Thursday, 8 April 2010


Story from Whispers 07.


It seemed to Susan that she had been sitting on that chair for hours. Sitting there in a white singlet and a pair of blue serge, school knickers only. Apart from socks and shoes that is. But it was probably no more than thirty minutes.

'Many a girl has had to sit there before you, Susan,' Mr Rockworth had said. He had nodded several times, as if memorising a number of them. 'They all knew why they had to sit there. As you do.'

She had coloured horribly. Quivered inside. She did know. There was nothing to be said.

'I call it the Chair of Contemplation,' the Head had said. 'A girl contemplates her misdeeds before. Then she contemplates the consequences afterwards.'

Susan knew what was going to happen. Other girls had told her. Some of them seemed eager to tell her. Were they gloating cruelly now that she, too, had fallen into temptation? Irresistible temptation. Or were they just gloating because they were glad it wasn't them in her place?

The Chair was in one corner of a dark-panelled room. An oppressive, old-fashioned room. A little before her, on a pillar, stood a statue of Venus. Was there some purpose in that? A point being made. For, surely, Venus was symbolic of women's sexual desire. She had been made beautiful so that those desires might be fully satisfied. Susan's mind wandered away from the idea. Indeed, she was finding it most difficult to concentrate on anything while she sat there in that gloomy silence. Always, her mind kept coming back to what must soon happen.

At least, she supposed it would happen. Unless it was all some huge conspiracy within the school. A bluff to frighten girls into... well... what? Into being better girls. It could just possibly be a bluff. That faintest of hopes was like a flickering candle in Susan's heart.

Then she suddenly recalled the weals Marion had shown them one evening. Bright, pink-red, twin-tracked weals encircling her bottom. Marion had seemed rather proud of them. Susan shuddered... and hope died. It was no bluff. He would be coming soon. He would be coming; bringing the cane.

Nervously, Susan brushed back her long hair; it came almost halfway down her back. Usually, she had to wear it in plaits. Now that it was after school hours, she could do as she wished with it. Was that a footstep she heard? A footstep, on the stairs? She shivered, yet her nerves flared hotly. There was no more sound of footsteps. The flaring of her nerves subsided. Susan simply felt cold again.

Oh how long would she have to sit there? To contemplate?

Suddenly, she was aware that this wait was all part of the punishment. She was fully intended to think about what she had done... and designed to induce her not to do it again. The cane would do that even more dramatically. The cane. She tried not to think too much about it, but she couldn't help doing so. How much would it hurt? Awfully, she was sure. Susan had no way of judging pain, for, as yet, she had experienced so little of it.

Perhaps, she comforted herself, since I am only just sixteen, he will not be too hard on me. Yes... I am very young; my skin is at its softest and tenderest. Surely he would take that into account.

Then, suddenly and silently, the door was open... and he was standing there. Susan had heard no footsteps; those footsteps she had been waiting for for so long. Her heart began to thump fast, there was a dryness in her throat. It was all about to happen. What she had dreaded for so long.

'Stand up, Susan.' The voice was not hectoring, merely firmly insistent. Susan stood, hardly daring to look at him. Yet she couldn't help noticing that the Head wore his academic gown over a suit. Worse, she couldn't also help noticing he carried a cane in his hand. Her eyes flickered away and she felt a little sick.

It was all just as it had been in her imaginings, yet, strangely, now that it was actually happening, it seemed unreal.

'You have had plenty of time to think about your wickedness, Susan' he said. 'I hope you are suitably contrite.'

'Y-yes, sir...' It was no more than a whisper.

'You will be yet more contrite, Susan.' A shiver went through her. The cane was long and it had a hooked handle. Again she tore her eyes away. Oh how awful it looked! 'Kneel on the chair, Susan.'

It amazed her that her legs had strength to carry her there; she mounted the seat in a wobbly fashion. Then came the command that she had been dreading most of all. Marion had told them that was what he insisted upon. 'Take your knickers down, Susan.'

Supposing she refused? After all, she was quite grown up now. It was really most indecent. Yes... supposing she refused?

'Did you hear me, girl?'

'Y-yes... s-sir...' A croak.

'Then do as I order.' He paused and his voice became grave. 'Susan,' he went on, 'I intend to give you the customary twelve strokes for this offence. However, if you insist on being disobedient, I shall have to send for your Form Mistress. In which case, you would receive an extra six strokes.'

Susan shuddered. Twelve was bad enough. Worse than she had expected. Her hope had been for six only. But eighteen! That would be quite unendurable. Her hands went to the elastic of her blue serge knickers and she pushed them down. But little more than three quarters of the way down her bottom.

'Lower than that, Susan. Down your thighs, please.'

She pushed them further down, feeling the abysmal shame of exposing herself in this fashion. He was a man, even if he were also her Headmaster. She must try and think of him as if he were her doctor.

'Hold the back of the chair, Susan. Tight.' She did so, nervous tension mounting fast. Her naked bottom felt so helpless, so vulnerable. 'Now push your bottom out. Out, I said, not in.' Oh how awful! Susan pushed it as far as she dared and felt herself flinching.

'Twelve,' he said, 'and, Susan, you will count the strokes.'

There was a short, sharp whistling sound then a band of fire seared across her buttock cheeks. Though Susan was not aware of it, the Head had given her quite a moderate stroke but, to her, the pain was far worse than she had expected. Her head of long hair tossed back and she gave vent to a series of breathless gasps. One hand came off the back of the chair.

'I didn't hear you, Susan,' he said.

'One...' she whimpered. Oh so many more yet to come!

'And I want both hands on the back of the chair.' Susan put them there, her bottom twisting half away in anticipation. Now she knew just how much that cane hurt.

Again that deadly sound; again that awful burning pain, slicing across her. The hand came off again and, this time, clamped momentarily to the new weal. 'Ahh... hhhaaah...' she gasped. Then she remembered. 'T-two...'

A hand gripped her wrist and pulled her hand up her back. Then she got two strokes in quick succession. Harder strokes. Yelping cries were torn from her and the sudden, double pain almost made her squirm right off the chair seat. 'I told you to grip the back of the chair, girl. Do so! Remember what I said about your Form Mistress.' Desperately, Susan forced herself to grip the back of the chair again. Those weals were throbbing like hot wires. Would she be able to endure eight more? She must! She must! Otherwise it wouldn't be eight, it would be fourteen more!

'I'm waiting Susan...'

Waiting? Waiting for what? Then she remembered again. 'Three... mmfff... and... mmfff... four...' she sobbed out.

Number five caught her on the thigh tops and she squealed loudly, only just managing to maintain her grip. 'Oooh... aahh... ooh... sir please not... not so hard... please!' She simply couldn't help begging. The pain was so awful.

'I'm waiting again, Susan,' was all he said. 'You really are a most forgetful girl.'

'F-five... u-ughhh... five...' she choked out, feeling her buttocks clench convulsively in dread of number six.

It came. Whistling and biting. And, yet again, her hand flew back. It was quite impossible to stop it, no matter how much he threatened. Perhaps he understood this, for, now, he said nothing. 'S-six...' she said. Almost impossible to believe there were still six more like that to come!

'We will take a two minute break,' said the Head. 'Stay exactly as you are, Susan. Hands on the back of the chair, bottom well out. You keep shrinking back into the chair. I want your bottom out.'

Feeling the bitter humiliation of it, Susan thrust fully. 'That's a bit better,' he said. Susan knelt there, trembling, wishing the world would end. In the silence she could hear her heavy breathing.

'Are you regretting your wickedness now, Susan?' he enquired.

'O-oh... yes... yes, sir!' Perhaps, if she sounded truly regretful, he would let her off the other six. 'V-very much so...' she added.

'I am glad to hear it, Susan. Unnatural sex at your age is most reprehensible. As you are probably aware, it is the only offence in this school for which girls are caned. Quite rightly so, in my view.'

Silence fell again. Susan shivered. Was he going to let her off or not? 'P-please... sir...' she quavered, 'I'll never do it again!'

On Mr Rockworth's bland features there was a little smile of supercillious disbelief. He knew the intense desires forced upon young girls of this age. This one might say she'd never do it again but when, in the middle of the night, under the soft warm sheets, that burning desire came again, fingers were bound to stray. It was inevitable. But that did not mean such a sin should go unpunished. If he did not use the cane in such cases, these excesses would be far more rife than they were. The Head was sure of that. He contemplated the rounded bottom. He was dealing with it less harshly than he would done that of a 17 or 18 year old but the weals looked particularly vivid over the soft, white skin. She was obviously more sensitive than most.

'Well, Susan, prepare yourself,' he said, seeing the thrusting nates make another of those clenches of dread.

'Oh please... sir... w-won't you let me off? I promised I... I'd never do it again...' came the despairing plea.

'That's what you say, Susan,' he said. 'The cane is making more certain that you don't. For, never forget, you can find yourself kneeling where you are again. In which case, I shall be less lenient.'

Susan froze. Could that possibly be true? She began to sob loudly, realising now there was no escaping her full punishment. Oh it wasn't fair. It wasn't. She couldn't help it...

The caning was resumed and had her crying out breathlessly as she squirmed on the seat, behind twisting uncontrolably left and right.

'S-seven... aaagh... oh seven...' she gasped.

Sssweee... ccrrraaacckkkk! Now her hand came back again, clasping, as she cried out her torment. This time her hand was siezed and pulled up her back again, off her juddering bottom.

'I'm waiting!'

'Eight!' she almost shrieked. Then, once again, she got two harder cuts in quick succession. And she knew the reason why. She was almost down on the floor, kicking out, but she could not clasp as the searing lines of pain, since the hand still gripped her wrist and kept yanking it up.

'Up... up... back on the seat. Bottom square... and out, girl!' Oh how could she make herself? Oh how! But she must! She must! How many was that? How many to go now? Then she remembered.

'N-nine... and... aahhh... ten!' she jerked out. Oh praise be... only two more! Only two! Oh let them come now! Let it all be over and done with!

The Head was an experienced hand when it came to the correction of young girl students. He knew the value of keeping them waiting. Not only before the punishment but, on occasions, during it. There was, for example, the halfway interval. Quite a tension-builder that. Sometimes, with older girls, he dragged it out for five minutes or more, during which time he delivered his little homilies. Also, it was a custom, when a girl knew that the end of her punishment was drawing near, he would delay.

As now...

'How many more, Susan?'

'T-two... sir...' One could hear the relief. Yet still that young, well-rounded bottom kept flinching and quivering. Very understandable. It was her first caning. Possibly her last. The memory could remain very vivid for a long time.

'That's correct, Susan,' he said. 'At least your arithmetic is not at fault.'

One must have one's little jokes... even if they weren't appreciated! The bottom twisted away with sudden violence, obviously anticipating a stroke, but still he kept her waiting. 'Yes... just two,' he said. 'But they will be harder!'

'Oh no... sir... pleee... ease!'

He gave her the penultimate stroke with considerable vigour, cutting just above the thigh tops and produced the loudest and longest series of gasping-cries so far. And oh how it made that young bottom squirm! Yes... she would remember that cut for many a day!

She was sobbing deeply now, shoulders heaving. Terrified of the final stroke still to come... yet desperately wanting it to be all over and done with. Again, deliberately, he kept her waiting.

'Just one more, Susan,' he said.

'Ohh... yes... yes... sir!' It was almost as if she were begging him to give it to her! Finally, the Head relented... and did so. It was another real stinger like number eleven had been and down to the floor she went, writhing and squealing out in pain. He nodded with some satisfaction. The girl had been well punished. As she deserved to be. There was little doubt that 'naughtiness' had been quelled. For quite some time anyway.

'Stand up!' he ordered. The girl stood up, wincing. She stood before him, tears streaming down her cheeks, hand clasped to her bottom, knickers still halfway down her thighs. 'Understand, Susan, that what has just been done to you, is for your benefit. Designed to make a better young woman of you. A more moral and upstanding young woman. I hope you realise that?'

'Y-yes... mmfff... y-yes yes sir...' she nodded pathetically, mouth almost out of control.

'Very well, Susan, you will resume your seat, keeping your knickers down. And you will remain in this room to contemplate what has been done to you. Above all why it has been done to you. At the end of that time, Matron will come and fetch you. Maybe she will give you some attention.'

Gasping out, Susan sat down on the chair, head drooping. The pain was still atrocious. Twelve bands of throbbing fire. She sobbed bitterly. For the time being, she was quite defeated. Quite.

The Head strode happily back to his study. There the Head Girl waited. It was one of her evenings for 'Special Tuition'. He'd had to cane her a couple of times for naughtiness. Now there was no longer any need for that. At 18, she had another outlet for her natural desires.

Like... guess who?

1 comment:

  1. I've just discovered your blog and I love it! I lick my chops when thinking of all the previous stories you posted, awaiting me.