A girl finds she is to be punished by her form master, with her mother present
By Kenny Walters
“I’m sorry to interrupt, Mr Brown, but…” The voice, young and female, tailed off. I didn’t need to look up to know it belonged to Emma Robertson.
“Hello, Emma. Still here?” My watch told me it was twenty minutes past four. Emma must have been waiting around for twenty minutes, long enough for all the other girls to have vacated the school building leaving the way clear for Emma to seek an audience with me alone and in total privacy.
“Yes, you see… I wanted a word.”
“Would that be a word about your little illicit smoking adventure, Emma?”
I looked up to find Emma blushing. “Yes, the headmaster did mention it. In fact, Emma, he rather wants me to sort it – in my role as your house master. I was going to ask to have a word with you tomorrow, actually.”
“Oh – right!” Emma was caught off-guard, and seemed unsure of how to respond.
“What was it you wanted to say to me, Emma?” I offered her an aid to continuing the conversation, at the same time gesturing with a flurry of my hand for the pretty eighteen year old to sit down in the vacant chair next to my desk.
“Well, I was just going to warn you, actually.” Like most sixth formers, Emma dropped the ‘sir’ tag when she was speaking to a member of staff away from the hearing of more junior members of the school.
“Warn me, Emma?”
“Your mother, Emma?”
“Yes, she wants to come and see you tomorrow. She was thinking the headmaster would probably want to expel me, and was thinking she could persuade you to put in a good word for me so that maybe the headmaster would consider just suspending me, or something like that. We didn’t know you’d be dealing with the matter then, of course.”
“No.” I conceded. “No, of course not. Well, of course, I’d be happy to have a meeting with your mother. Do you know when she wants to come?”
“I think she will still want to have a word with you, Mr Brown. After all, whatever you decide could be very important to my whole future. I’m sure she would be happy to fit in with you. I know she’s free any time tomorrow.”
“I think I’m fairly heavily involved with lessons tomorrow, Emma.” I thought out loud as I reached for my diary and searched my timetable for a suitable gap. “Actually, tomorrow after school would be best for me, Emma. I suspect that might suit you better too? That is, if you want to accompany your mother, Emma.”
“Yes.” Emma nodded.
“Okay, tomorrow after school it shall be.” I smiled, and looked to get on with my marking of the fifth form girls’ homework.
Emma wasn’t ready to leave, though. “Um, have you thought what you might want to do, Mr Brown?”
“Do, Emma? About meeting your mother?”
“Yes, well, sort of. I mean, as the headmaster has asked you to become involved then does that mean I’m not going to be expelled? And mummy will be wanting to know what’s going to happen.”
Emma swallowed. “Well, I know I’m going to have to take a punishment. Of course I am. It’s just that mummy will be keen that it doesn’t affect my school work too badly and if you were thinking of too long a suspension – well that might make things a bit difficult. I suppose a number of detentions might be an idea – then I could get on with my work while I was serving them.”
“True.” I reflected, not having really given the matter of dealing with Emma’s transgression much thought at all at that time.
“Perhaps I could serve my detentions here with you.” Emma added, a little cheekily. I had always got on extremely well with Emma, finding her one of my better and more attentive students who was always friendly and cooperative.
“I hadn’t really thought about detentions, Emma.”
“Oh.” Emma sounded disappointed, then added with equal disenchantment. ” It has to be a suspension, does it?”
“No.” I leaned back in my chair, noting a ray of hope that transcended Emma’s pretty features.
“Something else?” Emma seemed suddenly more cheerful. “Picking up litter? Running round the playing field? Not that, I hope. I hate too much physical exercise. Might do my figure a bit of good, though!” She patted her tummy; it was flat and hard – Emma was not overweight!”
“Actually, Emma, and incidentally the headmaster rather supports this idea…” I paused. This was not going to be easy.
“Yes?” Emma grinned a little sheepishly, not apparently worried at the prospect of hearing her fate. Presumably avoiding expulsion had in her mind made everything much less daunting.
“Actually, Emma, I was going to suggest that perhaps we might cane you.”
Emma’s face fell. Her mouth sagged. The shock was apparent.
“Eight strokes was the suggestion.” I decided to get all the bad news out in one go.
“Shit! Oh, sorry Mr Brown.” Emma put a hand over her mouth, embarrassed by her sudden expletive. “The cane?” Emma looked up at me, seeking confirmation I was serious.
I nodded. “It would get the matter over with, and leave you free to continue your studies without interruption. It wouldn’t take long to do and, to be honest, I think it’s about what you deserve.”
It was Emma’s turn to nod. She even managed a quite insincere chuckle. “Yes, it would certainly get it over with!” After a few moments contemplation, she added: “And that’s what you’re going to suggest when mummy comes to see you tomorrow?”
Emma didn’t respond. Instead, she just sat there moving her body slowly back and forwards.
“What do you think your mother will say? About my proposal, I mean.” I gently enquired after some moments had passed.
Emma raised her eyebrows, then nodded. “She wouldn’t argue, if that is what you’ve decided.” There was another poignant pause before Emma added: “And that is what you want to do, is it?”
I nodded. “Yes, I believe so. I suppose we could consider the slipper, but then I think there would have to be more than eight strokes so it would probably be just as well to use the cane and get it over with more quickly. But I’m willing to discuss it.” I added as I noticed a moment of hope in Emma’s expression at the mention of the slipper.
“A good spanking with the slipper, eh?” Emma’s voice suggested her mood was lightening, but that was not confirmed by her facial expression.
“Something like that.” I spoke, more for the want of something to say. I hadn’t meant to offer the option of a slippering as a real alternative, but Emma nonetheless appeared to be giving it serious consideration. “Would you prefer that – to the cane, I mean?”
Emma smiled weakly. “A good smacked bottom, eh? Not something I’d really envisaged!”
“This is a serious matter, Emma.” I reminded her.
“Yes, I know!” Emma said with feeling. “I’m just not sure how I feel about a smacked bottom as an appropriate punishment.”
“It actually might be rather handy having your mother here tomorrow, Emma.” I said, then gave her another hint. “A serious matter?”
Emma stared back vaguely, the lack of appreciation evident on her face. An exemplary school record presumably had made her ignorant about such things.
“With serious matters, Emma, the school dictates that corporal punishment is given across your bottom. With just one thin layer of clothing allowed as protection.”
Emma blushed vividly. “Yes, but the cane…..?”
“Would also be given under the same conditions.”
The look of worry had returned to Emma’s face. “So how would that work, exactly?”
“You could either leave the room and change into something like thin sports shorts, or you could opt to simply drop your trousers. If we were to do it tomorrow evening, then obviously that would give you time to make sure you were wearing appropriate underwear.”
“Tomorrow? When mummy’s here?”
“I thought you might feel a little more comfortable with your mother present. In the circumstances, I mean.”
Emma blushed again. “Having to strip to my knickers, you mean?”
“I didn’t reply.
“And you wouldn’t be prepared to cane me across the hands?”
“I think you’d find that exceedingly painful, Emma. No, I feel the school policy is correct.”
“Right! Well, I suppose I’d better get along home and somehow explain to mummy she’s going to watch her dear little daughter getting a smacked bottom tomorrow, hadn’t I?”
“Would you like a lift?”
Emma thought for a moment. “No, you’ve got your marking to do and, anyway, I think I need a bit of space. To mull things over, you know?”
The following day passed reasonably uneventfully. I caught just a few glimpses of Emma as she passed along the corridors from one lesson to another, and saw her for somewhat longer when we both had lunch in the large dining hall, but somehow her eyes never seemed to catch mine. Curiously, she wore her shoulder length chestnut brown hair loose and draped around her shoulders, rather than the usual pony tail. Equally unusually, she wore a black pleated skirt that ended just a couple of inches above her knees, against the black trousers that she and most of the sixth form girls tended to wear. The white cotton top with long sleeves was, though, much more typical.
By the time of my final lesson of the afternoon, I found my mind drifting away from my work and towards my after school meeting with Emma and her mother. I wondered how Emma would be feeling, with the hour she must surely be dreading now fast approaching. I found myself looking constantly at my watch, and the time repaid me by passing so very slowly until the final ten minutes. Then, suddenly, the minutes flashed by and the bell sounded to announce the end of school for that day. Now my heart was pounding, and I felt extremely nervous.
As the classroom cleared, I forced myself to wait fully five minutes to give the school a chance to clear before I made my way down to the school secretary’s office and leaned on the counter.
“Yes, Mr Brown?”
I looked around furtively, causing Mrs Thompson to look at me quite oddly, and waited until a small group of third year girls drifted away beyond the open door and out of earshot. My throat became very dry and I coughed.
“Um, could I please have a cane and the school punishment book, please Mrs Thompson?”
Mrs Thompson smiled. “Yes, the headmaster said you’d be popping in. All ready for you!” The secretary reached down below the level of the counter and immediately produced four canes, each with a crooked handle, and a black exercise book which had a well-used look to it and a label sellotaped onto the cover upon which the words ‘Punishment Book’ could just about still be deciphered. “We weren’t sure which cane you’d be wanting, so I thought I’d have a small selection ready for you to choose.”
My eyes glanced down at the lengths of light brown cane that had been clattered down onto the wooden surface of the counter, and it suddenly felt very warm in that large room.
“I er… I really hadn’t thought… I’ll have that one!” I focused on a length of cane that appeared a little darker in colour than the others and was the second longest of the bunch. It felt quite light in my hands. “Damn!” I exclaimed as I knocked the black covered exercise book onto the floor.
“Ah yes, one of the favourites, Mr Brown.” Mrs Thompson leaned over the counter to watch me fumbling around picking up the exercise book whilst trying not to let the cane also fall from my grasp. “One best used across the backside, I think you’ll find.”
“Thank you, Mrs Thompson.” I stammered as I stumbled towards the open doorway.
“Don’t forget to bring it back to me when you’ve finished, Mr Brown.” The words followed me along the corridor as I tried to ignore the smirking faces of a couple of fifth year girls, their eyes focused on the contents of my hands.
I raced back to my classroom, partly to avoid meeting anyone else who might gain some amusement at the sight of my burden and also because I didn’t want to keep Mrs Robertson and Emma waiting. When I entered through the door, though, the room was empty.
Placing the cane and punishment book on my desk, I sat down and hastily pushed the few books and other odd papers and bits and pieces into a drawer. I looked at my watch and saw it was eight minutes past four. After a few seconds, I began wondering whether it might be somewhat inappropriate for the sight of the cane lying on my desk to be the first thing that greeted Emma and her mother when they did finally arrive. Unfortunately, my classroom doesn’t have a sufficiently large cupboard or drawer to contain something as long as the cane, which must have measured the best part of three feet. I decided the further corner of the room would suffice.
Back at my desk, I pushed the punishment book into a top drawer and sat back. Moments later, I heard footsteps in the corridor outside.
“Working late, Henry?” Sarah Broomfield, the twenty something History teacher poked her attractive head through the open door. My heart missed a couple of beats.
“Oh, um, yes…” I stammered, before collecting myself. “Yes, meeting a parent actually.”
“Oh, right.” Sarah smiled broadly, and I could see her looking beyond me towards the further corner of the room where the cane now leant. Her smile broadened into a large grin as she added: “I’ll leave you to it then – unless you feel you need some moral support, that is!”
“No thank you, Sarah.” I replied. “I’m sure I’ll manage.”
Just a couple of minutes later, I heard more footsteps and Mrs Robertson peered round the corner of the doorway before propelling Emma in before her.
“Sorry we’re late, Mr Brown, only… well, I’m sure you understand.”
I stood up and shook hands with Emma’s mother, an attractive woman in her mid forties with similar chestnut brown hair to Emma’s, but perhaps a little shorter. “Please take a seat, Mrs Robertson. You too, Emma.” Then I realised I’d left only the one chair by the side of my desk. I went round and pulled a chair from behind one of the desks in the front row and placed it for Emma to sit next to her mother. The absence of the chair and the void behind thus created made me think that might prove useful in a short while.
Back at my desk, I leaned my elbows on the hard wooden surface and turned to my visitors.
“So, Mrs Robertson.” I smiled, more as though this was simply a pleasant meeting to discuss Emma’s fine schoolwork. I would have said more, only I found myself stuck for words.
“So, Mr Brown.” Emma’s mother smiled back in similar fashion, and of course promptly placed the ball back in my court. Tricky!
I took a deep breath. “I presume Emma has told you my thoughts on, er, her little transgression, Mrs Robertson?
“I’m not sure I’d call smoking marijuana a ‘little transgression’, Mr Brown, but then it’s probably fair to say the consequences are going to be quite robust, wouldn’t you say?”
“Well, all options are still open, Mrs Robertson.”
Emma’s mother smiled. “I think you’ve already discussed the options with Emma, Mr Brown.”
“Yes, and my understanding was that we were all agreed expulsion would be something best avoided, Mrs Robertson. Also, any period of suspension would have equal disadvantages at this late stage of Emma’s school career.”
“Agreed, Mr Brown.” The attractive woman waited for me to continue.
“Which means we then have to consider some other appropriate course of action, and I’ve, er, already outlined my thoughts during my chat with Emma.”
“You want to cane her?”
“I think that would be appropriate, Mrs Robertson.” I answered rather stiffly, as though I was being required to defend myself. In fact, I was beginning to feel like an ageing headmaster rather than a forty year old house master who liked to regard himself as moderately progressive. “Another option was also discussed.” I added as an afterthought.
“Oh yes, a slippering. Thank you for reminding me, Mr Brown.”
“Perhaps you have some better idea, Mrs Robertson?” I asked, a little annoyed.
Emma’s mother smiled again. “No, I must confess that if we rule out expelling her and suspending her then I can’t think of a punishment that would be sufficiently severe to match the offence, other than what you have suggested of course.”
“So, you’d better proceed, Mr Brown.”
I had become so wrapped up in my conversation with Emma’s mother that I had quite forgotten the poor eighteen year old sitting quietly listening to us. A glance told me she appeared lost herself in her own thoughts and had been ignoring us.
Emma jumped as she realised I was now addressing her. “Yes? Sorry, Mr Brown, I didn’t hear what you said.”
“We all now seem largely agreed on what should happen to bring this sorry little matter to a conclusion, Emma.” I looked at Mrs Robertson who briefly nodded her assent.
“Right.” Emma replied, appearing interested but not unduly anxious.
“We, um, did mention the slipper as an alternative. Did you have any thoughts on that, Emma?”
“Oh, whatever you think is best, Mr Brown.” Emma flashed a sheepish little grin.
“Do you actually have a slipper, Mr Brown?” Mrs Robertson asked. “I see you have the cane ready.”
“In the bottom drawer of my desk, Mrs Robertson. Yes.”
“No preference, Emma?” I persisted.
The eighteen year old just shook her head in reply.
“Then I think we’ll stick with the cane, Emma. Eight strokes.”
Emma’s reaction astounded me. “Good. Yes, I think that’s best. It sounds more strict, more in keeping with the seriousness of my offence.” It was as though we were discussing some absent party rather than this girl who would shortly be receiving probably the harshest punishment in her life.
“Now we can do it here or it might be a little more private if we went down to that little room next to the gymnasium. Which would you prefer, Emma?”
“You mean where they keep that old vaulting horse?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Mmm, yes, I think I would like to go down there, if you don’t mind Mr Brown. As you say, it would be a little more private.”
“Okay, perhaps you’d like to lead the way, Emma.”
Emma and her mother both stood up and headed for the door with me following on behind. Mrs Robertson suddenly blocked my way. “I think you’re forgetting something, Mr Brown.”
I blushed a deep red and went back for the cane, pausing at my desk to also collect the black punishment book.
The walk along the corridor and down the concrete stairs to the gymnasium was made in complete silence with Emma leading, her mother following close by her left shoulder and me a couple of paces behind. My eyes kept drifting to the bouncy line of the back of Emma’s longish black pleated skirt. We entered the gymnasium and passed through the changing rooms until Emma paused at the door to a small storeroom.
Stepping between Emma and her mother, I went through the doorway and immediately noticed the musty smell of a room that was not often used. Ahead of me was an old leather covered vaulting horse that had been placed end on against the further wall. To my left was a small table on which I placed the cane and the black punishment book.
“Come in.” I called, and Emma and Mrs Robertson came in and stood opposite me to the right of the doorway. I closed the door, not that anyone would be using the changing rooms at that time of day. For a few moments we stood looking at each other, all of us feeling rather awkward. It was Emma who finally moved things on, which made me feel even more uncomfortable.
“Shall I get across the horse, Mr Brown, or am I to bend over and touch my toes?” I think Emma tried to smile, but anxiety barred it from her face.
“Oh, um, I don’t know.” I stuttered. “Perhaps the vaulting horse would give you better support.”
“Yes, of course.” Emma immediately turned and went over to the vaulting horse where after a momentary hesitation she bent down along its padded top.
I picked up the cane and, under Mrs Robertson’s constant gaze, followed Emma over to the vaulting horse.
Emma spoke as soon as she sensed my presence. “I wore this pleated skirt, Mr Brown, thinking it would be easier to do, well, you know, what needs to be done.”
I froze. “I’m sorry, Emma, I should have asked you if you wanted to change into some games shorts or something.”
I think I heard Emma giggle gently. “It’s alright, Mr Brown, I’ve also chosen some suitable underwear. Do you want me to…?”
“Yes, if you’re ready, Emma.” I felt the presence of Emma’s mother behind me, closer now to the vaulting horse than she had been when we first entered the room.
“I don’t think ‘ready’ is quite the word, Mr Brown, but I know I have to take my punishment.” I watched as Emma reached back and drew up her black pleated skirt until it rested above her waist and brief white panties stretched around the eighteen year old’s firm buttocks were fully exposed to my gaze. The knickers were small and brief, and left the lower portions of the creamy white buttocks exposed, even though Emma did try to adjust them into a more concealing position.
I took a deep breath and shuffled my feet until I stood behind and to Emma’s left. The cane felt very light and delicate in my hand and the tip wavered as I held it hovering just a few inches above Emma’s rather splendid bottom.
“Yes.” The voice was throaty and anxious. Emma wrapped her arms around the bulk of the vaulting horse and gripped it tightly. I drew the cane back and sent it whipping down until it landed with a crack across the seat of Emma’s white knickers.
The girl immediately snatched violently and her back arched while a sudden intake of breath shooshed between her lips. Behind me, I sensed her mother jump too and make a similar, but quieter, gasping noise.
I paused for just a few seconds before taking aim for the next stroke. Should I alert Emma to its impending delivery? I decided against it and instead swished the thin pliant cane down, sending it hurtling into those soft creamy mounds. The cracking sound as the cane landed appeared to fill the small room and Emma’s body reacted suddenly to what must have been quite breathtaking pain.
The following two strokes, delivered slowly and deliberately, each exacted their own sharp punishment to this girl’s firm round bottom and caused her to flinch sharply and gasp as each met its target. Half way through now, so I decided to take a brief pause.
“Yes.” The reply was breathless and miserable. “It’s really quite painful, actually.”
“I imagine it is, Emma.” I responded, thinking her remark a little inane. “I’m afraid that is the point of the exercise.”
“Yes, of course.” Emma answered. She probably thought my comment equally absurd.
“Ready to continue?”
Thinking it kinder to deliver the next stroke without undue delay, I rapidly drew the cane back and whipped it down across Emma’s backside. She jumped, even though I’m sure she knew it was coming and as the cane fell away I took note of the five vivid red lines criss-crossing the parts of the girl’s bottom that were not covered by the brief white underwear.
“How many’s that, Mr Brown?” It was my turn to be caught unawares, by Emma’s mother speaking for the first time since I’d begun caning her daughter.
“Five, Mrs Robertson.”
“That’s what I thought.” She answered before addressing Emma. “Just three more, darling.”
Emma merely grunted. I took aim and delivered another sharp stroke of the cane, slightly higher where the top of the girl’s white panties tended to be drifting lower and beginning to expose the tops of her gorgeously curved bottom.
“Ooohh!!” Emma cried out for the first time. She made no attempt to move, though, seemingly resolved to lying still and taking her medicine.
With just a few moments pause while I took aim, focusing my attention on another spot just below the top of her buttocks, I sent the next stroke swishing down until it struck home.
“Nnnnnnnn!!” Emma grunted as her head whipped up against the pain of the stroke. She quickly settled back down again, though, to await the next and final blow.
I waited, lining up this final act of justice quite carefully. I was intending to make this the hardest stroke of the eight – one that Emma would remember for a day or two at least!
Yes, the very centre of that lovely white knicker clad bottom would be my target. I took aim, drawing the cane back slowly and deliberately. Emma seemed to sense what was coming, for she appeared to stiffen and brace herself.
I felt the spring in my legs as I leaned into the stroke, swinging the cane rapidly down until, with a resounding crack, it cut into the soft mounds of Emma’s buttocks.
“Uuuunnnhh!!” The girl arched her back as her head shot up, held that tense position for several long seconds, then slowly slipped back until she once again rested along the top of that old vaulting horse.
“Thank you, Emma. That completes your punishment.” I turned away, passed the stony glare Mrs Robertson was giving me, and busied myself with making the appropriate entry in the black punishment book. By the time I’d finished and turned back, Emma had risen up from the vaulting horse, had allowed her black pleated skirt to fall back into place and was gently rubbing her sore backside while her mother caressed the side of her arm.
“Do you, er, need me to show you the way out or anything, Mrs Robertson?”
“No thank you, Mr Brown.” The reply was rather cold.
“Then I’ll bid you both ‘good night’.” I heard no reply.
The following day, Emma seemed to avoid my gaze whenever our paths crossed, so it was with some surprise when, after all the other girls had left at four o’clock, someone tapped on my classroom door and it turned out to be Emma.
“Do you have a moment, Mr Brown?”
“Yes.” The word caught in my throat somewhat. I coughed to clear my throat. “Yes, of course. Do come in, Emma. Take a seat”
Emma looked at me rather coyly as she sat gently down. “Yes, things are still a little sore.”
“Yes, I’m sure.” I matched her faint smile. “Not a pleasant experience, I’m afraid.”
“No. Certainly not one I’m hoping to repeat.”
“Good. So, how can I help you?”
“I just wanted to thank you, Mr Brown.”
“To thank me?” I queried in surprise.
“Yes, I was a little too upset yesterday evening after, well, you know.” Emma smiled shyly. “But I did want to thank you for your consideration in not making it worse than it might have been. It would have been so awful if, well, if the headmaster had done it.”
I nodded, not certain quite how I should answer that one. Emma continued speaking, though, relieving me of having to make any verbal response.
“So, thank you for your thoughtfulness, Mr Brown.” Emma held her hand out and, when I clutched hers, shook it fairly vigorously in the manner of those who have not yet gained much experience in such things.
“Well, Emma, it’s all over and done with now. Time to move on.”
“Yes, Mr Brown. Thank you again.”