Miss Funk -- A School Story -- F/m

[eternalboy]

Miss Funk Revisited.

When I was in the fourth grade, I had a teacher named Miss Funk. Needless to say, her name alone gave way to rhymes regarding skunks. However, she had other nicks like “ The Wicked Witch” which came from her sour attitude. She personified and epitomized the old maid schoolteacher. As far as teachers go, I didn’t consider her a good teacher. She didn’t treat all students the same and played favorites. She accepted the word of tattlers. She was quick to reach for her paddle, which I believe is the sign of a poor disciplinarian for good ones instill respect and thus use corporal punishment less. Although she paddled way more than any teacher that I had (with the exception of my junior high coach/gym instructor or shop teacher), she wasn’t a skillful or especially effective paddler. No doubt her extensive experience provided her with some of the finer techniques of paddling. She always placed her paddle licks down low on the buttocks. The area just above the legs called by many the sit spot, which is more sensitive. However, her paddlings lacked ritual and her paddle licks didn’t have the influence of the skilled paddlers like Mrs. Micheaux, who had a mighty paddle swing.

During that time in my life, I probably suffered from an attention disorder and thus ended up in her cloakroom many times and once after school for applications of her well-worn oak paddle. I prided myself leading the room in paddlings as much as I did for batting 500 as a leadoff hitter for my little league team. Of the 10 paddlings, I received only two that stand out in my mind as memorable. She allegedly administered 25 whacks to my behind one day in her cloakroom. (At least according to my classmates, apparently they counted; needless to say, I didn’t because I had other matters on my mind.) I imagine that I earned that high count for not cooperating with her. When she entered the cloakroom with her trusty oak paddle she spun me around and told me to touch my toes, I told her that I couldn’t touch my toes, which was a lie as at that age I could clearly put my hands flatly on the ground. Then she told me to put my hands on my knees, I ignored her. Instead of threatening me with getting the principal or another teacher to assist her, she grew impatient; grabbed my left and just began whacking me. I squirmed and blocked her paddle with my hands frustrating her further. In the end, she pinned me against the cloakroom wall and she did succeed in keeping my right hand from shielding and protecting my rear as I needed my hands to avoid the iron coat pegs sticking out of the wall. I remember getting very mad toward the end saying to myself now that’s enough; however, Miss Funk’s didn’t break me down and I didn’t shed any tears. I did have a very well padded backside and I’m sure was very red-faced when I reentered the classroom.

I did receive a much more effective and memorable paddling from Miss Funk later that year. It was the only time that she did made me cry. During this paddling she did show more expertise as a paddler but still lacked the patience and techniques of good disciplinarian. While on my way to recess, I made the mistake of referring to Miss Funk as an “old bag” in front of the class tattler, Sharon. She swiftly told Miss Funk what I said and Miss Funk ordered me back to the room thus denying me access to my favorite period. I was, needless to say, very upset with Sherry for tattling. To this day, I don’t know whether she heard me call her an old bag or not. Now I can’t remember if I acted up again during the day or when Miss Funk informed me that I was to stay after school. I do remember her saying that I would be singing a different tune after school. I remember that when the other students went to get their coats I did as well thinking she had forgotten which almost certainly made her more irate. She informed me quickly to take off my coat, as I would be there for a while. When the students left the room she did tell me to stay put, she would be back. I remember sitting in the empty classroom for what seemed like an eternity. Finally Miss Funk returned telling me that she had gone to find the principal, Mr. Musser, but lucky for me he had left for the day. Mr. Musser worked in a downtown clothing store during the summers, Saturdays and Monday evenings. It was Monday. As I remember school ended a little before 4PM, he worked from 5pm to 9pm on Mondays so he left early on those days thus allowing him time to get to town and eat before going to work; therefore, I was spared the anguish of one Mr. Musser’s paddlings. She opened her desk drawer and took out her well-worn oak paddle. This caught me by surprise as I wasn’t expecting a paddling. The schoolroom was equipped with the old fashion seats that were bolted to the floor and the seat of the front desk was attached to the desk behind. She raised the seat of the front desk and ordered me to come up. There was no doubt in my mind that she planned to bend me the front desk. I rebelled informing her that I wasn’t going to let her paddle me for something that I didn’t do. I think her words were. “If I have to go get Mr. Scott, you going to be one very sorry young man.” Mr. Scott was the janitor and the only other male in the school. Although he probably had no business ever paddling a student, he did so on occasions. He was a tall lanky man and had a reputation of having a mighty paddle swing. I remember a classmate telling me that Mr. Scott paddled him one morning before school for throwing snowballs at some girls and claimed he paddled even harder than Mr. Musser. However, I ignored Miss Funk’s warning and did nothing. I really don’t know if I froze or merely defied her. This time Miss Funk showed patience. She merely shrugged her shoulders and replied. “You asked for it.” Before I could act, she left the room. I thought about leaving but I knew that I would only face the principal the following morning so I stood petrified awaiting my fate. It didn’t take her long to located Mr. Scott and she entered the room with the tall lanky Ichabod Crane looking man. She pointed the paddle at the desk where she had raised the front seat then ordered Mr. Scott to place me over the desk. Mr. Scott picked me up and placed me face down over the old-fashion school desk. Because the desk slanted from the front to the back. My bottom was now the apex of my body. Mr. Scott had a hold of my arms and I was helpless to move. Miss Funk replied. “Mr. Scott young Eric is about to find out what happens to young men that call their teachers bitches.” I started to protest that I didn’t call her a bitch when the first whack landed solidly on my vulnerably bottom. The second and third fell quickly. Mr. Scott not only had a hold of my arms so I couldn’t reach back but also had me pinned down on the desk top. The only thing I could do was kick and I am sure I did. She administered a series of rapid whacks to the lowered section of my upturned behind. With Mr. Scott holding me firmly in position, she snapped. “What did you call me?” I, of course, denied calling her anything. She applied a second series of smacks. Again they were administered in speedy succession and sharp. Again she paused and questioned me about what I called her. I again denied it. She started the third series adding that I might as well cry because you're not going to get out of here until you do. I started to cry during this series of licks; however, she paused again scolding me before applying the fourth and final series. I’m sure the last series was to assure that I had learned my lesson before letting me up. She did administer a very sound and thorough paddling to my inverted and vulnerable butt. Miss Funk’s whacks seemed to sting more that day. I realize now that they were probably only connecting more solidly as she had better access to the target area. At any rate, I was a crying, red-face, well-paddled young man when she finished.

As I look back on the incident now, I wonder what kind of a paddling that I would have received if it had it be another day of the week and Mr. Musser was there. Would Mr. Musser have paddled me alone with Miss Funk looking on smiling (I can’t she would give up a chance to whack me a few times.) or would it have been a combination of both paddling me or would he merely assist Miss Funk by restraining me? As I look back on it now, I really wish the principal would have participated. I know that is easy to say now that both have going to just rewards but I do believe that ever student should really get it good at least once in their school careers.

After I completed my freshman year at Duke (I might add making the Dean’s list both semesters.), I decided to pay Miss Funk a visit. Miss Funk once made the statement that she had had former students come back to her for paddlings. I thought when I heard the declaration that it was unmitigated and unadulterated fabrication; however, I was fully cognizant at the time of my visit, that there could be credence to it. When we were in Miss Funk’s class, a close female friend in the class, who always seemed to have inside information regarding everything especially paddlings, claimed that Miss Funk confided to her that Harlan returned to her looking for paddlings. Harlan, a boy 5 years older than us, was a legend at my school. He allegedly got more paddlings than any student ever to attend Clark Grade School. When I knocked on her door, it was under the premise of proving that I was turning out well; however, the stories of her paddling former students were more than cognizant in my subconscious. Needless to say, Miss Funk was more than a little surprised to see me. After a little small talk, I showed her my grades and the two Dean’s list notifications. She exclaimed with a laugh, “Well those paddlings that I gave you must have done some good after all.” Although I was an incorrigible spanko, her statement caught me a little by surprise. I had read volumes on corporal punishment but had discussed the matter with few after junior high and of course, had never breached with subject with a teacher especially one that had paddled me. I think Miss Funk sensed my astonishment but she continued the present pathway of the conversation. She asked with a smile. “Do you remember how many times I paddled you, Eric?”

I felt ill at ease yet never the less intrigued. I smiled and answered. “Yes ma’am.”

She gave me a quizzical look keeping eye contact while waiting for my answer. When I hesitated to respond, she snapped. “Well?”

I shamefully replied, “10”.

She chuckled and replied, “Damn! I knew it was a lot but I didn’t fathom that it was that many.” Then added, “That’s quite a count.”

Almost as if I was accepting her lead, I responded. “God knows; I probably deserved more.”

Miss Funk retorted with a smile but firmly. “I’m sure a few more wouldn’t have hurt.” Then after a pause and with a snicker added, “Me, at least.”

At that point I could have changed the subject but being the spanko that I am I continued. Although I was tense, I said. “I often wonder why you didn’t get Mr. Musser to paddle me or at least to assist you.” Although Mr. Musser never paddled me, I did see him paddle boy in the class behind me, and he really laid it on good.

Miss Funk chuckled and responded. “I certainly thought about it a few times but I liked to settle my own scores.” She paused reflectively then supplemented. “If Mr. Musser hadn’t left early that day you called me an “old bag”, I would have.”

I thought back to that day and added. “Yes I remember it well. Mr. Scott had me pinned to that desk. I felt like a butterfly in a collection.” Miss Funk smiled and replied, “You have to admit that you brought that on yourself.” I nodded my head in agreement but remained silent. She added. “I’m sure you will agree that was a damn good paddling that I gave you that day.” Again I concurred only with a nod of my head. With a look of satisfaction, she added. “You didn’t come back for any repeat performances.”

I grinned as I mockingly rubbed my butt and answered with a chuckle. “No I didn’t.” It was the last paddling that I received from her. Almost if I were under some spell, I responded almost as if I was challenging her. “I deserved more!”

Miss Funk laughed and countered. “You certainly didn’t ask for more that day.”

Again with a tone of dare, I retorted. “It was your show.”

Miss Funk countered. “Eric, you’re not the first former student to come here looking for a paddling. Is that what you want?”

“Well…no…I don’t…I mean…All I said was I deserved to really get it back then.”

Miss Funk kept eye contact with me but didn’t speak. Her eye contact made me uneasy. I was like a fly caught in a spider’s web. My words resembled the fly’s movements. The more that I talked the more precarious my situation became. I seemed to lose control of the words that I spoke as her gaze became more and more haunting. I stammered. “I really deserved to get it good that day.”

Finally Miss Funk broke her silence. “Are you saying that you didn’t?”

“Yes ma’am! You should’ve really beaten my butt good.”

She retorted with a smile but firmly. “Eric, it’s never too late.”

I heard her proclamation. Although it registered I continued to add fuel to the fire even to the point of goading her. “If you had paddled me properly the first time, I would have probably straightened up.” Although I sensed her annoyance with my last declaration it was my next assertion that proved to be the proverbial straw. “I bet Mrs. Micheaux never had to paddle a student 10 times.”

Miss Funk with a huff rose quickly and left the room. The next thing I knew she was standing in front of me with her trusty paddle. Although I probably knew subconsciously from the first mention of paddling maybe even from the time of consideration of visiting her where it was going to lead, I was never the less shocked to see my former teacher standing there with the paddle that had stung my butt many times before. Even though I was 8 years older and a college student, I felt the same emotions that I experienced as fourth grader, a cornucopia of sensations. Although there was fear anticipation, apprehension and anxiety there was also excitement, adventure and thrill. “You’re been asking for this! Now you’re going to get it!” This time Miss Funk didn’t grab me and start swatting me. She showed patience. She ordered me into another room and followed closely behind me. As I entered the room, she turned on the lights. The room contained a large desk with a chair and some bookcases. Miss Funk moved swiftly and confidently. She pulled the chair away from the desk and began clearing the items from the left side of the desk. When she had the desk cleared she said. “Bend over the desk like this.” She gave a brief demonstration bending over the desk with her hands on the gripping the far side and her weight resting on her forearms. She was on her tiptoes and her butt was extended and pushed back. The temptation of giving her a smack on her outstretched bottom crossed my mind but I resisted. While still in the position, she asked. “Eric, do you understand?”

I answered timidly, “Yes ma’am.” She rose spryly for a woman surely in her late sixties. She moved to my left and pointed to the desk with her paddle. Although I doubted my sanity, I moved into the desired position like I was mesmerized feeling a multitude of emotions. She adjusted me by making me move farther over so that my weight was on my forearm and my toes barely touching the ground. Of the traditional paddling positions, I think this one leaves your backside the most vulnerable for you can’t adjust your butt one iota to avoid the sting of the paddle. Miss Funk tapped my left pocket and discovered my wallet in my back pocket. “Well Eric I can see you are up to your old tricks. You’re not going to get away with it this time, young man. Take your wallet out of your pocket. Do you have any think in the other side?”

I replied. “Yes ma’am, a handkerchief.”

Miss Funk commended. “Take it out too.” Uncomfortably I removed both and placed them to the right of me. I don’t think that I ever removed items from my back pockets in such an awkward position. Miss Funk commanded in a no nonsense tone. “Back into position.” When I was back in my original position, Miss Funk authoritatively laid down the law. “You’re to stay in position. You’re not to reach back. If you do, I won’t hesitate to hit your hands or the back of your legs. Do you understand?”

I timidly replied, “Yes ma’am.” I was dying to know how many she planned to give me but was afraid to ask. The answer was quick in coming. Miss Funk spoke in an authority tone. “Since the paddlings that I gave you in school never impressed you, let’s if 12 good whacks will leave a different impression.”

I answer meekly. “Miss Funk, I didn’t say that.”

Miss Funk responded sharply. “Silence!” Then she added, “It’s high time you’re taken down a few pegs.” I sensed her drawing back and soon I felt the first whack. It was sharp and as always she placed it low on my butt not on the summit of my upside down behind. She let the sting mount then struck again. This was a new method for her as she had always paddled me in series of rapid volleys. Again her paddle landed on the same spot. After another pause, she struck the third time. I reflected the old battle-ax has learned a few tricks in her dotage. After another pause, the fourth fell. It was a solid whack right on top of the others. Again she paused before smacking. The fifth and sixth seemed to have even more wallop. I’m not sure it was from the force or the fact that my butt was becoming increasing tender with each lick. Again after a longer pause, the seventh descended on the same spot. I let out a short gasp and my eyes watered. It didn’t go undetected my Miss Funk. She asked. “Are you gaining a little respect for my paddle?”

I hastily and breathlessly answered. “Yes ma’am.” I tightened my grip on the edge of the desk. As the eight whack came down on same spot. Tears began to flow down my cheeks. The ninth again struck the same spot and I began to cry and I held on to the desk like a drowning man holding on to a life preserver.

My sniveling didn’t go unnoticed to my former teacher and she exclaimed sarcastically. “Well big boys do cry!” As the tenth landed, I implored myself not to reach back. The eleventh was a real humdinger and it took everything I had to not reach back to gain some relief. I was crying in earnest now. The twelfth took my breath and it as pure pride that kept me hanging on the desk’s edge. Finally Miss Funk gave the permission to get up. Although I was crying, I still felt a sense of pride for not reaching back or moving out of position. I staggered to my feet with my hands kneading my scorched butt. As I looked at Miss Funk through my tear-distorted eyes, I could see her look of satisfaction. I danced a little trying to rub the sting away. Her eyes consumed my every movement like a connoisseur drinking a fine wine. She continued to watch my antics with a sardonic smile savoring every second of it. Only after I gained my composure did she speak. “Eric, what do you think of my paddling abilities now?”

I replied in a distressed voice, “That was one helluva a paddling.”

Miss Funk laughed and sarcastically retorted. “I’m glad you appreciated it. I enjoyed it.” Miss Funk’s acknowledgement proved what I had assumed that she was a spanko as well.

I managed to smile and replied. “I think you hit the same spot every time.”

She replied with a chuckle. “Your fanny makes a good target.” Again I smiled. “Lets go back in the living room. Shall we? I nodded. As she placed her well-used oak paddle back in her desk drawer, she exclaimed with a smile. “I trust I won’t be needing this again this evening.”

I chortled and confirmed firmly shaking my head. “No Ma’am!”

Miss Funk entered the room and took a seat in her chair. She replied. “You may have a seat, Eric.”

I replied with a smile. “I think I’d rather stand.”

She expressed amusement and responded, “I imagine you would.” Then asked, “Have my paddling skills have improved?”

“Yes ma’am! That was a first class paddling that you just gave me.” I experienced a strange transformation. I was chatting amicably with a teacher for whom I had little respect right after she had tanned my hide good. I know now that the paddling didn’t augment my respect for her but now we shared a common interest.

“I’m sure you’ve had enough to qualify you as an authority on the subject.”

With a sense of self-importance I exclaimed. “I’ve had a few.”

“Well you know where you can get another one.” Apparently our common infatuation was transcending any animosity that we harbored for each other.

“Yes ma’am I do…and a good one too.” I rubbed my butt for emphasis. As I spoke the words I couldn’t believe that I was actually complimenting my old adversary on giving a sound paddling.

With a sense of pride, she exclaimed. “I’ve gained a little patience with time.”

She had indeed. I had always thought Miss Funk had the expertise to administer a good paddling. She knew where to hit for best results far better than most; however, her temper always got the better of her and she lacked the patience of the expert paddlers like Mrs. Micheaux. She failed many times to get me and I assume other students that didn’t cooperate into a good paddling position consequently her whacks lacked the consequence of good, solid ones. Although I didn’t have Mrs. Micheaux, I’m told that when she ordered students to get into position, they obeyed. I imagine if they hadn't. She would show patience and intimidate the student into position with threats of a more severe paddling or seek assistance thus her whacks were always good, solid ones.

“Today you insulted me but I took it more of a challenged than an insult.” Then with a coy smile, she asked. “And that’s what you were doing, wasn’t it, Eric?

Although she asked I believe that she probably knew from past experiences where my visit was going to lead from the time I stepped into her apartment. With a blush and embarrassed laugh and, I said. “Yes. I guess I’ve been busted.”

She speedily added with a laugh, “Literally and figuratively.”

[ddell2]

What an excellent and well written story! It appears to me that while it took Miss funk awhile to get her message across, she finally showed you who was boss. The paddling after school must have been a real humdinger but like a true spanko, you came back for more. -- DD

[rayzstrap]

Excellent story, very well written.

[eternalboy]

Thank you for your kind words. I'm working on a couple more stories regarding the same teacher.

[sebastian345]

Excellent story. Well written. Could use more F/m variety.

[eternalboy]

Thank you, Sebastian. I'm working on a couple more.