The Strickhand Chronicles 2: Fifth Grade Massacre M/bbbbbbbb F/bbbbbbbb, M/g, F/bbb, M/bbb, nc, paddle, ruler) by Nialos Leaning copyright 1998 by Nialos Leaning, all rights reserved. Permission for noncommercial electronic distribution and personal use reproduction of this story is hereby granted. All such distribution, re-posting and reproduction must be without alteration of this story in any way, must include this entire copyright notice, and must retain in their entireties the following statements: "The following story is intended for ADULTS ONLY. This story primarily depicts the repeated paddling and spanking of a group of fifth grade boys by both the school Disciplinarian and their teacher. It also depicts part of the paddling of a third grade girl. Additionally, this story peripherally involves the disciplining of various other lower and middle school students. If you are not of a legal age in your locality to view such material do not read further, and do not save this story." "If you don't like stories of this nature, then do not read this story. Please do understand that some of us, including the author, enjoy such fantasy material." "This story is pure fantasy, written for the enjoyment of adults. Behavior depicted in this story may in real life be illegal or considered by society to be abusive, harmful, unacceptable or undesirable. The author neither advocates, condones or personally engages in any such behavior." "This story, as is all fiction, is fantasy and not reality. The author does recognize the difference between the two." "Compliments and constructive criticism are always welcome." ************************ The Strickhand Chronicles: Fifth Grade Massacre(M/bbbbbbbb F/bbbbbbbb, M/g, F/bbb, M/bbb, nc, paddle, ruler) by Nialos Leaning "Good morning, Mrs. Leland, Mr. Strickhand," Miss Jeffries greeted the visitors to her fifth grade class. "Class?" "Good morning, Mrs. Leland, Mr. Strickhand," echoed her students. "Good morning, class," said Principal Leland. "Morning," said Mr. Strickhand, placing his famous black leather bag on the floor. * * * It had only been last week that Mrs. Leland and Mr. Johnsbury, headmaster of the Whitney Schools, had introduced Mr. Strickhand as the new Disciplinarian for the lower and middle schools. The students had learned that it was their own parents who had requested a return to the strict discipline of previous eras, including bare bottom spankings. Every day since Mr. Strickhand's arrival, at least ten very red and bare bottomed kids were seen running about the school. * * * The Principal addressed the subdued classroom. "Miss Jeffries has informed me that in the little over a week she's been here, there's been a long list of continuing misbehavior by all of the boys in this room. Picking on the girls, endlessly teasing and taunting them. Incomplete assignments, smart mouthing, talking out of turn, being disorderly in the halls, and much more, I'm sure." Mrs. Leland paused. Miss Jeffries couldn't recall when her room had ever been so quiet and still as now. One boy already had tears flowing despite sentence not yet being pronounced. "This behavior," continued the Principal, "is absolutely unacceptable here at the Whitney Schools and positively will not be tolerated in my middle school." "As all you boys are about to find out," said Mr. Strickhand, pulling his paddle out of his bag. Gasps could be heard throughout the room. Next, with the help of the two other adults, eight paper bags were opened and lined up on the floor. Several more boys were now crying. Everyone in the school knew about the paper bags. * * * By now, every student knew the routine. The lucky ones had only heard about it, the unlucky ones had experienced it, everyone had witnessed the results. Upon entering Mr. Strickhand's room boys removed pants and underwear, all girls took off their panties, girls with developing breasts stripped naked. All removed clothing was placed in a paper bag. Shirts and skirts were pinned up high, front and back. Punished students stayed in that undressed state until their bag was returned to them. The lucky ones had their bags returned in a few hours. The unlucky ones at the end of the day. Unless the paddling itself was near the end of the day, then the bag was returned the next day. The very unlucky ones, those committing serious offenses, could have their bags withheld for up to three days. A student who did not have his or her bag returned by the end of the day had to go home in an exposed state. Everyone understood that undoing the pins or trying to cover up on the trip home would only make the additional punishment that awaited them at home much worse, plus guarantee an encore appearance in Mr. Strickhand's room the next day. Mr. Strickhand always called the parents of paddled students. And the parents always called him to report on the additional punishment they'd imposed. Parents were also certain to report any violation of the no cover-up rule. * * * "Quickly and quietly," ordered Mr. Strickhand, "every boy in this room is to come up here, find the bag with your name on it, and stand in front of it." Once all eight boys were lined up, the next order came. "Remove your shoes and put them behind your bag." When this had been done, the boys were instructed to "pull your shirts and undershirts out of your pants." The three adults immediately began pinning these up, front and back. The Disciplinarian removed a portable CD player from his bag. "When the music starts," he instructed the distraught boys, you are to march around the room." Several of the nine girls giggled at this pronouncement. "Freddy," he told the boy closest to the door, "you lead, everyone else will follow. Make sure you go by the side of every girl's desk. When you get back to your bags, march in place while you carry out my next order." Mr. Strickhand started the CD. The sounds of a medley of John Philip Sousa marches blared out. The mortified boys began marching. Freddy was very careful to guide his decidedly unmerry band pass every single girl. The boys returned to their bags. "Pants off and into your bag," came the command. "Quickly." Knowing the consequences of not complying fully, every boy had done so in under a minute. "March." Once more, to the girls' giggles, the now underpants clad boys paraded around the room. Several boys were red faced. "I don't know why the red faces, yet," commented Mr Strickhand. "Honestly, I don't either," said Mrs. Leland. "They wanted to show off since Miss Jeffries took over. Now, when we give them the chance, they don't seem to like it." The boys were again by their bags, marching in place. "Underpants off!" Mr. Strickhand loudly proclaimed. Despite their acute embarrassment, the boys rapidly had the last reminding protector of their modesty off and into the bags. "Now, March!" The boys' bare bottomed tour of the room was met by the girls giggling, laughing and outright teasing. Realizing that this was payback for the suffering the boys had inflicted upon the girls, Miss Jeffries decided not to silence the female portion of her class. "Hey," said a girl, "Matt has a hard on." "So does Mike," said another girl. "And so does Eric and Harry," said a third girl. "Wonder if they'll all get boners?" asked a fourth girl. "Well, if they do," said Mr. Strickhand, that'll be their little problem. But soon, their bare bottoms are going to have a very big problem." The girls exploded in laughter. The boys, almost all red faced, had once more reached their bags. "Put your shoes back on," commanded the Disciplinarian. The boys scurried to comply. "Continue marching around the room until the music stops. Then, it'll be paddle time!" * * * Mr. Strickhand's paddlings were always bad news and already legendary. They lasted a long time, hurt terribly, and left bottoms extremely red, sometimes even purple in places. Bottoms paddled by the Disciplinarian stayed sore all day, and usually into the next day. Even the bravest, biggest eighth grade boys ended up bawling like babies. And, it didn't help matters that after a school spanking, most parents gave an additional spanking or two of at least the same severity. * * * In all, the boys made three more passes around the room. For a little over ten minutes they had been marching, for the last half of that time showing off all those secrets their pants usually hid. "Freddy, Mike, Sam, bend over Miss Jeffries desk," ordered Mr. Strickhand. Quickly, he had the boys positioned as he wanted, with toes off the floor. "Twenty strokes each," he announced as he landed a hard blow to Sam's right bottom cheek, eliciting a cry of pain. This was immediately repeated upon Mike and Freddy, both of whom screamed in agony. Before his scream had died, the paddle assaulted Freddy's left cheek, then in order Mike's and Sam's. No sooner had Sam started screaming from his second stroke when a third blasted into his right side, for a second time. Shortly, Mike and Sam had also received their stroke. And so Mr. Strickhand continued, until each boy had been paddled ten times. "Get up," he told the red bottomed, crying boys, "and go stand in front of the windows, facing the room. Quickly." The boys scurried to obey. Their concern over their red sore bottoms being on display to any passerby outside was outweighed by their relief that their behinds were at least temporarily no longer being blistered. "Stop that rubbing," Mrs. Leland barked at the three hapless boys desperately seeking to cool the fire in their bottoms. "Andy, Eric, Nathan, your turn," proclaimed Mr. Strickhand. Soon, these three miscreants were receiving the same treatment as their predecessors. With the same results. Screaming. Crying. Red sore bottoms. After their ten strokes each, they were sent to join the first three boys at the windows. "Matt, Harry, over the desk," said the Disciplinarian. "Hurry, now, I don't want the breeze cooling off those bare bottoms at the windows." The shaking, already crying boys hastened to get over their teacher's desk. Long before they were ready, their misery commenced. Once more the girls, teacher, Principal and Disciplinarian were treated to the sight and sound of crying, screaming, howling boys having their bare bottoms thoroughly reddened. After their first ten strokes, Matt and Harry were sent to join their compatriots at the window. "Freddy, Mike, Sam, back over the desk," demanded Mr. Strickhand. As soon as the boys were positioned, the second half of their paddling launched onto their already sore behinds. To the open enjoyment of the girls, and the secret enjoyment of Miss Jeffries, the boys were soon howling and crying in distress much more energetically than during the first installment of their spankings. They were vigorously, and futilely, kicking their legs. Tears were steadily streaming down their faces, snot continuously running from their noses. All too long for the boys, and too soon for the girls, Mr. Strickhand delivered the twentieth and final stroke to each bottom. Stinging, burning, hurting bottoms glowing a deep dark red. The three frantically wailing boys were dispatched back to the windows while Mr. Strickhand meted out a second dose of justice to Andy, Eric and Nathan. Soon, bawling just as frantically as their friends, they were back at the windows while Matt's and Harry's already sore bare behinds were dealt the Disciplinarian's loving and undivided attention. They too were sent back to the windows. Mrs. Leland and Mr. Strickhand made a show of stapling shut the bags containing the boys' discarded clothing. "By the way boys," said the Principal, "all of your parents said they will come in to pick up your bags." Somehow, despite their crying, several of the boys managed to emit groans at this devastating news. * * * A few extremely unlucky students had parents who when notified of their child's paddling arranged to come in to pick up their errant culprit's bag. These parents never seemed in a hurry to pick up the bag or return it. One eleven-year-old-boy had been running around with everything showing for four days now. His parents refused to take time off from work simply so he could be unexposed at school. They said they would get the bag at next week's evening Parent-teacher conference. A ten-year-old girl had the same problem with her parents. A twelve-year-old boy paddled three days ago was still sans lower clothing. His mother had his bag, but so far had refused to give it back to him. Each morning since, his red bottom evidenced that he was being spanked before being sent off to the school bus. * * * "Each of you boys come pick up your bag," said Mr. Strickhand. When this had been done, he again started the Sousa music. "Now, march, and don't let your bags hide anything!" The boys made four circuits around the room. To the gang of eight's consternation, the girls couldn't resist touching and feeling the passing parade of punished behinds. Something that after the first trip, the adults encouraged. Inevitably, after a while, hands began to accidently on purpose stray to the boys' front side, to what they had between their legs. Something that the adults pretended not to see. After the fourth round, marching in place in the front of the room, all the boys sported erections, thanks to the girls wandering hands. "Now, boys," said Mr. Strickhand, "keep marching and follow us to Mrs. Leland's office." The procession down the halls, Mrs. Leland in front, eight bare bottomed boys in the middle, Mr. Strickhand in the rear with CD playing, drew quite a bit of attention. The Principal deliberately took an indirect route to her office, passing every room on both floors of the middle school. Finally, they arrived at her office. After the boys had deposited their bags in a closet, they were marched back to their classroom, this time by the shortest route. "Okay boys, take your seats," said Mr. Strickhand. Every boy let out a moan when sore behind met hard wood seat. "In fifteen minutes it's lunch time. You have until then to finish your essays." * * * Mr. Strickhand made all paddled students write a short essay about why the punishment was deserved, how if felt to be naked in front of others, and what the paddling felt like. If Mr. Strickhand didn't like the finished essay, the entire paddling was repeated and a new one written. This process continued until a satisfactory paper was produced. The paddle's "motivation" ensured that very few students ever had to write more than two essays. * * * "At the lunch bell, you'll turn your papers into Miss Jeffries," Mr. Strickhand told the boys. "She will grade them right after lunch. If she isn't happy with them, she'll give you a spanking with the ruler and you'll have to write another one. At two o'clock you will bring your essays to my room. If I feel your work is unsatisfactorily, you will be paddled again and have to write a new longer paper. Miss Jeffries will keep spanking, I will keep paddling and you will keep writing till both your teacher and I are happy with your efforts. Do I make myself clear?" "Yes, sir!" chorused an octet of young prepubescent male voices, all dismayed at the possibility of even more spankings. "Well then, start writing!" At the lunch bell, eight very nervous boys turned in their papers. "Boys," Miss Jeffries informed them, "after you're done eating, just like the other children, I expect you to go outside and play." "Please, Miss Jeffries, do we have to?" pleaded a desperate Mike. Ten-year-olds like him and his classmates, some of whom were actually eleven, didn't go outside naked, not if they could help it. It was bad enough that they probably would have to go home that way, but why did they have to do so now? "Yes, you do," came the teacher's curt response. "But, but, everyone on the street will see us," protested Mike. "That's not my problem," answered Miss Jeffries. "Not another word, unless you want a spanking with this right now," she said, blandishing her ruler. "No, ma'am" responded Mike. "Then, get, right now!" she commanded, briskly smacking Mike's bare bottom once with the ruler. All the boys made a hasty exit toward the lunch room. Nine very happy girls and eight very dejected boys returned to class from lunch. The boys had endured much teasing, from friend and foe alike, much of it from fellow boys. Even worse, just about every girl on the playground had had something to some about the boys' backsides, front sides, and every other side. Not one of the boys had escaped crying at least once, most more often than that, poor Andy just about the whole time. Miss Jeffries entered, holding the boys' essays. "Not a one of these is good enough," she proclaimed. Tearing the papers up and discarding them into her wastebasket, she ordered, "all you boys, get up here, now." Soon, she had the boys lined up facing the girls' desks. She positioned her chair to the left of the boys, also facing the girls. "Eric, you first," she said. "Come here, please." In very short order, Eric was draped over Miss Jeffries lap, her ruler performing painful magic upon his already savaged bare behind. Stroke after stroke landed, renewing his howls, his leg kicking, his anguish of the morning. The fire in his bottom blazed more intensely with each spank. After twenty spanks, he was mercifully let up to dance and prance about the room. Eric couldn't resist rubbing his burning behind. "Keep those hands away," commanded Miss Jeffries, "there will be absolutely no rubbing!" One by one, each of the boys received his just deserts from his teacher. After the final boy, Mike, had been dealt with, she sent all eight to their desks to write new, and longer, essays. At two o'clock, Miss Jeffries, ruler in hand, escorted her entire class of fully dressed girls and bare bottomed boys to Mr. Strickhand's lair, the infamous room 7B. When they entered, he was in the process of paddling a third grade girl. Several students stood by the windows, facing the room. Like Miss Jeffries' boys, all were exposed below the waist. A blushing seventh grade girl with recently sprouted breasts was completely naked. An eight grade boy had an erection, as did several of Miss Jeffries' gang of eight. Several more bare bottomed students were seated at desks, writing their essays. After sending the third grader to a window, he invited the fifth grade girls to take desks. "And, yes, you can keep all your clothes all," he joked with them. Once more, he had the boys line up facing the student desks. He quickly read the essays, declaring five acceptable. Mike, Andy and Freddy were the unlucky three. One after another, the three boys found themselves over Miss Jeffries lap for a repeat taste of the ruler. None of them thought their ravished rears could take any more heat, but more they all did. As soon as Miss Jeffries had finished with the last boy, Mr. Strickhand ordered all three, who were all having difficulty staying still, over his desk for an encore of the morning's performance. Unlike in the morning, the Disciplinarian gave each boy five strokes before moving on to the next boy in line. Once again, each boy received twenty strokes. By the end, all three were continuously screaming, their very crimson bottoms clearly showing several purple splotches apiece. * * * Fortunately, all three boys had their third attempt at essay writing declared satisfactorily by both teacher and Disciplinarian. Miss Jeffries got her class back to their room just in time to prepare for dismissal. The fifth grade boys massacre had ended. At least the school portion had. What awaited the boys at home was another matter entirely. Mr. Strickhand was exhausted at the end of the day. His massacre of the fifth grade boys had been hard work. And, he still had a full complement of other students in need of reddened bottoms. Today had been the most paddling he had done since starting as the school Disciplinarian. Entering his car, he smiled to himself. It had been a great day, with many more to come. The end of this chronicle of Mr. Strickhand, but with many days till the end of the school year, there are many more to tell. * * * Author's note: The march music played by Mr. Strickhand is from the Canadian Brass' Red, White & Brass CD, Philips Classics 434 276-2. Mr. Strickhand played the ten minute, twenty-one second track 5, entitled Salute to John Philip Sousa.