A girl prepares for her caning

By Frances Stephenson

Claire was very agitated. She had been told she was in for a caning having been caught smoking for the third time this term. She had been told that she was due to receive six of the best, the previous doses of four strokes having not, demonstrably, worked. She was certainly not looking forward to the interview with the Headmistress, Miss Coverdale.

What could she do to, at least, reduce the sting of that dreaded cane? There were not many options as senior girls received a caning bent over the back of a chair with their skirts raised and their tightly-knickered bottom meekly offered up for a painful session with the wicked yellow cane.

Clearly the only option for Claire was to select a pair of knickers that would cover her pretty bottom and not ride up and expose more of her naked cheeks than was absolutely necessary. With a nervous and reflective look on her face she opened her knicker drawer and started to sort through the assembled garments. They were mainly pretty, brief and thin; she had discarded her old school knickers after her eighteenth birthday. It was a sort of liberation exercise and the new flimsy additions made her feel good as well as looking decidedly attractive and sexy. There was nothing that she could find that would adequately cover her bottom cheeks and offer some protection from the hiding she would receive this afternoon.

‘Oh God,’ she thought. ‘Please let there be something!’

Just as she was about to give up, she saw a navy blue pair right at the back of her drawer. Cautiously, she got them out. They were a couple of years old; the new ‘nap’ had long since disappeared due to constant washing but they seemed to be in good order and the low cut elasticated leg would cover the lower part of her bottom better than any of the much higher cut articles that made up the rest of her selection.

She removed her thin white pair, intending to try on her old navy blue ones. She pulled them on, aware that the elasticated leg was tight but not unduly so as her legs had lost a lot of the puppy fat which had characterised her middle teens. She was aware that the knickers fitted snugly, indicating that although her bottom was superbly shaped she was undoubtedly larger in that area. She looked over her shoulder and examined herself in the mirror.

‘Hmm, not bad,’ she thought. The knickers covered her cheeks and, although close fitting, they seemed to cover the area perfectly adequately. She resolved to keep them on as it was only two hours until her appointment with Miss Coverdale. She was aware that her heart was beating faster and that her lips were dry.

The time had come, and Claire knocked on the oak door of Miss Coverdale’s study. She entered and her eyes were immediately drawn to the low-backed chair over which she would have to bend. Miss Coverdale was gently swishing an evil yellow cane.

“Come on Claire, let’s get you sorted out.”

Miss Coverdale was a wiry lady with a humourless face and thin, almost bloodless, lips. She swished her cane again which made Claire so profoundly nervous that she dropped her blazer which she had removed only moments before. She bent to pick it up and was immediately aware her knickers had half ridden up exposing the lower third of her bottom and possibly more!

‘Oh help,’ she thought. ‘Just what I didn’t want to happen!’ She managed to force her bottom cheeks back inside her knickers, aware that Miss Coverdale was watching her closely.

“Whatever are you doing Claire?” She enquired.

“Nothing Miss,” trembled Claire. “It was just that my knickers were a bit uncomfortable.”

“Well,” said Miss Coverdale. “That whole area will soon be more than just uncomfortable. Come over here and bend over the back of this chair. Lift your skirt well clear of your bottom, please.”

Shrinkingly, Claire did as she was bid and before long those wretched knickers began riding up even more, or so it seemed. Furious with herself for not realising this hazard, she could do nothing else but submit to the caning in an ever more exposed state.

“Legs closely up against the back, head down and bottom up. Hold on to the front legs, tightly now. Let’s see if we can make that naughty bottom more prominent; make your back slightly concave. Yes that’s much better! I see you have selected an older pair of knickers, not realising that an old close-fitting pair would ride up and expose more of your naughty bottom.”

“Yes, Miss Coverdale,” panted Claire.

Claire could feel her traitorous knickers riding up and showing ever more white bottom!

‘Bloody Hell,’ she thought. ‘I would have been better off wearing the brief white ones I had worn before.’

A good proportion of the lower half of her bottom was now totally exposed and would make an irresistible target for the severe Miss Coverdale. Why, oh why, had she sought to try and avoid the stinging strokes by putting on thicker knickers which were not that thick in any case and that now left a good proportion of her bottom completely uncovered?

No time to dwell on that as Miss Coverdale’s cane landed on her soft bottom with considerable force, making her squeal with pain. Miss Coverdale then proceeded to stripe her lovely bottom with painful weals, making her cry out in distress and pain. Six times the cane whipped in and each time was more painful than the last until at long last it was over.

A hot and tearful Claire managed to prise herself from the position she had been forced to adopt and wriggled and writhed in an effort to dissipate the pain and, rather than rub her extremely sore bottom, she gently cradled the punished cheeks which provided some respite.

“I would advise you to think things through before you try and reduce the sting of a caning by wearing thicker knickers. As it was, the twin bulges of your bottom made a well nigh irresistible target and almost all of my strokes fell in that area.”

Miss Coverdale smiled thinly. She was well satisfied that she had been able to thrash young Claire with quite some energy and mostly on her bare bottom.

Claire resolved to throw her navy knickers away without delay!

The End

© Frances Stephenson 2013