Punishment School Chapter 1 by The Pro from Dover bigtx1n@hotmail.com copyright 1996 by The Pro from Dover, all rights reserved "The following is a work of erotic fiction and does not represent, in any way, any actual events. Furthermore, the author would not condone or participate in any such activity in actuality." I was the illegitimate child of the wayward daughter of a strictly religious family. Abandoned by my mother when I was twelve, I was sent to live with her family. A daily reminder of the shame my mother caused, I was sent to a parochial school, run by a small, obscure Catholic order, in a remote town, in a northwestern state when I was thirteen. Here I would learn the meaning of severe punishment and humiliation. I was marked for such right from the start. The family sent a long letter to the school principal, Sister Donald Marie, detailing the circumstances of my birth and early life, opinioning that my soul was polluted by association and needed to be chastised clean for my own salvation. At the time I didn't know of the letter. I only felt its effects. I had only been there a few weeks when it started. Without warning. They had been lonely weeks, shunned by fellow students for being new and treated hostily by teachers because of the letter. It was lunch time and as I exited the main building for the playground Sister Donald Marie accosted me by the arm and pulled me aside. "Have you been behaving yourself so far, young man?" she demanded. "Yes, sister," I replied with quick defference. "Have you?" she insisted. "Oh yes, sister." "Oh yes, sister," she mocked. "Oh no is more like the truth considering what you are. Isn't that right?" I didn't know what she meant, so I hesitated. She shook me hard. "Yes, sister." "Yes. So we won't have any trouble out of you, will we?" "No sister." "Because we practice strict corporal discipline in this school. Inside that room right there." She pointed to a door across the courtyard. Marked plainly - Student Punishment Room. "Or sometimes outside of it, if more severity is warranted. Because we do whatever is necessary to chastise students back to the Lord God. Do you understand?" "Yes, sister." "It better be," she warned, letting go my arm and walking away. I took her threats very seriously, even if I didn't understand why, and was determined to behave. I didn't know the odds were stacked against me. That conspiracies were afoot to see me humiliated and punished. More severely than any student before. It all began just a few days later. In home room. Two boys began to push and hassle me. Until finally I pushed back. And was caught immediately by the teacher, Mrs. Armbruster. She would listen to no explanation of mine and I quickly found myself standing outside in the hall. Waiting for Sister Donald Marie. The realization dawning that I was going to be punished corporally. I heard her hard steps approaching, my dread rising with every click. She rounded the corner. Her face was tense with righteous anger. Her eyes drilled into me. Without a word, she took hold of my ear and pulled me off down the hall. She pulled hard and walked fast, making me almost run to keep from losing my ear. Out the main building. Across the courtyard. Straight to the door of the Student Punishment Room. She unlocked it. Swung it open. Pushed me inside. The room was sparsely furnished. One chair. One low, long table covered with felt. Two cabinets on one wall. A long, round bar across another, three-quarters the way up it. Sister came in behind me. Closed the door. Locked it. She let me stand there, sweating. "Didn't take you long, did it? DID IT?" she roared. "No, sister," I mumbled. "No. And not that soon after you told me you wouldn't. You said that, didn't you?" "Yes, sister." "So, then, you lied." "But I..." "Don't you dare try to make excuses or blame someone else. Just admit it. Admit it!" "I lied." "Yes. And there're few things worse. The last student I had in here took the strap over his pants. But he wasn't bad like you. No. Your bottom is going to be bare. And I'll spank you before the strap. She sat down on the chair. Arranged her black skirt, drawing the fabric tight across her knees. She pulled me over beside her. "Get those pants undone. Now!" My hands trembling, the horror stabbing home, I undid my belt. Top button. Zipped down my fly. Then she reached up and pulled my pants down. Past my hips. Letting them drop to to my ankles. I stood in mortal shame, the room air pimpling the skin on my legs, grateful the long tail of my uniform shirt covered my underwear. "Pull that shirt up," she ordered. "High above your waste." I did so. Exposing completely my white Jockey underwear. She let me stand that way, suffering the humiliation fully. "Get down here." I bent over. Put myself across her knees. Hands reaching to the floor for balance as she roughly positioned my bottom to suit her. She pushed my shirt further up my back. Then put her fingers in the band of my underwear and pulled them down. Past my thighs. Below my knees. So there I was. Across this woman's, this nun's knee. My bottom completely bare and fully exposed to her sight. The shame was profound. "Please, sister...," I started, unable to bear it. "Don't you dare beg. There's nothing worse than a miserable, misbehaving boy who wants forgiveness when punishment is due. That will get you two more strokes of the strap. And it will be five more if I hear any more begging out of you." That I didn't want so I resolved to suffer the shame. Which I didn't have to do for long before it was replaced by some-thing else. Pain. As Sister started to spank me. Spank my bare butt. Firm and fast. The pain rising as each slap made it more sensitive for the next. And the next. Each one making me gasp. I "Ouched" and "Ohhed" but nothing stopped her. Or slowed her. On and on. SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! For what seemed like forever. Until, finally, she stopped. I went limp. My butt was burning. Throbbing. I fought back tears. "Your bottom looks properly warmed up now. Nice and ready to suffer seven strokes of the strap. Get on your feet." Grabbing a handful of my hair, she pulled up. I had no choice but to follow. I got my feet under me and straightened up. My long uniform shirt tail fell and, blessedly, covered my naked penis. Instinctively, I reached back and rubbed my back-side. "That's another stroke for trying to relieve your cleansing pain. Keep your hands crossed in front of you." I complied immediately. Sister then proceeded to the larger of the two cabinets. Opened it to reveal a selection of belts, paddles, and a long, thick, black strap. I shuddered as she took this one out. Closed the cabinet. Came back in front of me, pulling the strap taught. "See that bar across the wall?" "Yes, sister." "Go stand in front of it." I did as I was told. Humiliated further by having to shuffle with my pants and underwear down aroung my ankles. I reached the bar, which was just about at my eye level. "Face the bar and remove your shirt," she ordered. "Yes, sister," I managed to say as my heart sank. I slowly unbuttoned my shirt. Then removed it and threw it aside. And there I stood. Completely exposed except for the clothes looped around my ankles. My red butt burning. Hands covering my penis. "Reach up and grab hold of the bar with both hands." I did, leaving my penis to dangle free. "Slide your feet back and lean against the bar." And I did this. Sister came up beside me. Appraised the fine target my butt made in this humiliating position. I shuddered as she limbered the strap at her side. Tensed like wire when she tapped my ass with the wide leather, readying her aim. "Eight strokes then, is it?" Is it!? "Yes, sister," I sobbed. SLAP! The leather blistered across my cheeks. I yelped in pain. My knees buckled, causing me to lose the position. "Keep the position, boy. Lose it again and that's two more strokes. Understand?" "Yes, sister." SLAP! It landed again. Harder than before. I yelped louder but kept the position, my hands hurting with gripping the bar so tight. SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! The strap pummled my bare butt. Making me buck forward and my penis bounce. I had never been punished before. And now this. I cried out with every stroke. SLAP! SLAP! I sobbed miserably, my body quivering with pain and humiliation. Sister let a few torturous seconds pass. SLAP!!!! The last stroke sunk in. Hardest of them all. I cried out my loudest, doing all I could to hold the position. I just managed to. Sister just let me stand there. Exposed. Blistered. "Now that's how punishment starts here. Behave and it stops here. Don't and it will get worse. Much worse. Both the pain and, especially, the humiliation. Do you want that?" "No, sister." "I'm sure you don't. As sure as I am that you will get more. Redress yourself. I couldn't wait to. Keeping my back to Sister I pulled up my underwear and pants. The fabric making my butt hurt and burn worse. Reached for my shirt. Tucked it in. Buttoned it up. "Now get back to your next class and don't dawdle." "No, sister." I replied before hurrying out.