R.T. Mason is one of the best writers in this field - he manages to build tension, capture the exquisite agony of the victim and has an attention to detail which few can match. I don't normally like stories set in the future or the past but this one works superbly and Jenny's caning and tawsing are stunningly real. It comes from Janus (of course) from 1984
A GLIMPSE INTO 1994
By R.T Mason
1984 did not turn out quite as George Orwell predicted, although few perhaps would dispute that there has proved to be a certain timely symbolic truth to his allegorical fantasy. But things can change very rapidly. Perhaps 1994 could be the year? The year when the\State and Big Brother take over, especially against undisciplined excesses of youth. Discipline is naturally the keynote: a strict non-nonsense regime reinforced with a liberal use of corporal punishment. Females will undoubtedly be treated as strictly as males. If not infinitely more so...
'Oh no!' burst out Jenny. 'Look at the time!'
The digital watch on her wrist said quite unequivocally 20:57. And equally unequivocally the Curfew for schoolgirls in term time in 1994 was 21 :00 hours. She struggled desperately to her feet and went to grab her bike, propped against a nearby tree. Jenny's companion, her boyfriend Chris, began frantically bundling up the blanket they had been lying on. His face bore a dazed look. One moment he and Jenny had been quietly lying there smooching, and then suddenly . . . this awful frightening realisation.
They were on the Common outside their home town of Southdown. The Common was a very pleasant place to be on a peaceful. still-warm June evening such as this. It had in fact been rather too pleasant and seduced by the tranquil evening and each other's company they had quite forgotten the time. And the Curfew.
The Curfew did not apply to Chris because although he was the same age as Jenny he was no longer at school.
In 1994 boys could leave at 17 but because of the unemployment situation girls were kept at school for two more years, until they were 19. Both Chris and Jenny were now 19; and Jenny was in her last term at school.
But while she was still at school all the School Regulations had to be strictly observed.
One of the most strictly observed Regulations was the 21 :00 term time Curfew when all girls must be indoors, at home. The only possible exception to this would be if you were attending a State rally or lecture or something similar: you certainly couldn't be out on the Common with a boyfriend, or even cycling back home.
'Oh God!' wailed Jenny, straightening herself up and buttoning her blazer. 'Someone's sure to see me'.
And indeed that did seem very likely. For one thing she was in the full school uniform of State School for Girls Number 2417 (Southdown) . White blouse and navy-blue knee-length pleated skirt, and red-and-blue striped tie with the red blazer with blue piping and its crest 'Southdown School for Girls'. And of course dark nylons and black court shoes. All as in the School Regulations.
Because also in those School Regulations was the requirement that every girl must wear full school uniform at all times and not just during school hours.
One reason for this was that then a girl could be immediately spotted anywhere if her behaviour was in any way incorrect.
Such as for instance being out after Curfew.
The situation was pretty hopeless, for both of their homes were over a couple of miles away on the other side of Southdown. And you could be sure there would be plenty of good honest citizens about with their eyes wide open. Older male citizens, naturally. Indeed they were known to come out especially at about this time simply in the hope of finding a young and pretty female who had somehow missed the Curfew deadline.
'Well, we can only hope for the best.' said Chris. But his voice did not sound very confident.
They started pushing their bikes across the rough grass towards the road. And almost immediately, as they rounded some bushes, there was the very type they had hoped to avoid. A good honest middle-aged citizen. His name was Arthur Mannings and he came here most evenings, walking his dog, on the off chance that he might come across what he now saw: a girl in school uniform. Because it was clearly a good citizen's duty to see that breakers of Regulations were apprehended.
The good citizen immediately waved for them to stop. Chris felt a momentary impulse to try and make a run for it. But he knew that would only make it worse. They stopped. The man with the dog hurried towards them.
He was panting a bit when he caught up to them. Panting with the extra effort to get to what his keen eyes now confirmed was a nice tasty catch. Mr Arthur Mannings' eyes were small and rather piggy-like in a round middle aged face now pinkly perspiring. The eyes were of course focused on Jenny as she stood nervously holding her bike.
'Lovely evening: he observed, a bit breathless. But his thoughts were clearly not on the evening but on this quite tall but decidedly well-built specimen of girlhood. His eyes greedily took in the pretty shoulder-length blonde hair and the clean attractive features. Even more they took in the rest of her: the indication of firm breasts under the blazer; the nyloned calves; the shapely rounded hips under the pleated skirt.
The good citizen's gaze broke off to check his watch. It was now exactly 21:01. 'But late for a schoolgirl to be out,though. Southdown School for Girls, eh?' He added, 'By the way, my name's Arthur Mannings; I'm with the Ministry of Social Affairs: while his hand reached out and tapped the crest on Jenny's blazer. And then the hand gave a quite deliberate squeeze to the breast below.
Jenny flushed and backed away. The hand let go.
'Can I see your ID, Miss?' He bent down to let his dog off the lead.
Fumblingly Jenny felt in first one and then another pocket. She experienced a wave of panic for to be caught without her ID Card would really be the end. Finally, with relief, she found it and meekly handed it over.
Mr Mannings studied it, reading out the details. 'Jenny Susan Allison; 21 Westbourne Avenue, South down. Aged 19 years. Pupil, Southdown School for Girls (State School No. 2417). State identification No. 043,892,124/F.'
He looked at the photograph, comparing it with its owner, then slipped the ID Card in his pocket.
'Don't worry your pretty head’ he said to Jenny's look of alarm. 'You'll get it back. But we are past the deadline for pretty girls to be back home in bed. Aren't we?'
Jenny flushed red. 'We .. we just forgot the time. Pl . . please don't report me. I've n .. never broken the Curfew before.'
The good citizen had the expression of a cat with a big bowl of cream. He didn't in fact intend to report her, as indeed Jenny and Chris might have guessed. Well, why let some Official of the Education Ministry have all the fun.
The fun of bending this mouth-watering girl over a caning horse and slipping her tight knickers down. And then getting to work on her undoubtedly splendid 19-year-old rump with a nice supple three-foot cane.
Yes, why let some official have that pleasure when he, Arthur Mannings, might just be able to do a bit of that himself.
He gave them both an owlish look.
'It is of course a very serious matter as you both know. A girl could very easily get herself in trouble, that's why we have the Curfew. What've you two been doing anyway? If you've been having intercourse then you'll both be in very serious trouble.'
That was true. In 1994 it was strictly forbidden for a girl to have sex while she was still at school and girls caught transgressing this rule were sent off immediately to a Reform Centre. Which was not a place any girl would enjoy going to.
'No!' gasped Jenny, flushing afresh. 'We . . there was nothing like that.'
Good citizen Arthur reached forward and took hold of the hem of Jenny's skirt. And simply lifted it up in front of her waist. His eyes gazed greedily at what was revealed: Jenny's thighs in the dark nylons, the full pale flesh above crossed by taut narrow white suspender straps; and, above, her brief tight white knickers.
She stood crying, with Chris also having gone bright red in the face, but both knew they could do nothing.
'Well, you have got knickers on’ Mr Mannings acknowledged primly.
'Though of course you could have had them off and just put them on again.'
'No!' blurted Jenny.
'Turn round’ ordered our good citizen.
Jenny hesitated, then did so, still holding onto her bike. Mr Mannings now lifted her skirt up at the back, to her waist. Jenny's bottom was displayed, a splendidly full but firm specimen, the twin rounded cheeks tightly encased in the scanty skin-tight briefs. Chris's face bore a sick look as the hand reached out and intimately fondled his girlfriend's bottom; then gave it a sharp slap.
'Mmm ... Well we'll have to see. You should be reported of course: but maybe we can find some other solution. Both of you can come back to my place and we'll discuss it.'
He asked for Chris's ID and after a quick glance put it in his pocket. Then told them to leave their bikes there and they could collect them in the morning. He could take them back in his car, first to his house and later he would drive them to their own home.
Jenny and Chris glanced at each other but they both knew they had no option. What the man planned . .. well, it obviously wasn't going to be pleasant but they were well and truly caught.
He called his dog over. They left the bikes in the bushes and walked to where his car was parked. They got in, Jenny in front next to Mr Mannings, and he drove off. His hand was almost immediately down on Jenny's thigh.
Looking straight ahead, she felt her skirt being pushed back. The slightly pudgy hand took a firm grip on the nyloned thigh beneath.
* * *
It didn't take long to reach his house, in a neat tree-lined street at the opposite end of the town to where Jenny and Chris lived. In the hall Mrs Mannings appeared, a pleasant-looking lady of about her husband's age. He explained that he had a couple of young visitors; a little problem of the Curfew. Mrs Mannings asked if they would like some tea: yes, that would be a splendid idea, said her husband.
She went off to the kitchen taking the dog. She could see Arthur was quite excited and no wonder. Muriel Mannings knew that when he went walking the dog he always hoped to catch a girl breaking the Curfew, but of course it was a reasonably rare event. He would be in a really good mood tonight after this. She felt a little sorry for that pretty girl, knowing what she would get from dear Arthur; but then it was her own fault. Young people, including young girls, had to be kept on a firm rein. Otherwise you'd have them running wild with drugs and vandalism like in the old days.
In the lounge Mr Mannings took Jenny's blazer: the promise of full firm breasts, he saw, was amply born out. He mentally licked his lips. 'Yes: he observed judiciously, 'the Education Ministry Inspectors take a very serious view of Curfew breaking, as you know. You could easily be sent off for a session at a Reform Centre.'
'No please!' whimpered Jenny.
'But clearly you have to have some punishment: for your own good. And I would be failing in my duty as a citizen if I let you go scot-free.'
Arthur Mannings' eyes gazed steadily at the shapely girl and the equally unhappy boyfriend at her side. Then pursing his lips he said it. 'I could of course, instead, give you a caning here and now.'
It was what they had both half expected.
He badly wanted to cane Jenny himself, that fact had been lurking just below the surface ever since he'd caught them. And what choice did Jenny have - unless she preferred going to a dreaded Reform Centre?
Looking down at the floor, she stuttered,'Yes .. I'll t .. take a c ..caning.'
Arthur Mannings this time actually did lick his lips. 'You're very sensible, my dear. Don't you think so, Chris?'
As Chris remained dumb Mr Mannings moved in close to Jenny and cupped her breasts in both hands. She gave a sharp grasp but kept still. The breasts in Arthur Mannings' hands were firm and ripe. Squeezing them, he looked smugly at Chris. A very nice-looking girl, eh Chris? But she's got to take a little punishment and I want you to be here to see it. That way I think it will be a bit more of an ordeal for both of you. Because you must bear some of the blame for this.'
He let go of Jenny's breasts as the door opened and his wife entered carrying a tray with the tea. She smiled sweetly at all three, then put down the tray and silently left..
They sat down and drank their tea at Mr Mannings' insistence, though neither Jenny nor Chris wanted any. Then Jenny was simply told to stand, lift her skirt and take down her knickers. Mr Mannings went briskly to a corner cupboard... and came back holding a wicked-looking 30-inch rattan cane.
He placed a stool in the centre of the room. Jenny was to kneel on it and bend down so that her head and hands were down on the carpet. The pretty girl looked at Mr Mannings, then at the stool. The humiliating position he was telling her to get into would be almost worse than the actual caning. She could picture herself over that stool - with Chris having to watch.
'Please ... ' she pleaded. 'C ...can Chris go. Please'
Mr Mannings' piggy eyes glistened.
'Certainly not, my dear. I've told you that is part of the punishment: for both of you. He has to watch. Now come on up on the stool.'
With beads of perspiration tingling her skin Jenny forced herself to comply.
Knelt on the 18-inch-high stool and then bent forward and down. Her hands down on the carpet, then lowering herself further until her face was down there as well. Her bottom by far the highest part of her body ...Arthur Mannings, with a look of gloating anticipation, took the hem of Jenny's skirt and flipped it up, over her back. Atrociously, her knickers were then lowered from her bottom, and there, thrust up and out by her posture, were the twin swelling hemispheres splendidly bare: a beckoning target of ripe resilient flesh.
He primly slipped the lowered knickers down a little further, to the taut tops of her nylons. Then his hand came back to openly fondle those swelling rondures, glancing as he did so at the red-faced boyfriend who was trying to look anywhere but at Jenny's bared bottom.
His voice sharp: 'I want you to watch remember, Chris!'
As Chris reluctantly brought his eyes back in the required direction Mr Mannings brought his right hand down to deliver a firm spank on the defenceless girl’s left buttock. It made a wonderful sound and left a clear red imprint.
Mr. Mannings then took up the cane again; and testingly applied it across the up thrust rear. Two or three teasing transverse taps causing the firm flesh to wobble slightly. Jenny, already cringing with humiliation, now felt a shiver of fear.
For Arthur Mannings everything seemed ready to go. A quick glance at the youth, and the cane was raised in earnest. Smoothly accelerating up in a high arc. .. and then, gathering momentum, down.
Whi ... iipp ... CRACK! A sound like a pistol shot. Almost simultaneously a strangled gasp from the victim and another, in involuntary unison, from the watching boyfriend. At the same time the raised buttocks went into a desperate jerking dance with their pale form suddenly displaying the stark twin lines of the cane's impact.
Good citizen Arthur Mannings evidently knew how to use the cane and he knew the value of a suitable pause to let the sting of its impact be fully appreciated.
He was well enough aware that the crescendo of pain from a soundly applied cane stroke climaxed a few seconds after delivery. And then the cane came zipping up through its arc again ...and again descending...
Whi...iipp ... CRACK! .. The pistol shot, the gasps, the desperate jerking of the stricken bum as before. And now two pairs of those-bright red tramlines. Arthur Mannings, eyes gleaming, was in his element. A heady sense of sexual excitement filling him as he continued, repeatedly whipping the cane down. A sense of sexual excitement which from the very beginning had the front of his trousers tightly distended.
He kept on, the cane rising and falling, intoxicated by its solid meaty smack into the girl's defenceless bottom; intoxicated by the increased desperation of her gasping cries, her tortured writhings which were stretching her lowered knickers almost to breaking point.
He didn't want to stop but eventually he had to. Even in 1994 there were limits. And the limit this evening came when after ten strokes and Jenny's bottom a welter of criss-crossing red lines, she simply collapsed forward onto the floor crying her eyes out.
Arthur Mannings reluctantly realised she had had enough and, panting, put down the cane. In any case he needed to break off himself. He briefly watched as the stunned red-faced boyfriend sprang up from his seat to go and comfort the girl as she lay sprawled on the carpet. In the lounge Jenny still lay sobbing. For Chris, having to watch her get it from Mr Mannings in that savage manner had been an almost mind-blowing experience: distressing and yet at the same time with an awful fascination.
That cane repeatedly jolting with its sickening thwack! into Jenny's bare bottom .. . He realised guiltily that he would have felt compelled to watch whether Mr Mannings had made him or not.
Because for Chris, as for Arthur Mannings, the proceedings had also had a fierce sexual excitement. And from about the third stroke of the cane Chris had shamefully found himself in the same state of response as the man who had been wielding the cane. He knew that he would never ever be able to forget hearing and witnessing those explosive percussive thrashing impacts.
* * *
Jenny Allison's evening encounter with Mr Mannings was not particularly unusual in 1994 - though getting the cane in front of her boyfriend was a special refinement thought up by Arthur Mannings. Jenny, and most other girls, were usually careful to avoid breaking the Curfew but there were also numerous other rules and regulations which could lead to your getting a thrashing. Rules of deportment and dress and what you could and could not do: in fact rules about pretty much every aspect of life, in school and out. Rules which if you were caught infringing usually led to a sound caning or strapping.
Apart from in school, where it would be one of the masters, the caning was supposed to be done by an Education Ministry Official in the local Education Office where they had various small rooms set aside for the purpose, with caning horses, caning benches, etc. But many middle-aged middle-class men who would almost by definition be themselves State Officials of some sort, would feel free, like Arthur Mannings, to beat girls themselves.
Like Arthur Mannings, they tended to keep a keen eye open for any chance infringement of a regulation, however petty; and then, also like Mr Mannings, they could usually persuade her to submit to a little unofficial caning. Because if you went to the Ministry Office there was not only an on-the-spot caning, there was also a good chance of being sent to a Reform Centre. Where, for three weeks or whatever it was, you could be caned or strapped, or beaten with a crop morning and night if deemed necessary; and the caning wasn't all, there was plenty more to make sure you didn't want to return for a second visit.
All of this in England in 1994 was designed to keep the youth of the nation firmly in their place, and girls in particular very firmly in their place. That was partly State policy and partly just the way it operated: State Officials were 99 per cent men and the average middle-aged man undoubtedly found more pleasure in dealing with a pretty girl than with a youth.
So 19-year-old Jennifer Allison inevitably knew all about the cane: she got it regularly at school, at least once a week, and there were those other occasions when she got beaten as well. Like two weeks earlier when another good honest middle-aged citizen - not unlike Arthur Mannings - had accused her of being rowdy on the bus. It was not true but that did not help. Did she want t6 be reported?
And so she had gone with him to his house where she had had to take her skimpy black knickers down and bend over his dining table to receive six stinging strokes of the tawse on her bare bottom. Don't bother to complain, that was simply what happened in 1994. As it had with Mr Mannings. Mr Mannings was only special in that he had chosen a particularly humiliating posture for the caning and, more than that, had insisted on doing it in front of Chris.
For Chris Wilkins, though, things were rather different. He knew girls got caned and therefore Jenny got caned, but it was not something he had ever discussed with her. It was not a pleasant thought, Jenny for instance having to bare her bottom for her school Principal, and so he preferred not to think about it. But now having been forced to watch he could not avoid thinking about it. That scene in Mr Mannings' lounge was not something he would easily forget: disturbing and upsetting but at the same time mesmeric.
After the caning when Mr Mannings had dropped Chris off at his house his feeling of sexual arousal continued and got worse, becoming more centred on a sharp desire for Jenny. He and Jenny did have sex from time to time although sex before marriage was strictly prohibited by the State, with the girl especially being severely dealt with if it was discovered.
He knew it wasn't on: for one thing they only dared do it out in the country where they wouldn't be discovered and Jenny anyway was now home with her parents. But the desire grew stronger as guiltily Chris found himself imagining what it would be like to be that awful Mr Mannings, lashing that cane down onto Jenny's defenceless bare bottom. He couldn't get to sleep and finally there was only one thing for it ... picturing in his mind the cane being wielded first by Mr Mannings, then by himself, then by Mr Mannings again, but crucially, by himself.
Needless to say he felt awful afterwards. And his guilt was still present next morning. The next day was a Saturday, with no work or school, and Jenny and Chris met after breakfast to walk up to the Common and collect their bikes. It was another lovely day but neither had any thought for that as they set off in embarrassed and tongue-tied silence.
Both inevitably had their minds full of the evening before: Jenny remembering the dreadful humiliation of taking her knickers down and being so soundly thrashed and Chris with the guilty memory of using Jenny's caning for his own selfish pleasure.
Finally for want of something better to say Chris stated the obvious. 'It . .. it must have hurt’
Jenny bit her lip; then after a pause managed an almost inaudible, 'You get used to it’.
Her words produced again that guilty surge of excitement for Chris.
Those canings that Jenny got, that every girl and which he had never wanted to know about before. Now although it would still be like a knife in him, he did want to know. It was too fascinating a subject to let drop.
With his heart pounding he asked, 'How...how often do you...get it?'
Jenny didn't want to talk about it but Chris persisted. He just had to know now. Flushing, as they walked she told him first bits and pieces, then more and more: the details.
About school where all the senior masters could cane you: six masters plus the Principal. And how in the final year, to ensure that you were properly disciplined by the time you left school, the caning was twice as bad. So whether you had done anything or not you had a weekly appointment with the Principal and very often after a little chat the cane or tawse would come out.
And of course the other times. Like Mr Mannings last night. Like that man on the bus...
By the time he had got all this out of her they were on the Common and had reached that fateful spot where they had been caught. Their bikes were still there in the bushes. And it was there that Jenny told Chris the final bit.
That Mr Mannings hadn't finished with her. After he had dropped Chris off last night he had told her she had to go round to his house again this afternoon. She glanced up at Chris, then down again. 'I haven't any choice of course. Otherwise...'
It was another vicious twist of the knife - but one which sent Chris's heart pounding like a train. This on top of all she had just told him .. . it was just too much.
He pulled Jenny to him, putting his arms round her. He felt sick that she was presumably going to get another dose like last night.
Afterwards Chris's behaviour was a bit strange: after never wanting to know about caning he suddenly wanted to be told all the details. She could sense that it excited him ... in a way just like all those older men who so clearly enjoyed doing it.
She pulled him down on the blanket again and then simply said it 'That turned you on last night. didn't it? Watching me get that caning.'
A hot-faced Chris vigorously denied it, but Jenny didn't believe him.
'Anyway you won't be there to watch this afternoon. At least I won't have that humiliation.'
* * *
That was evident. Chris wouldn't be able to watch, but what was going to happen again in Mr Mannings' lounge that afternoon was like a powerful magnet holding him in its grip. After the episode in the bushes they had cycled back into town where Jenny had to meet her mother for shopping.
But Chris left to his own devices, could think of nothing else. His mind, regardless of the realities and with a will of its own, immediately started telling him that maybe he could see. He could sneak into the house or maybe get in the garden and look in the window. It was crazy, he knew. In 1994 you could be sent away for five years or more for illegal house entry. As for getting in the garden, well, that was crazy too. Although he had noticed that Mr Mannings' lounge faced onto a rather overgrown plot full of trees and shrubs. Where you could possibly hide. But then Mrs Mannings would probably be out there and anyway how would you get in unobserved?
Yes, it was crazy, but after lunch, almost as if he had no control over himself, Chris found he was walking in the direction of Mr Mannings' house.
Jenny was due there at 15:00. He reached the street still hardly believing he was doing this, it was like being in a dream. He recognised the house, then walked on. It was 14:45.
Several houses further on there was a cutting leading through to the back on Mr Mannings' side of the street. He went down it, and there at the foot of the gardens was a lane running along parallel to the street. With his heart thumping Chris walked back along the lane in the direction of Mr Mannings' house. There were gates opening onto the lane. It meant that perhaps there was a chance. He came to the gate with Mr Mannings' number: 27. It was not locked. He looked cautiously in but there was no one to be seen in the garden.
The gate was not in view of the house and he slipped inside...If he was discovered he would just have to say he thought he had left something yesterday - his pen? - and had come back to check. Though that would hardly explain his lurking in the garden. It was very overgrown, Mr Mannings was evidently not a gardener (perhaps all his energies were taken up with girls' bottoms?) and Chris was able to get close to the house while keeping out of sight.
Crouching behind a large bush (it looked like a lilac) he had a good view inside. It was all as before, that vividly remembered setting from last night. The stool which Jenny had been made to kneel on now moved back to its place by the wall. The room was empty. Chris looked at his watch. 15:02. He had a sudden thought that perhaps Mr Mannings might use another room this time: a bedroom perhaps. But then the door opened.
It was Jenny, in her school uniform of course, followed by Mr Mannings. And then another man. A reasonably ordinary-looking middle-aged man, not unlike Mr Mannings. Mr Mannings had evidently brought a friend to join in the fun.
Mr Mannings closed the door, then said something to Jenny. Standing in the centre of the room she meekly took off her blazer. Mr Mannings moved round behind her and his hands came round under her arms, cupping her breasts. He was obviously discussing Jenny's breasts with his friend because he then removed his hands and the other man took hold of them. They were laughing to each other, with Jenny just standing there looking a bit sick. And then the man let go of her and both men sat on the sofa and it was evident that Jenny had been told to take some more of her clothes off.
Standing in front of them her hands went to the waist of her school skirt. It was unfastened and she stepped out of it. There were just her white knickers underneath and after a moment's hesitation Jenny took them down and off. She was bare below the waist apart from nylons and suspender belt. Then Mr Mannings pointed to his friend and Jenny came forward and got herself down across the man's lap. Chris, watching, felt faint and dizzy with excitement. Holding the girl firmly with his left arm the man simply started spanking that ripe bare bottom. His hand rising and falling in a regular rhythm, the firm flesh quivering at each impact and Jenny's rump rapidly becoming a bright hot pink. This went on for some time. Then something was said and she got up and, a bit trembly, moved over to get across Mr Mannings' lap. The spanking was resumed. For Chris the excitement was now so intense it almost made him feel ill. After a while the spanking by Mr Mannings came to an end and Jenny, red-faced and red-bottomed, was stood on her feet. Would they now? Yes they would. Mr Mannings, as yesterday, went to that corner cupboard and came back but this time he brought a twin-tailed tawse. It was to be the same position: the stool in the centre of the room and Jenny kneeling on it, head and hands down on the carpet. Perhaps Mr Mannings always used this position when beating girls.
He and his friend admired the presented buttocks, patting and fondling them, apparently commenting on their shape and dimensions. Then Mr Mannings got into his position.
And the strap was rising and falling ...rising and falling ... Chris, in his hiding place, his blood pounding, was part of what was happening. He felt himself carried away, riding the intense excitement of what he was doing.
The supple tawse was handed over to the second man. Jenny, gasping, taking deep breaths in an effort to cope with the pain, wondered desperately how many more she was going to get. She thought fleetingly of Chris. That young man, now feeling a bit sick with himself. was at that moment creeping back out of Mr Mannings' garden.
He met Jenny again 40 minutes later, as if by chance but in fact knowing the route she would take back home and waiting for her. They walked in silence to Jenny's house: as earlier that day neither knew quite what to say.
Finally when they were almost there Chris asked her about her visit.
'What d'you think!' blurted Jenny.
'He thrashed the daylights out of me, that's what. And not just him: he brought a friend along to have a go as well!'
Chris made sounds of shock and commiseration, though obviously he knew what had happened. His blood began to stir again at the memory.
When they got to Jenny's house her parents were in so Chris suggested they go up to her room. She gave him a questioning look: a look which he understood well enough. It would not exactly be private because The Eye would be watching.
The Eye was installed in the bedroom of every girl from the age of 16 just until she got married. It was a video camera which automatically switched on when the room was entered, relaying its picture back to the local Education Ministry Office. It was all part of the surveillance system: helping to ensure that a girl had no secrets from the State.
Thus a girl always had to undress for bed standing in front of The Eye, down to the nude, before putting on her pyjamas or nightdress. At the same time it ensured that she was in bed by the correct time (21:30 for 16-year-olds ranging up to 22:30 for those over 19).
Needless to say there was no possibility of any misbehaving, any covert indulgence in sex, with the unblinking Eye recording everything. There was the tell-tale click as Jenny and Chris entered, then the low hum as The Eye began its work.
They went to sit at Jenny's desk; sitting there and talking at least did not transgress any rules. But they spoke in lowered tones because no one really knew whether The Eye picked up sound or not.
'At least he seems to be finished with me’ whispered Jenny. 'But God, they really laid it on.'
Chris felt that guilty excitement mounting again. 'Let me see where they beat you.'
Jenny went slightly pink. 'You've got to be joking!' Revealing her bottom to her boyfriend would undoubtedly come under the heading of improper behaviour.
Chris looked up at The Eye, then back at Jenny. He really wanted to see those red stripes. 'Let .. let's go in the bathroom' he whispered. 'You can show me in there.' There was no Eye in the bathroom.
Jenny said No, but in the face of Chris's persistence reluctantly agreed.
They got up and walked circumspectly out past The Eye. They went in the bathroom, locking the door after them.
'Look, I’d rather not’ protested Jenny.
But Chris was not going to be put off now. He made her bend over the edge of the bath and excitedly grabbed her skirt up, then yanked down her knickers.
There were the criss-crossing red stripes all right still clearly showing and covering the whole of Jenny's ripe rear. They certainly looked hot and sore. His blood pounding again, Chris greedily pulled her knickers on down and off over her shoes.
'Hey!' she gasped. But it was obvious what he wanted and he was in a desperate state. This whole business of Jenny's tawseing had become overwhelmingly
exciting to Chris. He could scarcely control himself as he pulled Jenny close.
She struggled at first but then began to return Chris's embrace. They were alone, weren't they, with the bathroom door locked? And the horrid Eye was safely on the other side of the wall as well as being switched off. Gradually Jenny's ardour began to match Chris's. But this whole business did seem to be getting to him and she was going to have to have a serious talk with Chris. He was just going to have to learn to accept certain things.
* * *
The serious talk with Chris was not to be needed, though. The next morning the Allison household had two visitors.
Two Inspectors of the Education Ministry wishing to talk to Jenny. White-faced she was confronted with the accusation of what had happened in the bathroom.
She started to stammer. One of the Officials bleakly told her it was all on video tape. She was to pack a suitcase.
She would be taken immediately to a Reform Centre. Jenny's mother started weeping as the two men marched Jenny up to her room. Yes, there was an Eye in the bathroom, hidden in the light fitting. Perhaps, in 1994, the possibility should at least have been considered, but neither Jenny nor Chris had thought of that. In her room Jenny was told to pack her things: change of uniform, underwear, toilet items. For the very serious offence which had been committed it would be a long stay at the Reform Centre - up to a year. But first of all before she was taken off. a little something else. A preliminary taste of what she would be getting rather frequently at the Centre. Jenny was told to strip down to her underwear. One of the Inspectors took a vicious-looking crook-handled rattan cane from his case.
Jenny was bent down over her bed. The other inspector inserted his fingers in the waistband of her tight black lacy knickers and slowly peeled them off her mounds leaving them stretched tight between her thighs.
The Eye watched impassively as the cane rose and fell; whistling through the air, cracking down onto already striped buttocks. It was all recorded but then there was nothing happening which would cause any questions back at the Education Office.
When Chris came round for Jenny an hour later he was told by her tearful mother that she had just been taken away.
Thursday, 31 March 2011
Thursday, 17 March 2011
Return to School
This is one of my favourite themes (see July 2010)because it inevitably involves naughty girls who still deserve punishement even after their schooldays are over. Sally Middleton has a bottom made for the cane and it is clear that the deputy-head is not in the least averse to abusing his position. The story ends with a clear implication that young Sally hasn't seen - or felt - the last of him...
It seemed distinctly eerie going through the school gates again - a strange disquieting feeling. Mainly it was the silence of course, no other girls running about and shouting and this was hardly surprising because it was out of term time - the end of July and a week after school had broken up. A hot and sunny afternoon and as she looked across the deserted quadrangle the memories came flooding back: some of them pleasant ones naturally - of her classmates and friends - but mostly the unpleasant ones - the spankings, and more especially the canings. The cane and St. Monica's: the two were inseparable, for St. M's was a school dedicated to the belief that middle-class girls developed into proper young ladies only as a result of strict discipline. And at St. Monica's that meant first and foremost the cane.... energetically applied to youthful rear-quarters.
And thinking of the cane she couldn't help feeling a tingle of apprehension. She tried to dismiss it for really it was silly: she was now 21 and it had been nearly three years since she had been a pupil here and at the mercy of Mr. James and his staff. Sally Middleton, she told herself, calm down: and behave like an adult and not a schoolgirl. She unconsciously pulled back her high firm breasts out against the thin material of her blouse. Keith, at the wheel of the car and wondering where it was best to park, happened to look across at that moment and mopped his brow. He was hot enough without her doing that.
Fiancé Keith had been feeling more than a little frustrated ever since their stop for a picnic lunch on the drive down. He had been hoping Sally would agree to a bit of slap and tickle after lunch - well, they were getting married in six months time and had been doing it for several months now. Doing it when he could persuade her, that is, but on this occasion all his efforts at persuasion got him nowhere: she simply wasn't having any. The truth was, although she would not have admitted it even to herself, Sally was more than a bit nervous about the coming meeting. With Mr. Grant, the Deputy Head.
It had been the Head, Mr. James, whom she had been trying to contact when she had phoned. Well, when you needed a reference you naturally went to your Headmaster, but he had been unavailable. It was close to the end of term and she was told, to her surprise, that he in fact was due to leave the school and was very busy. And she had been put through to Mr. Grant. She would definitely much rather not have spoken to Mr. Grant and indeed she could recall telling herself when she left school that he was one master she quite definitely would be happy never to speak to or see again.
He had always been the worst - worst with the cane that is, always knickers down and then lashing it into your bare bottom so that even in the Sixth Form you were almost immediately reduced to tears and abject pleadings for him to stop. And that had been exactly what he had done on her very last morning at school, catching Sally and two or three other school-leavers rather prematurely laughing and joking in the corridor and singling her out to be taken to his room. To be bent over that horrid chair and have her skimpy pink knickers taken down for one final dose of the medicine which he so loved to mete out to a pretty teenager. It had been an all-too-fitting finish to her school career: the caning and then having to stand tearfully before him while his hand went up her skirt 'checking' that her knickers were correctly back in place, but actually of course fondling her through the knickers and then delivering a couple of painful spanks with his open palm. As he did it she had the one consoling thought that at least it was for the very last time and she would never have to see him or speak to him again. Not ever.
But then a year later suddenly there was his voice on the phone and she was automatically saying 'Oh Please Sir, sorry to bother you Sir.' And when he had asked what it was she wanted she had said 'Pl..please Sir....' and then found herself asking him for the reference she had intended to get from Mr. James. Having said it she immediately hoped he would say no, but he didn't. What he said was that of course he couldn't just write a reference when he knew nothing about what she'd done during the past few years. He would really need to see her again and have a talk first and then he was sure he could oblige. As it happened he was staying on at St. Monica's for a couple of weeks after the end of term and so it would be convenient if she came down there. And with an empty feeling in her stomach Sally found herself automatically agreeing, automatically also falling back into the role of the obedient pupil as she said 'Yes Sir. Thank-you Sir.'
The truth was that if it were not for the fact that she really needed a reference she would definitely have ducked out of meeting him again - sent a note: thank-you very much but I find now it's not really necessary. But she was desperately keen to get this really good job with the Company Keith worked for - a job that was so much better than the rather menial one she had had for more than six months now. And of course really there was nothing Mr. Grant could do to her now she was no longer a pupil. Well there wasn't was there?
Yes she really needed that reference, for the year since leaving St. Monica's had sadly failed to live up to what it had promised. Because that marvellous-sounding job - Personal Secretary to Mr. Larkin, one of the senior partners in the Law Firm of Merridrew and Larkin - well, if you had said it sounded too good to be true you would have been exactly right. What it was in fact was simply a continuation of the worst aspects of school, with Mr. Larkin finding an excuse virtually every day to take her knickers down, either over his lap or over the arm of that big leather armchair in his office. And at times using that awful riding crop which if anything was worse than a cane. And if that wasn't enough there were also those favoured clients whom you had to take documents round to and who had to be allowed the same privilege - taking your knickers down, that is, and spanking your bottom. Yes it had really been no different from St. Monica's and often quite a lot more painful and humiliating..
Eventually, after a particularly touch client had given her twelve strokes of the crop of her bare bottom she felt she could take no more and she had given in her notice. Mr. Larkin had been very angry and said he would speak to St. Monica's about being so badly let down; but she didn't suppose he actually did, and anyway she didn't care, she wouldn't have worked there any more if they paid her £1000 a week.
After that she had been unemployed for a bit and then the job she still had now - nothing more than glorified tea-girl really, with a firm of exporters. The pay was miserable and so were the prospects but at least she didn't get her knickers taken down all the time. And of course early in this period she had met Keith and that had more than made up for the limitations of her job. Now, though, the chance of this other post had come up and if she could manage to get it, because she would need to keep working after they were married. And with a good reference there was no reason at all why she shouldn't....
'It all seems very deserted,' said Keith, having parked the car over in the corner of the quad in the only available patch of shade. 'Are you sure he's here?'
Oh, Sally was sure he would be here alright. 2.30 sharp he had said and it was now just 2.20. Timed just right, she thought, and then felt another surge of fear, remembering of course the very last time she was here - that final day of school when Mr. Grant had managed to seize one more opportunity to get her knickers down. She just wished she were somewhere - anywhere - else; but such thoughts were pointless and anyway it would soon be over. 'Right. I'd better go in then. Mustn't be late!' Mustn't give him any excuse to be awkward. 'Hey! Stop....!'
She kissed him briefly and then checked her lipstick in the car mirror. Not too much make-up on. Mr. Grant might not approve.... She realised she was thinking just like a frightened St. Monica's schoolgirl again. Well she couldn't help it, it was this place - being here again. Once again her thoughts went back to that last day at school. Mr. Grant taking her into his room and locking the door.
'Right Miss, over the chair please. Then we'll have those panties down and see if we can't find a suitable antidote for unruly behaviour.'
She forced a smile at Keith as she tried to obliterate the memory from her mind. It was time to go in....
Keith watched her tall shapely figure walk away across the hot and empty quad, smart black heels going clip-clop on the tarmac. The short blonde hair, the crisp blouse, the demure calf-length skirt swaying rhythmically with the movement underneath of those thighs, that bottom, which he now knew so well. He could just trace the outline of her sexy little knickers He watched until she disappeared into the building opposite. Hopefully she wouldn't be long.... then they could drive back to that place in the woods.... where earlier he hadn't been able to get what he wanted. His thoughts ran on.... They would get the blanket out again....
To take his mind off such thoughts (and indeed to ease the tightness in his trousers which a growing erection had produced) he got out of the car for a look around. It seemed a fairly ordinary place - a typical school, nothing remarkable. Funny that Sally had never said hardly anything at all about it - not like some girls who were always going on about what they'd done at school. This Grant: he wondered what he was like.... The typical harmless old duffer, he supposed....
-o-O-o-
A harmless old duffer? Well yes he was, as long as you weren't a pretty girl who had to stand flinching in front of him - just as you'd had to all those times before: now with your pretty blonde head shining in the shaft of light streaming in through his window and your pretty knees trembling under your skirt. And your pretty tits trembling too and as you see the direction of his eyes, greedy behind the spectacles, you wish frantically that the tits were just a bit smaller and didn't stick out so much or at least you had not worn the rather tight thin blouse with just the light bra underneath which you knew showed the shape of your nipples.
Because really you should have remembered that Mr. Grant had always liked girls' tits - in addition to their bottoms of course. But back at home you foolishly hadn't thought: as you foolishly hadn't realized that once in here, in his room, nothing would have changed and you would again be the defenceless rabbit mesmerised by the weasel's cold stare. For the clammy mesmeric fear had reached out and gripped you the moment you stepped inside that room which was hot and stuffy with the sun beating in through the closed window and altogether you felt a little faint.
The weasel moved. The spectacles glinted, reflecting, as he got up from behind his desk and walked round it to you. And spoke: 'A reference is it? Hmm... I should have thought that these two were reference enough.' And the bony hand reached out and felt the weight of each breast in turn. 'Mmm. Yes. They seem somewhat bigger than when you were last here. If I remember correctly.'
His fingers moved to fondle her nipples and she felt a little sick standing immobile in the stuffy room as his voice, that so-familiar voice from her schooldays, continued: 'Mmm... Perhaps we should have a better look. Don't you think? A proper check....' And the fingers went to the little buttons of her blouse.... and as if they had a perfect right began unbuttoning the top one.... and then the next.... methodically, unhurriedly. 'Yes, a little check.'
What he was doing was quite outrageous and she should slap his hand away and tell him thank-you she could do without the reference and walk smartly out. There must be someone else who could give one. But she knew she was powerless to do this. Being here in his room, with his frightening, dominating presence, as she had been all those times at school, it was as if she had never left and there was just no way she could do anything except meekly submit.... to whatever he wanted. She felt beads of perspiration above her lip and had a sudden consciousness of her knickers, tight and brief under her skirt. Really much too brief. And she knew as her blouse was unfastened that they - the brief knickers - would be coming down. Knew it just as much as if he had already told her, for wasn't that what happened last time - and what always happened? There would be some excuse and she would be bent over the seat of his chair: her bare bottom flinching in anticipation....
Yes she could see it all, just as it had been all those times before and there was really nothing to do about it except say 'Yes Sir.' and 'No Sir.' and... She felt a little light-headed and steadied herself with her hand on his desk as he finished unbuttoning the blouse and pulled it free from the waistband of her skirt. Perhaps he would just....? But no: his hands round her back to her bra strap, unfastening it, then pulling the bra up to release her breasts. The sudden shock of his hands on her bare tits.... squeezing.... the fingers playing, fondling... causing her nipples to harden and stick out.... like they did when Keith.... But this was Mr. Gram.... loathsome hands actually on her bare boobs. It was quite awful.... but there was nothing she could do to stop him. She could only stand still.... feeling sick....
Finally he finished with them and she could do her bra and blouse up again; wondering vaguely as she did so whether he would now cane her right away or make her wait a while for it, as he sometimes used to. It seemed hotter than ever in the room and she thought of Keith outside, where it was hot but not stifling like this. Keith out there in another world....
But Mr. Grant, who didn't seem bothered by the heat, was now seated at his desk again and telling her to come and stand at his side. She had had to do that before of course and, yes, right away his hand came up her skirt to grip the back of the nearest nyloned knee. He wanted to knew about what she'd been doing in the last years and as she haltingly started to describe her jobs so the hand moved up.... to the tops of her nylons.... and the full warm thighs above. Where Keith's hand had just recently been but unlike Keith's you couldn't push this hand away and say 'Stop it.' Not Mr. Grant's. The hand explored her thighs.... and then her bottom in the decidedly skimpy nylon briefs....
His voice suddenly interrupting her as she tried to make what she did at Binney's sound more than just tea-girl: 'Have you had it very recently Miss?'
'Wh..What Sir?'
The hand pinched her bottom. 'What do you think I'm referring to? Sexual intercourse? Though I suppose you've had that alright. But what I am talking about is the cane. Have you had the cane recently?'
'N... No Sir. Not... not since I've been at Binney's Sir.'
'Really. You mean to say that Mr. Binney doesn't keep a cane in his office for girls whose work is not quite up to scratch?'
'No Sir.'
'And don't you think he should? For Miss Sally Middleton, at least?'
Sally swallowed nervously. The direction of his remarks was all too obvious.
'Sir I... I do my job properly Sir...'
'Do you indeed? Well in my experience a girl is never doing anything completely properly and always benefits from regular correction. And your employers are most misguided if they think otherwise. Yes Miss - faults and shortcomings, including serious ones, are not difficult to find in young women of your age. His hand pinched her bottom again through the brief panties. 'For instance at this moment these knickers you are wearing are most unsuitable. Much too brief. Do you know that Miss?'
'Well I... Yes Sir.'
'Yes, well do you know what I am going to do then? Before I write out your reference? I am going to take them down and give you a little reminder of what apparently you have been missing. You know what I am talking about of course? I am talking about the cane. On your bare bottom. And then perhaps when next you think of putting on such unsuitably scanty garments you will at least think twice.'
This was it. Sally, redfaced, head lowered, bit her lip. She had known that it would inevitably come to this. Mr. Grant's hand was withdrawn from her skirt. He got up and went to his cupboard.... the cupboard which she knew from long and painful experience contained his canes.
'Right, Miss. Over the chair if you please. The usual position. And then we'll give that bottom a little taste of what it's been missing.'
Automatically she did as she was told - well, didn't you always with Mr. Grant do as you were told? - lowering herself over the seat of the chair, her head down and her bottom up. Up and in position for that hateful whippy cane now lying on his desk.
She felt her skirt abruptly pulled up, round her waist, to reveal of course the offending knickers - semi-transparent navy-blue nylon and very brief, leaving a good deal of soft pale rump quite bare. Quite definitely they were not St. Monica's approved wear and Mr. Grant made sounds of disapproval ('Really these are quite unacceptable!') as he peeled them down, to her nylon tops at mid-thigh. Sally cringed - terribly conscious of her bottom now completely bare.... unconstrained... defenceless... The defencelessness sharply emphasised as Mr. Grant's hand came down hard in a gratuitous spank across both buttocks.... 'Keep it still Miss.'
Yes the moment of truth had arrived and there was nothing to do now except grit your teeth in anticipation of the first stinging cut. Her buttocks automatically clenched as for a moment she forgot that that was against the rules. 'Stop that!' His hand slapping her bottom again. 'Keep the cheeks relaxed.' His hand fondling.... 'And get it up a bit more.' Yes that seemed to be.... just about right....
Thwack! 'Oooooh!' The first one as always even worse than you imagined it would be. The sheer pain of it slashing into the bare flesh, abruptly dispelling any trace of that half dream-like feeling that had enveloped you ever since entering his room; for you just could not be anything but wide awake after that.
And barely time to grit your teeth again before.... Thwack! 'Ooooohh!' the cane searing down for a second stroke. Grit your teeth and try to keep your legs straight and your bottom still or he would simply add more to the six you'd been promised. Grit your teeth and grip the legs of the chair as tightly as you could....
Thwack! 'Oooohhh!' Oh please Jesus! You are dimly aware that you are crying.... Thwack! 'Oh! Please! Please no more...' Thwack!......... Thwack!
It was finally over, the six red stripes on her bottom the evidence. Her sobbing now the only sound in that brightly sunlit room.
Then Mr. Grant's voice telling her she could get up. Painfully she did so; and pulled her knickers back up again, up over a desperately stinging rear. At least it was over and she had paid Mr. Grant's price. He would now write her reference and she would be able to go. She turned a flushed and tear-stained face towards him as he started to speak again....
-o-O-o-
Outside Keith stood leaning on his car - with growing impatience. It seemed an age since she'd gone - this chap must be writing reams and reams. Once again he gazed around: at the empty quad, the building opposite with its windows like blank vacant eyes. The place certainly appeared quite deserted, apart from a couple of pigeons wheeling around, though Sally and presumably this schoolmaster were in there somewhere....
Not being familiar with St. Monica's of course he didn't know the lay-out, didn't know that Mr. Grant's room was in fact in one of the wings at the rear. And then also it was on the first floor so that you couldn't anyway look in - unless you were one of those pigeons. Couldn't look in and see.... Sally.... over that chair.... her bare bottom.... and the cane. No there was no way of seeing this, or of observing anything else round that side of the building. The Sick Room was there of course, again on the first floor....
Keith heaved another big sigh: looked once more at his watch. Wherever had she got to? Perhaps the old duffer was giving her tea, that was why they were so long ....
Finally, at last, Sally appeared at the entrance where she had gone in and looking at his watch Keith saw it was 3.40 - over an hour! She stepped out into the sunlight and commenced to walk, somewhat stumblingly, across the tarmac.
Back in the car she seemed tense, distracted, and what with that rather uncertain way she had been walking Keith wondered if she was alright. Perhaps the heat? Or maybe this Grant had refused to write the reference? No, she was O.K. she said and she had the reference. What took so long then? Were they having tea or something?
'Yes,' she said, 'Yes we had some tea.' It was a lie of course: a little white lie but what else could she say? The truth? She winced at the thought, at the utter horror of Keith ever knowing....
The last thing she wanted to do now was to stop at that place - in the woods, but Keith insisted and of course he'd been planning on it but she really couldn’t face it had suddenly she blurted out what had happened. Keith naturally was furious. ‘You let him cane you? How could you? Let me see’ Quickly Keith grabbed poor Sally and pulled her over his knees. He pulled up her skirt and saw her reddened bottom. ‘I’m going to punish you for this’ He said ‘How dare you bare your bottom for some old teacher. It’s disgraceful’ , and with that he grabbed the waistband of her knickers, pulled them off her bottom for the second time in just an hour and began a painful hand-spanking which brought the poor, reddened globes back to life. Eventually he tired of his enviable task but not before he had told the poor gilr that henceforth she should expect similar – or more painful – treatment if ever she transgressed again.
-o-O-o-
Back at school the place looked as deserted as ever and indeed now had only the one solitary occupant. He - Mr. Grant, Deputy Head - was looking out from his window at the lawn and noting how parched the grass was getting. He had better tell the gardener to do some watering when he came in the morning. He turned away, and happening to notice that his cane was still on his desk went to return it to the cupboard. He was always a most precise, tidy man.
He swished the cane through the air with some satisfaction. It had been a most rewarding afternoon. Well, it was not every day that an extremely attractive ex-pupil returned and you just happened to have something she wanted quite so badly..... mmmm... Rewarding in the extreme. And having once sampled it he had every intention of trying it again.
It was true that he didn't have Miss Sally Middleton's address. But that was a minor problem for he could easily get it from her mother. Yes: in fact he might even.... try Mrs. Middleton's number right now. He went to his bookcase for the old list of parents' addresses and phone numbers. Yes, here it was....
It was all very pleasant and civilized. A cordial chat with a charming lady - who like most mothers of St. Monica's pupils had no inkling of certain aspects of the school's regime, and certainly no inkling of what Mr. Grant could be like when he had a defenceless girl alone in his office. Yes, a cordial chat at the end of which he was writing down an address on his memo pad. A London address: Finchley.
'She shares a flat with her friend Charlotte Greene,' said Mrs. Middleton, 'until she gets married at least.' And Mr. Grant was given some gratuitous details of the wedding plans, to which he listened with polite interest before thanking the lady.
'Shall I tell her you called?' she inquired.
'Oh I shouldn't do that,' said Mr. Grant. 'I might drop in to see her and I'd like it to be a surprise.'
'Oh how nice. Yes, alright: I won't say a word then.'
It seemed distinctly eerie going through the school gates again - a strange disquieting feeling. Mainly it was the silence of course, no other girls running about and shouting and this was hardly surprising because it was out of term time - the end of July and a week after school had broken up. A hot and sunny afternoon and as she looked across the deserted quadrangle the memories came flooding back: some of them pleasant ones naturally - of her classmates and friends - but mostly the unpleasant ones - the spankings, and more especially the canings. The cane and St. Monica's: the two were inseparable, for St. M's was a school dedicated to the belief that middle-class girls developed into proper young ladies only as a result of strict discipline. And at St. Monica's that meant first and foremost the cane.... energetically applied to youthful rear-quarters.
And thinking of the cane she couldn't help feeling a tingle of apprehension. She tried to dismiss it for really it was silly: she was now 21 and it had been nearly three years since she had been a pupil here and at the mercy of Mr. James and his staff. Sally Middleton, she told herself, calm down: and behave like an adult and not a schoolgirl. She unconsciously pulled back her high firm breasts out against the thin material of her blouse. Keith, at the wheel of the car and wondering where it was best to park, happened to look across at that moment and mopped his brow. He was hot enough without her doing that.
Fiancé Keith had been feeling more than a little frustrated ever since their stop for a picnic lunch on the drive down. He had been hoping Sally would agree to a bit of slap and tickle after lunch - well, they were getting married in six months time and had been doing it for several months now. Doing it when he could persuade her, that is, but on this occasion all his efforts at persuasion got him nowhere: she simply wasn't having any. The truth was, although she would not have admitted it even to herself, Sally was more than a bit nervous about the coming meeting. With Mr. Grant, the Deputy Head.
It had been the Head, Mr. James, whom she had been trying to contact when she had phoned. Well, when you needed a reference you naturally went to your Headmaster, but he had been unavailable. It was close to the end of term and she was told, to her surprise, that he in fact was due to leave the school and was very busy. And she had been put through to Mr. Grant. She would definitely much rather not have spoken to Mr. Grant and indeed she could recall telling herself when she left school that he was one master she quite definitely would be happy never to speak to or see again.
He had always been the worst - worst with the cane that is, always knickers down and then lashing it into your bare bottom so that even in the Sixth Form you were almost immediately reduced to tears and abject pleadings for him to stop. And that had been exactly what he had done on her very last morning at school, catching Sally and two or three other school-leavers rather prematurely laughing and joking in the corridor and singling her out to be taken to his room. To be bent over that horrid chair and have her skimpy pink knickers taken down for one final dose of the medicine which he so loved to mete out to a pretty teenager. It had been an all-too-fitting finish to her school career: the caning and then having to stand tearfully before him while his hand went up her skirt 'checking' that her knickers were correctly back in place, but actually of course fondling her through the knickers and then delivering a couple of painful spanks with his open palm. As he did it she had the one consoling thought that at least it was for the very last time and she would never have to see him or speak to him again. Not ever.
But then a year later suddenly there was his voice on the phone and she was automatically saying 'Oh Please Sir, sorry to bother you Sir.' And when he had asked what it was she wanted she had said 'Pl..please Sir....' and then found herself asking him for the reference she had intended to get from Mr. James. Having said it she immediately hoped he would say no, but he didn't. What he said was that of course he couldn't just write a reference when he knew nothing about what she'd done during the past few years. He would really need to see her again and have a talk first and then he was sure he could oblige. As it happened he was staying on at St. Monica's for a couple of weeks after the end of term and so it would be convenient if she came down there. And with an empty feeling in her stomach Sally found herself automatically agreeing, automatically also falling back into the role of the obedient pupil as she said 'Yes Sir. Thank-you Sir.'
The truth was that if it were not for the fact that she really needed a reference she would definitely have ducked out of meeting him again - sent a note: thank-you very much but I find now it's not really necessary. But she was desperately keen to get this really good job with the Company Keith worked for - a job that was so much better than the rather menial one she had had for more than six months now. And of course really there was nothing Mr. Grant could do to her now she was no longer a pupil. Well there wasn't was there?
Yes she really needed that reference, for the year since leaving St. Monica's had sadly failed to live up to what it had promised. Because that marvellous-sounding job - Personal Secretary to Mr. Larkin, one of the senior partners in the Law Firm of Merridrew and Larkin - well, if you had said it sounded too good to be true you would have been exactly right. What it was in fact was simply a continuation of the worst aspects of school, with Mr. Larkin finding an excuse virtually every day to take her knickers down, either over his lap or over the arm of that big leather armchair in his office. And at times using that awful riding crop which if anything was worse than a cane. And if that wasn't enough there were also those favoured clients whom you had to take documents round to and who had to be allowed the same privilege - taking your knickers down, that is, and spanking your bottom. Yes it had really been no different from St. Monica's and often quite a lot more painful and humiliating..
Eventually, after a particularly touch client had given her twelve strokes of the crop of her bare bottom she felt she could take no more and she had given in her notice. Mr. Larkin had been very angry and said he would speak to St. Monica's about being so badly let down; but she didn't suppose he actually did, and anyway she didn't care, she wouldn't have worked there any more if they paid her £1000 a week.
After that she had been unemployed for a bit and then the job she still had now - nothing more than glorified tea-girl really, with a firm of exporters. The pay was miserable and so were the prospects but at least she didn't get her knickers taken down all the time. And of course early in this period she had met Keith and that had more than made up for the limitations of her job. Now, though, the chance of this other post had come up and if she could manage to get it, because she would need to keep working after they were married. And with a good reference there was no reason at all why she shouldn't....
'It all seems very deserted,' said Keith, having parked the car over in the corner of the quad in the only available patch of shade. 'Are you sure he's here?'
Oh, Sally was sure he would be here alright. 2.30 sharp he had said and it was now just 2.20. Timed just right, she thought, and then felt another surge of fear, remembering of course the very last time she was here - that final day of school when Mr. Grant had managed to seize one more opportunity to get her knickers down. She just wished she were somewhere - anywhere - else; but such thoughts were pointless and anyway it would soon be over. 'Right. I'd better go in then. Mustn't be late!' Mustn't give him any excuse to be awkward. 'Hey! Stop....!'
She kissed him briefly and then checked her lipstick in the car mirror. Not too much make-up on. Mr. Grant might not approve.... She realised she was thinking just like a frightened St. Monica's schoolgirl again. Well she couldn't help it, it was this place - being here again. Once again her thoughts went back to that last day at school. Mr. Grant taking her into his room and locking the door.
'Right Miss, over the chair please. Then we'll have those panties down and see if we can't find a suitable antidote for unruly behaviour.'
She forced a smile at Keith as she tried to obliterate the memory from her mind. It was time to go in....
Keith watched her tall shapely figure walk away across the hot and empty quad, smart black heels going clip-clop on the tarmac. The short blonde hair, the crisp blouse, the demure calf-length skirt swaying rhythmically with the movement underneath of those thighs, that bottom, which he now knew so well. He could just trace the outline of her sexy little knickers He watched until she disappeared into the building opposite. Hopefully she wouldn't be long.... then they could drive back to that place in the woods.... where earlier he hadn't been able to get what he wanted. His thoughts ran on.... They would get the blanket out again....
To take his mind off such thoughts (and indeed to ease the tightness in his trousers which a growing erection had produced) he got out of the car for a look around. It seemed a fairly ordinary place - a typical school, nothing remarkable. Funny that Sally had never said hardly anything at all about it - not like some girls who were always going on about what they'd done at school. This Grant: he wondered what he was like.... The typical harmless old duffer, he supposed....
-o-O-o-
A harmless old duffer? Well yes he was, as long as you weren't a pretty girl who had to stand flinching in front of him - just as you'd had to all those times before: now with your pretty blonde head shining in the shaft of light streaming in through his window and your pretty knees trembling under your skirt. And your pretty tits trembling too and as you see the direction of his eyes, greedy behind the spectacles, you wish frantically that the tits were just a bit smaller and didn't stick out so much or at least you had not worn the rather tight thin blouse with just the light bra underneath which you knew showed the shape of your nipples.
Because really you should have remembered that Mr. Grant had always liked girls' tits - in addition to their bottoms of course. But back at home you foolishly hadn't thought: as you foolishly hadn't realized that once in here, in his room, nothing would have changed and you would again be the defenceless rabbit mesmerised by the weasel's cold stare. For the clammy mesmeric fear had reached out and gripped you the moment you stepped inside that room which was hot and stuffy with the sun beating in through the closed window and altogether you felt a little faint.
The weasel moved. The spectacles glinted, reflecting, as he got up from behind his desk and walked round it to you. And spoke: 'A reference is it? Hmm... I should have thought that these two were reference enough.' And the bony hand reached out and felt the weight of each breast in turn. 'Mmm. Yes. They seem somewhat bigger than when you were last here. If I remember correctly.'
His fingers moved to fondle her nipples and she felt a little sick standing immobile in the stuffy room as his voice, that so-familiar voice from her schooldays, continued: 'Mmm... Perhaps we should have a better look. Don't you think? A proper check....' And the fingers went to the little buttons of her blouse.... and as if they had a perfect right began unbuttoning the top one.... and then the next.... methodically, unhurriedly. 'Yes, a little check.'
What he was doing was quite outrageous and she should slap his hand away and tell him thank-you she could do without the reference and walk smartly out. There must be someone else who could give one. But she knew she was powerless to do this. Being here in his room, with his frightening, dominating presence, as she had been all those times at school, it was as if she had never left and there was just no way she could do anything except meekly submit.... to whatever he wanted. She felt beads of perspiration above her lip and had a sudden consciousness of her knickers, tight and brief under her skirt. Really much too brief. And she knew as her blouse was unfastened that they - the brief knickers - would be coming down. Knew it just as much as if he had already told her, for wasn't that what happened last time - and what always happened? There would be some excuse and she would be bent over the seat of his chair: her bare bottom flinching in anticipation....
Yes she could see it all, just as it had been all those times before and there was really nothing to do about it except say 'Yes Sir.' and 'No Sir.' and... She felt a little light-headed and steadied herself with her hand on his desk as he finished unbuttoning the blouse and pulled it free from the waistband of her skirt. Perhaps he would just....? But no: his hands round her back to her bra strap, unfastening it, then pulling the bra up to release her breasts. The sudden shock of his hands on her bare tits.... squeezing.... the fingers playing, fondling... causing her nipples to harden and stick out.... like they did when Keith.... But this was Mr. Gram.... loathsome hands actually on her bare boobs. It was quite awful.... but there was nothing she could do to stop him. She could only stand still.... feeling sick....
Finally he finished with them and she could do her bra and blouse up again; wondering vaguely as she did so whether he would now cane her right away or make her wait a while for it, as he sometimes used to. It seemed hotter than ever in the room and she thought of Keith outside, where it was hot but not stifling like this. Keith out there in another world....
But Mr. Grant, who didn't seem bothered by the heat, was now seated at his desk again and telling her to come and stand at his side. She had had to do that before of course and, yes, right away his hand came up her skirt to grip the back of the nearest nyloned knee. He wanted to knew about what she'd been doing in the last years and as she haltingly started to describe her jobs so the hand moved up.... to the tops of her nylons.... and the full warm thighs above. Where Keith's hand had just recently been but unlike Keith's you couldn't push this hand away and say 'Stop it.' Not Mr. Grant's. The hand explored her thighs.... and then her bottom in the decidedly skimpy nylon briefs....
His voice suddenly interrupting her as she tried to make what she did at Binney's sound more than just tea-girl: 'Have you had it very recently Miss?'
'Wh..What Sir?'
The hand pinched her bottom. 'What do you think I'm referring to? Sexual intercourse? Though I suppose you've had that alright. But what I am talking about is the cane. Have you had the cane recently?'
'N... No Sir. Not... not since I've been at Binney's Sir.'
'Really. You mean to say that Mr. Binney doesn't keep a cane in his office for girls whose work is not quite up to scratch?'
'No Sir.'
'And don't you think he should? For Miss Sally Middleton, at least?'
Sally swallowed nervously. The direction of his remarks was all too obvious.
'Sir I... I do my job properly Sir...'
'Do you indeed? Well in my experience a girl is never doing anything completely properly and always benefits from regular correction. And your employers are most misguided if they think otherwise. Yes Miss - faults and shortcomings, including serious ones, are not difficult to find in young women of your age. His hand pinched her bottom again through the brief panties. 'For instance at this moment these knickers you are wearing are most unsuitable. Much too brief. Do you know that Miss?'
'Well I... Yes Sir.'
'Yes, well do you know what I am going to do then? Before I write out your reference? I am going to take them down and give you a little reminder of what apparently you have been missing. You know what I am talking about of course? I am talking about the cane. On your bare bottom. And then perhaps when next you think of putting on such unsuitably scanty garments you will at least think twice.'
This was it. Sally, redfaced, head lowered, bit her lip. She had known that it would inevitably come to this. Mr. Grant's hand was withdrawn from her skirt. He got up and went to his cupboard.... the cupboard which she knew from long and painful experience contained his canes.
'Right, Miss. Over the chair if you please. The usual position. And then we'll give that bottom a little taste of what it's been missing.'
Automatically she did as she was told - well, didn't you always with Mr. Grant do as you were told? - lowering herself over the seat of the chair, her head down and her bottom up. Up and in position for that hateful whippy cane now lying on his desk.
She felt her skirt abruptly pulled up, round her waist, to reveal of course the offending knickers - semi-transparent navy-blue nylon and very brief, leaving a good deal of soft pale rump quite bare. Quite definitely they were not St. Monica's approved wear and Mr. Grant made sounds of disapproval ('Really these are quite unacceptable!') as he peeled them down, to her nylon tops at mid-thigh. Sally cringed - terribly conscious of her bottom now completely bare.... unconstrained... defenceless... The defencelessness sharply emphasised as Mr. Grant's hand came down hard in a gratuitous spank across both buttocks.... 'Keep it still Miss.'
Yes the moment of truth had arrived and there was nothing to do now except grit your teeth in anticipation of the first stinging cut. Her buttocks automatically clenched as for a moment she forgot that that was against the rules. 'Stop that!' His hand slapping her bottom again. 'Keep the cheeks relaxed.' His hand fondling.... 'And get it up a bit more.' Yes that seemed to be.... just about right....
Thwack! 'Oooooh!' The first one as always even worse than you imagined it would be. The sheer pain of it slashing into the bare flesh, abruptly dispelling any trace of that half dream-like feeling that had enveloped you ever since entering his room; for you just could not be anything but wide awake after that.
And barely time to grit your teeth again before.... Thwack! 'Ooooohh!' the cane searing down for a second stroke. Grit your teeth and try to keep your legs straight and your bottom still or he would simply add more to the six you'd been promised. Grit your teeth and grip the legs of the chair as tightly as you could....
Thwack! 'Oooohhh!' Oh please Jesus! You are dimly aware that you are crying.... Thwack! 'Oh! Please! Please no more...' Thwack!......... Thwack!
It was finally over, the six red stripes on her bottom the evidence. Her sobbing now the only sound in that brightly sunlit room.
Then Mr. Grant's voice telling her she could get up. Painfully she did so; and pulled her knickers back up again, up over a desperately stinging rear. At least it was over and she had paid Mr. Grant's price. He would now write her reference and she would be able to go. She turned a flushed and tear-stained face towards him as he started to speak again....
-o-O-o-
Outside Keith stood leaning on his car - with growing impatience. It seemed an age since she'd gone - this chap must be writing reams and reams. Once again he gazed around: at the empty quad, the building opposite with its windows like blank vacant eyes. The place certainly appeared quite deserted, apart from a couple of pigeons wheeling around, though Sally and presumably this schoolmaster were in there somewhere....
Not being familiar with St. Monica's of course he didn't know the lay-out, didn't know that Mr. Grant's room was in fact in one of the wings at the rear. And then also it was on the first floor so that you couldn't anyway look in - unless you were one of those pigeons. Couldn't look in and see.... Sally.... over that chair.... her bare bottom.... and the cane. No there was no way of seeing this, or of observing anything else round that side of the building. The Sick Room was there of course, again on the first floor....
Keith heaved another big sigh: looked once more at his watch. Wherever had she got to? Perhaps the old duffer was giving her tea, that was why they were so long ....
Finally, at last, Sally appeared at the entrance where she had gone in and looking at his watch Keith saw it was 3.40 - over an hour! She stepped out into the sunlight and commenced to walk, somewhat stumblingly, across the tarmac.
Back in the car she seemed tense, distracted, and what with that rather uncertain way she had been walking Keith wondered if she was alright. Perhaps the heat? Or maybe this Grant had refused to write the reference? No, she was O.K. she said and she had the reference. What took so long then? Were they having tea or something?
'Yes,' she said, 'Yes we had some tea.' It was a lie of course: a little white lie but what else could she say? The truth? She winced at the thought, at the utter horror of Keith ever knowing....
The last thing she wanted to do now was to stop at that place - in the woods, but Keith insisted and of course he'd been planning on it but she really couldn’t face it had suddenly she blurted out what had happened. Keith naturally was furious. ‘You let him cane you? How could you? Let me see’ Quickly Keith grabbed poor Sally and pulled her over his knees. He pulled up her skirt and saw her reddened bottom. ‘I’m going to punish you for this’ He said ‘How dare you bare your bottom for some old teacher. It’s disgraceful’ , and with that he grabbed the waistband of her knickers, pulled them off her bottom for the second time in just an hour and began a painful hand-spanking which brought the poor, reddened globes back to life. Eventually he tired of his enviable task but not before he had told the poor gilr that henceforth she should expect similar – or more painful – treatment if ever she transgressed again.
-o-O-o-
Back at school the place looked as deserted as ever and indeed now had only the one solitary occupant. He - Mr. Grant, Deputy Head - was looking out from his window at the lawn and noting how parched the grass was getting. He had better tell the gardener to do some watering when he came in the morning. He turned away, and happening to notice that his cane was still on his desk went to return it to the cupboard. He was always a most precise, tidy man.
He swished the cane through the air with some satisfaction. It had been a most rewarding afternoon. Well, it was not every day that an extremely attractive ex-pupil returned and you just happened to have something she wanted quite so badly..... mmmm... Rewarding in the extreme. And having once sampled it he had every intention of trying it again.
It was true that he didn't have Miss Sally Middleton's address. But that was a minor problem for he could easily get it from her mother. Yes: in fact he might even.... try Mrs. Middleton's number right now. He went to his bookcase for the old list of parents' addresses and phone numbers. Yes, here it was....
It was all very pleasant and civilized. A cordial chat with a charming lady - who like most mothers of St. Monica's pupils had no inkling of certain aspects of the school's regime, and certainly no inkling of what Mr. Grant could be like when he had a defenceless girl alone in his office. Yes, a cordial chat at the end of which he was writing down an address on his memo pad. A London address: Finchley.
'She shares a flat with her friend Charlotte Greene,' said Mrs. Middleton, 'until she gets married at least.' And Mr. Grant was given some gratuitous details of the wedding plans, to which he listened with polite interest before thanking the lady.
'Shall I tell her you called?' she inquired.
'Oh I shouldn't do that,' said Mr. Grant. 'I might drop in to see her and I'd like it to be a surprise.'
'Oh how nice. Yes, alright: I won't say a word then.'
Saturday, 12 February 2011
Naughty Nicki
Mike From London again with another schoolgirl story. Nicki gets strapped and caned on her knickers and finally beaten hard on the bare. Quite right too. Ouch!
Nicki Edwards knew she was in bad trouble when she was caught by a prefect in the act of writing a rude message on the wall of the girls' toilets in the school dinner hour. A great deal of graffiti had appeared recently and the headmistress, Miss Hayhoe, had announced in assembly earlier that week that any girls found to be involved in this sort of misbehaviour in future would be 'dealt with by herself'. Nicki knew what that meant.
"Look, give me a chance," she pleaded. "I'll rub it out straight away! Don't report me to Miss Hayhoe!"
But Jill Hastings was unimpressed. "Come on Nicki!" she said, "Leave that where it is for the moment. We're going to see Miss Hayhoe!"
"But I'll get the cane!" Nicki said miserably. "Oh, please, give me a chance just this once! This is the first time I've ever written anything and I'll never do it again, honestly! Come on, have a heart! Please . . ."
Jill looked at the naughty girl. Wearing her uniform of blue school blazer, white blouse, red and blue tie and knee-length pleated grey school skirt, and with her light brown hair tied in a pretty pony-tail, the pleading fifth former looked much younger than her sixteen years. Nicki bit her lower lip in trepidation and raised her large grey eyes pleadingly to the face of the prefect. She really didn't want to sample another dose from the headmistress's cane. Nicki could clearly recall the biting sting of that vicious punishment implement from a time she'd been sent to Miss Hayhoe's office over two years before. At the sudden clear memory her hands subconsciously went to the back of her skirt.
"That's enough, Nicki," Jill said sharply, amused despite herself at the way Nicki was obviously anticipating a very sore bottom. "I'm taking you to Miss Hayhoe and that's all there is to it! And I think we'll take this along as evidence!" Stooping down the tall, elegant sixth former picked up the marker pen Nicki had dropped in surprise at her sudden appearance.
"No, please!" Nicki tried for the last time. I don't deserve the cane for my first time, do I? Can't you report me to another teacher for the strap - or even give me the strap yourself? Only the cane's so awful . ."
At Chandos School only the Headmistress was permitted punish with the cane. Other teachers made use of a tawse or strap when they considered that physical chastisement was called for. Prefects were not really supposed to strap naughty girls, but quite often did so as an alternative to reporting them. Like most lively and mischievous girls in her class Nicki had been tawsed several times. It stung for a while but was not too bad and Nicki could shrug it off. But a caning was different! She'd only been caned once, but that had been enough - more than enough!
Jill considered the proposal. It might be quite enjoyable to strap this young lady's situpon! She made up her mind. "You should have thought of that before! Come on! Straight away unless you want me to report you for disobedience as well!"
Sullenly Nicki followed the prefect along the school corridors. She thought it was humiliating to have to plead for mercy to a girl less than a year older than herself and now to be marched by her through the school with everyone watching. What a cow! She bet Jill had never had the cane. Probably not even the tawse. She just hoped that one day that superior bitch found out for herself just how much the cane hurt, but she did not think there was much chance of it.
When they arrived outside Miss Hayhoe's study Jill told Nicki to wait outside while she knocked and went in. Nicki stood there, dismally wondering how many strokes she would get. It had been four last time and that had been bad enough, but it would probably be more this time. The last girls in her class to be caned had got 'six of the best' apiece for smoking.
After a few minutes Jill opened the door and asked Nicki to come in. The Headmistress was sitting behind her desk and the expression on her face did not provide any comfort to the naughty seventeen year old. Miss Hayhoe looked at her in silence for a few minutes and then spoke:
"Well, Nicola! Jill Hastings has told me that she caught you writing on the walls of the toilets. Have you anything to say?"
"No, Miss. I'm sorry, but that was the only time I've ever done it, honestly! I swear I'll never do it again!"
"I see," said Miss Hayhoe, dryly. Turning to Jill she went on, "All right, Jill, you may go now. You have done very well and acted as I would expect one of my prefects to act. I will deal with this young lady!" Jill left the study, happy in her Headmistress's approval.
Little Nicki was left, shifting nervously from one foot to another before Miss Hayhoe's cold glance. Nicki felt awful. It was dreadful that a girl of her age, old enough to go to bed with her boyfriend or even to get married, should have to stand there waiting to hear this middle aged spinster decide how much her rear end would soon be hurting! Miss Hayhoe broke the silence.
"You heard what I said in Assembly the other day, didn't you Nicola?"
Nicki nodded her head and mumbled "Yes, Miss" very quietly.
"Then you know that I have no choice other than to punish you severely. As you enjoy writing so much I will give you an opportunity! You will write out the words 'I must not write graffiti on the school premises' 300 times. You will hand the lines to me before Assembly next Monday."
Nicki was surprised. She had never been given so many lines before at one time. But she would have welcomed 500 lines if it meant that her bottom would escape Miss Hayhoe's cane! The Headmistress continued:
"I will confiscate this marker. If you want it back you can ask me for it at the end of term."
Nicki couldn't care less about the marker! She hoped Miss Hayhoe had finished, but she couldn't really believe it. Was it possible that she might be let off with just lines and a strapping?
Miss Hayhoe paused and Nicki's tension reached its height.
"All right, Nicola, you may go now!"
Nicki couldn't believe it. She had got off with just lines!
But Miss Hayhoe had not finished yet. "And you will return at four o'clock, when I shall endeavour to make you appreciate just how seriously I view your activities!"
Poor Nicki left the office feeling as though she was going to be sick. Miss Hayhoe hadn't said in so many words that she was going to be caned, but it was obvious. It was only canings, and then only severe canings, which took place after school.
Nicki made her way back to the toilets. There she locked herself in one of the cubicles - not the one with her graffiti - and had a quiet cry to herself for what remained of the dinner hour.
Her friends were sympathetic when they heard of Nicki's disaster, but they could do little to comfort her.
"Oh! Nicki!!" said Jane Elliot, her best friend. "What awful luck! That Jill Hastings is a right bitch. She got me a tawsing from Miss Hayhoe last term."
"It's just not fair, Jane!" Nicki said dismally. "You know most of those graffiti were written by Sally and Clare. Even you've written more up than I have! It's just not fair that you all get off and I get caned!"
Jane was quite shocked. "Come on, Nicki," she said, "you're not going to sneak are you? It's just bad luck. It could just as easily have happened to me."
Nicki thought that her friend would not be so casual about a caning if it had, but she reassured her that she would not tell on her or the other girls.
Nicki found it very difficult to pay attention in class that afternoon. She was thinking about how sore her bottom was going to be and how unfair it all was. She tried to think if there was any chance that she might escape uncaned. Perhaps Miss Hayhoe would suddenly be taken ill! There might be an earthquake!
"Nicola!"
Nicki was shaken out of her reverie by Mr Anderson's angry voice.
"Nicola, have you been paying attention?" asked the History master. "Stand up!"
Most of Nicki's classmates knew of her impending caning and guessed what she had been thinking about. Nicki stood up, blushing.
"Well, Nicola. What can you tell the class about Henry VII's taxation policy?"
Nicki remained silent. She knew nothing about the policy, not even if there'd been one!
"Come on, girl! I've been talking about it for the last half hour!"
Nicki looked down at the floor, but said nothing.
"All right, Nicola. Come out to the front of the class."
Nicki looked round at the rest of the girls despairingly as if someone might help her, and then reluctantly left her place and walked to the front. Mr Anderson made his intentions clear by extracting a heavy twinned tailed tawse from a drawer of his desk.
Nicki had reached the front. "Bend down over that desk, Nicola," ordered Mr Anderson, pointing at an empty desk in the front of the class. This was by no means the first time that Mr Anderson had had occasion to apply his strap to Nicki Edwards' shapely posterior. This time he intended to make sure that the naughty and inattentive girl really got the message.
Nicki hesitated before bending down. She had let the events of the past few minutes just flow over her and had reacted like an automaton, not saying a word since she had been roused from her private thoughts. But now that it came to the point she desperately didn't want to get the tawse today of all days.
"Please, Sir," she said in a tiny voice, "I've got to see Miss Hayhoe at four o'clock for the cane!"
"Oh! I see," said the master. "Well, that's no excuse for inattention in my class, is it? Get yourself down over that desk, Nicola, or you'll be seeing Miss Hayhoe sooner than you think!"
Mumbling a swear word to herself Nicki bent over the desk.
Despite his stern words the History master did feel sorry for poor little Nicki. If he had known about the caning earlier he would have let her off, but he was not prepared to lose face now that she was standing in front of the class. Nevertheless he was not nearly so severe in punishing the girl as had originally intended to be.
He had been going to lift strap Nikki soundly on the bare bottom but instead he merely lifted her skirt and brought the belt down for six moderate whacks on the seat of her tight white knickers. Nicki accepted the infliction in silence, except for an almost inaudible gasp as the last whack landed. She stood up when told to and walked back to her place, her bottom feeling hot and sore. She hoped dismally that it would feel less tender by four o'clock!
Mr Anderson did not pay any attention to Nicki for the rest of the lesson. Her other teachers that afternoon knew about the impending caning and also ignored her. Time passed and Nicki tried to prepare herself mentally for the coming punishment. Suddenly the bell rang for the end of school; it was ten to four.
The other girls prepared to leave and burst into animated conversation, ignoring Nicki. Their evident pleasure at the end of the school day made her feel worse at the thought of what was in store for her. Glumly she picked up her school bag and prepared to make her way to the Headmistress's study. "Hard luck, Nicki!" Jane sympathised as she left."It might not be as bad as you think." Nicki nodded, acknowledging her friend's good wishes, but they both knew that Miss Hayhoe was not likely to go easy on her.
Nicki stood outside the study door without knocking until four o'clock. Several pupils and teachers on their way home gazed curiously at the miserable fifth former. Nicki was oblivious to their stares. She was thinking about Miss Hayhoe's cane!
At exactly four o'clock the petite sixteen year old knocked on the door.
"Come in!" called the Headmistress.
Any lingering hopes that Nicki might have had disappeared at the sight of a crook handled cane, almost a yard long, lying ready for use on the Headmistress's desk next to a large black-covered book. It seemed to Nicki that it was longer and slightly thicker than the one she had felt two years previously. It looked wickedly painful and Nicki gulped at the thought of what it would make her bottom feel like.
"Close the door, Nicola, and put your bag down" ordered Miss Hayhoe.
"I've been in touch with your mother this afternoon, Nicola," the Headmistress continued, addressing the schoolgirl standing to attention before her "and she is completely in agreement with my proposed course of action. We both feel that you deserve a sharp lesson. Your behaviour has deteriorated recently and this graffiti writing is just the last straw. You have been strapped frequently and your conduct has not improved. I don't think you will shrug off the effects of another caning so casually!"
Miss Hayhoe picked the cane up off her desk and swished it through the air a couple of times. It hissed like an angry wasp, showing the terrified girl how viciously whippy it was.
"Bring that stool into the middle of the room," Miss Hayhoe instructed pointing at a high stool hidden in a corner of the study. Nervously Nicki carried the stool and put it down where directed.
"Now take off your blazer and your skirt and then bend down across the stool! You will receive eight strokes of the cane across your knickers."
Nicki did as she was told, placing her clothes neatly on a chair. Drawing a deep breath she leant forward over the stool taking a grip on the bar between its legs. A pair of tight semi-transparent brief white knickers encased the girl's trembling rounded bottom. Miss Hayhoe noted the fading marks left by Mr Anderson's tawse. She nodded grimly. This served to confirm her in her belief that strappings did not suffice for this young lady and that she needed a more severe punishment.
Miss Hayhoe lifted the cane up, behind her shoulders to get the maximum possible swing. She held it there for a few seconds waiting for Nicki's tensed bottom to slightly relax. Then it came whipping down.
It landed with a loud whack squarely across the flinching bottom. Nicki's head shot up, her ponytail flying out, and she gave a yell of surprise and pain. Nicki had thought that she could remember how much the cane had hurt last time, but this was worse, much worse. Somehow she managed to keep hold of the bar and to stay in position.
She had not fully assimilated the effects of that first stroke when Miss Hayhoe brought the second smashing down with equal power just below it. Once again the thin knickers were dented down deeply into the soft, yielding flesh. And once again Nicki screamed out at the violent sting.
This time Miss Hayhoe paused a little longer before the third stroke. After just two whacks Nicola was obviously finding it very difficult to keep still. The Headmistress knew that this cane was supremely painful and intended to make sure that the naughty girl found out as well.
She aimed the next stroke carefully, lower down where the girl would sit. Nicki really felt that one, she howled in pain and burst into tears. The legs of the stool wobbled on the carpet as Nicki nearly unbalanced. The fourth stroke followed quickly and landed on almost the same place. It was too much for Nicki. As she shrieked loudly at the top of her voice her hands flew off the bar and to her sore bottom. Frantically she tried to rub the pain away, but it refused to go - in fact it seemed to get worse! She could feel the swelling weals, rising a quarter of an inch from the surrounding flesh.
Miss Hayhoe allowed Nicki to dance around in an extremely unladylike manner for a few moments and then brusquely ordered her to bend down again over the stool. Sobbing bitterly Nicki begged to be let off, but it was to no avail. The sixteen year old had to resume her undignified position.
"Stay still, girl!" ordered Miss Hayhoe. But, in fact, the Headmistress would have been very disappointed if this naughty girl was able to stay still!
The fifth and sixth strokes lashed down onto Nicki's tender bottom between the two already caned areas. The teenager's reactions showed that these two had hurt just as much as their predecessors.
After Nicki had felt the sixth stroke bite deep into her anguish filled rear, sending waves of overpowering pain to all parts of her body, the schoolgirl tried to tense herself for the final two strokes.
To her surprise Miss Hayhoe tapped her on her shoulder and told her to stand up. Nicki felt relief. It was all over at last. She must have miscounted! She realised that Miss Hayhoe was addressing her.
"You have received six strokes, Nicola. I am prepared to believe that that is sufficient to remind you not to write graffiti for some time to come!"
Nicki, both hands clasped to the rear of her little white knickers, and with tears falling from her pretty face to the floor, fervently agreed. "Oh, yes, Miss! Oh! I'll never do owww . . . wowww do it again, honestly! Oh . . . oh . .oh! It hurts!"
Miss Hayhoe could not help smiling. "It's not as simple as that, Nicola," she said. "Your punishment is eight strokes of the cane. I will let you off the last two if you will give me the names of the other girls involved in this spate of vandalism."
Nicki remained silent. She remembered what Jane had said to her. She was not a sneak. Anyway her bottom was already so sore that she felt sure another two strokes couldn't make much difference.
The Headmistress allowed Nicki a little while to make up her mind. When it was obvious that she chose to remain obdurate Miss Hayhoe told her to resume the punishment position once more.
“Very well” said Miss Hayhoe “If you persist in being so stubborn you can have the last two on the bare” With that the stern headmistress put her finfers into the waistband of the drum-tight panties and slowly peeled them away from the burning bottom, down t the poor girl’s thighs. Her red-striped buttocks flinched in terror.
The last two strokes were the hardest of the punishment. Nicki found out just how wrong she had been in thinking that her bottom couldn't hurt any more! Miss Hayhoe directed both strokes at the fullest part of Nicki's bottom. It was as though her bare flesh had been sliced open with a blunt knife.
After the final stroke Nicki continued to lie across the stool, crying like a new born baby. She had never believed that it could hurt so much. There was no comparison at all to her last caning.
Miss Hayhoe put the cane down carefully on her desk. It had done its job well. She turned to the sobbing girl. "Stand up, Nicola, pull your knickers up" she said.
Nicki eased her pain-wracked body upright. Once more her hands went - in vain - to try to comfort her raw bottom. Miss Hayhoe made her return the stool to its place and put her skirt back on .
Once clothed the still-weeping Nicki stood squirming in pain in front of her headmistress, expecting her dismissal. Little did she guess that her punishment was not yet over!
"Come with me, Nicola!" ordered Miss Hayhoe. "You can leave your blazer on the chair and your bag there on the floor."
Nicki did not have the slightest idea what was going on. But she obeyed instantly - eight strokes of the number one cane on her rear had tamed the naughty girl considerably. Every step was agony as the weals on her blazing bottom rubbed together. Nicki would have walked slowly with small steps, but Miss Hayhoe marched her quickly along the cold and deserted school corridors, ignoring the girl's tears and squeals of pain.
Soon they arrived at the girls' toilets. Mr Pearce, the school caretaker (janitor), was waiting outside. Nicki felt really embarrassed at being seen by him so soon after getting the cane. Mr Pearce looked at the wriggling teenager with undisguised interest. Some of Nicki's agonised yells had reached him and he realised that this naughty girl must have a very sore bottom indeed. He felt little sympathy for her, however. It was his job to clean off the graffiti girls like this one daubed on the walls. Furthermore he recognised Nicki as one of a group of girls who had been rude to him the week before. He was glad that at least one of the little minxes had got what she so richly deserved.
"Now, Nicola," said the Headmistress, "I am leaving you with Mr Pearce for two hours, until", she glanced at her watch, "twenty past six. You will spend that time wiping off the graffiti you and your friends have written and cleaning the toilets generally under his supervision. And I expect you to put some elbow grease into it! I shall be checking with Mr Pearce afterwards."
"B b but, Miss!" Nicki protested, "My mother will be worried if I'm not home!"
"Oh no she won't, young lady," answered the Headmistress, "I told you before that I'd spoken to her. In fact it was her idea that you should clean off the results of your stupid behaviour! And I quite agree with her!"
Miss Hayhoe turned and walked back to her office. There she made a short entry in the Punishment Book and put it and the cane away before starting on a backlog of paperwork.
Meanwhile Mr Pearce had handed Nicki a bucket of soapy water and a large scrubbing brush. Gritting her teeth against the pain still pouring out of her outraged rear, Nicki accepted them and started to work. There was silence, only broken by the slushing of water, the rubbing of the brush and Nicki's snivellings as she fought back the tears. She worked methodically and well, finding that attention to the repetitive task took her mind off the sting in her nether regions.
Mr Pearce looked on approvingly. It seemed that this was one naughty girl who had learned her lesson. When the walls of the first cubicle had been scrubbed down Nicki left the brush in the water and put her hands back to the seat of her skirt, trying to assuage the still raging smart.
The watching caretaker was amused. "Still sore, eh?" he observed. "Your Miss Hayhoe don't use the stick half often enough in my opinion, but when she does she knows how to lay it on! You'll be eating your tea off the mantelpiece tonight, love!"
Nicki ignored the remark and moved to another cubicle to start work again. Mr Pearce kept her hard at it and didn't allow her a chance to rest. She was very tired, her arms and back ached, her bottom was still unbelievably painful, and she was hot, hungry and thirsty - it was long past the normal time for her tea - but the caretaker made sure she kept going.
After nearly two hours Nicki thought she saw her chance to get back at Mr Pearce and 'accidentally' splashed dirty water from her bucket over him. He just smiled and said "That's not very clever."
"Bastard!" mumbled Nicki, under her breath.
It was nearly half past six before Miss Hayhoe returned.
"Well, Mr Pearce," she asked, "has Nicola done a good job?"
"No, Miss. I can't rightly say as she has! She's been slacking and lazy and downright rude to me! Called me a 'bastard' she did!"
"I see. Well you can rest assured that she will be repenting it before she's very much older! Come with me Nicola!"
Directing a look of hatred at Mr Pearce, the sixteen year old followed Miss Hayhoe back to her study. There the Headmistress's lecture flowed over her head. She just hoped that that vicious cane would not reappear. It was with relief mixed with despondency that she saw Miss Hayhoe take a large leather strap from the shelf behind her.
"Skirt off again, Nicola! And we'll have those knickers down again as well!" Nicki did not even attempt to argue, she knew it would be no use. Miss Hayhoe came round and sat on the chair where Nicki's blazer still hung. Nicki put her skirt on the desk and started to carefully unpeel her tight white knickers. Christ Almighty her bum was sore!
"Come on girl! Over my knees!" ordered the Headmistress.
Tearfully Nicki draped herself over Miss Hayhoe. She had had a headmistress's strapping before, always administered bare bottom over Miss Hayhoe's knees, but never before on a recently caned and still searing bottom.
The Headmistress ignored the mass of weals and bruises on Nicki's battered backside. She slammed the belt down with full force for twelve stinging blows - six on each cheek. Nicki struggled furiously and screamed herself hoarse as she felt the effect of those violent impacts on the exposed and so-painful weals covering her behind. After the twelfth whack Miss Hayhoe pushed the punished girl off her knees. Nicki squirmed on the carpet, sobbing and making no effort to get up. Miss Hayhoe grabbed her ponytail and dragged her upright.
"There. Is that enough for you, Nicola? Or do you want some more?"
Dancing in pain Nicki shook her head. No more, please!
"Get dressed then, Nicola. And don't let me see you sent here for punishment again!" When Nicki was dressed Miss Hayhoe dismissed her, reminding her to have the 300 lines ready for Monday.
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.
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
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