“What did I do?” When high school senior Harold gets a mysterious demerit, he must endure spankings parental and academic, along with the relentless teasing of his girlfriend. His bottom sore, it’s a race against strap and paddle - can he get the slip signed, unravel the mystery of his infraction and, most importantly, deal unto his lovely brat her sexy comeuppance? [FF/m (teacher), F/m (parent), m/f]
Demerit Slip
by Pygmalion, Esq.
Copyright 2012
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Demerit Slip
by Pygmalion, Esq.
Harold yowled with pain, and tried to squirm – and well he should, the seat of his school uniform trousers was being beaten with grim efficiency by Assistant Principal Dove, or, more precisely, the heavy leather school strap in her strong left arm. Before he could even think of rising from the desk he’d been draped over, the strap descended again with a crack! and Harold shouted out, only to be cut off by the next blow. “How much more?!” he cried.
“I’m not bothering to count, in the circumstances,” said Dove before she slapped the strap down once, twice in rapid succession. Harold yowled. “Let’s say…three.”
And, indeed, three slaps later, Harold was allowed to stand and rub his bottom while the assistant principal wrote out some paperwork. “I didn’t do anything,” he muttered, then quailed as Ms. Dove looked up.
“Would you like another go?” she said, her hand moving toward the strap.
“No!” he said. “But do you have to send a note home?”
“You know the rules,” said the assistant principal, returning to the paperwork. Then she paused, and looked up. “Then again, maybe you don’t. I’ll add a few explanatory documents.”
“Explanatory?”
“For reference,” said Ms. Dove, stapling a few pages to the back of the demerit slip. “I’m sure your mother will be interested, even if you aren’t.” Harold’s bottom twinged as he accepted the document. “Get back to class.”
“Yes, Ms. Dove.”
***
Mrs. Lowry looked up as Harold slipped back into the classroom. She sniffed, and the frown lines on her forehead adjusted themselves to glare at him. “So, you’ve learned your lesson?” she remarked, and the rest of the class hushed to look at the student.
“Yes, ma’am,” lied Harold. She didn’t seem convinced, either, but then the bell rang.
“Class dismissed,” Mrs. Lowry said, slapping her ruler against the desk as she sat.
“What did you do?” said Sarah, as the students rushed out. “Did it hurt?”
“Yes,” said Harold. “Well, not so much,” he averred. “…a little.”
“God,” said Sarah. “You know, I’ve never been spanked.”
“Good to know,” said Harold, then added: “Why?”
“What kind of question is that?”
“Is it because you’re sneaky or because you’re good?”
“I’m a good girl,” she said, looking prim. “As you well know.”
“If my butt weren’t on fire, I’d check.”
“You’ll get more tonight, right?”
“You seem cheerful enough about it,” said Harold, morose.
She gave him a peck on the cheek. “I’m sure you’ll be brave.”
“I wouldn’t mind so much if I’d actually done something.”
“Oh,” she said, looking concerned. Then she brightened: “Oh well, cheer up!”
“Cheer up?”
“You probably deserve it anyhow.”
Harold looked from side to side, then gave his girlfriend a sharp smack on the bottom. She squealed, dancing out of the way while trying to shield her skirt with a textbook. But Harold was too morose to pursue.
***
Harold parked his car, a used clunker, in the parking lot of his mother’s walk-up apartment, taking his time to clean out the backseat of the fast food he’d picked up and eaten on the way home. He tossed it in the trash on his way up, wishing he could do the same with the demerit slip in his back pocket. At least the burn had subsided on the way home. It hadn’t been a very hard strapping after all. This failed to cheer him up as he walked up the two flights of stairs.
The door opened as he approached, and his mother stood in the doorway of the apartment. “Oh, you’re back,” she said, pushing a strand of hair out of her eyes, and putting a hand on her ample hip.
“Yep,” he said.
“Did you bring the groceries.” It was obviously not a question, since he didn’t have any bags.
Oops. “Er…nope.”
“Have you eaten?”
“Er…”
“Yes?” she provided.
“Yes. Have you?”
“Don’t talk back.”
“Sorry, mom.”
“I’ll buy something from the convenience, after,” she said, going back into the apartment.
“After what?” he asked, closing the door behind him.
She gave him a look, both hands on hips now.
“Oh,” he said, avoiding her eyes as he stepped into the clutter of the small apartment. He dropped his books off on the table, and when he turned back, his mother had brought the leather paddle from its home in the kitchen cabinet and stood ready, arms crossed.
“Pants down, I think,” she sighed, slapping the round leather against her arm, albeit lightly.
“Yep,” he said, fiddling absent-mindedly with his belt.
“Hurry it up. Let’s get this over with.”
He let his trousers fall to his ankles while his mother perched on the end of the half-couch, then draped himself across her lap, his knees on the floor padded by his trousers, his arms resting on the soft couch, his boxer shorts tight, exposed. He felt the paddle leather rub across his bottom, as if looking for the best place to strike. He tensed. “Mom…”
The paddle slapped down with an unexpected sting, and he drew in breath. There was a long pause, as if his mother were assessing the damage. “Is that all?” he asked.
“I’m not sure yet,” she said. He squirmed as the paddle ran idly over his legs.
“Mom!”
“Oh, fine.” And then the hail of spanks began—slap! Slap! SLAP! and back to slap!—a pattern that ranged across his bottom at random, until it was a throbbing red sensation throughout, then it went on to cover the same ground a second time.
He tried to shield his bottom with his hand, but that only got his hand slapped. “Ow, hey!”