Having a parent in the teaching profession can be difficult

by Harriet

I grew up in the sixties, the daughter of a history teacher at a boys public school. We lived in a small house on the edge of the small town where the school was situated. My mother worked as a cleaner at one of the houses which formed part of the school.

As an older teenager, my interest in the older boys at the school had grown, and although they were not allowed to consort with the girls from the town, myself and one or two of my friends did exactly that. My father had once caught me kissing and cuddling one of the boys, and had warned me not to do it again or I would suffer the same fate as the boy. The boy had been sent to the Headmaster and given the cane. His punishment had been applied on the bare bottom, a treatment, he had been told, which was reserved for this particular offence. I had met him again, and he had described his experience.

He had been caned a few times, but never before by the Headmaster, and never “on the bare”. I confess that I had become quite sexually aroused by the thought of that caning, and even of being the recipient of the same treatment from the very handsome and forty-something Headmaster of the school.

Over time, I resolved that I would see if I could try to get myself caned. My father had spanked me on quite a few occasions, and had applied the slipper on one or two, including the incident with the boy. These spankings had aroused a certain something in me which I couldn’t articulate, and I had usually masturbated in bed that evening. I knew that I had to try for a caning. I was eighteen by now, and very interested in some of the boys. I was a good looking girl, slim tall and fair. I decided on a particular boy and made my advances to him, which were duly reciprocated. I then made my plans to get caught. It was hard on the boy, but my own desires were now in control.

I knew that my father had a late session of private tuition on a Wednesday evening, ending at about seven o’clock. This was a time when the boys were free to roam, and I ensnared my friend into a doorway on my father’s route home. We stood and cuddled, and I encouraged him to put his hand up my skirt. When my father walked past, we were gripped in a passionate embrace.

“Harriet!” He barked. We split apart. “I will see you when you get home. Jennings, get back to your house. You will be hearing more about this!”

I had achieved phase one of my plan. Now, would my father remember his threat of last time?

I made my way slowly home. When I arrived my father ignored me for a while, but eventually told me to come with him into his study. We sat down, and then as I waited with baited breath, he said: “I warned you last time this happened, Harriet, that it would not be tolerated. I intent to ask the Headmaster tomorrow if he will deal with you as I’m sure he intends to deal with Jennings. Let’s see if that will put a stop to your flirtings shall we?”

Secretly delighted, but my stomach unexpectedly churning with fear, I had to make a show of horror. “But he’s not my headmaster Daddy. He can’t punish me. You won’t ask him to surely? Please Daddy.”

But the answer I got was what I really wanted to hear – “He’s a good friend of mine Harriet, and this will be a private arrangement. I shall ask him, and I’m sure he will oblige me. You have been warned, and now you’re going to be punished severely. Now go to bed. Goodnight.”

I showered and went to bed, and masturbated twice before I fell to sleep exhausted.

The following day I was in a state of both dread and anticipation, but nothing happened. I spoke to Jennings, who said that he expected to be caned, and I told him of my similar expectations, which seemed to cheer him up somewhat. I don’t know whether this was because he liked the thought of me being caned, or just the fact that he blamed me for us being caught. That evening my father called me into his study again and told me that I must report to the Headmaster’s study in the school at ten o’clock the following morning. I should wear my town school uniform, and should be very prompt if I knew what was good for me!

I slept fitfully that night as the full enormity of what was coming dawned on me. However, it was with a feeling of some anticipation that I set off for the school buildings at 9.50am dressed as instructed in my uniform of white shirt and school tie, blue skirt and white knee length socks. When I arrived in the corridor leading to the Headmaster’s study door, Jennings was already there, looking very pale and nervous. “So you are for it as well then,” he exclaimed.

“Looks like it,” I replied. “Good luck.”

“Good luck to you,” he acknowledged.

We waited for a few minutes in silence, and then the Head’s door creaked open and he called out: “Come in Jennings.”

Jennings looked at me with a small smile and went in, shutting the door behind him. I could hear the tone of admonishment in the Head’s voice as he gave Jennings his lecture. Then there was a silence for about a minute, which was broken by a cracking sound and then a sharp cry from Jennings. I winced as this was repeated seven more times. Eight strokes!

After a couple of minutes, the door opened and Jennings emerged with slightly moist eyes, but grinning all the same, now that his ordeal was over!

“Come in Harriet,” called the Headmaster.

I entered and shut the door behind me. The Head was dressed in his formal gown, with a dark suit under it. Across the centre of his desk lay a three foot long cane with a crook handle. I shivered slightly, but it was not altogether with fear. The Head told me to sit down and then sat behind his desk. He lectured me about leading his boys astray, and told me that as this was the second time I had done this, my father had requested that he deal with me in the same way as the boy. Whilst this would not normally be done, my father was a good friend, and as a private arrangement, he had agreed to punish me.

“No doubt you heard what happened to Jennings just now?” He asked.

“Yes Sir,” I said with my head bowed.

“Very well Harriet. I’m going to give you the same eight strokes of the cane, on your bare buttocks. Please stand in front of the desk, lower your underwear to your knees, and then bend over the edge of the desk. You may grip the handles of the drawers on the other side.”

Embarrassed, but excited, I stood and slowly lowered my knickers. I glanced up at the Headmaster, who met my gaze firmly. I melted inside. I bent right over the desk as instructed, just managing to grasp the drawer handles. He moved behind me and as I gasped, he lifted my school skirt high above my waist and laid it on my back, revealing my tautly stretched buttocks. He then came round in front of me, reached over and picked up the cane from in front of my eyes. He moved to my left side and I heard him swish the rod through the air, making a frightening noise.

Finally out of the corner of my eye I saw him raise the cane high in the air. I shut my eyes and then, whoosh. I felt a cold sting, and then my bum was on fire as the pain of the stroke hit me, spreading right across my buttocks.

Before I had assimilated this, a second stroke came in, just below the first. I hissed to try and control my breathing, thinking: ‘Could I cope with six more of those?’

The next stroke landed high on the crest of my buttocks and was the worst so far. It was followed quickly by number four, which was laid low at the join of buttocks and thighs. I suppressed a screech as the pain seared me.

There was then a pause, and the Headmaster whispered: “ the next four will be hard.”

I couldn’t believe it! But sure enough the next four, spread over the full span of my cheeks, were even harder than the first, delivered with full force and a flick of the wrist.

My bum was on fire as the Head told me it was over and to stand up and pull up my knickers. I resolved there and then not to consort with the boys of the school again! But when I returned to my bedroom at home, I pleasured myself intensely.

The End