Thursday, 24 May 2012

The Punishment Book

Story from Janus 14.

The Punishment Book
by Tom Horner

'THERE'S YOUR TEA, Mr. Conrad.'

The pretty dark-haired young woman plonked the cup down on the desk, and with a flick of her hips, turned and left the room.

Seated at his desk Anthony Conrad watched the swing of the tartan skirt as she left, and sighed. Then he looked slowly and carefully round the room, taking in each object in turn: the leather armchair, the glass-fronted bookcase, the low oak chest, and the clock ticking quietly on the mantelpiece between two brass candlesticks. It was as if he were looking at each of them for the last time. As indeed he was, for this was Anthony's last day as Head Master of St. Edmund's School for Girls. After 25 years it was unlikely that he would ever really forget this room, but nevertheless he wanted to savour its atmosphere one last time. For he knew that it would never be the same again, even if he were invited back to the school from time to time, as he was sure he would be. He had already heard something of his successor's, Mrs. Palmer's, plans for his study — her study. Most of the furniture would remain, with the exception of the leather armchair, with its peculiarly worn back. But the heavy blue velvet curtains would be replaced by something light and flowery; the patterned Persian carpet by a plain beige Wilton; the candlesticks on the mantelpiece by fresh flowers; and the smell of pipe tobacco by Mrs Palmer's discreet perfume. It would become a headmistress's study, not a headmaster's.

Anthony sighed a deeper, even heavier sigh. He had just finished clearing out his own possessions, filling three waste bins with rubbish, and packing the rest in a suitcase which now stood on the floor beside him. Only three items remained on the big mahogany desk with its leather inlay. These were a crook-handled rattan cane, a leather tawse, and a large, red, leather-bound book, with gold lettering spelling out the words PUNISHMENT BOOK. In that Book was the record of 26 years of well-caned girlish bottoms. There were inscribed the names of all the girls who had passed through his study and lifted their skirts to receive their just rewards across stretched knickers. In some ways it was also a record, perhaps the only one there would be, of Anthony's career as Headmaster of St. Edmund's. For the cane had played an important part in life at the school. Anthony's predecessor, Miss McDonald, a formidable Scottish spinster, had been the first Headmistress back in the 1930s, and her aim had always been for strict discipline, combined with academic excellence. Miss McDonald had achieved both by means of a strong brain, a strong will, and a strong right arm, all of which she had applied wholeheartedly to the job. So that when Anthony took over from her St. Edmund's had an excellent reputation, and there was immense competition from all over the country for the 60 places offered to girls each year.

Miss McDonald had not approved at all the appointment as her successor of a man, a bachelor moreover, and only 35 years old, but that had not stopped her from giving Anthony some advice.

'You have four hundred and fifty girls in your charge, Mr Conrad,' she had said as she handed over the keys of the study. 'I hope you will love them as I have done — but never be afraid to be firm. Just because they are girls, don't think that they should be treated softly. You must drive them on all the time. And if they step out of line, cane them, and cane them hard. The girls expect it, their parents expect it, and the rest of your staff expect it — don't disappoint them!'

Anthony had taken this advice to heart, and had resolved to wield his cane with even more vigour than he had done at the boys' school where he had previously been Assistant Head.

For some reason, which he understood better now than he had done at the time, Miss McDonald had insisted on taking her Punishment Book with her, and Anthony had had to acquire a new one. It was this that lay on the desk in front of him now.

He opened the cover and read the first entry.

'14th September 1956: Jacqueline Walkington', it read. 'Form VA. Gross impertinence. Four Strokes.'

Ah yes, poor Jackie! Anthony smiled a rather rueful smile at the memory. It had been about a week after he had started at St. Edmund's. He had been returning from Chapel one morning in a crowd of girls, and had come up behind two fifth formers without their noticing him. The taller one had said:

'What do you think of our new Head? Don't you think he's rather handsome?'

To which her friend, who turned out to be Jackie, had replied:

'No I don't! He looks like a dry old stick to me. I shouldn't wonder if he prefers little boys.'

The next thing she knew a heavy hand descended on her shoulder. She turned to see who was attacking her, and went very red, and then very pale.

'It's off to my study with you, my girl!'

Jackie's feet had hardly seemed to touch the ground as she was whisked into the school, and through the door of the Headmaster's study. In another instant she was face down across the desk, and her skirt was being turned back to reveal the first pair of tightly stretched grey St. Edmund's knickers that Anthony had ever seen. And then whack! whack! whack! WHACK! Four strokes one after another, spread evenly across that pretty, slender bottom. In less than half a minute Jackie was upright again, blubbering into her hankie, as Anthony wrote the details into the book.

Anthony smiled to himself as he remembered how inexperienced he had been then. First for treating the girl's remark so seriously — nowadays he would have ignored it, or passed it off with a caustic retort of his own. But he had been lacking in confidence then, and was keen to assert his authority. And as for the punishment itself, well...! — there was no style to it. It had been simply punishment, with no attempt at rehabilitation. For Anthony was convinced as a result of his experiences at St. Edmund's that one of the quickest ways of turning an immature silly schoolgirl into a sensible young woman was, paradoxically, by transitionally reducing her to a sobbing child by means of a swishy stick applied skilfully to her bottom. But to achieve that effect the beating had to be done carefully, slowly, and with finesse, judging the critical moment in the girl's emotional state, as well as the crescendo of her pain, for the administration of each stroke. With his present experience Jackie's caning would have been a much more prolonged and rewarding episode for all concerned.

In the same way, experience had taught him that lying across a desk did not present a young girl's bottom at the most suitable angle. There was a danger of the cane hitting too high, instead of the full firm flesh of the buttocks which was its proper target. On the other hand, apart from senior girls, and more experienced victims, touching the toes, which got the bottom at the required angle, was too difficult a position to maintain, if the punishment was to be prolonged in order to obtain the maximum benefit. And so he acquired the heavy leather armchair. Now those who presented themselves for punishment could bend over the back of the chair, or kneel on its seat (depending on how tall they were), and with their heads lower than their bottoms, assume an ideal position for the attention of one of Anthony's many whippy rattans.

But no more would that happen, of course! As this realisation came back to him, Anthony began to flick through the pages of the Book in a desultory way. Some names appeared with a tiresome regularity. Far more made but one or two appearances — particularly in fifth year, when young girls' rebellious urges seemed to be at their strongest, and they needed a short sharp shock to sort them out. Those who managed to reach the Sixth Form without exposing their knickered bottom for a swishing generally managed to emerge unscathed from St. Edmund's. But there was one notable exception to this which suddenly came into Anthony's mind, and he began to flick through the pages more eagerly as he sought the relevant entry.

Aah! There is was! — 20th January 1963: Mary Singer. Yes, Mary Singer had been a very special pupil. She had joined St. Edmund's at the same time as Anthony, and from the first had shown herself a serious hard-working girl, both intelligent and good at sports, and always popular with the other girls. In fact she came close to Anthony's idea of the model schoolgirl. And when Mary reached the Upper Sixth it came as no surprise to anyone when it was announced that she was to be Head Girl. Anthony regarded this appointment with particular pleasure. Mary was the first girl whom he had been able to watch proceed right through the school to achieve this honour. And any jealousy which might have been felt by the other girls was dissipated by the conscientious and unassuming way in which Mary went about her tasks. She would get up early to sort out her administrative responsibilities so that they would not affect her A-level work; and while not taking any cheek from the younger girls, she always had a friendly word, even for the juniors, unlike most of the Prefects who treated them as though they did not exist, except when they needed to be told off or sent on an errand.

So, for a term-and-a-half Mary lived up to all Anthony's expectations. And then, one cold Wednesday afternoon, the school hockey team, of which Mary was centre-half and captain, happened to be playing another local girls' school, St. Hilda's. Anthony arrived just after half time to lend his voice in support of the shrill cries of the 10 or 12 girls shivering on the touchline. On this occasion he quickly learnt that St. Edmund's were two-nil down, principally because St. Hilda's had one brilliant forward who was running rings around the St. Edmund's defence. Anthony was soon to see an example of this.

The ball was played quickly forward to the St. Hilda's star — a tall slim blonde girl, very athletic-looking, supple and quick on her feet. She advanced steadily towards the St. Edmund's goal. Mary came out determinedly to meet her, but the ball seemed glued to the slim girl's stick. She feinted once, twice, then flicked the ball through Mary's legs and skipped round her to collect it on the other side, and Mary stood leaden-footed and open-mouthed. Several of the girls on the touchline tittered at Mary's embarrassment, until silenced by a glare from Anthony. The goal was at the St. Hilda's girl's mercy. But as she set herself to shoot, her left foot caught a particularly slippery patch of mud, her perfect balance deserted her for once, and she fell in an ungainly heap. The ball trickled harmlessly a few yards until one of the other St. Edmund's backs thumped it far down the field. All eyes, both spectators' and umpires', turned to follow the play. All that is, except Anthony. He was watching Mary, who, with an unpleasant grimace on her face was advancing on the fallen St. Hilda's girl. Anthony thought for a moment that she was going to help the other girl up. But when she got close, to his amazement he saw Mary strike the girl's ankle with her stick, twice, hard! The girl winced with pain, and her eyes opened wide with surprise, but Mary had turned and gone. Nobody but Anthony had seen what had happened, and the St. Hilda's girl was too much of a sportswoman to complain, as she got to her feet at last, and limped back to join the game. Anthony went up to one of the Sixth Formers standing nearby.

'When the game is over, tell Mary Singer that I want to see her straight away in my study. Straight away, do you understand?'

'Yes sir,' came the nervous reply. But Anthony had already stormed off to his study.

About half-an-hour later Mary bounced in.

'We won three-two in the end, sir,' she crowed, as she plonked herself into the armchair. 'Their forwards seemed to run out of steam!'

'I'm not surprised.' The harshness of his tone caused Mary to look at Anthony sharply, as he continued. 'I saw what you did to their best player. And stand up girl while I am talking to you!'

In a daze Mary got slowly to her feet and stood in front of his desk.

'I will not tolerate that kind of vicious behaviour from anyone — especially my Head Girl. Good God, you might have broken that poor girl's leg — and all because she offended your precious dignity with her superior skill. There is only one answer to such nasty behaviour. Bend over the back of the chair, please, Mary.'

Mary's brown eyes opened wide, her jaw dropped, and to Anthony's disgust she began to blubber and plead.

'Oh no, sir, don't cane me sir, please, I'm very sorry, I won't do anything like it again. I've never been caned, sir, please...'

Anthony ignored her pathetic pleadings and went to the cupboard where he kept his canes, bringing out his most punishing Senior cane, and swishing it through the air.

'Stop that noise and get over the chair, girl, or you'll be in here every day for a week!'

Still snivelling, Mary draped herself over the cold leather back of the chair. The short maroon games skirt rode up, barely covering the matching maroon knickers. Anthony lifted the skirt, and then measured his cane against the fullness of Mary's firm athletic bottom. He could see that her thighs were trembling, and she was still sobbing. And then, as he lifted the cane for the first stroke, her right hand darted back to cover her bottom. This was the last straw. Anthony flung the cane down onto his desk.

'All right, it's clear you're not in the right frame of mind to receive this punishment. If I beat you now it will not have a corrective effect upon you. Get up and clear out. But you will present yourself here after Chapel tomorrow morning, at which time I shall cane you — and unless you show a bit more restraint and decorum then, you will cease to be Head Girl, you will cease to be a prefect, and you will be caned every morning after Chapel, until you can show me, by your willing acceptance of deserved punishment, that you are a mature young lady of 18, and not a pathetic, snivelling little girl!'

Mary fled, her illusions shattered. Anthony felt aroused after that confrontation. He could not sit still, but paced his office like an agitated man.

Things were very different the next morning. Anthony had left his Deputy, Miss Hargreaves, to take Chapel, and at five past nine precisely there was a sharp tap on the door.

'Come in!'

In response to his command, Mary entered the room briskly. Her head was held high, and her chin was resolute. Her uniform was immaculate — freshly laundered white shirt, maroon tie, and grey pleated skirt. She looked at Anthony as he briefly lectured her, and when he told her to take up her position for a caning, she said, 'Yes sir.' Mary walked straight to the middle of the room, bent over, flicked up her skirt, and with her fiat-heeled sensible shoes planted 18 inches apart and her long legs stretched taut, she touched her fingertips to her toes.

'That's better,' said Anthony, with a smile, as he again produced his cane from the cupboard. He gloatingly took aim at Mary's rounded bottom, now covered in taut grey cotton, and framed by her white suspender belt and the dark tops of the stockings which, as a senior, she was allowed to wear. The only trace of the emotion of the previous evening was a slight trembling in her legs as she tried to hold them straight and firm.




He beat her slowly, and soundly. Six swishy strokes of the very best he had ever administered to boy or girl. Mary did not react, except with a sharp exhalation of breath as the cane swished into her cheeks and, towards the end, a wriggle and squirm after each stroke. Her self-control was incredible considering the severity of the caning.

Anthony left her in position while he wrote the details in the Punishment Book.

'You may get up, Mary.'

'Thank you, sir,' she gulped as she straightened. Her eyes were glistening and her cheeks were wet, but her jaw was still firm as she said, 'You certainly laid it on, sir! But I know I needed it. Thank you.'

And immediately they were back to their old relationship of Head Master and favourite Head Girl, as they settled down to discussing school business for the day, with Mary seated extremely gingerly on the edge of the armchair over which she had sobbed the previous evening. It was a very impressive performance on her part, Anthony thought, considering the inflictions she had just received.

But all trace of cockiness and self-importance had vanished from her manner, never to return, and she completed a very successful year as Head Girl. She was now a lecturer in an English Department at a provincial University, and still wrote to Anthony from time to time.

Anthony came out of his pleasant reverie, and continued turning the pages of this Book which was providing such fascinating memories. Here was another interesting entry! 5th November 1967 — a whole page devoted to one form, VA, the top English stream, all destined for University. The form had decided in the then current fashion to have a 'happening' during one lunchtime. This had involved throwing all the classroom furniture into a pile in the middle of the room, and then dancing round it chanting 'Hare Krishna' or something similar. Miss Hargreaves had come across the event, and had been told either to push off, or to 'let it all hang out!' Anthony had then been summoned, and had arrived in his best impersonation of the deus ex machina, in full academic dress, and brandishing his cane. The effect had been instantaneous. In less than five minutes the room was back in perfect order. But then he had led the whole group of by now very penitent and apprehensive girls through the playground, past the crowds of giggling junior girls, to his study. He had had them in two at a time, in alphabetical order, from petite blonde Janet Armstrong to that tall, willowy brunette, Bridget Wilson, for four strokes each — not too severe, but enough to make them think again about 'doing their own thing' in school! The form Captain, Elaine Deasy, a plump but very attractive young miss, he had left till last, and she had taken a double dose to remind her of the responsibilities of her office. How his arm had ached at the end of that little lot!

Most of those girls, like Mary Singer, had been one-time-only recipients of the cane. At the other end of the scale there were the regular visitors. A lot of these were trouble-makers or bullies of one sort or another. They were not girls towards whom Anthony could feel any sort of affection. They deserved to be beaten, and he saw to it that they were. But there were exceptions. In particular, Maggie Clark.

Maggie was a quiet conscientious girl, and generally well-behaved. At least once a term she would be reported to Anthony for some serious breach of school discipline: a member of staff would find her blatantly smoking on school grounds, or out of uniform, or she would arrive late for school (for Maggie was one of the small number of day-girls) five days in a row. Anthony would have no alternative but to send for her and cane her. She would take her punishment without complaint, and then would return to her normal hard-working well-behaved self. Once he had noticed this pattern of behaviour Anthony was puzzled by it, and he had no inkling of the explanation for it until the affair of the blue jeans. This had occurred in 1974, when 16-year-old Maggie was in her fifth year.

During the summer term a number of girls had started wearing jeans instead of school uniform. It became so much of a craze that to stop it short Anthony announced one Monday morning that in future anyone appearing in jeans during school hours would be caned without more ado, no matter what excuses or explanations were offered. The next day at Chapel all girls were correctly dressed, with the exception of two — a sixth former named Barbara Harris, and Maggie Clark. Anthony, very annoyed at this blatant disobedience, escorted both girls to his study immediately after Chapel. The older girl, Barbara, he called in first, and having told her to remove the offending garment, he made her bend over and take six across her knickers. She left the room in tears, and caused no more trouble. Anthony then called in Maggie, and likewise told her to remove her jeans and bend over. While she was doing this Anthony went to the cupboard to exchange the light cane which he had been using on Barbara, for the heavier one to which Maggie had graduated by virtue of her previous visits. As he turned back Anthony was astounded by the sight that greeted him. For instead of a tightly stretched pair of grey knickers he was faced by the pink pert roundness of Maggie's naked bottom, tipped up towards him over the back of the chair.

'What is the meaning of this?' he spluttered. 'You know I can't cane you like that.'

'I don't like wearing knickers under these jeans, sir,' came the demure reply.

Anthony gulped. For the first time for a long time he had lost his composure — but only for a moment!

'Pull your jeans up,' he barked, 'and then get back over that chair.'

With what, he reflected later, was something of a disappointed look, Maggie did as she was told.

She received six ferocious, whistling strokes across the tightest part of the stretched blue denim. He had never caned that hard before — in fact with every erg he could summon in his strong right arm — and a slight fear that perhaps he had gone too far this time marred the slaking of his righteous anger. When he had finished Anthony wrote the punishment in the Book, and then, more than a trifle stiff below the belt, he informed Maggie that she was to report to him again the next day for a further four strokes for failing to wear regulation underwear.

'Yes, sir,' she murmured surprisingly demurely, flicking the long dark hair back over her shoulder.

It was at this second caning in two days that Anthony began to suspect something about Maggie. He had administered four firm strokes across what must have been still a very sore rump, and Maggie was standing waiting to be dismissed while Anthony wrote the details of her punishment in the Book. He noticed from the corner of his eye that, unlike most of the other girls, Maggie was not rubbing furiously at her bottom, nor, like many, was she crying uninhibitedly, but was standing, a rather misty expression in her eyes, with one hand up the front of her skirt, moving rhythmically. Surely the girl wasn't...? Anthony looked across sharply and caught Maggie's eye. She blushed, and with a flutter of eyelashes, dropped both her hands and her gaze.

'My goodness,' thought Anthony, 'the girl's actually enjoying it!'

With that moment of realisation so much else about Maggie's behaviour fell into place. Slit uncharacteristically got herself into trouble when she wanted a beating. She wanted to feel a cane on her bare bottom, so she had engineered the jeans incident.

He did not work all this out at once, of course. But over the next two years, observing Maggie's behaviour, and her regular, though not frequent, visits to his study, Anthony became convinced that he was right. And then, with two A-levels, she had left for secretarian college. Anthony sighed deeply as he looked at the last entry in her name: 'Margaret Clark, Form UVIB, Smoking. Six strokes.'

At that moment the pretty young secretary stuck her head round the door.

'Have you finished with your cup, sir?'

'Yes, thank you. In fact, I was just thinking about you, Maggie.'

For yes, it was she. As chance would have it, one year after Maggie had left Secretarial College, the old School Secretary, Miss Jones, had retired. Maggie had applied for the job, and the Governors had been very taken with the idea of appointing an 'old girl', who would 'know the ropes'. And any doubts about her inexperience were countered by the excellent references from her college and her present employer, and, if the truth be told, by the realisation that she could be paid about half the salary they had been paying Miss Jones!

So Maggie had returned to St. Edmunds. And it was not long before she presented Anthony with a letter containing more silly typing errors than she would normally make in a month. Anthony had been half expecting this, and led the way with comments such as 'Not what we expect from St. Edmunds' girls,' and 'You know what would happen to one of the girls who had the effrontery to present such an atrocious piece of work?' So that before long Maggie was tipped up over the familiar armchair, her tight black skirt folded neatly beside her, and the cane whipping into her firm round cheeks, protected now, not by thick cotton knickers, but the flimsiest nylon briefs. And once again, caning her gave him an erection.

A few months later she appeared in jeans, not unlike the pair she had worn for the previous incident, and certainly extremely tight and revealing. Maggie was informed that they were not suitable dress for a school secretary. The next day, however, her long shapely legs were encased in blue denim once again. So down they came, and over the chair she went. Only this time Anthony did not hesitate to whip the bare cheeks which were once again presented to him. He found it fascinating to watch for the first time the reaction of unprotected female flesh to the kiss of the cane. The rattan seemed to sink into the soft yielding cheeks, and then bounce away, leaving a white line which quickly turned scarlet. For the rest of the day she acted very sexily.

He had beaten her on the bare on a number of occasions since then, and he took pride in trying to make a neat pattern of parallel lines, closely spaced over the lower part of Maggie's bottom, but never crossing. Two years ago she had married, and Anthony had assumed that her husband would in future take over the disciplining of Maggie's pert backside. But no. As Maggie had hesitantly and nervously explained, while she didn't mind her husband, Bill, spanking her now and then, she would not want him to (nor would he want to) really hurt her. So she would still need from time to time the strict and more impersonal punishment that Anthony could provide. However, the cane left obvious and lasting marks. For this reason, the next time Maggie felt that she needed a beating she presented Anthony with a tawse — the one which was lying on his desk now — and asked him to use that on her. Anthony had agreed, though he had never wielded a tawse before, and at first he found it difficult to control. But after some practice he felt he had become almost as proficient with it as with the cane, and could make it embrace Maggie's checks with a curling slap! that made her wince, and rub her thighs back and forth at each blow.

But alas, no more would that happen, Anthony realised with sorrow, as Maggie tripped across the room to collect his tea-cup. No more punishing Maggie, now that he was leaving St. Edmunds. Once again the prospect of a long and boring retirement stretched in front of him.

'I've just had Mrs Chambers on the phone,' said Maggie as she picked up his cup.

'Ah, yes — Juliet's mother.'

Juliet Chambers was a pretty 17-year-old about to enter the Upper Sixth and take her Cambridge entrance exams in Classics.

'What did she want?'

'She wondered if you would be prepared to give Juliet a little coaching in her Latin. She said you were so good at keeping Juliet "up to the mark".'

Maggie emphasised the last phrase, and opened her eyes wide in a way that showed that she suspected that this was a euphemism for giving Juliet a sound swishing at regular intervals.

'Ah, I see,' replied Anthony, trying to sound nonchalant, though his spirits were beginning to lift. And they lifted even further as Maggie continued.

'I said you would let her know, and she said that a number of other mothers were interested in a similar arrangement.'

Again the last word was given a particular emphasis. Anthony did not notice it this time. He was smiling to himself at the vision of a succession of pretty schoolgirls visiting his house for individual tuition, which he always enjoyed, especially if the girl was bright and the lessons were backed up, with full parental approval, by the discipline of the cane.

'Thank you Maggie, I shall certainly give her a ring.'

'And there was one other thing, before you go, sir.' Maggie's eyes dropped and her cheeks flushed. 'I was wondering — well — you see — I don't know if—?'

'Spit it out, girl!'

'Well, I know that Mrs Palmer is going to be very nice to work for, and I'm sure we'll get on terribly well, but you see, she's a woman, so it's not the same, even if she was prepared to... which I don't think she would be — in fact she'd be shocked if I suggested it... so you see...'

'For goodness sake, Maggie,' Anthony thundered. 'Get to the point!'

Maggie took a deep breath. 'I know that I shall make mistakes in my work, but that Mrs Palmer won't punish me as I need — she's not even going to cane the girls! So I thought perhaps I could come and see you now and then, and you could clear the slate, so to speak...'

Anthony smiled again. 'Of course, my dear. I'm sure we can work something out. But now, as it's my last day here, and you've been wasting my time with your babbling, don't you think you ought to pay one last visit across the back of the old chair?'

Anthony's eyes were twinkling as he spoke, and Maggie's twinkled back as she answered him in her 'little girl' voice:

'Yes sir, I'm sure you're right. I do need a whacking before you go — just to remind me of how to behave.'

And without more ado she walked across the room and in one graceful movement placed herself over the back of the leather chair, flicking up her tartan skirt on the way. Then her thumbs came back and slipped down tights and knickers together till they were bunched in the middle of her thighs.

Once more her exquisite round bottom with its deep cleft was presented for Anthony's attention. Already he found himself stiffening. He picked up the tawse from the desk, and advanced purposefully. Maggie peeked back across her shoulder, saw the tawse in his hand, and said:

'Actually, Bill's at a conference all this week, so if you'd rather...'

Anthony took her meaning at once, and quickly retraced his steps, returning with the cane in place of the tawse.

'Now then, a round dozen should do nicely, don't you think?!'

'If you say so, sir,' came the meek and slightly apprehensive reply. For she knew that he would want to make this a punishment to remember, and her bottom felt very large and defenceless, exposed naked for the waiting cane.

'I do say so,' Anthony said emphatically. '12 of the very best, my girl, and you'd better keep in position, or there will be extra!'

He was excited as always by the sight of the young woman's nakedness, revealing the most intimate parts of her lovely body, but he knew that he must control himself from thrashing her too quickly. He wanted to make this occasion last, and savour every moment. Once, twice, three times Anthony tapped the cane lightly on the crown of her cheeks to get his aim, watching her firm flesh quiver in anticipation of the coming pain, and then — Swish! Thwack!

'Oof!' Maggie squirmed. She was not used to the cane these days, and had forgotten just how stingy it could be.

Five seconds pause... Swish! THWACK!


A slight smile lightened Anthony's face as he watched with pleasure the two red stripes appear across Maggie's superb bottom, one across the crown of her cheeks, the other half an inch below it. He took aim a little lower.

Swish! Thwack!!!

Maggie was squirming and wriggling a bit at each stroke, but she held her position. 'He's certainly putting me through it,' she thought, gritting her teeth. 'Why ever did I suggest he used the cane?'

Swish! THWACK!!! 'Aagh!' A flame of fire. It was agony!

Anthony had now reached the crease at the top of her thighs. He tapped the cane against this most sensitive spot.

'The next one is going to land here, Maggie. Just try and stretch a little more for it, to make it easier for me, there's a good girl.'

Obediently the young woman stretched her already taut body forward, tensing her legs, and thrusting her bottom back and up even more. A position that would have caused even a eunuch to become sexually excited.

Swish! Thwack!!!

'Oh, sir! Please!....'

Swish! Thwack!!!!

The sixth stroke landed across the top of Maggie's thighs, bringing tears to her eyes. She knew that the next six would retrace the path up her bottom, and that as, inevitably, the cane began to cross existing weals, the pain would be excruciating, but at the same time she had begun to feel the glow that she always longed for, so she held her long legs firm and straight, obediently offering her punished bottom for further strokes. Anthony did not take long to oblige.

Swish! THWACK!!!

Each stroke was delivered with equal power, and landed exactly on the intended spot — a tribute both to Anthony's skill, and Maggie's courage in maintaining her position.

Swish! Thwack! The incredible, uncapturable sound of the cane in motion, and the explosive crack of its contact with Maggie's hindquarters.

With the ninth stroke Maggie began to rub her silky thighs together and wriggle her bottom more urgently. Anthony recognised the signs, and swished in the tenth stroke quickly. Maggie's moans now took on a different tone.

Swish! Thwack! 'Aaah!... ooh, sir!... yes... Yes!'

Number 11 — only one more. Anthony waited much longer this time, until his target was really settled and steady, and then brought the cane down fast, with an expert flick of the wrist for extra speed and power, whipping it full across the centre of Maggie's bottom.

'Ooow!!!' she howled, as the pain and pleasure became inextricably mixed.

Anthony smiled at a job well done, as he returned to his desk. He opened the Punishment Book at a new page. With his sixth-form private pupils, and Maggie's regular visits, there was no reason why the entries should not continue for a long time.

As he finished the entry he looked up at Maggie. She was standing now, one hand tentatively exploring her now red and corrugated buttocks, her skirt still caught at the top of their swell revealing Anthony's handiwork to him. She caught his eye, and managed a brave smile in answer to his. A sort of conspiratorial recognition of mutual, fully compatible needs. Headmaster and secretary would very shortly both be relieving themselves, separately and in private, from the heat of this encounter.

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