What's in a name?

Story from Janus 55.

What's in a name?
by Andrew Grantham

CAROL started her first day at her new college with some misgivings. She was new to the town and had had no time to make any new friends. The pretty, bubble-curled blonde girl felt very much out of things as she tried to find her way around before the 9am bell sounded. The other girls had commenced term the day previously and they had all mated up, leaving the new arrival very much on her own.

Carol eventually found her room and took up the only available seat. She realised right away that her new educational establishment was much stricter than the one she had left.

She fell foul of two teachers before midday. Things were clearly going to be very different for her here. Several times, she inwardly cursed her father for taking his new job and making the family pull up their roots.

After the lunch break, she was stunned to hear her name called out. She was told to report to the Headmaster.

'Me?' she asked the lady teacher. 'Are you sure?'

'Your name is Carol Barker, isn't it?' was the reply.

'Yes, Miss,' she admitted.

The middle-aged woman squared her shoulders and stood menacingly in front of her. 'At this college,' she thundered, 'students do as they are told – first time!'

Half a minute later, Carol knocked timidly on the door of the Head's study.

'Enter!' commanded the authoritative voice.

The blonde took a deep breath and entered the holy of holies. Sitting at his huge desk was the Headmaster, a good-looking man in his early fifties. He had finely-chiselled features, a faintly sensual mouth and a strong, clefted chin.

He looked up from his writing, motioned with a finger for the girl to stand in front of him, and then put down his silver pen.

'You... you sent for me, Sir?' said the blonde haltingly.

The Headmaster – the girl didn't even know his name – folded his arms and looked at her icily. 'You are new here, aren't you?'

'Yes, Sir,' mumbled Carol. She didn't like the tone of his voice, but surely she couldn't be in hot water already?

'You have certainly got off to a bad start, my girl!' he snapped.

Carol's blue eyes widened. She had given a tiny bit of cheek to the French teacher and sniggered during biology, but that was all.

The Headmaster stood up. He was a tall man. 'I'm going to teach you a lesson, young lady!' he rapped. 'I hope you will benefit from it. I'm sure my pupils always do.'

He strode towards the corner of the study. There, propped against the wall was a thin, springy, crook-handled cane. Picking it up, the Head swished it menacingly.

Carol's legs turned to jelly. This was going over the top. She couldn't believe it.

'Bend over the desk!' he ordered her sharply. 'Lift your skirt up to your waist.'

The blonde girl stared at him disbelievingly. 'You can't,' she croaked, switching her gaze to the cane, eyeing it in astonishment and awe of its evocative power.

'Can't I, miss?' he sniffed, taking hold of her upper arm and expertly folding her over the shiny desk top. Carol thought she must be dreaming and hoped she would wake up before the ordeal began.

She knew it was reality however, when she felt his hand at the hem of her navy blue pleated skirt and then pressing down on the small of her back. There was a draught on the backs of her thighs as the Head took a practice swish with the cane vertically downwards behind her.

Fighting an urge to cry she bit her lip, knowing that tears would be inevitable later.

Carol jumped involuntarily at the touch of his hand on her nether regions. Her white cotton knickers were swiftly yanked down to her knees, whence they fell to her ankles. She felt her face burning. Her white blouse had ridden halfway up her back so that she was naked from there to the tops of her white socks just below her knees.

The blonde's shapely breasts were squashed on the hard surface of the desk and her thighs were being uncomfortably indented by its sharp edge. She was aware of the cool air on her bum and it felt terribly vulnerable, raised high and naked behind her.

Carol's long and finely-wrought legs stiffened and pressed together as the Head placed the thin cane across the dead centre of her bottom, pushing it deep into her creamy flesh. He admired the pair of full, pale globes separated by a long, narrow valley. A pity he had to hurt them, but he had a job to do. After all, it was in the girl's best interests.

Carol clamped her eyes tight shut. She tensed as she heard the terrible high-pitched swishing. What would it feel like when it...?

The cane landed squarely across the undercurve of both buttocks. A stifled squeal left her lips. The first stroke was agonising. She had expected some pain, but not the sheer, excruciating hurt that engulfed her whole body.

Almost right away, another stroke bit into Carol's soft, pampered bottom just below the centre. She bit her lip as the heart-stopping pain surged through her. This was the worst thing that had ever happened to her.

In her misery, she resolved to find another college in which to complete her education.

Before she had recovered, another swoosh heralded the arrival of a further cut which landed across the fleshy, round hemispheres. Carol's back arched up and a scream was heard. She did not realise at first that it was her own scream.

She stuffed a fist into her mouth, and her teeth clamped on it. Her face was awash with salty tears.

There was another whoosh and Carol felt the cane streak across her bottom. It took but an instant for the pain to reach her brain. The band of fire spread from her up-poked, branded bum to the top of her head and the tips of her toes.

The blonde wondered what her bottom looked like. She couldn't actually feel the individual red lines, but she knew they were there all right.

Another stroke produced another line of fire. Her buttocks twisted and she began to moan. Her body seemed drained of life and transfused instead with the most awful suffering. Flames consumed her bottom. And then one more stroke split the air and cracked loudly and agonisingly against Carol's juddering mounds.

Suddenly, there was a frenzied knocking at the study door. The Head paused, cane in the air, sighed petulantly and went to see who was disturbing him.

Carol, her shoulders heaving with sobs, her backside a burning cauldron of pain, was grateful for the respite. She wondered just when her torturous ordeal would end.

In her pulsating agony, she failed to hear the mistress who had sent her apologising profusely and explaining that the girl she ought to have sent along was Coral Parker and not Carol Barker. She hoped she wasn't too late.