The headmaster’s time at Archdean draws to a close

By PW

Helen Brown had taken 12 hard strokes of the cane early on Saturday morning and the pain and the burning smart had only slightly reduced during the rest of the day, but she sat with her Mother in the evening, more recovered now, sipping wine and watching television. Mr Simmons had advised her to broaden her reading material and this had been talked about with her Mother on and off as the day progressed.

Mrs Brown was sympathetic towards her daughter and understood Helen’s position because her own motivational discipline had actually been successful; at the back of her mind was the knowledge that Mr Simmons would always rise to the occasion again if asked. Indeed, the thought had been playing around in her mind for a while, partly because she felt she could be motivated just as well with a milder session of corporal punishment, but also the local gossip grapevine had one or possibly two other mother/daughter pairs partaking of Mr Simmons’ tutoring and the competitive streak in Penny Brown ran strong. As was her intrinsic curiosity.

Who were these others? One was known, but was it just tutoring or was it discipline too? Or even something else? She was keen to find out, but there seemed to be no easy way. Mr Simmons had been seen entering the house of Mrs Penny Hunt and being seen out by her daughter Annabelle and that was all that was actually known.

Helen went back to University on the Sunday. Meanwhile, back at her old school, Mr Simmons had been asked to come to a meeting at the Education Department. They were less than pleased about his leaving, but staff moving on was a fact of life that just had to be managed and, as it turned out, an exceptionally well qualified potential successor had applied for the job and would be available to start after Easter. The board were conscious that this was a change in plan but felt that if they waited too long this new candidate could be snapped up by another school. Therefore, was Mr Simmons prepared to end his contract early by mutual consent?

For Mr Simmons, this was an opportunity to go travelling in Europe in the less crowded months of May and June, but of course he wasn’t going to tell the Education Authority that. In the end, he agreed to leave at Easter but would be paid until the end of June. Both sides emerged happy from the negotiation, but for Mr Simmons this meant he would be leaving in a little over seven weeks time.

He decided he would go ahead with his idea of holding a couple of small parties at his house, the first for those staff who had given him particular support during his short tenure, and another, for those ladies who had sought out his guidance and had come to him with a need for either pure discipline or else for motivational corporal punishment. Or indeed, he reflected, those who just seemed to like the adrenaline rush.

As he saw each, he invited them with a caution that others, who he could not name, would be there. All had accepted. On a whim one evening, he reached for his notebook. Helen Brown, of course, and her Mother Penny. Stephanie French. Annabelle Hunt, and her Mother Penny. He had caned them both, at their home, last Friday. Catherine Harrison and her Mother Sue. He caned Catherine, a pupil from some years ago, every month, her Mother just occasionally. Then there was Mrs Henderson, who had approached him for help with her diet. He had caned her daughter twice at the school after Helen had left and thought she was another pupil who was attracted to corporal punishment. So was her mother, although he had been given an assurance that Henderson junior did not know about the arrangement. Finally two more former pupils, who had somehow heard that he was willing to give discipline to those who requested it, Nicola Mitchell who had gone off to University three years ago, given up but now wanted to try again on a different course which meant studying A levels at night school, and Emma Taylor who had left at about the same time. Neither seemed to have been able to supply a solid reason for seeing him or indeed whether they had first found out from any of the others he saw, but he did know Miss Taylor was the cousin of Annabelle Hunt.

Having a number of women at his house who otherwise probably didn’t know each particularly well was not without some danger, but he felt he couldn’t leave without making a gesture. However, he knew all of the ladies he had asked had shown obvious interest and all had said yes, they would like to come. They all seemed to not want to appear too keen but were actually quite desperate to find out who else had been partaking.

Helen visited again at the end of February and was told about the change of leaving date. As Easter was quite early that year, James Simmons explained he was now in his last three weeks at Archdean. Her session with him was on a Saturday morning as usual, with Mrs Brown coming back to pick her up after she had been caned. The sky was by now lighter and, while it was still cold, the weather was improving. Realising that time was now very limited, Helen and Mr Simmons had agreed on a final meeting at the school in three weeks time.

It wasn’t cold enough to chill Helen’s hindquarters. Twelve blazing hot, seriously stinging, cuts of the cane had been applied to her bottom, bared and presented as she bent over the stool. Time after time, the cane had swished venomously down, each stroke leaving a bright red line that rapidly darkened and swelled, the immediate shock of pain turning to a deep, intense smarting that built into devilish heat and left Helen gasping for breath, tense from head to foot and with tears falling freely as she finally stood up. After pulling herself together she had presented before the Headmaster, as usual naked from the waist down, as they had a short discussion before Helen changed and left the premises.

Over the weekend, with Mum supportive but noticeably more inquisitive, Helen thought that three weeks later would actually be a good time. Her Mother would be in Washington so she would be alone in the house, her University term ended and a visit to her boyfriend happening just over a week later.

‘Time enough for recovery,’ thought Helen, and despite her hot and sore bottom reminding her of the power of the cane, she began to wonder about the tartan trousers and tartan skirt again. One administration of the cane over trousers, one with her Mum’s skirt on, and one, as usual, bare bottomed over the stool. She became captivated by her own imaginings and the potential events formed a series of pictures in her mind, which were reinforced with another idea that formed while she was on the train back to University on the Sunday afternoon.

The idea was a vivid one and came like a bolt from the blue. What if she volunteered to be caned in public, in front of all of James Simmons’ guests, at his house party? The thought sent her heart thumping, her head spinning and her libido soaring into a kind of breathless delirium on the train and stayed with her for the next few days. She couldn’t get the idea out of her head. While she was sorry to see James Simmons leave, he could go out doing what he did best; caning her.

Helen had also mentioned the house party to her Mother and, instead of the expected polite denouncement, Penny Brown had noticeably shown considerable interest. A Mother and Daughter double act? The idea was somehow appealing in its own right. Helen was in a very happy place in those last weeks of Easter term, even more so when she called Mr Simmons one evening and asked if she could extend the range of discipline slightly, explaining her idea about the trousers and skirt. He, of course, agreed although directly questioned Helen about taking eighteen strokes; however she proposed that using the lighter junior school cane as well as the dragon would remind her of the other discipline she had received throughout her time at the school and would be a fitting way to bring her visits to Archdean to an end. Needless to say Mr Simmons agreed.

What had been left unsaid was her idea of offering herself as a caning model. She couldn’t find the words, and in any case the opportunity to explore the idea hadn’t really arisen during the conversation. Also, at the back of her mind was a little thought that broaching it now might perhaps not go down so well with Mr Simmons.

‘Better see if I can ask after I’ve seen him again,’ mused Helen. She didn’t want to do anything that might create difficulties at her next, and possibly final, appointment.

The happy and contented feeling was still with her when, on a Saturday towards the end of March, she drove herself to the school, parked and made her final visit to the Headmaster’s study for the cane. James Simmons’ work at the school officially ended on the last day of March, in a few days time, but he had said his farewells at the end of term assembly the day before and he was now tidying up; somehow, fittingly, the last special appointment was with Helen Brown.

While waiting for her to arrive, he reflected that it had been an unexpectedly difficult week at the school. His leaving seeming to bring on an outbreak of unruly behaviour, especially from some of the senior girls, a couple of whom had, until then, exemplary records. Of course there was always a little letting off of steam as the end of term approached, but he had caned Alison Phillips for the first time and had her mother Mrs Phillips come in to see him the next day, who bemused him by saying it had been her fault that Alison was late for school. The caning had been nothing to do with that at all, it had been insolence and throwing a Mars bar at another pupil which had missed and broken a window as Mrs Tait, the senior Maths teacher, had been walking past outside, showering her with broken glass.

On further investigation, it had not been the first missile thrown and Mr Simmons concluded the window breakage was deliberate and Alison had been quite rude later,  but Mrs Phillips had said: “You should have called me in for a caning, it was my fault,” in what had been a slightly heated exchange.

He had noted that Alison had taken her sentence of three strokes stoically and with little fuss. And that she had reported to him wearing a thong. Then there had been Jennifer Knight, a potential Oxford candidate, also caned for the first time for failing to hand homework in, then swearing at her teacher. Old Mrs Hopgood couldn’t decide whether she was more shocked by the language or who it came from. She was escorted to her caning by the Head Girl, Jane Thompson, who had taken over from Stephanie French and who, having witnessed Jennifer Knight’s caning, asked immediately afterwards if she could speak to him privately, then confessed to failing to hand homework in twice at the beginning of the week and felt she should tell him before the teachers’ reports reached his desk. She said she expected to receive six strokes of the cane, almost inviting her own punishment. They were duly delivered and she left his office chastened but not upset.

On the last day, he had punished Sally Henderson, the third time he had caned her in just two terms, then finally Jane Aldridge, another star pupil, had been brought to him for unruly behaviour and being cheeky to teachers after also breaking a window in the sixth form common room, this time with a hockey ball. In the presence of the Head Girl, she too had been asked to bend over, displaying a pair of lacy panties that were certainly not regulation but at this time Mr Simmons thought giving her three strokes would be enough. Afterwards, with a tear in her eye she stood and apologised for her behaviour, saying that she had become too excited because it was the end of term, that she wouldn’t let it happen again, and thanked him for caning her. Her Mother had made an appointment to come and see him on Monday about the matter. He saw that he had had to use the cane nearly as much in the last week as in the whole of the preceding term,.on school business, at least.

As he had reflected further while waiting for Helen to arrive, he knew he still had several of his ‘clients’ to see at their homes over the Easter holidays. The ring of the school doorbell brought him back to the business in hand.

After the initial greeting, Helen nervously explained again what she had in mind, starting off with the six strokes across the seat of her tartan trousers, then the same number with the tartan skirt and a pair of navy briefs, through all of which she would receive the standard cane, then the final application, this time of the dragon cane, would be on her bare bottom while she was wearing her usual uniform. James Simmons almost smiled at the detail of Helen’s thought. She asked if she could get changed outside and received a courteous nod in reply. She had already decided not to float the ‘caning model’ idea until the very end.

Three minutes later, she nervously tapped at his door and received his invitation to come in. When she did, Mr Simmons saw she was wearing the tartan trousers last seen some months before, along with her standard white shirt.

“Very smart, Helen. I can see why you like them,” he said before inviting Helen to bend over the stool for her initial six strokes.

Helen was really loving this. She adored the dressing up and liked the clothes her mother had bought. She bent herself over the stool and awaited the welcome razor sharp impact of the more slender rod which she knew would be accentuated by the tight trousers. She was not wrong; by the third stroke she had tears in her eyes and the powerful sting of the cane was almost overwhelming. By the time the sixth stroke swished against her bottom, Helen was ‘ouching’ every time and breathing hard, but the effect was exactly as she had wanted, the tight trousers amplifying the intensity of each application of the junior cane. She waited over the stool for a full minute, catching her breath and recovering slightly, then rising up, hands on her well warmed seat and asking Mr Simmons if it would be all right to go outside and get changed again.

This took five minutes. Mr Simmons expected Helen to use some of the time to give her bottom a good rub. He returned to his desk and checked the drawers one more time; all empty. The canes would leave with him today. The education department had decreed that the new regime at the school would no longer use corporal punishment and he told them he would dispose of them with his garden waste.

He mused whether they would ever see use again; he doubted it. Then Helen knocked on the door, interrupting his thoughts. He waited a few seconds before commanding her to come in and was pleasantly surprised by the neat, just-above-the-knee tartan skirt, the white socks and the white shirt again. Helen stood in front of him as she waited on his word of command. He nodded in acknowledgement at the effort she had made.

“To the stool, Helen,” he said. “Lift your skirt up. Six strokes of the cane across your panties,” he said.

For his former head girl, she was feeling both apprehension and excitement; she liked the clothes, the dressing up, the submission, the discipline, being in the presence of Mr Simmons. More than anything, being caned, feeling the great flash of pain as the whippy rod was used to apply stinging strokes to her bottom.

She bent over the stool for the second time that morning, lifting her skirt up to reveal a pair of full navy knickers. Mr Simmons liked what he saw. He lifted the cane and measured it carefully before bringing it down smartly across the top of Helen’s thighs, causing his favourite ex-pupil to jerk and cry. This was a deeper, more cutting stroke. So was the next one, right across the centre of her bottom. For Helen, too, this was a slightly different sensation; although presenting her bottom quite bare to the headmaster gave her particular pleasure, being caned across her panties and over the earlier strokes was somehow different. And it was still very painful, as she jerked against the powerful stinging of the third stroke and the same with the fourth, whose impact caused her to gasp out loud again and breathe hard. The fifth and sixth had much the same effect and Helen again remained bent over for a full minute after the caning had ended as she gathered herself together again and the waves of immediate sting gave way to a deep, heavy, intense, burning smart.

“Thank you, Headmaster,” she said as she lifted herself off the stool. No tears this time but the sensation of being caned in her knickers was on her mind suddenly as she struggled for words to ask his permission to leave the office and change again, this time into her school clothes ahead of the final session over the stool.

Then the idea that had developed in her mind about the party suddenly flooded into her thoughts. The party. She couldn’t, could she? Not now, no. The plan was to raise it later. But she was suddenly doubly determined to ask Mr Simmons that if the situation arose when all were gathered at his house, could she be his caning model. Could she be allowed to show off her ability to take a hard caning in front of all the other guests? The thought grew and gave her a sharp adrenaline rush. Then suddenly she realised she had enjoyed being caned in her knickers a lot; all together this could be terrific. Despite the heat and pain in her bottom, she found her thoughts quite exhilarating.

“Are you all right Helen?” queried Mr Simmons, aware that his former head girl had gone into a dreamy, trance-like state.

Helen came round and looked at him. “Yes, Headmaster. Sorry, Sir. An idea came into my mind, that’s all, and one maybe, er, um, er, well, er, Sir, perhaps it’s just something for maybe another day, Sir.”

She asked his permission to go and get changed again, but out of the room Helen’s fertile imagination went into high gear. She could wear the tartan trousers as a signal that she would take a caning at his party. How to broach it. For now she put these thoughts to the back of her mind as she stepped out of her Mother’s tartan skirt and zipped up her own plain navy one. She levelled her socks again and looked at herself in an imaginary mirror. Hot bottom and more to come. She had never taken eighteen strokes before, but now suddenly the competitive side of Helen Brown came out again and with new resolve not to cry she stepped towards the Study door and knocked. She would show herself she could take eighteen strokes.

A few minutes later, her favourite dragon cane swished against her bare bottom, making her shiver and tense up massively, but the cry was stifled. The next stroke, landing on previous welts, made her whole body stiffen from head to foot and a gritty ‘owww’ escaped her lips. She needed to take a slow breath to steady her but even the third cut, slashing across the tops of her thighs again, only made Helen ‘ouch’ and ‘ow’ and press her toes hard against the floor and knees together. The fourth, delivered after a good delay, sliced through the air and spanked Helen right across the centre of her bottom, landing on least three previous weals and causing a sharp cry this time, and a long groan as the Headmaster’s favourite girl struggled to come to terms with this fresh outburst of stinging fire. After another slow breath, Mr Simmons caned her again, low down, near the join between her thighs and her bottom, causing Helen to shake and jerk and gasp out loud. But all too soon, from Mr Simmons’s point of view, came the eighteenth and last stroke, applied with force, making Helen’s entire body go rigid before she cried out, twice, then gasped and sucked her breath in. Her bottom was now red all over, burning like fire, and crossed by angrier darker red lines where the dragon cane had done its work, delivering a caning of special power and pain, just as intended.

Helen again lay in position, she knew it was over and knew she had survived. Her bottom was hotter than she had ever known. If it was to be the last time James Simmons caned her then it had been memorable; six exquisitely stinging strokes across the seat of her tight trousers; six with the same, instantly painful cane across her panties, then six more on her bare bottom from the dragon cane, leaving welts and ridges along with an intense, hot smarting and a girl struggling to come to terms with what had happened.

It was the same for James Simmons. He had always wondered how Helen would react if really thrashed; he supposed it would be very much as she had done today. He regretted that this would be the last time, yet somehow supposed Helen might be able to find someone else to oblige. But she was a complex girl; her thirst for corporal punishment matched by a sharp intellect and a strong sense of honour and loyalty. He sensed, rather than knew as a fact, that part of Helen was reacting to him as an authority figure, but he was also quite happy with her explanation that her desire to be caned was motivational, or at least mainly so.

Helen thanked him again as she stood up and adjusted her clothes, unable to stop a tear running down her cheek. Her bottom was absolutely on fire. Mr Simmons nodded in reply as she left the office without another word.

As soon as the Study door closed, her hands flew down and the massaging started.

‘Thank goodness I left the body lotion in the fridge,’ she thought, feeling the ridges and her own hands telling her how hot things were down there. ‘Wow,’ she thought to herself. ‘Eighteen strokes and I didn’t cry.’

Five minutes later, as she was pulling on her sweater, she wondered if she could really speak of her ideas to Mr Simmons. Somehow, she now thought he was easier to speak to on the phone, but convinced herself this was just nerves. It had to be done now. After finishing dressing and wiping some tears from her eyes she steeled herself, took a deep breath, then knocked on the Headmaster’s door for the last time.

There was little delay. Inside, James Simmons looked at his former head girl, the irrepressible Helen Brown. A girl who had surprised him time after time and was now stood before him with almost a faint smile on her lips, yet he knew her bottom must have been uncomfortably scorching away as she stood there.

“Well, Helen, that last time in this office for both of us together. I know what has gone on has been special and unconventional. I can only say I hope this has been of value to you.”

At this, he thrust his hand out, expecting Helen to take it; they could shake on their joint experience. Instead Helen looked up shyly.

“Earlier, Headmaster…, I hope you don’t mind me explaining my thoughts, er, when you asked me if I was all right. Er, it was just a thought.”

James Simmons could see Helen was struggling slightly to get something out, but remained silent, giving her room to continue. He lowered his hand and effected a smile. After maybe thirty seconds she did.

“You know, em, you have invited several persons to your house in May; might I presume that, er, this is some of us who have, er, had reason to seek motivational discipline?” Her voice tailed off and she was finding it very hard not to stutter.

For James Simmons, he was curious to see where this was going. He looked at her and made a movement of his hand as encouragement.

“Yes, well, as I think you know, it’s not just former pupils, but it’s just for a few drinks and of course under the rule that it’s all to be kept strictly between ourselves. What have you in mind?”

Helen just had to blurt it out. “I was thinking, Sir. If appropriate, er, well, if you thought it appropriate, Sir, er, well, I would be willing to be caned in front of everyone, sir, as a sort of, well, er, demonstration of the art.” After saying this she could only shrug her shoulders.

“I’d not considered it to be that sort of party,” said a plainly staggered James Simmons straight away. But then his thoughts took over in a different direction. “I’m not too sure that would work,” he said. “But as all of the guests that day would have, er, well, as you correctly surmised, have used my services it might be possible. I’m not sure. I think it would have to be decided on the day, and something like this could perhaps spoil the party for others.”

Helen pondered for a moment. Mr Simmons was too senior, too powerful for her to contradict.

“It was just something that came into my head, Sir. It was only a thought. I think my Mother was interested in coming and it sort of triggered something in us.”

Her words triggered something in Mr Simmons. “I didn’t know Mrs Brown was interested. I’m not even sure I invited her?”

“You didn’t, Sir, but I told her about it and she was definitely interested. I’m certain if you invite her she will come along.”

“Won’t that prevent you taking a caning in front of everyone? I thought your Mother had gone off the idea completely?”

Helen took a few moments to compose her reply. “I think she was put off when she took her strapping, Sir, but she has had time to come to terms with it. She might well be interested in taking discipline in front of everyone too. Maybe not as severe as last time though. Obviously I can’t speak for her, and she is away right now and won’t be back for a few weeks. I have an idea though, sir? I’ll speak to her and if she’s happy with it I’ll suggest if she does come she wears her tartan skirt. In fact we will be in matching tartans again. That could be your signal, Sir.”

James Simmons was almost breathless. Helen had surprised him many times. Now, she was almost suggesting a spanking demonstration, to be held at his house, involving Helen and her Mother. And he felt sure that if two came forward, others would too. Maybe Helen had reserved her biggest surprise for the very end; his heart leapt at the possibility she had conjured. He nodded.

“I will give it some thought,” he said, trying to keep his emotions under control.

They finally shook hands, five minutes after James Simmons had offered. But Helen couldn’t miss the look that had flashed across his eyes. She knew he was interested.

Later, at home, after putting plenty of cold cream on her bottom, scenes entered her own mind of being caned in public. So too, not far away, did that of her former Headmaster. As he had done several times before in his mind, he listed the most recent events with his ‘group’. There had been Helen, of course, and her Mother, Penny. Stephanie French. Annabelle Hunt and her Mother, Penny. He had caned them both, at their home, last Friday. Penny in fact had requested another appointment just after the Easter weekend. There was Catherine Harrison and her Mother Sue. He caned Catherine, a pupil from some years ago, almost monthly, her Mother just occasionally. In fact he was due to visit Catherine on the coming Sunday afternoon. Mrs Clare Henderson, Sally Henderson’s mother who had asked for his support with her dieting after learning he had taken a cane to her daughter. He smiled; her ‘treatment,’ if that is what it could be called, had gone well but she still bent over for six of the best every month, now a comparatively svelte size 10. She said being caned helped with her self control. He was visiting her on the Monday evening, about ten days away, or was it twelve? But sadly, she had already said his party clashed with a wedding invitation, as one of her nieces was getting married that day. “But if you arrange another anytime, I’d love to come and meet everyone,” she had said, somewhat cheekily. 

Finally, there were the two former pupils, Emma Taylor and Nicola Mitchell, who both appeared before him dressed similarly; short skirts and sports socks with navy knickers. He shook his head to clear it and decided he had better get on with some work, starting with taking the canes out of his car and hiding them somewhere safe.

On the Sunday afternoon, he drove over to a neighbouring village and parked discreetly, then walked discreetly to the small thatched cottage behind a hedge, his map case swinging. On the Saturday afternoon, only a couple of hours after he had said goodbye to Helen, Mrs Harrison had asked for an appointment with him too, while he was at her house disciplining Catherine. The procedure, when they were caned together, was the one he had used when disciplining Helen and Penny Brown; they would sit together outside the room first and wait be called in, one by one. He would inform them they were to receive six strokes of the cane. The standard school cane was what they both preferred, although Catherine had also received the dragon cane several times. He would instruct them to lift up their skirts, take their panties down and present their bare bottoms as they bent tightly over a chair placed in the centre of the room.

He took his time, caning each lady slowly, starting with Catherine. Her Mother, Sue, hovered outside the door, her apprehension rising to fever pitch as she listened to every sound, every swish, every cry, every thwack, knowing that in two or three short minutes it would be her bent over the chair, her panties down, her own bare bottom exposed and presented to receive those acutely stinging strokes of the cane. Her throat was dry and she started, as if in fright, as she heard another stroke administered, this one bringing a strangled cry from her daughter as the intense pain of the whippy rod overwhelmed her.

Catherine came out, tears in her eyes and her hands pressed firmly to her bottom. As Mr Simmons called Sue Harrison in, her daughter gave her a little hug, then, as the door closed, Harrison junior, like her Mother had been doing just minutes earlier, stationed herself as close as she could to the gap to listen to proceedings. She heard the sentence; six strokes of the cane, and the calm, clear instruction to her Mother to lift her skirt right up and take down her panties. Then there was a delay before the unmistakeable swish of the cane and the thwick of its impact was heard, followed quickly by a rasping breath and a cry, a loud gasp and a not-quite-under-the-breath expletive. Mrs Harrison was eventually awarded an extra stroke for standing up, and tears were flowing freely by the time the caning came to an end.

About forty minutes later, he sat with both women in the kitchen, having agreed to stay for a cup of tea with them. There were cushions on two of the stools as they sat at the small breakfast bar. Mrs Harrison was able to keep up the conversation despite feeling the hot cane stripes burning on her bottom and reflected that the next time they would all be together might be at his leaving party; or maybe not, she mused, flashing a look at her daughter, who she remembered had another appointment with her former Headmaster later in April. She determined to make it another joint one. She had really enjoyed being caned. Mention of the party made Mrs Harrison muse a little.

“You know at your party in May, Headmaster,” she said in a dreamy sort of voice. “I somehow think that the other guests might be people like us?” She moved her head to one side, Mr Simmons not answering, seeing some further words were coming. “Well, I mean, er, well, if the opportunity arose, I mean, I know it might not be planned, well I mean, it’s a summer party, but, er, well, just say something happens and as we are all aware of what we’ve all been asking you for, I, er, well. Um, I wouldn’t mind letting you show off your prowess, Headmaster?”

It had taken Sue Harrison about twice as long to say as Helen Brown, but as soon as the stuttering had begun the now former Headmaster of Archdean realised where the statement was going. He demurred, of course, and said he wasn’t intending the party as such, but agreed, somewhat sheepishly, that the guests were all indeed ‘special’ in the way suggested.

This brought a knowing nod but Mrs Harrison started speaking again, egged on by Catherine, her daughter, who suddenly said: “Go on, Mum, you know you want to,” resulting in a shy smile.

“Headmaster, if the opportunity arises, I…” After a nudge from Catherine, she quickly revised her remark. “Sorry, we, both of us, would be happy to be caned, if the party goes that way.”

Less flabbergasted than the last time, Mr Simmons said he would have to see how the party developed. Then he asked the ladies how they would feel if he proposed such an activity and they had actually gone off the idea.

After looking at one another, Mrs Harrison said: “Well, if we both appear in skirts there will have been no changing of our minds. If we do change our minds, for any reason, we will come in trousers.”

All Mr Simmons could do was nod and repeat that all they could do was see what happened on the day, voicing again that it might just not be appropriate. He took his leave shortly after, shaking his head slightly as he headed towards his car.

On the Monday, back at school, he continued arrangements and said some more farewells. Mrs Aldridge came to see him in the afternoon. He was expecting a difficult meeting after he had been left with no choice but to cane her daughter for the very first time at the end of the previous week. While not terribly warm, at least to start with, Mrs Aldridge said she felt the practice of corporal punishment was outdated and was surprised that it had happened. He was able to explain that, with the change of Headmaster, the school policy was changing and in fact corporal punishment was ending.

Mrs Aldridge said: “Please call me Angela, or Angie,” before making her main point. “The cane left marks on her bottom that I was very angry about, but then on Saturday night I discovered she had gone out with her friends in a very short mini skirt, no doubt showing them off.” Then in a more dreamy voice she added: “She also got on with helping in the garden and in the house on Sunday. She often does anyway, she’s a good girl, she just seemed to make an extra effort. I take it there is no doubt that she did actually break the window?”

After being assured that two teachers had seen what had happened and deciding not to add anything about the cheek and display both of outright bad manners and lack of respect shown later, Mr Simmons felt he had assured Mrs Aldridge that school procedure had been followed and that Jane had been caught red-handed actually throwing the ball at another pupil and by missing the pupil had caused damage to school property.

Mollified, Mrs Aldridge stood up. “I am sorry it came to this. Headmaster. I was extremely angry at the time, but Jane seemed to get over it quickly. I am sure it will not happen again.”

James Simmons sensed she was hovering slightly. There was a short, awkward silence.

“Would it be possible to see the cane used, Headmaster? It’s just, well, I was caned at school, just the once. I’m curious, that’s all.”

“I am afraid I took them home at the weekend, Mrs Aldridge. I spoke to the education authority and they asked me to dispose of them. In due course they will probably find use somewhere, in the garden most likely.”

Seeing her look quite crestfallen. he went on: “If you are really so keen to see one you would be welcome to call around at the weekend. As you know, I leave here on Wednesday.” He scribbled down his address and telephone number. Mrs Aldridge looked happy.

“If that’s a genuine invitation, and I see it is, then yes, I might do. I’ll call. Thank you very much. And thank you for dealing with my daughter. I know she is a nice girl and very clever, but we all need reminding sometimes there are limits and rules and I think that being caned might have a beneficial effect on her.”

Mr Simmons saw her out, then made a few notes.

No wedding ring. Nicely spoken and easy acceptance of authority. Well dressed. Nicely made up. Mrs Aldridge had made an effort to impress. And as for daughter Jane, her mother had just confirmed that she had deliberately set out to get herself caned and then had gone out bragging about it.

The rest of the week was quite sad for Mr Simmons. He had invested a lot of his life’s energy into Archdean and he found he had unexpected ties. His Secretary was in tears on the Wednesday afternoon as he said goodbye. Several staff members came in to see him and were quite emotional. In a way, it was nice to go like this, with so many saying they wished he could stay, rather than other Heads he had heard of, where the staff couldn’t wait to see the back of them. It was draining, though, and after the final farewells he found he needed all of Thursday to recover his equilibrium.

Friday was, of course, Good Friday and he had already organised himself to go to a garden centre. It was still quite cold but he wanted to try to get ahead so the garden would be pretty once he put his house on the market. He picked up some early bedding plants and some lawn fertiliser before heading back. As he was cooking lunch, the phone went. It was Angie Aldridge, who somewhat haltingly said her curiosity had completely got the better of her and could she come over that afternoon, even though it wasn’t quite the weekend yet? James Simmons tried to slightly put her off; he had in fact completely forgotten about her in the turmoil of actually leaving, but then relented and agreed to see her at 3.00PM.

He ate, then went and took the canes out of the shed, gave them a wipe and left them to dry propped in a corner but out of sight of the kitchen table. As he sipped his tea, he played a little game with himself; what would Mrs Aldridge be wearing? He already knew she would ask to try one of the canes. He smiled to himself but then decided to get on in the garden with some work.

At quarter to three he washed, set the kettle to boil and checked his lounge was tidy. Mrs Aldridge rang the bell at exactly 3 o’clock and followed him through to the kitchen, accepting the offer of a cup of tea while she left her coat in the hall and said several times she hoped she wasn’t disrupting anything and how grateful she was for inviting her around. He smiled to himself at the knee length skirt. As predicted.

Tea was sipped, with Mrs Aldridge clearly nervous. After about ten minutes of small talk, he offered to get the canes and show her, speaking as he stood up about his disappointment whenever he had had to use one.

“I set a lot of store in self-discipline,” he told her. “Not everyone is perfect, of course. Lapses happen.” He finished the sentence with a gesture of his hands before stepping to the back of the kitchen and picking up the canes.

Mrs Aldridge’s eyes opened wide as he offered them to her.

“This one,” indicating the thinner of the two, “was the one last used,” he said.

Mrs Aldridge swished it through the air and, holding it about halfway down, gave her hand a few test taps.

“I remember something like this from school,” she said.

James Simmons nodded. “I think they are standard educational issue,” he said. “Now gone from Archdeanfor good.”

This produced something of a short animated response.

“I’m not sure I agree now, having actually thought about it and seen the effect on my daughter,” was the quick reply. “It gets something dealt with then and there, and it is the best kind of lesson that isn’t quickly forgotten. I was caned once and nearly so another two or three times. I expect Jane deserved it. I was surprised when she told me. I thought it had been phased out and my initial reaction was one of shock, especially when I saw the marks and, of course, I rang you straight afterwards. Now I think I approve. And in fact I believe my daughter would say the same thing.” She tapped the cane against her palm again with a little sigh.

“Perhaps I can remind you of what a cane stroke feels like?” he offered quietly.

Her eyes shot up to meet his own and her lip wobbled, but she said: “Could I? I mean, just one or two strokes? Not too hard though.”

“Why don’t you take the same as Jane?” proposed Mr Simmons. “Then it’s more like a proper caning. How many strokes did you get when you were caned at school?” he asked.

“Three,” she said, then after a short delay, “All right, yes, I will take three strokes. I should have been caned again at school anyway.”

Mr Simmons picked up the canes and asked her to follow him into the lounge where he pulled a chair in the middle of the room.

“If you are ready, I would like you to raise your skirt then bend right over this chair. I will not cane you hard but the cane is a deterrent so you should brace yourself. If you move, I will give you the stroke again.”

Mrs Aldridge nodded. “Will you be using the same cane you used on Jane?” she asked.

Mr Simmons confirmed that it would be. Again he saw the biting of the lip, but then she turned and slowly lifted up her skirt, revealing the tops of her hold ups and a pair of full white panties. She bent over the chair and, a second later, felt the cane press against her bottom. Unseen, she closed her eyes and waited; her twenty-five year desire to feel the cane spanking her bottom again was very nearly over.

She nearly jumped out of her skin when the first stroke landed, but apart from crying out and nearly standing up, was just about able to maintain her position, then she apologised.

Mr Simmons landed the second stroke, slightly harder, but this time Mrs Aldridge stayed still. The third stroke was also at medium severity and again there was a loud gasp and a cry and a leg was raised, but Angela Aldridge stayed in position, only breathing hard as she reacted to the sting of the cane strokes. She stood up when told, then asked if she could rub her bottom which Mr Simmons agreed to straight away.

“It stings a lot; I had forgotten,” she said in a strong voice. “I should have volunteered to take my knickers down, shouldn’t I? Silly me.” After a few seconds of rubbing, she looked up again. “Don’t know what all the fuss was about,” she said, wiping away a tear. “You should have given my daughter six of the best and me six of the best for not controlling her better,” all said with a smile, but the emotion in her voice was strong.

“I could always give you a couple more,” offered Mr Simmons, also smiling.

The offer was declined. “Not this time, thank you,” and a fresh pot of tea was made.

As they sat at the table in the kitchen, Mr Simmons decided not to beat about the bush and asked Mrs Aldridge outright if she would like to come again, a fortnight from today.

She made a show of being taken aback by the offer but after some, “well, I, er,” hesitant mumblings, coyly agreed. “I take it I will be getting six of the best next time?” she asked with a smile.

He smiled back. “Yes, I and I will take you up on your suggestion you should have taken you knickers down,” he replied, producing another display of mock embarrassment and, “Oh Mr Simmons, really!” from her.

Both knew what was going to happen when they next met.

A few days later, he visited Mrs Hunt to administer the regular six strokes of the cane she always took, hearing, “there is just something about being told you are going to get six of the best.”

Wearing her powder blue dress, they had taken tea together afterwards and he had been told that if she attended his party in the same dress then both she and Annabelle, along with cousin Emma, would be willing to be caned in front of all the other guests.

A week later, as Nicola Mitchell eased her panties up over the redness and hot welts on her bottom left by six perfect strokes from the dragon cane, she mischievously asked: “Is it short skirts and navy knickers for your party, Headmaster?”

So they were all at it. He smiled on the way home and wondered if he should order in some new canes. The ones he had were certainly going to have a lot of work to do come May. They might even get worn out. There were more spankings to come. Next, after Mrs Henderson had had to postpone, would be Angela Aldridge for her second appointment.

His newest recruit was on time again, in a midi-length dress. Mrs Aldridge was an attractive woman in her early forties, quite tall, like her daughter, a small bust but nice legs and good clothes, some nice jewellery too, and a powerful laugh. Minimal make up. This time she was slightly less nervous and, after they had finished their tea, she was keen to get on with the spanking itself, leading the way to the lounge then asking Mr Simmons how he wanted her.

“Over the chair again, Mrs Aldridge, skirt up and out of the way, and with your panties down please,” he said, firmly.

She loved his word of command. It was like she had dreamed of. As she reached for the hem of her dress, she looked at him and asked if she would be getting the strokes at full force this time.

“As hard as I would normally give them,” he said.

She looked at the floor and pursed her lips. “Good. I think I deserve a proper caning,” were her words as she turned to the chair, reached under her skirt and pulled her knickers down before lifting up her skirt again and bending over. She was continuing to fulfil her long held fantasy where she was caned hard on her bare bottom by a dominant man. She shivered in a mixture of anticipation, trepidation, apprehension and fear at the coming test.

Mr Simmons laid the cane against her, letting it rest there for a few seconds and seeing another appreciative shiver. Then he applied the first stroke. She did not move, nor was there any sound after it spanked into her bottom, quickly leaving its tell tale red stripe. Nor was there any sound after the swish and thwick of the second stroke, again bringing out a red stripe but nothing else.

‘Made of stern stuff,’ thought James Simmons.

The third stroke equally was taken in silence and, apart from a slight raising of her right foot, in complete acceptance by Angela Aldridge.

It was only after the fifth cutting stroke had whipped home that there was any physical response; a stiffening of the body and a strangled cry, a gasping, deep groan, followed by a loud sucking in of breath. But no more. The sixth stroke produced a gasping, choking cough and Mrs Aldridge raised her leg from the knee, but after an intense few breaths settled down and remained perfectly bent over the chair, the six fresh stripes prominent on her pale bottom.

“You may get up now, Mrs Aldridge,” was all that was said, and his words were obeyed. She turned to him and thanked him for the caning, then applied her hands to her bottom where she was kneading slowly, then rubbing, then massaging. He felt she wanted to say something but perhaps not now, not this time.

They had another cup of tea together and made small talk for a while. Shyly, Mrs Aldridge asked if she could have another appointment, but of course gave no reason. However, Mr Simmons was quite flattered to be asked and queried as to when she might next want to come. A fortnight’s time was agreed. It would have to be on the Saturday, as his small staff party was on the Sunday. There was a hint of a smile.

“We’re having a weeks’ holiday soon after,” she said, dreamily. “Flying on the Friday evening, in fact. It’s half term.” She made a gesture and smiled more fully now.

After a few seconds she spoke again. “I expect you think I am a bit strange wanting this. The thing is, after you caned my daughter it woke up something in me, something that had been dormant, but now I think about it, well, maybe it never fully was. I can’t explain it,” and her voice tailed off. With a shake of her head she said: “Also, I have something to admit to you.” She bit her lip coyly and looked at the table. “After I was caned at school, it was shortly before I left, I just, well, er, I think from then on I had this thing about being caned. I hope you don’t mind. I knew you were leaving, so, well. Er. As I said, once my anger had subsided, the old desire suddenly surfaced again.”

Angela Aldridge’s face went beetroot red. Her voice gave out and she fixed her eyes on the table in front of her. “I think I will receive extra next time for this?” she said, in a middling tone. It was clear to James Simmons that this was a plea for a more severe punishment, but all he could say was: “I think we ought to consider it when it happens,” and received a nod in agreement.

He felt there was something more she wanted to say, and for his part he wanted to ask if Jane, her daughter, knew of what she was doing, but thought it was overstepping into personal matters. For now, at least.

They parted at his front door a few minutes later. On the rear parcel shelf of her car, he noticed several boxes of bedding plants. So to anyone asking, that was what Mrs Aldridge had been doing. Not drinking tea and being caned. His thoughts turned to his own parties. He would have liked to invite Mrs Aldridge in a way, but then if her daughter hadn’t known it would have been difficult for her to come along, what with the efficiency of the local gossip grapevine. And her daughter was still at school, at least for a few weeks. So, no; but anyway she had ruled herself out. ‘For the best,’ he thought.

A wise man, he was aware of the undercurrent that was running. His regular group would be quite enough for one man to deal with if things turned that way. He returned the canes to the shed, and set about making himself some tea. He decided to make an extra visit to the gym each week from now on. He expected he would need some extra reserves of both strength and stamina.

The End

© Phillippa Welch 2019