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A boyfriend’s photos land a girl in trouble

By Kane Strokes

Sixteen-year-old Emma Fletcher lay on her bed listening to a CD. Suddenly her bedroom door burst open, her mother marching towards her and throwing some photos on the bed in front of Emma.

“What’s the meaning of these? You’re going to get your backside caned for this.”

Emma stared open-mouthed at the photos; pictures of her pulling up her skirt to reveal her skimpy knickers, and her blouse undone, displaying an ample cleavage.

“Mum, no! Where did you get these?”

“It doesn’t matter how I got them. The young man with the camera will also be suffering, now get the cane from your wardrobe and touch your toes.”

“No mum, you can’t. They’ve banned the cane.”

“The cane is banned in schools, but not in this house!”

Now Emma’s dad arrived, wanting to know what all the shouting was about.

Emma pleaded with him. “Don’t let mum cane me. Please, dad.”

“Sorry Emma, but your mum got the cane for the same reasons.”

“Dave! There’s no need to bring that into it!” Retorted Janet.

“What do you mean, dad?” asked Emma.

“Emma, if your mother tells you what happened to her, will you accept the punishment?”

Emma reluctantly agreed, and an equally reluctant Janet Fletcher sat herself on Emma’s bed to tell the story of her photos.

“I was trying my hardest to be attentive in class, but the revision of things that I had proved I understood was eating at my concentration. My mock ‘A’ levels had been a success, my exams were in four weeks, and if I got the results I’d achieved in my mocks, I was on my way to university. Then there was a knock at the classroom door and a prefect entered with a note for the teacher. I still remember what she said.

“Janet Baxter, the headmistress wants to see you now.”

“A stunned silence hung over the room. Pupils were only summoned to the headmistress when they were in trouble. Everyone knew I would never be in trouble. I knew I wasn’t in trouble. It was all a bit of a mystery. I left the classroom and walked the long corridor towards the main foyer. My shoes could be heard clicking as I walked the empty corridors. I knocked on the door and the headmistress called out, ‘come in.’

“When I entered, I was surprised to see my mother sat at the desk as well.

“You wanted to see me miss?” I asked.

“Yes Janet, I’d like as explanation about these, before I expel you.”

“The headmistress, Mrs Woods, opened a stiff card folder, and presented me with several pictures of me wearing my school uniform in several poses exposing my underwear. I couldn’t believe it. I just stood and stared open-mouthed at the pictures.

“Oh my god, no, he said it was our secret.”

I started to cry.

“Mrs Woods continued, ‘Normally I’d expel you without a moment’s thought. You have brought disgrace upon this school, the uniform and yourself, but as you are so close to your exams, I won’t expel you, on condition you tell me who else was involved. But you will be caned.’

“I was still staring at the pictures, still not believing what I was seeing or hearing.
“Janet!” my mother said sternly, “We’re waiting.”

I thought about it. In the past, I had taken a slippering for not revealing who else was involved in a prank. You never snitched, but this, this was different. This was my chance of university.

“There’s no one else from the school. Daniel Williams took the photos, he’s a boarder at St Edward’s Boys School. He promised me no one else would see the photos.”

“The headmistress asked if he touched me in any way. I told her no, then promised mum nothing else had happened.

Very well,” said Mrs Woods, “Come back here at 4pm. By then I’ll know whether I am going to cane you or if I have no choice but to expel you.”

“Mum got up to leave. As she did so, she spoke to me.

“You haven’t heard the last of this when you get home.”

“She turned to Mrs Woods. “Cane her, and take her knickers down for it!”

“Mum strode away, leaving the office.

“Mrs Woods looked up at me, “Baxter, return to your class, say nothing to anybody. Anyone who asks, tell them you were named as a witness to an incident, but it was mistaken identity. I do not want the good name of the school tarnished. Now go.”

“I left the office, terrified at the thought of the cane, even though mother had used the cane at home. My stomach was churning at the thought of my next meeting with the headmistress. I got back to class, my mind now even further from the subject than it was before.

“I found out later that Mrs Woods phoned the boy’s school and demanded the photos and negatives. Also, the boy got six of the best from his headmaster. He also had more photos of girls from other schools.

“My next lesson, I just didn’t pay attention. The inevitable happened. I was asked a question, I couldn’t answer, the teacher knew that, she had seen me day dreaming, not listening. She called me to the front of the class. She lectured me that A level students should be paying attention at all times and not letting their minds wander like first years. She told me to touch my toes. Miss Matthews, the teacher, collected the plimsoll, from her desk, raised my skirt, and gave me a good six stroke slippering. Then, at break time, I had to show the rest of the girls my slippered bottom.

“At four o’clock, I went to see the headmistress. The cane was laid on her desk. She had the photos and negatives that had been confiscated from Daniel Williams. She told me I wasn’t to be expelled, but I would be caned. First, though, we went together to the boiler room and threw the photos and negatives into the furnace. We returned to her office. I was told to bend over her desk. She raised my skirt and, just as my mother had instructed, pulled my knickers down. Mrs Wood saw my bottom was already sore. She asked if I had been slippered. I told her I had, and why. It made no difference; I remember the caning as if it were yesterday.

“She put the first stroke right across my sit spot. She didn’t hurry, she waited, the pain from that first stroke just got worse and worse, and then, the next stroke.

“I just about stayed silent. That second stroke was fractions of an inch below the first stroke. The headmistress waited. She let the pain build.

“That was the third across my sit spots. I called out a bit on that one, then she caned me low down, right on the lower bottom. I yelled and stamped my feet. I know my knees buckled as well. By now my bottom was on fire, sore and throbbing, and I still had two to go. The next one was higher, but still stung like the blazes. I yelled at that one, and I was crying hard. Then came the worst. She angled the cane and crossed all the strokes on my sit spots. I yelled louder than ever, I was sobbing, my bottom hurt far worse than mum had ever done. I was told to stand, get dressed and go. I did. I left her office still crying hard.”

Emma had gone very quiet, and a little pale. “What happened at home, mum?”

“My mother sent me to my room, told me to bend over the bed and have my knickers down. She didn’t tell me, but I also got the cane from the hook on the back of my bedroom door and laid it on the bed beside me. Mum came in, she looked at my bottom and said the headmistress had done a good job. She said I could suffer the welts for the evening, but the next day she’d put some cream on the worst of them. Mum left. I burst into more tears. I knew my modelling career was over. Mum whacked me again about a week later.”

As Janet stopped talking, Dave put three photos on the bed.

“These are what your mother got caned for.”

Emma looked up, puzzled. “But you had to throw them all on the fire, didn’t you?”

“That’s true,” said Janet. “These are the photos Daniel gave me. I had them hidden them away.”

Janet, got up off the bed, opened the wardrobe and removed the cane.

“Your turn, Emma. Jeans down, knickers down, touch your toes.”

“Ok mum, but can I just say I forgot Gran had a cane. Did she use it often?”

Janet took a deep breath.

“At the time, I felt I was getting the cane for the least little thing. But now, with the benefit of hindsight, I know each time I got the cane, I’d earned it, just as you have, young lady. Now bend over.”

Emma stood up and loosened her jeans.

Dave moved towards the door.

“I’ll leave you to it.”

Emma watched father leave. She pushed her jeans and then her knickers down to her knees, and then down to her ankles. She turned to see her mum flexing the cane. Without having to be told again, she bent over and gripped her ankles. Her bare bottom was perfectly placed for the caning Janet was about to give her.

The cane swept through the air with a recognisable swish. The sound of the whack as the cane swished across Emma’s bottom was dulled by the soft furnishings of the bedroom. Even so, from outside of the closed bedroom door, Emma’s father heard the first stroke land. He walked away, not wishing to intrude further, even though Emma wouldn’t have known he was there. Janet watched the welt rise across Emma’s sit spots. She raised the cane again, waited a little longer, just as she remembered her headmistress doing from all those years ago.

With the next stroke, Janet saw she didn’t have the accuracy of Mrs Woods, as the welt rose lower on Emma’s sit spots. Emma grunted as the cane struck, the pain in her bottom became more intense, it was hurting as much as she felt it could hurt, when the cane delivered a further payload of pain across her sit spots. Emma yelped, her knees buckled and then straightened, the tears started to roll down her face.

Janet was herself becoming upset listening to her daughter’s pain. She steeled herself to go on. However, she knew she couldn’t do the cross stroke as her headmistress had done to her. But, the final stroke would still be the most painful of them all. She was ready to give the fourth stroke. As the cane struck once more on Emma’s sit spots, the impact of the cane left a white mark on the reddened skin. It quickly changed colour until it, too, became an angry red welt. Emma yelled louder, her crying, harder, her knees had buckled for longer, yet still Janet steeled herself letting the pain increase to its fiercest.

Janet aimed the cane lower. Emma yelled as she continued crying. The stripe rose to become the fifth welt to decorate Emma’s bottom.

The last stoke. Janet needed perfect accuracy. She lined the cane up, trying her best to ignore Emma’s sobbing. She whipped the cane back, then swished it down into the opened crease where Emma’s thighs became her bottom. Emma screamed out in pain. She jumped up clutching at her burning, sore and throbbing bottom. Janet threw down the cane, she wanted to put her arms around Emma and say sorry, but she couldn’t. Hard lessons had to be learned. She helped her daughter to lay face down on the bed, leaving her sobbing deep sobs. Janet left, closing the door quietly behind her.
Emma laid on her bed, the sobbing easing. Gradually, she composed herself. Her bottom was sore, it burned and throbbed. After a while, she put her hand into the small gap between the bottom of her bed and the floor. She felt for, and found, more photographs. She looked at herself, and her nakedness was reflected back at her, also those of a naked boy, when Emma had taken her turn as photographer.

‘A good job mum didn’t find these,’ she thought to herself, knowing full well her bottom couldn’t afford to have her mum find those pictures.

The End

© Kane Strokes 2019