I never knew my father; he left when my mother got pregnant, and she was left to bring me up on her own, neither of us having had any contact with him since.
My name is Amy Shawcross, and despite being the daughter of a single parent, I have so far had the most enjoyable childhood, mother and I getting on well together for the most part. Around two years ago she met John at an evening art class she attended, an interest they both shared, and they started dating together. John is headmaster of a private boys school not too far from us and I was pleased that she had found someone to share her time with, not least because I was hoping to go to university in the near future and it would mean that she wouldn’t be left alone when I’d gone.
I liked John, and he seemed to like me too. We got on well together. About six months ago, mother announced to me that she and John had decided to get married. It came as a bit of a shock, I admit, but again I was happy for her that she had finally found someone to spend the rest of her life with. The wedding went ahead fairly soon after, a relatively small affair at a register office during the school summer holidays, and I stayed with one of my friends while they went on honeymoon as I was still not trusted to spend two weeks alone at home. I think mother had visions of me holding nightly parties, and perhaps she was not too misguided in that assumption had I been left to my own devices.
On their return, mother said that we needed to have a talk. Naturally she and John wanted to live together and that meant one of them moving into the other’s home. Our house was quite modest in size. John on the other hand lived in a rather large Victorian abode situated in the grounds of his school, accommodation that was provided to the headmaster as part of his employment. Mother had decided to move in with John, not least because with the school having boarders he was expected to be on site at all times, the accommodation was also far bigger than all of us trying to squeeze into our existing home.
She was concerned that I might be upset by this. I was of course going with her, but that was far from how I felt. I was actually quite excited and keen about it much to her relief. The only inconvenience was that it meant I had to get a bus each day to school, but that was something I could put up with. There was no prospect of me moving to John’s school as it was boys only, although the idea of being the first girl to attend there was an interesting one, and besides mother had no wish for me to change schools with me coming up to my A levels next year. It also meant I still kept in touch with my friends and it didn’t have an adverse effect on my social life.
We moved in with John towards the end of the summer holidays and once the new term began I soon got into the routine of travelling the short distance to school and back. There were other advantages too that came from our move. For a start I had a much bigger bedroom than I had previously had and, with the house having more rooms than we really needed, I was also given my own room to use as a ‘den’ complete with settee and television, although I think that was more to give mother and John some privacy as much as giving me my own space!
Then there were the boys and the school itself. The school had been built in Victorian times with various newer additions since, but it was essentially an old traditional school building, the sort you would see in old films and read about in historical novels. It was nothing like the modern secondary school that I attended. The grounds were extensive too, including some woodland which I enjoyed wandering through, the boys not allowed to enter there. Ah yes, the boys! Being an all-boys school, and me being the only teenage girl on the premises, meant that I quickly caught their attention, particularly the older boys who I imagined secretly lusting after me. I enjoyed teasing them as I walked around, although I probably went too far one day when wearing a pair of tight shorts that barely covered my bottom, my lower cheeks practically bursting out of them, never mind my legs and thighs being fully exposed too. Mother saw me, and I was told in no uncertain terms that I must not parade around dressed like that again in front of the boys. My only disappointment was that none of the senior boys ever approached me and asked me out on a date. Perhaps they thought the headmaster’s stepdaughter was out of bounds to them and I was a bit too risky to get involved with.
It was about six weeks after our move that my idyl changed. Mother, John and I were in the lounge together and mother and I were arguing over something that in reality was quite trivial, but it was getting a little heated and without thinking I swore. Up until this point John had been taking no part, sitting quietly reading some papers, but my swearing seemed to make him snap.
“That’s quite enough of that young lady. You need to show some respect for your mother. You are not too old to go over my knee for a good spanking!”
Immediately the argument between my mother and I stopped. Had I heard right, did he just threaten to spank me? I turned and looked at him quizzically.
“That’s right, any more out of you like that and you’ll be getting a sore backside, Amy.”
I’d lost all interest in my quarrel with mother at this point and stormed out the room, up the stairs and into my bedroom. A few minutes later I heard footsteps outside and a knock on the door.
“Can we come in?” It was mother’s voice.
“I suppose so,” I said reluctantly.
Mother and John entered and John spoke first.
“I’m sorry I had to say that, but I could not listen to any more of that language from you and the way you were speaking to your mother. I expect you to show her a little more respect. As long as you are in this house you will not speak to her again like that or you will indeed go over my knee and get your bottom smacked. You are not too old for a good spanking, whatever you may think.”
“John’s right,” mother added. “I’ve let you get away with things far too much over the years and I should probably have done that to you a long time ago, now I look back.”
“Well you’ve been warned now,” John added. “So don’t make me have to do it anytime in the future.”
At that point John left the room, leaving mother and I alone.
“You wouldn’t let him spank me, would you?” I replied. “I mean, I’m seventeen now, not a little child, and I’ve never been spanked in my life before.”
“And that’s my fault for not disciplining you properly on occasions when I should have done in the past. Look, John and I have discussed this. He’s your stepfather now and has kindly taken responsibility for you, and that includes disciplining you when you need it. I never had the confidence to spank you or anything like that, but John does and believe me he will do it if necessary, and with my blessing too. You’re not a bad girl by any means, far from it, in fact I’m very proud of you, but there are times when you overstep the mark and say things to me that you shouldn’t, and John will certainly not abide you swearing in the house. So you need to think before you speak and I’m sure he’ll never have cause to punish you.”
Mother gave me a little smile and then left the room, leaving me alone sitting on the bed with my thoughts. I’d never even been threatened with a spanking by my mother; the most she’d ever done was a couple of light smacks to my bottom when I was a youngster, which had barely hurt at all. The thought of John giving me a real spanking, and over his knee too, was just too horrendous to contemplate. It wasn’t so much the thought of how much it would hurt, rather the embarrassment and humiliation of it. I was practically a grown woman, or at least that’s what I considered myself to be.
In reality, I did have to admit that my behaviour hadn’t exactly been acceptable and I shouldn’t have spoken to mother like that. I made my mind up that I would never give John cause to spank me and I would alter my behaviour accordingly. Perhaps that was the real purpose of threatening to spank me, I mused.
One thing that I had noticed since term had started at school again was boys coming to the house occasionally in the evening. They would be taken into John’s study, and from my bedroom window at the front of the house, I would see them leave a short while later, curiously some of them seeming to be rubbing their bottoms through their trousers. It was something I would mention to mother.
“Why do boys come here in the evening, and then some leave rubbing their bottoms?”
Mother looked a little uncomfortable before she replied.
“Err, they come here to be chastised by John.”
“Chastised? That’s an old-fashioned word. What do you mean?”
“Well, if you must know, the school is rather old-fashioned and still uses the cane. The boys are sent here to be disciplined by John, if they’ve done something to deserve it, after normal school hours.”
“You mean they get the cane? I thought that had been abolished everywhere by now.”
“In state schools like yours, yes, a long time ago, but it’s still used in some private schools and John’s happens to be one of them. Anyway, it’s nothing for you to worry yourself about or get bothered by.”
However, bothered by it I was, although not in the way that mother probably envisaged. Back in my bedroom I was contemplating the fact that boys were still caned at the school, and not only that, but in this very house while I was there. Far from being shocked or upset by that I was intrigued and in a strange way rather excited by the revelation. Corporal punishment had long been abolished at my own school before I started there and I had never seen a cane being used on anyone, never mind how it must feel to receive it. I wondered whether the boys were caned on the hands or bottom, and then realised I already knew the answer to that from seeing them leave afterwards; it was obviously the bottom.
Over the next few days, thoughts of boys being caned became a regular occurrence in my musings each night in bed before falling asleep. I was increasingly curious to know what actually happened in John’s study when a boy arrived for a caning.
I had an opportunity to discover more the following week. A boy had arrived and had been taken into John’s study, while mother was in the kitchen on the phone deep in conversation with an old friend. I crept downstairs and made my way to the study door and pressed my ear against it, desperate to hear what was going on the other side of it. The door was made from sturdy oak and that made it difficult to hear precisely what was occurring inside the study, but I could hear John’s voice delivering a lecture and then a period of silence. The next thing I heard was a kind of swishing sound, like something moving rapidly through the air. A similar sound followed about thirty seconds later, this time accompanied by what sounded like a low grunt, presumably from the boy. I realised then that the swishing sound I had heard was John delivering the cane to his bottom. Four more swishes followed at regular thirty-second intervals, each followed by an ever increasing noise from the boy, the final one being more of a yell than a grunt. And then there was silence again.
I decided that it was time to make myself scarce and made my way back upstairs to my bedroom. I replayed the sounds I had heard over and over again in my head and tried to imagine what was actually happening the other side of the door. Rather than finding it frightening, I realised it had actually got me quite excited. If only I could actually witness a caning instead of just listening to one! Far from satisfying my curiosity my eavesdropping had only served to further increase it.
That weekend John and mother had gone shopping into town and I was alone in the house. I made my way to John’s study. It was not out of bounds to me, although there was an unsaid understanding that it was John’s private place and not somewhere that mother or I ventured into. As such, I had never been in there before. I opened the door and stepped inside. There was an overwhelming presence of wood. The room was dominated by a large wooden desk with an inlaid leather top, behind which sat a large leather chair. The walls were largely covered with book-filled cabinets and the occasional photograph. I smiled as I noticed one of John, mother and me taken on a recent outing framed on top of a cabinet alongside one of John and mother at their wedding. And then I saw it.
On the wall behind the desk and chair there was a short wooden rack from which hung four canes of varying length and thickness. I made my way over to them and took one down. It had a crook handle and I pulled my arm back and swished it through the air, and there it was, that swishing sound I had heard through the door, only now louder and more distinct. I swished it again, imagining that I was caning a boy and then tried to whack it against my own bottom without any success. I think it must be quite impossible to cane your own bottom. I put the cane back on the rack and as I turned I saw something else.
In the corner of the room to one side was a door. I went across and opened it. It was a small cupboard, and then an idea flashed into my head. I found that there was just enough room in it for me to squeeze in, and if I left the door slightly ajar it afforded me an excellent view of the area just in front of John’s desk where I surmised the boys where when they were being punished. If only I could get myself into that cupboard prior to the punishment taking place, I could finally witness a caning for myself. I left the study in a state of excitement, now having a way to witness a caning. I just had to work out how to put my plan into operation.
The opportunity arrived sooner than I had expected the following week. I heard the doorbell ring and a boy being told by mother to wait in the hall; the headmaster was busy, but would be along in a moment. This was my chance. I shot down to the study, opened the door, stepped inside and then closed it behind me. The room was in darkness but I managed to make my way to the cupboard and squeeze inside it, leaving the door a couple of inches open so that I could see the action that was about to unfold.
A minute or so later, the study door opened and the light was put on. John entered, followed by a nervous looking senior boy. John seated himself behind his desk and started to deliver a lecture to the boy who looked increasingly distressed. I wasn’t really listening, just hoping that the boy was actually going to receive a caning and not just a telling-off, but I gathered he’d been caught outside school without permission and trying to buy alcohol too.
Eventually, John ended his lecture with the words that sent a shiver of excitement through me.
“I am going to give you six strokes of the cane. I intend to make them six of the very best and a lesson that you will hopefully not forget or want to repeat. Now lower your trousers to your ankles.”
My heart started to beat faster as I watched the boy fumble with the belt and zip of his trousers before dropping them to the floor. While he was doing this, John had got up and selected one of the canes from the rack which he was now flexing between both hands.
“Underpants too, then bend over the desk.”
This was more than I had expected or hoped to see as the boy slipped his underpants down to join his trousers around his ankles, his bare bottom and more now on view to me below his shirt tails. And then it happened. At first it was just a slight irritation in my nose, but it rapidly grew, and then I realised that I was going to sneeze. I tried desperately to stop it but to no avail, it exploded out of me like a gunshot that seemed to echo around the confines of the small cupboard I was enclosed in.
Immediately John put the cane down, strode over to the cupboard and flung the door open, exposing me in my hiding place.
“What on earth! What are you doing in here? Come out at once.”
Sheepishly, I stepped into the study. John’s look of amazement was matched only by the boy’s look, a mixture of shock and horror as he clasped his hands in front of him to hide his privates from my view.
“Get to your room this instant! We’ll talk about this later.”
I fled to my bedroom and sat on my bed trying to think of a rational explanation for being in that cupboard, but I failed miserably. There was nothing I could think of that wasn’t absurd or ridiculous. Damn that sneeze! Everything was going so well and according to plan until that had to happen.
I heard the boy leave but wasn’t in the mood to see if he was rubbing his bottom or not. I was in trouble, that I knew, and I began to resign myself to the fact that I was probably about to get a spanking from John as a result, and I had no one to blame other than myself. I heard John and mother in conversation downstairs but couldn’t make out what they were saying to one another. Eventually I heard John shout up the stairs.
“Amy, come down to my study, we need a word together.”
When I entered the room John was seated behind his desk and I went and stood the other side of it facing him, feeling like a naughty schoolgirl reporting to the headmaster, which in many ways was exactly the case. Perhaps I was just going to get one of his lectures, but I doubted it.
“So my girl, can you please explain to me what you were doing in the store cupboard as I was about to cane that boy?”
There was no sudden flash of inspiration that came into my mind so I decided that the only course of action was to tell the truth.
“I wanted to watch a caning.”
“You wanted to watch a caning? What do you think a caning is, some form of entertainment for adolescent young girls? It’s a punishment, and not one that I get any enjoyment from giving. It’s just a requirement of my position here that I have to discipline the boys when they require it.”I looked down at the floor, now feeling rather foolish and embarrassed again. Any excitement I had previously felt had long since departed.
“So you decided to secrete yourself in the cupboard here in order to watch that boy be caned by me?”
“Yes, I’m sorry John.”
“Oh you will be Amy, I can assure you of that by the time I’ve finished with you.”
I was now convinced that it was going to be a trip over John’s knee and a first ever spanking for me. Hopes of a telling-off only were fading fast. John was continuing though.
“Really, words fail me. I can’t believe that you could think of doing such a thing. How do you think that boy felt when you emerged? Can you imagine his embarrassment that a girl was about to watch his punishment? He deserved the caning I subsequently gave him, but he didn’t deserve for it to be nearly witnessed by you. But for that sneeze you gave out, you may have got away with it too.”
Yes, that bloody sneeze. But for that, I might have done.
“And how embarrassed do you think I now feel? It must be all round the school now that the headmaster’s stepdaughter hides in a cupboard and watches boys get the cane. I’m going to have one hell of a job to convince the boys otherwise. You have put me in a very difficult position. How many times have you done this?”
“Never, this was the first time, honestly.”
“I hope that’s true and you haven’t been ‘entertained’ on previous occasions.”
“I’m sorry, John. I never thought about that. It was a stupid idea and I wish I hadn’t done it.”
I was genuine in my apology. I had not thought through the consequences of what might happen if I was caught as I was too wound up in my excitement. It was only now that I realised how silly I’d been and that it was not the great idea I had previously congratulated myself on coming up with. John was not finished though.
“That’s the problem, though, isn’t it Amy? On too many occasions you do things without thinking. I need to discuss this with your mother, so you can go to your room for the rest of the evening and I’ll decide what to do with you in the morning.”
I went back to my room and sat on my bed, but couldn’t concentrate on anything, so decided to have an early night and try not to think about my impending spanking the next day.
The following morning was a Saturday, so I had my usual lie-in, listening to music through my headphones while surfing social media on my phone. Mother and John had gone into town early, and I began to have optimistic thoughts that perhaps last night’s events might be forgotten about and nothing more said about it. The telling-off would suffice and I would not receive a spanking. In my dreams!
I didn’t hear Mother and John return, or the knocking on my bedroom door which was drowned out by the music I was listening to. The first thing I was aware of was the bedroom door opening and mother coming in, then gesturing at me to take the headphones off, which I did.
“Amy, we need to talk.”
This did not sound good. I sat up in bed.
“It’s about last night, what on earth got into you hiding in John’s study to watch that poor boy being caned?”
“It wasn’t a good idea was it? I’m sorry, really I am.”
“No, it certainly wasn’t. Have you any idea of the embarrassment and problems you’ve caused John? You’ve undermined his authority. I mean, he’s headmaster here, it’s a very responsible position. If this gets out to the governors, who knows what the consequences could be?”
“I won’t do it again, I promise.”
“You certainly will not, Amy, I can assure you of that. Now get out of bed, John wants to see you in his study.”
My heart fell. A spanking it was going to be after all. I pushed the sheets back and swung my legs out of bed and stood up, wearing just the oversized T Shirt I always wore to sleep in.
“I need to get dressed. I’ll be down when I’m ready.”
“Don’t bother with your normal clothes, put these on instead.”
Mother handed me a bag from the local school outfitters, which she’s obviously visited while in town that morning. I opened it and took out the contents. There was a white cotton vest and a pair of white cotton knickers, the sort traditionally worn by schoolgirls in the past.
“What’s this?”
“It’s what you are to wear. Now get that T shirt off and put them on, no need for a bra or anything. The vest and knickers is all that’s needed.”
I looked at mother open-mouthed.
“But you can’t expect me to wear that! You’re not really serious, are you?”
“I’m afraid I am, Amy. John and I have discussed this and we’ve decided that’s how you are to dress for your punishment. Now get changed, we don’t want to keep John waiting. Let’s get this over with.”
Punishment. So, I was getting a spanking, that was confirmed, but dressed like this? I waited for mother to leave the room but she remained there watching me.
“Aren’t you going to leave me to get changed?”
“No, just get on with it. I’m your mother, it’s not as if I’ve never seen you undressed before.”
Maybe so, but not recently. I didn’t want to argue though, so turned my back to her and pulled the T shirt off over my head, now standing naked. I picked up the vest and pulled it on, and then stepped into the knickers and pulled them up. I felt ridiculous and embarrassed, if this was how John was going to see me.
“Do I really have to do this? Can’t I put my normal clothes on? It’s bad enough that I’m going to be spanked, without having to look like this. Please don’t make me wear these things.”
“I doubt you’ll be worrying about what you are wearing soon. Now come on, let’s go. We’ve been long enough as it is.”
I followed mother out the bedroom door and down the stairs towards John’s study, wishing the ground would swallow me up. I felt so humiliated. I couldn’t even put my bra on. I’m not particularly big in the chest department, but I could feel my nipples poking through the thin material of the vest.
As we entered John’s study, he was standing behind the desk waiting for us. I could feel my cheeks flush with embarrassment.
“I’m not going to lecture you again, Amy, about what you did last night, but if you’re feeling embarrassed by how you are dressed then perhaps you will once again consider the embarrassment you have caused me by your actions. Your mother and I have discussed the matter, and we are both in agreement that you need to be punished. Not only that, we feel that you need a short, sharp, shock, something to wake your ideas up. I am going to cane you.”
For a moment I was in shock and couldn’t believe what I’d just heard. A spanking perhaps, but never the cane. Eventually I found my voice.
“But, but you can’t cane me. Girls don’t get caned and besides, you won’t allow it will you, mother?”
“Your mother and I have already discussed this, and she’s in agreement that it would do you the world of good. As for girls not being caned, I think you will find that it happened frequently in the past when deserved, and there is no reason why you should not be treated any differently to a misbehaving boy.”
“But I’m not at your school. You can’t cane me like one of your pupils.”
“This isn’t a school matter, it’s parental discipline. Just be thankful that I didn’t decide to cane you in front of the boys for their ‘entertainment’. The thought had briefly crossed my mind. Now, your mother can stay and witness your punishment, or if you prefer we can do this alone. Either way, you are going to be caned.”
I looked at mother as I desperately tried to think of a way out of this, but I couldn’t, and I also knew deep down that I deserved what was about to come my way.
“John has my full permission, Amy. It’s not going to be pleasant, but I think it’s well overdue. I can stay if you wish.”
If I was to be caned then keeping mother out of it was preferable to her being involved.
“There’s no need for mother to be here, you can do it alone.”
“I’ll see you later, Amy.” And with that, mother left the study closing the door behind her.
“Okay, if you do as I say we can get this over with quickly and without too much fuss.”
Until this moment, I hadn’t noticed, but there was a cane lying on John’s desk which he then picked up. I wondered if it was the one he had used on the boy the previous evening.
“I want you to bend over the desk, Amy. Lie flat along it and grip the far side with your hands, keep your legs straight and bottom pushed well out for me.”
I did as I was asked. The desk was hard beneath my body as my breasts squashed down against it. I straightened my legs out and pushed my bottom back.
“You might find it easier to brace yourself if you part your legs a little, and keep your bottom out.”
With increasing embarrassment at the spectacle I was presenting, I shifted my feet apart a little and thrust my bottom back as much as I could, presenting John with a most tempting target. I could feel the material of the knickers stretch tightly across my bottom, causing it to rise slightly, exposing more of my bare lower cheeks.
“Excellent Amy, now keep that position until I tell you to get up and it will soon be over. I intend to give you six strokes. It will hurt but you will live, so let’s make a start.”
He then tapped the cane several times against my bottom, causing the cheeks to clench involuntarily. When the stroke didn’t land they relaxed, and then it happened. I heard that familiar swishing sound and then an impact on my bottom. What followed I could never have imagined possible. A searing pain seemed to shoot across the centre of my buttocks, the like of which I had never experienced before.
I shot upright, hands clasping my bottom. Anything to try and stem that awful pain.
“Amy, get back over the desk. Leave your bottom alone.”
“But it hurts! Please, no more. I can’t take any more.”
“Of course it hurts, Amy, that’s the whole point of a caning. It’s a punishment, not an entertainment or pleasure. And you can and will take the remaining strokes. Now get over the desk and the sooner we can get this over with the better.”
I lowered myself back into position, again realising I had little option but to do as I was told.
“Normally I would repeat any stroke where a boy raises himself and doesn’t stay in position, but as this is your first time, Amy, I will make an exception for what you did just now. However, if you do it again I will repeat any future strokes. I therefore suggest that you grip the desk tightly and don’t let go until I’ve finished. Five more strokes to come.”
Somehow I managed to keep in position for those remaining five strokes. My hips bucked against the desk edge, legs spread wider, and my bottom thrust about in an attempt to reduce the dreadful sting of the cane. When the final stroke had landed, my bottom was throbbing and tears were streaming down my face. I did not realise that John had finished and put the cane back on the rack.
“It’s over, Amy, you can get up now and rub your bottom if you wish.”
Slowly, I raised myself from the desk and gently slid my hands down inside the knickers and clasped my bottom, I could feel what felt like raised ridges which were tender and extremely painful to touch.
“I hope I never have to do that to you again and you have learned a valuable lesson tonight, Amy. Now go to your room and recover yourself.”
I slowly made my way up the stairs to my room, every step seeming to pull on my buttocks and elicit a new wave of pain. Mother was waiting for me outside my bedroom door.
“Come on in and let’s have a look at you.”
I followed mother into the room, tears still falling, and took the handkerchief she offered to start drying my eyes with. Once in my room, she spoke again.
“Let’s get these off and see what the damage is like.”
I didn’t object, but stood obediently as mother gently eased my knickers over my bottom and down to my ankles where I stepped out of them, leaving me in just my vest. She gave an intake of breath as she saw the state of my bottom. I looked at it in the mirror. It was generally red in colour, but standing prominently out were six raised stripes evenly spread down the length of my bottom cheeks. I suppose I should have congratulated John on the accuracy of bis caning.
“Dear me, that looks sore. Are you okay?”
“I think so, but it really hurts.”
“I know, wait here and I’ll be back in a minute.”
Moments later, she returned, a jar of cold cream in her hand.
“Lie face down on your bed and I’ll put some of this on. It’ll help with the pain.”
I eased myself down onto the bed, the throbbing in my bottom now starting to subside to be replaced by a much more pleasant warm glow. I felt mother’s hand gently start to rub the cream into the ridges on my bottom, the coolness being a bit of a shock after the warmth I could feel.
“You will be sore for a couple of days and the bruises, your stripes, will take several days to fade, but your bottom will return to normal with no lasting damage.”
That was the only time John had cause to cane me, and I gave up on my pursuit to see a boy being caned. Somehow it had seemed to lose its attraction for me, and besides I now knew only too well what a caning was like and how it felt, much more so than I could ever have gained from my hiding place in the store cupboard.
The end
© Steve Wilson 2024
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