The Note

A teacher given a new responsibility, shows she means business

By Joanna Jones

To: Miss Jennifer Arkshaw, 

Rachel Grant was found smoking on school premises. This is the third time this year. She was, furthermore, very rude to the janitor, Mr Noble, who discovered her. 

Having considered the pupil’s record and attitude. I have decided a punishment of six strokes of the cane is appropriate. I would be grateful if you could administer this punishment at your earliest convenience. 

Further, in applying this punishment I would ask you to consider carefully Miss Grant’s previous record and rudeness. 

John Griffiths,

 Headmaster

*          *          *

My first reaction was shock. I was the third and, to my knowledge, final alternative, after all. However, with the assistant head on a training course, Miss Carmichael with the third year French exchange and, well I wondered what was up with Mrs Black as I was sure she was in the school, then remembered a rumour she’d asked to be taken off the list when she became pregnant.

To cover my reactions I took my time to re-read the note twice before looking up at the perhaps resigned, but clearly resentful, young woman in front of me. Young woman indeed, being in the upper sixth and no doubt feeling she was more than entitled to smoke at the age of eighteen, a view, sadly for her, not shared by the school’s management.

Behind her sat my sixth form biology class, sitting quietly, no doubt wondering what brought their colleague, who had no scientific bent whatsoever, into my classroom. They had no idea what was going on; why should they? I had never been asked to do this before, and ‘my’ cane was sitting gathering dust in an obscure corner of the chemical store room off my laboratory classroom.

“Miss Grant, I need to consider how best to deal with you. Go stand in that corner with your nose to the wall and arms folded behind your back.”

I heard the communal gasp from around the room, as well as seeing more than a few meaningful glances. There was no doubt now that their sixth form colleague was in trouble and here for an unpleasant reason.

Rachel did not do herself any favours with me as she glowered, hesitated, then audibly sighed as she complied with my instruction.

With half an eye on the class, now thoroughly distracted from their exercise, I walked to the door and glanced across the corridor. I cursed silently as I noted that the normally empty room was being used for what looked like a first year drama group. That only left one real option to afford the privacy that a caning required at the day private school I was teaching at, short of leaving Miss Grant standing facing the wall for the remaining, over one hour, of the double biology class. It was an option suggested by the assistant head when she asked me to join ‘the list’ but not one I really thought fair. However, possibly it was the best of a bad set of choices.

“Carry on with your work, and no talking!” I announced as I made my way into my store room, where my cane, and a spare, stood tucked in the side of a store cabinet. Taking one, I noted my slipper, a size 9 rubber soled plimsoll I got from the boys’ lost property box at some point, sitting on the top of the cabinet, and on impulse took it with me.

There was no mistaking the shock and surprise of my class as I returned, and there was little point to ask them to continue working now. No, I thought, best to get all this over with.

“Miss Grant here has been caught smoking, which as you all know is strictly forbidden. As a result she is here to accept the consequences.”

I could see some stimulated reactions from the boys in particular at my announcement.

“In a few moments I will be dealing with her infraction.”

Was that a small shudder I saw from Rachel out of the corner of my eye? I felt mildly sorry for her as a brief recollection of my own two stoke caning across my hands as a schoolgirl crossed my mind. However, she should have thought of the consequences before lighting up again, and being rude to a staff member merely compounded her offence.

I hardened my heart and continued with my instructions to the class.

“However, none of you will observe her punishment. Any girl who does so will have her backside slippered with her skirt up, in front of the class. Any boy who is foolish enough to take a peak will go to Mr Griffiths for their own dose of the cane, and then on return I will also slipper their backside, trousers down in front of the class. I expect you to all behave like sixth formers but anyone who behaves like a silly thirteen year old will be treated like one!”

There were a few looks of clear surprise at that. I don’t think I had ever threatened them, or for that matter any sixth form class, so directly before.

“Now clear away your desks, and then turn your chairs round to face the desk behind, and put your arms around your head as you face down. Those of you in the back row put your head into your lap and hands on the back of your head.”

A minute’s shuffling later and the class was as I wished them. It was time to turn my attention to Miss Grant. I swept a space for her to bend over my desk and plonked the slipper down on top of some marking, allowing me to flex the cane with both hands.

“Right, Rachel get yourself over the desk with your skirt up.”

I saw a flutter of nerves cross her face as she turned to see the backs of her year-mates, and me gently bending my cane between my hands. However, with another rather too audible resigned sigh she bent over the desk, hitching up her plain knee-length, dark grey skirt as she did so, to reveal a pair of functional plain white knickers, now tightly stretched across her well endowed bottom. I noticed that they had ridden up slightly on one side, exposing the base of her right buttock.

She was not the only one with nerves though. I was preparing to give my first ever cane stroke for real. Agreeing to be an alternate was an agreement to something I had never really expected to happen, so had not even really practised, other than observing a caning given by the assistant head at one point. However, it was too late now to worry about that. It was now a very real concept that I needed to deal with. I took a breath to steady myself and recalled the assistant head’s advice on controlling the severity. “It’s all in the wrist,” is what I recalled her saying. Well, given Mr Griffiths’ instructions, her age, and the fact that it was not her first experience, I supposed I should be giving plenty of the aforementioned wrist throughout Rachel’s thrashing.

The desk was on the left side of the classroom as one looked at it, affording me a fair view of the sixth formers who no doubt were all ears.

Crack!

With no warning whatsoever I lashed the cane down hard across the meat of her bottom, with a well timed flick of the wrist. I may have not been in this position before, but the technique seemed to come to me naturally enough. Certainly the stroke seemed to have the desired, from my perspective, effect. Rachel gave a stifled scream and an involuntary jerk upwards as if to stand, which she just managed to control and settle back across the desk.

I smiled inwardly. Smoking did not bother me too much, but Mr Noble was a kind old soul who did not deserve to be treated rudely, in my book.

“Keep in position if you don’t want extra.” I warned, while at the same time scanning the class for any motion.

Crack!

The second blow, slightly above the first, was met a little more stoically, with a grunt of acknowledgment. The third was higher again and a grunt-like gasp wail was the reward of my efforts. Clearly Rachel was feeling the benefit of my ministrations well. Perhaps the fourth was slightly harder, or maybe it was its position at the base of her buttocks, but whatever the case Rachel briefly lost control as she screamed and stood, protectively gripping her bottom as she did so. Tears had now also welled up in her eyes.

Not that it did any good for me.

“We’ll have that one again,” I announced, and if you don’t get back over the desk immediately it will be two.”

She gave me a plaintive look, and paused briefly, before capitulating. As she turned I noticed her eyes flick outward in surprise, and saw that Paul Johnson had clearly turned his head slightly to peek at the action. I felt a righteous indignation build. How dare he! He could not say he was not warned.

My eyes lit on the be-ribboned arms of a girl’s blazer.

“Mary O’Donovan, would you be so kind as to escort Paul Johnson to the headmaster for the cane for peeking, and bring him straight back afterwards.”

The deputy head girl stood quickly, and glanced cautiously at me, and the quietly snuffling girl now bent back over the desk to my side, then made her way to Paul, who had his mouth open as if to protest.

“Don’t bother with the protest, boy. I saw you.” I said flatly.

Reluctantly, he made his way to the door, glancing back as he did. No doubt he saw the red cane mark on Rachel’s lower right buttock, and no doubt he was considering those same marks would soon be a feature on his rear end too. I privately hoped the Head would ensure his foolishness was appropriately rewarded.

To their credit, and my relief, the rest of the class had managed not to be distracted.

Crack!

Once again, with as little warning as possible, I thrashed the repeat fourth stroke down on her buttocks to an uncontrolled scream and increased sobs. A second red mark appeared just above the previous one, visible on the exposed part of her right buttock. The next stroke led to another screech punctuating the sobs and her bottom was beginning to weave slightly within the pain. The farthest edge of the mark was just visible with the two previous strokes.

Final one.

With a bit more effort, I lashed it hard across the meat of her buttocks once again, probably slightly lower than the very first stroke I had given. She immediately stood and clutched her outraged rear.

“Th-thank y-you, miss!” She stuttered miserably through her tears.

The punishment was over and I felt a wave of relief as I nodded impassively at her.

“Pull your skirt down, and go and face the back wall of the class till you calm down.” I said, not unkindly.

As she hobbled to the back of the class, with her hands determinedly caressing the back of her skirt, I told the class to turn their chairs round and get their work out again.

It was then, under the cover of the motion and noise, that I saw Susan whisper something to her neighbour, Elsie, which led to an audible giggle. I was not in the mood to ignore it. Punishments are, in my book, no laughing matter.

“You two, stand up.”

Their eyes opened in shock as they did so.

“So, what is so amusing?”

No response.

“Well?”

The two of them were now squirming under my gaze, and of course that of their classmates.”

“I assure you, and I am sure Rachel would agree, a caning is no laughing matter. Perhaps you need a stroke each to confirm that?”

They were now both beginning to panic.

“Please miss…” Susan began to plead.

It was as good an admission of guilt as I needed.

“Silence.” I interrupted, and put the cane I had been flexing down. And picked up the slipper instead. “Out to the front, both of you.”

The look of horror on their faces was almost comical as they realised what I had planned.

“Please…” Muttered Elsie as she seemingly involuntarily complied with my instruction.

Susan seemed to be in a daze as she followed after her.

I pushed my paperwork toward the edge of the desk, giving enough space for the both of them.

“Skirts up and over you go!” I ordered.

“But, but the boys…” Whispered Susan desperately.

“You should have thought of that earlier! However, if you want a private caning like Rachel, you can trot along to Mr Griffiths to ask him to authorise me to give you one.”

My uncompromising response was clearly not what they wanted to hear, but obviously the prospect of a caning was worse than the embarrassment of a skirt up slippering, boys or no boys. The two both looked horrified as they shook their heads at the prospect of a trip to the Headmaster, then reluctantly turned to face my desk.

“Rachel, you may turn around if you wish.”

Hardly a head turned as she did so. The boys in particular were watching intently as Susan and Elsie ever so reluctantly lifted their skirts and grabbed the far side of the desk.

“Anyone who finds any amusement in this will be joining them.” I announced meaningfully.

Both girls did their best to keep their legs and knees pinned together as their knickers stretched tightly across their bottoms. Susan’s pastel green underwear covered the target pretty well, in contrast to the rather lacy white cotton of Elsie’s next to her. That lace was remarkably adventurous in its cut, and it was clear that she was going to get in effect a bare bottom spanking, as well as giving the boys a view of more than she would wish. Perhaps in future she would wear undergarments more suited to school as opposed to a disco, or whatever.

I told them not to dare try to stand up until I gave them permission, then it was time to get on with their punishment.

Susan was the closer, so she got her punishment first. Eight blistering strokes to the base of her bottom, which left her squawking and then gently sobbing, with red blotches peeking out below her knickers. She was clearly struggling to hold her legs together, and I doubt she would have managed if it were not for the knowledge that the boys in the class were watching.

Elsie, was already in tears of humiliation before I started. She screamed and sobbed as I lashed the plimsoll down four times on each buttock, leaving the bare flesh that her knickers did little to cover rapidly reddening, and likely to bruise by the time I had finished. She was less able to keep position as her legs wobbled from side to side as the spanking progressed. A glance showed that one of two of the boys were rather mesmerised by her efforts to remain bent over by any means possible.

Truth be told, I slippered relatively rarely compared to most of my colleagues, and I could not remember the last time I had ‘done’ a sixth former. However, when I did slipper I did it properly. Perhaps that is why I was asked to be on the caning list. Whatever the case, both girls were clearly greatly regretting their previous amusement as they remained quietly crying, bent over my desk, after I had finished.

After a short time, I ordered them to pull down their skirts and go to the back of the class, and apologise to Rachel before standing with their hands folded behind their backs facing the wall. Eyes downcast, and snuffling miserably they both did so.

Finally the class settled down. It was clear, I suppose, that I was not in the mood for any nonsense. For about ten minutes, they worked quietly while Rachel gazed unseeing around the class, her hands still subconsciously, gently massaging her bum. No doubt Susan and Elsie would have liked also to assuage their discomfort, but were limited to small movements of one leg or the other as they faced the blank wall at the back. At least now they were out of the eyes of their class mates.

It was then that Paul staggered in with Mary following.

I smiled inwardly as the boy, clearly struggling to keep his emotions in check, started to make his way back to his seat.

I let him nearly get there before saying: “Aren’t you forgetting something, boy?”

He looked in shock as I picked up the slipper.

“Out to the front, now!”

He had the good sense not to argue as he made his way to my desk.

“So, was your peek worth it?”

He blushed and stared at the floor.

“No, miss.” He whispered.

“You got six?”

He nodded as he muttered an affirmative.

“Trousers down?”

“B-bare.” He whispered miserably.

I was surprised. While it was permitted, only on the boys, Mr Griffiths very rarely invoked that sanction to my knowledge, and certainly not to a sixth former. I saw Mary’s neighbour whisper, and an imperceptible nod and hint of a mischievous smile be returned. No wonder Paul looked so miserable. Clearly Mary had not been asked to wait outside, but as was not infrequently the case for a prefect escorting a pupil for a caning, had been permitted to watch. That said, I could not remember hearing of a case where the prefect was of the opposite sex. Clearly Mr Griffiths felt Paul’s intrusion merited the worst embarrassment he could apply. Whatever the case, no doubt Mary’s recollections would be fully outlined to the female sixth form and beyond shortly. Paul was indeed paying a high price for his lack of control.

But of course he had still more to pay.

“Very well, now drop your trousers and bend over my desk. I am going to give you a full dozen, bare bottom caning or not!”

Paul looked horrified but he was too cowed to argue, and I noticed that it was clearly the girls turn to watch avidly as he turned away from them to unbuckle his trousers and expose the back of his y-fronts to his classmates. The front, which I only could see, clearly showed his nerves were stimulating him somewhat. Not for long, I promised! I was not merciful with my Peeking Tom, or if you prefer, ‘Peeking Paul’. The combined effect of his caning, a couple of marks of which peeked out on the base of his bum, and my slippering had him giving a wail with each ‘splat’ long before the end, as his bottom waved from side to side as he coped with the thrashing. He had no hope in keeping his legs together as the second part of his punishment progressed.

Even then, I was not finished with him, as I ordered him to face the corner at the front of the class, trousers still around his ankles. The girls no doubt also enjoyed watching his underpants squirm with his hands on his head for the remainder of the lesson, as the marks on the tops of his thighs turned from red to purples and blues.

Thus ended my first experience of giving the cane, one which I gained a reputation to be feared for, as I found out later, Rachel had declared me far worse than our assistant head, and Miss Carmichael.

I found also that my classes were even more careful not to push me too far, which made teaching all that much easier.

The End

© Joanna Jones 2017


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