Two girls are in more trouble than they feared. By a new writer to us.

By David

It was with some trepidation that Annabel and Hattie knocked on the Principal’s door and entered his outer office. Mr Foreman’s secretary took the slip of paper that Annabel was holding and went in to see him, reappearing a moment later and ushering them inside. Once the inner door was closed, they were left to face him across his desk.

“Well girls,” said Mr Foreman, “Even though you are Upper Sixth students, I see that you’ve been causing such disruption in class that you have been sent to me with a request that I punish you. What do you have to say about this?”

Hattie gulped hard but it was Annabel who spoke.

“We haven’t really been that much trouble, sir. We know that we deserve lines or a detention, but we really can’t understand why we’ve been sent to you.”

“You have both grown beyond the age for lines or detention,” replied the Principal, “but your conduct has clearly been worsening for some while and so it’s time now to correct it for good. In state schools there would be no appropriate remedy, but ours is an independent establishment and so I have more discretion in how best to punish you. And the method that I intend to use is the traditional one of corporal punishment.”

Mr Foreman reached into a desk drawer and pulled out an object that the girls had never expected to see. It was a thinnish brown stick about half a metre long with a curved handle and very flexible, as he demonstrated by bending it in his hands.

“This,” he continued, “is the school cane. I may no longer use it on younger pupils, but any student of eighteen is an adult and so can give their consent. And when I tell you the alternative would be a request to your parents for immediate removal, I’m sure that you will give that consent. Am I right, girls?”

The students’ eyes widened in horror at seeing this instrument of pain, but they both nodded their heads abjectly. After all, they were both of age and were now very close to their exams. Sweat broke forth on Hattie’s brow and she clasped her hands together. Would she have to hold them out for punishment?

The Principal, still flexing his cane, addressed her.

“Hattie, you can wait in my outer office. I shall call you back once I have dealt with Annabel.” Hattie left, hovering near the door with only the silent secretary for company. She could not resist trying to hear what was going on inside.

She could just catch the sound of Mr Foreman’s voice, then she heard very clearly the sharp crack of the cane followed by a yell from Annabel. Three more strokes followed, and Annabel was now bawling loudly. A few moments later she came stumbling out, blushing a deep crimson. Hattie soon realised that it was not her hands that were hurting but a quite different part of her anatomy. Her hands were in fact pressed hard against the back of her skirt, and she took one away only to open the outer door and escape. Hattie felt faint with fright that soon she too would be equally sore, but she managed to re-enter the inner office. She closed the door behind her with a dreadful sinking sensation in her stomach.

The Principal pointed with his cane towards a chair and ordered Hattie to bend over the back of it. The girl shuddered as she slowly lowered herself, spreading her hands on the chair seat. But Mr Foreman was not satisfied.

“No, you must bend over more until you can grip the chair legs,” he demanded.

Feeling increasingly vulnerable, Hattie found herself on tiptoes while the chair-back dug into her chest. She suddenly recalled the words of an overheard conversation, in which a girl had talked of occupying the Principal’s chair. At the time she had not understood but now she realised that she was in that very same position. What humiliation for a woman of eighteen!

Yet there was worse to follow.

“I need to be sure,” Mr Foreman intoned, “that this caning is going to be effective. I intend it to be both painful and humiliating. I shall therefore give you four strokes, but only after raising your skirt.” Before Hattie could resist, he had pulled it up and pressed his left hand firmly on the small of her back.

Hattie felt as if her bottom was now totally exposed to this man, who must be able to see all its curves and contours through her knickers, stretched tightly over her rear. They would not offer much protection from the pain to come. She flinched as she felt the stick laid across her buttocks, realising that it was being lined up to beat her.

“Four strokes, Hattie,” the Principal reminded her. “Keep your head down and your legs straight. I expect you to remain in position throughout.”

Hattie gripped the chair legs, gritted her teeth, and screwed her eyes tight shut. She did not want to catch any glimpse of the cane in action. There was a brief pause, a swish through the air, and then the sharp retort as it reached its target. For a second she felt nothing, until a sudden burning pain permeated her backside, as if a red hot poker had been laid against it. She gasped out loud, then a moment later another blow hit her just below the first. She felt a desperate need to stand up and rub her rear end, but Mr Foreman held her firmly down, pushing her skirt well out of the way.

“Halfway through now, girl,” he reminded her. “Hold your bottom still, grip the chair and prepare yourself for the final strokes.”

Hattie, feeling like a little girl, did as she was told. As she felt the cane being lined up over the seat of her knickers yet again, tears seeped through her closed eyes but she held on to the chair legs as tightly as she could. Down came the cane for a third time and she cried out at the impact, kicking each leg into the air in turn. Not only was every blow adding to the agony but her tormentor was moving down her rear end into increasingly sensitive regions. Then came the fourth and final stroke, and the Principal released his hold. Instantly Hattie sprang up and rubbed both of her cheeks intensively, all thoughts of modesty forgotten. She felt as if her backside had gone up in flames.

“Very well, your punishment is over,” concluded Mr Foreman as he put the cane away. “You may straighten your clothes and return to class. I expect you to tell the class what punishment you have received and I shall check later that you have done so. One day you will be grateful that you have benefited from a traditional English education in an independent school. I don’t expect to have to repeat this performance, but if you are ever sent to me again, I promise you six of the best across your bare behind.”

Like Annabel, Hattie left the study still clutching her buttocks and only taking a hand off one cheek in order to open the door. The secretary, who must have heard the beating, was kind enough to hold the outer door open for her. Thankfully there was nobody about outside and she could make her way to the nearest lavatory. She knew that she could not linger but she was determined to see what damage had been done.

Finding a long mirror, Hattie pulled up her skirt then slowly and painfully lowered her knickers. Twisting around as best she could, she was horrified at what she saw. There were four red stripes crossing the curves of her buttocks, close to each other but all distinct. Later she could rub soothing ointment over her injuries, but now it was time to join the other students of the Upper Sixth.

Hattie tried to enter the classroom as quietly as possible, but of course all eyes were upon her. She glanced at her fellow sufferer, already seated with her head in her hands.

“I got the same as Annabel,” she blurted out, her voice breaking as she spoke. “Four strokes.”

The others gasped then fell silent, no doubt thinking what could happen to their own posteriors if they fell out of line. Then Hattie returned to her seat and occupied it slowly and carefully, aware that everyone was still watching her. The pain on contact was throbbingly intense but bearable so long as she stayed quite still. She supposed that in time it would wear off and the marks would fade but she would never forget the humiliation of bending over and presenting her bottom for the cane.

The End

© David 2014