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My Sunday School Spanking

by Mr. Uniden

Copyright on this story text belongs at all times to the original author only, whether stated explicitly in the text or not. The original date of posting to the MMSA was: 10 Feb 2018

My parents, like most parents back in the day, forced me to attend Catholic Sunday School. Every week I showed up, and after an hour nearly wanted to gauge my eyes out from boredom. We used to have an overzealous nun who tried and instill fear and obedience to the teachings of the Catholic Church. I can honestly say that I think most kids were forced to attend after class, like it was just one of those things all parents forced their children to do – whether the child believed or wanted to attend or not. I did not come from a super religious household, but we attended church every week and had a dusty bible one some bookshelf in the living room.

When I was 14 years old, the Sunday school course we took was called prayer and me, which discussed how we all needed to pray every day and throughout our lives. I could have cared less. Sister Jones, a bitter old lady, hated children; she lacked patience and energy. To be honest, I think the church could not find anyone who actually wanted to instruct the class, so they had to force a nun to teach. Almost every lesson she found one kid to speak down too, or insult for not letting Jesus into their life enough, using the classic tried and true standard for the Catholic Church – guilt.

It was a small class – about 12 or so students. I only knew a few of the other kids in the class, acquaintances more than anything, from my school. Sister Jones assigned seats, and always kept the boys particularly close to the front of the room – if she hated all children, she hated the boy’s worse.

I had a seat in the middle next to a girl named Linda. You have never met an annoying 14 year old girl like her. She was a snob. She made fun of what you were wearing, or how you wrote, or how you talked or what you said. She was of course perfect and not afraid to let you know. Any small talk instantly turned about her and most of the time I wanted to strangle her. I could feel my body react whenever she spoke; my heart would turn to overdrive and adrenaline would fuel my muscles.

I have to admit, I did a fairly good job containing my frustration and anger with Linda. There were times when she would laugh directly at my answers to questions posed by Sister Jones. Every time after I spoke, Linda would promptly raise her hand and say I think what he meant to say was.... There were several times I almost snapped, but successfully restrained the anger. Boy did I hate Linda. And no, I am not the kind of person who throws around the word hate, no for me, that word was reserved for people who truly consistently set me off.

I forget exactly when it happened, just that it happened during my 8th grade year. I learned that year, that nuns could be mean, but teenage girls could be cruel and nasty. I remember the class, while we were waiting for Sister Jones to show up, Linda turned to me and snarled Ew, why are you wearing that today. I don’t know why that pissed me off worse than the other Linda instances, but this one set me off. I didn’t need her fashion advice, nor was I wearing anything that warranted an Ew

I looked to Linda, and for the first time in her life probably gave her some honest feedback. Nobody cares what you say. In fact, most of us find you repulsive. I know bad word. And I knew it a mean thing to say, but you have to remember before you judge, that I was running on adrenaline and pent up frustration. Linda stood up, and ran out of the room crying. Fortunately she didn’t make a huge scene in front of the class – but she did storm off in a hurry. A few minutes Later, Sister Jones arrived. Without acknowledging the class at all, she pointed at me and ordered me to follow her outside of the classroom. I promptly followed.

To my surprise she led me to a small side room where Linda sat on the floor crying. Sister Jones looked at Linda and then back to me. Why would you say such a nasty comment young man?
I glanced back up her and replied with the classic; she started it. Three simple words – all I could muster – but it was the truth. What more was there to say? Linda really did start it. In fact, she had been crawling under my skin for months. I had enough.

Young man, she’s a wreck. You need to treat girls with a lot more respect and need to act more like a gentleman.

I remember rolling my eyes, without a care in the world. Linda deserved everything. And let’s be fair, I cut my comment off pretty quickly – I could have kept going.

There is a way we deal with little boys like yourself. I remember the term little boys angering me. She leaned down, placing her hand on Linda’s shoulder. It’s going to be ok. He’s going to apologize to you

No way in hell. I said to myself.

I’m sorry Linda I said in a manner which even I did not believe I was being sincere.

That’s the best you can do? Sister Jones glared down.

Just about I wanted to say so badly. She’s a bitch was another thought that crossed my mind.

I am sorry I hurt your feelings. Is what ended up coming out of my mouth, this time trying to look concerned for her wellbeing.

Do you want to see how we punish little boys? Sister Jones asked Linda.

I am not a little boy, I am 14 for Christ sake. The voice in my mind yelled trying to be heard. Linda nodded, standing up and wiping away tears.

Hold your hands out, palm side up. She ordered. I knew what was coming, and in some ways thought I could handle a few ruler whacks to my hands. She swatted with sharp precision to my palms, one right after the other. I bit my tongue, and took my punishment like a man. No way would either of them see my flinch in pain. I would show no weakness. That’s not all we are going to swat. She said, turning to Linda.

Sister Jones pulled the lone plastic chair over, pinching my ear – her nails digging in, relishing the agony it caused. She reached for the button to my pants as I attempted to push her hands away.

What are you doing? I asked.

I am going to put you over my lap, and give you a firm spanking like you deserve. Linda’s eyes perked. I continued to struggle. You better stop if you know what’s good for you. She said, grabbing my wrist and landing another blow to my bare hand with the ruler. After a few more minutes of struggling, she managed to lower my pants and underwear in one fell swoop, before placing me over her lap.

She started with the ruler, then switched to her bare hand, and back to the ruler. Each stroke in perfect rhythm that would make any percussion player proud. She alternated checks, pounding with ferocious prevision on my behind. My plan for taking it like a man failed pretty quickly, as I could not predict the power for an old bitter nun. She pulled my shirt towards my head, removing it from my body, and tossing it aside. My pants and underwear wrapped around my ankles as my legs kicked and jerked in the air.

On several occasions, I reached back trying to prevent her swats – squirming and wiggling as best as I could to make her job harder. I tried to free myself in a few failed attempts. Apparently, she had enough and pulled a handkerchief from her robes and restrained my hands behind my back. I don’t know what that material is made of, but it kept my arms firmly in place. I glanced up. Linda had a giant stupid smirk on her face, enjoying my position and the sound beating I was receiving.

Sister Jones continued, her bare hand now smacked my cheeks. Do you think he is sorry yet? she asked Linda.

Linda and I made quick eye contact, before glancing back up to Sister Jones. I think he could use a few more. Remember how I said I hated Linda – yea that’s why. Hate and agony combined into one. My butt burned and sizzled. Although I held the tears back, my nose congested making it difficult to breath. Sister Jones continued and I lost all sense of time. She moved down my bare legs for a few moments before moving back up to my soft flesh of my behind.

She finished and pulled me to me feet. Our eyes met. I still stood naked and restrained while Sister Jones began to lecture. Fortunately my behind was facing Linda. The goods were protected and for the moment, Sister Jones gaze remained off my penis. If you so much think of making another dirty, nasty comment to Linda or any other kid, I will take you back into this room and double what I just did. Do you understand? I nodded. I have my eye on you now. Now, turn around and I will untie your hands.


Turn around. Do you still have problems listening?

I froze. Turning around meant Linda would see everything. I hoped Sister Jones would have stood up and walked around to untie me. In my perfect world, I still believed that to be a possibility.

Turn around right now, or I will bring you over my lap again.

I signed and turned around. To say Linda looked down at my penis would be an understatement. She looked alright. Grinned and almost chuckling at times, she stared some more. To make matters worse, Sister Jones struggled to untie her knot – And to this day, I fully believe she did that on purpose. I tried to bend over a bit, and tuck my equipment between my legs. Sister Jones kicked my legs apart and forced me back into an upright position. Linda raised her hand up, and pinched her thumb and index finger together – the universal making fun of a small penis sign.

Linda was ecstatic the remained of the class and only intensified how much she teased me in that class for the rest of the year. Her family ended up moving away, but for those months, she put me through hell. And I knew this time I had to keep my mouth shut. I am not sure if she ever told anyone she say me naked, nor did she ever make fun of me after that one moment while Sister Jones untied me. Sister Jones never spanked me again either. To this day, that moment lives inside me. Looking back, it wasn’t a huge deal, but up to that moment in my life was the single most embarrassing moment of my life.

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