This was the day everyone was messing about in the changing rooms when we were supposed to be getting ready for PE. All of a sudden our PE teacher strode in with a face like thunder and told us all to get into the gym there and now. Some people has some of their kit on and others still had their normal school uniform on so there was a moment of confusion. Then she changed her mind and made us all take off whatever clothing we had on and told us we would do the whole PE class naked.
Some of the girls still didn't heed the warning that she was in a very bad mood and some of the messing around carried on into the PE session. As a result she produced a plimsoll and four of the worst behaving had to touch their toes to get two very hard swats across their bare bottom. The tears that produced seemed to have a remarkable effect on calming things down.
Some of the girls still didn't heed the warning that she was in a very bad mood and some of the messing around carried on into the PE session. As a result she produced a plimsoll and four of the worst behaving had to touch their toes to get two very hard swats across their bare bottom. The tears that produced seemed to have a remarkable effect on calming things down.
7 comments:
When I was at school we had 'singing' in the hall. The lines were like an army inspection and our senior teacher walked the lines with a cane. Swish and crack if any lad's posture was poor or he wasn't singing his heart out. Now it's just a thought....
Old Tom
It was bad enough having to exercise in the nude, but then the Headmaster showed up with two of his fat, old, leering friends in tow. The Headmaster often brought his disgusting friends down to leer at us while we were doing our exercise, but seeing us naked-as-newborns made it a special treat, and the fat old men walked all 'round us, surveying us from every angle.
The janitor seemed shocked to see us all exercising in the buff, but he quickly adjusted and spent the entire rest of the hour changing the same lightbulb.
At 11:30 the bell rang for lunchtime and soon all the posh boys from St. Andrews had climbed over the fence to peer in on us as the always did. They risked the cane themselves if their Headmaster caught them, but seeing 30 of us doing exercises in the nude made it totally worth it. I tried to ignore their fat little faces pressed against the glass, gawking down at us like we were animals in the zoo. If it wasn't for the incessant tapping of the plimisol against our gym teacher's palm I would have made a run for it. Instead, I did my squats, trying to ignore the smiles from above and knowing chuckles of the men standing not six feet behind me.
Hello! I've been away from the blogging world for some time, but I'm back and fortunately still have you on my blogroll, so I was able to find my way back here. Spanking bloggers have certainly increased exponentially! My goodness. Anyhow, I'm browsing back through your posts and enjoying them quite a bit. I'm also intrigued that you have someone who comments anonymously and adds to or writes story for your posts. That is fantastic.
Best wishes and glad you are still around,
Abby Williams
Thanks Abby and welcome back!
It started off with me needing to use the bathroom.
We were on the reformatory tour, which Mr. W and I found fascinating because of its use of both school uniforms and corporal punishment. We were in one of the punishment rooms, a large but rather boring cement room made incredibly interested by the three naked girls strapped down over the punishment benches, their bottoms raised high, waiting for their turn with the birch.
Mr. W was quite enthralled, as I was I, but I had to pee. Now. I spoke to our tour guide who directed me to the gym across the hallway. Despite his fascination with the bouncing, wiggling bottom in front of him the gentlemanly Mr. W accompanied me on my journey, “to make sure you don’t get into mischief” he said, playfully patting my bottom as we discretely slipped out the door.
I had gotten used to the sight of adult women in school uniforms, but stopped dead in my tracks when I saw two groups of approximately twenty women, entirely naked, doing calisthenics.
I stood there, my mouth agape, watching as the women bounced and jiggled through their jumping jacks.
“Want to join them?” Mr. W teased.
“No… I… I could never…”
“Of course you could. I bet you that new sports cars you have your eye on that if you mixed yourself in with the girls our tour group wouldn’t even notice.”
I protested that the men in our tour group could scarcely NOT notice me running in place in but my argument was cut short and the bell rang and the girl’s headed for the showers. I followed them into my locker room to take care of business. Even clothed no one noticed me. Was Mr. W? If our tour group didn’t notice me then there would be little embarrassment in being one of 40 naked girls. If they did, I’d be driving the car of my dreams. A win-win…
Mr. W didn’t seem all surprised when I came out of the lockers and tossed him my chic brown leather shoulder bag, which was a tad heavier since it now contained my rings, earrings, sandals, dress, bra, and panties, and perhaps most importantly, my indispensable VISITOR’S PASS lanyard which had been hanging safely around my neck. Now I was wearing nothing but a blush as I joined my naked sisters on the gym floor and began doing my mountain-climbers.
Concentrating on the exercise and keeping pace with the group I had nearly forgotten the bet when the door opened and my tour group entered!
I tried not to think of the rear view I was presenting as I put my weight on my hands, thrust my bottom in the air, and rapidly thrust first my left leg forward and them my right. I knew they were seeing everything I had, but a hard slap of the gym teacher’s plimsoll and a “BOTTOMS UP!" command quickly ended my futile attempt to keep my legs closed.
I’m not sure if it was blushing or the look of horror on my face but the moment I turned to face my group I could see they all recognized me. What a difference 5 minutes makes! All morning I had been an honored member of their group, the pretty young girl with the yellow sundress and elegant brown bag whose smile lit up the room. Now I was a naked delinquent shamelessly spreading my legs as I did my squats for a grinning tour group!
“I see we have a new girl,” our tour guide chuckled as I felt my blood rush to my face. “Maybe we’ll catch up with her a bit later, when we go back to the birching room after lunch.”
My heart raced. THE BIRCHING ROOM?
With that, I watched the smiling Mr. W vanish through the door with the others along with the bag that held all of my worldly possessions.
What was I to do? When the class was over I would need to explain what had happened. Would they let me rejoin my tour group? Would they give me something to wear? My mind refocused as the gym teacher brought the leather sole down hard on my bottom, admonishing me to raise my leg higher in the air just as the next tour group entered.
I could not stop blushing when I saw a story with Mr. W pop up here! It was like a Choose Your Own Adventure where I no longer had a choice, knowing that all paths lead to the Birching Room. Thank you to both James and Anonymous for the discovery of this surprising and delightful treat.
The second tour group was unknown to me, and I blushed hotly as I did my leg lifts in front of them, exposing myself for everyone. I was “one of the girls” now, and there was some comfort in that, but each time I caught one of my fully clothed admirers ogling my bouncing breasts and bottom, or looking between my spread legs, a fresh wave of humiliation washed over me.
The tour group watched until our exercise ended, and with them standing in the doorway there was no way to escape, even if I had clothes. With no other options in front of me I soon found myself thick in the middle of the gaggle of girls heading into the showers.
The showers were enormous and there were at least hundred girls there, gathered around the crusty green cement poles that held the spray nozzles and soap dispensers. I knew I must have been showering with a very naughty group indeed, for now that I had the leisure of a closer examination I noticed that at least half the girls had splotches, tram lines, welts, or some sort of residue of a punishment on their naughty bottoms.
My attention was quickly drawn to the voice of my tour guide as he led my group into the showers. Embarrassed, I turned my back so they wouldn’t see me.
“As you can see, the showers are open and very well lit, so the instructor has an excellent view at all times. This discourages horseplay in the showers, or any unnatural affections that may develop among a group of young woman deprived of the company of men."
There were some knowing chuckles at this, but the tour guide went on. I blushed hotly, knowing I was part of the tour.
“The soap they are using is a specially modified industrial animal scrub. We added some extra grit, a good dose of delousing agent, and some urinal disinfectant to make sure these dirty sluts extra clean.”
Curious, I reached for the tarnished metal cylinder bolted into the pole and dispensed a blob of the green gel into my hand. My nose shrank from the smell of it, and it seemed hot, much hotter than the tepid water we were showering in.
“Rub it in,” the girl next to me whispered. The matron's watching, and if you don’t you’ll get the cane for sure!”
I looked over my shoulder and saw that the matron was indeed watching me and as the girl said and she looked none to please. There was a leather strap in her hand, but knowing this place I suspected a handy cane would not be far away.
I gasped as I rubbed the green glop into my hair. Oh, how it sizzled! It had been hot in my palm because of the burning disinfectants and on my scalp it seemed to catch fire.
“Good,” my friend whispered. “Between your legs and under your arms, too. You need to get it everywhere, and rub it in good. She has eyes like a hawk, that one does.”
As I glanced over my shoulder at the frowning matron I again noticed my tour group, all smiles as they watched the girls shower with the burning urinal cleaner.
“I notice many of the girls are shaved,” one of the women on my tour group asked. “Is that by choice, or for hygiene?”
“Hygiene, mostly. These girls are filthy little strumpets, always wet and juicy and between the legs. It’s easier to keep them bare down there, so we can give them a good scrubbing.”
Glancing down I ran a few fingers over my sex. I had lost my ID and clothing and had supposed there was nothing else that could be taken from me. But might they take my womanly bush too, so as to make it that much easier to disinfect me?
I noticed W scanning the shower, and I quickly turned my face back before he spotted me. I thought for a moment he might recognize me from just my bottom, but as I was shorter than the other girls and in the middle of a large group no one seemed to notice.
Although I didn’t wish to be spotted, I did see W was still holding the shopping bag containing my purse, clothes, ID, and my vitally needed, all-important- VISITOR’S BADGE!
“Rub it between your legs!” the redhead whispered. “It will burn like a forest fire but she’s watching!”
I rinsed the lye out of my hair. Still it burned like fire.
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