An ‘old school’ reunion should be fun, unless the headmistress has a long memory
By Kane Strokes
Mrs Hepworth sat in a quiet alcove of a popular restaurant and bar accompanied by some of the teaching staff at the school where she was headmistress. It was a chance to unwind after the end of term and speak freely about any subject except school, pupils and teaching.
Their quiet conversation was drowned by the arrival of a rowdy party, a girl’s night out. Amongst the cacophony of voices, Mrs Hepworth heard a voice she knew, her daughter Emma. She was about to say hello, when one of the crowd asked if any one had pulled a prank on the last day at school.
Mrs Hepworth listened intently whilst trying her best to maintain a quiet conversation with those in her party. After several admissions about ‘last day of term’ pranks the girl’s were ready to move on. Mrs Hepworth watched them leave, three others were known to her; Kelly, Liz and Angela.
Emma, home from work, opened her front door and stepped over the pile of post delivered earlier that day. She put her bag down then picked up her post, walking to her kitchen. She sorted the post into three piles as she went; junk, possible junk, and real mail. Of the eight envelopes she picked up, seven went in the bin; the eighth letter she opened, it contained an invite to a school reunion, sent by the headmistress, the same headmistress who was there 15 years ago when Emma left school; Mrs Hepworth, Emma’s mum.
Emma shook her head in bewilderment; she saw her mum two days ago, yet she said nothing; typical mum, still keeping school and home separate. Her first thoughts were for her friend, Kelly. Did she have an invite? She was about to phone her, when her own phone rang. She answered. Kelly was asking Emma the self same question.
“Have you had an invite to the school reunion?”
The reunion was in three weeks time, enough time for old friends to reminisce, and make plans for the big night.
The reunion was held in the school hall. Most of Emma’s year had managed to get there, along with others from lower years. Food was laid on, as well as various bottles of not too expensive wine. Background music was kept to a minimum so the guests could talk freely and mingle.
Everyone was settling into groups when Mrs Roberts, the school secretary, approached Emma and told her and Kelly that the headmistress would like to see them.
“Your mum’s in her office, she’d like to talk to you before she comes out to address the party. Shall I lead the way?”
Emma and Kelly let Mrs Roberts lead the way, passing through familiar corridors to the admin corridor.
“Like old times,” joked Emma. “Being led along here to see the headmistress, only those times it was either to get caned or slippered.”
Mrs Roberts went along with her joke, and had great difficulty in not saying too much. She opened the door for Emma and Kelly, allowing them entry, then followed them in, closing the door behind her.
Emma looked around, thought it odd that there were no chairs, nowhere to sit for this cosy little chat.
“Hello Mum,” she said.
“How many times do I have to remind you, Emma, that whilst I’m at school, I’m the headmistress and you’ll address me as Miss?”
“Oh, ok Miss,” said Emma jokingly.
Mrs Hepworth gave Emma a look that said she wasn’t amused. She continued.
“Fifteen years ago, at the end of term, two as then unknown pupils deliberately smashed a fire alarm. As you know the alarm is linked to the fire station and immediately two fire appliances were dispatched racing through crowded streets, possibly putting lives in danger, towards a non-existent fire at the school. I now have the culprits stood in front of me who will face the consequences of their actions.”
Emma and Kelly stood there, almost struck dumb by what they’d just heard. Emma was about to say something when Mrs Hepworth cut her short.
“Don’t try to deny it. I know it was you two by your own admissions. Remember your girls’ night out about 4 weeks ago? I was in the same restaurant. I heard you describe in infinite detail your prank. You told things that only the perpetrators would know.”
Mrs Hepworth rose from her chair and walked to the cupboard which Emma and Kelly knew as the cane cupboard. She selected the thicker of the senior girls’ canes.
“You can’t cane us for something we did 15 years ago!” Emma protested.
“So you admit you did it? Yes, I am going to cane both of you. You broke school rules. You’ve returned of your own accord to the scene of your ‘crime’. Justice will now be done.”
Emma turned as if ready to walk out. Kelly was about to follow Emma’s lead. They both saw Mrs Roberts standing guard at the door.
Mrs Hepworth spoke. “You may leave if you wish, but when I make my speech I’ll mention the fire alarm prank and how my daughter, Emma, and her friend, Kelly, had admitted to the prank and have taken a six stroke caning and that you’re now on your way home to nurse your sore bottoms. Think of the embarrassment as everybody will believe that both of you willingly touched your toes for a caning. How many out there know you both, and could point you out in the street? Of course if you stay, nothing about your caning will be mentioned.”
Emma and Kelly realised they were trapped. Resigned to their fate, they looked at Mrs Hepworth and returned to stand in front of her desk, a tacit agreement to accept the punishment.
“That’s better,” replied Mrs Hepworth.
She walked around to the front of her desk.
“Kelly, you stand there and face the wall. First you can lower your trousers.”
Mrs Hepworth pointed to where Kelly had to stand. She then pointed to another spot.
“Emma, you stand there and face the wall. Now both of you, touch your toes.”
As Emma bent over, Mrs Hepworth lifted Emma’s skirt as far as it would reach. She surveyed the scene; two thirty something women touching their toes and, as she had hoped, no schoolgirl knickers. Both women were wearing the skimpiest of scanty knickers, most of which had disappeared into their cleft as they bent over. Despite them keeping their knickers up, it would be a bare bottom caning.
Mrs Hepworth stood between them. She flexed and then cut the air with the cane. She smiled as she watched both women try to clench their cheeks in anticipation of the first stroke. She then tapped Emma’s bottom firmly with the cane, on the sit spot, the fullest fleshiest part, guaranteed to produce maximum sting. She pulled the cane back.
Mrs Roberts didn’t see the cane as it arced through the air; she saw just a blur as the cane raced to its target. She smiled as she saw Kelly once more try to clench her cheeks.
Mrs Hepworth flicked her wrist to accelerate the tip of the cane. It delivered its fiery kiss across Emma’s bottom with a hearty THWACK. The sound echoed around the hard walls of the office, a room denuded of any soft furnishing that would deaden the sound.
Emma gasped and rocked forward, at first stunned and feeling nothing, then the sting and the pain, peaked. Mrs Hepworth watched the initial white stripe of impact turn pink, then rapidly red, and redder still as the pain increased in Emma’s bottom.
She turned; now it was Kelly’s turn. Exactly the same, the cane tapping on her sit spot, the SWISH, the reverberating THWACK. At the first instant she too felt nothing, before the pain rose rapidly in her bottom.
Mrs Hepworth returned to Emma, her bottom would now be feeling the full effects of the first stroke. No warning taps this time, Mrs Hepworth had her marker. The familiar SWISH, signalling the cane was racing towards its target, another hearty THWACK as it delivered another payload of pain.
A parallel tram line sprung up across Emma’s bottom, just a fraction of an inch below the first. Within seconds the second stripe took on the same angry red colour as the first.
Now Mrs Hepworth turned her attention to Kelly. No warning taps, the cane scribed an arc invisible to the eye. The only clue of its imminent arrival was an audible swish.
Kelly gasped and rocked as the cane struck. The second angry red welt rose on Kelly’s bottom and, like Emma, a fraction of an inch below the first stripe.
Mrs Hepworth now wanted more reaction than the grunts and gasps she’d heard so far. She aimed the cane low, it struck Emma hard where her bottom joins her thighs. She yelled, she jumped up holding her bottom, and no longer able to hold back the tears.
“Get back down! Do that again and I’ll be adding extra,” barked Mrs Hepworth.
If Kelly had been taking note, she’d have guessed where the next stroke would land. Emma might be Mrs Hepworth’s daughter, but she wasn’t about to show any favouritism. The cane lashed into Kelly’s thigh-meets-bottom crease as effectively as it had done to Emma. It was Kelly’s turn now to yell and jump up, holding her throbbing bottom, and to receive the same warning from Mrs Hepworth.
Continuing to treat both Emma and Kelly to similar strokes, they both felt the fourth stroke land a fraction of an inch below the second. The room was filled now with the sounds of two sobbing women, broken momentarily by the sound of the cane impacting on a bottom. The fifth stroke landed slightly below the fourth.
Mrs Hepworth paused. She observed her handiwork. Emma and Kelly had identical parallel stripes, fractions of an inch apart, across the full width of their bottoms. For their final strokes, she decided something extra was needed.
Emma first, Mrs Hepworth changed her stance and angled the cane which swept an invisible arc as it sped towards it’s target. Helped along by a subtle flick of the wrist it traversed the five stripes which crossed Emma’s bottom. She yelled, she jumped up clutching her bottom as tears cascaded down her face.
Mrs Hepworth said nothing and turned her attention to Kelly. The cane crossed the previous welts. Kelly was no braver. She too leapt up with a yell, clutching her bottom.
Mrs Hepworth stepped back to watch the spectacle of Emma and Kelly’s spanky dances.
“When you have quite finished making a spectacle of yourselves, you can adjust your clothing and return to the party in the hall.”
Emma brushed her skirt down, and decided to leave the crutch of knickers out of harms way in her cleft. Kelly eased her trousers up over her swelling bottom. A smiling Mrs Roberts opened the door to show them out.
“Thank you for coming tonight,” she told them.
Emma and Kelly left, and Mrs Roberts closed the door.
“Well, Mrs Roberts, I think this reunion is already very successful. I expect they’ll head for the toilets. Give them a little time, then we’ll have the next two in.”
Emma and Kelly did indeed head for the toilets, complaining bitterly on the way.
“My bum fucking hurts!”
They washed their tear-stained faces and repaired their make up, then Emma thought about what her mother had said earlier.
“Christ, Kelly, remember what she said; she heard us bragging at that restaurant. What if she heard Liz and Angela admit to putting the rude sign on her car? We had better warn them.”
Emma and Kelly quickly gathered their things and made their way as quickly as a freshly caned bottom would allow. They were half way along the corridor leading to the hall when they saw Mrs Roberts chatting and joking with Liz and Angela, as they headed for the headmistress’s office.
© Kane Strokes 2016