The story begins with a girl lucky to get away with a dose of the slipper from her headmaster. She doesn’t learn her lesson though, so she’s back with two friends for something more severe.

You’ve Only Yourselves to Blame

The story begins with a girl lucky to get away with a dose of the slipper from her headmaster. She doesn’t learn her lesson though, so she’s back with two friends for something more severe.

By Kenny Walters

“Sit down, Helen.” I gestured towards the small chair by the side of my desk reserved for the fatherly chats any headmaster of a girls’ school has to conduct from time to time. “I’m sure you know why you’re here, Helen.”

Helen Mathers nodded guiltily. Being summonsed to her headmaster’s office was a whole new experience for the rather shy eighteen year old with long straw blonde hair. Hunched forward in the chair, she concentrated on looking down at my wine red carpet, only occasionally allowing her eyes to rise and look sheepishly towards me.

“Mrs Stevens tells me she caught you in the act, Helen. Is that correct?”

Helen nodded slowly, then murmured: “Yes, sir.”

“A very recently discarded cigarette under your foot, a packet of cigarettes in one trouser pocket and a disposable lighter in the other. Is that how it was?”

“Yes, sir.” Helen answered faintly, her eyes avoiding mine. A quiet girl at the best of times, never naughty, Helen Fothergill would have been one of the last girls I’d have ever guessed would appear before me accused of a serious breach of the school rules.

“And two of your friends disappearing into the woods back towards school, I hear.”

Helen made no comment nor gesture. Clearly she would not be revealing the identity of the two other girls, equally guilty, but alert enough to run off as soon as they heard Mrs Stevens, the middle-aged and rather overweight History teacher, approaching them in the woods that lined the further edge of the school playing fields.

“Very well, I can understand your reluctance to tell on your friends but, Helen, that does leave you in serious trouble, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, sir.” Helen answered softly.

“I’m sure you’re quite aware of the usual penalty for being caught smoking or with smoking materials on your person. Is that correct, Helen?”

Helen nodded slowly without speaking. I looked pointedly at the slim eighteen year old, not an especially pretty girl, rather plain looking in fact, but certainly smart in her light grey trousers and maroon jumper that was the uniform of St Mary’s. Her pale face and worried expression told me Helen knew only too well what happened to those girls who dare to smoke or bring cigarettes into school.

“You have a good record, Helen. In fact, I’m astounded it should be you of all people to have been sent to me on such a matter.”

Helen studied the carpet in front of her feet, her fingers tightly entwined in her lap.

“However, on this occasion I am not going to cane you. You have an exemplary record up until now to thank for that.”

The eighteen year old looked up, surprised, relieved but with some concern still etched into her features.

“I am going to point out, though, that should you ever appear before me again on such a matter then your chances of escaping a caning would be very, very slender indeed. You do understand that, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir.” The voice was still little more than a whisper although the expression was more relaxed. Hopes of a lucky escape were undoubtedly filtering into this young lady’s mind.

“Smoking is a despicable habit though, Helen. That is why cigarettes and smoking are considered so seriously at this school, and why you are not going to entirely escape punishment.”

Helen’s expression that had been looking ever more at ease suddenly froze, and was soon replaced by an air of doubt, uncertainty and renewed tension.

“Frankly, Helen, I’m torn between several detentions or a dose of the slipper.”

The eighteen year old looked up into my eyes for an instant, then snatched her gaze away.

“It would have to be several detentions, Helen. Perhaps four one hour detentions.”

Helen looked at me again, appearing somewhat shocked. I doubt this unassuming, quiet girl had ever served a single detention; the prospect of having to serve four clearly took her aback.

“I can see, though, that serving four detentions would cause you some serious inconvenience, and also to your mother who I believe picks you up after school.”

I looked at my watch. It was five minutes to four and Veronica Mathers, Helen’s mother, would probably already be waiting in the driveway.

Helen nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, sir. It would make things a bit tricky.”

“That settles it, then Helen. I shall give you four whacks with the slipper. It gets it over with nice and quickly and anyway is probably more in keeping with what you deserve.”

A look of horror and panic immediately sprang to Helen’s face, and she watched stupefied as I cleared the few papers that rested on my desk. I reached down to my right, opened the bottom drawer of my desk and located my large white size twelve plimsoll. I stood up with Helen’s eyes following my every move.

“Stand up, please Helen.” I instructed, and walked round behind the chair the eighteen year old still occupied.

Helen did as she was told, taking an audibly large intake of breath. I grasped the chair by the back and moved it out of the way. As I turned back to Helen I noticed her attention was no longer focused on me but on the large white plimsoll that I held in my left hand.

“Bend over the desk, Helen.”

Helen paused, perhaps having to take a moment or two to believe this was actually happening to her. Then, slowly, awkwardly, Helen placed herself down across the end of my desk until, with a slight bend to her knees, she was able to rest her upper body along the polished walnut surface.

The girl’s maroon jumper had ridden up as she bent over, leaving her light grey trousers quite tightly stretched across her slim firm bottom and certainly leaving the all-important buttock area clear for the application of the slipper. Nonetheless, I tucked the maroon sweater up further until the waistband of the trousers was also exposed to my view. Hardly necessary for the slipper to be applied effectively, I knew though that this made the waiting culprit feel particularly vulnerable.

“Ready, Helen?”

“Yes, sir.” The reply was muffled, the girl having buried her face in her arms that were now folded above her head on my desk, and fearful.

I drew the large slipper back and delivered a hefty whack across the seat of the girl’s light grey trousers.

“Uhh!!!” Helen grunted as she felt the slipper scorch her bottom.

Swinging the slipper back, I took aim and sent another firm swipe down that crashed again across the centre of the girl’s tightly stretched trousers seat.

“Uuhh-uhh!” Helen grunted strangely again.

The third stroke was aimed more towards the left side of the cute little backside but still administered with a fair degree of firmness.

“Ooouch!” Helen confirmed the efficacy of the stroke with a painful sounding cry.

Undaunted, I delivered the fourth and final stroke more to the right side of the eighteen year old’s pert bottom which, hopefully, would leave her with an extremely uncomfortable smarting sensation she would be feeling across more or less the entire width of her backside.

Helen began to get up from the desk, then paused as, presumably, she wondered whether she should be doing that before instructed.

“Okay, Helen, you can get up.” I went round her and sat down at my desk, returning the slipper to its place in the bottom drawer of my desk. By now, Helen was standing, facing me, and gently massaging her bottom with her right hand.

“I know you want to get away, Helen, but I’d just like to say one more thing. Let’s see, It’s Tuesday today. I’ll give your two friends until four o’clock on Thursday to come and see me and admit they were smoking with you. They’ll each get four whacks with the slipper, the same as you’ve just received. If they don’t own up and they are later identified, then they’ll be caned. Please make sure they are aware of that. Okay?”

“Yes, sir.” Helen didn’t appear to relish the task. Presumably, she’d been planning to keep her slippering a secret, even from her closest friends.

“And please don’t find yourself having to appear before me again like this, Helen. I no more want to have to punish you than you want to be punished. Okay?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Okay, off you go.”

My watch told me it was now after ten past four. I looked out of my office window and saw Veronica Mathers, Helen’s mother, waiting by her car in the driveway. Moments later, Helen emerged from the school building, exchanged brief greetings with her mother and got into the car, perhaps being just a little cautious as she sat down on the front passenger seat.

Several weeks passed and I had more or less forgotten the incident with Helen Mathers until my phone rang one morning and my secretary told me Helen’s mother was on the telephone wanting a word with me.

No sooner had I finished speaking with Veronica Mathers than Judith Driscoll telephoned. Judith was the mother of one of Helen’s classmates and one of her closest friends, Samantha Driscoll.

It was to be a busy morning, for soon after that I had another telephone call, this time from Susan Devonish, mother of Trudi Devonish, yet another of Helen’s friends and classmates.

Much later in the day, at ten to four, I sat back in my chair and imagined the conversation that would be taking place in Form 6A.

“Settle down, please.” Miss Falconer, the young form mistress of 6A banged the end of her pen on her desk to urge the boisterous girls to order. “Come along, we all want to get off home.”

After completing the register of the thirty-four girls present, Anne Falconer made several announcements. It was just one minute to four when she began the final announcement. “Samantha Driscoll, Trudi Devonish and Helen Mathers. I need a word with you three please.”

Seconds later, the bell rang and the girls of 6A, like most of the other girls in the school, were promptly dismissed, leaving Miss Falconer alone in the classroom with the three girls that had been asked to stay behind.

“I don’t know what you three have been up to, but the headmaster has asked me to bring you three along to his office. What’s this all about then?”

“I don’t know, miss.” Samantha Driscoll, a small blonde girl, answered honestly.

“Nor me, miss.” Helen replied with equal sincerity.

Trudi Devonish, tall with long dark hair, shook her head. “No idea, miss.”

“Oh well, we’d better get along there and find out.”

Soon after four o’clock, there was a gentle tap on my door and Anne Falconer peered into my office. “Are you ready for us, headmaster?”

“Yes, come in Anne.”

Moments later, three eighteen year old schoolgirls, all smartly attired in their uniform maroon sweaters, stood in a line in front of my desk with Anne Falconer also standing, slightly to one side.

“Would any of you three like to explain why I’ve asked Miss Falconer to bring you along here?”

I was greeted with three innocent faces, all completely bewildered by their presence in my office. Anne Falconer also searched their faces for any sign of knowledge and was left slightly bemused by the looks of total innocence.

“No idea? If I mentioned yesterday evening, would that set any alarm bells ringing?”

Samantha Driscoll’s face reddened noticeably, while Helen Mathers bit her lip and Trudi Devonish sucked her cheeks in. the three girls exchanged furtive, guilty looks.

“Ah, I think the penny is dropping, as they say, Miss Falconer. Come along girls, I’m sure Miss Falconer is aching to know what this is all about. Surely one of you could enlighten her.”

“Um, it might have been about when Trudi and Helen were round at my place, sir.” Samantha Driscoll spoke, a cheeky, guilty grin on her face. Samantha toyed nervously with her fingers as she spoke, then tugged her maroon sweater down, covering more of her light grey trousers.

“Correct. Go on, Samantha.” I encouraged.

“Well sir, we were listening to some music and, er….” Samantha found herself lost for words to complete her sentence, the grin replaced by a worried frown.

“Perhaps you could help Samantha, Trudi?”

Trudi, the tall serious girl, cocked her head to one side. “Sam’s mother, Mrs Driscoll, caught us smoking in Sam’s room, sir.” Trudi held her hands behind her back, resting on the seat of her light grey trousers.

“So she did, Trudi. So she did. And do you know what happened this morning, girls?”

The three all shook their heads with some vigour.

“I had three telephone calls, girls. From each of your mothers. And do you know what they wanted? Anyone?”

All three looked back at me with fear etched on their faces. None, though, answered me.

“Helen?” I looked at the girl with the long straw coloured hair. She, alone, was wearing a light grey pleated skirt with her maroon sweater.

“Er, I think my mother might have asked you to punish me, sir.” Helen spoke in a low, quiet voice.

“Would anyone like to hazard a guess at what Mrs Driscoll and Mrs Devonish wanted?”

“To punish us, sir?” Samantha’s voice rose at the end of the sentence, suggesting her reply was in turn another question directed back at me.

“Punishment, sir.” Trudi spoke even more quietly than Helen had done.

“Correct again, girls.” I turned to Anne Falconer. “It seems, Miss Falconer, that Mrs Mathers was enjoying a cup of coffee at her house with Mrs Driscoll and Mrs Devonish while the three girls were upstairs in Helen’s room. Since all three are non-smokers, they soon noticed the acrid smell of tobacco wafting down the stairs and went to investigate. It seems the noise of the music was such that these three were not aware of their mothers coming up the stairs and were therefore not able to dispose of their cigarettes before being caught in the act.

“So, Miss Falconer, this morning, when the anger of the previous evening had subsided, the three ladies’ thoughts turned to what might be the best way of dealing with the problem and they contacted me.”

“Right, headmaster.” The tall, pretty young teacher smiled thoughtfully, her mind undoubtedly picturing the scene of the previous evening.

The three girls had been looking guiltily at each other while I was speaking, and were clearly aware they were in serious trouble.

I looked towards their young form mistress, still standing to one side. Anne Falconer retained a faint smile, and seemed to be quite enjoying my discourse with the three girls.

“Your mothers are not at all happy with your conduct, girls. Not happy at all.” I paused while the three looked anxiously back at me. “Your mothers want you all to be punished by me, and I’m sure you know what that means, don’t you, girls?”

The three looked apprehensively back, none of them daring to reply, although I’m sure they all knew the fate that awaited them.

“I’m afraid, girls, you’re here to be caned.” In the unlikely event there was ever any doubt in their minds, I removed that uncertainty once and for all. “And let me make it clear, each one of your mothers has, in turn, asked me to administer a caning to every one of you.”

I paused, allowing each girl to contemplate the thought that her own mother had requested her daughter be caned.

“Your mothers all feel you need to be punished severely, and all are agreed you should each receive six strokes.”

I allowed another pause while they contemplated the punishment each had been sentenced to. Trudi was wide-eyed, presumably expecting something less severe. The other two seemed still shocked that they were to be caned at all, not yet ready to consider the implications of the number of strokes.”

“And, just so there is no doubt, you are all to be caned across your bottoms. Do any of you have anything to say?”

The three girls all stood completely still, shocked. I could hear sharp intakes of breath as each girl considered the full extent of the hiding she would soon have to endure. None of them offered any reply.

“Very well, let’s get this over with.” I stood up and went over to the tall cupboard on one side of the room. I opened it, delved inside, and selected a thin whippy cane that was over three feet in length and had the traditional crook handle.

I returned to my desk and lifted the small chair I keep by the side of my desk, moving it to a clear area behind the three girls, the back of the chair facing towards them. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Anne Falconer was watching these proceedings with some interest.

Ignoring the young form mistress, I addressed the three eighteen year olds.

“I want you all to continue facing my desk.”

As soon as I spoke, all three began to turn round but, on hearing my words, they soon resumed facing the desk, although not before each girl had taken in the positioning of the small chair behind them. I continued.

“In a moment, I shall call one of you over to me. The remaining two girls should continue facing my desk. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir.” The three all murmured their replies.

“When it is your turn to be punished, I want you to bend right down over the back of this chair and remain in that position until your punishment is completed and I have told you that you can stand up again. Keep your hands well away from your bottom until the end of your punishment. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir.” Another three murmurings whispered across to me.

“When you have been released from your punishment, I want you to return to your position facing my desk. Is that also clear?”

“Sir.” Shorter, and even quieter. They knew the time was getting very close.

I looked at the three girls, their backs towards me, the shorter Samantha, Trudi who was the tallest, and Helen who was somewhere in between.

“Trudi, please.” I announced.

The tall Trudi, apparently surprised by being called first, looked anxiously at her two companions. They looked sympathetically back, almost succeeding in keeping hidden their delight at having a few more minutes free of punishment. With a toss of her long dark hair, Trudi turned away from her friends and came across to the side of the small chair.

“Stand behind the chair, please Trudi.” The tall girl moved around until she was in the correct position.

“Unfasten your trousers and push them down to your ankles, then bend over the back of the chair, please Trudi.”

Trudi’s head shot round, scarcely believing what she’d just heard.

“That is what your mother has requested, Trudi.” I explained.

Trudi grimaced but, after just a moment’s thought, accepted what I had said and looked forwards again. She took a deep breath, then thrust a hand in her trouser pocket and extracted a thick rubber band.

Although obviously anxious, Trudi was not going to be rushed and we all had to wait while she carefully gripped her long hair behind her and then wound the rubber band around the hair until it was secured into a neat ponytail. She then thrust the ponytail down the back of her maroon sweater.

I looked towards Anne Falconer and she, too, was as bemused by these proceedings as I was.

Once her hair had been sorted, Trudi turned her attention to her trousers. The button at the top was soon released, then she snapped the zip down in one quick pull. Gripping the trousers at each side, a quick curtsy saw the trousers pushed down to her ankles and, when Trudi stood upright again, I saw she was wearing brief pink cotton panties.

Rubbing her hands together, Trudi took another deep breath and then leaned over the back of the chair. Hands gripping the sides of the chair, Trudi continued thrusting her head down until it was below the level of the seat and her bottom was thrust out.

I decided the hem of her maroon sweater needed to be pushed further up and, as I began to make the adjustment, Trudi’s hand brushed against mine as she assisted in exposing the upper portions of her backside.

When we were both satisfied the sweater would not in any way impede the execution of the punishment, I stood back and took aim by resting the cane gently across the bending girl’s pink knickers.

The tension in the room was electric as I drew the cane back and swished it down until it landed with a crack across the waiting bottom.

“Unnhh!” Trudi grunted as the stroke slashed across her backside.

“One.” I called.

Within moments, I sent a second stroke whooshing down and Trudi grunted again as she felt the pain bite across her bottom.

“Two.” I confirmed.

I paused briefly, then thrust the cane forcibly down for the third stroke.

“Eeeesh!!” Trudi called as her left leg rose with the pain of the stroke

“Three.” I said.

When the eighteen year old soon resumed her position, I resolved to aim a little lower on her bottom where the cane had not yet struck her.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Trudi’s two friends, although still basically facing forward, had their heads twisted round so they could just see what was happening to their colleague.

I sent the cane hurtling down and caught Trudi low on her bottom, just above the top of her thighs.

“Ooooohh!!” Trudi responded.

“Four.”

This clearly was as painful as the previous strokes, so I aimed just a fraction higher, and saw the soft, reddening buttocks crease as the cane slammed into them.

“Oooohh!!” Trudi cried again.

“Five.” I declared.

I decided the final stroke was going to be that bit harder than the rest and aimed directly at the centre of the girl’s bottom. I think Trudi sensed my thoughts, for she seemed to brace herself as though expecting this was going to be a particularly tough stroke to take.

I waited, then lifted the cane extra high on the backswing. Another pause, then I swung into the stroke and the cane cracked loudly across the girl’s backside.

“Eeeeeeeeeeessshhh!!” Trudi cried out, and her face creased up with the pain.

“Six.” I stated blandly, before reminding the girl: “Remain in position, please Trudi.”

I diverted my attention to the other two girls, and spotted they had both seen my focus changing towards their direction so that they quickly forgot about watching the punishment of their classmate and resumed looking directly at the wall ahead of them.

“Right, Trudi, your punishment is complete. Stand up, get dressed and go back to your place.”

Still Trudi was not to be rushed. She stood slowly and carefully, applied soothing hands to the seat of her brief pink panties, then reached down and pulled her trousers up. It took a little effort, and a good few seconds, to re-secure them around her waist and, when the job was finally done, the trousers did seem a little tighter around the curves of the tall girl’s bottom. Trudi still took the time to pull her maroon sweater down and back into its usual position before she turned and walked slowly back to her two friends. As she did so, she removed the rubber band from and allowed the long dark hair to flow freely once more.

I allowed time for Trudi to settle back in the line and for the two remaining girls to look worriedly at each other. A glance towards Anne Falconer told me the young form mistress was more interested in the next girl to have to step towards the chair.

“Helen, please.” I called.

Helen immediately swung round, apparently expecting my summons, then hesitated while she strengthened her resolve. It was just a momentary pause, though, and soon the shy eighteen year old was at the back of the small chair.

“Lift your skirt up at the back and then bend over the back of the chair, please Helen.”

Helen looked briefly round to register her surprise, but almost immediately looked to the front again and began tugging at the back hem of her grey pleated skirt.

“Also at your mother’s request, Helen.” I explained, even though the girl was already obediently complying with my instruction.

Helen sighed. Soon, though, she had lifted her skirt at the back and revealed brief white panties that covered the lower portions of her bottom quite well, but left the upper parts notably naked. She waited, skirt hoisted up at the back, and I repeated the latter part of my command.

“Bend over.”

Helen bent over, dipping her head down and holding onto the back of the skirt until she felt it would no longer be able to fall back down and cover her bottom.

“Tuck your skirt well up, please Helen.” I watched as the girl with the straw coloured hair obeyed, then added: “I think you’d better give your knickers a tug upward too, Helen. They’re practically falling off!”

Helen blushed, and sighed noisily, but did indeed give the panties a brisk tug upwards, so exposing more of the lower parts of her bottom, my target area, and covering the higher parts.

Now, with Helen thrusting her taut knicker clad bottom nicely up, I took aim and administered the first brisk stroke. The cane thwacked harshly across the soft curves of the eighteen year old’s bottom.

“Ouch!” Helen called briefly.

“One.” I declared.

The second stroke was equally as hard, and aimed at more or less the same spot in the centre of Helen’s briefly covered pert little bottom.

“Yoouuuch!!” Helen cried out with somewhat more feeling.

“Two.” I confirmed.

My third stroke went again to the same centre area of Helen’s brief panty clad backside, causing the eighteen year old to exclaim again: “Yoouch!”.

“Three.”

I felt Helen was becoming accustomed to the cane landing in that area and so I lowered my aim to that portion of her bottom that was just above the tops of her thighs.

“Oooooocch!!” Helen exclaimed with more vigour.

“Four.”

Another stroke delivered to that same lower area brought another, similar, response: “Yeeoouuch!!”

“Five.”

Seeing no reason to spare Helen the extra hard final stroke that Trudi had received, I drew the cane well back and reverted my aim to the centre of the eighteen year old’s brief white underwear.

Helen, though, seemed unaware of my intentions, unlike her classmate that had preceded her, for I sensed no bracing or other preparation for an extra hard stroke. I paused, and felt the tension growing in myself even if the girl appeared oblivious as she waited, still, for that sixth and final stroke.

“Aaaaaaaahhhh!!!” Helen cried out as I sent the cane rattling down across her waiting knicker clad bottom. I caught her nicely right in the centre of her backside and the biting pain immediately caused Helen to arch her back and screw her face up in pain. She began to reach back to grasp her sore bottom, thought better of it, and diverted her hand to the back of her thigh.

After just a few seconds, I told her: “Okay, Helen, you’re finished. You can get up now.”

Helen stood up quite quickly and pressed her right hand to the soft curves of her bottom, over the brief white panties. Her face was hot, tear strewn and flushed, and she hurriedly pulled her light grey pleated skirt back down to cover herself up.

“Back to your place, Helen.” I instructed, and Helen soon turned and went over to the other two girls.

As I watched Helen retake her place in line, I saw that Samantha was already looking round, anticipating being called over. I decided to make her wait.

“Are you okay standing there, Miss Falconer? I’m sorry, I should have invited you to sit down much earlier.”

Anne Falconer’s attention had been focused entirely on watching Helen still gently soothing her bottom over the seat of her pleated skirt, and my conversation caught her unawares.

“Oh! Er, no headmaster, no I’m fine thank you.”

I examined the cane, checking it was still in good working order, flexed it a couple of times and tapped it against the palm of my hand. Finally, I turned to the small line of girls. Samantha was still looking round over her shoulder.

“Okay, Samantha. Your turn.”

Samantha appeared extremely apprehensive as she came across to the chair; presumably any eagerness she might have conveyed was simply a desire to get her ordeal over and done with. Immediately she arrived, her hands went briskly to the fastenings of her trousers, slipping the button and thrusting down the zip, then pushing the light grey material down to her ankles. I can only assume she knew her mother would share the feelings of the other two.

“Tuck your sweater up, please Samantha.” I reminded her.

The small blonde girl hastened to please, pushing the sweater much further up than was necessary to simply reveal her neat round bottom, clothed in brief powder blue knickers.

“Bend over, girl.”

Samantha almost dived over the back of the small chair, gripped the sides of the seat firmly and pushed her head well down. Whether it was her lack of height over the back of the chair or perhaps it was her own choice, but her bottom and especially the lower portions, always my preferred target, was admirably present for the caning I was about to give her.

I gave Samantha a couple of light taps across the lower part of her bottom and she braced herself. I flicked the cane back, then sent it rattling down until the first stroke whipped into the tight bottom scarcely covered by the brief underwear.

“Hhhhuh!” Samantha gasped.

“One.”

I gave the little eighteen year old a couple of seconds and then snapped the cane back before letting another swift stroke slash into the waiting target.

“Hhhuhh!”

“Two.”

After a little wriggling of her legs, demonstrating at least the punishment was having the desired effect, Samantha braced herself once again. I waved the cane back and sent another sharp stroke down into the lower portions of the girl’s backside.

“Hhhhuuhh!!”

“Three.”

A trio of three strokes in that same lower part of Samantha’s bottom, where the pale blue knicker material scarcely covered the creamy white flesh, had produced three reddening parallel lines. I aimed a little higher up and sent the next stroke thwacking into the tight little bottom.

“Oooohh!”

“Four.”

I’d caught the small eighteen year by surprise, especially as the stroke had landed higher than I’d wanted. If that made the punishment even more effective, then that was no bad thing. I made sure the next stroke, though, landed plumb in the centre of Samantha’s bottom and, indeed, the cane creased her soft buttocks as it whipped into her.

“Oooouuch!”

“Five.”

Perhaps it was just my imagination, but I sensed both Samantha and I knew already this last stroke was going to be the hardest and thus the most painful. I had no evidence for this conclusion, for Samantha made no apparent attempt to brace herself more than for any of the earlier strokes. I waited for a good few seconds, allowing the tension to mount, then finally drew the cane back. Another pause, briefer, then I hurtled the cane down towards the very centre of the little eighteen year old’s cute round bottom.

“Yeeeeooouch!!”

Samantha’s knees buckled and her left leg came up off the floor, the pretty girl’s features now screwed up as she experienced the pain across her bottom. She remained more or less across the back of the chair although I knew she was just dying to be allowed to reach back and soothe herself. I determined not to be rushed.

“Very well, Samantha. Up you get and back to your place.” I finally relented.

Immediately, the little eighteen year old straightened and applied healing hands to her sore bottom. She rubbed quite frantically for some little while before reaching down and pulling up her light grey trousers. After a little fiddling to get them done up, she went back to join her two classmates.

I returned the cane to its place in the cupboard and went back to my desk. I sat down on the front edge, close to the three girls, and gave them a sympathetic look.

“Not much fun, was it girls?”

All three had tear stained faces, Samantha’s the most obvious. They shook their heads in miserable fashion.

“For goodness sakes, girls, learn your lesson from this and keep well away from cigarettes in the future. Okay?”

They nodded weakly.

“Okay, off you go.”

“When they had left the room, I turned to Anne Falconer.

“Thank you for staying behind, Anne. I hope it hasn’t inconvenienced you too much.”

“Not at all, headmaster. No, that was all quite interesting.” The young form mistress was smiling in a strangely satisfied way. “Actually, that was the first time I’ve ever seen a caning meted out. Now, I know what should happen if I ever have cause to bring a girl along to you.”

I smiled. “Well, thanks again for staying behind, Anne.”

“No problem. Goodnight, headmaster.”

“Goodnight, Anne.”

I sat down at my desk and reflected on Anne’s words, noting she had said: ‘Bring a girl along to you’ and not ‘Send a girl along to you.’

The End

Posted on Thursday, April 19th, 2012 at 1:29 pm in School & College Stories   |  RSS feed Comments and pings are currently closed.

Tags: Kenny Walters

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