Whippingham Fitness Camp part 5

I had to admit that I did deserve that spanking at the hand of our nutritionist, but I wouldn't be called a chicken. I was, of course, mortified to have been punished, on the bare in front of the whole class, but it was a matter of honor. I am not a chicken! Later on, I was quite proud to have been given high five by my dorm-mates.

A few days later, we visited the boys of the local soccer team at their nearby training camp. Miss Principal announced. "You will be wearing your classroom uniform while travelling and you are to pack your sports bags."

With boys in the bargain, we didn't mind too much our shortish skirts. Our coaches handed each of us a pair of gym shorts. "We don't want the boys going gaga over your burumas."

The boys offered a warm and teasing welcome. A few girls giggled for pats on the back of their skirts, a few more slapped the enterprising hands. We changed into our sports uniforms with improved shorts. After a warming up drill, we were separated into two teams. I was happy to be in the same team as my friend June, and our dorm mates. Each team was organized by one of our coaches. A selection of boys was appointed as referees, others sat on the sidelines to enjoy the match.

Our captain was lucky to draw the first engagement, and we charged. As a forward outfielder, I had run ahead, hoping for a pass. When I got the ball, I successfully dribbled it by an opposing midfielder. The boys cheered. "Come on red head!" Next, I escaped a defender. The boys went wild. "Go for it red thighs!"

I didn't have time to blush for that comment, which was referring to Mr. Muesli having decorated my thighs for my impertinence. "Shoot it carrot head! Shoot!"

I shot, and the ball missed the goals by a mile! The boys jeered. "Spank her! On the bare! We want to see if her tuft matches her hairs!" I blushed at those comments, but I was more upset to have wasted a great opportunity.

As we were all quite fit, thanks to Whippingham's special program, it was a hard fought game. We did score one goal, but our opponents equaled that a few minutes later. Both coaches promised the belt for their team, if defeated.

In the last few minutes of the game, we were still tied, and facing an attack. As a front line player, I was in the middle of the field ready for a counter attack. I couldn't see the details, but I heard the boys chanting. "It's a goal!" I wasn't the only one to imagine the impeding sting in our tails. A few were already instinctively rubbing the seat of their shorts.

While the other team and their coach were chanting, "We are the champions!" Our coach bellowed, "You're lucky that I won't be belting your butts in front of the boys!" A number of boys overheard and teasingly protested.

Back to our locker-room our coach pulled some kind of trestle in the middle of the room. "All of you, take off your shorts and knickers and line up!"

While we were taking off our shorts and knickers before lining up, our opponents, who were peering through the opened door, cheered. "Strip your clams!"

Miss Coach added. "Six of the very best with my trusty belt!"

Our captain was first to bend over that trestle. She had to be on tip toes to grab the lower rang. She couldn't help having to part her legs to keep her balance.

"As the captain, you're getting eight!"

She got the last two across the top of her thighs. With our short uniform skirt, she will have to be very careful to hide those vivid belt marks from the boys.

"April, you're next, and you're getting seven because of that sloppy shot!"

I couldn't help offering my girly secrets for the jeering opposing team. "Spread them wide red beaver!"

I was warned, "You will remember that last one, my girl!" Having said that, she vigorously whacked my thighs. "OH! AIE! AIE! AIE!"

Then I joined the already punished line up with both hands rubbing my well toasted buns. I no longer cared to be showing my curls. 

After having changed into my uniform skirt, I tugged it as far down as it would go. As we walked out of the boys' clubhouse, I suddenly felt a cooling draft for my fiery nates. Some imp had raised my skirt, or was it the wind?

I twirled on the spot and slapped the closest boy. He protested, "Hey! Ouch! It wasn't me."

"Sorry!"

I scanned all the smiling boys and couldn't spot the culprit. From their wide grins, I could tell that they had an eyeful. I again blushed as they commented.

"That's a lovely red bum!”

“It’s quite fitting for a red head!"

I shrugged and noticed that I had slapped one of the best looking boys.

April and June

To be continued...

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