I used to be "Spank Teacher". Now I am "The Teacher Formerly Known As Spank Teacher" (TTFKAST). Looking to reconnect and rebuild... still doing what I did before and still offering the same services...

Her attitude is thoroughly adjusted with the carpet-beater.

The principal was known to be a stern disciplinarian. A visit to her office more often than not meant a good set of swats. [

Getting ready to administer proper and firm correction... [

In the locker room, a series of searing swats is administered. Her attitude will improve with each burning impact of wood across her bloomers.

The cane cuts through the silence, followed by the crack of rattan striking tender calves. A punishment both feared and respected, the ritual unfolds—socks rolled down, legs straight, and the sting seared into memory. A lesson learned, marked in welts. [

A sharp crack rings out as the first stroke lands, fingers flinching, but hands remain in place. A lesson in obedience, learned the hard way. When it is over, they lower their hands—red, throbbing—and murmur a subdued 'Thank you, sir' before being dismissed."

The teacher barely glances up. "You know what to do. Fetch a plimsoll and lower your track suit bottoms." A hesitating gulp, the briefest of frowns, but no protest. She turns towards the cupboard, each step an unspoken acceptance of the lesson to come...

To feel the cane is to understand its authority. The sharp, measured strokes instill an immediate clarity of mind—pain as a teacher, discipline as its lesson. No schoolmaster wields it lightly, nor does any pupil forget its keen instruction.

One does not forget the cane. The sting upon contact, the slow burn that follows, the shame of rubbing sore marks in the dormitory afterward. It is swift, severe, and above all, effective. The smarting stripes today prevent far worse failings tomorrow. [

She finds out that she is not too old for some firm, maternal guidance over the kitchen table... [

She knew she would soon feel the principal's paddle across her backside. She knew it would hurt, a lot. She knew she would be sore and sorry. And most of all, she knew she deserved it. [

Bent over in the school office, she receives a thorough thrashing, courtesy of the school cane.

Up goes her gingham summer dress. Very soon, correction would be administered...

@ShyChai1313 I have to do it reasonably often. Of course, it means a few extra strokes...

@eltercerojo I cut off from my parents several years ago. Took me long years to finally go through with this. And I can still not talk about many things...

A thorough thrashing is administered... [

The school cane—a slender rod of discipline, wielded with precision and authority. A single stroke ignites a sting; six leave welts that burn for days. Its effect? Immediate obedience, lasting deterrence. Pupils fear it, yet respect it. A painful lesson, never forgotten.

@MatildaCaesar Yes, I have always thought the same.

A lesson is taught and learnt in the school office. [

A misdeed, a warning ignored—then the dreaded call: “Come here.” Over the lap, skirt up, and a proper spanking delivered. No more nonsense, just a sore bottom and a lesson to remember. [