Our very dear friend Ronnie has published a post with a wealth of information on caning. She should know what she's talking about, as she sells a variety of canes and has had much first-hand experience being on the receiving end.
Here is her advice. While you are visiting her blog, please do take the opportunity to order a cane or two.
Slava Ukraini
Glory to Ukraine
1. Practice first: get used to hitting the target by whacking pillows. (Yes, it may sound silly, but…)
2. Give a warm-up – say an OTK spanking first: it helps to make the cane strokes slightly more bearable (even though some think it’s inauthentic if you’re playing, say, a school scene).
3. Choose the right position. It’s easier to cane accurately, at least if you’re new to it, if the young lady is lying down (perhaps on a bed with a pillow under her hips to lift her bottom up – the top can then stand to the side of the bed). If not, having you bend over something (a chair back, a desk if you have one) is easier than touching-your-toes.
4. Aim at the right spot. Be careful not to whack too high (watch out for the tail bone, particularly) or too low (the crease between the buttocks and thighs is usually seen as a sensible lowest point). Some tops mark the boundaries – the first stroke at the top of the “range”, the second at the bottom, which then it makes it easier to land the remainder on target.
5. Don’t hurry. Twenty seconds or so between strokes is good, to let the impact of the stroke reach its maximum point and level out, before applying the next one.
6. Don’t “wrap”. The worst marks come if the cane tip doesn’t land on the buttocks, but goes right round onto the hips or front of the thighs. Making sure he doesn’t stand too close will help.
7. Don’t be tempted to whack too hard, or too many times, especially the first time. I know I was tempted to give my first spankee 30 of the best. Six, slowly, well-done with cuddles afterwards can be far more intense. And the cane doesn’t need to hit the ceiling on the backswing! (Whilst getting used to wielding the cane, it may also be easier to hold it some way along, thus effectively shortening its length – that can help with accuracy until he’s confident).
8. Close the windows, and put on the TV if you’re at all worried about noise travelling. You want to enjoy it together – not have a worry at the back of your minds about the neighbours hearing and calling the police to rescue the poor woman being beaten next door.
9. Have an appropriate safeword. Sounds obvious, but “no”, “it hurts”, “owwww” and “stoooopppppp” may well come out naturally – yet you may actually be enjoying it (deep down) and wanting the scene to continue. Traffic lights work well (amber = OMG it hurts, so be careful, but keep going; red = stop now).
10. Don’t panic if the odd stroke does go astray. It may well do so – even with experienced players, the odd one does!
11. Have some arnica cream handy (if you can find some), or aloe vera if not, or decent moisturiser if not, and rub it in afterwards.
12. Don’t book a session at the local spa, or in the local swimming pool with vanilla friends, for the following morning! You may have marks that might take a couple of days to fade!
And finally – have fun!
The cane is one of the most important—and most intrinsically severe—of all instruments of punishment, and although it is most commonly found in the schoolroom, there is no reason why it should not be employed, where necessary, for domestic punishments as well. Second only to the birch, the cane stands—in England at least—for the symbol of corporal punishment, in the same way the martinet represents France, the tawse Scotland and the tappette* in the Americas.
Canes are made from a variety of materials, with rattan being the most popular, due to its unique combination of light weight and extreme flexibility. They can also be made from malacca and bamboo - both unsuitable materials in my opinion, since malacca is too 'knobbly' and bamboo is liable to splinter. Canes can also be made from whalebone, a very severe form indeed of this instrument. And, of course, ad hoc ferrules can be shaped very easily from switches cut from any hedgerow: hazel, willow, and young ash plants all being suitable, although only the last named will survive one punishment.
The standard British school cane is universally manufactured from rattan, and is typically supplied with one end already curled into the traditional handle. Lengths vary from about two feet (these are intended to be used across the knee on smaller culprits but I do not think this form of the punishment is ever truly effective) up to about four feet. Canes longer than this will be difficult to control and aim properly and should be rejected (unless the caning is of the judicial type).
The weight of a cane is the important thing and here appearances may be deceptive. Rattan is a very light material and inexperienced governesses not appreciating this are liable to choose their canes on the slender side, reasoning that this will make the strokes more merciful. In fact the reverse is true; a slim, wand-like cane is crueller and liable to cut. Thicker canes better combine the qualities of penetration and "spread", and are less likely to break the skin. I speak here in the context of a caning administered to the bare bottom. If clothing is retained then you may use any cane you like.
It is, as I have said, a severe instrument, and although versatile—it can be used to punish the hands and both the clothed and unclothed bottom—the cane should be used with respect for its considerable powers of penetration. Wrongly used, it can be a vicious implement.
In fact, its widespread adoption within British schools during the last century is a result of mistaken kindness and a certain prudery, mixed well together. Until the middle of the 19th century, the birch reigned supreme, but the application of the birch inevitably means the baring of the bottom; it can be applied under no other conditions - and a certain shyness involved in stripping offenders meant that another instrument, capable of penetrating even the thick material of a boy's workday breeches, had to be employed. For this purpose there is no better implement than the cane—unless it is the riding crop, which is certainly not for use in schoolrooms—and so it became adopted, particularly in state or church schools.
The irony of this of course is that many pedagogues continue to punish the errant on their bare buttocks but using the cane in this way, they are actually punishing with greater severity, stroke for stroke, than with the birch! The result of the mid Victorian prudery is therefore that many naughty boys actually suffer more than once they did—so often the case with ill thought-out "reforms".
The cane, therefore, is one of the few implements that I occasionally administer across the clothed seat. Six or twelve strokes applied with vigour to a tightly-presented target will cause enough distress to expiate most offences.
If I desire to inject a greater degree of shame into a caning, particularly one administered in class, I insist on the removal of trousers, but not necessarily underwear. I retain this option in case the offender misbehaves during the punishment.
Nevertheless it frequently comes about that a culprit will commit offences of such gravity that it becomes necessary to administer the cane on the bare bottom, almost always in private. I usually limit canings of this sort to a maximum of twelve strokes, although I have gone to 24 on a few occasions where very serious offences took place...
Applying the cane across the bare bottom is one way of observing the progress and effect of the punishment, and of checking one's aim. Some culprits have tougher backsides than others, but even a light caning of a few strokes will leave, in addition to the usual blush across the nether regions, intermittent evidence of the rod in the form of visible weals. If the strokes are administered at a slow pace—say one every ten seconds—the caner has time to observe these marks begin to develop and, like a rifleman, can correct the aim accordingly. All strokes should be delivered into as narrow a band as possible, and that area should correspond with the plumpest and best padded part of the posterior.
Administering any sort of caning is a matter of some precision, the attainment of which is generally a matter of practice. In order to be effective at all, it must be administered with a minimum of real force.
I have spoken much already about this excellent implement so here I shall confine myself to observations concerning its use. The cane is a highly penetrating instrument of great potential severity, and care must be taken when administering it; so much is obvious. It is also lighter than it looks. But the important point is its extreme flexibility. During the quarter-second or so of flight the instrument achieves a near-semicircularity in shape. Although it may appear stiff and straight, in practice it is more whiplike. The arm and wrist motion is therefore a complex one. At the beginning of the stroke, the hand leads the tip of the cane; it continues to lead throughout the descent; only at the last moment, after the shortest of follow-throughs, does the wrist halt and reverse direction slightly so that the business end of the cane "catches up" at exactly the right angle to the posterior. The achievement of a good caning action is therefore a matter of some diligence and constant practice.
Another precaution is to take one's stance slightly to the left of the target, perhaps as much as a half pace. This ensures that the tip of the cane, which travels faster than the rest of the instrument during the latter part of the flight, strikes the far buttock at precisely the same instant, and with the same force, as the rest of the cane makes with the near buttock. The result should be a perfect stripe across the broadest part of the bottom. This mark will immediately appear in white as you finish the stroke, then it will fade, to reappear (if it has been a severe stroke) within less than a minute as a thin welt.
I have spoken earlier about limits on the use of the cane. Feeble strokes merely tap the skin. Savage blows can cut it. Both are to be deplored. The result of a sound caning should be a welted bottom, certainly—if the behind is not vividly marked then the punishment has been too mild and will be too rapidly forgotten—but not a scarified one. That is simple brutality.
The cane should hum or whistle in the stroke and fall across the target with a sharp snap, like a toy pistol. There should be a pause between strokes, say a minimum of ten seconds.
Beware of canes that are too long. While a long cane whips-in satisfactorily, it is harder to control, and the stray six inches at the end may cause the further buttock to be punished more severely than its twin. Standing well to the left of the target is one cure, but on the whole it is best to use a slightly shorter weapon, and to strike slightly harder.
When a culprit is bending over in the conventional position, do not make the mistake of shaping your stroke with too great a downward component. The chances are that you may hit the base of the spine, or the cane will fall at an awkward, grazing angle, or you may punish the upper half of the buttocks and leave the lower, more sensitive, portion, unscathed. Take a horizontal or even slightly upwards aim, draw the cane back slowly within the same arc, then whip the forearm and wrist smartly through from one side to the other, keeping your eyes on the exact spot you are aiming for. Do not look up from this spot until you have completed the stroke. If the bottom has been bared beforehand, observe the mark and compare it to your point of aim, then adjust the next stroke accordingly.
A traditional way of limiting the amount of force that may be applied is to tuck a large book—say, the Bible—under your punishing arm and retain it there throughout the caning. A little experimentation will show that it is impossible to use the shoulder and upper arm muscles without letting the book fall. You are constrained to wrist and forearm, which is exactly as it should be. An even greater error is to be over harsh. The difference between the lightest cut that may be given, and the severest, is not large; and if greater severity is required it is safer to increase the number of strokes, or to apply some additional measure, such as baring the bottom, or administering the punishment in public, or all three.
Canings are well nigh impossible to administer in most of the spanking postures (over the knee etc) due to the length of the weapon. They must be inflicted with the culprit bent over (or if necessary held) for example touching toes, across a chair, a desk, the end of the bed. I do not favour any of the kneeling positions since this makes the angle of the body too acute for such a penetrating instrument as the cane; a culprit bending over and clasping shins, with knees straight and feet together is presented at precisely the right angle.
There being a natural formality about a caning, this tone should be maintained both before and after the punishment proper, wherever it is inflicted and under whatever conditions of dress. At the every least I make a caned offender write an imposition. On occasion, when trousers or pants have been taken down for example, I send the culprit shuffling to the corner to further shame and isolation, garments strewn around the ankles and hands on head.
A culprit may either be caned on the spot, as soon as possible following the commission of the offence or be sent to another room to await the punisher's arrival. The culprit may be ordered to fetch the cane from a closet - obliging a choice to be made from a considerable and varied collection.
Alternatively, of course, while the culprit, already positioned and appropriately stripped, waits in suspense and fear, you may coolly take your pick, assessing each cane at leisure until certain you have chosen the correct instrument for the task in hand. There is no hurry after all, and the unexpected waiting time adds to the fear and suspense of the overall punishment.
The marble floored lobby was much as she expected. There were two lifts straight ahead, and facing each other were two counters. The one on the left was marked Gentlemen, the other Ladies. There was a small computer screen on each. Margaret went up to the young uniformed woman, and produced her card.
"Have you ever done this before, Madam?"
"No"
She inserted the card beneath the screen. When it came out again she said: "If you take the right hand lift up to the second floor, there will be someone to meet you." She smiled.
Neither Margaret nor the girl saw any incongruity in the pleasant tone of the conversation. She entered the lift and went up.
"Good morning, Madam, may I see your card?"
Margaret held it out.
"Thank you - you see we never speak names aloud in the passage."
She was personable, perhaps a little younger than the one in the hall. "Probably a trained nurse as well." Margaret judged.
"Have you a friend with you?"
"N-No. Could I?"
"It says so on the card"
"Of course, my fault."
Of the doors along the passage, two stood open. They stopped at the first.
"This will be your changing room," she led the way in.
"When I go out, you shut the door. You won't be able to open it again until after you've been punished. That door opposite leads straight into the punishment chamber. The instructions are all written up on the wall here and next door, but it may help if I tell you."
"Yes, thank you."
"You strip off everything below the waist: shoes, tights, panties - everything. There must be nothing whatsoever below the belt line. When you're ready, you can call me on the intercom, which is here. As soon as the chamber is ready for you, I will call you and unlock the door. It's all done electrically. You will be inspected on the closed circuit before you're allowed in."
"I see."
"The one thing you MUST have in the chamber with you is your card because it activates the machine and keeps count, but you mustn't bring in anything else. Understood?"
"What do I do when I get in the chamber?"
"You'll be told, and anyway the instructions are there. It's quite easy."
Margaret nodded.
"And don't forget, if you have any doubts, or want some help, call me. Just remember, once you've closed this door, you have to go through with it."
"I follow."
"Well, are you ready?"
"Will there be anyone else in the chamber while I'm -"
"No, not unless you ask."
"What about a friend?"
"There's a special friends room. You'll see."
"Alright. I think I'm ready."
"OK - and good luck."
The wardress left the door open behind her. Her footsteps retreated down the passage and she obviously went into another room. Margaret's heart began to pound. She went over and carefully shut the door and then tried it so see if it would open. It would not. She was left alone to her fate.
The room, though rather severe in its white paint and illuminated ceiling, was comfortably, almost luxuriously, furnished. There was a wall wardrobe with hangers, a luggage stand, a leatherette covered stool and an easy chair. The shower room had a bidet as well as a loo and a basin. There was a built-in dressing table with a wall-mirror - and another very low one. She smiled as she recognised its purpose.
She began to undress and hang up her clothes. Skirt first, then her tights. Her shirt hung well below the belt. It would have to come off. She was wearing a bra which she didn't really need. Her breasts had always been firm. The bra could stay now. She pottered about, put her handbag in the cupboard, took it out and extracted the card, put the card on the table.
"Time to take my pants off," she muttered through gritted teeth.
She put them on the cupboard shelf and briefly looked at her smooth buttocks in the low mirror.
"Before," she muttered, "Now for After."
She pressed the intercom switch. She was trembling slightly but not entirely from fear.
"Hullo?"
"I'm ready."
"So I see. 'Fraid you'll have to wait a few minutes. Sorry."
Margaret wondered who else could see her. There was little point in modesty at the moment. She settled herself comfortably on the cool leatherette and lit a fag. She didn't often smoke. She could see what Mary had meant about it making a change. This could scarcely be more restful, save for the thunder of her own heartbeats. The smoke floated, and went on floating lazily to the ceiling.
She had finished two-thirds of the cigarette when she sensed that the intercom had gone live. There was a short cough.
"Madam."
"Yes?"
"You may go in now. Don't forget your card."
The chamber door clicked. She stubbed out the cigarette, stood up, opened the door and went in.
Naturally she knew about these machines. She had, in fact, seen the gloating illustrations in the Sundays when the first centre had been opened. All the same it came as a surprise to her. The whole apparatus faced towards the left-hand wall. There was a large drum-like roller on its stand. Two spring-loaded short metal arms protruded from machinery housings, which stood, about six feet apart, one either side of the drum. Into the socket at the end of each arm, a three-foot cane had been inserted. They now stood, swung back, wide open and slightly to the front.
"Or rather, behind," she thought ruefully.
The wardress's voice came over the intercom.
"Insert your card, blue side up, into the yellow slot on the top of the left hand machine - that's right. Push it right home."
"Now go and stand between the machines and face the drum."
"Mount the yellow step on the drum itself. You'll find that it's quite firm."
The drum was not fully round, but cut off flat at the lowest part so that about a quarter of its circumference was missing. This flat base was well above the ground, and extended outwards to make the step. Margaret stepped up. It was, as she had been told, perfectly firm.
"Now, in a moment you will bend over the drum. If you leave things as they are you will receive six strokes. But if you think you can take more, you can set the control for more by pressing the red button by the yellow slot."
"No more? Very well, Madam, bend over."
She settled herself over the drum's padded leatherette, which was cool on her stomach, as the chair's had been on her bottom.
"Now listen carefully. If you look down you will see two holes in the step on the other side. When I say 'reach', put your hands through those slots and grasp the handles you will see at the bottom. Your wrists will immediately be pinioned and you will be held in that position until it is over. When both your hands are pinioned, there will be an interval of one minute, and then your punishment will begin."
"I see" said Margaret.
"OK, now - reach."
She put first her left hand, and then her right into its slot and grasped the handle at the bottom. It incorporated some kind of trigger. There was a snap and her wrists were enclosed in a smoothly fitting hold. The machines made a faint whirring sound and the canes, which she saw out of the corner of her eye, swung round out of her vision and behind her.
A million thoughts and images chased across the inside of her head. Seeing her school-friend Anne's own bottom marks. The almost unbearable silence. The row with Miss Cullin. Should she open her legs or keep them together? She opened them slightly. Had she stubbed that cigarette out? The holiday in Corfu.
There was a very small click on her left.
She had not consciously heeded it. The cane cut into her rump like a cold fire after a second of nothingness, and drove a wave of horror up her body, almost to her throat. She gasped, astounded. Then there seemed to be an endless pause. She felt a very small movement. The drum, with her on it, was rotating about half an inch. Now she saw why it was mounted on an axle. The next stroke would come a hair's breadth lower down.
This time there was a click on the right!
She noticed it and prepared herself. Again that empty cut followed by the stampeding pain upwards, and then the hot line rising across her. The drum turned another half an inch.
The left-hand cane was coming next. If only she could see something other than her arms and the floor. A mirror would help, a low wall mirror like the one in the changing room. Her heart and mind, and understanding, were in one world; her knees, feet and curves in another, separated by the great mass of the drum. The only contacts between the front and the back worlds were the messages of fiery pain.
Click.
This time she tried to meet it. Somehow it might be better that way. She remembered how Miss Archibald's school cane had hurt her right side more than her left. It was the end curling round which did the damage. These canes were finely aligned and dispensed very even handed justice. All the same, that left hand one did hurt her right buttock more than the other.
Click.
With the right-hand cane it was the other way round. It made her shift uneasily. The drum was still moving its half inch between strokes. Two more to go. To think that she would have to endure this regularly for weeks! She was going to meet the next one too. She did not want to scream but she couldn't help drawing in a great gulp.
That was the left hand again, and she had not notice the click. If the drum goes on turning like this, some poor soul will be standing on her head, she thought. Wonder when it turns back? Must remember to ask.
The right hand click.
She arched herself and thrust her haunches back as far as she could. Difficult in that position. It seemed to come like lightening. God! Then there was that faint whirring. She could see the canes again over her shoulders. The grip on her wrists relaxed and disappeared.
"Did you want any more, Madam?"
She shook her head and started to scramble up. As she did so, she noticed the grilled observation window opposite the changing room door. No one there now. Tomorrow?
She took her card and went back into the room.
"Would you mind shutting the door, please? We've got someone else waiting."
She did as she was asked. Then she pressed the intercom. "Can you come down?"
"Yes certainly. In a minute or two."
She began to examine her bottom and feel it with her hands. The welts stood up, red and virtually contiguous. If there had been a double mirror it would have been easy. Looking back at herself created lighting problems. She had to look round one way and then the other. She tried standing with her legs apart and bending over to look between them. She wondered how long they might last. It was not material, really, because there was so much more to come. A quick calculation by school arithmetic. She had had about 9% of it. There was a knock at the door.
"Thought you might like a cup of tea."
Margaret, apart from her bra, was naked. "Oh, how nice," she said, "please come and sit down if you're not busy." Just as if she was playing hostess in her own home.
"It's alright. There's usually a bit of a rush after lunch but my colleague can cope now."
She sat down. Margaret, of course, opted to stand.
She began, "I shall have to come here more often. In fact I'm coming for my next dose tomorrow. I'm with another girl who is coming too. One can make appointments?"
"No, sorry, it's first come, first served. Everyone is supposed to take their turn but we try and help. It's not always easy for people. When were you thinking of coming?"
"Eleven?"
"Should be alright. I could fix it so you are done at different times."
"I'm not sure how it will work out," Margaret began, then it all tumbled out, ending "- and I don't know if she will want me to - to - see her."
"That's easy. It's her decision. We ask her and if she says 'no' you don't get to watch. Friends have to sign the book of course."
"Another thing. That drum which one bends over. I suppose it must turn back?"
"Yes. Every seven strokes. Were you thinking of taking more today?"
"I haven't got a lot of time. How long does it take for the marks to disappear?"
"Going on a seaside holiday, or something?"
Pause
She was still naked, drinking tea. Presumably the wardress could see her stripes in the mirror.
"Some are tougher than others. I can't say yet how you'll shape. Might get an idea tomorrow though. You wouldn't want to come every day, would you?"
"Er, no, I don't think so."
"We get a few hardy 67's you know. Must be difficult for them in a hurry. We're not supposed to suggest or persuade people but -"
"You were practically inviting me to take more."
"Yes. You see if you took four nines - thirty six - that leaves thirty-one. One seven and four sixes. Nine visits, tailing off in severity a bit at the end. You've had one. You'll finish in a month if you come twice a week, especially if you come tomorrow."
"I would certainly come on Saturday if you're open."
"Seven days a week service, actually, but I'm not here on Thursdays. My day off."
"I hadn't really thought this out. In fact I've never thought about it before. "
"I'm not surprised, it comes as a bit of a shock."
"It certainly does!" said Margaret with feeling.
"It hurts like hell too," the girl said. "Not easy to get one's idea straight."
"You've had the cane?" asked Margaret, surprised.
Just then the intercom interrupted: "Rosemary!" and the answer was left in the air.
"That's me," the girl said, " I must be going, but I'll see you out."
"Thank you for coming and talking to me." Margaret said.
"Your bottom's alright at the moment," said Rosemary. "I wouldn't touch it if I were you."
She waved goodbye and ushered Margaret out of the building.
Health Hazard
I've never really noticed the Headmaster's bald patch before. Then again, I've never really been stood behind him. I'm to one side, granted, but still behind him.
He's talking to the whole school now, all sat neatly in their rows, looking bored. Of course they don't know what's coming up. I wish, I really really wish that I didn't know either. But I do.
It's dark back here in the wings of the stage. Mr Ellis seems a bit too close for comfort, stood next to me back here, but to be honest there's little I can do about it.
We were doing Mary Queen of Scots last week in Mr Ellis' History class. I'll bet this was how the Queen felt as she waited her fate. I wonder if she too had wished it could be got over with quickly.
The Headmaster's now going on about the football results. So what? The Under 13s are third in the table. The Under 13s always finish third in the table. Every year I've been at school they've finished third. Next year, even after I've left school and am in University, they'll finish third. This is agony. This isn't news. Get on with it!
Oh God! He's finished that now. Perhaps there are some more sports results to announce. Please let there be more sports results. Tell us about the Under 14 Hockey team. Tell us anything. Oh no! He's got his stern face on now. Even though he's facing the school, I know he has his stern face on.
What's that he's saying. "Serious matter to deal with". Come on, smoking's not THAT serious. It's not like when Johnny Martin set fire to the Science lab. Now that was serious. Although he did get expelled.
"Senior member of the school... smoking... repeatedly warned".
Well, yes, factually so, but...
Oh God! Ellis is giving me a little shove to move forward to the front of the stage. My legs are shaking. Please don't let me trip up. That'd be too much. Ellis is still with me, guarding me, watching me. What do they think I'm going to do, do a runner?
Hell, there's a lot of kids in this school. And they're all looking at me. Some of them have figured out what's going on. The lads mainly. The Sixth Form lads mainly. I can see them sitting up now, taking notice.
Some of the younger kids will never have seen this before. It must be two or three years now. And that was lads. You have to go back about four years for a girl to be up here. Those two that had been bullying First Years. No, most won't know what's going on. But my classmates there at the back of the Hall. They know. They've seen it before. Even from here I can see them smirking. I hope Tony's not smirking. I'll pretend I'm doing this for Tony. Give him a bit of a show. Maybe he'll notice me. Stupid thing to say... of course he'll notice me after this. Can hardly miss me.
What? The Head's saying something to me. Pay attention. My mind's in a whirl. Yes sir, I do remember being warned last time. It was a little while ago, all of three weeks now, but no point in arguing the matter. Just agree. It'll be easier in the long run.
What? Yes sir, I do remember what you said would happen next time. I didn't really expect you to do it though. I wasn't really in the mood to argue it then either. Well, I had just stood up after leaning right over the back of the chair. And believe me, six across the panties didn't half hurt! I was still giving it a rub as I remember. I don't think I'd even had the opportunity to let my skirt flip back down. What was I supposed to say, "No sir, you can't do that"? I think I remember nodding, but it doesn't mean I agreed.
What's happening now? Oh God, here comes Mrs Fraser with the chair. It's looking a bit worn, that chair. I wonder how many kids have had to bend over that over the years. Hundreds and hundreds. Even the younger ones are beginning to realise what's going on. I'll bet they don't realise the whole truth though!
"Yes sir." It's actually a bit of a relief to now be facing the back of the stage. I can pretend that there's no-one behind me. Yes, I know that the whole school are there, but I can pretend. There's no-one looking at me. There's no-one there. Who am I kidding?
Everyone in the whole school is looking. Everyone except Mr Thompson. His face is a picture at the back of the stage actually. He's going to miss the best bit. Serves him right. He's a perv anyway. No other class teacher makes you lift your skirt for the slipper. He only wants to see your knicks! Well, he's got some disappointment today where he's standing.
Where did that come from? I don't remember anyone handing the Headmaster the cane, but he's swishing it now. From the corner of my eye I can see him... oh no, that's too too corny. Holding it in both hands in front of him like that and flexing it. It's like something out of a book. I saw a picture just like that in one of those magazines my dad thinks I don't know about—the ones at the back of the wardrobe.
Oh God! He means it. He 's really going to do it. In front of everyone. Stay calm.
"Yes sir". How high up should I lift it for this? All the way up, I suppose. The Hall's very quiet. All looking at my panties now, no doubt. Well, at least they're spotlessly white today. I made sure of that. I thought it best not to wear a very brief pair today. Not like when Thompson gave me a whacking last week. The boys got a good eyeful then. Not as much as they're going to get today. I wish my knees would stop shaking.
Yes, I thought that'd get a little gasp. Funny phrase really, "pull your pants down". You actually push them down, not pull them. But I doubt if he'd appreciate being told that. Seems odd hearing our Headmaster say the word "pants". Wonder if he says that to his wife? "Right, Mrs Ormerod. I'm ready for a bit. Pull your pants down and get on the bed".
I suppose round my knees will be far enough—if I remember rightly that's what happened all those years ago. I remember that both those girls had rather pale little bums. Well, when they took their knickers down they did. When they pulled them back up they didn't. Wonder what mine'll look like.
"Yes sir". At least this bit I know well. I've had enough practice bending over this damn chair. Right over, grab the legs. Feet together, stick it right up. Gosh, it's chilly though. I mean usually I have my skirt up, but it's amazing how much warmth your knicks give. Mind you, I'm going to be plenty warm in a few minutes. Bet they're all having a good look now. Go on, Tony, you can have a look too. This is for you.
OK, here comes the first one. He's lining it up. Tap-tap-tapping like he does. Yeeow! Ooh, it does hurt more on the bare.
Compose yourself, compose yourself. Here's number two... Yeeowch! Ooh, it's starting to sting now.
He isn't wasting any time...Yeeeowch! Stay down, stay down, it'll only annoy him if I stand up. I'm starting to get a bit numb while stinging at the same time. That doesn't sound right, does it?
Owww, yeeeeoooowwww! Yikes, I think that's four. Only two to go... at least I hope there is. I always assumed he could only give six. Maybe he'll...
Yeeeeoooooowwwwwccchhh! Oh no, for the last two I've had my legs apart. Get the knees together quick. Mind you, they'll all have seen everything by now. Have a good look, Tony, while it's on offer.
Why the pause? He hasn't finished, has he?
Oh no, this is going to be a corker. It must be the last. He's tapping my bum... lining it up. Slowly. Here it comes... OOOOOOOOWWWWWWWW!!!!
I promised myself I wouldn't cry, but I must have got something in my eye. Oh damn, it hurts bad. Oh it hurts. Oh look, the tears have even dripped onto the seat. Yes, I know my legs are apart, but I don't care, it hurts.
What's that? Stand up? I don't think I can. Pull them back up? Yes sir, thank you sir. I don't really mean that. I'd actually rather leave them off. If I pull them up slowly, and sort of ease them up... and... oh heck, I've been standing here with my skirt up showing everyone my bum still. Don't be daft, it can only have been a couple of seconds. And it's not as though they haven't seen anything.
There, they're up now. Thank goodness I put a bigger pair on. The elastic's digging in bad enough with these. Oh, it's burning down there. I'm sure there's ridges across my backside. Don't feel. Don't touch. I want to stick my hands right down my pants and give a rub, but that wouldn't look too good in front of the whole school, would it?
Yes sir, I've learnt my lesson sir, no sir, I won't be smoking again sir, yes sir, thank you sir, back to my seat... hope I don't actually have to sit down. Down the steps. Down the passageway between the seats. It actually hurts to walk. I never thought that knickers could be so painful, could rub so much. Some of the younger girls are looking a bit pale. You never know, girls, one day...
It's the lads that's the worst. They've all had a good look. They're all grinning, all the lads. God knows what those on the front row saw.
And the teachers. Why's Mr Dawson got his hands crossed in front of him like that? Oh... I know... Never really thought it of him. Didn't think he was like that.
Oh God it's so sore.
Where's Tony? Maybe he could rub it better? Maybe? Should I ask him? Should I?
I don't know about smoking damaging your health. It certainly seriously damages your dignity.
I knew he was 'attending to her' regularly every Saturday afternoon - regardless of whether she had misbehaved or not. I could not help wondering how Rose was managing to conceal from her lover the physical manifestations of such frequent whippings - if indeed she was. I also wondered how she could possibly allow herself to be so abused by one man, yet love another.Poor Rose!
One Saturday after luncheon I was lying on my bed, remembering all those wonderful times spent with darling sweet Roderick, when I heard Rose leave her room and walk away down the passage. Guessing from the slowness of her step that she was reluctantly obeying her weekly summons to my stepfather's study, I hastily put on my shoes and followed her at a discreet distance, determined once more to bear witness to her sufferings. Sickened and appalled by them though I was, I nevertheless felt I owed it to Rose to be there - if only to give her silent moral support, as well as to furnish myself with yet more evidence of my stepfather's beastly depravity, in the hope that someday I might thereby engineer his downfall, without in the process causing undue harm to my mother.
I left the building by a side exit and within minutes had secreted myself below the study window as I had before... With pounding heart I raised my head an inch or two higher and peered through the glass. The scene within the study made my flesh creep. Rose's bare bottom trembled fearfully as, completely naked except for her shoes and gartered black stockings, she stood with her back towards my stepfather, her hands vainly guarding her sex.
He inserted the cane between her legs and, using it as a a lever, slowly forced them apart so that the cleft at the apex of her thighs widened involuntarily. I could not see Rose's face - only guess at the grimace of disgust and shame written upon it....Then he commenced putting it to more conventional use by applying a brisk, percussive tattoo of raps to the smooth swell of Rose's bottom-crowns, clearly intended to warn her that the time had arrived when she must bend her wretchedly apprehensive naked body over the sofa in readiness for punishment.
Her blonde hair screened her face as she lowered herself slowly into position, her bottom raised and, because of her slightly bent knees, exaggeratedly out-thrust to receive its painful medicine. My stepfather stood directly behind her for a long minute, gloating pruriently over her submissively revealing posture. Then, moving a couple of feet to her left, he suddenly raised the cane aloft before bringing it down with cruel alacrity.
I saw her body jolt and her knuckles clench as the cane collided with the summit of her buttocks. Her hands immediately shot behind her, and began rubbing furiously at the crimson weal already appearing on her ivory flesh.
Then her hands returned to their former position in doll-like obedience as he again raised the cane, this time attacking the broad but sensitive base of Rose's behind. She flinched, drew in her squirming bottom, and, half turning, let out a shrill cry of outrage.
He next applied four cuts to the plump area of flesh thus vividly demarcated by the two previous ones. Rose was by now sobbing and bawling in hiccuping spasms, deeply distressing to behold. She twisted her tear-stained face towards him and silently pleaded for clemency, at the same time wriggling her bottom frantically across the top of the sofa - partly because of the atrocious smarting...but partly also, I suspected, in the forlorn hope that her desperate movements would distract him from his cruel, disciplinary zeal and channel his energies into a more lustful, but far less painful, direction.
I felt bitterly sorry for Rose, although I certainly would never have forced myself to do what she was doing. I would preferred twice as many strokes of his dreadful cane to satisfying him in that other, appalling fashion. I could only presume that he had pushed her beyond the limits of her endurance. I suppose I could not really blame the poor girl for stooping to such depths.
But I doubted whether he needed any suggestive encouragement, since it was evident from the wolfish glint in his eye that he was already aroused to fever-pitch. I simply could not bear to watch as he began frantically unbuttoning his trousers - so I lowered myself gingerly to the ground, offering a silent, totally selfish, prayer of gratitude to whichever deity rules and ordains our lives, that the girl being abused and shamed up there in my stepfather's dark, claustrophobic study was Rose Potter - and not me!
"Oh good heavens! That must be Toni! I told her to arrive at this time. Please help me to dress!"
In a daze, I grabbed the sides of her slacks and yanked them up. Swiftly she pulled up the zip, then went to the mirror and ran her fingers through her hair.
"What a pity," she sighed "We'll have to leave it till later, won't we! I'd better let Toni in now."
With a little pout she went out of the room and later I heard her say:
"Hello darling!" Then there was a short sotto voce conversation which I couldn't hear properly, after which mother and slightly nervous daughter entered the room.
"Good evening, sir. Mummy told me to come." Toni said respectfully.
"Yes, so I understand," I replied. "Your mother has just informed me of the...er...arrangement."
Mrs. Sharpe, standing just behind her daughter, made a face at me, then taking Toni's arm, brought her to the centre of the room. "Slip your coat off dear, and we can get this over ever so quickly."
Before Toni could protest her coat was off and she had been turned to face the table.
"Now bend over the cushion dear," her mother ordered, urging her forward. "That's right! Now hold the other side of the table and bend your knees. Yes, that's it. Now be a good girl and it will soon be over."
"Are you ready?" she asked, turning to me. I nodded, picked up the cane, and stationed myself to the girl's side.
Turning back to her daughter, Mrs. Sharpe gathered up the hem of her little skirt and the slip beneath it, and folding them neatly, tucked them firmly round Toni's waist.
Stepping back she cast a critical - or approving - eye over her daughter's rear aspect, then went quickly around the table, laid her hands on Toni's shoulders, and looked at me expectantly.
Raising the cane, I held it poised while I studied the view presented to me. Long, slim, suntanned legs pressed tightly together, and, from the junction of her thighs to her tiny waist a pair of gleaming, white cotton panties filled beautifully with a pair of plumply rounded buttocks. A smaller edition of her mother, and just as spankable, but with an aura of girlish innocence that was quite alluring.
Somehow it seemed churlish to bring pain to those sweetly rounded cheeks which appeared to implore caresses and cherishment, but then common sense prevailed. This naughty little minx deserved, and had asked for, the punishment she was now waiting so expectantly for.
Hardening my heart, I zipped the cane across the soft bulge of her bottom just above her thighs. The effect was dramatic. A moment of silence, then, as her bottom jumped in reaction to the sudden sting of the cane, her head turned and she gave me a look of anguished astonishment, emitting a long, shrill "oooooh!" of pained protest.
I'm no sadist, and I don't believe in prolonging what I know is a very painful experience, so I delivered the next one the moment her bottom reflexed up again. The cane was obviously a lot more painful than Toni had imagined it was going to be, and she didn't like it at all. Her legs kicked wildly as she struggled to get up, but her mother had other ideas, and pressing down hard on her recalcitrant daughter's shoulders, she said:
"Toni! For goodness sake stay still! You've only had two!"
"B-b-but Mummy!" Toni blubbered, "it hurts! Please let me get up. Please mummy!"
"No!" came the uncompromising reply. "You asked for the cane and now you are going to get it!"
Mrs. Sharpe gave me a little smile and a nod, and I swept the slender rod hard and full across the middle of her daughter's still wriggling bottom.
"Aaaaaahhh no! No! Please sir, please mummy!" Toni wailed desperately, twisting her hips from side to side in a natural effort to escape further punishment, but unfortunately for her as she rolled away from me with her legs drawn up, the left cheek of her bottom was thrust up so invitingly that the cane seemed, of its own accord, to find the perfectly presented target.
A strangled gasp followed by a sob, then a flood of tears, testified that it had hurt considerably more than the previous strokes, and I wasn't surprised to see Toni collapse across the table sobbing bitterly.
Mrs. Sharpe looked at me with raised eyebrows as I stepped back and dropped the cane onto a chair. Realising that I had no intention of completing the punishment, she helped Toni to her feet, and with soft, soothing noises, led the weeping girl to the bathroom.
There was just enough whisky left to make it worth drinking, so making a mental note to get more tomorrow, I upended the bottle and, with a glass in one hand and a cigarette in the other, awaited the return of the ladies. Mrs. Sharpe appeared first.
"Toni's all right now. She's stopped crying and is dabbing her eyes - and her bottom - with cold water" she said cheerfully, then looked at me quizzically and commented, "You're a strange man you know. I'm certain that most men, given the chance to cane a naughty girl's bottom, especially one who had connived to get a caning in the first place, would have thoroughly enjoyed themselves, yet you didn't seem to be getting any pleasure out of it at all. When she started to cry, you even let her off the last two strokes. Why? She could have been trying it on! Girls are perfectly well aware of the potency of tears!"
"Do YOU think she was kidding?" I asked.
She shook her head. "No I don't."
"Well I didn't either, and I stopped because I thought she'd had enough - for a first time caning anyway. Her bottom will show the evidence for a day or so!"
"Ooh you should see it," said Mrs. Sharpe enthusiastically "Three angry weals right across both cheeks and one really thick one on the left side only. That last one you gave her was a real zinger, wasn't it! Funny, I always thought weals were bright red, but that one's white - like tram lines!"
"It will turn red, blue and then purple," I told her, "and the marks will show for several days. I expect she will sleep face down tonight and find it a bit irksome sitting down tomorrow. Still that was the object of the exercise, wasn't it!"
"Oh I think it will work," her mother said. "I don't imagine she will be at all eager for a repeat performance." She paused, hesitated and then murmured, "Tell me honestly, would you have stopped after four if it had been me across that table?"
I laughed. "Ah now that would be a different thing altogether. Sometimes women are caned for reasons other than the obvious one."
"Oh are they?" she replied, with an air of innocence that belied her expression. "But supposing I had done something really naughty and deserved a jolly good whipping -"
"Well, the answer is to do something really naughty, then you'll find out!" I replied lightly, and in my mind was the vision of her bottom as her slacks had fallen.
"Does it still sting?" I asked, for her hands were behind her, cradling her bottom.
"Sting? Oh no," She seemed to have come out of a daydream. "Not any more. I can still feel it but it's just a little tingle, a glow. It's really quite nice."
"A damn good spanking produces a nice glow too and I believe it can be quite...stimulating!" I remarked casually.
"Oh does it really? How interesting!" she said, blushing, then picked up Toni's coat. "I think Toni should be ready to go home by now. Perhaps I could come round one evening -" she paused "and we could have a long chat about spanking. Soon?"
"As soon as you like," I said confidently " but don't wear slacks next time."
"Don't you like women in trousers?"
"Oh sure...and on you they look fabulous. Just that skirts make things...easier."
She grinned, her face flushed. "Really! You are a dreadful man! I suppose you'd like me to leave my knickers off too!"
"Good idea!" I grinned and she gasped in mock reproof, then walked off in search of her daughter with gait that produced an eye catching sway to her hips.
I wonder if she will, I mused, or is she just having me on?
Toni looked little the worse for wear as she was led from her retreat. Cheeks a little pink, and walking rather stiff-legged. She kept her eyes downcast, refusing to meet mine as I opened the door for them.
"Good night and thank you," Mrs. Sharpe said on the doorstep. "Toni, manners. Say goodnight!"
"Night sir," Toni muttered in a husky whisper then her mother touched my hand and mouthed the word "tomorrow".
"But why can't I be caned?" Toni demanded, pushing out her lower lip petulantly.
I sighed. I was tired. In no mood for an argument, least of all with a rebellious eighteen year old, even if she was one of the brightest and prettiest girls in the school.
At any other time I would have been delighted to discuss the pro's and con's of corporal punishment with her, but the pile of essays that I had to mark seemed to grow larger every time I looked at them.
I pushed the pile of manuscripts away, fished out a cigarette, lit it, and said:
"Look, Toni, What I said was the normal reaction of a teacher who is overworked, tired and frustrated by girls like you who ought to know better than to play up like you've been doing. You're saucy, impudent and lazy, and if you don't knuckle down to it, you're not going to do any good at your 'A' levels. What I'd really like to do is put you across my knee and spank your bottom until you promised to behave, or, failing that, make you bend over my desk for six good stinging strokes with the cane.
"Unfortunately, I can't. The County Education Authority is dead against corporal punishment of any kind, especially for girls - so you'll just have to do those lines you were given and deliver them tomorrow morning or face further impositions."
"But I positively loathe impositions, " she cried. "Having to write out those ghastly chapters from Dickens. It's so sickening. I hate Dickens!"
"My heart bleeds for you, Toni," I grinned, "but if you don't behave you have to pay the price!"
"Oh I know that!" she exclaimed, "but it's the sort of penalty I hate!"
She moved closer to my desk, leaned forward, and murmured in a conspiratorial tone:
"Look sir, couldn't you just this once forget the silly rules and punish me with the cane? I promise I won't tell anyone. Not even mummy."
"No, definitely not!" I said, "Apart from the fact that it could cost me my job, I haven't got a cane anyway."
"Oh!" she sighed sadly, "well couldn't you spank -"
"No!" I interrupted sharply. "I can't, but I'll tell you what I will do."
"Yes?" she said eagerly, her face brightening up.
"I'll write a note to your mother, suggesting that if she gives you a good spanking tonight and confirms it by phoning me tomorrow morning, I'll forget about the imposition."
"Oh, that's no good!" she pouted "Mummy has never spanked me. She doesn't believe in it."
"I'm sorry, Toni," I said, standing up, "but you'll just have to accept your punishment. Now if you don't mind I want to go home. I've got loads of essays to mark and I might as well do it in the comfort of my flat."
"It's not fair!" she muttered mutinously, as she turned away.
I watched her retreating figure as she made for the door, her brief pleated navy blue skirt swinging from side to side with the undulation of her shapely little buttocks, as her long, smooth legs, bare from knee socks to mid thigh, crossed and recrossed.
I sat for a few moments pondering the situation. Here was a young defiant little madam who not only deserved a taste of the cane, or a sound spanking, and was perfectly willing to receive it, but because of the rules I was unable to oblige. A situation which to me at least was both ridiculous and frustrating. I felt certain that a two minute session with the cane would have answered a lot of problems!
Visions of the look of shocked surprise and pain on Toni's face as the cane swished across her knickered bottom came to me as I began to gather up the essays - and then another image of her squirming across my knees, her bare bottom - I stopped in my tracks. Bare bottom? Lord! The vision disturbed me and made me think perhaps the authorities were right in banning corporal punishment.
Later I pushed away the pile of marked essays, stood up, stretched and went over to the sideboard, poured myself the very large whisky I thought I'd earned, added a suggestion of ginger ale, and was about to drop wearily into the armchair when the doorbell rang.
"Blast!" I thought, as I made for the door. I wasn't expecting anyone, and I didn't feel like company. The clock showed eight-thirty.
"Oh, good evening. I hope I'm not disturbing you?" my visitor said.
I stared at her and thought, "Oh my God, trouble!" It was Toni's mother - I'd met her a couple of times. She was around thirty four or five and very attractive.
"No, not at all. Please come in," I murmured, gesturing to a chair and thinking, Christ, that silly little cow has said something about spanking and now her mother is after my blood! I'm in trouble and I'd better be nice to her.
"Let me take your coat and please sit down." I said. She smiled, shrugged off her coat to reveal a superb figure in a tight black sweater and even tighter pale cream slacks.
"Can I get you a drink?"
"I'd love one!" She eyed my glass. "The same as yours please."
I made it pretty generous, handed it to her and asked: "What can I do for you, Mrs. Sharpe?"
She took a long sip, sighed, and murmured "Lovely, just what I needed!"
She took another long appreciative sip , put down her glass and said brightly, "I've come to intercede for my daughter, Toni."
"Oh, in what way?" I asked, feeling a sense of relief. It was obvious now that she wasn't out for trouble.
"It's about all those lines she's got and what you said to her. She's most upset about it all. Apparently you told her she deserved to be punished, caned I mean, and when she offered to accept a caning you told her that you weren't allowed to do it anyway."
"Yes, that's true," I replied "But what I'd like to do, or rather what I feel needs to be done, and what I'm allowed to do are two entirely different things."
She picked up her glass and smiled at me over the rim.
"Yes, I think what you said first must be true. It must be awful having to contend with dozens of girls of Toni's age. We women can be real little minxes at that age, just becoming aware of the power of our sexuality, and trying it out on the first available male. Particularly if he is young and rather dishy!"
She laughed softly. "Yes, I can imagine there must be times when you'd dearly love to chastise the lot of them and I can't say I'd blame you if you did!" She finished her drink, looked into her empty glass for a moment, and continued.
"But to get back to Toni for a moment. Couldn't you, just for once, forget the rules if I asked you nicely?"
To cover my astonishment I got up and refilled our glasses, saying as I did, "I'm quite amazed, Mrs. Sharpe. When I suggested to Toni that I should give you a note asking you to punish her, she told me that you had never spanked her..and now you are seriously asking me to cane her...why?"
"Oh there are various reasons why I never spanked her," she replied, grinning, as I gave her the glass. "But I do realise that just lately she has become rather, er, difficult, shall we say? I think a good sharp lesson might pull her up short. You see her daddy died when she was quite small, and I suppose she's missed the influence he would have had on her. Maybe that's the reason she is playing up now. I suspect she is hankering to discover what it would be like to be punished by a fair but strict father."
"A sort of surrogate dad?" I groaned.
"Exactly! But I could be completely wrong of course. Most probably she seized on it as a way of avoiding an imposition. Never having had the cane she wouldn't appreciate that it is likely to prove a very painful way out!"
She imbibed thoughtfully and then asked, "I suppose it is awfully painful, isn't it?"
"Well yes it depends on how - "I stopped suddenly , "Do you mean you have never been caned yourself? Somehow I thought you were speaking from experience when you said -"
"Oh no!," she chuckled, " I collected plenty of spankings and slipperings but never got caned. In fact, believe it or not, I've never seen a school cane. I believe they are different from the garden sort, aren't they? Do you have one? Here, I mean?"
"Yes I do. Why?"
"May I see it please?"
"Yes of course. Shall I freshen your drink first?"
"Ooooh I shouldn't!" she grinned "I shall get tiddly, but yes please...and where's the loo?" She laughed.
I showed her the bathroom and then got the cane from my bedroom and was standing by the fireplace swishing it about when she came back.
"Ooh! Is that it? It doesn't look too harmful. May I have a look please?"
I handed it to her and she swished it about a few times, then pushing out her left hip gave her bottom a couple of tentative strokes.
"Hmmm," she commented "It doesn't seem to hurt much when you do it to yourself but I bet it's different when it's given properly. Oh by the way, how many will you give her?"
"The usual number is six," I replied, "but I don't remember agreeing to cane Toni."
"Oh but you will, won't you? I'm sure it's what she needs to bring her to her senses."
She flashed her eyes at me, pouted and breathed "Please? Pretty please?"
I laughed heartily "You know you are a minx! Perhaps it's you I should be caning and not your daughter!"
"But I haven't been naughty -yet!" she murmured, handing me the cane, "But I'd love to try it - just one stroke and not too hard please - just to see what it's like. How will you do it? Will you make her touch her toes?"
I shook my head. "No, I doubt if she could stay in position for six good swishes. I'd make her bend over the table -with a cushion under her hips - and hold on to the far edge."
She opened her large eyes wide and made an "O" with her lips.
"Ooooo!" she grinned "that's a very accommodating position isn't it? My hubby used to get me in that position - but not for the cane!"
With a laugh she turned away, picked up one of the chair cushions, plumped it up, and, balancing it on the edge of the table, bent over it.
"Is this right?" she asked, turning to look at me over her shoulder.
"Er...mmm...yes," I muttered to gain a little time as my eyes, as if hypnotised, locked into the seat of those pale cream slacks. Who on earth called them 'slacks' in the first place? Hers were so tight that they looked as if they had been moulded around her. So tight that I could see the weave of the little bikini panties she wore beneath them. Her richly endowed buttocks, burgeoning symmetrically from a slender waist, were an irresistible invitation to any man with a cane in his hand!
If it was to be only one stroke I meant to make the most of it.
"Just come up on your elbows a little," I told her, in the most matter-of-fact voice I could muster.
"Good. Now hollow your back, push your...er...hips out and bend your knees a trifle."
"Is that better?" she asked softly. "Gosh, it makes my bottom feel awfully large and vulnerable." She licked her lips and added, "It's making me feel a bit...funny. Do it quickly, please!"
"Yes," I muttered indistinctly, hoping she wouldn't realise the effect her display was having on me. She continued to watch me as I approached her and measured the cane across the widest part of her drum tight rear. I took a quick glance at her face as I drew back my arm and saw her gulp and draw her bottom lip between her teeth apprehensively. Then, fixing my eyes on the target, I brought the cane flashing down.
Thwack! It landed with that solid sound which denotes a thoroughly satisfying and effective stroke. It curled around the wide generous curves of its target, momentarily lingering on the taut material and the firm flesh beneath it, then sprang back. Immediately I heard the hiss of breath through her teeth and she shot rapidly upright.
"Ooow it stings!" she gasped, as her hands flew behind her and sought to cover, ineffectively, the expanse of her bottom.
"Aaah that's better!" she murmured after a few moments rubbing. "It's wearing off, but it really did sting at first. It wasn't as bad as I expected though. Still I think six like that will make Toni hop about a bit."
Her hands were still moving over her bottom, not rubbing, but with a circular caressing motion that did nothing for my state of mind! "Oh I've just thought," she said, giving me a quick glance," will you cane her over her skirt?"
"No of course not!" I replied. "That would be a waste of time and energy. To be effective it would have to be across her knickers."
"Oh I see," she said, "well in that case I've been cheating. I've got knickers and slacks on. I think I'd better have one across my panties to feel the real effect, don't you?"
Before I could utter a word, she had turned her back and pulled down the zip of her slacks. She slid her hands into the waist band of her slacks and began to wriggle them down. Fascinated, I watched the side to side sway of her hips as she pushed the tight garment down - lower and lower it went until her whole bottom came into view. A bottom clad in only the briefest of bikini panties, so tiny that they covered only the minutest portion of her shapely cheeks. The flimsy nylon was drawn so far into the crack of her buttocks that most of them was completely revealed.
I was so affected by the spectacle that the chiming of the doorbell barely impinged on my hearing, but she straightened up with a startled gasp.
"Oh good heavens! That must be Toni! I told her to arrive at this time. Please help me to dress!"
In a daze, I grabbed the sides of her slacks and yanked them up. Swiftly she pulled up the zip, then went to the mirror and ran her fingers through her hair.
"What a pity," she sighed "We'll have to leave it till later, won't we! I'd better let Toni in now."
His tone hardened. "I have to prove myself, and I have been set a difficult task. As I shall tell all the staff when I address them this afternoon, it will be a long hard fight to achieve success and I shall demand total commitment from everyone. What I will NOT tell them is, there will be casualties. They will either measure up or get out."
"I see, Sir. And you want me to convey to everyone the details which might not sound so good in a public address."
He nodded approvingly. "I think you are going to prove very useful to me, Veronica!"
. . .
Veronica sighed. She was tired, she had been working very hard. So had all the employees, new and old. Mr Kirk had undertaken his threatened purge, the workshy and the agitators found themselves drawing unemployment benefit, the new workers were keen to prove themselves and production had soared dramatically. In the office, the long serving typists and clerks had all been replaced...
Taking the lead from her employer, Veronica had ruthlessly insisted on efficiency and several of the new intake had not lasted long. She now had a competent team of typists and clerks to back up the factory's increased output. Competent all...except one. Mr Kirk had forbidden her to dismiss the beautiful Lorraine, and this, in view of his commitment to his work, had surprised her. Still, they could afford to carry one passenger, and no doubt Lorraine was suitably grateful.
. . .
Lorraine was feeling far from grateful. Summoned to the Director's office she stood before his desk feeling uncomfortably nervous. She had taken all afternoon to produce one letter and even she had to admit it was still not fit to sign.
"This is your first job since leaving school, Lorraine?"
"Yes Sir."
"Did you like being unemployed?"
"No Sir."
"Why not?"
"I never had enough money, Sir."
"And now you have enough money. But you are not earning it, Lorraine. Your work is quite appalling!"
"I'm sorry, Sir-"
"Take off your trousers!"
She stared at him.
"I don't like having to repeat myself!"
Silently she obeyed and he surveyed the unalluring sight of her tights and panties.
"In future you will NOT wear trousers to the office, Lorraine. You will wear a skirt or a dress and underneath that you will wear stockings and a suspender belt...but no knickers. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes Sir."
"I will inspect you tomorrow to make sure you have obeyed me. Now put on your trousers and go!"
. . .
It was almost a week and Lorraine was becoming accustomed to the physical sensation of not wearing panties. She would have found it impossible to explain the tremors of excitement which flowed through her body whenever she thought of the man who had casually enslaved her.... Lorraine was afraid but it was a thrilling fear. She re-lived, as she had done many times before, the morning after she had received those arrogant orders.
Now remove your dress!"I will leave it to you to imagine what or who comes next.
Lorraine stepped out of her shoes and obeyed, almost ripping a seam in her haste. She then unhooked her brassiere and tossed it aside. Apart from the flimsy suspender belt and sheer nylon stockings she was naked. A slave awaiting her master's pleasure.
She moaned in ecstasy when he caressed her slim body. Then her eyes widened with fear when he picked up a long thin cane which had been lying on his desk.
"Please, Sir, what have I done?"
"This is not a punishment, Lorraine. I will cane you because it pleases me. Bend over the desk!"
Quivering in fright, she positioned herself, and flinched as she felt the cool bamboo gently stroking her bare bottom. Then the first stripe flamed across her unprotected flesh and she cried out in shock, pain and then with a thrill beyond anything she had ever known. With satisfaction, Kirk observed her expression. He could make any woman do his bidding but it was rare to find one so unaffected by social conditioning that she would so easily abandon the facade and acknowledge her true submissive self.
The second stroke was another moment of anguish followed by a throb of delight. After that the pain and the pleasure inextricably mingled as the naked girl clung to the desk, writhing and moaning in near orgasmic rapture.
For an inexperienced slave it was a severe beating but she did not beg for mercy.
Eventually he laid down the cane. "Stand up, Lorraine!"
She stood, swaying, clinging to the desk.
"Place yourself on the couch!"
“There’s not many of us left, you know.”
“What?”
“Us old school policemen. You know, ones who can remember when the local bobby was feared and his word was rule. When a swift slap or caning was dished out unofficially.”
“Wait! You mean you used to use a cane on criminals?”
“Not criminals really. Would-be criminals. Wannabes, you’d call them nowadays. Anyway, I did use a cane. Unofficially. All the values I held dear count for nothing these days, though. It’s the end of an era. Everything’s politically correct now. I feel like I’m in some weird kind of Closing Down Sale. Such a shame. By the way, I still have a cane. Would you like to see it?”
“Ooooh, yes please Uncle!”
He went upstairs and could be heard rummaging around. Eventually he returned, with a devilish looking crook-handled cane in his hand. Coupled with his neatly pressed black uniform, he really looked the part – a real disciplinarian. He swished the cane around. What an impressive sound it made as it cut through the air.
“What do you think of this then?” he asked and laughed.
“Wooh! Wicked, Uncle! I bet that hurt! How many strokes would you give?”
“Well, six was traditional, of course, but sometimes I’d be asked to give more. Or I just decided that more was appropriate. This cane ruled the village, just as the headmaster’s one ruled the school.”
“Gosh!”
“Yes, it was a real reign of terror. Of course, as a young copper in my early 20s it helped get me the respect I was due.”
“I bet.”
“Not many repeat offenders. The courts could order birchings, too. Life was simpler and better.”
“Uncle, this may sound funny, but may I try a stroke or two of the cane?”
“Whaaat? No, definitely not! Whatever would your parents say?”
“Well, I am 22, so it’s none of their business, really, is it?”
“No, I suppose not. But the answer’s still no. I wouldn’t want to hurt you. You know – and I really shouldn’t tell you this – I always insisted on a bare bottom.”
“It’s alright Uncle. Your secret is safe with me.”
“Cheeky! It’s not a secret. But the answer’s still no. A big no, do I make myself clear?”
“Yeah” was the sulky reply.
“Good. Don’t you ever ask me again.”
Just then the phone rang in the kitchen. A long conversation followed and uncle frowned. As the call ended, he returned to the living room and picked up the cane.
“That was your dad. He tells me you’ve been smoking, drinking and swearing in the house, and that your mum is really upset.”
“Sorry, Uncle.”
“I reminded him that I had a cane. He agreed that perhaps a caning is in order, after all!”
“Oh!”
“Not so keen now, are you? Bare your bottom for me! Quickly! Now bend over the arm of the sofa.”
“Err yes, Uncle.” The sulky attitude had evaporated, to be replaced by fear and not a little excitement.
“That’s a rather nice bottom, I must say. Two strokes for smoking, two strokes for drinking in the house, and four for swearing at your mother. Eight crisp strokes for you!”
“Yes, Uncle, I’m sorry.”
“Mmm, you will be when I’ve finished with you!”
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