Curiosity

A girl who has never experienced corporal punishment decides it is time to satisfy her curiosity. By a new writer to us.

By Steven Wilson

My name is Shona Jenkinson. I am currently nearing the end of my first term at University where I have embarked on a degree in Accountancy. However, the events I wish to relate to you occurred in my final year at St Marys School for Girls which I attended until a few months ago.

I should perhaps first describe myself to you. I have just celebrated my nineteenth birthday and am often told I am an attractive young lady. I am five foot eight tall with an athletic build, coming no doubt from my liking for and active participation in several sports. I have shoulder length blonde hair, an infectious smile, and a cheerful personality. Physically I have long toned legs and thighs, slim waist and a firm round bottom. The only part of me I wish were different are my breasts as I am rather conservatively endowed in that department.

St Marys was an all girls private school and traditional in every sense of the word. Uniform was required to be worn even in the sixth form and consisted of a striped blazer, white blouse with school tie, pleated blue skirt with length to be just above the knee, white knee length socks, black shoes and plain white underwear of a modest and suitable design, as it said in the school prospectus. Some girls would wear knickers that would be deemed most inappropriate just to defy the rules but I was not one of those as I did not consider it worth the risk of punishment for those that were found out.

Discipline at the school was also of a traditional nature with corporal punishment, namely the slipper and cane, being used as and when required. The cane was reserved for more serious breaches of school rules, usually bullying, smoking or truancy or for those where it was considered the slipper was not proving a sufficient deterrent for them to correct their ways. Canings were quite rare however and it was not unusual for a girl to pass through her education without feeling the cane across her backside.

Slipperings were an entirely different matter. The slipper, or plimsoll to be more exact, was used on a much more frequent basis, usually by the headmistress, her deputy or one of the two gym mistresses we had. I have often wondered why physical punishment seemed to be an accepted part of physical education as, from what I have read, the use of the plimsoll in PE lessons seems to have been widespread in many schools for both girls and boys, and mine was no exception.

Consequently it was rare for a girl to leave school without having experienced at least one slippering, but entering my final term at the school I was one of those rarities as I had never received any form of corporal punishment. I was generally well behaved and would endeavour to keep myself out of trouble, but I was not entirely a goody-goody. I had my share of lines and essays but had managed to avoid anything more serious due to a mixture of my good behaviour and good fortune. I had been guilty on more than one occasion of doing something that would have warranted a slippering but fortune had favoured me and I had escaped undetected.

Another area of my good fortune was that I was good at gym and sports and enjoyed participating in them. I became captain of the school netball team and later the school hockey team too. What this meant was that I was one of Miss Roberts’s favourite pupils, and it also meant that I avoided her plimsoll. Miss Roberts was our gym mistress. She was in her mid to late twenties and had quite a fearsome reputation for those who crossed her and in particular for those who felt her plimsoll across their bottoms. I had witnessed many a slippering she had given to a girl for slacking or generally misbehaving during a lesson and from their reaction knew it was not a pleasant experience nor one I ever wanted to have myself. Luckily for me, Miss Roberts and I got on well together and she never felt it necessary to have to punish me. Managing to avoid a slippering during gym or games classes was the principle reason why, thus far, I had never had my bottom warmed or punished in any way.

In fact it was witnessing these slipperings, and one memorable punishment given to six senior girls by the headmistress in front of the entire school assembly shortly after I had commenced my time at the school, that made me quite terrified of receiving corporal punishment and vowing to myself to avoid it at all costs. This was probably a major factor in my subsequent good behaviour and with less than a term remaining I was very much on course to achieve my goal.

Apart from my sporting achievements, I was also deputy head girl, a position that brought with it certain responsibilities including deputising for the head girl in her absence. On one such occasion I had apprehended a senior girl, Amanda Hall, smoking, which although outside school premises was during school hours and while wearing school uniform. We both knew this would mean a caning. She accompanied me back to school and to the headmistress’s study where I explained what had happened and, following a severe dressing down from the headmistress, six strokes of the cane were awarded to Amanda. It was normal practice for the head girl to act as witness to any canings but in her absence, and particularly as I had apprehended the girl, I was asked to do so instead.

I had never seen anyone caned before and watched the whole episode with a mixture of fascination and fear. A chair was placed in the centre of the floor and, while Miss Franklin the headmistress opened a cupboard and withdrew a cane from several within it, Amanda removed her blazer and skirt and placed them on the headmistress’s desk. When instructed to, she bent tightly over the back of the chair gripping the legs as far down as she could. Her bottom was now thrust upwards, ideally presented for punishment, her legs straight and slightly apart. I couldn’t begin to imagine how Amanda must be feeling but my own breathing was quickening at what was about to happen. Miss Franklin lifted Amanda’s blouse up so that it was well clear of her bottom and then pulled her knickers up high so that they were stretched tight across her buttocks. The sight Amanda presented I found both provocative and strangely arousing to me.

In continued fascination I watched as Miss Franklin picked up the cane and delivered six firm strokes to Amanda’s upturned bottom taking about thirty seconds between each stroke. I watched the impact of each of those strokes on the poor girl’s bottom as the cane made contact with it, the thin cotton of her white school knickers providing little protection. I watched her legs and thighs quivering in anticipation of the last stroke and heard her sobbing at the conclusion whilst still bent over the chair gripping its legs. Red cane marks were clearly visible either side of her knickers where the flesh was bare.

As Miss Franklin entered details of the caning in the punishment book, Amanda, in obvious discomfort and still in tears, dressed and tried to compose herself. I myself was flushed and somewhat shaken by what I had just witnessed and it was with some degree of difficulty that I managed to steady myself to sign the punishment book as witness to the caning. Miss Franklin dismissed Amanda with a warning that if she were caught smoking again then next time she would be caned on the bare backside, and she then thanked me for bringing the girl to her attention and for witnessing her punishment. I too was then dismissed.

That caning had a profound effect on me. I had seen many slipperings in my time at the school and had largely got over the fear and terror I had of them in my younger days, but watching that caning had brought it all back to me. Watching Amanda being caned had horrified and scared me, but at the same time had been tremendously exciting to me too. I tried to imagine what it would be like to be bent over that chair having my own bottom caned, what would it feel like, how painful would it be, not that I had any intention of being caned myself if I could avoid it.

Over the forthcoming weeks my thoughts returned frequently to that caning and a growing curiosity as to what it would be like to receive corporal punishment. I was one of only two girls in my year who had never received it and the other, a quiet girl called Lorna Harper, had only joined the school in the fifth year, so her chances of receiving punishment had been somewhat limited in comparison to mine. I was proud of my unblemished disciplinary record, however, even if it had at times been fortuitous.

Nonetheless, my curiosity continued to grow and wouldn’t go away despite my best efforts. I had no desire to be caned after watching Amanda’s caning but perhaps a slippering would be more tolerable and satisfy my curiosity of corporal punishment. Going into my last four weeks of school before I departed for good, I had convinced myself against my better judgement that I needed to experience at least one slippering to complete my education, the question being how. If I deliberately misbehaved to earn a punishment then that would be seen as out of character and not at all me. There was also a good chance that, given my previous excellent disciplinary record, and with just days remaining of my school career, that I would be let off with a warning anyway. There was also the not inconsiderable risk that if I miscalculated in any way, and with me also being a senior girl who should know better, I could end up facing a caning instead of a slippering which I most definitely did not want to endure, curiosity or not.

It was while contemplating my options that another event occurred. Tuesday afternoon was gym class, one of my favourite lessons. However for one girl, Fiona Barker, it was anything but and she had decided that with just four weeks of term to go she would skip the remaining gym lessons and retire to the comfort of the sixth form common room to read instead. Her absence was noted by Miss Roberts. On inquiring if Fiona was in attendance at school that day and being told she was, she left us to practice our netball skills while she went in search of our absent colleague.

A few minutes later she returned and told us to move the vaulting horse from its home against the wall to the centre of the gym, where once in position she proceeded to lower its height. There was an audible murmur coming from us girls as this could mean only one thing, a slippering, and we had little doubt whose bottom was about to be slippered. Just as Miss Roberts had finished adjusting the horse, the door to the gym burst open and a flustered and anxious looking Fiona entered. She was in her gym kit so she had at least brought it with her despite her intentions to skip the class. There was not much to our gym kit in reality, a white polo shirt top and navy blue shorts with our feet bare. Underneath we were allowed to wear a sports bra but no knickers. For outside sports the shorts were replaced with navy blue hockey skirt and matching blue gym knickers and we also were allowed appropriate footwear and socks.

Miss Roberts called for the class to gather around the horse and by the look of horror on her face Fiona had realised full well what was about to happen to her, although any objection would be futile and only serve to increase Miss Roberts’s anger. I have already stated that slipperings were rather commonplace in gym lessons but this applied more to the junior years and for sixth formers it was much more of a rarity, so I along with the others watching were going to find Fiona’s punishment entertaining quite apart from being well deserved.

Miss Roberts disappeared into the store room and emerged seconds later with her trusty plimsoll in hand. Calling Fiona to her, she told her to get over the horse and into position. We all knew what the position was and Fiona was no exception. She approached the side nearest to us and then bent herself over the top, head hanging down the far side and no longer visible, her feet remaining on the floor this side with legs straight and her bottom thrust out towards us. Miss Roberts then walked up to her and putting her fingers in the waistband of Fiona’s shorts deftly pulled them down to her ankles in one swift movement, leaving her bottom bare. This action caused an increase in the volume of the murmurings of us girls as, whilst a sixth form slippering was rare, one given to the bare bottom was even rarer.

Miss Roberts ordered her to get up on her toes and push her bottom out, an action that caused her shorts to slip off one ankle and allowed her legs to part further, before announcing that she was to receive twelve of the best for her truancy from the lesson. The class was now quiet until a sound like a pistol shot echoed around the gym as plimsoll made contact with bare flesh. I had seen Miss Roberts deliver numerous slipperings before but there was little doubt in my mind that she was putting maximum effort into this one and intended making it one that Fiona would remember for a long time and not wish to repeat. From the third stroke onwards Fiona was making audible grunts turning to shouts as the plimsoll landed on her bottom, and from the sixth stroke onwards she was clearly in a tearful state. For the final stroke Miss Roberts made sure Fiona was right up on her toes with bottom thrust back as far as she could manage before delivering the plimsoll to its target.

It was the most severe slippering I had ever witnessed. At its conclusion, Fiona’s bottom was a deep crimson in colour with every bit of it covered. As she stood slowly up in obvious pain she was sobbing and in some distress, although Miss Roberts showed her little in the way of sympathy. She told her to join in the class and to add to her embarrassment instructed her to leave her shorts off so everyone could see what happens to girls who try to skip lessons. Fiona was then forced to do the remainder of the lesson naked form the waist down with her red bottom on prominent display one side and her dark pubic triangle on the other. Once again the slippering had an effect on me, not fear this time but an excitement, imagining it was me over the horse being punished in front of the class and not Fiona. I also realised that I was moist between my legs and hoped it wouldn’t show through my shorts.

That evening I knew beyond doubt that I needed to experience a slippering before I left school. However, just how to achieve that was still a mystery to me. There were now only three weeks remaining before I left school and in desperation I decided upon the only course of action I could think of, one that if successful would also allow me to retain my proud unblemished disciplinary record.

The following Monday was school hockey practice. We only had one game left to play before the end of term and we were determined to go out with a win, I especially as it would be my last ever game for the school. As practice finished I stayed outside a little longer than the others then went to the changing rooms to shower and dress, deliberately being tardy in my actions. Just as I was ready to leave, and, as I had hoped, Miss Roberts came in to switch the lights off and was surprised to find me still there.

“Are you still here Shona? I thought you’d be long gone by now,” she said

“I’m just going, Miss Roberts. I’m a little late as I wanted to get some extra practice in before the last game.”

“You don’t need any extra practice, Shona. I wish the other girls showed your dedication and then we really would have a winning team,” she laughed. She must have noticed my serious expression as she continued. “Is something worrying you? Do you have something you want to say to me?”

“It’s a little awkward, Miss Roberts; well a little embarrassing too, if I’m honest”

“Well just come out with it, whatever’s bothering you, I’m sure it’s not that bad,” she said still smiling.

My stomach was full of butterflies as I realised that it was now or never, and if I ever wanted to experience a slippering then I had to go through with my well rehearsed plan that I had concocted over the last couple of days.

“Well,” I began. “Do you remember slippering Fiona last week?”

Miss Roberts looked down and sighed. “Of course I do, although the little madam deserved it thinking she could just skip class like that. If you are going to say I was too hard on her then, yes, you are probably right, I did get a little carried away but she brought it all on herself.”

“No, it’s not that,” I said, bracing myself for what I was about to say next. “It’s just that I’ve never been slippered and have no idea what it’s like.”

Miss Roberts looked at me quizzically. “Well, I know you’re not one to get yourself into trouble and, thinking back, I can’t ever recall having to use my plimsoll on you, but I wasn’t aware you had never been punished by anyone, on any occasion. I have to congratulate you on that. It’s quite an achievement, Shona.”

“But it is and it isn’t, Miss Roberts” I replied. “I’m proud of my record of having never received the slipper or cane, but I’m also curious as to what it is like. I don’t want to be caned but I’d like to be slippered.”

There was silence as Miss Roberts studied me and I began to rapidly wish I’d never opened my mouth and said the words that had just come out from it. As my discomfort was coming to a head she finally spoke and her voice was calm and even. “Am I right in thinking you are asking me to slipper you, Shona?”

“Yes, Miss Roberts. I know it’s not what you expected me to say but I really want to be slippered. I’ve been thinking about it for so long and I want to know what it feels like, and I’ve only got a few days left at school before I leave. Seeing Fiona slippered only made me want to do it more.” The words came out in a torrent without thinking, but I had finally made clear what I was asking Miss Roberts to do to me.

“Well, you have taken me by surprise. I’ve had girls plead with me not to slipper them but have never had one ask me to slipper them. If you want to know what it feels like then I can tell you it hurts and stings. It’s not a pleasant experience which is the whole point of a punishment. It is to try and deter the offender from offending again and to improve their behaviour. I very much doubt Fiona will miss the last few gym lessons she has left after her slippering.”

“I know that, Miss Roberts, but I still want to do it. I’m prepared for it to hurt but I need to know how it hurts,” I pleaded.

There was another silence during which time I once again wished that I’d never brought the topic up with her, and I could feel myself blushing furiously, but it was too late now to retract my words. Just as I was about to apologise profusely to her she spoke.

“You have made your mind up about this, haven’t you Shona, although I doubt that you are fully prepared for just how much a good slippering stings. However much you would like me to slipper you, it would be quite inappropriate for me to do so without good reason, and satisfying your curiosity is not a good reason.”

The disappointment in my face must have been obvious to her as she smiled again saying: “What am I going to do with you? Come on, follow me.”

She left the changing rooms with me following close behind and headed for her office a little way down the corridor. I was unsure what she was about to do as, despite my protestations, she had made it clear she would not be slippering me as I’d asked her to do. Once in her office she took a slip of paper and wrote down a telephone number on it which she then handed to me.

“That’s my telephone number, Shona. If you still feel the same way about wanting to be slippered after you have left school then give me a call and we can discuss it together. For now though, get yourself home. You’re late enough as it is and don’t feel embarrassed about what you have said to me, it was a brave thing to do expressing you feelings like that.”

She gave me a last smile and then I put the paper in my pocket, turned around to leave her office and headed for home.

Walking home, my head was spinning. Our conversation had been excruciatingly embarrassing for me, one that I wished I’d never started, although I was pleased with myself for summoning up the courage to say what I did. It would have been an easy option to have not done so. However, despite my courage Miss Roberts was not going to slipper me, or was she ? My fingers touched the slip of paper in my pocket. Was I right in thinking that she may slipper me once I was no longer a pupil at the school?

The final days of my school life went by rapidly and I was so preoccupied with other matters that I even forgot about my curiosity with the slipper for a while. The day after leaving St Marys, I was in no fit state to consider it either. I had rather indulged too eagerly in drinks at the nearby hostelry the day before and was still much the worse for wear, nursing the consequences of a most annoying hangover.

The following morning I was recovered and, seeing no point in delaying, picked up the piece of paper Miss Roberts had given me and rang her number. After a brief pause she answered and seemed genuinely pleased that I had called her. We arranged that I would go around to her house that afternoon at 2pm for coffee and a chat, and perhaps, I wondered, a slippering. She only lived a short bus ride away, in a neat little terraced house in a respectable road. I walked up the path and rang the doorbell. Seconds later, the door opened and I was welcomed by Miss Roberts, although she took me a bit by surprise.

I was so used to seeing her in sports clothing or in a neat skirt and blouse at assembly or on more formal occasions, but what greeted me was a young woman dressed in jeans and T shirt rather like myself. She looked different out of her school wear and in casual clothing; I suppose younger and more attractive than I’d previously noticed. She was of similar height to me but with shorter dark brown hair which she wore in a bobbed style, and like me I would describe her as being slim and of athletic build. It also occurred to me that she was probably only in her mid twenties, and perhaps not as old as I’d previously envisaged.

My surprise must have been obvious to her as she laughed and said that she wore normal clothes too, just like everybody else. For my part, being dressed in a similar fashion to her and not in my school uniform must have made me look quite different to her too.

I went inside and was shown into the lounge where I settled myself down on a comfy leather settee while she made coffee for us both. She soon returned with a hot mug of coffee each which she placed on the table in front of us,  before sitting down next to me.

“Well, do you still want to be slippered?” She asked.

I was relieved that she had brought the subject up so quickly and that I didn’t have to embarrass myself once again in front of her.

“Yes Miss Roberts, I haven’t changed my mind, far from it.”

“There’s no ‘Miss Roberts’ now, Shona. We’re not still at school, so please call me Sandra from now on.”

It seemed strange having to call her Sandra when for all my school life she had been Miss Roberts, but she was right, there was no need to be so formal now we were no longer teacher and pupil and being on first name terms was much friendlier.

“Yes Sandra, I still want you to slipper me please.” There, I’d said it, and this time without any hint of embarrassment on my behalf.

“Well if that’s what you want there is no obstacle to me doing it now, but I warn you it will hurt if I give you a proper slippering, if that’s what you are after. Are you quite sure?”

“Positive,” I replied. “I’ve been thinking about this and wanting it for so long I’m not going to change my mind now. And I want you to give me a proper slippering too. Don’t go easy on me, otherwise I won’t know what it would have felt like to get the slipper at school.”

She laughed. “Well, I’ve tried to warn you to be careful of what you wish for, but you are a determined young girl and I can see that only a good slippering is going to satisfy that curiosity of yours. I will slipper you, Shona, and I’ll do it as if it were a proper school slippering, but from your perspective I will require you to take the full punishment no matter how much it hurts; no backing out if you are to get the full benefit. Is that what you want?”

“Yes please,” I replied. “I’ll take whatever punishment you deem fit for me and will not back out from it, I promise.”

A sudden feeling of elation enveloped me as, after contemplating being slippered for so long a time, it was now finally going to happen and allow me to put my curiosity to rest.

“Okay, once you’ve finished your coffee I’ll get the plimsoll and we can get to work on that bottom of yours, Shona.”

My previous happy demeanour faded, much to Sandra’s surprise.

“Is something the matter? Have you changed your mind about it?” She asked.

“No, it’s not that. It’s just that it doesn’t feel right doing it here with us dressed as we are. Isn’t there any way you could do it back at school? You as Miss Roberts, and me as Shona Jenkinson of the upper sixth?”

Sandra sat back and thought for a moment.

“I can see where you are coming from, now you mention it. Alright, I have a key to the gym area of the school and I doubt there will be anybody around with it only just being into the holiday period. If there is anyone, I can say I’m doing some prep work for next year. Now that would make me seem dedicated! Come to the school tomorrow morning at 10am and I’ll leave the side door unlocked so you can get in. Bring your gym kit, and you will find Miss Roberts and not Sandra waiting for you to give you your punishment.” As she finished, she gave me a warm smile.

For the next hour we talked about school, my future career plans and university. As I finally went to leave, I felt I had found a new friend in Sandra Roberts, no longer Miss Roberts the gym mistress, and tomorrow she was going to slipper me.

I slept fitfully that night due to a mixture of anticipation and excitement of what was to come the next day, but also an underlying fear of what I was getting myself into. Sandra’s words kept echoing in my head. Did I really have myself prepared for this, or would it be an unwelcome shock? Whatever the outcome, I had made my decision and was not going to back out now at the last minute. I got up, showered and dressed casually again in jeans and top. I was sorely tempted to wear my school uniform but I would have looked far too conspicuous walking to school with it on outside term time. I put my gym kit in my rucksack and set off to school.

I arrived just on ten and the place looked deserted except for one car in the car park, which I knew to be Sandra’s, or Miss Roberts as she was now to become again. I walked through the gates towards the gym area and the side door I was to enter by. Arriving at the door I tried the handle and found it was unlocked. I opened it and stepped into the corridor. For a moment, I didn’t recognise the place. It was normally so noisy with the sound of girls shouting or laughing and yet this morning it was silent, totally silent, and it was rather surreal. I walked down the corridor towards the changing rooms, my footsteps on the polished tiled floor echoing in the silence. As I passed Miss Roberts’ office the door was shut, so I stopped and knocked twice.

Almost instantly the door opened and Sandra, or Miss Roberts as she now was once again, was standing there dressed in her usual gym attire of white sports shirt and short blue hockey skirt, her legs bare.

”You are one minute late, Jenkinson!” She exclaimed. “Get in that changing room now and get yourself changed and into the gym as quickly as you can, or you’ll suffer even more for it.”

Her manner was brusque, unfriendly even, and it took me by surprise. It was as far removed from the Sandra I had enjoyed coffee with the previous afternoon as I could have imagined. She shut the door again, leaving me standing alone outside in the corridor.

Putting my surprise to one side, I hurried to the changing rooms and quickly stripped down to my bra, the only item of my current clothing I was going to retain, then put my sports shirt on before pulling on my shorts, no knickers of any description underneath. I walked quickly to the gym, the tiled floor feeling cold beneath my bare feet. The often said expression of ‘no running in the corridors’ still forbade me to go any faster.

The gym was only a short distance from the changing rooms and on arrival I pushed open the doors and walked in. The first thing I noticed was that the vaulting horse had been moved from its usual resting position against the wall to further out into the gym, and its height lowered to the ‘punishment position’. The second thing I noticed was the worn white plimsoll sitting atop it. Finally, I saw Miss Roberts standing close to the wall, arms folded, legs astride with a stern expression on her face.

“What took you so long, Jenkinson?”

“I’m sorry, Miss Roberts, I went as fast as I could,” I stammered in reply.

“Well, your fast enough is not good enough, is it?” She replied. “I want you to do six laps round the gym, and be quick about it.”

I set off and sprinted as fast as I could six times round the gym, as I’d been told. On arriving back at my starting point on completion of the final lap, Miss Roberts spoke again.

“That’s better, Jenkinson. You put a bit of effort in that for a change. Now get down on the floor and give me twenty press ups, and make sure you get down fully for each one.”

I got down to the ground and did twenty of my best press ups, chest right down to the floor and then arms fully extended on the upward thrust. Finally I stood up again and was breathing heavily with the exertion.

“What’s the matter, Jenkinson, out of breath are we? Not fit enough, maybe? Would you like to do another six laps of the gym perhaps?”

“No, Miss Roberts.” I panted out in reply.

“Very well, fetch me that plimsoll you see over there, and hurry girl!”

I ran over to the horse and picked up the plimsoll. It was old and worn, the fabric badly frayed, but I noted that the sole, whilst also well worn, was stiff and for a moment I tried to imagine how it would feel when making contact with my bottom. I ran to Miss Roberts and handed her the plimsoll which she flexed in her hand before motioning me back towards the horse. It was at this point that the fear of what was to come nearly overcame me, and I very nearly changed my mind and told Miss Roberts so. However, this is what I had wished for all along, a proper slippering, and it was what I was going to get. It was not going to be pleasant, but then it shouldn’t be. Perhaps I had not prepared myself properly for this, but I gritted my teeth and kept my mouth closed. I would take what was coming to me.

I was standing in front of the horse waiting for my next instruction and I didn’t have long to wait.

“Shorts off, Jenkinson,” came the announcement.

I hesitated. Did I think I was going to keep my shorts on? Did I not expect to be punished on my bare bottom?

“Come on, girl, I haven’t got all day. Or do you want me to take them off for you?”

Miss Roberts’ words brought me back to my senses. I hurriedly slipped my thumbs into the waist band of my shorts, slid them down my legs and stepped out of them, leaving them in a heap on the floor. I was now naked from the waist down and without thinking instinctively covered my crotch with my hands.

“Put your hands on your head and don’t stand there in that ridiculous manner,” came my next command. I removed my hands from their position of protecting my modesty and put them on my head, an action that also caused the hem of my sports shirt to rise fully, exposing my trimmed triangle of blonde pubic hair to Miss Roberts’s gaze. She had seen me naked numerous times in the changing room, and I had thought nothing of it, but now, standing before her in this position, I could feel myself blushing in considerable embarrassment.

“Right, Jenkinson, you have had this coming to you for a long while. This slippering is well overdue and I am going to make sure you remember it for a long time to come. You will receive twelve of the very best on your bare bottom. Is that understood?”

By this time I was practically shaking with nerves and embarrassment, but managed to reply with a weak: “Yes, Miss Roberts.”

“Good. Now get over the horse. You know the position. I want your legs straight and up on your toes, bottom well presented for me. Now do it, girl!”

I stepped forward, thankful to remove my hands from my head and, standing at the side of the horse, leaned forward over its worn leather top which then supported my hips and stomach while my fingers tried to find something to hold on to on the far side, eventually coming to rest on a slight ridge in the wood that I could grip on to. My hair was hanging down over my face, only adding to the strange sensation I felt being in this position. It also meant I had no visibility of Miss Roberts behind me, or her plimsoll. I was forced to spread my legs a little wider to straighten them and then raise myself up on to my toes. I could only imagine the view I was giving Miss Roberts of my pert young bottom, and perhaps a little more in this most revealing of positions, one that I was about to be slippered in.

Miss Roberts walked over to me and pushed my top further up my back and tucked it into my bra strap. I was now bare from the middle of my back to the tip of my toes. Seemingly content with this, she took up position just behind me to my left and I waited.

“Thrust your bottom back for me as far as you can,” she said in a calm and measured tone.

I thrust back as much as I could and felt the plimsoll tap my bare skin lightly three times. As it lifted for the third time the expectation in my body was uncontrollable and I involuntarily clenched my buttocks waiting for the impact.

“Just relax.” Miss Roberts’ words were this time said more softly, which took me rather by surprise, causing me to do the very thing she had asked me to.

As my buttocks unclenched it happened. The sound echoed around the gym like an explosion. I felt myself pushed forward into the horse and a shockwave seemed to take my breath away, my mouth opening but no sound coming out. More than anything, though, I was aware of an intense, stinging, burning sensation in my bottom.

I was in such shock that I had barely moved or made any sound but heard Miss Roberts voice again.

“On your toes and bottom well out, Jenkinson.” The tone had once again changed and had now reverted to her former brusque self.

I raised myself on to my toes again and thrust my bottom backwards, only for it to be met by another blow from the plimsoll. The stinging in my bottom increased to a new intensity and again my mouth opened without making a sound. Perhaps Miss Roberts thought I was taking my punishment well, but in truth I was in a state of shock over what I was experiencing and it was only because of this that I remained motionless and silent over the horse.

With the third explosion, my silence broke and I gave out a shrill wail from my mouth, my hips gyrating against the edge of the horse trying desperately to ease the stinging in my bottom. I could feel tears starting to form in my eyes. Had I been in the traditional touching toes position I am certain that I would have stood up, hands clasping my bottom. But, positioned over the horse, it was more difficult and I gripped tightly to my handholds and forced myself to stay in position.

The fourth, fifth and sixth strokes continued in similar fashion, each causing my head to jerk up as I gave out an ever more urgent wail as the stinging and burning in my bottom increased to an even more unimaginable level. By now the tears that had previously been forming in my eyes were flowing freely down my cheeks.

There was a slight pause as Miss Roberts placed her hand on my bottom and briefly felt both cheeks.

“That is half way, Jenkinson. Do you think you have had enough?”

I wondered if she was giving me the opportunity to call a halt to my punishment, to finish it at that point, but despite the discomfort I felt and despite the tears I was shedding I heard myself say: “No, Miss Roberts.”

“No indeed, Jenkinson, six more to come. On your toes again, and bottom out.”

I pushed myself up and thrust my bottom back again, thankful for the slight respite before the next impact of the plimsoll. The next five strokes were something of a blur to me. I was vaguely aware of Miss Roberts’ voice telling me to push my bottom out, my compliance, the impact of the plimsoll and the ever increasing stinging in my bottom. I was aware, too, of yelling out at each impact and of my tears.

Finally, I heard Miss Roberts say: “Last one.”

I went up on my toes again and thrust my bottom out as far as I could, inviting the plimsoll to visit it for the twelfth and final time. The impact echoed round the gym as it made contact with my bottom, burning another impression of its sole into my already reddened flesh.

Miss Roberts placed the plimsoll on the horse next to me and stood back.

“Your punishment is over, Jenkinson. I hope it has been a lesson to you. You may stand now.”

For several seconds I continued to lie over the horse without moving as the tears rolled down my face, thankful that my ordeal was now over. Eventually I raised myself up and stood shakily, my hands about to go to my scorched bottom.

“Put your hands on you head and keep them well away from your bottom unless you want to go over the horse again for another six!” Miss Roberts commanded.

I did as I was told, unable to bear the thought of any more punishment.

“Go and stand facing the wall and keep your hands on your head while you are there. I will be back shortly and if I find you’ve moved in any way you can have another dose of the plimsoll. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Miss Roberts.” I managed to stutter out.

I went and stood facing the wall, hands on head, and heard footsteps and the gym door opening and closing behind me. My bottom was burning and throbbing, it felt as if it had swollen to twice its size, and I dearly wanted to rub it, to ease the terrible stinging, but I didn’t. Of course there was nothing to actually stop me doing so, or even to walk out of the gym and get myself dressed and home, but I didn’t.

I didn’t because in my mind I was once again Shona Jenkinson of the upper sixth and Miss Roberts my gym teacher who I had to obey.

A minute or so later the gym door opened again and I heard Miss Roberts enter.

“You can take your hands down now, Jenkinson, and go and get yourself showered.”

I lowered my hands and, without touching my bottom, turned and picked up my shorts from the floor. Without putting them on, I ran out the gym and back to the safety of the changing room. There was a full length mirror in the changing room and I pulled my top off over my head and then with my back to the mirror looked over my shoulder to inspect the damage. My bottom was a deep crimson, standing out comically from my pale back and legs. My hands finally went to it, as at last I clasped each buttock and gently rubbed them. The skin felt hot, again in stark contrast to the rest of my body. I had now managed to somewhat compose myself and the tears had now become the odd sniffle, but my bottom still burned and throbbed with each step and movement I took.

I removed my bra and walked over to the showers at the far end of the changing room. They were switched on, obviously Miss Roberts’s reason for leaving the gym earlier. I entered them, stood under a shower head and closed my eyes. The water was warm and the feel of it on my head, running down my body, was a pleasant relief and momentarily took my mind off my aching bottom.

“Well, how was it then?”

The voice startled me and I opened my eyes and looked to my right. Coming towards me was Miss Roberts, or Sandra as she had now once more become, and she was naked. It was something of a shock to me. Although she had seen me naked on numerous occasions while getting changed, I had never seen her without clothes on before. Her body was similar to mine, slim and athletic, but her breasts, although not large, were a little bigger than my own. What caught my attention most, however, was the area at the top of her thighs and her absence of pubic hair. I had not seen an adult woman shaved before. It was not commonplace at that time, and neither I nor any of my school friends had ever done such a thing. It was a style that I, too, would adopt before the month was out.

She came and stood next to me, sharing the shower head, and her left hand reached out and gently stroked my bottom. I will leave it to your imagination as to what transpired over the next fifteen minutes or so. Suffice to say that it would not be acceptable conduct for a teacher with her pupil, but then we were no longer Jenkinson of the upper sixth and Miss Roberts the gym mistress, we were Shona and Sandra two consenting adults.

*          *          *

Over the rest of the summer holidays I became a frequent visitor to Sandra’s house as we became more than just good friends, and she educated me in matters that had not been part of the school curriculum. I had not found my slippering enjoyable in any way. It had been painful and distressing and my bottom had been bruised for several days afterwards. But then isn’t that what a punishment should be like, something unpleasant and not to be repeated, not something to be enjoyed? Sandra had been right in that I had been ill prepared for what a proper slippering would be like. Perhaps six of the best over knickers would have satisfied my curiosity rather than twelve on the bare bottom. However, Sandra had thought that I would want to experience the same punishment that I had witnessed Fiona receiving, and in that respect she was right, even if I would come to regret it later. She also told me that while the first six were ‘of the best’, the subsequent six were given with less force as she could see I was struggling, and for that I am grateful.

You would have thought that my experience of being slippered would have put me off corporal punishment for the rest of my life, but that has not turned out to be the case. Far from putting me off, it seems to have awoken an inner need in me to be to be disciplined at regular intervals, although not in the manner of my first slippering. Sandra has shown me that, given in a different way, corporal punishment, and in particular spanking, can be both enjoyable and highly arousing. Indeed, being spanked over her knee gets me wonderfully wet and aroused.

It also came as a pleasant surprise to me to discover that Sandra too enjoys being spanked, and I have now become quite proficient at taking her over my knee and giving her bottom a good spanking. It amuses me to think that only a few weeks ago it would have been Sandra Jenkinson of the upper sixth over her gym mistress’s knee while she spanked her bare bottom. How quickly things can change.

At the end of the summer holidays our time together had to come to a temporary halt as I left to continue my education at university. It is too far away to travel home during term time. However, we have kept in touch and I have kept Sandra informed of my various misdemeanours, usually involving an over indulgence in alcohol or lack of attention to my studies. She has promised to deal with these when we next meet, a prospect that fills me with excitement but also a little dread.

She also has a surprise for me. In my absence, she has purchased two school canes, a junior and senior cane, both of which she will introduce me to at the earliest opportunity. I have been as curious about being caned for as long as I have been curious about being slippered, often wondering what it actually feels like and what it would be like to have stripes decorating my bottom. Thoughts of being caned arouse me greatly and often lead to activities beneath my duvet that a well brought up young lady should not indulge in. I have confessed these actions to Sandra and she considers an actual caning would be suitable punishment.

I have though learnt one lesson from my slippering. I do not wish to receive an authentic school caning. Curious or not, I am happy to leave that to the imagination. Instead Sandra has promised me she can cane me in a way that I will find bearable, if still somewhat painful, and also in a way that will leave stripes on my bottom, and I cannot wait.

There are now just two weeks left until the end of term and I am counting down the days.

The End

© Steven Wilson 2017