A Classical Education

Jealousy leads to trouble, a longer version of the previously published story

By Jane Fairweather

“I see you have a basket of canes in your room. I am just wondering why, when I understood that Mr Thomas caned the boys for Miss Simpkins? Oh, he must have left it when he retired. He and Miss Simpkins retired at the same time, of course.”

The new headmaster, Mr Mitchell, glanced a trifle quizzically at his deputy, Miss Grant, who he had inherited from his predecessor. They were having a cup of tea together in her room by way of getting to know one another.

“Miss Simpkins always took the view that if one of our girls behaved as badly as one of our boys, then she should suffer the same punishment.” Miss Grant replied. “She always said that girls and boys should be treated equally and it was almost an insult to the girls not to whack them as so many schools do, because they are supposedly the weaker sex, and I must say I do agree with her.”

Mr Mitchell had been imagining that the basket of canes, which varied from quite short and thin to quite long and somewhat thicker must be in Miss Grant’s office because of some strange accident and he felt quite startled.

“Does it happen often?” He asked rather uneasily, imagining some dreadful headline about ‘Gym Slip canings at dubious private school’.

“Not that often. Well there was one awful term when a rather too lively Fourth Form did one thing after another and I had to cane well over half the girls in the year and several of them on more than one occasion. But really, normally, we are talking three or four times a term, sometimes if you are lucky three or four times a year. I must say the less I have to do it then the happier I am.”

“You don’t sound as if you exactly enjoy it.”

“Well if somebody has behaved absolutely dreadfully and you are really angry with them there can be a certain pleasure in taking their skirts up and well and truly lacing their behinds, but that does not happen that often. And no, generally I don’t like having some bright eyed junior in front of me, who has played up once too often in class. They always look as if it is so dreadfully unfair. And often it is when it is at least partly their teacher’s fault for failing to control their class. There have been days when I would have really enjoyed calling some young woman into my room and bending her over a chair for a sound whipping for not controlling her class properly. And, indeed, the odd young man. However, sadly, such things are not allowed.”

“Presumably they do keep their knickers on?” Said Mr Mitchell uneasily.

“Of course, headmaster, and anyway a hard swishing on the knickers is rare; Miss Simpkins kept it for really serious offences, usually by older girls. I normally just give one or two with a light cane on one hand, sometimes both hands, if it is the second time they have had to be caned. And certainly when Miss Simpkins was here the girls always went to her before she sent them to me. I presume you are happy to continue that arrangement.”

“Why did Miss Simpkins not do the canings of girls herself if she believed in it so much?” Mr Mitchell asked curiously.

“She said to me once, she was just too ladylike to do it well and would make a hash of it. And not wishing to be unkind, one should, I suppose, add that Miss Simpkins, though a very formidable headmistress when she wanted to be, was only four foot six.”

“Whereas you, Miss Grant, are of positively Amazonian proportions!” Mr Mitchell observed with an impish twinkle.

“Well I am at any rate five foot ten, which is big for a woman; and I have a strong right arm when I care to use it. Anyway, Headmaster, are we to continue to swish the fair sex or not? I would like to know.”

“I think I will have to wait and see what it means in practice. I have only ever dealt with boys, you know, but I suspect in practice I may well be going to send a few select young ladies to you. At any rate I am not going to abolish it without a great deal of thought.

“Oh and Miss Grant, there is something quite different that is troubling me. Why is there no A Level Latin Class? Judging by the exam results we have some very bright children here.”

Miss Grant shrugged rather wryly and said, “Miss Simpkins had a very deep prejudice against the Classics. She had done Physics, you know, and thought the Sciences were what counted. She kept Latin up to O Level, because you need it for the Universities, but she flatly forbade it’s being taught beyond that. The result, of course, was that we only occasionally had a Latin specialist and they usually left after a year. I am afraid the standard of Latin here, even at O Level, is not that high, Headmaster.”

“Well Latin is very much my subject,” Mr Mitchell responded. “I am going to try and get an A Level class going. Are there any obvious candidates? I know they have most of them already chosen their subjects, so perhaps a little persuading is going to be required.”

“Well there is always Beverly Allen. She is very bright at most things. Somewhat of a rebel; she annoyed Miss Simpkins by refusing to do Sciences and opting for History, French and English.

“’The girl is capable of a First in Natural Sciences at Cambridge. How dare she go on the Arts Side,’ Miss Simpkins said to me in real anger. ‘For two pennyworth I would have her over the back of a chair for six on the seat of her knickers. The girl was so defiant and impertinent.’ And I think, to tell you the truth Mr Mitchell, I am quite sure that, if  our headmistress had felt it was within her power to order it, Beverley Allen’s pretty little backside would have paid for her impertinence.  And do you know, I almost thought I heard the noise of a cane during that row. As you know, my office is next to the Head Teacher’s. But I must have been mistaken. As you see all the canes are kept in here.

“Anyway I do know for a fact Beverley took her O level Latin extremely seriously and was annoyed she could not do it at A Level. I should start with her. If she does it, then her devoted best friend Eleanor Cross will join in, though Eleanor is nothing like so obviously bright. And if those two do, it I expect one or two other girls may come along as well. I don’t know about the boys. They are all so brain washed with the idea that ‘Science is best’, that I have my doubts.”

“What do you mean, ‘Devoted Best Friend’?” Mr Mitchell broke in suddenly. “I really don’t like the idea of my girls getting up to anything sexual.”

“It is fairly harmless Headmaster. A lot of girls go through this phase of preferring someone of their own sex, even in a mixed school like this. Oh they may kiss a little, but nothing more. Much better than getting off with a boy, which can get complicated and we heavily discourage and indeed forbid. To put it bluntly, girls cannot bugger one another or get each other pregnant. And anyway, two years in the same study should have them thoroughly bored with one another by the time that they leave. No, let it alone headmaster.”

Mr Mitchell politely bowed to his Deputy’s superior knowledge of the Fairer Sex.

The chat continued for some while, but Mr Mitchell barely listened, for he found himself wondering what it was about Miss Beverley Allen’s backside that had so clearly interested both his predecessor and his deputy. What would a pretty Sixth Form girl look like with her skirts raised and bent over the back of a chair in Miss Grant’s study? Presumably her knickers would be very tight and revealing. And did a girl in that position behave as well as a boy? Quite possibly she would have to be held. Anyway the chances of an incident that would require such a severe punishment were no doubt extremely remote and it was even less likely that he would be present.

*          *          *

“He is such a gorgeous man!” Bev said to Eleanor one day in the Spring term of their year in the Lower Sixth.

“You just like it because he moons all over you. I bet you’d get in the same bed, given half a chance.” Eleanor snapped jealously.

“Don’t be silly. You know I am devoted to you. But he is so kind giving me extra time for my Latin and getting me up to speed with half an eye on Cambridge. Not like Simpky saying ‘How dare you not do Science. I have a good mind to have you soundly caned for your impertinence’. And I think she meant it too, just for a second.”

“Why do you always tell that story?” Said Eleanor laughing, “Anyone would think that you wanted to find out what it was like to be soundly caned.”

“Well it is the nearest I’ve come to it while I’ve been here.” Bev replied rather defensively. “I always wonder if I would be able to take it. And Joe Williamson always says it does something for you and he does not mind getting it at all.”

“Trust you to believe a stupid boy. It was just bloody painful when I got one on each hand for flicking that paper pellet at Miss Robyns,” said Eleanor with distinct irritation. “You need a spanking for even thinking about it.”

“Thanks, I will look forward to it!”

At this, they both burst into giggles and a certain amount of very frivolous bottom patting took place.

Then Bev added as an afterthought, “You should come to his extra lessons too, then maybe you would be less jealous.”

“Going to extra Latin sounds much too keen to me, even in the Sixth Form!” Eleanor retorted. “Anyway, is Karen still giving you trouble?”

“She still keeps sidling up when you are not there and saying, ‘wouldn’t you like to go into town on the next half day and go to the flicks? Couldn’t we share a study next year? I am bored with Jan and I expect you are with Eleanor’. I tell her, ‘No way,’ but she does not take no for an answer.” Beverley said wearily.

“She is a pain, but it will go away eventually. But I don’t like her going round with Jan Kaminsky. That Pole is just plain old fashioned ‘rough’. I would not like to be thumped by her. She is big, that girl. If she thinks you are being nasty to Karen she might have a go at you.” Eleanor stated uneasily.

“Jan has not threatened to hit you, has she?” Beverley asked anxiously.

“No, but if Karen told her to hit someone I bet she would. But she would probably be scared of a real whacking from Miss Grant. Something to be said for the cane, I suppose.”

“But Annie T isn’t a lot better and she is definitely part of that little crowd. We’d better be careful. I don’t want to be in a feud with those three; it could get nasty.” Beverley stated thoughtfully.

*          *          *

Not many weeks after this conversation, Beverley was eighteen. It was co-incidentally the same day that Mr Mitchell took it into his head to read  Sappho’s great ‘Hymn to Aphrodite’ with its lesbian undertones to his all-female Latin Class, first in the Greek and then in a plain translation of his own. To be fair to Mr Mitchell, it must be said that he was thinking with some justification that the beauty of the Greek might stir certainly Beverley and perhaps one or two of the others to do a Greek O Level with him in one year; and perhaps Beverley might stay on and do an A Level in Greek and get to Cambridge to do Classics. However, the effect on Bev and Eleanor was startling. They went back to their room, locked the door, drew the curtains, undressed one another to their underclothes and kissed and caressed passionately. And they spent a good deal of that summer holiday in a slow interesting process of exploration. Then the year of the Upper Sixth arrived.

*          *          *

“We are going to have a look at the next bit in our Set Book this afternoon, though it is not the nicest passage in Tacitus!” Mr Mitchell observed uneasily to the five girls of his A Level Latin set. “In fact, it is so gruesome that I am quite tempted to miss it out, but the Examiners have a horrible habit with set books of setting the obvious passages. And quite apart from that, there is some very tricky Latin here. In a nut shell, it’s about the unfortunate teenage children of Seneca being put to death just because their father had incurred the displeasure of the Emperor. Beverley, perhaps you would be kind enough to begin; you are about the only one who knows enough to do it unseen. We will take it a phrase at a time please; it is horribly compressed.”

*          *          *

“Our revered headmaster really ducked it,” Said Bev later that day to Eleanor as they continued the interesting process of kissing and caressing one another in semi nakedness in the privacy of their study. They were slowly getting very well acquainted with what got each other going, but Bev for one was sure there was another stage to discover.

“It was gruesome enough without any refinements,” Eleanor responded. “The poor old daughter of Seneca gets raped by the executioner because you can’t execute a Virgin in Ancient Rome because they have religious status or something; and she has to go through that knowing the cord which will strangle her to death is just beside her; and then she gets strangled and thrown in the river or something without a proper burial. What did he miss out that is worth knowing about?”

“For a start I don’t think she was strangled in the normal sort of way, which must be fairly quick.  The Latin says ‘oblisis faucibus’, which means ‘their throats were compressed’, which sounds like a slow garrotting to me, like they used to do in Spain, quite possibly still do. I looked it up after the lesson.”

“Yes, I noticed he ducked the fact that there were two words and just said the brother and sister were strangled, but really Bev you are a dreadful sadist!”

“But that is nothing to compressam…,” Bev announced with a grin, runing her finger down Eleanor’s spine. ‘Why were they still keeping their bras and pants on?’ She wondered.

“I thought that meant quite simply that she was raped?”

“No, the whole idea is that he puts his whole weight on her, flattens her if you like.”

“God, that sounds awful!” Eleanor responded, realizing as she said it that her whole abdomen seemed to be doing something at the thought of being flattened.

There was a distinct and meaningful pause.

“Are you thinking what I am thinking?” Bev said, giving her friend a very gentle kiss.

“Well it would be the next natural thing if you were a boy, wouldn’t it?” Eleanor responded. “Not that you are a boy, but do you want to try it?”

There was a sudden abandonment of modesty and mutual removal of their remaining clothes and their lower regions started to rub against one another and the bed began to creak.

Then one bright March day, Bev’s bête noire, Karen Groves, came sauntering up to them in the corridor devoted to Sixth Form Studies for girls. Bev felt uneasy as soon as she saw her, especially as Karen had her two rather unpleasant cronies in tow, Anne Taylor and Jan Kaminski. Jan, as usual, was scowling and looked uncomfortably large and threatening. Perhaps it flashed across Bev’s mind it would have been better not to have ignored Karen. She should have given her just that little bit of friendship, but she did not feel at all friendly to Karen; besides it would have damaged her relationship with Eleanor.

“Hi you two! One of you would be pregnant if one of you was a boy, you know you would. Pregnant! Pregnant!” Karen mocked without any preliminary.

It was clear it was deliberate and calculated and meant at getting them to respond. Bev and Eleanor had the sense to back away. Bev for one was very aware that things might come out if they said anything back or complained. What would Mr Mitchell think if it came out that she was having an affair with another girl? Would he start talking about a severe caning or even expulsion for her and Eleanor because of their unnatural behaviour? It was certainly not impossible, even if Karen did not escape punishment for her bullying? But even if Mr Mitchell did not go down the path of severe retribution, surely it would shatter his all too obvious image of her as a nice girl. He was, in his way, in love with her, she knew, not that he would pursue her in the way that Karen had; and there was something very lovely about his worshipping her at a distance. Besides, she was beginning to think that Latin was something she would like to pursue a very long way.

“We’d better just ignore it,” Said Eleanor later that day. “They will give up on it pretty soon, I hope. We must have been making too much noise. We’d better tone it down a bit.”

Good advice, but the teasing got worse. Karen and her two mates would follow them calling, ‘pregnant, pregnant’ at every opportunity. Eleanor said sooner or later a teacher would hear their tormentors and it would be stopped, but Karen seemed very good at disappearing at the right moment and Bev became more and more worried that it might not be the best thing that could happen if the teachers became involved.

Then one day in the brief hour that was allowed for private things before the evening meal, without warning, the study door opened. It was Karen followed by Jan and Annie.

“We are going to debag you and teach you a lesson, you horrible pair of dykes,” Karen announced, making a lunge at Eleanor, who was still lying fully clothed on her bed, with the obvious intention of yanking Eleanor’s brown school knickers down before she could realize what was going on.

Bev, who had stood up when the door opened, reacted to the attack on her lover by catching hold of Karen’s pigtails with her left hand and then scratching their enemy’s face hard with the nails of her right one.

“Bitch!” Shrieked Karen. “Get her Jan! We were only going to take your knickers down. Now you are really going to get it. Quick Jan, before somebody comes.”

Jan seized Bev and held her. Karen quite deliberately ran her nails down both her cheeks before reaching under Bev’s skirts for her knickers. Eleanor managed to get off her bed and pull Jan away from Bev. Annie and Jan then went jointly for Eleanor, sat on her, and pulled some hair out by the roots, while Bev and Karen went at one another quite ferociously.

Annie and Jan had now turned their attention to Eleanor’s knickers, which they had got nearly to her knees, though she was resisting ferociously; but then Mr Mitchell arrived, intending to tell Eleanor and Bev that he would not be able to teach them the next day and hoping to have a chat with his favourite pupil.

“You will all go and stand outside my study.” He said very quietly, but in a voice that left no doubt about his anger.

“Please Sir!” Said Bev piteously.

“Beverley Allen, because you are my best Latinist, does not mean you can behave how you like. You will all go and stand outside my study. No, on second thoughts, you can all go and stand outside Miss Grant’s as I have no doubt we are going to need her skills with the cane. Now!”

The girls very reluctantly and sheepishly went off, looking distinctly the worse for wear.

*          *          *

There was an odd pause in the proceedings while Mr Mitchell talked to Miss Grant and Karen bad mouthed Bev and Eleanor, swearing that whatever else happened Miss Grant and Mr Mitchell were going to know what sort of people they were. Bev trembled at the thought of disgrace much more than the thought of being punished severely.

The door opened and they were all ushered in. Bev noticed Miss Grant looked as if she had been having an argument with Mr Mitchell and had lost. Since the Headmaster normally got on very well with his deputy, this seemed surprising.

Bev braced herself for the inevitable questions and all the things that must almost inevitably come out, but to her immense surprise there were no questions and nothing remotely approaching a trial or enquiry. She realized that Mr Mitchell was glaring ferociously straight at her and wished he would stop.

“I will not have fighting between Sixth Form Girls. It would be bad enough if you were boys. I am not even very interested in why you were fighting.” Mr Mitchell suddenly fulminated, sounding infinitely more formidable than the quiet Latinist that Bev and Eleanor were used to.

“Perhaps we should at least ask what was going on, Headmaster.” Miss Grant murmured diffidently.

Eleanor murmured a devout prayer to herself that Mr Mitchell would listen to his Deputy; that way she and Bev might well escape punishment, even if they had given as good as they got in the fight. But then things might come out. If they went straight to the punishment, nothing might come out.

“No, they all willingly joined in the fight; they have all got the marks to prove it. I am going to cane the lot of them, or you are. “Mr Mitchell said with real fury, “They are all going to have six of the very best as hard as you can give them.”

“But Headmaster,” said Miss Grant desperately but ineffectually.

A chair and a cane were produced. And with a minimum of fuss it was announced by Mr Mitchell that they were going to be caned in alphabetical order and Miss Grant was going to do it since it was inappropriate for a man to be their executioner.

Bev realized with interest that with a surname beginning with A she was going to be first across the back of the chair. Very oddly now it was happening, she found the prospect interesting rather than frightening. Would it do something for her? Several of the boys had told her it was not all bad. And at least no questions were being asked.

“Beverly Allen, pull your skirts up to your waist and bend over the back of the chair.”

Miss Grant in her dull grey skirt and plain white blouse might not wholly agree with what was happening, but still she was doing her duty with a minimum of fuss.

Bev walked over to the chair, trying not to look at the long thin cane in Miss Grant’s hand. The worst bit, she found, was having to haul up her skirts with a man there and a man she more than half thought fancied her. However, she realized to her relief that Mr Mitchell was deliberately looking the other way. Then she made herself bend over the back of the chair. She wondered if, now she could not see him looking, he was drinking in the sight of her tightly stretched knickers and half hoped he was. She felt just scared enough to make it interesting. She always remembered the chair sticking into her stomach and the very slight wait, which seemed longer than it was.

Then Miss Grant administered the first of the six swishes, which caught the underside of her tightly be-knickered backside. It undoubtedly hurt quite a lot and she felt humiliated and punished, but as she had half expected she could also feel herself getting excited. She wondered rather dryly if watching this strange proceeding was exciting Mr Mitchell, but she could not actually see if he was looking. The second stroke descended perhaps half an inch lower and she could feel the horrible sting, and she could feel moisture in her eyes. After the third stroke which was administered into the crease between thighs and bottom she felt real pain and gave a definite whimper. The remaining three were rather higher up her bottom and seemed to not hurt quite so much.

“Wait over there,” she realized Mr Mitchell was saying. “You can all wait till after you have all been punished and I have said a little bit more about your excruciating behaviour.”

Eleanor passed her on the way to the chair, giving her a sardonic glance as they passed. Her girlfriend had undoubtedly drawn her own conclusions. Bev moved very distractedly to the back of the line of girls, for want of anywhere else to go. It suddenly struck her that, except for the fact that they were all going to be alive at the end of it, this must be very like standing in a line at the foot of the scaffold waiting to be guillotined.

Then she found herself gazing at Eleanor’s tight brown knickers. Eleanor had long narrow buttocks with a sizable gap between and Bev realized they seemed remarkably beautiful to her. Then Miss Grant started stinging Eleanor’s behind with her wickedly swishy cane; six deliberate strokes with distinct gaps between and Bev felt it almost as if she was being caned for the second time. Eleanor seemed to feel it more than she had, starting with an “ouch” after the first stroke and working up through increasingly anguished “Aah’s” to a bitten back shriek after the fifth and sixth strokes. It was very noticeable, Bev thought, that Miss Grant had delivered all six of Eleanor’s strokes much closer together on the buttocks, and unless she was mistaken much harder than her own punishment. Eleanor was quite slow standing up and seemed to stagger as she walked back to the rear of the line, holding the seat of her knickers as she did it, with the tears rolling down her cheeks. Poor Eleanor. Bev quickly squeezed her hand and hoped no one had noticed.

Then the three bullies were caned one after another and it must be said that Bev enjoyed her enemies’ come-uppance.

Each girl in turn reluctantly raised her skirts and bent over the chair and Miss Grant, despite her own continuing apparent reluctance, which seemed evident from her very uneasy face, administered an efficient and very painful six strokes of the cane to each.

Karen was not very brave. She pleaded more than a little, “Please do not cane me, I don’t want to be caned,” and had to be threatened with expulsion before she would lift her skirts and bend over the chair. And then to Bev’s delight a pair of thin white cotton knickers was revealed and she knew her enemy was really going to suffer. And sure enough Miss Grant’s cane swished very hard indeed and there was the sound  of it biting deep into Karen’s soft  plump bottom, followed by a tremendous shriek. To Bev’s vengeful mind the cane biting deep into through Karen’s thin white knickers into her soft plump bottom and her screeching and writhing after each stroke, while her legs kicked up and down, was pure pleasure.  And how she howled for mercy between her shrieks. “Please no more. Please! Please Miss Grant! Please Mr Mitchell.” But this was pure music to Bev’s ears. Karen had got them all into this and now she had paid. Bev felt a very unkind delight as her tormentor staggered to the rear of the line of girls clutching her behind and crying her eyes out, even more than Eleanor had; and she cried for longer too.

She was so busy remembering Karen’s come-uppance that she missed the first stroke of Jan Kaminski’s caning. Jan was a game’s player and in marked contrast to Karen had a much more solid bottom. Still Miss Grant unkindly used a slightly thicker cane and though Jan got through it more quietly than Karen had, she still cried uncontrollably very early in the proceedings and thrust backwards and forwards with the impact of Miss Grant’s very efficient punishment.

“I never knew anything could hurt so much.” The Polish girl said as she staggered back to the end of the line.

Finally Annie Taylor. Bev thought the last of her enemies looked as if she was about to be sick as she walked to the chair, but she pulled her skirts up without any argument and bent over the chair to reveal a pair of red flannel knickers that looked as if they had come out of a previous generation; perhaps it was what her Mother thought schoolgirls wore. Bev noticed a flicker of amusement on Mr Mitchell’s face and something close to a wink. She wondered if it meant he had forgiven her, or it was just a passing moment.  But hang on, he must have started looking at the girls’ knickers, whether or not he had looked at hers. Bev found herself rather liking him for it. She realized there was a slight delay. Bev gazed at Annie’s tiny bottom, which was stuck on the top of ridiculously long legs. Yes, Miss Grant was changing her cane again and unlike the first time was taking her time.

“Please Miss Grant don’t keep me waiting.” Said Annie urgently through her sobs.

Miss Grant looked at two more canes before returning with something short but extremely whippy. Miss Grant took her time over the last caning. And with each stroke Annie’s red bottom pushed down and then up. She cried a great deal and gave a suppressed ‘ouch’ after each stroke. Bev in spite of her deep anger found herself thinking that Annie was taking a very severe punishment rather well.

A sobbing Annie joined the tearful line of Sixth Form girls. Mr Mitchell seemed to wait till all the girls had stopped crying, which took some while. Miss Grant put the last cane away, still looking disapproving, then stood by the Headmaster with a stony face.

“And now you have all had a very object lesson.” Mr Mitchell said finally. “I don’t care what was the cause of this fight; if there is any repetition those responsible will be expelled. Now you can go and don’t let me see any of you again. Now, Miss Grant, we had better fill in the punishment book. We had better take care over the wording.”

*          *          *

“I did not think it was that bad.” Said Bev later that afternoon as she lay in a huddle with Eleanor on Eleanor’s bed. Both of them were lying as far as possible on the sides of their thighs.

“I thought it was bad.” Eleanor responded. “It really stung and I am pretty sore now. I think you were lucky. Either Miss Grant had not got into her stride, or she remembered you are Mr Mitchell’s favourite pupil. She really did not go for you like she did the rest of us. Poor Karen, she really got it, I think Miss Grant knew something about what has been going on.”

“If so, she did not say anything.” Observed Bev. “But it would not surprise me. But Karen really deserved it and I enjoyed hearing her howl and seeing her writhe about, and her mates. Perhaps we should have snitched on them before it came to this and we would not have ended up getting it as well.”

“You know that is just not done,” Eleanor responded rather crossly. “But I know you. This mad event got you going, didn’t it? I could see it in your eyes after you were caned.”

This sounded almost like an accusation.

“I suppose so.” Said Bev sheepishly, not liking to admit her strange thoughts of the last hour; why had she enjoyed this dire event so much?

“We really ought to think about it all. Who knows, perhaps we can use this afternoon to our advantage.”

“Perhaps so. Have you something in mind, my love?”

“Well I did at least HALF wonder if Mr Mitchell set it up so he could watch you being caned. He fancies you like mad, you know. As soon as you had bent over he started staring at the seat of your knickers, and I could see you exchanging glances while the rest of us were being caned. I would really like to punish you for being so interested in him being interested. I am sure you were!”

“Oh he is much too sensible to do anything about fancying me. And anyway I fancy you. But we could have a game in which you punish me for fancying him, which I don’t really, but it would make a game.”

“Exactly what I was thinking, except I think you do fancy him. I am going to get my gym shoe.”

“Not now, my love, I am just that bit too tender.”

“Well that’s when it should really hurt, shouldn’t it? Better bend over the bed, my dear.”

“I suppose so!” Said Bev, half reluctant and half eager, positioning herself across the end of the bed.

It was the first of many such occasions.

The End

© Jane Fairweather 2018

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