From the Top Shelf - She Can't Get Enought, part 1

Today's story is from a 1950s British magazine called Cheeky, and confirms the belief that a woman's love of corporal punishment develops early in life. A retired teacher reminisces about his experiences as a House Master at a finishing school for young ladies.

I took the position of House Master at a fashionable girls' finishing school in the West Country. My quarters were in a wing containing two dormitories leading off the same corridor and I was responsible for some sixty girls, being aided by the pretty Assistant House Mistress, Miss Elizabeth Dorothy Bates, with whom I became very friendly.

My room was not overly large, but very comfortable, containing a bed, two chairs, one upright, the other an armchair, a chest of drawers, wardrobe, bookcase and writing desk.

To my surprise, I found no less than four canes on one of the shelves of the bookcase. Of course, curiosity made me test them out by swishing them through the air and practising on one of the pillows.

One was very thin and short - about two feet in length. It was really too light to be of much use as an instrument of punishment, though I found it stung when I swished it into my palm. There were two, about 2ft 6inches in length, one brown and the other yellow. The yellow one was lighter and very flexible, being about 1/4 inch in thickness. The brown Malacca was about the same but a shade stiffer. This seemed a really vicious little instrument when I swished the pillow with it and I easily imagined the plump, tender cheeks of a girl's bottom with the fleshy thumps it produced.

The fourth cane was about 2 feet 9 inches to 3 feet long, also a brown malacca cane of the same thickness. This, too, was vicious but I thought it a trifle too long.

I wondered if they had ever been used on any of the girls, and if I should ever get the chance to try them out on real live flesh. I was soon to find out.

I was very surprised when a rather pretty girl came to my room well after nine o'clock one night. She was about eighteen and quite well-built, as I could see by the curves beneath the quilted dressing gown she wore. She handed me a note.

"Pamela Prentice," the note read "For persistent talking after lights out - four strokes please. B.D."

"B.D" I recognised as one of the prefects' initials. I raised my eyebrows at Pamela, who, apart from a delicate flush to her cheeks, showed no undue emotion.

"Four strokes?" I said, a little stupidly, but taken completely by surprise.

"Four strokes of the cane, sir," she explained. "I've come for my punishment." She started to loosen the cord of her dressing-gown.

I was staggered and must have shown it, for she smiled coyly as she slipped out of her dressing-gown and stood before me in just a pale blue baby doll nightie that barely reached her hips; from there down to her slippers she was naked.

I was not used to seeing girls in that state and I felt myself blushing furiously as she stood waiting. She sensed that I was at a loss what to do next and came to my rescue.

"The...the canes are kept in the bookcase," she whispered, glancing at it. "We used to have to bend over the back of Mr. Collins' chair, or across the desk for our punishment, Sir."

"Um - er - quite.Well - er - perhaps you better bend over the back of the chair, then."

As Pamela drew the chair out from under the desk, I had my first full view of her bottom; it was round, full and lovely, and it seemed a shame to have to mark it - I nearly said so!

I went to the bookcase and chose the pale yellow cane. I flexed it a few times, feeling a tingle of excitement run through me at the lively springiness of it.

When I turned, Pamela had already bent over the back of the chair, with her hands on the seat, her plump, pretty bottom offered to me quite bare, the beautiful tapering thighs taut and pressed closely together. She just glanced once at the cane and then bent her head, bottom tensing.

I stood beside her, measuring the cane across both cheeks, then gave her four quick swishes in as many seconds, fascinated by the gentle quiver of her flesh and her sharply indrawn breath as she received each stroke.

When it was over, Pamela rose, her fingers gently stroking the four red stripes I had raised on her poor bottom. She smiled at me, lips quivering a little, though there were no tears and no resentment in her eyes.

"Thank you, Sir," she whispered. "Thank you."

She turned to push the chair under the desk again and I saw the jiggle of the lovely buttocks with their four weals across the crown. She picked her dressing gown up but didn't put it on. She hesitated, then pointed at the note on the desk.

"Sir - may I have the note? I have to take it back to Betty with your signature to show I have had the punishment."

"Of course," I signed the note and handed it back to her with a smile. "Don't they trust your teachers then?"

"It's us they don't trust. It has even been known for some girls to forge a teacher's signature. Just to make certain, Betty will probably examine my bottom to make sure I've had the four strokes."

"I hope I didn't hurt you too much." I gave her a sympathetic smile as I opened the door for her.

"That's all right, Sir - I suppose I deserved it. Besides, you weren't nearly as severe as Mr. Collins used to be with us."

"Did he beat you harshly?"

"Well, Sir, I would have been jumping under each cut and, even with only four strokes, I would be limping back to the dorm!"

I watched her as she walked back down the corridor, dressing gown over her arm, the stripes dancing on the white flesh of her bare behind as she walked. She paused outside the dormitory and ran a hand lightly across her buttocks, then she looked back and gave me another smile as she put on her dressing gown and went in.

The mental vision of that delightful bare bottom was still with me when I went to sleep that night.

In the next few weeks, I found I had a bottom or two to cane almost every night. Sometimes there were three or four girls baring their bottoms and bending over to receive punishment, the number of strokes varying according to the offence.

Next week I will share the details of another memorable caning by the House Master.