A girl gets the cane.

By Kenny Walters

“Ah, Cilla. I’m glad I’ve run into you.”

Cilla Blakely looked up, caught unawares by the new arrival. Instinctively, she’d hastily concealed the small mobile phone by tucking it up into the sleeve of her black blazer. Seeing the friendly face of Mrs Elders, the middle-aged school secretary, looking round the half open door of the sixth form library, Cilla relaxed.

“Sorry, Mrs Elders. I was rather engrossed.”

“Yes.” Mrs Elders knew as well as Cilla that mobile phones were definitely meant to be switched off during school hours, even for texting, but decided to let the matter pass. “It’s just that Mr Armstrong wants to see you before you leave. Okay?”

“Oh, right.”

“I’ll let him know you’re on your way.” Mrs Elders beamed a broad smile and closed the door behind her.

‘Damn!’ Cilla, knowing full well just why Mr Armstrong, her housemaster, wanted to see her, cursed her luck. It was five minutes to four. Just another five minutes and she would have been on her way home.

If Mrs Elders hadn’t disappeared so fast, perhaps Cilla might have been able to get her to tell Mr Armstrong she’d just been too late to catch her. But Cilla hadn’t thought of it in time, and now Mr Armstrong was expecting her. Probably best not to keep him waiting.

As Cilla walked along the corridor she passed several fellow sixth form girls.

“Going anywhere interesting, Cilla?”

“Not going to see Mr Armstrong by any chance, Cilla?”

Everyone seemed to know. Hardly surprising really, since several of her classmates had placed their orders for cigarettes when Cilla let it be known she was proposing to sneak out of school and walk down to the local shop.

When Cilla arrived at the door to Mr Armstrong’s office, she paused for just a moment before knocking.

“Come in.” The male voice called. As Cilla cautiously pushed the door open, uncertain of her reception, the voice continued. “Ah, Cilla. Yes, do come in. I need to have a word with you.”

Slightly encouraged by the relatively warm response, Cilla entered the room.

“Mrs Elders just caught me in time, sir.” Cilla smiled broadly, hoping a friendly response might stand her in good stead. She stood smartly before his desk though in the certain knowledge the conversation might not continue so amicably for very much longer. “How can I help you, sir?”

“I think you know full well what this is about, Cilla. Don’t you?” Mr Armstrong looked up at the tall sixth form girl, his frosty glare in stark contrast to the girl’s smile.

“Could a little stroll to the local shop have anything to do with it, sir?” Cilla answered, still with a mischievous grin.

“This is no laughing matter, Cilla.” Her housemaster countered tetchily. “Being absent from school without leave is a serious matter, even for a sixth form girl. That’s before we take into account your various purchases.”

“Chocolate?”

“Come off it, Cilla. I’ve spoken to the shopkeeper.”

“I did buy chocolate, sir.” Cilla protested.

“Yes, and a few other things besides, like cigarettes and tobacco, Cilla. Things that are totally prohibited from being brought onto the school premises. I take it you don’t have any cigarettes on you now.”

“No, sir. You can search me if you like.” Cilla responded, knowing full well she had no banned substances about her person, and feeling pretty confident Mr Armstrong would be quite reluctant to search an eighteen year old girl.

“I’ll take your word for it, thank you Cilla.” Mr Armstrong took off his horn rimmed glasses and toyed with them while he spoke. “You know, Cilla, it really would be much better to own up and then we can move on. I presume you wouldn’t want me to bring the shopkeeper into school and have him confront you?”

Cilla bit her lip as she deliberated. “No, sir.” She murmured as she looked down at the floor.

“So you admit it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. So let’s discuss what we’re going to do about it.”

“Sir?” Cilla queried.

“As I see it, you have two options. Either you take your chances with a visit to the headmistress’s study or you allow me to punish you.”

“Right, sir.” Cilla frowned as she contemplated having to report to Miss Finch’s study and face the stern lady.

“If I punish you.” Mr Armstrong continued. “It will be the cane. Be in no doubt about that.”

“Right, sir.” That information, half expected, was of little comfort to the anxious eighteen year old.

“Then again, I imagine Miss Finch would be thinking along similar lines too.”

“Yes, sir.” Cilla acknowledged as she risked a look up from the floor into Mr Armstrong’s face. She saw what he was thinking, and Cilla felt her face grow very warm as she blushed. They both knew Miss Finch would at best cane her across the seat of her knickers, and at worst those knickers might be pulled down around her ankles. With Mr Armstrong, on the other hand, Cilla would likely be caned either on the palm of her hand or across the seat of her trousers.

“I think I’d prefer you to punish me, sir.”

Mr Armstrong froze, the horn rimmed glasses hanging in mid-air draped over one hand. He looked up at the tall sixth form girl, searching her face for some sign she was just teasing him, that she really didn’t mean it. Instead, the dark haired girl was looking anxiously back at him, expecting him to take charge and proceed with the execution of her punishment.

“Shall we do it now?” The housemaster tried to sound calm, but a tremble in his voice almost gave him away.

“Yes please, sir.” The girl nodded thoughtfully as she answered, clearly believing it better to get the experience over with as soon as possible.

“Of course.” The housemaster recognised Cilla’s anxiety. He got up and went to the door leading to the next room. “After you, Cilla.”

As Cilla went through the doorway, she found herself in a small store room furnished with little more than a small desk and some locker cabinets. Hanging from a hook on the wall was the implement that would be used to punish her.

Mr Armstrong wasted little time in taking the cane off its hook. With one hand on Cilla’s shoulder, he steered her in the direction of the small desk.

“I propose to cane you across the bottom, Cilla.” The housemaster announced quietly.

“Yes, sir.” Cilla acknowledged.

“It will be four strokes.”

“Yes, sir.” Cilla said miserably, even though she was pleasantly surprised she wasn’t getting six.

“Bend across the desk, Cilla.”

“Yes sir.”

Cilla leaned down across the desk, her grey trousers stretching across her bottom as she did so. Her height and the small desk made the position uncomfortable, but then she doubted Mr Armstrong would be particularly worried about that as long as her bottom was offered up sufficiently well for the administration of her punishment.

“I need you to get your head down lower, Cilla.”

“Why, sir?” The eighteen year old queried.

“So that your trousers are stretched more tightly across your bottom, Cilla.” The housemaster sighed with irritation as though expecting the girl to know. “It will make the caning more, er, effective.”

“Oh. Sorry, sir.” Dutifully, the eighteen year old pushed her head closer to the desk and felt her trousers fitting more snugly around her bottom. “I’m afraid the desk is a little low for me.” She explained, wanting her teacher to know she wasn’t acting deliberately in an attempt to evade the full harshness of the caning.

“Indeed, Cilla.” Mr Armstrong sounded unconvinced. “Ready?”

“Yes, sir.” Cilla moaned as she felt the cane being tapped across her bottom in readiness.

“Brace yourself, girl.” The housemaster cautioned. “This will hurt.”

“Yes, sir.” Cilla gritted her teeth and waited, but not for long.

In moments, Mr Armstrong drew the cane back and swiftly whipped it down until it snapped across the waiting target.

“Ouch!” Cilla cried, screwing her eyes up at the stinging pain.

Within a few seconds, the cane whooshed through the air again.

“Ouch!!” Cilla responded even more vocally as the cane cracked across the seat of her trousers and inflicted a really sharp stinging sensation over the full width of her backside.

“Do keep still, Cilla!” Mr Armstrong said testily as the eighteen year old wriggled her bottom to try and disperse the pain.

“Sorry, sir.”

Cilla did indeed make a special effort to hold still. Her reward was for the cane to swoosh down almost immediately and whip across her bottom, inflicting a new and even more painful dose of punishment.

“Yeeeooww!!” She cried, and wriggled even more noticeably. A single tear trickled down the side of her face.

“Let’s get this over with, Cilla.” The housemaster encouraged the girl to maintain her posture for the final stroke.

“Yes, sir.” Cilla answered, aware too she need present her bottom just one more time and this awful ordeal would be over. The seat of her trousers chafed sorely as she pushed her head down and waited.

There was a pause, unlike the previous three strokes that had fallen in rapid order. While Mr Armstrong carefully took aim, Cilla took a deep breath which the housemaster noticed. Both knew this final stroke would be the hardest and most painful, and both looked forward to it for very different reasons.

“Yeeeeeeeoouuch!!” Cilla exclaimed as the cane whipped across her tightened trousers seat and the scorching pain rapidly spread across her whole bottom.

“That completes your punishment, Cilla.” Mr Armstrong announced, although Cilla was already pushing herself up from the desk and reaching behind to tend the smarting soreness. The housemaster took a step back to allow the girl some space.

“Grief, that hurts!” Cilla commented, largely ignoring her teacher and concentrating more on ministering to her poor bottom.

“I don’t enjoy this, Cilla.” Mr Armstrong said, although his intense study of the girl rubbing her bottom suggested some sort of fascination. “Please do learn from this and stick to the rules in future, eh?”

“Yes, sir.” Cilla answered, acutely aware of the teacher’s focus on her bottom, but too keen to ease the pain to worry. “May I go now?”

Indeed you may, Cilla.”

With the housemaster’s eyes still upon her, Cilla headed for the door.

The End