I hope there is an age difference between you and your friend. With her being several years older.
You are a senior in high school. Your friend is the Assistant Principal. She's the one in charge of discipline. There is always a line of students sitting at the end of the school day outside her office. Both boys and girls. Girls on one side of the hall, boys on other. All the other students have been taken care of with punishments ranging from detention to late study hall. Though some are there for rather serious infractions the students walk out with notes in their hands and smiles on their faces. You hear a lot of bawling out coming from the Asst. Principal and apologies from the students but that's it.
You're the last one sitting outside. The door opens and this beautiful blond with a skin tight mini skirt and a rear end and boobs to die for crooks her finger summoning you into her office. She picks up a cushion and throws it squarely onto a chair and asks you to sit down. Her comments imply that she never wants a boy to be uncomfortable during the "interview." By "interview" she means the lengthy, demeaning lecture and boring monologue she gives to her favorite boys who are selected for "special" treatment.
You are red faced and perspiring looking at the 15x2½x¼ inch smooth and highly polished paddle set on the edge of her desk where you clearly read the words
FOR BOYS ONLY and MS. WILSON'S METHOD FOR THE "REARING" OF BOYS
You are stuttering pitiful answers to her probing questions and know very well that she knows that you are being blamed for slugging a boy who taunted you to fury. The boy was given a "slap on the wrist." You know that she means to give you multiples of that -- somewhere else.
Finally she has you stand up, drop your trousers and bend over with your hands on the cushion. The cushion was for your "comfort" in a part of your anatomy that will soon be far from comfortable.
She stands at your side devouring you with her eyes as she tucks the paddle under her arm and slowly rolls up her right sleeve. She grabs ahold of the waistband of your boxer shorts and slowly lowers them to the middle of your beefy thighs. She gasps and says,
"Oh, wonderful, Michael! Truly wonderful!"
She softly taps the crest of each of your big smooth butt cheeks and waits for a full minute that seems like a hour. She raises the paddle high over her head and poises it with perfect aim squarely in the firing line of a hot stinging swat.
WHACK!!!!!