The Worst Humiliation

When a girl objects to her gym teacher’s punishment, she lands in even more trouble.

By David

Helen loved all her school lessons apart from gymnastics. She could not understand why, as a Sixth Former, she still had put up with a teacher who treated her like a child. Now, as she pulled off her knickers and struggled to squeeze her quite large behind into her white shorts, she inwardly cursed this unnecessary imposition on her life.

Suddenly she realised that all the others had gone through to the gym and she was going to be last. With a sinking heart she quickly followed them, only to be confronted by the stick-like Miss Hartshorne with a large plimsoll in her hand whilst all the rest were running round the room.

“Late again, Helen,” she scolded her. “How will you ever lose your surplus fat if you don’t exercise properly? Get into the middle of the gym and bend over.”

Helen knew that Miss Hartshorne was remorseless, so there was no point in appealing for mercy. She was going to be spanked and her bottom would suffer all the more if she protested. With hands on her knees, she awaited the inevitable.

But the gym mistress was not satisfied with her position. “Get down lower, girl,” she ordered. “If you can’t touch your toes, spread your feet well apart and reach for your shins.”

Groaning inwardly, Helen did as she was told.

The plimsoll hit her right buttock with a wallop, and Helen could scarcely keep her balance. A moment later, her left cheek felt the impact of the second stroke, while all around her the class kept running. Helen felt so humiliated and sore that she could restrain herself no longer.

“Eff off, you bitch!” She shouted.

With startling suddenness, the running ceased. The other girls, in spite of fears about retribution, could only stop and gasp at this outburst. Complete silence filled the room. Helen, red-faced and tearful, stood up to face her tormentor. Miss Hartshorne seemed to have turned into stone. Then she pulled a pen and notebook from her pocket, wrote a few words and passed the note to Helen, before addressing the now shaking girl in a calm and icy voice.

“How dare you speak to me like that, young lady! You need to be made an example of! Take this note to the Headmistress right now and report back to me once she has dealt with you!”

Murmuring spread through the other girls as Helen left the gym, to be instantly silenced at the teacher’s command. Once out of sight, Helen read the fearful note.

‘Helen Winship has sworn at me in the presence of her whole class, and I trust that you will punish her accordingly,’ it read.

There was no point in destroying it, as that would only make matters worse. She knew she was in for a punishment that she had never anticipated in all her years at the school. She was going to be caned.

Helen had been aware of other girls returning to class from a visit to Miss Calderwood, clutching their hands under their armpits. At least there would be no more blows to her bottom, which was still aching after two from the plimsoll. She called in at a toilet and soaped her palms in hot water, hoping that this would provide some slight relief. Then she headed for Miss Calderwood, handing the note to the Secretary once she had entered the outer office.

She did not have long to wait. The Head faced her over her desk, with a look more of sorrow than of anger.

“This is a sad turn of events, Helen,” she began. “When you appeared here before, it was to congratulate you on your scholastic achievements, but now you have disgraced yourself with your foul language, and in public too.”

“I’m so sorry, Miss Calderwood,” came the reply. “I was only a minute late, but Miss Hartshorne decided to slipper me and it really hurt!”

But the Head continued that there was no excuse for swearing at a teacher. Miss Hartshorne had decided, quite rightly, that exemplary treatment was needed. Even though Helen had never received corporal punishment from her before, she was a Sixth Former and would therefore have to take six of the best from the cane.

Helen quivered silently as Miss Calderwood produced her cane from a drawer and flexed it menacingly in front of her. Was it to be three on each hand? As the Head came towards her, she tentatively held out her left arm, hoping that it would all be over quickly.

But she was in for a shock.

“I don’t think so, Helen,” she heard. “You have already felt Miss Hartshorne’s plimsoll on your backside, and so it’s fitting that you should suffer the cane on the same place. Pull out that chair and kneel up on it, then bend over the top.”

Helen gulped in fright as she stared at the chair. Once she had sat on it to receive the Headmistress’s praise; now she had to adopt an entirely different posture. She did as she was told, grasping the chair-back firmly. But Miss Calderwood was not satisfied.

“Get right down, girl, and stick your bottom out,” she ordered. And to reinforce her command, she pressed her left hand firmly on Helen’s back and laid her cane across the upper part of the now well-presented buttocks.

Helen flinched at the touch. Her shorts were stretched tightly across her bottom and she realised they would offer her no protection against what was to come. Gritting her teeth, she was conscious the cane had been raised above her and then was swishing down with a crack across both her cheeks. She could not stop herself from crying out at the pain. So different to the plimsoll, it felt as if her flesh had been cut by a hot poker.

Then, almost before she could draw breath, another fiery stroke descended on her, just below the first. She squealed at this second blow and could not help tears seeping out of her eyes. Down came the third, then the fourth and fifth. Helen struggled to be free but the Head held her in place. All she could do was kick her feet futilely in the air. Through the ever increasing agony she realised the strokes were descending lower and lower, towards the most sensitive regions of her behind.

Then Miss Calderwood landed the final stroke across the tops of her thighs and Helen screamed. The whole of her ample rear felt to be ablaze.

“Very well, girl, you may get up,” instructed the Headmistress.

Helen  could scarcely move, then she slowly righted herself and stood sobbing quietly, both hands pressed against the cheeks of her posterior. Miss Calderwood also looked quite shaken; she was unaccustomed to using the cane on the rear, yet felt that this punishment had been severe but fully justified.

“I trust I never have to punish you like that again, Helen,” she added. Now go back to your class and tell Miss Hartshorne what has been done. I shall check later that you have informed her.”

Helen crept along the school corridors, still clutching her burning bottom and hoping that she did not encounter anyone else. Eventually she got back to the gym where the lesson was continuing, although she felt that it was hours since she was last there, it had been scarcely fifteen minutes. Miss Hartshorne immediately ordered her into the centre of the room.

“Well, we can all see what’s happened to you by the way you staggered in here!” She declared triumphantly. “But just because Miss Calderwood decided to decorate your backside with the cane doesn’t mean that’s the end of it! Bend over again, legs apart and reach for your ankles. Now gather round, girls, and you can all see what a real punishment looks like!”

Helen had to obey. Reluctantly she leaned over once more, but was then startled to feel the gym mistress’s hands around her waist, tugging at her shorts and eventually pulling them down to her knees. There in public view were the results of a severe caning; six angry-looking red stripes crossing both buttocks, all in parallel and reaching down to the crease of the girl’s thighs. The others gasped in horror at the sight, well aware that their own bottoms were potentially in danger. But Miss Hartshorne was not finished yet. Raising her hand, she delivered a hard slap across the middle of Helen’s large right buttock and then repeated it on the left. Helen yelped at these cruel and unexpected blows, dreading more to come, but the mistress had done her worst.

“Back into action, everyone. Start running around the room again,” she ordered. “You, pull up your shorts and join the others – quickly now!” Helen sprang into action, fighting off the chafing pain of the shorts rubbing against her rear. She could scarcely believe she had been both slippered and caned in quick succession. Yet she already felt the final humiliation was the worst; to have her sore bare bottom smacked in front of the whole class.

The End

© David 2014


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