A new teacher and his wife visit their new school

By John Key, a new writer to us

“Oh Alan, this stuffy old school gives me the creeps,” said Dorothy to her handsome husband, the new school master for the dreaded upper sixth.

Alan agreed with his beautiful young wife. “It is a bit old-fashioned, Dorothy, rigidly maintaining the ‘traditional’ school values, as everyone keeps endlessly repeating ad nauseam.”

They were alone now in the school master’s quarters, after spending a tiring day being shown round the ancient academy. The first term hadn’t started yet, so the school was completely empty apart from a few members of staff and the headmaster.

The headmaster was friendly enough and eager to help, but they’d both had to pretend not to notice as the doddering old boy gawked at Dorothy’s bottom at every opportunity.

“The other teachers seem OK, I suppose Alan, but I hate the way the headmaster kept staring at my bum.”

“Well, it is a rather pretty little peach, Dorothy. Can you really blame the old boy for drooling over your beautiful bottom?” teased Alan to lighten the mood.

Dorothy responded with a shocked expression, before a lovely big smile split her pretty face as she playfully slapped his arm.

“Don’t you mind that the old codger was ogling your wife’s bottom?”

“Not at all,” countered her husband, with a cheeky grin in response to his wife’s teasing. “As long as I’m the only one enjoying your gorgeous bottom.” He added as he teasingly raised her skirt up above her slender waist. She spun round and saucily wiggled her pert bottom for him, as she giggled at her naughty tease.

“Looks like it’s just you and the headmaster today, Dorothy. I have to meet up with the other teachers in the assembly hall to go over the curriculum for next term, which I strongly suspect will be at least as boring as it sounds. You, on the other hand, Dorothy, have the pleasure of reporting to the headmaster’s study. Apparently he likes to meet the wives for a pep talk and no doubt empathise the importance of the ‘old traditional school’ values.


“The old traditional school values are so important at this institution, Dorothy. I really cannot empathise that enough,” droned the headmaster, as poor Dorothy nodded solemnly.

“We pride ourselves on maintaining standards and discipline here. I, for one, take great satisfaction in the fact this is the only school in the country with a corporal punishment license. It’s never taken lightly, of course, but when a caning is required, then a caning there shall be.”

“I didn’t know caning was still allowed, headmaster, I’m not sure I approve.”

“Oh, I find it’s a very effective deterrent, Dorothy, and I’m sure you’ll agree that it’s much better to get the problem dealt with straight away, rather than detention or lines or, God forbid, expulsion.”

The headmaster produced a crook-handled cane from a cabinet behind him and cracked it down hard on the desk with a fearsome ‘thwack’ that made Dorothy jump.

“I find that six stinging strokes from this joystick will sort out any problem, once and for all. Now then, let me just check that I’ve got all the correct paper work here,” continued the headmaster, as Dorothy stared wide-eyed at the ferocious yellowed cane.

“Well this can’t be right,” said the headmaster, frowning.

“Ten years is written down here, but it looks like your husband has only nine years teaching experience? The advertisement and job description clearly stated that a minimum of ten years was required at the coalface, or the chalk face as I like to call it.”

A startled Dorothy remembered the discrepancy at the time of applying for this post, as she tried to persuade her husband to apply anyway. The starting salary was so generous and the thought of all those lovely long holidays was just too tempting.

Despite Dorothy’s pleas, Alan had said no. He’d talked to a few of his fellow teachers and they’d been adamant that the application would be flatly rejected and might jeopardise any future job offers.

Dorothy felt a little bit guilty, when she secretly sent off his application, stating that Alan had actually been teaching for ten years.

An interview with the board of governors was arranged and her ‘super smart’ husband passed with flying colours. Alan had applied for so many teaching posts, that he didn’t realise this was the position that demanded ten years’ experience.

Dorothy was relieved and actually felt a little tingly thrill at how clever she’d been. The ten year requirement was never mentioned again and she’d forgotten all about it. ‘We’re here now, so it’s no longer an issue,’ Dorothy thought reasonably. ‘So I’ll just say it was a silly mistake.’

Dorothy didn’t know why she was saying it, even as she was saying it, and she was the one saying it, but she just blurted out the same blatant lie.

“Oh no, Alan definitely has ten years teaching experience, headmaster.”

The headmaster stared at Dorothy, unblinking, with his piercing blue eyes. Dorothy felt her face redden with shame and embarrassment at this silly lie. ‘God what was I thinking? Surely it doesn’t matter now if it’s nine years or ten, Alan’s already got the job. Why didn’t I just admit the ‘mistake’ and laugh it off?’

“Was your husband teaching before he left university?”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, headmaster. I was confused; it’s nine years, yes, you’re right. Alan has been teaching for nine years.”

“I’m very sorry, Dorothy, but the school tradition is quite clear on this. The master for the upper sixth must have at least ten years teaching experience. I think I know how this awful mix-up happened. It’s our new secretary. We had so much trouble with her when she first started. She should have rejected your husband’s application. It’s basic mathematics, and instead it appears she sent off an interview request and the rest, as they say, is history

“Of course, you can both stay here tonight, and we’ll arrange transport for you back to the station in the morning.”

Dorothy was horrified. Alan had already left his last teaching job for this very well paid position, and it was clearly too late for him to apply for another post before the start of term.

“Oh please, headmaster, surely that isn’t necessary. It was all my fault. I made the mistake, not Alan, and he so deserves this job.” Dorothy was desperate now, clutching at straws, but determined to find a way out of the horrible mess she’d made. “And really it was the secretary’s fault. You said so yourself, headmaster. Of course, I don’t want her sacked or anything, but surely she should be punished for this and not Alan and me?”

“I don’t know about that, Dorothy,” frowned the headmaster. “Well, perhaps.” He tapped his fingers on his desk with a faraway look in his eye. “Yes, OK then. I’ll talk to the secretary and see what she has to say about this unfortunate pickle. Report back here at three o’clock sharp, Dorothy, and I promise I’ll have a solution for this fiasco.”


At three o’clock, Dorothy’s heart was thumping in her chest as she built up her courage outside the headmaster’s office. She couldn’t help feeling like a naughty schoolgirl, anxiously waiting to hear the headmaster’s decision. She tap-tapped on the door.

“Ah yes, do come in, Dorothy, and have a seat. I’ve spoken to the secretary and told her that you felt she was the one who should be punished for the lie about the ten years’ experience and not you, Dorothy.”

Dorothy’s faced blushed bright pink. God, this was so awkward. Talking about lies and punishments and who’s to blame, had her heart racing like that naughty school girl again.

“Good news! She accepted she should have rejected the application and agreed to her punishment. Yes, it was a careless mistake and she paid the penalty in full. Here’s the signed punishment slip.”

Dorothy took the sheet of paper the headmaster handed her with growing unease. She gasped when she read the ‘penalty’ meted out to the unfortunate secretary, as shown on the ‘punishment slip.’

‘I confirm that the application error was my fault and agree to my punishment of six strokes of the cane on my bottom, to be administered immediately.’

Dorothy read the punishment slip with horror as she shifted nervously in her seat and stared in astonishment at the headmaster.

“Yes, she received those strokes very well, I must say,” said the headmaster, with a far-off look in his eye, as he idly fingered the crook-handled cane that was still lying across his desk.

“But-but, she’s a grown woman,” stammered Dorothy, in a state of shock and bewilderment, and a gnawing sense of guilt that she’d been the architect of the poor secretary’s six stroke caning.

“Oh yes, she is. She is indeed a grown woman, very much so,” said the headmaster, with a defiant glare at Dorothy. “She took her punishment accordingly, without a single complaint and barely a whimper. Now then, Dorothy, I have your slip somewhere. Ah yes, here it is.” The headmaster nonchalantly handed her another sheet of crisp white paper.

Dorothy’s breath caught and she groaned out loud as she read her ‘punishment slip’, with her heart pounding and blood rushing to her ears.

“But-but I’m a grown woman!”

“Yes, yes, as is the secretary. I think we’ve already established that, Dorothy. Of course, we could still arrange for your transport to the station.”

“Oh God! Oh my God! You’re going to cane me, aren’t you, headmaster? But I don’t want to be caned, caned on my bottom. Oh my dear God, no! You’re going to cane my bottom? But that’s, that’s just so embarrassing. And six strokes too? Oh lord, will it hurt, headmaster?”

“A firm young bottom like yours, Dorothy, will really feel the sting of my cane. But I’m sure you’ll agree that it’s so much better to get this over and done with. We’ll tear up your horrible, blotted copybook and wipe the slate completely clean. You’ll have a nice fresh start, Dorothy, and no-one will ever know what you did. Your lying and cheating will be completely forgotten, Dorothy, and never mentioned again. It’ll be our little secret.”

Dorothy’s heart thumped alarmingly as she squirmed in her seat. The thought of bending over to be caned, caned on her bottom, her married bottom, was simply mortifying, but she didn’t want her husband to find out what she’d done behind his back. He’d forgive her, of course. She knew Alan was mad about her, but she just didn’t want to let him down. She couldn’t bear the thought of his lovely puppy dog eyes looking so sad, as she confessed to him what she’d done.

Instead, she could avoid that awful guilty confession to her handsome husband and all she had to do was bend over and take six strokes of the cane, and that’s it finished. How bad could it be? Her caning would be in private and nobody else would ever know. The secretary took her punishment, with barely a whimper, apparently, so perhaps it really was best just to get this over with, clear up the horrible mess she made and move on.

Dorothy nodded to the headmaster as she signed her punishment slip and sealed her fate. The sexy little schoolmaster’s wife was going to be caned and that was an end to it. The headmaster’s face lit up with a twinkle in his eye of eager anticipation. A big cheesy grin spread across his beaming face as he lifted his nasty-looking cane.

The headmaster rubbed a piece of chalk up and down the length of the cane, his flinty gaze never leaving Dorothy blushing face.

“Bend over my desk, Dorothy. It’s six strokes of the cane on your bottom for lying and cheating,” said the headmaster sternly.

Dorothy’s legs turned to jelly as she tottered unsteadily across to the headmaster’s desk and bent over as ordered. Her light blue trousers stretched tight across her firm round bottom as Dorothy’s face burned with embarrassment and shame as she slumped her head down in despair, vanquished and defeated by this horrifying humiliation.

The headmaster’s mouth fell open in wonder and awe as he marvelled at the beauty and power of a grown woman’s full firm quivering bottom.

‘Oh my word, yes, that’s a splendid bottom,’ he thought dreamily as he gazed at Dorothy’s quivering buttocks. ‘That really is a juicy, succulent, peach, ripe for the plucking!’

Dorothy was horrified and gasping for breath at this terrible injustice. She’d only told a tiny little fib to help her wonderful husband. Surely, Alan deserved this plum job, for all his hard work over the years. Now here she was, bent over a stranger’s desk with her tender bottom presented for a thrashing.

‘Oh my dear God, how did it come to this?’ she thought miserably.

She shook with fear when the headmaster caned the air with a terrifying ‘swish, swish, swish.’ Dorothy wriggled her hips uneasily and her bottom squirmed with every horrifying swoosh. She stifled a gasp as a wave of tingles rippled through her and she shivered in panic. Dorothy was afraid, bordering on petrified, at the thought of what the headmaster’s monstrous cane could do to her poor bottom. She’d never felt so exposed and vulnerable before. She was completely helpless and totally at the mercy of this scary old man who was determined to cane her.

Dorothy had agreed to present her bottom to the headmaster to receive six strokes from his stinging fire stick, and there was nothing she could do about it now. The shocking horror of her bottom being made ready for her punishment was truly terrifying and the crazy floating-on-air feeling this total submission gave her, made Dorothy dizzy as her heart thumped like crazy in her chest.

Dorothy shivered when she felt that awful rattan cane tap, tap, tapping on her bouncy bubble bottom. ‘Oh my God, oh my dear God, he’s going to cane me, he’s actually going to cane me!’

‘Swish crack’ and the first stroke landed across her jiggling jelly bottom like a squirt of fire. Dorothy gasped at the sting of the headmaster’s ferocious cane, as her bottom throbbed and quivered.

She was still gulping for breath when the second stroke struck a withering blow. The fierce crack echoed around the room as she pressed herself down against the cold hard desk and felt the fiery flames spread across her scorching bottom.

The third stroke licked and nibbled at her burning bottom as she trembled and wriggled her hips to ease the terrible sting of the headmaster’s whippy cane. Her pretty face flushed pink, as she realised her buttocks would be sporting bright red cane marks, and the thought of her husband, Alan, discovering those wicked strokes, emblazoned across her creamy bare bottom, made her blush with embarrassment.

The headmaster admired his handiwork. Three chalk mark stripes, streaked across Dorothy’s bottom, equally spaced across her jiggling butties. The crisp white chalk lines were perfectly parallel and there was still plenty of unmarked virgin buttocks to aim for, as he re-chalked his rattan cane. The wonderful ‘swish, crack, splat’ of his stinging cane on the new school master’s wife’s splendid bottom was insanely exciting.

“Three more strokes to come, young lady,” crowed the headmaster, quickly followed by a horrifying ‘swish’, and then the fourth strike cracked down on Dorothy’s quivering bottom.

The fifth stroke snarled and snapped at Dorothy’s still jiggling bottom, and her knuckles turned white as she held the desk, bracing herself for fire cracker number six.

The sixth strike was an absolute corker that bit and nibbled at her blistered bottom, and left her gasping for breath as she lay spent and panting across the headmaster’s desk.

“There, there, poor, poor Dorothy, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Poor Dorothy was still gasping for breath and unable to reply, but she felt a strange surge of elation at his words. Now that the horrible caning was over, the stinging strokes were merging with each other and a not unpleasant tingle spread across her buttocks.

Dorothy was still bent right over the headmaster’s desk, trying to get her breath back, gently wriggling from side to side, with six white parallel chalk lines festooned across her tight blue trousered bottom. She marvelled at the warm glow spreading through her buttocks and felt a powerful release of emotion, a fantastic escape from the guilt of her lying and cheating and the poor secretary being punished for her mistake, and now that it was all over she was buzzing.

She wanted to punch the air in a victory salute. She’d taken a six stroke caning on her bottom without even a whimper. The slate had been wiped clean, her guilty conscience completely cleared. She only wished she could tell her gorgeous husband of what a lovely loyal wife she was, taking one for the team. Her chest swelled with pride at her achievement, and she also felt a strange sense of trust and understanding with the headmaster too.

Together, they’d experienced the humiliation of Dorothy’s bottom being presented for a thrashing. They alone had been through this incredibly intimate and deeply personal experience together, and Dorothy realised they’d shared something special between them. She knew, intuitively, the headmaster felt the same way, as his soft warm voice gently uttered, “There there, poor, poor, Dorothy,” over and over again.

First; those awful stingy strokes from his nasty cane, and then his lovely soothing voice of concern. This terrifying man, who’d unleashed wave after wave of biting bee stings across her dancing buttocks, was really a gentleman, a good old-fashioned gentleman, who’d cleansed her guilty conscience.

“Thank you, headmaster. Thank you for caning me.”


“Oh there you are, Dorothy. Sorry I’m so late. God, it’s after six already,” said Alan, as he greeted his wife with a kiss. “I got roped in with everybody else to give the retiring caretaker a good send off. The old fool had a big dopey grin on his face too, as he heartily shook my hand, like he’d just won the lotto, instead of his meagre caretaker’s pension, the silly old duffer.

“I’m glad to see you’re smiling bravely after your pep talk with the ‘headmaster’ earlier. No matter what you had to endure, Dorothy, with that stupid old goat, I can guarantee you couldn’t have had a worse time than me. I thought that meeting would never end.”

“What do you mean, the ‘headmaster’?” asked Dorothy, frowning as she mimicked her husband’s annoying finger quotes around the word ‘headmaster’.

“Oh, it’s just so ridiculous. I fell for it too. It turns out the headmaster’s been held up and isn’t arriving until tomorrow. That doddering old idiot we met is the caretaker. Apparently, they always let a retiring caretaker pretend to be the headmaster to any new members of staff. Everyone seems to think it’s a great big joke, just another one of those ridiculous ‘school traditions’. Still, I suppose it was all a bit of harmless fun!”

The End

© John Key 2020