Spanking Briefs #9: School Nurse

Continuing a new series of 500 word stories

The young ladies of 6B should have known better. Left unsupervised, the class had degenerated into infantile rowdiness, shrieking and cavorting like silly little schoolgirls.

Yet their headmistress had decided against caning the twenty rascals, aware spanking rarely reformed the boisterous. Pink stripes could become a shared badge of honour, fuelling bravado, encouraging future hi-jinks. Collective humiliation was the only truly effective remedy.

This terrible outbreak of naughtiness had to be treated before an epidemic of misbehaviour spread throughout the school. So the whole class was dispatched to see the school nurse.

All stood in line, skirts already lifted and tucked into their waists. Their nurse sitting ominously before them, a small padded bench near her feet.

One by one, each girl is called forward.

“State your full name”.

She obeys, blushing at identifying herself, like a court appearance before judge and jury.

The nurse tugs down the girl’s underwear, she steps out of it, handing it over to be scrutinised.

“Regulation attire. Stains. Vaginal discharge, conspicuous arousal.”

Her assisting prefect scribbles down everything.

The girl’s exposed mound looms in front of the nurse’s face, she continues her clinical observations.

“No pad or tampon. Mons trimmed. Vulva shaved. Labia swollen, glistening. Clitoris erect.”

The nurse dictates loudly and clearly, quite aware embarrassment begets compliance. Even the boldest are squirming now, their initial brash swagger evaporated, powerless to halt their own moistening.

“Bend over.”

The miscreant kneels obediently on the bench, leaning forward to rest her hands on the floor. All know to spread their legs wide.

The nurse plucks a tissue, reaching between her patient’s legs, and wipes from hood to bottom hole, before examining the residue.

“Considerable wetness. Anus inadequately clean.”

Grimacing faces flush, dreading the disgrace their own wiping could reveal. Another tissue slides between the proffered buttocks.

Nurse’s nimble gloved fingers slip a disposable hygienic cover onto her thermometer, smearing it with lubricant jelly. The decumbent recipient gasps as it’s firmly pushed into her bottom.

The prefect starts the stopwatch. 90 seconds of mortifying shame. She clenches, the thin rod feeling like an intruding pole, praying her ordeal ends before she visibly drips. When signalled, the whole class counts down the final 10 seconds, in an excruciatingly embarrassing chorale.

The thermometer is withdrawn, read, and recorded, value irrelevant. She’s dismissed with a single hard bottom slap. Rising bashfully, her panties are tucked into her waist so they dangle over her bare bum like a bunny’s tail.

“Back in line.”

She retakes her place alongside her accomplices, pussy exposed, a lingering dampness between her cheeks.

Her best friend is next. Four steps forward, panties down, intimately inspected. She bends over, exposing the darker smudge around her crinkled hole, pink puffy lips already glistening.

Soon the thermometer juts out from between her friend’s buttocks like an accusing finger. Your folly got us into this. This is all your fault.

An awful realisation strikes. Being denied the sore spanked bottom you deserved was the most terrible punishment of them all.