A
few days ago, at the village's mini market I picked up the City Hall's
paper, because my old school was on the front page. Once back home,
after having stored my groceries, I read.
"Westgate
Girls Secondary School invites former pupils to take advantage of its
new sports facility. If you have a few pounds to shed, if you want to
prepare for the next marathon, or if you want to improve your tennis
game, bring your old sports uniform and join our shorter Saturday
morning classes or the longer ones, including the afternoon. Miss Millicent Fritton, whom some of you may remember, will ensure that you give your best.
Nota bene : Miss Fritton recommends riding your old bicycle to the gym for extra exercise...
The
mention of Miss Fritton ensuring that we give our best brought back
stingy memories, but surely she wouldn't be belting the grownup girls we
became.
Saturday
early afternoon, I rode my old bike with calf length pants and a
windbreaker over a T.shirt. I also had a small sports bag in the pannier
with my old sports uniform. I hadn't tried it, it could be too
depressing.
A
school's supervisor registered me and delivered a receipt for my
contribution. "Please stand in line by Miss Fritton's office..."
There
was a few girls my age waiting by the door with the gold plate reading
Coach. I remembered quite a few of them. We were all wearing various
civilian clothes, and waving for old friends. One girl who had been
wearing jeans came out wearing the old sports uniform with the short
shorts, another one entered the office.
Ten
minutes later she was red face as she closed the door of the office.
Her shorts did a poor job of covering her very red bottom.
We
rushed to question her. She explained. "Miss F offers two programs, a
classic one, and her old fashion one, and..." With quite a blush she
hastily blubbered, "... and I decided... that... I will have to be
motivated."
Then she ran towards the gym. No one had asked her about the
pair of skirts she was carrying. They looked like the short game skirts
we used to wear.
It
wasn't all the girls who came out with a fiery bum. It was actually
only one out of three or four. The next one came out with a crimson
derriere and belt marks on the back of her thighs. Her rubicund bum was
jutting out of her shorts. She obviously had quite a few pounds to shed.
I was now more than concerned...
"Next !"
It was my turn.
"Janet,
welcome back and congratulation for your graduation. You seem to have
put on some weight. I nodded with a pitiful blush.
"Change into your old sports uniform..."
"Its no use Miss..."
"Give it a try!"
I blushed the more as I adjusted my shorts over my derriere, they felt so skimpy!"
"How many pounds ?"
"Twelve, Miss..."
"Are you going to be a chicken, or are you going to join my discipline program?"
I
was in front of dah question, having the will to do it without being
encouraged... or... It wasn't an easy decision, but I wanted so much to
regain my lovely figure... I took a deep breath. "I guess... I...
should... join the discipline program, Miss..."
"Don't guess! Take off your shorts and knickers, and say so loud and clear, 'I deserve to be disciplined Miss !"
Standing bare butt with both hands in front of my muff. I shamefully repeated, "I deserve to be disciplined Miss."
"Twelve pounds, at least twelve strokes..."
As she said that she reached for the belt I had been anxiously eyeing on her desk.
"Keep your hands on top of your head or else!"
I clasped my hands above my head, and felt my upper cheeks glowing as I exposed my curls. That belt flew and, SMACK!
"AIE!"
It
brought back stingy memories. I also remembered how I was encouraged to
apply myself, and more important, how I graduated with honors."
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!
"OH! AH! AIE! OUCH!"
I was back in time! I was again a lazy schoolgirl being belted!
"For every six, its one on the back of your thighs."
SMACK!
"OUCHEEE!"
That
was so stingy I forgot my fiery bottom.,and my hands briefly left their
position on top of my head. "Keep your hands on your head !"
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!
"AH! ARGH! AIEEEEE! OUCHEEE!"
I got the second set of six across my derriere, they stung even more than the first set. I was dancing on the spot.
Then for that second set of six, I got another one across the back of my thighs.
SMACK!
"OUCHEEEE!
It
was fierce! She was obviously driving the lesson home. She did a great
job, I couldn't help rubbing! For having rubbed, she smacked the front
of my thighs right under my muff.
SMACK!
"OUCHEEEEEE!"
That one was the worst, and I frantically danced the dance of a well punished girl who had too much ice cream.
"Pull your knickers and shorts up."
I was quite self conscious that my shorts couldn't cover my throbbing bum.
"Girls
who need to shed over then 10 pounds should be wearing the old Westgate
game skirt when riding their bike for gym and back home. Villagers
will see that you are attending my new adult sports classes. If you are
not careful, they will see your belted thighs. A well deserved
embarrassment!"
She offered two of these skirts with a severe grin. I took them with a hot flush, and she smiled.
I
was as red face as previously punished girls when I closed the door of
the office. As I turned around to do so I showed everyone my belted
thighs and my crimson bottom poorly covered by my shorts. I overheard a
few surprised ohs and ahs and blushed the more.
I ran to the gym, and reported to the assistant coach, "Your name ?"
"Janet, Sir."
"Two stripes on your thighs, twelve pounds to shed."
He also spotted the extra stroke peaking under the front of my shorts, and pulled them up to make sure. "One extra, correct ?"
"Yes Sir."
"Treadmill number 7."
Janet
To be continued...
./.
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