Copyright 2002 to <pablo@thetreehouse.net> Please respect this copyright. Don't distribute or archive this story in any way except for personal use without explicit permission. No, it's not in the public domain. Ask first, okay? Thanks.

Don't Look At Me
by Pablo

Hey, don't look at me like that. It's not like I even believe in all that crap. Can't I even have a little fun without everyone taking it so seriously? Sure, I like to imagine it, but that's not the same. It's not the same at all. You know that, right?

So what if I like to think about all the little angels getting their white panties taken down and their fat little backsides blistered? No more than they deserve, I bet. Might even be good for them. You ever think about that? And it's not like it was ever going to happen. So what if I want to spank them until they howl?

Look, if they'd done it properly it wouldn't even have been possible. But some fuckwit teacher gets FrontPage and thinks he's a web-designer. Asking for trouble, all of them. If not me then someone else. Bound to happen. Holes everywhere.

The first time, all I even did was shorten the kilts a few inches. That's it. Just a few inches more smooth bare thigh to think about. Should I have expected that the stupid school wouldn't even notice until the kids all arrived with their panties practically showing? Hmm? You tell me.

After that made all the papers, you'd think they'd have tightened up their sites, wouldn't you? Ha. It was just as easy the next time. Some sort of convent school, I think, where suddenly mummy and daddy saw that the rules included over-the-knee spankings for naughty little angels.

Now tell me, honestly. Is it my fault if that's what they wanted for their little darlings? If the silly little school was flooded with interest and actually made it policy? Tell me that's my fault and I'll say you're full of shit. What about the kids that persuaded their parents that's where they wanted to go? What about them?

Tell me you'd have stopped there and I'll also say you're full of shit. You wouldn't, and you know it.

They're talking now like I changed the world. But, look, I was just the messenger, you know? How many did I do? Maybe fifty, at the very most? Yeah, well, that was just the start. I hardly made all the others follow. That wasn't me.

So now they say half the schools on the planet whack the little angels when they deserve it, and more to come. Put it down to globalisation. Ha! Canes in the old empire, paddles in the new. Sometimes tradition's the one thing you can't screw around with, right?

I sat behind a couple of them on the bus today. Watched them squirming on the seat, whispering about how many strokes they'd had, how their new uniforms made them feel. I listened.

I know they'll be coming for me soon. I did way too much to not be traceable. But it's okay. Whatever happened, we all had a part in it. So don't look at me.

[Author's note: It's probably obvious why this is edgy for me. I think anyone with my flavour of the school kink has to deal at some point with all sorts of ambivalences towards the idea of real corporal punishment in real schools, its attraction and power. I'm very happy that it's mostly gone, yet where would my kink be if it had never existed? What would happen to this flavour of the kink if it disappears totally for generations?]

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