a sore bottom. But my mother was (and is) worth it! Besides the punishments, I also took a zero on that quiz, but that's another reason why I had selected that particular day to “get caught”. Those pop quizzes didn't count for much, so I could still shoot for an “A” in physics.

The physics quiz was simple, just a one-question essay “pop” quiz: “Explain how to calculate the number of moles in a given mass of an element”. So I only had to put a few convincing (but wrong) scribbles on my paper, and then pretend to look at my neighbor's paper. But first Mr. Robbins had to be watching, or my effort would be wasted.

He was looking down at his desk, but finally remembered to look up. That's when I did it! To make it a bit more obvious, I leaned as I looked at Gerald’s paper.

Bingo! Mr. Robbin's eyes widened and his face turned red. My stomach churned! There was no going back. I had really done it!

Mr. Robbins scribbled furiously on a form before stalking to my desk. He grabbed my quiz paper, handed me a referral form, and pointed to the door. My stomach churned with classic mixed emotions, part bravado and part “scared shitless”. I gathered my books and then took the long walk towards my school's administrative office and Mr. Stanley. For better or worse, I was now locked in to my scheme.

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What school kid could possibly refrain from making fun of any school staff member named “Stan Stanley”, even if he happened to be the Principal? And it wasn't just the man's name we made fun of!

Stan Stanley was the principal of Victory High, the religious high school I attended. Everything about Mr. Stanley was “stiff”, including his personality and his physical self. He walked with a strange bouncing gait that us students loved to mimic. And Mr. Stanley walked a lot! Folks claimed that his secretary and clerk did the actual work of administering the school. Mr. Stanley dealt with matters of student discipline, and with parents who couldn't be avoided, but then spent the rest of the day walking the halls of his beloved school. He called it “MBWA”, (Management By Walking Around).

So I wasn't surprised to encounter Mr. Stanley himself as I made my nervous way to his office.

“Oh no!” he said in his usual stiff manner as he saw the referral form in my hand, “Not you again Becky!”

“Follow me,” he ordered, “I'll read this form in my office.”

So I followed him to his office. Remembering a scene from the “Three Stooges”, I did my best to refrain from comically imitating his strange gait.

Without being told, I stood stiffly in front of Mr. Stanley's desk as he donned his (stiff) reading glasses to peruse the form. As usual, his office door remained wide open. His clerk's desk was situated so that she could see into his office. He called it his “open door policy”, but some folks say that it's all part of Mr. Stanley's social awkwardness. He never allowed himself to be isolated behind closed doors with a student or parent. Folks say that the presence of his clerk gave him the security that he needed to function.

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It was my Senior year at Victory. I'm not bragging, but I was a pretty good student, and surely no troublemaker. But still, I've always been the sort of person who gets into more than my share of trouble. So I'm no stranger to Mr. Stanley, all the more so because it was my fourth year at Victory and no year had gone by without me being paddled by Mr. Stanley multiple times!

Thankfully, Mr. Stanley believed that my “cheating” was just one of those random disciplinary incidents that I regularly seem to get myself involved in, but he would have been astounded had he known the truth!

I spent my first two years at Victory hating Mr. Stanley. At first, everything about his personality seemed boring and even repulsive to me. Also, I thought it “unfair” that he had paddled me so many times. Back then it didn't matter to me that every punishment he had given me had been perfectly fair! But even though I couldn't keep myself out of trouble, I gradually came to understand that Mr. Stanley was just doing his job.

In my Freshman year, I had been only vaguely aware that Mr. Stanley's wife was sick. That summer, word spread that she had died. Mr. Stanley attended a different church, but was well known in the town's Christian community. I remember signing a nice sympathy card for him that had somebody circulated around my Sunday school class. To me, that was the end of the matter.

After becoming a widower, Mr. Stanley became ever more remote and stiff.

My attitude changed in my Junior year when I took a required class on “Christian Family Living”. That class is controversial because it's co-ed, and (among other things) we actually learn about sex!

It so-happened that the instructor for that class was out sick. A random substitute wouldn't do for that sensitive class, so Mr. Stanley filled in. That's when I discovered that the man was human!

Since the subject was “family living”, something triggered Mr. Stanley to talk about his own life. When he talked about his late wife, it was as if a drapery opened and suddenly I could see the real man hidden there. He talked about his courtship and his early days of marriage. Since it was OK for him to talk about sex, he even described a few vague details of his wedding night! One thing was clear, he had passionately loved that woman!

And then he talked about the “good years” and about her illness and decline. When Mr. Stanley described the loneliness of living without her, mine weren't the only wet eyes in the class. Loneliness is something that I can understood because my father died when I was young. I see loneliness in my mother's eyes every day.

Perhaps I've grown up over the last year or two, and perhaps that's what helped me see Mr. Stanley as human. After that, my opinion of him became sort of schizophrenic. I still got into trouble periodically at school, so I still knew Mr. Stanley as a disciplinarian. I managed to get myself paddled more than the average student at Victory High. When that happened, I still found myself hating him. But at other times, I actually liked him. At least, I liked him a little! You see, I realized that at heart he's a very decent, (albeit boring) man.

And then one day I had an epiphany! Mr. Stanley is exactly the man for my mother!

Oh no, I didn't want him for a father! I was in my last semester of high school and was already accepted at the state college, so would be leaving home. Mom was already a lonely woman, so she would be even more lonely living alone. The more I thought of it, the more I became convinced that Mom and Mr. Stanley were perfect for each other. But Mr. Stanley was a remote character, and a man who attended a different church. Worse, Mom claimed that she wasn't “on the market”.

So how to get them together?

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Back in Mr. Stanley's office…

I nervously watched Mr. Stanley's face as he read that referral form. His scowl did nothing to sooth my already shattered nerves. As I stood there, I had an overwhelming urge to rub my bottom, but I didn't want to give him any ideas! Still, I knew that before this day was over, Mr. Stanley likely would punish me, punish me twice! This had better be worth it!

Naturally I had to endure a lecture about cheating. That was hard to take because I never actually cheated, but only pretended to cheat.

Finally he announced my punishment. He spoke with true reluctance, “Becky you know that a mere paddling won't do, not for cheating! So that leaves me no choice except to spank you. After that, it will be my duty to report this to your mother. You remember that discussion with your mother we had about three weeks ago, right? And you remember what we decided?”

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Oh yes, I remembered that conversation very well! Hopefully Mr. Stanley will never figure it out, but that conversation is why I was in his office that day. You see, that's where I got the idea!

The previous semester I had gotten into enough trouble at school to seriously worry Mom. So she had made an appointment to discuss the matter with Mr. Stanley. That's when Mom unwittingly supplied me with the chance I needed to get her and Mr. Stanley together.

You see, Mom had become very worried about my behavior. She was concerned that I was somehow “spinning out of control”, although neither Mr. Stanley nor I really saw it that way. I had to sit quietly while Mom and Mr. Stanley discussed me as if I wasn't in the room! It was frustrating and embarrassing. Truthfully I wasn't a bad girl, but just a basically good girl who couldn't seem to avoid landing into random trouble! Mr. Stanley even said that I wasn't among the school's troublemakers.

And then, just as the conversation was about to end, Mom shocked me by asking plaintively, “Mr. Stanley, a good friend of mine says that you sometimes help single mothers solve discipline problems.”

That was news to me! Mr. Stanley harrumphed and delayed, but finally answered, “Very reluctantly I have done that, but only within my own church family. May I ask who you heard that from?”

“It was June Carter,” mother replied. “She goes to your church, but attends my Bible study group. She says you did her daughter Alice a lot of good. Mr. Stanley, could you possibly help me with Becky if we continue to have problems with her? What I'm doing just isn't working.”

I must have sat there with my mouth wide open! I knew Alice Carter, and she was no bad girl. Yet her mother needed “help” with her? Stupid me, that's when I finally wondered, “Just what sort of 'help' are they talking about?”

Mr. Stanley supplied the answer. I was shocked! “To be clear Mrs. Robbins, at Mrs. Carter's request, and with our Pastor's blessing, I have visited the Carter residence a few times to discipline Alice. Those visits have nothing to do with my position here at Victory High! When I'm on my own time and off the school premises, I am not bound by school board policy.”

Well you certainly have it figured out my now! My mother managed to extract a promise from Mr. Stanley that if I were to get into serious trouble at school again, I would first receive my “normal” punishment at school, and then Mr. Stanley himself would come to my house to spank me!

So now you know why I deliberately got myself into “serious trouble” that day. It was the only way to get Mr. Stanley and my mother together outside of school property. Will they strike up an acquaintance or perhaps even a love affair? I can only do my part, and then hope for the best!

So there I was facing Mr. Stanley, and about to pay dearly for something that I had only pretended to do! I've got to say, that was quite a strange emotional experience! I could have confessed, but that would have ruined everything, and he probably would have punished me anyhow.

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Allow me to explain that my school has two types of corporal punishment. The first is the common USA-style high school paddling. Mr. Stanley makes us bend over his desk and push out our fully-clothed bottom. Then he applies between two and six memorable swats with a big wooden paddle. Believe me, it stings! That quick paddling is our school's most common corporal punishment. On average, it happens to me three or four times each year. I can usually take a paddling quietly (except perhaps for a grunt) but it always puts tears in my eyes and leaves a lasting sting in my bottom.

But there is another type of paddling that is much worse. It's a classic spanking over undies with a hairbrush-sized paddle. That punishment is reserved for repeat offenders or for more serious offenses. For this you lay across his lap for a vigorous application of his little paddle to your undie-covered tush. That treatment always continues until you are bawling your head off. It might seem strange that we were more afraid of that little paddle than his big one, but believe me, Mr. Stanley knows how to spank! It doesn't matter if you are a petite girl or a manly football hero, that hard little paddle will make you beg for mercy! I've only had that treatment twice before, and I detest it!. My last time was a few weeks before this, and that was the incident that had worried my mother enough to discuss my behavior with Mr. Stanley.

So he had just told me that I was about to be spanked again. I wasn't looking forward to it, but truthfully this was my own idea!

It must be said that Mr. Stanley is a very proper person. If he gets any thrill out of punishing us students, he hides it well. At Victory High, male and female students are punished the same way, which I suppose is fair. He always has a witness in the room when it happens, usually his clerk Mrs. Perkins. There was one small difference in the way girls are handled, and I was already prepared for that difference. For a paddling we simply bent over wearing whatever we had on. But to be spanked we had to expose our undies. Well boys aren't an issue, but he has a special little procedure for girls. Before a spanking, Mrs. Perkins took us girls into the washroom for a sort of “panty check”. If she judged a girl's panties to be too scanty for Mr. Stanley to see, then she issued the girl a new pair of suitable panties to wear.

So that's what happened. At a word from Mr, Stanley, Mrs. Perkins entered his office, closing the door behind her. With a gentle hand on my shoulder, she guided me into the Principal's private washroom. There I lifted my skirt to display my panties. They easily passed her scrutiny, no surprise because I had thought ahead. They were my most modest pair of winter-weight panties. (Being winter-weight didn't make much difference in how I felt my spanking, but it's the thought that counts.)

After my “panty check” she left me in the washroom with instructions to “use the facilities” and then quickly emerge. I obeyed, and then crept back into Mr. Stanley's office. He had placed a chair in front of his desk and was sitting in it. I knew what was next!

We had uniforms at Victory High. Boys wore dark pants with light blue shirts and ties, while us girls had full skirts with light blue tops and a red tie. Those full skirts were very convenient for spanking!

Mr. Stanley didn't re-scold me, but he did give me a quick reminder about why I was being spanked before guiding me over his lap. He pushed me well over, leaving me gripping the chair legs near the floor, my toes just off the floor, and my bottom pointing up at the ceiling. Mrs. Perkins stepped up to raise the hem of my skirt above my waist, naturally exposing my panty-covered target to the Principal’s scrutiny.

Oddly, I remember the smells from that moment. With my nose so close to the floor, I sniffed a strange mixture of floor dust and Mr. Stanley's aftershave.

The first barrage of swats came without warning, and I squealed like an insulted porker. That little paddle of his hurts!

With Mr. Stanley there was no point in holding back tears. Us spanked students sometimes compared notes, and agree that he never stopped until sometime after you had totally “lost it”. OK, a couple guys claimed to have taken their spankings silently, but they weren't the type to be believed. On the other hand, Mr. Stanley never fell for “alligator tears”.

And believe me, after less that a minute across his lap, I was crying the most genuine tears possible!

Before it was over, I was kicking, squirming, and bawling my pretty head off! I didn't mean to struggle, but I couldn't help it, that little paddle burns like fire. Anyhow, he didn't seem to have any trouble holding me, but Mrs. Perkins would help hold me if necessary.

There was one last extra-hard flurry of swats that made me shriek, and then it was over. Once he stopped spanking, Mr. Stanley always seemed to want me off of his lap immediately. Once on my feet, my skirt flopped back down into place. He let me rub and dance and cry all I wanted, but there is never a hug. Hugs are something I miss about a school punishment. Mother always hugs and holds me afterwards.

Her task over, Mrs. Perkins simply returned to her desk. She is an OK lady and I would happily have settled for a hug from her, but I guess it's just not done.

Mr. Stanley reminded me that he would call my mother, and then ordered me to return to class. “Then I guess I will be seeing you at my house?” I asked. He looked at me grimly, “Unless your mother decides otherwise, that is very likely.”

After one last apology, I left the Principal's office. Naturally I made a stop at the girl's room to repair my face and check my bottom before venturing back to my scheduled class. The damage? My bottom was bright red, but probably not bruised. But the day was still young!

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My head was awash with a strange mixture of emotions as I faced my mother that afternoon. Standing there with my bottom still sore from Mr. Stanley's paddle, I felt like a martyr. But seeing her shame at my apparent cheating on that test also made me feel shame like never before. Naturally, part of me wanted to tell her, tell her that her daughter really wasn't a bad girl, and tell her that I was just trying to do something nice for her. But that wouldn't do!

Fortunately, mother was clueless about what was in my head. She only saw a daughter that had disappointed her, a daughter that needed a good spanking! That's when she informed me that Mr. Stanley would be coming. The tears in my eyes were mostly genuine. I would have been terribly disappointed if after all this angst, and all this bottom pain, he wasn't coming.

Fortunately the kitchen was heady with the fragrance of Brunswick stew, which I had asked her for today. It was the perfect dish for the occasion, first because mother always makes plenty, so there will be enough to set an extra place at the table. The other reason mother would never suspect. One of the personal things that Mr. Stanley had shared with my class was that his late wife had often made him Brunswick stew.

So what do you wear to a spanking? I asked mother if I should change before Mr. Stanley arrived, but she said that my school skirt was perfect.

OK now everything was set up just as I had planned. The house smelled right, the timing was right for supper, and now Mom and Mr. Stanley would get to meet off of school grounds. The only problem was, he was coming to spank me! 

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Never has a doorbell sounded so ominous! Like a good girl, I opened the door to greet Mr. Stanley. Mother stood behind me, wiping her hands nervously on a dishtowel. Naturally, he seemed a little stiff. We all went into the living room, where I fully expected the next few minutes to be pure hell.

I wasn't disappointed!

First they tag-team lectured me. Finally everything got quiet, and Mom and Mr. Stanley looked at each other meaningfully.

Finally mother said, “Mr. Stanley, I really appreciate you coming today. As we discussed on the phone this afternoon, would you please help me by giving this girl a spanking that she won't soon forget?”

As usual, his face didn't register any particular pleasure at the prospect. “Yes ma-am I'll do my best. I believe you have an appropriate hairbrush?”

I was sent to fetch the hairbrush. I returned to find him on a wooden armless chair. Reluctantly, I offered him the brush. Naturally he accepted.

Mother stood to hug me, “I love you Becky, but you need this badly. Get yourself ready, and then ask Mr. Stanley to kindly spank you.”

Get myself ready? I thought I was ready!

Mother could see the question in my eyes, so she explained, “Under the circumstances you may retain your skirt to protect your modesty. So just reach underneath and lower your panties below your knees.”

I was horrified! “No Mommy please! Let me keep my panties...please!”

To his credit, Mr. Stanley seemed uncomfortable also.

She was immovable, “Honey, in this house have you ever been spanked over your clothing? Surely Mr. Stanley know what a bottom looks like, and that's all he will see.”

Her eyes hardened as she delivered the final words, “Do it!”

So what could I do? Blushing madly, I reached under my skirt and obeyed my mother.

And then I shuffled over to Mr. Stanley's right thigh.

And then he pulled me across his lap, into an all-to-familiar position

And then I felt a draft. Since Mrs. Perkins wasn't there to lift my skirt for him, I guess he did it himself.

And then, on seeing that my bottom was only slightly pink from my previous spanking, Mom offered Mr. Stanley a bit of helpful advice, “No need to hold back. She's tough! A few marks will serve as a good reminder for her, especially on her sit spots.”

And then I screamed my way through the worst spanking ever!

I have heard people say that they “saw red”, but his is the first time that it ever happened to me. I had a really good view of our living room carpet, and I remember it actually changing color during the worst part of my ordeal. Naturally I struggled and kicked, but he easily handled me. At some point I lost my panties. I blush to think about it, but without those panties to restrain my legs from parting, I likely lost a good bit of my modesty. But I suppose Mr. Stanley has seen that sort of thing before.

For the second time that day, Mr. Stanley helped helped me back to my feet. Naturally, my skirt flopped town to cover my livid bottom. Mom wasn't one for corner time, so I was allowed to dance and rub as I bawled out my last few tears. As I reached back to rub my bottom, my skirt felt like sandpaper against my spanked flesh.

As my vision gradually returned through my swimming tears, I first focused on a pair of panties laying untidily in the middle of the floor. It took me a while to realize they were mine!

Now aware of my surroundings, I noticed that Mom and Mr. Stanley were standing and shaking hands. It looked like he was getting ready to leave! Oh no! It was way too late to allow my plan to be derailed by him leaving early.

Quickly I begged, “Mommy, you made plenty of Brunswick stew. I still need to apologize to Mr. Stanley and even thank him for dealing with me. Can he please stay for supper?

Both Mom and Mr. Stanley seemed surprised, and perhaps a bit embarrassed. They looked at each other, and then Mom asked him to please stay for supper. He accepted, mentioning how much he liked Brunswick stew!

My normal post-spanking plan is to go up to my room where I will sob, pout and possibly nap. Today, that wasn't possible. Having invited Mr. Stanley to supper, I could hardly skip it myself. So I scooped up my panties and went upstairs just long enough to wash my face and grab a pillow for my dining room chair.

I sat quietly and ate as the adults conversed. I was glad to see my mother attempt to converse with him. As you would expect, Mr. Stanley's initial responses to mother's attempts were sort of stiff, but gradually things warmed between the two.

Finally I delivered the promised apology and thanks to Mr. Stanley, and then politely asked to be excused. I went up to my room to leave them alone. From my window, I could see that it was at least half an hour before the man left.

The next morning, Mom seemed unusually bright and happy. She told me that Mr. Stanley had invited her to his Bible study group the next evening, and could I please make my own supper?

Yes! Under those conditions I was delighted to make my own supper!

So at the expense of great pain to my bottom, I have planted a seed. Mr. Stanley and Mom have been properly introduced and are friends. Will that seed grow? It will be months before I really know, but I have reason to hope!

I'm wondering though: If it happens to work out between them, should I ever confess to Mom what I did to get them together?

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