Last March, when I was in eighth grade, I got caught up in a kind of fight amongst around twenty other girls in our school’s dinner hall. None of the boys got involved, apart from a load of cheering. I believe it started with two girls who were former friends having an argument, and then a shoving match. Some other girls got involved, and then some more. I was waiting in the queue to get served and simply pushed back when a girl came crashing into me. She didn’t like me pushing her and pushed me back, which is when some teachers came in to break it all up.

They lined us up and tried to sort out the main instigators. Somehow, I was labelled as one of the protagonists. I wasn’t worried at that point. I was sure we’d each be given the opportunity to explain our involvement, and then I’d be allowed to get back to being served with my lunch.

We were escorted out of the dining hall and taken to the gymnasium. I counted eighteen of us, which was probably just about everyone who was even slightly involved. The school principal arrived and listened while several teachers updated him on what happened.

“Okay girls, it’s three swats or six hours In-school detention,” he announced, and left with two male teachers, leaving us with three female teachers.

“Those girls who want swats form a line in front of Mrs P. Those who want detention line up in front of Miss W,” the third and more senior teacher, Mrs A, ordered.

We all looked at each other. Some girls started whispering, which then grew in volume. The teachers let this happen. Several girls shared classes with me, but none were what I would call friends, so I mainly just had to consider things for myself. I wanted to tell the teachers I wasn’t really involved, but I knew I’d pushed that girl so maybe I was. And being the only one to claim innocence meant I would have to stand out against everyone else who was simply accepting their fate.

In-school detention isn’t great. It takes place in a class separate from regular classes. You’re limited in what you’re allowed to do, and everyone walking past knows you’re being punished. They smile and smirk at your misfortune.

I’d seen a couple of boys and one girl being paddled and it clearly hurt. I’d never been paddled myself, and never spanked at home. I waited to see what the others chose. It didn’t take long.

First, three girls who were clearly friends lined up in front of Mrs P. They’d decided swats were preferable to the humiliation of In-school detention. Two others joined them, then several more. I moved to Mrs P’s line just before it seemed I’d be the only one yet to decide. The remaining two girls filed in behind me. All of us had opted to be paddled. At least I wouldn’t stand out as the only girl to chicken out. I guess that was probably the main motivator for many of us.

The teachers then went into a little huddle. I guessed they were sorting out the most efficient way to paddle eighteen girls. Then Miss W left the gymnasium.

“Won’t keep you girls waiting long,” Mrs P told us. The smile she gave us suggested she was aware we’d be fretting on what was coming, and that we’d want to get it done as quickly as possible.

I had mixed feelings on that.

Miss W returned carrying a small chair and a wooden paddle. The chair was the type used throughout the school. It had a gray-painted metal frame and curved plywood seat and back. She placed the chair a short way to our side. It was carefully positioned so its back was facing us. She handed the paddle to Mrs P.

“Okay,” Mrs P said, turning and looking at the line of us. “Stay in that line. We’ll start at that end and work our way along.”

I looked to my right. Mrs P was starting at the end furthest away from me. I would be the third from last to get paddled. At that moment, I was happy with that. The girl who would be first was anything but happy. Her face turned white and she looked on the point of crying.

Mrs P, paddle in hand, went to stand by the chair. Mrs A joined her and stood on the opposite side of the chair. I guess her intention was to act as witness. Miss W walked over to the first girl in line and told her to go get her paddling. The girl, tall with long dark hair and wearing dark blue jeans, hesitated. Miss W said something to her that I couldn’t hear, but it got the girl walking.

Almost as soon as she got to the chair, Mrs A pushed on the back of her head and she was gently but firmly bent over the back of the chair. Her head was pressed down real low, so the jeans stretched tight around her bottom. It looked uncomfortable and I worried I’d be able to get my head down that low.

Mrs P swung the paddle. A really loud bang echoed round the gymnasium, and the girl jerked her head up. Mrs A pressed her back down and the paddle swung again. The girl cried out, but forced her head down all by herself, and she got her third spank.

We all watched in awe as the girl stood upright and rubbed the seat of her jeans before walking briskly towards the door. She wiped the tears from her eyes with the back of one hand. Miss W sent the next girl across to the chair and the procedure started all over again. Like all the girls at my end of the line, I watched with a degree of fascination as the procedure was repeated time and again. We saw girls in jeans bend over, and girls in various styles of skirt or dress bend over. Some took their swats with a grunt or a groan, others cried.

But the line was getting ever shorter.

I looked at the girl two away from me. She had collar-length blond hair and was wearing black leggings like me. I could see her shaking, especially when she became the next in line. As the previous girl headed for the door after her spanking, Miss W placed a hand on the small of blond girl’s back, whispered a few words, and with a little help the girl stumbled over to the chair. Mrs A said something and the girl bent over the back of the chair, her black leggings were stretched tight and the outline of her brief panties clear to see.

My neighbor, the next girl in line, whispered something. I didn’t hear, but I don’t think I was really meant to. We both suddenly looked at blond girl when we heard the loud bang of her getting her first swat. The following two swats followed unnervingly quickly, and then she was done. She was released and left the gymnasium sniffing back tears.

Miss W was getting so close to me now, I could practically smell her breath. She put a hand on my neighbor’s shoulder and told her that it was her turn. The girl, taller than me, wearing a loose-fitting patterned cotton dress, staggered over to the chair. Mrs A said something I couldn’t make out and the girl bent over the back of the chair. Then Mrs P said something, and the girl half stood up, gathered her dress around her so her bottom was more prominent, and bent back down. I guess Mrs P was concerned about missing the target and hitting some place other than the girl’s buttocks.

I watched these proceedings intently. I was nervous and certainly scared about how much my paddling was going to hurt, but at that moment I was just as anxious that I didn’t make a fool of myself by doing anything wrong. It was far too late to back out now. I had fully accepted I was getting a spanking. I just needed to deal with it.

Mrs P applied three swats to the bending girl’s bottom with very little pause between. Was she speeding up? It seemed a bit like it. In next to no time, the paddling was over and I was next in line, and Miss W was hovering by my right shoulder.

“Your turn, girl. Go get your spanking.”

Miss W’s hand on my shoulder gave me a gentle push forward, and I tried to keep the momentum going, but my legs were very shaky. I focused on the back of the chair, forcing myself to keep going.

“Give your pants a pull up at the back and bend over. You know the procedure,” Mrs P said as I stood close to the back of the chair and looked down at the plywood seat.

I tugged my black leggings up at the back and felt them real tight around my bottom. They were fairly tight anyway, so I guess the two remaining girls and the teachers all could see the shape of my backside and almost certainly the outline of my brief panties underneath.

I leaned over the back of the chair and forced my head down as far as I could. My leggings felt very tight indeed around my bottom and I knew from the previous girl but one how I must have looked. Any concern about that immediately evaporated when I felt Mrs P pat my butt just once with the paddle.

Pow!

The sound of the first swat seemed to resonate all around the gymnasium. I don’t think I cried out. My mind simply struggled to deal with the fire I felt all across my backside. The second swat slammed into the seat of my leggings, and the burn doubled in intensity. Within seconds, the third swat smacked powerfully into my butt and the pain was extraordinary, but I’d been spanked and it was over for me.

“You may leave,” was all Mrs P said before she looked across for the next girl.

I straightened, rubbed my extremely sore butt and started out for the door. I had to rub a couple of tears away from my face as I walked, purposely not looking at the two remaining girls.

Outside the gymnasium, just a few yards along the hall, a small group of boys and girls were waiting. I had it fixed in my mind I was heading straight for the girls’ bathroom where I might get a little privacy and maybe see just how bruised my bottom was, so I ignored all the dumb questions and pushed through the group, at the back of which were four of my friends.

“How did it go?” one asked.

“It hurt, badly,” I answered.

“Didn’t they offer you an alternative to paddling?”

“Yes. Six hours of In-school detention.”

“And you chose to be paddled?”

“Everyone did. I just went with the others.”

We reached the girls’ bathroom and a friend stopped a younger girl who was about to enter.

“Go find another bathroom,” was what I heard.

Inside, I had my leggings and panties pulled down before I could do it myself. They gasped when they saw my bottom was red sore with a mess of blue bruising, confirmed when, with their help, I could see for myself in the mirror.

“Bet you wish you’d taken the detention now, huh?” one friend, a particularly shy girl, asked me.

“Um, no. I’m not totally sure I deserved to be punished, but if I did then the spanking was the better option in my view.”

JA