The title says it all!

by John Switch

Attending school in the 1960s and 70s, corporal punishment was an ever present threat for Susan Wilson and her fellow pupils. At primary school, it was the ruler on the hands, though Susan’s behaviour was never quite bad enough for her to face that sanction. Sometimes she wondered what it would feel like to do so. After she passed her Eleven Plus and went to the local girls’ grammar school, the cane replaced the ruler as the threat.

Again, her behaviour never seemed to warrant the cane, though from time to time someone from her circle of friends was sent to the headmistress, the formidable Mrs Braithwaite, or her deputy, Mrs Jones, to be caned. Afterwards, Susan would listen avidly to accounts of canings on hand or bottom and would try to visualise herself in the miscreant’s place, seeing and feeling the cane descend on her palm, or being bent over a chair or desk to receive the cane on her bottom. Her friends always seemed very keen to avoid a repeat experience, and were usually successful in that endeavour, so she never voiced her thoughts, convinced she would be regarded as a freak and a weirdo if she did. Sometimes she considered behaving badly enough to be caned but could never pluck up the courage to go through with it.

The years passed. Susan did well in her O-levels and went on to study maths, further maths, physics and chemistry in the Sixth form. The latter only recently became available at A-level due to the school hiring specialist staff, all-male. She threw herself into her studies, caning ceased to be used as a sanction and thus a subject of conversation, so Susan was able to put her thoughts on the subject to the back of her mind and her secret desires rarely troubled her. In the Upper Sixth, her exemplary behaviour record resulted in her being made a prefect.

Then one fateful day in the Upper Sixth, she overslept. She skipped breakfast and dashed to school, arriving just as the bell for the start of the first period was ringing. She ran through the corridors to get to her maths class, rounded a corner and slammed straight into someone, knocking her over, much to the amusement of a line of Lower School girls. Susan also fell and her improperly fastened bag spilled its contents on the floor. Mortified, she realised it was Mrs Braithwaite that she had sent flying.

“I’m really sorry, miss. I…”

“How DARE you!”

“It was an accident…”

“Which would not have happened if you had not been charging around like a mad thing!”

Prefect and headmistress began gathering up their things.

“What is this?”

Susan looked up and saw with horror that Mrs Braithwaite was holding her packet of cigarettes.

Some of the Lower School girls began chanting: “You’re going to get the cane!”

Mrs Braithwaite glared at them. “If I hear another peep out of you silly girls, you’ll be joining her!”

In the sudden silence, she turned her attention back to Susan.

“I have never had cause to cane a prefect before now but it would appear there is a first time for everything. Get your things together and go and wait outside my office.”

“But miss, I have maths now.”

“Do as you are told! If you’re not there and I have to come and fetch you, you’ll get extra.”

Susan felt a fluttering in her stomach. I’m going to be caned! Doing her best not to meet anyone’s gaze, she gathered her things together and walked to the staff corridor. The fluttering felt like a swarm of butterflies, and her mind was in turmoil. She dreaded the coming ordeal and yet she felt excited too; she was finally going to experience a caning!

As she waited outside the Headmistress’s office, she contemplated what was to come. She frequently had to wipe her damp palms on her skirt as she wondered whether she would be caned on her hands or bottom. Sometimes her friends had received it on the bottom, sometimes on the hand. She examined her fine-boned dainty hands and wondered whether they would be badly marked by the cane, making her fall from grace visible for all to see. Or was she to be caned on her bottom, making her squirm in her seat when she finally got to her lesson? Then she wondered how much it would hurt and hoped she would respond bravely. Susan did not want to be walking round the school with reddened puffy eyes. That would be humiliating for an Upper Sixth girl who had already turned eighteen. Then the feelings of anticipation returned and Susan wondered why she had them; she almost wanted to be caned. She felt sure she must be a unique freak to have such strange desires.

Still, she could keep those thoughts in her head. What probably couldn’t be kept quiet was the news of her coming humiliation; the lower school girls who had witnessed her collision and subsequent exchange with Mrs Braithwaite were unlikely to keep what they had seen to themselves, and soon the whole school would know a Sixth Form girl, and a prefect at that, was to be caned.

‘Well, I always wondered what a caning would feel like. I suppose I should be careful what I wish for. I wonder how many I’m going to get?

 If she remembered correctly, when her friends were caned they used to get from two to four strokes, and given the mood Mrs Brathwaite was in, Susan was unlikely to get the minimum.

Still no sign of her. Susan wished the old cow would hurry up.

After half an hour, Mrs Braithwaite returned and unlocked the door.

“Wait out here until I call you, girl!”

Susan wondered how much longer she would have to wait. She just wanted it to be over. Also, she was missing maths and she did not want to get on the wrong side of her teacher, Abigail Miller, who she rather liked.

The butterflies returned.

I’m going to be caned. I’m going to be caned. Oh god I’m going to be caned!

At long last, she heard the command: “Enter!”

She did so and stood before the desk, noting that the in-tray and other paperwork had been moved to one side. She also noticed the crook-handled yellow-brown cane lying on the opposite side. It looked to be about a metre long and about a centimetre in diameter. She shivered and really hoped that a cane that size was not going to be used on her hands.

Mrs Braithwaite stood and walked from behind the desk. “Now stand in front of the desk and lie over it, gripping the far edge.”

Susan obeyed, still fearful of what was to come, yet relieved that it was her bottom that was to receive the cane, not her hands. Everything seemed to take an age, yet at the same time events seemed to be rushing headlong to their denouement. Her hips rested on the near edge, presenting her bottom for punishment. She felt her skirt being lifted. Her knickers were left in place but they were a little on the small side, rather tight and had ridden up her bum crack so she doubted they were actually concealing very much. She could feel the cool air on her lower buttocks.

“Now girl, you know why you are here don’t you?”

Susan just wished she would get on with it. “Yes miss.”

“And why is that?”

“Running in the corridor and knocking you over, and having cigarettes in my possession, miss.”

“Correct. Such dangerous tomfoolery by a senior girl is bad enough in itself, and on its own a caning might not have been necessary, but the possession of cigarettes by a prefect undermines the school ethos and merits a serious penalty. Six strokes of the cane.”

Susan quailed. Six! Yet even now she felt an eagerness for her caning to commence. Mrs Braithwaite picked up the cane. Susan felt it tap against her knickered bottom.

“Now stay down until I tell you that you can move or you’ll get extras. Do you understand?”
“Yes miss.”

Susan heard the swish of the cane and both felt and heard it thwack against her bottom. She gasped as a streak of fire blazed across the middle of her bum-cheeks.

Oh God I’m actually being caned!

The cane swished through the air again and landed a little below the first. She maintained her grip on the far side of the desk but couldn’t help squirming, causing her knickers to ride further up into her bum-crack, exposing more of her lower buttocks. She felt the cool air on her skin.

The period change bell rang.

Half my double maths wasted!

The cane tapped again, somewhat lower again and on bare skin.


“Aaaah!” Susan’s eyes filled with water.

Tap. Pause. Swish-thwack. Her eyes overflowed as the cane struck more bare skin. Susan writhed on the desk.

“Keep still, girl!”

The fifth stroke landed on her lower bottom, as did the sixth.


Susan lay on the desk panting as if she had just run a marathon. Her bottom throbbed and stung.

“You can stand now.”

Susan did so. Her hands went to her bottom, not squeezing or rubbing, just holding.

“I suggest you go to the wash-room and compose yourself.”

Susan nodded, wiped her eyes, adjusted her knickers, pushed her skirt back down and took her leave.

In the wash-room, she examined her bottom in the mirror, feeling a thrill at the sight of the red streaks on her white bottom, then washed her face in cold water. She looked in the mirror. Better! Her bottom felt like she had been sitting on an oven rack, but there was not much she could do about that. She drew in a deep breath, exhaled sharply and set off to face whatever the rest of the day was going to bring.

She walked to the door of her class and knocked, then entered.

Abigail Miller, the teacher, frowned. “You’re very late!”

“Sorry miss, I had to see Mrs Braithwaite.”

Susan sat at her desk and squirmed as her caned bottom came into contact with the hard wooden seat, and felt a perverse pleasure at the resulting sensations. She smiled.

I’ve had the cane!

The End

© John Switch 2021

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