Disgraceful conduct in class gets two girls up before their headmistress
By Kenny Walters
“Come in, Abigail.” Eleanor Witlow responded to the three gentle taps followed by her study door being pushed open just enough for the visitor to peer round the edge and be recognised.
“Sorry to bother you, headmistress.” Abigail Carter, a rather shy, rather nervous English and French teacher spoke quietly as she approached the large desk.
“It’s no bother, Abigail, no bother at all. How can I help?”
“Well, it’s all rather, well, embarrassing, actually.”
“Then you better sit down and tell me all about it. Cup of tea?”
“Oh, no thank you, headmistress.” Abigail said, nervously sliding herself onto one of two upright chairs placed in front of the desk.
Eleanor Witlow placed the pen she was using onto the rich walnut surface, clasped her hands together and leaned forward.
“So, Abigail, what’s this all about?”
“As I say, headmistress, it is somewhat delicate.”
“We’re all girls together, Abigail. Come along, spit it out.”
Abigail Carter wound several strands of her rather mousey brown hair around her fingers as she worked up the courage to broach the reason for her visit.
“Hazel Archer and Anne Noble, headmistress.”
“Yes, know them well. Upper sixth, both pretty good students, been here for the whole of their schooling, generally well behaved.” Eleanor checked her grey hair that was always tightly fastened into a bun at the back of her head, found there were no stray hairs out of place, and re-clasped her hands on the desk in front of her. “What have they been up to?”
“They were, um, playing with themselves in my French Language class, headmistress.” Abigail Carter bowed her head as she sat uneasily.
“Both of them? What, at the same time?” Eleanor Witlow exclaimed, appearing genuinely shocked.
“Um, no, well, yes, in a way.” Abigail twisted her fingers together, struggling to cope with her awkwardness. “With each other, headmistress,” she muttered almost inaudibly.
“Did you tell them to sit apart?”
“Well, no, headmistress; I didn’t, um, feel I could.”
“Because I didn’t know, well, what state of dress they might be in. I couldn’t see under their desks, if you see what I mean, headmistress.”
“State of dress?”
“Yes, you know, Anne was wearing a skirt and that might have been okay, or not, but Hazel was wearing trousers and she might have had her, um, flies undone. It could have been embarrassing.”
“It would have served them right, Abigail, damned well served them right.”
“No, I meant embarrassing for me, actually, headmistress.”
“Really?” Eleanor Witlow commented. “Yes, I suppose so. Well then, what do you want to do about it, Abigail?”
“I was wondering whether you would, you know, have a word with them, perhaps?” The teacher suggested apprehensively.
“You don’t want to handle it yourself, Abigail?”
“Oh no, headmistress, I couldn’t. I mean, oh no.”
“Don’t fancy giving them both a dose of your largest slipper, eh Abigail?”
“Actually, I only have a small one for the younger girls and, well, oh no, I couldn’t. Well, I suppose I could, but it would be very, you know, awkward. Perhaps it might be better if you did it.”
Eleanor sighed. “Very well, Abigail, send them along to me.”
“Yes now, Abigail. No point in waiting.”
“I’m not sure I know where they are, headmistress.”
“Do you have a class to get to?”
“I’m sure they’re still on the premises somewhere. It shouldn’t take too long to hunt them down. Enlist the help of a prefect if you need to.”
“Shall I tell them what you want them for? They’re sure to ask.”
“Entirely up to you, Abigail.”
“Oh dear, that might be a bit awkward. You know, having to be specific.”
“Then don’t be! Just say I wish to see them and leave it at that.”
“Um, oh, right, headmistress.”
Abigail Carter got awkwardly to her feet and quietly left the room.
Having been at the school for more than twelve years, Abigail knew the most likely places to find the two girls and she soon found them in a class being taught by History teacher, Hilary Mason. Abigail tapped gently on the door and went in.
“Yes, Miss Carter?” Hilary Mason greeted the newcomer warmly.
“Sorry, Miss Mason, I need to have a word with Hazel Archer and Anne Noble.” Abigail spoke very quietly, but whispered the next sentence in Hilary Mason’s ear. “The headmistress wants to see them.”
“Up before the beak, eh?” Hilary whispered back.
Abigail merely nodded.
“Hazel Archer and Anne Noble, could you put your things together and go out into the corridor? Miss Carter needs to have a word with you.” Hilary announced to her class, most of whom had been trying to listen without success to the whispered conversation between the two teachers.
Hazel and Anne exchanged anxious looks as they stood and packed their books into their bags. Neither appeared to have any clue as to why they were being summoned in this way. As soon as they were out in the corridor and the door firmly shut behind them, they started to interrogate Miss Carter.
“What’s this all about, Miss?”
“Our headmistress asked me to find you and send you to her.”
“Because she was too busy to go looking for you herself.”
“No!” Anne Noble asked rather insolently. “I meant, why does she want to see us?”
“I’m sure our headmistress will explain when you get there.” Abigail ignored Anne’s lack of respect. “I would suggest you don’t keep her waiting.”
The two girls turned and marched off, leaving Abigail hesitating as to whether she should go with them in some kind of escort capacity. She decided following surreptitiously at some distance would be best.
“Why would the headmistress want to see us?” Hazel asked, biting her lip. “We haven’t done anything wrong, have we?”
“Nothing I can think of that anyone is aware of.” Anne frowned. “Certainly nothing that could be considered a breach of school rules, albeit there are so many.”
“It’s not that bad.” Hazel countered. “Then again, have we done something to earn us some bonus points?”
“You might have. You’re very much the goody-goody type. I can’t think I’ve done anything remarkably good.”
They reached the door of Miss Witlow’s study and paused.
“Should we check in with her secretaries first?” Hazel asked her companion.
“No, Miss Carter said we were wanted, so she’ll be expecting us.”
“Okay. Do you want to knock?”
“Hazel! It’s not going to sound greatly different, whoever of us knocks.” Anne snapped, giving the door three firm taps.
Anne turned the brass door handle and pushed open the heavy door. As they entered, they found the headmistress sitting behind her desk and peering at them over gold framed reading glasses. They noticed the two upright chairs placed in front of the desk, but neither felt so bold as to sit down without being asked, so they stood between the chairs and the desk.
Miss Witlow removed her glasses and placed them on her desk.
“Look, girls, this is a bit delicate, not to mention embarrassing, so I’ll be blunt and to the point.”
Hazel looked worried, Anne bemused, as their headmistress paused.
“To be completely frank, you two were spotted in class engaging in mutual masturbation when you should have been concentrating on the lesson. The teacher felt too embarrassed to deal with the matter at the time. Hence, it was referred to me.”
Hazel blushed deep red. Anne’s mouth sagged open. As the headmistress took in the two girls’ reactions, she couldn’t help but look at Anne’s skirt fastenings and Hazel’s trouser flies to check that all was in order.
Getting no verbal response, the headmistress continued.
“I can obviously see you’re both as embarrassed about all this as I am, and I see no useful purpose to be served by delving into the details. Neither of you have denied the matter, and we all know these things do go on. The important factor, to my mind, is that you two were stupid enough to engage in, let’s say questionable, behaviour that caused offence to your teacher and possibly some of your fellow classmates. That is not acceptable.”
Both girls now seemed in worlds of their own, eyes staring downwards, neither eager to speak.
“Look, I’m not going to make a big deal of this.” Miss Witlow stated. “I think this little mess is best resolved by a swift four strokes of the cane each, in private here in my study, and then we can all get back to normal. Is that okay?”
The two girls quickly looked up, gazed straight into their headmistress’s eyes as though doubtful she was being serious, and quickly realised a genuine proposal was being offered. No-one spoke for some long moments.
“Well, girls?” Miss Witlow eventually broke the silence.
Hazel nodded slowly, biting her lip and appearing deeply concerned.
“You will take the caning, Hazel?” The headmistress asked, just to be certain there were no misunderstandings.
“Yes, miss.” Hazel replied, very quietly.
“Anne? What do you say, girl?”
“No! No, miss, I’m not going to let you cane me!”
Miss Witlow sat back in amazement.
“Really? I hope you don’t expect to get away with no punishment of any kind, girl.”
“No, miss. It’s just that, well, it hurts.”
“Yes, that is the basic idea, Anne. Four sharp stings to deter you from getting into trouble again. Correct me if I’m wrong, though, you haven’t actually been caned before, have you?”
“No, miss, but I’ve had the slipper before and that was bad enough!”
Miss Witlow sighed. “Now look, Anne, the only alternative to caning you would be to suspend you. This is not the most serious matter in the world, but nonetheless it would have to be two weeks suspension at least.”
“Okay,” said Anne. “Okay, I’ll take the suspension. Two weeks, is it?”
“Just a moment, young lady. What you need to consider is that a suspension will, however discreet we are about it, get around the whole school. When the girls know you’ve been suspended, the next question they’ll be asking is why. While I certainly won’t give out any information, these things do have a habit of getting out and what they don’t know they’ll very soon make something up.”
Anne hesitated. Then, after some thought, she said: “No, my mind is made up, miss. I’ll take the suspension.
“Very well, come with me.” Miss Witlow got up and went to the connecting door between her study and the school secretaries’ office. “Hazel, you wait there. I’ll deal with you in a moment.”
While Hazel stood and fretted, the headmistress organised a letter home for Anne and confirmed the date, two weeks hence, when she would once again be allowed onto the school premises.
Ten minutes later, Miss Witlow returned to her study and closed the door behind her.
“Right, Hazel, let’s get you dealt with.” The headmistress pulled the two upright chairs away to one side, allowing clearer access to the front of her desk. “Move forwards close to the desk, slip your trousers down and bend over.”
“I’m sorry, miss?”
“Yes, trousers down, Hazel. I like to cane across underwear only. It’s much fairer that way.”
Somewhat stunned, the eighteen year old slowly started unfastening the black trousers considered, with a white top, to be standard sixth form uniform at Marlands County School for Girls. As she fumbled with the button and zip, she watched as Miss Witlow opened a cupboard door and withdrew a pale yellow cane with crook handle, maybe a little more than two feet long and barely half an inch in diameter.
“Push your trousers right down to your ankles and make sure you have only one pair of pants covering your bottom, there’s a good girl.” The headmistress requested without turning round.
After a couple of practice swishes of the cane, the headmistress put it back in the cupboard and brought out another one, similar in colour, but a little longer, maybe two and a half feet long.
“No need to wait for me, Hazel. Bend over my desk and have your bottom sticking out so it’s a nice easy target.”
“Yes, miss,” Hazel whispered as she leaned across the desk until the edge pressed into the tops of her thighs and her forearms rested on the polished surface.
Miss Witlow swung the cane into thin air as she took another two practice swings.
“Yes, that should do the trick, I think.”
She moved back towards her desk but continued until she was standing behind the bending eighteen year old. It was then that Hazel pushed her bottom, protected only by thin and rather brief pale blue panties, back as much as she could. The underwear had already ridden up and half exposed the lower parts of the girl’s buttocks, but the headmistress still took a few moments to gently tug the panties even a little higher to display even a little more bare bottom.
“There, don’t want you to have too much protection for your punishment, do we?”
“No, miss,” Hazel agreed, perfectly aware the headmistress was having a little fun at her expense rather than materially affecting the level of pain the cane would inflict.
“Okay,” the headmistress smiled as the girl braced herself. “Four strokes, hold still.”
Before Hazel could reply, the cane had whipped across her nearly bare bottom and stung a line across almost the entire width. The eighteen year old gasped. Three more strokes lashed down in rapid succession, each imparting a new degree of pain.
“Aarrgghh!!” Hazel arched her back and all but leapt up from the desk as the searing pain seared her entire backside.
“All done! You can pull your trousers up when you’re ready, Hazel, although it might help to let the air get at it.”
“Yes, miss,” Hazel said coldly, as she started to explore the damage to her buttocks with her fingertips.
Miss Witlow moved closer to the still half-bending girl, placing the cane down on her desk and putting a comforting arm around Hazel’s shoulders.
“A smacked bottom never did anyone any harm, Hazel. You were a very silly girl and you had to pay the price.”
“Yes, miss,” Hazel answered, tears trickling down her face.
“Box of tissues, Hazel.” The headmistress left the girl and fetched the box from a drawer in her desk. She pulled a handful of tissues out and handed them to the girl.
“Thank you, miss.” Hazel wiped the tears from her face, blew her nose with some gusto and deposited the soiled tissues in the waste bin offered to her. “I’m sorry, miss.”
“I’m sorry it was necessary to punish you, Hazel. However, it was necessary to do so, and I certainly think you took the best option.”
“Probably, miss.” Hazel straightened and reached down for her trousers, still draped around her ankles. With her headmistress watching every detail, she slowly pulled the trousers up and tried to refasten them.
“They feel very tight,” Hazel noted.
“Bottom a little swollen from the whacking, I imagine. It’ll soon settle down.”
With a little gentle tugging and by breathing in, the garment was finally secured.
“You may go, Hazel. It’s getting near the end of the day now, so I should get off home if you want. It’s up to you.”
“Yes, miss.” Hazel turned towards the door. “Miss, what about Anne? Does she have to be suspended? She’ll miss a lot of schoolwork.”
“No,” Miss Witlow paused as she considered the question. “No, she can change her mind and take the caning at any point, although there will be no reduction in the four strokes, even if she serves some or most of her suspension. No reduction!”
“I see, miss. Thank you.” Hazel continued out of the door, closing it gently behind her.
Before deciding whether to go straight home or to continue with her classes, Hazel wanted to visit the girls toilets, wash her face of the tears and quietly inspect the results of the caning on her bottom. With classes still in session, she found the toilets completely empty.
The water felt icy cold as she leaned down towards the wash basin and splashed water directly from the tap onto her face. She decided to scrub her face with her hands and then reapply her make-up from scratch. Just as she was applying the final touches, Hazel noticed the door behind her being pushed slowly open. She froze, waiting to find out who was coming in.
“How did it go?” Anne Noble peered around the half open door.
“Shut the door!” Hazel called, and waited until the heavy door closed with a small bang.
“You have had it?” Anne continued, as Hazel put her make-up things back into a small wallet.
“Why do you think I’ve been crying?” Hazel waved both hands at her newly made-up face. “I assure you our headmistress’s bark is certainly not worse than the sting of her cane!”
Hazel sighed. “I suppose not that bad. It really stings when it lands. Ten minutes later and it still feels pretty sore, but at least it’s over and done with.”
“It’s over for you. I’ve still got fourteen days’ suspension to serve.”
“Your choice! By the way, I did ask, and she said you can still change your mind if you want.”
“Not a chance! I don’t want to be beaten black and blue, and have the other girls all staring at my bum in the changing rooms.” Anne answered instinctively. “On that thought, let’s have a look at your bum.”
“That’s a bit two-faced!” Hazel retorted, but still fumbled with the fastenings of her trousers until she could slip them down along with her pale blue panties.
“Not the first time today I’ve had you with your zip down!” Anne giggled. “Wow! That looks pretty sore, and four neat stripes too. It must still hurt.”
“Only when you touch it!” Hazel flinched, twisting round to look at her own bottom in the large wall mirror. “Actually, it doesn’t feel too bad now, although I might get home and spend an hour or two lying on my tummy.”
As they spoke, a bell sounded signalling it was ten minutes to four and time for everyone to return to their form classes for a final taking of the register, something sixth form girls were exempt from. This gave them a chance to catch an earlier bus and be away before the main throng headed for the gates.
“Doesn’t time fly when you’re enjoying yourselves?” Anne said. Come on, stop making an exhibition of yourself and let’s get out of here.”
“Oh, okay,” Hazel replied, zipping up her trousers. “I suppose I’ll just have to settle for my own company while I lie face down on my bed consoling myself after my thrashing.”
“Nonsense! A bit of company and a soothing hand will do you the world of good.”
Neither of Hazel’s parents were home from work when the two girls arrived at the Victorian semi-detached house. Coffee was soon made before they took themselves off to Hazel’s bedroom. Hazel slipped her black trousers right off and hung them on a coat hanger before she flopped face down on her bed.
“Careful!” Hazel squealed as Anne pulled her pale blue panties down to once again expose the bruising to her bottom.
“Do you want some cream rubbing on that?” Anne asked.
“Maybe later, when it’s a bit less sore.”
“Isn’t the cream supposed to help that?”
“You just want to rub my bottom!” Hazel declared.
“I’m trying to be helpful!”
“Right! So, what are you going to tell your parents?”
“About rubbing your bum?”
“No, silly!” Hazel aimed a hand at Anne’s bottom, but the other girl ducked aside just in time. “How are you going to break the news of your suspension?”
“Good question! Don’t know. Delicately?”
Later that evening, back at home with her parents, Anne was sitting at the dinner table with her parents and Becky, her sixteen year old sister. They’d had a roast dinner and finished with Anne’s favourite, orange bread and butter pudding.
“Um, bit of a problem, mater and pater.”
“How much do you want?” Her father asked.
“What sort of a problem?” Said her mother, frowning at her husband.
“I’ll be around the house a bit more often for the next couple of weeks.”
“You’ve been suspended?” Mrs Noble interpreted instantly.
“Um, in short, yes.”
“What did you get up to?” Mr Noble asked.
“Bit disruptive in class, or so Mrs Carter said. I blame her. If she was a bit better at keeping order, all this needn’t have happened.”
“Oh, bad luck, old girl. I hope you won’t miss too many important lessons.”
“I’m sure I’ll cope, dear papa. A little effort and I’ll soon catch up.”
“Just you, was it?” Her mother asked.
“Um, no. Poor old Hazel got caught too.”
“Hazel? I thought she never got into trouble.”
“So did I, dear mother, but with Mrs Carter you can’t be sure of anything.”
“What exactly were you two doing?”
“Bit of fidgeting, the odd whispered word or two, you know the sort of thing.”
“But a teacher can’t suspend you. Only the headmistress can do that.”
“Miss Carter must have been in a bad mood. Thus we had the pleasure of a meeting with Miss Witlow.”
“And you both got suspended for, what, two weeks?”
“Yes, back Thursday, the week after next.”
“I suppose Hazel and you are thinking you’ll enjoy your two weeks away from school. I imagine you’ve been planning days out together and all that?”
“Um, sort of, dear mother.”
“What does that mean?”
“Oh, I’ll probably keep my own company for most of the time.”
“Does that mean Hazel didn’t get suspended? Just you?”
“Um, sort of, yes.”
“What punishment did she get? Weren’t the two of you equally to blame? It sounds like you’ve been treated unfairly. If that’s the case, I’ll soon be on the phone to Miss Witlow. Have no fear of that!”
“Yes, me too,” added Mr Noble.
“Hold on, hold on!” Anne tried hastily to think up some way of avoiding the full truth coming out, and failed.
“There’s something you’re not telling us, isn’t there?”
“Well,” said Becky, Anne’s younger sister, who had kept quiet up until this point. “If they were both up before Miss Witlow for the same offence, and Hazel didn’t get suspended, then I think we can assume Hazel is finding sitting down a little uncomfortable this evening. Am I right?” Becky smiled gleefully as she gazed into Anne’s face.
Anne scowled back.
“Anne! Is that true?” Mrs Noble sensed there was something in what the younger sister had said.
Becky hadn’t quite finished, though. “It must have been pretty serious because just for mucking about, most teachers would have given them a detention or a few whacks with the slipper, not taken them to the headmistress.”
“I think you’d better explain, young lady.” Mrs Noble looked angrily at Anne. “And be careful. You’re not too old to go over your father’s knee.”
“Eh? Oh, yes, yes, a good hiding, eh?” Mr Noble hadn’t been expecting to be used as a threat like that.
“Okay! Yes, we were both mucking around equally. Yes, Mrs Carter got fed up with us and took us to the headmistress. Hazel chose to be caned and I chose to be suspended. Full story, okay?”
“Um,” Becky responded before anyone else. “Miss Witlow is not renowned for giving girls a choice between punishments. Not that I know from personal experience, you understand.”
“Anne?” Mrs Noble asked threateningly.
“Okay, okay! We were both told we were going to get four strokes. I simply didn’t want to be caned, so I got the suspension instead. That is the end of the story!” Anne glared at her younger sister again.
“And Hazel was then caned?” The girls’ mother asked.
“Have you seen her since? How is she?”
“She’s fine. We went back to her place straight from school.”
“I know it wouldn’t have been the most comfortable experience,” Mr Noble spoke. “But seeing as how you’re in your final year and mock exams are fast approaching, might it not have been better to take the swift whacking and get it over with?”
“More private too,” Becky added. “You can bet this will be all round the school tomorrow.”
“Shut up!” Anne shouted. “I’m going to my room!”
With Anne out of the room, the conversation continued.
“I think I’d have taken the caning,” Mrs Noble declared.
“More chance of keeping it private,” Becky added, nodding wisely.
The following morning, Anne slipped quietly out of the house having just had a coffee and a couple of slices of bread and butter in her bedroom in place of breakfast. She was wearing tight black leggings, a white woollen top, black low heeled shoes and carrying her usual hold-all type bag containing her school books.
“Hazel! Hazel, wait for me!”
Hazel stopped dead and looked around.
“Um, have you forgotten something?” Hazel asked as Anne arrived, breathing heavily from running.
“No, I think I’ve brought everything I need for today, thank you for asking.”
“Er, can I mention the word ‘suspension’? Aren’t you supposed to be at home today, and for the next fourteen days, in fact?”
“I’ve decided to change my mind on option ‘B’ and revert to option ‘A’.”
“Really? What’s the plan then?”
“Catch Miss Witlow first thing and get it over with, maybe even before assembly.”
“Why the sudden change of mind?”
“Oh, I didn’t fancy all the extra effort catching up for one thing, and for another I’d prefer not to be the subject of everyone’s conversation. Miss Witlow said she’d be discreet, so I’m putting her to the test.”
“Right.” Hazel looked doubtful. “You might just be a little too late to avoid all the publicity.”
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing, just that there has already been the odd rumour circulating.”
“What, that I’ve been suspended?”
“Yes. Well, that was the situation last night.”
“That’s okay then. They’ll see me coming into school as usual and know the rumour wasn’t true.”
“What about you being seen outside the headmistress’s study, when you’re waiting to be, you know, whacked?”
“I’ll dive quickly into the secretaries’ office. No-one looks in there.”
“Okay, good luck with that.”
They caught their usual bus which had already collected a fair number of girls heading for Marlands County School for Girls. Unable to discuss Anne’s forthcoming meeting with their headmistress without being over heard, they kept to less thorny topics.
Twenty minutes later, the two friends entered the school. Anne headed straight to the secretaries’ office while Hazel went in the opposite direction towards the sixth form common room. Anne tapped on the secretaries’ office door and pushed it ajar.
“Could I have a word, please?” Anne said as the two secretaries looked up.
“We weren’t expecting to see you today, Anne.” Mrs Hobbs, the older of the two women, invited Anne to sit on a chair next to her desk. “How can we help you?”
Conscious of the younger secretary, Carol Spencer, watching her intently, Anne struggled to answer.
“I, um, I’ve decided not to serve the suspension, Mrs Hobbs.”
“I see,” said the older woman. “So, what exactly are you proposing to do?”
“I’d like to take the other option, please.”
“You agree to be caned?”
Anne blushed furiously as Carol Spencer still looked straight at her.
“Yes. I believe I still have that choice?”
“I’m sure you do. Just a minute, I’ll have a word with Miss Witlow.”
Mrs Hobbs stood up and tapped on the connecting door to the headmistress’s study. Miss Witlow called for her to enter. Anne would have liked to have heard what was being said, but her chair was too far away to hear anything but the faintest murmur. When the connecting door opened again, Anne’s heart missed a beat.
Closing the door behind her, Mrs Hobbs sat down at her desk and told Anne: “Miss Witlow says she’s perfectly happy with your change of mind. She just needs to prepare and she’ll call you in. It shouldn’t be long.”
Anne sat, fidgeting with her fingers and trying to avoid eye contact with the secretaries, particularly the younger Carol Spencer. As the minutes ticked by, she wondered just how much preparation went into delivering four strokes of the cane across a girl’s bottom. If Miss Witlow was deliberately delaying things to make Anne even more nervous, she was certainly succeeding.
When the connecting door opened again, all three females looked round suddenly.
“Come in, Anne.” Miss Witlow smiled as her eyes rested on Anne.
Anne struggled to her feet and went to pick up her school bag.
“You can leave that, Anne. It will be quite safe.” Mrs Hobbs advised.
Anne squeezed past her headmistress, who held the door open for her, and entered the study.
“Miss Spencer, would you come too, please?”
Anne’s heart dropped, if indeed it could drop even further. She stood in front of Miss Witlow’s desk and stared down at the pale yellow cane lying on the polished dark mahogany top. The cane was two and a half feet long, pencil thin and had the traditional crook handle at one end.
“So, decided to take the cane instead? Is that correct, Anne?” The headmistress stood by Anne’s side.
“Good! A wise decision, I’d say, Anne.” Miss Witlow picked the cane. “Don’t be shy, Anne, step up to the desk, drop your trousers and bend over. Get down low on the desk, support your upper body on your forearms and stick your bottom out. Make a good target for me and this will soon be over. Miss Spencer, perhaps you could help her.”
Anne’s mind was in turmoil as she tried to recall the list of instructions. Move forward; that was easy. Drop her trousers. She was wearing tight-fitting black leggings that had an elasticated waistband. Pushing them down should have been easy, but it felt so uncomfortable and awkward effectively undressing in the lush surroundings of the study that she hesitated.
“Need a hand?” Suddenly, Carol Spencer was right up close to her and already tugging at Anne’s leggings. Anne felt them being pulled down to her ankles, whether she was ready for that or not.
Anne struggled then to recollect the next instruction. Bend over; that was it. She leaned forward over the desk, her elbows first to make contact with the hard surface. The edge pressed into her abdomen as she lowered herself still further, then twisted her head to the left to rest her right cheek onto the desk. Two hands gripped her hips.
“Just stick your bottom out a bit more,” Carol’s soft voice urged. “That’s it, that’s fine.”
Fingertips, presumably Carol’s, gently took the waistband of Anne’s delicate black panties and tugged them up a little, moulding the material tighter around her soft rounded bottom. Then a hand, presumably of the same person, gave her a gentle smack.
“Well done, Carol.”
The thought flashed through Anne’s mind that she might not have been so deferential, had she been asked. But she was interrupted.
“Hold still, Anne, keep nice and still for me.” Miss Witlow’s voice was firm.
Anne braced herself, not really knowing just how painful this was going to be. Already, her eyes were filling with tears. The cane twice tapped the seat of her brief black underwear. An eerie pause, then suddenly the girl’s bottom exploded in a sea of hot burning pain.
“Keep still, Anne.” Carol’s soft voice.
‘I’m trying! Really, I am!’ Anne thought as she concentrated on offering her bottom for the next stroke.
“Yeeouch!!” She repeated as a second searing pain lashed across her bottom. ‘Oh my god!’ She said to herself as the tears started to flow.
“Aaaarrhhh!!” The third stroke whipped into her buttocks, causing her back to arch instinctively.
“Stay down, Anne.” Carol pushed her back onto the hard desktop.
“Uuuuunnnhhhh!!” For the fourth time, the cane lashed into Anne’s soft, curvaceous bottom and the pain and agony filled all her emotions.
“There! That’s done.” Miss Witlow’s harsher voice came from somewhere behind her. “Soon over with, don’t you think? Makes all that suspension nonsense seem a bit daft now, I’m sure you’ll agree.”
Anne, as she raised herself gently up from the desk, wasn’t so certain. Her bottom throbbed with pain; it felt oh so sore and her hands dabbed gently at the cane marks as she explored the damage.
“Thank you, miss,” she croaked, and snatched at several tissues offered by Carol Spencer.
After a couple of minutes, Anne felt the pain subsiding enough that she could stand upright.
“Now, I must get off and conduct assembly.” The headmistress replaced the cane on her desk with a clatter. “Carol, could you see to young Anne here. I’ll excuse her assembly, of course.”
Miss Witlow was away and out of the door before Carol could respond.
“Not too bad?” The young secretary placed a comforting hand on Anne’s shoulders.
“You think? How many times have you been caned, then?” Anne responded tetchily.
“Well, never, but I’ve seen a few girls done now. It seems pretty painful when the cane hits their bottoms, but then they’re just sore when they walk out the door.”
“Just sore? I’ve no idea how I’m going to sit down in lessons.”
“I’m sure you’ll manage, Anne. They always do. Anyway, we’ve got another fifteen minutes before assembly will be over. That should be plenty of time to recover.”
“You think?” Anne said again.
“Mmm.” Carol left Anne’s side and went behind the headmistress’s desk where she picked up the cane. “Better put this back in the cupboard, I suppose.”
Facing Anne, still with her leggings around her ankles, Carol went on: “You wouldn’t think a harmless little thing like this would cause such anguish, would you?”
“Actually, yes I would.”
“Really?” Carol continued to admire the crook handled cane. “I’ve often wondered what it would be like to get it. Like a naughty schoolgirl, I mean.”
“Bend over and I’ll show you.” Anne replied.
Carol giggled, then bit her lip. “Okay.”
Within a couple of moments, Carol had gone round to the other side of the desk, handed Anne the cane and bent over.
“You really want me to whack your bum?” Anne asked, looking down at the young secretary’s tightly stretched dark blue trousers.
“Yes, go on, do it!” Carol confirmed. “You might want to pull your leggings up first, though.”
Anne eased her black leggings up, wincing a little as the material rubbed against her bottom. Then she gripped the cane tightly.
“Oooooowww!!” Carol cried as Anne whipped the cane across her bottom. “That really does hurt!”
“Want another one?” Anne offered.
“No, no, one was enough, thank you.”
© Kenny Walters 2016
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