A detailed account of a girl being caned

By Robert Roberts

Mr Williams looked at Jill and asked: “Do you have any questions?”

Jill inquired with some embarrassment: “Is it you who will be caning me, Headmaster?”

“Good God, no! That’s why Mrs Ridgewell is here.” He stood up. “I will retire to my office and your modesty will be preserved. Let me say, Jill, you are a credit to this school and don’t let this incident get you down. Take your six strokes and move on.”

“Eight strokes, Headmaster,” interjected Mrs Ridgewell.

“What’s that, Helen?”

“It’s eight strokes, Headmaster. That’s what you signed up to with the Head of School Governors.”

“Nobody brought that to my attention. It should be six. Yes, make it six.”

Mr Williams walked towards his office. “Have fun, ladies,” he said inappropriately. “And, Jill, don’t worry about calling out. I’ve heard it all before.” He wandered into his office and closed the door.

Mrs Ridgewell shook her head. “That man is incorrigible. It’s a good job he retires at the end of term.”

“At least he reduced my punishment to six strokes,” murmured Jill.

“Sorry, Jill. It’s got to be eight. He can’t just change things without referring back to the Head of Governors. But I’ll make sure the last two strokes are very light and at least no lies will have to be told to the Head of Governors when he asks.”

“Come over to the sofa and we’ll have a cup of coffee and talk this through.”

Jill was disconsolate. This whole incident coming at the end of her school career had been very upsetting. Mrs Ridgewell motioned Jill to sit next to her and poured two cups of coffee.
“I want you to call me Helen. Almost all the sixth form girls call me by my first name, but you never have.”

“It’s about respect,” said Jill. “You have been my teacher throughout my school life. But I will use your first name if you are OK with that.”

Mrs Ridgewell had something which she thought was important to say. “First of all, I really hope that me giving you the cane is not going to sour our relationship. I know you are upset, but so am I. I had a sleepless night worrying over this. After the meeting of the great and good yesterday afternoon, I knew that I would have to be giving you eight strokes of the cane. I even thought of asking Jane Morton to stand in for me, but then I thought, I can’t avoid my responsibility.”

Jill responded. “I’ve never been caned before. I genuinely find it heart-warming that you care. I’m glad you’re doing it rather than Mrs Morton. You won’t remember this but when I came back to school after what happened to my Mum three years ago, you welcomed me and gave me a big hug. I didn’t think teachers did that. I’ve never forgotten that. I think you have looked out for me ever since.”

“I’ve not forgotten, Jill. And when this caning thing is sorted I’m going to give you another big hug.”

Jill was pleased. At this rather frightening time she found that comment very comforting.

“Tell me, Jill. What punishment did you expect? I could see from the expression on your face you were not expecting the cane.”

“You’re right,” said Jill ruefully. “I realise that sixth formers have very occasionally been caned. I remember poor Ian Ramsey. I thought at first I might be expelled but realised that was reserved for the very worst offences. I reckoned on perhaps apologies all round, of course, perhaps suspension for a limited time, definitely loss of privileges, loss of prefect’s badge and one of the girls suggested I might have to submit a ten thousand word essay.”

Mrs Ridgewell responded. “At least this way your ordeal will all be over in a few minutes. Not the pain of course. That might take a few days I’m afraid. Suspension and an essay would interfere with your studies, so I’m trying to convince myself this is the best outcome for you.”

“I felt a bit stupid when I asked the Headmaster if he was going to cane me.”

Helen smiled. “Did you see his face when you asked? He couldn’t get away quick enough. He hasn’t caned anybody for at least three years. As you might know, I even have to cane the boys on his behalf. In fact I’ve got two this afternoon. I’m OK with caning the boys but I’m not so comfortable caning the girls.”

“Isn’t there a problem with female teachers caning boy pupils?” inquired Jill.

“It’s allowed, bare bottom up to age 14, and then the boy can insist on a male teacher, but nobody has ever exercised that right, to my knowledge. Not to me any rate. They probably wrongly think I might be gentler.”

The two sat quietly for a minute sipping their coffees. Jill broke the silence.

“My pain threshold is rather low. I know I’m going to make an exhibition of myself. And do you know what’s getting to me? I’m thinking of those girls I’ve seen in the showers with angry red welts across their bottoms.”

“The welts will disappear after a few days, two weeks at the most,” proffered Helen, desperately trying to find something helpful that might calm Jill. “I’m going to take you through this and we will go at whatever pace you can manage.”

Helen stood up and walked over to the cupboard. She pulled open the drawer and removed a three foot, 1/4 inch think cane. Jill sipped her coffee and nervously watched. Helen returned carrying the cane and looking quite sombre.

“Let me make this easy,” said Jill placing her coffee cup on the table and raising herself off the sofa. “Just tell me what to do. I’m guessing that I’m going to need to bare my bottom. Unfortunately, I didn’t come dressed for a caning.”

She was wearing a tight-fitting dress. Sixth formers were not required to wear the school uniform, which would have facilitated a caning. Just lift up the skirt, pull down the knickers and bend over, but Jill’s attire was a little bit more complicated.

“I think It will be more convenient if I slip out of this dress, because it’s just going to get in the way”

Helen didn’t have to say anything. Jill was indeed making it easy. She unzipped her dress and, with a couple of wiggles, it slipped to the floor. She stepped out of it, picked it up and placed it on the sofa where she had been sitting. Matching bra and knickers, and suspender belt holding up her sheer stockings.

“I must compliment you on your classy underwear, Jill.”

“Nothing special. Just a matching set from M&S. If you need me to remove my knickers I’ll have to unclip my stockings,” which she proceeded to do. Knickers removed and tossed on top of her dress, she declared herself ready for her punishment.

“I’m glad you’re taking this so calmly,” remarked Helen. “It makes a very difficult situation for me a little easier.”

“I’ve got myself into the zone. I’m ready. Where do you want me?”

“Can you come round to the back of the sofa and then bend over the sofa and place your hands on the cushion?”

Both took up their positions. Helen couldn’t help but admire Jill’s lovely bottom.

“I’m so sorry, Jill. You have such a perfect, beautiful bottom and now I’m going to damage it.”

“Only temporary, I hope!” exclaimed Jill.

“Remember, if you need to take a break or if you want me to slow down, just say. Very best of luck.”

The beating commenced. The cane zipped through the air and landed with a crash. It was a full two seconds before Jill emitted a shrill scream. She stood up clutching her buttocks. This was beyond her expectation. Tears were flowing.

“I’m so sorry,” she squealed. “I knew it; making such a scene. I’ve let myself down.”

“Don’t worry. Pupils cope in their own ways. If screaming helps, then scream.”

It suddenly dawned on Jill how ridiculous she must look. Standing there in bra, no knickers, suspender belt, unclipped stockings, tears streaming down her face and gingerly rubbing her bottom. Embarrassment took over from pain and she quickly resumed her position over the sofa.

The second shot was fired into Jill’s bottom with no less ferocity, but this time she was ready for it. She held on with no reaction other than a prolonged groan. Her heart was pounding and she found herself gasping for breath.

“Relax. Deep breaths,” advised Mrs Ridgewell, who was worried by the impact she was having on her protege. She was a woman of principle, acknowledging the trust placed in her by the school, not just on the issue of corporal punishment but on all school matters. She would dearly love to go easy on Jill, but her conscience would not allow her. Her treatment of Jill must be exactly the same as for all other boys and girls that came to her for punishment.
The third shot caused Jill to cry out, followed by sobbing, but she gallantly held her position. The fourth shot had her once again jumping up but without the histrionics. She looked guiltily at her tormentor. “Sorry, sorry, sorry, Miss.”

“You are doing extraordinarily well. We’re going to take a little break.”

“That scream was dreadful,” said Jill apologetically. “When I think of all the kids that come here for the cane, and I have to be the one that makes such a fuss.”

“I think it may have woken the Headmaster from his lunchtime slumbers,” said Helen with a whimsical smile, hoping her comment might bring some amusement to Jill. It did.

Jill once again became self-conscious of her almost naked pose, and dropped her hands in front of her private parts.

“Could I possibly have a glass of water, Miss?” During the caning, she reverted to addressing her housemistress as Miss.

“Of course.” Helen lay the cane on the sofa, walked over to the small refrigerator, took out a bottle of still water and poured the contents into a glass, and returned to Jill who was twisting around trying to look at her bottom.

“It looks a mess, doesn’t it, Miss?”

“It does, but I promise you all trace will completely disappear within a few days. Will you be showing off your stripes to your friends?”

“I don’t know about that,” said Jill.

“I most definitely would,” countered Helen.

Jill sipped the water, knowing that she now had to face up to number five. She handed the unfinished glass of water back to Helen, who turned away to dispose of it. Jill did not know why, but she picked up the cane from the sofa and handed it to Helen when she returned.

She cried. “I’m really sorry, Miss. I have let you down and I can see this is upsetting you.”

“We’re getting there. It will soon be over.”

“Can you do it quickly, Miss, like one rapidly after the other?” She was expecting another four.

Five and six followed, no mercy, but six did follow five very rapidly, just as Jill requested. She continued to cry and waited for seven and eight.

“That’s it, Jill. I think we’ve both had enough.”

Jill straightened herself up. Was it really all over. “I thought I was getting eight.”

Helen grabbed her and they hugged and they hugged for a long time.

Two weeks later, Jill was walking down the path to Mrs Ridgewell’s front door. She rang the doorbell and Helen answered with a huge welcoming smile and outstretched arms. They hugged.

“What a pleasure to see you, Jill. I wasn’t sure if you would want to accept my invitation. Come through into the garden. My motives in seeing you were selfish. I just had to see for myself that you are OK after what I did to you.”

“Helen, everything is fine. I was unlucky. A chance in a million caught me out but having been caught I had to face the consequences.”

“Is that lovely bottom of yours fully recovered?”

Jill stood up, unbuckled the belt on her jeans and pulled them down followed by lowering her knickers. She cheekily bent over.

“Satisfied? Just faint traces and no pain.”

The ordeal was over for both of them.

The End

© Robert Roberts 2020