Sticking with school-themed stories, here is an F/F tale about some innocent newbies who run afoul of some mean girls (girls can be quite mean, can’t they?), and are tricked into a form of detention they never envisioned. Well, as we all know, what goes around comes around. From The Schoolgirl Collection here is “Friday Detention.”
“If you’re going to skip at lunch period,” said Melanie, grinning at her new friends, “do it on Thursday. That way you’ll get detention on Friday-if you get caught, that is.” Melanie’s friends, Lisa and Katy, seconded Melissa’s suggestion. “Detention usually lasts three whole hours and you just write these lines of work that they just throw away,” said Lisa, making a face. Melanie had explained that all the girls skipped sometimes. It was a game. Who would get caught and who would sneak back in? If you didn’t try at least once a semester you were chicken. “You’re not chicken are you?” asked Katy.
Abby Prescott and Michele Napier were confused. As new students at St Clair’s they were just learning the ropes. Melanie, Lisa and Katy seemed like nice girls-and helpful too. “Who wants detention on Friday? It’s the weekend. Time to party,” said Abby with an enthusiastic laugh and doing a little dance for emphasis.
“Precisely. That’s the point,” Melanie explained. “It’s Miss Andrews who gets stuck with detention duties that day and she hates doing it. You’ll be out of there in 20 minutes. Guaranteed.”
That sounded odd to Abby and Michele. St Claire’s was a pretty strict private school, and the idea of a teacher brushing off a three hour detention seemed oddly out of character. Still, they wanted to skip out on lunch hour with the other girls, be part of the crowd. It’s tough when you’re new. Abby and Michele were cousins. Their mothers, who were sisters, had a business that they had moved out of the city to Twin Forks, a smaller town. One of the reasons for the move had been St. Claire’s, a private Catholic school with a reputation for excellence—and strictness. Their moms had been in agreement that at 16 years old, perhaps the girls needed a bit more discipline than a big city public school was willing to provide. Hence the move.
So they took the chance, and on Thursday they slipped out during lunch and study hall to hit the mall. They figured to get back by Biology class at 2 pm. They were unlucky. Sister Agnes caught them trying to slip past the office. Why did they have to go past the office? Melanie and her friends had promised to prop open a side door for all those who wanted to skip, but when they got there it was closed and locked. And the other funny thing was that no one else had skipped. They hadn’t seen anyone they recognized at the mall. No one at all. Where was everybody?
So, after a scolding in the office of the dean of discipline, they were issued the fateful detention slips. “Girls, you left campus,” said Sister Veronica, the dean of discipline. “This is a serious issue of safety and it cannot be allowed. I should issue a suspension, but… hmm it would be Friday detention,” she said reflectively. She pursed her lips, thinking. Then with a thin smile she said, “I’m going to let you off easy this time. Still, you’ll have to serve the detention.” Then she handed them the detention slips. “Report to Room 2D at 3:00pm Oct 13,” it said. Abby and Michele looked at the slips. Although they had been caught and that was a bummer, they were okay about it. Right after school they would be headed over to Melanie’s house to help decorate for the party that night. So big deal, they’d be done with detention in 20 minutes. Whew! They’d dodged a suspension.
They came to school the next day wearing their school uniforms, their party clothes in a back pack. St. Clair’s had a fairly strict dress code that called for knee length pleated skirts, white blouses and knee socks. Even underwear was specified—it amounted to requiring full cut “granny panties”. Most girls hated this, preferring French cut sheer or lacy panties-or even better, thongs. So what they had done this particular day was to pack party clothing, but wear the underclothing that went with it. Abby was going to wear a short flared skirt, so she wanted some lacy Victoria’s secret creation, while Michele, with her exceptionally cute rear end, had opted for a thong to go under her form fitting Capri pants. She hated visible panty lines.
Neither Michelle nor Abby had told their parents about the detention, figuring that since they’d be excused after about 20 minutes there was no need. No one would ever know. Perfect, they thought. As far as both sets of parents knew, they were headed straight for Melanie’s house and the party right after school.
Barbara Andrews was well known to the girls at St. Clair’s, especially the athletic ones. “Babs” as she was called behind her back, coached volleyball and field hockey and taught European History. In her late 30’s now, she had been at St. Clair’s for nearly 10 years. Barbara was a take charge type of woman. Although she pushed her girls hard, they always knew where they stood with her. She did not brook a lot of nonsense, and most girls were just a bit fearful of her. She could be warm and encouraging, but she was also strict and demanding and did not hesitate to discipline when necessary. A formidable woman, she had short but stylish dark hair, and stood about 5′ 10″. Her body was all lean and well toned. She kept herself in trim shape and appeared to the girls as an awe inspiring paragon of female athleticism. But there was another thing. She hated keeping Friday detention, and became upset when students were given detentions for that day. Thus students quickly learned to avoid getting into trouble that might result in a Friday detention.
The final bell rang at 3:00 pm that Friday. “Well, let’s go get this over with,” said Abby, as they met by their lockers in the hall. “Where do you suppose room 2D is?” asked Michele. A smiling Melanie Harris told them.
“It’s in the basement. At the end of the hallway, way down there. We call it ‘The Dungeon’. It’s where all the detentions are. See you soon, girls,” she added with a giggle. Katy and Lisa were there, trying to suppress laughter with their hands covering their mouths.
Abby frowned at Michele. “What do you suppose that was all about?”
“I dunno,” said Michele. “Weird. We’d better go. Probably be in more trouble for being late.”
They found their way to the basement and Room 2D. Inside were a few desks facing a teacher’s desk in front. At that desk sat Ms. Andrews. With her was the school nurse, Mrs. Hopkins. She scowled at Abby and Michele as they entered.
“Take a seat,” she said. For a moment she did not even look at them. She just studied two open files on her desk. Then she looked up. “You girls are new.”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Abby and Michele, almost in unison. What was the school nurse doing here?
“Most girls avoid having detention on Friday. But it looks like you two walked right into it.” She paused a moment. “I don’t like having detention duty, girls. It’s Friday and like you, I like to get out of here. So does Mrs. Hopkins. But I have to deal with you two because you skipped out and actually left the campus on Thursday at lunch. We take absences very seriously here at St. Clair’s. Leaving the campus is a serious offense, girls.” She regarded the girls with pursed lips and a frown.
Ms. Andrews relaxed and gave out a big sigh. “Well, let’s get to it,” she said and she slid open a drawer. “Mrs. Hopkins is here as witness.” What did that mean, they both wondered? Witness to what?
She perused the files again. “I see both of your parents signed the permissions for corporal punishment. Good. I don’t do detentions the usual way; I have better things to do on Fridays.”
Corporal what? Then Michele and Abby watched as Ms. Andrews pulled two long objects from the drawer. One was an 18″ ruler. The other was a paddle. Abby and Michele looked at each other in astonishment. What was this? A cold knot of fear formed in the pit of each girl’s stomach.
She looked from Abby to Michele. “Who’s first, then? Paddle or ruler?”
What? All at once Abby and Michele started to babble. “Ms. Andrews, what do you mean?” asked a panicked Abby.
“What I mean, Miss Prescott, is that I choose to administer corporal punishment when I have detention duty on Fridays. The sisters are at Vespers and I get stuck with it. I don’t like hanging around here so I administer licks instead of sitting here while you girls do lines or busy work. Now which will it be, paddle or ruler?”
“B-but you can’t, I mean my parents would never allow….” Michele protested.
“Do you want to see your file? It’s right here. They signed the consent forms, Miss Napier. So did yours, Miss Prescott.”
With a sinking feeling Abby knew that they probably had. They’d been in a hurry to go somewhere the day the packet came home and they’d blown though the information sheets, signing everything. They probably had no idea what they’d signed. Not that they might have signed anyway. Abby recalled her mother making some statement recently about “lack of discipline” and Abby being “too big for her britches….should have them taken down–and soon.”
With a quaver in her voice Michele said, “W-what is the difference, what do you mean, paddle or ruler?”
“Don’t you girls know anything? Unauthorized absences where you leave the campus can get you five with the paddle or twenty with the ruler. You really do need to read your student handbooks.”
“Are you sure that my parents, you know, signed that thing? I-I’ve never been hit on my hands with a ruler or a paddle.”
Barbara Andrews looked at Mrs. Hopkins who shook her head in disbelief. Then she snorted. “Your hands? Oh, no. We’d never paddle on the hands, girls. Here at St. Clair’s we do it the old fashioned way,” she said with a meaningful smile and cocking her head. Mrs. Hopkins just smiled to herself and shook her head again.
Abby and Michele just sat in stunned silence as the awful implication became fully realized. Spanked! They were going to be spanked! A humiliating and painful child’s punishment that both had studiously avoided for years.
“Girls, I need answers,” she said waiting. Realizing that the girls were dumbstruck, she continued. “If you choose the ruler it’s twenty licks. The ruler stings but the effect doesn’t last long. The paddle is fewer licks, but it stays with you longer. Now what will it be?”
Abby spoke. “I-I don’t know, I’ve never been paddled before. Oh this is awful. I had no idea…” She could not believe this was happening
“Well, you have to choose one. I’m waiting.”
There was a long silence while both girls contemplated their fate. “Oh…oh, I guess I’ll be p-paddled then,” wailed Abby, wringing her hands. It’s only five she thought. But that paddle looked serious.
Ms. Andrews rose from behind the desk and picked up the paddle. She tapped it in her palm. “Ok, get up and come up here, Miss Prescott.”
With an agonized look on her face, Abby rose and approached the desk with mincing steps. Not knowing what to do she just stood there waiting, her hands fluttering nervously. She could not help but plead. “Please, I, I’ve never…please no.”
Barbara Andrews grimaced and took up the paddle. “Let’s have no whining, Miss Prescott.” She thumped the desk with the edge of the paddle for emphasis. “Bend over and place your forearms flat on the desk. Legs about a foot apart.” Abby bent to comply. The posture thrust her buttocks out lewdly. Barbara Andrews nodded to Mrs. Hopkins who came around the desk and reached for the hem of Abby’s skirt.
Abby half rose in alarm. “W-what are you doing?” she squeaked as she felt her skirt being lifted.
“Miss Prescott, all corporal punishment at St. Claire’s is administered to the buttocks with one layer of underclothing permitted. It is in your handbook. Now please cooperate or extras will be added.”
“Oh my God!” said Abby as she felt her skirt raised above her hips.
“That’s another thing. No swearing or profanity. It will earn you extras.” Ms. Andrews patted the paddle in her hand and stepped to the side of the desk, taking up a stance to administer the paddling. Then she looked down.
“What’s this?” she said. “What kind of panties are these, Miss Prescott?”
Michele looked on in horror at her friend, bent over at the waist, bottom bulging out and clad in filmy black lacy panties. Her generously rounded nether globes were not contained by the flimsy panties which fully exposed the lower half of her bottom cheeks.
“I-I didn’t know,” bleated Abby, embarrassed beyond belief. She felt positively nude below her waist.
“We have a dress code here that includes undergarments. You’d have had more protection had you worn regulation panties. I suppose it’s poetic justice, Miss Prescott. Your flouting the rules just made it bit more painful for you, I’m afraid. Are you ready?”
Abby gritted her teeth. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Hold still. Don’t move out of position,” said Ms. Andrews as she tapped Abby’s nude lower bottom cheeks with the paddle. “Moving will cost you extra.”
Michele winced for her friend as she saw Ms. Andrews draw back the paddle to shoulder height. She whipped her arm forward in a smooth athletic motion. The paddle landed with a loud crack! in the closed room. Abby yelled, “Oh….owww!” A red band appeared on her bottom. Ms. Andrews lined up again, tap, tap,…crack! Again Abby let out a screech.
Whap! The paddle swatted Abby’s bottom again and Abby let out a wail. “Ow….oh…ahh.” She was blubbering. Michele was transfixed. This was horrible.
Whack! Abby couldn’t believe how painful this was. Each swat was like a bonfire burning her bottom ferociously. She could only cry and try to hang on. She surely didn’t want extras, but it was so hard to stay still while being spanked so hard with that awful paddle.
Whap! Number four was too much. Abby’s bottom flattened at impact. She screeched and jumped up, clutching her burning bottom cheeks and hopping from foot to foot.
Ms. Andrews waited for her to stop hopping. “That will cost you one extra, Miss Prescott. Now back over. Mrs Hopkins, will you hold her hands?”
Abby was blubbering. Michele thought this was the worst thing she’d ever seen. And she was next! Mrs. Hopkins went around the desk to hold Abby’s hands. Ms. Andrews lined up for another swat. Whap! Abby endured number five with a wail. Her legs shook.
“One more, Miss Prescott.” Barbara Andrews lined the paddle up and with a practiced fluid motion delivered a searing sixth crack to the teenager’s enflamed bottom. Abby wailed in distress. “Oww….ahhhh,” she yelled in agony. Her whole body shook.
“Ok, you can get up now,” she said. Then she turned to Michele as Abby stood up, vigorously rubbing her swollen rear. “Your turn, Miss Napier.”
“Uh…” said Michele, “I-I don’t want that paddle.” She was pointing at it as if it were a snake about to bite.
“So you’ll take the ruler, Miss Napier?”
“Yes, ma’am,” she said. Anything but that paddle.
“All right then.” Barbara Andrews pulled her chair out from behind the desk and put it in front of the desk. She sat down and took up the ruler in her hand. It was an 18 inch ruler, wide and sturdy. “Come on Miss Napier, up here.”
Michele got up slowly not understanding. Why was she sitting?
“You are going across my knee, Miss Napier. That’s how I do the ruler. Girls have trouble holding still, so I hold them over my knee. It’s a spanking, just like when you were a kid. Let’s go,” she added impatiently.
“A-a spanking?” said Michele. She hadn’t had one of those since she was ten years old.
“What they call an old fashioned country-style licking, Miss Napier. Come on,” she said motioning with the ruler. “Across my knee.”
With a sickening sense of doom approaching, Michele gingerly lowered herself over the sturdy lap of Ms. Andrews. She blushed bright red at the shame and humiliation of it. Imagine! A grown up lady of 16 being put across a teacher’s knee to be spanked. She wanted the earth to swallow her up.
When she thought it couldn’t be worse, she felt her skirt being raised. Oh no! She’d forgotten. The thong! It was all she had on. She felt cool air on her bare bottom cheeks and heard an exclamation of surprise.
“Miss Napier! What is this you are wearing? You came to school like this? Oh, this is too much.” There was a rustle while Ms. Andrews shifted to position Michele further over her lap to put her bottom well up. She felt her toes leave the floor, and felt an arm encircle her waist.
“Twenty licks, Miss Napier,” she intoned tapping Michel’s bottom with the ruler. “Mrs. Hopkins will you keep count?”
Michele was absolutely mortified. Her bottom was bare. The thong was nothing. She was slowly kicking her feet, waiting. Then whack! The first lick landed.
“Yeoww!” she yelled
Then Splatt! Whack! Crack! Three more hard ruler swats spanked her pert bottom. She yelped in pain at the sudden sharp painful sensation. She bucked on Ms. Andrews lap and flutter kicked her lower legs.
“Ow! Yow! Ah!” God, that stung!
Ms. Andrews settled into a more deliberate rhythm to administer the ruler spanking. A swat fell about every 3-4 seconds. She laid the strokes across the full expanse of Michele’s squirming seat, smacking both cheeks across their sinuous divide.
Abby looked on in sympathy. As the ruler smacked down, Michele’s bottom cheeks rippled then sprang back assuming their rounded contours. Michele wailed in distress but the ruler continued to smack down on the pretty teenager’s bottom. Individual bands of pink stripes gradually merged into a red mass as the relentless licking continued. As the sharp sting mounted in her bottom, Michele wriggled helplessly. Nothing alleviated the burning sensation in her practically bare behind which grew in intensity with each crisp smack.
At one point Ms. Andrews stopped and said, “Stop this squirming, Miss Napier. You only have yourself to blame for getting it on the bare bottom. I know it hurts more. Five more to come.” Whack!
“Ahhh.oww!” cried Michele as Ms. Andrews proceeded to whip her arm down cracking the ruler on Michel’s tender bottom with a little wrist flick at the end. Those last four whacks with that stinging ruler were the worst, and Michele couldn’t contain her tears.
When it was over she was permitted to rise. But then both girls had to bend back over the desk while Mrs. Hopkins rubbed cream into their bare bottoms. “To prevent inflammation” she said. It did nothing for the burning pain. Then they had to “sign the book” indicating that they had received the licks. After that they were on their way. It was 3:20.
“Surprise!” yelled Melanie when the two girls arrived at her house. Lisa and Katy were laughing too. “Welcome to St. Claire’s. How did you like Friday detention?”
So it was all a big joke. Pull a prank on the new fish. Both Abby and Michele were steamed, but they put up a good front, playing the good sports. Still they had to display their well paddled bottoms to the rest of the girls. “Ooh, Babs was in fine form today, girls,” said Melanie as she viewed two well reddened fannies. The others agreed. It had been a classic Barbara Andrews licking.
It should have ended right there. It did not.
The notice came in the mail later the next week. “What’s this, Abby?” asked her mother. It was a notice, to Abby’s mortification, that corporal punishment had been administered on Friday in accordance with the school’s discipline policy etc., etc. Thus confronted, Abby couldn’t lie. The whole story came out. To Abby’s relief, her mom was sympathetic.
“It was terrible what those girls did, leading you on like that.”
“Yes, mom. They talked us into skipping and then made sure we’d get caught.”
“Why, that’s just another form of bullying. How cruel. And you say you got paddled?”
“Yes, mom, and it hurt something awful.”
“Well,” she said, “let’s see.” She led her daughter into the bathroom.
Abby let her mother inspect her bottom in the bathroom. “I don’t think it left any marks.” She said inspecting her daughter’s seat with panties slipped down. “You can’t tell now that you’d even been paddled. And you say none of them skipped out— and they let you and Michele get punished.”
“Mom, then they laughed at us like it was a big joke. It was humiliating.”
“Was this at Melanie’s party?” Jen Prescott arched her brows.
“Yes,” said Abby. She didn’t like the look on mom’s face.
“When were you going to tell me about this, hmmm?”
“Well, I….I mean, soon I guess, mom…” said Abby hopefully.
“You didn’t know this notice was coming, did you? You weren’t going to tell me, were you?” Now her mom was looking more serious.
“Mom, please. It was just a detention. No big deal.” Abby tried to play it down.
“Well it is a big deal Abby. You left the school grounds.” Her mom folded her arms.
“But mom, they talked us into it, they said we’d be chicken if we didn’t, they…”
“So you caved in to pressure, and you blame these other girls?” Her eyes bored into Abby’s. “Don’t get me wrong, Abby, I’m very sympathetic to your plight and I think what those girls did was catty and cruel…”
Thank God, thought Abby. She’s more mad at them.
“…but,” she held up her hand, palm out. “Do you remember our family rule?”
“What rule, mom?” But Abby was afraid she knew.
“The one we’ve always had. Get punished at school, you get an equivalent punishment at home. That’s how it’s always been. You know that.” Jen Prescott regarded her daughter with a meaningful look.
“No, mom, no. Please.” Abby wrung her hands. This couldn’t be happening.
“I hate to do it,” she sighed. “But I’m going to— and before your father gets home. Lord knows how upset he’ll be. You should actually thank me. Now go upstairs and wait for me.”
And that was how Abby found herself across her mother’s knee, clad only in her underwear, panties down, and crying her heart out as Jen Prescott spanked her daughter’s bare bottom with the family strap. The family strap or “whacker” as they called it had been in the Prescott household for years, although it was rarely used. It was a foot long length of thin pliable leather that had a stinging bite. Jen held Abby down over her lap while seated on the bed and whipped the little strap down repeatedly, punishing her errant offspring’s quivering buttocks with sharp cracks that loudly resounded in the closed bedroom.
Whack! “Will you ever leave school again?”
Whack! “Are you going to obey school rules?”
Whack! “No more detentions, Abby.”
“Oww…mommy please no more.” Abby squirmed and drummed her toes on the bed.
After a suitable number of licks, Abby’s bottom was beet red and she was in tears. When her wails and promises to behave became frantic, Jen relented. It was enough. After all, the paddling at school had been painful, of that she was sure. At the same time, a house rule was a rule. Her father would have given her worse.
The same drama had played out in Bev Napier’s household, only this time Michele Napier found herself down in the rec room bending over the back of a stuffed chair and counting out fifteen good hard swats with the ping-pong paddle applied by her father to the seat of her panties as her mother looked on approvingly.
Crack! “I don’t ever want to hear of you leaving school again.”
Smack! “Do you understand me?”
“Ow! Ow! Dad, yes!” squealed Michele.
Smack! The echo bounced off the walls.
“Daddy please stop!”
He didn’t. She had six more coming and each smack was a scorcher. When it was done Michele rose, tearfully rubbed her bottom cheeks and vowed never again to be lured into such foolish activity.
It should have ended there but it didn’t.
Both sets of parents had a long talk with Sister Veronica about pranks, bullying and other subjects. And that is how three girls— Melanie, Lisa and Katy all found themselves called into Sister Veronica’s office to account for their less than charitable behavior.
“It seems to me that this was bullying, or hazing, pure and simple,” said Sister Veronica, lecturing with a pointed finger. “You encouraged those girls to leave campus during a school day.”
“But we didn’t go out, sister,” protested Melanie.
“True,” she said, “and that’s why I’m not going to suspend you for aiding and abetting.”
The girls relaxed with sighs of relief.
“You’re only getting a detention. Let’s see,” she said, looking at her schedule, “you’ll do detention… on the 20th. That’s it. This Friday, 3pm.”
The girls froze, their faces suddenly ashen. Sister Veronica noted the panicked expressions.
“What’s wrong, girls? Detention will be conducted by Ms. Andrews.” Sister Veronica smiled broadly. “According to the rumors I hear, you’ll be out of there in twenty minutes, guaranteed. After all, it’s Friday detention.”