Mr. Wressler, a 56-year-old High School principal, enjoyed spanking his students. Though no one spoke of it, it was obvious to all who took care to notice. Mr. Wressler was probably the one who was the most in denial about the rush of pleasure he felt when he saw a tough jock break down into tears desperately trying to keep himself bent over the chair as ordered.
Mr. Wressler also loved to visit a class two days after paddling a nice young cheerleader, and notice how she sat oddly, with her butt still obviously sore from his well trained arm.
Each aspect of the paddling ritual at the high school was well cooked up in his mind. When a student or a parent was sent in for a conference with him, they awaited him in the school lobby, or a comfortable chair in the front of the office.
However, if a student were awaiting discipline they sat on a special bench, right outside of his office. Above the door to his special den of discipline, a specially painted picture of the school mascot, a wolf, had been painted on request by the art teacher. The painting, however, not only featured the animal mascot. The painted wolf was gripping a paddle and appeared to be angry and growling.
This work of art satisfied Mr. Wressler like no other.
The student about to be paddled would sit on the hard wooden bench, just outside of his office.
He often made sure to carry out paddlings in quick succession, so the students awaiting justice could sit and tremble as they heard him working on other students.
They would sit on the hard wood bench, both boys and girls, freshman and senior alike. They would tremble a bit, and try not to show their fear as on the other side of the door the “whammm!” was heard, often followed by a scream.
Most of the girls were in the tears before he even opened the door and called their name.
Another thing that thrilled Mr. Wressler was when he played little games with his students. Say a member of the student council was to meet him about a proposed dance. Mr. Wressler would call them in, and knowing full well the student was not arriving for paddling, order them to bend over.
He would see the look of terror on the students face as they froze.
“Bend over!” He would scream. “Do you want to come back again tomorrow?”
Of course, he never followed through with it. It was just a sick game he loved to play. How much fun it was to see the innocent student panic, thinking that he had gotten mixed up in his old age and was about to give out a paddling for no reason.
The looks of terror reminded Mr. Wressler of how powerful he was, and how much he had the ability to make others feel his wrath.
Unlike most other school principals Mr. Wressler did not specify a number of “swats”, “licks”, or “whacks.” Rather, he spanked student’s behinds with his large, wooden board, until they broke.
Each student broke their own way.
Tough jocks often would stop being tough and wail, then he knew he had won.
Girls would stop screaming or crying to defiantly and break down into a sad defeated weep.
It was a skill he had, that was unique. He knew when a student had been forced to accept his authority through spanking. He knew when they had been spanked long enough and hard enough not to hate him afterwards, but to hate themselves.
He knew that after enough pain and torture, one empathizes with their torturer. He knew naturally, what the CIA’s teams of psychologists had spent decades attempting to determine.
Parents didn’t hate Mr. Wressler. They worshipped him.
For years even after he retired, he would be stopped by a parent in the small town’s bank or supermarket.
“You don’t mess around.” They would say.
“You really don’t let those kids go crazy. Good work.”
Sometimes, if a teen was with them, parents would even threaten their children in front of him.
“Mr. Wressler, you’re gonna to have Jimmy as a freshman next year. Be sure not to let him get out of hand. If he’s in your office you spank him good and hard, and call me so I can give him the same.”
Mr. Wressler was worshipped for his unique ability to be ruthless, cruel, and sadistic. He could make his teenaged victims suffer in ways others couldn’t even imagine or understand.
In some places he would be considered a sociopath, a twisted pervert, an abuser, or an evil person. But in the highly religious school district of West Virgina in the early 1960s, he was not considered to be Satan, but in his cruelty and sadism, something near to a God.