The headmasters pays a visit to the mother
By Ricky Richards
It was early Saturday evening and John Jackson, Headmaster of Westwood School, was just leaving the school. The term had finished the day before and he felt more free than he had for a long time. He was feeling excited, but apprehensive, as he was about to drive to Karen Robinson’s cottage about ten miles away. It was late June and still sunny late in the day.
Four days earlier Karen, the mother of a potential future pupil, had come to the school and during a discussion about discipline, had, to his amazement, asked to be caned in the same way that her son might expect should he ever need to be disciplined. This meant three hard strokes with a thin cane on her very small bottom. John obliged and Karen was shocked by the pain but soon regained her composure and, during the conversation that followed, it was agreed that he should visit Karen the next weekend for dinner. He had remembered to buy a bottle of white wine, as Karen had requested. He had also bought a bottle of New Zealand Pinot Noir, not knowing what they were going to eat. It took him a little longer than anticipated to find the cottage and he was beginning to feel a bit flustered, but quickly calmed down when he saw Karen waiting at the front door of the cottage, smiling and looking very fetching in a summer blouse and beige linen slacks.
“John, how lovely to see you,” she greeted him. “Come in. In fact, come through. I thought we could sit in the garden for a bit to catch the end of the sun.”
They went through the house and out the french windows at the back.
“So,” said Karin, “Drink? I’m feeling a bit nervous to tell the truth.”
“So am I,” admitted John. “But a gin and tonic, if you have it, would be great.” And he handed Karen the two bottles of wine and a bunch of anemones.
“Thank you so much,” she beamed. “My favourite flowers. How did you guess?”
“Oh, just masculine intuition,” smiled John, feeling better already.
“Anyway, do sit down, make yourself comfy and I’ll get the drinks,” said Karen.
John did precisely as he was told and a few minutes later they were both enjoying their drinks. This was the first opportunity they had had to find out something about each other.
“Do you live here on your own?” asked John.
“No, Martin, my son, is here most of the time but he is staying with his father this weekend.”
John raised a quizzical eyebrow.
“We divorced about five years ago. As usual, it was supposed to be amicable but quickly became unamicable. Is that a word? But at least I got to keep the cottage, which I love very much. And Martin is my only child. And what about you?”
“Well, I’m 42 years old, have no children and have never been married. I finished my last serious relationship about three years ago. My secretary says I am wedded to the school.”
“Maybe you are,” said Karen. “Do you realise that she is almost certainly in love with you?”
“Really?” said John. “How on earth do you know that?”
“Oh, just call it feminine intuition,” grinned Karen. And with that, they went inside and had dinner. Melon slices, cottage pie and sherry trifle. “I’m afraid I am not the greatest cook kin the world,” said Karen.
“It’s absolutely fine,” replied John. “And there’s plenty of wine.”
And there was, and by the end of the meal, both bottles were empty. They talked about everything and anything: politics, television, travel abroad, but both seemed wary of mentioning the real reason why John was there, namely, to inspect the state of Karin’s bottom, which he had caned four days earlier.
Karen returned to the subject of John’s secretary and what she had noticed about her.
“Well, she is a very good secretary, though I did have occasion to discipline her a couple of years ago.”
“You surprise me. What did she do wrong?”
“She, matron and the cook got together and devised a scheme whereby some of the food intended for school dinners was diverted to themselves instead, so for several months they never had to buy any food for themselves.”
“And what form did the discipline take?”
“I told them they were all going to lose their jobs but they begged me not to sack them and the cook suggested they should perhaps have a severe caning instead. They knew I sometimes caned the boys.”
“They agreed, though my secretary seemed a little more reluctant than the others. I said I would give each of them six of the best.”
“Six!” said Karin. “How did they manage?”
“Well, maybe that’s a story for another time.”
They went into the snug sitting-room, made themselves comfortable and finally John asked the question. “Well, how has your bottom been since it was caned, and how have you been, emotionally?”
“Well, let’s start with my bottom. When I got home that day I inspected it carefully and was amazed by the bright red stripes and how perfectly symmetrical they were. Also the weals were raised and ridged, which fascinated me. After that I checked my bottom several times a day to check any changes and each day the colours changed and the ridges had reduced. The bruises turned purple and are now going yellow. Quite extraordinary.
“As for my emotions; before the caning I was, of course, very apprehensive, and also a little bit curious. During the caning, which I found far more painful than I had expected, I experienced nothing but agony and a desire to get it over with. Afterwards, when the pain and the sting subsided I felt actually quite proud that I had taken a proper caning as well as relieved that I had managed, and now that the pain has gone I think I am wearing the bruises as a kind of badge of honour.”
“Would you still like me to have a look? asked John.
“Well, actually, yes I would.”
“No time like the present,” said John. “Might be an ides to close the curtains first, though. I don’t know what sort of neighbours you have!”
Karen got up, walked across the room and carefully closed the curtains. She walked over to the sofa, turned her back to John and slowly took down her slacks. As they fell to her ankles, she slipped her skimpy knickers down as well and, leaning forward over the sofa, bent over, showing her slim, pert bottom to John.
He was amazed. Karen’s bottom was very small, but not flat, rounded if anything, and astonishingly white, contrasting with her tanned legs. Three perfect stripes crossed her buttocks. High on the right buttock was a tattoo of a butterfly, which John was pleased not to have hit with the cane.
“Well,” said Karen. “What’s the verdict?”
“Beautiful bottom and the bruises are developing well. I guess within a week or ten days they’ll be done.”
“I’ll be a bit sad when that happens, I think,” said Karen a bit ruefully. “It seems that with a caning there are three stages, one horrible but two rather nice: first, the anticipation and suspense, then the actual pain and finally the afterglow and relief and pride. So two out of three is not bad.”
John was tempted to go and have a closer look, but did not eat to appear too forward. Karen, for her part, was rather enjoying displaying her bare bottom to this strong and handsome man. After a while, however, she stood up and pulled up her knickers and slacks.
“Time to leave maybe?” thought John,. unsure of the correct protocol in such a situation.
“I guess I’d better make a move, it’s getting a bit late.”
“Is that a good idea?” said Karen. “You, or rather we, – have had rather a lot to drink.”
That was true; they where both a bit squiffy.
“Well, I can call a taxi,” said John.
“Not much chance of anyone coming out here at this time of night,” said Karen. “Why not stay here? I can easily make you up a bed in the spare room.”
“Well, it might be the best idea, if it is not too much trouble. Mind you, it is rather naughty of you allowing me to drink so much.”
“I know,” grinned Karen. “Perhaps you should spank me for being so irresponsible. But just a mild spanking?”
“Good idea,” said John. “Just what you deserve. Now, or later?”
“I’ll go and get the spare room ready, then we can have a nightcap, a chat and a spank,” she said and headed off to the stairs.
John leaned back in his armchair, feeling very contented. After a few minutes Karen returned and they opened another bottle and chatted quite freely.
Finally Karen said, “Time for bed, I think. All that food and drink and chat has made me quite tired. But first my mild spanking, of course. How would you like me?”
“Over my knee, please,” said John. “And slacks off.”
Karen did as she was bid and John smacked her quite hard ten times on the right buttock. Then he asked her to change ends so he had unhindered access to the left buttock, which he then smacked ten times as well. Karin squealed a little but found the glow in her bottom comforting and pleasant.
“Will this mark me as well?” she asked.
“No,” said John. “It’ll be fine by the morning.”
“Will you check, just in case?”
“With pleasure,” said John.
“You are such a nice man,” purred Karen.
They both slept well that night.
© Ricky Richards 2018