A schoolgirl seeks the help of her form master – with painful consequences!
By Sheila MacKintosh
It was a warm spring day which made it feel especially perilous loitering in the cloakroom since virtually none of us had brought coats. The school seemed to take forever to clear, although when I finally left the cloakroom it was still only twelve minutes past four.
I peered round the corner and saw the corridor was empty. However hard I tried to walk quietly, my shoes seemed to make an awfully loud clicking sound on the hard concrete floor and I was sure I would be discovered at any moment. Nonetheless, I made it safely up to the first floor and hovered outside Mr Peters’ door. I read and re-read the little sign that said ‘D. Peters – Senior Form Master’ over and over again before finally tapping gently on the dark blue painted timber door.
I hesitated. My heart pounded and it was only the fear of causing him unnecessary annoyance that gave me the courage to turn the handle and push the door open.
“Camilla! And to what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?”
As I peered inside the small office I knew he’d not be thinking it a pleasure in a few minutes time, not when he’d found out why I’d come to see him after school.
“Excuse me, sir. Can I have a word?”
“Of course, Camilla. You can even have two if you like.”
I suppose it was his relaxed manner if not his sometimes corny humour that had brought me to Mr Peters in preference to any other teacher, certainly a better prospect than our sober-faced headmaster, Mr Turnbull, who surely lacked any idea of moderation.
Mr Peters was busy ploughing his way through marking a pile of exercise books and continued while I stood halfway between his desk and the door, feeling and probably looking very awkward.
“You can sit down, Camilla. There’s no charge.”
He gestured at a small chair positioned by the side of his desk and I sat down clumsily and tucked the large bag containing my homework underneath my legs while he continued marking the exercise books. I watched him, studying his rounded face, rather weak jaw line, and dark brown almost black hair that was grey at the temples. He wore gold rimmed glasses that sat two thirds the way down his nose making him look like some wise old owl from my childhood story books.
“So, what can I do for you, Camilla?”
Finally he gave me the start that I needed.
“I… I’m in a bit of trouble, sir.”
“Trouble? You, Camilla? Do tell.” All this without deviating one moment from his task of marking the exercise books.
“Well sir, I was out with a boyfriend, well, he’s not really my boyfriend, just a boy who is a friend, well, that is, he’s a boy I know, not really a friend, and, well, I was riding on the back of his motorcycle, except that it wasn’t really his, and we got stopped by the police because it had ‘L’ plates on and if he wasn’t a qualified rider then he shouldn’t have been carrying a pillion passenger. Then it turns out he didn’t actually own the motorcycle and didn’t have permission to be riding it, so he didn’t have any insurance or a driving licence and so I was arrested too and they’re going to charge me with aiding and abetting the theft of the motorcycle.”
Mr Peters stopped marking the exercise books and looked at me astonished, no doubt incredulous that I should have been so stupid as to get myself in such a mess.
He spoke. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard such a long sentence uttered without a pause for breath, Camilla.”
I felt very foolish and no doubt looked it. I must have appeared worried though, for Mr Peters seemed to regret his attempt at humour and suddenly became much more sympathetic.
“You must be very anxious, Camilla.”
I nodded. “Yes, sir.” I gushed breathlessly.
“And this boy, what exactly is he to you?”
“Nothing really, sir. Just someone I’ve known since we were kids. He’s a couple of years older than me.”
“I see. And do you think he deliberately stole the motorcycle, or was there some sort of misunderstanding about how he borrowed it from the owner?”
“I think he deliberately stole it, sir.”
“And were you aware of that when you climbed on the back of the motorcycle?”
I thought carefully before I answered. “I suppose, if I’m really honest with myself, I had my doubts. But, well, he was just giving me a lift home and I didn’t really stop to think.”
“Beware strangers bearing false gifts.”
“Nothing, Camilla. Just quoting an old saying. Shakespeare, I think.”
“Oh. Right, sir.”
“So, how do you stand at the moment, Camilla. With the police, I mean.”
“Well, sir. Like I said, they’ve charged me with aiding and abetting the theft of the motorcycle and I’ll have to appear in court and of course I’ll be found guilty, and then I’ll have a criminal record apart from any punishment the court imposes, and then I’ll probably get chucked out of the school, and I certainly won’t be allowed to carry on with sixth form, so I won’t be able to do my ‘A’ levels which means I won’t be able to go to university, which means I won’t be able to qualify as an accountant, which means my whole career has gone down the drain before it’s even started. One silly little incident has cost me my whole life.”
“You really do see to have a remarkable capacity for speaking without drawing breath, Camilla.” Mr Peters smiled, but he could see instantly I was on the point of tears and he quickly changed his attitude.
“I’m sorry, Camilla. I do see how this one incident could have quite a devastating impact on your education and career though, although I rather think it’s more a question of holding you back a bit rather than necessarily ruining everything.”
“Well yes. You could perhaps continue your studies at evening school and your conviction would eventually become a spent conviction which means it would then not appear on your record. You’d then be able to get into university as a mature student.”
“That would take years though, wouldn’t it sir?”
“Yes, I suppose it would.”
Mr Peters was clearly thinking deeply, but not coming up with any solution to my problem. I’d already devised a plan. Now I just needed the courage to suggest it to him. Not that there was any guarantee he would go along with it.
I took a deep breath. “What I was wondering sir…”
I needed a few moments and Mr Peters allowed me the time.
“I was just wondering whether there was any possibility I could somehow be caned instead of being prosecuted by the police.”
Mr Peters looked shocked. For a moment I looked him in the eye, but then I just had to cast my gaze down to the floor. Even so, I noticed him nodding slowly as he considered my idea. At least he hadn’t dismissed it out of hand as just the far-fetched idea of a silly schoolgirl.
“I can see your point, Camilla. If the matter could be dealt with under the school’s disciplinary system instead of by the court then there would be no conviction and therefore no criminal record to hinder your path through sixth form or to university. And, so long as the school didn’t expel you, it wouldn’t appear on your school record either. Then your career would be back on track.”
“Of course, the school would have to regard it as a serious matter and so a caning would be about the only punishment available if we exclude expulsion which might hinder you getting into university.”
While Mr Peters was clearly thinking out loud, I didn’t agree in similar fashion but my red face said it all.
“You’ve obviously thought about this, Camilla?”
“And you’re prepared to accept what could be a stiff caning?”
“Very well. Look, there’s no guarantee the police will go along with this. Leave me to contact them tomorrow and I’ll see what can be done. Alright?”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
“You’d better come and see me after school tomorrow and I’ll let you know how I’ve got on.”
And that was just about the end of my meeting with Mr Peters, apart from him telling me not to worry. Some hopes!
The following day I managed to fend off too any awkward questions from my friends and those with whom I was not so friendly. Everyone seemed to know about my predicament but a couple of white lies and a couple of half truths got me by. I got told off by one or two of the teachers for not concentrating. I suppose they could see I had other things on my mind, but thankfully nothing of any consequence happened as a result.
My ploy of lingering in the cloakroom until all the others had left worked again and it wasn’t much after ten past four before I was again tapping on Mr Peters’ door. If anything, I was even more nervous than the night before.
I pushed the door open and went inside.
“Ah, Camilla. Yes, I was expecting you. Come and sit down.”
Once I was seated by the side of his desk, my bag safely deposited to the side, Mr Peters put away some papers and gave me his full attention.
“Good news, or at least I hope you will see it as good news, Camilla. I had a word with the police earlier today as we agreed and they are quite happy to let the school deal with your little problem.”
“Oh, right.” I suppose I should have been happier. After all, I’d just been let off a court appearance, with all that entailed, and my career both at university and after was no longer in jeopardy. But then I wasn’t going to be let off scot free. I was very certain of that. “Thank you, sir.” I added, feeling I owed him at least that for getting me out of trouble with the police.
“So, the police are treating the matter as closed. No summons, no court case, no conviction.” Mr Peters smiled.
I nodded. “That’s great. Thank you, sir.” Part of me wanted to ask what would happen now, but the other half wasn’t so keen to find out. For a good few moments, we both sat smiling weakly at each other. Or perhaps we were smiling knowingly, because we both knew there was more to come and I wasn’t going to make it any easer for him.
The silence was becoming awkward and unbearable for me, and I’m sure Mr Peters felt the same. He broke first.
“Which, I suppose leads us to the next item on the agenda, Camilla.”
“Sir?” I looked at him innocently.
“Your punishment, Camilla.” His voice was now much deeper. The smile had disappeared, replaced perhaps by sympathy.
He took a deep lungful of breath. “I’ve had a word with the headmaster and, taking into account your generally good record, we feel that six strokes of the cane would be an appropriate punishment for you.”
My turn to take a deep breath, although I kept my lips pressed tightly together and didn’t exhale.
“Was that about what you were expecting, Camilla?”
I nodded. Actually, I thought it might be more. Maybe eight strokes, maybe even worse. Then again, I’d had more optimistic moments when I wondered whether I might get away with just four. So, yes, I supposed six wasn’t at all unreasonable.
My nodded response was all that I gave, and so we descended into another of those long silences while each waited for the other to speak. In that I hadn’t answered verbally, I suppose I felt compelled to articulate first.
“So, what happens now, sir?” I asked, not really wanting to hear the answer.
“We have to proceed with your punishment, Camilla.”
“Right.” The word came out more as a squeak, but I’d clearly conveyed enough because Mr Peters immediately stood up.
“Perhaps you’d be good enough to wait outside for a few moments, Camillla.”
“Oh, right sir.” I clumsily got up and stumbled towards the door. I hadn’t expected this and I had no idea why I was being asked to wait outside. Thankfully the corridor was empty, with just the sound of the cleaners working away in the distance at the other end of the school. It should all be over well before they get anywhere near Mr Peters’ office, I thought.
Waiting in the corridor was nerve-wracking and an anxious time for me. Worst of all was not knowing the purpose for it. Was I supposed to use the time to prepare in some way? If so, it was a procedure I was not aware of. I could hear Mr Peters moving about, a gentle scrape of furniture, the sound of a cupboard door opening and closing.
I must have been standing there for fully five minutes, possibly longer, before the door opened and Mr Peters appeared.
“I’m sorry, Camilla, but it will be a few more minutes yet before we’re ready. You’re very welcome to go and get yourself a glass of water or something.”
As he spoke, I searched anxiously for signs of what had been taking place in my absence even though his bulky presence in the doorway made my task difficult. Nonetheless, I could see the little chair by the side of Mr Peters’ desk had been moved. That was now right over by the side wall. The desk itself seemed to be in the same place but the telephone and all the paperwork had been cleared so the polished oak top was totally unencumbered. I looked too for that certain implement, but of that there was no sign.
“Oh, right. Thank you, sir. Yes, my mouth is rather, er, dry.”
“Do you want to pick up your bag, Camilla?”
“Oh, yes please, sir.”
He stood to one side so I could pass, which gave me a chance for a better look around the office. As I picked up my bag and turned to leave, a quick scan around showed nothing else of note.
I think we both knew I would take this break to go into the toilets and have a cigarette, something Mr Peters would normally disapprove of, but which he no doubt felt allowable in the circumstances. I was still wondering over the cause for all this delay as I put the cigarette in my mouth and searched through my bag for the lighter.
All too soon, my cigarette was finished and I decided to return to Mr Peters’ office. I was tempted to tap on the door and alert him to my presence but I was in no rush to face the music, so I simply waited outside.
Soon, I could hear footsteps coming along the corridor. Could this be the cleaners? No, they were still audible in the distance. The headmaster? Could it be that he had decided to carry out the punishment in person? That wasn’t a possibility Mr Peters had mentioned. My heart banged away against my chest as I waited to see who would appear from around the corner.
It was the school secretary, Mrs Rivers, walking slowly along as though she had all the time in the world, arms folded casually behind her back.
“Camilla? Well I never.”
I smiled gently in return, wondering whether Mrs Rivers imagined I was being kept in after school and made to wait in the corridor outside Mr Peters’ office as a punishment for some naughtiness or other in class. Her mocking smile seemed to suggest I had read Mrs Rivers’ mind correctly.
Knocking on the door with a curious backward movement, Mrs Rivers kept facing me as she waited for Mr Peters to respond. He did so by opening the door a crack and peering out.
“I finally found the key, Stephen. It was in the headmaster’s cloak pocket.” As she spoke, Mrs Rivers handed over a long thin yellow cane, one end of which had been bent to form a crook handle, which she had kept craftily hidden from my view.
“Ah, thank you, Susan.”
“Do you want me to wait, Stephen?”
“If you could, I’d be most grateful.”
I looked quickly from school secretary to teacher and back again. What was going on? This was going to be humiliating enough as it was without there being a witness present, especially if that witness was Mrs Rivers, a forty something, rather robust, blonde woman.
Mr Peters opened the door wide and Mrs Rivers trounced in.
“You can come in too, Camilla. We’re ready for you now.”
As I followed rather less eagerly, I saw Mrs Rivers had already taken up a position with her back to the far wall and behind and just to one side of Mr Peters’ desk, while Mr Peters himself stood in front of the desk, cane balanced between both hands, as he waited for me.
“As I’m sure you know, Camilla, the cane is given across the backside, at least for more than two strokes.”
“Yes, sir.” I answered, my voice barely audible. Actually, I had no idea of the procedures involved in the application of a caning, no-one having any experience of such a thing within my circle of friends and acquaintances, but it seemed pointless to explain my ignorance. I’d spent a lot of time wondering, and worrying, about taking six strokes all on one hand. Three on each hand had been my best guess, but across my bottom had also been a consideration. I’m not sure I had a preference. My greatest fear had been how much it would hurt.
He coughed nervously. “It’s also a point of order at this school that all canings are administered across one item of clothing.”
“Right.” I responded doubtfully, not really understanding quite what he was getting at. I guess my ignorance was apparent from my expression, for Mr Peters soon went on to explain.
“That means you may if you prefer go and change into your gym shorts.” At that point, Mr Peters blushed profusely and I wondered why I should want to go and change into those thin white gym shorts, thus delaying things even more. “Nothing underneath of course.” Now, he grinned sheepishly and blushed again. “Alternatively, you can remain here and adjust your clothing accordingly.”
I ran my hands down the side of my quite tight fitting olive green skirt, still not entirely sure what was being asked of me. “I might as well remain here, sir.”
“Good!” Mr Peters spoke suddenly loudly, which made me jump. Then his voice returned to normal. “Let’s see now. I think you’d better remove your blazer, Camilla.”
The matching olive green blazer was well fitting and reached low enough to cover virtually the whole of my bottom, so being asked to remove it seemed very reasonable. Couldn’t have my punishment hindered by a thick blazer covering my bottom, could we!
“I’ll hold it for you, Camilla.” Mrs Rivers held out her hand after I’d removed the blazer and was looking around for somewhere convenient to put it. I stepped forward close enough to hand it to her.
“Perhaps you could stand facing the end of the desk, Camilla.” Mr Peters tapped the end of his desk with the tip of the slender cane, indicating the precise point where I was meant to be. ‘No prizes for guessing where I was going to be in a few moments,’ I thought as I stared down at the clear polished surface.
“Then if you cccccould…,” Mr Peters stopped and swallowed as he stumbled on his words. “If you would kindly raise your skirt up, please Camilla.”
I felt my spine straighten and my eyes suddenly spring to the left as the shock of what I thought I’d just heard registered.
Then Mrs Rivers spoke. “I think her skirt is a bit tight for that, Stephen. Best if she takes it down.”
Now I knew what was meant by one layer of clothing! I could either go and change into my gym shorts, which were mighty thin, or drop my skirt and get whacked across my pants. Goodness knows what the time was, but it must have been getting on for a quarter to five. My fingers went to the clip at the back of the skirt.
“Do you want me to help you, Camilla?” Mrs Rivers asked as though it were an everyday occurrence that she had to help girls in my situation.
“No thanks. I can manage.” The clip surrendered as I spoke, and the zip slid down easily. As the skirt came loose around my thighs, I quickly pushed it down below my knees and my mind instantly questioned how much of my knicker clad bottom I was revealing. Not much point in worrying about that. It was soon going to be much more noticeable.
As I stood in just my white blouse, which thankfully kept most of my brief white panties covered for the moment, and my black shoes surrounded by the material of my skirt, the air in the room felt slightly chilly against my naked thighs.
“Bend over, please Camilla. I want you to get right down onto the top of the desk.”
Even though I knew it would be coming very shortly, the instruction made my heart flutter. I leaned forward and slid my hands along the smooth oak surface as I eased myself down. The wood felt hard against my body, when I finally put my full weight down, and I gripped the edges of the desk as I tucked my knees in against the side.
“That’s good! Thank you, Camilla.” Mr Peters’ voice wafted into my ears from somewhere behind me and to my left but I felt no need to look around and address the speaker. Instead, I looked towards the wall and rested the left side of my face on the desk.
Mrs Rivers wasn’t quite so satisfied though. I felt someone tugging at the hem of my white blouse, then came the words of explanation. “I’m just tucking your blouse up out of the way, Camilla.”
My mind went back to when I’d willingly removed my blazer so the tail of it wouldn’t get in the way of the cane. I could see the point of moving thick woollen material out of the way, but thin cotton? Would that have really made a difference? Now both my thighs and my lower back felt the chill, but Mrs Rivers hadn’t finished. I felt her small soft hand smoothing the thin delicate cotton of my white pants towards each side, then down, then up my bottom. She finished with a little tug upwards on the elastic top of my knickers.
“All yours, Stephen.”
“Thank you, Susan.” Mr Peters sounded as nervous as I was feeling. “Hold still, Camilla. And please remain still until I have finished administering your punishment. Six strokes.”
“Yes, sir.” I sounded miserable, which is exactly how I felt.
Then the cane was placed gently across the whole of my bottom and I knew all the waiting was at an end. I braced myself the moment the gentle weight was lifted. Just as well! With a brief swish, the cane rattled down and whipped across the seat of my knickers causing a stinging bolt of pain that seemed to spread across my entire backside. So that was what getting the cane is like. It was extremely painful, and I had another five strokes to take!
Just as these thoughts were occupying my mind, I heard another swish and instantly felt another cuttingly sharp slap that sent another flash of pain scorching my thinly covered backside. Ouch! I quickly took a deep breath and gripped the sides of the desk, thinking the next stroke would be coming at any moment.
Yeouch! I was right! This one got me low down and tended to lift me up from the surface of the desk. My face screwed up with the pain and I took a moment or two before I settled back down onto the hard wooden desktop. At least I was halfway through my punishment and…
“Ouch!” Another whipping stroke that hit me higher up on my bottom rudely interrupted my thoughts and I cried out from both the pain and the surprise. This was all happening a bit too quickly for my liking but, then, I was hardly in a position to dictate!
Forewarned, I quickly braced myself for the next stroke. Mr Peters must have read my mind, though, because I seemed to wait ages before I heard that brief swish and felt the cane whip across my bottom. It seemed extra sharp, presumably because my bottom was now quite sore, but I managed to avoid crying out. I was feeling very hot, too, and my face felt very flushed. I kept a tight grip on the edges of the desk, knowing the next stroke would be the sixth and last.
He certainly kept me waiting! Sore and aching though my bottom was, I was ready and prepared to take that final part of my punishment and really now just wanted to get it over with. I’m sure I was waiting for minutes before, suddenly and without warning, I heard that little swish and the cane wracked across my thinly protected backside.
“Uuuuuuhhh!!” I sort of grunted and cried out together as that thin cane whacked across my poor bottom. I’m sure Mr Peters must have deliberately made that last one especially hard. Strangely, I’d half expected he might do that so I was at least a little bit prepared for it. As the pain burned its way across my backside I comforted myself in the knowledge it was now all over bar the formalities of getting up and getting dressed and facing these two people to whom I’d had to submit to my punishment.
I don’t know why I continued to lay across the desk. I certainly wasn’t keen to risk further punishment, like an extra stroke or two for disobedience, but I’m not sure I really believed that would actually happen. Mr Peters came to my rescue.
“Well, that’s it, Camilla. You can get up now and leave when you’re ready.”
I slowly pushed myself back on my elbows as I got unsteadily up. My legs certainly felt weak and I had to lean on the desk for a couple of moments before I really got my balance. My bottom felt extremely sore and I couldn’t resist the urge to explore the damage while my skirt was still around my ankles, firstly exploring the weals and ridges over my thin brief knickers, and then letting my hands slip underneath the material.
I quickly became aware these marks were not going to disappear within an hour or two and would probably be with me for several days, which then led me to contemplate what adjustments to my lifestyle would be needed to keep my caning secret. Going to bed tonight was going to be a face-down operation, that much was clear. Finding some excuse to avoid games, and hence getting undressed in the changing rooms, was going to be a little trickier.
As my mind raced, I suddenly became conscious that Mr Peters and Mrs Rivers were standing behind and to either side of me studiously watching me massaging my bottom with my hands inserted into the top of the garment. If my face wasn’t already quite flushed I would have blushed deeply! I quickly removed my hands from inside my pants and quickly adjusted them for as much comfort as was going to be possible in the circumstances. With my underwear sorted, I curtsied down and started pulling my skirt up.
It was quite a struggle to get the tight skirt to fit around my hips and bottom. I guess that’s another side effect of getting the cane! With a great deal of difficulty and not a little discomfort, I finally managed to get the zip done up and the little clip secured. Mrs Rivers passed me my blazer and, while I was putting it on, Mr Peters placed the cane onto his desk and picked up my bag ready to hand to me.
“Thank you, sir.” I said in a low voice as I took the bag. I sorted of nodded to Mrs Rivers and headed for the door.