The little matter of cheating leads two girls into so much more trouble.

by Kenny Walters

Angelina Davenport unlocked the boot of her car before dropping her two heavy bags onto the carpeted interior. She opened one of the bags and searched through the mass of exercise books it contained.

“Damn!” Slamming the boot lid shut and re-locking it the attractive honey blonde History teacher, now in her late twenties, turned and headed back towards the college building. She checked her watch. It was eighteen minutes past four; no wonder the sixth form college was deserted as she headed along the corridor.

As the tall slim teacher passed room 17, the sound of voices caused her to stop dead in her tracks. She listened carefully. Yes, there was no mistake. Voices. Teenage female voices. Slowly, taking care not to let her flat rubber-soled shoes make the slightest sound on the tiled corridor floor, Angelina Davenport slowly continued her journey to retrieve the test papers for tomorrow’s upper sixth form class that she’d prepared earlier in the day and had inadvertently left in her desk drawer.

Nearing room 19, her classroom, Miss Davenport saw that the door was open, and the voices were indeed emanating from that room. She crept up to the doorway and looked in.

“Here they are!” A tall red-haired girl pulled a folder out of the drawer she was searching through and placed it on top of the desk.

A shorter girl with long dark hair opened the folder and hastily cast her eyes over the papers contained within. “Yes, that’s them okay.”

“Count them.” Chantelle Williams, the taller girl, suggested. “See if there’s some spares. Then we won’t have to copy them out.”

“Damn! Fifteen exactly.” Chloe Henderson replied, once she’d finished her tally of the test papers.

“Not very considerate of old Naffingport!” Chantelle brushed back her long wavy hair. “We’d better get writing before the cleaners get here.”

“Trust Naffingport not to print any spares.” Chloe retorted. “She always was a tight-arsed cow.”

“Shut up and get writing!” Chantelle cautioned as she reached into her bag for some paper and a pen.

“Sorry to interrupt you, girls!” Angelina Davenport’s voice suddenly filled the empty classroom. “Especially when you’re being so unusually industrious.”

Both the sixth form girls froze. Slowly, they stood upright and turned towards the open door.

“Sorry, Miss. We were just looking for some…..” Chloe’s voice trailed off as she failed to think of any good reason she should be searching through the drawers of their teacher’s desk.

Angelina Davenport ignored Chloe’s clumsy attempt at an excuse and entered the classroom. When she reached her desk, she collected up the test papers and tapped them into a neat pile before re-inserting them in the folder.

“How many of these questions have you read?”

“About three or four, Miss.” Chantelle replied, deciding honesty was now the best policy. “I just skimmed over the others, without really reading them.”

“Chloe?” Miss Davenport kept her eyes on the folder of test papers.

“The same, Miss.”

“Which then means I shall have to spend my whole evening writing up a fresh test. I did have other things planned, actually, like marking your homework.”

“Sorry, Miss.” Chantelle answered meekly.

“Sorry, Miss.” Cloe murmured.

“Right! Get yourselves off home, girls. And I do mean home!” Miss Davenport’s voice boomed around the empty classroom. As the two girls went to pick up their bags, the teacher added: “And report to me here at noon tomorrow. I shall let you know then how I have decided to deal with you!”

The two eighteen year olds silently left the classroom, and Angelina Davenport listened carefully as the sound of footsteps receded. She sat down at her desk and thought for some long moments before picking up the now useless test papers and leaving the classroom herself.

* * *

“Thank you girls!” Miss Davenport raised her voice against the college bell announcing the arrival of lunch time. Already, some of the girls of 6A had started packing their work away, but they now froze as their teacher spoke. “Okay, you have your homework for tonight. Any questions?” A brief look around the room confirmed no-one needed to incur the wrath of their classmates by delaying the girls’ lunch, so Miss Davenport dismissed the class.

As the teacher sat alone in her classroom, she looked at her watch. It was one minute past twelve. Chantelle Williams and Chloe Henderson should be arriving at any moment. The discussion about their punishment should take no longer than ten minutes, she’d have a ploughman’s lunch at the Cricketers’ Arms just a five minute drive away, then she’d be seeing Chantelle and Chloe again when 6C’s next History Lesson began at a quarter to two.

Another glance at her watch showed Angelina Davenport the time was now three minutes past twelve, and she could hear footsteps approaching the classroom door. Someone outside tapped gently.

“Come in!” Miss Davenport called, and the door opened.

“You…, you wanted to see us, Miss?” Chantelle Williams, the first girl through the door, spoke as though their teacher might have forgotten their appointment.

Angelina Davenport sat behind her desk and watched the two girls slowly approach her. She stared up at them as they came to stand, side by side, to the left of her desk. Both girls seemed to be concentrating more on looking down at her smart grey pinstripe suit than looking into her deep blue eyes.

“Why?”

“Sorry, Miss?” Chantelle’s slightly worried expression, matching that of Chloe, turned to bewilderment.

“Why did you two girls feel the need to cheat in this test?” The teacher elaborated.

“I don’t know, Miss.” Chantelle tossed her long red hair nervously.

“How about you? Anything to say, Chloe?”

“I don’t know, Miss.” The shorter, dark haired girl murmured, picking a piece of fluff off the front of her pleated skirt, made of a deep red Scottish tartan material that contrasted nicely with her white blouse.

“If you had completed the reading I asked you to do, this test should have been relatively easy.”

Neither girl responded.

“Had you done the reading?”

“Yes, Miss.” Chloe answered almost automatically.

“Chantelle?”

The taller girl glanced briefly at her friend. “Well, sort of, Miss. I was going to read it all again yesterday evening.” Chantelle, too, was smartly dressed, as was required of all sixth formers at the college, in dark grey trousers and a white blouse.

“In other words, you hadn’t done the reading I asked you to do.”

“No, Miss.”

Chloe now looked quite guilty, feeling her own affirmative response would not now be believed.

“But you did, did you Chloe?”

“Well, sort of, Miss.”

“In other words, you didn’t.”

“No, Miss.”

“For Heavens sakes, girls! You’re eighteen years old! You’re in your second year of sixth form!” The attractive blonde teacher exploded. “This is not the sort of behaviour I’d expect from two such girls.

As Angelina Davenport glared up at the two eighteen year olds they both looked away, unable to face their teacher.

“Very well, if you’re going to behave childishly, that is the way I shall treat you.” If Angelina Davenport had expected these words to have made any great impression on the two girls standing beside her desk, she was disappointed. Both continued to look away, their expressions suggesting they found this dressing-down all rather tedious.

“I guess that’s us in detention next Wednesday.” Chloe had said the previous evening, as the two girls walked along the corridor towards the exit.

“Unless she reports us to the headmaster.” Chantelle had replied.

“For trying to cheat in one of her silly tests?” Chloe sneered. “No chance!”

“She probably heard us referring to her by her nickname.”

“So? Everyone calls her that.”

“Well yes, but it’s still not terribly respectful is it?”

“You’re worrying quite unnecessarily.” Chloe had declared. “A boring hour spent in detention and it will all be forgotten. You just wait and see.”

“…I shall carry out your punishments at a quarter to two this afternoon at the beginning of our History class.”

“Eh? Sorry, Miss?” Chloe questioned, as she suddenly looked back at their teacher in disbelief.

Chantelle, too, had snapped her head round to stare incredulously at the young teacher.

“But you can’t, Miss.” Chloe continued. “We’re sixth formers.”

“I certainly can, Chloe. And that is what I shall do at a quarter to two this afternoon.” Angelina Davenport replied firmly. “Unless of course you’d prefer to go and see the headmaster.”

“But Miss, you can’t!” Chloe’s voice contained more than a hint of desperation.

“So you want to go and see the headmaster, do you?”

Neither girl replied.

“Chloe?” Miss Davenport prompted.

The dark haired girl stood dumbfounded. Miss Davenport turned her attention to the taller girl, looking up at her in silent expectation of an answer.

“No, Miss.” Chantelle answered.

“Right! Go and have your lunch. I’ll see you both at a quarter to two.”

Chloe flounced towards the door the moment the two girls had been dismissed, leaving Chantelle to follow in her friend’s wake. They’d both brought sandwiches for their lunch and decided to find a quiet spot in the grounds where they could discuss their predicament in peace.

“No way!” Chloe declared the moment she sat down on a bench seat facing the athletics ground. “Absolutely no way!”

“But if you refuse, she’ll send you to the headmaster.”

“I don’t care.” Chloe spoke before sinking her teeth into a large ham and tomato sandwich.

“And he’ll give you a choice between four weeks suspension and a caning.” Chantelle bit a little more delicately into her chicken salad roll.

“So I’ll take the four week holiday.”

“And ruin your ‘A’ level studies? That’s ridiculous!”

“I don’t care.”

For several minutes, the two eighteen year olds continued eating in silence.

“Fancy a walk?” Chloe suggested as she wiped her mouth on a paper tissue.

“Okay.”

“So, you’re going to let her do it, are you?” Chloe led them on a stroll around the circumference of the oval athletics track.

“I’ve no choice.”

“Yes you have! Just refuse.”

“I can’t.” Chantelle shook her head to emphasis the point. “My ‘A’ level studies are already falling behind schedule. I can’t risk making that ten times worse by getting myself suspended.”

“There’s no guarantee the headmaster would suspend you.”

“I certainly don’t fancy the cane, thank you very much!”

“It might be something like litter picking duty.” Chloe suggested. “You don’t know.”

“For deliberate cheating? I don’t think so.” Chantelle shook her head. “It’s got to rank somewhere up there with bunking off college, and look what happened to Charlotte Hyde-Jenkins. She only missed one day!”

“She could have been unlucky.” Chloe said hopefully. “Perhaps the headmaster was in a bad mood that day.”

“And you’re feeling lucky, are you?”

* * *

At a quarter to two precisely, just as the college bell announced the beginning of the afternoon lessons, Angelina Davenport entered room 19 where those girls of 6C taking History were now gathered and talking moderately peacefully amongst themselves.

“Good afternoon, girls.” Miss Davenport spoke in a loud voice which immediately brought the girls to order.

“Good afternoon, Miss.” The reply was reasonably united.

“Be seated.” Miss Davenport took the register from the top drawer of her desk and opened it. It took just a few minutes to read out the names of the fifteen girls in this class and for fourteen to reply. The teacher looked around for the missing class member.

“Does anyone know where Chloe Henderson is?” Angelina Davenport visually searched the classroom again. “Chantelle. Do you know where Chloe is?”

“No Miss.” Chantelle lied.

“I saw her going into the library about five minutes ago, Miss.” Another girl in the class, Veronica Miles, volunteered.

“Did you, Veronica?” Miss Davenport acknowledged thoughtfully. “No matter. Before we begin the test I have prepared for you, I’m afraid I have to deal with an incident that occurred last evening which, although it will have no consequences for you, nevertheless involved me in a lot of extra work and means, I’m afraid, I haven’t yet finished marking your homework.”

If Veronica Miles, or indeed any of the other girls, had thought of offering to go and fetch Chloe Henderson from the library, this was now totally forgotten with Miss Davenport’s intriguing statement about an incident yesterday evening. An emotive hush descended on the entire class.

In no apparent haste to enlighten the girls, Angelina Davenport got up from behind her desk and walked round to the front where she sat herself down again on the edge of the desk, facing the class.

“I’m afraid two girls let both themselves down and indeed the entire class down by endeavouring to copy the test paper I had prepared for you.” Angelina Davenport picked up a foot long plastic ruler and began toying with it.

For all bar one girl in this History class, this was getting better and better. All eyes stared in anticipation at the attractive young History teacher, except for Chantelle Williams whose dark brown eyes stared down at the closed text book on the desk in front of her.

“As a consequence…,” Miss Davenport paused for reflection, leaving the majority of the girls in the class practically gasping to know which two girls were now in serious trouble. Chloe Henderson’s unexplained absence pointed a finger in her direction, but who was the other girl?

“As a consequence, I offered both girls what I considered to be a suitable punishment for this childish and stupid offence.” The teacher took another pause, looking around the room to see the effect her words were having. Chantelle Williams seemed to be in a world of her own and barely listening, but the remainder of the girls were concentrating on catching every last word on the subject and awaited the next sentence with baited breath.

“It seems one girl has the good grace to acknowledge the error of her ways and come along this afternoon to receive her punishment. Be in no doubt, girls, this girl has my full respect.”

Now, every girl was bursting with excitement, wanting to know who was the second girl and just what punishment was she going to get. Whatever it was, it seemed it was going to happen right here in front of them, and that could surely mean only one thing, couldn’t it? And why did Miss Davenport keep playing with that plastic ruler? Of course, one girl was not at all excited by this unfolding drama, but then she already knew the outcome.

The attractive young History teacher looked around the class, before her eyes settled on Chantelle Williams. It seemed an age before she said quietly: “Chantelle.”

Chantelle Williams, who had remained apparently deep in thought and disinterested in the teacher’s words, now suddenly looked up.

“Who?” A couple of girls whispered to their neighbours, not having caught the name voiced by their teacher.

“Shush!” Was the only reply they got from girls not wanting to miss a second of this enthralling episode.

From the corners of her eyes Chantelle could see other girls watching her intently, and instinct told her those she couldn’t see would undoubtedly be observing her just as closely. The eighteen year old slowly got up from her chair and stood behind her desk as she scooped her red hair back into a ponytail and secured it with a rubber band she had placed on her desk in readiness.

As Chantelle kept the other girls waiting in eager anticipation, Angelina Davenport watched patiently and with some sympathy etched into her facial expression as the sixth form girl secured her hair neatly back. Idly, the teacher continued playing with the plastic ruler.

When, finally, Chantelle was certain her hair was firmly held in the ponytail by the rubber band, she stepped out from behind her desk and cautiously approached the front of the class. There was a clear area of floor between the teacher’s desk and the door to the classroom, and it was here that the eighteen year old now stood facing the wall-mounted blackboard.

Miss Davenport slowly eased herself off the front of her desk and tapped the plastic ruler against the palm of her hand as she looked at Chantelle. This caused some concern amongst the watching girls, for if Miss Davenport was indeed intending to warm the palms of Chantelle’s hands, their view would be obscured by the eighteen year old standing with her back towards them. Unless, of course, the young teacher remembered to tell Chantelle to turn around.

Still in no rush, Angelina Davenport placed the ruler down on her desk and walked round to the opposite side where she bent over and noisily scraped open a bottom drawer. Moments later, she stood up again clutching a long wooden implement, the business end of which was flat, about eighteen inches long and four or five inches wide, and the handle perhaps five or six inches long and round.

Amidst several gasps and the odd muffled cry of glee, Miss Davenport slowly approached Chantelle, who had observed anxiously the teacher’s every move.

“Bend over.” The honey blonde haired teacher said simply, as she stood to the side of the tall eighteen year old sixth form girl.

Chantelle immediately leaned over, her hands reaching for the floor. Realising she couldn’t quite reach the tips of her black shoes, she grasped the bottoms of her trousers and held the material bunched up around her legs just above her ankles. The combined action caused the seat of Chantelle’s dark grey trousers to cling tightly to her bottom and accentuate the firm round curves, and to reveal a pantyline of quite brief underwear.

The other girls in the class watched with mounting excitement, bursting to pass comments to their neighbours but fearful lest Miss Davenport take exception to their antics and invite them to the front of the class too. Oh, how some of them would have loved to have commented on the lines of Chantelle’s underwear that left the lower portions of her bottom quite bare, a fact that was now quite evident.

As Chantelle looked sideways from her bending position, she saw Miss Davenport approaching and patting her left hand gently with the wooden implement. As the teacher took up her position by Chantelle’s left side, she immediately rested the implement gently on the seat of the eighteen year old’s trousers.

“Hold tight!” With the young History teacher’s warning, Chantelle immediately braced herself. When the touch of the implement against the seat of her trousers vanished, the sixth form girl closed her eyes, and waited.

Suddenly, with a loud bang, the implement landed sharply across Chantelle’s bottom.

“Aaaaaaahh!!” The eighteen year old gasped as the pain spread instantly across the whole width of her backside, a bruising sore pain that caused her eyes to water immediately.

The silence in the room was now deafening as every other girl in the class stared wide-eyed at the scene before them, hardly daring to blink lest they miss even one small part of the action.

Unbeknown to Chantelle, even though she was expecting it, Miss Davenport pulled the wooden implement back a second time, then sent it forward until it crashed into the seat of Chantelle’s tightly stretched trousers.

“Aaaaaargh!” The sixth form girl gasped for breath again as the next bout of pain exploded across her bottom, intensifying the soreness she already felt from the first blow. Chantelle blinked away the tears that wanted to form in the corners of her eyes, and braced herself for the next stroke.

Taking her time, Miss Davenport drew the implement back for a third time as she studied that portion of Chantelle’s trouser clad bottom that would receive the next strike. Deciding on a spot low down on the girl’s buttocks, she sent the wooden blade hurtling down until yet another loud bang resounded around the classroom.

“Uuuuuuuuuuhh!!” Chantelle grunted, her bottom feeling as though a burning torch had struck her forcefully across her backside. Now she wanted to leap up and clasp her hands to her aching bottom, but instinctively she knew this would not meet with Miss Davenport’s approval. Instead, she gripped her legs just above the ankles and held on tight. Just one more to take and then… then Chantelle would have to stand and turn, and face her classmates.

Angelina Davenport had already decided the final stroke would punish the eighteen year old firmly across the centre of her bottom again. As the wooden implement was held at the back of its swing, perhaps three feet from the surface of Chantelle’s bottom, the honey blonde teacher stared down at the waiting target. Chantelle, gripping the bottoms of her legs for all she was worth, hardly daring to take a breath, knew it was coming. Even the watching girls, most leaning forward on their desks to get the best view, found themselves holding their breaths in eager anticipation.

The wooden implement started moving, started gaining speed rapidly as it accelerated towards the inviting target, hurtling down until Chantelle’s bottom stopped it dead in its tracks with yet another loud crack.

“Aaaaaaaaaaarrrrgh!!” It was all the eighteen year old could do to remain in her bending position as she arched her back as much as was possible while still keeping the tight grip on the bottoms of her legs. The pain burned her already sore bottom and it was oh so tempting to grab her buttocks and try and massage away some of the fiery agony.

“Alright, Chantelle. You may get up.” Miss Davenport turned and went back to her desk as Chantelle slowly eased herself up to a standing position. With her teacher seemingly engrossed in returning the wooden implement to the bottom drawer of the desk, Chantelle looked briefly across, then turned to finally face her classmates. The knowledge that each and every one of them was watching for her tears, was eagerly looking for her to rub her sore bottom, compelled Chantelle to walk back to her desk neither openly crying, even though her eyes felt quite moist, nor touching the seat of her dark grey trousers, until she sat painfully down at her desk.

A few murmurings were quickly silenced by Miss Davenport who now stood at the front of the class with what appeared to be another announcement.

“Before we move on to your test,” The honey blonde teacher looked around the class, then smiled. “No, I haven’t forgotten.”

One or two girls smiled back weakly, most had their minds elsewhere than the forthcoming test.

“I’m going to leave you for a few minutes. Use the time to look through your notes and prepare yourselves for the test. I want absolute silence. Do not let me down, or you know what to expect.” With a final brief smile, the teacher left the classroom.

After a few seconds. one girl got up and raced to the door. She opened it cautiously and peered outside, looking both ways along the corridor.

“All clear!”

Most of the other girls in the class took this as a signal to get up and group around Chantelle’s desk. She looked up at the grinning faces, her hands still holding the text book she’d opened to pretend she was engrossed in her studies and hopefully avoid conversation.

“Come on!” Several girls squealed excitedly.

“What?” Chantelle asked tetchily.

“You know!”

Yes, Chantelle did know, only too well, what the girls were wanting. She didn’t need to look around to know that practically all the class was now surrounding her, and that they’d easily be able to overcome any resistance she might offer.

As the tall red haired girl stood up, the others watched expectantly. As she slowly unzipped the front of her dark grey trousers, Chantelle could sense the girls almost drooling. She slid the trousers down to her knees revealing pale blue brief panties that, as the girls had already judged, left the lower parts of her bottom quite bare.

“And the knickers!” Girlish voices demanded.

Knowing that any protest would fall on stone deaf ears, Chantelle surrendered her underwear by pushing the pale blue panties down to meet her trousers bunched around her knees. Having gone so far, there seemed little point in hindering the girls’ fun. Chantelle leaned across her desk and stuck her bottom out.

“Nice and red!”

“Definitely well tanned, I’d say!”

“Serves her right!”

“High time she had her cute little bottom smacked!”

“Someone watch the door. I want to see!”

After a few minutes, the girls appeared to have had their fun, for they began drifting back to their places. Chantelle pulled her pale blue panties up and secured her trousers back in place.

* * *

“Someone’s coming!” The girl by the door announced, then rushed back to her place.

Moments later, the door opened and Miss Davenport returned with an unhappy looking Chloe Henderson. When the honey blonde teacher stood at the front of the class, Chloe remained by her side.

“We have the other culprit, girls.” Angelina Davenport announced. “Rather more reluctant than her friend when it comes to facing justice, but here nonetheless.”

All the girls in the class, Chantelle included, watched their teacher with polite diligence, but the earlier excitement that accompanied the unveiling and subsequent punishment of the first offender was now noticeably lacking.

When Miss Davenport went across to her desk, some eyes followed her while others remained focused on the smaller dark haired girl that stood despondently in front of the class. That the teacher sat on the front edge of her desk rather than go immediately to the bottom drawer meant little to the watching girls. Even picking up the plastic ruler and tapping the palm of one hand did little to raise the girls’ mood.

“If you behave like a sixth form girl and accept your punishment with good grace, I shall treat you accordingly.” Miss Davenport’s voice boomed loudly enough for every girl to hear, but not to excite them. “If you don’t….” As the teacher’s voice trailed away, she put the plastic ruler back down on the desk. “Chloe!” A finger crooked to beckon the smaller dark haired girl towards the teacher.

Clamping her lips together, Chloe turned and walked slowly towards the teacher. Even now, a tear trickled from the corner of her eye and began rolling down her cheek. She pinched the sides of her red tartan skirt between thumbs and forefingers as she tried to tug it down slightly, to show a little less of her shapely legs.

Approaching Miss Davenport, Chloe came almost to a standstill then went to go past the teacher. A hand stopped her. Miss Davenport sat back on the desk and swung herself to the left so the upper thigh of her left leg rested along the edge of the desk while her right leg remained firmly on the floor.

Now the other girls in the class were showing an interest in these strange happenings; some, Chantelle included, frowned as they tried to fathom what was going on. Only Chloe appeared to have an inkling, betrayed by her pleading look up into her teacher’s face.

Miss Davenport took hold of Chloe by the upper arm and pulled her forward, and Chloe took the hint. She bent forward over the teacher’s thigh and across the desk, resting her head on her hands. While this solved some of the mystery for the other girls, it raised other questions too. Some wondered whether Miss Davenport had forgotten the wooden implement now back in her bottom drawer; others felt they knew this teacher too well for her to have simply had a lapse of memory. All agreed this was a most humiliating position for their classmate to find herself in.

Whilst the interest in dark haired Chloe bending over Miss Davenport’s knee was certainly there, the mood of excitement was still quite lacking. Then the teacher took hold of the hem of the eighteen year old’s pleated red tartan skirt and everything suddenly became more intense. All eyes widened as Miss Davenport slowly raised the hem of the skirt higher and higher until it was folded right up the girl’s back revealing a firm round bottom encased in brief white panties.

As if to heighten the tension even further, Miss Davenport gently plucked the elastic waistband of the underwear between forefinger and thumb. The atmosphere in the room was now electric as the girls waited with baited breath to see what the teacher’s next action would be. For once, Miss Davenport seemed undecided as she held the delicate material an inch from the girl’s tanned waist. And then…. disappointment as the garment was pulled higher up. The more optimistic girls in the class noted the lower portions of Chloe’s bottom were now quite naked, those who’d been hoping for rather more consoled themselves that at least some sort of a spanking was now in the offing.

With her left hand holding onto the girl’s knickers and keeping the exposed parts of the bottom from becoming covered again, Miss Davenport flattened the palm of her right hand and gave Chloe a sharp smack across the centre of her bottom. A second smack followed, aimed at the upper part of the right buttock, followed by a third aimed lower down on the right side.

With every other girl in the class now watching enthusiastically, Miss Davenport spanked Chloe over the entire area of her backside. Sometimes the smacks landed on the dark haired girl’s knickers; sometimes they landed on bare areas of flesh. Anyone doubting the efficacy of the spanking had only to glance at the naked portions of Chloe’s bottom and observe the reddening of the pale creamy flesh.

With more than twenty spanks applied to her bottom, Chloe began to feel the effects rather more intensely, for she began to wriggle and writhe as she lay across her teacher’s knee and the desk.

“Hold still!” Miss Davenport bellowed, and pushed down with the hand still clutching the elastic waistband of the girl’s knickers and pinning Chloe in position.

Still the spanking continued, covering in a random fashion the entire area of Chloe’s round bottom, and the eighteen year old struggled to move against the restraining hand of her teacher.

“Aaah!” Chloe cried softly, as if to confirm the discomfort she was experiencing as a result of the spanking. Relentlessly, Miss Davenport continued, her hand smacking one portion of bottom, then another, and another at random so the girl had no idea where the next spank would land.

“Ouch!!” Chloe called out again, a little more loudly this time.

This time, the shriek of pain appeared to have been noted, for Miss Davenport finally stopped hitting the girl across her bottom. Gently, the teacher pulled back the white underwear and peeked at the red sore bottom that lay underneath.

“Right! Well, I suppose that is the most we can expect a girl of your low moral fibre to take.” With that, the teacher gave Chloe a final smack across the seat of her knickers and released her.

Immediately, Chloe pushed herself off the desk and her teacher’s knee and stood for a moment or two gently rubbing her sore bottom over her underwear but beneath the red tartan skirt that had now all but fallen back into place. She turned and almost raced to her desk.

“Okay, excitement over, girls!” Miss Davenport sighed deeply. “Now, let’s see about your test.”

With barely enough of the lesson remaining for the test to be completed, the papers had only just been completed and handed in before the bell rang to signify it was time for the afternoon break. Chloe grabbed her things together and rushed out of the classroom.

Chantelle left more sedately, a couple of girls giving her a pat on the arm as a gesture of support. As the group dispersed, Chantelle reckoned Chloe might have returned to the library, well known as a place of sanctuary. After a brief look around to ensure she was truly alone, Chantelle opened the door and peered in.

“Psssst!”

Chantelle walked towards where she thought the hiss had come from, and discovered Chloe hiding behind a tall row of books.

“Are you alright?” Chantelle asked, grinning gently at her friend’s antics.

“I have never been so humiliated in all my life!” Chloe declared.

“Really?”

“And it bloody hurt!”

“Spankings are meant to.” Chantelle replied, struggling to keep a straight face. “So why are you hiding in here?”

“I don’t want any aggravation from the others.”

“Oh.” Chantelle reckoned she knew what Chloe was referring to.

The two girls waited until the afternoon break was almost over, then Chantelle left the library to go to her English class and Chloe headed towards her Geography lesson.

“I’ll meet you outside the main gate at four o’clock.” Chantelle called after her friend.

* * *

A cool breeze left Chantelle wishing she’d arranged to meet Chloe inside the school building. Another glance at her watch told the eighteen year old it was eighteen minutes past four. “I’ll give her another two minutes, and then I’m off.” Chantelle said to herself.

By twenty past four, all the other sixth form girls had passed Chantelle by. Some sniggered; some made remarks to their friends, while others simply ignored the waiting eighteen year old. Still there was no sign of Chloe.

“Perhaps I’d better see where she’s got to.” Chantelle sighed as she continued the conversation with herself. After walking back to the sixth form college building, she found Chloe leaving the ground floor changing room looking rather dishevelled.

“Where have you been?” Chantelle called. “I’ve been stood outside the main gate freezing to death!”

“Veronica Miles and a few of her mates ambushed me in the cloakroom. Then they took me into the little store room.”

“Oh.” Chantelle replied, feeling she knew the result. Even so, she couldn’t resist asking. “And…. they…..?”

“Bent me over that old vaulting horse and pulled my knickers down, if you must know!” Chloe answered angrily. “This whole thing has been just so humiliating! And it’s all that old cow’s fault.”

“She’s only twenty-nine, actually.” Chantelle replied. “I don’t know if that really qualifies as ‘old’. I presume you’re referring to Miss Davenport.”

“Too right I am.”

The two eighteen year olds went through the main door and began walking along the drive towards the main gate. On their way, they passed Miss Davenport’s car.

“Hold on.” Chloe stopped walking and looked around.

“What’s the matter?”

“Just keep watch and let me know if anyone comes!”

“Chloe! What are you doing?”

The question was hardly necessary, for Chloe had taken a large shiny steel nail from her bag and was bending down attempting to place it in the leading edge of the tread of the front tyre.

“Chloe! This is crazy!”

“Just shut up and keep watching! This will only take a moment.”

“Chloe, you’re just being stupid! Anyway, she’s parked so close to the car in front she’s going to have to reverse. You’re putting the nail in the wrong side.”

“Eh?” Chloe looked towards the car parked ahead of Miss Davenport’s. “Oh, right.”

It took Chloe a moment or two to get the nail out of the tread at the front of the wheel and turn her attention to the trailing edge. Chantelle watched her anxiously.

“And what do you two girls think you are doing?” The gruff male voice caught both girls by surprise. Chloe slowly stood up, then both girls turned to face their headmaster, Mr John Braithwaite.

“Er, nothing, sir.” Chloe replied, her hands held behind her back.

Mr Braithwaite, a tall man with silver grey hair, held his hand out. He didn’t feel the need to speak and after a few moments Chloe surrendered and handed him the steel nail.

“Is anything wrong?” A new voice entered the conversation.

“I’ve just come across these two young ladies trying to puncture one of your tyres, Angelina.”

“Oh no, not these two again!”

“Been having trouble with them, have you Angelina?”

“Nothing I wasn’t able to resolve, headmaster.” Miss Davenport stared angrily at the two eighteen year olds. “Would you like me to deal with them?”

“No need Angelina.” The headmaster smiled. “I shall see them in my study at four o’clock tomorrow afternoon.”

“Oh thanks!” Chloe said, as soon as the two eighteen year olds were out of earshot as they walked towards the main gate.

“Excuse me?”

“For keeping such a good look-out.” Chloe explained angrily. “Now we’re really for it.”

“Oh, it’s all my fault, is it?” Chantelle had been on the point of remonstrating with Chloe herself. “You don’t think your brilliant idea of puncturing old Naffingport’s tyre had anything to do with it?”

“She shouldn’t have humiliated me like that.” Chloe sought to justify her intended action.

“If you’d taken your punishment in the first place, she wouldn’t have.”

“I hear that wasn’t much better!”

“It was better than getting the cane from Mr Braithwaite!” Chantelle retorted. “And, thanks to you, I now have that to look forward to tomorrow!”

“I’m getting it too.” Chloe reminded her.

* * *

When the school bell sounded at ten minutes to four the following day, Chantelle and Chloe were both in the same Mathematics class. So far, they’d managed to keep the incident with Miss Davenport’s car tyre from the others. They walked along the corridor together, looking round to make sure no-one was able to hear them.

“What do you reckon?” Chloe asked. “Headmaster’s study? Or shall we save time and head for the changing room?”

“Time’s a bit tight.” Chantelle thought for a moment. “And it might give the other girls some idea of what’s going to happen to us.”

“Perhaps you’re right.” Chloe agreed with a sigh. “Headmaster’s study it is, then.”

By walking slowly round a circuitous route, the two eighteen year olds were able to time their arrival at the door leading to the headmaster’s study at two minutes to four.

“We’re early.” Chantelle said, looking at her watch.

Chloe looked up and down the corridor. “Let’s knock anyway. We don’t want to be seen standing here.”

“Okay.” Chantelle did the honours and tapped gently on the large wooden door.

There was no immediate response from within. She contemplated knocking again in case Mr Braithwaite had failed to hear her previous soft taps.

“Someone’s coming.” Chloe hissed.

Chantelle stood away from the door as the footsteps came ever nearer. Then, from around the corner, came a fellow sixth form girl, Michelle Evans.

“What have you two been up to?” Michelle asked with a broad smile on her face.

“Nothing!” Chloe answered instinctively.

“Oh, right!” Michelle smiled disbelievingly, but thankfully continued on her journey.

“Well done, Chloe!” Chantelle spoke sarcastically. “Now everyone will know we’ve been disciplined by the headmaster! You should have said we’re here for careers advice or something.”

“I didn’t think!”

“No.”

While they were arguing, the two girls had failed to notice the door being peeled open.

“You may come in now.” The female voice said.

As Miss Davenport held the door open for them, the two girls walked in.

“Well, at least I can’t criticise you on your time-keeping.” Mr Braithwaite looked up as Chloe and Chantelle stood in front of his large desk.

Both girls remained silent, looking sheepishly down at the thick pile carpet.

“I’m sure I have no need to tell you how stupid your actions were, nor indeed how dangerous the consequences might have been.” The headmaster cast his eye over the two sixth form girls’ attire, Chloe in black trousers and white blouse, Chantelle in dark blue trousers and a similar white blouse. “Do I?” He added, when neither girl replied.

“No sir.” They both mumbled in response.

“No sir.” The headmaster mimicked. “So, is there any good reason why I should not cane the pair of you?”

Chloe continued to look down thoughtfully at the carpet. Chantelle looked away, towards the window with its curtains already drawn.

“It was my fault, sir.” Chloe mumbled.

“Your fault, girl?” Mr Braithwaite queried. “Speak up, girl.”

“It was my idea to put the nail under Miss Davenport’s tyre, sir. Chantelle had nothing to do with it.”

“And you’re willing to take the entire punishment in place of your friend, are you?”

Chloe hesitated. “Yes, sir.” She replied, mumbling again.

“So, you had nothing to do with it, eh Chantelle?”

Chantelle, too, took a moment or two to reply. “Not really sir.”

She had wondered whether Chloe might do the honourable thing and offer to take responsibility for the whole sad affair, but was still surprised when it seemed her friend was doing just that.

“You didn’t point out to your friend that she was placing the nail on the wrong side of the tyre, for example?”

Chantelle looked down and suddenly felt the need to scratch the back of her neck. Instinctively, she’d known deep down she shouldn’t have even attempted to wriggle out of her punishment.

“No answer, eh girl?”

“No, sir.”

“Right then, it’s six of the best each.” Mr Braithwaite pronounced sentence. “You know what to do.”

Without uttering another word, both girls headed for the door which Miss Davenport again held open for them to pass through.

For the first couple of minutes, the two girls walked in silence. Chloe spoke first, as much to end the tense quiet as anything.

“You brought some games wear, did you?”

“Of course.” Chantelle found the question irritating. Then, finding the subsequent silence even less appealing, she continued: “Did you?”

“Just some shorts.”

“Oh.” Chantelle, who had brought her full games kit, thought that slightly odd. “Guess that’ll do.”

“I suppose it was always going to be this, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, no doubt about it.”

By now, the girls had reached the cloakroom. The walked through past the shower room and entered the changing room with its bench seats and high mounted clothing hooks. Two of these hooks held sports bags and, when the girls were standing under their respective bags, they began stripping off their clothes.

“How long do you think we’ve got?” Chantelle asked, standing in just her brief white knickers and white bra.

“Not long. Why?” Chloe asked, her white blouse almost completely hiding her tight red panties.

“Just wondered if we had time for a cigarette before we go back, that’s all.” Chantelle pulled on a short white T-shirt.

“What if he smells it on our breath.” Chloe said, searching her sports bag.

“Good point. Better not.” Chantelle peeled off her white knickers and replaced them with a pair of thin white shorts.

“No, better not.” Chloe agreed, hiding something down the back of her red panties.

“Chloe! What on earth are you doing?”

“Just a little extra protection.” The dark haired girl explained as she pulled on a pair of red shorts over her underwear. “They’re my father’s handkerchiefs actually. Do they show?”

As Chloe lifted the tail of her white blouse and bent over, Chantelle looked carefully for any sign of the offending handkerchiefs and red panties. “No.” She replied honestly. “But what happened to the ‘one item of clothing’ rule?”

“It just got bent a little.” Chloe grinned. “Don’t tell me you haven’t kept your knickers on under those shorts.”

“No, I haven’t!” Chantelle retorted. “I’m not going to risk getting anything worse than what I’m already going to get, thank you.”

“Chantelle, you creep!” Chloe tormented. “If you wear your knickers under your shorts and we do get found out, we can claim we didn’t understand the rule. Neither of us have been caned before.” As she waited for Chantelle’s answer, Chloe added: “Have you?”

“No I haven’t! And I want to take my due punishment and get this sorry mess over with.”

“But everyone else keeps their knickers on.” Chloe protested. “He never ever notices.”

“Everyone? How often does he cane girls, for goodness sakes?”

“Not often. That’s probably why he never spots things like that.”

“I really don’t think we should, Chloe.” Chantelle appeared extremely dubious about her friend’s assertions. Anyway, I can’t imagine it makes much difference.”

“It makes a lot of difference, actually!” Chloe exclaimed. “Or so I’ve been told. Apparently it’s much, much more painful if you’ve only got one layer of clothing.”

“It is?” Chantelle was already fearing how much the cane might hurt, and Chloe’s remarks weren’t helping at all.

“If you’re going to change your mind, hurry up.” Chloe urged. “We ought to be getting back.”

Her mind already in turmoil, Chantelle made a quick decision. “Okay.”

It took just a few seconds for the tall red haired girl to whip her white shorts off and quickly replace her white knickers, followed by the shorts again.

“Right.” Chloe said. “Let’s get going.”

“You’re sure this won’t show, aren’t you?” Chantelle twisted round, trying to see whether her underwear was visible under the shorts.

“Positive!” Chloe replied. “As long as you don’t bend down too far.”

* * *

The journey back to the door of the headmaster’s study seemed to take very little time. After a quick check of their attire, Chloe knocked on the door.

“In you come, girls.” Miss Davenport again assumed her door keeping role. “Go and stand by the far side of the desk.”

As the two girls took up their positions, they could see the end of the desk furthest away from them had been cleared of all paperwork and now looked pointedly bare. Over to their right, Mr Braithwaite stood holding the cane, a four foot length of pale yellow rattan with a small crook handle, menacingly in both hands.

‘If he tries a practice swing, I’m going to faint.” Chantelle thought to herself.

“Okay, who wants to get it over with?” Miss Davenport called from the further side of the desk.

Both girls moved forward, but Chantelle’s longer stride left Chloe trailing in her wake.

“Ready?” Miss Davenport looked Chantelle in the eye as they stood next to each other, the eighteen year old with the empty part of the desk in front of her.

Chantelle nodded.

“And you’re not wearing anything under your shorts, are you?”

“Oh, er…..” The question caught the eighteen year old by surprise. “Er, no Miss.”

“Right, bend over.”

“Yes, bend over, please.” The gruff male voice came suddenly from behind Chantelle’s left shoulder. She looked round anxiously, to find the headmaster standing quite close to her, the cane now held at the ready in his right hand. Clearly there would not be much time between her bending across the desk and the first stroke hitting the seat of her white shorts. She took a deep breath, held it for some seconds before exhaling, then bent down across the desk.

‘As long as you don’t bend down too far.’ Chloe’s words swirled around Chantelle’s mind as her elbows rested on the hard mahogany top of the desk, her upper body still some inches away from the rich red wood. ‘Will this be enough?’ She asked herself.

The reply was swift, sharp and painful. Barely hearing the whoosh of air, Chantelle felt the cane whip across the centre of her bottom bringing a stinging, burning pain of a severity she could not recall ever having experienced before.

“Uuuuuuuuhh!!” She grunted, her eyes closing and tears forming instantly in the corners of her eyes.

Within seconds, another whoosh of air brought another hard smack across Chantelle’s bottom that cut into the soft mounds of her buttocks and sent another bout of burning agony spreading right across her backside.

“Eeeeeeeeeeeesssshh!”

‘Grief! I thought that wooden bat of old Naffingport’s was bad enough!’ Chantelle thought to herself as she swayed against the force of the thin rattan.

Before the eighteen year old had time to collect her thoughts, the cane struck her mightily hard against the lower portions of her bottom, causing the girl to arch her back and move onto the tips of her toes.

“Aaaaaaaaaaaarrrgh!!” She cried, remaining on tip-toe for as long as she could, certain in the knowledge that as soon as she settled back into position, Mr Braithwaite would send another stroke hurtling down onto her poor bottom. ‘Can’t stay like this for ever.’ Chantelle thought to herself, then surrendered herself back into position.

In an instant, another stroke lashed across her now sore bottom bringing yet another bout of burning stinging pain to her entire backside.

“Nooooooooooooooooo…….!!” Chantelle yelled as the cane struck her near the top of her bottom, sending her sinking lower to the desk. She wriggled her backside, trying to ease at least some of the agony before she could even think about taking another stroke.

“Do you need a rest for a moment, Chantelle?” Miss Davenport asked gently.

Chantelle shook her head and offered her bottom for the next stroke. ‘No, I want this over with as soon as possible, thank you!’ She thought to herself.

True to form, Mr Braithwaite hastily sent the cane hurtling down until it crashed against the seat of Chantelle’s white shorts.

“Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeesh!!”

As Chantelle struggled to deal with the burning agony that swept across her neat round bottom, Chloe stepped to one side so she could get a better view of her friend’s backside and check there was no visible evidence of the brief white panties underneath. It looked okay.

‘Come on, hurry up!’ Chloe silently encouraged her headmaster. ‘The waiting is worse than anything.’

Chantelle had again tried to ease some of the soreness by wriggling her bottom, although she was far from sure whether this actually improved matters or made them worse. Now, she held still and immediately Mr Braithwaite responded by sending the cane hurtling down again.

“Yaaaaaaaaaahhh!! Sheeeeeeeeeeeesh!!” As the thin rattan cane whipped across her bottom yet again, Chantelle felt the tears rolling uncontrollably down the sides of her face. Now her bottom was on fire, and she desperately needed to clasp her hands to her bottom and massage away the scorching flames.

“Thank you, Chantelle, you may get up.”

Never before had Chantelle heard such welcome words, especially from her headmaster. She eased herself back into a standing position and rubbed her so very sore bottom through the two layers of thin white shorts and brief white panties.

“Return to your place when you are ready, Chantelle.” Miss Davenport’s authoritative voice boomed in the eighteen year old’s ear.

Chantelle turned immediately and walked unsteadily back to where Chloe still stood. They exchanged glances, Chantelle’s face wet with tears and screwed up in pain, Chloe’s usually cheeky face white with fear.

“Yes please, Chloe.” Miss Davenport called.

The smaller, dark haired, girl took a deep breath and walked forward towards the desk, round the headmaster and forward again until she felt the hard mahogany edge pressing into the tops of her legs.

“Ready?” Miss Davenport asked.

Chloe, her face grim, nodded.

“Bend over, girl.” The command came from Mr Braithwaite, standing behind Chloe’s left ear.

The eighteen year old leaned forward and placed the palms of her hands onto the wooden desk top, pushing her head down until it was perhaps a foot above her hands.

“A little further please, Chloe.” Miss Davenport requested.

Chloe responded by pushing her head down about another inch, and then she felt her bottom being lightly tapped by the tip of the rattan cane.

“Hold still, girl.” Mr Braithwaite seemed anxious to proceed.

Chloe froze, and barely a second later the cane swept forcefully into the middle of the seat of her red shorts, not to mention the red knickers and handkerchiefs she wore underneath.

“Ouch! Oooh, that hurt!” Chloe held her body still for the next stroke.

It came swiftly, as the cane cracked across the seat of the red shorts just an inch below the last stroke.

“Ooooooh! Eeesh!” Chloe exclaimed, still holding her position.

Within a second or two, the cane swept down again and cracked across Chloe’s waiting bottom, causing her to lurch forward a little against the edge of the desk.

“Grief, that hurts!” Chloe called out, screwing her face up. She moved her body back a little, so the desk was no longer pushing into her stomach, but causing her bottom to stick out a little more.

“Just a minute, Mr Braithwaite.” Miss Davenport spoke just in time for the headmaster to stop the stroke. “Are you wearing anything under those shorts, young lady?”

Chloe’s expression was a picture of innocence. “No, Miss.” The eighteen year old exclaimed, her tone suggesting the mere thought of her cheating in any way was quite out of order.

Miss Davenport stared at the still bending figure, looking Chloe straight in the eye.

“Chloe? Do I really have to pull down your shorts?”

“Er, that is….. no, Miss.” Chloe’s expression turned to a sheepish grin.

“Stand up!” Miss Davenport commanded, her voice loud and hostile.

Chloe stood up and bit her lip, the grin wiped from her face.

“Take your shorts down.”

“I say, Angelina……..” Mr Braithwaite felt himself going rather hot under the collar.

“Take them down immediately, girl!” Miss Davenport ignored the headmaster.

Chloe slipped her shorts down off her hips and allowed them to fall to her knees. Angelina Davenport bent down and lifted up the tail of the eighteen year old’s white blouse, then pulled back the elastic top of the girl’s red knickers. After a peer down at what should have been Chloe’s bare bottom, the teacher retrieved the two handkerchiefs and deposited them on the desk as evidence for the headmaster.

“I think you need to begin Chloe’s punishment again, headmaster.” Miss Davenport continued to hold on to the top of the girl’s underwear.

“I believe I do, Angelina. Yes, indeed.”

Whereas Chloe took a philosophical view of the discovery, and the subsequent extra punishment, Chantelle was viewing these proceedings with sheer horror. She could only hope all the attention remained focused on Chloe.

“Bend back over the desk, girl!” Miss Davenport ordered. “And get right down this time.”

Meekly, the dark haired eighteen year old bent across the desk, going all the way down until she rested the upper half of her body on the hard wooden surface. Immediately, Miss Davenport seized the elastic top of her red knickers again.

“Angelina!” Mr Braithwaite cautioned.

Miss Davenport paused, thought for a moment, then pulled Chloe’s knickers up so they tightened around the girl’s firm round bottom and exposed the lower portions of pale white flesh.

“Right, young lady, I’m beginning your punishment again.” Mr Braithwaite confirmed, as Angelina Davenport stood back. “Six of the best.”

Chloe reached out and gripped the far edge of the desk. This was going to hurt, and she knew it.

Immediately, the cane swooshed through the air and cracked across Chloe’s scantily clad bottom.

“Aaaaaaarrrgh!” She cried, with far more sincerity than before. Now all Chloe’s efforts to evade punishment seemed so foolish; if only she’d taken the four whacks alongside Chantelle that Miss Davenport had originally awarded her.

Mr Braithwaite focused on Chloe’s bottom, and the portions of bare bottom that had been exposed by Angelina Davenport. He sent the cane sweeping down with as much force as he could muster.

“Eeeeeessshhh!” Chloe felt the cane strike her low down so she was propelled forward into the hard edge of the desk. Already, her bottom was sore and hurting like nothing she could ever recall before, and her caning, her real caning, was still in its early stages.

Relentlessly, Mr Braithwaite hurled the cane down again, his target this time the very centre of the wretched girl’s red knicker clad bottom.

“Uuuuuuuuuuhhh!!” Chloe felt the searing agony sweep across her sore bottom with a fresh new venom. Her face screwed up in pain, the tears were forming in her eyes no matter how hard she tried to prevent it.

Already, though, her headmaster had the next stroke lined up. Ignoring the girl’s cries of anguish, he sent the cane hurtling down and caught her sharply across the upper part of her bottom so that it glanced off her buttocks and accidentally tapped her lower back.

“Aaaaaaaahhhh!!” Chloe cried, feeling the pain to her bottom just as intensely. She added: “Ow!” a moment later although the tap to her lower back caused no pain, it just caught her by surprise.

Mr Braithwaite determined to make the next one lower, much lower, to the point it caught poor Chloe once again across the portions of her bottom that were not covered by her brief red knickers.

“Eeeeeeeeessshhh!!” The eighteen year old dark haired girl cried out, finding herself once again pushed forward into the hard edge of the desk. By now, her bottom was extremely sore and aching; indeed the only thing that prevented her jumping up and rubbing her sore bottom was the knowledge she had just one more stroke to take and then her ordeal would be legitimately over. Far better to hold on and take the final stroke than risk yet more additional punishment.

Already, though, Mr Braithwaite had the final stroke lined up. As the cane whooshed through the air, Chloe had just enough time to grip the far edge of the desk before the cane whipped across the centre of her bottom with a crack that echoed round the room.

“Aaaaaaaaaaaaargghh!!” Chloe arched her back against the stinging smarting pain. Now the tears did start to trickle down the sides of her face, tears that she wiped away with the back of one hand when all she wanted to hear was that she could get up and tend her terribly sore bottom.

“Right! Up you get, Chloe.”

At last! Miss Davenport’s words saw the eighteen year old clamber sorely off the desk, stand on legs that seemed barely able to support her and gently and tenderly rub her backside by inserting her hand inside her brief red knickers in total disregard to the watching headmaster and teacher.

“Pull your shorts up, girl!”

The terse command penetrated Chloe’s distressed state almost as sharply as Mr Braithwaite’s cane had scythed through the scant protection afforded by her brief red knickers. She reached down and pulled her shorts up, the soreness in her bottom accentuated by the tightness of the red shorts around her backside.

“Go and stand with Chantelle, please.”

Miss Davenport’s voice retained the harsh tone of absolute control. Obediently, Chloe turned away from the desk and went to stand next to her friend, who offered a faintly sympathetic smile.

“Right, girls.” Mr Braithwaite’s gruffer male voice seemed markedly less hostile compared to Miss Davenport’s. “Now, let this be an end to this sorry state of affairs. I do not want……..”

“One moment, headmaster.” Miss Davenport interrupted. “Chantelle! Perhaps you’d better come over here and let me check.

Chantelle closed her eyes. She sighed and glanced briefly at Chloe, who stared down at the carpet as she still tended her aching bottom with a hand down the back of her shorts.

“Chantelle!”

Miss Davenport called a second time for the eighteen year old red haired girl to come to her.

Chantelle sighed again, still not moving. Instead, she meekly pushed her white shorts down until they fell around her ankles, her white T-shirt not quite concealing the white knickers she had been wearing beneath her shorts. She eased her shoes off where she stood, then kicked off the white shorts before slowly padding back to the headmaster’s desk in her white calf length socks. With not a word being said by her headmaster or her teacher, Chantelle bent across the desk, right down so the hard wooden surface pressed into her upper body, clasped her hands in front of her and rested her chin on her hands, ready to take whatever chastisement Mr Braithwaite felt necessary to punish her for cheating in her previous caning.

Miss Davenport, though, was not satisfied by the eighteen year old red haired girl simply bending over for another dose of the cane. The teacher stepped forward and slowly and pointedly folded the girl’s white T-shirt up her back so the white knicker clad bottom appeared utterly vulnerable between the naked expanses of Chantelle’s thighs and back. Finally, Miss Davenport tugged the elastic waistband of the white underwear up and up, exposing ample portions of the girl’s round bottom, portions that already displayed reddish brown bruising caused by the earlier caning.

“All yours, headmaster.” Miss Davenport stepped back to allow Mr Braithwaite room to swing the cane.

“Thank you, Angelina.” The headmaster stood behind the bending figure of the eighteen year old and looked down at the half naked globes of her bottom. “So, Chantelle, we’ll start again, shall we?”

“Yes, sir.” Chantelle moaned unhappily.

Within seconds, Mr Braithwaite swung the cane down until it slashed across the lower, uncovered area of Chantelle’s bottom.

“Eeeeeeeessshh!!” The teenager screwed her face up as she felt the difference between being caned across two layers of clothing and on her bare bottom. As the cane fell away, only the other three observed the single angry red line that revealed just where on the girl’s bottom the cane had struck.

“Aaaaaaaaaaaaahh!!” The cane cracked across Chantelle’s backside a second time, slightly higher than the first stroke, but still smacking against enough bare flesh to impart a stinging, smarting pain that brought tears to the girl’s eyes.

“Uuuuuuuuuunnhh!!” The third stroke whipped into the higher portion of the eighteen year old’s bottom, hitting entirely against areas covered by the thin material of Chantelle’s brief white panties, not that the underwear gave much protection at least as far as Chantelle was concerned.

“Oooooooooooooosshh!!” Mr Braithwaite aimed the cane low down where nearly all the girl’s bottom was bare, causing another vivid red line to scorch its mark across the pale flesh. By now, Chantelle’s bottom was very sore indeed and the relentless caning was becoming unbearable. Tears trickled their way uncontrollably down the sides of the eighteen year old’s pretty face.

“Ooooooooooouuuuccchhh!!” Angelina Davenport watched with quiet satisfaction as the slender rattan cane whipped across the centre of Chantelle’s bottom, barely a quarter of an inch below where she had been struck earlier. The screwed up face that revealed just how much effect the caning was having on the eighteen year old seemed sweet revenge for the attempt at sabotaging her car.

“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrgghh!!” The final stroke, just an inch above the last one, still landing on mainly bare bottom, brought Chantelle’s caning to a close with a cutting blow that caused the eighteen year old red haired girl to burst into a flood of tears.

As Chantelle sobbed, still bent across the desk, Mr Braithwaite turned away and replaced the cane in a corner cupboard.

“Come along, Chantelle, the show’s over. We’d all like to get along home, I’m sure.”

As Chantelle glanced towards Miss Davenport, her pain-filled face tinged with anger at the teacher’s caustic remark, she noticed a clean white handkerchief being offered to her. Taking it, she eased herself painfully up from the desk and began wiping away her tears with one hand while soothing her aching bottom with the other.

“Go and get your shorts on.” A sympathetic smile mixed with a softer voice encouraged Chantelle to turn and walk slowly and unsteadily back to where Chloe stood in stunned silence after witnessing her friend’s punishment. Chloe bent down and picked the white shorts up from where Chantelle had left them lying on the carpet, then held them out as her friend approached.

“Thanks.” Chantelle sniffed as she accepted the shorts and hopped agonisingly on one leg and then the other as she put them on. Turning, the two girls now stood side by side as they waited to be dismissed.

“If ever you two girls needed a lesson in not cheating,” Mr Braithwaite addressed then from behind his desk. “This surely must have been it.”

The headmaster looked at the two miserable eighteen year olds for some reaction to his words, but both girls stared blankly back at him.

“You may go.”

Chloe immediately stepped towards the door, and Chantelle followed a couple of paces behind. Finally, they were back in the relative safety of the corridor.

* * *

“Oh my God!” Chloe exclaimed when they were comfortably out of earshot of their headmaster and Miss Davenport. “Nine strokes! My bottom is just so sore.” As if to emphasise her comment, she rubbed her bottom over the seat of her red shorts.

“What are you complaining about?” Chantelle nearly exploded. “I got twelve! Remember? And it’s all your bloody fault!”

“Mine? I never forced you to keep your knickers on under your shorts, did I?” Chloe attempted to defend herself. “And you have to admit it was a lot less painful over the two layers, wasn’t it?”

“I still wouldn’t have described it as painless, actually!” Chantelle retorted. Now she, too, rubbed her bottom gently as they walked back to the changing room.

By now, the building was entirely deserted and the two eighteen year olds changed out of their games wear back into their trousers and blouses. When they left via a side door, they found the staff car park empty apart from two cars belonging to their headmaster and Miss Davenport.

“What became of that nail you were going to put under old Naffingport’s care tyre?” Chantelle asked.

“Braithwaite confiscated it of course.” Chloe replied. “Why? I’ve got two more in my bag.”

“Really?” Chantelle stopped in her tracks.

“Don’t even think about it!” Chloe grabbed her friend’s arm and pulled her towards the main gate.

The End