The New Principal Has a Surprise

“Get in here Andrews,” the new Principal growled, “I’ve heard so much about you. I’m very anxious to meet you. Come in and close the door.” Archie Andrews’s usual supercilious grin waned. What was that armless, straight-backed wooden chair doing in the middle of the room? With heavy heart Archie pushed the door shut. He turned back in time to see the new Principal lean into his desk drawer and retrieve a large rectangular paddle. He brandished the wood at the eighteen-year-old senior student.

“I know all about you and your constant joking. It has to stop and it stops right now,” he waved the paddle at the chair. “Put down that book, then drop your pants and bend over the chair. “B.. b..b…” Archie stammered, but no words had been written for him. The Principal tapped the wooden paddle into the palm of his hand, “Bend over! Hold on to the seat, stick your rear end out. You have been needing this for years.”

This cannot be happening, Archie thought. But the earnest look on the Principal’s face and the heavy wooden paddle in his fist told a different story. “I’m waiting and I don’t have all day,” the Principal growled. “Now do as I say.”  Archie couldn’t stop stuttering but at last formed some coherent words. “I’m a senior …” he trailed off. He meant he was too old to be spanked. He was a star of the seniors. He had girlfriends, he played in a rock band. Damn it he was a young adult. Somehow the words wouldn’t come.

“B…b…but…” he at last managed to say. “Please sir, we don’t have the paddle here at Riverdale High School.” A grin split the Principal’s face and he brandished the paddle inches from the teenager’s face. “Then, what Mr Andrews is this.” It was a rhetorical question but Archie was too confused to see it for what it was. “A paddle,” he answered imbecilically. Sarcastically, the Principal looked at the paddle in his hand as if seeing it for the first time. “My word, so it is,” he sneered. “Now, let me put it to good use. Drop your pants and bend over the chair,” and he waved the paddle to emphasise his point.

“But isn’t it against the law?” Archie was beginning to compose himself. He hardly ever read the papers or watched TV news so he had no idea if what he said was true. “No, Mr Andrews,” the Principal began to tap the paddle into his left palm. “The paddle has always been here, ready and available.” He grinned, imagining the view of the young brat in front of him soon to be submissively offering him his backside, “It’s just that my predecessor thought not to use it.” He whacked the paddle with more force into his palm, “But, Mr Andrews as you are about to discover, things have changed. There is a new broom at Riverdale High, so to speak,” and he swiped the paddle through the air. “Now, for the last time, drop those pants and bend over. Be quick about it or I’ll have your underwear down as well.”

Suddenly, the truth of the situation hit Archie (almost as hard as the paddle would hit him in a few moments time.) The Principal was deadly serious. He truly intended to beat him on his butt. The new Principal as in charge, he had the law on his side and there was nothing – absolutely nothing – that Archie could do about it.

What if he refused? What might happen then? The Principal couldn’t force him to bend over. If they had to fight over it, Archie was younger and stronger, he could punch the Principal in the face and walk out. But, then what? Archie surprised himself about how much he was thinking this through. The Principal might summon other staff to help him. They might manhandle Archie and spreadeagle him across a desk, then they would forcibly take down his pants – and almost certainly his underwear – and he would be helpless at the mercy of the Principal and he knew darned well that the Principal wasn’t about to show him mercy.

Perhaps, it wouldn’t come to that. Archie could run home, but then what? Dad would be mad when he found out. Maybe Dad would take a belt to Archie. He had never done such a thing in the past, even though there were many times people thought he deserved a darned good spanking. There would be a suspension; expulsion possibly. He had exams coming up, he was due to leave school for good in the summer. Would he be able to take his exams at another school? Without exams he couldn’t go to college. Without a college diploma he wouldn’t get a good job, he would be left with a life of dead-end jobs. No money meant no social life, how would he find a girlfriend, how would he ever get laid? And what about marriage and a family; how could he participate in the Great American Dream without a decent job, a wife and children?

His entire life was about to be ruined. Darn it, he had no choice. The paddle looked mighty heavy and he reckoned the Principal was determined to lay on the swats hard. How many would he get? With pants down even a couple would probably hurt like the fires of Hell. Oh Gosh, how had he got into this predicament.

“I’m still waiting,” the Principal’s eyes narrowed. It was as if he could read Archie’s thoughts. The eighteen-year-old would succumb to the Principal’s will, but he would have to work himself up to it. “Put your book on my desk,” he spoke quietly, gently even. In a trance Archie did as he was told. The Principal closed the office door. “Now stand there,” he pointed to a spot on the floor behind the back of the chair. Again Archie might have been under the Principal’s spell, he shuffled the couple of steps need to cross the office and stood as directed. “Drop trou.,” the Principal ordered. For a moment Archie failed to understand “trou.?” “Pants, drop the pants,” the Principal, exasperated now, explained.

Archie was a thin boy but was growing all the time and his pants fitted snugly. He needed no belt and all he had to do was try to persuade his fingers to obey him and unpop the button at the waistband. There were four buttons on the fly and it took some doing to get each undone, his hands trembled too much. The front of the pants dropped open and the weight of keys and coins in his pockets sent them slithering down his thighs until they bunched at his knees. “All the way,” the Principal stared at Archie’s matchstick legs. The teenager wriggled his knees and the pants dropped to his shoes. Now, he stood in white Boxer short. “Please, please,” Archie thought to himself, “Don’t make me take these down.”

The Principal was not a cruel man, and also he had no desire to be a story in the next morning’s newspapers, so Archie was spared a bare-butt beating. “Bend over the chair,” the Principal growled. He enjoyed attending the theatre in his spare time and some of the ham acting he witnessed had rubbed off on him. Archie looked pleadingly at his master as if he hoped for a last second reprieve but the determined look on the old man’s face soon scotched that. Archie took a deep breath and leaned forward.

It was a basic wooden armless chair and Archie was tall enough to easily clear its back. He had never been paddled in his life and nor had he seen anyone paddled – not even in movies or on TV – and he wasn’t sure where he was supposed to put his hands. “Grip the far edges of the seat. One hand each side. Spread your legs, push out your bottom. Give me something to aim at,” the Principal instructed.

Indeed, even in the correct position there was very little for the Principal to aim at because Archie’s buttocks were almost non-existent. At his previous schools the Principal had been presented with bottoms of all shapes and sizes but he couldn’t recall one as tiny as Archie’s, the cheeks were no more than two pips.

The office was small and the chair was pushed against the desk and there was only just enough room for the Principal to stand between the chair and the door. The ceiling was low but there was just enough space for him to swing the paddle. He was squat and running to fat and his podgy arms were short, but even with these physical challenges he was always able to deliver swats with terrific force. He took hold of the elasticated waistband of the cotton shorts and was delighted that Archie gasped and the teenager’s body stiffened. He clearly feared the Principal was about to tug the Boxers down to bare the bottom.

Instead, the Principal tugged the shorts to remove any creases from the cotton. Now they fitted so snugly that each cheek was clearly defined. Small though it might be it was a terrific target. The Principal tucked the paddle under his arm and with his right palm he gently caressed each cheek circling around each mound. He told himself this was to remove any remaining wrinkles in the cotton but they were now so tightly fitting that they already fitted like a second skin.

Satisfied that the backside was perfectly prepared the Principal slipped the paddle back into his hand. It was a hefty tool, about fifteen inches long and four wide at the broad end. Holes had been drilled into the blade, so as to reduce wind resistance as the wood flew through the air. This would result in a very satisfying thwack! when the paddle connected with cotton-covered flesh and would substantially increase the level of pain.

The Principal tapped the paddle across the centre of Archie’s buttocks. The cheeks were so small and the paddle relatively so large that the blade covered almost every square inch. He raised the paddle high, let it hang in the air for a moment while Archie contemplated the pain that was about to be inflicted, then with a turn of the body – rather like a golf swing – the Principal returned the paddle and crashed it into Archie. SWAPPPP! The sound of wood connecting with teenager resounded around the office and was easily heard by the secretary and admin. assistants outside. So was Archie’s howl. In fact people walking in the street outside the school were startled by the noise, believing that a cat might have been run over by a motor car.

Archie’s legs quivered, he stomped his feet up and down and gripped the wooden seat of the chair for dear life. He was a novice to spanking but some juvenile instinct told him that it was impermissible for him to leap to his feet and rub away at his scorched buttocks (even though this was precisely what his body told him he should do.)

“Steady, steady,” the Principal whispered as in his head he counted to twenty. The idea was to leave a space of time between delivering swats. In this way the pain in Archie’s rear end would begin to subside and before it went completely another swat would land to set it off again. Archie knew nothing about pain, football injuries or falling of his bicycle were nothing compared to the fire raging across his buttock cheeks.

By the time swat number three landed tears were cascading down Archie’s cheeks, snot dribbled from his nose. His head ached (but not nearly as much as his bottom). He couldn’t take much more of this. The Principal paused and admired his own handiwork. “Someone should have done this a long time ago,” he thought to himself, “Mr Andrews is eighteen years old and far too old to be receiving his first paddling.” But he believed the spanking would do him good. It was never too late to learn. The Principal was certain that Archie would soon buck up his ideas and stop being such a disruptive influence in the school. “And, well,” the Principal told himself, “if it doesn’t then the paddle would just have to fly again.”

The Principal stopped after five swats. Archie had had enough, his shoulders heaved and his left leg was twisted around his right ankle. The tears were now great gulps of sobbing. The Principal had intended ten swats, Archie was a senior after all, but he was a fair man. Five was enough … for now. “Stand up, get dressed.”

The room seemed to be spinning as Archie rose from the chair. He had to grip its back to stop his knees buckling and sending him to the floor. He could scarcely breathe. His backside was on fire. Was this what it felt like to sit in a bathtub of boiling water? “Dress yourself. You should go,” the Principal returned the chair to its usual position and from across the office observed the teenager he had just beaten. Few students – and none the age of Archie – had ever taken a paddling so badly. He tried not to despise him, but such prejudices are hard to escape.

“Go,” he huffed, “and make sure you stay out of trouble.” He watched Archie hobble to the door still rubbing away at his bottom. “Or next time it’ll be ten swats,” he added, revelling in the look of subject horror on Archie’s face.

Picture credit: Archie and Me

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The Tale of Freeman Fox

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Seeking the inner boy

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Traditional School Discipline

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More stories from Charles Hamilton II are on the MMSA website

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Charles Hamilton the Second

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