An experimental type of story

By Joanna Jones


This is a story which starts the same, but has one of four endings depending on the Headmaster’s whim.

A question: Which option would you take if you were the Headmaster? I would welcome any replies (by email to:


Paul Noakes watched discretely as Helen Forth walked inconspicuously across the school grounds towards the sheds and trees behind. For once she seemed to be alone. He felt it was now or never as he grabbed his satchel and made for the location he guessed she was heading to: one of the more inconspicuous spots for a cigarette.

Taking a slightly different route, and walking briskly, he got to edge of the trees slightly before her, then affected to casually watch as she approached. Inside he was far more nervous as the auburn locks framing her oval face, with those light brown eyes approached. Despite having never confessed to anyone, he was rather smitten with the five foot six vision of beauty now approaching him, her knee length skirt swaying enticingly as she did so.

Smoking was a very new habit for him; driven more by being a means to an end, knowing the girl in front of him was pretty well addicted, rather than any real enjoyment of the habit itself. Just before she arrived he lit up, then offered one to Helen, who gladly took it.

Paul was sure his hands were trembling as he lit the cigarette in her mouth, taking the opportunity to drink in her face and lips at such close quarters.

Helen did not notice the tremble and assumed the meeting to be accidental. She had been expecting to have a cigarette of her own and some thinking time alone, but Paul was undoubtedly a pleasant diversion as they got chatting about school and then onto other subjects. Helen found to her surprise that they apparently had some common interests, as Paul racked trough his brains for details he could remember on a couple of the musical bands she mentioned, though to be fair for other bands their views were more mutual.

Perhaps they would have been more aware of the danger if they had not been chatting so well together. However, whatever the case, it was as they stubbed their cigarettes out on the ground to walk back to the school that they were spotted by the rather self-officious Janitor, Mr Barker.

Immediately he demanded their names and classes, both for smoking and littering. He also gave them a short tirade on the fire risk with all the autumn leaves on the ground. Both thought this was a bit rich as they looked at the rather damp mulched mess of leaves underfoot. However, reluctantly, with no means of escape, they provided their names and class before slowly making their way back to the school.

Paul was rather frantic with nerves, wondering if there was any possibility that the janitor would forget it.

However, Helen was more realistic. “He’s never forgotten in the past, I am afraid. No, we’re both for it. We’ll be both in the Headmaster’s office for sentence before lunch I guess. Oh…How I hate that bath brush!”

Paul was feeling rather sorry for himself as he said: “At least it’s not the cane! You are lucky being a girl, only the bath brush from Mrs Jarvis. Give me that any day over old Perkins’ cane!”

Helen looked at him and said: “You boys are all the same, I assure you the way Jarvis wields her brush is bloody painful. I was caught smoking twice last year and both times I could barely sit after!”

Paul was far from convinced as to the equitability of the two as he contemplated his second visit to Mr Perkins office. The first, three years ago, had been three painful strokes, which he had just held himself together for. However, “old Perkins” had a thing about pupils smoking and the punishment was invariably ‘six of the best’.

The call came quicker than they thought. About ten minutes into their A-level History lesson a secretary appeared to ask that Paul Noakes and Helen Forth accompany her to back to the school office.

Their history teacher was a bit of a soft touch, especially with his upper sixth class, and had to gently demand silence to end the catcalls of “O-h-h-h!” as their colleagues anticipated their return later in the double period with sore bottoms.

Hiding their dread as best they could, the two left their desks and followed the woman out. Butterflies in their stomachs, they accompanied her to the reception area, where they were told to sit on the hard wooden chairs to await their audience with the Headmaster.

While Helen was pretty well resigned to her fate and just wanted to get the whole humiliating, painful experience over with, Paul was much more agitated. It was only about his third cigarette in school, and he was genuinely fearful of what awaited. The cane was terrible, and he was sure the few ‘taps’ with the bath brush would be much easier. In this day of woman’s lib and equality campaigns surely they should be equally punished…

As they waited in silence the thought festered in him, distracted somewhat by the rather nice knees (albeit covered in her tights) visible below the hem of Helen’s skirt. His reverie was brought to an abrupt end as after about five minutes the intercom went and the secretary intimated that “Mr Perkins will see you now.”

The two slowly got up and entered the Headmaster’s office. Soon they were standing facing him across the desk as he gazed impassively at them, letting the tension build, a chance for the two to recognise how foolish they had been.

He then started in the usual way, confirming the facts. Paul and Helen reluctantly acknowledged that they had indeed been smoking in the trees behind the sheds, and yes they’d dropped their stubs into the leaves just before Mr Barker had confronted them. They also agreed that there was a potential fire risk, as well as it being unacceptable littering. Finally they muttered acknowledgements that they did indeed know the various school rules they had broken.

The next stage was the usual lecture on the evils of smoking and littering along with the “disappointment” in seeing sixth formers behaving in such a manner, especially upper sixth formers who were supposed to be setting an example to the younger members of the school!

Both Helen and Paul stood, fidgeting nervously as the Headmaster paused. They knew what was coming next: his pronouncement of their punishment, and given the lecture they both knew exactly what it would be.

Finally Mr Perkins spoke. “I see no alternative to six of the best for each of you.” he declared as he fished in his drawer for the punishment book and a smaller sheet of paper, which Helen recognised as the form he used to send a girl to Mrs Jarvis, the Assistant Headmistress who dealt with female disciplinary matters.

Mr Perkins continued. “Do either of you have anything to say?”

As he scanned the two of them Helen Forth (as expected) looked dejectedly down and shook her head as she muttered: “No Sir.”

However, to his surprise Paul Noakes was clearly agitated, as if he wanted to object but was unsure if he dared.

Mr Perkins hackles rose slightly as he confronted the sixth former. “Noakes! You have something to say? Out with it then!” He demanded.

Paul quailed under the look the Head gave him, and started to mutter about it being nothing.

However, Mr Perkins glowered and demanded. “Clearly, from your behaviour it is not ‘nothing’. Come on, out with it boy!”

Paul gulped. “Well it just seemed unfair that in these days when woman’s lib is in the news all the time that boys and girls are punished differently…” he blurted out before trailing off.

Helen turned to stare at the rather frantic boy next to her. Why could he not just take his whacking bravely and shut up. If she got caned because of him….

Mr Perkins first angry inclination was to tell the boy he could have his caning with his trousers down. It was something he only demanded very rarely, maybe a few times a year, typically for very frequent re-offenders and bullies. In his time as headmaster there had been two occasions when the boy had had his underpants down too. Both were cases where the alternative would have had to be expulsion, and the parents had begged him to find a different solution for what had been very serious one-off offences.

However, as he thought about it he came to the conclusion the boy may have a point. Maybe he should pander to his complaint.

Helen jumped as the Headmaster suddenly addressed her. “So Helen, do you believe the girls are getting a lighter punishment?” He asked.

“No, sir” she replied vehemently. “Mrs Jarvis’s punishments are agony; I am sure as bad as the cane!”

“So…” Pondered the headmaster.

Choose your ending

A. One of the Boys?

B. One of the Pupils?

C. One of the Girls?

D. One of the Girls for a day?

A – One of the Boys?

“So…,” he repeated after a pause. “If that is the case, then you will have no objection to me caning the pair of you!”

“What!” exclaimed Helen as Mr Perkins ignored her spluttering, walked to the door and called his secretary in.

“Doris, we have had a bit of a discussion regarding the consequences of these two pupils’ actions in smoking in uniform, and on school grounds. Mr Noakes feels that punishments should be equal and Miss Forth here has not objected so I have decided to cane the pair of them myself, but I think a female witness might be appropriate.”

Doris got the gist of what was being asked immediately. This had never happened before, but she’d imagined what happened behind that door often enough. Now she realised she could find out! “I’d be happy to assist Headmaster,” she replied smoothly.

Helen felt trapped. She inwardly cursed Paul as she realised she was about to become probably the first girl to be caned on her backside. There were stories of the Head caning a girl’s hands from time to time for especially serious matters, but never a bottom. What a humiliation!

“Right !” Said the head as he opened the school punishment book and made two entries. “You will both be getting six of the best, and the first thing is to sign the book.”

Paul shook slightly as he took the Biro and signed on the line with his punishment. He looked very apologetic as he whispered: “Sorry,” to Helen as he passed her the pen.

Helen merely glared back, before adding her name below his.

As she put the pen down, she heard the click of the cupboard door behind. Her stomach lurched at the sight of a three foot rod of rattan in the Headmaster’s right hand.

She did not know it, but she was looking at one of his “senior” canes.

Paul knew it by reputation and the fact it looked a longer thicker implement than the one he remembered from a few years before.

“Noakes, you’ve been here before?”

Paul nodded numbly.

“Well you’d better show your lady friend what to do!”

Slowly Paul went over to the far side of the room and grabbed the chair and placed it backwards a little more centrally. He shrugged off his blazer and placed it on the seat in front of him before going round the back and very reluctantly bending over to wait for the caning to start.

“Shirt tails!” demanded Mr Perkins.

Paul wriggled and tugged while bent over and soon had his tails clearly out of the way of the target, his tightly stretched grey school trousers.

Both the secretary, Doris, and Helen looked rather appraisingly at the young man’s clothed buttocks. The Head lined up the cane gently on the target. Despite her predicament Helen could not help thinking that Paul had quite a cute bum!

That distraction was brought to a sudden stop as the cane swished violently to land hard on the trousers. Paul acknowledged the blow with a grunt, as a significantly sharper pain than the last time impaled his senses.

Helen was appalled at the speed and severity of the stroke; suddenly she felt very nervous indeed as the fact that she was to be next sank in.

Mr Perkins took his time, examining the cane briefly before lining up a second cut, eliciting a second louder grunt as the grey trousers were indented once more.

The caning slowly progressed and clearly Paul was finding it harder to control his voice as it did so. On the fifth stroke he gave a small wail as a seemingly harder blow landed low on the target.

Helen was getting nervous now. She knew her own turn was approaching very rapidly. She had always maintained that the cane and brush were pretty equivalent, especially given the routine Mrs Jarvis used. For example, though it was not well known, especially among the boys, the Assistant Head never whacked on more than one layer of clothing.

It was as Paul gave a loud wail as the final cut of his punishment was given, that Helen wondered what the Head was going to do with her. It was a cold damp day and she was wearing her thick winter skirt, two underskirts, tights and her school knickers. The last item was not compulsory for sixth formers, but she had netball practice directly after school and it made changing easier. In addition her blouse tails also were long and also would be covering the target area. The prospect of reducing that to two layers suddenly filled her with embarrassed dread as she watched a clearly chastised Paul stand and retrieve his blazer as the other hand clutched at his bottom. He was clearly flushed with the effort of controlling himself, and… was that a tear she saw trickling out of his left eye?

“Right, Forth, your turn. Blazer off and over the chair!” Demanded the Headmaster as Paul stood miserably rubbing his backside on the other side of room, next to the Headmaster’s secretary, who was rather flushed herself, having enjoyed the sight of a fairly handsome young man getting his ‘just desserts’.

It was only as Mr Perkins watched the very nervous Miss Forth approach the chair and bend over after depositing her blazer on the seat in front that he remembered one key reason why he left female punishments to Mrs Jarvis.

Dare he ask her even to remove her blouse tails from her thick pleated skirt that was hanging loosely around the target? After a pause he decided not. Similarly he concluded that raising her school skirt to reveal whatever layers were underneath was equally out of the question.

Eventually he summoned up the courage to ask the girl to gather the pleats of the grey skirt to the front and either hold them there or pin them between her knees, as otherwise it was clear even his senior cane was going to have much ‘impact’ on the lower part of the target.

Helen blushed into the seat of the chair as she pulled the fabric of her skirt forward and trapped some between her knees, pulling the pleats apart somewhat at the back, tightening the fabric to some degree at least. She was quite relieved not to have had the embarrassment of removing either of her slips or her tights, to say nothing of the relief that the thick skirt was still covering her bottom. Maybe there was a plus to not having to go to Mrs Jarvis, and strip the all layers out of the way to give her bath brush unimpeded access to her knickers.

Mr Perkins glanced at Doris who was staring avidly at the sight of the girl, bent over with the pleats of her skirt loosely gathered at the front. Even like this he realised that the cane was not going to have the effect it had had on young Mr Noakes. All he could do was whack it down hard and hope that the girl felt more than he expected.

Slowly he raised the cane and brought it down with a loud swish and louder thwack at the end.

Paul, who had just about enough composure to appreciate the shape of the Headmaster’s target in front of him, watched wide eyed as the stick whistled through the air and landed hard on the soft rounded bottom of the girl he was so infatuated with.

Helen gasped as she felt the stick’s impact. It was not quite as bad as she expected, certainly very sharp but not as intolerable as the boys made out.

A few seconds later the second cut whistled down. This time Helen took it in silence. It was painful yes, but she was surprised she could cope. Certainly this was not as bad as her recollections of her most recent visit to Mrs Jarvis.

Despite Mr Perkins’ best efforts Helen managed to remain silent for all of the next three strokes, and indeed held sufficiently still that the fabric trapped between her knees remained there. She did want to scream out as the pain increased but there was a pride in proving to the boy that had got her here that the cane was not so bad. She could not remember many girls who’d not returned to class from Mrs Jarvis’s ministrations with very red eyes and clutching the lowest parts of their bottoms. Certainly she’d never managed to stand dry eyed from the bath brush, and with only one to go she was sure she was going to make it here!


Mr Perkins had put a lot into the final stroke and Helen rewarded him with a slight wail like noise as a result.

Helen stood, and took a few breaths as she rubbed her bottom, bouncing slightly onto her toes. It had been really quite painful, but she reckoned the multiple layers of fabric, and especially the pleated wool skirt, had helped bring it to a level that she could cope with. She felt she had got off relatively lightly, at least pain-wise.

Mr Perkins gave them a brief final lecture and then dismissed them, making a mental note not to bother attempting that again. Miss Forth had clearly not felt the full effect of a ‘six of the best’ through her skirt and whatever other garments she was wearing underneath! All he could hope for was that the embarrassment of being caned, and notoriety as the school grapevine did its job, might compensate.

Unfortunately for him, any embarrassment in Helen from the caning was more than compensated for by her pride in having taken it so well.

Helen followed a still upset Paul into the corridor. Both decided to head for the toilets before going back to their history class.

Paul looked at Helen as he rubbed his bottom miserably. “I am really sorry to have got you caned. Can you forgive me?” He pleaded.

Helen looked back, finding the pensive face in front of her very cute, something she had not seen before. Also she was finding that for some inexplicable reason she was feeling inexplicably, well to put none too fine a point on it, quite aroused.

Taking a breath she said: “Maybe you did me a favour, Old Perkins’ cane is easier than that bath brush, especially when he is trying to whack through our skirts, rather than on your thin trousers. Thanks.” She gave a small smile then gently kissed him on the cheek.

Paul felt a shocked tingle through his whole body at the touch. “I still can’t believe you took that so well even though the skirt. That is a vicious cane you know.”

Helen blushed slightly as Paul continued. “Errr…the film on Friday night at the cinema looks good. Would, would you like to, to… errr…”

Helen interrupted his stammers and said with a smile. “I’d love too..!” Then, with a second peck on his cheek, she disappeared into the girls’ room, turning at the last moment to say: “Wait for me, and we can go back to history together.”

Behind she left a pained but elated Paul who briefly gazed wistfully at the swish of her skirt as she went in, before turning to the boys’ toilets to wash his own face.

B – One of the Pupils?

The Headmaster pondered whether he should apply the female variant of his ‘nuclear option’. While for boys it was a trousers down caning, eight (or more, rarely six) of the best; for girls he did not send them to Mrs Jarvis, but instead caned their hands, three on each.

Considering Miss Forth was on her third visit for smoking and there was no reason he could not cane a boy’s hands (indeed he had done so on a few occasions when it seemed especially appropriate) it was clearly an ideal way to deal with these two senior pupils.

“So,” he repeated. “I think you can both be treated equally with a good caning to your hands.”

Paul looked shocked. Helen meanwhile was distraught. She had heard through the grapevine about a girl getting the cane on her hands by Mr Perkins for a nasty case of bullying. It was reputed to be truly awful. Maybe six on the backside was equal to the brush, but not to her delicate hands.

“Please… please, sir. Not that!” She started to beg.

Mr Perkins was, however, already going to his cupboard. He retrieved the shorter of his junior canes, then turned and faced the two stricken school students. Miss Forth, he noted, was already crying.

“Look, girl, you have already been sent to me for smoking twice before, so you cannot complain that you don’t deserve this! Further you were the one who said you thought the cane and brush were not that different. Now stop your snivelling and get your blazer off and stand over there. You too Noakes!” He demanded.

Hearing the anger in his voice Helen desperately tried to calm herself as she shrugged of her blazer and placed it on an armchair to one side of the office. She ignored Paul completely as he did the same thing.

“Right both of you sign the book here.” Demanded the Head as they returned to stand in front of him.

As Paul passed the pen to her he muttered something like an apology, which Helen ignored as she snatched the pen roughly from him and taking a nervous breath added her name to the list.

Mr Perkins looked at the two agitated students in front of him. Miss Forth looked utterly frantic with nerves. As a result he suddenly decided to reverse his originally planned order and put her out of her misery.

“Right Forth, hand out!” He demanded.

“Which, which one?” stammered the panic stricken voice as she wrung the two hands together.

“They’re both getting the same, so stop wasting time girl!” Demanded the Head tetchily.

Reluctantly Helen held out her left hand. The head adjusted it to where he wanted then warned her not to move it, nor to let it drop. If she did then he would repeat the stroke.

Helen was shaking as the Head touched the cane on the meat of her palm, then slowly raised it. A sudden slash through the air and there was a ‘thwip’ as the cane cut into her palm.

Helen screamed and instinctively clamped her hand to her body.

Mr Perkins did not give her even a moment’s relief as he immediately demanded she return her hand out for the second blow.

Helen was in shock as she did so. That blow had been unimaginably painful. She had never had her hands hit, only her backside, both at school and at home. Her hand was throbbing as she opened it slowly for the second cut.

A second swish and thwip as the cane cut once more into her palm. As it was a more serious than usual sanction, Mr Perkins always brought the cane down hard when hand caning, and ensured that it was the final fastest moving segment of the cane, near the tip, that landed on the hand. As a result every blow was excruciating to its victim.

Helen screamed again and felt her eyes become wet as the impact assaulted her senses.

Once again Mr Perkins had to demand she put her hand out again. Now beginning to cry she did so, and was rewarded with a third painful cut of the cane across her palm.

As she began sobbing in earnest Paul looked on horrified. People always thought the cane was worst on the bottom, but seeing it slash down on Helen’s petite hand, and the effect it was having, made him wonder whether that was really the case. What was worse was he’d talked Mr Perkins into this, both for Helen and for himself. His feelings for Helen though were overwhelmed by the dread of the cane shortly attacking his hands.

Mr Perkins allowed the briefest of respites to Helen before ordering her to put out her right hand, and ‘keep it there’.

Paul watched guiltily as shaking Helen raised her right hand slowly.

Mr Perkins slashed the cane down once again, but as he did so Helen’s courage slightly failed her and she let her hand perceptibly drop as it hit. Any benefit the drop had was entirely lost as the cane crashed down across her fingers.

Helen let out an almighty scream and stuck her hand in her mouth to try anything to deal with the excruciating pain of that blow.

Worse was to follow.

“How dare you move your hand, girl!” shouted the Headmaster. “That one does not count! Now get it back out, right now, and keep it there!”

Helen desperately did not want to do so but faced with an apoplectic Head she managed to do as she was told, closing her eyes tightly as the cut was repeated to her right hand, landing this time across her palm to another loud wail.

Shaking she actually managed not to clamp it to her body but after the scream, and wave of the hand, she managed to return it to position.

Another loud scream as the fifth official cut landed parallel to it and after some more frantic hand waving, just short enough to prevent another irate comment from the Head, she stuck her hand in front of her for the final time, as with an audible swish, the cane landed, leaving a third tramline which crossed the previous two.

With a last wail interrupting the sobs Helen clamped both hands under her arms, jumping slightly as she did so – anything to reduce the terrible pain her hands were in.

Paul felt sick as he watched her struggle. It was not for long as Mr Perkins voice demanded he take his turn in the centre of the room.

Paul did as he was told and put his hand slowly out, screwing his eyes shut as he did so. Once there Mr Perkins touched the cane lightly across the palm before raising it and rapidly bringing it down.

Paul gave an involuntary shout of shock as the pain registered. Like Helen his hands had never felt a serious punishment and the impact was beyond anything he had imagined.

He now understood that Helen was not in any way making a meal of her caning as he waved his hand about before putting it out again.


The cane lashed down again and Paul only just kept the sounds he wanted to make in.

Again he managed to just get his hand out before being reminded by the Head.


“A-a-agh!” Exclaimed Paul as he pulled his hand into his chest, and cradled the tormented flesh. Like Helen before him he felt his eyes becoming wet.

The feeling made him desperately try to be brave. He did not want to let Helen see how much pain he was feeling.

Helen could not care less what was happening to Paul. Her whole being was still absorbed with the pain in her own hands as she went from clamping them under her arms to cradling them gently to examine the three tracks scarring each palm, and a fourth, ironically the most painful one across the fingertips of her right hand.

At Mr Perkins command Paul resignedly extended his right hand, once again screwing his eyes tight shut to await the first cut of pain on that side.

He did not have to wait long.

The cane arced down and Paul uttered a desperate “Nnnnngh” sound as he strove to take it quietly.

The fifth cut finally broke him as with a wail he found he could not this time stop tears trickling out onto his cheeks.

After yet another wavelike shake of the hand he managed to extend it once more for a particular hard stroke crossing the other two on the palm.

He could not control his sobs as Mr Perkins gave them some final admonishment to give up the disgusting practice of smoking before dismissing them.

They both stumbled out to the corridor and headed towards the entrance, where the toilets were located.

Paul was still coming to terms with the throbbing agony in his hands. “Oh! My poor hands.” He moaned. “My poor hands…”

Helen had just about stopped crying and a cold anger had settled into her. She had suffered a far more excruciatingly painful punishment than ever before and now was one of a tiny, tiny minority of girls to have received the cane on her hands. A reputation for being generally well behaved might survive a spanking from Mrs Jarvis for smoking, but that was never true for those who had had their hands caned by Mr Perkins.

And it was all this boy Paul’s fault, demanding equal punishments. Now all he could think of was his poor hands, not what he had conspired to have done to hers! She was now examining her right hand again. There were three raised ridges across her palm, but the fourth had given her a line of swelling across her fingers which could barely bend without inducing further pain.

Suddenly she snapped: the cold anger turned to fury; she had just enough control to take a good look down the corridor, and seeing it was deserted let fly with a resounding slap across Paul’s face using her right hand. It reactivated much of the pain in her fingers but it was not enough to stop her launching a second blow with the same hand to his same cheek as he turned in shock towards her.

As she did so she said malevolently “You bastard, Paul Noakes! You and your bloody equality. You got me caned, you bastard. And now all you care about are your poor hands. I never, ever want to see or speak to you again!”

Paul was in shock as the pain from the slaps to his left cheek rang around his head. A belated appeal died in his throat as the girl he had dreamt about so much disappeared down the corridor with her hands now back clamped under her arms. A girl he recognised was now almost certainly forever unobtainable.

C – One of the Girls?

The Headmaster had heard enough of the tales of Mrs Jarvis’s punishments to wonder at times whether it was the boys rather than girls who got let off easily, though at least they did not suffer the ignominy of having their names added to the punishment book. Perhaps, he thought, Mr Noakes needed to find that out for himself.

“So, what you are really saying is you think the girls get off lightly! Personally I would concur with Miss Forth, but since you feel it important I have no objection to you joining her this time in Mrs Jarvis’s office.”

With that he completed the form with both their names on, asked them both to sign it, and with a smile that made Robert wonder, he sent them on their way.

Helen nervously clutched the paper which indicated they were due a punishment of “Six of the best.”

As they made their way the short distance along the corridor Paul said: “Six whacks with the brush doesn’t sound too bad.”

Helen looked at him and said: “Who said anything about six?”

“But, but that’s what the form says.” Replied Paul, confused.

“You really don’t know what you’re getting do you?” Grimaced Helen. “It is ‘six of the best’. As far as I know Mrs Jarvis only has one way of using her brush, and that is as hard as she can. Thus if the words “of the best” appear, she adds two extra.

Paul’s mouth dropped slightly, but then sagged completely as Helen continued.

“Then there is the issue that fifth and sixth form boys get the senior rather than junior cane.”

“I didn’t know that was a rule.” Interrupted Paul.

“Well according to Mrs Jarvis, who delighted in explaining it to me the first time I was in her office for smoking, it is.” Replied Helen, before finishing off. “So as she does not have a senior bath brush or whatever she then multiplies the punishment by an extra half, taking us to twelve hard whacks.”

“Twelve!” Exclaimed Paul. Suddenly this did not seem quite the doddle he thought it would be.

However, before there could be any further discussion they found themselves outside the door of the Assistant Head.

Helen looked at Paul and, when he failed to react, knocked lightly.

There was a brief moment of hope when they thought she might be out, but then two hearts sank as the voice from within called: “Come!”

Mrs Jarvis was a little surprised to see both a boy and a girl entering nervously. The trepidation on their faces clearly suggested they were in trouble, and if it was the girl alone she would already know that her trusty bath brush was going to be called into action once more at the Headmaster’s request. That did not explain the presence of the boy though.

Mrs Jarvis addressed the girl first, given she was clutching the note. “So why are you here then?” She asked as she took the paper, but as yet left it unread.

Helen hated this inquisition bit as she nervously moved from foot to foot and replied “Errr… I was, well actually we were, discovered smoking behind the sheds by Mr Barker…” She replied tailing off as she did so.

“So Mr Perkins has sent you to me for a sore bottom then?” Confirmed the teacher, receiving a miserable nod in reply.

“And your reason young man?” She asked turning to Paul.

Paul suddenly found his mouth dry and himself unable to speak, before eventually stammering out, “The, the same miss.”

“Oh, and why did Mr Perkins not deal with you himself?” Enquired Mrs Jarvis.

“Well, errr, that is….” Paul was totally flustered and unable to answer the question.

Eventually Helen answered for him. “He asked for equal treatment, Miss.”

Helen flinched as the teacher glared at her interruption, but turned to Paul again and laughed mirthlessly as she said: “But, instead of Helen being let off with the cane, you got sent to me?”

Paul blushed nervously. He did not know if she was joking or not as she gave him what could only be described as a wicked look.

As she crossed her office she then finally looked at the form. “Helen Forth, you’ve been in my office for smoking before I recall.” She said as she drew out her brush from a drawer.

“Yes, Miss.” She replied nervously as she eyed the thick eighteen inch long wooden paddle with its bristles at one end.

“Clearly I did not make enough of an impression last time then. Let’s deal with you first!”

She gave the form a final look to confirm the punishment, then said: “Noakes, turn and face that wall with your hands on your head, and if I so much as see you try to peek as I deal with Miss Forth here, you will seriously regret it. Understood!?”

“Y.yes miss!” He stammered as he took a couple of steps across the office and did as he was told.

Mrs Jarvis left the form on her desk as she turned her attention to the sixth form girl in front of her. “Fetch the chair.” She ordered.

Helen knew exactly which chair; a wooden one with a fairly high back that normally sat near the side wall of the relatively small office. She picked it up and placed it with the back facing out in the same place as she had the last time she’d been in this undesirable predicament.

“Blazer off, you can put it on my desk.” Indicated the teacher and watched as Helen reluctantly complied.

“Right, skirt up, tights down girl,” ordered the Assistant Head next, in her most businesslike tone.

Helen glanced at Paul’s back and then, with the sick feeling of anticipation in her stomach, hitched up her skirt and slips, found the top of her tights and gently peeled them down to her knees, revealing her regulation blue knickers. She was glad it was netball training day, as her normal underwear was thinner and cut more ‘youthfully’, which would have left Mrs Jarvis’s favourite target area pretty much bare.

Her pleated skirt was needing to be constantly held, so she pre-empted what she knew would be the next instruction and bent over the chair back, ensuring her skirt, slip and blouse tails were all clear of her pants.

Mrs Jarvis was keeping half an eye on Paul as the girl made her preparations. However, he was standing resolutely, nose to the wall.

Paul was in turmoil. He was in shock that poor Helen had been ordered to strip to her knickers. The girls’ code of omerta had been very effective; while nearly all boys knew that Mrs Jarvis had a wooden brush, the fact that she whacked extra blows to make it more equal in her view, and that it was on their knickers was something he’d never been aware of. There was a temptation to turn around and peek at the backside bent over behind him, and he felt a twitching in his body as he imagined the scene. However, his infatuation with Helen was sufficient that he could not bring himself to invade her privacy as he saw it, and of course he was also in genuine fear of the consequences.

Mrs Jarvis considered the rather full backside in front of her and started tapping the lowest part of her left buttock. Then, aiming for the sensitive underhang, she drew back her arm and with a slight upward motion brought it crashing into the target.

A resounding ‘Thwack!’ echoed round the room forcing Helen up in her toes with the upthrust of the stroke.

Helen bit her lip to prevent herself shouting out and braced herself for the second blow, which she expected to follow quickly to the other buttock.

Thwack! Helen was not to be disappointed as she gritted her teeth and was forced onto her toes again as the upthrust of the blow impacted her right buttock.

Mrs Jarvis was utterly ruthless with her brush. She waited about twenty seconds, letting the anticipation in Helen rise, before crashing two further blows on more or less the same area, low on the bottom. Helen could not help but let out a small wail as each blow once again forced her briefly onto her toes.

As usual Mrs Jarvis aim was to ensure that the girl was thoroughly punished, and would not be sitting comfortably any time soon. After a further brief pause yet another two blows landed on the sensitive lower part of Helen’s backside.

Helen had determined to try to take this better than the last time, but was already in difficulties only halfway through, letting out two screams and felt the first tear start to trickle out.

“Keep still, Forth, unless you want extra!” Threatened the teacher.

Helen gripped the chair tighter and locked her knees straight to try to avoid the gyrations she was making to try to assuage some of the stinging in her rear.

The next two blows were quickly given, met with two screams and the beginnings of quiet sobs from Helen.

Paul, staring resolutely at the wall, was beginning to get quite agitated. Each blow was echoing around the room, and it was clear that each one was now causing Helen quite some significant discomfort.

After a further pause Paul heard Helen scream loudly and break into genuinely loud sobbing as the ‘paddle’ crashed into the undercurves of her bottom for the ninth and tenth time.

Mrs Jarvis could see the angry blotchy redness extend out of the base of the girl’s knickers as she let the pain sink in to her victim. Cruel though it may have been she did not really bother with getting the spanks all over the target. She thought it important to ensure the experience was as intolerably painful as possible, just as she remembered her Headmistress’s cane as a grammar school girl, around forty years previously.

Taking her time she lined up the final two whacks, once again using a slight upward swing as the brush crashed into the undercurves of the sobbing girl.

As soon as the final blow had been given Helen stood and clutched desperately at the lowest part of her buttocks. She desperately wriggled and gyrated as she did so, trying to cope with the dreadful pain she was in.

To Mrs Jarvis’s slight disappointment Paul Noakes resolutely remained facing the wall. She had half expected, half hoped to catch him turning as he anticipated his turn over the chair. Nevertheless she was confident in making an impression on him shortly as she coldly ordered Miss Forth to stop her antics and make herself respectable.

Still crying, Helen levered her tights up and pulled her slips down into place. Her skirt fell naturally back as she finally grabbed her blazer.

Finally she was reminded to stop rubbing her bottom and place the offending hands on her head, standing next to Mr Noakes, facing the wall of course.

Paul found the miserable sniffling quite nerve-wracking as he waited for the call to turn round.

Mrs Jarvis contemplated the two for a short time before finally saying. “Right, Noakes turn round and put your blazer on my desk.”

Paul took in the chair back waiting for him and the paddle in Mrs Jarvis’s hands as he shrugged off his blazer and placed it on the desk.

He then went straight for the chair and started to bend over.

“What do you think you’re doing boy?” Shouted the Assistant Head angrily. “Stand up and take your trousers down right now!”

Paul looked shocked. “But…,” he started to beg.

Mrs Jarvis was clearly very angry indeed as she interrupted loudly. “But, what? You asked for my punishment! Miss Forth here was dealt with on her underwear and so will you. I have two sons, and they were lucky if they got to keep even their pants on when I dealt with them. Yes, even when they were your age! Trousers! Now! Unless you want extra for disobedience?”

Faced with that tirade Paul found his hands going to his belt and reluctantly unbuckling it. A few seconds later the button and zip were undone and his trousers fell to his ankles as he blushed red with embarrassment.

As he did so Helen was reminded that if she dared turn round she would also regret it, before Mrs Jarvis brusquely ordered Paul over the chair.

The paddle rubbed gently into the undercurves of Paul’s bottom, covered in most part by his thin white cotton Y-fronts. He felt utterly humiliated as his semi-clad bottom waited, especially as he knew the front of his pants were tenting up in a manner he was utterly unable to control.

Finally it came with a mighty thwack.

Paul gasped in shock as the blistering sting forced him, like Helen before, up on his toes. Seconds later he gasped as his heels left the floor again; the other buttock had received its first whack too. He was vaguely relieved that the tenting in his pants was rapidly subsiding.

Mrs Jarvis applied the bath brush in the exact same manner as she had done for Helen although she probably was making even more effort than usual to ensure the foolish boy would stick with the cane if he was silly enough to find himself in trouble again.

After six blistering blows Paul was grunting desperately as the brush splatted repeatedly into the very lowest part of his bottom.

A particularly vicious seventh stroke led to a quiet wail from its victim. Mrs Jarvis inwardly smiled as she whacked the eighth blow on the other cheek.

Another stifled wail from Paul as he struggled with the impact of the repeated blows to the lowest portions of his backside.

Mrs Jarvis watched her victim desperately trying to hold position and then, just before she laid on the ninth blow, noticed out of the corner of her eye Helen trying to peek at the sight behind her.

Helen had found temptation getting the better of her as the throbbing pain in her rear got to the point where her mind could consider what was happening around her. She had risked a quick peek, assuming that Mrs Jarvis would be concentrating on her ministrations to Paul’s derrière. She watched surreptitiously as the brush crashed once more onto the lowest part of the white cotton covering Paul’s bottom, and found herself looking between his legs at the drop in the fabric which surrounded his manhood. The brush crashed low into the other side of his pants to a further stifled wail, leading to further darkening of the bright red blotchiness around the bottom below the elastic of each pant leg. Helen involuntarily shuddered and quickly put her nose back to the wall before she was noticed.

Mrs Jarvis did not yet let her know it was too late, but instead allowed the tension to rise before delivering the last two full-blooded whacks to Paul’s backside.

The pain was such that Paul could not stifle his screech of agony with each blow. He was sure now that Mrs Jarvis’s paddle was at least as bad as, and probably worse than, the cane as he slowly rose from the chair desperately clutching at the lowest portions of his bottom.

Mrs Jarvis only gave him a few seconds before ordering him to get his trousers back up.

Painfully he bent over, slowly pulled his trousers up and buckled them into place.

It was only then did Mrs Jarvis order Helen to turn round and face her.

Helen tear-stained face went white in utter fear as Mrs Jarvis said: “I saw you turn round, Miss Forth, despite my explicit orders not to! What have you to say for yourself, girl?”

Helen did not bother denying it but instead started to blubber her apology. “Sorry, miss. Please, it won’t happen again.” She wailed as she anticipated the dreaded order to bend over again.

Mrs Jarvis continued. “Noakes here managed to exhibit the self control I required, but you invaded his privacy! Despicable!” She took a breath before saying. “Get your skirt up and tights down. Six more, and this time, Noakes, you can watch!”

Helen was rather frantic. At this point she could not really care less about whether Paul saw her bent over in her gym knickers. The prospect of taking another six painful whacks was far more of an issue. In tears she started to beg incoherently for leniency.

As Mrs Jarvis threatened to get Paul to hold her, and give her further extras, Paul decided to see if he could help. “Please, I didn’t mind her peeking, can’t you please let her off. It was my fault that I ended up in here and caused the problem.”

Mrs Jarvis gave a glower that would have scared any sane minded pupil to the bone as she reacted to the interruption. “Miss Forth here was the one who disobeyed the order, not you. Now, unless you want to take the punishment for her I suggest you stand back and not interrupt further!” She replied angrily.

Even afterwards Paul did not know what brazen act of madness made him do it. Perhaps it was seeing the girl he was so infatuated with in such a state. However, whatever the reason, Paul looked at the teacher and placed the blazer he’d just picked up back on her desk. He then took the few steps back to the chair and dropping his trousers again, bent over.

Helen and Mrs Jarvis stared in shock at his actions.

It was Mrs Jarvis who recovered first. She had never expected the boy to actually take her up on the offer, but recognised with a cold fury that her bluff had been called.

In a dangerously quiet voice she said: “Well, Miss Forth, It seems this boy has saved your bacon. Though I strongly suspect he will bitterly regret his sacrifice very soon. Stand over by the wall and don’t dare interrupt. Now!” Was the final order as Helen made some ineffectual moans.

Helen watched, horrified by the wall as Mrs Jarvis went over to the boy and first tugged up his pants hard, causing a grunt from Paul as the lowest parts of his bottom were fully exposed. The previously covered area was an even angrier blotchy bright red than the areas just below the pant line.

There was a fury in the Assistant Head that was determined to find an outlet. If this boy thought that her punishments were such that he could volunteer for more then he was in for a rude surprise.

Glaring at Helen, as if daring her to speak, she then returned her attention to the matter in hand.

Helen was too scared to do anything, in turmoil with guilt that this boy was about to take a punishment for her and an anticipation at seeing him bending over, which was giving her further confused feelings of guilt. All she could do was stand, still sniffing, out of the way as Mrs Jarvis took a step back from the target.

Raising the brush she threw her body and arm forward, putting everything into the blow.

It landed with an almighty whack, with the lowest part of the wood cutting into unmarked flesh at the top of the thighs

Paul was not just forced up on his toes, but seemingly his feet left the ground as he screamed with the impact. Contrary to her reputation, Mrs Jarvis did have a second level of power in wielding that implement and it was agony.

Rather than immediately following up with a blow to the other buttock Mrs Jarvis took a breath or two as she stood back, before once again launching herself into the target, landing the brush unreasonably low on the other buttock.

Helen put her hands over her eyes as Paul screamed again. This was horrific. Two further vicious blows later Mrs Jarvis had broken the boy. He was sobbing in agony at the unbelievable pain being inflicted. Had he been aware it would have been scant consolation to know that Helen’s tears had restarted in sympathy.


The fifth extra landed to another scream amongst the barely stifled sobs. Paul indeed bitterly regretted ever having challenged this teacher as he desperately clung on to await the final blow.

Mrs Jarvis took her time, but come it did leading to a final scream as Paul released himself from the chair and stood unable to do anything but hop from foot to foot as he held his rear.

Mrs Jarvis brusquely ordered him to get his trousers up, which took even longer than usual, as he first gently pulled the fabric of his pants down to make them more comfortable, before very carefully making himself fully respectable, then finally picking up his blazer.

Immediately Mrs Jarvis dismissed them, telling them she hoped to see neither of them in her office again and to go directly back to class.

It was a hope that both Paul and Helen agreed with, as Helen helped Paul to stagger into the corridor.

Neither of them dared risk going to clean up. Mrs Jarvis had a reputation of asking teachers what time punished girls returned and then dragging delinquents back to her office den. So slowly they headed back to their History class.

“I wish I’d taken the cane,” moaned Paul as he still could not stop clutching his backside. “I thought that after the first twelve, but those, those last six? Ohhh, just agony.”

Helen looked guiltily at the red eyed boy next to her and stopped Paul in the deserted corridor. Briefly she kissed him on the cheek. “I am sorry for peeking,” she whispered. “And thanks for taking those extra, they were unbelievably horrible. I will make it up to you I promise!” Then, with a second kiss, this time lightly on the lips, she started towards the class again, now accompanied by a Paul whose pains seemed at least a little less.

D – One of the Girls for a Day?

A rather mischievous thought crossed Mr Perkins’ mind, and he wondered if he dare go through with it. There was a certain aptness in it, and he was sure that no other boy would be questioning his punishments any time soon after as a result.

However, he could see all sorts of pitfalls. He would need to check with a couple of colleagues. First though, he thought, let’s see if the boy will ‘hang himself’, so to speak.

“So, Noakes, you would not object if the school treated you as a girl then?” asked the Head innocently.

“No, sir!” replied Paul quickly.

“Very well, the two of you wait outside my office while I discuss the matter with Mrs Jarvis.” He replied.

He followed then to the door and told his secretary they were to sit in total silence, before returning to his phone.

As they waited Helen was caught between relief that punishment was delayed and irritation that she could not get the whole unpleasant experience over and done with.

The nerves grew as it was over half an hour before Mr Perkins called them back into his office. He had two forms; one for Helen, which merely said: “six of the best”, and a second for Paul which said he agreed to be treated as one of the girls and receive “six of the best”. Helen signed it resignedly and Paul did the same with his without any real thought. Stuffing the two forms into an envelope he gave it to Helen and said. “Well you two, Mrs Jarvis is expecting you. You know where her office is.”

With that, after a muttered acknowledgement from Helen, the two sixth formers left his office to walk the short distance along the corridor. The half hour enforced silence seemed to continue as they both remained in their own nervous thoughts of anticipation.

It was Paul who tapped on the door, and, on hearing the call to enter, opened it and led the way in.

Clearly Mrs Jarvis was indeed expecting them. The wooden bath brush was already placed neatly to one side of her desk.

As the two stood opposite her across the desk she took the envelope, briefly read the note inside, then merely gazed at them a while, allowing their nerves to rise.

Eventually she said. “Helen Forth, caught smoking again. It seems I’ll have to try harder to encourage you to desist doesn’t it?”

Helen gulped and nervously whispered: “Y..yes, Miss.”

Mrs Jarvis then turned her attention to Paul. “So for your punishment you want to be treated as one of the girls?” She asked.

“Y.yes Miss.” He stammered. There seemed to be something he was not quite getting as he looked at Mrs Jarvis’s impassive face.

“Well then, the first thing you need to do is get changed into an appropriate uniform.” She replied.

As she said this, Paul looked on horrified as she produced, and then emptied, a bag of various items onto the desk. She then carried on. “Your shirt, tie and blazer are good enough, so all you need do is change into these clothes below the waist. We always keep some of the unclaimed lost property in case of spills and so on, so these should fit you. Okay Paula.”

Paul noted the feminisation of his name as he stared in horror at the desk. He started to shake his head and say: “No, please you can’t, my parents….”

“Actually Mr Perkins has spoken to your mother and she is of the view that this is exactly what you need given your behaviour today, and indeed some of your recent behaviour at home. In fact it was her who suggested that the punishment last a full school day, which means you can get your trousers back from me on Monday lunchtime. Also I can tell you that apparently she also plans to ensure you are suitably attired throughout the weekend to give you more time think about your actions too! She also said it’s not the first time you’ve had this sort of punishment is it?”

Paul felt sick. He could not believe this was happening. He did remember as a nine year old being forced to spend two nights and a day in his sister’s hand-me-down clothing for pulling up her skirt and hitting her knickers with his hand in an argument in a play park. Mum had marched the two of them home and sent Susan to her room for her part in the argument. She had been so upset mum had let her off the spanking he got, received after being forced into an old nightie to be sent to bed in after. The next day he had found his still irate mother telling him he would wear a summer dress. It had been awful. Since then if he had been particularly irritating it had been threatened again, which always had had the desired effect of suddenly calming him down.

Helen was shocked as she watched Paul beg for anything else as a punishment.

However, Mrs Jarvis was implacable, pointing out he himself had signed the form accepting this punishment.

He was in tears by the time he finally slipped the skirt on over his trousers, having been ultimately threatened with a hand caning from Mr Perkins before returning here to change for the bath brush as well if he did not stop arguing and do as he was told.

Using the skirt to cover his modesty he managed to slip down his trousers and pants and reluctantly put on the pair of navy knickers proffered. The pink silky skip, with its lacy edging, made him cringe as he slid it up under the skirt, the fabric seeming strange against his legs. There were no tights so his ankle socks were replaced with the knee length grey socks worn by junior school pupils and on warm days by some older girls.

By the time he was finished he was both red-eyed with frustration and red-cheeked with embarrassment.

Mrs Jarvis picked up her bath brush. It was time for another part of “Paula’s” anatomy to be turned red.

“Right Miss Noakes, bring that chair over here, then get your skirt and slip up, and bend over the back of it.” she demanded.

Paul looked at her in shock as he realised that the brush was to be given over ‘his’ knickers, but already defeated, slowly did as he was told.

Helen found the sight rather incongruous as she looked at the rather tight bottom encased in girl’s pants with the pink of the slip he’d been forced to wear around his waist.

“Right, ‘six of the best’ equates to twelve strokes for a senior pupil, Paula. I expect you to keep still throughout if you don’t want extra! Understood?”

Paul was in shock as he muttered “Yes Miss.” Twelve seemed an awful lot. What happened to six he thought as he waited nervously for the gently tapping to stop and the first real blow to arrive.


“Aaah!” screamed the brush’s victim as the brush crashed into the lowest part of his bottom. He felt his heels lift off the ground with the force of the blow. The pain coupled with the humiliation already visited on him was too much: he found that he could not help it as he burst into tears again on the first blow.

A scream as the second impacted on the other side of his bottom and he was now sobbing freely, just, as he reflected afterwards; just as if he was indeed a little girl.

Mrs Jarvis smiled inwardly as she gave a short pause for the pain to sink in fully to the humiliated pupil in front of her. ‘Her’ tears would not lead to any let up in her normal method of thrashing a naughty ‘girl’.

The next two minutes were a mess of screams and sobs as ‘Miss Noakes’ received blow after blow on the lowest part of ‘her’ buttocks.

Helen watched as the boy in front of her wailed through the punishment. He was taking it worse than Emily, who’d been with her on her second visit to this office, and certainly, she thought, far worse than her own two experiences in this room.

Having lost count somewhere Paul was still sobbing into the chair as Mrs Jarvis pulled him up, saying “Okay Paula, it’s over, let your skirt and slip down and wait over by the wall.

Paul was too far gone into his misery to register the term ‘Paula’ as he did as he was told, then miserably went and stood next to Helen.

Helen looked fearfully at the brush in Mrs Jarvis’s hand. She remembered the agony of the last two times, but a determination to show ‘Paula’ how a real girl should take a punishment stiffened her resolve as she waited for the call.

It was quick in coming, as the Assistant Head demanded she drop her tights and get her skirt and slips out of the way.

Determinedly she did so, and bent over.

Under normal circumstances Paul would have found the sight of the attractive eighteen year old’s perfect bottom bent towards him and tapering neatly to the slip and skirt at her narrow waist, and tapering down her thighs to the tights at her knees, mesmerizing. However he was too far gone into his own pain and embarrassment to care.

Mrs Jarvis lined up her brush low on Helen’s hindquarters and started.


Helen closed her eyes and grit her teeth.


The pain was visited to the other half of her bottom, and she felt her heels leave the ground as usual.

As she waited for the next pair to land on her netball knickers she’d worn that morning she determined that come what may she was not going to cry this time. She would show this apology of a boy how he, or ‘she’ given his current attire, should take a beating.

Thwack! …. thwack!

She bit her lip and took the next two agonizing blows in silence as Mrs Jarvis launched the nasty whacks low on her backside.

To Mrs Jarvis frustration she took the next six with only a few grunts by way of reward.

The last two blows were especially hard, leading to two rapidly controlled screeches from Helen, but she still managed to stand dry-eyed. The presence of the still quietly crying ‘Paula’ had stiffened her resolve sufficiently to survive Mrs Jarvis’s worst.

She could still not resist rubbing her well blistered bottom while bouncing on her toes though, before being ordered to pull up her tights and smooth down her skirts.

Slowly she did so, relieved and almost proud to have survived the punishment so well.

Unusually Mrs Jarvis escorted them back to their history class. The reason was soon clear. Once in the room the class sat shocked as the Assistant Head intimated that until Monday lunch ‘Paula Noakes’ was to be treated like any other girl in the school. Embarrassed tears were flowing silently down Paul’s cheeks as he stood with his throbbing bottom, and listened to the next stage of his humiliation.

The rest of the day was awful as he struggled to avoid the teasing of most of his peers, who soon had the full story out of Helen, who covered every detail as she reveled in being briefly the centre of attention. The pink slip he was wearing was the subject of particular hilarity.

As promised, his mother did nothing to make it easier for him as he spent the weekend in rather frilly, lacy knickers and a summer dress. He’d even been forced to wear a stuffed bra! His mother was indeed merciless, and two painful sessions with a belt had been employed to ensure he complied with her demands. The second was on Monday morning as Paul pleaded not to have to wear the bra to school. He was sure his father would have sided with him, but he’d been away on one of his all too frequent business trips…

The relief in returning to boys’ clothes at Monday lunchtime was tempered by the teasing he continued to receive afterward. He never lost the Paula nickname, especially from a group of the girls who had found it particularly amusing. It did not help that three months later his mother forced him into a girl’s outfit again for swearing at her during an argument, and he was spotted in the town centre.

He was as a result far too embarrassed to ask Helen for a date, and despite finding him attractive, Helen could never bring herself to give him a lead in, feeling guilty at having given all the lurid details to her friends of the tear filled spanking Paul had received with a skirt and slip around his waist.

Thus the two never did get together, but on more than one occasion both individually wondered what might have been…

As for Mr Perkins he was indeed correct – no other boy ever dared query the equality of his punishments again!

The End