A Sister's Revenge

An absolutely classic schoolgirl story with a bit of a twist at the end. Karen and Alison get a good caning but it's sister Kate's thrashing and then the ultimate humiliation of the beating on her hands that really clinches this one. From 'Mike From London's' wonderful collection.



A Sister’s Revenge

At Bishop Hardinge's school it was considered rather daring to smoke cigarettes as this was against the rules and if you were caught you were likely to be caned.
Alison Allen was a quiet and law-abiding girl and kept out of trouble. One day, however, her new friend Karen Russell came up to her with some cigarettes and asked her if she wanted to smoke one. Alison knew that Karen smoked quite a lot and, in fact, she had got the cane for it in the previous term. She didn't want her friend to think she was scared so they went to a far off, secluded corner of the playing field.
It was only about the third or fourth cigarette Alison had ever smoked, and she wasn't really enjoying it, when they heard somebody coming. The girls were relieved when it turned out to be Kate, Karen's older sister. But they were shocked when she said that she was a prefect and that she was going to have to report them to the headmistress. They didn't believe that she could really mean it and Karen wouldn't give her the cigarettes when she asked for them. She walked off, saying again that she would report them both.
They finished their cigarettes before going back inside for the rest of the lunch hour. Alison asked her friend if she thought Kate might really mean it. She still didn't think so, but they'd had a row the day before and Alison got the impression that she was not too sure.
They found out as soon as afternoon school started. Miss Finch, their class teacher, read their names out and told them to report to Mr Fowler after school that afternoon. Mr Fowler was the deputy headmaster and was responsible for inflicting corporal punishment when this was deemed necessary in the opinion of Mrs Woodman, the headmistress. After that announcement Alison couldn't pay much attention to the rest of that day's lessons. She was aware of the other girls in her class looking at her and Karen and whispering to each other about what was going to happen to the two of them.
After school, as she and her friend made their way along the corridors to Mr Fowler's office, she asked Karen whether she thought there was any chance that they wouldn't get the cane. She was not cheered up when Karen said that she was sure that they would. She'd had the cane for smoking before and Mr Fowler was not likely to let her off with anything less this time. And if he caned her he would have to cane Alison as well.
Karen saw that Alison was really terrified, and she stood still to talk to her. "I'm not looking forward to this either, Alison." she said. "I hate getting the cane! It bloody well hurts like hell! But there's nothing we can do about it. And it's not the end of the world - we'll live! You'll only make it worse by getting so worked up!" Alison tried to put a brave face on, but Karen's words had not made her feel any better.
When they reached Mr Fowler's door Karen knocked and the girls went in. The deputy headmaster looked very angry. He asked them for the cigarettes and Karen opened her school case and dug them out. Unceremoniously he threw the packet in the bin. Then he told them both to go and stand facing the wall, hands on heads, and not to talk to each other. When the girls were in position Mr Fowler resumed the paperwork he had been doing.
Nothing happened for more than a quarter of an hour. The deputy headmaster knew that a period of waiting and apprehension would increase the effect of the punishment. He was certainly right so far as Alison was concerned. She was very near to tears when there was a knock on the door and Mrs Whitfield, the French teacher, came in. She completely ignored the two culprits and had a brief conversation with Mr Fowler. As they talked Alison hardly knew whether she wanted them to carry on talking and so delay her punishment or whether she wanted the awful, stomach churning, waiting to be over. When she had finished Mrs Whitfield glanced at the girls and said "Well, I'd better let you get on then. I can see you've got some work to do!"
After she left Alison, still facing the wall, heard Mr Fowler get up from his desk and open a cupboard. Then she heard something being placed on the desk. She could guess what that was. The deputy headmaster told them to turn round and Alison saw the light brown cane lying on his desk. It was slender, slightly curved, and nearly three feet in length. Alison's knees knocked together at the thought of the effect of that stick on her bottom.
Mr Fowler said that he had no alternative other than to cane them both. He said that he hoped that Karen realised that her sister had only done her duty in reporting them. He said that he would deal more severely with Karen as she had procured the cigarettes and she had been punished for smoking before.
"Right, Karen," he said, "you know the form. Let's show Alison what happens to naughty girls' bottoms! Alison, you stand where you are and keep your hands on your head. It will be your turn soon enough!"
Biting her lips Karen moved a tall stool into the centre of the office. The memory of her last caning, only the term before, was still very clear to her and she knew what was expected. Mr Fowler watched impassively as she slowly started to unbutton her blue school skirt, stepped out of it and left it on the teacher's desk. Glumly the sixteen year-old bent over the stool, gripping the lowest crossbar tightly.
Alison had a clear view of her friend's pert schoolgirl bottom, encased in tight-fitting blue knickers, trembling slightly, waiting for the cane. But Mr Fowler was not satisfied.
"Oh no, my girl! You're not getting away with that!" he said. "I warned you last time; if you were sent to me again it would be knickers down! Now, get them down right away, miss!"
Karen protested, but it was to no avail. Reluctantly the humiliated girl inched her skimpy knickers down, before Alison's horrified stare, until they fell to her ankles revealing the delicate pale flesh of her rounded buttocks. Then, with an audible sigh, she once more bent over the stool. She kept both her legs dead straight and tightly pressed together.
Alison watched in appalled horror as Mr Fowler removed his jacket and picked up the cane. He tapped it across the centre of Karen's bottom, denting the soft flesh. Then he slowly raised it to the full extent of his arm and whipped it down with great force.
Alison had not fully realised just how severe a punishment a caning was. It was just terrifying to see the speed and force of that stroke, and to imagine the effect of that flexible cane wielded with a grown man's full strength across a teenage girl's bared, vulnerable bottom. She gasped as the cane rose again and she saw a white line form across the full width of Karen's quivering behind before quickly reddening. Alison turned away and closed her eyes. She didn't want to believe this was really happening.
Alison could close her eyes, but not her ears. Karen's whole body had shuddered at the impact of that first stroke, but she had remained in position, grunting as the intense stinging pain bit home. But after the third stroke Karen gave vent to an earsplitting yell of pain "Arghh . . . Yeeowww!!" Shocked, Alison opened her eyes again and looked to see what was going on. Karen's feet were beating a tattoo on the floor as she bent over the stool and she could see some light brown curls peeping through the gap in her thighs.
Karen could no longer keep still. After the fourth whack, delivered with unrelenting force to her gyrating behind, she yelled again and half rose and turned towards the deputy headmaster. Alison could see that she had started to cry. She felt sick at the thought that it would be her turn soon. Mr Fowler caught hold of the tall fourth-former, bent her over again and forced her back into position.
"You don't seem to have learned anything from your last visit here," the deputy said, "I hope the message will get through to you this time!" Then he drew the cane back and was just about to deliver the next stroke when Karen suddenly reached back and protected her bottom with her hands. Mr Fowler just checked himself in time and angrily told Karen that she was lucky she hadn't got her fingers broken. He said that if Karen was not prepared to stay in position and take her well-deserved medicine he would ask Alison to hold her down and he would give her extra strokes. He said Karen had known what to expect if she was caught smoking again.
After that Karen stayed in position for the last two strokes but she yelled loudly at each and drummed her feet in pain. She was no longer trying to keep her legs together as she had at first and from her frantic squirmings and wrigglings and her anguished yelps it was obvious to Alison just how much of an effort it was taking her to stay in place. After the sixth stroke the deputy told Karen to get up.
She straightened and her hands went immediately to her wealed backside. The sobbing teenager danced around the office in agony, not even thinking about covering herself up. Mr Fowler allowed her a few seconds to recover and then told her to pull up her knickers and put her skirt back on again.
Karen had been slow about lowering her knickers but she took even longer to pull them up again. Ugly raised weals covered the whole surface of her bottom and she gasped and squealed as she painfully manoeuvred the navy blue knickers into place. Alison was absolutely petrified. Her friend was so tall, so tough. And yet a mere six blows from that supple wand had sufficed to reduce her to tearful humiliation.
The deputy ordered Karen to go and stand by the wall and turned his attention to the second of the two girls. "All right, Alison. Skirt off and over the stool!"
Desperately hoping that there would be some miraculous intervention the frightened girl took as much time as she dared to in complying with Mr Fowler's instructions, but she ended up soon enough draped over the stool with her trembling bottom upthrust for its ordeal. Mr Fowler allowed Alison to retain her knickers for her punishment. In fact he knew perfectly well that the thin brief knickers did not provide any real protection from his cane. But he was quite aware that the girls all hated having to take their panties down and be punished on the bare and regarded this as a much worse punishment.
Pretty little Alison escaped relatively lightly compared to her friend. Mr Fowler whacked his cane down four times over her tight white knickers, rather than the six awarded to Karen, and he did not use so much force in her punishment. Nevertheless the effect on the fourth former was traumatic. The normally well-behaved girl had never before even been spanked, and the acute sting imparted by the deputy's cane shocked her.
She yelled out loud at each stroke and, although she grimly held on to the crossbar of the stool for dear life, her bottom was weaving wildly from side to side by the time the fourth stroke sliced in. That final stroke was much harder than the first three, as hard as any that Karen had received earlier. Alison lost her grip on the bar and leapt upright in agony grabbing her pain-filled behind.
She hadn't known if she was going to get six like Karen and it was a marvellous relief when Mr Fowler laid the cane back on his desk and said "I hope that will help to remind you that there is a school rule against smoking, Alison." Then he entered the details in the school Punishment Book, told the girls to report for an hours detention the following Monday and finally allowed them to go.
As they limped slowly down the corridor each step was painful. Alison said some unprintable things to Karen about her sister and she agreed emphatically. They made their painful way to the toilets where they rinsed their faces and removed the signs that they'd been crying. They stayed there for about twenty minutes until the worst of the violent stinging was dying away, leaving a duller throbbing pain behind, which still hurt but was easier to bear without showing it so much. The girls practised sitting down on the cloakroom benches, but both, especially Karen, found it still too painful to sit down properly. If they tried this it brought back the first penetrating soreness.
Eventually Karen said to Alison that they really ought to start for home. On their way to the bus stop Karen said that she would make sure that they got their own back on Kate and Alison said that she would help if it was needed.
One of the worst things about the whole incident for Alison was telling her mum about it. Mrs Allen was very angry that her daughter had been caned for smoking and, although she kissed her and was sympathetic, she said she had deserved her punishment. Alison's father was also very angry and Alison was sent to bed early and had her pocket money reduced to less than her younger brother's. Mrs Allen also said that she shouldn't mix with Karen and would have gone round to complain to her mother about her getting Alison into trouble if her daughter hadn't stopped her.
________________________________________
A few days later, the morning after both girls had undergone their detention, Karen told her friend that she had thought of a way they could get back on Kate. She was the prefect responsible for the school library and a lot of the books had been missing recently and questions asked. Karen said that some at least of these were at their house, brought there by Kate. Of course she would not normally have told on her, but after what she had done for herself and Alison the girls both thought that Karen would be justified if she could do it without anyone knowing she had deliberately given her away.
It had taken her a while to think of a way to achieve this, but her plan was to get their English teacher, who was the master in charge of the library, to go back to their house on some pretext so that he would see and recognise the books, as Kate had just left them around the house, not expecting anyone from the school to see them.
It seemed a good scheme and the girls hoped that Mr Bradbrook, the English master, would report Kate to the headmistress and she would lose her position as a prefect. Karen also thought that if their mother found out that Kate had been taking books from school without permission she might well spank her or take the tawse to her. Both Russell sisters had often been punished in this way in the past, although the last time for Kate had been some years ago. Karen herself still paid regular visits over her mother's knees and thought that a dose of the tawse was just what Kate needed to bring her down a peg or two. She said she would tell Alison the next day if her plan had worked.
After the English lesson Karen had a short discussion with Mr Bradbrook and after school Alison saw her being driven home in the English master's car.
Next morning she saw her again as soon as she got to school. Kate said that the plan had completely succeeded! Mr Bradbrook had seen the books as soon as he had arrived at her house and had asked Karen if she had taken them. Karen had said that she had no idea how they had got there. Then Mr Bradbrook asked Mrs Russell if she knew anything about them. She said that her elder daughter, Kate, had brought them home. Not realising that they were the school's property, she thought Mr Bradbrook was just impressed with her daughter's reading!
Then Kate got home and was taken aback to see Mr Bradbrook there. He asked her about the books and on the spur of the moment she said that Karen had brought them home. But he told her what her mother had said. Then she said she'd brought them home to repair the bindings, but he didn't believe the change of story and in the end she admitted it, bursting into tears. He left with the books, saying he would report Kate to Mrs Woodman and that she should go to her office before assembly next day.
Karen said that then her mother had sent Kate to her room and she soon followed her. Soon Karen had heard the sounds of a vigorous spanking which seemed to go on and on. Then she could clearly hear the loud crack of the supple strap but no sound from Kate. Her mother was obviously not going to stop until she reacted and the thrashing continued remorselessly. Eventually Kate's resolution had to snap and she yelled out. Then, after a few last wallops, the sounds of the punishment ended.
Alison's behind had still not fully recovered and she was delighted to hear that the tall seventeen year old who had reported her had earned a sore bottom of her own. Karen said that Kate did not suspect that she had deliberately engineered the whole thing. That morning, before they had left for school, she had sympathised with Kate about her strapping and she had shown no signs of suspecting her. But she did ask Karen something which surprised her. She asked her if she thought that she might get the cane at school!
Karen and Alison had never really considered this a possibility when Karen came up with her plan because it was virtually unknown for sixth formers to get the cane and unheard of for prefects. The most they had expected was that Kate might get put in detention and have to sit in humiliation for an hour among naughty first and second years with her bottom at imminent risk from the leather strap frequently at use in detention class - and from which Alison's bottom had had the narrowest of escapes that Monday. Karen told Kate how unlikely it seemed to her that she could be caned, but she responded that she'd almost certainly not be a prefect much longer; that the headmistress would probably say that she'd abused a position of trust and that she'd probably made matters worse by trying to blame Karen at first. "It's the sort of thing they take ever so seriously, Karen. I know it is."
Karen saw that her sister was genuinely worried about getting the cane and noticed that she had decided to go to school wearing a pair of grey trousers rather than a skirt. This was permitted for fifth formers and above but Kate never usually wore trousers and Karen realised that she was motivated by the hope that, if she was sent to Mr Fowler, the deputy headmaster would let her keep the trousers on. Boys at the local grammar school were normally caned over trousers, which didn't interfere with the punishment so much as a loose school skirt. Karen knew that some fifth form girls had been caned wearing trousers last term.
Kate apologised to Karen for trying to put the blame on her, and even for having reported her and Alison the week before. Karen was still not ready to forgive her, as her own caning was still too fresh in her memory, and she did not encourage her as much as she might have done. Karen knew that Kate had been caned when she'd been in the second year, before Karen and Alison had joined Bishop Hardinge's school. She well remembered how, when she had been ten years old, her mother had made her big sister show her the cane marks on her bottom and had told her that that was what happened to naughty girls. But that was a long time ago and Karen thought that Kate had forgotten what it was like to be caned. So she pointedly mentioned to her sister that she still had the marks from her caning and that it still hurt her to sit down.
As she was relaying all this to Alison the bell went for assembly. In her announcements the headmistress said that the person who had taken the books from the library had now been identified.
"I am sorry to have to tell you," she went on "that it was Kate Russell, a sixth form prefect and the girl most responsible for the safe custody of the books. Kate is no longer a prefect and I can assure the school she will be regretting her behaviour bitterly before she is very much older!"
On their way to the first lesson after assembly Karen told Alison that she was beginning to think that Kate might actually get the cane. The headmistress's words had certainly left it as a strong possibility! The two girls resolved to hang around outside Mr Fowler's office at breaktimes during lunch hour and after school - the times at which canings were usually administered - to see if Kate really got her comeuppance.
The girls were a little late in arriving near the deputy headmaster's office at the beginning of morning break as the History teacher kept the class in for a couple of minutes after the bell went. They made their way along the corridor and stopped some way short of Mr Fowler's door and pretended to be interested in some notices pinned to a board.
THWACKK!!
Although the sound was muffled by the intervening door neither girl had any difficulty in recognising the sound as that of a cane lashing down onto a naughty schoolgirl's upturned bottom. Alison turned to Karen: "Yes! Kate's getting the cane!".
Karen was equally excited, but more cautious. "Hold on," she said, "We don't know it's her. It could be anyone. It won't be long, a couple more whacks like that and we'll hear her yell!"
But, in fact, stroke after stroke was heard to descend, at regular intervals of about fifteen seconds and no sound at all could be heard from the victim. Karen and Alison looked at each other. They had heard eight strokes, and there might have been more before they arrived, and there was no reaction from the girl being caned nor any sign that the punishment was reaching its end.
Perhaps Mr Fowler, too, was feeling some frustration. There was a longer pause before the next stroke and it sounded even more vicious than its predecessors to the listening girls outside. Still there was no answering yell. Karen realised that it had to be Kate in there. She had never heard of any girl getting this number of strokes before, certainly it had to be a senior girl's caning, and she remembered how long it had taken before Kate had cried out under their mother's tawse the evening before.
Finally flesh and blood could take no more. As the next stroke smacked down the girls heard an anguished howl, unmistakably in Kate's voice. Immediately there was another loud thwack, followed by an even louder shriek. The listeners realised that the unbelievable punishment was at an end when they heard, through the faint sound of sobbing, the clatter of Mr Fowler's cane being put down on his desk. Once again Karen and Alison gave all their attention to the noticeboard.
Sooner than the girls expected the door the deputy's office opened and Kate emerged. The tall seventeen year old was in a terrible state. Her long blonde hair was all over the place and her pretty face was screwed up in pain. She was crying. With her left hand pressed to the seat of her grey trousers the well-caned former prefect scuttled down the corridor as fast as her unsteady legs could carry her. She took no notice of Karen and Alison standing there. She didn't even see them.
As if retracing Karen and Alison's steps after their canings Kate stumbled along, half-blinded by tears, to the girls' toilets. There she locked herself in to a cubicle and proceeded to weep out her pain and shame, leaning on the cistern with one hand while the other, ever so carefully and tenderly, caressed her intensely stinging bottom. It was almost the end of morning school when Kate, by now a little more in control of herself, emerged from the cubicle and washed and dried her face. She did not even think about going in to her class, but went straight home.
When Karen got home that evening Kate was lying stretched out face down on her bed, stark naked, with a folded wet towel laid across her caned buttocks. Before Karen had a chance to say anything Kate once again apologised for reporting her and Alison. "I'm really sorry, Karen. I'd forgotten just how much that bloody cane hurts! Well! I won't forget again in a hurry!"
Karen felt a wave of sympathy for her brave big sister. She had been going to taunt her and explain how she and Alison had masterminded her punishment, but now she felt ashamed. "Oh, Katie!" she said, "I'm so sorry! Your poor bum! Is there anything I can do at all?"
Kate asked her sister to take the towel to the bathroom, rinse it in cold water, wring it out and bring it back to put on her behind. "My bum still hurts like hell," she said, "but I think the cold stops the stinging a bit."
As she picked up the towel Karen saw the mess that their mother's tawse and Mr Fowler's cane had made of Kate's rear. The entire area of the buttocks was bright crimson and covered with a network of raised weals. She could not restrain an exclamation at the horrid sight and scurried out to the bathroom on her errand of mercy.
On her return she very carefully laid the towel to cover her sister's battered bottom. "How many strokes did you get, Katie?" she asked, sympathetically.
But Kate could not tell her. Mr Fowler had not announced the number in advance and Kate had lost count well before the end. "It was really awful, Karen," she confessed to her sister. "Mr Fowler was really angry. He was snorting like an animal. He said he would make sure I knew what a real caning was like." Kate wriggled on the bed as a spasm of pain went through her. "Worst was he made me take my trousers down and gave it to me over the knickers. At least he didn’t make me take them down too!"
Karen, however, was not so sure. She thought that if Mr Fowler had seen the marks left by Mrs Russell's tawse - as he certainly would have done if Kate had lowered her knickers for a bare-bottomed punishment - he would never have caned her so hard or given her so many strokes. And not being able to see the cane marks, and Kate being so stupidly brave he probably didn't realise just how much he was hurting her. Apart from the caning and losing her position as a prefect Kate had also been sentenced to detention after school each Monday for the rest of term - and there were still seven Mondays to go.
At school next morning Kate was sent to Mr Fowler for leaving without permission the day before and the start of morning break found her once more in his office. He told her that if she had asked she would have been given leave, but that she had no right just to go off like that.
"So. How's your backside feeling this morning, Kate?" he asked.
Kate blushed. It was hard enough just talking to the man who had so outraged that normally private part of her anatomy, without him asking her questions about it! But she had to reply.
"It still hurts, sir. A lot! It's covered in bruises and it's really sore. I had to eat breakfast standing up this morning!" As she spoke Kate's hands went behind her to the seat of the school skirt she was wearing.
Mr Fowler permitted himself a smile. "Good!" he said. "I'm glad all my effort yesterday wasn't totally wasted! Now I shall endeavour to bring home to you the importance of not leaving school without permission!" The deputy headmaster rose, opened a cupboard and withdrew a cane. "Right, Kate," he said. "In view of yesterday's events I think two strokes will be sufficient!"
"Oh, no, please sir, no!" Kate pleaded, tears pricking at her large grey eyes. "Please not the cane! Oh, please . . ."
"It's all right, Kate," said the deputy headmaster, surprisingly, "I quite agree that your bottom suffered enough yesterday! Hold out your left hand.
The seventeen year old extended her left arm. She was almost as tall as Mr Fowler himself and he adjusted the height of the hand until its position was satisfactory. He tapped the cane across the girl's palm and then raised it high. Kate closed her eyes. "You don't leave school without permission, girl!" snapped the master, before lashing the slender rod down across Kate's palm, just below the base of her fingers.
Kate's whole body shuddered, but she kept her hand firmly extended, hardly altering her stance at all. Mr Fowler nodded approvingly. Kate Russell might be a very naughty girl, totally unfitted for the duties of a prefect, but she was certainly no coward.
Nevertheless he did not moderate the force of her second stroke. The cane slashed violently down to land parallel to and almost the first. The two weals quickly melded into one. As soon as the cane landed Kate jerked her hand away and waved it wildly in the air. She then brought it in front of her mouth and blew on it frantically. Finally she bent forward pressing her stinging palm to the pit of her stomach.
Mr Fowler did not allow her whatever meagre relief this may have brought for long. "Hands by your sides and go and stand facing the wall!" he ordered.
He kept her in this position until the bell went for the end of morning break. Then he asked her what her next lesson was and in which classroom.
"French, sir. In room 16."
"All right," he replied. "We'll go there together. We don't want you running off again!"
So the deputy marched the former prefect through the school like a naughty girl half her age, before delivering her to Mrs Whitfield's class. "Stand here at the front of the class" he ordered. “Now turn round, face the front and lift up your skirt”
All the girls watched as Kate carefully lifted her skirt revealing her firm bottom, clad in lacy black knickers (a sixth-form priviledge) with bright red marks emerging at the edges. Mr Fowler then inserted his fingers in the waistband and peeled them down to just above her knee making Kate wince noticeably and draw a deep breath of pain.
"Girls I want you all to profit from the example of Kate Russell," said Mr Fowler. "You are all sixth formers and are expected to behave like adults. If you behave as adults you will be treated as adults. If you behave like naughty schoolgirls you will be treated as naughty schoolgirls. And at this school, as you can see from Kate’s bottom, naughty schoolgirls get very sore backsides!” As he uttered each of the last six words he delivered a crisp spank to alternate cheeks to emphasise his point and bring the burning pain back to her bottom.
"All right, Mrs Whitfield, please carry on, Kate will remain in that position with her bottom on public display" he concluded leaving the classroom. Poor Kate buried her head in her hands and wept quietly to herself in humiliated agony for the rest of that lesson as twenty three pairs of eyes stared at her burning bum.

A Glimpse Into 1994

R.T. Mason is one of the best writers in this field - he manages to build tension, capture the exquisite agony of the victim and has an attention to detail which few can match. I don't normally like stories set in the future or the past but this one works superbly and Jenny's caning and tawsing are stunningly real. It comes from Janus (of course) from 1984

A GLIMPSE INTO 1994
By R.T Mason
1984 did not turn out quite as George Orwell predicted, although few perhaps would dispute that there has proved to be a certain timely symbolic truth to his allegorical fantasy. But things can change very rapidly. Perhaps 1994 could be the year? The year when the\State and Big Brother take over, especially against undisciplined excesses of youth. Discipline is naturally the keynote: a strict non-nonsense regime reinforced with a liberal use of corporal punishment. Females will undoubtedly be treated as strictly as males. If not infinitely more so...

'Oh no!' burst out Jenny. 'Look at the time!'
The digital watch on her wrist said quite unequivocally 20:57. And equally unequivocally the Curfew for schoolgirls in term time in 1994 was 21 :00 hours. She struggled desperately to her feet and went to grab her bike, propped against a nearby tree. Jenny's companion, her boyfriend Chris, began frantically bundling up the blanket they had been lying on. His face bore a dazed look. One moment he and Jenny had been quietly lying there smooching, and then suddenly . . . this awful frightening realisation.
They were on the Common outside their home town of Southdown. The Common was a very pleasant place to be on a peaceful. still-warm June evening such as this. It had in fact been rather too pleasant and seduced by the tranquil evening and each other's company they had quite forgotten the time. And the Curfew.
The Curfew did not apply to Chris because although he was the same age as Jenny he was no longer at school.
In 1994 boys could leave at 17 but because of the unemployment situation girls were kept at school for two more years, until they were 19. Both Chris and Jenny were now 19; and Jenny was in her last term at school.
But while she was still at school all the School Regulations had to be strictly observed.
One of the most strictly observed Regulations was the 21 :00 term time Curfew when all girls must be indoors, at home. The only possible exception to this would be if you were attending a State rally or lecture or something similar: you certainly couldn't be out on the Common with a boyfriend, or even cycling back home.
'Oh God!' wailed Jenny, straightening herself up and buttoning her blazer. 'Someone's sure to see me'.
And indeed that did seem very likely. For one thing she was in the full school uniform of State School for Girls Number 2417 (Southdown) . White blouse and navy-blue knee-length pleated skirt, and red-and-blue striped tie with the red blazer with blue piping and its crest 'Southdown School for Girls'. And of course dark nylons and black court shoes. All as in the School Regulations.
Because also in those School Regulations was the requirement that every girl must wear full school uniform at all times and not just during school hours.
One reason for this was that then a girl could be immediately spotted anywhere if her behaviour was in any way incorrect.
Such as for instance being out after Curfew.
The situation was pretty hopeless, for both of their homes were over a couple of miles away on the other side of Southdown. And you could be sure there would be plenty of good honest citizens about with their eyes wide open. Older male citizens, naturally. Indeed they were known to come out especially at about this time simply in the hope of finding a young and pretty female who had somehow missed the Curfew deadline.
'Well, we can only hope for the best.' said Chris. But his voice did not sound very confident.
They started pushing their bikes across the rough grass towards the road. And almost immediately, as they rounded some bushes, there was the very type they had hoped to avoid. A good honest middle-aged citizen. His name was Arthur Mannings and he came here most evenings, walking his dog, on the off chance that he might come across what he now saw: a girl in school uniform. Because it was clearly a good citizen's duty to see that breakers of Regulations were apprehended.
The good citizen immediately waved for them to stop. Chris felt a momentary impulse to try and make a run for it. But he knew that would only make it worse. They stopped. The man with the dog hurried towards them.
He was panting a bit when he caught up to them. Panting with the extra effort to get to what his keen eyes now confirmed was a nice tasty catch. Mr Arthur Mannings' eyes were small and rather piggy-like in a round middle aged face now pinkly perspiring. The eyes were of course focused on Jenny as she stood nervously holding her bike.
'Lovely evening: he observed, a bit breathless. But his thoughts were clearly not on the evening but on this quite tall but decidedly well-built specimen of girlhood. His eyes greedily took in the pretty shoulder-length blonde hair and the clean attractive features. Even more they took in the rest of her: the indication of firm breasts under the blazer; the nyloned calves; the shapely rounded hips under the pleated skirt.
The good citizen's gaze broke off to check his watch. It was now exactly 21:01. 'But late for a schoolgirl to be out,though. Southdown School for Girls, eh?' He added, 'By the way, my name's Arthur Mannings; I'm with the Ministry of Social Affairs: while his hand reached out and tapped the crest on Jenny's blazer. And then the hand gave a quite deliberate squeeze to the breast below.
Jenny flushed and backed away. The hand let go.
'Can I see your ID, Miss?' He bent down to let his dog off the lead.
Fumblingly Jenny felt in first one and then another pocket. She experienced a wave of panic for to be caught without her ID Card would really be the end. Finally, with relief, she found it and meekly handed it over.
Mr Mannings studied it, reading out the details. 'Jenny Susan Allison; 21 Westbourne Avenue, South down. Aged 19 years. Pupil, Southdown School for Girls (State School No. 2417). State identification No. 043,892,124/F.'
He looked at the photograph, comparing it with its owner, then slipped the ID Card in his pocket.
'Don't worry your pretty head’ he said to Jenny's look of alarm. 'You'll get it back. But we are past the deadline for pretty girls to be back home in bed. Aren't we?'
Jenny flushed red. 'We .. we just forgot the time. Pl . . please don't report me. I've n .. never broken the Curfew before.'
The good citizen had the expression of a cat with a big bowl of cream. He didn't in fact intend to report her, as indeed Jenny and Chris might have guessed. Well, why let some Official of the Education Ministry have all the fun.
The fun of bending this mouth-watering girl over a caning horse and slipping her tight knickers down. And then getting to work on her undoubtedly splendid 19-year-old rump with a nice supple three-foot cane.
Yes, why let some official have that pleasure when he, Arthur Mannings, might just be able to do a bit of that himself.
He gave them both an owlish look.
'It is of course a very serious matter as you both know. A girl could very easily get herself in trouble, that's why we have the Curfew. What've you two been doing anyway? If you've been having intercourse then you'll both be in very serious trouble.'
That was true. In 1994 it was strictly forbidden for a girl to have sex while she was still at school and girls caught transgressing this rule were sent off immediately to a Reform Centre. Which was not a place any girl would enjoy going to.
'No!' gasped Jenny, flushing afresh. 'We . . there was nothing like that.'
Good citizen Arthur reached forward and took hold of the hem of Jenny's skirt. And simply lifted it up in front of her waist. His eyes gazed greedily at what was revealed: Jenny's thighs in the dark nylons, the full pale flesh above crossed by taut narrow white suspender straps; and, above, her brief tight white knickers.
She stood crying, with Chris also having gone bright red in the face, but both knew they could do nothing.
'Well, you have got knickers on’ Mr Mannings acknowledged primly.
'Though of course you could have had them off and just put them on again.'
'No!' blurted Jenny.
'Turn round’ ordered our good citizen.
Jenny hesitated, then did so, still holding onto her bike. Mr Mannings now lifted her skirt up at the back, to her waist. Jenny's bottom was displayed, a splendidly full but firm specimen, the twin rounded cheeks tightly encased in the scanty skin-tight briefs. Chris's face bore a sick look as the hand reached out and intimately fondled his girlfriend's bottom; then gave it a sharp slap.
'Mmm ... Well we'll have to see. You should be reported of course: but maybe we can find some other solution. Both of you can come back to my place and we'll discuss it.'
He asked for Chris's ID and after a quick glance put it in his pocket. Then told them to leave their bikes there and they could collect them in the morning. He could take them back in his car, first to his house and later he would drive them to their own home.
Jenny and Chris glanced at each other but they both knew they had no option. What the man planned . .. well, it obviously wasn't going to be pleasant but they were well and truly caught.
He called his dog over. They left the bikes in the bushes and walked to where his car was parked. They got in, Jenny in front next to Mr Mannings, and he drove off. His hand was almost immediately down on Jenny's thigh.
Looking straight ahead, she felt her skirt being pushed back. The slightly pudgy hand took a firm grip on the nyloned thigh beneath.

* * *
It didn't take long to reach his house, in a neat tree-lined street at the opposite end of the town to where Jenny and Chris lived. In the hall Mrs Mannings appeared, a pleasant-looking lady of about her husband's age. He explained that he had a couple of young visitors; a little problem of the Curfew. Mrs Mannings asked if they would like some tea: yes, that would be a splendid idea, said her husband.
She went off to the kitchen taking the dog. She could see Arthur was quite excited and no wonder. Muriel Mannings knew that when he went walking the dog he always hoped to catch a girl breaking the Curfew, but of course it was a reasonably rare event. He would be in a really good mood tonight after this. She felt a little sorry for that pretty girl, knowing what she would get from dear Arthur; but then it was her own fault. Young people, including young girls, had to be kept on a firm rein. Otherwise you'd have them running wild with drugs and vandalism like in the old days.
In the lounge Mr Mannings took Jenny's blazer: the promise of full firm breasts, he saw, was amply born out. He mentally licked his lips. 'Yes: he observed judiciously, 'the Education Ministry Inspectors take a very serious view of Curfew breaking, as you know. You could easily be sent off for a session at a Reform Centre.'
'No please!' whimpered Jenny.
'But clearly you have to have some punishment: for your own good. And I would be failing in my duty as a citizen if I let you go scot-free.'
Arthur Mannings' eyes gazed steadily at the shapely girl and the equally unhappy boyfriend at her side. Then pursing his lips he said it. 'I could of course, instead, give you a caning here and now.'
It was what they had both half expected.
He badly wanted to cane Jenny himself, that fact had been lurking just below the surface ever since he'd caught them. And what choice did Jenny have - unless she preferred going to a dreaded Reform Centre?
Looking down at the floor, she stuttered,'Yes .. I'll t .. take a c ..caning.'
Arthur Mannings this time actually did lick his lips. 'You're very sensible, my dear. Don't you think so, Chris?'
As Chris remained dumb Mr Mannings moved in close to Jenny and cupped her breasts in both hands. She gave a sharp grasp but kept still. The breasts in Arthur Mannings' hands were firm and ripe. Squeezing them, he looked smugly at Chris. A very nice-looking girl, eh Chris? But she's got to take a little punishment and I want you to be here to see it. That way I think it will be a bit more of an ordeal for both of you. Because you must bear some of the blame for this.'
He let go of Jenny's breasts as the door opened and his wife entered carrying a tray with the tea. She smiled sweetly at all three, then put down the tray and silently left..
They sat down and drank their tea at Mr Mannings' insistence, though neither Jenny nor Chris wanted any. Then Jenny was simply told to stand, lift her skirt and take down her knickers. Mr Mannings went briskly to a corner cupboard... and came back holding a wicked-looking 30-inch rattan cane.
He placed a stool in the centre of the room. Jenny was to kneel on it and bend down so that her head and hands were down on the carpet. The pretty girl looked at Mr Mannings, then at the stool. The humiliating position he was telling her to get into would be almost worse than the actual caning. She could picture herself over that stool - with Chris having to watch.
'Please ... ' she pleaded. 'C ...can Chris go. Please'
Mr Mannings' piggy eyes glistened.
'Certainly not, my dear. I've told you that is part of the punishment: for both of you. He has to watch. Now come on up on the stool.'
With beads of perspiration tingling her skin Jenny forced herself to comply.
Knelt on the 18-inch-high stool and then bent forward and down. Her hands down on the carpet, then lowering herself further until her face was down there as well. Her bottom by far the highest part of her body ...Arthur Mannings, with a look of gloating anticipation, took the hem of Jenny's skirt and flipped it up, over her back. Atrociously, her knickers were then lowered from her bottom, and there, thrust up and out by her posture, were the twin swelling hemispheres splendidly bare: a beckoning target of ripe resilient flesh.
He primly slipped the lowered knickers down a little further, to the taut tops of her nylons. Then his hand came back to openly fondle those swelling rondures, glancing as he did so at the red-faced boyfriend who was trying to look anywhere but at Jenny's bared bottom.
His voice sharp: 'I want you to watch remember, Chris!'
As Chris reluctantly brought his eyes back in the required direction Mr Mannings brought his right hand down to deliver a firm spank on the defenceless girl’s left buttock. It made a wonderful sound and left a clear red imprint.
Mr. Mannings then took up the cane again; and testingly applied it across the up thrust rear. Two or three teasing transverse taps causing the firm flesh to wobble slightly. Jenny, already cringing with humiliation, now felt a shiver of fear.
For Arthur Mannings everything seemed ready to go. A quick glance at the youth, and the cane was raised in earnest. Smoothly accelerating up in a high arc. .. and then, gathering momentum, down.
Whi ... iipp ... CRACK! A sound like a pistol shot. Almost simultaneously a strangled gasp from the victim and another, in involuntary unison, from the watching boyfriend. At the same time the raised buttocks went into a desperate jerking dance with their pale form suddenly displaying the stark twin lines of the cane's impact.
Good citizen Arthur Mannings evidently knew how to use the cane and he knew the value of a suitable pause to let the sting of its impact be fully appreciated.
He was well enough aware that the crescendo of pain from a soundly applied cane stroke climaxed a few seconds after delivery. And then the cane came zipping up through its arc again ...and again descending...
Whi...iipp ... CRACK! .. The pistol shot, the gasps, the desperate jerking of the stricken bum as before. And now two pairs of those-bright red tramlines. Arthur Mannings, eyes gleaming, was in his element. A heady sense of sexual excitement filling him as he continued, repeatedly whipping the cane down. A sense of sexual excitement which from the very beginning had the front of his trousers tightly distended.
He kept on, the cane rising and falling, intoxicated by its solid meaty smack into the girl's defenceless bottom; intoxicated by the increased desperation of her gasping cries, her tortured writhings which were stretching her lowered knickers almost to breaking point.
He didn't want to stop but eventually he had to. Even in 1994 there were limits. And the limit this evening came when after ten strokes and Jenny's bottom a welter of criss-crossing red lines, she simply collapsed forward onto the floor crying her eyes out.
Arthur Mannings reluctantly realised she had had enough and, panting, put down the cane. In any case he needed to break off himself. He briefly watched as the stunned red-faced boyfriend sprang up from his seat to go and comfort the girl as she lay sprawled on the carpet. In the lounge Jenny still lay sobbing. For Chris, having to watch her get it from Mr Mannings in that savage manner had been an almost mind-blowing experience: distressing and yet at the same time with an awful fascination.
That cane repeatedly jolting with its sickening thwack! into Jenny's bare bottom .. . He realised guiltily that he would have felt compelled to watch whether Mr Mannings had made him or not.
Because for Chris, as for Arthur Mannings, the proceedings had also had a fierce sexual excitement. And from about the third stroke of the cane Chris had shamefully found himself in the same state of response as the man who had been wielding the cane. He knew that he would never ever be able to forget hearing and witnessing those explosive percussive thrashing impacts.

* * *
Jenny Allison's evening encounter with Mr Mannings was not particularly unusual in 1994 - though getting the cane in front of her boyfriend was a special refinement thought up by Arthur Mannings. Jenny, and most other girls, were usually careful to avoid breaking the Curfew but there were also numerous other rules and regulations which could lead to your getting a thrashing. Rules of deportment and dress and what you could and could not do: in fact rules about pretty much every aspect of life, in school and out. Rules which if you were caught infringing usually led to a sound caning or strapping.
Apart from in school, where it would be one of the masters, the caning was supposed to be done by an Education Ministry Official in the local Education Office where they had various small rooms set aside for the purpose, with caning horses, caning benches, etc. But many middle-aged middle-class men who would almost by definition be themselves State Officials of some sort, would feel free, like Arthur Mannings, to beat girls themselves.
Like Arthur Mannings, they tended to keep a keen eye open for any chance infringement of a regulation, however petty; and then, also like Mr Mannings, they could usually persuade her to submit to a little unofficial caning. Because if you went to the Ministry Office there was not only an on-the-spot caning, there was also a good chance of being sent to a Reform Centre. Where, for three weeks or whatever it was, you could be caned or strapped, or beaten with a crop morning and night if deemed necessary; and the caning wasn't all, there was plenty more to make sure you didn't want to return for a second visit.
All of this in England in 1994 was designed to keep the youth of the nation firmly in their place, and girls in particular very firmly in their place. That was partly State policy and partly just the way it operated: State Officials were 99 per cent men and the average middle-aged man undoubtedly found more pleasure in dealing with a pretty girl than with a youth.
So 19-year-old Jennifer Allison inevitably knew all about the cane: she got it regularly at school, at least once a week, and there were those other occasions when she got beaten as well. Like two weeks earlier when another good honest middle-aged citizen - not unlike Arthur Mannings - had accused her of being rowdy on the bus. It was not true but that did not help. Did she want t6 be reported?
And so she had gone with him to his house where she had had to take her skimpy black knickers down and bend over his dining table to receive six stinging strokes of the tawse on her bare bottom. Don't bother to complain, that was simply what happened in 1994. As it had with Mr Mannings. Mr Mannings was only special in that he had chosen a particularly humiliating posture for the caning and, more than that, had insisted on doing it in front of Chris.
For Chris Wilkins, though, things were rather different. He knew girls got caned and therefore Jenny got caned, but it was not something he had ever discussed with her. It was not a pleasant thought, Jenny for instance having to bare her bottom for her school Principal, and so he preferred not to think about it. But now having been forced to watch he could not avoid thinking about it. That scene in Mr Mannings' lounge was not something he would easily forget: disturbing and upsetting but at the same time mesmeric.
After the caning when Mr Mannings had dropped Chris off at his house his feeling of sexual arousal continued and got worse, becoming more centred on a sharp desire for Jenny. He and Jenny did have sex from time to time although sex before marriage was strictly prohibited by the State, with the girl especially being severely dealt with if it was discovered.
He knew it wasn't on: for one thing they only dared do it out in the country where they wouldn't be discovered and Jenny anyway was now home with her parents. But the desire grew stronger as guiltily Chris found himself imagining what it would be like to be that awful Mr Mannings, lashing that cane down onto Jenny's defenceless bare bottom. He couldn't get to sleep and finally there was only one thing for it ... picturing in his mind the cane being wielded first by Mr Mannings, then by himself, then by Mr Mannings again, but crucially, by himself.
Needless to say he felt awful afterwards. And his guilt was still present next morning. The next day was a Saturday, with no work or school, and Jenny and Chris met after breakfast to walk up to the Common and collect their bikes. It was another lovely day but neither had any thought for that as they set off in embarrassed and tongue-tied silence.
Both inevitably had their minds full of the evening before: Jenny remembering the dreadful humiliation of taking her knickers down and being so soundly thrashed and Chris with the guilty memory of using Jenny's caning for his own selfish pleasure.
Finally for want of something better to say Chris stated the obvious. 'It . .. it must have hurt’
Jenny bit her lip; then after a pause managed an almost inaudible, 'You get used to it’.
Her words produced again that guilty surge of excitement for Chris.
Those canings that Jenny got, that every girl and which he had never wanted to know about before. Now although it would still be like a knife in him, he did want to know. It was too fascinating a subject to let drop.
With his heart pounding he asked, 'How...how often do you...get it?'
Jenny didn't want to talk about it but Chris persisted. He just had to know now. Flushing, as they walked she told him first bits and pieces, then more and more: the details.
About school where all the senior masters could cane you: six masters plus the Principal. And how in the final year, to ensure that you were properly disciplined by the time you left school, the caning was twice as bad. So whether you had done anything or not you had a weekly appointment with the Principal and very often after a little chat the cane or tawse would come out.
And of course the other times. Like Mr Mannings last night. Like that man on the bus...
By the time he had got all this out of her they were on the Common and had reached that fateful spot where they had been caught. Their bikes were still there in the bushes. And it was there that Jenny told Chris the final bit.
That Mr Mannings hadn't finished with her. After he had dropped Chris off last night he had told her she had to go round to his house again this afternoon. She glanced up at Chris, then down again. 'I haven't any choice of course. Otherwise...'
It was another vicious twist of the knife - but one which sent Chris's heart pounding like a train. This on top of all she had just told him .. . it was just too much.
He pulled Jenny to him, putting his arms round her. He felt sick that she was presumably going to get another dose like last night.
Afterwards Chris's behaviour was a bit strange: after never wanting to know about caning he suddenly wanted to be told all the details. She could sense that it excited him ... in a way just like all those older men who so clearly enjoyed doing it.
She pulled him down on the blanket again and then simply said it 'That turned you on last night. didn't it? Watching me get that caning.'
A hot-faced Chris vigorously denied it, but Jenny didn't believe him.
'Anyway you won't be there to watch this afternoon. At least I won't have that humiliation.'

* * *
That was evident. Chris wouldn't be able to watch, but what was going to happen again in Mr Mannings' lounge that afternoon was like a powerful magnet holding him in its grip. After the episode in the bushes they had cycled back into town where Jenny had to meet her mother for shopping.
But Chris left to his own devices, could think of nothing else. His mind, regardless of the realities and with a will of its own, immediately started telling him that maybe he could see. He could sneak into the house or maybe get in the garden and look in the window. It was crazy, he knew. In 1994 you could be sent away for five years or more for illegal house entry. As for getting in the garden, well, that was crazy too. Although he had noticed that Mr Mannings' lounge faced onto a rather overgrown plot full of trees and shrubs. Where you could possibly hide. But then Mrs Mannings would probably be out there and anyway how would you get in unobserved?
Yes, it was crazy, but after lunch, almost as if he had no control over himself, Chris found he was walking in the direction of Mr Mannings' house.
Jenny was due there at 15:00. He reached the street still hardly believing he was doing this, it was like being in a dream. He recognised the house, then walked on. It was 14:45.
Several houses further on there was a cutting leading through to the back on Mr Mannings' side of the street. He went down it, and there at the foot of the gardens was a lane running along parallel to the street. With his heart thumping Chris walked back along the lane in the direction of Mr Mannings' house. There were gates opening onto the lane. It meant that perhaps there was a chance. He came to the gate with Mr Mannings' number: 27. It was not locked. He looked cautiously in but there was no one to be seen in the garden.
The gate was not in view of the house and he slipped inside...If he was discovered he would just have to say he thought he had left something yesterday - his pen? - and had come back to check. Though that would hardly explain his lurking in the garden. It was very overgrown, Mr Mannings was evidently not a gardener (perhaps all his energies were taken up with girls' bottoms?) and Chris was able to get close to the house while keeping out of sight.
Crouching behind a large bush (it looked like a lilac) he had a good view inside. It was all as before, that vividly remembered setting from last night. The stool which Jenny had been made to kneel on now moved back to its place by the wall. The room was empty. Chris looked at his watch. 15:02. He had a sudden thought that perhaps Mr Mannings might use another room this time: a bedroom perhaps. But then the door opened.
It was Jenny, in her school uniform of course, followed by Mr Mannings. And then another man. A reasonably ordinary-looking middle-aged man, not unlike Mr Mannings. Mr Mannings had evidently brought a friend to join in the fun.
Mr Mannings closed the door, then said something to Jenny. Standing in the centre of the room she meekly took off her blazer. Mr Mannings moved round behind her and his hands came round under her arms, cupping her breasts. He was obviously discussing Jenny's breasts with his friend because he then removed his hands and the other man took hold of them. They were laughing to each other, with Jenny just standing there looking a bit sick. And then the man let go of her and both men sat on the sofa and it was evident that Jenny had been told to take some more of her clothes off.
Standing in front of them her hands went to the waist of her school skirt. It was unfastened and she stepped out of it. There were just her white knickers underneath and after a moment's hesitation Jenny took them down and off. She was bare below the waist apart from nylons and suspender belt. Then Mr Mannings pointed to his friend and Jenny came forward and got herself down across the man's lap. Chris, watching, felt faint and dizzy with excitement. Holding the girl firmly with his left arm the man simply started spanking that ripe bare bottom. His hand rising and falling in a regular rhythm, the firm flesh quivering at each impact and Jenny's rump rapidly becoming a bright hot pink. This went on for some time. Then something was said and she got up and, a bit trembly, moved over to get across Mr Mannings' lap. The spanking was resumed. For Chris the excitement was now so intense it almost made him feel ill. After a while the spanking by Mr Mannings came to an end and Jenny, red-faced and red-bottomed, was stood on her feet. Would they now? Yes they would. Mr Mannings, as yesterday, went to that corner cupboard and came back but this time he brought a twin-tailed tawse. It was to be the same position: the stool in the centre of the room and Jenny kneeling on it, head and hands down on the carpet. Perhaps Mr Mannings always used this position when beating girls.
He and his friend admired the presented buttocks, patting and fondling them, apparently commenting on their shape and dimensions. Then Mr Mannings got into his position.
And the strap was rising and falling ...rising and falling ... Chris, in his hiding place, his blood pounding, was part of what was happening. He felt himself carried away, riding the intense excitement of what he was doing.
The supple tawse was handed over to the second man. Jenny, gasping, taking deep breaths in an effort to cope with the pain, wondered desperately how many more she was going to get. She thought fleetingly of Chris. That young man, now feeling a bit sick with himself. was at that moment creeping back out of Mr Mannings' garden.
He met Jenny again 40 minutes later, as if by chance but in fact knowing the route she would take back home and waiting for her. They walked in silence to Jenny's house: as earlier that day neither knew quite what to say.
Finally when they were almost there Chris asked her about her visit.
'What d'you think!' blurted Jenny.
'He thrashed the daylights out of me, that's what. And not just him: he brought a friend along to have a go as well!'
Chris made sounds of shock and commiseration, though obviously he knew what had happened. His blood began to stir again at the memory.
When they got to Jenny's house her parents were in so Chris suggested they go up to her room. She gave him a questioning look: a look which he understood well enough. It would not exactly be private because The Eye would be watching.
The Eye was installed in the bedroom of every girl from the age of 16 just until she got married. It was a video camera which automatically switched on when the room was entered, relaying its picture back to the local Education Ministry Office. It was all part of the surveillance system: helping to ensure that a girl had no secrets from the State.
Thus a girl always had to undress for bed standing in front of The Eye, down to the nude, before putting on her pyjamas or nightdress. At the same time it ensured that she was in bed by the correct time (21:30 for 16-year-olds ranging up to 22:30 for those over 19).
Needless to say there was no possibility of any misbehaving, any covert indulgence in sex, with the unblinking Eye recording everything. There was the tell-tale click as Jenny and Chris entered, then the low hum as The Eye began its work.
They went to sit at Jenny's desk; sitting there and talking at least did not transgress any rules. But they spoke in lowered tones because no one really knew whether The Eye picked up sound or not.
'At least he seems to be finished with me’ whispered Jenny. 'But God, they really laid it on.'
Chris felt that guilty excitement mounting again. 'Let me see where they beat you.'
Jenny went slightly pink. 'You've got to be joking!' Revealing her bottom to her boyfriend would undoubtedly come under the heading of improper behaviour.
Chris looked up at The Eye, then back at Jenny. He really wanted to see those red stripes. 'Let .. let's go in the bathroom' he whispered. 'You can show me in there.' There was no Eye in the bathroom.
Jenny said No, but in the face of Chris's persistence reluctantly agreed.
They got up and walked circumspectly out past The Eye. They went in the bathroom, locking the door after them.
'Look, I’d rather not’ protested Jenny.
But Chris was not going to be put off now. He made her bend over the edge of the bath and excitedly grabbed her skirt up, then yanked down her knickers.
There were the criss-crossing red stripes all right still clearly showing and covering the whole of Jenny's ripe rear. They certainly looked hot and sore. His blood pounding again, Chris greedily pulled her knickers on down and off over her shoes.
'Hey!' she gasped. But it was obvious what he wanted and he was in a desperate state. This whole business of Jenny's tawseing had become overwhelmingly
exciting to Chris. He could scarcely control himself as he pulled Jenny close.
She struggled at first but then began to return Chris's embrace. They were alone, weren't they, with the bathroom door locked? And the horrid Eye was safely on the other side of the wall as well as being switched off. Gradually Jenny's ardour began to match Chris's. But this whole business did seem to be getting to him and she was going to have to have a serious talk with Chris. He was just going to have to learn to accept certain things.

* * *
The serious talk with Chris was not to be needed, though. The next morning the Allison household had two visitors.
Two Inspectors of the Education Ministry wishing to talk to Jenny. White-faced she was confronted with the accusation of what had happened in the bathroom.
She started to stammer. One of the Officials bleakly told her it was all on video tape. She was to pack a suitcase.
She would be taken immediately to a Reform Centre. Jenny's mother started weeping as the two men marched Jenny up to her room. Yes, there was an Eye in the bathroom, hidden in the light fitting. Perhaps, in 1994, the possibility should at least have been considered, but neither Jenny nor Chris had thought of that. In her room Jenny was told to pack her things: change of uniform, underwear, toilet items. For the very serious offence which had been committed it would be a long stay at the Reform Centre - up to a year. But first of all before she was taken off. a little something else. A preliminary taste of what she would be getting rather frequently at the Centre. Jenny was told to strip down to her underwear. One of the Inspectors took a vicious-looking crook-handled rattan cane from his case.
Jenny was bent down over her bed. The other inspector inserted his fingers in the waistband of her tight black lacy knickers and slowly peeled them off her mounds leaving them stretched tight between her thighs.
The Eye watched impassively as the cane rose and fell; whistling through the air, cracking down onto already striped buttocks. It was all recorded but then there was nothing happening which would cause any questions back at the Education Office.
When Chris came round for Jenny an hour later he was told by her tearful mother that she had just been taken away.

Return to School

This is one of my favourite themes (see July 2010)because it inevitably involves naughty girls who still deserve punishement even after their schooldays are over. Sally Middleton has a bottom made for the cane and it is clear that the deputy-head is not in the least averse to abusing his position. The story ends with a clear implication that young Sally hasn't seen - or felt - the last of him...

It seemed distinctly eerie going through the school gates again - a strange disquieting feeling. Mainly it was the silence of course, no other girls running about and shouting and this was hardly surprising because it was out of term time - the end of July and a week after school had broken up. A hot and sunny afternoon and as she looked across the deserted quadrangle the memories came flooding back: some of them pleasant ones naturally - of her classmates and friends - but mostly the unpleasant ones - the spankings, and more especially the canings. The cane and St. Monica's: the two were inseparable, for St. M's was a school dedicated to the belief that middle-class girls developed into proper young ladies only as a result of strict discipline. And at St. Monica's that meant first and foremost the cane.... energetically applied to youthful rear-quarters.

And thinking of the cane she couldn't help feeling a tingle of apprehension. She tried to dismiss it for really it was silly: she was now 21 and it had been nearly three years since she had been a pupil here and at the mercy of Mr. James and his staff. Sally Middleton, she told herself, calm down: and behave like an adult and not a schoolgirl. She unconsciously pulled back her high firm breasts out against the thin material of her blouse. Keith, at the wheel of the car and wondering where it was best to park, happened to look across at that moment and mopped his brow. He was hot enough without her doing that.

Fiancé Keith had been feeling more than a little frustrated ever since their stop for a picnic lunch on the drive down. He had been hoping Sally would agree to a bit of slap and tickle after lunch - well, they were getting married in six months time and had been doing it for several months now. Doing it when he could persuade her, that is, but on this occasion all his efforts at persuasion got him nowhere: she simply wasn't having any. The truth was, although she would not have admitted it even to herself, Sally was more than a bit nervous about the coming meeting. With Mr. Grant, the Deputy Head.

It had been the Head, Mr. James, whom she had been trying to contact when she had phoned. Well, when you needed a reference you naturally went to your Headmaster, but he had been unavailable. It was close to the end of term and she was told, to her surprise, that he in fact was due to leave the school and was very busy. And she had been put through to Mr. Grant. She would definitely much rather not have spoken to Mr. Grant and indeed she could recall telling herself when she left school that he was one master she quite definitely would be happy never to speak to or see again.

He had always been the worst - worst with the cane that is, always knickers down and then lashing it into your bare bottom so that even in the Sixth Form you were almost immediately reduced to tears and abject pleadings for him to stop. And that had been exactly what he had done on her very last morning at school, catching Sally and two or three other school-leavers rather prematurely laughing and joking in the corridor and singling her out to be taken to his room. To be bent over that horrid chair and have her skimpy pink knickers taken down for one final dose of the medicine which he so loved to mete out to a pretty teenager. It had been an all-too-fitting finish to her school career: the caning and then having to stand tearfully before him while his hand went up her skirt 'checking' that her knickers were correctly back in place, but actually of course fondling her through the knickers and then delivering a couple of painful spanks with his open palm. As he did it she had the one consoling thought that at least it was for the very last time and she would never have to see him or speak to him again. Not ever.

But then a year later suddenly there was his voice on the phone and she was automatically saying 'Oh Please Sir, sorry to bother you Sir.' And when he had asked what it was she wanted she had said 'Pl..please Sir....' and then found herself asking him for the reference she had intended to get from Mr. James. Having said it she immediately hoped he would say no, but he didn't. What he said was that of course he couldn't just write a reference when he knew nothing about what she'd done during the past few years. He would really need to see her again and have a talk first and then he was sure he could oblige. As it happened he was staying on at St. Monica's for a couple of weeks after the end of term and so it would be convenient if she came down there. And with an empty feeling in her stomach Sally found herself automatically agreeing, automatically also falling back into the role of the obedient pupil as she said 'Yes Sir. Thank-you Sir.'

The truth was that if it were not for the fact that she really needed a reference she would definitely have ducked out of meeting him again - sent a note: thank-you very much but I find now it's not really necessary. But she was desperately keen to get this really good job with the Company Keith worked for - a job that was so much better than the rather menial one she had had for more than six months now. And of course really there was nothing Mr. Grant could do to her now she was no longer a pupil. Well there wasn't was there?

Yes she really needed that reference, for the year since leaving St. Monica's had sadly failed to live up to what it had promised. Because that marvellous-sounding job - Personal Secretary to Mr. Larkin, one of the senior partners in the Law Firm of Merridrew and Larkin - well, if you had said it sounded too good to be true you would have been exactly right. What it was in fact was simply a continuation of the worst aspects of school, with Mr. Larkin finding an excuse virtually every day to take her knickers down, either over his lap or over the arm of that big leather armchair in his office. And at times using that awful riding crop which if anything was worse than a cane. And if that wasn't enough there were also those favoured clients whom you had to take documents round to and who had to be allowed the same privilege - taking your knickers down, that is, and spanking your bottom. Yes it had really been no different from St. Monica's and often quite a lot more painful and humiliating..

Eventually, after a particularly touch client had given her twelve strokes of the crop of her bare bottom she felt she could take no more and she had given in her notice. Mr. Larkin had been very angry and said he would speak to St. Monica's about being so badly let down; but she didn't suppose he actually did, and anyway she didn't care, she wouldn't have worked there any more if they paid her £1000 a week.

After that she had been unemployed for a bit and then the job she still had now - nothing more than glorified tea-girl really, with a firm of exporters. The pay was miserable and so were the prospects but at least she didn't get her knickers taken down all the time. And of course early in this period she had met Keith and that had more than made up for the limitations of her job. Now, though, the chance of this other post had come up and if she could manage to get it, because she would need to keep working after they were married. And with a good reference there was no reason at all why she shouldn't....

'It all seems very deserted,' said Keith, having parked the car over in the corner of the quad in the only available patch of shade. 'Are you sure he's here?'

Oh, Sally was sure he would be here alright. 2.30 sharp he had said and it was now just 2.20. Timed just right, she thought, and then felt another surge of fear, remembering of course the very last time she was here - that final day of school when Mr. Grant had managed to seize one more opportunity to get her knickers down. She just wished she were somewhere - anywhere - else; but such thoughts were pointless and anyway it would soon be over. 'Right. I'd better go in then. Mustn't be late!' Mustn't give him any excuse to be awkward. 'Hey! Stop....!'

She kissed him briefly and then checked her lipstick in the car mirror. Not too much make-up on. Mr. Grant might not approve.... She realised she was thinking just like a frightened St. Monica's schoolgirl again. Well she couldn't help it, it was this place - being here again. Once again her thoughts went back to that last day at school. Mr. Grant taking her into his room and locking the door.

'Right Miss, over the chair please. Then we'll have those panties down and see if we can't find a suitable antidote for unruly behaviour.'

She forced a smile at Keith as she tried to obliterate the memory from her mind. It was time to go in....

Keith watched her tall shapely figure walk away across the hot and empty quad, smart black heels going clip-clop on the tarmac. The short blonde hair, the crisp blouse, the demure calf-length skirt swaying rhythmically with the movement underneath of those thighs, that bottom, which he now knew so well. He could just trace the outline of her sexy little knickers He watched until she disappeared into the building opposite. Hopefully she wouldn't be long.... then they could drive back to that place in the woods.... where earlier he hadn't been able to get what he wanted. His thoughts ran on.... They would get the blanket out again....

To take his mind off such thoughts (and indeed to ease the tightness in his trousers which a growing erection had produced) he got out of the car for a look around. It seemed a fairly ordinary place - a typical school, nothing remarkable. Funny that Sally had never said hardly anything at all about it - not like some girls who were always going on about what they'd done at school. This Grant: he wondered what he was like.... The typical harmless old duffer, he supposed....

-o-O-o-

A harmless old duffer? Well yes he was, as long as you weren't a pretty girl who had to stand flinching in front of him - just as you'd had to all those times before: now with your pretty blonde head shining in the shaft of light streaming in through his window and your pretty knees trembling under your skirt. And your pretty tits trembling too and as you see the direction of his eyes, greedy behind the spectacles, you wish frantically that the tits were just a bit smaller and didn't stick out so much or at least you had not worn the rather tight thin blouse with just the light bra underneath which you knew showed the shape of your nipples.

Because really you should have remembered that Mr. Grant had always liked girls' tits - in addition to their bottoms of course. But back at home you foolishly hadn't thought: as you foolishly hadn't realized that once in here, in his room, nothing would have changed and you would again be the defenceless rabbit mesmerised by the weasel's cold stare. For the clammy mesmeric fear had reached out and gripped you the moment you stepped inside that room which was hot and stuffy with the sun beating in through the closed window and altogether you felt a little faint.

The weasel moved. The spectacles glinted, reflecting, as he got up from behind his desk and walked round it to you. And spoke: 'A reference is it? Hmm... I should have thought that these two were reference enough.' And the bony hand reached out and felt the weight of each breast in turn. 'Mmm. Yes. They seem somewhat bigger than when you were last here. If I remember correctly.'

His fingers moved to fondle her nipples and she felt a little sick standing immobile in the stuffy room as his voice, that so-familiar voice from her schooldays, continued: 'Mmm... Perhaps we should have a better look. Don't you think? A proper check....' And the fingers went to the little buttons of her blouse.... and as if they had a perfect right began unbuttoning the top one.... and then the next.... methodically, unhurriedly. 'Yes, a little check.'

What he was doing was quite outrageous and she should slap his hand away and tell him thank-you she could do without the reference and walk smartly out. There must be someone else who could give one. But she knew she was powerless to do this. Being here in his room, with his frightening, dominating presence, as she had been all those times at school, it was as if she had never left and there was just no way she could do anything except meekly submit.... to whatever he wanted. She felt beads of perspiration above her lip and had a sudden consciousness of her knickers, tight and brief under her skirt. Really much too brief. And she knew as her blouse was unfastened that they - the brief knickers - would be coming down. Knew it just as much as if he had already told her, for wasn't that what happened last time - and what always happened? There would be some excuse and she would be bent over the seat of his chair: her bare bottom flinching in anticipation....

Yes she could see it all, just as it had been all those times before and there was really nothing to do about it except say 'Yes Sir.' and 'No Sir.' and... She felt a little light-headed and steadied herself with her hand on his desk as he finished unbuttoning the blouse and pulled it free from the waistband of her skirt. Perhaps he would just....? But no: his hands round her back to her bra strap, unfastening it, then pulling the bra up to release her breasts. The sudden shock of his hands on her bare tits.... squeezing.... the fingers playing, fondling... causing her nipples to harden and stick out.... like they did when Keith.... But this was Mr. Gram.... loathsome hands actually on her bare boobs. It was quite awful.... but there was nothing she could do to stop him. She could only stand still.... feeling sick....

Finally he finished with them and she could do her bra and blouse up again; wondering vaguely as she did so whether he would now cane her right away or make her wait a while for it, as he sometimes used to. It seemed hotter than ever in the room and she thought of Keith outside, where it was hot but not stifling like this. Keith out there in another world....

But Mr. Grant, who didn't seem bothered by the heat, was now seated at his desk again and telling her to come and stand at his side. She had had to do that before of course and, yes, right away his hand came up her skirt to grip the back of the nearest nyloned knee. He wanted to knew about what she'd been doing in the last years and as she haltingly started to describe her jobs so the hand moved up.... to the tops of her nylons.... and the full warm thighs above. Where Keith's hand had just recently been but unlike Keith's you couldn't push this hand away and say 'Stop it.' Not Mr. Grant's. The hand explored her thighs.... and then her bottom in the decidedly skimpy nylon briefs....

His voice suddenly interrupting her as she tried to make what she did at Binney's sound more than just tea-girl: 'Have you had it very recently Miss?'

'Wh..What Sir?'

The hand pinched her bottom. 'What do you think I'm referring to? Sexual intercourse? Though I suppose you've had that alright. But what I am talking about is the cane. Have you had the cane recently?'

'N... No Sir. Not... not since I've been at Binney's Sir.'

'Really. You mean to say that Mr. Binney doesn't keep a cane in his office for girls whose work is not quite up to scratch?'

'No Sir.'

'And don't you think he should? For Miss Sally Middleton, at least?'

Sally swallowed nervously. The direction of his remarks was all too obvious.

'Sir I... I do my job properly Sir...'

'Do you indeed? Well in my experience a girl is never doing anything completely properly and always benefits from regular correction. And your employers are most misguided if they think otherwise. Yes Miss - faults and shortcomings, including serious ones, are not difficult to find in young women of your age. His hand pinched her bottom again through the brief panties. 'For instance at this moment these knickers you are wearing are most unsuitable. Much too brief. Do you know that Miss?'

'Well I... Yes Sir.'

'Yes, well do you know what I am going to do then? Before I write out your reference? I am going to take them down and give you a little reminder of what apparently you have been missing. You know what I am talking about of course? I am talking about the cane. On your bare bottom. And then perhaps when next you think of putting on such unsuitably scanty garments you will at least think twice.'

This was it. Sally, redfaced, head lowered, bit her lip. She had known that it would inevitably come to this. Mr. Grant's hand was withdrawn from her skirt. He got up and went to his cupboard.... the cupboard which she knew from long and painful experience contained his canes.

'Right, Miss. Over the chair if you please. The usual position. And then we'll give that bottom a little taste of what it's been missing.'

Automatically she did as she was told - well, didn't you always with Mr. Grant do as you were told? - lowering herself over the seat of the chair, her head down and her bottom up. Up and in position for that hateful whippy cane now lying on his desk.

She felt her skirt abruptly pulled up, round her waist, to reveal of course the offending knickers - semi-transparent navy-blue nylon and very brief, leaving a good deal of soft pale rump quite bare. Quite definitely they were not St. Monica's approved wear and Mr. Grant made sounds of disapproval ('Really these are quite unacceptable!') as he peeled them down, to her nylon tops at mid-thigh. Sally cringed - terribly conscious of her bottom now completely bare.... unconstrained... defenceless... The defencelessness sharply emphasised as Mr. Grant's hand came down hard in a gratuitous spank across both buttocks.... 'Keep it still Miss.'

Yes the moment of truth had arrived and there was nothing to do now except grit your teeth in anticipation of the first stinging cut. Her buttocks automatically clenched as for a moment she forgot that that was against the rules. 'Stop that!' His hand slapping her bottom again. 'Keep the cheeks relaxed.' His hand fondling.... 'And get it up a bit more.' Yes that seemed to be.... just about right....

Thwack! 'Oooooh!' The first one as always even worse than you imagined it would be. The sheer pain of it slashing into the bare flesh, abruptly dispelling any trace of that half dream-like feeling that had enveloped you ever since entering his room; for you just could not be anything but wide awake after that.

And barely time to grit your teeth again before.... Thwack! 'Ooooohh!' the cane searing down for a second stroke. Grit your teeth and try to keep your legs straight and your bottom still or he would simply add more to the six you'd been promised. Grit your teeth and grip the legs of the chair as tightly as you could....

Thwack! 'Oooohhh!' Oh please Jesus! You are dimly aware that you are crying.... Thwack! 'Oh! Please! Please no more...' Thwack!......... Thwack!

It was finally over, the six red stripes on her bottom the evidence. Her sobbing now the only sound in that brightly sunlit room.

Then Mr. Grant's voice telling her she could get up. Painfully she did so; and pulled her knickers back up again, up over a desperately stinging rear. At least it was over and she had paid Mr. Grant's price. He would now write her reference and she would be able to go. She turned a flushed and tear-stained face towards him as he started to speak again....

-o-O-o-

Outside Keith stood leaning on his car - with growing impatience. It seemed an age since she'd gone - this chap must be writing reams and reams. Once again he gazed around: at the empty quad, the building opposite with its windows like blank vacant eyes. The place certainly appeared quite deserted, apart from a couple of pigeons wheeling around, though Sally and presumably this schoolmaster were in there somewhere....

Not being familiar with St. Monica's of course he didn't know the lay-out, didn't know that Mr. Grant's room was in fact in one of the wings at the rear. And then also it was on the first floor so that you couldn't anyway look in - unless you were one of those pigeons. Couldn't look in and see.... Sally.... over that chair.... her bare bottom.... and the cane. No there was no way of seeing this, or of observing anything else round that side of the building. The Sick Room was there of course, again on the first floor....

Keith heaved another big sigh: looked once more at his watch. Wherever had she got to? Perhaps the old duffer was giving her tea, that was why they were so long ....

Finally, at last, Sally appeared at the entrance where she had gone in and looking at his watch Keith saw it was 3.40 - over an hour! She stepped out into the sunlight and commenced to walk, somewhat stumblingly, across the tarmac.

Back in the car she seemed tense, distracted, and what with that rather uncertain way she had been walking Keith wondered if she was alright. Perhaps the heat? Or maybe this Grant had refused to write the reference? No, she was O.K. she said and she had the reference. What took so long then? Were they having tea or something?

'Yes,' she said, 'Yes we had some tea.' It was a lie of course: a little white lie but what else could she say? The truth? She winced at the thought, at the utter horror of Keith ever knowing....

The last thing she wanted to do now was to stop at that place - in the woods, but Keith insisted and of course he'd been planning on it but she really couldn’t face it had suddenly she blurted out what had happened. Keith naturally was furious. ‘You let him cane you? How could you? Let me see’ Quickly Keith grabbed poor Sally and pulled her over his knees. He pulled up her skirt and saw her reddened bottom. ‘I’m going to punish you for this’ He said ‘How dare you bare your bottom for some old teacher. It’s disgraceful’ , and with that he grabbed the waistband of her knickers, pulled them off her bottom for the second time in just an hour and began a painful hand-spanking which brought the poor, reddened globes back to life. Eventually he tired of his enviable task but not before he had told the poor gilr that henceforth she should expect similar – or more painful – treatment if ever she transgressed again.

-o-O-o-

Back at school the place looked as deserted as ever and indeed now had only the one solitary occupant. He - Mr. Grant, Deputy Head - was looking out from his window at the lawn and noting how parched the grass was getting. He had better tell the gardener to do some watering when he came in the morning. He turned away, and happening to notice that his cane was still on his desk went to return it to the cupboard. He was always a most precise, tidy man.

He swished the cane through the air with some satisfaction. It had been a most rewarding afternoon. Well, it was not every day that an extremely attractive ex-pupil returned and you just happened to have something she wanted quite so badly..... mmmm... Rewarding in the extreme. And having once sampled it he had every intention of trying it again.

It was true that he didn't have Miss Sally Middleton's address. But that was a minor problem for he could easily get it from her mother. Yes: in fact he might even.... try Mrs. Middleton's number right now. He went to his bookcase for the old list of parents' addresses and phone numbers. Yes, here it was....

It was all very pleasant and civilized. A cordial chat with a charming lady - who like most mothers of St. Monica's pupils had no inkling of certain aspects of the school's regime, and certainly no inkling of what Mr. Grant could be like when he had a defenceless girl alone in his office. Yes, a cordial chat at the end of which he was writing down an address on his memo pad. A London address: Finchley.

'She shares a flat with her friend Charlotte Greene,' said Mrs. Middleton, 'until she gets married at least.' And Mr. Grant was given some gratuitous details of the wedding plans, to which he listened with polite interest before thanking the lady.

'Shall I tell her you called?' she inquired.

'Oh I shouldn't do that,' said Mr. Grant. 'I might drop in to see her and I'd like it to be a surprise.'

'Oh how nice. Yes, alright: I won't say a word then.'

Naughty Nicki

Mike From London again with another schoolgirl story. Nicki gets strapped and caned on her knickers and finally beaten hard on the bare. Quite right too. Ouch!
Nicki Edwards knew she was in bad trouble when she was caught by a prefect in the act of writing a rude message on the wall of the girls' toilets in the school dinner hour. A great deal of graffiti had appeared recently and the headmistress, Miss Hayhoe, had announced in assembly earlier that week that any girls found to be involved in this sort of misbehaviour in future would be 'dealt with by herself'. Nicki knew what that meant.
"Look, give me a chance," she pleaded. "I'll rub it out straight away! Don't report me to Miss Hayhoe!"
But Jill Hastings was unimpressed. "Come on Nicki!" she said, "Leave that where it is for the moment. We're going to see Miss Hayhoe!"
"But I'll get the cane!" Nicki said miserably. "Oh, please, give me a chance just this once! This is the first time I've ever written anything and I'll never do it again, honestly! Come on, have a heart! Please . . ."
Jill looked at the naughty girl. Wearing her uniform of blue school blazer, white blouse, red and blue tie and knee-length pleated grey school skirt, and with her light brown hair tied in a pretty pony-tail, the pleading fifth former looked much younger than her sixteen years. Nicki bit her lower lip in trepidation and raised her large grey eyes pleadingly to the face of the prefect. She really didn't want to sample another dose from the headmistress's cane. Nicki could clearly recall the biting sting of that vicious punishment implement from a time she'd been sent to Miss Hayhoe's office over two years before. At the sudden clear memory her hands subconsciously went to the back of her skirt.
"That's enough, Nicki," Jill said sharply, amused despite herself at the way Nicki was obviously anticipating a very sore bottom. "I'm taking you to Miss Hayhoe and that's all there is to it! And I think we'll take this along as evidence!" Stooping down the tall, elegant sixth former picked up the marker pen Nicki had dropped in surprise at her sudden appearance.
"No, please!" Nicki tried for the last time. I don't deserve the cane for my first time, do I? Can't you report me to another teacher for the strap - or even give me the strap yourself? Only the cane's so awful . ."
At Chandos School only the Headmistress was permitted punish with the cane. Other teachers made use of a tawse or strap when they considered that physical chastisement was called for. Prefects were not really supposed to strap naughty girls, but quite often did so as an alternative to reporting them. Like most lively and mischievous girls in her class Nicki had been tawsed several times. It stung for a while but was not too bad and Nicki could shrug it off. But a caning was different! She'd only been caned once, but that had been enough - more than enough!
Jill considered the proposal. It might be quite enjoyable to strap this young lady's situpon! She made up her mind. "You should have thought of that before! Come on! Straight away unless you want me to report you for disobedience as well!"
Sullenly Nicki followed the prefect along the school corridors. She thought it was humiliating to have to plead for mercy to a girl less than a year older than herself and now to be marched by her through the school with everyone watching. What a cow! She bet Jill had never had the cane. Probably not even the tawse. She just hoped that one day that superior bitch found out for herself just how much the cane hurt, but she did not think there was much chance of it.
When they arrived outside Miss Hayhoe's study Jill told Nicki to wait outside while she knocked and went in. Nicki stood there, dismally wondering how many strokes she would get. It had been four last time and that had been bad enough, but it would probably be more this time. The last girls in her class to be caned had got 'six of the best' apiece for smoking.
After a few minutes Jill opened the door and asked Nicki to come in. The Headmistress was sitting behind her desk and the expression on her face did not provide any comfort to the naughty seventeen year old. Miss Hayhoe looked at her in silence for a few minutes and then spoke:
"Well, Nicola! Jill Hastings has told me that she caught you writing on the walls of the toilets. Have you anything to say?"
"No, Miss. I'm sorry, but that was the only time I've ever done it, honestly! I swear I'll never do it again!"
"I see," said Miss Hayhoe, dryly. Turning to Jill she went on, "All right, Jill, you may go now. You have done very well and acted as I would expect one of my prefects to act. I will deal with this young lady!" Jill left the study, happy in her Headmistress's approval.
Little Nicki was left, shifting nervously from one foot to another before Miss Hayhoe's cold glance. Nicki felt awful. It was dreadful that a girl of her age, old enough to go to bed with her boyfriend or even to get married, should have to stand there waiting to hear this middle aged spinster decide how much her rear end would soon be hurting! Miss Hayhoe broke the silence.
"You heard what I said in Assembly the other day, didn't you Nicola?"
Nicki nodded her head and mumbled "Yes, Miss" very quietly.
"Then you know that I have no choice other than to punish you severely. As you enjoy writing so much I will give you an opportunity! You will write out the words 'I must not write graffiti on the school premises' 300 times. You will hand the lines to me before Assembly next Monday."
Nicki was surprised. She had never been given so many lines before at one time. But she would have welcomed 500 lines if it meant that her bottom would escape Miss Hayhoe's cane! The Headmistress continued:
"I will confiscate this marker. If you want it back you can ask me for it at the end of term."
Nicki couldn't care less about the marker! She hoped Miss Hayhoe had finished, but she couldn't really believe it. Was it possible that she might be let off with just lines and a strapping?
Miss Hayhoe paused and Nicki's tension reached its height.
"All right, Nicola, you may go now!"
Nicki couldn't believe it. She had got off with just lines!
But Miss Hayhoe had not finished yet. "And you will return at four o'clock, when I shall endeavour to make you appreciate just how seriously I view your activities!"
Poor Nicki left the office feeling as though she was going to be sick. Miss Hayhoe hadn't said in so many words that she was going to be caned, but it was obvious. It was only canings, and then only severe canings, which took place after school.
Nicki made her way back to the toilets. There she locked herself in one of the cubicles - not the one with her graffiti - and had a quiet cry to herself for what remained of the dinner hour.
Her friends were sympathetic when they heard of Nicki's disaster, but they could do little to comfort her.
"Oh! Nicki!!" said Jane Elliot, her best friend. "What awful luck! That Jill Hastings is a right bitch. She got me a tawsing from Miss Hayhoe last term."
"It's just not fair, Jane!" Nicki said dismally. "You know most of those graffiti were written by Sally and Clare. Even you've written more up than I have! It's just not fair that you all get off and I get caned!"
Jane was quite shocked. "Come on, Nicki," she said, "you're not going to sneak are you? It's just bad luck. It could just as easily have happened to me."
Nicki thought that her friend would not be so casual about a caning if it had, but she reassured her that she would not tell on her or the other girls.
Nicki found it very difficult to pay attention in class that afternoon. She was thinking about how sore her bottom was going to be and how unfair it all was. She tried to think if there was any chance that she might escape uncaned. Perhaps Miss Hayhoe would suddenly be taken ill! There might be an earthquake!
"Nicola!"
Nicki was shaken out of her reverie by Mr Anderson's angry voice.
"Nicola, have you been paying attention?" asked the History master. "Stand up!"
Most of Nicki's classmates knew of her impending caning and guessed what she had been thinking about. Nicki stood up, blushing.
"Well, Nicola. What can you tell the class about Henry VII's taxation policy?"
Nicki remained silent. She knew nothing about the policy, not even if there'd been one!
"Come on, girl! I've been talking about it for the last half hour!"
Nicki looked down at the floor, but said nothing.
"All right, Nicola. Come out to the front of the class."
Nicki looked round at the rest of the girls despairingly as if someone might help her, and then reluctantly left her place and walked to the front. Mr Anderson made his intentions clear by extracting a heavy twinned tailed tawse from a drawer of his desk.
Nicki had reached the front. "Bend down over that desk, Nicola," ordered Mr Anderson, pointing at an empty desk in the front of the class. This was by no means the first time that Mr Anderson had had occasion to apply his strap to Nicki Edwards' shapely posterior. This time he intended to make sure that the naughty and inattentive girl really got the message.
Nicki hesitated before bending down. She had let the events of the past few minutes just flow over her and had reacted like an automaton, not saying a word since she had been roused from her private thoughts. But now that it came to the point she desperately didn't want to get the tawse today of all days.
"Please, Sir," she said in a tiny voice, "I've got to see Miss Hayhoe at four o'clock for the cane!"
"Oh! I see," said the master. "Well, that's no excuse for inattention in my class, is it? Get yourself down over that desk, Nicola, or you'll be seeing Miss Hayhoe sooner than you think!"
Mumbling a swear word to herself Nicki bent over the desk.
Despite his stern words the History master did feel sorry for poor little Nicki. If he had known about the caning earlier he would have let her off, but he was not prepared to lose face now that she was standing in front of the class. Nevertheless he was not nearly so severe in punishing the girl as had originally intended to be.
He had been going to lift strap Nikki soundly on the bare bottom but instead he merely lifted her skirt and brought the belt down for six moderate whacks on the seat of her tight white knickers. Nicki accepted the infliction in silence, except for an almost inaudible gasp as the last whack landed. She stood up when told to and walked back to her place, her bottom feeling hot and sore. She hoped dismally that it would feel less tender by four o'clock!
Mr Anderson did not pay any attention to Nicki for the rest of the lesson. Her other teachers that afternoon knew about the impending caning and also ignored her. Time passed and Nicki tried to prepare herself mentally for the coming punishment. Suddenly the bell rang for the end of school; it was ten to four.
The other girls prepared to leave and burst into animated conversation, ignoring Nicki. Their evident pleasure at the end of the school day made her feel worse at the thought of what was in store for her. Glumly she picked up her school bag and prepared to make her way to the Headmistress's study. "Hard luck, Nicki!" Jane sympathised as she left."It might not be as bad as you think." Nicki nodded, acknowledging her friend's good wishes, but they both knew that Miss Hayhoe was not likely to go easy on her.
Nicki stood outside the study door without knocking until four o'clock. Several pupils and teachers on their way home gazed curiously at the miserable fifth former. Nicki was oblivious to their stares. She was thinking about Miss Hayhoe's cane!
At exactly four o'clock the petite sixteen year old knocked on the door.
"Come in!" called the Headmistress.
Any lingering hopes that Nicki might have had disappeared at the sight of a crook handled cane, almost a yard long, lying ready for use on the Headmistress's desk next to a large black-covered book. It seemed to Nicki that it was longer and slightly thicker than the one she had felt two years previously. It looked wickedly painful and Nicki gulped at the thought of what it would make her bottom feel like.
"Close the door, Nicola, and put your bag down" ordered Miss Hayhoe.
"I've been in touch with your mother this afternoon, Nicola," the Headmistress continued, addressing the schoolgirl standing to attention before her "and she is completely in agreement with my proposed course of action. We both feel that you deserve a sharp lesson. Your behaviour has deteriorated recently and this graffiti writing is just the last straw. You have been strapped frequently and your conduct has not improved. I don't think you will shrug off the effects of another caning so casually!"
Miss Hayhoe picked the cane up off her desk and swished it through the air a couple of times. It hissed like an angry wasp, showing the terrified girl how viciously whippy it was.
"Bring that stool into the middle of the room," Miss Hayhoe instructed pointing at a high stool hidden in a corner of the study. Nervously Nicki carried the stool and put it down where directed.
"Now take off your blazer and your skirt and then bend down across the stool! You will receive eight strokes of the cane across your knickers."
Nicki did as she was told, placing her clothes neatly on a chair. Drawing a deep breath she leant forward over the stool taking a grip on the bar between its legs. A pair of tight semi-transparent brief white knickers encased the girl's trembling rounded bottom. Miss Hayhoe noted the fading marks left by Mr Anderson's tawse. She nodded grimly. This served to confirm her in her belief that strappings did not suffice for this young lady and that she needed a more severe punishment.
Miss Hayhoe lifted the cane up, behind her shoulders to get the maximum possible swing. She held it there for a few seconds waiting for Nicki's tensed bottom to slightly relax. Then it came whipping down.
It landed with a loud whack squarely across the flinching bottom. Nicki's head shot up, her ponytail flying out, and she gave a yell of surprise and pain. Nicki had thought that she could remember how much the cane had hurt last time, but this was worse, much worse. Somehow she managed to keep hold of the bar and to stay in position.
She had not fully assimilated the effects of that first stroke when Miss Hayhoe brought the second smashing down with equal power just below it. Once again the thin knickers were dented down deeply into the soft, yielding flesh. And once again Nicki screamed out at the violent sting.
This time Miss Hayhoe paused a little longer before the third stroke. After just two whacks Nicola was obviously finding it very difficult to keep still. The Headmistress knew that this cane was supremely painful and intended to make sure that the naughty girl found out as well.
She aimed the next stroke carefully, lower down where the girl would sit. Nicki really felt that one, she howled in pain and burst into tears. The legs of the stool wobbled on the carpet as Nicki nearly unbalanced. The fourth stroke followed quickly and landed on almost the same place. It was too much for Nicki. As she shrieked loudly at the top of her voice her hands flew off the bar and to her sore bottom. Frantically she tried to rub the pain away, but it refused to go - in fact it seemed to get worse! She could feel the swelling weals, rising a quarter of an inch from the surrounding flesh.
Miss Hayhoe allowed Nicki to dance around in an extremely unladylike manner for a few moments and then brusquely ordered her to bend down again over the stool. Sobbing bitterly Nicki begged to be let off, but it was to no avail. The sixteen year old had to resume her undignified position.
"Stay still, girl!" ordered Miss Hayhoe. But, in fact, the Headmistress would have been very disappointed if this naughty girl was able to stay still!
The fifth and sixth strokes lashed down onto Nicki's tender bottom between the two already caned areas. The teenager's reactions showed that these two had hurt just as much as their predecessors.
After Nicki had felt the sixth stroke bite deep into her anguish filled rear, sending waves of overpowering pain to all parts of her body, the schoolgirl tried to tense herself for the final two strokes.
To her surprise Miss Hayhoe tapped her on her shoulder and told her to stand up. Nicki felt relief. It was all over at last. She must have miscounted! She realised that Miss Hayhoe was addressing her.
"You have received six strokes, Nicola. I am prepared to believe that that is sufficient to remind you not to write graffiti for some time to come!"
Nicki, both hands clasped to the rear of her little white knickers, and with tears falling from her pretty face to the floor, fervently agreed. "Oh, yes, Miss! Oh! I'll never do owww . . . wowww do it again, honestly! Oh . . . oh . .oh! It hurts!"
Miss Hayhoe could not help smiling. "It's not as simple as that, Nicola," she said. "Your punishment is eight strokes of the cane. I will let you off the last two if you will give me the names of the other girls involved in this spate of vandalism."
Nicki remained silent. She remembered what Jane had said to her. She was not a sneak. Anyway her bottom was already so sore that she felt sure another two strokes couldn't make much difference.
The Headmistress allowed Nicki a little while to make up her mind. When it was obvious that she chose to remain obdurate Miss Hayhoe told her to resume the punishment position once more.
“Very well” said Miss Hayhoe “If you persist in being so stubborn you can have the last two on the bare” With that the stern headmistress put her finfers into the waistband of the drum-tight panties and slowly peeled them away from the burning bottom, down t the poor girl’s thighs. Her red-striped buttocks flinched in terror.
The last two strokes were the hardest of the punishment. Nicki found out just how wrong she had been in thinking that her bottom couldn't hurt any more! Miss Hayhoe directed both strokes at the fullest part of Nicki's bottom. It was as though her bare flesh had been sliced open with a blunt knife.
After the final stroke Nicki continued to lie across the stool, crying like a new born baby. She had never believed that it could hurt so much. There was no comparison at all to her last caning.
Miss Hayhoe put the cane down carefully on her desk. It had done its job well. She turned to the sobbing girl. "Stand up, Nicola, pull your knickers up" she said.
Nicki eased her pain-wracked body upright. Once more her hands went - in vain - to try to comfort her raw bottom. Miss Hayhoe made her return the stool to its place and put her skirt back on .
Once clothed the still-weeping Nicki stood squirming in pain in front of her headmistress, expecting her dismissal. Little did she guess that her punishment was not yet over!
"Come with me, Nicola!" ordered Miss Hayhoe. "You can leave your blazer on the chair and your bag there on the floor."
Nicki did not have the slightest idea what was going on. But she obeyed instantly - eight strokes of the number one cane on her rear had tamed the naughty girl considerably. Every step was agony as the weals on her blazing bottom rubbed together. Nicki would have walked slowly with small steps, but Miss Hayhoe marched her quickly along the cold and deserted school corridors, ignoring the girl's tears and squeals of pain.
Soon they arrived at the girls' toilets. Mr Pearce, the school caretaker (janitor), was waiting outside. Nicki felt really embarrassed at being seen by him so soon after getting the cane. Mr Pearce looked at the wriggling teenager with undisguised interest. Some of Nicki's agonised yells had reached him and he realised that this naughty girl must have a very sore bottom indeed. He felt little sympathy for her, however. It was his job to clean off the graffiti girls like this one daubed on the walls. Furthermore he recognised Nicki as one of a group of girls who had been rude to him the week before. He was glad that at least one of the little minxes had got what she so richly deserved.
"Now, Nicola," said the Headmistress, "I am leaving you with Mr Pearce for two hours, until", she glanced at her watch, "twenty past six. You will spend that time wiping off the graffiti you and your friends have written and cleaning the toilets generally under his supervision. And I expect you to put some elbow grease into it! I shall be checking with Mr Pearce afterwards."
"B b but, Miss!" Nicki protested, "My mother will be worried if I'm not home!"
"Oh no she won't, young lady," answered the Headmistress, "I told you before that I'd spoken to her. In fact it was her idea that you should clean off the results of your stupid behaviour! And I quite agree with her!"
Miss Hayhoe turned and walked back to her office. There she made a short entry in the Punishment Book and put it and the cane away before starting on a backlog of paperwork.
Meanwhile Mr Pearce had handed Nicki a bucket of soapy water and a large scrubbing brush. Gritting her teeth against the pain still pouring out of her outraged rear, Nicki accepted them and started to work. There was silence, only broken by the slushing of water, the rubbing of the brush and Nicki's snivellings as she fought back the tears. She worked methodically and well, finding that attention to the repetitive task took her mind off the sting in her nether regions.
Mr Pearce looked on approvingly. It seemed that this was one naughty girl who had learned her lesson. When the walls of the first cubicle had been scrubbed down Nicki left the brush in the water and put her hands back to the seat of her skirt, trying to assuage the still raging smart.
The watching caretaker was amused. "Still sore, eh?" he observed. "Your Miss Hayhoe don't use the stick half often enough in my opinion, but when she does she knows how to lay it on! You'll be eating your tea off the mantelpiece tonight, love!"
Nicki ignored the remark and moved to another cubicle to start work again. Mr Pearce kept her hard at it and didn't allow her a chance to rest. She was very tired, her arms and back ached, her bottom was still unbelievably painful, and she was hot, hungry and thirsty - it was long past the normal time for her tea - but the caretaker made sure she kept going.
After nearly two hours Nicki thought she saw her chance to get back at Mr Pearce and 'accidentally' splashed dirty water from her bucket over him. He just smiled and said "That's not very clever."
"Bastard!" mumbled Nicki, under her breath.
It was nearly half past six before Miss Hayhoe returned.
"Well, Mr Pearce," she asked, "has Nicola done a good job?"
"No, Miss. I can't rightly say as she has! She's been slacking and lazy and downright rude to me! Called me a 'bastard' she did!"
"I see. Well you can rest assured that she will be repenting it before she's very much older! Come with me Nicola!"
Directing a look of hatred at Mr Pearce, the sixteen year old followed Miss Hayhoe back to her study. There the Headmistress's lecture flowed over her head. She just hoped that that vicious cane would not reappear. It was with relief mixed with despondency that she saw Miss Hayhoe take a large leather strap from the shelf behind her.
"Skirt off again, Nicola! And we'll have those knickers down again as well!" Nicki did not even attempt to argue, she knew it would be no use. Miss Hayhoe came round and sat on the chair where Nicki's blazer still hung. Nicki put her skirt on the desk and started to carefully unpeel her tight white knickers. Christ Almighty her bum was sore!
"Come on girl! Over my knees!" ordered the Headmistress.
Tearfully Nicki draped herself over Miss Hayhoe. She had had a headmistress's strapping before, always administered bare bottom over Miss Hayhoe's knees, but never before on a recently caned and still searing bottom.
The Headmistress ignored the mass of weals and bruises on Nicki's battered backside. She slammed the belt down with full force for twelve stinging blows - six on each cheek. Nicki struggled furiously and screamed herself hoarse as she felt the effect of those violent impacts on the exposed and so-painful weals covering her behind. After the twelfth whack Miss Hayhoe pushed the punished girl off her knees. Nicki squirmed on the carpet, sobbing and making no effort to get up. Miss Hayhoe grabbed her ponytail and dragged her upright.
"There. Is that enough for you, Nicola? Or do you want some more?"
Dancing in pain Nicki shook her head. No more, please!
"Get dressed then, Nicola. And don't let me see you sent here for punishment again!" When Nicki was dressed Miss Hayhoe dismissed her, reminding her to have the 300 lines ready for Monday.