Reliving old experiences leads to trouble. The first part of the story.

By Wendy A

I was about seven years old when my Father was promoted to the post of Housemaster at a boys preparatory school at Fordham. He had previously been a teacher at the school and we lived in a small cottage in the town. Fordham House was totally different, the house was huge, gardens enormous and there were lots of outbuildings like the stables that were no longer in use.

We lived in about half of the main house, the rest was the boys boarding house which included a large modern extension where the boys’ dormitories were located. I remember my first days at Fordham, a time of exploration, and I invited several of my friends to spend the day with me so we could explore the extensive grounds. There were no boys in residence; term would start in a few weeks time. We had the full run of the whole house and enjoyed the freedom.

That freedom ended the day before term was due to start. My Father sat me down in our lounge to explain that during term time the boys’ areas were strictly out of bounds. In the house the doors to the boys’ half of the house and the door to his study were not to be broached. He also suggested that I should stay away from the main outside play area but did not ban me totally from the grounds.

The next day I started back at school, a day school in the village where we had previously lived. It took me about half an hour to walk the two miles or so. A couple of my friends lived between Fordham and the village and so I had company for part of the walk.

I remember returning home after that first day, the house and grounds had come alive with what seemed like hundreds of boys. In fact there were only about ninety of them ranging in age from eight to twelve years. It seemed strange to be surrounded by so many boys and, apart from my Mother, Cook and her assistant and Matron, I was the only other female. The boys did not appear to be too friendly. I did get a few smiles but they seemed more interested in kicking balls around, climbing trees and generally playing rough games. At least I could invite some of my friends for the day and we could do our own things.

I saw my Father far less than when we first moved in. He ate most of the times with the boys, only occasionally eating with my Mother and I, usually when we had visitors. He would leave his Deputy in charge of the boys’ dining room. Mr Forbes was relatively young and apart from teaching he coached the sports teams. He seemed friendly and had said that I should not hesitate to seek him out if I needed any help with homework or any problems that I may not wish to discuss with my Father. He lived in a small cottage close to the main house.

I learnt quickly to ignore the boys; they lived on a totally different planet. Even at weekends when I had friends round, we often saw hoards of boys rushing here and there but we seemed to be invisible. Even at organised sports, we did sometimes watch them playing but were not impressed as they seemed more interested in getting covered in mud than playing the game.

One evening when I had some problems with my maths homework I decided to see if Mr Forbes was available. I knocked on his door but there was no answer. On making my way back to the house I heard my Father’s voice coming from his study, he was angry and was lecturing someone. I deviated from my path and as I got closer it became obvious two boys had been fighting. I had never really heard my Father sounding so severe, I would have been trembling if I had been the object of his tirade. I stayed and listened, fascinated by what was happening. He then announced the sentence. They would each get four strokes of the cane. They were told to remove their trousers and pants. I peeked in through the window, my Father had his back to me and the two boys were busy undressing; nobody noticed me.

When they were naked from the waist down he called one of them forward, he bent over a stool, my Father lifted his shirt tails to fully expose his bottom. He then stood to one side and proceeded to whack the cane against the boy’s bare bottom. The sound was horrific and the boy was clearly in pain, his screams got louder and he tried to reduce the impact by wiggling his bottom. After the fourth stroke he slowly stood up, he was clearly in agony and wiped tears from his eyes. The second boy soon took his place and received his four strokes, he made a little less fuss than the first boy. After a further lecture from my Father they were told to dress and leave his study.

That night in bed I relived the events of that evening, the anger of my Father, the demeanour of the boys, totally submissive and crushed, the humiliation of stripping, the bending over and exposure of their bottoms, the caning and the pain, the tears and complete destruction of any pride they may have had. I had never before witnessed a caning, my Mother occasionally spanked my bottom draped over her knee and my Father had twice given me a slippering holding me down over the arm of a chair.

I mentioned this to my friends and discovered that some of their brothers were caned at school. At our school neither boys nor girls were spanked. I became the centre of attention, several of my friends wanted to witness a caning. Sure enough their wishes were fulfilled although I would not let them peek in through the window for fear that my Father would spot us, I was convinced he would cane us if he caught us.

I also discovered that Mr Forbes sometimes caned the boys. One evening, again seeking help with maths homework, I went to his cottage. I was just about to knock on his door when I heard the sound of a cane landing on a boy’s bottom. I withdrew and hid round the corner of one of the outbuildings. After about ten minutes two boys exited, both had watery eyes and were rubbing their bottoms. I waited a few minutes and then knocked on the door. Mr Forbes opened it immediately, his frown changed to a broad smile when he saw me. I explained that I could not understand some maths problems; he invited me into his lounge. There was a chair in the middle of the room and a cane lay across his desk. He moved the chair and put the cane in a cupboard, all he said was: “I have just had to deal with two stupid boys.”

* * *

All that happened over ten years ago. I never ceased to be fascinated by corporal punishment and often wondered what it would be like to be caned like the boys at Fordham. I came close to it a few years ago when my Father realised that several bottles of wine were missing and he found several of us in the barn drinking. The others were packed off home while I ended up in his study. His lecture went on for ages, all I could think of was his cane, my legs were trembling and my bottom was tingling. In the end he gave me six hard whacks with a slipper, it hurt like hell but I was sure that it was not as awful as the cane.

I was in my last year at school in a nearby town and A levels were on the horizon. I had been going out with one of the boys, Jimmy, for several months and we had reached the stage of serious petting. He wanted to go further but I would not let him. My best friend, Mary, had been dating several boys and had recently found a new boyfriend from a school in the next town.

Chatting to Mary one day it appeared that she was at the same stage with her latest boyfriend, Ian, and wanted to go further. My parents were due to be away the following weekend for a family funeral in the north of England, I would have the run of our house from Thursday till Sunday. I suggested to Mary that she come to Fordham after sports on Saturday and that we invite Jimmy and Ian to join us. If all worked out the guys could stay overnight.

All was agreed and we arranged to meet the guys at 4pm that Saturday, Ian would drive us all to Fordham. I told Jimmy to bring some extra clothes with him in case they stayed the night, Mary had also told Ian. Even if the evening did not go as we had planned we could at least change out of our school clothes.

Saturday came and I was waiting outside the school gates with Mary and Jimmy. Ian was a few minutes late, explaining that his Mother had been shopping and was late getting back so he had had to wait for her. He drove the two miles to Fordham and as we approached the school he asked: “Is this really where you live?” I replied that it was.

He parked at the side of the house and we went inside. We dumped our bags in the hall and went into the kitchen. I handed beers to the guys and poured a couple of glasses of wine for Mary and myself.

We chatted away about school and what we would do after school. Ian seemed somewhat distant and in a dream. Mary finally asked him whether he was OK.

He took some time to reply. “It’s just that I was at school here about ten years ago. It brings back so many memories. I now recognise you, Wendy. Of course you have changed, but you still have the same smile and sparkling eyes. I have many happy memories of this place, as well as some not so happy. Can we go through to the boys side of the house?”

I explained that we would have to wait till 7pm. There was a concert in the school hall then and the house would be empty.

After a few more drinks 7pm arrived and we headed through the door to the boys half of the house. We assumed that both Cook and Matron would be at the concert as well as Mr Forbes. Ian opened a few doors, study rooms, seniors common room. He went on down a corridor and into another room, it was the changing room.

He stood silent for a moment and then said: “It’s strange seeing this room again. The seniors would bring the younger ones here for punishment. We would have to strip and then bend over one of the benches. They would whack us with a plimsoll. I feel guilty that I whacked a few juniors when I was in my final year here.”

We then went back to our side. Ian hesitated in front of my Father’s study.

“Can we go in here?”

I tried the door but it was locked. “We can get in from our side of the house.”

We went through the “out of bounds” door and along the corridor, the study door was unlocked and we entered. “God I feel nervous,” said Ian. “This room worried the shit out of me; the lecture and then the caning, bare bottom. Does your Father still cane boys?”

“No,” I replied. “It was banned about four years ago but I think he still keeps his canes in this cupboard.” I went over to the cupboard and sure enough there were a few canes hanging there.

Ian came over and took one. “Seeing it now makes me feel weak at the knees, it looks so innocent but it is a vicious weapon and stings like hell.”

It was time for dinner; Cook had prepared a salad with cold meats and we all tucked in washed down with wine and beer. After dinner we sat chatting and not a little about spanking, each of us recounting times we had been spanked. During a pause and looking at Ian I said: “I have a confession to make. To be honest, I do not specifically remember you at Fordham. There were so many boys, you all looked like peas in a pod. My confession is that I was fascinated by the canings, the power exercised by my Father, the submission of the boys, the humiliation of having to undress, the pain of the caning, the tears, the screams and the pain of standing, then dressing and walking out of his study. Sometimes I would watch through the window. I also invited some of my friends to come and witness canings. I am sure you came at least once, Mary?”

“Not once but at least three times. I was disappointed that you would not let us look through the window.”

I replied that I was worried that one time my Father would turn round and see a face at the window, he would have gone crazy, or that one of the girls would make a noise and give us all away; it was just too risky.

Jimmy had been quiet for a while. “Did your Father ever cane you, Wendy?”

“No, he did however slipper me, the last time about three years ago when he caught me with some friends drinking wine in the barn.”

Jimmy continued. “I bet if he saw you watching him caning a boy you could well have got a dose of the cane yourself. The first school I attended did use corporal punishment, the cane for boys and the belt for girls. As far as I know it was always over trousers and skirts and in the Head’s study, it still hurt a lot and left marks.”

Ian had been thinking quietly. “So Wendy, you used to spy on us getting whacked and you, Mary, seemed to have morbid thoughts if you came here three times to listen to us being caned. I think that deserves some sort of punishment, what do you think Jimmy?”

“Well, if I thought for a moment that my whackings were being watched by someone for their morbid curiosity then I would consider dishing out a caning so they could feel what it was like.”

At this I intervened. “I have often wondered whether I could take a caning, how much would it hurt compared to the slipper and how long would the marks take to disappear. Remember, Mary, that we often discussed this and even planned that one day we would cane each other.”

Mary went slightly red at this admission.

Ian took charge. “Well, we all seem to be in agreement that you two should receive the cane. I would suggest six of the best and as I received it, on the bare bottom. It would not be reasonable for you two to be caned without some retribution for us guys. I for my part am prepared to receive six on my bare bottom. What about you Jimmy?”

Jimmy nodded but seemed less keen than the others.

“Right I suggest that we go to your Father’s study and have a little practise before we start, none of us I assume has ever wielded a cane before.”

We returned to my Father’s study and I closed the curtains. Ian took a cushion off one of the easy chairs and set it on an upright chair. “I’ll go first.” He went to the cupboard and picked out a cane. He lined himself up on the cushion and after a couple of gentle whacks put more effort into the next four, my bottom felt tight just watching as the cane embed itself into the cushion. “Who’s next?”

I took hold of the cane and after a couple of light whacks put all my effort into the next four. Mary went next and Jimmy was the last.

Ian continued his leading role. “Right, next decision is who goes first, do they take all six or have a break? Do we whack you girls and you whack us? Any comments?”

After a brief discussion it was decided that the guys would go first and would receive two whacks each one from each of us. The girls would then each receive two whacks. The guys would then get four, two from each of us, and then we girls would get our last four.

Ian brought the stool out from the side wall. “I think that may be a little low for us now. He found a suitable chair. “If we bend over the side and place our hands on the seat, that should be perfect. As you have witnessed several canings, Wendy, I suggest that you take charge.”

He handed me the cane.

I had witnessed this scene on maybe ten or perhaps twenty occasions. I could even remember my Father’s words. “Right boys, remove your shoes, trousers and underpants.”

They slowly obliged and finally stood naked from the waist down, the shirt tails being inadequate to hide their excitement.

“Ian, you first, come over here, bend over and place your hands flat on the seat. If you stand or in any way try to protect your bottom the stroke will not count and you will get extra.”

Ian made his way to the chair and bent over, the tail of his shirt rode up but I still lifted it higher over his back.

I stood to the left of his bottom, lined up the cane and let go with what I thought was moderate strength. A line appeared across his bottom. I handed the cane to Mary and she gave him a hard one.

Next was Jimmy. He looked just a little apprehensive but came over to the chair and bent over. I raised his shirt tail, lined the cane up and let go with a strong swish, he did react, firstly a bending of his legs and secondly a squeak. Mary gave him a hard whack and got a similar reaction.

Ian took the cane and started his speech. “Right, first you will remove your shoes, then your skirts and finally your knickers. After that you will come over to the chair, bend over and place your hands on the seat. If you move or in any way try to protect your bottoms the stroke will not count and you will get extra.”

We slowly undressed and I tried to remove my knickers as deftly as I could. I noticed that Mary was in similar contortions. We stood next to each other, conscious that the tails of our shirts were short and were revealing rather more than we would have liked.

“Wendy, over here please.”

I moved to the chair and stood side on. I slowly lowered my body and placed my hands flat on the seat of the chair. I was about to have a long asked question answered; how much did the cane hurt?

Ian rolled the back of my shirt up and took up his position. I felt the cane touch my exposed and very vulnerable bottom, then swish and crack. How I did not stand I do not know, my whole mind was saying stand up and rub my bottom, it was perhaps having witnessed so many canings that I managed to stay bending over. Next was Jimmy. Again I felt the cane touch me and another swish and crack. After two I did not want to stand, I knew it would hurt.

“Right Mary, your turn.”

I eased myself up and moved away from the chair to stand behind where Mary’s bottom was now fully exposed. I was fascinated. How many times had I watched from the window? Except this time it was a girl’s bottom; in fact not a girl but a young lady. Ian went first, Mary let out a little squeal after the cane had impacted but she remained in place. Jimmy went next and again Mary let out a little squeal and stood up whilst rubbing her bottom.

“If you stand before the last one then you will get extra,” Ian said.

We changed places and I took the cane. Ian bent over and I was determined to make the next two ‘of the best’. In my efforts I let the cane stray and it landed close to where the thighs meet the bottom. There was a definite grunt from Ian. I was a little more careful with the next one which landed squarely in the middle of his bottom. Mary took over and like me put her all into the next two strokes. It was Jimmy’s turn; he really struggled to remain bending.

“Right Wendy, the last four for you. Come over here please.”

I moved slowly, the condemned girl before the gallows. I bent and placed my hands on the seat. How could I take four more strokes without moving or screaming? God this was going to hurt. Ian lined the cane up and let it go, it was definitely harder than the first one, my legs buckled but I held firm. The next one felt as if I had been cut in half. Jimmy was not going to be outdone, the first one was very hard and low on my bottom, I cried out and tears started running down my face. Last one. As soon as it landed I stood up and started doing a dance and tried to rub the pain from my bottom.

“Mary you are next, over here please.” Mary looked more than a little nervous, a couple of strokes had been bad, four together would be hell on earth. Ian gave her two hard ones, she screamed after each and was sobbing. She wobbled her bottom and flexed her legs, all modesty had gone. Jimmy gave her the last two and was greeted by screams.

We were all rubbing our bottoms and looking at the damage we had inflicted.

We all heard it. There was a click from the door of the study. The door burst open. It was Mr Forbes. He stood there with his mouth wide open. He surveyed the scene, two half naked girls and two excited guys and all with caned bottoms. None of us moved, other than trying to hide our nakedness with our hands.

He pulled himself together. “I heard the screams from the yard. I am at a loss for words to express my thoughts. What do you think you are doing? My immediate reaction is to give you each six of the best like I would have done with naughty schoolkids. You are however a little too old for that and by the looks of you may even find the prospect exciting. I will sleep on if and let you know what I decide in the morning. I suggest that you do likewise. Good night.” With that he turned and we heard the key turn in the lock.

After putting everything back in its place and dressing, we returned to the private part of the house. The consensus was we could all do with a drink and carried our drinks upstairs. Let tomorrow bring what it may, but tonight we were all in heaven.

The End