The Note Home Wins A Spanking

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It had been a good day at school for Anne so far. She had remembered to visit the girls’ room before Miss Heath’s class, well recalling that teacher’s stern refusal to countenance release of any pupil to visit the lavatory, and Anne’s recitation both in that class and in French class with Mlle Jumel had won her A’s from those demanding instructors.

She glanced at her outfit for the day—a cute blue pullover and a medium-length denim skirt. Giving her blonde hair a quick flip, she headed into Mrs. Bishop’s history class.

Veronica Bishop loved history and demanded the full attention of all her pupils. The school was sufficiently progressive that corporal punishment had been forbidden but each of the highly astute teachers had developed her own methods for maintaining strict discipline in the absence of the cane or strap. Today, Veronica felt rather good in a cute red jumper with a blue oxford blouse. Her blonde hair glistened in the reflected sun.

Veronica proceeded to address her class that day on a favorite topic—the causes and reasons for the oncoming Civil War as these had developed during the 1850s. She queried the students by calling on them and, seeing that Anne was engaged in a quick whisper to the girl next to her, suddenly enunciated a lengthy complex question and, knowing that Anne had paid it no attention, loudly demanded her to respond.

Anne’s face turned red and then ashen. She began hesitantly to ask the imperious Mrs. Bishop if she could possibly rephrase the complicated question.

“My dear,” Veronica Bishop replied with a withering tone, “had you been attentive as the question was put to the class, you would no doubt be able to discern what reply is appropriate.”

As Anne wriggled with discomfort, knowing that some sanction would surely follow, Mrs. Bishop intoned, “Anne Wilson, you will receive a failing grade for today’s class and…” At the pause, the class gasped because they knew that Mrs. Bishop would not merely enter a failing mark in such a case of inattention.

“…you will wait at the end of class so that I may provide you with a note home. You will return it to me tomorrow with your parent’s signature,” Mrs. Bishop concluded.

Veronica Bishop’s “notes home” had become infamous in the school. The offender quickly knew that once a furious parent had read the incriminating missive, the girl’s skirt would be raised, panties lowered, and a firm spanking administered by the outraged parent. This was surely made ever more likely by Mrs. Bishop’s closing line in her note home: “I, the parent, indicate by my signature that I have taken appropriate action to ensure that the misbehaviour that was the subject of this note home shall not be repeated.” A marked line for the parent’s signature followed.

At the end of class, Anne shamefacedly walked to the front to await the humiliating letter to her parents. Mrs. Bishop made the whole thing worse by ceremoniously writing the note and then folding it into an envelope and sealing it so that the pupil would not know exactly what the report said.

“I am disappointed in you, Anne,” Veronica Bishop said to the girl as she handed her the envelope. “I normally need never send such notes home with such an excellent student. I do hope this will focus your attention more steadily.”


When Anne arrived home, she knew she would have to wait at least an hour for her mother to arrive from her office. She set about doing her homework and even managed to talk to her closest friend, Jane, on the telephone. They discussed the upcoming cheerleader tryouts—both had made the squad the year before and were virtual cinches to repeat—and then Jane said she had heard that Anne had received a “Bishop note home.”

Anne groaned that the news had gone round so speedily and she calmly told her friend that she figured this would urfa escort not be a pleasant evening. Jane commiserated and told her she had suffered from a similar infraction a month earlier and wished Anne the best of luck.

“Did you get…spanked?” Anne managed to get the words out.

“Oh yes, I did,” Jane responded, and Anne could hear the shame in her voice. “Mom was quite displeased with yours truly and when she saw I was wearing a thong, that obviously didn’t help me. Down it came and my poor bottom was savaged.”

“Omigosh,” Anne responded, feeling an ache in the put of her tummy, “well, I’ll tell you tomorrow how I fare.”

It was another hour before Mary Wilson returned home. When she arrived, Anne decided that it was probably best to confront her with the note sooner rather than later.

“Mom, I had a problem today. I was talking in class and Mrs. Bishop sent a note home which I’ll give you,” she said as evenly as she could manage.

“Really, Anne,” Mary Wilson said, as she hung up her coat and looked around to see the obviously frightened face of her seemingly confident daughter.

“Here it is, Mom,” Anne managed to get out as she handed her mother the cream-colored envelope.

Mary opened it and read it aloud:

“Dear Mrs. Wilson,

“I am sorry to inform you that your daughter Anne misbehaved in my class today and I was forced to interrupt my lecture to tell her to stop chatting with her friend.

“It is my practice to advise parents of behavior problems before these rise to the level of my needing to award failing grades in Conduct and so that parents may take appropriate corrective steps that we at school are not permitted to use.

“I hope you will do this so that we may resolve this matter at this stage. I would be most pleased if you would return this note with your signature and, if possible, let me know what corrective action you have elected to employ.


“Veronica Bishop (Mrs.)”

Mary Wilson somehow managed to repress a grin on her face.

“Anne, go to my bedroom and wait for me there. I will be along presently. You know the position I expect you to be in when I arrive,” she said quite plainly and not at all threateningly but Anne was ready for a nasty spanking.

Mary sat down at her desk and took out her own stationery. She proceeded to write a note of her own:

“Dear Ronnie,

“I have your note of today regarding my daughter Anne’s conduct in your class.

“I think it would be advisable for us to discuss this matter personally, perhaps on Friday after school hours over tea at my home?

“Please bring your pledge paddle.


“Mary Grayson Wilson (Mrs.)”

Mary sealed the envelope and placed it in her pocketbook to give to Anne. Then she opened a lower desk drawer and removed her small cane that she kept there for use when the girls acted up.

Then she walked to her bedroom and saw her daughter on all fours with skirt up and panties down, her bare buttocks facing the open door.

“You will get six for this, my dear. And yes, count them and thank me for each…”

Mary gave her six stingers, tightly placed low on the rear cheeks, six stripes glistening across Anne’s white bottom. Anne cried after the third but managed to mutter her thanks and avoid the horror of extras.

After it was over, her mother kissed her and when panties had been pulled back up and her skirt lowered again, Anne said how sorry she was to have caused her mother to be the recipient of such a note.

“Well, dear,” Mary said, “I’m sorry, too, because it sounded like you hadn’t done such a horrid thing in class. But I do want you to steer clear of bothering little Mrs. Bishop. I’ll explain it all to you when I’ve finished dealing with her.”

Mary balıkesir escort allowed herself merely a moment to consider how interesting it would be to have the now apparently dominant teacher who had been her pledge and little sister back across her lap again for disciplinary purposes.


Anne had not dared to open the neat little envelope addressed by her mother to Mrs. Bishop but she noticed that the young, prim and normally quite assertive teacher took a deep breath when she read the note.

“Your mother…she went to Western State?” Mrs. Bishop asked, almost tremulously.

“Oh yes,” Anne replied with a smile, “Mom is a most dedicated alumna. She’s on the board, in fact, I think.”

“I see,” said Mrs. Bishop. “Well, thank you for having her sign the note.”

Anne was only slightly amazed. It seemed like her mother had written something that made Mrs. Bishop seem quite subdued. What could it be?

When Anne got home that afternoon, she waited patiently for her mother’s arrival. No sooner than Mary Wilson had taken off her coat but her eldest daughter told her what had happened when she gave the note back to Mrs. Bishop.

“Yes,” said her mother, with only a slightly suppressed grin. “I expected her to react somewhat like that. I shan’t be able to speak to you just yet about this but don’t worry, it won’t affect you in the slightest. And I promise to fill you in soon.”

Anne went to her room with all kinds of weird feelings. What, she thought, could Mom have written to Mrs. Bishop to produce that kind of response?


Friday came, and Mary Wilson made sure she was home, attired in her best office suit, dark navy with a crisp white blouse, seamed hose, and smart burgundy pumps. The doorbell rang and she knew it would be Ronnie Bishop, since Anne had been instructed not to come home until supper time.

Mrs. Bishop was tired after a week’s worth of teaching and she cautiously rang the bell of the prominent house.

Mary came slowly to the door and smiled a thin smile as she welcomed the definitely off-balance teacher.

“Why hello Ronnie,” she said brightly. “I must say I was not aware that you were teaching at our school nor that my daughter was in your class.”

“I wish I’d known she was your daughter, Mary,” Mrs. Bishop replied nervously.

“Well,” Mrs. Wilson responded with a deadly serious look, “you still are expected to conform to our lifelong rules. And that most certainly includes legacies. Plus the little situation that arises from you having been my little sister…”

“Oh Mary, I’m so embarrassed,” Mrs. Bishop answered. “It’s been a few years since college and I had not known you even lived here.”

“More’s the pity, Ronnie, dear,” Mary said, as a slightly firmer tone took charge in her voice. “You should always check the sorority directory so you know if there are any sisters in the neighborhood, much less your big sister.”

At that, Mrs. Bishop broke. “Oh Mary, I’m devastated. I certainly didn’t mean to start this when we had had such fun together.”

“True enough, my dear,” Mary responded, “but I do think you have been rather strict in any event. And for awarding Anne a failing grade, I’m afraid your own little bottom must pay the price.”

“Oh…oh, this is so awful,” Ronnie stammered.

“Isn’t it though?” Mary said, with a bit of a detached air. “Now let’s have that pledge paddle please” and she watched as Mrs. Bishop retrieved the wooden item from her large handbag.

“Now let’s remember our rules and assume the position, please,” Mary said in a steady tone that brooked no argument. “Little sisters owe perpetual fealty to their big sister.”

Mrs. Bishop slowly lifted her flannel skirt and lowered a pair of rather snazzy pink panties to her trabzon escort knees. She proceeded to bend across the couch end and spread her legs, exposing her intimate areas in a rather lascivious way.

“Hmm,” Mary commented, as she observed the teacher’s quite adult bottom open for her scrutiny. “You seem to have grown quite hairy down there, even for a natural blonde. I might just have to give you the old Alpha Lambda clip so we can see the mark.”

“Oh please, Mary,” the teacher whined, “this is already such a shameful position for me.”

Mary thought to herself that her little sister hadn’t endured the half of it yet. But first, she ordered her to turn over and hold her legs apart. Mrs. Bishop knew well that this was the occasion for the secret Alpha Lambda mark to be displayed. She complied quietly and tried to close her eyes as she felt Mary touch her most intimate area to view the tiny mark all Alpha Lambda sisters bore with them after initiation. The mark was always placed just to the right of the sister’s clit.

Having found the identifier, Mary smiled and said, “It’s nice that some things don’t change. Now turn back over, Ronnie, and hold that bottom spread out for me.”

She picked up the paddle and announced, “Attention, I begin.”

She proceeded to administer twelve searing smacks to Mrs. Bishop’s wide bottom. Then she followed with five inside each thigh. By then, Ronnie was crying a blue streak.

“Now, my dear, you will have the cane to reinforce your need to review the rules about care with regard to your big sister and any legacy, for that matter,” Mary intoned.

She slowly drew back the thin cane and then flicked her wrist so the cane snapped across Mrs. Bishop’s already red bottom with a crisp THWIPP.

Ronnie had not experienced the cane since initiation and screamed.

But this did not stop Mary from continuing the caning at a measured pace. She carefully aimed each stripe just below the previous one and then, as only an experienced pledge mistress could, applied the sixth cross-wise so it criss-crossed all of the others, and produced the nasty purplish diamonds at the intersections, accompanied by truly horrendous screams from Mrs. Bishop.

She allowed the now seared bottom and sensibility of Mrs. Bishop a few moments to recover her demeanor.

“You may now give me the sister’s kiss,” she advised Mrs. Bishop.

“Omigod, that too!” Ronnie whined.

Mrs. Wilson quietly flipped up her tweed skirt, lowered her pretty pale blue hicuts, exposing her auburn-curled triangle. She sat at the edge of the couch and spread her magnificent legs and pointed between them.

“Ronnie, dear, I suggest you kiss me there or I shall have to turn round for the alternative site,” Mary said with only a trace of a leer. She knew that Ronnie would soon—if not today—become reacquainted with the infamous scum kiss.

That was enough now, though, for Mrs. Bishop to bend her sore frame and generously kiss her big sister’s wet and open labia, inserting her tongue between the soft lips and glancingly touching Mary’s risen clit.

“Thank you, my dear,” Mary said, in a breathy tone that disclosed she had truly enjoyed the oral ministration, however short in duration it had been. “Now remain where you are for a moment and keep your mouth open and where it is.”

With that prefatory warning, Mrs. Wilson, showing she had retained her amazing abilities from college days, released just enough of a spurt of hot pee to splash into Ronnie’s open mouth, She then bade the latter to rise and gave her permission to retrieve her panties and adjust her skirt.

“I shall submit my report to national and advise them that you are on probation with me for the remainder of the year,” she advised the distraught Mrs. Bishop.

“I shall ask Anne to report to me regularly on your behavior,” she added, with full awareness of the supreme humiliation she was imposing.

“It would be wise for you to restrain your impulse to send notes home for a time,” she went on. “After all,” she concluded, “if you behave well enough I shall not make you report here for more than…a few more Fridays.”


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