A girl tells of her discipline experiences at a strict girls’ school.
There are only three schools in America as strict as Academy for Girls. My father did the research and chose , and I and my three sisters have suffered for it.
operates on a three stage punishment system, reset each day. The first is a verbal verbal rebuke: ‘Elyse, keep your eyes on your own paper’.
The second is a mild paddling in front of the class. ‘Elyse! You were warned. To my desk and bend over for the paddle’! Warning paddlings are given in uniform, thick cotton panties and heavy wool skirts blunt the sting of the light paddle enough to make it bearable. It’s usually at least four swats, though some teachers give as many as a dozen. It doesn’t hurt much, but it’s awfully embarrassing.
If you misbehave a third time on the same day, you have advanced to stage three. You receive another paddling in front of the class, but this time your skirt is removed and your panties are drawn down. It’s a least a dozen cracks, often more, and in addition to your increased embarrassment the spanking actually hurts.
The punishment doesn’t stop with a simple spanking; you are immediately sent off to the principal for a private paddling in her office. You have to leave your skirt in the classroom and hurry down the hall in only your underwear. One look at you and the principal knows why you have come. Sometimes you have to wait while she finishes disciplining another student, or chats on the phone with a parent, but inevitably, your time comes.
Her office always seems cold. She wastes no time, but puts you across her lap immediately. Only when you are in position with your panties pulled down does she ask what you have done. Sometimes she warms you up with a hand spanking, but before you leave her office she has picked up her oak paddle and blistered your backside. Depending on your offense and how naughty you are in general, she’ll give you two dozen or more, always extremely hard and fast. You leave her office in tears.
Back in class, some teachers require you to remove your panties and stand in the corner so everyone can see the results of your punishment. Others simply make you take your seat, but in either case, your skirt remains up on the teacher’s desk until the end of the day.
You might think with such strict punishment that incidents of discipline would be rare and far between, but such is not the case. has hundreds of rules, and the infraction of any is enough to call for the paddle. Most are minor infractions, talking out of turn, poor performance, chewing gum, etc. The major sins, like fighting or swearing, call for an immediate bare bottom paddling and referral to the principal. You also proceed automatically to stage three upon your third warning paddling during a single week. Since even the best-behaved girls get one or two of those a week, nearly every student is in constant risk of the principal’s paddle. In every class, at least one or two girls are sure to be spanked, and every day you’ll see two or three girls without skirts.
Generally paddlings aren’t regarded as significant. They are simply another unpleasant part of reality. Girls who cry or make a fuss are mocked by others, and there are several cliques whose ‘entrance requirements’ involve doing something naughty, the more imaginative the better, simply to receive a stage three paddling to prove yourself tough.
I’d never found the discipline at to be anything more than an annoyance, until one week in my sophomore year. Monday found me in a grumpy mood and I received two warnings from Ms. Saldano in first period English, a verbal warning and then ten strokes with the paddle. That quieted me until Tuesday, when Cathy Maitland and I got into an argument at lunch and I think I threw my Jello at her. At least that’s what everyone said I did. I was so angry, I can’t remember. The lunch monitor that day happened to be Ms. Saldano and she didn’t hesitate to take me straight to stage three. My skirt was confiscated, I was bent over the back of a chair, and she let me have twenty hard ones that made me forget whatever Cathy and I were fighting about. Fifteen minutes later, I was over Mrs. Chase’s lap while she spanked my bare bottom into a rosy blush, and then she gave me two dozen wallops with her heavy paddle that had me sobbing and begging for mercy.
Wednesday I was clean, and Thursday I squeaked by with a verbal from my math teacher and a half dozen from Miss Jensen, my history teacher. Friday, I was so excited about the coming weekend and filled with memories of my dreadful Tuesday, that I forgot my stage two warning on Monday. It was with a horror that I heard Ms. Saldano call me before the class, reminding me that this was my third stage two and thus, it was now a stage three.
I begged, I literally begged, for forgiveness as I walked to the front of the room, but the woman had no heart. Over her desk I went, skirt gone, panties down around my ankles. I gripped the wooden desk with all my strength as she gave me a most thorough three dozen with her thin paddle, each stroke drawing gasps from me and making my eyes sting with tears.
Later, sitting awkwardly in the principal’s outer office, I realized a new horror. This was my second stage three in one week! Dread filled my soul. Not only would my upcoming punishment be even worse, but Mrs. Chase would notify my parents! I knew my father too well to imagine he’d let me off getting punished at home.
Sure enough, Mrs. Chase was furious to see me again so soon and, this time, her hand spanking was three times as long as on Tuesday. With my bottom so freshly paddled by Ms. Saldano, the hand spanking actually drew tears and struggles from me. I was almost weeping with relief when Mrs. Chase picked up the paddle.
Until the first blow, that is. It took my breath away. I couldn’t even scream. She paddled me harder than I’d ever been paddled before, even from my father. She didn’t stop at two dozen, nor three. She gave me a full four dozen wallops, and I was out of tears by the time she stopped.
But she wasn’t finished. “Obviously a simple paddling isn’t enough for a naughty brat like you,” she said, and opened the drawer of her desk and drew out a leather tawse. It was thick and split into three tails. I’d never been strapped before and didn’t know what to think. It didn’t look as painful as my father’s cane, but at that moment a whipping with a feather would have weakened my bladder.
I had to remove my panties and bend over a tall stool, keeping my feet far apart. My bare legs and ass were thus exposed and Mrs. Chase thrashed them soundly. She spread the blows, concentrating primarily on the back and insides of my thighs, though occasionally she drew a shriek from me when she struck my welted bottom. Several dozen strokes later it was finally over. My buttocks and legs felt like raw hamburger. She sent me away, dashing all my hopes by picking up the phone to call my father.
In class Mrs. Saldano took my panties and made me stand in front of the blackboard with my blistered bottomed facing the class. I got my underwear back before leaving for math, but she kept my skirt until the final bell at three o’clock. I had to spend the day fidgeting on hard wooden seats.
At home, Daddy was waiting for me in the living room. I knew what was going to happen. We didn’t speak but went immediately to the garage. I quickly stripped and grabbed my ankles and waited for the cane. Because I’d already been punished that day, he only gave me eight cuts, but promised Saturday night he’d take me over his knee for a long bout with the slipper, and Sunday I’d get another eight with the cane at church, from the minister, more if the man of God thought it warranted.
My father is a man of his word, and that weekend I don’t think I slept for than a few hours. My bottom ached and itched, and all I could think about was the punishments still to come. Somehow I endured them, even the twelve strokes from the minister before church on Sunday. For about two weeks, I devoted my life to goodness and didn’t even get a verbal, but then the tenderness faded, the marks vanished, and gradually I slipped back into my old habits. That weekend might have been my most memorable acquaintance with my father’s cane and Mrs. Chase’s paddle, but it certainly wasn’t the last. Not by a long shot.
Amanda and I spent the entire week cramming for our social studies mid-term on Friday. It counted for a third of our grade. We hadn’t been paying much attention to social studies, thinking it a boring waste of time, but suddenly realizing how desperately we needed a good score on this exam, we attempted in a few days to cram a half-semester of knowledge into our thick heads.
I don’t remember who originally had the idea. I suppose we were equally guilty. We were studying Thursday night, quizzing each other verbally, and our scores were averaging about fifty percent. This was terrible, for Miss Legatti’s exams were renowned for their difficulty. Next thing I remember clearly was writing up the cheat sheets and giggling as we thought of how clever we were.
It took Miss L about twenty minutes to catch us. I’m surprised it took her that long. I don’t know what we were thinking; never having cheated before, our concealment skills were feeble.
Suddenly, in the midst of the terrible silence of the examination, Miss L called out our names.
“Amy Hessler and Amanda Sharp! To my desk at once!”
I was afraid to look at Amanda as we slowly stood and walked to the front of the room. Our faces were crimson. This was surely going to be a stage three offense!
At the front of the class Miss L had us remove our skirts, fold them neatly, and place them on her desk. While we obeyed, she walked down the aisle to our desks and found our lists of answers. Amanda and I stood with our backs to the class, dreading what was to come.
Miss L came up behind us and yanked our underwear down to our ankles, leaving us standing half-naked before the class. Then she started with me. I was bent over her desk, gripping the opposite side, and wondering how I’d gotten myself into this mess. The paddling was stiff and painful, three dozen cracks that nearly made me bite my tongue off. I couldn’t do anything but fidget, my rear burning and swelling with amazing sensations.
Amanda was next. I watched her bend over the desk that was damp with my sweat and tears and endure the same punishment. She’s more slender than me, her bottom’s not as wide, and when Miss L finished Amanda’s entire butt was a hot pink.
We were allowed to put our panties back on, but our skirts were confiscated. Down the hall we went to the principal’s office. We were too frightened to talk. Cheating was a serious offense. I couldn’t imagine what Principal Chase was going to do.
She lectured us first. She said she was extremely disappointed that we’d behaved in so childish a manner. Obviously this called for severe punishment. Mrs. Chase said her first inclination was to expel us, for did not tolerate cheaters, but since we were generally good girls and this was our first serious offense, she felt that some measure of compassion was required.
Both Amanda and I thanked the woman and swore we’d never cheat again in a million years; Mrs. Chase seemed to agree. Then she spanked us. I’d never received a hand spanking from her before, though from talking with other girls I knew it was only a prelude to a paddling. But I’d never suspected that a simple hand spanking could hurt so badly!
Perhaps it was because of the awkward and embarrassing position I was in, draped across her lap like a naughty six-year-old, my panties dragged down to mid-thigh, the naked cheeks of my full bottom quivering as she slapped them again and again and again. I didn’t stop crying until she was half-finished with Amanda, and when I saw how red and sore her bottom looked, I wanted to cry some more.
But our punishment wasn’t over. I was pulled across Mrs. Chase’s lap once again. This time it was for a paddling. I’d felt the principal’s large oak paddle twice before and didn’t relish experiencing it again. The stinging was amazing. I was sobbing uncontrollably before the first dozen were finished, and Mrs. Chase just kept going and going and going like some terrible robot.
Finally, after countless wallops, I was released, and Amanda got over the woman’s lap. My best friend was pale and already crying. Mrs. Chase gave her no quarter, but brought the paddle up high and down with a terrible explosion of sound. I winced as I saw Amanda’s petite pink bottom dented by the heavy wood. The paddle bounced upward and Amanda’s cheeks trembled violently. She howled and kicked and writhed and, with shame I wondered if that was how I had looked. I couldn’t remember anything but wanting desperately for the pain to stop. When Amanda’s bottom was a deep cherry red, Mrs. Chase stopped and helped the weeping girl to her feet.
Standing before the principal with our outraged bottoms tingling, we listened to another lecture. Then came the dire pronouncement: our punishment was still not finished!
“I don’t want to see you fail Social Studies,” said Mrs. Chase. “I have a plan. Tomorrow you will both report here, to my office, at nine o’clock. Miss Legatti and I are going to help you study. We shall administer a series of quizzes designed to test your knowledge and ensure that you can pass your mid-term. At the end of the day, we will give you a new mid-term, much more difficult than what you attempted this morning.”
“But tomorrow’s Saturday,” whined Amanda. Her expression of self-pity gave way to fear when confronted by the principal’s forbidding gaze, and she fell silent.
So Saturday found the two of us in Mrs. Chase’s office once again, dressed in our school uniforms, waiting for our fate. We had studied late into the night, as best we could under the furious gazes of our parents, and we were both determined to see this through as bravely as possible.
A nine o’clock precisely, Mrs. Chase let us into her office. Miss L was already there. After a brief exchange of greetings, Amanda and I were ordered to remove our skirts and panties.
“Oh, but we were spanked yesterday,” cried Amanda. I wisely stripped and kept my lips shut.
“You shall be spanked again today, never fear,” said Mrs. Chase sternly. “How severely you are spanked depends upon how well you know your social studies. Miss Legatti and I have an entire curriculum laid out for you. Come along.”
Silently we followed the two women down the deserted school halls to Miss L’s classroom. Our nakedness was embarrassing and I felt chilly with nothing covering my legs and bottom.
In the classroom, the student desks had been pushed back with only two left in the front row. The two desks were about four feet apart, and obviously they were designed for the two of us. Miss L went straight to her desk and pointed at it. On the desk were several dreadful items I recognized. Mrs. Chase’s big oak paddle, Miss L’s thin one, a heavy leather strap with three tails, and worst of all, two long brown canes.
“As you can see, girls,” said Miss L, “we are well-prepared for your day of discipline.”
Amanda’s jaw was hanging open and her eyes were stark with fear. I suppose I was in a similar state, but I hope I didn’t look so silly. A pit formed in my lower belly as I looked at those terrible implements of pain and I knew without a doubt that I would encounter each and every one before the day was over.
“To your seats, girls,” said Mrs. Chase, and Amanda and I went to the two desks. She took the left one, I the right. It felt strange sitting on the smooth wood with my bare bottom. A kind of thrill shot through me.
“First, a simple quiz, to see how deficient you are,” said Miss L. She placed several sheets of paper in front of each of us. I stared at the words with dread, recognizing immediately my lack of social study knowledge.
“You have 30 minutes. Please begin.”
For the next half hour I sweated and strained, working my brain to the utmost, trying to remember the vague details of things I’d barely read. Now I regretted paying so little attention in class and failing to read all those homework assignments. When Miss L clapped her hands and announced time, I felt my insides twist into a thick knot. I knew I’d done miserably, and a sideways glance at Amanda told me she felt the same. We handed our papers over silently, waiting in dreadful silence for what was to come.
Miss L sat at her desk clicking her tongue as she marked the sheets. About this time, Mrs. Chase returned, having left to handle some business while we took the quiz. She went to Miss L’s desk and looked over her shoulder, shaking her head and frowning. Amanda and I glanced at each other miserably.
Miss L stood up. “Amanda, you have scored a 43%. Amy, you managed a 54%, but that’s only because I was extremely generous on some of your vague short essay answers. Both of you ought to be ashamed of yourselves. This is basic material we covered early in the semester. You obviously have not even read your textbook. Perhaps some discipline will improve your study habits. Mrs. Chase?”
The stern-faced principal motioned for Amanda to stand. She did, trembling beside her desk. She looked vulnerable and frightened. Mrs. Chase did not seem to notice.
“Step to the front, Amanda,” she ordered. She picked up the longest of the two canes on the desk. “I want both of you to know how seriously we regard this matter. I shall give you each six strokes of the cane, and then I will punish you for your failings on the quiz.”
The blood seemed to drain from Amanda’s face. She was crying softly as she bent over the teacher’s desk. Mrs. Chase whipped the cane through the air once, and then proceeded to thrash my friend. Each stroke was vicious, the crack disturbingly loud, like the snapping of a tree branch. Amanda gasped and moaned, but remained in position. ( teaches its students early the penalty for disobedience during punishment). When Amanda’s rump was streaked with six thick weals she was released, and I was ordered to take her place.
Trying to keep from crying, I forced my leaden legs to move. Somehow I made it to the desk and bent over, my palms sweating tremendously. The first stroke caught me by surprise. I’d never felt anything so painful in my entire life. I leapt upward, grabbing my rear and screaming. Tears poured down my face as I danced.
“Get back over,” snapped Mrs. Chase. “That’s an extra one and don’t think that stroke counted; we’ll do it over.”
Sobbing, I bent back into position, vowing with all my being to stay down. The crack came again, and then the white hot flash of agony. I moaned and writhed, but didn’t move. Again and again the pain flashed down, searing the cheeks of my tender bottom with astonishing fire. After the seventh one, I relaxed slightly and started to rise, thinking I was done, but Mrs. Chase reminded me I had an extra stroke for getting up, and so I had to endure yet another blast of pain.
After the caning, the hand spanking that followed nearly seemed a letdown, but I could not stop crying as I lay across the principal’s lap. Her hand was tough and heavy and really tore into me, bringing heat to every square inch of my ass.
After our punishments, Amanda and I returned to our chairs, the cold wood soothing at first, but then only hard and brutal against our blistered flesh. Mrs. Chase departed again, leaving Miss L to lecture us for the next hour. She quickly reviewed all the material covered in the quiz and promised us another test after a short break.
Amanda and I did not like the idea of taking another test, but we relished the break, taking turns at the drinking fountain in the hall and using the restroom.
Ten minutes later, we were back, wiggling in our chairs and taking another quiz. This time it was easier, the general material clearer, but some of the details were still foggy to me. I scored a 72%, while Amanda got a 76%. Miss L was pleased with our progress, but thought we could still do with some encouragement. She used her light paddle on us, giving me 28 swats and Amanda 24. We were both uncomfortable when we returned to our hard chairs.
This brief discipline was followed by another lecture, this one on more recent material. This seemed more familiar to me and my hopes began to rise that perhaps I could succeed and avoid more punishment.
At noon we paused for lunch. Mrs. Chase brought everyone sandwiches, ice cold cans of soft drinks, and potato chips, and we all sat munching in the classroom. After another short break with trips to the restroom, we were back in our chairs staring at another quiz.
Having just been studying the material, I did much better, scoring a 79%. Amanda seemed to have forgotten some of her lesson during lunch, scoring a dismal 68%. Miss L was not happy with either of us, claiming we weren’t even trying. Up to the front of the room we went, over the stool, and our bare bottoms were whacked with Mrs. Chase’s big oak paddle.
Still weeping, our blistered bottoms on display, we had to go to the blackboard and write answers to Miss L’s verbal questions. Amanda and I were on either side of the blackboard and Miss L stood between us, so we couldn’t see each other’s answers. The rules were simple, each wrong answer was a swat with the big paddle. However, if only one of us got the answer wrong, that meant the material had definitely been clearly explained and the failing student was simply lazy, and therefore she would receive a stroke with the cane.
The ten questions over, Miss L went to my side of the board and quickly wrote red checkmarks next to four of my answers. Then she went and made some marks on Amanda’s, but I had been instructed to turn my back and couldn’t see.
Then I heard the paddle wallop bare flesh. Three times it landed, then silence. I waited, my hands behind my neck, facing sideways. Miss L came up behind me and, WHAM, the paddle smacked me hard. Again and again and again it struck, then there was silence. My butt steaming, I was ordered to turn around.
Dread struck me full in the belly. I’d gotten questions two, five, six, and eight wrong, while Amanda had only missed one, three, and five. That meant we each were to get two strokes with the cane.
Miss L had me get on the stool on my hands and knees so my sore bottom was thrust well out and up. Then she gave me two brutal cuts that made me burst into tears. I stood nearby weeping as Amanda got into the same position with her ass sticking out obscenely. There were two swishes and cracks and Amanda was howling.
Back to our desks we were now given a reading assignment. For the next hour and half we read silently. It was grueling work to our untrained minds. I constantly had to force myself to concentrate. My mind kept drifting and thinking about things other than my studying. I ground my ass into the hard wooden chair on purpose, reactivating the pain, to remind me of the penalty for not knowing the material.
The quiz that followed was a miserable experience. There had been so much to read and it was so complicated I could hardly remember the important stuff, let alone the subtle details. I knew I would be spanked again.
Sure enough, my score was a 69% and Amanda’s was a 67%. Miss L was flabbergasted at our lack of progress. She left the room to fetch Mrs. Chase. The principal was not amused. After examining our bottoms, she gave us each three dozen with the light paddle, and then had us take turns over the stool while she thrashed the back of our legs with the leather strap.
On first round with the strap, she just struck the backs of my thighs, but for the second round she made me spread my legs wide and worked the tender insides. Every lash was liquid fire oozing over my skin. I thought the second round was it, but Mrs. Chase ordered me over the stool for a third go. I felt to my knees and begged for mercy. I just couldn’t stand another whipping.
“You should have thought of that before you decided to cheat,” scolded the principal. “You were tempted to cheat because you needed to make up for your lack of diligence throughout the semester. Now you are paying for that lack. Get over the stool or I shall fetch the cane!”
Thankfully the third strapping wasn’t long. Mrs. Chase just warmed me up, reminding me of all the parts of my body she’d touched with her strap. Amanda went next, the lash scorching her ass and legs. Amanda and I were both miserable, well-whipped girls when the punishment was over. We eased into our desks with tears of relief, for at least while we were sitting we couldn’t be spanked!
Mrs. Chase and Miss L had a brief conference by her desk, and then Miss L announced that a little ‘competition’ was in order. Amanda and I were both told to put our knees on our chairs and our hands on our desks so our bare rumps hung out behind us. Mrs. Chase had picked up the short thin cane and held it bent in her hands. She walked between us toward the back of the room, causing us to look nervously over our shoulders.
“Attention girls,” called Miss L. “We are going to play a game. I’m going to ask a question and the first girl to raise her hand will be allowed to answer. If you answer it incorrectly, you will be punished. If you are correct, the other girl will be punished. If you answer incorrectly, the other girl will try to answer. If she gets it wrong, she is punished. If she gets it right, you are punished a second time. Are we clear?”
Amanda and I groaned. The thought of that tiny cane whipping into my aching bottom was too much. I vowed to win this game with all my being. I’m certain Amanda had the same idea.
The first question, however, caught me by surprise because I didn’t know the answer. Amanda was already waving her hand and Miss L called on her. Amanda’s eager answer was wrong, however, and Mrs. Chase stepped up behind her and gave her butt a sharp stroke. Amanda yelped.
“Amy, do you know the answer,” asked Miss L.
I hesitated. It was better to guess than just admit I didn’t have a clue. “1967”? I breathed, waiting for the cut. To my surprise, Miss L smiled.
“Correct,” she said, and Amanda howled as another stripe was added to her tally.
We played the game for over an hour, Amanda winning some and losing others, and I the same. I discovered the short cane didn’t hurt anything like the big long one. It merely stung fiercely for a few seconds and quickly faded. But I was so sore that those few seconds of agony seemed to overwhelm me, and I desperately wanted to avoid them. Gradually my mind became sharper, my answers quicker, and soon I was answering nearly every question correctly. Amanda went through a horrible fifteen minutes where every 60 seconds or so she was cut with the cane. I felt sorry for her but I had my own bottom to worry about.
Then Amanda seemed to rally, fighting back brutally, scoring several double-strokes on me as I overeagerly raised my hand to answer questions I couldn’t answer but Amanda could.
Finally the game was over, an exhausted Miss L slamming her textbook shut, at a loss for more questions. Amanda and I lay over our desks panting heavily, our blouses soaked with sweat. My ass felt like I’d spent the afternoon sitting on a hot barbeque grill. From the terrible appearance of Amanda’s butt I didn’t even want to imagine mine. It felt swollen to double-size and I knew I would be sitting uncomfortably for at least the next week.
Miss L seemed to think we’d improved significantly. She announced it was time to retake our mid-term. She’d give us a half hour to review our material and then pass out the test.
“There is one change to the mid-term procedure,” she said sternly. “Since you two attempted to destroy the academic integrity of this school, for every answer you get wrong on the test, you shall receive one stroke with the senior cane.”
My mouth was dry at that pronouncement. I did some quick math. The mid-term was fifty questions. If I continued at near my present rate of correct answers 80% of the time, that would mean ten wrong answers. Even if I scored an astounding 90% I’d still receive five strokes!
Miserably, I poured into my book, reading and memorizing and mentally quizzing myself. The half hour review passed like five minutes, and I was staring at the dreaded mid-term exam.
To my surprise, it wasn’t as difficult as I remembered. Most of the questions were familiar from earlier in the day, and many weren’t as hard as the ones I’d been answering rapidly in the quiz game. Even more surprising, the dreaded short essay answers, which required not simple facts but analysis, were also easy. I found I understood the concepts better than I had thought and, on several, I wrote multiple paragraphs. Except for my sore bottom, the test was almost fun.
Amanda, I saw, was not as happy as me when we turned the exams in. We waited at our desks, afraid to look at Miss L as she graded the papers. Mrs. Chase had returned and sat off to one side, the long cane across her lap. Amanda and I were afraid to look at her, too. Suddenly I grew afraid at the ease with which I’d taken the test. Surely I’d been dreaming. It couldn’t have been that easy. I must have misunderstood the questions. Most likely I hadn’t concentrated enough and my answers were all wrong. I’d be lucky to get out of here with any skin left on my bottom!
After an interminable wait Miss L sighed and put the exams aside. “I’m very pleased to announce that both of you passed,” she began. “Your improvement over your first test this morning is dramatic.”
Amanda and I both relaxed slightly, pleased with her praise. Miss L frowned. “But I’m afraid your scores are not perfect. That means the cane. Amanda, will you please come to the front of the room?”
Mrs. Chase had stood and was flexing the cane. Amanda was pale and shaking but she managed to make her way up front.
“Bend over and grab your ankles,” said Mrs. Chase. She looked at the teacher. “How many strokes?”
“She received a score of 82%,” said Miss L. “She had nine wrong answers.”
I shuddered and shrank in my seat. Amanda was trembling. Mrs. Chase did not prolong the punishment but struck quickly and thoroughly, thwack, thwack, thwack, thwack thwack, thwack, thwack, thwack, thwack, and it was over in just over a minute. Amanda was weeping and her face was screwed up with pain as she stumbled back to her chair. Her behind and the back of her legs were streaked with fresh scarlet lines. I could barely stand it thinking that I was next.
“Amy?”
I stood and went to the front, bending over and grabbing my ankles. My bottom felt dangerously vulnerable.
“You did very good, Amy,” said Miss L. “You scored an 88%!”
I gasped in delight at such good news.
“That’s six strokes,” said Mrs. Chase. I heard the cane swish upward and braced myself. The pain was like lightning, an incredible searing that wanted to cut me half. I moaned and struggled to hold myself down. Again and again the cane struck, quick whipping strokes that seemed worse than anything I’d yet endured.
But it was over quickly and I stood to my feet slowly, the blood draining from my head. I felt dizzy and sore, but my spirit was content. I’d scored an 88% on my mid-term! Perhaps, if I was lucky, my father would find it in his heart to spare me, considering the punishment I’d endured today and the strong efforts I’d made.
“Considering their dramatic improvement,” Miss L said to Mrs. Chase, “don’t you think we should apply the same punishment rule to their final exam at the end of the semester?”
“A stroke for every wrong answer,” asked the principal. “I think that would be ideal.”
Amanda and I both groaned, knowing we’d be studying day and night to ensure we got perfect scores.
“You may return with Mrs. Chase to retrieve your clothes,” said Miss L with a pleased smile. “Your punishment and training day is complete.”
As we reached the door I paused. “Miss Legatti,” I said. She looked up, surprised. “I. I just wanted to thank you, for, you know, helping us study today. You wasted your whole Saturday and all. You, too, Mrs. Chase. I’m sorry to be such trouble.”
“Me, too,” said Amanda, her expression serious.
The principal’s harsh face softened and she beamed at me. “That’s quite alright,” she said, wrapping an arm around each of us.
“Amy,” said Miss L, “if you learned something today, it wasn’t a waste of my time.”
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