The embarrassment was all consuming. My clothing sat in a neat stack on the stage floor against the wall. Everything except for the last garment. My fingers struggled with the rear clasp of my bra, nervousness keeping the simple task from being quickly completed. The clasp gave and the elastic material snapped loose. I let it fall free into my lowered hands and folded the cups into each other with the straps pressed into hiding. With my clothing stack complete all that remained was to turn and face the cafeteria full of girls, staff and teachers. My hands went to the top of my head and I faced the crowd, stepping to the front edge of the stage.
Walter arrived with the paddle in tow. His footsteps carried him toward the back of the stage. I imagined him examining my clothing stack for neatness. He hummed as he inspected. My thoughts ran to the only memory which even slightly compared to the embarrassment burning through me.
The summer before my senior year, I had spent with my uncle. It had been my cousin’s birthday. I had been fooling around in the kitchen with one of his friends. The cake had been sitting out on the counter. I had knocked the cake onto the floor. It hadn’t been entirely my fault, but I had no intention of telling my uncle what had really been going on in the kitchen. I had took the blame. My uncle had made me strip naked and bring the paddle onto the back porch where he had paddled me in front of my cousin and all his friends. I spent the rest of the birthday party with my naked butt on display. There had been a mere dozen friends of my cousin present for that humiliation. The cafeteria housed more than 450 girls, not counting the staff and teachers.
Walter’s footsteps approached. “Bend forward and touch your toes, Scarlet.”
I bit my lip and leaned forward, releasing my hands from the top of my head. My red locks hung down around my face and then dangled just above the stage floor as my fingertips brushes across the tops of my toes. Somehow I felt more naked than when facing the entire cafeteria. All I could see through my legs was the end of the clear paddle and my stack of clothing against the wall.
Walter said, “You’ll count each stroke in a clear, loud voice. Stay in position or you’ll receive extra.” He laid the paddle flat against the center of my protruding buttocks. “Are you ready?”
It was the type of rhetorical question that always made me want to say the opposite of what was expected. The embarrassment of the situation is probably the only thing that kept me from saying it aloud. Instead, I reminded myself I had enough swats coming over the next five days already and that answering inappropriately would only serve to worsen the situation. “Yes, Sir.”
The spanking hurt from the very first swat. It wasn’t unbearable. The paddle produced pain and sting in accordance with its purpose. As the spanking progressed the stinging increased and the element of heat added itself to the growing pain. In the silence between swats I could hear the little noises of my audience. Snickers, chuckles, amused breaths. They were enjoying my predicament. My eyes blinked in unison with every echoing impact. For the last twenty, my voice crackled with simultaneous crying while tears sprinkled out of my eyes.
“Fifty-six,” I counted and a sob wracked my body. All I desired was for the spanking to end and the burning, stinging pain to ease.
Dean Rosecliff said, “Stand up, hands on head.”
I obeyed. Tears streaked down my cheeks. All eyes in the cafeteria were fixed on me. My hair hung about my shoulders and face, disheveled. My chest surged up and down with harsh breathing and barely controlled sobs. I should have felt utter embarrassment, but all I felt was relief. The spanking was over, for one day at least.