A young new assistant school secretary has to assist the headmaster with caning three girls, and that leads her into difficulties of her own. Taken from a true story.

By Helen Palmer

“You might find this rather enlightening, Helen.”


I stopped inserting the manila folder into the metal filing cabinet and looked round to find Mrs Hargreaves wasn’t looking in my direction. She was watching three girls, all in sixth form uniform, through the glass panelled door into the corridor beyond. These three girls were obviously intending to come into the school secretary’s office, but clearly were hesitant to do so. Surely Mrs Hargreaves wasn’t considered so much of a dragon that three eighteen year old girls were frightened to even enter her office?

“I’ll give them another ten seconds.” Mrs Hargreaves smiled. “Then I’ll go and fetch them in.”

“Oh! Right.” I returned to my filing, rather baffled as to what little game was being enacted behind me.

A rapid tap-tapping sound caused me to look round again, just as the door peeled open and the three girls filed in.

“Good afternoon, girls.” Mrs Hargreaves said, cheerily.

“Good afternoon, Mrs Hargreaves.” The three sixth formers replied with much less enthusiasm.

“Do you have some letters for me?”

As I finished the filing and turned to go back to my desk, I saw the three girls each hand Mrs Hargreaves a small envelope. They stood waiting as the senior school secretary ritualistically opened the envelopes with a plastic paper knife and read the letters they contained.

“Very well, girls.” Mrs Hargreaves waved a hand in the direction of the row of chairs lined up along one of the walls. “Put your coats and bags in the corner there and take a seat.”

It was now six minutes past four o’clock; just under another hour and my day’s work would be finished. This being only my second week in this new job, I merely thought the three sixth form girls had arranged an appointment with their headmaster on some personal matter. I smiled at the three girls as they sat quietly on their chairs, but only one was looking in my direction and she quickly looked away.

“Mr Williams? Angela Harding, Tracey Sanders and Christine Mason have arrived.” Mrs Hargreaves had picked up the telephone and was clearly speaking to the school’s headmaster in his study, the next room to our office. “Yes, I have the letters from their parents. Yes, Mr Williams, consent has been given in each case. Right, I’ll tell them.”

Mrs Hargreaves carefully replaced the receiver and looked across at the three girls. They appeared strangely anxious as they waited for the senior secretary to speak. “Mr Williams will be free in about ten minutes.”

With the filing completed, my work for the day was really finished and so I sat down at my desk and looked at the three girls opposite me. Each glanced across but curiously they looked down at the carpeted floor in front of them as soon as our gazes met. The minutes dragged by; all five of us sitting in an uneasy silence.

“Miss Spencer,” Mrs Hargreaves’ voice suddenly cut through the tense atmosphere causing me to jump along with the three sixth form girls. “The time draws near. Perhaps you’d like to take these three along to the punishment room?”

“Yes of course, Mrs Hargreaves.” I quickly stood up, anxious to please. This was my first real job since leaving school and I was still feeling very new. The three eighteen year old girls were studying me nervously, and I’d accepted my task without really taking in what had been asked of me. “Er, punishment room? Where is that exactly?”

“These three know the way, Helen! They’ll show you.” Mrs Hargreaves’ voice boomed. “You’ll need the key, Helen.”

The senior school secretary handed me a brass plated key attached to a loop of cord, then smiled as she noticed my confused expression. As the three eighteen year olds stood up and began fumbling for their coats and bags, Mrs Hargreaves added: “Make sure they get themselves ready, Helen. They know what to do.”

I walked across to the door and opened it, standing back to allow the three sixth formers to pass through. After a moment’s hesitation, and after the three girls had exchanged hasty nervous glances, they slowly filed through. I closed the door behind us and found they’d turned left along the corridor. I quickly caught them up and immediately began to feel like a prison warder as I followed along behind them, my tight-fitting navy blue skirt, white blouse and shiny black shoes not helping to negate the notion.

“What did you do?” I asked amicably; keen to break the cold, stony silence of this strange little procession. Being just nineteen years old myself, and these three girls barely a year or so younger than me, the idea of playing some small authoritarian role felt very strange.

“Smoking.” One of the girls, I wasn’t sure which, grunted in response.

“Oh.” Was all I could think of as a reply. Something in the back of my mind nagged away. Hadn’t I heard that Mr Williams was very much against smoking at any time, especially on the school premises? Even as a member of staff, I vaguely recalled Mrs Hargreaves suggesting I didn’t smoke on the school premises.

By now, we’d reached the end of the corridor but, instead of going up the stairs or into the changing rooms, which were all that separated us from the side entrance of the school, the first girl opened a door I’d never been into. I heard her flick on a light switch, and then we were descending a flight of stone steps which turned us back on ourselves. The basement comprised another corridor with green doors spaced at intervals either side. When we reached the third door on the left the three girls paused.

“We’re here.” A blonde girl, slightly plump, announced.

I inserted the brass plated key and turned it in the lock. Pushing the door open, I stood back to allow the other three to enter. Following them in, I found we were in a rather bleak classroom sized room with cream painted walls. It was sparsely furnished with just an old oak school desk in the centre, a couple of office tables placed against one end wall and an old oak cupboard against the opposite end wall. The room was well lit by several bare light bulbs.

“Oh, nowhere to sit.” I observed the lack of even a single chair in the whole room. “Will there be some chairs in one of the other rooms?”

“I shouldn’t think so, Miss.”

“You don’t have to do your detentions standing up, do you?” I asked incredulously. “We did ours in the library at my old school.”

“Really.” A taller girl with short dark hair answered so quietly I barely heard her.

“Yes.” I said, anxious to keep this conversation going. “We were allowed to read a book too. Presumably, you’re going to have to stand in silence. Are you?”

By now, the three girls were grouped by the two tables at one end of the room and I had followed them. I waited for an answer to my question, but was rather ignored with the third girl, a short slim blonde girl with prominent breasts and bottom, saying to her two friends: “Come on, we’d better get ready.”

The three sixth formers started fumbling with their bags once more, opening them and pulling out what was obviously their games kit. Then they began taking off their sixth form blazers, pushing off their shoes and peeling off their blouses and skirts.

“Oh, I see!” The penny seemed to drop. “You have to do PE as part of your punishment, do you? Why couldn’t you get changed in the normal changing room upstairs?”

“We’re not exactly doing PE, Miss.” The first girl to have spoken when we reached this drab room, the plumper blonde girl, answered quietly.

“You really don’t have to call me ‘Miss’, you know.” I responded, still trying to break the ice with these three. “I can’t be much more than a year older than you. My name’s Helen, what are your names?”

The smaller blonde girl ignored me and continued her undressing until she stood in just her brief white pants and bra.

“I’m Christine, Christine Mason.” The tall girl with the short dark hair now wearing just her pale blue school uniform blouse stretched her hand across to me and we shook with just a light grasp. “This is Angela Harding, in the gleaming white underwear.” Christine indicated the small blonde girl. “The other is Tracey Sanders.” With just a nod of her head, Christine indicated the other, slightly plumper blonde girl.

“You’re a member of staff.” Tracey Sanders declared. “We have to call you ‘Miss’ or else we’ll be in even worse trouble.”

“Ignore her!” Christine nodded again towards the plumper blonde. “She’s right, though. We will have to address you as ‘Miss’ when old ‘Willowhead’ and Mrs Hargreaves get here.”

I smiled at the reference to the headmaster, the first time I’d heard him referred to by his nickname. Tracey Sanders continued to stand with her back to me as she hopped from one foot to the other struggling her way into a short bright blue games skirt. Angela Harding continued to stand naked apart from her white bra, although she was clutching a pair of bright blue sports shorts.

As Christine continued to change into her own sports wear, I couldn’t help but look down as she pulled on a pair of bright blue thin cotton shorts, similar to Angela’s, over her brief pink panties.

“You’re taking a chance, Chris!” Tracey Sanders commented. I looked round, and found Tracey was now fully dressed in bright blue games skirt and white top.

“Worth a try.” Christine answered, as she threaded her arms into a similar white top. “Aren’t you going to keep your pants on, Angie?”

Now we all stared at the still nearly naked slim figure of little Angela Harding. Angela didn’t seem the least embarrassed that we were all looking at her rather splendid bare breasts and prominent bottom which was only partially covered by her brief white pants. She simply held her blue sports shorts in both hands, her pretty face looking uncertain.

“Not worth it if you ask me.” Tracey counselled. “Especially with her here.” Tracey nodded pointedly at me.

“Oh, go on, be a devil!” Christine dared. “We can always say we forgot. And Helen won’t tell, will you Helen?”

“No, of course not.” Whilst anxious to reassure them I was no sneak, actually I hadn’t the faintest idea what they were talking about.

Angela seemed concerned, as though the decision as whether to wear underwear under her shorts was of some significance, whereas the matter, to me, was of no importance at all. Angela seemed to look to me for guidance.”

“I suppose it’s whatever you feel most comfortable with, Angela.” I verbally shrugged off the implied question.

Looking doubtfully at me, as though not sure whether to trust my answer, Angela finally decided to put on her blue sports shorts over her brief white pants.

“You’re daft, Angie!” Tracey said.

When we all heard footsteps coming along the hard corridor floor, the tension in the room mounted rapidly, and Angela hastily pulled on her white sports top. The footsteps, though, kept walking past our door and quickly died away.

“False alarm!” Christine spoke, and the atmosphere softened. The three girls relaxed and Christine and Tracey sat up on the edge of one of the tables. Angela stood nearby, her hands clasped behind her. For a few moments, no-one spoke.

“Is there anything else we need to do to get ready?” I asked, mindful of Mrs Hargreaves’ last instruction to me.

“You don’t need to get ready, as you call it!” Tracey said huffily.

“Ignore her!” Christine nudged Tracey in the ribs. “She’s always ready to take one of my cigarettes when it’s offered, she’s just not quite so ready to take her share of the blame.”

“It wasn’t my fault we got caught!” Tracey looked pointedly at little Angela.

“It wasn’t my fault!” Angela defended herself.

“Yes it was! You were supposed to be on look-out!”

“Girls! Girls!” Christine tried to stop the bickering. “This is all quite pointless. We were all caught fair and square.”

“Huh!” Tracey huffed.

“Getting back to your question, Helen.” Christine turned to me.


“Yes, Helen. You asked whether there were any other preparations needed.”

“Oh, yes.”

“Well, you could select a suitable implement. I’m sure old ‘Willow’ would be most grateful.”


“Yes, in the cupboard over there.” Christine nodded towards the oak cupboard standing against the opposite wall.

I went over, turned the little key that was sticking out of the lock and pulled open the two doors. I breathed in sharply. “What on earth!”

“One of the thin yellow ones should do the trick, Helen!” I heard Christine call out from the other side of the room. “Perhaps one of the smaller ones?” She prompted.

“They sting more!” I heard Tracey comment.

“Yes, but at least the feeling doesn’t linger for several days.” Christine answered.

Whilst I could hear the girls speaking, and I did to some extent take in what they said, I stood there in a state of shock. Never before had I seen such an array as met my eyes when I pulled the cupboard doors open. Hung up on hooks were at least seven or eight slender wicked looking canes, each with a crook handle, whilst on the floor of the cupboard lay several old gym shoes, each at least size twelve. Some had rubber soles; a couple had solid shiny leather soles.

“Try that one on the right, by your shoulder!” Christine called across.

“What, this one?” My hand nervously reached up into the cupboard.

“No, the one next to it.”

“This one?”


I pulled one of the slender canes off its hook and stood holding it upright in my right hand. I turned and walked back to the three girls, holding the slim rattan as though it would bite me if I relaxed my grip. I offered it out to Christine, crook handle first.

“No, Helen, you need to hand that to old ‘Willow’ when he gets here.” Christine made no move to take the cane from me. “We get the other end!”

“You’re going to be caned?” I asked, rather needlessly.

“That is the general idea.” Christine spoke condescendingly.

“For smoking?”


I turned and placed the cane on the old oak school desk in the centre of the room, not wanting to have any contact with it. I was still puzzled, and my heart was beating nervously.

“But Christine, why have you all changed into your sports wear if your p…punishment isn’t going to be extra PE?” Somehow, I couldn’t look up into Christine’s face and make eye contact.


“I mean, if Mr Wi…, if old ‘Willow’ is going to cane you, why did you have to change? Surely, he could do it just as easily if you were wearing your normal school uniform.” I carefully used the girls’ name for their headmaster, keen to maintain our new friendship and wanting to be seen as one of the girls.

“Less protection!” Christine replied, as though that explained everything. It didn’t, not so far as I was concerned.

“I still don’t understand.”

Christine sighed. “Look! If we get whacked in our normal school uniform, we’d have the protection of our skirts or trousers, our underwear, probably tights too! In our sports kit, all we have on is a thin pair of shorts or, in Tracey’s case, her thin sports knickers. Less clothing means less protection means more pain! Get it now?”

“You mean……, but surely……., I mean, he’s not going to……., on your backsides?”

“Where else?”

“Your hands?”

“Not in this school, Helen.”

“Oh.” I couldn’t think of anything to say.

“She must have come from that Comprehensive the other side of town.” I heard Tracey say, rather contemptuously. ”They probably don’t have corporal punishment there.”

“No, we don’t!” I blurted out. “Sorry, didn’t.”

We returned to stony silence, with me in deep thought.

“He’s taking his time.” Tracey spoke again. “It’s already gone half past four.”

I was still curious. “Christine?” I looked up at the tall dark haired girl. “I still don’t see. Surely having your underwear and shorts on isn’t a lot different to having your underwear and skirt or trousers on, is it?”

“They’re not supposed to have their knickers on under their shorts, stupid.” Tracey said rudely.


“You won’t tell, will you Miss?” Angela Harding sounded quite worried.

“Of course not!” I reassured her. “And you’re meant to be calling me ‘Helen’, remember?”

Once more, we heard footsteps on the hard floor of the corridor. This time, they didn’t go away. Suddenly, the door swung open and Mr Williams and Mrs Hargreaves marched in. The three girls got to their feet and stood in a line. Mr Williams paused only to glance at the thin cane resting on the top of the oak school desk.

“Ah, so you’ve got everything ready, have you, Miss Spencer? Well done!” Mr Williams beamed a generous smile in my direction before turning to the three girls. “Right! You were discovered with just one packet of cigarettes, so one of you must be the supplier! Which?”

Even I shuddered at the ferocity of the headmaster’s manner. Bravely, Christine raised her hand.

“Thank you, Christine. I shall deal with the other two first.” Mr Williams stood beside the old oak school desk and seized the slender cane. After flexing it in his large hands several times, he turned to me. “Miss Spencer! Bring one of the other two over to this desk, would you please?”

I looked at Tracey and Angela. My heart was racing and I could feel it beating against my chest. Both girls looked desperately anxious, their eyes already beginning to moisten. My mind seemed in as much turmoil as these two girls; neither exactly rushed to volunteer by perhaps stepping forward or giving me some little sign. Clearly, I was going to have to choose.

Even though Tracey had been cold towards me to the point of rudeness, at this moment I really felt no malice towards her. Yet it was to her that I reached out my hand and, taking her by the arm, I led her across to the small desk. It felt curiously intimate, she in short blue games skirt and top, me fully dressed for the office. We both stood, side by side, looking up into Mr Williams’ red angry face.

“Put her across the desk, please Miss Spencer.” The headmaster spoke firmly.

I turned to Tracey and looked at her. She made no attempt to move and, not being precisely certain what Mr Williams wanted, and certainly not wanting to get it wrong, I tried nodding down at the desk to see if Tracey would do what was required. She just stood there.

“Go on.” I whispered.

A tear trickled down Tracey’s face and she looked quizzically back at me.

“You know what you have to do!” I hastened her, though still speaking in a muffled tone, and gave a little push to her back. Finally, Tracey leaned across the desk. Conscious of Mr Williams standing close by, cane in hand, I stood back and began to retreat to where Christine and Angela were waiting by the tables.

“Skirt please, Miss Spencer!”

“Sorry, sir?” I queried.

“Lift Tracey’s skirt up out of the way, Helen!” Mrs Hargreaves admonished me.

I quickly returned to the desk and hoisted Tracey’s short blue games skirt clear of her plump bottom, encased almost completely by her tight blue games knickers.

“Thank you, Miss Spencer.” I went back and stood between Christine and Angela. This time, I was allowed to remain there. Mr Williams concentrated on Tracey’s backside. He placed the cane carefully across her tight blue knickers, drew it back above his shoulder, then suddenly whipped it down across Tracey’s bottom. I felt Angela jump as the cane met its target.

“Ah!” Tracey gasped.

Immediately, Mr Williams placed the cane back across the tight blue underwear, a little lower down this time. Quickly, the cane was drawn back. A pause, then it whistled down again and cracked across Tracey’s backside.


I saw Tracey gripping the sides of the little oak desk for all she was worth as the cane was laid carefully across her bottom. Back it came, a pause, then down it went again, whipping into the poor girl’s soft backside.


Yet again, the painful ritual was followed meticulously. Cane positioned to line up the next stroke, drawn back above shoulder height, the pause, then whipped down across the blue knickers that stretched across Tracey’s plump bottom.


Mr Williams stood back. “Thank you, Tracey. Miss Spencer, would you?”

Instinctively, I went over to where Tracey was now easing herself up off the desk. Already her hands were gently massaging her sore bottom. As she stood upright, her short sports skirt fell and covered her activities and I led her back to the tables by the wall, her hands still rubbing her bottom. I kept a hand on her shoulder to try and comfort her.

“Miss Spencer!”

I looked round. Mr Williams tapped the little oak desk with the end of the cane. My heart pounded, and I looked up anxiously into his red face. Angela shuffled nervously beside me, and I quickly remembered my next task. Releasing my grip on Tracey, I took Angela by the arm and led her across to the old school desk. When we got there, Angela looked questioningly into my eyes. I half smiled, meaning it to be an expression of sympathy, but Angela’s face turned to one of sudden anger, then she sprawled herself across the desk, her prominent backside pressing against the thin material of her blue sports shorts. Without thinking, I reached down to grasp the little shorts. Only a sharp intake of breath from Angela stopped me.

“What was I doing?” Quickly, my mind got itself organised. I stood up, desperately hoping Mr Williams had not noticed my foolish gaff. Red-faced and anxious, I raced back to the tables and the other girls. I looked, but thankfully there was no visible panty line revealing itself on the taut material of Angela’s blue cotton shorts.

It was a great relief when Mr Williams laid the cane across Angela’s little blue shorts and lined up her first stroke. The headmaster followed exactly the same procedure as Tracey had suffered and soon the cane whipped down onto poor Angela’s protruding bottom.


“I think I could be in trouble!” Christine whispered in my ear as Mr Williams sized up Angela’s second stroke. I frowned a questioning glance up into the tall girl’s face as we both watched the slender yellow cane rattle down and crack across the thin blue shorts. “Why?” I hissed quietly.


I got no answer from Christine, and we both stood in silence, helplessly watching as Mr Williams exacted his severe punishment on the hapless Angela. Once more, the cane was laid carefully across the prominent little bottom. Then it was lifted shoulder high and held, before being whipped down across the blue sports shorts.


I looked across at Mrs Hargreaves and saw that she was studying intently the punishment of this small eighteen year old girl. For what I presumed would be the final time for little Angela, the cane was placed carefully, drawn back, then whipped down to cut into the waiting soft plump buttocks.


Mr Williams stood back and gave me a nod. I went across and placed my hand on the back of Angela’s shoulder as she stood up and began rubbing her bottom across the soft thin material of her shorts. Several tears were running down her face as I led her back to the two tables. She and Tracey immediately embraced each other and Angela buried her head in the other girl’s shoulder.

“Bring Christine across, would you, please Miss Spencer!”

I looked at Christine, but she had already started on the short journey across to the little oak school desk and I had to step briskly to arrive at the desk with her. Almost without pausing, she dived down across the hard wooden surface. Mr Williams, though, was not about to be rushed.

“Christine. As the supplier of the cigarettes, you must expect severe punishment!” The headmaster’s voice was loud and domineering.

“Yes, sir.” Christine answered meekly.

“Shorts down, please Miss Spencer!”

“Oh dear!” I heard Christine whisper. Presumably the words were for my benefit and not for the headmaster’s.

I took a firm grip of the waistband of Christine’s bright blue sports shorts and started tugging them down. Christine had to help me by lifting herself slightly so that I could get them down off her hips, and down below her backside. Instinctively, I tucked her white top up so her brief and revealing pink panties were totally exposed. My task apparently completed, I turned to walk briefly back to the two tables and the still huddling figures of Tracey and Angela.

“Christine Mason! Miss Spencer! What is the meaning of this?” Mr Williams glared, firstly down at Christine’s ample bottom encased in the little pink panties that left half her milky white bottom uncovered, then across at me.

I looked back at the headmaster, aghast, totally ignorant of what I had done wrong.

“Miss Spencer!” I immediately stepped forward, halfway towards the desk with Christine’s body lying still across the hard wooden surface.

“Sir?” I queried nervously.

“Were you not told girls are not allowed to retain their underwear if they choose to wear shorts for their punishment?”

“No, sir.” I answered quickly, not pausing for thought. My face was already red with guilt.

“Really?” It was obvious from Mr Williams’ tone he knew I was lying. I looked for support from the tall figure of Christine, bending across the little desk, but she kept quiet. She was in enough trouble already.

For my part, it had never occurred to me a male headmaster would even think of punishing a girl, especially an eighteen year old girl like Christine, across her bare bottom. I can only imagine that Christine had reckoned on all three being punished similarly, the supplier of the cigarettes not being singled out for extra.

“Sorry, sir.” In two words I admitted my guilt and apologised, hopefully absolving myself from any recriminations. I’d only been in this job two weeks and certainly didn’t want to get the sack so soon.

“I suggest you make the appropriate adjustment to Christine’s attire without delay, Miss Spencer!”

“Yes, sir.” I was shaking and my face felt flushed as I went over to Christine, not with any concern for the eighteen year old’s humiliation, merely my own. “Sorry, Christine. It has to be done.” I whispered, hoping only Christine would hear and inserted my trembling fingers into the waistband of Christine’s tiny pink underwear, quickly tugging them down below her creamy white bottom.

By this point, I seemed to be less in control of myself than even Christine and with just a brief glimpse at her bare bottom I hurried back to the other two. Tracey and Angela had ceased huddling up to each other and stood watching me, carefully looking into my face. For what, I’m not too sure.

I clearly had not performed my last task sufficiently well, though, for as we watched he carefully tucked Christine’s white top up her back so her bottom was even more exposed and vulnerable. As the three of us stood silently together, Mr Williams proceeded with Christine’s punishment.

Keeping her legs tight together and her bottom tense, Christine waited calmly as the headmaster laid the cane gently across her smooth creamy backside, lining up the first stroke. He drew the cane steadily back, paused, then sent it whooshing down across the waiting target.


Even as Mr Williams placed the cane gently across Christine’s bottom a second time, we could see an angry red stripe had formed across the delicate pale surface, indicating clearly where the first stroke had been inflicted. The headmaster raised the cane up above shoulder height, waited for a second or two, then rattled the slim rattan down across Christine’s naked backside.


Mr Williams waited, and we all observed the two angry red stripes that now were painted across Christine’s bare bottom. Carefully placing the cane just a half inch lower down, the headmaster lined up the next stroke. Up went the cane again, a pause, then down it went again to crack across poor Christine’s unprotected backside.


Relentlessly, Mr Williams placed the cane carefully on the bare target, even lower down than the three red stripes now crossing the naked bottom. With careful deliberation, the headmaster drew back his instrument of punishment, delayed for a couple of seconds, then forcefully whipped the cane across Christine’s bare backside.


The atmosphere in the room was electric as we all waited and watched. I was half expecting to be summoned over to the desk to attend poor Christine, but the call didn’t happen. I presumed immediately Christine’s futile attempt at cheating by keeping her underwear on under her shorts had still to be punished. And so it was. Mr Williams laid the cane across Christine’s sore bottom to line up yet another stroke. In a split second, the thin yellow cane shot up above the headmaster’s shoulder and swung down to crack across the girl’s bare backside yet again.


I looked anxiously into Mr Williams’ face, silently urging him to call me across and lead Christine away from the little oak desk. Instead, the headmaster allowed the cane to hover just above Christine’s red striped sore bottom, its wavering tip just connecting intermittently with the bare flesh. Suddenly, the cane was whipped up above the headmaster’s shoulder and sent thundering down to whip across the poor girl’s backside.


As Christine cried out, I moved my weight forward on my toes ready to spring across to the desk and comfort the poor girl. For one awful moment, it looked as though Mr Williams was about to continue with even more strokes but thankfully he stepped back, turned to me and beckoned me forward. By the time I reached the desk, though, Christine had already got up and was gently easing her pink panties up over her obviously very sore bottom.

“Okay?” I whispered.

Christine didn’t answer immediately. Instead she reached down and pulled up her blue shorts. “Yeah.” Her voice was hoarse and dry.

I placed a hand on her back and led her back to the other two, Christine massaging her sore bottom through the thin material of her blue shorts.

As the three girls and I grouped ourselves by the two tables and I continued to comfort poor Christine, Mr Williams called across to our little group. “Might I ask if any other girl chose to allow herself a little extra protection from her just deserts?”

My heart missed a beat.

“Tracey?” Mr Williams continued. “Can I be assured you had on just the games knickers you were entitled to and nothing underneath?”

“Yes sir!” Tracey replied indignantly.

The headmaster looked to me for confirmation. I nodded.

“Angela?” Mr Williams spoke softly.

I know my face turned red, no matter how much I willed it not to. I couldn’t look at Angela for fear of giving the game away even more so than my complexion had assuredly done.

“Sir.” I heard Angela mutter.

“Well, girl?” The headmaster sounded irritated. “Do you have your underwear on under your shorts? Yes or no!”

I looked down at the floor.

“Yes, sir.” Poor Angela replied.

“Over here, then!” Mr Williams’ voice seemed to boom across the room. “Miss Spencer, you may do the honours!”

Presumably she was keen to get it over with, because Angela had already stumbled forward towards the desk before I could prompt her. I followed a couple of paces behind, then waited while the short blonde girl bent over the desk, pushing her prominent backside up as though deliberately offering herself for her extra punishment. Perhaps she thought that would go down well with Mr Williams.

On another occasion, I might have felt awkward about slipping my fingers into the elastic waistband of Angela’s blue shorts and easing them down. Perhaps I was beginning to get used to these strange duties of a school secretary, or maybe I just wanted to get this poor girl ready for her ordeal as quickly as possible.

I pushed the shorts right down until they were around her ankles, then folded her white sports top up over her back, exposing her brief white panties that strained, and failed, to cover all her ample bottom. Four angry red stripes indicated her punishment of a few minutes ago.

Mr Williams hadn’t said part of Angela’s extra punishment would be to have her brief panties pulled down too, but I delayed returning to Tracey and Christine to see whether any additional instructions would be forthcoming.

“And the offending garment, please Miss Spencer!”

Proved correct, I gently gripped each side of Angela’s delicate little panties and eased them down, down until they too cosseted the little blonde girl’s ankles. Finally I left little Angela bending, bare bottomed, over the desk and return to the other two girls, conscious of all eyes being upon me. Except that they weren’t, because everyone else in the room was totally focused purely on the broad white curves of Angela’s white bottom, white and creamy, bar the four angry red stripes.

I heard Angela draw in breath as the cane touched her bare bottom. There was a pause that lasted an age, and then the cane rose suddenly up and lashed down across the waiting soft curves.


Angela jumped as the stroke landed, and gripped the edges of the desk for all she was worth as she tried to maintain her position across the desk. I could plainly hear her sobbing openly.

Once again, the cane touched Angela’s full broad bottom as Mr Williams lined up another stroke. Another age passed while we all waited with baited breath for the cane to be drawn back. Suddenly, it happened. Then, in a flash of yellow, the cane whipped down across the hapless girl’s bare bottom.


The room had been so silent, the crack of the cane and Angela’s subsequent cry were positively deafening in their intensity. Immediately, though, the eerie silence returned. All bar the quiet sobbing.

A nod from the headmaster as he stood back from the still bending figure should have sent me across to fetch poor Angela. As it was, Christine had to nudge me firmly before I twigged. I helped Angela up and gave her my hanky to try and dry her tears. After what seemed an embarrassingly long time, I reached down and pulled up her panties to cover her bare red striped bottom. Then her shorts were back on again and we were walking slowly back to the other two.

“Very well, girls!” Mr Williams loud voice boomed around the room, and we all turned to face him. “You have taken your punishments so this matter is now closed. You may go. Take your belongings and go up to the changing room to dress, please.”

I waited for the three girls to collect their things together and let them lead the way out of the room. As I passed Mr Williams, he spoke.

“Wait here, Miss Spencer. Mrs Hargreaves will supervise those three.”

Surprised, and with my heart pounding again, I waited as Mrs Hargreaves left the room and closed the door behind her, leaving me alone with the headmaster.

“Miss Spencer, I take it you do admit to allowing Christine and Angela to retain their underwear under their shorts whilst fully aware that was against the rules, do you?”

“Yes, sir.” I answered meekly. Honesty seemed the best, indeed the only policy now if I were to retain any hope of keeping my job. The headmaster was still holding the cane in both hands and flexing it angrily which made me extremely nervous.

“Miss Spencer, do you believe in poetic justice?”

“Sir?” My response was meant as a question, not as an affirmative.

“Oh, you do, do you?” Mr Williams had obviously taken my answer the wrong way. It seemed to amuse him, for his face had creased into a wry smile. “Perhaps you have something you’d like to say to me, Miss Spencer?”

I thought hard. No, there was nothing I wanted to say to him. Perhaps another apology was what he was expecting.

“I’m very sorry for letting you down, sir. It won’t happen again.”

I was happy to give him the admission he presumably required. I meant it perfectly sincerely, but he seemed to find it even more amusing because now he chuckled openly. I was baffled.

“Thank you, Miss Spencer. You may go.”

I hesitated before turning away from him. I had clearly missed the point of this last little rejoinder but perhaps this wasn’t the time to query it. As I did finally turn and head for the door, I heard a swift whoosh and felt the cane swipe me firmly across the seat of my navy blue skirt.


It hurt, and I grabbed my bottom with both hands.

“Goodnight, Miss Spencer.”

“Goodnight, sir.” Too shocked to protest, perhaps too much in awe of the headmaster’s powerful demeanour, I blushed deeply and carried on walking out of the room.

As I went back along the corridor, I rubbed my smarting bottom even more vigorously, and began to appreciate just how much the three girls must have suffered. I reflected on the last little mind game between the headmaster and myself and wondered whether Mr Williams had supposed I might have volunteered to bend over the desk and take my turn at being caned.

Somehow, I had the feeling this was not going to be the last time Mr Williams asked me to assist with his administration of the cane.

“Yes, I’m sure Mr Williams at least harboured some small hope I might just have been so naïve as to have offered to take a caning from him to punish me for siding with the girls in their deceit.

The thing was, as the tingling sensation across my bottom began to ebb away, I was very tempted to stop, turn around and go back to the punishment room. I really was.

The End