Everybody Always Lies
                         By Don A. Landhill
                Copyright (c) 2002, all rights reserved.

     Do not copy, reproduce, distribute, or repost this story without 
explicit permission from the author.

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     Everybody always lies. They always ask who is guilty, but no one 
is ever foolish enough to admit it. You get the same spanking if they 
catch you, or only a little extra for the lie, and sometimes they don't, 
and you get off. And nobody wants to risk an extra spanking.
     
     Now they were asking questions again, and everyone was giving 
the same answers, just as usual.
     
     "Janice, Did you paint those nasty words on the wall?"
     
     "No, Sir."
     
     "Do you know who did?"
     
     "No, Sir."
     
     "Susan, did you do it? Do you know who did?"
     
     "No, Sir."
     
     He asked Judy, and Melissa, and Frankie, and Christine. Everyone 
denied knowing anything about it. But of course they all knew. 
Everybody always lies.
     
     Then it was my turn, "Sondra, did you do this nasty thing?"
     
     "No, Sir."  I tried to sound sincere, but uninterested, and not at all 
worried.  Nervous girls always get caught and spanked.
     
     'That's odd.  Then perhaps you would care to explain the paint 
stains on your sheets and in your slippers? In the same dirty brown as 
this foul graffito? And the spelling error in the headmaster's name -- 
an error you have made four times that I know of?"
     
     "Well, Sir, I..." Oh no, I never thought that taking care with my 
spelling would be important in a prank - its not like I was being 
graded on it. I guess I spilled some of the paint on my feet - it was 
dark out.  Now how can I explain--
     
     "I thought not. Come along, Sondra. You have a date with the 
punishment paddle." He took me by the ear and marched me out of the 
dormitory and down the hall. I hate it when they do that -- I'm not a 
baby. 
     
     Into the housemaster's study and over the back of the leather chair I 
went. He pinned up my skirt and hauled down my underthings and 
made me step out of them. Then I heard him take the punishment 
paddle, with its double row of holes, down from its hook. 
     
     Crack! Ow! That paddle burned like fire.  Again and again he 
spanked me with it. I yelled and cried. I hardly heard his lecture. 
Finally he stopped. I was bawling, ready to promise anything.
     
     "I am very disappointed in you, Sondra. You will spend lunch 
cleaning off the messroom wall. You will spend supper in your 
dormitory, with a tray of bread and water. Your skirts will stay pinned 
up, displaying your bare bottom, for the rest of the day. You are 
confined to your dormitory, except for classes and meals, for a week. 
Now come!"
     
     He marched me right back to the dorm, again by the ear. He left 
and the others crowded around.
     
     "You really got it."
     
     "Looks extra red this time."
     
     "Did it hurt?"
     
     "Naw," I answered, "Not too much. It was a cakewalk. He must be 
getting old and tired."
     
     Everybody always says that. Everybody always lies.
    
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     -D.A.L. July 2002