Sunday, January 15, 2017

The Day I Lost My Panties


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© Guyspencer 2017

The Day I Lost My Panties

I spent an unforgettable hour stewing outside my Principal's office. I was morose, I was tearful, and I had little reason for optimism. Near the end of my senior year, my high school days were nearly over, yet I was in big trouble. And yes, it was all my fault.

But hope springs eternal, and I remember exactly what I was hoping whilst waiting for the Principal to deal with me, “I hope she paddles my bottom red”. You might think it strange that a girl would sit outside her Principal's office hoping for the paddle, but suspension was the only other alternative, and that would be disastrous.
Suspension would be a disaster for me because that was a Friday and final exams were due to start the next Monday. Worse, in this school work missed during a suspension can't be made up. So I would be slammed with a “zero” score on several final exams.
And oh yes! To top things off, I didn't happen to be wearing panties just then. In this school the paddle is applied over the clothed bottom. Those missing panties wouldn't make much difference to how I felt the paddle (if I were lucky enough to get it). Still, for reasons I can't put into words, my pantyless condition worried me, adding to my mental stress.

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Okay, you're probably wondering what I did to get into trouble, and how I become separated from my panties. First, know that I arrived at school that morning wearing a full set of undies. I'm a good girl!

It's expected for us seniors to let off steam in our final weeks of school. Usually “steam release” takes the form of various harmless pranks. Some pranks are “old” and well-known, like stealing someone's panties from the gym locker room. Yes, that's what happened to me. Someone probably asked to go to the toilet during gym class, but instead nipped my panties from the locker room. Now usually when that happens we all laugh and then the panties are returned, and that's probably what whomever stole my panties intended. Unfortunately, there was a big ruckus in the locker room that day after gym class, and my panties were probably forgotten in the general upset. So that's why I was bare under my slacks.

Unfortunately, I had been the cause of that upset. And as you've probably guessed, that's why I was in trouble.

It all started out, if not totally innocently, then at least with good intentions. I just wanted to cause a few laughs, and certainly didn't want to hurt anybody. But unfortunately my prank turned into a debacle. Three girls were injured. Abby Giller, a friend of mine, cut her foot so badly that she needed stitches.

Oh yes. I felt bad!

As you can imagine, no glass is allowed in the gym, shower room, or locker room. There's even a big sign that says so. Now I see why that's a good rule, but I wasn't thinking of that at the time!

You see, I smuggled a water glass into the locker room. Unnoticed, I filled it with ice water from the drinking fountain. I hung back from the shower, waiting for girls to emerge. When the first group did, I splashed them with the water. All I intended was to cause a few girly screams and perhaps perk up some nipples. But unfortunately the glass slipped from my fingers and shattered all over the floor. So while the girls were shrieking and dancing from the cold water, certain of them stepped on the glass. And then everybody really screamed!

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So now you know why I was sitting outside our Principal, Mrs Kielander's office. Enough people saw me do it that there was no question of my guilt. As soon as the gym teacher had everything sorted out, and had called Mr Thomas, our school nurse, to deal with the bleeding feet, she sent me straight to the Principal to be dealt with.

She made me wait for an hour. During that time, Abby's mother arrived to take her to the emergency room for stitches. Her and Mr Thomas were in the Principal's office for some paperwork, and they both glowered at me as they passed. Yes, I cried. I was a sorry and embarrassed girl!


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You might think it odd that we had a man for a school nurse, but William Thomas was perfect for the job! Mr Thomas was well-known in our state because as a quarterback he single-handedly led our state college football team through two consecutive championship seasons. Perhaps oddly for a football player, he graduated from nursing school, but with an emphasis in sports medicine.

Our high school had been his first job out of nursing school. They say that he had planned to study to become a sports medicine nurse-practitioner, but here at Carter High he found his true calling. Without extra pay, he took on the job of coaching our football team, which became feared throughout the state. He also served as an assistant coach for our other sports teams.

Besides his football experience, it was his knowledge of sports medicine that served as the “secret weapon” for our school's sport teams. For each team, he worked up a scientific program to develop the proper muscle groups and fitness level to fit that sport. This, along with diet advice and physical therapy when needed, gave our teams the edge over the competition.
So as a first-string volleyball player, I saw Mr Thomas a lot. Believe me, he was “easy on the eyes”. Yes, our nurse was 200 pounds of sculptured beefsteak with a handsome face and blond curly hair. When he married, every girl in the senior class mourned, although no schoolkid ever had a chance with him.

Oh yes! As the school nurse, Mr. Thomas was our school's designated corporal punishment witness. So far that year he had seen me twice in that capacity. And yes, we were all quite aware that he was a male, but he was highly respected in our community and was a registered nurse. Plus we were paddled over our clothing. So no problem.


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It seemed forever before Mrs Kielander called me into her office. I know that Principals use delay to play mind games with us students, but later I discovered that our Principal had extra reason to be mad at me. You see, her job effectiveness was judged partly on the basis of our school's safety record. Now, instead of receiving an award for having an accident-free semester, she would have a blot on her record. I already felt bad, but if I had known how I had rained on that nice lady's parade I would have been devastated. To her credit, she never mentioned that. It was years later before I learned that tidbit.

Once she called me in, she seemed calm and rational. She sat me down for a “talk”. The theme of our discussion was “Choices”. She walked me through the entire incident step-by-step, and at each step she made me identify the choices that I had made. Then we analyzed choices, contrasting my good choices against the bad, and then evaluating alternative choices. Several times I tried to dissolve into tears, but Mrs Kielander wouldn’t have that. Instead, she forced me to evaluate the entire incident in a totally rational manner.

I hated it. Being forced to confront my string of bad choices made me feel really stupid!

But I was being set up to make another choice, and I never saw it coming!

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Next Mrs Kielander explained why she wouldn't simply paddle me, and why I must be suspended. My behavior had hardly been stellar that semester, and today I had deliberately and with forethought broken a rule that resulted in three injured classmates. Seeing it put like that, I could hardly argue! So now I knew that I had truly screwed myself!

She proposed a three day suspension. That would mean three missed final exams and therefore three “zero” grades. That would devastate my grade point average, make it impossible for me to graduate with my class, and ruin my college chances in the deal. All for one silly stunt!

So I was obviously devastated and tearful.

But then the lady threw me a “life line”!

“Fortunately”, she said speculatively, “Due to recent action by the school board, you have a choice.”

“Huh?” I said in a sudden burst of frantic hope, “What it it? I'll do it!”

“It's not announced yet,” she explained, “But officially the rules have changed. At my repeated request, they have finally eliminated all reference to gender in our discipline regulations. Now boys and girls shall be treated equally. That seems totally fair. Don't you agree?”

Given my desperation, how could I do anything but agree? But I hadn't yet figured out what I was agreeing to!


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Okay dear reader, you deserve some clarification. At this point in the story, I hadn't yet caught up with my Principal's reasoning, but it didn't take me long to do so, and I was appalled when I realized where this conversation was going.

You see, earlier I told you that the Principal had two different possible punishments to choose between for me. She could give me a paddling over my clothing (six strokes maximum), or a suspension from school. But that's because I'm a girl. If I were a boy, a third possibility would be added to the mix, a serious hairbrush spanking.

Over the years, not many boys have actually been spanked, and those unfortunates rarely talk about it, so the details of that particular punishment were fuzzy in my head. All I knew for sure was that nobody who had been spanked wanted to repeat the experience. In contrast, many students (including myself unfortunately) had faced the paddle multiple times. One boy declared that he would take ten paddlings rather than another of those spankings! So our Principal's spankings were clearly a ferocious punishment. Is that why girls had previously been deemed “to delicate” to undergo them?


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The Principal explained, “Usually I decide on a punishment, and you have no voice in the matter. But possible punishments should always be known in advance to students, so it wouldn't be fair to force you to accept a spanking when the change hasn't been announced and it hasn't been written into the student handbook.”

“Still, because the school board has actually changed the rule, I do have authority to spank you. Therefore I'm offering you the choice: You may be suspended for three days, or you may be spanked. We just talked about choices, and now you are faced with an important one. Think through your alternatives, consider the long-term consequences of both choices, and then choose well!”

And so I made my choice. I would go down in history as the first girl in my school to be spanked!

And then it occurred to me; since I wasn't wearing panties, it would hurt that much more. But still, there was no way that I could allow myself to miss three final exams. So I swallowed nervously and kept my pantyless condition to myself.


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The next part of my school's punishment ritual felt somewhat familiar, because I'd been through it before. She sent me to the school nurse for a “pre-punishment checkup”. After hearing my story and then briefly evaluating the state of my health, Mr. Thomas would solemnly escort me back to Mrs Keilander's office to witness my punishment.

Mr Thomas had reason to be angry with me. I had injured three students, gotten blood on the girl's locker room floor, and upset his entire morning. Not to mention, he now had three accident reports to write up.

Not as subtle as the Principal, he chewed me out as only a coach can do. Finally he got down to business. Efficiently he checked my vital signs, and my medical record. I was so healthy that my “medical record” consisted of a single page. I was a school athlete and obviously healthy, but still he went through the motions.

Finally he looked up and blushed slightly, “Since you're to be spanked and not just paddled, I must have a bit of extra information. Naturally your answers will be confidential.”

Uneasily, I nodded and said “It's okay, go ahead then.”

My face burned as he asked me if my periods were regular and when the last one was. Not looking him in the eye, I answered, “They are regular and the last one was last week”.

That answer seemed to satisfy him. Later I realized that he needed to know that I wasn't likely to be pregnant and also wasn't on my period. So those questions made perfect sense.

Then he stood up to lead me out of the room and on to my bottom's doom.

He never asked if I was wearing panties, and I didn't volunteer information!


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Well, as the Principal had made clear to me, I was in trouble due to my own choices, and I had chosen my own punishment. Still, as I was escorted towards my imminent spanking, a stew of emotions brewed inside my young head. First, there was terrible guilt, especially for my friend Abby who was probably in some cold emergency room getting stitches in her foot. I worried. Would there be nerve damage? Infection? How would I face her?

Also I felt fear and shame, and truthfully I felt sorry for myself. Balanced against all that mental baggage was relief that I could still graduate with my class and enter college. Trying to be brave, I walked calmly to my doom, with only tears and a quivering chin betraying my inner turmoil. At least, I had forgotten my missing panties for the moment.

Inside the Principal's office, I found a plain chair had been moved to the center of the room, with a biggish and ageless wooden hairbrush laying on the seat. I'd never seen that hairbrush before, but it was a school legend! I had heard differing descriptions of it, some ghastly. It sat bristle down, so I stared at the surface that was soon to attack my quivering buttocks. The finish of the wood was dark and satiny.

Still seated behind her desk, Mrs Kielander spoke, “I've talked to your mother. She's disappointed in you, but agrees wholeheartedly with your choice of punishment. She agreed that you will remain in school for the rest of the day. It will do your classmates good to see what a spanked girl looks like. You are to go directly home after class. Naturally, you will return here Monday for exams. Understand?”

Dully, I nodded. What the Principal didn't say was that my mother had encouraged her to “do her best” and not to worry about marking my bottom. Yes, I can always count on my mother for support!

Actually, although it would hurt to get them, it had occurred to my scheming, manipulative little teenage brain that a few marks on my bottom might be in my best interest. Daddy was the designated spanker in our family, but he was also the more softhearted parent, especially where his daughter was concerned. Family rules are family rules, so I would surely go over his lap that night, but I had reason to hope that some red on my bottom and a few bruises might be enough to convince him that either I had been spanked enough already, or perhaps just needed a brief “reminder spanking”.

Briskly, the Principal stood to walk the few steps to the waiting chair. She sat, tucked the brush behind her, and then smoothed her skirts. She pointed to the floor next to her right thigh. So I obediently shuffled up next to her. From the corner of my eye I saw Mr Thomas standing with his back to the closed office door, his face impassive.

And then Mrs Kielander said something amazing! “Kick off your shoes, put them under the chair, loosen your slacks, and then slide them below your knees.”

In desperation I turned to look at Mr Thomas. Yep, he was still there!

I sobbed, “I can't Mrs Kielander, I just can't”.

“You can and you will,” the lady ordered firmly.

“But...but I'm not wearing panties and Mr. Thomas is a...a...”

“Man?” Mrs Kielander asked.

I nodded.

The lady looked at me in amazement, “You don't know do you? You really don't know!”

“Know what ma-am?”

“Didn't any of the boys tell you? Spankings are on the bare bottom, it's the safest way to give a hard spanking. Surely your explanation for your missing panties would be entertaining, but it really doesn't matter because I would make you lower them anyhow. As for Mr Thomas, he's the school nurse, and school regulations designate the school nurse as the preferred corporal punishment witness. He's married, he's a medical professional, and he's here to protect you. I trust him explicitly. If you cooperate, he will see only what he needs to see, and will remain over there by the door. Now shall we proceed?”

So after all that angst, my missing panties were irrelevant. That irrelevancy offered no relief at the moment, because my pants still must come down, and then my bottom would be bare. So shakily and reluctantly, I dropped them as ordered, exposing my nether anatomy to him and my front to her. Neither of them seemed to take any particular notice of my teenage feminine charms.
Firmly but not harshly, she pulled me across her lap, affording me with an excellent view of her hardwood floor. At my other end, my toes rested on that same floor. In the middle, my buttocks had assumed a position of unwanted prominence. I grabbed the chair legs for support. I remember whiffing a strange amalgam of my Principal's slightly soapy scent, combined with floor dust. I knew that my bare bottom was now the highest part of my body, and that the attention of two adults and the ministrations of a hairbrush would be focused on it for the next few minutes.

She spoke in a calm voice, “This will hurt, but you must cooperate. Keep your feet down and try not to thrash too much. If necessary, Mr Thomas will help me restrain you. After your spanking, try to cooperate as I replace your pants so you don't inadvertently display yourself. After that, you'll be free to rub all you want and all will be forgiven. Understand?”

I grunted some response that must have either pleased or displeased her, because my spanking started immediately.

Naturally I desperately wished to take my punishment in silent dignity, and naturally that resolution only survived the first seconds of my spanking.

My bottom is no stranger to a hairbrush, but my father always starts out with his hand. From the first spank, the Principal used that nasty hairbrush, used it hard! It was too much for me to take, so I quickly “lose it” completely.

I was hopeful that the sounds of my disgrace wouldn't reach any classrooms, but a hallway was nearby. Yes, classes were in session at the moment. Surely Mrs Kielander wouldn't be so mean as to punish someone when the halls were full of students. Unfortunately, typically there was a student or two in the hallways on one errand or another. Even if I could remain silent, the sounds of the brush impacting my bottom would be unmistakable to any student in the hallway or (heaven forbid) who happened to walk into the administrative office. And frankly, my silence was impossible. So after the first few swats, my shrill female voice filled Mrs Kielander's office and certainly spilled into the hallway. Since word of my idiotic stunt was all over the school by now, it wouldn't take a genius to guess what was happening and who it was happening to.

There is a certain unwritten etiquette involved in taking a spanking. It's usually considered okay for a spankee to squirm a moderate amount, and usually she is allowed to cry, screech, or even scream whilst being spanked. As sounds go, only cursing is typically prohibited. Also prohibited is gross non-cooperation, meaning you can't fight your spanker or try to escape, nor are you allowed to protect the target area with your hand or by curling your legs.

Frankly, right from the first spank, I was shocked at the pain. Yes, my father used a hairbrush on us, but nothing like this! For one thing, my father always started with a “warmup” that stung more than it hurt. Mrs Kielander started right out with hard strokes of that heavy hairbrush. Therefore I'm afraid that early in my spanking I lost all control and violated a cardinal rule of spanking etiquette.

My slacks were bunched around my ankles, where they effectively tied my thighs together, protecting my modesty. Also, their hobbling effect prevented my legs from kicking swimmer-style. Unfortunately those slacks couldn't prevent my legs from moving together. Back then I was all legs, a coltish, agile and surprisingly strong young lady. So in a frantic, and unthinking attempt to protect my bottom from this corporal assault, I curled my legs up in back, interposing those bunched-up slacks between my buttocks and that nasty piece of wood.

She stopped spanking me just long enough to order me to lower my feet and “not do that again”. I believe I blubbered an apology as I complied, and then she resumed as if nothing had happened. Unfortunately it soon happened again, even though I didn't mean for it to.

She paused again. There was probably a wordless communication between her and Mr. Thomas, because I felt firm hands grip my ankles, guide them down into position, and then restrain them there. Like it or not, the man would now have a much closer view of the action. The Principal took advantage of this pause to imprison my right hand and to pin my torso down firmly. Perhaps she had expected an easy time holding me because I was “just a girl”, but thanks to my volleyball background and Mr Thomas's coaching, I was no weakling. I didn't want to struggle, but this was proving to be my hardest spanking ever.

With me restrained top and bottom, the spanking resumed. This time I was truly helpless. With flagging energy and volume, I screeched and tried to buck as the spanking progressed towards its conclusion. Finally she paused. Oddly, I remember her breathing hard. I sobbed as I waited for whatever was next. She apparently inspected her work, and perhaps Mr. Thomas had some silent input.

Finally, without warning, she gave me a dozen final whacks, three to the crown of each buttock, and three to each sit spot. I bucked and shrieked anew! Those last swats were awesomely hard, apparently calculated to leave marks and were probably given at my mother's request.

Immediately Mr Thomas released my ankles. I couldn't see, but he returned to his position at the door. She held me down for a time, but finally helped me up with a warning to “stand still”. And then she pulled my slacks up and fastened them, restoring my modesty. All Mr Thomas had seen was my bare bottom.

Patiently, Mrs Kielander allowed me to “come down” from my punishment. In that time I used several tissues. She even tenderly washed my face for me! She gave me a final talk, reminding me of the lesson to be learned from my punishment and telling me that all was forgiven. Mr Thomas had disappeared, but returned briefly to deliver a new pair of cotton panties. (He kept some in his clinic for emergencies.)

Before returning to class, I was allowed time to “freshen up” in the girl's room, where I painfully donned those donated panties after a quick peek in the mirror to evaluate the damage to my neither regions.

My remaining classes were hell, but I suppose that was part of my punishment. I spent them standing, making me look even more pitiful. As Mrs Kielander intended, my classmates got to see what a freshly-spanked girl looked like. The girls were supportive, the boys were awed.


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Like I said, family rules are family rules. I had been punished at school, so now I had to face my parents and almost certainly be punished again.

Obeying orders, I went straight home after class. Mother was stern. After a short scolding she banished me to my room with instructions to study for exams.

I was called for supper, which was a quiet affair. It was hard to face my father. In a different way, it was hard to face my brothers, who knew that their big sister was in trouble.

After supper my parents had a private talk with me. My father made the same point that Mrs Kielander had earlier, I wasn't in trouble for the prank itself, but for purposely disregarding the school rule about glass in the gym area. I had broken that rule with serious results. One bad result was that my parents would pay Abby's medical bill, and that wouldn't be cheap!

Finally they sent me back to my room, but they would be “up later”. I sobbed, because I knew what would happen then.

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Waiting was hell! Right after my brother's bedtime, they solemnly entered my room. The family hairbrush came with them.

I gave Daddy my best sad, pleading and lovable expression. Sometimes that worked, but today mother would tolerate no paternal manipulation.

He sat on my bed. Sadly, with butterflies in my tummy, I doffed my pajama bottoms and laid across his lap. He whistled at the condition of my bottom! Hope springs eternal. Perhaps he wouldn't spank me after all?

His voice tight with emotion, he dashed my hopes, “Sorry Honey, but family rules are family rules. You really messed up today”.

In the adjacent bedroom, my brothers clearly heard daddy's palm repeatedly strike my already-bruised bottom, and they heard me squeal in pained surprise and then bawl. Therefore, just as my parents intended, the boys vowed never to misbehave at school.

In a way Mrs Kielander had done me a favor by giving me those final spanks that left the impressive marks. Seeing them, daddy had decided to do only the minimum, so the family hairbrush never came into play. With a few moderate spanks spread all over my bottom, he simply re-ignited the sting that Mrs Kielander had previously put there, making me bawl. That done, he switched his corporal attentions to my previously unspanked thighs. I hate having my thighs spanked, so I squealed loudly. But even there he didn't spank too hard. Without being overly harsh, he had made his point and had fulfilled an important family rule.

Then my parents hugged me, wiped my tears, and put me to bed. Their job was done. My punishment, and my rehabilitation, was complete. Still teary-eyed, I felt loved, reborn and sleepy.

And a lesson was learned!

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