A young teacher gets the chance she wanted

By John Switch

Abigail Miller noted an absence in her A-level maths class.

“Does anyone know where Susan is?”

Silence.

“Anyone?”

“She wasn’t in registration, miss.”

Must be absent.

“Thank you.”

She started the lesson, introducing the concept of imaginary and complex numbers.

Some time later, a few minutes into the second period, there was a knock at the door and Susan Wilson entered.

Abigail frowned at her. “You’re very late!”

“Sorry miss, I had to see Mrs Braithwaite.”

Abigail wondered what had required the headmistress’s attention for this length of time. Then she noticed Susan smile briefly and squirm in her seat.

What’s that all about?

Susan continued to squirm and smile throughout the rest of the lesson and finally the penny dropped.

Good Lord! She’s been caned!

Abigail wondered what the quiet, studious girl had been up to.

And what’s with the smiling? Did she enjoy it? Surely not. I wonder if Mrs Braithwaite noticed.

The bell rang for morning break and the class began to pack up. Abigail looked at the latecomer. “A word before you leave, Susan.”

The girl waited at her desk. Once the other girls had gone, Abigail beckoned her to the front. She obeyed and stood silently.

Abigail sighed. “Susan, you were extremely late to my lesson.”

“I told you, I…”

“Had to see Mrs Braithwaite. I think I’m owed a little more information.”

Susan fiddled with her long dark ponytail but said nothing.

“I couldn’t help noticing that you were squirming in your seat in a manner not normally associated with Sixth Form girls, but more commonly seen in Lower School girls who have been to the headmistress.”

Susan’s face flushed. Rather prettily, Abigail thought.

“I’ve had the cane, miss.”

“So I surmised. What have you been up to?”

“Nothing! I was late so I was in a bit of a hurry. I accidentally bumped into Mrs Braithwaite and knocked her over. In front of some Lower School girls. Also, I dropped my bag and it spilled everything on the floor, including my cigarettes, which she saw so she sent me to her office. Then she made me wait the whole of period one before she caned me. I knew I was going to get it too.”

Not really nothing then! Making the poor girl wait over half an hour to be caned was a bit cruel though. And she might have enjoyed sitting on her caned bottom just now, but the preceding events were obviously a bit traumatic.

She gently squeezed Susan’s arm. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, thank you miss. Apart from a sore bum.”

“Well, in the circumstances I won’t sanction you for lateness, but you’ll have to catch up with the work you missed.”

“Yes Miss. Thank you, Miss.”

“Is there anything else you’d like to tell me?”

“No Miss.”

“Off you go, then.”

When the girl had left, Abigail sighed and wondered just what she had hoped to gain from those questions. Perhaps a vain hope that the 18-year-old would admit to a liking for receiving the cane and ask Abigail to administer an encore?

That’s just so wrong! I must be getting desperate!

That evening, Abigail unlocked the cupboard in the cellar where she kept, among other things, a particular memento from one of her training placements. She swung the crook-handled cane through the air and imagined swishing Susan’s bottom with it. She envied Mrs Braithwaite for having been able to do so. She felt ashamed of her thoughts, but for a long time the idea of administering a caning had given her a thrill and, knowing that the attractive girl had clearly derived some kind of pleasure from receiving the cane, well, what would be the harm?

Unprofessional Abi! Stop it!

She locked the cane away.

****

For the rest of the academic year, Abigail was able to put such thoughts to the back of her mind. She took great professional pride in Susan securing top A-level grades and going on to read mathematics at Durham University.

A couple of weeks before Christmas that year, Abigail caught sight of Susan in the local shopping centre. She almost failed to recognise her; she wasn’t wearing uniform, of course, but a leather jacket and tight-fitting jeans that showed off the curves of her bottom rather well. And her characteristic pony-tail had been replaced with unbound shoulder length hair which Abigail thought suited her. It was only on seeing her face in profile that she realised it was Susan.

Without thinking why, she called out, “Susan! Susan Wilson!”

The young woman turned towards her.

“Oh! Hello, Miss Miller!”

Abigail eased her way through the Christmas shoppers.

“I’m not your teacher any more, Susan, and I’m only a dozen years older than you. I’m sure it won’t be a gross breach of propriety for you to call me Abigail now.”

“OK, Abigail.”

They decided to go for a drink in the Crown, a pub about a quarter of a mile away and coincidentally close to where Abigail had parked her car. As they walked, they chatted about university life. They entered the pub and, after a brief argument with the landlord as to whether ladies could be served pints, they settled in the lounge with a glass of red wine for Abigail and a half pint of beer for Susan. Susan offered Abigail a cigarette and took one herself.

Abigail took out her lighter and lit up for both of them. She took a long drag on hers, exhaled and smiled. “I see being caned didn’t put you off smoking!”

“It put me off bringing them to school.”

“I wondered if it would do even that.”

“Why wouldn’t it? It’s not as if I like being caned.”

Abigail drew on her cigarette.

Maybe you didn’t enjoy the actual caning, but you certainly seemed to enjoy sitting on your caned bottom afterwards!

“Don’t you?”

Susan squirmed. “What makes you ask that?”

Not denying it!

Abigail sipped her wine. “That morning, when you were squirming on your chair like that, you were smiling.”

Susan’s face went bright red and she tensed, as if about to spring out of her seat.

No! Don’t go!”

Almost as if she had heard, Susan relaxed again. She drank some beer, drew on her cigarette, looked around and leaned forward.

In a low voice, words spilled out: “Don’t ask me why because I don’t know, but all my life I found school corporal punishment, both ruler and cane, absolutely fascinating. I used to wonder what it would feel like to be caned.”

She drew on her cigarette again and lowered her voice to little more than a husky whisper. “I more than half wanted it to happen so, that morning, when I was waiting to be caned, I was scared, but I was excited too.”

She drank more beer. “Somehow, the thought of being physically punished for something I’d done wrong really appealed. It hurt, obviously, and I didn’t like that, but the act of submission? I did like that.”

She drew on her cigarette again. “And yes, I liked how it felt when the pain of the caning had eased a bit, and I liked how it felt sitting on my caned bum!” She savagely ground out her cigarette. “You can tell me I’m a freak and a weirdo now!”

You poor girl! How long have you been holding that in?

Abigail placed her hand over Susan’s and squeezed gently.

“Susan, you are not any of those things.”

And if you so want to be caned, am I really such a bad person for wanting to cane her?

“Am I not? Does anyone else in the whole wide world actually want to be caned? I don’t think so!”

Abigail squeezed her hand again. “Then you think wrongly.”

If only you had confided in me! It would have saved us both such heartache!

“Who else do you know?”

Another squeeze.

“You?”

Well, not exactly.

“On occasion, though I prefer to be doing the caning as a rule.” Abigail smiled broadly and briefly, then put on a serious expression. “You obviously fibbed to me that morning, because clearly there was more to tell me. Wasn’t there?”

“I suppose so.”

Abigail smiled briefly. “No ‘suppose’ about it, young lady! And there’s a price to be paid!”

And here goes!

“The same price you paid for having cigarettes in school.”

She watched Susan’s eyes widen as understanding dawned. The younger woman stared thoughtfully at her as she drank her beer. Then she appeared to come to a conclusion and drained her glass.

“When? And where?”

Abigail felt like punching the air, but refrained.

Yes!

“No time like the present. My house would be the obvious place.”

As they gathered up their shopping and walked to Abigail’s car, doubts began to assail her. She had been eager to persuade Susan to agree to be caned. Did her former pupil feel pressured into agreeing? They reached the car and put their shopping on the back seat.

Abigail looked at Susan. “Are you absolutely sure you want to do this?”

Susan nodded.

“It’ll be a proper school caning. I won’t be holding back.”

Susan laughed. “So long as you don’t write to my parents. Mum slippered me last time!”

Abigail laughed in relief. If Susan could joke about it, she was surely totally happy with the prospect of a caning.

“No danger of that. This will purely be between the two of us. Now stop shilly-shallying, young lady!”

Susan smiled as she got into the front passenger seat. “Yes Miss!”

Doesn’t look like she feels pressured!

Abigail smiled in eager anticipation.

On entering her house, Abigail closed the lounge curtains and turned on the lights.

Can’t risk the neighbours seeing anything!

“Take a seat while I go and fetch the cane.”

“Yes, miss.”

Abigail unlocked the cellar door and descended the narrow, bare wooden stairs. She removed the cane from its hiding place and went back upstairs. Susan seemed quite relaxed, though her eyes widened slightly when she saw the cane. Abigail flexed it.

“Take down your jeans and lie on the sofa arm.”

Susan obeyed and lay with her torso on the sofa cushions, her hips on the arm, elevating her bottom invitingly, and her legs stretched out. She seemed totally relaxed.

Abigail hooked her thumbs into Susan’s knicker elastic and began to draw them down. Susan obligingly raised her hips, allowing her knickers to be pulled down to mid-thigh. Abigail looked at Susan’s bare bottom.

Beautiful!

She flexed the cane again and swished it through the air.

“I have to say, Susan, I’m a little disappointed in you. I thought I could trust you to be honest with me.”

“I’m sorry, miss, I was just too embarrassed to admit it. And it was difficult to explain; it wasn’t that I liked being caned. I didn’t. I just liked how I felt once I’d recovered.”

“I could have helped you.”

A pause. “I’m sorry, miss.”

Abigail placed the cane across the middle of Susan’s delightful bottom and drew it back. She raised it and brought it down, watched it bite into the white globes, saw the red line appear almost immediately, heard Susan gasp.

One!

She realised that Susan was looking over her left shoulder, trying to watch the proceedings.

“Eyes forward, young lady!”

Susan obeyed.

Abigail placed the cane on Susan’s bottom again, a little below the red line of the first stroke. Again, she drew it back before raising it and bringing it down on Susan’s defenceless bottom, bringing forth another gasp.

Two!

The third stroke brought forth a little cry and Susan began to breath more heavily.

Three!

Abigail slowly and carefully applied three more strokes, mentally counting them as they descended Susan’s lower buttocks. Each one drew a cry louder than the last. She surveyed the evenly spaced ridges as Susan lay panting on the sofa.

“You may stand whenever you wish.”

“Thank you, miss.”

Susan continued to lie, panting.

I hope I didn’t do it too hard!

When Susan’s breathing had slowed, she stood and placed her hands on her bottom, gently feeling the cane marks. She gave Abigail a little smile.

“Are you alright, Susan?”

Susan nodded.

“If you like, I can give you my phone number here and if ever you need to talk about anything, you can call me.”

“Thank you, that would be great.”

“Well, make yourself comfortable while I make us a pot of tea. Then afterwards, I’ll give you a lift home.”

“Thanks, Abigail.” Susan began gingerly pulling up her knickers and jeans.

While Abigail was brewing the tea and putting biscuits on a plate, Susan came into the kitchen and stood by the work top.

“How is it now?” Abigail asked.

Susan gently rubbed her bottom. “Feeling better!”

Abigail hugged her. “Good!”

Susan returned the hug. “I still can’t believe we’ve just done that!”

“Are you glad we did?”

“God yes! I’ve been wanting a caning for a couple of months, but could barely admit to myself that that’s what I wanted. I’ve never been able to talk to anyone about these feelings and I’m so happy you realised I had them because I’m not sure I would ever have said anything otherwise.”

Abigail gave her a final squeeze. “I’m glad I twigged too, believe me! Are you able to sit down or shall we have tea in here?”

“I think I’ll be okay. Your sofa is a lot softer than a classroom chair and I sat on those with a caned bum!”

After she had returned from dropping Susan off, Abigail sat down in a thoughtful mood. Just as Susan thought of herself as a freak and a weirdo for wanting to be caned, Abigail had often wondered if the fact that she got a thrill from the idea of giving the cane betrayed some kind of psychosis. Thinking about it, she now thought not. Her fantasies had always involved a willing recipient, and she thought she was deluded in believing such people could exist, but Susan’s revelations about her own desires had proven her wrong on that point.

****

Abigail didn’t hear from Susan over Christmas and New Year, and she began to wonder if their encounter had been a one-off. Then, on the first Tuesday evening of the new term, the phone rang.

She picked up the receiver. “Yes?”

Susan’s voice. “Hi Abigail, it’s me. Susan.”

Abigail felt a lift in her mood. “Happy New Year, Susan. How lovely to hear from you!”

“Happy New Year. Reason I’m ringing, I’m going back to Durham on Sunday and I was wondering if I could see you tomorrow or Thursday evening.”

“Are they the only days?”

“Yes. Sorry. I’m out for a meal with my family on Saturday evening and on Friday I’m seeing my friends. My other friends.”

“Thursday would be best for me. Do you want to come here at 7.00 pm?”

“Sure.”

They chatted for a while about their respective festivities before ending the call. Susan had not mentioned the cane, though it seemed the most likely reason she wanted to see Abigail. Perhaps she wasn’t alone at home.

Susan arrived almost on the dot and handed Abigail a bottle of good red Hungarian wine. They hugged and Abigail showed her into the lounge.

“Make yourself comfortable while I open this and get us some glasses. There’s an ash tray on the coffee table if you want to smoke.”

“Thanks.”

It was not the only thing on the coffee table; the cane was there too. Susan felt a strange thrill of pleasure when she saw it.

Abigail brought in the glasses and opened the bottle of wine. She put them on the coffee table, then put a Stones LP on the stereo while Susan poured their drinks. She accepted Susan’s offer of a cigarette as she sat beside her on the sofa.

Susan glanced at the cane. “I’ve got to ask, where did you get that? Did you raid Mrs Braithwaite’s store cupboard?”

Abigail laughed. “Not at all! Souvenir from a training placement.”

“I suspect there’s a story there.”

“There is, and if you’re good I might tell you.”

“I suppose I won’t be hearing it then because if I’m good I won’t be caned.”

Abigail laughed and slapped Susan’s thigh. “Saucy minx! Do you think you need caning?”

Susan glanced at the cane. “Well, it’s out, so I’m thinking you think I do.”

“Well, you have rather neglected me.”

“Sorry Abigail. I did try ringing a couple of times over the holiday when I got the chance, but there was no answer.”

They listened to music and drank the strong Hungarian wine. Eventually Abigail picked up the cane. “Right, young lady! Over the sofa arm!”

Susan began unfastening her jeans but Abigail shook her head. “I thought I’d give you a dose through your jeans first.”

“Oh, okay.”

She positioned herself. Abigail enjoyed the sight; Susan’s skin tight jeans covered her bottom yet showed off every delightful curve. She placed the cane across Susan’s sit spots, raised it and brought it down quite hard.

“Oooo!”

Interesting reaction!

Abigail placed the cane a little lower and realised it was going to be difficult to avoid the strokes overlapping when she couldn’t see the results of her previous efforts.

Swish-whack.

“Mmmmm!”

Swish-whack.

Susan wriggled and sighed again.

Abigail delivered three more strokes to Susan’s lower buttocks, bringing forth two more sighs and one gasp.

“Get your jeans and knickers down and let’s see what you look like.”

Susan obeyed and Abigail had a good look at her handiwork. The lines were reasonably well spaced, but one had crossed the line above it. She trailed her fingers along them. Susan wriggled.

“Right! Back down!”

After a brief hesitation, Susan repositioned herself over the sofa arm. Abigail placed the cane between two lines. She couldn’t raise it too far and be sure of missing the other lines when she delivered the stroke, but a flick of her wrist amplified the force of the reduced swing. Susan gasped at the impact.

Abigail placed the cane between the next two lines and repeated the action. Susan gasped and squirmed. Two more strokes filled in the remaining gaps. The eleventh stroke was going to overlap the crossing stroke from the first six, unfortunately.

Swish-crack.

“Aaaa!”

The twelfth and final stroke landed on Susan’s creases.

“Owwww!”

Abigail put down the cane and gently stroked Susan’s bottom. “You took those very well.”

Susan sighed with pleasure, then looked over her shoulder at Abigail. “You know, apart from the last two, I quite enjoyed that!”

Abigail smiled. “Did you now?” She patted Susan’s buttocks. “Shall I open another bottle?”

Susan nodded.

The End

© John Switch 2021

I am always happy to discuss stories with readers. I can be contacted on Johnnedludd@aol.com