A thoughtful look at how a girl might satisfy her fascination with the cane

By Joanna Jones

How many times had she done this now, she wondered? Maybe about sixteen or so, and for probably more than 25 girls. Everything from some tough first year, who’d answered back to a teacher once too often, to a couple of her fellow upper sixth colleagues, caught smoking inside the school on a cold, wet February morning.

She remembered that latter episode particularly well, given she would count them as friends, if not close friends. She recalled them, sentence having been already passed, glancing sickly at her from their positions facing the wall, hands clasped nervously in front of them, near the door as she entered the headmaster’s study. Unlike some of the younger girls she’d seen in that predicament, neither were in tears, at least not at that point.

It was amazing how quickly it would happen. Only a few minutes later both girls were back in the same position as they had been at the start. However, both were now clasping their hands on the back of their skirts and sobbing quietly, and were unaware of her departure, her duty fulfilled.

Her duty had been to witness what happened in those intervening minutes. To witness each girl cross over to a chair and hitch up her skirt to reveal her plain white knickers. To witness each girl bend over and grab the chair seat, stretching those knickers tighter across the target. To witness the Headmaster give six stinging blows on the bottom presented. To witness six blows that took each girl from fearful bundle of nerves to sobbing wreck.

It had been quick as they’d taken their punishments without much fuss. Having witnessed so many she knew that was not by any means always the case.

There were now only a couple of weeks left to the end of her final term and she’d now been called again. She wondered who was going to get it this time, and indeed whether it would be her last time to fulfil the role, as she walked down the corridor.

Unusually the secretary was absent from the outer office as she went through and knocked on the Headmaster’s door. On the call, she entered Mr Yates study.

To her surprise there was no girl waiting face-to-the-wall at the door. Clearly the Head wanted to discuss some other matter. It was unusual, but not the first time; perhaps she thought it was related to the end of term prize-giving, where both she and the head boy needed to make speeches.

Mr Yates waved her to the chair next to his desk. Even though she could think of no reason, there was still an irrational relief that she was not in trouble.

“Yvonne, your mother phoned this morning.” He started.

As she sat across from the Headmaster Yvonne felt her stomach do a funny flip and the relief evaporated. It was nothing to do with the prize-giving then.

“From your reaction, I think you perhaps know the essence of what she said, which I found very surprising. Do you want to explain it or shall I continue?”

She looked at the Head. He was clearly not comfortable too, and she knew what her mother had done. She was giving her a chance, a chance to get the experience that gnawed at her without doing something silly, something that would besmirch her name and her role as Head Girl.

Trouble was, could she actually do it? Now that it came to it she felt her feet grow very cold, but if she didn’t she knew the feeling would get worse, magnified by not taking the opportunity to go through with it.

The quiet pause went on. Clearly the Head was waiting for her to speak.

Finally she started. “I suppose my mum told you I asked her if she had a cane and whether she, she would ever cane me if I asked her to.”

The Head nodded, still finding it difficult to believe what Yvonne’s mother had told him earlier that day, despite the admission.

Once started, Yvonne found it easier to continue. “As you might imagine, mum was quite shocked and wanted to know what I felt I had done to deserve such a punishment. I had to tell her nothing really, though I am sure there are things I have done both at home and at school that if I’d been unlucky might have led to a whacking.”

The Head nodded knowingly as she gave a sort of lopsided smile. His mind went back to the first of his own three canings at school, where he’d been an innocent party when four other boys had decided to ‘sort out’ a fifth for having the temerity to support the team who had beaten Leeds United that weekend.

The prefects breaking up the fracas had grabbed him too even though he’d made to leave as soon as it had started. Once in the Head’s office there was no point to plead and he’d had to take his lumps, or more accurately (four) stripes, with the others. Not all school punishments were fair or justified. On the other hand he could recount a few lucky escapes too.

Meanwhile his Head Girl was continuing her explanation. “Of course that puzzled mum more. I had to explain that as Head Girl I am often asked to witness canings, as it is necessary to have a female present, and you think it is likely to be easier for the girl getting it to have a fellow pupil do it. A pupil might be viewed by the girl getting it as more supportive than a staff member. I am there to help support and encourage her as she takes her punishment.”

Yvonne was recounting the Head’s own explanation given at the beginning of the year. In general it was also true; on quite a few of those occasions Yvonne had to give a sobbing girl encouragement, even on occasion a hug, to get her to bend back over if necessary. Mr Yates was no ogre; in all the punishments he’d awarded and Yvonne witnessed he had never added extra to the girl, no matter how much she struggled, as long as she eventually submitted voluntarily. On a couple of occasions when his patience had been worn completely down he’d had to go as far as to suggest he phone the girl’s parents and discuss suspension, (the only alternative to the cane) which had always had a tearful girl reluctantly returning to the required pose, bent over grabbing the chair seat to take the next part of her punishment.

“I explained to mum that over the year I have seen you give quite a number of punishments, and as time went on I have found myself wondering what it would be like to be in one of those girl’s shoes. Wondering would I be able to hold myself together, or end up jumping up sobbing on every stroke. Wondering I suppose if I could be brave enough.” Yvonne paused briefly to reflect on her words. “I told mum I had even considered doing something at school to earn myself a caning.”

Mr Yates made a small noise as he raised his eyebrows.

Yvonne looked at him. “My mum was surprised too. She suggested I just ask you to cane me, but there was no way I could see myself doing that. So finally she said she would think about a solution, and made me promise not to do anything silly in the meantime. Mum never said she was going to contact you. I suppose this is her solution?”

Mr Yates looked quietly at his Head Girl. She was staring rather at his desktop, obviously unable to bring herself to look at him; all very different from the self-confident young woman he normally had in his office.

Eventually he spoke. “What your mother said was roughly the same as you just told me. As for her solution, I suspect you know what she suggested.”

Yvonne had been pretty sure she knew from the moment Mr Yates had said her mother had phoned. She slowly looked up at him. “Th… that y… you cane me?” She stammered.

The headmaster nodded but said nothing.

Yvonne bit her lip, then after a pregnant pause asked, “And, and your reply, sir, was…?”

“That if your explanation was the same as your mother said, and if you asked me to, then I would not refuse you.”

Yvonne stared at the table. All she had to do was ask and she could experience it. Experience what had been nagging on her curiosity for months. However, could she do it? Could she, now that it came to it, ask, ask for what she knew would be a rather painful experience?

To give herself time she managed to raise her eyes to look at her headmaster, and asked quietly. “How many, sir?”

The Head looked at her having not really expected the question. He had been hoping for an embarrassed denial and for her then to leave. Ultimately it was her choice though. “Very well, my suggestion is, when you have decided what you wish to do then, go across my office towards the door. If this is all something you are not sure about then I suggest you just go out the door and we will both consider this conversation never to have happened. However, if you really are wanting this experience then stand in the usual place next to the door where the girls wait for your arrival. If you leave your hands by your sides then I will give you three strokes, which I assure you should be more than enough for you to get a good understanding of what a caning is like. Hands behind your back will get you four, what I would normally give a sixth former if they had never been caned before. If you clasp your hands in front I will give you six of the best as if you had done something quite serious or were a sixth former who had been caned previously in her school career.”

Yvonne nodded, but felt vaguely let down. Her mind had in those past months spent a lot of time wondering about a fourth option. “And, and if I put my hands on my head, w… would you give me what you gave to Sandra Ford?”

The Head stared at her in shock. “You saw Sandra in here three times, and the last time was for a nasty piece of bullying. I assure you, you do not need that to understand how painful a caning can be.”

Yvonne looked at him stubbornly and eventually the Head, very much against his better judgment, capitulated. “Very well,” he said resignedly. “But know this, for each option it is not just the number of strokes that matter. You will find the first four of my ‘six-of-the-best’ much harder than if you just asked for the four for a first time sixth former, which is what if you really proposed to go through with this I’d recommend. As for that eight I gave Sandra, I assure you that was harder still, you saw Sandra at the end, after all.”

Yes, Yvonne had seen Sandra at the end. Utterly distraught was the best description, despite having taken her previous two canings, both sixers, pretty well.

Yvonne felt caught, unsure. “Can I have some time to think on it sir?” She asked.

The Head looked at her quietly before responding. “If you are unsure then it is perhaps best you take the option to walk out the door. If you want me to cane you like this then it has to be unofficial and, well, secret. Today I gave my secretary an errand to do and told her she could go straight home. Your mother has also agreed to come and pick you up so no one will see you and guess what happened. If you choose this caning and anyone later sees your stripes, I would ask you to say it was to do with your mother, a sort of half-truth if you like. Given the arrangements, Yvonne, I am afraid you need to make up your mind on this now.”

Yvonne sat in silence for a long time. The nerves and adrenalin was running through her as she pondered what to do. However, she knew in her heart she was merely delaying the inevitable. She knew she really had no choice if she was not to regret it after.

Slowly she stood and walked to the wall where she had seen so many girls stand before. She put her hands on her head.

Mr Yates felt rather depressed, wishing he’d just replied that if she said yes then it would be four strokes, with no other option. However, he suspected she would still have asked him to give her eight in that case, and it would be hard to deny her once he had gone so far. Whatever the case, it was too late now. Perhaps a little final persuasion might get her to realise the potential folly of such a severe request.

“Yvonne I will give you a few minutes to reconsider where your hands are. You know I cannot suspend you if you do not take whatever punishment you volunteer for, but once I start there is absolutely no going back. I can and will call your mother in to hold you down if I have to, and if that happens I will give you two extra too, do you understand?”

Yvonne felt a sick shock at that. Mr Yates had found a very neat equivalent to a threat of suspension. A very neat solution if she started to feel it too much. Steeling herself she replied more firmly than she felt: “Yes, Sir.”

Mr Yates paused, hoping her hands would drop, but they stayed still, clamped on her hair.

He picked up his phone, noted the number he’d put on his pad, and dialled, looking up at the back of the girl in front of him as he waited for it to be answered.

Yvonne heard half the conversation of course.

“Mrs Nolan, I have spoken to Yvonne. Yes she has elected to experience the cane. Rather a lot I’m afraid. She currently has chosen to take eight strokes. Yes I know, I am hoping she will change her mind but if at the end of this call she remains determined, then that is what she will get. Are you still coming to pick her up? Good, if you wait in your car in the staff car park I will send Yvonne out to you after she has sufficient control of herself.

“However, there is something else. I have told Yvonne that she cannot change her mind if she does not do so before l start. If she refuses to bend over part way through I said I would bring you in to hold her down if that is okay. Thanks for your understanding, I don’t think Yvonne really understands what she is asking me to do at present, but she has seen someone get eight before so she cannot say she has no idea. I know, I find it hard to understand too, but… So you will set off now just in case? That is most kind. No need to thank me, Yvonne has been a very good head girl and if this is the reward she wants then I am happy to help her. Goodbye Mrs Nolan.”

The phone gave a small tinkle as it was returned to its place.

“We had better give your mother a few minutes to arrive just in case, a few minutes for you to consider what you are currently asking for.” 

Yvonne felt the nerves now welling up inside of her as she remained facing the wall, hands remaining clasped in her hair. It was a long ‘few minutes’ with her mind wondering what she was really doing.

Finally she heard a rustle behind her as the Headmaster stood.

“So Yvonne, your last chance to change your mind. I am going to lock my secretary’s outer door and put a ‘do not disturb’ note up. With that, and my door closed you will be free to make as much noise as you need to. When I come back I will take the position of your hands as your final decision. Understood?”

Yvonne knew she could not ‘bottle out’ now; for whatever mysterious reason that she did not understand herself, she knew she had to experience Mr Yates’ worst.

“I understand sir,” she replied.

A few seconds later she heard the click of the lock and then footsteps across the secretary’s office. Her heart thumped and for a brief moment she almost thought to drop her hands to her front for a ‘traditional’ six, but then it was too late as the headmaster’s own door closed and she heard Mr Yates sigh. There was now no going back.

She heard noises behind her, of the chair she’d just been sitting in dragged away from the desk and turned so the seat rather than the back would be facing her when she was called across. Then there was the click as the Head retrieved a cane from his cupboard. She could picture it happening in her mind, having watched the Head prepare on so many occasions. He would now be fingering his cane, examining it as he kept half an eye on the girl or girls facing the wall. In this case that girl was of course her.

She was beginning to shake with nerves now, and she experienced the dread she had watched so many girls go through before. Suddenly she jumped, jumped at the sound of Mr Yates giving the cane the couple of swishes he always did, just before he…

“Right Nolan, you have chosen to earn yourself a very severe thrashing and that is exactly what you will now get. Take your blazer off and hang it on the back of my door, then get your skirt and any slip up, and grab the seat of the chair with your legs straight.”

Yvonne gasped inwardly at the harshness of the Head’s voice, the exact same severe uncompromising tone she had heard him use to other girls, other girls who had usually been screaming and sobbing shortly after. Suddenly this seemed really a bit stupid, no longer some abstract remote concept.

“Come on girl, get on with it, let’s get this over with!”

Yvonne realised she had not yet moved. Slowly she shrugged off her blazer and hung it up, then turned to face the chair, the execution block.

She swallowed nervously and glanced at Mr Yates’ face, no longer friendly but rather severe and implacable, exactly as he was when really punishing someone. She realised then that now she was to be really punished, really punished at her own request. There were indeed going to be no half-measures. Biting her lip and blushing she tottered over to the chair and hitched up her skirt (she had not bothered with a slip in the early summer warmth) to reveal her plain white underwear. Finally she looked at the plain wooden seat and bent over and gripped it. Her long fair hair cascaded around her cheeks part screening her from the Head as she stared downward. She had seen the wet salty stains of tears that had dripped onto the chair in front of her before and wondered if she would be able to prevent hers doing the same.

Then suddenly her senses went to her bottom, as the cane gently touched it.

Mr Yates was lining up the first stroke.

The Headmaster had found himself consciously trying to remain detached as he looked at the rather long, well-proportioned legs that Yvonne had. Legs that led to an equally well-shaped bottom. Her skirt and blouse were hitched high on her waist allowing him to admire her hips taper into her waist. The white cotton pants she wore were cut pretty fashionably, a little higher than most, leaving a certain amount of buttock exposed at the bottom. As he lined up he pondered. Normally eight was a case of being severe from the beginning, just as he had promised, but this was not normal. He decided to ease slightly off, more of a blow to start a six of the best.

With that he drew the cane back slowly and then cracked it down high on the target.

Yvonne heard the whistle and crack, then a dreadful line of pain ignited her senses. Despite herself she gave a small wail. It was horribly, shockingly painful!

The Head heard the wail and smiled grimly to himself. A caning was not something to be requested, in his book, and certainly not a caning of the severity Yvonne seemed to desire.

As he lashed down the second cut slightly harder he wondered if Yvonne still desired this experience.

Yvonne just about held the wail in as she felt a second land just below the first. This was awful, far worse than she had expected, and there were now still six to go.

As Mr Yates waited he decided that two was sufficient introduction. He would give the remainder as he had given to the Ford girl. If she was foolish enough to want that experience and explicitly request it then he would indeed oblige.

Thus the whistle and crack of that third cut were both louder, the sort of strength he usually left for the final stroke of a sixer.

Yvonne had just about been coping to that point but the third was too much. She screamed and without realising it was up from the chair clutching her bottom. The first tear was now trickling from her left eye as she said: “Please, enough!”

Mr Yates reply was simple. “What do you mean, enough? You still have five more strokes to go young lady! Now bend back over!”

Yvonne looked at him in horror, thought about begging, then got hold of herself, reminding herself this was her idea. Slowly she bent back over and gripped the chair tightly. Surely the next blow would not be any more painful.

It was.

Yvonne found her screech quite guttural as the blow overwhelmed every sense in her body. The tears began to flow freely and despite her initial promises to herself to take it bravely she was now making moans and pleas to the Headmaster. At least she was holding on.


The fifth cut landed viciously a little lower on her knickers.

“Aaaagh,” she screeched and stamped her feet as she waggled her bottom up and down to try to cope with the agony.

Mr Yates ignored her pleas of ‘not so hard’ amongst the sobs and lined the cane right at the base of her bottom. This time the cane would be hitting bare flesh!


A perfect, full-blooded blow.

Yvonne’s reaction was electric as she let go of the chair and danced around the room in agony. Her face was now far from the sophisticated confidence she normally exuded.

The Head was not surprised as she now desperately begged to be let off the last two, desperately told him how silly she had been. He listened, then gently reminded her of the deal; did she really want her mother in to see her like this? To hold her down like a silly little girl?

Finally after a couple of minutes Yvonne allowed herself to be guided back over the chair and, sobbing pitifully, hoisted up her skirt.


The cane landed equally hard just above the pervious cut. Despite giving a deafening wail she managed to hold on.

Only one to go.

The Head lined it up slightly above the marks visible below her knickers from the sixth and seventh strokes.

Slowly he pulled the cane back and lashed it down with every ounce of energy and technique at his disposal.

Yvonne found herself experiencing a pain she never thought possible as she gave another heart-rending screech and once again danced around the room trying to cope with the dreadful, dreadful pain her bottom was in. The tears she had mostly expected to be able to hold in when she’d imagined herself undergoing this were instead everywhere, down her cheeks, on the chair of course, and now on the carpet.

Mr Yates hid his amusement as he tidied the cane away. It was clear the young Miss Nolan had had no idea what a severe caning was really like despite her having seen the reactions of so many of her schoolmates. It was obvious the reality had been very different from what she had imagined!

After a short time he fished a couple of tissues out of the box and passed them to her, receiving a stuttered thanks. She made no argument as he suggested she take a few minutes to compose herself facing the wall, just as he normally ordered.

He tried to get on with a little work as she calmed, but with her hands still gently massaging her knickers with her skirt still not down it was rather difficult not to be distracted.

Finally the sobs quietened and Mr Yates summoned her back to face him across the desk. As she came slowly across taking tiny steps she finally managed to smooth her skirt down at the back and had enough awareness to see the dark stains on the wood of the chair that she had been bending over.

“Well Yvonne, are you satisfied?” He asked as he passed her a couple more tissues to replace those that were soaked through.

“Y-yes sir!” She replied rather haltingly as she dabbed her eyes. “More than satisfied I think.” This time there was a twist of the mouth. Some of her normal self-assurance was returning.

“Well then I think perhaps you’d better go find your mother, oh and try not to hold your bottom as you do so.”

Yvonne gave a grimace like smile as she replied: “I’ll try to, sir, and, and well thank you sir. I know it was probably silly, but I now know at least.”

With that she picked up her bag and Mr Yates escorted her through the secretary’s office and unlocked that door.

Happily the corridor was deserted as Yvonne Nolan slowly made her way out, her hands determinedly hanging rather too casually at her sides.

Yvonne had determined as she left that office that her caning would be a once-off in her life. Truly awful it had been, but she was glad she could say she knew what it was like. However, that night as she lay on her stomach she felt a strange urge that her fingers seemed to need to trace between her legs to satisfy. Later still as she lay reflecting she wondered whether that caning was really going to be an only time, wondered if it was not to be then how she could arrange to get it again. Certainly not at school, she knew, as it would take much longer than the two weeks left for her bottom to fully recover, and Mr Yates was highly unlikely to be so helpful a second time in any case.

It was a very odd feeling, something she had never expected. Something she certainly would need to think on.

The End

© Joanna Jones 2013