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.
Saturday, 12 February 2011
Friday, 11 February 2011
Lauren's Christmas Present
A great schoolgirl story from 'Mike From London' Lauren clearly deserves a thrashing but the final punishment does seem exceptionally harsh.
Lauren Kennedy had joined her new school so as to take some 'A' levels which were not available at her former school. She had realised that the rules were much stricter there, and her mother had warned her to watch her step as the cane was still used. But Lauren did not think this would affect her in the Sixth Form.
She first realised that she could be wrong three weeks into her first term. The maths teacher arrived late for a lesson, and when she got there the class was in some disorder. Two girls, Sharon Hill and Angela Shepherd, were at the front giving imitations of the teacher's voice and manner. When Miss Peters finally arrived they rushed back to their seats and the class quietened down again. Lauren expected that the episode would be ignored and the lesson would continue. That was what would have happened at her old school. Things were different here.
"Right!" Miss Peters ordered, "Both of you come back here. And bring the Board with you!" The girls obeyed her, Sharon picking up the Board from the corner of the classroom on her way. Lauren did not know what the Board signified. She had noticed it before, though. It held a list of the names of all the girls in the Sixth Form, and there were copies in all the classrooms they used. Lauren noticed that both girls were looking very serious now, and that Angela in particular seemed really worried.
Sharon placed the Board on Miss Peters' desk and Lauren saw the angry teacher write something on it, using a ruler. Then she scribbled a brief note and turned to Angela.
"You are a very silly girl," she said. "Take this note, and the Board to Mrs Wallace. And come straight back afterwards!"
As Angela departed Lauren became aware of a special tension in the atmosphere. Could Angela be going to get the cane? But why hadn't Sharon been sent as well? It didn't seem fair!
Lauren took advantage of the teacher's turned back to whisper to her neighbour, Rosalind Baxter: "What's happening? Is Angela going to get the cane?" Rosalind nodded her head silently. She had no desire to attract the attention of Miss Peters in her present mood.
After about ten minutes the door opened and Angela reappeared. She walked slowly, with short steps, and was obviously in pain. As she entered the classroom all eyes turned to her and she blushed deeply. Lauren could see that her eyes were red and swollen. It was plain to see that she had been crying.
"Ah. Good," said Miss Peters, "You've rejoined us, then. It looks as though you've had a productive meeting with Mrs Wallace! How many did you get?"
"S-six, miss. I'm sorry I ..."
"You're sorry that your bottom hurts! All right, we've wasted enough time; sit down!"
Angela limped to her desk and sat down, carefully. It took her two attempts and even then she could not sit down properly and wriggled on her seat in evident discomfort for the rest of the lesson.
After the lesson Lauren asked Rosalind whether girls in their year were often caned, and why only Angela and not Sharon had been sent to Mrs Wallace. Rosalind explained that Angela had been 'on report'. If one of the teachers wanted to punish a girl they would place her on report, usually for between one and three weeks. This would be indicated by drawing a rectangle on the 'Report Board' against the girl's name, covering the relevant weeks. If the girl misbehaved again during a report period then she could be sent to Mrs Wallace, who would usually cane her. Angela had been placed on report earlier that week.
In answer to Lauren's other question, Rosalind said that canings were now relatively rare in their year, but had been more frequent in the more junior forms. Out of their whole maths class she said that only Jane and Wendy had definitely never been caned, and she wasn't sure about Alison. She explained that Mrs Wallace almost always gave at least six strokes when senior girls - fifth years and above - were caned, but that it could be more. Also when a girl was caned her report period was extended by a further three weeks after the week of the caning. Lauren asked her whether the cane really hurt terribly.
"Well! You saw Angie," Rosalind replied, "Of course it does! The most I've ever had was three strokes when I was in the fourth year, and I cried my eyes out. Six strokes must be sheer hell, but I don't want to find out for myself!"
Lauren resolved that she, too, would try to stay out of trouble. She was appalled at the thought that what had happened to Angela could happen to her. Her bottom had never been subject to any ministrations more severe than a few mild slaps from the palm of her mother's hand.
As the term wore on Lauren could see that Rosalind had been right. Sharon and Angela both survived their report periods without further trouble and, although two or three girls were put on report, no other girl from her classes was sent to Mrs Wallace. However Lauren could see that canings were still common in the lower years. Several times she saw younger girls waiting nervously outside the headmistress's office; and she sometimes saw them afterwards, tearful and in pain, hands clasped to the seats of their skirts.
Lauren herself stayed well out of trouble - until just before half term. Miss Peters told her off for talking in class, and Lauren answered her back. She hadn't quite lost the habits she had learned at her old school, but it didn't do here. Miss Peters called her out and she was put on report for the next week.
Lauren was very worried, but her new friends reassured her. Christine Parrish told her that she'd been put on report about a dozen times, but had only ever had the cane once. And Wendy Yates said she had also been on report loads of times, and had never had the cane. Even so Lauren decided to watch her step very carefully over the next week.
So when her friends went out to the local pub one lunchtime, to celebrate Caroline Jackson's seventeenth birthday, Lauren didn't go with them. If they were caught they would only be told off - she could get the cane.
Lauren mooched about the school in a very bad mood. Julia Bridger, a rather nasty girl in her year, who was not friendly with Caroline or Lauren, or indeed with anybody, started to tease her. This was a favourite game of hers with girls on report, who were usually not willing to respond for fear of the consequences. But in Lauren's mood it was like a red rag to a bull. She grabbed Julia's hair and started to hit her. Julia yelled at the top of her voice, attracting the attention of the duty mistress, who told the girls to get the Board and come with her to the headmistress.
"Oh no, miss, please," Lauren pleaded, "I'm on report. I'll get the cane!"
"You should have thought of that earlier, young lady. Come on, both of you!" the mistress replied sternly.
Mrs Wallace soon elicited the whole story. She gave Julia a thorough telling off, placed her on report for three weeks, and gave her 200 lines to do by the next day - under threat of a caning if they weren't ready on time. She then dismissed the crestfallen Julia who, however, derived some twisted pleasure from the thought of how uncomfortable Lauren would find sitting down that afternoon. But Lauren's bottom was not to feel the cane that day.
Mrs Wallace told her that she did not like to cane sixth formers, and that as she was a new girl, and had never been caned, she would give her a less severe punishment than usual: "It will still be six strokes, Lauren, but with the tawse rather than the cane, and on the hands, not the buttocks."
The headmistress selected the two-tailed tawse from the cabinet and brought it down with a hard whack on her desk. It was the first time Lauren had ever seen a tawse. She remembered Denise, who had been tawsed saying it hurt more than the cane but at least it was to be on her hands not her bottom which would have been so much more embarrassing.
"Hold your left hand out, Lauren." Mrs Wallace ordered, "Fingers together and hold your thumb away."
As the girl did so Mrs Wallace noticed that she was wearing a ring. This was against school rules even for sixth formers. It was not too rigidly enforced, but it was not tactful to wear jewellery on a visit to the headmistress's office. Mrs Wallace told her to take the ring off. She said that as Lauren was to be strapped on the hands she would not increase the number of strokes as she would normally. Instead Lauren's report period would be extended to the end of term. Then she told her once more to hold out her hand.
Reluctantly Lauren did so. She gulped as the tawse was raised. She could still not fully believe that she was going to be strapped. Surely something would happen to interrupt it, there would be a last minute reprieve! But the tawse began to whiz downwards, and Lauren closed her eyes tightly.
CRACK!!
The tails of the tawse whacked into the tender flesh of Lauren's palm with full force. She gasped at the sudden stinging pain, but kept her hand held out. The second stroke followed the first with equal venom. Lauren's face crumpled and she yelped with pain. Her hand jerked away and her body doubled forward. Mrs Wallace allowed her a few moments and then told her to hold her left hand out again for its last stroke. Bravely Lauren extended her stinging hand. Tears were beginning to trickle down her cheeks. Somehow she forced herself to keep her hand held out, open. The third stroke was the hardest yet. The strap slashed down on to the tender flesh of Lauren's delicate palm, crossing the emergent weals caused by the first two strokes. Lauren shrieked at the violent pain, waving her hand wildly and hopped from foot to foot in agony.
"Now the other hand!"
Lauren's whole body shook as she raised her right arm. Mrs Wallace steadied the girl's hand and took careful aim. Then she whistled the tawse down with all her skill on to the as yet unpunished palm.
WHACK
"N-n-n-n-nooooooo!" yelled Lauren, shaking her head wildly and snatching her hand away.
It was some time before Mrs Wallace could persuade the now weeping sixteen year old to proffer her painful right hand once more. Lauren pleaded to be let off but, although Mrs Wallace could see that the girl had already been punished severely she could see no reason for her to be given less than six strokes, the usual minimum for senior girls. She told Lauren that if she did not immediately hold out her hand Miss Kilmister, the secretary, would be called in. Lauren would then be forcibly held down to receive a further six strokes on her bottom.
With a groan Lauren obeyed. Mrs Wallace did not deliver the next stroke with full force, but it still stung sharply on the teenager's tender palm. Lauren yelled once again, but managed to keep her hand in position.
But as the tawse hissed viciously down for the final time she withdrew her hand at the last moment. The strap caught the ends of her fingers and Lauren shrieked at the top of her voice. That last stroke had hurt most of all. She bent forward with both hands squeezing frantically into her stomach. She was sobbing like a baby and totally oblivious to her surroundings; she was only aware of her hands, burning with intense pain.
Mrs Wallace allowed the shaking girl a few moments to pull herself together and recover from the initial shock of the strapping. Then she dismissed her, reminding her that she was on report until the end of term and that if she got into trouble again it would mean a return visit. "And if there is a next time I won't be so lenient!" she said.
Lauren didn't think she had been lenient. Her hands felt raw and swollen and even manipulating the handle of the office door on the way out was difficult and painful.
By the time that her friends returned, undetected of course, at the end of lunchtime, Lauren had recovered more of her self-possession. She was no longer crying and had dried her eyes. Both her palms still stung like crazy and the fingers of her right hand throbbed unbearably. The other girls were very sympathetic and tried to comfort her. Caroline told her not to feel ashamed about crying. "Nearly everyone cries the first time they get beaten," she said, "I know I did!"
Lauren found it practically impossible to write that afternoon. The worst of the stinging gradually faded into a soreness and then a tingling, but the effects of the last stroke took longer to wear off. Her fingers felt as though they had swollen to the size of sausages. It was to be two full days before Lauren ceased to be aware of her painful right hand constantly reminding her that she'd been strapped.
Lauren's friends tried to get Julia into trouble, and serve her as she'd served Lauren, by getting her a thrashing. But Julia was too wary for them and survived her report period unscathed.
Two days before school broke up for the Christmas holidays it was the turn of Sue Hillard, another of Lauren's new friends, to celebrate her birthday. Once again Lauren was urged to accompany the others to the pub during the lunch-break.
"Come on," urged Sue, "Staying behind didn't do you much good last time, did it! And Chrissie's coming, and she's on report as well!" Lauren allowed herself to be persuaded. After all it was the end of term, and it was Sue's birthday. Even if they were seen, surely they would be let off.
Lauren's luck was really bad that term, and this time it affected her fellow pupils. Mrs Pringle, the Latin teacher, was passing the entrance to the pub just as the group of high-spirited schoolgirls was leaving, still chatting excitedly and giggling. Lauren and Sue were smoking cigarettes. A shocked silence fell as the girls realised they had been recognised. Mrs Pringle wrote down the names of the seven girls, confiscated the cigarettes and told them all to report to Mrs Wallace's office at breaktime that afternoon.
The headmistress gave the naughty teenagers a severe dressing-down, telling them that under-age drinking was against the law. She turned to Lauren and addressed her: "You must be a very stupid girl, Lauren Kennedy," she said. "You're still on report and I have no choice other than to give you another caning. Last time obviously wasn't effective enough."
She then asked the girls whether anyone else there, apart from Lauren was still on report. Nervously Christine admitted that she was. "Right," said Mrs Wallace, "You'll be another one finding it difficult to sit down comfortably to Christmas dinner!"
She next turned her attention to Sue. "Well, Suzanne," she said, "I understand that this was all in aid of your birthday, that you provided the cigarettes that you and Lauren were smoking, and that it was you who invited the other girls along. Is that right?"
"Yes, ma'am," Sue replied.
"Right then. You, Lauren and Christine can leave my office now. You will return after school and I will deal with the three of you then."
Christine asked Mrs Wallace to let them off, saying that it was Christmas time after all, and it was Sue's birthday. But the headmistress remained adamant and told Chrissie that if she continued to argue she would receive more strokes. So the three condemned girls left the office and returned to their classes.
As they trailed dismally down the corridor Lauren discovered that Chrissie was just as upset about getting the cane as she was herself. Christine had only ever had the cane once before and that was way back when she'd been in the second year. She had only received three strokes but she could still remember, all too clearly, just how much they had stung.
Sue, on the other hand, was one of the most often caned girls in their year. She boasted to Lauren that she'd been caned at least once in every term so far, and said that it would have been a pity if this term was an exception. She was annoyed about getting the cane on her birthday, though. "She could have let me off, the bitch! I wasn't even on report! Still, it makes a change from the bumps, I suppose!"
Lauren found out what happened to the four other girls from Caroline. She told her that Mrs Wallace had not put them on report as it was so close to the end of term and all report periods were automatically cancelled by the holidays. Instead she had told them to do 300 lines which had to be handed in to her by the end of term. Any girl who didn't do the lines to Mrs Wallace's satisfaction would get the cane.
Lauren was not able to pay much attention to her work for the rest of that afternoon and four o'clock came before she was ready. Together with Christine she made her way back to the headmistress's office. Sue was already waiting there. As soon as she saw the other two arrive she knocked gently on the door and they were told to enter.
Mrs Wallace surveyed the three miscreants standing in front of her, before reaching a final decision as to the punishments they would each receive. Surprisingly Suzanne Hillard, the birthday girl, was the only one of the three wearing full school uniform. This was not compulsory for sixth formers although it was for the rest of the school.
Sue had big blue eyes, shining apple cheeks, and just a hint of lip gloss. The small pink flowers on her bra could be seen under her white nylon blouse. Her tie was loosely knotted at her neck. She had on a grey school skirt and a pair of white knee-length socks, one of which was an inch lower than the other. Her pretty face was surmounted by a mass of bubbly blonde curls.
Christine was the tallest of the three girls, taller than Mrs Wallace in fact, but despite the absence of school uniform she somehow looked much more 'school-girlish' than Sue. Her long brown hair hung loosely around her shoulders. She wore a woolly pullover and a pair of blue denim jeans. Her large glasses somehow made her appear even more vulnerable. Behind them she looked as if she was ready to burst into tears at any moment.
Lauren was slightly slimmer than Sue and taller, at 5'4". Her black hair was neatly tied in a pony tail. She was wearing a brightly coloured T-shirt and a tight-fitting black skirt. She shivered with apprehension.
Mrs Wallace addressed Sue first: "As it is your birthday, Suzanne, and as you were not on report this time I am going to make an exception. I will give you four strokes of the cane, rather than my usual minimum of six for senior girls.
"There are no special circumstances in your case, Christine, and you will receive a full six strokes. And as for you, young lady," she said, turning to Lauren, "You are a new girl at this school, still in your first term, and yet this is the second time that you have been sent her for a beating. I was easy on you last time, but I won't make the same mistake again. I am going to give you eight strokes with the cane. And I shall do my very best to ensure that you remember this thrashing for a long time!"
Lauren felt sick; it was even worse than she had feared. Only one or two of the worst behaved sixth form girls, such as Sue, had ever had eight strokes. Now she was to join them.
Mrs Wallace turned to her cabinet and extracted a cane. Lauren bit her lip. It looked a lot more painful than the tawse she had felt on her hands.
"Come on, Suzanne," the headmistress ordered. "You're first. You know the form. Skirt up, then over my desk." Sue didn't protest. She positioned herself in front of the desk and then eased her grey skirt up revealing brief, semi-transparent, white knickers marked with the same pink flowers visible on her bra. Mrs Wallace produced a safety-pin and pinned the hem of the girl's skirt to the back of her blouse. Then Sue lowered herself across the desk, grasping the other side. The desk was old- fashioned and wide, and only the tips of Sue's toes touched the ground as she stretched out to grip the edge. Mrs Wallace lightly tapped the cane against Sue's upthrust posterior, exposed in the girl's tightly stretched thin briefs. Lauren saw Sue's bottom tense, and then the headmistress drew the cane back.
She slashed the cane down for the first time. It landed with a tremendous Thwack squarely across Sue's bottom. Her body jerked, but she made no sound and remained in position. Sue gasped sharply at each of the next two strokes, but gave no other sign of how much they must have hurt her. Mrs Wallace paused for a while before the last stroke. While she admired the girl's courage she intended to elicit a more dramatic response to the final stroke. She stepped back and delivered a really venomous cut with all her strength right across the tops of the girl's thighs where the delicate flesh was deprived even of the slight protection afforded by her skimpy knickers.
"Oh-o-o-Owwww!" Sue yelled, her resistance finally broken. Mrs Wallace regarded the quivering bottom in front of her for a few moments. A vivid weal was already springing up as a result of that last stroke and marks left by the cane's earlier visits were visible through the nearly transparent briefs. The headmistress congratulated herself mentally. Even though Suzanne had only received four strokes she would feel the effects of the caning for some time.
Mrs Wallace unpinned the girl's skirt and told her to stand up. Then Sue was told to go and stand by the wall, facing it, with her hands on her head.
"Right," said Mrs Wallace. "It's your turn now, Christine. Take down those jeans!"
Christine blushed bright red with embarrassment as she undid the zip and lowered her jeans. Her knickers were white and covered a larger area of her bottom than had Sue's. She later told Lauren that she always made a point of wearing slightly larger panties when she was on report 'just in case'. But, as she was soon to find out, it made very little difference.
She bent over the desk, where Sue had been, with her trousers down to her ankles. As Christine was taller than Sue her feet were further from the desk. Her drum-tight knickers strained to contain the full flesh of her rounded buttocks. Mrs Wallace told her to keep her knees straight and then raised the cane.
THWACKKK!
Christine squealed as the cane thudded into her vulnerable behind. It hurt much more than she remembered.
THWACKKK!
Mrs Wallace brought the second stroke down directly on top of the first. Christine's head shot up, her brown hair flying wildly, and she yelled loudly.
THWACKKK!!
The third stroke landed about an inch below the first two.
"OOOWWWH . . . AAAAAHHH!"
Mrs Wallace aimed the next stroke so that the tip of the cane fell halfway across Christine's right buttock, digging in painfully. Once again the agonised yells of the tall seventeen year old echoed round the room. She lost her grip on the desk and shot upright, clasping her sore rear with both hands. She twisted round unsteadily on her long legs and implored Mrs Wallace to let her off the rest of the punishment. Lauren saw that tears were flowing down Christine's pretty face.
But Mrs Wallace had no mercy. She ordered the girl to get back into position unless she wanted extra strokes. Tearfully, and painfully, she did so. Mrs Wallace swished the cane across the girl's calves, hard enough to elicit a surprised yelp. "Straighten those knees, girl!" she ordered.
When she was satisfied with the girl's position Mrs Wallace lashed the cane down twice in quick succession across the lower part of Chrissie's bottom, just where she would sit down.
THWACKKK!
"OOOOW . . . O-O-O . . . OWWWW!!"
THWACKKK!!
"AAARGH . . . OWWWCH!!"
Immediately the last stroke landed Chrissie shot up like a released spring and pressed both hands to her smarting behind, weeping bitterly.
Regardless of the spectacle she was making of herself the caned teenager danced in agony as she tenderly massaged her blazing posterior. The reactions of the others to this performance were varied. Mrs Wallace was amused and gratified, but Lauren was horrified. Sue, meanwhile, had remained facing the wall throughout Christine's punishment. She didn't want to give Mrs Wallace any excuse to make her already sore bottom hurt even more.
After about a minute, for Mrs Wallace felt that her right arm needed a bit of a rest, Christine was told to put her trousers back on and to go and stand next to Sue with her hands on her head. Chrissie's jeans had come off completely as she had danced about after the caning and it took her a long time to put them back on. Finally she manoeuvred the jeans over her knickers and into place and limped over to join Sue. Now it was Lauren's turn.
Mrs Wallace turned to look at the trembling girl, whose bottom had as yet never felt the cane. A new girl sent to her twice in her first term! For drinking and smoking! And after being let off with a hand caning last time! Well, this time she would not escape so lightly.
Lauren's skirt was much tighter than Sue's and Mrs Wallace told her to take it off completely. Lauren undid the skirt and stepped out of it, revealing a minuscule pair of black knickers and the a set of suspenders which held up her sheer stockings. Lauren always wore very brief panties with this particular skirt so that the shape of her bottom cheeks was clearly to be seen, without any panty-line showing. She looked more like a glamour model than a naughty sixth-former. Mrs Wallace smiled grimly, this thrashing would certainly bring the miscreant down to earth and with such skimpy knickers on show it would effectively be a bare-bottomed caning. Lauren draped her body across the desk. The other edge was still warm where Sue and Christine had gripped it, and she trembled as she saw the wet marks of Chrissie's tears on the desk.
THWACKKKK!!!
The first stroke of the cane that Lauren's bottom had ever felt was one of the hardest that Mrs Wallace had delivered that afternoon. It crashed into Lauren's tender flesh just above her thighs. Two white weals instantly formed on either side of her tiny briefs, only to be quickly suffused with vivid red. Lauren shrieked out her pain and shock, but forced herself to remain in position.
Mrs Wallace drew the cane back and raised it above her shoulders. She took two steps back and delivered the next stroke with her full power, moving forward at the same time, in order to increase its punishing intensity. As she'd intended it landed just half an inch above the first.
"OOOOWWW! NOOO!! YEOWWW!!!" Lauren howled. Her head shot up and her legs kicked wildly. "PLEASE MA'AM!" she wailed, "PLEEASE, not so hard! It hurts too much!!"
"It's meant to hurt, young lady," Mrs Wallace answered, "And it will hurt a great deal more before I've finished!"
Lauren grasped the edge of the desk more tightly, her knuckles turning white. Once again the cane lashed down on to her tender seat with all the force and skill at Mrs Wallace's disposal. The headmistress's plan of attack was becoming clear. The third stroke contacted Lauren's bottom a further half-inch above the last.
THWACKKKK!!!
Continuing the sequence the fourth stroke whipped across the crown of Lauren's haunches. The accumulation of pain was too much for Lauren. She howled in anguish and her hands left the desk and flew to her bottom. She had never known that pain like that could exist, let alone be deliberately caused as a punishment just for visiting a pub. Mrs Wallace allowed her a few moments and then told her to bend over again.
Despairingly the miserable girl did so, sobbing at the pain. As Mrs Wallace inspected the quivering bottom in front of her she mentally congratulated herself on her accuracy. Four equidistant red lines traversed the pale flesh in a narrow band less than two inches wide. She intended that the next two strokes should diagonally cross the first four to produce a 'four barred gate' effect. But to do so she felt she needed a clear view of the target area.
“Right, young lady. It’s knickers down for you now I’m afraid”
Lauren shrieked loudly as Mrs Wallace inserted her fingers into the waistband of the lacy garment and peeled it down over the burning mounds. Their vivid weals were now exposed. The Head pulled the panties down to just above the knees and tapped the inner left thigh with the tip of the cane to get poor Lauren to pull her legs apart to keep them in place.
The bare buttocks flinched at each of the next two strokes, and Lauren drummed her feet hard on the floor, but somehow she forced herself to stay in position even though it hurt like hell as the cane landed across existing weals.
"Two more to come," Mrs Wallace informed her.
She gave Lauren her last two strokes in quick succession, lashing them down, very hard, across the previously uncaned flesh of Lauren's thighs, just above her stocking-tops.
Lauren jumped up and clutched at her blazing bottom with both hands, sobbing her heart out. She was totally oblivious to everything except the searing agony in her nether regions.
"Pull your knickers up and put your skirt back on!" ordered Mrs Wallace.
Lauren did so, unsuccessfully trying to fight back her tears. As soon as her skirt was in place, the tight black material clearly revealing the shape of her swollen buttocks, she pressed her hands firmly to its back, trying to contain the intense sting.
"Hands on your head!" said Mrs Wallace severely, telling the two other caned girls to come over and stand next to Lauren in front of her desk. Then she once more lectured them on their stupidity, and told them that they had to do the same 300 lines she had given the four other girls. They were given a bit longer to do them - their lines had to be handed in at the beginning of the next term.
"Remember you all start with a clean sheet in the new term," she said, "and I don't want to punish any of you again. And as for you, Lauren Kennedy, I am very disappointed with your behaviour since you joined this school. I shall be writing to your parents with my comments and advice." She then dismissed the girls, telling them to go home directly and not loiter in the school.
Lauren found that each step sent additional waves of pain through her throbbing bottom. She could only walk by taking very short steps. As soon as they were outside the office she and Chrissie Parrish both clasped their hands to their bottoms and hopped frantically. The pain was unbelievable. Sue watched them ruefully. Her own bottom was still very sore but she was more inured to the effects of the cane, and this time she had been let off more lightly than the others. "I'm really sorry I invited you two and got you into all this," she said, "But I got my comeuppance as well! God, she was in a foul mood!"
Lauren had a miserable Christmas, unable to sit down in any comfort until the new year. She became the subject of many family jokes, and various relatives took pleasure in applying a gentle slap to her hindquarters and observing the disproportionate reaction.
But undoubtedly the worst event of the holidays for Lauren was the arrival of an unusually shaped parcel addressed to her parents. It was long and thin and, despite the colourful Christmas wrapping, Lauren knew what it must contain even before her mother drew out the headmistress's Christmas present - a senior school cane
Lauren Kennedy had joined her new school so as to take some 'A' levels which were not available at her former school. She had realised that the rules were much stricter there, and her mother had warned her to watch her step as the cane was still used. But Lauren did not think this would affect her in the Sixth Form.
She first realised that she could be wrong three weeks into her first term. The maths teacher arrived late for a lesson, and when she got there the class was in some disorder. Two girls, Sharon Hill and Angela Shepherd, were at the front giving imitations of the teacher's voice and manner. When Miss Peters finally arrived they rushed back to their seats and the class quietened down again. Lauren expected that the episode would be ignored and the lesson would continue. That was what would have happened at her old school. Things were different here.
"Right!" Miss Peters ordered, "Both of you come back here. And bring the Board with you!" The girls obeyed her, Sharon picking up the Board from the corner of the classroom on her way. Lauren did not know what the Board signified. She had noticed it before, though. It held a list of the names of all the girls in the Sixth Form, and there were copies in all the classrooms they used. Lauren noticed that both girls were looking very serious now, and that Angela in particular seemed really worried.
Sharon placed the Board on Miss Peters' desk and Lauren saw the angry teacher write something on it, using a ruler. Then she scribbled a brief note and turned to Angela.
"You are a very silly girl," she said. "Take this note, and the Board to Mrs Wallace. And come straight back afterwards!"
As Angela departed Lauren became aware of a special tension in the atmosphere. Could Angela be going to get the cane? But why hadn't Sharon been sent as well? It didn't seem fair!
Lauren took advantage of the teacher's turned back to whisper to her neighbour, Rosalind Baxter: "What's happening? Is Angela going to get the cane?" Rosalind nodded her head silently. She had no desire to attract the attention of Miss Peters in her present mood.
After about ten minutes the door opened and Angela reappeared. She walked slowly, with short steps, and was obviously in pain. As she entered the classroom all eyes turned to her and she blushed deeply. Lauren could see that her eyes were red and swollen. It was plain to see that she had been crying.
"Ah. Good," said Miss Peters, "You've rejoined us, then. It looks as though you've had a productive meeting with Mrs Wallace! How many did you get?"
"S-six, miss. I'm sorry I ..."
"You're sorry that your bottom hurts! All right, we've wasted enough time; sit down!"
Angela limped to her desk and sat down, carefully. It took her two attempts and even then she could not sit down properly and wriggled on her seat in evident discomfort for the rest of the lesson.
After the lesson Lauren asked Rosalind whether girls in their year were often caned, and why only Angela and not Sharon had been sent to Mrs Wallace. Rosalind explained that Angela had been 'on report'. If one of the teachers wanted to punish a girl they would place her on report, usually for between one and three weeks. This would be indicated by drawing a rectangle on the 'Report Board' against the girl's name, covering the relevant weeks. If the girl misbehaved again during a report period then she could be sent to Mrs Wallace, who would usually cane her. Angela had been placed on report earlier that week.
In answer to Lauren's other question, Rosalind said that canings were now relatively rare in their year, but had been more frequent in the more junior forms. Out of their whole maths class she said that only Jane and Wendy had definitely never been caned, and she wasn't sure about Alison. She explained that Mrs Wallace almost always gave at least six strokes when senior girls - fifth years and above - were caned, but that it could be more. Also when a girl was caned her report period was extended by a further three weeks after the week of the caning. Lauren asked her whether the cane really hurt terribly.
"Well! You saw Angie," Rosalind replied, "Of course it does! The most I've ever had was three strokes when I was in the fourth year, and I cried my eyes out. Six strokes must be sheer hell, but I don't want to find out for myself!"
Lauren resolved that she, too, would try to stay out of trouble. She was appalled at the thought that what had happened to Angela could happen to her. Her bottom had never been subject to any ministrations more severe than a few mild slaps from the palm of her mother's hand.
As the term wore on Lauren could see that Rosalind had been right. Sharon and Angela both survived their report periods without further trouble and, although two or three girls were put on report, no other girl from her classes was sent to Mrs Wallace. However Lauren could see that canings were still common in the lower years. Several times she saw younger girls waiting nervously outside the headmistress's office; and she sometimes saw them afterwards, tearful and in pain, hands clasped to the seats of their skirts.
Lauren herself stayed well out of trouble - until just before half term. Miss Peters told her off for talking in class, and Lauren answered her back. She hadn't quite lost the habits she had learned at her old school, but it didn't do here. Miss Peters called her out and she was put on report for the next week.
Lauren was very worried, but her new friends reassured her. Christine Parrish told her that she'd been put on report about a dozen times, but had only ever had the cane once. And Wendy Yates said she had also been on report loads of times, and had never had the cane. Even so Lauren decided to watch her step very carefully over the next week.
So when her friends went out to the local pub one lunchtime, to celebrate Caroline Jackson's seventeenth birthday, Lauren didn't go with them. If they were caught they would only be told off - she could get the cane.
Lauren mooched about the school in a very bad mood. Julia Bridger, a rather nasty girl in her year, who was not friendly with Caroline or Lauren, or indeed with anybody, started to tease her. This was a favourite game of hers with girls on report, who were usually not willing to respond for fear of the consequences. But in Lauren's mood it was like a red rag to a bull. She grabbed Julia's hair and started to hit her. Julia yelled at the top of her voice, attracting the attention of the duty mistress, who told the girls to get the Board and come with her to the headmistress.
"Oh no, miss, please," Lauren pleaded, "I'm on report. I'll get the cane!"
"You should have thought of that earlier, young lady. Come on, both of you!" the mistress replied sternly.
Mrs Wallace soon elicited the whole story. She gave Julia a thorough telling off, placed her on report for three weeks, and gave her 200 lines to do by the next day - under threat of a caning if they weren't ready on time. She then dismissed the crestfallen Julia who, however, derived some twisted pleasure from the thought of how uncomfortable Lauren would find sitting down that afternoon. But Lauren's bottom was not to feel the cane that day.
Mrs Wallace told her that she did not like to cane sixth formers, and that as she was a new girl, and had never been caned, she would give her a less severe punishment than usual: "It will still be six strokes, Lauren, but with the tawse rather than the cane, and on the hands, not the buttocks."
The headmistress selected the two-tailed tawse from the cabinet and brought it down with a hard whack on her desk. It was the first time Lauren had ever seen a tawse. She remembered Denise, who had been tawsed saying it hurt more than the cane but at least it was to be on her hands not her bottom which would have been so much more embarrassing.
"Hold your left hand out, Lauren." Mrs Wallace ordered, "Fingers together and hold your thumb away."
As the girl did so Mrs Wallace noticed that she was wearing a ring. This was against school rules even for sixth formers. It was not too rigidly enforced, but it was not tactful to wear jewellery on a visit to the headmistress's office. Mrs Wallace told her to take the ring off. She said that as Lauren was to be strapped on the hands she would not increase the number of strokes as she would normally. Instead Lauren's report period would be extended to the end of term. Then she told her once more to hold out her hand.
Reluctantly Lauren did so. She gulped as the tawse was raised. She could still not fully believe that she was going to be strapped. Surely something would happen to interrupt it, there would be a last minute reprieve! But the tawse began to whiz downwards, and Lauren closed her eyes tightly.
CRACK!!
The tails of the tawse whacked into the tender flesh of Lauren's palm with full force. She gasped at the sudden stinging pain, but kept her hand held out. The second stroke followed the first with equal venom. Lauren's face crumpled and she yelped with pain. Her hand jerked away and her body doubled forward. Mrs Wallace allowed her a few moments and then told her to hold her left hand out again for its last stroke. Bravely Lauren extended her stinging hand. Tears were beginning to trickle down her cheeks. Somehow she forced herself to keep her hand held out, open. The third stroke was the hardest yet. The strap slashed down on to the tender flesh of Lauren's delicate palm, crossing the emergent weals caused by the first two strokes. Lauren shrieked at the violent pain, waving her hand wildly and hopped from foot to foot in agony.
"Now the other hand!"
Lauren's whole body shook as she raised her right arm. Mrs Wallace steadied the girl's hand and took careful aim. Then she whistled the tawse down with all her skill on to the as yet unpunished palm.
WHACK
"N-n-n-n-nooooooo!" yelled Lauren, shaking her head wildly and snatching her hand away.
It was some time before Mrs Wallace could persuade the now weeping sixteen year old to proffer her painful right hand once more. Lauren pleaded to be let off but, although Mrs Wallace could see that the girl had already been punished severely she could see no reason for her to be given less than six strokes, the usual minimum for senior girls. She told Lauren that if she did not immediately hold out her hand Miss Kilmister, the secretary, would be called in. Lauren would then be forcibly held down to receive a further six strokes on her bottom.
With a groan Lauren obeyed. Mrs Wallace did not deliver the next stroke with full force, but it still stung sharply on the teenager's tender palm. Lauren yelled once again, but managed to keep her hand in position.
But as the tawse hissed viciously down for the final time she withdrew her hand at the last moment. The strap caught the ends of her fingers and Lauren shrieked at the top of her voice. That last stroke had hurt most of all. She bent forward with both hands squeezing frantically into her stomach. She was sobbing like a baby and totally oblivious to her surroundings; she was only aware of her hands, burning with intense pain.
Mrs Wallace allowed the shaking girl a few moments to pull herself together and recover from the initial shock of the strapping. Then she dismissed her, reminding her that she was on report until the end of term and that if she got into trouble again it would mean a return visit. "And if there is a next time I won't be so lenient!" she said.
Lauren didn't think she had been lenient. Her hands felt raw and swollen and even manipulating the handle of the office door on the way out was difficult and painful.
By the time that her friends returned, undetected of course, at the end of lunchtime, Lauren had recovered more of her self-possession. She was no longer crying and had dried her eyes. Both her palms still stung like crazy and the fingers of her right hand throbbed unbearably. The other girls were very sympathetic and tried to comfort her. Caroline told her not to feel ashamed about crying. "Nearly everyone cries the first time they get beaten," she said, "I know I did!"
Lauren found it practically impossible to write that afternoon. The worst of the stinging gradually faded into a soreness and then a tingling, but the effects of the last stroke took longer to wear off. Her fingers felt as though they had swollen to the size of sausages. It was to be two full days before Lauren ceased to be aware of her painful right hand constantly reminding her that she'd been strapped.
Lauren's friends tried to get Julia into trouble, and serve her as she'd served Lauren, by getting her a thrashing. But Julia was too wary for them and survived her report period unscathed.
Two days before school broke up for the Christmas holidays it was the turn of Sue Hillard, another of Lauren's new friends, to celebrate her birthday. Once again Lauren was urged to accompany the others to the pub during the lunch-break.
"Come on," urged Sue, "Staying behind didn't do you much good last time, did it! And Chrissie's coming, and she's on report as well!" Lauren allowed herself to be persuaded. After all it was the end of term, and it was Sue's birthday. Even if they were seen, surely they would be let off.
Lauren's luck was really bad that term, and this time it affected her fellow pupils. Mrs Pringle, the Latin teacher, was passing the entrance to the pub just as the group of high-spirited schoolgirls was leaving, still chatting excitedly and giggling. Lauren and Sue were smoking cigarettes. A shocked silence fell as the girls realised they had been recognised. Mrs Pringle wrote down the names of the seven girls, confiscated the cigarettes and told them all to report to Mrs Wallace's office at breaktime that afternoon.
The headmistress gave the naughty teenagers a severe dressing-down, telling them that under-age drinking was against the law. She turned to Lauren and addressed her: "You must be a very stupid girl, Lauren Kennedy," she said. "You're still on report and I have no choice other than to give you another caning. Last time obviously wasn't effective enough."
She then asked the girls whether anyone else there, apart from Lauren was still on report. Nervously Christine admitted that she was. "Right," said Mrs Wallace, "You'll be another one finding it difficult to sit down comfortably to Christmas dinner!"
She next turned her attention to Sue. "Well, Suzanne," she said, "I understand that this was all in aid of your birthday, that you provided the cigarettes that you and Lauren were smoking, and that it was you who invited the other girls along. Is that right?"
"Yes, ma'am," Sue replied.
"Right then. You, Lauren and Christine can leave my office now. You will return after school and I will deal with the three of you then."
Christine asked Mrs Wallace to let them off, saying that it was Christmas time after all, and it was Sue's birthday. But the headmistress remained adamant and told Chrissie that if she continued to argue she would receive more strokes. So the three condemned girls left the office and returned to their classes.
As they trailed dismally down the corridor Lauren discovered that Chrissie was just as upset about getting the cane as she was herself. Christine had only ever had the cane once before and that was way back when she'd been in the second year. She had only received three strokes but she could still remember, all too clearly, just how much they had stung.
Sue, on the other hand, was one of the most often caned girls in their year. She boasted to Lauren that she'd been caned at least once in every term so far, and said that it would have been a pity if this term was an exception. She was annoyed about getting the cane on her birthday, though. "She could have let me off, the bitch! I wasn't even on report! Still, it makes a change from the bumps, I suppose!"
Lauren found out what happened to the four other girls from Caroline. She told her that Mrs Wallace had not put them on report as it was so close to the end of term and all report periods were automatically cancelled by the holidays. Instead she had told them to do 300 lines which had to be handed in to her by the end of term. Any girl who didn't do the lines to Mrs Wallace's satisfaction would get the cane.
Lauren was not able to pay much attention to her work for the rest of that afternoon and four o'clock came before she was ready. Together with Christine she made her way back to the headmistress's office. Sue was already waiting there. As soon as she saw the other two arrive she knocked gently on the door and they were told to enter.
Mrs Wallace surveyed the three miscreants standing in front of her, before reaching a final decision as to the punishments they would each receive. Surprisingly Suzanne Hillard, the birthday girl, was the only one of the three wearing full school uniform. This was not compulsory for sixth formers although it was for the rest of the school.
Sue had big blue eyes, shining apple cheeks, and just a hint of lip gloss. The small pink flowers on her bra could be seen under her white nylon blouse. Her tie was loosely knotted at her neck. She had on a grey school skirt and a pair of white knee-length socks, one of which was an inch lower than the other. Her pretty face was surmounted by a mass of bubbly blonde curls.
Christine was the tallest of the three girls, taller than Mrs Wallace in fact, but despite the absence of school uniform she somehow looked much more 'school-girlish' than Sue. Her long brown hair hung loosely around her shoulders. She wore a woolly pullover and a pair of blue denim jeans. Her large glasses somehow made her appear even more vulnerable. Behind them she looked as if she was ready to burst into tears at any moment.
Lauren was slightly slimmer than Sue and taller, at 5'4". Her black hair was neatly tied in a pony tail. She was wearing a brightly coloured T-shirt and a tight-fitting black skirt. She shivered with apprehension.
Mrs Wallace addressed Sue first: "As it is your birthday, Suzanne, and as you were not on report this time I am going to make an exception. I will give you four strokes of the cane, rather than my usual minimum of six for senior girls.
"There are no special circumstances in your case, Christine, and you will receive a full six strokes. And as for you, young lady," she said, turning to Lauren, "You are a new girl at this school, still in your first term, and yet this is the second time that you have been sent her for a beating. I was easy on you last time, but I won't make the same mistake again. I am going to give you eight strokes with the cane. And I shall do my very best to ensure that you remember this thrashing for a long time!"
Lauren felt sick; it was even worse than she had feared. Only one or two of the worst behaved sixth form girls, such as Sue, had ever had eight strokes. Now she was to join them.
Mrs Wallace turned to her cabinet and extracted a cane. Lauren bit her lip. It looked a lot more painful than the tawse she had felt on her hands.
"Come on, Suzanne," the headmistress ordered. "You're first. You know the form. Skirt up, then over my desk." Sue didn't protest. She positioned herself in front of the desk and then eased her grey skirt up revealing brief, semi-transparent, white knickers marked with the same pink flowers visible on her bra. Mrs Wallace produced a safety-pin and pinned the hem of the girl's skirt to the back of her blouse. Then Sue lowered herself across the desk, grasping the other side. The desk was old- fashioned and wide, and only the tips of Sue's toes touched the ground as she stretched out to grip the edge. Mrs Wallace lightly tapped the cane against Sue's upthrust posterior, exposed in the girl's tightly stretched thin briefs. Lauren saw Sue's bottom tense, and then the headmistress drew the cane back.
She slashed the cane down for the first time. It landed with a tremendous Thwack squarely across Sue's bottom. Her body jerked, but she made no sound and remained in position. Sue gasped sharply at each of the next two strokes, but gave no other sign of how much they must have hurt her. Mrs Wallace paused for a while before the last stroke. While she admired the girl's courage she intended to elicit a more dramatic response to the final stroke. She stepped back and delivered a really venomous cut with all her strength right across the tops of the girl's thighs where the delicate flesh was deprived even of the slight protection afforded by her skimpy knickers.
"Oh-o-o-Owwww!" Sue yelled, her resistance finally broken. Mrs Wallace regarded the quivering bottom in front of her for a few moments. A vivid weal was already springing up as a result of that last stroke and marks left by the cane's earlier visits were visible through the nearly transparent briefs. The headmistress congratulated herself mentally. Even though Suzanne had only received four strokes she would feel the effects of the caning for some time.
Mrs Wallace unpinned the girl's skirt and told her to stand up. Then Sue was told to go and stand by the wall, facing it, with her hands on her head.
"Right," said Mrs Wallace. "It's your turn now, Christine. Take down those jeans!"
Christine blushed bright red with embarrassment as she undid the zip and lowered her jeans. Her knickers were white and covered a larger area of her bottom than had Sue's. She later told Lauren that she always made a point of wearing slightly larger panties when she was on report 'just in case'. But, as she was soon to find out, it made very little difference.
She bent over the desk, where Sue had been, with her trousers down to her ankles. As Christine was taller than Sue her feet were further from the desk. Her drum-tight knickers strained to contain the full flesh of her rounded buttocks. Mrs Wallace told her to keep her knees straight and then raised the cane.
THWACKKK!
Christine squealed as the cane thudded into her vulnerable behind. It hurt much more than she remembered.
THWACKKK!
Mrs Wallace brought the second stroke down directly on top of the first. Christine's head shot up, her brown hair flying wildly, and she yelled loudly.
THWACKKK!!
The third stroke landed about an inch below the first two.
"OOOWWWH . . . AAAAAHHH!"
Mrs Wallace aimed the next stroke so that the tip of the cane fell halfway across Christine's right buttock, digging in painfully. Once again the agonised yells of the tall seventeen year old echoed round the room. She lost her grip on the desk and shot upright, clasping her sore rear with both hands. She twisted round unsteadily on her long legs and implored Mrs Wallace to let her off the rest of the punishment. Lauren saw that tears were flowing down Christine's pretty face.
But Mrs Wallace had no mercy. She ordered the girl to get back into position unless she wanted extra strokes. Tearfully, and painfully, she did so. Mrs Wallace swished the cane across the girl's calves, hard enough to elicit a surprised yelp. "Straighten those knees, girl!" she ordered.
When she was satisfied with the girl's position Mrs Wallace lashed the cane down twice in quick succession across the lower part of Chrissie's bottom, just where she would sit down.
THWACKKK!
"OOOOW . . . O-O-O . . . OWWWW!!"
THWACKKK!!
"AAARGH . . . OWWWCH!!"
Immediately the last stroke landed Chrissie shot up like a released spring and pressed both hands to her smarting behind, weeping bitterly.
Regardless of the spectacle she was making of herself the caned teenager danced in agony as she tenderly massaged her blazing posterior. The reactions of the others to this performance were varied. Mrs Wallace was amused and gratified, but Lauren was horrified. Sue, meanwhile, had remained facing the wall throughout Christine's punishment. She didn't want to give Mrs Wallace any excuse to make her already sore bottom hurt even more.
After about a minute, for Mrs Wallace felt that her right arm needed a bit of a rest, Christine was told to put her trousers back on and to go and stand next to Sue with her hands on her head. Chrissie's jeans had come off completely as she had danced about after the caning and it took her a long time to put them back on. Finally she manoeuvred the jeans over her knickers and into place and limped over to join Sue. Now it was Lauren's turn.
Mrs Wallace turned to look at the trembling girl, whose bottom had as yet never felt the cane. A new girl sent to her twice in her first term! For drinking and smoking! And after being let off with a hand caning last time! Well, this time she would not escape so lightly.
Lauren's skirt was much tighter than Sue's and Mrs Wallace told her to take it off completely. Lauren undid the skirt and stepped out of it, revealing a minuscule pair of black knickers and the a set of suspenders which held up her sheer stockings. Lauren always wore very brief panties with this particular skirt so that the shape of her bottom cheeks was clearly to be seen, without any panty-line showing. She looked more like a glamour model than a naughty sixth-former. Mrs Wallace smiled grimly, this thrashing would certainly bring the miscreant down to earth and with such skimpy knickers on show it would effectively be a bare-bottomed caning. Lauren draped her body across the desk. The other edge was still warm where Sue and Christine had gripped it, and she trembled as she saw the wet marks of Chrissie's tears on the desk.
THWACKKKK!!!
The first stroke of the cane that Lauren's bottom had ever felt was one of the hardest that Mrs Wallace had delivered that afternoon. It crashed into Lauren's tender flesh just above her thighs. Two white weals instantly formed on either side of her tiny briefs, only to be quickly suffused with vivid red. Lauren shrieked out her pain and shock, but forced herself to remain in position.
Mrs Wallace drew the cane back and raised it above her shoulders. She took two steps back and delivered the next stroke with her full power, moving forward at the same time, in order to increase its punishing intensity. As she'd intended it landed just half an inch above the first.
"OOOOWWW! NOOO!! YEOWWW!!!" Lauren howled. Her head shot up and her legs kicked wildly. "PLEASE MA'AM!" she wailed, "PLEEASE, not so hard! It hurts too much!!"
"It's meant to hurt, young lady," Mrs Wallace answered, "And it will hurt a great deal more before I've finished!"
Lauren grasped the edge of the desk more tightly, her knuckles turning white. Once again the cane lashed down on to her tender seat with all the force and skill at Mrs Wallace's disposal. The headmistress's plan of attack was becoming clear. The third stroke contacted Lauren's bottom a further half-inch above the last.
THWACKKKK!!!
Continuing the sequence the fourth stroke whipped across the crown of Lauren's haunches. The accumulation of pain was too much for Lauren. She howled in anguish and her hands left the desk and flew to her bottom. She had never known that pain like that could exist, let alone be deliberately caused as a punishment just for visiting a pub. Mrs Wallace allowed her a few moments and then told her to bend over again.
Despairingly the miserable girl did so, sobbing at the pain. As Mrs Wallace inspected the quivering bottom in front of her she mentally congratulated herself on her accuracy. Four equidistant red lines traversed the pale flesh in a narrow band less than two inches wide. She intended that the next two strokes should diagonally cross the first four to produce a 'four barred gate' effect. But to do so she felt she needed a clear view of the target area.
“Right, young lady. It’s knickers down for you now I’m afraid”
Lauren shrieked loudly as Mrs Wallace inserted her fingers into the waistband of the lacy garment and peeled it down over the burning mounds. Their vivid weals were now exposed. The Head pulled the panties down to just above the knees and tapped the inner left thigh with the tip of the cane to get poor Lauren to pull her legs apart to keep them in place.
The bare buttocks flinched at each of the next two strokes, and Lauren drummed her feet hard on the floor, but somehow she forced herself to stay in position even though it hurt like hell as the cane landed across existing weals.
"Two more to come," Mrs Wallace informed her.
She gave Lauren her last two strokes in quick succession, lashing them down, very hard, across the previously uncaned flesh of Lauren's thighs, just above her stocking-tops.
Lauren jumped up and clutched at her blazing bottom with both hands, sobbing her heart out. She was totally oblivious to everything except the searing agony in her nether regions.
"Pull your knickers up and put your skirt back on!" ordered Mrs Wallace.
Lauren did so, unsuccessfully trying to fight back her tears. As soon as her skirt was in place, the tight black material clearly revealing the shape of her swollen buttocks, she pressed her hands firmly to its back, trying to contain the intense sting.
"Hands on your head!" said Mrs Wallace severely, telling the two other caned girls to come over and stand next to Lauren in front of her desk. Then she once more lectured them on their stupidity, and told them that they had to do the same 300 lines she had given the four other girls. They were given a bit longer to do them - their lines had to be handed in at the beginning of the next term.
"Remember you all start with a clean sheet in the new term," she said, "and I don't want to punish any of you again. And as for you, Lauren Kennedy, I am very disappointed with your behaviour since you joined this school. I shall be writing to your parents with my comments and advice." She then dismissed the girls, telling them to go home directly and not loiter in the school.
Lauren found that each step sent additional waves of pain through her throbbing bottom. She could only walk by taking very short steps. As soon as they were outside the office she and Chrissie Parrish both clasped their hands to their bottoms and hopped frantically. The pain was unbelievable. Sue watched them ruefully. Her own bottom was still very sore but she was more inured to the effects of the cane, and this time she had been let off more lightly than the others. "I'm really sorry I invited you two and got you into all this," she said, "But I got my comeuppance as well! God, she was in a foul mood!"
Lauren had a miserable Christmas, unable to sit down in any comfort until the new year. She became the subject of many family jokes, and various relatives took pleasure in applying a gentle slap to her hindquarters and observing the disproportionate reaction.
But undoubtedly the worst event of the holidays for Lauren was the arrival of an unusually shaped parcel addressed to her parents. It was long and thin and, despite the colourful Christmas wrapping, Lauren knew what it must contain even before her mother drew out the headmistress's Christmas present - a senior school cane
Tuesday, 16 November 2010
Night-time Canings
A great R T Mason story - A sadistic head girl and a penitent schoolgirl caught in a trap and receiving her very just desserts. Young Lisa is a seriously naughty little minx and it's only right that she gets spanked, strapped and caned by the end of the story.
10.30 WAS ZERO HOUR. That was when they always started. 10.30 as you lay in your bed in the darkened dorm, half an hour after Lights Out, and everyone on edge, on tenterhooks, even Lisa Howard who could put on an air of bravado about the whole thing. Everyone wondering if the dorm door was going to abruptly open. For your name to be called out.
Not every night of the week of course. The other nights you could be reasonably relaxed, getting off to sleep or having a quiet conversation with the girl in the next bed or just lying still thinking your private thoughts, But on Mondays and Wednesdays and Fridays you wouldn't be doing any of those things, not from 10.30 till about 11.30. Then you were wide awake with every nerve alert. Tonight was a Monday - the second Monday of term in fact - and so everyone was taut and still . . . and listening. Because in Dorm 4C you didn't have to imagine, you could hear it.
Yelps and yells , Anguished cries. The cries of a girl suffering repeated sharp searing pain. And the unmistakable, awful, cracking whacks of a cane, coming at about ten second intervals. A bit muffled naturally but distinct enough because there was only the single dividing wall between Dorm 4C and that room at the end of the corridor. The room used for Prefects' Court.
What made it worse was that it was all legal and sanctioned by the Head. Because that was Miss Featherstone's idea of how a school should be run – the girls imposing their own discipline. The Head Girl and the Prefects imposing it, that is, and to this end the use of the cane was quite OK. Well, wasn't that the way things were organised in those famous boys' public schools? Miss Featherstone was always going on about the famous boys' public schools, at Assembly and suchlike, and saying that they were the models that St. Monica's should strive to emulate.
St. Monica's School for Girls was clearly not a boys' school and nor was it famous. It was in fact a very minor school, so minor that most people would not have beard of it. That was probably all the more reason why the Head liked to think in terms of the very best. And that was why it was quite all right for the Prefects and Head Girl to hold their Court.
The Prefects' Court: to which you could be yanked out of your nice cosy bed in the middle of the night - or at 10.30 or so at least - and in front of the assembled Head Girl and Prefects ordered to lower your pyjama bottoms. Or just occasionally when they were feeling really kind they'd let you keep your pyjamas on, but getting it through this thin material felt almost exactly the same. And then you had to bend over the wretched stool they'd got and get four or six or even eight wicked whacks with that cane on your bottom. And it could happen to you, any Monday or Wednesday or Friday night. Without warning beforehand.
They weren't allowed to do it to all girls, the younger elements had to be disciplined with lines and gating etc. But once you were in the Fifth Form you were fair prey and it could happen any time. They were all Fifth Formers in Dorm 4C - new Fifth Formers, for it was the beginning of Michaelmas Term. So it was hardly surprising that they were all sweating.
For it was an accepted fact that new Fifth Formers were especially at risk as far as Prefects' Court was concerned, because THEY liked to give you an early taste so that you knew what was what. And everyone said that this year's Head Girl, Helen Reynolds, was the worst on record, a real hard case; although In any event Miss Featherstone always picked as Head Girl someone who could, as she put it, 'keep a tight rein'. And the others, the Prefects, were also chosen largely for the same reason.
'They're all sadists!' Lisa Howard blurted out from over near the window. Nervous voices in the darkness told her to shut up. It was now 10.45 and muffled yells could be heard at regular intervals from the other side of the wall. Someone was getting it. The eight girls of dorm 4C lay still and tense: by about 11.15 you would probably be safe unless they'd got a larger number than usual.
As yet none of the eight had had any direct experience of the terrors that lay on the other side of the wall , but the law of averages said that someone was going to get it very soon. Tonight was the fourth Prefects' Court of term . If not tonight then on Wednesday or Friday the dorm door was suddenly going to burst open . . .
They lay silent and tense as the minutes ticked off. No sound except those muffled yelps. No movement except perhaps in the secret darkness a girl's hand down the front of her pyjama bottoms with a finger doing a surreptitious something to ease the tension. The minutes ticked off. The cries from next door had ceased. It became 11 . . . Then 11.15 . . 16 . . 17 . . .
There were sighs of relief. They began to breathe more easily. A nervous laugh from the darkness. It must have finished now. They were saved for another night. . .
Then the door opened. A shaft of light from the corridor against which were silhouetted the forms of two girls - two Prefects.
'Lisa Howard! Come out. Prefects' Court!'
There were gasps. It had happened! - and when they were all sure the danger was over. A shocked silent pause . . . and then the sound of Lisa getting out of bed. Pretty, slightly plump 16-year-old Lisa. For the seven others at least once they'd collected their wits there was some relief. It wasn't any of them; it was poor Lisa. And, well, it wasn't completely unexpected.
Chirpy Lisa with her rather boisterous manner had got on the wrong side of various people in the past and a couple of them were now unfortunately Prefects and in a sweet position for getting their own back. No, It did not come as a complete surprise to either Lisa or the others. All the same as she struggled out of her nice warm bed she fell distinctly sick. Lisa went out, the door closed . It was dark again. No one spoke. They waited. Any sound through the walls now would be Lisa. Getting IT.
Just a short distance along the dimly-lit corridor and then Lisa was being ushered in. With all the lights on and after the dark of the dormitory it was dazzling. She stood blinking.
'Lisa Howard! Come forward!'
Helen Reynolds' voice and as Lisa's eyes became adjusted to the light she saw, at the opposite side of the room, the Head Girl seated in an upright chair in a dressing gown over pyjamas. To the left and right of her, also silting on upright chairs in their dressing gowns, were the Prefects -- three on either side, to make a U-formation with the Head Girl at the centre. Inside this U, in the middle, was a stool. cloth-covered and about 18 inches high. This stool had a two-foot-long rattan cane lying on it.
'Stand at the stool!' commanded the Head Girl.
The door had been closed by the two girls who had brought Lisa in and they now drew up chairs to sit behind her and thus complete the circle.
Lisa stood at the stool, a pretty girl of medium height with soft features and shoulder-length russet hair. Her form-fitting pink pyjamas showed off a ripely rounded figure; firm breasts,
rather plump bottom. Now wide awake from the shock of what had happened she was trying to put a brave face on it, but did not look very happy.
'Lisa Howard, you've been a pain at this school for quite a time now, and now you're a Fifth Former you can at last get something that may have some effect. You're going to get the cane on that pert bottom of yours . Eight strokes - the maximum allowed. And if that doesn't do any good we'll have you in here every week until it does. Is that understood?'
Lisa had gone bright red. She stuttered, 'I haven't .. done anything.'
'You've been an awful pain and you know it. So now you can drop those pyjama bottoms. Down to your knees. Come on!' The last two words had a grating harshness all their own.
Lisa gave a quick panicky look round. She was completely surrounded by the seated Prefects, most of them with expressions of pleased anticipation. There was no choice and Lisa knew it. She licked dry lips, and then her shaking hands went to the waist of the pyjamas. Eyes lowered , she pushed the trousers off her full hips.
'Come on! Right down to your knees!'
The pyjama bottoms came fully down. Underneath they revealed a pair of small white knickers with a lace edging and a discreet pink floral motif.
‘How dare you try and cheat us by wearing knickers under your pyjamas you wicked girl. Take them down at once’ Snapped the head girl.
Poor Lisa put her fingers in the elastic waistband of the tiny panties and slowly peeled them down.
‘Leave them at half-mast ‘ said her chastiser ‘they show your naked bottom off quite nicely.’ At the front, at the centre of those softly rounded hips and thighs, was a neat triangle of dark brown hair. Behind was that part of Lisa due to receive the attention of the cane – twin plump cheeks trembling slightly , now totally nude and very vulnerable-looking.
Helen Reynolds got up and stepped forward to pick up the cane. 'Now get over the stool. Right over with your hands flat on the floor and your knees straight and that bottom up. Brace your legs against your knickers. Now we'll see if you can take it quietly or if you blub like a baby. I expect all your friends next door are listening, don't you?'
She's just a bloody sadist. Thought Lisa as, hot-faced, she got over the stool. She would do her very best not to cry out but from what you heard in 4C that did not seem to be easy.
She gasped as the cane whipped lightly across her trembling backside 'Come on! Get it up!'
A pause, and then a desperate involuntary yelp as the cane splatted down in earnest - a vicious transverse cut across the full undercurve of the cheeks, landing with a sharp crack. It felt like a burning flame. There was no hope of suffering in silence. The rounded bottom did an agonised dance.
'Keep still, Lisa! And get it up again otherwise I'll have you in here for another eight on Wednesday.'
With the waves of pain rippling through her Lisa nonetheless became more or less still. Another brief pause, and then it was all repeated: the explosive biting sling of the cane, this time an inch above the first line of impact. followed immediately by the desperate yell, the agonised writhings. It was absolutely unbearable . . . and there were six more to come . . .
Standing over the bare-bottomed Fifth Former, with her own face distinctly pink , Helen Reynolds continued to whack the cane into the curvy bum just about as hard as she could. By the fifth stroke Lisa wasn't only yelling out, she was unashamedly crying, hot tears flooding her flushed cheeks. She had meant to be brave but this was simply impossible, the pain in her bottom was absolutely intolerably awful.
Helen Reynolds kept going, eyes shining. The eighth and final one she laid in with a flashing crack just where the buttocks met the equally curvy thighs. She was rewarded with a desperate wild cry coupled with a frantic jerking of the stung bottom
which almost threw Lisa off the stool.
The Head Girl put the cane down and went back to her chair. Lisa's extravagant writhings gradually stopped. Her sobbing continued.
'That's all, young Howard. You can pull your knickers up now and get back to your dorm. Leave your pyjamas here – if you want them back you’ll have to take some more medicine. And remember, any more nonsense in the future and you'll be over that stool again for an even harder dose’.'
Still crying and gasping with pain, Lisa got to her feet and struggled to tug the tight white panties up over her now red-striped rear. She acted almost like an automaton, shocked clean out of any sense of self-possession. She turned and, half blindly, stumbled to the door. Out of the brightly-lit Prefects' Court and into the subdued light of the corridor, There was now the other ordeal: going back into the dorm with the others all lying wide awake in the darkness, ears stretched like antennas to pick up her reactions, her seven room-mates who had all just heard her humiliation at the hands of beastly sadistic Helen Reynolds.
Lisa steeled herself, she had to do it, she couldn't stay out in the corridor all night. She stumbled forward, her bottom blazing. The door made a horribly loud click as she opened it. At least in the darkness they couldn't see her awful red face and the tears which even now wouldn't completely stop. But she also couldn't stop the sobs which every ten seconds or so kept coming. In the tense silence those sobs sounded deafening.
'Tough luck, Lisa,' called out Sally Mitchell. 'But at least you've got it over. We've still got the awful suspense – waiting for it to happen.'
There were shivers in the darkness from the seven girls who weren't sobbing. They had all heard Lisa yelling out, making that dreadful noise, and the cracks of the cane coming through the walls, and when you considered that Lisa was a pretty brave girl it was obvious that she must have really had that cane lashed into her. Which, come to think of it, must have been so, considering how loud those strokes had sounded. It was over for tonight , none or the others would get it now. But Wednesday, or Friday . . . ?
'It's driving me bonkers.' whispered Angela Ross to Julie Hollings, in the next bed. 'I almost wish they'd call me out and get it over.'
Julie didn't answer, She knew what Angela meant but she certainly didn't wish they'd come for her and get it over with. Julie was quite simply terrified of the thought of that cane. She had this really dreadful mental picture of the scene next door and always, as with Lisa just now, it was herself she could see bent over that stool and her own bare bottom thrust out for Helen Reynolds' cane. It was a picture which made her feel quite sick and she had been dreading the start of this term knowing that she would now be liable for it. She felt she would do anything to avoid that fate.
Julie turned over and tried to get to sleep. Her school record had been exemplary, there was no real reason why she should get the cane, not like Lisa or one or two of the others, Except that now there was the other awful business. Mr Bannister, the gardener.
It was the practice at St. Monica's for a number of Fifth and Lower Sixth Formers to be assigned minor tasks in the running of the school: for instance assisting in the library or helping Miss Smith, Biology, in looking after the small animals she kept or helping Mr Murdoch, the groundsman. If you had one of these assignments it took up only a few hours per week and it got you off a corresponding period of prep it wasn't all bad. This term pretty blonde Julie Hollings had been given an assignment helping Mr Bannister the school gardener. Mr George Bannister was in his fifties, a nondescript-looking character, an 'old lag' certain girls said. Julie had not had much to do with him before though she had heard girls say things . And what she had heard came very sharply into focus last weekend when she was working in his shed.
Before that Mr Bannister had been OK although he had been sort of eyeing Julie's slim shapely form in the white blouse and quite short blue pleated skirt. But on Saturday morning he had just grabbed her. She had been potting some plants and Mr Bannister came up behind her and his hands had slid round underneath her arms and simply taken hold of Julie's pert breasts in the crisp white blouse. A firm lightly-brassiered breast in each large hand.
Julie had let out a yelp and struggled away. There had been a rough cackle from Mr Bannister. 'Now now, Young Miss, let's be friendly. We don't want to be up before Prefects' Court, do we? With our pretty bottom getting that nasty cane!'
As he spoke his hand had come down and round to intimately grope at Julie's rounded bottom. Gasping she pushed him away again. In spite of what those girls had said she would never have imagined Mr Bannister could behave in such a beastly way. But that threat about Prefects' Court was just as bad as what he'd done, and he had then proceeded to reinforce the threat.
'I keep well in with the Head Girl and they Prefects. I'd only have to say you were cheeking me or mucking about in here and your number'd be up, my pretty Miss.'
Julie had felt a stab of pure terror. As she stood there and contemplated the dread prospect he gave her bottom a sharp slap and then went outside. That had happened on Saturday and ever since Julie had naturally been able to think of nothing else.
She didn't know what to do; she was between the devil and the deep blue sea. She could complain to Miss Featherstone or someone, but Mr Bannister would just deny it and then she could be put down as a trouble-maker - and be sent to Prefects' Court anyway. Now, having bad to listen to Lisa get it, Julie knew there was just no way she could face that cane, she'd rather die. And tomorrow afternoon she had to go and help Mr Horrible Bannister again in his shed.
Eventually she got off to sleep. In the morning Lisa bravely peeled down her knickers and showed them all her bottom and you could still see the corrugated marks of the cane. Julie felt really queasy. The morning flashed by and then it was time to go over to that horrible shed.
She had a vague hope that perhaps Mr Bannister would miraculously have changed since last time, but that was not the case as almost at once he did the same thing - grabbed those pretty tits in both hands. Julie had told herself that if necessary she was going to let him take these liberties but she couldn't help struggling. As they lurched against the bench a big pile of flower pots rolled off and hit the floor with a resounding crash. Pieces of broken pottery everywhere.
Mr Bannister, red-faced, looked grim. 'Just look what you done, my girl! It'll be Prefects' Court for this and no mistake.'
Julie started pleading but he cut her short, his eyes gleaming. 'I'll give you the choice, my girl. Prefects' Court or otherwise I can do it myself. But I'll just give you a spanking, not the cane.'
What could she do, with Lisa's cries of last night so fresh in her mind. 'Come on!' coaxed Mr Bannister. 'I won't take your panties down; least-ways not for this first time I won't.'
He went to lock the door, then sat on his wooden chair over at the end where you couldn't see from the window. He beckoned her to him, and, well, did she have any choice?
Julie whispered , 'Promise. That you won't . . . take my knickers down . . . '
He pulled her to him and then over his lap. Right over so that her head was hanging down and her hips were centred on his thighs and stomach. Julie felt her skirt being pulled up, over her back, and then Mr Bannister' horrid hand was on her bare thighs and tightly-knickered bottom.
He didn't take the knickers down but, in spite of her protests, he managed to achieve the same effect by pulling them sharply up. Hooking his thick fingers in the lower hems, first one side and then the other, and yanking the pink nylon material up and across into the cleft of her bottom. Julie yelped and struggled but his other arm firmly round her waist had her helpless; and shortly her bottom was virtually bare.
Mr Bannister' hand started groping and fondling. Underneath her, Julie could feel something stiff and hard, Then the groping stopped and the spanking started. Crisp hard smacks to those exposed bottom cheeks. Left and right , top and bottom. Smack! . . . Smack! . . . Smack! . . . Smack! . . . Hard, unhurried splats of that large leathery hand.
Julie was soon in tears. It really hurt and also it was just so humiliating. But the hand kept coming down on her poor bare bottom, and then on the sensitive backs of her equally bare thighs. Finally he did stop, and started fondling again. Twisting and struggling Julie managed to get off his lap. In fact she finished up sprawled in a heap on the floor.
Blinking away the tears she got up and adjusted her knickers. Mr Bannister had a red face and a leering grin.
'You . . . you're just b . . beastly and awful!' she managed before stumbling over to unlock the door.
It was a really traumatic experience all right but on Wednesday night, when the dorm door burst open at 20 to eleven and a Prefect called out 'Sally Mitchell - Prefects' Court!', Julie thought that perhaps it had been worth it. And a little later when they all heard Sally's anguished cries she was quite sure it was worth it. Anything had to be better than having that wicked flexible cane slashing down on your bare bottom.
But if you submit once to someone like George Bannister you are going to have to do so again. When Julie next had to go and help him, on Friday, he made the same no-nonsense grab at her. And said he thought she needed her bottom spanking again.
Faced with that same threat Prefects' Court - Julie reluctantly submitted. This time, in spite of struggles and yelps of protest, he took her knickers down: The rest was much as before; pretty dreadful. But again that night when Julie heard the mind-whirling, measured whacks and the cries of another girl being caned, she decided that it was worth it.
And so it continued; Julie on her visits to Mr Bannister' potting shed allowing him to do what he wanted which was invariably to take her over his lap and take her knickers down and spank her bare bottom. The third time it was even worse. Somehow Mr Bannister had got hold of a leather tawse – it had two long tails and he made poor Julie bend over the tae as he slashed it down with full force so the wicked tongues found every piece of the girl’s bare bottom-flesh. The spankings or strappings continued for weeks and Julie told no one – while two further members of Dorm 4C (Angela Ross and Sharon Roberts) were in turn called out to Prefects' Court. The tension in the dormitory after Lights Out was often excruciating.
Julie hated it but she had the feeling that now she was safe from Helen Reynolds' cane which was the main thing. She had not made any enemies in school and she was properly behaved and did her work, so apart from Mr Horrible Bannister there was no logical reason why she should be called out. It was hateful having to get over his lap or get the tawse over his table two or three times a week but she was sure it was better than the alternative. So long as none of her friends found out about it . . .
By half term all but three of them in Dorm 4C had had a session In Prefects' Court and Lisa had gone twice, but the general feeling was that the worst was past, the blitz on the new Fifth Formers was over and they had dealt with all those they felt needed It. And indeed after half term Prefects' Court was reduced to once a week, on Mondays, and even then you might not hear any cries so that someone might be getting a ticking off rather the cane.
Yes, it was generally agreed that those who hadn't gone would now be safe, as long as they didn't commit any awful crime. And the others wouldn't have to go again if they could manage to toe the line, although for Lisa at least that was not easy.
Julie was still getting her bottom spanked and strapped by Mr Bannister but even that wouldn't last for ever because she only had that job for this term and after that would be free of him. So there was that to look forward to and also she had not got the cane. In some fanciful way she almost felt as if Mr Bannister had protected her from it.
And then it happened. The second Monday after half term, a Prefects' Court night but no one was too bothered now, there wasn't that feeling of abject terror in the darkness that there'd been at the beginning of the term. They were chatting and laughing softly, and many of them were already asleep. Suddenly the dorm door was open, the darkness split by that shaft of light silhouetting a figure. The chat and laughter froze.
'Julie Hollings! Come out. Prefects' Court!'
Julie stood blinking in the light as all the others had, still not able to fully comprehend the awful truth. She was also shaking from head to toes. It was all as she had been told, as she had imagined; the Head Girl and Prefects in their dressing gowns in the U-formation with in the centre the stool, the cane . . . She stumbled forward at Helen Reynolds' sharp command.
'Julie Hollings, you disgusting creature! I have very reliable information that several times a week you have been in the habit of allowing Bannister to spank or strap your bare bottom. And I dare say allowing him other even worse familiarities as well. You absolutely disgusting creature! What have you got to say for yourself?'
Julie shook her head helplessly. She could hardly think with the shock of it all. Who had told Helen Reynolds and how did they know? Because Mr Bannister always did it over in that corner of his shed where even if someone was peering in the window they couldn't see. Perhaps there was a spyhole or something . . .
'Well' demanded the Head Girl.
Julie blinked back the tears. 'H . . he made me.'
'That is absolutely ridiculous! There is no way he could make you. You must at the very least have agreed to it even if you didn't instigate the disgusting business. As you well know, allowing a male member of the staff to do anything at all like that is strictly, strictly forbidden. Anyway we'll jolly well make you wish you'd never done it, Julie Hollings. Take down your knickers and jump to it!'
Julie looked at the cane, like a rabbit transfixed by a weasel, then up at the grim face of Helen Reynolds.
'Look . . please . . He . . he did make me . . ' She could hardly speak, she was so frightened, and her voice was little more than a whimper.
'Get them down, girl!'
Somehow, scarcely knowing what she was doing, Julie pulled down her skimpy knickers (pale blue today) and then was bent over the stool. It was a dream, it couldn't really be happening, because hadn't they all agreed that the danger of Prefects' Court was now over? She focussed her eyes on the carpet just a few inches from her face. This couldn't be happening.
Then her mouth was open and a wild screaming yell had come out, and her bare taut-buttocked bottom was doing a fiercely desperate dance. Because what felt like a red-hot poker had landed squarely across those rounded bottom cheeks. No, she quite clearly wasn't dreaming, no dream could feel like that.
Nothing could feel like that!
'Get your bottom back up, Julie Hollings, and get those legs straight. You seem to like being spanked, so let's see how you like this cane!'
CRA . . ACK! The red-hot poker landed again, this time reinforcing the flaming pain that was still there from the first cut. It was worse than Julie had ever imagined on all those nights when she had laid awake taut with fear in the darkness, She would have been even more afraid if she had known.
Through the desperate pain Julie heard Helen Reynolds' tight voice: "That's two; and there's six more to come!'
Her own voice pleaded, 'No .. I can't! . . 'but the words were cut short by a third full-blooded cut of the cane. She gasped and yelped, Her face was wet with hot salt tears. She fought to handle the fearsome pain. And then the red-hot poker landed again: WHAAACKK!
Somehow Julie did take the eight. She didn't know how but somehow yelling and sobbing and writhing and at one point actually falling off the stool onto the floor - somehow Julie managed to take them. At last it was over. The cane had stopped coming down. There were eight bright red stripes on her bottom, blazing to hell. Julie was ordered to stand up.
Back in 4C she crept numbly into bed. No one spoke, they were all too shocked that Julie of all people had got it now when they'd all thought it was more or less over. And those who could not sleep for thinking of it heard their poor dorm-mate twisting and turning and sobbing into her pillow seemingly forever.
Afterwards, in the morning, they wanted to know what it was for.
Biting her lip Julie mumbled, 'Cheeking Helen Reynolds.'
It was obviously quite out of character but it was all Julie could think of. She had to think of something, there was no way she could tell them the real humiliating facts: that she had been letting Mr Bannister spank her bum and beat it with has tawse in order to avoid Prefects' Court and then after all she had been sent there for that very reason.
As for Mr Bannister, he was spoken to about it but naturally said that Julie had invited it. And naturally he was believed - because for one thing the school could not afford to lose a good gardener. And he had never been known to do such a thing before.
So the matter was kept quiet. Julie never found out how Helen Reynolds learnt about the spankings. At least they now stopped, although she had to continue her full term helping Mr Bannister. Mr Bannister himself seemed perfectly unconcerned.
'Ah, young Miss. I heared you got a caning. I warned you it could happen, didn't I?'
There was just no answer to that. And though he stopped the spankings he continued to touch Julie whenever he felt like it, and to grope her bare legs under her pleated grey skirt. If she protested he said, 'Now, we don't want another caning, do we?'
Prefects' Court continued, Mondays only. They were not quite so confident now in Dorm 4C that it was all over. And indeed Sally Mitchell got another one, for not doing anything very much. The girls' general standard of behaviour became all but impeccable. And then on the last Monday of Michaelmas term, barely 36 hours before they were due to break up, the dorm door opened once more at 10.30.
'Julie Hollings! Come out. Prefects' Court.'
'Oh, no!'
She stood in the dazzling bright light again before the stool and the cane, surrounded by a ring of Prefects. Helen Reynolds said , 'We thought a little reminder, Julie Hollings, before you go home. To make sure you won't want to get up to any of those tricks again next term. So take those pyjama bottoms down. Jump, to it, girl!'
10.30 WAS ZERO HOUR. That was when they always started. 10.30 as you lay in your bed in the darkened dorm, half an hour after Lights Out, and everyone on edge, on tenterhooks, even Lisa Howard who could put on an air of bravado about the whole thing. Everyone wondering if the dorm door was going to abruptly open. For your name to be called out.
Not every night of the week of course. The other nights you could be reasonably relaxed, getting off to sleep or having a quiet conversation with the girl in the next bed or just lying still thinking your private thoughts, But on Mondays and Wednesdays and Fridays you wouldn't be doing any of those things, not from 10.30 till about 11.30. Then you were wide awake with every nerve alert. Tonight was a Monday - the second Monday of term in fact - and so everyone was taut and still . . . and listening. Because in Dorm 4C you didn't have to imagine, you could hear it.
Yelps and yells , Anguished cries. The cries of a girl suffering repeated sharp searing pain. And the unmistakable, awful, cracking whacks of a cane, coming at about ten second intervals. A bit muffled naturally but distinct enough because there was only the single dividing wall between Dorm 4C and that room at the end of the corridor. The room used for Prefects' Court.
What made it worse was that it was all legal and sanctioned by the Head. Because that was Miss Featherstone's idea of how a school should be run – the girls imposing their own discipline. The Head Girl and the Prefects imposing it, that is, and to this end the use of the cane was quite OK. Well, wasn't that the way things were organised in those famous boys' public schools? Miss Featherstone was always going on about the famous boys' public schools, at Assembly and suchlike, and saying that they were the models that St. Monica's should strive to emulate.
St. Monica's School for Girls was clearly not a boys' school and nor was it famous. It was in fact a very minor school, so minor that most people would not have beard of it. That was probably all the more reason why the Head liked to think in terms of the very best. And that was why it was quite all right for the Prefects and Head Girl to hold their Court.
The Prefects' Court: to which you could be yanked out of your nice cosy bed in the middle of the night - or at 10.30 or so at least - and in front of the assembled Head Girl and Prefects ordered to lower your pyjama bottoms. Or just occasionally when they were feeling really kind they'd let you keep your pyjamas on, but getting it through this thin material felt almost exactly the same. And then you had to bend over the wretched stool they'd got and get four or six or even eight wicked whacks with that cane on your bottom. And it could happen to you, any Monday or Wednesday or Friday night. Without warning beforehand.
They weren't allowed to do it to all girls, the younger elements had to be disciplined with lines and gating etc. But once you were in the Fifth Form you were fair prey and it could happen any time. They were all Fifth Formers in Dorm 4C - new Fifth Formers, for it was the beginning of Michaelmas Term. So it was hardly surprising that they were all sweating.
For it was an accepted fact that new Fifth Formers were especially at risk as far as Prefects' Court was concerned, because THEY liked to give you an early taste so that you knew what was what. And everyone said that this year's Head Girl, Helen Reynolds, was the worst on record, a real hard case; although In any event Miss Featherstone always picked as Head Girl someone who could, as she put it, 'keep a tight rein'. And the others, the Prefects, were also chosen largely for the same reason.
'They're all sadists!' Lisa Howard blurted out from over near the window. Nervous voices in the darkness told her to shut up. It was now 10.45 and muffled yells could be heard at regular intervals from the other side of the wall. Someone was getting it. The eight girls of dorm 4C lay still and tense: by about 11.15 you would probably be safe unless they'd got a larger number than usual.
As yet none of the eight had had any direct experience of the terrors that lay on the other side of the wall , but the law of averages said that someone was going to get it very soon. Tonight was the fourth Prefects' Court of term . If not tonight then on Wednesday or Friday the dorm door was suddenly going to burst open . . .
They lay silent and tense as the minutes ticked off. No sound except those muffled yelps. No movement except perhaps in the secret darkness a girl's hand down the front of her pyjama bottoms with a finger doing a surreptitious something to ease the tension. The minutes ticked off. The cries from next door had ceased. It became 11 . . . Then 11.15 . . 16 . . 17 . . .
There were sighs of relief. They began to breathe more easily. A nervous laugh from the darkness. It must have finished now. They were saved for another night. . .
Then the door opened. A shaft of light from the corridor against which were silhouetted the forms of two girls - two Prefects.
'Lisa Howard! Come out. Prefects' Court!'
There were gasps. It had happened! - and when they were all sure the danger was over. A shocked silent pause . . . and then the sound of Lisa getting out of bed. Pretty, slightly plump 16-year-old Lisa. For the seven others at least once they'd collected their wits there was some relief. It wasn't any of them; it was poor Lisa. And, well, it wasn't completely unexpected.
Chirpy Lisa with her rather boisterous manner had got on the wrong side of various people in the past and a couple of them were now unfortunately Prefects and in a sweet position for getting their own back. No, It did not come as a complete surprise to either Lisa or the others. All the same as she struggled out of her nice warm bed she fell distinctly sick. Lisa went out, the door closed . It was dark again. No one spoke. They waited. Any sound through the walls now would be Lisa. Getting IT.
Just a short distance along the dimly-lit corridor and then Lisa was being ushered in. With all the lights on and after the dark of the dormitory it was dazzling. She stood blinking.
'Lisa Howard! Come forward!'
Helen Reynolds' voice and as Lisa's eyes became adjusted to the light she saw, at the opposite side of the room, the Head Girl seated in an upright chair in a dressing gown over pyjamas. To the left and right of her, also silting on upright chairs in their dressing gowns, were the Prefects -- three on either side, to make a U-formation with the Head Girl at the centre. Inside this U, in the middle, was a stool. cloth-covered and about 18 inches high. This stool had a two-foot-long rattan cane lying on it.
'Stand at the stool!' commanded the Head Girl.
The door had been closed by the two girls who had brought Lisa in and they now drew up chairs to sit behind her and thus complete the circle.
Lisa stood at the stool, a pretty girl of medium height with soft features and shoulder-length russet hair. Her form-fitting pink pyjamas showed off a ripely rounded figure; firm breasts,
rather plump bottom. Now wide awake from the shock of what had happened she was trying to put a brave face on it, but did not look very happy.
'Lisa Howard, you've been a pain at this school for quite a time now, and now you're a Fifth Former you can at last get something that may have some effect. You're going to get the cane on that pert bottom of yours . Eight strokes - the maximum allowed. And if that doesn't do any good we'll have you in here every week until it does. Is that understood?'
Lisa had gone bright red. She stuttered, 'I haven't .. done anything.'
'You've been an awful pain and you know it. So now you can drop those pyjama bottoms. Down to your knees. Come on!' The last two words had a grating harshness all their own.
Lisa gave a quick panicky look round. She was completely surrounded by the seated Prefects, most of them with expressions of pleased anticipation. There was no choice and Lisa knew it. She licked dry lips, and then her shaking hands went to the waist of the pyjamas. Eyes lowered , she pushed the trousers off her full hips.
'Come on! Right down to your knees!'
The pyjama bottoms came fully down. Underneath they revealed a pair of small white knickers with a lace edging and a discreet pink floral motif.
‘How dare you try and cheat us by wearing knickers under your pyjamas you wicked girl. Take them down at once’ Snapped the head girl.
Poor Lisa put her fingers in the elastic waistband of the tiny panties and slowly peeled them down.
‘Leave them at half-mast ‘ said her chastiser ‘they show your naked bottom off quite nicely.’ At the front, at the centre of those softly rounded hips and thighs, was a neat triangle of dark brown hair. Behind was that part of Lisa due to receive the attention of the cane – twin plump cheeks trembling slightly , now totally nude and very vulnerable-looking.
Helen Reynolds got up and stepped forward to pick up the cane. 'Now get over the stool. Right over with your hands flat on the floor and your knees straight and that bottom up. Brace your legs against your knickers. Now we'll see if you can take it quietly or if you blub like a baby. I expect all your friends next door are listening, don't you?'
She's just a bloody sadist. Thought Lisa as, hot-faced, she got over the stool. She would do her very best not to cry out but from what you heard in 4C that did not seem to be easy.
She gasped as the cane whipped lightly across her trembling backside 'Come on! Get it up!'
A pause, and then a desperate involuntary yelp as the cane splatted down in earnest - a vicious transverse cut across the full undercurve of the cheeks, landing with a sharp crack. It felt like a burning flame. There was no hope of suffering in silence. The rounded bottom did an agonised dance.
'Keep still, Lisa! And get it up again otherwise I'll have you in here for another eight on Wednesday.'
With the waves of pain rippling through her Lisa nonetheless became more or less still. Another brief pause, and then it was all repeated: the explosive biting sling of the cane, this time an inch above the first line of impact. followed immediately by the desperate yell, the agonised writhings. It was absolutely unbearable . . . and there were six more to come . . .
Standing over the bare-bottomed Fifth Former, with her own face distinctly pink , Helen Reynolds continued to whack the cane into the curvy bum just about as hard as she could. By the fifth stroke Lisa wasn't only yelling out, she was unashamedly crying, hot tears flooding her flushed cheeks. She had meant to be brave but this was simply impossible, the pain in her bottom was absolutely intolerably awful.
Helen Reynolds kept going, eyes shining. The eighth and final one she laid in with a flashing crack just where the buttocks met the equally curvy thighs. She was rewarded with a desperate wild cry coupled with a frantic jerking of the stung bottom
which almost threw Lisa off the stool.
The Head Girl put the cane down and went back to her chair. Lisa's extravagant writhings gradually stopped. Her sobbing continued.
'That's all, young Howard. You can pull your knickers up now and get back to your dorm. Leave your pyjamas here – if you want them back you’ll have to take some more medicine. And remember, any more nonsense in the future and you'll be over that stool again for an even harder dose’.'
Still crying and gasping with pain, Lisa got to her feet and struggled to tug the tight white panties up over her now red-striped rear. She acted almost like an automaton, shocked clean out of any sense of self-possession. She turned and, half blindly, stumbled to the door. Out of the brightly-lit Prefects' Court and into the subdued light of the corridor, There was now the other ordeal: going back into the dorm with the others all lying wide awake in the darkness, ears stretched like antennas to pick up her reactions, her seven room-mates who had all just heard her humiliation at the hands of beastly sadistic Helen Reynolds.
Lisa steeled herself, she had to do it, she couldn't stay out in the corridor all night. She stumbled forward, her bottom blazing. The door made a horribly loud click as she opened it. At least in the darkness they couldn't see her awful red face and the tears which even now wouldn't completely stop. But she also couldn't stop the sobs which every ten seconds or so kept coming. In the tense silence those sobs sounded deafening.
'Tough luck, Lisa,' called out Sally Mitchell. 'But at least you've got it over. We've still got the awful suspense – waiting for it to happen.'
There were shivers in the darkness from the seven girls who weren't sobbing. They had all heard Lisa yelling out, making that dreadful noise, and the cracks of the cane coming through the walls, and when you considered that Lisa was a pretty brave girl it was obvious that she must have really had that cane lashed into her. Which, come to think of it, must have been so, considering how loud those strokes had sounded. It was over for tonight , none or the others would get it now. But Wednesday, or Friday . . . ?
'It's driving me bonkers.' whispered Angela Ross to Julie Hollings, in the next bed. 'I almost wish they'd call me out and get it over.'
Julie didn't answer, She knew what Angela meant but she certainly didn't wish they'd come for her and get it over with. Julie was quite simply terrified of the thought of that cane. She had this really dreadful mental picture of the scene next door and always, as with Lisa just now, it was herself she could see bent over that stool and her own bare bottom thrust out for Helen Reynolds' cane. It was a picture which made her feel quite sick and she had been dreading the start of this term knowing that she would now be liable for it. She felt she would do anything to avoid that fate.
Julie turned over and tried to get to sleep. Her school record had been exemplary, there was no real reason why she should get the cane, not like Lisa or one or two of the others, Except that now there was the other awful business. Mr Bannister, the gardener.
It was the practice at St. Monica's for a number of Fifth and Lower Sixth Formers to be assigned minor tasks in the running of the school: for instance assisting in the library or helping Miss Smith, Biology, in looking after the small animals she kept or helping Mr Murdoch, the groundsman. If you had one of these assignments it took up only a few hours per week and it got you off a corresponding period of prep it wasn't all bad. This term pretty blonde Julie Hollings had been given an assignment helping Mr Bannister the school gardener. Mr George Bannister was in his fifties, a nondescript-looking character, an 'old lag' certain girls said. Julie had not had much to do with him before though she had heard girls say things . And what she had heard came very sharply into focus last weekend when she was working in his shed.
Before that Mr Bannister had been OK although he had been sort of eyeing Julie's slim shapely form in the white blouse and quite short blue pleated skirt. But on Saturday morning he had just grabbed her. She had been potting some plants and Mr Bannister came up behind her and his hands had slid round underneath her arms and simply taken hold of Julie's pert breasts in the crisp white blouse. A firm lightly-brassiered breast in each large hand.
Julie had let out a yelp and struggled away. There had been a rough cackle from Mr Bannister. 'Now now, Young Miss, let's be friendly. We don't want to be up before Prefects' Court, do we? With our pretty bottom getting that nasty cane!'
As he spoke his hand had come down and round to intimately grope at Julie's rounded bottom. Gasping she pushed him away again. In spite of what those girls had said she would never have imagined Mr Bannister could behave in such a beastly way. But that threat about Prefects' Court was just as bad as what he'd done, and he had then proceeded to reinforce the threat.
'I keep well in with the Head Girl and they Prefects. I'd only have to say you were cheeking me or mucking about in here and your number'd be up, my pretty Miss.'
Julie had felt a stab of pure terror. As she stood there and contemplated the dread prospect he gave her bottom a sharp slap and then went outside. That had happened on Saturday and ever since Julie had naturally been able to think of nothing else.
She didn't know what to do; she was between the devil and the deep blue sea. She could complain to Miss Featherstone or someone, but Mr Bannister would just deny it and then she could be put down as a trouble-maker - and be sent to Prefects' Court anyway. Now, having bad to listen to Lisa get it, Julie knew there was just no way she could face that cane, she'd rather die. And tomorrow afternoon she had to go and help Mr Horrible Bannister again in his shed.
Eventually she got off to sleep. In the morning Lisa bravely peeled down her knickers and showed them all her bottom and you could still see the corrugated marks of the cane. Julie felt really queasy. The morning flashed by and then it was time to go over to that horrible shed.
She had a vague hope that perhaps Mr Bannister would miraculously have changed since last time, but that was not the case as almost at once he did the same thing - grabbed those pretty tits in both hands. Julie had told herself that if necessary she was going to let him take these liberties but she couldn't help struggling. As they lurched against the bench a big pile of flower pots rolled off and hit the floor with a resounding crash. Pieces of broken pottery everywhere.
Mr Bannister, red-faced, looked grim. 'Just look what you done, my girl! It'll be Prefects' Court for this and no mistake.'
Julie started pleading but he cut her short, his eyes gleaming. 'I'll give you the choice, my girl. Prefects' Court or otherwise I can do it myself. But I'll just give you a spanking, not the cane.'
What could she do, with Lisa's cries of last night so fresh in her mind. 'Come on!' coaxed Mr Bannister. 'I won't take your panties down; least-ways not for this first time I won't.'
He went to lock the door, then sat on his wooden chair over at the end where you couldn't see from the window. He beckoned her to him, and, well, did she have any choice?
Julie whispered , 'Promise. That you won't . . . take my knickers down . . . '
He pulled her to him and then over his lap. Right over so that her head was hanging down and her hips were centred on his thighs and stomach. Julie felt her skirt being pulled up, over her back, and then Mr Bannister' horrid hand was on her bare thighs and tightly-knickered bottom.
He didn't take the knickers down but, in spite of her protests, he managed to achieve the same effect by pulling them sharply up. Hooking his thick fingers in the lower hems, first one side and then the other, and yanking the pink nylon material up and across into the cleft of her bottom. Julie yelped and struggled but his other arm firmly round her waist had her helpless; and shortly her bottom was virtually bare.
Mr Bannister' hand started groping and fondling. Underneath her, Julie could feel something stiff and hard, Then the groping stopped and the spanking started. Crisp hard smacks to those exposed bottom cheeks. Left and right , top and bottom. Smack! . . . Smack! . . . Smack! . . . Smack! . . . Hard, unhurried splats of that large leathery hand.
Julie was soon in tears. It really hurt and also it was just so humiliating. But the hand kept coming down on her poor bare bottom, and then on the sensitive backs of her equally bare thighs. Finally he did stop, and started fondling again. Twisting and struggling Julie managed to get off his lap. In fact she finished up sprawled in a heap on the floor.
Blinking away the tears she got up and adjusted her knickers. Mr Bannister had a red face and a leering grin.
'You . . . you're just b . . beastly and awful!' she managed before stumbling over to unlock the door.
It was a really traumatic experience all right but on Wednesday night, when the dorm door burst open at 20 to eleven and a Prefect called out 'Sally Mitchell - Prefects' Court!', Julie thought that perhaps it had been worth it. And a little later when they all heard Sally's anguished cries she was quite sure it was worth it. Anything had to be better than having that wicked flexible cane slashing down on your bare bottom.
But if you submit once to someone like George Bannister you are going to have to do so again. When Julie next had to go and help him, on Friday, he made the same no-nonsense grab at her. And said he thought she needed her bottom spanking again.
Faced with that same threat Prefects' Court - Julie reluctantly submitted. This time, in spite of struggles and yelps of protest, he took her knickers down: The rest was much as before; pretty dreadful. But again that night when Julie heard the mind-whirling, measured whacks and the cries of another girl being caned, she decided that it was worth it.
And so it continued; Julie on her visits to Mr Bannister' potting shed allowing him to do what he wanted which was invariably to take her over his lap and take her knickers down and spank her bare bottom. The third time it was even worse. Somehow Mr Bannister had got hold of a leather tawse – it had two long tails and he made poor Julie bend over the tae as he slashed it down with full force so the wicked tongues found every piece of the girl’s bare bottom-flesh. The spankings or strappings continued for weeks and Julie told no one – while two further members of Dorm 4C (Angela Ross and Sharon Roberts) were in turn called out to Prefects' Court. The tension in the dormitory after Lights Out was often excruciating.
Julie hated it but she had the feeling that now she was safe from Helen Reynolds' cane which was the main thing. She had not made any enemies in school and she was properly behaved and did her work, so apart from Mr Horrible Bannister there was no logical reason why she should be called out. It was hateful having to get over his lap or get the tawse over his table two or three times a week but she was sure it was better than the alternative. So long as none of her friends found out about it . . .
By half term all but three of them in Dorm 4C had had a session In Prefects' Court and Lisa had gone twice, but the general feeling was that the worst was past, the blitz on the new Fifth Formers was over and they had dealt with all those they felt needed It. And indeed after half term Prefects' Court was reduced to once a week, on Mondays, and even then you might not hear any cries so that someone might be getting a ticking off rather the cane.
Yes, it was generally agreed that those who hadn't gone would now be safe, as long as they didn't commit any awful crime. And the others wouldn't have to go again if they could manage to toe the line, although for Lisa at least that was not easy.
Julie was still getting her bottom spanked and strapped by Mr Bannister but even that wouldn't last for ever because she only had that job for this term and after that would be free of him. So there was that to look forward to and also she had not got the cane. In some fanciful way she almost felt as if Mr Bannister had protected her from it.
And then it happened. The second Monday after half term, a Prefects' Court night but no one was too bothered now, there wasn't that feeling of abject terror in the darkness that there'd been at the beginning of the term. They were chatting and laughing softly, and many of them were already asleep. Suddenly the dorm door was open, the darkness split by that shaft of light silhouetting a figure. The chat and laughter froze.
'Julie Hollings! Come out. Prefects' Court!'
Julie stood blinking in the light as all the others had, still not able to fully comprehend the awful truth. She was also shaking from head to toes. It was all as she had been told, as she had imagined; the Head Girl and Prefects in their dressing gowns in the U-formation with in the centre the stool, the cane . . . She stumbled forward at Helen Reynolds' sharp command.
'Julie Hollings, you disgusting creature! I have very reliable information that several times a week you have been in the habit of allowing Bannister to spank or strap your bare bottom. And I dare say allowing him other even worse familiarities as well. You absolutely disgusting creature! What have you got to say for yourself?'
Julie shook her head helplessly. She could hardly think with the shock of it all. Who had told Helen Reynolds and how did they know? Because Mr Bannister always did it over in that corner of his shed where even if someone was peering in the window they couldn't see. Perhaps there was a spyhole or something . . .
'Well' demanded the Head Girl.
Julie blinked back the tears. 'H . . he made me.'
'That is absolutely ridiculous! There is no way he could make you. You must at the very least have agreed to it even if you didn't instigate the disgusting business. As you well know, allowing a male member of the staff to do anything at all like that is strictly, strictly forbidden. Anyway we'll jolly well make you wish you'd never done it, Julie Hollings. Take down your knickers and jump to it!'
Julie looked at the cane, like a rabbit transfixed by a weasel, then up at the grim face of Helen Reynolds.
'Look . . please . . He . . he did make me . . ' She could hardly speak, she was so frightened, and her voice was little more than a whimper.
'Get them down, girl!'
Somehow, scarcely knowing what she was doing, Julie pulled down her skimpy knickers (pale blue today) and then was bent over the stool. It was a dream, it couldn't really be happening, because hadn't they all agreed that the danger of Prefects' Court was now over? She focussed her eyes on the carpet just a few inches from her face. This couldn't be happening.
Then her mouth was open and a wild screaming yell had come out, and her bare taut-buttocked bottom was doing a fiercely desperate dance. Because what felt like a red-hot poker had landed squarely across those rounded bottom cheeks. No, she quite clearly wasn't dreaming, no dream could feel like that.
Nothing could feel like that!
'Get your bottom back up, Julie Hollings, and get those legs straight. You seem to like being spanked, so let's see how you like this cane!'
CRA . . ACK! The red-hot poker landed again, this time reinforcing the flaming pain that was still there from the first cut. It was worse than Julie had ever imagined on all those nights when she had laid awake taut with fear in the darkness, She would have been even more afraid if she had known.
Through the desperate pain Julie heard Helen Reynolds' tight voice: "That's two; and there's six more to come!'
Her own voice pleaded, 'No .. I can't! . . 'but the words were cut short by a third full-blooded cut of the cane. She gasped and yelped, Her face was wet with hot salt tears. She fought to handle the fearsome pain. And then the red-hot poker landed again: WHAAACKK!
Somehow Julie did take the eight. She didn't know how but somehow yelling and sobbing and writhing and at one point actually falling off the stool onto the floor - somehow Julie managed to take them. At last it was over. The cane had stopped coming down. There were eight bright red stripes on her bottom, blazing to hell. Julie was ordered to stand up.
Back in 4C she crept numbly into bed. No one spoke, they were all too shocked that Julie of all people had got it now when they'd all thought it was more or less over. And those who could not sleep for thinking of it heard their poor dorm-mate twisting and turning and sobbing into her pillow seemingly forever.
Afterwards, in the morning, they wanted to know what it was for.
Biting her lip Julie mumbled, 'Cheeking Helen Reynolds.'
It was obviously quite out of character but it was all Julie could think of. She had to think of something, there was no way she could tell them the real humiliating facts: that she had been letting Mr Bannister spank her bum and beat it with has tawse in order to avoid Prefects' Court and then after all she had been sent there for that very reason.
As for Mr Bannister, he was spoken to about it but naturally said that Julie had invited it. And naturally he was believed - because for one thing the school could not afford to lose a good gardener. And he had never been known to do such a thing before.
So the matter was kept quiet. Julie never found out how Helen Reynolds learnt about the spankings. At least they now stopped, although she had to continue her full term helping Mr Bannister. Mr Bannister himself seemed perfectly unconcerned.
'Ah, young Miss. I heared you got a caning. I warned you it could happen, didn't I?'
There was just no answer to that. And though he stopped the spankings he continued to touch Julie whenever he felt like it, and to grope her bare legs under her pleated grey skirt. If she protested he said, 'Now, we don't want another caning, do we?'
Prefects' Court continued, Mondays only. They were not quite so confident now in Dorm 4C that it was all over. And indeed Sally Mitchell got another one, for not doing anything very much. The girls' general standard of behaviour became all but impeccable. And then on the last Monday of Michaelmas term, barely 36 hours before they were due to break up, the dorm door opened once more at 10.30.
'Julie Hollings! Come out. Prefects' Court.'
'Oh, no!'
She stood in the dazzling bright light again before the stool and the cane, surrounded by a ring of Prefects. Helen Reynolds said , 'We thought a little reminder, Julie Hollings, before you go home. To make sure you won't want to get up to any of those tricks again next term. So take those pyjama bottoms down. Jump, to it, girl!'
Friday, 3 September 2010
'Assume the position'
Such an evocotive phrase and two classic photos which perfectly illustrate it. these naughty girls are about to receive seriously painful canings.
Wednesday, 4 August 2010
Katy Caned
This is one of 'Mike from London's' brilliant stories. Poor Katy certainly deserves her thrashing but don't you just love the way her friend is so aroused by it?
The following events took place only two years ago when I had already graduated from University and had begun to train as articled clerk to a solicitor.
Late one Saturday evening my girlfriend Katy telephoned, obviously in a very distressed state, and asked if she could come round right away to see me. I said that she could, of course, and she immediately rang off. I couldn't imagine what it could be about, as Katy was not the sort of girl to get so worked up by any minor mishaps.
I had met her at University where she had studied English while I had taken Law. However after graduating she had been unable to find a vacancy to train as a chartered accountant immediately and she had to 'sign on'. Then she had been promised a position with a large firm to begin the following March and had moved to London in readiness.
When she arrived I asked her what had happened. I knew that in order to supplement her benefit money she had been acting as a collector for a football pools company. She now confessed that in order to make more money she had in some cases not forwarded the coupons and money but had kept it for herself! Katy had as usual checked all such coupons against the results and had been terrified to realise that an old couple whose money she had kept had just got a line with eight score draws in it. She didn't know what to do. If her actions were reported to the newspapers or the police she thought that the publicity would mean her never being allowed to become a chartered accountant. She had come to me for help because she didn't want her parents to know and also wanted to avoid anyone else knowing whom she couldn't trust.
I was very surprised to hear this confession but realised how bad it could be for Katy. To try to comfort her I said that it was possible that the elderly couple, the Marlings, might never check their coupons and realise that they ought to have won. Katy said she had thought of that but couldn't take the risk that they might claim and be told by the Pools company that there was no record of their coupon. If that happened she was sure that they would tell the police. On the other hand she didn't want to go there and confess and throw herself on their mercy if otherwise they would never know about it.
We talked for a long time and in the end I suggested that the best thing would be if she went round to their house in the morning to see if they were excited and thought they'd won, or not. If they did then she would have to tell them what she'd done; otherwise Katy could take the chance if she thought it was worth it.
She stayed the night with me and I tried to help her to relax a little but she stayed tense. On the Sunday she left to go to the Marlings at about 11 o'clock. I wished her good luck and asked her to come straight back and let me know what had happened.
She didn't come back for a long time and when she did return it was obvious that there was bad news. She told me that she had arrived just as they were re-checking their coupon and they thought she'd come to congratulate them. She had told them everything and begged them to give her a chance. They said that they would have to ask the advice of their son, the headmaster of a local school, as they never took important decisions without consulting him. They phoned him up and he came round straight away.
As soon as he knew what had happened he said that the police and the newspapers would have to be told. Katy begged and pleaded with him and told him how sorry she was, but it was no use. She tried to convince him that his parents wouldn't get any benefit from telling their story and would just be harassed by the publicity.
But he pointed out that by her actions she had deprived an elderly couple of probably several thousand pounds and that when the story was published there would be a great wave of public sympathy for his parents and many readers might well donate money to them to make up. Katy still tried to persuade him and told him that if it became public she could never hope to gain a professional qualification. He simply said that the name for what she had done was 'theft' and she should pay for it.
Katy told me that at this point she broke down and started to cry. Mr Marling looked at her for a while and then went over to his parents and started whispering to them. Katy suddenly felt a ray of hope. Then he came back and said that he believed that Katy really was sorry and he was prepared to give her a chance and not report her if she would agree to accept some punishment from him. As Katy told me this she suddenly stopped speaking and blushed. Somehow I guessed what had happened - she'd said he was a local headmaster - he must have suggested that he spank her! I asked Katy and she said no, worse than that. He had told her that the only option he would give her was a sound caning!
He had let Katy go, saying that if she agreed she was to go back to his parents' house at half past six that evening for the caning; otherwise he would inform the press and the authorities.
I asked her what she was going to do and she said that she thought she was going to have to let him cane her, but she was terrified of how much it would hurt. She asked me if I had ever had the cane at school and I had to tell her that I hadn't but that I knew from other boys in my class that it hurt all right. I asked Katy if Mr Marling had said how many strokes he would give her. "Yes," she said with a kind of gulp, "sixteen!"
I was astonished. I blurted out, "You can't take that many on your hands!" Katy replied, "No, he said he would give me four on the hands and the rest on my . . . behind."
Once again she blushed deeply and then went on, "And it's even worse. He says that the caning has to be in front of his parents and that I could only have one layer of clothing as protection when . . . I bend over and he said that by that he meant ordinary thin knickers, and that if I tried to take advantage by wearing thick knickers or anything, he'd take them down and cane me on the bare. Oh, David, what shall I do?"
I said that it was up to her, but if she really thought that her whole future was at stake she should accept the caning. I said I knew it would hurt her, but she would get over the pain of the caning and would then have all of her life ahead of her. But I told her to be careful because I knew the cane really hurt a lot and this Mr Marling didn't seem inclined to show her any favours.
I took Katy out for a drink to try to steady her and help make her mind up. In the pub she told me that the worst corporal punishment she'd ever had in her life was the ruler on the hand at school. She asked me if I knew whether the cane hurt more on the hands or on the bottom. I said that boys at my school who'd had both said it hurt more on the hands but that they'd been allowed the protection of trousers and pants. She drank four gin-and-tonics but showed no sign of getting drunk. We stayed in the pub until two o'clock and then went back to my flat.
I asked Katy if she had made her mind up. She said that she had no choice but to go through with it. She asked if I would mind please going with her as she didn't know what state she'd be in to walk back afterwards and that, as her humiliation had to be witnessed in any case, she would like me to be there as a witness on her side in case Mr Marling went too far.
I said that of course I'd do anything she wanted. I suggested that I draft a legal document by which Mr Marling would promise not to report her and she agreed that this would be a good idea. I drafted something and showed it to Katy. She was surprised that I hadn't referred to her caning at all in it. This was because I was of the opinion that an agreement based on this consideration would be void as contra bona mores and I had therefore produced a covenant to be executed by Mr Marling as this is valid whatever the consideration.
Then I made a few more practical suggestions as poor Katy was too overwhelmed to think straight. I knew she was wearing both knickers and pantyhose under her skirt and suggested that we went back to her flat so she could change. She agreed.
When we got to her flat we went to her bedroom where she tried on different kinds of knickers and bent over in each to see which offered best protection. By this time I had a very hard erection and was on the brink of coming as I imagined what was soon going to happen to the tender bottom that kept bending down in front of me encased in various knickers. I suggested that a particular pair - white with pink flowers - would be the best. Katy stood up and snapped at me, "You're enjoying this, aren't you?" I denied this, but said that of course the sight of her bending down in knickers excited me. She said angrily, "Well, simmer down. I'm not in the mood at all."
She kept the skimpy white-and-pink knickers on, though, and changed into a loose blue cotton skirt that could easily be lifted up to disclose the target area. Then I suggested that as some of the strokes were to be given on her hands it would be a good idea to remove her rings and her watch and to trim her fingernails in case of accidents. Katy was rather proud of her fingernails, but agreed to cut them when I pointed out the danger that a nail could be torn out if a stroke landed across her fingertips.
By this time it was past six o'clock and we got into my car and drove to the Marlings. Before we got out I hugged Katy and kissed her and told her to be brave. When we went in Katy introduced me as her fiancé�, whom she had asked as a witness. She told them that I had a degree in Law and that I had drafted an agreement. Mr Marling looked at it, thought a bit, and said that he would sign it - after the caning. Katy and I looked at each other and agreed. Then he said, "Right, let's get started," and led the way to another room.
There were two seats at the opposite end of the room where his parents went and sat. In the middle of the room was a large old-fashioned armchair which had obviously been moved there from its normal position against the wall. Across a coffee table lay a cane and a twin tailed leather tawse. The cane was lightish brown in colour and slightly curved with a crook handle. The tawse was a dark leather and the tongues were about nine inches in length and looked wickedly supple.
Mr Marling picked up the tawse and beckoned to Katy to come forward and stand where he wanted her. He said, "This is the prelude to the main part of your punishment - four strokes on the hand with this tawse. I think the cane on the hands would be too severe and besides, it will be good for you to get a taste of different instruments of correction. I tell you this, though - this strap stings and I intend to make you feel it. And let me give you a warning. If you take your hand away during this part of your punishment I will not only make quite sure that you receive all four strokes but for each such occasion you will receive two additional strokes on your backside. Now, Miss Notley, hold out your left hand."
It was strange to hear him refer to her so formally, and in a sarcastic tone, by her surname, but Katy did as she was told. He adjusted her hand until it was the right height for him. Then he raised the strap. I was standing to one side and I could see that Katy had closed her eyes tight and that her lips were pressed together. But she kept her hand held steadily out.
Suddenly Mr Marling slashed the tawse down hard. I was amazed at the speed and violence of the twin tails landing on Katy's outstretched palm. She gasped with a sharp indrawn breath and jerked her hand away, shaking it to try to assuage the sting. Mr Marling gave her a few moments and then said, calmly, "Now the other hand, please." Once again a hand was delicately held out and the strap was slowly raised and then swished down to land with a loud crack across the soft flesh of Katy's palm. This time her gasp was louder and she did a short dance of pain before pressing her right hand between her side and her left arm. I was surprised at how hard Mr Marling was hitting her and how little fuss Katy was making. I was sure he couldn't thrash his school kids as hard as that.
Then he said "Now the first hand again," and Katy had to extend the already strapped left palm for a second time. Katy's eyes were open again and I could see the tears welling in her large blue eyes. This time she cried out with the pain as the stroke landed and it took her a long time to ready herself for the last stroke of this part of her punishment. I could see that she had to use all of her willpower to keep her hand in place. I hoped against hope that she would be able to resist the impulse to pull it away before Mr Marling brought the tawse down, thus earning herself the additional strokes on her bottom she had been warned about.
Just as the tawse flashed downwards Katy did lose her nerve and started to move her hand but the only effect was that it lashed down right across her fingers and must have hurt even more than the others. Katy yelled wildly and started to cry. She danced about once again, waving her hands wildly. Mr Marling replaced the strap on the coffee table and picked up the long, flexible cane. His parents whispered something to each other.
Katy had seen nothing of this as she was obviously still obsessed by the stinging pain in her hands. Mr Marling attracted her attention by walking round behind her and swishing the cane across her back, not too hard but hard enough to make her flinch and look up. He then said "Well, Miss Notley, that's got the preliminaries out of the way. Now we can start on the real punishment. This is the cane I use on senior boys. They don't often come back for a second dose!"
He flexed the cane and clearly, despite its thickness, it was wickedly supple. He made a couple of practise strokes through the air and the cane made a hissing sound. I dreaded to think of the effect that this heavy cane would have on poor Katy's soft bottom, having seen how much the strap had already hurt her.
Mr Marling took hold of Katy, manoeuvred her to the armchair and told her to bend over its side. She gave me a glance full of pain and fear, but then she complied. As she slowly leaned forward he roughly pushed her head down closer to the seat and pulled up her skirt, pinning it into place. The tiny pink-and-white knickers were now displayed and clearly offered no real protection to Katy's trembling bottom; a bottom at which Mr and Mrs Marling senior were gazing in fascination.
Their son spoke to Katy again. "I intend this to hurt you a good deal, Miss Notley, but I expect you to stay in place until I give you permission to stand up. Otherwise you'll get those extra strokes you avoided so narrowly just now."
He raised the cane to shoulder height and drew it back, pausing to take aim. Stepping forward he delivered the stroke so as to produce maximum force. I heard the whack as the cane landed and saw Katy's whole body shudder. She squealed with pain and kicked her legs, but remained bent over. Before she could have had time to recover Mr Marling whipped the cane down for the second stroke.
This time there was a louder yell and he allowed a longer time before the next stroke. Katy's sobs could be clearly heard and I couldn't believe Mr Marling could be so completely merciless, hitting my darling Katy so hard when she was already in such pain. However he showed no pity and, if anything, the next two strokes were even harder. After the fourth Katy screamed with the pain and her hands instinctively flew back to protect her bottom. But it was only for a moment and then by a great effort of willpower she took her hands away and with a moan once more presented her agonisingly sore bottom to Mr Marling's cane.
Somehow she managed to take three more strokes delivered with vicious force across her full-stretched knickers. Then, after the seventh, Katy shot upright and covered her bottom with her hands. She hopped around and then stood jumping from one foot to the other facing her tormentor. Now I could see her tear-stained face screwed up with pain. Katy begged piteously to be let off and screamed over and over again that she was sorry and that she simply couldn't take any more.
Mr Marling gave her time to scream herself out and then said "You're only making it worse for yourself, Miss Notley. That's an extra two strokes - seven to go." As he spoke I could hear that he was panting slightly from his exertions. Katy would not bend down again but continued to hop about, twisting and wriggling in pain with her cane-marked hands holding her bottom. Mr Marling asked me to try to persuade her to submit to the rest of the punishment. "Remember I can still go to the papers," he said.
I didn't know what to say to Katy. I tried to comfort her and tell her how brave she was, but it was no use. In the end our generous Mr Marling offered to let her off with only three more strokes - if she would take them on her bared bottom after taking her knickers down!
Still crying non-stop and squirming in pain, Katy considered this awful choice for a long time - and then reluctantly agreed.
It was a heart rending business as the poor girl tried to use her wealed and obviously still painful hands to ease her knickers off her devastated buttocks. I almost started to cry in sympathy. At last Katy's knickers were down to her knees and she started, ever so slowly, to bend forward again.
Mr Marling, with an unctuous look on his face, suggested that I should hold Katy in position for the last strokes so that there would be no more 'interruptions'. As I crossed behind her I saw for the first time the horrible purplish weals and the bruises beginning to form on the smooth white flesh of Katy's bottom.
I bent over her, holding her lightly, and trying to whisper endearments to her. I could feel her trembling and the tremendous tension. I didn't look at Mr Marling and the first I knew of the next stroke was the whirring sound as it slashed through the air. Suddenly I felt Katy's whole body convulse at the pain and she howled piteously, but I kept hold of her. She bucked and twisted frenziedly while Mr Marling waited, watching her naked bottom, until she settled back after about a minute, sobbing.
The next stroke was even harder still and I felt the terrific force of it as it smashed down onto Katy's unprotected and terribly tender bottom. She screamed again - inches from my ear - and seemed unable to stop. She was still screaming as Mr Marling delivered the final stroke with undiminished venom. I continued to hold her as he admired the effects of his handiwork etched across her backside and unpinned her skirt.
Then I let Katy go, but she continued to sob into the seat of the armchair as if her heart was broken. Eventually she got up and tried to stand still but wriggled and writhed, still obviously in agony. Tears were pouring from her cheek onto the carpet.
Mr Marling went round and stood in front of her and said, "I think that's taught you a lesson you won't forget, young lady. I don't imagine you'll be sitting down comfortably for a couple of days. And now I want you to go over and apologise to my parents."
Walking was obviously very painful. Katy clamped her hands to the back of the blue skirt, which had fallen back down over her wealed bottom, to try to contain the pain and hobbled towards Mr and Mrs Marling. Her knickers had fallen off during her gyrations and I picked them up and put them in my pocket. Katy somehow managed to mumble something to the elderly couple and Mr Marling said he would now sign the agreement, which he did. Then he said we could go.
Each step must have been agony for Katy, but I managed to help her out of the house and into the car. I got her in it, stretched face-down over the back seat with her feet on the floor. Luckily no-one was watching. I've no idea how Katy would have managed if she hadn't asked me to go with her.
I drove her back to her flat and she was still sobbing when we got there. I helped her out of the car and upstairs. She went first of all to the bathroom and was sick. I got her a glass of water and cleared up a bit. Then I got her to lie on her stomach on the bed and carefully lifted up her skirt.
Her bottom was a terrible sight, horribly swollen, covered with bruises and marked with a frightful tracery of raised weals. Katy could hardly speak. I decided the best thing to do was to dip a couple of face flannels in cold water and place them over her swollen bottom.
I asked if she wanted me to stay with her but she said she wanted to be left alone. When I got home I couldn't help masturbating over what I had seen. I kept the knickers Katy had been wearing and put them away. Next day I went round to see Katy early, before work. I had the key to her flat and let myself in.
Katy was lying on her bed, stark naked with an electric fan directing cold air onto her bottom. She got up when I came in and walked very stiffly and slowly over to me. I put my arms around her and kissed and cuddled her, very delicately letting my hand wander towards her bottom. As I ran my fingers very gently over her wealed rear I felt her quiver with pain and press her body closer to mine. Then she broke clear of my arms. I asked her how she felt and she said that her bottom still throbbed awfully, but that her hands were all right. However I could still see the marks left by the tawse's tails on her palms.
That evening Katy felt better enough for me to take her down to the pub - although she chose to stand up by the bar. In fact it was over a week before she could sit down properly without wincing. I tried to make love to her that night, but she said her bruises were still too painful.
The marks on Katy's bottom did not finally disappear until several weeks after these events, but long before that our relationship was back to normal again. The experience left me with a burning interest in the corporal punishment of girls, but Katy, perhaps understandably, has no desire whatsoever to be spanked. Even if I playfully give her a tap on her bottom she gets very annoyed. I love Katy and plan to marry her, but now you know why I read Janus and Privilege.
The following events took place only two years ago when I had already graduated from University and had begun to train as articled clerk to a solicitor.
Late one Saturday evening my girlfriend Katy telephoned, obviously in a very distressed state, and asked if she could come round right away to see me. I said that she could, of course, and she immediately rang off. I couldn't imagine what it could be about, as Katy was not the sort of girl to get so worked up by any minor mishaps.
I had met her at University where she had studied English while I had taken Law. However after graduating she had been unable to find a vacancy to train as a chartered accountant immediately and she had to 'sign on'. Then she had been promised a position with a large firm to begin the following March and had moved to London in readiness.
When she arrived I asked her what had happened. I knew that in order to supplement her benefit money she had been acting as a collector for a football pools company. She now confessed that in order to make more money she had in some cases not forwarded the coupons and money but had kept it for herself! Katy had as usual checked all such coupons against the results and had been terrified to realise that an old couple whose money she had kept had just got a line with eight score draws in it. She didn't know what to do. If her actions were reported to the newspapers or the police she thought that the publicity would mean her never being allowed to become a chartered accountant. She had come to me for help because she didn't want her parents to know and also wanted to avoid anyone else knowing whom she couldn't trust.
I was very surprised to hear this confession but realised how bad it could be for Katy. To try to comfort her I said that it was possible that the elderly couple, the Marlings, might never check their coupons and realise that they ought to have won. Katy said she had thought of that but couldn't take the risk that they might claim and be told by the Pools company that there was no record of their coupon. If that happened she was sure that they would tell the police. On the other hand she didn't want to go there and confess and throw herself on their mercy if otherwise they would never know about it.
We talked for a long time and in the end I suggested that the best thing would be if she went round to their house in the morning to see if they were excited and thought they'd won, or not. If they did then she would have to tell them what she'd done; otherwise Katy could take the chance if she thought it was worth it.
She stayed the night with me and I tried to help her to relax a little but she stayed tense. On the Sunday she left to go to the Marlings at about 11 o'clock. I wished her good luck and asked her to come straight back and let me know what had happened.
She didn't come back for a long time and when she did return it was obvious that there was bad news. She told me that she had arrived just as they were re-checking their coupon and they thought she'd come to congratulate them. She had told them everything and begged them to give her a chance. They said that they would have to ask the advice of their son, the headmaster of a local school, as they never took important decisions without consulting him. They phoned him up and he came round straight away.
As soon as he knew what had happened he said that the police and the newspapers would have to be told. Katy begged and pleaded with him and told him how sorry she was, but it was no use. She tried to convince him that his parents wouldn't get any benefit from telling their story and would just be harassed by the publicity.
But he pointed out that by her actions she had deprived an elderly couple of probably several thousand pounds and that when the story was published there would be a great wave of public sympathy for his parents and many readers might well donate money to them to make up. Katy still tried to persuade him and told him that if it became public she could never hope to gain a professional qualification. He simply said that the name for what she had done was 'theft' and she should pay for it.
Katy told me that at this point she broke down and started to cry. Mr Marling looked at her for a while and then went over to his parents and started whispering to them. Katy suddenly felt a ray of hope. Then he came back and said that he believed that Katy really was sorry and he was prepared to give her a chance and not report her if she would agree to accept some punishment from him. As Katy told me this she suddenly stopped speaking and blushed. Somehow I guessed what had happened - she'd said he was a local headmaster - he must have suggested that he spank her! I asked Katy and she said no, worse than that. He had told her that the only option he would give her was a sound caning!
He had let Katy go, saying that if she agreed she was to go back to his parents' house at half past six that evening for the caning; otherwise he would inform the press and the authorities.
I asked her what she was going to do and she said that she thought she was going to have to let him cane her, but she was terrified of how much it would hurt. She asked me if I had ever had the cane at school and I had to tell her that I hadn't but that I knew from other boys in my class that it hurt all right. I asked Katy if Mr Marling had said how many strokes he would give her. "Yes," she said with a kind of gulp, "sixteen!"
I was astonished. I blurted out, "You can't take that many on your hands!" Katy replied, "No, he said he would give me four on the hands and the rest on my . . . behind."
Once again she blushed deeply and then went on, "And it's even worse. He says that the caning has to be in front of his parents and that I could only have one layer of clothing as protection when . . . I bend over and he said that by that he meant ordinary thin knickers, and that if I tried to take advantage by wearing thick knickers or anything, he'd take them down and cane me on the bare. Oh, David, what shall I do?"
I said that it was up to her, but if she really thought that her whole future was at stake she should accept the caning. I said I knew it would hurt her, but she would get over the pain of the caning and would then have all of her life ahead of her. But I told her to be careful because I knew the cane really hurt a lot and this Mr Marling didn't seem inclined to show her any favours.
I took Katy out for a drink to try to steady her and help make her mind up. In the pub she told me that the worst corporal punishment she'd ever had in her life was the ruler on the hand at school. She asked me if I knew whether the cane hurt more on the hands or on the bottom. I said that boys at my school who'd had both said it hurt more on the hands but that they'd been allowed the protection of trousers and pants. She drank four gin-and-tonics but showed no sign of getting drunk. We stayed in the pub until two o'clock and then went back to my flat.
I asked Katy if she had made her mind up. She said that she had no choice but to go through with it. She asked if I would mind please going with her as she didn't know what state she'd be in to walk back afterwards and that, as her humiliation had to be witnessed in any case, she would like me to be there as a witness on her side in case Mr Marling went too far.
I said that of course I'd do anything she wanted. I suggested that I draft a legal document by which Mr Marling would promise not to report her and she agreed that this would be a good idea. I drafted something and showed it to Katy. She was surprised that I hadn't referred to her caning at all in it. This was because I was of the opinion that an agreement based on this consideration would be void as contra bona mores and I had therefore produced a covenant to be executed by Mr Marling as this is valid whatever the consideration.
Then I made a few more practical suggestions as poor Katy was too overwhelmed to think straight. I knew she was wearing both knickers and pantyhose under her skirt and suggested that we went back to her flat so she could change. She agreed.
When we got to her flat we went to her bedroom where she tried on different kinds of knickers and bent over in each to see which offered best protection. By this time I had a very hard erection and was on the brink of coming as I imagined what was soon going to happen to the tender bottom that kept bending down in front of me encased in various knickers. I suggested that a particular pair - white with pink flowers - would be the best. Katy stood up and snapped at me, "You're enjoying this, aren't you?" I denied this, but said that of course the sight of her bending down in knickers excited me. She said angrily, "Well, simmer down. I'm not in the mood at all."
She kept the skimpy white-and-pink knickers on, though, and changed into a loose blue cotton skirt that could easily be lifted up to disclose the target area. Then I suggested that as some of the strokes were to be given on her hands it would be a good idea to remove her rings and her watch and to trim her fingernails in case of accidents. Katy was rather proud of her fingernails, but agreed to cut them when I pointed out the danger that a nail could be torn out if a stroke landed across her fingertips.
By this time it was past six o'clock and we got into my car and drove to the Marlings. Before we got out I hugged Katy and kissed her and told her to be brave. When we went in Katy introduced me as her fiancé�, whom she had asked as a witness. She told them that I had a degree in Law and that I had drafted an agreement. Mr Marling looked at it, thought a bit, and said that he would sign it - after the caning. Katy and I looked at each other and agreed. Then he said, "Right, let's get started," and led the way to another room.
There were two seats at the opposite end of the room where his parents went and sat. In the middle of the room was a large old-fashioned armchair which had obviously been moved there from its normal position against the wall. Across a coffee table lay a cane and a twin tailed leather tawse. The cane was lightish brown in colour and slightly curved with a crook handle. The tawse was a dark leather and the tongues were about nine inches in length and looked wickedly supple.
Mr Marling picked up the tawse and beckoned to Katy to come forward and stand where he wanted her. He said, "This is the prelude to the main part of your punishment - four strokes on the hand with this tawse. I think the cane on the hands would be too severe and besides, it will be good for you to get a taste of different instruments of correction. I tell you this, though - this strap stings and I intend to make you feel it. And let me give you a warning. If you take your hand away during this part of your punishment I will not only make quite sure that you receive all four strokes but for each such occasion you will receive two additional strokes on your backside. Now, Miss Notley, hold out your left hand."
It was strange to hear him refer to her so formally, and in a sarcastic tone, by her surname, but Katy did as she was told. He adjusted her hand until it was the right height for him. Then he raised the strap. I was standing to one side and I could see that Katy had closed her eyes tight and that her lips were pressed together. But she kept her hand held steadily out.
Suddenly Mr Marling slashed the tawse down hard. I was amazed at the speed and violence of the twin tails landing on Katy's outstretched palm. She gasped with a sharp indrawn breath and jerked her hand away, shaking it to try to assuage the sting. Mr Marling gave her a few moments and then said, calmly, "Now the other hand, please." Once again a hand was delicately held out and the strap was slowly raised and then swished down to land with a loud crack across the soft flesh of Katy's palm. This time her gasp was louder and she did a short dance of pain before pressing her right hand between her side and her left arm. I was surprised at how hard Mr Marling was hitting her and how little fuss Katy was making. I was sure he couldn't thrash his school kids as hard as that.
Then he said "Now the first hand again," and Katy had to extend the already strapped left palm for a second time. Katy's eyes were open again and I could see the tears welling in her large blue eyes. This time she cried out with the pain as the stroke landed and it took her a long time to ready herself for the last stroke of this part of her punishment. I could see that she had to use all of her willpower to keep her hand in place. I hoped against hope that she would be able to resist the impulse to pull it away before Mr Marling brought the tawse down, thus earning herself the additional strokes on her bottom she had been warned about.
Just as the tawse flashed downwards Katy did lose her nerve and started to move her hand but the only effect was that it lashed down right across her fingers and must have hurt even more than the others. Katy yelled wildly and started to cry. She danced about once again, waving her hands wildly. Mr Marling replaced the strap on the coffee table and picked up the long, flexible cane. His parents whispered something to each other.
Katy had seen nothing of this as she was obviously still obsessed by the stinging pain in her hands. Mr Marling attracted her attention by walking round behind her and swishing the cane across her back, not too hard but hard enough to make her flinch and look up. He then said "Well, Miss Notley, that's got the preliminaries out of the way. Now we can start on the real punishment. This is the cane I use on senior boys. They don't often come back for a second dose!"
He flexed the cane and clearly, despite its thickness, it was wickedly supple. He made a couple of practise strokes through the air and the cane made a hissing sound. I dreaded to think of the effect that this heavy cane would have on poor Katy's soft bottom, having seen how much the strap had already hurt her.
Mr Marling took hold of Katy, manoeuvred her to the armchair and told her to bend over its side. She gave me a glance full of pain and fear, but then she complied. As she slowly leaned forward he roughly pushed her head down closer to the seat and pulled up her skirt, pinning it into place. The tiny pink-and-white knickers were now displayed and clearly offered no real protection to Katy's trembling bottom; a bottom at which Mr and Mrs Marling senior were gazing in fascination.
Their son spoke to Katy again. "I intend this to hurt you a good deal, Miss Notley, but I expect you to stay in place until I give you permission to stand up. Otherwise you'll get those extra strokes you avoided so narrowly just now."
He raised the cane to shoulder height and drew it back, pausing to take aim. Stepping forward he delivered the stroke so as to produce maximum force. I heard the whack as the cane landed and saw Katy's whole body shudder. She squealed with pain and kicked her legs, but remained bent over. Before she could have had time to recover Mr Marling whipped the cane down for the second stroke.
This time there was a louder yell and he allowed a longer time before the next stroke. Katy's sobs could be clearly heard and I couldn't believe Mr Marling could be so completely merciless, hitting my darling Katy so hard when she was already in such pain. However he showed no pity and, if anything, the next two strokes were even harder. After the fourth Katy screamed with the pain and her hands instinctively flew back to protect her bottom. But it was only for a moment and then by a great effort of willpower she took her hands away and with a moan once more presented her agonisingly sore bottom to Mr Marling's cane.
Somehow she managed to take three more strokes delivered with vicious force across her full-stretched knickers. Then, after the seventh, Katy shot upright and covered her bottom with her hands. She hopped around and then stood jumping from one foot to the other facing her tormentor. Now I could see her tear-stained face screwed up with pain. Katy begged piteously to be let off and screamed over and over again that she was sorry and that she simply couldn't take any more.
Mr Marling gave her time to scream herself out and then said "You're only making it worse for yourself, Miss Notley. That's an extra two strokes - seven to go." As he spoke I could hear that he was panting slightly from his exertions. Katy would not bend down again but continued to hop about, twisting and wriggling in pain with her cane-marked hands holding her bottom. Mr Marling asked me to try to persuade her to submit to the rest of the punishment. "Remember I can still go to the papers," he said.
I didn't know what to say to Katy. I tried to comfort her and tell her how brave she was, but it was no use. In the end our generous Mr Marling offered to let her off with only three more strokes - if she would take them on her bared bottom after taking her knickers down!
Still crying non-stop and squirming in pain, Katy considered this awful choice for a long time - and then reluctantly agreed.
It was a heart rending business as the poor girl tried to use her wealed and obviously still painful hands to ease her knickers off her devastated buttocks. I almost started to cry in sympathy. At last Katy's knickers were down to her knees and she started, ever so slowly, to bend forward again.
Mr Marling, with an unctuous look on his face, suggested that I should hold Katy in position for the last strokes so that there would be no more 'interruptions'. As I crossed behind her I saw for the first time the horrible purplish weals and the bruises beginning to form on the smooth white flesh of Katy's bottom.
I bent over her, holding her lightly, and trying to whisper endearments to her. I could feel her trembling and the tremendous tension. I didn't look at Mr Marling and the first I knew of the next stroke was the whirring sound as it slashed through the air. Suddenly I felt Katy's whole body convulse at the pain and she howled piteously, but I kept hold of her. She bucked and twisted frenziedly while Mr Marling waited, watching her naked bottom, until she settled back after about a minute, sobbing.
The next stroke was even harder still and I felt the terrific force of it as it smashed down onto Katy's unprotected and terribly tender bottom. She screamed again - inches from my ear - and seemed unable to stop. She was still screaming as Mr Marling delivered the final stroke with undiminished venom. I continued to hold her as he admired the effects of his handiwork etched across her backside and unpinned her skirt.
Then I let Katy go, but she continued to sob into the seat of the armchair as if her heart was broken. Eventually she got up and tried to stand still but wriggled and writhed, still obviously in agony. Tears were pouring from her cheek onto the carpet.
Mr Marling went round and stood in front of her and said, "I think that's taught you a lesson you won't forget, young lady. I don't imagine you'll be sitting down comfortably for a couple of days. And now I want you to go over and apologise to my parents."
Walking was obviously very painful. Katy clamped her hands to the back of the blue skirt, which had fallen back down over her wealed bottom, to try to contain the pain and hobbled towards Mr and Mrs Marling. Her knickers had fallen off during her gyrations and I picked them up and put them in my pocket. Katy somehow managed to mumble something to the elderly couple and Mr Marling said he would now sign the agreement, which he did. Then he said we could go.
Each step must have been agony for Katy, but I managed to help her out of the house and into the car. I got her in it, stretched face-down over the back seat with her feet on the floor. Luckily no-one was watching. I've no idea how Katy would have managed if she hadn't asked me to go with her.
I drove her back to her flat and she was still sobbing when we got there. I helped her out of the car and upstairs. She went first of all to the bathroom and was sick. I got her a glass of water and cleared up a bit. Then I got her to lie on her stomach on the bed and carefully lifted up her skirt.
Her bottom was a terrible sight, horribly swollen, covered with bruises and marked with a frightful tracery of raised weals. Katy could hardly speak. I decided the best thing to do was to dip a couple of face flannels in cold water and place them over her swollen bottom.
I asked if she wanted me to stay with her but she said she wanted to be left alone. When I got home I couldn't help masturbating over what I had seen. I kept the knickers Katy had been wearing and put them away. Next day I went round to see Katy early, before work. I had the key to her flat and let myself in.
Katy was lying on her bed, stark naked with an electric fan directing cold air onto her bottom. She got up when I came in and walked very stiffly and slowly over to me. I put my arms around her and kissed and cuddled her, very delicately letting my hand wander towards her bottom. As I ran my fingers very gently over her wealed rear I felt her quiver with pain and press her body closer to mine. Then she broke clear of my arms. I asked her how she felt and she said that her bottom still throbbed awfully, but that her hands were all right. However I could still see the marks left by the tawse's tails on her palms.
That evening Katy felt better enough for me to take her down to the pub - although she chose to stand up by the bar. In fact it was over a week before she could sit down properly without wincing. I tried to make love to her that night, but she said her bruises were still too painful.
The marks on Katy's bottom did not finally disappear until several weeks after these events, but long before that our relationship was back to normal again. The experience left me with a burning interest in the corporal punishment of girls, but Katy, perhaps understandably, has no desire whatsoever to be spanked. Even if I playfully give her a tap on her bottom she gets very annoyed. I love Katy and plan to marry her, but now you know why I read Janus and Privilege.
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