My Best Friend Gets Paddles


by Thomas Thomsen <Bobbo1985@hotmail.com>

This is a true spanking story that occurred in the 1970s. I think I told this story on a Yahoo group, but I don't remember which one.

Anyway, I was in the eighth grade and my best friend was Willy. We did everything together, hanging out, having fun, etc. I lived out in the country and our school was one of those cinderblock affairs popular with towns that don't have much of a local industry. I was just a boy, but as you know at a certain age boys start to look around at stuff they didn't look at before. I started checking out guys buns, and during the 70s all the guys wore tight pants, so as you might imagine there were cute rear ends everywhere. I must admit that I checked out Willy's buns a couple of times, once when he was crawling in front of me on his hands and knees into a fort that we made (hey, we were kids). I tried not to look at his shapely rear, nicely displayed in his tight, faded jeans, but it was practically in my face.

During recess one day, our teacher Mr. Johnson wanted all the students to play outside because the weather was so nice. Willy wanted to go into the gym and play with his superball (are those still popular?). Mr. Johnson said no, and ordered all the kids out of the gym and onto the playground. Willy stayed behind anyway, while I stood in the doorway telling him to come out or Mr. Johnson would catch him. He was having a blast, bouncing the ball against the floor and watching it go all the way to the ceiling and back down to the floor again. Suddenly, Mr. Johnson appeared out of nowhere and his face was bright red. He opened the door and saw Willy playing in the gym and ordered him out.

"Willy, report to me after school," he said sternly and Willy's face got white. Mr. Johnson locked the door.

For the rest of the school day, Willy fretted and worried, wondering what Mr. Johnson was going to do as a punishment. In those days, punishment for egregious violations of the rules usually meant a "hack": a broad paddle applied rather forcefully to the butt. Sometimes violators received more than one hack, but not more than five. I was always a good boy and never received a hack, but the punishment always intrigued me, not as a spankee but as a spanker. I could imagine how humiliating it must be for the guy who got paddled, and of how he must understand how bad he is to receive a paddling on his bottom, something that stings for a few hours. I think maybe this is the basis of my obsession with giving spankings, but I digress.

During the last hour before the end of school, Willy joked about his upcoming punishment. Maybe he thought he really wouldn't receive a hack, but to be on the safe side he folded several pieces of paper and pushed them into his back pockets, mostly as a joke. I don't think he was really serious about it. When the bell rang, I looked at Mr. Johnson, and he was motioning for Willy to go into the front office and my knees went weak. I went with my friend to the front office, but Mr. Johnson told me to wait outside. I sat down under a tree, and Mr. Johnson's office window was open and I could hear them talking in low voices. I hoped that my friend was okay and that he wouldn't get a hack.

The talking stopped for a minute and I sat there, thinking that everything was going to be okay and that Willy would come out any moment and we could walk home. Suddenly a very loud smacking sound came from the window. It was the unmistakeable sound of a flat piece of wood coming into solid contact with a butt; everyone knows that sound because it doesn't sound like anything other than a paddling. I heard a loud yelp of surprise and then Mr. Johnson's stern voice: "two more, son."

I sat there, not knowing what to do. I felt very bad for my best friend, especially since I probably should have stuck up for him a little more, but at the same time I was incredibly aroused. Although I couldn't see what was going on, I imagined that Willy was either bent over a desk waiting for the paddle or maybe even bent over Mr. Johnson's lap, although he was probably too big for the latter. The thought of Willy's round little butt in his tight jeans, sticking up in the air waiting for his punishment, just about made me cream my jeans. When a man bends over that far, you can see panty lines if his pants are tight enough, and that was the image that came to me as I remembered Willy crawling into our fort that we made. On the one hand, I was scared for what Willy must be going through and I felt bad for him, but on the other hand it was the most intensely exciting feeling I ever experienced. I waited breathlessly for the next smacking sound.

"Smack!" came the sound of the paddle, followed quickly by Willy's provocative yelp. I never heard him yell like that before, it was animalistic, filled with the sting of pain and humiliation. Maybe it was also filled with surprise that here he was, a big strapping guy bent over a desk and getting paddled by his teacher. I shifted because I had an immediate hardon and had to cover my lap with my book bag. A couple of students walked by and two girls whispered to each other as they looked at the window, then at me.

"Is someone getting a hack?" they asked.

"Yeah, Willy."

"What'd he do?"

"Oh, he went in the gym during recess."

They nodded and walked away to catch their bus.

"One more," Mr. Johnson said in a fatherly voice, and the third smacking sound filled the air followed by that throaty yelp that has stayed in my mind to this day. I had a raging hardon and moved my bookbag a couple of times across my lap, pretending to adjust my books but actually rubbing myself. The sound of that paddle, which supposedly had holes drilled into it to increase the stinging sensation, coming into contact with Willy's beefy buns reverberated in my head. I'm ashamed that I had such thoughts about my best friend, but I couldn't help myself. The more I tried to see the paddling as an unjust humiliation for my friend, the more it turned into something incredibly erotic.

Well, Willy came out of the office a few minutes later and he didn't even look at me, he was very glum and his face was bright red. It was a friday and I was going to do a sleepover at his house, and we walked all the way home and he didn't say a word to me. I think he was too ashamed. Finally that night before we went to sleep, outside under the stars, I asked him if he was okay. He said yes and told me to mind my own business, but then he started laughing and joking about it, making fun of Mr. Johnson.

"Does it hurt?"

"Yeah, it still stings," he admitted.

"Are there really holes drilled into the paddle?"

"Yep. You know, it doesn't really hurt THAT much, the pain goes away after awhile. I guess I learned my lesson though, I'll never go into the gym again when Mr. Johnson says not to."

Willy and I lost touch over the years, but a day doesn't go by that I don't remember sitting outside Mr. Johnson's office listening to that provocative paddling sound coming from the window, accompanied by that sharp, surprised yelp.


More stories by Thomas Thomsen